#snippet from a short story I'm working on

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

AAAAYYYYE I'M GLAD YOU LIKED IT!

Yeah, since this is only the second time I've really written for Mad (so far this snippet has the most dialogue I've ever given him) I wanted to show something a little more unlikely for him. In the musicals, we've only seen all his bad, angry traits, and while those are still very prevalent here...well, emotions are already hard enough without having screws loose in your head.

I actually took a course on Criminology in college. Even before that, I was always intrigued by the psychological angle of investigative work. (Can't wait to eventually write about all the juicy, dark parts of it sooner or later...) Learning about the Bystander Effect was genuinely chilling for me. Especially since I often go out of my way to avoid confrontation. It can be both depressing and enlightening to compare that stuff to your own behavior.

Well, Casey literally just can't afford to buy Mad's claims. Even if he has a good read on how delusional he can be, there's just no coming back from all the shit Mad's done. As thoroughly performed and cool of a character Mad is, he's still completely irredeemable.

Of course I mentioned the pocket watch comic! You did such a great job with it! I'm excited to see what else you add to that part of the lore!

Yeeeaaah, no matter how clumsy he can be, Casey's got the skills and smarts! I really, really wanted to make it clear that I wasn't using him as comic relief or a helpless victim. Bro deserves better than that.

Lol, we've all seen Mad's ego. It can be pretty dangerous to set off, but it can also work as leverage against him.

Hey, listen, Azalea knows how to swallow her pride to get a job done, okay? She's efficient like that. (Also, since you bring it up: Caliban is one of very, very few people who are allowed to tease about her height, since she knows it's not out of malice. But if an enemy were to make short jokes around her...HOO BOY, it would NOT be pretty.P)

To clarify, Casey was hiding in the closet like that as a way to trick Mad. He knew he couldn't realistically get away if Mad was still in the house, so he planned to make Mad think he did. Then, after Mad rushed out to look for him, Casey would try to sneak out for real. Too bad that plan didn't really go anywhere, lmao.

(And as for Cal's little moment...keep that in mind. I may or may not try to write a little flashback scene of my own sometime in the future...😈 We hurt our characters because we love them, right??)

I really wanted to go for something that felt both childlike and unsettling. That's how irl criminals like Mad work a lot of the time; they make up stories about the people around them in their heads, and when those people inevitably don't still to said story, the aggressor thinks they have an excuse to flip out.

Sure, K.O. is shorter than Casey, but that doesn't change the fact that he's a defacto strong boi! His career is all about knowing how to throw a punch, after all...

HAHAHAHA YES MORE BADASS-PROTECTIVE MOMENTS FOR AZA!

Lmao that chair-attack was an EXACT reference to FNAF: TM! I think I re-watched that blooper like six times 🤣 Physics pale before MatPat's acting skills!

The tuna melt insult was actually inspired by that CHUCKY series from a few years ago (iykyk). I really liked it; it was one of the few times I got entertainment from someplace other than YouTube.

Don't worry; you will most certainly see more of both Phoenix and K.O. in the next snippet! Until then, I eagerly (but also patiently, because Self-Care is important. No rush at all, friendo) await your next comic!

You changed,

You haven’t

A follow up to our lovely collab with @wouldntyou-liketoknow, this is more of a flashback to kinda get into the relationship between Casey and Mad through Mad’s eyes. It may never erase what he’s done, but it may show a glimpse as to why he can’t seem to let Casey go.

Has always been, and always will be known as a monster, yet one soul decided to take a chance, to hold his hand and make him feel something more than just a monster. He was more in that person’s eyes, and he never wanted to let go of that feeling. The simple single touch of another who never views him as nothing more than a…

Shame he no longer can feel the touch.

@crazy-obsessed-enby @iswmperson @lexusinsannus @sammys-magical-au @wouldntyou-liketoknow @the-matpat-ever

He can only dream.

[kunstpause]

Anyone wanna read about historical romance with a trans mc and her genderfluid vampire LI? 👀👀👀

Bc in this extremely specific niche, I got you covered!

When he draws back, the strangely pleasant haze disappears with him, and Tessa can feel her heart beat nearly out of her chest as she gasps for air. Her hand flies up to her neck. It's not overly painful, but the injury still stings.

"You saw me earlier when I arrived, didn't you?" he drawls, and for a moment, her embarrassment distracts her from the thought that he just bit her.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, "I didn't mean to stare."

Tessa gasps as his hands are on her shoulders, and he turns her around to face him.

"You were staring?" River sounds amused before he tilts his head slightly and gives her a thoughtful look. "Perhaps I miscalculated. Would you have preferred something a little different?"

Tessa's eyes go wide as the air around him shimmers, and then his form begins to change. Subtley, at first, but it's undeniable as he turns from the strange man she found in the guest quarters into the unmistakable form of the elegant woman she's seen exiting the carriage earlier.

"Is this more to your liking?"

It's unmistakably still River's voice, but it too has subtly changed, its dark growl turning into a haughty raspiness, and Tessa swallows as she looks at the woman standing now in front of her. The clothes that had already been slightly indecent on a male body seem even more so now. The open linen shirt that is only partly stuffed into the pants she wears strains over her breasts.

"I actually don't have a preference," Tessa gets out, her voice thick as she can't stop staring. "How are you doing this?"

"Just a little something I picked up over time," River replies, still with a hint of amusement in her voice. "My eyes are up here, by the way."

Tessa has to put in an effort to tear her gaze away from River's scantily clad chest, but her face is just as fascinating. It looks almost identical to how it had before, her features are neither clearly feminine nor masculine. Her height hasn't changed either, Tessa still has to tilt her head back. "Is this a common thing for vampires, then?" she asks curiously.

River lets out a hearty laugh. "Oh dear, don't you know that vampires are a myth?"

Tessa's brow furrows, and she folds her arms in front of her chest. "You still have my blood running down your lips," she points out dryly.

Mischief sparkles in River's eyes. "Well, they do say that most myths are based on a kernel of truth."

It doesn't answer Tessa's question at all. Right now, all earlier apprehension is forgotten, pushed aside by fascination and curiosity as she asks, "So what are you then?"

River's eyes still spark as she leans in closer. "I am that kernel of truth," she murmurs before her eyes fall back on Tessa's neck, and she licks her lips, showing sharp teeth gleaming in the low light of the candles. "Shall we get back to it then?"

[yasmeensh]

Paleolithic Media Catalogue

Hello everyone :) Short story first: When I began brainstorming for my prehistoric story, I started wondering what other prehistoric fiction there is out there. I was not familiar with it and have not seen much. That's when I started my grand literature review and began a search for what fiction exist out there. I wanted to know what kinds of stories are being made with this time period. What are the common themes or recurring ideas (I found lots of humans and dinosaurs works. And time travel). Since I've had a growing collection on my computer, I decided I should keep on enlarging it and put it online. It's nowhere near complete. I'll slowly keep accumulating the collection as I find more. I only have fiction books and comics right now. I still need to work on the film section.

You can access the blog here!

***

As for where I am in my reading, the one's I've finished reading are Earth's Children series (book 1-4. Dropped it afterwards lol. I made a post on with fanart) Dance of the Tiger and it's sequel Singletusk (They were good! I'll upload my review on the blog), and Sisters of the Wolf (It was ok!). I got my hands on The Inheritors and excited to start reading it. I REALLY want to read the Shiva trilogy, but I found no PDF online... and it's out of print :( There is certainly old copies on ebay. And I want to read Chronicles of Ancient Darkness. There seem to be lots of good books out there.

[guiltyasdave]

a long time coming

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: You were supposed to go to a concert with your best friend. You end up going with her dad instead.

word count: ~1.1k

tags/warnings: best friend's dad!Dave, fluff, allusions to smut, huge age gap, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, please be warned: Dave has inappropriate (though reciprocated) thoughts about his daughter's best friend - if that makes you uncomfortable, don't read

a/n: daphne @sizzlingcloudmentality and i were freaking out about those new photos of pedro, and because daphne apparently wants me dead, she said that it's giving bfd!dave who's at a concert with you and also provided me with a snippet that still has me in a chokehold and that's part of this story now. i am already experiencing heavy brainrot because i'm going to the eras tour in three (3) days and this was the final nail in my coffin tbh. i should be working on my dress, but instead i did this. the most self indulgent shit i've ever written lmao, please enjoy <3

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my whole masterlist here :)

dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

“Please, daddy? Please?” 

Dave sighs, rubbing a hand over his forehead. Molly’s hoarse voice keeps pleading with him before it dissolves into a fit of coughs. 

With a groan, she lets her head fall against the pillows, wide eyes still trained on him. 

“No one else wants to go, and I can’t let her go alone, I’d feel terrible. Please?” 

She pouts at him, knowing fully well that her father doesn’t deny her anything when she looks at him like this. 

“Fine. If you’re sure that she’s okay with it?” 

“She is! I already asked her.”

Dave cocks a brow at his daughter, earning himself an exhausted but triumphant grin. 

“Don’t look at me like that. It will be fun!”

Admittedly, Dave really has much more fun than he expected when his daughter all but begged him to accompany her best friend to the concert that she wanted to go to herself before she got sick. 

He knows most of the songs, has been witness to you and Molly singing along to the music while dancing through his kitchen often enough. It’s not bad music by any means, and the show is nothing short of spectacular. 

It’s not the reason he’s enjoying himself so much though. He’s barely watching the show, eyes only occasionally flicking towards the stage. 

His gaze is fixed on you, has been since before the show even started. Watching you interact with other fans, beaming smiles and giggles, eagerly exchanging bracelets, excitedly cooing at the especially pretty ones. 

Meeting your eyes when you turned to him, not able to suppress his own smile at the sparkle in them. Suppressing the flicker of something in his chest when your fingers wrapped around his wrist, tugging it closer to put a few bracelets on him as well. You don’t seem to notice the faint blush that’s rising up in his cheeks at the unexpected touch. 

He’s watching you bouncing on your feet seconds before the show starts, snaps a few photos of the pure joy on your face without you noticing. Just to send them to you later, having enough experience from being the father of two daughters to know how much you’ll love them. After that, he’ll delete them from his own phone. Of course he will. 

He’s watching you dance, your body moving to the beat of the music, your lips forming every word. Your silhouette shimmering with the lights reflecting off your dress. It’s mesmerizing. You dance with the girls beside you sometimes, shouting lyrics at each other. Other times, you turn to him. He doesn’t protest when you take his hands, starts moving with you without a second thought, starts singing the words that he knows along with you. You’re laughing, your eyes shining with pure happiness. It’s intoxicating, and he wants more, wants all of it, wants to be part of that happiness. He doesn’t remember the last time he smiled this wide, the last time his body felt this light. 

It takes a long time, longer than it should, until he remembers why this is bad. Until the weight comes crashing back into him. Until he remembers that he shouldn’t feel like this with you. 

You’re so much younger than him. His daughter’s friend. His daughter who asked him to come here with you, because she trusted that you’d be safe with him. 

Your brow furrows when you catch his eye and notice the change in his expression. No. He wants you to enjoy yourself, doesn’t want to be the reason for any kind of worry for you right now. He allows himself to drink in your energy right now, to let a smile grow on his face again. 

There’s no harm in indulging just for one night. Just a little bit. No one has to know. Least of all you. 

So he keeps singing with you, keeps letting you move with him. Keeps watching. 

It’s easy, being with you, talking to you. Effortless in a way that he’s not used to. 

It’s just because you’re at his house more often than not, going wherever Molly goes. It has to be. 

But it’s different, your giggles ringing out in the confines of his car, not mixed with his daughter’s, the sound that he knows. And he’s the one who’s elicited those laughs from you. 

"Explain it again, please. You’ve glued every single of these stones onto your dress?" He laughs and gives you another once over, glad he can disguise his inappropriate ogling with an appreciating glance. Act like he’s studying the intricate, shimmering patterns on the fabric. Not the way your tits are straining against the low cut over your chest. Not the way the skirt has ridden up your thighs, exposing a new inch of bare skin. "Great job, sweetheart. You look good. The dress looks good, too." 

He wonders how the dress would look bunched up around your waist. Or on the floor of your apartment. If your skin is as soft as it looks in the dim shine of the red light he’s stopped at. How it would taste under his tongue. The sweet sounds you would make when his teeth dig into you. 

You breathe a thank you and bite your lip at the compliment, and his cock twitches with interest. Wrong, wrong, so wrong.

He has to be imagining the way that you keep glancing his way, stealing looks when you think that he doesn’t notice. Wishful thinking on his part. 

He pulls up in front of your apartment building, killing the engine and turning towards you. You’re already facing him, more shy than you’ve looked all evening. 

“Thank you for tonight,” you say softly, lips pulling up into another smile. “I’ve had a great time. I— I hope you did too.” 

His hand lands on your thigh before he can actively think about it. A soft gasp escapes you, but you make no move to back away from his touch. 

“Trust me, I did.” 

He doesn’t intend for it to come out as low and breathy as it does. Teeth dig into your lips once more. Your contemplative gaze burns into him. 

You inch closer, close enough that he can feel your breath against his face. 

Wrong. He swallows thickly, forces his grip off of you. You blink, eyes growing wider, the growing tension’s fog lifting from you. Clearing your throat, you sit up straighter. 

“Good night, sweetheart.” 

He needs you to leave this car. Right now. 

You nod, shakily bidding him a good night as well. 

He watches your retreating silhouette, finally able to exhale deeply when you enter your building. 

He’s fucked.

comments and reblogs are love and make my day every single time <3

[hoshinasblade]

second best |3| hoshina soshiro

PART 1 | PART 2 | BONUS: PART 3

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f!reader genre: slight angst, comfort, childhood friends to lovers, a bit of that miscommunication trope snippet: hoshina soshiro always ranks second at everything in his life. god forbid he falls behind in the bid for your heart too. word count: 2k trigger warnings: a bit suggestive at the end author's note: i promised a part three so here it is, hope you guys like it! likes, replies, and reblogs are welcome but im begging you not to copy or steal my works. feel free to sign up for my taglist (which i swear im gonna use on the next fic lol), and i appreciate when people send me asks so let me know your thoughts (or send me hoshina pics, that'd be great too). my masterlist is here! also i gotta let you know that i might put the next fic on hold because i am so tempted to start a short nsfw collection instead - just one-shots so it won't be a lot of commitments. who knows cause i might write angst and nsfw at the same time 😉

soshiro's hands were trembling. you noticed because it has not happened in a while - you cannot even recall the last time you've seen the man nervous, much less shaking. you were going to himeji that morning; hoshina had snatched your backpack from you - "when i said i would make it up to ya, i mean in every way i can," he said, sounding gentle and sincere that your only choice was to let him carry your belongings and blush as he also intertwined his fingers with yours while walking.

there is this story you have been hearing for a while - the red string theory, it is called. according to it, people who are destined to be together will always find each other despite everything and anything. when you were a kid, instead of thinking it romantic, you rather thought it is frightening - fate is a difficult enemy to go against: if it is meant to be, then it will be eventually. when you grew up, you held that belief as a prayer - it means that whoever is the one chosen for you may get lost on their way to you, but they will always - always - arrive.

you glanced at hoshina soshiro and you knew you were right to believe.

it was roughly a four-hour journey from tachikawa to himeji by train, and during the entire ride, even when he fell asleep for a short while, your boyfriend did not let go of your hand. you complained about your palms being sweaty as a joke, and he only loosened his hold. you understood - he is making it up to you, but he is also making up for all the wasted time.  

"we're almost there," you told him when he startled from his nap. his bangs were slightly messy, and he bumped his head to your shoulders. "comfy," he hummed. you giggled.

you are still trying to navigate through dating a high-ranking officer of an anti-kaiju defense force unit. relationships aren't strictly forbidden but still frowned upon, which was a little bit of an issue between you and soshiro when you had a proper and long-overdue conversation about what you guys were. confessing is one thing, but when being friends is all you've known your whole life, you know adjustments are supposed to be made here and there.

 which brings you and him back to your hometown.

he didn't exactly disagree with you, but you are aware he had his reservations about the idea of visiting himeji. "oh i'm pretty sure soichiro-kun would be surprised," you said when you were still planning the trip. "yes, we should kiss in front of him and give him a heart attack," soshiro suggested, and you weren't hundred-percent sure he was just joking. maybe you didn't want him to be.

when the streets started to look familiar, soshiro noted the sudden bounce in your pace. you and he have walked in the same alley years ago - he would wait for you after class and would even make up some ridiculous excuse so you could go home together. "i used to pretend to be tired way back just so i could convince you to slow down. i wanted to spend so much time with you," you reminisced.

"i should have known ya were head-over-heels for me," he teased.

"they miss ya, soshiro-kun. ya don't have anything to worry about." the change in topic wiped the smirk off his face. he was suddenly serious, sad even. there was a part of you that regretted saying the words, but he had to hear it - you only wanted to reassure him after all.

"just that i haven't been here for a long while", he said, squeezing your hand. "i don't know if they think this place is still my home."

"ya need to have faith in the people you care about, soshiro-kun. ya need to trust that they care about ya too," you solemnly advised. "i know that doesn't make any sense sometimes, but that's how i do it."

"have i told ya i love you so much?" he responded, to which you smiled.

"only a thousand times," you joked once more.

the hoshina estate is a spacious one - you have to pass through an automated black gate that directs you to the main house, the cobblestone path lined with cherry blossom trees, their delicate petals swirling when the wind blows gently; the grandeur of the home soshiro grew up in is undeniable with its traditional japanese architecture. a man with striking features and an aura of authority was waiting at the entrance, waiting for his son.

“father,” soshiro greeted the man, bowing deeply.

“an embarrassment that your friend will be the one to bring you home when you could have done it a long time ago,” soshiro’s father scolded him. his stare at soshiro was that of disappointment, which quickly disappeared when he looked at you. “ah, my dear, come on in, hurry, come on in,” he turned and said to you, inviting you in. the hoshina patriarch had always been fond of you - soshiro’s parents had wanted a daughter and they found one in you.

soshiro rolled his eyes. “my father’s favorite child is my girlfriend, great,” he muttered.

the maids made you a great dinner, cooking soshiro’s favorite food per his father’s request. conversation was light, and it was apparent that the old hoshina wanted to catch up so badly on how his son was doing, inquiring in consecutive questions about soshiro’s rank in the unit, his experiences so far, and his long-term plans in staying with the force. soshiro’s replies are detailed, but you know he intentionally did not mention all the instances where he almost died fighting.

soshiro’s father regaled you both with stories of soshiro’s childhood antics - “do ya remember, my dear, when soshiro tripped and fell on his face after training with soichiro? we were so worried, but he only fell asleep,” he recited the memory as if it was just yesterday., his kansai accent thick on his words. the tension that had lingered in the air had dissipated as you finished your meal.

“i had the guest room prepared for ya so ya can rest for tonight,” soshiro’s father had said when his son cut him off.

“no, we can sleep together,” soshiro declared, and thinking it might have sounded improper, he spoke again. “beside each other, i mean. in my room. because we’re tired. from travelling all day," he attempted to clarify but failed.

“ah, may i look forward to a grandchild soon from ya two?” color drained from your face as you slowly closed your eyes. you fought off a laugh but failed.

“ya may, but we aren’t doing that here of all places,” soshiro argued just as his father had turned his back on the both of you, amused with himself. at least now you know where soshiro got his sense of humor.

the hot shower felt great against your tensed muscles, and if you weren’t that exhausted, you would have opted for a bath instead. soshiro wanted to speak to his father alone, so when he ushered you inside his childhood bedroom, he’d let you know that he would be gone while you were cleaning yourself up. you were relieved; you haven’t seen your own father since you were a teenager, and it would be a shame to see it happening to the person you care about the most, not if you can do something about it. and this is not to say that you wanted to fix soshiro’s life - you pointed this out to him once - but he’s had a terrible habit of holding back and assuming the worst, so you had decided that if you could help him out, you would push him to the right direction.

“didn’t ya pack clothes?” his eyes were on you immediately after he came in, finding you on the bed with your phone, wearing his shirt.

“i did, but yours look better,” you replied, holding your arms out and showing him how oversized it is on you - the sleeves are passed your elbows, the hem reaching the middle of your thighs.

“they look better on ya, i agree.” he sat on the mattress for a few moments before lying down, his legs dangling off the edge of the bed. “ya all good?”

“i am,” you said to him. “especially because i scanned yer photos when ye're still little while ya were gone,” you informed him then showing him a folder you created in your device - baby hoshina soshiro folder, you named it - full of duplicates you made of the framed pictures of your boyfriend all over the house. there’s one where he didn’t have any hair at all; there’s one where he was close to crying but appeared to be keeping the tears in; there’s one where he was missing a tooth but smiling like there’s no tomorrow. soshiro moved to take your phone away, but you were quicker than him.

“this is payback, for all the times ya weren’t talking to me.” you were alluding to the three long months when you were still an applicant to the defense force and soshiro acted like you were a stranger. he had apologized for it already, but it is nice to make fun of him sometimes so you brought it up. “that hurt my feelings, ya know.” you laid down beside him, invading his personal space, your shoulders touching his.

“i was stupid”, he said. “and it’s not like i could have come up to ya and said, hey i’m sorry for leaving ya in himeji, by the way i’m crazy for ya.”

“and all those times i thought ya had something with commander ashiro, oh god!” you exclaimed for effect. “by the way, the other recruits thought the same.”

“it’s not like that between her and me.” his gaze on you was brief. “it’s not like that with anyone else.”

“it better not be, because i’m leaking all yer baby photos to the first division if ya mess up,” you threatened him despite not needing to.

“i promise, i won’t.” he grabbed your hand from your side and linked it with his, cradling it to his chest before bringing it to his lips. “i’m not that stupid.”

soshiro’s childhood room was what you would expect from a teenage boy: a king-sized bed, a bookshelf of manga, a cabinet showcasing knives and blades. you never had the opportunity to enter his room even when you were kids, you realized. you looked up to the ceiling and you saw green dots that formed shapes - makeshift constellations, you recognized the patterns - little plastic stickers that you glue to surfaces. “are those supposed to be stars?”

soshiro sighed, his arm on top of his face. “yeah, uh - remember when uh - i think that was in junior high, and ye're so into astronomy? i thought it’d be a good idea to know the names of the stars to impress ya, so i started trying to memorize them.”

you shifted to face him, speechless. maybe if you had known this, if you had known the other things you are certain now that soshiro had done and was willing to do for you, you wouldn’t have wasted years questioning your place in his life and deciphering his feelings. a wave of warmth washed over you as you reached out and lifted his arm off his face, meeting his eyes.

soshiro’s lips felt as soft as it looks like, you thought as you kissed him. you pushed yourself into him, and he pulled you tighter until it seemed there was not enough air for you to breathe - until your chests were pressed together it was as if your hearts were beating as one. something sparked inside you; the sensation of being so close to soshiro about to consume you from within. his hand crawled to your hips and remained there. you drew back a bit after that, and when you saw the panicked look on his face, you kissed him again.

“i love you,” you told him in between pants.

the night went on, and by the end of it, hoshina soshiro discovered that his favorite sound is you moaning his name.

[faynthearted]

god I love rediscovering half-finished tianshan fics/drafts that I started years ago and completely forgot about. it's like I'm reading someone else's work and it's fantastic! there's so many.

in case anyone is interested, so far I've found:

a WIP named "leverage" that seems to be about guan shan having to stay at the He estate for his own protection against whatever mess the He family has gotten into. I feel like someone might have requested this a long time ago and I forgot?

another WIP named "p.s." that's about tianshan being bitter exes and yet somehow guan shan finds himself housesitting for he tian while he travels for work because he tian has a dog that they adopted together that needs to be looked after and guan shan still cares about it -- and, clearly, about he tian too. I honestly still like this idea and the writing isn't too awful... hmm.

a VERY primitive draft of desecration, probably written when I was just beginning to brainstorm. it's crazy to see how much the story has evolved based on this flimsy WIP draft. I'm half-tempted to post it just for shits and giggles even though it's poorly written

another very short, primitive draft of desecration, written from zheng xi's perspective

a WIP named "smoke and mirrors" for a switched family background AU for tianshan. I actually got pretty far in writing this (~7k words) and I don't remember a single thing about it. veryyyy interesting. I kinda want to post this one too, or at least one scene that stands out

a WIP (unnamed) that seems to be about guan shan conning he tian at the train station for some money. I'm almost positive this was a tumblr request, but based on the date/time stamp of the draft's document, I'm not surprised I never finished it. life was crazy and miserable at the time

and while I'm here, I might as well mention the WIPs I do kinda remember but decided not to pursue in favor of desecration:

a WIP named "patchwork" set in historical China, wherein guan shan (a potter/artisan) has the ability to see and manipulate (i.e. tie and cut) red strings of fate. he's commissioned by the he family to participate in a traditional wedding ceremony for he cheng. of course, he tian takes an interest in him while he's there. the only issue is that guan shan cut his own red string when he was younger, an irreversible action -- and, for some reason, he tian's is cut too. weird, right? yeah. but he tian doesn't know this, and guan shan isn't planning on telling him anytime soon 😌

a WIP named "arsonist's lullaby" written from he cheng's POV throughout he tian's childhood. I'm not going to say much about this one since it might actually be written/posted one day as part of the terra firma series...

and finally, a WIP (unnamed) for an AU in which guan shan is a retired police dog trainer/handler (??) who now works at an auto shop. he adopted some of the dogs that either flunked out of the academy training or developed medical issues that required their retirement, and the dogs hang around the shop while he works. one day he tian shows up and asks if guan shan would be willing to do some off-the-books commission(?) work. the he family business has a drug/weapons problem, and they need the dogs' trained noses -- and their handler's experience -- to fix it. (I'm still obsessed with the idea of the dogs being fiercely protective of guan shan. he tian not only has to earn guan shan's trust, but the dogs' too)

I love the variability in all these AUs/ideas. I wish I could work on them all at once but that's frankly impossible. but I'll consider posting a few snippets if anyone is interested! (no promises about the quality of writing, though!)

[saltydumplings]

Hi, I’m not really sure how this works but I was wondering if you could write a lil short story/snippet of villain x reporter were villain find reporter following then after a big battle?

thank you in advance!! 💙

Oh my god I did it. I wrote a request for the first time in months, oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god--

Request #29

There was blood on their left shoulder. The villain huffed in annoyance, wiping at the stain with one hand and grimacing when it smudged.

That fight had been unnecessary.

The hero had instigated it - the villain giving them ample opportunity to stand down but their enemy was stubborn. Almost stupidly so. They took one look at the villain and decided that they couldn't possibly go one second longer without punching them in the face.

And, of course, the media would paint it as their fault. Because if the villain so much as breathed anywhere near the city centre then obviously their intentions were nothing short of nefarious. No, the villain didn't need to go grocery shopping at all: those bananas were clearly going to be the foundation for their next evil scheme - crucial some might say.

The villain groaned to themself as they walked down the alleyway, using their clean hand to pinch the bridge of their nose.

So much food had been wasted.

So much damage had been caused and for what?

If they were being honest, they weren't entirely sure if it was worth it anymore. If the cause that had led them to where they were still held out strong enough to reason days like this - destruction like this. Common destruction; everyday, needless, a mere swipe upon the hero's page but an ugly blot upon their own. The villain was supposed to be fighting for change but it seemed that everything they did only made the walls they were trying to tear down stronger. They were enabling the very thing they stood against and all the while they were hurting the people they were trying to save - trying to free from a society that never thought of them twice.

At this point, it was better to simply retire and let things return to the way they were. And, if in their misery they figured out a better way then perhaps they could try again...

The villain came to a sudden stop, wondering if they would truly give in right there and then, only to freeze at the sound of movement behind them. A short, scuffling noise - someone attempting to hide and not doing a very good job of it.

Surely the hero hadn't followed them?

The villain turned about, surveying the empty alley behind them, their gaze quickly honing in on a stack of crates. They waited patiently, silent, watching as their would-be stalker peered out from behind their cover and ducked down twice as fast - a small squeak of realisation echoing off the walls. Even if the villain hadn't seen them, they certainly would have heard that.

They let themself relax somewhat, rationalising that their pursuer was either a civilian or a moron. Perhaps even both...

"You realise that you're not exactly discreet, right?" they said.

There was a pause. A long one.

"I'm going to give you to the count of three," the villain pushed. "Either you come out, or I drag you out. One--"

"No, no! N-No need for dragging!"

The villain felt their brows raising as their stalker revealed themself, quickly springing out from their hiding spot like a startled rabbit. They had been right: civilian and a moron. Though, when it came to members of the press, the villain couldn't really expect much else.

"I-I, um," the reporter stumbled on their words as the villain approached them, hands clutching onto their notepad shakily. "I just had a, er - a f-few questions. I-If that's alright with you, of course..."

Perhaps stubborn was a better word. Tenacious.

The villain had seen the way these people practically hovered around the hero. Had even seen one or two get punched by the crime-fighter out of pure annoyance and yet, still, more persisted to harass them.

None had ever attempted to approach the villain before though. None had ever dared...until now.

They stopped just centimetres away from the other, amused by the way the reporter held their ground even when they were clearly scared out of their mind.

"You get three questions," the villain allowed. "But I won't promise any answers."

The reporter's eyes widened. "W-Wait, only three?" they asked.

"Two now," the villain answered.

A beat.

The reporter floundered, opening and closing their mouth multiple times before hurriedly flicking through their notepad. Clearly they'd had their questions planned out - pages upon pages of them - but now they were having to choose only two.

The villain quirked a brow as they watched, foot starting to tap upon the ground while the seconds ticked by.

"Okay, I- no, no, h-hold on."

The reporter flicked back through their notes again, the villain tolerating it all of about five more seconds before snatching the pad from their hands and holding it out of their reach - the reporter giving a startled squeak before looking up at them with horror.

"G-Give that back," they said.

The villain smirked. "No."

"B-But--"

"But what?"

"I..." the reporter flushed, fingers twitching at their sides. "Could you please just give it back?"

The villain's grin grew sharper. "No. And you have one question left - better choose wisely."

"Wait, but that wasn't- I didn't- i-it--!"

"One question~" the villain chimed.

The reporter settled back into silence. Their gaze flicked between their notepad and the villain that held it, something surprisingly similar to a glare lining their expression. Were they about to...?

They did.

The reporter jumped up and snatched the notepad right from the villain's fingers, darting back immediately and flicking through it with frantic urgency.

Cheeky little--

Where the hell did these people get their courage from?

The villain went to snatch it back but the reporter raised their hand, reading out from the final page in an incomprehensible rush:

"DoyouthinkthatHeroshouldbeheldaccountableforthedamagetheycausewhenfightingyouanddoyoubelievethatthisdamageisnecessarywhenthwartingyourplans?"

The villain stopped. Blinked. "What did you just say to me?"

The reporter swallowed, taking in one steady breath before trying again more slowly. "Do you think that Hero should be held accountable for the damage they cause when fighting you, a-and do you believe that this damage is necessary when thwarting your plans?"

Of all the questions they could have asked, the villain had not expected it to be that. It stunned them: they were so used to people always taking the hero's side that they'd almost forgotten the rush of relief that came with being believed - that little thrill of confidence when you found out you weren't alone.

They paused, eyes wide as they studied the other in a new light. "No," they whispered.

"No?" the reporter questioned. They let themself relax a little - no longer cautious but rather curious.

"No," the villain clarified more strongly. "No: that damage is not necessary. And yes they should be held accountable for it - they shouldn't be allowed to use me as an escape goat for the destruction that they actively cause."

For a moment, the reporter's jaw went slack, fully engrossed in what they were saying. The second the villain stopped though they fumbled about their pockets, quickly fishing out a pen and clicking the lid off - taking a few scribbled notes before staring back up at the villain with shining eyes.

"Anything else?" they asked eagerly.

The villain flushed a little under the attention, and not in a bad way. The more they talked to the reporter the more likeable they became: the villain still thought they were stubborn - foolishly so - but they were beginning to recognise that it was more in a puppy-like way than anything truly annoying; the reporter was cute.

"They'll look for any excuse to attack me," they said, each word a small weight off their chest. "The papers will say that I was the one to initiate but I rarely am - that's just what the government wants you to believe. In fact, I'm sure Hero is instructed to be more reckless purposefully just to paint me in a worse light but that's never been my intention: never has been, never will be."

"I knew it!" the reporter said. Then they blushed when the villain raised a brow at them, ducking their head in a vague attempt to hide behind that tiny notebook of theirs. "I mean, I - I had some, er, speculations..."

The villain hummed. "Good speculations I'd hope."

The red of the reporter's cheeks darkened. "A-Any more comments you'd like to add?" they asked, changing the topic.

The villain had to resist the urge to sigh. Because yes; yes, they did. So many...but they didn't want to dump it all on the reporter at once and run the risk of losing the one person that they'd spoken openly to in years.

"What do you intend to do with this information?" they questioned back. "Do you plan to publish it?"

"W-Well, yes. If that's alright, o-of course." The reporter shuffled a little on their feet, suddenly shy. "Not in any of the major papers though - obviously. I mean, they would never let me... It's for a blog I write online. It's small but I-I like to think that it could grow to something bigger. Something that could, y-you know..."

"Change things?" the villain finished, watching as the reporter gave a small nod. "You want things to change?"

The reporter huffed. "Who doesn't?" they said.

The villain considered that a while. Considered it with a hesitation that they'd never had to deal with before. It was one thing to put themself at risk, it was a whole other thing entirely to then insert someone else into that same mess - to tangle them up in something that they could never get out of.

"How much?" the villain challenged. "How much do you want it?"

A pause.

The reporter swallowed, eyes glancing over the villain's frame in a studious way. "Why do I feel like you're giving me a massive, life-altering choice?"

"Because I am," the villain said simply.

"Oh."

The reporter fell silent again. Their gaze drifted away - focused back on the entrance of the alleyway that they'd followed the villain down before falling once more to stare at the notepad in their hands. They held it just a little tighter, lower lip caught between their teeth as they thought it through.

The villain waited patiently, a small excitement sparking within their chest when the reporter's attention drew back to them.

"More than anything," the other said, finally. "More than I can openly admit."

The other followed their direction without question. "O-Oh, right, yes I-- o-of course!"

The villain nodded. Smiled.

"Alright, then. So be it," they said. "You'll want to put that somewhere safe," they added as an afterthought, gesturing to the notepad in the reporter's hands.

They fumbled to put it away into a bag at their side, the villain watching them carefully as they did it.

"Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?" they asked.

The reporter waved a hand dismissively whilst they struggled with the zip. "What, me? No, no, it - it's all work, work, work. I never really find the time for much else."

"So no one to expect you then?" the villain pursued. "No one you're meant to be seeing?"

"No, I--" The reporter paused, their eyebrows drawing down ever so slightly. "Why are you asking me that?"

"Because..."

The villain took a step forward then, hands reaching out to catch onto their shoulders. They pulled the reporter closer, the civilian's face flushing at the sudden contact - the sudden strong contact.

"I'm planning to enact my first official kidnapping," the villain said, "and I want everything to go as smoothly as possible."

[imagine-darksiders]

Mobsiders, chapter 1.

Timeless Unrest.

So, I'm trying something different here, this is a mafia au in which the Horsemen are mob bosses, and they take an interest in the Reader. This story will be set in the Universe of Darksiders, 2 years post-resurrection.

You are a self-proclaimed reporter, tasking yourself with hunting down a rumour that humans are being sold off-realm as slaves to a certain Demon Prince. At the centre of those rumours is one, particular family who control Haven City, and the Earth at large. You've been found out, and now you're going to have to meet the very beings you've been trying to expose.

--------

You’ve heard it said that a good journalist will face down threats every day in search of the truth, but a great journalist has already skirted so close to the truth that they’ve been privy to the inside of a burlap sack.

‘If there’s one thing to take out of this,’ you muse, panting for breath inside the coarse, stinking bag slung around your head as you’re dragged forwards down an unseen path, ‘At least I can finally say I’ve made it.’

Jesus… You’d only gone out to pick up your ration of milk for the week…

The passage of time seeps by at a disjointed rhythm when you can’t see. It seems only minutes ago you were trekking through the murky fog from your tiny, jerry-built apartment to the community centre near Fifth to collect your weekly rations. A small slip of card had been clutched protectively against your chest. On it, in little black writing was a short, unimaginative list.

'Bacon.'

'Milk.'

'Cheese.'

'Eggs.'

'Water.'

Two years since the Great Waking has seen Humanity still struggling to cobble their lives back together, and although supplies aren't nearly as sparse as they were in those first few months of chaos and disorder, people are still being careful with what little they have.

You'd been fantasising about how soon you'd see the word 'chocolate' appear on the list when, from out of nowhere, there was a loud squeal of tyres on tarmac, and something came careening to a halt behind you.

Strangely, it took you a moment to register what you were hearing.

When it eventually clicked, the first thought that sprang to mind was, ‘Who the Hell has a working car?’ Your second thought came moments later when you wheeled around just in time to see two, suited men plunge a sack down over your head and heave you bodily into an old, rusty car.

In the struggle you dropped your precious ration card.

The jolt of panic that shot up your spine was so potent, you almost managed to lurch right out of their grasp.

They weren’t expecting you to put up a fight, you suppose.

But how could they not? One of the cruellest aspects of the Great Waking was that humanity didn’t come back as new-born souls who had no recollection of their past lives. Instead, in a sick twist of fate, everyone, yourself included, can still recall how they died.

It sure as Hell made you want to avoid meeting a similar fate ever again.

Which is partly why you’d all but exploded into action when you were grabbed, thrashing your limbs, kicking, lurching sideways, gnashing your teeth to try and catch the burlap between them and tear your way out from the inside if you had to.

With all the ceremony of tossing out a bag of rubbish, you were flung, yowling like a terrified bearcat, and the hands left you for all of a blessed second before your back hit a stiff, leathery surface that punched the wind right out of you.

You can still remember the morbid satisfaction of kicking out and striking something solid that went ‘crunch!’ when it connected with the heel of your shoe.

It wasn’t as satisfying moments later when you were slugged so hard in the cheek, your head snapped back and your vision exploded into colourful speckles of light.

An engine had rumbled to life underneath you as car doors slammed shut, and through the ringing in your ears and swimming head, you caught snippets of conversation, mostly revolving around a broken nose and a call for tissues.

You have no idea how long you were in that car for. All you remember is just how peculiar it was to be in one again. Even more peculiar to realise it had been over a century since you sat on a leather seat with an engine purring against your spine.

You still fought, of course.

Borrowing strength from your fear, you struggled furiously against a weight settled on your legs and a pair of hands that kept your flailing wrists in their vice-like grip.

In hindsight, you regret fighting so hard in the car.

Now that you’re on your feet again, stumbling blindly through an unknowable building with half a chance at running away, you’re exhausted, mouth hoarse and dry from shrieking and limbs that tremble with terror and fatigue.

Your throat aches now, thick with emotions, and your cheek isn’t faring any better either, throbbing like it has its own heartbeat.

Even without the tears clinging to your lashes and muddying your view, the path ahead is still obscured from sight by your scratchy, unconventional headgear.

You’re inside a building. You can deduce that much.

And from the sounds of dress shoes clacking hurriedly on the floor below you, it’s either somewhere that’s been newly built, or a place that had remained miraculously untouched during the stretch of time between Humanity’s extinction and their resurrection.

The surface below you is perfectly and unusually smooth from what you can tell as you’re dragged along by two unknown thugs, neither of whom seem hindered by your stubborn efforts to dig the heels of your plimsolls into the floor, hoping to trip on a notch or bump.

It’s only been two years since the Great Waking, and all the buildings in Haven City have one thing in common that this place doesn’t.

Structurally, every single one of them is as rickety and unstable as a two-legged horse.

Yet this place has no creaky floorboards, no potholes left over from where the ground was blasted apart by a falling meteorite, no dip, sag, scoop or pocket to trip yourself up on and shake your kidnappers loose.

You try to focus on the pounding of footsteps, not your heart, nor the abject terror that tries to sink its teeth into you every time those bruising hands clench all the tighter around your arms and heave you upright again when your legs yield underneath you.

Eyes pinched shut, you force a kerosene-drenched breath in through your mouth and choke it out again, blowing droplets of sweat and tears off your upper lip.

You nearly bite your damn tongue off when ahead of you, something unlatches – ‘a door?’ – and you’re readjusted in the men’s grasp, two hands on each arm, keeping you marching forwards.

The toes of your plimsolls squeak against the hard floor as you’re dragged over a small bump and onto a different surface entirely.

Softer. More giving. The footfalls are quieter…

Carpet, you surmise.

“Ah, finally!”

Your hammering heart seizes up at the sound of a booming, unexpected voice that filters in through the fibrous gaps in your burlap prison. You’d almost grown used to the grunts and curses of the men hauling you along, it’s odd to hear actual words for a change.

“Boss,” one of the men at your side speaks up, his clear, nasally tone confirming he isn’t the one you’d kicked in the face, “Got ‘er right here, Boss! Just like you said.”

The breath hitches in your chest and you wrack your brains to place the first voice as it speaks again.

“Oh for- C’mon, guys. The sack? Really?” a distinctly male voice complains.

Your ears catch the sound of metal clinking, heavy footsteps on the carpet as their wearer draws closer to you… He sounds big, weighty, far more so than either of the two who lugged you in here.

‘Shit…’ you think, breathing hard. And when nothing more helpful springs to mind…‘Fuck!’

Stealing an iota of adrenaline from somewhere deep inside your guts, you start to struggle in earnest again, lips stuffed together to stop yourself from letting out any pitiable whimpers of distress. You have an awful, awful suspicion about whose turf you’re on, and it has everything to do with the little, red notebook currently locked in the top drawer of your bedside table.

“Sorry, Boss,” the nasally man to your left responds, shifting on his feet, “Gave us a little more trouble than we was expectin’. Look what she did to poor Dimitri.”

There’s a pause, in which you assume he must finally see the extent of your efforts to escape the car.

“Yeah,” the stranger eventually says, “I noticed that… S’it bad?”

The man to your right – Dimitri, you infer – huffs out an acidic hiss through his teeth and starts to dig blunted fingernails into your sleeve, upping the pressure until you wince beneath the sack.

“Broke my fucken’ nose,” he sneers in a voice that’s thick and wet, as if he’s bunged up with a bad cold, “F’she knocked any teeth out, this little bitch’d be-“

“-HEY.”

It’s alarming how one simple word can crack across the room like a bolt of lightning, raising the hairs on the nape of your neck and causing Dimitri to choke on his tongue in his haste to fall silent. Instinctively, you flinch away from the shout, as far as the hands will allow, though you can’t help but notice that the men on either side of you do the same thing, each taking a quick, aborted step back before they seem to remember themselves and stop in their tracks.

Nobody says a word. You don’t because you’re loathe to draw that kind of wrath down on your own head, and the men don’t for much the same reason.

Another heavy boot falls to the carpet with a dull, metallic ‘clunk,’ far closer to you than it was before, and when its wearer draws in a breath, you can hear the creak and stretch of leather as it expands to compensate a prodigious chest.

… He’s standing directly in front of you…

“… I catch you usin’ that kind of language about this lady again,” the stranger growls, his once casual tone now deep and dark as a mineshaft, likely just as dangerous, “And I might just forget that you humans aren’t bulletproof.”

‘Humans…? Oh, God…’ Gulping audibly, you try to keep your breaths shallow and quiet; a difficult feat when the air around you is disturbed by the terribly familiar ‘click’ of a gun’s hammer locking into position.

From within the muffled pocket of your hood, the sound is almost deafening.

Throat closed around several, trapped sobs, you hold your breath and clench your eyes shut, expecting that at any moment, you’re going to hear a man die.

But then…

“Understood…” Dimitri says, hesitating for a second before he quickly adds, “Sir.”

How he managed to speak without his voice quaking, you’ll never know.

With bated breath, you wait for his Boss’s verdict.

When it comes, the stranger’s voice bounces back to its jocular lilt in a turnaround violent enough to leave you with whiplash.

“Good!” he announces promptly, “Can’t have her thinkin’ we’re a bunch of monsters.”

His tone shifts again as he aims it at you.

“Now then...”

Gentle, amicable, friendliness wrapped in a cloak of deception. You know how loud his voice can be, so this unexpected softness means nothing to you.

“Let’s get you outta there, n’ see that pretty face up close…”

Oh, if only you could will yourself to dematerialise and sink through the floorboards like you’ve seen so many demons do on a whim.

Finding your voice, you shake your head, eyes wild behind the sack as they flit from side to side. “Please,” you croak, fruitlessly trying to peel your arms away from the hands rooting you to the spot, “I-I haven’t seen your face, I don’t know who you are, just-!”

Enormous, unnaturally cool fingers brush against the bottom of the sack, wriggling under the twine and tugging the knot loose. In an instant, you reel backwards, throwing your head as far away from the touch as you can, chest heaving hysterically when the man simply follows your motions.

“Just let me go home!” you sob, realising that maybe you aren’t cut out for this, after all.

A reporter. You could spit at the idea now. What the Hell were you thinking? You could have taken up with the group who left to build farmlands outside the city. You could be relaxing on a maker-built porch right now after a hard day of planting those precious seeds an angel found in Svalbard.

You could have picked up a hammer and set to work patching the holes in a shelter's roof, or jumped in a wagon that trundles around the city, distributing supplies and medical aid.

There are no jobs anymore. People are too busy focusing on the rebuilding effort, trying to restore an entire world and its civilisation to something functional once again. Nearly everyone wants to help, in their own way.

And what did you decide to do, to help? You thought it would be a grand idea to pick up a pen and a notebook and chase down information, scribbling out newsletters from the rickety desk in your apartment and distributing them around the city by hand.

And that foolish decision has led you here, to your doom. You'd grown too cocky, thought nobody would pay attention to one, little human trying to track down the sources of rumours that people are being sold off-world as slaves.

A mellow chuckle rolls from a throat high above your head and resonates inside your ribcage. “Easy, sweetheart,” the stranger coos, gripping the sack and raising it carefully up over your face, adjusting easily to the way you twist your neck from side to side, “You’re all right.”

When the burlap finally pulls free of your eyes, you can’t keep yourself from squinting against the sudden intrusion of light, blinking rapidly to clear your vision.

“There you are,” the voice says, quiet with barely contained wonder.

Keeping your head locked straight ahead of you, you finally manage to peel your eyelids apart and free the tears that were trapped behind them. Little tracks roll down the curves of your cheeks and gather on your chin as the body in front of you comes into focus.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck. Fuck. And shit.

You’ve been flying too close to the sun, haven’t you, Icarus? Now you’re going to die, and what came of it? What was it all for? Exposing a corrupt family to the world. A world who could do nothing to fight back even if you armed them with knowledge?

There’s nowhere you can look that isn’t absolutely covered by armour. You can't even see the room beyond it.

A vast torso stretches across your field of view, protected entirely by segments of silver armour. Each interlocking part connects with another seamlessly to fit over the swollen muscles of a body built solely for destruction.

Every inch of it is marred with a constellation of scratches, welts, and age-old scorch marks tarnishing the silver black in places, and from waist to chest span three, distinct gouges that have torn through the armour entirely, leaving thin lines through the metal and giving you an uninterrupted glimpse of black, skin-tight leather beneath.

Something big had left those marks, and still he'd come out the victor.

Everything your bulging eyes take in attests to a life lived in battle, and a survivor of all that have made an attempt on his life.

You don’t want to look up. You’ve heard a rumour that to meet his eyes is akin to slapping a hungry bear on its snout. Your eyes can’t see high enough to glimpse the mask you suspect is tilted down at you anyway.

You know what you’ll see if you do. You know the man standing in front of you, perhaps not personally, perhaps more than you should, perhaps not at all. His name is scribbled on almost every page in your notebook.

Gritting your teeth, you swallow thickly and instead, allow your gaze to creep lower, away from the eyes burning a hole into the top of your head.

You regret looking down almost immediately when your stare lands on the butt of an enormous, silver revolver jutting from a holster strapped to his hips, so large that it would make any ordinary man who wields it look like a toddler trying to play with a cannon.

An audible whimper falls through your teeth as you flick your gaze sideways and see the second gun you already knew was there.

You swear you can feel several pints of blood drain from your face.

These guns are about as infamous as their wielder. And you’re standing within spitting distance of all three.

“O-oh, shit,” you stutter through buzzing teeth. And really, what else is there to say?

You’re in the den of one of the most dangerous beings in the Universe. One of four, in fact.

You’ve heard so many names accredited to him.

Endless Spirit of Timeless Unrest is your personal favourite for nothing else but the sheer pageantry of it.

He’s a killer, a monster, spreading desolation and terror everywhere he goes…

Worse still, before the End War and Earth’s downfall, you and everyone else assumed he was nothing more than a fairy-tale written into the pages of an old, allegorical book.

After all, a Horseman of the Apocalypse? It was always such an outlandish idea.

Until it wasn’t. Until he wasn’t.

“Hah…”

You give a start at the soft chuckle rumbling above your head.

“Not the reaction I was hopin’ for, but beggars can’t be choosers…”

You try to keep your tear-blurred vision on the armoured torso in front of you, but the decision to of inaction is stolen from you seconds later when a gargantuan, metal gauntlet rises up in front of your face.

Startling, you buck against the goons pinning you in place as he extends a finger and slips it underneath your chin.

You cram your lips together, fighting to stop that impossibly strong hand from tilting your head back.

Eyes rolling with fright, your face crumples and you let out a wheezing sob that catches in your throat as your gaze is forced up past a monstrous, armoured chest, then over a thick neck until finally, when you can hardly muster up the courage to draw in a rattling breath… there he is, staring down at you with eyes that exude all the qualities of a predator. Bright and yellow like melted gold, illuminating the silver helm that conceals every other feature from view.

Thick spikes of hair jut from the back of it, and you're reminded more of sharp, ebony horns belonging to that of a demon, rather than anything human.

Above you looms the man who holds Haven City and all the world in the palm of his unforgiving hand.

Of their own accord, your quivering lips peel apart and release his name into the air like a curse, uttered in terrified reverence.

“Strife.”

[endwersed]

WIP Mon(Weds)day

Tagged by my amazing moots @dear-massacre & @hedwig221b ❤️

I'm in full-time editing mode with posting a chapter a week for my ABO AU: the poets are right. So, here's a maybe-not-so-little snippet from the upcoming chapter 3!

-

“You left,” Derek says.

“Didn’t think you’d notice,” Stiles replies evenly. “You were busy, weren’t you?”

A sound of frustration rumbles up from Derek’s chest. His jaw works around it for a moment as he stares across the length of the room.

“I said I’d be back,” he says quietly.

Something snaps inside of Stiles with that. He pushes himself roughly up, the bends of his elbows digging into the mattress below, and his face is caught up, screwed up, in this all-out sneer, his breath trembling on its way out of him as the sheets bunch within the tight balls of his fists.

“Oh, sure,” he spits. “So you wanted me to just hang around and wait for you to be done talking with your fucking girlfriend?"

“Okay,” Derek says quickly, one step closer, two palms going up into the air. “That’s not even – no. Jennifer is not my girlfriend.”

Stiles laughs; a short, harsh bark of it. He lifts a hand to smack the heel of his palm against his forehead, a manic sort of smile clinging to his mouth as he pushes up further to swing his legs around, standing from the bed and moving quickly over to Derek’s stilled form.

“My bad,” he snaps, jabbing a finger into Derek’s chest. “Not your girlfriend. Your betrothed.”

“She’s not my anything,” Derek insists, almost a growl of it as he drops his hands back down to his sides. “I don’t even – Stiles, I swear to you, I don’t even like her.”

Stiles scoffs nastily, pulling his hand back from Derek to cross his arms over his chest, his nails scoring into the skin at his exposed wrists where they peek out from the fastened cuffs of his shirt. He twists his head to look away from Derek, to stare at the wall next to him instead. Anywhere is better than being forced to see that open, pleading, lying face.

“That’s not the story your guest gave me,” Stiles says.

“I don’t give a fuck what anyone else said!” Derek practically shouts. “I mean, fuck – yes, my mom wants us to be together, but... but Jennifer... she is a cruel, spiteful person. I don’t want her like that, I will never want her like that. No matter what anyone else thinks, it will never happen.”

Blinking around the sharp burning behind his eyes, Stiles desperately wills any tears to hold back, to not fall right now, not where Derek can see them. There is no way he will be able to move fast enough to swipe them gone, no way he will catch them before the stains track hotly down his cheeks. Not with Derek so close to him, not with Derek staring at him this intently.

All at once, the fight leaves him. His chest feels cracked open, his heart beating sluggishly behind its sharp ridges. There isn’t anything here to fight for, and he knows that, knows that deep down in the part of himself that Laura has so desperately been trying to make him forget with each day he spends here, with every moment he spends with Derek.

He and Derek – they are who they are. A human and a werewolf. A story that can never happen.

“Just... go back to your party,” he says quietly, eyes flicking down to the ground. “It’s your birthday. You can’t just go missing.”

“No,” Derek says, sharp and instant as he takes a stupid step closer. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until you believe me.”

Stiles uses every last bit of strength within him to keep staring resolutely down. His eyes still sting as he blinks at the floor below their feet, his mouth parted around too loud, too shallow, too shaky breaths. The seconds pass in silence, and he refuses to look up, he refuses to look at Derek’s face, and he so wishes that he could truly want Derek to turn around and walk right back out of that door.

“I don’t care,” he lies, even knowing his heart will betray that to Derek’s ears. “Just – leave me alone, Derek. I don’t fucking care.”

For a moment, Derek says nothing. For a moment, Stiles thinks that perhaps he has won, perhaps he has been victorious in this contest where nobody really comes out on top, and Derek will leave, will go back to his party, his people, his Jennifer, and Stiles will be alone, will be given all the time and space he needs to shed this impossible mindset that Laura has been so cruelly bleeding into him.

But then – a finger hooks beneath his chin. Gentle, and firm, slowly lifting his face, dragging his gaze from the floor, forcing him to look up, forcing him to meet Derek’s wide, pale, desperate eyes.

“You do care,” Derek says.

-

No pressure tags 🤗 @lucky-bishop @patolemus @raisesomehale @renmackree @violetfairydust

[plague-of-insomnia]

WIP Wednesday: Sebardagni 1920s AU: Snippet - Bard meets Ruby

I'm back on my business hoping 2025 is finally the year I get to fill your lives with tons of kuro rarepair AU content!

Here's another scene from my 1920s sebardagni AU that has been floating around in my mind for months and that I was finally able to write the other day.

It's the first of two scenes in which Bard meets Sebastian, aka "Ruby," for the first time, and he's immediately smitten--even after he realizes "Ruby" is a man.

About this AU:

Sebardagni, multichapter, 1920s AU, Human Sebastian, Disabled Sebastian

Set in the US during the 1920s when Prohibition of alcohol was at its peak. Sebastian has a mysterious past that becomes central to the story as it unfolds, but when it begins works out of his apartment as a music tutor and at night performs at Undertaker's speakeasy. That's where he meets Bard, who was left aimless after the end of WWI, and now works as a bouncer for Undertaker in his club. Agni (who isn't in this snippet) is a doctor and who was living with Sebastian when Bard and he met.

*the image above is a preview of a comic by @luci-on-the-moon that will be revealed later

Enjoy, and if this is an AU you're interested in, let me know!

~#~

A hush fell over the entire club as all attention fixed on the piano, which played a simple, tinkling melody that seemed to float through the air like a mist. In the center of it all, spotlight illuminating, was Ruby, dress and jewels the color of her namesake glittering in the light. She was even more beautiful than Bard had imagined she’d be based on everything he’d heard. Her long, luxurious black hair draped over her shoulders, not chopped short like was the fashion, and Bard wondered if, despite the fact she was singing in an underground club run by a shady character like Undertaker, she might be a traditional, classy girl. Her lips were full and lashes long, with skin like fresh cream that Bard longed to touch. But then the piano swelled and she began to sing, and suddenly the entire world around Bard faded away into the soulful sound that cradled him like a warm embrace after years at war. “What’ll I do? When you are far away and I am blue.“ Bard’s mouth went dry as he listened, ash falling from his cigarette as he remained enraptured, as if Ruby were a siren mesmerizing him with her song. The melody was simple, letting the richness of her singing shine through. Bard could feel the emotion she was pouring into every word as she sang sadly of the lover she would never see again. The music crescendoed as Ruby leaned back on the piano, her long legs peaking from the slit in her unfashionably long dress. Though it fit her like God himself had made it for her, so Bard wasn’t about to complain. She wasn’t curvy, but she had a magnetism that made her beauty radiate. “What’ll I do with just a photograph—” She dropped her gaze, those captivating long lashes brushing her cheeks, and when she lifted it again, Bard could have sworn she was looking straight at him. “—to tell my troubles to?” Ruby smiled, amused, but only for a fleeting moment as she continued the song, heartbreak hovering in every note, “When I’m alone, with all the dreams of you that won’t come true. . .” Ruby paused, and so did the music, to let the audience hang on every single second, waiting for her to finish. She stared down at her legs, her voice shifting so that Bard would have sworn she were on the brink of tears. “What’ll I do?” The final chord played and the speakeasy erupted into whistling and clapping, most of the crowd jumping to their feet. But all Bard’s attention was still fixed on Ruby, her red dress glittering as she shifted, blowing kisses to the crowd and winking occasionally before the spotlight slid to the left and the MC began introducing the next performance. As much as he wanted to keep his gaze fixed on her until the last moment, when she disappeared backstage, a fight broke out to Bard’s right. which meant he had a job to do. But after his shift ended, he was gonna pay Ruby a visit.

[yoonia]

🖋️ I just finished Blooming Wallflowers and felt so sad that it ended so soon! Can we have a snippet of what happens after? are they going to continue seeing each other? will OC's daughter get to be closer to Mista Joonie? 🥺🥺 I want to see them hang out again in a less stressful time (because poor OC always stressing!). it would be cute to have Joon helping her out with the girls again. he can finally have a taste of OC's homecooked meal and she gets to make him dinner for once. that'll be sweet. I just love the concept of home date night 🥺

💌 for my love letter, I just want to say happy belated birthday 🥳 I've been following you for a long time. even if I'm no longer around much on Tumblr, I still come back from time to time and wonder what you'll be sharing this time. It's always exciting to find out that you post something new. your stories always feel so comforting, even when they are the most heart-wrenching angst ever! Your blog and your presence have always felt so positive too. just like how you are creating this lovely event 🥺 I think that's the reason why I still stick around no matter how much negativity has grown on Tumblr, because I know there's at least one writer here who still spreads positivity and exudes a comforting aura just by being here (and that's you!)

I love how you touch on real life issues and how you present them in your stories. even in the short ones, we get to feel the character growing through your fic and it feels really fulfilling to experience it 💜

For Blooming Wallflowers, I loved how you wrote the characters. even the daughters. often fanfics aren't so accurate when it comes to writing children (how they speak, behave, etc) yet you always make these characters feel so real, and I love that 💜🥺

Thank you for sharing your talent with us. I hope you have a wonderful birthday 🎂

Thank you so much for reading Blooming Wallflowers! I'm glad you enjoyed the story and are loving the characters. Your idea made me think of cute moments between Joon, OC, and the girls, but as always, my mind think otherwise the moment I began writing the ficlet haha. Anyway, enjoy your moodboard and this "little" snippet, love!

— title: Dinner with Mista Joonie | pairings: Namjoon x female reader| genre: firefighter!Namjoon, single mom!reader, mature, friends with benefits!au | word count: 1,150 words — summary | Namjoon comes to join you and the girls for dinner.  — ratings & warnings | +18 / M for mature; allusion of a one-night stand, memories of hooking up, sexual tension, implied smut scene: public sex, kitchen sex, morning after sex, food play, implied oral sex. 

— original: Blooming Wallflowers by @yoonia — fic drop date: Oct 28th, 2024 — song companion: sleepless

“You should’ve let me help.” 

His deep voice draws a smile to your face, yet you make no move to turn around. Not even when you can feel him approaching you from behind. 

“You’re doing enough to help already,” you answer him as you rinse the last of the dinner plates under the running water. A large hand takes the plates out of your hand right as you are about to slip them into the dishwasher, taking over your work. 

“I don’t see how I’m helping,” Namjoon says as he continues setting the dishwasher to do its work so you can get to rest. 

You wipe your hands dry using the kitchen towel before handing it to him. “For one, you took my distractions away from me,” you answer with a whisper, nodding towards the living room where your girls are busy flipping between their assortments of storybooks. “What did you tell them so you could escape?” 

Namjoon grins. “Hana asked me to read them a story before leaving. I told them to pick a book each that I could read for them.” 

Shaking your head, you let out a soft chuckle. “You shouldn’t fall for their puppy eyes. You were only invited to join dinner, not to babysit the girls.” 

“It’s well deserved. They’ve been so proud about helping their Mom prepare the delightful dinner tonight,” Namjoon says, shrugging. He moves to rest his hips against the kitchen counter and crosses his arms over his chest, drawing your eyes towards his toned muscles, his t-shirt straining over them, and a flutter rising in your chest. “Thank you for inviting me, by the way.” 

The damn flutter goes wild when he says this with a smile. A dimple appears. Your skin grows warm. “It was a pleasure. I’m just honouring a promise I made to you.” 

It truly was. Ever since the night at the supermarket, you have wanted to cook for him. Imagining him eating TV dinner after working to save people’s lives—or pets, maybe?—makes you feel bad.

But seeing him tonight at dinner was a whole other matter.

You had expected it to be awkward. A single man sitting with a single mother and her two kids shouldn’t have seemed so normal. And yet, he blended in so nicely at the table. He even didn’t blink an eye every time any of the girls left vying for his attention. From bragging about their roles in helping you set up dinner, to showing off their artwork from today’s class. Even Suzy came out of her shell and chatted with Namjoon, asking him about his job and if firefighters really do get called to take kittens down from trees. 

“Well, I’m honouring the meal I received tonight. Step one is pleasing the princesses over there with good storytelling.” 

Shaking your head, you turn back to the kitchen sink to wipe down the mess. “I swear you’re too good at this.” 

Namjoon comes to you with a deep chuckle, surprising you when he wraps his arms around you from behind. 

“What are you doing?” you hiss at him while looking over his shoulder, afraid that your girls would catch their special guest hugging their mother. 

“They’re still busy, don’t worry,” he whispers to your ear, deep voice vibrating from his throat, and those harmless flutters travel down south, settling right between your legs. 

“Since you said that I’ve done good—” he whispers, his lips brushing at your skin. “Does that mean you’ll finally agree to go on a date with me? I told you, I’m okay if we’re out on a weekday. I’m not always on night shift, and might be working on the weekend anyway.” 

You swallow down your words and the tightness in your chest. You promised yourself that the night you spent with him on your bed would be the only time. With so many things going on in your life, this would be the wrong time for you to start anything. Not even with the first hot guy who managed to catch your eye. 

But Namjoon has been insistent. Exchanging numbers had given him the chance to text and call regularly, from catching up with your day, to flirting, and often ends with him asking for a date, or a quick hook-up, a quick repeat of your first night. Yet you have been resilient so far in refusing him.

Some part of you have been expecting that he would eventually give up and move on. Another part of you has always known that you will regret everything if you ever let it happen. While the rest keeps reminding you that he doesn’t deserve to be pulled into your mess, even if you really, really like him. 

Feigning your disinterest seems to be futile. But then again, immediately continuing your hookup the next morning after you first brought him to your bed during the morning after breakfast might have sent a different message. Because having him finally have a taste of you on the kitchen counter that morning, with him lathering maple syrup on your bare breasts to lick off of your skin instead of pouring them on his pancake, was not the right way to show each other that there was no passion between you once the alcohol wore off. 

But, maybe, just maybe, you have always known what that would do to a man who is so persistent in his chase like Namjoon does. 

“Will this Wednesday be good?” you find yourself asking once the fight leaves your body. “I’ll be off work early and it’s my Mom’s day to bring the girls to her shop.” 

It’s too easy to give in, after all. And you are surprised to find how quickly the weight is lifted from your shoulders once you stop denying your feelings. 

You can feel his smile on your skin as he presses a kiss on the side of your neck. A promise. It draws a shudder through your body when you are reminded of what those lips on your skin did to you last time. “That’s my day off. So it’s perfect.” 

You open your mouth, ready to turn to face him, when Hana’s voice calls out, 

“Mista Joonie!” she yells from the living room, and both of you are quick to separate, right as your little girl comes barrelling into the kitchen with her books. “I found my book!” 

Chuckling softly, Namjoon steals a quick peck on your cheek before stepping away. “Duty calls,” he says with a wink, and off he goes to follow Hana back to the living room. 

You watch their receding back as they leave you in the kitchen, smiling to yourself as you watch Namjoon listening with rapt attention as your youngest blabber on about her favourite book and how her sister had chosen something just as good for them to read together.  

Thank you for your sweet words. your message really means the world to me. And thank you for following me and staying with me for so long. I wouldn't still be here if not for readers like yourself who has been here with me.

Here's my little gift for you 💜

𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖋𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖆𝖉𝖊: dia’s birthday bash 2024 ⇝ closed!

[hyba]

January 2025 Newsletter, coming 29/01

Another newsletter dropping in a week, on the 29th! This one's gonna have two goodies as per usual.

The January Writing Goodie(s)

Last time I shared the Book in a Year guide for managing your time to write a book in one year. (You can still download the guide by joining the newsletter.)

This time I'm sharing my Flashcarding method to help you get your story organized from the content side of things. How, specifically?

This method will help with plotting and figuring out what to work on in your writing days/sessions, so you never have to look at the blank screen again 😂

It's also great for troubleshooting your plot in a range of ways, including pacing, timeline, and multiple storylines/POVs. 🔎

It can help you get productive and increases your motivation to write 💪 Roll up those sleeves and get that story written!

If you want to grab this when it comes out on the 29th and beyond, join my newsletter here. ⬅️

(Psst! There may also be an early limited offer for my horror writing course that you can benefit from if that's something you've been interested in! ^^ It's a bit like a beta reading thing, but for my course. If I can get it to work, more details will be provided in my newsletter.)

The January Reader's Goodie

Last month, I shared my short horror story, The Siren in the Glass. (You can still grab it by joining the newsletter; it's on the group page.) This month, I'm sharing a long, chunky excerpt from The City of Light, my fantasy novel in the works.

If you're not familiar with The City of Light, here are some links that might be helpful:

WIP intro post

WIP page

tiny battle snippet

breaking the rules snippet

sick ill diseased snippet

and the most recent update, shared on Dec 2024

If you want to grab this when it comes out on the 29th and beyond, join my newsletter here. ⬅️

(I'll reblog this post to tag my City of Light tag list, and if you want to be on the list so you can be updated when anything related to this novel is shared, please let me know.)

[felassan]

Snippets. 🐺💜

Corinne Busche celebrates 5 years at BioWare! [source]

Devs Michelle Flamm and Gabe Graziani: "feels weird that 'the last game informer cover game is a game I worked on' is a thing I can say now" / "And all of the exclusive coverage we did with them is just... gone." [source, two]

Jon Renish: "It's just a coincidence but, the last cover for Game Informer is 'Dragon Age: The Veilguard', the last printed Prima strategy guide was 'Anthem'." [source]

John Epler: "christ. seeing game informer shutting down is awful. seeing them shut down literally three months after spending time with them is fucking me up. hope everyone lands on their feet. unbelievable." [source]

Jay Ingram (on GI): "Oh my gosh. It was always so exciting to see what the cover story of a month would be, and then even more so as a dev when you showcase games I've been privileged to work on. This is so sad. Thank you for everything. I wish you all the best. Truly the end of an era" [source]

Derek Wilks: "Seriously hate to see Game Informer go. They’ve been my go to for years. Always loved their magazines. They will be greatly missed. It’s a bittersweet honor to have our game as their last cover story. Wish they could have continued forever. 💔" [source]

User: "Will Briala make another appearance in the future (not necessarily in Veilguard)?" Trick Weekes: "Anyone who didn’t die onscreen could potentially show up again someday." [source]

[Here] is the link to costume builder Ladytoxie's SDCC V-log! Ladytoxie was invited to the DA:TV@SDCC Fandom party, at which they cosplayed Bellara. In the vlog, they discuss their Bellara cosplay, the process of creating it, their experience going by the BioWare booth at SDCC, and their Fandom party experience with the devs. The vlog also includes a bonus short interview with the devs from SDCC. In the vlog you can see that, along with the dragon screenshot, an alternative option for the background of the DA:TV photo booth pic was this tavern screenshot that we've seen. Ladytoxie also mentioned in the vlog that it's clear how much love and work the devs have put into the game [source]

^ The devs talked a bit about DA/the game & characters in the bonus interview. I'm not 100% sure if I heard all these details right, so apologies/correct me if I misheard, missed or misunderstood any of it (listening to the original source first-hand is of course always most advisable!!), but it sounded like: Corinne Busche feels most connected to Maevaris Tilani. Corinne Busche loves the qunari and would cosplay as Taash, as she loves the scale, armor and Rivaini gold. Her favorite companion is Emmrich. John Epler would cosplay as Lucanis, calling him so stylish and suave. It sounded like he said he wrote Bellara and a few other characters. Ashley Barlow would cosplay as Neve, saying that she has [awesome] dialogue, quick wit and is sassy. Parrish Ley would cosplay as Davrin. He said that Davrin has some awesome armor pieces, with the hands and feet being lots of interlocking pieces of metal. Parrish Ley is a big face and hands animator, so when he's animating Davrin's armor, his hands and feet get a lot of focus, so that he looks great in any pose from any angle. [source] <- Check out the vlog here!

User: "bioware, it is now the second of august." Dev Jess: "Soon 😄" [source] User: "On my knees groveling for more information on Taash" Jess: "soon :)" [source]

User: "Coming back to say Thank you so very much for Veilguard! Coming back to Thedas feels like Home!!". Derek Wilks: "It’s absolutely our pleasure. We’ve truly made something that we love, and hope you all love it too. 🧡" [source]

User on Fenris in DA2: "coolest character introduction ever". Derek Wilks: "So far 😊" [source]

[aalinaaaaaa]

2024 In a Gift Box

Hey, everyone, greetings after another year that has flown by all too quickly! Featuring new friends, a few awards and 400% more holidays (rip my wallet lol), this has been a wild year for me. And that's only half of it.

For some strange reason, my desire to write increases with the hecticness of my life. Much of Obsidian Sapphires' revival/troubleshooting phase occured during the latter part of the year, from October onwards (though I had been tinkering with its plot for some time now). All because I woke up one morning with the solution to a plot hole appearing in my head.

Anyway, preambles aside, here's a few major highlights from my year (in writing terms):

First up, thanks to @druidx for the Year in Review Tag! The premise of the tag is to post one's favourite five or so pieces that they've written throughout the year.

To be truthful, some of Obsidian Sapphires' scenes would make this list only the respective chapters for them aren't completed yet 😅

A Pawn for a Greater Cause — I had a ball writing the starting dialogue, and the prompt gave me a few revelations regarding Petrius' character.

Regrets — This made me cry at 1am, the catharsis was unreal.

To Perpetuate Life — Amazing how almost falling asleep gives me ideas. This piece helped me answer a few questions about Orlaith's backstory, and also gave me extra questions surrounding the lore.

Blue Moon — This feels like a nice deviation from my usual style, it's more dreamy and whimsical. Also, this reminds me to go and work on its second part, lol (because the scope was too big for one piece)

That angsty pining scene — This is not posted as one scene, but rather in splinters because parts of it are dripping in spoilers for Obsidian Sapphires. However, I enjoyed writing this scene too much not to post some snippets.

WIP Roundup

First things first, an ode to the WIPs that I've put on ice to focus on Obsidian Sapphires.

The Lady's Lament, a brief idea born out of a plot bunny inspired by a plot on Wattpad. The idea sprouted in April 2023, but it lives on in the form of worldbuilding ideas for South Arobyre.

And then also, Flamebearer, one of my oldest wips but also arguably my most complex one. It's a story of grief, religious dilemmas and romantic/familial drama, all under the backdrop of sociopolitical turmoil. It's going to take a lot of research and planning, that much I know. Hence why I want it to be as perfect as I can make it, when I have the knowledge and writing practice to do it justice.

In April this year, one of my Flash Friday pieces (Duel to the Debt) sowed the seeds for another piece (An Endless Round) in May, and later on Soulswapped derived from it. I intended it to be a short enough story, a novella of sorts that would be woven into a larger compilation, but it's become its own thing. Already, I think it may get a sequel. But I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

Obsidian Sapphires

So its progress this year has been skewed. Like, 'a lot of its progress spawned in October or thereafter' sort of skewed. I woke up one morning and the cogs for the rigmarole surrounding what is currently Chapter 2 all clicked, to the point I yanked out my laptop and starting writing notes until I had to run for class.

Since then, I've had a bunch of ideas, but currently I'm deliberating on the story I wish to tell. It seems more cohesive and easier to plan for when I cut Eshani's perspective out, but at the same time, cutting her perspective would cut or at least hide much of her character development. That and I love her to bits, and she may/may not be a readers' favourite also.

In terms of actual tangible content, bits of the angsty pining scene got posted, as did sections of the first and second chapters. It even came with a few memes, lolololol. (And there's more memes sitting in my gallery/Scrivener notes, this story's quite memeable honestly).

The antagonists got their time of day, however brief so far. And not just the lead meshai, but also the septet of folks angry at the meshai and his fellows.

And this gets onto something that has existed as tags and headings and brief little mentions. A collection of pieces, leading up to answers surrounding some major events in the history of the country Obsidian Sapphires is set in.

That would be This Blood-Stained Charcuterie. It is going to be the anthology of short stories and one-off pieces surrounding Morilast's High Councillors (and indeed, the Court's other denizens and its namesake himself!). A lot of juicy details surrounding certain characters' backstories are going to feature here, I can't wait to get into it. (It's also my excuse to figure out all the bits of lore and convoluted ancestries [who murdered who], lol).

When I finish with Obsidian Sapphires, that is about when I'll start releasing this one. The title could change upon me getting to the end, but we'll see.

Flash Fiction Friday

I started doing these pieces in late 2023, so it's been about a year since my first one (Contemplations). In all, I've completed a total of 28 pieces so far :D

The masterlist came about in early January, because I was inspired by other people who had masterlists for their pieces. It's very satisfying to see it develop from a few pieces to what it is today, a decent few pieces.

Whatsmore, it reflects the trends in my writing, such as the wips that the prompts inspired me for, and what periods I was consistently doing it week-by-week and when the major gaps were.

For whatever reason, I have a tendency of getting inspiration for these at about midnight or so. Even if I get a handful of basic notes written down, it may not still be until late in the night that I can get a piece together, lol.

To commemorate the end of the year, I've started a series known as Flash Friday Flashbacks to celebrate what I've made and show off behind-the-scenes when it comes to notes, context, deleted scenes, etc.

There are a few pieces left in this year's version, which will be reblogged close to the end of the month (to celebrate the New Year).

Next year's edition is going to feature the December 2024 pieces in addition to all the 2025 stuff (which hopefully is a lot). There will also be a 2025-specific masterlist too.

Writeblr Community Events

What is writeblr without its community? It's beyond a pleasure to be part of a group so lovely and talented, everyone has something amazing going for them.

As part of this, there are some people here who create events, discords and/or other initiatives that bring people together. Shoutout to everyone who has done/is doing something along these lines ❤️

Special mentions in my case go to:

@flashfictionfridayofficial for taking the prompt submissions, making the posts, and reblogging everyone's stories (with fantastic comments) every week

@writeblrsummerfest for making a lovely event spanning the entirety of August, encompassed by a well-organised theme and all

@bardic-tales for establishing the @creators-club and doing all the various types of ask/tag games to foster interaction and support

@agirlandherquill for her first ever Writemas! These prompts are impeccable and it was really fun looking forward to the next day's prompts! I wish I could've participated more, but alas, that's how the cookie crumbles. (Also, high five, we're in the same timezone, woo!)

Plans for 2025

Continue with Obsidian Sapphires — I'd love to get the draft finished

Doing as many of the Flash Friday prompts as well

Reblogging people's posts more and hopefully improving at reaching out to people

Learning to draw is something that I've always wanted to do, but I want to get focused with it this year. It would be cool to put my characters in visual form

Getting a handle on the lore and background information needed to compile This Blood-Stained Charcuterie

The Tags

That brings this post to its natural course, the end. Merry Christmas everyone ❤️🎄

Giving a Year in Review Tag to everyone who is on at least one of my taglists (ask, comment, etc to be added/subtracted): @mr-orion @the-ellia-west @guessillcallitart @thereadingfoz @glassstardust22124 @original-writing @honeybewrites @ashirisu @drowsy-quill @oliolioxenfreewrites @theglitchywriterboi @seastarblue @gioiaalbanoart @rae-butter @corinneglass @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @outpost51 @mundanemoongirl @scarletteflamerald @ceph-the-ghost-writer @flock-from-the-void @mattresses-and-macaroni @limitlesswritingvoid

...As well as all these people I'm tagging here: @winterandwords @finickyfelix @wintherlywords @anyablackwood @cherrybombfangirlwrites @kaylinalexanderbooks @angelfevr @thatndginger @thepeculiarbird @ominous-feychild @oh-no-another-idea @space-writes @veneritia @the-golden-comet @jev-urisk @cljordan-imperium @an-indecisive-nerd @mauannacreates @laureleavess @theeccentricraven @paintedbutton (@/bardic-tales, @/agirlandherquill, both of you are tagged for this too)

...And most importantly, here's a tag for everyone in the audience!

Here's to a hopeful 2025! 🎉

[zeldaelmo]

Hellooo

I'm looking for good Zelink AU fics. I've already read all of yours, so.

Do you have a rec list or some fic you'd like us to try? Zelink in modern setting, fantasy anything but canon lmao (I've read too much of that)

BTW have you read Hit list by zestycrouton? It's high-school au and pretty old fic from ff.net. One of the best fics, all characters so well developed, it felt like you're watching a movie before your eyes. Yeah, I highly recommend.

Ah, thank you for reaching out and what an honor that you've read all my AUs! 🥰

So, here we go. I try to stick to stories that haven't been recommended over and over.

My friend @deiliamedlini writes a lot of AUs. I'm linking the Pirate AU, but there are tons of others, too. Some get dark, and don't think she won't kill characters off just because they've grown on you. 😂

Speaking of Pirates, my friend @mistresslrigtar also has one. She also has an ongoing rock star AU that I also recommend!

If you're looking for something short, you should check out @ladyhoneydee 's work. She writes a lot of modern AU and everything comes with a manageable word count! This is a sweet coffee shop AU, but she has tons of others, too.

If you're more looking for stories that have that 'game feel' but are based on own ideas, I'll direct you to @nocturnalfandomartist's blog(s). She has several AUs going on, with concept art and all!

I've only started to explore @abbyz-elda 's work but what I read so far I enjoyed greatly. Currently listening to this one with my screen reader when I'm out running, but I recommend the Sci Fi AU 'A Link to the Stars', too.

Next on my read list is @flutefemme's TP 1920th AU. I read enough of Flute's fics and snippets from this one that I'm confident to recommend before reading.

Another friend who loves AUs is @louwhose. Recommending this one because it's the last I read:

I also enjoyed @sparklyhyperbole 's fairy AU and the ongoing fic.

And last but not least, Puppy Love by @liv-andletdie .

I'm very, very sure I've forgotten a ton of authors and stories, so please reblog and add your own recommendations and/or self recs!

More about Hit List under the cut. TW: mentions of school shootings.

I skipped Hit List as one of the few fics when I went through all the zelink fics on ff.net and Ao3. I heard that the characterizations etc are really good, but since it's about a school shooting, I didn't want to read it. I'm not doing well with violence in general, and a story that deals with any aspects of a school shooting is not what I want to read for fun. That being said, that obviously doesn't say anything about the quality of the fic and isn't supposed to discredit the story in any kind. I heard others enjoy it greatly. It's just not for me. 😊

[lushrue]

I just want to let you know that I ADORE your Hockey AU it brings me so much joy, I lost it at one point and I had to scroll through so many "figure skater reader" tags to find it again BUT IT WAS WORTH IT 😭😭

oh my god thank you!! that's a lot of fics so i'm honored you took all that time to find my story again lol! i have definitely done that sooooo many times for fics i loved and it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside that someone did it for mine <3

also gonna use this ask to share a snippet of pt 7 that'll be out tomorrow below the cut (you're getting more than you bargained for, anon)

“alright, you win,” he grumbled, settling back into the john price-shaped indent in his mattress. kyle grinned, wrapping himself around john and pressing his body impossibly close. “knew you’d see sense,” kyle whispered, his lips close to john’s ear. he kissed the place where his jaw and ear met, then started working his way down. over the neck, across the collarbones, down the sternum. john groaned, his body melting under kyle’s gentle kisses. his lips were soft and warm, stoking the desire that john thought had been tapped dry the night before. “c’mon, sweets,” he said gruffly, folding his hands behind his head. “give an old man a break, yeah? thought you got your fill last night.” kyle hummed, the sound vibrating against price’s chest. the feeling went straight between his legs, blood rushing south as his lover pressed his lips against his pec. “can never get enough of you,” he said in response, his hand tracing over john’s stomach to his steadily hardening cock.

“is tha’ right?” john asked, grabbing ahold of kyle’s chin and tilting his head up. his blues caught kyle’s browns, captivated by the lust in them. pupils like saucers, pools of brown alight with the bright spark of desire. “your little date last night still on your mind?” kyle nodded obediently, lips parted and still slightly swollen from the abuse they’d endured last night. john chuckled, reaching down to run his hand through kyle’s short curls. “yeah, princess, i can tell. you’re pawin’ at me like a puppy.” kyle looked away, flustered, but john clicked his tongue and pulled his chin back to face him. “uh-uh. none of that, now. you started this,” he said, a growl in the undertone of his words.