#wrote this quick so it's not polished but I wanted to write something!

[katemoneymartinsgf]

•pairings - paige bueckers x reader

•summary - reader comforts overwhelmed paige (lil paigey mentioned!)

•a/n - I wrote this late enjoy (everyone be proud i was actually writing.)

~~~~~~

The summer sun poured through the gym's large windows, illuminating the court where Paige was locked in her own world. The rhythmic sound of the basketball bouncing against the polished wooden floor echoed through the empty space, a steady beat that mirrored her determination. It was supposed to be summer break—a time for relaxation and carefree days—but here she was, drenched in sweat, pushing herself harder than ever.

You watched from the bleachers, your heart heavy with a mix of admiration and longing. Even though you had the opportunity to join her on many of her “world tour” trips this summer, you had chosen to stay back and take extra classes, hoping to lighten your course load for the next semester. You wanted to dedicate more time to the team, to be there for Paige, but the decision came at a cost. The time you could spend together felt almost nonexistent, and when you did manage to see each other, it was often in the midst of chaos.

So here you were, late at night watching her practice because you’ll take any time you can get to spend with her. 

As Paige dribbled the ball with relentless energy, you could see the weight of the world pressing down on her. Every missed shot seemed to chip away at her vibrant spirit, the frustration building in her posture. It worries you. She was so used to thriving in the spotlight, but now, the pressure of expectations loomed over her like a dark cloud. She knew this was her last year. She wants to prove herself and get a ring, but its starting to take a toll.

This was the same girl who had held your hand through sleepless nights of uncertainty. When you had to let go of your dreams of playing, it was Paige who sat with you on the bleachers, her laughter a soothing balm against the ache of loss. She would bring you snacks during practice, just seeing her smile while walking up to you changed your mood for the day. With every shared secret and late-night conversation, your friendship had blossomed into something deeper, a love that felt like coming home.

The day she had asked you out was etched in your memory—a perfect mix of nervous laughter and hopeful glances. Under the stars, with the distant sounds of campus life swirling around you, she had leaned in, her eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and sincerity. “So, what do you say? Want to be my girlfriend?” It had been a simple question, but the weight of it had felt monumental. From that moment on, you were inseparable.

Yet, in your heart, you knew that love wasn’t measured by time spent but by the moments that made you feel alive. And watching her now, it hurt to see the vibrant girl you adored caught in a cycle of pressure and performance, yearning for her to find her way back to the joy that first drew you to her.

“Hey, P!” you called out, trying to keep your tone light, hoping to pull her back from the edge. “How about a quick break love? I brought snacks!” You said pulling up the bag of strawberry tru fru from your bag

She paused, glancing over with a hint of a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Maybe in a bit,  I’m gonna get it eventually!” Her cheerful demeanor felt forced, the strain beneath it cutting deep.

You stood, your heart racing as you approached her, sensing the tipping point was close. “No, seriously. You’ve been going at it for hours, and you look like you might explode.”

With a slight chuckle, she brushed it off. “I’m good, Just need to get in the zone.”

“Good? You look anything but,” you replied gently, stepping closer. “I’ve seen you play baby I know you’re better than this, you aren’t gonna get anywhere if you are in your head. Talk to me.”

For a moment, she hesitated, her gaze drifting to the floor, the conflict in her expression visible. You knew that she held a lot inside, and it was time for her to let it out.

“Please, Paige,” you pressed softly, your eyes meeting hers. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

she hesitated for a moment, her grip on the ball tightening as she took a deep breathe.

“I'm tired,” Paige admitted, and you could see the walls she had built around herself start to come down. Her shoulders slumped as she set the ball down on the floor, the tension in her body easing just a bit. “Traveling is great, and I’m so lucky and fortunate for everything I have and am able to do. But I’m so tired. I feel like I barely even have time to process my thoughts,between practice, being gone, and with all the drama going on online right now with the team. and sometimes it feels like there’s a weight in my mind—if that even makes sense.”

You felt a pang in your heart at her words. You felt guilty knowing that she was trying to take this on all alone. She sank onto the floor, legs slightly apart, the energy that usually surrounded her dimming. You bent down in front of her, placing your hands gently on her knees. “Then let me hold it.”

“Huh?” she replied, surprise flickering in her eyes.

“Some of this weight on your mind, P. I need you to tell me when things are getting heavy and too much,” you urged softly, your gaze locked onto hers, hoping to convey the sincerity of your words.

She shook her head, a hint of defiance in her voice. “You don’t need that,” she insisted, standing up and dusting herself off. “On top of school, what you do for the team, and everything you do for me, the last thing you need is my shit on top of that.”

You were baffled by her response. “Baby, what are you talking about? You do so much for me, and you think what you bring to this relationship isn’t enough? I’m here because I want to be, not out of obligation. Let me help you.”

Her eyes softened, but there was still a flicker of hesitation. “It’s just—I feel like I’m not giving you enough in return. You do so much for me; the least I could do is figure my shit out by myself.” Her voice cracked, her tongue poking at her cheek as she tried to keep her composure, her head falling slightly.

“Oh, my love…” you murmured, pulling her in for a hug.

Nothing was said for a moment as you held her tight, feeling the tension in her body slowly ease as she wrapped her arms around you, sinking into your touch. You pulled away slightly, your hands taking her face in your palms, gently lifting her gaze to meet yours.

“Paige, you don’t have to repay me for the things I do for you. I do them because I love you, and I don’t expect anything in return. There is nothing more fulfilling than the love you give me. I want all of you, Paige—the good and the bad. So let me take some of the burden off your mind, baby. You won’t owe me anything. Loving me the way you do is payment enough.”

Tears glistened in her eyes as she took a shaky breath, her lips trembling into a small smile. “You really mean that?”

“Always,” you replied, your thumb brushing gently across her cheek.

A wave of relief washed over her as she melted into you, the warmth of your embrace enveloping her like a cozy blanket. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Seriously, you’re my rock.”

‘’I got you, baby, through everything,” you said gently, leaning in to place a soft kiss on her lips, which she returned gladly.

She pulled away, searching your eyes before a mischievous smile crept across her face. “Everything?” she questioned, and you nodded hesitantly.

“Even my struggling rap career?” She joked 

you pushed away, but she held you tight.

“Shut up, P.”

“I would appreciate it if you addressed me as Lil Paigey,” she shot back, her eyes sparkling with playful defiance.

“Yeah, not happening. Good try, though.” You placed another kiss on her nose before breaking free from her grasp and grabbing the ball.

“Maybe if you beat me in a game of horse…” you challenged, a playful grin on your face.

She took that as a dare, snatching the ball from your hands. “Okay, but I'll go first!” she declared, walking toward the court with a bright smile.

Your heart eased at the sight of your girl radiating happiness, the stress that had weighed her down fading away. This was the moment you’d been hoping for—her laughter echoing in the gym, bringing a sense of normalcy and joy to both of you.

~~~

lmk if you like, it’s how i decide if i’m gonna write more this week :)

[luciemggio]

Chemistry, Unscripted

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x f’actress reader

Warnings: use of the third person POV at the end

Summary: A viral interview sparks real chemistry between Sebastian Stan and a rising actress. Quiet dates follow — months later, their romance is confirmed in a GQ couple’s feature.

The studio was quiet, but not cold. There was something intimate about it — the black curtains swallowing the outside world, the soft lights painting their faces like a Caravaggio portrait. The crew murmured final directions as cameras prepared to roll. Two chairs. Two actors. One conversation.

Sebastian Stan sat first. Polished black boots crossed at the ankle, sleeves of his navy button-down pushed to his elbows. A silver ring on his index finger glinted under the light, though it was the easy mischief in his eyes that made people double-take.

Then you walked in.

A rising star. You’d stunned audiences with your raw, near-unnerving performance in The Eighth Night, an indie psychological thriller. The kind of role that either ends your career or cements it. For her, it did the latter.

You wore a tailored black suit with nothing but a delicate chain beneath the blazer. Poised but magnetic. Not the kind of beautiful that felt distant — the kind that drew you in, kept you curious. Sebastian stood up as you approached and offered a hand.

“Hi. I’m Sebastian.”

You smiled, eyes crinkling. “I know,” you laughed softly, shaking his hand. “I’m Y/N”

A spark. Quick, invisible to the room. But you both felt it.

You both sat across from one another. The cameras began rolling. The little red light blinked to life.

Sebastian: “Okay, so first off — congratulations. The Eighth Night completely ruined me. I was emotionally hungover for three days. How did you even begin to prepare for something like that?”

Y/N: “Thank you.”

(You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling.)

“I think I wrote letters. To myself. As the character. Like, ‘Dear me, today I watched my mother forget who I was…’ That sort of thing. Until her voice was louder than mine.”

Sebastian: (Looking stunned.)

“That’s actually… haunting. And brilliant. Are you secretly a poet?”

Y/N: (Laughs.)

“I’m publicly bad at poetry, if that counts.”

Sebastian: “Well, I’d still read your love letters.”

A beat. You raised an eyebrow, grinning.

Y/N: “Would you now?”

Sebastian: (With that low, amused laugh.)

“Absolutely. I feel like you’d write the kind of letter that leaves someone pacing their kitchen at 2am.”

The flirtation, like all good ones, wasn’t forced. It was in the glances, in the way you leaned forward slightly when he spoke. The way his eyes kept darting to your hands when you gestured, as if he wanted to memorize them.

Y/N: “Alright, my turn. You played Bucky Barnes for a decade. How do you stay in love with a character for that long?”

Sebastian: “Mm.”

(He leans back, considering.)

“I think the character evolves as you do. Bucky started off as someone I wanted to protect. Then… he became someone I understood. And now? He’s someone I forgive.”

Y/N: “That’s… gorgeous.”

(You folded your arms gently, your voice soft.)

“There’s something tender about the way you talk about him.”

Sebastian: (Shrugs, his smile deepening.)

“There’s something tender about the way you see people.”

You looked down for a second, caught off guard by the sincerity. When you looked up, your smile had changed — softer now, unsure.

⸻

By the halfway point, the interview was practically forgotten. You asked each other about childhood, about failure, about what scared you. He talked about moving from Romania and feeling like he had to “earn” his Americanness. You spoke about how your first few years in the industry were full of rejection letters and one-bedroom apartments with flickering ceilings.

Sebastian: “What keeps you going?”

Y/N: “You ever walk into a bookstore and feel like you could belong to every life on the shelf?”

(You smiled gently.)

“That feeling. Stories. Even the painful ones. Especially the painful ones.”

Sebastian: (Leaning closer.)

“See? Definitely a poet.”

The interview ran long. When the director called cut, neither of you stood up immediately.

“So… can I ask a non-Variety-approved question?” Sebastian asked when you the interview ended

“Only if I can too.” You answered smiling

“What’s something that instantly makes you fall for someone?” He asked shyly

“Curiosity. Kindness. A really good voice. You?” You responded with a kind smile

“Same. And someone who surprises me. Which, for the record… you do.” He said looking at you deep in your eyes.

Your eyes met his. Something charged past between you, more than just attraction — recognition.

“My turn. Want to get a drink sometime?” You asked abruptly

“I’d love that.” Sebastian answered grinning like it was the easiest question he’d ever answered.

The interview aired two weeks later. Within hours, Twitter caught fire.

“I don’t want to start anything but… did anyone else feel like Sebastian Stan was in love on camera???”

“That wasn’t an interview. That was foreplay disguised as art.”

“Their eye contact has more chemistry than most romantic movies.”

Edits flooded TikTok. Slow-motion glances, overlaid with romantic ballads. The comment sections turned into warzones of ship names and hopeful dreams.

Paparazzi spotted you out in New York a month later — at a small café in the West Village. No entourage, just coffee, laughter, and him reaching across the table to fix a stray eyelash on your cheek.

Three months later, you walked the red carpet at a film premiere — separately, but not far apart. Inside the event, someone snapped a candid of them in the corner: your hand on his chest, his thumb brushing along your wrist. Both smiling like it was already an inside joke.

Eventually, it stopped being theory and became fact. Quietly. No official post. No announcement. But there you were, again and again — film festivals, morning walks, bookstore visits.

One year after Actors on Actors

The journal:

GQ COUPLES COVER STORY — “SEBASTIAN STAN & Y/N Y/L/N: UNSCRIPTED”

By: Daniel Rhodes

Photos by: Cass Bird

Location: A sun-drenched loft in Tribeca, NY

Sebastian Stan was wearing a faded white tee, vintage jeans, and no shoes. He had already made coffee — black for him, oat milk for her — and he greeted the interviewer at the door like they had met before. Behind him, Y/N was curled up barefoot on a velvet sofa, thumbing through a Patti Smith book and grinning like she was waiting to be let in on a secret.

You were both in town promoting different projects — he’d just wrapped a political thriller with Netflix; you’d been nominated again, this time for a sharp, devastating drama on grief. But this morning, you were just two people very much in sync — sipping coffee, stealing glances, and finishing each other’s thoughts without meaning to when the interviewer asked questions.

Here’s the full interview with Hollywood’s new favorite couple.

(Third person POV)

GQ: Let’s get this out of the way first — when did you two really know? Like really know something was happening?

Sebastian: (Laughs, glancing at her)

You mean, besides on national YouTube in front of millions of people?

Y/N: That Actors on Actors set felt like a trap. Whoever paired us up should win a matchmaking award.

Sebastian: Right? It was instant. The second she sat down and started talking about writing letters to her characters, I was like, “Oh no. I’m gone.”

Y/N: (Teasing)

You said I surprised you. Remember?

Sebastian: You still do.

(He says it without irony. You blushe just a little.)

⸻

GQ :Did you go out right after?

Y/N: No, we were both trying to be professional. But I asked him for a drink at the end of the shoot.

Sebastian: She beat me to it. She was holding her blazer and said, “So… wanna get a drink sometime?” I was useless after that.

Y/N: It took three weeks to line it up. I thought maybe he forgot.

Sebastian: I was literally pacing waiting for the green text to turn blue again.

⸻

GQ: How was that first date?

Sebastian: Honestly? Kinda surreal. We met at this tiny bar downtown — candlelight, vinyl playing low. She walked in, and I forgot what drink I ordered.

Y/N: He spilled his whiskey.

Sebastian: (Laughs) It was just condensation.

Y/N: It wasn’t. He was nervous.

Sebastian: You wore that black silk dress and I couldn’t form full sentences.

Y/N: (Softly)

You were very charming once you got over the stammering.

⸻

GQ: Was there ever a moment you weren’t sure about this?

Y/N: Honestly, the attention freaked me out a little. When the Actors on Actors video went viral — the edits, the shipping, the memes — I thought, If this is already happening before we’ve even had dinner… it could get messy.

Sebastian: I was protective, maybe overly so. I wanted us to have time to figure it out without headlines guessing it before we did.

Y/N: He was really patient. And kind. He let me set the pace. But also, he showed up. All the time.

Sebastian: That was easy. I just wanted to be near you.

⸻

GQ: What surprised you most about each other once you got past the public version?

Sebastian: She’s way funnier than people know. Like dark, dry, evil genius funny. And she sings all the time, badly, on purpose. It’s adorable.

Y/N: You sing worse.

Sebastian: (Grinning)

Not possible.

Y/N: Okay, seriously? What surprised me — he’s gentler than I expected. The world sees him as this brooding, magnetic man, and yes, that’s true, but he also leaves handwritten notes in my bag before I travel. He opens every door. He memorizes my coffee order exactly the way I like it — even the weird ones.

Sebastian: You’re worth the effort.

⸻

GQ: What does a perfect day together look like?

Y/N: Morning coffee, books in bed, music from the ’70s playing too loud, then a long walk with no phones. Maybe a matinee movie.

Sebastian: Throw in a bookstore. And she makes this pasta with chili oil and garlic that could end wars.

Y/N: You cook too. You’re a great sous-chef.

Sebastian: Only because you hum while you chop things. It hypnotizes me.

⸻

GQ: How do you handle conflict?

Sebastian: We talk. Even when it’s uncomfortable. Especially then.

Y/N: He won’t go to bed angry. I used to retreat when things got tense, but he kind of… sits in it with me. Makes space for it.

Sebastian: Love isn’t just the easy parts.

⸻

GQ: Biggest green flag in each other?

Sebastian: Her empathy. She sees everyone, even the people no one else notices.

Y/N: His loyalty. He’s deeply loyal. To his friends, to his family, to what he believes in. Once you’re in, he never lets go.

⸻

GQ: Is it hard being in the same industry?

Sebastian: There are challenges. Like, schedules. Distance. But we understand each other in ways no one else could. The weird rhythms of a set. The self-doubt. The way your soul feels after a hard scene.

Y/N: And we root for each other. Always. There’s no competition. We show up on sets with flowers or soup or dumb little love notes.

Sebastian: Or hide notes in each other’s scripts. I’ve started a war with that.

⸻

GQ: Last question — what’s the last thing you said to each other before we started this interview?

Sebastian: She looked at me and said, “Don’t be too charming. I’m trying to keep you to myself.”

Y/N: And he said, “Too late.”

⸻

Photos from the shoot accompany the piece: the two of you barefoot on the kitchen floor, laughing over spilled coffee; him kissing your temple while you hid your smile behind a book; you wearing his flannel shirt, legs tucked under you.

(You can imagine whoever you want for the girl it was just a simple idea. Enjoy !!!)

The comment section under GQ’s Instagram post is, as expected, unhinged:

@softsebby: “She was HIS letter all along 😭”

@loveroflattes: “Is this what mutual respect AND sexual tension looks like???”

@cinematicships: “Their relationship has better writing than most Netflix shows tbh.”

[ruebossanova]

professor o'connell: the mini series - 4

college prof!billie x student!reader

word count: 2.0k

warnings: older!billie x younger!reader, slowslowslow burn, eventual smut, college life, hella tension, quiet/shy reader

summary: tension tension and moreee tension

masterlist

————————————————————————————

saturday morning came with too much sun and not enough sleep.

liora blinked at the ceiling for a while, arms folded over her chest like she could hold herself together physically. her roommate had gone home for the weekend — something about a cousin's birthday, or maybe a dentist appointment. she didn't remember. didn't ask.

the room was quiet. too quiet.

she made tea she didn't drink. scrolled through messages she didn't answer. opened a book she didn't read.

by noon, she was sitting cross-legged on her bed with her notebook open in front of her, pen in hand. the page was already half-filled — not with anything polished, just fragments. phrases. half-rhymes.

the ink bled slightly from how hard she pressed:

i want to ask if you meant it.

but i don't want to hear no.

i want to walk into silence

and come out with a song.

she stared at it.

then flipped the page and wrote more:

your voice stayed with me

like light under my skin.

like thunder

waiting for somewhere to land.

she stopped.

closed the notebook.

opened it again.

flipped back.

by evening, the pages were full of the same person in different disguises.

sunday, she went for a walk.

campus was mostly empty — a soft kind of quiet, like everyone else had left the volume down. she wandered the edge of the quad, passed the student center, the old library, the admin building.

and then — like a chord struck out of nowhere — she saw her.

billie.

across the green.

walking slowly, head down, earbuds in. her bag slung over one shoulder, sweater loose at the sleeves. the same boots. the same expression — unreadable.

liora stopped moving.

billie looked up.

their eyes met.

only for a second.

but it held longer than it should've.

liora didn't wave. didn't smile.

neither did billie.

just a look.

just that.

then billie looked away. kept walking.

liora stood there until her fingers went cold.

she didn't write that night.

she just lay on her bed in the dark, one arm folded under her head, notebook still open beside her like it might finish the page for her.

but it didn't.

only the quiet answered.

and it didn't say enough.

monday came without warning.

the morning moved like fog again — soft, pale, slow. liora didn't feel ready, but she went anyway. her bag was heavier than usual, not because of the books. because of everything else.

music room four was already lit when she arrived.

billie sat at the piano this time. not playing. just sitting there, spine straight, fingers laced loosely in her lap. she didn't look up until liora stepped through the door and closed it quietly behind her.

"hey," billie said. neutral. like static.

"hi," liora answered.

she crossed the room, sat in her usual spot on the floor, unzipped her bag and pulled out her notebook. the silence wasn't cruel. but it was tight. stretched thin between them like a rope no one wanted to pull.

"i thought we could try structuring it out today," billie said, opening her own notebook. "just something basic — verse, chorus, refrain. nothing complicated."

liora nodded. "okay."

they worked like that for a while — trading ideas, writing lines, adjusting phrasing. billie kept it focused. all her notes were about the work. all her glances were quick. professional. guarded.

liora played along.

but under the surface, the air felt different.

like someone had left a door open and wasn't saying anything about it.

after half an hour, billie sat back from the piano and said, "do you want to try singing it?"

liora froze slightly. "out loud?"

"yeah."

liora hesitated. she'd sung before, sure — in the dorm, in the shower, once during a high school open mic where her hands had shaken so badly she couldn't unplug the mic cable afterward. but not like this. not here.

still — billie waited.

so she nodded. cleared her throat. found the melody again in her head. closed her eyes.

and started.

her voice was soft. unsure at first. a little breathy on the edges.

but then it steadied.

not strong. not perfect.

but raw.

i'm not the center of anything,

but i reflect like i am.

you look and i shimmer —

not because i'm full.

because i'm empty

and still standing.

her voice cracked slightly on standing.

but she finished.

silence followed.

when she opened her eyes, billie wasn't looking at her.

she was looking through her.

like something in her had shifted and didn't know how to shift back.

liora's voice felt caught in her throat. she swallowed.

"too much?" she asked, quiet.

billie shook her head. didn't speak.

then finally: "no. not enough people write like that."

liora's heart skipped once. "like what?"

billie blinked slowly. "like it hurts."

the silence between them thickened.

liora looked down. "i think i'm just tired of hiding in metaphor."

"good," billie said. voice softer now. "leave it behind."

she stood up then. stretched her back. walked toward her coffee, took a long sip. turned back.

and her eyes held something new.

not warmth. not yet.

but recognition.

and maybe, just maybe — forgiveness.

"same time wednesday?" she asked.

liora nodded. "yeah."

billie gave a small nod back. not quite a smile.

but close.

and when liora left the room, she felt it again —

that ache behind her ribs.

the one that sounded too much like a song.

wednesday came with gray skies and cold air, the kind that slipped under sleeves and collarbones. liora pulled her hoodie tighter as she crossed campus. every step felt louder than it should've. every thought heavier.

music room four smelled the same — old carpet and pencil shavings and something faintly like bergamot, maybe from billie's tea.

billie was already there, barefoot on the rug, her boots in the corner, one socked foot tapping a quiet rhythm against the floor. she looked up when liora entered.

this time — she smiled.

not big. not wide.

but soft.

real.

"hey."

"hey," liora said back, trying not to sound like her ribs had just collapsed inward.

they didn't start right away.

billie sat back down at the piano. liora dropped onto the rug across from her, pulling out her notes, flipping pages she already knew by heart.

"you've been writing more," billie said, watching her hands.

"yeah," liora said. "can't stop."

billie nodded like she understood something deeper than that. like she didn't need the rest of the sentence.

they worked.

the new verse was better — stronger, clearer. liora's voice didn't shake this time when she sang it. the harmony they shaped together was delicate but full — a kind of ache that lingered even after the sound had faded.

they didn't say much while working.

but the silence didn't feel like it had before.

this time, it buzzed.

like static. like tension. like electricity that hadn't found a surface to spark against.

after an hour, liora leaned back on her hands and said, without planning to:

"why do you always pull away right when things get close?"

billie stilled.

the question hung in the air like smoke from a candle just blown out — soft, warm, slightly bitter.

"i don't know what you mean," billie said carefully.

"you do."

billie looked at her. not defensive. not angry.

just... tired.

"because it's not supposed to happen," she said. voice low. steady. "because you're a student. and i'm not."

liora's breath hitched. "that's not all of it."

billie didn't answer.

"you're scared," liora said.

"so are you."

they stared at each other for a beat too long.

something pulled at the edges of the moment — something thin and sharp, a thread drawn tight between two bodies that didn't know which way to bend.

billie stood slowly. crossed the space between them without speaking.

she knelt down.

close.

closer.

liora's breath caught.

billie lifted a hand — slowly — and tucked a loose strand of hair behind liora's ear.

her fingers lingered. just barely.

liora didn't move.

their faces were inches apart.

everything else fell away — the piano, the notes, the rain against the window.

just that space.

just her.

and then —

billie pulled back.

stood.

"i can't," she said. softly. firmly. like it hurt.

liora's throat tightened. "okay."

billie didn't look at her.

"you should go."

the words weren't cruel.

but they cut anyway.

liora stood. gathered her things with shaking hands. nodded once. walked out.

the door clicked shut behind her.

and the silence that followed rang louder than any chord.

liora didn't remember the walk back to her dorm.

the air outside was cold, but she didn't feel it. her hands were too warm, her chest too tight. her pulse pounded in her ears, each step echoing like a skipped beat.

her fingers still felt the ghost of billie's touch. not her lips — not quite. just the space where her lips could've been.

and the way she'd said i can't like it wasn't a refusal.

like it was a wound.

back in her room, she dropped her bag on the floor and collapsed onto the bed without turning on the light. her roommate wouldn't be back until morning. the silence felt heavier now — like it was pressing against her ribs, asking to be broken.

she didn't cry.

not really.

but her eyes burned.

and she was shaking.

not from sadness.

from too much feeling.

she sat up around midnight. turned on the lamp. pulled her notebook close.

and wrote.

not carefully. not poetically.

just raw.

you look at me like a mirror

but won't let me see you.

you touched my face like a maybe

and said it like a goodbye.

you say "not supposed to" like it's a door,

but you're the one holding the key.

her handwriting slanted. some of the ink smudged.

she kept going.

even when her hand cramped.

even when the page started to ripple from where her wrist had sweated through it.

she didn't stop until the sun started bleeding into the sky outside.

the next day was a blur — lectures, emails, too much noise and not enough breath. she floated through it.

until lunch.

when she stopped by the english department to check the workshop board — and found something waiting.

an envelope.

tucked into her cubby. unmarked. no name. no seal. just cream paper, folded once.

she looked around. the hallway was empty.

her heart stumbled once.

she opened it.

one sheet of lined paper. handwritten. ink slightly faded like it had been written with a pen that was about to die.

no greeting.

just this:

you weren't wrong.

i do pull away.

not because i don't feel it.

because i do.

and i don't trust myself

to want the right things

in the right way

at the right time.

but you make the quiet louder.

and that scares the hell out of me.

she read it once.

then again.

then a third time.

her hands were trembling.

no signature.

no instructions.

just that.

but it was enough to unravel something she thought she'd already tucked away.

and for the first time in two days —

she exhaled.

liora sat on a bench behind the humanities building, the envelope still clutched in her hand like it might disappear if she let go.

wind tugged at the corners of the note where it rested in her lap. sunlight filtered through the trees in faint, flickering patterns. the campus buzzed faintly in the background — footsteps, laughter, someone on a skateboard, the rustle of paper in someone's bag — but it all felt far away.

she read the note again.

but you make the quiet louder.

and that scares the hell out of me.

it was unmistakably billie's voice. not just in handwriting, or phrasing. in the rhythm of it. the restraint. the emotional math of someone trying not to say something — and saying it anyway.

liora traced the edge of the paper with her thumb.

there was no request. no ask. no "let's talk" or "meet me" or even her name. just a confession folded into careful lines.

and it did something to her.

not relief. not closure.

just... movement.

like the stillness inside her had cracked. like her heart, which had been holding its breath for two days, had finally exhaled just a little.

she folded the note. slid it into her notebook between two pages she hadn't shown anyone yet. pages she might never show.

but now—

maybe.

maybe she would.

later that night, she lay on her bed with the lights off, headphones in. no lyrics. just sound. ambient, soft, all low tones and long spaces.

and she didn't try to write.

she didn't have to.

because she knew this wasn't over.

whatever this was.

it had a heartbeat now.

and it was still finding its rhythm.

————————————————————————————

tags; @bxlIxebxtch @stOnerlesb0 @dousleepanymore @mxmsuki @billiescation

[televisionromanced]

*taps mics* is this thing on?

hey hi! i’m cait (25+) and i’m looking for a few more active discord rp partners because apparently writing multiple emotionally unstable characters at once just isn’t enough.

i mostly write in a text-based style (not one-liners!) — quick replies for casual scenes, longer when the mood hits — and i can para when it makes sense. not into overly polished or performative stuff, just something that feels natural and keeps the story moving. think of it as writing a character spiral in real time.

i primarily write male muses, but i’ve been wanting to write more female characters too (they deserve chaos as well). my favorite characters are a little broken, a little dramatic, and trying so hard to seem fine. i’m here for slow burns, arguments at 2am, the long drive home in silence, all of it.

also: i have a tendency to write long, unsolicited one-shot novellas about characters i’m invested in. you might wake up to a 6,000 word inner monologue about a fight scene we wrote three days ago. it’s a gift and a curse. mostly a gift (not it isn't lmao)

you must be 18+, active, and okay with ooc chatter. i like getting to know the people i’m writing with — it makes the plotting more fun and the chaos more chaotic.

themes / genres i vibe with:

modern realism • slice of life with edge • toxic relationships that shouldn’t work (but kinda do) • invisible string theory • angst, trauma bonding, and emotional repression • addiction / recovery • found family that barely holds it together • small towns with big problems • dark academia but make it sad • light crime, heavy consequences • grief / loss / abandonment issues • the occasional soft moment in a grocery store parking lot

if that sounds like your thing, read my rules, check out my stuff & message me or drop your discord. i promise i’m mostly normal and only slightly unhinged. let’s build something messy!

[mama-qwerty]

Bad Ending

Come git yer Knuckles angst!

So, couple of us were chatting in our Knuckles server about how the others don't seen to fully understand Knux's connection to the ME, or how catastrophic it would be if the ME were to be taken and used to its full potential against them. So I proposed an au where Sonic was transported to a different universe, one where the ME was used by a big bad and we get the 'bad ending'.

This was a bit of live writing that I did in real time on the server. I've polished it some, but it's like 95% what I wrote last night.

Enjoy!

~~~

Sonic ran.

He didn't know how he got here, or even where here was, but it looked like Mobius.

Or at least, it used to be.

Everything was dead. What wasn't dead was twisted and misshapen, malformed like some of the areas he'd seen where Eggman's toxic waste ran off from his various factories and machines. Sharp, jagged plants, animals that looked as though they'd been driven mad before birth, and just got worse when they took their first breath.

He ran. There were people . . . or what he thinks used to be people. They were wrong, too. But he didn't think Eggman's waste had anything to do with this. This looked . . . intentional. As though someone had their hand in the pot of evolution, and stirred it while dumping in anything and everything they could find. It hurt his mind if he thought about it too much.

There, in the distance, he saw something green. Something bright and almost glaring against the brown and twisted landscape.

So that's where he headed.

He dodged a few mutants—and Gaia forgive him, that's what his mind called them—as he got closer, and was certain that same brain was playing tricks on him. There was no way this was what he thought. What it looked like.

But it was.

Angel Island.

It sat in what appeared to be a crater of its own making, and Sonic dipped down over the lip, spindashing off jagged juts of rock and earth as he did. Gaining speed and altitude to get himself over the edge of the island and onto its surface.

It took some doing—the soil here stank and he didn't want to touch it for too long—but Sonic finally made it to the top. For whatever reason, the grass here wasn't dead and brown. It was still green and lush like it should be.

Huh. Weird.

He took a moment to get his bearings, before zipping off toward the Master Emerald shrine. He wasn't quite sure what he'd find there, but it was always the best place to start when coming to Angel Island.

As he neared, the sense of wrongness came back to him. The island looked like he remembered it should, but the longer he was there, the more ground he covered, the more that thought began to twist.

Were there always this many thorn bushes? He didn't think so. And where were the animals? He hadn't seen or heard a flicky since landing here, and there were no chao to be seen, either. Normally they were all over.

The shrine came into view, with its stone steps leading up to a platform where the giant gem usually sat. The top was empty, but that wasn't an immediate concern, as sometimes Knuckles moved it when he thought it was in more danger than he could handle. That's probably what happened.

Although that didn't explain why the island was now on the ground.

Even if the Master Emerald was hidden, it would still keep the island afloat.

Movement to his right and Sonic dug his heels into the ground to pull himself to a quick stop. Something was in the trees, far enough in the shadows to be a solid shape, but that's about all.

"Hello?"

No answer. Not even a flicky call.

"Knux? That you?"

More silence, but this time it seemed heavier.

Sonic waited for a long moment, when the shadow moved, and a figure came out into the light. A red echidna, his color faded, fur matted and patchy. His quills hung limp, longer than Sonic had ever seen them, the normally neat dreads frizzy and split. He stumbled out, as though woken suddenly from a deep sleep, shielding his eyes from the sun, and narrowing them as he looked at Sonic.

"Knuckles?"

The echidna stared for a moment, before lifting his lip in a snarl.

"You're not real." His voice was harsh, ragged, a rough croak, as though he hadn't used it in a long time. "Damned ghosts. Leave me alone!"

Sonic blinked. "No, I'm—"

"GO AWAY!"

Knuckles screamed, the cords on his neck standing out with the force of his bellow. His voice was like jagged glass, and Sonic flinched.

Then the echidna turned and ran into the trees, leaving Sonic confused and alone.

"Hey, wait!"

Sonic zipped after him, easily finding his trail as he followed. He closed the distance quickly, and confronted the guardian in a clearing with a small stream. Knuckles didn't expect to be followed, and turned, lifting a fist in defense.

Sonic held his hands up, showing a gesture of surrender and calm. "WHOA! Hold on, it's me! C'mon, knucklehead, calm down!"

It took a moment. Knuckles stood there, his fist raised and shaking. He blinked, staring at Sonic as his chest heaved in deep breaths.

"It's me," Sonic said again, his voice softer as he risked a step forward. "I'm not an enemy. I’m not a ghost. I'm not here for your emerald."

Knuckles flinched, dropping his arm and turning away.

"You're a little late for that." He staggered to the stream, dropping to his knees and scooping the water into his mouth.

Taking this as a sign that he wasn't going to get a fist shoved through his face, Sonic slowly moved closer. "Knux, what happened?"

The echidna paused in his next drink, staring at himself in the water. The unnatural silence of the forest surrounding them made Sonic’s fur stand on end. He was about to ask again, to move closer to Knuckles, when the guardian spoke, his voice so much smaller and tinged with a collection of emotions Sonic had never heard from him.

Sorrow. Guilt. Grief.

Fear.

"Everything's gone. Everyone's gone. The Emerald . . ." Knuckles paused, his body trembling. "I failed. I failed and everything died. Because of me."

The sight of his friend looking so defeated made Sonic's chest clench. He took another step forward. "What happened?"

A moment of silence, and then Knuckles smacked his hand against his reflection, sending a spray of water flying, little rainbows appearing where the droplets caught the light.

"What happened?" he asked, turning and snarling at Sonic once again. "What happened? Another threat came for the Emerald. I tried to fight them off, tried to protect the Emerald, tried to keep it safe, but I failed. It was taken and used and now the planet's dead, everyone and everything dead or worse, and it's all my fault because I failed, I couldn't stop it, I couldn't do what I was made to do and keep the Emerald safe, keep the world, the universe safe! EVERYONE'S GONE AND IT'S ALL MY FAULT!"

Sonic flinched at the sheer depth of emotion the echidna showed. He’d never seen Knuckles be so open, so free with his feelings. Except for annoyance, irritation, and anger, of course. The guy could be cocky and smug, easy to push into irritation with just a well timed jab.

But this . . . this wasn’t the echidna he was used to. This Knuckles had been pushed to his limit, past his limit, and was struggling with so much more than Sonic could likely understand.

"No." The word was out of Sonic's mouth before he realized it, and he moved closer. "No, it's not your fault. That . . . baddies have tried to get the Emerald before, and we've stopped them. You and me and Amy and Tails and even Shadow helped and—"

"You were the first to die."

Knuckles' words were flat and matter-of-fact. As though he were just talking about the weather. Sonic went still, staring at him, mouth ajar.

"Wh-what?"

The echidna stared at him, unblinking. There were bags beneath his haunted eyes, and he looked so, so tired.

"You were the first to die. The 'big baddie', I don't even know what their name was, who they were . . . they got the Master Emerald, and the first thing they did, the very first thing, was to hunt down all the heroes of the world and kill them. You were first. Then Tails. Then Amy. Shadow lasted longer, but he fell, too. Silver showed up, I think, but I haven't seen him in a long time so I they must have gotten him, too."

Sonic stared at him, wide eyed. "N-no, that can't be right . . ."

Knuckles stared back. When he spoke next, his voice was quieter, but no softer. "I saw it. My connection to the Master Emerald let me . . ." He swallowed hard. "Made me watch. I watched you die. I watched all my friends die. Because I failed."

The two stood there for a moment longer, just staring at each other. Sonic in disbelief and shock, Knuckles in tired resignation and defeat.

"Wh-where is the Master Emerald now?" Sonic's voice was soft, strained. "Maybe . . . maybe if we get the Emerald back, you can . . . we can . . ."

"I don't know where it is." Knuckles sounded like he was in pain just saying the words.

Sonic's jaw dropped. "But . . . you always know where it is. Even when it's contained somewhere . . . You always know."

Knuckles shook his head, lifting it to gaze up through the trees. "I think it's been taken somewhere else. Some other galaxy, maybe. Some other universe." He paused, his eyes flicking as though searching. "I haven't been able to sense it in a long time."

Sonic watched as Knuckles searched the trees, as though the answer would make itself known there. After a long moment, Sonic spoke, although not wanting to know the answer.

"How long?" His voice was hardly a whisper. "How long has it been?"

Knuckles didn't reply right away. He kept his head tilted back, swaying on his feet as though he were either exhausted, or malnourished. Judging from the condition of his fur and the ghost of ribs Sonic could see on his sides, it could be either, or both.

Finally, the echidna lowered his head, and looked at Sonic. The hedgehog nearly gasped, seeing how shiny Knuckles' eyes were.

"Ten years." The first tears trickled down his cheeks. He gave a breathless laugh that held no humor. "Give or take. I sometimes sleep too much. Lose track of time."

Sonic stared at him, reaching a hand forward to try and offer some comfort.

"I can't die."

Sonic's hand stilled.

Knuckles gave that humorless laugh again. "I can't die. I've . . . I have no purpose now, with the Emerald gone. And every time I fall asleep, I see their deaths. My friends. I don't know if I'm still alive, or if I'm in hell. Whatever poisoned the planet has no effect on me. But I . . . I can't die. No matter how much I wish I could."

He closed his eyes, more tears running the tracks of the ones before.

"I miss them. I miss my friends. Even you. I just . . . I want to be with them, but I'm stuck here. As punishment for my failure. For failing them. For failing my duty. I . . ."

The tears fell faster now, and his knees buckled.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I . . . I tried . . . I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry . . ."

On and on his apologies went, until they were drowned out by his sobs. Sonic stood there for a moment, shocked, before moving forward and wrapping his arms around his friend.

[syndrossi]

Just wanted to say I really admire your writing pace and the quality of the writing, considering how busy you seem to be with your professional life! How do you do it? I could never I fear (in awe)

Also, have you ever considered writing an original story of your own, or do you have ideas for one? Just curious 😊

❤️ The way I did it early on was a lot of prewriting, a strict per day count (1000 words minimum that I tracked on the NaNoWriMo website), giving up a few hobbies, and more. 😅 Around ch17+ I was struggling with the work-life balance, sometimes doing little other than work and writing. I don't recommend, it often felt like a second job, even though I enjoy writing!

Early on it was quite a bit easier. Stories in the early phase tend to be more "open", plotting and execution-wise. You know your first arc, and nothing is messy yet, so you don't have to spend time untangling things and figuring out what dozens of players in the game might be doing. It's why you see a lot of long fics fizzle out around the middle; you've gotta ride out that messy period of writing, or in some cases figure out how to tie everything up neatly for the finish.

These days, my pace is less enviable. I do get those quick bursts on the AUs and prompts, because they're "open" and less polished, where I can write anywhere from 1-3.5K in a day and then wish I could apply that focus/energy to Resonant! I'm curious to see if it's just a product of struggling with the pacing as we approach the end of a mini-arc and kick off the last (or second-to-last, depending) arc of Resonant.

On the original story front, I wrote 200K or so of something so far removed from its original fandom that it might as well have been original. It was during my fandom hibernation phase, when I just wrote for myself--dozens of stories in that setting, short and long, AU and "canon", different generations, etc. It was very freeing to be able to write something that no one other than me would ever see. I could be a lot less critical, and far more indulgent. Funnily enough, I mentally went back through the main plot/villain of that and realized that I drew a good chunk of inspiration for the Volantis+ angle/plotline from it, even though they're executed very differently.

I doubt I'd write anything "else" original, at least with the goal of getting published, because I honestly enjoy fandom so much more. It's a different energy, and you're much closer to the people who enjoy the thing you do. It feels much more collaborative than locking yourself away to write something worthy of publishing. (Also, I like my writing to be a hobby, rather than another form of "work"!)

[dinthoqaf]

DWC Day 1 Hypnotic/Star

( This is a day late due to being sick, so please forgive the late entry. I wanted to write something a bit different for Dinthoqaf aside from the usual holier-than-thou gloating that he tends to do. Show a side of him that is so rarely seen by others despite the small slivers and glimpses that, I feel, offer a depth to his character that so many rarely ever have the opportunity to see, feel, or imagine. A side of him that helped me fall in love with him as a character and as his potential as one as he grows. I hope this small little piece, gives you all a glimpse of that too. I would also encourage you to listen to the link provided as I hope it sets the stage for later in the shift and it's the name of the musical piece that gave the inspiration that works so well for Day 1's word. )

Silvermoon City. Despite the name her streets, even at night, remained bright like the sun in which the distant well was named for. Tonight was no different as the Bazaar just on the other end of town was positively bursting to the brim with people for the holiday of love soon to come. 'Singles Awareness' as they called it, an event Dinthoqaf had walked through to find familiar faces down on their luck to see what was going on. His intention was not to find a suitor, no, he had a lover, that stroll was to simply take advantage of heartbreak if it was possible. That though, was behind him as he stood under one of the few lampposts in Murder Row. The street was empty, primarily due to the party and event in town, but that made no mind for Dinthoqaf.

No, tonight he waited, knowing full well Zalilirah would find him as she always did. The two of them were connected, linked, in a way that many poets wrote about, young men and women dreamed of, and older lovers hinted towards. Time had no bearing on their connection, nor did time or space, and when it was hinted upon, it always got the same laughter and response from those who never quite understood it all. Dinthoqaf couldn't blame them, it was beyond them, instead, he would take those moments to laugh because it was at times, beyond his grasp in understanding too.

"And do my eyes deceive me? Such a man, alone in this streets? It must be my lucky day..." Zalilirah, The Weaver.

Dinthoqaf was a man who wore a smile amongst many, no two ever the same, but the one that grew upon his face at the sound of her voice was solely for her and her alone. The two of them often met like this, one of them beating the other, catching up about their day, moving into cheeky banter or discussions on topics to come to pass before the night grew old and they would retire. Tonight's procession moved no differently.

Finally, at the turn of the clock at midnight, the two pause for the bells toll, listening before Dinthoqaf offers his arm, much as he always did. "Time for us to make our leave of this place, I think." And as usual, Zali was quick to slipe his own wrist through the loop provided as a void-like portal tore open before them for the two to depart The Row.

What came next wasn't their home though.

Planned, possibly for weeks, months, as materials were gathered, stars were studied, and astromancers and astrologers alike were consulted. Dinthoqaf's standard white, black, and golden attire fades, disappearing in a falling of dust just to unravel to expose a near identical copy of the first tailored suit Zalilirah had gotten him all those years ago when he led his kin from the Sunken Temple out into the world, to become the Headmaster of the Sanctum. Black tailored silks and wool adorned his features in the same quality she'd demand from any tailor with her own orders. His vest, a royal purple that shimmered atop a long tie of matching hues and a blackened button-up shirt to follow. Even the jewelry to adorn him was of polished silver and held amethyst stones that seemed to go far deeper than the settings they sat upon. Zalilirah herself was not spared in this as the mental picture of her came into play with his magics. Her dress, as elegant as she loved them to be, began to fall away only to be replaced with the same violet hues that were akin to Dins own. Silver threads weaving intricately with the care that came at no expense saved to make sure she got exactly what he remembered her in all those years ago when they had been sworn to one another. Her Defiler and his Weaver. Her hair swirled and moved, lifting from her neck and curling as various silver strands and gems appointed themselves atop her crown and features.

No words were needed, there never really were, only moments to fill the silence to distract themselves from the evening's affairs, but now, they were as far away from them as... Well. Azeroth itself.

Beneath their feet where there should have been the stonework of their home and portal way, was now a vast emptiness of The Great Beyond. Azeroth pulls away as Dinthoqaf offers over a bare hand for her to take.

Each step either would make causes ripples, akin to water, to run across the surface they stood upon. Planets, foreign or known and seen, pull through the scenery as he smiles at her. There was no one else in all the rest of the world that mattered at this moment but the woman he put an arm around. Their steps begin as their bodies shift and spin and in a few simple steps, they dance.

Suns flare with light on some distant horizon in the Great Beyond as Nebula's wink, gas giants and clouds spin and flutter, eaten and devoured by black holes, and amongst it all, the only star he could be bothered with noticing was the one he held in his hands at this moment. Their motions come as a rogue comet flies by, her frame losing golden dust and sediment across the dancefloor that swirls and twists about their feet that soon spins off into the cosmos beyond. Then, as the night begins to wrestle into the wee hours of the morning. The stars too begin to fade and all goes dark as a singular star offers its last breaths of light upon the two of them.

Worlds would burn or drown before he would let her go.

( @zalilirah for obvious reasons )

[reverie-starlight]

grief comfort- mammon

I wanted to write something with mammon, who is one of my biggest comfort characters. I wanted to post it last year but I couldn’t finish it until now.

fem!mc bc I mostly wrote it for my own comfort and also I this is like. suuuuper self indulgent guys, so don’t mind me!!! just getting some emotions out!!! (but this is NOT an OC or my own self-insert MC. there is no physical description and the only background info is that her mother has passed.)

warnings: heavy grief, feelings of guilt, lots of crying and reminiscing, mammon is incredibly emotionally intelligent and loves you so much, very very quick character analysis of the brothers and their grief. Mammon might be slightly OOC in this I’m sorry!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If there was one thing you missed about the Human World when you were in the Devildom, it was the sunshine. 

Yeah, it was hot and annoying, and maybe it temporarily blinded you whenever you wanted to look up at the clouds, but at least it provided you with a soft glow through your window in the morning and a feeling of comforting warmth.

And you were so cold right now. Not necessarily because of the weather (it was Summer in the Devildom, so really you were at risk of overheating with all the blankets piled on top of you), but rather because of the emptiness you were feeling inside. 

Of course this day had been lingering in the back of your mind for a couple weeks now, and you tried to act normal around the others- really you did. Playing it off as if it would be just another day, keeping a smile on your face... nothing out of the ordinary from what you had always done when the topic of conversation related to your mother. 

But last night you couldn’t keep your smile as wide as you wanted and you knew everyone could tell that you weren’t as well-off as you claimed to be. 

So you weren’t surprised when there was no one bugging you about being late for breakfast. Your phone wasn’t blowing up with messages, no one was knocking at your door and no one was yelling for you down the hallway. 

You were alone with your thoughts and you honestly weren’t sure if you were more appreciative or scared of that. 

The logical side of your brain kept telling you to get up and moving, eat food, spend time with people who love and care for you- it’s just another day and it only has so much weight because you’re putting emphasis on it. But the emotional side of your brain kept telling you to remember her, wallow- it’s okay to miss her, of course you’re sad today, you lost your mother far too soon! Feel what you need to however you need to. 

The latter eventually won out and you stayed in bed, scrolling through old pictures of her you had saved. You were brought out of your thoughts when someone knocked on your door. 

“MC? It’s me. Can I come in?” His voice was muffled through the door but you could hear the concern in his voice. 

You managed out a weak yeah and then your boyfriend entered carrying a plate of food. He closed the door behind him and gave you a small smile. “I managed to make you a plate before Beel polished everything off.”

You watched him him as he set the plate on your desk and came closer to you, really looking at you for the first time that morning. His eyes scanned over your rumpled bedsheets and the layers of blankets. The tear-stained cheeks and soaked pillow. 

The second you made eye contact, you let out a little whimper and almost immediately he was laying down with you in his arms. He gently rubbed up and down your back, shushing you softly as you sobbed into his chest. 

Mammon knew more about your mother’s death and the rocky years that followed than any of the others. Mostly because he was your boyfriend, sure, but also because he was just so easy to open up to. You weren’t really sure how to approach the topic of grief with the others- you didn’t want to set the twins off (especially Belphie), Asmo and Levi always tried to change the subject... maybe Lucifer would be willing to open up about it, but you doubted there would be a smooth transition into that conversation. And Satan... you could probably go to him about it since he was technically the most removed from the brothers’ shared grieving, but that’s also exactly why you didn’t. Singling him out based on that alone might feel like a slap to the face for him. 

And it seemed silly, because as a grieving person? You knew far too well how badly you wanted to have those conversations and wished people wouldn’t walk on eggshells around you... it was hypocritical, almost, but you shoved that thought to the back of your mind.

Mammon, though? You were well aware of how terribly he missed his little sister. Late night talks from back before you even started dating proved as much, but the difference was that he seemed the most equipped of his family to have a smooth running conversation about grief and loss- especially considering his role of comforting and caring for his brothers right after the fall. The most willing to confront those feelings with you (which you recognized was incredibly ironic due to his previous history with genuine feelings towards you). Of course you felt the most comfortable opening up to him about your own experience with it.

So him checking up on you today while the others left you alone only further proved your theories. The more you cried into his shirt, the tighter he held you. He pressed kisses to the top of your head and pulled your face away a bit so you could breathe. “It’s okay... I’ve got ya.” 

You continued to cry, finally letting all of your bottled up emotions from the past couple weeks free. You cried for your loss, the memories of your mother that played through your mind, and how you kind of wished she was the one comforting you instead. Or that you didn’t need to be comforted at all. 

When you finally calmed down enough, your sobs subsiding into little hiccups and sniffles, he gently cupped your face and wiped away your tears with his thumbs. Then he helped you sit up a bit, the two of you sitting against the headboard, him letting you lean your bodyweight on him. 

“Do ya feel like eating?” He peered down at you. 

You shook your head a little, honestly too exhausted to even want to look at the food he brought, but your stomach betrayed you and growled. Mammon laughed a little. “I guess the better question here would have been ‘are ya hungry’?”

You whined as he got up to get the plate, causing you to almost fall over. He shot you a small smile and made his way back quickly. Once he was back in his original spot, with you leaning on him again, he speared some fruit on the fork and held it up for you. When you turned your face away slightly, he furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Baby, you need to eat something. I know ya don’t feel like it, but ignorin’ your body’s no good.” 

With more effort than you would have liked to admit, you slowly pushed yourself off of him and let him feed you the piece of fruit. When you took it, he beamed. “There ya go... I won’t force ya to eat all of it but you need to at least make a dent alright?”

You nodded and let him feed you some more. He kept your mind off of it as you ate, making small conversation until there were only small scraps left. “That’s great, babe, I’m glad you’re not facing today with an empty stomach. Here, drink,” he held up a glass of water for you to take. 

Now that you were fed and hydrated you felt a little more alive, but the ache in your heart persisted. Mammon seemed to notice that you still weren’t up for much, so he just held you closer and let you slump over on his lap, looking up at him. 

“Do you want to talk about her?”

You sighed a little and nodded, but when you tried to voice an answer, your throat got tight. So you just stared up at him pitifully. 

He gave you a sympathetic look and ran two of his knuckles over your cheek. “It’s okay... why don’t we go through some pictures ya have of her instead?”

So you reached for your phone and unlocked it, going through the album you had opened previously. 

He was attentive, asking you questions about the backstory of each picture, listening when you remembered them and swiping to the next one when you got frustrated about the ones you couldn’t. 

“She was pretty. You look so much like her,” he murmured when you came across a selfie of the two of you. 

You smiled a bit and thanked him. “I think so too. It makes me really proud… most people say I look like her, but some people think I look more like my dad.” 

He cupped your face with his hand and smiled softly. “Well rest assured, ya look like her, and I’m always right so you gotta believe me.”

You laughed again and let a comfortable silence settle in your room. He rubbed his thumb over your cheek and watched over you as you pondered over whatever was on your mind.

“I... I get angry sometimes. That she died,” you admitted.

Mammon raised his eyebrows, not expecting so much guilt to be laced in your voice. “That’s perfectly normal, baby, I still get pissed over Lilith’s death. We all do.”

Your eyes welled with tears again. “Yeah, but you have so many reasons to be angry. How could I ever be angry at her for getting sick? That wasn’t her fault. She didn’t want to leave me... but my life went to shit when she did.”

He considered your words carefully. “But you’re not really mad at her, you’re mad at how everything went down. You’re allowed to be angry, MC.”

You sniffled. “I guess...” your voice was thick with emotion and it was getting hard to hold back another round of tears. “I just... don’t want to be angry anymore, but I’m so stuck on everything that happened.”

“Ya never got to let it out properly. You’ve said before that ya never really fully processed it because of your family, right? Ya kept it in because ya didn’t know how to deal with it and ended up getting praised for not showing how much it hurt,”

You nodded. “And it lead to so much personal failure... I feel like I’ve lost the last few years of my life because I’ve been struggling so much.”

He frowned. “Not failures, just... too many obstacles you’re trying to tackle on your own. You’re doin’ a good job, treasure, ya just gotta let yourself feel it, okay? I promise it’ll help.”

You bit your lip to keep it from wobbling, but he shook his head and moved some hair out of your eye. “Nuh-uh, let it out if you need to.”

Your body shook with effort to keep it in, but in the end you couldn’t. “She was supposed to be okay, Mammon. They told me she was going to recover. And I guess they believed it too, so it’s not like they lied, but what the fuck is the lesson I’m supposed to learn from this that I couldn’t have learned without her dying?”

He held you tighter and lets you cry on his shoulder. He’s not completely sure what to say to make it better- there were hundreds of lessons that came with Lilith and the fall. He’s had a few thousand years to realize them all, though, and he knew better than to try and get you to find some of your own.

“There’s this saying in the human world that goes everything happens for a reason, but I think it’s bullshit. There was no reason for this and I’m so lucky I figured that out beforehand, otherwise I’d be driving myself crazy trying to find one.”

Mammon nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You’re already nuts enough, we don’t need ya going even deeper down the rabbit hole.”

You snorted and shoved him a bit, then took a deep breath in. On the exhale you felt so much of the day’s tension leave you alongside the air in your lungs.

“Feelin’ a little better, babe?” He whispered.

You nodded. A few minutes later, after a comfortable silence, you were leaning on him once more. You looked up at him and admired his profile. “I do think some things happen for a reason, though.”

He looked down at you curiously. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Coming to the Devildom was hard to add to my list of things gone wrong back then, but at the very least I know what the reason for it was.”

He smiled at you shyly. “Oh… really?”

You didn’t need to elaborate past another nod- Mammon already knew you meant meeting him. (And his brothers, but as your boyfriend, he also knew he took top priority.)

“Thank you for taking care of me today, my love. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”

He kissed your cheek and knocked his forehead against yours. “Ya don’t need to thank me, treasure, I would do anything for you. I’m just happy you’re feeling decent now.”

The similarities hit you like a ton of bricks.

The Devildom may not have a sun, but it had something even better- warm, bright and comforting Mammon.

[snugglesquiggle]

A fallacy I’ve engaged in, now that my writing has achieved some success, is to turn that success into the goal. When I contemplate writing, too often I’m no longer thinking about the story, I’m thinking about what I want the story to be. How I want the audience to be impressed with me, how I want them feeling about what I’m writing.

But all my best stories happened because I simply had an idea that I wanted to convey and so I explained it. No pretense, no expectation.

I sometimes think about how, when it comes to the fundamentals of computation, there’s a distinction drawn between the primitive recursive functions, defined by iterating in bounded ways on a set of simply defined procedures, and the μ-recursive functions, defined by an infinite loop over all possibilities. Primitive recursive functions are necessarily total, everywhere well-defined, while a μ-recursive functions may never produce a valid answer.

It’s so much easier to recursively build out what’s you want to write, then to do an unbounded search for the best way to achieve some particular end. In principle, μ-recursive is so much more powerful, and yet it invites so many headaches, so much undefined behavior.

Something that stands out to me is that yesterday, at first it really felt as if my latest depressive trough might be finally cresting again.

My day started out with some thoughtful conversations with friends about An Opaque Heart, and I even had an idea for how to finally revise the opening. And then… I did nothing. I never quite resolved how to get started.

Then, later that day, I wrote two thousands words as a one-shot, spurred by nothing but an compelling image, a moment between J and Uzi I wanted to revel in. It wasn’t even supposed to be that long!

And that’s the thing. That’s always the thing. All my best work wasn’t supposed to be.

I’ve watched this cycle play out so many things, over and over. Endless Stars, my first novel, (and still my most polished work after HT) started out as me chasing imagery in a notebook while distracted in high school.

230k words later, choked by ambition, I started up so many projects. First And the Darkling Reefs Abide, then Of Waterweft, then There Lies Already the Shadow of Hope.

TLAtSoH got a 5k word chapter one, followed by a 9k word chapter two, (not) followed by a chapter three that paralyzed me for months. Working through all the lore I needed for the scenes to come birthed Black Nerve. And after all that, aching for something simple, I started up a quest, so unserious I wrote the updates directly in discord.

People liked it, I liked it, and it became Eifre Quest. How far out of hand did it get? The first chapter was six hundred words. The fifteenth chapter was thirty-one thousand. That was the climax of the first interlude arc, where I had an image I wanted to deliver, and was determined to deliver it.  Even if I had to write a novella to get there.

That first interlude arc was supposed to be a quick break before we get back into the main action; so with the second interlude, given how well the first turned out, I made my plans just as ambitious. Guess what? The quest is on abandonment-hiatus right now, dead one chapter into that second interlude.

After/during EQ came Kaon Rising, which was intended flat-out to be a be braindead indulgent power fantasy slop appealing to the type of reader who loves isekai and litrpg. How braindead did it turn out? I choose to give the main character a power that hinges on cubic volumes, and the fifth chapter open on an exposition about the ecological physics of magic light.

The list continues; A Chimerical Hope was simply me trying to write a summary; Aurora Moonrise was literally a sidebar example crafted purely for an essay. I’ve already talked at length about the genesis of Hostile Takeover and An Opaque Heart elsewhere.

You see the pattern already, don’t you? I start off unserious, realize I’m actually cooking, try desperately to keep cooking, and the water boils out of the pot.

(This isn’t even the first time I’ve had this observation.)

Every time I see the things I’ve accomplished, I naïvely assume that doing it by accident proves I can do it on purpose — as if adding expectation could only add.

In comments and author’s notes, I’ve lately expressed how the need to live up to the hype has kept me from writing more HT, but yesterday, in my latest comment apologizing for the delay in finishing chapter seventeen, I realized something.

If you went back one year and suggested to my past self I write something to the standards I’m holding chapter seventeen to, I never would have even attempted.

Hostile Takeover, in my mind, has become something I’d never write if I knew what I was getting into. I never wanted to write something so grand — and no one ever asked me to.

Now, this isn’t me saying I’m abandoning HT — though something I’ve been carefully dancing around saying in these all discussions is that I frankly don’t care all that much if I never update HT again, but that’s mostly tiredness speaking. I can fall back in love with the story with some more distance.

If nothing else, I had some cool ideas for the remainder of the plot, and I’m more than willing to summarize where I was going with it. “Summarize”, that is — you know how this song and dance turns out.

Ultimately, none of what I’m saying here is very new, it’s the same old advice. Keep your eye on the ball and stay out of your head; you can’t lock in with self-consciousness getting in the way.

In Jujutsu Kaisen, a skilled sorcerer with total concentration is capable of applying magical energy to a hit within a microsecond of landing it, unleashing profound power in a flash of black sparks. Saturo Gojo, the greatest sorcerer, even wielding all the insight of his mystical eyes, still couldn’t pin down all the variables.

Peak doesn’t come from trying for peak. Because no one, not even Saturo Gojo, can land a black flash on command.

[theink-stainedfolk]

Silent Strokes

---

Today’s outfit

Wystan thought to himself as he adjusted the collar of his oversized navy sweater. The soft wool was comforting against his skin, and the cardigan he’d layered on top was a deep shade of burgundy, with large, vintage-looking buttons that always drew attention. His trousers were a soft grey, slightly too long for his frame, pooling at the ankles just the way he liked it. To top it all off, he had chosen a pair of slightly mismatched socks—one with tiny purple ghosts, the other with golden crescent moons. He adjusted his scarf, the mustard yellow bringing a burst of warmth to his otherwise muted look.

Satisfied, he grabbed his leather bag, filled with more notebooks than was strictly necessary, and made his way to The Eosium Museum of Art aand Antiquities. He was excited, as always, to spend the afternoon wandering the galleries. There was something about being in the space surrounded by art that grounded him, gave him a sense of peace he couldn't quite find elsewhere.

Arriving at the museum, Wystan smiled to himself, taking in the familiar sight of the towering marble columns and the polished wood floors. As he approached the entrance, he noticed Sylvan standing by the reception desk, scribbling something in his notebook. His black coat was perfectly tailored, and his usual calm demeanor was present, but there was a certain restlessness in his posture today—something Wystan couldn’t place.

He walked up quietly, unsure if Sylvan had noticed his arrival, and tapped his fingers lightly on the desk to get his attention.

Sylvan looked up, and a soft smile crept onto his lips. "Ah, there you are. I was wondering if you were going to make it today." He signed something quickly, his hands fluid, but Wystan’s eyes darted down to his own hands, unsure for a moment how to respond.

Are you ready to explore again?

Wystan beamed, his heart skipping a beat at Sylvan’s graceful sign. His hands, as always, seemed to have a language all their own. Wystan had grown so used to it by now, but there was still a certain awe in how effortlessly Sylvan communicated with his hands, even when words weren’t involved.

He grabbed his own notebook, quickly writing:

Let’s start with the new exhibit. The one with the mythical creatures. I can’t wait to see it.

Sylvan read the note and raised an eyebrow and wrote. I thought you might be interested in that one. He paused for a moment, before adding, Have you considered the legend of the harbinger in that exhibit? It's not just mythological... There's a theory about it. Something rather old.

Wystan blinked, his curiosity piqued. He didn’t often hear Sylvan talk about legends or theories—he was usually so reserved. But something in Sylvan now was different, like he was holding back a secret he wasn’t sure if he wanted to share.

Wait, what do you mean by 'not just mythological'? Wystan asked, his fingers brushing against the edge of his notebook, wondering if it was okay to prod further.

Sylvan’s gaze shifted slightly, his fingers still for a brief moment. Maybe... it’s better to experience it in person. He glanced at Wystan, his smile enigmatic. Come on, let’s see if the exhibit is still open. I have a feeling you’ll find it more intriguing than you expect.

---

They walked through the grand gallery halls, the light streaming through the tall windows casting long shadows on the floor. Wystan noticed how Sylvan’s presence was always so calm, like a quiet storm. He was still thinking about what Sylvan had said—the "harbinger" and how he seemed to know more than he was letting on.

When they finally reached the exhibit, Wystan's eyes immediately zeroed in on a large painting at the center of the room. The harbinger, with its elongated, almost ethereal form, stood before an ancient ruin, its eyes glowing with a faint golden hue. Wystan felt an odd chill crawl down his spine as he studied the figure, a strange sense of familiarity tugging at the edges of his mind.

He jotted a quick note in his book:

This feels... different. Do you feel it too?

Sylvan’s eyes flickered briefly to the painting before he wrote slowly, as though contemplating his words. It’s an old story, Wystan. One that I’ve come across before. Some say the harbinger is not just a creature, but a messenger of sorts. There are whispers about its true nature, but… those stories are hard to track down.

The cryptic answer only deepened the mystery for Wystan, and his heart thudded in his chest. His curiosity was bubbling over, his thoughts racing faster than he could write them down. What’s the connection?

Sylvan studied him for a moment, his eyes softening, but there was still that lingering edge of secrecy. Some things are best left unknown, don’t you think?

Wystan felt a shiver run down his spine. The way Sylvan said it—it was as if he knew something about the harbinger, or worse, had experienced something related to it. But before he could question him further, Sylvan stepped closer to him, his voice quieter now, and signed gently, I’ll tell you when you’re ready to hear it.

Wystan nodded, though a part of him felt that “when you’re ready” was a phrase laden with meaning. As they continued to wander the exhibit, the unease Wystan felt never fully faded, but the way Sylvan stayed close to him—almost protectively—offered a strange comfort.

His heart was still racing, but this time, it wasn’t just from the mystery. It was from the way Sylvan’s presence felt like it was pulling him deeper into something he wasn’t sure he could escape from.

They continued their walk in silence, the quiet only broken by the sound of their footsteps and the occasional scribbled note. But as they approached the next painting, Wystan couldn’t shake the feeling that the harbinger wasn’t the only thing in the museum that held secrets. And Sylvan, with all his careful mystery, seemed to be a part of them.

---

So...is anyone wanting more than this? Like more than fluff? More sensual? No? Just me? Okay..

My ♡s: @paeliae-occasionally @willtheweaver @drchenquill @wyked-ao3 @the-inkwell-variable @corinneglass @seastarblue

[ran-orimoto]

[ Looooooooong time ago, in March ,I reckon, I posted a The Rescuers Junzumi AU sketchdump I’m very affectionate to and it wasn’t really something that unpredictable I would eventually write something for it soon. In truth, I initially wrote this very small oneshot just for myself in my free time (I stupidly feel cringe while writing about AUs and that’s a very stupid part of me I’m trying defeating just like the fankids one), but then a friend convinced me I could share it with the world as a prompt for Flufftober. I mean, why not, I told myself. Am I commiting some crime throwing stories I put 0 efforts in into the net🤣🤣🤣? Mind you, I did polish this ,tho. It used to be terrible ahahah. ]

{ Intermezzo you wouldn’t expect } aka a short one-shot for Fluffoctober about a The Rescuers AU -> •Stormy night

XXX

“Signorina Izumi, keine Sorge! No need to worry! I’m an expert in reading maps and orientating myself even in the thickest mist, ah!” The stocky man opened a piece of wrinkled and yellowish paper. His brown eyes, darkened by the blackness of a rainy night, were apparently scanning the drawings before them as he frantically searched for something he would never find. Of course.

Actually, Izumi had noticed it from the start: how he hadn’t paid a crumb of attention to what he was doing, attracted and distracted by who knew what else he might think it was more interesting than their invaluable mission. For example, if he had been focused on the map he was holding for real, he would have noticed it was upside down from the unnatural shape the venetian calle and the lagoon had, making it seem a whole sea was going to overflow and swallow the entire city.

Due to her usual courtesy and politeness, she had been wondering how she should tell him about that, if she should at that point since, after all, she could rely on herself and let him play those detective games in his silly world.

Who had ever needed a companion in a first place? She had been travelling around the world for ages knowing she could only trust her own strength, her determination no one else, -modestly speaking-, owned with such an intensity, her spirit. The only mate she had ever needed was the voice of the wind, as kind and reassuring as always, immutable, no matter where she was sent to.

Did those people from up there really believe she couldn’t deal with that situation on her own, she couldn’t take care of herself, she needed someone by her side, a man, nonetheless. From her perspective, from what she had been able to grasp so far, he was the one clearly needing help the most between them, not even being able to speak italian properly and messing it with japanese and german words.

And yet, she had chosen him when they had allowed her to do that, -at least!-. She had, though she had just assisted to a scene in which he was about to get electrocuted after he had voluntereed for the job. She didn’t even know who he truly was, now that she thought about that…Not that she had ever felt that need, either: to socialize with others from the society.

It was enough to be aware they all were adults wanting to help unlucky kids in the best way they could, through money or other types of support, -even, yes, those kinds consisting in sticking your nose in issues that were much bigger than you actually are-. What their life was like out there, who they actually were had never been important. Nobody cared, -and should know, in her opinion-, about the fact she was a flight attendant who would often find herself on modelling magazines or cat walks. And ,in return, she would survive in the obscurity, not ever finding out who he was, where he came from, how old he was, if he was married or not, - without doubts, the latter option held the predictable truth in itself-.

She had always been la Signorina Orimoto, but he had been quick at cutting to the chase and calling her la Signorina Izumi, showing no decency but not surprising her with that in the least.

And he was…Junpei-San…? He had introduced himself like that and she had also heard others addressing him in that way or with a simple Junpei. Against all the odds, he seemed to be known by many members and some seemed to appreciate him a ton, despite the clumsiness he had never managed to hide.

”Junpei-San,” A gloved hand on her chest, she finally interrupted his mumbling, which was the reason why she had eventually decided she couldn’t just let him be like that. The incoherent noises coming from his mouth were so annoying they were interfering with her own stream of consciousness. “Junpei-San!”

”Yes, Signorina Izumi!” Like a soldier, he abruptly straightened his back, but managed to strike a clumsy yet sweet smile at the same time. Slightly puzzled, she blinked for an instant, taking a step backwards without wanting to.

”The map is upside down,” She said, as dryly as you would expect from such an expert at keeping her temper under control. That was one of her good qualities she exploited to promptly make that sudden emotion making her heart beat at a weird pace, even if, again, for just a second, slip in the background of the most trivial of her thoughts,ready to be forgotten and, consequently, soon fade.

In response to her comment, Junpei didn’t immediately react. He stood still, lowered his gaze to the panorama of streets and squeezed his orbs to find that detail, that very little detail, -of course, she is attempting to be sarcastic, santo cielo!-, he had been missing. And then…

“Ja, du hast Recht. Ehm, you’re right, Signorina Izumi, it’s…Upside down.”

”Yeah. It is.” Feeling the time they had at disposal slithering away from her grip, she struggled not to add a pinch of rudeness to her tone, so rare when it came to her, a blonde woman in her fourties enwrapped in a long purple dufflecoat; the symbol of elegance and refinement; a complete oxymoron next to the man in a baggy raincoat.

But Junpei-San‘s fashion tastes were not the main problem concerning him.

”Then…Let’s fix it,” He had begun stuttering and shaking, hiccuping too, but not because they had been wandering in the chilly rain for a while. Her remark had provoked a row of side effects on his body that might have been funny to observe, -she admitted it-, could have made her even giggle in amusement, if she hadn’t been counting each second flying away from them just like that kid, that poor kid.

They couldn’t allow themselves to indulge in more foolery. No.

Her eyebrows twitched and she pulled the paper away from him, accidentally dropping the umbrella he had asked her to hold in his stead go, -it had incredibly dawned on him he couldn’t read his map, if he continued on keeping the umbrella above her head like a true knight would, and per Dio!-.

The umbrella fell on the slippery ground and let heavy drops pour their cascade on their hoods all at once, on the locks of their hair escaping from their shelters. Her legs shaking due to crawling waves of cold, her fists clenching more and more in growing irritation, Izumi couldn’t help gasping: that was it! That was the end! That was the straw breaking the camel‘s back: he was blatantly influencing her with his manners! She would absolutely have to call the SOS society and come up with a valid justification to explain her decision to give up.

”Signorina Izumi…”

“I…I…I just…”

Her exasperated yell cut through the curtain of humidity and ,maybe, -she sensed without being able to explain-, a veil made of something else as well.

She didn’t look at Junpei, whether he had been startled or had grown disgusted by that display of utter embarassment. Indeed, she didn’t even want to. May he believe she had gone nuts and wasn’t the admirable Signorina Izumi he had been staring at with dreamy eyes for the whole day: she wouldn’t be touched by a change of heart happening inside him at all. If he left her in the freezing atmosphere of the incoming night, it wouldn’t make any difference.

But maybe she had always known he wouldn’t, as it suddenly dawned on her the one who would have run away from him, the person who had found himself in front of that side of hers, would have been her herself in other circumstances.

Instead, she had remained there and had silently, unconsciously waited. She waited for that sweaty yet warm hand to defeat the low temperatures of both outside and inside, at a first and single touch of her shoulder. It sent all those nagging shivers and tremors away with who knew what kind of magical trick, and, most of all, succeeded in reminding her Izumi Orimoto, la Signorina Orimoto never threw in the towel, never let stress dominate her clear logic, no matter how hard it was to find a lead, to operate as quickly as possible to rescue an innocent soul.

”Here,” There was another kind of rain that was falling that night. Quieter, more reserved, shyer, it let itself be seen and felt only by Junpei‘s hesitant thumb. She couldn’t help sighing in relief, leaning her cheeks towards that pleasant sensation. “Let’s go home. We will be luckier tomorrow when the Sun comes out again and…The lightnings go away. They are approaching…And very fast.”

”Home?” She echoed, covering his gulps with her suspended reticence.

”Yes,” As if not wanting to let her be carried by the mistral, he grabbed her hand before bending to pick the umbrella up. “I will prepare a good hot chocolate for you. To be honest, I can’t read maps that well, but I‘m not lying I’m good at preparing those. Someday I want to bring a whole tray for the society ah ah.”

…

Chi mi salverà ?

Who will rescue me?

…

I will, no, we will. Wait for us, endure, wherever you are. Give me a little time to…To…

…

Through storms, rain and black nights, never fail to do what’s right.

But ,why not, let yourself sip a good mug of hot chocolate while looking at that mess from the window, as well.

[vampyyprincess]

Castle Beyond the Looking Glass: my thoughts and feelings

i impulsively decided to watch the second movie like i've been meaning to on a random friday at midnight; this is the result. strap in!!

animation and style - surprisingly, i loved it more than the first! i enjoyed the way it still had the same original and old art style with some polish. considering this to be the movie you watch after seasons 3 and 4, it compliments the two fairly well. i was also a SUCKERR for how they made inuyasha look in this one... couldn't help but notice kagome looked almost exactly the same though 😭

the story itself - i'm conflicted in what i want to say and how i want to phrase it. if i had to use bluntness, i say that this movie is an hour long but with how the story was told and played out it felt like one of the filler episodes; it felt quick and choppy to me. kikyous few appearances seem random and almost unneeded, character issues introduced in the first few parts of the movie don't really come up again later on (ex: the initial conflict between kagome and inuyasha being something completely separate from his insecurities regarding his half-demon heritage), etc. HOWEVER. the main plotline with the immortal princess kaguya and whatnot was creative and entertaining, and seemed well strung together despite it being a filler plot. absolutely loved the ending scene with kagome bringing inuyasha back to his regular self, beautifully shown and written. (i'll be honest - any other good thing i have to say about the story has everything to do with inukag. this film was VERY inukag focused to me. i'm an inukag glazer foreverrr.)

the soundtrack - pretty and exciting! it doesn't surprise me how similar it is to the first film, considering their release gaps aren't too apart, but i also just really love the original inuyasha soundtrack. i really loved the music that played during kaguya and inuyashas battle though, if i had to be specific :) any further thoughts i have regarding the soundtrack are very similar to my thoughts regarding the first film, so check it out if you haven't already!

the writing - i adored it. i love how shippou seemed to talk more this time around, i loved kaguras typical sass and sarcasm, and i especially loved how they wrote for kagome and inuyasha. its the typical writing i miss a lot whenever i discuss pretty much every new inuyasha piece of media outside of season 4. my only conflict with the writing is its pacing, and that simply ties into my issues with the storyline.

conclusion? in its entirety, it definitely serves as a very good second film. while i do have my qualms with certain things as previously read, i also noticed just why exactly this movie seems to be so remarkable to the Inuyasha community - especially the inukag stans. the inukag was very rich in this film and as a very serious inukag supporter and lover, i can deeply appreciate that. can't wait to watch and review the third film. 🖤

general rating of 8/10.

[nellie-elizabeth]

Thanks @awildwickedslip for the tag!

I think I've answered this or a similar prompt like many many years ago but I want to do it again because I've kept writing!

1. How many works on AO3? 107

2. Total word count on AO3? 2,076,505

(holy shit lol)

3. Top five fics by kudos?

tales from a bookshop (Good Omens) 8,690 Kudos

Lover's Touch (The Magicians) 2,067 Kudos

Promises (The Magicians) 1,055 Kudos

Maybe This Time (The Magicians) 1,022 Kudos

The Point of You and Me (Good Omens) 783 Kudos

I think it's funny that 2/5 of these are my only two Good Omens fics, since that's really not what I typically write at all lol. Also I'll never surpass my brief flash-in-the-pan popularity for the top one... over 8,000 kudos... yeesh.

4. What fandoms do you primarily write for?

atm I'm in a real dry spell. But, The Magicians and Roswell, New Mexico are the two I'm most active in, in the recent past / "currently" if I could just get myself to come up with new words lol

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! Almost always!

6. Angstiest ending?

I wrote Queer as Folk fic once where Justin died, but tbh I like the angst to go in the middle and then everyone gets to be happy in the end.

7. Fic with the happiest ending?

a work of fine art was my happiness magnum opus in my own opinion, the whole thing is just a big long Queliot and then eventual Marqueliot smut-fest where all three of them are happy and safe and rich and get to follow their dreams and have lots of amazing sex with each other. One of my more underrated fics, I feel like y'all are missing out on this one... hehe.

8. Do you get hate?

I have, but not as a rule. There was a troll in the Roswell fandom who came at me a few times.

9. Do you write smut?

Yes! Not exclusively, but the majority of my projects, if it's not just a quick lil' one-shot, is going to have sex in it to some degree.

10. Do you write crossovers?

No. I've never crossed over characters from multiple properties before. I have done the thing where I wrote the characters of one thing into a plot or world of another. (My Queliot When Harry Met Sally AU is one of the works of which I am the most proud.)

11. Ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

At this point, as strange as it is to say, yes! A few times.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Yes! With @portraitofemmy, our mega-giant Roswell, New Mexico series is co-written.

14. All time favorite ship?

uhhhhhhh. Mean. Kirk/Spock? But if we're doing stuff that I've been more actively involved in as a writer, then Queliot probably.

15. WiPs you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I'm going to cheat on this one a little bit because I haven't actually posted these incomplete works, but they're sitting in drafts and I want to get somewhere with them... I have this Hedge AU Magicians thing where the beginning parts are written and I think it's really hot and fun but it needs a lot of plot and idk if I have the energy.

16. Writing strengths?

Dialogue... and I've been told I'm funny? Which is cool. Probably also just melodramatic angsty moments, I love to indulge.

17. Writing weaknesses?

All the shit that more polished and skilled writers in craft can do but that I write fic to avoid doing: specificity of detail in the setting/atmosphere, making the world feel "real" outside of the character's heads. Idk if I'm explaining this well lol. A magic trick I do not possess.

18. Thoughts on mixed language dialogue?

I haven't really done it beyond like, a word or two in Spanish or something when it made character sense? Honestly it usually feels unnecessary as part of the prose, unless there's a really specific reason to do it, instead of just indicating "so-and-so said in [language]" while keeping it in the dominant language the piece is written in.

That said, I've been reading War and Peace recently and I'd argue that's a good example of why writing a novel in two languages was like... important. So. There are exceptions.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Twilight.

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

This answer changes a lot but honestly I gotta shout out my last Magicians longfic, where the real road lies, which I think has some of my finest writing and features the boys at their true messiest. Still has a happy ending tho.

Tagging whoever wants!

[tisthedamngreenbriar]

windows boarded up after the storm, he built a fire just to keep me warm.

guys i'm so embarassed. so. i wrote this for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers Sprint Fic Challenge, BUT THE JULY ONE. and as you may notice it is september already.

in my defense, i kinda started this one and then completely abandoned it on my drafts and never once looked back. but now is here! kinda! this is my first time ever writing a challenge, and also my first time posting my writing in here!! for the sprint challenge july 2023, I chose the social media prompt + one of the prompts from previous challenges (hope that was allowed??)

this is neither polished or revised, just fresh out the notes app so you guys will have to forgive me for errors. i fully intend to develop this aswell, but we'll see.

enjoy!

***

It was supposed to be small. A simple get together for their group, with cake and booze to celebrate Rose's birthday. But, now they were in a mansion one hour out of town and Marinette was pretty sure she could smell something burning.

But, first things first: lets not get ahead of ourselves.

***

Moving everything was a pain in the ass. They'd to be quick and through so no food or garnment was neither damaged nor left behind - also watch out for the worst case scenario, harming sound equipament -, and the threat of the storm was making Marinette mimic the thunders, rumbling with anxiety. With everything already packed in the cars, they went on their merry way, with Adrien leading the path out of the city. 

The blonde boy really was an angel. Offering to take the party to his country house when the weather became Marinette's worse enemy was so kind that the bluenette's heart fluttered a bit, reminding her why she used to have that stupid and exponentially big crush on him all those years ago. Not that that meant anything: her romantic organ also gave a little jump seeing him help Kagami, his long term girlfriend, into the car. Affection just made her goofy.

Getting to the estate was easy, since the rain wasn't really pouring yet and the traffic was on their side, for a change. Obviously, it was huge, because the Agrestes never failed in that department, and everyone immeadiately? started setting everything up on the patio behind the main house and in front of the guest one, so they could use it for bathroom breaks and personal items since no one was willying to wander in the Agreste's mansion and risk scarring his perfectly put everything. The rain didnt seem to follow them so atleast it was safe to be outside.

And then there was Luka. Going around helping out everyone, smilling and whistling to himself. Luka who was just as oblivious to her as Adrien had been, cause apparently that was just her luck. 

"Girl, stop staring, Jesus" Alya's voice broke off any coherent line of thought that Marinette could have formed, startling the smaller one. "You're gonna burn holes on that poor boys back"

"Am I that bad, or is it possible that you are just a drama queen hoping to live uncomfortable situations vicariously through me since you are on a happy and commited relationship?" Marinette arched her brown and left out a breath after going through that phrase fast so that her best friend couldn't interrupt.

"I thought you were a double  major on fashion and business, not psychoanalysis, babes" Alya's eyes closed in on her behind the glasses, the tilt of the redhead's head adding to the menacing look.

"And I thought you were on margarita duty. Where are my drinks, Césaire?"

"Here," the sound came from behind Marinette and this time the jump almost made her drop the firmly held karaoke machine. Before she could register the movement, a arm came foward to take it out of her hands, caging her in. "Where do you want these?" The voice was now in her ear, speaking so softly it could only belong to Luka. This time, the surprise made her actually jerk foward and the man stepped back to allow the reaction.

With the added space, Marinette turned to face him, carrying a pint of she supposed were margaritas on one hand and the box who she was just strugglig with on the other like it was nothing. Looking absolutely delicious doing both, not to mention it.

"Sorry for the scare, Mari," he smiled at her apologetic and she believed she could have died right there on the spot, hearing the nickname and seeing the dimples "'I was just trying to help."

"No, no, its okay! Im just... jumpy. So much to do and whatnot" she tried her best to smile back but the proximity made it wobly. she probably looked so silly that just thinking about it made her wanna scream. But Luka didnt seem fazed.

"At your service" Marinette felt like passing out. "I'm gonna find a place to put these down and then come back to help, okay?"

Not trusting herself to speak, the French-Chinese simply nodded, and at that he walked out. Alya's eyes were on her the whole time, fighting back the smirk.

"Not a word" Marinette sushed her, and the journalist cackled into the sky.

***

The party was a success, as far as last minute ones go. It made Rose so happy she teared up a little over the cake, plus she was so delighted at Marinettes dedication to making the whole arrangement work -- and fighting for the party to go on on the first place -- that the petit blond decided to gift her with the first slice of cake.

Now, it was late and they were all a little too buzzed to drive back. The lights and decorations were all still up, so they sat on a messy circle made out of lawn chairs and pillows, chating about nothing in particular.

Somehow, Marinette ended up on Luka's chair, their bodies pressed together in the small space. Looking for the perfect position, luka grabbed her legs so that they were in his lap and trew one of his arms over her shoulders, causing the girl to shiver with the contact.

"You cold?" He asked her while drawing patterns on her knee hith the hand that rested there. She took a minute to answer positively, barely registering that it was a question, concentrating too much on the way his fingers found the spot that got all her hairs standing and saluding the man that was Luka Couffaine. The second shudder was welcomed by him, who took the softly whispered "yes" and the trembling as results of her freezing and not Marinette being turned on. Thank God for small mercies.

With that, Luka got up and sprinted away after drapping his jacket all around her. She didnt quite understand what was going on until he had already organized all the firewood on the middle of the patio and was trying to light it.

He wasnt. No way.

But apparently the thought of setting stuff on fire appealed more to Luka than simply holding her. Awesome.

"Do you ever just forget they're Couffaines? But then they do something like like this." She could hear the laugh in Rose's voice before turning to meet her eye. "In the beggining of our relationship Juleka would pull the most ridiculous stunts and go the hardest lenghts to prove herself to me. It was so silly. I felt like a damsel in distress on a bad mute movie. But don't worry too much about it. Luka is far more vocal than Jules, and even if he weren't they are fast learners, the Couffaines."

...What?

Maybe the confusion was obvious in Marinettes face, or she had said it out loud cause Rose continued.

"What? Did I say something wrong? Did I meddled? Is just that you guys have been on this will they, won't the thing for so long, and neither of you would just come out and say it! It feels good to be finally able to say it, that's it." Marinettes eyes widened even more than she thought it was possible. What the hell Rose thinks is going on?

It was only when all the bluenette could do was look terrified with her mouth basically hanging open, that the blonde one realized she made a mistake.

[literaticat]

I know no author HAS to be on social media. But it seems like the most tenacious ones are active online in some way. If I'm a painfully shy person who is socially awkward-- could that be a potential roadblock for an author career? 

First off: LOTS and LOTS of authors are "painfully shy and socially awkward." That's OK. Don't borrow trouble. Having a career as an author is already hard. There are LOTS of potential roadblocks out there. I'd suggest you not look for extra roadblocks to put in your own way. :-)

You don't need to worry about promoting your book if you don't even have a book. So if you want to get to a place where that's even a concern you MIGHT have, you start by doing the actually most important part: Write a great book. Then revise and polish it. Then look for an agent, or whatever your next step is. Etc. Just go step by step.

By the time you actually have a publisher and know that your book is really really coming out, a couple of things might have happened: The social media landscape might be totally different than it is today. And, more crucially, YOU might be different. I'm willing to bet that during this long process, where you wrote and then dug into this great book and got to craft and know everything about it, going step by step, you will have then had to talk to agents, then editors, then sales people, booksellers, other authors, etc about it. You will have interacted with increasing numbers of scary strangers lovely new people in a safe way, and realized that actually, book people are pretty much uniformly nice, they all LIKE you and your book, and you will at least feel pretty confident when you are talking about books, and your own work. You're probably never going to become an extrovert, or suddenly want to take on Open Mic nights at the Comedy Store -- but you'll be able to get through a normal business phone call or zoom, or quick back-and-forth email/text convo about book stuff, without really even thinking about it. You just WILL. I promise.

So then, at some stage, before your book comes out, whatever "social media" looks like at that time, you get a little account, and follow some of these folks. Follow your publisher and agent, as applicable, and authors you admire, and booksellers and librarians you meet along the way, and people who are interesting to you. Participate a little. If your friend is having a book launch, you can post about it. If you read a great book, post about it. If somebody says something funny or cool, like it. If somebody you like posts great news or an awesome review of their book, congratulate them. Take a cute picture of your pets. Then when YOUR book is coming out, you can add in talking about that as well, a little, and your buddies will like and post about that, too, because you are nice, and they are nice, and they like your book. And when YOU have good news or a book launch or a nice review, other people will congratulate YOU.

Aim for 15 minutes a day, just dip in and out. Think of it like the water cooler at work. When you work hard, it's NICE to take a break and catch up with your writerly colleagues for a few minutes here and there. You're not looking to be a Social Media Superstar or Influencer. The water cooler is NOT your job. But, just like when you work at an office, it's nice to be able to take a break, have a little corner of the internet where you can feel comfortable enough to wander over from time to time, share fun news or things that are interesting to you, briefly see what's up with your colleagues that day, share a laugh, or whatever, then go back to your desk to work. No stress.

If you can manage that (and I suspect you'll be able to!) -- well, you'll be in the top 50% of authors on social media without even trying too hard. And if you really can't manage it -- well, hey, you tried, it's not for you, at least make sure your website stays updated.

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

Things I Noticed While Writing Light The Fuse: Part 12, Episode 5

The battles I fought to get this extended episode, so this one is going to be special, I'm actually going to compare scenes and alternate takes this time~ As such, all my gifs will be in full widescreen to get all the details and love in there 🥰

Now, I've never in my life been a car person, but goddamn if that ain't a beautiful car, let's just appreciate it a moment 😌 also laughing at the film car in the reflection lol

I love how my initial train of thought was 'wait, I don't know those necks... Johnson!' like even so recognizable this close, also they really should've put this in a less kissable area I mean really, how do they expect everyone to not wanna go in for a bite, I can only be that lucky cause I'm getting this tattoo, like there is no doubt about it at this point

Young Joel jumpscare! I love how you can tell this is a flashback just from the sheer lack of gray ;w;

Cut on the left (Hulu), extended on the right (Amazon). I can't believe they cut out that not only was Johnson still a Phoenix when Joel was, but he was there for longer.

This shot is actually a tad longer in the cut version ironically enough

I spy chipped nail polish hehe

Switchblade branded beer, delicious

I actually think Rita was pregnant with Lyla here, which is why he asked, obviously not very far along, and she doesn't seem concerned, so I set this about ten years ago as I wrote. Checking now, Lyla's actress was around 8 during filming, so my guess is that this takes place in 2010-11 or so. In my fic both Joel and Bru were done their turns by the time the war was over, so once Joel was done here, Bru came in, and then after him was Matty, who then proceeded to never leave ;w;

Joel's kinda adorable 😊

Not Phoenix or LtF related, but guys, when I was trying to come up with a rival gang for my s/i Addy to be a part of, I was gunna do something with roses obviously since that her last name/whole brand, and then this gang just is in the show. They're right there, and the rustiness makes me think of another great love of mine, Silent Hill, and when I got to this ep I started choking and screaming like it's so perfect I might as well already be in there

Okay I wanna talk about Joel here for a sec since he's a Phoenix at the moment and it counts. We know that Katherine disappeared roughly ten years ago, cause that's another vague date that was mentioned a couple times in her scenes, both 10 and 8 come up, and that's why I set this scene specifically back ten, ignoring Lyla's actual irl age.

If Joel had already done his business with Burt by now, he doesn't seem too bothered by it, plus he's still a Phoenix, so in my head it hasn't happened yet. At the same time, they're already going around trying to get the other gangs to join their tax deal, which is what Burt did after the betrayal, right? So again, in my head, here's how this all went down seeing as I skipped this part in the fic entirely in place of Avron's flashback, so this part will come as the fic progresses and Johnson talks to them. Everything's already been mentioned loosely, so here's my full timeline that I've been working around just based on this scene and those others.

Ten years ago, Joel was a Phoenix, brought on and found by Burt. While there, he met Rita, and they fell in love and had Lyla. Burt asks Joel for his help with the fake betrayal when he can't get as many other gangs to join, cause this courtesy call doesn't seem very terrifying and what Joel says they should be afraid of, and having his trust is what makes him a Brawler. Rita eventually then leaves while Lyla is still young, as she wanted to get out, and they officially split. Around this time war is now being threatened/going on, and this is when Alice also gets out (not a spoiler cause I've had a few characters mention it already, although she is still a mystery).

Bru comes in before she leaves, and when she's gone a bunch of other quick Phoenixes cycle through to bring up the numbers for war, along with my character Dusty, who then had something with Johnson. After the war ends, Johnson rides the river alone for a while because all the other Phoenixes are now Brawlers, and he's a little safer to continue business alone; it's three years after this scene when he picks up Matty on the side of the road while heading back, and it's all history from there.

Alternate take here, instead of the full follow we get a very lovely shot of Johnson, I love having both versions 🥰

I thought this hard cut was hilarious until I learned I was missing out on more Johnson ;w;

I would wear the fuck outta this, I'm gunna be slowly collecting gang jackets by the end of this fic

This rink looks so damn awesome, this place is so me 🤩 Damn, these guys are doing pretty good for themselves, 7 territories plus this badass rink

I can't decide if I like the idea of the Phoenixes being created just for the Brawlers, or if their gang was so small that they were hired entirely, forever stuck under them or else they'd be obliterated. I already have the starts in my mind, I know for sure how most of it goes, I just need to decide on this final bit 🤔 and this is super fast but watch Johnson, he steals a drink from that girl fuckin lmao

The way he says all this makes me think that either they're 100 miles up the river back at the 707, or they're actually going around telling everyone to pay up and bringing the war to them (which weirds up Joel and my timeline), and this really is a courtesy call before they head to wherever they're parked for the night. Might not've been great for them to drive up to either after the beating they're about to get oop

Oh to have Johnson toss me a lighter with a lil tongue click to get my attention 🥰 Joel's also so banged up, this makes me think they've been doing this all day maybe and this is just another/the last stop for the night, with little success

Short king not even afraid Weird Al lookin' ass staring Joel down he's going right for the jugular

This one's just for me. I adore how this is just how he adjusts his sleeves. Johnson please look down on me like that while you're getting ready to fight pleasepleaseplease

I will never get over the height on those pants, also her already getting ready to beat his ass lol there is no intimidation going on here at all and I love it

I love hard cuts so much. What happened to Joel the Mover here, he kicked so much ass it got him that name and he couldn't even fight a man as part of his job. It's funny how incredibly different these scenes are played, with her instantly accepting it and then driving him to safety, to them having steamy makeouts while he's got a knife in his side and Johnson's just thirdwheeling in the backseat lmao also his arm! It's naked!

I'm in love with you. I'm also in the backseat confessing my love right now. He got hit right in the forehead with that skate and he can't even smoke and he's beautiful.

I also really love how incredibly talkative he was this entire scene! I wonder if he talked more back then, and then just got used to Matty saying everything, or if he just talks more around the other Phoenixes, cause he only talks to the Monster Ring first to get Ethan back and that's it, the rest is all to Matty and Ethan outside of being alone with Burt and speaking up Doris because the others wouldn't.

No other times with Joel, no Bru outside of the finale lie because Matty was nervous, or Queenie, no Meredith even, no Percy, no Bash, not even to Avron outside of that whistle. This man does not speak unless he has to, unless he's talking to Phoenixes, then he's got sparse comments galore.

Phew that was a big one, I wanted to get all of the changed stuff in here this time and I actually hit my limit right at the end and had to delete a screenshot to make room, can't end this one on anyone else other than Johnson ❤️