#can't even remember how I found this I just found it in a folder lmao

[rogueddie]

played the gay character Steve Harrington

[narastories]

20 questions for fic writers!

Thank you @septemberskye for tagging me <3

I'll tag @nijinskys @viole-n-ts @brotherhoodoftheblade and anyone who would like to do this.

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 98! (The same formatting thing happened to me too lmao) I can't believe it's almost 100. It's especially fun because it's Yuletide season and the fic authors won't get revealed until January. Which means it will probably be impossible to tell exactly which one counts as my 100th fic and somehow I like that.

2. What's your total AO3 word count? For a second I thought I would have to add it up manually. Phew. It's 457,682.

3. What fandoms do you write for? The Fetch Phillips Archives, The Dresden Files, and the Lord John Series (Outlander). Sometimes a fic here and there for other fandoms.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? the hero's prize, A bed and a penny, whatever this may be, over the edge and out of sight, Love your enemy The popularity of a fandom or a ship + the age of the fic will always have a bigger impact on your statistics than the quality of your writing. Don't swear it too much.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Yes, almost always. I found many friends this way.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Probably "so cold". A short ficlet but it hurt lol

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?  I usually write happy endings so I can't choose ^^"

8. Do you get hate on fics? Luckily I wouldn't say I do. I've gotten some annoying grammar corrections, and deliberate misunderstandings about a ship, but nothing I would call outright hate in the comments. Oh, and there was that one guy who got their panties in a twist because I've written a male character as a witch. That was fun.

The silver lining in writing for small fandoms, rarepairs, and niche topics is that you don't get many eyes on you so you just statistically catch fewer dumbasses. But if you are getting hate, just remember: don't feed the troll. Eat the troll ;)

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yes, I write all kinds of smut. Usually, my kind of smut is: - There is extensive set-up. I like to set the mood first, so unless it's a very short fic, there isn't any smut in the first 30% I would say. Even if I consider it a PWP there is usually some kind of set-up. - There are usually feelings involved. I like to focus on that, even if it's just a hook-up. - It's usually kinky. Not always, but I do write a lot of ships with inherent power dynamics or morally grey characters. And I'm happy to go all out there with the kinkyness lol

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? No. It's not my thing. But never say never because I actually have one idea for a fun little crossover...

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? OMG yes! Three of my ficlets from the Harry/Nic OTP challenge got translated to Russian and I'm so honored <3

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?  No... that idea gives me anxiety....

14. What's your all-time favorite ship? I can't answer this either. There are just too many ships that are too close to my heart. Especially since there are several rarepairs where I published either the first or most of the fics on AO3 for that ship... I simply can't choose.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I have one unfinished WIP on AO3, "over the edge and out of sight" which I know I will never continue (but I don't even want to so I don't think it counts as an answer). After that, I've stopped putting WIPs on AO3 in general ^^" From my WIP folder, there are several that I would love to finish, but I don't think I will: - I started a translation of my super old BJR/OC (Outlander) fic but I had a really hard time getting over the embarrassment of reading my old fic - I have a few snippets of a continuation for the J/J/J series (Outlander) and it would be very fun but I'm not sure if I'll ever be in the mood to finish it - I also started a modern Enjou/Aether fic (Genshin Impact) that would be super cute but it's probably too much work compared to my investment in that fandom

16. What are your writing strengths? POV. I think I'm good at showing the POV character's personality. And I sink my teeth into that deep POV and don't let go. You won't catch me slipping into a different POV in the next paragraph, and I'm sort of proud of that.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Plot? lmao It's complicated for me. I can't come up with an intricate plot before I start writing. I need to start writing and then halfway through move the puzzle pieces around. It's difficult for me to wrap my head around it. I also think that sometimes I get so focused on setting something up that I don't realize that the reader might think I'm setting something else up if that makes sense. That's definitely an area I could improve on.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I don't like it. I'm fluent in 3 languages and I've written fic in 2. But I don't like writing or reading dialogue in another language in a fic because I think it disrupts the flow of reading. For me, it's less about the fear of making a mistake in a language that isn't my native tongue (because this one isn't, for example, lol) and it's more about worrying that it won't be enjoyable for someone who doesn't speak that language. Even if you provide translations it's just a lot of effort to scroll back and forth.

A word here and there is fine for me, or if you can cleverly convey language barriers by adding a few sentences. But otherwise, I would just rather write what language they are supposed to be speaking in.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Uh I think HP, back in high school. But that just shows my age lol

20. Favorite fic you've ever written? That is so difficult to answer. It's either "put my heart in your pocket" or "moral compass for hire".

[il-miele-che-scrive]

Can you share some tips to make smaus ?

aaaaa getting asked for tips for the first time 💙💙

my first tip might be a bit "obvious" but don't write stuff you personally don't like (that relates also to fanfic in general I guess), write the things that you enjoy, don't force yourself into things you don't feel, it's supposed to be fun and not a task <3

from the more "technical" side - I use pics art to make the "collages" (like three, or more, pics next to each other). this way you can "save space" because on the phone you can add only 10 pics per post (I think it's 30 on the computer). and for twitts I use this app called twi note <3

sometimes you might randomly get an idea - if you can't take care of it immediately, write it down so you don't forget. that's how it was for me with the get with his brother au and it's my most popular series!! that's how it works for me - I can try forcing myself into thinking of an idea, but the best ideas are the ones I get randomly throughout the day <3

it's easier for me, as you may have noticed, to write fans' comments using username1, username2, but I saw people actually making up fans' usernames which is so cool!! so whatever floats your boat!! <3

most pictures you see in my smaus are from pinterest, sometimes I just go there hoping I'll see something inspiring, and a lot of times I save pics in a folder "pics for fics" because I might use them someday eventually <3

no idea if that's good or not but at the beginning I tried to "keep things realistic" like not making the drivers talk in the comments about things they wouldn't talk about in real life. i kind of broke this rule for the brother fic for the drama lol I guess it's better when you don't try to keep the comments realistic, because it's all just for fun after all <3

now my last advice is decide how you wanna make the comment section look like and stick to it (I think I've found my preferred way recently), for example if you want to make it like this:

username1 blah blah blah something something something

↳username2 the missile is very tired

username3 eepy even

or maybe like this:

username1 woooooo we ball wow wow

username2 yeah we ball lol

or maybe another way you can think of!! I kind of stopped reading fanfics after I started writing, so I don't remember what other ways to "build" the comment section are there, so just do whatever you vibe with. the thing with the 2nd way I showed is idk how to write a reply to the reply?? but I also struggled with a "reply to a reply" in the way I use now, if you go to my first smaus it'll look something like this:

username1 blah blah blah comment section haha

↳username2 yeah haha comment section lmao

↳username3 whooooaaaaaaaa

↳username4 haha lol wtf is wrong with you guys lmao lol lol xx

like just the constant arrow didn't look that's good to me?? idk that's just personal preference and now I took way too much time to talk about it as if it was the most important part lol anyway choose a style you feel good in and by the way if you wonder where I got the arrow from ↳ I just type in Google 'arrow emoji' and go to the first site lol <3

anyway I hope I could help you, if you (or anyone else) have any other questions feel free to ask, I'm feel honored to help out

[savventeen]

hello! i was wondering if i could request: things you said before you kissed me with dino :)

got my heart in my feet ('cause they lead me to you)

Chan looks at you, and you look at him, both of you searching. "Y/n, I..." he starts. Something determined settles in his eyes, and then, both bold and hesitant, "You're the most beautiful person I've ever met."

pairing: dino x reader rating: T wc: 2.4k warnings: intrusive anxious/depressive thoughts (reader's), some cussing, crying, vague mention of family issues tags: college au (barely), friends to lovers, emotional hurt/comfort, first kiss summary: gn!reader has a bad day, and they unintentionally find themselves falling apart at their best friend Chan's door in desperate need of a hug a/n: this is not at all what i thought it was going to be when i started on this prompt lmao. i was also expecting it to be around 500 words at most :') anyway, i have no idea if this is what you were looking for, but i hope you enjoy! theme song || the painting y/n talks about at the end is castanets by silvia vassileva || prompt from this list

Most of the time, you don’t consider yourself an impulsive person. In fact, you usually find yourself in the position of being other people’s impulse control — *cough*Soonyoung*cough* — and were more often than not the designated mom-friend in whatever social circle you found yourself in.

It's not that you aren't spontaneous on occasion (usually at someone else's behest), but you always think it through first. Even your backup plans have backup plans, Seokmin had joked once, and you'd agreed.

So it’s strange to say the least that you find yourself standing outside of Chan’s door at nearly midnight on a Tuesday night, arm frozen where it’s raised to knock, and no memory of making a conscious decision to be here.

You remember getting off of the most stressful 8-hour turned 12-hour shift you’ve ever experienced in your life to see three missed calls and a voicemail from your mother berating you for never having time for your family, and then to top it all off, you’d realized that you had an essay due the next morning that you’d barely started and hadn’t had the time to finish.

It’d been too much, the final straw after weeks of building pressure, and it had taken everything in you not to burst into tears right there in the middle of the sidewalk outside of your work. You’d held them in and started walking home, trying to plan out what you could eat while scrambling to finish your essay. But all you’d really been able to think about was how much you just really, really wanted a hug.

Which must be why you find yourself standing here, now — you’d wanted comfort, and without thinking, your feet had taken you to Chan’s door.

Somehow, at some undesignated point, Chan had become your safe space.

And that’s… that’s a big realization for you. Huge. Potentially earth-shattering, if you were to really think about it. Which, no. Now is not the time for you to have any kind of Big Feelings epiphanies about your best friend — you feel like you’re barely hanging on by a thread as it is. So you quickly shove any and all related thoughts into your “for later” folder and blink back into the present.

You're still standing in front of Chan's apartment door, and you quickly bring your arm down when you realize you still have it raised to knock. A beat passes, and you raise your hand again, only to bring it immediately back to your side.

Fuck.

You know you need to go home and finish your essay, to eat and snag an hour or so of sleep if you can, you know this. But apparently, your heart has taken over control of your feet, because try as you might, you can't seem to get them to move.

And you hate this, because it feels like any semblance of control you might have had has slipped from between your fingers and scattered like dropped marbles on the faux-tile floor.

It's too much. Like a marionette with its strings cut, you let your body tilt forward, your head thumping into the solid wood of the door.

Thirty seconds, you decide. That's how long you're going to let yourself fall apart. And then you're going to pull yourself together, pull all the aching, exhausted pieces back into place, and you're going to go home and do your stupid essay and convince yourself that your existence is not a burden to everyone around you.

It's a solid plan, you think. Except, when you only have seven seconds left of your personal pity party, the door you're still leaning against swings open and you stumble forward. A pair of sturdy hands catch your shoulders, and suddenly you find yourself face-to-face with a very confused Chan.

"Whoah, y/n? You okay? What’s going on?”

The only thought that manages to break through the sudden panic parkouring around every crevice of your brain is how your best friend looks like a dream-shaped miracle, while you must look like an absolute train wreck.

The threadbare hoodie you have on over your food-stained uniform is dingy at best, and its deep navy color matches the dark bags you know are drooping under your eyes. You didn't bother with makeup since you always sweat it off at work anyway, the pimples along your jaw on display, and your hair is a tangled mess atop your head. Basically, you feel gross and exhausted and like you're the epitome of Stressed the Fuck Out™️.

And then there's Lee Chan, barefaced and beautiful and looking like the epitome of soft and comfortable. He’s wearing a pair of baggy sweatpants beneath an oversized dark grey t-shirt that looks so soft the thought of touching it almost makes you want to cry. His hair is adorably tousled and curling a bit at the ends, like he’d just finished rubbing a towel over his head after a shower, and the light from his apartment casts a warm, golden halo around his head — an angel of domesticity.

“Y/n?” His hands slide from your shoulders down to your biceps and give a soft squeeze, dark brows furrowed in concern.

Guilt slams into you with the force of a freight train. You're bothering him, he's obviously getting ready for bed; you're such an inconvenience, why would you drag him into your bullshit; you still have so much to do, why are you wasting his time like this; why can you never do anything right?

You step back, out of his grasp — practically a flinch. “Sorry. I— sorry."

Immediately, you miss his touch. The places on your arms where he held you feel like they've been magnetically charged, and you stare at the way his hands hover in the air like he’s still trying to hold you — the positive to your negative.

"I shouldn't—" you start, watching his hands slowly lower to his sides. Something cracks inside your chest, and you take another step back. Your voice turns thick. "Sorry. I'm— I'm gonna go."

You start to turn, to walk down the hallway and out of the building and into the crushing night, but Chan's voice stops you. "Wait!"

And when have you ever been able to ignore him?

Unbidden, your eyes are drawn back to him — to the way he's half-stepped out of the doorway, bare feet peeking out from the fabric of his pants, one hand stretched out towards you.

He looks at you, really looks at you, and takes another careful step forward. "I—" He bites his lip. "I'm here for you, y/n. What do you need?"

What do you need?

Your heart is the one that answers, tears finally spilling over your cheeks and dripping down to your chin. "Channie..." You swallow the lump in your throat and croak, "I just really need a hug."

Between one breath and the next, you find yourself completely wrapped up in his arms. His hold is somehow both crushing and gentle, and you think that maybe, just maybe, it's the exact kind of embrace you could let yourself fall apart in.

"Aish, why didn't you say so," Chan murmurs into the crown of your head, voice tinged with worry but warm and heavy like a weighted blanket. "I've always got hugs locked and loaded for you."

You feel him flex the tiniest bit and it startles a choked laugh out of you. That laugh quickly morphs into a sob, though, and the next thing you know, you're crying into his chest and he's murmuring gentle nothings to you as he waddles the both of you into the apartment. Not once do his arms move from where they're wrapped around you, even as he closes the door and brings the two of you to the couch, pulling you down so you're leaning against his chest.

Time passes. You're not sure how much, exactly, but you do know that Chan holds you the entire time, rubbing soothing arcs across your back and rocking you in a gentle sway. His quiet reassurances and little anecdotes have turned into soft humming — tender melodies pressed to the top of your head that drip down into your chest cavity and slowly fill up the aching empty.

When your cries have died down to the occasional sniffle, Chan pulls you impossibly closer and lets out a deep breath. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah." It comes out stuffy, your nose completely clogged from all the crying you just did. "Ugh."

Chan snorts, and you think that it's finally come time for you to leave the haven of his arms. That it's time for you to laugh it all off and convince him you're fine and make your way back to your apartment. But he doesn't move, doesn't give any kind of indication that he wants you to leave. He just keeps holding you, and you keep letting him, and you let yourself rest in the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.

"You really scared me, you know?" He swallows. "I've never seen you cry like that before."

No one's ever seen me cry like that, you think. And then the guilt starts creeping back in. It's different than the overwhelming guilt from earlier, more muted but somehow more precise in the way it pierces your heart — a needle compared to a battering ram.

"Sorry," you murmur. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"No, that's not—" He sighs harshly through his nose. "I'm glad you came to me, okay? I want to be here for you, for everything." His arms flex around you. "What's the point of having these guns if I can't use them to hold you when you need it?"

You know he's just saying it to cheer you up, to make you smile, but... That "for later" folder is suddenly at the forefront of your mind, the repressed feelings within it bursting at the seams, and all you can think is — oh.

Chan loosens his grip when he feels you start to move, but he doesn't let go. He lets you adjust within the circle of his arms until you're both facing each other as you lean against the back of the couch and you're able to look him in the eyes for the first time since you started crying.

There's half of a smile pulling up one corner of his mouth leftover from the quip he made, but a furrow rests between his brows, and there's... something shining in his eyes, an emotion that you can't quite place.

It makes you feel tingly with some kind of anticipation — dread or hope or some weird combination of both.

You ask, "Even when I'm gross and snotty and just cried all over you?"

"Especially then."

And maybe it's the way the warm lamplight drapes itself across his face, creating soft shadows and gauzy highlights, but you're reminded of a painting you came across in one of your art classes. You can't remember the name of it or even the artist, but you remember the colors, warm and soft with a glowing center. And you remember the way the large brushstrokes were somehow both bold and hesitant, full of a feeling so big and scary it took every ounce of will to try and scrape them out for the world to see.

He looks at you, and you look at him, both of you searching. "Y/n, I..." he starts. Something determined settles in his eyes, and then, both bold and hesitant, "You're the most beautiful person I've ever met."

You're not sure if you remember how to breathe.

The disbelief must show on your face because he scowls at you. "I'm serious."

A thousand questions pound against your ribs in time with your heart — how? why? when? me? me? me? — but what comes out, nearly a whisper, is, "You really mean it?"

His laugh is incredulous, like the question is somehow ludicrous. "Yeah, y/n. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm kind of in love with you?"

You don't think he meant to say that, based on the way his eyes go wide and he bites his lip. But he doesn't take it back.

He doesn't take it back, and you feel hope bloom bright and ferocious inside your chest.

"Yeah?" you ask, breathless.

He smiles, small and lopsided. "Yeah."

A smile stretches across your face, so wide that your cheeks are already aching, and you have the distinct privilege of watching that same hope blossom across Chan's face.

"I think I'm kind of in love with you, too."

His grin is a shot to your fluttering heart, so bright and wide you wonder if it's morning already, the sun rising with the force of his smile. "Yeah?" he echoes, and he leans forward until your foreheads are touching.

If this is a dream, you never want it to end. "Yeah."

He leans impossibly closer, your noses brushing. "I think I'm gonna kiss you now if that's okay with you."

And this is how you know it's not a dream, because Lee Chan, your best friend whom you're in love with and who's also apparently in love with you, just said he was going to kiss you and your brain promptly implemented a complete factory reset.

Head empty, no thoughts, just Chan's lips hovering inches away from yours. And when they don't get any closer, you remember that you need to give some kind of verbal response.

"Yeah. That's— yeah. Yes. I would— yes." You think your face might be on fire. "Yeah? Yes. I think you broke my brain a little bit, so if— yeah. If you could please just kiss me alr—"

He mercifully cuts you off, laughing into the kiss, and you wish you could bottle this moment — the sound, the feeling, all of it. His hands come up to cup your face, turning the chaste press of lips into something long and lingering, gentle and yearning, and it feels like the both of you are saying finally, finally, finally.

With a satisfied sigh that makes your toes curl, he pulls just far enough away to murmur, "Promise you'll keep coming to me, okay? For everything. Forever."

"Okay, Channie," you promise, just as quiet.

You have a feeling your feet will always take you exactly where you need to go.

[fandom-blackhole]

Hello, hello it's me, your partner in crime 🐣 who's got a batch of new ideas.

So Din has his australian shepherd Razor Crest,

I feel like Boba is more of a cat person and he's a busy man so he wouldn't have time for walks anyway,

I was initially thinking about either a sphynx cat or a British shorthair, these are really fancy breeds, but

I've got this idea, maine coon! This breed is fancy too!

Big kitty resting on his meaty thigh or in his lap 😳 (okay are we keeping this PG or at some point we are gonna go to town)

Oh and of course we can't obviously name kitty slave (Din points for you for the name of your ship working here)

Okay, back to work. Umm Paz...

While I love idea of him owning any breed, taking home any strays from the back alley of his restaurant, we need to remember that his living space is limited,

It's cheesy but imagine the spaghetti scene from Lady and The Trump recorded irl by Paz and Sent to you,

So a good doggo for Paz? Chihuahua?

Like there is this huge, chunky, ex-army man, which owns the best restaurant in Town, going around, stocking supplies with his little companion tucked under his arm,

Because of his bde he won't be ashamed of carrying his pet in cute little bag!

Razor Crest is such a good girl. She instantly starts loving you and Grogu,

Din is a busy man but still he manages to go jogging with her, his girlie needs a lot of activities since she is a shepherd dog (also Din with nicely toned legs because of the joggs? Ok ok keep this PG! Unless👉🏽👈🏽😳)

Grogu would still occasionally try to eat anything he can find (bad habit from his troubled upbringing but you and Din are working on fixing it though!)

This means Grogu would gladly share a "snack" with his big sister, and vice versa she once brought him her chewy snack,

Let's say you and Din need to visit uncle Paz more often, so Grogu develops proper taste for human, non-object food,

Crest sleeps with you and Din in bed. Neither of you can deny her that privilege,

But when Din finally adopts Grogu and the kiddo moves in, Crest will only sleep with him, guarding the little one all the time,

You and Din have no idea, but once Grogu snatched a small ball from daddy's car,(shiny-metal-ball-thingy from ship but in this case it's not metal and is child and pet friendly?) maybe he got it for kids at school but was forgetting to take it with him, Din big dummy dum,

Boba's lockscreen is a photo of you curled on the bed with the kitty atop of you(he is a big softie for both of you),

He has a huge folder with full on photos hoots of his cat,

But most pictures are blurred and the cat looks into camera like "human, don't bother me, human pet me, human bring treats),

Nonetheless, he treasures them dearly,

Paz' place is pet friendly,

He even has some dog and cat special dishes on the menu,

His doggo is his best culinary critic (after you of course),

Paz is thinking about making some accommodations in the backyard, back at home because he desperately wants to rescue more strays, but he keeps in mind that his farm animals need proper care too,

So he holds an event with local shelter at his place,

You help him organize everything perfectly, there is delicious food and lots of cute pets who are looking for a new home,

After fruitful ending you decide on collaborating witj the shelter as often as possible,

Paz even helped his old army pal adopt a dog because as a, selfcare king, he knows animals can provide great help when someone struggles with ptsd or anxiety.

As always please don't mind my mistakes. I hope you have been doing well, my writing bestie - 🐣

Screaming!!! Okay so sorry for taking so long, Saturdays are my 'busy' days lmao, also this can get as spicy as you want! I'm down for anything......

Please for the love of God yes, Boba totally has a Maine coon aka my favorite cat breed

He loves this cat dearly and you love when it comes and curls up on your lap

As for the name, what about Fennec??? Unless you want to have her be like his right hand in his organization

And Paz totally picks up strays and takes them to the local no kill shelter, he wants to keep them all, but he knows he can't

Paz is constantly sending the reader pictures of dogs and cats and animals doing various things, and recreating movie scenes

As for Paz's dog, a Chihuahua is so fucking perfect!!! Huge man with tiny dog yes please

(Though I may be biased because I own a three legged chihuahua named Guinevere aka Gwen)

Paz totally goes around shopping and everything with his little pupper with him (did you know they have harness for dogs so that you can carry them around like babies....so like my new pp except instead of Grogu its a doggo)

Paz also definitely allows pets into the restaurant and even has a little dog area for the pets to mingle while you eat

He of course is also a 5 star chef when it comes to feeding the animals, making sure to check all of the boxes when it comes to their basic nutritional needs

OMFG BIG BRAIN MOMENT, Paz is a certified rehabilitator for animals, he will take in hurt animals, domestic and wild, and help them until he can release them back into the wild or take them to the shelter/give them to a good home

Din totally goes jogging when he can, and he has a jogging stroller so Grogu can go with him (Grogu is on the smaller side because of his past hardships)

Grogu sooooo gets into Razor's treats (my sister used to walk along our alley behind our house and eat our dogs 😂😂)

Grogu and Razor are also partners in crime, they steal stuff and share the spoils all the time (hence why Din doesn't give Grogu chocolate or anything bad for dogs yet)

Din once found Grogu chewing on a bone he gave Razor and almost had a heart attack

Also the images of Grogu curled around Razor in his tiny space shipped bed, 102038302/10 too fucking cute (Grogu's room is space themed and you totally helped Din set everything up for him)

As for the metal ball, in this AU what if its like a small moon plushy that Din had in his classroom that Grogu keeps managing to sneak home until Din just gives up and let's him keep it? (Thats how the two of you got the idea for a space themed room)

Boba being a total grandpa taking pictures of his kitty to send to you all the time, aka another reason why they are blurry because Boba can't take a good picture to save his life lmao

Paz totally holds drives for the local shelter and events for people to come and meet animals they can adopted

Paz holding nights at the restaurant where all of the money is donated to the shelter and at the cash register he gives out home made dog biscuits as thank yous for coming in and donating

Omg Paz help his buddies with getting animals 😭😭

Also I raise you, Paz owns rabbits as well that he often takes with him when he visits Din's classroom (one of them is Grogu's and he comes over and plays with it and feeds it once a week)

(Send me THOTS!!)

[buddysmut]

Yeap. As a long-term anon follower of your blog, it seems like that you fall into the pit of perfectionism. Writing fic is just a hobby. You’d be better feel enjoy over agony. Feel free to share ideas. And some shortage can be a basis of regular story.

This turned out to be a really long reply. So I'm putting it under a read more so I don't take a ton of space on people's dash boards.

"you fall into the pit of perfectionism"

This is 100% accurate. With everything in my life.

As a dumb example outside of writing. I at one point couldn't play guitar slow anymore, because my teacher kept pushing me to get better. Which was great of him to do. But suddenly I couldn't play slow at all anymore. My wrists and fingers NEEDED to be fast and precise lmao

It is just a hobby for me. You're right. I also do it because I really like making people happy. And writing is the only thing I can do that does that. So I get upset when I have more than a month go by where I don't post new stories. And I feel bad, because I have posted stuff for the Red Velvet blog, but it's been so long since I posted any GFriend stories. I have a whole folder full of GFriend stories I'm in the middle of writing. I'm excited for the requests. But I'm just exhausted and stressed from my life, and I can't write. I try to do it. But I just sit there and keep thinking, "This is horrible. People aren't going to like this. No one is going to care at all about this set up." But I want to write the stories around the smut parts, because it helps give emotion to the members instead of it just being static stories.

I try not to share my ideas before I post the full story, because I'm worried other people on tumblr will steal them. There have been at least 2 accounts in the past where someone would just steal stuff from my stories. One finally closed his account. He would just keep sending himself anon asks, and then post stuff from my stories, but in very broken English. But I could sit here and read his posts and see it, "that's this part from Yuju's New Perspective." Stuff like that. He was a follower for a long time before starting that blog too. And I eventually had to block him So I know he was aware of the things he stole. It wasn't a coincidence. Even after he was blocked, I had to block his IP address, because he kept sending me asks to complain. It was really annoying and discouraging, because I felt like, "Why post more content for him to steal?" But at least he's gone now.

But you're right. I want to feel joy about writing, and not agony. I usually feel so happy when I post new stories. I post them at night in my time, and then I log out of tumblr and aff for the night. So that way the next day I can see all the reactions all at once lol It makes me so happy to pen everything and see how many people enjoyed the stories. That's what keeps me going with all this.

I'll try to take a break from writing anything for this week, and I'll go back to it next weakened. Maybe that will help me feel like less of a perfectionist about it. Thank you, anon. I appreciate you giving me the chance to get all this out.

I also want to say, I'm always happy when I see an anon tell me they've been following for a long time. I really do see each follower I get. And I remember all the really old ones. So I always wonder when the person sending stuff like that found my stories. I have so few stories posted, but I've been writing GFriend for a few years now lol

[greencharisard]

I promise I'm still working on that pokemon project, but it's a pokemon-trainer set of 6 of a 'mon that's very detailed so it's taking a lot of time, and I ended up artblocked.

The first pick was the first thing I did after almost a week of not drawing, what happened is roughly this:

- Was still working on-and-off on the pokemon pic set, and a new TLK one.

- Re-downloaded Steam for some reason I can't remember.

- Found out Spore is in there with all three packs  and on sale (base game+creepy & cute+ galactic adventures)

- caved and bought it cuz it's been years and I wanted the third pack and a convinient way to access it that wasn't a 10+ y/o disc/code I've used a million times on 5 or 6 PCs.

- Played it for 3 days or so, including a day were I completely messed up my PC by tampering with the core folders (went back to normal now THANK GOD) and played switch games for that day.

- Spent another half day after fixing my PC making an EA account to have a proper acc on Spore itself (had to go forum digging, it's a mess). Then played Spore more.

- In all of this watched one HK meme video and stated getting a bajillion of them in my YT recommendeds.

- Played a bunch of switch games for a day trying to stay away from Spore and start drawing (failed).

- Decided to start playing HK again at piss off o'clock in the evening. Still couldn't get past Hornet in Greenpath.

- Next morning finally beat boss 2 and open up a MASSIVE CHUNK OF THE GAME.

- spend the next 2 or so days playing that, including most of today.

So yeah, I fried my brain, in an attempt at grudging trough the art block I tried making an OC, then also tried making self-inserts because Hollow Knight has been my lifesource for the past few week or so, while Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss have been one of my latest obsessions for months, so it only felt fitting to morph my crittersona to fit in those universes.

- First I wanted to draw him as an imp, technically I already drew him as a demon/sinner, so a creature native to hell seemed like the next best AU choice. I didn't think much about what he would do, I just focused on the design part itself, and even then as you can see I had quite a few ideas I tried out on the side. One of the main reasons that made me think he'd fit as an imp is that in an earlier design he had that I never posted the tip of his tail was arrow shaped instead of being just a tuft like now (I should draw that impish form again sometime, he was basically like now but not a noodle). For the clothes I kinda used stuff I own irl as inspo, while thinking "what would fit the HH/HB style?" so I used a sleeveless hoodie, a black shirt (I have a lot of those, I just made one with a generic skull pattern here), and the only pair of jeans I own that I can actually stand to wear... escept by the time I remembered I wanted to draw those I had already drawn cargo pants on him out of habit, so I just colored them like jeans instead... I would probably love pants like these lmao. Oh and chains linked to the belt loops, I actually have those too, they're made form crafstore legit normal chains, not ones made to be actually worn like this. Listen I got them in high school I was an edgy basard and I didn't know where to get stuff like that so I just asked dad to get some like this instead ok. I have a pair of normal steel and a pair of black ones, here he's wearing the latter.

- The other idea was to turn him into a HK bug, more specifically, a mosskin tribe member from greenpath, cuz it's my favorite stage of the game with how pretty it is (listen the artwork of that game is goreous ok). He would probably be a bit of a loner/outcast, always hiding with his leaf/bush cape; the lighter fuzz is part of his body. I imagine he'd be a side character you have to go out of your way to meet and interact with, and depending on how you do so his outcome in the story may vary: one option is that he just stays like normal if you befriend him, the second is he succumbs to the infaction and he ends up being a secret boss an you have to kill him, a third however is maybe he does get infected, but if you do some sort of side quest before defeating him you can cure/save him still(?) Idk. His boss/infected form is partially inspired by aspids (because they're some of the most annoying enemies and I think that fits him/me well enough :') ), he probably attacks from a distance with a combo of spitting at you directly from the ceiling and throwing bubbles of infection around the stage by swinging his tail; maybe even releasing bursts of orange gas like some other enemies when you hit him (in later pahses). And yes, the name is a pun; I noticed the characters in this game either have descriptive names/adjectives, or normal names so I went with a combo of the two.

art and characters by me, do not copy, trace, repost, reuse ecc without my permission please.

[elsaclack]

This is really random but I saw a fic of yours about Amy being sick (I think the prompt was "Amy yells at the Vulture") but I can't find the full piece anywhere. Is it on AO3 anywhere? I love your writing and I completely understand if you just didn't want it out anymore. Just thought I'd ask! :)

i thought it was but i just went and searched my entire work history (including all 70+ chapters of those god-forsaken oneshot collections) and i couldn’t find it anywhere!! i guess i forgot to cross-post it back when i first wrote it, and it got lost when i deleted the original elsaclack. but i just scoured my docs list and found it buried in a random folder so i’ll repost it here and add it to the newest one-shot collection on ao3 :)

fun fact: this was written almost exactly 2 years ago!!! meaning that my writing skills have developed considerably since i actually wrote this. aka please don’t judge me if this seems like a sudden regression haha

also i wanna tag @phil-the-stone-art bc we actually developed the concept of The List together so she’s at least 35% responsible for this fic lmao

under the cut!

Amy Santiago does not get sick, thank you very much. She prides herself on her meticulous nightly hygienic rituals, on the cabinet full of multivitamins and minerals she takes on a daily basis in her bathroom, on the rigorous workout routine and diet she keeps herself on each week to maintain perfect health. She lives her life by a very tight plan (laid out in checklists and carefully organized in color-coded binders) that simply does not afford her any extra time to be sick.

Which is why, when she wakes up one Tuesday morning with a head stuffed full of cotton and violent shivers rolling down her spine, she gets up to start her usual routine in spite of the fact that she feels like she hasn’t actually slept in three weeks. Jake’s still snoring on the other side of the bed, another hour away from getting up to haphazardly dress in whatever flannel he can find lying on her bedroom floor that doesn’t smell too dirty, and he doesn’t even stir at the sound of her shuffling footsteps or running nose.

She drags herself into the bathroom, shuts the door, and flicks the lights on. Her reflection honestly makes her jump back an inch or two; she’s never seen her skin quite so pale, or bruises beneath her eyes quite so dark, or her lips quite so visibly dry and cracked. She reaches out to grip the edges of her sink and realizes that her arms and hands are trembling, and when she leans a bit more weight onto them she notes that her knees are quaking beneath her.

All in all, not a great start to the day.

She presses on, though, ignoring her running nose and congested head and general exhaustion. The shower helps a little, but not much.

When she shuts the water off, she hears Jake moving around in her bedroom, and her heart skips a beat. She hadn’t even realized she’d been in the shower that long. “Jake?” She calls as she wraps a towel around herself. Her voice is coarse and rough.

“Hey,” he knocks lightly at the door. “You okay?”

“Yeah - yeah, could you, um…there’s a binder out on the dining room table, should say something on the cover about that case I was working on last night -” she clears her throat and winces at the sharp pain that responds “- could you grab it and put it in my bag?”

“Sure,” he’s quiet for a moment and Amy’s left to gently rub at her temples with the heels of her hands. “Are you sure you’re okay? You sound awful.”

“I’m…I’m fine.”

But she’s not. Her knees are still quaking and vertigo has suddenly set in and she’s swaying, reaching out to grab the tiled edge of her shower. Her hand slips against the wet surface and she falls forward, shoulder banging painfully into the tiles.

The door swings open and Jake bursts inside in a panic. “Ames? Oh my God!” She suddenly realizes that she’d sunk down to a crouching position upon falling. He kneels next to her, gently pulling her away from the shower and letting her lean heavily into him. Her head falls against his shoulder, forehead pressed to the crook of his neck, and she hears him tut. “You’re burning up, babe,” he says quietly.

“I’m fine,” her voice fails half-way through and she ends up finishing in an unconvincing whisper.

“You’re not going to work today,” he tells her.

“But -”

“You almost fainted just now, Amy. You’re staying home sick today.”

She tries to argue but he pulls her up off the ground, keeping his touch firm and steady should gravity leave her again, and her voice completely dies on the way out of the bathroom. He lets her whisper weak arguments as he steers her gently toward the bed, humming and nodding along as he pulls fresh sweatpants up her legs and eases one of his academy shirts over her head. He pushes back on her good shoulder with just enough force that she lays down and pulls the comforter up to her chin. Her eyelids flutter closed when he presses a kiss against her forehead.

“I’ll tell Captain Holt where you are,” he says quietly. His hand finds hers against the mattress, fingers twisting through hers. “Get some sleep, okay?”

She’s asleep before he even gets out the front door.

A few hours later she’s roused by the sound of her phone vibrating on her bedside table. Sunlight streams in through her window and she squints, disoriented, fumbling around with semi-numb fingers for her phone.

From: Jake PeraltaHow u feelin? Miss u at work. Charles says he’ll bring u goat soup later lol

It hurts to even swallow, and Amy has to work really hard to keep from whining at the splitting headache igniting behind her right eye.

To: Jake PeraltaFeel like garbage. I haev a headache. Im afraid to get out of bed for meds. Miss u too

She waits five minutes for him to respond, and when her phone remains motionless, she closes her eyes and lets it fall against her chest.

Precisely twenty minutes after that, she hears her front door open. It closes again and she hears footsteps crossing her living room and it only just hits her that someone is in her apartment when those footsteps cross the threshold of her bedroom.

“Hey, hey, don’t get out of bed,” Jake says soothingly. Amy falls back against her pillow from her struggling half-sitting up position as Jake drops a plastic grocery bag at the foot of her bed and perches on the edge of the mattress beside her. He replaces her phone back on her bedside table with one hand and smooths his other palm over her forehead (and she only just then realizes that she’s sweating) and grimaces. “You’re still burning up,” he says, running his fingers through her hair just above her forehead.

“I’m fine,” she whispers, and the words slip out between two wet coughs.

He frowns and gently scratches his short nails against her scalp. “I brought Advil,” he says, casting an absent glance over his shoulder at the bag he brought in, “and stuff to make soup. It’s the recipe for Nana’s matzoh ball soup.” She raises her eyebrows beneath his palm and he grins down at her. “Don’t tell Charles, but it’s literally the best soup you’ll ever have and it’ll cure your dumb cold in twenty minutes or less.”

“Promise?”

He leans down and pecks a kiss against her forehead. “Promise,” he says when he leans away. “I’m gonna go make some and bring it in here and you’ll be back on your feet before the end of the day. Peralta Guarantee.” He winks.

She sinks down into the mattress as much as she can when he stands up, opening her eyes only when he comes back in with two Advil tablets and a glass half-full of water. Within minutes she begins hearing pots and pans knock around in her kitchen, and through her cloudy mind she registers that her stomach is rumbling in irritation.

“Alright,” he announces from her doorway. Her eyes split open and he’s carefully balancing the soup bowl on top of her dresser. “I’ll help you sit up, don’t move.”

He pulls her up with one hand and waits until she’s sitting up steadily before hurriedly stacking her pillows up behind her. She breathes a sigh of relief when she leans back, not realizing just how much of a strain sitting up is until that moment. He hurries back to where the soup is still steaming and carefully brings it over to her, the tip of his tongue appearing at the corner of his mouth for how hard he has to concentrate on not spilling any.

He nestles it in her lap, and she smiles, because he looks so proud of himself and he’s really so adorable.

Jake stays with her until she finishes the whole bowl and then he takes her dishes from her and quickly rinses them out in her sink.

“I’ll be back after work to check on you and to finish cleaning that, okay?” He calls from her doorway.

She hums hoarsely and fades out of consciousness.

An hour later, Amy wakes up feeling half-human. Her head and throat still hurt and she still can’t breathe out of her nose, but her brain doesn’t feel quite so fried and her limbs don’t feel quite so weak anymore.

Jake was right - the soup really did help.

Not as much as Nyquil would, but…still.

She kicks the comforter off and moves to sit up, and her phone suddenly falls into her lap from her chest. She pauses, staring at it, trying to remember when it ended up back there. She has no new calls or texts, but when she unlocks the screen, there’s a new note pulled up.

Things i want t odo to jake in bed

Amy feels flames engulf her face that have absolutely nothing to do with her fever. The list has twelve items on it, each one raunchier and riddled with more spelling errors than the last, and by the time she gets to the end of the note she’s covering her face in embarrassment. She’s got just the vaguest memory of typing it (and it’s really more of a dream of a memory than anything else), but none of it will solidify into more than just faint snapshots in her head.

But the more she rereads it, the more heat begins building in her body - heat from the mental images, heat from the germs ravaging her body, heat from the thick comforter still draped over her legs.

She has got to go get some Nyquil.

Santiago Determination blazes through her as she drags herself out of bed, shoulders set and jaw clenched as she pulls one of Jake’s hoodies over her frame and slides her feet into her rarely-worn flip-flops. Part of her feels guilty, knowing that if Jake was the one home sick she’d insist on him texting her anything he needs so that he would stay in bed and recover faster, but she brushes it off as she grabs her purse.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?

She blames her scattered brain on the matzoh ball soup later. She blames her compromised detective skills and her lack of attention to detail and her general disorientation on the soup. Because under normal circumstances, no matter how sick she truly is, she would definitely have noticed the Vulture browsing the low aisles of the bodega around the corner from her house immediately upon walking through the front doors.

But as it is, she doesn’t, which means that he gets a visual on her before she’s even aware of being spotted.

She’s so busy perusing the medicine section toward the back that she doesn’t notice him stalking around the shelves, doesn’t feel him peeking around the Doctor Scholl’s cardboard display, doesn’t hear him mutter at a mother and daughter to get out of his way as he follows her ambling walk down the aisle. She isn’t aware of the danger until he’s basically on top of her.

“Yo, Santiago,” he says, his voice low and curdling. She winces and turns slowly, and he’s leaned against the shelves to her left, leering down at her. A handcart hangs between them; it’s full of at least thirty boxes of condoms, she realizes when she glances down. Her stomach shifts unpleasantly. “You look homeless.”

“Get out of the way,” she whispers hoarsely.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Peralta got you screaming so hard every night you lost your voice?”

Heat bursts through her cheeks and she glances back, meeting the scandalized look on that same mother’s face with an apologetic grimace. “Shut up.” She snaps as fiercely as she can.

He smirks, because her voice only comes in bursts. “Damn, you really let yourself go, didn’t you?” His eyes rove her body and she’s suddenly very keenly aware of the fact that she’s not wearing any underwear beneath her sweatpants. She can feel her face blossoming.

“Whatever.” She turns away quickly and digs her phone out of her purse, cursing when she hears the Vulture following her down the aisle. She dials Jake’s number quickly, and he answers after just two rings.

“Hey, is everything oka-”

“I need you go come to the bodega by my apartment,” she whispers. She can feel her hand trembling again and she curses whatever part of her thought it would be a good idea to do this on her own.

“Wait, what? Why are you -”

“I thought I could walk over here and get what I needed without you, but -” she winces at the sound of the Vulture’s laugh, loud and obnoxious behind her. “But I ran into someone and I need you to come save me.”

“Santiago, look - they do make extra-small condoms! Should I put a whole box in for you and Peralta or is that too many?”

She hears a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “Is that the Vulture?” He asks quietly.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Do not faint.”

“I’m doing my best, but please hurry.”

Amy starts pacing up and down the aisles, doing her best to block the Vulture out. He trails along behind her, alternating between making lewd sexual innuendos about random items on the shelves they pass (“Everything’s a sex toy if you try hard enough,” while pointing out a plastic broom) and insulting her general appearance (“Y’know, you were much sexier before Peralta dragged you down to his level of ugliness. Just make sure your ass doesn’t get as fat as his”). It’s around the time they make it back to the medicine aisle that he turns to making fun of Jake himself.

“I still can’t believe you’re with that loser,” he laughs as Amy finally swipes a bottle of Nyquil off a lower shelf. She stands up slowly, gripping the shelves above her firmly, as a wave of vertigo hits her once again. “You’re hot as shit usually - not right now, obviously - I bet you could sleep with any guy you want.”

She clenches her jaw and tries to calculate how long it’s been since she hung up with Jake.

“I bet the sex is really boring, too,” the Vulture continues. “I bet it’s all missionary and full of, like, eye-contact and shit. I bet he tells you he loves you because you don’t make fun of his tiny weiner.”

“Okay, y’know what?” She snaps, and suddenly her voice is half back. “First of all, there’s nothing wrong with missionary if you do it right. Secondly, you’re full of crap if you really think eye-contact is boring. Third, you’re right, he does tell me he loves me, because he actually loves me, you sexist pig. And fourth, he’s not tiny.”

“Whatever. He’s a joke, just like you, and I bet the sex sucks and you’re both so bad at it that you can’t even tell that it sucks.”

She knows people are staring, but her brain just isn’t functioning right. She yanks her phone out of her purse and quickly scrolls over to her list. “Jake’s the best sex I’ve ever had, okay? In fact, he’s so good that I made a list!” She shoves her phone in his face and scrolls quickly, grinning in manic triumph at the dumbfounded look on his face. “I made a list of all the things I want to do with him because he’s so unbelievably good. You wish you were as good as him.”

He is, for once, speechless. Amy locks her phone and steps back, smug grin on her face. The Vulture’s eyes flicker to something over her shoulder and she sees the spark of recognition in his face; when she turns, she feels her stomach drop down to her toes.

Jake’s standing at the end of the aisle, looking just as dumbstruck as the Vulture. She gasps, and the sound comes out like a ragged squeak. His mouth is hanging open but his brows draw together at the sound.

“Ja- Jake,” she says hoarsely.

This seems to snap him out of his stupor. His mouth snaps closed and he immediately begins striding down the aisle toward her and there’s something new in his eyes - smug and barely-contained glee, maybe - when he throws his arm around her shoulders. “Hi, honey,” he says, laying a kiss against her temple and pulling the bottle of Nyquil from her grasp. “Let’s get you back in bed.”

“Yeah, well, you’re both a couple of losers!” The Vulture shouts after them. Jake twists around and flashes his middle finger at him and grins into Amy’s hair at the sound of his splutters. “I’m buying thirty-five boxes of condoms!”

“You’re amazing.” Jake murmurs once they’re outside of the store. “But next time, just call me instead of trying to go get stuff on your own. I really don’t mind doing it for you. That’s what boyfriends are for.”

She sinks into the passenger’s seat of his car and sighs in relief; her body is already aching from the exertion of just a lap around the bodega. She feels Jake slide in on the driver’s side, feels the engine roar to life beneath her and the air conditioner tickle across her face. The car lurches a little when he puts it in drive and then his free hand finds hers and interlaces their fingers.

“I’m sorry about…that.” She whispers once he’s pulled away from the curb.

“It’s fine, but I really mean it about calling me next time, okay? ‘Specially since you almost fainted this morning and everything, like, what would’ve happened if you’d fallen and hit your head and they took you to the hospital? They would’ve called Manny and it would’ve taken him three hours to get here and -”

“Wait, no, they’d call you,” she interrupts. “Manny’s not my emergency contact anymore. You are.”

He turns his head toward her and stares.

“I changed it two years ago, Peralta. Way before we started dating. I just figured, y’know, since you’re my partner and everything, you’d be able to get there the fastest. And, besides, that’s not even what I was talking about. I meant…the stuff I said to the Vulture. The list.”

“Oh,” he shrugs. “I don’t really care. The guy’s an ass. I could hear him yelling all the way from the front doors. Besides, you weren’t lying.”

He squeezes her hand a few times in quick succession and she snorts. “So you’re…not mad? About any of it?”

“I’m more curious than anything else. Do I get to look at the list, too? Or is that just between you and the Vulture?”

“I can’t stand you.”

She does let him see it once they’re back to her place. He reads each item carefully three times over without ever saying a word, and then stands and grabs his laptop and a notepad off of her dining room table. When she asks what he’s doing, he responds with a muttered “research” and then promptly tells her to finish her soup.

The night passes in a haze that has nothing to do with the cold or the soup or the medicine, and the next morning she wakes to the sounds of Jake’s congested voice explaining through chest-rumbling coughs that neither he nor Amy would be making it into work that day.