#I just need some excuse and motivation to sit and work on all the wips and projects I have for a day to get started

[rogueddie]

✨ FrankenWIP game ✨

Thank you @hotluncheddie for the tag, your timing is absolutely perfect, ily 😘

Rules:

post 3-6 sentences of your most recent WIP's, with titles, and people can send you asks for more 3-6 sentence snippets! tag as many people as you want or just use this as a reason to add a few new sentences to your projects!

Tagging:

🫵

Snippets under the cut (a couple are for subeddie week so... 18+)

Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la

“It looks like a good option. No starport, no industrial centre, no population density… a real backwater skughole. Perfect for us. You ready to lay low and stretch your legs for a couple months, you little womprat?”

I Have Nothing (If I Don't Have You)

“Who knows,” Steve tries, reaching across to take a hold of her hand. “Maybe they can pull it off. A big stadium concert at the end of the world. That would be real, uh… metal?”

Day One: Manhandling

“No, there isn’t any ‘that’, that’s the problem!” Eddie whines, slouching lower on the sofa, folding his arms with a pout. “It’s all stupid friend stuff.”

“So… tell him to stop? C’mon, man, if it’s bothering you this much-”

Day Two: Bathing

“Good,” Eddie manages, dragging the word out as long as he can.

Steve laughs, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Great. Let’s get you untied.”

“No,” he whines. He tries to wriggle when Steve reaches for the ropes. “Bad Steve.”

[jeonsbabygirlsworld]

SUMMARY: In which you teach your daughter a very important life lesson.

PAIRINGS: Husband Jungkook x wife reader

WORDCOUNT: 640

WARNINGS : Fluff fluff !!

A/N: A very small Drabble while you wait for other Fics in my Wip…… and @jungk97kwife to help me with this Drabble ❤️….. I hope you all will like this one 🩷 . Inspired from this .

Exhaling a sigh, you see a very giggly Na-Eun in front of you sitting in her pink teddy bear-shaped cushion chair with a small Sanrio plushy in her hand and some heart-shaped marshmallows, it's been a while since you have taught your girl a very needed life lesson, but your baby seems in a very naughty mood.

Trying again you deepen your voice and speak “If a strange man says, Na-Eun lets go eat cookies, what will you say?” Hoping her to say “no” a loud cheer of "I like it" resounds the Hall. “No baby, you have to say no!”You tell her again and she beeps out a loud “No”.

Giving her a kiss on her cheek of praise continuing you then ask her to return to the deep voice… “If he says, let's go eat ice cream, what will you say?”wanting her to say no she wiggles on her seat which makes you a giggling mess at her antics she says “Good”

Face-palming you tell your baby to say no and a cute NO resounds again, hopping she will get the next one correct you go ahead with the next question “What if a stranger asks, let's go swimming?”eager to hear her a loud “No” is heard.

High-fiving her you move on for the last round before you both practice, taking out your phone, you get her ready and start asking her the same questions again and she answers them correctly until when you tell her you are going to send it to her dad, messing on the last one you don't stop recording and think you will just type out her being camera shy at the end.

“Good! Tell him, go away”Again teaching her something new she follows perfectly behind you and tells her to make a “whuh,whuh”action which she ends up raising her hands and making a “shoo away” motion.

Jungkook on the other hand amid an important meeting, felt his phone vibrate. He glanced at the screen, and upon seeing your name, he excused himself. He held onto the message just to reply with a ‘👍’, hoping you’ll understand that he wasn’t able to check it out   As soon as he was done with his meeting which stressed him out enough, he opened the video and the sight of his daughter on the screen immediately softened his expression. 'Maybe it was a great idea to leave the message for later’ he thinks in between himself as he admires the video, his heart-melting the second he senses her giggles.

He couldn’t help but feel full of pride, his little girl was growing up, learning important lessons, and handling them with such grace and confidence.

Of course, he was in awe of your patience too, something he was missing sometimes such as earlier during his meeting, and he felt a wave of appreciation for having such a wonderful companion in raising their child.

He quickly typed a response back, his fingers barely able to keep up with the rush of his thoughts. KOOK❤️: Cute, so proud of her . KOOK❤️: Doing an amazing job love ❤️ KOOK❤️: Don't teach her everything without me though.

He couldn’t help it, he shook his head in disapproval at himself, at the way he was feeling sarcastically jealous at the thought of you taking over the teaching. KOOK❤️: Can't wait to get home to you.   And with that he’s back to his work, motivated again just because he wanted to leave this place as soon as possible and come back to his family; cause every decision he made, every effort he put into his exhausting work was for his family only. And knowing he’s got an amazing companion at home who’s making sure his princess is growing up healthy, made him realize that all his hard work was worth it.  

MOODBOARD

In which your about to give birth and jungkook won’t stop panicking

TAGLIST: @kimmingyuswifee @jksgirlhere @httpjeonlicious @bunnykoos @ohsweetmimosa @dragonflygurl4 @lovingkoalaface @snow-strawberry @jungkooks21 @jklvrs-world @aloverga @vsr4197 @skzthinker @kpop-nct @--xxchrissyxx-- @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @olimpiiaa @cassies-cookies @angelbiaa09 @ravynnn-12 @lovebtsforever24 @yuyupie @100butterfliesinthesky @starcandysstuff

Tag lists are still open send ask to join. :0

[morphean42]

Working on my soulmate WIP diligently, it’s 10k words already and it’s sort of all over the place (I have too many ideas and might need to just take some parts out and write another fic with them) but here’s a preview of what’s to come

I wanted to explore a world where soulmates are less of a “true love” sort of thing and more “someone who will be important to you in some way”. Of course, society treats the idea of soulmates as a strictly romantic thing (especially in Edwin’s time) and many people use their apparent soul bond as an excuse to harm others.

I’ve always been interested in soulmate AUs, how they would affect the society and way relationships form, and I thought DBD would be a fun fandom to explore that in. So yeah, Edwin and Charles aren’t soulmates in this, because they aren’t supposed to meet. How wonderfully romantic it is to fall in love anyway?

(Please if you enjoy this at all let me know, as I said my Google doc is a mess right now and I need motivation to edit and finish it)

It is in the summer of his 16th year that Edwin Payne meets his soulmate. It is July and he would quite literally like to be anywhere else, the heat is oppressive even indoors as he sits stiffly on the chaise longue beside his betrothed.

She wears a respectable pale blue dress that flares out at her ankles, her blonde hair is neatly tied up, and she never once smiles with her teeth. In fact, they do not so much as look at one other during their conversation, opting to stare out the bay window across the room.

“You seem like a very lovely young lady,” Edwin says, because he has no clue what else to say. She nods once at the compliment and does not seem offended by the lack of emotion he holds towards her.

“I look forward to our continued courtship.” In the corner of the room Edwin can feel the heavy stare of his soulmate’s governess. He knows this is utterly wrong (they are soulmates, the woman should have to beat them away from each other. Yet, the idea of trying to kiss this girl sends a shudder through him), but he does not know how to fix it.

They met the way offspring of the rich often do; parents having hired a professional soulmate tracker. After a month of worrying (what if she was lower class or, god forbid, not English. If his soulmate was of lesser stock, obviously it meant he was too and his parents would not hesitate to send him away for good) he finally received the notice— Miss Eliza Geralds had been located.

So, here he sits. She is of noble blood, the match will be beneficial for both of their families. Edwin tries, as he looks at her, to imagine all the things he should feel; the overwhelming love, the feeling of two puzzle pieces snapping together. The problem is he doesn’t feel anything of the sort— just vaguely sweaty.

The whole soulmate business was something he never quite got, after all. Here they were, the intangible red string that proclaimed them to be the perfect match for each other laying neatly between them, and he felt nothing. Yes, objectively he could say she was pretty. Yes, objectively he would say she was smart. In fact, as they met and talked and he realized this was the woman he would be married to in just a few years, Edwin could not say he minded her being his soulmate. If it had to be someone, he would take her.

But, and there is always a but where he is concerned, he does not love her. While he is not an enjoyer of romance novels (preferring detective stories in which the mystery overshadowed any relationships) he knew the basics of how this was supposed to go. Man meets woman, they are soulmates, they fall madly in love at first sight. He doesn’t feel anything except slightly uncomfortable as the future Mrs. Payne smiles (tightly, showing no teeth) and says he is ‘not as bad as he could be’ (Sherlock Holmes had a point when he said “the motives of women were inscrutible”, because what the devil could that mean?) as their initial meeting draws to a close.

When he goes to bed that night he runs a finger over the red string that sits upon his wrist. It is more a curse than ever, tying him to a life he wanted to escape. There’s a war on, they say it will be over soon enough (they have been saying that for two years now), and Edwin knows if it lasts much longer he will be sent off with the rest of his class. He will be sent off with his class to drown in mud and bullets and gas, and when he returns (will he ever return?) there will still be no escape, for Eliza will be waiting and he will be responsible for her.

His future is mapped out and crystal clear. Fight for England (try not to die). Go to law school (graduate early, do not be there longer than he has to). Marry the girl (the wedding will be small and he will practice in the mirror until he looks in love enough as to not break her heart). Have children (he will try to love them, better than his parents did for him, but he will mess it up of course. He only hopes they turn out more like their mother). Die (It will be nice to finally rest away from the expectations that weight down his every step. He can only hope it will be quick). He tugs the string that chains him down and felt a distant thrum of unease mingle with his own anxiety. Eliza is just as doubtful as he, it seems.

The thing about a soulmate is that they were truly nothing but a wild guess, a stab in the dark, an attempt at unconditional love. Edwin knew of soulmates who could never imagine life without the other. Edwin knew of soulmates who fought violently and spewed hateful words. Edwin had heard of a man and woman who were soulmates, the man murdering the woman in the middle of a crowded street. So, soulmates. Was your supposed other half your better or your worse?

Fight in the war (don’t die). Go to law school (do it quickly). Marry the girl (learn to fake it well). Have children (they will be the best part of him). Die (quick, in his sleep, no suffering).

Five months later Edwin accomplishes the last one. He was right, the actual dying bit is very quick. There is suffering, though. He suffers more in those last seconds than all his years on earth. He doesn’t notice the string fade to gray and slip from his wrist as his body is disintegrated and dragged to Hell. There is no comfort in Hell, after all, not even from a girl he could only teach himself to love.

[a-big-apple]

🌿 🧩!

🌿 ⇢ give some advice on writer’s block and low creativity

that's always so tough! idk how it is for you nonny, but i go through phases where i'm really creative, or at least i know what i want to write and i can get some words down, and then i go through low phases where i'm tired and burned out on writing, and these alternate pretty regularly for me. in the low creativity phases i try to take in new media instead, catching up on shows and movies and books that i wasn't paying attention to in the high creativity phase. i also sometimes try doing a totally different creative thing, just to keep from stagnating too much, like a craft or learning a song on my ukulele or even just doing some ask memes like this!

i think nobody can be creative and productive all the time without getting tired, honestly. but if you've been blocked or in a low creativity time for a while and you want to try to bust your way out, then i would suggest a few things:

-try to remember what it is you enjoy about writing, and pursue that. if what you enjoy is outlining a plot, maybe try a trope or prompt generator and fool around with outlining something that has no pressure on it. if you like crafting particular kinds of things, like maybe you love writing banter dialogue or sex scenes or beautiful descriptions of scenery, try writing those things about your day or your life or your blorbos. just little scenes, just the thing you're into, not trying to make it into something bigger. if the biggest thing you get out of writing is the feedback or the community, try asking friends for short prompts, or finding servers and other places to post single scenes or ideas and chat with other people about them, and bounce things back and forth. or maybe try writing little gift snippets for people! what this advice boils down to is skip the parts that stress you out and the things that are keeping you from writing, and find ways to do only the bits you really enjoy for a while. not forever, because writing involves a lot of hard and not enjoyable things also, but just to get you excited and motivated again. wake your creative appetite up with the stuff that tastes good to you.

-look at the thing you're working on. open your docs where the wips are, or your notes, or your outlines. even if you don't type a single word, reread what you've already done, or reread some of your previous writing. do this for multiple days or weeks. get back in the mindset of looking at words and processing words and thinking about words, and then maybe try writing some, even if they're bad or you erase them later. sometimes a block is about not knowing what comes next, or trying to write something your story doesn't need, or trying to start an idea that isn't fleshed out enough yet and doesn't excite you. try doing some of that thinking work. pretend you're going to sit down and write words, and then see what excuses your brain throws in the way, like really look at what those excuses are, and then try to find ways to solve them or go around them. it might mean changing your process! but i read a thing about adhd recently that was like, instead of trying to force yourself to remember to put a thing on a certain shelf, try looking at where you naturally drop the thing and build a shelf under it. work with your brain instead of against it.

-i know this is the most annoying answer, but...writing exercises. writing games. writing challenges. sprints, or random prompts, or character explorations. i guess this is dovetailing with the first piece of advice, but writing something different or in a different way can sometimes kickstart you back into the groove!

🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

HOO BOY okay none of these are hard and fast rules for me because there are exceptions to everything, but:

-egregious and constant spelling/grammar/formatting mistakes

-huge blocks of text with no paragraph separation

-characters being very OOC

-use of "gay panic" to mean queer people being flustered (both because i'm old and that will never not mean the gay panic defense to me, and because often these kinds of scenes are so stereotypical and not specific to the characters and it's just a big turn off for me)

-characters saying each other's names or nicknames in every line of dialogue, idk why this bugs me so much but it really really does

-describing characters by their hair or height or build or eye color when it's not relevant to what's happening, man oh man please just use pronouns and their names it's not actually that confusing to the reader

-canon compliant fics that get the canon wrong (i'm so sorry but yes i am that person)

those are the big ones i think... ty for the ask nonny!!! <3 <3

[cutie4me]

WIP WEDNESDAY!

I’ve not wrote anything in a really long time but recently I’ve been feeling motivated to try out something small to get back into the gist of it so excuse my horrible writing style. I’m not sure if I’ll finish this project since I’m still working out the concept of this AU and this is just a prologue. More context of the AU might be out soon based off the world building of this Modern AU. I might however drop this fanfic all together if I lose interest (which I feel is likely)

“So you’ll look after him whilst I’m away?” Kouyou asked as she leaned against the railing of the balcony, blowing out a puff of smoke from the cigarette she held between her manicured fingers. She arched a perfectly gelled eyebrow over at Dazai, her gaze cold and serious as she waited for the man’s response. “Believe me, I would have picked literally anyone else but no else is available,” Kouyou continued with a resigned sigh. Dazai was the last person she would have picked for this task, especially considering his certain distaste for it but she was desperate and, whilst Kouyou Ozaki didn’t beg, she could at least scare the man a little to actually persuade him into performing the task with great excellence.

“Of course, I’ll look after your ridiculous mutt,” Dazai waved his hand and said airily from where he was currently lounging on the couch of his apartment. The doors to the balcony were wide open and was where Kouyou was currently standing. His attention was currently occupied by a magazine he was flicking through. A very obscene one at that.

“Dazai,” Her voice cut out sternly in warning as the older woman narrowed her eyes on him. She was serious about this. Her precious cross bred tan mix between chihuahua and pomeranian was at stake here and she needed to find someone last minute who she personally knew to look after him. “I know you… have a certain distaste for dogs-”

“Objection. I despise them.”

“-but you know that I’m between a rock and a hard place. You owe me this favour even if I don’t exactly trust you with dog-sitting.”

“Ane-San,” Dazai releases a sigh and puts down his magazine before shifting to sit up on the couch and turn his gaze over to her. He touched his hand under his chin and kept his expression serious before he continued to speak. “I would do any other task to repay the favour I owe you but dog-sitting.”

“I’ll pay you,” Kouyou grits her teeth and says. Her reaction caused Dazai’s eyes to glisten a little, now certainly intrigued. He knew Kouyou wasn’t the type to bribe unless necessary, especially not to a man like Dazai but of course he couldn’t resist the temptation. At least even if Dazai had a certain interest for personal gain, it wasn't like he was exploiting Ozaki since they at least had some mutual trust.

“If you think you can bribe me so easily then you’re surely mista-” Dazai is interrupted by the large wad of cash slammed down on the coffee table in front of him. He didn’t know why he got so spooked by the loud slam considering he should have expected it. He swallowed the lump in his throat to suppress the slight shiver of intimidation he felt from Kouyou’s piercing glare. “On second thought, Your pooch is in tolera- great hands…” Dazai gulped and smiled pleasantly at the woman. He eyed the wad of cash. It looked to be about 20,000 yen.

“I expect you to give him the best treatment while I’m away on my business trip in France,” Kouyou simply says with a rough scoff as she makes her way over to the entrance hall of Dazai’s apartment where she had left her sweet pup curled on a plush dog cushion on the floor. Chuuya was resting there, his paws tucked under his muzzle as he wagged his tail and yipped up at the sight of his owner. Besides him were all the other necessities Dazai would need to look after the dog: A dog bed, his carrier, leash, brush, food, bowl, etc and even those adorable outfits Kouyou made the pooch wear.

“I won’t be gone long, mon chien. This bastard will be looking after you in the meantime. Don't hesitate to bite him for me if he isn’t treating you right,” Kouyou coos as she crouches down and picks up Chuuya to cuddle and hold close to her chest, snuggling into the pup’s sweet caramel scented fur and nuzzling it. Dazai couldn’t help but scoff and roll his eyes at Kouyou’s words. Chuuya yipped again and licked his owner’s face, causing her expression to soften further, looking younger when happy. She gently placed the dog back down on his plush pet cushion and stood up again, gaining back her stern composure and dusting her chic and elegant suit.

“How’s your daughter doing?” Dazai instead decides to ask Kouyou in order to divert her attention from the topic of the pup at her feet.

Kouyou’s expression softens momentarily before hardening again and glaring at Dazai. “She’s doing well. I left her with someone much more reliable than you,” She retorts strictly.

Kouyou knew how much of a slob Dazai could be and how he could barely look after himself let alone a child so she had left her daughter, Kyouka, with her usual babysitter. A young lad that she had trusted over the years to look after Kyouka. He was a sweet and timid gentleman and was like an older brother to her daughter. Kouyou would have left Chuuya under Atsushi’s care too if Atsushi had the time. He was already working at a convenience store only having just graduated college recently and lived by himself with not much financial means but Kouyou had granted him lots of money in order to care for Kyouka in the meantime. With how busy the poor Lad was, he would have no time to be able to look after Chuuya too. Especially since Atsushi had a dog of his own and Kouyou didn’t want Chuuya to feel like he wasn’t getting the sole attention or had to compete for competition. Poor Chuuya was so frail and tiny in Kouyou’s eyes so he needed to be showered and pampered with love. Dazai may be a slacker but he had nothing better to do and needed to get his act together so at least he would have plenty of time to give Chuuya attention.

“I need to be off. Look after him for me, would you. I’ll be calling everyday to check up on him,” Kouyou said with finality before finally grabbing her purse and leaving, her heels clicking on the hardware of the floor to finally leave, the door to Dazai’s apartment clicking shut once she had stepped out, leaving Dazai alone with Chuuya now. She realised a little too late she could have hired a dogsitter instead but it was a little too late to go back on the deal now that Dazai had agreed.

The first thing Dazai did was scrutinise the mutt, scrunching up his nose in distaste as he eyed the tiny lapel dog coat and fedora hat Kouyou had dressed the pup up with. Chuuya was just some prissy purse pooch in Dazai’s opinion, spoiled and definitely an entitled brat. Dogs in clothes should definitely not be a thing. It was haunting and disturbing that people, like Kouyou, decided to play dress up with animals and treat them like their actual child. Chuuya seemed oblivious to Dazai’s attention and had gone back to snoozing on his comfy, luxury dog pillow, his dark tan fur glistening under the light that flooded in through the balcony door that had been left open. After a few seconds of staring, Dazai slumped back and released a prolonged and defeated sigh of resignation. Well, if he was going to be stuck with the mutt for a while, he might as well move everything to their respectable places and whatnot so they aren’t hogging his entrance. And as much as the brunette wanted to burn the plethora of doggie outfits, he knew he couldn’t unless he wanted Kouyou to go after his head (the man may be a suicide fanatic but he didn’t want this as his death wish).

How’d you all like the surprise in the end of Chuuya turning out to be the dog?🤭 This AU is inspired by the manga series ‘My Dog Becomes A Human’ (heavy hint to ff’s premise) it’s a really sweet and funny slice of life/comedy so go ahead and check it out! I’m honestly not sure if I’ll make any ships in this AU (Soukoku) because it’s be weird given Chuuya is a dog.

[someplace-that-is-else]

GOOD AFTERNOON, LIKERS!!! How is your #tacotuesday going? It has definitely been a better day than yesterday. It's funny what a nice long walk, some #chicken, and a good night sleep will do for a person. You would think that I woke up and chose violence. LOL!!!

And the #motivation has been on point. But let me get into that. Otherwise known as EDITING, TYPING, AND WRITING.

EDITING. The main thing for me coming into this new year has been editing.

Darkened Soul THE RYN (currently serialized weekly over at www.facebook.com/darkenverse. DARKENED SOUL: THE BREAKING OF CIRCLES. My elusive blog. Side projects. Editing has been the focus. Along with some #internetconnectionwars to drive me crazy as I try to work within time restraints. LOL.

This week was going to be a LOT of the same. Starting with a bit of a surprise.

TYPING. #perhaps it was the fact that I had something on my mind. Or the fact it was the end of the year. Or it could have been that a friend of mine wanted me to read something over for him. Then again, it could be that plus a #lot of free time. In any case...

...I had a new blog.

You read that right. I had a new blog. It had popped into my head as I was working. And so too did excuses.

And one day...I just sat down. I sat down and just started to type. Sure more excuses occurred to me. But what was interesting...that given how I felt about my time management around all the editing that I had been doing...I started to #organize my time more effectively.

It made me think of the days when I was always talking about Input, Output in my blogs and here. Ever since I published HOW THE OTHER HALF LIVES, I had no output really. Until I decided to start #posting DARKENED SOUL: THE RYN over at my Book page. And that output had been fun. And something important came out of it.

I wanted more.

So over a few days, I found time to sit and type. And when I was not typing, I thought about what I would do next. So...a new blog was born. Next, I would need to...you guessed it...edit it. But I was looking to post it this week.

WRITING. Well, at least that part of the #clipboard is done for this week. LOL!!!

It started slowly last night. But I was happy to report that I've been writing a little bit this week. For me, it has been back to my #WiP.

And while technically, I met my #quota for this week. I felt like I would be doing little writing sessions here and there this week. How did I know? My mind kept thinking about the scene in question that I've been working on. So hmmmm.

And that was how this week was looking. Fire under my butt indeed...or was it #sage?

[biowhore]

Also for WIP Wednesday - I'm working on some original fiction. It's smutty, it's introspective, it's mostly for me, but if you wanna follow along I hope to be posting the first chapter, session #0, soon.

Shoshana seeks out Adam, a grossly attractive sex worker, to help her see herself in a new light. She's never felt helped by conventional therapy, doesn't have friends, and her family couldn't care less about her. Alone in the world, she grasps frantically for any thread to tether herself to, and Adam not only throws her a lifeline, he sets her back on dry land. A story of letting go of societal expectations, mourning the person you thought you should be, and welcoming the person who is.

*this is still pretty rough, please excuse any typos and meandering prose

---

Shoshana tasted blood in her mouth. 

She had bitten her lip so many times since she sat down she was certain the man sitting across from her could see the color seep between her teeth. Yet still she worried the flesh while her eyes traced the wood grain on the lounge door. It was a cozy room: plush, oversized couch, soft fabrics, low warm lighting. She could easily drift among the warm tones of the room, watching the sunrays track across the walls through the blinds on the window, drawing her into safety from the current moment.  

It was too curated, though. Cozy, but obviously designed to be that way, to lure occupants to feel safe. To feel comfortable. To let their guard down. It reminded her of a therapist’s office, complete with ulterior motive. Was Shoshana safe here? Physically, yes. Emotionally, well… that remained to be seen. 

“Shoshana?” the man said gently, coaxingly, patiently. He was practically sunk into his oversized loveseat across from her, one ankle propped atop his knee, one arm resting casually across his middle as the other swirled a glass of water.  

Her eyes flicked up to him momentarily but she couldn’t bring herself to keep them there. They wandered back to the main door behind him, then tracked to another on her left. Through there must be where they would… 

The man, Adam, leaned forward, propping his forearms on his knees and lacing his fingers together, “It’s ok to be nervous,” he said, again in that infuriatingly soft tone. It made her want to relax. It made her want to look at him. 

Why was she doing this again?  

She took a deep breath and braced herself. She had to make this work.  

“I guess I am nervous… Could we go over it again?” She spoke quietly, betraying just how anxious she was. The corduroy fabric of the couch beneath her was starting to feel less soft and inviting, and more stinging and stifling.  

“Of course,” Adam said with a mild smile, leaning back into his seat. He was too pretty, which is what made him perfect for this. His demeanor, his infuriating softness, was probably going to kill her. 

Adam was the sort of man Shoshana saw in a club and immediately dismissed as out of her league. Men like Adam didn’t look at women like her, didn’t talk to women like her, didn’t really even acknowledge their existence. In her experience, they knew what they looked like, and what those looks could get them. Shoshana didn’t factor into that at all, and never would. 

He was tanned, blonde, lean, and had dimples when he smiled. His hair was wavy and a longer cut that gave him the look of a romance novel love interest. He wore casual jeans that fit him as if they were tailored, and a forest green wool sweater. He had glasses perched on top of his head, for reading, which may just be his only flaw. A man like this didn’t talk to women like her, and when they did, they were overbearing. But Adam… Adam spoke to her like he knew everything about her already. Like he saw right through her. Maybe he did – she hoped he did. Otherwise this contract may not work out.  

“We’ll meet once a week, but there’s no pressure to keep to the schedule. If you need to cancel or move things up, just contact me and we’ll work it out.” 

Shoshana’s attention snapped back to him, her brown eyes meeting his grey as he spoke, trapping her in his lulling cadence.  

He brought his glasses back down to his nose briefly as he skimmed through a few notes on the small table beside him, “I’ve got your negative STI screenings here, confirmation of contraceptives, and our signed agreements to keep up both during our time together.” He looked back to her, “And you have copies of these and my own information?” 

“Yes,” Shoshana breathed. His negative screenings, their agreements, and all the other necessary but impersonal paperwork.  

“Good,” Adam smiled softly at her again, the word sparking a little something in her chest as he said it. “At this stage we should go over boundaries and anything you know you’d like included. Basically a yes/no/maybe list.” 

“I…” Shoshana trailed off, her anxious energy growing despite his soothing voice. Her tongue darted out to lick her dry lips, the sting from her bites grounding her only fractionally. Her eyes left Adam’s again, falling to the beige carpet where her feet shuffled restlessly. She felt untethered to her body, as if she would float away any second. 

Adam leaned forward again, bending down to catch her eye, “Shoshana… May I take your hand?”  

She nodded numbly, struggling to bring herself out of this spiral, letting their eye contact entrance her. She felt Adam’s warm, long fingers take hers away from her lap, holding them gently between them as he spoke again, “I know you really want to do this, Shoshana, but you can always change your mind. At any time. Do you want to continue?” 

Shoshana nodded, squeezing her eyes shut, “Y-yes.” 

“All right, take a deep breath for me.” 

Her ribs and abdomen expanded with a shaky inhale. She focused on the movement of her sinews as they moved to accommodate the air, letting it out with control. She could do this, she wanted this. Adam was going to help her in a way no one else could. She just needed to conquer this damned anxiety.  

“Good,” Adam praised softly, a small smile gracing his full lips. There was that little spark again – she couldn’t examine that right now, was a little afraid to honestly. 

Shoshana opened her eyes, giving Adam eye contact now, noticing that he still held her fingers loosely between them. “S-sorry. Let’s keep going.” 

“You never have to apologize for anything that happens here with me, ok? I’m here to help.” 

She nodded shyly, “Ok. Um… the list?” 

Adam released her fingers and settled into the loveseat again. “Yes,” he said with a short nod, “So to cover the basics, we’ve consented to sex together. I will reaffirm consent each time we begin, and may check in during. By check in, I mean asking in clear words if you want to stop or change anything. As I said before, you can change your mind at any time. I am guiding you, not holding power over you. Does that make sense?” 

Her lip screamed at her as she began gnawing on it again, but she kept looking at Adam, determined to take control of her nerves. “Yes, I understand.”  

Adam smiled approvingly, “Great. That being said, however, I have my own boundaries and limits. We talked before, but just to be clear, I don’t explore themes of assault or abuse. I have colleages I can put you in touch with if you think that’s something you might want to do later.” Adam took a sip of his water, the crystal refracting the warm light in the room and distracting Shoshana momentarily. She watched his throat work when he swallowed, a flash of guilt flaming her cheeks as she caught herself ogling.  

Get it together, Shoshi. 

“Now, I’d like to discuss your boundaries.” Adam said as he placed his glass back on the side table, his jeans rustling as he crossed his ankle over his knee.  

“Um… similar to yours, for sure.” She said quietly, “U-uh… beyond that… I-I’m not really sure.” Her eyes returned to the carpet, her fingers picking at her nail beds in her renewed intense nervousness.  

Adam chuckled very lightly, leaning forward again and taking her fingers, stopping them in their assault on her skin. She looked up, caught by his unsettling gaze. “I’m worried you’re going to bite a hole in your lip, Shoshana. I have many skills, but stiches aren’t one of them.” Adam said, one side of his mouth quirking up.  

She immediately released her lip, still tasting a bit of blood, and ducked her head sheepishly.  

“It’s ok not to know. We can try things together. I’ll always check in with you about it, and you are free to suggest things to me.” He paused, thinking. “Would seeing the room together help?” 

She thought for a moment. It might, she conceded. Seeing the room they would be together in before their first real session might take some of the mystery out of it. Her eyes lifted back to his, and she nodded silently. He smiled at her, nodding in turn, and helped her up from the couch by tugging on her fingers in his hand. He led her to the door on her left, letting go of her hand to open it and step aside. 

The room was dark as Shoshana stepped inside, shifting just to the right of the frame to let Adam inside. He flicked the switch behind her, the overhead light coming on to bathe the room in a clinical white light.  

“I’ll use lamps and candles when we are in session; it won’t look this stark. I thought seeing it like this might take off some pressure.” 

She gave him a little anxious smile over her shoulder in appreciation. It did help, being able to see everything without the suggestive warmth of ambient lighting. The bed was large and simply dressed, practical but comfortable with its many pillows, short poster frame, and simple soft blankets. A picture window let natural light in on the far wall, but it had been expertly frosted to obstruct the view. Heavy curtains with a neutral geometric pattern were ready to close off the room to the outside entirely. There was a skinny table next to the window with a water pitcher and glasses. I didn’t think about needing water, good lord. A dressing table with a mirror sat just to her right, off center enough so that the mirror wouldn’t show what was happening on the bed. Unless you wanted to see, she supposed.

[itiaskia]

how do you write fanfiction? what is your process? do you have tips for new writers?

My process differs slightly between oneshots and multi-chapter projects. For oneshots, usually I write them when I have a vague concept with some sort of punchline to them, and multichapter fics are when I want to explore something that will take longer than just a couple thousand words and maybe need some scene breaks over a longer period of time. Usually for oneshots I write them in one sitting, I'll just open the document and take a crack at it. I bounce around the document writing whichever scenes appeal to me first, and then I go back in later and fill in the gaps. This does sometimes mean I leave ideas and even sentences incomplete if I suddenly get the urge to work somewhere else on the document, so usually when I pass it to my friend to beta read I have him check that I've completed every sentence. For my oneshots I usually try to keep the plot simple so it's easy to tell what the "point" of the story is. I like writing in a closed third person style where the narration is described as the character would see it. I don't know if it's super obvious with my writing or not, as I've mostly just written from shu-nazuna-mika perspectives... but maybe it is lol.

For multichapter fics I usually try to have little arcs within the fic, something that gets resolved but something else that crops up new, so that it's not just one big buildup but a bunch of steady little buildups along the way. These fics are a lot harder for me to write tbh because it's hard for me to keep an update schedule unless I pre-write the entire fic. I actually have a whole bunch of multichapter WIPs I've been poking at for the past year that I've been hoarding until they're complete so I can do weekly/biweekly updates so people don't have to wait lol. I guess multichapter are also hard because if I don't pre-write them, sometimes it's hard to find motivation to finish it if no one really cares abt it, so I want to make sure my opinion on the fic is not clouded by anyone else's judgement (or lack thereof) so I can enjoy it myself to the fullest.

Tips for new writers... Honestly, besides the whole "write often" + "write what you're passionate about", the biggest piece of advice that helped me was fundamentally understanding the "purpose" of the story you want to tell and how to use that to your advantage. It's something that can lace the entire story and really help create some conflict / interesting angles. The way my beta likes to describe it is "it's what the story is really about". I'll just use an example, my shmk fic "the walk home" is a simple concept of shu and mika walking home in the cold/snow, shu slips and ends up holding mika's hand. That's the set up for it, and initial idea. But the "purpose" of the fic is less about that, and more about the fact that neither of them can be open about their feelings for each other, and make excuses for being affectionate. Shu slipping and grabbing onto Mika's hand? Cute. But the implication that he might have done it on purpose to grab Mika's hand, and then continuing to hold it later and never verbally acknowledging it play into the purpose of the fic. The fic is told strictly from Mika's pov, so we see his internal reactions to it, but never Shu's. Mika, like the reader, doesn't know what's going on in Shu's head, so it's all up to interpretation what he's thinking. Did he do it on purpose? Up to you. It adds another layer to it, instead of just telling you "these are events that happened", it invites the reader to think just a little bit more.

[cjsinkythoughts]

FATWS One Shot #7 - Revels

Word Count: 2921

Warnings: Cursing, That’s All, it’s a Really Tame One Shot

Setting/Characters: Party Scene in Avengers: Age of Ultron; Lots of Characters so I’m Not Gonna Name Them All

A/N: I know…it’s very late. I wanted to have it out on Friday, but I dunno, guys. My motivation as of late has been very low. I finally decided to just sit down and write tonight. So here it finally is!

This one is pretty mild compared to others. There’s a few feeling things in here, but it’s mainly just the reader hanging out with the team. The ending’s written a bit weird, but I didn’t know what to cut it off because the writers did a nice job of making the Mjolnir scene flow into the scene with Ultron’s appearance, but I didn’t want to write the whole fight with Ultron, I just wanted the lifting scene.

Listen here, though! Prepare yourselves to be conflicted even more with Steve! I made it a lot more…touchy than I was planning on. Don’t come at me! It needs to be done! This’ll be one of the last ones focused on Steve like that though. The next one is reader and Wanda bonding and then after that I don’t have any more planned for AoU, so we’ll be going to Civil War, which is where reader meets Bucky officially. So Bucky’s coming soon!

I’m gonna update my WIP List and - maybe - my One Shot list and post those later, along with a poll because I dunno which series I wanna start on next.

Thank you all so much for your patience, understanding, and support! As always, not beta’d, so please excuse the mistakes, all are mine! Be kind to yourselves and others! Enjoy and stay tuned!

FATWS Series Masterlist

cjsinkythoughts Masterlist

*******

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

You set your bag down and looked at your phone, vibrating from where you just left it on the counter. You looked at the time and squinted. Seven. You supposed it wasn’t too late, but you weren’t expecting any calls. 

Tired, your feet dragged as you moved across the room to get your phone. You were helping Fury set up the Helicarrier again while still remaining “dead” to everyone. It was the last thing you were doing before joining the Avengers full time. You were a bit hesitant to be in the spotlight after all these years, but after much pressuring from your team, especially a certain blonde, you finally caved. It was time for a change anyways. It might even be good for you.

Speaking of blondes, Bubba flashed across your screen, a picture of him with some scruff that you took one day in spite of his protests because you’d never seen him with a beard before lighting up behind the contact name.

You answered it, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your hands as you did so. “Hi, bubs. What’s-”

“Where are you? I miss you. Are you coming soon?”

You chuckled at his whines, an eyebrow raising as you processed his words. “Whaddya mean? I’m at my place. Where am I supposed to be?”

“Honey!” You giggled at his groan, finding it amusing how childish he could be at times. “The party? Tonight? Remember? You promised you’d come. I don’t wanna be here without you.”

“Oh shit,” you hiss out. “That’s tonight?” Moving across the kitchen to check your calendar, you scrunch up your face when you see ‘Avenger’s Tower 6 pm’ written in the square. “It’s Saturday. Aw, Stevie. I totally forgot.”

“Oh. So…are you - are you not coming, then?”

Frowning at his fallen tone, you shake your head. “I’ll be there. Just…give me a bit.”

“No, no. It’s okay. You sound tired. You don’t have to-”

“I’m on my way, Steve. I did promise after all. I’m an hour out.”

You could hear his surprise in his voice. “An hour? You’re not in D.C.?”

“I’m a little bit upstate. Just in a safehouse while I help Fury work on something.”

He let out a contemplative hum from the other side of the line. “That secret project you still won’t tell me anything about?”

A smile appeared across your lips as you walked to the bedroom to change into something a little more appropriate, settling for a comfortable romper instead of dealing with a dress. “You know I can’t, bubs. You haven’t told anyone, right?”

“No ma’am.”

You giggle softly. “Alright. Thank you. You’ll find out soon, probably. It’s almost done. Promise.”

“Then you’ll come live here? With me - the team, I mean? I miss you. The team missed you. On the raid.”

“Oh yeah. How was it?”

“Get here and I’ll tell you.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m coming, I’m coming. See you then, bubba.”

“Okay, honey. See ya then.”

*****************

It was nearly nine when you got to the Tower, but any party thrown by Stark didn’t end until at least ten, so you knew you were fine. Just…fashionably late. A concept you knew Tony understood and you wouldn’t hesitate to remind him if he brought it up.

You were pleasantly surprised by how tame the party was. Sure there were a hundred people you doubted even Tony knew, but no flashing lights, the music wasn’t blaring, and no one was grinding on anyone. Everyone was just talking, drinking, and having a good time.

“Hey! There you are! Capsicle said he called you, but that was hours ago!”

Speak of the devil. You grinned and let Tony pull you into a hug before taking the drink he offered. “Yeah, well, I had a few things to do today.”

His eyebrow quirked up. “A few things, huh? Anything I should know about?”

“Nope!” You popped your lips and gave him a smirk. “Not everything’s about you, Mr. Stark.”

“Yeah, well, we missed you this week. Fun raid.” He looked you up and down and nodded, gesturing to your outfit. “Alright, you know what? I accept this. This is okay. Not what I had in mind, but you pull it off.”

You laughed, shoving his shoulder playfully. “It’s comfortable, okay? Where’s Steve?”

The billionaire rolled his eyes and gave you a look. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. He’s over playing pool with Wilson. C’mon! I wanna get you drunk and complain about my perfect, heroic, billionaire life to my favorite teammate!”

“I just need to tell him I’m here.” You snicker. “And don’t let anyone here you say that. I don’t want my rep to become Tony’s favorite.”

He chuckled with you and gave you another squeeze. “Alright, alright. Come find me later, though. I do have something I need to show you.”

You shook your head, already knowing where the conversation was heading. “Tony! No! I don’t need a suit! Thank you, I appreciate it, but I’m really okay. I like fighting in sweatpants.”

“Fine!” He huffed out. “But at least let me show you some designs I came up with. I put a lot of hard work into them, you know.”

Tapping his chest, you nodded. “I’m sure you did. I’ll come find you and you can show me, but that’s it.”

He smirked, drawing an ‘x’ over his heart with his finger. “Cross my heart.”

“I’m serious, Tony!” You point at him as he started walking away. He just blew a kiss towards you, making you laugh and roll your eyes again.

Turning, you scanned the room for the pool table where, supposedly, Steve was playing with Sam, who you had no idea was gonna be here. You’d been helping him out with the whole James - Bucky, you reminded yourself - Barnes thing during your free time. No such luck yet. The man was literally a ghost, even for you.

You couldn’t stop the smile on your lips when you finally caught sight of him, his brown leather jacket hugging his shoulders a grin on his face as Sam talked to him about something. Quickly making your way over, your arms wrapped around that ridiculously tiny waist, crossing over his stomach. You felt him tense at the sudden contact, before he relaxed at a kiss to the nape of his neck and spun around.

The beam he gave you made your heart flip, his muscled arms winding around your neck. “Y/N! You made it!”

His boyish excitement made you laugh. “I told you I’d come. Hi, Sam.”

Sam nodded and waved. “What’s good, Y/N?”

“Who’s winning?” Slipping out of Steve’s hold, you leaned over the table to study the games process.

“We just started a new one.” Steve informed you. “Wanna join?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “You sure you wanna be embarrassed in front of all these nice people?”

“Oooh!” Sam winced. “Smack! Alright. Put your money where your mouth is, Y/L/N. Ten bucks says I win.”

“You’re on, Wilson.”

A few more drinks, a couple games, and thirty extra bucks later, Tony called you over impatiently. Steve gave you a questioning look as you heated up, Tony waving his arms dramatically and shouting your name. God, he’s so embarrassing.

“He wants me to look at suit designs.”

Steve frowned at your explanation. “I thought you told him no?”

You chuckled. “I did. I’ll be right back, bubs.” After kissing his cheek, you head over to Tony. From there, you end up bouncing around from teammate to teammate, laughing and joking around with them.

Until Steve dragged you back with him again. “Excuse me.” He interrupted you, Clint, and Natasha’s chatter, grabbing your elbow and taking the drink you had in your hand. “I’m stealing you.”

“C’mon, man! It’s called sharing!”

Natasha laughed and nodded in agreement with Clint’s statement. “Everyone’s gotta have a turn, Rogers.”

Steve hummed, walking backwards and pulling you as you giggled in amusement. “You just had your turn, Romanoff.”

“Sorry guys.” You shrugged when the two looked at you incredulously. “Captain’s orders.”

“Damn right.” Steve nodded firmly.

“Watch your language!” Clint shouted with a pointed finger.

You raised an amused eyebrow at Steve’s groan. “Your language? They do know that you have, quite possibly, the worst mouth on the planet, right?”

He sighed, pulling you to the side of the room and wrapping his arms around your waist. “It’s something that happened on the mission. Which you would know if you were there.”

“Steven.”

He blinked innocently at you. “What?” At your pointed look, he let out a sigh, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Did I do something wrong? Is that why you’re avoiding me?”

“Who said I’m avoiding you?”

“C’mon, honey.” He lifted his head, his eyebrows furrowed together. “Don’t hurt me even more. I know you have.”

You shook your head, lips turning down and hand raising to cup his cheek. “Stevie, I’m not. I promise. I’ve just…I’ve just been busy.”

He pouted. “With Fury?”

Giving him a weird look you shook your head. “No. I mean, yes, but I’ve also been helping Sam out with your friend while you help the team with the rest of the HYDRA bases. You know that. What’s going on with you?”

“I’m sorry.” He sighed, ducking his head to your shoulder again. “I’ve just missed you.”

“I know, bubba. I’ve missed you too.”

The real truth was you had been avoiding him. Not on purpose. Kinda. You just felt something different around him. Something you’d never dealt with before. And you didn’t want to deal with it now, so you haven’t been. It was why you were so hesitant about becoming a full time Avenger. Well, that and the fact that you’d been in the shadows for a decade and you weren’t sure how well you’d do in the light.

“Where’s Sam?”

“He had to head home. Long drive. His excuse, not mine.”

You gasped in offense. “And he didn’t even say bye?! Rude!”

Steve chuckled, his nose brushing against the skin of your throat, breath tickling your collarbone. “I’m sure he’ll call you in the morning or something. Apologize for leaving so abruptly.”

You hummed, swallowing the lump that suddenly appeared in your throat. “Tell me about the language thing. What happened?”

He groaned, but straightened and told you about him accidentally scolding Tony, before he proceeded to tell you about the rest of the mission, including the Maximoff twins. 

“Why is it that war always seems to breed more war?” You asked with a sigh.

“They’re just kids trying to do what’s right.”

“We all start out that way, don’t we?” You shook your head. Kids. they shouldn’t be fighting in a war. They shouldn’t have to deal with that. “It’s just a shame.” Your voice is muffled by his shirt after you pressed against his chest.

“Yeah.” He sighed out. “Wanna go get a drink?”

Pulling back from him and looking around, you noted that most guests had already gone and it was dwindling down to just the Avengers and a couple allies. “Yeah. Wanna sit down too. I’m kinda tired.”

“Alright, honey. Let’s go sit down.”

It wasn’t even half an hour later when you were all sitting around the middle of the room, everyone else having gone, but Dr. Helen Cho, Rhodey, Maria, and the team. You were in the same boat as Helen, who was basically passed out on an armchair. You’re legs thrown over Steve’s lap, stretched out to let your feet rest on Thor’s thigh, who was on the chair on the other side of the captain. You were hugging Steve’s arm, your head resting against his shoulder, a small smile of content across your features as you listened to the team banter and tease.

You started laughing at Clint’s comments towards Thor’s hammer while spinning the drumstick he had for whatever reason. “Ah, whosoever be he worthy shall haveth the power! Whatever, man! It’s a trick!”

You and Steve exchanged amused grins as Thor challenged Clint, who stood up with no hesitation and headed to the hammer.

“This is gonna be good.” You chirped, taking the bottle Steve handed you as the archer stopped in front of where it was placed on the table.

Clint stuck his tongue out at you, before turning back to Thor and gripping the handle. He tugged for a moment, grunting, before laughing in slight embarrassment. Chuckling, you snuggled closer to Steve’s side, your eyes feeling heavy. He turned his head to nose your temple and kiss your cheek.

“Oh brother.” You giggled, sitting up with interest as Tony stood up and unbuttoned his suit jacket.

“Alright, so if I lift it, I-I then rule Asgard?” Tony asked in clarification, slipping his hand through the strap.

“Yes, of course.” Thor confirmed with an amused smirk, shooting you a wink when you nudged his knee with your foot.

Tony braced himself, setting his foot on the table. “I will be reinstituting prima nocta.”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. “Oh God, Tony.” Steve squeezed your knee with a slight chuckle as the billionaire tried lifting it to no avail. You gave him a weird look, watching him leave the room, before turning to Steve. “What’s he-?”

“Alright! Let’s try this again!”

Another fit of laughter left you and the team when Tony strutted back in with his Iron Man glove on. And when that didn’t work, Rhodey joined him with his War Machine glove. 

Your eyes were watering and you tried holding in your laughter, but you couldn’t help it, pressing your face into Steve’s arm to muffle the sounds. You felt his shoulders shake with silent chuckles, which didn’t help your own.

When Bruce went up, an awkward silence filled the air after he tried Hulking out, but then you started laughing again.

“Your turn, bubba.” You nudged the blonde, who gave you a look, before shrugging and patting your thigh. 

“You gotta get off then, honey.”

You rolled your eyes but swung your legs off him, letting him stand up. He rolled his sleeves up, stepping up to Mjolnir, a few encouragements from the team, before pulling on the hammer. You thought you saw it shake a little, but Steve yanked some more and it didn’t move, so you figured you were imagining it.

Steve sighed and let go, putting his hands up in surrender with a grin like the good sport he was. Thor laughed. “Nothing.”

You shrugged at the super soldier who plopped back down besides you as the others tried getting Natasha to go up. “You tried.” 

He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms and leaning back. “Well if Romanoff isn’t going…your turn.”

“Wh-what?” Your eyes went wide.

“I did it.” He gestured to the hammer. “Now you gotta.”

“Hold on, hold on. We didn’t agree on th-”

“Honey.” He gave you a little pout, cocking his head to the hammer. “C’mon. Just a tug.”

You narrowed your eyes, but your lips turned up and you straightened off the couch. “This is peer pressure. Captain America, everyone.” He chuckled as you stepped over to Mjolnir. “It’s not gonna work.”

Tony snorted. “Not with that attitude.”

“C’mon, Tones. If none of you could.”

The billionaire shrugged with a grin. “Never know if you don’t try.”

You deadpanned at him, gripping the handle and trying, in vain, to pull it. You didn’t put nearly as much effort as everyone else. “Wow. Look at that. What a surprise.”

“What was that?! You barely touched it!”

Giving a shrug, you started back to your seat. “I’m guessing if you’re worthy or whatever, it wouldn’t take that much to lift it.” You fell onto the couch, your head landing in Steve’s lap as you looked upside down at Thor and pointed at him. “But I do have a question for you.” The god looked at you in interest, gesturing for you to continue. “What does worthy mean? Like, what makes a person worthy to lift it? You couldn’t lift it a while back - I know, I read the files. SHIELD agent, remember?” You added when you saw him open his mouth to question you.

You blinked at him curiously, tilting your head, watching as his brow furrowed. Tony cackled and clapped at the silence in answer. “Oooh! She got you! All difference to the Man Who Wouldn’t Be King, but it’s rigged. And the lack of response to Y/N’s question just makes it more obvious.”

“That’s not what I meant-”

“You bet your ass.”

You rolled your eyes, letting it go as Maria teased Steve about Clint’s foul language. “Did you tell everyone about that?” Tony ignored Steve’s question and continued to ride on Thor and his hammer.

“Why are they trying to make sense of it?” You questioned, highly entertained, but also very tired, turning to press against Steve’s stomach.

“It’s Tony. I couldn’t tell you. C’mere.” Steve shifted you so that you were sitting up, but he was holding you more comfortably. “Try getting some sleep.”

You hummed and nodded against him, but a high pitched whine made you wince and stand up, Steve unconsciously standing a bit in front of you. A suit of Tony’s, damaged with wires hanging down and oil leaking out or places that didn’t have metal keeping them in, came in and you inwardly sighed at the bad feeling tugging at your gut.

So much for sleep.

***********

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All Works Taglist (Open):

@happygoreading @bibliophilewednesday @breadqueen95 @marvelettesassemble @w-wolfhxrd @the-larry-romance​ @abitofeverythinggg

[gophergal]

So this is the third oneshot I've finished this week (second I've posted here. The other that isn't posted here is already up on Ao3.) Don't expect this often, I just wanted to get some WIPs off my plate and I still have many to finish. This is just a short, sweet ficlet, but may have a companion or sequel later on. Who fucking knows. This is a sort of a collection of short moments with the two of them. No real plot, just fluff.

Home On The Range

Word Count: 2,000+ | Rating: T+ | Michael Myers x Jason Voorhees (Western AU) | M/M

Warnings: Implied Murder, Description of Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Failed Hanging Mention, Rushed Ending, Fluff

Samhain plodded along wearily, his rider slumped forward in the saddle as he made his way toward safety. The shootout in town, when the Shape had been driven from its prey, had resulted in Michael being shot thrice, twice in the shoulder, once center mass. He'd fled in a haze of pain and blood loss, mounted his horse, and eventually passed out.

And so that led Samhain to his current situation, following instinct to get he and his master somewhere safe, preferably somewhere with abundant food and water. The stallion stopped for a moment, ears perking up as he caught the sound of whistling coming from the valley below. A tall man, his head covered in a feed sack, was the source. The horse tentatively descended from the hilltop towards the strange man, focused on his joyful whistling.

Hearing the careful clop of hooves behind him, the large man turned, ready to strike with the ax in his hands, which he quickly lowered. Samhain snorted weakly where he stood, far away enough that the man couldn't grab him. Instead, the bag-headed man reached into a pocket on his tattered jacket, and pulled out a half eaten stick of peppermint, holding it out to the stallion who took it, eating greedily. His rough hand pet the horse's black, velvety nose and he hummed reassuringly. The horse's rider did not move, even as the tall man took the reins from his hands and led the horse away from the area.

Trees became more dense as they walked until they came upon a small cabin. Samhain's head perked up as his rider was removed from his back, and he let out a piercing whinny. The man hummed again, reassuring the distressed animal, who slowly returned to a relaxed state. Michael was taken from the horse's back, draped limply in the big man's arms like a doll. He groaned, still unconscious, but alive. After taking the smaller man into the tiny log cabin, the large man returned and removed the tack from the black stallion, running his hand along the sweaty, matted coat that had been beneath, then led the horse to a small stream by the halter, leaving him there to graze and drink the fresh cool water that flowed so freely.

Back in the cabin, Jason studied the man he'd sat on his bed, scratching his beard through the rough burlap of his hood. The dark haired man was covered with a layer of cold sweat, his face twisted in pain, even while asleep. Grabbing a basin of clean water and a rag, Jason set to work undressing the man's torso, looking at the bullet wounds that littered his flesh, nestled alongside other pale scars, some fresher than others. While dabbing the blood crusted injuries, he examined them, determining that the shoulders had been entered and exited cleanly. They would only need liquor poured on them to fight infection. The shot in the abdomen, however, looked more serious, and had no exit wound, all but guaranteeing that the offending lead was lodged within. Jason debated whether he should remove the bullet while the man was unconscious or not, deciding to finish dressing the other two wounds beforehand.

When the alcohol was administered, the man roused with a shout of pain, startling Jason, who in turn fell backward. The man looked around in panic, wearily reaching for his gun, which was no longer on his hip. There was a fire in his eyes, which Jason could now see were mismatched, one black as the horse he rode in on and the other milky white. Rolling off the bed, the man struggled to get to his feet, groaning quietly in agony. Jason approached slowly, as one would a wild animal, which earned him a glare. Disregarding this, he grabbed the man's good arm, careful to help him get seated on the mattress. He did not fight back, but kept scowling weakly, allowing his saviour to do as he pleased. With little fuss, his wounds were bandaged, the pressure of it relieving some of the aching.

Michael fell back onto the cushion, flinching in pain that radiated from his midsection. He inhaled sharply, looking over at the bag headed man who gestured to the leaking wound. He mimed pulling something out, which Michael nodded in response to. Steeling himself in preparation of the pain and biting down on the rolled cloth which was put in his mouth. His eyes screwed shut at the first penetration of the hole, burning pain blinding all his senses as the man's fingers searched for the bullet. It seemed to last forever, and Michael threatened to black out.

His stomach turned as the white hot agony coursed through him, reaching every point on his body. Finally, the man extracted his fingers, and he relaxed slightly, breathing heavily around the fabric gripped tightly in his mouth. When he looked up, the man held the bullet in his bloodied hand. Which he set down beside the basin of water. The pain had subsided enough that Michael could feel the touch of water on his abdomen as the man cleaned his wound again, and finally wrapped it.

“Michael,” he rasped, exhaling sharply and extending a hand to the other man, who said nothing in reply, instead holding his hand after shaking it, and drawing wobbly letters into his palm with a finger. He did this twice, then again, writing on his palm until Michael picked it up: J-A-S-O-N. Michael nodded in recognition, leaning back into the mattress and shutting his eyes. He let out a shaky breath, recalling what had happened in the past week. Then shoving it aside. Yet again, the Shape had led him into danger, just as it always had in search of feeding its insatiable hunger.

A few days passed with Michael resting up and Jason keeping his wounds clean. The two would sit in each other's presence, drinking in the peace. Samhain was well, happy to munch on the green grass of the field nearby. It was nice, but Michael was growing restless. His wounds were beginning to close and hurt far less than they had at first. As soon as he was well enough to ride out again, he'd go after that damned Marshall's head. The thought was delightful and served as his sole motivator for remaining at the cabin. So he told himself, that is.

The other big reason was standing out in the clearing around the back, the muscles of his arms shifting as he chopped firewood. Jason had the strength and stature of no one Michael had ever seen. Even the big bastards he'd get in fights with while swacked on whiskey were puny in comparison, though Jason didn't seem the type to fight drunkards in run down dead-fall saloons. No, he seemed like a good enough man that Michael felt no worry around him. Even if he hadn't seen the man's face, which Michael figured was his right to hide anyway, he could tell in his gut that Jason could be trusted. Michael stirred the pot of stew on the stove as he tried to figure out his plan for when he'd head out.

The more he thought about it, he began to realize that he had no idea where to start looking for Marshall Loomis. In theory, he could just go to the nearest town and start shit, then wait while word spread of his whereabouts, but that just wasn't the way Michael liked to do things. He'd much rather be the hunter, waiting in the shadows for his prey.

Jason walked in, skin still glistening from his hard work outside. It should be time for supper soon, he figured. After all, the sun was hanging low in the sky, ready to set within a couple hours. Jason stopped in the doorway, watching as Michael stood at the stove. Something was nice about watching the smaller man (and that's smaller, mind you, not small. Michael was a large fellow in his own right) tend to their supper.

It was very thoughtful of him, despite how Jason tried to keep him off his feet, lest his wounds reopen. There was also something about the scene that caused warmth to bloom in his chest. He pushed it down. Michael would leave at some point. Jason would be on his own again. He didn't even know why he'd helped the younger man.

A month later, December brought cold, dry weather and Michael sitting in front of the fireplace with Jason, whittling away at a chunk of wood. As he whittled, he made excuses for why he should stay now that his wounds had fully healed, now just marks on his skin where the skin dipped low. He owed it to Jason to repay him for all he'd done in nursing him back to health. Samhain needed time to recuperate. Things to justify his extended stay.

With a glance to his side, he stopped carving for a moment, taking in the picture of Jason, his burlap hood nowhere to be seen. His red hair burned vibrant in the firelight as he mended the hole in a shirt. Michael stopped lying to himself, knowing in his heart that he stayed for his own selfish reasons. Jason was a warm presence. Comforting in a way Michael had never felt.

It was contentment, he supposed it would be called. The closest he'd ever gotten was the come down off an adrenaline high of fighting or the fuzzy, numb stupor he would often find at the bottom of a bottle, but neither of those quite fit the word. It just felt good to be around the red haired man. Michael was good at reading people, a trait that came from many years of playing poker to pay for his needs, but he didn't need any of that to know that Jason felt the same. Michael just couldn't leave him now, he simply had no desire to.

Jason had once showed his face freely to those around him. Back when his mama was alive. He remembers the name calling, the tears Mama wiped away, the accusations after her death, the first bit of darkness when his head covered when he was to be hanged, all of the things that led to his hiding. He'd been nervous when Michael saw his face that first time. Washing his burlap hood in the stream, he'd been suddenly confronted by the brunet. His good eye scanned Jason's face with curiosity. He didn't say anything, just looked. There was no laughter or disgust, just the fire of interest, then of concern when they dropped to the faint ring of scarring around his neck. The two sat there quietly, a silent understanding forming.

That had been within the first couple weeks of Michael's stay. Now, Jason kept the hood off. Only putting it back on when trespassers came to their land, in need of disposal. Michael showed no hatred of that horrible face, but often looked at him, focused as though he were looking at the brightest star in the heavens. Jason allowed himself to hold onto the warmth it brought this time, savoring the way Michael brought him comfort.

Michael rode off to take his vengeance on the Marshall in mid spring. He'd put it off long enough, for as much as he wished to stay with Jason, true peace would not come to him until Marshall Loomis was dead and buried. There was a kiss goodbye, a lingering farewell and promise of return, then suddenly the red haired man was left alone once again. The land was emptier now without Michael. Jason busied himself with protecting their home (for now it was just as much Michael's as it was Jason's before) in the meantime.

It was incredibly lonesome, more than he'd expected. It's not as though Michael left without warning, he'd mentioned he would, and yet Jason was worried. Worried that he'd never see the dark haired man again. Had those silent confessions of adoration been lies? They never were on Jason's part, but Michael's face held no clues to the truth. He supposed Michael would been great at bluffing. It reminded him of something Mama once said: You ought not trust a poker player, Jason, they'll steal everything from you, and they'll make you feel special when it happens. He didn't want to think about that, and held on to the memory of the last time he held the black eyed man.

Days began to blend together before Michael returned on his black stallion. He'd been injured again, but nowhere near as badly. He fell into Jason's arms two months after he'd first left. He was weaker now, a husk of who he'd been. Anger no longer held him together. Jason could tell that he'd ate little and slept less since he'd been gone. His heart was simultaneously broken at the sight of his frail state and filled with his presence. He didn't want to ever let him go again. After a few days rest and many good meals, Michael looked much better physically, but something was different still.

Touching was more common than it had been before. When they sat in front of the fireplace of an evening, Jason would often find Michael reaching out for his own calloused hand, weaving their fingers together and scooting closer. Once, he pushed a curly, red lock of hair behind his ear, the corners of his mouth quirked up in an unpracticed smile. Jason melted at that first smile and every smile after. The weight that had been lifted from Michael's shoulders would never be commented on by either of them. They were simply too wrapped up in the pleasure of one other's presence and comfort to bring up that pain.

There was no pain or unhappiness in their little home that they built, not anymore. Not so long as they had each other to look out for them.

[treksickfic]

Lately I’ve been waiting to write until I feel like writing, but I know from past experience that never works for me. What I have to do is start writing, even if it’s necessary to force myself, even if my brain is yelling at me about all the other things I should be doing, and then the joy and eventually the motivation follows. So as an extra push, I’m going to list all my current WIPs and ideas and then choose one to work on tomorrow. No need to interact, I just wanted to get this down before I fall face first into bed and slip into unconsciousness because it’s been a long, long week. List behind a cut so you can read or scroll on past. Unless you’re on mobile, then RIP your scrolling thumb, I suppose:

1. (Enterprise) Maggie x Mestral, the OG human/Vulcan couple. Why did Mestral decide to stay behind when the Vulcan rescue ship arrived? Didn’t he know he could get injured or ill and then what was he planning to do?  Nice Vulcan you have there, would be a shame if anything happened to him.

2. (AOS) Gen with Spock and Kirk and Bones and a teensy bit of Spuhura. Basically an eight-chapter story (so far) as an excuse for everyone to take turns cuddling up with Spock in a biobed. It’s therapeutic for him. Really. It’s all because of some weird virus endemic to Vulcan.

3. (TOS, ish?) Bonus chapter to the Spock x Reader fic “In My Heart,” because if I don’t whump Spock just the tiniest bit, a fic never feels completely finished. I’m not as excited about this one but the chapter is done and just sitting there waiting for an edit.

4. (TOS) Second chapter of “Retrograde,” which wasn’t a very popular story. But despite that, I wrote more of it because Spock had to contract the same virus as Kirk, right? The correct answer is “yes.”

5. (Discovery or TOS, depends on which flavor of Sarek you prefer) A new Sarek x Amanda. Another sickfic, of course, and written just because I need Sarek miserable and uncomfortable and then Amanda has to play with his hair because reasons.

6. (OCs) First chapter of a story with my lovely OCs, T’Vath and Ayla. another Vulcan/human couple, both in Starfleet Medical. (If by some small chance you remember T’Vath from a PBEM last year, shhh, no you don’t.) These two dumbass young women adore each other but haven’t quite realized it yet. It’s a sickfic, because hello, have you met me?  And yes, there is a playlist named “Songs for Dumbasses Who Don’t Know They’re in Love.” It is very fitting for the aforementioned dumbasses. Ayla has lost her first patient and is devastated; at the same time, T’Vath is having what she thinks is an allergic reaction until she starts running a fever and collapses. Oops. 

7. Damn it, I am not going to let the wonderful writers who are so feral for Vorik (Voyager) and Solok (DS9, ONE EPISODE PEOPLE) influence me. I will not. I will just continue to read their stories and blush furiously during the smut. And not write one of my own. Probably.

[neonponders]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for tagging me @lazybakerart 💗💋

I’ve got two big writing projects on my plate this week lol but one thing I’m kind of indulging is a break-up/getting back together fic that I actually started in this post, but I’ll share what I have so far underneath the cut ~

(and excuse me while I overshare, because I’m still stupidly proud of this The Mummy_au post that I made if anyone wants a taste of that)

Tagging (if you want) ✨ @ghostofjellyfishforgotten , ✨ @smashmouth-hargrove , and ✨ @withoneheadlight 

(also just a heads up for the wip below: it’s once again me exploring my own asexuality through Steve, but I don’t know how far I’m going to go into it. Still, that might be a content warning people may need if they’re sex-repulsed 🌹)

Ch. 1

Sex with Billy was fine. Good, even.

When they finally moved past every look and touch being a threat veiled in a tease, Steve enjoyed looking at Billy. He enjoyed looking at Billy and discovering those California eyes already on him. He liked Billy’s hands. The man had beautiful hands; strong, thick fingers but...somehow elegant.

He liked Billy’s body, even though he sometimes worried that the guy seemed determined to break it ten different ways. Cigarettes, alcohol, excessive working out, and sometimes all at the same time.

Sex didn’t always mean Steve got to cum. Usually he didn’t, actually. But he enjoyed Billy’s kisses on his neck, and the taste of his tongue, and - admittedly - he loved just having all of Billy’s attention enraptured on him. Steve didn’t mind taking his dick inside because once he got used to it, that felt surprisingly good. When he managed the pleasurable sparks and sensational tingles that mounted into something explosive, he understood why sex was great. But for the more frequent, calm nights, he’d come to think of it as a weird yet pleasant massage.

So he took it. Because it was easier on his hands and knees, for one, and because Billy had a control complex. And Steve could hide his lack of enthusiasm.

Not to say that Billy was selfish or careless. Far from it, Billy Hargrove was an incredibly doting lover. Big surprise, there. Considering how the guy

Well

Existed.

Steve couldn’t really blame Billy for never noticing that he could go a long time without sex. Because Steve liked resting his hand on Billy’s chest while they watched a show or movie. It didn’t matter how much bare skin he had access to. In fact, the more coverage, the better. A clothed body is better to cuddle with than skin that can get sticky or irritated.

Steve liked kissing. He’d always liked kissing. Kissing was the reason he’d assumed he was like everyone else: the desire to kiss, crushes and girlfriends, masturbating, even the giddiness of sex with someone new.

But something fizzled out very quickly in Steve’s brain. Once hands and intent started moving beneath clothing, Steve just...didn’t want it. Suddenly a lot of things popped into his brain that he’d rather be doing. But he persevered because he loved Nancy, and her blooming sexual prowess and bravery was sexy.

Fun.

Billy was a whole big bag of new with an edge of scary that turned out to be more endearing than Steve thought possible. So it was easy to go like that for a while.

Normal.

Eventually he had to admit to himself that he didn’t like taking showers at 1am because he didn’t enjoy being covered in his own, and Billy’s, sweat. He didn’t like feeling the drips on his skin or the tackiness of too many skin oils on his hands.

He hated admitting to himself that he felt relief whenever Billy went out of town for work. He missed Billy, of course, but a lot of things had begun to snowball together in Steve’s life: changing jobs, managing bank accounts and savings, and there were a lot of truths Steve was facing outside of his relationship.

He was tired. Damn tired. He spent many days off wondering if people in their twenties feel this tired all the time or if it was just him. It must just be him. Because Steve sees Robin just as much as he doesn’t. She’s got goals.

And Billy

Billy has big dreams. He’s ready to work damn hard and already is. That’s why he uses his hefty gas money funds, to travel around. Scout the areas. Steve even drove him to the airport once, so Billy could really gain some distance over the weekend. Expand his network.

As if the universe knew, some bigwig passing through Hawkins on their way to Chicago ran right into Billy. A bigwig looking for a handsome, charismatic, young guy to mentor. It really couldn’t be more perfect than divine intervention. They’re Billy’s inlet to the business. Modeling, acting, freaking UNICEF ambassadorial work if he wants to feel extra important. If he gets big enough to have his face mean something around the world.

Within one conversation, he’s got a business card, and an appointment in a Chicago skyscraper next week to take measurements and do a rudimentary photo shoot. The manager warns him that it’s the agency getting to know him, but like any job interview, it’s his chance to interview them right back. Billy likes that a lot—feeling like he has a stake in something instead of just being a corporate pawn. And maybe he eats right out of the manager’s hand, but it’s still a shot. And he’s taking it.

He immediately goes to Steve’s work, fired up from seeing a future for the first time like he finally got the right prescription glasses. The only caveat is that Billy has to move out of Hawkins, which isn’t even a flaw, really. It’s as close to perfect as life’s ever been for him.

Steve can only listen quietly as he sits at the table in the break room. Because Billy’s got big dreams that are already coming true. Every detail of his enflamed speech is given over pacing feet; he can’t even bother to sit at the table. Billy’s got so much energy he’s already mentally and emotionally out the door.

Steve…isn’t. His mental health has been on a downward slope since before they graduated, and it won’t allow him to reach anywhere. He doesn’t have any dreams to steer him in any direction anyways.

Billy’s rant begins to wind down about what he wants to do; his fire about his dreams and his motivation simmers down to an even boil. Steve’s impressed and already proud of the person Billy will become, but Steve can also hear Billy’s frustration with him and their relationship.

For not keeping up.

Steve’s…kind of never been able to keep up. In bed or in life.

And perhaps the saddest part is that Steve doesn’t even have it in him to fight for it. For them. He doesn’t feel worthy enough to hold Billy back. So he doesn’t.

Billy snaps a little, “Why aren’t you saying anything? I’ve been talking about this for the last two years! Steve?”

He’d gotten distracted by looking at his backpack hanging on the wall. Steve’s throat hurt. Two years? God, it’s really been two years already…

He pinched his fingertips over the table as he began, “Billy, I support you. I know you can get there—wherever it is you want to be. I’m not going to tell you to stop or slow down. You’re going somewhere. But I’m…”

He took a breath to finally say it. “Not. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t think I have the energy to figure it out any time soon. You should go.”

Steve can see the disappointment sinking through Billy’s features. And the anger that he’s so used to throwing up as a shield. Billy has so much energy coursing through him as it is, Steve can’t blame him for swinging right into the direction of livid.

The real surprise comes from how soft he speaks. No yelling. No hitting the table. No wrenching Steve up by his green uniform vest. They were long past those outbursts. Which…really just confirmed Steve’s decision. Billy had come a long way. He could go so much further.

“That’s what you have to say? Just like that…you’re really giving up on us?”

Steve knows he’s gaping like a stupid fish. But it isn’t just like that, is it? Billy’s been revving his engines to get the hell out of Hawkins ever since he got here in the first place. Steve tries to say as much, but Billy cuts him off.

“I thought you’d be excited for this. You should be hauling me out of here to pack my bags.”

Steve tries to offer a small smile, but his voice betrays him. “I thought I kind of am? I didn’t take you for the long distance type.”

It’s not the response Billy wants. That should make Steve feel better than it does; the blatant display that Billy wants more of Steve. His excitement, his attention, maybe his companionship…

Steve doesn’t know what he wants—or rather, he does. That’s the issue. Billy’s wants and Billy’s problems can all be resolved by leaving one critical piece behind.

Steve.

Some more things are said, but Steve doesn’t do well on the spot. Especially when the limelight is Billy. Steve fails the tests and he fails the interview. Billy storms out, leaving Steve at the table, pinching his fingertips white before he unconsciously glances at his backpack again.

The backpack full of apartment lease papers. The papers Steve’s already signed because even with his insecurities, the mornings he woke up to discover Billy spooning him after having returned in the middle of the night were his best days. Because Billy’s silly insistence on hand poured coffee was his favorite drink. Because Billy was funny and weird like an artist and loony like a nerd with his video games, and Steve knew—or at least hoped that—Billy loved him the day he started holding his hand while driving that stupid, loud, beloved Camaro—

Because Steve’s heart was a magnet. It stayed where it landed and tugged back even when pulled away.

All he’d needed was Billy’s autograph to be given the keys. Keys to the rest of their lives, if Billy wasn’t already so far away.

Ch. 2

Robin gripped Steve’s arm, hard. A gargled sound escaped him as he grimaced and tried to pry her hand off. Her other hand pointed at one of the catalogues on the store’s many counters. When he invited her with him to pick out glasses, he hadn’t expected to walk out of the freaking optometrist’s office with bruises…

Nor had he thought he’d see a familiar face in the catalogue. Plenty of models were looking editorial chic, advertising that anyone could look as good in whatever glasses they chose.

Except Billy really did look good. The picture was just a vague image outside, the camera focused on Billy’s three-quarter profile gazing off past the photographer.

“I didn’t expect him to actually be working this fast,” Robin admitted. “It’s been…what? Seven months, give or take? I thought casting calls for models were competitive.”

“Not if you look like Billy,” Steve huffed with a quiet mixture of humor, sadness, and just a sprinkle of spite. A sprinkle of jealousy, if he was being honest with himself. The self-help book tucked under the covers of his bed talked about honesty. So he admitted honestly, “He looks that good and knows how to stand out in a room…good for him.”

He could see in his periphery Robin looking up and scrutinizing him. “Really?”

Steve shrugged with a nod. “Yeah. What’s the other option? Him struggling for work?”

Robin sighed and plucked a display set of glasses at random to try on and occupy herself. “That’s big of you, but everyone wants something cathartic. It’s annoyingly impressive that he landed the front cover of a magazine in less than a year.”

Steve opened the catalogue to give them both a reprieve. “You wanna get food after this? Take your mind off the audition?”

For all the good being a band geek did, Robin had experienced her own humbling experiences over the last few months. Like failed auditions to be in city orchestras. She and Steve were feeling very stuck in Kansas while Billy gallivanted around Oz.

• • • • • • •

The plot gets messy because years will actually go by, and Steve and Robin get married so that they can share insurance benefits (and be safe in their bi/lesbian open relationship, buy a house together, etc. It’s the life/happiness security Steve wants but obviously there aren’t any romantic feelings).

Of course this is when Billy happens to reenter Steve’s life. He’s got some hot-shot model he’s been seeing, and apparently Steve is married so there’s the added dash and twist of ~ cheating ~

I’ve been in some kind of mood, all right.

If you made it this far, thank you for reading lol.

[faejilly]

I was tagged by @la-muerta​ & @facialteeth​ & @thedivinemissema​ for the WIP/Title Game

rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and interests you and i’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it!

AND THEN  by @shadoedseptmbr​ @msviolacea​ & @ravenclawnerd​ for the “stories you want to write... but for some reason haven’t yet”

so this will be a mish-mash of both? The WIPs will mostly have blurbs in this case (to fit the second meme) but you are still welcome to ask follow-up questions, if you’d like ;) Assuming you make it through the list, it is uh. Not Short.

Anyone who would like to play with their WIPs, please consider yourself tagged in either or both of these. :D

Misc Fic Folder:

“untitled document” - where I’m working on fictober fills so I have word-counts for my GYWO tracker. I am not working on these because Brains Are Dumb and also Going Back To Work Is Exhausting

I made a file called “YULETIDE!” which has nothing in it but I’m determined to finish this year so that is definitely technically a thing in the Unending WIP List of Doom worth mentioning. (Tho obviously that’s all I could say even if I had started, because anonymous.)

“coda-fics, rewatch!” -yes, that exclamation mark is important! it’s to keep me motivated! (it didn’t work). Much like untitled, this is for putting stuff so I can do word count tracking even if I don’t know what I’m doing. Currently I think it just says “MARYSE” because I was working on my SH 1x6 coda-fic and then got distracted and haven’t typed anything up yet. (Yay notebooks? Boo notebooks? Not even sure at this point.)

WNIP (works not in progress) Folder:

“TOG” - I had one vivid mental image of how Nicky & Joe met (blood-stained evil smiles?) but then no idea for a follow-up story and also the fandom is insane and I’m not sure I want to deal with all of *gestures vaguely* all that

“Shan Xia Notes” -for a TTRPG that never quite got off the ground; she was a semi-tragic selkie who was still in love with the evil queen/lady who stole her skin and I got to play her for like one session and she was surprisingly chaotic neutral, which wasn’t at all what I’d been expecting. But the game never really got off the ground, so I never had enough info to really delve into writing backstory fic

“post-Kruschev” -Kruschev’s List was the last episode of Scarecrow & Mrs King, and I was debating writing an epilogue in place of the s5 we never got, to try and tie up some loose ends, but the fandom’s three old-ladies in trench coats and I never quite worked up the gumption to get it anywhere

“Code Realize warm as silk sequel” -there is literally nothing in this file except “SEX! Only a little angst” because I wanted to write some “we can’t actually touch each other” smut but never actually did. 🤷‍♀️

BioWare (also all Not-In-Progress Anymore)

“seb/adelaide”, “Theia” & “DAI Erana” -these WIP folders were cannibalized for ficlets for the last few times I did fictober, and while originally I had ideas for longer epilogues for all three of them, at this point I don’t think any of the remaining bits could support a story any longer.

”whispers in the dark” -Maia Ryder never really got much fic at all; the cancellation of any further Andromeda stuff was really disheartening, and at this point I’d have to play the game again, and I don’t think I’m gonna manage that any time soon

”TSP” -a Mass Effect 3 Shepard AU collab project that kind of went off the rails, and our mutual brains/lives never quite seem to line up so we can try and rebuild it ”Ngaio & Tane” -my one truly ruthless Shepard (Alliance background, who romanced Traynor) whose father Tane Shepard was, I think, in PsyOps, and I wanted to figure out their complicated relationship but never really did know where I was going with it

”JE Zu & Yaling” -so I’ve rambled about my Tragic Sagacious Zu Romance Thoughts regarding Jade Empire more than once (#Icy Yaling should have most of it) but apparently I want to yell about it more than I want to actually write it? Whoops.

”CI sequel: 5 times fic?” -Cruel Intentions is a kinkmeme fill that I started and then it sat for like five years before I actually finished it, and I liked the ending, but it does leave a giant fucking question mark in terms of how those people got from there to where they are after the game, and I kind of wanted to write a proper h/c fic rather than just... leaving them wallowing in all that trauma?

But I didn’t. I don’t even remember for sure how I wanted to frame the 5/1 of it all, besides it being something sad about allowing people to see you or touch you in some way. (Prayers maybe, since I think there was definitely some Sebastian & Fenris & faith stuff going on in there.)

“candles” -Merribela prompt fill that I never was happy with? Not sure what I might do with it at this point, so it’s just sitting there all sad and lonely and neglected-like.

Shadowhunters

pt1: WIP LIST ONLY

“Persuasion” -so I keep trying to write Persuasion AUs in many fandoms because it’s my favorite Austen, but I think I like it too much, I have no real solid concept of how I’d transform it, and if I don’t have anything else to say about different characters within that framework, I have no push to actually write anything? Also this SH version of it suffered from MASSIVE scope creep when I started outlining and it got too big for me to handle so I like, killed it twice? Whoops. This one is really probably never gonna happen.

“oosdt sequel” -I wanted to write more about the Forest That Eats People and Magnus & Alec as Guardians Between Worlds, and also some background Magnus’ Found Family & Lightwood Family Feels (maybe some clizzy?) and I left a Madzie plot-thread dangling from the first one on purpose even but I think this one had too many ideas and not enough focus so it’s sort of sprawling all over a doc with a lot of “???” in it

“procedural-ish” -this was originally going to be a sex-farce. and then it turned more serious. and then maybe kind of copaganda which was uncomfortable in terms of the Everything That Is The News in 2020, and then maybe it was more a Mafia AU and at that point I had self-inflicted tone whiplash and I wished the voices in my head were a little more forthcoming about their plans so I stopped before I brained myself on my computer monitor in frustration.

“I had rather a rose than live forever” -I started a reverse!verse Malec (Shadowhunter!Magnus, High Warlock!Alec) for bingo last year, and I couldn’t quite get it together in time, so I made a moodboard inspired by the bits I’d started instead. I may see if one of my prompts from Bingo this year help me finish it?

“fall fright fest (practical magic  au)” -exactly what it says on the tin! almost exactly a year old & neglected! IDEK ANYMORE (I talked about this one with the WIP meme last time tho: here)

“priest!kink theology?” -I thought it was gonna be smut? I like priest!kink. I have made other people like it and yell at me even! But then I kept diverging into demon!Magnus thinking about Priest!Alec’s faith and as usual, IDEK ANYMORE *laughs*

(If they’re remotely canon-adjacent or divergent, a bunch of these are in here because I need to rewatch the show to get the pacing/timing/tone right and I haven’t, and I don’t know why, because I enjoy the show, but BRAINS! Are Dumb! So I guess that’s it?)

“I do” -I have tried to write this damnable Malec arranged marriage fic like six different times. I have signed up for fic exchanges and bangs with it, I have rewritten massive sections, trying to change tone or structure or POV or whatever, and it basically comes down to they like each other too fast and I keep not gutting it enough to get back to a useful pace, but by the time I realized that I was on take six and kind of sick of it. I may get back to it eventually

“wing!fic” -canon divergent in early s1, trying to deal with the consequences of Simon’s kidnapping as the Truly Serious Event that it should have been. It uh. Got heavier than I expected with those consequences (considering it was originally just supposed to be Alec’s wings flirting with Magnus) and also see above re: rewatching for pacing.

“2x20 aftermath/date night/pandemonium porn“ -yes that is the actual wip title. It used to be “spite fic” because I was originally inspired by fighting against a lot of fic!Alec characterization that was clearly based more on the books and ATG syndrome than the Alec in the show, which is the Alec I know and like and want to read about. BUT, pacing and etc. again, I think. Also I have somehow entirely lost my knack for writing porn, which makes it difficult to finish something originally intended to be smut!fic. Or even teasing almost!smut.

“rubbish heap” -so this is about three different fics that I realized complemented each other really well so they’re now all in the same file as I try to turn them into the sequel of “with an if in its soul”. It includes amnesia, parabatai lore shenanigans, a s3 rewrite, and some truly awful Owl adjustments that make me wince in horrified authorly delight and pain. BUT, as with the other ones in this file, the scope is large and I normally write short-fic and I kind of just threw up my hands in exasperation. I may have to break it back up into the three different fics instead, if I ever actually want to write it. Them? But also I need to take better notes on s3 to make sure I have what I need in here.

SH Pt 2: Started posting or not yet in hiatus because it’s actually almost ready to be a thing in the real world! maybe!?

“kisses (firsts)” -I actually started publishing this one, a “series of firsts” that was supposed to be kind of relationship milestones and kind of an excuse for smut, and then there wasn’t that much smut and I lost momentum and also dear lords & ladies the timeline is stupid, wtf. I may not ever add to this one, tbqh. It doesn’t stop in a terrible place, and they’re all ficlets so they stand alone all right.

“clizzy epilogue” -this is blank atm, it’s more a reminder for me to keep poking away at my “girls who can’t breathe air, only fire” collection BECAUSE I WOULD LIKE TO ACTUALLY GET TO THE CLIZZY AT SOME POINT

"mer!alec" -pts 2-4 of a series, but apparently having an actual plan gets in the way of me *writing* the thing, and I haven't managed to throw the half an outline far enough away from my brain to be able to write again. Or something like that.

"ibhww" -if broken hearts were whole is a soulmate fic I started a million years ago, and purposefully set aside to finish some other WIPs because I thought they'd be quick, and now it's just buried under two and a half years of regret and shame so it's hard to get back to it

"iafy" -i am for you is a delightful & frothy semi-epistolary fluff piece that also just lost momentum because Life & 2020 & etc. It's far and away the most popular thing I've ever posted on AO3, which also makes me feel weird sometimes, and I feel like the fact that there's no grand conclusion planned, just a bit more fluff and settling in, might end up being disappointing? Basically, it's the first time I think I've psyched myself out about reader expectations, and until I get over that I'm going to have trouble finishing the last couple chapters. (There really are probably only two more chapters though. IT’S SO CLOSE, I wish I could just... write it. And yet?)

“fake-hating” -I do not like fake dating as a trope that much, I just do not get it, but I love outside POVs and arranged marriages and there’s this delighful tumblr post about how they wished there was more fic about people who were together but had to pretend they werent’, and uh. This may be that? Eventually? I’m not exhausted by my failure to finish it yet, so it’s still in the regular folder rather than the hiatus folder, even though nothing’s been posted for it.

AND I THINK THAT’S IT?

Not as terrible as it could be, but still. MANY WORDS THAT MAY NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY. Posting the equivalent of one’s old ratty sketchbook is always a weird feeling. :D

[from-ib-to-asshai]

WIP WEDNESDAY- I see you down on your knees

Arya should like to imagine that Frey blood is different then other blood. Maybe that the smell is more putrid, or that the liquid more viscous. Perhaps even a different color; more brown. Dirty blood would be fitting for such a dirty, rotten family.

But this isn’t the case. Despite all odds, the blood of the Frey men is almost lovely; she doesn’t clean the blood out from under her fingernails for weeks in a futile hope to keep it there forever. It’s color seemed so bright in the candlelight of the Twins’ kitchen, runny and red like the wine she’d serve to the other family members later on. It was almost indescribable how it felt to watch it.

It was meant for her, she realized. Arya was meant to bleed men like them just like the sun was meant to rise in the east. It was destiny.

At night sometimes, Arya would shake with anticipation at the thought of Cersei Lannister’s blood. Would it be just as wonderful? Even more so? The expression on Cersei’s face would be of no matter to her because all that matters was her blood, because blood was her life force and Arya would weep with joy to have the chance to rip her life out of her, Needle forgotten at her side as she would instead dig it all out with her bare hands, the squelching sounds of flesh and muscle and blood combined with the cracking of bones would-

Oh. She’s getting ahead of herself again, isn’t she. 

Sansa stares at her from across the table, obviously still waiting for an answer.

“I’ve been around,” she said, “Surviving. Training. Hiding.” She shrugged. “Nothing worth mentioning.” If Arya hadn’t been trained so well, she would've missed the almost imperceptible narrowing of her sisters eyes.

“I see.”

A pause.

“What about you?”

There was another pause, and Arya saw something in Sansa’s demeanor change - not for the better. On guard. Jaqen would have hit her for her mistake; Now Sansa either thought she was mocking her, since wherever she had been was obviously public knowledge, or her sister now knows that she’d spent the last years out of Westeros.

Jaqen would have hit her for it, the Waif would have beat her for it, Sansa now distrusts her for it. Arya just cursed herself for it instead.

“Lord Baelish got me out of King’s Landing,” the redhead began smoothly, ringing her hands together on her lap, “I was hidden in the Vale for a while(...)”

The silence between them was neither pleasant nor unpleasant, but simply a reminder that they were essentially strangers, weren’t they, after so many years apart. Sansa was beautiful, sitting on the simple wooden chair as if it were a throne, back straight, hands folded and head held evenly as not to disturb the non-existent crown that rested upon it. Her red hair neatly braided and her face illuminated by the low fire, her displeased expression was identical to the one she’d given Arya almost every day growing up. This realization stopped her in her tracks. 

She tilted her head. No, it couldn´t be. Couldn´t it? They wouldn't have sent someone to Winterfell this fast, they couldn't have. Oh, but they could have. They could have gotten to Winterfell in the time she was in The Twins, they could have taken it over, they could have taken her sister's face. 

They had reasons too.

The House had reasons to be angry with Arya Stark, and they had the resources to tear her down, to kill her. All the shattered promises, all the ignored oaths, all the broken rules. But why? Revenge? That wasn’t their style, really; hadn’t that been the whole point? The lesson that Jaqen H’Ghar had tried to teach her, that The Waif had tried to beat into her?

We never give the gift to please ourselves. Nor do we choose the ones we kill. We are but servants of the God of Many Faces…

A lesson. That would be a motive. That would be a reason to kill and impersonate Sansa Stark. Maybe they needed more servants for the god then she’d thought. Maybe they wanted her back. Maybe-

The door creaks open. 

She flinches, instinctively tracing the outline of the hidden knife beneath the sleeve of her tunic with her hand. The door opens too slow for it to be an attacker, the footsteps too loud for an assassin, she knows -- but flinches anyway.

Petyr Baelish looks different then from when she last saw him. Perhaps older, perhaps more weary.The last time she had seen him had been years ago after all,  No, thats not it; he looks smaller, almost like a small child dwarfed by the thick winter furs he has to wear to stay warm.

Littlefinger isn’t made for winter, she realizes. A small grin briefly twists itself over her face. His beady little eyes fixed onto her and he smiled tightly, bowing deeply in their direction. 

“My Lady Arya. It truly is wonderful to see you,” he said, taking a seat by Sansa, “When was the last time I saw you -- four, five years ago?” He says it like he doesn’t exactly know how long, which of course is a lie, seeing what kind of person Petyr Baelish is. “You were naught but a child then. I am delighted to see you have grown into a beautiful young lady, and are safely back in Winterfell.”

Are you? She thinks to herself. Outloud she says, “Yes.” 

The simple reply throws Baelish off, and he awkwardly readjusts himself in his seat. 

“You simply must tell me about what you’ve been doing all these years. No one has heard from you in years.” He trying to play with her, she knows, but she is not interested in playing his game. He is far more interested in him playing hers. The smile she wears in small and light, weightless and nonchalant. She needs to make Baelish believe she thinks she’s smarter than she is. Not to trick him later; no, like she says, she has little interest in the game of thrones. No, she needs both him and Sansa to believe she had no capabilities to kill him, that she was too dumb to try. 

She shrugs. “Same could be said for you My Lord. I hear one moment you’re working for the Lannisters, next you’re marrying into House Arryn, only to move on to the Boltons. All quite conflicting reports, really.” Her voice is soft and dispassionate. “I was hoping, that as I tell you of my travels, I’d be able to hear about yours more. Oh, you know how the smallfolk speak -- all rumors and claims -- one can never really know the truth.”

“No,” Littlefinger replied, “One truly can’t. I-”

“So I must wonder, Lord Baelish, where your loyalties really lay.”

“My loyalties are solely with your sister and House Stark, my Lady,” he said smoothly, “Any mishaps or conflicts in my actions were purely to survive and to get your family back home.” Sansa stiffened slightly beside him but said nothing.

“As Lady Sansa can surely attest to, the Vale’s armies played an important part in defeating the Boltons and securing Winterfell. The Vale has sacrificed many a moon and many a man to get us where we are today. So if my word itself isn’t enough to make you not distrust me My Lady, then at least trust my actions.” He bowed his head to her with a smile, his hand on his chest.

It took her a moment to riffle through his words to actually gain some meaning from them; Littlefinger spoke fast and spoke many words whilst saying little. But aside from the acknowledgement that his loyalties to Sansa meant more to him then any other, and the mention of how indebted the North was to the Arryns, there wasn’t much behind his words.

She’d expected more from Lord Baelish after all she’d heard. Or maybe it was on purpose - perhaps he didn’t think she-

“Of course, you should know best that I can be trusted -- After all, I never revealed your secret to anyone, all those years ago.”

Ah. There it is.

Sansa’s sharp, icy gaze pierced through her. She didn’t even have to look over to see the question burning in those pale eyes. Baelish grinned wider.

“Harrenhal was such a terrible place, wasn’t it. I can’t imagine what it must have been there -- especially under Tywin Lannister.” Arya felt herself grinding her teeth together. “I just hope you managed to get out of there before before the Mountain took over,” he continued, “But it surely would have been hard to escape unnoticed -- especially being Tywin’s personal cupbearer.”

And there it was. The kick she’d been expecting. 

Thick tension filled the room as silence took over. Baelish’s smile waned slightly, unnerved by the quiet. He’d surely been expecting some sort of revoke from her, a hurried defense, a glim of anger; even just a startled look. 

But Arya Stark did not bend to the whims of men.

Sansa's dry voice broke the moment.

“Lord Baelish, you must excuse us. It seems my sister and I have much to discuss.”

The man stood and bowed, obviously pleased with his work, and left, footsteps loud and they echoey as he descended down the hall.

“You haven’t even been here half a day and he’s already trying to cause distrust between us.” Arya looked over, surprised. Now this she hadn’t been expecting. Sansa leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples and sighing. She caught her younger sisters inquisitive gaze and smiled faintly.

“He loves doing things like this,” the redhead murmured, tracing her finger along the wood of the table, “Trying to tear families apart, causing chaos wherever he steps foot,” she huffs. “I do understand why, I am easier to manipulate when alone. That doesn’t mean he’s any less despicable.”

Arya blinked. Sansa leaned over to her, laying her hand close to hers, close enough to feel the warmth without direct touch. She appreciated that, in a strange way.

“Why don’t you just...send him away?” Sansa smiles again, and Arya thinks it’s somewhere between patronizing and affectionate. Her younger self would have gotten at the gesture, but the last time anyone had looked at her with any kind of real affection had been years ago, so she didn’t even mind getting talked down too -- For all she’d been taught in Bravos, the House had not cared to teach her about Westerosi politics. 

“Because we need the Vale’s army. We can’t afford to lose their alliance because, while Lord Royce cares little for him, if our dearest cousin hears that his lord regent and surrogate father is killed on flimsy claims of conspiracy and treason ...” Sansa paused, looking out the window. The bright grey light reflected on her blue eyes. Arya realizes, then, that she hadn’t suggested to murder him, only to remove him from Winterfell. 

No, she realizes then. This was not a faceless man trying to trick by using the face of her sister.  The amount of fury in her face, etched into the curve of her gentle smile, sparkling in her kind eyes, evident in every small nod and calm word - this is not the way of a faceless man. The subtlety of the anger, no - they would try to  be much more obvious.They would not try to conceal their resentment as effectively as Sansa did.

Arya felt a twinge of pride at that, unable to imagine how the elder Stark had become this good of a liar -- what had caused it.

Satisfied with her discoveries, she excused herself, venturing out into the old, dusty, grey halls that she had once called her home. The dark stains, the crumbling corners, the burn marks on the tapestries and the nervous maids that have quick, hurried direwolves stitched into their overcoats to distract from the pinks and reds of their skirts that they are too poor to replace.

[imdifferentshadesofpurple]

🖊WRITERLY CONVERSATION TAG

tagged by my dearest @yeoldontknow (this one was a fun one) xx

2020

what was the most challenging part of writing this year?

Honestly, @yeoldontknow said it perfectly. For me, the toughest part is the inspiration and the motivation to write. I’m so extremely introverted but I draw from the world around me, people, music, even nature, that’s what I need to spark just a small enough idea that pushes me to my notebook or the keys of my computer. With this pandemic, as wonderful as it’s been to have an excuse to stay in all day, the world outside is a carefully planned out journey when only necessary. I don’t get to look up at the sky and breathe fresh air or sit outside a coffeeshop and people watch. So my writing has felt even more stifled than usual. And without the inspiration, the motivation is quick to disappear. No new ideas, no new words - trapped within me.

what was the most enjoyable/rewarding part of writing this year?

The simplicity of just writing. I’ve come to a point where I write, even without the intent to post. Small things, quick thoughts. An idea that maybe will grow into something more later on. That’s when I’m the happiest, when I can stare at new words and feel the way I felt when I was writing consistently. 

what piece has left the most impact on you and why?

Oh I’d have to say The Bad First Date Chronicles (inspired by Kat of course lol). I chose those specific pieces of work because they were actual events in my very unsuccessful dating life, save for the Mark story because I have yet to find my forever guy in life. A few details left out or tweaked but it was the first time I didn’t just take inspiration from my life but actually wrote it down for people to eventually read. I keep things close to my chest, tucked away in fear of judgement. So putting it out there was quite the step.

what have you learned about yourself through the process of writing in the past year?

I came to realize just how tied to the world I am when it comes to writing, how even the smallest things can light something in me and make me write until the moon is about to let the sun take over. I realized being out there made me who I was as a writer.

how has your writing changed in the past year? how have you grown?

I’m more careful with it. My writing hasn’t been posted for quite some time, but there are words littering napkins or the margins of the nearest paper I could find. I’ve written small things and large pieces that will never meet the world. And I’ve come to the conclusion that not everything is meant for the world. I always thought that when I wrote, I needed to post. That everything needed to be perfect or else no one would read it. My writing now is my reflection. It stares back at me and tells me who I was and what I loved in that moment I wrote the words down. 

2021

ignoring your wips for a second, if you had all the time and energy in the world to write your magnum opus piece, what would it be about? why is that the dream story you’d write, all other things controlled for?

I’d want to write about disappointment. About a girl that has had high expectations for herself but tries to claw to the top, feeling as if she never moves an inch. I’d want to write about how she never meets the goals society sets, how the darkness eats at her, tears away at her confidence until its merely shreds on the inside of her soul. About the lies she screams at the mirror but confidently pushes forward to everyone else, a smile firmly in place. 

A girl that burns and dreams and cries and loves.

But I’d also want to write a period piece. A fight for independence and a happily ever after in a world where the two can’t always live in the same space and men tell our heroine she must never rise above. Where the soundtrack makes me feel the way the Bridgerton soundtrack makes me feel and the wardrobe consists of sweeping gowns and tailored waistcoats and wisteria grows on the houses and people wake up to the sound of horses clopping against cobblestone.

how do you want to grow in your writing this year?

I want my writing to be something people remember. A large feat, I’m well aware. I’m not best selling author but if something I write sticks with a reader, if they think about it at a random moment, there’s an accomplishment there for me.

what’s one thing you’d wish to see in the fan-writing community this year?

Just love. We’re all fans of something, we all have our right to that. Even if you don’t share the same interests, show support. And if something pokes at your curiosity, don’t be afraid to try and find someone to talk to so you can nurture said curiosity. 

name one new thing you want to try doing in your writing this year.

Expand on my worlds a little more. Give more detail maybe, more depth to characters. Don’t be afraid at the length of the piece. Just write. Create. 

tagging any writers reading this and want to participate! xx

[mystic-kitten-writer]

OMG HOEE YOURE BACK -tears of happiness- I cant wait till chapter 32!!!!!! Cpuld we pretty please have a lil teaser? No pressure. I just need to a taste of your goodness 😇 Luv yaa gurl 😉

I’M BACK BITCCHESS 🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗

LOOL - of course, you can sweetie! I love dropping teasers, it keeps me motivated 🥰

Here is the teaser! It’s the start, a nice lil’ taste of this crazy chapter because boooooyyy does shit hit the fan in this chapter. Enjoy~!

Rating: SFW

Words: 2000 (a tiny tease, I gotta save some content for when I post 😅)

Notes: WIP; not edited and subject to change, my loves :) Also, I noticed that the start of this chapter is decepitvely sweet for the shit that is about to happen lol - I’m evil.

~ Ying Yue Jiang ~

            “You know…you have beautiful eyes, Princess.”

           “Awe, thanks, Sokka.”

           “Too bad your face is ugly.”

           “I swear-”

           The immature hoots that erupted from Sokka were loud and clear. His belly rumbled in amusement, entertained at my exasperated expression as I rested over his stomach.

           We were lounging in Zuko’s and I bedroom, munching on cookies on our bed, despite it being early in the morning. Zuko already rose and went for a morning jog – and I would be lying if I said I didn’t use the excuse of me being under the weather to avoid that run.

           It was as Zuko was leaving that Sokka busted through the grand doors, still in his polar bear pyjamas, with a plate of cookies in hand – “I wanted to check up on Princess, see how she’s feeling.”

           And that leads us to where we were now.

           I grumbled under my breath, stuffing another fresh-baked chocolate-chip cookie into my mouth as Sokka beamed down at me. Despite the pointless banter and teasing, Sokka and I were venting to each other; I was beyond happy. I never realized how much I missed spending time with him – he was my partner in crime, the person who helped me learn to laugh again.

           And while Sokka has been my side from the beginning – we never got a chance to hang out as much as I would’ve wanted. Appreciate the presence of each other, even though ‘sibling time’ means tons of teasing and humiliation.

           A hand rested behind his head as he leaned against the bedframe, stuffing another cookie in his mouth. His hair has grown so much already.

           Usually, it was up in a messy top knot, but today, he let his hair down. Zuko still had the lengthiest hair out of the guys, but Sokka was starting to prove himself to be a worthy competitor. I was always jealous of how attractive Katara’s and Sokka’s brown hair was. There were natural blond highlights, and it complimented their baby blue eyes.

           “Hey…did Aang bring Momo?” I pondered out loud; brows pinched as I tried to recall the last time I saw that mischievous creature. He was already so infuriatingly elusive, but now that we were in the Kingdom, it was like he vanished.

           “Yeah, but you know how Momo is…” Sokka mumbled under his breath, more focused on chewing the cookie stuffed in his mouth than answering my question.

           “I haven’t seen him once!” I exclaimed, and Sokka snorted, “Join the club. I asked Aang the other day, told me Momo is hiding out in the kitchen.” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes hearing that – of course, Momo is there. Appa would’ve joined Momo if he were here and could fit.

           “Explains why the kitchen staff is panicking. They keep complaining that the food keeps disappearing – scared it could be a ghost.”

           “You know what would be really funny…” Sokka mused, and based off the tone alone – I knew he was thinking of something evil. My mouth opened and closed, fighting the temptation to ask because I knew better. There was a reason why Sokka and I got along; we were the definition of dumb and dumber.

           My lips puckered, and the next thing I knew, I turned on my side, facing Sokka eagerly.

           “What’s your plan?”

           Right away, Sokka grinned, sitting upright. I yelped, body rolling onto his lap, and in a bold move – he put down the plate of sweets on the bed. He means business.

           “What if we covered Momo in flour – make him look like a ghost? The kitchen staff would lose their minds.”

           “Sokka~! I can already imagine the mess.”

           “And I can already imagine the looks on their faces when they see a ghost.”

           I huffed, crossing my arms. “No, Zuko will kill me if he finds out it was us.”

           “Keyword, if.”

           “Where is Katara when you need her?!” I groaned to myself. If Katara were here, she would’ve shut down this plan before Sokka could even think of it. She was the mother of the group for a reason – she kept us all in check.

           I grabbed a cookie from the plate that Sokka set aside, shoving it against Sokka’s lips. “Lie back down and eat a cookie.” I pestered, the only way I knew how to distract him. Sokka laughed against the cookie I practically stuffed, trying to chew the whole thing in one go.

           “Aren’t you excited? She’s arriving tonight.” He mumbled between chomps. An enormous smile appeared on my lips, brushing my bedhead hair away from my face. “I can’t wait!” I gushed, body sprawling across the bed as I hugged my teddy bear close to my chest.

           My gaze shifted upwards, staring at the wooden lined ceiling above us, with a silly look. It’s been how long since I’ve last seen Katara? It felt like forever, but I knew it was only a few months. Woah…me and Zuko haven’t been dating for that long, have we?

           It felt like Zuko, and I have been together for years – but not in a bad way. I just felt so comfortable with him. Our routines, how open we are with each other, it was surprising to think that we haven’t been together for that long. But also look at everything that happened, everything we have gone through together…

           It’s no surprise we’re as close as we are. We practically went through everything a couple may experience over their lifetime in a span of a few months. Add in the fact that he’s the ruler of a nation – things get a bit complicated.

           “She’s going to freak out when she hears everything that is going on.”

           I pouted, snapping my head towards Sokka, “She doesn’t know?”

           He frowned, his silliness gone and face stern, “No. We didn’t want to give too much information via messenger bird or attached to Appa. It could get intercepted. It’s not worth the risk.”

           A blue silence fell between us; my gaze returned to the ceiling, lost in my thoughts. Despite all the smiles, the giggles, the sweet moments of bliss – that didn’t change the current chaos around us. Mai is a traitor, Azula is back, and Yakone-

           It was like someone punched me.

           The mere mention of Yakone had a shiver running up my spine, the hairs on my arms rising in terror. Zuko didn’t mention his name once around me, and I wonder if it was because he knew how shaken up I was after the incident.

           And the worst part of it all was I still had the handkerchief Yakone gave me that night when he comforted me, hidden away in my vanity. Gosh, I should’ve thrown it out, burnt it –anything, but keeping it. I didn’t know why I even kept the stupid thing. Maybe it was to remind me that he wasn’t that evil as a man?

           That there was still a little bit of good left in him.

           Yakone knew my family’s crane story. Dumb luck? He’s also a Bloodbender. But Aang told me that-

           “Princess…how is your ‘Fire Nation Politics’ lessons going?” Sokka asked, his voice cutting my thoughts in half. I couldn’t help but jump slightly in surprise, and right away, Sokka’s hand fell over my forehead, a soothing gesture spotting my uneasiness.

           “Hmm? S-sorry, I didn’t hear properly.” I mumbled quickly, looking up at Sokka. He rolled his eyes at my aloofness, flicking my head before speaking again, “You’re lessons involving politics. Zuko told me you’ve been learning a few things.”

           I groaned loudly.

           Gosh, bloody Fire Nation politics.

           The moment I accepted that stupid Imperial Consort seal, I’ve had to brush up on my Fire Nation knowledge. From previous Fire Lords, customs, family trees, and laws – I wanted to cry. It wasn’t that it wasn’t interesting, it was just so much information thrown at me at once.

           My hands fell over my face as I internally sobbed.

           “It’s so difficult. I understand the basics, but the system here seems so backwards at times.” I whined into my hands, venting all the annoyance I had bottled up. There were so many things going on; at this point, I felt like I was memorizing words rather than understanding.

           But knowing the rules did help out and gave me the chance to fire that meanie of a councilmember…Maybe I did understand more than I was giving myself credit for. But with everything else going on at the moment, my head hurt tons.

           “Why don’t you ask Zuko to help you out, Princess? He is kind of like, the Fire Lord.” My hands dropped from my face, opting to throw my arms into the air in defeat. “I don’t want to bother Zuko. He has so much on his plate. I want to do this on my own.”

           “But Princess, this is his job. He’ll help if you ask– he wants to help.”

           I huffed to myself, biting my lips in frustration, “I know, but…I-uhh-I don’t know. I don’t want to. Have you seen the book I had to read for this week?”

           Sokka shook his head, and I grumbled to myself, “On my nightstand. See that ridiculously thick book? Yeah, try reading a page and not fall asleep.” Sokka laughed at the evident disgust in my voice, grinning madly as he reached to his side. Just thinking about the book had me shivering in fear.

           But I was trying.

           Watching the way Zuko worked on a daily, it made me want to work just as hard. I wanted the prove everyone wrong – that I wasn’t some arm candy for Zuko. That I knew what I was doing…

           Sometimes; it felt like Zuko was the only one who believed in me in this kingdom. I won the people’s hearts – now I had to prove to the council that I can do this.

           I closed my eyes, letting my arm rest over my eyes, the migraine that I’ve had still dully throbbing.

           It was strange, for the past five or so days, I kept fluctuating from feeling better to isolating myself in bed. My body was hurting; my head felt like a hot mix of heavy and aching. Was having a cold always this annoying? I usually had Katara heal me; I haven’t experienced a full-blown illness in years.

           “I’m gonna read where you have your bookmark,” Sokka spoke, and I merely nodded.

           Although…I don’t remember having a bookmark in my book…I didn’t make it far enough to bother putting one. I could hear Sokka snort as if he was trying to sniffle in a laugh-

           “Yesterday, Zuko used the lounging area after our bath, and I couldn’t be happier! He looked sooooo cute sitting there, reading. He almost fell asleep-”

           “OH MY GOSH SOKKA STOP!” I screamed. This asshole was reading my bloody journal!