#posting snippets of unfinished story ideas again

[theoneofshame]

“I hate touching people, Harry” he says, his words contradicted with a thumb tracing the veins in Harry’s left wrist, Voldemort's attention to the blue web underneath the skin as intense and focused as he is in all things. 

Harry finds his voice while watching the movement. “But not me.”

Voldemort’s eyes slide away to stare past the burning horizon even as the grip entwining their hands remains cold iron. “No… not you,” is said with detached calm. Voldemort’s thin fingers flutter against Harry’s pulse, tapping out silent notes. It's good to know they're both uncomfortable. It banishes further insecurities from plaguing Harry. Helps him keep his head. 

Together in the dusk of a dying day, they’re alone. Without a soul around them, the rest of the world slips away. There’s no Dursleys, no judging masses to have to play savior to. He doesn’t have to be the Chosen One here. It makes Harry feel brave. He needs to ask.

“Why?”

Voldemort shuts his eyes. “As if you don’t already know.” He says it like it hurts. Maybe it did. 

Harry tightens the hold and cranes his neck to take in Voldemort's profile, trying to catch a glimpse of his expression. “Tell me anyway,” he whispers.

[inonibird]

Sahuldeem Spin-off Snippet #1

Hey, did you know that writing has been extremely hard so far this year? Or doing anything creative at all, for that matter? But did you also know that for a while I’ve been noodling around with—get this—FOUR different story ideas that are adjacent to my Sahuldeem series?? And that, in lieu of posting something new that I've written, I figured I could share a snippet from one of these unfinished spin-off stories because it's Valentine's Day and I WANT TO??? This nameless work can best be described as: "An alternate timeline where Ronderu travels back to the day she died…and doesn’t." It is pure alternate universe frippery; self-indulgent, for-the-ancestors'-sake-give-them-a-happy-life goodness. The description in the actual word doc is: "Ronderu reality warping fix-it shit". This isn't how it starts, but it's quite near the beginning. Enjoy~

— — —

Ronderu landed in something cold, felt her feet slip and stumble, and plunged face-first into saltwater.

Spluttering and thrashing, she found she had not fallen far, nor could she have—she’d sprawled in the churning, knee-deep surf of the Jenuwaa, and though the waves rocked her about in a seemingly conscious effort to force her prone, her palms and knees found sand and gravel and managed to ground her. She still fought to haul her head and sopping hair above the surface, struggling to take in the sight of the beach that stretched before her.

The sea. The surf. The beach.

It all began to rush back with nauseating clarity, churning her stomach and souring her throat with bile. A vise closed over her chest and squeezed, a painful premonition…or rather, she recognized, a horrific, impossible memory. For a moment she couldn’t breathe.

But then the pressure around her chest shifted in quality. They were arms, wrapping around her torso and pulling her up out of the frothing surf, up into a supportive grasp and the slight yield of organic leathers.

“Íb-ku huul!” a voice shouted in her ear. “First you yell at me about currents, then you fall in yourself?”

Dizzy, limp-limbed, she twisted her neck and turned to stare up at him.

Sheelal.

Whole again. Masked and magnificent in his clan cloak. The spark of youth and hope in his golden eyes. Nothing broken in his mind, body or soul. This was Sheelal as she had loved him. 

This was Sheelal as she had left him.

She opened her mouth to speak but spat brine, instead. It occurred to her that her body wasn’t quite working properly—as if her spirit was not yet in sync with her flesh, her arms too heavy and numb, legs too unsteady and weak, jaw loose, vision tunneling, spine shivering as she struggled to be.

She didn't remember living ever having been so painful.

It must have been a concerning sight to witness, because Sheelal’s eyes widened behind his kakmusme and his arms tightened. “Ronderu?” he demanded, and his voice—no longer grating and distorted by technology, no longer steeped in decades of exhausting hatred—pitched up in panic. “What’s wrong? Hey! Are you okay?!”

Despite everything, Ronderu knew she couldn’t delay their forces’ assault on the beach without jeopardizing all she had come to correct. Internalizing her screams of frustration, she fought her own traitorous body until her hands balled into fists and her lips wrapped themselves around her teeth in the proper configuration. “M’fine,” she managed to slur. “Jus—jus’slip. Slipped. Beach. Get me to the beach.”

Dutiful to a fault, he shifted his grip and scooped her up into his arms, resolved to carry her to the shore. She almost let loose a burst of inappropriate laughter when he staggered under her weight; this was not the mumuu-built man he had grown into, but the lean, still rather scrawny Sheelal who had almost died from a ravaging bout of wet lung barely two years earlier. She loved every straining, determined inch of him, ear pressed to his hammering heart as he clutched her to his chest and forged through the knee-high waves, fighting against the drag of his water-logged cloak.

“Gods, I love you,” she found herself mumbling as his knees wobbled and dropped both of them to the damp sand. She felt his hands fumbling with and removing her kakmusme before his warmth briefly left her side as he climbed to his feet. He was shouting orders—delegating, so he could focus on what was important. Me, she realized when his hands returned, cradling her cheeks and sweeping through her wild hair, gentle but firm ministrations as he tried to revive her from he he surely presumed to be a dizzy spell. I’m more important to him than this war.

“—don’t know what’s wrong, if you’re sick or if something stung you, but I need you to try and get up. If you can’t fight we can’t have you here on the beach—maybe one of the others can try to land and pick you up, but I-I don’t think I can carry you somewhere safe, I don’t even know where you could be safe, we’re too close to the colony—”

He’s talking too fast, she thought a second before a wheeze interrupted his racing words and dredged up a few breathless coughs. Feeling a little more in control of herself, she pressed her palms into the sand and heaved her body upright with a grunt of effort. “I…I’m fine,” she shakily assured him. She gripped his shoulder with one hand, seeking balance as much as confirming his solid presence. “Sorry to scare you. I’m fine, I can fight. Deep breaths, Sheelal.”

He obeyed, relief oozing from his sagging shoulders. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked anxiously. “You still look pale.”

Ronderu allowed impulse to guide her, and she wanted nothing more than to embrace him. So, pushing back his kakmusme to expose his worried face—Ancestors above, he looked so young—she leaned her forehead into his and drew in a deep, almost delirious lungful of his kuu-lir.

It was him. It was really him.

She’d clawed her way through space and time to see him again, to bring him back to his best self, the self he deserved to be above all else, and the sheer rapture of feeling him threatened to overwhelm her with less-pleasant sensations.

“Ya igni, after all the grief you’ve given me, don’t you dare throw up in my face.”

She finally laughed, too giddy. “I-I won’t. Promise.”

[bubblyi3]

Eventually, Summer PART 4 | MYG

"we were a story unfinished, a song with no final note."

pairing: yoongi x female reader

genre: coming of age, grumpy x sunshine trope

word count: 5.3k

content warning: fluff, angst

summary: you’re the town's ray of sunshine. always smiling, always talking, always trying to make people feel at home in your little seaside café. min yoongi? not so much. when a local community project forces you both to co-run a weekly open mic night at the café. yoongi starts to open up. slowly. grudgingly. beneath his cold, quiet exterior is a guy with big dreams, old scars, and a love for music he hasn’t touched in years. and behind your sunshine smile is someone who’s just as scared of being left behind.

author's note: here’s part 4 ~ kind of rough but it's ok. huge thanks to everyone who’s been following this journey so far. we’re down to just 2 parts left in this series, so let’s make the most of it! stay tuned for what’s coming next! <3 and pls check out my other fanfics that are posted too!

© disclaimer: please do not copy, translate or reproduce any part of this work without my permission. thank you!

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3

The moment you stepped into the venue, the atmosphere practically pulsed with electricity. Low bass thumping through the floor, the stage lights casting dreamy hues over a sea of swaying fans.

Hana had surprised you with two tickets to see Yoongi’s band, BTS, on their Daegu tour stop. A rare and intimate show in his hometown.

You hadn’t expected to be here, not after everything that had unraveled with the scandal. Not after the silence. But Hana had insisted, her eyes gleaming with something like hope.

“You’ll regret it if you don’t go,” she had said.

Standing in the crowd as cheers rose like waves, your heart was already betraying you.

Beating faster at the thought of seeing him again, not as the boy who left, but as the artist who still held your name in his lyrics.

“You’ve been stuck in your own head for way too long,” Hana said, pressing the tickets firmly into your hands.

“This is your chance to see him again. Forget the past for one night and just let the music do what it does.”

At first, you weren’t sure. The idea of seeing Yoongi again. Up on stage, under those unforgiving lights. Surrounded by thousands of fans, made your stomach twist into uneasy knots. But Hana was relentless. And after a bit of coaxing, you gave in.

“Besides,” she added with a grin, “I’m really just going for my fave. Jeon Jungkook, obviously.”

You could hear snippets of conversation around you. Fans excited to finally see their favorite boy group live. You also catch some people talking about the small town Daegu boy, and murmurs of anticipation about the band's rise to fame.

But all you could focus on was the stage. The bright lights blinding you for a moment as the band’s crew started setting up.

Hana grinned beside you. “This is going to be so much fun!”

You nodded, trying to shake off the nerves. “Yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve been to a concert.”

The lights dimmed, and a surge of energy rippled through the crowd. A low hum vibrated through the speakers, signalling the start of the show. The room went dark for a moment, and then each of the boys walked onstage.

Yoongi, his usual cool demeanour now sharpened into something even more magnetic. Stepped to the front with his guitar slung over his shoulder. He looked different. Confident, almost untouchable. The crowd erupted in cheers.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him.

He was wearing black, his hair a shade of deep blue under the lights. He looked every bit the idol he was becoming. Cool, collected, and unreachable.

For a moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the version of Yoongi he had always wanted to be. The one who belonged to the world and not just to you.

Hana nudged you as the first few notes of a song you recognized filled the air. “This is the one! They released it last month.”

You nodded absently, but your mind was far away. Watching Yoongi on stage, lost in the music. It was surreal to see him here, so close yet so far away.

As you stood near the front, the excitement of the crowd around you began to settle in. But the nerves in your stomach only intensified.

The first notes of a song filled the air, and for a moment, you tried to lose yourself in the music. You tried to forget about everything. You see his gaze kept drifting toward the crowd, scanning for something or someone.

It wasn’t until the second song that you realised what had caught his attention.

A woman had emerged from the wings, standing near the stage and close to the group. She was smiling up at him, her presence impossible to ignore. Your heart twisted as you watched the way Yoongi acknowledged her. He didn’t look like he was just acknowledging a fan, it made your chest tighten.

Her face… you knew that face. The sharp cheekbones, the confident smirk. You had seen her before, on the front page of a gossip magazine. It was the same woman who had been caught up in Yoongi’s dating scandal.

At the time, you had been hurt. Confused, not understanding what was going on. But now, seeing her in person, standing so close to Yoongi. The pieces suddenly clicked. The rumors were true.

You felt like the air had been knocked out of you. The crowd was roaring, but you felt detached from it all. Hana leaned in, her voice filled with excitement.

“Did you see that? Omg it's her.”

You nodded, barely able to process her words. “Yeah, I… I see it.”

The pang in your chest intensified. The pain of realizing that Yoongi had truly moved on, that he had someone else. Someone that fits into his world.

You tried to focus on the music. But every glance you stole toward the stage made the reality of the situation feel more crushing.

The next song began, but you were too distracted to really listen. You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked at her.

Then, Yoongi’s gaze caught yours from across the stage. It wasn’t a look of recognition, but one that felt almost… cold. His expression hardened for a moment before he turned back to the audience, focusing once again on his performance.

The show had ended, the stadium lights brightening as staff guided fans towards the exits in neat, controlled waves. The night air seeped in as the crowd dispersed. Buzzing with leftover adrenaline and disbelief.

Behind the stage, a white tent had been set up. Roped off for VIPs. You hadn’t expected it to be so intimate. A line already forming for the fan meet, filled with lucky fans clutching merch and shaky hands.

You wanted to go home. But you couldn’t believe that Hana had brought the VIP bundle. She’d gone all out. Purchasing the full VIP bundle that included face-to-face time with the members.

You, on the other hand, weren’t sure how you felt about it.

“This feels like a mistake,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the hum of excitement. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

Hana bumped your shoulder gently, smiling. “You haven’t seen him in forever. And come on, what are the odds you’ll ever get this close again? I wanna say hi to winter boy as well.”

Your eyes shifted away, and you tried to ignore the pain rising in your chest. Hana squeezed your arm.

“Come on, we should say hi. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him.”

You tried to smile back, but your heart was in your throat.

The line inched forward, time moving both too fast and too slow. Every step closer made your nerves spike, your thoughts a tangled mess of uncertainty, anticipation, and something dangerously close to hope.

And then it was your turn.

You stepped through the tent’s opening, and the noise outside faded into a quiet hum. Inside, the atmosphere shifted a more softer, and more intimate vibe.

The members sat behind a long table, spaced out in a neat row, each offering warm smiles to the fans approaching them one by one.

Your eyes scanned the line of familiar faces until they landed on him.

He sat calmly, fingers lightly tapping the table in a rhythm only he could hear. His expression was unreadable to most, but you saw it. The subtle shift in his posture, the way his gaze flicked toward the entrance for a second longer than necessary.

He saw you. And for a brief moment, time stalled.

As you made your way down the line, greeting each member with polite smiles and short exchanges. You could feel the tension.

Namjoon was the first to subtly raise an eyebrow when he looked from you to Yoongi, then back again, like something had just clicked in his mind. His polite smile softened into something more knowing.

Jimin’s eyes lingered on you a beat longer than necessary. His usual playful grin faltered slightly, replaced by something more curious. Almost surprised. Like he was piecing together a story he’d only ever heard in fragments.

Jungkook, who had just laughed at something Hana said, glanced over and visibly stiffened. His gaze flicked to Yoongi, then back to you. The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. Just something in between. Something that said, Ah. So it’s her.

Taehyung, seated beside Yoongi, blinked in surprise. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning your face like it was familiar. Familiar in the way someone’s name stays tucked at the edge of memory, waiting to be recalled. He leaned a little toward Yoongi, murmuring something under his breath, to which Yoongi gave the tiniest shake of his head.

Yoongi hadn’t moved. Not really. His fingers had stilled, no longer tapping the table. His eyes were on you, steady and unreadable, but there was a storm beneath them. It was quiet, restrained, but impossible to ignore.

It was then you realised. That they knew.

Maybe not every secret. Not the late-night talks about dreams and doubts, or the songs you’d shared in the dim light of the café, voices low and intimate. Not the way you’d sat for hours under the fading summer sky, talking about everything and nothing. But enough. Enough to know that you weren’t just another face in the crowd. You were the girl.

The one from back home.

The one he never really stopped thinking about, no matter how much time had passed. The one they probably thought he’d moved on from.

Yoongi didn’t smile when you finally reached him. His jaw was tight, his gaze steady but unreadable, hiding something beneath the surface. A storm, tucked away behind a mask of indifference.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice low and measured, almost as if he had rehearsed it. It was too controlled, like he’d been waiting for this moment since you first stepped into the tent.

You smiled, but it was hesitant, unsure of what to say now that you were so close to him. Close enough to notice the small things. Like the way his thumb tapped lightly against the table, a nervous habit that never seemed to fade.

Before you could speak, something shifted in the corner of your eye.

She was there.

Standing just a few feet away, half-hidden in the shadows, her pass hanging around her neck. A sign she was no ordinary fan. Her hair was flawless, her expression unreadable. At least, toward you. Her hand rested casually on Yoongi’s shoulder, as if it belonged there. As if she belonged there.

“We’ll wrap up soon.” you heard her say softly. He nodded without looking at her.

The moment between you two stretched, thick with unspoken words. Yoongi’s eyes flicked briefly to your hands, then back to your face.

“So…” he said, voice casual, maybe even too casual, “You got something for me to sign, or are you just here to stare?”

It caught you off guard. You blinked, forcing a small laugh. “I didn’t think I’d make it this far in the line. Sorry, no autograph today. Rookie mistake.”

He hummed thoughtfully, his head tilting just slightly. Then, his voice softened, more genuine this time.

“How’ve you been, Y/N?”

Your heart skipped.

“I’ve been good,” you said, a little quieter now. “Just settling into a new job.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened slightly, his expression momentarily softening. The faintest trace of pride flickered across his face before he masked it again, returning to his usual calm composure.

“You left the café?”

It hit you then. He remembered.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “But Hana’s still there... I gave her full ownership of the place.”

Yoongi gave a subtle nod, his eyes dropping for a brief moment, like he was lost in a memory. “You used to bring me those leftover pastries... the ones with the cream cheese filling.”

You smiled softly. “You always took the best ones.”

“Someone had to.”

The air was heavy now. Silent, except for the weight of what wasn’t being said. His voice was steady, but his eyes? They spoke volumes. There was something held back, something beneath the surface he wasn’t sharing.

You didn’t dare glance past him, but you felt her presence, the girl, his girlfriend. You could sense the shift in the air as her hand brushed lightly against the back of his chair, a quiet reminder of her place in his world.

Yoongi glanced in her direction briefly before sitting up straighter, his hands folding neatly on the table, a wall going up between you.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, his calm facade sliding effortlessly back into place, “it was good seeing you.”

You nodded, though the ache in your chest made it hard to swallow. “Yeah. You too.”

Without another word, you turned, feeling the weight of the moment linger in the air. One of the security staff gently guided you toward the exit of the tent.

Behind you, you could hear Hana’s voice rise above the noise.

“Omg, Hi winter boy!”

But even as you walked away, you could feel it, the steady, unspoken pull of his gaze. He was still pretending it didn’t matter. Still pretending it didn’t stir something deep inside him to see you again.

Yoongi's POV:

Yoongi watched as you walked away, the soft shuffle of your footsteps fading into the buzz of the crowd. He forced himself to breathe, trying to shake off the tightness in his chest. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to hurt. But it did.

His gaze lingered for a moment longer, even though he knew he shouldn’t. You were leaving. Again.

The sound of Hana’s voice broke his focus. “Omg, Hi winter boy!”

He shifted slightly in his seat, suppressing the urge to react. His eyes flicked toward her, but they were still on you, moving toward the exit. The ache in his chest only deepened, twisting with something that wasn’t just regret.

He’d always thought he’d gotten over this. Thought he’d moved on from you, from the past. But now, seeing you in front of him again, feeling that same pull, he realized just how much he’d buried. Just how much he’d tried to pretend didn’t matter.

You’d been part of his world once. Part of his life. The girl from home. The one he’d left behind.

“Yoongi?” Hana’s voice broke through the fog in his mind. He snapped his attention back to her, clearing his throat quickly.

“Oh yeah... Hi Hana.” he replied, straightening his posture, trying to make himself appear more put-together than he felt. But the slight tremor in his fingers gave him away.

Hana looked at him but she quickly went onto what she wanted to do next.

Yoongi leaned back in his chair, trying to shake off the weight of the last few minutes. His mind had been clouded, but now he was just trying to focus on something else. Anything else. He glanced over at Hana, who was rummaging through her bag with a grin that seemed impossible to ignore.

“So,” Yoongi began, breaking the silence, his voice calmer now, “How’s the café going? I remember you said you were thinking about taking full ownership.”

Hana’s eyes lit up as she nodded eagerly, her excitement practically radiating off her. “Yeah, it’s been going well! It's a lot of work. I mean, we’ve got a lot of regulars now, and I love how the vibe’s been changing. People are coming in just for the pastries.” She laughed softly.

Yoongi’s gaze softened slightly, the edges of his usual guarded expression giving way to something a little more genuine. "I knew you’d do well with it. You always had the drive. I’m glad it’s going smoothly." His voice was quiet, but there was a sincerity to it.

Hana’s grin didn’t fade, but her eyes twinkled with a little more mischief as she picked up on his shift in tone. “I’m grateful Y/N trusted me with it. It wasn’t easy for her to step back, but I get why she did. She was always so focused on making sure it was perfect. You know, it was her dream—running that café. She gave me full ownership when she stepped away.” Hana’s voice dropped slightly, her tone softening.

“I know how much it meant to her, but she did it because she wanted me to have a chance to make it my own. To take it further. She thought it was the best for both of us.”

Yoongi’s expression faltered for a moment, his gaze fixed on Hana as the words sank in. He knew it wasn’t just about the café—it was about you letting go of something that had always been your passion.

“You’re doing good with it,” Yoongi said after a beat, his voice steady, but there was something heavier in his eyes now, a brief flash of something he quickly masked. “I’m sure she’s proud of you.”

Hana gave him a playful shove, clearly trying to keep the mood light. “Enough about me,” she teased. “How’s the spotlight treating you, huh? You’ve been getting a lot of attention lately.” She winked, her tone filled with that familiar teasing energy.

Yoongi didn’t answer right away. The question was loaded. The spotlight, with all its pressures and expectations, had always been a part of his life, but after everything, it felt heavier than before.

“Same as always,” he muttered, trying to deflect. “It comes with the job.”

Hana raised an eyebrow, sensing the shift. “I bet. You’ve always had that ability to keep things together under pressure.”

The brief moment of awkwardness seemed to linger, but Hana quickly picked up on it, deciding it was time to lighten the mood again. “Alright, alright. I’ve got something for you, Yoongi. I’ve been digging through my bag, and I found this.” She pulled out the sheet of paper, this time with a more serious tone. “I need you to sign this for me. Can you?”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, noticing the paper in her hands. “Sure,” he replied without hesitation, though his voice was quieter now, clearly aware of the shift in energy. He took the paper from her and quickly scribbled his signature, handing it back.

As he did, Hana gave him an almost mischievous smile, her eyes glinting with excitement. “Wait, wait, I have another one for you,” she said, pulling out another sheet of paper from her bag. This time, her tone was a little more playful. “This one’s for... you-know-who.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, before he sighed and took the paper. “You know, you’re not supposed to be getting autographs for other people.”

Hana laughed, rolling her eyes. “Come on, Yoongi. Don’t act like you didn’t just see her. You’ve got to sign it for her, too. Besides, I know how much it meant to her that you didn’t forget her. She probably needs this more than you realise.”

Yoongi bit his lip as he held the paper in his hands, reading over the blank page before pulling the pen toward it. For a second, he wasn’t sure what to write. But then, after a moment of hesitation, he scribbled a simple message. Take care of yourself. Yoongi. And, as his fingers hovered over the paper, he added something else. Something he hadn’t planned on doing.

At the bottom of the page, he wrote down his phone number, then quickly handed the paper back to Hana, who took it eagerly.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice laced with excitement. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate this. You really know how to make someone’s day, huh?”

Yoongi didn’t say anything. His gaze drifted off to the side again, his thoughts still caught up in the strange tension he felt after seeing you, but for now, he just nodded.

Something still lingered between him and you. Unspoken, unresolved. And no matter how much he tried to ignore it, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that this was far from finished.

The night was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside the window. The apartment felt more still than usual, the weight of the day settling over you like a heavy blanket. You and Hana had gotten back not too long ago, and the evening had somehow slipped into a comfortable, quiet routine. She was staying over for the night, like she sometimes did when the night stretched too late, and the drive home would’ve been a hassle.

You stood in the kitchen, wiping down the counters, the soft glow of the kitchen lights casting gentle shadows on the walls. Hana was sprawled on the couch, scrolling through her phone, her voice occasional and easy as she chatted about everything and nothing. The air felt relaxed, but there was a restlessness inside you. A knot in your chest that wouldn’t loosen after the day you’d had.

You’d barely had time to think after the show, after seeing him again. The unease still lingered, but you’d buried it, tucked it under the surface, pretending it didn’t bother you. But it did. Every little detail, from the way Yoongi had spoken to you, to the quiet tension between you two, had been impossible to ignore.

“Hey,” Hana’s voice broke through your thoughts. She was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a small piece of paper. “Before I forget.”

You turned, catching sight of her outstretched hand. The familiar piece of paper. She offered it to you with a mischievous smile, a knowing glint in her eyes.

You took the note from her, your fingers brushing hers for a moment. The paper was simple, folded neatly, but the weight of it felt heavy in your hands. Yoongi’s signature was at the top, just like before, but it wasn’t just that. It was the message beneath, a few short words that still carried so much meaning.

"Take care of yourself. Yoongi."

You swallowed, feeling the lump in your throat before you could stop it. You tried to laugh it off, but there was something that caught in your chest. It was the added note at the bottom. His number. The familiar feeling of being pulled back into something you thought you’d left behind.

Hana caught the pause in your movement. “I didn’t peek at the note,” she said with a grin, stepping closer. “But, well... you know. He’s Yoongi. I couldn’t just leave it all mysterious.”

You didn’t answer immediately, too focused on the piece of paper in your hand. Yoongi’s words, his number... it was like nothing had changed. But you knew better than to think that way. Time had passed. Things were different now.

“You okay?” Hana asked, her voice softer now, sensing the shift in your mood.

You folded the note and slipped it into your pocket, shaking your head slightly to clear your thoughts. “Yeah, just... a lot to process.”

Hana nodded, walking back toward the couch and sitting down. “I get it. It’s gotta be strange, seeing him again like that. But... you’ll figure it out.”

You stood there for a moment longer, staring at the spot where Yoongi had been earlier in the day. The note in your pocket felt like a tether, pulling you back to something that wasn’t quite finished yet.

“Let’s just get some sleep,” you said finally, turning away from the kitchen. You took a deep breath, willing yourself to let the lingering tension go.

Hana’s soft chuckle followed you as you walked toward the bedroom. “Yeah, sleep sounds good. Tomorrow, we’ll talk more about everything.”

But as you pulled the blankets over yourself and shut your eyes, Yoongi’s words echoed in the back of your mind. A simple message. But one that carried weight far more than you’d expected.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, a soft, golden glow spilling across the room. The apartment was still, save for the sound of Hana stirring on the couch in the living room. You rubbed your eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of a restless night’s sleep.

You took a deep breath and climbed out of bed, the soft creak of the floorboards underneath your feet a familiar sound. You walked into the living room, your bare feet meeting the cool surface of the floor. Hana was sitting up on the couch, her phone in her hands, but she looked up when she saw you.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice quiet but warm, as if she’d already been awake for a while. She didn’t miss the way you hesitated, standing just inside the doorway.

“Morning,” you replied, your voice still a little hoarse from sleep. You took a few steps toward her, but then you stopped, unsure of where to begin. Your mind was still spinning from last night, from Yoongi, from everything.

Hana set her phone down and raised an eyebrow, noticing the subtle change in your posture. “You still thinking about it?” she asked, her tone light but with an edge of understanding.

You nodded slowly. “I don’t know. It’s just... weird. Seeing him again, talking to him... and now this,” you said, pulling the note out of your pocket and holding it up. “I don’t even know what to make of it.”

Hana leaned back into the couch, her gaze never leaving you. “It’s a lot. I get it. But... I don’t know, maybe it’s not as complicated as you think.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You’ve always had this... connection with him, right? Even when things got messy. Maybe he’s just trying to find a way back into your life. I mean, he did leave his number, after all.”

You chewed on that thought for a moment. Was it really that simple? Was Yoongi just trying to reconnect, or was there more to it? The thought of him reaching out like this, after everything that had happened, sent a chill through you.

“I don’t know if I can just forget everything that happened,” you said, your voice quieter now. “The way things ended... it still stings.”

Hana didn’t argue, instead letting the silence stretch between you two for a moment. Finally, she spoke again, her voice softer this time. “You don’t have to forget it. But maybe... maybe it’s worth exploring. Seeing where it goes, or where it doesn’t.”

You let out a deep breath, the weight of her words sinking in. Maybe she was right. Maybe it wasn’t about forgetting or erasing the past. Maybe it was about finding closure, or even a new beginning, one way or another.

You sat down beside her on the couch, the note still in your hand. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that. I don’t even know if I can be.”

Hana turned to face you, her expression thoughtful. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now. Just... take it one step at a time. Whatever happens, I’m here for you. You don’t have to figure it all out alone.”

You looked at her, her unwavering support giving you a sense of comfort. She was right. You didn’t have to rush into anything. The note would still be there, and so would Yoongi, whenever you were ready to deal with whatever this all meant.

For now, you leaned back into the couch, the warmth of the morning sun wrapping around you like a gentle embrace. Maybe the answers would come in time. Maybe you just needed to let things unfold.

“Yo, you good?” Namjoon, his bassist, clapped a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder as they packed up their gear. “We heading out tonight or…?”

Yoongi hesitated.

The plan had always been to hit the road right after the show, make it to the next city by dawn.

But now?

Now he couldn’t stop thinking about your eyes.

The way they looked through him. Past him. Like he was just some guy on a stage.

“I think we should stay for a few nights,” Yoongi said, keeping his voice casual.

Jungkook raised a brow. “Oh? Thought you hated small towns.”

“Yeah, well. This one’s different,” Yoongi muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Figured I’d show you guys where I grew up. Grab a bite at the old spots.”

“Word,” Jimin grinned. “Hometown tour, let’s go.”

But it wasn’t really about the tour. Not for Yoongi.

It was about you.

As he walked through the city, his phone buzzing in his pocket, Yoongi’s hand reflexively went to it. He pulled it out, half-expecting to see your name, but it was just another reminder of his reality. The notifications were a mix of fan comments and updates about the recent performance. The media was buzzing about his "relationship" with his girlfriend, and it was clear that many were skeptical. Some fans had gone as far as to say it was nothing more than a PR stunt. A convenient arrangement to keep him in the media spotlight, to keep his image clean and marketable.

The thought didn’t sting him like it used to, though. The truth was, he wasn’t sure how he felt about any of it anymore. Seoyeon. Sne wasn’t really his girlfriend. She was just a face to put on for the cameras, a way to avoid the questions, the rumors, the endless speculation about his love life. In the quiet moments, when he wasn’t surrounded by cameras or fans, he couldn’t help but think about you.

He pulled up the fan page, the one that always seemed to know everything before anyone else did. There were comments speculating about the nature of his relationship with his girlfriend. Some fans thought they were a cute couple, their interactions sweet, despite the occasional awkwardness of it all. Others saw through the act, the forced smiles, the way they barely touched when they were out in public. They had their theories, and Yoongi couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as he read through them.

But none of the fans knew the truth. They didn’t know that his heart had always been with someone else, someone he couldn't seem to let go of, even if he didn’t quite know how to get back to them.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when Jimin gave him a light nudge. “Yoongi, you alright?” Jimin asked, his voice casual but with a hint of concern underneath.

Yoongi flashed a small, tight smile. “Yeah, just... lost in my head.”

Jimin didn’t push further, though he could tell something was bothering Yoongi. He’d been around long enough to know when his friend was dealing with something deeper, especially when it involved matters of the heart.

“Alright, enough with the brooding,” Jimin said, trying to lighten the mood. “How about we grab some food? There’s that place you like around the corner. My treat.”

Yoongi couldn’t help but let out a quiet chuckle at Jimin’s relentless optimism. The offer was simple, but it felt like a small lifeline.

“Fine, let’s go.” Yoongi replied, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He followed his bandmates as they made their way through the bustling streets of Daegu, the bright lights illuminating their path.

As he walked through the streets of Daegu with his bandmates, he couldn’t help but hope that, somehow, someway, you'd reach out to him. Even if it was just a text, a single word, just to let him know that you were thinking about him too.

It was ridiculous, he knew. But it was the one thing he couldn’t push out of his mind.

[whentommymetalfie]

I re-read Bird Song during the holidays and my deepest respect for being able to write such an important topic so well and with the necessary love for details to make it so realistic!

I guess we all want to get Tommy out there as soon as possible but unfortunately it won't be as easy as Tommy simple stepping out of it and guess Alfie abducting him wouldn't be realistic, would it!?

Anyway I love it and looking forward to more :)

Btw. I know you are busy and I do not expect you to write even more, but you mentioned that you had more planned for October and so I wanted to ask if you would share what you had in mind but didn't get to write? Or other ideas for later. Only if you want ofc.

Thank you so much ❤️ This just made my day to hear❤️

And oof let me tell you, I also want Tommy out of there as quickly as possible. But just as you say, the story sort of has to get to a certain place first before I can make it work. I'll stay away from spoilers (even if I'm always dying to give things away) but let's say that the next chapter is a pivotal point of sorts. In more ways than one.

As for the unfinished whumptober fics, I can absolutely share some ideas I had, at various stages of completion.

Two which were just at various stages of loose concept:

-A sequel to ‘Coping’ where Alfie is set on getting revenge on Changretta for what he did to Tommy, which is his way of dealing with the situation. Tommy is living with him and not doing well, and Ada is there to look after him while Alfie is ‘working’ at the bakery.

-Something more set in an omega-verse where omega-Tommy is married to alpha-Grace, and is completely heartbroken after she is killed. Afraid that he’s going to fade away completely, his family calls Alfie for help. Here, the two of them are just friends and business partners to begin with. This was inspired by an ask I still have in my inbox.

And two which were at more of the ‘draft stage’

-A fic for the prompt conveinece store/loneliness I had a modern AU taking place entirely in, well, a convenience store. Alfie and Tommy don’t know each other yet, and Alfie quite literally runs into him (meet-cute vibes, sort of). Then we follow along as they keep running into each other there over the course of a two months or so. And Alfie realises slowly, even from his limited POV, that Tommy isn’t doing very well. Which let’s say, escalates, at the end. I’ll keep it at that if I do ever manage to finish it. I do have a rough draft. 

-I also had a draft for a story where Arthur comes home high and drunk and gets in a fight with Tommy, ending up accidentally hurting him badly. I just re-read it and realized it’s virtually finished, but I remember feeling too insecure to post it at the time, but you can have a little snippet if you’d like: 

“It was an accident.” 

“Get out of my fucking sight, you hear that? Or I’m going to accidentally smash your fucking head open too- go get help, he’s fucking… bleeding all over the place. Tommy, I need you to open your eyes.” 

This time, he manages

“There we go, good boy.” Alfie tries to give him one of those reassuring smiles but doesn’t quite succeed and Tommy decides he needs to keep his eyes open because he doesn’t want Alfie to look so scared. And he’s fine, isn’t he, he just… fell, he’ll be fine in a second. “Talk to me, what happened?” 

“I told you, it was just a fucking accident!” Arthur’s voice hurts his head. Why is Arthur here?

He’s drunk, stumbles when he moves towards them, and his eyes look strange, not like his own. Seems to vibrate from something deep inside. 

“I swear if you take another step I’ll fucking end you- Go get someone, we need to take him to ta hospital.” 

No, no hospitals, he doesn’t need to go to a hospital.

“It’s fine,” he says. The fear in Alfie’s eyes only grows. 

...

That's it, sort of. Thank you again for your message ❤️

[gabessquishytum]

Hello Again Friend,

I wanted to thank you for your kind response to my last submission - it has given me the encouragement to actually start this outrageously large fic that I have going on in my head. We shall see if at least part of it will be ready for AO3 by the end of the year😅

I have been considering sending you a snippet I was working on but it’s not nearly as flushed out as the first scenario (emotional Dream kneeling fic idea, just to confirm) I submitted to you. (read: I haven’t had a 2am anxiety-induced writing frenzy over it lol). But seeing your reblog of deviantly-inspired’s post made me feel like I could share it with you no matter how unfinished. The concept in my mind is similar and is also inspired by multiple fandom headcanons/fic readings so here goes nothing~

*****

Before Dream begs Hob not to love him, before he kneels at the power Hob’s love has over him, and even before he allowed their relationship to slip unacknowledged past “just friends” into “what are we?,” territory, Dream had ignored his growing feelings for Hob. They had been friends seeing each other quite regularly for the better part of a year when Hob invited him upstairs to get away from the rambunctious new college graduates swarming the inn. Dream blamed their drunkenly hopeful and untamed dreams for the excitement he felt at following Hob to his private quarters. Of course, it was just a friendly invite considering Dream’s dislike for crowds and it was just a regular apartment for all intents and purposes. Except that it wasn’t. It was Hob’s apartment filled with Hob’s things and it was cozy and welcoming just like The New Inn. So how could Dream resist when Hob suggested they move future meetings there. “For the convenience, ya know? Less bothering the staff and saving money eating out ya know?” Hob is only rational so why disagree. “Not that you ever were an expensive date, ha! Seeing as I don’t think you ever ate at one of our meetings when I think about it. Hmm, do you even eat?”

Dream meets his eyes from where he sits across the couch: “If you mean do I need to consume sustenance for energy than no I don’t need to eat. But I usually abstain because like all things I consume I can sense the dreams of their creators which is unsatisfying in most cases.”

Hob’s eyes widen, “Unsatisfying because the dreams are bad or…?”

“Some. Often, the wishes are for riches or fame in cooking and sometimes they are dreams of being delicious or fulfilling which I find gratifying. But usually they are simply wishes to go home and rest which I believe you could see my hesitance for eating them in your company.” Dream smiles that tiny one-sided smile of his and Hob brightens up because he has a new goal based on what Dream said. He’s going to cook him a meal to enjoy just for him.

*Spongebob meme voice: Three Weeks Later”

Dream smells everything before he even knocks on the door of Hob’s flat. Hob has a bright smile despite the sweat on his face and he bows mockingly to say: “Your highness, dinner is served.”

Dream arches an eyebrow ready to decline the invite but even he knows it would be rude to deny as a guest. Especially when he can see Hob put a substantial amount of effort into the steaming pot he is currently scooping from. The drone of the oven fan fills the silent camaraderie of the moment as Dream sits at the small table set with two spoons and two glasses of wine. ‘How intimate,’ he thinks and is glad his embarrassed flush is covered up by Hob placing a gently steaming bowl in front of him and sitting across the table. “It’s just some beef stew but I hope you’ll like it. And it’s a totally odd companion dessert but I made some chocolate chip cookies to go with it. I’m just preheating the oven now.” Hob gives Dream a blindingly kind smile before he starts to eat and launches into a story about his Tuesday class.

The lack of pressure to eat or even talk is one of the things Dream appreciates about his friend. But to return this kindness he chooses to at least politely take a few bites before outright denying the cookies. On sight the stew is nothing more than dark gravy with hefty chunks of tender beef, soft carrots, fluffy potatoes, and translucent onions. A good hearty stew to be sure but nothing crazy for the palette and definitely not anything worth writing home about.

Dream scoops a single spoonful into his mouth and freezes. His natural stillness allows the moment to go unnoticed by Hob but the entire collective unconsciousness comes to a halt. The simple stew resonates with a multitude of wishes that coalesce into one overarching dream. The single most important dream of its creator imbued into every molecule and Dream can more than taste it. Run his human tongue over it, crush it between his teeth, and swallow it into the empty cavern of hunger too large for this human form to possess. The oven beeps so Hob excuses himself to quickly shape some cookies and get them into the oven. In the meantime, Dream is allowed to continue being overwhelmed in private.

He stares at where his spoon disappears into the comforting brown stew until his vision starts to blur. Tears are starting to well up in his eyes and though he has not been breathing this entire time his hands begin to shake. Shake with want, he wants to eat the entire bowl stew and all. The dream buried within that bowl begins to call to him and the intense fervor with which he wants to consume it all almost scares him. He wants to grab the still simmering cast iron pot and absorb it’s entirety into his being. Is it rude to eat Hob’s remainder? Could he lick the remaining flavor from within Hob’s lips so that he may always know it’s flavors? Is it too much to feel this way for a friend’s kindness? Is it too much for him to beg Hob for more sustenance? Is it too much to admit to Hob he is starving and only this will nourish him? What taste will his longing tears add to the broth? What more would Hob give him when he had nothing to offer in return?

The oven door shuts and suddenly the thought of an even sweeter food causes Dream to take in a lungful of air in fear. It would be too much to bear. It would be too much because he is too much.

“Are you okay, Dream? You look a little shaken.” Shaken? Yes, he is shaken to his core. The stinging tears threaten to fall but Dream blinks them back with immeasureable control because he cannot lose control. Not here.

“It is of no matter. My apologies for your efforts but I do not believe I could partake in your dessert. Thank you however, for the stew.” Dream carefully says only the truth. He does not say that it was ambrosia and the only reason he does not gorge himself on it is fear that there will be no more left. That’s not true, he fears acknowledging it would mean no more would come. Better to take this single bite now and have many singular bites in meetings to follow than to choke it all down now and never be able to feast again. He returns the spoon carefully to where it was initially set and puts his hands into his lap to hide their trembling.

“Of course, it’s totally fine, Dream! I would never force you to do anything you didn’t want. Besides, I’ll eat all of this myself eventually,” Hob smiles and tries not to let it be strained. He had hoped pouring all of his emotions into this meal would show Dream that he wanted to have more than just friendship with him but he must have misunderstood. It’s just plain soup after all and the cookies are the Tollhouse recipe so what was he expecting? A dramatic and mutual love confession? Was he thinking Dream would fall to his knees and rejoice in Hob’s regard? No! Of course, he would only stare at the soup with his starry eyes and take a singular bite before denying more. Maybe eating was painful and that’s why he had a pained expression on his face. Maybe Dream did know what feelings Hob put into the stew and was kindly ignoring them to allow Hob to save face and for that he was grateful. For that, he could continue their friendship without shame and choke down his soup and two cookies while still trying to play that he wasn’t bothered. He knew once Dream left the food would be thrown away.

Dream waited patiently for Hob to finish his stew and eat his warm cookies a little too soon after pulling them from the oven. Hob barely avoided choking on the burning dough through a series of undignified swearing about the temperature and blowing puffs of hot air from his open mouth. If Dream weren’t so caught up in his mind he would have done more than laugh his braying laugh. When Hob finishes they retire back to the perfectly worn out couch and Dream takes a last glimpse at the pot on the stove.

In that pot was a stew filled with unfathomable care and gentle regard for Dream. Every morsel flavored with warm feelings of positivity and each piece a wish for nourishment. The time taken imbued every spoonful with a wish for happiness. The mixture of textures and wishes gave the stew a singular flavor, a singular dream that Dream could not ignore. The stew, because its creator created it so, dreamed of comfort for Dream. A dream so beautiful and heartfelt it filled him with tears to be so cared for. It would be torture then to taste the cookies and know he could never have Hob. To know that he should not have Hob.

They said their goodnights and Hob packed away the stew because he couldn’t really bear to waste a perfectly good few meals. He did however, throw away the remaining cookie dough because it felt wrong to eat them or give them away when he made it for Dream. When he imagined Dream’s laugh with every scoop of flour, when he imagined the stars in Dream’s dark eyes for every grain of salt, the baking soda his smirk, the egg yolks his sunny small smiles, the white sugar his pale human skin, the brown sugar his dark unruly hair, the vanilla extract his unique scent, when every stir was a loving caress he longed to give and with every chocolate chip a sweet kiss. He would throw this declaration of love away if only to keep their friendship.

Dream returned to the Dreaming in a sweep of sand and he was glad to be away from Hob. From his flat’s intoxicating warmth and his easy smiles if only so he could think. He had to stop this from going further. He could not love Hob. It would ruin him. He would not let himself do that to his dearest friend…his only friend. He would not love Hob and it would be okay. Because they could be friends! Because it would be enough.

It will be okay because Hob does not love him.

****

You know, I am so sorry for coming to you a second time and just dropping my long ass scenarios on you lol. I just can’t get the imagine of Hob making Dream something yummy and it being so full of care that it makes Dream well up with tears. He has never been loved so quietly before, so patiently, so unobtrusively and I just want that for him. Hopefully, this will get worked into the same fic and hopefully one day we’ll all be able to read it lol. Once again, my apologies for dropping this on you but I hope you have a good day!!!!!!!!!!!!! ❤️

Sincerely,

🧶Anon

Oh beloved 🧶 anon!!! I'm so glad to hear that you felt encouraged by my last response, I'm absolutely thrilled and so excited by the prospect of reading what you create! Even if it takes some time, I promise that the effort will be worth it.

I'm absolutely obsessed with what you've done with Dream and food and love here. It's so beautiful and it's one of my favourite things to think about. How does Dream interpret love, as an Endless being with access to the entire collective unconsciousness of humanity? He seems very much to feel emotions in the same way that we do - perhaps even in a more heightened way. I'm so interested in the way a home cooked meal imbued with all of Hob’s thoughts and good intentions and love would make him feel. How overwhelming would it be to have those things directed at him specifically for once? Hob’s love is not overwhelming, in itself. It's an ember that's burned softly for many years, and nothing can put it out. But even though it is so gentle, Dream just can't... hold it. Not without coming apart.

And Hob, oh bless him. I'm totally in the "food is Hob’s love language" camp. I'm so emotional about the idea of him sadly throwing out the cookie dough, respectful of Dream’s wishes but still feeling a little bruised that his love doesn't seem to be enough. I think that he won't stop trying, though. That little ember isn't going anywhere.

So, once again: thank you for sharing this. You are wonderful and you're going to make a wonderful fic. I hope you have a great day, my friend!

[marlynnofmany]

“Oh, you write books?”

Yup! And I love it.

Here’s the published list so far, with relevant tags for all the extra content and ramblings that inevitably end up here.

“If you set Dirty Jobs in outer space, mixed in some Mythbusters, and gave Buster the crash-test dummy the ability to sass back like a cross between Bender and Murderbot… you’d get something like this book.”

“Spectacular Silver Earthling” is available wherever books are sold!

Relevant tags: Hubcap the robot Hubcap the Egomaniacal Sassmaster (there’s some crossover there) Spectacular Silver Earthling

“When space poachers release Earth animals on an alien world, threatening a fragile new alliance, they anger the wrong people. A veterinarian, an accountant, and a furious sign-language-fluent gorilla are coming for them.”

“A Swift Kick to the Thorax” is also available everywhere!

This is the one I’ve been posting backstory snippets for weekly, from when the main character was traveling the galaxy working on a courier ship.

There are also comic strips, which take place between the stories and the book. I should really draw more of those. They’re fun.

Relevant tags: A Swift Kick to the Thorax The Token Human (series name; originally just the comics) Robin Bennett (the main character)

Do you long to write fascinating fiction, but struggle to find a concept that feels worthy?

Do you have piles of unfinished stories, and eagerly await the next shiny new idea?

Do you have writer friends to inflict assistance/benevolent torment on?

Good news! I have precisely one bazillion ideas for stories that someone ought to write, and I’ve selected 100 of them to collect in this book. You may recognize some from my old posts here, but not all.

"Story Seeds for Fantastical Trees" promises to grow you a forest of compelling ideas, ranging from wizards both wise and foolish, to aliens seeking dinosaurs, to a robot that lets a vampire into the house (possibly on purpose).

Relevant tag: writing prompts (buckle in; this one is A Lot)

“In science fiction, humans are usually boring compared to other races: small, weak, no claws or tentacles, and no special abilities to speak of. What if instead, we were talked about by the other aliens? 28 authors have contributed to make sure you never think of humans as boring again!”

“We’re the Weird Aliens” is the “humans are weird / humans are space orcs” collection that had everyone excited in 2020.

Relevant tags: humans are weird humans are space orcs (and a bunch of others, but mostly that first one) (and you'll find the Token Human stuff tagged here too)

“An old street sweeper takes on the shadowy invaders responsible for a plague of amnesia, while saddled with a dodgy memory, a mysterious past, and a reflection that talks back and makes fun of him.”

My first published book! I still love it. Magic, memory problems, and walloping ruffians with a broom. What’s not to love?

Relevant tags: Sweeping Changes

And that’s everything so far, as of August 2023!

Not counting the anthologies that other people put together, which I have stories in. (I’ll point you to my website for those.)

I am definitely working on more books. So many more. I write as a way of going on adventures, and I will happily take you with me.

[freneticfloetry]

fic pride friday

I finally get to start a tag game! Saw this one go by in the wild, and though I couldn’t grab the exact post to reblog, I wanted to bring the concept over to my go-to folks.

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

There’s a little slice of Husbands Era from words to get off his chest (911 / 911 Lone Star):

Times like this, TK honestly thinks he lives for the second that Carlos settles back and lets go. He hopes that feeling never gets old — the way he sinks back into his arms, just a bit, and his limbs lose the last of their tension, like he’s found the exact space where he fits and can exhale with his whole body.

There’s this Carlos and Iris truth swap from to build a home (911 Lone Star):

I think you're my new favorite person, she'd said — soft but sure, like it wasn't something wondrous after losing her dad, just laid in his lap like a gift — and he'd swallowed and said the only thing he could think of that might've been worth as much in return. I think I'm gay. She'd turned her head and smiled into his shoulder, slipping her arm around his to slot their fingers together and squeeze. Fine, she'd said, warm and wry and completely without surprise. I'll drop my 'think' if you will.

There’s this Met Gala moment from scenes from an unfinished story (The Magicians)

Really, he'd said flatly, when El had first shared the idea, you want to go as The Little Mermaid. Eliot had rolled his eyes. Well not the neutered Disney version, he'd answered, the Hans Christian Andersen original. In all its forbidden gay glory. Quentin had blinked, thoroughly confused, and El had given him a look he never did decipher. He wrote it as a love letter, Q, he'd explained, soft and sad, to a man he couldn't have.

There’s this moment before a bittersweet reunion from What Baking Can Do (The Magicians)

He's technically seen El… since; there's a copy made of clay back at the cottage, lying silent and too still in Eliot's bed. But this is the form he knows — towering and full of grace, even bent over a workbench, brows drawn together, sifting flour into a big wooden bowl. Quentin's clearly caught him mid-setup, a telltale line of little clay vessels arranged across one side of the table, and it's sort of fascinating to watch the way he's adapted, the duality of the picture it paints — a faded apron slung over some sort of sheer, gauzy shirt that's tied at his side, sleeves rolled at each cuff to the elbow and hands stripped free of rings, the room's worn wood and stone an unadorned backdrop for the drama of the dark crown of gems that still circles his head. It's an image Quentin doesn't think he could forget, but there's the strangest urge to frame it, hang it, label it in bronze: High King Humbled, 2017. Flesh and bone.

There’s this truly unfortunate timing from Confidence Man (What’s Your Number?)

The Imperial March is impossible to ignore in the best of situations, much less mid-cunnilingus, but trying to would be significantly easier without the subsequent knock on the door. She stiffens, fingers tightening in his hair, thighs clamping down around his head like a vice. "Oh, fuck," she moans, in a way that's meant to be mortified but, to his ears and his brain and every one of his nerve endings, still sounds like she's seconds from flying off a fucking cliff. "Ally, I swear to god," he says, locked between her legs, "if I come in my pants with your mother outside I may never maintain an erection again."

There’s this reflection on the past and present from Ashes and Flame (Every You and Every Me) (The Hunger Games)

I want it to be as it was. A purging of everything that haunts me, down to the smallest detail. But when I'm done, there's only space and shadow in living color, more abstract than anything that came before it. A fiery sunset over the Meadow grass, the shape of mockingjay wings. And two silhouettes on the horizon, together but separate, forever moving forward, and backward, and nowhere at all.

And finally, there’s this unbalanced negotiation from By Any Other (Lucky Number Slevin), which is maybe my favorite cold opening to anything I’ve ever written.

"You need a name." She spreads out the stack of takeout menus she's stolen from the front desk, sprawled on her stomach on their third motel bed in a week. The wallpaper is the worst she's seen yet, and is still somehow better than what was in her old bathroom. "What about Indian?" "As names go? It's a little tongue-in-cheek." He flops to his back beside her, scratching at his stomach and squashing half the pile. "I could go for some Chinese." She wrinkles her nose, wrestling the menus free. "No Chinese. I hate Chinese." "You are Chinese." "Yeah, it's tragic, they revoked my membership and everything."

Tagging in @liminalmemories21, @paperstorm, @carlos-in-glasses, @reyesstrand, @rmd-writes, @lemonlyman-dotcom , and @welcometololaland !

[rkashtia]

Kash's first day on The First, staring up at a sky unlike anything he's ever seen before. A glowing blue spire of crystalline make claws upwards into that glowing sky. His breath catches in his throat, he knows this tower. His time with a certain sweet Miqo'te just a few years prior was spent near that very tower.

Gentle touches and even gentler kisses shared in it's shadow before a door was closed much too soon on a chapter unfinished. Longing and yearning tied down and pushed away for discipline and duty, with this same spire darkening his life again Kash meets a mysterious man, a supposed 'caretaker' of the tower, who knows nothing of his dear G'raha Tia.

Kash is distrusting, unsure, confused, and under it all a bit angry--and further down still a clawing sadness that rakes at his very soul as he wonders 'Where is G'raha? Where could he have gone?' He promises to work with this strange 'caretaker' to save their worlds...though he also vows to find whatever this man is hiding from him, if it truly is the self same tower from The Source, there is no way that G'raha Tia would abandoned it.

Not willingly.

----

I've no real G-poses for their first meeting on The First but I've this little idea and these little snippets I hope they serve as a place holder until either I make a true story or if I just leave it as this. More post coming as I explore Kash and The Crystal Exarch's story thru SHB!

[gardenoblues]

tagged by @iamfandomcrazy hii i love all ur fics >< Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Then tag as many people as you have WIPs. WARNING: THERE MIGHT BE SMUTT YOU WOULDN'T WANT TO CAST YOUR EYES ON. --- just know that most of these are intrusive thoughts or the product of my spiraled madness, and short ideas. i won't be putting unfinished but posted fics since that would take too long. here it goes

*Visions; - a wyler fic where wednesday was freshly expelled from her former high school and started to have small and useless visions (its safe to assume its about Tyler, she mostly sees snippets of events)

Wulfric Thursday - a fic about wyler's son, he's the first child (that i most prob post on ao3 once Hyde The Past is done since the two are connected, i think i actually need someone with me to think of ideas and be crazy together its a little too much to take, a wide universe. There are 3 current chapters.)

Valentina Francoise - a fic about wyler's daughter, the younger sister (wont say much but she's the best and worst combination of her parents. there's only one chapter and its mostly notes.)

Girl Next Door - this fic was either tyler would be the new kid who moved into town or it was Wednesday. it was hard to decide but i think i settled with Wednesday. I don't know if this would come to life though, wish me luck. there are no chapters. yet.)

wyler tyler has a twin gemini - yep. the title speaks for itself lol. ( i wanted to do something like migi and dali or ayesha's secret, if you know the anime or manga, well you know *wink *wink)

wyler - sunflower - a fic where Tyler dies or it has an alternative story where he faked his death and goes to live in the Addams manor. God i was such in an angsty mood i wanted someone to die with me, and of course its my favorite white boy to write about)

Tyler Galpin - just a compilation of songs i was thinking of editing Tyler in.

Wyler PROMPT - just an unfinished prompt from a dc prompt where Tyler is Fran's and Vincent's son.

Wyler spies AU - again the title speaks for itself lol.

WYLER ITS OK NOT TO BE OK - if you know the kdrama then nice, but if you don't its basically Tyler would be a psych ward nurse or something like that and Wednesday is a children's book writer that sometimes visit hospitals to read her book.

HYDE THE PAST TYLER BOOTCAMP - my heart cries fir this fic. title speaks for itself. suppose to be a filler chapter.

WYLER DRABBLE - alice in the wonderland fic. its just an idea wont prob make the cut.

Wyler hays - just wyler smutt ><

Longing For draft - just a short fic where Tyler followed Wednesday to her house.

Wednesday Addams as Song Lyrics - songs id edit her with. --- These are just what's saved in my laptop. here's what's in my phone. i don't mind if you don't read this one lol.

wyler (1) - wednesday pospartum with her son.

Liar, liar - Tyler teasing Wednesday.

wyler (2) - Wednesday spit on Tyler's face and he uses it as lube.

wyler gender swap - there's one chapter.

its not always rainbows and butterflies - a short fic where Tyler attends nevermore and learning how to control the Hyde but in Wednesday's pov.

This is shit - wednesday denying her feelings for Tyler.

wyler (3) - Tyler has full control of his Hyde and pretends to be nice but Wednesday sees through him.

wyler (4) - (just wrote this 2am earlier lol) wednesday goes to yoga and mourns Kitty's death, has a mental breakdown while Tyler consoles her. SORRY THAT WAS LONGER THAN I THOUGHT. tagging @writerrose1998 @broken-everlark @nonamemanga @cosmic-lullaby @callmetippytumbles @tastethesetears @lovepoison9 @nouklea @diamantdog @lady-murderess @therulerofallpotatos

[n0bluev]

Somehow, im inspired to write that 'revision fic'. === (EDIT : u can skip but heres another snippet for u (3 separate bits that fit together nicely, actually haha) cuz hihi. THE AU: As i said, its a failed "3"rd regression context, where yjh is now in his "4"th round. The last memory he has of kdj is him dying, and to make things worse "In this round, that guy doesn't exist." is a thing, so yjh freaks out a bit but hes totally normal about this whole ordeal & the fact that he doesnt even remembers kdj's face now. Wdym! Hes fiiiiiine!

sorry lol back to the actual post : (,hope u enjoyed that little treat tho^^)) ===

!!THAT [Somehow, im inspired to write [...]] HAS NEVER HAPPENED TO ME BEFORE!!. I always like. do an outline for the overall story and vibe, then flesh out the start or something and cook up a little 500 (probably unsatisfying) words for fun kind of as a bonus. Keep it mostly for my private enjoyment and move on before the story comes to life. And that's okay... Yes, it would be cooler to actually write the AU ideas i get in novel or comic form instead of having them stay at just the 'sketch' & 'idea/brainstorm' phase before i get another idea and leave them to dust up in the pile,,

But yeah, its okay.

In the few years since ive started getting ideas for more elaborate aus/fics, ive noticed that my ideas improved with time. (no shit, i know, but it makes me happy! i grew up!!! i can see it.) My planning methods are better too. So all of that unfinished or abandoned stuff is not at all useless work in my eyes. And who knows, maybe one day i'll bring them back.

--> as a plus, all my fandom brainrot experiences even get transferred into my OC stuff, and frl whenever i read my notes these days (or listen to my voice memos lol) and im just like "HOW DID I THINK OF THIS WOW" or "WHEN DID I PUT THIS LIKE THIS? IT WORKS!" (not to brag or anything but my oc lore goes hard ☝️)

BUT. NOW THIS IS UNEXPECTED.

I DID NO PLANNING. I just started writing for orv and its. Lowkey, good ???? Dont get me wrong i only have 1.5k right now and there are clear holes i have to fill and stuff but... CLEAR HOLES! CLEAR HOLES. Sure Im used to being like "something of the sort should go there..." BUT THIS TIME ITS "THIS SHOULD GO THERE, ILL WRITE IT LATER BUT THE IMAGE IS IN MY MIND, CLEAR AS WATER, AND ONCE I START PUTTING IT ON THE PAGE ISTG THOSE WORDS WILL STREAM OUT OF MY FINGERS AS IF IT WAS A NORMAL OCCURENCE FOR ME" ,,- !??? Yo!

Anyways. Point is that somehow theres interesting stuff going on in my gg doc and the more i write the more i know where i want to go, so that's cool, i feel all powerfull for once

idk if that ease is going to stay once im done with the first scenes (ughh!!! theres so much potential!!!!!!!!) but hopefully yes. either way ill probably post it so im not baiting yall with a "um actually im writing smt rn --- *never shares with the class*" --- either 1) things go well and i write a "real fic" (!? wtf that wasnt my plan!) --- or 2) i only post the finished version of what i have now (expect around 5k? (i have no idea actually)) and we wait together to see if i pick up the idea again haha. (i do wish to write it tho! im not a 'writer' writer but i want to be one, u get me?)

! thank u see u byebye

[theoneofshame]

Salutations! Here's more half-baked scribbles because I just can't help myself.

Voldemort has a love for books that rivals Hermione’s. The nebulous feel of Voldemort’s consciousness at the periphery of Harry’s would suddenly snap into laser focus at the forefront of his mindscape whenever Harry studied from a text that piqued his interests. Would practically push Harry aside if he found his attention or notes lacking.

Voldemort's hunger for knowledge was limitless in subject-matter, and makes for a surprising complement to Harry’s wandering mind. Voldemort indulges Harry’s genuine questions where other’s brushed him off or scolded, even finding some amusing. Especially the random thoughts like: aren’t Santa’s elves an awful lot like house elves and did that make Santa a wizard, and what exactly was the difference between alchemy and chemistry, or if there's applied mathematics, does that mean there’s unapplied mathematics?

If the current topics are connected to one of Harry’s classes, Voldemort has him search through specific readings, and circles around conversations with pointed remarks until Harry comes to his own conclusions. He makes learning… enjoyable for Harry. Reminds him that professor Quirell’s instruction was partially responsible for Defense being Harry's favorite subject.

[grahamcrackers4hanni]

So, a while ago in the middle of the night, I wrote the beginning of a shitty Hannibal fic. I decided to post the parts I have rn on here to see if it’s good enough to continue!

Carnival of Venice AU inspired by the Cask of Amontillado

- Blood, hannigram, main character death, m/m, murder, stabbing, drinking, masks, etc. I don't know how to do this. Alt universe, Will Graham POV, 1st Person POV, grammar mistakes, unfinished, the beginning of the story and then a small snippet of the end at the bottom of the post, and probably some mistakes in characterization. I mean I was half asleep when I wrote this. I would love ideas for costume ideas for characters if anyone has any!

Quick summary of the basic idea if you don't want to read it all:

Will goes to the festival with his friends for the first time, borrowing one of their old masks. There he met this man with a gorgeous mask; one as extravagant as an elk. He wouldn't normally be able to go up to the man with the intentions that he has due to society’s expectations to love a woman, but there he has freedom. They talk for a while and eventually, the man invites him to dinner. He told him to wear a mask with no bottom half but still hide your identity so that he’d be able to eat without taking it off. They meet again the next night and they have dinner. It all seemed pleasant and peaceful at first with the meal being like that of which Will had never seen much less tasted. It was all wonderful. Eventually, he realizes that the man nor the meat was as they seemed. The man was a serial killer and a cannibal. He had done the same thing with Will with that of many others. Yet in the end ‘I truly am sorry, William. You’ve been like no other…. For you, I think that I'll eat your heart first.’

Actual fic:

I was invited to a carnival in Venice by a friend of mine, Dr. Alana Bloom. Alana typically moves between Venice and Florence, so I wasn’t initially startled by her offer. However, I was very tentative. But, in the end, guilt weighed me towards the idea. I must admit, I’m not used to events such as this. The activity was… suffocating. She gave me a spare mask, a simple one that hides the entirety of my face. It was a golden knight.

As I found myself surrounded by a crowd of sharks, I heard the laughter of her voice grow further and further. At least she finds happiness. Eventually, I find refuge from the inane and mad near a few barrels of rum, wine, beer, juice, etc. Their unmarked property assures that it is not of a soul’s awareness, which barrel contains what. It was a gamble, but wasn’t also being at this carnival? A place to be whomever and act however without discomfort or fear.

I pour myself a handle of the second barrel’s contents. With a sip, I’m pleased to find myself consuming wine. As I stand near the stand, a stag walks over to me. His mask was black with golden accents and showed the lower half of his face. The beauty and detail left me in awe. I’ve never seen someone with such a mask. I nodded softly, readjusting my hood and mask as I stopped drinking.

“Tell me, what are you drinking,” the stag asked with an accent that left me feeling confused as I attempted to pinpoint its origin.

“Red wine.”

“I see. Which barrel? They never mark these barrels for some idiotic reason.” A scowl formed on the man’s face as he looked at the barrels with distaste.

I smiled under my mask, appreciating the stag’s scowl. “The second.”

“Ah, thank you. I appreciate your help.” He pours himself a wine glass of the drink before moving to stand next to me. “Have you come to the festival before? You seem… out of place.”

“No. This is my first time. I was invited by Dr. Bl—… the um… the woman in the bluejay mask.” I shifted uncomfortably, tilting my head towards her direction.

“Dr. Alana Bloom?”

My head perks up at the mention of her name, tilting lightly.

“She’s a friend of mine,” he explains instantly, “I would rather not provide any other details as they would hint at my identity, but please be reassured that I do know Dr. Bloom quite well. Do not hesitate to converse about her with me.”

I nod, although the fact doesn’t console me fully. I continued, “She asked me to come here. Provided my mask and everything.”

“Do you enjoy it here?”

“As you mentioned, this is not my scene.”

“Then pray tell, what is your scene, my dear?”

I hesitate for a moment looking in the stag’s mask. It was as black and dark as a nightmare’s soul or as a raven’s death. “What’s yours?”

He stays quiet, turning back to the crowd in front of them.

It stays like that for a while. The two of them together watching the others dance and drink. For a moment I see a moth attempt to court a red dragon before the dragon declines and turns away.

“Ballrooms.”I snap my head back to the stag upon hearing his newly sincere voice harboring a new emotion or maybe lack of one. “Or my kitchen,” he continues.

“Your kitchen? Do you cook? A stag like you, I would’ve assumed you to afford many maids and cooks,” I say, looking into the mask. I’m sure that the fortune it must’ve cost to make would’ve sent me to the slums.

“I can, but I prefer to make my own food. No one else would make it the way I prefer.”

I hum in understanding. “I see. I’m sure you are a wonderful cook.” He hums and nods his head.

“Would you like to find out, my knight?” My head whips around towards him, his words taking me by surprise.

“That’s impossible, stag. The masks.”

“We can eat with masks. Ask Alana for one which leaves the bottom half of your face open. We can meet again here, at the same time, tomorrow night. I will be wearing the same mask. If you do not wish to, then do not show up.” The stag looks within the crowd spotting a jester walking further into it, pushing a woman butterfly along as he laughs at her. “I’m afraid I must part. My hunger is only growing, and I must prepare dinner. I yearn to meet again, my knight.” The stag bows before making his exit, walking towards where the jester was previously, going after him. They must know each other, I conclude, watching as he leaves.

The festival was nearly closed, and the crowds had almost completely dissipated. Nearby, a bluejay waves goodbye to a woman in a pig mask. She began to trot over upon realizing my location. “Will, I’ve been looking for you. Where did you go?”

“Alana, I just went to get a drink. Who was that?” I walked over to meet her halfway.

“I don’t know, but she was nice. I wish I managed to get her name. Shall we be off?”

I nodded as she led me back to her abode. The building was in one of the many lantern-lit alleys. The walls only further reminded me of my home in Florence, causing an itch to form where the heart beats and the bones grow.

As we arrived inside, we stripped off our concealing attire. I laid my mask on the table and hung my coat on the coat rack. I studied her as she took off her costume. “Alana,” I hesitantly began, “could I attend alongside you again tomorrow night? Maybe in a mask that allows me better access to my mouth?”

Alana gave me a suspicious glance. “Oh? And what would you need it for? Don’t tell me you plan a night of pleasure for yourself tomorrow with some handsome lady?”

I felt my face tense as I turned towards the fireplace. I managed a quick shake of my head as I spoke, “No, no. Nothing of the sort. I just got hungry. It was difficult to get nourishment and quench my thirst with this mask; although, I do marvel at its beauty. It was just a little-“ I paused, trying to find the word, “suffocating.” would greatly appreciate a more appropriate mask.”

Alana nodded and went to her bedroom before coming out with a gorgeous mask in hand. It was detailed with a bone-white coloring and two things that looked like ears on the side of it. She handed it to me carefully. “I went to it as a lamb a few years back. It was…enjoyable. I hope you find the same outcome.”

I attempt to hand it back to her after feeling the hills of the lines and the cannons. “Surely you can hold onto it for me until morning.”Yet, she hands it right back.

“Keep it. You never know when you might need it.” She smirks and takes her stuff as she heads back into her bedroom. “You best be leaving for your inn. I hear that it will rain before morning.”

-

As I lay in my bed for the night, my mind kept trembling with restless moths of thoughts, crowding the lightbulb of my sanity. In the pitch of my room, my eyes kept trying to identify the white lamb mask on my dresser, but they were left to only imagine its curves and indents.

Eventually, I shut my eyes. My mind drifts off to the darker place it usually finds residence. The woods crackle and live soundly around me as I look past black, stretching trees. In it, I see a familiar suited man with a familiar black mask. He huffs as red coats his figure. A sickening cut is heard causing me to stumble on a branch, breaking it. He spins around to face me. The mask…isn’t a mask at all. It connects to its person, merging into an overwhelming beast. A black, tall, lanky stag-man stands before me covered in blood. He was something out of children’s horrific nightmares and warnings. It creeps towards me before offering a long, lanky hand. Its fingers were twisted like tree branches and as sickening as bloody organs.

“Would you care for a dance, my lamb in knight’s clothing?”

-

The next night I hesitated at the entrance. The sounds of laughter and enthusiasm were overwhelming to hear as he studied the grounds.

“Will? What’s wrong? You look nervous. You weren’t nervous last night.” Alana looks at me with a furrowed brow, rubbing her soft palms over my coat. I remember a time when I used to fawn over her touch, and frequently find my gaze drifting back to her, now I just enjoy the company.

“I didn’t- I didn’t have plans tonight. I may leave tonight without you.”

“You will?”

“I might,” I correct immediately. She raises a brow. “I’m ok.”

“You were just hyperventilating.”

“I’m- I will be ok.”

“Will, tell me what’s going on.”

I hesitate, glancing into the crowd, and catching sight of the barrels. They appear alone. A frown crosses my face without apparent reason.

“Will? Are you ok?” She takes ahold of my shoulder, trying to ground me.

“Yeah, yeah. I just-…I’ll be ok. I’ve got this. I’ll be seeing you.” I leave her standing aimless and confused as I make my way through the crowd towards the barrels.

Once I arrive, the place is lonely. Not a mask in sight, much to my dismay. I pour myself a glass of the liquid in the second barrel. My face scrunches in disgust at the taste of beer after assuming wine.

A hollow laugh erupts beside me, making me whip my head towards them. “I suppose the second barrel isn’t red wine tonight, is it?”

It was the stag. His appearance brings a smile to my face. “Stag.”

“My knight, I love tonight’s mask. A lamb, yes?” I nod. “It looks beautiful on you.”

I turn back to my drink, wishing the mask covered more of my lower face. “I believe you promised me dinner, Stag.”

“I did. How could I forget?” He offers me his arm. “Shall we be off? My home isn’t far from here.”

Hesitantly I link my arm around his, letting him lead me to his abode.

—

Test for ending:

Pain seared and burned like molten lava as the blade began to carve a slit into the folds of my skin, tainting them scarlet. The blade lifted for a moment before moving to the next area for an incision. My hands wrapped the wrist, stilling the knife as it pressed softly against my skin, eliciting a small bead of blood.

My eyes blur as I look past him… at him… the pitch, lanky figure carving me like dinner. “I see you,” I rasp, softly. My voice barely evolved to a whisper. The wind brushing branches against the panels of glass windows almost hid my speech.

My hand fell slowly as I watched the eyes above me. Crimson eyes studied mine as we held each other’s gaze. “I let you see me,” he corrected quietly. His voice hid an emotion buried deep like a skeleton in a ditch. If I believed that he cared about me any more than a random stranger picked as a victim, then I would've mistaken it for remorse or regret.

I felt as he fixed his grip on the blade, pressing it in again slightly. I didn't realize that it had faltered, previously. “I truly am sorry, William. You’ve been like no other…” He pauses for a moment, studying my eyes again, a new hunger filling them. “For you, I think that I'll eat your heart first.”

[moonlitramblings]

WIP Folder Game

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then you post a snippet or tell them something about it!

Tagged by @amoebaforce - thanks for the tag! haven't posted any new fics in forever, but i always have WIPs going, i can't help myself.

So, got the Wicked brainrot and thats what most of these will be:

You Are Not Immune to Propaganda - alt Part 2, where Glinda does damage control and tries to manipulate the Wizard, Morrible, and all of Oz while on the verge of a breakdown.

Thropp Descending - Elphaba's great-grandfather takes over raising her when she's lik ~12 and Galinda was bitten by and is a werewolf? idk why i've smooshed these two plots together in my head but i have.

Ghost!Galinda - Fiyero lets Elphaba use his friend's house while she finds her own place in the Emerald City only for Elphaba to find that Galinda sure doesn't look like she's in a coma to her, no she's definitely a ghost and definitely upset about Elphaba changing the decor.

Kidnapped - Glinda doesn't go with Elphaba to EC and so she never comes back. Morrible says she's moved there permanently because the Wizard has taken her in as his apprentice. Then Chistery shows up with a letter explaining Elphaba is being held hostage. Rescue time, featuring Glinda and Fiyero

Galinda the Glassmaker - Modern AU, no magic. College, Galinda is there for business but her family runs a glass company and she can also work glass. Elphaba is pre-law.

Arranged Marriage/Fake Courting AU - Elphaba's dad writes to say he plans to marry her off to some old eminent family head in Munchkin land. Galinda offers to court Elphaba as an alternative to but time until after graduation when Elphaba can support herself. Galinda has very high standards for what she sees as proper courting. Where is the line between pretending and not?

Vampire!Elphaba - Wizard was doing experiments to make a vampire immune to burning in sun, hence green skin, Elphaba didn't fully transform until puberty and it messed with her head a lot, no idea what happened/is happening. Galinda has magic that are very similar to vamp powers (charm, compel, etc) and is very concerned about how that would come off if known which is why she wants to learn normal magic. Lots of bad rep for vampires. Elphaba wants a cure for vampirism, not just the green.

Youtuber AU - Modern, no magic AU; Elphaba and Galinda are college roommates and chemistry majors (Elphaba aiming for pharmacology and Galinda for perfumery). galinda runs a beauty channel, Elphaba does faceless study sessions and impassioned book reviews. At some point, everyone finds out theyre roommates and is lik 👀

Contest - There is a tournament/contest to see who is worthy to marry the Wizard’s only daughter and heir. Galinda and Fiyero are both competing, for diff reasons. Elphaba doesnt like the idea of the contest but is afraid no one would want her otherwise. She is drawn to both against her better judgment (endgame OT3)

lastly,

Swan & Witch - my only unfinished fic posted (for this AO3 account lol) which is my swan queen beauty and the beast story that i started ages ago and never finished. i do want to finish it this year before it goes over a decade from last chapter (ignore the specific date, i'm drowning at work now and have been). it haunts no one more than myself.

feel free to send asks in about any of these! thanks again for the tag!

[moonheavens]

I just read your author interview post and some of us haven’t forgotten about Casanova Remus! Still hoping you will post it one day!! How many fics other than that one do you have in progress on your drive? Because now I’m curious! 👀

hiii! oh man not you remembering project Casanova Remus (aka slutty on the outside but sad n depressed on the inside Remus) dfjsf.... that was a while ago truly so I'm surprised anyone remembers, but also I did blabber on about it for months on end while it was consuming my brain so. fair enough! I won't make any promises about it being published anytime soon but it has been on my mind again recently so who knows.

but okay if you are adamant on me exposing the ridiculous amount of unfinished WIPs in my drive to the world... who am I to ignore that? answer under the break (these are all wolfstar, btw)

I have one WIP that I'm currently actively writing, which is my fairytale/folklore AU that I spoke about HERE. It's going to be a long chaptered fic, fantasy themed with knight Remus, very plot-driven, but I won't reveal more than that because that would already spoil things! I have it entirely outlined and 30k written so far, and I'm really prioritising this in hopes I can start publishing somewhere in 2025.

I have three WIPs that are entirely outlined and are partly written, but that are on the back burner while I focus on the fairytale fic. These are: 1. casanova Remus — I spoke about this HERE (incl. snippet). I have 30k written for this and it's entirely outlined, and I am hoping to continue it someday. It's a modern day college AU, english lit student Remus x art student Sirius where Remus is... pretty much just a slut, but he has /reasons/ for it. the fic will have a lot of smut and explore desire and lust, but with focus on an undercurrent of vulnerability and repressing emotions and trauma. 2. dog fic — I have 15k written for this and it's entirely outlined, but I don't think I ever spoke about this bc it was supposed to be my entry for a fest I had to drop out of. it's a story about a grieving Sirius who helps Remus babysit/dogsit his family. it's about grief and loneliness, and allowing yourself to love again after losing someone, but it's also joyful. I want to continue this at some point, but it's pretty heavy to write so I need to be in the right headspace. 3. club fic — I spoke about this HERE (incl. snippet). I have 15k written and it's entirely outlined. this is probably the one that haunts my headspace the most; I think about this idea soo much and I definitely want to write it at some point. it's an established relationship story where Remus bumps into an old friend in the club, and relays the story of their relationship to them. one for the loser/wet wipe Remus truthers among us.

then I have four WIPs that are partly written but very low on the priority list. they are: 1. 9-1-1 AU — I spoke about this HERE. we have 15k written and it's entirely outlined. I probably won't ever finish this, tbh, because I co-wrote it with my roommate/bff and it feels weird continuing without her. besides, this would be a massive undertaking on my own and become a monster of a fic, so, definitely a challenge. but who knows; maybe one day... it was a lot of fun. 2. jealousy fic — I wrote this in late 2022 when I just got back into the fandom, and it's... not great, so it needs a lot of editing and re-jigging. but I like the concept, so I might pick it back up one day! it has 15k written, and is about Sirius exploring his jealousy in seeing Remus with a boyfriend, and having a consequent gay awakening. 3. scotland fic — I wrote 6k words in one day of this random idea I had, and I still quite like it. it's meant to be pretty short so this one might see the light of day at some point. it's about maintaining a relationship while living in a very conservative, homophobic village in Scotland and having to sneak around. 4. wedding photographer fic — I have 12k of this written and a few random outlining notes. love the idea but this is definitely low on the priorities list. about wedding photographer Remus getting his dream job, and his supportive boyfriend joining him for the ride, aka just 100% pure fluff.

then there are a few ideas I have randomly bouncing around in my brain, including a Rupaul's Drag Race AU, a Wolfstar raising Harry fic, a soulmate AU that doubles as a rebel fic, a fic with a "blind date" during a solar eclipse, and a House in the Cerulean Sea AU. but hey, ideas are always coming and going so who knows what will pop up or be cast aside! as I mentioned in the original "interview" post, I am very critical of my writing and an extreme perfectionist, so while it's fun to share these ideas and WIPs with you all I won't make any promises about which ones will eventually make it to AO3, or when. but I am always tinkering around in the background and one of my resolutions for 2025 is to try and be less self-critical and just post stuff, so :) I hope this kind of answered your question and that it wasn't too ramble-y, lol! sending love as always and thanks for asking <3

[characteranalyst]

Thanks for the tag friend this seems like fun @fluidsoul31. I’m late sorry. But better late than never I guess.

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

I have a ridiculous amount of WIPS because my brain does this /very/ annoying thing where when I get an idea for a fic, I have maybe a 10 + hour window (on a good day) to drop what I’m doing put ass in chair and type it out from start to finish without any interruptions or else the idea will just go *poof* gone never to be seen or heard from again. And the only reason I even wrote and posted my last fic was that I blessedly got the idea on a Saturday morning.

So welcome to my graveyard of WIPS that are gathering dust in my Google docs because I got the idea like 5 minutes before I had to leave for work and the juice ran out by the time I got home and all that was left was maybe 7 or 8 paragraphs if I was lucky that I got to spit out before the inspiration flew away.

So let’s start with the Phayu/Rain WIPS -

1. NICE TO M(EAT) YOU a.k.a the Hannibal AU. Butcher! Phayu/Line cook! Rain

(I actually wrote a good chunk of this from Phayu’s POV before I realized it would have been better to start in Rain’s POV so it’s unfinished but technically planned out)

2. SIMON SAYS -

(Fem! Phayu Rain fic. I wrote this one for the sensory deprivation day for Kinktober and it’s like 95% done but I got in my head and thought it was shit so I didn’t post it.)

3. MONEY TO BLOW a.k.a the BL co stars AU but make it dead dove -

(HIGH KEY wish I had called into to work to write this one. I really loved this concept. But I only got to spit out about 6 paragraphs before work. )

4. CARN(IV)AL DESIRES a.k.a the Carnival meet cute fic.

(We are going to collectively ignore my cheesy title. I wrote basically the entirety of this meaning to post for Valentine’s Day but the dialogue was beating my ass so it’s unfinished.)

5. PHAYU.EXE - a.k.a the succubus/computer virus Phayu AU

(So another one I wish I had called in to write. It’s probably 3 paragraphs of actually story and 1000 + words of bare bones skeletal ideas)

6. UNTITLED PORN AU

(I had written this one for the piss day I think for Kinktober. I wrote a good amount of it before the characterization got a little fucky and I had no clue where I was going with it.)

7. SOME LIKE IT KNOT - a.k.a my first attempt at an a/b/o fic

(Another idea 5 minutes before work. But I actually wrote a good chunk of this and world builded a little before I realized I also had no clue where I was going with it. )

8. FUCK ME ONCE SHAME ON YOU - a.k.a Fem!Rain’s gay awakening

(Another Fem! Phayu Rain one. Sort a retelling of the code line meeting night. This is basically fully written but I don’t know I just didnt want to post it. It felt very ‘I’m projecting onto the blorbos and I do not want to be perceived so let’s not post this’. So yeah.)

I have more but I can’t be bothered rn to go rummaging around to look for any more.

So next up is a Ray/Sand Only Friends WIP

1. THE WISDOM TO KNOW THE DIFFERENCE a.k.a the Ray goes to AA meetings fic

I wrote this while the show was still airing so canon kinda made me give up on finishing it but I wrote a good bit.

And lastly my Killing Stalking WIP

1. MOTHER MAY I?

This is a canon divergence rewrite of chapters 8-9 of the manga. Didn’t finish it but a wrote a lot and it was fun to write something a little fucked up. The manga was /something/ and I was itching to rewrite some parts of those chapters:

Ok so I know I technically didn’t follow the rules because it said only the titles but I couldn’t help myself. Sue me. Send me and ask if any catch your eye.

And I have no clue who to tag so anyone that wants to participate can have at it.

[actuallyitsstar]

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

✍ Do you have a beta reader?

⛔ 🎶 ⏳💥 🎃❌

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

(this is so many and obviously feel free to answer however many you want!!)

✨ send me an emoji and ask me about my fanfic! ✨

😈 has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

honestly, i can't say that there has been! i mean don't get me wrong, i have certainly been writing EVEN MORE ANGST AGAIN and been like. hmm. the people in my phone are gonna hate me for this :) lol. but that angst is also for ME bc like. that's my jam lol. and i never post unfinished multichaptered fics, so i feel its not likely that i'd ever do this, since i don't get feedback on my writing until after it's already completed, lol.

✍ do you have a beta reader?

i don't! i never have, actually. it is an intriguing idea but i've never been a ~serious~ enough writer for it, i don't think, and i also cringe at the idea of anyone seeing anything i've ever written before i have re read and re-edited it about 50 thousand times lol

⛔do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

recently, no, but i have at least 10 unfinished fics for various old fandoms that are like. not *scrapped*, per se, but just uhhh unlikely to be completed any time soon lol, some being 10+ years old. i never say never but like AM i going finish that OC-au of the mentalist season 6 where somebody is trying to attack all the "psychics" in texas because they have a grudge against what some fake psychic told them like 10 years ago???? honestly, probably not, lol.

🎶do you listen to music while you write? what song have you been playing on loop lately?

yes, i do! can't write in just silence, usually, but it can't have words, either, because i can't hear Words and also Write Different Words, lol. recently i have been listening to 70s-80s Japanese city pop playlists (here is one of my favorites!) since i don't speak the language and it also is such a vibe. in the past i've also done the in love with a ghost vibes, lofi girl, and instrumental synth-wave, as well. i also really like the artist City Girl for that reason, and i think my favorite album of theirs is Neon Impasse. I listened to that on loop a lot writing ttnp!

⏳how long does it take you to write a fic, or a chapter?

this is a very difficult to answer question because it depends on a lot of factors, lol. I have written 20k words in two days before. I have also gone weeks only writing a thousand. it depends on how much free time i have (recently, almost none, lol), how much down time there is at my job (i wrote a large portion of ttnp in down time at my job, and there is not going to be job down time for the foreseeable future unfortunately, which has really put a damper on things). as long as i am at least mildly inspired or motivated, and have ample enough time, i can get a lot done, usually, but it all depends on a lot of factors.

💥how do you feel about criticism?

i am made of tissue paper pls dont hurt me akdshdjfhf i am actually very much okay with and welcoming of it, actually, bc without it, i would never improve. definitely needs to be in good faith, because being made of tissue paper isn't entirely a lie lol, but if there's something i have done poorly or something that i have the opportunity to do better next time, i am always happy to take it into consideration!

🎃do you write fics for holidays? what is your favorite holiday inspired fic?

hmmmm well i actually never have but i love the concept and i am hoping to get to do it this year ;) ;)

❌what's a trope you will never write?

for an actual trope i'd probably have to think a lot longer and harder than i have in answering these questions so far, lol, but one thing i can say, though it's not a trope, is that i'll never write smut. your local sex repulsed asexual is just not about it, lol. which is not to say ive never read and enjoyed fics w/ smut in them!!! i just skip ahead until it's over, lol.

🧠pick a character and i'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them!

omg i don't know which of us is supposed to be doing the headcanoning but i'll go ahead and assume it's you ?????? and my pick is iceman. pls tell me ur fav headcanon !!! i am excited !!!

🤩do you have a favorite character to write?

recently, it had been maverick, to no one's surprise, lol. what can i say. somethin' about the inherent trauma just speaks to me <3

🤲 would you please share a small snippet of a WIP?

HMMM...... I SUPPOSE..... A SMALL ONE......... ;)

THANK U SO MUCH for the ask !!! i loved answering all of them and i am so sorry it has been taking me so long to do everything recently oh my god. i am, as bilbo would say (im paraphrasing), feeling like butter scraped across way the fuck too much bread these days akdhfdjfhf but i rly appreciate ur asks and ur support and time and continued habit of thinking of me !!! <3 <3