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typingcorgi · 1 year

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can't quit you

rating: e (minors, please shoo. you will be blocked) word count: 4.1k+ pairing: joel miller x f!reader warnings: mention of age difference, tipsy sex, mutual pining, emotionally unavailable but totally fuckable joel, oral sex (f receiving), p in v, creampie, praise kink makes brain go brrr, taylor swift references if you squint, porn with plot, moody-ish joel, no use of y/n summary: joel miller isn't able to tell you what you mean to him, but he can show you. author's notes: this is probably the fic I'm most proud of (not that I've written very many) and if you read, i would absolutely love feedback, reblogs, or comments. tell me what you like! tell me what you hated (kindly pls lol). i am open to feedback and love praise can't you tell so enjoy reading your thoughts. now enjoy getting dicked down (respectfully) and thank you to @foli-vora for letting me pick your brain on some of the plot devices; truly appreciate it (:

Right now, you have two things on your mind: cheap whiskey and Joel Miller.

The former comes from the promise of your smuggler who’d agreed to deliver an unopened bottle of Rittenhouse in exchange for three or four cigarettes you’d hand-rolled that morning. Quality tobacco is a thing of the past, so you’re fine with offering up one lackluster product in exchange for another slightly less lackluster product. There’s a good chance the bottle will be half-empty by the time your visitor makes it to your meeting spot. No one is ever as good as their word anymore, and their word means virtually nothing.

You hold Joel Miller to his promises, though. He said he’d run out to barter for his own offering of supplies—he’s low on ammo for his shotgun, and he needs to find a good number of batteries for the two-way radios he’d stolen off a sleeper last night. He figures it might be a good insurance plan, a good backup just in case either of you split up in this next leg of the trip to Jackson. And while you don’t like the idea of him traveling alone—despite knowing he can very much take care of himself—you don’t fight him on it. He’s not wrong, and more significantly, if you try and argue with him, you’re probably going to be disappointed.

You used to bicker more when you thought he hated you; when you were the annoying neighbor and not the escort out of Boston and downstate. You fought like cats and dogs when you lived next door to him in those mangy apartments, never liking the way you looked at each other—like both of you knew the other had an ulterior motive to force yourself out of the QZ, and you picked up on it, tapped into this common secret you hadn’t planned on sharing with anyone else. And while the proverbial walls with which Joel shields himself are crumbling at a painfully sluggish pace, it’s something. You’ll take something over nothing.

You’re hiding out in the basement of an abandoned convenience store on what was probably a main street in this New York suburb. There isn’t much by way of furniture; just a couple of rust-ridden folding chairs, a worn green couch, empty, dusty shelves, and a sink that probably hasn’t run clean water in fifteen years. Small privacy windows along the top of the walls offer little by way of natural light, and the angle of its golden rays tells you that it’s time to go. Your connect is waiting for you on the street’s southern corner. Or at least, that’s where you planned to meet right before sundown.

Joel’s left you with his smaller, quicker shot, a semi-automatic that he usually entrusts you with while you’re apart. He doesn’t say it, but you can sort of tell that he doesn’t like leaving you. And it’s probably not personal because yes, while Joel Miller is slowly coming out of the shell he’s lived in for the last twenty years, it’s not as though he’s developed some sort of overt attachment to you. In a life like this, attachment is almost as dangerous as the Infected. There’s no room for him—or for you—to seek anything beyond a sort of temporary comfort with one another.

Get him to Jackson. That’s it. And then you’re on your own again on your route back home.

You switch the safety on the rifle, then keep it tucked in the front pocket of your jeans while you head up the dilapidated stairs and push open the cellar doors. The sunset meets you right in your eyes and you squint, and then the same thought you have at almost every beautiful encounter sweeps through your mind. Am I seeing another sunset tomorrow?

With any measure of hope, yes.

You close the cellar doors behind you, careful to avoid stepping on any overgrown grass along the cracked sidewalk toward the street corner. You’ve been unusually fortunate to not run into any runners or clickers today, but that streak would come to a dreadful end if you’d stepped on any patch of cordyceps fungus hidden along the green. They’d come charging at you in an instant, and if their overbearing strength didn’t kill you first, the brain parasite would. Eventually.

A quick death sounds better. You can’t fathom slowly losing your mind as many have. You can’t fathom losing the memory of Joel.

Fuck. You’ve really got it bad for him, you’re fucking thinking about him when you should be on guard, when you should be looking out for—

“Girl,” a voice calls out from behind you. You don’t know this smuggler that well; it’s not as though he has a voice you’d recognize. Your shoulders jump and you try to downplay it as you turn around, rifle now held in your dominant hand.

“Yeah,” you say, unimpressed with his greeting. You notice the edges of a paper bag crumpled in his strong grip, and as you eye him, you take out a tin-wrapped package of cigarettes, holding them out for him to take. He accepts your barter and unwraps the foil, inspecting each product to ensure you’re not ripping him off.

“Yeah,” he echoes, then hands you the paper bag. It’s heavy, containing the glass bottle that he’d promised, but right away, you can tell its contents aren’t completely full. You don’t mention it. Some things aren’t worth the energy. And you’re fairly confident you’d start feeling it after a swig or two, considering your last drink feels like ages ago.

When you return to the cellar, you’re alone again. Concern and disappointment flood your veins as you realize Joel hasn’t returned. Fuck, now would have been a good time for those fucking walkie-talkies. Hey, Joel, you dead? No? Great, get back here in one piece.

You dig around your pack for something to eat, eventually settling on something that you think was a protein bar at one point in time, but now just tastes of slightly sweet dust. It’s unappetizing. It’s all this end-of-world can offer you, and while getting good and drunk on an empty stomach sounds like it would be a fan-fucking-tastic idea, you can’t afford to slow down tomorrow. You can’t afford the hangover.

It feels like hours have passed within the span of minutes, and you take a swig of Rittenhouse before you hear a clang at the cellar door. FEDRA wouldn’t wait for you to open up—they’d just bust the door open without hesitation. Joel. Maybe. It could be him, or it could be your smuggler coming back to collect, realizing now your flimsy cigarettes weren’t worth the trade.

Your shotgun is again in hand—someone told you long ago that alcohol and firearms aren’t a wise mix, but that was probably before they realized the world was eventually going to end—and after carefully walking up the wooden stairs, you push open the door, gun ready to fire.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel mutters, lowering your aim away from the space between his tired eyes. “You really are ready for anythin’, aren’t you, honey?”

He says it almost sarcastically, like he doesn’t mean it. Like he’s teasing you in an aloof sort of way that only makes total sense for the Joel Miller. And you know he doesn’t intend for your stomach to twist like it does when he says it—honey, fuck, you could just melt onto the cold cement floor—but it does.

“In times like these, you have to be,” you offer, leading you both down the stairs.

You sink into the couch, finally able to exhale that long-awaited sigh of relief as it hits you: Joel is back, and from what you can tell, he’s unharmed. He’s alive. You don’t give yourself much time to relish in the silent celebration of it, though.

“How was it out there?” You ask. “Run into anything? Anyone?”

“Couple’a stalkers,” he replies, shrugging. “Shot ‘em before they could get close. Got the batteries for the radio, along with some other crap.”

Your smile is small but genuine. “That’s good. Anytime you don’t end up maimed or dead is a win in my book.”

He almost chuckles, and it makes your heart squeeze. “Yeah.”

—

The “other crap” Joel has brought back to you includes a used, but functional woolen blanket and a stash of beef jerky that’s likely way past its expiration date. “I don’t need you passin’ out from hunger,” he says as he hands one of the pieces to you. Your fingers brush and it feels fucking electric, but likely only to you, since you know Joel has shut himself off to any sort of emotional electricity long ago.

He sits next to you on the couch, and honestly, takes up a considerable amount of space. His legs are splayed open, his broad back resting on the cushion behind him, and the full extent of his intimidating size begins to sink into you. It’s not like you ever thought Joel Miller was small, but you’ve been with him long enough that sometimes you forget how he might appear to others: menacing. Threatening.

You’re passing off the whiskey bottle between you, taking swigs every couple of minutes to fill the silence that’s fallen between you. Your conversation started benign enough (if benign could be used to describe the next leg of your runaway route, now that FEDRA knows two of its civilians have escaped the Boston QZ), but then it’d taken a more personal turn. Suddenly you know a sliver more of Joel Miller’s past; you know he’d been separated from his brother since Outbreak Day. You learn he had a daughter.

“I’m sorry,” you say lamely. It doesn’t feel strong enough. I’m sorry is what you might have said had you accidentally closed the cellar door on Joel’s pinky finger. He doesn’t say anything back for a while. He just takes another swig of whiskey as he leans back into the couch, as though it fully catches the weight of his grief.

“Was a long time ago,” he says finally. “She would’a been close to your age by now. Maybe a little younger.”

You nod and immediately feel a little guilty. You’d somehow survived, against all odds, against losing your family—if not to the outbreak itself, to the violence it’d caused. Your family was collateral damage in a devastating blow. It could have been you instead of her—Joel would still have his daughter, and you’d be with your family in a place hopefully much better than this hell on earth.

“Still,” you try, still not feeling as though your words convey your true meaning. “I’m so sorry. Thank you for trusting me with that.”

Joel’s eyes flicker towards yours as if he’s only now realizing that’s what’s happening here: he’s trusting you. And whether it’s an effect of the whiskey, it’s something. Neither of you is full-on drunk, just loose enough to take the edge off, to put aside some of the overwhelming weight that comes with surviving the literal plague. It’s just enough to let some of the walls built between you begin to chip away, bit by bit.

You don’t leave him hanging out to dry, though. You can’t. Joel just exposed one of his deepest wounds, so the least you can do is mirror the gesture.

You tell him everything. You tell him about your life in New York, your escape out of before you’d barely begun to drive. You tell him about your family and the hit it took to your life to lose theirs. You tell him about your connection to the Fireflies (although you’re pretty sure he’d already picked up on that, considering your frequent interactions with Marlene and Kim). You tell him you’d needed a light to cling to in the everlasting darkness until you’d realized even the light was no good, even then, you’d come to accept the only risk worth taking was one that ensured your security and yours alone.

And now, as it happens, his, too.

He doesn’t say anything afterward. He doesn’t come out with a line like thank you for trusting me with that or anything gooey or empathetic. How you have the emotional space for such reactions is beyond even your understanding, so you understand why a complete stoic like Joel Miller just…sits there. Stoic, nodding his head a bit in an effort to communicate he hears you. He doesn’t say he’s sorry. Everyone is expected to live like this.

“You know,” you continue, the whiskey warming the blood swimming in your veins. “When you didn’t come back as quickly as I thought you would, I got worried.”

Joel exhales through his nose. “Yeah,” he replies. “What else is new.”

You turn your body to face him, legs crossed over one another as you adjust your seat. Your eyes widen with meaning. You’re like a kid with a secret to spill, a story to tell, and you’ll be damned if Joel Miller doesn’t hear it.

“I mean it,” you push. “I’d been thinking about you all damn day. You just come and go as you please, or at least, you think you do. You’ve only just started telling me where you plan on going, or how long you think it’ll take. And I stick by you despite it all. You know why?”

“Yeah, and why’s that?” Joel presses, but the sarcasm dripping from his voice signals that he doesn’t actually want to know. Wanting to know what you mean—and then actually knowing—translates to pain. And this sort of added pain, the one that comes from wanting too much, is just not something either of you can manage at a time like this.

Your pointer finger gestures between the two of you, and with a bolt of whiskey courage, you finally say what’s been plaguing your mind for months. “It’s you and me,” you admit. “That’s my whole world. I got nothing else worth saving or fighting for anymore. So when you leave, half of my world walks out on me. Half of my fucking reason for being here is just—”

He cuts you off, and you don’t fucking believe what’s happening. His kiss is harsh, biting, bordering on punishment for you to shut the fuck up and he knows yelling at you won’t work (when has it ever?) so he kisses you. He lunges for you, his broad palm and dirt-coated fingers covering your entire cheek, the pads of his fingers pressing slightly into the flesh of your face.

Stop.

He pulls back, and both of you are met with the heavy breathing of the other. Your eyes open, slow and dreamy. You wish you had something more articulate to say.

“What the fuck?”

He says nothing.

“No, really, Joel. What the fuck was that?”

He pulls back, observing you. The weight of his gaze is nearly paralyzing.

“Don’t make me say it,” he concedes. You lean back against the arm of the couch, waiting for something more satisfying.

“Had too much to drink,” he tells you, but you know for a damn fact that you’re the one that put most of that liquor away. You’d had a head start, after all, waiting for him to get back to you.

“Not buying it,” you argue, shaking your head. “Just admit to me that you feel something between us, too?” And there’s your index finger again, flicking between your two bodies, tracing a line over the invisible string that binds you to the other. “Admit to me that this isn’t just about getting to Jackson. That you need someone here with you, because you can’t carry the damn weight of the entire world on your shoulders anymore.”

He can’t tell you that. It’s as though the words simply don’t exist in the Joel Miller lexicon. Your gaze drops, casting downward at his thigh, though you’re not exactly looking at anything.

Finally, he says your name. It’s low and pleading. Stop.

He’s leaning into you again, and this time, you meet him halfway. It’s agonizing, the painfully short distance between your mouths before he kisses you again. He’s slow and hesitant this time, almost seeking permission for a kiss as biting as your first. Your tongue sweeps along the seam of his lips, and when he parts them, you kiss him like the world is ending.

You can’t fucking believe what’s happening. It’s as though you’ve manifested this moment within your dreams. On the nights you’ve fallen asleep alone, you’ve touched yourself thinking of this. You’ve played your own body like a harp, imagining every stroke and rub of your fingers belonged to him instead. Joel is kissing you, and you’re kissing him back. Joel’s hands are running up through your hair, and your hands are on his chest, bracing yourself for him to pull back when he inevitably realizes this is a bad fucking idea.

It doesn’t come. He pushes you down, a gentle press of his hand to guide your back along the couch. His lips move from yours toward your neck, his kiss a brand, declaring you as his for as long as he’ll have you.

For as long as you survive.

Your bodies dance between wanting to savor the moment and needing to feel the heat of the other. Joel’s fingers toy with the zipper of your jeans, eventually pulling them down your legs and discarding them toward the cement floor so he can better focus his energy on you. On pleasing you, of course, but maybe to also give into the desire he’s been repressing for so long.

“Joel,” you whisper. “Are you su—“

“Don’t,” he interrupts, and then his mouth is on your cunt.

It’s sudden and harsh, but fuck, your body needs this. Nothing about this man is subtle, and now you learn his sex isn’t either. His tongue traces patterns against your clit, eventually probing deeper to taste you from the inside. Maybe if you’d been a little more firm in your inhibitions, you’d tell him this was a bad idea. Maybe he wouldn’t be fucking you with his goddamn perfect mouth like this. But he is, and you’re here, beneath the twitching overhead light in this decayed basement until it flickers once, twice, and goes out.

You learn Joel is braver in the dark.

Your hands grip his hair while he eats you out. His fingers press so deeply against the flesh of your hips that you know it’ll bruise, but it’ll be a pleasant ache to remember a night like this. It’ll be proof that even for a moment, Joel Miller felt something for you, and he could show you even if he couldn’t tell you.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he mutters, pulling back to catch his breath. You crane your neck to glimpse at him. His lips and beard glimmer with evidence of your arousal, and he sighs into the flesh of your thigh. “Too—too old for this.”

“Fuck that.” You actually laugh at his unexpected comment. “Keep going.”

For a rare moment in your relationship, Joel listens to you. His head dips back between your legs, mouth returning to deliver your pleasure. He’s slower this time, but just as deliberate. His hands hold your legs apart to give his tongue the perfect space against your clit, and when you feel your body begin to crest in relief, you give a sharp inhale through your mouth.

“Joel, I’m—I’m going to—“

He doesn’t need to hear anymore. He drinks you in while you climax, your limbs tensing while stars explode behind your closed eyes.

You kiss him when you push yourself up, needing to taste your own lingering flavor—needing confirmation that all of this is real. Joel fucking Miller just ate you out in this dingy little basement, and you can’t be sure, but you think it’s because he might actually have developed some sort of feeling for you. Something beyond the need to run or hide or defend. And you reciprocate it, eagerly.

How inconvenient for you both.

He’s breathing heavily against your mouth, and you smile in the earnest afterglow.

“You’re really good at that,” you praise into your ear, and he offers something between a growl and a moan in response.

His jeans are dirty and stiff, but you’re just as impatient to pull them off his thick legs and experience him as he’s delighted in you—the weight of his body, the feel of his cock. You hold his length in your hands and immediately notice he’s fucking huge. You practically gasp at the realization, thankful that the dark room hides your growing blush.

You’re laying on your back, and Joel’s fingers slide against your entrance, priming you for his next move. He speaks again, and while you’d normally have a little internal celebration at any ounce of vulnerability he’d be willing to share with you, this time you immediately cut him off.

“You sure abou—“

“Never more about anything else,” you confess.

It’s all too damn much, the amount of immense sensation that comes from Joel teasing briefly with the head of his cock. He pushes into you, and it’s almost as if you can see the way his eyes roll back into his head. Your own body has to adjust to his size, and you bite your lower lip as you brace yourself through the sweet pain of his length filling you with all he has.

He groans against the warmth of your neck, eventually building up his slow thrusts to a rhythmic pace that causes your blood to dance.

“G—god damn it,” you choke out, your ankles hooked around each other along his spine.

In the darkness, you can make out the slight reflection of his tired eyes. His breathing turns ragged quickly and he hisses once or twice—whether out of pleasure or plain you can’t determine (especially because you’re certain you heard him grumble something about his damn knees while he slid out and pushed forward, but honestly, you’re so fucking spent that it’s hard to be sure).

“Feels good?” You ask, clenching your walls as he thrusts home.

He groans. “Uh-huh.”

He pulls you to sit up on his lap, and it’s only then he realizes you’re both still too damn clothed. He hurries to pull your white t-shirt overhead, then pushes your bra straps off your shoulders before managing to unhook the thing with both hands. Hs teeth nip and lips suck at your nipple while he fucks you, while you softly bounce on his damn cock, and shit, you want this night to last for fucking ever.

You’re fucking ecstatic. Your heart sings with the knowledge that you’ve managed to bring Joel pleasure, if only for tonight. Your body thrums like a guitar string plucked by his experienced fingers, and you pant against his lips, sweat forming along the hairline at your temples.

“I’m c—close,” you warn him. “I’m going to—”

“M—me too,” he stammers. “Let me feel you, honey. Just l–let go.”

And you do, you really fucking do. You feel his heat begin to spill inside you and it only intensifies the blinding orgasm Joel coaxes out of you. It reverberates within you, spanning from your fingertips down toward your toes, turning your spine to liquid.

He fucks into you slowly while you both come down, humming into your ear during the aftershocks.

“That’s it, darlin’. Did so fuckin’ good.”

The praise alone is nearly enough to send you over another edge. You suddenly want to bury your head into the crook of Joel’s neck, hiding any evidence of vulnerable relief along your expression. But Joel doesn’t let you. Instead, he holds your chin between his thumb and the crook of his index finger, and kisses you through it.

Joel falls asleep on the couch in his jeans and an old t-shirt. He lets you wear his flannel (though he tries telling you it’s dirty and bloodstained, but mostly everything you own is, so you don’t care).

He falls asleep with you resting behind him, trusting you to hold him while you keep each other safe. He kisses the inside of your wrist, lips lingering at your pulse point.

When you wake in the morning, he’s already gone. And your heart would completely sink had you not realized one of the two-way radios standing upright on the shelf across from you, low static playing through its speaker. There’s a little red light next to its antenna.

You feel as though you can breathe again.

Padding across the basement floor, you grab the radio with both hands, press the call button, and speak into the receiver.

“Joel?”

#tlou fic #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you

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pastafossa · 3 months

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How do you get past writer's block? I have a fic that I'm working on that is updating on a schedule, and I made the mistake of giving myself a month off in between parts and now I can't really get back into writing it. I don't want to leave it abandoned because I have a few people who I know are really invested and I don't want to leave them hanging, but I'm having a hard time getting as excited to write it as I did before.

Ok so I'm in a weird place for this, hilariously. Because The Answer That Usually Works For Me (TM) and that carried me through a regular weekly update schedule for almost two and a half years is, in fact, not at present working for me apparently my brain can write through a pandemic but not through recovery from the shit that went down in December/Jan so we found my writing kryptonite. However, I'm going to assume you're closer to 2021 Pasta than 2024 Pasta. SO LET'S GO WITH THE METHOD I NORMALLY USE SINCE IT WAS SUCCESSFUL FOR YEARS. Cause that's the thing: sure, I've written almost a million words, and pumped out chapters for years (ignoring the past few months) but I promise, I hit the same walls as everyone else even when nailing weekly uploads. But over those years, I came up with a fairly solid list of steps that I'd go through one by one.

Fun one first: when I'm in a block, I almost always try re-engaging with canon first. I'd rewatch my favorite episodes, binge a whole season, or even the whole series depending on how much of a boost I needed. For me at least that was often like Pavlov's bell, my favorite story triggering a flood of affection. I'd remember why I loved this fandom and the characters so much, and it could often kickstart my brain and excitement back into gear. If you really want to dangle a carrot and your fic touches on canon, focus on watching parts you're excited to get to in your story. A big one for me in TRT for example was the post-Nobu, Nelson v. Murdock episode, since I'd had that planned for TRT almost since the start, and I was very excited to reach the hurt/comfort I had planned. Even if your fic isn't following canon though, see if it'll give you a creative rush again!

So let's say step 1 doesn't work, either because the canon just isn't hitting the spot or because your fic is dealing with something else. In this case, my next step was usually to jump ahead to write a scene I was really eager to get to. It was often a short blurb, but it was always something I REALLY wanted to explore, and because I'm also a reader who likes exactly the tropes and plots I'm writing, I want to read what fucking happens. Except, fuck, I'm not there yet, am I? And I can't see how that scene finishes until I write my way up to it and finish it. This is my own carrot. Multiple scenes in TRT were written months or even years in advance, simply as a way to bribe myself. This is also an option!

But maybe this doesn't work. Sometimes it didn't. This is when it got a bit more serious. For anyone who was reading at the time, you'd have noticed that I'd sometimes drop side fics, either Matt POVs or one-shots. This was me, in essence, working on the shower principle (basically, ideas/solutions will come if you stop thinking about it and do something else, like take a shower). I figured if I went and wrote something else - either with less stress, or something fun and dopamine-inducing - the part of my brain focused on my Big Fic would wander around the writer's block beneath my notice. And it almost always worked, all while I still kept my brain trained that, hey, even if we're not writing This Thing, we're still writing.

But let's say this doesn't work either. You're well, and truly, stuck. Been there now and then. And, you're going to hate this one. I hate it but it works 9 times of 10. And it is: Write anyway. Half of it was spite. I was not going to give up my schedule, I liked my schedule. The other half was that I knew myself. I knew if I could just get past the chapter/plot/dialogue I was struggling with, I'd be able to roll along again. And so I made a rule: whatever I wrote didn't have to be pretty. It just had to exist. If that meant I wrote, "Jane chased the cat in circles and caught it. She was happy." then that's what I wrote. Because everything, EVERYTHING, can be fixed in editing. But you can't fix what doesn't exist. And so there were those nights when I would scowl and groan and snarl and bash my head against that writer's block until 5 in the morning, but in the end Jane chased that fucking cat adn caught it, it was written. Hilariously, sometimes those chapters have wound up amazing (likely because I spent so much time hammering at them) and reader favorites. There are absolutely, I believe, moments where you can, and should, see if you can push through.

But that brings me to *waves* now. A lesson I've only recently recently and with encouragement. Namely... sometimes brain no go and that's ok. My steps work for me 99.9% of the time, but I've done the above during the past few months, and it just... hasn't dragged me out entirely out of it yet. Sometimes, our brains demand that break, especially when things just aren't going great. There's a reason TRT had a break of roughly 2 years between chapter 4 and chapter 5 (feel free to check the chapter index with dates on AO3!). I had some life things happening and I just was not in a place to write, even if I was still busily plotting and planning and thinking about TRT behind the scenes. And that was ok. We're not machines. I came back like a bulldozer in Jan 2021, yes, and bulldozed through weekly updates, but that break was needed. And now I'm obviously taking a short one again while I recover from everything. It's ok if you're not in a place for it. So the last step is one I've been told a lot by dear friends recently as they helped me through this: be kind to yourself, and try not to stress if none of the above works. The story will always be there, and if TRT is any indication through all its highs and lows, your readers will be there when you start up again.

#writer's block #i am on step five if that's not obvious and that's ok #steps 1-4 got me through about 2 years of writing and over a hundred chapters. damn near a mill words.#so i'm VERY confident it works most of the time #or it does for me anyway #just. you know. not all the time #what's funny is i suspect if you read all of trt knowing the above #you'll SEE these moments #moments where i clearly hit a chapter i'd written ahead of time cause it had more detail or more excitement radiating in my notes #alternatively no one has any idea which ones are which which is even funnier to me #look i do not judge *anyone* who just can't do weekly chapter #the pandemic was a weird period where i had the time to do that and the management required to keep up with it outside then is intense #like it's possible. i was doing it before shit started going sideways last year cause that was NOT my year basically from july onwards #but just be kind to yourself about it #the story will come #and your readers will be there for it

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olderthannetfic · 1 year

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I began writing a story in 2021 and posted the first two chapters, spent a lot of time planning it, talking about it with my friends, and writing it. Currently, chapter 3 sits at more than 30-fucking-thousand words, and it's not even finished yet.

The issue is that I can't bring myself to finish it. I just can't. I don't know why. I want to post the third chapter and go on to write the following ones, I really want. But I can't bring myself to and can't figure out why.

The last time I worked on this fic was last summer, and then I decided to try and re-write it all because in the meantime my writing style changed a lot, and I flew through the motions until I reached the point I stopped at during the first version. It's not an issue of "I wrote myself into a corner" either, because I literally got to the easy part (the characters kissed, now they're just talking). But I'm stuck.

So... is there anyone who can suggest something to get out of this crap? Because I really want to finish that story, I love the characters and the dynamic I gave them and their little world, I don't want them to be abandoned.

So far, I've already tried writing other fics for the same fandom and ship (all finished and posted), fics for other fandoms (all finished and posted), and original stories (still working on those, but those are for trad pub, so... I want them to be super polished). Fuck, in the meantime I had the time to research, draft, write, and submit my 40 pages long senior year research essay too.

Literally anything. Pls, help.

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amethystina · 6 months

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Chapter 38 could have been the beginning of the end of Who Holds the Devil

(Slight spoilers for the chapter below)

The other day, as I was editing the chapter, my wife asked me if I was having another existential crisis (I was apparently making very worrying noises) and while I said no at first, I had to change my answer a split second later.

Yes, I was having an existential crisis.

Because I had just realised that if I deviated from my original plan for chapter 38, I could cut the rest of Who Holds the Devil in half. Or even cut so much as three fourths, if I felt like it. Sure, that would require scrapping the overarching storyline I've been building, throwing out a lot of the character development I've planned, as well as rushing through a lot of the healing/trauma work required for my original storyline, but it was possible.

Basically, if Ga On had opened that door, everything would be different. Or, for that matter, if Yo Han had heard him crying (which he didn't — sorry to those of you who hoped that he did). Because even if they had argued and Yo Han was hurt, he would go to Ga On without hesitation if he heard him crying outside his door. Because he loves him too much not to.

Point being, if they had actually talked there at the end of chapter 38, everything I have built towards would have toppled like one of Yo Han's card houses. Because Ga On would have said just about anything to right the mistakes he'd just made. And while that might sound like a good thing, it's not. Because Yo Han wouldn't take that as Ga On expressing genuine feelings for him, but Ga On panicking due to his abandonment issues. He'd think Ga On was just doing whatever he could think of in order to make Yo Han stay, including lying or gaslighting himself into thinking he's in love with Yo Han.

It wouldn't actually have helped all that much, is what I'm saying, because that's not a good foundation for a relationship.

But I COULD have done it. I could have cut down the amount of time I have left to spend on this fic so drastically that, yes, it gave me an existential crisis xD

Partly because this fic has become a huge part of my life in general — to the point where I'm not quite sure who I would be without it — but also because I realised that I was tempted. A part of me wanted to do it. Because every chapter takes everything between 10 to 30 hours to finish when you count all the writing and editing — though several times I've ended up closer to 40 (which is a lot while juggling a full-time job and long Covid). I've written 38 chapters so far and it has taken over two years. And I can't say how much further I will have to go — how many more chapters or years I'm going to have to dedicate to this fic in order to actually finish it.

So, if only for one evening, the thought of cutting it short was VERY tempting.

But, clearly, I didn't in the end. Partly because I still love this fic so incredibly much and I want to write it as it's meant to be written. Also, it would have felt like such a waste to throw away all those plot threads I've been weaving because of... idk, laziness? And I would have to force Ga On and Yo Han together before either of them are ready for it, which would result in a much more fragile relationship in general.

So, long story short, that's why Ga On didn't open the door. I know it may have seemed cruel of me not to let him while you were reading it but, if I had done it, everything would have changed — and not necessarily for the better. Not to mention that you would have gotten a whole lot less fic in the end xD

So yeah. I made the choice to stick to my original plan but, hopefully, it will be worth it in the end.

Thank you for your patience :)

#Amethystina Writes #Who Holds the Devil #I'm not sure what to tag this as #An explanation?#Me making excuses? xD #Like #I have a reason for everything I write #But I understand if that reason isn't always obvious to you all #And it can't be easy to trust me through all of these twists and turns #I honestly don't envy you #But I am very grateful to those of you who are willing to keep reading #Never doubt that #Your dedication is so humbling #Thank you 💜

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psychotic-nonsense · 1 month

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This was originally planned to be its own fic, with background and build up and ✨️longing✨️, but I don't think it'll work out. Can't write slow burn to save my life.

Enjoy this bit of it because I'm still gonna be thinking about it.

Context - Post Vecna, a few days after the gates open. Eddie lives, barely, and has some trouble moving. Max survives, though with impaired vision and legs, Vecna having taken barely enough from her to open the gates. The Party finds an abandoned shelter outside of town after everybody reunites, using it as their base.

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It's logical, he tries to reason. It makes sense, it's the only real way to handle this situation.

The kids are all bunking together, no doubt turning the entire floor into one single bed. With the Cali-Crew (quote Dustin) finally back home, no one would dare try and separate them. Besides, the fight over who got to bunk with Max to watch over her injuries was getting too annoying for anyone to keep dealing with.

The adults are bunking together as well. Having one guy sleeping alone in a room each during these times, when danger was prominent every single night, seemed weird to the Russians and Wayne. Plus, as Murray jokes, it "keeps an eye on Hop and Joyce at night" (he got a few punches for that one, laughing all the while).

But the teens started this whole thing - or rather, Argyle did. The second they found out how many rooms there were available in the shelter, he called shotgun on one for just him and Jonathan. The adults reluctantly agreed to it, so Nancy took the chance and grabbed a room for her and Robin, to everyone's surprise.

Which left one last pairing.

Steve did look a little upset about not getting to bunk with Robin (and if you ask Eddie, a little scared, but he won't even try and think of the reason). But upon her and Nancy's shrug and responding, "Girls night," he conceded with an eye roll and a sighed, "Girls night..." before immediately grabbing Eddie to take the room in the middle of the hall.

And that seemed to be Steve's only grievance about bunking with Eddie. Everything else he's seen in the past few days of their recovery, his quirks and struggles alike, he looks ready to take in stride.

Eddie sleeps far from the door with his spear and shield next to him? "I would've fought you on that first, man. And hey, my bed back home has a bat on each side. This thing never leaves me."

Eddie's gauze leaks through with shit from his wounds? He can barely walk to the door without shaking? "We dealt with the same bats, Eds, it's okay, I got you."

Eddie has a big emotional gay crush on the guy and everytime he's called "Eds" he wants to beg for Steve to hold him and never let go?...Well, Steve doesn't know about that one, but it's only a matter of time honestly.

Especially considering the damn sleeping arrangement, which makes itself prominent the second they open the door.

While the rooms themselves aren't so bad, considering the age of this place, Steve and Eddie got lucky enough to find the one room with only one proper bed. Connected bathroom and pull out couch, yeah, sure, cool. But the springs in the couch are rusted through and snapped shut when Eddie tried to open it, so that's a no.

And Steve, still recoiling from the bang of the couch, had the audacity to try and suggest he sleep on the floor?!

"Hell no, Steve!" Eddie immediately fought. Showing too much care that it makes Steve look shocked. "Do you know how many rats could've been crawling around on that? We can clean the bed, but who knows what's hiding in those cracks? Just take the bed and I'll sleep on the couch-"

"After that thing almost exploded?!" Steve exclaimed back. He's a little concerned, with his puffed chest and hands on his hips countered by the softer give in his eyes. "No way, Eds, not with your bites still fucking you up." Stop looking at his eyes, Munson. "I'll just get another bed from the spare rooms-"

"Nope, not happening either." Steve may still be the hot ass jock he was in high school, but a year out of the gym and his own wounds in his sides and back would make just that torture. Because there's no doubt he'll reject any help, try and do it all his own. And Eddie refuses to let him run into pain again. "The couch works just fine as is, and I can barely move anyway, so no harm no foul, right?"

"You could fall off," Steve responds, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

"You'll get rabies on that floor," Eddie counters. Then he tilts his head to the side, a lilt in his tone. "Can't worry our dear Buckley, now can we?"

Steve snorts at that, making Eddie smile. Goddamn it, Munson. "You wouldn't be able to get up on your own from the couch," Steve counters yet again, smiling like it's a competition now.

"You wouldn't be able to get up at all," Eddie fights back.

"The bed probably stinks."

"And you'd still let me go up there?"

"You need actual sleep."

"So do you."

"...You wouldn't wanna move rooms?"

"Steve, you don't even want to move."

They're both smiling so wide it has to hurt Steve the way it hurts Eddie. Every counter they've taken a step forward until they're almost face to face, same height even with Eddie's trembling from sliced nerves.

Someone has to break soon - "Then take the damn bed, Munson!" - and it turns out to be Eddie. Because of course.

"Only if you do too!"

There isn't enough metal in the walls for the words to be echoing this much. It's the first retort Steve's actually affected by, flinching back just a hair but it's enough. His expression goes from giddiness to a kind of seriousness Eddie can't decipher.

Eddie's frozen solid. He doesn't want to know what he looks like, knows enough how his eyes are way too wide, that his mouth is stumbling over words it can't make. Look who's really fucked up now, the dude saved your life and you two are finally friends, and you're repaying the favor by asking him to sleep with you. Shameful, disgusting, inconsiderate...

But Steve's looking over at the bed. Assessing the dust covered sheets, the pillows and slightly moldy headboard, and then...

He fucking shrugs like it's no big deal and is saying "Okay," like it doesn't stab Eddie right in the throat, making him squeak as he's brought out of his head into something that cannot be reality.

"Okay?" Eddie responds, incredulous, watching Steve go over to their duffel bags in the hall.

"If it means you'll back down, sure. That thing's big enough for the both of us anyway." Steve throws the bags on the couch, flinching a little when he stands up straight again. "You could've just suggested that from the start, Eds, could've saved us the trouble with the death trap over here." He jokes, nodding at the couch.

But Eddie doesn't catch it, shocked in silence. Making a big deal out of nothing because of his stupid stupid heart. "You're serious?"

Steve scoffs, rolling his eyes as if he's offended by Eddie's surprise. The mirth in his eyes hasn't faded though. "I'm not scared of a little sleepover, man. And if it wasn't you it was gonna be Robin, so don't think you're special." He walks over to the bed as he says that, but Eddie still catches the fear in his eyes again. The one flavored with loneliness.

But as Steve starts carefully pulling the sheets off the bed, he softens again, meeting Eddie's eyes with a kindness that's so genuine. Breath, Munson, that's a thing you need. "Seriously though, Eds, I'm cool with it, don't worry. We've both been through some worse shit than this, yet I'm still here. So are you." Steve averts his eyes, looking almost sheepish as Eddie's heart basically implodes. "Don't think you can push me away now. You're stuck here, like it or not."

Steve occupies his hands with collecting the sheets, so carefully trying not to send dust everywhere. Eddie finally breaks out of his stupor, smiling as his chest sags in relief. Crush or not, Steve proves Eddie's little Upside Down speech right every single damn day. Playful and sarcastic and strong, but the hidden consideration and softness and care showing through. Every. Single. Time.

Steve reaches for the thin bed cover at the bottom, but Eddie's already there on the other side, pulling it out of his grasp. His head snaps up, surprise to open fondness. "You sure about that, Stevie?" Eddie jokes, slowly bunching up the sheet in his hands. Knows the truth is peeking through. "I've been called quite the unforgiving bunk mate."

Steve blinks at his words, searching him for something Eddie doesn't want to know. But then he's smiling too, not looking away as he goes for the pillows. "As long as you don't snore, I'll be the judge of that."

-----------

Eddie does snore.

Not outright, it's a barely there grumble if you get technical. But it comes up sometimes when he sleeps on his back, and thanks to those glorious bites, he's forced to. Thus, snoring. Steve would probably make fun of it, play up the annoyance and make a joke of it to get Eddie to laugh.

But they're both fast asleep. Steve in just sweatpants and Eddie in a shirt and shorts, on opposite ends of the bed, passed out with the exhaustion of the last week still weighing them down.

They're no better than the rest of the Party, their new base of operations providing them all a sense of safety no trailer or winnebago has before. Granting them all the deepest sleep they've had yet.

Still, the unconscious Steve shuffles in his sleep in the dead of night. His brain is a hive of noise in times like these, making his subconscious dark and uncomfortable. He's deep in slumber, exhaustion keeping him trapped down, so his body tries to counteract it, twisting and turning to find sanctuary.

The unconscious Eddie isn't faring any better. Even in sleep he's restless, his usual positions consisting of shuffling legs, constant turning, and the tight cradling of a pillow, all in the attempts to keep his body down and still. But with the wounds, he can hardly breathe without straining against them. Every attempt his subconscious makes to move, a sharp burst of pain shoots into his dreams, and he stops with a groaning snore. And though the blankets they could salvage are thick and comfortable, this new Hawkins post-Vecna is cold at night, and Eddie is too exposed to not feel the shivers rack his body, flaring the pain further.

With a sleepy mumble, Steve shuffles into the bed a little further, his brow straining against his mind's assault. At the same time, Eddie turns his head onto his uninjured cheek, the only movement his body will allow.

Steve squirms and it strains at the wounds in his back, so against the bruising pain of the bites, he turns over into his side. He's got more freedom than Eddie there, so while his body slowly settles against the pain, his other arm comes around to find peace in the sheets below. Anything to ground him from the memories swirling fast like rushing lake water.

And it finds something. Something solid, soft, real and breathing and alive and safe. Steve's too deep in sleep to comprehend it past that, so his fingers just run softly over it, savoring the tranquility it offers his rattled head.

Likewise, Eddie's snoring abruptly quiets with a breathy exhale. Something has grabbed hold of his upper arm. Soft and moving but it's warm, radiating heat up to his shoulder blade and down into his fingertips. Thankful and desperate, his subconscious moves him to shuffle sideways, face straining against the pain in search of the aid that'll soothe it.

At the same time, Steve also searches for more of that feeling, the edge of darkness licking at his heels as he tries to escape. Closes the gap.

Steve is now laying nearly on top of Eddie's right side, arm draped over his chest and head finding solace in the crook of his neck. All the while, both of them completely unconscious.

Steve's brain goes blissfully silent, the presence of another comforting his innate fears and driving away the darkness into a muted haze. It pulls his mind completely away from whatever pain resides in his torso, and he relaxes fully with a soft mumble.

Eddie sags into the bed with a deep exhale. The warmth digs deep into his bones, burning away the cold and restless twitching in his nerves. The pressure on his side adds to the weight on his mind, dragging him deeper into sleep. The pressure on his chest is just barely off of his wounds, soothing the stabbing in his gut in to a soft pulsing.

He leans more into it, meeting Steve breath for breath. Letting their hearts match in beat, sinking into peace. It's the safest and most comfortable they've been since hell froze over.

But as the night goes on, they'll slowly drift apart. When the sun rises they'll be separate once again. Their minds will only remember the peace, their bodies the vague touch of comfort.

Despite everything, they'll be none the wiser.

Despite everything, the next night, they'll long for it again.

And despite everything, they would find it.

#“Only one bed” trope but they're only not stupid when they're asleep #every other time is pining #writing this was super fun but slow burn is my kryptonite #bc this was gonna be SLOW slow burn #focus on their relationships with each other and the others #how they'll beat vecna #and then keep coming back to each other every single night #eventually they'll start waking up in the middle of it and have some “oh shit i love him” moments #and then they'll wake up at the same time and finally figure the whole thing out #MAN I WISH I COULD WRITE THIS BETTER #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things fic #stranger things #no shame on the tag assault i love yapping about my boys #yall have no clue how many steddie wips are sitting in my drafts and notes rn

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theflyingfeeling · 5 months

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doing all those tag games I've been tagged in recently all at once lol

tagged by: @gloryforthegreedy

post your lockscreen, last song you listened to, and last saved picture of a famous person

...

tagged by: @kaunisbaby @lnights @another-sun

"if you get this, answer w/ three random facts about yourself and send it to the last seven blogs in your notifs. anon or not, doesn’t matter, let’s get to know the person behind the blog!"

I moved away from home when I was 16 (to study)

When I was little I was terribly afraid of dogs (traumatized by my uncle's dobermann)

I studied Spanish as my minor in uni

...

tagged by: @kaunisbaby

Star Sign: Gemini ♊

favourite holiday: I don't think I really have one, but if I had to choose it would probably be Christmas I guess (I'm not one of those Christmas enthusiasts though, I like it a "normal" amount lol)

last meal: breakfast (rye bread and yoghurt+banana)

current favourite musician: Blind Channel

last music I listened to: see above (I haven't heard that song before so I was curious lol)

last movie I watched: still, Peruna

last tv show I watched: just finished the second season of World on Fire the other night 😭

last book finished: it's been way to long since I last finished a book, so I can't remember 💀

last book abandoned: can't remember this one either

currently reading: fanfiction mostly yeah (nothing in particular atm though)

last thing researched for writing/art: just some sauna related vocabulary 😂

favourite fandom online memory: too many to choose from 🥺

temping project you're trying to reign in/don't have time for: just any of my planned fics/WIPs 😩 (the modern royalty AU, the Gran Hotel AU, Olli/Allu university AU...)

thanks for tagging me!! ✨

#sorry for boring answers 🤧#and sorry for not tagging anyone. if you see this and want to do any of these: feel tagged <3

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bretongirlwrites · 2 months

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tagged by @sylvienerevarine for this tag game... i don't know who has already been tagged but i will tag @druidx and @redyn-nerevarine and anyone else who feels like it

How many works do you have on AO3?

91.. i have no idea how it got to that amount. most of them are like 500 words though. just bits. i also have 33 on fanfiction dot net but haven't posted there in years and years

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

146,927. which means i'm somehow significantly under my fanfiction dot net count (232,934!!) despite the 91 fics. damn what was i on back in 2015

3. What fandoms do you write for?

well you all know about the elder scrolls ones. have dabbled in dragon age and mass effect, but don't often publish what i write for those. my 2015 obsessions were merlin and sherlock and occasionally atlantis but they're pretty much abandoned

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

cannot really answer as i got hit a few times by the kudos bot. the formation of a courier is incontestably up there. as is where were you when the dragonborn came, but i've a feeling people accidentally end up on that one thinking the title is uhhh innuendo

5. Do you respond to comments?

i try to... i don't get too many and idk what to reply other than 'thanks! :)' though

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

an ultimatum and well laid plans maybe... i can't really say that my fics have endings. since they're mostly scraps and i never finish longer fics

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

see above... i try to end things happily but since i'm writing fics from the middle it's not always obvious from what i publish

8. Do you get hate on fics?

thankfully not. except an instance of delphine hate that wasn't very favourable to the fic either. and that one time way back when, when someone criticised a fic for being unrealistic. because the count of monte cristo is so realistic

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

i do not. the only time i tried, it ended up extremely non-explicit anyway. and i deleted it off ao3 because it was cringe but it was getting tons of hits from people probably expecting more. i used to tag my fanfiction dot net ones with 'this will not contain smut or anything like that' because i didn't realise that smut was what people were mainly looking for

10. Do you write crossovers? If so, what's the craziest one you've written?

i began a merlin/sherlock crossover that got quite popular but which i never finished... the crazy thing ended up being not so much the crossover but the existence of a magical teleporting conservative mp

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i damn well hope not

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

i used to translate my own fics into french... i no longer have the translations but knowing how bad i was at french in 2015, i doubt they were readable. maybe i ought to try again... since nobody else appears to be doing so hehe

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

no although i have written crack fics with my sibling that would never make any sense to anyone including us

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

i'm not really in this for the shipping... my oc victoria hatteras and her platonic soulmate harbert brown will always be my otp but i do not publish anything about them. am however fond of julienne and marcurio (all the book smarts and none of the street smarts), and lunette and ilmeni (which despite lunette's cavalier attitude to romance, i am determined will be perfect)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

occasionally i still get requests to continue the aforementioned merlin-sherlock crossover. but that's probably not happening. really the answer is 'literally any of them' since i don't remember the last time i finished a multi-chapter fic

16. What are your writing strengths?

uhhh uniqueness. chaos punctuation. sounding like i died two hundred years ago

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

anything actually happening that involves like movement and stuff

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

i've not thus far felt like i needed to, at least for tes. if a fic called for french or german, then i'd try. if it called for anything else, i wouldn't trust myself or google translate enough. idk how readers would feel about that... i already invent words from french sometimes

19. First fandom you wrote for?

in terms of published works, it seems to be doctor who. in terms of generally... hell probably still doctor who, i was obsessive when i was younger

20. Favourite fic you've written?

all and none of them. the aforementioned formation of a courier... and the imperial city irregulars, that was a good one. i seem to be more consistent and less cringe where comedy is concerned than more serious fics

#tag game

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jesuisici33 · 8 months

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Weekend WIP Game

tagged by the always lovely @welcometololaland <3<3

Rules: List your WIPs below (if you only write one fic at a time, feel free to include future WIPs/ideas!) then answer the following questions. Then, tag as many people as you have WIPs (or more)

1. WIP List:

vampire!buck (i want my blood in your veins)

buddie orgasm delay (locked and loaded)

demon!buck/angel!eddie (devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes)

incubus!eddie/hunter!buck

buddie bachelorette

fae!carlos (by any other name)

tarlos pwp

buck/eddie/taylor threesome (you're breaking hearts for fun and it's bloody)

2. Which of your WIPs is currently the longest?

fae!carlos with 25,219 (!!! a lot more than i thought, i thought it was around 12k lol)

3. Which WIP do you expect will end up the longest?

i have no idea, tbh. possibly fae!carlos? but i can see demon!buck/angel!eddie getting pretty long too

4. Which WIP is your favourite to write/the most enjoyable to write? Why?

atm demon!buck/angel!eddie only because it's taking over my mind like no other wip rn. planning on adding more tonight and last night i started and it's already at 3.5k

5. Which WIP do you find the most intimidating to write? Why?

fae!carlos and buddie orgams delay. i think because i'm stuck on these. i know where i want to go, i have scenes i know i want to write, but for some reason i can't write them. it's infuriating.

6. Which WIP do you experience the most self-doubt about. Why?

ooohhhh that's easy that's all of them! possibly because i'm scared people won't like them? impostor syndrome is a pesky friend of mine

7. Which of your WIPs will you seek out a beta/sensitivity reader for? Why?

for fae!carlos i have @rmd-writes and @decafdino beta-ing (i'm so sorry i know it looks like i've abandoned it but i didn't! i swear!) with some of my buddie fics, i send some special snippets to @hippolotamus and @911-on-abc and talk to them about plot details on some of my fics.

8. Have any of your WIPs been struck by the curse of writer's block?

....why do you think a lot of them haven't been finished?

9. Which WIP has your favourite OC? Tell us about them?

none of them have ocs, unfortunately.

10. Which WIP is the sexiest?

buddie orgasm delay and tarlos pwp (even though that one lives mostly in my mind)

11. Which WIP is the angstiest?

ooohhh fae!carlos gets pretty angsty. when @rmd-writes read the rough draft of THAT scene, she lovingly and angrily called me an evil genius

12. Which WIP has the best characterisation (in your humble opinion)?

like how close they are to canon? or character growth in terms of story? whatever it is, i hope i stay close to their canon selves. and if it's the latter, perhaps either incubus!eddie/hunter!buck or demon!buck/angel!eddie

13. Which WIP has the best scene setting (in your humble opinion)?

this is probably one of my weak spots as a writer. so i'm not sure tbh

14. Which WIP have you worked the hardest on?

fae!carlos i think that's another reason i had to take a break from it.

15. Which WIP do you have the highest expectations for? Why?

incubus!eddie/hunter!buck -- only because i want to get it right. i have a very specific vision for it and i want it to be perfect

16. Do you dream about any of your WIPs?

yes! lol i wake up and immediately want to write but either work and school gets in the way

17. Do any of your WIPs have particular complexities that your other fics don't?

buddie bachelorette because i don't watch reality tv so i want to get it right for those that do (so here comes me starting to watch these shows and lowkey becoming addicted to all the drama lol)

18. Which WIP is the funniest or has the most humour?

buddie bachelorette, easy

19. Do any of your WIPs contain outside POVs or a deep dive on a character other than the main ship? How are you finding that process?

buddie bachelorette, there are some scenes that have taylor's (the bachelorette) pov and some with hen's and ravi's pov as the producer and camera man's povs i haven't written them quite yet, but i'm looking forward to the challenge!

20. Tell us one thing we don't know about one or more of your WIPs

so like some people have guessed in my snippet for demon!buck/angel!eddie here, maddie made a deal with a demon. it is doug and since she's not a human, she has five decades and not five weeks like a human would until her time is up. (but that won't stop doug)

tagging @hippolotamus @911-on-abc @eddiebabygirldiaz @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @giddyupbuck @disasterbuckdiaz @loserdiaz @wikiangela @forthewolves @wildlife4life @fortheloveofbuddie @eddiediaztho @wandering-night19 @rmd-writes @alrightbuckaroo @decafdino @liminalmemories21 @pirrusstuff @your-catfish-friend @spotsandsocks @apothecarose @mammameesh @eddie---diaz @eowon @daffi-990 @bonheur-cafe

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imunonimus · 8 months

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imu's writing masterlist

AO3: imunonimus

the majority of these are sbi/dsmp fics. i plan to write more for other fandoms soon.

MULTICHAPTER FICS

ongoing & actively updating.(not including those that are currently stagnant)

✧ binary stars (ongoing) — crimeboys-centric, space au, enemies to friends/friends — Tommy, the space outlaw, has been captured by space Lieutenant W. Soot. Both are regularly at each others throats until they get stranded on an uncharted planet. Disdain and tense arguments ensues. — "Tommy had never been the type to seek vengeance and keep grudges. But he supposed that with all the setbacks lately thanks to a cocky, arrogant Phalleum, has awakened a vindictive side to him. He has never hated anyone else, as much as he hated Wilbur Soot."

✧ until the beat starts to mean something (ongoing) — sbi-centric, modern setting, foster au (?) — Phil, along with his two wary companions, creates a home for Tommy, a telekinetic child who appeared in the middle of the road one rainy night. — "It seemed that the universe really had a lot of strange ways to come up with people’s fate. But Phil knew that he will always remember the first time he met Tommy. The little boy who was never prepared for the sudden embrace of the universe."

✧ bear with me (ongoing) — bedrockbros-centric, canon divergence — The exile arc, except Techno is a polar bear. — "When Tommy trudged through a violent snowstorm, fed up with the consequences of exile, he hoped to seek refuge in the Arctic commune where Technoblade—the disciple of blood, a former companion—resides. But all he finds is an odd polar bear with an attitude. "Yeah, I get it," He mumbled, glaring. "Cut me some slack, I know I look like shit."

✧ saudade (completed) — crimeboys-centric, a bit of an oldie, 19.7k words + 12 chapters — Wilbur becomes the first good adult/brotherly figure to an 11 year old. — "An 11 year-old Tommy stumbles upon an old abandoned house where he meets a (not-so-friendly at first) ghost named Wilbur Soot who tells him all sorts of tales."

ONESHOTS

i keep the majority of my oneshots in this series called storiettes. Have a look there too, if you want.

𓆩⟡ hallway ghosts 𓆪 — The young and sole prince of The Antarctic Kingdom—Wilbur Soot—befriends a spirit lingering in the corridors. 𓆩⟡ among the ruins 𓆪 — canon-divergent || gh! tommy, struggling to cope with nature festering inside his body, hiding it from everyone until it becomes too much for him to bear. Something about memories, grief, moving on, and love persevering. 𓆩⟡ goodbye letters 𓆪 — Character death, Grief/Mourning || Techno comes across a notebook that Tommy left behind. He recalls and learns about Tommy's days in exile leading up to his death. 𓆩⟡ not from here 𓆪 — superpowers/supernatural elements, crimeboys-centric, absurd (at times), mystery (?), lab-raised || Two people drawn together in their yearning for home, somehow find one in their wounds. 𓆩⟡ down on your luck 𓆪 — Lighthearted, attempts of humor || Techno and Wilbur's little brother had always been tagged as an unlucky, bizarre kid—Not too many friends either—So, imagine their surprise when Tommy announces that he has a friend coming over. They can't help but be skeptical. 𓆩⟡ i remember, you said 𓆪 — hurt/comfort, crimeboys canon divergence, inspired by The 30th animatic by tododokii || Wilbur Soot stood on the edge of a crumbling tower. 𓆩⟡ past winter, old coats 𓆪 — hurt/comfort, crimeboys canon divergence, an exploration on their relationship after being revived, christmas || Wilbur hung his brown coat over his shoulder. The cool wind hit him and he shivered. It has gotten chillier these days with December rolling in. He hadn’t meant to visit so late at night in this weather, but he needed to see Tommy. If not tonight, then when? 𓆩⟡ i know that's selfish (but my loneliness would disagree) 𓆪 — origins smp, hurt/comfort, sickfic || Avian Tommy does things he shouldn't for love & comfort. 𓆩⟡ look for tomorrow with me 𓆪 — modern setting, slice of life Friends cancelling plans shouldn't be as upsetting as it is. || Tommy just wanted to spend more time with friends before they separated for college. Instead, he walked home straight that day. To the same street, opening the same picket fence and unlocking the door of the same brick wood house, fumbling the keys.

#masterlist #writing masterlist #sbi fanfic #sleepyboisinc #crimeboys #bedrock bros #fanfic masterpost #fanfic recommendation #imu's writing masterlist 2023

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livsspecialinterests · 1 year

Note

So I absolutely love your “the dead should stay dead” fic, since it kind of makes a point of how short sighted Beetlejuice’s plan was. Like, he’s gonna bring himself to life, and then what? He has no money. No job, no social security number or birth certificate. He doesn’t even know how to take care of himself. He’d probably die from eating bad food out of a trash can, or falling off a roof because he forgets he can’t float.

The guy has never been alive before, and he wouldn’t last a week without help.

pff LITERALLY.

I feel like he came up with his plan completely in response to feeling abandoned by Lydia and it's so poorly thought through because of that.

his thought process seems to just be

come alive

???????

profit

like babe what was your end goal here??

ahh thank you i'm really glad you like the fic! I wanted to try to keep everyone in character as much as possible while still allowing the characters to develop and react to things in a believable way. i'm going to get more into Beej's psychology in later chapters but was originally really worried that him being so pathetic and immediately almost getting himself killed was a bit much?

i'm happy with how it's going and people reading it seem to find his actions believable so thats nice!

I kind of think he's really close to giving up entirely in the actual musical - like it takes one musical number for him to completely give up hope for the Maitlands, then he goes up to the roof to mope about how all hope is lost.

in that way I can see him being really fatalistic once he's become human. I also see him as using his big scary demon-ness as a cover for just being afraid a lot of the time (like how much he flinches at loud noises in the show - thank you for that lil detail, Alex Brightman!) so once all his powers are taken from him (again, really poorly thought out plan) he can't lash out and make himself big and scary... all that's left is his fear.

Again I'm going to go into it a little more later in the fic but he's used to being the youngest and littlest demon in the Netherworld, and in those situations where he couldn't talk himself out of trouble when he was a kid, he'd have to either run away, or accept the beating and hope whoever was attacking him would get bored eventually.

He's never been human before, but he's been vulnerable before, so his behaviour sort of defaults back to how he had to act when he was a kid - mixed in with some snark because he's still a little shit who can't help himself sometimes

sorry for the absolute essay but i love talking about Beetlejuice's feelings lol

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sgcairo · 2 years

Note

Boss I’m afraid to disappoint you with my reaction yet I cannot bear unhonesty

Pantalone no matter how he views himself he is the outsider in this plan. Taking babyttore, naming him and calling him his son as if he was taking the care of him for years (I will assume all the chapters (til now) happened in the timing of 6 months right?) meanwhile the actual caretaker who is irnes got his work and care denied is so unforgiving. More bonus for him that he is not a human and has no heart or soul, but with all that he managed to be as gentle to take care of a child under such an environment and stressful job. But for some reason irnes seems quite cold about it🤨 was he informed about the situation? What birdie told him heck!!!

I demand a special apology from pantalone ✋🏼

As you should, because Irnes is actually the only person in the dark about this whole situation (minus some of the clones).

He's been taking care of Babytorre since day one, technically. Fed him, clothed him with what little he had (even if it wasn't the best), kept him safe. Technically, he didn't leave Babytorre on his own intentionally either. As he said, he thought he left Babytorre in the care of another clone while he was away, though something happened along the line and his instructions were messed up. Irnes would've never left Anastasiy by himself. Never.

Irnes only seems cold because he's still trying to figure out what's going on. He doesn't know Pantalone, he can't be informal in front of Dottore, so he's really backed into a wall here. He knows full well he can't take care of Babytorre as well as Pantalone, but he's trying his damn hardest so that this kid doesn't feel unwanted or ends up abandoned. Yes, he didn't have the appropriate resources, but he took Babytorre in when Dottore wouldn't. That's more than both Pantalone and Dottore have done.

So yes, justice for Irnes! He deserves an apology for almost getting stabbed in the neck.

That's the thing about writing the Harbingers: They aren't fair. Especially towards those of lower rank. Irnes would happily hand Babytorre over, if it meant that he had a better life. But Pantalone swooping in and just walking all over his claims... That's the work of a bastard.

Pantalone has so many apologies to make in all my fics, I'm not even surprised anymore.

#pantalone #irnes #fatui harbingers #fatui headcanons #genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #babytorre #il dottore's clones #babytorre headcanons #anastasiy #dottore #il dottore

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quotidian-oblivion · 9 months

Text

20 Questions Writer Tag Game

Wasn't tagged by anyone, but saw this and wanted to do it.

How many works do you have on AO3?

28 (gonna be 29 this week though)

What’s your total AO3 word count?

319,633 words!

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

If you include my wattpad phase, then DC, Marvel, lotr, Ninjago, Harry Potter, Marauderers. But currently, DC (mainly batfam). But I'm slowly getting sucked into danny phantom

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

My School’s Local Mafia Boss Sometimes You Have To Find Your Own Genes Phone Alarms Can You Deduce Where I Am Now? With A Flashback

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Always. Unless they're stupid comments or comments i just can't with. I love responding to comments. I've had soo many lengthy conversations in the comments with some good pals. I don't mind talking in the comment section of my fics as long as they're good conversations and not mean.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

uhhh *goes to search* I guess Pluviophile? I don't write many angsty endings. Although there is this wip fic which absolutely destroys the characters. Can't wait for that.

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I don't write 'em. But I want to sometime in the future. Oh wait, unless you count my wattpad fics. I wrote an (incomplete) fic about dick and wally and shuri and peter meeting and nearly destroying the multiverse together with vines and crack humor. I actually liked the plot I did not like my author's notes. I was cringy back then. Genius, but cringy.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Three or four. I forget. They either insulted my characterization or got way too emotional for something that is fictional.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I don't.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes. *sigh* My wattpad one. On wordpress i think? Idk. Don't really care. But I would if any were stolen now on ao3. I will be pissed.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I would love to!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! With Vibey I'm currently working on a tim getting kidnapped fic and in some future a DEH batboys AU. With Sprite we're doing one (or maybe two) of one of her series. With Tristi I did At The Drop Of A Hat and hopefully another in the future. With Cyg, I've done Capture, Grok and 4 Times Jason Hid His Trauma + 1 Time Tim Helped Him.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

I don't ship. I used to. Lots and lots. When times were simpler. But rn, my only ship is from a small but an absolutely awesome Muslim fiction book called Love From A To Z. Love those two.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Lemme look. Okay, there's a whole document inspired by this fic called Living Dead Boy by Terranpheum, and there are some good moments I planned, but I abandoned it cuz I noticed that I didn't actually have a plot and it was just little moments.

What are your writing strengths?

Plot, ideas, outlines, dialogue, emotional rollercoasters, little bits of casefics, humor, angst, family fluff. Yeah. Oh and semicolons. Just a bit. And when I actually try, descriptions. But I have to be in a specific mood and the wind has to behave a certain way for that to happen.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Action and fight scenes. I had to employ Cyg's beta help for that. Torture I think. I want to get better at writing torture. Angst. It is both my strength and weakness.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Absolutely yes. I'm starting to use it at every chance I can. The next fic is gonna have some good ones. I'm so into it that I gave Sprite entire lessons on Arabic words and phrases. She can attest to that.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

DC. The fic's roaming around on tumblr here somewhere.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

A published one? My School's Local Mafia Boss. Because I've just... it's my first series. It's been going on for a year. I've made so many good friends in the comment sections and on other platforms and... some really really close friends. Who are just... so awesome. I can't describe /srs

No pressure tags: @wakkoroni @sardonic-sprite @tristicorde @foursixtwonineoh-pieces-of-lego @uncertainwallflower @cygnusdoesthings

#quotidian convos #20 questions writer tag game #writer tag game #tag game #tagging game #this was fun

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compo67 · 7 months

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Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

How many works do you have on ao3?

266. I know most of that is The Chicago Verse.

What's your total ao3 word count?

Aha! I am at 2,100,134. (I used to write sooo much from 2014-2017.)

What fandoms do you write for?

Just Supernatural and its RPF. I dabbled in the MCU with Spideypool fic, but have since not returned to it, nor do I have plans to.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

They Met at the Photo Op Booth (J2): 2,082

House of Gold (J2): 1,680

Garbage (J2): 1,533

Like a Small Boat (J2): 1,447

Put Your Hands Where Mine Are (Wincest): 1,303

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to, very much! Especially if a reader has a question or points out a specific thing they liked in the fic.

What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh gosh, let's see. Probably "It Takes a lot of Water." Or maybe "The Shortest Distance." There's not really a "happy" ending in either of those fics. They're hopeful endings, but come at a large cost.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I'd say that's either Punzel or They Met at the Photo Op Booth. Both have such sweet, hopeful, joyous endings.

Do you get hate on fics?

I think it's happened less than five times since I've been writing for fandom. A couple (a few?) of people left rude comments on Back Pocket 1 because of how I chose to portray Jensen in that fic (he is close to 400 lbs in that verse). One person left hate on Model of the Solar System. I think someone sometime recently? (maybe?) left something negative on a TCV fic. So no, it generally doesn't happen to me, but when it does, man, I remember it.

Do you write smut?

Yep! I used to post a lot on the spnkinkmeme back in the day, probably around 2015. It was such a great time in fandom. Anyway, yes, certainly, absolutely.

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I do not. Except this one time. Yes, I wrote a Harry Potter/SPN crossover fic. But nothing ever came of it. I'm not even going to link it, I don't even remember the title.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of. Readers do let me know when they've seen my fic somewhere it shouldn't be (like on Goodreads).

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! It floors me every time I get a request to do that! :)

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yep.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Oh, how do I choose between J2 and Wincest??? Ugh. I guess. Well. Considering... oh, hell. I don't have to choose. :P

What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Oh, goodness. Well, I make it a goal of mine to not abandon fics. Unfortunately, it just happens sometimes. There's Letter to Follow, which has only been available on Patreon since I started writing it back in 2019/2020. It's my time traveling J2 fic. I remember writing for it during the very first few weeks of covid. I learned so much physics for that fic. But alas, I needed/wanted to move on so I left it where it is. I hope I can return to it one day.

What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and setting the scene. :)

What are your writing weaknesses?

Plot. That goddamn plot. (And pacing at the end of a fic.)

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Love it. Love a challenge. Love how it works into the story.

First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter, back when I was 14 or 15 years old.

Favorite fic you've written?

Ahh how do I choose?! I can't. I have such a fondness for them all. <3

#compo67 #authorial rambles #i saw this and was like omg i want to fill this out #long post

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saunne · 7 months

Text

Writing - Reflection and Personal Analysis (Pt 1)

(mostly rambling, if you want to read what I plan to do for the rest of NaNo, wait for the Part 2)

So I've been putting this off for two days, but I guess the end of the first week of NaNo is a good date for this kind of personal reflection. During this week of writing, of attempting to write, of abandoning writing and of writer's anxiety, I had time to think about a couple of things, to have some fairly enlightening insights on others and to better understand the whole mess I'm in.

This post is mainly for me, to keep track of my thoughts, my process and my difficulties and it may be long, so good luck to those who take the time to read my whole rambling. Cause this is but a frustrated braindump lol

First Issue - Brain is an obsessive 5yo without parental supervision

The first problem I have would be that I love writing. I really like writing. I always have a lot of imagination and a lot of ideas and therefore, in fact, a lot of WIPs, mainly fanfiction. I am part of several fandoms and I mostly operate with a main fandom and two-three secondary fandoms.

I have a tendency towards quite severe obsessive hyperfixation. This isn't new, it's something I've known for years, but that doesn't mean it's easy to deal with. My current obsessive hyperfixation is SVSSS. My current obsessive hyperfixation is not my Original Project, Erasde.

This is a Problem.

This is a problem because I keep thinking about SVSSS. My daydreams, my dreams, my ideas, my thoughts are almost constantly towards this fandom. I've had a Self-Insert living rent-free in my head for a while now. It's all-consuming. It's inevitable. It's obsessive.

My brain wants to work on these ideas and WIPs, read fics and daydream scenarios all day. My brain doesn't give a shit that it's NaNo and I was planning to work on Erasde.

I'm currently REALLY frustrated. Because I have to work on NaNo (and my thesis, but that's another problem), but my brain is a 5 year old chanting "SVSSS, SVSSS, SVSSS" over and over. I can't work on what I need to work on and I can't work on what I want to work on because of what I need to work on.

I'm really feeling like : (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

Second Issue - IRL mugged me in a back alley

This year is a relatively light year for me. Which is good, considering I'm recovering from a burnout that had been brewing for two years and exploded with full force in November of last year. I was an emotional wreck, a wreck at work and study, and I was probably an ass to everyone who knew me back then.

I'm technically finished with my studies and I don't have any more classes to take. I just have to write my dissertation and prepare my oral exam to be able to validate my diploma. I have a small job that means I only work on Sundays, but I sometimes take a few shifts during the week for a little extra money. I do a little volunteering at the LGBT center, something I've wanted to do for years.

I went back to regular therapy, got an ADHD diagnosis that should have been done years ago, and I'm starting to understand why certain periods of my life and some of my relationships were so fucking screwed.

I'm healing, even if it's slow.

But I still have a lot of moments of no energy, of no desire, of stalled motivation, of fed-up-with-everything, of wanting to disappear into the nearest forest, of wanting to not having to speak for 5 and a half years and such.

So let's say that my spoons refill is very... random. Which is complicated during a challenge like NaNo, which requires a lot more energy than I thought. If I do NaNo, I have to sacrifice the energy for something else except sometimes there's nothing to sacrifice which makes it... complicated.

And it's also not something I particularly want to complain about with my friends or my family, who work 35 hours or more/week, in very demanding jobs. That would just be a dick move.

Third Issue - Brain won't brain correctly

Well, that's not new either. My brain hasn't brained properly for years, university life and my mental health on the ground have only made it worse but we're getting by. I will soon be put on treatment for ADHD, with Menylphredate. The cardiologist gave her approval so I collect my prescription at the end of the month, at the next appointment. I have very, very high hopes for this treatment.

But the fact is, my brain doesn't brain. In addition to not being able to concentrate, everything is mixed up in my head.

The biggest problem is a language problems. I am a native French speaker, but I have become accustomed over the last 4 years to writing almost exclusively in English. The vast majority of my writing in French was assignments for university, courses and analysis papers. I can no longer write fiction in French. Everything I write feels off, uncomfortable, messy, meaningless and it's fucking FRUSTRATING.

The mixing of styles is also a problem. I don't have a defined "novel" style. I have a fanfiction writing style, which I have worked on and which has evolved with my practice over the last few years, but I have no basis in style for a novel. Which has been really annoying this week because everything I've written makes me want to send my laptop flying out the window.

The fact is also that in parallel with NaNo and my fics, I have to write my thesis. I'm shitty with academic methodology and almost literally have to rewire my entire functioning to write academic papers, so when I then have to write fiction, it goes haywire. It's tiring. I'm currently on a short schedule to send the first part for review to my teacher and it's taken up all my energy and my ability to function this past week.

And I won't be free of this shit until February at best, April at worst.

┻━┻ ︵＼( °□° )／︵ ┻━┻

Fourth Issue - There is a Whole World in my head

Originally, Erasde was just a worldbuilding project. Like, worldbuilding for the sake of doing worldbuilding, to put the cool facts I was learning in history class in one place and absorb my excess imagination to be able to concentrate on my classes.

It then became a sort of "refuge" for my favorite fandom OCs, reworked to adapt to this new universe, and then joined by old OCs from an original project and finally by OCs native to the project.

The fact is that I built this world for 3 years, it's still not finished but damn, I have a fuckton of information to pass on, so many things that serve as clues, from Chekhov's gun, forshadowing and... Yeah, it's a nameless mess. I'm not necessarily the most organized person in the world, but we've reached a new level of fuckery with Erasde.

Figuring out how to organize all this mess is what blocks me the most about writing NaNo. Because it's not a fanfic. The people who read don't know the setting like I know it, they have to discover it and there is a limit to what the "in situ" setting can do.

Fifth Issue - Planning didn't go as planned

Because I should have planned and I didn't. Well yes, I did it, but not correctly. Or not enough. Or both.

With fanfics, since I know the setting and the characters and I don't have a fuckton of information to pass along to make myself understood, this would have been less of a problem. I can get away with writing a multi-chapter fics mostly in freestyle, complete improvisation, or with the barest handful of notes.

I CAN'T DO THAT WITH A NOVEL.

Which will conclude this long rambling post and take us to part two, where I will actually explain my plan of action.

#writing process #writing analysis #writeblr #writing #self analysis #personal practice #mental health #personal issues #erasde #unneism

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callofdooty · 1 year

Note

Damn, I missed the Walruss bingo. Did you do Ajax/Keegan yet? Or am I gonna have to send another ask with ANOTHER ship lmao

Luckily Ajax/Keegan as not been done yet!!

These two... entirely snuck up on me. One minute it was "they'd be a cute pair" and the next it was "I am fucking OBSESSED"

I really do see these two as being quite a sweet pairing. Just two people who find each other at the right time. I headcanon that Ajax was the first one to properly get close to Keegan, and helped him warm up to the others. In "A Place To Get Away From All The Cold" (A.K.A "The Hypothermia Fic") Keegan describes Ajax as being one of the few people that has ever accomodated for him, likely the first person to truly know him as he is.

It's about the tenderness that you can apply to these two. The fucking. Softness. It kills me. It really kills me. And maybe none of this rings true to anyone else, maybs this is only the way I write them, but either way, I adore it.

SPOILERS FOR COD: GHOSTS BELOW THE CUT!!!

++ Also just a long-ass fucking ramble abt these two

!!!TW FOR DEATH, VIOLENCE AND OTHER CANON-TYPICAL SHIT!!!

SO Let's talk abt the not so sweet stuff.

The angst potential is through the fucking roof with these two, especially when it comes to Ajax's death. Not only do we see Keegan losing his shit a little while trying to find him (Like I'd say Struck Down has some of Keegan's most genuinely aggressive moments, compared to other missions where he's just doing things for the sake of the mission), but we see all of that aggressiveness completely disappear when they finally find him, and it just melts into quiet despair.

"It's bad." Is all he says.

They were too late. And I could only imagine the fucking chill that must've ran through Keegan's blood the second Ajax uses his final breaths to tell them that it was Rorke who did all of this.

Also the fact that Keegan is the one to shout for Ajax when they find him? You'd kind of expect it to be Merrick as the more talkative one. But it's fucking Keegan that yells for him. The guy that doesn't really talk unless he needs to.

And I did already go through Ajax's situation in his bingo but FUCK IT WE'RE SAYING IT AGAIN. Keegan and Merrick finally showing up was probably bittersweet for Ajax. On one hand, he knew he wasn't going to make it. He knew that this was where he'd die, in a darkened room where a kill list of his entire team - found family - taunts him from the far wall. And not only is he unable to tell them, he's actively added to those plans to endanger them because he broke and told Rorke about the safehouse.

But then he hears Keegan. And then Keegan is there, holding him as he chokes on his own fading life. He won't be alone in his final moments, the ones he loves are there with him (well, two of them are at least) but he can't let go peacefully. Not when he knows so much. So he fights against his own dying body to try and warn them. He can't get much out, he resorts to just pointing out the wall. He can't apologise for the danger he's put them in - unbeknownst to them - and he can't apologise to Keegan.

Keegan. Who probably looks anguished. Maybe even scared. And maybe Ajax thinks back to Sand Viper, where he first saw those pained eyes, and it dawns on him that this is it. 22 years of survival and it ends like this.

Are they already together by this point? Is Keegan forced to sit there and watch his love die, all while being told it was his former captain that did it? Forced to watch knowing he wasn't quick enough to save him?

Or had they not even been able to confess yet? Leaving both of them with so many unspoken regrets.

Either way, Ajax doesn't pass with peace of mind. Ajax dies feeling guilty, feeling like a culprit of a crime he'd never even dream of ever comitting. He feels like he's failed them. He feels like he's betrayed them, abandoning them in a mess he helped in making, despite how hard he fought against it.

He probably worries about what's going to happen to Keegan. Because he won't be there to make sure he doesn't spiral over Rorke turning on them. He won't be there to comfort him, just like how Keegan is silently trying to comfort him now.

Keegan's world shatters the moment Ajax takes his final breath. When Merrick checks out the wall with Hesh, Keegan just sits there for a few moments before closing Ajax's eyes. You can just fucking tell from the way he acts for that entire scene how much Ajax meant to him and the Ghosts.

And then he has to carry Ajax's body out of there. At least they actually get to recover his body.

Also for added heartbreak: When Rorke taunts them about Ajax being dead, you can see how Keegan reacts to it.

If you check out this video at 1:15 you can see it fully.

Reminds me of when people tilt their head to try and stop themselves from crying (smth I have done before) but it also could be him resisting the urge to put a bullet through Rorke's skull right then and there. And then he just kinda slips away off-screen.

So. Yeah. This shit is. I love them. I really love them. My heart hurts for them so much.

#doot's bingo shenanigans #keegan p russ #alex ajax johnson #call of duty ghosts #long post #tw death

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