#sharing these snippets gives me motivation

[hey-august]

👀 it's time for another sneak peek...........

For once, the smarmy look on Buggy’s face flickered. Bushy eyebrows raised slightly in surprise and the corners of his smile fell before transforming into a hungry wolfish grin. Leaning back in his chair, the captain beckoned you closer with a tantalizing curl of two fingers.

This was your moment. As you walked forwards, Buggy reclined and spread his legs into an indecently dominant pose. Another twitch from his finger told you to lower yourself. You were more than glad to kneel before your captain. Trapped between his body heat and your desire, you barely noticed the rough wood floor digging into your bare knees.

A gloved hand floated over and cupped your chin. The leather from his performance gloves was rich and velvety. Softening into his touch, you felt a twinge of worry that you might melt completely. Meeting his watchful gaze, the worry dissipated. You wanted nothing more than to dissolve, to fall apart because of him.

[starbornsoulrider]

^ plays star stable just to rewrite it now

[caterpillarinacave]

Hello! Could you please publish a mea culpa snippet when you have the time? I'm really loving it!

He knew, vaguely, that his stomach was still turning; that his head and chest ached, that every muscle was screaming, and that cold still clung to every inch of him. He was somewhat aware that something was very, very wrong; it just felt so far away, as if it was happening to someone else, someone who could most certainly not be him.

-WIP Snippet, Mea Culpa, Chapter ???

[deliciousangelfestival]

New Light | B. Barnes

Character: Neighbors!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: Y/N meets a mysterious neighbor in a stuck elevator.

A/N: I live in an apartment and often encounter different people. I wish I could start a conversation like the reader 😭

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

Y/N had become a recognizable presence in her apartment building, exchanging greetings with familiar faces each time she entered the lift.

One tenant, however, remained an enigma—Bucky. Tall and always clad in a large black hoodie, he never uttered a word during their encounters.

One evening, after a long day at work, Y/N stepped into the lift, and to her surprise, Bucky entered just before the doors closed.

As the elevator ascended, an unusual silence settled between them. Y/N, feeling the need to break the ice, finally spoke up, "It's been a long day, hasn't it?"

Bucky, still maintaining his stoic demeanor, nodded in agreement. The hum of the elevator provided an awkward backdrop to their brief exchange.

As they continued in silence, the lift abruptly stopped, causing them both to shift their attention to the sudden halt.

"It's probably just a minor glitch," Y/N reassured, attempting to ease the tension. She reached for the Ring button, pressing it to summon help.

The building security's voice crackled through the speaker, providing assurance that maintenance were on their way.

With a shared glance, Y/N and Bucky exchanged a subtle acknowledgment of the situation. Y/N tried to strike up a conversation again, "So, Bucky, do you live on the same floor as me?"

Bucky, though initially hesitant, replied with a simple nod. The conversation was slow to develop, yet Y/N persisted, asking about his day and interests.

Bucky, gradually opening up, revealed snippets of his life. "I work from home most days, I'm a graphicdesigner," he admitted, his mysterious aura starting to unravel.

In turn, Y/N shared stories from her workplace, finding common ground in the challenges and triumphs of daily life.

In the middle of their conversation, Y/N noticed subtle movements within Bucky's hoodie. Curiosity getting the better of her, she finally asked, "Is everything okay in there?"

Bucky hesitated for a moment before revealing a small, furry face peeking out—the source of the movement. To Y/N's astonishment, Bucky introduced her to Alpine, his cat.

Y/N was awestruck when she caught sight of an incredibly adorable cat. Its fluffy fur and playful antics immediately captured her attention, eliciting a warm and delighted smile.

Approaching cautiously, Y/N couldn't resist commenting, "Alpine is such a sweetheart! Does he always greet everyone like this?"

Bucky, Alpine's owner, looked pleasantly surprised as he replied, "Actually, Alpine is usually quite reserved. He doesn't warm up to strangers easily."

Feeling a bit special, Y/N observed as Alpine continued to display an unexpectedly friendly demeanor, rubbing against her legs. Bucky chuckled, "This is a rare sight. Alpine doesn't usually take kindly to newcomers."

The atmosphere shifted as Bucky eagerly shared stories about Alpine's quirky habits and endearing antics.

Initially taken aback, Y/N found herself engaged in a lively conversation with Bucky about their shared experiences as pet owners. "Alpine loves to climb onto my shoulders when I'm working on my laptop," Bucky chuckled, his reserved demeanor giving way to warmth.

Sensing Bucky's willingness to share, Y/N asked about his hobbies. "Besides graphic design, what do you do for fun?"

Bucky cracked a faint smile, "I'm a bit of a movie buff, and I like taking Alpine for walks." Y/N's eyes lit up, "Really? I love movies too, and I've been meaning to explore the nearby parks."

As they exchanged stories and discovered shared interests, the once awkward elevator space transformed into a comfortable setting for connection. Bucky, now more animated, even shared amusing anecdotes about Alpine's adventures, eliciting laughter from Y/N.

Y/N thought Bucky was a scary person, but it turns out he's not. She sees him in a new light.

In the end, as the building security announced that they had successfully repaired the elevator.

Relieved, Y/N couldn't help but express gratitude for the unexpected camaraderie. Before parting ways, Bucky suggested, "You know, since we've become elevator buddies, how about we walk Alpine together to the park sometime?"

Genuinely pleased by the idea, Y/N smiled and replied, "I'd love that!" The invitation marked the beginning of a new chapter in their connection.

Author Note:

Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account. Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating. Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

Tag list:

@thezombieprostitute

@scott-loki-barnes

@rebeccapineapple

@ordelixx

@winters1917

@kandis-mom

A/N: I'm sorry I couldn't tag everyone because I wrote and edited this on my phone.

[skywalkr-nberrie]

It honestly makes me cry how Padmé in her dying moments and as she’s giving birth was aching and yearning for Anakin to be by her side. Just as Vader was in anguish and pain, and longing to see Padmé, to know if she’s safe.

In the last scene where she’s giving birth she’s in such a haze due to labor, and in such a state of “heartbreak” that she doesn’t recognize her surroundings and doesn’t even realize that people were beside her because she’s so focused on Anakin (+giving birth ofc) we see it clearly in the ROTS novel

We see here that OW is holding onto Padmé’s hand which he described as being “still and cold” clearly her lack of strength from giving birth, but also because she’s heartbroken and is somewhat becoming numb (as she dies 💔) she’s not at all responsive nor does she react to human contact. Then we see that she’s clearly muddled and completely unaware of her surroundings as it describes that her “eyes rolled blindly” and yet, she’s still thinking of Anakin (as she’s giving birth) when she says what the gender of the baby was, and that Anakin thinks it’s a girl, so Padmé thinks so as well.

Then, despite her lack of strength and motivation, we see Padmé pick up all the strength she has left to reach up to her newborn son, Luke.

After she’s given birth, again all of Padmé’s thoughts just round back to her aching and yearning for Anakin. Once again, not even aware of her surroundings or even able to hear anyone in her vicinity due to how heartbroken she is over losing her husband and this precious moment with him (the birth of their babies) OW clearly tells Padmé that Anakin isn’t there when Padmé calls out to him, yet she can’t hear him, Padmé continues to constantly call out to him, telling him she loves him, and that she’s sorry for the misunderstanding that happened between them (even though absolutely NONE of it was her fault.)

Then we come to this part where it reveals that Padmé with the same hand she touched her new born babies with, was actually clutching onto the Japor Snippet that Anakin had given her this entire time she was giving birth. Part of me believes she was holding onto it as a substitute for Anakin’s hand, hence why she was in such a daze, unable to recognize anyone around her, and kept calling out to Anakin. She desperately wanted him by her side, and holding onto the Japor Snippet was like a solace for her.

It was only in the last minute where the novel describes her eyes to have finally cleared for only a moment, and she recognized OW, and even in that last moment of hers, her thoughts are of only Anakin. And of her undying, unwavering faith, trust, and love for him. Telling OW with full conviction that there is still good inside the man she loves, and she’s putting the very proof of it into his palms 💔

OW shows Yoda the Japor Snippet Padmé put into his hand, and Yoda can immediately tell right away that it was a possession that was precious to Padmé, and that she must’ve cherished it a lot. He suggests that she should be buried with it, and OW taps into the Force at that moment and can also feel the “soaring echos” of the love shared between Anakin and Padmé to which he describes as “transcendent love” and can also feel what he describes as “a bleak, black despair of an unendurable heartbreak” (clearly referring to Padmé.) He agrees that Padmé should also be buried with the Japor Snippet, so that Padmé can at least go away in peace, with a remnant of the man she truly, deeply, loved, still with her.

[f1-stuff]

VICTORIAN CHARLOS ROYALTY ABO you have sent me into chaotic overdrive with that sentence oh boy am I excited to read that!!!!!!!! Thank you to your brain as always

Hehe I'm glad you're excited!! So am I... 😏 which is why I'm going to share a bit of it now!!! 😝 (sometimes, I simply can't help myself)

For some exposition, Charles is the crown prince of Monaco and an omega, Carlos is the alpha son of a Spanish duke (but distantly in line for the throne, which also makes him a prince). Their meeting has been arranged by carlos' father & cousin and charles' uncle, which makes this a sort of arranged marriage AU, except that Charles still gets to choose his husband in the end. Charles is almost twenty-one, and he's looking forward to certain freedoms that will award him. All of this was inspired by The Young Victoria (2009).

Behold, a 1.8k-word snippet:

Charles’ eyes scan over the chess board, carefully considering his next move. He can feel the looks of the rest of their party burning into the side of his face. He glances sideways to confirm his suspicions, and notes several people averting their eyes in a hurry.

When he looks back to Carlos, the other man is giving him a conspiratorial smile. Charles sighs, his lips curving up at the edges as he settles on moving his rook.

Ever since their walk earlier that afternoon, Charles’ feelings have...softened slightly toward the Spaniard. He much prefers when the man isn’t feeding him answers that he believes Charles will like, and luckily, it seems they’ve mostly done away with that nonsense now. There’s no doubt that Carlos is...handsome. Or that his scent seems designed to tempt Charles. But he’s smart enough to know that Carlos has his own motivations for being here, and that it would benefit him and his family very much indeed if they were to wed. Charles has no intention of finding a mate yet, not when his freedom is so close at hand.

As Carlos decides on his next move, Charles’ face begins to burn once again from the others’ returned stares. His jaw clenches.

“Do you ever feel like a chess piece yourself? In a game being played against your will?” He doesn’t bother to lower his voice. It would likely be futile, not to mention that he would welcome his words having a shaming effect on their company. If only. 

Carlos’ curious gaze rises to meet his own. He takes a moment to respond, brows furrowing as he considers Charles’ words.

“I hadn’t thought of it. But I suppose so, yes.”

“I do, constantly,” he sighs. “I feel their eyes assessing me, their fingers moving me round the board.”

“Your parents?”

“Everyone. My uncle, brother, advisors, politicians... They’re all ready to seize hold of me and drag me from square to square.” He chuckles to lighten the tone, and Carlos’ lips make an effort to smile, but fall short. 

Carlos glances over at the others, before his attention returns to the board and he finally makes his move. “Then, you had better master the rules of the game until you play it better than they can.” 

His eyes meet Charles’, and they hold there, candlelight flickering within their depths in a hypnotizing pattern. It feels like it takes all of Charles’ willpower to peel his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

“You don’t recommend I find an alpha husband to play it for me?” he asks, raising a brow as his rook takes Carlos’ pawn.

“I should find one to play it with you, not for you.”

Charles feels delighted surprise drip down his spine as he considers Carlos’ words. He’s never really...thought about marriage like that. It had always seemed like another prison he would be forced into. But if he were to choose a mate and a husband as an equal, someone who would play with him, like Carlos suggests...

They continue playing for a moment in silence, as Charles decides how to respond, but he’s been thrown off slightly, Carlos proving once again to be unexpected.

“You know, my father wants me to marry King Torger’s nephew, George.” He sees the flicker of distaste that flashes across Carlos’ face, and has to bite his lip not to laugh.

“Hm,” Carlos grunts, picking up his bishop. “What’s he like at chess?” He knocks Charles’ pawn aside, then looks up and grins.

Charles stifles a laugh, glancing over at his family. His uncle and mother are smiling contentedly down at their laps, his mother with her embroidery and his uncle with his newspaper. Charles’ good mood dims slightly, realizing how easily he’s playing into their hands by enjoying Carlos’ company.

And yet he can’t help the affection and attraction that simmers within him when he looks back at Carlos and the scent of dewy grass and fresh oranges caresses his nose, so refreshing compared to the usual dusty stale air of the drawing room.

He wins their first game because Carlos underestimates him, like so many others. But Carlos requests a second match, and this time, manages to take the win. The excited buzz of a good challenge fills Charles with a restless energy that he hasn’t felt in years, and they play a third game, then a fourth, and a fifth. Eventually, as the others are beginning to nod off in their chairs, they decide to retire for the evening.

He’s just taken Andrea’s hand to begin his ascent up the stairs when his name is called out behind him, followed almost immediately by that damn scent. Charles looks over his shoulder at Carlos, who almost appears out of breath, like he’d rushed to catch up to him. They had already said goodnight in the drawing room, but perhaps he’d thought of something else to tell Charles.

“It’s alright, Andrea. Carlos can take me up.” 

Andrea’s eyebrow twitches slightly with displeasure, but he would never protest. He steps aside, Carlos taking his place.

“You’ll have to hold my hand,” Charles explains. “It is a ridiculous precaution, but Maman insists.”

“Of course,” Carlos says, bowing slightly.

He offers his hand to Charles, who takes it after the briefest of hesitations. It’s the first time their skin has touched, and Charles suppresses the shiver that rolls through him.

For a moment, they simply stand there, feet unmoving, as Carlos’ thumb settles gently over his knuckles. His hand is warm and large, his fingers slightly calloused, from riding or shooting perhaps. He holds onto Charles’ fingers just tight enough to reassure, but not so tight as to entrap him. It’s a delicate balance, and Charles wonders how he’s managed to find that sweet spot so gracefully.

With some effort, Charles forces his feet to move, and they begin their climb.

“Did you want to tell me something?” he asks.

“Ask you, actually. Your father - he didn’t join us tonight.”

“Yes. He is...his health is poor,” Charles says, pushing through the sadness and worry to give Carlos a polite smile. “We...do not know how much longer he has.”

“Ah.” Carlos swallows, and in his gaze, Charles sees the man’s love for his own father. His brown eyes dip at the outer edges in sympathy. “I am very sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you,” he mutters.

“I would have loved to meet him.”

The sentiment makes Charles smile for real. He isn’t certain what his father would think of Carlos, but so far, there hasn’t been much to object on.

They climb a few more steps in silence, and only when they’re about to reach the top does Carlos speak again.

“I wanted to say that I may not entirely understand what you are going through, or just how much of a pawn you are feeling...” They pause on the landing. “But I know a bit of what it’s like to be moved around like a chess piece in someone else’s game. And I know a bit of what it’s like to feel as though your life is not your own.”

Charles studies him. He seems sincere, but it’s hard to imagine this alpha knows an ounce of what Charles has been through.

“Does your mother also assign someone to guide you up and down the stairs?” he asks, brow arched teasingly. Carlos lets out an amused huff, glancing down at their still clasped hands.

“No, indeed I do not shoulder that particular charge. But I do know how duty and obligation to one’s family, one’s country, can eclipse even your sense of self.”

That strikes a chord within Charles, who has wasted hours and hours of his life wondering who he really is beyond an omega, a prince. If these things were stripped away, who is he underneath?

“And yet,” Carlos continues, before Charles can formulate a response. “I am finding my current duty to my country to be much more enjoyable than I had anticipated.” Smiles spread over both of their faces, and something giddy and dangerous alights deep in Charles’ stomach.

Do not fall for it, Charles.

“Did your father instruct you to use all your charms on me?”

“My cousin, actually,” Carlos admits, startling a laugh out of Charles for his honesty. “He also told me not to let your beauty distract me. Yet, I confess, I have never been so distracted in my life.”

Charles wants to roll his eyes at the transparent attempt to romance him, but all his lessons in etiquette restrain him. Instead, he presses his lips together to prevent a smile, not wanting to give Carlos the satisfaction. Unfortunately, Carlos is watching his expression closely enough that he notes Charles’ attempt and responds with a smug grin of his own.

For a moment, they stand suspended, hands still holding one another’s, both unwilling to let go. And to his slight shame, it is Carlos who ends the stalemate, bowing at the waist to barely graze his lips against the back of Charles’ hand, his breath warm and startling. Charles’ heart stutters, but he schools his expression as the other man straightens once again, releasing his hand.

“Goodnight, Monsieur.”

Charles is afraid to speak, worried his voice will betray just how overcome he is by the barest touch of lips on his skin - not even a kiss, really. Embarrassing.

So he simply nods, then turns and strides toward his rooms without looking back. It’s only when he’s almost through the door that he glances just one time over his shoulder to see Carlos descending the stairs. 

He doesn’t wait around long enough to see if the other man looks back.

His attendant helps him undress while Andrea readies his bed. Charles brushes a thumb over the back of his hand, feeling the ghost of lips there.

“Will my lord miss the prince and princesses when they’re gone?” his attendant asks.

“Don’t be impertinent,” Andrea admonishes. Charles just smiles to himself as he undoes his necktie. “That young man pesters you.”

“Please, Andrea,” Charles sighs, shouldering off his waistcoat. “After all this time, you really think I’m going to walk straight into another jail?”

He’s taking off his shoes when Andrea eventually responds. “You must marry one day.”

“Well, I don’t see why I must,” he says, shaking his head. “But if I do, it shall be to please myself, and no one else - not Maman or Uncle or my father.”

So what if he never has children. There will always be another heir somewhere. Sure, it would be dangerous to remain an unmated omega. But if anyone could do it and survive, Charles thinks a sovereign prince, with more protection than anyone else in the country, could succeed.

He’s not marrying anyone just yet. Not even the charming Spaniard with the kind eyes.

[joeyalohadream]

I was rereading the cooler fic last night (for the 1000th time) and i was wondering if there was a line or a few lines u could share from part 2 and how its coming along! (No intention to put pressure or anything at all) I adore ur writing 🩷🩷🩷🩷

Hi, anon!

Endlessly flattered that you've re-read it so many times!

Small WIP update: I threw out my back at work yesterday and am laid up for a few days. I'm feeling motivated and hoping to use the fact that I can't move much as an opportunity to write a lot!

But here's a small snippet from Part Two to wet your whistle while you wait for me to finish:

“What is it?” He watches as Gale picks at the cuticles around his thumbnail. It strikes him suddenly that the grime under Gale’s nails has been there for a while. It was there when he’d held those trembling fingers in his own the night before, which means it had probably been there since he’d been in isolation. Gale, who has been meticulous about cleanliness, about order and neatness since the moment he met him, is looking down at his dirty hands and he’s not bothered by them. The subtle changes Bucky has been noticing in his demeanor over the last twenty-four hours are starting to pile up.  He’d poked fun at Gale about his almost obsessive need to be hygienic a few months into their confinement. In one of his darker moments, it had made him angry watching Gale act as if such an unimportant thing mattered when they were suspended in such a meaningless state of inactivity. It hurts to remember the way Gale had shrugged off his harsh admonishment of this aspect of his character, not pushing back, just accepting the new normalcy of Bucky being subtly cruel. Right now, he wishes he could go back in time to their moment in the washroom and scrub the dirt from under each of Gale’s fingernails. Wishes he could help give him back something that seems to have been stolen from him in the recent weeks. He takes advantage of their solitude and reaches over the table to grasp Gale’s cold fingers, halting the abuse he had been dolling out on his delicate skin. “Talk to me, Buck. Something’s bothering you.” Red-rimmed blue eyes meet his and a small smirk plays over his lips. “A lots bothering me today, Bucky.” He gives the fingers in his a slight squeeze and the man they belong to a small smile. Between the cold and the hunger and the pain and the sickness, he knows that. But he also knows that there is something else, something maybe he could fix faster than those other ailments. “It’s stupid.” Gale sighs and shakes his head. “Let me be the judge of that.” “It’s selfish,” Gale shifts his gaze to their hands and hunches down in his chair. Bucky frowns at the top of his head. “You don’t have a selfish bone in your body, Buck.” Bucky wishes he did sometimes, because maybe then Gale wouldn’t feel the need to sacrifice his well-being so often. Gale stays silent but Bucky can see his jaw working, knows he’s contemplating his words and deciding whether or not he’s going to share them. “Please,” he leans over the table at the same time he pulls on Gale’s hand, lets his lips brush the cold skin over his knuckles. He smiles again, keeping his face open when those beautiful eyes rise to meet his again. “Before I went in,” Gale starts, voice low, pained. “You weren’t doing well.” Bucky winces internally at the understatement but stays silent, willing Gale to continue. “I tried to give you space and keep you close at the same time. But the only times I felt like you were really with me were when we were in our bunk. And some nights not even then.” Guilt is a vice around Bucky’s heart at the hurt in Gale’s voice. “You wouldn’t talk to the guys or help out or even get outta bed somedays.” Gale pauses, takes a shuddering breath that turns into a harsh cough that he turns into his own shoulder. Bucky looks on, helpless and feeling raw. It takes a minute for Gale to gain his composure and catch his breath enough to continue. “But now, you’re like the old you,” Gale clears his throat and looks back down at the table. “The way the guys were talking to you last night and this morning, I can tell you’ve been like that for a while now.” Bucky thinks back to the slow crawl he made through the metaphorical muck in his mind to get back to himself, to be what the men needed, to be what Gale would need when he finally came back to him. “It’s like I went away, and you got better,” Gale practically grinds the words out, voice whisper soft and Bucky’s heart breaks.

[isabellebissonrouthier]

Emoji Ask Game - Writeblr

😇 - Fluff or angst?

😶‍🌫️ - What is your laziest writer hack?

🤯 - What's the smartest thing you have ever made a character do, and how did you figure out how to write it?

😭 - Has your own writing made you cry?

🙉 - What writing advice do you ignore?

💜 - Tell me about your favourite oc!

🫀 - What motivates you to write most?

👨‍🦲 - Which oc looks most like you?

🤰 - Do you plan what happens to your characters after their stories end?

⚘️ - Give me a snippet!

🍰 - Do you prefer describing clothes or describing food?

🏖 - Do you write on vacation?

🎏 - How close do you have to be to someone for you to share your writing?

👗 - Would you dress like your best oc?

⚠️ - What is the darkest thing you have ever written?

[mrghostrat]

hi bilvy!

I wanna start getting into writing fics, and i know the general idea of all my stories, but I'm not sure how to plan them beforehand while keeping my motivation for the actual writing at the same time. do you have any tips for a fellow Aussie?

you gotta let yourself be self indulgent about it!! plan your favourite scenes first so you can day dream about em and look forward to writing them (like me replaying “you’re gay?” “yes..?!?” in my head for weeks, and how much i’m looking forward to the final scene of editor hehe)

get tropey, collect silly tumblr posts into a tag for inspiration, make pinterest boards, make playlists!! anything that gives you a rush of giddiness or dopamine that you can uncork whenever you need some extra inspiration

and sharing snippets with a friend or two can be really motivating as well. i live for @niltia’s live reacts to my WIPs and getting to listen to @eviebane recording themself reading the completed chapters is such a huge motivator for me to get them finished 🤌

[thewolvesof1998]

Seven Sentence Sunday 18+

tagged by @diazsdimples

Sharing another snippet from Gender Swap Buddie aka put your canine teeth in the side of my neck because I need some motivation to finish it 😭

“You have to be quiet, you don’t want anyone knowing what we’re doing in here?” Buck nods her head, even though the thought of everyone knowing that Eddie Diaz is currently on her knees for Buck is intoxicating. “Can you be a good girl for me, Baby?” Buck whines, agreements falling from her lips in a chant of ‘Yes' and ‘yeah’s until she muffles another gasp with her hand as Eddie nips at the sensitive skin, her hand finally sliding up to where Buck needs it. Fingertips ghost over stockings and panties, “fuck, you’re soaked,” Eddie chokes out, sounding equally devastated and turned on. Buck can’t help the whimper that falls from her lips, hips thrusting down trying to find any release to the pressure that has been building since they stumbled into the bathroom.  “Eds, please, please, I need more, I need you,” She doesn’t even feel an inch of embarrassment at begging, not when Eddie looks up at her with eyes so dark. Her fingers dig in just right into the mesh material until it gives away and fuck she’ll be annoyed that her only pair of stockings have been destroyed later but right now Eddie’s pulling aside her underwear and licking her lips like Buck’s a full meal and she hasn’t eaten in days. 

tagging:

@wildlife4life   @eddiebabygirldiaz @bidisasterevankinard @spotsandsocks @try-set-me-on-fire

@bekkachaos @bi-buckrights @spagheddiediaz @911-on-abc @shitouttabuck

@911onabc @exhuastedpigeon @your-catfish-friend @loserdiaz @ladydorian05

@king-buckley @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese @fortheloveofbuddie @steadfastsaturnsrings

@mangacat201 @theotherbuckley @hoodie-buck @eowon @rainbow-nerdss

@nmcggg @monsterrae1 @diazsdimples @tommykinards @watchyourbuck

@likeamollusconarock @diazsdimples @evanbegins @nmcggg

@pirrusstuff @evanbegins @giddyupbuck @smilingbuckley @thosetwofirefighters

@princehattric @singlethread @devirnis @neverevan @superlock-in-the-tardis

@smilingbuckley @loveyouanyway

@jesuisici33 @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @jcc04220 @wallywise @hippolotamus

@tahelms85 @betterkeepmewetterthanabayou

@hades-huntress @laundryandtaxesworld @faggotjonesss @steadfastsaturnsrings @tacotacotacocat

If you want to be on my tag list interact with this post

[teyamskxawng]

The Fight [II]

Neteyam Sully x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Previously: Part I

The rundown: The day after the fight. Still Ft. jealous, possessive (and lowkey oblivious) Neteyam having a crisis over the reader, expect this time there’s a happy ending :)

Warnings: language, slight violence, Aonung has a mini-redemption arc, misunderstandings, tooth-rotting fluff, characters are aged up

WC: 8.5k

A/N: Thank you to anyone who left a kind comment on the first part of this fic! You single-handedly motivated me to actually finish this thing. Also, don’t let the first half of the chapter fool you lol this (unfortunately?) is nottt an enemies-to-lovers Aonung x Reader fic. I just wanted to give him a lil redemption and also show that Reader does, in fact, have a heart!

As you sat on the floor with Kiri's head nestled cozily in your lap, your gentle hands mindlessly played with her hair, braiding and unbraiding the stubborn strand that always made its way into her face.

Despite the exhaustion that still clung to your bones from the earlier events of the day (and a nagging pang of guilt for causing them), you felt completely at ease within the confines of the Sully family’s marui pod. Their unique family dynamic possessed an undeniable charm that never failed to lift your spirits, plunging you into a safe cocoon of lightheartedness and joy.

As you continued to bask in the warm embrace of tranquility and goodness, Lo'ak enthusiastically narrated the story of how he and Neteyam had, quote-on-quote, ‘made peace’ with Aonung that afternoon. He laid it on thick and made a whole show of recounting their meeting.

“He was all like,” Lo’ak crossed his arms, tilted his head, and smirked in what was admittedly a scarily good impression of Aonung’s default expression. “Trying to stare into our souls and shit through one eye.”

With a curious and somewhat mischievous expression gracing your features, you leaned in toward Lo'ak with a conspiratorial air. In a barely audible whisper, you asked the question that had admittedly been on your mind all day.

"So, was it really that bad? His face?" You couldn't keep the amusement out of your voice as you imagined the damage. Aonung fully deserved to have to walk around with at least one of his eyes swollen shut for the stunt that he tried to pull.

Despite the effort to not draw attention, your eyes cautiously darted back and forth between your conversation and the duo of Jake and Neytiri, who were preoccupied nearby. They seemed completely absorbed in their task of deboning fish, their fingers deftly removing spines and filets one by one. But their curiosity was equally piqued by Lo'ak's tale, and they listened keenly under the guise of their mundane chore.

Lo'ak's eyes sparkled with mischief, and a wide grin slowly crept across his face as he basked in the vivid recollection that played out in his mind's eye.

"So bad," he affirmed, making no effort to conceal the sheer enjoyment he derived from the memory. He gestured animatedly toward his face to provide a more descriptive picture of the incident. "His whole left cheekbone was all swollen. Looked like a little bitch," Lo'ak chuckled.

Kiri intervened by swiftly kicking her brother for his crude language. She tried her best to maintain a disciplined facade, but much to her own chagrin, an inescapable snicker slipped past her lips.

You smiled warmly at the girl nestled on your lap. Given the day's unpleasant encounter with Aonung and his band of friends, Kiri’s silence and subdued nature had been understandable. The whole day felt empty without the familiar sound of her laughter filling the air.

As Lo'ak continued to share his recollection of the day’s events, you noticed Kiri's expression gradually brightening as laughter returned to her eyes. It felt heartwarming to see her spirits begin to lift again.

Nestled on the opposite end of the hut, Neteyam found himself only half-absorbed in the conversation unfolding around him. He could just barely make out snippets of chatter between you and his siblings and the occasional glimpse of Lo’ak animatedly dodging invisible jabs and fake-punching the air in front of him.

Neteyam, however, was preoccupied with his own mission.

He had agreed to aid Tuk in crafting a new necklace, a tactic to ensure that she wouldn’t get all loose-lipped about the conversation she had inadvertently eavesdropped on earlier that day. They’d been sitting together, weaving little seashells along twine for the past two hours.

"You're really good at this, Tuk," Netteyam praised with a gentle smile, even though the twine of Tuk’s necklace slipped and he had just watched yet another seashell make its escape from her fingers for the fifth time in the past minute. Suppressing another snicker and shaking his head in amusement, Neteyam swiftly scooped up the shell from the ground. Gently placing it back into Tuk's eagerly awaiting hand, he used his other hand to point out where it had slipped from.

"Here, we can weave this back through that piece," he offered with an attempted seriousness that barely concealed his continued amusement.

"I know how to do it, Neteyam," Tuk grumbled in determination as she persisted in weaving her slightly uneven line. She clutched the necklace-in-progress unnecessarily tight and continued working on it, determined to prove her brother wrong.

Neteyam nodded as encouragingly as he could, putting all of his effort into maintaining the most enthusiastic demeanor he possibly could over a half-woven necklace. It wasn't exactly an easy task, given that his attention kept drifting towards the opposite side of the tent.

He kept sneaking sidelong glances at where you sat, nodding at his brother, who had an unexpectedly serious look on his face.

Intrigued, Neteyam's thoughts momentarily abandoned any attempts to aid Tuk with her fledgling necklace-making skills. Instead, he sat there with a puzzled gaze, unable to quench his curiosity as his eyes darted back and forth between the two of you.

As you sat there, nursing your sore hand, Lo'ak scooted a little closer to you to investigate the damage with his own set of scrutinizing eyes. Gently, he took your hand in his and brought your knuckles up to his face to inspect the damage. Without warning, he poked at what appeared to be an especially swollen spot, causing you to wince in pain before hastily swatting his hand away in annoyance.

"Damn!" Lo'ak exclaimed, his eyebrows shooting up to the ceiling in sheer amazement as he examined your battered knuckles even further. "It looks like you went three rounds with a boulder."

"I punch really, really hard." You replied sarcastically, rolling your eyes at Lo'ak's pointless observation and rubbing the swollen ridges on your hand as you did so.

The skin had turned an assortment of ugly shades of purple, and it hurt like hell. It was true that the pain was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore, but in your mind, it was all worth it. Aonung's stupid face now bore the imprints of that same pain. For you, it was like a true battle scar. Every throb only confirmed what you already knew: You'd definitely won that round.

Neytiri brought her keen gaze up from where she’d been meticulously skinning a new piece of fish for the evening meal. She paused momentarily, eyeing you with concern as you sat nonchalantly with Kiri's head resting gently in your lap. As thankful as she was for you standing up for her daughter, Neytiri knew that it was reckless of you to jump head-first into danger the way that you did. As she continued fileting the fish, a hint of exasperation was palpable in her voice.

"And you really, really need to go see the tsahìk for your wound, y/n," Neytiri chided sternly, making it known that arguing would be futile. And you weren’t stupid; you knew that much was true.

Though she wasn't related to you by blood, Neytiri had taken on the role of your de facto guardian angel, and she was fiercely devoted to her role. She was as stubborn as a rock when it came to her protective instincts toward you.

There was not a chance on Pandora that she would let you continue walking around with a mangled hand, no matter how proud you were of your battle scar.

So there you sat: awkwardly trying to avoid Neytiri's scolding yet somewhat affectionate glare, all the while hoping against hope that maybe—just maybe—she'd forget about it by morning. But, of course, Neytiri's decision was unequivocal, and you were left with no choice but to comply.

Thus, as the sun barely peeked over the horizon the following morning (far earlier than you would’ve liked), you exited the tsahìk’s marui pod with your previously injured hand meticulously cleaned and tended to.

Admittedly, a wave of terror initially washed over you at the prospect of facing Ronal, especially after what you had done to her son. Judging by the icy glare she shot your way when you stepped into the hut, it was evident that she was far from thrilled to see you either. Which, you couldn't really blame her for.

However, necessity dictated that someone help heal your wound, so Ronal motioned for Tsireya to carry out the task rather than do it herself.

To your immense relief, Tsireya had no shame in scolding her brother's unruly behavior. As she busied herself with tending to your hand, you recounted the tale of your skirmish with Aonung, much to her amusement. In fact, Tsireya spent more time erupting into giggles than actually focusing on healing you.

Given this scenario, it came as no surprise when Ronal let out an exasperated hiss and demanded that Tsireya switch healing with her in an attempt to expedite your recovery and have you gone from the pod as quickly as possible.

While under Ronal's care—which was noticeably less gentle than her daughter's—you found yourself recovering at a much swifter pace. The treatment may not have been ideal, but it yielded quick results.

Once fully healed and without any further consideration or well-wishes, you found yourself unceremoniously kicked out of the pod—albeit with a fully healed hand ready for whatever new adventures awaited you.

Which was how you ended up on the shore that afternoon.

As you stood by the water's edge, the rhythmic sound of the waves gently lapping against the shoreline combined with your focused efforts to create a fishing net from scratch. You were still learning, but your fingers moved with precision, weaving each knot and strand together into an intricate pattern. The sun's warmth radiated down on you, bathing everything in a golden light.

Suddenly, however, the peaceful ambiance was interrupted by the faint sound of footsteps gradually approaching from behind you. Your senses sharpened as your ears lifted in alertness, and instinctively, your tail curled protectively into a tight coil. A moment later, you heard your name uttered quietly.

"y/n?"

Feeling an unexpected and unfamiliar hand resting upon your shoulder, the voice finally registered, and in a split-second decision, you jerked your elbow backward with force, instinctively targeting the trespasser's solid ribcage.

A pained groan sounded from behind you, and satisfaction surged through you upon recognizing that it belonged to none other than Aonung himself. However, the gratification was short-lived as you came to terms with the fact that being in his presence was not a situation you desired. At all.

Memories of your previous encounter and powerful emotions threatened to overwhelm you, but Jake's resounding words echoed in your mind, reminding you of what truly mattered.

You couldn't afford to give in to your own selfish desires—not now.

It wasn’t about indulging in petty conflicts or satisfying personal vendettas. There was far more at stake than just your personal feelings toward Aonung. Recalling all that the Sullys had done for you, the sacrifices they'd made, and the risks they'd taken to secure a place within their new home, you clenched your teeth in determination.

Forcing yourself to lock eyes with Aonung, if only for an instant, the words escaped through gritted teeth, strained and laden with insincerity: "Sorry."

There it was, an apology reluctantly offered despite every ounce of your being craving to do otherwise.

Aonung chuckled at your unwavering persistence, absentmindedly rubbing the spot on his stomach where you had just landed a powerful blow. There was no doubt in your mind that it would leave a lasting bruise, one that would probably perfectly coordinate with the deep purple impression dominating the entire expanse of his cheekbone. A twisted sense of gratification coursed through you at the sight of his battered visage. Lo'ak's description of the damage hadn't done it justice. You were responsible for that. Hell yeah.

"You're stronger than you look, forest girl," Aonung conceded with genuine admiration, shaking his head in astonishment. How you managed to possess such incredible strength in such a small body was beyond even his understanding.

However, you had no intention of succumbing to his flattery anytime soon. You were not about to let him sweet-talk you into submission or change the course of your determined spirit.

With your jaw set in determination, you sucked your teeth and hastily reached for your weaving materials. The once serene atmosphere of the early evening had been entirely spoiled by Aonung's unwelcome arrival. It was all beginning to feel suffocating, and you needed to be somewhere else—anywhere else.

As you diligently collected your supplies and prepared to make your escape from this uncomfortable situation, you rose gracefully to your feet, preparing to push your way past Aonung's frame.

An almost imperceptible flash of worry painted Aonung's face as he saw your intent.

In an almost reflexive action, Aonung reached out with the intention of grasping onto your arm and preventing you from leaving. Yet, at the very last second, he thought better of it and swiftly pulled back his webbed hand before making contact with your skin.

Maybe he wasn’t as stupid as you thought he was.

Caught between your determination to be anywhere but near him and Aonung's momentary vulnerability, it occurred to you that maybe staying for just a few moments longer wouldn't be the end of the world.

And so, with a deep breath and a keen eye on Aonung's every move, you held your ground just long enough to see what would happen next.

Aonung cautiously raised his hands in the air, an unspoken sign of surrender. His eyes were wide, and for once, there was a genuine look in them that you hadn't seen before.

"Listen, I just wanted to apologize for what happened the other day," he stammered. "I was out of line and immature."

You took a moment to cast a scrutinizing gaze over Aonung's face as he seemed to shrink under the weight of your relentless stare. Although it was surprising to hear his admission and apology, you didn't feel the need to express outward gratitude or forgiveness towards him. After all, it wasn’t you who bore the brunt of his actions.

"You should be apologizing to Kiri, not me," you said pointedly.

The mere thought of Kiri made your heart twinge with pain. Her emotional state had been precarious ever since Aonung and his friends targeted her with their cruel words.

If Aonung lacked the courage to approach Kiri with the same admission and remorse for his actions, then you simply couldn't justify giving him any more of your time or energy. However, what he said next took you wholly by surprise.

"I already did," Aonung replied steadfastly, his previous nervousness replaced by a newfound resolve in his voice. "My friends knew they crossed a line as well. They won't be bothering Kiri anymore—I made sure of that."

Despite yourself and the walls you'd built up around this issue, a relieved sigh slipped past your lips at his words. Gratitude washed over you like an unexpected wave as you realized that Kiri would now have one less burden to carry in your new home.

However, Aonung was far from being in the clear.

There was a lingering suspicion in your mind that his apology was merely a result of Tonowari's command, rather than stemming from genuine regret. It was difficult to picture him being truly sincere in this situation.

"Yeah, I bet you're really good at following your father's orders," you mumbled, the sarcasm dripping from your words as you prepared to turn away and return to the Sully's marui pod. Exhaustion weighed heavily on you after such a long and eventful day. You were eager to put this entire ordeal behind you.

Aonung's next words, however, stopped you in your tracks and challenged the assumptions you'd made about his intentions.

"No—well, yes, my father told me to apologize to Jake and Neytiri," he admitted with an awkwardness that was almost pitiful. "But he never told me to apologize to you or Kiri. I do feel sorry; I meant it when I said that." His eyes widened as he attempted to express his sincerity, pleading for understanding. Glimmers of genuine regret danced in his eyes, and a part of you found it difficult to dismiss them out of hand.

With a rueful snort, Aonung continued, "And honestly? I didn’t want to get any more bruises. Not exactly the best look for the future olo'eyktan…" Grimacing in discomfort, he gingerly rubbed the spot on his body where your bony elbow had made its unforgiving impact just moments before.

Despite your best efforts to maintain a stoic facade, the corners of your mouth twitched with amusement at his candid admission. Pressing a clenched fist over your lips in a futile attempt to suppress the laughter bubbling up within you proved unsuccessful, but somehow, it didn't matter anymore.

Aonung's surprising admission of defeat was a welcome relief for you. At that moment, you realized that he acknowledged himself as the loser, and that humility was enough to grant him a certain level of respect in your eyes. That wasn't to say that you were suddenly going to be all chummy with him, but at least it allowed you to lower your defenses in his presence.

As you settled into a more relaxed state, Aonung seemed to take pleasure in your changed demeanor. Keen to engage further, he broached the subject of your recent altercation.

Curiously, he inquired, "So, what do you call it? That thing you did when you hit me the other day?"

He gestured towards his bruised cheek, which had taken on an interesting shade of purple as it healed.

A surge of pride washed over you as you realized there was something you knew that eluded Aonung's knowledge.

"It's called a punch," you replied smugly. "You can thank Jake for teaching me. He was nice enough to teach all of us—even Tuk––so…" Pausing for dramatic effect, you widened your eyes and added a cryptic, "Watch out, fish lips."

At your warning, Aonung's facial expression momentarily displayed a look of genuine fear. However, just as quickly as it appeared, the apprehension gave way to laughter as Aonung realized the humor in your statement.

He gave a slight nod and slowly extended his arm towards you, his hand open and inviting.

Although the gesture appeared friendly and he respected your boundaries by not grabbing you without permission, you couldn't help but study his outstretched palm cautiously. The memory of his bold actions from the other day was imprinted in your mind.

Taking a moment to observe him further, your gaze traveled up from his hand to his face. Instead of the usual mischievous grin that you had grown accustomed to, there was now an expression of genuine sincerity on his face. The unexpected change stirred a curiosity within you, making you wonder about the depth of emotions he was actually capable of.

His eyes locked with yours as he enunciated his words clearly: "To no more punches."

The phrase seemed to carry an unspoken understanding between the two of you—a promise of sorts.

His words lingered in the air, challenging you to accept this newfound truce. Though still cautious, you finally succumbed to the moment.

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as mirth danced within your own eyes. Nodding in response, your fingers reached for his forearm in a reciprocal gesture, grasping it firmly in mutual understanding and agreement.

Rooted in his spot by an overwhelming mixture of disbelief and despair, Neteyam couldn't help but continue observing the interaction between you and your supposed enemy-turned-ally.

As much as it pained him to do so, he needed to understand what had led to your unlikely alliance, especially given that none of it aligned with the reality tucked away in his mind.

While maintaining a discreet distance, Neteyam tried to piece together bits of your conversation from his limited perspective. He felt a tidal wave of emotions crashing within the depths of his stomach as he observed the unfolding scene. Each word and gesture felt like a dagger slicing through the fabric of your once-inseparable relationship.

A sea of weariness, anger, and envy churned inside him, swirling together into a furious storm as his eyes locked onto you and Aonung farther down the shore. Your hands met in what appeared to be a heartfelt handshake, and Neteyam's heart sank at the sight. Why would you allow Aonung to get so close to you—to even have physical contact with you—after everything he had done to you? He couldn't comprehend it.

As the encounter continued, Neteyam caught sight of Aonung gesturing animatedly towards the half-woven fishing net that you held carefully in your hands. The conversation seemed lighthearted and friendly, which only fueled Neteyam's mental turmoil. It was as if Aonung had somehow charmed you into believing that he was responsible for placing each and every one of the stars in the vast sky above.

A tinge of nausea washed over Neteyam as he witnessed Aonung break into a wide smile, genuine warmth emanating from his expression as he looked at you. The sight only heightened the flames of jealousy already licking away at his insides. It was a smile that belonged on his own lips—his admiration was too real and genuine when compared to Aonung's disingenuous front.

As Neteyam continued to watch the scene unfold, his heart thumped wildly in his chest, urging him to intervene—to do something.

Neteyam abruptly made his way towards you, his eyes locked on yours with unwavering determination. As he reached you, he swiftly wrapped an arm around your shoulder, instantly drawing you into his embrace.

You let out a quiet, surprised mutter of, "What the fuck?" under your breath.

Despite your confusion, you couldn't deny the underlying feeling of elation that washed over you at the physical contact. Your body felt at home, effortlessly melting into his side.

His hand came to rest on your waist with undeniable tenderness, his fingers gently playing with the twine of your woven top. The sensation of his thumb absentmindedly tracing circles directly onto your skin sent a wave of warmth flooding through your body, making it near impossible to hold onto any sort of mental clarity. Your thoughts became hazy and unfocused, leaving you at a loss for words.

Amid Neteyam’s literal spell on you, you barely registered the terse exchange of words taking place between him and Aonung—their conversation was nothing more than a blur of two resonating voices. Through it all, Neteyam's grip remained possessive yet comforting, and you eventually found yourself being guided further down the shore, distancing the two of you from Aonung and anyone else gathered near him.

Feeling as though the intimate bubble was about to burst, you managed to find your voice once more. "What the fuck?" The question held a more assertive tone this time around, desperate for an explanation from Neteyam that would justify both his actions and your reaction to them.

“Hmm?” Neteyam hummed in response to your query, adopting an air of nonchalance as though nothing out of the ordinary had transpired.

With a soft exhale and gradual release of tension in his arm around you, he created enough distance between the two of you so that you could walk side by side, void of any physical contact.

Side by side yet separated—an unfortunately looming metaphor that danced upon the sea breeze as you continued down the shore.

Your eyes narrowed as you observed the side of his face.

Neteyam's gaze seemed to flit around, taking in every aspect of the beach surrounding you and yet completely avoiding your face. You couldn't contain your curiosity any longer and decided to inquire further.

"Was there a reason for all that?" you asked, trying not to sound too probing.

It wasn't that you were upset with the situation—it had been a while since you’d spent some one-on-one time with Neteyam—but the suddenness and lack of warning with which he had whisked you away from Aonung had left you more than a bit startled.

As you continued to ponder over his actions, a tiny voice in the recesses of your mind came forth, suggesting the possibility that maybe Neteyam was acting out of jealousy due to your momentary closeness with Aonung. However, you swiftly dismissed that notion, reminding yourself that such an interpretation could not have been accurate. At all. He didn't view you in a romantic light; if anything, his actions could be attributed to a friendly sense of protectiveness. He would have displayed the same level of concern for any one of his friends.

With that conclusion in mind, you felt somewhat reassured and returned your attention to Neteyam. It was at that point that you realized his piercing gaze was now firmly locked onto yours, bearing down on you with an intensity that caught you off guard. The moment seemed to stretch out for an eternity as unspoken questions and emotions played silently between the two of you.

The expression in Neteyam's eyes gradually cleared, like a mist dissipating to reveal a hidden landscape. He turned away from you once more, shaking his head as if to banish the unsettling thoughts that hovered at the edge of his mind.

"No," he murmured hesitantly, though the words that followed seemed to directly contradict his denial. "I just didn't like the way he was looking at you."

Confusion pinched your features as you tried to parse his bewildering statement, a playful smile creeping onto your lips at the sheer absurdity of his claim.

"Nete, you were all the way on the other side of the shore," you gently chided, picking up on the gap in his argument. "Even your bug-eyes couldn't have picked up on that."

To punctuate your observation, you reached out and teasingly flicked your finger against his forehead—a gentle reminder of his endearingly overprotective nature.

A soft, exasperated laugh escaped Neteyam's lips as he tilted his head away from your touch, fully aware of how irrational his concerns appeared. Still, there was something tender about his display of protectiveness—an unspoken declaration of just how much he cared.

As the two of you continued your aimless amble along the shoreline, Neteyam's foot connected with a stray pebble that had found its way onto the sandy path. He kicked it forward in a series of small nudges, sending tiny plumes of sand flying up each time it met his foot.

"Okay," he finally relented, granting defeat with an accompanying sigh. "Then I didn't like how close he was standing to you." You could practically feel the wince that crinkled his expression at those words, an almost palpable acknowledgment of how difficult it was for him to make that confession.

You let yourself contemplate the possibility that maybe Neteyam could have harbored feelings of envy toward any friendship you might’ve developed with Aonung (though calling what you had managed to establish with Aonung in those last few minutes anything beyond a mere acquaintanceship was pushing it).

Neteyam was your best friend, and it was reasonable for him to feel unsettled at the thought of someone else potentially taking his place in your life.

Still, there was a persistent part of your mind that you often struggled to suppress—the part that craved something more profound than just pure friendship with Neteyam. It wouldn't fucking relent.

Did he mean what he said in a way that extended beyond platonic feelings? Was it possible that beneath his words, he wanted to be the only person capable of being close to you—both metaphorically and physically?

Gathering what confidence you could muster, you resolved to delve deeper into the matter. You sought some kind of validation—whether positive or negative—that would alleviate your restless thoughts.

"Am I not allowed to stand next to other guys or something?"

The half-serious jest served as both an attempt to dismantle tensions between the two of you and a method for gauging his true feelings on this subject, fostering hope within you for some kind of resolution.

As moments passed, your anticipation grew while waiting for Neteyam's response. Each second felt longer than the last as the situation took on more significance in your mind, knowing that his reply could either reaffirm the precious bond you already shared or potentially reshape it into something even more meaningful and intimate.

You stood there, observing as Neteyam's overall disposition seemed to crumble before your very eyes. His shoulders curled inward, as though attempting to protect himself from invisible harm, while his ears, once perky and attentive, flattened against the sides of his head in a clear sign of his escalating distress. The pebble he had been sending on a journey down the shoreline with his rhythmic kicks was quickly abandoned.

As shitty as you felt for pouring a bucket of ice-cold water on what had been an increasingly pleasant atmosphere between you two, you were admittedly captivated by the storm of emotions that brewed within Neteyam.

The mood, previously light-hearted and delightful, now hovered somewhere within the range of awkwardness and curiosity.

His whirlwind of feelings had drawn you in with the pulling force of a storm, and now you needed to know more. The air seemed thick enough to slice as you exchanged half-glances out of the corners of your eyes, each of you searching for some kind of explanation or the right words to say.

The seconds seemed to stretch into an eternity, so much so that you nearly embraced the belief that any kind of verbal response to your inquiry was nothing but a pipe dream. Yet somehow, against all odds, the universe eventually took pity on your increasingly impatient soul, and Neteyam caved in.

"Do you want to stand next to Aonung?" Neteyam uttered hesitantly, his voice thick with uncertainty.

It was a far cry from the Neteyam you knew—the humble yet self-assured Neteyam who never came across as arrogant but knew exactly who he was and where he belonged in life, especially when he was around you, his closest friend. It felt as though his words held a much deeper question than simply asking about physical proximity to some other guy.

You silently prayed to Eywa that he would just be straightforward and spit it out, that he’d stop shrouding his intentions behind a veil of annoyingly cryptic language. Desperately, you wrestled with interpreting everything from his intonation to his subtle body movements—anything that might provide insight as to what was going on in his stupid head.

You couldn't help but long for those times when your conversations flowed effortlessly and humor sparkled in every corner. Those times when the simplest exchange could send both of you into fits of laughter, leaving passersby wondering what on Pandora was wrong with you.

Clearly, though, today was not that day.

Struggling to make eye contact with him, you cautiously inquired, "You mean, do I like-like him?"

As the words left your lips, you couldn't help but cringe. You felt childish, like a little kid discussing stupid crushes during playtime.

Neteyam offered an unceremonious shrug in response before uttering, "Something along those lines, I guess."

Your eyes widened in disbelief, and you stared at him, utterly baffled.

A surge of frustration coursed through you. You wanted to scream at his blatant obliviousness. How could the sequence of events between you and Aonung over the past twenty-four hours be even remotely misconstrued as romantic feelings? Neteyam had to be joking.

"Are you actually stupid?" You questioned with an intensity that took both yourself and Neteyam by surprise.

The question emerged from your lips, laced with a tinge of incredulity. Although you didn't mean for the inquiry to sound quite as harsh as it ended up being, at that very instant you couldn't truly bring yourself to sugarcoat or tiptoe around the matter.

Neteyam's quizzical expression only served to heighten the absurdity of it all. You tried in vain to imagine how he pieced everything together to come to such a far-fetched conclusion.

Neteyam, with furrowed brows and widened eyes, cautiously threw a sideways glance in your direction. He was evidently taken aback by the unexpected fervor in your voice and struggled to comprehend the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Hesitating for a brief moment, he stuttered out a hesitant, "No…"

Despite his disoriented demeanor, you were unyielding.

With an intensity that could only be described as bordering on hysteria, you barked back at him, "Do you usually beat the shit out of people you're in love with, Neteyam? Because I sure don’t! What possessed you to think that there could ever be anything between Aonung and I?!"

Your frenetic gesticulations were likely painting the picture of a wholly deranged thing, as you vehemently pointed an indigent finger at your chest in sheer bewilderment as if it could somehow drive home the insanity of Neteyam's assumption. With eyebrows raised and nostrils flaring like a banshee getting ready to charge, you probably looked like a whirlwind of agitation incarnate.

But honestly, who could blame you? Neteyam was so dense, so astonishingly stupid that it felt as though his lack of understanding might actually fracture reality itself. It felt like your own sanity was hanging by a thread.

With his eyes still wide in disbelief, Neteyam carried on baffling you. "I just saw you two! Aonung was looking at you like you were the only girl on the island," he started, hastily extending an arm in the direction of the shore where both you and Aonung had previously been standing. "I’m serious, y/n! What else am I supposed to think? Aonung looks at you like that, all his friends look at you like that—even Lo’ak does!”

In a frenzied attempt to clarify the situation, you vigorously shook your head, utterly rejecting his claim because none of it resonated with any truth whatsoever. "No they—," you tried to interject but found yourself cut off by Neteyam's dogged insistence.

"Yes, they do! Every single one of them!" His voice took on an almost manic quality, as though he'd uncovered some hidden secret. "You're just oblivious when it comes to recognizing social cues from the opposite sex."

"Says you! You're so—! Great Mother… I'm not in the mood to be lectured like one of your siblings right now." You let out a derisive laugh, attempting to mask the frustration bubbling within you.

As you started to turn away, you couldn’t help but ruminate on the nature of your relationship with Neteyam.

It was obvious what the entire situation was about. Neteyam saw you in the same light as he did Kiri, Tuk, or Lo'ak—just another responsibility in his life, just someone who he was obligated to keep an eye out for.

No matter how much your heart wished it were different, you knew deep down that there had never been any other possibility between you and him. You chastised yourself for even entertaining the idea that there might have been something more between you two.

The cruel realization stung like a swarm of pesky insects on a hot day.

The realization made you feel foolish, and you sensed the tears threatening to rise in your throat, making their way up to your eyes. Desperately trying to stifle them, you blinked rapidly as you focused on the sand that blanketed the ground beneath your feet. Each blink became your last ditch effort to keep the traitorous tears out of sight—but when it comes to heartache and denial, emotions don't tend to follow the rules.

Inevitably, the tan granules swirled into indistinguishable blurs through your watery vision. On top of that, your chest began to heave, betraying your emotional state.

You quickly realized that keeping your tears at bay was becoming increasingly difficult, and there was no way you were going to let Neteyam see you cry over what seemed like an embarrassingly insignificant crush on him. Refusing to let him have that satisfaction or—worse yet—pity you in any way, you emotionally gathered yourself as best as possible and turned around in the other direction.

Brainstorming some half-assed excuse to put some distance between yourself and Neteyam for the rest of the day, you struggled to ignore the clawing feeling in your chest.

Your plan was abruptly interrupted by a hand on your arm, and much to your surprise, this time it didn’t yank away like you were a blue-hot flame. The hand remained stubbornly in place, its grip on your bicep determined and resolute, presenting a striking contrast to the unexpectedly gentle manner in which his thumb tenderly caressed your skin. The sensation sent involuntary goosebumps rippling across the surface of your arm, as if touched by the chill of the night air.

It was too much; your limits were reached. You couldn’t play his little mind games anymore—games that left you overthinking the most minute touches and the most fleeting glances.

With an air of desperation, you mumbled, “Please don’t.”

You hated how small and frail your voice sounded, how audibly shaky it was due to his unwavering touch. Despite the plea of your voice and every ounce of willpower screaming at you, you couldn’t muster up the strength to extricate yourself from his grasp. You couldn’t yank your arm free and send an elbow right into his gut, just like you had done to Aonung.

You begrudgingly admitted to yourself that you didn't want to escape his grip at all. He wasn’t Aonung.

“You're not my sibling," Neteyam began, his intense eyes frantically scanning your face as if pleading with you to look at him. Despite his best efforts to catch your gaze, you stubbornly refused to meet his eyes. He sighed and continued in a hushed, low tone, "I don't see you like that."

His words were convincing enough, but your defenses remained strong, standing tall like an impenetrable fortress.

You felt like an animal on guard, fiercely protecting its territory. Every fiber of your being was taut, and your heart pounded furiously against your ribcage. You tried to steady yourself by taking a deep breath, hoping the embarrassing trembling in your voice would be tamed when you finally mustered the courage to reply.

Taking the plunge and uttering your next words cautiously, you asked on a shaky exhale, "And what's that supposed to mean?"

The thought of meeting his eyes sent tiny shivers of terror down your spine—it would be so obvious that yours were red-rimmed and puffy and pathetic.

You swallowed the fear bubbling in your throat and opted instead to settle for his chest. It was a good distraction from the emotional turmoil bubbling within you, and somehow, it made things a bit more bearable.

You stared at Neteyam's blue skin and the unique pattern of dark stripes that adorned him. They twisted and turned like vines from behind his back, dancing across his shoulders before cascading downward towards his chest. By now, those dark stripes had become so familiar to you that it almost felt like they formed part of an intricate map etched into your memory forever.

Subconsciously, you found yourself getting lost in those hypnotic lines, as if trying to decipher some hidden message they held within their patterns and swirls. And for a brief moment, the gravity of the situation seemed to lessen, allowing a tiny, wistful smile to grace your lips.

With determination (and a dash of stubbornness), you forced yourself not to let your eyes wander further than necessary, lest they betrayed your feelings and caused yet another upheaval in your world.

Neteyam's unsteady exhale disrupted your intense focus on his chest, where your eyes had been locked in a determined gaze.

Much to your relief, he wasn't looking directly at you—or, more specifically, not at your eyes.

Instead, his attention was wholly devoted to the same spot on your arm that he was gently caressing with his thumb. His expression radiated deep concentration, as if a million thoughts were racing through his mind at breakneck speed. You wanted to understand each and every one of them.

In an almost magical moment, it seemed as though Neteyam heard your silent plea; still caressing your arm, he muttered, "It means it's complicated. I don’t know how to act around you sometimes."

The unexpected revelation piqued your curiosity further.

Mustering the courage to meet your gaze for just a fleeting moment, Neteyam appeared equally vulnerable and sentimental. However, upon locking eyes with you, he hastily retracted his gaze back to the captivating spot on your arm.

The silence between you both lengthened, but not uncomfortably so. It was the kind of silence that coaxed more words out of him, as though unraveling a spool of twine.

A touch of hesitance laced his words as he continued, "And it means I want to be the only one to touch you like this," he bravely confessed.

The hand that gently brushed your arm dared to leave its designated spot, venturing up your arm past its familiar territory. Neteyam’s touch left behind an army of goosebumps, marking the path he had taken. Your eyes were fixated on the escalating situation as Neteyam inched closer toward you, his hand never losing contact with your skin for even a second. It continued its journey, gliding past your shoulder, snaking up the side of your neck, and finally coming to rest on your jaw.

Neteyam’s eyes were dark and half-lidded, seemingly examining every inch of your face as if it were both the first and the last time he’d ever set eyes on you. As if he wanted to memorize every detail of your visage before it vanished from his memory forever.

You felt warm all over, as if you’d just contracted a sudden fever, spreading heat from the tips of your ears down to your toes.

You'd never been this close to Neteyam in your life—and not just in terms of physical proximity. You had known each other for practically your entire lives, but this was entirely new territory. It was uncharted land that even the most experienced warrior would struggle to navigate.

The warm puffs from his breath rhythmically brushed against your cheek, and your stomach did flips that perfectly synchronized with each exhalation from his lips.

And yet, amidst all the bewildering chaos of emotions swirling around you like delicate little woodsprites, his words echoed deep within your mind. He had you in a trance, and it was so, so dangerous for you.

Only Eywa knows what possessed you to lean in ever so slightly closer to Neteyam.

You found yourself inexplicably drawn to him, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. You gently nuzzled your cheek into his welcoming palm, tipping your head upward just enough so that your eyes could lock onto his. Gathering every shred of courage that resided within you, you asked, “What else does it mean?”

Surprisingly, you couldn't detect even the slightest hint of embarrassment in your voice or on your face—even though, by all rights, you should have. Maybe it was because the sight of Neteyam's smile tugging playfully at the corner of his mouth completely disarmed any potential shame.

As Neteyam's eyes crinkled shut with amusement (or possibly bewilderment), he let out a hearty exhale that sounded almost like laughter. He shook his head in disbelief. It was evident that Neteyam hadn't expected your conversation to end up here so quickly.

In sync with his amusement, Neteyam's other hand reached around and gently cradled the opposite side of your jaw, providing a tender touch that sent shivers down your spine.

As if in a dream-like state, you felt a slight flush in your cheeks when his thumb grazed across them ever so tenderly. Entirely absorbed by the surreal essence of it all, you swore that with just one more touch from him, you'd crumble into the surrounding sand.

His thumb continuing to caress your cheek with tender affection, Neteyam lowered his face towards yours so that his lips brushed against yours ever so softly, and it felt as though you had stepped into another realm entirely.

In that fleeting instant, neither one of you possessed any semblance of proper technique or finesse. Instead, you were propelled forward by an intoxicating mix of adrenaline and pure need, the two of you navigating the uncharted territory together with hearts beating wildly in unison.

At that very moment, you felt an inexplicable urge to be closer to him, so close that it would seem like an impossibility for him to ever let go of you.

With what felt like an enormous amount of effort, you lifted your hands from their previously limp position at your sides. You tentatively reached out and grasped his sturdy arms, attempting to steady yourself against his frame.

As your fingers dug into the firmness of his muscles, it must have been close to crossing the line between a loving embrace and an entirely painful experience. But Neteyam didn't seem to mind at all. Instead of wincing or complaining, he seemed to find strength in your touch. In fact, Neteyam responded with such ardor that it almost took your breath away. Instinctively, his hand dropped down to your waist and pulled you even closer to his warm body, as if the two of you weren't already pressed impossibly close together.

All of the pent-up emotion toward Neteyam you had been desperately attempting to keep under control for years finally broke free from its prison within the deepest, darkest depths of your psyche. Like a volcano that could no longer contain its molten fury, the suppressed feelings burst forth and poured into the soul-searing intensity of your shared kiss.

At that moment, there was nothing else in existence but the two of you entwined together—by which point it hardly mattered if an unlucky passerby stumbled across your shared corner of the shore.

The intensity of the moment left you feeling so light-headed that you could have sworn you were floating. It was a sensation you begrudgingly had to pull away from, your lips reluctantly parting from Neteyam's warm embrace.

The raw fervor of the kiss still lingered, making it difficult to catch your breath in anything more than measly, shallow gasps. As you struggled to regain your normal breathing, your eyes locked on Neteyam’s.

You could have sworn that your heart did a somersault at the sight of pure elation dancing across his features, making it abundantly clear that the moment was just as significant for him as it was for you. With a hazy exhale, Neteyam took a step back, affording himself a better view of you.

As he gazed at you through affectionate eyes, an enamored grin spread across his face—the kind that makes your knees turn to jelly and your insides squirm with embarrassingly giddy excitement.

It was in that instant that you felt utterly exposed, like he had unraveled all your deepest secrets and was truly seeing you in a way he never had before—as more than just some girl he grew up with. He was seeing you in the way that you’d always wanted him to see you.

And so, enveloped by that rush of emotion and revelation, you finally allowed yourself to truly see Neteyam for all that he was and for everything that he meant to you—to look past the image of him simply being your best friend. Because the truth was undeniable: Neteyam had always been more than just a best friend to you. Even in moments when words failed to express how he made you feel, your heart carried the weight of emotions yet unspoken.

Neteyam was not just the eldest son of Toruk Makto or the once-upon-a-time olo’eyktan in waiting. He was so much more than that. He was Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan, an extraordinary individual in his own right.

Standing before you was someone who, while he may have had an impressive family title and was widely known across Pandora for being one of the strongest young hunters of all time, was in reality an endearingly shy, genuinely caring, and fiercely passionate guy. And to top it all off, he was your first real friend. The connection you shared with Neteyam seemed to go beyond this world—a transcendental depth rooted within your very souls.

A flood of emotions washed over you as you stood before him, beholding the familiar features of that face that held such a cherished place in your heart. You didn't think twice before casting away any inhibitions, lunging forward, and capturing Neteyam into an unyielding embrace.

Your face pressed tightly into his chest, and you could feel his breath hitch in surprise at your unexpected display of affection. Your body shook with laughter at the notion that despite being so close just moments ago (face-sucking close), your embrace still managed to catch Neteyam off-guard.

Inhaling deeply, you savored his familiar and comforting scent that swirled around you like a mystical aura. It didn't take long for him to relax beneath your touch, surrendering control of himself and firmly circling his arms around your shoulders. It seemed that as much as you needed that moment of connection with him, he needed it just as much, if not even more so.

"I'm glad we figured that out," you whispered, your voice barely audible due to your face being buried in Neteyam's chest.

Even though your speech came out as just a hushed murmur, you knew deep down that Neteyam could discern every syllable. That certainty was confirmed by the gentle kiss he placed on the crown of your head, making you feel cherished like never before. It felt as if his lips carried a thousand unspoken words of love and understanding.

His embrace tightened ever so slightly as he pressed your head further into the comfort of his chest, as if trying to merge you both into one entity. His fingers found their way to the back of your skull, where they intertwined with your hair.

Neteyam's touch was so unimaginably tender that it was almost unbearable. Each stroke of his fingers seemed to unravel yet another layer of tension that you didn't even realize you were holding onto.

An involuntary sigh escaped your lips as your eyes shut tight, the giddy sensation surging through your body once again. You indulged in the pure delight brought by the intimate moment, letting every ounce of worry and doubt drift away into nothingness.

Although breathing became an interesting challenge with your face in Neteyam’s chest, you were thankful that he couldn't see the deep shade of purple that was definitely covering your face. It was funny how something as simple and peaceful as an embrace could hold such power to make breathing seem secondary.

Love—that overwhelming emotion—consumed you completely as you stood there, embraced within Neteyam's arms. You were so, so in love.

Time lost all meaning as you remained entwined, basking in the unrivaled closeness that enveloped you.

All your troubles, worries, and problems vanished from your mind like wisps of smoke blown away by a gentle breeze. In the gentle sways of your synchronized breaths, the world belonged exclusively to you and Neteyam. It was a wonderland of love, laughter, and endless possibilities, painting an ethereal backdrop against which your hearts proclaimed their unwavering love for one another in a language that transcended words.

Taglist <3:

@strawberryclouds22 @crazy4books1 @hlhl99 @bananafruityawne @igotmajordaddyissues @l3laze @thexplosivegirl @alexisvs-world

Previously: Part I

[anonymous-rendezvous]

He Comforts You - Shu 💜

Shu Yamino x GN!Reader

✦ — Written by Mod I ✨. Beta Read and Edited by Mod S 👿. ⏌

✧ — Comfort & Care Masterlist | 💜 You comfort him

✦ — Contains: Established Relationship, fluff, & comfort

✧ — Word count: 515 | Ao3

Snippets of time showing how you and your partner care for each other.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

From the second you’d woken up, it had become pretty obvious that it was going to be a low-energy day. Thankfully, no plans had been made for today and you could try to rest as much as possible. How this had all led you to stand in your kitchen looking down at the counter, you had no clue. However, trying to remember why the hell you’d come in here… your mind had totally blanked, thoughts clouded with static. Giving up on trying to remember, you decided to make your way back to the bedroom.

However, as you get closer to the bedroom, you can hear your boyfriend talking. Now standing outside of it, you try to recall if he had a stream to do today, but come up blank. Trying to be as quiet as possible, you push the door open and peek inside.

Almost immediately, Shu catches the movement out of the corner of his eye. “Oh hey, babe.” Turning his head towards you, he smiles and gestures for you to enter the room. “Not streaming, if you’re worried about that. We’re just playing for fun.” Amethyst eyes flicker back to the screen and a bashful giggle falls from his lips. “They all say hi.”

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips and you give a small wave before realizing they can’t see you. This causes Shu to laugh harder as you immediately hide your face in your hands. As the sorcerer explains what happened, you shuffle closer to him. Once you reach his side, you give his hoodie a light tug. His eyes meet yours and it’s then that he seems to realize what’s happening. With quick movements, he excuses himself for a second before muting his mic and giving you his full attention. “Blue day?” He asks, tone gentle. When you nod, he continues, “What can I do to help?”

“Can I–” you hesitate, worried that this might be too inconvenient for him, your gaze falling to the floor. A hand wrapping around yours breaks your line of thought as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “Um, can I sit in your lap while you play? I think your body heat would really help me right now.”

With zero hesitation, Shu moves his mic out of the way before completely turning his chair around so you have enough space to climb into his lap. And you waste no time doing so. Once you are settled, face buried against his shoulder, he shifts back around to face his computer. He pulls his mic just close enough to pick up his voice and unmutes.

As he continued to play more rounds with his friends, whenever he died or they waited for a new round to start, one of his hands always found its way back to drawing soothing circles along your back or stroking over the back of your head.

Eventually, you feel yourself drift off, and in your last conscious moment, you feel his lips press against the crown of your head. Their softness blessing you with sweet dreams.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Likes are nice and we do appreciate them. However, comments/feedback is what really motivates us to continue writing. Even just a keyboard smash or emojis are a joy to see!

We do not allow our stories to be translated or reposted/shared anywhere. The only places our stories should be found are on Ao3 or Tumblr. Nowhere else.

[erisweekofficial]

Today we are celebrating the Amazing @the-darkestminds! 🤩

If you've ever wanted to dive into an Azris fic, we SUPER recommend her fic Autumn's Shadow which you can read on tumblr or ao3. This fic features enemies to friends to lovers and is so achingly soft!!

Definitely read this fic if you love stories that balance sensuality with tenderness and also feature a super unique plot full of mystery 👀

Read more to learn why @the-darkestminds started writing for Eris and what to do if Eris gets sick!

Would drew you to creating content for Eris? And especially for Azris other than any other ship for him?

I have the most fun writing for characters whose stories are largely untold. Angst/pain/hurt are my favorite themes to write and Eris fits into that mold well for me. There are no shortage of characters in the acotar universe with traumatic backstories, but to me Eris feels particularly tragic. We know he’s abused by his father, has likely been forced to wear a mask for his entire life. He cares about Lucien but is unable to show it in any open, meaningful way. He clearly cares about his Court and people, and yet he's treated like a supervillain by the main characters of the series. I think he’s extremely lonely. He doesn’t have an inner circle or a family he can trust. There’s so much to work with when it comes to his backstory because it hasn’t yet been written, which makes it extremely fun to fill in the blanks, specifically the events that shaped him into the male he is today. A lot of room to write about his pain and suffering. lol Because of this, I think he pairs well with Azriel’s darkness. They may appear completely different on the outside: Eris is snarky, bold, well dressed, vibrant, etc, whereas Azriel is brooding, quiet, always hidden in the shadows…but I like them together because they both have an inherent darkness to them. They’ve both known suffering. In my mind, they are able to draw each other out of it with lots of tension and passion. 

How do you choose which scenes or moments to focus on?

Again, I have the best time writing angst and pain, so I try to focus on scenes that depict how his suffering has shaped him as a character. We’ve only been told snippets of his past, so I like to fill in those gaps and try to portray what his suffering might’ve looked like. I decided to write one fic for Eris Week that focuses on when his childhood trauma first began, and another oneshot depicting his grief as a grown male. I swear I love him! 

What role do you think fan interactions play in your creative process?

A HUGE one. In fact, the only reason I ended up posting the first chapter of my azris fic was due to the lovely @unanswered-stars expressing interest and asking to be added to a tag list!  I absolutely love getting feedback on what I write and it motivates me to keep going. I’ve had people share their thoughts and theories, ask questions and wonder about certain elements of the story that in turn have given me ideas for later chapters. Their support is everything and I am a much better writer for it.

Eris is sick! What are you doing to help him get better?

Calling Azriel

Also: Can you give me a name for one of Eris's brothers? And also for one of his dogs?

One of Eris’s brothers is named Jasper. He is the second oldest after Eris and is featured in one of my Eris Week fics. One of his hounds is named Sol. Eris acquired this hound shortly after Lucien was forced to flee to spring and wanted something to remind him of his youngest brother. 

[cha-melodius]

I know I’ve told you this before but it can never be said enough times imo - your fics have changed my brain chemistry and I literally think about them all the time. Specifically False Dichotomy, Body and Soul(mate), and All the Old Showstoppers. But there are so many other great ones, I couldn’t possibly list them all here. Basically everything you write is a home run and I’m so grateful for the time and effort you put into your stories, they bring me so much joy. 🙏💖

Oh you have no idea how much I needed to hear this lately (or maybe you were able to divine it from my slightly desperate tags lol). And I do have to also thank you so much because you have always consistently been in my comments letting me know how much you're enjoying my fics, and that means so, so much to me. Not only that, but also seeing comments in the replies or reblogs of my snippets, which provides motivation that I sorely need lately.

I've felt a little wobbly about fic posting lately for various reasons that I probably shouldn't get into on a public forum lol, and I don't want for this post to sound like I'm trawling for pity or something. Instead I'll just to give a shout out and huge thanks to the folks who aren't shy about sharing their love with me.

I see you. I notice you, especially if you're there consistently. It means the world.

[writingjourney]

I’m in need of some advice and kind words. As a fellow writer I’m really struggling to believe people will and want to read my stuff. There’s no real engagement anymore and I’m worried that if I post my long-form fic that no one will give it a chance. It’s really bringing me down because I love it so much but it feels like no matter what I try to do my stuff just doesn’t get seen or liked? I’ve even thought about changing my entire way of how I do things since I don’t think the way I write is working for the masses. How do you keep up the motivation as a popular writer and do you have an advice?

Hello anon!! I feel like this is something many of us currently deal with. And first of all I seriously hope that you do share your story!! ♡

To be completely honest with you the lack of engagement in the fandom has for sure impacted my own motivation which is why I haven't been putting as much time into longer fics (nor the Friday Nights series or IKNBS, I do write but I refuse to force myself). I don't feel any urgency because uploading fics hasn't made me as happy as it used to. It feels like only other active writers are reading fic atm and it creates a lot of pressure on creatives to stay super active.

I'm aware that I'm insanely privileged to have the engagement that I do have, that the type of stories I want to write are also the type of stories that generally seem to appeal. However, engagement tells you NOTHING about the quality of your work, only how many people are active in a fandom or like a specific pairing/character/trope. Your own unique voice matters more than numbers.

I also notice that a lot of people who used to read my works have disappeared which I completely understand. The fixation can ebb away during times of inactivity or when a certain hype dies down. People just don't get that dopamine hit anymore and move on. It's also entirely possible they get tired of a certain style of writing and prefer other writers at times, what do I know. I definitely don't blame anyone for that. First and foremost people should read for their own enjoyment and engage with fandom in a way that makes them happy. It makes no sense to pressure people into engaging. A huge issue right now is people overthinking these things which makes support transactional instead of genuine.

I don't care much about notes but I REALLY miss the feeling of sharing a fic with people who are excited for it, that sense of an active community. BUT the activity will come back – the movie will come out, new music and videos, heck even a whole new Papa!!! That's the natural flow of things. We can't be excited and super active all the time, we need phases of calmness as well (which is an act of rebellion in the capitalist hellscape of overproduction and churned out content. I am honestly glad Ghost is taking it easy).

Now, I recommend you write your story exactly how you want to!!! do NOT change it for the sake of popularity because it will lose its very soul and you will struggle to be happy with it by the end. You know how you want to tell your story and nothing else matters. It will find its readers or you can wait and share it at a later point. I recommend that you approach other writers and readers and intensify that contact, make friends and talk to them about your stories, hype each other up, share snippets. It's even more meaningful to know people you like enjoy what you do. I am currently working on super niche fics for non-Ghost characters and I'm honestly having a great time chasing that dopamine by just writing what I'm really into and sharing it with friends. Fandom is community, fandom is fun and we can work to make it better for everyone.

A few general tips when it comes to making stories accessible: Format them to be readable (paragraphs!!), add a "read more" break, add proper content information and a nice summary to draw people in, add some visual appeal like a banners or stock image edits (like i do for IKNBS) and then tag the fics with relevant tags (and only those). Also make sure to tag the OG post, tags on reblogs do nothing for reach. Engage with the community when you feel like it and it's likely that the community will engage back. Being supportive is worth it, being kind is always worth it even if it amounts to nothing.

[drabblesandimagines]

Snippets

So, I have a fair few half-finished Clive Rosfield x female reader fics that I thought I'd share some snippets of. The brainrot is back after playing the DLC, so let's put a vote up to see if there's a certain one people are keen to see finished... (and give me the motivation/fear to finish it/them all?)

---- Winter Mead Your head is pounding as you come round, blinking in the harsh sunlight through the small window. You’re fully dressed and seem to be at the wrong end of your bed – your boots resting on your pillow.

What had you done last night? You blink up at the ceiling a few times, slowly becoming more conscious and aware of how dry your mouth is. Water. You need water.

Cautiously, you slide to sit up, putting one foot down on the ground to hear a soft yelp and you jump back, staring at disbelief as you realise Gav is on your floor.

“I’m up,” he grumbles into the boards. “You don’t have to step on me, like.”

“What are you doing in here?”

“I imagine I passed out after that,” he gestures to the quarter-drank Winter Mead on the side. It was potent, all right.

“Oh, Founder…” You rubbed your temples. There’s a pitcher of water on your desk and a goblet, thankfully. You get up from bed again, careful not to step on Gav, and take the two short steps over, pouring yourself a drink. As the lukewarm water quenches your thirst, you realise the paper all over your desk has half written letters all over them.

Clive,

Please can you kiss me? I promise I don’t bite.

Love, your admirer.

PS: Well, I don’t unless you want me to.

Gav gets to his feet besides you, “Can I have some of that?” When you don't reply, goblet still held up at your lips, his eyes follow your gaze to the discarded letters on the desk. “Fuck me.” “We didn’t. I didn’t.”

----- Lemon Tarts

“Come on now, I know I have a scarred mug but I’m a nice fella under all that.” Gav – after all, he’s introduced himself several times now – says, softly. He’s crouched down in front of the crevice you’ve squeezed yourself in, huddling your knees. He’s broader than you and his shoulders won’t permit him entry, despite his best efforts.

Your master was harsh in his demands. Sometimes it felt that breathing the wrong way was worthy of a lash from his whip, so however many years ago you’d decided it was better off not talking back and then, eventually, not worth talking at all. It wasn’t like he cared for your opinion either way. Couldn’t get whipped for saying the wrong thing at least.

Then these people had shown up, announcing they were Cursebreakers – whatever they were - that they were here to take you and your fellow three Bearers somewhere safe, bundling you up in a cart and then onto a boat and up a dock, being told you’re going to  escorted to their infirmary to be checked over and it was too much.

You’d ran, ducking from outstretched arms trying to halt you. Being in the middle of a lake, you couldn’t really go anywhere and now as you’d ran, you knew you were going to make whatever punishment awaiting you far worse – at least with your master you knew what to expect, what to brace for…

You’d sequestered yourself in a narrow gap, out of reach.  Numerous people were trying to coerce you out but you ignore them, cuddling your knees in fright.

“You can’t stay in there forever. That’s not a threat, like! I mean, it’s not practical, and not when we’ve a warm bed waiting for you, eh?”

Warm bed…? It’s a trick. Don’t be an idiot.

“Gav, what’s going on?” A gravelly voice draws his attention elsewhere and he ducks back from the opening to talk to someone behind.

You’re trapped, you know you are, and they’ll drag you out of here one way or another eventually but you’re too terrified to move.

“Hello.” The same gravelly voice from before sounds cautious now. You look between your knees to see another broad-shouldered man with shaggy dark hair framing stormy blue eyes, clad in red and black armour, crouched down on a knee to peer into your hiding spot. “My name’s Clive. What’s yours?”

“She doesn’t talk much.” Gav’s voice comes from over his shoulder and Clive turns to face him. “Or ever. That’s what the other Bearers said anyway. They’re all pretty new to the bastard’s service, though. Not sure how long she’s been there – they didn’t know her name either.”

“That’s all right,” Clive turns back, smiling as he catches sight of you peeking at him between your knees. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. We just want to help – I promise.”

He waits, patiently, for a response that you won’t give.

“Please?” He presses on, tenderly. “We have a healer who can treat whatever ails you, and I’ve heard there’s a delicious stew on the menu tonight. Plus Molly, our cook, made some exquisite lemon tarts for afterwards. You can have mine too, if you like.”

---

Trust

“Bearer ran off – she looked terrified. We tried to stop her but I think we frightened her more than anything,” Cole sighed, cursing himself internally. “Her hands were bound too - I’m worried about her being out there alone. If Imperials or a fiend were to find her…”

“Which way did she go?”

“Into the thicket. I was going to go and look for her after we’d got the Bearers to the skiff.”

“You go." Clive folds his arms, forming a plan. "I’ll go look for her. Torgal will help me – won’t you, boy? He has a fine nose.”

Torgal barks, wagging his tail.

--

Your heart is still pounding from the climb where there is bark from below. Between your dangling legs, you see a giant wolf looking up at you.

“Good boy, Torgal.” The dark-haired man rubs the wolf’s head affectionately – is he going to allow him to maul you as a reward? You try and scramble further up the tree but it’s no use, the way your hands are bound prevents you from getting a grip and progressing further.  

“Please, be careful. I do not wish for you to fall, my lady.” The stranger pleads, holding his hands up in surrender.

The concerned tone in his voice would’ve been a clever trick if it wasn’t for the hulking blade strapped to his back, the leathers he’s dressed in, the wolf sat at his heels, panting with hunger.

“Allow me to introduce myself - my name is Clive.” You wish you could scoot back more, hide yourself from his view, but there’s only so much room. “My lady, I know you are frightened, but I swear I’m not here to hurt you. Quite the opposite, in fact - I want to help you. We want to help you. The Bearers you were with, they are safe with my allies back at what we call the Hideaway.”

Hideaway? A cosy name for a prison.

“You’ll be looked after there, your ills seen to. A warm bed, a hot meal every night...”

There’s no such place in this world that would treat a Branded like that. Does he think you’re stupid?

“I would rid myself of this blade if it were to reassure you, but we are in dangerous territory – fiends and Imperial soldiers – so I require it to defend myself, and you, my lady."

-----

The vote will be up for a week, but please let me know what you think in the comments too!

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi