#snippets from this chapter are hard to find because they all give too much away

[infinitelymint]

Violet getting all the hugs, YES PLEASE ❤️😭

It’s heartbreaking to know that Xaden kept Violet away because he knew he would have prioritize her over everyone (like he does in the series), but I’m also a little pissed at him lol Nothing serious but I hope he grovels a little 👀

I’m loving this fic and I’m excited about the comfort part 🙌🏻 (assuming this is a hurt/comfort fic and the hurt is over for now lol) You’re doing amazing!

I am personally ALL about Violet getting hugs. And forehead kisses. And cuddles. And kind words. And basically every good thing out there. She deserves it ❤️‍🩹

It's been a fun thought to play with - like how would Xaden have acted during the war if Violet wasn't his everything, you know? I think he would probably have died before drawing from the earth. I have a scene planned where we kind of return to that road of thought again and I'm looking forward to writing it. But hey, he's all in on being there for her now, I promise! Our man doesn't do anything half way, and I don't think there's a single universe out there where he isn't obsessed with her. Slightly unhinged and unhealthy Riorgail is what we're here for.

Thank you so much! That genuinely makes me so happy to hear. I just had a kind of shit thing happen at work so it was a really nice treat to get this message 🩷 We are at the healing stage so I think more comfort than hurt is fair to say. I'm really having fun with writing them building their relationship. Aaaaand as a treat (maybe?) for sending me this wonderful message, here's a sneak peak at the next chapter:

“Are you going to kill me, Violence?” he asks then, offering her a wry smile in an attempt to diffuse the situation between them.  “Are you going to kill me?” she throws his back at his face. The trembling of her hand that is clutching the knife seems to get worse by the second, like a testament to the fact that she actually thinks this might be where they’re headed. If she doesn’t put it down soon, he’s afraid she might accidentally harm herself. “Fuck, no!” He replies with conviction. The mere thought is ludicrous, is completely fucking moronic. He’ll push himself into her dagger, let her stab him straight in the heart, before he’ll ever harm a single hair on her body again. She might even survive it if he did.

[cosmalumi]

A summary of the rest of the story:

This is late, but better late than never I suppose. I've been asked a couple of times over the years to post the rest of the story, but I never knew how to go about writing it up, so here we go Chapter 3

This was the last one I had a proper script for. I guess partially 4? There was a snippet with Twilight and Spike figuring out how to find element bearers but I dunno if it made much sense. The script here is a bit rough and probably needed some refinement, but it gets the point across. The following are the last pages I worked on, two of which were never posted.

[START SCRIPT] He gives a short laugh. “Sorry about that! Nice to meet’cha. Name’s Nox. I hope those restraints aren’t too tight. You might be a prisoner, but there’s no need for you to be uncomfortable here.”

“…” Fluttershy glares at him.

Wow that’s actually a really great impression of my boss… You’re not related to Brass are you?

I guess you’re not the talkative type huh? That's alright, I can do it for you. How’s about we start with a name?

"Says here you’re Fluttershy. Only child of Cloud Cover and Posey who were prominent figures of the Velvet Carnation Movement until their untimely deaths ten years ago during the Ponyville fire, leading to you dropping out of Cloudsdale flight school. Currently you live in a cottage on the outskirts of New Ponyville and run an animal caretaking service.” Fluttershy is shocked, and he’s grinning “Pretty spooky, huh? The crown’s got eyes and ears everywhere… But it looks like few places are escaping us… saaay… the hiding places of your Red Sun friends?”

Fluttershy raises an eyebrow.

“Look, I get it. You don’t trust me or anypony in the castle for that matter, but you’re here on charges of attempted regicide and that means you’re on a fast track to a short rope. But I know you’re just another pony that’s been twisted by the Red Sun. If you work with us-

“I’ll never work for Nightmare Moon!” She blurts out angrily.

“But you’ll follow the Red Sun? Do you even know what kind of things they do? Because they certainly aren’t the heroes some ponies make them out to be.

“All they want is an Equestria where ponies can live in peace-” “Peace?”He places several photos on the table. ”Blood rituals, bombings of public gathering places, foalnapping and ransoming ponies to fund their activities.” Fluttershy's face is concerned. “Remember the wild weather that destroyed the harvest in Tall Tale last fall? Well the Red Sun’s goons stole the relief supplies our Queen sent. They were alright with leaving thousands to starve.

“Even if that were the case, I didn’t want to do what I did, but someone had to stand up to her. She’s nothing more than a big bully and I couldn’t sit around anymore and watch her hurt more innocent ponies. I had to try, and If that means this is my last day on Gaia, then so be it. New Fluttershy isn’t a coward!” “That’s quite noble of you. Ponies that selfless are hard to come by… which is why I don’t want to see you go down for this. Tell me who helped plan the attack and the Crown won’t press charges. I’ll make it so you never stepped hoof in Canterlot. You could go on with your life… Go back to your cottage… back to your pet.” Slides forward picture of angel. [PAGE BREAK] Fluttershy is thinking of Angel and other animals from back home. "I can’t do that. They helped put my life back together. I won’t let you hurt them. “Would they do the same for you though? I mean… they didn’t come for you when you got captured. They don’t care about YOU, they cared about what you could do FOR them.” “What and you care?” “Fluttershy, I just want to give you your life back. The way I see it, a cult took advantage of a young troubled mare and made you do things you'd never think to do otherwise. If the Red Sun was willing to sacrifice someone as kind as you, who else would they be willing to throw away for their selfish goals?” “They’re not like that…” She looks a bit more unsure this time. [PAGE BREAK] All I ask in return for your freedom is a name. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for the ones that care for you and would like to see you again. Take some time to think about it. He gets up and leaves. Fluttershy looks down pensively. [PAGE BREAK]

Nox exits. “That went well! Wanna grab a bite, Sabre? I’m thinking sandwiches-- Something with peanut butter. Crunchy, obviously. Crystal Sabre is there, looking at Nox, exasperated. She points at him accusingly. “I told you that wasn’t going to go anywhere. You should have let me interrogate her. “Look, until Brass gets back, I have to fill in for her, and that means I’m stuck with a mountain of paperwork. I even had to get up for that emergency meeting this morning! Let me have a little fun! Besides, I have a feeling it wasn’t all for nothing. “The Red Sun’s never been this bold before…What do you think changed?” Fluttershy says through the intercom window thingy “I want to talk to Rainbow Dash!” “…Who?”

[END SCRIPT]

In the end, I got too scared of the idea of backlash from one of my OCs being mean to Fluttershy ^^;; I recognize that it may not have been the case, but after how much hate I got for killing off a random guard, younger me got too scared to stick to this script and I flip flopped between redoing it or leaving it. I came to love the characters I had originally made for the sole purpose of filling cabinet roles. I struggled bring myself to make one of them the antagonist in an interaction with someone as beloved as Fluttershy. I ended up putting off the decision long enough that I lost interest in continuing the story though. This script was not the main reason I lost interest in the story, but it was a factor. My original points stand, and I don't regret deciding to let this comic go so I could branch out.

A chunk I wrote with Twilight: Sunset shimmer was a failed magician that was previously in Night's employ Twilight actually would have talked about here in this chunk: [START SCRIPT] “We know the elements are all part of a system. If they’re inactive, the bond is still there, it’s just faint, like how on a map you might not see a road between a town and Canterlot, but there has to be one because duh, all roads lead to Canterlot. We have pieces of the system and if we can isolate that link between the pieces, we could follow the link from one element back to the others. All we need to do is fine tune Rarity’s gem finding spell so instead of the beacon being any old gem, it’s whatever is on the other side of the link. Spike: “Wouldn’t the mages before you already have tried something like that? Twi: “Well the last one, Sunset or something, (Frowny scrunchy face), destroyed all of the notes from previous experiments so we’re pretty much starting from scratch, but even if they did, we have something they didn’t! A working element!” [END SCRIPT]

Night burned through so many young and eager mages trying to get what she wanted. Once they weren't useful, they got dumped.

Rest of it:

The big bad evil was going to be the guard Fenix who is actually a body hopping spirit of an alicorn from the ancient alicorn empire before it got decimated in the Alicorn-Draconequus wars. The alicorns had purged themselves of their "darkness" and went on a crusade to bring greatness and order to the rest of Gaia. The last of the Draconequus sacrificed themselves to break the alicorns into the three/four pony tribes--essentially exterminating both races. One of the newly minted unicorns had been in the Empress's inner council and refused to die quietly like the others. Since then, he's been taking over other unicorns' bodies as a way of living forever because he's scared of death (Unicorns because he wasn't sure if non-unicorns could do the necessary magic to prolong his life). That's why Fenix's personality changed when his buddy died in the flashback told by his cousin (The hopping usually kills original person. The original Fenix is gone, there's just the rogue soul now. The previous body was going to die, so he jumped ship before it did). The changeling comment by his cousin was meant to be a diversion.

The entity in Fenix's body had been around for thousands of years, just living a regular life. Ever since the rise of the two sisters, he attached himself to their leadership, usually hanging around as a soldier/guard of some kind, because he still believes in the Alicorns' right to rule and wants to help with bringing glory to Equestria and serve the greater good--the Alicorns and the ideals they choose to rule by.

Fenix had been fine living as just a guard, even under Nightmare Moon. Witnessing her uncertainty and paranoia--how the country was being divided by Night's poor leadership in recent years (especially after the whole assassin and Quake dying)--he became disillusioned by Night's rule and would go on to lead a rebellion against her by plotting to take the Elements of Harmony for himself, hopping into the body of the Red Sun Rebellion's Leader- Sunset Shimmer, then eventually hopping into Celestia to become Solar Flare/Daybreaker or Evil Celestia or whatever. The Elements of Harmony were actually ancient alicorn weapons of mass destruction. The enchantment that made them had mutated over the millennia, becoming something completely new, but contact with the soul of an alicorn of old would have ignited something. Not exactly a reset, but they would have recognized one of their original users and their original purpose.

Night is actually the darkness (a shade) that had been purged from the Alicorn Empress in the old days. It gained a will of it's own over years and forged a pact with Luna to help her take over the kingdom. She didn't remember who she was, only fragments because she was all the parts of the Empress that were deemed impure/bad. They were fine being partner rulers for a while, but then an offhanded comment led to Ponyville being burned to the ground by zealots in the Queen's name 15 or so years ago --this had been to destroy the Velvet Carnation Movement which had been a peaceful group advocating for democracy instead of monarchies--and they'd been feuding ever since and only recently made up in the comic.

Night would have freed Celestia from the Sun of her own volition to try to appease the population and show that she is a good ruler and stop all the talk of rebellion. She wanted to use her as a political puppet. Celestia would have been on a short leash.

Night would have died at the end of the comic, sacrificing herself to put an end to the old empire once and for all by holding down evil Celestia as they both get blasted by the Friendship Elements beam. The old ways were wrong, it was time to stop clinging onto the past--Celestia and Luna are left to make up and rebuild Equestria.

There was definitely a lot of middle stuff that I never figured out, but I did like the story. It just grew increasingly clear that it wasn't something I could ever finish.

Here are some of the alicorn designs I never got around to showing:

I feels quite nice to finally have it all out there.

[cheeseboi420]

Of A Feather Chapter 2 (Preview)

Hi pookies! Remember how i said i wasnt gonna post ch1 until ch2 was finished?

Anyways! i thought I'd give yall a lil sneak peak of ch2 to tide yall over while i work on it lol. ALSO. I posted abt it way back when I was still working on ch1, but uhh, beta applications are open for this fic!! Normally my wife and i write together but she does not suffer from the jaybin brainrot like i do (it's terminal, stage 4 i fear). So if you're interested in beta-ing for this fic shoot me a dm!! Anyways, enjoy a little snippet from the intro to chapter 2!

It's warm when you wake. Verging on uncomfortably so, in fact. This is odd, considering it's been an unseasonably cold spring. Every day for the last month you've woken up shivering.

Still half lost to the haze of sleep, you go to kick your blankets off and find that curiously, you have none. Normally these odd little happenstances would have you paranoid, your eyes shooting open as you'd scramble to figure out what exactly was amiss. But for some reason, you feel… at ease, in a way you haven't felt in a very long time.

As your consciousness slowly returns, you become aware of a few more little details.

Firstly, you are asleep in your recliner instead of your futon, which consequently has given you a painful crick on your neck. Damn, the consequences of getting old, you suppose.

Second, your heater is on. This is unusual, because you never leave your heater on overnight. You fall asleep to the sound of the tv every night- frightened of the silence that engulfs your sad little apartment.

As you sit up and gather your bearings, you open your eyes and see him. Jason, fast sleep, blanket hanging halfway off his body, one arm dangling over the side of the futon.

And God, it's like seeing him for the first time all over again. Your eyes mist over as you take in the sight of your sleeping baby boy- who is really not so much of a baby anymore. You watch the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes and wonder what he's dreaming of.

There's the thinnest sheen of sweat on his forehead- between the blanket and the heater still pointed at him from last night, he's got to be even warmer than you are.

Slowly, so as not to disturb his slumber, you pull yourself out of your chair and creep over to the heater, turning the offending device off.

With that issue resolved you turn to look at Jason again. Your baby. Your birdie. He seemed… not perturbed by the nickname, but it had clearly resonated with him last night in a way that you didn't quite understand. But you want to. You want desperately to know him.

And oh, how lucky you are to have the chance to.

Perhaps a little creepy of you, but you can't help but take a moment to just look at him. His hair is messy from sleep, twisting and curling in every direction. This is a sight you're much more familiar with. He'd had the sweetest little curls as a baby. It strikes you suddenly that you hadn't been there for his first haircut. Though, logically, you know there are a great many firsts you've missed out on, for some reason this one hits you particularly hard.

You're tempted to touch his hair, to smooth it down, to gently scratch his scalp, to stroke his cheek. You refrain.

Instead, you simply take him in, committing every detail to memory.

A sliver of a scar on his chin, silver and old. Barely noticeable bags under his eyes- he definitely needs his sleep, poor thing. His knuckles, bruised and scraped, brushing against your filthy carpet.

That sight gives you pause.

Why the fuck does he have split knuckles?! The thought that he's been getting into trouble makes you sick to your stomach. Not because you're upset at him of course, you think he could get away with murder and you'd still adore him. No, you're nauseated by the thought that he's had to fight. That he's been in situations dangerous enough to warrant throwing a punch, and recently too.

Gingerly, you take his hand, lifting it back onto the futon.

There's the first 600 words of chapter 2 for yall!!! Also, for the folks on the taglist, would you like to be tagged in previews AND full chapters, or just full chapters? Lmk!!

[wordsinhaled]

hello beloved, it's gotta be 📸 or 💘 because those are the two loves of my life! <3

hiiii alex 💕 @tumblerislovetumblerislife !!!

📸 posting a little snippet of a future chapter - maybe! - of galaxy, galaxy (won’t you be my consolation?) - model edwin/photographer charles AU, the one where they’re best friends, flatmates, mutually pining so obviously it can be seen from space, etc. i say “maybe” a future chapter because i’ve written like fifteen different variations on how they get together so this one might not even make it in, oops.

but the context for this one is that they live in a tiny, shitty flat where the heating frequently breaks and so in winter there’s a lot of platonic bed-sharing in charles’s bed so they can be warm at night.

(this one’s just a little 🤏🏻 bit smutty as well. it’s dreary out, why not.)

—

They are, as they have been so many times before, in Charles’s bed. But this time Edwin has Charles stretched out under him, purposely, and Charles isn’t making a single move to go anywhere—instead he’s grinning so brightly up at him in the low light cast by the dimmed bedside lamp and pulling Edwin closer by a handful of his shirt.

Edwin cannot even feel the cold, with how Charles is making him feel warm all over, with how Charles is looking at him like this is the only place he could ever think of being, and—this is Edwin’s best friend in the world, the best person he has ever met, the one who knows him best in every way. Now Edwin gets to kiss him. And touch him. And make him feel good, which is a privilege and a gift.

Charles Rowland should always feel good as far as Edwin is concerned; he should always wear that lovely, languid, heated expression, always give that surprised, punched-out groan that he lets out now when Edwin shifts his hips down against Charles’ for the first time and finds him similarly invested in the proceedings.

“Oh,” Edwin says, “I like that noise.”

Charles’ eyes, fixed on his face, are deep and dark, and there is an open, adoring sweetness there that Edwin cannot look away from. “Yeah?” Charles bites at his lower lip, drawing Edwin’s gaze to it, reminding Edwin that he knows, now, how Charles’ plush mouth tastes. “Well, I like what you just did,” Charles says. He reaches for Edwin’s waist, as if to urge him to repeat the movement again.

“I have to tell you—ah—” Edwin falters at the feeling of Charles’ distracting fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt. “Charles. There is something I must admit to you—”

“Anything,” Charles agrees, watching Edwin intently, though he hasn’t stopped touching him, hasn’t stopped rucking up Edwin’s shirt, hasn’t stopped rolling his own hips up to meet Edwin’s, and god, Edwin can feel him, hot and hard through layers of denim and wool. This is what Charles, his most beloved person, is like when he is interested in someone. Interested in Edwin. Edwin thinks he might combust.

“I wanted—when we—” His own breath sounds loud in his ears. The low sound Charles makes with their every slow, firm, rocking movement against each other is tangible under Edwin’s palms as he spreads his hands over Charles’ chest. “That is,” Edwin tries, “sharing this bed with you—I sometimes wanted…”

Charles clutches harder at him, slack-mouthed with a sort of appreciative wonder. “Edwin Payne,” he says. “I fucking love you, mate.” And then he is letting go of Edwin, but only to push himself up on his elbows so he can reach to kiss him, messy and uncoordinated. “Me too,” Charles mumbles.

Edwin is focusing so much on being kissed, on every nip of Charles’ teeth and insistent press of tongue, he almost misses the words. “What?”

“Bloody dreamed about you, didn’t I,” Charles says; trails his lips over Edwin’s jaw, to his ear. “Thought I’d go mental this winter, all night tucked up next to you, Edwin. And then you said—” He punctuates his words with a sharp bite to Edwin’s earlobe, shocking out a high gasp. “—let’s fix the radiator, and I thought maybe you didn’t want to be here anymore—”

“You are all I’ve wanted,” Edwin says, breathless, heart racing. “For so much time. For ages. Charles, I always want to be here. With you.”

[qwordavoider]

The Weddings?

The second chapter has now been posted on AO3. Here is a little snippet to get you started. Enjoy :)

Tommy takes a steadying breath. It had been hard for him to put his feelings into words at first, but once he had figured them out, they had tattooed themselves onto his brain. He hadn’t even brought the paper he scribbled his ideas on to the wedding with him. That’s how confident he was in what he was about to say.

“Evan, you are the love of my life. And I never let myself hope that one day I could have this because I was terrified of letting anyone in. But then you shook my hand for a little too long when Howie introduced us, and I was falling. No matter how many walls I tried to put up, you were there to knock them down. Even when I was an idiot and broke both of our hearts in the process. I sometimes still feel like I don’t deserve you or your trust in me when it comes to Liam, but I vow that I will do everything in my power to be worthy of your love. You inspire me to be true to myself, no matter how much it terrifies me. I love this family we’ve made with us and Liam, the 118, and all of our friends,” Tommy swallows the thickness in his throat and brushes a few tears away.

He continues hoping to finish before he breaks down entirely, “I look at our life and it is everything I ever dreamed. Thank you for choosing me to be a part of it. I love you so much.”

Tommy hasn’t taken his eyes off Evan the entire time he’s been talking, and watched the tears slipping down his husband’s face. He can’t have them ruining that beautiful suit, so he cups Evan’s face and gently brushes his thumbs over his cheeks. And sue him, Tommy pressed a quick kiss to his husband’s lips. 

As both of them fought to stop the tears, Evan pulled out the mysterious paper again. Tommy waited patiently as he cleared his throat and began to talk. 

“I spent a good majority of my life believing that I didn’t deserve love or that I was too much for any one person to stay,” Evan began.

Tommy took two seconds to be smug about the fact that Margaret and Phillip had not played a single part in their wedding. They didn’t deserve it after the way they made Evan feel growing up. But that wasn’t important right now, so he turned his focus back to Evan.

���It wasn’t until you came along and showed up for me, time and time again, that I started to believe that might not be true. You never once made me feel bad for going on late-night research binges and rambling about what I discovered. Even when we were broken up, you were right by my side the entire time we were at the hospital. You stayed when so many people before that hadn’t. A wise man once told me that with love and relationships, ‘you don’t find it, you make it.’ All of the work we have put into ourselves just proves to me that we have made it, Tommy.”

Tommy smiles at that. He loves that piece of advice. They had made it and Tommy was grateful for that every damn day.  

“And then there’s Liam. He turned our lives upside down, and yet you were there as my partner to help shoulder the load of adjusting to life with a toddler. He loves you so much, and I can see the way you love him, too. So I wanted to give you this,” Evan continued as he handed Tommy the paper he had been holding. 

Tommy looked down at the form and read the heading, Step-Parent Adoption Form . Tommy had to choke back a sob at that and looked up to Evan to confirm that it was real. 

Evan seemed to know exactly what Tommy was asking, “You have been his dad since the day after I brought him home from the hospital, maybe even before. He is your son, just as much as he is mine.”

tags (comment or reblog to be added): @chococara25 @inawickedlittletown @moonydanny @manifestingchaoticvibes @hummelinski @crimsonwildcat-blog @n1kkii @captainwitharedstar @javanicko @whatareyoudoingsaturday @rubydaiquiri @eliotwaughdeservesbetter @marsflower @sporadicmakerwerewolf

[voxofthevoid]

Yo, time for Demon/Hunter Horror Wednesday #5 👁

The fic has currently stalled at a hefty 41k because I've been writing sukuita nonstop for around a month now (Gojou's still two chapters and probably over 10k away) and snapped from goyuu withdrawal. Poking at a quick-and-dirty goyuu oneshot that's...dirty for sure but not quick at all. All @nearalways's fault, again.

Anyway, to switch it up from the creepy church demon sex that's been happening over the last few posts, this week's snippet is entirely a conversation between Yuuji and Megumi. Enjoy?

“Do you think having sex makes it harder to jerk off on your own?”

Fushiguro chokes on nothing, whipping his head around to stare at Yuuji with eyes that’re twice their usual size. “What.”

“Y’know…” Yuuji gestures. Fushiguro’s expression screams that he does not know. He looks a little like he doesn’t want to know anything ever again, really. “Don’t look at me like that! I’m just asking!”

Fushiguro sucks in a deep breath, screwing his eyes shut so tight that it hurts to look at. “Why are you asking me?”

“Who else? You saw how Kugisaki reacted when I asked her about sex. She’d rip my dick off.”

“I,” Fushiguro grits out, “will rip your dick off.”

Yuuji gasps. “You wouldn’t!”

Fushiguro’s eyes narrow. “You sure?”

Yuuji opens his mouth to say yes, but…he can’t. Even narrowed like this, there’s too much white in Fushiguro’s eyes. He looks a little crazy, just in a cute way. Yuuji definitely shouldn’t tell him that.

But he does need to tell him something so that Fushiguro won’t get any ideas about the scissors on his table.

“Your dad would think that’s foreplay,” Yuuji states confidently. “And we don’t want that.”

Fushiguro makes a noise. “What the hell, Itadori?”

“Yeah, I’ve been saying that a lot too,” Yuuji mutters, gesturing at his crotch.

Fushiguro’s eyes drop and dart back to Yuuji’s face, wider and wilder than a second ago. “Itadori!”

“I can’t get off anymore,” Yuuji blurts out in self-defense. “No, I mean—I can. I could, with him. But I can’t jerk off properly. It gets hard, but I can’t, y’know, finish.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Fushiguro asks. His tone is kinda weird; Yuuji can’t tell whether it’s despairing or curious. Incredulous either way, just like the way he’s looking at Yuuji. “How are you telling me this?”

“Huh?” Yuuji slides down till he’s lying fully on Fushiguro’s bed. For good measure, he turns onto his front, keeping his dick out of sight and snipping distance. “You’re a guy too. I figured you’d get it.”

“I don’t,” Fushiguro says repressively. Then, after a long moment of very loud silence— “What do you mean you can’t…finish?”

“I can’t come.”

“I got that.” Fushiguro sighs, putting his book away and leaning forward in the chair, all his attention on Yuuji. Usually, Yuuji would sit up straighter in response—Fushiguro can get really intense—but right now, he’s more interested in protecting his dick. Plus, this mattress is comfortable. “I have no practical experience with sex, but I’m fairly sure doing it with someone doesn’t mean you can’t give yourself a hand. That’s basic biology.”

“Yeah, I thought so too, and it’s not like it’s been like this the whole time, just…” Yuuji blinks, realizing several beats too late what else Fushiguro just said. “So you are a virgin!”

“Not the point!” Fushiguro snaps.

“Alright, alright. Hey, I’m not judging you, I swear. I also didn’t—”

“Itadori,” Fushiguro cuts in sharply, “focus.”

“Right…” Yuuji thinks for a moment, trying to find words that won’t spook Fushiguro—or piss him off. He’s already almost glaring. “There wasn’t anything weird at first, even after I started fucking him. Doing him felt better than my hand, obviously, but I still jerked off all the time. More than usual. I was horny all the time. I’m still horny all the time.”

“You sound like some sex addict,” Fushiguro says with a grimace. But his cheeks are a faint pink.

Yuuji shrugs. “Maybe. Kind of. It’s not the sex, it’s—”

It’s the place. That church. Except not really. Deep inside, Yuuji knows that the church is just set dressing. It’s the priest who’s the problem. Everything Sukuna is, everything he makes Yuuji feel—addiction isn’t really a wrong way to put it. Yuuji’s never felt anything like it before; he’s never wanted anything like it.

Sometimes—a lot of the time, more and more often this last week especially—it’s a physical need, a hollow ache that haunts his gut and his bones.

His dick too.

“It’s…?” Fushiguro prods after Yuuji’s silent for a while.

Yuuji blinks at him, refocusing. “It’s him.”

Fushiguro makes a noise in his throat, like he was expecting that answer but doesn’t like it much. Yuuji can’t blame him. He doesn’t like it either.

“You really like that guy so much?” Fushiguro asks.

“Ugh.” Yuuji shoves his face into the mattress, suffocating in the darkness for a few blissful seconds. Then— “No. Hell no. He’s an asshole. Nobody would like him.”

Yuuji still doesn’t understand why he’s apparently popular among the churchgoers. He’s never brought it up with Fushiguro and Kugisaki after telling him he’s fucking a guy because he wouldn’t put it past them to put two and two together. They’re both weirdly intuitive, and together, they’re worse. Plus, Yuuji’s not the best liar.

But Fushiguro’s looking at him like he’s lying right now, and that’s very unwarranted.

“It’s true,” Yuuji insists. “I never ever want you guys to meet. He’s that bad.”

Fushiguro blinks very slowly. “And this is the guy you’re dating?”

“We’re not dating!”

Shockingly, that doesn’t seem to help.

“Having sex then,” Fushiguro says, his frown deepening. “That’s worse. Makes it sound like—”

Yuuji waits, pushing himself up for his forearms for a more level view of Fushiguro’s expression. It’s twisted into dark lines; Yuuji can recognize displeasure and disapproval, but there’s more there, he can tell.

“Fushiguro?”

Fushiguro lowers his eyes, scowling at the floor. “Never mind.”

“But—”

“Are you being safe?”

Yuuji’s jaw clicks shut. “Um…”

Fushiguro’s eyes snap back to his face. “Itadori!”

“Define safe?” Yuuji ventures.

Fushiguro drags a hand down his face, skin catching on skin in a way that makes Yuuji wince in sympathy. “How do you get into these situations? You’ve been here for less than six months.”

“Hey, you make it sound like I do dumb shit all the time!”

“You do,” Fushiguro says mercilessly. “At least you admit this is stupid.”

“Yeah, well…” Yuuji flattens himself against the bed again. “The sex is really good though.”

“How would you know? He’s your first too.”

“That’s true. But he’s kind of a freak. I didn’t even know—”

“No,” Fushiguro interrupts, his tone flat but still cutting. “No details. I don’t want to hear this.”

“Fair enough,” Yuuji says, but then something occurs to him. “Is it because he’s a guy?”

“Huh? What—” Realization widens Fushiguro’s eyes, which narrow right after. “No. That’s not it. I’m fine with that.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“I am,” Fushiguro says more firmly; Yuuji can see his fists clench. “I’d be a hypocrite otherwise.”

Yuuji frowns at him, trying to— “Oh. Oh. So you’re—”

“Yes. Still not the point.”

“I don’t think we have a point anymore,” Yuuji muses. He sits up, finally, shifting to perch on the edge of the bed, mirroring Fushiguro’s pose on the chair. It’s as close as he can get to the guy without walking over there, and the way Fushiguro’s staring at him says he might bite if Yuuji does that. “Thanks for telling me, Fushiguro.”

“Oh, for—” Fushiguro looks away furiously. “It’s not like you couldn’t guess anyway.”

“I…didn’t really think about it? I mean, there’s all the stuff your dad says, but—”

“Shut up,” Fushiguro hisses. “Go back to talking about your sex addiction.”

“Do we have to?”

“You brought it up.”

Yeah, fair point. Yuuji’s not sure what he was hoping to achieve. But Fushiguro’s pretty much the only person he can talk to about it. The internet wasn’t helpful. Hell, parts of it were trying to say his balls weren’t working because of cancer or something. Yuuji’s not opposed to calling Sukuna a kind of disease, but it’s not literal.

And thinking about Sukuna is a bad idea because there’s a lot to remember, most of it not innocent, and Yuuji’s dick is on a hair trigger these days. Heat pools between his legs, and Yuuji grabs the nearest pillow, putting it on his lap.

Fushiguro’s confused for only a single second. “Are you kidding me?!”

“I haven’t come in a week,” Yuuji whines.

“You—” Fushiguro looks pleadingly at the ceiling. But nothing there seems to help him any. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but just…go fuck the guy.”

“I can’t,” Yuuji whines again.

“Why,” Fushiguro grits out, “not?”

Yuuji tries to figure out how to put it without giving away that he’s going to the church to fuck its weird, creepy priest who may or may not be infesting his dreams.

He settles on, “He’s only available at night. And Nanamin’s back now, so I can’t just leave like I used to.”

“But you don’t have a curfew or anything.”

“Yeah, but—” Yuuji gestures. “He’d have questions if I came back in that state. And it’s his house. I don’t want to be rude.”

Fushiguro’s expression softens. “At least you have some sense.”

“Hey!”

[runawaymun]

Word Search Game

Tagged a while back by @emyn-arnens! Thank you!!

How it works: I search for the words assigned to me by the person who tagged me and share the relevant snippets. I then choose four words for others to search in their own WIP(s).

I got assigned spring, light, music, and blue.

Here's spring from a little fic I'm working on for Zhongli/Baizhu that I don't have a name for yet.

Contrary to what most might assume, the first meeting between Wangsheng Funeral Parlour’s assistant funeral director and the most esteemed physician in all of Liyue had nothing to do with any official, professional business. Rather, it all began with a single, recognizable flower — when Rex Lapis was still Liyue’s archon, and when Baizhu had only just opened Bubu Pharmacy.  It went like this: it was a beautiful, crisp, breezy afternoon in early spring. Rex Lapis was taking a walk around the lotus pools on Yujing Terrace when that scent drifted down to him on the sea air, drenched in ancient memory. 

Light was weirdly hard to find. It surprised me because I use it so much, but it just wasn't showing up in most of my WIP sections. I found one from another little part in the Zhongli/Baizhu piece where I've been slowly charting their relationship:

“So, were you ever going to tell me that you’re not human, or did you just expect that information was so obvious that it wasn’t necessary?”  Zhongli is not accustomed to feeling tongue-tied. He stares at Baizhu, then cautiously says: “I don’t know what you mean.”  The look Baizhu gives him could melt a cryo hypostasis. “Bǎo bèi, you purr.”  Again, he stares at Baizhu — who looks smug as ever, sunlight glinting in his eyes, serpentine and full of mischief, abyss take him! Zhongli needs to say something. All that comes out is: “I do not.”  But he does. That’s the problem. It’s just that he had not been aware he’d been doing it. He hasn’t had a reason to in centuries.  “You purr,” Baizhu asserts. Then he counts on his fingers, listing off: “Your eyes glow in the dark, you have the strongest sense of smell out of anyone I’ve ever met, your memory is infallible, you have never complained of the slightest ailment, and I’ve been able to feel it for a while, now: there’s something…” he looks at Zhongli askance, scathing, piercing, “Arcane about you. So you are inhuman in some capacity, perhaps an adeptus, or you have a good deal of adeptal blood at the very least.” 

Music from the chapter I'm working on in To Partake:

When he feels a little more centered, he reaches out, folding the miles between Mithlond and Ost-in-Edhil like the pages of a letter, and finds Celebrimbor.  He is received at once, though Celebrimbor doesn’t touch him. He only hovers at finger’s-width away, but even that feels like a relief.  (Elincë! I have missed you.)  Elrond’s chest clenches. It’s involuntary — like a sneeze. He leans in a little closer to that silver and feels how Celebrimbor carves out space for him to fit.  I have missed you too. Elrond answers him. I am sorry— it’s been so long.  (No. Don’t fret. It’s just good to feel you. Are you…) there it is: that missed beat in Celebrimbor’s Music, the higher octave, a tumbling scale of concern. (You said you were well in your letter, and I am glad of it. But how are you tonight? Tell me?) 

Here's blue from the chapter I'm working on in Beneath a Boundless Sky!

Thalionel had most of what he would need. There were just a few items left to get ahold of. It wasn’t going to be easy, but his plan wouldn’t work without them. Lord Elrond had let him replace the flint and steel he’d stolen off of Elrohir, but he would still need some kind of cloak. Wool, preferably. Something that would stay warm even if it got wet. He had one that Lady Celebrían had given to him, but it wasn’t big enough for what he needed it for, and besides — it was bright blue.

Tagging: @raointean @eldritchteletubbie @jaz-the-bard and @fishing4stars and anyone else who would like to play to find: wind, sky, gold, and burn

[myriadparacosm]

Black Beats Black - snippet chapter 9: Blazing Star

SMUT ALERT

Sirius must make Remus happy before it's too late. He is torn between wishing that he will remember their night as Moony as Padfoot or that it is all for nought. Only for Sirius' memories to forget once he dies.

He will never manage to meet Moony properly. As a wizard with his hands and here to care for him. Sirius wants to compare their sizes, examine more closely all of his body to learn this part of Remus that he hates and yet— so gorgeous.

Padfoot isn't that small, probably an Irish wolfhound from the few times he compared his reflection to books, which he finds fitting with his rascal and gentleman style. His size is not that much smaller from a wolf but a werewolf is still slightly taller. It's easy to mistake them if you don't look at the right details: the paws have distinct fingers despite not being used, the back legs are a tiny bit too long and the tail is barely there.

Sirius bites his lips and lets his forehead fall against the wall. He wants to know if it would have felt different. Without his Padfoot's skin to protect himself, lack of a strong sense of smell but lacking of a proper touch if it isn't with his own tongue and nose. Moony would probably still cover him, body tall and heavy against him but so reassuring. His paw would cover all his chest, claws barely digging, because he has a soft touch. So careful, always there to probe timidly because he is scared of his own strength.

One he could take on.

He groans out at the memory of Moony keeping him against the snow, sniffing at his neck and licking. First slow, ruffling his fur, before coming back for more, breath heating up against his skin— Sirius' naked flesh if he could. The same tongue that drooled all over him breaking through the fur for something. Sirius would give it away, as clueless as he is but eager to please, with no fear.

What he wouldn't give for touching Moony, petting him and scratching him behind an ear, healing his wounds or distracting him the best he can. He wouldn't mind the tongue bathing him, leave his hair in a horrible disarray as long as it makes him happy. It would - has - kept him warm and safe. For animals it's often a sign of love and care, one that Sirius wants to believe in with his throat barred out and heart hammering under Moony's large chest and fat tongue.

Remus would hate him to death if he knew. Just a small glimpse of Sirius' sick mind. It isn't the flowers. They weren't here until a few months ago but he always was. Moony too— heavy and curling on Padfoot, strong and playfully sweet with the best nibbles, always checking on him.

Sirius' love is all but twisted. He loves Remus. Remus is Moony, a werewolf that has tingled his deepest and darkest dreams ever since he first saw him in the flesh, one that he would kiss in any form: mouth big and long with a range of teeth or the one more delicate with a scar striking them, skin broken and mended over and over or the one with a strength smothered under dark brown fur getting whiter on his belly.

He takes a shaky breath, looking up at the showerhead, when he feels his hard cock in his hand.

Moony almost licked it. Probably clueless, busy with his grooming, but he felt it - that over his whole crotch like it was meant to. A jolt of excitement and burning shame that almost rivals the first time Moony licked Padfoot in the mouth; nothing romantic, just a normal wolf greeting their closest packmates and one he also gave to Prongs and a Wormtail. Padfoot got most of it though and Sirius feels dirty with his mouth open as he recalls the sudden but intense and best snog of his life.

Thank Merlin Remus never remembers what happens during these nights. Sirius can be alone with his guilt and hard cock over Moony.

If Moony recognized Sirius, not as Padfoot, would he offer the same treatment? The protection? Smothering him against his chest and peppering with licks and nibbles in between their games of catch? Would Remus do the same? Look at him with the same large eyes that appear so loving, so worried whenever Padfoot snaps and refuses to follow, and keep him close in the depth of winter.

When Moony's tongue dropped down too low, was it an accident or on purpose? Did he want to know? Has he smelt how Padfoot was bathing in the attention, blood pumping in arousal, and wanted to join in?

Could Padfoot match Moony? Their size is compatible and Sirius is sure that he got a peek at the werewolf's intimate once or thrice, bathing himself or getting rounded out by playing, nothing too clear but he wants to feel it.

It can't be that different from Remus', just a body enlarged and with a strength dug out by the moon and isntincts that would pin Padfoot to the ground with his arse up and begging for the weight to settle in-

[im-not-corrupted]

oohh!! seer dream!

Hi hi! This one's my lil fairy tale (kinda) fic about an immortal-human Dream who can see the dreams of everybody and make them come true. He lives in a cabin outside of the woods, and eventually, a Hob whose dreams always comes true stumbles upon him. They adopt a couple of ravens too, it's a great time. Here's a little snippet from chapter two :)

------

He bundles the poor thing up in the cloak, cradling it close to his chest. There is a faint warmth as he brushes a finger over silk-soft feathers, as cold as he imagined they would be, and the bird still breathes. Faintly, but it still does, and he is grateful for that. For the chance to do something to help heal it, to give it a place to grow warm again until it can take to the skies once more.

”What is your name, then?” he murmurs quietly, trying not to think overmuch of the biting cold. He will be home in the cabin soon, and that will have to be enough for him.

The name comes to him easily, a faint whisper in the back of his mind. “Jessamy,” he tries, and—yes. It fits. It fits perfectly, and the bird in his hands seems to respond pleasantly. Jessamy it is, then.

The walk back to his cabin is much slower than he would like. He is cold, breath frosting in front of him, and the winter clothes he wears does little for the chill. Still, the bird seems to enjoy being cradled close to him while bundled up so snugly in the fabric of his cloak--its dreams slowly become a tiny bit brighter, even if its desperation to feel less pain still occupies most of them--and so by the time he reaches his cabin, he thinks it is worth it.

It is even more worth it when he sees the man who stands on his doorstep once more, looking more than a little dejected where he stares at the closed door. It is the stranger again, the one who foolishly dreams of immortality, and Dream startles at the sight of him. Truly, he had not expected to see him the last time--at least, not for a reason as innocent and as lovely as simply wanting to offer Dream stories because he seemed to enjoy them the first time they met--and to see him a third time feels...

It feels impossible. It feels a little too good to be true, somehow. People do not visit him. He made this cabin his, far enough away from any civilisation that he will not be disturbed, because he did not want people to visit him. Because he did not want to be used for his abilities, because he wanted to hurt less, because he wanted to exist without such expectations.

Occasionally, there are some who stumble upon him. He is an unwilling legend in these parts, a story that has passed onto newer generations through word of mouth. He knows how they think of him, what they call him, what they want from him. And sometimes, somebody takes their chances. Makes their way towards his cabin on nothing but desperation and dreams alone in the hopes that somehow he exists, that, for some reason that is beyond him, he will make their dream a reality even if he had not done such a thing in centuries.

Yet this man continues to find him. He does not request his dream come true. He makes no demands. He does not even ask--he has requested only water and Dream's company, so far, and neither of these take energy or magic from him.

It is baffling. It is wonderful.

And still, it is hard to trust. A third time cannot be a coincidence, surely. He must know by now who Dream must be. What he must be. Dream does not think the man would be so rude as to outright demand he grant the dream that hangs in the air around him, one he imagines so fiercely Dream can still feel it without reaching out, but his muscles still tense.

After two nights of his companionship, after sitting by the fire with the man in front of him...After having somebody spend time in his company after so many years of the walls of his cabin closing in around him, he does not think he will be able to turn this man away. Not after all of that.

Immortality would be difficult to grant. It would be painful, and would take much from him. He thinks it might be a worthwhile price to pay. "Hello," he greets. It is...softer than he intends, quieter. The bird in his hand lets out a little sound, still in so much agony, and he brushes a finger over her head once more. It appears to soothe her, and he is happy to give whatever comforts he can.

The man whirls around, so fast Dream fears he may hurt himself accidentally. He remains properly balanced, however, staring at Dream with widened eyes as though he hadn't expected Dream to be there at all. Which is...strange. This is where he lives. Where else would he be?

A smile as bright and glorious as the sun breaks across his face. It is a smile Dream would do much to see again, one he wishes to burn into his memory so he might revisit it again. "Stranger!" he greets in return, and Dream thinks he will never get tired of the joy, the excitement, that shines through in his voice so easily. It has been terribly long since somebody has been truly delighted to see him. "I thought you weren't here for a moment."

"My apologies," he murmurs slowly. The man has not asked anything of him yet. He wonders how he has gotten lucky enough for this man to find him. "I had not been expecting guests."

[fayedartmouth]

Too many but im a curious person <3

🥸 🫘 🦷 💥 🛏

I'm gonna put my answers beneath a cut because whatever. I talk a lot, lol.

🥸 Does anyone in IRL know you write fanfic or original fiction? If not, do you plan on telling anyone this year?

Yes! Though KNOWING is not the same as letting them read it, and I've gained a significant amount of comfort in telling people that I write and that I write fic over the years. I'm old enough now that I know who I am and what I like, and I'm not super keen to apologize for it. So I've told my sister-in-law that I write it but when she asked to read it, I politely laughed it off and she never brought it up again. I told my daughter (who is 13) I write it, but I'm definitely not ready for her to read anything.

My husband knows and he's read a limited amount of it. If he had the wherewithal, he could easily find my stuff online but he hasn't for whatever reason. He would like me to talk more about it, but that's just hard for me to do. I think it's not so much that I write fic, but like the very specific type of fic that I write. I don't feel like having to explain why I'm obsessed with whumping my faves.

I have one coworker who knows and he does seem to read my stuff from time to time and talk to me about it. Which is surreal and kind of neat. He's been very chill about it and doesn't seem to think I'm a complete weirdo for the fact that I write as much as I do or what I do.

But like people like my parents? They will never know. LOL, never.

🫘 Spill the beans. What's a new project you're doing this year?

I wish I had a new one to talk about it! But I think I've blathered about the big ones already. The fix-it is a huge project for me, and that will preoccupy me for a while. At some point, I have to get back to Best of a Bad Deal Book Three, but I think my goal is to finish the first fic of my fix-it series.

Beyond that, there's nothing "big." I'm writing a Sarah and JJ as siblings fic for a friend, and I've got a bunch of other WIPs. I also have like two-three other really pressing ideas for shorter fix-its I'd LIKE to write but it is unclear if I'd ever have the time.

But yeah, I don't think I have anything dramatically new I haven't talked about.

🦷 Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're dreading to write (but is necessary to your plot)? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

Yes, I think so. With the fix-it, I ended up basically supplementing all of the back half of S4 because I just needed to for context and balance and in my head it was the only way to approach it. My problem is that I don't want to rewatch those episodes at all. In fact, at this point, I don't want to rewatch anything. Writing fic is great -- I'm good with that. But watching the show is still just too hard and I'm not sure I'll ever get to the point where I'll enjoy it again, even in small sections. Which kills me. To never watch Midsummers again? To never watch JJ's hot tub scene again? But it's just hard.

That said, I will do it because I need to ground the fix-it in what we saw on screen. I'd post a snippet but this answer is getting kind of long anyway. If you want more snippets, just ask. I'll share anything.

💥Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're most excited to write? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

Always! I'm excited about so many things. Most of the time, I tend to be most excited about upcoming whump. There's a scene in the second fic of the fix-it that I'm obsessed with but I feel like I shouldn't share it yet because I don't know. It seems like it gives too much away.

So I'll post a snippet at the very bottom here from JJ's recovery bit of the fix-it, when he's holed up in Morocco without the Pogues. Let's just say he's not doing well and his self destructive tendencies become a lot more overt as he takes a knife to his own stitches.

This fic is largely about JJ's downward spiral. The scene below isn't even his rock bottom, the poor guy.

🛏 Is there a new trope you'd like to write this year?

I don't know! I haven't actively thought about it. I think I've been doing fic a long, long time so I feel like I've been there and done quite a few things. I'm also guilty of going back to the same tropes that I love time and time again. So nothing is on my mind right now? But I'm really easily persuaded and I love new idea and new things. I love writing, so being challenged to do something new is always up my alley, even if right now my focus is nearly exclusively on making sure JJ isn't dead.

Here's the snippet:

It wasn’t as much a conscious thought as it was an inevitability.  His fingers were unusually steady as he reached the blade down, catching the first stitch and teasing it out–

And with a single, hard motion, he jerked his hand up, slicing clean through the stitch with surprising ease.  For a split second, the shock was all.  Then, blood welled up almost in protest.  And finally – belatedly – the numb echo of pain as it shuddered through his body.

The pain felt different, though.  It felt good.  It felt <i>right</i>.

At the very least, he decided, it felt real.

His lips twitched up with an unfamiliar rush of satisfaction.  The relief felt like the best kind of high, and it took nothing to catch the second stitch and rip it clean, too.

These quick fixes.  These temporary patches.

They didn’t work.

If they saved his life for a day, two days?  A week?

Even a year?

What did it matter?

They were just prolonging the inevitable.

Everybody knew it.

<i>Everybody</i>.

Luke couldn’t raise him.  John B’s friendship couldn’t save him.  Pope’s sacrifice was lost on him, and Kie’s love would never be enough to redeem him.

His mama had left him.

Groff had seen him, small and needy, and knew it wasn’t worth it.

Now, all JJ could do was let it bleed.

He had to let it bleed out.

There was no one left to hold him together.  He was alone, just like he was meant to be.

So he would take himself apart, stitch–

He cut the next one, slicing deeper with a grimace–

By stitch–

The pain hitched and his breathing tightened as he cut through the next–

By stitch–

The blood was weeping now, covering his abdomen.  He could feel it, trailing down his back and soaking into the sheets.  He watched, morbidly fascinated, as it left him, and the thrum of his heart rose tremulously in his ears.  His cuts were getting sloppier, reopening the wound and cutting into the healing skin.  He didn’t stop, though.  He couldn’t stop.

He grappled at the stitches, pulling the threads clean out of the skin until there was nothing left for his bloody fingers to grab.  His vision began to swim, and he had to put down the bottle to finish the work, pulling out the frayed edges until the blood made it too hard to see and there was nothing left to grab.

JJ exhaled, feeling light headed again.  His fingers were like lead weights as it slipped away from him, and he narrowed his focus as best he could, but it was a fleeting, impossible thing.  It hurt more than he thought it would, but the pain was part of it.  It defined him, and he held onto it as long as he could until he exhaled again.

His bloody fingers fell away.  The sound of his heart grew faint, and he lay there, open and exposed.  It was okay now.  He’d held on too long, he’d fought too hard.  He could let it bleed, let it go.

Until there was nothing left at all.

[short-circuit-the-great]

You Recruited: God. (Yar?) | Chapter Snippet

For "Magic May Not Always Work as Intended"

“I do not doubt your abilities, young Captain,” the stranger said, “but I must see to the completion of the task I have asked of you. Closely.”

See to the completion of the task, huh? Then he could’ve done it himself and left them out of it and saved them a month’s worth of headache. And vomiting over the side of the ship. And getting barbecued. And running from Wolves and Bears and Ravens. And everything else that happened.

It. Was. Not. Fun.

So at this point, Orion figured him and Ratbeard could bully the gold out of Mr. Mystery Cloak, so he stopped trying to be nice. Not that he was trying that hard before. But he was trying a little. Maybe. Not much. Fine, he wasn’t trying. But now he was done.

“Oh, now you want to join my crew,” he said, pointing his staff at him and letting the end crackle with magic that he just MIGHT lose control of by ACCIDENT. Not that he had much control in the first place, but Mr. Mystery Cloak didn’t need to know that. “After we spent all that time trying to find this place and did all the dirty work, now you want to pretend you've been a part of the team this entire time so you can take credit. Got it.”

A tree branch grabbed at his cloak, and he smacked it away with his staff. “Screw off!”

The forest rustled in response, and unseen eyes burned into his back, watching him from the dark. Orion turned to glare into that dark, making sure it knew HE was watching IT too. Then he turned to look at the stranger again, only to find he'd silently moved behind him, a hulking, hunched over mass of shadow barely distinguishable from the rest of the forest. His faint silhouette reached up to meet a tree branch that was slowly creaking down, and when he touched the branch, it recoiled as though it had been burned, retreating back into the canopy, trailing sparks of electricity.

Two violet eyes illuminated the dark, floating somewhere in that shadow, and for a split second, Orion thought he saw eight of them. But then there were two again, and he must have been going crazy.

“I understand your frustration,” the stranger said, “but I have only just freed myself of prior…”

The pause was thoughtful, intentional, and then he rumbled, “Commitments. As I was elsewhere in the Spiral, what you met in Cool Ranch was only a projection of me.”

He pushed away another branch that reached for him, and the tree hissed, and when the stranger looked back at Orion, his eyes glowed brighter.

And Orion swore he saw eight of them again.

For a split second.

But he must have been going crazy.

“This is me,” the stranger said, “in flesh and in blood, or as flesh and blood as I can be.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” Orion said. “Are you dead? I know some dead guys.”

The tree tried to grab the stranger again, who swatted it with his staff, making it hiss again. He did this without looking at it. He was attentive. Listening.

“That doesn't mean I want MORE, though,” Orion said. “Especially if it’s you. Even if I did want you in some magical world where I liked being massively inconvenienced, I wouldn’t actually because Scratch keeps drinking Yum and forgetting it's going to get all over the floor, and Bones throws his bones at me, so if you're, say, a skeleton, I wouldn’t want you on my crew in a million years because I’m tired of skeletons.”

“I can assure you I am not a skeleton," the stranger said. “Now, you and I had an agreement.”

“Yeah, I find your son and you give me money,” Orion said. “Lots of money. You’d better still give me the money, by the way. You invited yourself here. None of us ever wanted to see you again outside of payment.”

“Hrum,” the stranger said. “Indeed, that was the deal constructed between you and I, Captain Nightingale, and upon successful completion of this task, the appropriate payment will be rewarded. Now, upon leaving the Primordial Forest-”

“The what?” Orion said.

“It is not a place you will ever go,” the stranger said.

“I have a ship,” Orion said, leaning on his staff but still just as ready to bonk him on the head with it. “I can go anywhere.”

“Many have met their end sailing to Empyrea,” the stranger said.

“Dangerous voyage.” Orion shoved his staff under his arm so he could pretend to write that down on his hand. “Do not attempt. Forest in Empyrea.”

He closed the imaginary notebook and grinned a crazy grin. “Great, I'll do this next week! Maybe I’ll die in a storm so I never have to listen to you again.”

“Your bravery impresses me,” the stranger said.

“Your posture impresses me,” Orion said, and he grimaced. “Not in the good way. Euugh. You're shaped like a banana, or a croissant, or a SHRIMP. Am I gonna look like that? Is this why Mormo tells me to sit up straight when I read comic books? AM I GONNA TURN INTO A SHRIMP WHEN I GROW UP?”

“Ah, a sense of humor,” the stranger said with a rumbling chuckle. “You remind me of someone I met long ago.”

“You remind me of…” Orion thought for a moment, digging for something rude. “Uh…”

��Take your time.”

“Your mom?”

“I have no mother,” the stranger said, “nor do I understand the implied insult under the phrase Your mom, but I applaud your efforts nonetheless.”

“That’s a lot of big words,” Orion said, “you nerd.”

“I try my best,” the stranger said. “Now, as I was saying-”

“I forgot what you were saying,” Orion said. “Yawn.”

“I have traveled far and wide to reach this moment,” the stranger said.

“You’re far and wide,” Orion said, and the stranger only stared at him.

For a moment, he saw eight eyes again.

Then there were only two, burning and violet, the only light in the forest besides the dying stars above.

“I see you have much to say,” the stranger finally said with an amused chuckle, but not the way Valgard GoldenBlade chuckled at him. It was a laugh that was meant to be shared.

As though perhaps for once Orion wasn’t a cute kid no one would take seriously, but instead his equal.

Someone he respected.

“I will, then, not bore you with the details of my journey,” the stranger said. “I am with you in your dream, and I will be joining you in the plane you have traveled to as soon as I am able to recover my strength. Crossing stars and space and time, it is quite taxing for a being as old as I.”

“How old?” Orion said. “Like thirty-five? Like Bonnie?”

He squinted up at him, digging in his nose. “Daaaamn. That’s rough, buddy.”

[ibbsterkisster]

Okay, so, fun fact, I’m a full time teacher and (technically) a full time student, which has been pretty tough to combine these last few months. I teach at a school for students with behavioural and developmental problems, which makes me job pretty draining at times. It also means that I haven’t had the energy to update “the veil of secrecy” even though a large number of months have passed since my last update.

It’s coming! I just don’t know when, so I’m sorry for that! But, since y’all follow me for snippets and inside info, I’ll post what I’ve written for the next chapter so far. This is all unedited and unrevised, I didn’t read it through, and much of it can change when I do post the eventual chapter, but here is a skeleton of the chapter that’s up next;

Chapter 34– Scarlet Dawn

The morning.

Ted, Marlene, and Dorcas worked through the night to empty the caved-in tunnels to save those still alive while recovering the bodies of those who died when the ceiling collapsed. Every centimetre of their body felt raw as emotion had been scrubbed of their souls to allow space for rational thought.

“My sisters weren’t in there,” whispered Marlene softly, her eyes focused on the lights coming from Hogwarts. It was early in the morning so the backdrop of the battle was pitch black and only made the fight on the Astronomy Tower fiercer. The two wizards were both determined to win the battle. They knew Dumbledore was waiting on something. On the one thing that would give him that advantage.

But for some reason, Regulus hadn’t been killed yet.

And Dorcas knew why.

She just didn’t have it in her to feel guilty about it. Should she have told them that their assumption of Evan being willing to set Regulus on fire was incorrect? Yes. Would it have put an end to the battle? Probably. Was she going to take this guilt with her to the grave? Absolutely.

She wasn’t the only one who carried it.

Pandora knew. Barty knew. Sirius knew. James knew. They knew he wasn’t going to do it yet all of them had been content with keeping the others in that rose-coloured illusion.

And now they would have to pay for their game of deceit.

“Do you think they’re dead?” asked Dorcas, her voice too empty, too hollow.

Marlene shook her head. “I would’ve felt it.”

Dorcas wondered if the girls inside Hogwarts had felt it when their parents died. Did they claim that their family was alive, because they would’ve felt if otherwise? Or would grief hit them hard enough that they would wish for their prison again—a prison in which they lived thinking their parents were alive and looking for them.

“I wonder how many will live once this is all over.”

“How many survivors?” asked Marlene and Dorcas shook her head.

“They have this fantasy in their head that everything outside Hogwarts is safe. What will happen when they learn that outside is worse?”

Marlene stayed quiet for a moment. “Don’t make me think about that.”

“Sorry.”

Beside them, Ted stood and stretched his body before sighing quietly. “Five-minute break is up, girls, let’s go.”

“Thought you were staying here with the children?” asked Marlene, who’d declared ages ago that she was going to enter Hogwarts to look for her sisters no matter what happened.

“Yeah, well, the people of Hogsmeade got it. I changed my mind the moment half the castle caved in. They need help. We need to convince Evan to kill Regulus. If he isn’t able to be convinced, we need to distract him long enough to bring Regulus to Dumbledore.”

“Your wife will hate you if she finds out that you helped with Regulus’s murder,” warned Dorcas, and Ted held her gaze. His face was covered in dirt and blood and nothing was left of that sweet, jolly Hufflepuff that Dorcas had gotten to know after the first official Order of the Phoenix meeting.

“Are you going to stop me? Tell me now.”

Both blondes look at Dorcas, and she quickly looked away before taking a deep breath.

“No. No, I’m not.” Another thing she would forever feel guilty about, but the screams coming from Hogwarts were too loud to ignore.

The sun was coming up and they were nowhere near done with this fight.

—

Lily barely caught the familiar, screaming girl that tried to run past her towards safety. Her hand shot out and wrapped around a bony wrist. The tip of a wand pointed at her face but Lily quickly avoided the hex sent her way before cupping the girls face and forcing her to look at her. Familiar blonde hair was a tangled mess and big blue eyes—eyes she knew—looked up at her full of terror, before recognition sank in and tears welled up.

“Is my sister here?” whispered Melody McKinnon with the thinnest voice Lily had ever heard.

And maybe this was the thing that would stick to Lily until the day she died. Not the dead bodies scattered around her on the grounds. Not the screams that seemed to become part of the walls, forever echoing in their agony. Not the silver masks and green spells that were thrown around like they were Disarming Spells.

No, it was the confirmation that the McKinnon family was irrevocably ruined by this war. The McKinnon Family with hair just as golden as the sun, with smiles just as bright, and with a liveliness that shone so fiercely that it could bring joy in everyone that surrounded one of the family members. It was seeing the young girl that Lily used to know as one of the most cheerful people she’d ever met, be turned into just a shadow of that. Those eyes weren’t supposed to be sad.

None of the McKinnon family used to have sad eyes.

None of the McKinnon family was supposed to cower in fear.

“Buddy system, you stay here with me! Your sister is worried sick about you!” yelled Lily over the loud roaring surrounding them. Spells clashed against the walls surrounding them and Lily was ready to just about kiss Pandora out of gratefulness. The light-haired girl was throwing all she had at the Death Eaters surrounding them, ensuring that this distraction wouldn’t end up killing Lily.

Melody’s eyes flicked around them for a moment before focusing back on Lily. “Look at where we are! I don’t want to be your buddy, it’s dangerous here!”

Hmm… maybe not all of the McKinnon’s fierceness had left the castle. “True. Where is Margaret?” asked Lily quickly but Melody’s eyes already glazed over as another expression of unfiltered terror filled up every centimetre of her face.

“We are all going to die if we don’t hide…”

[deadgirlwalking91]

For the 40 questions ask: 8, 13, 17 👀☺️

Hello Sloane! <3

Thank you so much for the ask! Answers below the cut...

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Here's a snippet from Thank You for the Venom where Adam propositions Lute. This particular scene was a blast to write, mostly because they're both at a point where they feel something for each other beneath their dislike but aren't quite aware of the extent of it. I like to think I did an okay job at showing Adam being his usual awful, dick self mixed with an element of genuine desire for Lute—and then subsequently her vocalising her disgust for him but her body language suggesting otherwise.

(apologies for length, it's hard to cut it down without losing the context of the scene)

“Is that what you want, Lutey?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” he murmured, thoroughly enjoying himself. Mostly because he had control of the situation, and when it came to the two of them trading verbal blows, her sharp tongue usually held the upper hand whenever they were at odds. Which was most of the time.

Right now, though? He had her right where he wanted her, and he planned to relish it. 

“You’re a pain in the ass. Go annoy someone else.”

“Where’s the fun in that? None of them give me lip like you do. They’re all so boring.” he rose from his seat, keeping one arm wrapped around her waist. He took a quick sip from the glass that the bartender had left on the counter for him and shuffled Lute’s stool forward so he could stand behind her. He bent down, his free hand coming to rest on her bare thigh, chin hovering just above her shoulder.

“But you’re not boring, are you, Lute?” he whispered, rubbing her leg, taking in the firmness of her quad muscle, his fingers catching on the faint, golden scars that decorated her skin. “You could never be boring. Not with a filthy mouth like yours.” 

“Someone is going to fucking see you.”

“You’re not asking me to stop though, are you babe? Feel free to say the word, though, and I’ll back off. Besides, they’re too busy socialising to notice our little chat. I could take you right here, on the counter and nobody would notice a thing.”

He felt her exhale, her hand now holding his so tightly to her body he was sure she’d break his fingers. 

“Don’t worry, they’re not looking in our direction at all. See them having fun?”

“Yes,” she breathed. He noticed that her free hand was gripping the edge of her bar stool so hard that her knuckles were straining, the taught flesh around them white against her already pale skin. 

“You’re so tense, babe. Take a leaf out of their book, Lutey. I could help you relax,” he murmured into her shoulder, the hand on her leg now fingering the hem of her dress. “Imagine it, just one night where everything between us is off the table. I’ll fuck you senseless until your eyes are rolling into the back of your head. You won’t be able to walk for a week by the time I’m done with you.” 

13. What's the best writing advice you've ever come across?

Write a little every day! I find dedicating even just a little bit of time helps chip away at my progress and makes me feel like I'm getting closer and closer to my goal (whether that be finishing a fic or chapter). I do have a daily word count I try to hit, but honestly any progress is good progress.

17. Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

Out of order, haha. Some chapters I can write in chronological order, but others I jump between scenes depending on vibes. I have some draft scenes already written for the final TYFTV chapter, and the prologue for The Ghost of You and part of the first chapter is already written as well.

40 Questions List

[missmagooglie]

@zyrafowe-sny @planeoftheeclectic and @anyctibius requested a snippet from Practical Magic Chapter 3 for the WIP Wednesday game, so here it is!

"What the hell just happened?" Adriana asks as she surveys the mess that's been made on their table. "I've never seen the wind act like that. And did Abuela say something about a spirit?" Eddie frowns, remembering his conversation with Abuela in the laundry room. She'd been prepared for… well, maybe not this exactly, but something. Instead of answering his sister, he focuses on picking up the overturned dishes. Adriana rolls her eyes at him as he tries to scoop rice back into the serving bowl, and flicks her wrist. Every last grain of rice vanishes from the table and reappears neatly in the bowl. He gives her an annoyed look, and she sighs dramatically. “You don’t need to do everything the hard way, Eddito,” she tells him for what must be the millionth time. “You’re a witch. You’re allowed to use magic to make your life easier.” To demonstrate, she mutters a quick incantation and makes a sweeping gesture with her arms, and the table clears itself. Eddie knows that if he checks the kitchen, he will find the dishes cleaned and put away and the leftovers carefully wrapped up in the fridge.  “Show off,” he says to her, wiping an imaginary bit of dust from the corner of the table. “You’d be able to do that, too, if you would just–” “Practice, I know. Christ, you sound just like Abuela,” Eddie gripes. “Just because I don’t rely on magic for every little thing doesn’t mean I can’t–” “Ugh, you listen to Dad too much,” Adriana complains. She drops her voice into a poor imitation of their father’s, “‘You don’t need to use magic for every little thing just because you can.’ You know he’s just projecting because the gift skipped him, right?” “You are so annoying,” he tells her. “I’m going to check on Chris and Alex.” “Wait!” Adriana protests as he turns to leave. “I know you talked with Abuela this morning, and you’re the one who found those two. They obviously had something to do with all this. Tell me what is going on. They’re in some kind of trouble, right?”

[ladyknightellen]

Help! I have too many WIPs and I'm not sure what to work on next!!!

Full disclosure, I have more WIPs than I care to count, but I've narrowed it down to three to choose from. These are the three that have the most words so far, and actual chapters and scenes already done and I've posted snippets from all three of these for WIP Wednesday , Seven Sentence Sunday, and in some ask games. I would be equally excited to work on any of them, so I will let the people decide!

I'll give a brief summary of each and link to any snippets I've already posted so you can get an idea of each one and decide which one you're most interested in me working on next.

Note: All three have titles already, but they're not set in stone, because I may decide on something different over the course of writing them.

I Don't Need Wings To Fly: When Alex was eight years old, he had surgery to remove a tumor that left him paralyzed. When he was twelve years old, Alex saw Prince Henry for the first time in the glossy pages of June's teen magazine. When he was sixteen, he saw another magazine and another picture of Prince Henry with a headline that chilled him to his core. When he was eighteen, he met Prince Henry in person for the first time in the accessible seating area at the Rio Olympics.

I've posted snippets of this fic here, here, and here

Anatomy of a Secret Life: For the past ten years, Henry has worked very hard to make sure that no one ever suspects him. He's crafted his life so carefully that the only trace left of Prince Henry is his name, that he could never truly bring himself to let go of, and so far he's gotten away with it. But on the first day of his internship at Seattle-Grace Hospital, when he discovers that his one night stand is none other than FSOTUS Alex Claremont-Diaz, he's afraid his secrets might not stay secret much longer.

Please be advised, I will be playing fast and loose with timelines here and literally anything that's happened in Grey's Anatomy or RWRB is fair game to get thrown into this story wherever I feel like. (Believe me, I'm just as scared as you are)

You can find snippets here, here, and here

Piece by Piece: The day Henry was born, the doctor took one look at the princes' tiny heart, beating just under the surface of his skin exposed and unprotected, and told his parents that he would not survive the night. Twenty-two years later, Henry's heart is still beating under the layers of protection that his family has built around him piece by piece whether he asked for it or not. Maybe it's time to find his own armor.

This is an idea I've had almost since the moment I first read the book and it's been in the back of my mind ever since. I've posted a snippet of it here

[stabbyfoxandrew]

FAQ

Hi guys! Sometimes I get repeat questions so I thought I'd make this FAQ post. I think I've covered everything. If you think of anything else that needs to be added, please let me know! <3

What is WIP Wednesday? It's a little game I started doing because of Ash, aka jtl-fics. It’s sort of a way to motivate me to write. And this way I’m able to release tiny little installments each week instead of having to finish whole chapters before I post. It's been so helpful. I've written more since last August than I had in years.

Okay, cool. So, how does WIPW work? When Wednesday rolls around, wait for my WIPW post to appear on your dash then you can send me an ask with your request. After I get done writing, I'll answer your ask with a snippet. :)

Please note: ~ I only take WIPW asks on Wednesdays, hence the name. ~ My ask box button will say either ‘wipw open 🔓’ or 'wipw closed 🔒’. Please do not send asks after it’s closed. ~ I do not answer asks in order anymore. I answer all of one AU’s requests, then move through the rest until I’m done. ~ The length of the snippets varies, based on how the POV changes or how the scenes fall. It also depends on my mental health. ~ Please be patient with me. I’m just a little guy. ≽^•⩊•^≼

What fics do you work on for WIPW? I have six ongoing projects to choose from, they're listed on my pinned post.

Can I send more than one request on WIPW? Please don't, unless I've said otherwise! Getting too many asks stresses me out and if I allow one person to send multiple, I have to let everyone. So, just pick your favorite please! Someone else will ask for the others.

Are your WIPs ever going to be on AO3? Yes! When they're closer to being finished I plan to tidy them up— make minor edits, check for continuity problems, grammar, etc— and post them to AO3! This won't be happening for a long while, so please feel free to go ahead and read them here if you're interested. :)

How do I read your AUs in order? Each of my AUs has a 'masterpost', a post where I link to each and every piece ever written. You can use it to click through and read each piece in order. Alternatively, if you're brand new to my fics you can click the link on the masterpost for a chronological view of the AU's tag! :)

Can I reblog WIPW posts? Absolutely! It makes me really happy when you do!

How can I leave comments on WIPW stuff? You can reblog a post and put comments in the tags, reply to the post, or send me an ask with questions or comments about my AUs! Though I might not answer every comment I receive, I appreciate them all so much. Y'all don't even know.

Do you like fanart? Yes. I love it. I adore it. I will give you my firstborn child. You don't even understand. I've received fan art from three or four people and I still think about them every single day. That being said, if you do make fan art please tag me in the post (@/stabbyfoxandrew) or send me an ask/ message with the link so I can see! 🥺 I'll also link your art in the masterposts so everyone else can find it! <3

Okay, okay. That's all great but do you have any finished fics? Yep! There's several oneshots on my AO3! :3

When are you going to update cosmic lost and found?! I don't know. TwT It got so popular (to me) so quick and I got freaked out and I haven't worked on it in ages. I'm sorry. :( I have the fic planned out, through to the end. But working on it is so hard for some reason. I shouldn't have decided to rewrite canon. :')

Can you tell me about your OCs? Yes. 🥺🥺🥺 I'm dying to tell you about them. If you'd like to know anything about my OCs please, please, please send me an ask! I love talking about them but I'm so afraid of getting on peoples' nerves. :')

Why are you taking so long to answer my ask? Because I'm just a little guy and sometimes I don't have the energy to reply right away. TwT

Can we be friends? Maybe! :) If we're mutuals and you'd like to talk to me, please feel free to send me a message. I must warn you, I'm a lot more awkward in messages than I am in my askbox. I don't know why. I'm sorry. TwT

Do you write for any other fandoms? Not at the moment. (RIP to my klance fics.)

Do you have fic recs? Possibly! It depends on if I've been reading much. You can always ask. I might have to tell you no though. :')

Do you allow translations of your fics? No.

What about podfics? Yes.

Is your name really Aerie, you know that's a clothing brand and also means bird nest? Yes. I thought I made it up when I was like 13/14. Was very distraught when I found out that wasn't true. :') But yeah. Aerie is my name and I love it.

Who's Jess? My younger sibling.

Who's Rascal? My very old cocker spaniel and the best boy ever. :3

...What's wrong with you? Oh. Many things. Some of them probably don't even have names yet.

Thanks for reading my FAQ, if you still have a question please feel free to ask! <3 aerie