#there's a little more to this drabble which is why it feels unfinished

[b1ackbaccara]

to peel back the edges of the universe

Bombardier. Mercury. It wasn't a glamorous, sprawling metroswathe like much of the rest of Cradle's fulcrum worlds, but instead something more reminiscent of a weed pushing itself up between faults in asphalt, stubbornly growing out of necessity than careful cultivation.

There was something to be said for it, for humanity's proclivity to scrabble and grasp for survival, to flourish in the face of challenge and adversity--and while her younger mind couldn't grapple with all the complex particulars, that driving necessity took root early in the wake of their purpose here; the anchor for humanity's very first Dyson web. Without access to the sort of energy it provided, the crises across the galaxy would be catastrophic. Catastrophic.

It should have scared her, young as she was, but with how often her parents repeated their responsibility to their station, to Cradle, to humanity spoken with such reverence every time she lamented their absence without fail (until she stopped asking altogether)--how could it?

She'd say she understood, but she didn't, not until she saw the web. Really saw it.

While the only residential hub on Mercury, Bombardier's passages and facilities were still largely industrial, perfunctory spaces. There weren't windows and atriums and greenery--save for the hubs through which Union's officials would pass most often--as most of Bombardier was below ground, given Mercury's climate on the surface.

There was a passage, though, near her family's apartments. A long corridor that opened up like the elbow joint of a drain pipe, branching down into other residential passages. She remembers a few scattered tables, once-plush, curved leather benches lining the walls with grooves where people had sat on and off for decades, vidscreens with the latest station news alternating with programming beamed across the Omninet from Cradle.

She remembers the concrete flooring was shinier down the main thoroughfare, that she'd spend her limited amount of free time occasionally tracking up and down, playing at filling the shoes of her parents or their colleagues on some important mission or another for the Anchor (like defending it from invading mutant astronaut dinosaurs who she'd inevitably convince of the error of their ways and she'd get to ride up and down the hallways).

On one of those days, though, something had possessed her to lay out in the center of the little concrete plaza, staring up at a ceiling that vaulted far higher than she'd ever really noticed. Reinforced steel beams were criss-crossed by thick ropes of tied up cabling, recycled air hissed through slats in the massive, squared rows of ducts that spliced down the junction of each hallway. Electricity buzzed in the artificial lights, flickering almost imperceptibly, while the TV blathered on at a low drone.

She didn't notice any of it, though, peering up into what she'd always thought was a shadowy ceiling that terminated not in darkness, but light. It was high up enough that it didn't really cast light down, not below the artificial industrial lighting lining the hallways and the edges of the room in a harsher, off-white glow, but it was a massive porthole to what must have been the surface.

She could see the outline of thick bolts the size of her six-or-seven year-old head lining the edges, and whatever glass was up there was so thick that it cast a foggy haze over the sights beyond, blowing out the flickering strands of the Dyson web so each lit section looked more like a glowing bulb on a strand of holiday lights.

Like she was seeing cracks in the black expanse, fingers of gold trying to peel back the edges of the universe.

It was that moment, that spark of wonder and of terror that spurred her along the path her life would eventually take. Her parents might have planned to have her take up engineering, but while she internalized the responsibility and importance of caring for the Anchor on behalf of all humanity, she would eventually fly straight past it.

[dfortrafalgar]

Gentle

Law doesn't like his hands, but a little bird on his shoulder says otherwise.

Warnings: None <3 just a short fluffy drabble

A/N: Going through my google drive means uncovering all of the unfinished request fics... and general unposted fics, of which there are many oopsies ;w; Every time I come back to this blog I forget how to format my posts. But im back on my one piece brainrot bullshit so you'll be seeing more from me again!

Law’s hands were littered with deep scars and rough calluses.  The pads of his lean fingers were hardened, barely there fingerprints left on the pages of his books.  His palms were cold, thick skin keeping the warmth out.  His tattoos only seemed to heighten the poor image of his hands, the black-inked word of “DEATH” spread out on his fingers.  The cold man had no positive feelings regarding his hands.  While they could give life, they also took it away.  His hands caused loss more than they granted the privilege of a heart beat.  Cold as ice and hard as stone.

But you nestled your cheek into his hand like a warm, downy blanket.

You entwined your fingers with his, stroking the side of his hand with your thumb, filling his chest with a tachycardia.  You would always laugh at the way blood rushed to his cheeks.

Your hands guided his own to your body, across your neck, shoulders, down to your collarbones, along your breasts, trailing fleeting patterns down your sides like electric shocks.  Your eyes closed in bliss as he embraced you, mouth parted with a content smile.

One day, Law finally thought to ask you.

“Why do you like my hands so much?”

His voice was more stern than he wanted it to be, but you showed no change in your calm demeanor as you turned your head towards him, a smile growing on your lips.  “You’re always so gentle with me.  Your hands feel so nice.”

Your simple response made Law’s brain brownout.  His eyes widened the tiniest amount, and you covered your mouth with the back of your hand to stifle your laugh.

“Is it really so surprising?” you added.

Law shook his head, snapping out of it.  “No, I suppose not.”

The way his eyebrows furrowed in his ever-permanent pouting expression gave you all the answers you needed.  You stood from your seat and paced your way toward the man, putting a tender hand on his shoulder as you leaned forward to peck a sweet kiss to the side of his scruffy cheek.  

“I know you don’t feel the way I do,” you whispered, reaching your other hand downward to ghost your fingers across the tattoo on the back of his hand that rested on an open journal of notes.  “But I really do love your hands.  They bring life.  They’re warm and gentle.”  Your fingers made their way under Law’s palm, encouraging him to flip his hand over so you could trail the pads of your fingers across his calloused distal palmar.  “They’re also rough, like a fortress.  Like a shelter.  And I love that.”

Law couldn’t see your face from behind him, but he could hear the bright smile you adorned through your tone of voice.

“Never heard of them referred to as a ‘fortress,’” he responded to you, voice low and apprehensive as he watched your fingers dance across his own upturned ones.

“They’re my fortress,” you stated.  “I love when you hold me.”

He simply chuckled.  “You’re too cheesy for your own good.”

You retracted your hand from his, instead wrapping both your arms around his shoulders, leaning your head into his plush hat.  “You love it when I’m cheesy.”

A bubbly laugh finally emerged from his lungs.  “I do.”

[captain-joongz]

Here you go my lovelies, this is a pt. 2 to my dressmaker!Hongjoong drabble from hard hours <3 hope you enjoyed reading!!

everybody say thank you to @kpop-will-kill-me who requested it <3

Pt. 1

warnings: pervy obsessed joong, jerking off, oral (f. rec.), cumming on clothes

Hongjoong should have known he'd end up slipping up - he was playing a dangerous game giving into his desires this way. you seemed to be perfectly willing to let him style clothes on you, but he was slowly running out of excuses - exhibitions, assignments, needing a new perspective, he'd tried it all

and he was toeing the line dangerously, forgetting himself and getting too close, hands straying too far, gripping too hard. once or twice he'd brush against you and panic whether you felt his erection on your body or not - he just couldn't help himself and push the limits as far as possible, trying to get away with more and more

you'd been just too alluring for him to stop himself from taking what he wanted

and if he wasn't lost to his internal panic, he'd hear the way your breaths hitched, your little gasps and the way you arched into his hands and fingers, how you'd find yourself wishing he slipped them between your thighs and relieve the tension

you'd never been treated as something precious or beautiful or fragile, and the reverent way Hongjoong's eyes took you in was strongly addictive - you felt sexy and wanted under his attentive hands

and also you'd also started catching on that his motives weren't completely innocent - and you wondered just how far you'd be able to push him before he revealed himself

when one week Hongjoong didn't come to you once - which was very unusual after these past few months during which he asked for your help at least three times a week - you'd thought it extremely strange and went to look for the man yourself

Hongjoong was slumped over his desk, papers with colourful streaks of unfinished designs strewn all over the working space, various fabrics draped over most of the space in the room - it was obvious why he hasn't sought you out. he was in what looked to be a very rough creative block

unbeknownst to you those two things were connected in a very different way - he'd tried to stop himself from slipping up with you and forbid himself from using you like that, and therefore he found that he couldn't create - he needed your soft body under his hands

and when the words "maybe i could help you?" slipped from your lips, he found that he really didn't have the strength to stop himself

this time wearing a half finished dress was a completely different experience, and Hongjoong's dark desperate eyes felt electric on your body and you thought - maybe this is my chance

usually you stood still and let Hongjoong do his thing, but of course now he needed your help more than ever and what better way to get him out of his rut then properly show of his creations

feeling Hongjoong's heavy gaze on your body, you turned and twisted, showing off how the dress fit you, your skin peeking through where it wasn't fully finished. you arched under your own hands as you smoothed the fabric down, feeling yourself up in front of him

and when he came closer, hands already clamping down on your hips like seals, you knew your teasing hit home

that night Hongjoong didn't shy away, not when you clearly wanted him to cross the line - not when you shuddered under his palms when he leaned in closer to smell the mixture of your sweat, perfume and the scent of freshly bought fabrics, groaning into your skin at the tantalising aroma

so when you suddenly found yourself arching under his hands for a completely different reason, half laid upon his bed with his head buried between your thighs, legs shaking and fingers tightly woven into his dark hair, you weren't that surprised

Hongjoong ate pussy enthusiastically, worshipping your body like he always did, wildly sucking and licking and slurping through your juices, tongue everywhere all at once - thrusting into you, licking around your lips, teasing your clit, needy desperate groans spilling out of him into your sex

his eyes were hazy, face wet with your slick, hair a mess from your hands, and yet he was still gripping at the shiny smooth fabric of the unfinished dress, smearing it with your essence and making you soak through it as you came on his face, the juices seeping into it as it dripped from your centre and your thighs

Hongjoong wouldn't waste another second - peeling away from you to hurriedly tear his pants off. in your muddled brain you'd be barely capable of keeping up with him as he took himself in his hand and started frantically jerking off over you

he'd be so wound up that it'd barely take a couple of strokes before thick white ropes of cum were spraying over your satin clad form, the white liquid seeping through the fabric onto your skin, claiming you in the most possessive way

he wouldn't care that he destroyed the dress - after all, he'd make thousands more, moulding them into shape right on your body - and if a couple of those ended up drenched in your combined sweat and cum, he was willing to live with that

divider by @cafekitsune

[sorcerersseestars]

just like you <3

warnings: Gojo makes inappropriate jokes. Reader is gender neutral but refers to Gojo as “such a boy” once and is called princess by Gojo thrice. (it’s part of the story, I’m sorry ;-;). Kissing, suggestiveness, & confessions! Gojo is wearing his shades but I was too lazy to keep writing that in…

word count: 2.1k

I feel like Gojo and reader are in their late teens/early 20s in this! Also, I think this feels like more of a snapshot of one moment than a complete oneshot…I guess it’s a drabble then?? Not sure haha pls let me know if there’s a term for this

Gojo hates classical music. Growing up, his parents would drag him to so many ballets and operas, especially around the holidays. He can’t count on both hands how many performances of the Nutcracker he has seen, which was always such a snooze fest for him—he used to point and laugh at the poor child who had to play the rat, which is usually how he got out of seeing the rest of the performance, since the ushers would quickly kick out him and his family for his behavior.

In essence, Gojo has always gone about his life convinced that classical music is horribly boring and that he abhors it.

That is, until you reintroduce him to it. When you ask him if you mind listening to a piece with him, he’s a bit surprised—and of course, apprehensive. How is he going to break it to you that he hates something you hold so dear? But it’s you, so he relents—how could he ever say no to you?

“It’s called Scheherazade,” You say, shyly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s based on a Thousand and One Nights, y’know, the really old story. Do you know it?”

You’re both sitting on your bed. You are sitting cross-legged, while Gojo rudely stretches out his legs (manspreads!), leaving little room for you. You don’t complain, though—you like being this close to him, even if you can’t admit it to yourself.

“I haven’t heard of it,” He admits. He feels so relaxed with you that he yawns even though he isn’t necessarily sleepy. You seem to take this the wrong way, though.

You become embarrassed. “Oh shit, this stuff is kinda nerdy, huh? I don’t want to bore you-”

“You won’t,” He says immediately, firmly. His blue eyes seem to look right through you, making you nervous under his persistent gaze. Maybe if this was music history class, he’d sigh and moan, but since you’re the one telling the story, there’s no possible way he could get bored.

“Oh, r-really?” You stammer out, quickly looking away from his bold gaze (does he always look at you like that?) “Okay then. Uh, so basically, this king found his wife in bed with another man, so he uh– killed her and all of her servants. He kinda went crazy after that and took revenge on women by summoning one virgin to his chamber every night and executing her before the night was up.”

He shifts from his position, leaning in toward you to whisper, “I don’t think he was a very nice king, but don’t tell him I said that.”

You laugh at his lame joke, which makes him feel warm inside.

“Well, one night, a woman named Scheherazade volunteered to be the virgin to go to him one night. Her family was distraught, thinking they were going to lose their daughter to their insane king. But after the first night was up, everyone was surprised to see she was still alive in the morning. This repeated on and on. She was really clever and told him an unfinished story every night, telling him that he would have to wait until the next night to hear the ending. And she did that One Thousand and One times, hence the name of the story.”

“So you’re telling me that she edged him with the same story for one thousand and one nights and he never noticed? Seems kinda gullible, if ya ask me.”

“Why do you have to put it like that?” You say, flustered by his wording. “Ugh, you’re such a boy sometimes.”

“Am I wrong, princess?” He smiles. Your heart skips a beat at his use of a pet name, but you try not to make it obvious.

You roll your eyes. “W-whatever! Anyway, he eventually fell for her and made her his queen. That’s what this piece is based on—or that’s the simple version of it, at least.”

“So, let me get this straight—she tamed an actual virgin-killer?”

“Satoru!” You try to sigh, but can’t hold back your laughter. “That’s not the point!”

“It kinda is though, isn’t it?” He playfully argues. “Actually, I’d argue that’s the climax of the story. After that, everything gets resolved!”

You make a face when he calls it the ‘climax’. In turn, he pokes your cheek.

“What, you don’t like my literary terminology? C’mon, that’s literally what it’s called!”

“You’re such a perv! Virgin killer this, climax that,” You wrinkle your nose in semi-faux disgust. “Just shut up and listen, I’m going to turn it on.”

“Oooo, you’re gonna turn it on!” Gojo says, waggling his fingers and doing jazz hands.

You cross your arms and put on your sternest look. “Do you want to listen to it or not?”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, officer, I’ll behave now!”

You giggle. “Okay, enough. I’m gonna start it now, for real. It’s kinda long, so sit tight.”

You press play on your device, fiddling with the volume for a bit since classical music has such high highs and low lows. You’re still nervous if he’s going to like it or not, so you aren’t as immersed in the music as you usually are. You keep glancing at Gojo out of the corner of your eye, praying you’re not boring him to death.

As the music plays on, you begin to relax and imagine the story in your head. You close your eyes, savoring the colorful tones of the different instruments and the singing melodies.

You open your eyes at the start of the second movement, and are surprised to find Gojo’s eyes completely on you. The solo violin sings beautifully iand the harp tugs at your heartstrings in the background, making the sensation of his eyes on yours all the more evocative. You lose your breath; neither of you look away. It should be awkward, but it isn’t.

“D-do you like it?” You stupidly ask.

“It’s beautiful,” He says softly, eyes still on you. Just like you are the words left lingering on his tongue, right there yet left unsaid.

“Really?!” You answer excitedly—but again, stupidly. “I- uh, I’m gl–”

You cut yourself off with a yelp as the mood in the music suddenly changes. You had turned it up during the quiet opening, since you could hardly hear, so this loud and sudden start to a stormy section catches you off guard. You instinctively flinch and grip the nearest thing around you for comfort…

…That ‘thing’ being your friend, Satoru Gojo. You’re holding his thick biceps tightly, not realizing your blunder in your haste.

He smirks at you but doesn’t move away. If anything, he leans in to you. “Aw, did you get scared? It’s just vibrations wiggling the air, there’s nothing to be scared of.”

You instantly let go. He laughs at how quickly you back away, and you can only hope he doesn’t sense the heat on your cheeks. So embarrassing.

“You–! Ugh! I was just caught off guard!” You say, brushing your hands off just for show. "It just suddenly got so loud that I got startled.”

“That sounds like an excuse to me,” He jests.

“Think whatever you like,” You sigh, exasperated. “But c’mon, we have to finish it! We’re only halfway and we just missed some.”

“Okay, okay, let’s keep going then.” He says, motioning for you to continue. “Just so you know, it’s fine if you need to hold onto something—or should I say somebody—at the next ‘scary’ cymbals crash…”

You glare at him and harshly press the volume up button. You smile as the music returns to your ears, and you slightly sway to the melody. You’re too into the music to notice how Satoru gazes affectionately at your gentle swaying, a small smile gracing his lips.

By around the middle of the third movement, The Young Prince and the Young Princess, you check back in on Gojo. This movement is calmer and slower, not as exciting as the first two, so you worry he may not find it engaging enough.

“What do you think about this movement?” You ask him quietly.

“This one?” He responds, and you nod. “I like it, maybe more than the others. It’s very romantic. And it’s kinda fitting.”

You have no idea what that could mean. You freeze, worrying that it’s a joke that you’ll fall for and get hurt over.

But you ask anyway. “Fitting?”

“Mmhmm,” He rumbles. “The Young Prince and the Young Princess. That’s the title of the movement, isn’t it?”

“It…it is,” You confirm hesitantly, afraid to misunderstand him. “A-and…?”

“Well, princess,” He says, and you again practically melt at the pet name. “I think this movement is very pretty.”

“Pretty?” You echo back. “Yes, I guess it is.”

“Yep, pretty,” He says. “Just like you.”

“I–huh?!”

He said it so casually and with so much ease that you practically missed it.

Just like…you?

“What did you just say?” You ask with wide eyes. You’re trembling and your face feels so hot.

He inches closer to you. You have to fight not to react—whether that would be to lean in or back away, you do not know. You like him so much that it scares you—he practically holds the reins to your emotions.

“I said that this movement is pretty, just like you,” He says, eyes flickering down to your lips then back up to your eyes. “Is there something wrong about that? You can’t crucify me for telling the truth.”

You brain cells start to fizzle out. All you can think to say is, “Crucify you?”

Gojo chuckles. “I call you pretty, and you’re focusing on my wording?”

“Well, I- you’re talking like it’s biblical times or something!”

“Maybe your story reminded me of that. You were the one talking about executing virgins,” He says, then comes closer still. “Pretty.”

He’s so close that you’re sure he can feel your quick breaths fanning his face. You’re so nervous that your breathing comes fast and shallow.

You swallow your fears. It’s now or never.

“Satoru,” You start shakily, then steady yourself with a big breath. “I think…I think you’re pretty, too.”

He blinks. You blink.

You’re so sure that he’s about to make fun of you for what you said—is it weird to call a boy pretty?—and you’re so sure that he’s going to boisterously laugh in your face and reveal that it’s all one big joke that everyone else was in on.

You’re so embarrassed. You cover your face with your hands, mortified by your own actions. The laughter is coming, you know it.

And it does. But it’s different than you imagined.

He’s laughing softly. You peek through your fingers. He seems to be…amused?

“You’re so cute,” He says. “So pretty. So endearing, d’ya know that?”

Your voice comes out so small and vulnerable. “Really?”

“Really,” He affirms. “And I…I really want to kiss you, pretty.”

Your eyes meet his. You’re electrified by the genuine want and need in his gaze. He’s serious.

“Then kiss me, Satoru.”

Ah, so there’s the sassy tone you usually have towards him. He chuckles and traces your jawline with his fingers. He savors in the way you squirm and how your breath hitches when his fingers reach your neck.

He leans in and circles his arms around your waist, pulling you into a deep kiss. You hold onto his biceps again for support, which flex under your palms as he takes the kiss deeper. You feel even hotter than before, if that was even possible.

He finally breaks the kiss, and you’re surprised to hear his equally shaky breathing. “I really like you, princess. I really like you.”

You laugh softly, pressing a hand against his firm chest. “Satoru, I like you too. If it wasn’t obvious.”

“Maybe it was with the way you practically fell into my lap when you got scared–”

“I did not!!” You bury your face in your hands again.

“Kidding, princess!” He kisses your cheek. “You’re so easy to rile up…Oh, by the way, did you know that I hate classical music?”

“You do? Really? Oh, god, you must have been so bored the whole time, I knew it–!”

“No, no I really enjoyed this. Seriously.” He says with conviction. “I wasn’t faking anything. Ever. It just feels so different with you…”

“Satoru…” You whisper.

He starts leaving kisses on your jawline, causing you to shiver. “You just drive me crazy, princess. ‘Couldn’t stop thinking of you while we were listening. I wanted to kiss you so bad the whole time.”

“Then we gotta make up for the lost time, huh?” You say, pulling him into another kiss.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” He sighs, letting himself get lost in you.

Scheherazade continues playing in the background, but it’s on neither of your minds now. You barely even hear it, even though you had been so insistent on listening to the whole thing through before. Even when the ending chords fade out, both you and Satoru are trying to catch your breath, craving more.

Fin.

Thank you for reading!! I don’t feel like it’s my best work, but i hope it’s still a little enjoyable! 🥹 I got the urge to write this out of NOWHERE and wrote it all today…I never do that haha so that was quite the surprise for me.

Note: To all the fellow classical music nerds out there, I’m aware that Scheherazade isn’t actually classical, but…let’s just put that aside, shall we? :) I’m just using layman’s terms so that everyone can understand and enjoy!

[lushaletta]

hide with me / james potter

pairing: james potter x fem!reader

warnings: mild swearing, mentions of mental health/anxiety, reader has a panic attack

summary: poorly written drabble in which you have awful anxiety and a lovely james.

a/n: i feel like this feels unfinished i’m so sorry… i clearly lost steam by the end but i hope you all like it! i am such a sucker for some james

⋆ ࣪.  ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖࣪ ˖࣪ ∗

It feels like the world is caving in on you. The ceiling is about to fall down and crush you under its weight.

The voices of those around have all mixed and faded into each other into a jumble of noise. You don’t quite know what Lily is saying, not even sure what Marlene is doing; you can hardly see anything.

A laughable attempt at taking a breath has you panicking more and you stumble out of Alice’s living room and onto her front patio as hot, salty tears sting your face.

The reason as to why you’re suddenly in this state has you confused. One moment, you’re fine and the next, you’re in full breakdown mode.

Fresh air. That’s usually all you need. You let the scent of pine fill your lungs, grounding yourself on the railing. You’re fine, you try to repeat to yourself. You’re fine.

“Hey,” a voice calls out. You whip around and spot a head of dark curls and pretty hazel eyes.

Him. You don’t know whether you’re happy or sad about his presence. There’s a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and he looks gorgeous as ever.

You’ve liked James a long time. Much too long. He’s liked Lily for longer.

You’re sure he knows about your feelings, you’d done a poor job at keeping them secret, and you’d be surprised if at this point he was unaware.

Remus knows because you’d confided in him first. He was sweet about it, stroking your hair and whispering kind words in your ear. Sirius knows from the “powers of deduction”, as he likes to call it.

“Hi,” he says, putting the cig between his fingers, flicking the ash off.

“Hi,” you reply, a little breathless.

He walks over to you, assessing your state. “Are you alright?”

He’s always been awfully caring. It’s half the reason you like him more than what’s healthy.

James knows your ins and outs. Your family history, all your favourite movies, how many freckles you have. He’s committed every part of you to memory.

He treats you like you’re fragile, like a porcelain doll. As if you’d break when dropped.

Maybe it’s self-righteousness. Maybe he’s doing it out of pity. Though, in this moment, it feels anything but.

“Just fine,” you whisper, staring at him so deeply it’s embarrassing.

“You ran off.”

You laugh a humourless laugh. “Did I?”

James nods, looking like he’s inspecting you. It makes you feel a little self-conscious.

A smile creeps across your face. It’s really only to conceal the awkwardness. “What?”

“I think we’re past the point of pretending everything is alright when it isn’t,” he says, matter-of-factly. “Will you tell me what happened?”

The bluntness of his words makes you nervous. He’s not typically so forward.

“I was overwhelmed.”

His arms lace around your shoulders. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay, let’s go, then,” he says, decidedly.

It’s a tempting offer. Being dragged away from all the noise and instead spending the night with James, but you don’t want to disrupt his evening with your feelings. He likes these people. He’s comfortable with them. He’s not like you, you say to yourself.

“No. I’m fine, James, really. Please don’t worry yourself.”

“I was kind of getting tired anyway. We can grab food and you can sleep at my place for the night, hm?” he insists, putting out his cig.

He’s doing it again. That thing where he’s just being so considerate and kind to the point that it bothers you.

“I..” you trail off, looking at the stars instead of his eyes. They’re both really beautiful.

“I’d like for you to come with me, sweetheart. Let’s get away. Just for a bit,” he tries again, gently tilting your face towards his.

You’re going to come with him. You were going to the first time he asked, no matter what, but you need to hear that he wants it.

You crack a smile. “Okay.”

Before midnight, you’re in his car. It’s a bit beaten up and the engine takes a couple of tries before it starts, but it’s a charming vehicle. He’s ordering fries for you, doing all the talking you’re so hesitant to.

There are muffled voices over the speaker. “Just a moment.” James turns to you. “Want a coke, baby?”

You nod, tapping your fingers on the window and fumbling with the button of your seatbelt.

He hands you a paper bag.

“Thank you, James. I’m sorry you’re stuck with me instead of with Lily at the gathering.”

His face contorts into a look of slight confusion as he grabs a fry from your hand. “Why would I want to be with Lily?” It’s not that he doesn’t want to hang out with Lily, it’s just that you could’ve asked about Sirius or Remus or even Frank.

“I mean, you like her, don’t you?” you say, voice quivering. Afraid of the answer.

“She’s a nice girl.” It’s not a no. You’re crushed. You nod your head like you’re unsurprised.

A forced smile makes its way onto your lips. “You two would look good together,” you say, hushed.

His brow quirks. “What? No.” It comes out a little sharp, and he immediately softens. “No, it’s not like that. Sorry.”

“Oh.” You hate yourself for it, but you feel your body immediately relax in relief.

Now he’s the uneasy one. His fingers are tapping on the steering wheel and he’s clearly purposely avoiding your gaze.

“Listen—“

“—I’m sorry,” you cut him off. “Sorry, you first.”

The car comes to a stop at some dark parking lot. James turns to face you. “What are you apologising for?”

Even you’re not too sure. It’s a mix of a few things; Lily, forcing him to stay with you, your anxiety, interrupting him, even. A general apology for your.. you-ness.

“All this. I just want you to be happy, James. I’m really sorry for always making you do this. Comfort me whenever I’m overwhelmed like that.”

He blinks. “I’m happy when I’m with you, sweetheart. Why don’t you understand that I enjoy doing this? I love when we escape from those dumb gatherings and do shit like this. I love it. I love you, damn it.”

Your heart drops. No, it stops. He had to be drunk. He was driving under the influence, surely. A crime. That’s a felony. Your head was absolutely spinning.

You don’t know what to do but stare blankly at him as his face asks you to just say something.

“What?”

“I love you! I don’t even know where you got that whole Lily thing. I love you! It’s always been you!”

Well, shit.

You lower your voice to a whisper. “So do something about it, Potter.”

And he does.

[magicalink]

Which part of me wasn't good enough?

Art by myangtao on twitter

So most people voted for me to post unfinished drabbles as they are so that's what this is: an unfinished drabble. I wrote it back in august of last year and it was for a collab from a user called bluexiao but that month was very agitated for me, I had lots of family things including helping my grandma recover from a surgery so I never submitted it on time :( And I still can't come up with an ending, so if you like it leave a comment and tell me how would you like it to end. Shall we add some comfort to this story or we leave ig at full angst? Lemme know your thoughts.

"Which part of me wasn´t good enough?” the little puppet had cried, looking up to the distant figure of his god. His creator, the mother who never recognized him.

“Don’t worry, dear boy, for you were always enough for me” you said to the puppet, tending your hand with your heart in it for him.

There was a brief moment of silence.

“Too bad you were never the one I wanted to mean something for” he said bitterly, averting his somber gaze from you.

You retreated your hand with your wounded heart inside of it back to your chest, which ached sharply.

“It’s okay,” you said with a trembling smile on your lips, hiding your pain “It’s normal” you still try to offer him some comfort “We are all not enough for someone we want to please with all our might at least once in our lives”

The silence was so deafening you could hear his uneasy breath. Tears started pricking your eyes, threatening to fall, but you held them in with all your strenght.

"Life can be so cruel sometimes" You muttered and he shooted a glance at you, filled with rage "We always pursue those who don't care about us and we despise those who would die for us," you lamented "Even now, this is the first time you finally look at me, and you do it hatred," you averted your gaze, quickly catching a tear with your thumb, hoping he didn't see it.

Your hands on your chest tend to your wounded heart, trying to soothe its feeble sobs.

The puppet huffed heavily through his nose, observing you with contempt.

"Why would I even look at you?" He barked, with the same lack of mercy he had learned from his mother.

You shook you head gently.

"I just wanted to dry your tears and give you all the affection I felt for you inside this heart." you whispered, said thing still glowing in the center of your bosom "It's not much, but it's all I have." you said, caressing it gently, waiting for it to heal.

His frown didn't leave his face, but this time he glanced at your treasure with interest. That was a heart? The relic he had been meant to hold but was deemed unworthy of?

Was that one yours?

"What would you have done with it? What's in it for me?" He asked cautiously, staring while pondering what to do.

A modest but tender smile perched on your lips.

"I would have hugged you, and craddle you in my arms and told you how much you mean to me. How much I love you with this little heart of mine."

Would that make him feel whole?

Was that all he needed? Would that heart fill the void in his chest?

If there was a possibility, no matter how fleeting it was, he had to have it.

"Prove it." he demanded with the authority he always believed his divine creation bestowed him, as if ignoring the fact that his cheeks were still stained with trails of tears.

You opened your arms for him, your heart shining brighter just by the thought of finally embracing him.

He observed the thing marveled. He wouldn't admit it, but it was far more fascinating than any divinely created machinery he had seen in his long and sad life.

He was ready to tear it away from your chest with a merciless strike of his sword.

But just as the thought was crossing his cold and desperate mind, all his violence was kept in place by your arms.

His eyes widened, shocked. You had closed the gap between the two of you to hug him.

He stayed immobile, unable to process your action, trying desperately to grasp all these new and strange sensations.

The warmth of your body, the softness of your skin, the smell of your hair...the sound of your heart.

He couldn't bring himself to close his eyes when his face was snuggled in your loving chest, your hands caressing his head with immense fondness.

The puppet had never experienced something like that.

After a lifetime of neglect and violence, it was shocking, it was confusing. So he stayed still, unable to process it but unwilling to let go. Bathing in the warm light of your heart.

Since he could not pronounce any more words, you decided to tell him the ones you had wished to tell him for a lifetime.

"You were always enough for me, dearest boy. The sweetest and most beautiful flower," you said, your cheek nestled on his hair.

"Why?" The puppet protested, tears of anger streaming again down his face. Those words were much more than those he wanted to hear from his god, from his mother. And that was the hug she never gave and would never give him.

Then he recieved the most beautiful gift, even if he was unable to appreciate it.

"Because I love you," you admitted, planting an adoring kiss on his head "I always have and I always will..." he grabbed your clothes as if about to push you away to protest "It doesn't matter if you don't love me back, it's okay. It's normal, sometimes our love is unrequited. We both know it very well don't you think?" you smiled at him.

"Why?" He complained, still nudging his head in the sun that was your chest "Why, if you know it? She said it," he cried again, his tears wetting your clothes "I'm fragile, and weak, and I have a hole in my chest that makes me feel empty! I'm not a god like her and I'm not a human like you! You should stay away from a puppet like me!" He exclaimed, taking out his anger on you again.

"If I had a heart like this..." he murmured, his hand making his way up to the center of your chest, where your relic was still shining. The thought of stealing it from you crossed his mind again.

But you stopped him again, cupping his face in your hands to look at him in the eyes.

"You feel a hole in your heart?" You asked, booping his nose with yours.

"Yes!" He whined, squirming in your grab trying to get away.

"And it hurts?"

"Yes!" He barked.

"And it makes you feel like you are empty inside?" You insisted.

"Are you deaf...?" He exclaimed.

"And does it make you feel lost and unlovable, and makes you wander lost through life, from one place to another because you feel you don't belong in any place?" You asked.

"Yes!" He shouted at this point, annoyed by your questions.

"Then what you have in there, my dear boy, is a human heart." you said, pointing the center of his chest with your finger.

He stayed still for a couple of seconds, staring at you, unsettled by your words.

"You are lying." he said, but it was more for himself than for you "You are lying to me." he, repeated, frowning at you in distrust "Look at yours! It's so clean, and warm, and it's shining! And you are so sure about what you want, even if you are insane for even thinking about getting near me!"

"That's because I don't deny it, and I take care of it." you said with a gentle smile "Mine also made me wander through lots of places, and has taken me back to you. And it hurts too. You made it hurt when you rejected it," you admitted with a tint of blush on your cheeks. "But I don't deny that pain, I let it hurt and take care of it to heal it, see?" You point at the mended cracks on it's surface.

"I made that?" He asked, looking closely at the healing wounds of your jewel "Even without my sword?" You nodded "And you're still willing to give it to me?"

Maybe there was no need to steal it from you.

You closed your eyes and sighed. You nodded again.

"Only if this time you accept it." you said, stepping back to cut the hug and taking a hand to your chest.

He wouldn't admit it, but he hated to let your arms go.

"I'll take it, for I was made with no heart and the one I was destined to yield was denied to me." he said, hypnotized by the green light of the treasure you were about to gift him.

You gently shook your head and looked at him with a tender smile. He wouldn't listen to words. He had to see it by himself.

You took your heart delicately and then you stretched it to offer it to him.

He took it with both hands, impatient and desperate, his tears finally drying.

It glowed intensely, warmly, it twinkled between his fingers, as if it was overjoyed of finally being with him. You observed him with a smile again.

But when he took it to his chest, nothing happened. It didn't fit. It didn't enter.

"Told you it wasn't going to work," he said, a knot tying his throat tightly. He was tempted to throw it away in anger, but he still held it to his chest where the hole ached sharply.

You shook your head, enveloping his hands in yours. He lifted his gaze to look at you.

"I told you," you whispered, leaning close to him, trying to comfort him with your warmth "It's because you already have a heart of your own. All you've been looking for was always inside of you." he shook his head too, unwilling to believe you, closing his eyes shut to avoid dropping more tears.

"It's just a hole." he cursed.

"Shh..." you hushed his angry cries, taking your lips to his forehead "It feels like a hole like any human heart. Because you have been denying it and starving it. You have to find it and feed it."

You wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He was getting used to your touch. Then you used you other hand to press your heart to his chest.

He leaned closer to you. The light was warm and cozy.

"See?" You said, pointing at his chest with your glance.

Sorry to cut it but this is all I've got to this drabble, if you got any ideas on how to end it lemme know😅

[impossiblepluto]

A drabble (x6) written for the 12 Days of Christmas Challenge

I suppose it all started with the snow.

Tucked into the corner of the darkened room, Jack stares at the words scrawled onto the discarded wrapper. He twirls the pen in his fingers before dropping it on the table and reaching up, massaging the ache in his shoulder. The small grimace of pain flickers into a bemused smirk at the words. In his head, he can already hear Matty scolding him. After Action Reports should be professional, a record of the facts of the mission, not an amateur attempt at a dime-a-dozen, paperback spy thrillers sold only in airports and left behind on the plane unfinished. 

But Jack likes to give his a little flair. Pizzazz. And come on, Matty, admit it, aren’t his reports just a little more fun to read than the boring, bland, samey reports everyone else turns in mission after mission. 

If, years down the line, he ever needs to speak to this mission at a congressional hearing, he’s gonna need something to differentiate between the all ‘bad guys doing bad things with guns or bombs or viruses’ reports to help him remember how and why they responded as they did. And it gets boring to write ‘Mac did something sciency, smart, and pulled off a miracle’ over and over again. 

‘Course, this one is less ‘Mac did something sciency again’ and more ‘Mac did something dumb, reckless, and self-sacrificing, again’ which, in itself, still doesn’t make it stand out from a hundred other missions. 

The hint of a smile vanishes along with any mirth as Jack sags back into the uncomfortable chair masquerading as a recliner, ignoring the blanket that slides from his shoulders. He scrubs a hand down his face, through the beard thickening on his jaw, unable to stop himself from counting the hours in his graying whiskers. 

Before yesterday, he would have said the romanticism of a white Christmas wasn’t completely lost on him. Snowy streets. Flocked evergreens. Wafting flakes that make the world feel distant and peaceful. 

Thoughts of snowfall bring to mind bright blue eyes sparkling in delight and cheeks pink with excitement and chill–not Mac’s first ever snowy Christmas but the first they shared. Or the mischievous smirk the first time Mac made it snow. 

This mission he’ll remember even without the theatrical opening line of his report. 

The impenetrable wall of white and swirling chaos. Blasts of icy shards stinging his cheeks. Ahead of him, Mac stumbled, struggling through the deepening drifts. Jack opened his mouth to call out, ask if Mac was okay when he slipped again, but his voice was ripped away by the wind before it could reach Mac’s ears. Jack can still feel the blistering chill that bit into his skin and settled deep in his bones. Dressed for cold by not a blizzard. Even now his insides feel tremulous, as though at any moment he’ll erupt back into bone-rattling shivers. 

Jack takes a breath, steadying himself before he allows his gaze to drop to the scene two feet away. Not much has changed in the last few hours though Mac’s lips have lost their haunting blue hue, no longer pulled taut over chattering teeth. Though translucent skin remains as pale as the pillow where he rests his head. 

Jack slips his hand beneath the blankets, searching for Mac’s hidden hand. He flinches when he finds frigid skin, then carefully wraps his fingers around Mac’s, ignoring his disappointment when Mac doesn’t grasp back. 

Melodramatic or not, he wrote the truth. 

Every doggone thing that went wrong with this mission started with the damn snow.

[bartonbones]

20 for the drabble for declan lynch or jamie tartt if ur still doing it!

okay this is cheating because i wrote this awhile ago and also have not answered the other asks but since you've given me a perfect opportunity to share it and becuase you said my super soldier sleeper agent trigger words (declan lynch) i simply HAVE to share a snippet from my google docs of unfinished unrelated declan lynch tangents. this tangent in specific is imagining that declan has been through a Situation and has been rescued by ronan (who has "never seen declan goddamn cry, and can't imagine it" and matthew, who is trying his best but only marginally more suited to help). please don't ask me hard questions like, why did he get tortured, or how, or when in the series, or anything except "what other drabbles do you have about declan lynch" bc i'm always happy to share and they will otherwise probably never see the light of day. anyway without further explanation here it is

Matthew wakes up to screaming. Well, not true. Matthew wakes up because something has bumped in the night and fallen to the ground and crashed and splattered, and then he hears the shouting—Declan, stop it, what the fuck: Ronan’s voice, angry, tired, indignant. And Declan’s, too, over and over: get off, get off, get off. 

It takes him more than a few rounds of this to remember why this feels strange. Matthew has been waking up to Ronan and Declan’s fights since he was old enough to understand what insolent child and fucking prick meant. It feels as much like the Barns as creaking floorboards and the smell of hay and grass and honeysuckle. Ronan’s shouting had always painted the walls in varying degrees of volume and profanity like doorway notches charting his height—when he was eight, you could hear him from the kitchen, and when he was twelve, he said fuck for the first time and meant it.

But it’s not Ronan’s voice that starts the alarm in Matthew’s head, that causes him to roll, backwards, out of his bed and onto his feet, standing and swaying and still exhausted, and listening with sudden and terrifying closeness. 

Get off, Declan says, across the hall in his room. Get off of me!  

But he doesn’t say it like he’s fighting back. Like Ronan is headbutting him into the wall or pulling at his arm, goading him into a proper wrestle. He says it over and over again and each time more hysterical than the last, shaking and scardecled. Matthew hasn’t forgotten anything that’s happened over the past week, but every day Declan has looked a little better—rounder, less pale, more sturdy, more likely to react to things with more than a dazed frown. This doesn’t sound like the Declan that told Matthew to go back to school this morning. It sounds like Declan back at the fairy market, blindfolded and open-mouthed, gasping for help. 

Matthew hits his shin on the door frame as he trips over himself and doesn’t register it. He’s suddenly sure that they’ve come back, found Declan asleep, decided to make up for lost time. He’s down the hall in seconds, throwing open Declan’s door like he had some sort of weapon besides fear and stubbornness. He needs to shout something, probably, a threat would be helpful, but when he finally gets a view of the room nothing falls out of it except a small, surprised squeak. 

No one has broken in. No one from the Fairy Market or otherwise is standing in the corner with a gun or a club or some other awful thing, and the only person holding Declan’s wrists behind his back is Ronan. 

“Ronan?” Matthew squeaks, again.

 He hates it when his voice goes like that, but he can’t help it. He didn’t get to choose what his voice sounded like when it was tired and terrified and confused. Maybe Ronan had, when he was small and dreamt him up. Maybe he’d been reading Staurt Little at the time. 

“Get out,” Ronan grinds out. “Matthew, leave.” 

Matthew doesn’t have to listen to Ronan, so he doesn’t. He steps closer, into the light provided by the lamp which is now turned on its side, base shattered, on the ground next to Declan’s head. Declan has his eyes squeezed shut and lips pressed hard against his teeth. His face looks pale and slick with sweat. It’s clear from the scuffle around them and the harsh, unforgiving way that Ronan has Declan’s wrists pinned to the ground that he and Ronan had been fighting, but whatever had happened, he isn’t fighting now. 

“Ronan,” he says, uneasy. Declan looks so still it’s like he’d stopped breathing, and if it weren’t for the rise of his chest, Matthew would be afraid that he had. “You should let go of him now.” 

Ronan shakes his head, not looking at either of them. 

“I can’t let him go,” he says. 

“He was asking you to,” Matthew says. “I heard it from my room.”

Ronan’s teeth are audibly grinding against each other. 

“If I let go of him,” he says, slowly, like he’s explaining this for the fiftieth time, “He will hurt himself, Matthew. Look at his fucking neck.” 

Swallowing, Matthew does. Instinctively as he traces the scratches—deep enough that there’s blood still pooling at the bottom—he puts his own palm against his neck, the other wrapped sickly and helplessly around his middle. It looks terrible. It looks like he had been trying to claw out his own throat, and it’s layered on top of old bruises that are just beginning to fade from a deep, horrible purple. It had to hurt, and hurt badly. Matthew presses his palm flat and feels the pressure against his throat and imagines how much harder he’d have to push for it to bleed and how much he doesn’t want to do that, and then imagines how badly Declan must feel if that’s what feels like a solution. 

Then he flicks his eyes from his neck back up to his face. 

If it is terrible to see Declan thrashing, screaming for help—which it had been, which it is—then somehow this is worse. All the fight is gone out of him, he’s not even pushing against Ronan anymore, or pulling himself away. Even his face, which moments before had been furious, if tight, had melted into something terrible. Quiet. Expressionless. Resigned. His eyes were still shut, but now tears leaked from the corners of them, rolling down his cheeks. Matthew shakes his head, upset now, worse from this than from the blood and broken glass. 

“Please stop,” he says. “I think you’re really scaring him.” 

Ronan growls—huffs, sort of. Indignant. Frustrated. Scared, although it’s clear he’s trying not to show that to Matthew. 

“He’ll hurt himself,” he repeats, sounding desperate. Matthew wonders how long this had been going on before he’d gotten woken up.  “You gotta believe me, dude.”

“But you’re hurting him, too.” 

[the-californicationist]

For the ask game, if you’re willing: ❤️ and 💛

No pressure though. Love your work!

That makes me so happy. I really appreciate that, friend. Also! Thank you so much for this ask!! 🩷

❤️ — I think the line that I wrote that sticks in my head the most is from Gunslinger, which doesn’t make much sense out of context but alas:

“Let him eat your bones right up, your faithful coyote, all the brokenness within you.”

However, I am most proud of the writing that I was able to accomplish in The Devil’s Summer. It’s a hard fic to read, though. Dark stuff.

💛 — The most impactful lesson I’ve learned from this process is that you should never rush to the good part.

I have written over 95 fanfiction stories in the past year, I have 525k words inked down, and I’m sure there’s a few tumblr drabbles that I can stack on top of the pile as well. Throughout all of them, I have a terrible habit of sprinting to the part that I want to read. I’ll have it written a hundred different ways, imagined it a thousand times in my mind. Whatever it is — the big fight scene, the first kiss, the earth-shattering confessional — whatever the good part is, I hurry towards it, hungry like I’ll starve without it. But, the rush takes the glory from it. Details add to the taste, like spices to a meal, and without them, I feel like some of my big moments fall flat.

I hate slow burns. I hate writing them. I hate reading them. And yet, I’m starting to realize that I just hate waiting to see if the good part will come true.

A good slow burn, with a talented author, will drop little crumbs, small promises, letting you know what’s coming. She’ll whisper between the lines, “I know what you want. It’s here. Just wait!” And I find myself trusting those stories. Banking on them. And then realizing that the good part was only good because I consumed all of the other bites around it. If the main meal is always dessert, who wants more cake?

And I think, through this realization, I have also learned to be more patient with myself. If you knew me back in October 2023, I was churning out 150k words per month. I thought I had to hurry. I thought no one wanted to wait for me. I wasn’t worth waiting for.

But that has changed for me. I don’t run myself ragged anymore because I think I’m worth waiting for. I think my work is worth my own patience. And when I do deliver a post or a chapter or whatever, I think it shows that it was built and crafted with care, spiced and salted and grilled to be at its best.

And it has taught me just how much more learning I have to do. That desire to rush, to skip, to only eat (or read) the dessert is still there. It still taunts me. I can still hear myself in my mind saying, “Why would anyone wait on this when they can pull up tumblr or AO3 and get something else right now?” And teaching myself to ignore that negativity, to power through with my details, to trust my gut and write about all of the intricacies that I think are important; I have learned to try to listen to that part of myself. It’s becoming easier to do so.

When people bemoan George R. R. Martin for taking “too long”, I think that if people feel that way about a world class author, surely they must also feel that way about the fanwork they read. Hell, people have even stolen fanwork to feed AI machines just because they “want an ending”. And I thought that was the norm, but now I just feel sorry for those people. They can’t understand how much sweeter the treat would be if they had just been willing to wait for the work to be done in the way it was meant to be done. I feel sad for them that they will never realize the potential for what was unfinished.

I used to only read completed fics. I didn’t want to wait. I needed to know how it ends. Does the hero survive the evil? Do the lovers tell each other the truth? Does he actually fuck her in that one bed they have to share!? But not anymore. Now, I taste the little clues the author leaves behind for me. I listen to her voice as I read: “Trust me!” And so I do. I don’t mind waiting for the good part anymore. I subscribe, I bookmark, and I comment to tell them how much I am enjoying being fed.

As a writer, I need to get better at that patience. On waiting for the good part to come. It’s not always easy, but it’s been a good lesson.

[blkkizzat]

It’s like they knew I was complaining…

I GOT BLOCKED. AGAIN. 🤯

And this time it was from someone I was following for a while and I know this because 1. I didn’t follow anyone recently and 2. I only follow like 70 people so I’ll notice when someone blocked me.

I honestly have no idea what it is for. I really dont repost a lot and if I do it isn’t minor characters or age ups.

Maybe because I haven’t posted since like September?? When I did post last it didn’t really get a lot of attention so it was super demotivating posting again, I mean I have soooo much lil unfinished things in my draft but AUGHHHHHHHH I just wanna fall into the void and crawl up into a little ball sometimes 😭

Anyways sorry for ranting so much..oh and I want your opinion do you think I should write head-canons or a SMAU? I only did head-canons once and it was my biggest work (900-ish) but they take more work to do but if I do SMAUs they are quicker to make but I don’t really get a lot of attention on them. (btw if you don’t know what SMAU is it’s kinda like a made up text story replying to the character of your choice.)

-🪼

🪼nonny im sorry boo! who knows why? i know sometimes things can be by mistake so maybe if you have another account message them to find out why? ive seen some people say "if you think i blocked you on accident lmk", and they may or may not be receptive to it, but if you approach it as "im not trying to argue with you, only trying to find out if i am leaving a bad impression in someway as I have noticed a pattern of people blocking me lately." it's more likely they will be open to sharing with you why and even if its something you dont agree with don't get defensive about it as at the end of the day it was their choice. but thats only if you care enough to do so. ive never done so in this context, but ive done so irl with friends of friends who i thought didnt like me for whatever reason and regardless of what they said, its their choice. but do remember at the end of the day, other people opinion of you is not necessarily an accurate reflection so while it is good to evaluate if theres any room for improvement. dont let it drive you crazy/take it too much to heart. theres tons and tons of great writers out there to follow who wouldnt block you.

hey! id say do whatever you feel like doing tbh, notes be damned. i never consider notes when i write something. if i did then i would only write short 500-1k drabbles or multi-fic character drabbles as those seem to get the most attention. i dont have anything against them (i actually have a ton of funny concepts for them) its just very hard for me to write smut without some sort of build up to it. but that wont be true for everyone so write what you are inspired by and what makes you happy.

notes will come! but if you aren't feeling good about what you write it will definitely show. which is why i write so slow fkhdfkhjdf.

[little-box-of-wonders]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks for the tag @grexigone! n.n

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

33 as of Nov. 15, 2023

2. What's your total A03 word count?

135,824 words

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Only Horizon (Zero Dawn/Forbidden West) for now.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

To Know Peace: 103 kudos (Rated T) - First longfic

Live for the Night: 88 kudos (Rated E) - First smut fic

Bonding Moments: 83 kudos (Rated G) - Companion vignettes fic for To Know Peace

Devotion: 79 kudos (Rated E) - Kinktober 2023 drabbles collection

Visual Delights: 77 kudos (Rated E) - Fun, smutty 5+1 oneshot

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! Comments mean that someone took the time to read my fic and something stuck with them enough to tell me about it. It makes me feel appreciated, and I want my readers to feel appreciated in turn. :3

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oof, probably Shadowed Heart, which is my first rare pair fic (Fashav/Ritakka). I promise to give them a happier ending in my series.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I'd say To Know Peace has the happiest ending so far.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I got a couple of comments on Bonding Moments about some choices I'd made that rubbed me the wrong way, but I haven't gotten hate publicly or privately. I think it helps that Horizon is still relatively small in the fanfic/fanart space and I don't share my ship-specific fics on the subreddit for the games.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do and I have no shame, hehe. It's mostly M/F and very light on kinks. Other than my Kinktober drabbles, the raunchiest fic I've written is Early Exit.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

No crossovers. They're kinda tricky to get right.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

To my knowledge, no, but I haven't checked FF.net or Wattpad to confirm.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope. Spanish is my native language, but I have no plans to translate my fics from English to Spanish.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

@jadefyre and I have a smut fic in the works that we started earlier this year. Also, not co-written but @murmart made a beautiful art of Fashav/Ritakka for my fic Heavy in Your Arms. :3

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Definitely Aloy/Kotallo. Not only did seeing their dynamic and conjuring up ship possibilities get me to write again after a long hiatus, but it's also allowed me to become part of a community of amazing creators both in the Kotaloy Elysium Discord server and beyond. n.n

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I don't necessarily think I'll leave any of my WIPs unfinished, but some are a little more complicated than others in terms of getting them to meet my own standards (yeah, I'm my harshest critic).

With longfics, I've since learned to write until completion and then start posting, only because I don't enjoy the self-imposed pressure to update something that's already out there since life can be really uncertain at times.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue! It takes me such a long time, but I love nailing the voices of the characters correctly and having readers comment on that and their characterization. However, I do find speeches a bit cumbersome to write because every word has so much weight to them, even though I do enjoy the end result.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I struggle with describing environments/settings, because I never know if I'm being descriptive enough to paint a full picture for the reader.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I think if it's a few sentences here and there is fine, but anything else might make it inaccessible to part of the readership unless it's stated in the author's note that the fic will feature two or more different languages.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Horizon, though I wrote a (thankfully never published) fic for Final Fantasy VII when I was around 13 years-old; trust me, it wasn't good and I still cringe thinking about the plot. HOWEVER, I miss that feeling of writing without caring about the end result, of just having a deluge of words on paper with a somewhat coherent narrative thread.

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

It's hard to pick only one because all of my fics are special in their own way, but I'll go with Hurricane Drunk because I had so much fun describing Kotallo being drunk and struggling with confessing his feelings for Aloy in a humorous way.

Tagging @setavvo, @fogsblue, @hannahmationstudios, @destinysembrace-oblivion and @mwasaw. (No pressure! Only if you want to).

[novorehere]

Hey all! Just wanted to give everyone a bit of a content update.

I apologize for the lack of content for the past… year. I’ve been working through some stuff, and it’s been hard for me to find the motivation or inspiration to write. It comes in short bursts, meaning I’ve been (very) slowly chipping away at multiple projects at once. I just thought I’d update everyone on how things are going and make a list (partly for myself) of what I have in the works, what still needs to be done, and what you can expect from me in the future. Admittedly these are mostly obey me fics but I DO have other things tumbling about in my brain, I promise.

Opposite Day: 2/5 chapters finished, the rest 100% planned and around 30-40% written.

I’ve been sitting on an unfinished chapter 3 for almost a year now, and have written good portions of the other chapters in the meantime. This is the project I’m most excited to finish, and I feel bad for abandoning it for so long. Rest assured, I *am* still working on it, and am extremely happy it’s been so well received.

Untitled Simeon Comfort Fic: 75% finished.

Originally I wanted this written for his birthday (which was in February lmao) but as you can see that did not happen. I’ve got the beginning and end all written out, I sort of went off the script at the end with fun purgatory hall family fluff so the only thing I don’t have written is… actually the eating part. This will probably be the first fic I actually post, seeing as it’s the closest to completion.

“A series of Obey Me Vore Headcanons” Re-Write (Title Very WIP) 2.5/7 chapters re-written

This one I don’t think I’ve mentioned on here yet. I’ve grown increasingly unsatisfied with my original obey me headcanons list that I posted last year when I first got into the fandom. A. Because I hadn’t gotten very far into the story when I wrote it and didn’t get the full scope of the characters yet and B. (Most importantly) I feel like I really didn’t do the characters justice.

Since I originally posted it, there’s been a healthy amount of discussion on depth and nuance in vore media and reducing characters to tropes, etc. I’d like to re-write this series to focus less on physical aspects and “how they eat you” but rather more of an emotional and story driven story of why they eat you and their emotions and struggles that come with it. The obey me brothers are incredibly interesting characters, and I’d like to explore them in more depth and show you how interesting they can really be and why I love them so much.

This one might take a while to complete, but it’s gonna happen at some point. I‘ll keep up the original half-finished version in the meantime since I don’t want to delete it and ao3 doesn’t allow privating fics without orphaning them. I know it’s ugly in it’s current state, just know I’m working on it and the rest of those chapters will be overhauled eventually.

“Miss Em”: 80% written (kind of)

I’ve had this one sitting in my drafts for a while now. Originally I had plans to start another multi-chapter series but then Opposite Day sort of went to shit so I scrapped it knowing it was way too ambitious. But now I still have a mostly written Mammon fic in my notes app just sitting there and it would be a shame to just…leave it. I’m not sure what I’m gonna do with this one, Maybe I’ll write the Beel companion piece to it that I had planned and just leave it as a 2-parter. Who knows. It’s really cute, and I want to share it at some point.

Untitled Obey Me mini-drabbles: 60% written

Honestly this wasn’t supposed to be a whole thing. I started randomly writing one day on a burst of inspiration and it turned into little mini “scenario slices” for all the characters and I really like how it turned out. I still need to write for two of the characters and polish up some others, but it’s a fun low-stress thing to work on in between projects. Also excited to share it possibly soon since they’re fairly short and shouldn’t take long to finish (but you know me…)

An unspecified ITWOM fanfic: 0% written, 50% planned

For those who aren’t familiar, “In the World of Monsters” is an amazing novel authored by @vore-toast that just recently received a fantastic ending and epilogue (Please read it! It’s fantastic!) And I really would like to write a little something for it to show my appreciation. I have an idea planned out, but details would involve spoilers so I can’t say much. I’d need to ask for guidance on what exactly to include since the things I would like to write about haven’t exactly *happened yet* but I’ve said too much already… hee hee. I don’t know when this fic is gonna happen, but I swear to you it will. And if my original idea doesn’t work out, it’ll be something. I WILL be writing for this series, mark my words.

Heroes Off-Duty. 0% written, ??% planned

Huh? That’s weird... That one’s not supposed to be there. Ah well, It’s not relevant anyway. Carry on.

[st4rsinthenight]

ROTTMNT AUD R A B L EAU: WHAT IF CASSANDRA NEVER HELPED SPLINTER IN THE FINALE OF SEASON TWO.

CW: SPOILERS FOR ROTTMNT 'SEASON TWO', CHAINS, CHARACTER (Splinter) BEING CHAINED, ASHES, CASSANDRA BEING A LITTLE OCC, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH.

unfinished drabble, yay

This is it.

This is the moment she has been training for her whole life.

To serve her master. And become a general.

The young recruit, now general, moves her gaze upwards, to see her master approaching one of the last remaining Hamato member's that is chained to the harsh ground, unconscious.

Her master, Shredder, is going to do it.

He is going to consume every last remaining atom of that rat's power.

His N I N P O that is...

Looking around, there isn't a single sight of the 'Mad Dogs'.

Or 'the ones that tried to interfere with theritual' that is...

It's perfect.

The Shredder's footsteps are sending small vibrations to the ground, but the young general is not affected by it.

However, with every step he takes towards the slumbering rat, the feeling of hesitation enters her mind.

. . .

Hesitation?

NO! She shouldn't feel it. This is what she always wanted and it's.. PERFECT!..Isn't it?

"With this power, the world will kneel before ME."

Her master roared, before stopping in front of the unconscious mutant.

One of his armour gauntlets transformed into a drill, which in a matter of a few moments it extended before jabbing into the rat's fore-head.

No blood came out of the stab, however the mutant's body began to slowly dissolve. Dissolve into pitch black ash, as his energy was slowly being consumed by the Shredder.

The young general lowers her head at the sight, gaze on the unforgiving ground, her bandaged hands gripping on the smooth wooden material of a naginata she is wielding.Her nails are almost digging into it, her knuckles almost turning pale, as a small feeling of doubt is slowly building up inside of her.. . .

No.

No.

Why would she feel doubt?

Why is it that she is feeling doubt?

She should not be feeling that.

She is loyal to her clan. She is supposed to be. In fact, she is fiercely loyal.

Cassandra forces her gaze upwards once again, trying to push the feeling of pride into her mind.

But, by doing that.. she only witnesses the helpless body of the chained rat, almost turned into dust.

The general's heart skips a beat, brows hesitantly narrowing at the sight.Her nails dig into the Naginata even further, her shoulders begin to tense with reluctance.

. . .

She can't do it.

Gritting her teeth, a faint feeling of determination enters her mind.Faint determination for a new goal.

Getting in a defensive stance, she glares at her master before she approaches the living armour, getting ready to strike at him.But before she could do anything..

Harsh thoughts strike her mind first, resulting in her movements cutting out, before she could do anything.

'Why would she sabotage and betray the one she is supposed to s e r v e.'

'This is what her clan would have wanted.'

'This is what her master wants.'

'This is what she, herself would have wanted'

'So why would she break her clan's trust for not only her's.. but their enemy's sake?!'

Glancing at the ground once more, the general remains motionless. The tension in her body is still strong.

Her heart drops to her stomach, once she hears faint clatter, coming from her master's direction.

Snapping her head towards the source of noise, her breath hitches a little at the sight of empty lifeless chains on the ground.

Eyes widening a little at the sight, the general's brows narrow, her lips curling down into a small frown, her hands almost letting go of the weapon she is holding..

The same weapon that guarded the mutant from being rescued by his children.

The very same weapon that she could have used to save that rat. 

..And yet, she didn't.

She let her master have what he craved for so long.

She stayed loyal.

..A tiny smile creeps up on her face.

. . .

She should be proud of that.

Shouldn't she..?

[karin-in-action]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you for tagging me @fallingforfandoms. I love doing questions like these.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I've got 68 works 😳

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

My word count is 229,462

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I write for Tatort Dresden and Tatort Saarbrücken. Sometimes other Tatort teams or Radio Tatort are included as well. I've also written for Lost in Fuseta, Druck, Ragnarok, Blutige Anfänger and Babylon Berlin. Everything except Druck and Ragnarok were crossovers with Tatort because I like combining the stuff I like.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Tatort Pride Month Drabbles: my very first drabble collection that I wrote. The one that started this all. The one that makes me unable to stop writing more drabble connections. The one that no other drabble collection I'll ever write will reach.

Italian Summer (lol ur not harry styles): a Druck fanfiction that I gifted my girlfriend for Christmas when she was still just a friend. Started writing it in summer, so it was summer themed, but only finished it in winter.

Don't be sad, Mr. Laurits: a Ragnarok fanfic written after the end of the second season, because I did not want Laurits to suffer all the time. He needs someone who supports him and he now does.

Es geht weiter (Drabble Collection): one of my many other drabble collections. This one is there, so I can post drabbles whenever I feel like it, when I'm not doing a monthly collection.

And the walls kept tumbling down: an unfinished Druck fanfiction in which I gave Leonie and David a shared past. I never finished writing it and the first chapter is all that exists of it.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try my best to respond to comments. Comments make me so happy. It's so nice to see that others appreciate my work. But I'm not as good at replying as I wish I was. At the moment I have quite a few comments that I have not answered to. I try to get to it from time to time, but the more there are, the harder it is sometimes.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

The angstiest ending I ever wrote was for Zu spät. I want to make it an open ending, but I almost certainly ended up killing one of the characters. And then I did it again for Feed me Poison, fill me 'til I drown except that this time it actually was an open ending. Sorry, Leo.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

A baby being born on Christmas eve is the happiest ending you could ask for, right? Then Freudige Erwartungen – eine Weihnachtsgeschichte in 24 Drabbles is my story with the happiest ending. If a wedding is the happiest ending, then it's Tatort Pride Month Drabbles.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I got a negative comment once on Italian Summer where I was accused of transphobia. But like that's the only time I really got a negative comment and I'm not sure, if it qualifies as hate.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Uhm, yes. So much of it. I feel like lots of it is a little unhinged, if you can use that to describe which kind of smut I write. But I think I also write smut that is more ''normal''.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Yes, I do. I'm not sure, I'd call them crazy. I have written Tatort Dresden/Tatort Saarbrücken, Tatort Dresden/Babylon Berlin, Tatort Dresden/Lost in Fuseta and Tatort Dresden/Blutige Anfänger. I once started writing a Drei ???/Ragnarok crossover, but I never finished it and haven't posted anything of it. That was a crazy idea for sure.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Also no

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not sure, if it really counts, but I have two shared drabble collections with @disappointingsalad. We've both written our own drabbles independently from each other, so not much actually working together. She's also written a scene for Ein nicht so stilles Wasser and she's helped me ''translate'' for I don't want a lot for Christmas. Looking at all this, I want to thank you so much. You've done so much for me.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

I know, I should say Karin Gorniak/Leonie Winkler, but I also love Esther Baumann/Pia Heinrich so much.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I really want to finish my Drei Haselnüsse für Aschenbrödel Tatort AU, my Aaron Gorniak as a toddler AU and my Vampires in Saarbrücken case fic. I don't think that's actually happening in the near future. I also should be continuing my rainbow family Tatort Dresden Fanfic.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'm honestly not sure. Maybe it's writing stuff that is a little unhinged.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Staying in character and actually finishing my work.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've written English fic in the past and sometimes I'm wondering how. Writing dialogue in German comes a lot easier to me.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Surprise, it was One Direction. I since orphaned the fics I had published, because I now believe that it is wrong to write fanfic about real people. But that's everyone's own decision. If you do write fanfic about real people, you do you, but I won't.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

My favourite one is Durch den Sturm. It was my first big writing project and my first cross-over. It was also my first time writing smut. So a lot of firsts. It will always have a special place in my heart.

I'm tagging @disappointingsalad @frauv @lucy-in-space @krejong @geschichtenweiterspinnen

[h0n3yk1tt3n]

👖🧠👩‍🏭 for the fic ask game

👖Are you a planner, a plantser, or pantser? Is it consistent?

I think I started as a panster with my first couple of fics and landed somewhere in the plantser category sometime while writing L2C. I basically knew a couple of key scenes I wanted to write and built everything around that, and since it's a Left 4 Dead 2 au the game kinda gave me the most rigid outline I could need while still giving me room to let the characters do their thing. Oh sure sometimes they/their inner monologue just won't shut up, but they still get to their next checkpoint by the end of it.

Yeah if I didn't have specific locations to go to things would get Much More overcomplicated from me trying to pad out the actual traveling, and I've already fucked with the timeline quite a bit from Swamp Fever on just to stretch out the journey.

🧠What's an idea you have that you can't quite call a WIP yet?

So because of the structure of the Campaigns (Dead Center, Dark Carnival, etc.) and getting from one safe room to the next to the next to the next to their rescue vehicle, there's very little room for the characters to like,, have on-screen rest? In L2C? A slight recurring thing is the human condition and finding joy even when the world is falling apart, and there aren't many moments to really Emphasize the Theme behind those moments, buuuuut I do wanna write a little add-on fic/collection of drabbles/something to show their time on the rescue boat, since they spend the most off-screen time there and find some sense of normalcy in,, eating at a table, entertaining themselves, finding time and energy to Hang Out instead of just going to sleep immediately after getting to a safe room.

👩‍🏭If one of your fics was going to get you arrested, which one and why?

This question has multiple answers based on how much I read into why the fic is getting me arrested. Based on my search history? L2C. Based on quality of writing? One of my unfinished wips from 2017-18. Based on a story beat that could probably fall into Shitty Fanfic Trope territory if you squint and tilt your head at it for a liiittle too long but it's WAY too late to change? L2C.

I feel like I had more joke answers for this one but you get the idea

[flowerxguts]

—————＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ 22’ DRABBLE ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊—————

(extremely unfinished skeleton work from 2022!!!!)

“Em always comes back, can’t give up on her now, can we?” Dion jabs as positively as he can, determined to make his little sister feel more comfortable.

Eleanor lets out a sigh, seemingly accepting the current situation to Dion’s relief. She drops her bag, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Where’s Damien?”

“Haven’t seen him since I got back… off somewhere.” He waves his hand, once again acting as nonchalantly as possible.

(he sees the look in eleanor’s eye)

“Eleanor— don’t get involved in this.”

“What?”

“I don’t want you around this.”

(what he doesn’t say is “i’ve kept you from it long enough and i intend to continue protecting you from seeing the people you can’t help but love like this. your heart is too big for your body and i’m afraid if you knew how bad it really was it would break something in you. i can’t lose you too.”)

“Damien is family.”

“He is. No one’s saying he isn’t. It’s just— Dam’s in a bad place right now.

(he’s pleading with her more than he’ll admit)

“And that’s why we’ll be there for him.”

“No. Not we. I— I will take care of him. You? You get to keep on your life mostly normal.”

“Mostly?”

“Stay away from him.”

“You’re kidding. He lives here!”

“Yea, barely at this point. He’s like an outdoor cat.”

(he is trying to act like damien’s disappearances do not bother him which is a fact eleanor will inevitably pry at)

(lots more dialogue before “He’s going to detox. He’ll get mean.”)