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starglow-xx · 3 years

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retrouvaille

nakajima atsushi x f!reader

fandom: bungou stray dogs

content: hurt comfort, fluff

warning! : mentions of abuse

type of work: one-shot

synopsis: he left the orphanage, and that meant he had to leave you too; fortunately, this time, it seems like the universe was on your side

a/n: this is kinda self indulgent bc ive been feeling kinda down lately...?? and this has been sitting in my drafts for a while now and i havent posted in a while so killing three birds w/ one stone ig

the word retrouvaille is a french noun...

The moment you stepped foot into the armed detective agency, heterochromia eyes met your (e/c) ones.

You notice several agents talking and walking over to assist you, but you drown them out only having focus on the gray haired male ten feet away from you.

Said male takes a small step forward with uncertainty and disbelief laced in his voice.

“(y-y/n)...?”

At the sound of your name, your eyes immediately begin to water and with pure relief in your voice, you softly sob his name; the name of the boy who comforted you when you were both still in that wretched place.

“Atsushi...”

With all hesitation gone, Atsushi runs over to you shoving through his surprised and confused coworkers and wraps his arms tightly around you.

The force of the hug causes the both of you to stumble and harshly crash to the ground beneath you.

But the two of you didn’t care.

In his arms was a person Atsushi thought he’d never be able to see again.

In his arms was the same girl who snuck him food from the kitchens, the girl who stole medical supplies from the infirmary to treat his wounds, to take care of him when he was sick, and the girl who received punishment after punishment for insisting on staying with him inside his damn cell.

You gave him happiness in place where he should’ve never been able to receive it.

As if he ever felt like he deserved it in the first place.

You’re too good for him, but yet you still chose him.

You, his sweet and kind, his so very kind, and so very beautiful girlfriend, chose him, the cursed, good for nothing orphan.

The orphanage staff treated you considerably better before the two of you were acquainted, so Atsushi knew he was the problem. That he was the reason why tears would fall onto your beautiful face, why bruises and scars would litter your arms and legs, and why the staff would call you awful, degrading nicknames about you and or your virtue.

He had always thought that he wasn’t good for you, that he didn’t deserve you, that you could do better, but you stayed by his side regardless of his fears and insecurities, and provided him the strength and comfort he had always been deprived of.

And to his very surprise, he found that you found your own strength and comfort in him.

So he knew that you must of cried for weeks after he was kicked out, that you must’ve been devastated to wake up one morning only to learn that he was gone without a trace.

There wasn’t a single day that he never thought of you.

Atsushi wanted to go back for you, he really did; he wanted to storm into the orphanage with members of the armed detective agency, his new family, right at his tail before eventually reuniting with you.

But he didn’t do that.

Ultimately, he chose to leave you out of the mess that came with his job knowing that you would be eventually targeted and used against him if anyone found out about what he had with you.

So he kept quiet.

No mafioso, government agent, foreign organization, nor agency member had a clue about your connection with him, much less your existence.

He told himself that when things have calmed down by a considerable amount, he would go back and get you, with or without the agency backing him up.

Unfortunately, he knew that time of peace was far from the present.

But to see you, in your beautiful glory, standing at the threshold of the agency?

His original plan to keep you away from Yokohoma flew out the damn window.

At the sight of you, his heart did backflips and his legs almost gave out.

Ignoring the jelly feeling in his legs and the loud pounding of his heart, he raced around the desks and his coworkers—nearly fully crashing into Dazai in the process—to once more engulf you into his arms.

As for you?

When you saw him, you felt like you were going to pass out.

Your legs grew weak, your entire body was shaking, and tears started to fall down your face.

He was here.

He was safe and he was alive.

You mourned his abrupt disappearance from the orphanage and spent most of your time worrying about his well being.

The staff thought you were pathetic, that you sulked and cried over someone who they thought should disappear off the face of the earth.

They could insult and beat you all you want, but you drew the line when it came to Atsushi.

Finally having enough of everything, you planned your escape.

You were patient; you never jumped the gun nor gave anything away. You planned everything to the very last, minute detail, and after a few more months of abuse and waiting, you put your plan into action and left in the dead of night.

Thankfully, a kind old couple took you after you had collapsed in the streets. You worked job after job after job to return everything they had spent on your behalf even after they had told you not to worry about it.

And after another few weeks, you finally caught wind of your lost boyfriend tracking him down to Yokohoma through an old newspaper article.

Knowing your boyfriend, and yourself, you knew that tears would easily escape both of your eyes due to the long duration of your separation, but you weren’t expecting to find yourself crashing onto the floors of the armed detective agency curtesy of Atsushi.

But, you wouldn’t have it any other way because in your arms was the boy who gave you comfort during the most darkest days in the orphanage, the boy who laid you in his lap or on his stomach stroking your hair so you would fall asleep, and the boy who often threw himself in front of you so you would remain unharmed.

You choked on your sobs as you tightened your own hold on him and they gradually grew louder as you buried your face into the shoulder of his white button up.

Through his own choked sobs and teary eyes, Atsushi gently maneuvered the two of you so that you would be lying on his stomach—a familiar position the two of you would lay in back in the orphanage.

He gently stroked his fingers through your hair and softly rubbed your back as he whispered the familiar sweet nothings into your ears.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“I’m okay, you’re okay, we’re okay...”

“I’m here, just let it all out..”

Overwhelmed with your emotions, his sweet words only started to make you cry more.

You’ve missed him so much.

Your tears easily soaked his both his shirt and his neck, and you tried to speak only for you to choke up. Atsushi simply just started to shush you—as you would to a baby—and placed a kiss to your forehead as he continued to comfortingly stroke your hair and rub your back.

With the both of you off into your own little world, a world consisting only of the two of you, reactions and looks from the Armed Detective Agency went unnoticed.

It didn’t take long for them to realize the kind of relationship you and Atsushi had.

But what surprised them was Atsushi’s behavior.

The young adult they knew tended to be unsure of everything, including himself, and stammered whenever he was nervous.

But the young adult currently in front of them had this new aura of maturity; he didn’t hesitate to touch you or to comfort you, and for the first time they’ve seen in a while, he was sure of himself; he wasn’t nervous at all.

With the amount of comfortability Atsushi had around you, and the tender, loving care he showered you in, it was clear that you certainly were someone special to their tiger.

Your sobs slowly turned to small hiccups, and Atsushi’s face turned to one of pure tranquility and content, having his lover back in his arms.

Although having calmed down, what Atsushi said to you next made you want to start bawling all over again.

“I’m sorry I left you, and I promise I didn’t forget about you,” he whispered softly, “I thought of you every day. I still do. The thought of being able to see you again is what kept me going.”

You buried yourself further into his shoulder as you gripped his white button up in your hands.

“And thanks to the armed detective agency, I’m stronger now. I won’t let anybody hurt you, not anymore. That, I promise you.”

Actually taking a look up from you, Atsushi ended up locking eyes with Dazai, who had a gentle look on his face.

His senior only closed his eyes, tilted his head down softly, and lightly chuckled before opening his brown eyes once more, giving Atsushi a look of approval.

The gray haired teen’s eyes widened slightly as he looked around the room only to be met with similar looks of approval and gentleness from his seniors and coworkers.

He felt his eyes tear up again, but instead let out a relieved sigh as he tightened his hold on you slightly.

“Hey Atsushi...” you softly murmured.

Equally as soft, he answered, “Yes (y/n)?”

“...I love you...”

Your lover smiled before placing another kiss onto your forehead.

“I love you too (y/n)”

At last, the girl he loved was back in his arms, and the boy you loved was back within your reach.

And neither of you were ever going to let each other go again.

and it means, the joy of meeting or finding someone again after a long separation, a rediscovery

as always, reblogs and shares are appreciated! i hope you all stay safe! and just in case nobody told you they loved you today, i love you! you are enough! <3

writing belongs to me! please do not plagiarize! the reblog button is there for a reason

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smittenroses · 2 years

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Blog(s) updates: going on a hiatus (somewhat)

Hey everyone 🌸

This is just a general announcement concerning some things that are going to be impacting both of my blogs, I'll be trying to write it down in the simplest way I can, however, if you feel like you don't understand a certain section you can always reach out to me via my inbox or DMs to ask questions.

This is a long post so please keep reading underneath the "read more" tab.

🍊 Why I'm slowing down fics/going on a somewhat of a hiatus:

As you all may know, I'm going to uni very soon (July 4th) to pursue a Certificate IV in Professional Writing and Editing, which means I'll be learning how to write much better for a bunch of topics (hooray!).

However, this also means I won't have much time to work on either of my blogs in terms of writing due to the workload I'll be on so fics will be slowing down tremendously in a reflection of this. I will still work on them but getting around to requests and doing commissions will take longer so I don't fall behind.

🍊 Finally opening a Patreon:

I'm also going to be finally opening a Patreon and aim to have around 2~ stories per month (one sfw, one nsfw) at the beginning, I'll defiantly draft up some before I create and launch, so it might take a bit of a while yet before I can get that up and rolling.

With my Patreon, I'll also have polls for ideas of what is coming up as well as maybe some Patreon-exclusive fics (this is just a idea for now).

When I do have the Patreon set up, the fics that get posted there (minus the concepted Patreon exclusive fics) will get posted 2 weeks after they're posted there to here.

🍊 Is there any other way to support you other than Patreon?:

I have and always have had a Ko-fi that I keep forgetting to plug in fics that you can support me through if you don't want to pay over and over monthly, I also will keep doing commission work for those interested

🍊 Will my inboxes be closing?:

No! My inboxes will remain open unless stated otherwise as some of you guys come up with the most amazing concepts that I could never dream of coming up with.

Headcanons will still be posted as per regular, that won't be changing (tho longer ones will still take a while).

The only thing that will be changing about fic requests is that I will no longer be answering them directly from the inbox - there will be still a marker that it was a request, however, other than that, it will follow the new concept for fics.

🍊 I also am 3 months late for this but...

This blog is officially 2 years old (my more... naughty one is going to be 1 this October). I can't believe that time has flown by so quickly like that; I started out this blog as a senior in high school preparing for the final months and now I'm just about to head off to uni (yes, it took this long for me to finally get there).

I want to say thank you to everyone who has been following me for this long and I'm glad to have you all join in the next chapter with me as I finally set myself on a path to my next goal.

While you don't me and I don't know you, the fact that we've been able to travel a similar path doesn't make me feel so alone.

I'm not a very sentimental person and find it hard to get my feelings out, but knowing that everyone has supported me and my writing gave me the courage to go into this next chapter.

Please continue to cheer for me and I'll be in your corner too.

#updates

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ughitsnic · 4 years

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Mrs Evans: Chris Evans Smut

took longer than expected because i deleted the draft instead of posting it and had to rewrite and ive also been super busy.

anyway its smut, so if youre not into that thats cool

“Mrs Evans, you look beautiful tonight” Chris whispers against your neck, you look at him in the mirror, his arms wrapped around your waist as you try to smooth out your red dress. “How about we forget about dinner and just order room service, a bottle of wine and we just chill in the hot tub?” he suggests.

“You just want to get me naked” you shake your head.

“I was going to suggest that new bikini but naked sounds better” he mumbles, leaving linger kisses against your neck. You let out a quiet moan as he nips at your ear lobe. You smile, turning around and pecking his lips.

“Nope, we are going to dinner” you tell him buttoning up his shirt, he holds your wrist and kisses your fingertips.

“Baby, please we have all week to go to dinner, I just want to relax and” he trails off, kissing your wrist. “Make love to my beautiful wife”

“How can i say no to that face?” you question. "Oh i know. No. I'm hungry baby" you tell him.

"I'm hungry too, hungry for that pussy" he immediately cringes at what he said.

"You’re so lucky i love you" you laugh, patting his chest and walking by hik to slip on your shoes and grab your bag. He reluctantly follows you down to the restaurant in the lobby.

"That's a long line" his groans.

"You’re so impatient" you roll your eyes as a waiter approaches you.

"There's a 2 hour wait currently" he informs you both and you sigh. "We really sorry about that"

"You wanna wait baby?" Chris questions and you shake your head, no.

You drop onto the bed, and grab the phone and menu off the bedside table. Chris kneels down taking off your heels, kissing the bottom of your foot, up to your ankle all the way up your inner thigh stopping at the edge of your dress, his big blue eyes dark with lust. You open your legs for him and he lets out a playful gasp.

"Mrs Evans are those crotch less panties?" He questions, amused. He quickly licks his lips, before looking back up at you. "God your so fucking sexy. How did i get so lucky?" He whispers to himself, standing back up and pulling you into his arms, he leaves lingering kisses on your neck as he unzips your dress and slides it down your body. He takes a step back to look at you in your lingerie, his jaw dropping, his pants tight.

"Look at you" he smiles, as he unbuttons his christ and discards them across the room. He runs his fingers over the sheer material. "All of this for me?" he questions as you twirl around for him. “Get comfortable baby, it's going to be a long night”

And he was right, the hours blurred together as your bodys moved together perfectly, with nothing but love. Every so often, giving your hand a squeeze, asking if you're alright. You trace over Chris' chest tattoos, as he presses soft kisses to your forehead, moans falling from your lips as your hips move to meet with his powerful thrusts. Your toes curl as you feel the familiar fire burn within you.

“If you keep squeezing my cock like that i ain't gonna last much longer” Chris groans, dropping his head to your shoulder, leaving long lingering kisses against your neck. “You’re so beautiful Mrs Evans” Chris groans. You pull him into a kiss.

“I'm so close, Chris baby, keep going” you beg. His thick fingers rub circles against your clit pushing you over the edge. You moan into his mouth, tugging at his hair.

“Come in me” you beg as he continues to bound into you. Your moans grow louder as your 3rd, maybe even 4th orgasm builds. Tears were in your eyes.

“1 more, you can do it” you shake your head, tears in your eyes. He continues to pound into you, over and over, another loud cry escapes your lips as another orgasm washes over you.

“Oh fuck, y/n” he moans, as you feel his hot seed deep in you. Chris buries his face into your neck as he catches his breath. “Was that worth the wait?” he questions as he starts to pull out.

“No, this feels nice” you tell him, trailing your fingers over his beard.

“You’re so warm” he whispers, covering your face in kisses. “I love you”

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans one shot #chris evans smut

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goosewhisker · 4 years

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russetfur vs. the entirety of skyclan || ch. 3

read this on ao3 || read this on fanfiction.net

chapter one

chapter two

summary: After enduring months of Turtlekit and Kitekit’s abuse, Rootkit finally snaps and accidentally awakens his powers. This has the unfortunate side effect of reviving the ghost of an angry Shadowclan warrior who: 1) is personally offended by Skyclan’s existence, and 2) has magnanimously taken it upon herself to relieve the world of that burden. Or something

okay so its been a minute since i posted. a lot of things happened, i got a kitten, a job, a new fandom, and i speedran a full semester of calculus in like the past four weeks. im sorry about how late this is and i cant promise when the next one will be up but its half written already so uh hope springs eternal. anyway thanks for coming to my ted talk

also shoutout to @turquoise-tulip for reminding me that ive had this chapter in my drafts for half a year now this ones for you im sorry its so stupid

Chapter Three: In Which Rootkit Practices the Art of Blackmail

The morning after is quiet.

...is what Rootkit would like to say. Actually, he gets woken up by Tree at what his mom likes to call 'the butt-crack of dawn' to go talk to Leafstar, thereby ruining his chances of being a normal warrior forever.

When they get to the leader's den, Violetshine is already there. Rootkit discovers this by walking into her while his eyes are closed in the middle of a yawn.

"See, he's about to fall asleep on his paws," his mom points out, sounding pretty close to yawning herself. "It's too early for this. Morning, kid."

Rootkit mumbles something that's unintelligible even to himself and falls asleep on his mother's paws. A few minutes later, he's woken by gentle paws on his back.

"Hey, kid. Kiddo. You gotta get up."

Rootkit hums absently, still mostly asleep, before realizing abruptly where he is. Mouse dung! Suddenly, he's completely awake. He jerks his head up, almost colliding with Tree's jaw before he pulls out of the way. Rootkit, too busy panicking, doesn't notice. He just fell asleep in Leafstar's den! After she'd brought him over to talk specifically to him! After seeing this humiliating display of incompetence, she'll really never make him a warrior, and Kitekit and Turtlekit will-

"Rootkit." The single word cuts through the panic. Rootkit looks up to see Leafstar, looking very serious with only a hint of amusement seeping through. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes!" The answer bursts out of him before he really thinks it through. And, well, it's not entirely true, but it's not entirely untrue either. Either way, he's up for answering any questions, which is probably what she's asking.

Leafstar looks at him just long enough for him to start fidgeting before she begins. "I've already spoken to your parents, Rootkit, so I know most of the story. I just need to know your side. What happened yesterday with the ghost?"

Rootkit looks at his paws, then back to Leafstar's calming gaze. "It started when I was at the grave. I was just- just talking, and then Kitekit found me..."

He tells her the whole, stupid story. How he'd lost it at Kitekit and Turtlekit and turned around to find a ghost looming over him; how he'd asked Tree for help, only for her to disappear; how she'd attacked him and Tree, announced her intentions, and vanished. At last, the story runs dry and he falls silent to watch her expression change.

Leafstar hums thoughtfully. She turns to Tree. "Do you think she's likely to hurt someone?"

Tree shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "If she's serious, yes. Most ghosts can't touch the living. Those who can - like this one - usually died violently or thinking they were wronged. And angry ghosts tend to be... volatile."

"Ah." Leafstar considers this.

"If it comes to that, what'll you do?" Violetshine asks. "Will you be able to stop her?"

Rootkit watches Tree watch his mom, and something in his dad's eyes soften. He leans over to swipe a tongue over her ear. "You want to help her, don't you?" he says quietly. "Because she's Shadowclan?"

Violetshine flushes, but she doesn't back down. "Many of them weren't kind to me," she says, "But Shadowclan was still my home once. I can't just forget that."

Tree purrs and winds his tail with hers. "That's why I love you," he whispers.

Rootkit sticks his tongue out in disgust. Bleh. Grownups!

"To answer your question," Tree adds, "I don't know what I'll do. I suppose-" he pauses, eyes tight with worry. "I've never exorcised a ghost who didn't want to move on before. I don't know if I even can. This may be something of an experiment."

The grownups look at each other for a long moment. "I will do whatever it takes to keep my clan safe," Leafstar says. There's something like a warning in her voice that makes Rootkit shiver.

"What should I do?" he asks. All three adults look at him like they've forgotten he's there.

After a moment, Leafstar's face breaks into a smile. "Tell you what. You can help by keeping an eye out for this Russetfur and letting one of us know when she's nearby. But listen, Rootkit," and her voice goes stern. "You must stay away from her. Russetfur is dangerous, and she may hurt you to get what she wants. Do you understand me, Rootkit?"

Rootkit looks into Leafstar's amber eyes - warm and worried and burning with a fierce, protective fire - and knows what he has to do. "I understand, Leafstar," he says, and just like that, his mission clicks into place.

From somewhere else in the camp - probably the warriors' den - someone screams, followed by Russetfur's haunting cackles.

Rootkit ignores it.

As he double checks his supplies, Rootkit runs through a mental checklist. He's talked to the ghost - check. He's figured out what she wants - check. He's given her what she wants - well... no. Tree's three-step-plan hadn't exactly accounted for what happened if what the ghost wanted was unobtainable.

Well, it doesn't really matter now. This plan is sure to work.

"Are you sure this is gonna work," Needlekit says again.

"Yes, I am, Starclan above will you stop nagging me," Rootkit says.

His sister makes a disgruntled noise and hauls the next bramble into place with a particularly vicious tug. "I'm just concerned you have no idea what you're doing, is all."

"I know exactly what I'm doing."

Rootkit doesn't have any idea what he's doing.

"Hmm." Needlekit seems thoroughly unconvinced, but she gets on with the task anyway. The trailing brambles she's weaving into place will form a turtle-shell-shaped cage laced with warding herbs over the grave when they're done. The plan is more or less to summon Russetfur into a cage she can't phase through, leaving her unable to escape. In Rootkit's opinion, it's a pretty solid plan for someone who has no idea what he's doing. "Why're you so set on doing this, anyway? Didn't Leafstar tell you not to mess with Gingerpelt?"

"Russetfur," Rootkit corrects her automatically. "And, well, yes, but..." he hesitates. "It's just... you know. I was the one who set her free in the first place, and..."

"Yes?" Needlekit prompts him. She's given up on the brambles and moved to stuffing moss and bracken into the gaps.

Rootkit fidgets uncomfortably for a second before the truth bursts out of him. "And now Russetfur's running wild everywhere and it's all my fault, and what if Leafstar decides not to make me an apprentice? If I don't become an apprentice, I can't be a warrior! And if I can't be a warrior-" he cuts himself off. He can't repeat what Kitekit and Turtlekit had said; even saying the words aloud seems like tempting fate... and he can't burden Needlekit with that, anyway.

Needlekit looks at him, though, and her gaze goes soft. "And being a warrior is your dream," she says, and starts stuffing the gaps with renewed vigor. "Well, come on, then! If we can trap Scarletfuzz then Leafstar will have to make us both apprentices! I can't be an apprentice without you; then I'd have to share the den with just Kitekit and Turtlekit. Can you imagine?" She pulls a disgusted face that has Rootkit giggling despite himself.

"Alright, alright," he says. "While you're doing that..." He shoves aside the piles of bracken they'd collected and settles down on the dirt. In his stories, Tree had never really talked about summoning ghosts - his work had been more about getting them to leave - but Rootkit is pretty confident about his ability to summon her again if necessary. More importantly, one or two of his stories had been about things the average, non-ghost-seeing cat could do to ward off spirits.

Rootkit spreads out his supplies, most of which had been scavenged from the medicine cats through a combination of tag-teaming and white lies. The herbs really are going to help his mom, just not in the way Fidgetflake thinks.

Thistledown. Rosemary. Lavender. Thyme. All plants that either attract or repel spirits, according to Tree (from what Rootkit can remember, anyway). Plus a lot of spiderweb.

"Hey, are you sure that's right?" Needlekit asks, leaning over his shoulder. "I thought we were gonna get some sage. And why'd you pick up the thistle?"

Rootkit frowns. "Well, Fidgetflake was coming back too soon and I panicked, alright? If you've got a problem you can get some more yourself."

Needlekit snickers and prods the massive pile of spiderwebs. "No thanks. I think you could've gotten a little more spiderweb, Frecklewish might still have some left over... yeesh, alright, I'll leave off the sarcasm. You don't have to glare at me."

Rootkit rolls his eyes. The immaturity of some cats. "Maybe I went a little overboard, but we need it. Frecklewish can just send the 'paws out to find some more. Now help me apply it; we need to cover the entire cage so there's no chance of getting out."

It's the work of a few minutes to paste it over with cobwebs, and the work of a few more to weave in all the protecting herbs. With luck, they'll prevent her from just phasing through. By the time they're done, it's so dense that a living cat would find it impossible to escape; Rootkit can only hope that the same goes for a dead one.

"Alright, fire 'er up!" Needlekit commands.

Rootkit closes his eyes to focus, trying to recall the feeling of power rushing through his being. Once, Tree had told them of a time when he'd jumped onto a wire fence and been struck by something he'd called electricity- what lightning is made of, apparently. Rootkit imagines it feels something like that.

The power lying dormant in his veins leaps forth eagerly at his call. It swells like a crescendo of sound, rushing out through his paws into the ground.

Rootkit focuses on the grave with every fiber of his being and wills it to summon its spirit. "Russetfur!" he cries out.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then, something shifts.

It's like a hole is briefly torn through space; instinctively, Rootkit reaches in, grabs something, and drags it through.

Beside him, Needlekit gasps. "What the heck was that?"

But her voice is wavy, distorted. Rootkit opens an eye and finds his world is tilted sideways. Needlekit makes a high pitched noise that scrapes its claws across the most inner parts of Rootkit's ears.

"M'fine," Rootkit mumbles. His words are slurred, he realizes distantly, because half his face is pressed into the dirt.

Needlekit jabs him. "This is no time for sleeping, Rootkit. Did it work?"

Rootkit blinks. For a moment, he has absolutely no idea what she's talking about; then, the memories start to flood back. He narrows his eyes, remembering the feeling of hooking a soul on his clawtips like a fish. "I think-"

He's interrupted by an infuriated caterwaul that drowns out whatever he was going to say.

"What is this?"

The cage shakes as its captive throws her entire weight against the wall, but it holds steady. The herbs have done their job; even a ghost can't pass through.

Needlekit laughs triumphantly. "It's bad kitty jail for bad kitties!"

Russetfur snarls back something absolutely obscene and proceeds to attack the inside of the cage with a ferocious determination. At least, Rootkit thinks she is; it's kind of hard to tell since they can't actually see her.

"Can she get out?" Rootkit wonders.

"No," Needlekit says at the same time Russetfur snaps, "You bet your kittypet hide I will."

Rootkit blinks.

"Literally," Russetfur adds. "Because I'll strip it off your back to line my nest."

"Oh." Rootkit drops his head back on the ground. The dirt here is very comfy, he realizes. Maybe he should just sleep here from now on. "Yeah. That was kind of unclear."

"It'll become very clear in a few minutes, runt. I'll even give you a demonstration."

Needlekit leans against the cage with a smirk that probably would have been infuriating, if Russetfur could actually see it. "Don't worry, Redpelt, you're clear as crystal."

Rootkit freezes. Even the scraping sounds coming from inside the cage cut off. "What was that," Russetfur says suspiciously. "Did you just-"

"Keep your spirits up," Needlekit says. "I'm sure you'll be back to your old haunting grounds in no time."

Rootkit tries to slam his head into the ground and discovers that it's really much harder to do when you're already lying on it.

Russetfur doesn't say anything.

"What's wrong, ghostie? You're as silent as the dead in there."

Then a translucent ear rises out of the ground right next to Rootkit's face and he screams loud enough to be heard halfway to Riverclan, probably, and scrambles out of the way. Needlekit screams, too, and then Russetfur is climbing out of the ground like a corpse emerging from its grave.

She shakes herself off and grins down at them with more teeth than a cat should rightfully have. "You forgot to ward the bottom," she says. Rootkit makes a very small sound that definitely qualifies as a whimper. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

All the fur on Needlekit's body has bushed out so she looks twice her size - which, compared to the full-grown warrior before them, is almost nothing. She's shaking like a leaf, but undaunted, she spits at Russetfur's feet. "Drop dead!"

Rootkit could kill her.

In a blur of movement, Russetfur pins Needlekit to the cage wall with one paw. "I admire your spirit, kit," she hisses. "But if you want to sass me, you're digging your own grave."

That's it. Rootkit has had enough. That is the final stars-damned straw. "Shut up with the stupid ghost puns, I swear to Starclan," Rootkit screams.

The wind rustles gently in the treetops as the two she-cats stare at him.

"The next person to make a single stars-cursed ghost pun, I am going to snap your fleabitten neck. Is that clear?"

Needlekit makes a stifled noise muted by the heavy paw slowly crushing her windpipe.

"Ah." Russetfur looks to be considering it. "Would you say we're dead m-"

Rootkit makes a very aggressive series of throat-slitting gestures.

"...you've got your father's spirit in you, I see."

"I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it," Rootkit snarls.

That gets her attention. Russetfur's eyes widen, then narrow. "Oh?" Her voice is considerably less friendly.

This is where it gets tricky. Rootkit's at a disadvantage - he's just seriously ticked off a relatively powerful ghost with a grudge against his relatively powerless clan, she's got his sister by the throat, and his only bargaining chip is a bluff. But there's an opportunity somewhere here; he just has to navigate a very prickly, very dangerous minefield and pray he doesn't blow them all up.

Time to channel his inner Tree. "Look," Rootkit says, in his best diplomat voice. "Clearly, we both want something here, something that we can provide for each other. What do you say we make a deal?"

Russetfur narrows her eyes and tightens her grip on Needlekit. "I don't think you're in a position to bargain, here," she says.

"On the contrary." Rootkit raises a paw. "I am in every position to offer a deal... as you just experienced yourself."

Russetfur scoffs. "What could you possibly have to offer me?"

"Your life."

That gives her pause. "If you could exorcise me, you'd have done it already."

Rootkit gives his best imitation of her knife-sharp smile and proceeds to lie through his teeth. "What do you think we were doing just now?"

The ghost narrows her eyes and says nothing.

Rootkit seizes his opportunity and plows onward. "You don't want to be exorcised, and we don't want you in our camp. So here's the deal - you leave and we don't follow." The last few words are growled out, like Leafstar whenever someone threatens the clan.

It's very intimidating, in his opinion, but it doesn't seem to have an effect in Russetfur. If anything, it only seems to make her angrier. "I won't sacrifice my honor as a Shadowclan cat to run from a bunch of kittypets," Russetfur snarls, leaning closer. "Even if you kill me again, I'd sooner die fighting for my clan than kowtow to some coddled housepets."

Rootkit grits his teeth. She hasn't called his bluff, but they can't have her running loose and hurting people. Think, Rootkit! "Another deal, then," he says. "If you won't leave the camp, then you just can't hurt anybody."

"No deal," Russetfur snaps.

"That's the final offer," Rootkit says coldly. "Under no circumstances are you allowed to hurt or injure any Skyclan cats. I'm not going to compromise on that point. And you can't really afford to bargain, anyway," he adds with a shrug. His heart is pounding so loudly he's almost sure Russetfur can hear it. "If you don't, I'll just summon you into the cage again and exorcise you for good. Or who knows? Maybe we'll leave you in there for a while. And this time we'll cover the bottom." He finishes with the nastiest, most hateful smile he can muster - which isn't particularly difficult, right now.

Russetfur goes silent. He can practically hear the gears in her brain ticking as she weighs her options. There's clearly only one real option here; he just hopes she isn't too prideful to take it.

"Fine," Russetfur growls, voice so low he has to strain to hear it. "Fine. I agree to your terms." The hatred seeping from her voice is almost palpable.

Well, the feeling is absolutely mutual. Rootkit dips into a little bow and bares his fangs in a farce of a smile. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Russetfur disappears into the air, leaving Needlekit to slump to the ground, wheezing. Rootkit waits until he's certain the ghost is gone before sinking onto the ground himself, body shaking with all the fear he couldn't allow himself to show before. Holy crap.

"Are you," Needlekit begins, then cuts herself off with a raucous bout of coughs that makes him wince. "Are you... okay?" she whispers hoarsely.

Rootkit makes a high-pitched, keening noise before breaking into nervous laughter. "No, no, not even a little bit. Oh, Starclan, I can't believe I'm alive, I thought she was going to kill us both. Oh stars..." he trails off with a giggle and buries his face in the dirt.

They lie there for a couple minutes, the silence broken only by Needlekit's wheezing and Rootkit's trembling.

"I want Mom and Dad," Needlekit whispers.

Rootkit couldn't agree more.

#warrior cats #warriors fanfiction #wc #wc fanfiction #warriors #rootspring #needleclaw #russetfur #tree #leafstar #violetshine #now that the general premise is done #everything from here on out is stupid ghost shenanigans #you know #if i ever get around to writing them

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therainbowwillow · 4 years

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https://therainbowwillow.tumblr.com/post/639917088173113344/alright-its-been-a-hot-second-since-ive-written -Part 1

Okay, Hadestown Fanfic With Crossovers Where Orpheus’s Terms are Different and Also ✨Olympus Drama✨Part 2/???

I think my greatest struggle in writing is... posting it. And deciding on a consistent plot. That too. Expect changes. Edit: Well, well, well, there’s a draft feature on this website? I might just migrate to Tumblr.

I may make an overview post at some point so you don’t actually have to read this. A long TL;DR probably, because it is written by Miss What-Is-Concise. My TL;DRs need TL;DRs of their own. Anyway, I’m rambling, so let me actually get started.

Preemptive:

-Orpheus is Apollo’s kid in this version, as he is in many retellings. He is raised by Hermes.

-Hermes works for Hades, bringing souls to the underworld. He resides away from Olympus to fulfill said duties.

-Dionysus’ parentage is by Persephone and Hades. (Because there’s no way Persephone’s screwing Zeus in the other room. Also this is his more underworld-connected family ties.)

-You drink from the River Lethe, according to some ancient authors, to forget your past life. And if Virgil can blatantly rip off Homer, I’m stealing ideas too.

-Would you look at that? This “short” AU fic is expanding by the minute. Hades and Persephone’s are true to the musical and that’s about it at this point.

Eurydice drags Orpheus to his feet. He leans against her. “Eurydice...” he mumbles. “I... I’m so sorry.”

“I signed my life away. That wasn’t up to you. We need to get going.”

Orpheus nods. “Why’s he letting us go? I don’t remember... anything really. I sang. Then I...” he turns away. “It felt like I was sitting in a fire. I couldn’t sing, I couldn’t think. It was unbearable.”

“I’ll never let them lay a finger on you again.”

“You didn’t answer me. Why’s he letting us go?” he asks, softly.

“He’s not,” Persephone mutters. “He wants you to fail. Then he’ll have a canary for his mines.”

Orpheus shudders at the thought. “My song... I thought... Persephone, I think I rewrote every note a hundred times. I lost the love of my life for that melody. And... it failed.”

“Just walk, okay? Please. Once we’re out of here, none of it matters,” Eurydice pleads.

“H-how far?” He’s almost afraid to ask. The original walk had been a grueling task. This one, he thinks, might be a hundred times harder. Whatever Hades had done to him... the effects hadn’t faded. Eurydice must already think he’s a selfish, naive, worthless idiot, he’s certain, so he plans to stay quiet. Unless it gets bad. Only if he needs to tell her, he decides.

“A mile, maybe a little more,” Persephone replies. “We’ll rest in my old greenhouse. It’ll be a roof over our heads at least. Don’t look back,” she warns. “Hades’ servants will follow us. Don’t give them a reason to think we’re afraid.”

Eurydice wraps and arm around Orpheus’s waist. “Tell me if you need a break.” He nods.

———————————

Hades sinks into his office chair. A painting of his wife hangs on the wall. He’s posing at her side. They’re smiling. She’s holding a bouquet of flowers. He rises and storms over to the portrait. He rips it of the wall and it crumples to the ground, torn in two.

He glances out the window. He’s viewing his realm from the highest point in Hadestown. The landscape is as flat as a sheet of paper. No hills, no mountains, only rivers, flowing by some force that is not the gravity of the overworld. His tower is the only peak. And the smokestacks of his factories.

This is his realm. All of it is his. Every inch of dirt, every scrap of metal and gemstone beneath the ground. Every sullen face of every tortured worker who’d sold his soul away. The wall is his too. And the Styx, which wraps it 7 times over. He’s a king and his castle is protected by the highest of palisades and yet... that boy... that son of Apollo had taken it all from him. What is a king without his iron fists? Now he had shown softness, now he’d shown weakness. A crack in the wall will bring the whole structure down, he thinks to himself. But what else can he do? Persephone is his wife. She is *his*. To imagine a thousand winters and springs and summers without her...

The underworld is lonely. He cannot lose her. But he cannot let the boy escape. Nor his lover, nor his traitorous workers. If he shows them an inch, they’ll take a mile. Worse, the traitors were right. Orpheus is alive. Orpheus is not his. That poet is all that stands in the way of his kingdom. And like any barrier, he will fall. How? Hades wonders. How can he kill the boy, break his spirit and punish him without losing Persephone? What blinds his wife? he asks himself. That silly little song had manipulated him, taken hold of his heart like alcohol. And Persephone loves it. She believes, truly believes, that Orpheus deserves to live for the very reason he must die.

Hades slams his fists against the window. Perhaps she was right. He ought to follow in his brothers’ footsteps. Forget his wife. That simple action would be enough to fix everything. If he let her go, she’d have nothing to hold over him. He wouldn’t be her puppet. He’d kill Orpheus, chain up the boy’s foolish lover and send Achilles and Patroclus to the darkest mines, and force them to work day and night apart from each other. Sure, the bunch of them would whine like kenneled puppies, but he could take their cries. They’d forget everything if he could get them to drink from the Lethe. Orpheus would be easy. Threaten his pretty little muse and he’d be scrambling to his knees. Eurydice would be nothing without her poet. Achilles would resist. He’d fight a millennia before he or his lover bowed before their king. But they too would fall.

Only Persephone stands in the way, he knows. He likes to imagine he has her under his control. But he knows it’s a lie. The food of the underworld she’d eaten, it didn’t confine her as well as he’d hoped. Sure, her time above ground would be made unbearable, but she would still be out of his grasp. She could leave. She would leave. He knows her threats aren’t empty. So he’ll find a way around her. He needs her to come back. Without Persephone’s warmth, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

He watches the crowd of shades begin to disperse and it dawns on him. Orpheus gives them hope, but he makes them afraid. How many deceased reside in Hadestown? It’d take a hundred thousand mortal lifetimes to count. And how many had stepped forward to help the poet boy? Two. Among that crowd, he knew, were great heroes. Heroes who once resided in Elysium. And still, only two shades had betrayed him. Two out of a trillion. Hades smiles. He won’t need to kill Orpheus. One of his workers can take the fall. Even Achilles won’t succeed in standing against an army the size of his. And Hades will win. His wife will see that some dead man has killed the singer to appease his king. She’ll suspect, but without proof, what does she have on him? Eurydice will see she has no choice. Once the boy belongs to him, Orpheus is his to manipulate. She’ll be trapped. Achilles, for all of his strength, is nothing alone. Without his dear Patroclus, he’ll give in. And so Hades plots.

————————————

Hermes, god of roads and messages, receives word of his adoptive son’s predicament with astounding speed. And he fears for Orpheus. But Hermes guides souls to the underworld, to Hades. To betray the king of Hadestown by helping the boy would be to lose his work and by extension, his freedom to live on the railroad. Without an excuse, he’d be back on Olympus, listening to Zeus and Hera’s endless bickering, watching Ares and Aphrodite humiliate themselves, and helping Dionysus comfort Apollo over the death of the mortal pretty boy of the week. And they wonder why Artemis avoids the damn place at all costs. In fact, he’s stuck on Olympus right now, called to the counsel by Zeus? Athena? He can’t remember. Some mortal breaking some rule.

Orpheus is more important than the meeting. His messenger had interrupted the counsel meeting to bring him word of the poor boy’s situation. He’s not sure how to cover this one up. No one was meant to interrupt important matters as this. Plus, he’d given the kid directions straight into Hadestown, which was the opposite of what his contract with Hades had said. He wasn’t allowed to barter for the return of mortal souls and he wasn’t allowed to assist mortals in doing the same.

“Hermes!” Zeus booms. “What is the meaning of this?”

He rolls his eyes. “Begone, messenger.” He slips a note into the man’s hands: ‘Tell Orpheus I’m coming.’ “Nothing, father. Just... matters of work. You know how Hades is. And don’t get me started on Thanatos! I’m late by half a second and-“

“Enough! I’ve half a mind to banish you from this counsel.” Hermes smiles. His excuses have succeeded.

Dionysus laughs, considerably beyond tipsy on his own wine. “You mind if I go too? I’m sick of this awful alcohol and I’ve got something far better back home.”

“Dionysus, wasn’t there an agreement we made?” Athena inquires, icily. “You cannot come to our meetings drunk.”

He smiles. “Well, you see,” he snaps his fingers and shakes his head, washing away his intoxication. “I didn’t come drunk. I *got* drunk while here.” He raises a flask and shakes it, refilling the canteen instantly. “There’s a difference.”

Athena grits her teeth. “Father, one more of these counsels and I swear...”

“And husband,” Hera pipes up, “We were going to address that nymph girl you’re always hanging around?”

Zeus flushes a deep shade of red. “Out. All of you. We’re done here.”

Hermes rises, forcing himself to keep his composure, at least until he’s out of sight. He steps into the sunlight that dazzles Olympus, treks the road to the edge of the mortal realm and... “Hermes?”

“Gods have mercy,” he mutters. He turns. “Apollo.” The god is puffy-eyed, probably from crying. Even Hermes had to agree, his latest lover had been gorgeous. Hyacinthus, was his name, if he remembered correctly. Apollo himself had called the counsel to beg for mortality when the boy had died and he hadn’t found another for what? Seventeen years? Spare for Orpheus’s muse mother, of course. Still, this was unusual, even for Apollo’s mellow dramatic self.

“You’re afraid.”

“Don’t... don’t do that, would you?” Hermes snaps, recoiling. “Yeah, yeah, medicine and all, but I don’t want you telling me what I’m thinking.”

Apollo dips his head in acknowledgment. “It’s my son, isn’t it?”

Hermes shakes his head. One word to Zeus and... all Prometheus did was hand over a spark. This was treason. “No, just work.”

Apollo tilts his head. “You’re lying.”

“What cause would I have for lies? I cannot keep Hades waiting, now.” He whirls away from Apollo’s gaze.

“Perhaps... treason?” Apollo inquires. Hermes’s eyes widen.

“Strong accusations.” He forces his voice not to shake.

“I won’t turn you in.” Liar, Hermes thinks. He wants to get on Zeus’s good side. A chance at getting his lover boy back.

“Correct. You wouldn’t have anything to turn me in for,” he tells the son of Leto.

“Orpheus’s wife... no, fiancée. No... I don’t know! The girl. She’s dead. Orpheus’s song is a failure. I heard it from Olympus. Lovely, really. But not nearly enough to convince Hades to let her go. Nothing is.”

Hermes turns again to face his half-brother. “Keep your voice down, would you? If Zeus hears a word of this-“

Apollo cuts him off. “And you helped him. You broke your contract and you know Hades better than anyone, other than Persephone, if they still talk these days. He’s crueler than he once was. They say Elysium itself is no more, that there’s only Tartarus now. You’re afraid of his wrath. And you’re afraid of Zeus. He’ll punish you too. You saw what he did to Asclepius. Struck by lightning for treason against Hades. And that was before this... winter,” he says, softer now.

“I don’t want a lecture, Apollo. What do you want?” Hermes glares at the god.

“I want a deal.”

Hermes narrows his eyes. “What kind of deal?”

“You break me in to the underworld-“

“No. I’m in enough danger as is.”

“Hear me out.”

“I said no!” Hermes steps back onto the road. Apollo grabs his wrist.

“I can get you out of trouble. Dionysus!” The wine god steps out of the woods.

“I’m due to visit my mother. Hades won’t prevent me from entering his realm, I’m his son,” Dionysus explains. “You and Apollo are there on Demeter’s ask to learn why Persephone is late. You, because you’re the god of messages and Apollo because he was available, on leave from his duties to mourn.”

Hermes groans. “The walk is far. Even if you’re me. Days on end of moping and drunken ramblings for a plan almost certain to backfire? I said no.”

Apollo smiles. “Then I’ll turn you in,” he says simply.

“You won’t. Orpheus is your blood. You’d put him in more danger. He knew of my contract and he let me break it. You’d add a charge against him. And it’s me. You cared once, didn’t you?”

“You know I would. You said so yourself. I visited the poet boy twice, maybe. And you? Ask yourself: when was the last time you optionally visited Olympus? But Hyacinthus, I loved for years. If I turn you in, I’m one step closer to him. On Zeus’s good side again.” Hermes shifts on his feet. “It’ll be good to have a doctor at the boy’s side too, seeing as your instructions just about starved him to death.”

Hermes glares at him. “Don’t.”

“You know it’s true. So? Let’s go or you trade places with Prometheus.”

“Fine,” he mutters, through a clenched jaw.

“Good. Now, this is on our terms, Hermes. I will aid your son because you’ve always been good to me and because he is my blood. If he gets in my way, he belongs to Hades.”

#hadestown au #orphydice #hadestown #hadestown fanfic #therainbowwrites

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justoneday-namjoonii · 5 years

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It burns, doesn’t it? [Pt. 18] | millions burning | rough draft

Genre/au: Mafia!au, Mature, Fluff, Angst…so much angst. Violence and all that good mafia stuff. Warning: This story contains graphic imagery, mature subject matter, improper drug usage, self-medication, including but not limited to crude/unnerving behavior, intensity, bloody, v slight-gore, etc.

Members: BTS Feat. Got7

→ Pairing: Jungkook x reader x ( ? ) →Summary: Why am I hurting alone? Why am I in love alone?

author’s note: there will be a taglist for the next update! please comment on this post if u want to be tagged💜 P.s ive been sick for like the whole week so ive been power writing💖💪

Released → Pt. 18

| Prologue | Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | Pt. 7 | Pt. 8 | Pt. 9 | Pt. 10 | Pt. 11 | P. 12 | Pt. 13 | Pt. 14 | Pt. 15 | Pt. 16 | Pt. 17 | Pt. 18 | Pt. 19 | Pt. 20

The pungent smell of marijuana engulfs your nostrils as soon the person walks inside. When you hear them clear their throat, you know exactly who it is. It's Jimin. Your chest fades into a bed of butterflies and the idea of talking to him alone makes you nervous.

You're peeking through the crack of the door as he leans against the counter.

You're still watching him and he hasn't noticed. He took out his phone and started typing. That's when you decide to crawl out of the pantry and he flinches when he sees you emerge from the tiny space.

"Y/n," He sighs, brows furrowing in confusion, "what're you doing?"

"I was- I came down here earlier to get, um-" You clamber to explain yourself. "To get a-"

"Were you spying on me?"

You swallow, "Of course not! I wouldn't do that-"

"I'm kidding," He shoots you a dull smile, calming your nerves. "where's Jungkook? I’m surprised you’re not glued to his hip.”

"Upstairs, I was a little hungry so I came down to get something but I'm not hungry anymore."

He pushes back his brassy blonde hair, his eyes wander to the alcohol on the table and he giggles a little. You? Drinking alcohol?

"You've been drinking?"

"A little, Jungkook and I," Along with that pungent smell on his clothes, you catch a whiff of some type of liquor on him. You smile, "smells like you had a little bit yourself."

"Hm," He nods, "a little."

He looks like he's uninterested in talking to you, but you know that can't be true. It's Jimin after all.

"Why have you been acting like, I don't know," You blurt it out without thinking. "...Like you don't want to talk to me?"

His heart stops for a moment and he withdraws. "I don't think I have, that's how you feel?"

"Well, yeah. For a while, you were my only true friend and I thought you cared enough about me to at least t- talk to me...You haven't said a word to me since we got here." Tears well in your eyes. Naturally, you try to cover your face with your hands, in a futile attempt to stop the tears. "This situation is already difficult to adjust to and you treating me like a stranger doesn't help."

"Y/n," He leans against the counter, trying to distract himself with tapping the cool granite, rather than listening to your hitched breath. Those sounds are pure torture to him, “things are just complicated."

He says that, but here he is, watching you ball your eyes out because he hasn't been paying you even the slightest attention. "How are they complicated?"

"Do you not realize what's happening? We're all under one roof and there's bad blood on all sides here. He doesn't trust me and you know this, Y/n," He turns from you, "You're just not thinking straight."

What is he saying?

"I thought of you as a real friend, it sounds so stupid now but that's how I felt. You listened to me, you didn't just hear what I said, you listened and you seemed like you cared." You hiccup, biting your lip incredibly hard to resist sobbing. "It's not f- fair to do this to me."

"Fair? Y/n, how the fuck do you think I feel?" He walks up to you, no longer worried about keeping a distance,

"Do you think this easy for me? Do you think I can just forget about you because you’re with him? You loved my attention, you were looking for it constantly and I gave it to you whenever you wanted it because I wanted to see you smile at least once a day, that was my goal. If I could do that, then I was doing something right. I was there for you when you were at your lowest, and do you know what you told me? You're not Jungkook."

You forgot you said that to him.

"I spent all of that time with you but you’ll always run to him. I kissed you and maybe deep down inside I thought you'd kiss me back or feel something for me but you didn't. And I had to accept that you love Jungkook and I'm not him. So nothing is fair in this world, sometimes you just have to suck it up."

"Jimin," Guilt consumes you and you want everything in the world to take back what you said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Look, I don't know what I'm feeling or what this is between us but it has to stop." He drags his hands down his face, regretting that this conversation had to start tonight.

"Jimin, that doesn't mean not you're allowed to care about me." You whimper, wiping your cheek sloppily. "As a friend..."

"Y/n, it's not that simple." He combs through his hair. "God, you treat me like I'm harmless like I'm not capable of hurting you. I could hurt you, in a way that shatters the mental image of yourself, of who you were before me. I've made people so totally devoted to a persona that I've created just to get what I want, I could do that to you." His expression saddens because even though he's saying it he can't bear the thought. "Aren't you afraid of that?"

"S- stop saying things like that...You- you wouldn't do that to me. I'm sorry if I hurt you or made you feel used. I was just so lonely and broken, and you were there and when I was with you I actually wanted to live, I wanted to be happy because you reminded me that it was still possible," You sniffle, "I- I'm sorry that I held onto that so tight."

"Hey, I know," He tilts his head, looking in your glossed over eyes as if they had some type of soul-saving properties, "you don't have to cry, okay? I know you're sorry, and I am too. Y/n, it kills me to see you like this..."

But when you look up at him, nose red and glistening eyes—he can't take it anymore.

"It's okay," Jimin throws all caution to the wind and embraces you, he takes a few breaths and exhales in relief. "calm down,"

* * * * * * *

"What's taking so long..." You said you were hungry but he assumed you weren't going to down there to make a whole meal. Curiosity gets the best of him. He hopes out of the bed and goes downstairs to see what you're doing — what he sees shocks him to the bone.

There you are, wrapped in Jimin's arms and crying. Anger bubbles in his chest, but for your sake, he keeps it at bay. Quietly, he approaches you two and Jimin open his eyes when he feels a dark presence. Oh shit.

"Somebody wanna tell me what’s happening here?"

“Jungkook?-” Without warning, you're being pulled from Jimin and squished against Jungkook like a stuffed animal to a child. "look at me," He holds you so that he can inspect your face,

"what's wrong? Why are you crying?" His brows are knitted tightly and he's alarmed, frantically trying to figure out why you're so distraught. "Tell me what happened." You push your face back into his chest and whine, you just can't say anything, he diverts his attention toward Jimin.

He switches out completely.

"What the fuck did you do?" Jungkook borderline growls, leaving you to get in Jimin's personal space.

"What do you think I did, Jungkook?" He bites back. "Why do you walk into a situation without any context and instantly start throwing blame?"

"Answer the question." He points at you. "You must have done something because she's crying and won't say anything. What did you do to her?"

"I didn't do anything to her." Jimin looks to you, "Y/n, tell him-"

"Don't answer him," Jungkook abruptly stands in front of you, blocking Jimin's view of you completely. He looks back at Jimin, "and don't fucking talk to her."

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cometcrystal · 4 years

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two halves of my brain at this scene

speaking of mutual pining ive had this in my drafts for a few weeks and i keep forgetting to post it

i LOVE scenes like this because it always shows how resourceful fred and daph both are while also showing how much they care abt each other. as soon as daphne finds a source of air they can breathe for a couple more seconds, she inhales some herself and then makes sure some gets into fred’s lungs even though he’s already passed out without a second thought about it being “awkward” or something. its like the oxygen tank scene in camp scare: when it gets down to it, they’re gonna both make sure to take care of the other AND act as quickly as possible to stop whatever the threat/danger is, and they’re going to do it without hesitation. there isn’t a better battle couple in existence and they are always going to put each other’s survival first

cpr kiss ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

#fraphne #scooby meta #scooby doo

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thesunnyshow · 4 years

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Name: reya

Writing Blog URL(s): @chu-ni

Age: 19

Nationality: african-british

Languages: english, swahili, korean

Star Sign: libra

MBTI: enfp/entp (it always changes lol)

Favorite color: purple!

Favorite food: i really love chicken burgers

Favorite movie: princess and the frog

Favorite ice cream flavor: vanilla!!

Favorite animal: elephants

Go-to karaoke song: fancy - twice

Coffee or tea? What are you ordering? caramel frappe with whipped cream, in general i prefer tea though

Dream job (whether you have a job or not)? secretary general at the UN….or an author

If you could have one superpower, what would you choose? making anyone agree with me and do what i want them to do

If you could visit a historical era, which would you choose? ancient egypt!!

If you could restart your life, knowing what you do now, would you?.....no.

Would you rather fight 100 chicken-sized horses or one horse-sized chicken? neither if i could lmfao but i’d go for 100 chicken sized horses

If you were a trope in a teen high school movie, what would you have been? the nerd who’s actually really pretty after she gets a cool makeover

Do you believe in aliens/supernatural creatures? im not sure about aliens, but i definitely believe in ghosts and spirits.

What are some small things that make your day better? when i can have moments to myself to enjoy my own company. or when someone asks me what i want to eat and they bring it for me 🥺

Fun fact about yourself that not everyone would know? uhm…...probably the fact that i write fanfiction lol..but outside of that! i sing in the shower. and i talk to myself a lot.

What fandom(s) do you write for? nct dream currently, but in the future i want to expand to other groups!

When did you post your first piece? 17th of June 2018.

Do you write fluff/angst/crack/general/smut, combo, etc? Why? i can never write just one genre. predominantly i write fluff with a dash of angst for spice simply because i love a story that has an issue and then having that issue be resolved for a happy ending. when i started my blog i was 17, and so i said i wouldn't write smut. now that i'm older im feeling more and more comfortable writing suggestive content at the very LEAST.. so maybe in the future i might write smut, who knows? i like writing fluff because i like making people feel good, but i like adding angst to it because i feel like the contrast between the two is very *chefs kiss* to me.

Do you write OCs, X Readers, Ships...etc? i only write x readers!

Why did you decide to write for Tumblr? i first got tumblr when i was 13 years old and i was a fresh kpop fan lmfao. i wanted somewhere that shared my interests. of course i discovered x reader fics on here and i was in awe, i guess of how much power writers had in contributing to fandom content and keeping readers satiated. i’d always loved to write and so i’d always wanted to start my own writing blog, and for 2 years i did write for other blogs! it wasnt until 2018 that i finally took the leap and decided to start my own, because i wanted to impact people's emotions and take them on a journey through my writing.

What inspires you to write? what inspires me….teen movies, music!! music is a big one for me, and also the books that i read. i also grew up playing otome games so the plots and writing from those influence my writing a lot.

What genres/AUs do you enjoy writing the most? i really enjoy writing royalty!aus as well as exes!aus. i love to do them cause they require me to build a world and with royalty aus specifically i love weaving together bits of political intrigue, or arranged marriages, etc. its so much fun!!

What do you hope your readers take away from your work? that if this world is too rough or too much, you can always escape from it. it might not be physical, but immersing yourself in a universe that's entirely different for a little while can help soothe you.

What do you do when you hit a rough spot creatively? usually i try and take breaks. the problem with that is that my breaks can go on for longer than i’d like and im trying to fix that. so my other solution is to read read read!! read as much as i can, or go back to books that i loved. ask myself what i liked about the writing, what are some parts that i thought were amazing examples of good writing - i note them down then see if i can apply that to my own work. another thing i do is take a break from writing my longer, fleshed out works and write blurbs! blurbs are a great way for me to write but not feel like its tedious because i don't have to spend as much time on them and it gets me into the groove of writing without feeling stressed out.

What is your favorite work and why? Your most successful? my favourite piece of work is miscommunication. it took me months to write that, even after i lost all the work halfway through, and its the longest piece of work i have written so far, so its kinda like my baby. my most successful is candy jar. its also the work i owe my blog exposure to - it was the first piece i published, and it was also the first piece of writing i did in around 4 years.

Who is your favorite person to write about? i don't have much out for them, but i really enjoy exploring mark’s and jeno’s characters. they're people, but in my work i enjoy analysing them and judging how they’d act in different contexts.

Do you think there’s a difference between writing fanfiction vs. completely original prose? the only difference for me is that fanfiction (depending on the fandom) has some of the stuff fleshed out for you already, such as the world its in. if youre the type to write AUs then the only thing you already have is the characters - the planning, the writing, the drafting, and everything else is still the writer's responsibility. therefore there isn't much of a difference between the two for me.

What do you think makes a good story? a good story, to me, is one that takes me on a journey. it could be any genre, but i like to feel immersed and connected to the characters and the world in it. also aside from the obvious, like good grammar, a good story feels natural to read. i don't feel like skim reading half of it.

What is your writing process like? my writing process consists of me getting inspiration - usually from a song, or a film or a book ive read or a game ive played - i note down my idea and who i want the story to be about, and then bullet point the whole story, with some snippets of particular dialogue i want the reader or the other person to say at certain scenes. i then open another document ( i have a writing app on my phone, called werdsmith, so i use that!) and set a word count goal i want to hit so i can track my progress and start writing the fic, with fleshed out language and exposition. when im done (usually after a couple weeks up to a few months, depends on the length of the plan) i read through it to fix any mistakes, then i transfer it to docs so i can read it again and italicise any areas i feel need it.

Would you ever repurpose a fic into a completely original story? i...don't think so. mainly because the original fiction i read and would like to write for myself is predominantly fantasy, whereas the fanfic i write on my blog is usually non-idol, normal fics.

What tropes do you love, and what tropes can’t you stand? im a SUCKER for enemies to lovers, royalty ofc, “and they were roommates”, and i think superhero aus are really cool but there isnt enough of them :( idol/you as member aus....not feeling her… also abo/werewolf/vampire aus….not feelin em

How much would you say audience feedback/engagement means to you? a LOT. a HUGE amount!! i said before how i like giving my readers somewhere where they can immerse themselves as an escape, even for a short while. hearing about how my work affected them, made them feel, makes me feel less insecure about what im writing and thus more confident to publish it.

What has been one of the biggest factors of your success (of any size)? i’d say reblogs. and also putting out more content. when i first uploaded candy jar i went to my one of my favourite writers (jaeminlore) and asked her if she'd be okay with reading it and giving feedback. to my surprise she loved it and her reblogging it to all her followers is literally what gave me a bunch of followers all of a sudden who loved what i’d written. to keep that momentum i created more and more content, and while i haven't uploaded as often as i've wanted to or written as much as i’d wanted to, i can say i have a good amount of work on my masterlist for people who are looking for more to read.

Do you think fanfic writers get unfairly judged? 100%. fanfic has an unfair reputation for just having bad writing and cringey fics (and i feel like this is because of the way society views the demographics who predominantly consume and create it), when in reality i feel like those who write fanfiction are extremely talented and selfless people. they're on the internet creating content for free for people to enjoy and like any other work of art they're putting time and effort into it. i think it should be respected. any form of art is going to have its good and bad sides.

Do you think art can be a medium for change? hmmm….yes. i feel it can be a way to reflect the thoughts of people and also be a way to inspire people to do more.

Do you ever feel there are times when you’re writing for others, rather than yourself? sometimes. sometimes i feel like i'm forcing myself to write because i feel like if i don't then people will forget about me or they’ll forget about my blog. while what i choose to write about is for me, i feel like the speed of my writing and what im writing isn't to the quality i want it to be cause i feel like i gotta get it out for people to read.

Do you ever feel like people have misunderstood you or your writing at times? i've never felt that way!

Do your offline friends/loved ones know you write for Tumblr? only 2 of my friends know, and i only told them like. a week ago!

What is one thing you wish you could tell your followers? i wish you guys would message me more! i'm quite a sociable person, and i’d love to have regular anons who talk to me 👉🏽👈🏽

Do you have any advice for aspiring writers who might be too scared to put themselves out there? i think one common thing amongst all writers is that we write what we want to read. so don't feel like nobody's gonna read your work, cause somebody will. you gotta act like your work is top tier even if someone says it isn't - always write the best you can, and just do it! like don't even give yourself time to overthink it, write that fic, make it look pretty, upload it onto tumblr and do not be afraid to ask your favourite fic writers to read your work once its up!! i’d be happy to read and give feedback for any fic writers as well so don't feel afraid!

Are there any times when you regret joining Tumblr? ive been on here for 7 years….i grew up on this site lmfao. but i don't think i regret joining tumblr once.

Do you have any mutuals who have been particularly formative/supportive in your Tumblr journey? shes not very active anymore and i miss her very much but user hyuck-s was so supportive and i love her!!

Pick a quote to end your interview with:

she believed she could, so she did.

BONUS ROUND: K-POP CONFIDENTIAL

#@chu-ni #thesunnyshow #featuredauthor #episode 32 #nct dream

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ruinedthatfriendship · 5 years

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Start Again

A/N: Okayyyyy so I was talked into posting this, and yes I am aware it is the most trashy fanfiction trope I have ever written, and I was mildly disgusted when I found this in my drafts. 2014 me was a dumbass. This was also evidently supposed to have more chapters that were never completed. I’m actually not sorry about abandoning this one, though...

I’m sorry this exists?

It took too long. Everything just took too long. It took an ambulance too long to navigate traffic, too much time to get her out of the wrecked car. Too much time to clean up her battered face before anyone even recognized her, too long before she got a bed in the ER. Too long before one of the doctors finally realized what was really going on, shoving a couple residents out of the way with a burr hole kit.

By the time they got the pressure down in her brain, and sent her up to surgery, she’d already had one seizure from the bleeding inside her skull, and she’d crashed in the elevator, arriving to the surgical suite with a nurse still riding on the gurney doing CPR.

By the time anyone found her emergency contacts, she’d been in surgery for two hours, without any word. By the time they got to the lobby, the driver of the car that hit her had been pronounced dead.

Simon hadn’t even known she’d set his information as an emergency contact. And apparently, it wasn’t just him she hadn’t told. Like every other detail of that horrible day, he would never forget facing Dianna and Eddie in the waiting room and spreading his hands helplessly, letting them shout at him while the only thing he had to offer was that he didn’t even know. And they were wasting time splitting hairs, couldn’t they see that? It didn’t matter anymore who Demi had been spending her time with or if he was too much older or her boss or anything else, not when they didn’t know if she was going to wake up. They didn’t have time to argue in the lobby of the emergency department, he just wanted to be able to see her.

A nurse had been anxiously watching the face off, clearly trying to remain professional even though this was probably the most gossip-worthy day of her career. “Mr. Cowell, sir, uh, Miss Lovato does have an advance directive in place and--”

“She made it after she got out of treatment,” Dianna cut in tearfully. “She said it was just in case,”

The nurse gave her a polite nod to acknowledge her, and then turned back to Simon. “We need to speak with you--”

“No!” Dianna protested, squeezing her husband’s hand. “That’s my daughter, he doesn’t get a say, I’m her mother, you can say whatever you have to say in front of me.”

The nurse--her nametag read ‘Angelica’--looked at Simon, waiting. “Sir?”

“It’s fine,” he said heavily, hardly believing that any of this was real. “And it’s just Simon, please.”

Angelica nodded, glanced down briefly at the chart in her hands. “Miss Lovato named you as her medical proxy, which means that you have the power--”

“I know what a medical proxy is.” Simon interrupted, feeling shock numb his body while his heart rate increased. Demi, baby, what did you do? “It shouldn’t be me. Give it to her parents, I can’t--”

“We don’t have that power.” Angelica said apologetically. “It’s a legal document that Miss Lovato signed willingly. We can take you back to wait, she should be out of surgery soon.”

“I’m coming,” Dianna insisted. Angelica just nodded at her; she was immediate family too, they wouldn’t refuse her.

A tense elevator ride later had them sitting in hard plastic chairs in a waiting area outside of neurosurgery, the sign itself almost giving Simon a heart attack. Brain surgery, because someone crossed the median while she was driving. And she’d gone to the trouble, sometime so long ago, to put her fate into his hands.

If what Dianna had said was true, that she’d written these things just after getting out of treatment, then it would have been before they were ever together. It would have been while the extent of their relationship was annoying one another at the judges’ desk, back at the very beginning. When the most he’d ever done was hug her and pinch her nose and call her a brat, she’d looked at him and imagined a day like this and signed her life into his hands.

“It shouldn’t be me.” he mumbled again, staring at his hands in his lap. “I don’t know what she was thinking.”

“You’re right, it shouldn’t! I don’t know what you ever thought you were doing with my daughter, she’s my baby and you can’t just take advantage--”

“Dianna,” Eddie murmured, squeezing her hand. His eyes were angry too, he looked ready to strangle Simon, but they were making too much noise in the waiting room.

Demi’s surgery took six endless hours. And when the surgeon finally came out, Simon already knew. The set of his jaw and the look in his eyes wasn’t good news, he could only hope it wasn’t a death sentence.

“Is she alive?” he spat out in a low voice, fists clenched and not sure if he was ready for the answer.

The surgeon nodded shortly, sending a rush of relief through Simon that was quickly tempered by the rest of his words. “She’s still unconscious, and not anywhere close to out of danger. We’re keeping her heavily sedated for now, and you can see her, but I want to warn you, she does have a lot of tubes right now, she won’t...look like you expect.”

“I don’t care.”

“Her vitals are good, but she did sustain severe trauma to her brain. I trust I don’t need to tell you how serious that is, Mr. Cowell. She’s alive and stable, but I can’t make any promises about her recovery until she wakes up.”

“What are you saying?”

“She may have cognitive deficits. We just have to wait and see. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but I can take you to see her now.”

“What does that mean?” Eddie asked quietly, holding tightly to his wife’s hand. “What...what can we expect?”

The doctor shot him an apologetic look. “We have no way of knowing, right now. Injuries like Demi’s have had a variety of outcomes, from full cognitive function to brain death. Obviously, given that her responses to stimuli are intact, she’s in as good a place as we can hope for right now. If we were to see any negative effects when she wakes up, it would likely be fairly mild.”

Eddie seemed to relax just infinitesimally at those words, and he was first into the room after the doctor, Dianna on his heels. Simon, exhausted in every possible way, didn’t bother fighting them and followed slowly, trying to brace himself before laying eyes on her.

Nothing could have prepared him, really. She looked peacefully asleep, if not for the washed-out paleness of her skin and the unceremoniously shaved side of her head, a line of stitches crossing her scalp.

Her lips were cracked and parted around a tube in her throat, cuts and bruises and butterfly bandages littering every visible inch of her skin as she lay there, looking tiny and helpless in that hospital bed.

Dianna sobbed and lurched forward, reaching for her daughter’s hand. Demi had a grey plastic clip on one finger, and an IV running into the back of her hand, and hers stayed limp while Dianna held on.

Eddie moved to stand beside her bed as well, one gentle hand tracing her hairline and sweeping the long side of her unplanned undercut off of her forehead.

Simon just swallowed hard, temporarily frozen. Demi belonged on the stage, larger than life with her incredible voice, she belonged laughing and stumbling in high heels and bodily attacking him with the promise of getting him sick. She belonged barefoot in the kitchen with her nose wrinkled up in concentration as she tried to cook, on the floor playing with his dogs, on the couch in a heated debate about Netflix. She belonged with fire in her eyes and love and laughter on her lips, she was not meant to lie here, so fragile and broken.

He found himself moving to the other side of her bed, ignoring the glares of her parents, and tracing the word on her wrist as he reached to grab her hand. “She’s strong,”

The doctor awkwardly returned just then, telling them that Demi was technically only allowed one visitor at a time, and Dianna stayed at her bedside while Simon and Eddie went back out to the hard plastic chairs.

***

It marked the beginning of the worst week of Simon’s life. He cleared his schedule and spent it almost entirely in the hospital, as did Demi’s parents. And if she’d been awake, she’d have scolded all three of them and set the record straight. Without her, and unwilling to alienate her family while she lay unconscious, Simon just endured their anger, pushing back only when they tried to keep him away from her. But he still couldn’t really blame them.

He’d had to give his permission for them to pull her off sedation and remove her machines after the third day. Tonight would be the eighth since the accident, and Demi still hadn’t woken. Her doctors were at a loss, explaining only that sometimes the body needed more time. That she wasn’t quite in a coma, yet. Simon knew what they weren’t saying, though. Her chances of recovery went down with every day she remained in an unconscious state.

For the moment, it was his turn at her bedside, while Eddie had finally convinced Dianna to let him take her home and take a breather. Simon was sitting on the edge of her bed and looking down at her face, which only looked more sleep-like and tranquil as her bruises began to fade. He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand, swallowing hard. “Come on, Dem,” he murmured. “If you can hear me, baby, I need you to wake up. Please,” he added in a whisper, fear threatening to choke him.

He’d lived over half his life without her, and she’d come in and rearranged everything so completely in such a short time. And now he was facing down the possibility of her leaving as suddenly as she’d come, permanently, and leaving him to live the rest of it without her. It was a bleak existence he didn’t particularly want to contemplate. One that might require some tattoos of his own to get through it. But it wasn’t going to be like that. She was going to make it through this.

Simon leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead gently, wishing he could hold her properly. She was cold and still so fragile and she smelled like the hospital and faintly like the burning metal of her accident, and he wanted nothing more than to take her home and deposit her in a warm bath, wrap her up between his sheets and hold her and never let her leave again.

But for that, she’d have to wake up.

“You’re such a brat,” he whispered, trying for humor. “Making us sit here waiting on you.”

Demi did nothing but breathe, her heart monitor beeping rhythmically in the silent room. Simon sighed, and squeezed her hand again. “Come on, Demi. You can do this. I love you, brat, just open your eyes.”

He collapsed back into the chair at her bedside, still without letting go of her hand, and bent his head over their laced fingers like he was at prayer. And he hadn’t given himself permission to cry--he didn’t cry--but there were tears falling onto her cold fingertips anyway, and when Eddie roused him later with a firm hand on his shoulder, it was with a bleak expression and red eyes.

Her father said nothing, and Simon just sighed and stood, feeling his back pop in retaliation for sleeping in that damn chair. And he was just about to let go of her hand when he felt the clip on her finger shift. It was a fool’s hope, he’d probably just bumped it with his own hand, but it was enough to glance back at her one final time.

And it was weak and uncoordinated, but her fingers moved, tightening around his hand as best they could, in a gesture no one could mistake. Simon’s heart jumped in his chest, and he turned to Eddie without ever letting go of her. “She squeezed my hand,”

And then Eddie was smiling over his shoulder with tears in his eyes, and Simon glanced down again to find her brown eyes looking up at him with such a quintessentially Demi bemused expression that he almost broke down crying again in relief.

“Hey, love,” he said softly. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Demi coughed, making a face, and looked straight past him. “Dad?”

“I’m right here, Demi.” Eddie assured her.

“Dad, my head hurts.” Demi whimpered, scrunching up her face. Simon reached over to press the call button at her bedside, earning a tentatively grateful nod from her father for it.

Demi dropped his hand quite suddenly, reaching toward Eddie, and Simon tried not to feel hurt. She was here, she was alive, she was awake. She was talking and aware, her brain wasn’t damaged, she was here. He’d take what he could get.

“I don’t understand,” she was saying weakly, looking between Eddie and Simon as quickly as she could without moving her head. “What--I…”

Her doctor and a nurse interrupted her, Dianna hot on their heels. “Baby!”

Demi’s face initially brightened, but then crumpled again in confusion. “Not you,” she was murmuring, almost to herself. She’d let go of Eddie’s hand now, too, and stared down at her own fingers, turning them over in examination almost as if she wasn’t quite sure she was real.

“How are you feeling, Demi?” the nurse was asking, an expression on his face that said he was entirely over the number of people crowding his patient.

“I’m...did I overdose?” Demi asked in a small voice, still not looking at anyone.

“No,” Simon rushed to reassure her, wishing he could be closer than where he’d ended up, almost in the doorway. “It was a car accident, darling.”

Instead of relief, Demi’s face only registered further alarm. “A car accident? Why...why was I driving? I’m sorry, Mama!” she burst out, panic in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to, I don’t know what I did, I--”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Dianna reassured her. “You’re okay, baby. The other driver was on the wrong side of the road. Not you.”

“I wasn’t supposed to leave,” Demi whispered, sounding terribly ashamed.

“Baby, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dianna was almost crying again. “You’re okay, Demi. It’s okay!”

“Demi, is it okay if I ask you some questions now?” her doctor cut in, smiling politely. Demi nodded weakly, and Dianna reluctantly took a step back.

“Okay, can you go ahead and tell me your full name, hun?”

“Demetria Devonne Lovato,” Demi returned, still looking down at her hands like she didn’t quite know what to do with them.

“How are you feeling right now, Demi?”

Demi shrugged. “My head hurts. Everything...kind of hurts.” she tried to play it off, but Simon could see the pain in her eyes. “I guess it makes sense if I was in an accident,” she mumbled.

The doctor nodded swiftly. “We can start you on some painkillers. Something non addictive, don’t worry. Do you remember your accident at all?”

Demi shook her head, looking agitated again.

“Okay, what’s the last thing you do remember?”

She hesitated. “Um, therapy. My session in the morning. I’m guessing it’s not today anymore, though?”

“Demi,” Simon started, ignoring all of the looks suddenly shot his way. “You didn’t have therapy that morning, darling.”

Demi made a familiar irritated face, starting to wave him off in her usual fashion, before she paused, her eyes flicking over his form rapidly. “Wait a second.” she said slowly. “I know you.”

Simon’s entire body went numb at her words. “Demi?” he said hoarsely.

She snapped her fingers impatiently. “You’re...I sang for you, you didn’t stand up. American Idol. You’re the judge guy, the rude one...Sa--Si--Simon. Simon Cowell.” She looked momentarily pleased with herself, and then made a face that would have been comical in any other situation. “Why the hell are you here?”

#i refuse to tag and publicize this #please accept my apologies #I swear I can write better than this #don't worry #better fic will be posted after this

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ahiddenpath · 6 years

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Seven Years of Writing Fanfics

I’m being a little premature- I’ll celebrate seven years of writing as ahiddenpath in September- but I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what I’ve learned. Please read on if you want to hear about the writing habits I wish I had when I started in 2012, and about the habits I wish I didn’t have back then!

I’ll also be talking about my writing plans in general. Check it out below the cut!

1.) Make a story bible.

A story bible is a reference document for your story. Before you post a new fic, I strongly suggest creating one. For digimon specifically, this means making some choices before you begin:

Which version of the character names will you use? Do you intend to remain consistent with this choice? For example, I’ve seen a lot of writers use Japanese character names and English digimon names. Will you use official honorifics? Custom honorifics? Will you use terminology from one translation of the show, or a mashup?

Make these choices upfront, create reference charts, and remain consistent.

After that, you can also keep references for topics such as characterization details (if you say that Bob’s favorite drink is coffee in one chapter and tea twenty chapters later, be prepared for a flood of comments pointing out the inconsistency), setting details, and anything that you don’t want to forget. Spending half an hour hunting down a silly detail instead of writing is a huge bummer.

Growing Up with You is my worst offender of ‘problems a story bible would have fixed.’ It’s got... every issue you can imagine, lol! For example, pairing Hikari with Gatomon (instead of Tailmon), using ‘digitama’ and ‘digimental’ interchangeably in the 02 arc, using the English terms for evolution stages while using Japanese names for other things, confusing Bakemon and Bakumon, it’s a mess. It’s so bad that a complete, painstaking edit is the only thing that can fix it... Which is enough to make me weep, given that the story is over 400K words long.

Organize yourself before you start. Here’s a link to some printable Digimon Adventure and Digimon Adventure 02 references.

2.) Avoid Longfics.

I know I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating. NEVER PUBLISH A NEW STORY WITHOUT HAVING AN ENDING IN SIGHT FROM THE BEGINNING.

I’m not saying you can’t write huge, epic tales. God knows I’m unlikely to stop doing that. But, if I could go back in time, I would separate Growing Up with You into four fics. It would be something like this:

Growing Up with You I: Childhood

Growing Up with You II: Digimon Adventure

Growing Up with You III: Liminal Space

Growing Up with You IV: Digimon Adventure 02

I’m sure some arcs would be longer than others, but this way, I’d have four stories that are roughly 100K words long.

A lot of folks just... don’t want to read a 400K story. It’s intimidating, man! Although it varies by genre, the average word count for a fiction novel aimed at adults is 80K words. That 400K fic is like FIVE NOVELS, DUDE!!!! That’s a commitment for readers!

Shorter stories are more reader friendly, but there’s also a huge benefit to you, the writer. Separating your longfic into multiple stories allows you more opportunities to write towards an ending. Breaking your story into digestible chunks decreases the writing paralysis that comes with being nowhere near the ending. It also cuts back on meandering chapters that don’t carry the narrative closer to that ending. Furthermore, thinking of the story in arcs before you start writing forces you to plan more... Something I never did in 2012!!!!

Best of all, once you reach the end of an arc, you can take a break before launching the next one. It’s hard on a writer to continue endlessly producing without a break. It’s hard on a reader to hit the final available chapter in a fic and wonder if it will ever update again. But if you complete an arc and take a break to plan and write a few buffer chapters, the tension and impatience is gone for your audience, and you get to breathe. It’s a win-win!

3.) Avoid long chapters.

Back in 2012, I often posted chapters that were 10K words and longer! Here are some benefits to posting shorter updates more frequently:

-Shorter wait times between updates.

Let’s say your planned chapter is 15K words long. I could update my story once in the span of a month, or I could break the chapter into three parts and update three times in a month! This keeps readers happy and interested in your work.

Over time, you’ll develop the ability to create sub arcs/movements, finding spots to break them up into separate updates. This also creates natural moments for cliffhangers, tension, and mini resolutions. It’s a great way to insert more moods and movement into your narrative.

-More exposure for your story.

Every time you update your fanfic, it gets pushed to the top of the update list on fanfiction.net or AO3. The more you update it, the more hits your story will receive, thanks to all the extra time it will spend on the first page of newly-updated fics.

-Easier editing.

I do my best editing when I’m working with 5K words or fewer at a time. Personally, I can only focus on close editing for about 90 minutes before I start missing mistakes and forgetting details. I could edit a 10K word update in two sittings, but then it’s possible to forget about details and moods from the previous editing session! So, unless your story bible is really hardcore, your editing process could benefit from shorter updates.

-More feedback/support

I have a few amazing readers who leave some form of feedback/appreciation for me whenever I post a new chapter. A supported writer is a happy, productive writer! More updates means more chances for feedback and support from your readers, which in turn can fuel and direct your writing! Again, everyone wins! (Thanks, guys, I love you!).

4.) Publish your story on both fanfiction.net and AO3.

Why reach one audience when you could potentially reach two? There are plenty of readers who only use one platform or the other.

At this point, it would be ridiculously difficult to post my 70+ chapter fanfics to AO3... Do yourself a favor and post to both from the start!

5.) Remember: writing and editing are two separate processes.

Guys guys guys guys guys. Lemme be real here.

I used to painstakingly write a first draft, check for spelling/grammar errors on my word processor, and then post it.

Here’s what my process looks like now: word vomit a first draft, do an edit in my word processor, print the edited draft, make edits on paper, transfer edits to word processor, print new draft, make edits on paper, transfer edits to word processor, final read through, post

If my new method looks more time intensive... In a way, it is, but in a way, it isn’t? I bang out that first rough draft without a care in the world, where I used to agonize over every word. Agonizing is not fun. Word vomiting can produce some, ah, discouraging results, but it feels like creative play. It’s fun, it’s flexible, it’s fast... And you can fix it later through the magic of editing. And if you’re having fun, you’ll keep writing. If you’re agonizing, you’ll find yourself making excuses to avoid writing.

Plus, my current method produces tighter, more deliberate prose, while maintaining the freedom and energy of word vomiting... And avoiding the angst and doubt. This is my best defense against writing paralysis and my greatest weapon in the battle of producing words.

My method can’t be right for everyone, but I do encourage you to try it out, especially if your writing hasn’t been joyful lately.

6.) Don’t run too many fics at one time.

I encourage writers to have one longer fic open and one shorter fic, preferably of different tones/settings/main characters. This gives you a way to keep writing when you’re sick of one project without bogging you down.

You will likely have some readers who love everything you do (god bless), but many people have particular genre, character, and setting preferences. If you have three fics open, then readers of any one story have to wait much longer for the next update while you alternate updating each fic.

And more importantly, having a ton of open stories just... It feels heavy, guys. It’s a weight, a pressure. Trust me. Forgive me, fanfic gods, for I have sinned.

7.) Maintain a buffer

Okay, so my Nanowrimo project for 2018 was to write 50,000 words for After August, my current open fic. By the end of the month, I had a roughly 80% complete first draft of the entire fic.

Guys! Guys! It’s so cool to know exactly where the story is going, from start to finish. My editing is so deliberate on this piece! I can spot repetition and inconsistencies, since the draft is printed and sitting in front of me in a binder. I can tweak emphasis and maintain more balance between character appearances. It’s a whole new ballpark for me, someone who always wrote one update at a time and posted it upon completion (or worse, wrote ahead and lost the material when I changed my mind about the plot before reaching that future point).

Plus, even if my life gets extra busy or hard, I can still maintain my updating schedule. I can print out a chapter, take it to work, and do hard edits during my lunch break (I realize that makes me antisocial, but have you ever endured coworkers telling you all of their problems while you try to eat a sandwich in peace? The editing is much more fun. I am antisocial, is what I’m saying. Born into it, baby).

Regular updates are a big part of maintaining steady readership, so having a buffer both increases the quality of your work (since you know where the story is going for sure) and ensures that more people read it. Awww yisssss.

Okay, well, my concentration is gone now, so that’s the end of my advice! If I think of anything else, maybe I’ll add it?

I do want to touch base with my writing plans, though. Currently, of course, my goal is to complete After August. If I can post one chapter per week, it will be compete in early March, but I’m going to aim for completing the story in May, to allow for any issues that might come up (for example, Kingdom Hearts III is coming out soon!).

After that, I want to complete Seeking Resonance... Although I have no idea how long that will take? I just know that the heavy atmosphere was really starting to weigh on me.

After that... Well, do you remember that survey I made a while back? It looks like my next project should probably be completing Four Years.

I might simultaneously work on one of these two stories and Tales of REM, or maybe I’ll alternate between SR and FY for a while? To be honest, though, I would really like to wrap up SR as soon as I can.

Either way, completion is the name of the game this year. Please look forward to it! Let me know if you have any ideas for future fics, or if you have a favorite from my list of potential future projects!

#writing advice #seven years of fanfiction #fanfic advice #fanfiction advice #faves

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swhurtcomfort · 7 years

Text

(Just curious, are these from the same anon or do you two just think alike? Either way, good luck with your exams, hope you enjoy -- Leslie)

Lessons Learned

The first time Ahsoka wakes, someone is there. There is a gentle hand resting on top of hers and a soft voice conversing quietly with the medical droid. Master Obi-Wan, she realizes. He doesn’t seem to notice that she’s awake. She doesn’t know where she is, but she is too sleepy to find out.

ii.

The second time Ahsoka wakes is perhaps an hour later, but she is alone. She hears steady beeps and breathes in the clean, airy smell of the Halls of Healing. She is home, then. She vaguely remembers riding in an ambulance-speeder.

Ahsoka sits up and her right arm thumps against her chest in a sling.

It’s strange to be alone in the Halls of Healing. It’s not that she wants her master or grandmaster to coddle her like a youngling, it’s just that they would normally be here.

Med droids come and go, but it’s almost half an hour before Master Obi-Wan appears.

“No one told me you were awake,” he whispers by way of greeting. There’s something in his body language as he sits down that makes Ahsoka nervous.

“I can’t stay long,” he adds. “But I’m glad to see that you’re okay.”

“Is it…broken?” Ahsoka asks, lifting her arm.

“Do you remember Luminara talking to you before the surgery?”

Ahsoka shook her head.

“I’m not surprised. You seemed fairly out of it,” said Obi-Wan. “You broke both bones in your wrist. They put you under and set it with some durasteel pins.”

Ahsoka nods, accepting this information. “I know I shouldn’t have chased after that shuttle,” she says with a sheepish smile. She and Anakin had chased their target all the way from the Senate building only to lose him in the chaos of the airtraffic lanes. Anakin had surprised her, and told her to let him go. Ahsoka had defied him and pursued the spy, and, evidently, injured herself in the attempt.

“Is Anakin upset with me?”

“Anakin is down the corridor,” Master Obi-Wan says slowly. “In critical condition.”

No.

iii.

Master Obi-Wan leaves again soon, full of cold politeness that makes it hard to judge whether he is angry or just tired and worried. They say he hasn’t left Anakin’s bedside since the accident except to check on Ahsoka while she was in post-op.

The horrible, twisting pit in Ahsoka’s stomach only deepens as she reads the report which Obi-Wan has already drafted for the Council. It says, among other details of the mission, that Anakin was crushed between two speeders as he flew over three lanes of airtraffic trying to reach Ahsoka. The report does not mention that Ahsoka was on top of a moving airshuttle, chasing the spy she had been explicitly ordered not to pursue. That Anakin had tried to stop her. That she had fallen from the shuttle, almost to her death.

The sensation of freefall feels like it never left. She is still trapped in desperate, tingling panic. He was trying to save me. If I had just listened—

Ahsoka is released as soon as the anesthesia has worn off, and immediately tracks down Barriss, who has been helping Master Luminara.

“They expect him to survive,” Barriss says gently.

The fact that this is an expectation, not a certainty, sends Ahsoka reeling.

Barriss tries to explain that a collapsed lung, badly bruised kidneys, or a fractured spinal disc are all survivable in isolation but combined together with significant blood loss and shock they can be dangerous, but that’s not what Ahsoka needs to hear.

She stops to lean against the wall. It’s my fault, oh Force,

“He’s only supposed to have one visitor at a time,” says Barriss uncomfortably when they reach Anakin’s room and see that Master Obi-Wan is still there.

“It’s alright, Barriss, let her in,” says Master Luminara. Obi-Wan does not acknowledge them as they enter.

Anakin is deep in a healing trance, immobilized with a neck brace and multiple casts. A tube protrudes from the lower left quadrant of his chest, draining air that escaped from his injured lung; his face is pale and bruised and obscured by an oxygen mask.

The healers are keeping a close eye on him, but there are inevitably moments when Obi-Wan and Ahsoka are alone in the room, and the silence becomes suffocating.

iv.

Once the silence is broken, it’s like floodgates have caved in.

“You’ve gone too far this time, Ahsoka. What were you thinking?”

“I didn’t think he would follow me, I’m sorry,”

“Of course he wasn’t going to stand back and watch you get killed.”

“I said sorry—“

“I was always afraid something like this would happen to him,” Obi-Wan snarls. “But I assumed he’d be the reckless idiot who brought it on himself.”

‘Idiot’ stings, and although one part of Ahsoka accepts the blow as though she deserves it, another part of her bubbles up in anger. “Master, you have no right—”

“Nope,” Luminara snaps as she enters the room, laying a hand on Ahsoka’s shoulder and steering her towards the door. “Absolutely unacceptable. If you are going to raise your voices, you may leave.”

“Thank you,” says Obi-Wan, sitting back down with a huff.

“You too, Obi-Wan,” Luminara shoots back. “You two can go argue somewhere else, or have some time apart, figure it out. We will take good care of Anakin.”

“He is my padawan,” Obi-Wan hisses.

“He’s my patient,” she counters, matching his tone.

Anakin makes it through the night.

Barriss tells Ahsoka that the danger has passed, that his lung is mending and all his fractures and bruises will clear up with time. It will be a long, painful recovery. Ahsoka swallows hard.

Anakin is awake when she is allowed in. She doesn’t know what to say.

“Snips,” he gasps. He’s still on oxygen, but they’ve moved him down from the whole mask to just a nasal cannula. Although Ahsoka doesn’t see the significance, Barriss insists that’s good news.

“I’m sorry,” she says tearfully.

“What, for this?” He’s a bit spacey and not fully there, Ahsoka notices. “Forget about it. They’re giving me the good meds, I feel nothing.”

His blood oxygen level fluctuates wildly as he talks. He takes a sharp breath and it stabilizes again.

“It should have been me,” Ahsoka whispers.

“Like I would let that happen. Listen Snips, we’ve all made shitty judgement calls. This could have happened to anybody.”

“I think Master Obi-Wan hates me.”

For some reason, that makes Anakin chuckle.

vi.

Ahsoka is quite used to hearing her master curse, but the following weeks are a whole new level. Anakin’s good spirits don’t last long once the healers release him and he sets about the grueling task of getting better. Sitting up is hell on his back and neck, but then again, so is lying down and standing and pretty much just existing in general. His day is defined by when each dose of pain medication is due.

Obi-Wan is there to bring him food and help him transfer and get to the ‘fresher and back, and once Ahsoka’s wrist brace comes off she pitches in too. He finally reaches a point where he can hobble short distances, but it’s hard for him to put pressure on his spine or do anything for a prolonged time, even just standing up in the shower.

Obi-Wan isn’t home one afternoon when Ahsoka hears the water shut off in the ‘fresher, followed by a nervous call of, “Obi-Wan?”

Ahsoka follows the call to the ‘fresher door, then hesitates. “He’s not here. What is it, Master?”

“Could you come in? Don’t worry, I’m decent.”

He’s sitting leaned against the outside of the tub, wrapped in a towel.

“I’m sorry, Snips, I thought I could do it, but—” He pauses, embarrassed. “I can’t reach my arms up high enough to wash my hair. I’d wait for Obi-Wan, but I already drew the bath, and…,”

“It’s alright,” Ahsoka says quickly, trying to sound more confident that she feels. “I can help,”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles again as Ahsoka carefully has him lean his head back under the faucet and lathers the shampoo through his hair.

“Do you need help rinsing it too?”

“No, I usually just sit under the shower head. You can go now. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, Master. I want to help.”

“You’re uncomfortable.”

There’s no point in denying that.

“If you need anything else…”

“I’ll holler. Yes, thank you.”

vii.

Anakin awkwardly shuffles into the kitchen where Ahsoka is doing homework, and sits himself down next to her.

“Obi-Wan says we need to talk about what happened,” he states.

Ahsoka almost says something snarky. It’s ironic that Obi-Wan wants them to talk when he’s barely said two words to Ahsoka in weeks.

“I really am sorry, Master. I wasn’t thinking about the consequences. I just wanted to catch him.”

“I did too. But Ahsoka, he wasn’t worth it. We both could have died.”

“I know.”

“Obi-Wan was harsh with you because he was scared that he could have lost both of us. He doesn’t say that kind of stuff because he thinks it sounds like an attachment, so he just comes off as angry.”

Ahsoka nods. Then she looks up to meet Anakin’s gaze carefully. “Are you angry with me too?”

“I was a little bit,” Anakin admits. “But I think the past few weeks have given you an up-close-and-personal look at what the costs of that kind of recklessness can be. I don’t think you’ll make this mistake again.”

“No!” Ahsoka assures him quickly.

“Then I’ve taught you something. See, I’m great at this.”

He clearly wants her to laugh, so she makes an attempt.

Ahsoka is used to her master couching uncomfortable topics in humor, but she sees that he is sincere.

“I’m sorry,” Ahsoka says. “For not listening to you, and I’m extra sorry that you got hurt.”

“You can stop saying that,”

“No I can’t.”

“I forgive you, Snips. Does that help?” Anakin pushes the table further away and reaches out to hug her. The range of movement in his arms is restricted, so she has to meet him halfway.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again, and Anakin hugs her tighter.

#ahsoka #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #star wars #hurt/comfort #anakin whump #TCW era #lessons learned #please don't tag as anisoka she is smol #anon #Lpost

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