#so journal entry style fic it is

[bird-goofle]

The universe has dictated that I get the friend group brain cell for the evening, and now I’m using it to think about the handwriting and writing utensil preferences of fanfic characters

[delta-pavonis]

Dream Journal Rescue for the wip game, please

WHOO! Thank you for asking about this one, Nonny.

For the 2022 Dreamling Secret Santa I took a risk and wrote something that can be very divisive in fanfic and in fiction in general: first person narrative. I wrote the first half of i had a dream (i got everything i wanted) as a dream journal that Hob used to record his dreams after they came back when Dream got out of the fishbowl in 2021. It draws both from the early comics and from the TV show in terms of events/timeline. This fic got significantly less attention than the others I had written at the time, but it was also the one I was most proud of that year (and that's with Eros in Pragma and Hypnopompia turtur in there!). I am still extremely proud of it because it is, for me, I think very poetic writing. However, the first version of i had a dream wasn't post-fishbowl, but actually started before the fishbowl. Hob still kept a dream journal, and it still started in first person, but the idea originally was that Hob would figure out that something had happened to his Stranger because of his dreams stopping. Which meant that they needed to have enough of a relationship/rapport by the 1910s that Hob would trust that Dream would not miss a dream "date" of theirs without very good reason. Hence, "dream journal rescue" as the name. I only have pieces of the fic, but I keep them because I still viscerally love what I did with i had a dream SO FUCKING MUCH that I want to return to that style at some point. If you have read i had a dream you will see the bits I took from this and transferred to that.

This is totally G-rated and starts before 1889, as Hob is anticipating that next meeting, and then keeps going into 1914. Here's what I have in that WIP file:

1:

21 October 1885

I think I need to write these down. Olive suggested I start writing these down. She is usually right about such things.  

Maybe it will bring some clarity to this… mess. 

I’m in the White Horse Inn. (It is always the White Horse.) 

The year is not obvious from the decor, which is a riotous mix of 1389 and 1489 and 1789. Delicate teacups and straw-covered floor and fireplaces with chimneys. Of course chimneys. But I know, in the way of dreams, that it is the day of our annual appointment, the next one, in 1889. 

I shake my coat and hat free of the London morning rain. I am many hours before the time of our appointment. This my usual - I always arrive early. To ready the table and, more importantly, myself for our meeting. 

But in this dream I enter the White Horse to find the Stranger already there. He looks exactly as he did in 1789. Which must say something about my imagination since he has always been in impeccable fashion specific to the era of our meeting. 

Or perhaps it is because he looks at me with the same burning intensity that made our last appointment so spectacular. His eyes devour me, just as they did when we parted last, and I am absolutely helpless to resist.

I am sitting then, across from him, cups of tea and venison pasties between us. His beautiful pale fingers trace around the gilded edge of the teacup. I am speaking, words tumbling forth, I can hear the droning vibrations in my ears and throat, but it is not where my attention lies. 

My attention is riding the wave in his coalblack hair. My attention is wafting the bob of his throat above his high collar. My attention is tracing the sweet pout of his pink lips. My attention is flying through storm-sky eyes. 

He reaches across and

Fuck. I can’t write this.

2:

[There are several attempts at starting entries after the previous one. None manage more than a sentence.]

[No attempts at entries are made after 1889.]

3:

1 November 1898

I woke up still drunk and still in very rural Wales (note: never ever always maybe return for Nos Calan Gaeaf in the future) and found this old journal in the bottom of my trunk, so I suppose I shall once again make a valiant attempt to take dear Olive’s advice to sort out the dreams of my Stranger that ever plague me.

(I have heard tell of work by a man named Freud who claims dreams can be used to better understand someone’s psychology and potentially even relieve psychosis. He'd have a field day with me. May I never come within 400 miles of him.)

My drunk mind lacks creativity for scenery and so when I sleep this night I find myself in the same village square I was in only hours prior… however, I am back in time about 400 years? Long before the industrialization of the region, before the extermination of these old traditions by the expansion of “civilization.”

I have just won the silly harvest mare from the clutches of the other young men bringing the last of the harvest in, a horse-shaped horror made from the final stalks of grain reaped. I am now expected to try to sneak this rustling beast into the home where the bulk of the feast is being prepared by the womenfolk without one of them dousing me with washwater. If I succeed in getting into the kitchen unscathed I will win their finest beer and an honored seat at the feast-table. I am always up for new games.

(This is all Iwan’s fault for convincing me to accompany him home for the holiday yesterday and for me getting drunk while they all told me stories of the Old Days. Let it never be said that I abandon a friend in their time of need.)

I easily weave through the crowds of women and children, in their dresses and aprons and smocks, clothing I haven’t seen in centuries but are still as real as yesterday, and cross the kitchen threshold only to find the room empty. An empty kitchen except for the crackle of the hearthfire and my Stranger sat on a barrel in front of it. 

The large fire paints him in oranges and golds and he looks warm and inviting in a way that I have never experienced outside of my mind. It is the moment I know for certain that this is a dream. 

When he looks up to me he appears confused, brows drawn, lips parted. 

I am the first to speak, although words do not come easily to me. “What…?” After our parting in 1889 I can scarce understand why I am seeing him before me now. Although nightmares of the night plagued me in the months afterwards, I had been blessedly free of any night-time visits from my Stranger for almost a decade now. It has been an unexpected boon after so many years of dreaming of him more carnally. I know these facts within the dream. “Why are you here?”

He doesn’t stand, cranes his neck back to look up at me, and I realize he has a low collar this night, lower than it had been even in 1489. I can see flame-gold arcing around the shadowed hollow of his throat.

“It is a Ysbrydnos.” He explains in perfect Welsh, as if I am some child. I do not question why I can so easily understand him despite my mediocre grasp of the language. It is a dream, after all. “Many call on me such nights.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yes, ‘tis a Spirit Night and you a spirit.” 

He tilts his head to the side, bird-like and distinctly not human. “Not as such. But I will attend the dreams of many who call me here this night.” The Stranger’s voice is just as rich and decadent as it is in person. This detail my memory - traitorous bastard it is - does not neglect. 

“Of course. Even the version of you I make for my dreams gives non-answers and evasions.” I can feel my whole body hunch in defeat. I wrap my arms around myself, look to the floor. “Just why…” Even my dream cannot steady my voice. “Why does my mind show you to me now? Why this torment?”

“Ah.” Now his voice is choked and staccato. “You did not call me here yourself this night.” Perhaps he is surprised, or ashamed, I cannot tell. 

Still, I want to scream. “After last time…” I grit my teeth and continue to stare at the floor. 

I see the toes of his black shoes enter my field of view. His chest is perhaps a handspan from mine. “Do you truly wish to never dream of me?” This inquiry is a mocking echo of his usual question, but there is no mockery in his tone. “Given…" He shakes his head, unable to say the words. Say the words he should say: Given what I did to you… Instead he restarts the sentence, "It would be well within your right to request it.”

I sigh. He almost sounds remorseful. What a fantasy this is. How contrived. “No.” And if I ever doubted before that this was a dream the tiny bits of relief I see wash over my Stranger confirms it. His eyes soften minutely. His shoulders relax a hair's breadth. “This might be the only chance I have to ever see you again. And I would take the machinations of my mind, I would take delusions of your regard, over nothing.”

He hums, looking back to the fire as he takes a step away from me. I feel cold and bereft. “This dream is over.”

And then I woke up.

3: 

1 Nov 1898  I have not dreamed of him in six months. one year.         three years.         seven          ten          fifteen 

4:

25 May 1914

After almost 17 years I found myself dreaming of the White Horse last night and when I focused upon it in my mind’s eye I almost burst into tears.

Wait, Olive always said that this was more effective if I narrated as if I was reliving the dream. That I would get more details back that way.

I begin the dream standing outside the White Horse Inn and knowing that I am dreaming. It is the first time I have begun a dream this aware and therefore it is noteworthy. 

When I enter I feel his presence before I see it. Through the doors in the back, to the private room that had been set aside for us in 1789. He is once again in front of a fireplace, standing this time, hands clasped at the small of his back as he looks down into the flames. 

(Note: Ponder this pattern more later, that I associate him in dreams with fire.)

The door to the room automatically closes behind me and he turns. Despite the venue, he is dressed, as always, in the pinnacle of fashion. All black - of course - but a suit with long jacket and waistcoat and tie nonetheless. The ever-present ruby sits heavy and dark just below his throat.

“I did not intend the delay, Hob.” And doesn’t that throw me for a loop. I did not know prior to that moment that one could get dizzy in their own dreams. “I sometimes forget that time flows… differently… for you humans. But I did think on our last conversation.”

Thirty questions stampede through my mind at once. Everything from ‘Did he just directly admit that he is not human?’ to ‘Which last time?’ I throw all of these aside and instead opt for a cautiously lilted “And?”

A magnanimous wave of his hand and we are sitting, the same tea and sweets that were present in 1789 grace the table between us. I hold my breath. “Perhaps we can pick up, as much as we can, where we were in 1789 before the Lady Constantine interrupted us.” I am so taken aback by the turn this dream has taken that I cannot for the life of me think of what to say next. Luckily, my mind does not require me to as he continues. “I believe you asked my name.”

I almost fall over myself to give him leave to avoid it. “Only if you wish it.” Just don't leave again.

He smiles, something brighter than usual, and it feels like looking into the Sun. “I have a list of titles, which we can get to later, but the simplest name is Dream.”

I clamp down on the anguish that’s in my throat, but it still comes out as a high-pitched wheeze from between my teeth. “Dream?! DREAM?!?” I let myself slump boneless into the chair, impropriety be damned, and splay my legs out in front of me, hands over my face. “Oh fuck my mind and these GAMES. Why can it not send me sweet dreams of you? Of COURSE you are named Dream… you are a dream! Has my subconscious no creativity? Christ in heaven…”

“Hob!” He shouts. He has never shouted at me before. I look to him through my fingers, meet twilight-blue eyes. “My name is Dream of the Endless and I am the King of Dreams and Nightmares.”

Shock, bright white and violent, runs through me and I quite literally fall out of my chair.

And then I wake up.

5:

26 May 1914

I do not think I have ever been more wrong about something in my long long life.

Fuck. 

My Stranger is Dream. He lords over dreams and nightmares. They are his Domain, his Kingdom. 

F U C K

I knew that he was something Other. But this. This. 

We met again last night, in my dreams. I don’t need to work at this anymore (thanks for trying, Olive) because he asked me last night if I wanted to remember this, remember meeting him. Apparently he has some manner of control over such things.

I told him yes. Of course I said yes. But I think I want to continue to keep track of what has happened, what will happen, in my dreams, here in this journal. If only so that I have something to refer to later when I have absolutely zero confidence that this is real. Some proof that I haven’t gone completely barmy. 

Last night we talked. Just talked. It was in a liminal space, barely distinct as containing a floor and walls and chairs. All monotone, in blacks and greys and faint whites. It still reminded me of the back room from 1789.

He - Dream - told me so much. More than he had ever said to me in one go ever before. He told me some of his other names: Lord Morpheus (or just Morpheus), Prince of Stories, Oneiros, Shaper of Forms. He has a kingdom, home to dreams and nightmares alike. They are not only his citizens, but he creates them. Creates!

I have so so many questions.

But I must parcel them out carefully. Each answer is a treasure I will hoard. 

I returned his generosity with words of my own.

[pocket-archer]

Don’t Tap the Glass AU - notes & timeline

I'll be writing a journal entry style fic for DTTG and posting occasional comics so this is technically spoilers but posting anyway since it's been a long time coming. Feel free to read if you like 👍

internal conflict within the Shimada castle leading to the deaths of two brothers and the clan disappearing

some time after (years?) the brothers are reborn as an oni (self-inflicted curse) and minor god (revered as a tragic victim)

centuries later, Cassidy in his early hunting days is attacked by a lycan (deadlock) and to prevent the curse, dismembered his own arm (infected area)

blood loss and shock from doing this nearly kills him but one of Death’s workers (Nevermore!Reaper) notices how stubbornly he’s clinging to life and makes a deal with him (blackwatch)

Cassidy becomes an Undead, able to maintain his human form unless weak or when it’s time to do his part of the deal on the anniversary of his “death”

his deal grants him the ‘deadeye’, able to see who is marked for death and he has to bring them to the Reaper to keep extending his life

he later acquires the new arm for channelling the magic he lost when Turning, help with reaping, and is heavily enchanted to react to non-humans with a burning touch

Cassidy heavily relies on weapons more than his magic because it's not as strong as it used to be and more akin to practical effects or smaller attacks like smoke, stuns, small explosions (ei. wind effect during deadeye, flashbang/magnet grenade, etc) and feels draining to use at the same time as keeping his human appearance

Cassidy finds a way to stay away from innocents whenever the anniversary comes around, feeling more justified in his reaping if he’s taking out those who deserve it. Refusing to reap will end their deal and the Reaper will finally take Cassidy himself

at some point, Cassidy meets Genji Shimada, a traveller who he suspects is also not human, but Genji never brings it up

Cassidy is hired by a “priest” (Zenyatta) to capture the oni lurking within the abandoned Shimada castle, frightening the citizens of Hanamura

The priest warns of a horrible fate if the oni is left alone

Genji vouches for the Priest, and explains some of Hanamura’s legends to Cassidy, who figures Genji must’ve fled from there from the association with Shimada castle, or displaced when his ancestor’s clan fell apart.

bounty money was good too

Cassidy travels to Hanamura to hunt the oni, who he is able to find because the oni is peculiarly marked for death

He wonders if that means the priest will be killing the oni himself after the delivery

Cassidy wins the fight because being Undead has its perks (still hurts tho) and the Oni fought very distractedly (lack of tactic/sense)

He seals the Oni in a lantern that is covered in a variety of seals as oni are not something he hunted before, and he rarely takes jobs involving escorting a live target, so better safe than sorry. He made the seals himself

The oni in its sealed form is surprisingly chattier and snarky, as it didn’t talk during the fight. The two butt heads and bicker throughout the journey. At this point, Cassidy doesn’t consider the oni to really be a person with the rumours that this oni was born out of the tragedies in Shimada castle alone

funnee hijinks of avoiding other monsters or hunters

Vampire hunter!Brigitte encounter

Banshee!Moira encounter

The more human the oni spoke and acted, the more Cassidy questioned what it really was

The amount of detours and unexpected delays of journeying with a live target threw off Cassidy’s predicted drop-off time. The energy on maintaining the multiple seals is draining.

Both Cassidy and oni become more irritable and tired, and argue until Cassidy decides to stop talking to the oni and focus on the job

His Undeath anniversary is soon and the only person around for Cassidy to reap would be his own target

Cassidy detours again to a town to find suitable souls to reap

Oni has become significantly quieter and falling asleep more often. Getting weaker.

The Oni shares that he finally figured out what Cassidy was, through the different magic signatures that carried into the seals. He knows that Cassidy is Undead, and that it is ironic that they’re both cursed. He falls asleep once more, as Cassidy realized that the oni was also once a human.

Encounter with a disguised witch (Mercy) who took notice of his charge, tries to cast an enchantment on Cassidy to hand over the weakened oni for herself

Cassidy catches her act, burning her hand in a handshake

Village is revealed to be false, all the people in it are puppet illusions by the witch. (looks like ragdoll!echos) Cassidy cannot reap.

Time runs out, the Reaper comes for Cassidy

Oni wakes up during the confrontation, overhearing the argument, Cassidy being offered an extension if he reaps the oni whose time was long due, just like him, and overhears that Cassidy has decided not to hand off the oni to anyone

Cassidy doesn’t want to do the Reaper’s dirty work anymore,

they fight

the lantern shatters, releasing the oni

the two of them together fight until the Reaper retreats, vowing to return even before the next deadline

now freed, Cassidy offers for the oni to attack him back, in revenge for being sealed

the oni refuses, they talk instead

Cassidy finally learns that the oni’s name is Hanzo

Hanzo asks more about Cassidy's deal with the Reaper, about Deadeye, and he figured he was marked for death. He asks if he's still marked, Cassidy reluctantly admits that he is, but it's been wavering.

they decide to continue to travel together

Cassidy laments that he will not receive the bounty for turning Hanzo in. Hanzo mentions that there was abandoned wealth back at the Shimada castle. They go back for it as their first destination together.

Cassidy sent a letter back to Genji for the Priest. He will not be completing the hunt.

The Priest shakes his head at this, amused, but strangely optimistic about this development. Genji leaves to search for them instead.

Cassidy learns that Hanzo does not remember everything from when he was human. He remembers his name, yes he always had this tattoo, his family was of summoners, he did something to have been cursed to become this. He thinks he cursed himself in his final moments. He doesn’t remember what his familiars were, nor anyone in his clan

Cassidy mentions Genji as the one who told him about Hanamura’s legends, and that Genji might be one of Hanzo’s technical descendants since they share a last name. Hanzo doesn’t recognize the name Genji.

Hanzo learns that Cassidy enchanted one of his bag’s pockets for hammerspace. Cassidy uses this for multiple hats. Hanzo hates that.

Werewolf!Winston encounter. They fight until Winston turns back. They thought he would’ve turned back into a human. He didn’t.

Hanzo eventually remembers what he looked like as a human, for a supply run into town where he needed to be disguised like Cassidy

Same town has Einherjar!Zarya who is also a hunter, not an active one, but protects that town. She keeps squinting at them.

Anytime time they try to mention/question about Winston's.. condition (gorilla), something interrupts them

the witch returns, having captured the Reaper (Jack-o-Lantern!Reaper) as a servant after being denied the oni

Cassidy makes a new deal with the Reaper, that he will forget about Cassidy and Hanzo’s souls in exchange for being broken out

[more time for adventures here]

Will-o-wisp!Tracer and Satyr!Lucio “help” them through a forest

catch a ride on a ship with pirate!Torbjorn, warning from pirate!Baptiste about monsters in the water, (unseen, pirate!Ana in background talking w Genji)

Siren!Symmetra encounter

here comes the giant fist (swamp monster!doomfist)

Ana is there after they arrive, makes fun of them for getting attacked by the swamp monster

There’s a circus! (roadhog, junkrat, soldier)

Genji finally finds them. Hanzo remembers. He does not take it well.

Hanzo's death marker revealed to be referring to his humanity and identity, as being in isolation as an oni he would've eventually lost himself. Suddenly remembering what he did and being overcome with the emotions drives him out of control

Genji and Hanzo fight (reference to dragons animated short except big oni attacks), and meanwhile Cassidy recreates his seals to suppress the frenzy to help Genji's words reach Hanzo

probably some crying but 👍

Other notes/encounters

Widowmaker is a monster hunter

Sombra is another monster hunter (knows Cassidy’s secret)

Kiriko (Matsuri?) is still a shrine maiden, or helps care for it, specifically the shrine Genji is connected to. They hang out :)

Ramattra is a necromancer that puts souls in dolls and bots (haunted doll!Ashe, victorian doll!Echo, gearbot!Bastion? what a weird family...) (this means ashe technically appears twice but it's possible because the lycan attack was years ago and she could've died since then and doll!ashe isn't the same

Enchanted armour Pharah and Reinhardt if they appear

No one ever sees Zenyatta's face under the cloth, and Genji only ever describes it vaguely

Junkenstein's Revenge and Wrath of the Bride could still happen to a degree but very different dialogue/origins for the four heroes

Cassidy can't see death markers through glass so he couldn't see Hanzo's having changed during travels because of the lantern

Cassidy can safely lose and reattach limbs as an undead but can't heal/regenerate too much lost mass on his own. He cannot have his head or heart pierced, that could still kill him

Hanzo has to physically eat as well for strength so part of him getting weak over time was seals, the other was cuz he was starving. He could eat people technically, but tries to stick to animals, and magic-adjacent stuff is more filling (he got a couple birds from the fight with Reaper)

Genji's abilities as a deity are wind and weather based (swift strike no cooldowns) and he can still summon his dragon familiar from before. He still uses weapons unlike Hanzo who is more melee now as an oni (though has storm related effects like lightning)

They probably stop by the town that had Zarya and Winston every once in a while because it's actually a chill town once they get to know you

[thehollowwriter]

Summary: A fic starring Silas, Finn's dad, in which he transcribes his life experiences because otherwise he'll probably just overblot.(this is a lore dump disguised as a story and an attempt at a new writing style tbh)

Warnings: I don't know how therapy works don't take this as an accurate depiction

Key: Regular text is for the present, italics is for flashbacks, bold is for journal entries

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ❤)

Lamentations Pt 0 (Prologue)

"Silas, if I may, have you ever told anyone about your experiences?"

The simple question was suspended in silence for a long moment. It was heavy and looming. Threatening

Silas Clearcove studied the calm face of his therapist for a long time. Trying to detect some sign of a joke or trick. There was none.

"No."

His response was short and sharp. Not entirely unfriendly, not exactly a warning either.

Dr Koi tapped their pen against their lips and straightened their glasses.

"Have you written it down, then? Drawn it? Told it to a seashell? I hear the young ones like doing that these days."

"No," Silas repeated, voice wavering. "No ear nor page nor... seashell apart from your own has been privy to my life. Life happens and I continue on. I try not to dwell."

Dr Koi peered at him with a pair of piercing bright green eyes. Intense. Glaring.

"Silas, it's not healthy to keep everything inside. You may consciously not think of it, but it will rot inside your subconscious and eat away at you until there's nothing left."

They gave him a soft, gentle smile. "As always, you're not obligated to do it, but I would like you to start writing down some of your experiences. It doesn't have to be anything major, just how your day went or something that annoyed you. Even if it isn't negative, it's good to write out your feelings."

Silas didn't answer at first. He continued to stare, amethyst eyes shining with something unrecognizable. His tail, dark purple in hue, coiled underneath him and bunched up tight defensively.

"May I... write about... what I've told you?" He asked, his deep voice coming out in a hoarse whisper.

"Of course you can." Dr Koi said sweetly. "If it brings you too much stress to write down, don't force yourself, okay?"

Silas' long purple hair twisted in the water as he nodded and his clawed hand came up to paw at his thick beard.

"I'll... give it a shot. Thank you, doctor."

......................................

Guide: Next

A/N: This was a very short introductory, but I hope it was alright nonetheless. I really struggled with the opening. This is originally meant to be one fic so sorry if chapter endings seem... odd.

Tagging: @krenenbaker @distant-velleity @cynthinesia @theleechyskrunkly @kitwasnothere @officialdaydreamer00 @elysia-nsimp @twisted-wonderland-but-gayer @whspermy-name @jaylleoo14 @cyanide-latte @boopshoops @casp1an-sea

@am0nline

@ramshacklerumble

[reaveries]

arthur's journal - "an admiration for perennials"

Transcription:

“Got lost earlier today and ended up meeting a woman.

She was real nice, showed me around her garden, and such.

Funnily enough, she was growing some of them flowers ma used to like.

She even gave me a few to thank me for helping her.

Can't help but think maybe we was meant to meet, given that strange coincidence.

It's more likely I'm just a fool who spends too much time in his head.

Anyways- can't stop thinking about it”

Hope y’all like this! Had the random idea to bring Arthur's drawing from my fic to life and figured I might as well do a journal entry alongside it!! Our sketching styles aren’t too different so the drawing was surprisingly easy. But copying his handwriting was a whole 'nother level of difficulty lmfao. Lmk what y’all think!

[tactax-art]

I enjoy your Ghostsoap art and posts but I don’t play video games. I want to get into the ship/fandom but don’t know where to start. Any help would be appreciated ❤️ Thanks

Welcome to the fandom I guess :D I'm putting my reply under the read more (and have a sleepy Ghost, just cause :)

Disclaimer, I've only gotten into this in february, it's been uuuh 2 months. I'm not a canon-phile, but i do like to know that basics, despite not playing games a lot either.

I did start with just the soapghost scenes (x), but after that i wanted to know what the heck is going on with the plot so I went for the full one.

First off, what confused the hell out of me until I asked a friend: There are two iterations of CoD:Modern Warfare2, the 2009 one and the 2022 reboot. They carried over characters, but seem to have revamped both them and the plot (though idk how much they changed the plot).

I'd recommend watching the movie style playthroughs (cutscenes + only story/dialogue relevants of gameplay) on youtube, this is the one I watched (x). (I get motion sick when watching fps 'lets play's, but this one was alright, probably because there's lots of cutscene breaks!)

There are also of course their wiki entries Soap & Ghost.

Regarding the preboots again, here's some stuff that is pretty commonly referenced in fic and art but it's actually from the 09 canon: everyone canon dies, Soap being captain, soap's eyebrow scar, soap being an artist/keeping a journal, ALL of ghosts backstory (afaik we got nothing on 22!ghost).

Hope this helped!

[wannab-urs]

Outtakes - Non-smut vol 2

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist | vol 1

Hi friends! Sometimes we want fics that are SFW or we just want to make ourselves sad or we need a little pick me up. I'm here with a list of fics that have no (explicit) smut as of posting! They may have smutty thoughts or mild allusions to smut, but those are marked in the warnings!

Summaries and tags are, in most cases, provided by the author - please be sure to read them as some of these fics may have content you do not wish to read.

updated 3/27/2024

i wonder if you stopped his world like you stopped mine

Frankie one shot by @chronically-ghosted

watching the woman he loves be with someone else is killing him, but for your sake, he manages. But when Benny's birthday loosens him up, he can't help but bear his soul over a phone call. Too bad you don't pick up and he's forced to leave the evidence in a voicemail.

pining, light angst, idiots in love, country music as a catalyst, romance, tw alcohol, tw drinking, hangovers, ultimately very fluffy

Ezra's Journal Entries

Ezra series by @littlemisspascal

This journal’s as good a place as any to admit the honest truth. So here it is: I wish with the entirety of my bloody, beating heart I could be the man you deserve, little love of mine. — Ezra recovers after the events of the film with the aid of a journal and the love of his life.

angsty fluff, Ezra’s dealing with the aftermath of the Green, language, 1st person POV (Ezra), dialogue in italics, angsty fluff, night terrors, PTSD, Ezra dealing with the aftermath of the Green, language, overuse of space metaphors, grief/dealing with loss of a sibling, mild reference of past injury, Part 11 could be read as suicidal ideation so please skip/be warned of that segment due to possible triggers

midnight strikes, where is my prince

Frankie one shot by @undercoverpena

he had been your neighbour. a man you'd stare at through blinds when he’d been on the front lawn. a man you’re now staring at through splintered shards of your mirror—because he saved you.

ANGST 😂. there’s mentions of a break-in. frankie is there and he has a gun, so you know we’re okay. angst. inspired by a scene from scandal-if you know, you know

The District Sleeps Alone Tonight

Marcus P one shot by @whataperfectwasteoftime

I am a visitor here. I am not permanent.

angst, breakups, mentions of Teresa x Patrick Jane

Constellations in his eyes

Dave York one shot by @janaispunk

Your fiancé stands you up on your birthday. Dave doesn’t.

infidelity, shitty boyfriend, angst, fluff, kissing, able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n

The One

Dieter one shot by @schnarfer

If one thing had been different, would everything be different today?

Bit of emotional torment, drink and drugs references, Dieter POV, happy ending? Always Fleabag coded.

House Arrest

Dieter one shot by @rulexofxnines

Dieter stays over at your place out of desperation. Things get out of hand so you take control of the situation.

forced proximity, only one bed, a goat

The Howler Monkey

Dieter one shot by @covetyou

You got him here, he was safely tucked away upstairs and everything was going, mostly, according to plan. So, who the fuck is screaming?

no smut but some nudity, implied drug use/addiction, little bit silly, mildly angsty, performance anxiety, screaming, Dieter Bravo's soft cock. basically mild hurt/comfort/fluff with my usual bit of silliness.

Vampire!Dieter

Dieter one shot by @chronically-ghosted

Interview with a vampire, gatsby style

flirting, a bit of blood, maybe dubcon due to The Thrall but i think it's safe to say we all want It from vampire!dieter

Paint With Me

Frankie one shot by @bitchesuntitled

You have a crush on the dad of your daughter’s best friend.

Sexual innuendos and cursing

Door Number Three

Javi G drabble by @morallyinept

Javi shows you what he keeps behind that mirrored door

Character talk alludes to sexy things.

The Infinity Cube

Various Pedro Boy series by @littlemisspascal

When you play with a strange cube, you’re transported out of your current reality with your boyfriend Marcus into brand new ones starring alternate versions of your boyfriend who look and act entirely different every time. With each encounter, you start to wonder if you’ll ever make it back to your real universe?

language, fluff, angst, references to sex but no smut

Happy Reading!

[sleepless-stories]

So had a fic idea for ORV, may write when I finish the entire novel.

Basically a journalist survives through the scenarios and everything.

The entire time they're writing articles and news like stories based off what is happening. They're just giving reports on what is going on in each scenario, all in a news like structure / AP style (my be-loathed).

But some how they're surviving everything weirdly enough.

Well as time goes on and they go through the scenarios you can tell through the writing structure that despite surviving they're not doing great.

The first few chapters written within the news structure though after awhile it starts falling apart becoming more journal like entries. Maybe later on turning more into less and less words just describing the horrors. Clearly losing hope the longer they survive through everything.

Kind of Following that joke of the camera man never dies, the journalist will never die even if they should of

[underforeversgrace]

Dannymay 2023, Day 11: Traditional Media

I had no idea what to do for this one. None.

So enjoy a journal entry from one of my fics:)

Typed text beneath photo. Please enjoy my god awful hand writing:) I tried to make it readable, but, uh, my handwriting began leaning towards my actual writing style the longer I wrote.

Danny has feminine handwriting I guess????

Excerpt from: broken trust and the wounds hidden behind chapter 2 - Beside Me

Name: Fenton Fryer

Function: Severe electrocution

Pain level: 10

Notes: Avoid at all costs. Loss of consciousness within a minute, lucky enough to have crashed on a skyscraper and had the transformation forced. Pain did not improve upon waking. Muscles would not stop spasming. Getting home was hell. Had me down the entire weekend, required three doses of pain medication.

How much longer am I going to survive them?

I wish they’d just try to talk to me. To Phantom. If they would just consider for a moment that maybe they’re wrong and I could finally tell them.

Hell will freeze over before they do that. For now, I think I’ll keep having a bed to sleep on and my insides to stay inside.

Shameless plug to the fic on AO3 -> broken trust - do you like good dad Jack Fenton and angst? It is an overload of good dad Jack Fenton and angst:)

[notedchampagne]

hi your promo art for ur fic as seen me laying on the couch binging it for the past 3 hours. I'm on ummm ch 6 and need to take a break but GOD you capture the 69ers so well. especially young harrow and griddle. and i luv the journal entry style its sooo fun

thank you so much!! this means a lot i want everyone to see my 69ers vision. the journal entries are my specific bread and butter and quinn helps a lot w the gh characterization

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

Hii PastorCraigEnjoyer you always give the best style recommendations, can you please recommend style stick of truth fics? <3

AAAAAA I am not even gonna lie this list is gonna be SO long bc not only am I a style enthusiast, I’m also A STICK OF TRUTH FANATIC!!!

A Ballad Of True Hearts by luckypoppies (yes I’ve reced this one before it slaps ok) LISTEN THE ANGST IS SO PAINFUL AND SO SLAY and the CRUMB of love we get is gorgeous

The king and the kite by brookeginko DUDE OK this is unfinished but one of the best sot/tfbw crossovers out there

Highest Honour by 24parts so this may not be an au technically but it’s the boys playin sot and ITS SO DAMN CUTE the “are we still playing” “I don’t know” AAAAAAAAA such a cute and quick read I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read this

Helping The Enemy by yeahbisalive420 y’all know how I love stan whump, esp stick of truth, and this is one of the first I read in that category, it SLAYS DUDE ITS SO GOOD the gangs all there, it’s fun, it’s sweet, omg

Your name written upon mine by sooduhnim WHEN I SAY THIS IS GORGEOUS!!! Soulmate au, incredible plot, style getting married (the wedding is beautiful ok), conspiracy and outside enemies trying to fuck shit up, kickass ending, pls read this one frfr

A kinights duty by brookeginko this is another really sweet oneshot (we know I love those) ohhhh my god it’s so wholesome Stan bbg I love knight Stan with everything in me!!!

How We Began by PastorCraigEnjoyer (also the other small works in the Of Forests And Finding Love series) OKAY YES ITS CRINGE TO RECOMMEND YOUR OWN STUFF but y’all I started writing fanfic SPECIFICALLY because I had a very particular set of tags I wanted to see and that was stick of truth fluff and hurt/comfort. And I loved writing these ones. 3 are oneshots if you’re not down for 20k words lmfao. (I have multiple unrelated sot style oneshots too)

The King’s Forest by iksolforb I JUST LOVE ONESHOTS and elf Kyle being bold and flirty dude oneshots are my lifeblood especially stick of truth and this Kyle is SO fun

Entries From The Past by ViviBaby69420 GUYS OH MY ABSOLUTE FUCK THIS ONE IS BEAUTIFUL IN SO MANY WAYS!!! The prose, the discriptions. AND it’s written in journal format from our elf king’s pov which feels SO personal and special dude seriously and the characterizations are beautiful STAN MY BBY plus the dialogue and the rapport between the guys absolutely slaps ALSO!!!! Guys check out their art (btw the story is illustrated holy shit I can’t emphasize the beauty enough) you can find it at @mellowybaby FOR REAL JUST PHENOMENAL AND I AM NOT KIDDING!!!

sleep tight by startwithsnail this is so rad a certain elf prince… meeting a certain warewolf… absolutely delightful oneshot fr guys

Y’all I’m totally blanking I KNOW I have more to recommend but I CANT THINK OF THEM RIGJT NOW maybe later but ANYWAY that’s your Fanfiction Librarian List for now!

[lady-wallace]

Record of a Crusader (JoJo's Bizarre Adventure)

This was the fic I wrote for the Stardust OVA Zine! A journal entry style story from Kakyoin's point of view.

The zine is also currently running a leftover sale so if you missed out, go check it out! There's a lot of fun stuff and beautiful art and fics in the zine!

~~~~~~~

December 1st 1988

It's been a while since I've written a journal, but I felt compelled to buy one after seeing someone selling them in the market today. After all, this is the kind of journey that deserves to be written down.

I suppose I should start off by introducing myself: I'm Kakyoin Noriaki, a high school student from Japan. It was a chance meeting—perhaps one would even say destiny—that led me to my current location in India, in the company of some interesting travel companions.

While it's been barely the course of a couple weeks since I met Kujo Jotaro and his grandfather Joseph Joestar, I can't help but feel like I've known them for years. Even to the point that I instantly felt compelled to help save Jotaro's mother after knowing her for barely a day. It's not just because Jotaro saved my life, I feel like we were bound to meet, one way or another. Avdol spoke about the connection Stand users have; how we're inexplicably drawn to each other. Perhaps that is all the answer needed to my question of supposed destiny, but, I still can't help but feel there is a higher purpose to the five of us coming together.

I remember reading in school about the crusaders on their holy missions. Perhaps it's a bit of a bold statement to say, but I feel like we too are on a crusade—one that will hopefully end in the defeat of DIO and Holy Kujo's return to health.

But for now, we're already on our way to our next destination. I'm sure there will be plenty of time to take down more accounts later.

~~~~~~~

Read on Ao3

Read on FF.net

~~~~~~~

[violet-moonstone]

Help me choose an opening

I'm trying to decide how I want to begin a httyd fic

i posted one version of the opening here

and the other version (rough draft) will be below the cut. the version on this post will lead into a scene pretty similar to how the other one starts. I couldn't tell if I wanted it to begin with an action scene like the movies or a more domestic scene

I feel like the one i posted before is more fun and dynamic and sets up the kids as characters well, but this one establishes hiccup and astrids relationship more - and again i am planning to connect the nuffink and zephyr scene to hiccup and astrid's...i just dont know if it's as engaging that way.

This is Berk, a cold, rocky island surrounded by sea stacks and crashing waves, full of cliffs and towering evergreens through which the wind howls eerily at night and sings in the early hours of the dawn. Our island is dotted with wooden houses and mead halls, earthen huts and stone arenas, farms with turnips and cabbage, yak and sheep. Among these structures live our people: proud, strong Vikings in wool and leather, armed with iron and steel and of course…dragons.

On an average day in Berk, you can see Terrible Terrors delivering mail, Gronckles and Hotburples in forges, Changewings playing hide and seek with local children, Timberjacks ferrying people and goods to and from nearby islands. Our isle is home to all sorts.

Here, You will find an image of Vikings and dragons living in harmony, living and growing in a connection that has lasted for 20 years and will last many more. We defend each other, loyal to the end, integral part of each others’ lives. But the peace between the Vikings of Berk and dragons is not universal. Every so often, we face a new foe, whether it be dragon hunters, poachers, or even those who want to train dragons for nefarious means. They claw at the edges of Berk’s influence of our allies and the settlements we’ve built to house the many who flock to Berk, who see it as a beacon of light in the darkness.

These conflicts leave many in need of a place to go, and so our borders extend past Berk, to the islands around us, to new ones we’ve had to find. It has not been easy to keep everyone safe, to ensure fair treatment of humans and dragons alike in a community extending so far, but we must, for the alternative to extending our light is allowing the darkness to devour us all.

And what bearer of light is more formidable than a dragon?

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III rubbed his eyes, surprised by the pale light shining through the slats of his study’s window. He hadn’t even noticed when his candle had burnt out.

When did the sun rise?

“Really, This is Berk? Again?”

The chieftain jumped at the sound of a voice over his shoulder, then relaxed when he heard his wife’s laugh. He’d been so wrapped up in writing that he hadn’t heard her come into his study. He sat at his table, hunched over a large tome, his shoulders covered by a blanket and his hands dusted with charcoal.

It took a moment for him to realize that she had been teasing him. At last, he gave a lopsided grin. “What, too much?”

Astrid shrugged. “Eh, it’s a bit self-indulgent.”

“Self-indulgent?”

His wife held up her hands in surrender. “I’m just saying!”

“Where-where exactly are these critiques coming from, anyhow?” Hiccup asked. His lips twisted as he tried to maintain an impression of offense. “You’ve never had a discerning eye for my writing style before.”

Astrid sighed and shook her head. “Hiccup—”

“And you wound me like this now?” He threw his head back dramatically only to be met with kisses to his forehead.

His wife’s upside-down face met him with a begrudgingly affectionate expression. “Muttonhead,” she muttered.

“Anyway,” Hiccup continued, returning to his latest entry, “I’m sure the readers will love it.”

Astrid scoffed. “What readers? The only people who read those things are you and Fishlegs—and only as references for writing more journals.”

“Well, no one’s in a rush to read them just yet,” Hiccup admitted, “but there’s value in recording the events of our lives in writing. It’ll make it easier for future generations to look back on what we’ve done and aspire to continue Berk’s accomplishments.”

“Okay, okay,” Astrid said. “I can’t argue with that starry-eyed look so early in the morning.” She kissed him again, this time on the cheek. “Alright, let’s get going. We have a lot to do today.”

Hiccup pushed himself to his feet and felt nearly every joint in his body pop and crack in protest.

“Agghhh,” He groaned, making the distinctive noise of a father rising from a sitting position. His legs cramped. Hiccup wobbled and then lurched, nearly knocking over one of Toothless’ many prosthetic tail prototypes that rested on a nearby table. He reached out for Astrid’s support and was met with the sturdy aid of thick, strong arms.

With age, Astrid had gained more muscle and fat, while Hiccup grew thinner, even gaunt. Though his beard somewhat hid the hollowness of his cheeks. The one thing both the Haddocks had in common was an abundance of freckles and scars. Hiccup felt that Astrid grew more and more beautiful with each day. He loved her smile lines and the newly-arrived wisps of gray hair interspersed with the blonde. He smiled, heart warmed as he reflected on his wife’s beauty. And so naturally, he was nonplussed to hear her next words.

“Gods, you look awful.”

“Ah, just what every man wants to hear from his wife.”

“I mean you look tired. How late did you stay up? And how early did you get up to write?”

“Uhh...” Hiccup scratched the back of his head. He mumbled something about meaning to go to bed eventually and how he only meant to write half a page more, but how half a page always turned into a full page and then another, and how the words kept coming, and how by the time he’d looked up, the sun had risen. All in all, he’d probably gotten an hour or two of rest when he’d dozed off partway through the night.

Astrid’s eyes widened. Their startling blue colour almost looked like lightning. “Hiccup...”

Hiccup winced. “I know, I know!”

“How are you supposed to get anything done running on no sleep?”

“I mean...It’s not no sleep...”

Astrid crossed her arms. “Hiccup, I’m serious! You have to stop doing this. Especially with The Thing coming up.”

Hiccup sighed. “Oh, right. The Thing. Can’t wait.” In a way, he really couldn’t wait. He wanted to see all his friends and allies from different islands, of course—but the honour of hosting the gathering of chieftains also came along with a great deal of pressure and tedium—even more so than he’d grown to expect as chief of Berk.

“Come on, muttonhead,” Astrid said. She patted his face gently. “Let’s get going.”

Hiccup nodded glumly and went through the motions of preparing for the day. He combed his hair, changed his clothes, and put on a woolen cloak, as the autumn wind had been picking up recently. Astrid was already dressed in a tunic, short apron dress, leggings, and cloak. She wore her axe by her side along with a knife at her belt. The brooches and beads of her apron dress weren’t quite as ornate as a woman of her position was expected to wear, and her attire was shorter and more modestly embroidered than was considered fitting a chieftainess of an increasingly powerful tribe. Though what she lacked in theatrics, she more than made up for in presence. No one they met ever questioned that she as Astrid, Warrior of Berk.

Hiccup on the other hand, never felt quite as grand as his reputation. Not only did he prefer to dress simply whenever possible, but he knew he didn’t physically looklike the great dragon trainer people often imagined him to be. As a child, he’d alway supposed that one day he’d grow, tall, burly, and broad-shouldered like his father Stoick had been. The gods may have given Hiccup height, but after five and thirty years, it seemed like the rest was not to be.

In the kitchen, Hiccup make some mint tea and porridge while Astrid went upstairs to wake the children. From below, Hiccup heard Astrid’s quickened steps followed by cursing. When she returned down the stairs, she wore an expression of confusion with anger just beneath the surface.

Oh no, Hiccup thought, already anticipating trouble. Please, not today. Oh, Odin at least let it be on a day when I’ve gotten some sleep.

“The Twins didn’t start training early this morning, did they?”

Hiccup sighed. “Not that I know of.”

“And Eret and Gobber didn’t call Nuffink to the forge before the usual time?”

“No? Are they...?” Hiccup winced, afraid to ask.

“Not in their rooms? Nope.” Astrid checked the fastenings of her clothes. She looked ready to head out.

“Well, hey honey, you don’t know if it’s cause for worry yet. They might just have gotten up early for some fresh air.”

Astrid gave him a look. “You know what our kids are like. Unsupervised fresh air means chaos.”

Hiccup cast a mournful look at the nearly-cooked porridge as his stomach let out a vicious growl.

“It’s fine,” Astrid said. “You finish breakfast, I’ll just go make sure nothing’s broken or on fire or exploded, or—”

Hiccup and Astrid froze as a wild shriek pierced the air, followed by the sound crashing and a dragon’s roar.

“Or all of the above,” Astrid finished, before heading for the door.

Hiccup took a hasty sip of porridge that burned his tongue before shoving a chunk of leftover bread into his satchel and throwing the bag over his shoulder. That would have to do for breakfast for now.

[hebuiltfive]

Are there certain types of writing you won’t do? (style, pov, genre, tropes, etc)

What fic do you wish you got more of a response on?

Hello again!

First question: I tend to stay away from first person POVs, purely because I feel like it's a lot of pressure to get the voice just right. I do make exceptions, most recently for Alan's birthday piece where I did the journal entries, but on the whole I generally shy away from writing purely first person.

In terms of tropes, I'm willing to give most a go, but there are certain ones i'd never write. The one that comes to mind most prominently right now is the it was all a dream. I know Anderson productions tended to play on that quite often on the whole but I'm really not a fan of stories ending like that. It's such a cop out!

Lastly, smut. I might imply it in stories but I will always cut away before the scene. I'll read it if it's in someone else's story, but it's just not something I'm comfortable writing myself. I find that if you don't write it right, it's so awkward and I'm already fickle with my writing as it is!

For the second question... probably Second Fiddle.

It's one of my favourite stories that I'm currently working on, with a couple of good (I think) twists in it!

It's Gordon centric for the most part, but it will have multiple POVs throughout too (the last bit I worked on was a Kayo and Penny scene which was fun!)

I've only put out one chapter so far though. It's kind of secondary to my big, main WIP, but I still love it and I hope, when I finally get more of the story out, other people will love it just as much!

I think I'm caught up on the asks! It's a relief to be able to see your notifications at long last! Thank you for the asks! I'm sorry Tumblr made it impossible to get to them until now! 💙

[intricate-ritualz]

advertising some of my nygmobblepot/gotham fics on here again bc i can!

Crossroads

This one’s probably one of my favorites among the things that I’ve written. I had a TON of fun with it. It’s written in the first person through journal entries, which I am very aware is not many people’s cup of tea when it comes to fanfiction. HOWEVER. I think I did an okay job with making the writing style interesting and not.. “cringe” for lack of a better word. If you’re at all into the gender queer/trans feminine Ed Nygma head canon I’d check the fic out! The journal entries span the weeks after Oswald wins the election, but the fic isn’t very plot heavy. It’s more of a study of Ed and his relationship with his gender/sexuality. Nygmobblepot is present, but it’s not the main focus of the fic.

Hello, My Name Is

This fic explores the trans Nygma head canon in a more metaphorical way. It takes place in a court waiting room years before the events of Gotham. Ed is there to get his last name changed from Nashton to Nygma officially, and he just so happens to run into a young Oswald who’s there for a name change as well. (Some heavily implied trans masculine Oswald for y’all.) The fic is yet another Nygma character study focusing on Ed’s relationship with his gender (very subtle but there) and his father (not subtle.) (I’m a creature of habit.) It’s nothing too special IMO, but I do think it’s a fun take on the first Nygmobblepot meeting. I will warn everyone that this was written when I was somewhat new to the fandom, so some of the details about Oswald’s past don’t fit perfectly into canon. 😭

Drown Me! (Title stolen from a song of the same name by Junie & TheHutFriends. Very Nygmobblepot-pilled song in my mind.)

Basically my take on the Wake Up Alone scene. If you’ve been following me for a bit, you’ll know I have very specific Opinions on what should have gone down. The fic is set in an alternate universe where Oswald confesses to Ed after killing Isabella, but before Ed finds out it was Oswald who killed her. And Nygmobblepot becomes #real for a bit. (Or whatever the kids are saying nowadays.) Ed does end up finding out eventually, and the whole Thing at the pier does end up going down, along with everyone’s favorite Amy Winehouse singing hallucination. The fic is half “look at how hard I can make Ed repress his feelings” and half me making the Wake Up Alone scene waaay more artsy than the Gotham writers had the balls to.

Hypnopompic Howls (Title stolen from the song Emotional Vagrant by The Scary Jokes. VERYVERY Edward-pilled song.)

This was my first Gotham fic, written before I consumed every piece of Nygmobblepot fanfiction ever posted on Ao3, so I wasn’t aware how common and overdone the concepts I was writing about were, LMAO. But if you enjoy a good “Ed talks to the hallucination of himself at the Van Dahl Mansion after killing Oswald and wrestles with his internalized homophobia and comphet for a bit” fic, Hypnopompic Howls is for you!

ty if you took the time to read All of That 😭

all of these fics are kind of old and kind of short, so if anyone has any ideas/things they’d like to see in future intricate-ritualz gotham fics lmk ! i like to think that my writing has gotten at least a tad bit better by now 😋😋