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neroushalvaus · 6 months

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Tumblr in the 60s – deleted posts

Some people requested a sequel to this post so I thought I'd post these drafts that didn't make it to the original. Maybe doing more at some point if the inspiration hits me but I hope these bring you some joy.

🚀 starrfleet Follow

HEY GUYS!! We're buying The Beatles so John and Paul can finally get together!! Who's in

🎹 nixonsafascist Follow

Call that... Beatles for Sale

🚀 starrfleet Follow

Dude this is serious. We want to free them. Why is homophobia so very funny to you?

🎶 mclennstarrison Follow

Didn't The Beatles start managing themselves after Mr Epstein died? So you plan to buy them... From themselves?

🚀 starrfleet Follow

Oh so the george harrison vampire mpreg blog is going to preach to us now.

92 notes

📻 lesbianbobdylan Follow

"Let men have short hair!!" "It's okay to not agree with the civil rights folk" "Don't let tumblr tell you that serving your country is bad" You are all so chronically online and convinced your little hippie bubble represents the world that you have the worst takes. Conservatism is alive and well, us hippies are the fucking minority. The outside world is perfectly okay with all the anti-mlk short-haired men who are happily getting drafted. You are not counterculture.

15,5 t. notes

☁️ ankin-vaimo Follow

Tumblr is so US/UK centric. Scrolling through this site you'd think there were no other tv shows than star trek and no other bands than the monkees and that the stonewall riots were the only meaningful political activism that has ever happened. There's so much great culture elsewhere. I bet you have never even heard of Tapani Kansa.

🇻🇳 shirellesofficial

#shhh don't tell Tumblr that other countries exist #they couldn't even admit Please Mr. Postman was originated by black women (tags via @marvelettesofficial)

peer reviewed tags

#sorry for going through your tumblr marvelettesofficial #you're just so funny #hope i'm not annoying you

54 notes

🌼 andpeoplesaywebeatlearound Follow

People really like to pretend us Beatles girlies hate Y*ko for being asian and a woman like she didn't literally make John cheat on his wife and leave his young son

🪕 prostitutesandlesbians Follow

don't talk like us beatles girlies are all the same, i personally want to fuck her on a canvas while we're both covered in menstrual blood, creating modern art by making love

✝️ jesusrevolution Follow

Op is this you? ↓

🎶 mclennstarrison Follow

Also like, "made John cheat on his wife and leave his young son", did John himself have nothing to do with that decision or..?

🪕 prostitutesandlesbians Follow

do you guys think she and john do mommy play

🎶 mclennstarrison Follow

I appreciate the input @prostitutesandlesbians but we're trying to call the op out for being a racist misogynist

🪕 prostitutesandlesbians Follow

sorry

346 notes

🤪 thekinkykinks Follow

Why is there even discourse about this... Yeah, the folks at Stonewall could have been more respectful towards the police officers who were just doing their jobs, but why are we acting like throwing some pennies at the police officers and calling them "Lily Law" is the worst type of oppression

🥿 trustnobutch Follow

You know what? No. Fuck you. I'm tired of you all talking about these people like they were your poor little meow meows. Have you read about this at all? The raid did not happen because the police "hates gay people wah wah". Stonewall Inn was run by the mob. The. Fucking. Mob. Would you rather have the police not protecting us from criminals, huh??? And the rioters were nothing but a bunch of attention seekers. I heard that a guy from the fucking Mattachine Society phoned newspapers and took pictures of the riot. I'm so disappointed, that was the only gay group that seemed to care about looking respectable in the eyes of the heterosexuals. People who were there made us all look bad and set our movement back like 50 years. Fuck you for supporting them.

🍊 kissmemissoklaholma Follow

Yeah. I heard someone threw a brick.

✌ draftdodgerdyke

??? Nobody threw bricks, where the fuck do you get your information ??

#they should have tho #chilling at the stockholm airport finding the weirdest takes

998 notes

🧸 teddyboyfemme Follow

i'm sharing a joint with this cute ass butch with the cutest curliest hair ever guyyyyssss I think i'm falling in love

🧸 teddyboyfemme Follow

she plays the harmonica for me i want to fuck her to the mattress

🧸 teddyboyfemme Follow

i don't have any idea what she's singing about but i think she likes the rolling stones too, we have so much in commonnnn

🧸 teddyboyfemme Follow

So it turns out that was Bob Dylan.

70,9 t. notes

#tumblr in the 60s #1960s #dashboard simulator #i edited some of them so they'd appear more finished #racism ment //#better safe than sorry

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highhhfiveee · 7 months

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please i need some dubcon mike schmidt ..,,, like he picks up drunk reader from a party n takes her home n fucks her throat ..,,, ‘you’re so easy to control when you’re all stupid like this’ ..,,, she’s got tears streaming down her face n she’s clawing at his thighs but he just holds her head in place n strokes her hair n tells her how good she’s making him feel ,,

okay okay okay. shiver me fuckin timbers lmaoooo. this is so brothersbestfriend!mike. switched it up a little but i hope you still enjoy! [had this set to post at 12 but tumblr failed me lmao]

sangria

tags: brothersbestfriend!mike, fem!reader, intimate touching, choking, wild dick sucking, deep throating, spitplay, degradation, dubcon (reader is plastered, and while she does consent to be taken advantage of, she is still under the influence); mike is such a protector and i'm starting to think that this is megasub!reader x protector!mike in addition to bbf! [let me know if i missed anything + this has been proofread but there’s always still a chance for mistakes lmao]

link to the original fic, mimosa, here 🍹, and the first part of the finale here, tequila sunrise, here 🍸

okay, so maybeeeeeee you two didn't actually get caught that day.

you’re panting in each other’s faces as you come, clean yourselves off, and exit the shed like your brother's best friend hadn't made you squirt all over the garden tools and pool supplies.

the feeling of mike's come pooling in your bikini bottoms makes you tingly all over again, and you're squirming while you both ease your way back into the fold of cookout attendees, diverting into separate paths so no one can catch onto your attachment; clandestine and kept between the eyes, lips, and bodies of you two only.

you'd wished mike nothing but hell while you were away at school, doing anything you could to get the thought of him out of your head. even though you'd been the one to catch feelings, you never wanted him to have any part of you ever again, restricting him from you.

you'd wanted him erased from the entire galaxy then, but from the cookout forward, nothing excited you more than the thought of being mike’s plaything. you snuck around with him more than you should've; giving him handjobs in the backseat of his car, letting him eat you out in your bedroom with the door open---risky things that made your heart pound with adrenaline and need, a rush to the very end.

you could only get that feeling with mike. it made you sick to your stomach with taboo butterflies, fantasizing about all the ways he could have you thrashing, eyes rolling back, toes curled until your feet cramped.

he'd hooked you on him once again, and this time, he'd decided to go with the flow. he wasn't pursuing anything with anyone else, and feelings had begun to bloom in him. nothing like love, he'd told himself (even though your flirty smile made his heart palpitate before making his dick hard), but like...safeguarding.

you were young, unversed with life, vulnerable; mike could see people taking advantage of you, mistaking your soft, impish act for total naivete. even though he'd hurt you himself, he'd never allow anyone else to treat you that way, or put you in a situation to harm you. there was this urge in him to keep you safe, keep you protected from the mean world that ate girls like you for breakfast.

mukrrrrrrrrrrrr

molwwwwwwwwww

gahdmn i cant tYpe LoL

exhibit a.

y/n are you drunk

….

………..

…………………………….

y/n

4 F R E E dwinks

downnnnnnnnn thw hATCH

pArTyz rool xp

mike's about to ask about your location when your picture floods his screen, phone vibrating in his hand with a call. he answers it with a displeased, "where are you?

"she’s at 8203 harrington circle," someone yells over loud, bass-riddled music and scattered conversations. mike hopes it's a friend of yours, and not a complete stranger. “she was fine, but i think that fourth drink tipped her over!"

mike's been putting on clothes and grabbing for his keys and wallet since your first text message, already sulking to his car as your friend finishes her statement. "stay with her and keep her upright, i'll be there in fifteen."

he can't get rid of the deep scowl etched on his face while he drives, both hands clasped tensely on his wheel at ten and two. he wants you to have fun, of course. he isn't going to tell you not to go to parties, or not to drink---you’re your own person, and he has no right to tell you what you could and couldn't do, but something about you utterly hammered around so many people you probably don't know makes his heart pound against his ribcage with agitation.

harrington circle was a street on a state school campus, one that you'd opted not to go to all that time ago. maybe you'd known some people there, but mike was sure you didn't know your way around, where to go if something went wrong...

he pulls up to a tall, red brick house smack dab in the middle of a cul-de-sac, immediately throwing his car in park and exiting when he sees two girls walking alongside a guy carrying you out the front doorway. he has his hands hooked under your armpits, pushing your boobs together and "covertly" staring at your amplified cleavage as he leads you down the short stone path.

your head lulls back a little, and you're smiling up at the sky with your eyes closed and your cheeks flushed to death. your legs drag under you, and mike's quick to grab for your waist, removing you from that perv's grasp with haste and a grimace.

you droop into him, body leaden with alcohol, and he slides one arm under the back of your knees, bending his own to lift you into a bridal style hold.

you squeal as he turns away from the house, throwing your arms around his neck and dreamily sighing at the way his hands feel carrying you, strong and vigilant and possessive. "mikeeeeeee," you mewl, pulling yourself into him so you can nudge at the column of his throat. your words are slurred almost beyond comprehension, and he commands one of the girls to open the passenger door so he can ease you inside.

he sets you down in the seat, or at least tries to, whispering, "let me go" when you keep your arms wrapped around him. the position has him hunched over, and it hurts his back so badly, but you whimper, "nooooo, want you close" while nearly making him trip and fall across you, splaying his entire body over yours. he smells so good, all warm and musky and mike, and you don’t want to separate from him.

"y/n, please. i wanna get you home," he reaches back to wrench your arms off of him, placing them in your lap and closing the door before you can complain. he walks around the front to the driver's side, monotonously thanking the girl who'd helped you as he grumpily enters the car.

he grabs for your seat belt, stretching it across your torso as he does his own and drives away from the annoyingly illuminated house and party commotion in silence.

you're so gone, but even drunk, it's unsettling to you how quiet mike is, keeping his eyes focused on the road without a hint of a glance or a word to you. his jaw is clenched deeply, and he's stiff as a board against his seat, so opposite from his usual sullen, suave nonchalance. you frown at him, fingering with your strappy, well-tied sandals. "hey, grumpy,"

"not grumpy," you huff at his tone, sour and unwavering, and wiggle your toes as you finally free them from the entrapment of footwear. "i'm fine."

"you've gotten very, very bad at lying," you demur. your head slacks again, but this time against your headrest. you ogle mike through the film in your eyes, digging your teeth into your bottom lip. "mad at me?"

mike writhes in his seat, his jaw muscles flexing at your coy lilt. you know how to manipulate him with your words, sweetening them in just a way that would have mike bending to your will. the way you're gazing at him with your big, unfocused eyes makes him makes him press down on the gas a bit harder.

"i'm not mad," he mutters, all pseudo-nonconfrontational and collected, but you know that he's not telling the truth. something about the circumstances bothers him, and you want to know why. the car comes to a stop at a red light, mike shaking his head as he scrunches his face and rubs his eye with a knuckle. "forget about it."

"i won't. don't like me having fun without you?" he doesn't answer, staring ahead at the empty streets around the two of you. it was so late, nearly 2 am, and it only fuels the exasperation he feels burning in his stomach. he doesn’t like you out here like this, without him to keep you out of harm’s way.

"is it the drinking?" you pout, frustrated with the way he's ignoring you. "i admit, maybe four drinks was overkill, but i feel sooooo good. my body feels like..." you make a subtle buzzing noise, similar to tv static, and cut it off with a giggle, reaching over for one of mike's hands while the light turns green.

you inch it towards your lap, dragging it across the skin of your thigh that skims the end of your skirt, mini and gold and matching with the white corset top you wore. "you should feel."

"y/n..."

"c'mon mike," you pout again, dipping his hand between your opened legs. you let out an astounded moan when his cold fingertips connect with your bare clit, and now he's scowling at the fact that you’re not wearing any panties. he thinks about how many people would keep note of that, combined with your docile, inebriated state, and see it as a way in. it’s clear, with how those drinks have you begging him to ease his fingers into you, caressing your tight, warm walls so he can add another check to "car" on the list of places he's made you squirt. “don't want you to be mad at me anymore."

"i'm not mad at you, y/n," he finally says, fingers still against your skin. you're soaking his seats, the excess of your slick dripping down to the cloth, and he has to pull himself out of thinking about someone else feeling you in this way. his eyes stay low on the road as he continues, "did you know anyone at that party?"

"mhm, like one person." mike sighs, a low grumble in his throat. he pulls his hand away from you, putting all of his attention on driving so he can get home. he just wants you inside, away from the world and in his charge. he doesn't say anything for a long while, eventually taking a deep breath and mumbling, "just want you safe, y/n. i'm glad you called me to come get you. there are bad people out there, and i don’t trust them in situations like this.”

"yeah," you purr, leaning against the center console and resting your head on the side of his seat. "you're my knight in shining armor, hmm? keeping me away from all the bad bad people looking to destroy messed up princesses like me?"

mike side eyes your tone, nearly scolding you for treating it like a joke and not something that could actually happen.

"...that's one way to put it, but seriously—-“

"wanna be destroyed though," you interrupt, unbuckling your seatbelt once he cuts the car off in the driveway. he’s turning to you, dark eyes gazing towards your pouted lips. you're reaching your hand across his lap, massaging it over the press of him in his sweatpants. “especially by you. wanna be your little fucktoy. let you use my messy holes however you want because they're yours."

your filthy mouth and shameless confession have mike turned on and hard and thinking about how you've called your holes his. he's seeing you bent over the couch, stuffed to the hilt with his fingers pressed against your tongue while he smirks down on you, veins coursing with lust. he squeezes at your hand, and says,

"let's get you inside, okay? then we can talk more about my messy fucking holes."

you're dizzy, giving him a big, woozy smile and letting all the craving you feel inside pour out through your glazed over eyes when he swoops you up again, carrying you and your shoes to his front door. your arms are back around his neck, and you're placing soft kisses on his lips, jaw, and chin as he drops your shoes by the entrance and carries you all the way to the couch, settling his body into one of the corners.

you're adjusting yourself on him so your bare mound drips over his thighs, and he's got his hands around your hips again, digging his fingers into your flesh as you mindlessly grind against him. you're still kissing against his lips, so uncoordinated and sloppy, and he pulls on the wispy strands at the nape of your neck, disconnecting you from him so he can leer at you with a look that tells you he will be destroying you tonight, guaranteed. "no panties was really bold of you, baby."

"can’t have panty lines in this skirt," you frown, placing your hands on mike's shoulders for leverage to move on him a bit harsher, eventually grazing them over his back and arms as you do. "not cute."

"but it's really not cute for you to have my holes on display for anyone to have, especially not when you're like this."

"mikey, please,” you coo, hunching down to press wet, suctioned kisses on mike's bare neck and rolling your hips into the weight of him. he feels so good against you, and you're aching, the alcohol sending shocks to your clit with every second of friction. "want you in me or something. no more talking, just use—-.”

"aht, don't rush me. trying to get you to understa---" one of your hands goes from roaming his shoulderblades to placing pressure around his throat, shocking him stiff against the back of the couch.

he doesn't think anyone has ever choked him before, and while his eyes burn at you with frenzied astonishment, you're causing him to have a revelation. his dick pulses against the material of his sweatpants at the feeling of your dainty hand squeezing his throat, and he's reaching to grab your wrist and bring your hand down before he comes all quick like he’s 18 again. you stop him with your other hand, coming in close to his face.

there's such a ferocity in your stare, and he knows that you're not going to let him lecture you all night. you need him to fuck you, need him to do something with you and your drunken arousal.

"are you really gonna keep talking, or would you rather just fuck my throat?" you slide your arms down his back, lips placed by his ear as you whisper, "show me how depraved people really can be when i'm like this."

he knows it's sick, but it doesn't take much past that for mike to have you on all fours beside him on the couch, back arched into a 45 degree angle as you drool all over his lap. you're begging for it, whining about how good he feels in your mouth, and he doesn't want to miss an opportunity to give you something you want, even though you're in this state. he's glad that it's him using you in this scenario, and not someone genuinely looking to hurt you. it's his rationale for giving in to your immoral desires.

you pull away from your mess with a sharp inhale, your jaw trembling as you sit up and give mike an eager, spit-slick smile. your eyes are even more distant than before, and it's almost like you’ve checked out. mike can see all the brashness and attitude you give him on the regular is gone, currently replaced with servitude and the intent to please, nothing less.

"wanna feel you ruin my throat, mike," you rasp, grabbing his dick in your hand and stroking at the soft skin, suckling on his tip as you flash him the hunger you feel inside through a grin. "please."

he's silent, having a quarrel with himself as he takes in your blank, mindless expression. it’s so wrong of him, but you look so pretty like this, and he reaches out to hold your cheek as you pout at him again.

"pleaseeeeee," you whine, tears nearly welling in your eyes. "want you to wreck me, use me however you wanttttt. gonna be your obedient, drunk little whore, do whatever you ask."

mike loses all resolve then, and demands you to drop to your knees in between his own. you're quick to assume the position, letting him put one hand on the back of your head and feed his dick into your throat.

"shouldn't like this," mike mutters, wrapping your hair up into a ponytail with both of his hands, watching you rub his dick over your face after slipping it from your mouth to spit on it. he almost can't take you like this, spacey and pliant and all his to destroy. so drunk and willing and--- "shouldn't let me take advantage of you like this."

your face is stained with tears and spit, streaks of dried liquid overlaying your burning cheeks and swollen lips. the neckline of your top is soaked too, saliva glistening on your chest.

"maybe i wanted it," you muse, winking leisurely as you wrap both of your slim hands around his base, smirking up at him. "maybeeeeeee i went and got plastered cause i knew you’d come get me if i called," you're feeding him into your mouth again, and without warning, mike is holding your head stationary, shoving his hips up into your warm mouth while you gulp every time he hits the opening to your throat. of course you'd do something like this. your admittance makes mike feel a plethora of things, good, bad, ugly, but right now, all he's focused on is making you feel like the toy you wanted to be.

"you're a fucking slut, y/n," he hisses with gritted teeth, throwing his head back as he feels you open up for him, allowing him to raise his hips and sink further into you.

the muscles of your throat flutter around his length, and it makes his toes curl, tangling together in his socks. "only sluts go to a party to get drunk so they can be turned into pretty little fuckdolls later...like being fucking mindless for me, huh?"

"love it, mike," you whimper, laying your tongue flat so his dick can slip in and out of your mouth with less resistance. it's covered in thick spit, a droplet resting on the tip, and mike leans down to collect all of it in his own mouth with a sloppy, obscene kiss, before releasing it all over his pelvis with a groan.

it was a fucking mess, and he loved it. he knew you loved it like this too, and your enjoyment of the raunchiness is reflected in the way you patiently wait for him to plunge his dick in you, eyes twinkling with everything and nothing at the same time.

your hand is moving under your dress, fingers stroking along your sodden walls, but he doesn't care; not when your eyes are rolling back into your skull as his dick infiltrates your throat again, filling the room with a persistent gluckgluckgluck as he rhythmically slams your face into his base.

you're sure you'll have no voice after this, but fuck, will it be worth it. you're basking in every second of this, so happy you decided to go out tonight. you were unexperienced in some ways, but you knew how to get to people, or at least to mike. you could get him to do whatever you wanted under the guise of him being in control, and all it took was a bit of sweetening with your voice, a flutter of your eyelashes and a crooked, "innocent" smile for mike to be wound your finger, abusing your face in a way you shouldn’t have dreamt of. you're running out of breath, and your fingers dig into his thighs with the message, but he ignores you, gripping your hair so that your mouth gently snaps up around him every time he pulls his hips back. the sensation is godly, and mike's not sure if he deserves this really. you'd fallen so hard for him at one point, and he'd crushed your hope to be with him under his thumb, but now you're here, letting him have you like this despite those memories. he's lucky, for whatever force is keeping you in his orbit.

"letting me do this to you while you're fucked up...letting some older guy take your throat like you're just free use...you're not getting into heaven," you laugh around him, forming your mouth into a makeshift smile as he slowly slides you off of him, overstimulated by the ridges of your throat muscles clinging to him. he doesn't want to come on your face, not this time. he wants you to beg for him to come in you, for him to fill you until you're overflowing, leaking down your thighs while he gives you more and more and more and more...

"i know," you mewl, pretty face smeared with saliva and pre-come. "i'll be in hell with you. wouldn't have it any other way." mike sits up, thumbing at your bottom lip and hissing as you unhinge your jaw and suck the tip of it inside. your eyes are getting dimmer by the second, but you're still wanting everything mike can give you.

he won't stop until you say so, and he strangely finds himself buzzing with lust at the thought of you bossing him around for his pleasure and yours. how had you gotten in his head like this?

"go in my room and strip, baby. sit in the middle of the bed and don't move." you're on your feet in a flash, clumsily dashing down the short hall without a look back.

it gives him time to get some towels, a washcloth to clean your face up, some lube, and grab waters for the both of you, thinking about all the ways he's gonna contort you. he might even make you watch in the mirror, make you take in your glassy eyes and lack of autonomy, the way you're letting him, your brother's best friend, have you in such an obscene way.

he cracks the door open with all the items in hand, and scoffs when he sees you naked, but stretched out on the bed, mouth hanging open with soft snores.

he walks over to the edge, dropping the things he's holding onto the comforter and shaking your shoulder softly. "baby," you lurch awake, murmuring "huh?".

you blink the bleariness out of your eyes as he uses one of the towels he brought to wipe off his drenched groin, and he smirks at you. you two are done for the night, and that's fine with him. something about your small figure, safely sprawled against his sheets has him seeing hearts and stars and rainbows and everything else he's tried so hard to push away.

when he's dry, ditching his shirt and boxers, he leans against his headboard, cradling you in his arms and lap as he begins using the washcloth to wipe at the dried spittle on your face. "here," he announces, cracking open a water bottle and bringing it to your lips, tilting it so you're able to get some water between them without much effort.

you swallow the sips he gives softly, wrapping your arms around his neck again. you loved being skin to skin with him, and right now, you felt tranquility.

this is but a fraction of that 100% he wanted to give, you think. something has changed in him, and now he wants to show you care. he still wants you to need him, need him to keep you protected from the world outside while he corrupts you in his own. you want that, too.

"mmmmmmm, you're so boyfriend," you muse, placing pecks on his collarbones as he continues cleaning you up. he's able to maintain a pokerface towards you, wiping at your cheeks with passive strokes, but inside, he feels nothing but chaos. why does he like hearing you call him boyfriend, like having you in his arms like this? why did it all seem to fill a hole in his heart, one he always thought would stay a cavity?

"really do love you, mike," you add, staring at him full on now. you might as well be sober, with your attentive, doe-like eyes. "tried hard not to, but i do."

you've broken him down, so easily, and somehow, he's giving into you with a deep, irrevocable sigh. he has nothing else to do but finally accept the truth.

"me too, y/n. me too."

this was rough for me to write because my brain just couldn't work properly, so i hope it's not the dogshit i think it is lmao hope this satisfies you anon!

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz-@0-tatiana-0-@dusstory-@delwrites-@mikeschmidtgf-@jun1p3rlol-@xyzstar-@aquamarine001-@atrociouslybear

#fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf fic #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut #faire's mike schmidt <3 #faire is writing stuff #josh hutcherson #faire answers asks #this man is sweet and gross and that's hot tbh #like...to ruin someone so close to you....having to keep it secret #lord jesus christ

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siriusleee · 6 months

Text

i. hidden caches

Zombie Apocalypse AU | SIMON RILEY x f!READER

↳ SUMMARY: The world is trying to knit itself back together after fracturing apart. You're trying to put yourself back together with it; Simon Riley is just trying to stay alive. ↳ WORD COUNT: 2.2K ↳ TAGS: mentions of cannibalism, mentions of shooting things, mentions of dying. smut to come. canon typical violence to come. additional tags to come as the story progresses. female reader. no mentions of "your name". reader is given a nickname later on. nc-17. ↳ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to the lovely anon who asked for a scene from an apocalypse au, and this idea was born. If you'd like to donate to my Ko-Fi (my bed frame broke this week and a new one was $200 I didn't have), I would appreciate it. ↳ TAG LIST: There will not be a tag list for this story, as Tumblr has issues with letting me tag people. To get notifications of updates, please subscribe on AO3 or turn on notifications for my blog.

additional chapters | ao3

The ending had come quicker than anyone expected. The epidemics and endemics and pandemics of the years past had given false confidence to everyone. We survived the last thing, the news reporters had said, gray building beneath their eyes, and we can survive this. Behind them images of towns being devoured played.

Bodies can decompose in as little as nine days. The first to go is the soft tissue: the eyes, the tongue, the soft flesh of the cheeks. When bacteria and insects are introduced, the flesh breaks down faster. Bones take longer - sometimes years to fully wear away into the dust that collects underfoot. But these things - whatever turned them kept them covered in a thin layer of adipocere to protect them from the elements. They kept shuffling along long past the time when they should have reverted back to a primordial soup where they lay.

But they still decomposed. The trick was to stay ahead of them, away from the gnashing teeth that transmitted the virus, away from the hands and feet that never seemed to tire. So few people could. Whole towns and cities were decimated, felled beneath the hordes of horror that ambled slowly past, swallowed up by the feet that didn’t stop moving until they wore themselves down to stubs, which were them pulled forward by hands and knees that never tired.

But yours did. The familiar path towards the north was more overgrown this year than in the past. For a few years, there had been wary companions, eyes that lingered until the snow and frost rolled in to freeze the Biters where they stood. But as the years wanned on the crowd grew smaller and smaller until you only caught hints of others moving north: horse prints, trash left behind, the occasional Biter left decomposing in the bushes.

This year there was nothing. Either you had moved too early or there was no one left. The latter is too terrifying, so you push it away and think about whatever groups may wander through here after you.

The woods loom tall above you, the snow that fell earlier in the morning just barely dusting the branches above your head. None of it had reached the leaves that are too waterlogged from recent rains to crunch beneath your feet. A blister is rubbing itself raw at your ankle; you know that if you don’t stop to treat it, it will be unbearable tomorrow, but you brush the thought off. You need to reach the marker before nightfall.

The markers had appeared between one trip north and your trip back down.

West Village - 20km

The first year it had appeared left the group you were with in a tizzy. The group had fractured down the middle. If all of you found each other, how hard was it to think that a larger group had finally banned together? Civilization needed to rebuild eventually.

You didn’t trust the shaky scrawl that printed the words, so you had been with the group that refused to go. The next year there was another marker tacked to the first.

Body snatchers. Beware.

It was amazing to you: how well rumors could start and spread without phones or the internet. For months, every person you and your group came across would give the same warning, and ask you all the same questions. Have you seen the body snatchers? Are you the body snatchers?

Humans turned cannabolids. Farms where people were forced to reproduce. Spits with babies roasting above the fire. You wanted to think that it was the stuff of fiction.

In the third year, there was another argument. The group cleaved in half again when the promise of civilization reared its head. Your group had divided again at the markers, disappearing into the thick woods.

Almost no one survived the winter that year. You’d held the hands of all the dying and covered them under a thick blanket of snow before dividing their possessions up between the remainder of the group. In the end, there were just three of you. And when the winter rolled away you all broke apart, whatever ties that held you all together broken by the cold.

The next year you were the only one in your camp.

The markers had become a sort of prayer to you, that one day you’d meet someone else on the road - some scream and shout that there were others out there even if you were too wary to speak to them.

But it’s been two years - the crude paint of the West Village sign fading, the body snatchers warning falling to the earth unceremoniously. The wood started to rot.

And you were utterly alone. Around you, the sound of nature getting ready for the winter fills in the ever-present silence that usually surrounds you. It’s been weeks since you’d last seen a person: a lone traveler moving in the opposite direction as you. And you’d hid from them, worried that they were the sort of feral people turned into when they were alone for too long - a body snatcher. Worried that you were that kind of feral.

You know the markers when you approach them like your body’s memorized the number of steps it takes to reach them. Your chest thumps as you approach the spot where they should be nailed to a tree, growing taller into the air each year. Your boots falter against the wet leaves as you approach the place.

The markers have been repainted. Or at least the West Village one has. This time it’s nailed to a post in the ground; you bend down to inspect the dirt around the post. It’s packed underneath a thick layer of loam - whoever put it up must have put it up much earlier in the year. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. You wonder if any members of your former group are still there.

For half a second, you think about following the arrow, but before the thought can fully form in your head, you let your feet carry you forward on the path. Just ahead is the rest area you’ve always used. Your tree, one with branches high enough that the only things who can see you are the birds whose nests you disturb, erupts from the ground ahead of you.

You climb up like you were taught; throwing your rope onto the first branch you can physically reach and lash it to yourself. It’s more difficult to climb the tree with your pack and bow, but you don’t want to risk leaving it behind for anyone who may come through after you. When you reach the point where the rope reaches the tree, you pull yourself onto the branch. The blister on your ankle is screaming, but you don’t pause until your hammock is secure and your harness is wrapped around you. The cool wind cuts through the thin fabric of the hammock, but it’s not too cold as you peel back your socks to reveal an angry raw spot crawling across your ankle.

Too tired to do much more, you slide your other boot off, tying them together and then to your pack. The gentle sway of the trees makes your eyelids heavy, and you let yourself drift off into the first good night's sleep you’ve had in a while.

The bitter cold wakes you up, the wind moving your hammock back and forth gently. The darkness spins above you, clouds backlit by the moon. Not for the first time you think about how easy it used to be, curled up with another warm body beneath the thick blankets - how easy it was to switch on the percolator in the morning and wrap your hands around a warm cup of coffee, how easy -

You press the heel of your hands into your eyes and try to press away the thoughts that are racing through your brain. Remembering the before drives people crazy; you’ve seen how it can eat people up and you refuse to let it eat at you. So you pull your thermal blanket closer around yourself and try to get some sleep.

But the sun rises earlier than you expected and extra sleep never comes.

It doesn’t take long for you to pack what little you have back in your pack and descend back down. At the bottom you dig out the little bit of jerky you still have saved from the summer months; it’s disgusting, but it’s enough to push you forward to the next place.

You walk the entire time with your bow in your hand, waiting for some animal to run out in front of you and meet its mark, but the forest is silent today as you push towards the next stop in your journey north, a small nameless village secluded away from the rest of civilization - just good enough to sleep in for the night.

The sun has just started to sink below the treeline when the village finally springs into view. The blister on your ankle has popped, and you think you can feel blood rushing into your sock, but you don’t dare stop and check; you don’t want the scent of fresh blood to attract any Biters that may be hidden away for now. Your fingers cramp around the bow and your stomach growls. You’d picked a smooth rock up from the ground hours earlier and popped it into your mouth to try and trick yourself into thinking you were eating something, but it hadn’t worked. If anything it made your hunger worse.

There was salvation coming - on your second year coming through here you’d snuck off from the group and buried a cache. Each year you did your best not to touch it unless it was to refill something inside of it, but this year you knew you’d have to empty it.

You crunch over tire tracks that crisscross over each other on the main road into the village; they’re dry enough that you know whoever managed to scrape up enough gas to drive in and out was gone, but the thought of someone driving up on you made you nervous, and make your steps quicken. If people were driving through here then you needed to be gone before sunlight tomorrow.

Weary, you push yourself towards the back half of the village to a little two-story you know well. It had been the same house your group, and then yourself, slept in each year on your way to the north camp; in the back, beneath an overturned chair that was slowly rotting with time, your little cache was stored.

You shoulder your way through the half-rotted back gate and freeze. The chair is tossed to the side, rusted parts puzzle pieced across the ground. And directly where your cache had been buried is a hole, smoothed over from time and rain.

You could cry if you had any water left in you to cry. So instead you walk numbly into the house - habit making you click the lock on the door even though it’s long since stopped working. The same thick dust that was here last year is still across the floor, so thick your steps don’t even disturb it. You pass through the living area and up the steps. On the landing, you don’t pause - to the left of you is the nursery that’s always been empty. The first few times you’d stopped here the sight of the broken-down white crib and sage walls made something ache inside of you, and you’d learned not to look. It’s better to just let things alone and try to stifle your imagination.

The attic ladder swings down with ease and you test your weight on the rungs before climbing up - any broken bones and you may as well just shoot yourself where you lay. It creaks ominously beneath you but keeps as you clamber through the hole. You let yourself collapse on the floor beside the ladder after pulling it up, and wrapping a rope around the ladder to keep anyone from pulling it down in the night. All at once, hunger and exhaustion pull you down towards the floor.

You’ll have to shoot something tomorrow and check the well for fresh water. There are still to many miles before you make it north enough to be safe for the winter, and you won’t make it without water and food.

You try to distract yourself from the cramping of hunger and how little water is left in your jug by peeling your boots off. As you’d thought, the blister had split and bled, but thankfully your sock had caught most of it.

You clean up the best you can in the dusty light filtering in from the little window that looks out the back garden and wonder who could have known the cache was there. An old group member who spotted you checking it in the past? Or was it a lucky guess, someone who came through after you and spotted the freshly disturbed dirt and came to the right inference?

You try to tell yourself it doesn’t matter as you pull your thermal blanket from your pack and lay down, but you can’t quite convince yourself of that lie.

#my fics #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #ghost #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod ghost #zombie au #simon riley zombie au

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steddieunderdogfics · 13 days

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This week’s writer spotlight feature is: Sidekick_Hero! @sidekick-hero has 82 works on AO3 in the Stranger Things fandom and 80 of them are in the Steddie tag!

@steddieas-shegoes recommends the following works by Sidekick_Hero:

I wore his jacket for the longest time

Suitcase of Memories

to the rhythm of eternity

Will you cleanse me with pleasure?

Sandy is an incredible writer and always manages to paint beautiful scenes regardless of rating or situation. She was one of the first authors I found in the fandom who really captured so many things about Steve and Eddie that I love. She continues to inspire me constantly! -- @steddieas-shegoes

Below the cut, @sidekick-hero answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

Great question! I'd been out of fandom and on a writing hiatus since 2016, the spark had just left me. Until early 2023, when I wanted to give Tumblr and fandom another try, but nothing really clicked until late summer when this wild-haired, bambi-eyed guy started popping up on my dash more and more. I fell in love with Eddie first, looked him up, and found that people were shipping him with this Steve character. I've never seen Stranger Things. I went to AO3 looking for some fic and the rest, as they say, is history. I fell in love with this ship the way you fall asleep, slowly, imperceptibly, and then all at once. I think what drew me in is these two characters who are so different from each other on the outside that you'd never think they'd work, but the closer you look, the more you can see how well they would fit, how good they could be for each other, bringing out the best in each other.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

Wow, so many. I actually love the range of tropes this fandom offers. I'm a big fan of modern aus, especially ones where one or both are famous. If it's canon-based, I'm a sucker for Kas!Eddie. In general, I love it when one or both are creatures of any kind. I also love friends with benefits fics because they are idiots. Enemies to Lovers and Fake Dating are also high on my list. Last but not least: Porn with feelings and hurt/comfort.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

That's tough. I enjoy writing all kinds of smutty tropes as one-shots. When there's more plot going on, I really enjoy the "exes to friends to lovers" trope, just because as someone in their 30s, I look back on past relationships and hookups and realize what went wrong and how it could be different today, and I think that's something I can relate to a lot when I'm writing it for Steddie. I also love writing about second chances in general.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

It’s impossible to pick just one, sorry. I give you three with the disclaimer that there are so many more I could - and probably would - have picked on a different day. But I wanted to share some older ones in the spirit of what this blog is all about. the most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway is that it’s you by greatunironic Keep it Steady, Eddie by outofmygourd Love blooms, love hurts, love prevails by corrodedbisexual (mishabawlins)

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

Yes! I definitely want to explore some fantasy/creature fics (more outside of a pwp I wrote with Lake Creature Eddie), I already have the idea for Werewolf!Steve, and I really want to try my hand at Vampire!Eddie. I'm also super excited to finally get to work on a fake-dating trope fic for the summer exchange, I've been dying to do that. Last but not least, I really want to try writing an omega!verse at some point, I just don't have an idea yet.

What is your writing process like?

Pretty straightforward, I guess? It never really feels like a process, to be honest. I have an idea and I let it grow in my head (daydreaming, my beloved) until it has grown enough to become an actual fic, and then I sit down and write it out chronologically. Before I start writing, I need to know a few things about the story. I don't usually work with outlines or anything like that, but in my head I know where it starts, what the emotional beats and major plot points are, and how I want it to end. The rest I let unfold as I write. That's why I'm not the fastest writer (plus the whole not-native-English thing). Often the story tells me where it wants to go, so as long as I have the cornerstones, I let it flow.

Do you have any writing quirks?

Not sure if these are quirks, but my sentences tend to be very wordy. My dear friend @yournowheregirl used to comment on my fics when she beta-read them, "Another Sandy sentence. Make it multiple sentences." Also, I only write in present tense, even though I know most people prefer past tense, but it's too hard for me. Other than that, I can't have too many WIPs, I have to finish one story before I can start another.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Post when I'm done writing, for sure. I hate waiting, I have the patience of a toddler.

Which fic are you most proud of?

I wore his jacket for the longest time, no question. It's still so precious to me, especially because I got to write it with my platonic writing soulmate @legitcookie, but also because I got to really explore these characters and their growth in this story. It has so much of me in it and I'm really proud of how it turned out.

How did you get the idea for I wore his jacket for the longest time?

Actually, it wasn't all me. I just had this idea of them being kind of friends with benefits, but Eddie wants more than Steve is willing to give him, so they hook up one last time before Eddie sends Steve away for good. That was the original idea that inspired the prequel "we pass the ghosts that haunt us later". The idea for that actually came from a song, "we can never be friends" by mgk. Jen (legitcookie) would not accept the ambiguous (sad) ending, so she demanded that we fix it. So we decided to find a way to let them both grow as people apart and then rebuild their friendship, because only then would they have a real foundation for their second chance.

When writing I wore his jacket for the longest time, what was something you didn’t expect?

How much fun it would be to develop those OC side-characters, especially Mrs. Horowitz but also fucking Tom or even Fritz. It was also the very first time I collaborated with someone on a fic and I was a bit apprehensive if this would work out so I was surprised when I discovered how much I love writing with someone else.

What inspired to the rhythm of eternity?

My love for London, really. I am madly in love with this city and have explored it a lot, so I wanted to use my experiences in a fic. And when @tboygareth asked for a long distance relationship fic for our server holiday exchange, I knew this was my chance. Their meeting as well as the ending is heavily based on my own experiences.

What was your favorite part to write from Suitcase of Memories?

The dreams! They were so much fun to explore because there's a certain mood I wanted to set with them, that dreamy feeling mixed with events from another time period. Their first date and especially their first kiss is a close second, though, because the swing set scene is something I've been thinking about since I saw 13 going on 30 as a teenager.

How do/did you feel writing Suitcase of Memories?

To be totally honest, a bit stressed 😀 It was my first big bang and I was so glad to have Jen by my side, but then real life happened and I realized it's hard to write on deadline. BUT I still love this fic. Especially the theme of love as a choice, even if some cosmic interference gives you a second chance, you still have to WANT it, you still have to work for it and choose it, over and over again. I feel like we nailed that pretty well and I'm proud of us and this story.

What was the most difficult part of writing Will you cleanse me with pleasure??

The emotional setup, because it was a gift for Ger (@steves-strapcollection) and he wanted them to be disgustingly in love, but I also needed Eddie's condition to be something he kept from Steve at first for fear of losing him. Besides that, the logistics, really. So many tentacles, man. So many.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

Okay, some very, very self-indulgent scenes I wrote are for my Runner!Steve verse. I am a passionate runner, and it was so much fun to write that love for Steve and to geek out about it in my writing. Another scene I'm very fond of is from my very first ST fic, "I'm tired of asking to settle the debt," and it's a scene where they're both kids and meeting for the first time, it's winter, and Eddie is doing an impression of a dragon with his breath.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

Well, by the time this comes out, I will have posted my reverse big bang fic "Emotional Motion Sickness" with art by the amazing @arimakes. There's also the summer exchange, in which I was lucky enough to claim my dear friend @starryeyedjanai's prompt, and the steddie big bang 2024. I'm also finishing the last chapter of "hold me close (I'm shaking apart)" and hope to post it soon.

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Yes, I want to thank everyone for making this project possible! This fandom has grown so much and there is so much amazing fic that easily gets buried under all the content, so having this project to give the writers of this fandom some visibility and love is precious to me. Thank you, really 💜🙏 Also, all my love to every single writer out there - you make my life and the lives of so many better by sharing your gift with us.

Thank you to our author, Sidekick_Hero, and our nominator, @steddieas-shegoes on tumblr! See more of Sidekick_Hero's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

#writer's spotlight #writer's wednesday #ao3 writer #steddie writers #steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things

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peach-and-bugs · 1 year

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💚Bean Sprout - Lottie Matthews x fem!Reader💚

Chapter 1 - Ch 2

Fanfiction master list

disclaimer: don't repost my work. I only post on Tumblr and on Ao3. anything else is stolen and should be removed immediately

Summary: You've been happily married to Charlotte Matthews for some odd years now, but it feels like it's time to take a step in a new direction together... aka mama!Lottie

Warnings: Mild nudity, but not really. otherwise nothing

Word Count: 2,839

A/N: Oh my god, it's here and it has a title! Hello Loves! It's finally time for the start of my Mama!Lottie fic that I haven't been able to stop talking and thinking about! This is a pretty light introductory chapter, just setting some of the groundwork for the fic as a whole, but I think it's a really sweet chapter and I really hope you enjoy! As always, feel free to leave questions or comments in my comments or ask box, and happy reading!

Lottie Matthews Tag List: (open) @elliesjoints

Yellowjackets Tag List: @frasersgf @minimickzy

"Bean Sprout" Tag List:

General Tag List: @summergeezburr

-💚-

Summer had hit and become the time of the year when school was letting out and the next generation of kids was graduating from school and heading out into the world. One of these kids happened to be Callie, the daughter of one of your wife’s closest friends. You’d been invited to her graduation party and after making the drive back to Wiskayok, New Jersey you found yourself celebrating in a nice backyard, sitting at a round table under a shady tree with a drink in hand chatting with your wife and some of her other friends.

You mostly stayed quiet, listening to the conversation rather than chiming in. While you knew Lottie’s friends from high school, you'd been a freshman during their senior year, so there hadn’t been much overlap. You’d only gotten close to Lottie because of you’re excelled French placement and even then you hadn’t connected till you were both much older. They’d always been a kind group of women though, always willing to engage with you.

“I still can’t believe she’s graduating,” Taissa marveled, her eyes trained on Callie from across the yard as she laughed with her group of friends.

“Trust me, I know,” Shauna said with a sigh as she took in a swig of her drink only to grimace down into it. “Starting to wish one of them would spike the punch,” she murmured. She was nudged by Natalie, who pulled a flask out of her jacket followed by her eyes darting down at the flask and then back up at Shauna. The mom sighed and offered out her cup, as did Taissa. Your wife shook her head but said nothing while you smiled, biting your bottom lip as you suppressed your giggles.

“You always were old reliable when it came to boos,” Van said as she approached the group with Misty trailing behind. The two had made a run back to the snack bar earlier. Natalie shrugged nonchalantly, taking a chip from Misty’s plate as the blonde saddled up beside her, taking her seat again around the table

“Someone had to provide,” she hummed, tucking the flask back in her pocket. The conversation drew on to general catching up and Natalie had started telling a story when Taissa’s son Sammy ran up to her and tugged at her sleeve.

“Mama, they aren’t playing fair,” the boy complained, pointing to the small collection of children who were gathered together in a corner of the yard. One little girl seemed to be telling off another child who had their face red and squished in irritation with crossed arms. The other kids around stood awkwardly listening to the argument, unsure of what to do. A soccer ball lye abandoned between the two children in the grass. Taissa bit her lip before running her hand over her son’s hair.

“Well, kiddo, sometimes people don’t play fair. But we don't get to tell them what to do,” she started to explain. “Why don’t you suggest another game,” she offered up. Sammy scrunched his face, lips pressed together tightly as he shook his head.

“They said we can only play soccer because that's the only ball we have,” he pointed to the two arguing children again. Taissa looked on, wracking her brain over what she could suggest instead when Lottie tapped your shoulder and handed you her drink.

“I can teach you a game, Sammy,” she suggested, smiling kindly as she got out of her seat and began walking toward the group of kids. Sammy seemed unsure for a moment till Taissa patted him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea! Let your Aunt Lottie teach you something new,” Sammy caved and then smiled with a nod. He trotted after Lottie, who had stopped and was waiting for him only to take her hand when he reached her, guiding her over to the group of kids to interrupt their growing argument. You smiled fondly, watching as she crouched down to talk to the kids, supposedly explaining the game as she took the ball into her hands.

“Hey Shauna!” a voice yelled from the back porch of the house. You all looked up to see a woman standing at the door, baby on her hip. Shauna’s eyes lit up and she smiled, waving.

“I’ll be back, it’s my sister and my niece,” she explained, leaving the group to go into the house. She called for Callie as she left, gesturing for the graduate to go and say hello.

“Jease, everyone’s having kids now,” Natalie mumbled under her breath, pulling her flask back out to pour more of its contents into her nearly drained cup. Tai shrugged with a sigh.

“Yeah, that’s the next step in growing up these days,” Natalie smirked ans shook her head.

“Not for me,” she raised her brows, taking a long swig of her drink.

“I’ve always thought about having kids. Maybe not now, but I thought it over when I was younger and liked the idea,” Misty jumped into the conversation, giving her two cents on the topic. The group nodded, acknowledging what she had to say before a squealing laugh distracted them. Eyes followed back over to Lottie who was now jumping hand in hand with one of the previously arguing little girls, supposedly having won some part of the game she’d taught them maybe. You felt a smile pull at your lips again at the sight of her side profile, eyes shut with an opened-mouth smile as she laughed, her shoulders hunching in with the sound.

“What about you, y/n?” Van asked suddenly. You shook from your thoughts and turned to her, mildly confused having forgotten the conversation at hand. The redhead tilted her head, gesturing back to Lottie and the kids. “Well, you and Lot are the last of us to have tied the knot without having a kid…” your brows raised, lips pressed as you understood the implication of her question. You felt yourself grow shy under questioning.

“Oh, I dunno,” you paused, eyes trailing back to your wife, who now stood with her hands on her hips, proudly watching the kids running around their patch of grass, chasing the soccer ball that bounced at their feet. “I mean, the topics come up once or twice but that was back when we were dating. We’ve got Buckweed though,” You brought up your dog instead, who’d been left back at the air b&b you were staying at for the night before driving back home Monday.

“I always thought Lottie would have kids for sure,” you heard Misty comment again. “She always liked babysitting,” You bit your bottom lip. Did Lottie still want kids? You hadn’t thought of it recently, now that you thought about it. Maybe you’d been waiting for her to breach the subject before you did. Would she regret it if you didn’t have kids? Did you still want them? You felt your brain begin scrambling at all the sudden questions.

“Hey, you alright?” Tai asked, shaking you from your silent spiral, her hand on your shoulder. You forced a smile and chuckled nervously.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m good. Just overthinking,” you mumbled, forcing a laugh. Taissa shared an awkward look with the rest of the group.

“Lottie would talk about it if she wanted to,” Natalie jumped in, seeming completely unphased. She got disgruntled looks from both Taissa and Van. “What? Am I wrong? Lottie’s always been upfront about things like that,” she turned her attention to you. After a flicker of consideration, you nodded in agreement with her. Lottie had always been very honest with what she wanted, especially with you. If kids had been something she thought about, she’d have brought it up. Foturnintly, the conversation shifted away from you as Shauna rejoined the group, only now she had a baby in her arm, balanced so naturally on her hip. You assumed this was her niece, who smiled brightly and waved as she was brought over to the group.

“Sorry about that,” Shauna smiled, readjusting the baby as she spoke. “My sisters getting something to eat, so I get to hang on to Pheobe,” she added a higher pitch to her voice, scrunching her nose as she tickled the little girl's stomach.

“Pheobe. That’s a pretty name,” Misty joined in, leaning towards Shauna who she was sitting next to to give the baby her attention. Shauna chuckled as Misty began poking at the baby, making her continue with her babbling giggles.

“Mckenna was always a big fan of ‘Friends’,” She said with a shrug. “But, she’s eleven months and just started working on walking,” Shauna mused about her niece, who had turned to look over Shauna’s shoulder onto the party.

“Mom!” you all heard Callie yell from across the yard. Shauna closed her eyes, cursing under her breath at yet another interruption. “Dad can’t find the cake!” Shauna sighed opening her eyes again and grimaced as she stood up.

“Well, the world must be ending if Jeff can’t find a cake,” she grumbled, causing a few chuckles to sound around the table. But she turned her attention to you momentarily. “Can you take her from me? Just for a few minutes,” she gestured to Pheobe but was already offering her to you. You nodded, managing to ignore any initial hesitation, and took the baby onto your lap, sitting her so she was propped at the table like she was in her chair. Shauna gave you her thanks as she left and Pheobe made an excited squeal as she leaned forward, using her chubby little hands to smack at the table she could now reach.

Your hands naturally found their place at her sides, giving her just enough wiggle room to move around but not get away from you. You began bouncing your knee just slightly, which she seemed to enjoy as she began gurgling and babbling the few words that she knew as she clapped her hands. You began to smile, looking down at her with her big brown eyes, just like her aunts.

“Well, aren't you just a sweetheart,” you murmured with a light chuckle as the baby began kicking her feet in excitement from all the colors and sounds of the party around her. Unbeknownst to you, Taissa shared a knowing look between herself, Van, and Natalie as she leaned back in her chair. This was also when the cake was brought out, along with what looked like a truckload of cupcakes and all the kids went running, tearing towards the new treats to load up on even more sugar, subsequently relinquishing Lottie from her duties as entertainment.

She made her way back to your table, laughing as the kids fought for the first slice of cake or cupcake. She was quite surprised to find you with a baby in your lap. Phoebe has started playing with your fingers, grabbing at your hands and smacking her tiny palms against yours, enjoying the sound that contact made. She took her seat beside you and leaned in to watch the interaction, wrapping her arm around the back of your chair as she scooted closer.

“And who’s this?” she murmured, smiling at the baby as attention turned from your hands to her, though there was still a tight grasp on your pointer finger.

“Shauna’s niece, Phoebe,” Lottie hummed, offering out her hand for the baby’s entertainment, which was greatly appreciated by Phoebe, who smacked at her palm in a child's attempt at a high five.

“Well hello, Phoebe,” she laughed.

-💚-

You didn’t talk much on the drive back to the house you were staying at. Not for any particular reason. You’d ended up staying at the party far longer than intended and were tired, so some comfortable silence was welcomed. You watched Lottie as she focused on the road ahead of her as she drive. The sun had started to set and streetlights turned on, offering a soft light that danced over your wife’s features. She glanced at you momentarily when she noticed you staring. She smiled without a word, reaching with her free hand for yours. She gave your hand a comfortable squeeze and kissed your knuckles, her eyes returning to the road. You hummed your thanks and leaned against the headrest, shutting your eyes.

You didn’t talk to one another till you made it back into the air b&b. Buckwheat was very excited to have his people back with him and he barked eagerly wagging his tail as he hopped off of the coach upon hearing the door unlock. Lottie took him into the kitchen for a late dinner while you made your way into the bedroom to change into something more comfortable. You listened through the tiny house as you rummaged through your luggage. The kitchen light turned on with a soft click followed by kibble hitting the ceramic of Buckweed's bowl. You settled on changing into a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, not bothering to shut the bedroom door before stripping.

Lottie walked in when you were halfway finished, wearing only your tank top and underwear with a pair of socks on before putting your pants on. She hummed her acknowledgment but moved to the bed to sit down and take her shoes off. You stalled, pausing before abandoning the pants altogether to approach her. You sat next to her on the bed but looked down at your knees. She finished with her shoes and scooted on the bed, patting the space beside her, awaiting you to join her. You did just that, crawling up to the pillow just as her arm draped around you like it had a hundred times before, comfortably settling on the curve of your hip.

“You've been quiet,” she commented, running her fingers over your forehead, brushing loose hair from your eyes so she could get a good look at you. “Tired?” she questioned. You shook your head, nuzzling into her hand.

“Thinking,” she hummed, eyes trailing over your face.

“Care to share,”

“You looked like you had a lot of fun with those kids today,” she smiled fondly and hummed again.

“I did. They had a lot of spirit,” she adjusted her position in the bed, scooting closer to you. “But that’s not what you’re thinking about,” she knew you too well. It could get irritating sometimes. But in the long run, you appreciated it. Your eyes drifted and you bit the fat of your inner cheek, you're brow growing to crease with consideration.

“Do you wish we had a kid?” Lottie seemed taken aback by the question, but she didn’t answer right away.

“Where did that come from?” you bit your lip now.

“Well you looked so happy running around with those kids, and the other girls started asking if we planned on having any and saying they always thought you would and I just,” your words began to quicken as you said more. That is till Lottie brought her hand up to your cheek, running her thumb over the corner of your mouth to get your attention.

“Darling, you’re overthinking again,” You sighed with a tiny laugh and nodded, pressing a chaste kiss to her thumb.

“I worried,”

“Don’t”

“That’s far easier said than done,” you scoffed. She smiled softly and sighed.

“Do you want a baby?”

“I dunno. Yes? Maybe?”

“That doesn’t sound very confident of you,” she was messing with you now. You sat up, which you knew she wouldn’t enjoy only to maneuver so that you could pin her down on her back and straddle her waist with your hips. You pressed her shoulders down into the bed with either hand and you felt a tight squeeze of her hands on your hips. You knew she enjoyed this, as did you, but right now it was simply a means to keep her quiet and on topic.

“Charlotte,” you started. You knew how she felt about you using her full first name. She kept her lips tightly shut as she stared up at you. “I need you to be completely honest with me and tell me exactly what you feel on impulse. Can you do that,” she nodded but didn’t let out a sound.

“Should we have a baby?”

“Yes,” she answered with zero hesitation, completely on impulse like you'd told her. Her features smiled and she began to laugh. “Yes! We should have a baby,”

“Are you sure?” you grew excited at her enthusiasm. She continued to laugh and reached up, pulling you down on top of her fully. You practically crashed into her with a loud yelp, her arms wrapping around you tight as she continued with her giggles.

“Oh, mon ange, I’m as sure as when I asked you to marry me,” she cooed, kissing your forehead and cheeks. If you looked close enough you could swear she was tearing up and you couldn’t blame her. You felt like you could burst into tears at any second too. “Let’s have a baby,”

#◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ kay's at it again♡#mama!lottie yj #yellowjackets #yellowjackets fanfic #yellowjackets x reader #lottie matthews #lottie matthews x reader #lottie yellowjackets

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the-lemonaut · 1 month

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Let's try this again, tumblr. Let's hope this one actually shows up in the feed.

Beware 🍉scam posts, like this one, most likely:

Now I can't guarantee it's 100% fake, but a few red flags pop up that make me believe it's not legit.

Firstly, this is not the first account to post this copy-paste, there have been at least 3 more, all posting this same text during April 2024. All of them are now inactive:

I also found a person in the notes for the 3rd one claiming they got it sent to their inbox, when the blog was only a day old:

Next up: you'd think a real person who's been trying to get donations for such a serious matter would show some frustration, have some opinions or anything of the sort, but all this blog has is reblogs of (extremely popular) posts in support of 🍉and an (imo) extremely generic bio/profile:

There are 39 reblogs in total, no original posts besides the copy-paste, and all of those reblogs have been made on April 30th between 6:31 and 6:36 PM. No tags in sight anywhere, just seemingly mechanical reshares.

At 6:31 they reblogged some twitter screenshots, at 6:32 they reblogged a 4-minute video, and in that same 32nd minute they reblogged 5 more posts. They did not watch that video.

Fake accounts tend to reblog/post lots of stuff in a short period of time to create an illusion of being a legitimate person with a life and opinions, hoping nobody checks the date of the posts.

And finally, the link they give to donate to them leads to this Paypal page (this is public information so I feel it is appropriate to share as a demonstration):

While it's technically possible for almost anyone to have any sort of name, Wafula is a male Kenyan name, putting into question the purpose of the woman on the profile banner as well as the legitimacy of the person's nationality.

Why am I picking apart a post with less than 60 current notes? As an example.

I'm not immune to being scammed and neither are you. These kinds of posts are a great way for people to get your money because they make you feel sympathy.

It's an old story, really, people have been doing this since forever, we just have to stay alert. Check accounts that ask for donations such as these for legitimacy, even if it might take a bit of your time. Don't let yourself and others be tricked.

Probably stay clear of super young accounts, and/or ones that reblog super popular posts in a matter of minutes and then go quiet etc. Let's save the money for real people who are in real distress.

#recognizing scam posts #i'm not an expert or anything but i can point to things i know #be careful with resharing things in general

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dolldefiler · 3 months

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Update, update, update.

This is long and boring so feel free to skip this :)

Hello, hello, everyone. I've got a couple of things to throw out there so let's begin with some good news. I joined Tumblr on 23rd January and it's almost been a month now. In that time, I've received a fair number of followers and notes which is pretty crazy (I don't know why the new followers != total followers). Considering the themes I write around, I figured I'd primarily get a bunch of hate mail (which I have, but the love I've received has drowned that out), so thank you!

I did also pop up a Ko-fi link on my bio briefly. Someone sent me some money (thank you btw) and then I took it down because I felt bad. There are definitely more charitable causes in the world than some guy who writes out his fantasies. Never mind, I've received a bunch of DMs and asks telling me to keep it up (which is crazy to me because why would you give anyone money for content when you can consume it for free). I'll pop it back up when I feel like I've written enough to justify it, which I think is a suitable compromise.

Now onto the bad news. I've been away for a few days and my upload speed will continue to be slow for the foreseeable future. It is a little difficult to juggle acting like a rapist online when you're getting brutally raped by constant university deadlines. I'll still post, but probably not at the rate I was going at before... Unless I decide I want to procrastinate my work.

Also, regarding DMs and Asks, I'll rewrite those sections in my intro post because I've come back to about 100 additional asks in 3 days, and a slightly smaller number of DMs. If I don't answer you, it's not because I hate you, I'm just hella busy.

Onto the issue of hate mail and whatnot, I completely expected it so I have nothing to say about it (besides, if you're reading this, I expect you're probably not going to turn around a call me a vile piece of shit for whom medieval torture methods should exclusively be brought back into fashion). That being said, I've talked to a close friend and the concept of potentially adding content warnings and the such to my work came up. I've developed my writing through talking to people and posting comments on Reddit, so I've never felt the need to add these, and I figured tagging my work would work just as well. Is this something you'd like me to do going forward? I'll add a poll.

And finally, to wrap up, here's my to-do list for this blog:

Add coloured text to old posts (and new posts going forward)

Potentially add content warnings

Hopefully pluck up the effort to edit my work

And that's about it. Sorry for yapping so much. Thank you for sticking around. Much love. Big hugs. I'll catch you later, alligator. Byeeeee.

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softpascalito · 10 months

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javier peña x f!dea!reader - we got your back - chapter 3

Summary: You work as a new DEA agent alongside Peña and Murphy. A not-so-kind colleague reveals more about you than you would like. You also realize you can sleep better if you're not by yourself. You're not the only one with that realization.

Relationships: Javier Peña x FemReader

WC: 6700+

Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow burn, mention of canon-typical violence, no beta we die like Colonel Carrillo, family Issues, they arent specified but reader is implied to be from a dysfunctional family, Steve is here too, literal sleeping together, one bed trope if you squint, tac vest javi

AO3 LINK // Chapter 1 (Tumblr) // Chapter 2 (Tumblr)

Notes:

helllooo! the new chapter is finally here. if youre enjoying this fic, please let me know, i cry happy tears about every comment <3

_______________________________

Chapter 3

The alarm doesn't wake you. Not fully. What does wake you is the body next to you contorting and almost falling off the couch as he tries to turn said alarm off, muttering curses under his breath. You blink a few times, opening your eyes just as the beeping finally comes to a halt and find Javis' face right in front of yours. He looks at you, the apology already visible on his face:”Sorry-”

You sit up slightly, mumbling:” ¿Que hora es?”

“Just past six,” Javier answers. His voice is still rough from sleep. Your tired brain doesn't quite realize how intimate this is, the two of you waking up together. Seeing him with his hair still messy, before he had breakfast or even coffee. Before he has talked to anyone.

It's still dark outside, except for a gentle purple at the very horizon, announcing the break of dawn.

Unlike yourself, Javi seems like he's immediately wide awake. You try not to think too hard about why that may be.

He's been in Colombia for years.

“Not a morning person?” Javier asks as he gets up and starts shoving the blanket back into whichever drawer he'd taken it from last night. It's still a little too dark to see properly but you can make out his movements, even in the dim light.

It's your turn to get up, already looking around for the only thing that you care about in your current state.

“Not unless we have coffee somewhere in this godforsaken office.” You mutter under your breath, already halfway through the door to find the small kitchen you'd been in the day before. Just as you finish pouring two cups, Javi joins you again. His hair is still messy but it's not as noticeable anymore and he seems to have freshened up in the bathroom. You allow yourself a slightly longer study of his face as you hand him his mug. Balancing it in one hand, he repeats the motion of the other day, reaching for the milk carton to pour some into the mug you're holding. He pours until you ask him to stop. He doesn't even tease you about it.

The light of the fridge illuminates his sharp features as he puts it back and you can't help but stare. For once, he doesn't notice, instead focused on finding a way to squeeze the carton of milk in between two bottles of juice. Just in time, you manage to draw your gaze off him and turn around to stand at the small window looking out over the embassy parking lot.

Javi takes a small sip of his coffee as he crosses the room in two large strides, stopping just behind you, close enough for you to feel his warmth.

A comfortable silence settles over the pair of you. You're not sure how long he stands behind you like that, both glancing out onto the dimly lit pavement that will be bustling with people in an hour. It's almost too calm like this and leaves you with an eerie feeling. Like something's not quite where it's supposed to be.

He's the one to break the spell.

“You want me to get some breakfast?” It's a good offer and you open your mouth to accept- when you suddenly snap it shut again. Breakfast sounds lovely. But spending a few more sole minutes with Javi sounds even better, in your opinion.

So you shake your head no. To not make it too obvious, you add:” I usually just go for some cereal.” Javi raises his brow, turning his head slightly towards you:” Didn't strike me as a cereal kind of gal.” You snort:” If I didn't know any better, I'd almost say that sounds like a compliment, Peña.”

He can't hide the small smirk that appears on his face as you go on:” It sucks though. Colombia doesnt know how to make proper cereal. They all taste the fucking same. I would die for some Cap'n Crunch.”

“Sounds like someones a little homesick.” Your face falls slightly. He's right in a way. There are things that you miss, days where you wish you'd never come to Bogotá. But there are also the things you've left behind. Or, tried to.

Javi seems to pick on up on the small mood shift, his face a little apologetic as he steps back, mumbling a small apology, without really knowing what he's apologizing for.

You get ready in silence and you try- you really try- not to take too much notice of his morning routine. A sip of coffee, impatiently shoving his belt through the loops in his pants, the small noise of annoyance when it gets caught on something. Tugging his shirt in, raising the collar to adjust his tie, downing the rest of his coffee in one go before turning his attention back to the tie.

You notice he hasn't undone it for the night, just slid the knot down far enough to take it off. After spending the night draped over some office cabinet, it looks rather messy.

There's a short moment of hesitation before you break the silence in the room:” You don't know how to tie a tie.” It's not a question but Javi pretends it is.

“I know perfectly well how to tie it,” he protests.

“Okay. Redo it then.” You say, half expecting him to ignore your request. He doesn't. With a small sigh that he somehow makes sound both annoyed and endearing, he slips the knot open and attempts to redo it. After a few moments of struggling with it under your watchful gaze, he manages to form some sort of knot that miraculously looks even worse than before.

You finally take pity and move towards him, reaching for the piece of clothing that's giving him such a struggle. His hand automatically reaches to stop you, but you gently bat it away:” Let me.” He does.

He looks down at you then, with a similar gaze to the one you had when you watched him get ready. And just like him before, you don't notice him watching, too focused on the task at hand. His gaze lingers on your slightly scrunched-up face, the way your tongue pokes out ever so slightly as you concentrate.

He's not sure why but he tries to memorize the beauty in it. It's not the beauty he usually sees in women- even though he can't deny your attractiveness. It is like the beauty of traffic lights reflected on wet pavement after a sudden rainfall, the one that you notice while you're stuck at a red light.

One that doesn't last, not even until the streets have dried. Only until the light turns green. Fleeting moment.

You pat his chest lightly once you're done, stepping back to approve your own work:” That's better.” He wants to agree. Say something to go back to the moment he'd just been in. He doesn't. Instead he hears himself say:” Let's get started on the rest of those files.”

You're already on your second evidence carton by the time Steve arrives. He gives both Javi and you a quick nod before he sits down at his desk and starts going through the messages that have been left for him. As he puts the last one down, he stifles a yawn:” God, I feel like shit.”

He turns his head into your direction:” How do you manage to look so well rested this fucking early?”

You almost spit out the coffee you had been drinking, choking on it slightly as your face turns a bright shade of red. You automatically glance towards Javi- only to find that the asshole is chuckling to himself.

Wiping the coffee off your lips, you shoot him a silent glance and he seems to take pity because a moment later he's diverted Steve's attention onto himself:” Probably because she is smart enough to not have a baby at home that cries every time it poops.”

“It's what infants do, Javi.” Steve defends his baby softly but it's clear that he is exhausted from his new parenting duties.

The two start bickering and you find yourself finally able to relax again, once more burying your nose in the files.

A few hours later, while you're eating lunch with Steve, he is still going on about the little one. Being a parent is exhausting but the truth is that with him and Connie being pretty much the only embassy personnel with a child, they never have trouble finding a loving colleague who will happily jump on the opportunity of babysitting for a night.

“...we just don't want her to be too spoiled. Of course people got her christmas presents- it being her first and all- but when Javi was over-” You raise your head so fast that Steve breaks off and stares at you.

You quickly try and swallow your food before the question slips off your tongue:” Javi was babysitting?” Steve chuckles a little at that:” Oh trust me, I was worried too. But she likes him. Probably because of his mustache. She loves to pull on it. He'll make a different face every time she does and..” He trails off, shaking his head:” Sorry, that's not exactly interesting.”

“Right.” You say as you bow your head again a little. Steve doesn't seem to notice that you barely listen to anything else he tells you during the remainder of your shared lunchtime.

When you had left to go to the cafeteria, Javi had stayed behind, mumbling something about wanting to check a file downstairs. It wasn't a lie technically, he tells himself as he reaches the file storage room he's looking for. He glances up and down the corridor and then quickly slips inside, not turning on the light to avoid drawing attention to himself.

“It's gotta be here..” He mutters to himself as he skips through some files in the dim cone of light that his flashlight provides. Finally, he finds the one he's been looking for. But as soon as he pulls it out, he notices how light it is. And when he looks inside, his suspicions are confirmed: The file is empty. There is a small note inside of it, which generally means average clearance isn't enough to access it. The files are sealed. As his brain is still trying to come up with a solution, he hears footsteps coming down the hallway.

Javi curses under his breath and more or less slams the file shut, shoving it back into the cabinet as he turns off his light and presses himself against a wall. Slowly, the footsteps fade away. He gives it another few seconds for good measure before he slips out of the door, his head turned into the direction the footsteps had disappeared into. There is no one to be seen and he breathes a small sigh of relief.

He closes the door behind himself and turns around- to find his partner leaning against the wall, an eyebrow raised expectantly. Javier's eyes widen for a moment before they narrow:” Are you trying to give me a heart attack, Murphy?”

The blonde man gives a small chuckle but shakes his head:” I have as much right to be down here as you do. However-” He points towards the door Javier had just slipped out of:” I do seem to remember some rule about having to request file access to these.”

Javi realizes he's watching him, calculating. When he doesn't reply, Steve pushes himself off the wall, stepping closer as his tone shifts:” What were you looking for, Peña?”

The other man raises his hands in defeat, letting out a small breath before he pinches his nose slightly:” If I tell you, will you help me?” He asks in a low voice. By the way Steve looks, Javi knows the other man is intrigued:” Maybe. If I consider it worth looking into.”

There is a small pause during which Steve turns, making sure they are still alone:” This about Escobar?”

“Actually, it's not.” Javi says quietly.

Steve raises a brow. Definitely intrigued now:” Then what? You lost the address of your favorite hooker or something?”

Javi makes a face, deciding to not give in to their bickering for once.

“It's about Y/N.” He mumbles after a moment:” The files Vázquez mentioned, the ones that have info on-”

”Oh, you can't be serious.” Steve groans, leaning against the concrete wall again.

“What?” Javi asks, maybe a little too defensive to be completely unsuspectful:'' They are sealed, Steve. Why would they be sealed?”

The other man takes a deep breath, studying Javis face:” It's not our job. Or our concern. If she doesn't tell you-”

”Vázquez knew. And I'm sure she didn't talk to her.” Steve seems to lose his patience at that.

“Javi, has your dumbass ever considered that the files are sealed because she wants them to be?”

That shuts him up real quick.

They both stay quiet, Javi fumbling with the pack of Malboros in his pocket that always seems to get roughed up, no matter how quickly he goes through it.

Steve is still watching him. He sighs: “Look, Javi, we have an actual job to do here. I'm sure she's fine. Let's get back to the files, yeah? Worry about what really matters.”

“Sure.”

Javi follows him down the corridor and back up the stairs. When they pass the small back door that leads to the parking lot, he gestures over to it:” I'll be right up. Just wanna grab a smoke.” If Steve notices his behavior, he doesn't say anything, only calling back to him as he's already climbing the next set of stairs:” Don't take too long.”

Javi steps outside, into the gentle breeze. He leans against the concrete wall, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. The noises of the city have returned and past the iron gates he can see people bustling on the way to their appointments, to their lunch dates, to whatever it is they do.

He allows his mind to wander back to the early morning hours, how different everything looked then. It had felt like something had been out of place, missing. He had assumed it was the people. But now he isn't so sure. He can't shake that feeling. That lingering feeling of waiting at a traffic light. Of something passing by too quickly.

Something isn't right. It isn't his job to find out what.

He doesnt care and he can't shake that feeling and he already knows that he'll make it his job anyway.

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writeblrsupport · 5 months

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Let's talk

Hey all! Let’s chat a little! There’s been a bit of inactivity for both myself and Locke recently. I’ve been dealing with some IRL issues, and I know Locke has potentially been shadow banned. It hasn’t been easy trying to keep up with this blog, but by the gods we've been trying! We're hoping to bring more activity once the holidays are over, and hopefully Locke can fix whatever issue is going on.

With that being said, there's some things Locke and I specifically wanted to bring up in order to keep going down a few positive path for this blog!

Organizing posts

Going forward, Locke and I will be working on organizing posts. There's way too many in our backlog for us to realistically edit them all, which is why we'll try to organize them via these tags. Our pinned post will be updated with these tags once we figure this out!

#boosts — for sharing snippets that other people have wrote

#answers — when one of our mods sends out an ask, it will be tagged here!

#asks — these are for mass asks we send out to people!

#support — for our support posts

#admin: (user) — for specific mod posts!

#TW: (trigger) — current we have triggers for bigotry, violence, abuse, death, drugs, harassment, and dysphoria. If you think one should be added, let us know under a post!

#discourse — for any discourse posts that may show up.

What would you like to see?

Is there anything you'd like to specifically see in this blog? We want to make sure our content is the best it can be in order to help you all, so please give us any feedback through reblogs, replies, asks, submissions, etc.! Any feedback is welcome!

And finally, new blog admins

This is the last big thing. We would like to bring on at least 2 other members to help us with this blog. If you would like to join us, please send a message to @basalamander-corner and tell me about yourself, including what makes you think you're qualified for said position! We really need people we can trust, and people who can be strong pillars for the writeblr community.

That being said, we do have some restrictions on who will be allowed to apply, and that's the following:

You must be 20+. No exceptions.

You should have at least one blog (whether that's your main blog or your side blog) that focuses on writeblr!

You must have Discord for ease of communication!

Please be aware that as an admin of this blog, you may be subjected to dox/death threats, harassment, bigotry, and other nasty or sensitive content. If you want to be a mod, you'll need to be able to deal with these via deleting the posts and not interaction, since that's what they want. We also need people who will be strong pillars of positivity in this community, people who are willing to show kindness and empathy towards everyone around us! You'll also be expected to community thoroughly with the rest of the admins. As an admin, you'll be expected to reblog posts, share support, send out asks, and more!

Once again, please contact me if that sounds like something you're interested in! You can contact me here on Tumblr or on Discord, where I also go by basalamander!

#admin: sabel

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cheeto-flavoured-pasta · 4 months

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Writer Q&A Tag Game

I was tagged here by @bluberimufim and here by @squarebracket-trick!

Gently tagging @hyuccubus, @sunset-a-story, @full-on-sam and anyone else who wants to join

1 - What motivates you to write?

I'm going to sum it up like this: I have ideas hopping around in my brain. At some point, they hop around too much to the point where I go feral over them and know they have to be turned into something full and whole and tangible because I love them too much to just keep dreaming about it forever.

2 - A line/short snippet from your work or someone else's (please credit).

(I'm going through a "I hate my writing and everything looks like it sucks but I can't figure out why aergsgdfkjhgjh" phase, so maybe doing this could help.)

[CW// Mentions of suicide.]

"Yeah." He swallowed. "Big surprise. I chickened out last minute, but the others actually went for it and succeeded. They were too determined." Through the crack in the door, I spotted him burying his face in his hands. "Sorry, this is so sudden. I just… I can't deal with this place. Hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it. Can't stand it here. So I thought the only way to get out was to just — oh, fuck, what's the point of trying to explain?" His voice cracked. "Nobody's gonna get it." I paused, biting my lip. Comfort wasn't my strong suit, but I'd dealt with suicide before. I knew what it was like, sitting next to someone who tried to end it all. I'd sat next to my sister on the balcony of our old home, next to the kitchen countertop where all her pills lay, almost swallowed whole, listening to her vent her heart out and hold onto me. This was something I had experience with. This was something I could handle.

3 - What OC makes you smile each time you think of them?

I'd say either Marie or Cillian, or both, since they're kind of a package deal; you can't have one without the other.

(Skipping ahead a little bit, let's head to question six).

6 - What is something in the writeblr community that is most enjoyable?

It's hard to pick one, so I'll list a few. Personally, the writing positivity and encouragement/support blogs (e.g @iloveyou-writers) tend to be my favorite whenever I'm going through a tough time, and with that are the wide range of advice and perspectives you can get from different writers. I find it hard to find other writing friends in real life, so having a community on Tumblr makes me feel like I've found my people, and I'm grateful for that.

8 - What's a piece of worldbuilding in your story that you're proud of?

Worldbuilding has always been a pretty daunting task, but creating the history and past conflicts in my world, despite it sounding so simple, is something I'd say I'm proud of. Not for any grand reason, but just for doing it and finally getting over that obstacle I didn't like before.

9 - What's some advice you'd give to other writers going through a rough patch?

Personally, I'd say that the best thing you can do when going through a rough patch with writing is to read. And I know it's not a very deep and profound piece of advice, but whenever I'm going through a rough spot, I find that taking a break and perusing someone else's work is what I need for my brain to start working again (no wonder I feel like shit lately; I've been neglecting this myself...). Writing is, essentially, reading your own work back to yourself as you're creating it, and sometimes, your brain needs a break from that. It needs variety, and the best way to achieve that is to read other things.

#writeblr #writing community #writers of tumblr #tag game #writer q and a #writing questions #sorry if the answers to these questions are really short #I'm tired as shit T-T

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myloveforhergoeson · 3 months

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celebration!

looking for a reason to celebrate today? so am i!

get yourself a sweet treat! you deserve it for all the hard work you've done recently, even if you don't think you do! (i'm enjoying a cupcake as we speak!)

listen to your favorite song, album, or podcast! it'll make you feel better, i promise!

allow yourself some time to rest! five minutes here, five minutes there, the rest of the afternoon, your entire eventing - whatever you can afford!

watch your favorite youtube video, tv show, or movie! (this ties nicely into the last one huh?)

if you're celebrating for the same reason i am... the first year anniversary of my fic That's All She Wrote... here's some things we can do together!

go back and read your favorite parts or chapters! then come back and tell me about them and i might have some juicy bts info for you...

make sure to comment/like/kudos if you haven't already on your preferred reading platform, (tumblr, wattpad, or ao3!)

share with your friends if you're comfortable! if they like oc fics, big time rush, and long fics! tasw is fandom-blind friendly, has an achingly long slowburn, and has a strong female lead character if those are selling points!

make a post if you're comfortable, thoughts and rambles about the story, your own interpretations of scenes, drabbles, whatever! and tag me!

but wait! that's not all! i have questions for you!

share with me your future predictions or theories for the next few chapters to the end of the story!

favorite characters? tell me why! lets talk about them!

any burning questions not answered by the narrative or parts that seem vague and you'd like more clarification on? let me know! i'm a yapping machine!

anything i left out you're missing? let me tell you how i'd include it, why i didn't, or how it might pop up in the future!

any reoccurring themes you've noticed? (perhaps done unintentionally by me... but still cool to talk about...)

and finally... thank you! thank you whoever is reading this, for whatever reason! thank you! whether you've been here since last year or last night, your support and appreciation for my story means the world. having this creative outlet has brought me so much joy, and i'm honored to share it with you all. knowing other people are just as interested in my work as i am makes my heart literally soar. so join me in celebration, for whatever reason it may be! <333

#thats all she wrote fic #big time rush #james diamond #kendall knight #btr #logan mitchell #carlos garcia #new chapter on the way too - should be up within the next week!#and if no one sees this... i'm mind wiping all of you /j

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dirtydragonthoughts · 5 months

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Transformers Yuletide Literary Fest - Day 8

Welcome to the Transformers Yuletide Literary Fest! I'll be recommending one or two fics every day until Christmas. Feel free to join in if you'd like (I'm using the tag #tylf2023 for this.) All fics are complete!

(If I can easily find a Tumblr account for the author I'll tag them. If you know of an author who has a Tumblr account and I didn't tag them, please let me know so I can add it! )

Fics in my recommendations will come in two different flavours: tangy and spicy. 😄 As always, curate your own online reading experience, and mind the tags if necessary for your own safety. ♥

Tangy

Title: Frivolities

Author: @neveralarch

Rating: General

Wordcount: 1834

Summary: "My correct form of address is in my ID tag," snapped Starscream. "Use it or lose your tongue."

Why I love it: I love this story. I love it so much I've recommended it to people who would ordinarily never read Transformers fanfic, simply because I think they'd appreciate what the author is doing. They took canon and fanon, and from it alchemized a story of dysphoria and wanting to be seen and acknowledged in a way the character wants, and wrapped it up in a tidy package that hits like a truck, and have I mentioned I love this story! (*makes fists*) Read it!

Spicy

Title: Not a Great Romancer

Author: @chokopoppo

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 2445

Note: Available to logged-in registered users only.

Summary: Ratchet's gotten a lot of "no"s from Orion Pax. He kind of figured the matrix would be the final nail in the coffin, not the last, long-time-coming piece to a puzzle he's ready to stop working on.

An AU where Primes DO party. Or, at the very least, hang.

Why I love it: I've mentioned that I love TFP, and I have a special softness for OptiRatch from that continuity. This story presents such a wonderful alternate look of how the Matrix would have facilitated the OP/Ratchet fragging, as opposed to standing in their way. And there are so!! many!! good lines in this fic! This fic is just magnificent.

#tylf2023 #fic rec #maccadam #valveplug

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thetwelfthcrow · 5 months

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Ω༶ 4433 fic recs: omegaverse edition ༶Ω

welcome everyone to yet another fic rec list! this time: 4433 omegaverse fic recs, a list of my personal favorite omegaverse fics for the Lewis Hamilton/Max Verstappen ship. the F1ndom is a huge fan of omegaverse fics and these are specifically max/lewis. they include both men in either role (omega lewis and alpha lewis, omega max and alpha max). enjoy!

AO3 collection with all my Formula One bookmarks general favorite fics in the 4433 ship favorite christmas fics in the 4433 ship

always be sure to check the accurate and updated tags on the fic itself (i only copy a few)! if your fic is on here and you'd like me to link your tumblr then just comment below and i'll add it :)

༶ i'm only looking just to live through you vicariously by jazzy44 | T | 3,9k | 2/?ch, incomplete [series] alpha max - omega lewis / est. relationship / outsider pov / mpreg / fluff

A look into mated Lewis and Max's relationship through the eyes of other people.

༶ Trust by Anonymous | T | 3,2k | complete alpha max - omega lewis / est. relationship / loss of trust

Max stared for a moment, in a bit of shock himself - he hadn’t– he hadn’t meant to use the Voice.

༶ Not bad at all by Hurri_kane | T | 2,6k | complete [series] alpha lewis - omega max / implied mpreg / domestic fluff

Max has been through a lot but just as he has lost, he has won. And if at the end of the day all those bad moments have led him to where he is, he would happily walk the same path again and again.

༶ Fucked up over you by Anonymous | NR | 4,1k | complete alpha lewis - alpha max / enemies to lovers / implied sexual content / angst

“I will never submit to a stupid, fucking kid.” He grabs at Max’s arm, it’s not enough to hurt, but Max thinks he would rather it did. “Submit to me. Kneel down to me, Alpha .” The word is putrid, it feels like dirt in the air. Max is so glad he riled him up. === Lewis teaches Max how to really love.

༶ The First Cut Won't Hurt At All by Dumb_Thotticus | E | 5,6k | complete alpha lewis - omega max / stockholm syndrome / mildly dubious consent

Lewis was willing to do anything to take back the championship that was rightfully his. Anything.

༶ Lose Control by WebCookie9 | E | 10,6k | complete alpha lewis - omega max / light angst / sexual tension / pwp / possessiveness

"Did you even listen? I'm going into rut." he repeats to the younger but Max stays relaxed though he doesn't approach Lewis. "Yeah, I undetstand. I got it. But where's the problem?" "Where's the problem? Are you asking me where the fucking problem is? Seriously?" Lewis stands up from his seat, slamming both hands on the table and Max's eyes are wide open in surprise. "I'm going into rut with you right next to me on a god damn plane!" Lewis bellows. "So what? Where's the problem?" "Oh my god..." Lewis whines and pinches the bridge of his nose. "You being here. Close to me. That's the problem!" "That's not a problem. I can help you." "Help me? You think you can help me? How in god's name do you think you can help me?" "Let's fuck."

༶ I will hide and you come seek (let's play this game untill we meet) by Missha (Mishtique) | T | 13,8k | 7/7ch, complete alpha lewis - omega max / alternate universe: college / getting together

Private schools for the rich aren't the easiest to get through - especially not when you're Max, a late bloomer, who only presents as an omega at fifteen. The morning he wakes up and realizes he presented, everything becomes harder because of the nauseating scents he can't seem to escape from. Until he gets to a clearing, where he finally finds rest. A stranger being near wakes Max up, a stranger that carries the first scent he likes since presenting. However, things don't become easier after that.

༶ My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand by LaceyAmethyst | E | 12,3k | 3/3ch, complete alpha lewis - omega max / mpreg / angst with a happy ending

After colliding with his Mate on Lap 1 of the British Grand Prix, Omega Max finds out he’s pregnant with his and Lewis’ pup while in hospital after the race. With his instincts on fire and his mating mark fading, Max knows there is no easy way forward.

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askbox always open for your favourite 4433 fics! i love to know what you love to read. this list is not complete (nor will it ever be) and will be updated irregularly. enjoy reading!

#zhalia's lil' chit chat #4433 fic recs #4433 omegaverse fic recs #omegaverse #a/b/o

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siriusleee · 5 months

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iv. antibiotics

Zombie Apocalypse AU | SIMON RILEY x f!READER

↳ SUMMARY: The world is trying to knit itself back together after fracturing apart. You're trying to put yourself back together with it; Simon Riley is just trying to stay alive. ↳ WORD COUNT: 2.6K ↳ TAGS: mentions of cannibalism, mentions of shooting things, mentions of dying. smut to come. canon typical violence to come. additional tags to come as the story progresses. female reader. no mentions of "your name". reader is given a nickname later on. nc-17. fandom-blind friendy. ↳ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to the lovely anon who asked for a scene from an apocalypse au, and this idea was born. If you'd like to donate to my Ko-Fi, I would appreciate it. ↳ TAG LIST: There will not be a tag list for this story, as Tumblr has issues with letting me tag people. To get notifications of updates, please subscribe on AO3 or turn on notifications for my blog.

additional chapters | ao3

Ghost forces you to crawl up the side of the ravine ahead of him - it’s grueling and painful. Your nails are nearly ripped from their beds when you finally claw your way from the mud and roots, Ghost boosting himself up behind you with a grunt. You collapse onto the ground, the pain in your body compounding with each breath that you take. Ghost’s hands grasp at the back of your filthy shirt, pulling you to your feet. You don’t think that you can move anymore - your muscles are threatening to seize - but Ghost pushes you forward, forcing you to take one step after the other. The walk back to the cabin is long; you didn’t think that you’d run this far, and by the time the two of you make it back to the cabin, Ghost nearly has to carry you in by the elbow. When the two of you crash through the cabin door, you can’t keep your feet underneath you anymore. You fall to your knees, pain lancing through your kneecaps and wrists that catch your body weight against the wooden floors. Ghost drags you towards the small couch you’d been on just hours before waiting for your chance to escape. He sets you down roughly onto the broken-down cushions, one hand holding both of your wrists with one of his own. He bends down to be level with you, mud splattering the bit of skin that you can see, his brown eyes like two pieces of flint. “If you try to run again,” he says, voice even and low, “I will let them capture you and I won’t come to save you.” You nod wordlessly, and the lines around his eyes harden before he speaks again. “We leave in just a few hours; you should try to sleep some.” You didn’t think you would sleep, but the sound of slamming jogs you from a thick twilight you didn’t know you’d fallen into. Ghost stands at the table, rifle slung over his shoulder, pack on his back. On the table, your bow lies with one arrow across it. His message is loud and clear: you get one shot if you try to kill him. You’d better be successful with it. You unfold yourself from the small couch, mud and dirt falling from you in a shower. It takes so much of what’s in you to move forward, towards the table. Your pack sits where you left it yesterday, and when you pick it up, shoulder screaming, you notice the extra weight from your canteen. It sloshes heavily as you slide your stiff arms through the straps. Ghost must have filled it last night. The idea that he filled your canteen for you itches at a level of annoyance you try not to pay attention to as you take up your bow.

The two of you don’t speak to each other as you fall in line behind Ghost, your bow held like you were taught: loose enough that your muscles don’t cramp, but tight enough that you’re ready to go at any moment. The forest stays slumbering as the two of you traverse beneath the treetops. As the sun rises, the sounds of birds tittering fill the forest. The sun has barely moved in the sky before you have to stop, feet faltering beneath you. Ghost pauses just head, head turned slightly towards you as you lean against the rough bark of one of the trees. “Sorry I just-” you try to wet your lips, but your tongue is like sandpaper. “I just need a moment.” Your heart feels like it’s going to burst from your throat; with trembling fingers, you pull your canteen to your lips. When you drink, water dribbles down your chin and onto your shirt; you wipe it away with a freezing hand. Ghost doesn’t turn toward you, his own hands wrapped around his rifle. By the time you’re able to move again, you can feel his impatience rolling off of him in waves, but he keeps his mouth shut. “Where are we going?” You ask, the stretch of silence unnerving you. Your throat is still raw, still sore from the sudden increase in speaking you’ve been doing over the past two days. It’s a wonder to you: that you even still know how to speak after so long of silence. “You’ll see when we get there.” It’s a maddening response, your fingers flex around your bow weakly, but you keep in step with him. You’d made a game of it after a while, trying to line each of your steps with his so that if anyone follows they’ll think it was just one of you. You needed something to keep you distracted. The walk is torture, heat creeping through your body, each injury still so incredibly painful. The forest floor inclines upwards, pulling at each of the bones in your body with sharp little wires, threatening to pull you down into the dirt — more than once your feet falter beneath you. The incline grows too rough, and a wave of nausea rolls over your body. There’s not even a second to ask Ghost to stop before you’re heaving, bent in half. There’s nothing in your stomach but bile, and a bit of water - you leave it in a puddle on the forest floor. “You alright?” Ghosts asks, irritation coloring his voice. You nod, spitting on the ground to try and get the acrid taste of stomach acid out of your mouth. “Just - tired.” You don’t want to admit to him how you feel, worried that if you do he’ll leave you here to the mercy of the Biters and Mother Nature. One arrow is going to get you nowhere, you need a real chance to fight before you try and run again.

The razor wire is the first thing you see, rising heavily in the distance. You slow, trying to make out the shape of the walls, the jut of the towering buildings in the distance. Backlight by the struggling moon, the shapes are familiar enough to tug at memories buried deep.

“Is this a military base?” You ask, exhausted. Ghost’s steps hadn’t stopped once after the farmhouse shrunk behind the two of you. Neither of you had spoken in the intermediate time.

Ghost doesn’t answer you, just slings his rifle onto his shoulders and steps into the clearing. You hesitate; a flash catches your eye and they’re immediately drawn to one of the sniper towers. You can just make out the shape of a person there, but it’s hard to see anything other than their form in the darkness.

“Are you coming?”

Ghost’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts, and you step towards him, palms suddenly sweaty.

A million questions are rattling around inside your brain, and each of them is replaced by another as the sound of rattling chains and metal fills the air. Materializing in the night forest, a gate three times as tall as you appear like a fairy house. The hunk iron and chain link pull open just enough for one man to squeeze through, the barrels of guns pointed out in the space.

Ghost lifts his hand in a familiar greeting; the barrels don’t fall, but turn to you. Ghost says something, but you can’t hear him over your thoughts. He slips through the gate, and for half a second you panic that they’ll slam it shut behind him and leave you outside.

But it stays open just long enough for you to slip through. Rough hands grab at you, pulling the bow from your hand, shoving you in a circle as you try to make out individual faces, pulling roughly at your clothes. Ghost’s voice barks out orders - you try to turn towards the sound of him, but a fire erupts at the base of your skull and midnight settles around you.

Soft fingers trace the curve of your hip; in the early morning light you can’t make out his face, but you recognize the planes of him beneath your fingertips. You’d know him anywhere, every mole and scar memorized until you could draw them from memory.

“Are you awake yet?”

His voice is easy in the early morning - sweeter than he usually sounds. You can’t help the smile that sketches itself onto your face as you turn away from the bright light streaming in through the window.

“Been awake.”

His fingers tangle in the soft downy hair at the base of your hair, pulling your head back gently until your neck is exposed. The warmth of his breath dances at the pulse point beneath your jaw, and you jump. His chuckle rumbles through his chest and into yours.

Nipping at the tender flesh of his neck, his hands trace down until he’s gripping your forearm. You try to pull away, to reach up and touch him, but his grip grows bruising. You try to pull away, but his nails dig into your arm, stinging until you feel tears start at the corner of your eye.

“What are you doing?” Panic starts to color your voice as you struggle to get away. He doesn’t answer, twisting the tender flesh of your arm harder until you scream.

The rawness of your throat wakes you up. There’s a rush in your ears as you fight against whatever is holding you down. The world spins around you, a nauseating swirl of brown and gray - faintly you hear someone shouting at you; your fist connects with the hard outline of a jaw before you’re pinned down.

It takes seconds, hours - maybe days - for the room to stop spinning around you, and the voices become clear.

Squinting against the bright light shining down on your face, you can make out the face of an older woman, her hair cropped close to her scalp and an ugly red mark blossoming against her cheek. She’s talking to you slowly, but it’s still difficult to make out the words; you can tell by the expression on her face that she’s getting tired of repeating herself.

“Do you remember your name?”

You turn away from the light, expecting to see someone else at your side holding you down. But it’s her hands pinning your arms to your side with a strength that doesn’t fully match the wrinkles on her forehead.

Ungluing your tongue from the roof of your mouth, you speak - faintly remembering the name you told Ghost.

“Dove. My name’s Dove.”

The set of her tongue against her teeth tells you that she’s not happy with you, but you can’t bring yourself to care around the sledgehammer pounding behind your eyes. Her grip loosens by a centimeter.

“I need you to calm down or I’ll have to restrain you again.”

She speaks with the kind of smooth authority that tells you she’s not afraid to pin you down again, that there’s no worries about who would win if she tried.

You nod painfully - it feels like the movement will shatter your spine if you move too fast. The woman retracts her hands, one moving underneath your shoulder to help you sit up. You grit your teeth together to keep from throwing up on her feet or screaming in her face.

When the world rights itself around you, you take a second to look around. Despite the darkness and the ambient dingyness, you can tell you’re in some sort of medical treatment. The corners of each of the beds are tucked in with meticulous hospital corners and empty IV stands are lined up mechanically against the wall. Beside the bed you’re sitting on is a little metal tray with a manual blood pressure cuff on it. The only light in the room blazes above you.

The woman stands in front of you, arms crossed on her chest.

“I’m Doc,” she states, pulling a little stool over with her foot, and sitting down carefully on it. The wheel squeaks horribly. “You were in rough shape - do you remember how you got that way?”

The image of a skeleton mask floats in your vision; you press the heels of your palm into your eyes to try and press it away.

“Ghost.” His name sits like a stone at the tip of your tongue.

Doc chuckles, picking up the blood pressure cuff from the little table.

“You’re not the sorriest-looking person he’s ever dragged in here if that makes you feel better.”

On instinct, you extend your arm so she can slip the cuff around your arm. The little needle jumps with each pulse of the bulb; you watch it like you know what it’s supposed to say. When it’s almost too painful to bear, she releases the pressure and when it’s back to 0 she pulls it off of your arm depositing it back onto the table.

“Well you’ve got a cracked rib for sure, and probably a few other fractures based on the bruising. And you’re malnourished. There’s an infection creeping up your calf muscle; Ghost seemed to have walked you half to death.”

You think of how you threw up on the trail, how each step seemed to feel like a march towards death.

“You could say that.”

She sighs, wiping her hands against her pants. “Well you’re going to be down for a while don’t over-exert yourself. I’ll have the mess hall notified to give you one and a half portions for a few weeks until you don’t look like a walking skeleton and you’ll have to report here each day for your antibiotics.”

You nod your head like you understand what she’s saying. The thought of antibiotics is so foreign to you, so odd in contrast to the world you knew outside. There’s a look in her eye you can’t discern, and you don’t try as she pushes herself to a standing position, the little wheeled stool rolling away behind her.

“Come on. Let’s get you something to eat.”

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pleasestaywithmedarling · 8 months

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Author Ask Game

Thanks for the tag @starlit-hopes-and-dreams!

I'll gently tag @verkja, if you'd like, cause I am SO excited that I should finally have time soon to start reading your work, and I'd love to hear more about it if you're down! And of course, anyone is welcome to jump in; please tag me if you do!

I only have one fic on this side of the internet, so this will all be about my WIP Sin of Purity, Purity of Sin.

What is the main lesson of your story (e.g. kindness, diversity, anti-war), and why did you choose it?

I personally don't vibe with the idea of writing "lessons." I guess the ideas that have been sticking out to me the most have probably been guilt and innocence, and the way the past can recontextualize the present and vice versa. But that's just me; I'm sure anyone could read this and see something completely different.

Or maybe we're all just here for the whump :)

What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding (like real-life cultures, animals, famous media, websites, etc.)?

Disclaimer: I have nothing at all against any religion that is not causing anyone harm; there are obviously a lot of wonderful religions and religious people in the world, and I 100% support that.

That being said, the key feature of the worldbuilding in this fic is the official religion of the kingdom, and that was very much inspired by my own wildly toxic religious upbringing. Before I started writing, I didn't really bother to plan out what most writers would consider the basic features of a fantasy world--I don't think I even got around to naming the kingdom the story takes place in until maybe a half-dozen chapters in. But I had worked out a lot about the fundamental theology and practices of the worship of Vato, the way the temple system is organized, the relationship between the temple and the culture and subcultures of the kingdom, the doctrines and practices that are basically arbitrary or just make no sense, etc. And all of it draws pretty heavily from my own experiences with the type of churches that I grew up in.

What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, help readers grow as a person?

Okay so the obvious answer is that Anden and Kiri are both trying to gain their freedom. But Anden would prefer to achieve that by his own strength--he doesn't like feeling weak, and to him being forced to rely on others can sometimes feel like weakness. And Kiri...I think Kiri would prefer the temple simply have a change of heart and let them go lol

If there's anything that I'm trying to achieve with them, I guess it's just the catharsis that I personally get from watching them suffer together the different ways that they're growing, both individually and together.

How many chapters is your story going to have?

No idea! The events of the story are all mapped out, but I'm letting myself just experiment and have fun with this fic, and I'm really trying to embrace serialization rather than try to match the pacing of a typical novel. I would say that the chapter I'm currently working on is right at the midpoint of the narrative arc--if that term even applies to my unstructured mess of a plot--but that may or may not mean I'm at the halfway point in terms of the chapter count. The back half of the second act could end up stretching out a good half dozen chapters, or for all I know it'll only take, like, two. And how long will the third act be? Who knows? Not me!

Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

Unusually for me, this is an original. I will probably just keep in here on tumblr; idk if I'd want it on my AO3 account with my fanfiction--it feels odd to me to mix the two.

When and why did you start writing?

I started this one I think about a month and a half ago--it has not been long! Tbh I'd had a pretty awful summer, and I'd been getting back into reading whump as a form of escapism. Had the idea for this one, and I realized it would do me a lot of good to have an outlet just making something I want to make, just cause I want to make it, and not worry about how good it is or what other people think about it. This is easily the most self-indulgent work I've ever written, and it makes me so happy to hear that anyone else is enjoying it too!

Do you have any words of engagement for fellow writers of Writeblr? What other writers of Tumblr do you follow?

Idk, you do you!

Oh gosh I hate doing these because I am SO forgetful and I feel like I always leave off a favorite blog! But here's a sampling of writers whose works I've been really enjoying this past year: @i-can-even-burn-salad, @little-peril-stories, @clairelsonao3, @dont-touch-my-soup, @whumpcereal, and of course @starlit-hopes-and-dreams who I guess I'm tagging twice in one post!

Blank questions below:

What is the main lesson of your story (e.g. kindness, diversity, anti-war), and why did you choose it?

What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding (like real-life cultures, animals, famous media, websites, etc.)?

What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, help readers grow as a person?

How many chapters is your story going to have?

Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

When and why did you start writing?

Do you have any words of engagement for fellow writers of Writeblr? What other writers of Tumblr do you follow?

#tag game

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