#unfortunately this is only a oneshot snippet

[balrogballs]

My scheduling button is broken and my WIP Wednesday post didn’t go out, but enjoy it anyway. Short snippet of the Prayers spinoff oneshot focusing more the relationship between Maedhros and Fingon, which I’m writing through Finnu’s Gaze™️ because frankly he’s as unwell and obsessive as the rest of them, it just comes out in a more, er, Catholic way than the Shia Fëanorians. Enjoy the first few paragraphs, aka their first meeting as children!

Sultan of Sultans (snippet)

Before the CH Overpass scraped an arc out of its sky and the CSI Complex turned it into a boxing ring for a dozen mutually-indistinguishable bakeries, Mananchira Square was most known for its enormous freshwater pond with a salt-crusted shore. The pond was initially built in the fourteenth century to serve as a bathing pool for the feudal ruler of Kozhikode, the Zamorin. Zamorin was not the name of a single person or family, but rather a title taken by the ruler, much like Sultan, or Shah, and beginning in the thirteenth century they consolidated Kozhikode into a small kingdom and introduced it to the world.

Conveniently located right upon a wide, straight section of coast without crags or rocky shallows, our Kozhikode swiftly became a globally renowned trading port ruled jointly by the Zamorin Hindu feudal lords and their admirals, the Mappila Marakkar, a Muslim seafaring dynasty. It was referred to as the City of Spices in the literature of the time—with the cloth calico said to be named after Kozhikode’s Anglicised name, Calicut—and it was the most prominent city in Kerala until the seventeenth century, after which it fell into middling irrelevance in the grand scheme of things.

That was where Russo and I first met in 1915, by a pondside alcove where Thomas-uncle’s very-unofficial sweetshop used to stand. We were around four or five years old, and from that day on we crept quietly through the rest of our lives together like halves of a single breath. He was very beautiful, then and always. His mother used to say he was carved from the cloth of the Sultans of yore—Kujanli Marrakar the admiral, or perhaps even the Zamorin himself, a displaced resurrection in a family of Muslim artisans. I was much older when I realised such a comment had not been simply an ode to his beauty. Russo’s every footstep was a verdict, every laugh of his was a blade, even then. Unfortunately of course, the flip side of resembling the Sultans of yore, was that it would be very easy for certain labels like, say, terrorist, to stick.

“You know,” he told me that first day, pinching me instead of saying hello like a normal child. “You know the Zamorin was thirty feet tall and just as wide? And that he ate people? Oh, and do you know this pond has a massive crocodile who lives in the middle?”

“You shouldn’t pinch people,” I let him know. In hindsight, it was probably saying such things that made me such a pinchable child. “It’s not a good habit.”

Obviously, he pinched me again. He was very fair, I remember, because he was too young then to have spent much time running about in the sun as he does these days. He pinched people for no reason except that he could, had oddly light eyes (the colloquial term for them was poocha-kannu, cat-eyes, possibly because the general light-eyed population in Kozhikode at the time were an introduced species who seemed to have the ability to see their best only in darkness) and a vaguely commanding air to him that I didn’t at the time realise was the result of being a first-and-doted-upon son.

And so, initially I assumed he was one of the British sahib children with an extraordinary grasp of the local dialect, and just stood there silently, not wanting to even cry in case his father strode out and shouted at mine. Then his mother called out, telling him she’d eat him alive next time she caught him pinching people he’d only just met (as if it was fine for him to pinch people he knew well), and realised he was, unfortunately, one of our own. He pinched me a third time, irritated that his mother had caught him at it, and I cried then, because it was safe to and also because being pinched thrice for existing in this horrible little boy’s vicinity was too much for my five year old self to bear.

“Don’t you want to know why the Zamorin was so tall and wide?” he asked, as I followed him across to the pond because I didn’t want to play with my baby sister, though I was still crying because he had pinched me. He started out explaining about the Zamorin but midway through switched to an equally untrue story about a crocodile that bit off his little brother Maglor’s leg, recounted with such vicious delight I feared it was less an overactive imagination and more just wishful thinking. And at some point he must have gotten tired of my hysterics however, because he shoved a whirling palm-frond toy into my hand, watched me wave it about and told me I could keep it if I got a grip on my whining.

“But don’t play with it too much,” he informed me kindly, patting my shoulder. “I found it near the public toilets. You could get sick and die. You know cholera?”

As if cholera was his close personal friend.

[jeahreading]

"Rage" - Writing Snippet - 2

TW: Blood, Gore, Cuts, Burns, Guns

Gale wiped the wet rag across her back. The unnerving sight of the utterly mangled flesh sent shivers down his spine. There was a concerning lack of skin without gashes or scars, how was he to know that this was just the beginning of the mutilation he would witness on Rini's body?

He didn't know what to be more worried about, the innumerable scars littering her body like paint splatter or the fact that she did not react to the antiseptic.

"If it becomes too painful you have to tell me..."

The slight movement of her head was the only indication of her agreement. Once he was done wrapping up the numerous new and old wounds, he got down onto the floor, sitting beside her right leg.He slowly and gently started cutting up the soiled and rough fabric, the kind of fabric that would make sandbags look like a joy to be in.

"How long....how long did they..." he trailed off. The effort it took for him not to immedietly look away and gag at the numerous burns and welts that covered even just her calf was immense.

"How long did they fuck with me?" Rini looked away with a mirthless laugh.

"....5 years"

Gale sucked in a breath, his mind running haywire at all the things that Rini may have gone through, she was, after all, their lab rat, their test subject, their plaything to ravage and destroy without an ounce of concern. Unbridled anger bubbled under his skin, barely contained by the restrictions of logic, if he just went barging into the facility he too would end up like her, and that would help neither her, nor him, no, he had to keep his head straight and devise a plan, a way to break the very foundations of the facility, to unleash chaos upon those wretched...things...they did not deserve the grace to be called human. A human could not possibly torture another of theirs in such a beastly manner.

Gale was proud of his morality, of his ability to differentiate between the good and the bad, between the right and the wrong, but seeing what they had done to Rini, his moral standing was dropping and it was dropping fast, oh he was ready to paint the facility ground red without a sliver of remorse right this second. But he had to wait, he had to hold himself back...

He refocused back onto Rini's thigh, he had been lost in his thoughts trying to pull down the red screen of anger clouding his vision when he saw it.

A sickly burnt patch of skin at the side of her thigh, a circular mark with a star in the middle...the facility logo. The knife froze mid-air and the world caved in around him. He had not felt such absolute white-hot rage like this...in a long long time, it skittered across his skin, like it would burn every single thing he stared at long enough let alone touch.

He let the knife slip, an eerie calm enveloped him as he picked out the colt from the safe, without a single word said he started loading it up with bullets.

"Gale...what are you doing.."

clink....clink...clink

"Gale...no.."

clink...clink...clink

with more strength than she thought she had in the moment, she pushed herself onto her feet, stumbling across the room to the boy who saved her.

"Stop...stop it" she hissed, slamming the safe shut.

As though he couldn't hear at all, Gale slid the last bullet into the revolver.

"I said STOP" Finally, he looked up at her, face as rigid as ice but his eyes betrayed the raging storm muddling his head, all thoughts of logic wiped out, all but one...

"What are you doing?"

"Something I should have done already"

"So what? you're just going to barge into the facility and go bang bang bang?"

"No, I'm gonna barge into the facility and go straight into the Seon's room and shoot him in the brains"

"Do you want to die?"

"No I want to kill Seon, I couldn't care less what happens to me"

"If I can't reason with you, then I'll just have to stop you from going out of this room"

The unwavering determination in Rini's eyes almost swayed Gale, almost...

"You know you can't stop me right?"

"Not physically, no, but I can cut myself up more, so if you leave I'll die anyways" She knew what she was saying was irrational and dangerously reckless, but there was someone else in the room who was just a tad bit more reckless than her right now.

"You won't...do that" Gale's eyes flickered between agitation and fear.

"Do you want to test that theory?"

"....No"

"Give me the revolver"

"No"

"Give.Me.The.Revolver" He let out a frustrated sigh before dropping the weapon in Rini's outstretched hand, his anger calming down a little.

Rini grabbed onto Gale's arm and dragged him back to where they were sitting.

"Now, continue doing what you were doing, and let's get this done quicker, the alcohol stings"

"I...I don't think I can"

"Fine then, sit for a bit and continue when you're back in your right mind"

Gale thumped down on the ground, knees folded up to his chest he cradled his head in his hands.

"They... they branded you, what kind of...monsters would do that to someone" He choked out, his emotions swirling around him, the pain in his voice immense.

"We were always just cattle for them anyways"

"I'm going to make Seon eat his own entrails till he chokes on it and then I'm going to put so many bullets in his head that he'll hear them jingle in there till the moment he dies"

He will feel the pain you felt for 5 years in the 5 minutes that I take to kill him

-Jeah

[aquasoftware]

𖦹 SMASH OR PASS? 𖦹

Snippet | “Who you foolin’, doll? Look atcha—fuckin’ ruined for me.”

FT║ Fem!Reader ✘ Toji, F.

Desc║ A harmless Smash or Pass game in the break room turns into a real experience when Toji overhears your bold declaration—and later that night, he ensures you live up to your words.

Cw║ Smut proceed w caution, minimal plot, Co-workers trope, Dom/Sub dynamics, mānhandling, s!ze k!nk, tummy bulge, overstim, degrádàt!on/praise, creamp!e, chok!ng/breath play, light impact play, scratching/b!ting, a bit of säd!sm (?), humiliation, mirror sɛx, dumbǐfīcation, cocķ drunk reader, unrealistic d size, forced eye contact, implied consent + rough sėx.

WC ➜ 2.3K ➜ ML

15 minute read. | Fic type: Oneshot.

The break room was a breeding ground for gossip or useless conversations. An extremely comfortable olive-green sofa—dubbed the equivalent of a bear’s hibernation spot—stood out in contrast to concerningly constant flickering of fluorescent lights, an indented scent of roasted black coffee tip-toeing throughout the room, soon followed by cheap air freshener, while a few faded vending machines—marked with worn-out “Out of Order!” signs for what felt like decades completed the dreary atmosphere.

Unfortunately, the only real pop of color in the otherwise dull break room was the sofa everyone was obsessed with. And when you give employees a sofa with little else to entertain them you get insanely bored, unanimous groans echoing until someone suggests starting a corny game of smash or pass starring some other co-workers.

The thing is you weren’t particularly interested at first, completely tuning them out as you scrolled through cute orange cat videos on TikTok, your phone nestled in tired hands. That was—until someone blurted out, “Smash or pass Toji Fushiguro?”

A few people had the absolute nerve to say pass without even giving any reasoning. You broke your neck turning toward them, clicking your phone off to save a little battery—suddenly caring about the game you thought was so ‘stupid.’

You couldn’t deny it—you took that personally, as if Toji had already put a ring on your finger and asked for your hand in marriage on one bent knee. Lips parted without a second thought, you jumped in to defend him, readily interrupting, “Y’all are wild for passing thee Toji Fushiguro, but more for me, I guess. Smash. In fact, I’d let him manhandle me if I had the chance!”

You practically gushed, recalling every time his pecs looked one flex away from obliterating his poor, helpless uniform. The stretch of fabric over hard muscle, the teasing glimpse of skin whenever he rolled up his sleeves—it was certainly dangerous. And those brief glances you two shared? Just a flicker of eye contact was enough to make your heart stutter and your daydream-state brain short-circuit.

Laughter erupted, loud enough to deafen poor ears, splattered across the room, along with an appalled gasp from an observant co-worker.

“Oooh, speak of the devil…” she teased, wiggling her brows and covering her mouth.

Because, unluckily for you, Toji stood tall, folded arms, leaning against the doorway that nearly was unsuitable to fit his build. Clearly amused by your bold statement, a smirk rested easily on his face, piercing green eyes locking onto yours.

“Oh really, sweetheart?” he teased, running a hand through his short, jet-black hair. His chuckle was deep enough to shake the room, sending heat pooling between your needy thighs—yet startling enough to make your heart lurch at his unexpected presence.

“Oh my god, Toji, I didn’t mean-” you struggled to breathe out, your throat going dry as you shoved your slightly sweaty palms into your pockets.

Why’d he have to come in literally on cue? you thought, stomach twisting into knots, your skin burning like a furnace.

The room watched in silence, entranced, as if they had just been left on a cliffhanger in a movie, whispers shooting amongst them left and right.

Toji pushed off the doorframe, taking a slow step inside. “Didn’t mean it, huh?” He kissed his teeth, eyes dragging over you in a way that made your skin prickle with goosebumps. “Shame, y’seemed pretty confident about that little claim a second ago.”

“Fine, fine, I said what I said.” You huffed, rolling your eyes, forcing yourself to stand your ground—even though you weren’t prepared for him to literally make you eat your words.

Because later that night, Toji had you pinned against his bedroom wall, facing him, one sore leg flung over his shoulder—completely vulnerable to his merciless speed.

Each brutal thrust knocked the breath from your lungs, the humid air filled with loud, staggering gasps. His grip was cruel, fingers digging into your hips as he kept your wobbly leg steady, smug at the way your body trembled under his touch.

The freezing surface of the wall contrasted with the intensity between the two of you, while looking in his direction at a time like this felt impossible.

Not that he let you look away—when you did focus anywhere else feeling embarrassed by how easily you let him fuck, his big rough hand grabbed your chin forcing you to look at him.

“Shit, that’s it baby, want you to look at me while you takin’ it.” He whispered, hot breath fanning all over your ear.

Your walls fluttered violently at his sinful words, your body bouncing feebly against the wall with every ram into your velvet walls. You could hardly take his strength, nothing more than a ragdoll for him to use, each filthy, deep stroke claiming you as his property.

His thrusts alone were enough to tell you—you were his little fucktoy.

Breaking eye contact for a brief second he peeked down seeing your one unsteady leg in action, borderline hissing at him for the amount of time he had you pressed against this wall.

“Mmmh, poor thing, huh?” he sneered, proud you struggled to keep up with him. “Leg already shakin’ we’ve barely even started.”

A taunting lie.

You had been at it for hours. There was no way in hell this was just the beginning. You could barely believe your ears when he had the audacity to say otherwise.

Before you could even attempt to reply, his hand shot up to your throat, thick fingers wrapping around your neck with precise control.

He squeezed just enough to leave your head spinning, your drooling cunt twitching at the way the pressure made the pleasure more intense—hypnotic, all-consuming.

And the moment you let out those choked, gasping moans, Toji grinned like a cheshire cat.

He knew he had you.

“Ohhh, fuck yeah—there it is, mhm,” Toji murmured smoothly, placing a soft kiss on your jawline—as if he wasn’t currently scrambling your guts.

Your walls clenched around his fat length, so fucking snug, your body basically begging for more.

Mouth falling open letting out whimpers that sprang off of the thin apartment walls, eyes hazy, with furrowed brows having a mind that could hardly function as your head lolled against the wall.

The only thing you could focus on? How impossibly full you felt, every thick inch of him smothering your sweet spots.

“Shit, baby, you really are dumb for my cock, huh?”

Toji’s lips curled devilishly, ego soaring at how easily he reduced you to just this—mindless, whiney, hungry slut for him.

“Aah, y-yes, yes, yes!”

“Good answer, pretty girl.” He spat, chest looming over your smaller figure.

Body grinding up into your sweaty pelvis real slow to catch you off guard a little feeling him nudging on your throbbing clit causing you to squirm.

But that little break didn’t last for long, he was right back to slamming into your sopping hole.

“Ooh, fuck—s-slow down, s’toomuch!” you pleaded, legs trembling as another sharp stroke sent a shockwave of ecstasy straight to your core.

Your stiletto nails dug into his shoulders, scratching deep, drawing thin rivulets of blood—desperate for something, anything to hold onto.

The sting only made Toji groan, a low, thirsty sound rumbling from his chest.

“Too much? Thought you wanted some manhandlin’ sweetheart.” He mocked.

His hand left your throat solely to slap your soft tits triggering a jolt reaction in your body, eyes glued at the way they jiggled every time his cock speared into you hitting so unfathomably it made your stomach bulge.

“Can’t handle me hm?”

“I can it’s just-” You tried to argue, but your voice came out weak, wrecked, breathless—like it had run out of ink from being used too much.

Toji snickered.

“Who you foolin’ doll? Look atcha, fuckin’ destroyed for me.” His voice ridiculed, one arm wrapped under your ass, lifting you effortlessly, stepping closer to the broad black-framed mirror across his room, as he used two fingers to turn your head.

Your reflection looked absolutely torn apart.

Toji’s markings were painted all over your skin, bruises and love bites that made it painfully clear you’d need to stop by a convenience store for some heavy-duty makeup before work tomorrow.

Your pretty pussy splitting open around his thick ten-inch cock, sparkling with slick.

Your mouth fell open in pure shock, infused with just a hint of awe.

Toji smirked slyly. “Didn’t even realize how fuckin’ filthy you looked, huh?” he rasped, licking a slow stripe up the side of your neck, his sharp teeth nipping at your ear—provoking a full-body shudder.

Tiny frame looking so good blended with him, quaking, mewling, accommodating his size. Struggling, you could barely handle him, and yet, he was sure he was a perfect fit for your little cunt.

Your stomach clenched at the sight, your walls grasping around him, signaling you were close again.

Toji growled at the way you crushed him.

“Ohh fuck yeah, Y/n you like watchin’ yourself get ruined?” He cooed, vibrating his voice with lust.

His thrusts got sharper, meaner, as one of your hands slid to your lower stomach, pressing against the bulge of his ten-inches.

Melting at the feeling was honestly an understatement.

“God, you’re so deep,” you hummed, your voice thick and sultry, nearly a duplicate of aged wine.

“Yeah? You feel me right there, huh?” Toji’s almond eyes parachuted down, watching how even his curved shaft outlined inside your belly. “Bet you love bein’ stuffed like a lil’ whore.”

You eagerly nodded, your breath hitching as Toji drove into you, each ruthless snap sending blasted waves through your body.

The way he fucked you—deep, unrelenting, possessive—had your mind hazy, You could already feel it building again, that overwhelming heat coiling tight in your core, ready to burst at any moment.

The instant his thick, mushroom-shaped tip slammed against your A-spot, pleasure unfurled inside you—deep, raw, and all-consuming.

Each precise, relentless thrust sent sharp thrills of euphoria rippling through your body, the pressure working up at an unbearable pace.

Your walls fluttered around his length, as the pleasure crested violently, surging through you in frenzied, pulsing waves that left you breathless.

Your entire body tensed, every muscle seizing at once as a wave of electric desire scampered over you.

Your vision blurred, unable to focus on Toji’s face anymore, the sheer intensity washing over your senses—momentarily drowning you in the mind-numbing pleasure.

A string of blaring curses rushed out of your lips, as the climax punctured through, feeling demolishing. Fingers clenching, toes curling, your body jittering with aftershocks.

The world around you faded, leaving mainly the astounding gratification, the lingering tremors that left you stunned.

“Hahhh, oh fuck—there she goes,” Toji grunted, watching your reflection convulse, loving the way your pussy clenched down on him, gripping him so tight he pulsed inside you.

You sobbed, false lashes coming loose, tears slipping down your scorching-hot cheeks.

He didn’t slow down whatsoever.

If anything, he fucked you through your orgasm, chasing his own—dragging you along for the ride.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, hypersensitive as he kept pushing deeper, hitting that same devastating spot.

Skin slapping together rained through the entire bedroom, incapable of holding any noise back due to the immense mix of exhilaration this gave you, leaving Toji room to comment on it.

“You’re so loud, princess—y’want the whole damn building to hear us?” he scoffed, not in the mood for noise complaints later.

To solve this issue?

His pink-lips crashed against yours, swallowing your cries. The kiss was messy, drool droplets forming at the side of your mouth, a futile effort to muffle the high-pitched moans spilling into his smooth lips.

He fucked you through the overwhelming overstimulation, each deep thrust making your entire body tremble.

You were already too sensitive from previous rounds, pleasure teetering on the edge of pain, but he didn’t care—if anything, the way your walls kept suffocating him only spurred him on.

His groan was low and rough when you let out a broken, high-pitched sing-song moan, the sound shooting straight to his cock.

And with the way he was still so ridiculously hard, his length bulging against your stomach, pressing against that sensitive spot over and over?

You could barely think. A strangled whine slipped from your lips, your lashes fluttering as your vision blurred, overstimulation pulling you into a hazy, delirious state.

But Toji was right there with you.

His pace turned sloppy, thrusts losing rhythm as his control started to dissolve.

He buried his face against your skin, breath hot and heavy, panting against the shell of your ear. His grip on your waist tightened, fingers pressing into your flesh like he was trying to brand himself into you.

“Shit—gonna fuckin’ fill you up, baby. That okay?” he groaned, voice strained, desperate asking for permission.

All you could do was mumble out a frail “Yes!”

“Gonna make sure you feel me in this tummy for weeks,” he murmured, exaggerating the words, but fuck—at this point, you believed him.

Your eyes rolled back, your body going rigid as another orgasm crashed into you without warning, pleasure slamming through your veins like a lightning strike. Your walls clamped down around him so tight he nearly choked on a groan, his whole body tensing at the feeling.

That was it for him.

His hands locked onto your thighs, grip bruising as he slammed into you one final time.

His teeth sank into your shoulder, muffling his deep, wrecked moan as he came—thick, hot spurts spilling deep inside you, emptying himself like he hadn’t had sex in months.

Another pulse sent another sharp jolt of pleasure through you, making your legs shake as he fucked his release deeper, hips jerking uncontrollably with every last drop.

“Fuuuuck, fuck, fuck, Y/nnnnnnn,” he sighed, voice heavy with exhaustion and bliss.

His head fell back, eyes screwed shut, his cock still twitching inside your spent, quivering walls.

His arms tightened around you, locking you in place against his chest, making sure none of it went to waste—making sure you took all of him. You shuddered in his hold, completely wrecked, all his.

That bastard just smirked, pressing lazy kisses to your cheek.

“If I knew you were fangirling like that,” he muttered, cockiness entwined his tone, “I would’ve given you an autograph sooner, sweet thing.”

➜ ML

➜ I don't usually write rough sėx so, I hope you enjoyed 😋

➜ A rb, like, or comment is highly appreciated!!

Divider creds | enchanthings-a + hyuneskkami.

[butmakeitgayblog]

cruel intentions anon here 🥹 can u share something with us? like a small snippet or a scene you've scraped or idk just some ideas? I've read the fic twice but I fear I'm fr addicted to them 😭

Well I'll admit I don't have too much since I've started focusing on only one project at a time, but I have a bit of a oneshot that goes with this pic

Set a few weeks after the, ahem, conclusion of The Bet. Nothing smutty posted here unfortunately, but it will be. Oh it will be smutty. Clarke does not leave Lexa looking like that for no reason 😌

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You're whistling.

Honest to God, actually whistling. 

A jaunty little tune devoid of melody and structure. Nothing more than a slow sling of notes that doesn't really have any direction in particular, because the point isn't the song itself. 

It's the mood.

And that mood is… happy.

So, so fucking happy. 

Terrifyingly, unmitigatedly, euphorically fucking happy.

It's weird and you hate it, and it's embarrassing to even think about, but you wouldn't trade this feeling for anything. 

And really, who could blame you. Not when life has never been this good. All rose colored glasses and kiss-filled memories that dance like bubbly champagne around the empty space in your head.

You genuinely don't think anyone has ever been as blissful in the existence of the world as you are right now when the doors of the elevator slide open, and you swagger your exceptional ass into your penthouse's bottom floor. 

You drop your purse on the bench and toss your keys on the countertop, praying it leaves a scratch for your stepmother to have a stroke over. Just for the hell of it. You undo the clip and feel your hair untwist in tousled ringlets draped sensually across your shoulders. 

You whistle a few more notes, and contemplate grabbing something to eat, before deciding there's nothing else in the world that you need.

Because you're in love. 

And it's that love that keeps you smiling as you walk down the hall, adding an extra click in your steps just to hear the crispness reverberate off the walls you don't pay for. It's that same love that makes your heart race as you slam the antique handles down and throw open the parlor doors with a flourish, lightheaded and so goddamn euphoric you would fucking hate the chipperness for them if it were anyone else.

It's that love that makes you so stupid that you don't even bother to look around before your eyes land on her. Beautiful and formidable as she stands behind the bar. Her lips purse at the shotgun bang of the doors, but she doesn't even jump, and her control next to your chaos makes you love her even more.

“Miss me?” you burst in with a deep chested purr.

Because you're in love and you love her and you absolutely want her to know it.

You just… don't know how to fucking say it.

Not yet.

Grey-green eyes widen like a warning shot, darting from you to the corner of the room and right back again, so quickly you would've missed it if you hadn't been staring quite so hard.

“Not particularly, no,” she snips in that contemptuous drawl of hers without missing a beat, and pops the cork back on a bottle of gin that costs more than your semester's tuition. 

You, belatedly, follow her eyes to the corner of the room and see your housemaid diligently running a duster across the frame of your great-grandfather's portrait. 

Fuck.

Your heart drops right down to your asshole, but you send up a silent prayer of thanks because at least you hadn't tacked on the pet name ‘lover’ like you'd been using so much as of late. 

That's been the closest you could get.

But Sherri doesn't seem to have heard you. Or at least she doesn't pay you any mind, not having paused from her work for even a fraction of a second at your grand entrance and social faux pas.

You stand frozen, staring at Lexa still working her magic behind the bar, adding a splash of something red to a drink before taking a sip and grimacing at its taste.

She smacks her lips and shakes her head and sets the drink back down like it's personally offended her. 

You frown at the whole display because you know she's not even a gin girl.

“Sherri,” she calls in that sweet little voice she reserves for the people she actually cares if they like her. 

“Yes, Miss Lexa,” your faithful maid answers, immediately stopping to look over.

Huh.

Apparently her hearing is just fine.

Delicate fingers discreetly land on your stomach as she passes, trailing down to your hips and snagging the bottom hem of your sweater, yanking just so to send you stumbling several feet away from the door and out of the way.

“You should take the evening off,” Lexa says once she's left you off-balance in her wake. “Go enjoy life for a change.”

“Oh, I don't think—” Sherry starts but cuts off at the soft tisk from Lexa's lips. 

“No. No. Now, there is simply nothing to think about, because that was not a suggestion, my chérie.”

You smile at the lilt of her teasing. Always in awe, because for the life of you, you'll never understand how she manages to be such a condescending bitch while still sounding so innocent. So warm and pleasant. 

And to be fair, it really hadn't been a suggestion. 

You stand forgotten in the late afternoon shadows and watch as she closes in on your maid like a huntress. All sculpted calves and four inch heels. Hands tucked daintily behind her back.

“But your mother—”

“Will never know,” Lexa whispers, bringing one long, sexy finger up to press against the pout of her smile. “I can keep a secret if you can…”

Sherri sighs in her defeat and shakes her head with the fondness of an exasperated mother, and you wonder if there's anyone this girl can't charm off their feet.

Lexa preens.

“Good. Now, a little birdy told me it was your birthday this weekend.” She pauses just long enough for your maid to nod in surprise. “And, well… I guess I just couldn't help myself.”

You cross your arms and make yourself comfy by settling a shoulder against the wall. More than thrilled to just sit back and take in the show as this fucking magician pulls out a bracelet from goddamn nowhere. 

She hushes the woman's flustered coughs, ignores hands slipping through greying red hair and automatic dismissals of, “no, Miss Lexa, this is—I couldn't possibly.” She soothes it all with honeyed words of reliability and sacrifice and devotion to our comfort, all while clasping the understated but opulent chain to an overworked wrist, connected to a woman who doesn't seem to quite know what to do with herself. Nimble fingers twist and turn the apparently well-thought-out gift so it lays perfectly in place, admiring her own exquisite taste in jewelry more than anything, you already know.

You wonder when the hell she got so thoughtful. 

She ushers the woman out with a firm, guiding hand to her back, mouth tipped in a demure smile as she assures her, this is exactly what she wants. 

The parlor doors close much more gently than when you'd entered through them, and she spins gracefully on her heel, looking so fucking pleased with herself.

You hold her eyes. 

Uncross your arms.

And slowly, loudly, begin to clap.

“Well aren't you made of sugar and spice and everything nice, Miss Lexa.”

She pinches the sides of her skirt and fans them out, dipping into a mere suggestion of a curtsey.

You move as though to reach for her because it's been six hours too long since you've had your hands on that body, but her pleasantries drop away as she sends you a scowl and slips just out of reach. 

“Next time, have a touch more decorum when entering a room,” she sighs over the authoritative clack-clack of her heels. “I had just gotten that bracelet. Didn't even have a chance to wear it out yet.”

Ah.

Now that makes more sense.

Fuck, you love how good she is at thinking on her feet.

“No one told you to kiss her ass with jewelry, for fucks sake,” you mutter despite the efficacy of her brilliance because really, she always had to be so damn extra about everything. 

“It was all I had, and thanks to someone,” she says with a pointed edge, “I didn't exactly have time to figure out another distraction. And since I'm fairly certain she at least already knows we're sleeping together, I'd much rather stay in her good graces. I can handle losing a bracelet in exchange for…”

She trails off and vaguely gestures to the air between you. 

The thought alone of someone else knowing makes you want to vomit. 

You cross your arms tighter. 

“Why do you think that she knows?”

That evil fucking brow of her flits up when she looks at you like you're an idiot.

“Because you're not quiet, and she's not stupid, and half of Greenwich knows what you sound like when you come.”

You grit your teeth and wonder if it's worth reminding her who came on your fingers while loudly calling your name last night, but when she struts her perfectly bubble shaped ass back over to the bar, you ultimately decide that, no, it is in fact not worth it.

Apparently done with the minor complication of your eagerness and the conversion as a whole, she picks up the drink you'd all but forgotten and holds it out at arm's length, letting it dangle from the mere tips of her elegant fingers. 

“For you, my darling.”

You still haven't figured out exactly what she's playing at when she calls you that, because you know she is never sweet for nothing. You know there has to be a barb in there somewhere. Some sort of slight on your character or something. She shouldn't just call you ‘darling’ for no reason… But for the life of you, when she looks at you like this - like you're the only thing that matters in her broad and expansive world - you can't figure what it could possibly be.

“Gin and… cherries?” you ask when you take the glass and give a tiny sniff of the drink. 

She smiles indulgently and twists away to retake her place behind the bar, and suddenly her grimace from her sip before makes sense.

She hates sweet drinks.

Well.

Unless she's kissing the taste of them from your lips. 

“So is this what we're doing now?” You examine your drink closer. It doesn't look poisoned anyway. “It's this what we've become?”

She hums in question as she picks up a second shaker and stirs the contents. You watch her grab a martini glass and begin to pour her own crystal clear drink and, yes, that's much more her style.

You truly are fucking a master mixologist. Which you suppose is bound to happen considering she's been making drinks for one person or another since the tender age of thirteen…

“My kingdom for some context, darling,” she murmurs when you're too enamored to answer, popping an olive into her glass and taking a healthy sized pull, moaning at the taste.

You down half your bramble in one go and traipse yourself around the back of the bar.

Setting the drink down at her side, you put your empty hands to much better use. Drift your fingers across the soft dip of her back and trace her hips, holding her steady as you press in and drape yourself along the length of her.

“Acting like a vintage married couple,” you clarify in a whisper. You reach up and pull her hair aside to expose the delicious expanse of her neck, and you wonder in what lifetime you actually managed to do something good enough to deserve the way she tips her head to the side to give you more access. 

You mouth slow, wet kisses along the sensitive spot just behind her ear as she sighs, “Is that what this is?”

“You tell me, pretty girl.” You smile against her skin when she shudders at the name. “Waiting for me to come home to you. Having a drink ready. Did you make me a special little dinner to eat as well?”

And you're still getting used to this.

This thing with her you've been playing at for the last couple of weeks. This truce or whatever it is that leaves you so off balance you never know which end is up.

Because you've never had something like this. 

Because where you expect a scoff and a rebuff of your entire charade, she only presses harder into you with a sensual groan. Where you expect her to fling your hands away and shove you off of her entirely as she would have before, she merely sets down her glass, and kisses your lips, and covers your hands with her own.

"Not in your wildest dreams, my love," she whispers with an adoring grin, and kisses you deeper again.

[roomwithanopenfire]

Stats Sunday

Happy March!! Thanks for the tag @nausikaaa! Unfortunately, my goal is to make this banner worse every month, so be prepared—we've only just begun.

Early post for me. I should be sleeping but I started making my graphs and then... well, here we are.

Here's my February Recap loll. Stats and graphs and musings incoming. (this post is so long but i promise there's a snippet in here)

Rest of post is under the cut. It is long. You've been warned.

I've posted two things last month! A valentine's day fic for Ebb/Fiona and Chapter 3 of the Way We Are. (Technically i posted 3 but this stranger things oneshot was posted on the 1st and written in January so it feels like January's accomplishment)

Total words written for February: 14405 (this beats Jan by 460 words!)

Days I met my writing goal (200 words): 20

Days I didn't write or edit anything: 4

Day I wrote the most: Feb 11th with 2249 (this beats last month's high score of 1717!)

Number of Fics worked on: 10 technically, but i have not been consistent with most of them. mainly worked on 3.

Daily Average: 514 words (but like last month i am highly inconsistent and my WC varies wildy depending on the day)

(I really like the little curve in the middle. also two the days that look like zero are actually 1 words, which is my placeholder if i spend all day editing)

And here's a pie chart to show my WC distribution across projects. Tbh a lot of these were fics that i've had in my fic ideas doc and all i did was make a google doc for them and word barf onto it my ideas, that's why there's so many small slices.

some slices are so small you don't even get to know my placeholder names. also i hope the title THTHIPWGI intrigues you, i'm always excited when i can title a fic right away and refer to it by a fun accyromn on my spreadsheet.

Other notable things from February:

I finished writing all of The Way We Are!! (kind of. i have one more scene to write. Monica's fault.)

I took over the @carry-on-sapphic-week event!! Check out the prompts if you haven't yet <3

I've received So Many beautiful valentines from the CO discord servers exchange. my mailbox and my heart has been full

The CO fandom was able to raise $500 for Fandom Trumps Hate!! (and I got to make a spreadsheet bc of this!!!) (also i won two auctions from this, one for each fandom i'm in)

My car battery died and I had to get a new one :/

I started a new journal!

I finally figured out how to spell February

my savage worlds campaign finally got our ship back and made it off this stupid planet that we've been on forever.

i've started watching Yellowjackets and I'm really enjoying it

I read so many CO AU fest fics and each one of them was so good. I think i've read all except one so far, and honestly this fest has been so fun i'm obsessed with you guys, you're are so talented.

SPEAKING of CO AU fest fics, @fiend-for-culture's fic, Everything In Between, is SO good, i've been thinking about it all week. you should read it (and leave a comment so i can read it bc i'm stalking the comments on this fic and there's not enough to sate me)

i have spring break in just one week!!

Okay, i promised you words, so here's a snip from my COBB.

“And I’m sorry,” Simon says. “For what?” “Driving you off yesterday.” “That wasn’t your fault. I was being terrible.” “Yeah,” Simon agrees. “But I shouldn’t have dismissed you like that.” I make a face. “I’m not having a heart-to-heart with you, Snow.” Simon groans. “Why do you have to do that?" "What" "Everytime I think we're making progress you say something nasty like that."

sorry this post is so long, thank you for reading if you made it this far

tags, hellos, and apologies:

@alexalexinii @aristocratic-otter @argumentativeantitheticalg @artsyunderstudy @arthurkko

@beastmonstertitan @blackberrysummerblog @best--dress @bookishbroadwayandblind @bookish-bogwitch

@the-beard-of-edward-teach @brilla-brilla-estrellita @cccloudsss @ciescen @confused-bi-queer

@cutestkilla @drowninginships @facewithoutheart @emeryhall @fiend-for-culture

@hushed-chorus @iamamythologicalcreature @ileadacharmedlife @theimpossibledemon @jyae23

@larkral @lovelettersto-mars @meanjeansjeans @m1ndwinder @monbons

@noblecorgi @orange-peony @prettygoododds @raenestee @rimeswithpurple

@run-for-chamo-miles @rbkzz @shrekgogurt @simonscones @skee3000

@supercutedinosaurs @sweetronancer @talentpiper11 @toc-the-scrambled @thewholelemon

@valeffelees @youarenevertooold @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

added some new ppl to this tag list, feel free to share a wip you're working on—art, fic, etc. it does not have to stats like mine is loll. i use wipsdays as my soapbox.

[lfcforever]

Okay!! Here’s a snippet of the Lottieshauna oneshot I’m writing (little bit of subtle Jackieshauna sprinkled in as well 😉) @puppysepulchre

Word count: 4161

Truthfully, I’m almost halfway through writing this, this seems way more than a snippet, I know, but it’ll be worth it I SWEAR 😭

———————

15th August of 1995

Shauna’s ears felt like they were being assaulted with how loud the music was being played. It was Jane Smiths party, and ‘ride on time’ by black box was blaring through the living room speakers with a volume that Shauna could genuinely be convinced was to wake someone from a coma— and with the current state of the kitchen floor, Randy walsh half passed out with his head practically laying in his own stomach contents, that might just be what was happening.

It was another day of Jackie dragging Shauna out of her lair (as she so eloquently named Shauna’s bedroom) to attend yet another deafening, sweaty party where she would badger her about Jeff with an intensity so passionate it bordered on feeling faux. And, well, it wasn’t like Shauna could really weave her way out of this one (she never could anyway), the Yellowjackets had just won semi-states against Branburry high at a whopping 4-3 full time score, and it was well known by now that whenever they won a game it was tradition to get drunk off their asses on shitty gas station alcohol.

Shauna would feel bad for them if the elation she had felt scoring that winning goal hadn’t felt so much fucking better.

The adrenaline had filled her body with a vicious need to keep pushing forward. With burning calf’s and that familiar foggy feeling clouding her mind, Shauna had only one thought forcing her legs to move faster than they ever had. They needed to fucking win. So when she cut in from the left wing, entering the box, and Taissa passed the ball through two of Branburry’s startled defenders, Shauna slid forward, hooking her foot around the back of the ball and kicked it with all the strength she could muster from the inconvenient angle, slipping only just past the goalkeeper’s foot and hitting the back of the net with a satisfying swishing sound.

A lanky body had hit slid behind Shauna’s still grounded body. The force of the culprit’s body had wracked Shauna forward into the moment, and alternately out of the shock that had frozen her body into staying planted on the freshly cut grass.

She turns her head just enough to realise it was Lottie, the teams reserved rich girl who dwarfed the rest of them to an embarrassing degree. The girl adorned a wide excited grin, that Shauna herself reciprocated once she finally processed what was actually happening.

The moment doesn’t last long enough until the rest of the Yellowjackets begin to pile on top of her like a mountain of puppy’s, starting with Jackie and ending with Van— which was only because she had to run half a marathon to reach them from her place in the teams own goal at the other side of the pitch.

Doo wop by salt n’ pepa filled the locker room, alongside the girl’s botched rendition of the songs lyrics. It felt good though, that pure adrenaline after winning a game was once again present— Shauna had never taken crack, but she was sure this was as close to knowing how it felt as she’d get.

That’s how she had ended up attempting to hide away from the horde of inebriated teenagers, and the unpleasant but unfortunately familiar sight of Jeff practically sucking Jackie’s face off with the teenage boy sloppiness that he called kissing.

Shauna had a comfortable amount of alcohol in her system that she could walk straight but the usual worries assaulting her mind faded into the background and left her with nothing to focus on but the drink in her hand and the kitchen island that provided a cool relief against her back… that was until she felt a soft tap against her right shoulder- and Shauna swears to God if Randy had pulled himself up from brewing in that pile of vomit just to try flirt sigh her again-

Oh.

She was, pleasantly(?) surprised to instead be met with the pretty, kind face of Lottie matthew’s instead.

Wait.

Had Shauna ever had a one to one conversation with Lottie before?

Fuck it. She was certainly miles better than the tightly compacted room that Shauna would have to return to in hopes of avoiding an awkward conversation.

And besides, the shot of vodka that Jackie had rudely snuck into Shauna’s Malibu and milk was doing wonders for her confidence right now.

She turns her body around to face Lottie’s own, unfortunately aware of how her head has to crane back to meet the girl eye to eye.

“Hey, Lottie.”

Lottie smiles gently in response, like she knew something Shauna didn’t, which was odd considering their lack of interactions, but it was Lottie so who knew the things that floated through her head? Shauna certainly didn’t.

“Shauna.” She nods, head tilting quizzically, down at the aforementioned girl.

Shauna’s hand subconsciously rises to her own face in response, feeling around for something that was wrong “What?” She mutters “is there something on my face?”

An amused look makes its way onto Lottie’s face, her lips quirking up just that little bit further, and her eyes creasing in that endearing way Shauna had seen her do when Nat said some dumbass comment when she got high, or Laura-lee freaked out over something that was mundane to the average teen, but earth-shattering to herself.

It was a quiet change, but a change nonetheless.

Shauna found her cheeks warming under Lottie’s eye- not because Lottie was making her blush, no she was just tipsy and feeling uncomfortably warm without the kitchen islands coolness to rely on.

Yes, that was it.

Lottie shakes her head with a brief quiet chuckle, her words spoken in a way that sounded as though they were supposed to be reassuring “No, you just look a lot more relaxed with out a certain someone getting her face sucked off right now.”

At least someone agreed that whatever Jackie and Jeff were doing was an insult to what kissing is.

The thought is accompanied by a small ever present wrinkle working its way back into her brow “I’m not more comfortable” Shauna retorts, her voice switching into a defensive tone. “Jackie put vodka in my Malibu and milk, I’m mildly more relaxed.” Her arms fold over each other, shoulders bunched in a protective stance.

Lottie raises an even further amused eyebrow.

God, could she stop with that stupid, cute little fucking face-

“Malibu and milk? That’s awful.”

Shauna huffs indignantly “everyone says that without even trying to give it a chance.” The wrinkle in her brow increases, furiously.

Lottie’s arms come up in a sign of surrender, her smile tampering down into a soft apologetic expression “I’m sorry, I’ll remember to not knock it before I’ve tried next time.”

Her head dips down slightly, eyes averting from Shauna’s to the uniquely tiled floor. Lottie’s tongue slides across her lips in what looks like a nervous habit that Shauna had only just noticed- well not really, Lottie did it all the time. When coach scolded them for not pulling their weight, or the time Shauna had caught her in the midst of a conversation with her dad at one of the Yellowjackets celebratory sleepovers. It wasn’t new, Shauna had just connected the dots.

On a rare occasion Shauna takes mercy on her counterpart, this, she decides, would be one of those moments. There was just something about the cautious unsure look on Lottie’s face that had pulled something in her chest.

Or something like that, Shauna wasn’t really sure.

Her face softens, arms slumping back down to rest at her sides “it’s fine, everyone who’s tried it vomited anyway.”

The words are said so genuine and flatly that it startles a laugh out of Lottie in response. “Unfortunately, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Shauna pouts involuntarily, lips pressed together but not without a small lifted quirk to show she wasn’t actually pissed off “you said you wouldn’t knock it ‘till you tried it.”

Lottie hums “well.. then I’m sorry I lied.”

That evokes another huff out of Shauna “I’m not sure I can take your empty apologies sincerely any more.”

Lottie’s eyes fill with mirth “I would apologise again, but I’m not so sure you’d like that.”

Shauna’s eyes mirror Lottie’s own, but instead with the poor attempt to feign stoicism “good call, asshole.”

They fall into a silence, eyes locked before breaking into a small fit of giggles.

Maybe Shauna should try talking to her more-

“Shauna!”

Jackie.

Lazy arms, sling themselves over Shauna’s shoulders from behind, a tired head slumping forward onto her shoulder.

“Jeff ditched me.” She whines, her voice disappointed as usual.

This was the part where Shauna would have to console her and remind her of how she was better than him, and how everything was going to be okay, she then proceed to drive her home and hold her hair over the toilet.

Lottie clearly thinks otherwise though when she opens her mouth to intercept.

“I can drive you guys back to your places if you want.” She offers with a little shrug and kind smile.

Jackie friend, mouth opening to probably politely decline Lottie’s request.

Not faster than Shauna though, who had already twisted her torso to support the girl’s drunken weight “that would be really helpful, thanks, Lot.” The nickname rolls off her tongue naturally.

There seems a light that flicks on in Lottie’s eyes like a trigger when she says it though. That was nice, Shauna should definitely do that more. “No problem” she fishes for her car keys in her pink mini-skirts pocket- a fucking Mercedes?

Who was she kidding, this was Lottie matthews, wasn’t exactly unknown around wiskayok high of Lottie’s family’s wealth, and yet Shauna couldn’t help but be a little surprised still.

Lottie seems to notice, a sheepish look on her face “I know it’s a bit much.. one of my dads compensation gifts, you know?”

Shauna, In fact did not know how it felt to have a Mercedes in compensation. But she understood the language on shitty fathers so she reply’s with a small wry nod.

Lottie returns the Action, nodding her head in another direction instead “Let’s go, you can sit up front if you want.”

Hell fucking yeah did Shauna want to sit in the front seat of a Mercedes.

Her response is what she hopes to look like a nonchalant agreement.

She readjusts her grip on Jackie, half carrying her away until Lottie hooks her own arm around Jackie’s waist to support her weight.

“Oh you don’t have to-”

Lottie waves her off dismissively, but not unkindly “it’s fine, I’ve done this one too many times with Nat and Laura-lee anyway” she shrugs.

That was certainly an image to digest. Lottie Mathews, Natalie scartorccio and Laura-lee, somehow the most random and yet perfect trio.

Shauna appreciated the help.

——————————

Drunk Jackie was a specimen that Shauna had to take care of at most once a month, and yet not once (expect from the one time Taissa had begrudgingly- with one stern look from Van- driven them both to Jackie’s house and left just as quickly) had someone willingly offered to assist her with at least carrying her to the car.

So Lottie’s help was certainly appreciated, especially when it came to guiding the drunk girl into the backseat of her sleek, black Mercedes-Benz.

And God fucking Damn the car had seat warmers.

Shauna practically melted into the smooth black leather, looking out the tinted window to watch as Lottie entered the car and swung the door shut afterwards.

“You have seat warmers” Shauna comments, a thick layer of gratefulness in her voice.

Lottie grins slightly in response “perks of a fancy car.” She says, twisting the key into her car and the engine starts on the first try. Lucky bastard. Lottie leans back into her own seat, adjusting the car’s mirror and rolling her window down just enough to let a satisfying breeze flow through the air. She glances at Shauna as she pulls on her seatbelt “you can take full advantage of the settings.” Her grin morphs into a soft knowing smirk as she gestures to the seat warmers and collection of cassettes in her now open glove compartment.

Shauna would most definitely be doing so.

She picks up a purple cassette and lets out an approving sound, glancing back at Jackie in the back seat only to find her fast asleep and sighs, looking to Lottie instead. “Mazzy star, huh?” She presents the cassette flippantly.

Lottie nods “yeah, I like her music” her eyes fall back on Shauna again with a quirk of her lips.

The cassette is slid into the car’s player, Shauna slides her hand down to skip a couple songs until ‘blue light’ starts playing through the cars remarkably clear speakers.

Her head roll’s back to look through the window once again, fingers tapping to the rhythm on her thigh.

Lottie’s eyes linger for a moment, tracing the features of Shauna’s face, the way orange leaked gentle tones of warm orange onto her cheekbone and how her signature red flannel hung comfortably from her shoulders. Lottie’s eyes soften at the sight, a little bloom of warmth in her chest, right over where her heart lays. She diverts her attention back to the road ahead, switching the car into drive and pulling off of the curb to continue forward and turn onto Harby road.

The drive home is quiet for the most part, save for Jackie’s soft snoring from the back seats. Lottie’s car rolls to a smooth stop outside Jackie’s house, both of them retreating from the car to help the currently sleeping girl inside.

Shauna opens the back door as quietly as she can as not to jolt the girl, carefully undoing her seatbelt and shaking her shoulder gently to wake her up “Hey, Jax, we’re at your house now.”

Jackie stirs awake with a tired, stubborn groan “Leave me alone” she whines, only half awake and for the most part still inebriated.

Lottie suppresses a chuckle beside her; sharing a brief glance with Shauna as if to say ‘she won’t make this easy’ and decides to speak up “Jackie, me and Shauna can help you inside, but I don’t think you can stay in my car all night.”

That forces sone sort of acknowledgment in Jackie’s mind, eyes snapping open, taking in the her surroundings and realising she in fact was not in her bed. She sits up looking more flustered than usual, legs swinging out of the car to stand up; a little too fast, she realises when Shauna arms shoot out to steady her and a sharp aching pang shoots through her skull, and suddenly the need to vomit was present alongside her disorientation.

Shauna hooks her arm back around Jackie’s waist, using her free hand to hold her arm firmly against her shoulder’s- she was not risking a fall.

Lottie shifts on her feet, shoes peeking over the edge of the concrete curb mindlessly as she waits, Shauna’s voice interjects the silence “Do you mind waiting here?”

She moves her line of sight back up to Shauna, offering a gentle smile and nod “yeah, of course- I’ll um..” her hand comes up to scratch at her nape “I’ll wait here for you.”

Well shit that sounded kind of deep.

Shauna nods back in return “thanks again, Lot, I appreciate it.”

“No, it’s fine- honestly, it’s nothing.” Lottie waves her words off casually “It’s not like I’ve got anywhere better to be.” She chuckles.

Shauna’s eyes roll fondly in return “at home in bed is a start.”

“Yeah” her demeanour shifts slightly, shoulders sagging and hand falling back down to her side “yeah, I guess so” she releases a soft huff of a chuckle that feels tinged with something else that wasn’t there before. Something sadder.

The inside of Jackie’s house looked as pristine as usual, fortunately for both Jackie and Shauna Mrs Taylor and her husband had gone out for dinner tonight, otherwise she would be fixed with not so subtle dirty looks and more passive aggressive comments than Shauna had ever sent anyone else’s way shot right at her like a loaded rifle.

Going up the stairs was the most tricky part, with a stumbling, drunk Jackie and herself relatively tipsy there were plenty of times where Shauna was sure one of them would end up with a broken nose- or even worse, tainting Mrs Taylor’s new wallpaper.

Once they made it up the stairs, they make it to Jackie’s room where Shauna can finally let go of her extra weight to instead assist in the task of helping her change into fancy Victoria’s Secret pyjamas that were far too soft for Shauna’s own liking.

She pulls the duvet over the girl’s body, giving her a brief hug goodbye to which Jackie wasn’t so keen on— Shauna suspected from the way she was clinging to her like a limpet.

“I’ve got to go, Jackie. Lottie’s waiting for me outside.”

She’s parried with a pout that would usually effectively goad her into staying wherever Jackie wanted her, but this time was different, Lottie was helping her and the only other person who would do that was Jackie so she couldn’t give in as adorable as the little frown on her face looked.

“What about me?” Jackie whines “You care about her more now?”

Shauna sighs “you’re my best friend Jackie, you know that..” her thumb strokes the soft skin of Jackie’s cheekbone “don’t be so petulant.”

The reassurance works like magic, the pout falling off her face as fast as it had appeared “I’m not being petulant.” Jackie argues, but shifts onto her side compliantly. She looks up at Shauna for affirmation “you mean that?”

A huff of amusement is her response “yes, I mean it. Now go to sleep.” Shauna reaches into her jeans pocket, retrieving a pack of paracetamol, placing it on the bedside table “So you can’t moan when you wake up with a hangover.”

Jackie’s lips lift into a small smile “I never thought you carrying paracetamol would ever actually be helpful. You’re the best.” Her words are so soft and sincere, it tugs at Shauna’s heartstrings.

She rubs her shoulder gently then stands up “‘Night, Jax.” She turns off the bedside lamp.

“G’night.” Jackie murmurs in return, already half asleep.

Shauna spare one last look at her curled up form, taking a levelled breath before pulling the door shut carefully, walking down the steps of the Taylor’s, admittedly, pretentious manor and back to Lottie.

——————————

The passenger seat door of Lottie’s car slides shut smoothly as Shauna re-enters the car.

She buckles the seatbelt, looking over at Lottie who was already looking back.

Lottie had a way of making people feel seen that she hadn’t felt until now “what?”

The girl shakes her head, mostly to herself and shifts the car into drive “no, it’s nothing.” She spares Shauna a reassuring smile that works effectively enough that Shauna feels like she’s being hypnotised.

Only Jackie can calm Shauna.

Well, could.

A small nod of her own is used the acknowledge the words, along with a whispered “yeah, okay..”

The beginning strums of an acoustic guitar introduces ‘Fade into you’ - by Mazzy star to vibrate through the air.

I wanna hold the hand inside you.

Lottie, hums along to the rhythm, softly. Her fingers gently tapping the wheel with every beat of the drums.

I wanna take take the breath that’s true.

“This is one of my favourites by her.”

Shauna turns her head at the comment, refocusing her attention back into Lottie “yeah? I can see why.. it’s calming.”

She rewarded with a satisfied smile in return, small and soft. Like she was passing some sort of test in Lottie’s mind.

The girl in question looks in Shauna’s direction for a moment. Not long enough to mean anything.

But long enough that Shauna noticed.

I look to you and I see nothing.

The road lights are a warm fuzzy orange, worn and dull after years of lighting up wiskayok’s empty roads.

I look to you to see the truth.

A thin layer of condensation pastes the passenger sides window, the light shining through in blurry bursts of circular light, long fading rays flanking the centers vertically.

Jackie should be asleep by now, and Shauna would be responsible with being her chauffeur once again tomorrow, parked in a relatively lower running car to Lottie’s all black chic Mercedes.

But the engine ran.

And her car got them where they needed to be. Into the packed halls of Wiskayok high where Shauna would try to fade into the background and push through another straining day of classes.

You live your life, you go in shadows.

You’ll come apart, and you’ll go blind.

Shauna’s house comes into view, a big enough bungalow with her shitty, yet well loved, car parked in front of it.

Her hand comes out to gesture towards the house to Lottie “I’m right here.” She brings her hand down to rest on the door handle, eyes locked ahead.

Some kind of night into your darkness.

Colours your eyes with what’s not there.

Lottie nods, pulling over onto the sidewalk. She opens her mouth, hesitating to speak “Hey.. um.” She reaches out to grasp Shauna’s shoulder lightly, fingers curling into the fabric of her flannel.

Shauna’s eyes snap down to Lottie’s hand, before lifting them up to meet her’s.

“Do you..” Lottie’s gaze drifts off for a moment, cheeks a light pink, her demeanour sheepish “Would you like to hand out with me tomorrow- like, you know, after school?” She clarifies.

Oh.

They’d never hung out one on one together.

Yeah, sure, there had been the occasional Yellowjackets sleepover, or meeting up at the mall- but that was with everyone else, never just Lottie and Shauna.

Truthfully, Shauna had never really spent much time with anyone, outside of Jackie, not that she had it. Her friendship with the girl was something special, which in other words translated to: any and every possible breathing moment Jackie could find the excuse —or, lack thereof when she was tired— she’d be planted down by Shauna’s vanity, fiddling with whatever- quote on quote, ‘historic’ item she could scavenge and then proceed to conjure a long meaningless rant over it, that felt far too nostalgic regarding their whopping time of seventeen years on earth. It wasn’t that Shauna didn’t talk to anyone outside of Jackie, merely never put much thought into doing so. Well, why would she? They had been best friends since kindergarten, and that certainly wasn’t going to stop now.

The other thing Shauna should admit though is, albeit that was all true.. it certainly wouldn’t hurt to actually talk to another person outside of the bubble she and Jackie (seemingly) procrastinated into. Yes, it felt odd, and unfortunately awkward, but Lottie was kind from what Shauna had seen of her. From when she offered to give Nat a lift home after practice, knowing she didn’t have a car herself and would have to instead take a public bus that took a million years go actually show up, to how after every game without fail she would find a way to compliment just about every girl on their team, yes, even Allie fucking Stevens (which was a talent on its own), about how they’d played, from quick reactions, a clean slide tackle, to crossing in a smooth assist.

(Shauna still remembers the time Lottie had smiled at her after she got a red card for standing up to a pretentious, bitchy girl on St. Stephens team who had mocked Laura-Lee for her ‘lack of devotion to God’ because she didn’t go to a ‘proper catholic school’, ironic she know. She remembers the ache in her knuckles, and Lottie’s affirming smile that was sent her way, secretly, quietly.)

-With that being said.

Fuck it, why not? (Shauna could think of a million reasons why not to.)

Shauna lets her lips quirk up into a mildly amused smile in response to the girl’s awkward rambling, head jutting down in a small nod “Sure, Lot. I can meet you in reception tomorrow if you’re free?-”

Lottie cuts her off with a sharp head shake “I know where you park your car.” She waves Shauna off, cheeks reddening as she processes her own words “Well- um, what I meant was that, um.. you know, I’ve seen you-”

It’s Shauna turn to cut Lottie off this time, taking mercy more like. Her smile morphs into a barely suppressed smirk that only makes an already flustered Lottie’s face even redder “yeah, that’s good with me.”

Lottie nods, forcing herself to look back up at Shauna reluctantly, chuckling nervously at her uncharacteristically cautious demeanour “I’ll pray your head doest fall off from all of those Malibu and milks you had tonight.”

A huffed laugh and eye roll are emitted from Shauna, as she pushes the car door open and climbs out of the unusually low-raised car “fuck you too, Matthews.” Despite the words, they’re said with a smirk and fond shake of her head.

The door is shut with the prominent clack of a latch snapping back together, leaving a happily, successful Lottie Matthews behind in her comfortably heated leather car-seat and a new found warmth within her chest.

Fade into you,

I think it’s strange you never knew.

She shifts the gearstick into drive, sparing one last lingering look as Shauna disappears into the house.

I think it’s strange you never knew.

[chocsra]

if you’re ok with writing for multiple characters, could i request a platonic oneshot with chuuya and dazai x fem!reader who is apart of their “double black” (except ig it wouldn’t be double black anymore) and both mediates their arguments and instigates them? (maybe a snippet of friends to lovers between chuuya and the reader 🤭) tysm have a nice day!

"Unlit Cigarettes stained by Warm Lips"

15! Chuuya x gn! reader x 15! platonic! Dazai

A/N: ofc! yall i should keep my mouth shut bc i make too many promises i cant keep. HALLOWEEN IS SOON BTW AAAAAA

Content: stuck in a jail cell with your unfortunately idiotic subordinates, fluff, crack, mafia work, reader is MEAN, a little romance w chuuya, dazai may be ooc but i like to think that in this kinda dynamic he acts more like a normal teen, slight soukoku, smoking, lots of swearing, NOT PROOFREAD‼️‼️

"Missss.. [Y/N]s smoking."

You slap the lanky boy's shoulder harshly as you shove the cigarette box back into your sleeve, watching as your other subordinate's face contort in surprise as Dazai mockingly whines. "Ow.." he rubs his shoulder with bandaged fingers, the ginger next to him looks at you with amusement and confusion. "Where the hell did ya get that?" he asks, you sulk in annoyance from the whining bastard beside you, "Up your ass." a quiet click of the tongue from the ginger can be heard as you defy his genuine question.

Unfortunately, these two are your subordinates, your partners in criminal work, your associated murderers in the underground business. Even though Double Black is all scary and terrifiyingly violent, you thought they were a pair of funny, immature and idiotic assholes.

Dazai Osamu, a lanky, greasy boy wrapped in bandages, loved dying. Yes, he wanted to fucking die, but he doesn't. You sometimes question his skill of staying alive after that many suicide attempts, but it's alright, you suppose. The mafioso had messy brown hair and wore massive suits that did not fit him and constantly smells like dog shit. He claims he has a silver tongue with women but the only woman he 'has' is the front-desk suicide hotline lady. If somebody ever asked your opinion on him, you would answer.. "He's.. interesting."

Next is Chuuya Nakahara, a short, but strong arrogant boy who is frustratingly brutal. Veeery brutal. He's extremely competitive and takes every minor activity as a sweat-inducing challenge. Karaoke is a pain when he's screaming his ass off, simplistic cooking or baking is horrifiying because this shithead works like he's donating food to charity as if his fatass isn't going to inhale everything afterwards, and any sort of video game was devasting, any one.

He had short ginger hair and stormy azure eyes. His fashion sucked until Koyou, a fellow superior of yours knocked some sense into him. Chuuya had a rather small figure but fairly muscled. Yeah, he flexed his abs (ribs) in the mirror randomly. The boy loved fedoras, chokers and classic, fancy clothing that made girls scream 'DAMON TORRANCE 😍‼️' under his Instragram posts. If someone were to ask your opinion on him, you'd say: "He's an alright guy," with a shrug.

Some dumbass landed you three in jail for a reason you'd rather not speak of, and now you have to deal with the aftermath of waiting for your 'beloved' guardian, Mori Ougai to come bail you three out.

"Mackerel," Chuuya jabs Dazai's side, intensely glaring at him. "Why'd you get the guard's attention? I could've smoked." he hisses, causing the taller boy to snap back at him with an eyeroll. "Nah it's fine, I don't have a lighter anyway." you mediate the tension, boredly playing with the flimsy cigarette box in your hand. The redhead scoffs a little, leaning back in the concrete seat of the jailcell, impossibly manspreading further. "We could use Dazai's hot ass breath as a makeshift lighter.." Chuuya suggests with a smirk, the lanky teenager sassily scoffs, "Or rub pipsqueak's oily hair until it catches fire."

"Like- how would that make a fire?" you retort in amusement, "Have you ever been to a science class?" Dazai and Chuuya shrug in sync unshamefully,

"Was busy protectin' gangsta kids."

"Missed most of middle school 'cause of an attempt."

...

"Fair enough," you shrug back, fixing your hair. "Y'know, Boss is gonna kill us when he gets here." you add on, leaning your head against the prison wall. "I know, I'm not fuckin' prepared," Chuuya copies your movements beside you, loosely throwing an arm around your shoulder. Dazai's eyebrows knit in amusement and embarrassment at the sight, "Pipsqueak, you are NOT smooth." the ginger almost glitches as he flew away from you at those words, now chasing the brunette around the jailcell.

"'Playfighting between you guys is a fuckin' hazard, even for the mafia." you mumble, placing the unlit cigarette between your lips to feel the sensation once more. "This isn't playfighting! I'm gonna kill his ass!" Chuuya pants between missed kicks thrown at Dazai. "That's why [Y/N] thinks you give 'dog vibes'!!" the brunette retorts, bringing up a previous conversation based off you psychoanalyzing your coworkers.

"Why you!-" the smaller boy curses, flying off a wall aimed towards Dazai's head. "I'm not wrong though!!" you fling your arms up in surrender, smiling cheekily as Chuuya rolls his eyes. "After this fuckboy, you're next." You swallow thickly in slight fear. You swore you could hear walls crack and floors thump at the loud commotion, drowning out the poised footsteps towards your cell.

"Sir, are these your children?"

A kind, petite policewoman points to you three fighting like rabid animals. Mori Ougai, your tall, diabolic and terrifiying boss smiles fakely, watching his underlings fight in pure irritation.

"Unfortunately."

The tall brunette immediately halts as the ginger almost decks him in the face. Your hands stay frozen in the air as if you've been caught instigating a chicken fight.

Dude, you are so fucked.

[fanaticmorelikefantastic]

Welcome Home : Hobie x fem!reader

This is my first fic for @the-kr8tor 's Octobie event! I'm really super excited and I hope you like it :D

Synopsis: Everything sucks and then you get cat distribution systemed to Hobie.

Tags: Hobie/reader, Hobie/fem!reader, Reader is from another country, I just assumed she was american, American reader, Supposed to be in the 70's?, Just pretend it's an au if anything sounds funny about it, Hurt/comfort, wee bit of angst, crying in the rain, etc.

Note: I tried my best to write it as a hurt comfort, but I'm not sure if it turned out that way. First snippet of a series of oneshots about an American immigrant reader and Hobie! das it :)

It was a dark, but not very stormy night. London, always a gloomy one, this city was. Not that I’m any better. Through a series of events, I found myself in this here alleyway, looking for answers. Riddle me this; how does one find a man, who is a spider, who is a man? You call me, that’s how. The dame came into my office, just wanted to know who her saviour was, she said. Told me she would hand over a handsome sum of cash if I could find him. Money makes the world go round, after all. Course I agreed, I was tight-strapped this month and something had to pay that rent.

The first step to knowing about the wanted is to know about the wanter. In this case, that would be me. In reality, there was no damsel bursting into a private eye’s office, there wasn’t even a large wad of cash. Just a girl, a masked hero, and a handwritten thank-you note. 

London was nowhere near the pearly and refined city it was advertised to be, especially not in this soot stained, half muddied alleyway. As for why I was found in said alleyway, several days ago, I had gotten into some trouble with some sort of crooked cop, but before anything extraordinarily unsavory could happen, I was saved in one fell swoop by a man in some strange costume. I believe that living out of hotels was taking a toll on my mental state, and living at all was taking a toll on my wallet. So, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to find who he was and thank him. A simple thank-you, that’s all, and maybe I would ask him if he was hiring.

My search took me from one end of the city to another, and eventually into this alleyway. They called him ‘Spider-Man’ or ‘Spider-Punk.’ Strange names, but I’m not too sure what I expected of a man who runs around dressed like such. At some point in my thread of conversations and inquiries, I was led to Camden, then to this very alley. Supposedly, he shows up here often, but apparently not today. That’s fine. It’s okay. I had only started my search because I had nothing better to do; I was just taking a break by doing this. Against my will, this spot made me start to think of… everything. My moving here, my lack of a job, my lack of a  house, that awful place that I had left behind, my dwindling visa, it all seemed like too much; it all was too much. I leaned on a dusty hvac machine, back heavy with worries, listening to the quiet shrills and screams of some not-so-far away concert. The music had deep, billowing bass and a powerful guitar. It was like no other music I had heard before, and it called to me somewhat. Unfortunately, the rotten worms in my head were louder than the music right now. Barely overshadowed by the crackling of my thoughts was a low rumble curling in the clouds above. I sighed when I heard a clap of thunder. The  muffled concert in the distance began to stop playing its heavy and low tones when the mouselike droplets evolved into a storm. I hated the rain. Not all rain, just this rain; this rain that marked the demise of my journey; this rain that reminded me I was only ever stupid and naive; this rain that told me to give up, pack my bags, and go back home; that I should have never left my country in the first place; that was the rain that I despised with all my heart. This wretched rain had gotten on my face. Yes, surely, it was the rain that was ruining the makeup I worked so hard on this morning. It was ripping up that stupid letter of mine and causing me to dig my face into my hands. All of this was blamed on the rain, who was innocent of all save for soaking my hair. 

I stayed like that for a while, next to the smoother gray wall, huddled over, soaked in mostly my own misery. My own waterfalls made the rain feel like a light shower. If nowhere else, I felt allowed in this alley. That I could cry and sob and be angry and scared and cold and nobody would care because they don’t expect to see sane people in an alleyway to begin with. I most certainly do not. The tears and rain that coated my palms made them almost suction to my face, but in the midst of my dolor, I heard a voice from somewhere beside or near me.

“What’s wrong lovie?” My head dragged up from my hands after the sound of a limoncello voice hung itself in the air. After a lousy wipe of my eyes, I was able to properly see the man who cared enough about a stranger’s tears to stop and ask what they cried for. That dingy street lamp flickered its light around him like a halo. It took me a moment to register the man, his dewy chocolate skin and glossy hazelnut eyes. His face was studded with silver stars, and despite his sharp expression, he held a certain softness about him. He held a bright red umbrella, funny, he didn’t look like the type. He was a tall man for certain, craning over so he could cover me. His presence made everything stop for a moment, a still, small, and quiet recognition fell on these two strangers in this back alley of London.

“Who are you calling lovie?” My voice was like a crisp, wobbling paper. I stood up to speak with him, but by the time I was at my full height, my waterworks were, once again, in full swing. He panicked a little, holding his free hand out in the way one would to try and calm a dog you’ve never seen before.

“Woa, woa, what's the matter with you? ‘s  everything alright?” I’m not quite sure what made me do it, maybe I’ve lost my mind since coming to this place, but I stood there and sobbed out everything that happened to me during my time in London. Words, and feelings, and thoughts and actions kept spilling, tumbling, out of my mouth like bricks collapsing through the bottom of a broken forklift. That whole time, he listened, actually, truly listened to the ramblings of a stranger who he’d just met in some shady back alley while it was raining. Once again, I held the feeling that everything about him glowed. 

“Well, have you got any place to stay tonight?” He spoke very softly to me.  

“If I did, I wouldn’t be hanging around here, would I?” I shivered like a wet rat, parts of my hair stuck to the nape of my neck. He laughs through his nose before shrugging off his studded black leather jacket and placing it around my shoulders. The lining was warm. 

“Well, let’s get you washed up. You look a bloody mess.”  He gave my shoulders a light tap.

“Am I bleeding?” I tapped my face a little, checking for anything warm. He gave me a funny look in response.

“Th’ name’s Hobie by the way. Hobie Brown.” I did my best to wipe my face off before telling him my name. I reached out my hand, and he gave it a quick shake.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

I followed him around the streets like a lost puppy, clutching the coat he gave me like it was a lifeline and occasionally looking at his silent face. The pavement we passed on was glossed over with the continuing rain. We passed building after building, some separated, some connected, and others so close they might as well be. I was certainly very close to someone who could, within reason, be mistaken for a building. If I ever began to wander too close to the edge of the umbrella, a steady and gentle hand would kindly guide me back to my spot beside him. We made our way to a canal style river thing in the middle of the city. He pointed my gaze toward a houseboat floating and rolling on the water. It looked like somewhere a retired pirate would live. 

The interior was surprisingly cozy despite its somewhat bare furnishings. Various knicknacks and things nestled themselves in unassuming spots around the place. The moment I set foot in the door, I felt right at home.

“Leave your shoes at the door, ’ll take that too.” Hobie. Hobie waited for me to unlatch my shoes and stand straight before taking his coat from my shoulders. I never noticed him put the umbrella away, but it’s gone, and his shoes are neatly set to the side on a not-so-neat towel. I don’t know what to say as I watch him take my shoes and line them right next to his, so I stand in the doorway and watch him wander out of view then right back in with some dry and clean clothes. He hands them to me with both hands, so that’s the exact way I receive them as I try to unclog my throat for words to flow through. I look back up at his face. He’s waiting so patiently for me to find my words, with that same sternly soft expression.

“Thank you.” The words came out a little too quiet, so I said it again. 

“You’ve been nothing but kind to me, even though we just met and I-” My voice broke again when I started tearing up. 

“Oh no, no, come on, love. You on’t have to cry.” Quickly, He thumbed away my budding tears, his palms warm on my face.

“I know, but I’m just- I’m so grateful, you know?” He did. He knew. I could see it in his shining gray eyes that he knew. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have waited for me to stop my crying. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have wiped away every stray tear himself. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have been so quick to open his home to me. If he didn’t, he would have never lent me that coat of his. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have handed me these clothes that I’m holding.

Once I got myself together, I was directed to the bathroom. Surprisingly, (according to him), there was warm water to shower with, and I did so happily. When I stepped into the living room I felt like I had on brand new skin. Hobie had the stove on and open while he stirred some milk into a second cup of tea. He turned around before I could even properly enter the kitchenette, as though he already knew that I was there. 

“Feelin’ better yet?” He handed me the cup he was holding with a smile, a deep and pretty blue. I held it and relished in the warmth of the cup from both his hands and the tea. 

“Wasn’t sure if you liked sugar, so I didn’t add any.” I wanted to cry again. He was overwhelming in all the best ways possible, but I had already put him through enough of my tears tonight, so I sucked them back in.

“I don’t” I smiled at him before taking a sip of what could very well be the best tea of my life. 

“If ‘s not uncomfortable, you could stay ‘ere till you get your own base of operation.” He was leaning on the counter, index tracing the edge of his own cup while speaking. Instead of this tea, I wish I could drink the color of his eyes as they’re looking at me. I'm suddenly smiling a lot right now.

"I will, if you'll have me."

[voidoffline]

Dear fellow missclick fanfic enjoyers,

I am currently writing a decently long oneshot. I know not what the final word count will be, all I know is it’s currently 25k words long and I am not here near finished.

I have had au ideas before involving these two disaster gays. I have spoken about them here on tumblr. But I realized I haven’t yet talked much about it here. I’ve mentioned and talked about it on discord servers, to an irl friend who isn’t into the qsmp yet has access to the doc as I write it. But I haven’t told others! And I think that’s a shame. I love when people talk about their aus, whether or not they’re out yet. So Imma talk a little bit about it here! Under the cut;

-Sincerely, someone who has ruined their sleep schedule to write

—————

Okay!! Here’s the original summary I wrote;

‘ Au where Mariana is the devil and Charlie summoned her to try and get her to kill him, but instead, she spends her time trying to convince Charlie to not die ’

And now what I will probably put as the summary for when I post this fic on ao3;

‘ The devil is real.

And he isn’t some little red man with horns and a tail.

He can be beautiful…

Because he’s a fallen angel, and he used to be god's favorite.

And now he’s in Charlie’s living room demanding that he make him a sandwich, meanwhile Charlie just wants to die. ’

So the premise of this fic is that it’s a modern day au where demons and angels exist. Charlie is really fucking sad, and believes in god. He believes himself to be a horrible person, but after speaking to so many others asking if he’ll go to hell - everyone always tries to convince him he won’t. And ‘unfortunately’ for Charlie, that sows enough doubt into his self-hatred, that he decides there’s only one other way to assure he goes to hell when he dies without needlessly harming others.

He summons a demon.

Mariana, a demon/devil who’s also a fallen angel, does not want to kill Charlie. So he invades the mortals house with a deal; He will kill Charlie, if Charlie lets him stay on Earth as a sort of vacation. And when he leaves to go back to hell, he will drag Charlie’s soul down with him

It’ll all be in Charlie’s pov and it will have a happy ending!

It will be a pretty fucking heavy fic though. Fluff and angst as Charlie’s mental state is a horrendous one. Causing him to have delusions, hallucinations, nightmares that blend into reality, and serious fucking dissociation at times. Very much derailization of the mind

The name of this fic is called “What do you do if the devil doesn’t want to kill you?”

I also actually have a Spotify playlist made based on this AU called ‘What to do if the devil doesn’t kill you’

Here on tumblr I’ll probably tag this as…… hm I came ill prepared. ‘Devil doesn’t au’ yeah sure that’s stupid but I can’t come up with anything better.

Lastly! If you have any questions about this au or wanna see lil snippets, you can send me an ask right here on tumblr or just in the replies or reblogs of this post. That’s all! Hope you guys will like this au when it comes out. I know all of us missclick duo enjoyers are typically starving lmao

[midnight-mourning]

Aaaa you did so great on all the Valentine’s Day prompts! 🖤✨✨ Are you planning on doing them again for Easter? Only if you have time of course ☺️

Awwww thank you!!!!

I don't think I will be unfortunately, way too many other things on my plate atm with writing and also life in general 😅

But! I have several shorter things planned, multiple of which can be considered spring-time coded, so I'll count them in that category lol

a snippet of the wips I have coming up to give an idea of what's next (before mer may that is)

it's evil because it haunts me daily alksjdfljasld

holiday spirit is my focus atm, then I'll be picking from the list from there right now in my mind the order will go something like:

holiday spirit

yeti sun drabble

gardener & valentine's mixed together

off oneshot

to the bone

fairytale drabble

cult au

but i may very well change what i'm thining by the time i get there asldjflkas

these are all intended to be shorter one-shots and drabbles (besides holiday spirit that is) that'll hopefully by 3000 words or less

thanks for the ask!

[amethystina]

Hi ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

I hope you are doing well and feeling better ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

I would like to ask the following questions from the Fan Fic Writer Asks that you recently relogged:

7. How many ideas for fics do you have right now?

8. What project(s) are you currently working on?

19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs.

22. Do you know how your fic will end before you start writing?

25. Have you ever upset yourself with your own writing?

I apologize for being greedy 😅

May you have a happy new year ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Hi there! I'm exhausted and a little wonky, admittedly, but I'm hanging in there 😊

7. How many ideas for fics do you have right now?

Please don't ask me that 🤣 I have so many. Like, WIPs are one thing, but ideas? I literally can't count them because they keep slithering around at the back of my mind, steadily growing or, sometimes, fading in favour of other ideas.

But, if I'm to give a rough estimate, I'd say I have around 70 ideas percolating away right now. Not at the same time or with the same intensity, but there are a lot of them. Though, to be fair, very few of them will ever see the light of day because I can usually tell when an idea is worth writing or not and therefore try not to entertain them all. But that doesn't automatically mean that they leave me alone, you know? So I have to carry them around for however long it takes before they fade.

Which, I shit you not, can be years.

My ideas are as stubborn as I am, in other words.

8. What project(s) are you currently working on?

While I have a lot of WIPs, I would say that I'm currently working on three projects with a bit more vigour. And those are:

Who Holds the Devil - Does this even need an introduction at this point? The long-as-fuck Devil Judge fanfic that won't leave me — or anyone else — alone. I love it. But god knows when it'll be finished. I'm hoping to be able to post a new chapter in a not-too-distant future.

A New Dawn (Begins With Us) - A Black Knight fic I'm hoping to finish during 2025 because there are only four chapters left and that's, like, 40k. I can bang that out in two weeks if I am at the top of my game. Unfortunately, I'm not at the top of my game, but still. It's doable and I'm going to do it.

Will You Tell (If They Ask About Me) - A Losers oneshot that I dug up from the WIP graveyard because I really like it and I miss Cougar and Jensen. Should hopefully not be too difficult to finish.

19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs.

Here's a snippet from the aforementioned Losers fic Will You Tell (If They Ask About Me). I don't know if there's an actual audience for it anymore, but I'm just really excited about it so yeah. That's what you're getting 😆

___

Jake exhaled and closed his eyes. He felt pleasantly lethargic, tired, and perhaps a little sore, but blissfully happy all the same. Lying there in Carlos's bed, listening to him breathe, was a much better end to his night than Jake had dared hope for. He was definitely going to appreciate it to the fullest.

"Let me know when you're ready to go again," Jake mumbled. "It might cost me the last couple of brain cells I have left, but I want a repeat performance."

The laugh that bubbled out of Carlos was both fond and a little startled, as if he hadn't expected to laugh but was too endeared not to. His hand wandered from Jake's shoulder, burying in his hair instead, and Jake eagerly raised his head when Carlos twisted to give him a deep, enthusiastic kiss.

"You are—"

"Insatiable?" Jake suggested, grinning against Carlos's lips.

Carlos smiled, too, his other hand rising to run reverently along Jake's jaw. Without his permission, Jake felt his heart skip a beat.

"Wonderful." It looked like Carlos meant it. "Absolutely wonderful."

22. Do you know how your fic will end before you start writing?

Nine times out of ten, yes. I don't always know the journey there or the exact details of the ending, but I always know what point I want to reach before I start. That said, I'm not against certain things changing as I go along and, more than once, I've tweaked the events of the ending because I ended up exploring something in the middle that I then had to tie into the ending.

So while I know the general idea of what I want, I keep it loose enough that I can change it as I go along. I would feel too hindered if I didn't. The one time I did try to plan it in detail to the very end was my first fanfic The Thunder Moon Chronicles because that's what I was told that I should do. But I found that around 60% of the last instalment had to be altered compared to my original plan, simply because the story had evolved in a way I couldn't predict when I first structured it.

That's not to say that I ever lost track or control of it — I am very much in control the entire time I write — but rather that new and better ideas kept popping up as I was writing it and I wasn't stupid enough to discard them just because they weren't in my original plan. Sometimes, the story just has to be allowed to evolve, otherwise it might feel stilted or stagnate (or at least that's the case for me).

25. Have you ever upset yourself with your own writing?

Oh, for sure. I've almost written myself straight into a panic attack a couple of times because I get so into it. I have a tendency to try and picture the emotions myself as I write them in order to better convey them and that can get a bit risky — especially with panic attacks. I've had them since I was fifteen so they're easy for me to trip into on accident.

I have also cried once or twice when I write because I, again, sink into the emotions a little too much. But it is, in all honesty, surprisingly rare considering how emotional some of my fics are. But that could be because I don't cry easily.

The most memorable occurrence by far, however, is Until Death Do Us Unite, especially the yet-unwritten bonus chapter. Because Jong Woo is so unstable, I become a little unstable when I write him or ponder his emotions too much. If I try to imagine how detached and unmoored he must feel when he's having his episodes, I end up feeling very unmoored myself. So I'm currently not allowed to think too much about it because it's so distressing 🤣

But if we mean upset as in "angry at my writing" or "upset it doesn't go my way" or even "I'm so upset with these characters" then no, not really. I can get annoyed if I have to do rewrites and certainly be displeased about the actions of some characters, but the writing process itself doesn't upset me.

Thank you so much for the ask! And it's okay to be greedy, don't worry 😉

Happy New Year to you too! 💜

Fanfic Writer Asks

[thedaythatwas]

How to be Alone

Summary: Goro Akechi has 30 days to vacate his apartment. If only moving on were half as easy as moving out.

CW: alcohol, emetophobia, run-of-the-mill violent thoughts from Akechi, and more repression than you could possibly fathom

This is just a little snippet of a post-canon Akechi character study I've been working on! I want to share it here on tumblr as a standalone oneshot. Please don't expect any tension to be resolved <333 because that's not happening here <333

Big thank you to my lovely betas, lambsear (ao3), @cardiganbear, and @cloudysonder. Another massive thanks to @chaoticconstellation – thank you for all of the inspo and motivation (and for making me aware that apartments that evil-looking exist!)

House Hunting (or, I'm not hung up on you anymore, but here's why I hung up)

Shopping for apartments online was hell.

Akechi was no stranger to feelings of mind-numbing rage. Even so, there was something about the website he was using to search for a new living space that made him particularly angry, even by his own standards. His cursor drifted across its screen, its interface lagged, and despite his perfect internet connection, it seemed as though every thirty seconds the damn thing refreshed itself. 

Akechi wasn’t sure where exactly he was looking to live; his requirements for a new place were the vague but apt key terms, ‘Tokyo,’ ‘cheap,’ and ‘studio.’ Unfortunately, his criteria seemed to be mutually exclusive. A room of his own would cost an arm and a leg; a room with a roommate or two would take a doable (albeit still exorbitant) chunk from his savings. It was tragic, really, that Akechi would be at risk of causing grievous bodily harm to himself and others if he were forced to share a living space. Forking over cash he didn’t have was quite literally his only option. 

Akechi might have been able to search out some middle ground between striking gold beneath the streets of Kichijoji and committing another homicide if he had the luxury of time to plan his move. He had always been scrappy, even if he was seldom lucky. 

Time, however, was something that Akechi didn’t have. That, of course, had to do with the circumstances that had pushed him to bearing the indignities of online apartment hunting in the first place.

On February 3rd, Akechi had woken up in his bed. This was strange for a number of reasons. One: he didn’t make a habit of waking up when his bedside clock brightly proclaimed it to be 8:37pm. 

Two: Goro Akechi was supposed to be dead. 

And, joy of all joys, he was not. Upon registering this unfortunate new development in the saga of misfortunes that was his existence, Akechi had rolled over, buried his head in his pillow, and screamed. When soreness in his throat informed him that screaming was no longer a viable way to spend his time, he had walked to his near-empty kitchen and grabbed the frilly bottle of expensive single malt scotch that Shido had given him the day he had reported to his office to confirm Wakaba Ishikki’s death.

Akechi had been saving the bottle for the day he won.

Well. Cheers to that one. 

He had sat down on the linoleum tile floor and taken a large swig out of the bottle. Presumably, he’d repeated the act a number of times, because the next morning he’d woken up in his bed – again, ironically, with no memory of how he’d arrived there – and promptly thrown up on himself. 

He’d tossed his unlucky shirt in the garbage, along with the bottle he’d found lying knocked over and bone dry on the kitchen floor. He really had always hated it.

After spending several days lying in his bed, only leaving it to periodically feed himself one of the instant ramen packets he stockpiled in the one cabinet in his kitchen he actively used, Akechi had washed his sheets and moved on.

What else could he do?

He had contacted Sae Niijima first, because while he had been spending several days laying horizontal in a dark room, adding an abstract collage of broth splatters to his sweatpants and trying to convince himself that any of his recent decisions actually mattered, Akira Kurusu was probably behind bars giving testimony that would damn Shido and potentially put himself away for good in the process. 

And like hell was he going to let Joker one-up him by rotting away in jail while Akechi – clearly, the most deserving party in this scenario on both counts – walked free.

As soon as he’d heard the click of his phone connecting to Sae’s, Akechi had come in guns blazing announcing his intent to march down to the police station and confess to everything he’d done. He would gladly go down with Shido’s ship if it meant he could anchor him well and truly to rock bottom. 

The elder Niijima sister had rolled shockingly well with Akechi’s punches. After expressing mild surprise that he was alive, Sae had efficiently talked him off his ledge.

“Do you want Shido to be locked away for life? If your answer is yes, I suggest you stay well away from my case. I have a strategy, and it will be much less effective if I have to account for the testimony of a magical teenage assassin confessing to cognitively killing some of Japan’s most powerful men just as they’ve begun to take me seriously.” 

Akechi had never answered her question, because Akechi didn’t want Shido to be locked away. Not like this, anyway. What he had wanted hadn’t involved Kurusu, and yet, here Kurusu was in the center of it all, robbing Akechi of his chance to make Shido’s fall really hurt. 

Still, Akechi had come to terms with the fact that what he wanted and what he would get were two very different things in regards to the fate of Masayoshi Shido, and to this brave new world where Akechi was meant to be long dead. 

What he had done was take a deep breath, swallow down his very reasonable retorts – he had at least five – and ask about Kurusu. 

His inquiry was fruitful, if aggravating. Akechi hadn’t been naive enough to expect that any update on Kurusu wouldn’t be aggravating. 

Per Sae, it wouldn’t be long until Kurusu was released from juvenile detention (implied: so long as Akechi didn’t butt in). Apparently, his extended posse had banded together, and Sae doubted it would be more than a few weeks before he was out. He was actually on track to have his criminal record completely overturned.

Kurusu was relying on the power of friendship to not only avoid a life sentence, but to completely exonerate himself from the year he had spent galavanting around the Metaverse, stealing hearts and minds and Akechi’s life’s work, too. One might say that Akechi was less than enthused. Mostly, because he was near certain that using the force of true love to outrun his mistakes would actually work for Kurusu, because he was Kurusu, and of fucking course it could.

He hadn’t told Sae as much, but he sensed she’d intuited his frustration from his chorus of ‘...I see,’ ‘...I see,’ ‘...I see,’  through the phone, each repetition darker than the last. 

With that sorted, Akechi had told Sae in no uncertain terms that she was not to tell Kurusu or any of the other Phantom Thieves that he was alive under any circumstances. She said that she would respect his wishes. She hadn’t asked any follow up questions. It was a refreshing change of pace from the back and forth that talking to the rest of Kurusu’s loyal followers always seemed to entail.

Then again, this was Sae. She had been a fixture in his life long before she had become a mainstay in Kurusu’s.

That little detail out of the way, Akechi had been prepared to hang up. Before he could, Sae had invited him to coffee. Bewildered, Akechi had accepted.

“You are aware, I presume, that I’ve killed more people than the number of cases you’ve litigated over the course of your entire career, aren’t you?” Akechi had said as soon as he had slid into the stiffly upholstered booth across from Sae at the too cold, overly gray café where they had agreed to meet the following day. “Including among them Wakaba Isshiki and Kunikazu Okumura.”

Sae had pulled her credit card out of her sleek handbag and rapped it on the table between them.

“I am. Could you give me your order Akechi-kun? Drinks are on me today.”

Akechi had ordered a black drip coffee – far from the best he’d ever had – and the two of them had talked about his future, not his past. 

Sae told Akechi that she would be willing to hire him as a personal assistant. She couldn’t swing him a position interning in the public prosecutor’s office; it went without saying that Akechi ought to stay as far away as possible from any branch of law enforcement for the foreseeable future. Sure, very few people recognized him nowadays – the demiurge had fallen and taken Shido’s influence with it, and Akechi had been out of the public eye for a sufficient number of news cycles for even his most avid fans to lose interest – but it seemed unwise to tempt fate. 

They both knew that most of Shido’s conspiracy was still at large. As repentant as their former leader was, his sentiments were not widely shared. Shido had done more damage than a single change of heart could fix. 

All this to say, Akechi would be keeping a low profile. Not that he would have acted otherwise, regardless of who might want him imprisoned, or who might want him dead.

Akechi was, quite frankly, tired.

His employment would hinge on agreeing to take his high school equivalency and college entrance exams before the next university matriculation cycle. Akechi had, more or less, finished his final year of high school. Unfortunately, the less in that statement meant that he had never actually graduated. Still, he could easily pass a high school equivalency exam – an inconvenience, but a bureaucratic necessity, and hardly an insurmountable one. Before his life had gone to shit, he had been on track to get top marks on his entrance exams. It wouldn’t be difficult to keep himself versed in the material he needed to know in order to pass with flying colors.

He didn’t have strong feelings for or against Sae’s vision for his future. Akechi had been slated to die long before he had shot shut the bulkhead door on his father’s ship. He had gone to cram school because it was what the detective prince was supposed to do, and he had excelled at it because the world had told him that he couldn’t. He wasn’t like Makoto Niijima, with her good marks and bright future. 

Sae would pay him for doing this, though. More, she had that earnest look in her eyes behind the stoic contours of her face that suggested she really thought she was doing what was best for him. 

Akechi had agreed to her terms. 

Besides, he’d always been told that college wasn’t in the cards for him. The idea of proving those people wrong lit something up inside him that he hadn’t realized had been smothered until then.

Akechi would work for Sae on weekdays and study on weekends. She would check in with him once a week to confirm that he was indeed making progress on his personal studies and to assign him new memos and forms to copy edit. So long as he was on track, she would pay him another week.

It had all sounded so easy. Too easy. Akechi needed to ask.

“Why?”

Sae had taken a long sip of her cappuccino. “Why what?” 

“You know what.” Akechi had crossed his arms, his mouth drawn in a hard line, “Why this?”

Sae had set her cup down onto her saucer without so much as an audible clink. “Is it really so difficult to believe that I’d want to help you?”

“You pity me.” He’d said it like a fact, because it was a fact, and he didn’t take kindly to it. 

Sae hadn’t looked surprised to hear Akechi’s words. She raised her eyebrows.

“No, I don’t. And I’m not absolving you, either. You made choices that hurt people, and you need to face consequences for that. But, Akechi-kun…” 

Sae paused, as if weighing her next words on her tongue. “Goro. You were sixteen.”

Akechi didn’t know which part of her addendum offended him most: Sae’s use of his given name – he’d bristled, he couldn’t remember how long it had been since someone had been presumptuous enough to call him Goro – or her implication that he hadn’t known exactly what he was doing back when he first approached Shido. 

She hadn’t seen how proud he had been when Shido handed him his first pistol. She hadn’t been there each time he’d pulled its trigger. Akechi had stopped feeling anything about his hits after he’d downed a handful of targets. Through it all, he’d never felt remorse. He’d even smiled, the first time.

That smile hadn’t lasted, of course. It had fallen right along with Ishikki. Still, everyone knows that it’s your first reaction to a thing that really counts. 

Her eyes on his were resolute, as if she were daring him to object. She wasn’t budging. 

Sae had sounded awfully confident for someone who had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

Akechi remembered their long days at the police station and the late night dinners Sae would treat him to after, when he’d watch as she scarfed down cheap conveyor belt sushi and let her dignified mask slip like the rice that fell from her chopsticks to her perfectly starched dress shirt. He remembered their constant shop-talk that always seemed to border on something more personal. 

Sae knew what it was like to prove yourself in a world that wanted to see you fail. He remembered watching her come undone in October, how he almost felt bad as he watched her slip further away from her sister, and from him.

Gripping his mug hard enough to put its handle in peril, Akechi had bitten back the urge to inform Sae that he was eighteen years old now, and had done very bad things continuously from age sixteen through now, thank you very much. He was suddenly aware of exactly how juvenile it would sound if he did.

He decided that Sae could call him what she wanted. ‘Goro’ didn’t feel wrong, he supposed. It just felt new.

She was wrong about him, but he had let her continue without correction. 

“You did things that were unforgivable. What our system did to you was unforgivable.” She took a sip of her cappuccino. The action was smug, somehow, like she knew just how much she’d gotten away with when Akechi kept his silence. At least she was self-aware. “Masayoshi Shido is being brought to justice, and Kurusu-kun isn’t facing anything that he can’t handle. This will be over soon.” 

Akechi could hardly believe that. While he had faith in Sae’s legal prowess, Shido was just one head of a veritable hydra of corruption and intrigue. Rooting out his conspiracy would air out Japan’s dirty laundry in a way that he doubted the powerful men who soiled it would permit. It would be dangerous business to try.

He couldn’t fathom that Shido was a problem that had an imminent expiration date. He was supposed to be Akechi’s Gordian knot. Shido was his arms race, his mutually assured destruction. Unraveling him couldn’t possibly be so simple, and it couldn’t possibly be done without Akechi. 

Could it?

Where the hell did that leave him?

Of course, Sae’s words were meant to be encouraging, even if Akechi could actively feel his vision tunneling and his pulse jackhammering up. He clamped that feeling down and shoved it somewhere to sort through later – or never – as Sae pushed on.

“I want you to move forward. I don’t see any reason for you not to. That’s where you’ll find justice.”

It all sounded so scripted. Akechi wondered how many times she had practiced her little speech in the mirror after she’d drafted it on her legal pad. He knew it was her standard practice for high stakes days in court. Sae never let slip that she was nervous, but that didn’t mean she never was. 

While Akechi was almost flattered that she considered him worth a rehearsal or two, her dedication had been proving to be rather inconvenient that day. A Sae who had decided she needed to win seldom lost. The Phantom Thieves had helped her reorient her sense of justice towards good ends, but there was no version of Sae who wasn’t as stubborn as the one they’d encountered in her casino.

Fortunately, so was Akechi. 

“I’ve earned execution ten times over.” 

He barely managed to keep his words level as he forced them out. It was vexing that he needed to remind the woman sitting across from him – a public prosecutor with one of the most gleaming case records Tokyo had seen in recent memory – that per the word of her own law, he deserved to die. 

She tucked a wayward strand of hair neatly behind her ear and clasped her hands together on the tabletop between them.

“And I’m telling you that executing you doesn’t help anyone,” she hadn’t raised her voice, but Akechi could hear it harden with authority, “Learn to be a better person. You still have plenty of time to grow. Don’t forfeit this opportunity that you’ve been given to do that.”

He scoffed. “And if I can’t?”

“Then don’t. But I think you can.” 

She had said it without hesitation, like she really believed it. At that realization, Akechi let out a laugh that bordered on a snort, the kind he never would have allowed to slip through his throat when Sae had known him as someone else.

“You’re all insane.”

She hadn’t seemed surprised by his outburst as she took a long drink from her cup. As she swallowed, clearly unperturbed, Akechi found himself wondering if he’d given her too little credit, or himself too much. Probably both.

Sae’s lip quirked up. “Maybe. But I’ve realized that you need to be a little insane to believe you can see the world change for the better. Your teammates helped me learn that.”

Akechi’s hackles raised. “They are not my teammates.”

“Oh really?” She set her cup down onto her saucer, “I think Kurusu-kun would disagree.” 

That half-smile of hers persisted, like she thought she knew something he didn’t. “You know, he asked about you earlier this week. He seemed riled up. I think he would want to know that you’re alive.”

It didn’t even take eyes to notice Akira Kurusu’s bleeding-heart obsession with who he thought Akechi was. It practically radiated off of him in waves you could touch, like he was some sort of sad magnet for homicidal lost causes. Sae wasn’t telling Akechi anything he couldn’t have reasonably inferred, knowing what he did about Kurusu. 

If Sae said that Kurusu was ‘riled up,’ he knew that Kurusu must have been near hysterics. Well, per the yardstick of Kurusu’s typical emoting capacity. He could envision the way Kurusu’s lips had probably gotten all drawn, the way they tended to when he tried to hide that he was feeling more than he let on. 

Kurusu didn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve, but he wasn’t impossible to read if you knew what you were looking to find. His brow had probably furrowed, his fists had probably clenched, and his eyes had probably gone just short of misty. 

Akechi wasn’t sure how he felt about that mental image.

“Well, we can’t always get what we want, now can we?”

“I understand, Goro,” Sae stared him dead in the eye as she said his given name, leaving Akechi no option but to immediately take a good long drink of burnt coffee from his mug. “But consider it for me, won’t you? I don’t think that it would be a bad idea for you to build a support network for yourself.”

 Akechi cursed to himself. He should have known that she wouldn’t let this topic lie so easily.

Akechi grit his teeth. “I don’t think Sakura or Okumura would take kindly to seeing me.”

“Then don’t see them.” She said it matter of fact, like it was that easy. “But, for the record, I think that Kurusu-kun would.”

Of course Kurusu would. Even a child who couldn’t add two and two could piece together that Akira Kurusu would probably lop off a limb to have been in that booth with them that day. The idiot had wished Akechi back into existence and into his life, and he would again if he could.

That was why he couldn’t know that Akechi was alive. 

Well, it accounted for half the issue.

The other half rested on the fact that Kurusu had been the first thing to cross Akechi’s mind in that half second that passed between realizing he was alive and resolving to scream about it. He hadn’t had the decency to fully leave Akechi’s thoughts ever since, with the exception of the several hours he had spent blackout drunk. 

Somehow, that last bit was less than reassuring. 

Even worse, none of it was exactly new. 

The long and short of it was that Akechi needed to get himself clean, and he couldn’t very well do that if Kurusu came chasing after him. 

And so, he made his words as sharp as he could muster. “I think that Kurusu-kun should get a grip and realize that I very sincerely tried to murder him.”

Sae stared him down. He was under no illusions – this was an interrogation. It was a surprise when her gaze softened. 

She hummed. “Do you regret it?”

And wasn’t that a loaded question? 

He regretted that it had all amounted to nothing. He regretted that Shido had played him for a fool, and that on the evening of November 20th, he’d gone home and damn near cracked open his bottle of Shido revenge scotch. He regretted that at some catastrophic point in the past year, besting Joker had become something bigger than besting his father, and that just as soon as Akechi had thought he’d managed it, the metal on metal scent of blood splattering onto the interrogation room’s table from Kurusu’s too-blank face became something he needed to forget. 

Of course, he also regretted that he’d been tricked, and that he’d wasted several nights wide awake thinking about the way Kurusu had looked at him that night in the bathhouse, sweat on his brow and droplets of steam condensed on his irritatingly long lashes, like he had really wanted to be there with him, listening. 

His brief brush with insomnia had cost Akechi twelve dollars in drugstore coffee, five dollars in sugar-free energy drinks, and at least three years of his life, if you accounted for the carcinogens that made up the latter. Akechi did.

At least he’d saved that bottle of scotch. It had gone to waste anyway, but it was more about the principle of the thing.

But he couldn’t very well explain any of that to Sae. So, Akechi had lied.

“No.”

“I see.” If Sae was disappointed in his answer, she didn’t show it. She gave him a nod, drummed her fingers on the table, and checked her watch. “Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll keep your existence to myself until you tell me to do otherwise.”

Sae had swallowed down the last of her drink, and that was that.

Since that day, his life had gone on. He spent his weekdays looking over Sae’s contracts and his weekends grinding out practice problems from study books. Sometimes he would work in his apartment. He’d draw open the blinds and spread his papers across his bed – he had a desk, but it was cramped, his chair was stiff, and he’d never really brought himself around to using the space as it was meant to be used. 

Other days, Akechi camped out in cafés around the city. He operated under the assumption that any place that had the audacity to charge 700 yen for a barely passable latte must have presumed he would use said latte as an all-day pass to free wifi and a climate controlled workspace. Akechi felt vindicated in taking full advantage.

He found that the more tasks he had to fill his time, the less liable his mind was to wander. 

Not that it was always easy. It had been hardest at first, when more mornings than not the was filled with the urge to lay under his comforter and rot through the day. He’d learned quickly that when that urge struck, it was best to call Sae and pick up an extra stack of whatever she could push off on him before her work day started. He would chip away at it during the daylight hours and catch up with his other tasks at night, a can of cold brew in one hand and a highlighter in the other. 

He never slipped behind Sae’s expectations for him, because he was Goro Akechi, and he didn’t let himself lose if he could help it. Still, it wasn’t lost on him that he wasn’t supposed to be alive. Sue him if that got to him once in a while. 

He hadn’t planned for any of this, and if he did anything besides move straight through it all, the shiny paint of productivity he’d slapped over his unplanned extension pack to living would slide right off. It would become obvious that there was little holding his life together besides spite, busywork, and a lawyer who had willfully decided she wouldn’t let him quit as her part-timer, or as anything else. 

Thinking about that never did him any good, so he didn’t. Fortunately, Akechi was no stranger to doing what needed to be done first and wondering how on earth he had managed it after the fact. 

Now, he needed to move forward. So he did.

That wasn’t to say his strategy always worked. 

It tended to happen late at night, when Akechi didn’t have the energy to stop his thoughts from drifting to the subjects his wiser, more conscious self refused to engage. 

Typically, that meant Joker. No. It always meant Joker. Shido, too, but it was infuriating, really, how even those thoughts tended to meander back around to Joker, too. 

As Akechi had taken his post-hibernation shower months ago, his sheets in the wash and grease sloughing from his hair in the suds of overpriced shampoo, Akechi had come to a number of resolute conclusions about the state of his life. Namely, if he was going to continue to live it, he had a few non-negotiables.

To start, he would keep a wide berth from any news outlets covering the Shido trial – he was sure there would be more than a few. He’d find a way to get his hands on another, cheaper bottle of something high-proof. He would learn to use one kitchen appliance besides the microwave. The oven, maybe.

And, of course, he would keep himself far, far away from Akira Kurusu.

Akechi would have liked to think that his thoughts always seemed to land on Kurusu out of force of habit. After all, he’d spent months tracking his every move. He’d never quite learned to think like Kurusu – he doubted that anyone could – but Akechi certainly knew the timetables of the trains he took to get around town, the names of his managers at each of his (many) part-time jobs, and which vending machines he preferred to get his snacks from. 

Had he strictly needed to collect so much information on the leader of the Phantom Thieves in the name of reconnaissance? Perhaps not. It wasn’t as though knowing that Kurusu routinely arrived at his station around three minutes before his scheduled train would actually give him an edge in battle. 

(Akechi of the past had tried to posture that it might, but Akechi of the past was an idiot, and Akechi of the present could admit that.)

He had never been one to half-ass, though, and Kurusu had always been so interesting. His calendar protested his reprioritization, but there was nothing new or surprising about that. The detective prince’s life had been a scheduling impossibility, and Akechi had managed regardless. More than managed, really.

Tragically, ‘reconnaissance’ couldn’t account for the way Akechi’s vision tunneled around Kurusu. It couldn’t explain away the thoughts Kurusu always managed to coax out of his head and into speech. 

So, no. Akechi wasn’t stupid enough to believe that his continued fixation on Akira Kurusu was ‘force of habit.’ It was something much more dangerous, and he couldn’t afford to allow himself to succumb to it. Not after everything.

If Akechi was going to live a life, that life would damn well be his own. He refused to live for anybody but himself, and that included Akira Kurusu.

Still, the version of Akechi that lay awake in his bed at 4am, strung out on caffeine, had been known to have other thoughts from time to time. When his eyes were bloodshot and jargon swirled on his ceiling, he thought back to the look on Kurusu’s face when he had caught his glove. Cocky – Joker always was — but something more behind that. Akechi could only describe it as the expression of a boy missing something he hadn’t yet lost. 

It had taken him too long to realize that Kurusu had known exactly what the glove had meant from the moment it had been thrown. It had taken him even longer to realize that Kurusu had understood it better than Akechi had. 

It was enough to make him want to tear Kurusu apart, nice and slow, piece by piece. It was almost enough to make him want to reach for his phone.

He didn’t, of course. There was a lot of power in ‘almost.’ It meant that he was in control.

It was easier during the day. Sae always had something to shrug off on him if he needed it. 

Of course, there was also the pesky matter of his father.

That day at the café, Sae had mentioned that she’d spoken to him. Shido had said that he wouldn’t implicate Akechi in his trial. Apparently, he’d expressed regrets about his treatment of his son. 

Akechi hadn’t asked her for more information. She had already said too much. 

Once, there had been nothing Akechi wanted more than to hear his father drool out how big of a mistake it had been to leave him. Now, the thought of Shido feeling at all guilty, or heaven forbid, apologizing to him, made bile rise in the back of his throat.

Just one hit, and Akechi would want another. There would be nothing of him left. It was a trend, it seemed, that Akechi needed to learn when to keep well enough away from people he’d let spin him in circles.

Fortunately, he had always been a quick study.

Akechi hadn’t tried to contact him, and he and Sae hadn’t discussed Masayoshi Shido any further since. 

Given his track record with all things luck and Shido related, Akechi really should have expected that decision to come back and bite him. 

The rabid dog that was the universe’s refusal to let Akechi live his life in peace caught up to him one day in early June. Coming home from a coffee shop, mini-mart sushi in hand, he’d seen it. 

He had thirty days to vacate his apartment, because of fucking course he did.

Akechi felt six years old again. Seeing the notice pasted to his apartment door, he may as well have been holding his mother’s hand. He felt it clench around his pudgy fingers tight enough to hurt. He knew that she didn’t mean it. He knew that she hadn’t meant to fall behind on rent, either. He knew that some nights at her club were lucrative, and that some mornings, she couldn’t find it in herself to get out of bed. Their income had never been stable, and neither had their address.

But his mother wasn’t there, she hadn’t been for a long time, and Akechi was the only one responsible for the little crescent-shaped indents in his palms as he stared at the paper on his door and tried to will it away with the sheer force of his – in his humble opinion – very justified righteous anger.

He’d called Sae immediately, right as soon as he’d ripped down the notice, gone inside, and poured himself a drink. Apparently, all of Shido’s hidden assets had finally been frozen. Even if he wanted to continue to pay Akechi’s rent, he couldn’t. Akechi hadn’t been affected until now because Shido had, prior to recent events, had his apartment bills set to auto-pay from one of his more clandestine bank accounts. 

That was something that even now made the part of Akechi’s brain that had stayed young and poor recoil. To have so much cash that a transfer of that size could simply be counted on to go through every month, no risk of declining – from an auxiliary checking account – seemed almost gluttonous. 

Well, the payment had finally bounced, it seemed. Nobody was untouchable. It would have been more gratifying if Akechi weren’t the one being left high and dry. He had hung up the phone and downed the last of his drink. His mediocre room-temperature sushi forgotten, he’d taken a seat on his floor, opened his laptop, and typed in a preliminary search for Tokyo-studio-cheap. 

That brought him to now. It was remarkable, really, how his day had only managed to get worse and worse in the hour that had passed since then.

Staying in his current apartment simply wasn’t an option. Akechi had tucked money into his savings account during his time as the detective prince, of course, but even the sizable amount he had slowly accrued for himself over the last several years wouldn’t be able to cover more than a month or two of rent in the place Shido had picked out for him. It had a separate kitchen, living, and sleeping space, alongside a full bathroom. It was fully renovated and featured in-unit laundry. It even came with a parking spot (not that Akechi owned a car, could drive, or feasibly use his space in the garage in literally any capacity). 

All of it had been an undeniable power play on Shido’s part. The place really was too much for him. It was a needless show of excess – an in-your-face sort of look what I can do for you, aren’t you scared to lose it?

Sure, Akechi could spend three years worth of residual earnings on thirty extra days in this place, but all it would do was buy him time, not to mention drain the last financial cushion he had left. He needed to put down a deposit on another place, after all. His bank account would be running on fumes after that, and rent at his new place would be due almost immediately. 

Fuck. He’d almost forgotten his utilities. His phone bill. His Wi-Fi. He didn’t need to be a genius to know that any day now, those expenses would hit him too.

Shido would be burning in hell for a whole host of reasons – Akechi knew this, because he’d spent the last several years of his life passively looping his long, long list of them through his head like a rallying cry. It was always a solid hit that got his head where it needed to be to do whatever he needed to do. This newest slight was a tiny drop of water in the ocean of ways his father had wronged him. 

Still. If there was any justice in the world, Akechi would be allowed to spit on his father during his fiery descent. Just a little bonus to him for needing to go through this after everything he’d already endured.

All roads led to moving. May as well get it done sooner rather than later. 

Akechi would need to pick up a second job to somehow come up with the difference between his dwindling savings account, Sae’s weekly commission, and the cost of living accommodations that would let him avoid adding to his death toll. It would be a less insulting prospect if any of the studio apartments he would be able to afford after that looked remotely liveable.

This one said that the paint on its walls might contain traces of lead, and that its landlord wouldn’t be held liable for medical damages that resulted from it. That one had visible mold on the bathroom tiles, even in the very obviously postured online listing photos. He shuddered to think of the state of that shower if he saw it in the flesh. 

Every listing Akechi had looked at so far seemed to come with its own set of shockingly diverse hazards, their one continuity being that they evoked similar feelings of dread in the pit of his stomach. The ones that didn’t come with a laundry list of health and safety violations stated up front that they required an application pre-screening. Akechi’s credit score was perfectly fine – the detective prince had always paid off his statements in full, and on time. What he didn’t have were two good references. As it turned out, that was rapidly proving itself to be a serious problem.

Even on a webpage with the best user interface imaginable, the experience would have been bleak. That said, Akechi might have felt slightly less homicidal if the website didn’t reload every single time he clicked the back-out arrow after he decided he wasn’t (yet) desperate enough to risk braving exposed wiring in his combined living-bedroom-kitchen-foyer-bathroom space.

It wasn’t as though Akechi hadn’t expected this would happen – he just hadn’t expected it to happen now. He had wanted to be able to really plan his move. The fact he’d even thought that taking his sweet time could be an option for him was proof that he’d let his guard down. 

He clicked on another listing. Wonderful. This one was just under 150 square feet. He honestly hadn’t known that was legal.

Well. Actually. 

He paused. Zoomed in.

On second glance, maybe it wasn’t so bad. It looked clean, recently renovated. The move-in date fit his needs. It was small, sure, but it seemed like the space was well allocated. He mentally crumpled up his commitment to learning how to use an oven. It wouldn’t be happening in a place of this size, but maybe that was for the best, anyway.

He decided to click the button to arrange a tour with the landlord. Maybe his situation wasn’t so dire after all.

Of course, that was when the website decided to crash.

The noise that wrenched its way out of his throat wasn’t unlike how he expected a dying cat might sound. He slammed his laptop shut and rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyelids. 

He needed another drink.

He poured himself a coffee mug of vodka and water. It was like vodka and soda for people who barely had the means to buy themself vodka, and for whom also needing to buy mixers felt like adding insult to injury. It was disgusting, but a disgusting necessity. Today, his crime against good taste was the housing market’s fault.

He took a sip, grimaced, and climbed into his bed. He propped himself up on his pillows and took another long drink. It didn’t taste quite so bad now that he’d whet his palate. 

Fuck. He hadn’t even had the chance to change when he’d gotten home. He undid the top buttons of his dress shirt where they pinched at his neck. It wasn’t as though Akechi had anyone to look nice for, nowadays, but his wardrobe hadn’t gotten a radical overhaul since the detective prince’s fall from notoriety. He’d worn designer shirts then, he’d wear designer shirts now. They looked slightly worse for wear, but at least that meant they were incrementally more comfortable to wear out now than they had been back in the day.

Not by much. He sighed as the stale air conditioning of his room hit his skin. He took another sip of his drink. Then another.

It wouldn’t be so hard to find that listing again. He was pissed on principle. Websites should work. Apartments should be bigger than closets. You should be able to beg a landlord to let you live in a closet-sized apartment on a website that at least functioned halfway decently.

He took another good long gulp from his mug.

He could have really gone for coffee, right then. Not the glorified overpriced milk you could get from any old chain. The good stuff.

It had been a long time since he’d had good coffee. 

There was only one place Akechi had ever had truly, honest-to-god good coffee.

His cellphone was lying at the foot of his bed.

He could send him a text, right now. Something clever. Akechi knew that no matter what it was, it would shock him, but it needed to be witty, too, because he would expect nothing less. He would kill to see the look on his face. He would look down at his phone, see Akechi’s name light up his screen, and his eyes would get all wide and scared. 

You’ve been alive all this time? 

They would meet up, and Kurusu, he’d be miserable, he’d probably cry or do something equally sappy, and – once he really processed – he’d be mad as all hell. Akechi would laugh at him, say something as snarky as the situation demanded, and watch the anger melt right off of Kurusu’s face in real time. 

Akechi would finally have pulled one over on him. He’d finally win. He could feel the rush already. 

Kurusu wanted to lose so bad, it was embarrassing, really.

Right as fantasy Kurusu threw himself at fantasy Akechi, real Akechi felt a wave of cold dread wash over him.

He walked to the sink and poured his final few sips of vodka water down the sink.

No. Hell no. 

He turned on the tap and splashed cold water on his face. It dripped down his neck. He couldn’t bring himself to mind as it trickled down to the collar of his undone shirt.

He was better than this. He knew damn well that the only one ‘losing’ in the situation his addled mind had cooked up was himself. 

It had only taken half a drink to get him there. 

Fuck. He doused his face in more water for good measure.  

He walked back to his bedroom, unlocked his phone, and scrolled through his message logs to find his last conversation with Akira Kurusu. Taking care not to click anything damning, he swiped to delete it.

There. It was over. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t done that sooner.

He rinsed out his mug and poured himself a glass of water from the tap. It didn’t need ice – he’d already confirmed that it was sufficiently chilled.

His laptop was still on his kitchen floor. Akechi took a seat, cross legged, and reloaded the webpage he had been on previously. Surely, he’d have more luck this session. Maybe he’d even find a place larger than 150 square feet. 175 seemed like a reasonable goal.

He would make this work. He was moving apartments, and he was moving on. He’d managed far more difficult things in the past. 

He looked at his phone, sitting on the floor to his right. He tapped the display once. 

No new messages. And why would there be?

He sighed and got to work.

[biohazard-inevitable]

This is just a small snippet to a oneshot fic I’m writing but it was TOO CUTE TO NOT SHARE ugh im EXPLODING, lawlu fluff under the cut

���Toraoooooo!!!” Came the long, howling cheer from across the wind, like a yeowling siren warning of the impending impact of a certain rubber man shooting carelessly like a slingshot over the open sea and colliding haphazardly onto the deck of the Polar Tang.

“Luffy.” Law greeted gruffly through gritted teeth as he watched the object of his unfortunate affection rise from the deck and fling his noodly arms wide around the prickly pirate, pinning the man’s arms to his side.

“Torao, I missed you!!” Luffy giggled in that signature way. That way that made Law’s heart skip and his cheeks swell with uncomfortable heat. “It’s been soooooo long!!!! Have you been avoiding us?”

Law’s cheeks only burned more as he heard the soft, telltale snickers of his own crew over the incessant cackling of his boyfriend so tightly coiled around him like a restless python.

“Luffy, its barely been a week.” He grumbled, fingers twitching as his power surged through his arm, projecting his Room over the entire submarine. “Room.”

In an instant, the two were immediately teleported into Law’s quarters where they promptly collapsed onto the bed which sagged underneath their combined weight, though Luffy didn’t budge at all from his clingy embrace.

“And what did I say about the pda?” He complained, worming his arms out of their rubber imprisonment so he could wrap them around Luffy’s body instead, gently caressing the side of his lover’s face with his thumb while a small, shy smile teased its way onto his face.

“Sorry Torao, I just can’t help it!” Luffy snicked, as he leaned forward, pressing his nose to Law’s in a rather adorable motion. “I’ve just gotta!”

“I know, I know Luf.” Law sighed, long and hard before leaning forward to plant a gentle, chaste kiss to the lips of the man that ensnared him. “There’s hardly telling you no to anything.”

[m-jelly]

Hello dear. I love your cute Levi's books.

pediatric doctor Levi x Eren Yeager's mom reader female

The reader is the daughter of Grisha and Dina. She is Zeke's younger sister.

She has just signed a divorce with her current ex-husband, taking custody of her son, Eren. Eren is a 5 year old boy. She moves to her parents' town after her divorce.

Zeke takes Eren to play baseball but accidentally ends up breaking his little finger. Zeke takes him to the hospital and ends up being treated by Levi. Zeke calls his sister and she arrives worried about her little boy. Eren is a mama's baby.

Detail, Levi is a single man and is not in a relationship with anyone.

Levi ends up falling in love with the protagonist, but Petra, the nurse, will try everything to stop them from being together.

I leave the plot development up to you. Thanks. ❤️

Hi, thank you for sending me a request.

Unfortunately, I don't do long fic requests only oneshot requests. I'm happy to do a scene where Levi is a doctor and meets the reader with her kid or a friend's kid and that moment where they fall for each other or it's the start of something.

I also stay away from making Petra the bad guy as well cause she was a really cool character in AOT and I don't believe she had any romantic feelings for Levi.

Anyway, let me know if you want a small snippet instead of Dr Levi falling for reader who brings in their kid or something else.

Thank you again for taking the time to read my things and send me a request.

[myokk]

wip tag game!!

Thank you to @holdmymallowsweet and @anomalyaly for the tags♥️♥️

I think in comparison I probably have boring file names, and not many, bc I don’t really write that much. I only ever write when I’m struck by an idea and unfortunately i spend most of my time just sitting around, twiddling my thumbs until it happens 😆😆

note-taking (my evil gremlin mc oneshot that I posted in the original wip tag game)

ominis gaunt thinks too much - the working (terrible) title for my Ominis longfic that hopefully I start posting soon🫶🫶 I posted a wip quite a while ago from chapter one♥️

and then…I split every scene I write into a different file, so the scene names for the next chapter of my fic, before it felt like a sin, are:

dream 1 - I posted a snippet here

eloise hallucinates and freaks out😌 - I posted a snippet of that with the wip thing before too

beasts

Tagging anyone who wants to participate!!♥️♥️♥️ I don’t know who’s done it and been tagged already and who hasn’t been tagged yet but would like to, so seriously if you see this & want to share I would LOVE to see it!!

[stabknives]

Got tagged by @daemon-in-my-head to do a writer wip game thing!! THANK YOU!!! I think this is my first time on this blog getting tagged for my writing... I love writing :-) and I love you. For tagging. Me.

Rules: In a new post, post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the titles that most intrigue them and then post a little snippet or tell us about them. Tag as many folk as you have WIPs.

Unfortunately I think my only writer mutuals have been already tagged in this... if not, though, I'd love if you replied to this so I could edit the post and tag you properly, or tag you next time if you wanna pass on this game! I never know who is or isn't into writing hhhh...

Anyway! My current wips are:

a wip for my angel c/c au titled 'HALO FRISBEE GOLF' which is um more serious and more horny thn it sounds...

something for v/b just called 'meat time' which is concerning. and could be anything. i think it had something to do with v taking b to a butcher shop? Been awhile since I opened the doc

'guillotine for the king' <- self explanatory. charlie murders chris in this one. but not before they bicker with each other for awhile. as they always do. i've written this before but i'm making edits

'play pretend' extremely weird uncomfortable one where chris makes his wife act like charlie. um. and call him dad ahaha

a weird what-if oneshot which has evolved into a potential multichap thing called 'your body, my temple,' (so called for the will wood song. listen to it. it's a c/c song.) where chris and charlie are drunk as skunks and they get married in a vegas church. also they fuck. like crazy. and chris is convinced to become a cult leader. listen there's a lot going on that's why it's not a oneshot anymore

'inbred' named for the ethel cain song. this is for v/b. an exploration of what v would be like as a human. dead dove. don't eat.

I would tag lamortwrites and lilac-lich but I already saw they were both tagged.. so if anybody else follows me and writes. Hi. Let me know. Please. I need to know. To tag you. PLEASE.