#when i have a rough draft i will maybe send it out to a few mutuals 👀 if anyone wants to advise....

[svtiddiess]

What are your thoughts about Dom kim mingyu??

I love dom!Mingyu just as much as I love sub!Mingyu (maybe even a bit more 👀)!! I can't believe I only wrote 1 dom!Mingyu fic so far 🤦‍♀️ Rest assured I will be putting out more dom!Mingyu fics, trust!!

(I already have a few planned out in my drafts)

Here's a short drabble till then:

You squirm and whimper, trying to wriggle free from Mingyu's unyielding grip as the overwhelming pleasure threatens to consume you. "Where do you think you’re going, darling?" he taunts with a low chuckle, his strong hands pinning you firmly in place. "I'm not done with you yet," he growls, his voice dark and possessive as he drives into you with a relentless, dizzying rhythm.

You've long lost count of how many times he's pushed you over the edge. Your thoughts are a blur, your mind consumed entirely by him—his presence, his touch, the way he fills you so completely. "Gonna fill you up. Gonna make you mine," he growls into your ear, his words sending a shiver down your spine. A weak mewl escapes your lips as your eyes roll back, your body trembling beneath him.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice firm and demanding. "Look at me while I ruin you, darling." Your gaze meets his, and you whine softly, overwhelmed by how breathtaking he looks above you. Sweat glistens on his skin, his hair clinging to his forehead, his lips parted with ragged breaths and low groans. His eyes lock onto yours, intense and unyielding, as if he’s searing his claim into your very soul.

A choked gasp tears from your throat as another wave of pleasure crashes over you, your body tightening around him. He lets out a dark chuckle, never slowing his pace, his movements relentless and punishing. Tears well in your eyes as the sensations become almost too much to bear, a mix of ecstasy and overstimulation leaving you trembling.

"It's too much," you sob, your voice breaking, but he silences you with a deep, possessive kiss. "You’re only done when I say you’re done," he murmurs against your lips, his tone leaving no room for argument. In one swift motion, he hooks your leg over his shoulder, shifting the angle and sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. A choked sob escapes you as you clutch at him, your vision swimming with stars.

"Now," he commands, his voice rough and demanding, "take my cock like a good girl."

[tadpal]

hows ur terror amv going? if you feel like sharing ofc :)

it's going okay! ive only started it today bc of the fatigue but im having the classic amv thing of like. oh no am i using the most obvious parallels... my symbolism is weak and thesis is obvious..... 😔🤟but we rock on! thank you for asking!!! this was great moment of OH YEAH I WAS DOING SOMETHING

[1d1195]

Invitation

~3.5k words

From me: I mentioned I had a kinda rough weekend. This just sort of wrote itself. Def a stand alone. Second chance at love. I wrote it mostly in the drafts page and didn't do a whole lot of editing for continuity so it's probs not very realistic nor will it make a ton of sense. But anyway.

Warnings: MC parent death; funeral, angst, angst angst. But I'm hoping if you read it you'll see some cathartic, comforting fluff.

Summary: She and Harry broke up years ago and it was completely fine. But seeing her again, even under sad circumstances has his heart pulling him closer to her.

It had been eight years since he had last laid eyes on her. But when he read the piece on her mum off a mutual friend’s Facebook page he was transported back to one of those moments he spent so totally in love with her.

The idea that her best friend was gone made him terrified for her well being. It was the reason he was in a hotel room, straightening his tie in the mirror. Double checking he didn't miss any spots while shaving. He looked simultaneously presentable yet solemn. Her mum was special, beautiful. She made Harry feel at home the entire time they dated. Bought him thoughtful gifts for his birthday and Christmas. Made sure she bought his favorite snacks and always inquired about school, work, or his favorite show. She joked with her that Harry was too good for her and she didn’t treat him well enough (which was inherently false). She was the perfect girlfriend and had the perfect mum.

He couldn’t imagine how she was feeling.

Harry didn’t want to make his appearance about his arrival at the funeral home at all. He stepped in line silently, tried not to make eye contact with anyone and slowly made his way through toward the front, pretending he was invisible. He looked at the picture boards as he walked along his favorite girl and her mother in so many of them. Both were beautiful and Harry thought she was going to look just like her mother when she was older and so he was really lucky that he would know she was beautiful for the rest of his life. But he would have predicted that anyway.

Their relationship ended amicably enough. They were changing, time moving on, and quite frankly it felt like they couldn't spend enough time together so it didn't seem fair. "Shouldn't we want t'spend time with each other, beautiful? Shouldn't we feel feel bad we're not spending time together? It shouldn't be forced. You're m'favorite person in the world, kitten. S'not fair."

He was right of course. She agreed. So they went their separate ways. Since they were still in university at the time, they saw each other frequently. Their friend groups overlapped a bit so they weren't rid of each other all that much until after graduation. There was even a picture of the pair of them together on that day--her mum's suggestion. It was apparent more so then, that they were changing and moving on but Harry was grateful for that picture. When he saw the notice of her mum's passing, he looked at it fondly and felt something in the pit of his stomach. Wanting and wishing he had made more time for her. That she wasn't so busy and their time apart hadn't lasted as long.

But that was eight years ago. Harry was thirty now. He had a few girlfriends during that time and maybe it wasn't a surprise they didn't work out. When he inquired of his friends if he should go to support her, they said it was up to him. Louis and Eleanor were out of the country so they would send flowers. Mitch and Sarah were waiting for Sarah to give birth at any moment so they too, would send flowers.

"I'll be at the funeral," Niall assured him. "I can't make the visiting hours, sorry, Harry," Harry could hear his frown as they spoke on the phone.

"S'okay, s'nice y'can make it t'any of it. She'll appreciate it."

"I hope," a frown in his voice, a sigh in his tone.

"No, she will," Harry was confident. She would never make Niall feel bad--anyone feel bad. It was just the way she was.

Harry was in front of the urn containing the ashes of her mother and he knelt and said a short prayer for her and her sweet daughter. He tried not to think about his own mother at such a sad time and how he would feel if this was her. He shook his head, blessed himself automatically, and stood to greet the receiving line. It was filled with aunts and uncles who were surprised to see him. He didn't fully understand their surprise (of course he would be there for her--even if things were different now) but moved to each one, quietly apologizing for the loss of their sister and only answering how work, life, and everything was with as few words as possible. It was just her and her mom. Dad was out of the picture before she was even born. It wasn't a bad thing because she was her mum's whole life and she never made her want for anything. "Where is she?" Harry asked quietly. Usually the children were first in the line but she wasn't there.

"Another spat with the boyfriend," her aunt rolled her eyes. "You are by far our favorite," she smiled at him encouragingly. "Don't leave till she gets back, if you can. She deserves to see someone who will make her happy right now," she winked.

Harry felt his eyebrows crawl up his forehead in surprise. He nodded. Pride bloomed inside him for being the favorite. It wasn't the time but he couldn't help it. His heart felt heavy, worried she was with someone horrible. "Yeah, sure. Of course."

So Harry stayed in the little seating area, watching people walk through the receiving line, looking at the slideshow of pictures that somehow managed to boil down to one person's life. There was even a picture or two of him. It made sense, he was in her life for nearly four years and they were inseparable until they weren't.

Harry smiled fondly at the memories within the pictures and wondered where she could be right now. He had seen the full slideshow twice.

"Harry, you're still here?"

He cleared his throat, stood, and shook one of her uncle's hands again. "Yeah... um... haven't seen her yet."

"She went outside with the boyfriend ages ago. I'm assuming they're still arguing or she's trying to calm herself down enough to come in and fake that everything's fine."

Harry frowned. "Maybe I'll go check then," he suggested and headed for the door.

Why was she dating someone if it was clear no one in her family liked him?

The men at the door, let Harry through and he quietly walked to the side of the building wondering where she could be having a private conversation at a funeral home. The side was dark except for a flood light that perfectly illuminated the couple. Harry stepped out of sight but strained to listen.

"What do you mean, 'you have to go'? You're seriously joking right?"

Harry didn't know her voice could take on a tone that sounded so angry like that. They never fought that way. No more than who's pizza topping was better or if they had to pick which dinner place to go to on a busy Saturday night.

"Babe, you know with my work--"

"This is my mother," she croaked. It felt like a bullet through Harry's chest to hear her choked up like that. All that grief wrapping in her throat and pulling on her vocal cords.

"I know, but don't you think she would want me to continue living my life and doing what I need to do so--"

"She's my best friend," her voice cracked because she was crying so hard. Harry wanted to run over, unceremoniously knock him to the ground, and comfort her. "You're supposed to be here to support me!"

"Well you know death kind of freaks me out, babe. I'm trying to support our future. I've been here all day."

Her tone was so biting, he truly couldn't believe it. "You've been here for an hour."

Harry winced and shook his head. No one liked death. Everyone was freaked out by it to some degree. But he was supposed to love her; be there for her.

"If you leave, we're done," Harry felt intrusive for listening in but he couldn't move.

"You don't mean that."

"I do, mean that. I really, really, really, really mean that," she sniffed. Good girl. Harry thought. "I have put up with your bullshit like this for way too long and you're unsupportive and if you leave this is it," she assured him. "Work cannot be more important than me."

"It's important for us, babe. So when we get married--"

"And when will that be?" She shouted.

"For the love of God, we're going to do this now?"

"It's been three years. I'm thirty and wanted kids and you are just..." she trailed off. "Fine. Go. We're done anyway."

"Babe, you don't mean that--"

"I will pack my stuff up when I get home."

"And where are you going to go? You don't have a job right now--"

"BECAUSE I WAS TAKING CARE OF MY DYING MOTHER."

Why was she even with this guy? Harry couldn't fathom it. It was so unlike her to date someone so crass and careless. Or maybe Harry was just filled with rage and envy of a man that couldn't help her the way she deserved.

"Well..." he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry you feel that way. I have a plane to catch. Maybe after you've calmed down and aren't grieving we can have a more pleasant conversation."

A silent moment passed between them. Surely he heard it as he said it. It couldn't have been just her and Harry that heard what he implied. "Do... do you... do you think I'm supposed to be done grieving?" She hissed.

He sighed, mumbled something about calling her when he landed, and walked away. He didn't even notice Harry pressed to the building.

Harry watched him get in his car and pull away as if this wasn't the worst day of her life. Harry took several deep breaths to calm himself. This wasn't about him or how he wanted to strangle him. This was about her, her grief.

She was leaning against the wall. She was heaving, sobbing into one hand. For what, at that point, Harry didn't know. He could only see her from behind, the same figure he could have picked out in a lineup and if he was blind. But she seemed smaller. Withdrawn of course. Her free arm wrapped around her stomach like she was trying to hold herself together.

"Hey beautiful," he murmured softly. She sniveled, spun around. Harry was met with her face grief stricken, heartbroken, and tear soaked. But yeah, she was still as beautiful as he remembered. "Aw, kitten," he cooed gently. "C'mon s'cold outside. Let's get you--"

She threw herself against him as he approached. Her arms around his neck and she continued her sobbing against his shoulder. Sighing, he wrapped his arms wrapped around her waist and back, she fit effortlessly into his embrace even after eight or so years since he last saw her. It felt natural to hold her like this. "I know," he murmured comfortingly. "I know, kitten," he kissed the side of her head, soothingly rubbing his hand up and down her spine.

"Please don't let go of me," she cried. "I can't--"

"Shh," he hushed. "M'here. M'not letting go until you do," he promised softly. He hoped she wouldn't pull away because he wanted to take care of her the way that asshole couldn't. It didn't matter what the past was it only mattered that her sweet self could find some sort of contentment.

"Please don't leave me," she begged. "I can't do this alone."

It felt like a switch changed in him. Or maybe it was the anger he felt for her ex-boyfriend. Or perhaps a combination of missing her when he didn't really know he had been missing her and all the frustration he felt for the reasons she was so distraught. He would do anything for her. "No way, beautiful. M'not going anywhere," he assured her pressing his lips instinctively to the top of her hair. Patiently he listened to her cries, held her tightly, and lightly brought a hand to the side of her neck. He carefully pressed his fingertips against her skin, hoping that if she was aching (which he assumed every part of her was) it relieved the smallest bit of tension.

"How much did you hear?" She sniveled pulling away enough to glance into his eyes. Her face was blotchy and red, she was sure. Harry looked like he just left his modeling job for ties and cologne. She wanted to look more beautiful--so it would have at least made sense that Harry had ever decided to date her--even if it was years ago. But she was so overwhelmed with sadness, she couldn't feel anything but that and not even her horrendous look could deter her long enough to utter more than a quick apology for snotting all over him. "M'sorry. I look--"

"Shh," he hushed immediately. Harry pulled a handkerchief from his pocket--Mum was always insistent he have one when he wore a suit. Someone is always crying when you need to wear a suit and it's not to work. Carefully, he dabbed under her eyes, and swiped the fabric across her delicate cheeks. "You look beautiful," he assured her a kind, small smile made his lips curl up just enough to get the dimple in his cheek to appear. The one she had told him she was going to stick her tongue in back when they laid on a mattress that was too small for two people and resulted in a giggling tickle fight between two people who were much too old for tickle fights.

What he would have given to make her laugh now.

Harry kept one arm around her waist taking over her own job to hold herself together. "How much did you hear?" She repeated.

He shrugged, nonchalantly. "Too much, probably."

She frowned; if she could muster an emotion other than sadness and grief, she probably would have been embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry. I was waiting inside, but then your uncle said y'were out here and I wanted t'see you and--"

"Do you need to leave?" She asked quickly. "I'm sorry I'm holding--"

"Kitten," he said gently pinching her chin between his fingers so she had no choice but to look in his eyes and process what he was saying. "M'staying here until y'tell me t'leave."

She sighed. For the first time in what felt like months she felt relief. "Okay."

*

She dragged him alongside her to the front of the receiving line. Harry felt slightly embarrassed and out of place but the rest of her family paid no attention to it. Like he was supposed to be there. She hugged and cried a lot over the next two hours. Harry handed her tissues and water.

“What if I don’t tell you to leave?” She whispered. Harry was standing so close to her that no one else could hear. Like it was just the two of them. She was sipping from a water bottle and Harry was stroking her hair back with his fingers while wiping below her eyes with a tissue.

“Then I’ll never go," his voice was quiet, like hers. He kissed her forehead softly.

"You don't have to obviously, you have no obligation... but is there any chance you were planning to be here tomorrow?" She asked.

He nodded hurriedly. "Course, kitten," he smiled gently, almost sad that she thought he wouldn't. "Niall's going t'come too. He's really sorry he couldn't make it tonight," he explained. "I have a hotel room right nearby so I can stay s'long as y'need me. Do anything y'need, too. And Niall m'sure would be happy t'help if y'need anything requiring two people, as well."

"Really?" A fresh well of tears filled her eyes and Harry's grin grew even if it was sad she was so surprised.

"Of course, beautiful. We... we want t'be here for you," he assured her.

She pressed her face against his shoulder again and sniveled against him. "I owe you a new suit," she mumbled into the fabric.

"Shh..." he hushed. "M'here," he promised. "Don't worry 'bout anything else."

*

His hotel room was dark when they entered. Harry didn’t want anything to happen that could be misconstrued due to her grief but she seemed adamant and sure that she wanted to spend the night. Harry was planning to sleep on the floor but instead they chatted way too much. Much later than a girl who had her mum’s funeral the following morning should have chatted. She giggled the way Harry loved and smiled despite how sad she was. Harry told her all about the last eight years, his job, his mum, their old friends and everything in between.

When he looked at the clock, his phone said it was well past one in the morning and she needed to be up early. “Think y’need t’sleep, kitten,” he was lying beside her, fully clothed except he lost the tie. He was brushing her hair away from her face watching her eyes droop.

“Mom didn’t like him,” she whispered. “She didn’t like anyone that wasn’t you,” she told him.

Harry swallowed nervously. Not because he was worried about her sentiment but because her grief was fresh and the tire tracks of where her stupid ex peeled out of the parking lot were still warm. Her mind had to be jumbled and as much as he wanted to kiss her and make promises, it wasn’t the time. Harry was older and more mature now. The way he wasn’t but wished he had been when they broke up. “After that performance, beautiful,” he sighed with a shake of his head. “M’surprised she didn’t poison him.”

“He didn’t even like her oatmeal raisin and white chocolate chip cookies,” she grumbled bitterly.

“Kitten,” he tutted. “How could you let that continue?” He joked, nudging her playfully.

She turned on her side, their faces inches apart on the same pillow. “Thank you for being here for me,” she whispered.

“There’s no where else I want t’be, beautiful,” he promised.

“I didn’t realize how much I missed you. It’s sad this is what it took.”

He leaned forward, pressed his lips to her forehead and let the kiss linger there. “Do y’want me t’sleep on the floor?”

“No,” she shook her head. “This is the first night I’ve felt tired in months. You have to stay here if you want me to sleep through the night.”

“If you’re sure,” he reached for the bedside lamp and turned it off. He didn’t want to change into different clothes or anything. He just wanted to be there for her.

“This is also your hotel room that I invited myself into," she reminded him.

He grinned at her in the dark. “You’ve always had an open invitation, t’me, kitten,” he brought her closer toward him, kissing the top of her head.

There would be about a thousand and one things to discuss after the funeral. But right then it was late, and they needed to sleep because the day was going to bring more exhaustion and sadness that was inevitable. “Did you mean it?” She whispered quietly after Harry thought she had fallen asleep.

“Mean what, beautiful?” He murmured.

“You’ll never go?”

He nodded. “Mmm,” he hummed inhaling the scent of her shampoo. “I meant it,” his words were slurred with sleep and she knew it because she had heard it in his voice hundreds of times in their time together. He was on the brink of dreaming and her mind was reeling.

“Mom wanted us to get back together,” she whispered. “For ages. She had our graduation picture on the fridge,” she explained. “When I was taking care of her these last few months and he was useless, she kept mentioning you. Told me it wasn’t too late to start over. I guess... I guess this was one way she thought she could bring us back together.”

There was no response because Harry had fallen asleep, and she was close behind. She brought the hand that held his to her lips and kissed his fingers inhaling the comforting smell of him as she finally felt like sleep.

“Your mum was the best,” he mumbled. “She brought you into this world, just for me t’find you.”

The words were lost in her mind, her throat, and her aching heart. But she liked to believe that Harry knew already because he was there, and he wasn’t planning on leaving again.

“We can start over, beautiful. M’not going anywhere,” he whispered one more time as sleep overtook her tired mind.

--

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[a-nice-clean-girl]

JJK X READER: FANTASY EDITION!

An upcoming series about you going on a quest across the Eastern territories with a party of familiar, and handsome faces. Demon King Sukuna has been pushing his forces forward- and every adventuring party sent to slay him is never heard from again. Running out of options the Gojo Family, the rulers over the Easternmost Kingdom, sends lowly adventurers off towards the West in an attempt to defeat the king. Which includes YOU- a lowly mage fresh out of college. Thankfully, what you lack in experience you make up for in charm- charm you end up using to recruit a harem party of ragtag adventurers, hopefully not leading them to an early grave.

Mage!Gojo Your smug former classmate. Back in your prestigious magical institution, you were forced to put up with him every single day. He was there purely because his family ran the kingdom- you were there because you worked your ass off. Sadly that didn't mean much, as his natural talent of magic far surpassed your own. Something he never let you down. Yet, despite all his teasing, he can't hide the fact that he's distraught his family would send you off towards certain death. You're way too cute to end up as a snack for Sukuna! Perhaps he'll tag along. Just to keep an eye on you. Ranger!Suguru Suguru always preferred a bow to spells, and had a natural affinity for taming animals and monsters alike. Whenever Gojo wasn't in class, he was typically goofing off with Suguru. And by typically, I mean always. You'd never seen Suguru without Gojo at his side- yet whenever he was near his gaze always lingered on you for too long. Suguru was drafted into the war against Sukuna before you- and that was the last time you saw him. He flashed you a quick smile and rode off with his party. Perhaps you'll find him again on your travels? Or, well, at least his corpse.

Paladin!Nanami From a young age, Nanami dedicated his life to the order. He trained tirelessly- and obeyed every command. Including the one to accompany you on your journey. You'd barely met Nanami before this point outside of a few friendly interactions, and part of you is glad. He's extremely strict about how you spend your money and when you set up camp. It can come off as though he dislikes you- but whenever your feet begin to ache he has no problem carrying you. Whenever you're hurt, he has a handful of healing magic ready to fire, and whenever it's time to sleep he always keeps watch over you. Assassin!Toji Toji is an ally to none besides his wallet. Word gets out that your party's making progress- and Sukuna's royal mage puts a bounty on your head. One look at your pretty face on a wanted poster, and Toji grabs his daggers and sets off. He's glad the poster wanted you alive. Hate to have to cut you up and all. He's a constant force on your adventure- popping up when you least expect it in an attempt to capture you and turn you in for a fat paycheck. He's never too rough on you in a fight, though. Perhaps you could turn him to your side in exchange for some money? Or maybe a kiss? Monk!Choso Duty is all Choso knows. Despite being half-demon, the temple took him and his brothers in when they were young, and whenever he's not tending to Yuji he's training relentlessly. Sukuna's forces grow by the day- and should they show up at the temple he'll be ready. Though, of course, when you show up instead, he can't help but blush. He offers you sanctuary, and a place to call home, but you insist that you're duty bound to defeat Sukuna. The thought of you shredded along Sukuna's pavement haunts his mind. Or worse, kept in a cage deep in his dungeon, braving God knows what horrors. In the end it's clear what his choice is. Wait for Sukuna to show up at his doorstep, or join you, keep you safe, and take down Sukuna. Demon!Sukuna For decades Sukuna's being a nuisance for humanity. However as of recently, it's escalated to a new level. Anyone strong is slaughtered. He keeps the weak as servants for his land. With an unstoppable of army and more spells in his arsenal than stars in the sky, his victory was all but assured. That is, until visions began to keep him up. Visions of a lowly mage leveling his palace with a barrage of spells. These visions don't keep him up in horror- but instead with fascination. A mage able to rival him? He grins at the thought of your battle. As he eats he imagines the look of defeat on your face as he makes you kneel before him. How cute you'd look trapped in his personal dungeon- where only he could see you. CHAPTER 1: The Time I Got Drafted To Fight The Demon King CHAPTER 2: War on Sukuna [WIP] CHAPTER 3: Into the Wild [WIP] CHAPTER 4: Sweet Dreams [WIP] CHAPTER 5: TBA

Note: Feel free to suggest potential characters/love interests! This will be a long-lasting series, with different endings for each character!

[elvisbdoll]

“A night in Tupelo”

Summary: On a sultry night in Tupelo, August 12, 1954, a chance meeting with a rising Elvis Presley ignites a forbidden connection, testing the boundaries between desire and discretion in a world that’s always watching.

TW: uh nothing really? Maybe a little make out session? (If you find pls let me know), maybe a little bit of Angst.

Pairing: 50s!ElvisXBlack!naive!OC

A/N: hiii! I know I haven’t been active lately, but work has me doneeee and plus my computer decided to not work anymore… so! I’ll be posting a few fanfics I have been having on drafts! Thank you and enjoy!

Tupelo, Mississippi

August 14, 1954

The Mississippi summer heat hung heavy in the air, saturating every breath and clinging to the skin like a second layer. It was the kind of night that begged for trouble—sticky, slow, and simmering with unspoken tensions.

The little white house on the edge of Tupelo hummed with the sound of cicadas. A window fan sputtered rhythmically, failing to provide relief as it lazily spun. Inside, you sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, a paperback novel resting in your lap. The lamp on the nightstand flickered, casting a soft glow over the room. You had been invited to stay with a distant aunt for the summer, a temporary reprieve from the chaos of Memphis life. What you hadn’t anticipated was the unexpected houseguest that came knocking one late afternoon.

“Elvis Presley,” your aunt had introduced him, her voice carrying a note of pride. “He’s been playin’ guitar down at the church. Such a sweet boy.”

Sweet wasn’t the word you’d have chosen. Charismatic, maybe. Dangerous, definitely. From the moment he tipped his head and offered you that slow, crooked grin, you felt something in the air shift.

It was impossible not to notice him. The way his dark hair curled rebelliously against his forehead, the smoothness of his voice when he spoke, and the way he seemed to fill a room just by standing in it. He wasn’t just handsome; he was magnetic. And now, on this particular evening, he was sitting far too close for comfort, his denim-clad leg brushing against yours as he leaned back on the bed.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Elvis said, his Southern drawl pulling you out of your thoughts.

“I’m just tired.” You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to ignore the way his eyes lingered on you.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re a bad liar, darlin’.”

Before you could respond, the door creaked open, and your aunt peeked in. “Y’all need anything?” she asked, her gaze darting between you and Elvis.

“No, ma’am,” Elvis replied smoothly, flashing her a boyish smile. “We’re just talkin’.”

She nodded hesitantly, her eyes narrowing as if she wasn’t quite convinced. “Don’t stay up too late.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, you turned to Elvis, raising an eyebrow. “She doesn’t trust you.”

He smirked, leaning in slightly. “Do you?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. You felt your pulse quicken as his gaze held yours, unflinching and unapologetic. The room seemed to shrink around you, the space between you two becoming almost unbearable.

“Elvis,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, “what do you want?”

His expression softened, and for a moment, the cocky facade faded. “I wanna know what it is about you that’s got me so tied up in knots.”

Your breath hitched as his hand reached out, his fingers brushing against yours. His touch was warm, almost electric, and it sent a wave of heat through you that had nothing to do with the summer air.

“You don’t mean that,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

“I do.” His voice was earnest now, the usual teasing edge replaced with something deeper, something that made your chest ache.

You wanted to pull away, to put distance between you and the intensity of his presence, but your body betrayed you. Instead, you leaned in, your face mere inches from his.

“Elvis—”

He cut you off, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both soft and insistent. The world outside faded away, the sound of cicadas replaced by the pounding of your heart in your ears. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin as he deepened the kiss.

You didn't know how it happened, but suddenly you were lying back on the bed, Elvis hovering above you, his denim jacket brushing against your bare arm. His kisses grew more desperate, as though he were trying to pour everything he felt into them.

You hadn't realized how much you'd wanted this until it was happening. His touch, his scent, the way he whispered your name like it was a prayer-it was all-consuming.

But then, reality set in.

"Elvis," you murmured against his lips, your hand pressing gently against his chest.

He paused, his lips hovering over yours, his breath warm against your skin. "What's wrong?"

You hesitated, your mind racing. "This... this can't happen."

His brow furrowed, confusion flashing in his dark eyes. "Why not?"

You sat up, creating a small but necessary distance between you. "You know why. People would talk. My aunt... this town..." You trailed off, shaking your head.

"Let 'em talk," he said, his voice low and defiant. "I don't care what anyone thinks."

"Well, I do," you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended. "I've had to care my whole life, Elvis. You don't know what it's like."

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "You think I don't know what it's like for people to judge you? To look at you like you're somethin' they can't quite figure out?"

You looked away, unable to hold his gaze.

"It's not the same," you whispered.

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Maybe not. But that don't mean we gotta let it stop us."

His words hung in the air, tempting and dangerous. You wanted to believe him, to let yourself get lost in whatever this was between you. But the weight of the world outside this room was too heavy to ignore.

"Elvis." You struggled to find the right words, to explain the storm of emotions swirling inside you. "I can't afford to be reckless”

He reached out, his hand gently cupping your chin and turning your face toward him.

"Darlin', life's too short to play it safe all the time. Sometimes you gotta take a chance."

His words sparked something in you, a flicker of rebellion against the constraints of a world that always seemed to be watching, judging. Maybe he was right. Maybe, just for tonight, you could let go of your fears and take a chance.

You leaned forward, your lips brushing against his in a soft, tentative kiss. It wasn't the fiery passion of before, but something deeper, more deliberate. He responded in kind, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close.

For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to feel. To forget.

—————————-

The moment didn't last.

The sound of the front door slamming shut jolted you both out of your reverie. Your aunt's voice rang out from the hallway, her tone sharp and suspicious.

"Elvis? Y/N? What's goin' on in here?"

You scrambled off the bed, smoothing your dress as your heart raced. Elvis, ever the charmer, leaned back casually, a lazy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Just talkin', ma'am," he drawled, his voice as smooth as honey.

Your aunt stepped into the room, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. "It didn't sound like talkin' to me."

You opened your mouth to respond, but Elvis beat you to it.

"I was just leavin," he said, standing and giving your aunt a polite nod. "Thank you for havin' me over."

She didn't respond, her eyes darting between the two of you as if trying to piece together what had happened.

Elvis turned to you, his expression softening.

"Goodnight, darlin"" he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

"Goodnight," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

As he walked out of the room, you couldn't help but wonder if you'd just made a mistake—or if you'd finally done something right.

——————————

Later that night, as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, your mind replayed every moment of the evening. The way he'd looked at you, touched you, kissed you. It was as if he'd seen a part of you that no one else had ever noticed, a part you'd almost forgotten existed.

But with that came a dangerous hope, one that you weren't sure you could afford to hold onto.

Because Elvis Presley wasn't just a boy from Tupelo. He was a storm, a force of nature that couldn't be contained. And you were just a girl trying to keep your feet on solid ground.

TAG LIST: @jhoneybees @kxnnxy

[elderwisp]

The Creative Process ‧₊˚✩彡 

Because I love to be distracted

Hi! Ok, I wanted to share wif everyone my process in which I create a story post from conception to the final post. I would say I'm a very structured person when it comes to projects like these however, I've learned a lot and maybe someone could find something useful! We'll be referencing this scene. Oke, let's start!

✩ Rough Drafts

So, of course everything starts off with a vision. While I always say, write what feels authentic to you, I also know it makes things much more difficult if you don't have a solid ground to build from. I think I've scrapped this particular story about twice already and even reshot the first chunk of Tessellate so there was a better foundation. I like to start off with understanding a character before moving onto creating a plot, otherwise people start bleed into another. Greta Gerwig makes a really awesome statement about how characters come first to her before plot. OKE with that in mind, this particular scene, I wrote it well over a year ago, however there wasn't much flow in the initial draft. In fact, the two look nothing alike. This conversation was supposed to occur during France's concert, but I moved it to to this particular scene and I'm so glad. I felt like their current relationship was strong enough to have this conversation but also it allowed me to really focus in on the two. I am a huge advocate for jotting down dialogue even if things change because you can always expand on an idea. And if things don't work, scrapping is okay, but at least you gave it a shot! After that change, I didn't revisit that scene up until about a month and a half ago. I like to let things sit for a good while. In the initial draft, Taryn was reserved throughout a majority of the conversation. There was limitations in which how I wanted her to express things but things change in a year. When I looked at her as a character and how she's progressed throughout the story, the draft no longer aligned with her lack of response. And then that created the question of what the heck does one say? Because people aren't typically very graceful or eloquent when it comes to confrontation but also we're telling a story so how do I balance the two out? Since, I've followed these little blorbos for a while, knowing their characters and motives allowed me to flesh everything out. Atlas is much more cunning than he lets on and is excellent at painting a pretty picture for those around him if it means getting what he wants. Taryn on the other hand is perceptive and unwavering so being around someone like him, someone that she finds herself slowly falling for, is a complete, well, mind fuck. We can also see from this interaction that there's a hint of feeling inadequate and the lack of confidence to know that maybe he does like her. We also see that Atlas maybe isn't the most mature when it comes to developing something real so the two have plenty to work on just from this scene alone. Like Greta Gerwig says, writing is listening.

I also wanted to mention LocalScriptMan and this video all the time because it just about changed how I viewed dialogue in general. I think it's such a great tool! I've probably shared it a billion times.

✩ Blender & Posemaking

So I would like to preface this by saying, you do not need to use blender to achieve a vision. There are still scenes that I still use poses/animations from other creators! I wanted to list a few references! Rebouks, Rascgal and Simmireen have an amazing variety of poses to use! I literally use Becca's bumper packs RELIGOUSLY! However, if you need any suggestions, SurelySim's has an excellent breakdown on getting started with posemaking from tiny details, to SimRipper and using accessories! She also talks about Vyxated's Pose Helper which is a god send! For this scene I wanted to fully pose it. In my script, I italicize anything I want to pose, I'm such a sucker for the mannerisms that people have. When words fail, body language speaks. Are they fidget-y, or do I imagine them to be more composed? Taryn's stance is grounded, she doesn't move at all in the scene except for when she leaves and I think it's a great representation of her stubbornness. Whereas Atlas is watching every single move, up until he makes his incredibly bold (ridiculous!) statement. As for emotion when he made that statement, I wanted to go with shame but then I felt like his expression radiated ruthlessness. I personally enjoyed that 10x more because it represented two things for me, his character and that he felt comfortable enough to show that part of himself. When posing a scene from start to finish, it takes me about 1-3 days depending on how complex it is. I'm a huge advocate for using references! I love referencing hands, posture, how to grab a book ANYTHING! Because this was a conversation and not much action happened, it took me about a day.

✩ Taking Screenshots and Composition

I began taking photos for this scene on March 6th. I use to use this reshade preset by growfruit however, after tinkering with some settings I use like a mish-mash blorbo of a preset. Amobae and Sforz have some cool LUT's for download (I think of it like a filter? That's probably not what it is but MEH) and I love the qUINT's lightroom shader as well. Huge advocate of relight, I was today years old when I learn that you should load it at the top of your shaders order so you don't get like a weird whitecast. These spotlights though are super fun too if you don't use reshade! There are some photographers on instagram that even go over how to use lightroom and it can translate to game as well! For the most part, I try to keep screenshots pretty simple, editing-wise but there are moments when I doodle in little hairs, add in some texture and include shadows for, uh, DRAMAAA. Lately, I've been incorporating intricate fonts because idk sometimes my brain enjoys a little graphic design moment. Sometimes shooting conversation heavy scenes can get so repetitive so I like to look at film stills on pinterest or pay close attention to a film and how they present the camera work in a conversation. Rule of thirds is a great reference tool to use, I believe GShade has a shader for that. However it's okay to experiment, it's not an end all be all. I love looking at animators and how each frame is incredibly intentional, whether it's a shot from above or a really close frame. The beginning of this scene, I honestly didn't have a clue as to how I wanted to open it up since they were walking down a hall. Then I noticed the detail in the fencing and how the tiles were opposite. Using the TOOL mod, I was able to get them both in the center and it created a strong opening shot of how different these two are.

✩ Editing

My god, I love editing but also this is usually the moment where I get so freaking distracted. This process takes me a day if I am focused.... But realistically it takes three days.... That's why I try to keep things to a minimum. I do use Photoshop. I like to use this sharpening action (the other actions are awesome too!) for story posts, I crop each photo (I use a 9:5 ratio and a 16:6 ratio if I need to focus on something specific idk why i picked those numbers yo), and add in text. Dafont has a lot of different free fonts. I like to use these little guidelines if sentences needs to be centered.

For adding umph to text, I like to use two things: The warped text option when using the type tool or just going to the distort panel and using the wave option!

Also bottom right of your layers channel is an fx layer. I like to use stroke and drop shadow on all text so it doesn't get lost within a photo!

✩ Finalization and My Schedule

That story post was uploaded on March 29th. As of right now, I like to stay three weeks ahead so I have three weeks worth of story posts marinating in my queue LMAO. I always reread things like a bajillion times, sometimes I'll go back and tweak conversations if they feel a bit stiff. Having that three week buffer also gives me time to really dedicate myself to details and focus on being present with a future scene. Another perk is, it allows me to work on cleaning up the script, plotting for future arcs, and having fun with edits. When I used to upload story videos on youtube, I didn't really plan ahead and it was so chaotic for me. Sometimes I didn't have enough time to actually create a solid episode so things felt rushed because on top of that I had a schedule I committed to. This isn't necessary but structure and patterns is something my little brain needs.

I hope this maybe provided some tips for people wanting to start out or it was just a fun little thing to read! One final OP tip is to write about something that you enjoy, something that matters to you. I'm one mf that loves a fleshed out character arc, that doesn't like linear plots and for fucks sake I love a good slow burn and I think all of that reflects a lot which helps me be engaged.

[zayne-li]

Fic Masterlist

Zanye and Siming

This is basically a thesis post I wrote about where I think Zayne's lore is going

Heat Signal (Tumblr link)

Rating: Explicit

Length: 15k

“You’re…” My instincts know exactly what it is, but my brain has a hard time reconciling the evidence in front of me, and assaulting my nose. “But you’re a beta.”

Zayne winces. He’s quiet for a long time before saying anything. “As I’m sure you can tell… I am not.”

“Who else knows?”

“Dr. Noah.”

“No one else?”

“Aside from my parents? No.”

Dessert Spread (Tumblr link)

Rating: Explicit

Length: 3.7k

This one is some Zayne/Sylus.

The only light in Zayne’s large living room comes from the moon shining through the large backdoor window, bathing the space in a soft cool tone, and the bright glow from his phone in his hand, held up by his face as he types away at an email for Akso’s administration board regarding his departments budget for the quarter. But even as he swipes between excel sheets and copies and pastes various numbers, his eyes are drooping a bit, and his fingers move slowly as he struggles to recall the way he wants to word things. It’s not something he intends on sending off tonight, but having a rough draft waiting for him when he returns to work will make things easier on him. 

Zayne yawns, and blinks as a text message pops through, distracting him enough to have his eyes opening a bit wider. 

It’s from Sylus.

Frozen Blood (Tumblr link)

Rating: Mature (for violence and blood)

Length: 3.3k

Thus far his eyes have been unable to meet yours, fixed on the ground like he’s afraid to look at you. But at your insistence, they flicker up towards you, dark and almost lifeless, with none of the spark you’re used to seeing. He says nothing, and instead tries to pull his hand from yours. You don’t allow it, tightening your grip, trying to have enough faith and determination for the both of you, because this Zayne… since you found him just a few days ago, seems like he’s given up far before he ever met you.

“I’m going to resonate with you–”

“No.” He is firm as he says it, and tries once again to pull his hand from yours.

Bloom

Rating: Teen

Length: 1.2k

“Clearly you needed it. It’s okay. You’re cute when you’re sleeping.” You respond, and he looks like he’s about to retort, but instead he yawns and rubs at his face again. 

“It’s been a long week. Month.” Zayne manages once the yawn subsides, and grunts, turning over so he can grab around your middle and press his face into your stomach. His voice becomes muffled now, rumbling against you in a way that’s almost ticklish. “I missed you.”

Heartbreaker Attacks! (Tumblr link)

Rating: Explicit

Length: 2.8k

What I expect to see is maybe a bit of frost on his fingertips or creeping up his neck, but instead, when I place my hand tentatively on the small of his back, I realize he’s burning up. Also… The moment my fingers make contact with his body, he moans. I jerk back almost on instinct, my brow furrowing in confusion. Is he injured there?

Zayne rolls his head to the side, and I can see better how he looks, red and panting. “I’m,” cough, “fine… You certainly acted quickly.”

He doesn’t look fine. His pupils are blown, and he has a hazy look in his eyes. My concern grows.

I blink at him. “Did you just…”

He looks away, blushing brighter, “… Yes, I believe so.”

Eye of the Blizzard (Tumblr link to chapter 1. Check AO3 for the rest!)

Rating: Teen (so far)

Length: 7 Chapters, 10k words

That girl, from his childhood. The one who stood out in his memories like a warm pastry, like a bright, inescapable light. The one who smiled and laughed, even when he didn’t, who saw the emotions he felt before he knew himself.

“Why are you crying?” She asked one day, finding him on the steps of her grandmother’s house, arms wrapped around his boney knees, head buried in his elbow, his cheeks red. She was bent sideways, almost falling over, balanced on one foot, just to try and catch his eye.

5 Fun Facts about the Prostate! (Tumblr link)

Rating: Explicit

Length: 3.8k

"... I don't know. I do know it's a pleasure point in the male body." 

"Zayne, you are not about to give me an anatomy lesson right now."

Exclusive Tutorial (Tumblr link)

Rating: Explicit

Length: 2k words

I grin at him and lean in for a soft kiss. “Did you know that you whimper when you come?” I ask against his lips, pulling him closer by his hips. His softening cock droops between us, and I admire for a moment the lewd image of him exposed, messy, his tie undone and his face red. 

“I do not.” Zayne scoffs, and I allow him to finally stand, backing off enough to let him tuck himself into his pants, though I mourn the sight. 

“You do. You just did.” I fold my arms, and he gives me a withering look. 

Battle Lust (Tumblr link)

Rating: Mature (No actual smut, but he’s thinking about it)

Length: 1.9k

“I know it hurts, Zayne, but I really, really need you to get up right now.” That’s her voice again, and then he can see her. Right in front of him, holding him halfway off the ground. There’s blood smeared across her lips, cheek, and eye, and her hair is ashy with dust, no hint of the real color underneath it all. 

In and out of dreams 

Rating: Teen (TW for brief thoughts of suicide)

Length: 1k

The Foreseer is unknowable, he is wise to the secrets of the universe, to the futures and fates of the people in this world around him. Except for his own. Every bit of his life, his future and past are a jumbled mess of moments that he is unable to make sense of. 

Drabbles

This is just Zayne getting another handjob. 

Rating: Explicit

Length: About 400?

"Y-you're going to kill me." Zayne gasps, his lax mouth turning up into a small smile as he huffs and puffs. "I'm suing for medical malpractice." 

Kitten Zayne!! (Someone please write this for real for me, I'll love you forever)

Rating: Teen

Length: 200-ish words

"Ah... Right. So that's why everyone's been looking at me funny all afternoon. I forgot."

[dutifullylazybread]

just found you, i see a lot of pre and post family with the teefs. what about during? and directly after? how do they care for their partner during pregnancy? especially if its a diffcult one? and afterward when their partners body has changed and maybe they're less confident about the extra weight, softer body, the extra rolls and teh stretch marks that wont go away? how does each bachelor help or make it better ir suddenly realize that is even wrong to begin with? what if they accidentally something bring out that newly found weakness in their partners confidence? ( sorry if youre busy i know you got stuff to do- i just figured youre the person who could slam dunk these thoughts i had)

Have I... GOTTEN TO THE POINT WHERE I CAN JOIN THE TIEFLING HEAD CANON SQUAD???????

ADDED 4/26/24: This might be a rough list, but I hope you all enjoy!! ❤️

OKAY. I GOTTA ADD CAL. I'M ADDING CAL. THIS SWEET MAN IS A TIEFLING BACHELOR AND DOES NOT HAVE ENOUGH FAN CONTENT... YET.

And thank you for bearing with me--I know that this ask was sent in a hot minute ago! I'm hoping I answered all of your questions; I got to a point of this sitting in my drafts where I just felt bad about how long it had been there, so I tried to be thorough but I wanted to get this out sooner rather than later. I mostly worked on this when I had a few spare moments between chapters, and then I said "screw it. This is getting done. TODAY."

So, for Cal, Rolan, Zevlor, and Dammon--let's go!

DISCLAIMER - I do not have children myself, nor have I ever been pregnant. So I shall do my best!

JUST IN CASE - A CONTENT WARNING: While writing these head canons, I did refer to the tiefling's partner as "you." If reading about being pregnant makes you uncomfortable for any reason, please be aware and be kind to yourself. I have zero doubt in my mind that I will be creating another head canon list, so if you need to pass or wait on this one, that's absolutely okay. Your mental health is important.

Cal

While Cal's partner is pregnant, he will do absolutely anything and everything to make sure they are comfortable. To say that he is doting is putting things very mildly.

He will make your favorite meals, will go out and get whatever you are craving (late night runs--not a problem), will rub your swollen ankles.

Too hot? He's asking Rolan for a cantrip scroll to fix it. Too cold? He's already piling you with blankets.

Are you feeling sick and nauseous? He's already prepping something for you to eat/drink that doesn't have an offensive smell.

And if it's a hard pregnancy? I don't see him leaving your side. If he does, he has Rolan create a sending stone set for the two of you so that you can reach out to him for anything and everything.

Honestly, he doesn't get far enough for him to even use the sending stones. He is looking for anything and everything to make the pregnancy easier on you. If he wasn't a light sleeper before, he is now because he doesn't want you to lay there in pain.

There may be points where he feels helpless because while he can do things to try and alleviate any physical discomfort, there are just times when he might just grasp at straws.

And, in situations where he can't alleviate your physical discomfort, he will do what he can to distract you.

He keeps his stress managed well enough, but that doesn't mean he won't snap at Lia or Rolan if he is too anxious. If he does get openly frustrated with them, it takes both off guard.

I also think he just holds you. A lot. Part of that is to comfort you, and the other part is to assure himself that everything will be okay.

If his partner is dealing with body image issues after giving birth, I see him being confused. You? The most enchanting person he has ever known?

Cut to him kissing you and holding you whenever possible. He'll ask Lia and Rolan to watch the baby whilst the two of you go on outings when your health permits. If it helps you to hear it, he'll remind you how lovely you are. Frequently. Hourly. Every five minutes? Not quite, but close enough.

Personally, I don't think his doting goes away after the pregnancy. And, if it is too much, it might make you feel like he views you as helpless.

If you give voice to this, he goes into immediate mediation mode. He will be extremely apologetic. He loves you and never wants you to think he perceives you as anything other than the phenomenal person you are.

Rolan

Ugh. My beloved.

He might be more stressed about having a child than you are.

He never anticipated being a father, and that might be for 15+ reasons, but he feels drastically unprepared (even if the pregnancy was planned).

He reads every. Single. Book. On pregnancy. He is the parent who gives himself nightmares when he reads about birthing complications.

Every sign of discomfort that you show is a catastrophe on the horizon.

And if it's a difficult pregnancy? Yeah. Dial that up by five notches.

He is preparing for all worst-case scenarios.

If it weren't for Cal and Lia keeping him in check, he would be safety-proofing everything in the tower.

He crafts sending stones so you can call for him if you need anything. ANYTHING.

But also, he starts shadowing midwives and asking lots of questions. If the worst were to happen and you couldn't reach a professional, he wants to be there to help you.

After giving birth, I see him splitting his anxiety between your health/recovery and the baby's overall well-being.

"The baby sneezed. That might indicate five different lethal illnesses. I'm fetching the cleric."

This is another situation where you, Cal, and Lia might have to remind him that, yes, babies do sometimes sneeze, and not everything that lands in the diaper spells doom.

Rolan might not initially understand why you're feeling self-conscious about any weight gain. Of course you're lovely. Also, isn't that what happens with pregnancies? (His words--not mine).

He assures you that you're lovely, but words might not be enough here. He might shove his foot in his mouth while trying to make the situation better.

But the best thing for him to do is remind you, repeatedly, that you are lovely. And that might not have been something he was accustomed to even saying to you prior to you conceiving. He would assume you knew that he was attracted to you.

It honestly might be the strangest (and most endearing) thing to have him say "You look very lovely today. Yes, even with the baby's spit up on your shirt."

Zevlor

*nervously staring at the tiefling I am the most unsure about writing.*

*cracks my knuckles and cries because it hurt like hell*

Zevlor has been through some of the most heinous things that can be thrown at someone. He is a seasoned soldier. A Hellrider. Surely he can help his partner through pregnancy. After all, there were plenty of soldiers in the barracks who has pregnant spouses. He's heard enough stories that he feels prepared.

He survived the Elturel's Descent. It's possible that he helped safeguard someone who was in the middle of giving birth or guided expecting parents to safety. Maybe he had to fight off the devil's skulking the streets if they caught wind/heard that person enduring birthing pains?

So maybe, he thinks, he has already seen some of the worst births ever. Maybe, he thinks, in this time of relative peace, in this home that he and his love have created, it'll be easier?

My personal headcanon for Zevlor is that he put EVERYTHING into being a Hellrider/paladin. It was his life. It was his every breathing moment. And when he became an oathbreaker, it destroyed him. His life was devoted to protecting others, and he feels that he failed in the worst of ways possible.

He certainly had friends and very possibly family that he would see on occasion, but I think that, if you didn't fight alongside him/live in the barracks too, you very likely didn't see much of him.

So maybe he has heard a great deal about pregnancies. And maybe he knows about the complicated ones--just a bit. But he himself is at a loss for when his partner tells him that they are pregnant.

Is he excited? Absolutely. Is he terrified. Oh yeah.

Regardless of how complicated the pregnancy is, he is nervous. He is worried that he will slip up in all the ways that matter, and he is terrified of letting you down.

He's a soldier though, and he prepares for everything.

He has additional blankets and pillows next to the bed.

Hot and cold compresses are ready to go.

He makes sure that he accounts for your cravings whenever shopping.

He has medicine for when the pain is severe. And when the medicine doesn't cut it, he tries his best to distract you--his mileage varies.

And this man adores you. So after the pregnancy, if you are feeling self-conscious, he will worship your body.

Dammon

I could see Cal and Dammon both being very doting, but Dammon would be juggling the forge and helping you.

If you spent a lot of time in the forge with him prior to pregnancy but find that being in there now makes you feel ill, he will absolutely feel lonelier. He is definitely the sort of person who gets very absorbed in his work, and I think this makes him feel guilty. Especially if he feels like him being there could have made things easier for you.

He becomes a meal prep king. Will cook several comfort meals for you to eat while he is working.

Massages swollen ankles and feet and anything else.

While he might have worked later hours in the forge before, he makes a point to wrap things up sooner to spend evenings with you.

That doesn't mean he isn't nervous--you're about to have a child, and he does worry if there will be enough money.

He worries that if he does slow down, commissions will dry up, and then where will that leave the three of you?

If the pregnancy is difficult, he feels guilty for leaving you alone and looks for hundreds of ways to make things easier.

Eventually, he creates a small sitting space for you near the doorway to the shop itself. It's not so close to the forge that you'll be uncomfortably hot or so close that the smell will make you sick, and he sets up a small tarp to create some shade.

If you helped Dammon in the forge before the pregnancy, he is likely hesitant to have you come back and immediately help. Especially if the birth was difficult.

But what you need, more than anything from him, is time

And Dammon wants to be a parent who is present in your life and the baby's, so he does everything to be there.

But money is still a stressor. And he might worry about you being in the forge again. So he's stressed on all fronts.

And while I don't see him commenting or changing how he treats his partner because of weight change, I do see him being VERY reluctant to have you work in the forge with him.

And this may lead to an argument. You know he is stressed about commissions and being there for you and the baby, but you still want to help.

So Dammon dials it back several notches and agrees that you know your body best. So long as you feel comfortable working in the forge, and so long as you listen to your body, the two of you can start it from there.

And it gets easier to balance the forge and child rearing. While the baby isn't allowed close to the open heat/flame until they fully understand why they must be careful (and until their lungs are developed), you and Dammon create a small swing/play area nearby.

[cigarettesaftersae]

Homesick 07 - you're here, that's the thing

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Series: sae x f!reader | childhoodlovers!au

Stuck in a small town near the coast with a previous crush on a boy who returns after years

Week 1 - Monday

So here you are, situated across the seat from Sae again. Same small restaurant, even the same waitress, same icy gaze fixed on you except it’s Monday. You felt as if yesterday was Monday.

“So, do you have any hobbies?”

“I practice my pass for a few hours.”

“I mean, beside soccer? Do you like drawing? or reading?”

“Reading is fine.”

“Really? What books do you like to read?” It’s almost as if you were talking to a wall. He’ll warm up right?

“Margaret Atwood”

“That is the last thing I thought you might even read.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sae rises an eyebrow at you

“Nothing! I love Margaret Atwood. She’s a wonderful writer.” Your defensive mechanism actives, your hands slightly in the air like he was a police officer

“You’re a writer” he mentions with an almost unreadable expression—curiosity, skepticism, or maybe mild amusement? You couldn’t tell.

“That I am,” you confirm, sitting up a bit straighter. “Why? Do I not seem like one?”

“No, you do,” he says, pausing to take a sip of water. “Writers usually talk a lot.”

You blink, caught between being mildly offended and intrigued. “Well, excuse me for trying to have a conversation. It’s not every day someone admits they read Margaret Atwood.”

“Do you think I just kick a ball around all day?” His eyebrow quirks again, a subtle challenge in his tone.

“Honestly? Kind of,” you reply without missing a beat. The corner of his mouth twitches—was that a smile? Almost. “So, are we talking The Handmaid’s Tale or Oryx and Crake?”

He leans back, crossing his arms. “Cat’s Eye. It’s a good portrayal of memory and rivalry. Realistic.”

“Wow, you’re full of surprises,” you say, genuinely impressed. “Maybe I’ll lend you one of my stories sometime.”

“You think I’d read them?”

“I mean, if you’re quoting Margaret Atwood, there’s hope,” you tease.

For the first time that evening, his gaze softens just slightly. “Maybe.”

It’s not much, but you’ll take it. The ice was thinner now. Perhaps by Thursday It’ll be better.

Week 1 - Thursday

‘I have to cancel today’s lunch, I have too many reports to finish I’m sorry, next Monday is my treat. All of it (;_;)’ Your thumb hovers over the send button, nervous and anxious how he’d react to this. With a quick swipe, you hesitantly hit send. Life loves being rough on you, only now did you just start getting along with Sae but your class by the last minute just had to upload an assignment by which was due tonight.

Your phone buzzes almost instantly. His reply is blunt: “You could’ve just said no earlier.”

The words make you wince, and you stare at the screen for a moment, unsure how to respond. You type out several drafts of a reply—apologies, justifications, even something defensive—but none feel quite right. Finally, you settle on a simple, “I didn’t know until this morning. Sorry.”

The message goes unanswered for hours, leaving a heavy pit in your stomach. Was he actually upset? You try to focus on your assignment, but the tension keeps nagging at you. You replay the past few days in your head, wondering if canceling lunch was enough to undo the tentative progress you’d made with him.

By evening, you’re half-convinced you’ve ruined everything when your phone buzzes again. The message is short, almost indifferent: “Don’t forget Monday.”

Relief floods through you, though his detached tone lingers in your mind. Was this his way of brushing things off, or was there still some lingering irritation? You decide not to press your luck, resolving to make next Monday’s lunch worth it. For now, you focus on finishing your assignment, the weight of his words slowly fading but not entirely gone.

Week 2 - Monday

By the time you arrive at the small restaurant, Sae is already seated, his usual calm demeanor in place as he scrolls through his phone. The sight eases some of your nerves, though the memory of his curt response on Thursday still lingers in your mind.

You slide into the seat across from him, offering a tentative smile. “Hey, sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“You’re on time,” he replies, setting his phone down. His tone is neutral, but there’s something about the way he studies you for a moment that makes you feel…seen.

The waitress appears with the menus, but Sae waves her off. “We’ll have the lunch set,” he says simply, glancing at you for confirmation. You nod, grateful he remembered your preference.

As the meal arrives, Sae seems quieter than usual—not cold, but thoughtful.

As the meal winds down, Sae surprises you by lingering over his tea, glancing out the window. Usually, he’s the first to signal the end of lunch, but today, he seems content to let the moment stretch a little longer.

“I wasn’t upset about Thursday,” he says suddenly, catching you off guard. “I just don’t like last-minute changes.”

The admission is so uncharacteristic that it takes you a second to respond. “I figured,” you say softly. “Still, I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair to you.”

He nods, as if accepting your apology, then stands. “Next time, don’t cancel.”

There’s no heat in his words, just a quiet assurance that surprises you. As he walks to the counter to pay, you can’t help but feel that, in his own way, this was his version of an apology too.

Week 2 - Tuesday

The doorbell rings, and you rush over to greet the customer, only to find Sae standing there.

“Sae, I thought you were off today?” you ask, blinking in surprise.

“I am. I have practice in a few hours,” he replies evenly. “I wanted a cup of coffee.”

“No sugar, but cream, right?” you say, recalling his usual order.

He nods, his gaze steady on you. “You remembered.”

You laugh lightly as you step behind the counter to prepare his coffee. “It’s not that hard. You’re one of the few who keeps it simple.” As you work, the silence stretches, but it doesn’t feel awkward. When you hand him the cup, he takes it, his fingers brushing yours briefly.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice softer than usual. He doesn’t leave immediately, instead leaning against the counter as if debating whether to say more. “Did you need anything else?” You question with a soft smile

“No”

You nod, feeling like there’s more beneath his words. Before you can press further, he straightens, giving you a small nod. “See you later.”

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving you with the faint impression that these small, fleeting moments with him mean more than he lets on.

Week 2 - Thursday

The world is blanketed in white glitter snow, the cold bits your nose, leaves your toes frozen and numbly cold. You know what else the cold gives you? Coughing, sneezing, running noses even worse a stuffy nose so you can’t breathe in your new candle scent, Gingerbread Cookie by the way. You remembered Sae’s words “Next time, don’t cancel” and yet you break that forbidden promise with much guilt. You open the messages app, look for his name which pops up instantly. Forgive me.

‘I may or may not have to cancel today’ send

read. (instantly)

‘why’

‘I got really sick (；-◞౪◟-) ‘

‘and you might have to cover for me on Tuesday’

‘I’m coming over, Maria’s sending me to give you some food.’

You spring out of bed in a panic, your heart racing. You glance at yourself in the mirror and cringe—what a mess! You're wearing dinosaur pajamas, and you didn't even bother to brush your teeth this morning. You told yourself it was fine because you were feeling sick and needed the extra sleep. Without realizing it, you leave the text on read as you rush to get ready. You quickly brush your teeth, comb your hair, and apply a touch of pink chapstick, hoping it'll make you look less like you've just rolled out of a grave.

As you’re finishing up, there's a knock at the door. Your stomach does a nervous flip—why does the idea of seeing him in person always leave you on edge? You quickly wipe your hands on your shirt and rush to the door, trying to act as if you’ve got everything together, even though you definitely don’t.

When you open it, there he is—Sae, standing with a paper bag in one hand and an expression that could only be described as slightly amused. The cool air from outside drifts in, and you realize just how freezing it is, but it hardly seems to phase him.

“Maria said you needed some food.” He holds out the bag, his eyes scanning your appearance.

You force a smile, trying to play it off. “I appreciate it. Seriously, you didn’t have to.”

“I did. You’re not going to get better if you don’t eat,” he replies, his tone surprisingly firm. It’s strange, but you almost feel… cared for? His eyes soften as you take the bag from him. “You should rest more, not worry about lunch.”

“Yeah, I know…” You mutter, unsure whether to invite him in or just thank him and let him go. “How’s your practice going?”

“It’s fine. It’s always fine,” he says with a casual shrug, clearly not wanting to get into specifics.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure you’re a pro at this point,” you tease, hoping to lighten the mood. “Thanks again for bringing this over.”

“Are you alone?” Sae presses, his gaze a little sharper now, like he's trying to figure something out. His usual cool demeanor is tinged with a hint of concern—or is it curiosity?

You blink, thrown off guard. “Yeah, I’m alone. Why?” you ask, trying to mask the unease in your voice.

He doesn’t immediately answer, just tilts his head slightly, as if weighing your words. His eyes flicker around the room, noting the quiet atmosphere before landing back on you. “Don’t think I care or anything, Maria asked me.”

You stare at him for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “Maria asked you?” you repeat, still processing what just happened. He doesn't wait for you to finish your sentence, stepping past you and into the room like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Yeah, she’s worried. Said you’re too stubborn to take care of yourself,” Sae replies nonchalantly, as he slips off his shoes and places them neatly by the door. It’s like he’s done this a thousand times before, walking into someone’s house with little regard for personal boundaries.

You blink, slightly overwhelmed by his confidence. “You don’t have to—”

“Relax,” he interrupts, cutting you off. “I’m just making sure you don’t collapse from being too sick to notice.” He sets the paper bag down on the kitchen counter, then starts looking around like he’s deciding where to place it. You’re frozen, caught between the shock of his boldness and the odd feeling that he’s genuinely trying to help.

He notices your hesitation and finally glances back at you, raising an eyebrow. “You got a problem with me being here?”

“Uh, no,” you stammer, still processing. “I just wasn’t expecting... this.”

“Whats your symptoms?” Sae ask going straight into questioning

“Uh, I have a fever and stuffy nose sometimes it’s runny— it’s in between and my throat kind of hurts, oh and a really bad headache…” Sae nods as you rattle off your symptoms, his expression serious, almost clinical as if he’s trying to diagnose you himself. “Sounds like you’re not just dealing with a simple cold,” he mutters, stepping over to the counter where you’ve left a few medicine bottles. His eyes scan the labels quickly before he looks back at you. “You’ve been taking anything for it?”

You nod, rubbing your forehead. “Yeah, I’ve been taking some cold meds, but they’re not really helping much. I think I might need something stronger.”

“Probably,” Sae agrees, clearly not impressed by the half-hearted attempt. He walks to the kitchen, his gaze never leaving you as if he’s assessing whether you’ll collapse at any moment. “Sit down,” he commands.

You blink, a little thrown by his sudden authority, but you obey, sitting down on the couch. Sae’s movements are efficient as he starts pulling things out of the paper bag he brought earlier. He places a thermos on the table, some kind of herbal tea, and a small packet of tissues.

“Don’t argue,” he says, catching your eye before you can protest. “Drink the tea. It’ll help with the throat and headache.”

You hesitate but follow his orders. “Since when did you become doctor?

“I took care of my brother when he was sick like this.” You grow quiet, every time the topic of his brother was brought up you noticed the atmosphere would change. “You must love him”

His eyes are looking away from you, and his mouth seems to not nudge a sound. “You should rest.” He says

“No.” You reject quickly.

“Can you not be stubborn? I came all the way here.”

“Its just… I get scary dreams when I’m sick. Last time I had a dream where food was trying to eat me.”

“Go” Sae's command is firm, and for a moment, you hesitate, caught between your reluctance to admit vulnerability and the strange sense of calm that his presence seems to bring. You open your mouth to argue, but something about the way he’s looking at you—his sharp gaze softened by a hint of concern—makes you stop.

"Go to bed," he repeats, his tone unwavering. “I’m not leaving until you rest.”

You sigh, knowing you’ve lost this battle. The last thing you want is to talk more about your dreams, but you can’t help the feeling that Sae’s insistence is rooted in something deeper. Still, you let the conversation drop, reluctantly standing up from the couch and heading to your room.

Sae follows behind, still watching you carefully. The room feels a little warmer, more comforting than it did before. The silence between you two is thick, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s just... different. You crawled under the covers, gaining more warmth like it was heaven’s light. Sae slowly steps out till he heard his name called “Sae?…Thank you.” You mumble with an opia

“Can you…stay? Till I’m asleep?” Sae breaths through his nose, exhaling. He pulls a chair and sits it near you. As you close your eyes, nostalgia creeps in your brain, You can almost hear your mama’s lullaby hushing you asleep. Nights like these remind you when mama took care of you, her gentle hand smoothing your head. Before you knew it, small snores leave your mouth.

chapters

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happy holidays(づ￣ ³￣)づ❤

[berberriescorner]

Sneak Peek:

AYL? Pt. 4

Currently, I'm working on a few different fics, including part four of "Are You Listening?"

I'm finally at a point where I no longer hate everything I write and start over. Here is a little snippet to hold y'all over for a bit.

Note: This is a rough draft I'm working on, so any snippets you read are subject to change. I doubt I would take anything out altogether. I would only do tweaking and editing. Hope you enjoy it!

Snippet:

(Just Cause It’s So Nice To Look At😉💜💚)

Like most things current in your life, the quiet only lasted for a small fraction of time. Constant vibration sent your phone rumbling across the luxurious dark oak coffee table. As if that weren’t already enough of a distraction, a loud pounding at the suite’s entrance sounded. Rapid knocks and phone buzzing pulled you and Miguel from a restful sleep. He shot up from a slumped form, saving the phone and Macbook from tumbling to the floor from his right leg. The sigh that slipped from your parted lips wreaked of sadness and depression. Miguel’s eyes stole a glance at your phone resting on the table. His cell and the rude knocking went ignored as his lips connected with the top of your head as he brushed the curls from your eyes.

“He’ll only continue to call, amor.”

“I’ll turn it off. Wouldn’t be the first time,” you murmured in response.

Miguel smirked, playfully shaking his head. With a nod, he signaled toward the knocking.

“Excuse me while I go and shoot whoever’s knocking like a madman.”

“Could be important. Try not to be too hard on whoever it is,” you finished with a skeptical shrug.

The buzzing continued, causing a lump to form in your throat. Avoiding a repetitive conversation, you opted to send Rio a quick text.

Maybe: Husband🥰♥️💍: For the love of all that is holy, please give me a minute of peace, Rio! If it’s urgent. Text me! I do not want to talk about us. Nor do I want to get sucked into another whirlpool of emotions. Just please. Quiet–I need quiet. Running on fumes, anger, and sadness is exhausting. I’ll hit you back whenever I’m not an emotional wreck. Don’t count on that being anytime soon.

You could have easily placed him on the block list, but at the end of the day, you were his only dependable family. Given that and the business he was in, you’d never forgive yourself if anything happened and he reached out to find you weren’t there.

Harsh whispers pulled you from your thoughts. They grew near and more distinct. Miguel's voice came out gruff. The recipient of his impatience received a seething response. Impatient footsteps bounded into the room, and an all too familiar voice caused your blood to run cold.

“Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise?”

Be sure to let me know what you lovelies think 👀😆😁! Thank you to sweet lovelies who have been so kind, patient, and understanding when it comes to waiting for me to drop new content. It's been a struggle to find the energy to stay focused and write. I appreciate everyone's encouragement and for checking up on me. Y'all my sweet wittle love bugs!

Tagging a few of my loves💜💚:

@darqchilddaydreamz @starrynite7114 @4everbrookemarie @nightlywords7 @fineanddandy @rio-reid-whoreee

@novaniskye @that-one-anxious-mango @1andonlytashae @blkbutterfly816 @lovedlover @vanityinvenus @librarian1002 @banana123pudding @fezcosonlylove @sunshine-flower @invisiblegiurl @astoldbychae @percosim @amorestevens @alertyoulikeitsamber

[hyperfixationsporfavor]

Gojo x Reader wip (The Marriage)

Author's Note: Hey guys. I recently read the interview about Gojo that was translated. It made me think about this wip I've had in my drafts forever. It's from the last chapter of my Gojo x Reader fic (The Marriage). It's hasn't been edited but I want to share it with you beauties. If you haven't already you can check out the series. The interview has got me in my feels. I had an upcoming fic planned with Naoya but I'm thinking about switching it to our blue eyed king. Anyway, here is the wip. Enjoy!

Warnings: mentions of illness, super rough draft so read at your own risk!!!

The was a bounty on Satoru Gojo’s head.

He was just a child and already curse users across the country were plotting their strategies to obtain him dead or alive. A child in possession of the six eyes? The reward money for even one of his eyes would be enough to live five lifetimes in luxury. 

The Gojo clan knew this and took preventative measures to ensure Satoru’s safety. However, all their efforts were put in jeopardy one afternoon when it was discovered by a maid that Satoru was not in his room, after an extensive sweep is was determined he had left the estate. 

“Satoru Gojo,” his uncle hissed.

~

An eleven year old Satoru walked the streets of Tokyo by himself, he had occasionally snuck out of the estate before, but this time was different, people were actively looking for him, his family, and two curse users. Satoru had noticed them following him for awhile now, an old woman and a man with thick eyebrows had been observing him from a rooftop cafe while he played in the arcade in the building across the street. At first he hadn’t done anything, knowing they weren’t stupid enough to make a move in front of so many non sorcerers. So he just focused on Pac-Man for the time being.

Other kids his age stood in small groups around the other machines. As much as he pretended he not to care a small part of him, buried by years of strict upberinging, wished to join them. Spend the day with people his own age and not worry about the fate of society. Normalcy would have been true freedom. 

~

When he had his fill he walked out of the arcade and glanced up at the curse users. Eyebrows, or Groucho as he had dubbed him, was still staring. 

Get a life.

He was fed up with them so he returned rhe gaze, knowing it wouldn’t be long until they sensed it, his cursed energy. And surely enough, after a few seconds Groucho and Granny began to recoil. They knew what he was, how easy it would be for him to take both of them out. He broke eye contact and started walking down the busy street.

~

Satoru bought a box of nerds and a can of Fanta from the nearby 7- Eleven. He decided on taking his goods into a Best Buy nestled into a shopping mall, there he decided to barricade himself in the home theater display room in front of the flat screen tvs. Finally left in peace he chugged his soda and shoved handfuls of purple and pink nerds into his mouth. He loved stuff like this but at home he was regulated to a strict diet. No process, high calorie, and not an ounce of flavor. He hated it, he didn’t want to go back, maybe he should just run away. His family would definitely have noticed his absence by now. They would send someone shortly, he’d just have to enjoy what time he had left. Satoru leaned back in the recliner and watched the repeating trailers and music videos that were played to display the effectiveness of the flat screen. A security guard tapped the back of the chair he was in. 

“Hey kid, this isn’t a lounge. You can’t take your crap in here.”

Satoru rolled his eyes and continued to watch the N’sync music videos. 

The guard stood in front of him. “Where are your parents.”

Why was everyone over the age of twenty giving him a hard time today. He didn’t have to deal with it not now. So he warped out of the chair and discreetly landed in front of the store. 

“Have a good day,” the cashier said as he walked out. 

The security guard stood flabbergasted in front of the now empty seat, littered with an empty soda can and stray pieces of candy. 

The music video ended and the trailer for Miss Congeniality started playing. 

~

Satoru wandered around the mall for awhile after that eventually stopping at a small movie theater next to Sears. 

The poster for X-Men caught his eye. He had wanted to see it for awhile know but had been denied by his uncle since it was dangerous. 

“One ticket for X- Men please.”

~

Satoru was lucky enough to have the whole theater to himself. He settled in the the middle of the aisle in the back. Finally some peace and quiet. The trailers dragged on and finally the fx logo appeared accompanied by an orchestra to signify the arrival of Hugh Jackman and his claws. He got through the first twenty minutes of the film before a familiar voice spoke beside him. 

“There you are,” his father softly spoke. 

Satoru sighed. He had felt his father’s presence before he could see him and sure enough a guard from the Gojo estate stood expecactantly at the end of the aisle. 

“How did you find me?” Satoru asked. 

“There were reports of two curse users retreating from a white haired threat. You don’t exactly blend in Satoru,” the old man chuckled. 

Satoru reluctantly stood up. “Are we going now?”

Much to his surprise his father sat down in the seat next to his. “What do you mean? The film just started.”

The security guard stepped forward. “Sir-”

He held up a hand to stop him. “Call my brother and tell him well be back at the estate later this evening. And have a few more guards on standby to patrol the mall. Can’t be too careful.”

The guard stepped out of the theater to make the call. Satoru’s father patted the seat next to him and Satoru hesitantly sat back down.”

“This is from that cartoon you used to like?” his father asked. 

“Yeah and the comics, you remember that?”

“Of course I do.”

The two of them settled in for the rest of the movie. 

~

“Well that was interesting. Did you enjoy the film?”

Satoru nodded as he walked alongside his father out of the theater. 

“And the white haired character? What was her name?”

“Storm.”

“She’s you’re favorite?”

Satoru nodded in excitement. He rarely got the opportunity to talk about things like this with others, his mind wandered back to the groups of kids in the arcade.

“Storm’s the strongest.”

His father smiled. “Then it’s fitting that she’s your favorite character.”

Satoru looked up to him and smiled back wishing he could stay there forever.

~

Instead of going straight home Satoru’s father takes him to the mall food court. “If you were just eating candy you’ll give yourself a belly ache.”

So his father buys him a cheeseburger with fries and a cherry coke along with a small salad for himself. 

Gojo notices how the security guard is eyeing the current head of the Gojo clan, it’s the same way everyone else has been looking at him, cautious of the possibility of him breaking. His father’s health hadn’t been doing so well, doctors and nurses were a frequent sighting around his room and it was clear how weak he really was. Over the last year he’d grown thin, his cheeks were so hollow. The salad in front of him was just for show, he’d only be able to get a few bites down before heaving it back up. At night he’d hear his Uncle and the rest of the men talking about how preparations needed to be made, how Satoru’s training needed to be accelerated so he’d be ready to assume the role of clan head. But he dind’t want to be the head, he wanted his father. His mother had passed when he was a baby, leaving her husband and son in the snake pit. And if his father left…

“Satoru? You’re crying.”

He hadn’t noticed. But sure enough salty tears ran down his face, staining his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“Son,” he murmured, extending his arms out.

It was rare, growing up in such a tradition family, to show emotions and be vulnerable. But Satoru rushed to his arms and let his father hold him. He knew if he didn’t he’d regret it. 

“Dad,” he muttered in his chest, cherishing the sound of his beating heart. 

“I know you’re sorry. And I’m sorry to. You’re so young but the weight of the world is on your shoulders.”

He pulled away and looked at his son in the eyes, those infinite blue eyes that connected the sea and the sky in harmony. 

“I know it seems lonely now. But someday you’ll be surrounded by people who love you. No one should be alone. Don’t worry. Let’s just go home.”

[techav]

Revisiting Wrap030 Disk Access

I have more ideas for projects than time or budget to work on them. Already this year I've gone completely through the design process for two new large homebrew projects that are currently too large for my project budget, plus a few small ones I never got around to ordering. So rather than spend more than I should taking on a new project, I decided to revisit an existing one.

It's been over a year since I last worked on the original Wrap030 project — my old stack-of-boards MC68030 system. Its current configuration includes the main board with CPU, ROM, RAM, UART, & glue logic; a hand-wired breakout board to add a second UART; a custom video output board; and a mezzanine board with FPU and provision for an IDE disk that is not yet working. It has been functional in this configuration since last February.

My goal for this project from the beginning was to build something capable of running a proper operating system, like Unix System V or Linux. To do that though, I'm going to need to get disk access working.

I had started on disk access, but didn't quite have it functional when I turned my focus to integrating all of boards into the single Wrap030-ATX motherboard. I had added IDE cycles to the CPLD on the mezzanine board, and had added a few rough drafts of disk functions to my ROM. I set the project aside when I realized my function for checking dish presence was reporting a disk was present when there wasn't one.

I have worked with IDE before — my original 68000 project had an IDE port on it. I had gotten that project to the point where I could read a sector of data from the disk, but never could wrap my head around how to actually navigate even a simple file system like FAT16. It was this code that I had adapted for Wrap030, so when it didn't work, I assumed it was a problem with my logic.

Turns out I had just inadvertently clobbered a register in the disk check function. The logic worked just fine. I was able to write a couple quick BASIC programs to read a sector of data and even run code from the boot sector.

My assembly function for reading data from disk however was still not working.

I tried rewriting it.

I tried rewriting it in C instead of assembly.

I tried again, and again, and again. I added delays and loops and print statements and everything I could think of. I scoured datasheets, read though all the different release versions of the ATA specification, ported code from other projects, looked at every example of reading from an IDE disk I could find.

No matter what I did, I always got the same result.

This did not make any sense. Reading from an IDE disk involves setting up the sector address, the number of sectors to transfer, sending a read command, and then reading the IDE data port 256 times per sector. Each time the data port is read, the disk will give another 16-bit word of data. But for some reason, all I was getting was the first word of data returned 256 times.

There is nothing in the specification to explain this.

I knew there was nothing wrong with my logic, because I could read the data just fine with my BASIC program or by manually poking the right addresses using the monitor. Maybe there was some edge case affecting timing when running in assembly, but even adding delay loops and print statements didn't have any effect.

I reached out for help. I got great feedback on my read functions and my timing and how IDE and CompactFlash cards worked, but still could not solve this problem.

But then @ZephyrZ80 noticed something —

I had shared my code and was explaining that I had added some extra NOP instructions to enforce minimum time between IDE access cycles in PIO-0 mode. At 25MHz with cache enabled, the 68030 can complete an instruction in as little as 80ns, so a few NOPs would ensure enough time elapsed between cycles.

With cache enabled.

… cache enabled.

… cache.

The 68030 has 256 bytes of data cache. My disk read function is running in a tight loop that only really hits a few addresses; not nearly enough to invalidate and flush the entire 256 bytes of cache. The CPU does have a cache inhibit signal to use with peripherals that return new data on subsequent access to the same address, but it turns out I was only asserting it when accessing the UART on the main board.

It's a simple enough hypothesis to test. When I initially added support in my ROM for enabling cache at startup, I included user functions for enabling and disabling cache.

… It was cache all along.

Now I need to add some way to inhibit cache while accessing the IDE port, and then I can move on to trying to use the disk for loading programs.

[chvoswxtch]

Hey have a Matt X reader request.

Matt smells the reader is sick, at the doctor comes out that she has cancer Matt takes care of her and when the first hair falls out he shaves off his beautiful hair to stand by her.

Got the diagnosis 3 years ago and now the cancer is back.

Would be happy if you accept the request.

hi my darling,

thank you so much for trusting me with this request. I really hope I did you justice, and that this is what you were looking for. I also sincerely hope you're doing well and feeling good day. sending you so much love & light. 💘

warning: mentions of sickness, a lil angst, light swearing, mainly fluff & comfort word count: 2.6k

in sickness & in health.

Even though he knew it wasn’t actually his fault, Matt couldn’t stop the guilt that flooded through his veins when you got the diagnosis. He had been the one to tell you that you should go to the doctor. There was something off inside your body, and he could smell the scent of sickness that started to linger in your blood. That, and you also hadn’t been feeling well lately. Matt wouldn’t let it go, and you couldn’t compete with his stubbornness, but as that one word was uttered in the doctor’s office, his entire world came crashing down. 

Cancer.

The blood immediately drained from Matt’s face as that one simple word cut through the silence of the office, and the terrified rhythm of your heartbeat thrashed loudly in his ears. He clenched his jaw to keep his bottom lip from trembling, steadying his own emotions as he reached for your quivering hand, gripping onto it tightly as a silent affirmation of ‘I’m here’. The doctor assured both of you that since it had been caught so early, treatment would be effective to send it into remission, and her steady heartbeat allowed Matt to breathe a little easier that she was telling the truth, not granting false hope with a sympathetic tone. 

Still, he felt guilty.

And that guilt only spread when you started chemotherapy. The scent of the chemicals that were being pumped into your body made Matt’s stomach churn, and the scent was almost unbearable, but he refused to leave you alone. He held your hand the entire time, making sure to bring your favorite blanket and a pair of fuzzy slippers to keep you warm and comfortable. He brought books to read to you, but oftentimes you requested to hear him work on his opening and closing arguments, helping him tweak them to perfection. It helped you both take your mind off of why you were at the hospital, and actually helped Matt improve his delivery in the courtroom. 

Foggy and Karen even joined the two of you most days. Karen read you the rough drafts of her latest articles, turning you into her personal editor as she took your feedback and crafted some of her best work. Foggy just liked to bring you new snacks and drinks to try together. The chemo made you sensitive to a lot of scents and tastes, unable to enjoy things that used to be your favorites, but Foggy had turned it into a fun game trying to discover the strangest and most intriguing flavors to try. Lately, he had been on a Korean kick, finding a bodega that exclusively sold popular Korean snacks and drinks.

Even though your body ached and you were constantly sick from the chemo, the three of them kept your spirits high.

But still, Matt felt guilty.

The day your hair had started to fall out was the worst. At first it was just a few strands here and there, nothing too noticeable, but then one day when you were in the shower, it started to come out in clumps, and you broke down on the floor. Matt panicked when he heard your sobs, bursting into the bathroom and stepping into the shower with you, completely unphased by the fact that he was fully dressed and now completely soaking wet. He pulled you into his arms as you clung to his body, rocking you back and forth slowly as he tried to gently coax you to tell him what was wrong. He thought maybe you had fallen. He didn’t like you taking showers without him or when he wasn’t home, since you had been weaker than usual lately from the chemo, and he didn’t want to risk you hurting yourself. As he began to run his fingers through your wet hair and noticed how much staying wrapped around his fingers, his heart broke at the realization of why you were so upset.

“Hey…shh, it’s alright. It’s alright, sweetheart. You’re okay. I’ve got you. It’s gonna be okay, baby. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

After about a week of feeling distraught about losing your hair, you decided you were going to shave it all off. There was a pained look on Matt’s face as you looked at him in the mirror, reaching behind you to give his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Hey, it’s just hair. I’d rather be alive and healthy than have it. Besides, I’ve kinda always wanted to see if I could pull off the G.I. Jane, look.”

Matt tried to offer you a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It didn’t even reach the edges of his mouth. Letting out a soft sigh, you turned around to face him, placing your hands on his cheeks to cup his jaw.

“Matty, none of this is your fault.”

“I told you to go to the doctor.”

“Which saved my life. Without you…I don’t know if I would’ve gone to the doctor at all. I might have never caught it until it was too late. But you caught it. You saved me. Do not feel guilty about that.”

Matt let out a shaky breath as he closed his eyes for a moment, settling his hands on your waist to pull you close into his chest.

“I…I hate that you’re in pain. I hate that you’re sick. I hate that I can’t do anything about it.”

Matt wasn’t used to feeling so helpless. He had always sworn to protect you. He’d give his life for you. But right now he felt like he was failing you, because he couldn’t protect you from your own body. He couldn’t save you from the threat within you. All of his training, all of his heightened senses, none of it mattered. Being the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was useless against a threat that wasn’t tangible. 

The day you had gotten your diagnosis, Matt had run to his church, falling to his knees at the altar to pray over and over and over. He begged God not to take you like He had taken everyone else. He swore he would never forgive Him if he did. You were the one loss Matt could never make peace with. He pleaded with God to take your place. He could take it. His body had suffered far worse. He’d do anything…anything if God would just save you. You were the embodiment of an angel that deserved mercy, and Matt struggled with rage that it was granted to the Devil within him instead.

He deserved the sickness. He deserved to be punished. He deserved to face the Angel of Death, not you. 

But God wouldn’t let him take your place. 

He pondered if this was his punishment for all his sins; to endure the person he loved most in the world suffering for his own wrongdoings. Father Lantom argued that not everything that had ever gone wrong in Matt’s life was a punishment, but perhaps a lesson. Maybe to finally teach him the importance of balance, and figuring out what was most important in his life. That life was precious and fleeting, and it wasn’t to be taken for granted, but to be cherished. That God was not a merciless being hellbent on singling out Matthew Murdock, even if it sometimes felt that way. 

“Matty, you are at every single appointment with me, even though I know it makes you feel as sick as it does me. You have been right by my side, every step of the way. You and Karen and Foggy have made me feel so…hopeful. I’m not scared because I have you. You have sacrificed so much for me lately, just to be here with me and make sure I’m okay.”

“In sickness and in health, right?”

A tender smile graced your lips as you brushed your thumb along Matt’s cheek bone, staring up into his blank hazel eyes that shone with contrition. 

“We’re not married, Matty.”

“Not yet.”

Matt took pleasure in the way a soft gasp slipped past your lips and your heart rate sped up, using the opportunity to pull you in closer to his chest and press a tender kiss to your lips. The doctors had warned you both that it would get worse before it got better, and even though you were constantly in pain and getting sick, the chemotherapy was working. Matt had been thinking a lot about your future lately, and he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. He had decided that as soon as the cancer was gone and you were feeling healthy again, he was going to ask you to marry him. He wasn’t going to waste even a second of your lives together any longer.

“Don’t make me a promise you can’t keep, Murdock.”

“Have I ever?”

The smile that graced Matt’s lips was more genuine this time, and you melted into his chest with one of your own. You knew as hard as all of this had been on you lately, it had been just as hard on him, and sometimes you felt just as guilty as he did for it. 

“Not that I know of. Now, are you going to give me the best haircut I’ve ever gotten, or should I call Foggy? He said he’s been watching a lot of hair cutting tutorials lately and he’s very confident in his abilities.”

“He’s full of shit. He watches one tutorial and thinks he can do anything.”

A giggle slipped past your lips at Matt’s words, turning around to face the mirror as Matt picked up the scissors that were on the counter. As you captured your bottom lip between your teeth, Matt placed his hand on your shoulder to squeeze it gently, giving you a lopsided smile in the mirror.

“You must really love me, and trust me, to let your blind boyfriend give you a haircut.”

“Well, if you mess it up, it’s just gonna get shaved off anyway. And besides, if you draw any blood, I have a good lawyer.”

Matt’s lips split into a wide grin, and he couldn’t help but chuckle and shake his head at your words. Taking a deep breath, he nodded his head in your direction as he rubbed his hand soothingly over your shoulder.

“You ready?”

“I’m ready.”

Matt was extremely cautious as he cut your hair, checking in with you every few minutes, occasionally stopping to gently squeeze your shoulder or kiss your cheek. Once it was short enough, he picked up the clippers and turned them on, the loud buzzing noise causing you to jump slightly. Matt halted his movements, cocking his head to the side slightly as he studied you.

“Do you need a minute?”

“No…no it just…startled me, that’s all. I’m okay.”

Pausing for a moment, he waited to hear the falter in your rhythm, but it never came. He gave a slight nod of his head, carefully turning you around to face him and delicately holding onto the back of your neck as he shaved off the rest. You closed your eyes as you held onto the cross necklace around his neck, feeling the tickle of your hair coating your shoulders and neck. You tried your hardest to will away the overwhelming emotions you felt, reminding yourself that it was just hair, and it would grow back eventually. Once he was finished, Matt wiped you off with a towel and darted his tongue out quickly to wet his lips as he smiled timidly. 

“All done. How’d I do?”

Taking a deep breath, you turned around to face yourself in the mirror, a sharp gasp falling past your lips. Matt instantly froze, listening to the way your heart rate spiked, and tasting the familiar tang of salt in the air as tears welled in your eyes. 

“That bad, huh? Should I stick to law?”

A soft giggle slipped past your lips as you shook your head, quickly wiping at your eyes and sniffling as you looked at Matt in the mirror.

“No…no no you…you did great. You did really great, actually.”

Matt nibbled at his bottom lip anxiously, wrapping his arms around you from behind as he flashed you a somber smile.

“Then why are you upset, baby?”

“I just…wasn’t expecting…I don’t know. I don’t know how to feel right now.”

Matt nodded slowly, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder as he held you close.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. It’s gonna be an adjustment, right? Do you wanna put on the beanie Karen made you?”

Karen had recently gotten into knitting, and had made you several things while she sat with you during your appointments. She had recently made you a soft beanie in your favorite color that had a cute flower pattern on it and a cute fluffy pom on the top. She’d even made Matt a red one that had little horns, much to your amusement.

“No, not right now. I think I need to um…get…let it…just sit with it, maybe?”

“Whatever you need, angel. Take your time.”

“I should probably take a shower. I already feel itchy.”

“I’ll join you. But first-”

Matt unwrapped his arms from around your waist, picking up the clippers to hand to you as he moved to sit down on the toilet seat. You stared over at him in confusion, glancing between him and the clippers he had placed in your hand.

“What are you giving me these for?”

“Because it’s my turn.”

Your eyes immediately widened at his words, shaking your head quickly as you started to protest.

“What? No…Matt, you can’t-”

“It’s just hair, honey. It’ll grow back, right?”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked over at Matt, noting the sincere and warm smile on his face. He held one of his hands out for you which you instantly took, sniffling as he laced your fingers together.

“I told you that I wouldn’t let you go through this alone.”

“I know…but you haven’t, not at all. You don’t have to do this-”

“I want to. Besides, we can add with or without hair to our vows.”

“What if I mess it up?”

“We can call Foggy, see if he’s as good as he says.”

Matt lightly shrugged his shoulders as he looked up in your direction with a warm smile, giving your hand another tight squeeze. You couldn’t help but look down at him in complete adoration and awe, leaning in to kiss his lips softly.

“I love you so much, Matty.”

“I love you so much, angel.”

“You should probably take your shirt off. If the hair on my skin is driving me crazy, it’s going to drive you insane.”

The edge of Matt’s mouth curled up into a smirk as he quirked one of his eyebrows, reaching for the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head.

“If you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was ask.”

“Don’t distract me, Matthew. You have to be in court tomorrow.”

“Good thing I have hats and a beanie from Karen.”

Turns out, you weren’t as skilled of a barber as Matt was, and Foggy was thrilled to come over and prove himself to his best friend.

“Doubt me again, and I’ll shave your eyebrows off in your sleep.”

“You’d shave off a blind man’s eyebrows?”

“I’m a heathen, Murdock. You know that. God, it is absolutely annoying how good you still look without hair.”

“Isn’t it? He’s so unfair.”

The tips of Matt’s ears turned bright red as you and Foggy took turns showering him in compliments while Foggy worked, loving the way a flustered shade of pink coated his cheeks.

“Maybe we should shave his eyebrows, Fog.”

“I think you’re right, Y/N/N. I think we should.”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042

[i-rove-rock-n-roll]

How to write a book

Writing a good story is like building a house from scratch

So structure is the core of the house, the way your story is organized, it’s rise and fall in plot beats and stuff. To build a sturdy house you need good bones, something strong to stick in the foundation (initial idea). It’s not enough to have a good idea, but you need to chart a way to implement it. Even if it’s just in your own head, you need to know the rough arc of your story (if you’re an architect writer that is, gardener writers work differently) to be able to lift the frame into something resembling a house that can stand on its own. Up next is insulation. That would be word usage, description, the fluffy stuff that you should never actually touch inside your wall that does not taste like cotton candy, don’t let it lie to you. This is where you go from the bare essentials, like bullet points, to slightly more descriptive scenes linking the scenario together. The story isn’t complete by any means, don’t let it fool you. Hell, the first draft isn’t even done, this is just the beginning.

The next thing to install is the drywall. That would be the filler scenes you hate writing that make the book more palatable. Without it, it’s just a few random scenes stapled together with nothing connecting them. Random time jumps? Where did that sword come from? Wait, I thought Eric was dating Audrey not Antony—stuff like that.

Next up is the fun stuff. Plumbing.

Now, plumbing isn’t as messy as it appears. This is where you go from your first draft that’s maybe a little too long to too short, and either adding or subtracting as much bullshit as possible. (Said lovingly, of course)

Plumbing you need to get your hands dirty, if only for a brief time, by killing your darlings. It’s not enough to simply erase, but to rewrite so that their corpse is invisible to the naked eye. That or you’re stuff as many darlings into the house as you can. They’re spilling out of the closets, the oven, the shoe rack. Send help—

After plumbing, your first draft is done and your house is complete. Sure, you don’t have electricity or a nice paint job or even a place to sleep, but you’re kept nice and dry when it rains.

Part two of building a house/story involves decorating! The fun shit!

And by that I mean editing.

(Brb while I scream into the void)

Part two coming up

[wipbigbang]

2024 Reverse WIP Big Bang Schedule & FAQ!

Schedule

All times are by 11:59pm PST. Convert time zones.

Sign-ups Begin- June 3rd Sign-ups Close- June 30th Check In #1 - July 1st Thumbnails Due - July 22nd Fic Claims Begin – July 29th Fic Claims End – August 7th Rough Drafts Due- August 15th Posting Claims Begin- August 23rd Posting Claims Ends- September 1st Final Drafts/Fic Due- September 7th Posting Starts- September 8th

FAQ

What is the Reverse WIP Big Bang? Good question! This is a Big Bang with one goal in mind: to clean out your fanart/original art drafts folder. Any art that is of a digital or traditional means as well as fanvideos are eligible. If you’ve started word on an art/fanvid project and want an impetus to finish, maybe with a fic written in honor of it, now is your chance!

Do I need a Livejournal/Dreamwidth/AO3/etc. account to participate? No! You don’t have to have an account on anything to participate, though you will need to have somewhere to post your finished work. Having one or more accounts will help for you to follow what is going on with the bang (we crosspost to Dreamwidth and Tumblr and heavily use our Discord server at the moment), but they are not required to participate. You can always leave comments anonymously or with an opensource ID.

How many art pieces can we sign up for? We absolutely don’t mind multiple sign-ups. As this is a trial, run, however, we ask that you limit yourself to three unfinished projects that are at least 10% complete upon sign-up. We just ask that when you sign up with more than one art piece/fanvid you give each project a unique user ID (please do not use the same ID for all your art...it’s important to have different IDs for the check-ins).

Will I get emails about the bang? We do send out some emails, mostly for thumbnails and fic claims and to ensure communication between authors and artists, but please do NOT rely on getting an email to remind you of due dates. We currently do not keep an updated email list of participants, so we only send individual emails as needed rather than mass emails.

However, email is the fastest way to communicate with the mods. If you have any questions or are having trouble communicating with your artist/author, please do email us! We will do our best to respond quickly.

What do you mean by 10% done to enter? This is a WIP Big Bang, therefore we ask you to have at least 10% of your art started/drafted when you enter. It’s up to you to determine what 10% is to your project; unlike the regular WIPBB we have no hard and fast guidelines for this part.

What about art that is already posted somewhere in part? Do those qualify for the bang? It's okay if you have posted a WIP sketch or an outline of a fanvideo, we just require you to refrain from posting more until posting begins here. All we ask is that you not post any public updates to the project(s) you’re entering until September 1st. We don’t want you to lose kudos and comments and likes so don’t worry about pulling the art down, just hold off on updates for now.

Is there a minimum that needs to be met as an artist? Nope! When the art is done, that’s it! You’ve finished it and that’s the important part. If you’re a writer, however, your writing needs to be at least 750 words.

Is there anything not allowed? We ask that if you have nudity you post a link to the art on Tumblr/post it behind a cut on Dreamwidth. Other than that, anything is included, including original art.

I have a project I did a few years ago, but it needs a major revision. Is that something I could use for WIP Big Bang? The entire project has been posted, but only on one platform, and it would be redone for the Reverse WIPBB. That’s perfectly fine, as long as it’s a mostly/completely revised project when you finish it for the Reverse WIPBB.

What's the etiquette around OC-centric art? Ones that are set in a well known fandom and use several characters, but still lean a lot on original characters? Are they discouraged, or fine? Those are absolutely fine! You just need to be aware that an author may need more than just the art to incorporate the OC into the fic, if you opt to have fiction written for your art (as with WIPBB, opting in for the fic is an optional thing; if you don’t want fic for your project, skip turning in a thumbnail)

What are 'check-ins’? These are a way for us to see what you've been up to and for you to make sure you're still on track. It will give you a little nudge/reminder if you need it, but they are not compulsory. Basically a form is posted that you fill out with your user ID (unique for each art project) and a checkbox to let us know you’re still participating, plus a section for any notes for the mods.

How are the check in IDs used? They are solely for the mods organizational purposes. Each ID being for a separate art project allows us to keep all the information you submit during check-ins and for snippets in one line on our spreadsheet. You don’t have to share your check in IDs with anyone else if you don’t want to.

How much progress should authors be making between each checkpoint? (Percentage-wise from our estimated completion, I guess?) As this first round is a shortened trial run, you should try and have at least 33% - 50% done by check in #2, depending on when you signed up

What are the thumbnail requirements? Basically it should be a rough outline of the completed piece or at least enough to show the intent of your art project so a writer can decide if they want to write something for it. It can be a video clip for fanvideos or an actual piece of art for digital/traditional art/ Along with the snippets, we will send your writer the basic art info (fandom, characters involved, warnings, etc.) and your email, so the two of you can collaborate more if you would both like.

What are the rough drafts requirements? For the rough drafts, the project should be at least 75% complete. You will not have to turn them in to us, just assure us that you are at that point. Anything less is at the discretion of the mods and those authors should speak to one of the mods asap.

What is, and do I need, a beta if I’m a writer making fic for art? A beta is basically a person who goes over your work to make sure that there are no spelling/grammatical errors and they can even be of assistance in helping you with story lines, etc. It is highly recommended that a beta looks over your work before posting. If you are having trouble finding a beta, try this post.

Where can I post my fic/art? Stories and art can be posted to your own personal journal, Tumblr, ff-net, AO3, or wherever you like. For those of you with AO3 accounts, we will set up a collection that will go live on the day of the posting specifically for the Reverse WIPBB fic/art. If you don’t currently have an AO3 account but would like one, you can contact the mods for an invitation code to see if they have any available. You can also add yourself to the AO3 Invites Request queue.

What does posting look like? Do we have to post the whole thing on the day, or can we stretch it out between when posting starts and our date? For most projects, posting to AO3/FF.net/other places will be allowed to start in September (on the 1st) and you can stretch it out as many posts as you want as long as the complete art project/fic is up by your posting date (and posting dates go from September 8th to November 15th with two weeks for emergency posting). We’re only asking for a 750 word minimum work from any author who chooses art this round, as there’s only about a one month turnaround from fic claims ending to final drafts being due, but we want to work with writers to give them ample time to post the story up to their posting date if they write something longer.

Now, as for posting to the communities, you get to choose which day your link to the story and bragging rights are posted, and as I said, we have a range of dates from September 8th to November 15th with four stories posting a day for both WIPBB and Reverse WIPBB (both big bangs will use the same form to claim posting dates). If for some reason you miss your posting date, you have until November 30th to post to the community, during the two weeks of emergency posting, with a possible extension after that due to the amount of participants needing to post later. So hopefully there should be plenty of time to get a longfic up and posted to the website of your choice and our BB as well as the art project that inspired it.

How do I know when to post? Posting will be tiered; you'll each get your own posting date that you and your artist will decide on together. There will probably be four fics/art slots a day posting per day between September 8th and November 30th. The post with date claims will go up on August 23rd and you'll have to choose your date by September 1st. Posting will be for both big bangs at the same time, but posting can probably extend to December 31st if needed due to the amount of participants.

Posting has to be finished by your chosen posting date to the comm. One of the things we're hoping to do with the posted dates is to give everybody on the comm a little bragging time in the spotlight. You know, "this art project was incomplete for this long, but I finished this sucker." If you don't have time to post your bragging rights to the communities on your chosen posting date, you can queue up a post ahead of time and we can post it on the date you picked or you can email us your bragging rights and we can post by proxy for you. Either way works for us. Final versions of the fics will be due on the chosen posting date to the comm.

What am I posting to the Dreamwidth/Tumblr community if I’m posting the art elsewhere? You’ll be posting what we call bragging rights. It’s a small form you fill out and post to the community with a link to your fic (we’ll enable moderated posting to the Tumblr, Livejournal and Dreamwidth communities for members on August 8th). We will post a template for posting artwork and stories to the comm closer to the posting date.

Is there a minimum/maximum requirement for my fic? There is no strict maximum, but we do ask authors to remember that the artists are making a project that takes time to finalize and your writing should reflect that. You can do anything you like, including fanfic or original fic if it’s an original artwork, but it must be at least 750 words. We also ask that when you are in contact with the author, you work with them to see if there is anything specific they would like (i.e. if they have a certain plot idea in mind, if there are certain other characters not in the art they don’t mind being included, etc.). The fic is your work, but having ideas doesn't hurt!

What are 'fic claims'? The claims are when the thumbnails and the anonymous summaries of the art go up for writers to choose from. Writer sign-ups and fic claims are the same thing; we use one form for both things, specifically for the reverse bang, and that way the authors don’t have to sign up for an event they may not end up participating in. It is based on a 'first come, first served' basis and artists may choose up to three potential pieces of art (in case their first choice is unavailable). If there are more art pieces than writers, there will be a second round of claims wherein artists may choose a second story to work with.

As this is a trial run, we are not guaranteeing fic for all unclaimed stories, but I will try.

If an art project up for claiming is rated explicit (R, NC-17, etc.), please only claim the story if you are over 18 years of age. Some artists may be uncomfortable working with underage authors on explicit works. We do not verify ages in any way for the bang, so this is solely on the honor system.

What do I do if I have problems or concerns about my author/artist? Sometimes authors and artists do not get along and this may cause problems with working together. If this happens to b the case with you, please email the mods and we will try to do what we can so that everyone has a chance to have fun at Reverse WIP Big Bang!

If you have not heard from your author/artist in some time after trying to contact them, you can reach out to us via email and we will try to get in touch with them for you.

Can I get an extension? Community extensions may be given in the event that the majority of the authors/artists need one. They may also be given individually under certain circumstances, but this must be discussed with the mods and will only be a short extension for posting. If you are certain that you won’t be able to finish your art project in time, please let us know by July 13th.

Can I swap out an art project if my muse abandons it again? When you sign up, you give us the information on the potential art project(s) you want to create. If, say, one project isn’t working but one you didn’t sign up for is, you can switch them out while letting the mods know if you need to change a user ID you used. It is absolutely okay to switch art projects all the way up until thumbnails are due if you would like it to be considered for fic claims; otherwise, if you are not submitting the art project for a fic claim, you have until final drafts are due to swap out and finish a project. Just drop an email to the mods at wipbigbang@gmail.com with the new information (characters, fandom, etc) and if you want a new sign in ID or plan to use the same one for the art project you’re replacing it with.

Can I drop out? We have high hopes that everybody who signs up can actually finish the round and share in the joy of the reveal with us, but real life can unfortunately get in the way and we completely understand! If you feel like you just cannot finish in time and no amount of assistance from us can help you, just let us know by August 13th (if at all possible).

Is it possible to be banned? We do have a banned users list. We hope to use this to encourage participants who are having issues to communicate with the mods. We want to help you! The way the ban works is that participants, either authors and artists, will be banned for dropping out without notifying a mod. This means that anyone who has not posted or talked to a mod by the time the posting period ends will be banned. Dropping out is not in and of itself a banning offense, so please do not panic if you have to drop out! We understand that there are many reasons you may need to drop, and we want to work with you.

Bans will last one round or until the issue is resolved, whichever comes first. To resolve a ban, authors will have to finish and post the story they signed up with and artists will have to finish and post the art for the story they claimed. Three bans will result in a permanent ban from the bang.

Are we allowed to participate without joining the Discord? Absolutely! The Discord server is optional, as just another way to interact with your fellow writers and get updates on important dates. It’s not mandatory you join, however.

I was just wondering if there’s any way to enter the bang anonymously? Like would it be okay to put our work in an anonymous collection on ao3 or something? Unfortunately, I can’t think of a way for that to work. The collection that we use is moderated but it’s not anonymous, and there are the bragging posts that you post on your posting day, which you would have your username on whichever platform you use.

I was just wondering whether I'm sworn to secrecy on which art projects I'll be finishing up, or if I can shout it out to the world? No one is sworn to secrecy once they’ve signed up (aside from posting new updates to the art project that’s already up somewhere…we ask that you refrain from doing that until at least September 1st)! The Discord server is specifically for chatting with your fellow authors and artists, if you need to vent or need a boost of conficence or just want to brag, but you can also do that in other social media spaces like Tumblr or Facebook.

I have a question/concern that’s not mentioned here. If you need help, you can always contact a mod and we will do our best to make sure that you get your story/art finished. The best and fastest method of contact is through our email, wipbigbang@gmail.com.

[thesymphonytrue]

24. “It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.” for Neal and Peter

Okay this turned into a full FIC??? lol. I may clean it up later (this is a super rough draft I literally wrote in a half hour 😅) and post it to AO3 if you all think it's worth it?? (Maybe the other prompts too honestly? ) lol it's similar to another fic I've posted but........can't have enough, right?

Also, season 1 spoilers and finale spoilers!!

“It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.”

Peter woke to clanging resonating up his townhome stairs into his ears, shaking his brain sufficiently enough to warrant getting out of bed. Grumbling to himself, he shuffled downstairs to find Neal kneeling on the kitchen counter, arms stretched up and his hand elbow deep into their top cabinets.

Peter sighed and ran a hand down his face. Since Kate’s plane had blown up two days before, Neal had stayed with Peter and Elizabeth. The authorities (authorities with more control over Neal than Peter, unfortunately) deliberated as to when (not if) to send Neal back to prison and demanded Neal be under twenty-four hour surveillance until Neal's re-admittance date (which happened to be tomorrow).

Not that Peter would want Neal un-supervised right now, anyway. The kid had drunk himself into oblivion both nights, crashing onto the Burke’s couch in a heap of fitful laughter and mutterings of Van Gogh and Picasso. Peter longed to take Neal into his arms and try to heal his wounds, but the words got caught in his throat and his hands grew stiff if he tried to reach out to Neal. The past two evenings had ended with Peter tossing a blanket over Neal, watching him sleep for a few moments, and then collapsing into his own bed with Elizabeth with exhaustion.

“Neal,” Peter said, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms as he took a stance in the kitchen.

“Goodmorning, Peter!” Neal said chipperly, “I have coffee brewing!”

Peter sniffed, sure enough, Neal did have an excellent roast wafting through the air--along with the distinct scent of suppressing emotions, like grief.

“Whatcha need up there?” Peter asked suspiciously.

“Ahhh…got it!” Neal leapt off the counter and waltzed over to his already-steaming cup of coffee.

In his hand gleamed a clear bottle of…

“Vodka?” Peter sputtered, eyes widening as he reached to snatch the bottle from Neal.

Since when was Neal his teenage son with an underdeveloped prefrontal cortex?!

Neal’s eyes slid to Peter as he raised the bottle out of Peter’s grasp, plucked off the cap, and poured at least a half cup into his coffee.

Peter let out a growl as he managed to grab the vodka bottle and place his hand flat over the coffee mug to prevent Neal from picking it up.

“Peter!” Neal whined.

“It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.”

“In Paris, it’s noon.”

“Still not an appropriate time to have vodka.”

“But—”

Peter slid the mug to the sink and dumped its contents.

Silence.

The hum of the fridge.

Neal’s breathing, in and out.

Kate's plane exploding again and again and again. Ears ringing, heat suffocating, Neal's cries....

Neal turned to look out the window to the patio, the back of his head displaying a rather wild patch of bedhead. It dawned on Peter that he’d never seen Neal so disheveled. In a t-shirt and pajama pants, Neal’s normally perfect hair was untamed, his shoulders slouched.

Peter stepped forward quietly, taking a glance at Neal’s face: dark bags tainted his perfect skin, his blue eyes bloodshot.

“Neal?” Peter said softly.

The silence continued and Peter almost turned away to put the vodka in his high-security safe when Neal whispered:

“She’s gone, Peter.”

Peter’s heart clenched.

Oh Neal.

He set the vodka on the counter and placed a hand on Neal’s shoulder.

“I know,” Peter said, giving Neal’s shoulder a squeeze, “I’m so sorry.”

Neal’s face crumbled, tears tumbling down his cheeks, all of his suppressed emotions giving way to a raw, hurting human.

“Let it out, Neal,” Peter said, enveloping Neal into a hug, "It's alright."

“I wish she was still here,” Neal said, hot tears spilling onto Peter’s neck.

“I know,” Peter repeated, unsure what to say, but continued to hold Neal tightly as Neal's shoulders shook from crying.

“At least you’re still here.”

The words Neal spoke were so inaudible that Peter knew they were not meant for his ears, but his heart still shattered on to the kitchen floor. He kept his arms around Neal, hoping that his wordless communication would be enough.

I’ll always be here for you.

~~~~~~~~

Years later, Post-Finale

Peter tore out of his bed, his shirt was soaked with sweat, mind running in circles tight enough to choke his heart. El slept soundlessly next to him (cuddling with her pregnancy pillow, not Peter) so Peter tiptoed downstairs and began to brew a cup of coffee.

Everywhere Peter looked, Neal stared back at him. Neal sat on the couch, grinning wildly. Neal was throwing his rubber-band ball in the office. Neal flipped his hat at Peter’s front door. Neal laughed as he and Elizabeth ate dinner.

Those intelligent, bright eyes, his handsome smile, the way he made Peter crazy and so fulfilled all at the same time.

Peter’s eyes burned as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push Neal’s face from his mind.

Please, leave me alone. Peter pleaded, suddenly willing to do anything to just erase the memory of Neal, to dull the pain.

In a mad frenzy, Peter climbed onto the counter and reached into the highest cabinet, pulling out a bottle of vodka. He opened the bottle and proceeded to combine the vodka with his coffee, humming to himself as he murmured:

“Just to take the edge off…”

He was going to be a father in a few weeks, he couldn’t be still dealing with this greif—-

“It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.”

Startled at the smooth male voice, Peter looked up.

There was Neal, alive, in his kitchen, dressed impeccably in a beautiful suit and Devore fedora. His eyes were glittering, his skin rosy, his chest rising and falling with life.

Peter shook his head, trying to shake the vision.

“You’re not real,” Peter said, blinking his eyes to try and banish Neal.

He opened his eyes and Neal was still there, pouring his vodka-filled coffee cup into the sink.

“Hey!” Peter exclaimed, “It's noon in Paris! You’re in my head, you can’t just—”

Neal's face flickered at the word Paris, a shadow passing as his smile faded.

“Peter,” Neal said softly, his eyes growing melancholy.

“I know,” Peter whispered, “I have to be strong. For El, for…our son.”

Neal nodded and reached a hand to Peter, then retracted it.

“You’re allowed to break down, Peter,” Neal said gently, “But you have to let me go.”

Peter’s eyes filled to the brim, overflowing with hot anger.

“I can’t just let you go! You–you–-were—are– a part of me!” Peter said, slamming a hand against his own chest over his heart, “I—I loved you!”

Sobs overtook Peter’s body as he braced himself against the kitchen counter, the months of holding back his sorrow over Neal’s death finally pouring out.

A slender hand found Peter’s shoulder. Peter turned and pulled Neal into him, Peter didn’t care if this was his grief-ridden mind hallucinating, he was going to hold on to Neal as long as he—

And in an instant, Neal was gone. Peter was on kitchen the floor, hugging himself.

Peter’s heart ached, his body throbbed with the absence of Neal…

But he had a job to do, a husband to be, and father to become.

He took the vodka and dumped it down the sink.

It was time to move on.

~~~~~~

Post-Canon

Peter and Neal stumbled into the kitchen, sides aching from laughter, eyes puffy from tears.

“Boys!” Elizabeth hissed from the living room, “Keep it down! Sleeping baby upstairs!”

They both quieted their giggles as they prowled the kitchen cabinets, searching for something to toast their recent reunion with. Peter had arrived in New York around 3 am, Neal in tow, and they spent the first half-hour at the Burke’s home just staring at Peter's baby son sleeping in his crib. The second half hour was dedicated to a lecture from Elizabeth on Neal’s foolishness. The last two hours were Peter and Neal, sitting on the couch, talking and talking and talking until their throats were dry and all the tears had turned into laughter.

Peter had found Neal, after that year of absolute hell. Neal was alive and here, living and breathing in his townhome once more.

“Let’s just make coffee,” Peter said, “It’s almost six am. God. I’m going to feel like shit today.”

Peter started the coffee. Neal balked.

“No! You cannot welcome me back to New York with coffee–as much as I adore it. Where’s that Bordeaux I sent you last week?”

“Oh, Elizabeth and I drank that immediately.”

“So much for delayed gratification,” Neal snorted.

Peter glared.

“You’ve been dead for a year, I think my skills in delayed gratification are—”

“Okay okay, fair enough,” Neal said quietly, guiltily, the mood dampening.

“I’m pouring us coffee,” Peter stated, grabbing two mugs from a lower shelf.

“How about this?” Neal chirped as he clambered up on the counter and found the vodka bottle (a new one) on the top shelf.

Peter rolled his eyes, but grinned nonetheless.

“It’s six o’clock in the morning—” Peter started.

“...You’re not having vodka,” Neal finished softly, as if he’d said the words before, too, as if Peter’s vision had been real after all.

Peter met Neal’s eyes. He was angry, so angry he could punch Neal for what he’d put him through. But he also was so grateful that Neal was alive, he felt he could vomit right there on the kitchen floor.

“Damn it, Neal,” Peter whispered wetly, unscrewing the cap and pouring a drop in two coffee cups, then filling them with steaming coffee.

“You’re alive,” Peter said, raising his mug to Neal.

Neal swallowed and looked away, unable to meet Peter’s stare.

“Neal,” Peter pressed gently, placing a firm hand on Neal’s shoulder, “I’m glad you’re home.”

A tiny smile cracked through Neal’s lips as those blue eyes grew misty. They clinked mugs and took a sip.

“Me too, Peter, me too.”

Okay, I know it's rough and needs some nice language and descriptions to polish it off...but....I kinda see fic potential? maybe?

THANKS ANON FOR THE PROMPT!!!! :):):)