#now I can work on my next longfic!

[an-aura-about-you]

oh man, I've got my new laptop as set up as I need it to be, which means I can start writing again~

[honeydots]

What do you think Siegbert’s relationship with Laslow and Soleil’s relationship with Xander are like particularly as they get older/teenagers.

anon you're enabling me i LOVE their parent/child relationships as they get older!!! read more cause this got looooong

for laslow and siegbert--well first off, i think laslow always can provide a particular brand of emotionally-based support that develops more as siegbert gets older. siegbert has his Anxiety Issues, and where laslow and xander both struggle w sociality as well, i think laslow can relate in a more... empathetic way? dealing with some of the emotional aftermath and letting feelings be feelings (this isn't to say siegbert doesn't go to xander or that xander doesn't help, i just think they're good at different things). on a more lighthearted note, i think laslow's really good at getting a giggle out of siegbert, and good at finding ways to alleviate pressure. he's been doing this for years with xander. and yes, xander and siegbert need different things, but laslow's good at pinpointing those things

something i rly like abt their relationship is that i think that where siegbert more openly shows his idolization of xander (like we see in-game), he still does something really similar with laslow. looking up to him, taking inspiration from him. it just comes out in different ways. for example, siegbert probably trusts laslow's opinions... a lot. considers his sometimes more than his own. and he's just fascinated by the stories he tells. even after laslow's married to xander, i like to think he still travels (and drags xander with him as often as he can--and also drags their kids along as often as he can hahaha), and those stories in particular really entrap siegbert. which is good for a budding prince, i think something laslow (and eventually siegbert and soleil) has that xander lacks is some open mindedness, and not being so narrowly nohr-centric in his perspective--esp in upbringing, if that makes sense. this is also why i like laslow taking xander traveling, cause ultimately i think it would do him good.

ONTO!!! soleil and xander!! ive mentioned before how much i like the grumpy-dad and peppy-daughter dynamic, but. to reiterate: i really really like it gjsjfjsnf soleil, similarly to laslow but probably even more, tends to go to xander and ramble about her girl successes and failures. just barging into his office like i hope you're not busy cause i have things to SAY!! and i don't think xander dismisses her, but he does make her wait sometimes, hahaha. i also think xander will often tell soleil what she needs to hear, rather than what she wants, and ultimately for her that's better than the alternative. he's not entirely harsh (though he can be and that's something to work on), but honest. he also dotes on her more than he should by a xander-standard LOL

i think soleil provides to xander a lot of brightness--it is NOT lost on me that they named her soleil, sun, in a place like nohr. i think surrounding xander with bright people is a fantastic idea. and just like laslow's doing with the traveling thing, soleil probably gets xander to socialize a little more, haha. he isn't a brick wall that can't talk to anybody, but--he does strike me as the kind of guy who has coworkers, but not friends, ya feel me. soleil's confident and full of energy, and tbh i think she's the type to really want attention from her parents, so asking xander to come along with her is a frequent request. and that eventually, naturally, leads to xander getting out more. she doesn't have the same setback as laslow that if he gets shy enough he'll retreat entirely while they're out, hahaha

and one final note to round this off: i like to think!! that xander and soleil are both cat people (xander = cabbit, and soleil has lines about owning kitten posters), where laslow and siegbert are dog people (i have many aus where laslow has a pet dog so this is more of a 'because i said so' kinda thing) (also you might be inclined to think cat for siegbert also but i need you to look inward. deeper. i think he'd like the enthusiasm...!!! i have more i could say but i'll leave it at that)

there you go!! :D

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

Metamorphose | 2k

my masterlist | ao3 ✦ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader ✦ Summary: You and Simon deal with the pain of losing a baby. ✦ TW and general warnings: established relationship, angst, fluff, sensitive content (abortion), depression and eating disorder mentions, it's painful but he comforts you

A/N: Hi everyone! Since I'm working hard on some requests I've received and in the next chapter of Shades of Red, I decided to release this kinda old drabble of mine here. I'm not too satisfied with how it ended up but enoughly to post, so enjoy <3

I'd also like to mention that I have a taglist for my longfic Shades of Red but not one for my general writing and drabbles so I'll make a post for it, but till then, if anyone's interested in being tagged in my general posts and drabbles, please let me know <3

The sky is colored in blue, pink and purple.

Mostly blue.

You stare outside of the window while it changes, a golden yellow sun by the morning that rises; it spent too much time burning bright in the also bright blue sky. You counted the hours till it started descending. Now, the sun was nothing more than a little line by the horizon, and the sky was fading into cold colors, fading into the cold night. 

You feel hungry, but it felt wrong to eat knowing you’d be sick of your stomach the second food hits it. You’re not in town anymore, Simon decided it would be better if the two of you took some time out in the country, where it was safe and you’d have time and space to do the things you loved. Running with your dog, swimming in the lake, breathing the fresh air. Truth is, you don’t feel like doing anything. Your legs are too tired, you’re sleepy, you’re tired. You’re very tired. 

You heard him on the phone earlier. His voice was hoarse and low, he argued you wouldn’t want to receive visits. You could tell whoever it was - was insisting, pushing him too hard into allowing them to visit you. He blatantly denied, and you could feel his mood changing in a bit of seconds, his patience running low and the moment he turned off and let out a huge snort; and it had been perhaps two hours since that happened.

You let out a tired sigh, your empty sad eyes stare down at a small sign of movement under the window you were staring at. A little cocoon, seeming to be still inhabited, was hanging from a little line in there. You knew it was supposed to keep hanging till the moment that little caterpillar metamorphosed into a butterfly, and broke the shell, flying out freely. But for some reason you can’t understand - as well as many things in nature, this one cocoon is about to fall.

Your shaky hands reach out for it and before it hit the ground, you carefully pull it and it detaches without a second guess. You take a small look around the room and grab a small empty cup where the water you were supposed to have drunk evaporated, and place the small thing inside of it.

“There you go.” You mutter, the first time you hear your own voice in days, maybe weeks. 

Some things aren’t supposed to happen. And you’re not supposed to die without being conceived the chance of living, even if only for a day.

You reach for Simon downstairs, minutes later. Looking pale for the lack of food you’ve been putting yourself through, tired for even standing, collateral effects of the strong medication you’re taking for the sake of your life. 

“Baby.” You mutter, and he turns instantly from the alluring stare he was giving the fireplace. Your man’s sitting in a cozy armchair, drinking tea - cold at this point - and dissociating just like yourself. You blame yourself for a second: how can you put him through so much? Isn’t he suffering as much as you, why are you isolating him?

“Yes, my love?” He quickly responds, like he craves for hearing more of you. “Another nightmare?” he asks, standing to come closer to you.

You shook your head. “No… I found this.” you show the cup between your hands; Simon doesn’t seem to get it at first glance. “A butterfly. It’ll come out anytime, the cocoon is moving.” you state.

“Oh.” He raises an eyebrow, and sighs a little. “What a cute thing… Should we put it in the garden?” He asks, so much calm in his voice you feel yourself a little lighter. 

“I want to see it.” You state. “The butterfly, I don’t know what type it will be, I’m curious.” 

Simon looks at you like love would, if love was a person. He’s as tired as you, you can tell. Maybe his legs work a bit more than yours and his hands have the capacity of doing the hard work still, but his mind is as empty as yours.

“Of course.” He nods, and reaches for his own coat, placing it around your shoulders. You feel warm and cozy to the smell of him. “We can watch, come on.” he suggests, and grabs onto your hand. 

His squeeze is light and calm, and your body follows him instinctively, not thinking about anything but the comfort you crave right now.

For the past few days, the only thing you could think of was the void in your belly. The void you haven’t felt in months; when you told him you were pregnant, Simon stared at you in complete despair and horror for at least ten excruciating silent minutes. You weren’t used to the idea as well, you’d have to interrupt your current work, you’d have to dedicate yourself to learn the slightest about being a mother.

It is a lie that every woman is born knowing how to hold a baby. When the two of you would visit some of your friends and their children, you’d try to picture yourself as holding your own baby instead of holding theirs. You couldn’t. They’d tell you that oh, god, don’t hold him like this, while laughing. But for you that was a sinful despairing moment.

Simon knew better than you, as a matter of fact. He held babies correctly, unintentionally - but very correctly. 

You didn’t know if you were supposed to feel envious of his natural ability or proud of having this man as a daddy to your baby. 

You learnt to love the little thing growing in your belly. He did, too. He would often bring gifts to you - keeping track with your cravings, and also buying things for the baby. Baby’s little room would be full soon enough. This little creature who wasn’t even born yet was everywhere around your house. The worries about conciliating Simon’s work with your pregnancy were starting to catch the two of you off guard, and soon as he asked for a license to take care of his pregnant wife, that day. That night. So much pain, so much blood. He wasn’t a small lifeless fetus anymore, it was a whole baby. It was a girl. She had a name. 

Some things aren’t supposed to happen. 

“Your parents want to visit.” He mutters, the two of you sitting in the swinging chairs by the garden, surrounded by dozens of different kinds of flowers. The weather is fairly cold, but you don’t feel it with his coat around yourself. “Told them you wouldn’t want to.

“I don’t.” You agree. “Tell them I need time.”

“I did.” He fixes the coat you have around yourself, and glares into you as the sky fades into deeper tones of dark blue. “I was a little less polite than that, but I did.”

“If you weren’t, they wouldn’t listen.” You argue, looking at him now, too. Your eyes fall deep into the void of his own. 

For the first time in those two painful weeks, you can feel his pain flowing through his damaged soul. Like yours. 

“I know. Terribly stubborn blood you have, dear.” he mutters, moving your hair off your face. “Did you manage to eat something today?”

“No. I’m sorry.” You mutter, your voice failing for the first time.

“Don’t do this to me.” His voice comes out pained like yours. He closes his eyes, and his jaw clenches in sadness when he sees the tears start gleaming through your eyes. “Don’t apologize. Don’t cry…” he asks in an almost begging voice.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, love, this is all my fault, it’s-” you catch your breath in your throat and suddenly, you’re falling apart. Days of nothing, weeks of not feeling anything but pain in your chest, despair, panic, and now you’re falling apart in front of him. Your tears stream down your face like overflowing rivers. “It’s my fault.” You say, grabbing handfuls of your hair and tugging your face on your knees. 

Simon feels his own eyes get drenched as he can’t hold his own rivers by seeing you like this. He kneels down to the ground in front of you, pulling your hands from your hair, carefully stopping you from hurting yourself; feels excruciating to him to be able to do nothing.

“It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” He mutters, and you feel your body moving up. He holds you like you’re lightweight and takes his seat where you were sat at, now, holding you like a baby against his lap. You tuck your face on his chest now, the tears wetting his shirt, your painful voice coming out in low groans of pain, a painful cry of a mother who lost her children. The sad dead eyes of a father who watched this happening and couldn’t do nothing about it. The grief of parents, who didn’t have the chance of raising their children.

“Why? It hurts so much, so much.” You say beneath your cry, your eyes drenched, your face red from all of the crying. His hand is caressing the back of your head as he silently cries.

“I know. I know it hurts.” his voice is almost a blow of the wind, a whisper. “I can’t possibly know how it feels for your, my darling, but it feels bloody excruciating to me, everyday. I miss her all of the time.” He admits, his voice like the one of a kid who just lost its parents. “I miss talking to her, feeling her kick in. I miss her.” 

For the past few days, the two of you seemed to be speaking in foreign languages.

Couldn’t understand each other. Couldn’t comprehend. He was in pain, so were you. None of you could see each other, understand each other. The two of you needed space. The fights, the screaming, his complaints about your refusal to get help and your anger for not feeling understood.

Right now, you feel understood.

Who could understand a grieving mother more, than the kid’s grieving father?

You miss moments that didn’t exist. That didn’t even happen.

You shouldn’t have died without even getting the chance of living. Even if for a day.

“I’d give anything to have a day with her. A fucking day, just one.” You mutter in admission, as you hug in his arms and feel his warmth start to make you calmer by the second. Simon closes his eyes in acknowledgement.

“Me too, darling. And I don’t know what can we possibly do so this hurts any less, but I’m pretty sure we can make it easier if we’re together in this.” He affirms, his hand reaching for your face and washing away your tears. You look at his eyes for the very first time in weeks now. “We face it together.” 

The sky is painted in dark blue now as night approaches and the cold finally starts rising completely. You feel it hitting your skin, as Simon has you in his arms and you hum a low lullaby to the air. He runs his hand across your belly like he somehow tries to heal you from the void you’ve been feeling.

If she feels empty, then I’ll fill her with my own love.

You close your eyes and even though in this terribly uncomfortable position, you feel warm, and you feel cared. You rest. You fall asleep in a matter of seconds

None of you had awakened in time to see the cocoon hatch and the butterfly fly out. But for the past months, for the past years - when you were facing the task of emptying your baby’s room along with Simon, or when you were working - and even in other times, when you’d catch yourself thinking about her, you’d see a blue butterfly flying around you. 

Simon was too skeptical to believe, but even so, he’d always catch every butterfly he’d see, and bring it to you. “Look, who’s coming to visit!”

[stellar-solar-flare]

The Literary Universe Of StellarSolarFlare

Welcome to my little library of fanfiction! Please note that my blog is a 18+ only space, and all content is intended for adults only. Minors do not interact - you are not welcome here and will be blocked.

I currently have my requests CLOSED. My side blog with only fic updates is HERE.

Reblogs, comments, thoughts, asks and everything along the lines are very welcome! I also welcome constructive criticism, emphasis on constructive. My replies to things might be delayed due to life & using the queue function (although my tagging of queue posts is inconsistent at best), so it's definitely not personal if I don't reply immediately.

FIVE LATEST WORKS: Equinox - CH10: Trophy Wife | S.R. | Explicit A Fairytale Of A Disaster - CH3: The Royal Castle | S.R. | Explicit Volatile - CH3: Debrief | S.R. | Explicit | Completed!Volatile - CH2: Flammable | S.R. | Explicit For Centuries - CH18: War Council | S.R. | Explicit

About my writing:

mostly Steve Rogers x Reader and Steve Rogers x OFC (some Bucky Barnes /Reader and Tony Stark/Reader thrown in too!)

Readers that tend to be described as smart, intelligent, slightly socially awkward types that often have STEM-related jobs in-universe.

romance, romantasy, and healthy relationships, usually combined with an action-adventure plot.

Slow Burn, Protective Steve Rogers, Idiots In Love, Mutual Pining, Forced Proximity, Pretend Relationship, Chosen Family, Fluff & Hurt/Comfort, and Fix-Its.

If you were around during the 'Everyone lives at the Tower' era, I never really left that place: Most of my work takes place in an AU where SHIELD fell right after the events of the first Avengers movie, and something called The Avengers Initiative, funded by Tony and strategically led by Steve took its place.

I am a longfic person at heart. For logistical reasons, my really long longfics live on my AO3 - the links on this list that lead to AO3 have a little (AO3) after them. I don't have plans to post all my past work onto tumblr, but my fics on AO3 are open for guests, and guests can leave comments too. I will also make a post on tumblr when I update a story that is on AO3.

HALL OF FAME - my own favorites!

For Centuries (AO3) | Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader | Explicit

As the only daughter of King Howard Stark of Richford, you have always known that you are expected to eventually enter into a political marriage. When King Howard attempts to save his kingdom by marrying you off to the conqueror of half the world, you accept the responsibility bestowed on you. But as you arrive at the court of Emperor Steven the Righteous to be wedded and crowned the Empress of the Centurial Empire, your husband-to-be is not what you expected.

Reader is the daughter of Howard Stark and his second wife, who is not named or described. This is a 'From Political Marriage to Love Marriage' story, featuring lots of romantasy elements, court politics, and protective, righteous Emperor Steve Rogers. The 'Touch her and I'll kill you.' vibes are strong with this one. The slowest of burns.

WIP - 18/x chapters published.

Astronomical Odds (AO3) | Steve Rogers x Reader | Explicit

When you met Steve Rogers, the spark was definitely there, and the way you two hit off made one thing lead to another. But the consequences of that night will reach a lot further than either of you thought. Because now that you're pregnant - despite the astronomical odds - you and Steve need to navigate the situation after having known each other for exactly one night (and the two and a half weeks he spent off the grid on a mission). That wouldn't be an easy thing to do, even if he wasn't a superhero and you weren't trying to become the next Nikola Tesla (or Tony Stark).

So, people really need to stop implying that this is sign you two are meant to be, because honestly, it's just a mess. And Steve really needs to stop proposing to you.

An accidental pregnancy fic with lots of chosen family themes, and Steve and Reader figuring out each other and the upcoming baby situation. Heavy on romance, fluff, and not only Steve but the rest of the Avengers, too, being protective and caring of Reader, who is a literature nerd studying to be an aerospace engineer. Features some discussion of medical realities of pregnancy, and some supersoldier biology related issues.

WIP - 24/x chapters published.

LONGFICS

A Fairytale Of A Disaster | Steve x Doctor!Reader | Explicit

Reader has been stood up by her Valentine's Date. Or has she? Romance, fluff, meet-cute, hurt/comfort. WIP, 3/4.

Equinox (AO3)| soft dark mob boss Steve Rogers x superpowered Reader | Explicit

When you’re caught in the crossfires of a war brewing underground, Steve does what he has to. And as you get pulled deeper into his world, it may very well turn out that starlight can scorch, too. A dark romance story about a woman scorned and a man who is so much more than he seems. WIP, 10/x.

Volatile | Steve Rogers x Scientist!Avenger!Reader | Explicit

Reader has been subjected to an aphrodisiac while on a mission. Steve and the medical team attempt to find a solution. Smut with feelings, eventual fluff, eventual happy ending. Complete, 3/3.

ONESHOTS

Warmth | Steve Rogers x Chronically Ill Reader | Mature

Steve is the most caring husband and the best heating pad in the world. Even on the bad days when you don't feel easy to love. Hurt/comfort, established relationship, protective Steve Rogers. 1,771 words.

Worthy | Steve Rogers x Reader | Mature

You and Steve Rogers have been dating for a year. When a journalist is out to get you, you will have to stand together and come out stronger. Romance, angst with a happy ending, fluff & hurt/comfort, protective Steve Rogers. Reader has past trauma and unspecified mental health issues. 2,045 words.

(This list is a work in progress and will be updated as I publish more things on tumblr!)

My taglist is open! Drop an ask / reply / reblog and I'll add you on (must be 18+ to join). Let me know if you'd like to be tagged to all fic, Steve fic, just a specific story, etc.

[theyjusthowl]

WIP Monday

I'm trying out a new thing to be more consistent with my writing, so maybe my beta won't have to wait a month for the next installment of this WIP from hell.

I'm currently working on a Sterek longfic that somehow got away from me and is now 50k of pure hurt/comfort, and this is one of my favorite scenes, so cue the angst.

---

Lydia says, “We could use a place of our own.”

Her gaze hungrily prowls around Derek’s loft like it’s Versailles, as sterile and empty as it looks. The cheap pieces of sparse furniture he bought to appease Stiles back when they were together remain the only clue that this space has been lived in.

She knows his bedroom is still presided by a bare mattress and a busted alarm system.

Peter hears, “Derek could use a place for himself.”

His mind helpfully supplies, one that’s not littered with phantoms.

Isaac broaches the subject with Derek, one morning, in the small office space of the warehouse, as Derek works on an invoice.

“All I’m saying, Derek, is that the pack could benefit from a bigger place,” he says, towering over the desk. “I could move back in if we had enough room for everyone. You don’t have to sell the loft, you’re still running your business from here so maybe turn it into a decent office space?” He moves his arm in a sweeping motion. “This is still a great headquarters. Keep a guest bedroom in case you end up working late.”

Derek nods. He thinks of the key he gave Stiles, two years ago, the last time he asked him to not to leave them behind.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll talk to Peter, see if he can find a plot of land that’s to his liking.” He stacks a thin ream of papers on top of a folder, closes it and stands. He files it away in a cabinet behind him and looks at Isaac. “Are we done?”

Isaac leaves the warehouse triumphant.

Peter donates the Hale property to Beacon County to do as they please, on the condition that no private businesses are to be raised on the extensive terrains. They set up a few cabins for lost campers and a small wildlife shelter. Scott is more than happy to volunteer as often as college will allow; Isaac fixes a coyote’s paw after the animal stepped on a pine needle and tells the whole pack approximately twenty times before Derek snarls half-heartedly to stop, for fuck’s sake.

The Sheriff finds a parcel, just fifteen minutes from the western border of the preserve, and it’s not exactly Beacon Hills but it isn’t anywhere else either and still within the county limits, which is apparently relevant for werewolf politics. He makes sure to push forward the copious amounts of red tape and Jackson hooks them up with a magnificently expensive and completely booked contractor, probably under duress. He’s still hell bent on crawling back into Lydia’s good graces. They raise the pale, solid bones of the house in two weeks.

It’s still three more months of plaster and tiles and wood boards and hanging wires before the smooth walls wrap around the house. They’re bare, but the light shines through the windows and bathes the stark white rooms and the sandy floorboards in a warm glow. Cora stands in the middle of the foyer, right under the big skylight, and imagines the first full moon run starting and ending right there.

Lydia commandeers Derek’s soccer mom SUV a little too gleefully and Peter side eyes her, unsettled for the first time in many years. She chooses all the furniture, the decorations, the full works, and Derek pays, only mildly infuriated. Scott sends Lydia a few pictures he took during the house works. Isaac is in all of them, front and center. She chooses one of Derek and Isaac going over the blueprints on a makeshift table, with a few workers lifting the first panel off the floor; she wraps it and gives it to him as a housewarming gift and Derek smiles and runs his fingers over the silver carvings and the edge of the frame.

The last screws are tightened into place the first week of June, and Peter brings in a landscaper to finish up the backyard. There’s one room though, and Derek won’t allow anyone in. Isaac thinks it’s a sanctuary, some sort of hideaway. It’s probably full of the stuff that survived the fire and what little he salvaged from Laura’s apartment in New York, and no one gives it further thought. If Derek wants to be left alone, they can only oblige.

The construction crew wraps up just in time for the summer of their third year. Isaac is unrelenting about a housewarming party. Derek acquiesces, on the condition that Cora and Peter tend to the barbeque.

Just about everyone Derek knows drops by: Lydia tells Allison, and she comes with Chris Argent and Melissa McCall, who somehow make it work, despite having the odds stacked against them. She’s been doing diplomatic work, restoring the Argents’ reputation as fair hunters, writing treaties for warring packs. Lydia fawns over the engagement ring on her finger and Scott hugs her warmly, the same old puppy eyes he used to put on for her, but it’s friendly and Derek knows that he’s sincere in his congratulations, genuinely happy that she’s happy. Isaac tackles her the moment he sees her, picks her up in the air and twirls her in a bone crushing hug. They catch up over a beer, Isaac casually leaning on Scott, with that unaffected demeanor of his. Scott’s hand wanders, subtly scenting Isaac. Isaac’s eyes go soft. Allison smiles and nods and hugs them both.

They’re all out back, milling around the yard. Derek watches on as he grabs two beers from the fridge. One for him, one for the Sheriff. Over the years, they’ve come to a quiet understanding, one reserved for family. Derek calls him Noah now. Noah is still convinced that they’re just one tiny hiccup away from being family. Derek’s not so sure. He entertains him, though, and more importantly, doesn’t pester him about his eating habits.

He leaves through the kitchen and finds Noah talking to Melissa, hands him his beer. They talk about the Mets’ performance, Derek nods along enthusiastically. Then they switch to cars; Melissa’s old sedan has finally given up and she’s looking to buy. Noah tells her he knows just the guy and claps Derek’s back, laughing.

When the initial bustle winds down a bit, Derek offers to do a house tour for Noah.

“They’ve all seen it, helped build and decorate,” he explains offhandedly. “Isaac’s moving in next week.”

He walks Noah through the kitchen, the living room, the study on the ground floor. He points to the basement door offhandedly. “It’s empty now, but we’ll find a use for it. Let’s show you upstairs.”

The upper floor consists of an open space that overlooks the foyer, and a corridor littered with doors. Derek points towards them. “Plenty of room for everyone up here. Peter insisted. Extended packs live together,” he explains.

Derek stays behind while the Sheriff ventures into the room to the far right end of the corridor. The room that’s off-limits to everyone else.

The walls are painted a soft shade of slate gray, with a white upper trim. To the left, a double door awaits, wide open, leading to the master bath. There is no back wall, just a continuum of floor to ceiling glass panels overlooking a deck that wraps around the corner of the building and continues behind the right-hand wall. In the distance, the woods get denser. The view is breath-taking and the sun shines high in the sky. It’s the perfect spot to watch the sunset over the forest.

There is just no furniture. Not a single piece in sight.

“It’s the master bedroom” Noah notes, words carefully measured. “It’s empty.”

Derek chuckles lowly and stares him back bemusedly. “I have no use for it. The architect insisted. He had a vision.”

“He might have been on to something,” Noah says.

He walks further into the room and waits for Derek to join him.

“It’s proofed, I assume.”

Derek nods. “Sound and scent.”

“Ah,” Noah sighs. “That explains that.”

Right there, on the right hand corner, the only clue that this room has a purpose lays in plain sight. There’s a wooden clothes rack. Neatly zipped on a hanger, Stiles’ lacrosse hoodie presides the room. It reads Stilinski, 23, and it looks well worn. The sun coming in through the back wall casts a long shadow on the floor.

(Just as Isaac had suspected, it is, in some ways, a sacred space.)

[littlejuicebox]

A Pocket Full of Rainbows, A Star Up My Sleeve (1950s AU) / Chapter 1: The Drive In

Click here to read on AO3.

Summary: It's 1957, and for the first time in his life, Astarion Ancunin is happy. He's a newlywed, his spouse, Gustav Adler, is the editor-in-chief of the city's second most prominent newspaper, and they play keeping up with the Atherwindes next door. They are picture-perfect domesticity. Or so it seems. Secrets Astarion has kept hidden from his spouse begin to surface around their first anniversary, and Gustav is left to wonder... who exactly did he marry?

Tags/Warnings: This one starts off with smut (light BDSM if you squint and tilt your head) in Chapter 1 so there's that. This longfic will have a lot of hurt/angst/comfort + mild gore + mentions of Astarion's past trauma. I will update with a warning if there is a significant concern in any chapter.

Notes: Special thanks to @leomonae for beta-reading and holding my hand while I write this entire thing that has taken hold of me body and soul. And special thanks to all the awesome supportive people on my discord server that have hyped me up enough to give me the courage to post this.

-----

Cigar smoke spirals out of the barely cracked mahogany door and into the newsroom as the editor-in-chief, Gustav Adler, finalizes the layout for this weekend’s edition of the Baldur’s Herald. He’s running late — he should have been halfway home, by now. His wife is going to be furious with him if they miss the beginning of the movie. 

But this story has a chance of finally getting the Baldur’s Herald ahead of the Baldur’s Gate Gazette; he has to get it just right. There is still more investigation to be done, of course, but no one can deny several missing persons and multiple eyewitness reports of a mindflayer in the lower city. It’s certainly enough to sell papers and promote intrigue. 

The paper had gotten a decent boost when he’d been promoted to editor-in-chief a few years ago. The promotion of an openly gay man – a half-drow, nonetheless – to the position had garnered quite a bit of attention. Good and bad, of course. But as the saying goes, all publicity is good publicity. 

In the Herald’s case, that had been true. The groundbreaking move had put the previously small paper on the map and quickly catapulted it to second place in the rankings, where it had been ever since. Tav was convinced it would only take one powerful story to overtake the Gazette; he felt confident the culmination of this story would be the one to do it. 

A rapid knock on the door pulls Gustav from his work as he takes another drag of his nearly finished cigar; his top investigator, Karlach, is leaning against the door jamb. 

“There’s been another mindflayer sighting. Dekarios is on the ground now, I’m on my way to meet him,” she says, her eyes alight with excitement. The tiefling had been chasing this story for weeks and finally had enough for her article to make the front page of this weekend’s issue.

“Excellent — I’ll be back in the office tomorrow morning, Kar. I expect an update then. I would go with you two, but the wife won’t forgive me if I cancel two weeks in a row,” Gustav responds as he extinguishes his cigar in the unfinished coffee that sat atop his desk all day. 

Karlach chuckles good-naturedly as she straightens from the doorframe and moves to put on the suit jacket she’d been holding in her hand. “Tell Astarion I said hello; and thank him again for mending this for me.” 

“Will do— oh, and Karlach, can you run this by the printers before you head out? It’s the final layout for the weekend edition,” the editor-in-chief says as he moves to exit his own office. He hands the mock-up to his journalist and heads out of the building for the night. In the parking lot, Gustav rushes to his car and hopes his wife isn’t too terribly upset with him for being a bit late.

Astarion had been Gustav’s secretary for nearly six months before he finally worked up the courage to ask the other man on a date. It was never easy for Tav, doing such a thing, although sexuality laws had changed in his early adulthood and it was common to see people just like him about the city nowadays.

He couldn’t have assumed Astarion was interested in men simply because he alternated between wearing suits and dresses – which had been, of course, one of the things that caught Tav’s attention and fascinated him early on. Astarion managed to look breathtaking in both; Gustav had never seen anything quite like him and spent more time than he should have admiring his secretary sitting just outside his office door. As it turned out, Astarion had been flirting with him for months; he had always worried he was misinterpreting the signals. 

It wasn’t until Karlach hassled him for a week that Tav finally broke down and asked Astarion to dinner. They dated for just under a year, and married as soon as they were legally allowed – all legal documentation still required assigned roles of husband and wife, and in the public sense, these designations were required across the board. They’d randomly assigned titles with the flip of a coin.

It seemed ridiculous, in the beginning. Bureaucracy and politics could be so short-sighted; the world never seemed to dot all its i's and cross all its t’s before moving on to the next agenda. In public, the couple always used the assigned titles; at first, this had been mostly to avoid confusion or ignorant comments. But then one night, Gustav had jokingly called Astarion his “wife” and it had instantly ignited something within his lover. He’d never seen his spouse so excited in bed until that moment. 

From then on, in public and in private, Astarion was his wife. The word just had different meanings depending on context. As an editor, Gustav could wholeheartedly appreciate the subtleties of the phrase; as a husband, he loved the effect the word had on his wife when they were in bed.

*

As Gustav pulls up to the brownstone townhouse he and Astarion share, he immediately notices the new gardenia shrubs and mulch surrounding the Atherwinde’s front stoop. A soft groan of annoyance escapes his lips; he’d planned to tend their own garden next weekend, but now he would have to move that project up. He was not about to let their annoying nextdoor neighbor, Edmund Atherwinde, throw subtle remarks at him for an entire week whenever they ran into one another while leaving for work. Gustav is almost certain Eddie waits to see when he comes out in the morning, just to harass him as they both climb into their Chevrolet Bel-Airs. Gustav’s is the most recent model; Eddie’s is last year’s model. Not that he’s comparing, of course.

He glances at his wristwatch; it’s twenty minutes past the time he was supposed to be home. They should still be able to eat dinner and make it to the drive-in. He grabs the bow-wrapped box from the backseat and then makes his way into the townhome.

A quick jangle of keys echoes through the short foyer before Gustav calls, “Astarion, I’m home!”

“You’re late,” a cool, clipped voice replies from the kitchen. “I’ve had to keep dinner warm in the oven for twenty minutes, Tav.” 

“I’m sorry, baby,” Gustav responds as he moves to join his wife. He presents the box to Astarion with a toothy smile and a wink. “But, perhaps this will make it up to you.” 

The scowl that had been painted across Astarion’s face soon pulls up into a grin as he takes the box from Tav. A quick tug of the black grosgrain ribbon reveals the present inside – a mink stole. A soft gasp escapes Astarion as he removes the fur shawl from the packaging and wraps it around his shoulders. 

“Gorgeous,” Gustav compliments as he admires his lover. “I think it will go well with the gown you plan on wearing for our anniversary dinner.”

“Of course it will, darling,” Astarion responds before lifting onto his toes and pressing a kiss against his husband’s cheek, right upon the old scar Gustav got back in his military days. “It’s beautiful, thank you. Now, dinner, dear– and we’d better hurry.”

*

Dinner was nothing to write home about. Astarion was a fair to middling cook nowadays – in the beginning of their marriage, he’d burnt nearly every meal he made. Almost a year later, he’d managed to get the hang of a few simple recipes. Gustav, to his credit, never complained. All his time in the military taught him to accept far meager offerings than his wife’s creations; if he could eat cold beans from an aluminum can, he could handle a slightly charred meatloaf. 

They made it to the drive in just as the last previews finished. Astarion had been exceptionally excited to see this film – a horror movie about vampires, of all things. Gustav was not particularly interested in the movie, but willingly endured for his wife’s happiness. Until, of course, Astarion pressed up against him a little over halfway through the film – an innocent reaction to the scene playing on screen – and gripped dangerously high on Gustav’s thigh. 

Desire immediately flared through Tav, and when he turned to look at his wife, he wanted nothing more than to smear the perfectly painted red lipstick on the other man’s lips. So he did.

They were locked in a passionate kiss for several minutes, the movie all but forgotten. Their tongues wrapped around one another in a familiar embrace, a comfortable dance the two of them had become accustomed to. It did not take long for Gustav to begin advancing eagerly upon his wife.

“You’re insatiable,” Astarion chuckles as his lover playfully nips into his neck. A delighted shiver ghosts up his spine.

“Can you blame me?” Gustav asks as his lips trail to his lover’s chest, just exposed by the neckline of Astarion’s collared dress. His tongue swirls along alabaster skin before a sly hand moves under the skirt hem. “You’re delicious… and I’d very much like to have a taste.” 

Gustav’s thick, purple-gray fingers run along the inside of Astarion’s pale, muscled thigh and travel all the way up to the edge of a sheer, nylon stocking. He quickly finds a garter strap, pulls, and releases the elastic band. Astarion jumps and gasps as the skin on his leg turns into gooseflesh; his husband palms insistently between his legs.

“S-surely you don’t mean here, Tav,” Astarion whispers, his legs spreading slightly, making more room to accommodate the hand teasing his hardening cock. But even as Astarion says it, he’s hoping his husband actually does mean here – the mere thought of such a scandalous act is causing arousal to dampen the front of his undergarments. 

“Mmh, and why not?” Gustav asks, already beginning to slide from his seat, down to the floorboard. He wanders his hand down under the seat and pushes it back as far as it will go. It isn’t much, but enough for him to comfortably kneel between Astarion’s legs. He brings his hands to his wife’s knees and slowly presses them open with a sly smile. 

“I…” Astarion tries to respond, his face suddenly feeling quite hot as a blush of both embarrassment and desire spreads across his skin. His mouth goes dry as he looks down at the man between his legs. Gustav is slowly pushing up the hem of Astarion’s skirt and peering up at his lover as he licks his lips. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He questions, cocking his head just slightly. When his wife doesn’t respond, he begins to lower Astarion’s skirt; his purple-gray hand is suddenly caught between slender, milky-white fingers.

“Keep going,” Astarion quietly urges before casting a glance out the window. They’re in the final row of the drive-in. Only one other car is in the same row as them, and the couple in that car are far too distracted by one another’s mouths to pay any mind to the two men.

Gustav hums happily as he unceremoniously lifts Astarion’s skirt and drops his head underneath; he’s greeted with a pale, leaking cock straining against a pair of sheer, silk panties. The sight causes his own cock to stir in his trousers. 

“Now be a good little wife and hold very, very still for me, baby,” Gustav commands with a final snap of Astarion’s garter strap. His wife gasps and squirms in his seat before obediently stilling. Tav doesn’t waste any more time with foreplay; his hands come under Astarion’s dress and quickly tear the underwear in two – he’ll buy a replacement pair later. Astarion’s cock springs proudly from its confines, bobbing slightly and begging to be sucked.

Tav brings both hands to the pale thighs on either side of his head as he pulls Astarion’s cock into his mouth. His tongue swirls around the head languidly, causing more pre-fluid to leak onto his tongue. The salty, musky taste makes his mouth water in delight. He’s certain he will never tire of tasting his wife.

A whimper escapes Astarion’s lips when his husband takes all of his length. Gustav’s warm, wet throat contracts around Astarion’s cock and then, much too soon, he retracts and begins to swirl his tongue around its pink, swollen head. Tav repeats this several times and each time his throat squeezes around Astarion, it takes everything within him to not buck upwards. His thighs are trembling. He so badly wants to move, to seek the heat of his lover’s mouth. But he wants to be a good wife, so he forces himself to obey the command. 

The excited keening becomes louder and more insistent the longer Gustav teases him. By now the movie is almost over, and Astarion is catching flashes of the end scene through blurred vision and panting breaths. He clamps his eyes shut as Gustav, once again, swallows him to the hilt. This time his husband holds the position and hums, both hands squeezing into Astarion’s thighs.

“Aah, Tav–” Astarion whimpers, his tone pleading, “Tav, please–” 

But Gustav retracts and his wife whines. He cannot help but smile at the neediness. He forces Astarion’s skirt up over his thighs, exposing his arousal-slicked face and his lover’s hard, weeping cock all at once. He peers up at his wife with a pleased smirk; Astarion meets him with half-hooded lids and blown pupils. 

“Already, baby? Really?” Gustav purrs, one hand coming to caress Astarion’s scrotum. He applies a light bit of pressure and admires the way pre-fluid dribbles from his lover’s desperate cock. His tongue darts out to slowly lap up the string of clear liquid running down Astarion’s shaft. “I don’t think I’ve worshiped my wife quite long enough.” 

Astarion impatiently squirms in his seat. He’d been doing a rather excellent job holding still until now, but the ache between his legs is growing increasingly insistent, and his husband has teased him long enough. When Gustav’s hands wrap around his cock he moans and his head falls back reflexively. The movie’s end credits are starting to roll. 

“Please, Gustav… I can’t– I can’t any longer, please–” Astarion begs, through sharp shaking breaths. His hips stutter forward insistently into the other man’s fists.

“Very well,” Gustav responds, and with little warning he drops his hands and takes all of Astarion in his mouth again. Pale fingers clutch into Tav’s cropped white hair, pulling slightly just at the nape of his neck. He hums his encouragement as he bobs his head up and down the length of his wife’s cock, covering it in saliva and spreading the growing amounts of pre-fluid dripping from its tip.

Gustav can tell by the breathy keening sounds his wife is making that he is close to release. His own cock is straining within his trousers – but that can wait until they get home. The first orgasm always leaves Astarion desperate for more, anyway. 

Tav swallows Astarion’s length once again, intentionally contracting his throat around the pale cock in his mouth. His wife bites back a moan and comes, hips thrusting up as warm seed spills down Tav’s throat. Astarion’s cock continues to pulse for a while longer, and Tav expertly swallows every last drop of his lover’s spend. 

When he feels the other man’s fingers retract from his hair, Gustav carefully pulls back and releases Astarion’s slowly softening cock. He swirls his tongue around the tip one last time, forcing a final whimper from his lover before easing back and placing a few kisses against Astarion’s thigh. 

“Darling,” Astarion pants as he runs his fingers through sweat-drenched curls. His lipstick is completely smeared across his face; he looks wrecked. “Take me home and make love to me.”

Gustav grins in response as he begins to climb back into the driver’s seat. Many of the cars in the lot have pulled away by now. “Anything for my beautiful wife.” 

*

They crash through the townhome door, a mess of half-removed clothing and desire. Astarion shoves Tav against the front entrance as soon as it shuts behind them and grinds himself along Tav’s thigh. The rotary phone in the living room is ringing, but they pay it no mind. 

Gustav quickly undoes the buttons of his wife’s dress and strips it from his body. He’s entirely naked underneath, save the garter belt and stockings – the ruined bits of underwear were left on the floorboard of the car. Astarion is undoing his husband’s belt buckle when the phone stops ringing; he moves to drop to his knees right in front of Tav, but he is quickly pulled back up.

“Not here on the tile, baby. It’s much too hard,” he murmurs as he guides his wife over to the carpeted living room. As soon as they’re in front of the couch, Astarion rips Tav’s trousers and undergarments off in one swift motion and then guides his husband to sit on the serpentine sofa. 

“Now, darling, let me repay you for earlier,” Astarion purrs as his hands teasingly slide up his lover’s purple thighs. He’s just about to take Gustav’s cock in his hands when the phone begins ringing again; it’s a sharp, shrill, distracting sound.

Gustav groans in irritation. He quickly leans over to pull the handset from the stand and uses a finger to hang up on the caller. He tosses the receiver haphazardly, leaving it off the hook so that the phone will not ring and interrupt him and his wife again. It’s well past ten at night; whoever is calling can wait until the morning and call back then.

He turns his attention back to Astarion and smiles. Then, he reaches out and brings two fingers under his wife’s chin before he gently presses upwards. They meet one another with a slow, gentle kiss. When Gustav retracts, Astarion is staring up at him in wide-eyed adoration.

“Now, where were we?” Gustav asks. Astarion chuckles in response before wrapping two pale hands around the cock in front of him; it’s already leaking in anticipation as he slowly strokes up and down the length.

“I think we were just getting to the good part, my love,” Astarion murmurs, peering up at his husband through hooded lids before dropping his head to take Gustav between a pair of lipstick-smeared lips.

The phone stays off the hook for the rest of the night. 

[cursedhaglette]

Apples to Apples

He pulls away from Halia, looking up at her and the world feels like it’s hugging him. “Hal, pet, what does the devilweed feel like?”

“Warm,” she giggles, looking up at him as she props herself up on her elbows. “Like my body is heavy and warm and everything feels so good. You feel…so good.”

“I think it’s in your blood and now,” something like a giggle bubbles up in him and he remembers how giddy everyone had seemed around the campfire, “and now I think it’s in me.”

---

The party decides to share some devilweed around the campfire, and Astarion is surprised to find the effects can be felt after drinking the blood of one who's indulged.

Rating: E Word Count: 3,600 Content: 18+, oral sex, sixty-nine, PIV sex, blood drinking, recreational drug use

[ao3 link]

A/N: this is a piece expanding on a scene referenced in my longfic, "The Broken Chosen", but very much intended to be read standalone so I hope you enjoy either way. Halia is technically the dark urge but that doesn't come into play in this one shot. please note the tags if you are not comfortable with recreational drug use.

His hunt was successful, relatively speaking. Badger tasted…well, uninteresting, but it got the job done and at least it was a bit different than the prey he’d grown used to while camping around the Grove. He feels mostly sated as he walks back through the dark forest, his footsteps and the occasional chittering animal the only sounds to escort him back to camp. 

Luckily, it was a night where he would be allowed to cleanse the taste of badger from his mouth with Halia’s sweet, perfect blood. 

The mountainous terrain proves frustrating in the dark, even for his elven eyes, but after a spell he can finally hear the chatter of his companions over the hill. Some part of him knows it’s too loud, given how close they’ve gotten to the creche, but he’s gotten used to being ignored around dinner time. It was one of the few hours where it seemed everyone got along without question, and as such, it was the easiest time to make himself scarce. 

Astarion approaches the campfire, preparing himself for another night of far too much camaraderie only to find Lae’zel already fletching arrows, both Shadowheart and Wyll nowhere in sight. 

“What’s going on?” he asks the githyanki who sits on the edge of the wide circle of tents, practiced hands working feathers and arrowheads without even needing to look down at her work. 

“Gale has fashioned some sort of contraption from which the rest of them are smoking that reeking substance,” she explains, her tone derisive as always. “I do not recall the name of it, but it seems to be altering their mind in a way that will be highly inconvenient should our camp find itself under attack.”

“Devilweed?”

“Yes, that sounds familiar. Nothing about such a name sounds safe to ingest.”

He snorts at the assessment before grabbing some arrows of his own and walking over to the four still circled by the fire, watching as Karlach lifts an apple to her lips and inhales deeply, smoke filling the air around her. 

An apple pipe crafted by the wizard of Waterdeep. He’s officially seen it all. 

“‘Starion!” Halia grins, her pupils like black saucers in the glowing firelight. She’s obviously partaken in the wizard’s find. At least she was happy to see him while under the substance.

It’s been a few days since the tiefling party, and they’ve been hiking nearly nonstop through the mountainous terrain that would lead them to the creche Lae’zel was adamant they visit. He wasn’t convinced it would lead to a cure, and he knew at least Shadowheart agreed with him. 

For some reason though, they mostly follow Halia, and since she seeks to keep everyone happy more often than not, the creche is their next destination. 

The first couple of days, he kept her close by trying more of the same lines he’d used before - even though she hadn’t been particularly fond of them to begin with, he told himself they’d worked for centuries and they’d eventually score him another shot with her. It didn’t matter that they’d been moving toward something deeper before the party - he had a godsdamned plan and… 

And she had quickly become something far more interesting than just a human shield, should anyone turn on him. Those wide eyes staring up at him, such excitement in her smile, made it even harder to pretend he was still just using her. 

He sat down beside her, watching as Karlach passed the pipe to Halsin. 

“I’ve not quite got the hang of it yet,” Halia whispered, leaning into him but watching as the druid took a deep hit and blew billows of smoke. The brute didn’t cough once, taking another hit before passing it to Halia. 

“She says that,” Gale chimes in, “but she hasn’t coughed once, which tells me this is hardly her first time indulging. I’d have guessed an upper city lady like yourself would have far finer drugs to keep her busy.”

“Who’s to say I didn’t?” Halia gives them a coy grin before reaching for the apple and bringing it to her lips, and Astarion ignores the tug behind his navel at the way her lips part against the opening they’ve fashioned in the fruit. No one else seems to notice the curve of her mouth or the quick flutter of her tongue, instead devolving into riotous laughter within moments, and he realizes he’s out of his element.

She extends the apple to him next, her offering accompanied with a sweet grin, but he’s almost certain vampires can’t smoke the stuff and he isn’t entirely inclined to find out what happens if he tries. So Halia passes it back to the rest of them, chipping in with some strange joke of her own that he assumes is only funny once high on the foul weed.

He decides to rejoin Lae’zel, silently working in tandem with her as they restock their arrow supply amidst the reeking cloud and endless chatter and laughter of their companions. He stays that way, quietly keeping his hands busy with the tedious but necessary work, until he sees Halia beg off from the group and sprint into the darkness. No one goes after her, everyone still focused on their giggling conversations and the last of the smoking drug, so he decides to do something he very well may regret later.

He follows her.

Astarion finds her in the woods a moment later, humming to herself and thoroughly unaware that anyone had found her. 

“Hal - “ he starts and is immediately interrupted by her surprised shriek as she turns around, fussing with the tie of her skirt as she gapes at him. 

“Astarion,” she gasps, but the sound quickly turns into a giggle, “Gods, you startled me, you ass!”

He closes the distance between them without hesitation or comment, pulling her into a deep kiss. Her mouth tastes like the smoke he’d been breathing in across the camp all evening, but still manages to retain a bit of her telltale sweetness. 

He licks along the seam of her lips, and she opens eagerly, her hands twisting in his loose shirt as she pulls him close to her. He likes her eager like this, and feeling the way her cheeks lift - her smile widening as he kisses her - twists something inside him.

Breaking away to let her breath, he kisses along the slope of her cheek to her jaw, then down to the familiar scars where he’d last fed on her. Scars she never asks to heal, bearing the marks like some sort of trophy. 

“What’s gotten into you?” she gasped between his kisses, her hands tugging on his hair as he ran his fangs gently against the spot he fed from. 

“I saw you having fun, and I thought I could have some fun with you now,” he hums, aware that it’s not his best line but content that it’s not his worst either.

“I owe you dinner, don’t I?” She asks instead and the question is playful but immediately has him on edge, unsure if this is actually the right move. 

Is he making it seem like he’s only interested in her for blood? 

Is that the right counterbalance to the whole ‘make her come so hard she protects you with her life’ plan he’d been trying?

If she’s offering…does it matter?

“Only if you’re feeling up to it,” he says, stepping forward and taking a strand of golden hair between two fingers, twisting lightly and trying his best to ignore how soft it feels between his calloused fingers.

She pulls her long hair to one side, offering her neck, and he has another idea - another that will likely have him questioning his own intentions in the morning but is too tempting to deny tonight.

Astarion slips his hand into the side slit of her skirt, drifting his fingers towards her inner thigh where he knows a delicious artery pulses. Familiar goosebumps dance up Halia’s skin, her breath going shallow in anticipation. 

“Can I have you right,” he taps the pulse point in her upper thigh, “here?”

She meets his eyes and he looks back, waiting for approval or to be scolded. All she offers him is a nervous nod, and then a soft, tentative grin. 

“Lay back for me,” he instructs and she does, pliant and giddy. She shifts her skirts to expose where he’s requested to taste her and leans back on her elbows, watching as he gets comfortable before her. He can feel her already beginning to warm him when he’s this close, so he licks the skin a couple of times in preparation, looks to her for a last, quick approval, and bites down.

His teeth break the skin of her inner thigh with ease and then his mouth is full of her, full of that smoky, sweet delicious taste that he’d kill to call his alone. She lays quivering for him and he can’t help the soft moan that escapes when he feels her fingers thread through his hair, her breath catching at the sound. 

Astarion takes a few mouthfuls, enough that the warmth begins to spread through his veins like it could be his own and it’s like he can feel the loop of blood in both their bodies, connecting them. and then he tidies her up - licking at the wound to do what he can to ease the pain and replace it with pleasure. 

He can taste her slowly growing arousal and this close, with his tongue already lapping at the wound he’s inflicted, his eyes drift to the slit of her skirt that’s been pushed up nearly to her hip. He can smell her arousal too, he realizes, and her perfect cunt is right there and it seems such a shame to leave it untasted. 

His mouth travels up her thigh, slowly testing if she’ll push him away as he draws close to her core but all she does is tug his hair just a bit harder and he knows what she’s wordlessly asking for. But wordless is never enough for him, he wants to hear her shaky voice, the way she mewls for him. 

“Halia,” he murmurs before pressing a kiss into her exposed hip, “Let me taste you, Halia. Tell me you want me.”

“Please,” she gasps, and he wastes no more time. He tears her panties away, aware he’ll likely be charged with repairing them but uncaring because his mouth is on her and she is already swollen and soaking for him. He’s tasted her only once before and Gods, how has he kept himself from this every night since? 

He buries his tongue in her, using his nose to rub her warm clit as he feasts, closing his eyes to the shuddering moans that accompany every clench of pleasure. 

But then he notices it, a strange warmth that seems to start at his throat and spread like warm honey through his always tired body. Not like her blood warms him, this is somehow different - like his body is alive and buzzing, but also relaxed in a way that almost feels like slipping into a warm bath.

He pulls away from Halia, looking up at her and the world feels like it’s hugging him. “Hal, pet, what does the devilweed feel like?”

“Warm,” she giggles, looking up at him as she props herself up on her elbows. “Like my body is heavy and warm and everything feels so good. You feel…so good.”

“I think it’s in your blood and now,” something like a giggle bubbles up in him and he remembers how giddy everyone had seemed around the campfire, “and now I think it’s in me.”

“Oh shit,” she whispers and in a blink she’s sitting up, her hands cupping his face in genuine concern. “Are you - do you feel okay?”

All he can do is nod, unable to keep the stupid smile from his face as the drug settles into him.

Her eyes go wide and then she’s kissing his grinning face with her own and lapping at the taste of her that lingers on his tongue. “I taste good on you,” she purrs, and he can’t help the way his cock twitches in response. 

Astarion kisses her again because he’s not sure what else to do, but the sensation is different than what he’s used to. All at once he’s stopped overthinking how he sighs into her mouth and the way her hands dance up his arms, pulling him closer to her. Everything is just this moment, there is no more plan or doubt or fear - only the pleasure that can be found at her fingertips, in the sweeping arch of her tongue, and between her thighs. 

She pulls away and he’s mesmerized by the way her lips go pink and full after he’s kissed her thoroughly. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” She asks him again, and he can’t tell her the truth - that he isn’t sure he can remember the last time he felt so at peace in his body. 

Instead, he tries to focus on the feeling that’s spread since he drank her drugged blood, the way the warmth has settled into him and how his body feels blurred at the edges. His muscles somehow feel both tensed and relaxed all at once.

“Strange,” he admits to her, wondering if his pupils are as wide and black as hers are, “but overall, pretty damn good.”

She laughs and collides with him, and then he’s on his back laughing with her. How long have they been out in this darkness, kissing and giggling amongst the trees? Have the others started asking after Halia yet?

Her hands shift to run against his still clothed, still hard, length and he groans into her mouth at the way she cups him. Her fingers aren’t as practiced as his, so when she moves to unlace his trousers without looking, she struggles enough to pull away from his mouth once more. 

With his cock free, he can’t help but whimper as her warm hand grips him again, applying the perfect amount of pressure as she begins to roll her wrist and pump him. He leans back again, groaning as she works - the devilweed in his system enhancing every sensation while dulling all his inner monologues and anxieties. 

“Can I taste you?” She asks, repeating his question from minutes ago and he nods, but as Halia’s head lowers and her tongue licks across his head, he sits up. 

“I have an idea, if you’re open to something different, darling,” he offers and she smiles but licks his slit again, her eyes on his as she waits for his suggestion. “Come here.”

Halia gives him a quizzical expression but obliges, crawling forward until he can pull her hips toward him, and there’s no way for him to hold back the devious grin he knows is on his face. 

“Sit on me,” he tells her. 

“What?”

“Sit on my face,” he insists, attempting to guide her hips while laying flat and thank the gods he’s high or this might have him cringing in embarrassment at his awkward movements. “Come on, love.”

She shimmies out of her skirt and panties before moving to straddle his face, but hesitates just before actually sitting. “Are you sure?”

He’s staring up at her perfect ass as his hands move to her hips, shifting so her cunt is where he wants it, and then he tells her, “make yourself comfortable, dear,” before tugging her down and latching his lips around her clit.

The moan she elicits is delicious, going straight to his cock, and he’s lucky that Halia picks up on what he’d been hoping for as she leans forward. Her bare chest warms the flat of his stomach and then he’s in her mouth again, warmed by the whole of her on top of him and eternally grateful he doesn’t actually have to breathe as he laps at her heat. 

He sucks and licks and kisses, working her with his centuries of practice, and she’s moaning around him - each vibration echoing through him. He focuses entirely on her pleasure, knowing that if he spends more than a moment thinking about the way she’s taking him almost wholly down her throat, he’s liable to spill far too soon. 

“Grind on me, Halia,” he tells her through their shared connection. “Give me everything. I can take it. I want it.”

It works, she’s finally giving him everything - all inhibitions lost as she seeks out the pleasure he’s eager to provide. He tightens his grin on her thighs, holding her against him as she rides his flattened tongue. His face is soaked and he feasts, all before moving a single finger higher, to the tight ring of muscles he’s never toyed with, and presses gently against her puckered hole.

Halia pauses and pulls off him long enough to let out a guttural moan, and he knows he has her. He goes back to sucking on her swollen bud and swirls his tongue around it once, twice more and she’s shuddering above him - twitching and panting as she comes undone for him. 

She shifts forward and turns around, dragging her body along his and then she’s lining him up with her entrance, looking back to see if he’s alright and all Astarion can do is nod. 

“I’m sorry,” she laughs and the sound is like bells while she’s trying to hide her smile with one hand and the other goes to his face. “You’re just so shiny.”

He shifts and with how wet she is, he’s quickly able to bury himself inside her without difficulty, turning her laughs into a breathy gasp as he moves to wipe some of her release from the bottom half of his face. She stays still, keeping him warm inside her, then goes to lick a long stripe of the moisture he’s missed from his face before kissing him once more. 

She is desire incarnate, she is the sun and warmth embodied, molten around him and mewling for him and he is lost in her when she finally begins to roll her hips. 

“You are so good for me, ‘Starion, so good,” she hums, her lips hovering just over his as her pretty words dance through him like sparks of electricity. “I want you to feel good, lover, I want you to feel everything.”

He does, he wants to tell her, but his mind has been emptied out and replaced with sheer desire and the endless warmth where his body fills hers. 

“Fuck me, Halia,” and it’s neither an ask nor a command, but something more like a prayer. “Show me how good you want me to feel.”

When her eyes meet his again, Astarion can see that she’s taken it as a challenge, and her hips begin to work. She rubs her clit against his abdomen while her body begins to bounce against his, and though he asked her to fuck him but he can’t help meeting her halfway - matching her rhythm by snapping his hips into her. It draws a pleased gasp from her, enough that she clenches around him tightly, and then the movements become feverish and desperate as they chase the high he knows they can reach together.  

The wet sounds of their joining echo through the dark woods, but neither of them seem to care. Let their campmates hear how she works him, let them hear how he is the one she’s chosen time and time again. 

The haze of devilweed is slowly clearing, his body already working through the blood he’d taken from her, but he wants to hold onto the blissful mindlessness for as long as he can.  

Halia’s head tilts back and her lips part like she is ready to roar at the sky as she comes, and she’s panting his name as she finishes. Her lips are at his ear like she’s whispering a prayer of her own. He follows her into that abyss shortly after, the final hazy moments of the devilweed pulling him through a long, heady climax - the strongest he’s had in recent memory. She pants as he finishes and she comes down from her own high, their bodies sweaty and tangled.

They pant together for a minute or two, Halia still in his lap, and then the sounds of the campfire are suddenly noticeable again and Astarion wonders if it has been all along. 

Halia slides off him, laying in the dirt for a few seconds more before rolling on her side and kissing his cheek, then standing and reaching for her clothes.

“You’re beautiful,” he hears himself admit while he watches her dress. He knows he shouldn’t, that the statement is too tender for what hes doing and who he is but its true - she’s a fucking vision. Her eyes are still wild and hazy, her cheeks flushed with release, and brambles in her hair but it’s a simple fact that Halia is gorgeous. He’s going to hate himself for it in the morning, knowing that it only complicates his already weak plan, but for now, he lets himself bask in the truth. 

“So are you, Astarion,” she smiled, running her hands through her hair and catching only a couple of the leaves that had caught in the golden mess since they started. “We should…we should do that again.”

Astarion studies her as he stands, making to tug on his own trousers and pausing to watch the way she bites her lip in hesitation. He ignores his clothes for a moment more and goes to where she stands, reaching to clasp her face between his hands so he can kiss her once more. 

“Yes, Halia. Yes, we should.”

[spacebarbarianweird]

HC or fic request (whatever you have the inspiration for): post-game unromanced Astarion (let's say Tav chose another companion from the very beginning) with an OFC of your choosing, though I would love a human or even a half-elf. As much as I love Tavstarion, I feel like the the possibility of Astarion finding love in someone other than Tav a rather unexplored scenario in fan fiction.

I like this idea, too! You know, before the patch 6 ending was released, people had been sure that Astarion would be doomed to be alone if didn't romance Tav. But unromanced Astarion obviously lives his best life possible! He hunts monsters, enjoys his freedom, explores himself. And he can be sure he doesn't adapt his mindset to his lover's interests. I actually think if I am not tired of writing about Astarion, I will write a longfic set in another timeline where Astarion doesn't stay with Tav and goes on his own. As for now, here is a headcanon!

Unromanced Astarion Post-Game

Masterlist

Headcanons

It isn't easy to be on his own.

Astarion craved solitude when he was a slave but now he doesn't know what to do.

He can't make decisions for himself. Which quest to take, what clothes to wear, what inn to stay.

Astarion finds it crippling to be so dependent on the opinions of others - but what other choice does he have?

He doesn't trust anyone.

And the world has changed so much in the last two centuries!

He doesn't recognize places, he has no idea how that world works now.

At days, he cries, mourning his life pitying himself.

Six months pass. He gets invited to the party.

Astarion collects himself. He needs to impress his old friends, he must not look like a wreck.

He tells about his monster hunting job avoiding the fact he barely worked like one. He drinks and laughs but he is a bad liar.

Halsin, the archdruid, doesn't force Astarion to talk but offers to go to the Shadowcursed lands and help the Emerald Grove and the Harpers get rid of monsters.

Astarion agrees that instant.

For the next ten years, he has a purpose. For the next ten years, he has fun.

And he finally starts talking to other people about his experience.

To his surprise, people around show support.

Yes, they are still afraid of him but they say he has every right to be the way he is now after all that happened.

Ten years later, Astarion grows tired of this place and decides to leave.

Gods damn it, he will be missed!

Astarion goes north, hoping to see more and more of the Sword Coast.

Vampirism has its benefits regarding strength and regeneration but, sure, it's better not to be an undead.

He decides to go looking for the cure.

Eventually, he joins an adventuring party of the most weird and random people Astarion has ever seen.

And the weirdest of them all - is a Spore Druid who talks to herself.

She is straightforward. Rude. Weird. Oblivious to so many things, Astarion is surprised this person has managed to leave the house and not get lost.

But utterly adorable.

She is a Wood Elf and her skin is like copper.

It takes him more years to realize he is in love. The feeling is weird to him, he doesn't know what to do with it.

They spend decades traveling together and looking for the cure before ending up in a distant village where no one pays attention to the weird couple.

Her Circle accepts him, too.

Astarion doesn't know if it lasts forever or if he will leave eventually.

But for now...

This is good.

--

@tugoslovenka  

@herstxrgirl 

@herdarkestnightelegance  

@vixstarria 

@not-so-lost-after-all  

@marcynomercy  

@theearthsfinalconfession 

@starlight-ipomoea    

@micropoe10 

@astarion-imagine-archive  

@veillsar

@elora-the-slutty-songstress  

@fayeriess  

@lumienyx  

@tallymonster    

@caitlincat-95  

@tragedybunny  

@valeprati  

@lynnlovesthestars   

@marina-and-the-memes  

@waking-eyes   

@ayselluna  

@connorsui  

@asterordinary  

@darkarchangel96  

@locallegume  

@brainfullofhotsauce   

@coffeeanddonutscafe  

@my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen 

@queenofthespacesquids  

@ednaaa-04  

@dajeong

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@nyx-knox

@jessaryss

[subskz]

hi ms. rin!! long time no see ☺️

i was always reading your works & all your amazing posts but i realize today it was a long time since i sent an ask >< i hope you’re doing great!

i wanted to ask if you’re still writing the childhood friends to lovers with lee know? ever since butterfly bandage i was craving to read another longfic from you cause you write so beautifully :< & with minho being my bias i think i’ll die if you make a story for him..! not to pressure you of course 💕

-🧸

hello hello omg it really has been a while!! it’s so nice to see you again my dear i hope you’ve been doing well and taking care since we last spoke ♡

you’re too kind thank u so much for your lovely words!! it’s so sweet that u even remember i was writing that lino fic i’m really glad you’re looking forward to it 😭 it’s still very much a wip so i’m not exactly sure when it’ll be out, but i work on it all the time! here’s a few lil sneak peeks just for u hehe

also please note that a lot of this is subject to change since i’m still working on it 😽 these snippets are still a bit barebones

ᓚᘏᗢ — snippet 1

You stared at the crumpled nest; abandoned, with what was left of it quickly being carried away by the wind. Straw by straw. You felt like crying.

Don’t be so sensitive. You told yourself. It's just a stupid bird.

“Wow,” a familiar voice, soft and brusque and not sounding very wowed at all, came from behind you. “That’s amazing, isn’t it?”

You lifted your head, whipping around to find its source. Not that you really needed to, anyway. You knew that voice better than your own, by now.

“Huh?”

“They were just babies, but they already flew away.” Minho crouched down next to you to examine the remains of the fallen nest. His small fingers brushed over it, so delicately that the grass barely shifted under his touch. “Like they know exactly where they’re supposed to go.”

You rested your hands on your knees, unconvinced, refusing to look at him. Your eyes were stinging. You didn’t want him to think you were dramatic. You didn’t want him to make fun of you. He’d put just as much care into looking after them, if not more. He’d stayed with them even longer than you had. How could he be so accepting of it?

“Birds are so cool,” he continued. A gentle breeze ruffled your hair, like it was summoned by his airy lilt. “They can go wherever they want.”

“Why do they have to go?” you muttered.

“Cause the world’s so big, dummy,” he said it like common knowledge, like he’d consulted the birds himself. “And they’re so small. So they gotta start seeing it early before they die.”

You puffed out a half-hearted laugh.

“You’re like a bird,” you decided.

“Mm?”

“You do what you wanna and go where you wanna.”

“I can’t be a bird,” Minho sniffed. “They fly too high. I'm more like a cat, ‘cause no matter where they go, they always know how to find their way home.”

“Like Soonie,” you said.

“Like Soonie,” he agreed. “Remember when he was gone for three days? But then he showed up again like nothing happened?”

“You cried a lot,” you giggled.

Minho huffed, looking away. “I knew he’d come back.” 

It had been one of the only times you’d ever seen him cry in your four years of friendship. He might’ve completely denied crying altogether if the subject were anything other than his beloved cat. His little brother.

“So you’ll always come back, too? Like Soonie?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “I'm gonna be here ‘til I'm at least 100, or else someone will take our spot under the maple tree.”

ᓚᘏᗢ — snippet 2

Minho’s hand reached for yours. It was shaking.

“If you're scared, I can stay with you,” he offered. You could tell he was trying to sound casual, but there was an undeniable tremor there. Not breezy, not carefree; thick and heavy with apprehension. It weighed down your conscience. “It’ll be embarrassing if you’re the only one in class left behind, right?”

You remembered how he’d reacted when you traveled up to the mountains last summer, how he’d turned away from the window when the car drove along the edge of the road, with nothing but a flimsy, rusting metal barrier standing between you and several thousand foot fall. You remembered how much trouble he’d had walking straight when you first arrived at the campsite, strangely quiet, muttering to himself about how high up it was. It was too high, the air was too thin, the world was too far away. 

Those were the issues, of course. The issue certainly wasn’t that he was terrified out of his mind. A cat stuck in a tree, longing to accept help without sacrificing his pride. Unsure whether to hiss at whoever came near, or leap into their arms. He’d grabbed your hand the exact same way, back then. 

“Okay,” you replied.

He perked up, features flashing with a hopefulness that was almost enough to break your facade. 

“Hm?”

It would’ve been so easy in that moment, to tease him. To call him out, gain the upper hand on him for once in six years. But looking at those eyes—round and bright and gleaming under his glasses with an innocence that effectively wiped away every annoying thing he’d ever done from your memory, you just couldn’t bring yourself to. 

“Let’s skip the rollercoaster,” you said plainly. “I’m scared.”

You weren’t, strangely enough. You wondered if Minho knew that. Of the two of you, he was undoubtedly the risk taker. His mind was too capricious to not explore every possibility there was, to not absorb everything the world had to offer until he found himself in it. It was almost exhilarating for you, to be the adventurous one, for a change. To be the one who didn’t hold yourself back.

You wanted to be bold. You wanted to be fearless. You wanted to impress him. 

But more than any of that, you wanted to stay with him. You didn’t want him to sit alone on the amusement park bench, watching his classmates have fun without him as he fumbled with the wrapping of a snack he couldn’t eat, because the anxiety had made his stomach hurt. 

“Seriously,” his grin was weak, but as he laced your fingers together properly, you could feel the quiver in his hand begin to calm. “What would you do without me?”

You simply grunted, allowing him to tug you along to the bench. You didn’t want to think about it. It was playful, not really seeking a response, but that didn’t stop his question from lingering in the back of your mind. Like a part of you knew that, sooner or later, you’d have no choice but to find the answer.

[dianneking]

Larissa's Gloomy Summer - Chapter 1

Hiiii! I am finally back with a fic, and with a longfic, too! This has been in the works for more than a year, I think the idea first came to me when I wrote First Evening Back and I did promise I would come back to write more in depth about my favorite trio...and here we are!

Cover pic by the amazing @scream-queenlover

Larissa's Gloomy Summer

(link to AO3 in title)

Summary: After the fire, the faculty quarters in Nevermore are not safe to live in. As the students go back to their homes, the principal gets offered a room in a certain gloomy mansion. Out of other viable options, she agrees. After all, it’s only until the school gets patched back up together. What could possibly go wrong?

A slightly AU, alternative ending fic filled with wacky domestic fluff, trauma processing, classical music references, and, of course, lots of feelings and angst. Endgame Gomez/Morticia/Larissa because polyamory is the solution to every love triangle.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, @yourlocaldisneyvillain

You can read the fic over on AO3, but here's a little snippet to get you started:

“Absolutely not. I cannot accept, Mrs. Addams.” “But Larissa, you’ve said it yourself: the faculty quarters are not up to living standards after the fire.”

“I can still move into one of the temporary accommodations for the workers.” “Ridìculo! The principal, living in a tent!" Gomez, from his usual place next to his wife, butted into the conversation.  Larissa could feel the start of a tension headache coming on. She had hoped the Addamses had only come to Nevermore to pick up their daughter – clearly she’d been too naive. How did this become a debate over Larissa's living situation? “I agree, mon coeur, that is preposterous. We have plenty of space in our gloomy abode, and you’d be able to organize all the reconstruction works, as well as face all of the press backlash better if you didn’t have to worry about room and board.” Ugh, the backlash. Larissa didn’t even want to begin thinking about that. She could already imagine the scene: the phone ringing, emails flooding her inbox, journalist vultures swarming in front of the school’s gates… and her alone to face it all, after she quite literally almost died. She shivered at the memory of her close encounter with death, but having neither the time nor the energy to unpack all of that anytime soon, she shoved it in the back of her mind and concentrated on the small practical things she could feasibly tackle right now… …like getting out of this situation.

read more on AO3

[blossomwritesthings]

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝? 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. | 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐬

part six of do you feel my hand? it is there. | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve

pairing: minho x fem!reader (afab)

genre: veterinarian!minho (this includes a few of the skz members working in his clinic). client!reader. hurt/comfort. angst. fluff. smut - MDNI, 18+ only. reader pov. strangers to lovers au. slowburn romance. lots of pining.

content & warnings: explicit & strong language. very thematic elements. minho is reader's vet. reader is now his past client. drinking alcohol and getting drunk/tipsy is mentioned. things are starting to get suggestive in this one. also, smut is coming very soon. :))

word count: 3.0k

summary: dr. lee minho is known throughout your area as the city's hottest veterinarian, and he's also the very man that's been taking good care of your two cats for the past three years. but one day, you're thrown down a dark path of heartache when the cat that you've grown up with - nyx - is diagnosed with an acute form of bone cancer. burdened with the hardest decision of your entire life, you come at a crossroads of what to do. and throughout it all, minho is the single most person who continually stays by your side.

a/n: these past few days have been real tough ones for me, but I thought I'd give you guys an update with this fic since I'm really excited to reveal the other parts to it. after I finish posting this series, I'm going to spend a few weeks working on finishing up my wip list. 🤓 and THEN- since my poll just finished, I've officially decided to start working on the felix longfic summer!au series after I complete everything else. also, I hope to open up my requests again within the next month or two, so please look forward to everything I've got planned! 🤭 also- please continue to support and love skz throughout this season of their new comeback... try to buy their albums/stream the new music if you can so that they have a chance to win at the year-end awards... let's strive for a mama win this year, you guys!!💞

🐈‍⬛ - ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ other cool stuff ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌! ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋread my rules & guidelines here! ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋcheck out my skz masterlist! ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋmy wip list! ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ skz fic recs [sfw ver]! ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋskz fic recs [nsfw ver]! :: 18+, MDNI! ࿐ྂ

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). ©ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

 The first thing you noticed when you awoke was the quietness. Your ears weren’t used to the silence, as your mind had been crammed with so many voices and shouts and laughter and blasting music for hours on end. 

 But all at once, the stark change was downright unnerving. 

 That, and the fact that you couldn’t feel the warm presence from before at your side anymore. 

 Cracking your eyes open slowly, you came to the stark realization that the living room was… empty. There wasn’t a single sign of life anywhere. The floor was picked up of any sort of mess - the game controllers put away, the bags of chips and candy and cans of beer all having disappeared. The tv was still on, showcasing a dark ambiance screen saver of a fireplace. The living room curtains were closed shut tightly, blocking you from catching a glimpse of the moon just outside. Other than that, the only light filtering into the room came off to the side, where the hallway lead into the adjoining kitchen. 

 You threw the warm blanket off of your legs, adjusting your dress and running a hand through your hair as you made your way to the only remaining light source. Like a moth to a flame. You didn’t know how long you had slept, but seeing as it was still dark out - you noticed the dim sky through a window as you passed through the hallway - you assumed only an hour or two. Surprisingly, your rest had helped to stave off your hangover, and you weren’t feeling nearly as tipsy as you were right before you dozed off. 

 As you neared a small table that was placed in the hallway, you read that it was approaching three in the morning. Damn, you had surely overstayed your welcome. 

 Upon stepping into the kitchen’s threshold, you came face-to-face with a busy figure at the counters. With a proud back and messy, black locks. He was humming a low tune to himself, as he wiped down the pristine marble with a damp cloth. 

 “Hi,” is all you could manage, voice coming out a little scratchy from disuse and the dryness from all the alcohol. 

 He turned around on you, face lighting up with surprise. He didn’t expect you to be awake, it would seem. “Hi yourself,” he said, as he finished polishing up the counters and made to throw the towel in a nearby basket that you assumed held dirty laundry. “I was just going to go out there and check up on you.” 

 You toed at the ground, having taken off your heels early on in the night. Clearing your throat in the sudden awkwardness that had sprung up between the two of you in the past few hours, you said, “When did the guys leave?” 

 “Just a little while ago, I’ve been cleaning up since then- they always leave a bomb for me to repair after a party like this.” Minho was leaning against the farthest counter, his eyes trained on the nearby marble that he had just cleaned. Like he couldn’t stand the sight of you. Like you were annoying him by just your presence alone. 

 You swallowed around the dryness in your throat, already feeling the tears prick at the corners of your eyes at the complete one-eighty that he had taken in regards to you. 

 It hurt. 

 It hurt really fucking bad. 

But then, you found yourself talking, and before you even realized it, the words were flowing out of your mouth, unbidden and unstoppable. “I-I’m sorry I dozed off- I totally overstayed my welcome…” 

 Minho pulled his eyes away from the kitchen counter then, leveling you with those warm irises of his that seemed to soften just a tiny bit. His brows furrowed at your distressed state, lips falling open slightly in confusion. “Don’t worry about it, you’re always welcome here.”

 “No, I think coming here was a bad idea,” you started, the tears finally breaking free and racing down either of your cheeks. Your face felt like it had been lit on fire, as you flushed violently from the embarrassment and humiliation of it all. “I-I sorry, I just… I should go-”

 And you were turning out of the kitchen then, down the hallway, towards the front door. Your little sniffles rang out against the walls that slowly felt like they were closing in on you, your heart echoing in your ears as the blood rushed through your system. 

 You didn’t hear your name being called out until you were stopped dead in your tracks by fingers clutching onto one of your wrists. They pulled and pulled, desperately and quietly. 

 “I’m sorry,” he said, voice strained and low in his throat. The tears made your vision blurry, as you stared in front of you, taking in the small painting of a cat that was placed near his front door. “I’m sorry, Y/N, I’m-”

 You let out a tiny scoff, shaking your head, trying to clear your mind from all of the murky thoughts that ran through it. “You can’t even look at me. You haven’t been able to all night, so just… just forget it. I knew it was a horrible idea coming tonight anyway, I should’ve listened to myself.” When you tried to yank your wrist out of his grasp, he only clutched on tighter, fingers digging into your palm. 

 “Please, don’t say that, I loved having you here tonight- everyone did.” 

 “Yeah, but you sure didn’t act like it.” 

 “And I’m sorry for being such an asshole. I- it’s just been really hard for me, that’s all.” 

 You turned around, finally catching sight of his face. Cheekbones dusty with shadows, lips pressed into a wavering line, chest falling in short, anxious breaths. And then you noticed his outfit, for the millionth time that night. You couldn’t believe you hadn’t noticed it back in the kitchen, but the zipper on his tight black shirt had fallen even further down his chest than ever before, teasing and teasing at what lay underneath. 

 Swallowing at that, you met his gaze. He was a little bit taller than you, and you realized how closed-in the space around you felt… practically cornered in the hallway, near his door but not too near. “What’s been hard? What are you even talking about, Dr. Lee?” 

 He ran a frustrated hand through his midnight tresses, heaving a large sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, almost like it pained him to say his next words. “First, you suddenly disappear from everything- no more phone calls, no more visits, no more glimpses of you passing by during the work week. Then, you unexpectedly show up again at that cafe and try your hardest to avoid me altogether. And then, you appear right in front of my eyes, looking like-”

 Stopping himself, he bit down on his plush bottom lip, his eyes running down the length of you. Practically undressing you with his stare alone. And just that sight alone caused you to squirm in your spot. Lit a match deep inside of you. 

 When his eyes locked with yours again, you found enough courage to speak again and you somehow recovered from his blatant perusal of your body. “What? How did my showing up tonight change things?” Without thinking, your hands were traveling up the front of him, landing on either of his broad shoulders and pulling him a little closer to you. 

 He swallowed, his stare practically devouring you whole as he allowed you to draw him near. So that you could catch his scent - of warm chamomile and sweet cookies. “I thought I was doing better- thought I was strong enough. But then you showed up tonight looking so fucking ethereal - like an angel rising from a glorious throne - and I just… I couldn’t take it any longer,” you felt your lungs constrict at his confession, heart thumping wildly against your ribcage. “But I know what you think, that… that I’m just your local vet and nothing more and-”

 “Y-You think I look like an angel?” You asked, voice turning breathless. From the nearness of him, from his words. But especially, the things he was telling you. They sounded so sweet on his tongue, so whole and flawless. 

 Minho nodded, slowly, staring down at you with those coffee-coloured eyes of his. “But you’re more than just that. You’re… this unobtainable goddess that I just- can’t get enough of.” 

 “I wore it for you.” 

 A beat of silence, a slight intake of breath, and then,

 “What?” 

 “I said… this outfit, I wore it tonight only for you and you alone.” 

 You heard movement. Limbs shifted and the air surrounding you crackled with tension. Then, fingers were dancing underneath your chin, and a warm palm was pressing into one of your cheeks. You leaned into the touch, peering up at him. 

 Marveling at the way that his mouth hung open slightly in apparent shock, as his mind slowly began to process your words. His eyes raced over your face, again and again. Like if he peered at you long enough, he’d be able to tell whether you were lying or not. 

 But then a sardonic kind of smirk spread across his lips, as he canted his head to one side and raised a dark, perfectly-manicured eyebrow your way. “Well, that’s just comical because I wore this for you tonight... but, did you know that mint is my favorite color?”

 Your eyes widened at that and your heart skipped a beat at the realization that you had worn his favorite color.

 To a party that he had hosted.

 At his place. 

 The implications that you hadn't even known you were making by your outfit alone were beyond you.

 Your focus landed on his attire again - for what felt like the millionth time already. At the loose, dark cargo pants and the matching shirt that was just begging to be taken off.  

 Feeling yourself mimicking his expression, you reached out and played with the silvery zipper that was positioned halfway down his chest. “I like it- a lot. Couldn’t keep my eyes off of you all night.” 

 A dry laugh escaped him, and you watched, as his pupils brightened with a certain kind of heat. “That much I could tell…” 

 And before you could even grasp what was happening, his touch against your cheek was moving, fingers traveling over to your mouth. Tracing the outline of it, before his thumb played with your bottom lip, pulling it out slightly from the way that it had been held between your teeth. 

 The panic began to rise inside of you then, as you began to understand what was happening. What he was about to do. Why he was leaning into you ever so slowly. 

 Your hands were on his chest in an instant, stopping him from going any further. His fingertips burned on your flesh - scorching your chin and lips in tandem. “W-We shouldn’t…” You gasped out, voice turning strangled from how badly you wanted everything. Him, and his love, and his attention. It hurt you to your core, to push back from the very thing that you had been pining over for so very long. 

 “Why?”

 “B-Because… I was your client and things were always supposed to remain professional and you-” 

 His thumb swiped at your bottom lip again, tantalizing and tempting you all at the same time. And for a moment, you almost gave into your inhibitions and allowed him to draw nearer to you. But then you remembered who he was- and who you were. And how such opposites could never mesh well together. Perhaps things would be okay for a little while, but gradually, over time, mistakes would happen, promises would be broken, and you’d be back at square one all over again… soul torn into two pieces from the harsh breakup of a relationship that you had thought would last forever. 

 “What, Y/N? I’m what?” He asked, a slight harshness dripping into the words. Almost like he had heard such sentiments before. Almost like, all of the women he had been with in the past had been in your same position, at one point or another. 

 “You’re so much better than me - you’re this incredible, famous, successful businessman and doctor and I’m just… I’m just a woman who lives in a shitty apartment in a sketchy part of town because I barely make breadcrumbs and survive from paycheck to paycheck.”

 The finger tracing across your mouth stopped then, as he took in your words. And as much as you wanted to avoid his gaze at that moment, you found that you couldn’t. His stare was like twin magnets, and your soul was a piece of metal. Irrevocably drawn, no matter what you did. So you caught his intense regard, the way that his pupils darkened and practically bored into your soul wholly. 

 Like he was ripping the very fabric of your being apart, as he studied your form and who you were, and what you had just revealed to him. 

 So there it was. 

 You had spoken your biggest fear out into the open, where he would consequently drop you like a hot, rotten potato because ‘he doesn’t date broke girls.’ 

 “And you think that just because you make less money than me - just because you don’t live an ideal, rich life, that you don’t deserve me?” His palm was moving across your face as he spoke the words in a hushed whisper. So that only you could hear him, in that intimate, swarthy corner of his apartment’s hallway. His fingers threaded through your hair, tucking a few of the loose strands behind one of your ears. “That you don’t deserve my love?” 

 You swallowed thickly, shoving all of the heartache and arousal to the deepest parts of your mind. 

 Because truly, what was even going on? 

 Were you living in a dream right now? 

 Did Dr. Lee Minho just confess that he’s in love with you? 

It was all too much for your slightly-tipsy mind to process, and suddenly, your legs were turning shaky, melting into a pile of jelly on the ground. You were swaying forward, and if it hadn’t been for Minho catching you at that moment, you would have toppled onto the cold tiled ground like a complete fool. 

 You peered up at him with wide eyes, mouth falling open slightly in the shock of it all. In the way that he held onto you so completely - so firm yet delicate all at once. His face was contorted into a mix of sadness and… anger. 

 “You’re just this… amazing guy, who seems untouchable and all-knowing. And- and practically every woman in the city wants you at this point. I see them, I hear them… when they come into the clinic, they ogle you and talk about their newest outfits to try and make you fall for them. And I just- I can’t compete with all of that. I only have a few outfits that I wear daily that look decent enough, and this dress is something I’ve had since my Freshman year of university and I-”

 “None of that matters to me, Y/N,” Minho said, breaking through your incoherent ramblings and dumping an ice-cold bucket of water on your entire being. He never broke your gaze, as his arms that were still holding you moved in fluidly. And then, you were being pressed up against the nearby wall, with one of his palms clutching at your waist and the other threading through your locks. His fingers gripped gently, pulling at the roots. He moved closer still, wedging a knee between either of your legs so that he was but a mere hairsbreadth away from your face. “I only want you. I don’t care about the paychecks and the pomp and the jewels that all of those other women can offer. I just want you… I want all of you, even the ugly and sad and broken bits.” 

 You felt the tears stinging at the corners of your eyes before you even spoke again. “Do you really mean that? Are you truly sure that you don’t want a woman who lives the same lavish lifestyle as you?” You asked, shoulders shaking from the sharp inhale that you took upon his proximity and everything that he was telling you. 

 He flashed you a tiny grin, fingers resting at the nape of your neck and messaging gentle circles into the skin there. “I’m more sure about this than I’ve been about anything in my entire life.” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours in an intimate kind of way. “But one word from you - one sign that you don’t feel the same way - and I’ll be gone from your life forever.” 

 “No,” you blurted out in a strangled voice, even surprising yourself with how fast the word slipped from your lips. “No- I want this. I’ve wanted this so badly for so long and… and I just, I can’t wrap my head around the fact that you feel the same. That you care about me to the extent that I do for you.” 

 Minho’s warm breath fanned against your nose, as he grunted out a quiet laugh. You turned your gaze up then, finding the way that his eyes were alight with a myriad of feelings… but the one that was the most potent was love. 

 And as clear as day, you realized that all of the times in the past that he had looked on at you with such soft eyes, he was silently conveying his love for you.

 “Can I kiss you now?” It felt like the world was dropping out from right under your feet, as you took in all of him. The way that his black hair was disheveled from the long night and the way that a certain kind of sparkle now shined on every feature of his face. 

 You canted your head to one side, giving him your best easy smile. “Please- I thought you’d never ask.” 

 And then he was leaning into you - finally - and all of the other worries and hurts and feelings leftover inside of you all but dissipated, as the two of you fit together like two immaculate puzzle pieces made to be conjoined.

 Mouth against mouth, tongue swiping against tongue. And everything was blissful and effervescent and otherworldly. 

To be continued...

taglist: want to be added onto my taglist? well then, comment below on this post/reblog it, and indicate your interest in my taglist and i'll add you... or, you can send me a msg and request to be added~

🌾 tags: @sleepyleeji :: @if-spearb :: @hyunes4ngel :: @drhsthl :: @seosalad :: @toomuchtellyneck :: @endzii23 :: @smally97 :: @ana-marais98 :: @sherryblossom :: @priincehoseok :: @biribarabiribbaem :: @linovely :: @lolqxv :: @linonyang :: @morningstardada :: @taeriffic :: @day6andetcetera :: @hyuka-luvbot :: @/leyknxw a yellow tag means that there was an error in tagging you.

[sky-scribbles]

Playlist for my Aeor longfic

I failed to figure out how to do a fancy spotify embed like the kids do but uh. Here's the playlist for Gravity!

I listened to this while planning and writing, and there are even a few shout-outs to the songs in the fic... Songs are arranged chronologically, so you should be able to hear the story happening, hopefully :'D

Further yelling about song choices under the cut!

A Matter of Time - This one is... sort of the fic's opening titles in my head? I wanted to start out with an instrumental, to capture the vibes of the months before the fic opens - Essek and Caleb apart, thinking about the T-Dock, and each other. Wondering. Waiting.

Horse to Water - Essek in Chapter 1, knowing his life as the Shadowhand is ending, waiting for Caleb to come and take him away to whatever comes next. (I'm normally very picky about not putting songs that reference modern day stuff on fantasy playlists but this one's vibes were too perfect)

Dear Fellow Traveller - Two wizards heading into Aeor together.

Conquest of Spaces - A song for Aeor. A dark, beautiful city, the remains of a people who lived by greed and power. (And two wizards in the ruins, trying to draw closer to each other.)

Neptune - This is mostly for Essek's breakdown in chapter 5, as he worries he'll never break out of his Shadowhand manipulation, wanting to be closer to Caleb and not knowing what that would even look like. And it's a little for Caleb in chapter 6, too, grappling with his feelings for Essek and his fears that they'll ultimately be bad for each other.

Please Don't Say You Love Me - ... and as they move past those fears, this song is for them tentatively acknowledging what they might be to each other. Not yet. But maybe soon.

Woodwork - This is for the chapters 6-9 span, as they learn more about Brashaar's plan. The pressure of a crisis has an odd way of making them realise just how deep their trust and care for each other runs.

Two Evils - Since we're at the point where Brashaar shows up, she gets a song now! This is pretty much her internal monologue during her confrontation with the wizards (though she really should have paid attention to 'if you're not careful, you will lose her' in reference to Quaera...)

Winter - Travelling northward, and yearning. Wishing they had more time.

Mind - A song for a young Quaera, slowly forming a personality, wondering about who she is and how her identity forms...

The Tower - ... and having their own breakdown.

What Could Have Been - I love me a good villainous breakdown, and this is a song for Brashaar's. This is how I imagine she feels during the final confrontation, raging against the gods, against Caleb and Essek, against Quaera after they turn from her. Not quite able to let go of what she thinks Aeor could have been. What, in her eyes, the world is meant to be. (As a bonus, I think the second verse sounds a bit like a retort to her from Quaera...)

Everybody Wants to Rule the World - This is such a fun cinematic cover, and I can't tell you how many times I've imagined a mental AMV of the final battle with Brashaar set to it :'D

Ori, Embracing the Light - I wanted an instrumental here too, because... Essek is dead, Caleb is in shutdown, and Essek and Quaera are communing with the Luxon, a being that doesn't really speak with words. Also, 'embracing the light' is exactly what Quaera does at this point.

Would That I - I know we all use this as Caleb's 'learning to live and love again' song... and I am no exception. This is for him after the T-Dock, finally fully acknowledging his grief, and his love for Essek.

First Day of my Life - Just two wizards realising that they have a future, and agreeing to slowly work at what's between them.

Ready to Call This Love - This one speaks for itself, honestly.

Five - Both of the wizards in the final chapter, but especially Essek realising how isolated he's been from the world, and letting it all in so he can feel it. (Also, studying the universe is a love language - )

Gravity - Gravity is a metaphor for love!!!!

[halebobgr]

Hi, Halebob! I’ve read your ‘The Inherent Violence of Summer’ and then i fell hard in love with your babyroth. He’s so baby especially in ‘Step by Simple Step’. The way you portray him, he just a little boy, goodest cutest babyest babby boy. I want to hug him cradling him to bed, protecting him from harm and smooch baby goodnight kisses. that’s my babyson alright. Your works are too good you make me yearn for a babyroth I could never have😭

Anyways, I really love your works so much i wonder if you know any good babyroth fics you can recommend? In whatever pairings or general.

Love all your works and reeeaaaaally looking forward to next chapter of Step by simple step😉❤️ (YOUR THE DAD VINCE PLEASE TREAT BABBYROTH WELL FRom now on that you got another chance. don’t you DARE hurt baby’s little heart you goth vampire!😤)

what the hell

I don't know why, but it never crossed my mind that people from ao3 can probably just find me on other platforms too with a quick search LOL

Thank you, friend <3 I'm glad you're having fun with these silly stories I write so I don't go insane x)

As for recommendations, I will be honest, every fic I've started has been the result of me going "what the hell, how did nobody else write this already" so that is a little tricky... x) I had zero experience with writing (unless you count writing for my DnD campaign which... you shouldn't lol), just spite. "What could have been" by ToastedCatBread is awesome, so I can definitely recommend that without any hesitation though! "Raised By Wolves" by ErrantNight (who I adore and who has to sit through ALL my typos and grammar mistakes for Steps, bless their heart and soul) is also incredibly good but MUCH angstier! I'm afraid I'm more of a longfic kind of person (just look at my own stories lol) and while I'm sure there's a lot of young!Seph longfics out there, I can't quite point you to anything else right now, apologies x) Honorable and sad mention, but there was a fic (a oneshot, I believe?) I read years ago of Cloud going back in time and saving young Seph (but it was very angsty and Cloud was absolutely the wrong person for the job) but I cannot for the life of me find it again... :( As for Vincent... He's coming around, don't worry <3

[zombubble]

In celebration

of me hitting 200k in the rough draft of my new longfic, and of my having been working on it for over an ENTIRE YEAR, NOW, and also of my desire to start with stuff like WIP Wednesday etc, I PRESENT to All Of You the summary for my Wangxian-centric MDZS ascension au:

In Memory; In Truth:

Some people say that to ascend to godhood is to never die, regardless of circumstance. That ascension at the moment of death negates the death itself, because the person in question was never actually a corpse. Wei Wuxian disagrees. He felt his death, and he knows it happened, and if people want to get picky about phrasing he's more than ready to get into it with them because he died. He absolutely died, then ascended, then left the mortal plane behind with the intent of not seeing much of it at all for the next hundred years or so because fuck that, fuck them, and fuck their politics. If only. Thirteen years after his death-slash-ascension, he's been sent down on behalf of the Celestial Court to find out who's kidnapping their junior officials and why, and he starts by appearing to someone he hears speaking very fervently to a memorial tablet. For some reason, Nie Huaisang is asking for his help and, well… as a god, as this is technically a prayer, he's at least obliged to listen.

I'm so excited!!! But I have to write the rest of the fic and edit before I can actually start publishing. However, I have enough of it done now that I feel confident talking about it with all of you.

You'll find updates about this fic tagged #fic: imit and #ascension au

Feel free to poke me with questions, though I may not give you a direct answer uwu.

Would also like to give a special shout-out and massive thank-you at this point to @thewalrus-said for their absolutely flabbergasting amount of support and encouragement so far, and for helping me keep my motivation going. You're a gem.

[jetii]

Surprise self-rec time! Pick 3 of your favorite things you’ve written and share them here, then put this in the inbox (anonymously or not) of your fellow writers to spread the positivity and help celebrate already written fics 💞

Thank you for the opportunity to gush about my fics! 💙 This was a lot harder than I thought it would be. It's like picking my favorite children.

Goodbye, and Other Possible Words (Echo x Medic!Reader)

I usually credit my Rex fic as the catalyst for my confidence to continue sharing my work publicly, but in reality it's this Echo x Reader fic that inspired me to keep going. I love love writing long one-shots with lots of backstory and emotion (and smut). Now as I'm typing this I realize I need to write more Echo asap.

Promises Made (Crosshair x Jedi!Reader Miniseries)

My first multi-part fic, and my first attempt at writing Crosshair. I wrote the first draft while on a road trip after being inspired by a random gifset of the "you're as bad as Hunter," "oh, I'm much worse" exchange between Crosshair and Omega. I then promptly lost about half of my work upon returning home, had a breakdown, abandoned it, and then came back and poured as much of my frustration into it as possible a month later. I'm so proud of the result, and it's one of precious few of my works I can reread without cringing.

Event Horizon (Rex x Jedi!Reader Longfic)

My passion project, my magnum opus, my current hyperfixation. After Promises Made proved to myself that I actually can start and finish a fic with multiple parts, I started writing this on the side. I woke up one day with the first line of the first chapter stuck in my head on a loop, and I had a few sleepless nights after of writing as much as I could get out, racing against the clock to beat the inevitable fade of inspiration I typically deal with. But the inspiration hasn't faded at all. We're only on chapter 6 of 52, but I've never been so dedicated to actually finishing something in my life. I have it all planned out now and at least half drafted. At the moment it's very Obi-Wan x Reader, but that's all about to change next week. And I'm so excited to eventually introduce my clone OCs into the mix.

[kingwuko]

so, random writer question. how do you manage writing so many multi chapter fics at the same time? i feel like you update them all pretty frequently. any tips for writing multiple fics at once?

Hello anon! Wow!! I am really flattered that you sent me this! For one thing, thank you for saying it feels like I update all my fics pretty frequently! I sometimes feel like I'm not updating often enough, so hearing someone say that actually makes me feel good about the frequency I update.

As for the question, how do I manage it and if I have any tips, I will definitely try to share what has been working for me so far. It's long. I'm sorry 🤣

First of all, I really need to credit a different fic writer from a different fandom. @pikapeppa is a fanfic author that I really look up to in terms of her writing style, her update consistency, and for finishing multi chaptered longfics. When I was trying to steel myself for writing Secret, I sent her a asks and she gave helpful advice! She has writing tutorials if you want to check them out.

I also posed a similar question to her about juggling multiple fics at once, and she gave some really kind advice about not giving in to hustle culture and just writing what makes me excited instead of worrying about update frequency!

So, for me, these are the things that help me with juggling all these fics:

1. Taking care of my mental health

I have always love writing, but when I'm in a bad place mentally, it's not happening. I've come a long way and figured out what I needed. When my mental health is well managed, I find joy in writing which is crucial for me to, well, write!

2. Organization

Okay I feel like there might be a better word because I'm like, the least organized person in the world. But, what I really mean is, I keep all my fics separated and labeled in my Google drive. I have folders nested inside folders and do my best to label all my folders and docs. That way I can keep things together that I need for each fic, and I can easily open and reference anything I need.

For example:

This is mostly because I have different back stories and headcanons for each fic, so this helps me keep it all straight. It also makes it quick and easy to look stuff up. I have transcripts saved and an outline and an idea dump where I can look if I need help.

3. Deciding which fic to focus on

This is tricky because I feel like I'm still figuring this out myself. At first I was forcing myself to to rotate them in order, now (at the advice of @pikapeppa ) I write whichever fic I'm most excited about. This is working better for me. I need to shift my mindset when I work on a different fic, because my fics have different tones. If I force myself to shift mindsets, it's trickier. If I just do what I'm most excited about, it feels more natural to get into the right mindset and I write faster! That includes my one shots. Sometimes I'm not working on the next chapter. Sometimes a one shot has my attention.

Comments, asks, and discussions in my discord group actually influence what I'm excited about quite a bit! So if you notice it's been a while since I've updated something, and you comment on it, there's a good chance it'll give me that dopamine rush to naturally shift back to that fic haha.

I also don't reply to comments on the latest chapter until I've posted the next one. It's kind of a carrot on a stick for myself. If I make myself wait to reply til I post the next chapter, it's another incentive that helps me get excited!

4. Writing

I'm so sorry to say this. But in order to write fics, you have to. Well. Write. I know this is very upsetting for me to hear sometimes. 🤣

Theres tons of posts out there about how to write if you're struggling or you're stuck. I'm sure they have better advice than I do. But what works for me are the following things:

Outline, then write the chapters in order. Some people prefer to write out of order, to write the scenes they're excited first. But for me, writing in order gives me something to look forward to. It's easier to get through the less exciting but crucial scenes and chapters if I know I have a really fun scene right around the corner.

Write badly. My first drafts are pretty rough. There's lots of cringe. Terrible grammar. Incomprehensible sentences. Weird ideas that sounded good in my head but just do not work in writing. Sometimes I don't even know what I want to say, and I just throw some brackets in: [transition here]. For dialogue I'll write it in script form first before adding dialogue tags. Honestly once you get past the uncomfortableness of writing badly, it gets easy. It's word vomit. But guess what, no one has to see it but me!

Write whenever the mood strikes (as long as it's safe to do so). I figured out pretty quick that if I didn't jot ideas down when they hit me, they'll be gone later. If I waited to write until I had the perfect environment, I would never get any writing done (I have four kids and job, my environment is never perfect for writing 😅). This is why I write in Google docs. I can write on my computer (which I prefer) but I can also write ANYWHERE on my phone. I tend to do quite a bit of micro writing throughout the day. Between clients at work. Waiting in the school pickup line. Laying in bed before I fall asleep. Taking a walk (carefully and in a low/no car traffic path!) any moments throughout the day that I get a few minutes of peace and quiet. Just don't write when you're driving obviously 🤣

Edit when I am feeling good. All those brackets I throw in have to get resolved eventually. If I go through and edit when I'm feeling really good and focused, it's much easier. If I try to edit when I'm distracted or having a bad day, it's probably not gonna be great or I'll probably get stuck and struggle.

Use a beta reader. Okay. Listen. There are a million fics out there that aren't beta read. Obviously tons of writers do great without them. Not me. In addition to the fact that having a beta reader just makes my work more polished and understandable, it also gives me some external accountability. My beta reader, @badgermolebender, doesn't even really do anything extra to encourage me to write, it's just KNOWING that they're there, for some reason, helps me to write. And there are plenty of people out there who will beta read and also gently nudge you to write by checking in occasionally. 'hey how's the next chapter coming along? Need to bounce some ideas around? Let me know!' (psst if you want a beta reader for a Wuko fic, or any Lok fic, I'm available!!!! Even other fandoms if I know them!)

5. Be kind to myself.

Writing fanfic is a hobby. It's supposed to be enjoyable, for the most part! We can't hold ourselves to the same standards as people who write novels for a living. They have editors, they get paid for publishing, they have deadlines pushing them forward; and I'm sure other things I don't know about because I don't write novels for a living!!! We just have our fandom community and our free time. So we aren't going to be churning out novel length fics as quickly as R.L. Stine. You'll have gaps where life got in the way and a fic gets put on hold. It's fine. Just pick it back up when you can.

I have no idea if any of that is helpful, but that's my writing method these days. Look, I'm just a boring thirty-something trying to live my best life after neglecting myself in my twenties. I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm having fun!