#will probably back this up on ao3 and ff at some point

[velvetwyrme]

oouuouua please make a follow up on the superhero pap x reader theyre one of my favorites also im excited to see tf fic from yuo

im glad you enjoyed it!!! i got a comment on it recently while i was thinking abt how to continue it and that seemed to click my brain into action LMAO

EHEHEHE hopefully! soon!! ive got a few things in mind but im also waffling over Really Starting because i have so many things ongoing but... auauugh the IDEAS plague me!!!!

also heres a sneak peek into my brain because im in the mood to chatter, but feel free to skip it if you so desire:

for Origin Story im LOOSELY planning any continuation/s to be kinda standalone stories all centered around a superhero trope (like the Origin Story ;]) because i think that could be fun to work with. i enjoyed writing some of the larger Undertale cast, something that i WOULD have liked to do in FF, except Edge and the MC in that are both pretty reclusive socially abfjfbdjdghkf,, oh well.

anyway. i have tons of ideas for the various tropes, so its really a matter of picking a place and Writing. i really want to feature more of Alphys in this because i love her dearly <3

as for TF fic... most of them are reader inserts unsurprisingly lmaooo but ive got a few non-reader inserts floating around there too. im kinda just throwin stuff at the walls of my mind to see what sticks, but heres a few of my draft titles for your perusing pleasure:

into the fire: noble-ish au with a human reader who is supposed to be gifted to one of the members of the household. reader makes a failed escape attempt torn bedsheet style and is saved :] inspired loosely by the visual novels i used to read/play back in high school LMAO. skeletiano, i will forever be sad i could not romance you.

between you, me and soundwave: reader writes rpf abt mechs on earth LMAO. i see people mention humans writing fanfic about Cybertronians in passing but i think itd be funny to put that at the forefront. extremely silly and low stakes fic. probably.

drift compatibility: mecha! pilot! au!! exists purely because i read 1 (one) fic about plugsuits and just went "hmnngh... mecha pilots are fun to imagine interacting with Cybertronians... also there's DRIFT compatibility... i can totally do some fucked up shit with that" and now it's spiralled wildly out of control because at some point i started thinking about Governments and Social Structures and got distracted with worldbuilding lol. i have many many many ideas and i can only hope i can string some of them together so I can EXPLODE it out of my brain either through writing or art. also theres smut that happens wayyyy down the line which ill probably end up writing first and posting separately LMAO

penance is a prison: my take on Titan AU but as a fic because my brain is so so full of thoughts abt this au. i'll probably just end up drawing a lot of these scenes instead but like. its there! partially written!! im emotions abt it!!!

self explanatory long title: human/borrower au constructicons/jazz/prowl poly. i love rare not-so-pairs a lot and im particularly fond of this set. also i just like thinking abt either jazz and prowl getting menaced by a bunch of tiny guys OR the opposite where a group of construction workers have two borrower roommates. this one is more just random idea dumps instead of a fic but still fun to think about LMAO

ALSO! MINI REC. while you wait for me to (eventually maybe) write TF fic, you should check out boostergoldishh's works on ao3 for some tasty tasty TF reader insert fics. im still planning on making a rec list but they updated today and im filled w/ much love for good writing.

and as a bonus if you got this far (thank you!!): the super secret draft chapter title for the next NEXT FF chapter because its pretty silly

if my cowriter sees this hi. ill share the doc soon but its pretty much empty, its just there to remind me whats coming next LMAO 👍

[hopefulatrocity]

From The Ashes-Chapter 13

Notes: So, long time no post. I'm truly sorry for the lateness of this chapter. I've had some bad bouts of depression pop up and also had a switch of hyperfixations. This chap is actually one I had already written up, I just didn't post until now. I'm hoping this will motivate me to start writing again. Lots of misunderstandings between Daryl and Pheonyx going on right now. It won't last for long though, Pheonyx is very direct but they need to work through this before they can confront each other.

TW/CW: smoking, talks of past drug/alcohol abuse, past child abuse, allusions to past sexual assault, scars from abuse, animal death(possum and woodchuck), gore, blood, body insecurity, depictions of a walker,

If you want to be added to the taglist please let me know. I also post on AO3 and FF so you can subscribe there too.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics & @omiyours

Banner by: @liminal-creations

Prev Masterlist

In his 39 years of life, Daryl was more than familiar with the concept of losing time. He had his first sip of alcohol when he was 11 and 13 when he first got blackout drunk. Alcohol was something that had always been a constant in his life, although not as much in the recent years. After a while, his forms of escapism were molded by Merle’s. When he first started following his older brother around, he was immediately introduced to a world of doing and dealing drugs. For years, he’d watched his father shoot up and snort shit on a regular basis. So the idea of getting high was something he avoided for as long as possible. But his brother had a way of getting into his head and making him do things he wouldn’t typically do. It wasn’t long before he was dabbling in various illicit substances. Mostly weed, but he tried almost everything else. His limits being fentanyl and smack. He’d seen too many good people fall into those traps and he couldn’t bring himself to fully destroy his body, no matter how much he hated himself. Daryl was aware of his family’s inclination for addiction, his mother being an alcoholic, his dad being both an alcoholic and a drug addict. Because of that, he refused to allow himself to follow fully in his family’s footsteps. Despite his urges to do more, get high more, he held his ground. Which ultimately led to a knock out fight between him and Merle. The older Dixon had goaded Daryl, calling him a pussy and asked Daryl if he thought he was better than him. But Daryl knew the anger his brother was spewing wasn’t pointed directly at him. It was a manifestation of Merle’s internal demons, ones that hated that he couldn’t cope without some sort of substance coursing through his bloodstream. So, he let his brother lay into him a few times before he ended the fight. One well-placed right hook and his inebriated sibling was laid out on the stained carpet of the trailer they were renting.

 After that fight, he cut back on the hard drugs, sticking mainly with weed and alcohol as his vices. Lots of alcohol. Looking back, he could admit that he’d avoided one addiction by picking up another one, but in his mind, being a drunk was a better option. A slower death, riddled with lost time and moments of fleeting happiness and contentment. The walk back to his tent after seeing the scars that covered Pheonyx’s back, was probably the first amount of lost time that didn’t result from some sort of vice. All he knew was the feeling of shock, the itch to run, and suddenly his ass was planted on the grass in front of his tent. 

Shaking hands patted his pockets, searching for the packet of cigarettes that Pheonyx had given him earlier in the day. He pulled them out, fingers almost numb, and pulled a lighter from his other pocket. Placing one of the smokes between his lips, he flicked the lighter four times before his tingling fingers finally managed to get a flame to stick. Lighting the cigarette, he inhaled deeply and allowed the smoke to permeate his lungs. It had been almost a week since his last hit of nicotine and the rush of it pulsing through his veins helped to calm his frazzled nerves. Hands still shaking with the remnants of haunted memories personified, Daryl ran trembling fingers through his short hair. 

The only words going through his mind were four lettered words and one resounding question: How? How did Pheonyx get those scars? Was this all a mistake? Did Daryl misinterpret the long lines and rounded imperfections? Was it the product of some freak accident and not what he had assumed? If it wasn’t an accident, who would have done it? The scars were old, the coloring of the ones not covered in ink were a big indicator. They were  most likely from childhood. If it wasn't an accident, like his gut was telling him, then who could have done it?  Was it Pheonyx's stepdad, Hershel? No. Daryl didn’t think so. While Pheonyx had seemed uncomfortable earlier when his stepdad was around, it seemed to be more about the old man and his stupid beliefs on the walkers sentience. There wasn’t any fear in those fern green eyes. Not like the kind his own eyes held for his Pa. It could have been Pheonyx’s mom but he only seemed sad when he mentioned her death earlier. There wasn’t any relief to be found in his words. Briefly, Daryl wondered why he cared so much. They were scars, similar to his own, but they were on someone he had known for less than 24 hours. Why did it matter?

Taking another deep drag from the quickly burning cigarette, Daryl knew the answer was complicated. He’d only known the other man for a short time, but there was something there. A spark of something. Something he was unfamiliar with. Something that scared the shit out of him. So even if he had only known Pheonyx for a day or even just 5 minutes, he felt like he would still care. He wanted to know who had hurt the younger man. Maybe just so he would have somewhere to direct his anger. Because he was angry. Pissed. Furious. And every synonym in between. Those scars had him seeing images of his own past but also images of a tiny Pheonyx, being broken in the way he had been all those years ago. Was that why he had panicked earlier when Daryl asked about his gender? 

“Fuck!”, Daryl cursed, dropping the cigarette nub to the ground. Instinctively he pulled the side of his index finger to his mouth, soothing the small burn with his cool saliva. He’d been so lost in thought that he hadn’t even noticed it burning down right to the filter, where his dirty fingers were clenching the little stick tightly. The slight wound wasn’t really painful, more of a shock to his already frazzled brain. Shaking his head in frustration at his foggy mind, he used the heel of his boot to put out the tiny stub, red embers fading into the grass, and unzipped the tent behind him. He crawled into the small space, barely remembering to turn around and zip the polyester flap closed. Before he flopped down onto his sleeping bag, he made sure to place his bow within reaching distance. 

In the span of less than half an hour, Daryl went from being wide awake to dog tired. The scratchy pillow under his head suddenly felt like a pile of cashmere. His eyes felt heavy and he covered them by flinging his arm over his face. 

He was so lost in a haze of sleep, he didn’t even notice the shuffling outside his tent, followed by the slow unzipping of the entryway. 

Pheonyx fucked up. Really fucked up. 

When he’d first walked out into the woods, he fell into a familiar rhythm. There was no trouble. Just the whispering of the trees and the resounding answers of wind chimes in every direction. With his bow raised, he walked with purpose, keeping his ears open for the sounds of nocturnal critters. It wasn’t long before one of his arrows was piercing through the night air and impaling a possum through the eye. Leaves crunching under his feet, Pheonyx walked towards his kill and knelt down next to the small animal’s body. This was one of the worst parts of his nights. He had to find fresh meat to bait his traps. The windchimes worked wonders to draw in the shadows to the stakes of his traps, but it usually wasn’t enough to entice the creatures to push themselves deep onto the spikes. That’s why he needed the meat as a final nail in their proverbial coffin. The shadows prefer fresh, breathing meat but if no other options were around, they would indulge on already butchered flesh. 1-2 days dead at most. A few weeks after the world fell, Pheonyx had found the body of a woodchuck, killed by a long forgotten bear trap closing on its foot. He’d taken the bear trap but left the body(after recalling Kismet to stop him from rolling in the dead animal), with full intentions to come back the next day and give it a proper burial. Instead, the next day, he stumbled on the walking corpse of his high school English teacher chowing down on the slightly decomposed body. This knowledge had helped him complete the plans for protecting his home. He had originally thought about rigging up small cages to the trees to house small animals as bait for the shadows. But the idea of putting an innocent creature in a box and emotionally torturing it just didn’t sit well in his stomach. Killing them still made him feel horrible, but at least it didn't prolong their suffering. 

When prepping kills to eat, a hunter would normally slit an animal’s throat to allow the blood to drain from the body. Pheonyx didn’t do that now. The blood was what drew in the shadows.  He picked up the animal, gently petted its soft creamy fur, and sent an internal thank you to its soul. Opting to leave the arrow in, to prevent anymore blood loss from the small body, he slung his bow over his shoulder. One would be enough for at least 5 traps, so he wanted his other hand–the one not holding the dead animal–to be free if he needed to grab his cutlass. Most nights, he would spend 8 hours clearing and checking each trap in the woods, but he didn’t have the time or energy to do that. His ultimate plan was to hit the ones, about half of them, that were closest to the farm, on the right side of the creek. Sophia seemed to be sticking to the left side of the water, which meant he would be able to check some of the others during the search the next day. He wouldn’t be able to check all of them, doing so would put them off course and be detrimental to finding the girl. But some were better than none. 

So far, he’d been lucky. The amount of shadows that wound up in the traps was manageable for one person running on little sleep and high levels of stress. Pheonyx wasn’t dumb. He knew that eventually he would crash emotionally or get hurt.  He needed help and Rick’s group was a beacon of hope for him in regards to his family’s safety. Not only were they experienced with the dead, but they also were motivated to stay and protect the haven of the farm. 

It was that train of thought that ultimately led to Pheonyx’s fuck up. His body moved on muscle memory to check the first four traps. While his body was working on protecting his family, his mind was back at the farm, back in the stables. As he was pulling off the rotted flesh from the trees, tossing it into the burn pit and replacing it with a chunk of the dead possum, his mind kept flashing back to the paleness of Daryl’s skin and the look on his face before he ran away. Pheonyx’s internal demons reared up, their raspy voices grating across his ear drums. 

He’s disgusted by you. 

You’re so weak and broken.

Why didn’t you fight back?

Why would he want you?

Shaking his head, Pheonyx tried to pull himself from the darkness. If he allowed himself, he could easily fall back into old habits. Self-destructive ones. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he dabbled in drugs and drank way too much in the past. Sometimes it was easier to find solace in the bottom of a bottle than to actually face his problems. If it wasn’t substances, his mind had its own ways of destroying itself. Constant self-berating and internal insults could make him physically ill sometimes. The end of the world wasn’t the time to be getting drunk or allowing his internal demons to claw the walls inside his body until the blood seeps from open wounds. 

Pheonyx finished refreshing the fifth trap, stabbing the leg of the possum onto the railroad spike that was already impaled into the old oak. He had tossed the head of the possum, the last piece of the animal’s body, to the side near his bow and quiver. Looking at his hands, he saw clotted blood soaked his fingers and stained his fingernails, the red color turning more brown as it dried in the evening air. Copper fragrance permeated his nostrils and he suppressed the gag from crawling up his throat. Pheonyx went to wipe his hands on the back of his jeans, as they needed to be washed anyways, but stopped when his hands met a soft fabric hanging from his back pocket. 

Pulling out the red rag, he noted the walker blood from earlier had dried and stained the cherry colored fabric. He could already see the possum blood soaking into the area where his fingers were. It blended more seamlessly than the black sludge from the shadow. Something about the idea of letting the threadbare cloth get even more dirty didn’t sit right with him, so he wiped one hand on the back of his jeans and then the other, moving the rag to the other hand in between. Although he didn’t want to admit it, he knew the rise of sentimentality surrounding the simple object was due to who it had belonged to originally. But the ultimate question was why? Why did he care about Daryl Dixon or what he thought? Growing up, he'd cared what everyone thought about him, ashamed of not fitting into their boxes and trying so hard to himself small enough to fit in them. After he came out, he’d learned to think less about it, and to follow his heart as opposed to chasing after the elusive judgements that people bestowed on him. That night had derailed him severely from his progress in those regards, but moving away had helped him become more independent when it came to freeing himself from the binds of society’s rigid standards. So, why Daryl Dixon? What about the older man made him want his acceptance so much? It wasn’t even really acceptance, Pheonyx wanted him. There had been flirting in the past. Brief glances of possible futures with girls and some guys, plenty of people he could have opened his heart to, to fall in love with, but he never had the urge to. Until him. 

That was where he messed up. While he was lost in his head, hand still rubbing the softened red rag, it snuck up on him. 

He smelled the shadow before he saw it. The scent of decay from the walking corpses was even more distinct than that of a dead animal or even a normal dead human. It was that sickly, rancid smell that filled his lungs. From experience, no amount of coughing or gagging could clear it away. Dark miasma coated his inner nostrils and flowed down the back of his throat, like the nasty cough medicine his mom would make him take when he was sick as a kid. Fear and adrenaline began to pulse through his veins and Pheonyx whirled around just as the sound of hissing and groaning reached his ears. 

The shadow was much too close to him, he could practically feel the fetid air escaping its lungs as it raised its hands to grab at his shoulders. Pheonyx barely had a second to sidestep the gnarled fingers, gray flesh hanging from under its fingernails. If he hadn’t moved, the monster would have pushed him directly into the spikes of his own trap. 

Heart slamming against his chest, Pheonyx grappled at his waist for the handle of his cutlass, but the shadow turned around. Instinctively, he took another step back and felt the air come out from under him as his foot slipped on a loose stone. He fell back onto the damp forest floor, a sharp pain ripping through his ribs, causing his lungs to constrict and his eyes to water from the pain. 

Before his senses could come back to him, the spongy weight of the decaying corpse fell directly on top of Pheonyx. Gasping loudly, not only for air but out of shock, he pushed against the shadow’s skinny collarbone with his right hand. His fingers practically melted into the mushy flesh, and black blood trickled between his digits and down onto his shirt. Midnight stained teeth snapped in front of his face and he had to breathe only from his mouth to avoid the rancid scent of blood and pus coming from the orifice. He pushed hard against the creature’s shoulder but despite its putrefying muscles, it was still incredibly strong. The hunger and need for flesh intensifying its strength. With his left hand, Pheonyx tried to search along his waist for the handle of his hunting knife, but he couldn’t reach it on the other side of his body. The walker’s hands dug into his own chest, trying desperately to gain any purchase. He threw his arm out, searching along the forest floor for any sort of weapon. Just as the tips of his fingers brushed against something soft, the hold that Pheonyx had on the shadow’s collar bone slipped. His fingers slid into soggy flesh and more black blood poured from the area his nails just slipped into, dripping onto his neck and chin. The texture of the decaying flesh was like chunky mud against his hand. This slip gave the creature all the leverage it needed to lean down and clamp its teeth into the sharp bone where Pheonyx’s shoulder met his neck.

 Letting out a cry of pain, Pheonyx grasped onto the furry object that his fingers brushed against and used a burst of strength to push the heavy body up, breaking the seal its mouth had on his body. Teeth snapped in his face, barely missing the tip of his nose, and Pheonyx instinctively shoved the unknown object into its muzzle. Now in his sight, he could see that the object in question was the possum head that he had tossed aside earlier. The monster’s teeth tore into the skull, crushing the bone with inhuman strength, causing fresh, red blood to pour onto Pheonyx’s face. Smacking and sucking noises as it chewed were sickening. The smell of copper filled his nose and the metallic zing of the fluid flooded his mouth. 

The distraction of the meat in the shadow’s mouth was enough for Pheonyx to gain the energy to push it back with one hand and reach around his body with the other hand to grab his hunting knife. The familiar textured hilt felt like heaven on his tired fingers. Pulling out the sharp blade, he pushed the chewing creature back and raised the knife up, bringing the weapon down into its skull. The soft bone caved under the pressure of his stab and more black sludge trickled down onto his already coated hand. 

Frantic movements ceasing, the shadow went slack against Pheonyx’s body and the partially macerated possum head fell directly onto his face. Suppressing the retch that his brain finally sent the signal for, Pheonyx shoved the body off of him, inhaling the fresh air deeply. There was still a remnant of decay in the air, and the lingering scent of copper from the blood that coated his body, but it was better than the acrid smell of the creature’s mouth inches from his face. 

Pheonyx laid there for a moment, his side and shoulder throbbing in tune to his still accelerated heart rate. That was the closest encounter he had ever had with a shadow that didn’t involve one of his traps. The closest he had been to death in almost 5 years. And he still could die. The pain in his shoulder was a reminder of that. He turned his head to look at the area, his hands beginning to shake as he thought of what happened when his brother and mother were bitten. The pain of watching them slowly die was excruciating. He wouldn’t put that on his family. If he was bitten, he would take the hunting knife from the monster’s head and push it into own skull before he allowed his sisters to see him slip from the world. 

In the darkness of the night, he couldn’t see much on his denim jacket besides blood. Black and red blood was splattered all across the chest like a morbid Jackson Pollock painting. He grabbed the fabric near his neck and pulled down to see a perfect black outline of the shadow’s teeth imprinted into the thick material. Each tooth mark a testament to how close he came to becoming one of the walking dead. While it didn’t look like it had torn through the jacket, he had to be sure. He pushed his hand under the collar of his t-shirt and used his fingers to prod the painful area. There was pain but he didn’t feel any scratches or broken skin. 

Pheonyx let out a deep breath of relief. He got up slowly, careful not to jostle his side, and began to gather his stuff. The few minutes before let him know that he wasn’t in the right state to be out. A flash of red on the ground next to the walker’s body stopped him mid step. He bent down to retrieve Daryl’s bandana he dropped when the creature attacked him. The cloth had been dirty before, a mixture of oil stains and blood. Now it was coated with more of the latter. At some point during the struggle, it must have gotten caught on a root or rock because there was a large tear through the center, nearly splitting the square in half. Red threads hung limply from the perforation and Pheonyx couldn’t help but feel a bit saddened. The shadow hadn’t gotten him but it did break something important. A normal person would have simply tossed the bandana, but Pheonyx had never been normal. His feelings about Daryl might have been full of confusion, and some anger from his earlier actions, but he couldn’t find it in him to part with the cloth that had seen better days. Maybe he saw a bit of himself in the insignificant object. Torn and stained by past events but there was still some life left in the old bones of thread. He gently folded the bandana and tucked it into his jacket pocket. He had an idea of what to do with it but that would have to be done later. 

Weapons in hand, and in sheaths, he began the trek back home. It was slower going due to the pain in his side and just general tiredness. The adrenaline had faded and now he needed to sleep. But a shower was needed first. 

By the time he made it to the farm, Pheonyx guessed it was around two in the morning, based on the position of the moon. He stopped briefly into the stable to drop his weapons off near his pallet. The horses were all asleep. Baker did wake when Pheonyx dropped his bow and quiver onto the ground. The old horse gave a snort that roughly translated to “Shut the fuck up, I’m trying to sleep.” before flicking his tail and turning the other way. 

Grabbing some clean clothes from his bag, Pheonyx headed out of the stables towards the farm house. The yellow aura from the moon hit the old glass windows, reflecting the luminescence like a lighthouse, sending a beacon to let him know the way home. 

Carefully, Pheonyx walked across the porch and slowly opened the door, wincing a small bit when it let out a loud squeak. He really needed to fix that. The journey through the living room and up the stairs was filled with more squeaks and winces. Each sound a memory of Shawn or Maggie getting caught sneaking out in the middle of the night. Pheonyx never had that problem. He didn’t have any reason to be sneaking out like his siblings did. Friends and dating were not part of his teenage years. He could barely handle his own internal problems, adding anyone else to the mix just seemed like a recipe for disaster. 

The sounds of Hershel and Maggie snoring greeted him at the top of the steps. And yes. Maggie snored. No matter how much she denied it, she was louder than a New York construction site. Pheonyx made his way into the bathroom, making sure to avoid the third floorboard after the stairs because it was the loudest, and carefully shut the door. He flipped the lock and reached to turn on the bright camping lantern that was resting on the white countertop. While the Greene farm did have a generator, they only ran it for a few hours each morning and evening. Just enough to keep the fridge cold, to make meals, and to take hot showers. Taking his showers in the early hours before the generator was on, meant that Pheonyx wasn’t benefiting from the last reason. Luckily, with the Georgia heat being prevalent even through the night, the showers were bordering on lukewarm rather than cold. The pristine bathroom glowed for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the light. 

Unbuttoning his jeans mechanically, Pheonyx’s thoughts trailed back to his fuck up earlier. This wasn’t the old world. He couldn’t afford to lose himself like that. He needed to have his whole focus on this farm. On his family. Protecting them and making sure they didn’t have to deal with the darker side of this world. The one that had always existed but had fully unmasked itself when the dead began to walk. His boots were heavy on his feet and the relief of feeling the cool air on his sweat soaked socks ripped a small groan from his mouth. Tossing the socks into the hamper by the toilet, he hooked his thumb under the waistline of his jeans and boxers and pushed them down, his blood crusted fingers brushing against the thick hair on his legs. Kicking the bundle of clothing by the door (he couldn’t have his sisters or Patricia cleaning out walker blood from his clothes), he pulled his arms out of his jacket and took a moment to run his thumb over the black bite mark imprinted into the thick material. Again, he was reminded of how close to dying he had come. If he hadn’t been wearing the jacket, he would be a shell walking in the woods. Probably would be caught up in one of his own traps before the morning sun made its way over the horizon. Before he pitched the jacket to the side, he pulled out the dirty and torn bandana and set it onto the sink for safe keeping.   He reached over his head to tug the collar of his shirt–the band logo on the front was completely disfigured by the carnage on it– over his head. The stretch of his skin over his ribs hurt, but it wasn’t as sharp as it had been earlier. The threadbare fabric stuck to his skin, the blood still wet in spots. Tossing the shirt onto the pile with his jeans and boxers, he reluctantly looked in the mirror to take stock of the damage to his body.  

The first thing that stood out was the large black bruise on his shoulder, bisecting the snake that trailed up his shoulder and over his neck. He gently prodded the skin, leaning into the mirror, to make sure there weren't any perforations. Even the slightest cut by a shadow’s teeth was a death sentence. Despite the deep pain, the skin was unbroken. If he hadn’t lost his faith so long ago, he might have believed it was a miracle as opposed to pure luck. The bruise covered a good portion of his shoulder, but with the right shirt choice, he could easily cover it. He knew if Maggie saw it, she would freak out. And he wanted to avoid upsetting his sister as much as possible. 

His hands roved down to his ribs and probed the darkened skin over the quote inked into the skin there. The bruise wasn’t as prominent as the one on his shoulder and thankfully didn’t seem to penetrate too deep, a superficial bruise. Nor did it seem like one of his ribs was broken. Another stroke of good fortune it seemed. At this point he was just jacking off luck. Eventually it would all come to an explosive deadly end but for now he could just be happy that it was just an awkward metaphorical handjob. 

Pheonyx turned the water on and listened to the soothing sound of it beating down onto the shower floor. He ducked his head and body under the flow, letting the individual drops massage his back. The scarred skin was a myriad of sensations. Some scars were completely numb, others tingled, and a select few made any sensation painful. His doctor said it was due to varying degrees of nerve damage. Aside from pain medication and experimental treatments, there wasn’t much to be done. So, he simply learned to deal with the feeling. 20 years later and his dad was still getting his lashes in it seemed. Pheonyx grabbed the bar of soap on the shelf by his knees and began to scrub his skin. 

Blood and dirt swirled around his feet, the lukewarm water and cheap soap baptizing him from the day's sins. He washed his hair using Maggie’s shampoo and conditioner. The products made his hair softer than the cheap products he brought with him from his apartment so he allowed himself the small indulgence of stealing some of his sibling’s stuff. Maggie often stole his flannels and hoodies, so it was only fair. 

As the water ran clear and his skin metaphorically sighed from the feeling of being cleaned, he took a moment to just indulge in the simplicity and luxury of the water trickling down his arms, legs, and chest. It was a small reprieve from the outside world. Just a small one. After a few seconds, he pushed the wet hair off his face and shut the water off. Cool air immediately made goosebumps appear on his arms. 

Because the water had been room temperature, the mirror wasn’t fogged and he was greeted by his own reflection in the glass. Grabbing a towel from the rack, he began to dry off. Scrubbing at his hair with the towel, his eyes fell down to the red bandana sitting on the edge of the sink. Shadows casting onto the stained fabric from the lantern in the corner. Tossing the now damp towel into the hamper, Pheonyx used one hand to run through his hair, smoothing the spiky mess, and the other to grab the cloth. He plugged the sink and filled it with a small bit of water from the faucet, enough to begin cleaning the bandana. 

It took a while but he was able to get most of the blood stains out of the red fabric. Or at least enough of it to be able to blend in with the already red dye. Unplugging the drain and wringing out the water, he laid it onto the edge of the sink to dry while he got dressed. He slipped into the clean boxers and jeans that he brought. Sitting on the toilet, he slipped on a pair of clean socks and pulled his worn boots back onto his still aching feet. 

“Fuck,” Pheonyx said as he picked up the shirt he brought. He thought he grabbed a t-shirt, which would hide the bruise on his shoulder, but he had accidentally taken one of his gray undershirts, the straps of which would cover only a quarter of the baseball sized bruise. 

It’s 3AM. No one is awake right now. I’ll be fine, Pheonyx thought while slipping the clean tank over his head. 

Within 3 minutes he was eating those words. As he walked downstairs, dirty clothes in hand and the red rag tucked into the belt loop on his side, he slammed into someone walking out of the kitchen. Instinctively, Pheonyx dropped the items in his hands and reached for the hunting knife at his side. The knife that he had left in the stable. 

“I’m so sorry, Pheonyx.”, a whispered familiar voice eased the tension in his muscles and he backed up to get a better look in the dark at the person. Straight brown hair and brown eyes glittered in the moonlight that poked through the windows behind him. Lori. He let out a breath of relief and smiled softly at her. 

The corners of her lips lifted, attempting to smile back, before her eyes darted to his shoulder, drawn to the dark contusion that was peeking from behind the strip of his tank top. Concern filled her gaze as she looked at him, “What happened? Do I need to get Hershel?”

Pheonyx hurried to reassure her, almost rambling with the need to not worry her. “I’m okay. I swear. I messed up and had a run in with a walker.  But I was wearing a jacket, so it’s just bruised. It didn’t break the skin.”, he kept his voice low, not wanting to wake anyone in the house. “I go out at night to make sure the woods are cleared of the dead.”

Lori’s lips turned down in a concerned frown. 

“Please don’t tell anyone,” he pleaded. “I don’t want to worry my sisters. And Hershel is already mad at me for putting up the traps in the woods. This would just set him off even more.” 

Sighing, she placed her hands on her hips but nodded. “I won’t tell them, but you can’t keep doing this.  Going out alone? In the middle of the night? You’re going to get hurt. Or killed.” 

He knew that. Those were constant worries that floated around in his mind. But to hear them out loud made his chest hurt. “I know. I just- I have to protect them.”

Lori didn’t even need to ask who Pheonyx was referring to. Rick and she had talked about the man in front of her. Her husband told her all about the traps in the woods(she had seen them for herself the day before but Rick explained how Pheonyx used them to protect the farm), and also how the other Greenes seemed to be in a separate world. One where the dead were simply people who had the sniffles. Pheonyx had taken up the helm of family protector. At the Quarry, all the men had taken on the task of protecting the camp. Making schedules for watches and runs. And even with 10 men working hard to protect the rest of the group, they had been attacked and decimated by the dead. The Greene son was taking on an almost impossible job. A job that one man couldn’t possibly handle alone. Not for much longer anyway. Even in the darkness of the room, the moon being her only source of light, she could see the bags under his eyes. His shoulders were slumped and he just seemed exhausted. 

“You have. And you protected my son too. Now it’s our turn to help you.”, she reached out and took his calloused hand, not noticing the subtle flinch at the contact of her skin. “Rick and the other men are going to be doing some chores around the farm, but we’ll talk to them about making a schedule for checking the woods too.”

Pheonyx didn’t know how to respond. One part of him was entirely focused on her hand touching his and how it made his skin crawl from unfamiliarity. The other part was resigned, yet still relieved, to accept help from the strangers on the property. Instead of a verbal response, he opted to nod and slowly pull his hand from hers, as not to offend her. 

Lori smiled at him and glanced at the bundle of dirty clothes that he still held in his other hand. “Carol and I are going to work on laundry tomorrow, your family’s and ours. I can take those for you and make sure to wash them before your sisters or Hershel sees.”

The older woman held her hand out to take the clothes from him and Pheonyx handed them over readily. That was another thing off his list to worry about and he could physically feel the weight on his shoulders lifting a small bit. He whispered his thanks to her and they bid each other good night afterwards. 

The warm fingers of night air threaded through Pheonyx’s still damp locks, both cooling and heating his skin. He could feel the slight breeze rustling the rag hanging off his waistband as he made the walk back to the stables. 

Once again, the only animal to acknowledge his presence was Baker, who snorted and released a sound of flatulence that Pheonyx was absolutely convinced was directed at him. Petulantly, he stuck his tongue out at the horse before walking into his personal stall. He stripped off the tank top, tossing it back into his bag of clean clothes because he’d only worn it for a short time, and pulled out an actual t-shirt from the bag. He didn’t want Maggie to come in early and catch him before he could change. After slipping on the old shirt, Pheonyx fell back onto his cot and stared up at the ceiling. His fingers found their way down to the red bandana at his side and he twisted it around in his hand, the fabric was still damp and felt clammy against his fingertips. 

The image of Daryl’s face flashed through his mind again and Pheonyx had to swallow a swell of embarrassment and sadness. He had truly been hopeful that the archer would be different. He hadn’t seemed to care about the fact that Pheonyx was trans. But when faced with the scars that lingered on his back, the man had fled, a look on his face that Pheonyx could only guess was disgust. 

Steeling himself, Pheonyx decided it didn’t matter. He’d work with Daryl to find the girl. They didn’t have to be friends. Hell, they didn’t even have to talk to each other. Once they found Sophia, they could go their separate ways. It’s not like Pheonyx could change the fact that his back looked like minced meat. Even if he could, he wouldn’t, the scars were a testament to his survival. Especially not for a man he had just met. Even if the man did make his stomach feel like tv static. 

 The morning breeze and chirping birds were nature’s alarm clock, and one that Daryl had learned to abide by in order to become an expert tracker and hunter. Most animals were early risers, so if he wanted to keep a steady pace on their trail, he needed to work on their schedule. Daryl was used to waking with the morning sun. Sometimes he even woke before the moon had finished its descent into the horizon. 

The morning after his jarring interaction with Pheonyx was no different. He had slept deeply after crashing into his tent but nightmares had infected his mind. Ones that involved his father and the things he had done to him as a boy. Those kinds of dreams weren’t unusual for him. In truth, he had grown accustomed to them. To the point that he didn’t even wake up screaming anymore. They were inevitable really. But that night had been different. Instead of Daryl being on the floor of the trailer, his back torn up like an eviction notice, it was Pheonyx. Those green eyes locked onto his, begging him for help as Will Dixon brought his belt down onto the fiery bird on the younger man’s shoulders. But Daryl couldn’t do anything. He screamed at his father to stop but Pa just smiled and brought the belt down harder. He tried to shove the man away but each time he ran into a wall. So Daryl was forced to watch. Over and over the belt smacked into Pheonyx’s skin, until the green of his eyes faded to a milky white. Despite the torturous images, Daryl had a hard time waking up. 

His body was so entrenched in sleep that his brain came into wakefulness before the rest of him did. The dewy morning air was sharp, even in the tight space of his tent, and made his lungs ache from the slight chill. His ears perked at the sounds of birds trilling in the distance and he made out the low murmurs of Glenn and T-Dog divvying up chores for the day. 

A musty scent reached his nose. His eyes still closed, Daryl’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. Over the past couple of months, he had become accustomed to the smell of his own body odor and this smell wasn’t that. He peeled his sleep-crusted eyes open, his vision swimming before becoming clear again. 

In front of him, he was met with the sight of……. 

Balls? 

More specifically, Daryl woke to the blinding sight of a dog’s rear end. Asshole, neutered sac, the whole nine yards. The only thing that broke through his fog of shock was the tail attached to said rear end. It began to thump against the ground and ended up whacking into the archer’s forehead. 

Daryl shot up and fell back on his hands, “What the fuck?!”

Having realized his human companion was awake, Kismet rolled from his side position onto his belly. He lifted his head up lazily, eyes droopy and a small string of drool hanging from his mouth. His upper lips were stuck on his teeth, showcasing his pearly white fangs. Out of context, and without the dopey look in his eyes, one might assume the dog was mid-snarl. Still half-asleep and teeth still exposed, Kismet cocked his head to the side in confusion at the look of distress in Daryl's eyes. Obviously deciding it wasn't his problem, the dog stood up, arching and stretching his legs out in front of him, making the muscles in his body bulge out even more than usual. He let out a big yawn and then shook himself, the metal pieces on his collar making a clinking noise with each movement. 

A faint whistle sounded from the direction of the house. Despite the tent flap blocking their vision, both man and dog turned their heads in that direction.

"Kismet! Breakfast!", a female voice called. 

Kismet's eyes widened and he didn't need to be told twice before he dove out of the small opening from the tent’s zipper that he had nosed open the night before. The dog moved so fast he didn't even realize his back leg had kicked out, subsequently knocking the archer's crossbow into his thigh. Daryl cursed again at the sharp pain and rubbed the area. 

Daryl had always loved dogs, but he was starting to think he needed to make an exception for this particular one. 

Taglist: @yoongibaybee @edgyboi10000 @dixonsboy19 @clairealeehelsing @mrrumplebottom

[pouroverpaloma]

Writing Interview Tag Game! Thanks @cinnamontails-ff !

When did you start writing?

I don’t actually remember! I was a desperately weird and introverted kid (surprise) and I read voraciously, all the time, so I also started writing really early. Stories, plays, poems, comics, whatever. I also kept a meticulous diary when I was in high school, and I’m so glad I did because it’s so fucking funny to read now. Teenage Paloma had a lot going on, to put it kindly

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

Have I watched Supernatural? No. Have I been an insatiable consumer of Destiel fanfiction for years? Absolutely. I gave a PowerPoint presentation to my book club once titled “All the best romance novels are Supernatural fanfiction,” and I stand by that thesis. I don’t care. Those babes were cooking.

Like, I’m sorry, the soulmate AU trope is never going to get better than Don’t Look Back by @goldenraeofsun. It’s just not. No one is ever going to write an academic romance as compelling as And This, Your Living Kiss by @asecretvice. If you haven’t poked around that part of Ao3 because you don’t watch the show, I beg you to get in there because treasures await ye

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

This isn’t going to make a ton of sense outside of my own brain, probably, but my goal is always to write prose that feels the way Ada Limón’s poems make me feel. She’s really frank without being unserious, and I love the way she creates imagery without telling you she’s doing it.

Also, this weekend, I read a Tessa Dare historical romance while I was on the beach, and I loved it! It was so fun, but not at the expense of the plot, and the supporting characters were so funny without getting in the way. A masterclass in froth.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

At home, I write in bed with my laptop on my lap and a can of seltzer within reach at all times. Sometimes I go to a cafe near my house, but I’m always worried someone will look over my shoulder and see what I’m writing and post me for cringe on TikTok or something. Which, now that I’m typing it out, is maybe a stupid thing to worry about

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

I have a couple recs!

1. Go for a biiiiiig walk. Listen to classical music, nothing with words. Don’t try to think too hard. It’ll come.

2. Read something you find genuinely terrible. You’ll get so mad that you’ll start thinking of ways you could have done it better. For me, this is usually the book Haunting Adeline, which for whatever reason activates every “um actually” in my body at once

3. Type up something deeply unserious that you have no intention of publishing. Chances are you’ll end up loving it in the rewrite and post it. This is how that Rolan fic of mine got made

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

Oh god, yeah, and oh god, yeah. I’ve learned a lot. Some of it’s actually been helpful in therapy, like how I keep writing about overcoming domestic violence trauma. Some of it has been discovering, in a very public way that I can’t undo, that I’m into choking. We do not have the dignity of choosing how enlightenment comes to us

What is your reason for writing?

It’s for fun. It’s all for fun. I am having such a fucking good time.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

I love when people talk back and forth with me! And I love love looooooove when people tell me how something made them feel. Or when someone points out a literary device I was proud of. If there’s a quote, too? I’m dead. I’ve died.

Writing is fun, but it’s solitary. It’s so motivating to have people who are willing to step into my little universe with me and talk about it. I’m extraordinarily lucky.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

I want people to see me as someone who shares their enthusiasm, ultimately. We’re all here for the same reason, and it’s That Fucking Wizard.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

My voice is really distinctive! My friends have always been able to pick out my writing, even in anonymized settings, and I think that’s neat

How do you feel about your own writing?

It’s been a long way getting here, but I view my writing as a thing I made, that I liked making, that I now have no ownership over. Once it’s out, it’s not mine anymore, it’s the reader’s. And that’s a good thing! Everyone brings their own rich experiences to everything they read. Interpretation is amazing, even for something as prima facie trivial as video game erotica. When people tell me how they related to or analyzed something I wrote, it’s like I get to read my own story again.

:) I’ll tag @lemonstealinglibrarian @lastlight-inn and @toads-treasures , if you want! No presh

[solarmorrigan]

Hello! I was tagged for this by the marvelous @paperbackribs about... *checks watch* four months ago! I'm so late, I'm sorry, time is meaningless and slippery!

How many works do you have on AO3? 300 (!)

What’s your total AO3 word count? 976,101

What fandoms do you write for?

At the moment, I'm only writing for Stranger Things, but I've written things for about 40ish fandoms over the years.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

In Phony Matrimony [Fantastic Beasts]

Shared Space [Homestuck]

Simple Association [James Bond - Craig movies]

Made with Love (and Yarn) [Stranger Things]

These Days I'm Fine (These Days I Tend to Lie) [Stranger Things]

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to! I used to get fewer comments, and it was easier to respond to each of them. Having recently been in some much larger fandoms, though, I've kind of been getting overwhelmed and have fallen behind. I'm so grateful that people take the time to even just send a little heart--to tell me that they read this thing and enjoyed it--and I'd love to respond to everyone, but at this rate I'm not quite sure I'll manage to catch up D:

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably either For the Love of You (James Bond, established 00Q, in which Bond is forced to go after Q when he turns out to be a traitor) or either of the fics in the Forever and Ever, Amen series (also James Bond, 00Q, in which Q is a necromancer and won't let Bond die). I've written other dark things, but I tend towards hopeful endings even with those

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

Most things I've written! I'm a big fan of happily ever after and I write a lot of short fluff pieces. But as far as fics where the happy ending is sort of earned, I'd say maybe He Dreams, Until Such Time (Hades game, gen, in which Hypnos is the Elysium boss fight after having been banished from the House, and Zagreus finds a way to get him back in) or We Have Surplus If We Need It (Pacific Rim, established Newmann, in which Newt tries to figure out who he is in a post-kaiju world and cooks a lot about it)

Do you get hate on fics?

Not particularly. I've gotten a few randos trying to tell me off for writing slash, and one or two people who were clearly just mad at a specific trope and happened to land on my fic, but I've been very fortunate to get largely positive feedback

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do! I'm not sure it's exactly my strongest suit (and, in fact, often worry that it's not very good at all), but I guess I keep at it?? I've written PWP and plotularly significant smut before; whatever serves my purposes at the time

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

Not often, but I have! The first fic I ever tried writing on my own was a Buffy/Scooby-Doo crossover, and I've written a fair bit for Gravity Falls/Over the Garden Wall. Not sure how wild either of those are, though?

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I've been alerted to, but I've been posting fic for something like 20 years now, so it wouldn't surprise me if at least one of them has cropped up elsewhere under someone else's name

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yyyyyes...? Pretty sure I remember that happening! I think it was over on ff dot net, so I don't remember which one it was. Good odds it was one of my Criminal Minds fics, though

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

A few times! I've done RP-style co-writing, round robins, half-and-half, and just plain collaborating. Most of them never reached the point of being able to publish, but they were still fun

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Gotta confess: I don't think I have one. My favorite is usually whatever I'm focusing on at the time; I don't dislike ones I've shipped previously, but they tend to settle fondly into the background once I've left a fandom

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

I had a whole Stranger Things fic planned out exploring the potential relationship between Steve and his mom, and I'd love to get at least the bare bones of that done, but there's something about it that just kind of refuses to come

What are your writing strengths?

Characterization and emotion. Emotion is something I feel like I don't identify particularly well in real life, but I think I'm pretty good at getting the intended response from people in my writing. (Also maybe dialogue, but that's just so fun to write)

What are your writing weaknesses?

I! Am! Impatient! I tend to rush through things sometimes and screw the pacing up or skip over important details because I worry writing it out in full will take too long and I'll lose interest. I can also get a little too rigid in trying to achieve a particular outcome, instead of letting the story flow

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I don't tend to do it, but that's because I'm only fluent in English and don't want to jar anyone with a bad auto-translate job. If someone is speaking another language, I usually try to find a way to signify that based on whether or not the POV character also knows that language

First fandom you wrote for?

It was either HP (forgive me, this was over 20 years ago) or Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Scooby-Doo (crossover fic I wrote when I was, like, nine?)

Favorite fic you’ve written?

Ever?? In my life?? My dude, I could pick a favorite per fandom maybe, but just straight up favorite?? I cannot. Of things written more recently, I'm very fond of Under My Skin (Steddie, exploring the possibility of Steve with physical scars). Of things written slightly less recently, I still have a complicated soft spot for We Have Surplus If We Need It

Gently tagging (if you've already done this, I'm sorry, just ignore me): @spiritofcamelot @ato-the-bean @puppy-steve @emchant3d @lexirosewrites

[faceofpoe]

Poe’s Chaos Guide to Andor Star Wars Fic

(because ao3 sorting isn't specific enough, I want my own chaos sorting system and here it is)

The Bad Batch:

Canon compliant:

Missed a Lot (feat: Crosshair & Tech (yes, I said canon compliant) and people getting to experience some damn grief ffs set between s3e9-post-finale) (if you're looking for closure for these two, this one's for you)

Mayday (feat: Hunter & Crosshair, end of s3e4 - end of e5 scene filler)

Decryption (feat: Echo, Rex, Crosshair, end of s2 - end of s3e5 expansion/filler)

Along the Way (feat: Crosshair & Omega, post-finale)

Shadow (Crosshair & Hunter, see tags and author note, dark themes)

Almost Canon compliant:

Something than Nothing (feat: Hunter & Crosshair post s3e5)

Unyielding (post s3e4 speculation on what came after the reunion that actually held up impressively well)

The Point Where CX-Tech Thoughts Started to Creep In (pass the salt)

Landed (stream of consciousness'ish Tech post s2-s3e7)

Breathe (CX-Tech post-series AU feat: Tech & Crosshair recovery)

Primary Mission Objective (CX-Tech back half of season 3 rewrite; Tech, Crosshair, Emerie POVs)

Speculation stuff that started compliant and diverged:

Plans Change (feat: Rampart & Crosshair post s3e12 and gave Rampart too much credit lol)

A Hit or a Miss (feat: Tech & Phee s2e13 and Crosshair & Phee post s3e11)

53% (feat: Echo & Crosshair set post s3e5)

The Feral Energy episode 3 gave me fun times with Omega & Crosshair:

Plan 72 (feat: Hunter & Wrecker approaching what's probably a trap)

Plan 99 (feat: Crosshair wondering wtf to do now)

Plan 100 (feat: an extra dramatic recovery operation)

32 Rotations (Crosshair & Omega post-ep4 AU in which eps 2&3 occurred concurrently and Hunter & Wrecker missed the rendezvous)

And for a complete change of pace:

Atmospheric Interference (series; cloneship, Tech/Crosshair, pre-TCW to post-TBB AU, dark themes, see tags)

Unmarked Vessel (cloneship, Tech/Crosshair, priest/demon AU. Yeah.)

First Time for Everything (cloneship, Tech/Crosshair, silly smut)

Andor:

Breaking Cassian Andor for fun and profit:

Pre-series: The Thing Itself (feat: all those little things Luthen knows about Cassian + creative use of Fest backstory + all the other little indulgent tie-ins I worked into this fic)

   Sub-category Brasso my Beloved: Pull Together

                                                                  Spark

Post-series:

Sub-category Melshi my Beloved: Mirror

                                                              Mask

Breaking Everyone Else for Fun and Profit:

Tether (Bix & Melshi, Bix/Melshi) (WIP)

Sunrise (Mon & Luthen)

Remember (Kleya & Draven)

Chandrilan Hospitality (Mon)

The Random Factor (K-2SO)

    Sub-category Putting Them Back Together in the End: Stone and Sky (Kleya & Ferrix crew)

Light(er)-hearted Spy’ish Romps:

Yearn (Luthen & Kleya)

Inside (feat: Draven)

Clarity of Purpose (feat: Melshi, Draven, K-2SO, Luthen, and where Axis & Fulcrum collide)

Double (Melshi)

Spectacle (Draven)

All In (Kleya & Cassian)

Poe’s obsession with the next 5 minutes after the screen goes to black

Everything (feat: a scenic detour)

Pyre (feat: Kleya really wants to shoot Cassian Andor, okay?)

      Sub-category Poe’s obsession with the missing Sky Kyber: Something More

That Thing the final scene of the show did to Poe’s brain and she makes no apologies:

(Or to quote tag: Handling and Manhandling)

Yield (Cassian's unsanctioned foray into sexpionage)

Escape (the one that's fucked up, but like, soft about it)

Floodgate (feat: water-type Cassian Andor)

(Or to quote tag: Being dysfunctional with one another to the point of self-destruction)

Ghosts (some of those Fondor trips are actually for the art, right?)

Equation (the one that's just fucked up, but Dr Gorst gets what's coming to him (offscreen) so it's okay in the end)

[takeariskao3]

So, full disclosure

chapter 16 of the path from you has been hanging over my head for months and i think most of you have guessed why... for those who haven't or who are curious to know more about why it's taking so long, i've decided to be pretty open and candid below the cut. there aren't any outright spoilers but more just an explanation about the process i've been going back and forth on since.... february ?? (ffs)

this isn't directly in response to that anon from last night but they did make a valid point that i have been promising an update and failing to deliver so, if you're wondering why, keep reading

i very much realize that this is my hobby, and i do it for fun, and i don't owe anyone an explanation but i still feel like i can give one anyway. most of you have probably guessed that the next 3-4 chapters of the path from you are harry and ginny reaching their boiling points and finally having it out (in more ways than one)

my problem has been that i have a very specific order of events in my head about how it should all unfold but everytime i sit down to write, harry and ginny jump ahead three chapters and start ruining all my plans. i think they, and i, are ready for some conversations to start happening, however, if they break one wall, then they all come crashing down and to be honest, i'm a little bit attached to what i've already written in 17-18-19 to truly be able to blow it all up again.

now, with that being said, i also think i've gotten to the point where i know it's time for some reconciliation. unfortunately, my ego/pride/self-confidence is getting in the way a little bit because, in my opinion, a well-executed emotional payoff separates a good writer from a great one, and in the spirit of full honesty, i want to be great.

this version of harry and ginny, and all of you who have stuck with me for this long, have earned a damn good moment and i really *really* want it to be the best possible unfolding of events it can be. full of heart and vulnerability and passion.

the people that i talk to almost everyday about this fic (@narukoibito, @fairsquare16, @corneliaavenue-ao3, @herblazinglook, @ginwhisky, @brightlybound, & @valfromcall) can tell you that i have been laboring and struggling and agonizing over this chapter for months. this is not something i take lightly and this fic means a whole lot to me in a lot of really personal ways, so i have been taking a massive amount of time getting us to where we are because i want to get it right. i want harry and ginny's reasons for ending up where they are to feel honest and i want their resolution to feel cathartic. and maybe this is where i'm crippling myself, by trying to make it perfect, but dammit HARRY AND GINNY DESERVE PERFECT

thank you to everyone who reached out last night and over the past few weeks with love and encouragement and support. you guys mean more to me than you will ever know. any good vibes you can throw my way while i write tonight would be much appreciated. chapter 16 is close. i had a revelation a couple nights ago about why i kept getting stuck so hopefully this newfound direction will finally get us to the finish line.

i guess i'll end by saying this, if ever you are curious about what i'm working on or what's coming up next or why an update is taking so long, just ask. i am an open book. i swear i'm not intentionally holding out on you. and if i promise an update and come back a few days later saying its not ready yet, please remember that i am trying to put out the best possible version of my stories and i am just as disappointed as you are that i'm not updating.

as always, thanks for reading and for allowing me the space to create this version of h/g's love story.

[exhuastedpigeon]

hi! kind of a random ask.

i'm really impressed with your writing and fics and i wondered if you had any other writing experience before you wrote in fandoms?(like working/studying in a field that has to do with writing for example) you're very talented!

i'm kind of an aspiring fanfic writer myself and i'm curious about what experience other authors have

i hope you have a great day!

Hi Anon! Wow this is such a nice ask to get! Thank you <3

There isn't really a clean answer to your question because I've been writing my entire life. Like my 'diary' as a kid was mostly just me making up stories.

I was a newspaper and school radio kid in junior high and high school, so I wrote articles and scripts for the radio show, which was my first experience writing for an audience. I also wrote short stories and poetry that were submitted for publication in high school and won some awards (idk honestly, I've kind of forgotten since they didn't really matter to me at the time).

I went to university for political science and communication (both require a ton of writing, but none of that was creative writing. I often got feedback from professors that my research papers were engaging and in retrospect I think that meant they weren't just a report out of facts - I always added some flair because I was trying to reach a word count).

In my career I've almost always had to do a lot of writing, I was in marketing for a bit, then grant writing, then I worked for a few tech start ups that lived and died by written plans. Now I'm in sales and project management - neither require the kind of writing I've had to do in the past for jobs but I think that's actually been helpful for my creative writing work because now I have more brain power to write the creative things I'm actually interested in.

I also got my master's in communication somewhere in there and I focused a lot on interpersonal communication (though mostly through the lens of workplace interpersonal communication). That required a ton of writing, but none of it was fiction or creative.

I guess at one point in my early 20s I also wrote a 120,000 word original story that has been lost to time and destroyed laptops (always back up your work folks!!!!). I'd love to get back to writing original stories again and I'm in the process of trying to.

A word of advice for you as an aspiring fic writer - Write. Write it even if you think something like it has been written before. Write it even if you think it's bad. Write it because you want to. You will get better with every thing you write. Try to find a few friends to read your work and give you honest feedback (if you want it).

When I look back at my earliest published fics (published in places like ff. net and *shudders* myspace) those weren't great, but I wrote them and I got better with each one. My stories got more nuanced, my characters had more depth. I liked writing more and more. And when I look back at my earlier fics on Ao3 I'm really proud of how much better I've gotten at writing over the years.

Like any art form, you probably won't be great the first time you do it, but that's okay! All you have to do is start.

[justagalwhowrites]

Hi Kit!

First off, I've really admired your writing, Lavender is one of my favorite things I've ever read. I even made a Lavender friendship bracelet so I can have Lavender Joel with me whenever I want.

Second, I've been getting into writing FF lately, starting with a Jackson Joel story. I'm about 12K words in and I've been struggling a lot with thinking my writing isn't suitable for posting and a lot of self doubt. I was wondering if you have any tips you wish you had known before you started writing FF, or even how the heck do I find someone to be a beta reader? Do you have an editor or beta reader, is that something I even need?

Thanks Kit!

OMG Hi Bestie!

I'm so sorry it took me a bit to respond to this. I wanted to make sure I thought about it before replying. You are so so kind to say such lovely things! And a LAVENDER FRIENDSHIP BRACELET?? That's AMAZING! I love that this story meant so much to you that you want to carry it with you out in the world!

I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE that you're writing! Jackson Joel is so special, he's such a gorgeous character and I'm sure your writing is doing him justice in exploring these sides of him.

Self doubt is a BEAR, I tell you what. I'm riddled with it, personally! Every day I'm on this site or on AO3 and reading things that are better than what I write and I spend a LOT of time comparing my work to other people's in my head. It's part of why I don't really reread my own work, I think. I know I won't be as happy with it as I am with other people's writing and it'll just get me down. But... I share it anyway! It's hard sometimes, especially if a chapter feels really good or really personal, and I always have this underlying fear that "this is it, this is the chapter where everyone who reads my work wakes up and realizes that I'm shit, actually, and they decide to let me know it." But that's never happened.

Part of fic, for me, has been pulling me out of that shell creatively. I've written stories for years - decades! - and I can count on one hand the number of people who have read them before I started writing and sharing fic. These stories just live in my computer or in notebooks in my basement and that may be all they ever are. Overall, people are remarkably kind and supportive and it feels really, really good to share something I made with other people.

I think some things I wish I knew is 1) that the sharing part of writing can be a really fun - if anxiety inducing - part of the process and 2) negativity isn't the end of the world. While almost everyone has been insanely lovely (probably kinder than I deserve tbh) I have gotten a few negative comments and whatnot and yeah, they definitely sting. But ultimately, it's just one person's opinion. It doesn't change the satisfaction I felt writing these stories or the fulfillment I found in telling other people about these characters and the lives they're living inside my head. People can dislike what I made - you can't please everyone! - but it doesn't take away from how it felt to create and share it. I think, as long as you're telling stories because you want to explore those characters or themes or what have you, you'll be satisfied in it and readers will, too.

As far as beta readers and editors go.... I don't really use either one! My process is write the chapter, read it to make sure there isn't anything too egregious, share it. If I sit on it too long, I go back and rework and rewrite and it'll never see the light of day. But that's me! Everyone is different, I don't think any two people have the same process. And if you're interested in connecting with other writers and are comfortable, feel free to DM me! I'm happy to help and there are some Discords I'm in that have other, fabulously lovely writers who do things like beta for each other and give feedback on plot points and all kinds of beautiful collaboration that I'm so lucky to be a part of.

I do have some tips for editing, as a former copy editor, though! I recommend reading the chapter twice, once for overall story and flow (basically, does this chunk of the story make sense?) and then once for the nitty gritty stuff. Highly recommend the second read be done out loud, as silly as it might feel. It will force you to slow down so if you left a word out, you're less likely to gloss over it, or if a sentence doesn't make sense, you stumble over it and have to think it through again. Stuff still definitely slips through - it's bound to when you edit what you write! - but it's helpful.

Anyway, I hope this answers your question!! I really really hope you share your story with us. It's always great to see the community grow and give more people outlets to share their stories with us!!

Good luck, Bestie! Love you!!!

[covfefeships]

Thank you so much @timeofjuly! Answering some of these was like taking a trip through memory lane.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 6 currently published on AO3. I probably had a few more from my FF account that I just never ported over.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

198,093!! That's such a wild number to see, especially when I think that emergence day parade is JUST NOW hitting the halfway mark and it's still got about 70-80k to go.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Undertale, and I have one work for Hannibal that I intend on picking up again. I am supremely tempted to start writing for Fallout. I used to write a lot on ROTG and Once Upon a Time, but now I just pick at Battle of the coffee shops occasionally.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Emergence day parade

Battle of the coffee shops

To Sleep or Not To Sleep

The Once Great King

These Masks We Wear

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

I try to respond to comments. I feel like if someone is taking the time to leave a comment on my fic I owe it to them to respond back, even if it's just to say thank you. Sometimes I'll miss responding back, but that doesn't mean I appreciate the comment any less! I will say recently I am super behind on responding to comments. I have stepped away from online stuff a lot in the last two weeks, and just haven't made it around to some of the more recent comments. I have seen them all thought and I appreciate them so, so much!

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

Battle of the coffee shops 100%, the fic is still unfinished as of right now, but I do eventually want to come back and finish it so I won't say too much. I've had the ending scene in my head for years and by far is the angstiest ending I've ever planned.

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

To sleep or not to sleep. I wrote this fic back when I was in high school and the ending is just very sweet.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

The only really negative comment I remember receiving was on fan fiction.net, but even then it was never anything ever crazy Most notably I remember someone leaving a nasty comment on the typos in one of my fics (which To be fair was absolutely riddled with typos because I was like 12 and very little idea about grammar and formatting lol, but they were pretty mean about it.)

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

I've just recently dipped my toes into smut writing with The Emergence Day Parade and As is tradition, (and eventually These Masks We Wear) and I find it very fun to write. I'm not sure 'what kind' of smut I write - Probably more dominance focused stuff.

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

I think I might have written an InuYasha crossover at some point, but it's been so long I really don't remember. If I do a crossover it's probably going to be something more like taking the idea from one piece of media and using the characters from another piece of media.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of lol

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

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

No I haven't, I think the only way I'd ever co-write with someone would just be if it was like a fic series of one-shots or something.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

This is hard! I feel like there's always ships that I'm like obsessed with but forget when I jump onto a new fandom. That doesn't mean I don't like that ship anymore I just have usually fallen out of the fandom.

If I had to name just one, it would probably be Albert Wesker and Claire Redfield. There's not many fics on them, but the ones that are there are all A-tier.

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

There's a once upon a time fanfic I started years ago,

16. What are your writing strengths?

Characterisation, I think. And even though I mostly gravitate towards writing angsty stuff, I think humour and comedic timing is a strength of mine too.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Physical description and settings, 100%. I don't really picture anything in my head when I write, which means all that physical description doesn't make its way onto the page, and when it does, I'm just going off vibes. Particularly with setting - I have zero idea what the locations in any of my fics look like lol. Like, the house in RtC? No clue. Zero.

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

Sometime it works, sometimes it doesn't. I particularly like when the character says things in another language that foreshadow things to come.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Maybe Nighmare on Elm Street?

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

This is a really hard question! There was a Once Upon a Time fic I would write on every now and then, but I don't believe I ever published any of it, It's just one that always stuck with me because it was so fun to write.

It's a Once Upon a Time AU - The kingdom Belle's father commands is given a request from a more powerful, much larger kingdom requesting the Belle be brought as a wife for their sorcerer.

Belle escapes her kingdom, stealing a set of armor from her castle and forging a note of knighthood with her father's seal on it. She steals away to the larger kingdom and ends up joining their army as a knight.

She quickly assimilates into her new role, able to hide her appearance through armor, but after a fateful encounter with the kingdom's sorcerer, who can sense that this knight is being deceitful, he demands that Belle be transferred to become his assistant outside of training hours so the he can keep an eye on them.

It's rocky at first, Belle trying to both not be killed by Rumple who appears just as insane as he is sadistic, and to keep her true identity hidden. - Unfortunately for Belle it all comes to a head after an accident when she adamantly gets in the way of Rumple shooting Robinhood's pregnant wife, her helmet is knocked away and Rumple finds out the truth.

He's furious, of course, that he'd been duped this whole time, and that the woman who was supposed to become his wife had been hiding under his nose the whole time, but realizes he can use this to his advantage - He has plans himself to overthrow the kingdom, and someone like Belle will prove more than useful.

No pressure, but I'm tagging @rhodophoria , though anyone who'd like to can answer these, there's a whole bunch of writers here on Tumblr that I'd love to hear the answers to these questions from!

[safyresky]

Happy New Episode Day! You know what that means!

🆕 Crystal Springs Chapter 26: Whiteout is now UP on ao3 and ff dot net!

I'm not doing this on purpose, I swear! It just...happens this way. I imagine next week's chapter, given it being one HELL of a dozy, may end up up well past Friday 😬😬 WE'LL SEE. ANYWAY.

Chapter 26: Whiteout

Through the age old tradition of villain monologues, Pyros explains his plan to the masses.

Give 'er a read HERE on ao3 and HERE on fanfiction dot net!

Today for the excerpt we have what I think is some of the best comedic timing in this old thang...

The wind came from nowhere and was everywhere all at once. It flung his jacket back, growing stronger and stronger. Hands in front of his face, he tried to press forward; but the snow was being pushed back in the wind, and taking him with it. It kept going, faster and stronger pushing the snow out, pushing him out, until Jack found himself staring at the swinging doors of the Elfirmary, snow pooling around him in the hallway. The snow below him froze. He slid back, stopping when the balcony railing gently pressed into his back. Dropping his arms, he exhaled, taking a moment to breath. The hallway was busy. Elle stood at the top of the steps, directing the evacuated Elfirmary staff and elves that were in the area down the stairs to the main floor. Pushing against the crowd, Bernard worked his way up, helping elves down the stairs and doing his best to reassure as he made it to the landing.  “Elle!”  “B!”  “What’s going on?”  “It’s Jacqueline,” Elle said, the last few elves rushing down the steps. “So, we’ve got good news and bad news.”  Bernard watched the elves rush away. Looked at the pile of snow in the hallway. Saw Jack pulling himself up off the banister with assistance from the wall beside it.  “Hmm. Okay. What’s the good news?”  “The good news is, she’s up!”  “The bad news?”  The Elfirmary doors slammed open, snow billowing out, carrying Jacqueline with it. She looked furious, wind rustling her skirt, hair whipping back. “That. That’s the bad news,” Elle said. “Oh,” Bernard replied, his voice cracking. Briefly glaring at her surroundings, Jacqueline lifted her hand. The snow on the floor shot up, packing together. Jacqueline pointed at Jack. The snow raced at her command, heading right for him. Jack stuck out his own hand, redirecting the snow before it could come near him. He turned on the spot, the snow stacking up in front of him, filling the hallway wall to wall until it touched the ceiling. Jack curled his fingers into his palm. The snow crunched. It stiffened, going from icy to packing in an instant as Jack backed up, stopping in front of the head elves.  “Was that everyone?”  “Yep,” Elle said.   “Great! That’s not going to hold her for long,” Jack gestured over his shoulder to the snowy wall behind him as something hit it forcefully with a muffled thump. It squeaked. “I can get her out of the Workshop, at least. Prime real estate is that-away, isn’t it?” Jack asked, pointing towards the other end of the hallway. It branched off by a round window, curving down one direction, heading up the other. “In both directions,” Bernard said. “Middle balcony is to the left. Upper balcony is, well. Up. You’re gonna lead her out?”  “Unless you’d rather risk the Workshop. Personally I don’t mind either way, but—”  “Hmm, yeah, I’d rather you didn’t,” Bernard said. “But just so you know, there’s trouble outside too.”  “Trouble?” both Elle and Jack asked, the muffled thumps increasing behind them. The snow squeaked louder, tiny trails falling off the edges and sliding to the floor. “Take a look for yourself.” Bernard lifted his chin towards the window at the end of the hall. Snow cracking behind him, Jack rushed to the end of the hall and peered out the window. He squinted in surprise, recoiling in shock.  “Well that’s probably not good.”  “What?” Elle asked.   “I’m seeing double.”

YEAH YOU ARE! Time to line things up for one BANGER of a FAMILY REUNION!

Not enough Blaise and Pyros here for you? Then go on ahead and read Chapter 26: Whiteout for some top tier sibling shenanigans from these two, on ao3 here and fanfiction dot net here!

Wanna start Crystal Springs from the TOP? Check out the Prologue: An Encounter HERE on ao3 and HERE on ff dot net!

Story summary and author's rambles below the cut!

It’s been almost a year since Jack Frost thawed and things are looking…well, not so great. Jack’s powers are seemingly gone. Without them, the Dome that keeps the North Pole safe from the cold and its magic controlled is melting, putting everything and everyone magical at risk. Unable to hide his power shortage any longer, Jack is forced to admit the truth. Thankfully, there is a solution: enacting the Legate Law, bringing Jack and the sister that he hurt so many centuries ago back together again. But when Jacqueline starts experiencing destructive blackouts, the pair are forced to head back home to Crystal Springs, bringing Jack face to face with the rest of the family. Needless to say, between getting his powers back, helping his sister figure out what in the FROST those blackouts even were, reconciling with his parents, meeting the two even younger siblings he didn’t even KNOW he had, NOT TO MENTION the ancient threat that’s had it out for the ENTIRE Frost family finally making a move? Saving Christmas (regrettably) is looking to be a little bit…complicated.

I LOVE that ao3 allows for a summary this long. Hell YES!

RIGHTO SO! CHAPTER 26!

She gave me last minute doubt while editing in the ao3 draft reader 👉🏻👈🏻. Idk WHY but I suddenly started doubting EVERYTHING about it abchbtrjbotrj. I HOPE it reads as well as it did BEFORE I got all doubty! It's got a lot of fun moments so this came out of nowhere and had me running laps in the house and laying face down on the floor pulling a Tina with some LOUD moans of despair 😵😵

There isn't much NEW this chapter; it's gotten a HUGE glow up from the original Chapter 26! Word count comparisons:

CS 2014 (the OG) -> 4,194k

CS 202X -> 7,679k

DECENT GLOW UP. Checks out tho, these chapters were SO SHORT they barely packed a punch.

That's okay! Blaise has, QUITE LITERALLY, fixed that

Pyros's plan is bonkers bananas, but I hope it makes sense how it all links together! Love that he's more angry about losing a war he started that got EVERYONE super pissed off instead of the almost 5000 years of solitary confinement, lol.

Right, well, ENJOY IT! And today's episode too, I guess? I've seen some spoilers and I am more confused than anything so we'll see how that plays out tonight.

[misslisamiray]

Time for the other thing I promised (and sorry it's a day late): An update on the Rick and Morty fanfic I'm writing! With bonus pic of the pretty space-themed binder it resides in. Also, from this post on, said fic will be referred to by its actual title.

Current page count: 80!!! (Which is so much longer than I expected this fic to get, but I am not complaining.) Status: Not done yet, but I'm entering the final stretch. I've given up on setting a goal date for when it's going to be finished, but I feel like I can now safely say SOON. Also, until the full fic is up on Ao3 & ff, you'll now be getting excerpts every Thursday!

Summary: Rick has a nasty cold... which he initially tries to pass off as an alien virus that can mimic any illness. Morty does his best to take care of him, and Rick (of course) makes things so, so much more difficult for both of them than they need to be. No one is surprised.

Meanwhile, Beth and Summer are out of the house, and Jerry is searching in the attic for the 90's anime VHS he's sure will help him figure out EXACTLY what to do (keep in mind he's the only one who still believes Rick's alien virus story). 😅

And now, without further ado, excerpt & dumbass title reveal below the cut!

Excerpt from Down With the Rickness by MissLisaMiray

"That's more like it. Okay, Rick. Here you go." Morty sighed. He carefully filled the medicine's accompanying measuring cup to the top line and tried to hand it to Rick.

"I don't want it." Rick grumbled, waving it away.

"Seriously?! Why not?" Morty asked, exasperated.

"It looks gross. I'm too stuffed up to tell, but it probably smells gross, too. And I know it's gonna taste like shit. So no, I don't want it." Rick explained, stubbornly turning his head. Morty barely held back a scream.

"Are you kidding me?! I thought it was gonna be something about this stuff being inferior to anything you'd make, so you were like, insulted by it. But it's just that? Of course it's gonna taste bad. Doesn't all medicine? Just swallow it quick and get it over with." He held the cup in front of Rick, who shook his head and continued refusing to take it.

"Of course this would be the one thing in the whole damn universe you won't drink. Rick, come on! It's for your own good. Stop acting like a 4 year old and take it!" Morty argued, climbing onto the bed and shoving the small cup in front of Rick's face. Rick opened his mouth to argue further, which Morty took advantage of by quickly pouring the medicine in before the old man could react.

Furious, the second he'd swallowed it down, Rick began sputtering, "Ugh, that's even worse than I thought it would be! Cough! Cough! What the hell, Morty?! Not cool! You can't force strange liquids down people's throats like that!"

"You think I enjoyed any part of that?! And don't be so dramatic - alI I did was make you take some cold medicine. Also, there's no way that's the most disgusting thing you've ever swallowed." Morty pointed out.

"Well, if nothing else, I can't argue that part. Still, that shit is foul. Yuck." Rick complained, still looking disgusted. He grabbed his flask and took a swig to wash away the taste. Morty considered saying something about that not being a great idea, but quickly decided it was a losing battle he wasn't interested in.

[1358456]

The Return? ... Again?

Hi, everyone. So. It’s been a while. Again. Today is January 1, 2024, and the last post, Last Post 2.0, was from October 6, 2022, so… over a year. Again. Déjà vu~ I’ve just been in this place before~ Gone in October and returning in January~

… In hindsight, I should have posted the Last Post 2.0 on October 22. That way, both times, I would have retired on October 22 (Last Post and Last Post 2.0). And if I had done that, I would’ve waited until January 6 to return, thus returning both times on January 6 over a year after going away. Oh well.

… Also apparently, this Tumblr has become 10 years old. Hm. I guess I did make this thing in December 2013, so… yeah. That happened. 10 years of this Tumblr, and I’ve been gone for 2 of them.

So, what happened this time?

Well, nothing. I just enjoyed a long rest. Retirement, if you will. Unlike last time, where I spent the time either dying, comatose, rehab, or playing Yakuza games, this time, I just… lived normally, I guess. Spending lots of time with friends and family, going on vacations, working away in the store, playing Yakuza Ishin, playing Yakuza 7 Gaiden, crying like a bitch because of Gaiden (…), crying because of Yakuza 8 trailers (…), and so on and so forth. I rather enjoyed my long time off.

So, why return this time?

… It’s… complicated. Let’s just say that I’m returning now to undo the reason why I went away not-so-forever twice now.

Let’s see if I can point out the key parts here.

There’s a reason why I abruptly retired and disconnected from everything back in 2020. The impending death certainly played a part, but I didn’t have to “disconnect” from everything. But instead, I used that as an excuse to disconnect from everything and vanish.

It’s the same reason as to why I didn’t immediately return when I could have and instead, hesitated until 2022. Yeah, the pile of Yakuza games (3, 4, 5, 6, 7, Judgment, Lost Judgment) certainly kept me busy, but it’s not like I was busy literally all day every day. I certainly could have squeezed in some time to return to Tumblr. And is the same reason as to why I wanted to disappear as soon as possible upon returning. Though… that took some time. It took… what, 9 months, instead of the planned 2? Hehe…

And finally, it’s the reason why I came back now in 2024. The fact that I even wrote this out… I wouldn’t say that I stopped caring exactly, but… hmm… I guess you could call it a proof of resolve. I made a difficult choice, so to speak.

… Hopefully all this is irrelevant and will not be brought up again. But if it does…

This is kind of rambling, and no one would have any idea what the hell I’m talking about, so I’ll stop there. Normally, I would never write this out, out of consideration. But… well, subtle hints probably won’t work. They didn’t work last time. No reason why it should this time. But I have this out here… just in case.

… Now back to things that people would actually understand, because hell if I fully understand what I wrote. Hehe…

So, will I return to writing this time?

Banter? Yes. Short Story? Most likely though rarely. Full stories on FF/Ao3? No. I didn’t touch those last time, I have no intention of doing so this time. I’m still retired, after all. It’s like when pro gamers retire from a game. They still play it, just not in any tournaments or that regularly.

Meaning, I probably won’t be active that much… once the “stockpile” of post ideas runs out. I’ll post stuff whenever I feel like it, and… I just won’t when I don’t. Unlike last time, I have no obligation of any sort this time around. No post count, no objectives, no nothing. Once the “stockpile” runs out, the activity is going to be very sporadic. But at least this Tumblr will be open so that if I wind up with more post ideas that won’t go away, I have an outlet.

So, what’s different from 2022 this time?

You probably noticed the different layout. I messed with a bunch of stuff over time. Including disabling of messages. At least I think it’s disabled.

I disabled messaging (not “Ask”, mind you) because of a specific reas… I mean, whenever someone messages me, I have to ponder for a while how I’m going to respond when I don’t have any meaningful responses, so my responses always feel too detached or too forced. … And I really don’t like doing that since it feels rude. So… best to disable that entirely, but keep the ask inbox open for one-off responses. So… sorry, to those who have messaged me repeatedly in the past. No more. Spare me the effort of staring at the messages for a while, thinking of a response out of courtesy, and sometimes putting it off until later, only to forget that entirely thus not responding for an excessive amount of time, at which point, responding is incredibly awkward.

All in all, it won’t be much different this time than in 2022. I’ll post random stuff from… random rambles to banters and short stories, and you’ll read ‘em for minor enjoyment.

So, will there be another Last Post this time?

Last Post 3.0? Third time’s the charm? Heh. No. Not this time. At least, I’m not planning on it. If the reason behind this return goes off as hoped, then I’ll stick around. If it goes disastrously, then… welp. Back to the void.

So… I’m here again. It wasn’t “for real, this time though”. I doubt many noticed that my profile image has been changed from the old Mew to a Dragoon’s portrait for a while now. In the Last Post 2.0 post, I said that Mew would stay in the grave and not return in a Dragoon or Immortal or a Purifier platform. … Well, it’s been stuffed in a Dragoon shell now.

I actually tried to draw/edit a Mew image to make it look like it’s in a Dragoon pod, but… that didn’t go so well (some things never change), so I’m just using the SC Remastered Dragoon portrait for now.

I guess this post has gone on long enough. All I can say now is…

… For real, this time though… right?

Oh, also, Happy New Year. 2024, 甲辰年, Year of the Blue Dragon.

Woo~

... So, how've you been, everyone?

[cloudburst-ink]

10 Fics

Tagged by @lori0018 ! I’m supposed to share the first line of my last 10 fics on AO3.

Oh boy. They’re all gonna be KimChay. Here we go.

1. Colleagues and Strangers

“Now that we’re alone, what the fuck was—?”

Written for the Fucking Fridays challenge I do with @staykimchay , as most of these probably will be.

2. Body of Devotion

Magic is a liminal, nebulous thing.

More FF smut, this time where Kim is a witch. ✨

3. Jealous of the Doctor

“You seem restless, Kim.”

This one isn’t from FF, but it’s still 500 words as it’s for a Guess the Author event on the Kindergarten Mafia server that has similar guidelines.

4. Simple Little Secrets

Crowds always make Chay nervous. He’s wearing long sleeves beneath his uniform shirt, only his hands and face exposed. Still, packed in tightly around the orientation stage, Chay feels vulnerable to all the bodies moving around him.

Oh my gosh a chapter fic! This attempts to loosely follow a canon-adjacent timeline with the key difference that Chay is psychic and sees visions of people’s futures when he touches them.

5. Secret Admirer At My School

Chay startles at the sudden clearing of a throat in the otherwise silent library basement. Kim leans against the nearest bookshelf, smirking at him.

More FF, this time academic rival smut.

6. Secret Admirer With Black Hair

Chay leans back on the grass, soaking in the sunlight and gentle breeze of his college’s quad.

FF. Prequel to Secret Admirer At My School.

7. Praised By My Boyfriend

“I have a theory.”

FF where Chay decides to try to take the reins and stroke the praise kink that Kim doesn’t know he has.

8. Desperate Measures

The club is dark. It smells like artificial fog, beams of neon light piercing through the hazy clouds of it that curl weightlessly over the dance floor.

My long running chapter fic that I will go to desperate measures to complete.

9. Cotton Candy Crush

It isn’t Chay’s first time doing this, but it’s close to it.

Over 6k words of filthy, shameless KimChay smut that takes place the first time Kim shows up unannounced at Chay’s house.

10. Mistletoe & Meddling

Chay isn’t sure why he has to be here. He barely interacts with anyone here at all outside of passing greetings in the hallways of the compound and the occasional assigned bodyguard; there’s no point in him rubbing elbows with the whole extended family and their terrifyingly rich business associates at some fancy holiday party.

Post canon holiday themed making up and smut. 🥰

I shall tag @justanothervariant , @staykimchay , and @arialerendeair .

[disastardly]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks for the tag @hereforanepilogue!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 16, with more on my mostly-abandoned FF.net account

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 163,682 (and about ~200k more unpublished in my WIP folder)

3. What fandoms do you write for? Right now the big one is Stranger Things but my forever fandom is Power Rangers/Sentai/Kamen Rider. I've also written for Psych, Doctor Who, and Supernatural. (Most of my SPN and DW stuff is sequestered to my FF account.)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Descent into the Depths of the Earth (Or at Least Milwaukee) (1093)

To Find a King (869)

Dream On (112)

In the Mood (112)

Cold Hard Bitch (104)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I really try to, but sometimes it gets away from me and I worry it's been too long since they left the comment, and it turns into a whole thing (in my head ofc).

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Descent, easily. The post kiss freakout being resolved in another fic? When the fic was originally going to end very differently? Yeaaaaaaah.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Toss up between TFaK (fully resolving's Descent's angsty ending) or California (literally a mini-fic about the OTP getting married).

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not so far?

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I have, mainly some pretty straightforward m/m stuff. A few funkier attempts swim around my WIP folder, almost certainly never to see the light of day.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? I've written a lot of subtle crossovers, but only two overt ones, and I think the craziest would be the Doctor Who/Office one I wrote back in high school. Dwight is a Dalek!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? If anyone has, they didn't ask or tell me (or it's been long enough that I forgot).

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? I have not!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? At this point, feels safe to say Maddie/Nick, even if that's at least 75% my own interpretations and projections. Destiel, Shassie, and Steddie are pretty darn close, especially Destiel, even if I haven't been involved in that fandom in over a decade.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? A few of my orphaned fics on FF.net will probably never see the light of day, as well as some of the half-formed works in my current WIP folder. Technically have the finished final chapter of Magical Mysteries but no motivation to edit, so still holding hope for that one.

16. What are your writing strengths? Dialogue, I think. I spend a lot of time trying to imagine the scenes I write and hear the dialogue how I think the actors would deliver it.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Conciseness, clearly. Takes a lot of self-editing to wrangle a story to a manageable, clear narrative.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I've done bits and pieces of it here and there, mainly with the like five languages that I can double-check against my own thin linguistic knowledge.

19. First fandom you wrote for? if you dig back far enough, pretty sure it was Pokemon on the Bulbagarden forums

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? Descent, easily. Despite the angsty ending, it was fun to write a slice of life centered on two characters I love, going to an event I love even more.

no pressure tags for @eriquin @serpentinegraphite and whoever else sees this, go wild

[theoreticalconstruct]

FF Kiss Battle fic - Bending the Rules

The Final Fantasy Kiss Battle is happening again for 2024 and this so far is the only fill I've been able to come up with. Please feel free to stop by and leave (or fill) some prompts.

(Appropriately enough, the Multiamory March day 1 prompt was Kiss, so...)

Title: Bending the Rules Fandom: Final Fantasy X Characters: Auron/Braska/Jecht Rating: T?

A game of spin the bottle doesn't go as Jecht or Auron expected. (Braska, on the other hand...)

AO3 link here.

---

"When will this thing stop?"

Auron's gruffness usually would've prompted a few choice words from Jecht. In this case, though, he just shook his head. "Good question."

That bottle had been spinning longer than any bottle had a right to spin, Jecht though. He knew he had a good arm, obviously, but he didn't think he was that strong. Had Rin given them a trick bottle? But why would anyone make a bottle that wouldn't stop spinning?

Auron was staring at it, eyes narrowed, as if he could force physics into working the way it ought to work. Braska, on the other hand, just looked between the two of them as he patiently waited. His smile was all innocence, and that probably fooled Auron pretty damn well, but Jecht could see the amusement in his eyes.

After a few seconds Auron shook his head, started to pull himself away from the little circle. "I don't know how you talked me into this," he said, glancing up at Jecht.

"Just a moment, Sir Auron," Braska said, and Auron paused, the wind taken out of his sails. "The lounge owner said that we were supposed to kiss whoever the bottle pointed to when it stopped, yes?"

"Yep, that's how it's played." Jecht had done something very similar back home; Abe team parties could get pretty damn wild, especially when they were on a winning streak.

"Well, if it won't stop, then I suppose he will have to kiss us both at the same time."

"Um, what?" It was not Jecht's finest comeback.

Auron didn't notice; his eyes were widening with shock at Braska's suggestion, and his face was going red. "That's… I…"

"Oh, come now," Braska said, standing himself. "You did agree to this, so we may as well follow the rules."

Jecht blinked as he saw Braska pull Auron to his feet and next to him, close enough that he might actually be able to get at both of their faces at the same time if they leaned in a bit more. Braska then turned back to Jecht, giving him an expectant look.

As he pushed himself up and walked over to where the two were standing, he noticed from the corner of his eye that the bottle had finally started to slow.

Much later, when the three were lying in bed with considerably less clothing between them and Auron's quiet snores filled the air, Jecht lightly prodded Braska in the ribs. "You're gonna have to show me how you did that trick later," he whispered, having figured it out about halfway through the tryst.

"A simple application of black magic," he whispered back, smile still all kindness and innocence, perhaps even more so now after their exertions.

"You just keep surprising me, Braska. I love that." Jecht chuckled as he stretched and settled back down. It was about damn time they all got some proper sleep.

[justsomeoneunordinary]

Here, have a genderbend F/F WinterIron nonsense fic that jumped me while I was writing something entirely else. Idk why it came to me so randomly, but here it is anyway. (Bucky still goes by Bucky even though she’s a woman here because I said so.)

Warning for nonconscious consumption of drugs which I probably portrayed badly. I’ve never done drugs so Idk what it’s like to be high. And I wasn’t going to research it for this nonsense that jumped at me so randomly.

This is also totally unedited, which means there must be quite some mistakes. I’ll edit and upload it on AO3 in the next bunch of days (because this random thing got almost 1.5k long??? Wtf) but right now I want to go back to the fic I was originally writing for before getting distracted ffs.

I’m not even in this fandom anymore, how did that happen??? Anyway, here you go:

The glow of Toni’s arc reactor is pretty distracting. Bucky can’t help herself and stare at the only light source in the night’s darkness. It’s a nice blue. Doesn’t hurt the eyes like the bright lamps in the living room would if Bucky or Toni were to turn them on.

Must be pretty fucking uncomfortable, though. Bucky knows a thing or two about having metal wired with your own flesh and skin against your will while held in captivity.

Still, while there’s always pain lacing her shoulder, she imagines a metal piece right in the middle of her chest would be worse. Especially for her breasts. Toni’s aren’t very big, which must be a relief for her, but it must be disturbing nonetheless.

Bucky grabs her own breasts and imagines what it would be like if she had a flashlight installed in between. She presses them slightly together to see the difference if she were wearing a bra and winces. The metal’s edge would be cutting right into her breast every time—Toni can impossibly be living like this. She eyes Toni’s breasts and compares them with her own. Toni’s are definitely a bit smaller, but still.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” Bucky interrupts their mutual silence of dealing with insomnia each on their own.

Toni slowly looks up from… whatever she’s doing. Genius billionaire stuff probably. “The whole world is hurting, Buckaroo. You’ll have to be a bit more specific than that if you want a better answer.” The single raised eyebrow is kind of infuriating.

“Your breasts,” Bucky explains and wiggles her own that she’s still holding to make sure Toni understands. Just in case. “With the arc reactor right in the middle.”

Toni snorts. “Oh, all the time. Like a bitch.”

“Mm.” Yeah, Bucky thought so. She suddenly realizes that she must look like a weirdo fondling her own boobs like that in the middle of the night at the dining table and finally lets go of them to cup her hands again around her semi-warm mug in front of her instead.

“What are you even doing?” Toni cocks her head to the side and eyes Bucky up-and-down, slowly sitting up from her lying position on the sofa and carelessly throwing her project on the coffee table.

“Drinking tea,” Bucky answers. She even helpfully points to the mug.

“I can see that, thank you very much. I mean—wait. What tea are you drinking?”

Bucky shrugs. “Dunno, didn’t look at the label. It’s a green one.” A very green one, considering she can identify the color despite sitting in darkness.

“Is it Bruce’?!” Toni looks aghast.

How should Bucky know? “I mean… it’s green. So probably.”

A look of shocked disbelief passes over Toni’s expression before fading and making room for pure unadulterated glee. Suddenly, Toni throws her head back and starts laughing loudly to her heart’s content. It’s a nice sound. Very un-rich like. An honest laugh instead of a fake chuckle that Bucky expected.

“Oh, Snowflake,” Toni shakes her head fondly, the nickname slipping out mechanically, because Toni can’t talk to anyone without nicknaming them. Must be one of those eccentric billionaire things. Bucky wouldn’t know, she’s never met a billionaire besides Toni. Well, she’s met Howard, obviously, but he was still “only” a millionaire back then, so that doesn’t count.

“What you’re drinking currently is an extremely high dose of cannabis tea.”

Oh. That explains why the walls are wobbling. She thought the jiggle of her breasts previously made the walls do jumps in sympathy too, but apparently not.

Toni’s eyes slit in concentration after her laughter slowly ebbs and she takes in Bucky’s appearance, visibly shifting into Scientist Mode. “I’m surprised the tea has such a strong effect on you. Drugs have no effect on Steve, so they shouldn’t have on you too.”

Well, Bucky’s no scientist but, “Bruce also has the super soldier serum, albeit a bastardized one. If the tea has an effect on him it makes only sense it would have an effect on me too, no?”

Toni shakes her head and Bucky sags in disappointment. And here she thought, she said something intelligent for once.

“Bruce is a more or less an ordinary human while de-hulked, and the tea has even less of an effect on him than it seems to have on you. You should probably stop drinking that, you’re high as a kite.”

Furrowing her brows, Bucky pulls the mug closer to her. “No,” she grunts. The tea is very calming, which is precisely what she searched for when she walked into the kitchen in the middle of the night after being woken from another nightmare in which she was experimented on like a guinea pig. When mum used to tell Bucky that men would try to use her body for their own gain, becoming a brainwashed assassin is probably not what she had meant back then. That shit really weighs on one’s psyche and cannabis or no, that tea is the first thing that’s helped her to clean her mind, so she’s not giving it back now, thanks but no thanks.

“Fine,” Tony shrugs, “I just hope you know you’ll be extremely embarrassed of this whole exchange once you’re sober again.”

“Nah, I grew up Steve, I know no shame.” That punk has pulled her through all kinds of bullshit back in their childhood and hasn’t stopped once they reached adulthood either. She’s desensitized to all kinds of shame. Also, she’s an ex brainwashed assassin, she has other problems than something as mundane as feeling embarrassment.

A weird kind of tickling sensation makes itself known in Bucky’s belly area as Toni’s laughter rings out again. She feels suddenly much warmer than before and she doesn’t think it’s because F.R.I.D.A.Y. turned the heat on for no reason.

Bucky’s brain cells all decide to go on vacation when she asks, “I know I killed your parents, but wanna fuck anyway?” She cringes as soon as she’s finished speaking and considers drowning herself in her mug of tea. If she dips her nose in and holds her breath, it would work, right?

They don’t talk about this. It’s an unspoken rule. They’re all a little happy family of superheroes with PTSD living in a huge tower in the middle of Manhattan, courtesy of one billionaire slash superhero whose parents Bucky happens to have killed when she was a brainwashed assassin working for a Nazi organization, and they don’t fucking talk about that. Ever.

Toni’s laughter finds an instant end, which is a shame. It really is a nice sound.

“I’m going to forgive you this once because you’re too high to think clearly.”

“Yeah, I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth.”

“Hm.” Toni looks at Bucky for a beat longer with an unreadable expression before turning around and picking her project from the table again, nonverbally showing that she’s done with the conversation.

Unfortunately, Bucky’s brain-to-mouth filter has left her the moment she took her first sip of the cannabis tea. “The offer to fuck still stands, though.”

Toni blinks slowly. A beat passes, then, “What even brought this on?”

“I’ve been staring at your boobs for a long while,” Bucky confesses. The arc reactor makes it impossible not to stare, really. Especially when Toni just walks around bra-less in only a tank top. “And you have this whole—what do they call it these days?—uh… oh yes, you have this whole MILF thing going for you too.” Bucky has seen images of Toni in her youth on the internet, and while she can’t deny she has always been a beauty, she still thinks the laughing lines around her eyes and the greying strands in her dark brown hair give her a certain charme she didn’t have before. Toni is someone who aged like fine wine.

Also, she has a very firm ass and Bucky has always been an ass woman.

“Huh,” Toni mutters in surprise, her project forgotten once again. Then she eyes Bucky’s figure, her eyebrows raising in appreciation. “Never had a woman who could bench press me in bed before.

“You know what, Snowflake?” Toni smirks. “Ask me again once you’re sober and I might consider it.”

Bucky doesn’t think twice throwing the tea from the table and let it shatter against the ground. “’K, I’ll wait.”

A beat of stunned silence passes, before Bucky frantically gets up to clean her mess. If by the morning even a little bit of the spilled tea remains, Pepper will probably kill her with a single stiletto right through the eye for ruining the parquet floor. For a tiny woman with no superhero powers she’s fucking terrifying.

Toni’s delighted laughter echoing through the living room is worth it, though.

So, so worth it.