#should i be writing my fic? yes. but instead im drawing

[spankycomic]

Hypocrite

[hobiespick]

Heya! I was wondering if you got any headcanons for Sam Winchester x werewolf! Reader, except, reader can actually turn whenever she (or gn if you want) wants, and the only real thing a full moon does is force her to be in her werewolf form (aka force her to keep the wolf teeth and claws out for no reason)

The thing that should not be

Pairings : Sam Winchester x reader

a/n : FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, HI, HELLO, IM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG I SUCK SO BAD, IM SO SORRY. My requests aren't open (yet) but its not even your fault I should have 100% specified that, but this is my first ever ask and ur also one of my favourite moots and I didn't want to dissapoint so here are some fuckinf cute Sam x Werewolf!Reader. I felt the carnal need to write a metric fuckton of context before getting into the actual headcanons (which are very long I have no idea if they can be considered as hcs) so the reader gets beaten up by earth-shattering plot purposes :3. Sammy juicy headcanons start when you see the '🧿' emoji if you don't wanna read the context (melodramatic sigh). And yes the title of the fic is based on the metallica song :). as always, enjoy my shitty thoughts <3

Warnings: angst with comfort (no don't clap it's fine, omg ur makin me blush); guess who joined the cool kids club and uses "____." instead of "Y/n"; literally a flash of gore, shitty dad(s), fake death, mentions of suicide, Sam looks at you and goes DO YOU WANT M-; Dean being himself; reader is also a hunter and has been raised like that (fml); Dean makes a twillight refrence; reader is frankenstein coded in the most nuanced way, Mary Shelley please don't haunt me; Dean is very happy to have a bestfriend/sister :)

word count: 8,102

- Okay, so for starters, the fact that you aren't actually a monster (you don't get the urge to kill or wreak havoc) is actually a supernatural miracle.

Your parents haven't talked to you since you called them the night you were hunting a werewolf and told them, horror-struck between sniffles and voice cracks, that it bit you, and you’re going to turn, and you’re horrified, and you’re going to drive home to put a pistol in your father's hand and hopefully stop you from turning in the thing you shouldn't be.

Your father replied, after successfully not saying a word besides "Hey, kid-" before getting cut off by you and your hiccups. He sank his teeth into the inside of his cheek, enough to draw blood.

"You are not to come home; your mother won't bear to see you like this."

Your father objected before telling you you can finish the job by yourself; you always have.

He abruptly ended the phonecall like you weren't his daughter, more like an annoying salesman. You don't know what he'll say to your mother after that call; that was the hospital, and you tragically died? "Died a hero.." Your father would say when he described another hunter's tragic passing at the dinner table—paranormal tragic passing. So paranormal that your mother had knocked on wood and prayed it wouldn't get you or your family.

So you don't call, It's really me, dad. I'm fine, I figured it out by myself. How could you? after him suggesting it's better to kill yourself than take a shot at finding a solution together? You would rather have him believe you're dead. Or at least cry with you; it's okay, honey. come home; it'll be okay, spend the last days at home, please-

The last word you get from him is a text message you are too quick to open on your flip-phone to see the next day. When you rub at your eyebags after tracking down a witch, the witch. It was the second day when everything about you felt off; you were squemish, anxious, and haven't left your motel room all day. if you get this—the message read, "if you get this?!" if you get this, if you get this, if you get this—your brain repeats it over and over, taking the words apart and tattooing itself that phrase, because it held much more meaning to it than your father probably didn't intend; he would hear it if he read it before sending, you thought, that little 'if' haunting and tormenting like a damn demon. if you haven't already killed yourself; if you haven't already turned into something that took my daughter, my pride and joy, away from me; if you haven't already died–

- speaking to you like he's directly referring to the disease in your veins. Your brain moves on and reads the next ridiculous waste of your attention. I wanted you to know I told your mother that it was the hospital I was talking to yesterday, calling that you’re dead, house fire, so no remains to pick up—Damn, you know him or what? Even your fake death is stripped away from it's respect—"no remains to pick up"—like a toppled statue, a monument of what was once a hero (in dad's old-fashioned monster-hunting world), shattered and insignificant, no longer breathing or living, if you ever even had. Or a tree struck by lighting, again, "no remains to pick up" no meaningful remains or genuinely nothing, just a memory of another young hunter who died 'tragically'. You could imagine your tombstone with an even dumber epitaph to match it and an empty or nonexistent grave lying six feet underneath for closure. Your eyes move on, there will be a funeral with no grave, of course, I just wanted you to know that your mother and everyone else is devastated, we miss you, sugar. I love you, kid. Your father had overestimated your suicidal tendencies, and the way he didn't try to save his daughter in order to not go against the rules and possibilities of hunting only showed you how much he loves you.

So you track down the witch. You barely make it to her doorstep when she opens it with a too reassuring smile, saying your name and that she expected you, even going as far as offering you tea after opening the door and letting you in, to which you declined. You're not an idiot. But you do sit down, forced, when she, Willow Thorne, won't have you, a guest, standing up, a whole damn hunter being forced to sit down and accept being treated kindly like you deserve. When you walked in, the entire image of a satanic worshipper who sold her soul to demons and hexed everybody—that you betted all your life savings fitted the description of Willow shattered and laughed in your face.

Her home was filled with plants hanging and resting in every corner she could place; various crystals were sitting in cute porcelain plates like candy, candles of different colors on a bookshelf filled with books like The Language of Flowers, Astronomy for Beginners, and Sigils. Even more crystals, bigger and taller ones on a purple tablecloth. The house is adorned in shades of dark purple, violet, green, and warm colors. This home was a whimsigothic musem that would send your thirteen-year-old self into a shrieking, excited mess. Your parents never let you own crystals or a tarot deck; they were too afraid you'd turn darkside one way or another. well, mommy, daddy, if you could see me right now with lycanthrope blood pumping through my veins.

Willow Thorne is a wiccan type of witch; she does not receive her power from demons; she receives her magic from nature and probably practices her witchcraft the way she sees fit. This doesn't help build back the distrust you were trained to have in her. You flinch when you feel a tail curling around your bouncing leg; you glance down, and your eyes are met with a black cat's green ones—this must be her familiar—the little words on his purple collar reading 'Creek'. She gives you another flash of her warm smile and starts talking about her cat. This can't be real. Your every instinct screams that you should take her down or that she will take you down. Your options shrink the longer you stay. You keep a hand anxiously fiddling with your belt, thinking about the gun in your waistband. She's deceiving you with honeyed words and unassuming appearance; who the fuck knows, maybe the cat is manipulating you too. Throwing up would be the calmest reaction you could have right now, because the thoughts in your head started going at each other's throats and doubting in this situation could get you killed. Thoughts like, fuck her, her cozy house with purple witchy twitchy girl interior, and her affectionate black cat she mentioned she rescued when nobody would because of superstitions—you curse in your head, you're not actually upset at her although you do not let your guard down, you're upset at yourself for being so easily coaxed into trusting her, it's all too easy, and it is intimidating you.

You're pretty sure you're gonna rip your vocal cords out of frustration and an overall feeling of overwhelmingness; everything seems to piss you off today, even more than usual. How are you good?! All bright and beaming with nothing but positivity. You're not supposed to be good! I have believed all my life you aren't!..are you like me too? A thing that should not be? Before breaking down and crying about your situation, and if you did, she would make you that tea and rub your back with her hand that radiated ease and made you slump your shoulders with relief.

Before you get other fun thoughts like Am I on the wrong side of the war? You start discussing bussiness since you forgot that's what your here for. Even if your eyes water like a little kid after being scolded for something they didn't do, your voice is nowhere near close to sounding like one. You demand a cure, bargaining for a deal to stop the lycanthropy metamorphosis you feel taking over little by little and make you human again. If she can't, you have a gun with silver bullets in your trunk and your will written out, but by now it probably has no significance.

Much to your disappointment, she—Willow—insisted you called her, tells you she cannot take away your curse, but she can soothe it a little, keep it in a cage locked deep into your subconscious. In exchange, she could ask for fucking anything in the world, but she wants loyalty.

"Define, loyalty." You ask through gritted teeth, yeah, that will stop the tears, definitely, great intimidation skills, _____ .

"I'm talking about respect, mutual aid, when it all comes down for me, when I get threatened by a hunter, I want you to be there. I need you to have my back." She admitted, studying your eyes trying to reslove the conflict in them, anything that could give her hope. You couldn't explain this to anyone, ever, Yeah I almost turned into a werewolf once but my witch friend did a ritual on me, so i'm all good now.

Willow is now sitting on an ottoman facing her couch, where you're sitting. Her hands fidget with her bracelets until she clasps them together, and she is leaning towards you. Her gentle tone is imbued with gentle authority that commands her mutual respect without making her overbearing. Keeping steady eye contact, she is discussing serious matters with a serious tone like she should. You can't lie, it catches you off-guard, it herds you in the corner and softly shakes your shoulders, forcing you to listen.

You'd be every synonym in the dictionary for the word 'idiot' if you hadn't accepted this deal. You shake hands, and the warm smile she wears causes a domino effect, making you do the same, even if you had been crying.

It's a funky ritual. She makes you lay on the couch while she lights all sorts of candles; she closes the curtains even though it's already dark so light cannot come in. The only light present is the salt lamp in the far corner and the numeruous lighted candles. She even has to kick Creek out of the room, much to the cat's protests outside the door. They slowly come to a stop as he finds something that's more interesting than whatever ritual his owner is cooking up with a guest—that he feels drawn to for whatever reason. You feel nervous, and she feels nervous too, because you are. Willow reassures you and tells you that after it ends you will pass out for a while, but that's fine because she says you can spend the night if she isn't pushing it.

The celling becomes your newest fascination, and you study every small bump and gray spot in order to distract your mind from... well, thinking. Not for the ritual, but for reassurance, she lies and says you have to hold her hand. Her warm hand against yours seems to punch out of your lungs every doubt whether this will work or not and the sadness your father produced with an unfatherly amount of bluntness and cold parenting that was the verbal equivalent of stabbing your spine and twisting the knife, but you can't pull out the knife, well, you can try, but it will hurt even worse and it will infect spreading yellow or purple marks around it–. She—her hand—has the ability to make you breathe again without feeling like you have leg irons around your neck dragging it down and hands squashing your lungs to bits. She speaks incantations in what you know is latin and instructs you to close your eyes. You swear you hear a candle stop burning in the process—something you can't physically hear, but you had. You can make out a few words (your ears keep ringing and something is happening because you hear her voice; it's distorted and weird, but she told you, strictly, not to open your eyes, so you don't). Words like: lupus-wolf, tollere-take away? You're not sure on that one; that's what three straight days of crying might do to one, mutare- which means change. Okay, that was a nice distraction now what el–

You feel the imprint of a huge dog-like paw pressing into your Adam's apple and cutting off your breath. She obviously takes notice by the way you're writhing and choking and swatting away at nothing—something you're trying to fight even with closed eyes, but there is nothing there. Your palm doesn't make contact with anything. Quickly, Willow chants something you're too busy choking to catch. The pressure on your throat dissolves, and you can breathe again. She calms her own breath and squeezes your hand. When she doesn't feel you squeeze back, she remembers that you're supposed to pass out after the spell. Willow drapes a blanket on you and goes off to order something to eat. When she opens the living room door, Creek doesn't hesitate to run in and settle on your chest. The cat purrs as he patiently waits for you to wake up.

You wake up fifteen minutes later with the smell of food flooding your nostrils, stronger than it has ever been before. It's almost like it's sitting right under your nose. You open your eyes, and the smell has a color, and you can clearly see how it snakes its way in from the kitchen into the half-open door. Your nails feel heavier than usual. This is hopefully a fever dream. But the food isn't here, nor is Willow; you can hear her humming a song in the kitchen, Voodoo Chile by Jimi Hendrix.

The weight of the shadow on your chest brings you back to earth, and you run your hands through his black fur with closed eyes as your head falls back onto the couch. The feeling of fur on your fingertips feeding to your serotonin levels rising. Creek seems to know what it's like to be disowned by your own father and forced to have a fake death in order to 'die' in a way that won't make your mother think you were cursed, or worse, that the whole family is now. Creek notices you're awake and gets off you, but not before making biscuits.

"Thanks, Creek." You mumble before pushing yourself up in a sitting position with a groan.

You can feel the rich, velvety, dark green rug beneath your socks; you would have appreciated it properly if you could actually see the details woven into it. Your eyes keep focusing and unfocusing like they're getting adjusted, and the room doesn't seem so dark anymore. God, how long did you pass out? As you tried to gather your thoughts (if the spell was easy on you enough to actually leave some), memories of the ritual came flooding back—the chanting in latin, the flickering candle(s), the punching smell of herbs, the murder attempt from a wolf spirit/ghost?! who the hell knows anymore? Now you were wide awake, and everything felt different. If it weren't for the fucking ritual that was just performed on you, you would've blamed the faint ringing in your years, shitty eyesight, and banging headache on a terrible hangover or a cold so bad it would make your throat ache for the tea your mom would make you when your immune system failed you. She promised she would teach me how to make it. Your grief echoed to you.

You rub at your temples at thats when you notice why did your nails feel heavier than usual. You had fucking claws, well, not animal claws, but they are honorably elongated and sharper than they had ever been. As you looked up from your lap, your eyes fell on a mirror.

A tall mirror leaning on its back legs, with black edges and details on the rim, you would again appreciate if you had the ability to see a single thing in the distance.

Your eyes widened, mortified, seeing yourself. It looked like one of your parents's worst nightmares. Something out of a dream your mom would have—a nightmare so nasty and vivid she would be forced by her paranoia to get up and check that you're still in bed sleeping soundly.

Your eyes were no longer the familiar color you have seen in the mirror or in old photos of your family members you've grown to love. The shade wasn't even close to yours; crazy how one small change made such a big difference in your appearance. Your pupils were slitted vertically, shrinking only to dilate a little once again, getting adjusted. You slowly got up on foal legs and fell on your knees in front of the mirror. Even if you didn't think it was night because you weren't seeing darkness, the light of the moon shone down on the mirror and floor thanks to the now open curtains. That's when your vision stopped unfocusing and finally cleared.

You were now looking at yourself. It felt incredibly alien and familiar at the same time; you looked at yourself every day, whether it was the mirror in your bathroom at home, a crappy motel one that faced the bed (which you cover up with a scoff each time), or a reflection in the car of your vanity mirror checking yourself before going in a precinct, pretending to be a reporter (the things middle-aged pigs would confess to a doe-eyed girl from the press..).

You gently pulled the corner of your upper lip only to reveal your enlarged and sharpened front canines. Your hand fell and instead went to cover your mouth in order to muffle your sobs. You must have done a horrible job because the second you slapped the hand over your mouth, you heard Willlow gasp as if she felt it too.

She drops the food she was unpacking and runs in, taking a moment to calm her heaving chest in the doorway; her hands were holding it like an earthquake had shaked her up; even her round glasses had slipped and rested on the tip of her nose.

"_______, you woke up!" she exclaims cheerfully. "I was just—how do you fee-?"

She kept stuttering and cutting herself off. Willow didn't need to say anything else; she saw the tears welling up in your eyes and felt the same shock you did from the kitchen.

🧿🧿🧿- later on, you have to bump into the Winchesters one way or another

- and it's exactly on a full moon when this time the ball isn't in your court and you don't get to decide whether you turn or not.

- your claws are sharp, your eyes have changed their original color completely with your pupils vertically slit, and your teeth (conveniently) remain the same; only a few of your front canines are enlarged and sharpened.

- as for senses, it's downright spectacular.

- you can hear deer stepping on tree branches, foxes running, and owls hooting when you're driving by the forest

- you smell how many people are in a room

- you have night vision (yes, your eyes to the flashy thingamajiggy when someone blinds you with their flashlight).

- as a hunter, you already know that your claws and fangs can rip out a human heart.

- ironically, as this whole situation is, you hunt alone on the principle that you don't long for companionship as some lycanthropes do.

- you've turned into a literal killing machine with no instinct to kill, so hunting with others is off the table since at the first sign of a threat (they think you are one, but you really aren't), a hunter exterminates.

- you meet the Winchesters on a ghoul hunt

- you have taken the case before them, but when you couldn't get anywhere with identifying whatever evil being was tormenting the locals with their mere presence, you thought about ditching it since it doesn't look like your type of thing and took the consideration that maybe humans were fucking around this time.

- so when you heard the FBI are in town investigating the case (detective Page and Plant), you placed that town in your rear view mirror; they got it covered..right?

- but something didn't feel right- it wasn't the shame of leaving a case with your tail between your legs (pun intended) with the weak motive, 'Maybe humans are really fucking around this time.'

- something wasn't right, so even if you were tired, you abruptly stopped the car and went over your research spread out on the flat of your closed trunk

- the slits of your eyes dance over the words on your laptop, your papers, and an old lore book you fought tooth and nail for. When you realized it's a ghoul you're dealing with, you turned the car around and went over every speed limit like hellhounds were scratching at your tires. It was your job to not let anybody else get hurt or someone else's grave be violated

- as the light of the moon shined down on you and your wild eyes looked back at you from the rear view mirror, you knew you couldn't have anyone see you, you had to be invisible

- *time skip* (as much as it pains me 'cause i am a sucker for details :))- you swoop in time to save the Winchesters

- and if they weren't tied up, they would've started fighting you too, because why was there a whole ass werewolf fist fighting a ghoul?? John trained them like Spartan warriors, but nothing prepared them for something like this.

- so they sit there like:??????

- they watch you take out a fucking ghoul all by yourself

- the head of the ghoul's person they're impersonating rolls onto the floor. You have to remind yourself it's not a real person; it's an evil spirit who kills to feed

- by the time you wipe the blood off your face, smearing it a bit in the process, and cut the ties holding the hunters loose, Sam is unnable to look away from your slit eyes adorned by a strange color that strangely suits you

- literally hearts in his fawn brown eyes like you still don't have blood on your face and you aren't trying to catch your breath; also, you took a nasty punch to your cheek, and he's pretty sure it's gonna leave a bruise, but he totally doesn't care, why? why do you ask?

- by the way Sam is scrunitizing you, and oh yeah, Sam is scrunitizing you, you're sure you're gonna have to ditch since you've been in this situation before and you know how it always ends

- there was no 'explaining yourself' to hunters when they saw you under the full moon or when they saw you change because you had to.

Before you can even open your mouth they have their methaphorical pitchforks sharpened and torches lit up, prepared to slaughter you, and if you're honest, you can't even blame them for it because you would've done the same.

- Dean rubs his wrist with his right hand; the imprint of the rope is still fresh on his skin like a tattoo. Sam focuses on not choking when you catch him staring.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean thinks out loud. You take a big lungs-exploding sigh and give a shot at introducing yourself since they seem more civilized than most hunters are

- Sam geeks out about you

He doesn't question you because he is suspicious (he has the right to be but surprisingly isn't). He has to feed his noisy, information-hungry brain or he will spontaneously combust

- "Are your senses even more enhanced during the full moon, or are they the same?"

- "Can you smell when somebody is afraid? Like the hormones from their pores?"

- "Is it annoying to always have super hearing? Like has it ever caused you to be..I don't know.. Anxious? It did?" He mourns over you, trying to imagine himself in your situation but possibly can't.

- "I'm really sorry you had to go through a whole..change all by yourself, but it just shows how strong you are, some don't even make it 'til the end."

- After you were done explaining to Sam (to which he gladly sat himself down and listened) how sometimes you genuinely consider you're inevitably going to become what you hunt and how in the beginning you and your senses have butted heads, how you had no idea how to go through it without having panic attacks because the click of a doorknob was sensitive to your hearing like a veteran was scared of fireworks, how you accidentally ripped a motel door off its hinges, a result of you being slightly irritated, still getting acoustumed to your abilities. Dean would go.

"..Do dog whistles work on y–" Before getting an elbow in the ribs by a glaring Sam.

- more shit Dean would ask you for the sake of his own little curiosity

- "Is 'bitch' even more offensive now?"

- "Who do you think would win in a fight? You or Jacob Black?"

- "What do I smell like? Y'know, since you can pick up on scents and alldat."

- Dean calls you Cujo

- It's the one nickname you can get behind, asking him what he thought about the book, and he's like, "Oh, I watched the movie, but i know a little. Sammy used to rattle on and on about his books when he was younger."

- if you think about it, an alais doesn't sound so bad in theory or practice while hunting.

- it's secretive, the boys don't need to divulge your real name, and it's actually high-key kickass (I literally watched Cujo just so I know what I'm talking about, a.k.a. the second reason why it took a millenium and a half for me to post these; the first reason is that i suck)

- Dean is thrilled to get to call you that- he gets this fucking smirk, like a dad about to drop the worst joke ever made on everyone, you and Sam brace yourselves for what's coming with matching eyerolls-

"Let's fuck em' up, Cujo."

- "Cujo, dude, you're just itching to raise a little hell right now, aren't you?"

- "Uh- a bacon cheeseburger, soda, yo, Cujo whaddya want? My treat >:]."

- "Cujo, put on that song you were listening to; I had it in my head the entire hunt." (I didn't mention the genre or artist bc I like to imagine Dean listening to everyone's fav category; ex. I imagine Dean screaming bikini kill lyrics whenever i'm sad)

- if you thought the 'canine/wolf' teasing stopped here, you're so painfully wrong

- Dean made you a mixtape, because that's his love language apparently, with only songs that are about werewolves

- I feel like it took him a longer time to find a suitable title than the songs themselves

- he has all of the possible picks on a piece of paper that stays in the pocket of his fifty pound leather jacket.

- the titles are: Songs to transform into; The howlin' hits; Songs that will make you wag your tail—that one is crossed out because he knows you will make him eat the tape if he does settle on it; Love at first bite; and finally the one he settled for is Songs you can sink your teeth into. Dean smiled at his work, it didn't feel like a prank anymore it was more like a gift and he didn't feel any ugly emotion or insecurity try to pull him back into not getting attached to you.

The final touch was a note saying

"Hey, Cujo, thought you might want these howlin' hits whenever you need to tune the world out.

P.S. : Sam told me to add one of the songs, it's that punk stuff you like - Dean"

- The songs he prudently picked out are these : Of Wolf and Man by Metallica; Bark at the Moon by Ozzy Osbourne; I Was A Teenage Werewolf by The Cramps; Wolf Moon by Type O Negative; Witch Wolf by STYX; Run with the Wolf by Rainbow; Lycanthropy by G.B.H and others.

- you accidentally made a kid cry once- a ball was literally flying towards you and you caught it just in time, thanks to your reflexes

- instinctively, you turned around in time and caught the ball as your claws grew and sank into the inanimate object

- it's all "Nice relfexes, _____" praise from Dean and proud and shy smiles from Sam until the owner of the ball starts sobbing in front of you

- it's a kid, a boy with red hair, no older than six years of age

- but we all know Dean's charm is basically made for this

- so he handles both the kid and his mom (flirting with a milf all day, poor Dean)

- you keep apologizing to the kid and the mom, but Dean just waves you off; you don't understand his generosity until Sam tells you that you accidentally secured Dean's hookup for tonight.

- Since Dean is not coming, not until early morning, nor is he there to call you and Sam 'dorks', you and his younger brother take advantage of it.

- you guys have a movie night with the most random movies ever

- it is chaotic

- from rom-coms you switch to a world war II documentary, then you watch re-runs of House MD on tv.

- Dean stumbles in at like five something a.m. and takes a picture of you and Sam snuggling under a blanket while the tv light casts shadows of orange and cold colors on your defenseless expressions.

- but can somebody actually blame you? Or Sam, for that matter?

- honorably want to mention your body heat is also enhanced

- You and Sam were sitting with your sides pressed into each other

- you were radiating pure furnace body heat, how could he not be sleepy??

- but that's not the only reason Sam knocks out so heavily

- it's you he's sitting down with (relaxing for once in his life) watching a ridiculous episode of House with thirteen ads rolling every ten minutes accompanied by lazy talking as if you're not debating books only you and morally grey forty-year-olds read (where that Kansas drawl of his is much more audible and pretty), after a marathon of fatally random movies

- younger Sam who had trouble going to sleep/getting some shut-eye because Dean and John are out late on a hunt.

- Sam especially couldn't fall asleep because Dean wasn't there

- it was a different story when Dean was at the age where he couldn't hunt but he could use a pistol and take care of his little brother

- both of them in a relatively warm motel room, alone (since John fucked off to god-knows-where, to hunt a monster they are never to breathe in the direction of as a conversation subject.)

- little Sammy (age where he believed nothing could beat his older brother) could peacefully fall asleep knowing Dean stays up and watches over him like a hawke, reading comic books by the tv light

- where little Dean keeps chanting in his head what Sammy is supposed to do after eating his dinner.

- Watch tv or look at the comic with me (Sammy can't read yet), brush his teeth, then tuck him in bed.

- now pre-teen Sam can hardly sleep

- he is plagued/tormented by flashing images his overthinking big brain mades of a thousand situations where his family got hurt, if not even killed

- Sam's grip on the shotgun is shaking; it shakes even harder when John's bark booms over his shoulder, right into his ear.

- "Sammy, dammit, what are you going to do when a demon breaks through the door and me and your brother aren't there to protect you?!"

- but Sam isn't twelve anymore

- he's a responsible adult

- snuggled beside you and denying any eepy allegations you decide to accuse him of

- so, the heat you contribute, the soft speaking on the tv, the darkness of the room, you being there is enough to lull Sam to sleep

- studies show you feel sleepy around the people you trust ;)

- the position you two fell asleep in cannot be described in any other word than childish

- somehow you would catch two kids, sleeping over at one of the other's houses, knocked out, and snoring in the same bed after watching a horror movie

- on one of the two queens the motel room contributes (the one closest to the tv) you and Sam have made this fluffy nest full of pillows, a huge blanket, plus a random quilt Bobby pulled out of thin air and gave it to you when he heard you complaining about the petal-thin blankets motels have during cold ass weather.

- When you both lied down on the bed with your legs greedily streched out, backs pressed against the headboard, and your head is resting on the wall while Sam, magically, was still able to hold his up after the very long day all of you endured. You predicted one of you wouldn't survive being in each other's presence and make it out not asleep, and god, you hoped it was you.

- Sam's breathing slows down after a while of comfortable silence, and you’re sure he's dying until you spare one quick glance and see him, downright snoozing with his lips parted without a care in the world, ghosts and eerie phenomenons weren't bothering or needing him now.

- during all of the movies and documentary and fuckin lazy intellectual commentary nobody else would have the patience to discuss with you or Sam, he somehow migrated on the bed/nest with his side flush against yours, like a magnet to another; it was inevitable not to stick together, literally.

- your shoulder was now pressed into his forearm, your head no longer resting uncomfortably, and his temple is resting on the top of your head.

- but (unfortunately) you weren't hugging or anything- like a mirror or a copycat, Sam has his arms crossed, just like you, so maybe that's why you didn't wake up full on cuddling, that does sound good though your brain mourns

- When you do wake up, the only slight change you notice is that you're sleeping on your side..so is Sam. You're facing Sam's neck and chin, and up close and personal, you can actually count the too-sexy amount of moles he modestly posesses. His arm serves the role of a pillow underneath his head, and the other is resting with his palm down facing the mattress.

- with Sam taking up the entire attention of your senses, it takes an emmbarassing while for you to hear the shower running, Dean; did he see you both like this? Was he going to mention it? Your gut fills with a small dose of embarrassement, preparing you for what's yet to come, and it protests at that.

- much displeasure from your senses to your brain and your heart that wanted to breathe Sam in more as he (hopefully) breathes you out, you turn on your other side, unconsciously careful not to disturb Clifford over here, and you try to determine what time it is from your surroundings alone.

- the light blue sneaking its way through the dark closed curtains and the slight chill in the air points all arrows to seven or eight in the morning, you could go back to sleep.

- Dean wasn't just feeling gracious; he didn't and wasn't even planning on sparing you or Sam

- that day, when he separately gets the both of you alone, he has the exact same conversation with different but not so different people.

-"You should've seen the two of you this morning when I came in, two kittens snoring together, it was fuckin' adorable." Dean teased–

—Monday, 13:34 p.m. — as he tossed his clothes into one of the laundromat's washing machines, making Sam paralyze in his seat as his fingers started fidgeting with the edges of his hoodie.

"You did?.." He inquires, not knowing what exactly Dean saw just this morning. Sam only woke up a little after you went back to sleep. He swore his cheek must have burned a hole through the pillow with how hard he was blushing. You were so close. There was a good distance between the edge of the bed and you. So your back was flush against his chest. If you're wondering where his arm went, it was around your waist. Sam—your own personal seatbelt. He probably thinks it's his fault too. Dean never ceased to describe Sam as a 'cuddlebug'.

"Uh-huh" Dean hums a confirmation, acting casual, scarily casual. Sam feels the teasing in Dean's tone; it's there, but Dean is not fully teasing yet, like he wants Sam to confess something first after boiling in his embarrassement for long enough.

—Monday, 20:02 p.m. — as he pulled the Impala into the driveway of a fast-food place you were so invested in you even forgot the name of; you froze and looked at him, searching for any emotion that might give him away, but Dean was a brick wall, a slight very Dean siginificant parted lips smirk paired with squinted eyes over the wheel, carefully driving into the driveway. Even the car seemed to betray you in your moment of weakness because you swear the volume is lower than it was a few seconds ago. Ozzy Osbourne's laugh can still be heard from the speakers, even if it's barely audible over your racing thoughts or your hearing trying its hardest to pick up on Dean's thoughts. The rythym of the drums seems to sync up with your heartbeat, or the other way around, you're not sure. Over every little sound, there still seems to be a little silence to fit in. You swallow a lump in your throat.

"..We had a movie night, we just fell asleep like that, that's all." You mumble, and Dean starts to feel a little bad for letting you be a victim to his spotlight-teasing and giving you no shade to reprieve to or show his undying approval.

Somehow, you still worry if Dean believes you have ruined the dynamic, and now he's cornering you to tell you to stop it or something (overthinking anxiety worms are eating away at your critical thinking skills). You just worry about what he thinks of this. You still worry about the Dean who doesn't correct random people on cases who mistake you and Sam for a couple; the Dean who just has to leave some arsenal or luggage in the front, just so you are forced to share the backseat with Sam; the Dean who always has to group you and Sam in a category when he teases you both (Geeks, nerds, smartasses, etc.). Cupid works hard, but Dean Winchester works harder.

"Hey-, Cuj- Doll." Dean sputters, switching glances between you and the wheel.

This didn't go as he planned it would, and now he is facing the consequences. The way you shrink in your seat and the way you avoid catching his eye makes Dean feel like a douchebag. If he didn't know any better he would thinks he is, but then you would actually be able to read him like a book and tell him otherwise. You hear the desperation in his voice; your candle of hope comes back to life and lights up. Your head turns to look at him with pleading eyes. Please don't be angry, please don't kick me to the curb, let me stay in the backseat a little more. Dean lets out a shaky exhale that turns into a laugh; he runs a hand down his face. You've watched him do that every time he got jumpscared by the monthly spirit with unfinished business. It was something you imagined Dean picked up from John, the picture in your head so clear (at least from the pictures you saw)— a tired dad in an old squeaky motel chair with a whiskey glass in his hand doing the same motion Dean was doing right now. Dean would mimic his father's gestures to try to look more like him; he didn't have his brunette curly hair, his dark brown eyes, Sam did.

Dean never had his voice either; he only perfected his bark to match his dad's. Sam hated the way his reflection resembled his father, Dean was either jealous of him for it or couldn't wrap his head around as to why his brother hated being their dad, probably the latter. Dad, at least in Dean's eyes, was a hero, a figure to be admired and emulated. But Sam? He didn't even have to try. Sam and John were so alike that they clashed constantly like two stubborn stags locking antlers in a duel.

"..Dean?" You call him out; you had no idea what was going on in his head; it would be pretty damn nice if you could know. Dean shots his head up at the mention of his name.

"Yeah?—sorry, I just, you and Sam are just so—" He sighs. "it's about time you two crazy kids broke that touch barrier." He guffaws, slowly pulling up to the ordering kiosk.

A new song starts playing on Dean's "hot summa' nights driving" mixtape, Emmit Remmus by The Red Hot Chili Peppers, he added it when Sam said that's one of his favorites.

- do I need to talk about how much of an immense help you have been on hunts?

- you don't need to help out on every hunt despite Sam's disappointment and Dean's kid-like joy to have their friend help them out who is a professional/werewolf/hunter/geek, who kind of gets his references?? But you are geniunely so good it's funny to have the boys call you up and be like "..so we need help". They're happy you'll show up but there is still that lick of shame that taunts the Winchesters whenever they are forced to call for aid.

- this one time, you wanted to hug them after not seeing them for two weeks, and when you went to attack Sam, you heard his bones crack.

- your strength still surprises you and knocks other people off their feet

- it was so loud (atleast for you), you were sure you broke something

- Sam did nothing but give you his (killer) dimply smile and reassure you didn't do anything (even if he slightly grunted); while Dean whined like a kid saying (lying) he doesn't want a hug (you coaxed him into it eventually)

- Sam feels like he's not allowed to call you by your nickname, like he fears it's Dean's thing and not his

- so when he finally puts on his big boy pants, he's like, "Uhh–Cujo- 🧍‍♂️so get this.."

- all red and shy, trying to act casual, as if he doesn't wonder about the reaction you might have if he calls you other nicknames, like honey, sweetheart, even baby, or if he had the excuse to hold your hand, how would you hold it? Fingers interlocked or palms flat?

- Sam would also love to just marvel at your slit eyes; if he could he would take a picture and put it in his wallet; don't get me wrong if he had one where you were normal, he would cherish it just as much.

- Sam thinks your nickname is actually really cool (probably because it's a Stephen King reference, nerd), and you take that as a compliment. Sam is hard to entertain or please by his brother's antics.

- But he prefers saying your name

- there's something so intimate about the syllables rolling off his tongue so easily

- "_____, Are you okay? What is it? The soundproof earmuffs? I'll go get them." When everything, and I mean when every sound is just too much.

- Sam got them for you; he couldn't handle seeing you wince one more time whenever a car with a bad engine would pass by the motel (during a stressful hunt); its tires squealing under the concrete, making a faint sound for the boys, but for you so much louder.

- you know how pathethic it is to be affected by such small things when you're blessed with such powers? How can you call yourself a hunter when decibels, frequencies, and fucking tire squeals make you their bitch? You wish you could train yourself in a way that would make you less sensitive to certain sounds. It just adds to the reasons why hunters have the excuse or classify you as "the frail one" not only because you're a girl. When you used to hunt with your dad and sometimes mom, the amount of dog-shit comments from other hunters who had sons, were nothing but mysogynistic, curlish, and ruthless. "Are you sure the riffle isn't too heavy?", "Does she even know how to kill this thing?", "She's going to drag us down, do you want us to die?"— the type of comments that would make your dad shoot daggers into them, defend you "She's a goddamn ______, what do you think?", and whisper into your ear "Show em' what you're made of." and you would (stubbornly) listen to his advice to the damn letter after you almost mouthed them off.

Your dad believed in "Actions are sometimes louder than words." and all that adult crap, you were not as zen.

Your mom actually encouraged the sarcasm you have replied with in the past. The funniest memory your mother can recall is a story she tells at every gathering and every chance she gets to everyone, she praised you like crazy. When another hunter's son had the nerve to fuck with a twelve-year-old you. "Aren't you afraid of breaking a nail out there?" The boy sneered, puffing out his chest like a peacock. You stared at him with pure disbelief. "The only way I'm breaking a nail tonight is by kicking your ass, you cocky brainless jerk." You spat back, your mother and father were there and so was the boy's father; the gravity of the situation was on your shoulders, and their stares felt even heavier in comparison; intimidating him was 100% on the table. You felt like everyone had the same exact thought occuring them, an unspoken demand passed everyone there, even you: Do something. And you did. Your mother's jaw went slack; she doubled over, gripping whatever surface was near her and she started to chortle, with her shoulders shaking like never before. Your father was holding in a chuckle while massaging the bridge of his nose.

- Sam has to disagree with you whenever you complain about how your senses make you look or about the way you underestimate yourself. "What?! You can't be serious. _____, It doesn't mean you're weak. In fact, it makes you even more interesting. Everyone has an Achilles heel; yours is stronger because you're an amazing hunter who figured a way out. It makes you even stronger, I have no idea how you deal with this crap! Dean and I would've gone insane if we were in your shoes for more than a day."

- he is also forcing back his infamous (spectacular) bitchface

- he doesn't 'hold back' actually

- he geniunely cannot glare at you, not when you're like this. He can make a few exceptions, like when you join in Dean's teasing/joking (the silly rambunctious energy Dean carries around had, unfortunately, contiminated you or awakened yours)

- or when you start teasing Sam yourself, he shoots you a glare that classifies as nothing but hot (in your book at least), the kind of Sam glare that makes you flush knowing he doesn't mean it at all.

- Dean making you those fake ass I.D's like "Joan Jett", "Stevie Nicks", "Kathleen Hanna" and when you asked him to make more subtle ones he was like, bet. "Kelly Hammer", "Diana Bowie", "Laura Ulrich".

a/n: I wanted to apologize again for taking so long and for the unnecessary amount of context that literally nobody asked for. Uhh yeah and feedback would be very much appreciated<3, sava out *mic drop*

[simpingforstardew]

muse

pairing: sdv elliot x reader

synopsis: elliot is struggling with severe writers block; if only he had a muse...

note: a while ago i talked about having a derivative idea for an elliot x reader fic; here is that fic !! the premise is completely unoriginal, but i'll leave the references at the end of the fic to avoid spoilers hehe

warnings: i don't even know for this one gang, wholesome w/ an ending that could be read as spooky? let's call it a doomed romance !! tw/ relationships that are doomed by the narrative !!

word count: 1.5k

Adronitis

A heart so damaged; tender; sore—

You ever-blooming sycamore,

Through hunger pangs; my deliriousness,

I mourn my mortal catoptric tristesse.

With starving dreams, your warmth I crave—

I worship you, I must embrave,

Indulge me, lay your fear ahind.

Our sanctuary; your piece of mind.

My amorous famine demands more […more what?],

So I feast on your smile […] petrichor.

i am just writing this right niw so it

looks lije i am being pro ductive oh Yoba

andnow leahs comin g over this

is alll shit im jist going to star t overrr

“How’s the writing going, El’?” Leah peers down at Elliot with a smile, wiping the sweat from her brow. “We’ve been at it for a while without a break, you know?”

“Oh, Leah! It’s going splendidly, and yes, it seems we have…” Elliot coughs, avoiding eye contact while tearing the paper from his typewriter. “Why don’t we call it for today then?”

“Without showing me what you’ve done? C’mon,” she whines, “What do you have?”

Elliot and Leah had decided, sometime early last Spring, to meet in Cindersnap forest every Wednesday to work on their current projects. ‘Parallel play for artists,’ Penny once called it when walking Jas back to Marnie’s ranch. For Leah, this weekly rendezvous has (so far) allowed her to complete 2 clay sculptures, 3 wood sculptures, 23 drawings, and 8 paintings; for Elliot, the last few months has allowed him to create…

“Nothing,” Elliot sighs, packing his typewriter’s case with a frown. “I have, somehow, written nothing! I mean, I wanted to craft a Petrarchan sonnet, inspired by Poe’s romantic, yet macabre sensibilities. I ended up with trash I couldn’t even make hendecasyllabic. It’s embarrassingly Shakespearian and—”

“Whoa, whoa, buddy, that’s okay. That’s fine. I’m not sure what any of that means, but…” Leah scrunches her freckled nose, hoping to find the right words to calm Elliot down, “It seems like you’re expecting perfection from a first draft. Maybe we should call it for today, and you could revisit your poem tomorrow?”

“Yes, you are right,” the authors scowl softens; after a moment of meditation—feeling the summer breeze tangle in his hair—he looks towards Leah with a smile. “I will see you next week, Miss Faraday.”

Elliot didn’t return to his typewriter until later that week, deciding instead to bask in the sun’s warmth on the beach. The author sits on the pier with a contented sigh, the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore providing a soothing backdrop to his afternoon reverie.

Even still, despite the Elysium that he has found himself in, Elliot cannot shake his frustrations; his linguistic discouragement plagued his every thought.

“Ahoy there, my boy! Perfect weather for fishing don’t ya reckon?” Willy smiles, closing the front door to the Fish Shop behind him. Elliot

“Ah, hello Mr. Tucker,” Elliot waves as the fisherman sits beside him, attaching a small blue tackle onto an impressively shiny rod, “I suppose it is, although I fear I don’t have my fishing gear with me today.”

“What’d I tell you about calling me that? No need to be so formal, son,” Willy chuckles, casting a line into the vast depths of the saltwater, “Say, aren’t ya usually off in town around this time? Feel like I never see you this early on a Wednesday.”

Elliot still had to adjust to the predictive routine of a small town, and the horrifying consequences of straying from said routine: becoming the topic of mid-afternoon gossip.

“Yes, well, I um—,” Elliot sighs, looking into the deep blue below as if the ocean concealed the antidote to writers block, “I have been, writing with Leah every Wednesday and… actually can I ask for some advice?”

“O’ Course ya can, my boy.” Willy nods.

“I have been… struggling lately,” The taller man slumps as he runs a hand through his auburn hair, his voice heavy with uncertainty, “I feel as if I have lost my spark, my… capacité artistique. I cannot, for the life of me, write anything of quality! I just… I feel broken, Mr. William.”

Willy takes a moment to think, slowly breathing in the salty air, “Hmm, I see your problem, lad— but it’s important to know yer not broken. Aye, nothin’ about ya is broken.”

A fish tugs at Willy’s fishing line: desperately; hopelessly.

“It’s like if yer pal Willy couldn’t fish anymore… I’d sooner swallow a sea urchin than lose my ability to do what I love,” Willy pulls the rod towards him, putting up a fight with whatever poor creature is on the other end of the line, “but sometimes it’s tricky doing what ya love 24/7, son! You got to remind yerself to take breaks, and…”

The creature is hurled out of the ocean, flapping helplessly as the fisherman releases it from his tackle. Willy holds the freshly-caught octopus up to Elliot.

“Remind yerself why ya love it!” Willy chuckles, before mumbling to himself about throwing his newest catch in a tank lest he ‘gets inked’.

As Elliot sits in contemplative silence, the ocean offering solace: the rushing winds, the distant cry of seagulls, even the smell of salty air. Over the last year and a half, he has grown to love it all.

As he rises to his feet, Elliot considers his friends’ advice. He certainly didn’t want to remain in this slump forever; so he needs to find a reminder of why he loves writing; a source of reinvigorating inspiration.

He needs to find a muse.

A muse in a village with a population of 27.

‘Well,’ Elliot thinks, slamming his cabin’s door shut behind him as he slides onto his desk chair. He sets up his Olympia SM 9 for the second time today. ‘If I can’t find my muse in life, I will simply create my muse in art.’

For a moment, the black page loaded into the typewriter stares back at Elliot, mockingly. Then, as suddenly as the crash of thunder that bellows from above, the author began to write.

Elliot bursts into the Fish Shop, his manuscript clutched tightly in hand, a triumphant gleam in his eye. “Willy, my friend, you’re incredible!” he cheered, his excitement palpable. “I truly could not have done this without your support.”

Willy grins, offering a sincere thumbs-up. “Glad to hear it, lad! So what was your reminder, eh? What got you back on track?”

Elliot coughs, a flush creeping up his freckled cheeks. “Well, you see… I made it up.”

Willy arches an eyebrow, bemused,“Ya made up yer reminder for why you love writing? Now, son…”

“No, no,” Elliot hastens to explain, “My love for writing is genuine. But my muse, my darling muse, is not.”

“I’m not following, my boy.”

“I have spent all night crafting the narrative of a completely fabricated person, it’s all here,” Elliot elaborates, “They’re genuinely kind, talented and hard-working, despite never being appreciated. They have the most charming mole on their neck, and they’re delightfully witty! After their grandfather passed away, they—”

“Son,” Willy interrupted gently, his tone tinged with amusement, “Yer a peculiar one, ya know that? How is this going to help with yer writing?”

“It does sound ridiculous, but dedicating my sonnets to this idealised character… thinking of them as I work on my novel… It has been phenomenally motivating!” Elliot laughs, re-reading through the pages before stopping in his tracks, “Oh, I do apologise old friend, I barged into your shop like a man possessed.”

It had been months since Elliot had felt such a fervent desire to write; his unbridled excitement was contagious; a smirk spreads across Willy’s face, crinkling the corners of his dark green eyes.

“If it were anyone else instead of you, I’d be furious, lad,” Willy chuckles, reaching into his mini fridge, “‘Ere, I whipped up too many crab cakes last night, and I know they’re yer favourite— consider it a gift.”

As Elliot arrives back at his cabin, writing snacks in tow, the muffled playing of his piano greets him. He chuckles softly, before preparing to shoo Harvey out of his home so he could resume his day of writing.

“Sincerest apologies, I—,”

“Oh! Honey, you’re back so soon.” Turning away from the piano, your eyes catch Elliot’s with a familiar warmth. You admire the way your boyfriend’s hair always forms delicate waves when exposed to the sea spray.

The author was struck speechless, his heart pounding as he stared at you with more focus than you have ever been subject to.

It couldn’t be real. And yet there you are. You. The muse Elliot had crafted— who's entire life was written mere hours prior on the pages that were now strewn about the floor— was standing before him in flesh and blood.

Every flawless detail exactly as he had imagined.

“Elliot, darling, are you okay?” Your smile becomes wry; nervous as to why your lover was acting so peculiar, his pale skin was now a ghastly white. “Would you like me to pour some wine? We can—”

Before your suggestion was made, Elliot was gone; the door slamming shut behind him.

note #2: okay if you didn't catch it, my inspiration was the 1960 episode of the Twilight Zone: 'A World of His Own', and (more relevantly) the 2012 psychological horror romcom Ruby Sparks !! if you check out either that episode or movie, pleasepleaseplease lmk what you think <33

[non-plutonian-druid]

✨ Fic Writing Review 2023 ✨

thanks for the tag @littlerit!!!

Words and fics

I posted a tua oneshot Grace Through The Doorway In Time

and thats it!

ok rit i know you did say i should adjust it for art, i just thought it would be funny to do that first.

✨ Art Making Review 2023 ✨

Posted Art oh god

I kicked off the year by drawing Five and Lila in silly outfit submissions [1] [2] [3]

Delores as a mermaid in a crumbling ruin

Lemony Snicket au - Ben tied up in a closet

Redraw of a S3 promo poster

Five and Lila in that bathtub phone call x files scene

Tarot series - Death

Paranatural au - [1] [2] [3] [4]

Celebratory aroace Barbie

Comic fanart for alephnaught's fic Theory of Quantum Superposition

Five definitely just murdered someone with a chainsaw

Tarot Series bonus - Ten of Swords

Tarot Series - Judgement

Five and Lila run into each other for 0.2 seconds at the Commission water cooler

Baby Azula Mai and Ty Lee as centaurs

TUA centaur au - [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10]

Girl being abducted by a kelpie WIP

The Ben dying drawing that tumblr ate for some reason

Lemony Snicket au - the comic

OTGW au - Fei and Sloane

trick or treat WIPS: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [12] [13]

Voltron Gravity Falls au comic

OTGW au - Diego and Ben hide from Five

Paranatural au round 2 - [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Top Art By Notes

(probably the closest parallel to kudos is likes, but trying to figure that out feels hard)

s3 promo poster redraw - 840 notes

Death tarot card - 319 notes

bathtub x files scene - 273 notes

the first paranatural au post - 242 notes

Theory of Quantum Superposition fanart comic - 239 notes

Fandom Events 2023

@tua-masked-author !!!

Upcoming 2024

i joined the murderbot diaries new years gift exchange! so ill be making a gift for that!

i have an installment of the lemony snicket au that i think i finished like two years ago and never posted. i should proooobably post it

also, i did just finish a different installment of the lemony snicket au that yall can look forward to!

im either done or almost done with another short paranatural au comic

i will try to finish the tarot series. or failing that. ill try to at least make additions to it

im working on a post with regular canon five (doing this made me realize its been a MINUTE since i posted art of regular canon five. ive abandoned my boy) playing with mr pennycrumb

i have Another finished thing but im waiting for something else to be posted first. i dont actually have to, i just want to outsource having to write context

Rules and tags below the cut!

Rules: Feel free to show whatever stats you have. Only want to show Ao3 stats? Rock on. Want to include some quantitative info instead of stats? Please do this. Want to change how yours is presented? Absolutely do that. Would rather eat glass than do this? Please don’t eat glass, just keep on scrolling.

i dont know how many people I'm supposed to tag but! @destinyandcoins @darbydoo22 @ford-ye-fiji @grammarpedant @blessphemy trying to mind palace all the people i know on discord, who write fic, what their ao3 username is to triple check they posted this year, and what their tumblr url is... (and also if any of you dont like these kinds of games, sorry, thats my bad!!)

lmao also i fucked up all the formatting for you guys, this is what these are supposed to look like

[rosekasa]

Hi!

13, 14 and 23!!

(Also the way u write fluff is everything to me hehe <33

from get to know your fic writer!

KAI U ARE EVERYTHING TO ME

13. what’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

i answered this in the previous ask, but another v important one for me is, instead of writing with an audience in mind, write with a singular person in mind. for me, that person is my best friend. they are the person that reads my fics in full before i post them and always GETS IT. theyre not even into ml anymore but i always subconsciously write imagining their comments of it on my doc

14. how do you write emotional scenes? do you ever feel what the characters feel? do you draw from personal experiences?

emotional scenes are always a bit hard for me to write because i worry that im either not adding enough or adding SO much that it doesn't even feel like anything anymore. usually i make sure that i scatter stuff around the highest emotional point that gives context about why we should care about what that character is going through, bc at the end of the day there's no singular event that makes people emotional, it's what we associate with it that makes us cry.

and YES!! i always feel what the characters feel! i cry so much while i write fic, because, also, yeah, i do draw from personal experiences!! i think everyone has the same basic set of building-block feelings but there's just an infinite arrangement they can be put in based on all the different things we go through. keeping that in mind makes it really easy to empathise with the characters im writing

23. best writing advice for other writers?

continuously talking about how much you hate your own writing/how much you hate writing/how you think no one likes your writing may make you feel like you're keeping yourself humble and pushing yourself to do better, but it's actually stunting your progress more than anything. it's a good habit to reflect on where you can improve but you cannot flagellate yourself into doing better. treat your writing like a relationship and allow it to learn and grow for you while you give it love

[starified-lizzy]

I figured I should redo my intro to my blog-

ELLO >:DDDD

Name’s Lizzy! Or Star! I really don’t give a fuck which you use!

Here’s my pronouns card! https://en.pronouns.page/@starified_lizzy

I draw shit for FANDOMS

I write shit for FANDOMS

I got OCS whom I LOVE and ADORE.

“Can I draw fanart of your fics?” My sibling in Christ, we are married. /pos

“Can I draw fanart of your fanart(like DTIYS)?” My sibling in Christ. /pos

“Can I draw fanart of your OCs?” CHRIST. /pos

RAHHHHHH (it’s really fucking early I shouldn’t be doing this now ;-;)

Here’s a list of my socials, it is very limited because I hate the “standard” socials like Twitter and Insta and stuff like that. So it’s more like- fanfic sites, and any other blogs I own for you guys to check out >.>

My AO3

My Art Fight

My YouTube

My TikTok (basically dead at this point, I only ever like/favorite things on it, but I might start up again with my FNF au instead)

My Pinterest

My Spotify because sure

My FNF au blog

My demonpocalypse blog ([possibly] forever retired due to a severe issue in the community it was for)

Blog for food/recipes I want to try because MMMMMMMMMMM FOOOOD

Wow that’s actually not limited like I thought- hot damn I need to touch some grass.

HERES A LIST OF FANDOMS IM EITHER CURRENTLY IN, OR HAVE RETIRED FROM (Also CCs):

Retired-

DSMP (and MCYT as a whole for the most part), dude our community is in *shambles*. I’m so glad I left when I did, but at the same time O W.

ATLA. Technically I’m still in this fandom, but I only really get back into it/brainrot about it if I get a reminder, otherwise I kinda forget about it

FNAF. Same with ATLA, still technically in it, but I gotta be reminded it exists sometimes.

BATIM. Ditto

Wings of Fire. Ditto

Undertale. Ditto. Lizzy, my main persona, was actually an OC created from Undertale, who just ended up becoming her own person, and then ended up being associated with mine and my friend’s Minecraft au instead.

Onto CCs I no longer watch:

Any of the DSMP ppl, with very few exceptions

Jacksepticeye. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still watch a video of his if it pops up and spikes my interest, but I don’t actively seek his content out anymore.

Any of the old Minecrafters. Like DanTDM, Stampy, Tiny Turtle & Little Lizard. Hell, I don’t even think any of the ones I listed even do YT at all anymore. I’ll still watch their old videos tho.

Current-

FNF. I really could give less of a fuck if y’all think it’s “bad” or “for kids (it’s not, I promise you)”. The music slaps, and quite a few mods are really well made, so eat my ass.

Day of Dragons. The dragons are cool. I don’t care about any drama in the community. I’m here for the cool fucking dragons.

The Isle. Once again, I don’t care about any drama in the community. I’m here for the cool ass dinosaurs because you can customize your own skins and they just look and sound cool (Dilo, Herarra, and Ptera are my faves)

Lethal Company. Do it for the Company.

RainWorld. Scugs and Scups. Need I say more?

Hollow Knight. Sorta falling out of this one, but until I beat the entire game (P5) I am not finished.

Minecraft. Technically in “the fandom”, but not really attached to a specific YTer or anything like that anymore. I just like the game.

CCs I still watch:

Astral Spiff. Sprog is a good gamer.

Smii7y and his friends like Grizzy, Droid, Puffer, Blarg, etc.

Jack Manifold. I only watch his You Laugh You Loose and Ghost Sighting Compilation videos. I don’t even know if he still does Minecraft anymore.

8-BitRyan. While he doesn’t swear in his videos, it’s kinda a breath of fresh air. Plus his edits are quite funny.

Markiplier. Yes. Just… yes…

IGP. His content is just interesting. The way he freaks out over shit is funny as hell. Does he do content with IcyCaress anymore? Their banter was funny, but idk if something happened, cuz I just don’t see much stuff with Icy in it anymore.

As of right now, that’s all I can think of. It’s nice to meet you!

[sh1-n0bu]

MOMMY NOBUUUU /p i need someone wise’s advice !!!!

i like to make silly looking “art” (i don’t even consider it real art, it’s more like memes/doodles) (like the ms paint art style, that looks a bit like pixel art and also looks sketchy and simple) and i CAN’T DECIDE if i should make an account to post it??? i really want to but i know NOTHING about ig and its algorythm (even though i did use to have disney and anime fanpages with a decent amount of followers when i was, like, 14). i don’t wanna end up with an account with like 2 followers cuz what if affects my self esteem and the way i view art hsjsg ???? i like my cringy artstyle but.. idk im probably overthinking this AGHH

yk it’s just that when i was a fan account it wasn’t my art so it’s not like i got offended if people didn’t like/comment/save. with things i created it would be different i think??? i’ve been wanting to make an art account for YEARS and i just got into the artstyle (i had a “normal” artstyle before) but wait wait lemme try to link the pics

(hope they work)

so this is the first thing i’ve ever drawn in this style https://drive.google.com/file/d/1-AJt9jSnPo1Enyg4B8Dnm0HMYeFIhxYX/view?usp=drivesdk

and then it just kept going. https://drive.google.com/file/d/1-I8x_U-9_ZVwpPE6aDAWlW0ApEuJ2r5Z/view?usp=drivesdk

and going (yes that’s a gyaru trying to talk to a golfball and yes it’s a remake of this meme https://www.reddit.com/r/memes/comments/d6udnl/why_wont_it_move/)

and then i saw this. https://drive.google.com/file/d/1-1qO6MbBOo51PK-jhMltsnpfCb0yTGV2/view?usp=drivesdk

and i went “this is so hsr main trio” https://drive.google.com/file/d/1-5MwpEQLIFx_iLdif6R9o66Xc2HW5vjw/view?usp=drivesdk

this is cursed, i’m aware.

then i started making these https://drive.google.com/file/d/1-60FA9_FROx2c0SQrzh1RXOXxm7tFl5G/view?usp=drivesdk

you have NO IDEA how many of these i’ve made. because idk either. all i know is that in three days i had made 20+ of them (which may sound like it’s not much, but for me and how little i used to draw it’s a lot)

and now i REALLY want to make the account but i’m TERRIFIED bc what if no one likes that kind of cringy stuff?????

i’m literally so sorry to bother you with this /gen it’s just me overthinking stuff as always :/ don’t feel pressured to answer me ofc!! <3 also i rlly rlly hope things are going better for you! sending love and support <33

gratefully yours

breaker anon~~<3

MOMMA NOBU HAS ARISEN /j j j j

first, those arts are fucking GORJUS my sweettums. as someone who has lost the ability to draw, that is beautiful. i used to think of becoming a free style painter or to learn how to draw digital but somewhere along the way i just gave up and decided to simply settle on writing instead. even now, when i see art tiktok or recommendations of compilation videos on yt, i feel a bit of an ache in my chest. its just there, y’know?

second, i think you should do for it. maybe try opening up an account on a platform ur incredibly familiar with. perhaps tumblr? or even ig? or even tiktok works too! just any platform you feel safe and comfortable and know how to navigate is good.

and yeah, i can def say felt to the “it will make my mental health worse if i only get 2 likes or smt” bc same same same. i try to write good and capture the characters’ personality correctly while keeping the fic ‘alive’ only to end up with like,,,, hundreds of likes but no feedbacks or reposts or smt LMAOOO

as for a single tip i would give is to expect everything. not everyones going to like ur content and they will suddenly crash into ur inbox talking abt how they hated this fic or smt of yrs bc it was disgusting or not their thing. that has happened to me like,,,, 3 times???? i think?????? and and!!! be sure to do a bit of research beforehand, me thinks. see what kind of attention you would get when u start to post on ur page or account.

honestly, i started this blog as only reposting blog. but then one day my very first 🦝 anon came and i decided, why not write a thirst thought i had with friend and see how it goes? and it just spiraled from there.

main thing is, have patience and love what ur doing. don’t burn urself out over it too much or else what u used to love will end up being what u hate and take good care of yourself sweettums<3

[that-vigilante-piedpiper]

Couldn't fit in ask so I hope it's okay here!

Warning very long! 

I absolutely adore Pied Piper, I found it when it had only chapters in the 20s and was obsessed. Your writing is beautiful, I adored Reo, Izuku was killing me in the best way possible. (Plus your humor is so fucking funny, your social media breaks in it have me dying) I subscribed and left it there for when it's almost done because I have been burned far too many times by illegal cliffhangers and discontinued fics. 

And with that out of the way, it's time for the latest thing. I always look at all the fanart at the beginning and end. I'm absolutely blown away by all the amazing fan art. Ferret is truly doing God's work. So you can imagine my confusion when I saw Nighteye(I only knew it was him cause the centipede called him Mirai), some centipede human, a woman, and Gang Orca in the same bed. I was understandably disgusted but mostly confused. I checked the tags, saw nothing about it, and brushed it off as a discord inside joke. 

More chapters flew by (I read all 64 chapters in 2 days, yes I should sleep but your writing is way too good.) and I got to the art of a human centipede and who I thought was some random guy about to kiss. It's been a while since I watched the show so I didn't remember Centipede as a sidekick or what Nighteye looked like that well. I'm still scarred and Ferret has to pay for my therapy.

Y'know that one line where Nighteye mentions that he attended their wedding? I first thought 'wait Nighteye isn't married' checked the tags and saw nothing about it. So I reread it and thought that Nighteye attended Aizawa, Hizashi, and Oboro's wedding instead.

Thus I was able to finish chapter 64 peacefully and went on your Tumblr. Your word game is really fun and adding on the DFO spin-off is very entertaining. Until I stumbled on the Centipede ask for the word game. And I saw the tag centipeder x nighteye. 

I thought it wouldn't take me that long to see the end of it to know the mystery behind this very much cursed ship. 

I WAS WRONG

I'm now fully aware of why that fanart is there and you can't even blame the LoveWins nation anymore. YOU BETRAYED YOURSELF. You didn't need a bet to kill off Nighteye. YOU ALREADY IKIT. (I'm still mourning him)

But yes, have the divorce go through, let us readers see the mention that Nighteye isn't wearing a ring. AND FOR EVERYONE'S SAKE DON'T BET ABOUT MPREG!

(Serious note though I really love your fic, I hold Izuku very close to my heart and have grown very attached to your version of him and his growth. You're amazing)

[THANK YOU 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 AND YES I HAVE ALSO HABE A LOVE HATE RELATIONSHIP WITH FERRET MY BELOVED 😭😭 also the woman in their 4 way ship is Rei Todoroki 😔😔, her and gang orca arent BAD, BUT WHEN THEY WANT TO COMBINE ALL FOUR LIKE SOME POWER RANGER EPISODES I DRAW THE LINE. BUT YES, IM SO HAPPY TO FIND ANOTHER CENTIPEDER X NIGHTEYE HATER, THERE ARENT ENOUGH OF US, I NEED MORE, AND I PROMISE, I SWEAR TO YOU I WILL NOT BE MAKING ANY MORE BETS 😭😭😫]

[rozugold]

Hello friend!!

Apologies for the wait it took me to respond to you — I only just checked back in with my ao3 account and noticed your comment, and since you don’t have an account yourself I’m unsure if you’d see my reply. So here I am, plaguing your inbox with it instead! I do hope it isn’t a bother, haha.

I was really very happy to see your name again. Admittedly I’ve saved all the incredible artwork my fic received over the course of my writing it, but yours genuinely have a very special place in my heart as some of the first and last I ever received. I still recall opening my inbox and seeing the notification the first time; it was so surreal to me that people would draw anything based on my works. Your art of Tommy and Techno sitting back to back, as well as your art of the forest trio at the end, serve almost as mental book-ends for me; I return to them often just to admire it, and to remember how happy it all made me. I can hardly believe it’s been more than two years, goodness.

I was also shocked to hear you may be putting together a playlist—if you would be so kind, I would love to know what songs might be on it! At your leisure of course, and only if you feel like sharing it, the thought alone is more than enough <3 thank you kindly for all of your support, truly, and once again for your gorgeous art. The memories have gotten me through many a dark day.

- Que (WWHWI)

HELLOOO QUEEEE it’s so good to hear from you again :D!!!! And yeah I should really get on getting an account already, it would probably make things a lot more convenient. BUT account or not you’re always welcomed to plague my inbox :]

And waaa I’m happy that you still like the fanart I made! I’m glad it’s stuck with you as much as your writing has stuck with me. SPEAKING OF WRITING I forgot you had so much of it??? Once life settles down a bit im definitely gonna make my way through them, so don’t be surprised if you see my name in the comments later on eheheh

AND YES PLAYLIST!! OK if I’m gonna be honest, the reason I started making this is because of god of war sjshSJDHD Every time I get into new media it only gives me ideas for the old media I’m trying to escape /j Two years man, and still these blorbos live in my brain rent free

I’m gonna ramble about each song now >:D warning spoilers for if you hadn’t read the fic!

First is Cave by Cody Fry! I wanted an instrumental to start it off and a song to represent the explosion of Manburg; I think this song serves that purpose well!

Half-Mast by Branches is a song I use in my other dsmp related playlists to represent Doomsday but it works so well in this context

^ this bit especially reminds me of Tommy and Wilbur ;;;;;

Casualty by Hidden Citizens & Tash is just absolutely perfect for Tommy. The scene of him screaming out in grief surrounded by the rubble that used to be his home- waaa it’s so good, both the song and scene

Sorrow by Sleeping at Last is for Tommy slowly learning how to live after the explosion (or at least learn how to function again :[ pobrecito..)

The Corner Dwellers by The Vocal Few is a Techno and Tommy song! It simply reminds me of them :’]

To Forgive or to Kill by Bear McCreary was chosen mostly for the title and the fact that it was from the God of War soundtrack skdhdhdh Incase you’re unfamiliar with the game, this song plays during a scene where one of the main characters is debating on whether to forgive or kill another character but ultimately realizes that she can’t do either. So naturally I thought this song would be good for when Tommy saves Schlatt from Technoblade! I’d like to have more instrumentals in this playlist but we shall see,, I’m very picky when it comes to instrumentals skdjddj

Carnivore by Bear Attack! Ok I might replace this song with something else later since it reminds me of c!Tommy and c!Dream’s relationship more than Tommy and Schlatt’s from WWHWI. But it’s works for now! Something to represent their first argument chat after the whole getting locked up bit

Marble Floors by Vian Izak & Juniper Vale is here to sorta represent Tommy longing for his life before the explosion and when he still had Tubbo.

^ also just,, this bit.. Ow

Drown by Seafret is for when Tommy gets blown up by the creeper. Just that scene where it starts off as a dream sequence then slowly twists until he’s suddenly shocked back into reality— GOSH it’s so good. And then the crisis he has afterwards when he bandages himself up, it’s probably my favorite scene. It’s so well done and makes me feel so much ;;;;;

Battling Life by The Dunwells is for Technoblade!! (And a little for Tommy too, now that I’m looking at the lyrics again) Gosh, the man gets injured but he doesn’t let that stop him from taking care of things and taking care of Tommy. You captured his perseverance and stubbornness perfectly :’]

Blood Upon the Snow by Hozier & Bear McCreary! Here I go, to shamelessly smoosh two of my interests together again skdhdj This song is also for Technoblade but more for his exhausted god-ness you characterize him with. (Atleast I think he’s a god in WWHWI? Or is he just a well known champion? Immortal? My memory sucks, I’ll have to find out when I reread it) This song is just super cool and reminded me of technoblade and is part of the reason why I started making this playlist skdjdjjd

Brother by Kodaline… what is there to say? They’re brothers :’’] BUT ALSO WHILE SKIMMING CHAPTER 15 EARLIER I FOUND THIS LINE: “"Stay here," he said to the man who'd long since become his family…” HELLO?? EXCuse me while I go sob

Sirens by Oliver Daldry, I may be wildly misinterpreting this song for this playlist but SCREW IT it reminds me of them okay

This repeating lyric serves as a little nod to the fact that this is an au. How Techno, Tommy and Schlatt would have all been strangers in this world if certain circumstances didn’t lead them to eachother

This bit reminds me of Schlatt @ Tommy, I don’t think he ever outright asks for forgiveness but in time they both find some peace with eachother.

All three of them are so different from eachother but they still care for eachother :’]

The Cave by Mumford & Sons acts as a sort of summary of this story to me! I imagine the first verse is from Techno’s pov, the second is from Tommy’s, and the last is from Schlatt’s.

This bit changes meaning depending on the pov. For Techno it’s him taking care of Tommy, ‘changing his ways’ yknow, or atleast adding the family role to his list of titles.

For Tommy it’d be him taking care of Techno, “finding strength in pain” and learning to move forward despite everything that’s happened

And for Schlatt it’s for him rushing out to help Tommy and Techno during the final battle. Man doesn’t even hesitate :’D

Gosh and just the line “I’ll know my name as it’s called again”. All three of them grew into people they never thought they’d be!! And despite a huge part of their lives is shaped from tragedy they’re okay in the end. It was far from easy but they’re okay. And that’s just so comforting yknow? This story is so comforting and beautiful and raw and I just love it with all my being ;;;;;

Wow that was long and a little all over the place lol!! I’m still working on this playlist as I go but that’s all I have so far :]

[smoosnoom]

can’t believe that i finally decided to comment all ur works that i read before daily compliments.

“let me steal this moment from you” became my first victim. tbh i haven’t read it since november i think?? and part of my brain which is responsible for memory is too occupied by remembering facts about u so i don’t remember plot sorry. this one is gonna be like the first time 🙏🏻

“If anything, it’s a miracle any of them are still awake and functioning.” no fr. they spent like a week in that uncomfortable van and the first thing they did after returning to hawkins is cleaned the cabin?? not even shower.

“At least it would save the catastrophe of seeing Argyle and Ted Wheeler interact.” ohh, i’d like to see that

“It’s blue. He imagines painting a yellow sun on it.” 🥺🥺 bc he’s yellow and sunshine and lights up every room he walks in. sorry i love him so much

“He wonders if he's more of a monster than a mistake.” ok i had 10 minutes tears break after that 🧍🏻‍♀️ maybe i Am crybaby idk

“He’s pretty sure it’s the first time they’ve laughed together since they’ve arrived back in Hawkins.” poor boys haven’t laughed in Weeks :( i wish i could fix everything for them

will wants to make “smalltown boy” with mike so bad and i can’t blame him. my boy deserves be as far away from hawkins as possible.

“He doesn’t have any time for self-doubt when Mike turns his hand over in Will’s grasp, until their hands are properly entwined” it’s all them. best friends, each other reassurance and safe space, soulmates if u want. i just love them ughhh. that’s why they hits so hard.

“we aren’t kids anymore” omg how do u exactly know where to put references?

“And we got to bury Jonathan in a bunch of sand, which was pretty fun.” oh wait!! i remember ur Fantastic fan art! writer And artist how talented u are!!

“Night Seven” ofc its night seven. love that it could have been 5+1 but it’s byler so it’s seven instead.

“and it seems to be the right move when Mike lets out an appreciative hum” my “naturally good kisser will” agenda never dies. he just knows what to do he didn’t need practice 🙏🏻

“He probably looks like a kissed-dumb idiot.” he is. good for him!

god, ilysm. ur so talented u have no idea. and u make me feel things.

i love that fic so bad and if u like it too u should thank moon for it!!

if it helps i dont even Remember most of "let me steal this moment", every time i click post it's like every associated memory just vanishes from my brain

im glad u get to experience it all over again i wish i could do the same with other fics </3

"the first thing they did after returning to hawkins is cleaned the cabin?? not even shower." U ARE SO RIGHT i thought abt that the first time i watched vol 2 like what do u mean u arent even going to change !!!! u have been in those close for Days !!!!

i almost did write a ted wheeler and argyle interaction . Almost

that is so real . will byers my sunshine sweetpie

HEOEOKPJY IM SO SOSRRY

so real and true ! i need these two far far away from hawkins and HAPPYYY

u get me !!!!!! theyve alwyas been best friends first and thats why they hit so different

oh god not the drawing 😭😭😭 can we pretend that Didn't happen . maybe . my artistry isnt grea t

IM SO HAPYPPYY U NOTICED !!!! night seven !!!! it was a seven !!!!!!!

will is just naturally good at it idk what to tell u . yes he has never kissed anyone Yes he is a loser yes hes also great as kissing . sorry

so honored to have made u feel things <3 alya my beloved it is Always the best day of my life whenever u decide to read something of mine :D

[myriath]

Ich habe 295 Mal im Jahr 2022 etwas gepostet

Das sind 126 more posts als 2021!

75 Einträge erstellt (25%)

220 Einträge gerebloggt (75%)

Blogs, die ich am häufigsten gerebloggt habe:

@helloliriels

@arwamachine

@brasideios

@sleeplessincarcosa

@myriath

Ich habe 130 meiner Einträge im Jahr 2022 getaggt

#bbc sherlock – 37 Einträge

#johnlock – 36 Einträge

#john watson – 22 Einträge

#sherlock holmes – 21 Einträge

#fanart – 16 Einträge

#myriath art – 15 Einträge

#sherlock fanart – 15 Einträge

#sherlock – 12 Einträge

#text post – 11 Einträge

#myriath writes – 8 Einträge

Längstes Tag: 76 characters

#they could stare at each other and outsmart the other in theoretical battles

Meine Top-Einträge im Jahr 2022:

#5

Sherlock: John, I know we wanted to have what you call a "lazy night in". But would you mind if I went on a date instead?

John: No, of course not. Have fun.

John: Wait a second. A date? You?

Sherlock: Yes, of course. Why?

John: Sorry, I just thought you didn't do … this. With whom?

Sherlock: A friend. Now please excuse me, I have to get dressed.

…

Sherlock: I'm ready. John, why are you still in those clothes?

John: Why shouldn't I? They are comfy.

Sherlock: I had hoped that you'd dress up for our date. At least a bit. But if you want to go in jogging pants, that's fine with me. I plan to get rid of everything you wear by the end of this day regardless of what it is I have to peal from your body.

John: Wait … wait! You want to go on a date with me?

Sherlock: Obviously.

John: But we are friends. Just friends.

Sherlock: If this goes as planned, we'll be more than that soon.

John: Just give me five minutes.

…

John: I'm ready!

Sherlock: Finally.

90 Anmerkungen – Gepostet 5. August 2022

#4

Sherlock: John, did you ever fancy kissing a man?

John: Um, yes. Why do you ask?

Sherlock: Irrelevant. Did you ever kiss a man?

John: Yes.

Sherlock: Did you like it?

John: Yes. Now tell me why. Is it for the case? Do I have to seduce a man so you can gather information?

Sherlock: Don't be ridiculous, John. I solved the case twenty minutes ago. I merely wanted to evaluate whether you don't kiss me because you don't fancy men in general or whether it's me in particular.

126 Anmerkungen – Gepostet 13. Juli 2022

#3

I’ve got you, brother mine!

Let me help to fix this mess you’ve made.

You’ve always cared too much. With that big heart of yours, you’ve always been prone to sentiment. You should have told them.

I’ll make them return to you. I don’t know how, but I promise I will succeed. I’ll do anything. But please, Sherly, don’t shut me out.

Yesterday I’ve read a beautiful and very angsty fic by @arwamachine with a caring Mycroft (check out her fics, they are great). This inspired me to draw my first illustration for the year - some angsty Sherlock (not based on the fic).

Let me tell you the story to this illustration: John and Rosie moved in at Baker Street, but things between John and Sherlock weren’t good. While John tried to keep Rosie out if Sherlocks way to not be an inconvenience, Sherlock didn’t want to overstep, kept his distance and loved them both secretly. Angst, angst, angst, John moves out, drugs, Sherlock adopts a puppy (probably high as a kite), Mycroft is a good brother. And a happy ending. Preferably also lots of fluffy bits throughout the story, a long fluffy ending to make up for all that angst and maybe bits of glorious smut.

Now I just need someone to write this. 😅

128 Anmerkungen – Gepostet 2. Januar 2022

#2

I won’t apologise for this.

131 Anmerkungen – Gepostet 7. Juli 2022

Meine #1 des Jahres 2022

Sherlock: John, how do you feel about marriage?

John: I'd like to get married on day.

Sherlock: Good. That's indeed good.

John: Why do you ask?

Sherlock: Because we're getting married next July and it's obviously much more convenient to do so when you actually want to get married.

John: Wait. Who's getting married?

Sherlock: You and I. Do keep up.

John: Sorry, but I'm sure I must have missed a significant part of this conversation. Why are we getting married?

Sherlock: Because I told my parents that you proposed to me last September. And since they insist to attend the wedding, we actually have to get married. Luckily they also offered to help with the preparations, so it's less work for us.

John: Luckily. Why did you tell them I proposed in the first place? And why didn't you tell me a word about it?

Sherlock: Mummy kept asking when we're finally getting married and it got a bit annoying. And for why I didn't tell you, I simply forgot. Apologies.

John: Right. Okay. And why did your mother kept asking this in the first place?

Sherlock: Because she thinks we're dating for some years now.

John: And that's because?

Sherlock: I told her so. She kept going on about my being single. It was annoying.

John: So you lied to your mother and told her we are dating?

Sherlock: It worked long enough. How could I anticipate that she'd insist to attend the wedding?

John: Right. How could you?

371 Anmerkungen – Gepostet 24. Juli 2022

Hol dir deinen Tumblr-Jahresrückblick 2022 →

[himbos-hotline]

hey! while it’s disheartening and sucks to get hate comments, you should try to remember that the fics you write should be purely for your enjoyment. it’s stuff you like and want to share with the world, and some people find it and end up liking it a lot! you’d be surprised how many people probably read your fics and love it but don’t say anything bc they’re shy. unfortunately, there are a lot of hateful people on the internet and they will do anything to try and bring you down. you should try your best to ignore it (i know you probably don’t wanna hear this but it’s true). another way to get rid of hate is turn off anon on tumblr, if anyone sends you hate after then you can block them. you can also restrict comments on ao3. if you ever get a hate comment on ao3, you can also block or remove (i think) the comment. trust me, there are a lot of people who LOVE your work. just continue doing what you love. if you have haters, they’re most likely just jealous or miserable people. sorry for the long note, hope your day is good!

anon this is gonna sound really mean and I am PROMISING that it isnt, but I kinda just, need to reply to little bits of this message like were having a convo and im not arguing, im just..tired of being told the same thing [again not mad, clarifying stuff]

you should try to remember that the fics you write should be purely for your enjoyment

yes I know that, so is people baking or drawing. but if someone gets told "this cake kinda sucks." or "your drawing is wrong." they seem to be allowed to get upset but with writing its just "well youre writing for yourself!" Yeah, I know that and I am. But if I was writing for myself, I wouldnt be sharing it. People wouldnt be requesting it. if it was just for me. I wouldnt have an ao3 account. im writing for ME but im posting and sharing for other people, the people who ask for said fics, people who are my friends, people who like the ships, the fandom cuz fandoms simply do not exist without fanworks, not creations. were not getting paid for this. AT ALL! Like you cant do fic commissions cuz youre just sitting fanfic and fandom culture back YEARS AND YEAR.

I am writing for me, why do writers always get that? why is it never "but youre editing for yourself" or "youre making gifs for yourself" or "well you are drawing for you."

and end up liking it a lot! you’d be surprised how many people probably read your fics and love it but don’t say anything bc they’re shy.

Please get over that shyness. Thats what anons are for, thats for like guest comments are for on ao3. thats what reblogs and nice tags are for. thats for recommending fics on PUBLIC spaces, not discord servers youve made privately. Please tell fanfic authors that you like their fics, please leave comments and draw fanart or whatever you want to do just share it with us! because otherwise writers are going to feel unloved and lost and NOT write anymore and then fandom spaces will, im sorry die cuz the whole point of fandom is we inspire each other, we lift each other up!

im sorry for ranting back at you anon, this ask was really sweet but there was just points that I had to put out, things I had to say because it gets kinda draining being treated differently as a writer than say an artist. Its just like if I drew, like really instead of once or twice a year. People wouldnt be going "youre drawing for yourself." also just the weird diconnect between like, people who write and other people who are making things in fandoms is upsetting because it takes so much work, so much dedication.

like sometimes it feels like people forget that me personally, am disabled and chronically ill. Im currently fighting off pheumonia, ive just gotten out of a very abusive and manipulative relationship where him not liking my writing was a big way he would control what I would do. writing is harder than what it should be right now. But I do love writing, I adore getting requests and every nice comment I get I reguarly go back to read and it means so so so much

[breathplayed]

4, 6 & 8 💜

below cut to save dashboards!!

(4) what is the plot bunny you've been carrying the longest? ooouuuuhhh..... so many............ So many............ i have full fic outlines from 2017 LOL but the most viable one is a jikook au where they're both vampire hunters + jimin is Turned + jungkook swears to hunt him and be the one to kill him bc it's "what he would have wanted" some good ole lovers to enemies bullshit Once Again. every year since 2018 i've thought it'd be a fun three-part fic i could post for halloween and have never gotten around to it. lately i keep thinking it'd be good for an original novel (hello lesbians <3) but then i would have to actually worldbuild and write well which is daunting......... so back to the drawing board every time...... Maybe Some Day

(6) do you have any kind of consistent writing schedule or just hoping for the best? 💀 i always tell myself i will try to write a little bit every day, and there's been periods where that worked well enough for me, but tbh i write the best and most when i am daydreaming about a fic idea and get batshit possessed and fuel a Fixation. in those moments i am seized by insanity and sit down to write for about 4-6 hours straight in the dead of the night and manage several thousand words in one sitting. the record is 10k for DSD pt1 in like a day, and when i wrote the 90k fic that is WBIO in like 3 weeks off the high of not having any responsibilities in early lockdown (incl almost 20k in one sitting)

So kind of a mix.... When I have more free periods of the year i tell myself *trying* to stick to a schedule is good, like "ok i should go TRY to write at least a little every day, and if it doesn't work and im not feeling it today that's fine" but I can't lie, most of what I put out is the product of a feverish manic haze. Where i daydreamed too hard about a fic idea and accidentally came up with the whole plot and exact dialogue lines and need to bullet point it immediately before I forget it all. I am tormented by visions

(8) what’s your relationship with constructive criticism and feedback like? do you seek it out? how well do you take it? Constructive criticism: not exactly a fan unless I ask for it lol, just bc I think it's kinda rude to offer constructive criticism unless it's asked for? So I already automatically feel a lil cornered. I spent a year as an art major bringing paintings in for concrit sessions, I can take it, but that feels like a facilitated environment where I knew I was opening myself up to hear things so I could improve..... however, I'm not super interested in 'improving' writing beyond naturally improving by doing it.... bc it's just a hobby if that makes sense? I'm also usually super aware of how/where one of my fics is weak (example: i Know my worldbuilding and side characters and settings are not the most fleshed out, that I usually only focus on the main pairing/conflict and let everything else be a cardboard cutout, RIP) and just didn't put the work in to improve it bc I want to have Fun doing this hobby and struggling with fixing weaknesses is not super fun. Yes i am very lazy but it's ok it's fanfiction posted for free not something I'm trying to publish ukno. I'm a perfectionist in other ways! It balances out

Important to note I define constructive criticism as like "it would have been better if you did x instead" and a lot of times in fanfiction that's just people's personal tastes. I do consider everything readers say to me! Like someone said they didn't think the side characters served any point in "folie à trois" and it's just me inserting my faves, I Considered that opinion. There's been times I consider feedback and changed how I continued in a story, like in TLG people said they wanted more Jimin pov/motives and I said hmmm yeah that's valid I'll do more of that. In the aforementioned case for Folie, I considered it and decided (1) no, they're there for jk to see that Everyone is a lil fucked up and (2) it's my fic i can put my kpop girlies in it if i want lol. So sometimes 'concrit' is really just someone saying 'what you wrote wasn't to my personal taste' and not actually anything to do with the quality of the story/plot/style whatever itself.

Feedback overall tho, I do always want to hear from readers!!??! How a story made them feel especially. Tbh , TLDR, I think it really depends on the tone.... My relationship to it is on a case by case basis..... like I'm fine hearing that a character/plot frustrated someone, that they disagree with a character's actions, etc.... because that's Conflict in the story and I think good writing makes the reader Feel something..... it really just depends on what is being offered? if something is obviously mean spirited (which I have gotten) or offering concrit without asking like telling me "btw this would have read better if you didn't write like a possessed failed poet" i'm like ok well i have no plans on improving that. I am down to clarify any points of confusion on a scene/character/etc but I will not be improving. Lol

I hope that makes sense sorry I rambled as always. I took one of my adhd meds for the first time in weeks and now I am tachycardic and overexplaining myself worse than usual. Thank u for the ask <3

[katyasrussianaccent]

i don't wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your lips (corpse x reader)

Summary: Corpse suggests you flirt with each other to mess with the fans. What happens when you suddenly catch feelings?

Authors Note: This has been in my brain for so long so I decided to write it. May or may not write a part 2, im not sure. Lemme know what you think! My requests are open for fic/headcannons aswell 💖

It should have been simple.

Flirt, mess with the fans a little, sit back and relax.

It should have been simple.

You remember Corpse coming to you with the idea.

“Why would we do that?” you had asked, frowning at your phone screen. It had been another late night phone conversation with him; something that was starting to become a regular occurrence.

You pictured him shrug as he answered. “Fun?”

“Are you so bored you wanna make a fake relationship with me?”

“Not a relationship. Just do what we do now, but like, more.”

You had agreed before your brain had even registered it. On paper it was straightforward. You already flirted a little anyway, you were naturally a flirtatious person, and so was he. It made sense; or at least you had told yourself that it did. You knew the fans already shipped you together, you saw the things they tweeted as you occasionally lurked the ynhusband tag on Twitter. It was just innocent fun right? No-one was going to get hurt.

For a little while that was true. For a little while he called you baby and you called him darling and it meant nothing. Your face didn’t feel flush when he commented on your latest Instagram post and your heart didn’t do a little flip when he would call you just to see how you were. The phone conversations were your favourite; curled up in bed with the phone on your pillow, trading secrets into the night. He had suddenly become this constant in your life, this almost routine familiarity like brushing your teeth or going to get milk.

You weren’t sure what changed, when it had gone from being innocent fun to meaning something. It was like someone had flicked a switch, and Corpse was no longer a warm glow but this bright, blinding light that hurt your eyes to look at too long. It was almost cruel, the way you wanted something so unobtainable; the universe’s idea of a joke had no humour in it. The thing with Corpse was he was so unaware of the power he had. He was mysterious yes, but he was faceless among a sea of faces; of course people were drawn to him. And you were just another.

You started to pull away. You played different games with different people, you ignored his tweets. It was easier, if you never interacted with him, you could pretend there was nothing but shallow feelings instead of the crashing waves that threatened to pull you under. The fans had started to notice; your streams were filled with questions that you refused to answer.

“Where’s Corpse?” you read aloud as you scrolled down the chat. “Probably in his house? Go ask him.” Your tone was bitter even to you and you inwardly cringed. He hadn’t contacted you in 2 weeks, and while you were thankful, you were hurt by it. It was stupid and hypoctritical of you to be upset by something that was your own doing, and you weren’t sure what you had expected from him. He had other friends, other people to talk to, why would he have cared about you anyway?

Your phone lit up next to you, and you ignored the pang of disappointment at Rae’s picture flashing up.

Rae: Among Us???

You hesitated for a second. The likelihood of Corpse being there was high, but you knew deep down he wouldn’t say a thing to you, not on stream or in front of your friends. You could just ignore him, like you had been doing and it would be fine. You weren’t sure you believed yourself anymore.

“Guys, you want to watch me play Among Us? I’m not sure who’s playing, other than Rae.” You looked at the fast flowing stream of affirmatives and emojis. Guess you had to do it now. You opened up the game and joined the lobby.

“-yeah she looks really fucking cute,” you heard Corpse say as you logged in. You looked down at your outfit,; he definitely wasn’t talking about you in your oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. You had been on stream for a few hours now; your eyeliner was smudged a little and any lipstick had worn off with the constant drinking and licking your lips. No, he definitely wasn’t talking about you.

“Hey guys,” you said tentatively, swallowing down the feeling of jealousy at Corpse’s previous words.

A chorus of greetings hit you, and you smiled at their enthusiasm. You had played with Rae, Sykunno and Toast a few times before, but Felix, Jack and Ash were new to you, though you knew of them.

“Hey Y/N,” Corpse said. You had hoped after 2 weeks he wouldn’t still affect you so much, but the way your stomach turned said otherwise.

“Hey Corpse,” you replied, hoping your tone was casual.

“I haven’t seen you in a while, how are you?” he asked.

“Oh. Uh yeah, I’ve been a bit busy I guess, how are you?” You looked down as you answered, picking at your nail polish. You glanced at the chat that was filled with messages.

corpsesbaby: You can always tell when someones lying coz they look down” llamadelrey: why is this so awkward lmao arent they friends??” simpsforrae: This is like is a breakup i swear

“I’ve been okay, thanks” Corpse answered, drawing your eyes off the chat and back to the game. You nodded as you muted your mic to go back to your stream.

“I hope I don’t get imposter, I always suck at that so much.” You watched as the screen counted down and the word IMPOSTER flashed up alongside Corpse’s name. “Guess I jinxed it guys.”

Great. Not only were you imposter, you were imposter with Corpse, which meant you would have to actually speak to him. Maybe you wouldn’t have to.

You both followed Rae as she walked up towards Greenhouse, and you cornered her while she did her task, killing her quickly.

“Everyone seemed to go right, so we should vent back towards cafeteria to avoid suspicion,” Corpse said.

“Okay,” you answered. You vented together, and you muted your mic to laugh. “This is kinda cosy guys.” You said to your chat. You briefly imagined what it would be like in real life to be so close to him.

You moved to Admin where Toast was doing his task. Before you could say a word, Corpse had already killed him and you both vented outside Cafeteria. “Fuck, that was so close,” you muttered, chuckling a little.

“Don’t worry, I got your back,” he replied, making your heart sing a little.

“Oh my hero,” you said, making a point of swooning to your chat, your voice high and airy. “How will I ever repay you?”

He chuckled, “You shouldn’t ask questions like that.”

You flushed at the suggestive tone he had taken, and you hoped it wasn’t noticeable but judging by the comments in your chat, it clearly had been. This was another issue you had with Corpse; he always made these type of comments with you and it was really annoying. You knew there was no chance he was being serious, and sometimes you wished he would stop it purely because it got your hopes up.

delilah: shes BLUSHING dreamofme: uWu yn uWu

You opened your mouth to respond when Dead Body Reported flashed up, bringing your thoughts back to the game.

“Toast and Rae are dead,” Sykuuno said. “I found Rae in Greenhouse and Toast in admin.”

“I was in balcony, I went there from the cafeteria,” you said confidently. You hated being Imposter, especially being teamed with Corpse, who was so good at the game, you had a lot of pressure to do well.

“I was in MedBay, I didn’t see you YN,” Ash accused.

“You only see if they enter through the left door. She entered through the other door,” Corpse answered for you.

“And how do you know that?” Felix asked.

“I was in Cafeteria,” Corpse replied.

“You could’ve vented YN,” Jack said.

“No I couldn’t have, if Ash was in MedBay, she would have seen me. Unless she wasn’t in MedBay,” you suggested, smirking to your cam as you muted. “It’s not going too bad I don’t think? Always feel like I’ve been arrested when I’m Imposter.”

“Little sus of you Ash to say you were in MedBay when you weren’t,” Corpse said. You gaped a little at how easy it was for him to manipulate the situation, it was almost scary.

Ash argued as the other players began to agree and discuss among themselves. You smiled in success at the text on the screen.

Ash has been ejected.

You split up this time, and while you hadn’t really spoken during the game, you kind of missed Corpse’s astronaut next to yours, and you said that to your chat. “Haha, our colours did look cute together, I agree.”

Any previous trepidation you had had disappeared as soon as you had heard his voice; and you realised how much you had missed him. You would simply just need to deal with your feelings; they would go away eventually anyway. You just hoped it wasn’t too late for you to start again with him.

You walked to MedBay with Skyunno, making small talk as you did.

“I’m glad to see you playing with us, it’s been a little while,” he said and you felt bad that you would have to kill him. As you turned towards him, ready to kill as he did his task, Jack walked in. You mouthed oops at the cam.

“What’s going on here?” Jack asked, suspicion in his voice.

“I was just saying how nice it was to have YN here,” Sykunno replied. You stood and faked your task, watching the green bar fill as you did. It would be too risky to kill here.

“Ah yeah, Corpse has been asking after you constantly,” Jack said. You blinked at the response, it had caught you off guard.

“Oh?” you replied simply. You mentally shrugged it off. Of course he would have asked about you, you were friends, that was all.

DEAD BODY REPORTED

“Felix was dead in Reactor,” Corpse announced. “Oh Corpse, you’re taking a risk here” you said to your chat.

“I was in MedBay with Jack and Sykunno,” you replied, smiling as they agreed. “Where were you Ash?”

She sighed sadly. “I was in Labs, but I was doing a task, I swear!” You all agreed quickly that Ash would be the next voted out.

“2 to go,” you said triumphantly. “I thought I was gonna drag Corpse down, but it’s going okay!”

The round started again and you could feel yourself getting tired. Hopefully this wouldn’t be too much longer to finish the game.

You circled round Corpse a few times, hoping that he would understand your signal. Luckily he did, and you both vented to Decontamination where Skyunno and Jack were. The room had already started to emit steam, making it extremely easy for you both to vent unnoticed and kill them both.

You grinned at the Victory message that flashed up.

“Good game guys!” you said. The others congratulated you and Corpse on your win and you smiled at the sound of your names together. You had it bad.

“It was all YN,” Corpse said.

“Pfft you ssh being humble, it was all you,” you replied, taking your hair out of your ponytail and running your hand through it.

“Your hair looks nice,” Corpse commented and your eyes widened. Your heart started to beat a little quicker. How long had he been watching your stream?

“It’s bad to watch someone’s stream without telling them,” you replied, making a show of pouting for the camera.

He laughed a little. “What can I say, I’m a bad guy,” he said, singing the last words. You laughed at the sudden Billie Eilish.

“Guys, either play another game, or get a room,” Felix interrupted. You blushed a little and rolled your eyes, the chat going crazy from the corner of your eye.

“And that’s my cue to exit,” you said, yawning. “Bye guys, have a good night!” You wished everyone and your chat goodnight before closing the stream and leaning back in your chat. You couldn’t believe Corpse had been watching you. You hadn’t said anything too incriminating, but still.

You prepared for bed, settling back into the softness of your pillows as you grabbed your phone - a terrible habit you really needed to stop.

Corpse: Can I call you?

You gulped at the message that appeared on your screen, a gnawing feeling of nervous clung to your throat as you typed yes. His name came up almost instantaneously and your hand shook as you pressed to accept the call.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“Hey, what’s up?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even while your heart beat erratically in your chest.

“It was nice playing with you again,” he commented.

You sat up a little as you held the phone against your ear. “Did you call me to tell me that?”

“I haven’t spoken to you in a while.”

You sighed a little. “Yeah, I’ve been a bit busy, sorry - “

“You’re lying to me and I don’t know why,” he replied. You had never heard his voice like that before; so angry and hurt. You tapped your foot against your mattress as you thought what to say.

“I -”

“Did I do something?” he asked. You had been so selfish; blocking him out to avoid being hurt, but you hadn’t thought about his feelings. He was more popular than you were, you had assumed he would be fine, that he wouldn’t care if you were around or not.

“No, you didn’t do anything, I swear -”

“Then what? Because I thought we were friends, close friends and then suddenly you pretty much disappear. But you’re still streaming with other people. It’s pretty shitty of you.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek and looked up, the sting of tears threatening to fall. “It was really shitty of me, I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” he asked. “Please just tell me.”

“I don’t know what I’m meant to say,” you replied softly.

“What do you want to say?”

You blinked, the anticipation of unspoken words caught in your throat, making it hard to swallow. The taste of them was bitter on your tongue. “I...I have feelings for you.”

There. You had said it. There was no taking it back now, and you felt like your heart was about to shatter with every single second of silence that passed. You could hear him swallow on the other end of the phone. “Are you saying you’re in love with me?”

You bit your lip, taking in the meaning of the question he had asked. It wasn’t something you had thought of, you hadn’t conceptualised your feelings for him, not put them in a box labelled love or anything. “I don’t know. I feel something for you. And it kinda sucks being your friend and having those feelings. So I pulled away.”

“Why does it suck?”

You laughed bitterly. “Why wouldn’t it? Feeling something for someone that doesn’t feel the same is fucking shitty.”

“I asked you to flirt with me YN -”

“Yeah, for fun,” you interrupted.

“No, I said for fun, but really I just wanted you to,” he replied. “I feel something for you too. How could I not? Has anything I’ve ever said to you sounded like it was just for fun?” You smiled at his response, your heart no longer on the fit of breaking, but suddenly doing flips and soaring through your chest, radiating warmth through your body.

“Oh,” you said, your brain was overloaded with thoughts, and was apparently no longer capable of coherent sentences.

“Oh? That’s a great response, thanks,” he teased, but you could tell he was smiling as he spoke.

“I wasn’t expecting you to say that, I don’t really know what to say honestly,” you replied.

“Well, baby, how about you say yes to a date?” he asked.

“Yes.”

[purplelurkinghini]

Dear purplelurkinghini,

I'm still high on the batman movie, or.. well,, the riddler in particular. I cant stop thinking about him, like, for real. Every day i wake up and check the riddler tag on this site, and idk what to do when i see not many new posts. I try to look for fics on ao3, but a lot of them are just... not my taste. As you might know, i have very specific tastes in fics, so its been really hard for me to find the ones i like. What do i do???????? I went on youtube but there's not a lot of new interview with the cast?? Im like, why isnt there??? I need content of the riddler. If people wont make them the way i like it, then should i just do it myself???? But like,,, i dont really have the time to do something like that. Maybe i do???? I mean--- Well actually, i finished a drawing of him the other day. Should i start writing fics of him too??? Arghhh but im not good at writing!!! Idk what to do now fhdjskhfskj

Love,

G.B. Anon

Dear G.B. Anon,

I, too, am still coming down from the high of having watched the film a little over a week ago. While my chest stopped aching like some highschool girl's would with their first love, sightings of bootleg recordings and low-res screenshots continue to fill my brain with the happy chemical.

Since you mentioned being inspired by the movie (drawing fanart, yes?), I say you make Edward your muse and write what you want to read. Yeah, as someone currently struggling with writer's block, I can only write when I get slapped in the face by my muse and only for as long as the sting lasts. Yeah, I do know it's easier said than done.

Even so, I still recommend writing.

Below the cut, I've continued the snipped you inspired (yes, you were my muse for a few minutes there). It isn't much, and I hope you know I don't mean to squick you (now that's a word I haven't seen used in forever), though I will say it is more of the power play you said you enjoy.

CW: light bondage

With your mouth taped shut, and your wrists bound together and cradling your bound feet, you had no choice but to even out your breathing. You had no choice but to be quiet like the good boy the Riddler had sucking on his rubber-gloved fingers before throwing into the back his own car.

You did, however, have a choice in being a witness to the crime since, of course, he hadn't used his roll of gaffer tape on your eyes. And so you saw that pig Pete Savage be syringed and strangled until he squealed like sow and passed out.

Oh, but the body he slacked against, even with his slimmer frame, was not without strengh. Even as he struggled to shove Savage into the back of his own backseat, he moved like a man high on his triumph, taking his time to taste that sweet, sweet victory. He cracked his neck, moving it from side to side, and rolled back his shoulders. Then, he wheezed, whiffing the air. He breathed in the blood he was about to spill so loudly, you heard him from inside your car.

The echo of it snuck its way into your ears and poured out of your nose through a wheeze of your own. It was surreal, hearing him, seeing him, witnessing him just beyond your window. It was unreal hearing him in the air around you instead of through your speakers. The Riddler might as well have been another streamer with a gimmick if he weren't right there. If he weren't moving towards you, tall and proud and predatory.

"Daddy's all done," he sighed, satisfied, as soon as he swung open the door. "How's my baby doing?"

After watching the ball you were curled up in because of his quick and stinging bondage work, after watching you whimper before him, and wiggle closer to him, he giggled. He looked down at you with the flickering neon light catching in his glasses and making them glow, and he giggled.

"I wasn't long, was I?" He reached for your face and pulled the tape off with no concern for the pain. "You can still make it home by midnight." He wiped the wetness from your lips, suppressing another laugh behind his mask as your mouth opened for him. "You've been so good for me," he said in a sing-song voice. "Good boy."

Then, pulling away his hand along with the tape, he took his time tracing your wrists and anchles, but didn't pull at the bonds. Instead, he inhaled as you tried your best not to exhale and let out a whimper. You tried your best to be good.

"I can't set you free," his voice dipped as he detached himself from you completely leaving you cold and curled up in the same ball. "You have to do it yourself," he pulled out a switchblade and snickered, and the sound of it did make you whimper. "I know you watch my streams, so you couldn't have missed the fan-favorite top escape tips."

After placing it between your bound plams, he pulled himself away from you and out of the car. And before leaving you to cut yourself five times before tearing the tape, he ducked his head in, tilted it and parted with you with one last word of praise: "Be a good boy and don't make me smear your DNA all over that pig." Spreading out his gloved fingers and the saliva still stuck to them, he waved before slamming the door shut: "Goodbye."

[ruthlesslistener]

i hate to tell you but AO3 absolutely does have child porn. and of real minors too. and the devs have defended it. i know you don’t like antis either but those are full blown pedophilia fic apologists who think every criticism of ao3 is an attack on their precious “fictional” child porn but there is genuinely problems with REAL PEOPLE being written about in smut and raceplay etc. pls don’t fall for their bullshit

feel free not to respond i just, i know you don’t like people thinking you’re a pro shipper but you reblog stuff from them unknowingly and i used to think u were one bc of it

Oh believe me when I say that I'm aware of that particular fic and that I believe it should be submitted to law enforcement, or at the very least struck from the site. I've reported that fic myself and do not stand with the admins for doing nothing about it. Ao3 is an archive, but it is one for fictional characters. The fact that some fucking pedophile out there posted a drawn-out fantasy about an actual minor is fucking disgusting, inexcusable, and warrants legal action against the writer. The author should be in jail for creating child pornography. If I ever met them, I'd beat the everloving shit out of them myself. My stance will never change on that.

However- and I hate to sound like I'm defending this at all- I think you missed the point of the original post, which is that reporting fictional depictions of child porn clutters up the searches done on actual child sexual exploitation material. My major gripe with antis is that their repeated claims that fictional csa is the same as irl csa puts actual minors in danger by 1.) cluttering up the case studies of people tracking down irl predators, and 2.) creating a sort of 'cry wolf' effect where predators who DON'T create public content involving csa are completely ignored, but people who have no attraction towards children that write gross shit (and im using ONLY FOR HORROR HERE, stuff like lolita and the like) are considered pedophiles. Both give irl predators a lot of leeway or extra time to groom or sexually assault children, which is unacceptable. The rpf involving a minor is also an extreme exception, so it should be counted as a statistical outlier that DOES warrent legal action vs the other small subsection of disgusting shit targeted at fictional characters that really should be locked behind like three fucking disclaimers and struck from the algorithm so nobody has to see that shit.

So yes, I hate it, but when it comes to shit like this, you have to be logical and admit that the vast majority of reported content should merely be ignored instead of reported, because it mucks up the system designed towards protecting actual children and punishing pedophiles. I feel slimy and gross for saying it, because I don't want to sound like I think that fictional csa is okay (it really isn't), but if I had a theoretical gun for shooting down suspected pedophiles, I'm pouring all of my bullets into the confirmed irl cases than the others. It's always better to protect actual children than risk the alternative.

As for rpf in general, I personally believe that it should be banned from the site altogether :P Throw tantrums all you want, but rpf will never not be a violation of privacy done without consent. Fanfiction should be for fictional entities only. The one exception I allow are for crackfics involving long-dead fuckers like Thomas Jefferson, but even then I draw the line at porn with them because again- that's fucking disgusting and still stands for a violation of privacy without consent.