#hopefully I can return to my WIPs soon

[galaxymagitech]

Skyglow

Summary: Jason wakes up in a coffin for the second time, the feeling of satin brushing against his fingers and the thick scent of dirt filling his nostrils. He should probably start digging. But he doesn't.

Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, possibly something that counts as a suicide attempt (not sure), a character claws at their skin.

It’s a dark, clear night in Gotham, and if you squint hard enough, you can almost see the stars.

Jason sits at the edge of the roof, staring into the sky and pretending like he’s finding meaning there. There’s the sound of soft footsteps behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, Jason sees Nightwing hang his legs off the roof’s edge a few feet away.

“When I was little,” Jason says, “I used to think they made the stars up.”

Dick hums.

“Bruce took me on a business trip in Metropolis, one day. We wanted to be there before sundown, but we ended up getting delayed. Don’t remember why. And so we were driving on the interstate and I looked up from my book and just—there were stars. Everywhere. And I was just like, oh, I guess stars aren’t just a metaphor. Can you believe that? I was twelve when I learned that stars were real.”

Dick shifts a little. “I never thought of that.”

“What, that a stupid little kid wouldn’t believe in stars?”

“That some people in Gotham haven’t ever seen a star. That’s just…” They sit in silence, for a bit. “Why are we here?” Dick asks, eventually.

Jason shrugs. “I dunno why you followed me.” That’s not entirely true. He’d be willing to bet that Tim snitched. But he doesn’t know why Tim decided his concerns were important enough to bother Nightwing about. Or why Dick decided to actually be concerned.

Dick sighs. “You know what I’m asking. Why are you here?”

Jason doesn’t know. He’s been hanging out on a lot of rooftops, lately. Maybe if he sits on enough ledges, he’ll decide if it’s actually worth it to jump, instead of just slowly sliding off. 

Unlike the stars, that’s a metaphor; Jason wouldn’t jump. A fall isn’t clean enough. Too much of a chance that the universe will fuck him over again. No, if he dies, he wants to stay dead.

“I don’t know what brought me back,” Jason says, well aware that Dick meant here on the rooftop, not here as in alive. “But dead screw-ups don’t come back to life. That’s for…Superman. The forces of evil. Hell, I’d buy it if Batman came back. But me? No fucking way was I supposed to get a second shot.”

“You did, Jason,” Dick says. “You’re alive. I don’t care if we don’t know how, you’re alive.”

But Jason just plows right past. “I figured, if I didn’t deserve a second shot, then I must’ve been brought back for a reason. ‘cause there was something I needed to do.” He frowns. “Do you know the first words I heard once I came back to myself?” Dick shakes his head. “Yeah, why would you? I didn’t say. But. Talia said, ‘you remain unavenged.’ That’s what she told me.”

“Jason—”

 “So I figured it had to be revenge, right? Only, I haven’t been able to kill the Joker. And then I figured, maybe I needed to prove Batman wrong. But he’s still doing the same thing he always did, letting the Joker live, not fixing anything. And then I figured, it was up to me, and my job was to fix things. But I’m not killing right now, I’m following the rules, and I’m a fucking joke, Dick. Everyone knows it. So there isn’t really a point to me after all.”

“Don’t say that.”

Jason shrugs. “It’s true. There isn’t. It would’ve been better if I hadn’t crawled my way out of that grave.”

---

Jason wakes up gasping for air and rolls over, fumbling for the switch of the lamp beside his bed. Instead, his fingers brush against cushioned satin.

Groggily, he opens his eyes, only to see complete darkness. No light filters through the curtains or leaks underneath the door. It’s unnatural. It’s wrong. He reaches up an arm, only to hit the ceiling a couple inches above his face. That’s when the panic sets in.

Jason loses himself to the shocks of fear pulsing through his system, pumped by his pounding heart. For a long time, he can’t think at all. He can only drown in the darkness and terror. When he regains awareness, his breaths are shallow and he can feel strips of satin beneath his fingers, torn from the roof of—

What is the last thing you remember? Jason blinks, but his memories swim. He doesn’t know. There are glimpses, lines thrown out into the water, but as soon as he reaches for them, they’re gone. He leans over Tim’s shoulder in the Batcave, examining a color-coded spreadsheet. He stands in front of Bruce, helmet on, as they brief on top of a rooftop. He sits at the kitchen table of Safehouse 4, the oldest of the safehouses he hasn’t burnt yet, with Around the World in 80 Days propped open as he picks at an omelet. All of the memories feel old. None of them explain where he is now.

His neck is itching, Jason realizes. He reaches up instinctively to loosen his tie. That’s when he realizes that he is, in fact, wearing a tie. These days, Jason only wears one of those for infiltration. Was he on an infiltration mission? He brushes a hand against his face. There doesn’t seem to be any make-up there, not even concealer for his scars.

The realization comes to him dully, this time.

He’s in a suit, surrounded by satin, in a small, enclosed space, and it’s dark. Jason’s been here before.

---

Jason stands across from Bruce, no, Batman. At the man’s side is Robin, arms slightly raised and fists tightly clenched. It’s milliseconds away from a defensive position. Jason should probably feel bad about that, but he doesn’t.

When he speaks, he aims to hurt. “You have no idea what it was like,” Jason says. “I crawled my way out of my own grave.”

This should not be news to anyone, but Bruce still flinches.

Jason grins, all teeth. “I remember it, sometimes. It took hours. I was screaming the whole time. I tore off all my fingernails, you know. Even when I was Robin, the most any torturer got to was four. But I lost ten, and I kept digging.” The Replacement looks like he’s going to be sick. Good. “Up and up and up. I knew I wasn’t gonna make it, you see. You can’t force your way out of your own grave. Mythbusters did an episode on it, yeah? So I had to scoop the dirt away, but I knew I wasn’t gonna have enough air for that. But I kept digging, because I thought—I thought maybe someone would find me, and if I made it just a little bit easier for them—”

“I’m sorry,” Batman says roughly. “Jason, I’m so sorr—"

Jason ignores him. It feels good to ignore an apology from Batman, instead of being grateful for whatever scraps of contrition the man can manage. “I don’t know how I did it. It should’ve been impossible. I think maybe I suffocated, and just came back to life and kept digging again, and suffocated again, and—”

“Stop,” Batman orders.

“Things are fuzzier, after I made it out. But I remember I was cold. So, so cold. It was raining. And I felt like I was as cold as a corpse, like life hadn’t properly warmed me up yet. And I didn’t know where I was going. I couldn’t walk, so I just crawled. I just crawled, Bruce, and then I stood up, and then I walked. A few hours before, I was being beaten to death with a crowbar. I thought someone would find me then. No one did. And I was still stupid enough to think someone would find me that second time.”

Robin’s right hand drifts toward Batman, like he’s going to try to cling to his mentor’s cape, before he clearly thinks better of it and withdraws his hand as if burnt. Batman growls. He doesn’t sound entirely human.

“You know nothing, Bruce,” Jason spits. “Nothing.”

---

Jason is in a coffin. He can smell the dirt around him, and he’s too lucid for that to be entirely an olfactory hallucination. He’s in a coffin, and he’s buried underground.

Although Jason wouldn’t put it past certain Rogues and crime families to bury someone alive, he’s in a suit and he isn’t wearing anything to disguise his identity. He has to face the facts.

Jason can feel phantom pains in his fingers, his lungs burning for oxygen before he’s even begun to truly run out of air.

Jason should probably start digging. But he doesn’t.

It’s quiet, in this coffin, just the sounds of his own ragged breaths. Jason knows that the first time around, he screamed. And when he couldn’t scream anymore, he cried, and when he couldn’t cry, he pleaded in hoarse whispers for someone, anyone, Bruce, Dick, Dad, please, please—

Jason realizes he isn’t breathing anymore and forces himself to inhale, wheezing like a dying man. Hah. He already died. At least twice. Probably—probably more. If he came back this time, how many times in the past have his “brushes with death” in fact taken him past its threshold?

But in the past, he seized his chance at life with both hands. This time…this time…

The universe brought him back for a reason. But it isn’t the Joker, and it isn’t Batman, and it isn’t Gotham. And Jason—Jason had been glad to fulfill it, whatever it was. He’d taken his second chance and used it, used himself as kindling to start whatever fire the universe desired. But he’s fucking tired of being burnt. Speaking of burning—

No one told Jason to write a will. He knows Dick has one and Bruce, of course, has one. Alfred has one, Barbara has one, even Cassandra Cain has one, although she has little to her name. Jason knows it’s standard vigilante/superhero procedure to have your affairs in order. But no one could work up the willpower—heh, willpower—to approach Jason and ask that he prepare for a second death.

Jason wrote a will anyway. Legally, he doesn’t exist. He has a small amount of money in various fake identities, but most of his funds aren’t exactly something he can distribute in a will. But he doesn’t much care what happens to them after his death. No, he wrote the will after one too many nightmares about his resurrection. That night, he picked up a pen and scribbled feverishly in his notebook that he wanted to be cremated. And Jason woke up in the morning and looked at it and thought, yeah, that’s fair. So he made it about as official as it could get.

Right now, it’s really fucking clear that he hasn’t been cremated.

Jason should start digging. But he doesn’t.

Death was supposed to mean that he was done. Cremation was supposed to ensure that. Jason just wants to be done. He thinks he deserves that much, at least. 

Jason thinks, what if I just lay here? Last time, he took his chance to live. What good did that do him? He didn’t get revenge, he didn’t get proof that Bruce cared, hell, he didn’t even properly protect Crime Alley. His dad always told Jason that he had to grow up to be something, “not like your old man.” But one time when he was drunk, Willis looked straight at Jason and said, “you’re never gonna amount to anything” and Jason had never figured out if his father had been talking to Jason or himself. Jason had thought, with Robin, that he mattered. But he was replaced as easy as can be. He never mattered. He squandered his first life, and he failed at his second, and really, Jason thinks, what’s the point of a third?

Jason wonders what will happen if he just stays here. Good corpses stay still. Good corpses don’t dig their way out of graves. Jason’s been dead twice now. He should be a pro at being a corpse.

It’s always been hard to do nothing. The same impulse that urged Jason to take his tire iron to the Batmobile makes his hands twitch to start digging. He’s wasting valuable time. Jason’s always been a do-er, and now he needs to not do anything. He’s always been a survivor, and now he has to lay down and die.

Jason should really start digging. But he doesn’t.

He is done being a zombie, a revenant, a walking memorial. He shouldn’t have come back that first time. The universe put things right and now Jason has to prevent her from having second thoughts.

---

“What the hell was that?” The Replacement shouts, one hand tight around his bo staff and the other clenched into a fist.

“I don’t answer to you,” Jason sneers. He folds his arms across his chest. Fuck it. This is a waste of time. He leans down to snap a ziptie over wrists of one of the less injured traffickers. The sooner he cleans up, the sooner he can get out of this warehouse.

“This is my route, so according to protocol, you do,” Tim insists.

“Yeah, I don’t follow protocol.” Jason gestures at the criminals bleeding all over the warehouse floor. None of them are dead. Probably.

“Clearly, or else you wouldn’t have engaged!”

“I made an informed decision.”

“No, you didn’t. You entered the middle of a freaking firefight, Hood, without your helmet, and you didn’t know you had backup.”

“It was fine.”

“Because I was there! Which you didn’t know, because you refuse to be on our comms.”

“I don’t need you.”

“Hood, do you not see how insane what you just did was? Or do you just not care?”

Jason bristles. “What, concerned about the poor widdle traffickers?”

Tim throws his hands into the air, like Jason’s the one being difficult. “That’s not what I’m talking about! I don’t care about them!”

Jason feels his lips twitch into a smirk, and before he knows it, he’s drawn a gun from its holster and trained it on the goon at his feet. His smirk widens into a grin at Tim’s flinch. “Oh, really? Guess I’ll just take out some trash then.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Tim says, voice carefully measured. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Well, that’s one way to ensure that Tim never gets to his actual point. Jason flicks the safety off. The click echoes through the warehouse.

“Stop it,” the kid tries to order. Jason’s finger twitches on the trigger. “Please, Hood. Don’t do this.”

Jason shrugs and clicks the safety on, as if it doesn’t physically pain him to leave this scum alive. He knew he wasn’t going to kill anyone the second he dropped down from the rafters, and unlike what Batman thinks, he has self-control.

The Replacement tries to hide his relief, but he does a piss-poor job of it. “That was reckless,” Tim says. “Really, really reckless, and you know it.”

Jason turns around without a word. He doesn’t have to deal with this shit.

“I’ll have to tell B.”

Jason really doesn’t need a lecture from Bruce, but he can just avoid the cave until Bruce gets distracted by something equally reckless Tim does. Or, well, probably not equally reckless—Jason’s well-aware that what he did is pretty close to the edge of the ‘reckless’ spectrum, straddling the line between ‘reckless’ and, well, ‘suicidal.’ But equally stupid, at least. The Replacement seems like a dumb kid.

“I’ll tell Nightwing,” Tim tries desperately, and that makes Jason spin around. Because shit, Nightwing would hunt him down and not be satisfied just giving a lecture. He’d want to talk about feelings.

“Fine,” Jason huffs. “What do you want? A safehouse? Files? Me off this case?”

“I want you to stay alive, because believe it or not, I’d like Batman to not have another mental breakdown.”

Yeah, right. Like that would happen. Batman would still have his precious display case, and he cares far more about the dead kid than the Red Hood.

“Bruce can’t lose his son again,” Tim says, and Jason just—he can’t do this. His vision whites out. He has to leave. So he leaves.

When Jason finally registers the thuds of his boots, he’s three long blocks away from the warehouse. Whatever. The Replacement’s not going to go crying to Nightwing about Hood being a little reckless. If anything, he’ll be pleased.

---

Jason swallows. If he’s going to die, he might as well use up his air faster. Less time to wait. “It is a truth universally acknowledged…”

He recites the first chapter of Pride and Prejudice. Darkness by Lord Byron. Sings You Are My Sunshine five times. Waiting to die is a slow, slow thing, and every second, his entire body is screaming dig, save yourself, survive!

There’s a sound above him, strange thumping. Maybe, Jason thinks, it’s raining. That would be…not ironic, but there’s a strange sort of circle to it, isn’t there? He was born on a rainy day, and Catherine arrived at the hospital soaked. He was reborn in the rain. If he had dug up, he would have been born yet again in the rain. The opposite of a phoenix.

Bruce should have cremated him. Jason doesn’t even know that he won’t just suffocate and then wake up again, but this time with no air. An endless loop of suffocation. The thought sends a thrill of terror through Jason. He regrets not digging.

But if he wakes up again, Jason supposes, then he’ll make his way out. It’ll hurt, but he can take his time. And then after, after, he’ll find a fire. And then he won’t have to remember how much it hurt.

The thought should be comforting, but Jason just feels terrified, and afraid, and alone. He wonders where they buried him this time. Last time, he’d been next to Sheila. But he’d screamed at Bruce for it, so maybe, maybe this time it’s somewhere else. Next to his mom, his real mom, even. Not that Bruce seemed to particularly care about Jason’s wishes, when he was actually real and not just a memorial caged within rose-tinted glass. After all, he’d asked to be cremated.

Jason closes his eyes. Everything feels detached, out of phase. He isn’t sure if it’s oxygen deprivation setting in or a side-effect of his resurrection, or just the strangeness of the scenario. He’s tired. That could be any one of the three as well.

How did I die? Jason wonders. He strains for his memories. The taste of rocky road ice cream from his favorite ice cream shop. Tim laughing. Flashes of blinding light. None of it is an answer. None of it explains what happened.

The thuds are getting louder. Jason wonders if it’s hail. Last he remembers, it was June. If it’s winter now, he supposes six months have passed. Maybe more. Maybe he’s been dead for years.

“I’m tired,” Jason whispers. “I’m so tired.” He blinks. His vision tilts. Definitely oxygen deprivation.

It’s almost over.

And then Jason hears—Jason hears voices and there’s a light, but it’s dim, and there are shadows falling on him. Jason lies there. He wonders if this is what he saw right before he died the second time. The first time, he just saw flames, seared across his eyelids.

“Jason,” someone says. They sound horrified.

That’s his name. Jason doesn’t respond. What’s the point?

“Hold on.”

This dream doesn’t make much sense. Jason hopes it’ll be over soon.

Something grasps his arms and pulls. No. No, Jason has to stay. Corpses have to stay in their graves. If he doesn’t stay, then he’ll have to come back, and he’ll just ruin it again. He has to stay. “No,” Jason can hear himself babbling. “No, let me go, let me—no. I have to. I have to go back.”

“Jason, calm down.”

“No!” Jason shouts, desperately. He throws out a kick and dives forwards, eyes closed. Strong arms catch him around the waist and hold him close, pulling him against someone’s chest. “No, I have to go back! Please!”

“Jason, open your eyes!”

Jason’s eyes snap open and he sees—

Batman. Nightwing. Robin. It’s all wrong.

Jason doubles over. “Please,” he sobs. “I have to go back. You need to let me go back.”

“You’re okay, Jason,” Batman says in his ear, but his voice is all Bruce. “You’re alive.”

“Yeah, that’s the fucking problem.” Dick startles. Jason must’ve said that out loud. “Please,” he whispers.

The first time he dug himself out of his own grave, Jason’s voice was gone by the time he made it to the surface. This time, someone else dug him out, but no one will listen when he speaks.

Jason slumps in Bruce’s hold, and they just…stand there. Eventually, Bruce slowly sets Jason on the ground and kneels down in front of him. 

Jason’s heartbeat pounds in his ear. It’s wrong. His heart shouldn’t be beating. It’s wrongwrongwrongwrong. Desperately, Jason claws at his wrists, trying to dig the heartbeat out. It has to go away. Someone tugs at his hand and Jason snatches it away and cradles his hand against his chest. His pulse continues to tear him apart.

“Jason,” Bruce says. “Do you know where you are right now?”

“A fucking graveyard, right?” Jason says. His eyes burn. He refuses to wipe at them. He can feel the hard, rocky dirt beneath him. He wants to be numb again. He shouldn’t be here. He should be underground.

There’s a sharp silence. “We’re not in a graveyard, Little Wing,” Dick says, eventually.

Jason looks around slowly. His vision feels disconnected, and it takes several moments for each image to register. But there are no gravestones around, just trees, trees and sky. It’s dark out. He thinks, when he looks up, he can almost see the stars. He doesn’t understand. “Then why am I in a suit?”

“Do you remember the gala?” Tim asks, so quietly that Jason almost doesn’t hear him. In fact, it sounds more like “…oo…ber…gala?” with the rest being lost underneath the Replacement’s breath, but Jason figures that’s what he’s saying. Jason shakes his head. 

Dick takes a step closer. “The paparazzi saw us out in Gotham four days ago. With you. You…there was a gala tonight. Bruce convinced you to go with us. And then you went missing. We thought you walked out early. But then…well, Tim was working on a case, and…well…”

“A weird cult thought you were a zombie,” Tim says, when it becomes clear that Dick’s not going to explain anything properly. “So they knocked you out, did a ritual, and re-buried you.”

This is real, Jason thinks suddenly, and then he’s doubled over, retching. Nothing comes out except spit. He can feel grass beneath his hands. When he curls his fingers, he scrapes up dirt. “This is real,” Jason says aloud. “This is real. This is real.”

“This is real,” Dick confirms. Jason retches again.

This is real. Jason doesn’t know what to say.

Tim sighs. “We need to take you to the police.”

Bruce shakes his head. “We need to talk.” His voice is dark. Jason shudders.

“Not like this, Bruce,” Dick says. “Not with the cowl on. Jason, are you good to deal with questions right now?”

“I don’t remember much.” Jason tugs at his tie in the stifling heat. Across the room, Tim is talking to a group of teenage boys and making large, animated gestures. Jason stumbles, catching himself on a nearby table.

“That’s fine, Jay,” Dick says. “We recovered security footage and we have confessions. We’ll be there in civies as soon as we can, okay?”

Jason shrugs. Someone helps him to his feet.

---

On the rooftop, Dick places a hand over Jason’s. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” Jason says quietly. “I shouldn’t have come back.”

“You’re wrong,” Dick says. He sounds so sure. But that’s the first Robin. He’s sure about everything. Jason could never measure up.

“Jason Todd was better off without me insulting his memory.”

“Who cares about a memory?” Dick scoffs. “You’re alive.”

“Tell that to Bruce.”

“Tell that to yourself,” Dick says. “You’re alive, Jason. You’re alive. Don’t you see how amazing that is? All of us—me, Bruce, Tim, Alfred—we’re so happy that you’re alive.”

“I don’t believe you,” Jason says. He believes that Dick believes it. He believes that Dick has to believe it, that Dick won’t admit to himself that he wishes Jason was still dead. Dick will always ignore his darker thoughts. But Jason knows. Jason knows Dick would be happier if Jason never came back. And Bruce? The man doesn’t even think that Jason counts as Jason anymore. Alfred no doubt can see that something in Jason is deeply, deeply wrong—sociopathic tendencies, Talia had theorized, although Jason suspects he’s far beyond tendencies. And Tim has no reason to wish his murderous predecessor well, not after the Tower. So, no, Jason doesn’t believe Dick.

“You will,” Dick says. “I promise.”

Jason stares into the sky. He thinks maybe, just maybe, he can see a star.

[musingsbycaitlin]

HEY! Writeblr Intro!!!

Hi, my name is Caitlin, and I’m a third year Creative Writing student in rainy England. I’ve got a couple WIPs but none are set in stone so you’ll have to bear with me for a while haha.

- I’m here for a good time so my writing is solely based on my mood and vibe at the time, please do not expect consistency.

- I write short stories mainly but am trying to branch out into novels so you’ll hopefully be seeing a bit more of that in the future.

- I am a university student with anxiety and decision fatigue so things change drastically around here every so often but I promise if I go quiet I will come back.

Let’s get into the WIPs (these will be constantly edited and changing) and feel free to ask me any questions about any of them, even ones that might have been removed from this list if you’re interested.

IF I GIVE UP, SO MUST YOU - a Wild West literary fiction novel

STATUS: currently drafting (on hiatus)

GENRE: literary fiction, sapphic romance(?)

CURRENT WORD COUNT: 3,995

Okay, so a bit of info about this project. I started writing it a bit ago purely because I wanted to write a Wild West novel and then it turned sapphic and then it became literary. It follows an unnamed narrator as she navigates life outside of her small town after she is targeted by bandits in a raid. A coming of age novel that explores what it means to figure things out for yourself whilst battling with false truths engrained into your from a young age.

NIGHT SWIMMING (working title) - a short story collection

STATUS: literally haven’t even started :/

GENRE: literary, horror, surrealist

This collection is my version of NaNoWriMo this year because there is no way I can feasibly write a novel in a month where I also have to write my dissertation first draft and three other short stories like no. I’m hoping to do an update on my page whenever a story is complete, so I will also update this section to include the names of all the stories going in. Stay posted is all I’m saying ;). All I know is I want it to explore the everyday in a surrealist way (as most of my stories do).

DAMAGED GOODS - a dystopian sci-fi novel

STATUS: currently drafting (on hiatus)

GENRE: dystopian, sci-if, speculative

CURRENT WORD COUNT: 2,323

So, I haven’t done an intro post to this yet simply because I had to put it to one side once university started again. A brief summary is this: Auden, an average guy, husband, and father, has gotten into a dreadful car accident. In this society, however, surgery is replaced with metal transplantation. Due to Auden’s extensive injuries, he now must live in suburbia with a completely metal head, arm, and leg.

I’m super happy with this concept and the initial 2,000 words I’ve got I’m pretty okay with. The main issue is where to take it and if it will be a full novel or more of a novella.

EAT YOUR YOUNG - a gothic horror novella

STATUS: currently drafting

GENRE: gothic horror

CURRENT WORD COUNT: 4,950

I haven’t done an intro for this project because I honestly wasn’t sure I’d return to it but the spooky season is upon us and I really want to get back into writing this. Brief Summary: Mr Gerard is an accountant hired by the Heron Manor estate to deal with the affairs of the three sisters residing there after a mysterious death of the man of the house.

This is going to me my main personal priority other than my short stories for now and I’ll try to get an intro out soon.

Okay, so that’s all for me folks. Like I said, any questions please feel free to send me an ask or a message, don’t be a stranger. As a writer I always wanna talk about my projects, OCs, and anything else writing craft related!

I’m tagging some mutuals, if you wish to be tagged or removed :( - let me know x

@annlillyjose @dallonwrites @aesa @winterandwords @iannicellis @isherwoodj

[f1-stuff]

kid fic 👀

Thank you for your patience, anon! Posted below is the 'prologue' of the fic. My google doc for this one is 13k words and counting, so look out for a part one on ao3 (hopefully) really soon! -> WIP game

It’s a Saturday in Melbourne when Carlos is called to the track early for a meeting with his manager and the team’s legal department.

He doesn’t think much of it - maybe it’s about some merchandising opportunity, or a special race suit for Spain. Or maybe he said some comment in an interview yesterday that he shouldn’t have, though he can’t think of what that would’ve been off the top of his head. And anyway, if that were the case, then his press officer would be there. He supposes he might be, actually.

Carlos takes his time, stopping for his usual espresso and saying good morning to any team personnel who’ve arrived as early as he has. He’s feeling optimistic - the car felt good in free practice yesterday, so he’s hopeful they can have a good weekend.

When he finally makes it to the conference room, the head of the legal department’s there, along with his cousin and manager, Caco. What makes Carlos stop in his tracks though is the television screen at the end of the room. It’s displaying a zoom call containing what can only be a room full of Ferrari legal aides and lawyers, all sitting and facing the camera with silent, somber expressions.

His eyes meet Caco’s, who’s already looking at him with an apprehensive arch to his brow, like he thinks Carlos knows the reason for this meeting. In other words, his cousin doesn’t know the reason for this meeting.

A tense, nervous energy permeates the room.

“Carlos. Take a seat,” the chief legal officer, Sabina, says, all business.

Carlos takes a seat beside Caco with trepidation, clearing his throat of sudden nerves. “What is this about?”

“Lucía Ibarra. Does this name sound familiar?”

His jerk reaction is to say ‘no.’ But he pauses, the name scratching something at the back of his memory. Lucy...

“Uh...maybe. Yes, I think so,” he amends. He knew a ‘Lucy,’ short for Lucía, years ago, and he knew her last name once upon a time, too. But it’s been a while. That, though...it sounds like it could be right. “What about her?”

“Do you know this woman?”

“I did- I mean...years ago-”

“Lucía Ibarra, twenty-six years old, living in France and working as a journalist for a small, local publication.”

France?

When he’d met her, she was living in Madrid with dreams of becoming a writer, studying toward a degree in university. She’d had a double-focus in French and journalism, so he supposes it makes sense if that’s where she’d ended up. 

Carlos feels a tickle of pride for her, but it’s buried underneath his bewilderment, as Sabina continues to list off details of a girl’s life that Carlos hasn’t seen or heard from in four or so years. A girl who Carlos had thought he would just continue to wonder about from time-to-time, who’d changed her number after...whatever they were together, so that even if Carlos had wanted to call he couldn’t.

“Carlos.”

“Yes. Sorry.”

“So you did in fact know this woman? That certainly complicates things, but no matter what, we have a plan in place.”

“A...plan-?”

“We’ve contacted your lawyer, who will join our call soon, I expect.”

Carlos meets eyes with Caco, who feels his gaze and returns it with equal dread.

“What...” He clears his throat. “What has happened to her?”

“There’s been an accident,” Sabina says, and his heart sinks. An accident? But it still doesn’t make any sense. What does this have to do with him? “We don’t have all the details. But we’re organizing a flight for you to France-”

“A flight? What- when?”

“Right after the race.”

“But- this is impossible,” Carlos insists, almost feeling like laughing, but sensing it’s the wrong time. He’s just so, completely lost by everything going on. “I cannot fly to France after the race. Japan is in two weeks.”

His race preparation will go to shit if he flies to Europe. The jetlag alone will fuck up his entire system and concentration. Not to mention the fact that he still has no fucking clue why he needs to go to France for a woman he kind of knew years ago, who he hasn’t spoken to since she told him to ‘figure out your shit’ in a hotel room in Barcelona.

He’s sorry to hear about her accident, of course. Does this mean she’s...dead? Shit. But he can’t drop everything to...attend a funeral, or whatever’s going on. And the team should know that. How do they even know about her?

“Carlos, this is non-negotiable. Now, we recognize the sensitivity of the situation, so we’ve decided you should stay for the race. But we don’t want you talking to any news outlets or making any statements.”

Statements about what, he wants to ask. But Sabina beats him to it.

“Lucía Ibarra had a child, Carlos - three years old. And apparently, she’s yours.”

[penny00dreadful]

WIP Writing Poll

Oh boy here we go again, the number of WIPs just keeps getting bigger! 😬

Thank you @hbyrde36, my dear, for the tag. 🖤

Rules: Make a 24-hour poll with the names of your wips and then for whichever wins, write one sentence for every vote it gets (but you should also write 1 sentence for every vote each of them gets!)

I think I'll do the same and post the snippets here after I get them written so watch this space! All will be posted under their respective tags that are tagged here too. I'm currently vacillating between debilitating burnout, writers block and an idiosyncratic want to write at the same time. So hopefully this will help me get my head on straight again.

(Results)

Fic blurbs below the cut:

Return of The King - Part 8

Steddie vampire fic with vampire!Steve. Last chapter there was an earthquake, Wayne got the cliff-notes of the Upside Down, a car chase van chase, feral Steve, and they approached the gate to the Upside Down.

Comeuppance

The kids (Dustin) try to meddle in Steve's love life though they've been warned not to. Everything starts falling apart and they get their comeuppance.

Through The Valley

Post-Apocalyptic AU set roughly fourteen months after spring break. Eddie, Dustin and Nancy have a nice little community of survivors outside of Hawkins that they take care of. They're the ones who know most about this stuff after all, since the military abandoned them. They don't talk about it, but each of them hopes they can find the others again soon. But it's been so long already.

Unnamed D&D AU

Step right up! Step right up! We got a fantasy AU here! Necromancy! Enemies to lovers! Religious cults! Murder husbands! Who did this to you? Featuring Paladin!Steve and Bard!Eddie who won't stay Bard!Eddie for very long...

And They Were Roommates!

Bitchy queers Steve and Eddie don't like living together and they do not like each other. They snipe and bitch and complain. But Eddie hasn't come home yet and it's not like Steve is worried or anything... he's just... concerned for a fellow human being... that's all.

Unnamed Spies/Secret Agents AU

Containing both an established relationship oneshot and a getting together prequel. Similar to others above we've got enemies to lovers, bitchy, sexy, flirting while trying to kill each other, murder husbands, protective Eddie and maybe just a smidge of Steve getting duped. As a treat.

Unnamed PStobin+RSteddie Baby AU

Steve and his husband had always wanted kids. Except apparently Albert wasn't quite so up for it as he'd previously said. Robin is just standing there, 37 weeks pregnant with Steve's IVF baby having just punched Albert in the nose and oh god why is she leaking everywhere?? Is it happening?? IT'S HAPPENING, OH JESUS! TAXI!

Before He Cheats

I swear to god it sounds so much worse than it is. Steddie boys DO NOT cheat on each other in this fic or ANY of my fics EVER, you can be assured of that.

It's a songfic.

I'm just gonna drop this here.

Zero pressure taggy tags. @augustjustice @artaxlivs @i-less-than-three-you @xenon-demon @every-aj-needs-an-angel @mentallyundone @scoops-stevie @nburkhardt @steves-strapcollection @outpastthebrakers @hardboiledleggs

[glittercake]

WIP GAME

@downwarddnaspiral thank you for the tag to share some of my wips :) which... i cant believe i actually have unposted wips for a change! i normally just write one thing at a time and finish it. i cant say when any of these will be done though, but at least they exist lmao. i've been busy irl and too tired to write.

so. here goes:

The sambucky divorce AU: titled Moments Away for now (from the Mango Groove song) i have about 6k, redid the outline 3 times because it was just too much, and had some personal war flashbacks while writing it so i had to take a breather 😂 Excerpt:

Sam's mama always said love’s never going to be enough and he didn't understand how that was possible. He didn’t understand—as a seventeen-year-old, so in love he could barely see out of his own eyes, or as a sophomore on the back of a dropout, bad boy’s motorbike, or as a new father of beautiful twin girls with the love of his life—how that could ever be the truth. But he gets it now. 

more below the cut!

Next is a Sambucky Night Agent AU: based on the netflix series. it's basically cap sam/modern bucky but with suspense :) this is literally all i have so it might change completely:

There’s murder on the news. The Vice President’s dead. The nation’s in uproar. They’re saying he did it. They’re saying Captain America has committed treason. His face is plastered across the news, on every station on every street pole, his description is flying through the airways as he sits here covered in blood, trying to catch his breath. He didn’t do this. Sam can’t fucking breathe. He’s not someone to admit this easily, but he needs help. He needs help in a big fucking way. He eyes the number that dying woman stuffed in his hand earlier and hopes his phone line is still connected.

This one is a post canon fic where they run into each other on vacation and decide to have a little summer fling and then drama happens when bucky joins thunderbolts when they return.

Technically Sam wouldn’t be fucking his co-worker. Technically, they’ve only worked together like once, really. Bucky’s mouth is in his neck right now, and Sam can feel a bruise forming but he’s doing nothing to stop it because Bucky’s hand is also on Sam’s dick and it’s all going downhill real quick. So does he want to shit where he eats? No. Is he going to tell Bucky to stop? Also no. They’re on vacation and it’s anything but separate, like they threatened—in fact they’re plastered together—so something, something stays in Vegas…

then a fucking vampire AU?? which was very unexpected but I'm having fun planning it and writing little bits at a time. basically sam is a photographer looking to advance his career and bucky is a 100yo vampire. hmm.

There’s a sudden movement at the top of the stairs, so swift it’s dizzying. Sam can't place it. Just a gust of black night and bright blue, like the electric zap of lightning in a storm. Sam’s instinct is to retreat, wanting to back himself out of there. Overcome with fear. But something else sticks him in place, makes him hone in on the movement. A tall, slim figure, pale as moonlight, glides down the steps as if they’re not there at all, with the grace of an encroaching predator, salivating with deadly hunger, and Sam can’t move. Only after a few paralyzing moments does he recognize the shape as a person. A man. Sam realizes now that the flash of electric blue he’d seen is the man’s eyes.

anyway, that's it. i'm actually keen to get work done on these. hopefully i get some time soon :)

[grizzersmamma]

Beyond the Loch | Monster CoD AU | Chapter 4.

Summary: “With monsters now being used the world over to wage war, the military is desperate to encourage non-human citizens to join their ranks. A young kelpie, John ‘Soap’ MacTavish, is invited to join the infamous Task Force 141, the first task force in history to be headed up by a monster. Soon after joining, he encounters a black dog, an omen of death known only as Ghost. Determined to prove that not all black dogs are harbingers of disaster and misfortune, he decides to become Ghost’s field partner, becoming close to the spirit while everyone else flees from him terror. Only time can tell if he’ll come to regret it or not.”

Notes: Sorry for the delay with posting, but I had to rewrite this chapter several times since I wasn't getting the right vibes from how it was going. Half way through exams at the moment, but there's only another week until my mid-semester break from uni so hopefully I'll be able to get some more written then.

Pairing(s): Future Ghost/Soap. Other to be added.

Warnings: Unedited because I'm tired and can't stand looking at this chapter any longer ;w;

Series Masterlist

Previous: Chapter 3.

Next: WIP

The morning air is frigid at the break of dawn, the grassy fields coated in a fine layer of fresh dew. The sunshine isn’t powerful enough to warm Ghost’s skin through his many layers of clothing, but it’s a pleasant enough view as he waits for the pilots to run through their final checks before take-off. The tip of the cigarette between his lips lights up with each gust of wind, blowing away the potent scent of smoke clinging to his clothes.  

Across the field, he can see his new sergeant quickly approaching, already geared up and carrying a large bag over his shoulder. When Soap realises he’s being watched, he offers a single wave, face lighting up with a broad grin. Ghost doesn’t return it, but he offers an acknowledging nod.  

When Soap reaches him, Ghost drops the remainder of his cigarette, stomping it out underfoot. “Prepped, sergeant?” he asks lazily, ears slowly swivelling around as he listens to the sounds of the base waking up for the day.  

“Aye, sir,” Soap nods, gripping at the straps of his vest, “ready to get ourselves a win, yeah?” 

He simply nods, watching as the pilots exit the plane and start waving them over. “Let’s get moving then.”  

Of course, Soap chooses to settle himself in the seat directly across from him. It isn’t too bothersome, even as the man starts excitedly rambling on about whatever seems to come into his head. Coming from someone else it would have quickly played on his nerves, but the friendly way the kelpie chatters to him is almost soothing.  

He wonders if it’s something to do with the ‘alluring’ attributes MacTavish’s kind are known to possess or if he’s genuinely interested in listening to the other monster talk. He doubted the later option, given his entire evening the previous night was spent researching kelpie mythology.  

There were numerous contradictory sources making it difficult to divorce fact from fiction. However, it seems as though most recorded legends and biological references he could access agreed that kelpies were similar in nature to sirens, being water spirits with an affinity for attracting men and women alike. It wouldn’t be beyond the realm of possibility for Soap to be (unknowingly or otherwise) drawing the canine’s attention.  

He had pointedly scrolled past the sections mentioning how physically attractive kelpies were.  

Soap doesn’t seem to notice his reluctance to engage in conversation, happy to hold up both ends of the conversation while Ghost simply sits quietly and listens. It helps to comfortably pass the time until they reach the drop point.  

The landing is rough thanks to some heavy snow, but they make it without too many issues.  

The scouting team that had been sent to the area before them had arrived back at the exfil point several hours ago, confirming that there appeared to be very little activity near the abandoned town their targets were holed up in. They were part of a yet unknown faction, wearing no obvious symbols to trace their allegiance back to.  

All that their intelligence officers and the scouting party had been able to determine was that they were guarding something. They moved in and out of the crumbling remains of an old building with perfect timing and efficiency, like a colony of ants. Clearly, they had an important purpose being here in the middle of the icy wilderness, but what it was remained to be seen.  

As they walk through the woods, Ghost is hyperaware of their every step, ears twitching with each broken branch, each flutter of leaves in the breeze and each animal, oblivious to the two predators moving through the trees. The snow was thick and difficult to wade through, but they were making good progress and would no doubt reach the enemy camp before dusk.  

He and Soap remained in their human forms – their true forms too large and attention grabbing to risk using – it made it easier to carry their supplies and weapons. They moved in silence for the most part, neither willing to risk their mission being compromised so early.  

When they finally arrive at their destination, they settle themselves in some shrubs just on the edge of the tree line to begin observing their opponents. It’s cold being pressed into the snowy ground, and Ghost briefly wishes he could be in his canine form, the thick fur perfect for such cold conditions. But he ignored his discomfort, setting up the scope on his rifle to start monitoring the movements of the other soldiers.  

Soap is laying a few feet from him, pressed against a large boulder and under the low hanging branches of a thick bush. He’s using his own pair of binoculars, slowly sweeping his gaze from one side of the town to the other.  

A small creek runs alongside the village, the perfect depth for his kelpie companion to utilise should things escalate, and there are numerous piles of rubble and ruined houses for them to use as cover. The men on guard duty continue their patrol route like clockwork, but clearly, they’re starting to get complacent, not paying as much attention to their surrounds as they should.  

Ghost continues to observe a further two rotations, ensuring there are no deviations, before he motions for Soap to move with him. There is a brief break between the previous rotation and the next one, so they need to move quickly if they hope to have the advantage of surprise on their side. “I clear the guards on the left, you take the right, sergeant,” he grunts, already beginning to slink off toward a nearby house.  

He pauses at the dilapidated building just long enough to watch as Soap takes a step into the small creek on the village’s right side. The man sinks into the water as though he’s made from the stuff, vanishing under the water without so much as a ripple across its surface. 

Eerie.  

Shaking off the shiver that runs down his spine, Ghost is quick to get to work, circling around the back of the house he’s using for cover. He spots the two men due to clear the area approaching and presses himself into a corner to wait. He slides a single blade from his vest, taking it into his hand with a light grip.  

The moment the men round the corner he pounces. He grabs the first one with one hand, his other phasing straight through fabric, skin, muscle and bone until he reaches the man’s heart. A single, firm yank and the organ is pulled cleanly from the human’s chest. The other man gasps, but before the thought to lift their weapon even passes through their mind, a knife is embedded deep into their trachea.  

Wrapping their hands around the wound does nothing to stop the blood rapidly spurting from their throat, and a moment later they hit the ground alongside their comrade. Ghost tosses the still-warm heart aside, already focused on finding a new position to attack from after retrieving his weapon.  

He silently steps through the walls of one of the houses, trekking through the many rooms until he’s positioned by the wall directly opposite where the next duo should be passing through. And just as he expected, it only takes a few minutes for him to spot the other soldiers through a frosted window. The darkness of the house keeps his form concealed from the men, right up until he leaps through the wall’s very matter and slams his large body into the enemy.  

The soldiers both flail, one of them losing their footing and dropping into the dirt. The blood slicked knife in Ghost’s hand easily slices through the tendons of the standing soldier’s neck as though it’s nothing more than butter.  

He shoves the man aside, ignoring the way they choke on their own life blood and approaches the other. They make a valiant attempt at scrambling back to their feet, twisting around with their weapon, only to be met with one of Ghost’s other blades, pulled from its holster and stabbed through their eye before they have the chance to so much as blink.  

Four down. Another two more on his side before it should be clear. With any luck, Soap will not be far behind they they’ll be able to rendezvous at the entrance to the main building. The base will be expecting the men on patrol to return soon, so their cover won’t last for long either way.  

Ghost moves back through the wall once more, returning his blades to their rightful position. He takes a moment to observe the area, ensuring there are no enemies unaccounted for, then starts heading for the next house. He has the time to cross through two more buildings before he spots the last two men he’s after.  

Listening intently, he’s able to pick up the soft crackling of one of the soldier’s radios. They’re trying to find the missing members of their patrol group. Time’s run out.  

He waits until the two men confirm their position and release their radios before attacking. These two are more alert, wary of the potential of a surprise attack, so his appearance doesn’t startle them. They move to lift their guns, but Ghost looses a knife, forcing one of them to try and dive to the side before they can discharge any bullets.  

The man still standing grapples with Ghost over the gun for a moment but makes the mistake of attempting to hold onto their rife and is inevitably unable to protect their vital organs from the blade driven into their stomach. As they hunch over with a pained wheeze, the monster grabs either side of their head, violently twisting until there’s a sickening crunch and the body in his grasp turns limp.  

The final opponent levels their weapon with Ghost’s skull, but something, an instinct perhaps, stops him from moving to defend himself. He sees something shift in his peripheral and understands.  

The man seems to think he’s going to win, about to pull the trigger- only for a pair of massive jaws to clamp down on his throat. A single twist of the head and the muscles are torn from where they should be connected to the man’s spine. He doesn’t splutter or gasp, the chasm where his windpipe should be far too large.  

“I had that, sergeant,” he says, watching as the soldier’s body drops unceremoniously to the ground.  

The grin Ghost is subjected to from his subordinate is downright horrific. Sharp teeth hanging out of an unnaturally elongated face. It looks like a sort of half-shifted state, unnatural but by no means any less dangerous. Just enough of a shift for the younger man to tear through a person without changing the rest of his physiology too far.  

A blink and he’s looking at a normal human again, save for the crimson staining the lower half of his face and clothes.  

“Ye were taking a while, thought ah’d give yeh a hand,” the kelpie shrugs, shouldering his own weapon. His hair is still dripping little drops of water from the tips of his mohawk, and his clothes are completely saturated, leaving a pool in the Scot's wake.  

Ghost rolls his eyes, “just don’t leave water everywhere, I’m not about to be sent to medical ‘cause I slipped in a damn puddle.” 

Soap snickers at that comment, moving to follow when Ghost starts toward the main base. “Aye, sir, wouldn’t want to ruin yer reputation like that,” he smirks, trotting along behind Ghost as they move to start observing their target.  

“Two men patrolling the top level,” Ghost breathes, staring down the line of his scope, “we’ll head around the back, the scouts reported another entrance. It’ll be guarded, but easier to access.” He lowers his weapon again, waiting for an affirmative from Soap to start moving around the building they’re using for cover.  

Their progress is quick as they snake through the long grass, unable to risk losing any more time. The enemy likely already knows something is afoot and will be searching for their missing members any moment.  

Taking out the small group of men is laughably easy with the two monsters working in tandem. The bodies lying on the ground are left where they fall, neither bother to hide the bodies, not when stealth will likely be unimportant in a few minutes anyway once they’ve breached the building. An odd low-level buzzing sound can be heard from inside and Ghost can’t help frowning with an annoyed growl under his breath.  

It’s entirely possible that these people are guarding a new type of weapon, which will make breaking inside unnecessarily dangerous if both he and Soap enter together. “Wait here until I’ve cleared the room,” he finally states, “I’ll phase in and radio you once I’m sure they’re not hiding anything.”  

Soap nods, tightening his grip on his weapon, “I’ll be ready and waiting to back you up.”  

With that, Ghost reaches out to the wall of the base, about to step through the wall. Only... his hand meets the cold stone and doesn’t pass through. He tries to push a little harder, but he can’t phase, even putting his entire strength into it. It shouldn’t take any effort what-so-ever to move through something as simple as a wall.  

Something is very, very wrong here.  

[thornilee013]

WIP Wednesday March 13th 2024

HELLO! Welcome to WIP Wednesday, a weekly event that helps myself and other authors by forcing us to make progress on our WIPs (Works in Progress).

How it works: I post the TITLES of (up to 5) documents that I have here, along with three sentences that I've written within the last week to prove that I have indeed been working on things. Then you (yes, you!) can send in an ask to my inbox and specify one of the projects that I listed here. In return, I will write a minimum of three new sentences for that project.

Feel free to send in multiple requests! I still need to catch up on last week's due to some low mental health days that impacted my ability to write, but hopefully I'll catch up quickly and be able to start on this week's soon. <3

1. Baby Jean 2. TLC 3. 101 Ways not to Say I Do 4. Needle AU (CW: frequent depictions of stalking behavior, occasional mentions of sh) 5. Pride Zine (aka: a dealer's choice of my other projects that aren't listed)

Recent Progress:

I am going to cheat and just tag one of my posts from last week's WW that I posted recently, since a lot of the writing that I've done this last week that hasn't been for WW has been for projects that I can't share!

MOST RECENT TLC UPDATE

[melodygatesauthor]

Weekly Update - 07/09/2023

There's a LOT to cover this week but it's all REALLY important so please read <3 (below the cut) ~

Announcements

~ Cruise ~

I'm going on a cruise from 07/15/2023-07/23/2023! I really shouldn't have, but my family peer pressured me into it and now I can't get my money back if I back out so I'm going anyway lol.

I paid extra to have WiFi in my cabin, however I don't know how good it will be. I refuse to pay the ridiculous amount of money to use the data on my phone out there. That being said, my online time will be limited.

If for any reason I cannot access my internet or have issues getting on Tumblr @whatthefishh will give you all an update letting you know. (She hasn't confirmed this with me yet but I assume she will lol)

I'm going to be trying to get some works written ahead of time and scheduled to post while I'm away so it will be like I never left! (except I won't be able to respond much).

~ Masterlist ~

My masterlist is ALMOST complete. Once I'm done with it this time I will NOT be changing it again (unless my aesthetic changes but that will only be a cosmetic update). I'm happy with the way it's organized right now and I don't think it can get any better than it is personally lol. (I'm very proud of it please praise me)

~ FAQs ~

I'm working on an FAQs list to hopefully mitigate some of the repeat questions I get, or so I can just link them instead of having to respond to each individual question.

~ Thank You ~

The biggest thank you possible to those who sent in tips this week. I can't thank you enough. I added the tip thing without the expectation that people would actually use it so to have so many of you this week blew my mind. I love you, and I appreciate you more than you can know.

Disclaimer - I never know which way the winds of inspiration will blow. Timeframes aren't a promise/guarantee, they're a goal.

Fic Updates Legend:

Blue - should be posted this week

Pink - In progress actively (working on but will not be posted this week)

Red - Backburner Fic (will work on later. See WIP list for status)

Long/Chaptered Fics Updates

A Bit Dodgy - This fic is currently on hiatus. The plan is for it to return 07/31/2023. Things may change and if they do I'll let you all know! Thank you for bearing with me. More detailed explanation here.

Always Yours, Never Mine - Chapter 2 is coming right up! Just a couple scenes to add and it will be good to go. I'm thinking I'll be able to churn out one chapter a week but don't hold your breath please haha, things are getting really busy, but this fic is at the front of my mind right now for sure. - New chapter this week

The Fractured Moon - currently working on These Fractured Knights (TFM Bonus Chapters) 🫣😏 - Hoping to have the next chapter out this week. This has been moved to "longfics" since it will be at over 40k words upon completion. - New chapter this week

Mini-series Updates

Feeling You Can't Fight - New chapter coming out this week.

Not a Doctor - Part 2 coming soon - not for a while though.

Worth the Risk - taking a small step back from this for now. It’s not at the top of my inspiration list so I’m moving it down the line temporarily. - will work on a later date

The Good Doctors - idea by @burnincrown - Dr. Marc Spector - It's going to be a long time in the works, and it will probably replace TFM when that one is done. In development - Work on it a different week

Requests Updates

There are 4 ficlets left for my 1k follower celebration. Finally getting them done (I'm almost at 2k now lmao but won't be doing a celebration until a different milestone).

As a reminder, once these requests are finished, my requests will be closed for good. You can see the post explaining that here. Thank you again for the support and understanding!

Moon Boys X f!Reader by @simpforbritgents

Asking for something like Feeling Flustered where the moon boys are doing guided phone sex.

Marc Spector X f!Reader by @blueflowerhat

Marc shower sex based on AI prompt.

Nathan Bateman X f!Reader by @campingwiththecharmings

This is the prompt that hit me like a Nathan-shaped mac truck! -> “if you don’t like my teasing why are you moaning”

Nathan Bateman X f!Reader by Anon

Cam girl reader x Nathan - Nathan turns to a cam girl, he's been kinda stalking her. (Excited hehe)

That's all for now guys! I love you all and thank you so much for all the support you continue to give no matter what. You're amazing <3

[yandere-wishes]

How can I tempt you to return to Star Wars? ...or comics.

Jokes aside, I have the feeling that I haven't seen you in my dash in a while, maybe it's just me, but I hope you're taking good care of yourself. Be safe, be happy.

Wow, I actually never thought anyone would notice if I was missing from their dash. Thank u!! I'm so flattered!! To be fair I operate under the assumption that my existence is rather marginal🤣🤣

But don't worry it won't take much convincing AT ALL for me to start writing for Star Wars again!! I have like 10 WIPs solely for Luke Skywalker and I plan on releasing the second part of the Yandere! Maul x reader x Yandere! Anakin for May 4th (or let's be honest sometime in that week) might be after or sandwiched between two Dune fics. But it will be released soon I promise~💜💜 in the meantime feel free to send in any Yandere Star Wars ideas u might have!! I'll be glad to hear them💞💞

As for the reason behind the slow updates, I've been job hunting and going to a lot of interviews. I recently got a job working at a chocolate store in the mall. However I had another interview yesterday and I'm super hopeful to get the job there instead (better pay, better vibes, more experience lol) either way updates may be a bit slower but I'm still off from school until September so I'll try and write as much as I can. 

Thank you for the kind wishes Anon!! Hopefully, you'll be seeing more of me soon, I hope you are safe and happy too my love 😘💋

[rockingrobin69]

some-day-wip-snip

Thank you for tagging me, @mintawasalreadytaken and @orange-peony! I’m back to working on my housemates SEVERE PINING fic, brimming with so much excitement I literally cannot bear it, so, here’s a snip! Featuring: shenanigans, baking, and a tiny, mysterious dog-shaped item.

One night Harry came back late, terrible week, got stuck at the office in a useless meeting till his eyes nearly popped out. Took the bus home with his face scrunched, the beginning of a headache simmering behind his eyebrows, miserable and tired and utterly depressed to think that tomorrow would be the same, and the day after, and the day after it.

Walked in the kitchen and had to rub his eyes. Rubbed them again for good measure. The image didn’t change; all the bowls he owned stacked one on top of the other on every available surface, counter caked with flour, fingerprints in butter on all the cupboards, and in the dead centre, Malfoy, wearing an apron and his slanted, weird smile.

“Harry!” like this was the most normal thing in the universe. “You’re back! We thought you might never return. I set out to make my grandmother’s fabled biscuits, but, alas, as you can tell, the endeavour’s not been entirely successful. Yet.”

Too many questions and not enough air. The nearly-headache swirled in blacks and golds behind his eyelids. “Malfoy,” trying to breathe it out, “what… who’s we?”

“Hmm?”

“You said we were worried. Who’s here? Is it Ginny?” because he’s going to bloody—

“Oh! No, Ginevra is out of town, has a match tomorrow. I meant me and Crumpet.” He picked up something small and silvery and waved it about, weird smile trickling slowly into something else, unsure. “I named him Crumpet. Hope you don’t mind.”

Harry stared and stared and still got nothing. “Is that… what is that?”

“I think they’re for serviettes,” Malfoy presented the offending object on a flour-covered palm; a tiny, dog-shaped… thing. “Possibly cutlery. There’s a set of six in the bottom drawer, I was looking for a sieve. Is that okay?”

Must have seen something in Harry’s face, because he came closer.

Harry choked on nothing. “Didn’t even know we had them. Must’ve been my parents’. Or Sirius’s, maybe. I have a lot of crap all around that I never really get to… erm.”

Malfoy’s hand did a funny little dance, like it wanted to touch him, then remembered it was covered in butter and goo. Ended up scratching his nose, leaving a fine smudge behind.

“I shouldn’t be sneaking around, using your things. I can get my own, should get my own utensils.”

“Don’t be daft,” Harry rolled his eyes, tried to get this silly fizzing in his belly to stop. “You can use anything that’s in here. I wouldn’t even know we had them if you didn’t… so that’s Crumpet, then? Did you name them all?”

Malfoy’s bottom lip was between his teeth, one pierced eyebrow hiked up. “No, not yet. We had some serious business to attend to first, Crumpet and I. The third batch is actually meant to be ready soon, so why don’t you grab a shower and come back for some—hopefully, biscuits? Worst case, Asda’s own?”

He laughed, couldn’t help it. “Third batch?”

“Ah,” did Malfoy just wink? “Such the detective, Mr. Potter. The first batch we won’t even mention, the consistency was the single most disgusting thing I’ve seen, horrifying to think I made it with my own two hands. Apparently Nana forgot to mention some pretty crucial details when relaying the recipe—that, or the ever simpler answer, my mother is a cunt.”

“Oh.” Malfoy’s expression sharpened around the edges, devilish and handsome, and he ran a floury hand through his hair.

“Then came the second batch. Did you know, Harry, that baking requires absolute precision? And if, say, one was to go, ‘ah, fuck it’, then baking soda can become quite the vindictive bitch?”

Harry tapped the corners of his grin. “And the flour explosion? What happened there?”

“That,” Malfoy tutted, “is the result of some poor training on my part, I’m afraid. You see, Crumpet wasn’t quite ready for all the tricks—”

“You’re not seriously going to blame a three-inch placeholder for this, are you?”

“Aha!” finger pointing up in victory. “I knew you’d know what these are! Placeholders, then. How fancy. We shall have to throw a feast to display them.”

Laughing, laughing, what else could he do, rubbing the wispy remains of a headache from his forehead. “You’re an idiot. And you’re going to clean this, Malfoy, or so help me.”

“Of course, of course,” in a tone that suggested he had absolutely no intention to, not a chance. “They are good, though. The biscuits. In theory. Mother would always make them when she knew I’d—used them as bribes, probably, to be honest. But I thought, might be nice, seeing as your week is so disgustingly busy. It’s the only one of her recipes I remember. And poorly, at that.”

Harry’s eyes were still tingling, but he could see the look on Malfoy’s face. Recognised the feeling, he thought. This weird drop in your belly when you realise how very lost something is to you. Finding something you loved, irretrievable.

“Hey. They better be good. I mean it, Malfoy. Crumpet and I will be very disappointed in anything less.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re now in cahoots with my three-inch placeholder pet.”

“Pretty sure Crumpet’s still my three-inch placeholder pet, ta very much.”

He gave a little bow, then came closer. “My apologies for the disrespect, Mr. Potter. Master? Sir Potter. Please accept this as token of my most genuine regret.” When he unclenched his hand, there was only a second or two to realise what was happening and try to escape. Harry didn’t.

Ended up with his face full of flour, pinched from the counter. “Malfoy!” indignant and shaky on laughter, “you fucking bastard, come back here—”

Chased him around the kitchen, like children, like idiots, tackled him behind the table to smear his face full of—caster sugar, flour, whatever he could find, and Malfoy was squirming in his hands, roaring with laughter, fighting tooth and nail to push Harry back, and when that didn’t work, to lick him away (“UGH!”), laughing, laughing, laughing.

They only let up when the timer went off. Both disgusting, breathless, and Harry was still panting when Malfoy pushed him out to the corridor, yelled at him to take a shower. Rushed back down to find the kitchen still a mess, and two cups of tea, and a trayful of cooling biscuits.

Malfoy snuck a tub of them in his work bag the next day. They really were quite good.

If you got all the way here, kudos to you, and you are now IT! Share a snip with us, will you? And tag me!!

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Talk shop Tuesday question coming at you (sorry if you've already been asked this before 👉👈🥺) : so, when you think of a fic plot, at what point do you think of the Pedro Boy/love interest to go along with it? Do you ever change that character as the idea develops?

Hi Rae!! Hope your Tuesday has been good to you! This is a great question, and one I haven't been asked, so thank you for sending it in!

It's actually sort of hard to say which comes first for me, the character of the plot. I think it usually starts with the character - I'll be sitting there daydreaming about a specific character, picking out details about them that stick out to me or things about their canon story that I wish I could change, and then I'll start thinking about ways to highlight those details or make those changes. With Point of No Return, for example, I was thinking about what Ezra's life before the Green could have been like, and who or what he was talking about when he said "no love too intimidating", and then I drove by an old farmhouse on my way home, et voila. The farm and the old flame came along due to the fact that I wanted to give those things to Ezra specifically.

OR I'll be listening to music or watching a movie/show or reading something that makes me think of a character, and I'll see where that leads me. Like with A Clumsy Romance. I was thinking about the Before Trilogy (because those movies are stamped on the inside of my brain and I wouldn't have it any other way) and - Before Sunrise, especially - just made me think of Nico because its this very ephemeral, romantic take on love.

In a way the love interest character, whether its a Reader insert or an OC, also comes rolled into the plot idea. I'll choose a profession or backstory or main character trait for them based on what I think would work best in terms of the story or in terms of who/what I think would work well with the chosen Pedro character. Many moons ago I wrote way more OC love interests than Reader inserts, but every now and then I still like dipping my toes back into the OC pool if I have a VERY clear and defined idea of who this character is. Like with Clara in PONR. I also have a very chaotic wip (I call it chaotic because the thing is currently in more pieces than an unassembled IKEA bookshelf) featuring an OC named Emma who will hopefully turn up sometime this year soon, and she is very much Emma in my mind, like she's a whole fully formed person in there.

RECENTLY HOWEVER! For the first time that I can remember! I started getting ideas for a new story, but the starring role is a toss up between 2 characters. I have the sort of overarching main idea (it's a monster story! a dark one!) but depending on who I decide to go with, it could kind of stray into a few different directions. So I feel like I have more musing to do with that one before it takes flight.

TLDR: I'm not in charge, really. The characters show up and say "This is what we're doing. Make it happen, bitch."

Thanks again for this!!

Talk Shop Tuesday

[hungrynessforfics]

Miles Morales WIPs!

So after the poll, most of y'all wanted me to post what I had so far so here it is! I plan to start one of these fics soon and post the first part. Please let me know what y'all think( let's keep it positive/ constructive criticism only please)

Earth1610 Miles

Cheater!Miles x Reader/yn

Miles Meets reader who just recently moved to NYC and takes immediate interest in her, despite his already-established relationship with Gwen. Reader/yn does eventually find out and confront him,

Reader/yn is black-coded!

College/Aged up Miles and Gwen for obvious reasons

Appears made by Hobbie

Angst, Fluff, and Smut(if i can summon up the courage)

Multi-part fic(maybe 6 pts?)

Excerpts:

EI: 

Y/n sighed, looking down at the glossy hardwood floor beneath her, one hand on her hip and the other reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. Her eyebrows furrowed in irritation, the breaths she took almost silent like a faint hissing sound and Miles could tell by her mannerisms it was an attempt to calm herself from lashing out at him. After an agonizing minute or so Y/n removed the hand on her face bringing it down to match the position of the other placed. Now with both hands on her hips, she finally looked up at the handsome yet irritating man before her to speak.

 “ Listen, Miles if you want to continue whatever this is…” she says flicking her index between the two of them, “...you need to figure out what you want out of the relationship you already got going on. Cause’ I ain’t NOBODY’S side piece, understand?” Her voice slightly raised in volume emphasizing the last part, before returning to her previous tone. “So until you do… don’t call me, text me, and I BET NOT catch yo ass climbing up my fire escape.”

EII:

“ Whatchu mean, how’d I know? Besides the obvious signs, almost every time you spent the night I’d wake up the next morning—and I wake up early, I’m talking 5:30 in the morning, you’d be gone. So I figured you either had to sneak back to ol’ girl at home OR yo ass is Spiderman, because nobody is roaming around Brooklyn at 3 in the morning besides that nigga.”

Miles x Venom!Reader

Miles still has lingering feelings for Gwen but after her betrayal he’s been distant. And after returning to his spider-verse he’s assigned to show the new late-term Vision’s student around. What he didn’t expect was for them to be his dream girl except for one tiny flaw…she’s Venom’s new host who’s been making criminals ‘disappear’ across Brooklyn.

Reader/yn again black coded

Anti-hero not necessarily a villain

Cute yn and Venom dynamic

Quick Eddie Brock cameo(he dies lol)

Mama Rio and Papa Jeff rooting for yall

Gwen of course

Miles and Reader do find out each other are Spiderman and Venom

Fluff and Angst

Excerpts:

EI: 

(Miles POV)

 I probably shouldn’t even be attempting to talk to anyone right now after the whole thing with Gwen, but I can’t help it this is all too familiar. New girl at Visions, I gotta show them around, we get cool and I catch feelings and—I find out she’s Spiderwoman from another universe great: not great. I barely even know the girl and I’m over here freaking out like a moron! I need to get my shit together quickly before she walks this way! Just chill out Miles calm ya nerves and just try and holla at her real quick; hopefully, this won’t be as painful and awkward as my first interaction with Gwen.

Earth42 Miles

Miles x Venom!Reader

Is different from the 1610 Miles version

After becoming Prowler with the help of his Uncle Aaron, Miles finds himself excessively tired and distracted, especially with the appearance of a new Visions student and a mysterious entity making the villains he keeps tabs on disappear.

Excerpts:

EI:

Miles Morales, most students at Visions knew who he was and few had seen him. Probably because he skipped classes too far in between due to his late-night activities and when he did show up for class he dimmed his presence to avoid being noticed. Granted he only really spoke to Ganke and rarely paid attention to the rest of the school’s population even the girls who threw themselves at him. However, it was easy to notice new transfer students at Visions, they stuck out like a sore thumb. Even for Miles, he’d see them once and just like everyone else continue ignoring them for the remainder of the school year. But this time, he physically wanted to slap himself on the forehead. The new girl has been sitting next to him for months and he’s not once noticed her, either she’s good at being quiet or his Prowler duties have fried his brain.

EII: 

“Take a picture; it'll last longer”, a feminine voice suggested; it was the end of the school day and everyone was rushing home. A new figure had caught Miles' eyes across the hall as he shoved his textbooks into his locker and he’d been staring at it ever since. The figure was the new girl Ganke had hinted at earlier during lunch who definitely felt someone staring at them. Catching Miles in the act she first tried giving a small smile, then waving ‘hi’, and eventually, two minutes had passed and dude was still staring! Having no explanation for the seemingly rude staring, they walked straight through the crowded hall to Miles who now finds himself in a dilemma.

Whipping his head to the source of the voice, Miles’ looked down at the attractive girl before him. “ I-uhh was I staring?”.

Seemingly annoyed the girl’s eyebrow lifted as she cocked her head braids swaying to the side. “You got a staring problem or somethin’?”, 

“No, I jus-..look I’m sorry for staring, I haven’t seen you around before.”

“I haven’t seen much of you around either, granted I’m new or whatever but you don’t see me gawking at every passerby!” she replied one hand perched on her hip.

“Is this how you NYC niggas act ‘round here? 'Cause if so I need to know now.”

Miles stifled a small laugh, he didn’t even mean to laugh it just happened. 

Staring in disbelief the girl in front of him was about to raise her index at him until he spoke again.

“Chill mami, I didn’t mean to offend you or nothing, what you said was funny I’m not gonna lie. Putting out his hand to shake he continued, “I’m Miles Morales, sorry for staring earlier and—laughing at you just now.”

Surprised by his sudden change in demeanor(and sultry accent) the girl before him flushed and nodded before coming back to her senses and shaking his hand in return.

“(Y/n)(L/n)....wait— you’re my missing lab partner from Chem 2! Where the fuck have you been?”

[finalsentence]

hi everyone!! this is going to be a very simple introduction; depending on how this goes i might get fancy and do something nicer in the future!

this is my second or third time trying to create a space for myself in the writeblr community. both times i failed because consistency is hard. but i’d like to put myself out there and make friends with other writers, so i’m giving it another shot!

about me.

i’m nineteen years old and pursuing a ba degree in english literature! i have absolutely no idea what i want to do after that… if i had it my way i would simply spin my favorite characters around in my head for a living but i’ve been told that’s not how it works. :(

i enjoy reading a variety of genres, including literary fiction, horror, and post-apocalypse!

my top favorite books are: the stand by stephen king, frankenstein by mary shelley, and the kite runner by khaled hosseini. (yes, they are wildly different stories, but they all hold a very special place in my heart. <3)

my writing.

so. confession time. i am a fanfiction writer. i know how that sounds, but don’t scroll away just yet! i put a lot of care and effort into my work to make it accessible and enjoyable for everyone; so even if you aren’t in any of the fandoms i write about, you will still be able to follow my work the way you would follow someone’s original novel. all of my work is a study of canon storylines, settings and characters, but i try to present it in a way that does not assume the reader has any prior knowledge of the source. (and if you do, you get to enjoy the little easter eggs hehe.) there’s something for everyone, i promise! <3

generally speaking, i enjoy writing in the same genres that i read! i write a lot of horror and post-apocalypse, but overall i am trying to develop a more literary style. my work tends to focus on anti-heroes and their super dysfunctional relationships. and lots of my favorite characters are queer-coded!

i want to venture into writing original fiction one day, so you can look forward to that!

my wips.

i only have one active wip at the moment, so that’s what i’m going to talk about here. i might introduce some of my future projects later if i’m able to get this blog off the ground!

the book i’m currently working on is a five nights at freddy’s fanfiction suburban horror novel. it doesn’t have a title yet, because i am notoriously indecisive and i haven’t found one that fits, so until i figure that out, i’ll be using temporary tags and referring to it vaguely as ‘my michael novel.’

the story features an unreliable narrator, sketchy family entertainment restaurants, and lots of paranormal activity!

summary:

michael afton is miserable. living alone in a crappy apartment, unable to hold down a steady job, and haunted by nightmares of a tragic event in his past, he starts to suspect that things will never get better. but then, his estranged father reaches out to him with an unexpected and cryptic offer, asking him to return to his hometown and take a job as a maintenance technician at an animatronic rental facility. though he is unhappy about returning to the town where he grew up, michael dutifully follows these instructions, convinced that rekindling a relationship with his father is the key to turning his life around. however, he quickly realizes things in the facility aren’t what they seem. something sinister is hidden inside those walls, and it’s putting michael’s life on the line. in order to discover the truth about his father—and, eventually, to make things right—michael has to come to terms with his own past mistakes.

it’s not a fantastic summary; i’ll probably rework it soon, and hopefully i will have an entire wip intro to share at some point!

aaand that’s pretty much it! if you’re interested in interacting with me at all, please don’t be afraid to reach out! i am always open to chat, especially about your wips—and feel free to include me in dash games, too! i want to interact with people as much as possible, to build a little space for myself on here with some new friends, and have fun. <3

i hope you enjoy my little corner of writeblr!

[rexxdjarin]

Some necessary life updates:

Hi I am so sorry from the bottom of my heart for the gap in posting and updating any of my fics lately. It’s been extremely difficult for me to find time to write as of late. I have a lot going on

Unfortunately, I have to move out of my apartment in a few weeks and much of my time is going to be spent moving things into my temporary housing at a family members until my new place (ALL MY OWN WITH NO ROOMMATES EVER AGAIN) is ready for move in some time in October

I am also supposed to be in a wedding soon and have a lot to do to help prepare for it…its very stressful fml

Thirdly….I’ve been trying to look for a new job for months and hopefully as fall comes and people come back from necessary vacations this summer I will be interviewing a lot more and crossing my fingers and sending out every positive vibe in the world that the right job comes along for me and I can finally leave my toxic one for a place I’m happier in and make more money at

All of this to say….I’m not sure the next time I will be consistently writing and updating my WIPs. I am working on them here and there whenever I can. I WILL FINISH THEM. THE STORIES WILL RETURN AND WILL BE COMPLETED. But please please be patient with me and don’t forget about me because I am trying my best. It will just take some time before I’m in a happy and comfortable place to write again.

Thank you to every single lovely amazing beautiful person who reads my work, interacts with me on a daily basis and anyone who has become a close personal friend of mine because of me writing my lil stories and because of our shared love of clones. Genuinely you have all held my heart, soul and mental health together during the time I have truly needed it most. You’ve made my soul happy in more ways than any other people I personally know have ever been able to.

My work will come back very soon. I hope you all stick around to read it. I love you all so much.

[shady-tavern]

trick or treat!

__//^\\__

⊂(・ヮ・⊂)

(pls ignore how criminally late this is and instead have a bit of a WIP for a short story that I hopefully shall finish writing this weekend)

*.*.*

For as long as the little girl could remember, it felt like something was missing within her. She could never put a finger on it, but it made her a restless child, picking up and discarding games, struggling with consistently staying interested and some days she just felt very strange. 

Like that one stained glass window she had seen when her parents had taken her to a nearby city. All disjointed fragments that still managed to be a picture, but it would never be one entire piece.

The stained glass window at least had been pretty compared to the ugly feeling within her.

"Have you ever felt like something is missing inside you?" she asked her grandma, who came to pick her up many a day while her parents worked. 

Things were strange between Gran and her parents, she never talked to them and they never talked to her and she never set foot onto their garden, preferring to wait for the little girl at the gate by the little dirt road.

Gran stilled and when the little girl glanced up at her, her face had gone dark and grim and for the first time in the girl's life, her beloved grandma, a joyful soul who loved her with all her heart, looked just a little bit frightening.

But her hand around the girl's remained gentle and the older woman kept walking at a sedate pace so her short little legs didn't struggle with keeping up. Everyone always said to the girl that she would grow to be bigger and she couldn't wait for that day to arrive. Gran was silent for so long that the girl thought she was never going to answer.

"You best ask your parents about that," Gran said at last, voice quiet and heavy with something unspoken. Strangely, her voice reminded the girl of a draft horse she had seen, who had been forced to pull a too heavy burden, body straining as it slowly and laboriously set one hoof in front of the other.

"Alright," the girl answered and grinned up at her grandmother, hoping to break up the awful mood her innocent little question had created. "Can we make blueberry cake today?"

Gran smiled and it was like the sun returning after a dark, scary storm, her face brightening and looking as kind and loving as ever. "Of course, little chestnut." She leaned in, voice dipping into a conspiratorial stage whisper, "My wife picked an entire basket just this morning."

The little girl giggled and soon the two of them reached the end of the village, all talk about missing pieces and resulting, scary expressions forgotten. The blueberry cake was delicious and maybe a bit messy since the girl had tried to help a bit too enthusiastically and the cute little apron Gran had made for her was stained with purple-blue juice on one corner.

Gran's wife, Tanya, arrived just as they had taken the first bite of a still warm slice of cake.

"You baked without me?" she gasped in a mock scandalized voice. "Oh, the betrayal, how it stings!" She dramatically fell onto the kitchen table and the little girl laughed when the two older women broke out into a full blown performance just to ensure she kept laughing.

Gran brought her back home just as the sun set and a strong, steady wind blew in from the forest, bringing with it the smell of spring moss and damp, cool earth.

"Don't go into the forest," Gran said as she stopped in front of the gate that creaked noisily as soon as it was two thirds of the way open. 

She looked down at the girl, her face serious. "One day you will, but try to avoid it for as long as you can. And when you do, do not trust anything in there. Do not accept anything, can you promise me that?"

As solemnly as the little girl could, she offered her little pinky. "I promise," she said and a shadow of a smile crossed Gran's face as they hooked their pinkies around each other gently.

Gran leaned down to kiss the top of her head before she left with a glance towards the house and one more look towards the forest near the village. It was an old forest, not quite as ancient as in other places, but surrounded by plenty of stories and mysteries. The girl had heard rumors about creatures living in the woods, of magic being alive in ways the mages in the big cities could never hope to replicate.

She entered her parents' house, neatly putting her boots beside her mother's and when she looked up at her parents, the question tumbled forth without much thought, "Why do I feel like I'm missing something?"

Her mother, who was currently carving leather, stilled so thoroughly she might as well have turned to stone. Her father, in the process of cooking, seemed to freeze in place, the stirring of his ladle abruptly falling silent.

"You're still growing," her mother answered at last, voice quiet and her gaze on her work. "It will pass in given time."

The little girl stared at her, startled and silent and with increasing heartbreak as the seconds passed, for she had just learned what her mother sounded like when she lied.

[aspiringtrashpanda]

An Update

To everyone waiting for updates on fics of mine,

After a lot of thought, I've decided to temporarily shelve my projects in order to dedicate my full attention to an original work that's been screaming for attention in my head.

These stories are not abandoned and I have every intention to return to them - I just don't have a timeline for them right now. I love them with all my heart, but right now I think I really need to focus on a work I can hopefully publish one day.

I realize this post is probably unnecessary, but I've been feeling a lot of overwhelming guilt and stress over not working on certain WIPs every time I open my laptop and I'm hoping that letting you all know what I'm up to might help alleviate that.

Thank you for all of your support! 💕 I hope to get back to updating fics soon-ish!