#I have a million other WIPs I could finish or want to finish but no

[ygodmyy20]

I could draw them forever and I'll never get bored.

[kurogxrix]

Charm’

Footballer!E-42 Miles Morales x reader

IN WHICH despite the amount of fame and fangirls that your footballer boyfriend Miles receives, he never fails to remind them that he’s yours and yours only at the end of the day.

A/N: this is a rushed ass wip that i wanted to finish, so don’t expect much😭

The yelling and high-pitched crying has been going on for a solid minute now, and the red carpet laid between the crowd control barriers has yet to be occupied. It was always this way, fans crying out their love to Miles before the man could even leave the building, then yelling some more as the poor man simply walked down the short hall to reach the comfort of the black limousine that was always awaiting him 20 minutes before his appearance.

From behind the shut doors, a suited Miles was mentally preparing himself for his entrance. If he had known that this was the reality of fame, he would’ve never signed the contract in the first place. Though who is he even kidding, anybody would have taken the chance to play for their favourite football team if they could. Hell, he would’ve signed the contract for any team at this point, it was his childhood dream to play in a professional football club - and he was sure that it was many other kids’ dream as well.

Miles couldn’t help but close his eyes for reassurance, begging for his mind to concentrate on anything else but the uproar behind the closed doors that stood just a few metres away from him. Clouded by awe, the obvious first thing that his mind could find to distract himself was you. Lord, he even had to run a hand down his hair to stop his thoughts from running too far. 

You and Miles had been together for 3 years now, that was 2 years before he got signed in the team, and one year into his famous days. Sometimes he’d wake up and raise his head towards the sky to utter a prayer, thanking a god that he didn’t believe in for having you stay by his side despite the ups and downs. 

Miles walked towards the nearest body mirror, the heels of his shoes clicking against the tiled floor as he did so. He made sure to check himself out one last time to see if he looked presentable, he sure as hell wasn’t about to leave the building with a crumpled suit, that wouldn’t look good on the photos now would it?

As Miles neared the exit again, a familiar tune caught his attention from beyond the closed doors. A melody that he could recognize from millions of others, one that he’d stay up relistening to with you past midnight as you both failed to fall asleep. The hypnotising voice that would fill his playlist beyond the never ending lists of rap songs, Rema.  

Miles shut his eyes for a split second, reliving all the singing and laughing-filled moments shared between the both of you as this song played in the background. Taking a final deep breath, Miles finally grounded himself enough to push past the doors. It didn’t even take a millisecond for the roaring of fangirls to erupt, and his foot had yet to even step ground on the outside of the building. 

The camera flashes didn’t wait for him either, blinding him before he even had the chance to step foot on the carpet. Miles would beg to accept that he was used to it now, he’d love to say that he had gotten used to it now after a year of living through it. Though he’d be a liar to admit so, and everything just feels so overwhelming. 

Nevertheless, the striking smile on his face never faltered, and he looked cunning to the very eye. He stood there unmoving for a couple of seconds, letting the cameras capture every good angle of his before they swarm him on the carpet. Miles can’t help his eyes from trailing into the crowd. The very same brown iris widening at the sight, unable to help the deep chuckle that escapes within him. 

A swarm of women, including a couple of men, yelling at his name. Some of them have hefty signs that are raised up for him to see, and he laughs at the outrageous things that are written on them. Their confidence blows at Miles, how in hell can anyone go out in public while holding a sign filled with such filth. It makes him shiver at the fact that those things are written about him, but a warm smile makes way to his face as he skims through the “I Love You” ones. 

He too, loves his fans as much as they adore him. Even through the rather explicit messages that they leave him, he loves them throughout. Beyond the hate that he inevitably received after becoming a public face, Miles must admit that the love is much rewarding. It soothes a piece of his heart that has been tainted by the stress of being a footballer, and it’s even better when he catches children looking up to him with a miniature version of his jersey on. It envelopes his heart with a warmth that he can’t even grasp. 

A sudden movement strays from the others, and it catches Miles' attention. If it wasn’t for the blinding flashes of the paparazzi and the thousands of screeching fans, he would’ve definitely noticed the limousine waiting for him at the end of the line, but he feels his heart stammer as the driver delicately opens the back door. 

Sure, on the outside, Miles’ may resemble a stoic guy. His resting bitch face does his kind heart little justice, and the two fine braids that accompany his fade just boosts his intimidating look. On the inside, Miles feels his heart pounding uncontrollably at the sight of you waiting in the ride for him. You’re  seated at the other side of the open door, keeping a place for him besides you. 

A small smile rises on Miles' face, and a wicked idea brews in the back of his head. He walks a bit faster towards his car, confusing the cameramen and the people that are throwing themselves above the bars just to get a touch of this man. However, when he reaches the car, you’re shocked when he motions for you to grab onto his hand.

Sure, yours and Miles’ relationship was never kept at bay from anyone. You’d been with him since before his fame, and he’d be a loser to keep you in the dark now that he was famous, with your consent of course. It wasn’t unusual that Miles’ would often get questions about you during interviews, and you’d often find yourself smiling at the TV as you watched him answer them with pride. 

Though this was different. You’d never accompanied him out to events, yet alone on a carpet walk. It had nothing to do with Miles but all with you, you weren't all the shy on a usual, but  almost afraid of the camera’s. You’d seen the way they’d flash attack your boyfriend from behind the closed car windows, and sometimes you feared that they’d end up snapping a shitty picture of you, post it and then you’d get burnt on the internet.

The web wasn’t a nice place and you knew it, plus with the thousands and jealousy-infected women out there, you just knew that the things they’d say were going to be more than nasty. Though as you watched Miles’ ‘there’s no pressure’ smile and his soft hand reaching out to you, you decided to push those fears away. 

“Hey ma,” Miles spoke softly to you, the charm in his voice unavoidable as he stared straight into your eyes. It was hard to only stare into those eyes of yours, because once Miles had helped you out of the car, he couldn’t help but notice just how stunning you were on this night. Not that you weren't usually eye-catching, he believed that you were the most beautiful woman to ever grace this earth, though something about this newfound confidence just made you so much more attractive.

“hey..” You were clad in a skintight, dark blue dress that had been gifted to you by none other than Miles. He’d smooth talk you through the “here’s a beautiful dress for a beautiful girl”, in all of his sap. The opera gloves were just as dark as the dress, and the light reflecting off of it gave the blue colour its stunning shine. Miles was enamoured by you, his brown iris unable to leave your form as you stood on your Smiling Melody platform heels. 

Miles loves everything about this moment, from the way you dressed so chique despite your sole aim tonight being to pick up Miles from here before dipping back home. He loved how extra you were, always urging to be the best dressed even if it was for a supermarket trip. Miles loved how that shy smile of yours never left your face as you continued to stare at him. 

The chorus of cheers from behind the both of you broke you out of your trance, and finally, you collected the courage to turn around and face everyone. Miles’ warm palm found a home within your lower back, and the comforting presence of it was enough to ground you. You knew that he was looking at you with that lovesick expression of his, you didn’t even need to glance up at him to be sure. 

The middle of the carpet found you well, and an unfamiliar feeling surged in your chest at the sight of so many people. So many cameras and so many eyes fixed towards you, like your place didn’t belong next to your boyfriend that stood right besides you. Though you tried to keep the thoughts at bay, there were too many things to look at and too many things to concentrate on. It was overwhelming. 

But through your concerns, Miles just knew how to appease your thoughts. 

Ending the night with Miles kissing you before the very cameras was not how you had expected things to go. In fact, you were sure that he’d angled the both of you to face them, instead of trying to shy away. He didn’t want to hide you, and he wasn’t. The excessively loud roar that broke the crowd once more now fell pridefully to his ears. 

He wanted to show you off to the world, show these people around the  globe that they stood no chance besides you. He wanted the images to hit the news, be the main title of next week's People magazine. Miles’ wanted nothing more than having these girls holding up those outrageous signs to go back home with disappointment swarming their chests as they realise that he’ll only ever be with you, as mean as it sounds. 

You didn’t either expect the night ending up with you and Miles unable to keep your hands off of each other during the ride back home, him whispering all sorts of blarney talk into your ears as you gripped onto his shoulders for dear life, but that’d be a magazine-cover drama for another week. 

For now, you’d enjoy your giggle-filled ride back home as you both unceasingly requested for the chauffeur to replay the previous song. And amidst his annoyance, he had no other choice than to bother each time the song ended to press backwards on the limousine’s tactile screen. The music was a little too loud for his taste, but that’d be something that you could care about tomorrow morning. For now, you’d be too busy enjoying the tunes of Rema’s Charm with Miles to bother about anything else. 

-

IK there’s not much actual footballer!miles but this is just some sort of intro to the AU, if i choose to continue it…

[ohcorny]

hey corny. so i always see people recommending to outline their story before starting it, but could you talk a little bit more about what that means? what is an outline and how do you structure one? how long are the ones you write, depending on the project? do you focus on plot beats or feelings? how specific do you get? can u recommend any readings for learning more?

up front i don't have any resources for this, only experience. and outlines feel like one of those things where it's like... there are a million ways to do it and the way that works for me might not work for you. i have a friend who writes out all his ideas on index cards and that, for me, is insane. but he's also a better writer than me so who can say what is right or wrong.

anyway an outline is essentially a sketch but for a story. you go through the whole thing, start to finish, and figure out what goes where and what happens when. the idea is that this is the stage where you work out all the big picture stuff and make sure it all fits together, now, and not after you've drawn twenty pages and suddenly go "wait shit that doesn't work" and have to do it over. it is much easier to delete and rewrite a paragraph than to redraw several pages.

doing anything more, ie including dialogue or feelings, depends entirely on how useful that information is to you at that point in the process and whether the purpose of the outline is for your own guidance, or so somebody else can tell what you're trying to achieve.

this got really long with multiple examples

here is an excerpt from the original outline i used to pitch Hunger's Bite to publishers. this one had to be polished to a professional standard, because somebody else was going to read it and decide whether they wanted to give me thousands of dollars to tell this story. (also several of the details are no longer accurate. for instance it now takes place 9 years earlier lmao)

this paragraph represents the first eight pages of the book. the final book is 264 pages long, and the outline was 12 pages of paragraphs as dense as this one.

it establishes where we are, who's there, and what they're doing. i describe their conversation, but i don't commit to the dialogue. i will occasionally include snippets of literal dialogue, but usually only if it's Important Dialogue, or i just don't want to forget a good idea i had while outlining. it's not expected at this step.

an outline written as part of a pitch to a publisher should tell the whole story, with all the important details, and leave nothing ambiguous. they need to know the tone, shape, and the arcs. no secrets! all the spoilers. outlines for yourself should do this too, but outlines for others need to be as clear about your vision as possible. again, an outline like this exists for the purpose of getting you paid thousands of dollars. you should write it like that.

in comparison, here's an excerpt from the outline i wrote for revisions to my WIP prose novel, so i could show it to my agent (who already read the draft) to be like "do these changes sound good?" i'm not selling it to anyone yet, just making a guide so i can have a conversation about it. so it doesn't need to be neat, it just needs to be functional and clear. the first chapter was entirely new stuff. the second bit was just writing down what was already in the chapter that existed.

i have historically been very bad at outlining things when i don't think i "need" to, and only wrote this one after having written like 60k words of the book without any overall plan. i gave what i had to my agent for feedback and then sat down and figured out how i could apply it. it's made the whole revisions process significantly less daunting. now i have a checklist for things i need to do! this one was a paragraph or two for each chapter, with the ones that needed a lot of rewriting given a bit more detail.

lastly, here's a bit of the outline for the first roger crenshaw book. i was the only person who had to see this, and since the story was planned to be very short i didn't have to worry about a whole lot. as long as i knew what was supposed to go where, it would work. honestly it's not a whole lot different from the previous example.

this one was like five paragraphs and it did the job, and this story was like 15k words. you only need as much or as little as will actually help you on the page.

basically if you take nothing else from this, it's that there are multiple ways to write an outline, that it does not need to be perfect if you're doing it for yourself, and that it only needs what you think is important (unless it is for other people. then it should have everything). and also it's a good idea to do it earlier in the project than after you've written 60k words or drawn--jesus christ i got up to 12 chapters in never satisfied? it's amazing i didn't quit sooner

[frownyalfred]

20 Questions for Writers

I was tagged by @lurkinglurkerwholurks

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 146! It would be a larger number if I hadn't deleted all of my Supernatural fics back in the day. There were at least 30 of those, maybe more...

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

913,163 - I'm hoping to hit a million soon!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Batman, Superman, Justice League, Star Wars, Marvel

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Take Care of Business Everybody Wants You It Was Always You a sky of honey Anything Like Me

5. Do you respond to comments?

Not anymore :/ I have a really hard time keeping up with writing if I'm responding to comments. I hope my readers understand.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hmm. Probably lonely town? Dick is getting de-fibbed in the alley by Bruce, and it's not clear if he's going to survive or not.

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

here as I am is hilarious if you're into jealous!Clark. otherwise the weight (salmon ladder fic) always gets me.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Yep. Mostly on borderline, but on other fics too. I love how, as I've gotten better at writing, it's changed from "wow this sucks, your writing is awful" to "you suck because you chose to have [character] do this." Luckily I think most of the hate filters over here to Tumblr, where I can happily block and forget. These days, I mostly get people commenting about how I'm wrong about something. Wrong about something I researched and triple checked before posting...

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

Yep! All of them, I think? At least, I haven't balked at much yet. I'm not really into the excrement related ones, so I think that would be one of my no-go's.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Yep! bloodletting (Mandalorian/Star Wars and DC Crossover) and a few Marvel/DC crossovers.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yep, a few times. What I'm more pissed about is all of my textposts being monetized over on TikTok and IG. I could be making bank off of those, considering the reach. And several of them are basically mini-fics.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! Tons. Check them out here. There's also some podfics and related works there.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not really. I've made attempts but I'm really bad at it. I tend to write spur of the moment and follow my gut on where the conversation/action goes. Planning out a fic with a partner would do them a disservice, I think.

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

I really love Superbat, but Codywan is right up there with it. Something about Cody being a loyal BAMF soldier and long-suffering big brother gets me.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

My vampire AU. Not because I don't want to continue but I cannot decipher my notes as to what should happen next.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'm very quick, I can type up a full draft in a few hours. I like natural, snappy dialogue and I think I'm good at it. I don't shy away from weird or uncomfortable situations. I'm comfortable with writing a lot of sex/etc.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I write too quickly, sometimes I get ahead of my plot. My dialogue and descriptions can sometimes be a little too bare, or I overcorrect and become too flowery. My fics take on the tone of whatever I'm thinking about at that time.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

If you're confident in your language abilities, go for it. If you're just plugging it into google translate, consider why you're doing that first. Is the addition of this new language actually something someone would say in that moment? Or are we just using it to signal to the audience that they speak another language? Is there a way to show this without telling? That being said, I love using Mando'a in my Star Wars fic, and I've studied it for a while now to be able to do so.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Supernatural

20. Favourite fic you've written?

Probably borderline or a sky of honey. Both took a ton out of me and I'm proud they're whole and standing on their own right now.

---

I'll tag anyone who wants to play! Go wild.

[chaotic-orphan]

Hey! I've just read your defiant leader x confident villain story and HOLY SHIT is it good. I love the personalities that you've given the characters, and how the villain doesn't really want to hurt the leader and is trying to ignore all of their feeling. Ugh!

I would love it if you could write more of the story. I have a feeling there's a lot more twists and turns on the horizon 👀✨

Defiant Leader x Confident Villain (5)

Read part one here

Continued from here

Guys… i am so sorry to everyone who has requested more parts for this series… it has taken literally months, I am only finished now because I queued it when I discovered it again! I am very sorry, it is an active WIP again!! I hope you enjoy!

TW: NEEDLES

~*~*~*~*~*~

Leader woke to the door of his room opening. He was still sitting in the chair in the room where Supervillain left him. The last thing he remembered was staring at the wall to pass the time, limbs still tied down tightly. Sometimes, when he was feeling adventurous, he’d glare down at the hammer that mangled his hand, but even that got boring. He didn’t realise he fell to sleep until he was waking up with the click of the lock in the door.

He didn’t have time to wake up, so his mind shot alert, clearing the fog that usually came with waking suddenly. He felt his body come alive at the thoughts of Supervillain coming to destroy his other hand. His limbs were asleep but still Leader made a fist with his free hand trying to get feeling back into it just in case.

What he could do to fight against Supervillain he didn’t know, but… but who was he kidding?! Supervillain seemed to smash every bone in his good hand, his strong hand, his punching hand.

Leader wanted to cry out as he tried to make a fist with his hand on instinct, but swallowed the cry to a sharp hiss as loud, quick footsteps thundered behind Leader’s chair and they froze.

Those footsteps were unmistakable, and there was only one set. A swift slap to the back of the head and Leader let out a startled: “ow!”

“You deserve more than that, you fucking idiot!” Villain hissed, coming to stand in front of Leader, setting a doctor’s bag down on the floor in front of Leader and dropping to one knee, unzipping it. “What were you thinking, pissing Supervillain off, Leader? Do you know how difficult you are making everything for me?”

“How about you just let me go and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Villain jerked their head up, piercing gaze furious and accusing. “Would you? Be out of my hair?” Villain challenged. Leader was the first to look away, and Villain scoffed, before dipping their head again and searching through the bag beside him. “Yeah. Thought so.”

“Villain… I…” Leader began, searching for the words to express themselves, but none came, and Villain didn’t seem to be in the mood to hear them even if they did somehow miraculously find the words to defend themselves. “Look, you don’t have to keep coming to my rescue.”

“Clearly I do,” Villain ground out, accusing eyes finding Leader’s again. “If you keep riling Supervillain up, Leader, he will kill you. I’m not fucking around. He will murder you, but you won’t die quickly. It will be long, drawn out, torturous.”

Leader’s brows lowered over their eyes, hooding the sockets in shadow. “I know that, Vil.”

“I don’t think you do!”

Leader’s eyes widened at the intensity colouring Villain’s voice, the slight fear in their eyes as they spoke. It was almost… desperate, almost helpless. Villain scoffed and looked away, running a hand through their hair, pulling slightly at the end of the strands.

Leader frowned. “Villain… what’s that look?”

Villain didn’t answer right away but a million different thoughts seemed to flash across his expression— doubt, fear, disgust anxiety. Every time Villain opened their mouth to speak they seemed to pause, chew their words, search for a better way to say what they wanted to tell Leader.

Eventually a grim resolution moulded their features and they looked at Leader again instead of through them.

“Supervillain,” Villain began hesitantly not quite meeting Leader’s gaze, and instead running a nervous hand through their hair. “He didn’t exactly trust me when I wanted to join his side so he devised a sort of… test, or trial run and he gave me the job he thought I would run away scared from.”

Villain risked a glance at Leader’s expression, then let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of their nose, rocking back on their heels.

“It’s not something I’m proud of but I had to prove myself and if I didn’t do it someone else would have—”

“It’s okay, Vil,” Leader told them. Startled eyes found Leader’s and Villain’s expression softened slightly, shoulders losing tension. “Go on.”

“He made me the interrogator… or that’s what he called it, he made me his torturer,” Villain said quietly and it was as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. Leader stared at Villain, studying their face. Villain let out a shaky breath. “Every Hero we captured, or enemy someone brought in I would take care of them. Get information, work the confessions out of them, or just make them suffer— whatever Supervillain told me to do.”

Villain licked their lips, their eyes looking down to their hands before continuing.

“That’s not even the worst part, Leader,” Villain continued, tightening their hands into fists. They raised their head, gaze steeled and said: “The worst part was that I was good at it.”

Leader would rather Villain pick up the hammer and smash their other hand, or every single bone in their body rather than tell them this. Rather than this be true, because Villain wasn’t… Villain couldn’t— Villain… it felt like all air was robbed from their chest as they stared at Villain and for the first time since they came, Leader finally saw Villain.

They saw how much Villain changed. The little moments that were shining through of the old Villain were only that. Fleeting moments. Villain looked the same, although they had a new haircut and a crueller smirk. They carried themselves a little taller, but they looked like Leader’s Villain, but there was something now that seemed to finally let Leader see the real Villain.

The new Villain.

As if a blindfold had just been taken off Leader’s eyes.

Villain looked older, not by much but they had a less innocence in their eyes. Instead they were hard, certain kernels of experience. They didn’t just carry themselves taller, Villain had a new confidence about them as if they had finally found their calling. As if they were born to be a Villain, to be an… interrogator.

Villain’s expression softened and they turned away, letting out a shaky laugh. “You hate me now, don’t you?”

“Not even a little bit,” Leader said without hesitation. Villain let the shock show across their face as they met Leader’s eyes again.

Leader forced their resolve to show on their face, as sure as anything. “You did what you felt you had to do, Vil,” Leader continued softly. “You did what I always knew you could: you survived everything that life threw at you. How could I hate you for that?”

Villain looked so vulnerable in that moment, and Leader wished that they had seen it sooner. They wished they noticed how lost Villain was within the team, how sad they were. Always lashing out, always a little more distant and reserved.

“I should have done more, Vil,” Leader said and Villain rocked back on their heels, shaking their head side to side. They opened their mouth to reply but Leader beat them to it. “No, I should’ve, I’m sorry you felt like you had to leave the team. I’m sorry about the way things ended… I— I miss you, if I’m honest. But sometimes…”

The words were rushing out of Leader’s mouth now, all emotion. “Sometimes when we start out life presents us with opportunities and we just go along with them because, well, what other option do we have? But you… I’ve never seen you more alive, more at peace. You really seem to have found your place in the world Villain and I couldn’t be more happy for you.”

“You can’t say that, Leader,” Villain whispered.

Leader laughed. “Says who?”

Villain frowned. “We are enemies, we’re on the opposing sides. We can’t— there is no world where we’re friends.”

“Just because I don’t agree with you, Villain, doesn’t mean I don’t know you. I don’t still care for you, that the years we shared mean nothing.”

“It does,” Villain protested. “It has too.”

Leader leaned forward in their chair. “If it does, then what the hell are you here for, Villain?”

The question was like a slap of reality that stunned Villain for a moment before they sighed. They glanced down to the bag they brought in and rummaged through it, pulling out a small black case and flicking it open.

Inside was a needle and a small bottle of something. Villain reached in and grabbed the needle. Villain reached into the bag and drew out two medical gloves and slide them onto their hands, snapping the band at the end of one and grinning up at Leader.

It unnerved Leader a little as they stared down at the bottle, trying to read whatever it was Villain was so happy about showing them. Now with the knowledge that Villain was the resident torturer.

Not that it was particularly news to Leader. When rumours started circulating about Supervillain’s new vicious agony agent it was Rogue who brought the idea of Villain to Leader’s attention. Rogue ran with other people before Leader; heroes, vigilantes, villains… probably the one with the most contacts across the city.

“How certain are you?” Leader asked them.

Rogue shrugged one shoulder. “I trust contact with my life. They’re not the gossiping type.”

Leader didn’t show it then, but the thought, the very possibility that it could have been Villain terrified them. How wrong did they go with Villain to make them want to hurt people? But looking at them now, Leader couldn’t help but see the same Villain they had always known. Maybe just more grown up and sure of themselves. The way they were working so deftly with the needle and vial. Drawing some liquid into the needle and spurting it back out again to re-draw.

They smiled up at Leader once they were satisfied and started rubbing Leader’s hand with cotton balls covered in rubbing alcohol. Leader hissed jerking their arm back, but Villain continued as if Leader was sitting quiet as a mouse.

“I know, but you gotta hurt to get better. No pain no gain, right?” Villain asked with a grin. Leader smothered their anxiety at that grin. Villain’s old reassuring grin, the same one they wore before they ran recklessly from the group to defend them. When they directly disobeyed Leader’s orders to intercept their enemies before it was time.

Now, it wasn’t any of that. It was reassuring and light, so Leader nodded and set their jaw into a tight line as Villain smoothed the skin on Leader’s hand. Leader clenched their teeth as their bone rubbed off bone.

“Okay, this will hurt.”

That was all the warning Leader got before Villain plunged the needle into their hand. Leader jolted forwards, swallowing a scream to a mewling whine in the back of their throat instead.

They felt the liquid being injected into their hand, it was a strange sensation but not one that was unfamiliar. Once Villain had thumbed down the plunger and injected all of the liquid they pulled it out gently. They replaced it with a cotton pad the dab the blood away.

Leader stared at Villain. “Okay. That actually wasn’t that bad,” Leader told them.

Villain grimaced. “Leader, that was the easy part.”

Leader frowned and then the pain came. It was a simmering kind of burning at first and Leader’s wide eyes shot to Villain’s.

“Vil… what is this? What is this?” They rushed out, gasping between the questions.

“It’s okay, Leader. It just resets the bones in your hand.”

“It what?” Leader shrieked, closing their eyes as they felt their bones start to move in their hand.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Leader cried as their hand ignited in agony. They gasped and shot forward as far as the ropes would allow them, their neck muscles straining as they tried to not scream but their hand was on fire.

“Hey, Leader. It’s okay, I know. I know.” Leader only very distantly heard Villain whispering assurances and comforting words to them as they writhed beneath the ropes.

“Villain!” Leader gasped, throwing their head back as a guttural scream was torn from their throat. Leader kicked out and tried to buck themselves out of the chair but the ropes just remained firm as Leader screamed louder than they ever have before. The pain ricocheted from their hand — where their bones were moving and mending under their skin — all the way to their shoulders and then deeper into their chest.

It was too much.

Stars burst behind their eyes as they felt their bones crack into place.

Villain was speaking to them. Lips moving but Leader couldn’t hear a word they said. Villain’s eyes widened as Leader let the blackness swallow them, the last thing they saw was Villain lurching from their crouch.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call (tag-list, lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @nameless-beanie @aarika-merrill @criohfreeze @bandnbookbag @gala1981 @theonewithallthefixations @libellule888 @cardboardarsonist @shywhumpauthor r @written-by-jayy @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @whump-is-love-whump-is-life @icarusignite @shirtzip @honeyed-euphrates @shameless-dumbass @dutifullykrispyland @starlight-hope @thatlittlefirestarter

[hgejfmw-hgejhsf]

Six Sentence Sunday

Greetings, my dearest loves. So...I find myself in a bit of a block right now, where I CAN write, but it feels like I'm walking uphill through quicksand to do it, and I'm convinced that all of it is garbage. So if y'all have any extra special words that might change my mind and maybe pull me from this funk, I would greatly appreciate it.

That being said, I do currently have...about 10? or so different WIPs in varying states of disarray living in my docs from which to choose a Six Sentence Sunday snippet, and this one I actually did write this week, while in the throes of this Writer's Block.

This little piece is from my upcoming song inspired fic, Come Back to Me, which is a gift I've been meaning to give @thinkof-england for literal months now and is almost finished.

Thank you, as always, to those who typed my little username into their tag lists today (bless you all): @kiwiana-writes @getmehighonmagic @tintagel-or-cockleshells @cricketnationrise Y'all inspire me to keep on writing, always.

Dream scenario, be damned. The spark of Henry’s mouth on his is more than he ever could have dreamt, in a million versions over countless years. It consumes him entirely, burning away the charred remains of what was left of his heart the night that Henry left to expose the still-beating organ beneath. It’s a flood, pulling him under the waves and daring him to come up for air, a request he doesn’t ever plan on honoring. It’s the storm still raging outside the windows, a spiderweb of lightning spreading across the sky above before an angry clap of thunder expresses its impatience at being asked to wait as they dance together in the heavens, never one without the other. It’s Henry who pulls back first, breathless, pressing his forehead firmly into Alex’s and inhaling deeply through his nose, eyes closed, as if committing every detail of this moment to memory.

Putting tags out there for as many people as I can (and if you want to be added to this list, please reach out, the more the merrier). I'm always so ready to scream into all of your tags on my reblogs, so just get ready. And as always, consider this an open tag as well! Feel free to tag me in all of the things!

@adreamareads @affectionatelyrs @anincompletelist @cha-melodius @clottedcreamfudge @daisymae-12 @duchessdepolignaca03 @gayrootvegetable @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heybuddy-drabbles @indomitable-love @indestructibleheart @inexplicablymine @leaves-of-laurelin @leojfitz @littlemisskittentoes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @magicandarchery @ninzied @priincebutt @read-and-write- @rockyroadkylers @roseharpermaxwell @ships-to-sail @songliili @sparklepocalypse @ssmtskw @statueinthestonetoo @stereopticons @suseagull04 @thinkof-england @typicalopposite @user-anakin @vanillahigh00 @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @whimsymanaged @wordsofhoneydew 

[melting-houses-of-gold]

20 Questions for Writers

Thanks for the tag @chocmarss! ✨

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

10 (but 9 that are visible!)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

99,253 (so close to 100k!)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Star Wars (and ACOTAR in my google docs) and I'm trying to branch out into other fandoms for fun!

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

could we live with just a taste?

The Valley of the Mythosaur

you are the beloved, longed-for destination in the end

just desserts

had we but world enough and time

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to! I usually only do when I post something new, but given how slowly I've been posting, I'm trying to respond quicker.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

This one

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

This one!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

no, not yet, and I'm a sensitive bean so please don't start!

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

I do, but definitely aim for more sensual than explicit? I feel like with all things in my writing, I try to go more for vibes. If you're looking for something that's SUPER explicit and porn-y, I'm not your gal but there are plenty of other great writers who are and rock it!

10. Do you write crossovers?

I have!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yep!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

I have so many ships, just in star wars alone!

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Cries in the 1980s. iykyk

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'm not great at giving myself compliments, especially when it comes to writing, but I always try to go for good imagery in my writing. I want the reader to feel like they're right there with the characters, experiencing what they're experiencing. It's why I usually go with present tense so that you can be breathless alongside them, happy when they're happy, etc.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I think I focus too much on inner angst and thoughts. Sometimes I'll go multiple paragraphs in a draft and realize nobody has spoken or moved in a thousand words!

I get too wrapped up in perfection. I'll rewrite a scene a million times, and sometimes it makes it better and sometimes you just gotta make it good enough, you know?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I would love to do it more!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Twilight -- don't go looking!

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

ooh so tough! I love and hate all my fic equally, but I'm having a lot of fun with this road trip AU that I intend to get back to!

Tagging: @acatinwinterfell, @shardminds @beesays and anyone else who'd like to participate!

[genevawrenn]

I am just going to put this at the top : this post is going to be a long vent about missing Technoblade, please scroll on if you do not wish to read.

We are coming up on two years without him.

We are also coming up on three years since I discovered his content.

I thought I was at the point I could watch one of his videos tonight, as I used to often do when I am doing tasks or writing he was always the background noise I used. I remember calling into work when he streamed for the sheer sake of enjoying them while they happened the few times I caught them before...well. I think you know. He was the reason my passion for writing came back to life and I believed I could actually follow my lifelong dream of eventually publishing a story.

But I suppose the part I always forget about grief is the absence of the unique spirit that person brought to your life. I found his content and engaged with it instantly, developing one of the longest running fixations I have had in a good while. The sheer excitement I'd have getting the notification he went live for one of his rare streams.

I don't think it truly sunk in when he announced his diagnosis. I remember discussing it with the irl friend who got me into watching him and both of us laughed, saying he's strong enough to fight off anything.

A few months pass with his rare posts and there was always this tiny little bit of intuition I had where he never told us what severity of cancer it was. Like he was a very private guy, yes, but this seemed extra...odd.

Then I remember the way my heart sunk when 'so long nerds' popped into my notification bar. The dashing of my heart against the floor texting people as I tearfully listened to Technodad tell us the words his son Alex wished for us to hear.

Its been a long two years. Its been great ones, tbh. I found a new passion with QSMP and Hermitcraft after the finishing of DSMP [tho c!Techno will forever remain close to my heart]. I kept writing, with over half a million words in published fics on ao3 and several WIP including 3 original novels.

But the only one I ever wanted to thank for helping me find my creativity again I can't, and I never will be able to.

I miss Technoblade.

I will never stop missing him.

I wish he could have laughed with his friends for many years yet, being silently proud of their accomplishments while he messed with people on the QSMP. I wish he could have had another MCC with friends.

I wish his unique soul wasn't taken from us so soon, as we weren't done following our hero yet.

But the only thing I can do now is continue to speak his tales. The first book I properly publish, the gratitude page is going to be addressed to him. I will continue to tell others about his accomplishments and tell them to go watch his content on his Youtube channel [get him to 17 million!]! Buy some of his merch [when it comes back in stock]! Support his family & friends!

Though he would call us nerds for crying, I think its beautiful how many lives he touched and how many thousands mourned his passing. He was a light all corners of the MCYT sphere and beyond saw and respected, and not too many creators can claim such an honour.

I'll always be a Voice at my core. Even if I spend my time these days as a crow, a huevito, a ferret, a tubling, a doozer and many more, my heart will forever belong to Technoblade.

Please keep creating art and writing in his name. I love scrolling the fanart tags and adore every piece I come across with my favourite piglin in them. Please, please, please keep saying his name. Sing his legends. Make references, continue the jokes, hang out in one of his friends chats and support the people he loved.

Support those who are still here, even if your heart hurts.

It's only painful because we all loved him so much, which is a beautiful type of sorrow.

[theshippirate22]

so i started a fic for this a while ago and it got lost in my wips but then @henderdads posted this and i got right back on my bullshit to finish it! also on ao3 tw: panic attack

November 1985-

Steve had a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel of the Beemer while he stared out at the theater ahead of him.

Just looking at it, just thinking about what he was about to do, made his skin crawl. He felt guilty and dirty and miserable, but he didn’t really have any other choice. 

Okay, that was a lie. There were definitely a million other things he could be doing. He really needed to clean his room, he was falling desperately behind on movies Robin said he needed to see, and he was supposed to be writing an essay to help him get into Ohio State. There were tapes to be listened to, people to check on, God, his car needed an oil change.

But here he was, anyway, neglecting all of it. 

The dashboard clock switched to 11:35 and his stomach burned. He’d gotten himself so freaked out, he was going to throw up in the gutter and drive home before anything even happened. The only thing that stopped him was the thought of what waited for him. The dark, cold, empty house, his relentless nightmares, and his sleepless night.

11:40. His hands were getting cold against the wheel, but he still didn’t will himself into the warm oasis that was the theater. Not yet. He still had time. 

He felt like an addict, lying to his friends and family before relapsing back into heroin. He knew it wasn’t like that, that if they knew, all he’d get was funny looks and maybe a snarky comment directed at his intelligence (or lack thereof), but that didn’t make it any better. He still hated himself. 

He’d promised to give this up a long time ago, to abandon the lifestyle entirely. Actually, he had turned into something of a doormat at this point- always driving the kids places and covering any of Robin’s shifts when she bailed and offering his house and money up to whoever took advantage of it- because anything he did that didn’t help somebody else felt selfish. He wasn’t allowed to be selfish anymore. He had to repent for when he was selfish.

11:45. Steve groaned softly and got out of the car, attacked by the cold air as it seemed to soak through his sweatshirt. 

Way to put the guilt into guilty pleasure, moron, he thought to himself, pushing through the doors to the theater. His inner monologue was starting to sound more and more condescending. 

The teenager at the counter glared up at him through her eyelashes, popping a bubble with her gum decisively, clearly annoyed to be running midnight showings at a shitty theater. He slid a five-dollar bill across the counter to her and took a deep breath before forcing out the words.

“Rocky IV, please.”

She looked at him like he was stupid, and he was about ready to run back to his car and pretend none of this had ever happened. This was just another stupid nightmare to haunt him while he tried to sleep. 

She handed him a ticket, the bright red DRAGO VS. BALBOA staring up at him-mocking him really- and passed over his change without saying anything at all. 

Okay, that was the hard part. That was the part that made him interact with someone, a live actual person, made him admit his sin out loud, make it real and out there.

As soon as the ticket was in his hand and he was walking to the specified theater, he could breathe again. The guilt still writhed heavily in his stomach, but he could fight down the nausea enough to function. Half his brain, the half that had been in control for a good while now, was screaming at him that this was wrong, he was sick and twisted for wanting this, while the other half kept reminding him softly that it was just a movie. No one had to know about it. It would help him tonight- maybe he could get some sleep when he got home- and then it could disappear forever, and he would never think of it again. 

It’s just a movie. 

Steve was ten when the original came out. His dad had paid for him and Tommy H. to go one Saturday and God, they loved it. They’d gotten in a playfight in the parking lot waiting for Tommy’s mom to pick them up, mimicking the final match between Rocky and Apollo (Steve was Apollo every time they played; Tommy refused to be anything less than the hero, even if technically he was the loser) and Tommy had accidentally knocked him in the face and made his nose bleed. That might’ve been one of the best days of Steve’s childhood if he thought about it.

Three years later, he and Tommy went back and saw Rocky II the first night it was out, and watching Rocky win lit something in Steve on fire, and he convinced himself he could do anything, like how Rocky could still get up even when Apollo had beat him to shit. 

Steve got into his first fistfight that summer. He lost, because he had never actually fought before, and his punches were loose and messy, but he didn’t even care, staring up at Jack Donahue through a black eye, because Rocky lost his first fight against Apollo, but he won the second, so next time Steve would win. 

He went to Rocky III on a date in 1982 (still waiting to win that second fight, although now it was really Fight 8 or 9 because he’d gotten his ass kicked a good number of times since Jack Donahue). The girl he was with got bored halfway through the movie, climbed into his lap and convinced him to make out instead, but he kept getting distracted by Clubber Lang, and Apollo’s training advice, and Rocky and Andrian’s big house and their happy family, glancing over her shoulder absently as she trailed her mouth up his neck. There wasn’t a second date with her. He didn’t even remember her name. 

He remembered what color dress Adrian wore to the final fight, though. 

He hadn’t watched any of them since September of ‘84 when he’d rented all of them and binge-watched them one night, mostly to remind himself that Billy Hargrove was just a watered-down Clubber Lang who came to steal his title and insult his (nonexistent) wife and mess up his life. Rocky beat Clubber Lang. Steve would beat Billy.

Within the next few weeks, however, Billy ended up on the ever-growing list of people who had whipped Steve, his Heavyweight-Champion-Of-the-World belt that manifested itself as King Steve of Hawkins High was stripped from him, and he’d started his proverbial pilgrimage to salvation. 

He didn’t get to like Rocky anymore. King Steve liked Rocky. Just Steve didn’t have any reason for that luxury. Rocky was athletic, and mindless, and masculine, everything that everyone hated about King Steve, so Just Steve didn’t get it anymore. 

It’s just a fucking movie. He reminded himself. No one has to know.

They had unfinished business anyway, Rocky and him. Maybe it was fate, or some shit that IV should come out like five months after Steve did get his first win against the Russian soldier.

Hey, old friend. I did it. I won. I got back up. I won. 

We won, Rocky. 

Steve hid in the back of the theater, in the dark, where no one would recognize him. There were only maybe a dozen other people in there anyway, but in the dark, he could relax. 

He almost felt safe, even, when the opening montage started. There was something so familiar about it, like returning to the house you lived in as a child, but the same sort of estrangement from time. Watching Rocky best Clubber again, knowing Rocky would win, was such a comfortable thing. God, these movies were so good. 

He almost didn’t feel like such an asshole anymore. 

Rocky was a dad now, you know. Had been since the second one technically, but only now was the kid old enough to have a personality. Watching him with his son was maybe when the six-nugget thing really solidified for Steve. He wanted that, he wanted the house and the kid and sparring with Apollo-the friend who knew- and Adrian. 

God, he wanted someone to love him the way Adrian loved.

She was always just there, in the very best sort of way. As if at any moment, Rocky could look over and she would be there, grinning at him, helping him back up, fixing things. And she would shake her head and laugh at her moronic boxer husband and still sing with him when he started up out of tune and flush when he flirted with her. 

The reminder of the slump in Steve’s love life manifested itself as a sort of sad aching in his stomach. He redirected his attention out of his thoughts and back to the movie. 

The plot was a little mindless; he’d admit it. It was basically the same premise as the last one: Some Big-Bad-Boxer popping up out of nowhere to whip Rocky’s ass just enough in the first half to build a vague sense of suspense as to whether he was going to win the final fight or not, but the only difference now was that he was sparring against Communism or something as a metaphor for the mini-Red Scare happening. 

Steve didn’t mind. He knew enough Russians to be pretty psyched about Stallone wailing on them for a few hours. 

It’s Apollo Creed, however, who first takes his place across the ring from Ivan Drago. Steve was fine. He was well aware of the fact that whatever happened during this fight would mean absolutely nothing in comparison to whatever happens at the end, except maybe deciding the intensity of the training montage (That was the other thing; Survivor was doing a bunch of the music, how could Steve miss out on that?)

Apollo put on a show, with dancers and lights and that stupid flag robe he’d had in the first one, so this would be good. Mediocre writing, good entertainment. 

“You will lose,” Drago growled. 

They danced around each other in the ring. Apollo threw a good number of jabs in the beginning. It felt good. Steve almost smiled. 

But something happened when Drago started fighting back. Apollo stumbled against the ropes, dripping sweat; Rocky yelled something. Steve missed it- he could feel his pulse throbbing in his ears, suddenly a little too aware of his clothes and where they clung to him. 

Drago kept fighting. He punched and punched, each one landing hard and solid against Apollo, against flesh, in a rapid thunk, thunk, thunk. 

Steve’s hands started to shake. 

Apollo leaned back against the corner post as the bell rings-end of the first round- looking dazed and far away. 

Rocky begged. “I gotta stop you. This fight’s finished.”

Apollo’s answer thudded through Steve’s head. “Promise you won’t stop this fight. You don’t stop this fight.”

Bell. Second round. Apollo looked stoned, tripping over his own feet as he tried to dance. Steve knew the feeling. Then Drago had him in a corner and it won’t stop, fists pounding against him again and again. Sweat flew off Apollo’s head and fell against the mat like rain. He doesn’t go down. 

There was so much blood. Steve couldn’t breathe. He felt the adrenaline in his sweaty, trembling hands, but it wasn’t right. It wasn’t movie excitement, it felt real. 

Apollo fell back against the ropes, their support being his only saving grace. His wife screamed from the audience “Stop the fight!” but they won’t, the Russian won’t stop, the fight is still going. 

Steve must have started hallucinating. For a moment, all he could hear was his own breath, exhausted and wheezy with pain. 

“Scoops... I... I work... Scoops...”

Robin is screaming, sobbing, wailing, voice pounding through his aching head. “Stop it! Stop hurting him!”

A final blow to the jaw. Apollo swung backwards toward the horrified faces of the audience, then lunged forward in depletion. There was blood in his teeth and on his face and staining the white rags and his eye was swollen shut. And the Russian’s wife smiled. 

The doctor grinned, white teeth glimmering against the dark beard. He demands something in Russian, and Steve doesn’t understand, but he wants to, he wants to make it go away. 

The soldier leans in a final time, delivering a solid blow to his temple. 

Steve’s sight fizzles in and out like a kaleidoscope as he falls.

His head hits the concrete floor, and he feels it, the burning pain at the back of his head, seeping up through his brain until his sight goes black. 

Apollo was on the floor. His body seized with fatigue and Rocky grabbed him, cradling him in his lap, and he was screaming, crying out for something, and the Russian was still talking but all that gets through to Steve is the grating accent and the fear. 

“What did you do to him?!” Robin screams, pulling his weak body towards her with bound hands. “Steve, wake up! Steve, oh my God, wake up, Steve!”

It felt like someone had shoved cotton in his ears. He couldn’t hear anything but his own pulse and his own breath, but somehow, Drago’s last couple words made it through.

“If he dies, he dies.” 

Steve got to his feet before he realized he was doing it. His legs were moving, and he wasn’t telling them where to go, but they knew somehow. All he was aware of was the nausea sweeping through him like a tidal wave and the trembling, paranoid fear taking over his entire body. 

“Who do you work for?!”

“Scoops Ahoy. The ice cream place.”

Thud. His face burned. 

“Who do you work for?!”

“Scoops!”

His head flew to the side, pulling something in his neck and shooting white-hot pain down his spine. 

“Hit him again.”

Steve collapsed against the bathroom floor. He didn’t even have it in him to make it to a stall and lock himself in; he just melted there against the wall. 

Sweat dripped down his forehead and his back, drenching him. He couldn’t breathe; his sweatshirt was too tight around his throat and his jeans were touching too much of his thighs and he couldn’t get his chest to move. 

Every muscle in his body was too tight to move. Maybe he was having a seizure or a heart attack, but it didn’t even matter, because his head ached around a phantom black eye and a scar on his temple that had taken much too long to heal. His eyes felt massive and dry, like if he didn’t get air soon, they were going to pop out of his head. 

He knew he needed to breathe, get the air in and out in a timely manner, but every time he tried to open his mouth, he would just wheeze out “Scoops,” or “Robin!” 

The Russians killed Apollo. He was laying on the floor next to him and Robin, in those stupid Americano shorts that were the same color as Steve’s uniform, and Steve knows they’re coming for him next. He played Apollo with Tommy; he is Apollo and he’s about to receive the same fate. 

He watched the door to the bathroom in terror like Dolph Lundgren was going to storm through at any moment to try and fight him next. Steve couldn’t win. He wouldn’t win. Not against a Russian, not against Drago. 

They were going to kill him. Drago was coming, and as soon as he found him, he was going to beat him to death just like Apollo. 

Maybe Steve was sobbing. That would explain the burning in his throat and the noise making his head throb. He couldn’t stop it though; he couldn’t seem to control anything except to pull his knees to his chest and curl in on himself to try and protect his head and his ribs. 

He didn’t know how long he sat there, suffocating, shaking, anxious hands tearing through the hair at the back of his head, partially to cover his neck, partially to pull at the roots of his hair until he felt something other than fear. Eventually, he stopped crying, the tears were gone, but he still couldn’t breathe, and his whole face felt clogged up with whatever was left of his sobs. 

That only made him panic more, realizing he wasn’t getting any air, and his hands moved down his neck to claw away at his throat and open something up. His nails were dull and harsh, tearing up the skin as he pawed at his Adam’s apple, hyperventilating so loudly, it filled up all his senses so that was all he could hear for a good long while.

“Hey... You alright?” 

The voice felt far away and soft like it was spoken by someone who had never experienced the harshness of sensation. God? Steve thought stupidly, carefully acknowledging that to be the first thought he’d had in a long while that wasn’t about his own demise via Russian cruelty. 

“Harrington. Can you hear me?”

Steve forced his head up, pupils blown wide with adrenaline, glancing skittishly from wall to wall, trying to remember where he was. 

“Right here. You’re okay. Try and breathe for me, Harrington.”

Steve’s shallow breaths continued, hands trailing back up to pull his hair again. He didn’t get there, however, because warm hands clamped softly around his wrists and pulled them away. “Careful. Don’t hurt yourself, honey.”

Steve could see his hands, when he moved his fingers a little bit so he could comprehend that they were his, then followed up the foreign hands- now gripping higher up on his forearm to keep him from falling backward- along pale arms and black sleeves, then up along the corner of a tattoo peeking from underneath the collar of the shirt. Higher up, face-to-face with him, although he hadn’t actually seen it until now, was a tangle of messy curly hair and choppy bangs framing the darkest brown eyes he’d ever seen.

“Adrian?” He choked out. Relief surged through him at the recognition, despite the nagging at the back of his mind that that actually couldn’t be Adrian, because Adrian was here with him, and she was gonna take care of him and fix things like she did for Rocky. “Adrian...”

“Sure.” She mumbled. “Deep breaths, Harrington. Like you’re swimming.” She took a few exaggerated deep breaths for him to mirror, and he nodded weakly, trying to force his lungs to expand entirely. 

For a few seconds-or minutes; time really had no meaning for Steve anymore- this went on, Adrian taking one breath and Steve copying until he could do it on his own. She loosened her grip on his arms, eventually dropping them completely. “There you go. Feeling okay?”

Steve hesitated while he assessed. His scalp burned from tugging on his hair, and he was sure he’d scratched his throat up pretty bad, but his hands weren’t shaking nearly as much as they had been a minute ago, and he could unclench his jaw finally- he hadn’t realized it had been so tight; the tension was probably the root cause of the headache- so yeah, he decided. “Better.”

“You ever had a panic attack before?”

He shook his head, choosing not to speak again because of the pathetic gravelly sound of his voice and blinking quickly to fight off the next wave of tears- exhausted ones this time.

“Pretty scary, huh? But it’s okay, it’s not forever. It always goes away. You’re safe, okay?”

He nodded weakly, gazing off over her shoulder to be sure the Russians weren’t coming. God, he was going to have to protect her if Drago came. He could fight, he could protect her...

“You aren’t quite back, are you, Harrington?”

Steve startled, darting his glance back toward her. “My...” He choked out, frustrated that his voice didn’t sound right yet; still too wet and broken to be his own. “My name is Steve.”

Adrian chuckled softly. “Yeah. Yeah, I know who you are, Steve. I’m glad you know.” She brushed a stray piece of hair from his eyes. “Can you tell me where we are?”

“Bathroom,” Steve mumbled. “Starcourt.”

“Starcourt? Like the mall? No, it burned down months ago. Remember?”

Steve swallowed hard, staring at the tile. It wasn’t like Starcourt’s- instead of red, green, and orange, this was green, blue, and black. It wasn’t Starcourt. Starcourt was over. Gone. He took a deep breath. “ShowTimez. Theater.”

“Hey, there you go.” She shifted her knees out from under her- it was painful to kneel for so long- and settled cross-legged across from him. “Do you... do you know who I am?”

“Adrian,” Steve whispered quickly. 

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, almost disappearing under dark bangs. “Like from the movie? Gee, thanks, Harrington, you know how to woo a guy.” She tore her sight away, almost blushing, and continued self-consciously. “Not quite. You... you probably don’t know who I am. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Steve felt bad for getting it wrong. And if it wasn’t Adrian... who cared enough to be so gentle with him? Panic started to fill up inside him again. Who had caught him? Who knew he was here, worse, who had seen him crying? He looked back up, trying to reassess, figure out the right answer. 

Upon better inspection, it very much wasn’t Adrian. Besides the hair and the eyes, they didn’t look at all similar. Actually, it was a man, which should’ve been his first assumption given that he was on the floor of the men’s bathroom, but he also forgot his own name for a second there, so he would let it go. He had thick, steel rings that Steve couldn’t coherently recognize into any shapes yet, and tattoos on his arms that Steve hadn’t noticed in his first sweep either. But the face was familiar. Tommy had hated him, loved to pick on him in high school. Maybe Steve had had gym with him junior year. But really, Steve knew him because he was always in the background of whatever place he was driving Dustin to. The party joined Hellfire in September; Steve had been seeing this guy vaguely for months. The name was slow coming to him- everything felt lagged- but eventually, he managed, “Munson. Eddie.”

He grinned. “Yeah! See, I knew I wasn’t that forgettable. Go ahead and call me Talia Shire though, that’s the best name I’ve been called in a while.”

The corners of Steve’s mouth twitched. Maybe it wasn’t Adrian, who he knew he could trust- She's not real, moron, he reminded quickly- but Eddie was harmless. Dustin talked about the guy so much, it was like Steve already knew him anyway. 

God, Dustin. What if Eddie told Hellfire and the kids found out he’d been here, and worse, that he’d freaked out? He didn’t know if he could handle it if the kids ever found out he wasn’t as strong as he pretended.

“You can’t tell Dustin.” Steve blurted out. 

“What?”

“He can’t know I was here, that I was...” He struggled for the words.

Eddie nodded softly. “Yeah. Okay. I won’t tell him.” He lowered his voice as he said it like it was already a secret. “What the little shit doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Steve nodded haphazardly to communicate that he agreed, but he just felt like he looked stupid.

“Hey, uh, do me a favor, and don’t tell the kids you saw me here, either, actually.” Eddie continued. “It goes against my code and everything to watch...” He trailed off, suddenly aware of his audience and needing to watch himself.

“Sports movies.” Steve finished. Eddie grimaced, so he added, “Yeah, no, I get it.”

Eddie nodded, forcing a smile, but it was still tainted with guilt like he’d said something wrong.

Steve was quick to stifle the awkwardness. “How come Rocky makes the cut then?”

“Oh, I don’t really know.” His shoulders relaxed a little and he admitted, “I rented the first one on accident. I was looking for Rocky Horror Picture Show, and the tape said Rocky and I’m a fucking moron, and thought they were the same thing because whoever labeled the tape didn’t bother to write the whole thing, and then I’d already paid for it so I just... watched it and... kinda got sucked in. I love a good suave-athlete-falls-for-a-freak plot.”

Steve grinned. “Me too! I only cared about the boxing when I was younger, but now...”

Eddie tipped his head and stared at him bewilderedly. 

“What?” 

Eddie shook his head dismissively, tentative smile pulling at the side of his mouth, mumbling, “Never would’ve guessed.”

Steve felt horribly seen, like he’d said too much, flush creeping up his face, and he reached up to pull on the hair at the back of his neck again. But Eddie just laughed softly and pushed himself over next to Steve, leaning back against the wall and brushing his shoulder.

“Are you going to be okay to drive home?”

He nodded, starting to shift to his numb, tingly feet, stumbling and having to prop himself on the wall. “Yeah, I should probably go.”

“Hey.” Eddie grabbed his wrist, softly; he could pull away if he really wanted to. “Calm down, give it a minute. You just started breathing again, let’s make sure you’re good to go.”

So Steve didn’t pull away. He slumped back against the tile, legs sprawled forward to get the blood flowing again. 

“Does your head hurt?” 

Steve glanced over. “What?”

“Just... uh,” He shifted uncomfortably, clearly trying to find a different way to address what he was thinking of. “You were pulling your hair. I wondered if maybe you... you know, what? It doesn’t matter.” He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a little white bottle of Advil. “If you want some.”

“Why do you have that?” Steve chuckled softly, taking it from him thankfully. “I mean, I’ve heard your drug-dealer reputation; I just didn’t realize this is what they meant.”

“Har har.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “It’s for Sinclair actually. He’s been-”

“Bitching about his ankle? Yeah, I keep telling him I’ll wrap it for him but he’s-”

“Being a shithead about the whole thing. He’s gonna drive me to do something drastic.”

“Seriously!” Steve cried. “I’ll hold him down, you can punch.”

Eddie laughed, a real, actual laugh and Steve thought he was going to have no choice but to implode. He was so pretty; he understood the Adrian-mistaking suddenly. 

Steve wanted to say something, wanted to make him laugh like that again, but before he could grasp anything, the door shoved open and shattered their perfect privacy. 

It was the bubblegum girl from the front desk. She popped the wad of pink obnoxiously, huffing out “Dude, the movie’s been over for like twenty minutes. We’re closing.”

Steve and Eddie shared a conspiratorial Ah-shit-we’re-in-trouble look, before getting to their feet. Steve was still holding the Advil bottle, somewhat uselessly because he’d forgotten he had it. He popped it open and swallowed a few, handing it back to Eddie who banished it back to his pocket.

Bubblegum Girl stared them down the whole way out into the lobby, the pair of them giggling as they went, until eventually they stepped into the cold darkness outside the theater, and the spell was broken. Here they were again, in real life, where things were not so great as that bathroom floor or the world within Rocky.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Eddie asked softly like he was afraid something had changed the second they’d passed through the doors.

Steve nodded vaguely. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.”

He shot him a peculiar look and turned off towards where he was inevitably parked, calling out, “Stay safe, Harrington.”

Steve laughed out loud.

March 1986-

Steve hovered over Eddie, who was sitting on Steve’s bathroom counter with his legs over the side, cleaning up the blood on his face with antiseptic wipes Nancy had pulled out of nowhere. His stitches were soft and pliable still, and Steve hated how bulky and thick his fingers were for a moment because if they were small and slim it would force him to be gentler.

Eddie cried out as he brushed over the top of the gash and Steve cringed, yanking his hands back softly to avoid hurting him anymore. 

“Sorry,” Steve murmured. 

He was afraid to reach back to finish the job- Eddie was in enough pain as it was- so he stood there, watching him for any more signs of discomfort.

Eddie lifted his head languidly, glancing at the slash of bright red on Steve’s forehead, the angry crimson chain around his neck. He tentatively traced his fingertips along his skin, not along the scab, but just below it, and Steve hummed out a low sound in relief. 

“You alright there, Balboa?”

It came out a little more slurred than he would’ve liked, but he was on a good deal of narcotics for God’s sake, and it must’ve delivered itself well enough because Steve offered him a small smile. 

“Feel like a large wound,” he offered in his best Stallone accent.

Eddie laughed, and it hurt like a mother on his broken ribs and the stitches in his side, so it quickly delved into a whine, and Steve instantly reached out even if there was nothing he could do. 

He caught his hand, pulled it into his lap, just to hold it there. Steve didn’t say anything.

“Steve.”

“Hmm...”

Eddie let go. Took Steve’s face carefully in his hands, even though the stretch sent pain shooting through his torso. “I understand now. Everything. Robin told me about the Russians.”

Steve swallowed thickly, head dipping almost in shame, as if it was too much to meet Eddie’s eyes and risk finding his pity there.

Eddie just tipped his head back up gently. “If I had known... I... I wouldn’t have let you go home alone that night. That’s... that’s not what Adrian does.”

Steve tipped his head just a little like he didn’t quite understand the sentiment.

Eddie swallowed. “I’m gonna kiss you now. You ain’t gotta kiss me back.”

He properly grinned this time, leaning in to meet him halfway, hands placed carefully on Eddie’s knees as he pulled in his face. 

And he did kiss back. What can he say? He loves a good suave-athlete-falls-for-a-freak plot.

[starstruckodysseys]

20 questions for 20 writers !!

thank u to @localdisasterisk for tagging me in this! i honestly do not know how many writers i follow so um. ill tag my pibe fic besties @wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos @angelwiththeblue-box @fatestitcherr @incorrect-play-it-by-ear and the rest of u can fight amongst yourselves

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

48. i don’t know if its more concerning that almost half of them are from the past five months or that almost half are play it by ear. its the same almost half but still

2. what’s your total ao3 word count?

143,389. woof

3. what fandoms do you write for?

obviously play it by ear. everyone knows that. also d20 occasionally and project sekai. unfortunately

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

toya and mizuki’s step by step guide to romancing a shinonome — i will be so real with you guys i specifically crafted this one to be popular. and then i fell in love with it along the way. but it did start as a science experiment

let me take you with me (just like this) — WHY. this is my second pjsekai fic and my fourth fic ever posted. it’s not at all reflective of my current style. help

kiss it better — yeah. same issue as the other one. this one’s better though lmao

say you miss me (say you want to kiss me) — honestly? just impressed a honakana fic made it up this high. love my girlies

the moon is crumbling (but that’s okay) — yeah everyone pretend to be surprised the ruikasa fic got this high up. it was a new concept for me, though, so i’m pretty proud of that

5. do you respond to comments?

i used to, but not really anymore unfortunately. to be fair, i will point you all to the fact that most of my recent fics are pibe, and then to the discord where we all scream about them together

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i don’t usually. write sad endings. bc i don’t like them. okay that’s not true i just usually don’t. i guess the moon is crumbling?? if i had to choose?? it’s more bittersweet than anything, but people did say they cried, so…

7. what’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

99.9% of my fics are getting together fics. it’s just the same ending a million different ways. you tell me

8. do you get hate on your fics?

not publicly!

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

i would simply be too powerful if i could. this is for your safety actually

10. do you write crossovers?

in the sense of characters across universes/media interacting? no. in the sense of “i am going to put my blorbos in every single other setting i slightly enjoy”? absolutely. putting them under a microscope. researching and recording how they react to their surroundings

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge!

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

i simply do not think there is a demand for my fics in other languages. not in like a depressing way, it’s just that i’m writing for like five people including myself, so. yknow

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

no, but if someone wanted to… 👀

14. what’s your all time favorite ship?

i’ve never written for them (yet, at least), but by sheer volume and span of time i have to say souyo persona4. my silly boys. i’ve never scoured the entire tag for a ship multiple times on ao3 like i have for them. i have so many thoughts about them that have never seen the light of day but they exist!!

15. what’s a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

stares awkwardly at feed your anger like fire… i’ve tried!! but it turns out that sometimes you get stuck on clothing designs and stop writing and then lose passion for the project and then stop updating for three years because you were too ambitious and also you hate your old writing style. not that i would know anything about that

16. what are your writing strengths?

i think i’m really good at dialogue, or at least banter. unfortunately this makes me very judgmental but that’s not important. also i can create a vibe well i’ve been told

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

in general? i SUCK at character description, or at least knowing where and when to place it. i also always worry about characterization and if my characters sound too similar

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

i used to read so many fics that centered around using another language (shoutout bmc fandom when i was. in that. a dark period of my life, but alas) and honestly if it’s done well i think it’s cool!! i’m not going to get into the intricacies of bilingualism on account of being an english only speaker but it is rad to me

19. first fandom you wrote for?

wrote for? probably warriors. yes the cats. i had a whole fanfic for my oc. shoutout to… honestly i don’t remember her name but she was a real one! wrote for and posted is another story, by which i mean i don’t remember At All. probably bandori tbh, bc i don’t remember if i posted fanfic on my wattpad

20. favorite fic you’ve written?

either the venn diagram of curses and crushes (which is still my favorite fic title ever) or soaking in the glory. one of them is a 3k word expedition into the play it by ear canon space and the other is a 7k word fever dream i went into a fugue state to write in two days. honorable mention to the like the sweetest cup of chai series which i hold so close to my heart. silliest besties of all time

[recurring-polynya]

I was cleaning out my WIPs folder a few months ago, and I found the original draft of my Kira-and-Rose-Review-a-Restaurant story. It was nearly complete, and it's not anything earth-shattering, but it's also mildly entertaining, so I thought I would finish it up and send it out into the world. Then, of course, I procrastinated on that for months, but, hey! It's Kira's birthday! Happy birthday, Kira!

(read on ao3)

🍴 🐟 🍶

“Captain,” said Izuru, clutching his folders like a lifeline, “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“My companion will have the tekkadon, but he would like the orange sauce on the side,” Captain Outoribashi informed the waiter. He squinted at his lieutenant. “Is that alright? Do you like tekkadon?”

“Er, yes, it’s fine,” Izuru excused. “Sir, when you said we could go over these budget requests over dinner, I thought we would go to a ramen stand or something. This is far too--”

Rose waved a hand. “It’s covered, don’t worry about it.”

Izuru chewed the inside of his cheek while his new captain continued to order a rather frightening amount of food. The waiter seemed to be taking all this in stride.

Captain Outoribashi couldn’t be more different than Captain Gin, he kept reminding himself. Rose was elegant and mannered, and was trying very, very hard to make everyone in Squad Three feel comfortable and welcome. He also had absolutely gorgeous waves of shining hair, velvety purple eyes that you could just fall into, and amazing taste in absolutely everything. Izuru would never have assumed in a million years that his captain would have any sort of… interest in someone like him, and yet, here they were. In a fancy restaurant. After work hours.

“Sir,” he started again, when the server had left. “It’s not about the money-- well, also, I feel you may have been misinformed, it’s true that I come from a noble family, but, uh… not a very well-funded one. It’s, just, er… I feel that a captain and a vice-captain should have a very professional relationship, you see, and this place is rather upscale, and I feel like you’ve gotten the wrong idea--”

Rose blinked at him. “You’re friends with Lieutenant Hisagi, no?”

Izuru’s cheeks colored. “Well, yes, sir, we’ve known each other since our school days.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

Izuru felt all the blood in his body fall down into his feet. “Tell me… what?”

“Well,” said Captain Outoribashi, with a sneaky smile on his face. “One of the first things I realized upon my return to Soul Society was that old curmudgeon Kyouraku Kenji had retired and that the restaurant review column had been vacant for nearly three years!”

“Wait, what?” Kira sputtered.

“According to your friend,” Rose rambled on, “His former captain felt that the column was elitist or somesuch and didn’t want to continue it, but what could be more egalitarian than communicating the rapture of fine dining to the masses? I thought I was going to need to lean on my good friend Kensei for a little old-fashioned favoritism, but Lieutenant Hisagi was perfectly willing to hand me the post, can you believe it? I assumed he might have mentioned it to you, you’re also a Bulletin contributor, are you not?”

“You’re here to review this restaurant?” Kira managed to get out.

Rose put an elegant finger to his lips. “Shh! We’re supposed to be secretive about it, but I refuse to use a nom de plume, so I am sure we’ll be quite infamous before long.”

“'We'?” Izuru echoed.

“Well, I need to try as many dishes as possible,” Rose mused. “I have to bring companions. You had a noble upbringing, so I’m sure your palate is quite sophisticated. And you’re a writer! I hope you don’t mind, but I was already planning on blatantly stealing any particularly clever turns of phrase that pass your lips.”

Kira felt frozen absolutely solid. Why did his captains always have to be so interested in him? Why couldn’t he get an icy asshole like Kuchiki who would forget he even existed whenever he was out of eyesight, or a battleax like the Kenpachi, who would just break his arms first thing in the morning? Who was he kidding? He knew very well he wouldn’t last ten minutes in Squad Eleven before someone ran his underwear up a flagpole.

Rose’s face fell. “If you’re not interested, just say so. I’m sorry for presuming. Do you happen to know anyone who likes fine dining? Kensei has excellent taste in cuisine, but he dislikes ambience, and you can’t take Hirako anywhere. Beyond that, I’m afraid I’ve fallen out of touch with many of my old acquaintances.”

No! Kira scolded himself. He has offered you a reasonable boundary and you can just say no. Say no, Izuru. Say it. Just because he’s lonely doesn’t mean it’s your job to be his friend. You’re his lieutenant and that’s all you have to be.

“An assortment of shiokara,” the waiter returned, setting a tray on the table holding a number of sampler bowls. “And your sake.”

“Do you like shiokara?” Rose asked, gesturing at the pots of fermented fish before picking up the sake. “Also, do you drink?” he asked belatedly. “I love it, but only with shots.”

“Ah, same,” Kira finally managed. “I tend to think of it as bar food, though, I’m a little bit skeptical of the artisan nonsense from the menu.” It was out of his mouth before he even thought about it-- you’re not at the izakaya with Hisagi and Abarai!! he reminded himself.

“Oh, Kira, you cannot say something like that and then refuse to give me your opinion on the finished product!” Rose sighed. “Please, just help me with this first review! I’ll…” he frowned. “I don’t know what you like. I’ll let you pick the music we listen to in the office for a whole week.”

Kira had already experienced the horror of Rose’s automatic music player that he had brought back from the World of the Living. “Er, that’s okay,” he replied. “I don’t really know any of the music you have. It’s probably better if you pick.” He grabbed a bite of firefly squid with his chopsticks. “I’m here, might as well.”

Rose’s face glowed.

---

  “ ‘...I found the dish quite pleasant, although more adventurous diners may find the flavors too subtle. My delightful dining companion, a man of culture and manners, proclaimed that ‘you could throw a rock toward Rukongai and hit a bar with better shiokara than this.’”

“Savage,” Rangiku declared.

Momo slammed her Bulletin down on the table. “How did you convince him to let you go along? I wish my captain took me to fancy restaurants!”

“Who says it was me?” Izuru frowned, sipping his sake. “I don’t think it ever said the guy’s name. It could have been anyone.”

“Later on, he says that you described the rosewater agar agar as ‘smelling like your great- aunt’s house,’" Renji pointed out dryly, "which is the same thing you said about that facial cream Yumichika tried to get you to use."

"Why do you pay attention to things like that?" Izuru griped.

"Because he took it very personally and complained to me for a month about it!"

"Anyway," Shuuhei broke in, "Captain Outoribashi told me it was you. He wanted to make sure you got your co-author stipend." He jerked his chin. "He said he wasn't sure if you were going to keep doing it with him."

Izuru shrugged. "It was sort of by accident that I ended up going anyway."

"Well, if you don't want to, tell him that I like going to fancy restaurants," Rangiku offered.

"I think it's a nice opportunity to get to know your new captain!" Momo announced. "But if you really don't want to, I also like going to fancy restaurants."

"I also think you should do it," Renji said. "I don't care about fancy restaurants, but that was the funniest restaurant review I've ever read. Captain Kuchiki thought it was hilarious, too, by the way."

"He what," said Izuru.

"He chuckled softly and shook his head," Renji translated.

Izuru had to take a minute to process that one.

"Also, that sweet, sweet co-author stipend," Shuuhei pointed out.

Izuru glared at him.

"Look, it's too soon to have more than anecdotal feedback, but my editorial instincts tell me this column is going to be a big hit. You and Captain Outoribashi have rapport, Izuru! Chemistry!"

Izuru frowned, deeply. "He's my boss, Hisagi, and he's only been that for three weeks. All I want with him is an appropriate work relationship with healthy and firmly respected boundaries."

"How about a 10,000 kan per month dining budget?" Shuuhei replied, and took a shot of sake. "Alcohol permitted."

"Oh," said Izuru. "Well. Maybe that, too."

~

If you enjoyed this, maybe you'd like to read their review of the Seireitei Waffle Hut?

[fuckyeah-dragrace]

WIP Wednesday!

been a while since i've done this but i think it'll be good! i think im nearly finished with this work im getting done and i'd love to give you all a sneak peek!

Maybe it was dumb for Jasmine to still have a sore spot for that tall punk, she could see that. But no matter how many times she told herself she was rising above and over it all, nothing took away the sting and bite from hearing her name.

She laid in her bed, one she slept many a sleepover at the Colby’s back in childhood and stared up at the ceiling, letting the memories wash over her. She wasn’t going to sleep anyways.

Daya was the cool girl, the tough girl dressed in black platforms and dyed her hair every damn color of the rainbow three times over. The one that was late to class and didn’t give shit or would just skip it all together.

Jasmine couldn’t tell you how she got her attention but she did, maybe it was pure lust and teenage hormones, maybe it was a bet from her other friends or something else entirely. It was senior year and Jasmine wanted to have fun so she let Daya take her on a wild ride.

God was it something special, she had to smile thinking back to every day they spent together. Sneaking out and riding around in her beat up truck, staying out way later than either of them were supposed to and having the time of their lives. All of it made her heart flutter as she sighed, thumbing the covers.

Graduation and summer came and went, filled with amazing memories on beaches and bikinis, their only worries being getting a good tan and having the time of their lives and who knows what else she’s forgetting with the passage of time.

Then Jasmine left for school in New York, Daya was the one who actually pushed her to apply, and Daya stayed back, taking up a seamstress apprenticeship. They promised to make it work, with one last night in that beat up truck they linked their pinkies together, promising under the stars they’d last.

Jasmine’s hand went to her neck, finding the cheap metal chain still on her neck from that night and thumbing over the little green crystal that definitely wasn’t real jasmine but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that it was from Daya and she'd never take it off, not in a million years.

They heard all of the lectures of long distance from anyone who stuck their nose in, it’d never work, you’re both so young, why tie yourself down? And at first she fought against them every time, saying it was different and they’d work out in the end. But then the phone calls grew less frequent, the ‘good morning’ texts just turned to ‘hey’ and before Jasmine could stop and hold down all the pieces they had to keep from breaking, Daya posted a picture with a blonde girl. Kissing that blonde girl and looking happier than ever.

Blair was her name but everyone called her Bosco, some childhood nickname or something, Jasmine didn't care to remember. She was cool and tall with dark eyeliner and leather clothes, someone that could get along with Daya better than she ever could. They got along so well that they had to kiss and have it shared out to the world for everyone to see.

She remembered sitting in her door room, staring down at her girlfriends instagram and seeing that picture and the world stopping. A blur of running to the bathroom and throwing up, too lost in the shock of it all to even bother to call her and scream or shout and chew Daya out through the phone because she looked so happy, that’s all she wanted.

Daya deserved that punk rock girl that could stud out their jackets together and blast whatever band of people screaming over the radio as she sped down those long stretches of road without a care in the world. She deserved that. But it didn’t mean that the memories still didn’t hurt every time a picture popped up on her Instagram or when Kerri mentioned her name briefly, knowing that she could never be that girl for Daya, no matter how much she wanted to.

[lestappenforever]

I was tagged by the lovely @fueledbyremembering (thank you, babe 💕) to post a snippet of a WIP quite some time ago, but as per usual I didn't have an WIPs at that point. BUT, now I do, so here we go.

Enjoy a snippet of the Lestappen fic I've been working on for the past few days inspired by this ask by my universe, @killingevie. It will be my attempt to manifest another Lestappen podium seeing that somehow worked last time and I'll hopefully have it finished and posted today.

Tagging @f1writingbyme (you know exactly what i'm after here, Ilse, give the people what they want) and @f1posting. Anyone who hasn't been tagged already and wants to do this, please feel free to use this as your tag.

---

There are some things in life that are absolutely certain — certain things that simply cannot be changed or avoided. There’s even an old proverb about it, that claims that there are only three things in life that are certain: birth, death, and change. 

Lando Norris, however, firmly believes that there are four things in life that are certain: birth, death, change, — and Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc making heart eyes at each other and being absolutely useless at trying to hide their obnoxious flirting every single race weekend. 

Look, there is no denying whatever invisible string that was tied between Max and Charles many, many years ago when they first met in karting, and that has held them together ever since. Through rivalry, through mutual respect and admiration, through friendship, through whatever the fuck it is that has lingered heavily in the air between them for the past few years. Lando is convinced that the inevitable Max Verstappen and the predestined Charles Leclerc were put on this earth — a mere sixteen days apart, even — for the sole reason that one simply cannot exist without the other. Without Charles Leclerc, there would be no Max Verstappen. And without Max Verstappen, there would be no Charles Leclerc. Hell, the world was probably in complete disarray for those sixteen days between September 30th, 1997, and October 16th, 1997.

Now that’s not to say that Lando believes in soulmates or fate or whatever else someone who is more of a believer could try to pin it all on. But he does believe, from the very bottom of his heart and soul, that Charles and Max belong together. That they’d be absolutely miserable if they didn’t have the other pushing their buttons and driving them up the fucking wall on a regular basis. Does it make them insufferable? Absolutely. But would Lando want to experience a life — a world — that didn’t have the indescribable bond between Charles and Max that has always been there? 

Not in a million years, thank you very much. Imagine the fucking carnage.

[fanaticsnail]

hey hey!! hoping tomorrow's appointment goes well for youuuuuuu (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ i'm still tired from the con + my first hrt appointment and i don't have my head screwed on enough to make sense of the current drama whatever it may be but! as a friendly, relatively spontaneous offering- have a lil luffy wip that's bouncing off our luffy thought the other day. will it one day be finished? who can say; not me lmao.

anywho! a tiny, tiny wip gift for you! - @remisloves

First time was by accident. You were anxious, biting at your lip, your nails- mindlessly just chewing on whatever part of your body was in reach as your mind raced a million miles an hour over something you had long since forgotten. You weren't even aware you were doing it- never were, really, until you had to deal with the consequences (blood, usually, or nails too short for their own good). Or, rather, you weren't aware you were doing it... right up to the point where your partner shoved his hand in your mouth.

"Uh... wha'?" Your voice all but incomprehensible behind the fingers squashed up against your tongue.

"Try that instead!" Luffy grinned at you cheerfully, as if he couldn't feel the amount of drool building up to pool between his fingers.

"Wha'." You deadpanned at him, but even the sheer confusion you felt couldn't drown out the anxiety that sent to twitches across your muscles. Your fingers twitched under the weight of your emotions, and Luffy snickered to himself as- in a direct contradiction against your (attempted) protest- he felt your jaw flex to chew on his fingers.

His rubbery, malleable fingers.

"Shishishi. See?" He said, as he watched the realisation flicker across your face. "Now you won't hurt yourself!"

"I' wa'n' on pu'po'e." Pouting with a whole hand in your mouth was easier than trying to speak, but that wasn't saying much. You wanted to protest against using Luffy as a stress toy but... well, no one could make your partner do anything he didn't want to. And seas knows he was always looking for new ways to be constantly touching you, somehow...

Fine. Whatever.

Scowling, but resigned, you slowly relaxed around your new... chew toy.

If that had been where it all ended, it would have been fine with both of you.

But it wasn't.

I love your little snippet!! So cute! I could feel the squeaky teeth when the bite sinks in. I feel like it'd be like taking the first bite of haloumi cheese and feeling the rubbery texture and tasting the salt. Luffy is just adorable. He'll be king of the pirates, I'm sure. I can't wait to see where it leads you!!

Welcome back from the con and hrt appointment! I hope you had fun there!

[jacqulinetan]

20 questions for fic writers

I was tagged!!!! thank you @ursae-minoris-world, you're truly so so kind to think of me.

I'll be real honest, I'm only on tumblr very intermittently and I don't really know how to use the platform at all. I'm scared that my formatting will be really messy and make people angry if I put a wall of text on their feed. So hopefully I figure out how to do the jump cut. But I just finished a fic so it's very fun to do one of these and talk about my writing. And I always like to see other people too, so I thought, hey I will give it a shot. Here's the questions:

How many works do you have on ao3? Right now I just finished my 74th work on ao3! Fifty four of those are vld, twenty four are sheith proper

2. What's your total word count on ao3? 993,716 words. I'm set to hit a million this year, I think!

3. What fandoms do you write for? LOL can you believe it? We're still loving Mr. Keith Voltron in the glorious year of our lord 2024

4. What are your top five fic by kudos? Oh well, my sk friends aren't going to be impressed--- my kl fics always take top spots for kudos and bookmarks. I attribute this not to talent or popularity but just because that side of the fandom has a much wider reach. For the sake of the questionnaire, I'll answer properly, in order: 'it's you that's haunting me' takes the top spot by a wide margin at 2,591 kudos to date. 'that mullet, etc' is currently at 1,788 kudos, and after that it's 'cross my heart,' 'swapping out silence,' and 'things that go bump in the night.'

5. Do you respond to comments? I do! for me, one of the best parts of fic is the community between authors and their audience. For the majority of my fandom life I've considered myself more of a reader than a writer, so I really treasure it when I leave a comment and an author responds. It's so special. As an author, I do respond to every comment, though sometimes it takes me a long time. I'm always so impressed that people are not only reading my words but digesting them and thinking on them too. It's wild to me. A very precious gift.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Oh, my friend, that fic is yet to come. the wip I've got on my closest back burner has a real humdinger of an angsty ending. I'm excited about it. hmmmm if I had to answer now.....I'm not sure! usually I'm a happy ending kind of girl

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? well well well, now I have to answer this one properly don't I? Are we thinking happiest like 'biggest emotional pay off for the reader'? Or happiest like 'Keith is wildly happy' by the end? I think 'heart nailed open' has a very good emotional pay off (though I wrote it so perhaps I can't judge too well on behalf of the reader). If I am really thinking, in which fic is Keith truly the happiest he could ever be by the end...well, I try always to make Keith happy but, in 'the whole story' he has everything he could ever want AND a very nice couch.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not routinely. I did, actually, get a very nasty comment on a fic in 2023 and it legitimately hurt my feelings. Made me feel like I should not be writing at all, actually. But, can you believe it? Friends came out of the woodwork-- people I rarely talk to, even-- and jumped in my comments section and really defended me. like, I really had all kinds of people on my side, defending me! So that meant a lot to me, and I was honestly so surprised, and I'd like to give every one of those friends the kindest hand press because I really did feel very taken care of in the aftermath.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Oh, I don't know! I have plenty of E rated fics but I don't know if I will ever master a true PWP. to me, the sex scenes I write are not so original or exciting, nothing to really write home about lol. I'm not a fan of publicly being negative about my stuff, so I will simply say that I wish I could write some really off beat toe curling wild kink, but it's probably just not my personality to do so LOL

Is this getting really long?? should I be embarrassed ? should I close the tab and never think on this again? hmmm no

10. Do you write cross overs? Cross overs with what, my dear? There's only one Keith

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Oh I think 'it's you that's haunting me' strolled on over to wattpad or some such site without my permission back in the day, but I've never really looked into it. What I don't know cannot hurt me, right? I highly doubt that there's been some crazy highway robbery for perfchan words.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? I don't think I have! But I did have someone ask to record a podfic for one of my stories, and I was so flattered and thrilled!!!!!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Nope! I don't have much interest in this, I am very shy about my writing and I fear I would be too cagey to be a very good collaborator.

14. what's your all time favorite ship? Keith x Being Loved and Cherished the Way He Ought to Be

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? (covers face) I don't have any unfinished WIPs.... it's not in my Type A personality to leave things undone.....

16. What are your writing strengths? This is something to really ponder!!! What /are/ my strengths!!! huh!!! well. I figured out early on that my favorite things to write are atmospheric and setting heavy -- both my most popular fic (it's you that's haunting me) and my most personally beloved fic (heart nailed open) have this in common: they have a lot of detail about the setting, and a lot of effort put into ~vibes~ of the story. so I think, if I could be self indulgent and chose which writing bits I'm good at, it's that type of thing. I really like crafting a scene you can settle into with all of your senses

17. what are your writing weaknesses? too many to list!!! I very often read my own writing and I always enjoy it (I wrote it for myself afterall) but sometimes I wonder....why did I spend so long on this particular bit? I think I am not very good at making a story tight. I wish I could master the art of being able to 'trim the fat' so to speak, really be precise with the story, but I simply don't have the chops! I can never understand how to make it better than I already have! perhaps if I keep writing long enough, I will get better at this

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? this question would really open up a can of worms on the kl side of the fandom LOL. I will admit it, I've had Lance speak spanish a time or two. I don't speak spanish myself so in those rare instances I have been VERY careful to keep things straightforward and try really really hard to not be cringe worthy to native speakers

19. First fandom you wrote for? the first thing I posted online was a USUK fic in a hetalia LJ comm. I can distinctly remember the first time I ever read a fic with *there was only one bed* (it was usuk) and WHEN I TELL YOU MY EYES WERE OPENED. I was forever changed on that day. of course I wanted to try my hand at writing after that

20. Favorite fic you've written? You would ask me to chose a favorite of my children!!! Oh! I simply could not!!! No, seriously, it's 'heart nailed open.' I love that fic

This got so long !!!!!! I can't imagine anyone reading all this !!!!!!!! but omg if you did thank you!!!!!! I'm shy about tagging people in the best of times, and like I said at the very beginning, I am very very shaky on tumblr etiquette, so I had better not tag anyone. but if my friends enemytosleep or grem or kacy or monday happen to see this, I would be very excited to read your responses!!! okay bye!!

[mrsbsmooth]

20 questions for fic writers

Thanks for the tag @rebelrayne! @longbobmckenzie tagged me in the body of hers too so I’ll take it.

How many works do you have on ao3?

82 right now, but I’ve orphaned a few recently

What’s your total ao3 word count?

1,220,982. I’ve got about another 30-40k words in WIP documents right now, so almost one-amd-a-quarter million words 😨

What fandoms do you write for?

Love Island the Game, Too Hot to Handle game, Harry Potter (Dramione exclusive), Romance Club (Heaven’s Secret)

Top five fics by Kudos

Tell Me What You Want (HP)

This Time, I’m Serious

Jaded

Unhealthy

Kinktober 2022

TIL that my Harry Potter fic has overtaken TTIS even though TTIS has more hits.

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! There were a few on TTIS I missed that it would be awkward to reply to because it was so long ago, but I make a point of trying to reply to every comment.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

The only sad ending I’ve ever written was the first chapter of Jaded which was originally done as a oneshot.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably Welcome To Racers. They got the whole shebang. Love me a happily ever after.

Do you get hate on fics?

Not recently. I’ve had hate for my portrayals of Alex, Lucas, and Suresh. But I haven’t had any nasty anon comments in ages which is lovely.

Do you write smut?

Yeah it's kinda my thing.

Craziest crossover:

I don’t know if I’ve done many crossovers… maybe Bruno and Miri Make a Porno or All I Want for Christmas is You which is a hetero take on Red White and Royal blue?

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No but I think I would probably die of happiness.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I HAVE! All’s Fair in Casa Amor was written with my beautiful friends @i-boop-you and @crimswnred !!!!!!

All time favourite ship?

Dramione (new fave) but for LITG? Hard question because our fandom is so built around an MC. But with two canon characters? I secretly love a Bruno/Valentina. Also love Hope/Lucas. They just WORK.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

It’s gotta be Recovery. I have the whole thing planned in my head but I just have no motivation to write it at all. Other than that, I don’t see myself finishing Famous Last Words any time soon. If I was going to finish it I’d take it down and rewrite it to make it fully OF.

What are your writing strengths?

Smut probably, I’m not bad at it. I feel like my narrative pacing is alright, and my prose is decent despite it being really inconsistent.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I rely too much on dialogue. I miss all the little body language bits leading up to an important line that could take it from an ‘aww that’s sad’ to a ‘holy fuck I’m sobbing’. Luckily I have wonderful beta’s who help me with this.

But more than anything, characterisation. Forming a fully fleshed out character before I start the story. I struggle with it. I’ve always felt like I’m more of a storyteller, (a plot person) more than a deep dive into a character’s psyche kind of person. I love reading character driven stories though, but I think it’s something that comes with writing experience. I haven’t actually been writing for that long and I think I’m getting better at it, but it’s still a weak point.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I sometimes forget that people don’t like this. I LOVE it. I do try and use it sparingly though. It’s so nice to see a character conversing with someone in their native language. I try and put the English dialogue in brackets or italics unless it's rather clear what they're saying (like swearing).

First fandom you wrote in?

LITG

Favourite fic you've written?

I, like Sarah, absolutely hate this question. My fics are my children. I like some of them more than others, though (I never claimed to be the world's best mother). But I love them for different reasons.

I love Welcome to Racers because it was my first AU. I loved The Only Two Things because I got to create an entire world, an entire city for my characters (Yes I'm aware Waterford, Ireland is a real place but God, I loved that story so much). TT,IS was the first fic I started and it gave me the friends I have today and the amount of people who tell me it's S4 canon just makes my whole life. Jaded was something different. It was a challenge to myself and I'm so proud of it. Unhealthy has been the most difficult to write, but it's also pushed me the hardest in my development of characters. FLW has been so much fun because I get to dive back into my music roots, urghhhhhh. Love.

I don't care if it's narcissistic. I re-read my fics on a regular basis. They're perfectly tailored to my taste. I love doing a nice re-read and sprinkling in a few extra details with liberal use of the edit button. If there was someone who knew my fics as well as I did, they'd get something a little bit different on every read. Might just be a line or two, might be a thought or a reaction, but I love to add and tweak and tinker with them all.

Love.

tagging: @i-boop-you @crimswnred @ellegreenwxy @tammyisobsessedwith @operationnope @sparxaf @eskiix