#I don't know about my current fics or what I plan to do going forward so don't read this looking for answers on that.

[peninkwrites]

(putting my very long, very personal ramble under a readmore so folks can avoid it) (this won't include any of my plans for going forward or for my writing but I'm not going anywhere so don't worry about that. love to you all.)

A little disclaimer: If you have zero context for what I'm talking about, apologies for not explaining in depth, but this post won't be relevant to you otherwise. All you really need to know is that it seems that Wilbur Soot is an abuser, and Shubble came forward and talked about it recently. He was not named, but from what she shared, I believe that was who she was talking about. I don't say this to speculate, and if you disagree, I'm not here to argue over it, but it's enough for me personally to not to want to support him indefinitely, save for Shubble explicitly saying she wasn't talking about him.

Additionally, these thoughts are some incredibly personal and self-centered rambling. It does not reflect where my priorities lie, with supporting Shelby for coming forward above all else, but other people have said that much better than I have, and this post is really just a place for me to vent some of my feelings.

I prided myself on not falling prey to “parasocial relationships.” I didn’t get invested in the personal lives of content creators, only in their creative works. I thought this protected me somehow. I knew next to nothing about Wilbur Soot’s personal life, but I admired him deeply as a writer and empathized with him as an artist. I projected so heavily onto his character and did so for over three years. When I waited for his final dsmp stream, I felt panicked. Like my survival hinged on how he ended this story, and then he ended it in a way I could live with, and I thought I could go on loving this story and these characters for what they had been, no matter how messy the rest of the endings to follow were. His character was mine in so many ways. He had some of my problems and I gave him some of my own. I used him to process quite a bit. And now that part of myself is irrevocably tainted.

When the stuff came out about Dream, I was upset, but not betrayed. I never followed the creator and he existed only as a character to me. All I grieved then was the community his actions destroyed and most importantly the people he hurt. I planned to continue writing for the DSMP, even as I refused to follow any content involving him. It felt like a pause, not a full stop, while I ensured what I was doing did not show him any support. I also gave that character no pity and therefore the man behind him no pity, I had no personal investment in his character.

Now my response is visceral and bitter and I don’t know how to go on writing, because this character meant the world to me. I don’t know how to write about a character I truly love and see myself in, knowing the person who also loved and saw himself in that character, who created that character, has done horrible things. I don’t know how to write any of these other characters I have loved and cared for for over 3 years because he has poisoned them. All of it turns my stomach now and I feel so betrayed. The thought of his character is tainted because it’s connected to his voice and his face. I cannot separate the art from the artist both because it was the inclusion of the authorship within the story which affected me so strongly, and because there are things within the text that I look back on now and can only see that this person was always this way. I couldn’t sleep last night. I kept thinking of c!Wilbur’s line when he found out about exile, “he didn’t actually hit you though“ and his horror when c!Tommy responded that he had, that for some reason that was the turning point. The implication that it was only crossing that line, that particular type of violence, which made something wrong. Fucking disgusting.

I’ve tried to find another story before now. For the last few years, honestly, I’ve looked for something to latch onto the way I have with this one, but nothing feels the way this did. I know I’ve been clinging to something gone or at least mostly gone, both the community and the story, but I haven’t known how to let go when nothing makes me feel the same way, even when the feeling has faded and changed so much with time. This was never supposed to go on this long. Honestly, the reason I started posting mcyt stuff to my sideblog instead of my main was because I assumed I would get over it in a few weeks, delete the posts, and move on. Three years. 40 works. Over a million words. Just. Fuck.

I loved these characters so much and I’ve wrapped up my writing in them for so long it’s hard to separate the two. At this point, it feels like these characters are what allow me to write, separate from the main story, but a place where I could work things out for myself as a person and try new things as a writer. And I’ve tried so hard to feel the same way about the QSMP, but maybe it’s because we’re out of lockdown so I don't have time to watch much, or I’ve just changed more than I’ve thought, but I haven't gotten attached the way I did even when I look at the stories being built there and can see the heart in them, the storytelling, the care, just as much as the DSMP if not more. There’s no good reason for it, it just hasn’t locked into place the way this story had, having been the perfect storm of circumstances. The DSMP came to me during one of the worst years of my life, and I have loved it so much I miss that time even with all the bad it carried too.

And now this thing I have been holding onto can only make me angry, hit me with grief and disgust. Fuck, the only plan I’ve had for an original novel in years is a loose adaptation of TDDD. My senior thesis was largely a novella about two siblings with a complicated relationship, the older fatalistic, the younger brave to the point of ignorance. So even that original project has poison in it now. All of it, all of my fucking work, all of my growth as a writer, all of my writing for over three fucking years has poison in it.

I’ve felt lost as a writer for a long time and the only thing keeping me anchored was these characters. And I don’t know how to cut them away from myself and I don’t know how to cut him away from what’s left when his writing, his character, undeniably gave me so much of a spark. When I’m happy, I write. When I’m sad, I write. There's so much bad in the world right now, but I could always fall back on writing. And now my main means of escape is the grief. Far more than ever before. I know this too shall pass and all that, and this hasn’t actually stolen my ability to write, but right now it all feels so ruined. I don’t know how long it will take for me to be able to look back on what I’ve made and not feel like this. I'd maybe moved on in some ways, but not all. There was so much left I wanted to do.

If you’ve somehow read this far, know that I love this community with my whole heart. I never quite made friends with any of you, even as I wanted to, and it's felt too late for a long time now. My beloved mutuals (and followers that are mutuals in all but name) I have found so much joy with you, in what all of you have created. I wish I could hold onto that above all else, even if I’m not quite sure how. I’m not going anywhere, to be clear. I won’t delete my blog and fall off the face of the earth or anything. I still love what all of you create and care about, even if things have changed and our interests don’t always align anymore. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to detach this story from the creator, to love any of it the way I did or even love what I myself created again. I don’t really know why I’m writing this or if I’ll even post it except for the fact that you all are the only people who could understand.

Again, this was a deeply personal rant, not a statement about the situation as a whole, nor do I think this situation's impact on me takes an ounce of precedent over the person actually involved. The most important takeaway from this is what Shelby has shared, the importance of believing victims, to do what we can to protect ourselves from abuse that doesn’t seem obvious, and to look out for each other. Take care of yourselves, everyone.

[wonderlandwalker]

Soon and Sooner | Finnick Odair x Reader

THG Masterlist / Inbox

Summary: Finnick makes his way back to you after the arena separated the two of you last night. He is worried about your safety in a place as cruel as this, but he knows in his heart he'll see you soon again. Turns out it wasn't exactly the reunion he had hoped for.

Content Warnings / Tags: Angst, violence, blood, wounds, mentions of death, hurt with no comfort, no use of y/n

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I don't know how to write long fics I'm sorry, but enjoy this piece of heartbreak that's been stuck in my head xx

Whether or not today was a good day depends on at what point of that day you asked. Finnick was alone, as alone as someone can be in the arena. He wonders at which point a greater plan is at work, and at which point it's a coincidence, but the more he thinks about it, the less he wants to. Maybe you had been separated on purpose, singling everyone out for a carefully curated show, maybe this was simply how things were meant to be. It doesn't matter either way, he tells himself, because he'll find his way back to you soon enough

The leaves rustled around him, and if he had been home the melody would have calmed him, but not here. It wasn't relaxing in the same way a breeze is on a summer day by the lakes, not serene any longer. In the arena it only put him on the edge further, dangerously close to the edge. He had last seen you yesterday, having no choice but to go in opposite directions. But that wasn't what worried him, because he knows how to find his way back, recalls the direction of the rendezvous you were probably waiting at already, all he had to do was get there too.

So he went on, only taking small breaks to refill his water, check his surroundings, make sure he would live to be with you once more. As the day passed and he got closer to his destination, he found himself growing negligent, deciding to worry later about the cut on his leg from the thick branches, not bothering to thread carefully over the ground anymore. He was growing restless, desperate.

It didn't take long for Finnick before he could already see the beach coming closer, determination carrying him far. With every step closer he couldn't deny his growing worry, his worry for you. He knew for sure you had survived the attack yesterday, your picture had not been shown in the sky and he had felt relieved, but this morning there was  a cannon, and he had no idea who that belonged to. He thinks he would know, somehow, if it had been you, that his heart was so irrevocably tied to yours he would have felt the string being cut, but that doesn't stop him from wondering, what if it had been you. What if you had been left with a fatal wound that claimed your life after hours of agony, what if there had been another attack, what if-. No, he would know, and he knows he'll see you again soon, so he continues on.

As he turned through the clearing, he could see you standing there, laughing at some joke Johanna had made. The two of you had always had a soft spot for each other, finding family in even the most dire of circumstances. As he finally saw you, the band around his heart released, no longer being tugged at with every step he took. As he finally got closer to you, he called out for you, knowing you’d reach out for him with the same amount of vigor. As he finally reached out for you, so close to having you in his arms once more, he was lost in the sight of you turning around, beaming at him, only for your expression to drop faster than his heart could. He hadn’t even seen it, hadn’t even thought about it, his sole focus on finding you. If he had paid more attention he might have remembered that he was not alone in this arena, that there were people here hunting you, that he was sharing delicate secrets by shouting them loudly, his mind too clouded by its current storm to even begin predicting the next.

He blinked once, twice, but your eyes were wide, no hesitation as you rushed forward. His mind tricking him with a false narrative of ease in a moment where he should have known better. You rushed for him, and he expected the sweet relief of holding you in his arms, but all you did was reach for his shoulders, spinning him around and out of the path of the tribute he could now see retreating back into the forest. He should have known better than to get lost in the euphoria of your presence, you’d always lecture him for it, ranting about how you’re not worth dying for. As he looked back over to you, expecting you to tell him exactly that and kiss him when he’d promise not to do it again, he wasn't smiling anymore either. His bubble shattered into pieces like the sand he was standing on, joining it in hopes that never came to be.

It was as if you hadn't blocked the hit at all, as if the dagger had found its way into his heart regardless. At first he didn't even see it, too caught up in the look of pain on your face, too determined to fix it for you, but he looked down to see he had assigned himself an impossible task.

He felt like a statue, ever forced to watch the violence of mankind without means of intervering. He wanted to envelop you in his arms and whisper assurances to you, but he was too scared that his white lies would be too crimson from the blood that was dripping down onto the beach. The beach, a place that held so many memories of the both of you, now forever stained by this single day.

Simple seconds ticked by, time he once thanked, betraying him. You dropped to the ground like a wave collapsing in on itself, holding a power too great that must now be returned. And the moment it did, the second your now limp body hit the sand beneath you, finding its final destination, he screamed once more. Maybe it was the shock being forced to wear off too soon, maybe it was the denial he didn't want to leave, but the sight before his own eyes was one he could no longer ignore.

He rushed for you, sliding onto his knees as he reached for you, shouting in agony for you to stand back up, to smile at him and cup his jaw like you always did when he was worried. He yelled at those around him, the people he called his friends, doing nothing to save you. And if he had been paying more attention, he would have heard the cannon just like them, would have heard the sound signaling it no longer mattered, because you were already gone. If he had been level headed he would have known that he was only attracted more attention from the other tributes out there, not that it would have mattered, he would have gladly stayed here for them to kill him, maybe he would have even wished for it, because his world would forever be incomplete without you. He would spend eternity searching for you even if he knew it was fruitless, because to him, you were absolutely worth dying for. Not that you’d let him, you would have never let him, you would lay down your own life before letting him sacrifice his, but he could do without the cruel reminder. 

Yes, he should have realized it was too late, but he couldn't, he couldn't hear anything other than the ringing in his ears from how loud he was screaming for you, desperate for you to comfort him, already longing to feel your fingers sifting through his hair, the one thing that calmed him down when nothing else could. He could feel someone reaching out to him, and he wished they were here to let him join you, wondering if you’d ever forgive him if he indulged the thought. But the touch didn’t bring relief, it was simply another painful truth trying to pull him into a now worthless world. 

He could hear them now, hear them talking about having to move, about getting him to move, it only made him cling to you harder. He could no longer feel your muscles confulsing in slight twitches against his fingers, the stillness was unsettling, but he wouldnt dare let go.

If only he could see the rose flush disappearing from your cheeks, the glimmer in your eyes fading to join the others amongst the stars, here you were, finally in his arms again, but he didn’t enjoy the feeling like he thought he would, here you were, reunited yet never having been able to say hello, never even being able to say goodbye. He wonders if he shouldn't have stopped to drink water from the stream he had passed, thinks about how he could have walked faster, not worried about a time limit he hadn’t even known existed, he ponders the possibilities from each and every second that had separated the two of you, every breath he took without you and every breath he’ll take longing for you now, wishing you’d be there to take it from him. Every step he took and every step he’ll be taking wishing you were at the end of it. 

He had been so sure he would see you soon, that you were still here because he could simply feel it, this time he felt it. He felt the connection being severed, and would spend the rest of his life holding on to his end of it. Would wonder for eternity what would happen if he'd only gotten here sooner.

[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth

chapter 1: suffocation.

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read that, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: canon-typical blood, violence, gore, mutilation, death, & animal death. the animal death is pretty detailed, so please don't read this fic if you're triggered by that kind of topic.

author's notes: This first chapter is a little bit of a mess imo, but I wanted to post it to assure you all that I don’t want to abandon this fic. It may take me longer to post and update chapters, especially since I graduated from uni (mwahahah) and my schedule may get busy. Still, I really enjoy writing this story—and you all seem to enjoy reading it. Both of those things are enough to keep me going.

Something extremely ironic happened around the time I was writing the last few chapters of Act 1. So… if you remember, in Chapter 6, Hannibal and the reader go on an opera date (of sorts). During that date, the reader remarks that they “don’t know the first thing about opera.” Those words were pretty much taken directly from my mouth. Fast forward to about mid-fall, I get a call for an interview for an internship. I end up doing the first interview, then a second interview… Then I get the internship. The irony? This internship is at an opera house. (What’s even more ironic is that I’m now getting to the point where I do actually know things about opera—I know different productions and directors and technical terms… It’s absolutely crazy. The universe is making me eat my words, lol.

To make matters even stranger, I was in the office for the internship one day and caught a glimpse of a television, which broadcasts what’s happening on the stage. Imagine my absolute surprise and fear when I look up at the television screen with absolutely no expectations and see a single man in a beige jumpsuit with something over his face standing on stage, his shadow silhouetted against the wall behind him. Imagine my surprise when I see that, not only is he standing in an enclosure with iron bars (just like the ones at Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane), but it also looks as if he is staring right at me—and he looks exactly like Hannibal Lecter in captivity. It was simultaneously scary as hell and weirdly reassuring. Anyway, I’ve taken these experiences as cosmic confirmation that I should continue writing this fic. Lol.

Anyway. Back to the important things… I’m planning to borrow elements from both Silence of the Lambs and Red Dragon, but, similarly to the first act, there will be canon divergence and canon non-compliance. Also, as you probably discerned in the past act, there is some plot armor. But, this is fiction.

Your life currently takes two forms: before the Chesapeake Ripper… and after. 

Before the Ripper, the leaf-stained pavement of the Bureau filled you with hope. Walking through the agency’s halls was a testament to the hard work that brought you there. Each assignment was an invaluable opportunity to further develop your interrogation and combat skills. You went to classes, completed assignments, trained, slept, and repeated the cycle the next day. Over and over and over again. But you were happy. 

Life doesn’t feel so simple anymore. You feel like you’ve been fading for a while now, slowly deteriorating as you invest more and more energy into catching criminals. Your work has morphed into an exhausting mutual exchange, one in which you take murderers’ freedom and they take your restful nights. You can’t remember the last time you rested unencumbered by the horrors you’ve seen in the field.

By some miracle, Jack manages to keep the press relatively uninformed about the happenings behind the Ripper case. Everyone is too absorbed with the fact that Hannibal’s in captivity to remember to ask just how he got there, and you’re very grateful for that lapse in memory. You can just imagine the interactions you’d have with paparazzi. Is it true that he stabbed you? Is it true that he purposefully left you alive, only to surrender in your front yard and torment you with the constant knowledge that he will remain in the same place, lying in wait until the moment you will inevitably need him? You shudder. 

Even with all the chaos that comes from the Ripper case—the media coverage of Hannibal and the attention the FBI gets—life goes on. Back at the Bureau, you occasionally lecture the new recruits and you take on assignments along with the rest of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Jack is still wont to call on you at the most ungodly of hours; Beverly still trades lighthearted taunts with you; Brian Zeller still seems to hate your guts, for reasons you’re not quite sure of; Alana and you are back to a steady friendship, albeit with occasional beats of unexplained tension and awkward silence. 

Criminality continues to occur in the Ripper’s wake. You’re not surprised: the imprisonment of one criminal doesn’t beget the imprisonment of another. Even so, it’s difficult for you to proceed as if things are normal. You see traces of Hannibal in each of the monsters you apprehend. Your emotions are starting to eat you alive from the inside. You don’t have a therapist to assist you with those emotions anymore. And, while you think therapy would be helpful, you also know that there’s no way in hell you’d be able to actually be honest with a therapist without being imprisoned yourself. The things you’ve done and the urges you’ve felt…  Neither is even close to a semblance of normality. 

You take a deep breath. You have no issue stopping other criminals, sending them to empty white walls and thin mattresses. Why was Hannibal Lecter any different? You suppose you shouldn’t fool yourself—you know the answer to that question already: you got to know him. Beyond the mask of the Ripper, beyond the bloodied skin and cruel smile… You started to see him as a man, perhaps even a friend. Perhaps, even-

You tear yourself away from that thought process before it gets too far along. The semantics don’t matter now. All that matters is that you’re back in the field, back popping pills for your headaches and blinking fresh horrors from your eyes. All that matters is that the memory of Hannibal Lecter begins to fade away in the face of work— so much so that keeping busy helps you forget the pain. 

Meanwhile, a hundred miles away, a veterinarian walks into a stable under a farmer’s guidance. The two stand over a dead horse and the veterinarian frowns. The farmer explains the horse’s death before stepping aside, letting the professional work. 

The farmer quickly becomes lost in their thoughts. They hadn’t expected the horse to die in the middle of her pregnancy. The farmer swallows past the tightness in their throat and tears their eyes away from the horse. They were looking forward to the birth of the foal, looking forward to helping the mother raise her offspring. The stable air suddenly feels suffocating and they take a look at the veterinarian’s turned back before stepping outside to get some fresh air. 

Moments later, the veterinarian rejoins them. The doctor’s lips are drawn in a tight line and there’s a troubled expression on their face. The farmer feels any remaining composure promptly seep out of them, as the veterinarian suggests they come back into the stable. 

“It feels like there’s something here,” the veterinarian says, their expression conflicted. They touch the horse’s womb with a gloved hand and frown. 

“She was pregnant,” the farmer chokes out, their throat feeling tight again. It hurts to utter the words aloud.

“With twins?” The veterinarian asks, turning around to look at them. 

“No, just one baby,” the farmer shakes their head. Why would they ask about twins? Surely, they don’t feel another baby in the womb. The thought of two deaths is morbid and distressing enough, but three? The farmer inhales shakily. 

“There’s… something else here.” The veterinarian remarks, their face contorting as they feel the horse’s womb once more. They turn back to look at the farmer for assistance. The farmer feels a horrible, inexplicable sense of foreboding crawling up their skin. Despite that feeling, they nod to the veterinarian. The doctor nods in response and turns to the horse’s womb, before making an incision.

The veterinarian unearths the dead foal and places it on the nearby hay with infinite gentleness. The farmer’s chest begins to hurt as they come to terms with the sight before them. Their pain doesn’t end there, however. The veterinarian continues slicing along the skin before stopping and glancing back at them inexplicably. It’s as if they’re waiting for permission to continue. The farmer appreciates the gesture and they nod in affirmation. This mystery needs to be put to rest. 

The veterinarian inhales sharply, sending the farmer’s heart racing. The farmer prompts them to step aside, revealing the horse’s womb. There’s… something there. The farmer squints at it, a gasp ripping its way from their lips as they realize just what they’re looking at. A human corpse lies on the stable floor, a stark shock of muted crimson against the golden strands of hay. The farmer brings a shaking hand to their pocket and calls the police. 

Unaware of these occurrences, you slowly exhale and pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache coming on. You busy yourself with grading your students’ papers, and you don’t learn of the corpse until a few hours later, when the medicine begins to kick in and you’re foolishly convinced that you’ll be fine. Before you can leave for the day, Jack is walking up to you and beckoning you to the lab. The two of you grab Beverly along the way, which leaves the three of you to enter the laboratory that Price and Zeller are currently situated in. When you walk in, you’re immediately assaulted with the scent of formaldehyde. Price explains the situation behind the corpse, how a veterinarian found the body within the womb of a horse. The notion is strikingly similar to the other deaths by suffocation that have been eluding the BAU for several weeks. Jack seems to think the same thing, as he rattles off what he knows so far about the killer. You add things here and there—small things you can notice from the state of the corpse itself—before Price gets the group back on track. 

“I called you here because…” Price trails off, frowning before readjusting his stethoscope and placing it on the victim’s chest once more. The room is deathly silent as he concentrates. “...There’s a heartbeat.”

“That doesn’t come with the onset of rigor mortis—we all know that,” Zeller continues, looking down at the corpse with a somewhat puzzled expression. He seems to sense you staring and looks up, his eyebrows furrowing as his gaze meets yours. “She’s dead.” He announces with complete certainty. 

“She was found in the womb of the horse?” Beverly asks. Everyone else nods and she pauses for a moment. “Make an incision and check the chest cavity.” There’s an unshakeable certainty in her voice and it throws you off for a moment, before you realize what she’s getting at. It’s not unfathomable that something was buried within the victim’s chest cavity. Suffocation seems to be a common theme with this killer. Did they put some sort of dead animal in the corpse? The thought makes your stomach turn. 

“Alright,” Price acquiesces, after glancing at Jack for approval. Crawford nods, evidently attributing value to Beverly’s suggestion. The four of you—Crawford, Beverly, Zeller, and you—watch as Price leans in and makes a careful incision in the chest. For several moments, there’s nothing but a tense silence in the air as Jimmy works. The quiet is broken a few seconds later when Price takes a sharp breath. “I saw something.” 

“Keep going,” Jack demands, bringing Jimmy’s attention back to the task at hand. Price nods and makes the incision a little bigger. All of you are watching in anticipation, waiting for something you’re not quite sure will appear. 

All of a sudden, there’s a flash of motion. A yellow blur flits about the cavity, before reaching upwards and extending its wings to fly out. You watch in disbelief as the bloodstained bird stretches its wings and flies about the lab, colliding with the sheen of the fluorescent lighting and sending shadows flickering along the floor.

Jack is the first one to respond. He quickly paces over to the small window located near the ceiling and opens it, allowing the bird an escape. For a few moments, the bird doesn’t seem to notice: it’s too overwhelmed with the sudden change in environment to comprehend that it has just been granted an escape. It has a chance at true freedom, but it’s too busy taking in the laboratory’s flimsy promises to notice. The bird eventually notices the open window and flies out of it, before Jack closes the laboratory off from the outside world once more. 

The group begins discussing what just occurred, but your mind is elsewhere. You feel a strange sort of kinship with the bird: suffocated beneath rows of ribs and walls of tissue and skin; banished to the space between; too taken with the small allowances to notice freedom within reach. You pinch the bridge of your nose. Your headache is returning, as pressure builds up in your temples and constricts your very skin. It’s significantly harder to breathe. Every time you blink, you’re greeted with the memory of that bright yellow bird bursting from its confines, greeting the stale laboratory air with beating wings. You step outside the lab to get some fresh air, trading your smaller prison for a bigger one—just as the bird did mere moments ago. 

It doesn’t take long for Jack to find you. After all, you’re not hidden—you’re simply leaning against the wall in the hallway that leads to the laboratory. Jack strides up to you, his hands in his pockets and that familiar tight line drawn across his face. You suspect he’ll get wrinkles a lot sooner than everyone else his age—sheerly because of all the responsibility he holds and the pressure he’s forced to perform under. It must be exhausting to be the one calling the shots in these horrible situations. You had always assumed Jack had the easy job, but looking at him now, you think that assumption must be incorrect. He is suffering, just as you are. Perhaps… Jack has just grown better at hiding it. 

The thought makes Jack’s remark slip in one ear and right out the other. You ask him to repeat himself and he sighs. “We need to go to the stable where the corpse was found. There are several police officers there already, but…” But we need to do a more thorough investigation , he doesn’t say. You hear him anyway and nod. Jack walks past you and paces purposefully down the hall, not even bothering to look and see if you’re following him. Perhaps he already knows you will follow him. 

What follows is an awkward car ride. Neither of the two of you attempt to break the tense silence, leaving a suffocating air of uncertainty and indecision. You don’t know what to say to Jack, so you instead busy yourself with looking out the window. You resolutely pretend not to notice your boss’s gaze repeatedly flitting over to you and, after a painful amount of time, Jack is driving up the gravel path that leads to a modest farmhouse and a beautiful wooden stable. 

The place is already crawling with police officers and FBI agents. Unfortunately, the police were the first ones to be informed of the case, which means the FBI is forced to share jurisdiction with them. You know Jack isn’t too happy about that, especially once you see the frown on his face as he watches the police officers clumsily investigate. They don’t have the right training for a situation like this and Jack is delighted to inform them of that fact—albeit with much more sugar coated wording than you would have utilized. A few minutes later, the cops are gone, leaving Jack, you, and the set of agents that Jack requested to follow after your car on the drive over. The other agents are quick to secure the crime scene, while Jack and you decide to explore the premises a little first. 

The property features a small, rather unremarkable house with slightly dirty bricks and a well-loved bench swing on the porch. The front door is agape, revealing hardwood flooring and items strewn about. Jack and you exchange a glance before walking into the home. You don’t see any sign of life until you reach the kitchen and come across an older woman sitting at the table, stirring a cup of tea. You’re quick to show your badge and explain the situation to her. She doesn’t seem to have a great idea of what’s going on, so you eventually decide to leave her be and keep looking about the property. 

Next to the house is a rather large stable, complete with several different stalls and a wide variety of tools. You have no idea what half of the tools could possibly be used for, but the majority of them look as if they’ve been used at least once. There are bales of hay in the corner of the room and various accessories hanging near the post of each horse’s stall. There are only a few horses in the stable—you think you could’ve seen a few in the pastures out back earlier. There’s a horrible stench pervading the air, and it’s not the typical odor that comes from a farm. It’s the smell of death. You look at Jack and he nods, inclining his head and gesturing for you to continue exploring the stable. It isn’t until you reach the last stall—one that is inexplicably larger than the rest—that you find the source of the stench. The rotted corpse of the horse rests at the back of the stall, the womb flayed open. The organs have been removed, but the smell of decay remains. Surprisingly enough, you’re not alone in this stall. A brown-haired man sits cross-legged on the floor next to the horse, a blank expression on his face. 

“...Hello?” You decide to try. There’s no response. “Excuse me?” Still no response. 

You glance at Jack and he raises his eyebrows, before turning to the stranger. “You must be Peter Bernardone,” Jack remarks. The mention of the man’s name seems to be enough to get his attention. On second thought, you remember Jack offhandedly mentioning that there may be a stablehand on site. It seems you’ve found him. 

“That’s me,” the man replies flatly, staring ahead with glassy eyes. He looks as if he’s on an entirely different plane of existence, as he looks at the wall ahead of him with enough intensity to melt it.

“Jack Crawford, FBI,” Jack answers with an introduction of his own. He flashes his badge for a moment before putting it away. You can’t tell if Peter is even paying attention, but you do the same to make him more comfortable. “We’re just here to ask you some questions.”

“I want to talk,” Peter murmurs quietly, just barely loud enough to be heard. He pulls his knees up to his chest; his eyes haven’t strayed from the corpse of the animal in front of him. You feel your chest constrict a little at the sight. 

“Good,” Jack responds with a nod. 

“...To you,” Peter finishes with a gesture. To your complete surprise, he doesn’t point at Jack—he’s pointing at you. Jack blinks in equal surprise, looking at you for answers. You send him a helpless look. At first, you’re not sure why you seem more trustworthy than Jack. Then you remember Jack’s position and the intimidating aura he tends to give off. You think you’d want to talk to someone like yourself too, were you in Peter’s situation. 

“Alright,” you agree. You don’t see the harm in having a conversation. You need information and, more importantly, answers. Jack stares at you for a long few seconds, before exhaling in evident exasperation. 

“I’ll be outside,” Jack promises, before walking away. You wait until Jack is out of sight before you take a step closer to Peter, placing your hands in your pockets. 

“What do you do here, Peter?” You hear yourself ask. Your voice sounds foreign to your ears. 

“I volunteer here,” Peter responds, still facing the corpse. His voice sounds hollow, empty. “Sometimes.” 

“Did you… know this horse?” You ask hesitantly, looking down at the corpse.

“Yes,” Peter answers without hesitation. There’s a hint of emotion in his voice now.  

“Ridden her before?”

“I don’t ride the horses,” Peter replies, “I just like to brush them.” 

“Okay,” you acknowledge. You begin pacing around the stall in an attempt to calm your restless nerves. “Peter, were you here on the day that the veterinarian visited?” Jack had briefed you on the circumstances of the horse’s death, how a veterinarian had been called to investigate before the corpse was found in the womb. 

“I don’t remember a veterinarian,” he stares ahead with a frown. 

“That’s fine,” you answer. He may not have been there that day. “The veterinarian was the one who cut open the womb and found the corpse… Did you know this horse was pregnant?”

At that question, Peter turns around and stares at you. His hollow gaze is enough to send a shiver down your spine. For a moment, he just stares at you, before huffing in amusement. “Obviously.” 

“Obviously,” you echo. You suppose that was a rather dumb question on your part. “Were you… sad about the foal?”

“Of course,” Peter huffs again. “Why do you think I’m sitting here?” This discussion isn’t getting you very far. 

“Fine,” you acquiesce. You take a deep breath. “This doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere. I’m going to give you my extension, and if you ever feel like talking about what happened, you can call me, okay?” Thankfully, you know for certain that Peter isn’t the killer—the psychological profile you built on this murderer tells you that much. Jack clearly doesn’t think Peter is the killer either, and those two facts are enough for you to rule him out as a suspect. However, you’re still contemplating the possibility of him tampering with the crime scene. 

Peter clears his throat pointedly and you remember what you were supposed to be doing. You grab a notepad from your jacket pocket and quickly scrawl down the Behavioral Analysis Unit’s phone number, followed by the extension to your office phone. You take a step closer and hold it out to Peter. For a fraction of a moment, you think he won’t take it. Just before you can pull your hand back, he takes the paper and slips it into his pocket. 

You turn on your heel and take a step towards the door of the stall, fully intent on leaving, when the door falls open of its own accord. Jack Crawford stands in the doorway, staring at you. 

“Good, Agent,” Jack remarks. This must be important. “We have a lead,” he says vaguely, his eyes falling to Peter. You can’t discuss confidential information here—the details will have to wait until you’re both in the car.

“Excellent,” you remark in relief. “I’ll meet you at the car?” You can sense that Peter’s attention is piqued. Maybe you can still get something out of him. Jack nods and walks away once more. You then turn to Peter, who has turned his body away from the horse to face you. Somehow, he’s intrigued now. Something has caught his eye. “Sorry, Peter,” you apologize, taking a step backwards and emphasizing that you’re a moment away from leaving, “I have to go.”

“What is it?” Peter asks, “Did you find him?”

“It’s classified, I’m sorry,” you respond, ignoring the inexplicable sound of alarm bells blaring in your head. Peter isn’t the killer. “But we’re tracking down this killer. I promise he’ll be put away.”

“You promise?” Peter asks, a dangerous conviction in his eyes. 

“Yes,” you respond without hesitation. You don’t have the authority to make that kind of promise, but you do anyway. The sincerity in your expression must convince Peter, because he takes a slow breath and the tension seems to fade from his form. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Peter. It was nice to meet you.” Peter says the same and you turn to leave the stable. 

“Price and Zeller found soil in the corpse’s throat,” Jack recounts to you as he drives along the highway, moving at a comfortable speed. His eyes are fixed on the road, but he recalls his conversation with Price with perfect consistency. “We traced it to a burial site about thirty minutes from here.”

“Great,” you remark, relief coursing through you. To your surprise, Jack doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply nods ever so slightly and continues staring ahead. Now, it seems as if he’s avoiding something. “What is it?” You ask. Something seems off about him. 

“You may want to brace yourself,” Jack warns vaguely. 

“Why?” You hear yourself question. Jack doesn’t answer, and he’s quiet for the rest of the car ride. When the two of you pull up to the supposed burial site, you’re filled with trepidation. This job always comes with the knowledge that blood and gore could be waiting at every corner. That’s the normal day for an agent. So… why does Jack feel the need to warn you? You grapple with the prospect as the two of you leave the car and join the group of agents circled around something. 

It isn’t until you get closer that you recognize the familiar stench of rotting death. Sure enough, the group of agents is clustered around a hole in the ground—one that houses a woman’s corpse. You stare at the marks around her neck, the dirt caked under her nails and staining her fingertips. She was on the brink of death when she was buried. She was trying to escape. You stare down at the body for another moment, searching for any more abnormalities, before taking a step back to let the other agents resume their investigation. You exchange glances with Jack. 

“She’s not the only one,” Jack says. You stare at the field around you—the grassy, open expanse. It seems to stretch on for miles now. You feel your heart steadily thudding in your chest, at a rate slightly faster than normal. Your head begins to ache. 

“How many of them are there?” You murmur. The question is quiet, as you practically whisper it against the wind. For a moment, you think Jack doesn’t hear it. You then realize that he has comprehended it, but is simply declining to answer. Indeed, your boss stares out at the field with a conflicted expression. “Jack?”

“Sixteen,” Jack responds, turning his attention back to you. You feel something in your stomach twist and pull. 

“That can’t be right,” you remark. It sounds as if the wind is picking up. It takes you several seconds to realize the sound is being conjured by your own mind, and that the air is damp and still around you. You swallow hard and take another look around at the field, suddenly understanding why the agents are now evenly dispersed across the space. They all have shovels and each sound of metal hitting dirt is enough to send a bolt of pain down your temple and through your cheekbones. Your teeth hurt as you watch the unearthing of sixteen different victims. They’re uniformly dispersed across the field. This is no happy accident—the killer meticulously planned for their graves to be close (but not too close). The thought brings a burning feeling to your throat and you feel your knees suddenly buckle. You place a hand on the ground, feeling the familiar horrible feeling of nausea climbing past your throat until you’re vomiting on the killer’s ground. It takes you a few minutes to stop, and even longer for you to fully recover. Your eyes sting and you can’t tell if you’re going to cry or pass out. There’s an overwhelming clarity in your vision and a rhythmic pounding at your temple.

This graveyard is a gruesome display, even to someone who has spent their entire career surrounded by carnage. You’ve seen your fair share of murder victims. You’ve never seen sixteen of them lined up in two neat rows of eight, buried in a nondescript field under layers of muddy soil. Moreover, you can sense the killer’s feelings—and it makes you sick. This was not a gesture born out of respect for the victims. The murderer did not dig up these graves to give these women a final resting place; he buried them to trap them, so that even in death, they would never truly be free. Their existences would be tied to him forever. They would never be allowed to breathe again. It’s nothing short of sickening. There’s nausea stewing in your stomach again, revulsion prickling across your skin, and sweat trickling down your neck.

You can’t seem to push yourself up to your feet. You’re grounded to the damp soil, to the wrong side of the earth. What deems you worthy of living? What deemed these women worthy of dying? Your hands are twitching at your sides. A deep breath causes your chest to hitch and you nearly vomit again. You look down on your body as you claw at the grass and tear it up, shakily pulling at the dirt and plants and grass and rot and death and injustice and horrible, terrible guilt and indescribable anger and vengeance -

There’s a hand on your shoulder. You instinctually tense, your movements beginning to slow. It feels as if you’re suddenly catapulted back into your body, forced to inhabit the itchy, dirt-stained skin and the endless remorse that wants to eat you alive from the inside. 

“They’re dead; there is nothing left for them here,” Jack says. It’s his strange way of comforting you. It sort of works. After a moment, he takes a step forward and extends a hand to you. You take it, allowing him to pull you up. Jack seems to be fighting against the urge to say or do something, because his eyebrows are furrowed and his lips are pulled taut in a thin line. There’s dirt all over you, yet you are still privileged with life. 

You don’t remember how you get back to the Bureau. All you remember is staring blankly ahead as you’re half-led through the halls by Jack himself, his hand on your shoulder providing equal support and increased pressure. All you remember is the worry on Alana’s face as you walk past, the way she gets up from her desk and walks over to you, how she leads you towards the far restroom with a gentle hand. It ends up being the same restroom where Zeller accused you of killing Franklyn. The memory of that encounter is far fresher than you want it to be. 

Alana leads you to a sink and guides your hands towards the water. 

“Allow me,” she remarks, turning on the sink. She steps away for a moment and you stare at the water dripping from the faucet. Alana returns moments later with a washcloth. She pumps some soap on your hands and helps you wash them clean. Your head aches. You don’t know what to think, what to say. All you can think about is the graveyard. It haunts your vision every time you blink, forcing you to think of suffocating under piles of dirt and debris. You inhale sharply, gasping. Regaining your breath is a chore. “I’m worried about you,” Alana soon admits. You hate that her concern makes you feel appreciated. Your relationship with Alana ended years ago. You don’t want to be hers again, but this very moment reminds you of the intimacy you no longer get to see.

“You shouldn’t be,” you remark. Alana laughs under her breath. You both know that’s not how it works. Emotions don’t bend to logic. 

“What did you see?” Her hand on your forearm keeps you tethered to reality. You shake your head, unable to begin describing the scene that will most certainly haunt your nightmares. The two of you are silent for the remainder of your time together under the flickering fluorescent lights, as you try to come to terms with the terrible regret, revulsion, and rage threatening to spill over your frame and inhabit your every waking moment.

next chapter

endnotes: thanks for reading! i'm very excited to continue this story, mwahhahahha

here's a lil sneak peek for the next chapter: “Peter,” Clark practically coos. You hate him, more than you’ve ever hated anyone before. He is a bundle of contradictions: a fine-dressed man with a fine-dressed smile and fine-dressed lies and cruelty and violence and- “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

hannibal taglist <3: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69

[the-six-that-thrive-if]

PLANS FOR 2024!!

IT IS A BRAND NEW YEAR!! WITH SO MUCH TO DO!!

In truth, I'm unsure of what I want to do for 2024. I'm not a good plan in advance and far more of a "this'll be fun to do" type of person. Especially when it comes to writing. So I am going to share what I want to do in the moment and my current feelings.

One Thing: I hate The Six That Thrive.

That is the ultimate looming threat, I'm facing, and want to put this out there, not because I'm going to scrape TSTT. I simply want to make it better. Working on other IFs has just made me realize how much I could add especially seeing that TSTT is my first ever IF, and if you were there when I first began, it was an utter mess.

Chapter Six has been in production, but I cannot work on it with a clear conscience, knowing how much I hate the previous chapters, and if I cannot somewhat like the old, I can't move forward. So as of right now, I think I am going to go on hiatus.

So now, you might ask. "What about the Patreon?" The Patreon is a mix of those who want TSTT content and mainly that, while others are down for supporting me in general. I am still going to be posting TSTT content. Sharing fics, drabbles, backstories. I may as well drop new and improved chapters.

So, what will I do in the meantime? As ridiculous as I am, I'm going to be posting new demos for unreleased IFs. Mainly to have the option to jump around and not feel guilty for it. I've realized that I've been sorta holding myself back from doing the things I enjoy in fear of what others felt and thought as well with overworking myself. But I am coming to realize what is best for me as a writer and it's the ability to write when and wherever. So I've planned to move forward without feeling guilt.

Things I've been facing and fear for the future. The amount of access everyone has to me. As in a sense online and how easy it is to reach out to me. For one, I'm not upset or bothered by those reaching out and haven't received harassment or hate. But there are subtle demands from strangers that I have noticed and simply expect me to do, because I want to be super inclusive. Which is a huge difference from suggestions and asking kindly. They just demand it, and I'm still learning to regulate it.

With School. Right now, I'm fantastic at balancing school and work, simply because most of the chapters I've wrote and write happen in a large chunk so that's not something I'm worried about. I also don't got a job so there's that.

ON MORE POSITIVE NOTES:

—The Dragon's birthday past. Jan 1st. Now when they get a little drabble, idfk.

The One Year Anniversary of TSTT is a day before my birthday so that's also exciting!

I turn 19 next month!! (Which I feel a lot of people are unaware of.)

More IFs! More genres! I have a pretty much horror track record, that's definitely ain't gonna change, but with my future IF that I plan to share hopefully by the end of this month, I'm EXCITED.

FINAL NOTES:

I truly don't know what I have in store for 2024! But I do want to make the best of it. As always, I want to thank you for your neverending support and patience and I'm excited to share this year with you all!! Please do not worry about my mental or physical health, I swear, that I am an 100 out of 10.

[whatdoidosatoru]

First Date (Keisuke Baji x OC) chapter 1

PART 1 of The Only Exception

experimental emo!baji fic (Baji x OC that's just reader but with a name because i'd rather shoot myself than write y/n)

part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - ao3

Both, Baji and OC are into alternative music and I've tried to not describe OC physically so she can be anyone :)

pairing: Keisuke Baji x reader

word count: 7.2k

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

I don't know how to tag but here goes nothing: oral sex (both receiving), fingering, slight dirty talk, face-fucking, penetrative sex, bathroom sex, slight asshole!baji, fem!reader

The met at a night club and turn it into a whole thing, songs to go with the story:

𝆕 Playlist

18 - Anarbor

First Date - blink-182

Bring Me To Life - Evanescence

The River - Good Charlotte

Ocean Avenue - Yellowcard

Sex on Fire - Kings of Leon

DONTTRUSTME - 3OH!3

Cherrypie - Warrant

Rebel Love song - Black Veil Brides

The day of the event finally came. I’d been looking forward to Emo Nite for almost a month now, ever since my best friend called me screaming that the new date had been announced. You’d think being in university with the event manager would help stifle the excitement over it since we could get any information about it whenever we wanted, but it’d been months since the two of us had gone out anywhere. It was the only thing on my mind as I dragged myself through my lectures, 3 pm could not have come any sooner. Finally, as the last lecture of the day came to an end, I started packing up my notes, trying to figure out what I was going to wear. 

My apartment was a short walk away from the university, the club, and our favourite gym, therefore this entire day was made that much easier as I didn’t have to depend on public transportation to get anywhere. 

Just as I opened the front door to my place that I shared with my best friend and roommate, I was attacked by my favourite playlist blasting from her room, the playlist I had made for her to get in the zone for these kinds of parties, all consisting of the music I had got moaned at for listening to in my teens. It very obviously was not a phase, mom. 

“You should put on 3OH!3” I let myself into her room.

“I don’t know what that means!!” She was frantically going through her wardrobe looking for something to wear.

“Give me the phone, trust me,” I said with a wink.

I clicked on the song and noticed some of my own clothes strewn over her bed, evidence that both of us currently had the same issue to decide on. I loved showing her the music I u̶s̶e̶d̶ t̶o̶ listen to as she never got to experience peak emo and scene culture in the town where she grew up. 

“What the fuck kind of line is ‘I’m a vegetarian and I ain’t fucking scared of him’”

“Mai, don’t question peak songwriting. It’s iconic.” 

She rolled her eyes, but I knew she was enjoying it. 

It was my turn to cook so I got to work preparing food for both of us before a well-deserved rest. Since I’d never been good at estimating the amount of rice needed for two people, there was now a full pot of leftovers that I promptly put away while cleaning up. 

The music blasting from Mai’s room was making me dance around the kitchen and postponing the tiredness I’d felt ever since opening my eyes in the morning. To take advantage of that burst of energy, I cleaned up all surfaces in the kitchen and dining room, giving Mai a break from her turn for cleaning that day, and moved on to the bathroom, where I made sure everything looked decent enough not to put me into a slump when we wake up the next day. Satisfied with the work, it was time to take a short nap before going to the gym. 

“Maybe this was a mistake, maybe we were too ambitious to plan to go out after the gym.” My friend complained on the way home.

“Well, maybe you should’ve done a low-intensity set like me like I told you! Because I’m feeling great!”

“I’m too old for this shit.”

“You’re 22! I dread to think how you’ll feel when you’re 80.”

She just stuck her tongue out at me in response. 

Both of us felt rejuvenated after a shower and it was high time to start getting dressed and doing our makeup. The playlist was back on and so was the random singing and shouting. I decided on a black blink-182 top, black jeans that are so ripped that I put fishnets on underneath, and an oversized denim jacket over the top.

The guitar pick necklace matched the t-shirt and all that was left was to put a fuck ton of eyeliner on. I went into Mai’s room to check on her and, damn, she looked incredible. She’d fit right in with her shorts, completely ripped black tights, Linkin Park t-shirt, and a plaid shirt wrapped tightly around her waist. I wolf-whistled.

“Not sure I can let you out like that, Mai.”

“Is something wrong with it? Is it too much? Oh no it’s too much isn’t it…”

“Hell no I’m just thinking of the best way to swat people away when they start swarming you.”

She smirked at the comment “You look just like you did in your old photos…just with better hair.”

“Please don’t remind me, I can still smell the hair spray.”

We sat on the floor and started doing our makeup, occasionally changing songs on her speakers and cracking stupid jokes. When we were done it was around 10 pm and Mai insisted on taking photos before leaving. My eyeliner sort of matched her plaid shirt, big black wings with red lines underneath, on my inner corners, and slicing through my eyebrows. On the lips, I opted for black-red ombre lipstick hoping it doesn’t transfer onto my cup of whatever I chose to drink. 

The walk to the club was pleasant as it wasn’t too cold or too hot. With those last breaths of fresh air of the night, we walked in and found our names on the list to be let inside. The space wasn’t very big, but it had only a few open windows so I felt sweat dripping down my back almost as soon as we got to the dance floor. Waving at the DJ and the event manager, we made our way to the bar. Mai started flirting with the bartender and I really had to respect the swiftness with which she got her first free drink of the night.

I grabbed my extortionately priced can of Red Bull and a straw and headed to the floor. There was quite a big crowd of people on one end of the room so we danced our way to the other side. The big reason why I loved going out with Mai is that she left all her shyness at home and sang from the top of her lungs even if her words were wrong. I, on the other hand, had to be broken out of my shell every time. 

After a while, having gotten comfortable with a big crowd of people all around us, I started noticing familiar faces walking in. Some of Mai’s friends from one of her lectures were there and we very quickly joined them in carving out some space for our group on the dancefloor. I could feel the makeup melting and everyone was getting water to freshen up so I decided to venture out to find the nearest toilet. Mai followed me out and kept singing as we walked past a group of guys, one of whom nearly knocked me into the wall.

“Watch it, assholes!” She shouted after them as I was regaining balance.

There was broken glass stuck in the soles of my vans and I could feel it scrape the floor as I walked on. 

“I swear some people don’t understand the concept of personal space, are you okay?” her worrying was adorable.

“Yeah, I just have to pick out the glass from my soles now. He didn’t even apologise, did he?”

“Nah, that’s okay I’ll find him back inside and feed him my fist though, don’t you worry.” I laughed as she pretended to punch the hand dryer. We tried to dab some sweat off of our faces with toilet paper but soon gave up as it would probably build up as soon as we stepped back into the room. Heading back, my favourite song came on and I had to sprint to get back to our group and share my excitement with others. 

“I really fucking love this song!” I shouted into someone’s ear, only to realise it was not one of my people, but the very asshole that pushed me in the hallway minutes before, along with his friends. He looked me up and down and, smirking like I was a child expressing their enjoyment of an animated film, chuckled “Good for you”.

I turned to find Mai, but she had already seen the interaction and followed what happened with raised eyebrows. 

“Was that…”

“Someone that still needs to get punched for being a dick? Yeah that’s the guy.”

“Mai, he’s hot. Why didn’t you tell me he was this hot! I would’ve pushed myself to save him the trouble of doing it himself if he needed me to!”

“I can’t hear half the words you just said and I don’t think I want to. You’re too sexually frustrated for your own good.”

Still I couldn’t stop picturing his face as he looked me up and down. Did he like what he saw? Did he find me cringe? Did he realise I was the person he pushed? I could’ve sworn I caught a glimpse of adorable fangs in his mouth, was he one of those weirdos that wore fake fangs to emo events?

Mai dragged me to the bar to get another drink, but I kept scanning the room to find the asshole vampire guy. With a new can in hand, I went towards the DJ to talk to the event manager. She was a really cool girl I had met waiting for our professor to start the lecture because both of us wore the same band t-shirt. Ever since she started organising these parties, Mai and I have been on the list and stayed until the very end of the party. 

“What’s wrong? You never not sing along to Ocean Avenue,” Hana waved in front of my face. Mai chuckled and told her I was just too horny to function. 

“Who’s the target tonight?” Hana asked with a massive grin.

“That long-haired asshole next to the bar,” Mai pointed towards him and his group of friends, all of them with drinks in their hands and not really dancing or looking like they were there for the music.

They kept talking while I made my way back out of the room to get some air and space to think. When someone stood next to where I was crouching, I assumed it was Mai trying to get me back inside.

“Sorry about pushing you earlier,” a voice that definitely wasn’t Mai’s said.

I looked up and was greeted by a pair of bronze eyes and a serious face framed by long black hair. Leaning on the wall with hands in his pockets, it was Asshole Vampire from before. The one I couldn’t stop looking for in the crowd, now he stood next to me where I could hear him better. I quickly stood up and swayed a little from getting up too fast. 

“I didn’t think you even noticed someone falling and stepping on glass because of you.” My voice was vibrating from screaming along with the music earlier.

“I know it’s not really an excuse, but I tried to get back as soon as possible to hear the song that was playing. I love Black Veil Brides.” He chuckled and looked down.

I looked him over, he was wearing a white button-up shirt that was slightly unbuttoned, black jeans, and black Converse. His hair was long and shiny, falling forward nonchalantly. 

“I will say that just might be a good enough reason, I’ll try to call off the hit I put on you.” I tried sounding casual despite the fact that he was standing so close to me I could feel the warmth of his body.

“That would be great, thanks. You have a good music taste, apparently. Good Charlotte is one of my favourite bands.”

I looked at him and blushed, that meant he definitely knew it was me shouting in his ear earlier.

“Yeah, sorry about that, I thought you were someone I knew.”

He looked amused, “I’m Keisuke. Now I’m also someone you know.”

I shook his hand, trying to secretly admire his beautiful long fingers. “Yuna. I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“I’ve never managed to get my friends to come with me before, and I’m not the type to go out to clubs by myself.”

“Well, I hope you get them to come next time as well, I’ve been to every Emo Nite and they’re always amazing. I’m friends with the event manager as well.” Wow shut up, I thought to myself, who gives a shit. 

“They’re not really into the same music, that’s why we’re just standing there like statues. Just observing. Like a bunch of creeps.”

That made me shiver a bit. Was I actually holding a conversation with this guy? If only Mai could see me now…she’d probably run over to punch Keisuke in the face. 

“I get it, luckily, my friend is discovering this music now and likes it, I’ve been into it since I was probably 10.”

“Ahhh, the right age to sing about all the greatest pains in life, back before you even knew what the real world was.” He stared ahead like he knew that pain now.

“Yeah, but it’s been 12 years since then, and it’s still my day-to-day music.”

“You’re 22 then?” He looked back at me, “Are you from around here? We could’ve been in the same year..”

“I moved here for university.” Okay great, he was my age and he had the same music taste. I couldn’t help but wonder what his lips would taste like…

“You know I can see you staring at my lips, right?” He grinned, obviously very pleased with himself having caught me staring.

“Hm? Oh…yeah. You’re insanely gorgeous, sorry,” I cringed at myself. What the fuck is wrong with me? May as well go get Mai and head home, there is no way I could enjoy my night after this. A soft chuckle escaped his mouth “Likewise, I didn’t get a very good look at you inside, but now that I can see you properly, I’m really glad I came out to check on you.”

Wait, what? “Check on me?”

“It seemed like you were unwell, and when you headed out I wanted to make sure you didn’t collapse or something,” he shrugged. My heart started pounding, he was looking at me inside? He worried about me? He wanted to help me? Woah. 

“That’s very kind, coming from the guy who almost flattened me with the wall.”

He threw his head back and laughed, “Are you going to hold that against me forever?”

“Maybe,” I smiled at him, “unless you make it up to me.”

He turned to face me completely.

“Well, how about we head back inside to enjoy some music together, and you think of a way for me to me it up to you?”

I took in his gorgeous jawline and the canines peeking through his lips.

“Lead the way, Keisuke.”

We went back inside, I immediately started scanning the crowd for Mai or Hana. They waved me over to them and I grabbed Keisuke’s hand to lead him to them. Mai’s eyes went wide and I knew we were going to have to talk about this later.

“Keisuke, this is Mai, my best friend, and that’s Hana, she organised this event,” I shouted into his ear, inhaling the scent of his hair.

Mai looked him up and down and Hana shook his hand. I was pleading with Mai with my eyes not to beat the shit out of him right then and there, signalling that I didn’t want him dead.

“I’m going to stay over at Hana’s tonight, if that’s okay with you, Yuna.” Hana turned to her with questions in her eyes, but Mai pinched her arm and smiled at her. 

Was she trying to give me some kind of a signal? Keisuke looked between us, all I could do was just nod and go dance. It seemed too convenient that the next song that was playing was a slow one. Keisuke grabbed my hand, “I assume you want to dance to blink-182,” he nodded at my t-shirt and necklace. 

I couldn’t believe it. We’d been dancing for several songs now, surprisingly, he’s actually got rhythm. Mai decided to stay with Hana and not come back for me, which normally never happens. It was always the two of us against everyone in the room. Maybe she saw the tension between Keisuke and me - wait…was there tension between Keisuke and me? He was looking down at me and smiling most of the time, save for when he was belting out to the music. Especially when both of us were singing the wrong lyrics to Fall Out Boy. After a while, he dragged me to the hallway to speak to me.

“Do you want to get out of here?” He looked at me intensely. It took me a few seconds to catch on.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Do you live nearby?”

This wasn’t weird, right? To the rational part of my brain, it sounded like a bad idea, but I’d been imagining what his lips would feel like on my neck for a good part of the night. 

“Yeah, walking distance,” As soon as I said that he leaned down and caught my lips with his. I reached for his neck and brought him closer, deepening the kiss. His lips were soft and I could smell his shampoo as his hair fell to tickle my face. There was a low vibration in the back of his throat. When he broke the kiss he looked into my eyes like he was trying to read them. I could get lost just staring at his face. He smiled and took my hand, “Lead the way, Yuna.”

I fumbled around my pockets trying to text Mai while he let his friends know he wasn’t going home with them. It seemed like a fortunate coincidence that Mai was staying over at Hana’s tonight.

Yunaaaaasty, 01:28

i’m going home with vampire guy, am i making the biggest mistake of my life?

Mai Darling, 01:29

thought so :) why did you think i made Hana let me stay over?

Yunaaaaasty, 01:29

you’re a mastermind and i owe you for this

Mai Darling, 01:30

oh yes you do but honestly it’s not as fun singing i’m not okay without you <3333

just let me know if you’re dead or alive in the morning so i can alert the police kbye have fun ;)

I looked up as Keisuke reached for my hand, his grip was so warm it immediately made my heart jump. I could feel warmth pooling in my stomach in anticipation of what might happen in just a few short minutes. Keisuke kept asking me questions about my life on our way there, though I wasn’t exactly sure why he was so curious if this was to be only a one-time thing. Maybe he was trying to determine if I was a psycho killer of some sort…or maybe he was? Oh well, he was so gorgeous I wouldn’t mind dying if it meant having some fun with him beforehand. 

We walked up the stairs and he started kissing behind my ear. My skin felt tight in anticipation of his touch and I felt myself shiver as his kisses trailed down to my neck.

“You’re distracting me, I’m trying to get us inside at least,” I chuckled at him.

“How long does it normally take you to unlock your front door?”

“Hey it’s difficult finding the key in this mess of keychains, now I have you making me thinking about uhhh…other things as well.”

He moved to my lips and nipped at my bottom lip. “Oh and what is it that I’m making you think about?” There is no way I was saying that out loud outside my apartment, so I just pushed the door open and dragged him inside after me.

~

I started taking my denim jacket off all the while not breaking the kiss and leading him to my bedroom. I shut the door and clumsily shook off my Vans, starting to unbutton his shirt. He looked at me with hungry eyes, his hands travelling along my hips and up to my breasts. Luckily, the fairy lights around my bed frame were left on so I could see his eyes as he was drinking in the lust in my eyes. When he shrugged off his shirt, he started unbuttoning my jeans and pushed me toward my desk, still messy with my coursework and at least four dictionaries and other heavy tomes. I broke the kiss to put the books away when he chuckled, “Damn, I was kind of hoping to knock it over in the heat of the moment and eat you out on top of the desk,” As hot as that would’ve been, this was the product of a month of research and hard work and it deserved to be put away safely.

“If I hadn’t spent all my sanity working on this paper I would say yes.”

“Can I still eat you out at least?” I felt my knees threatening to give out, why was his saying that so damn hot? 

“Please,” I moaned into his mouth and started to peel my fishnets off when he grabbed my hands to stop me.

“Keep them on,” his breathy voice rolled into my ear, “but how attached are you to those panties?”

This confused me, but he already grabbed the fabric of my underwear and started ripping them on the side and casting them away. He lifted me up and put me on top of my desk, now trailing his mouth down my torso to where my panties were a few seconds ago. His large hands ripped the crotch of my tights and started putting his hair up into a ponytail. I hadn’t noticed the hair tie that had been around his wrist until he took it off and held it with his teeth.

My head spun when he lowered his lips to my heat and started to lick long strokes between the folds. Leaning back on my hands, I let out a breathy moan that made him chuckle into me and start sucking on my clit.

“Oh my..Keisuke yes,” I couldn’t keep it in anymore, his tongue swirled all around the most sensitive area and when I looked down at his face his eyes were set on me, as if he needed to make sure I was coming undone. As if my moans and hitched breaths weren’t enough of a sign, he needed to see it with his own eyes. 

My hand went to the base of his ponytail to bring him closer to me, as I did so it felt like he dug in with an even stronger intensity than before. I was nearing my peak when he inserted a finger inside me. I could feel his lips spreading into a smile when he saw my reaction like he was saving that move until the end.

“Let go, Yuna. If you cum on my tongue now I’ll let you ride me.” That was all that was needed to push me over the edge and make me shake with pleasure while his hand held me down on the desk. 

He got up and pulled my t-shirt off, slowly unbuckling my bra and adding it to the pile of clothes on the floor. Keisuke let his hair back down and started pulling my hair into a ponytail, tying it with his hair tie. I pushed him onto my bed and crawled up to his crotch, pulling his jeans down as he pushed his Converse off his feet.

When I pulled down his boxers I was met with his hard cock slapping his abdomen and, looking up into his eyes, gave the head an experimental lick. His eyelashes fluttered and he closed his eyes so I took it as a sign to continue. 

Keisuke let out the sweetest moan when I took as much of his length as I could into my mouth, one hand on his shaft, the other on the balls. With long, circular motions, my tongue slid all over his cock, licking off any drops of precum it dripped.

His balls were in my hand, softly being massaged, causing him to huff and moan softly. His hand reached for my hair and grabbed it to lead me how he wanted me. He held me in place as his hips thrust up. As his thrusts got more and more frantic, my throat had had enough, so I released his balls from my hand and grabbed the hand that was holding my ponytail signalling I needed a break.

He released me and dragged me up to his face to kiss me, but I had to get things moving to get him inside of me as soon as possible. 

Leaning over to my bedside table, I pushed aside my phone and Polaroid camera, grabbed a condom from the drawer, and turned on some music, “Alexa, play Oh My Word It’s Happening playlist.” When the first song started playing, he let out a laugh,

“Really, First Date?” 

“Hey, I want to make this night last forever, okay?”

I handed him the condom and straddled his abdomen, leaning in to kiss him deeply. Keisuke’s hair was spread over the pillow like a dark halo, framing his beautiful face, I almost forgot how to breathe. His hands were trailing along my thighs, still covered with fishnet tights, as I positioned myself above his hard cock, slowly lowering myself down, his eyes rolling back and filthy moans escaping his soft lips.

When I sunk fully onto his cock, I couldn’t help myself but let out a high-pitched moan which seemed to wake him from the bliss he was in. He grabbed my hips and helped me bounce myself on him. The thickness that spread my walls made me feel full, and each thrust scratched an impossible itch inside me. When Keisuke started grunting with each thrust I knew he was nearing his peak. I reached to rub my clit with one hand, but he swiftly knocked it aside and replaced it with his own. I threw my head back in pure pleasure and let out all the pent-up pressure from my throat as I came all over his dick, he followed soon after with an animalistic moan and stopped thrusting. 

He looked spent and let go of my hips, I needed to burn the image of him lying underneath me into the insides of my eyelids. I reached over to grab my camera,

“Do you mind if I take one of you?” I motioned with the camera. He gave me a small smile,

“Is this some kind of a psycho killer trophy you’re collecting?”I couldn’t help but laugh,

“Maybe, but I want to remember this.” He nodded with a blissful smile, so I looked through a viewfinder and pushed the button. Putting the camera aside, I got off of him and lay next to him, gently taking the condom off and launching it into the bin.

~

“I feel obligated to mention that I’ve never done this before,” He raised his eyebrow at my comment, causing me to correct myself, “I mean, I’ve never brought someone home like this, especially after just meeting them.” He was tracing shapes on my stomach, all the while staring into my eyes.

“Me neither,” he admitted, “I’m still not convinced you’re not some psycho killer taking advantage of young men, taking salacious photos of them, and then disposing of their corpses in the nearby bushes.” I just had to laugh at the notion,

“You seem to have put a lot of thought into this scenario, are you sure you’re not the murderer?” He leaned over to place a kiss on my shoulder,

“Well, I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” Looking over at him, I took in his loose hair, now messy and half-resting on my pillows.

“Honestly, after this, I think I would gladly let you kill me. I don’t remember the last time I felt this good.” When Keisuke pulled me closer to him, resting his hand on my hip, I swear I could have floated away.

After some conversation that sounded way too casual considering the way we had just made each other feel, I heard Keisuke’s stomach rumble so I offered to get him some food and dragged him out of bed and into the kitchen. He managed to put his boxers back on while I put on my pyjama top and we made way to investigate the food situation. 

“I’ve got some leftovers from today, I mean, I guess it’s technically yesterday now.” I pulled out the tub with leftover fried rice and chicken and stuck it into the microwave while he inspected the fridge door that was littered with polaroids of Mai and me, some from our work with other coworkers, some of us cuddling her cats from back home, some of our birthday and end-of-exams parties, and others of my old dance group from different competitions we attended.

“You have cats?” He seemed really interested in all individual photos.

“Ah, no, those are Mai’s parents’ cats. They live in the middle of nowhere and have a bunch of animals, unfortunately, we couldn’t get any of her pets here when we moved in,” I pointed at another photo of me with a big black labrador sitting on the beach, “That’s my dog, but he lives with my parents, as I’m too busy to take care of a dog right now.” He nodded and looked over a few more photos before stepping towards me and pushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. 

At that moment the microwave beeped and I went to grab the food and plate it up. We ate standing in the kitchen, neither of us feeling inclined to move away from each other. Keisuke was stuffing his face like he hadn't eaten in days,

“I think you need to slow down,” I said with a smirk.

“This is amazing, I can’t stop,” he said with his mouth full.

When he was done, he started to put the plates into the dishwasher and I offered him something to drink. With him in the kitchen, I made my way to the bathroom to wipe my makeup off, noticing the lipstick hadn’t transferred at all. Keisuke appeared behind me when I had taken off most of the makeup and started touching my ass. Luckily I didn’t put any underwear on, remembering how he ripped the pair I wore earlier. I looked at him through the mirror and smiled at his gentle caresses. He seemed entranced by my skin and started making his way towards my bare heat. Gently rubbing my sensitive lips, he elicited soft moans from my lips. Our eyes met in the mirror and he returned my smile,

“You’re so beautiful, did you know that? I loved seeing you with  the makeup, but this,” he reached for my cheek with his hand, the other one still rubbing my pussy, “is incredible.” 

He grabbed my face and kissed it, making me moan into his mouth which made him change his approach and sink a finger inside of me. He groaned when my walls sucked his finger in, adding another and hooking them to hit the most sensitive spot inside. My legs started shaking with pleasure, which seemed to amuse him enough to giggle and move to stand right behind me, spreading my legs.

“I don’t know what it is about you,” Keisuke whispered, “but you’re making me feel feral, like no amount of touching you will ever be enough,” his voice was making me wet with desire.

“Feral? We can do it like they do it on the Discovery channel then,” I invited him for another round. I opened one of the drawers under the sink and passed him a condom, causing him to chuckle,

“Very convenient.” 

“We like to be prepared,” he aligned his once again hard cock with my entrance and pushed in, throwing his head back in pleasure, my back arching to get a better angle, still holding the edges of the sink. He pushed into me until I couldn’t take any more and gasped loudly. He stopped and started pulling out and pushing back in, only up to the point I could handle. This angle made hitting the sensitive spot so much easier, it made me gasp and whine with every single one of his thrusts. His hands were squeezing my ass like it was the only thing keeping him grounded on this Earth. His cock was buried deep inside of me, hitting my most sensitive areas, pulling me apart from the inside.

I threw my head back and Keisuke took the opportunity to grab my jaw and pull me towards his face. He was grunting into my ear and kissing my neck, I was certain I wouldn’t last much longer. 

With his teeth, he scraped along my neck. With a cry, I creamed on his cock, which only seemed to make him go faster and harder. “Good girl, hold on tight,” he whispered into my ear, letting go of my jaw and instead holding the base of my ponytail as I held onto the wall in front of me for dear life. One of his hands snaked around me and found my clit, rubbing it in circular motions, sending me into another orgasm, this one louder than the last.

Never breaking pace, he chuckled and smacked my ass three times before returning both his hands on my ass, pulling me into his hips repeatedly.

“Faster Keisuke, please!” I cried out, and he obliged. Soon after that I felt another wave of pleasure threatening to swallow me whole. Just as I started crying out his name again, he moaned into my hair and finished, slowing his thrust leading us both through our orgasms. Once he stopped, our eyes locked in the mirror once more, I didn’t know if I had it in me to smile at him. His cock slid out of me and he took off the condom and threw it away, spinning me around to kiss me with all the energy he had left. I had half a mind to thank him, but I couldn’t form words anymore, I just grabbed his hand and led him back into my bedroom, cuddling into him on the bed. 

~

“Yuna?”

“Hmmm?”

“Are you okay?”

Turning around to face him, I caressed his face, taking in his loose hair, soft eyes, slightly protruding canines, and soft lips. I wanted to look at him forever, there’s something arresting about his face making me incapable of looking away. 

“Why do you ask?” Was he overthinking this whole night? Is he trying to make me start kicking him out so he doesn’t have to make the first move?

“You haven’t said a word since…since we fucked in the bathroom.” His tone was that of worry. 

“I think… you may have taken every ounce of energy that I had saved for conversation,” I said with a giggle, “I came twice before that, and then three times in the bathroom. A girl needs to breathe and rest.”

His smile returned, lighting his face up, I just had to close the distance between us and kiss him softly. 

“How are you feeling?” I wondered, gently caressing his arm.

“Completely empty. I feel like all my worries and stress just,” he made a floating gesture with his hand, “disappeared.” 

“I think we both deserve some sleep, don’t you agree?”

He looked into my eyes as if to read them again, then rolled me over, pressed me into his form, and softly whispered good night.

I grabbed my phone only to be met with a few messages from Mai:

Mai Darling, 2:30

hope you’re not dead because Hana said there’s another party in 2 weeks and she’ll kill us if we don’t come

Mai Darling, 3:15

ok you’re either dead and i have to clean up the apartment of your blood or you’re still fucking and i hope to everything holy it’s the latter and i don’t have to get the blood out of the carpet

Mai Darling, 4:45

i’m gonna choose to believe you’re so fucked out you can’t even pick up your phone. get it girl. Message me when you can though

Yunaaaaasty, 5:20

alive but barely. came five times. hurts my brain to think we have work today. see you soon.

Mai Darling, 5:21

YESSSSSSSS i knew that little bastard had it in him…or more accurately he had it in you! ;)

i’m home around 9, prepare the report and i’m making us some coffee for that piping hot tea

What a weirdo. My eyelids closed to the soft sound of Keisuke’s light snores. 

~

With a start, my eyelids flew open to quickly switch off the alarm before it woke up Keisuke. With a groan, he flipped over to his back, hand reaching over to try and locate his phone. He sat up to rummage through the pile of clothes we left on the floor to fish it out of his pocket. 

“Ah, shit. I have work in a few hours,” he looked over at me and smiled, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t stay a tiny bit longer. That is, if you want me here?” His eyes were full of hope.

I pulled him towards me and caught him in a kiss, his hand started wandering underneath the sheets, grabbing my boobs, hips, thighs, pulling me closer. Every time he squeezed me a moan escaped my mouth into his, which seemed to make him more eager each time.

His hands travelled down to my pussy and started to softly spread my folds, ghosting over my clit with each move. In an attempt to get more friction, I started to roll my hips on his hand, desperately trying to unravel the bundle of tension already forming in my belly. He smirked and probed my entrance with a finger, catching the gasp coming out of my mouth with his own. 

I was already reaching back into the drawer to fish out another condom, expecting another round, when his mouth left mine to trail kisses and nibbles down my neck to my collarbone while his other hand was holding my neck. Am I getting into this? His hands are so pretty that I kind of want them around my neck for a little longer. 

“How are you so amazing at this?” I squeezed out between moans. He chuckled, “It’s a curse.”

“Then please curse me again.”

His head snapped up and we locked eyes. Grabbing the condom from my hand he got in my face, “Only because you asked me nicely, gorgeous.”

This time his thrusts were slower, towering over me, leaning on his elbows, his hair fell into my face, smelling of his shampoo and my perfume mixed together. Citrusy and sweet. I hoped the pillow he had slept on kept the scent a little bit longer. His eyes were focused on my face, following every hitched breath as he hit my sensitive spot with every move.

My insides squeezed his length with the desire to keep him inside a bit longer, the slow and lazy motions we were going through seemed very fitting with the chilly morning air coming in through the open window. As fast and rough as last night’s sex was, this morning’s sex was gentle, careful, and deliberate. My hands were firmly planted on his back, nails scratching slowly. I was soon brought to my peak again, this time it wasn’t sudden and needy, but slow and sure. 

“Keisuke I’m close,” I moaned right into his ear, which seemed to set off something in him as his pupils dilated and his movements became needier. Like he’ll drop through the ground into the centre of the Earth if he doesn’t chase our orgasms. 

“Say it again,” he squeezed out through his moans.

“Keisuke! I’m so close, keep it going please!”

“More,” his voice was desperate, his eyes were squeezed shut with concentration.

“Please I need you, Keisuke! You feel so good, you’re making me cum!”

With a cry, we finished in sync and he dropped on top of me, barely breathing just like me. He pulled out slowly and discarded the condom, pushing his hair back from his face. 

“How many times was that?” 

“This was my sixth, but it felt more intense than the ones before.”

The look on his face was that of beaming pride and bliss. “Not bad for one night,” he said with a wink, “but I’m afraid I have to get going if I want to at least shower before work.”

“Where do you work?” Considering how much we talked throughout the night, I didn’t get this important piece of information. Sure, now I knew what his life goals were, how old he was when he broke his first tooth, and how many bikes he had crashed in his childhood, but somehow his place of employment hadn’t popped up.

“Pet zone. The one next to the main square.” He raked his fingers through his hair, leaving me in awe of his lean body and toned arms. He started putting his clothes back on, so I got up to find a new pair of underwear and an oversized T-shirt. 

Now that we were both dressed, we met in the middle of the room with another deep kiss, this time he pulled me into a hug. Huh, we had fucked 3 times and I fed him, but we just hugged for the first time. I could’ve just melted in his arms, but the sound of the front door unlocking made me step away and see him to the door. 

Mai walked in with a big smile on her face and a bag of groceries.

“Good morning sleepyhead, time to start on breakfast!” She said with too much energy for both of us. 

“Actually, I have to get going or I won’t make it to work,” with a quick kiss to my lips, he started for the door.

Mai turned to him as if wondering what he was still doing there.

“Okay, great seeing you, Kazuki,” she said with a smile.

“Likewise, Mirei.”

She frowned slightly, “It’s Mai.”

He smirked, “It’s Keisuke.” He winked at me and closed the door behind him.

Mai turned to me with a grin, “I like him, he can take a joke. Right,” she clapped her hands, marching into the kitchen, “I’m making coffee, you’re getting ready to spill everything. Apart from the coffee, of course.”

With sleep still in my eyes, I made for my bedroom to put the books and papers back onto the desk and let some more air in, since the whole room smelled of sex. As I raked through my hair, I realised his hair tie was still in my hair, I wondered if he left it with me on purpose.

[leggerefiore]

cw: April Fools fic, pranking

pairing: Larry/Reader

Larry blinked.

He was not going to claim to be any kind of expert on birds, despite them being a type he specialised in. The only thing he felt confident that he could ever call himself an expert in was dealing with passive-aggressive work emails. His eyes narrowed at the pokemon that came out of the pokeball.

Staraptors did not look like that, he believed. The bird tilted its head at him and let out a cry. That also did not sound like a Staraptor. His hand reached out to feel the plumage of this unknown fellow. Larry could confirm one thing. This was, indeed, a bird. Not his bird, but a bird nonetheless. His head tilted, navy feathered beast leaned forward to try to soothe his hair. It was friendly, at least.

Where was his Staraptor? The question went into his head, but there was not an obvious answer to it. Seriously. The pokeball for this pokemon had been left in his suitcase, so this was not some kind of accident. Debating it brought no answers, so he just allowed the bird pokemon to rest on his arm while he looked around the area. Nothing around seemed to give any hints as to what happened.

“... I guess… My boss will have to deal with me using you for today. I hope you don't mind,” he told the creature. The bird just chirped. It did not seem to mind, at least.

~

Later, an answer finally came. During his lunch break, a familiar face popped into the Treasure Eatery. Larry truly thought nothing of it at first. You tended to show up, either to watch his battles or just enjoy a meal with him. There was nothing terribly odd about seeing you… Until you challenged him to a battle. He thought that he had misheard you, but you quickly repeated yourself. Instinctually, he almost told you to do his gym test. That would have been unnecessary since you had it memorised.

He begrudgingly relented, wondering why this otherwise plain Monday was tormenting him in so many odd ways. Standing at his place on the battlefield, he tiredly sent out his Komala. You sent out one of your pokemon and the match was on. Everything was half-hearted on Larry's part, which made it easier for you to quickly gather the upper hand and reach his last pokemon.

Usually, it was his Staraptor, but today it was the unknown bird pokemon. It teratillised into a normal type, so he could not really complain about it. The bird let out a fierce cry. You seemed to take on a mischievous grin, however. Larry cocked a brow up at your reaction. Did you know something? He would need to ask you after the battle.

You had plans to answer his unexpressed questions during it, however. You changed out your current team member for a familiar one. A grey plumage with a single streak of red came into sight. Its known cry echoed off the walls of the restaurant. Staraptor. Larry felt his tiredness deep into his bones. The battle grew a bit more intense.

In the end, you had won. Both of you stepped down from the battlefield as he kept an eye on you. A pokeball that he knew all too well was held out to him. Larry wordlessly took it while offering the unknown pokemon's own to you.

“April Fools,” you finally told him. He blinked. April… Fools… His mind rushed to the date of the day. Well, of course. He realised that it was April first.

“... What kind of prank was that?” Larry did not really understand it.

“I replaced your flying normal type with another flying normal type,” you explained. He nodded. That explained why the pokemon seemed on his level, then. “Have you never seen a Swellow before?”

“No,” he shook his head, “... It wasn't all too bad.”

He would not mind hanging out with the Swellow again.

[gatheringfiki]

PSA: GatheringFiKi is back!

Hello, my favourite people!

If you've been with us for some time, following the mis-adventures of this little, but mighty fandom, or perhaps even taking part in them from time to time, you'll be delighted to hear that we are now in a position to resume normal service.

If you're joining us just now and wondering what on earth is going on - welcome! We are a small community focussed around the Fili/Kili pairing (and other fictional pairings fortrayed by Dean and Aidan), which has always traditionally ran frequent events to generate new content and encourage fan interactions.

Our activity was kinda suspended a year ago when our admin, @linane-art scampered off to travel the world for a year.

I have no idea why I'm writing this in 3rd person. Ahem, anyway - I'm back. And here's what I'd like to do with GatheringFiKi:

Firstly, I'd like to figure out how many content creators we actually have at the moment, since these folks are my audience. So if you are currently actively writing / creating artwork or edits in the Fili/Kili fandom, or plan on doing so in the near future, please REPLY TO THIS POST. Please also feel free to forward it to anyone who might want to respond.

Whatever else happens, there will be a 12 Days of Christmas event happening in 2023! I have no idea how many photosets I will actually be able to make before mid-November, but I'm aiming for at least a couple. It's such a highlight of every Christmas for me, I can't wait!

There may or may not also be some little prompts posted for Halloween this year. This would be about a week before the 31st, a very informal little event.

Whatever else happens, from now on, I would like to see GF becaome an amplifier for any and all new Fili/Kili content. Updates to your existing fics, new fics, artwork, edits, photosets, and not just the things 'worthy of recs'. ANY new Fili/Kili content - please submit or send us a link and we will re-blog, so it reaches more folks.

If we still have a decent number of creators, we will go back to running events. The plan would be to run a survery before the end of 2023 for you to pick your favourite events and run 3-4 of those accross 2024.

If we don't have creators, I will focus on delivering only the 12 Days of Christmas event annually and promoting any new FiKi content as above, based on the assumption that we're all reverting to focussing on our own works and posting them unprompted.

If you have any ideas, comments, or concerns about how this community could/should be ran - please let us know!

It's lovely to be back!

~linane-art

[sawrinwrites]

March Content Plans (Long Update)

As it is now the 25th here in frosty England, it has officially been 2 months since I published my first piece of fan fiction. In that time, I've released:

A one-shot containing my first ever attempt at both monster smut and an explicit F/F sex scene (which is currently my most popular work????)

A low angst (I know, I can't believe it either) romantic one-shot from the POV of a golden retriever

4 chapters of an emotionally intense story that is so far from my usual writing style I have to re-read earlier chapters to remind myself how to write it (a deliberate stylistic choice but boy, am I paying for it)

3 chapters of what was meant to be a fun side project and is quickly turning into something deep and dark and wonderful in its own right

All in all, that's 4 bodies of work spanning 57.7k words released over a period of 9 weeks (not including the 15-20k which got rewritten / replaced / outright cut). Which is, for me, insane. It's also a pace that I won't be able to maintain going forward, so for the sake of setting expectations (my own, more than anyone else's), here's the current plan for March:

The Monsters At My Side And In My Shadow Ch 1-3 update Given that this has gone from "werewolf smut hiding in a multi-chapter fic" to "multi-fic exploration of abuse with a healthy dollop of smut", I want to revise what's already been released to better align with what I have going forward. There won't be any plot / event changes, scenes that get altered will be getting either an expansion or a rewrite, depending on the work needed (which will include adding more smut-adjacent content because it's currently lacking and I want it to be better).

Untitled - An Ember POV Story to Celebrate 1yr Since The Bees Kissed (March 25th) @reeves3 put the idea in my head and now I have a collection of outlines covering various points in Yang and Blake's relationship all told from the perspective of the Best Girl. They won't come out in chronological order as I'm looking to line them up with various events, but the current plan is that March 25th will cover the introduction of a new member into the Xiao Long-Belladonna pack.

Additionally, I'd like to release the following chapters but I am forcing myself to accept that these will likely get bumped to April:

The Monsters At My Side And In My Shadow Ch 4

Shattered Divinity Ch 5

There's a few reasons for the (temporary) slowdown in content:

I am supposed to draft 1 - 3 OC novels this year (the mistake of mixing alcohol with an empty resolutions boards and the word "bet") and I need to dedicate more time than I have done to those projects to have any hope of doing that.

Rather than wait for the fan fic writer's curse to hit, I've gone and done it to myself by buying my first house. The offer got accepted yesterday, so now I have to deal with the joys of legal and financial paperwork. And start prepping for a move. And every other stressful time consuming thing that comes from this period. Don't get me wrong, I am fucking ecstatic, not least because it means me having an actual bedroom for the first time in almost 4 years, but the next steps are going to take a chunk out of my usual writing time.

@kaelidascope is about to drop a veritable feast of content. Look, I'm not subtle about how much I enjoy her work. She's my favourite fan fic writer. She's probably one of my favourite writers period on account of the emotional damage and veritable joy Mightnight Menagerie has brought me. And I'm not just saying this because she's been exceptionally complimentary of my own work (which, by the way, I am still freaking out over). She is one of the main reasons I started writing fan fiction. If it wasn't for the original Beestfic, I'd never have written The Hunt. Which means I'd never have had the concept ideas that initially led to starting The Monsters At My Side And In My Shadow, and without that fic, I wouldn't have had the 3 experimental scenes between Yang and her grimm which ended up inspiring the idea to write Best Laid Plans from Ember's POV. So I will be setting aside some time (translation: every waking moment I have during release weekend) to thoroughly immerse myself in the relaunch. Also there's two Menagerie chapters due and the previews are already threatening my analytics brain and unfortunately it takes time to launch that kind of assault on AO3's comment section.

So yeah. A few things going on in March. I'm gonna try and do this as a rolling monthly thing going forward in lieu of trying to have a timed release schedule. Hopefully the April one will be a bit lot shorter.

[morallyinept]

HAPPY SUNDAY LOVELIES! 🖤

Ooof what a week. Busy with work, but I'm on vacation again next week, woo! Plenty of time to write, and catch up on my reading list and I can't wait. 🤗

The weather has turned over the last two weeks here where I live in the UK, and it's very rainy and cold, so I'm looking forward to snuggling up with warm fuzzy socks and hot chocolate on the regular. 😍

So without further ado, let's crack on with this week's Whip Round.

Jack, will you do the honours?

Catch up on last week here, sugar

☆ Things I've posted this week

Five Days - Chapter 8 - I honestly don't want this series to end... But we're getting into the thick of it now. Thank you for all the love for Joel & Reader. 🖤

Thrash Metal - Dieter Bravo One Shot. Thots about a pierced Dieter birthed this and I am not sorry.

The Bow Tie - Dieter Bravo GIFLET

Self-Care With Dieter & Jett focused on loss this week. It was a bit of a heavy subject, but two special guests, Agent Whiskey & Marcus Moreno, stopped by to share their stories.

A Loving Ode To The Writers is my message to all the incredible writers out there in the fandom. And a big F you to all the haters.

This Week's Writer Wow shone the spotlight on my fellow Ezra bae @sp00kymulderr whom I just adore for so many reasons. And you will too, go give them a follow if you're not already. 🖤

☆ Things I'm currently working on

I've teased out my next series after Five Days to some of my friends on Discord this week - teehee... 🤭 Stay tuned for it coming in January.

Got a couple of one shots on the go and as always plenty more GIFLETS to come.

☆ Things I've read this week

I've book marked quite a lot to read and catch up on this week. I'm planning on catching up with some of my favourite writers too next week whilst I am off work.

Some fics that stood out to me this week were:

Be Good, Be Quiet - @undercoverpena Jo mentioned that she wasn't so innocent this week, and after reading this, she's absolutely right. 😜 Holy smokes, this was super hot and made me all up in my sexy Joel feels! Oof. Check it out, it will not disappoint! Innocent my ass, Jo... pfffft. 😉

Sub!Frankie & Bondage - @swiftispunk I had the biggest grin on my face reading this and if you've read it too, you'll know why. Good God this was excellent and packed so much punch! 🔥

Letterman Jacket - @fuckyeahdindjarin I've had this Javi P fic saved on my TBR for a while and am kicking myself I haven't read it sooner because it is utterly divine. Still thinking about that damn jacket now... 😍

Dry Run - @chronically-ghosted Once again, Taylor knocks it well and truly out of the park, this time with Javi P dancing with you. And I couldn't be more enthused or enthralled reading this. It's a scorcher. 🥵

Hoofbeats - @psychedelic-ink I'm a sucker for this pairing of Joel & Whiskey, and this story was exceptionally good with the imagery and feels. I absolutely loved it. 🥰

All these fics and more will be added to my Pedro Character Fic Rec List too.

Just want to give a shoutout to this post too from @fuckyeahpaperco by @fuckyeahdindjarin who makes stunning, and I mean STUNNING Pedro stationary. I can't wait to get my hands on some, been eyeing those post-its! I will be treating myself for sure. Perfect little stocking fillers in time for Christmas too! 🎄

☆ What have I been watching/listening to this week?

I caught up on some Pedro Podcasts this week whilst at work, some of them I hadn't actually listened to in full before...

I've made a playlist putting them all together, and it also includes Pedro's episode on Motherhacker. So, please feel free to click on and have a listen for yourself if you haven't.

My absolute favourite has to be the Talk Art Podcast. Hearing Pedro talk about art he loves is phenomenal.

☆ What have I been up to this week?

Working, and squeezing in some reading and writing. The weather hasn't been too great here for hiking the last two weeks, so I'm itching to get out this week and go for a hike if I can, stretch the ol' legs.

I hope you guys have had a great week and are enjoying the weekend. That wraps it up for this week so I'll catch you on the next Whip Round.

Stay kind, stay creamy. Let's skedaddle, Jack. 🖤

🖤

[grapenehifics]

20 Question Fic Writer Tag

Hell yeah I'll play. Thanks @palfriendpatine66 :D

How many works do you have on ao3?

AO3 says ten, but one of those is a series continuation of another one, so I count it as nine...although tomorrow that will go up by one, after the reveals for the Ghost Window challenge go out.

2.) What's your ao3 word count? 

Oh god. 690,376. I honestly think I was happier not knowing that fact about myself.

3.) What fandoms do you write for? 

I don't multitask well. I can write Star Wars fics or I can write Star Wars fics. I haven't even ventured outside the Clone Wars era yet.

4.) What are your top five fics by kudos?

Some Technical Difficulties - big gap - Solsbury Hill - An Uncivil War - medium-sized gap - An Unlikely Duo - another gap-ish - Down by the Seaside.

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

Yep. I like it when authors reply to me when I leave a comment, so I try to pay it forward. Also sometimes we get into fun little side chats.

6.) What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

At the moment, not one single damn one of them. They have angst in them, but none of them end on angst. However as of about twenty-four hours from now, my answer will be, Ghost Window AU.

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

Literally all of them. I'm happy to read angst, but when it comes to writing I am firmly in the happy endings camp.

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

I had some people tell me they were dropping out of Solsbury Hill because it wasn't getting to the Obikin fast enough, but I wouldn't call that hate. So, no.

(Side note, though: you don't have to tell authors that. Just delete your subscription quietly.)

But, I am also very ready to delete any and all negative comments. This is my fun side project; good vibes only.

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

...pretty vanilla kind, honestly. Again, I read much more adventurously than I write. (Although, as recently as two years ago I would have said I don't write smut at all, so hit me up two years from now and maybe I'll be writing hardcore d/s, I don't know.)

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

By the strict definition, no. If you're talking 'dump Star Wars characters into settings of other movies', then hell yeah, that's kind of my jam right now. Down by the Seaside is Obikin Overboard. Next year I'm planning to publish Obikin Jurassic Park, Obikin Parent Trap, and Obikin Princess Diaries II. And I have a couple more on my to-do list.

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Is this a thing I need to worry about?? Shit.

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

@kittonafoxgirl did a podfic of Some Technical Difficulties and it is still like one of the top five most rad things that has ever happened to me; does that count?

13.) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

No but @fulcrum843 are currently mulling something over...

I do get a lot of help with my writing though. @piecesofeden11 basically wrote all the DnD stuff in An Unlikely Duo. I talk stuff out on Tumblr with folks all the time before I actually sit down to write it (or during, lol).

14.) What's your all time favorite ship?

I have no plans to write anything other than Obikin, and there's so much new good fic that it takes up most of my reading time as well.

15.) What's a WIP you'd like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I wouldn't call it a WIP because there are no words on a page but I love the *idea* of a fic based on Jenn Barkley from Parks & Rec but have no idea what direction to take it and may never get to it. (If anyone wants to take this idea and run with it please do; it is very much up for grabs!)

16.) What are your writing strengths?

This is a weird thing to answer about myself but I hope I write with a sense of movement, propulsion, even a little suspense - as a reader I love to feel that I have to turn the page, I have to see what comes next, I don't want to put this fic/book down - and I try to work towards that goal in my own writing.

17.) What are your writing weaknesses?

Getting bogged down in details. It drives me crazy in movies when characters have these huge mansions but seemingly never go to work and somehow this has translated into me being incapable of just writing a smutty one-shot or whatever because what is everyone's job and how much is their mortgage payment and do they get paid on Fridays or Mondays and how many bedrooms does that apartment have.

18.) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

See answer above about over-complicating things: I came up with this whole system for An Uncivil War for whether I'm writing out the dialogue in a language other than Basic (I feel like we really only have enough information for me to be able to do this in Huttese and Mando'a, and even then only short conversations in certain subjects), or simply noting that a character is saying something in another language ("he said in Ryl" or whatever), or mixing Basic and a word/words in another language within the same sentence. It was important to me to capture that multilingualism, but it's also a lot of work, ngl.

19.) First fandom you wrote for?

Technically Johnlock but I never finished/published anything.

20.) Favorite fic you've ever written?

I love all my babies equally, she lied.

It's the Can't Stop the Suns series, which is An Uncivil War, Pick Up the Pieces (more than halfway completed), and Sometimes Fate Steps In (loosely outlined). Sometimes I'll just look over my notes and get giddy about how much good stuff I'm packing in there and how much *more* good stuff I haven't even gotten to yet. I'm throwing the kitchen sink of stuff I love at it. Even if the final version doesn't quite live up to the vision I see in my head (it rarely does), as long as I get close I'll be happy.

I tag @piecesofeden11, @underacalicosky, @fulcrum843, and, as usual, anyone else who feels up for it!

[hatredmadeofgold]

I'm a terrible person with words, but here I go. (using a translator, my English is a little shit when it comes to writing and a little bit when it comes to pronunciation, ha!)

I would like to say with ALL my heart that I love your work and the writing in "Sing to Me", my heartbeat even accelerates when I remember the existence of this work of art and how wonderful the sensation was, the euphoric feeling of read each chapter and see all the care and dedication put into it. I have immense affection for Raiden, Sam (and Monsoon :)). Seeing how complex they are in the story brings me immense satisfaction, and I just wish all the positive recognition for you, it's impeccable.

(There's a lot I'd like to express, like my hyperfocus- but hey, I'm a terrible person at showing appreciation and affection, I hope you got the message anyway :))

hugs and kisses from a Brazilian! 🇧🇷❤

Oi, não se preocupa! Não sou falante nativo, mas entendi muito bem. Da próxima vez, você pode me escrever em pt-br (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

Thank you so much!! I am really happy to know that you enjoy my work 💕 Honestly, every time someone tells me that they enjoy Sing to Me so much, I am getting really happy. This fic means a lot to me and gives me lots of strength and stability, although on the outside it might look that I am not doing much for it for the past year (I do, it's just background work that I can't show T_T massive spoilers and so on). But I mean, I kept saying that each time somebody came to my inbox about it for the last months.

And I am so glad to know that you're feeling like this for each chapter you've read so far! This fic in itself is really complex and long, I could give you a rough estimate of around ~100 Chapters for the main story (Those would be just arc 1-3, the series, however, has 6 arcs in total excluding the 2 AUs). Sooo... let me say, you've got a lot to look forward to, I suppose :3

Also I hope that you'll be curious about the revisions too. Chapter 5 and 6 will have a darker tone than their current version that is on AO3 at the moment, but also will be much better in quality. Chapter 6 will have major changes I think, especially the second halve of it. I am all giddy and excited myself whenever I think about all the plans I have for this story. The drama, the comedy, the (bitter-) sweetness, but also the chaos, the pain and the darker parts of this fic. I wish I could go on a ramble but it's so many spoilers lmao And I don't want to take that away from my readers. If anything, I might drop a few essays about Raiden and Sam that I've got on my to-do list at some point, that in some cases will directly tie to Sing to Me as well.

The series also goes in great detail about Sam's past and who he is as a person because I was a bit dissatisfied with how most fics for this pairing at least that I've read didn't come up with much for his past (but I still liked all of them regardless), hence I went a little bit insane about him. To the point that Sam is technically my OC now (according to my beta reader) lmao

Jsyk, this is my current graph view of my Obsidian vault for Sing to Me and all the dots that connect to him:

My vault is an absolute mess still tbh because the program is a bit overwhelming when you don't know where to start, so this is far from how complex this fic actually even is.

What I can tell you pretty much spoiler free is that the series is complex because timeline wise, it starts in the year of 2001 and ends (technically) in the year of 2026. I say technically because ARC3.5: The War in Heaven goes a bit crazy with science fiction elements and time is... let's say, "relative". The main fic spans from 2019 until 2023 btw.

The prequel (ARC0: I Come with Knives) is entirely about Sam's past, from his POV entirely, and a collaboration with @thatthereneverwas since he originally requested me to write it. Basically adding more Sam lore that we definitely need :3

Please don't hesitate to come to my inbox or DMs if you want to chat about Sing to Me, samuraiden or just Sam or Raiden with me! I don't bite :] Monsoon is also my favourite from the Winds of Destruction aside from Sam, so I get you! I've been thinking of maybe including him in the fic as well, but it's uncertain how so yet, and if it will just be a flashback of some sort 🤔 But I take notes as I go, we'll see :3

Beijos pra você também 💞

[oonajaeadira]

State of the WIP Address

Okay, y'all, I've been in a really weird place where I've been avoiding...pretty much a lot of stuff. Dunno if I have to talk to my doctor about upping my meds or what, but this is why I actually went on them--my depression manifests not in laziness, but avoiding things I need to do and things I actually WANT to do. Then I don't do them and it all starts building up. And then the to do pile feels insurmountable, like I'll never get to finish all these wonderful things. So I just...freeze up and roll over. Like a fainting goat. You'd think I'd be like "yay! lookit all the things to look forward to! I have years ahead of me full of things I really want to do! I should never be bored again!" But no. Can't do them Right Now? Fainting goat. It's weirdo. We've all got our weirdo and this is mine.

I only mention it here because I do State of the WIP Address to be accountable. Now, the weird thing is, I don't actually expect anyone to read these posts--they're boring and personal and totally for my own motivation. I just know myself and know if I put something out there, I'll feel bad if I don't do it and that should motivate me to actually do it.

But here's the thing....it doesn't work anymore. I'm no longer fulling for my own snake oil. The placebo has run out. If I know it's inconsequential, then my brain tricks me into thinking that I'm accountable to no one. And, in reality, it's true that I'm actually accountable to no one so the trick doesn't work.

Anyway. Welcome to Adira's brain where she finds her own thought patterns a fascinating psychological study and the lab results are inconclusive.

So I'mma try to twist the experiment a bit. Rather than list the things I know I can't get to right this second and feel bad about it, we're gonna let promises go and do it this way. It's not interesting to anyone but me and anyone who nerds out on process. But rather than listing the things I'm not working on, I'll talk about the ones I am, how it's going, what's in my craw about it, and maybe in my ramblings I'll clear the gears to start rolling again.

This isn't interesting to anyone but me unless you really wanna see how seriously I take my fic writing. Cringe if you want. I'm just being honest with myself. My fic isn't high art, but as with anything I create, I can't half-ass it either. It's "be satisfied with it on my terms" or bust.

STATE OF THE WIPS

I have one million projects happening, but these are the pieces I'm actively thinking about and working on at the moment.

SECRET SANTA Where it's at: I'm writing for someone I think is a wonderful person and want to do right by them, so the pressure's on. But at the same time, it's not. Because I know how accepting and lovely the person is and they gave me a lot of prompts and options and like a lot of the things I do and seem to like a lot of the types of things I like to write. I also know that this doesn't have to be over-complicated, that I can write my heart and it will please both of us. While I haven't actually opened up a doc to start, I know that it's the type of thing that if I have a little uninterrupted block of time, I can just sit down and it will flow. I won't say much about it here, but I will say that while it can 100% be read as standalone, it hits on a character/series I'm currently writing and acts as a kind of prequel, a reason for loving the reader as he does. It's something that is kind of missing in the planned series and I think this would be a nice opportunity to explore it before moving forward (and maybe helping propel that series a little) while also touching on one of the characters my giftee likes, a genre they are interested in that I hadn't considered with this character, and it will have a tone I think they'll appreciate. So while it's for them and being written with their likes in mind, I thank them, because it's also a little gift for me and my yearnings. What's stopping me: Time constraints and general anxiety.

TROPE FIC: MODERN DOM!PERO Where it's at: This one got a little sloppy and I'm working on it. I've been following @max--phillips' entries about what defines certain types of kinks and while my thoughts on dom!Pero started as true dom, they swung wrong when I started working on this, and now I'm just thinking myself back to the definition of dominant. And while I may still be missing the mark, it's helping me to think more about how I want to explore and frame this dynamic. It's also giving me a little trouble in that it's not coming out chronologically which causes me to waste time jumping around and retrofitting things. What's stopping me: I put this one on hold to start prioritizing the Secret Santa piece.

TROPE FIC: SEX POLLEN!OBERYN Where it's at: This piece is flowing chronologically. It's going to be longer than I anticipated and the first draft is about 1/3 done. I already know that after the first draft I'll have to do some shaping and I think maybe I got overwhelmed with the task I set for myself and that triggered my avoidance. I know where it's going, I'm excited for it, it will flow easily if I let it, I just have to do it! What's stopping me: I put this one on hold because I got distracted by tasty Pero thoughts. I blame @perotovar for the thots, but not the stopping. That's all on me.

TROPE FIC: ALPHA!JAVI Where it's at: I'm about 1/2 done with the first draft. Again, this one will be longer (and also more angsty) than I anticipated. I love love love where it's going though and reader and Javi's history is beautiful and sad and complex; I really love that half. I'm just now switching into the modern day section of it and have to make a few decisions about how I actually want it to go. My mind is over-complicating the story and I'm trying to wrestle it down a softer path. What's stopping me: I got distracted by the Oberyn story which is why this one's on hold and now this is all Inceptioning on itself.

GOOD. THINGS. TAKE. TIME. Where it's at: The asks are all sorted, there are only a few more sessions left before chapter 4. I just have to write it. What's stopping me: Here's the thing about PATS. If I was out for notes, I'd be pounding on this series, because it's my most popular one. But... really, I'm just here to dream up stories I like to tell. I put PATS down not consciously and not because I don't love him, but I got excited by other ideas. I want to finish it because I don't like having a bunch of unfinished projects lying around, but I also don't want that to be my #1 motivator for writing him. I want to enjoy it. I did enjoy putting the latest installment out, but I also don't feel like I'm letting anyone down if I don't hurry it, just because engagement is low. Again, I'm not here for the notes, I truly love the connection and the squeeing and sharing a yearn. We're all so busy now that it's tough to get to everything and the mutual timing is a bit off. That's okay. It's planned out, it'll get done, I just have to do it when I'm feeling it.

LEAVE OFF YOUR WANDERING: WINTER Where it's at: Finished plan. Yet to begin writing. What's stopping me: I was wrestling with this one for a bit because I had two directions it could go--soft and fluffy without much meat, or weaving all the details together and serving a story that gets rather dark, a little sad, and serves as a fix it. On one hand, I felt like I would be betraying readers by not keeping the euphoric escape. But I would also feel like I built this whole backstory that needed to manifest itself in a test for Joel and Meadowlark, as well as the fact that--other than backstories--there hasn't been any canon hardship or violence displayed. It's like I'm missing a huge chunk of who Joel and Meadowlark are. In the end, that's where the story wants to go, so I'm going there. And I have to not think about what anyone else wants, just me. Not just for selfish reasons, but I know that's when I do my best. It doesn't mean there won't still be fluff and a happy ending. It just means I have to write darkness and perhaps it will serve me better to do it in the season in which it takes place.

[teecupangel]

From @wisecloudnightmare:

...I wanna read chaotic Shaun interacting with Desmond's ancestors. Don't need to be time-travel (forward or backward) au or anything big. Just, like, can you imagine Shaun designs weird training courses to test Desmond while he's Bleeding? (And have Ezio flirt with him or Altair criticize the weak points of the plan lol).

(Just want to share my thought, but if you wanna take that as a request... 👀💦)

Here's a small fic of Shaun being chaotic and getting more chaos XD

=============================================

Test Subject 1

“If you could be any animal, what animal would you be?” Shaun asked as he stared at the stoic expression currently decorating Desmond’s face.

Golden eyes stared at him silently as Shaun tapped his tablet and a mechanical woman’s voice spoke, “إذا كنت تستطيع أن تكون أي حيوان ، فأي حيوان ستكون؟”

At the sight of furrowed brows and the slight downward shape of his lips, Shaun sighed, “It’s the best we have at the moment.”

Shaun tapped at this tablet once more and had the mechanical woman’s voice say, “إنه أفضل ما لدينا في الوقت الحالي.”

Scarred lips finally opened and Shaun readied the tablet to record and translate…

“More than seven centuries have passed yet all you have to show in terms of communication is that.” Altaïr dryly stated in perfect English as he looked at the tablet in disappointment.

Shaun simply grew more interested as he asked, “You can understand and speak our version of English. Does that mean you have access to Desmond’s memories?”

Altaïr slowly raised his head to stare at Shaun quietly for a moment before deadpanning, “No hablo ingles.”

Shaun narrowed his eyes as he asked, “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“I’m not as boring as many believe I am.” Altaïr stated before leaning forward, “But more importantly…”

Altaïr quickly tapped Shaun’s tablet before Shaun could pull it away, successfully stopping the recording and deleting the file.

“Wha-! Why?!” Shaun looked at his tablet, his eyes widening as he heard Altaïr say.

“You now do not have any evidence that I can make a pathetic joke.” Altaïr leaned close as he whispered, “You will have to live with your life knowing you know something about me that no one will ever believe.”

Altaïr leaned back as he continued, “And that will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

Shaun stared at Altaïr with wide eyes as he whispered, “You’re a monster.”

“I don’t like being told to go away.” Altaïr retorted before closing his eyes.

A moment later, light brown eyes opened to stare at him and Desmond blinked.

“Desmond, Altaïr-”

Desmond’s lips curved into a cheeky grin and he began to walk away as he said mimicking Shaun’s accent, “Hello, Desmond. Go away.”

All Shaun could do was stare at Desmond with an open mouth.

=============================================

Test Subject 2

“And you want me to paint whatever I wish?” The Italian accent was clear to Shaun’s ears and he nodded.

“Yes, anything you like,” Shaun said as he handed the stylus to his current subject.

Ezio began to use the stylus on the tablet as he said, “You do understand I am more familiar with… shall we say, traditional art?”

“But I’ve got Desmond drawing on that same tablet for the past week.” Shaun explained, “To familiarize himself with the drawing app I downloaded.”

“And how were Desmond’s drawings?” Ezio asked curiously as he continued to draw.

“Awful.” Shaun stated bluntly before continuing, “But the main point is for him to know how to use the app. And now, you’re using it for the first time.”

“Do you just instinctively feel like you know what to do? Where you can get the tools you need?” Shaun asked curiously.

“Altaïr did say you were checking if the Bleeding Effect affects us as well,” Ezio commented with a nod. Ezio stopped drawing and smirked, “Here. For you, il mio bellissimo.”

Shaun took the tablet and looked at what Ezio had drawn, expecting to see a rough sketch similar to the paintings he had done for his targets back in Monteriggioni.

Shaun sputtered and raised his head to stare as Desmond grinned at him.

“I’m getting better, right?” Desmond teased.

=============================================

Test Subject 3

“You look… dejected.” A polite tone asked and Shaun sighed.

“Hello, Connor.” Shaun paused before adding, “Or Desmond pretending to be Connor. Whoever you’re supposed to be.”

“Would you like to know a secret?” The man in front of him asked as he moved one of his pawns to E4. Shaun countered by moving his black pawn to F6 to bait him.

“And what secret would that be?” Shaun asked as his opponent moved another pawn to D4 which Shaun countered by moving another pawn to G5.

Shaun froze when his opponent placed the white queen on H5 as he stated, “Checkmate.”

“Tha-that’s…” Shaun spluttered as he raised his head to stare at the man in front of him, “That’s the Fool’s Mate! How do you know-”

The man raised his phone and showed a webpage that says ‘10 fastest checkmates’.

“That’s cheating!” Shaun exclaimed.

“I’ve been told to play smart.” The man said before using his white queen to tip Shaun’s black king.

“I was distracted,” Shaun grumbled, glaring at the chessboard.

“And we do not like being experimented on.” Connor answered before adding, “And Shaun?”

“Hm?” Shaun raised his head to stare at Connor.

“No hablo ingles.”

“Oh, piss off, you wankers!”

[something-pithy]

Heyo, glittercats and kittens! So chapters 6 and 7 of an echo, a stain are up! And starting this week, I'm going to start including story notes along with the link.

I'm a note writer lol. Part of how I even begin to keep track of all the wildness of writing something longer than a grocery list is to write about it before I start writing it, if that makes sense lol. Character sketches, ideas about why certain things are happening, backstory, setting details, etc.

I'm pretty verbal about my writing process because -- well,  I like writing about writing a lot, and also, I think it improves both the work and how I get there. Anything might end up here -- character sketches, ideas about why certain things are happening, backstory, setting details, etc. I don't really wanna be leaving like eighteen thousand words of notes on every chapter, so here we are!

Sometimes I think they might add some interesting context for readers, sometimes it's information that I think is important but it's too much for the notes section on the story itself, and sometimes it's just so I have a document of my progress for this story. So here are my notes for chapter 7! ---

Chapter 7's title is from "Come to Me" by Bjork, which is definitely one of my Astarion / Tav falling in love themes for when I'm up in these flashbacks, back before Astarion Ascended (and he still had a soul loool).

The notes from previous chapters had promised a Shadowheart & Tav conversation in this chapter. This is not the Shadowheart & Tav chapter I promised, but it is the one that continued to demand to be written until I capitulated. 

And also, honestly, the one that's going to benefit that other chapter that was supposed to be 7 and the story as a whole in the long run, so I hope you like it! 

I was getting really stuck with my original plan, and so I just started writing -- well, this. And the chapter after this. And possibly the one after that. Loooool there is a LOT going on at this point in these kids' lives.

The original plan is still 100% happening, but I think I needed to 

1. explore the foundations of who these people have become (by these people of course I mean Tav and Astarion, but also friendship is magic, so our beautiful OG friendgroup babies) 

2. what the relationships between them look like and 

3. some clues, at least, as to how they got there. 

(tl;dr we're purposefully time-jumping, and I'm having fun with it, so I hope you will, too!)

But never fear, Shadowheart and Tav will of course be chatting when we return to the story's present. And it won't be in just one chapter.

OR

hey y'all, we're gonna be doing some purposeful (and hopefully at least coherently executed) flashing back and jumping forward (or up! or laterally! OR WHATEVER) in/on/around this story's timeline!

Final note, but an important one, on Tav's identity: 

I tried to keep Tav ambiguous for the first few chapters because I know that sometimes a really detailed and specific-looking or backstoried Tav can make people disengage from the story because they don't relate to the identifying details provided. (also, it's me, I'm people, or at least one of the people lol)

But at the end of the day, as soon as I started even thinking about writing a BG3 fic, I started really digging into and developing this Tav, who does reflect the dialogue, action, and relationship choices I've made in my current playthrough of the game with her, yes. But in having spent / continuing to spend some time thinking and writing about who this Tav is.  I'm not going to lay them all out here, but I think when you want to play in a sandbox as fucking ginormous and intricately, infinitesimally detailed as Faerun / The Forgotten Realms / DnD,  a little story/character-relevant contextual frontloading can help readers have as much fun with it as the writer does. 

Also, and I'm just going to say it, Tav is a queer, first-generation Baldurian child of two immigrants. She's the Faerun / Baldur's Gate equivalent of a BIPOC, with parents who were born in places very different both from Baldur's Gate and each other's home cities / kingdoms. Also, she's mixed-heritage elf (sun, moon, sea -- yeah, I'm that guy, come at me bro loooool). All this context is key to who Tav is as a person, as a creator, as an adventurer, and just in general.

I want anyone to be able to read Tav and be able to understand who she is, if not be able to relate to some small part of her -- but in my mind, people like Tav are essential to the story of a place like Baldur's Gate, and I really enjoy exploring what that looks like.

I'm having fun with it, so I hope you will, too!

[dontbelasagnax]

5 and 15 for the unwritten/unpublished ask game? <3<3 (for your SubCody WIP since that's what you wanted to talk about and I'm very excited to hear more about it :D)

*claps hands oh so delighted* I'm so glad you're excited @merlyn-bane !!!! 💕💕

5. Is there any scene you're excited about writing?

Aaaaa so many scenes I'm looking forward to!!!! There's one right around the corner where I introduce one of Cody's mildly unfounded but deeply dug holes of a hang-up. Giving my boy some insecurities that he hides and gets rather cagey and defensive about but by the end of the fic allllll his boo-boos will be kissed and patched up, no worries 🥰🥰

15. Do you have any unwritten scene that you think about a lot?

I don't know if this scene will make the cut but it's like A Thing™️ throughout the fic (it will be😂 haven't gotten there yet) that Obi-Wan does not want to be called "sir". They agree to push that limit for a roleplay scene idea Cody had where they're General and Commander again. And uh. They get like 5mins in and Obi-Wan has a panic attack. I love this because it's a good demonstration of them (relative kink newbs) bumbling their way through D/s, not everything going to plan, and they're alright in the end. Obi-Wan learns that the safeword is for both of them, not just the sub, and he should use it the moment he feels things going awry. I do quite love the aftercare bit I've envisioned to accompany the scene because they're still figuring out what their individual aftercare needs are and the current way they're going about things might not be 100% effective but they are putting their all into it. Sweethearts, they are.

Unwritten/Unpublished Fic Ask Game

[bookworm-center]

Dirtyhands and the Bloodbender: Chapter I- The Girl In His Suit

Author's Note: I started this before season 2 came out, so don't include that plotline into this at all. Season 1 sort of happens, at least the aspects that don't mess with the book events, and what is currently happening in this fic is a short little arc before the SoC storyline. Yes, I will include the ever present flashbacks and different POVs (but mostly Kaz and Y/n) and yes, Y/n has her own backstory. I may have traumatized her too much, but we're rolling with it.

Previous part below:

Dirtyhands and the Bloodbender

Kaz Brekker: The Girl In His Suit

I have begun to let my guard down. Too often, in my opinion. Perhaps that is how one of Rollins' Dime Lions had cornered me and Jesper in an alleyway.

Jesper had his hands resting on his guns but I wanted to know what Rollins wanted.

"What business?" I ask. It was a common response in the Barrel, not as a greeting but straight to the point.

"Rollins wants you to back off of his turf." The Dime Lion was walking forward, and nearly had our backs on the wall. I started to panic, internally, of course. I didn't have a plan to get out of this, but I couldn't let Jesper know that.

"I have never set foot in Rollins turf." I attempt to buy my time, although all three of us know that is a lie.

Two gunshots go off, one bullet hitting the man in the head and the other planted in his chest. He drops to the ground, unmoving, eyes still widened.

I glance at Jesper. His guns weren't smoking. "Wasn't me, boss." He raises his hands in surrender.

Someone jumps from the roof, their footsteps echoing softly on the ground, standing in shadow. I almost assume it's Inej when I remember that she was off doing a job.

"Do you always have to get yourselves in trouble when I'm not around?" The person asks.

Jesper grins and I thought he was about to sweep them off their feet. "Y/n/n!"

"Hey Jes." They step out of the shadows. It's my second in command, Y/n L/n. Her h/c hair was swirled into a hat and her eyes were shining the way they always did after a job. She wore a black suit, nearly the same as my own. Wait. That is one of my suits.

I raise an eyebrow, hoping it doesn't reveal whatever I feel when I look at her, "You took one of my suits? Again?"

She glances down at her outfit, as if she could forget what she wore and shrugged, evidently not regretting it. "Nina had to tailor me to look like you. For a job." She didn't look very different, though Nina may have already tailored her back.

What? No one had told me of that. "Were they fooled?"

Before Y/n can answer, Jesper does it for her. "Of course they were fooled, Y/n/n's the best actress in the Slat. Except for myself and Nina, I suppose."

"Speaking of acting, Pekka Rollins stopped by the Crow Club earlier. He was acting all nice and wanted to speak to you. I told him to talk to me instead. That asshole was looking at me like I'm eye candy in front of the whole Crow Club. But he did tell me what he wanted." Y/n adjusted the suit cuff, barely glancing at me while she spoke. She said it casually, like it happened everyday, but I could tell she knew that this must be important.

"Really? What did he want?" I didn't want my tone to change, but it had, all the niceties gone. He was looking at her like what?

Y/n looks around. "Not here." She sets off back to the Slat.