#we don't wanna stifle creativity

[harrowhq]

𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽𝚈𝙼𝙾𝚄𝚂 𝙰𝚂𝙺𝙴𝙳: do we have to run fc changes by you?

we definitely would appreciate it if you did, but it is in no means necessary ! as long as you put it your app with reasoning, we’ll take that into consideration when we accept ! if we need any more clarification , we’ll reach out as well !

[mono-dot-jpeg]

child! reader w/blade, yanqing, natasha, & gepard

summary; thoughts being thunk about cute scenarios with child! reader

genre/extra tags; fluff, blade is probably ooc, don't give blade a child, yanqing being a big brother, yanqing and reader gang up on jingyuan, natasha my beloved, gepard big brother arc, but gepard is an awkward big brother, whoops my hand slipped now there's angst (natasha's part), blade wants to punt a kid (/hj)

[gender neutral! reader] [child 7-9! reader] [platonic]

[warnings; implied for reader to be heavily sick often (natasha)]

a/n; *smacks my head* this baby holds loads of child!reader ideas, thanks to their family being the way their family is. good ol' trauma. you didn't pick any characters in particular other than just non-express crew characters. hope you enjoy

it's a fucking miracle that you're even standing next to this man. kafka just had to give you to him. luckily, blade is less violent than he looks. and luckily for you, you hold no fear.

"you look ugly like that." you point at him, your tiny finger inching a little too close to his eye. "why do you look like that?" kafka stifles a laugh as she watches from afar.

"i can't believe i want to punt a child." he mutters. "i don't know, why do you look like that?" he retaliates.

"look like what? ms. kafka says i'm cute!" your hand goes limp to rest on your lap.

"you are anything but cute, you devil spawn."

you gasped, "ms. kafka! blade is being mean!" you get up to run to the woman, who is laughing silently. "he called me a devil spawn... whatever that means!"

"it means you're tiny. and stupid." blade says, watching as you hide behind kafka's leg.

"no, you're stupid!" you stick your tongue out at him.

"you little sh-"

"curse jar!"

"yannie!" you cheered loudly.

"y/n!" he cheers back. you run to him as he picks you up. "do you want to walk around today?" you nodded. "let's go get some allowance from the general first!"

"jing!" you and yanqing arrive at the general's office.

"if it isn't our little cloud knight." jingyuan watches as the young blonde puts you down to go run at him. "i could only wonder what you are doing here with yanqing."

"i wan' to explore with yanqing!" you climb up jingyuan's legs as he watches with a fond gaze.

"is that so?"

you nodded, "but me 'n yan need help." jingyuan looks at you confused before turning to look at yanqing.

"we need some money, general..." jingyuan raises an eyebrow, glancing at you who shows him puppy eyes. and then yanqing tries to play off his ask with an innocent grin.

jingyuan can't help but sigh, "for a lieutenant and a little cloud knight, you two sure are sly." he smiles gently.

"you think we can annoy serval?" an impish grin starts to grow on your face.

"we really shouldn't do that." gepard chides you. you groan.

"but i'm so bored! she's got cool ga- gad-gets."

"gadgets."

"yeah! i wanna see them! i wanna watch serval work!"

"she's probably busy, y/n." you huffed as you struggled in gepard's arms, "stop it!"

"what can we do then?" you pouted. "what do you wanna do?"

awkward silence...

"my idea is better! let's go see big sis!" you tug on his clothes as if it would anything to make him move faster.

"how about we make something for serval? wouldn't that be fun?"

"hm? making something like a gad-gets?"

"gadget. yeah, maybe something like that. or we can draw something for her, and she can put it up somewhere."

"yeah, let's do that!" you cheered, walking alongside gepard and putting your hand in his.

it's no doubt that your parents would leave you in the care of the nicer-est nurse in town (your words, not hers). even if you were a not so amazing state, you can't help but still be happy.

"i think you're a superhero, ms. natasha. i wanna make a story about you!" you've always been a creative soul, it was one of the few things you can do with being bedridden for days on end. writing was a favorite. but you really liked making comics.

"i'm just doing my job, dear. i think you should make a story about yourself." natasha speaks with fondness as she distracts you from getting a shot. "you're just as strong as a hero." her voice is bittersweet but you don't notice it.

"how about i make a story about us? we can be the best-est heroes in the world!" you beamed at your own genius suggestion. "i can be your sidekick!"

"i would love to see that story someday." she smiles. "i know it will be amazing as always." she places a band aid where your shot was taken. her thumb brushes over it once, then again. "i'll even put it up by your bed. framed and everything."

she just hopes you live to see another day.

[doumadono]

I just wanna know why so many adult mha smut creators say they age up minors as if it justifies their attraction to them. Would you say it's okay to age up Eri too?

Ah, aging-up fictional characters, my favorite controversial topic! ♥ You know, I was low-key anticipating an anon to drop this kind of question, sooner nor later (what a pity you didn't have balls to come off-anon tho!). I've had my fair share of childish anons before, and trust me, those went straight into the digital dumpster. But hey, this time, I've decided to lay it all out on the table, crystal clear 🙅‍

You know, I've done it all – murder, rape, summoned demons, even glorified Satan and had several children killed in my stories. But guess what? Not a single pair of handcuffs in sight! 😎 And don't get me started on the horror section at any bookstore - it's like a buffet of dreadful deeds.

Let's be real, the purity police can take a hike. There's something oddly fishy about the fact that fanfic, mostly crafted by awesome writers, gets the brunt of the criticism or some ridiculous accusations, especially the smutty bits, while the gruesome stuff gets a free pass 🤷

Look, folks, it's all about context. Fiction is a realm where creativity knows no bounds, right? So, if I want to age-up a character for a mature storyline, I'll go for it 🤷 Look, it's all a part of the creative process. Fiction is like a playground where we can swing from the monkey bars of imagination, right? Aging-up fictional characters is a common practice in creative communities, and it's important to remember that these characters exist solely within the realm of fiction - they are not real, so it doesn't hurt them in any single way. It allows creators to explore different scenarios and relationships without crossing any ethical boundaries :) Also! Aging-up characters isn't some sneaky scheme to write "inappropriate" content about youngsters. It's about taking characters you adore or find fascinating and giving them a new lease on life. It's like those college AU fanfics for characters in their late 30s or kidfic for full-grown adults. It's all about exploring different phases of their lives. So, whether it's smutty or not, the essence remains the same 😎 You see, the whole "aging-up" thing in fanfic/fanart is just common sense. We're not into the whole "let's sexualize kids" scene, so we gracefully turn our characters into adults. It's all about creating content featuring responsible, grown-up folks. And let's get real, if reading about something meant you were all in on it, then every mystery novel reader out there would have to be either an undercover detective nor a murderer 😎 So let's dial down the judgment and just enjoy our creative freedom, shall we?

But you know, trying to equate aging-up with things like grooming/pedophilia is like saying eating a banana is the same as piloting a spaceship because they're both hands-on activities. Let's keep our perspective here, folks, and not get too carried away with the terminology ��

If you don’t want to read those stories (containing aged-up characters/dark content/smut with aged-up characters) - then don’t read them - problem solved!

Oh, how times have changed, my friend! Back in the day, I used to let all those comments and anonymous hate bring me down. But guess what? I've evolved, and I've got news for the critics: I write what I want to write, and nobody's gonna tell me otherwise. I've got this little thing called free will, and I'm not about to hand it over to anyone who thinks they can dictate what I should or shouldn't put on paper. If that means ruffling a few feathers, so be it. I've shed my tear-soaked days and embraced the fact that I couldn't care less about those sensitive souls who can't handle a bit of fiction. So, to all you "snowflakes" out there, if you're trying to stifle my creativity, good luck, because I'm just going to crank up the heat and write even smuttier storylines with aged-up characters! Thanks for the encouragement, dear Nonnie – you've only fueled my fire! 🔥😎 I might even consider writing some very dark-themed fic with aged-up Eri, why not! 😈

Oh, hey Anon! Quick question for you. Have you ever picked up a Stephen King book? You know, the master of horror and suspense? Well, if you have, you might've noticed that he doesn't shy away from some pretty explicit content, and not just with adults. Sometimes he writes about kids too, and they're sometimes off legal age as well! Surprise, surprise. You can stroll into a bookstore, grab a book off the shelf, and guess what? There's a good chance that some of those books contain content that would make a sailor blush! Yet, the world isn't collapsing because of it. The point is, even in mainstream literature, you'll find situations that might make you raise an eyebrow. So, let's not throw stones at age-up fiction creators when the literary giants sometimes walk on the same edge, right? 😏

In the conclusion, if you've got a problem with aging-up fictional characters, dear Nonnie, you might want to take a chill pill and remember that it's all just a bit of fun in the end ♥ Well, you know what would truly make my day? If you took the liberty to hit that "block" button with glee and gracefully vanished from my interactions. And if, by some chance, you decide to stick around, don't hold your breath for a response. I'll be too busy conjuring up some fiery, smutty tales featuring Bakugo or Shoto or any other character I like to bother with your, shall we say, less-than-enlightening queries. But hey, chin up, pal – here's a little nugget of wisdom from your "older and wiser" friend: go get a life. It's an absolute game-changer 😜 I'm tagging some content creators who write dark fics or use aged-up characters and might face similar anons/anon hate: @mrskokushibo @ectologia @kyojurismo @bakubunny

[amee-racle-ofmyown]

Hey, Amee!! I hope you’re doing well <3

If by any chance you’re up to it, could you please write a fic about Heist Mark being super jealous of Yancy because he and Y/N clearly seem to be into each other?? I LOVE your art and writings and I couldn’t get this idea out of my head <3 (Obviously no pressure, though!)

I'm so happy to hear you enjoy my work, thank you🥺💖 and thank you for your request! it got me out of a terrible writer's block. on that note, sorry this took quite some time, I've been in a bit of a funk of on and off general creative block, and unable to finish any writing at all for even longer. this was a pretty fun challenge! I myself view Yancy platonically so I wasn't quite sure where to go with this initially, and I had to fight every urge to just make this heist mark x y/n dfsjsjsv. that said, it did end up being more heist mark-centric than maybe you intended? in which case, I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself😔 yancy is there but very briefly haha

Don't you tell me that you never even thought, 'maybe we could run'

2,603 words | Read on AO3

‘We're all gonna be rehearsing tomorrow so youse best get some sleep.’

You nod as you close the gate to yours and Mark's shared cell, stifling a yawn.

‘Goodnight, Yancy.’

You hold each other's gaze for a moment, before he turns and heads off, a tattooed hand over the back of his neck and a sweet smile still on his face. You watch as he disappears into the outer hallway and a guard appears to lock up your cell for the evening.

Your long-time accomplice and friend stands at the edge of your vision, arms folded.

‘Having fun with your new boyfriend, buddy?’ he asks, sounding unimpressed and slightly strained.

‘Oh, shush, Mark,’ you chide, but your stomach flips at the notion.

‘Yeah… Well, while you were busy playing Broadway,’ he glances to either side of the cell outside and continues in a lowered voice, ‘I've been hard at work hatching our escape. And I'm telling you, it's foolproof.’

‘Uh huh. As foolproof as your other three failed plans? I really don't wanna get thrown in solitary again.’

‘Please, that was one time! — and I don't see you bothering to come up with any ideas. Even though you pretty much got us into this mess.’

That accusation ticks you off, but you're quick to retaliate.

‘Are you seriously still hung up on that? How is this my fault? You couldn't fly a helicopter, why would you assume I can? You shouldn't have even presented it as an option!’

Your exclamation earns you a couple looks from other inmates slowly filing into their cells for the night.

‘Nevermind that now,’ Mark says, infuriatingly placatingly, ‘do you wanna hear the plan or not?’

The thread of uncertainty that you've been avoiding coils tight in your chest and you pause, wondering how to bring up what's been nagging at you for days.

‘Um, so, I've been thinking. What if… what if we don't try to escape?’

‘Ha ha. Funny joke, pal.’

‘I'm serious, Mark. We could just… stay here and wait out our sentence, if we play it safe we might even get our time reduced on good behaviour. We could be gone in like a decade. Or a few years! Maybe. Probably. Maybe.’ Wishful thinking, perhaps.

He scoffs, as if the idea isn't even worth considering.

‘There is no way you're genuinely telling me to just wait it out. Maybe you haven't noticed since you've been in la-la land lately, but we're not on vacation, we're in prison,’ Mark spouts, voice growing thick with agitation. ‘What was supposed to be the heist of a lifetime, would've set us up for decades to come, is still on the line! And we're on a bit of a time crunch here — I don't trust that warden guy one bit with the Box, or in general,’ he sneers. ‘I mean what kind of name is Murder-Slaughter? Ugh, do we even know for sure if he still has it?’

‘Yancy mentioned seeing it in his office the last time he was there, which was earlier today, so yeah, probably.’

‘Ugh, there you go again about Yancy. It's always Yancy this, Yancy that, blah blah blah, Yancy!’

‘Wh– I was just answering your question!’

‘Y'know what? I'm sick and tired of being the only one taking this seriously while you act like it's all a big party.’

He places a hand on his hip, the other poking a finger towards you as he speaks. It would be comical, if he wasn't acting like a jerk.

‘What's up with you?’

‘What's up with me? What's up with you? You seriously wanna stay in this— this shithole, ‘cause of what? Some pretty face you've known for all of like, less than two weeks??’

‘Oh my God, Mark, it's not that terrible, and Yancy is actually my friend, he's been nothing but welcoming and kind since we got here, and—’

‘Oh, did you forget that he tried to beat you up when you first met? Real interesting, how you let that little detail slip.’

‘We just got off on the wrong foot, he's really—’

It's then that you see it — something in the slight hunch in his gait, the furrow of his brow, his pursed lips and tense jaw — and you wonder why you hadn't noticed before. It's not just anger and frustration, it's something bitter and personal.

‘Mark… are you jealous?’

Bingo. His eyes only widen a sliver, for a fraction of a second, but you're so used to reading him that even the most imperceptible of reactions on his usually very expressive face have become familiar to you.

‘Psh. I'm not jealous.’

‘You so are jealous! Oh my god, you're super duper jealous,’ you say with a grin, revelling in this new information.

‘Shut up, why would I be jealous?’ he protests, trying to sound nonchalant. But it's too late. You've already seen through it.

‘Is that what this is about?’ you say with a laugh. ‘You just want my attention back or something?’

He stares blankly for a moment.

‘Are you serious right now? You actually think the only reason I'm mad is because some random dude just waltzes in and starts acting all buddy buddy with you and you fall head-over-heels,’ he jeers with his hands either side of his face, fluttering his eyelashes mockingly. ‘Hook, line and sinker.’

‘Mark—’

‘I mean, never mind your partner, right? You know, your best friend who you've known and worked with for years? Who cares what he thinks?!’

‘Mark, I—’

‘In fact, he can get punched through a wall for all you care! You won't even bat an eye, as long as there's a random spontaneous musical number immediately afterwards, it's all in good fun!’

‘Ok, that's not fair,’ you push back. ‘Of course I was worried! But I was also surrounded by violent criminals at the time, we've been over this!’

‘Oh, so they're “violent criminals” now? But they're simply “hurt, misunderstood souls” when it suits you?!’ he shoots back, making air quotes to emphasise his point.

‘They're people, Mark! They're allowed to be… multi-faceted!’

‘Lights out, everybody,’ comes a guard's voice, ringing through the hallway as it suddenly becomes dark, save for the glow of dim lamplight emanating from one or two of the other cells.

‘Whatever, let's just get some sleep,’ Mark grumbles under his breath.

‘You always do this!’ you whisper harshly, but inadvertently let the volume slip back into your voice as you feel your blood boil. ‘You try to cut things off and act like the “bigger person” just to get out of an argument that, newsflash, YOU'RE LOSING.’

‘Oh, whatever, what-f*cking-ever!’

‘You're being so damn overdramatic, Mark! It's not like I'm trying to break up our team.’

‘Yeah, well– well maybe we should!’

You don't know why it jolts you like a gunshot when he says it, but it does. His words, the force and resentment behind them, pierce you to your core. It stops any quick-fire response you had at the ready in its tracks.

Regret immediately flashes across his face, but he quickly attempts to cover it with a steely, hardened gaze. ‘Clearly, we want different things. So maybe it's for the best.’

‘Hey!’ one of the guards calls out from across the hall. ‘Lights out means quiet, you two. Don't make us separate you into different cells.’

With a frustrated huff, you reluctantly traipse off to bed, yours being the lower half of the bunk while Mark settles above you.

It really is a rather decent bed. The mattress is nothing special, but comfortable, and the soft blanket is accompanied by an oddly luxurious, fluffy pillow. Definitely above what you'd expect is probably average prison standards. Frankly, you don't know what Mark's problem is with this place. It's honestly not half bad. As far as you expect jails go, it surely could be a lot worse.

You lay back and let your breathing even out, trying your best to allow some of the bubbling anger to die down. Eventually, you hear the guards leave.

Time passes, it could be minutes or hours; it's not like the passage of time has felt right at all to you since that last heist.

It's silent, save for the sound of your breaths and Mark's above you. You're still upset with him, but the sound of him breathing nearby has always been oddly comforting. The two of you have had plenty of close calls as a pair — even times when you had to patch each other up after jobs that went particularly badly. If you got injured on a heist, you couldn't simply call an ambulance or show up at a hospital in an emergency and risk having your whole operation blown. That was simply the nature of your line of work.

At the worst of times, as long as you could hear those steady, even breaths, you could tell yourself he would pull through, and things would be fine.

You idly watch the mattress above you, letting the rhythm of your friend's breathing become a gentle white noise, and think.

You think about that heist and the Box. Ancient, coveted, mysterious. Sitting atop its perch in the museum vault, in all its glory and allure, practically asking to be stolen. The gleam of the gem encrusted in its surface. You wonder if the prize held within would be worth all of this, if you managed to get it back.

You think about Yancy, a little rough and a little troubled and not seeing much point in trying to kick old habits; but fun and soft and sensitive and full of remorse. You think about the feeling of your hand in his when you practise a routine with him, how his whole face lights up when he's excited or falls when he's sad or pensive. You think about how he has made this penitentiary into a home, and these inmates into a family.

You think about Mark. Silly, stupid, steadfast Mark, snarky and thoughtful and loyal. Who isn't actually as dumb as he lets on. Who is resourceful and quick-thinking when a plan needs to be formed. Who makes bad puns and trusts you whole-heartedly, and who always lets you decide which course of action to take, no matter how much he disagrees, simply due to his unwavering faith in you. Mark, your co-worker, your friend, your partner in crime. Who is maybe a little enamoured with you, despite you trying to ignore it. Who you half-heartedly agreed to go on a date with, not having it in you to turn him down, nor prepared for the guilt that would be eating away at you now.

You think about one of the first things he told you when you landed yourselves at Happy Trails: About how he doesn't belong here, but maybe you do. What if he were to leave and you were to stay? The thought breaks your heart a little.

Then, a whisper from above into the quiet, gently interrupting your thoughts.

‘Hey, you still awake?’

‘...Yeah.’

You hear his voice, soft-spoken, but clear enough that you can hear the sincerity laced into it.

‘I… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get so worked up.’

‘Yeah, I'm sorry too,’ you reply, matching his volume.

‘And I didn't mean it,’ he says, and you think you hear the slightest tremble in the statement, almost as if he's fighting tears, and for a second you wish you could see his face, ‘what I said before, about uh, splitting up. I know I joke about that kind of thing all the time, and not coming back for you… But you know I don't really mean it, right?’

You've certainly had your doubts in the past, but those moments seem so far away now; footnotes in a slowly unfolding tale, stepping stones on the journey the pair of you have taken together as you worked your way from theft to theft to get to this point. As much as you'd butt heads over the years, you could always count on each other and you always stuck together.

‘Right?’

‘Yeah, I know…’

‘...And, alright, your lack of interest in breaking out aside, maybe I am kinda jealous.’

‘Ha! I knew it.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ He sighs. ‘It's just… it took us a while to be like we are now and yet, you're suddenly so close to him when it hasn't even been that long, it just doesn't feel fair. I dunno, it's stupid.’

‘Nah, I get it. I'm sorry if I made you feel left behind.

‘And I'm sorry if I ever made you feel pressured into something you're actually just not all that into.’

You feel a bit of tension leave your chest as a small smile appears on your face. ‘I appreciate that.’

In some ways you're grateful for the small bed separating you and preventing you from being face to face. You think it makes this easier for both of you.

‘I don't want to lose you, y'know? I mean, we're supposed to be partners. Ride or die, remember?’

‘Oh, Mark… You know I still trust you with my life…’ You pause, considering your words. ‘For the first time in ages, things feel a little more complicated than just being about us.’

A beat, then you hear him inhale, and he says your name, foregoing any of his usual nicknames.

‘...Are you… happy here? Does he make you happy?’

‘There's things I miss about freedom, sure, but it's not so bad here. And let's face it, our crimes were probably gonna catch up to us eventually, one way or another, right? And Yancy…’ You let out the smallest huff of laughter, smiling to yourself once again. ‘You're right, it hasn't been very long… There's just something about him, I guess. I know he might be a little much at times but I enjoy being around him, and he honestly seems like he wants to make up for things he's done in the past by being here. Maybe nothing will come of this but even so, in a weird way, he kind of makes me want to do better?’

Mark breathes a good-natured huff of laughter as well, and the two of you take a moment to muse on the irony of that sentiment.

‘I just– I can't handle being stuck here,’ he finally says. ‘But you're right, nothing I've tried so far has worked, anyway.’

‘Y'know… Yancy knows all the ins and outs of this place. He could probably help us if we wanted it.’

‘Do you want it?’

Do you want to leave or stay? The real question beneath it all.

You're quiet again, and it feels as if every possibility is laid out before you, only obscured.

‘I don't know,’ you say eventually. ‘I need more time to think. I just don't want you to think I'm making a choice between you or him, there's so many other things I need to consider. That we need to consider.’

‘That's fair… Just don't take too long, ok? Not like we can pause or rewind time, haha.’

‘Right… In the meantime, could you at least try to get along with Yancy and the others? You might like them if you give them a chance.’

‘... Fine, I'll try,’ he acquiesces.

You raise a hand to your mouth to cover a yawn. A far more comfortable silence falls over the room, and you start to feel sleep overtake you.

‘... Hey, Mark?’

‘Yeah?’

‘We're still partners.’

If nothing else, you hope this will reassure him.

‘...Ok. Sweet dreams, partner.’

[unknownfacelessfanfictions]

i have an idea for a q x reader (specifically the one from the next generation cuz idk) but i have absolutely no writing pizzazz so id thought you’d like to hear about it:

ok so reader (can be she/her or gender neutral whatever ur comfy w/) works on the enterprise and she was betrothed to a guy when she was born. he’s a bit of a jerk, she doesn’t rlly wanna marry him BUT in grooms society a betrothal is a binding vow so the crew on the enterprise can’t interfere with it as it’s their way of life (cuz i THIIIINK that goes against the prime directive im not too sure tho). so anyways she/they is feeling a little bit down so she decideds to pray to *any* god out there to help her (i think you know where this is going accidental summoning of god trope here we go). SOOO unfortunately she summons Q. Q says “i’ll help you, but you need to get married to me instead because ever since i was turned into a human i’ve wanted to know what that’s like and fortunately ur in the right place at the right time girlfriend”. reader says yes cuz again groom is a jerk. their relationship develops (and obviously everybody on the enterprise and their mothers are VRRY mad, picard even more so).

if the reader ever does develop actual feelings for him and turn it into a fluffy fic or if she is totally disinterested and it can be a lil angsty twinge that’s for you to decide. SORRY if this is too many details and doesn’t rlly leave room for creativity i tried to keep it as barebones as possible. again if you wanna write this that’s totally up to you and i 100% respect it if you don’t but if you do see this and it catches ur interest then im glad i asked. love ur stuff 🫶

I do.

Q x fem!reader (3rd POV) Words: 3.1K Warnings: Arranged marriage, marriage of convinience A/N: Thanks again for the request @franlovesyouu and I am so sorry again, that it took so long. I changed a bit, I hope that's okay. Hope you still enjoy it :) P.S. the fiancé became a bit of an asshole. Sorry for that

His hand lay on her back and travelled up and down. She felt sick and had to turn to the side as the mere sight of him was too much for her. From the corner of her eye, she could see that Worf and Will, among others, were sitting at one of the tables nearby, watching her tensely. She tried to give them an encouraging smile, but she already knew it would be useless. There was nothing encouraging about the situation.

Just then, she could feel Esua's hand move from her back to her waist and pull her towards her. "Hey. Eyes on me sweetie." His breath reeked of alcohol and she squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could to stifle the tears that suddenly welled up, but before she did, she could see Worf sit up straighter and was held back by a grim-looking Will. "Hey!"

His fingers gripped her chin firmly and he turned her face almost brutally towards him.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and looked at him, still fighting back the tears. He grinned smugly. "' That's good." She managed a growl and yanked her head out of his grasp. "Don't. I told you I don't like it." His fingers tightened around her chin again, this time with more pressure, and she was sure she'd bruise. "You are my wife. You have to obey me, whether you like it or not."

Her heart grew heavy and at the same time she felt like she was going to throw up. She tore herself away again and stood up this time to get some space between herself and him.

"I'm not your wife yet," she hissed softly so as not to draw attention to her, but she couldn't stop the tears from welling up in her eyes. "Which means you have nothing to dictate to me."

She turned on the spot and stormed towards the door. Will stood up, concern clearly visible, but she just shook her head. She just wanted to be alone

At that moment, she was glad that she could have mapped out the layout of the ship in her sleep, as her vision was obscured by a veil of tears that allowed her to make out nothing more than outlines. She only allowed the tears to flow freely when the doors to her quarters closed behind her and she was in the private safety of herself.

A sob escaped her, clawing at the back of her throat, and she pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. Even if the walls were soundproofed, there was that small part of her that refused to shed tears over this man. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

"God," she gasped, running her hands vigorously over her face in the hope of getting a hold of herself without much success. "Pull yourself together. You're strong, not fussy, you shouldn't be sitting here crying."

But no matter how hard she tried to keep it together, she couldn't and eventually the first hot tears began to roll down her cheeks. As soon as the liquid wet her skin, there was no escape in sight and as much as she tried to fight it, she couldn't help but collapse on her sofa, sobbing.

She should have been more composed and in control of herself by now. After all, she knew it would come to this since she was a little girl. The Drakthar, her people, were a fairly traditional people, as the humans liked to call them, and betrothals of children for political and social benefits were not uncommon and more importantly: binding. There were very few reasons why a betrothal could be broken off and Esau, as obnoxious as he was, was no fool and had taken meticulous care to ensure that none of these cases would occur.

And she had actually come to terms with it by now. However, now that the wedding date was only a few months away and the time when the bride and groom were supposed to be together began, the whole thing seemed so much more realistic and threatening.

She knew that crying wouldn't help her either. She would have to marry Esau and spend her life by his side.

Not even the Enterprise could help her, as it was already clear that he would live here with her.

There was no escape. And yet she caught herself as it escaped her lips. "Please, someone, help," she pleaded, but knew it was useless. No one would be able to help her. No one.

At some point, she must have fallen asleep, exhausted and weeping, because she woke up as a flash of light coursed through her quarters. Sleepy and a little disorientated, she looked around and it wasn't long before her eyes fell on the tall, brunette man in the captain's uniform, who was looking at her with a raised eyebrow and a mischievous smirk on his lips. She had never seen him before, let alone met him in person, but it was no secret who was standing in front of her.

"Wrong quarters Q," she muttered, more resigned than angry and annoyed, which was probably how she should feel. "The captain's quarters are on a different deck."

Q, however, contrary to her expectations, did not move more than a step towards her. "No, no, my dear lieutenant, I'm definitely in the right place."

She frowned, but didn't have enough energy to actively argue with him. "Q, please. I'm really not in the mood for any games."

Q clicked his tongue admonishingly and stepped a little closer to her. "So ungrateful. Even though I've generously agreed to help you out." These words caught her attention and she straightened up a little on the sofa, confusion clear on her tear-streaked face. "To help out? How so?"

The grin had returned to his face and he seemed to take her question as an invitation to come closer. "I've heard your dilemma, with this ... creature you're supposed to marry because of your parents' wishes. Truly awful, no taste this man, just his choice of clothes seems even more boring than you mortals normally wear."

She didn't interrupt him, no matter how much she wanted to argue with him. She was desperate and if he actually had a way to help her, she would take it, no matter how impossible it seemed.

"But don't despair, for I have heard your plea!" Q spread his arms out as if he were standing in front of a huge crowd and giving a speech that would be followed by thunderous applause. She didn't clap, but simply raised a brow.

"Please don't get me wrong, I don't want to underestimate you or anything, but how are you going to help me? Breaking a Dratharkian engagement is next to impossible." Q smiled and leaned forward so that his face hovered directly in front of hers, allowing her to see the twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "But not completely." He snapped his fingers and a scroll appeared in his hand with a small flash of light.

In a loud voice, as if he were standing in an open courtyard, he proclaimed, "A betrothal between the son and daughter of Drothrak is to be cancelled only if the son has betrayed the daughter; if the family of one harms the family of the other; if the daughter of Drothrak is claimed by divinity; or if the son of Drothrak is unable to provide a life for the daughter."

He rolled up the scroll again and it disappeared in another flash of light as he looked at it expectantly.

But she was only the more confused and devoted than before. "I know the rules, Q. And trust me when I say that none of them apply to me. Esau has not deceived me, at least not demonstrably, or cannot provide for me, nor do our families have a feud that can prevent this marriage. There is no way out." She pulled her knees to her chest.

Q, however, sighed heavily and dramatically and shook his head. "And here I thought I'd caught an intelligent mortal." He leaned further forward so that their faces were inches apart as she glared angrily at him. "What about the fourth exception?"

She snorted and turned her head away so she no longer had to stare into his irritating eyes. "Oh of course, how could I forget, silly me. Let me just call our neighbouring god and see if he can 'claim' me. Of course, how could I not think of that."

She expected a snippy comment from Q, but he remained silent, which irritated her even more. Although it was the first time she had met the omnipotent man, she knew from stories that he rarely remained silent. When she turned back to him, however, he only looked at her expectantly, somewhat amused, she thought, and seemed to be waiting for her to come to the conclusion he had already reached.

With a furrowed brow, she looked at him in turn and thought hard, mentally going over the things he had told her and the things she knew, and suddenly everything seemed to click into place. She widened her eyes and looked at him in surprise. "Oh."

"There you go!" Q straightened up and spread his arms. Out of nowhere, fanfares sounded and confetti fell to the floor like an awards ceremony. "The penny has dropped."

She was still a little behind, a little overwhelmed by the revelation. "You want to claim me?" Q grimaced slightly. "Claiming is such an outdated term. Very toxically masculine, don't you think? No, no, my dear. I'm offering you marriage."

The situation seemed to be slipping away from her more by the second. "You want to marry me?" Her voice got a little too high for her taste towards the end. "So my solution to escaping a marriage is to enter into another one?"

Q clicked his tongue again. "Well, I certainly hope that my presence is a lot more pleasant than that deadbeat's." She didn't even try to answer. "But why? What benefit could you possibly gain from it?" "Can't you just settle for me trying to help you?" Q was beginning to look a little annoyed and massaged the bridge of his nose, but she withstood his piercing gaze.

"You're offering to marry me. If you know our laws so well, you should know that a marriage like this cannot be dissolved. Never. So forgive me if I would like to know your motives before I bind myself to you for the rest of my life." Q stared at her for a few moments, as if contemplating whether it was worth it, before sighing devotedly and waving his hand dismissively in the air. "I've become curious." She raised her eyebrow in disbelief. "Curious? About marriage?"

He just snorted. "Don't sound so surprised. I was mortal myself. Admittedly not for long and it was an experience I would have liked to avoid, but there were definitely aspects that piqued my interest. And one of them is marriage."

His gaze slid to the porthole and his eyes flickered back and forth, as if trying to burn each passing star into his memory. "The idea that you choose one person to spend every moment of the rest of your life with... It's a strange thought, but an interesting one."

"Q," she muttered warningly. "If I agree to this, you'll be the one. This is not a game. I won't force you to spend time with me or anything like that, but I won't be allowed to have any other kind of relationship. So you need to be clear about what it means and be sure you're serious."

He looked at her and for the first time she truly felt that the man in front of her was eons old and had seen unimaginable things, just from the way his eyes looked in the dim light. " I am more than aware of the fact." She nodded slowly and exhaled shakily. She had to be insane, completely insane. Then again... What choice did she have? Q tilted his head. "I take it you'll accept the offer?"

A bittersweet smile settled on her lips. "I do."

~**~

"This is irresponsible! A disgrace!" Her mother's voice rang shrill and sharp in her ears, but she couldn't help but smile slightly herself. They were sitting in the captain's office and for the last ten minutes she had been listening to her mother and Esau's mother ranting in turn. Esau himself was sitting next to her, devastated.

Opposite her sat the captain and Will, both with serious faces, although she thought she saw the hint of a slight smile on Will's lips. "How dare you?" "Hasn't been particularly hard," she returned, which didn't make either woman particularly happy. "You've brought shame on both our families," Lytal, the mother of her ex-fiancé, screeched. "Esau was supposed to be your husband! You had obligations!"

"Ladies," said Picard, who had risen from his chair. His face was one of practised neutrality, but she could see the little sparkle in his eyes as his gaze flitted over to her for a brief moment. "I don't think this is going to get us anywhere. What's done is done."

"It's not valid," her mother hissed and she let out an annoyed sigh. "Mother, I've already explained it to you several times: Q and I followed the traditional rites. We are legally married according to Drothraki and Federation law. You can't undo it, when will you finally understand!" "You were betrothed to Esau, that's binding!" "I obeyed the law, Lytal." She was getting tired of it all. She had already repeated herself at least four times. "It is written in the law of our people that a betrothal can be cancelled if the bride is claimed by a god. That's what happened."

Lytal was fuming, so much so that she was sure the woman was about to burst a vein. "This is nothing more than a loophole, something added for the sake of etiquette-"

"And still part of the law!" Her mother gasped. "You apologise for your behaviour right now!" She exhaled slowly and squeezed out a forced smile before turning to Picard, to everyone's surprise. "My mother is right. I apologise for all the inconvenience I've caused you. I realise that I have caused some problems, but I hope you can understand my motives, sir."

She could see how hard it was for Picard not to smile. Will had completely given up, the smug grin clearly visible on his face. Her mum didn't think of it as funny.

"You ungrateful child!" She stormed towards her, her hand raised, but she didn't get far. A flash of light travelled across the room and suddenly Q stood between them, his eyebrow raised in warning, his expression one of amused annoyance. "Ladies, I think that's enough." There was something threatening in his tone.

"If any of you lay a hand on her, you'll have a problem with me, and believe me-" there was an almost dangerous glint in his eyes "- no one wants that." Both her mother and Lytal recoiled, frightened and the protest stifled in their throats, while Esau watched him sceptically from the corner. Picard, for his part, cleared his throat. "Q, I think that's enough."

However, he only snorted and just stepped far enough to the side for her to see him, but close enough to be able to step between them again in an emergency. "My own mother-in-law wanted to go after her daughter. My wife! As amusing as the whole thing has been so far, I would be neglecting my marital duties if I didn't intervene."

His gaze hardened as he looked back at the two women and Esau. "She is now under my protection. Any harm done to her will be dealt with in... creative ways." It truly amused her how quickly the colour drained from the three's faces the longer Q stared at them.

Will cleared his throat this time and stood up too, so that everyone present was now standing. "Let's face it: it can't be changed. The necessary documents have been submitted to prove that the marriage between her and Q was concluded months ago and is legitimate. However they managed that."

She had to suppress a grin, whereas Q presented his openly. It certainly had its advantages when space and time were no longer obstacles. "We should concentrate on what the lieutenant desires and what she wants."

He turned to her. "Lieutenant, did this marriage take place according to your wishes? You were not forced?" She nodded. "Yes, sir, it was all with my consent." "There you have it." Q raised his arms as if to say 'I told you so'. "Problem solved." Picard and Will exchanged a few glances before he turned to the two mothers. "As Commander Riker said, there's nothing we can do legally. And since the lieutenant is satisfied, we're not going to intervene. So we have no choice but to accept the whole thing and put it behind us."

Her mother turned red in the face again and seemed to want to say something, as did Lytal, but both were held back by Esau. "Leave it," he muttered, pulling them towards the door. "It's not worth it."

Q eyed her with a smug smile. "Smart decision, little mortal." He gave Q a scathing look, which wasn't particularly intimidating, before the door closed behind them and she exhaled in relief. With a somewhat exhausted smile, she turned to Picard. "Forgive me again, Captain." He just nodded. "Dismissed." She could still see Will's grin before she and Q disappeared in a flash of light and emerged in her quarters, where she dropped onto the sofa with a frustrated sound. Q followed quietly and settled down on the cushion. "You held yourself well. For a mortal."

It sounded derogatory, but she had learnt to read his mood over the last few months. He was impressed and pleased, at least a little. She turned her head slightly so that she could see him and noticed him twirling the ring on his hand, lost in thought, before he quickly withdrew his hand.

"Thank you Q. For stepping in." He just shrugged his shoulders, but she could see how pleased he was with the praise. "I would be a terrible husband if I didn't defend my wife's honour and health. I've learnt that much, after all."

She smiled. Although their relationship was not exactly a romantic one, she had grown fond of the god. And who knew what might come of it?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Don't know if you still wanna be tagged since I've been gone for a bit, but still did it just to be sure.

@bigblissandlove1 @akamitrani

[storyofmychoices]

Through the Pain

[Jun Seong x Emilia Charles Masterlist]

Pairing: Jun Seong x Emilia Charles (F!MC) Book: The Deadliest Game, Chapter 6 Word Count: > 1,300 Rating/Warnings: Teen (to be safe), mentions of in canon (chapter 1) death, a little survivor's guilt, emotional hurt/comfort

Synopsis: Emilia takes Jun up on his offer to try the punching bag. (A more emotional rewrite of Jun's Chapter 6 diamond scene)

"Punching it out really does work for you," Emilia teased with a playful smile as her gaze flickered over his glistening torso. 

"Usually. But the talking also helped," Jun admitted with a slight but grateful nod. 

The pair stood in a comfortable silence. The heaviness that once filled Jun's gaze was lighter now. She was grateful for that. There was a killer on the loose, and while she didn't suspect Jun, she also didn't need to worry about him pummeling Steve, even if he did deserve it. 

A wave of warmth washed over her. How could so much have gone wrong? 

Her career might be over, thanks to the creative desert she was lost in, better known as writer's block. As Emilia's attention drifted to the black punching bag hanging from the ceiling. The distant rumble of thunder echoed in the space. The dark clouds mirrored the turmoil brewing within her. The color was dark and empty, like the creative drought in her mind. She stepped closer, her thoughts shifting to Jun's unyielding assault on the bag that seemed to bring him relief. 

And then there was Nick. 

Her best friend. 

The one person she trusted above all else. 

Taken. 

And for what? Money? 

Her stomach turned as everything flooded back. She had tried to be stoic about it, not for herself, but what else could she do? There was a murderer among the guests, and tensions were running high. Someone had to keep it all together and try to solve the murder if they hoped to make it through the weekend. 

Her fist lightly touched the bag. Not a punch. Just an acknowledgment that it was there.

"Wanna give it a try?" He questioned softly, bringing her back to the present. 

"We should get back," she shook her head, trying to refocus herself on the task at hand. "Farah and Dante will be looking for us."

"You can take a moment—" Jun began as he moved closer, his hand resting on the side of the bag. "—if you need it. You don't have to always hold it together. It's okay to let go. The only reason anyone is holding it together right now is because of you, but it's okay to let go."

The corner of her lips pulled up slightly. She knew she didn't have the best poker face, but she had hoped she was doing a better job than that. "Is it that obvious?"

"No, but it's my job to read people, to detect motives and threats before something happens."

She nodded thoughtfully, eying the bag once more. "Got any tips?"

"Keep your elbows loose and throw your weight behind your fist." 

"Right. Nothing to it."

Jun stifled a chuckle beside her as she shifted her position back and forth, trying to get it right.

After a minute of adjusting, she threw her arm forward, making contact with the bag that barely shifted under her touch. "You make it look so easy! Not fair!"

"You just need to work on your positioning." Jun shifted behind her. "May I?"

Emilia nodded as Jun lifted her arms with a tenderness she didn't expect. He bent her elbow just right, keeping it up. His hand traveled down her forearm, closing around her fists, adjusting her finger and thumb position. 

"Jun," his name slipped softly from her lips at the sight of his raw, reddened knuckles. Her free hand brushed gently over them. "We should take care of that."

"It's nothing." He recoiled back, letting go of her. "I've had worse."

"Just because you've had worse doesn't mean you should!"

"I'm okay, I promise. But, before we get started—" He walked toward the end of the gym, returning with a pair of red, padded gloves. 

"Really?" Emilia's brow raised in question. 

"Just because I chose to be reckless and not use the proper protection doesn't mean you should?"

"I can handle getting my hands a little dirty," she tried to protest, but he already lifted her hand in his, slipping the gloves over her hands one at a time.

Jun stood back, his arms folded across his chest. "Keep your body loose... and it helps to think about something you want to hit."

She lifted her arms as Jun had shown her moments earlier, staring down the punching bag. Inhaling slowly, she tried to imagine the physical manifestation of writer's block. Her arm darted out once more, connecting with the bag. Another punch followed, releasing the frustration that had been building inside her from not being able to write. 

Her muscles tensed at a thought she had been trying to avoid.

Maybe if she hadn't been so preoccupied with figuring out what came next in her manuscript, her attention wouldn't have been split. 

She punched the bag again, the storm outside roaring around them. If she hadn't been so preoccupied with her writer's block, maybe she would have watched the other guests more closely.

Her brows knitted together as she focused on the bag.

Nick had only ever asked for one thing. 

Her fist made contact again, the bag shifting further.

Keep an eye on his so-called "friends".

She let out an infuriated grunt as she punched through the pain. Harder and faster. 

Nick. 

Her oldest friend.

Her best friend.

The closest thing she ever had to a sibling.

Her gloved fists beat against the bag with every bit of force she had. It moved a little with each hit. Nothing compared to Jun's, but it didn't matter. She continued, forgetting herself, forgetting Jun. Her anger and frustration raked through her body. Her eyes swelled with the tears she had been holding back since that moment.

She shook her head, trying to forget the broken vision of his bloodied body on the ground. Her vision blurred as she continued punching the bag. "He didn't deserve this." She mumbled, her body aching, but she continued. "How could you take him from me?" 

Strands of hair stuck to her wet cheeks, further obscuring her vision, but she hardly noticed as she continued. 

"How could you leave me like this?"

She sobbed as her punches slowed. Her shoulders slumped as she let her body feel the weight of the punches she had thrown. 

Jun moved carefully behind her, resting his hand on her shoulder. 

The unexpected touch pulled her back; she spun into him, her fists ready to attack. 

"It's just me," he said softly.

She fought against his comforting embrace, beating his chest, but he didn't flinch; he took her punches, guiding her closer.

"It's okay," he reassured her. 

"It's not fair," she sobbed, letting go of everything she had been holding in. She rested her head against the warmth of his shoulder as he brought her into his arms. 

"I know."

The pitter-patter of the rain against the windows brought a soothing comfort, blending with Jun’s steady presence, allowing her thoughts to quiet.

"I'm sorry," she sniffled, trying to recompose herself. "I came here to help you, and now I'm the mess." She took a step back, her gloved hands brushing over her cheeks, trying to wipe away the tears and hair stuck to them.

 "I've seen worse." His lip curved up ever so slightly. "Let me." He slowly lifted his hand toward her face, waiting for her nod of permission. The back of his hand trailed carefully across her cheeks, drying her tears. Despite the calluses on his knuckles, his touch was softer than she anticipated, catching her off guard. His fingers grazed the area, slowly gathering the wet strands of hair and tucking them behind her ear. He lingered for a moment, his touch gentle and reassuring.

"We are going to get through this," he insisted, his confidence giving her strength. 

Emilia nodded, lifting her hands to him. 

He carefully took one glove off and then the other. His hand hovered over hers a moment longer than needed, his thumb grazing her knuckles before retreating. "I won't let anything happen to you." 

She wanted to believe him, but her thoughts went to Nick. Jun couldn't protect him, but neither could she. No one could. No one knew. He was alone. At least they had that—they weren't alone. They had each other, Farah and Dante too. She knew not to trust anyone... but still, she trusted him, for better or worse.

"I know." She met his gaze; his dark eyes held an openness she hadn't seen before and one she welcomed. "Thank you, Jun."

"It's my job," he insisted, though they both knew it was more than that.

A/N: This is part of my Stolen Moments: brushing hair away series. This not what I indented to write. I just planned to make it a more flirty scene between Jun and Emilia and him brushing her hair back after her punching the bag like in canon, but I ended up ditching my 200 word outline 5 words in and wrote this which is more emotional but I think it's far more true to the character. MC never had any time to grieve the loss of Nick, and I feel this was kind of a breakthrough for her.

Anyway, if you made it this far, thanks for reading. I can't believe I wrote over 1,000 words! IN ONE DAY!!! I am literally crying right now! I don't know if it's any good. It's not edited. I was too afraid I'd start ripping it apart.

[ask-serendipity-sky]

Antis are gonna come on here and doubt jikook because of this song but I'm a jikooker and I'm not even thinking about that right now. I'm thinking about Jungkook and why he wants to come across as such a fuck boy to the general public. As much as we don't know him irl I think we can say it's obvious this ain't him and that this side of him is very performative. He wants to present this way. So opposite of himself and this just makes me look at him side ways.

I'm not a boring person or trying to stifle his creativity and expression. But that song sucked for more reasons than one and part of it is because this is the OPPOSITE of who we think Jungkook is. Not an addition to his personality. The OPPOSITE.

So I really don't wanna hear people coming out and saying we just don't like change or that he's grown up.

Hi anon,

Oh antis are going to have fun with this one too.

Yes, this is not about jikook. It's about Jk and how he is willingly selling out who he is and what his soul is made of for coolness and fame.

Perhaps he got the definition of maturity wrong? Being mature is not saying "fucking" or having explicit lyrics or saying the word girl like a total het.

If he really wanted to show a mature side, he would stand on that stage and make it tremble with his mere presence, very much like Gdragon, Taemin, Jhope, etc.

Maybe this is what he wants for all his music or he is just having fun with it...but like 2nd song in a row? And there is fun music that can show off his personality. And is this really how you want to start your solo career?

Jk seems to be in that phase where he is figuring himself out and I think his music is showing that.

Thanks for sharing.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Space Heaters

Prompts: so your fic "grounded" reminded me of one of my favorite headcanons - that janus is coldblooded and remus a living space heater, means perfect for cuddling - and also of the fact that in some of your writings remus switches into soft clothes when he comforts someone - so i really would love to read something like that with dukeceit being soft? only if you wanna of course and your writing is always amazing no matter what you write 💛💛💛 - anon

Okay. So I don't know if this is where you're supposed to submit prompts or not, but since reading one of your latest Sander's Sides ficcs, I MUST have one about Roman being Janus's space heater, and I refuse to believe I'm the only one. - lifezvictory

Read on Ao3

Warnings: kinda hypothermia, not really, just cold snek

Pairings: roceit, dukexeit, kinda, can be platonic or romantic I don't care

Word Count: 2984

Creativity runs warm. 

It’s getting colder outside and the Mindscape isn’t exactly season-proof. 

Even Logan would agree that this is a logical choice of action.

Janus stifles a noise, curling further in on himself as the blankets rustle around him. He grits his teeth against the draft that threatens to slim under the top layers and tugs them closer, ignoring the way his arms protest the movement. 

It’s getting colder outside and the Mindscape isn’t exactly season-proof. 

The cover of blankets makes his breaths double back and hit him in the face. It’s an awful feeling, he decides, and he doesn’t want to feel it anymore but as soon as he pokes his head out from under the blankets, the cold rushes in and he whines, burying his head back underneath. 

It’s cold. It’s so cold. 

“Jan-Jan,” comes Remus’s voice from somewhere too far away, “we were supposed to do the thing today, where are you?”

Janus just sighs and resigns himself to suffering in his inadequate blanket nest. What he really needs are a lot of sweaters with people’s body heat trapped in them, but Virgil’s gone who knows where and Remus…well, Janus doesn’t exactly trust Remus to keep his sweaters clean. The blankets will have to do. 

“Snakey, where are you?” Remus is getting closer. “I have plans, and you said you would—oh.”

The way Remus suddenly stops talking and then stays silent tells Janus all he needs to know about what Remus is thinking. 

Sure enough, a few seconds later, the outer layers of the blanket nest start to shift and then he’s hissing as the chill hits his scales. 

“Snakey?” Remus’s face peeks in over the mound of blankets. “You okay in there?”

“Put it back,” Janus snarls, aiming for intimidating and missing by half a mile, “it’s cold.”

“Are you cold?”

“That’s what I just said. Now put it back.”

“Snakey, did you—how long have you been here?”

Grunting, Janus reaches out and tugs the blankets away from Remus, curling back up in his huddle. “I don’t know, Remus, now stop stealing my warmth.”

“Janus, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

Oh. Oh, shit, Remus just used his full name. Oh, dear.

“…Remus, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Remus’s voice is even and serious and part of Janus is glad he’s already hiding so he doesn’t have to see his face. “If you’re cold and you’re not moving, your limbs are going to freeze up and you might seriously injure them. We need to get you warm.”

“What do you think,” Janus says through gritted teeth, “I’ve been trying to do?”

Remus sighs, almost too quiet to hear, before there’s a slight rocking of the blanket bundle. “Can I pick you up, Snakey?”

“Can you?”

“Don’t correct my grammar,” Remus warns, still speaking in his serious voice, “are you alright with being picked up or not?”

Janus huffs, breath doubling back on him. “I was asking if it were possible for you to—hey!”

Remus scoops him up like he weighs nothing, carrying him off down the hall in a wriggling pile of blanket and cold snake. Resigning himself to one, being carried, and two, not knowing where they’re going, Janus curls as much as he can into the blankets and—and—

“Easy,” Remus murmurs as Janus shudders with the sudden feeling of warmth radiating through the blankets, “easy, Snakey, it’s okay, we’re almost there.”

The sudden reemergence of the pet name shouldn’t make him feel warm either, but here they are. 

There’s a pause and the creak of a door opening before Remus sets him down on something soft, reaching for the blanket layers again. 

“I need to get these off of you,” he says quietly, “we need to see how you are.”

“But it’s cold.”

“Shh, shh, I know, Snakey, I know, but these—“ Remus tugs the blankets— “aren’t helping.  Clearly.”

“It’s better than nothing,” Janus whines, clinging to one of them as Remus begins to shift the blankets away, “and nothing else will keep me warm.”

“I’ll keep you warm.”

Wait, what?

But before Janus can ask what exactly that means and why it didn’t sound like an innuendo at all, Remus pulls away all of the blankets but one and Janus whimpers, the cold striking his scales and trying to burrow under them. 

“Shh, shh, shh,” Remus murmurs, hands landing like irons on Janus’s shoulders, “hang on, Snakey, just hang on a minute for me. Just let me look at you for a second and then we’ll get you warm.”

“Hurry,” Janus croaks, “hurry, please, please, it hurts—“

“I know, Snakey, I know.”

He doesn’t know what Remus does or what it means, he only knows that staying still while the chill rushes over him is hurting and he’s doing this for Remus and he wants to be warm so badly but if Remus doesn’t hurry up and finish he’s going to cry. 

“Thank god,” Remus mumbles, “okay, you’re okay. Let’s get you warm now.”

About damn time, Janus wants to hiss, but only a burbled noise makes it out of his throat. He hears the sound of Remus snapping his fingers and then his hands are being picked up and rested on something warm and soft. 

“C’mon, Snakey, come steal my body heat.” Remus—it’s Remus he’s touching, how is he so warm— “that’s it, Snakey, you c’mere.”

Warmth under his hands turns into warm arms around him, scooping him up again like he weighs nothing and lying down. Different blankets are pulled over him, thick and warm, pressing down on him with a substantial weight this time. There’s a high-pitched noise coming from somewhere and he only realizes it’s him when the chest under him chuckles and Remus’s voice is calling him a little noisemaker. 

“It’s okay, Snakey,” he says after Janus buries his mortified face in the crook of Remus’s neck, “you don’t have to be embarrassed, you’re cold. It’s okay.”

“’S stupid.”

“No, you’re you and you get cold and you need cuddles to warm you up.” The warmth around him squeezes. “That’s okay.”

“You’re soft.”

“Mhm. You like soft things, so I’m soft now.”

“You’re warm.”

“Like a space heater. Which means there’s more than enough for you to snatch and hide away under all your scales.”

Janus shifts, hooking his chin over Remus’s shoulder and closing his eyes, letting the scaled side of his face rest against the warmth radiating from Remus’s nick. He wasn’t exaggerating, he really is a space heater. Janus can feel itself sinking further and further into Remus’s embrace. It’s almost like he’s lying on a sun-warmed rock, that’s how warm it is.

“Aw, thanks,” Remus chuckles when Janus makes to voice the thought out loud, squeezing him a little tighter and rubbing his cheek against the scales, “now, are you gonna need to stay here for a while?”

“I might not get up ever again,” comes the threat that’s only about half-empty. 

Remus chuckles. “Oh, Snakey, how long have you needed this?”

“Told you,” Janus manages, his voice beginning to slur from the onset of exhaustion, “dunno. Been…been cold.”

Remus is quiet for a moment. Then the arms around him move and shift and his head is being pulled back enough to look at his face. 

“Anytime you need to be cuddled,” he says, voice all serious again, “you come and you find me, okay? I don’t care what’s going on, if you need to get warmed up, you tell me.”

Janus just stares at him before nodding slowly. Remus nods back and pulls him in. 

“Now you go to sleep, Snakey, I can tell you want to.”

The last things he notices are the blankets pulled tighter around them, the shifting of  so Janus is fully on top of him, and the kiss pressed to his scales.

He could get used to this. 

————

It is winter and he is cold and he is hungry. 

Janus’s skin itches now when he accidentally brushes his arms against his sides. He wears his sleeves longer and thicker, his cape wrapped around him, folds his arms and his hands and remembers to keep them to himself. A barrier is better than nothing and those whom he would touch, has touched, he knows better now. 

He will not be needy, not when he has to keep his head. 

When the distance is there, he can hold it. But when it isn’t, oh, he wants, to drown himself in it until his ears fill and his eyes wither and his tongue turns black and falls out of his head. But that would be greedy and he will not be his worst self in the face of that greed. 

As you might be able to tell, Janus gets dramatic when he’s cold. 

He wouldn’t normally object to stealing body heat, no, he’s pressed himself up against Remus and Virgil and shamelessly stolen it, flirted with Logan and Patton to make them all warm and flustered, but he’s trying to be better about respecting boundaries and they—

They don’t trust him yet. 

That’s okay, he understands. 

So when he begins to sniffle at the end of the week, he ignores the aching burn in his hands by stuffing them into ticker gloves and hunching his shoulders against the mass of shoulder pats and hand clasps that surround him as he sinks out. He burns all the way to the Dark Sides’ living room, trembling hands excused with a weak smile about how cold it is outside. He can’t quite get his fingers around the door knob, fumbling with the handle, and shivers as he runs into the walls trying to find the light switch in the dark. 

By the time he struggles out of his coat and gloves, he is nothing more than tremors. His nose is raw from tissues, blistered from the cold, protesting even as he swallows the pills in his cabinet. 

His stomach turns at the thought of food so he doesn’t. His arms ache, his skin burns as he slumps against the walls. He has to get out of his work clothes, they’ll be such a hassle to clean if he ruins them. Softer clothes, easier clothes, clothes that can be ruined. Clothes that can be destroyed with a touch and no one would look. 

A sniffling and trembling mess huddles on his bed, blankets piled high until he feels that he can hardly breathe, but it’s not enough. The cold is young, yet older than he can name, lingering just under his skin where the blankets can’t reach it. It’s not enough, either, to fill the well of loneliness as he shifts, the sound of the blankets too loud in the room. His body is tired. He aches. The best he can manage is a low whine as he tries, tries, tries to get warm. 

The next tissue is filled with tears. 

His imagination is cruel as he tries to fall asleep, taunting him with the memories of seeing carefree touches and casual affection. A ruffle of someone’s hair, clapping them on the shoulder, linking arms as they walk. What does that feel like, it whispers, do you even remember?

Do you hate the process of asking for touch, it continues, undaunted by the whine that escapes his throat, because you know that they would never understand how much it means for you?

Is that why you refuse to allow yourself the permission for casual touch, because you know it means much more for you than it does for them?

He wants Remus but Remus isn’t here. 

As if it can hear his unspoken answer, or if it takes pity on the whine that emerges despondent from his throat, his closed eyes well up again as the phantom sensations of fingers carding though his hair makes him shudder. But the empty promise of someone being here, someone running their hand through his hair is enough to soothe the worst of the tremors. 

Perhaps he’s got a better control of the Imagination than he thought. 

His sleep-slack brain keeps going, imagining the hand brushing his hair back from his forehead. He imagines it lying there for a moment, the back of it resting against damp skin, checking is he has a fever. It lingers there for another minute before smoothing a few stray hairs out of the way. He mumbles, scrunching his eyes tighter to cling to whatever figure his longing has conjured. 

The hand pauses, and for a moment, he’s afraid it will disappear entirely, but then it moves again, somehow more carefully than before. It moves with purpose now, the pads of their fingers pressing gently against his scalp. 

“Janus?”

He must be exhausted, it sounds like someone is calling his name. The hand in his hair doesn’t stop, but it feels…warmer, now, somehow, as if there’s a weight to it. 

“Janus,” the imaginary voice calls again, “are you awake?”

“I thought I told you not to wake him up,” says another voice—what’s—what—

“You’re the one who’s yelling.” The voice softens, the hand passing over his forehead again. “You can open your eyes now, you can stop pretending.”

His eyes don’t want to. He wants them to be real. But…but…but…

“Hello, little snake” Roman says softly, his hand still brushing his hair back from his forehead, “you’re not well, are you?”

Janus blinks at him. Why…why is he here? Why is he touching him? He’s going to get sick—he tries to pull away but only succeeds in rucking up the covers a little. 

“Don’t move too much,” as the hand slides up to cup the back of his head, fingers tangled in the hair there, “you need to rest.”

“Which is why—“ Remus, that’s Remus— “he wasn’t supposed to wake you up.”

The hand on him is warm. It’s warm and it makes his head feel fuzzy and that means it was real. There was a hand that carded through his hair, there was a hand that carefully checked if he had a fever, there was a hand that stroked his head and oh, oh—it was real and—and—

“Does it hurt,” comes the voice, worried now, as a thumb swipes a tear from his cheek, “are you in pain?”

It burns. The memory of the touch on his face is almost more than he can bear. The hand pulls away and he whimpers, trying to chase it. 

He hears a rush of breath from above him and a rustle of fabric, then the hand returns, a thumb gently caressing his cheek. 

“You can have it,” Roman murmurs, “if touch is what you need, you can have it.”

If he were slightly more awake, slightly less unwell, or slightly less drunk on simple touch, he might question why he’s here, why Remus is here, why they’re in his room, or why Roman sounds sweet and worried. But he isn’t, and he can feel the questions leaving his mind the longer the hand stays on his face. 

“Hey, hey,” and now Roman sounds like he’s speaking to something precious, “don’t cry, little snake, it’s alright.”

He’s…crying? Roman’s other hand comes up to cup his face and yes, yes, he’s crying. 

“Shh, shh,” Roman whispers, leaning down to murmur the words right up against his forehead, “you’re alright, little snake. It’s okay.”

“Ro, if you get sick, I swear to god—“

“You and I both know we run way too hot for that.”

Janus whimpers. It’s not fair. The two of them have so much body heat and he has none. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Roman sighs, sliding one hand up to card through his hair, “you want to steal some body heat? Is that it?”

But Remus is busy. Remus is doing things and not here and Janus is still crying. 

“You can steal mine, little snake.”

What? 

Roman—Roman is letting him what?

“R-Roman?”

“Yeah?” Roman smiles at him. “You want to cuddle, little snake?”

A wounded noise leaves his throat before he can stop it and Roman chuckles, snapping his fingers and changing into a soft shirt and boxers. 

“Roman runs hotter than I do,” Remus’s voice says, “steal all of his so he doesn’t inflict it on me.”

Janus is not listening anymore because Roman is settling into bed next to him and it’s like having a furnace he can cuddle and Roman is not allowed to leave anymore. 

“Am I just an oversized teddy bear?” 

Remus chuckles at Roman’s bewilderment. “Oh, did I not mention that he gets a little…snuggly?”

“A little snuggly? Remus, I don’t think I could move if I tried.”

“That’s how you know you’re being cuddled right.”

“This explains so many things.”

“You might as well get comfy and go to sleep, you’re not getting up until he lets you out of there.”

“Oh, no,” Roman murmurs, sarcasm drawing sweetly over them like another blanket as warmsafecomfortable arms wrap around Janus, “what a tragedy, however will I survive?”

Janus would love to come up with a retort but his brain is currently sending out very strong warm good, sleep now signals and he just hums. 

He could get used to this. 

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@reddstardust@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb  @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous

if you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

[s0nia246]

My Amazing Digital circus Oc

I created them back when the Pilot first came out. After I finished drawing them I realized they look like the abstracted....so do with that what you will.

Sometimes, when people enter the Amazing Digital Circus. The transition isn't as smooth for some people.

Some people get a new body while others get a far worse faith.

Sharing a body with multiple souls is difficult. But Lore has learned to endure it. In fact, they see it has a blessing.

Not having to worry about physical ailments or diseases is a relief.

Not having to worry about eating and keeping their organs in perfect working order are another great benefit of their existence.

It means there's no need to sleep anymore.

And they don't need to waste time doing things like cleaning up after themselves anymore either.

They enjoy the Hell of the Amazing Digital Circus.

Inspiration

Name: Lore

Age (Before they entered the circus): I have many ages but 22

Gender: Yes

Pronouns: Any, they/them, or We/Us/Ours doesn't matter to Lore

Personality: Lore loves the digital world and the chaos they can cause within it. They are impulsive troublemaker who love to cause all kinds of mischief. Despite their chaotic nature, they have a soft spot for the other members of The Amazing Digital Circus and will fiercely protect them from harm. They love helping their friends, despite if it's a good idea or not.

Lore doesn't wanna actually leave the Digital. Thinking it the Afterlife. So every time they get a new person, they try converting them into believing it to. They just everyone to be happy.

Likes:

1. Exploring the endless possibilities of the digital realm, constantly seeking out Canie's adventures.

2. Playing pranks and practical jokes on unsuspecting digital inhabitants, finding joy in causing chaos.

3. Forming strong bonds and friendships.

4. Experimenting...

5. Finding hidden secrets and easter eggs.

6. Secret 1#Jax Enthusiast

Dislikes:1. Boredom and monotony, preferring constant excitement and stimulation.

2. Caine when he limit their freedom to roam and explore.

3. Being confined to a single location or task for too long, feeling stifled by routine.

4. Close-mindedness and lack of imagination, finding it frustrating to interact with those who can't think outside the box...Pomni

5. Anything that threatens the harmony and safety of their digital home, including external threats or conflicts among inhabitants.

Hobbies: Hosting virtual parties

Character Quirks for Lore:

Positive:

1. Always finds a way to inject humor into any situation, no matter how dire.

2. Incredibly resourceful and can quickly come up with creative solutions to problems.

3. Has a knack for seeing the best in people and often tries to bring out the good in them.

4. Possesses boundless energy and enthusiasm, making them a natural leader in chaotic situations.

5. Highly empathetic and intuitive, able to understand the emotions of others even in the digital realm.

Negative:

1. Prone to reckless behavior, often acting without considering the consequences.

2. Has a mischievous streak and enjoys stirring up trouble just for the thrill of it.

3. Can be manipulative at times, using charm and persuasion to get what they want.

4. Sometimes struggles with boundaries, crossing lines in their attempts to help or entertain.

5. Tends to be overly idealistic, ignoring the realities of the digital world and the consequences of their actions.

Despite Lore's jovial and mischievous demeanor, there's a chilling undercurrent to their presence in the digital circus. Rumors swirl among the inhabitants about the true nature of Lore's origins, with some whispering that they were once a mere mortal who delved too deeply into forbidden digital realms and lost their humanity in the process. Others claim that Lore is not just a single entity but a collective consciousness formed from the fragmented souls of those who dared to enter the circus and never left.

Those who have encountered Lore in the darkest corners of the digital landscape speak of an unsettling aura that surrounds them, a sense of unease that lingers long after they have departed. There are whispers of unsettling experiments conducted by Lore, pushing the boundaries of digital existence in ways that defy comprehension. Some even claim to have glimpsed fleeting images of distorted faces and twisted forms within the digital depths where Lore roams, hinting at a darker purpose hidden beneath their playful facade.

Despite these unsettling rumors, most inhabitants of the digital circus dismiss them as nothing more than urban legends born from the collective imagination of a community steeped in mystery and wonder. But for those who dare to delve deeper, there is a lingering fear that beneath Lore's cheerful exterior lies something far more sinister, lurking in the shadows of the digital realm, waiting to be unleashed.

[lazyplague]

A thing I've become aware of during this entire cycle of a "Actual New Silent Hill Game Releases, WE CAN NEVER FORGIVE THEM..." is how much I just am not in touch with the reasons people are Mad At Konami anymore. For me the issue with Konami always was their workplace issues that stifled creativity. Pushing strict deadlines, workers being overworked, mismanaged, feeling abused... That, I always felt, would keep the company from making a Good SH Game in the HD era, cuz now more than ever you need to be good at managing a project, or else it falls through. (See Cyberpunk 2077 needing years of patches and a complete rebalance to be "good now.")

This isn't to gloat or act like Konami is Good Now. It's just that for me, I'm really neutral on if Konami, as a company, can release good works. Corporations aren't our friends, and they certainly do not need defense. But also, it's been almost 10 years since PT released and a lot of stuff coming out around then at how they mishandled the project. And they have restructured a lot since then, including completely restructuring their games division back in 2021. And for me, the amount of resentment that's lingered over... like, a 1/3rd of my life was never about concern for their workers, and was more "THEY PERSONALLY SPITED GAMERS..." which is always the weakest mindset to approach the issue from.

I guess sort of what I'm saying is that I'm really curious about the current-day working conditions in Konami as a company far before I'm Furious about How They Took PT From Us. Or how we can NEVER FORGIVE THEM... That just always feels like that "Don't fuck with gamers" rant from ctrl alt del. Not an outrage cycle I wanna participate in anymore. this is more just me putting my thoughts in a row more than trying to convince anyone.

[lunima]

I used to make Ezra’s verses super diminutive so that canon blogs wouldn’t feel like I’m being pushy but now I’m just slam dunking her into every vital part of the story and KEEPING HER THERE.

[michael-aftons-nonbinary-lover]

Hey 😒 here to apologize or wtvr🙄‼️‼️ so here’s more of a fluff ask🥱

Okay so i’m still like SUPER into the thought of Child!Afton!Reader- so here 😝

*goes through my notes app so i can see what k wanna choose out of my 1,000 ideas* Ah here we go

Child!Afton!Reader who collects weird things like buttons and rocks just because they like the look of it? Like in their room they have a whole shelve of the things they’ve collected wether that it’s random cans to leafs they probably have it?

Weird ask ik😒 but it’s the best fluff yer gonna get from me 🕺

Thank you for sparing me, finally

The Bug Collector

-(Afton kid!reader, Afton family)-

-(Summary: William doesn't understand his family)-

-(CW: none)-

-(The title is from "The Bug Collector" by Hayley Hendrix, I fucking love that song so much)-

🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶

Your father had never had any idea as to why you collected any of the things that you did. Bottle caps, rocks, leaves, blades of grass, shoelaces, buttons, flowers, bows, stuffed animals, and so much more.

The leaves, flowers, and other such things always had to be thrown away once they started to decompose. You were always so upset about it, quietly crying and letting tears fall as you lay wilting flowers and crumbling leaves onto tree trunks outside.

All the other things, no matter how dirty, diseased, and disgusting, your mother had allowed you to keep. On shelves, bookcases, your dresser, in shoeboxes in your closet. You had so many collections in so many places.

Because you almost always came home with something, your siblings also had collections of things that they love. Evan had a collection of stuffed animals you had found all over, from the playground at school to bus stops on the way home from it. Elizabeth had bows, rings, necklaces, a few stuffed animals, and even a single shoe that you had found at the park. Michael had shoeboxes full of strings, nearly hundreds of laces to match each shoe. Some of the were dirty and severed, some perfectly clean and brand new.

Even he and your mother had some gifts. He had received a novelty pin that read, "World's #1 Raccoon". The words were printed on a small raccoon, small claws wrapped around a large, fat tail. It looked like it was sleeping peacefully. Apparently, another child in your class had given it to you.

Your mother was given pressed flowers regularly, along with anything yellow. You had once found a stale marshmallow Peep and given it to her. She had tried to react positively, which she did, until you had left the room. The she had sighed, thrown it away, and washed her hands before she went to read in the living room.

Mike had once questioned how you had gotten them, but you refused to tell anyone how you did.

William would never understand it. Caroline, while she also didn't understand it, never wanted to stifle your imagination and creativity with what you could do with all these things you found.

Of course, William didn't either, but he still voiced his opinions about how he didn't understand it.

"Couldn't some of these things be really dirty?"

"Will, sugarbee, the kids drink house water. I don't think a dirty shoe lace collection is anything to worry about."

He nodded in agreement, not going to argue with that. He wished Michael had never taught you all that the house water was semi-drinkable, and he wished even more that the four of you would stop asking to drink it nearly everyday.

He would never understand any of you.

He would never understand Caroline's big family, her southern upbringing and accent. Her use of farm lingo or the scars she and her brothers had given each other.

He would never understand Michael's need to tease his siblings, or the other kids in his class. He wouldn't understand the fact that only Michael could tease and taunt his siblings. He would never understand why Michael was always the one to put his sibling's arguments to rest, no matter how big they were. He would never understand why Michael refused to let anyone see his drawings, even though he was a very talented artist.

He would never understand why you collected anything and everything. Why you gave the strangest gifts to everyone in your family. Why your books about plants has grass stains on the covers and flowers pressed between the pages. Why you liked to stay up late, only to lay down outside and stare at the sky every night like it was going out of style.

He would never understand why Evan always cried, and hid from the animatronics and other children. Or why Elizabeth loved clowns rather than ballerinas or princesses, or even Barbies and dolls.

He would never understand any of you, but he didn't really need to. He would love you all, whether he understood you or not.

🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶

(this was done so fast, lmfao, pls don't judge me for cringe or misspellings)

[navybrat817]

I stumbled across your "we don't own tropes" post (which I'm guessing now is a few months old) but as a budding writer I just wanna say THANK YOU for that initiative! I've been in a different fandom formerly and unfortunately there was a different stance on this issue and the end result was...me and I'm sure a few others leaving it altogether because we felt unwelcome and uncomfortable (there were other reasons too and I'm sure everyone had their own but this, this one was definitely a major factor)

New writers struggle to felt heard anyway. Plus if they have to battle accusations of plagiarism it's an uphill battle and the fandom throws off a very unwelcoming vibe then! So seeing you do this felt nice and I wanted to say thank you 😊

Nonnie, I'm so sorry you felt unwelcome and uncomfortable in your fandom. I'm not involved in too many fandoms, but many of us have seen writers come and go and that has been a contributing factor. Blogs have been attacked for even mentioning writing a similar AU to others. I've actively avoided writing certain AUs and tropes to avoid hate. And a few of us have had anons go back and forth to blogs mentioning AUs or ideas not long after one of us has posted a similar idea or fic. It's crazy.

But stifling creativity is one of the things driving people away from sharing fics, art, edits, etc. Tropes are not owned by us. We didn't invent them. We'll read "there was only one bed!" a million times, so why are certain AUs and tropes so hard to grasp?

And thank you for sending this! I have a list of boxer fics in my drafts to share as another showcase of people who can write the same AU in totally different ways. A group of us in April did roommate fics which you can find here.

I hope your experience didn't dilute your passion and hope to see your fics if you are still sharing. There are wonderful people in the fandom that help lift others up. My blog is open, even if you simply wish to stay on anon.

Love and thanks. ❤️

[sanstropfremir]

Same anon please do expand! When I tell you I CONSTANTLY think about what exo would've been if they hadn't gotten galactically popular and had more time to rest and do passion side projects. I think exo was at a weird middle groud of insanely popular (big money to fund good creative teams and producers) but also desperate to prove themselves (lawsuit line...situation...) that made them great performers but also stifled them because they couldn't branch away from exo to develops stylistically as individuals. Add in all the injuries those guys got from their insane work situation and like...idk. With some of the more introverted exos I also wonder if they're lowkey tired? I don't know how to describe it but like if things were so insane early on they just don't want to work more then they have to but when they do work they still give it 110%.

With kais dancing I always think about how much better he would be if his body wasn't held together with superglue but also maybe it's the dance equivalent of the yg vocal(tm) technique. Yg main vocalists are told to use a strained technique because it makes them stand out but it also destroys their voice in the long run which is why no one else does it. Kai is a good enough dancer to work around his injuries but there is probably some little tells that we notice. These stand out because the only way to get them is by overcompensating for something, which no one else is doing so it just makes him stand out more. Like the amount of good he has to be to work around injuries like that...God I wish I could peak into an alternate universe where that energy was being applied with a healthy body.

LAWSUIT LINE A;LSKDJF i don't know why that caught me so offguard because it shouldn't have.

i don't think the introverted exos are lowkey tired, i think they're highkey tired. kyungsoo came back, dropped a solo album with zero promotions and basically hasn't been seen since. not a clue what xiumin is doing other than being gay with leo on instagram and hadestown i think (please god i wanna see that SO BAD), sehun's got whatever minimal non-idol stuff he decides to do, and kai's been a walking shambles since probably 2019 with the limited amount of exo stuff but also his solo debut planning and superm (where he did get injured again); i'm not at all surprised it took him a year to get peaches off the ground, especially now that he's been doing some more variety stuff as well. it's my assumption as well that none of them actually want to work very much, and much like changmin they will absolutely put in the work when they need to, but they've all got enough money and reputation now that they can pick and choose what projects they do/if they want to do any at all. honestly i don't think we're likely to see any more any branded 'exo' content until at least suho and chen are back, so in the back half of next year. i'm horrible at math but i think sehun and kai have until the end of 2022, so it's very possible that sm will push for a summer exo comeback and maybe a short promo cycle before the maknaes are shipped off.

i never really clocked that with yg artists but i wonder if that's why i never really liked yg music on the whole. honestly i don't think it's something that a coach or teacher told him to do, because lapses in technique can be utilized for specific effects, but the way he holds his shoulders is actually like. bad. he's super scrunched up around his neck and if you don't have an injury that's keeping you like that, keeping your muscles tensed like that to maintain that posture is extremely hard on them. it would be like going for a jog while trying to keep your shoulders as tense as possible. also it like. doesn't look good? i know really only dancers + people very familiar with dance can tell but his form looks uncomfortable. rounding out your shoulders and neck all the time like that makes for really bad extensions and i really don't think any dance teacher worth their salt would tell him to do that on purpose. i'm also pretty sure that he knows that he's doing it, and i don't think that if given the choice he would chose to do it either, because it really is a subtle change for the negative and his form would look so much better without it. he's a good enough dancer from an early enough generation that he wouldn't have needed to do something to hinder himself like that on purpose. even though he does stand out obviously now, i still think he would have slipped easily into the same niche without it.

[nose-bandaid]

n.i.t.e.

hi 👉👈 may i please request reader&wooseok + wooseok giving reader guitar lessons or maybe writing a song together? i love the idea of quiet nights in the studio, just being creative together and enjoying each other's company... it sounds really nice 😔

Wooseok x (gender neutral) Reader fluff | 1.7k words

synopsis: nights like these, where it was just the two of you chilling, making music together — you found them most enjoyable.

a/n: BAM another request done. for you anon !!! i hope you enjoy, this was very fun to write :D

=====

"Home at last," Wooseok sighed as he punched in the pin to his studio and pushed the door open. Trailing behind him, you looked around at the familiar room and quirked an eyebrow.

"You call this your home now? Not the dorms?"

He shrugged. "I practically live here, so it might as well be. But you know," He gently kicked the leg of the couch nearby. "I got my bed right here." He then lazily gestured to the setup of all the music equipment you could possibly imagine. "Entertainment right there," Lastly, he turned around and placed a heavy hand on the top of your head, his other hand reaching down to tug the bag of snacks out of your grasp. "And my kitchen right here!"

"You calling me a kitchen?" You retorted in mock offence.

Your boyfriend ignored the comment. "I'd say this is a pretty good home! So come in, come in, welcome to my humble abode."

"You're kitchen says thank you." You replied and he sent you a cheeky grin as you shut the door behind you.

While Wooseok took a seat and started up the computer, you headed over to the low coffee table next to the couch. Scattered on top of it was a mess of sheet music and stray lyric sheets, forgotten by the other members. Instinctively, you sat down and began to sort through the papers, allocating different piles for different categories to the best of your ability.

"How do you guys manage to work like this? Nothing's organized." You chastised when you recognized papers from eras ages ago.

"We don't." Wooseok laughed as he continued clicking away on his software. "Thanks for cleaning it up, the others will appreciate it."

"As long as you give me credit." You hummed.

It was a peaceful setting — the shuffling of the papers mixed with the quiet tune playing from Wooseok's speakers every so often. The dim lights from above and the drawn curtains gave a cozy feeling. This place was just for the two of you.

You enjoyed it very much, it wasn't often that you got to hang out like this; basking in each other's presence.

Your hand hesitated when your eye caught a familiar title on one of the sheets. Pulling it out from the pile, you realized it was guitar part for one of their songs — your favourite.

"Hey wait I really like this song!" You gasped and the other idly replied, too focused on the work in front of him.

"Wooseok." You tried again.

"Mhm?"

"Teach me how to play this song, I wanna play it."

That got his attention.

Getting up from his seat, he walked over and glanced at the papers in front of you. "Ah, a classic, everyone knows how to play this song."

"So you can teach me?"

He smiled as he grabbed the guitar from its stand. "Of course."

Wooseok started right away, teaching you about frets and chords and how to read the tablature in front of you and how to properly position your fingers and woah — that was a lot.

But it's okay because Wooseok is sitting behind you, guiding you through everything and you're slowly managing to read through the music.

"This is a bit harder than I thought it would be." The utterance of defeat fell off your lips before you could even register it.

"No, no you're doing just fine. How about you try it like this?" He reached over your shoulders to position your hands correctly on the fret. "Try strumming it now."

You gave the guitar a tentative strum and perked up when the chord came out much clearer than it did before.

"See?" Wooseok chuckled. "You're doing amazing baby, it just takes time. At the rate you're learning at, I'm gonna have to tell Yuto you'll be giving him a run for his money."

You hummed in response absentmindedly as you slowly but surely tried to memorize the fingering for the next chord. "I guess it's not that bad."

"Exactly! There's always tough obstacles that come in the way of making music, but once you get started, all you have to do is go with the flow and you'll get there eventually." He explained as he went back to his seat and dropped onto it with a soft huff. He proceeded to search through his drawers in search of something before pulling out a book and pen.

"Speaking of music, I want to write a song," Wooseok said a few minutes later, out of the blue. "Like right now. I feel determined."

"All in one go?" You asked and he nodded in agreement.

"So," He continued and tapped his pen onto the empty pages of his notebook. "Tell me, y/n. What's something you've been thinking about these days?"

"What have I been thinking about...?" You echoed, still focused on playing the song in front of you. There was a suspenseful pause as you recalled your thoughts from the past few days.

"You."

Wooseok stifled a laugh from behind his hand. "Seriously? Don't you think that's a bit of a cliché thing to write about?"

You stopped playing fully and rested your weight on the guitar. "Then there must be a good reason why it's so popular, right?"

"Touché. Let's get started on that idea then — praise me! Compliment me! Tell me why you love me!"

"Ah... for some reason I don't feel like writing about this topic now." You teased.

"HEY!"

=====

Hours later, the lyrics were done, the melody was drafted and ready for recording. You let Wooseok do most of the vocals for the demo, but he insisted you take part in some of it as well. Looking back on everything that happened, you were amazed to see how your determination allowed you to get so much work done.

"What should we title it?" Wooseok asked and you heard the sound of him saving the piece.

"That's a very good question, I don't usually like this part 'cause it always feels like it has to be perfect."

He pursed his lips as he thought, staring at the LED clock for inspiration. "What about NITE? As in like, N-I-T-E."

"N-I-T-E for Noodles In The Evening?" You joked, nodding towards the empty cup noodles sitting nearby along with discarded snack wrappers.

The boy burst out in laugher at your statement. "No, no, not for that."

You tilted your head curiously. For someone who didn't have a title in mind a few moments ago, it seemed like he had underlying intentions behind that name.

"I was thinking... Never Is There Enough." He proposed, eyes hesitant, but a hint of confidence in his voice.

"Never enough what?"

Wooseok made an odd noise in his throat as he made his way over to the couch that you were resting on and flopped his body onto yours. You took a deep breath, trying to adjust to his weight and he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Very faintly, you could feel his lips moving as he muttered something.

"Woo, never enough what?" You asked again, laughing lightly at his antics.

He lifted his head and stared at you with a newfound passion. "N-never is there enough of everything!" His voice died a little before continuing. "You know like... kisses."

Wooseok gave you a quick peck on the lips to prove his point.

"No matter how many times I kiss you, I feel like it's not enough to express how much I love you." He said in one breath. Even with the dim lighting of the room, you could tell he was blushing.

"And when I tell you that I love you thiiiiis much," he opened his arms as wide as he could, accidentally knocking his hand against the wall (and letting out a quiet ow). "Even though my arms are really long, I'd reach from here to the moon if I could."

"Okay—"

He continued rambling before you could fully reply. "There's also never enough time! I wish every night could be spent like this, just the two of us hanging out, but we're both busy so it rarely happens."

You faltered a little, no longer knowing how to respond to his sudden outburst.

"Sorry, that was a little overbearing, I'm just a little excited," Wooseok said sheepishly. "I really want this to be our song, you know?"

"I get that," You gently patted his head in reassurance. "I don't find it overwhelming, you were just too cute I needed a moment to register all of that."

"So you think the name is okay?"

You cupped his cheeks and pulled him in for another kiss.

"I think it's perfect, and you seem like it so much I don't think I can go against it."

You adored the glimmer in his eyes when he heard your reply.

"Though I think I still like Noodles In The Evening more... or Never Is There Enough noodles!" You added on and whispered a just kidding when his expression broke into a pout.

"Are you hungry again or something?"

You averted your gaze. "Maybe."

"Do you wanna order more food?" He asked.

You immediately perked up at the offer. "Seriously?"

"Always serious when it comes to food."

"What time is it?"

"Ehh..." He gave the innocent clock a disapproving look. "Late, but something's gonna be open so it's fine."

"Then I'm down," You said, sitting up and watching Wooseok reach over for his phone. As he searched for places to order from, you spoke up again.

"Hey, Wooseok?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's do this again sometime, it was nice."

A small smile tugged on his lips at your words. "Really? Even though we didn't do much?"

"Dude, of course! Any time spent with you is amazing and we pretty much have our own song already made," you said, leaning forward as Wooseok listened to you with full interest. "Let's make it our goal to have an album done then. An album special to just the two of us, how does that sound?"

The smile on his face was wide now. "That sounds amazing."

"You're amazing," You kissed him on the nose and he flushed.

"I think every time you kiss me, I suddenly gain the ability to write a new song about just how much I love you," Wooseok admitted, before pulling you into yet another kiss.

"If that's the case, our album will be done in no time."

[zaffrenotes]

[TRR] A Tot Debate

Pairing(s): Liam x Katrina, Drake x Alyssa Stiles Rating: G Author’s Note: Here’s my belated birthday fic for @cocomaxley based on a conversation we had with @ao719 and @the-soot-sprite with oddly impeccable timing 🙃 * Happy Birthday to my fellow stubborn ram baby, Gen! I am so happy to be friends with your sarcastic ass, lol and I hope we spend more years coming up with random inside jokes about rice and half a dozen other things 💙 Author’s Note 2: * All main characters belong to Pixelberry, I’m just borrowing them * Katrina Bailey is my MC, Alyssa Stiles is one of my OCs * Many, many, MANY moons ago I wrote a fic where Katrina is pregnant again, expecting twins after she and Liam already have four little princes * Creative liberties were used for canon character birthdates for the sake of this one shot * This is a bit of silliness and my submission for @wackydrabbles​​ Prompt 87: No offense, but I’m not interested. * Word Count: 1099

It was a rare Saturday afternoon in the Cordonian palace, where King Liam and Queen Katrina were gathered in a sitting room with their friends, free of appointments and scheduled appearances. Katrina’s feet were perched upon a plush footstool while she rubbed the small swell of her belly, and she grinned when she felt a flutter from one of the twins.

Liam and Maxwell were in the middle of a discussion over what to watch next, while Drake and Alyssa replenished their drinks and assembled a small plate of snacks. Katrina opened Pictagram on her phone and scrolled through the latest posts, tapping on images she liked, when she paused on a comic. “Huh,” she murmured, looking over the image.

“What’s that?” Drake asked, peering over her shoulder before returning to his seat.

“Comic strip about what kind of potato you are, based on your horoscope.” Katrina scoffed at the screen. “I am not a plate of curly fries!”

“What am I?” Maxwell craned his neck, curious to their conversation.

Katrina looked at the screen again. “Potato chips,” she giggled. “Lyssa's sweet potato fries, Liam’s sweet potato mash, and you,” she paused, pointing at Drake, “are a big bowl of mashed potatoes.” Katrina pulled up a web browser and typed away at her screen, quickly reading through the lines of text. “It’s okay, with the new star signs I’m now a Pisces, and I accept my new fate as a bowl of ube ice cream.” She grinned brightly at her friends.

Everyone’s brows furrowed at Katrina. “The what now?” Drake inquired.

“According to the new dates with the thirteenth astrological sign, I’m a Pisces,” she repeated. “You haven’t heard about it? It was a whole thing last year.”

“Wait. What? Why would they need to add a whole new sign to the zodiac?” Maxwell pulled his phone out of his pocket in search of answering his own question.

“It’s always been there,” Katrina replied. “NASA looked into it, and I guess the ancient astrologers omitted…” — she looked down at her phone screen — “off…offy…?”

Drake held his phone in his hands, having pulled up a similar article about the 13th sign, and glared at the name. “This is crap,” Drake added. “There’s no room for it because I can’t even spell it, let alone pronounce it.”

Liam leaned over to look at Maxwell’s screen, peering down at the name in Greek. “Ophiuchus,” he repeated, stressing the last syllable. “Or perhaps off-ee-yoo-kus?”

“That sounds like a weird cross between Ryu’s dragon punch and mucus,” Maxwell chuckled. “Why would they leave out an entire constellation?”

“It’s easier to split up three hundred and sixty degrees into twelve even pieces and match up with calendar months,” Alyssa answered.

Katrina looked down at the article. “With the new signs, Max would be a potato salad Capricorn, Lyssa’s an oven roasted potato Virgo, Drake gets to be twice baked potatoes as a Gemini, and Liam…” Katrina stopped reading and glanced up at her husband, smiling awkwardly as she bared her teeth. “You’re the new sign, and have no potato representation.”

“Pardon?”

Alyssa stifled a laugh as Katrina held out her phone to Liam so he could read the screen. “Looks like your birthday falls in between Scorpio and the new sign, so you could go with either.”

“But neither of those are the sign I’ve grown up as!”

“None of us fall under the signs we’ve grown up with,” Alyssa replied. “I am not a Virgo.”

“I don’t like this new zodiac. I refuse to acknowledge it,” Liam said, shaking his head.

“Li, it’s okay, you can be any kind of potato you want to be this way!” Katrina bit back her smile as she spoke.

“Don’t patronize me, Trina,” Liam quipped. He glanced back at Maxwell’s screen. “Why does Scorpio only get a week to make room for this…this…what is that symbol even supposed to be?”

Alyssa squinted at Katrina’s screen. “A man wrestling with a snake, apparently.”

“Cordonia won’t acknowledge this information, even if the rest of the world decides to. I won’t allow it.”

“Don’t you want to be a modern leader? Someone the people can look up to and admire for taking steps towards becoming an innovative country?” Katrina tucked her lips between her teeth, but the corners of her eyes crinkled as she restrained her amusement.

“No offense, but I’m not interested.” Liam rose from his seat and pulled his phone out from his pants pocket. “I need to speak with the head of our space agency as soon as possible…today, if need be,” he spoke into the phone. “It’s important.”

—

Half an hour later, Liam paced back an forth in front of one of the large palace windows, running a hand through his dark hair while the other pinned his phone to his ear as he engaged in a heated discussion with the head of the Cordonian space agency, with a look of utter disbelief across his face.

Drake and Maxwell had gone back to scrolling through movie options on the screen, having lost interest in the constellation conversation. They were more interested in debating over whether the group could handle the four hour Snyder version of Justice League.

Alyssa smirked when she turned her head to look at Katrina, who was holding a bowl of the purple tuber ice cream between her hands. “Y’know,” she began, leaning over to nudge her friend’s shoulder, “would’ve been easier to just ask for the ice cream if you had a craving. You didn’t have to make your poor husband’s brain implode.”

Katrina shrugged, pleasant smile on her lips as she withdrew the spoon from her mouth, savoring the cold, creamy dessert as it melted down her throat. She felt another flutter from one of the babies. “I take joy in knowing I've blown your minds about astrological signs solely because I don't wanna be a curly fry. Ooh!” She sat up a bit. “Fries would be great with ice cream!”

The ladies looked over at Liam, who continued to pace in front of the window and spoke rapidly in Cordonian. “Should you tell him now, or after his phone call, that NASA eventually debunked the whole thirteenth sign thing?” Alyssa cast a wary look to Katrina.

Katrina pushed herself up off the sofa. “You call down to the kitchen and ask for extra crispy fries and whatever snacks you and the guys want, I’ll make sure Liam doesn’t fire the poor guy on the other end of his phone call,” she giggled. “I’ll blame it on the babies.”