#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 :)

[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.

[htchnr]

♰ romanticised life ༻ ASH WILLIAMS.*ೃ˚

➻ masterlist. ➻ buy me a coffee!

cw smoking ⋆ you and Ash are both high AF ⋆ innuendos ⋆ it's Ash, come on ⋆ making out ⋆ age gap ⋆ Ash is in his 40s reader in her late 20s/early 30s ⋆ not beta'd we die like season 4 ⋆ i may or may not have been drunk while writing this ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

pairing f!reader x older!Ash. (Ash vs Evil Dead)

summary Ash has always been enamoured by your painted nails, it's not a secret to anyone. during a late night smoke you reveal why you often paint your nails a specific color. wc 1,3k.

authors note i like goofy Ash as much as the next person, but i wanted a relatively tame/normal fic for once (and there are so, so painfully few out there) so i wrote one myself 😁 (also, requests are open for Ash 😊)

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐇𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐑. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!

you lay there, head lolling against his shoulder. yours legs are draped across his lap, his large warm hand firmly holding onto your thigh to keep you in place — pff, as if you'd ever want to move from this position.

your eyes droop from moment to moment as you paint your nails, contact high from Ash's third joint, the smoke swirling thick throughout the trailer. you never minded though, happy to just lay there against him.

Ash is enamoured with the sight, how precisely you start off, then the strokes slowly get sloppier the higher you get. he'd start to say something about it, but you'd say something along the lines of 'when it's dry you can just wash the excess off with warm water' and he'd keep quiet.

he doesn't comment on it to make fun of you, hell no. he's curious, always used to your nails perfectly done — always with a nice color and occasionally with a cute pattern. he loved anything you put on your nails.

right now, you were to high to bother with a pattern or little embellishments, just sticking to the nice burgundy polish you loved so much. it looked good against Ash's blue shirt.

his fingers would periodically grip and ungrip against the plush skin of your bare thigh, kneading the hot skin as he watched you.

he exhaled deeply, smoke bellowing from between his thin lips. " 's that y'er favorite color? " he nods to the burgundy polish bottle that's squished between your knees as to hold it without occupying your hands.

your eyes slowly blink, finishing up the last stroke on your thumb nail. you hum, sticking the brush back in the bottle and twisting it shut. you lean back, your back pressed against the couch as you stretch to put the bottle on the side table.

you huff as you move back to your previous position, tucked into his side with your head lolling against his shoulder as your polish dries. you're especially glad you always go with quick drying polish, as you just want it to dry and not worry about it smudging as you settle against Ash.

" y'know why i like it so much? " your words dragged out. you look up at him through your lashes.

he doesn't think you've ever looked more beautiful, messy hair, wearing just a loose shirt and your underwear, looking up at him with those glazey eyes. he thinks he might just fall in love all over again if you don't stop looking at him like he hung the stars for you.

" Ash? " your voice snaps him out of his thoughts, blinking as his eyes meet yours. you give him a dopey smile as you chuckle. " i think we should put a pause to this, " you smile, and before he knows it his joint is between your fingers instead of his.

" hey! " he laughs, leaning to take it from you. you beat him by placing the filter between your lips, taking a long drag from it, before laying down as you exhale in a long sigh. the joint now farther away from him.

he leans with you, adjusting as he hovers above you. your legs trapped between his knees as he looks down at you with those lovesick brown eyes. " if you think i should pause, no way-hosé do you get to pick it up dollface, "

his hand coming up to hold your face. your eyes are slow, your whole face moving in slow motion as you laugh. " don't you want an answer to your question, loverboy? "

he grins, " 'course i do, " his hand trailing down your face and past your shoulders, slowly sliding down your waist as his eyes follow his hand.

his eyes return to your hand with his joint when you move to take another drag, throwing your free arm around his neck to bring him in closer as you inhale the smoke. his eyes are focused on your lips as you lean in, pressing them against his as you let the smoke flow between his lips.

he eagerly inhales, exhaling the smoke before hungrily pressing his lips against yours. he reluctantly pulls away after a few seconds, eyes meeting yours once more. " so sugar lips, why is it your favorite color? " he presses a few stray kisses to your cheeks and jaw.

you breathe against him, your inebriated body moving in sync with his underneath him. he pulls away, those sweet brown eyes searching your face.

you press a hand against his blue shirt, glancing at your nails. " 'cause this color looks so nice against your shirt. " you whisper, taking one last hit from the joint before twisting and leaning back to smother the butt of it in the ashtray.

Ash blinks, eyes trailing down to your hand on his shirt. huh, they did look really good together. he leans down, pressing hungry kisses against the exposed skin of your throat.

" i can think of a few other places they'd look very, very pretty, " he mumbles against your skin, revelling in the sensation of your nails scratching at his scalp as his lips continue his assault on your skin.

[my-writings-and-musings]

So the poll for the next part of the Breakdown x Reader x Bumblebee fic came in and here are the results!

The winner was the swimming hole! I wrote more cute and silly fluff because heaven knows we need more of it, I hope you enjoy, and if you like my writing style you can always commission me!

Also if you were among those who liked the first part and wanted to be tagged in the sequel I apologize because Tumblr is NOT letting me tag people right now!!

"You look good."

"Do you think so?" Bumblebee asked earnestly, turning in the mirror to scrutinize his perfectly buffed finish as his uncertainty continued to get the better of him. Having spent the last few hours watching his partner fret over every last perceived flaw in his finish, Breakdown merely rolled his optics with a grin, conveniently ignoring how much time he'd spent perfecting his own appearance and worrying if their date would approve. In their shared defense, it was hard to properly prepare with only a single human sized mirror hanging on the wall of their tiny bedroom in the Dugout. Making a sound of frustration as he tried and failed to get a better look at his doorwings, the Scout turned to him for feedback. "I didn't miss anything, did I?"

"Bee, you cleared out two bottles of polish, any more and you won't need your headlights." he replied with a laugh. Bumblebee frowned in the adorably pouty way he did when he was more frustrated than mad, and Breakdown softened his smirk into a more comforting playful grin. "Don't be so nervous, you've got me here. There's no way they'll resist my charm."

"Right…" Bumblebee replied more confidently, turning back to the mirror and meeting his gaze through the reflection. "The same charm that gets your voice box glitching every time Y/N looks your way?"

Breakdown had his defenses low enough that he widened his optics in surprise at the question. It was true that he had the hardest time finding his usually ample words every time he saw you, but he wasn't going to admit that, not even to Bumblebee. A forced chuckle and a broad shrug of his shoulders dismissed the very idea.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." he replied with mock ease, confident that this afternoon would be different.

The words came back to bite him the second they pulled up to your house, where you were waiting on the front porch for their arrival. When you stood up and waved in greeting the Stunticon felt his spark go supernova as his processor went completely blank, enough so that he sat in a daze for a solid few seconds before realizing Bumblebee had already transformed, compelling him to do the same in a rush. Thankfully the sunlight was at the perfect angle to hide the glow of his blush as he faced you directly. 

"Hey guys, right on time!" you said eagerly, your bright smile nearly overwhelming both mechs as they beheld your outfit. While you'd chosen something practical that wasn't all that much fancier than your normal clothes, the fact that you'd put it on for them was simply too much for the lovestruck bots, who were both struggling to find their words as you approached. Just able to suppress a knowing but loving grin at their response, you kept talking to spare them an awkward silence. "You didn't specify where you wanted to go, Breakdown, so I hope you don't mind that I picked something out for us."

"Definitely!" Bumblebee agreed enthusiastically, not needing any context to agree with anything you wanted to say. Catching himself when Breakdown smirked at his expense, he returned the gesture with a well earned bit of side-optic and subtle sass, calling back to the antics that had gotten them into this situation. "This was a little… unexpected, after all."

Breakdown faltered at the reminder, expression betraying his fluster when you chuckled at the memory of him sauntering over to ask for a date for Bumblebee, completely oblivious to his own feelings for you before they'd become too overwhelming to ignore. Ever quick to repair his reputation, he coughed and put a characteristic spin on the memory. "Yeah, but uh, who doesn't love a bit of unexpected adventure?" Putting his servos on his hips for some added confidence, he refocused on the original topic at hand. "Where are we adventuring to, anyway?"

"Seeing as how it's supposed to get pretty warm once the sun is fully up, I thought the two of you might enjoy a trip to a shady swimming spot up the way." you explained, taking a look skyward to emphasize the growing heat as the sun continued rising. It had taken some thought to come up with an ideal date for one human and two bots, but you were confident the three of you could have fun without fear of being disturbed, and explained as much with an added benefit to sweeten the deal. "It's very private, and there's some valleys nearby for racing if you aren't feeling a dip."

Both mechs perked up at what sounded like a delightful afternoon, almost buzzing over the idea of having you all to themselves. Even if bots didn't swim thanks to their density, cool water was still a pleasant respite from the heat, and unlike earth vehicles they didn't need to fear rust from simply being exposed to water. Keeping his giddiness subdued, Breakdown replied for both of them, which was quite helpful seeing as how Bumblebee had briefly lost his voice from elation. "Sounds like a good time, you got the coordinates?"

"Right here." you said as you pulled out your phone, sending the text you'd prepared to their respective communication channels. You'd have to provide some directions to reach the swimming hole, as there was hardly a Google Maps route along the back roads, but you were confident these two had plenty of experience hunting down remote locations. It was your own turn to be bashful as you gestured to the supplies at your side, which you'd made as compact as possible but were still ungainly enough that you felt bad making an admittedly necessary request. "I've also got a bag and a cooler with everything I'll need. Would one of you mind carrying them?"

Thankfully the ask wasn't taken badly, and if anything, both bots looked elated at the opportunity to assist.

"I've got it!" Breakdown offered in a flash, beating Bumblebee before the latter could even open his mouth. A smug smirk was met with a brief pout, but the Scout got the last laugh as soon as his infuriating boyfriend had your things carefully balanced in his palm. 

"And I've got you." Bumblebee declared confidently before transforming, opening up his passenger side door with a flourish so dramatic it immediately trumped the smirk Breakdown had given him. It was now the Stunticons turn to pout, something you pretended not to notice as you wondered if these two would be competing with each other all day. Bumblebee conceded a small amount of ground to his partner to give you hope they intended to be somewhat reasonable. "We can swap who carries what on the way back."

"Sounds great! Let's get going!" you agreed, clapping your hands together in excitement. Breakdown bounced your items on his palm to test their weight before transforming around them, doing so in such a way both the cooler and bag ended up securely buckled on his passenger side. Unsure how such a feat could be accomplished but quite impressed, you rounded Bumblebee to approach his passenger side door, and in so doing caught the Scout off guard.

"Uh, right!" he fumbled as the reality of giving you your first ride in his cabin hit him like a wrecking ball. When just the touch of your hand on his door made his spark flare like a collapsing star, he knew he was in over his helm, yet he tried to sound nothing but exuberant as he adjusted the seat for maximum comfort. "Hop in!"

You quickly complied, and didn't miss how nervous he was as you stepped inside, the flow of cool air from his AC unit hitching like a nervous gasp as you settled against the comfortable leather. The Scout was in a daze for as long as it took you to buckle up, and by then Breakdown had pulled ahead on the driveway to secure the spot in front. 

-Enjoying your passenger, Lovebug?- the Stunticon teased over their private comm link, not missing how Bumblebee was more or less frozen to the spot by his crush. A surprised and sarcastic flurry of static retorted over the link before the Scout found his voice. 

-Jealous, Breakdown?- he replied as the two of them made their way down the long dirt road. Though they rarely pushed each other to the point of actual hurt feelings, Bumblebee found himself far too delighted by your presence to be miffed for more than a few seconds, a sentiment that was apparently shared by his partner based on how swiftly his own tone shifted. 

-No.- he said somewhat lamely, briefly driving at pace with Bee to look inside his passenger window. You were busy getting the directions pulled up on your phone, and the excitement for the day ahead was apparent on your beaming smile. Seeing you so happy quickly softened his sass, and he finished his earlier statement with much more open affection. -Just… drive carefully, yeah? That's some precious cargo.-

Bumblebee would have smiled if he was in bot mode, and turned his internal visual sensors back to look at you as he replied, his voice equally affectionate and soft over the private channel. -I know.-

"Alright, I think I've got the best way to get there!" you announced, bringing both mechs to the present as Bumblebee transferred your words to Breakdown in real time. Having calculated a course across back roads and partly through the woods, you were confident the three of you could find your way, and were quite eager to get going as the sun crept higher in the sky. Your enthusiasm was matched by both bots, who quickly set about combining your information with their own experience to chart a course to the swimming hole. It took less than an hour for them to find the overgrown dirt path you'd once used in the past, laughing and joking about asking for directions all the while, and by the time they approached the end you were almost bursting with excitement. 

"There it is!" you announced as a gap in the trees gave way to a giant dip in the forest floor. Bumblebee was careful to apply his brakes as he nosed up to the rocky edge of an apparent cliff, the sound of rushing water meeting his audials as his tires went from dirt to smoothly eroded stone. Breakdown kept an equal pace at his side as they both arrived at the edge.

A sizable waterfall had worn out a stony chasm in the earth that was broad and deep, allowing the creek to gather about twenty feet below in a pool where the clear blue water rested before it tumbled over a second waterfall at the far edge. Broad expanses of flat, smooth stone in the shade were coated in soft moss while those in the sun collected the heat. It was a human's dream swimming spot, but you only hoped a bot might find it similarly inviting. "What do you think? Does it look big enough for bots?"

"I could go for a dip. Bee?" Breakdown inquired as he spotted a bot sized expanse of flat stone in the shallow water. The spot would be perfect for lounging in the sun without having to worry about his armor growing scalding to the touch, and he was even confident the pool had enough depth for them to submerge up to their chests after its sharp drop off from the shallows.

"Nothing showing up on my scanner, we're in the clear." Bumblebee confirmed after a final check for peace of mind. Beyond the expected denizens of the forest, they were the only ones present for miles, meaning the three of you could relax without any fear of disturbance. Opening his door so you could exit, Bumblebee transformed into bot mode as Breakdown did the same, looking over the edge to determine the best way down the sheer slope. Finding it easiest to climb, he offered you his servo, allowing you to climb on so he could place you on his shoulders. Having you so close almost made it impossible to speak without the giddiness seeping into his voice. "Hold on tight."

You grabbed a hold of his horns for support, and the Scout stiffened with a blush, a reaction Breakdown found adorable enough to let out a small chuckle. He knew just how sensitive those horns could be, and was endlessly amused at his partner's harmless expense as they scaled the stone wall, especially with Bumblebee biting his lip from more than concentration the entire way down. Keeping your items expertly balanced on his broad shoulder, the big mech had no trouble finding his own way to the bottom, where his pedes met solid stone and he righted himself for a look around.

"Right, where do these go?" he said as he noticed several potential spots that would allow the three of you to relax together.

You were oblivious to the slight hesitation from Bumblebee before he helped you down to the ground, your excitement quickening your steps as you led the way to a patch of shaded stone beneath a solid outcrop on the far side of the waterfall. Walking around the rim of the pool, you arrived and took your things back from Breakdown to start unpacking, opening your bag and reaching past the towels and lawn chair to grab the essentials. "It's comfiest under that shady spot. How about you two have a look around while I change and get my sunscreen on?"

Though he hadn't a clue what you meant by "change" or "sunscreen", Breakdown had little time to think on it as he and Bumblebee stepped away to explore the scenic swimming hole, his partner's earlier blush still lingering with a dazed smile. Snickering to himself, he gave the Scout a playful nudge as soon as you were out of earshot. "You good?"

"Fine!" Bumblebee hissed, shaking his helm and clearing his vents to return himself to the present. Looking over the pool and to the second waterfall it fed, his optics lingered on the clear view of the treetops above, which were bursting with lush emerald green leaves that swayed in the gentle breeze. He turned his helm back to Breakdown as the Stunticon kneeled to test the water with his digits. "Nice place, huh?"

"Yeah, really digging the scenery." Breakdown joked as he swirled his servo in the warm shallows, subtly glancing back at you to make his point.

Once more the mech's confidence proved his undoing, as he had not been prepared to see you stripping away your clothes to reveal something much smaller and more form fitting underneath. Yellow optics went wide at the sight of more of you than he'd ever expected to behold, and he snapped his helm back around just in time to avoid getting caught staring. "What are they-?"

It was Bumblebee's turn to chuckle at his boyfriend's expense, even if he was similarly affected by your exposure the second he caught a glimpse in the corner of his optics. "Humans don't swim with their clothes on, Breakdown."

"Oh." the Stunticon said simply, unsure how he was going to survive the afternoon and tempted to let himself sink to the depths of the pool to save himself the embarrassment that was definitely coming his way.

[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.

[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.

[faroreskiss]

Latest Work: The Pioneer

I like world building and thinking about those details nobody cares about, reader inserts & AUs. Anything that relates to languages/lingustics/translation.

And yes, as the blog title indicates, also sometimes smut/+18 content, tagged with #smut or #nsfw (So please mind the warnings at the start, there is also SFW content here!)

Unfortunately, I publish first and proof-read later.

*shrugs*

You can call me Farie.

Misc sideblog: @farie-meta

If something is tagged #raw fic it means it has been just typed on a whim and that I clicked on the "Post" button without using my brain as much.

ALL HAIL LINKE

05/08/2023

Master list below.

Regarding Linkcest/Incest, click here.

Ao3 for more polished content. (Still not the best versions unless stated otherwise)

28/07/2023

Hi there to whoever that will ever see this,

After many years of writing (and not publishing much) fanfics and reading a plethora of them, finally decided to post them here.

I did want to focus on one shots, but some of the stuff I wrote ended up having a potential of expansion, even though the whole primary reason was to write a juicy fic!

Then I realized I ended up with at least 10k word background to what was supposed to be a "juicy one shot".

So now, I have this page to see what other people think, maybe I publish both SFW and NSFW versions, maybe somebody is interested in the story potential...

(Also, not a lot of ENM or threesome Zelda x Reader x Link fics in the market lol)

I am open to requests & feedback too!

Master List

Anons: ✨anon

SFW Content:

The Power of Understanding Ongoing Translator!Scholar!Reader random snippets of adventures with the Chain within the Linked Universe AU, pairings possible. Same "You" from the NSFW Fics. Poly/Bisexual Pairings. Read on Ao3

The Power of Understanding shorts in my profile can be found with the tag #the power of understanding shorts or #tpos Do you think I'm a cheater? (Shorts) (Ao3) The Void (Shorts) (Ao3) Triforce of Mischief (Shorts) (Ao3)

_________

Resurrection Gone Wrong Ongoing Read on Ao3 A couple of short fics about what would happen if Link's resurrection took more of a twisted turn.

Requested Content:

For Tonight (Zelda x Fem!Reader) (Angst, no comfort) The Void (Power of Understanding Short Story) (Hurt/no comfort) Can be read stand alone Ao3 Acceptance of the Waves (Linke x Fem!Reader) (Angst) The Pioneer (Skyward Sword Link, Angst, hurt no comfort)

_________

Headcanon (?) Content

The Information You Never Knew You Needed

NSFW Content: (MINORS DNI)

Unnatural Coincidences (Zelda x Fem!Reader x Link) (+18) (Experimental writing in third person. Not super proud tbh) Parts 1 2 3 4 Epilogue

_________

Make me a pie (Warriors x Fem!Higher Ranking Officer!Reader) (+18) Ao3

________

A Little Quick(ie) (+18) -Alternate Version 1 (Flora x Fem!Reader) Coming soon -Alternate Version 2 (Twilight x Fem!Reader)

---------

Harp Lesson (Pedal Harpist!Sky x Fem!Reader) (+18)

Ao3

[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 ❤️

[cold-neon-ocean]

💚

💚 for fic bits!

A little longer of a snippet than I had intended but I wanted enough context + the dialogue :'D I wrote this very recently trying to shake off some rust so it needs some polishing. The whole thing is intended to be relatively short just in an exercise to actually finish something but as usual I run rather long lol

-----

"Was anyone else hurt?" She asked, choosing to distract herself with trying to be a decent, unbiased leader.

"None too bad. The train got it worse than anything I think. We're gonna be stopped for the night at least until I can get it going again." He leaned back in his chair, staring at the tent wall, and Kuvira imagined he was writing plans on it in his mind for all the things he needed to do. "We should be able to leave tomorrow."

"At the cost of you sleeping tonight, or~?"

He closed his eyes. Which meant 'yes'. "Better than sitting on the tracks exposed like we are now."

Kuvira couldn't argue with that. A shame, as she loved cozying up to him when she didn't feel well. A practiced habit from when they were young and she was hurting from a fall during dance practice, or her abdomen was cramping. His heartbeat at her ear was the only thing that really soothed her enough to sleep. But she knew the train was his area of expertise, and he'd know better than anyone how to get it back on its wheels as soon as possible.

She wanted him to smile real quick, just to be sure he was doing a reasonable level of okay to put her own mind at ease. "Was Varrick with you? Where is he?"

"I put him in charge of seeing to any equipment on board that was damaged." Expressly to things at the back of the train, so he shouldn't be all that busy. Or have to touch much of anything.

"So he's fine then?" She clicked her tongue, "Aw, well I'm sure you'll think of something next time~" she joked, then rubbed his shoulder pityingly, "Perhaps something a bit less theatrical than a bandit attack. And where I don't get caught in the crossfire perhaps." That had become her favorite running joke, that any time they came under threat it was an elaborate attempt on Baatar's part to dispose of his engineering colleague.

And it always worked, the grin forced its way onto his face, "Yes, perhaps next time."

-----

[boxofthings]

Finally finished a prompt and wrote some GhostRoach (kinda) matching gear fluff :) 

I might also go back and do some of the other ideas anon listed

This turned out much longer than expected lmao and isn't as well fleshed out and polished like my two other fics so if there are typos I'm sorry lol (also might be a lil ooc since this was just mindless brainrot writing)

Read on AO3

---

A haphazard smack against his helmet briefly knocks him out of his crouched stance. He grunts softly as he repositions himself near the bushes. Ghost isn't surprised that a task force member got bored and decided to bother him. He's even less surprised when he turns around and comes face to face with Roach, eyes crinkled in a relaxed grin.

"What," he says, unimpressed. They're supposed to be on recon duty, but it's lasted far longer than he thinks is needed, and with the information they've gathered being as dry as it was, Ghost had figured the squad would've started loosening up by now. 

He should've figured Roach would be the first one to get antsy.

"Wanted to check up on you," Roach signs. He lowers himself so that he's at Ghost's level and slings his firearm over his shoulder. "Also, I'm bored." 

Ghost rolls his eyes. "So I see you've made the smart decision and sought me out to help cure your boredom?" He makes a show of raising his brow even though it won't be seen through the mask.

Roach nods, completely unbothered by his lieutenant's snark.

"Of all people..." Ghost mumbles under his breath, but his limbs feel just a little less heavy than they were a minute ago.

He doesn't follow Roach's example and keeps his gun at the ready, barrel pointed straight in front of him. At the same time, the sergeant starts getting himself comfortable (or as comfortable as one can be in a humidly damp forest) with his journal already out and pencil in hand.

Ghost doesn't bother reprimanding him. It'd felt so long ago that he'd nitpick at every minuscule shortcoming displayed by his subordinates. It'd only feel strange if he went back to that now, especially with Roach, who had definitely played a role in the aversion of that overtly rigid demeanour. 

And besides, he knows Roach to be startlingly swift when facing a sudden oncoming threat, and with the added security of Ghost still on alert, their chances of ambush were low.

When had he gotten so soft? 

He turns to the sergeant–the culprit responsible for that development. A rush of fond exasperation churns in his gut, but he doesn't speak, only watches, as he often does with Roach.

He looks down at the open journal page, a current sketch of the foliage around them, some jotted-down thoughts and a drawing of Ghost from earlier in the day.

It doesn't bother him, but he's always surprised to see Roach's sketches of him, even if it'd been established long ago that Roach, much like the captain, tends to draw everyone.

It just means something else when it's Ghost.

Ghost clears his throat, suddenly abashed, "You and MacTavish should have drawing competitions. Bet he'd enjoy that."

The sergeant looks up, then glances down at his page again, pointedly looking at the sketch of the lieutenant.

"We already had one," he responds. "He won." Roach dramatically hangs his head and clutches his heart in a mocking "woe is me" display. Ghost feels the corners of his lips lift.

"Ah," he starts, leaning over to give a quick pat on the shoulder. "Sorry to hear that. S'pose the captain does have a couple of years on ya." 

Roach shrugs lightheartedly, "My creations could definitely use some work." He returns to his previous activity while Ghost turns his gaze back to their targeted area.

He's starting to feel antsy himself, and he's long recognized the source of that familiar precipice. "I like 'em, though," he says, much more hesitant and softer than his tone before, probably hoping the latter won't hear.

Roach's eyes shift upwards and he takes a moment to observe Ghost, crinkled eyes boring deep into his skin, and he feels his body flaring warmer.

He leans forward and gives a quick peck to Ghost's covered cheek, patting the area lightheartedly before returning to his previous ministrations, all too quickly for Ghost to properly process and appreciate what had just happened.

Ghost manages a choked "Mhm" before he's back to steadying his gun in his grasp, albeit a little shakier this time.

They don't say anything else after that–Ghost suddenly hyper-focused on the tree to the left of his barrel, and Roach very obviously content with their current established dynamic.

The silence is, as always, comfortable between them, and it passes for another half an hour before Royce comms in that his area is clear and that there's nothing else to look for.

Ghost stands up, gathering the gear he'd set on the ground, and moves over to offer Roach a hand to hoist him up.

The other closes his journal and brushes off his gear. When he looks up at Ghost, he grins.

"What?" Ghost asks, sensing an aura of inscrutability.

Roach continues to smile as he shakes his head, already turning to trek down the path they came from. Ghost wordlessly follows him.

--

Once they've all settled into their respective rides, Ghost radios in with Soap one last time to confirm extraction before he signals Royce to start driving.

He's just started to relax when he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the side-view mirror. 

There's nothing out of the ordinary. Just his masked face as usual, but when he glances slightly upwards to where his helmet sits, that's where he spots it.

A sticker. It's a flower and a soft baby pink, and Ghost stares at it, slightly incredulous as if it appeared out of thin air.

Except–he has a hunch on where it came from, and the earlier smack to his helmet comes back to rattle his brain in a wave of exasperation.

And, of course, Roach chose to ride with Meat in the other car. He'll deal with it later.

--

Seven hours later and they're finally back on base. Ghost is about ready to pass out in his quarters, but as soon as he steps into the common room, Meat approaches him, no doubt to pester Ghost into joining his evening bender.

Ghost is about to wave him off when Meat pauses and squints at him. "The hell is that?"

For a moment, Ghost doesn't understand what Meat's referring to and, by default, is prepared to say it's his face, but the other's gaze is lifted just a tad higher than where Ghost's ears would be, and he realizes. 

"It's just a sticker," he grumbles. He'd almost forgotten about it, "Don't get your knickers in a twist."

Meat only looks more confused. "Yeah, but-" his attention is ripped away by Roach, who makes his way over to the two. "Wow."

"What?" Roach asks.

The other makes a heatless scowl, "So you'll let Roachie here decorate your helmet but if we even suggest you add some personality and glamour to your gear, you just get all huffy?"

It's Ghost's turn to scowl. "I do not get huffy." And he immediately chides himself for sounding like a petulant child arguing with their sibling over who started what. Over a sticker.

"And the sergeant did it without my knowledge." He tries to add with more professionalism, but it doesn't help that Roach is standing next to him, grinning like an idiot.

The answer obviously doesn't satisfy Meat at all--only really exasperates him more. He shakes his head and gives a brief, knowing glance towards Roach, that Ghost heavily glares at, before he gives the lieutenant a light pat as he leaves. "Whatever. Looks cute, L.T."

Before he can respond, Roach is already pulling him away towards the direction of the mess hall.

Once they've sat down with a tray of food in front of them, Ghost takes the time to unbuckle his helmet, deliberately making eye contact with Roach.

"Well?" he says, side-eyeing his partner.

Roach glances down at the aforementioned sticker, then looks back up at Ghost and shrugs.

"Why not?" he signs. "You could add a little colour to your..." he gestures towards Ghost's person haphazardly.

Ghost sighs, placing down his helmet to the side and settling into his seat.

"You know you can take it off. It's all in good fun."

Ghost gives one last glance at the little sticker before digging into his food.

He'll keep it on for now, only because he'd rather focus his attention on his meal over something so ridiculous.

--

The next time they're off on a mission, it's rather quick. A cut-and-dry track and assimilate.

As Soap handles their acquired asset into the carrier, Ghost takes a quick moment to glance at the pop-up shops around them.

They've been deployed to a small village on the east coast of the U.S., where their target had hunkered up in. During their sweep of the area, he'd observed the various shop stands he'd passed by.

Now, as he studies the goods in front of him, his eye catches on a bright sheet in his peripheral. 

He buys it without a second thought. Keeping it tucked in his vest's breast pocket when he meets back up with the others.

--

It's a slow day. He's reading over mission debriefings in his shared office with the captain. 

He'd chosen to look over them during afternoon drills when he knew he wouldn't be disturbed.

With everyone outside sweating their asses off, he'd be granted a couple hours of free time.

He's fifteen minutes into his file readings when Roach walks straight through the door, shoulders slumped from fatigue and half his gear still strapped to his body.

Ghost immediately sits straighter, forgoing his attention on the papers strewn across his desk and taking in Roach's presence. He's back a day early from his latest deployment. One Ghost, unfortunately, wasn't assigned to join.

"Injuries?"

Roach huffs lightheartedly and shakes his head. "Just a few bruised ribs. All good."

He sits down beside Ghost with a heavy sigh and glances over his papers. "How have you been?"

Ghost relaxes as soon as the other situates the other chair, and his hand involuntarily creeps closer to Roach across the table.

Roach zeroes in on it and grasps it without question. 

Ghost swallows. "I've been fine. Slow day. How was the mission?"

The sergeant shrugs. "Nothing special, just a week of mostly sitting around."

Ghost nods, gripping Roach's hand just a little tighter.

Roach removes his helmet and places it on Ghost's desk, leaning closer towards him so their shoulders are touching.

"Mission debriefings?"

"Mm. Just going over a few before I give 'em to MacTavish."

Roach nods, leaning his head against Ghost's shoulder.

Ghost snorts, already knowing where this will go. "If you're tired, you should've headed to the barracks."

Roach makes no show of moving, only whispering a soft "Wanted to see you" that makes Ghost's chest feel funny.

Ghost decides to return to his papers, one hand still intertwined with his partner's, but refusing to let go.

Roach has already begun dozing off when Ghost brings the nearest paper closer to him.

Ghost only manages to get twenty minutes of productive reading in when his mind becomes preoccupied. He's read the same paragraph five times before he throws the paper down and rubs his eyes.

The warm weight on his side hasn't moved an inch, and Ghost feels a faint smile graze his lips when he glances down at Roach, dead to the world, on Ghost's shoulder.

When he turns back to his desk, something catches his eye from his peripheral. It's the small sheet of stickers he'd bought on that mission weeks ago, haphazardly sticking out from between two folders.

He'd forgotten about it, was already apprehensive about using them as soon as he'd arrived back with them in his pocket.

But when he turns to his left, Roach's helmet sits innocently within his reach, and his eyes dart between that and the stickers on his right.

He sighs, feeling a little like a small child scheming to steal an extra snack or two from the pantry.

He reaches forward, mindful of not jostling Roach too much, as he grabs the plastic sheet and slides it out of its clear sleeve.

Ghost gingerly peels a little blue flower off the sheet and delicately places it on the same area where Roach placed his on Ghost's helmet.

After smoothing it out for a few seconds, he debates placing another. Just because. But as he reaches over to grab at the sheet again, he freezes.

The soft breathing from his left had quieted substantially, and he slowly looks down to his shoulder to make eye contact with Roach's amused gaze.

"How long were you awake," he grumbles.

Roach lifts himself, extricating his hand from Ghost's and stretching. "Long enough to watch you lovingly decorate my helmet."

"I wasn't-It was just one."

He doesn't respond, only reaches out to grab his helmet and turns back to Ghost, expression almost triumphant.

Ghost can only look down at Roach's mouth and subconsciously leans closer.

It is then that the captain walks right through the door, papers in hand, approaching his own desk when he catches Ghost and Roach in the act.

The smile that breaks across Mactavish's face is almost comical. Ghost immediately wishes he'd just done this in his own quarters.

"That's real precious, lads," he snorts.

Ghost grimaces, prepared for the onslaught of teasing from his commanding officer.

Soap notices his discomfort and quickly reassures him. "Ah, don't be embarrassed, mate. Roach here used to decorate my helmet when he first joined the squad."

For a moment, Ghost feels an ugly bout of jealousy spark through his gut, which is ridiculous because they're just stickers.

Roach quickly pats Ghost's hand and waves off the captain.

"It was my first mission with him alone, and we got so bored we just did anything to pass the time." As if he sensed Ghost's envy.

"Yeah yeah," MacTavish responds. "No need to feel jealous, Ghost. You're still the special one."

Roach sits back down, turning his body to Ghost while intently making eye contact with Soap. "He also lost the helmet that very same mission."

Soap sneers with zero heat as he walks toward the exit. "Think of it as an unpredicted blessing. Now you can focus all that attention onto Ghost.

The door closes, and Ghost wordlessly turns to Roach.

The other's grin hasn't diminished a bit, and Ghost feels warm under all his layers.

Roach leans forward and encloses Ghost's face between his hands, calloused but gentle, and brings his lips to Ghost's in a tender kiss.

His mask is still on, but Ghost reciprocates regardless and cherishes the moment all the same. He closes his eyes and leans fully into Roach's body heat as the other moves one hand to the back of Ghost's neck to lock them in place.

When they separate, Roach takes a moment to caress Ghost's face before pulling back and standing up.

Ghost already misses the contact.

Roach is about to walk out of the office before he turns back, glancing at the helmet in his hands and giving Ghost one last survey.

"It does look cute, L.T."

Ghost only huffs.

[luninosity]

Whilst I actually remember that I exist here, may I quickly catch you up on some News of various types?

1) the RomPod podcast episode that's got an interview with, er, me, and also the lovely romance scholar Maria Ramos-Garcia, is up now, if you want to hear me ramble about things! We're in episode 2, which you can find here.

2) if you're looking for a good cause to support this month, and some great short stories celebrating queer joy in all sorts of flavors, you might like to check out this anthology kickstarter from Amphibian Press - I've got a story in there! Something brand-new and shiny and exclusive to this collection! (I think we're not supposed to announce the full lineup yet, but there are some lovely author-friends in there too!) Proceeds are going to benefit Club Q!

3) this one’s probably the Big Thing - the Character Bleed box set - with the original three novels, plus new author’s note, and updated cover art - is coming June 10 from JMS Books! Ebook first, then paperback probably in about two months - yes, it’ll be massive! I really want to see it. It’s going to be...wait for it...332,890 words. (Good heavens, did I write that many words?!) It’s actually sort of experimental - JMS said they don’t normally do paperbacks for box sets, but this trilogy has been such a consistent good seller, they’d like to try at least a limited number in print. (So maybe please buy one when that happens? If nothing else you can probably use it as a hammer, or a doorstop, or a weapon.)

This is closer to the way I originally wrote it, as one giant novel - I broke it into a trilogy to, y'know, make it publishable! This volume includes the short stories that came with each book - including the ones that were never on AO3, at least one of those per book. The short stories published separately will get collected into a second volume! (I am STILL working on Leo’s book, which might have to be two books, because it is now 116k and NOT DONE *screams quietly into pillows about not being able to write short things*)

I don’t think the Amazon link is live yet but here’s the JMS Books link!

4) with the Academic Hat on, I am your Fantasy & the Fantastic Area Chair for the Pacific Ancient & Modern Language Association Conference! We've got several great proposals but should have room for 1-2 more - if you are working on some fantasy-adjacent research / creative work with meta-cognitive component, and you want to come to Portland in October, send me an abstract over here! Or, if you are in or near Portland, would you like to hang out, meet up, say hi? Or, any recommendations? I’ve been to Portland once before but also for Academic Conference Reasons, so not lots of tourist time. Awesome Husband might come this time because he’s never been to Portland and he’s got some vacation time. We like history, good craft beer, botanic gardens, water, queerness, and libraries. I think the conference hotel is some sort of Hilton in the downtown area?

5) officially got the rights back from Inkshares* for my first** novel, A Prophecy for Two! (Plus they sent me the last paperbacks they had in inventory, so a- those are I guess rare-ish now, since there'll never be another of those editions - want to buy one for cheap? *laughs* I mean I’m semi- serious; they sent me like 13 paperbacks, and I do not need that many! and b- I think that's it as far as that relationship! *dusts off hands*) Now to give the whole thing a polish and republish it with JMS - we've already had conversations about that, so it’ll happen!

*I’ve got complicated feels about Inkshares. That’s a whole other post. In the short form: did I get a book out of it, when I was an unknown author? Yes. Would I advise someone else to work with them? No.

**first in terms of being completed. A Demon for Midwinter ended up being published first, because of publisher schedules and JMS Books sending me a super-quick offer and having great editorial turnaround.

6) okay, I THINK that’s it! Actually, a totally non-publishing related thing: I just had a student submit - for a 12-page paper requirement - a paper that was 21 pages. Yep.

Honestly, it was kind of lovely - he’s a good student, he’s a good writer, and he already submitted a 14-page version that was excellent, but then he asked if he could send me an updated version “to make it as good as I possibly can,” and I said yes, because he *is* a very good writer, and then. A 21 page paper showed up in my email. Not including his Works Cited section, or the lengthy email in which he told me how much fun he had in my class and getting to write about monsters and monstrosity and ethics and agency. My god, student, I am both impressed and vaguely in shock. I mean, that’s why I do this job, that’s why I love this job, but also - he sent the updated version to me the *day* before final grades were due. (He already had an A.)

[narratingvoice]

How do you deal with writer’s block?

Ahhh, writer's block. The most relatable and universal of terrors. Is there anything more frightening than staring down at the white abyss of the empty page? Is there any pain more acute than being unable to wrest the words out of your head and into a story? No, surely not. (In fact, you'll never believe why I took several days to respond to this ask.) But I have been a writer for a long time, so by necessity I have devised a few methods of coping with the looming dread. Here are a couple of tips:

Write as if you're talking

One of the most common reasons for writer's block is that you want your writing to be perfect. Of course you do, why wouldn't you? But you keep going over the words in your mind over and over before you even write them down, and that's the problem. You need to think of it like you're having a conversation with a silent companion. When you chat with a friend, you don't look back at the sentence you just said and think "that was rubbish". You just let it be part of the conversation. And I for one am certainly known for my grandiloquence when speaking orally; in fact I'd say it's one of my best features. So just write down something, anything, that says the thing you want to say. Then once you've said it, you can rewrite it over and over again until it's perfect. Don't move on to the next section until you've polished it to a mirror sheen.

2. Have a punching bag

I don't mean a literal punching bag, although you certainly could use one if you so desire. I mean you need to have something harmless that you can unleash your built-up frustration on. One cannot craft a thrilling narrative when one's mind is clouded by self-doubt. My punching bag is a large plush tyrannosaurus I call Muriel. I like to take her to a nice dark out-of-bounds area where no one can see me, and hug her tightly to my chest while I let out an uninterrupted scream for as long as I possibly can. (This is usually several hours.) If I am feeling especially angry, I will punch her, bite her, and throw her at a wall until I calm down. And if that still doesn't work then I will drop Stanley into the void for a quick laugh.

3. Re-read your old stuff

If you ever have doubt about your ability to create believable dialogue and character, all you need to do is take a trip down memory lane. Simply read something you wrote in the past, and if you're anything like me, your heart will fill with a swell of pride and accomplishment. You can write! You've done it before and you'll do it again! I recommend making a binder, file folder, or shrine containing all your past works, so you can easily find them and remember them whenever you want. Oh, and if you published them in a place where you can get comments or reviews, save and print out all the good ones. That way you will know that it's not just your ego; other people enjoy your creative ability as well.

Do not save the bad ones. That will not lead to anything good. Trust me on this one.

If this is your first time writing anything, make up some imaginary good reviews that you think should exist once the work is finished, and look at them.

4. Use spite

It may seem counter-intuitive, but spite is actually a fantastic motivator for getting work done. What you need to do is find an author you really hate and read a bit of their work. In no time at all, you will be thinking to yourself, "I can definitely write something better than this dreck. If this can get published then so can I!" For me, all it takes is a couple of chapters of any Tom Clancy novel. Just be careful you don't read so much that it drives you into a murderous rage; if that happens, revert to tip #2 above.

And that's all I can think of for now! Good luck, and know that I believe in you! You have a story worth telling!

[moonlight-frittata]

2, 3, 13!

Fic Writer Asks

2.) Do you plan each chapter ahead or write as you go?

I very rarely start writing a story without a planned ending in mind that I'm writing towards. Everything in the middle is a lot more flexible, especially in first drafts. I don't always outline, especially if something is a one shot, I'll just go off stuff in my head but I do spend time mentally sorting it out. If something is more plot heavy, I'll usually plan out certain scenes and story beats I want to hit with a more intentional approach. I don't always stick to this though and have been getting a lot more liberal with "kill your darlings" (aka kill that paragraph or entire scene haha).

I've also been outlining and plotting more in a notebook before writing it on the computer. I feel like it helps it stay less concrete and more flexible I guess? When I type up notes on a computer, it's sometimes harder for me to deviate, but when it's on paper first, it's not "real" yet. For something I'm working on at the moment, I'm experimenting with using index cards, because the story is a mix of specific scenes but also incredibly introspective, I was losing track a bit myself of how to take the ideas and put them down, but the index cards are helping to physically shuffle around the ideas and themes. Embrace the tactile experience when you're stuck!

3.) Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic

It really varies! I think it always starts from some small nugget of an idea, and I think some of my more interesting stories come from really random things I pick up from everyday life. Like, I wrote this one story about grief that was centered around a bowl of porridge reminding the person about their sister, and for me the idea sparked because I was reading a recipe book (while also passively thinking about the characters). I use tons of inspiration for little things that I hear or read or experience in my life.

I'll usually have specific ideas planned, but when I actually get to writing, a lot of things come to me in the moment. You get in the character's head and the scene, and it's like "improvising" i suppose, where you embellish or make something new up on the spot. If you understand the internal consistency of your character, it works and you get a lot of really interesting things. I've mentioned this before with roleplaying, that you can do that like...just one on one with yourself haha.

I think when I'm starting to actually write a scene, there can be hesitancy if I think about it too long and I won't start. If I get too hung up on making the character voice sound a certain way or the scene sound a certain way on a first pass, I often end up either mad at everything coming out or don't start at all. So I've been trying to just jump in initially wherever feels right and not worry about what's coming out. Does it always work? No, but I'm being nicer to myself and I do get a lot more out when I tell myself, "Don't worry, you'll get to polish this up and make it really beautiful when you come back to edit." And I've really started to look forward to it way more!

So for first drafts if I get cool lines down it's great, but I don't sweat it as much. I use it for getting all the "blocking" down, starting to get the vibes and themes teased out, and leave myself tons of comments to come back to, and then when I edit (after doing my best to give a few days to up to a week), then I add a lot more texture, descriptions, character feelings, the more pretty lines. Some of my best stuff has come after a beta read and a quick update. At that point I know the whole thing and all the themes, and it's way easier I think, to zero in on specifically what I want to say because I already know everything! Vs trying to snatch gold out of thin air when I haven't spent the time immersed in the scenes/story.

13.) What’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

(lol sorry not sorry I had to list a few)

Give yourself time to edit separate from your first drafts.

It really really does help to change your perspective when you have some distance to come back and look at the scenes, the sentences, the word choices with some space. It's soooo hard sometimes ahaha because you both want to just get stuff out and (hopefully) get feedback and praise, but it really really does help! Also try editing on your phone or changing the screen size (or font? haven't tried this tbh), it can also make you see things in a different way.

Try not to write in the passive voice

I'm not such a stickler for you can never use passive voice or adverbs and I don't care if you have them all over the place in a first draft, but I do think you can take a look when you are editing and find ways to be more direct and make your work sound more intentional. So I do try and if I notice spots that I'm doing these things, I try and take a closer look and figure out if i can make it sound stronger. I usually can just with this one tip.

Show don't tell (I prefer "Describe don't explain")

I think this is one of the most common adages, but also if you can really embrace what this means, it's the step from telling a story to immersing someone in your story. You don't have to describe every tree and every leaf, but focus on the things that are worth describing, aka emotions!! Don't tell me they're sad, make me feel like I just put on a depressing playlist but I'm not listening to music. Happy? Make me feel like I'm soaring through the air, like sunlight and joy have made my bones filled with so much freedom and warmth that I take flight.

I think that's it, make your reader feel something!! It also let's you get more specific. Sad can mean generally blue because someone didn't text you back, you're sad because your dog died, sad because you heard some tragic news. There's more than just "sad", and that's the fun part of writing I think, trying to get to what that sadness is for that moment, and name it in a way that really means something.