#...if it can be called a snippet at over 1k words

[adnauseum11]

Misfire (John Price x Reader)

A little snippet of a scene came to me and made me laugh. John Price having a crush on a long time friend and finally working up the nerve to ask her out. Kinda.

less than 1k words

John Price x fem! reader

SFW

feedback welcome

I know almost nothing of CoD other than fanfic so go easy on me

I wouldn't know how to write shy and retiring if my life depended on it.

You’ve known John forever. Like, forever, forever. The friend group he originated from disintegrated years ago, but the two of you remained thick as thieves. He’s moved in and out of the country, and you’ve changed careers a few times, but through it all he’s been a reliable shoulder to lean on. He’s the first person you call when you need help moving for the millionth time, and he, good man that he is, turns up with beer and willing hands as soon as he’s available. If he grumbles about your proclivity for changing apartments so often you know it comes from a place of concerned affection. If anything, he’s pleased you’re closer to his bachelor pad now, negating the need to drive across town twice on game nights. God forbid you ride a bus for twenty-five minutes when he could deliver you to your doorstep in fifteen. He's retired from the Army, and still takes safety a little too seriously for your tastes. You indulge him though, because who actively chooses the bus when other, more pleasant options are available?

When he asks you to dinner, you agree without even blinking. You reason there must be a rugby game on or something he wants to see. You don’t even ask where to meet him, assuming, correctly, that he will pick you up. So, you are caught off guard when he turns up in your entrance way wearing a button-down shirt, suit jacket and dress pants. He too, is caught off guard. You look down at your outfit in unison. Bootcut jeans, well-worn Blundstone boots and a ratty but beloved faded t-shirt that cheerfully proclaims “IDAHO? No, you da ho” across the chest in cursive script. 

“Uh… what are you wearing?” He asks, cautiously.

“Me? What are YOU wearing?” Totally confused now, you can’t help but feel a little saucy about being put on your back foot.

“I asked you to dinner, didn’t I?”

John’s accent gets stronger when he’s caught up in strong emotions. That really should have been your first clue. But this is John. John. 

“Yeah, why are you all dressed up for beers? What game is on tonight anyways?” 

You throw him a look like he’s gone slow on the uptake as you reach for your coat. When you turn to look at him with your purse strap slung over your shoulder, he’s looking as confused as you feel. 

“Game? Love, who said anything about beers?”

“Wait, we aren’t going for beers?” Disappointment creeps into your voice and you can see you have managed to flummox the normally unflappable John. 

“Bleedin’ Jesus, I mean, we can have beers if ye want, sure. I just uh…” 

He lets the sentence hang, clearly uncertain.  

“You what?” You prompt, vaguely concerned at his out of character behaviour. 

“I made reservations at Stella del Mare.” He admits in a rush.

“You did what? This isn’t… beers? Is this… are we on a date?” The slow realization finally takes hold and a spiral of panic begins to descend through your body. “They won’t let me in like this!”

“Uh, no. No. They sure won’t.”

He agrees easily with the second half of your statement while staring at your chest and dodging the first. You narrow your eyes at him. This isn’t your first rodeo with John’s evasiveness. 

“How much time do I have?”

“Including travel time, or…?”

“John. If this is how you start all your first dates, I can see why you don’t have many second ones.”

“’Bout 15 minutes love.”

He answers seriously, properly chastised. 

You whip your purse over your head and slap it against his wide chest, catching him off guard. He holds it in place while you sling your coat off and dash upstairs again. 

He’s still in the same position when you return back down the steps, having swapped jeans for a black skirt and your (hilarious but wildly) inappropriate t-shirt for a silk, V-neck emerald blouse with cap sleeves. You’ve pulled your hair back into a simple bun and slicked on a light layer of neutral makeup and a deep red lip. John’s eyebrows climb as he catches a glimpse of you but he waits until you’re picking up your coat again before he speaks. 

“Listen, you look beautiful. I – “

“Can it, I’m still annoyed at you for the moment.” 

You take the purse out of his hands and slide the strap over your shoulder, smacking his big bicep playfully as you push him out the door and into the night. You resolve to question him thoroughly about his poor communication skills at dinner as you lock up. Wasn’t he in charge of people in the army? Christ. 

#john price #john price x reader #john price x you #call of duty #long time lurker first time poster #captain john price #john price cod #fanfic

[the-s1lly-corner]

Shut In (Eyeless Jack x reader oneshot!)

Basic plot: its really cold outside, and you urge Jack to stay in your home with you... he decides to stay despite knowing full well that he will be fine out in the freezing temperatures. You both decide to do things to pass the time and stay warm! Turns out Jack can make a mean cup of hot coco, too

Extra notes: I dont usually write fanfics, and the last one I've written was a personal one from late August... so to say I'm rusty and underexperienced is an understatement! I feel this one ended up a little.. weirdly paced imo but I think I'm still happy with the end result! Dialogue I feel I could have done better on but I'm going to be nice to myself since I mostly write hc posts so this is way out of my comfort zone.. Drafted on Tumblr then sent through google docs to pick up on some mistakes I missed, briefly reread no proper proof reading imo... lets hope this isnt a train wreck + it copied back to tumblr okay!! LMAO

Brief joke about pregnancy/making a pregnancy but its like one small snippet but I know that can make people uncomfortable + implies at least one of the characters is AFAB

Word Count: 2915

Extra Admin's note: I want to say again that I am so so happy about this blog hitting 1k followers, when I first started this blog I was originally going to use it to burn time and have something to do on the side, as well as having a place to put out my cringe ideas and hcs. I never thought this many people would be interested in my dumb thoughts, but here we are! I intend to keep writing this year, and perhaps even make more non-celebratory one shots this year? Maybe? I don't know I guess we'll see the reception on this fic!

It was the middle of the night, around the middle of January. Your boyfriend and you were holed up inside your apartment, you having locked the man up with you after seeing that it was below freezing out, as well as raining. You had to practically beg your boyfriend to stay with you for the night.

Your boyfriend, who also just so happened to be a man eating demon with tar dripping out of his hollowed out eye sockets. Your boyfriend, who was currently sitting still and staring forward, the only sound in the apartment coming from the dripping of your faucet. You had asked him to come visit you, it'd been a while... and he would never ever let you go to his cabin when it's this cold out. So here you both were now.

You pat the palms of your hands on your knees, sucking in one of your cheeks and working the flesh through your jaws for a moment. You were both technically stuck in the apartment now; you didn't want Jack to go out and risk getting sick, and Jack more than likely wouldn't want you to step out for the same reasons. So, you were both confined to what you already had within the space. You were about to open your mouth to speak but Jack broke the silence first. "You're shivering, do you want me to get some blankets?", blunt and almost robotic. He was never that expressive. "Or would you like to go to your room?" He added after a brief pause, his fangs poking just over his lip before he readjusted his mouth. You were both in the living room, sitting together on the couch; the front door to your left and a view of the kitchen to the right. You thought for a minute as your eyes lingered on the kitchen for a moment. You'd already eaten, before your partner arrived... but..

"That's fine, I'm probably going to make some hot coco," You pulled yourself up, stretching up. "Powdered stuff ooor..?" Jack mimicked you. You only shook your head, earning a disapproving look from him. "What?" You questioned, but he only dismissed you. "Why don't you get some blankets, I'll handle it," and he turned on his heel to make his way to the kitchen. "Maybe put on a movie, too, your choice." He added as his voice carried off. "Are you saying I can't cook?" You called back, following after him. No answer as he tugged out a pot. "I'll have you know-" you started once more

"Do you have half and half?" He was already opening your pantry to grab things.

"No, I don't,"

"Heavy cream? Whipping cream? Whatever it's called..." He mumbled as he placed various ingredients on the counter. Cocoa powder, vanilla, salt and sugar. You only nodded, and as he was about to begin working he paused. "Do you want anything else in it? Cinnamon? Nutmeg?" He paused and through gritted teeth, "Coffee?"

It was almost midnight, of course he would be opposed to you having caffeine so late.

"Cinnamon is fine," You watched him get to work. He measured everything out; even mixing the heavy cream with some milk to make a substitute for half and half.... was that really all it was? You weren't sure what you expected it to be, if it weren't..

He pulled his head up and stared at you. It was then that you noticed he had actually taken his mask off and set it at the end of the counter and out of the way. The black ooze dripping from his eyes was slow and posed little threat to dripping into your drink. He had a fistful of napkins on standby to dap his face dry should the flow quicken. "Aren't you going to get the blankets?"

You pat your hands on your thighs, pausing... watching him. His body had a warm glow on him from the old light bulb in the ceiling; it flickered every now and then. Under the yellowed light he almost looked healthy and alive, though there was no glint where his eyes should have been. His sharp nail tapping on the counter brought you back to the moment, blinking a few times. "Yeah.." you mumbled, defeated at the chance of making a drink for yourself stolen from you. But was that so bad?

You backed out of the kitchen, dragging your feet across the floor. Your apartment was.. a little on the smaller side so within a few steps you were in front of your bedroom door. You didn't really pay much attention to your surroundings as you shuffled through the blankets on the bed.. eventually you settled on just grabbing an arm full and waddling back to the living room, dumping everything you had grabbed onto the couch.

The house smelled of cinnamon and chocolate.. with a hint of vanilla.

Turning your gaze to the tv, your eyes scanned across the DVDs you had stacked messily. Nothing sounded good. "Is there anything you want specifically?" You called out as you settled yourself down criss cross in front of the tv and pulling all the cases onto the floor next to you. "Movie wise," You added as you pulled the first case into your hands. The DVD collection for Child's Play.. you had gotten it a few weeks ago, finding it on sale at your local store. You still hadn't popped it in to watch..

"I have.. Chucky, uhm..." You shuffled for the next case. "All the movies by the way.. I have that and.. most of the Friday the 13th movies," You called out. No answer, the only sound coming from the kitchen was the noise of a whisk gently being stirred. "I don't have Jason goes to hell... But!" You pulled out a third case with the Nightmare on Elm Street DVDs. "I DO have Freddy vs Jason," You mumbled and spread the three disks on the floor in front of you. Most of the disks you had, you noticed, were mostly older slasher movies. Still, Jack hadn't answered you. You pull yourself to your feet and trudge back into the kitchen. His back was to you, too preoccupied with the stove... He hadn't noticed you, not yet. An idea blossomed in your head, a smirk pulling itself across your lips. You steeled yourself, trying to force yourself to stop shivering.. Jack was always paying attention to his surroundings, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

You take a step forward and he still doesn't notice your approach.

Another step.

And another.

Jack wasn't the tallest, in fact if you wanted to you could rest your chin on his shoulder... and that's what you ended up doing, while wrapping your arms around his thick waist. You could feel his body seize up just a little bit against you, before relaxing. "You didn't answer, what sounds good?" You pulled your eyes down to look at the pot. Your drink was nearly finished. You view rocked as your boyfriend shrugged, still silent but the twitching of his pointed ears let you know he was listening.

"Anything's fine," Another shrug as he cuts the heat. "You're the one cooking for me, you get to pick the movie," You insisted. He paused mid-whisk, letting out a soft huff. Suddenly he spun around, his face just a few inches from yours. In the dimmed light his eye sockets seemed deeper, it's black ooze lazily dripping down his cheeks. You noticed the smudges on his face, from wiping the streaks. You briefly wondered what it was like to sleep with them, but your thoughts were cut short as he pulled a blackened and clawed hand to your hair; tucking a lock behind your ear. "How does...." He paused, sucking in his teeth. He looked almost embarrassed. "Bride of Chucky sound?"

"What? Want to study the characters again so we can dress up again this year for Halloween?" You tease. You had convinced him a few months ago to dress up with you. With him as Chucky, and you as Tiffany... It had taken some begging and convincing but you ultimately got him to agree. Although you didn't go out to get candy, you were both fine with staying inside watching movies together in costume. It was also that night you got him to watch the movies..

His ears darkened, before he scoffed. "No... actually this year I was thinking of..." He took a long pause, visibly scraping his brain for names of characters, before seemingly giving up. "Look I don't watch many movies I don't know any.. characters.." He grimaced, before gently pushing you off of him so he could turn his attention back to the hot cocoa. "We've still got nine months, more than enough time to come up with something..." You shrugged, then smirked. "Not enough time to make a Glen... or Glenda," You teased before turning on your heel. You held back a snicker as you heard Jack splutter, finally processing what you had just said to him.

"W-"

"I'm gonna go ahead and put in the disc, I'll leave it paused for you," You cut him off, still grinning to yourself as you kneeled down to do as you had said.

Soon enough Jack walked into the room with a mug, as well as a platter of cookies. "You didn't have to," You mumbled as you eyed the treats, but he only waved you off as he placed the plate and mug onto the coffee table. "You don't have to eat them, but I figured you might want a snack while watching the movie," He mumbled. You took the mug, and swirled the drink inside of it. "I hope I didn't put in too much cinnamon," Jack added as he watched you. He leaned over and started the movie.

You took a sip, smiling a little as the warmness crept in. "You did good, probably the best hot cocoa I've ever had." You offered a grin to him. "That has got to be the fakest compliment I've ever heard," Jack shot back, though you could see the corners of his mouth turning up just slightly. "Oh, I'm sorry! I believe this is the most decadent and satisfying beverage I've had ever been graced with in my life, and-" You began, only for Jack to hush you. "I'd rather you throw it on me, don't... say words like that again," He grumbled as readjusted himself into the couch. You took a sip and shrugged, "It's just absolutely immaculate," and he lightly smacked you on the arm. "I'm never making anything for you again," He snorted, before turning his attention to the movie.

You weren't going to lie, you felt a little bad treating yourself to the cookies, knowing Jack was unable to eat them without upsetting his stomach. Being a man-eating monster must really be hard. You purse your lips, and shoot a look at him from the corner of your eye. He must have been doing the same, because he turned his head to look at you. "Do you want to do something else?" He asked lightly, his grin from a few minutes ago already faded. "Do you ever miss eating.. food?" You asked before you could stop yourself. He didn't bother pausing the movie, instead he just fell silent and stared down, into the space between the two of you on the couch.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up, I know it's a touchy subject for you," You mumbled and put the mug on the table. You sucked in the air between your teeth, flicking your eyes up to the movie, before bringing them back down to your lap. It stayed like that for a minute before Jack broke the silence. "I mean... yeah, I do. But at least I don't have to eat every day like you do, means I can have more time to do what I want," He said. Clearly, he was still bothered, tip-toeing around the big.. thing about him. The air was still tense and thick, all of the previous joking gone now. It was nearly unbearable. Nearly.

"You know," Jack began after a few more seconds of silence when you didn't reply. "I've never tried cinnamon in hot cocoa, I didn't know that was a thing people did," He was changing the subject. "You haven't?" You asked, raising a brow. He eyed your mug, but you both knew there was no way he was going to take a sip.

"It's really good," You mumbled, and took the drink, "The combo, I mean," You added. He hummed, patting his knees lightly. You swirled the drink again, watching the... what was it called? Those lighter swirls in the drink.. Did that have a name?

"You've had hot cocoa before, right?" You asked. He hummed again, nodding his head. "Well.. the cinnamon makes it warm. Taste wise.. It makes it.." You took a sip and thought for a minute. "Richer, I guess? It's hard to explain," You muttered, then looked back at him. You tore your eyes back down when you saw he was looking right at you, totally hooked onto your words. "I hear nutmeg goes good in it, too.. but I've only tried nutmeg and chocolate together in baked goods," You shrugged. "You did really good with this, you know... not too much cinnamon.. not spicy, at least." You smiled. He nodded, before turning back to the movie.

"Woody, I hear people describe cinnamon like that," He leaned back into the couch, a dull pop came from his back.

"Woody," You repeated, then took a large sip of the hot cocoa. You put the mug down onto the table, and leaned into your boyfriend as the warmth crept and settled into your bones. You weren't even paying attention to the movie, your mind was now occupied with how tired you were. Your eyes slipped up to the clock on the wall, It was nearly one in the morning. Had it only been an hour since Jack walked himself into the kitchen?

You lean deeper into Jack, not caring about his body's natural chill. His clothing still smelled a little like the cocoa from earlier.. "Gotta invest in some cologne, you smell nice like this," You mumbled into his arm. "The cinnamon?" He asked, not looking down at you. "No.. the cocoa, I mean cinnamon would be a nice touch... but you don't seem like a sweet smelling guy, do you?" You muttered. "Are you already getting tired?" Jack asked, and he leaned over you to grab the remote, pausing the movie. You muttered, the heat of the hot cocoa doing way more than you expected on the tiredness you didn't notice you had. "A little," You shrugged, "But we can still try to finish the movie," You offered, but he shook his head. Of course he would, as much of a hard ass or party pooper he came off as, he was going to make sure you were going to get your rest.

You put your hand in his, the one that had the remote.. you unpaused the movie. He paused it, and you unpaused it again. It kind of kept up like this before Jack conceited and kept it playing, although he did lower the volume.. The subtitles were already on, though. "I win," You smirked up at him, before crawling into his lap. You placed your head on his chest, pausing when you felt him stiffen before relaxing against you. His heart beat for a moment before settling to its barely there rhythm. For a minute you thought about asking about his heart, as far as you knew he explained himself like he was becoming a walking corpse... how does that work?

You decided against it, you already asked about him earlier.. and besides, your mind was already beginning to blank as Jack reached to the side of the couch, and turned the lamp off.. It was dark now. It was still raining, you could more clearly hear the drops outside now that the movie was turned down. Plus, Jack was running his fingers through your hair, lightly massaging your scalp. It wouldn't be long until you finally gave in and fell asleep.

"Are you going to still be here in the morning?" You asked, melting into his chest as he hummed in response. "Plan on it, I still need to clean up the kitchen," He added as he curled your hair around his hand. "It'll still be cold in the morning," He added, "I need to make sure you bundle up before you go out for work," He added. "I'm not that dumb," You muttered and lightly slapped his arm. You swear, if he still had his eyes he would have rolled them.

"How do you see? I know you're not.. a normal person, but," You blurted out, lifting your head. He pushed your face back down, shushing you. "Sleep," He ordered, before loosening his hold on you a bit so you could get comfortable. It wasn't an order but it may as well have been with how your body started to loosen into him within the next few minutes, quickly snuffling out your curiosity and questions.

He'd still be here in the morning, you could pester him then. After all, it's what he signed up for when the two of you started to date one another..

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #creepypasta imagine #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack x you #eyeless jack imagine #creepypasta fanfic #eyeless jack fanfic

[ohforficsakelibrary]

The Margay: Chapter 7

Apologize to Housekeeping

prev / series masterlist / main masterlist

Summary: Santiago recruits Frankie to contract for a covert agency that pairs them with danger in more ways than one. A series of one-shot snippets taking place during and around missions.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Sniper!OFC

Word Count: ~1K words (short, spicy, and a tiny bit sweet.)

Rating: Explicit 18+ / oral (f receiving) / language / Minors DNI

A/N: Pussy-eating king Frankie Morales strikes again. That's it. That's the summary. And maybe these two are finally starting to feel something.

Divider by @cafekitsune!

Francisco Morales has a particular talent for what the government would call “Enhanced Interrogation Techniques.”

Audrey calls it what everyone else does. 

Torture.

She’s dripping with sweat at the creases in her elbows and the bends behind her knees. 

Frankie’s forearm that’s laid across her stomach keeps slipping.

And yet he’s unfazed. Delivering one slow lick to her every few seconds. Sometimes to her clit with the tip of his tongue. Other times over her dripping core. Sometimes he lets the flat of his teeth slip against her. Other times he kisses her lips like he would her mouth. 

If it was information he wanted she would have given it up ages ago.

She’s been trying to give him her cunt for the last hour.

But Francisco is a methodical man. And he chooses instead to hold her sprawled out, arms tangled with her legs. Pinning her down. Holding her open with his index and middle finger to get to the leaking pink of her.

She wants desperately to wind her fingers in his hair but she'd take chunks of it for her own, and so she takes it out on the sheets instead.

He’s been holding her on the edge of an orgasm for the last forty minutes.

“Frankie, I can’t,” she gasps, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“You can.” He says, softly. Matter-of-factly, lazily dipping his tongue inside her, bicep flexing as he anticipates her writhing and holds her down to the bed. The bridge of his nose catches her clit and she keens like a creature that’s about to gnaw its own limb off.

“Sound so beautiful, baby," he hums. "Breathe for me?”

“I hate you.”

“You don’t. Breathe, baby.”

Frankie hikes one knee up and angles his hips to press his weeping cock into the mattress. The pad of one thumb brushes feather-light against her clit and it burns.

“Frankiiieeeee,” she whines as his mouth replaces it, mustache scraping over her clit as he does.

Her whimpering makes his cock throb.

“Listen to you,” he whispers, “most dangerous woman in the world,” a stripe licked broad over her core, “begging,” a light suck at her clit, “for me?”

His tongue dips inside of her again and the tip of it curls. 

So do her toes.

“Please,” she pants.

“Mmph.” He mouths at her. “Begging because of me.”

And she allows it because she knows it’s not sadism behind his words.

It’s awe.

She feels heat creep up her thighs and he feels her breathing pick up under his forearm. The way she’s clawing at the sheets is different this time. 

Frankie can’t hold her any longer.

So he doesn’t. 

He latches his full mouth to as much of her as he can and hollows his cheeks, sucking hard as his tongue lazes over her clit.

Pleasure slams into her like a 100-foot wave.

And she drowns.

Over and over again, she drowns in him. 

Where one orgasm ends and the other begins, she can’t tell.

She’s hysterical. 

Outside of her mind but very much in her body. 

She’s aware of how he moves with her, arching up and following her hips so his mouth can stay with her.

The wide hands that pull her back down again and hold her to his face.

The forearm that weights one thigh.

The tongue that plunges inside her to taste nectar straight from the source. 

The vibration of growls that thrum straight through her.

She’s briefly aware of a grunt from deep in his chest that causes his mouth to fall open before he kisses her cunt again and it overtakes her once more. 

The delirium.

When she finally finds herself, it's to the sound of laughter. 

Hers. 

She finds tears wetting her lashes. 

And Frankie’s fingers laced like a vice with her own. 

Audrey angles her eyes down at where he’s still cradled between her legs.

He’s wrecked. 

He’s red with heat. Everywhere.

Wet hair plastered to his forehead. Nostrils flaring where he’s fighting for breath. One hand still wrapped around the top of her thigh. Lips flushed and swollen and fallen open. 

His face from the bridge of his nose down is glistening with the slick of her.

Brown eyes are perhaps the widest she’s ever seen them.

Waiting for her. On tenterhooks. 

And then.

Frankie smiles.

Smiles with round, wet cheeks and mirth-crinkled eyes.  

Smiles with all of his teeth. 

And Audrey swallows hard against the oxytocin searing through her blood. 

The fire masquerading as love. 

“Baby,” she purrs and he returns her stare with soft eyes, rubbing his scruffy cheek against the inside of her thigh. Tipping his face to lay a soft kiss there. 

“Frankie, let me…you must be…you need…” She babbles, uncoordinated fingers reaching for him.

“Oh baby, I already did. I’m sorry,” he climbs up her body to fit against her side, mouthing and nipping at her shoulder. “I couldn’t help it, baby, you looked—” his fingers tip her face to his and he presses his lips to whatever he can reach, wetting her cheeks with her own release. “—so beautiful. So beautiful, gatita." He buries his face into the curve of her shoulder, sucking on soft, sweaty skin, "The uh—the wet spot ’s not just you.”

And Audrey’s boneless when she curls into his chest, her head fitting under his chin. 

“Don’t apologize to me,” she whispers, tucking a kiss against his flushed, strong neck. “Apologize to housekeeping. These sheets are…filthy.”

And Frankie laughs, warm and rich into her hair. 

“I need a shower,” lazes out of her mouth. Mumbled through the haze of pleasure. She’s fading fast. 

“In a bit, baby.” His fingertips ghost up and down her spine and he hums in satisfaction as his own eyes start to slip closed. 

“We’ll leave a big tip tomorrow.”

But she doesn’t hear him. She’s lost to the world. 

Languid and sated and safe in his arms. 

And before Francisco slips off into sleep he thinks of how precious this gift that she gives him is.

How she lets him hold her. Move her.

Peel her open and bite at her flesh. 

How she lets him take her heart in his fist.

And trusts him not to squeeze.

She lets him care for her. 

She returns to him.

She stays. 

next

Taglist: @harriedandharassed @missladym1981

If I've missed you, please let me know, and if you'd like to be added, I'm happy to add you!

Old chapters are hosted on the OFFS Library page. New chapters will be posted to Ohforficsake - follow me over there for future updates.

Shoot me a message @ohforficsake or comment under this post if you would like to be added to the taglist for updates! Thanks so much for reading.

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales smut #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #ohforficsake

[hailsatanacab]

Are you still doing the wip ask game? If so, can i ask about number 5?

I love this one and I'm so embarrassed that it's still a wip oh no!!!! This should have been completed a long time ago to celebrate hitting 1,000 followers but uh... it sorta snowballed into way more than I thought it would and this cute little oneshot is now way more than that. Whoops.

It started as a @stealingyourbones prompt that I added on to, which you can read here! Then I posted a wee little wip wednesday sneak peek, and this snippet (is it still a snippet if it's over 1k words?) carries on from there :)

👻🦇👻

Danny doesn’t join him for what is, unexpectedly, a pretty great meal.

“Holy shit, you guys,” he murmurs, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "You’re missing out.”

“Come on, Jay, it can’t be as good as the Big Bat Deluxe.” Dick whines in his ear. “You love those.”

“No, I love the Red Hot Hood Bites. That’s all I get at Bat Burger, and don’t let me hear you telling the others that I get anything else.”

“Please, Jason, don’t think we don’t have everyone’s BB order on file, who do you think you’re talking to?”

“Fuck off, Timbits. Go eat at Red Robin.”

“Hey, fuck you!”

Jason elects to tune out the ensuing list of threats in favour of finishing his burger. He’s heard them all before and he’s like 80% sure that Tim won’t actually hide his body in a Red Robin—if only because it wouldn’t take the World’s Greatest Detective to figure out who did it and he'd be so deep in the fucking shit that he may as well join Jason.

Aside from the food (seriously, that sauce! He’s going to need to rustle up a copycat or something, he can’t leave here without a recipe), the Nasty Burger is a pretty sad affair.

It’s a little run down, the vinyl covers on the seats peeling and suspiciously sticky, and incredibly quiet. The only other people around are the two teens behind the counter, bored and on their phones, and two kids, probably around Danny’s age, sitting in the corner quietly arguing amongst themselves. There’s an ungodly amount of food in front of them, but only the guy seems to be eating.

Jason sighs and looks at the rapidly cooling Supremely Nasty Meal meant for Danny. Taking a few of the fries won’t hurt, will it?

He peels the paper bag away from the greasy mess and digs in. Huh, they really skimped on his lot, there’s only like half a carton in here.

“So, you gonna bring us back something or are we going to have to starve?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“What a shame,” Timbo starts, with a theatrical air, “for I am still trying to decide whether or not to tell you everything I’ve learnt about the Fentons. Perhaps we could come to some sort of arrangement?”

“You finally made yourself useful and got through those firewalls?”

“Yeah, once I managed to get my hands on a native laptop. It’s weird, but whatever was keeping out my tech lets anything bought directly from Amity in. Having such localised security—to the point where even my stuff can’t penetrate?— is beyond strange. I don’t like it.”

Jason leans back, and reaches for Danny’s milkshake, finding it surprisingly light when he lifts it up. Seriously, what is with the half portions here? He turns round and glares at the spotty teen behind the counter, who doesn’t look up from his phone. Whatever. It's not like Danny’s going to drink it anyway.

Looks like the two kids in the corner have made up, if their stifled laughter is anything to go by. Most of their own food is gone now, too, so perhaps the real reason it’s called the Nasty Burger is because they stiff you on the food.

“This place is weird.” says Dick, in a rare case of being right.

“You don’t know the half of it…” Tim sighs but doesn’t offer up anything else.

Jason’s been trying his best to ignore it.

The weirdness, that is.

There’s an electrical charge in the air so strong it almost feels like he’s swimming through static. Each breath makes his steps bounce like he’s walking on the moon. If he turns too quickly, if he stands up too fast, his head spins like he's breathing too much oxygen.

No matter what Tim thinks he knows, it’s not the full weirdness of Amity Park, Jason's sure about that. Being here itches under his skin, and he resolves not to delve any deeper into it. Not with the way the green swims on the edges of his vision. 

The sooner they figure out what’s happening here, the better.

“What’s your price?” 

“Two Supremes and a six pack of Nasty Nuggies. Cake shake with two shots of espresso.”

Jason rolls his eyes as Dick splutters in concern.

“Shake and espresso? Tim, you have a problem.”

“It’s just a frappuccino. There’s no difference.”

“Then get a frappuccino.”

“I want a shake.”

“Then there's a difference! And the difference is that Alfred will kill us for enabling you!”

“As riveting as watching Timberly’s mental and physical wellbeing disappear before our very eyes is, what’s your info?”

“The same for me, please!” Dick butts in, yet again. “Except with a coke instead, because I’m normal.”

Both Tim and Jason snort. 

“Yeah, not gonna touch that. Tim, info, come on.”

“Alright, alright. Hey, so, what’s your favourite thing about being adopted?”

“Tim, I swear to God, if you don’t get to the point right now, I’ll—”

“You’re right! It’s that none of us are actually related to you.”

“And yet somehow, I’m still stuck with you all. Point, Tim, get to it.”

He grabs the burger meant for Danny and begins to unwrap it. If he has to listen to Tim being all smug about whatever he’s found out, he’s doing it with a burger in hand.

“Did you know that Willis Todd’s Great-Great-Great-Great-Great Grandfather was a Nightingale?”

“What’s a Nightingale? Aside from the obvious.”

“A Nightingale is about two generations away from becoming a Fenton.”

“Oh, what the fuck? You cannot be serious!”

“Serious as a cake shake with two espressos in it.”

“No, my… Someone ate my other fucking burger!”

Danny’s burger has a huge, bite-sized chunk taken out of it. Literal teeth marks in the bun. A slice of tomato slops limply onto the table, painting his shirt with splatters of weak tomato juice, the red half moon taunting him. Sauce dribbles out mournfully.

The two kids in the corner are staring openly now, faces red with how hard they’re laughing.

Jason sinks into his chair with a groan.

This fucking town. 

Is this how they treat outsiders? Take bites of their burgers while they laugh on—but then why only do it to his spare and not both meals? The teenagers behind the counter aren't even paying any attention, so why bother pulling a prank like this if you're not going to—

Danny.

Jason whips his head around as if he can catch the invisible little shit, but just like on the street, there's no sign of him.

Has he been here the whole time, invisibly eating the food Jason offered him? Except the packaging was still perfectly wrapped, the sticker still attached, how in the hell had he managed to eat the burger without damaging it? Did he get to it in the kitchen? Or does he—

“Wait, hold up. What the fuck did you just say?”

#wip game #wink wonk hello hello! this ask gave me the motivation to actually get through work rather than collapse into a puddle and dissolve :) #i'm gonna reblog the wip game post again because i want to work on these and apparently talking about them gets me fired up #like i mean who knew??? who knew that being excited and telling someone about something makes you want to work on it more? #i really need to think of an actual title for this huh #but lbr i have a long way to go before this needs a title. this fic is really snowballing - like i love that but also holy shit #so much bigger than i thought it'd be 😬 #ain't that always the way #anyway thank you so much for the ask!! #love you guys #oh shit my writing tag #hailsatanacrab🦀🦀writes #it took me a while to remember where the crabs go :(

[bisamwilson]

hey honey! 💖 sambucky and 25. things you said in front of other people!

thanks for the ask, sweetheart <3 does something over 1k words count as a snippet oops (from this list)

"I just wasn't really feelin' it, y'know?" Sam laments to the circle of older ladies around him, sighing while they all nod along knowingly.

It's the first Thursday of the month, which means the local older women's book club is meeting in a small room off the church building where Sam's daddy had preached for twenty years, and, just like every first Thursday of the month that Sam's been in Delacroix since he was fourteen years old, Sam came by to help them set up tables and chairs for all the potluck food they bring with them.

And just like every first Thursday of the last six months since Sam and Bucky had rented a little house down here for when the world isn't on fire--last month excluded, given New York City, at least, was actually on fire--the first fifteen minutes of the local older women's book club is spent lightly interrogating Sam about his love life.

"How many of these dating app first dates have you been on, Sam?" Ms. Sheryl asks from beside him, her arms crossed over her chest.

Sam looks up at the ceiling and counts them in his head, each disappointing match after disappointing match. "Twelve in the last two months, Ms. Sheryl. Thirteen if you count the woman from NOLA I met at a jazz bar and had to leave after five minutes because an emergency mission came up. She unmatched me after that."

Ms. Sheryl nods, her lips pursed, and Sam thinks he might've accidentally just proved a point he didn't know she was making yet. "And how many of those got second dates?"

Sam's saved from having to answer that disheartening, kind-of-a-rhetorical question from the late arrival of Ms. Josephine, newcomer to both the book club and to Delacroix.

She'd moved here about a month and a half ago, about half a year after her husband had passed away, looking for a new start. Every interaction Sam's had with her thus far has been honestly lovely, and he already knows she's got a soft spot for Bucky given how much of her house he'd come over to help fix since she'd moved in. Sam's had his fair share of her "thank you" cooking, and knows full well she's as wonderful a cook as she is a lady.

"Evenin', ladies," she says, holding some kind of dish in her hand that smells downright heavenly. "And Sam," she adds with a wink, smiling when Sam takes the dish from her and sets it over on the table with the rest of the food. "What'd I miss?"

"Sam was just lamenting to us about his dating woes," Ms. Jackie replies, with a tone full of sympathy but a playful twinkle in her eye, taking Sam's hand and patting it soothingly when he comes to stand next to her, leaving his previous seat open for Ms. Josephine.

Sam laughs and squeezes Ms. Jackie's hand. "You've got a son about my age, right, Ms. Josephine? Is he single?"

All the other ladies in the room chuckle along at Sam's joke, but Ms. Josephine just looks confused. "Did something happen with you and Bucky?" she asks, concerned. "He didn't mention it when he came by to fix one of my hinges this morning."

Sam's eyebrows furrow this time around. "Not that I know of? Not unless something has happened in the last thirty minutes since I checked my phone, anyway, but he's not generally the type to call in any case."

Ms. Josephine's face morphs from confusion to contemplation, and she crosses her legs at her ankles and crosses her hands over her lap. "So are y'all in one of those relationships where you can date other people then? I saw some article about that a few weeks ago. Must have some real good communication between the two of you to make both that and all your superheroing work."

She sounds almost impressed, but Sam doesn't really have the mental capacity to acknowledge that right now, not when his brain got stuck on the word "relationships" applied to Bucky and himself.

He looks around the rest of the group to see if any of them are gonna correct her while he's still stuck in his state of shock, but finds all of them just looking vaguely amused.

He shakes his head minutely. "Ms. Josephine, Bucky and I aren't dating."

Her eyes go more than a little wide. "Wait, so you did call it off?"

Sam shakes his head again, a little more vigorously. "No, ma'am. We weren't ever dating in the first place. Did Bucky tell you we were?"

Ms. Josephine shakes her head right back. "Never explicitly, Sam, but it ain't exactly hard to tell when somebody's head over heels. He talks about you like you went and hung the moon for him. Just yesterday he came by and asked if I'd seen one of the recent news segments about you, gushing about how amazin' you look flyin' up there. 'He's so fast, and nimble, Ms. Josephine,' he said to me, all moony eyed. 'It's like nothing you've ever seen before. Sometimes I swear he looks like an angel when he's got his wings spread out.'

"And that's not even countin' the things he says about you when you've been home for a bit. He's always talkin' about whatever fishin' you've done recently, or charity work you've been doin' around here or in NOLA, or how excited you were to buy new cat toys the week before. Every time I ask him if he's got any special requests for thank you meals, he always asks for something with a spice level I'm still not sure he can handle, tellin' me all about how it's been one of your favorites since you were a kid. Bucky's spent at least four days a week at my house pretty much since I've moved in, Sam, and I'm pretty sure I know more about you than I do about him, given how much he talks about you."

Sam's world is starting to tilt on an axis, but he's saved from having to speak up by Ms. Jackie throwing in her two cents. "You know he hates the smell of the flowers he buys from me for y'all's table every week," she says, tone full of faux nonchalance. "Says they're a little too fragrant for his nose because of the serum, but he buys 'em anyway because you always smile when you see he's brought home fresh ones."

Ms. Sheryl's lips quirk up. "You know he replaced damn near every faucet in my house as payment for me helping him with some of the most complicated bits of that sweater he knit you for Christmas. Said it had to be perfect because he knew how cold you always get any time you have to go north of here."

Ms. Maybelle comes in with the final blow, and it hits Sam like the steel chair in all the WWE shows AJ insists on watching every week. "And it ain't like you don't do the same things neither, Sam. Every time I see you it's, 'Hey, Ms. Maybelle, how you been? You wanna see this cute picture I got of Bucky and the cats earlier? They fell asleep on the porch swing he built for us.' You spent the first five minutes of the book club session two months ago debating whether or not Bucky should grow his hair out because he wanted new opinions that weren't yours, and at least half of that was you trying to explain how nice he looked before with the long hair even though it was greasy, but how you like the way the short hair feels when he has his head in your lap on movie night."

Sam doesn't really know how he can defend himself here, but he's got some argument on the tip of his tongue about how their couch was just a little too small for the both of them and their cats, so the head in the lap was the obvious solution. He doesn't think it'll do much damage control, but he thinks he should at least make the attempt.

Instead, he turns back to Ms. Josephine kind of on autopilot. "He called me an angel?" he asks, his heart a little fluttery, and Ms. Josephine just smiles.

"I'll, uh, see you all here same time next month?" he asks as a kind of permission to leave. "I think I might need to go see what my roommate is up to."

"Bring your boy with you next time, Sam," Ms. Sheryl replies, nodding him towards the door. "It's much more fun to tease you both together."

#hello it is once again time for 'mak loves nothing more than to write the older delacroix ladies who love sam and bucky' #shout out to ms maybelle for taking no prisoners #thanks for the ask a!!!! this was fun!! #sambucky #onlysambucky #only sambucky #buckysam #sam wilson x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x sam wilson #sambucky fic #otp: i’m coming with you #sam wilson #mak writes #livingincolorsagain #ask meme #writer meme #ask game #ask #marvel

[splish--splash--minecraft]

Scarian snippet - Pizza AU

I wasn't expecting to get that much attention on the scarian bit I wrote earlier, so I've decided to post some more writing! This one is for an au I've been working on recently that I have dubbed the pizza AU. That'll make sense in a moment.

It's a college/university AU, though that doesn't come into play all that much until later. It's also an AU in which Grian works at a pizza place and Scar comes in every week with the most ridiculous and outlandish orders. Hence the AU name.

I've no clue when it'll be finished as I can be a slow writer at the best of times (and seeing as I did recently get a job - at a pizza place! - this is not the best of times as it's taking up a lot of my free time) and since this will also be a one-shot (I rarely trust myself with multichap fics), it might be a while. I'll try to keep y'all updated though. So, y'know, if you're interested...maybe drop a follow? Thanks <3

Anyway, without further ado...the snippet. That is almost 1k words. Oops?

Grian sighed when the phone rang. He knew, without looking, that it was 1AM. 

It only rang for a moment before Grian picked it up, just to get this over with. “Hello, this is Pizza Paraslice, what can I get for you?”

“Hi! Okay, can I get a large with parmesan garlic sauce, mozzarella and asiago cheese, jalapenos and diced boneless chicken, with a ranch drizzle? Thanks!”

Grian’s eyes closed as he let out a sigh as he took in the order. “Mmhm. Name for your order?”

“Scar!”

“And would you like pickup or delivery?

“Pickup, please!”

Grian didn’t know why he had to bother with asking Scar all that, since It was the same every time. Only the order was different. His boss had insisted though, so.

“Alright, that’ll be $21.59. How would you -”

“I’ll pay with cash there.”

“Okay, it’ll be ready in about 15 minutes.”

“See you then!”

The line clicked and Grian allowed himself to take a deep breath before looking down at the order he had entered into the POS system. Great. Another weird order from Scar.

He glanced at the one other person working at this time, rolling his eyes as they continued to stare at their phone even as the order counter dinged by the makeline, telling them they had an order. He dragged himself over to it and set about making the order.

Honestly, it wasn’t as weird as some of his other orders. The sauce was a little odd, sure, as was the ranch drizzle at the end, but he’d seen far weirder combinations, all courtesy of Scar. 

He let out a breath of relief once the pizza was in the oven and he could wash the jalapenos juices from his hands. He relaxed for a second, eyeing the board to make sure no more orders had come in. Honestly, Grian had no idea why Scar bothered calling every time. Most orders they got came in online, or a few people would even order there. But Scar always called for whatever reason. Grian never asked.

The door opened right as Grian got the pizza out of the oven to cut it. He didn’t have to look to know it was Scar. They didn’t have any other orders available for pickup, and very few people came in to order at this time of night. Plus, the sound of his cane against the tiled floors was sign enough that it was him.

Still, he peeked around the cutting table to see Scar looking around before smiling at him. “There’s my favorite person!”

Grian rolled his eyes with a huff. He always said that every time he came in. “I’m almost done with your pizza, give me a sec.”

“No worries, take your time. It’ll be amayzin anyway.”

Grian snorted. He wasn’t so sure about that, but he didn’t say anything, just dutifully cut the pizza and added the ranch drizzle. He closed the pizza box and walked around the cut table to where Scar stood behind the counter, cash in hand and wide grin directed his way.

Grian did his best to ignore him as he rang Scar up, taking the cash - in perfect amount, so he didn’t even need to get any change. With that done, he handed the pizza to Scar. “Anything else I can get you?”

“Your number?” Scar asked, hopeful.

Grian rolled his eyes again, though he couldn’t stop the slight flush from creeping up his cheeks and the barest hint of a smile that tugged at his lips.

“Maybe next time,” he said, just as he did every time.

Scar clicked his tongue. “I thought for sure this would be the week. Oh well. See you next week!”

He turned around and left, holding the pizza with one hand and his cane in the other as he backed out of the door, waving the end of his cane at Grian briefly before he disappeared out of sight.

“Please just ask him out already. Or give him your number, at least.”

Grian jumped as his co-worker appeared behind him. He pressed his hand to his chest and let out a breath. “God, don’t scare me like that!”

“Ask the poor guy out then!”

“And why would I do that?” Grian asked, raising his eyebrow.

His co-worker groaned. “Dude, anyone can tell you’ve got a crush on him. And he has one on you! Every week he orders a pizza and then asks for your number. Are you ever actually going to give him it?”

“I definitely do not have a crush on him. He makes my Wednesdays miserable. You think I like making his stupid pizzas? And of course, you never help.”

“Eh, you got it. You do just fine with making pizzas for your not-crush.”

Grian groaned, thankful when they got some orders and he could go and make them instead of continuing this conversation he wanted nothing to do with.

He absolutely did not have a crush on Scar. In fact, he could barely stand the guy. He ordered the weirdest pizzas, and some of them were incredibly complicated. He made Grian dread the Wednesday shifts and had tried multiple times to get out of them, but they didn't have enough people that could work at that time so he was stuck with the shift.

And, sure, his face always heated up when Scar smiled at him and flirted with him, and he often couldn't prevent a small smile at it, but that didn't mean anything. Each time, he told himself it would finally be the time he told Scar to stop. 

He still hadn't, but it still didn't mean anything! He just…liked the attention, that's all. And sure, he flirted back a bit, but it was basically routine by this point.

He did not have a crush on Scar.

He didn't.

#scarian #trafficshipping #my writing #it's fun writing grian being in denial #pizza au

[decembercamiecherries]

every vow you break

Long time no post! This is a sneak peak of a wonderland au I started working on last year. The wip currently stands at 6k words but this snippet here is only about 1k words. Hopefully I’ll be able to share the rest of it soon but in the meantime enjoy!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The path ran out sooner than Killua expected. 

“I told you it would stop,” Gon said in a whine as Killua gaped in disbelief and horror. “Why are you so surprised?”

“I—I just…I didn’t think it would happen so soon.”

“How soon is soon?”

“Soon is—” 

Killua stopped. Because he actually didn’t know how soon was soon. It seemed like he had left the tree behind a short while ago, but how much time had actually passed?

He shrugged off his backpack and dropped to his knees. Gon hovered above, floating over him like a large bat while Killua pushed aside the various food items he’d started collecting not too long ago. 

Gon asked curiously, “What’re you looking for?”

“My phone. I tried calling Alluka when I found she was missing but she might have reached out again. Also I need to know what time it is.”

Gon clicked his tongue with disapproval. “Technology doesn’t work in Wonderland, Ki-llu-a. I told you that, too.”

“I know. But I still want to check.”

Finally, he pulled out his phone. The battery had been full when he left the house but now when he pressed the power button, a distorted mess lit up his screen. 

Killua stared. Had it broken or was it the nature of the land like Gon suggested? Regardless, he couldn’t unlock it to get to his apps, much less tell what time it was. He’s not sure he would have been able to tell if Alluka called, either. 

“See?” Gon said. “It won’t work. Wonderland doesn’t operate with the same rules as where you came from.”

Killua gritted his teeth, dropping the phone back into his backpack. “How does Wonderland operate, then? Because I need to find Alluka and you told me she was on this path! What am I going to do now to find her?”

“You can use me.”

Killua looked at him sharply. Gon floated back down to the ground, landing so lightly that his feet made no sound. 

“I mean it, Killua!” Gon chirped when Killua stared at him. “I told you when we reunited that you smelled like Alluka. So I can guide you to exactly where she is.”

Gon’s not lying—no one can lie in Wonderland. But it’s not a question of truth. It’s a matter of cost. Because that was another Wonderland rule. Nothing was given for nothing. 

After a pause, Killua asked, “And what do you want from me in return?”

“Nothing big.”

“I doubt that.”

Gon pouted. “You have so little faith in me? I’ve helped you so far!”

“Telling me which fruit to eat is very different from taking me the rest of the way to my sister. You said that the cost of favors has to equal the cost of the desire. And I want nothing more than to find Alluka. So what is the price equivalent of that?”

Gon’s lips curled. “You always were so smart, Killua. Okay, I’ll tell you. I want you to promise to stay with me.”

Killua frowned. That didn’t seem too bad. He wasn’t too keen on being separated from Gon, either. Not after they’d only just reunited. Killua’s priority was Alluka but he couldn’t deny the longing he still felt pulsing under his skin for this long lost childhood friend, even if he’d been twisted and chanced by this strange landscape. 

But nothing was as it seemed. Gon’s request couldn’t be entirely innocent. 

“For how long?”

“Hmm?”

“For how long do you want me to stay with you?”

Gon laughed. “Well, forever of course!”

Killua’s blood turned to ice. Forever? As in, all eternity?

“Why do you look so scared, Killua?” Gon stepped closer, head tilted. “We said we would always be friends. This isn’t so different.”

“Gon, it’s—it’s totally different. How could you not see that?”

“Because it’s not different at all. I always wanted us to be together, even when we were kids. I would have married you, you know? But I can’t leave here. So let’s just both stay in Wonderland instead.”

Killua closed his eyes, curling his fingers on his backpack. Gon’s words shouldn’t cause warmth to bloom in his chest. The idea of marriage with the only person he’d ever liked shouldn’t make him so happy. Not when he was on a rescue mission to save his sister and this request would only serve to trap him here. 

“Killua?”

Letting out a long breath, Killua said, “I can’t accept that. I can’t abandon Alluka.”

“You wouldn’t, though! We’ll find Alluka and she can stay with us too.”

“And if she wants to go back to the real world? What then?”

“Then we bring her back to the entrance, simple!”

“And if I want to go back to the real world?”

Gon’s smile fell. The light faded from his eyes. “You…You can’t do that. I can’t go back there. So you have to stay here. With me.”

Killua didn’t like the dark look on Gon’s face. He didn’t like the seriousness of his tone. He didn’t like his deal. How could Killua bring Alluka back home and give her the life he’d promised upon rescuing her from their family if he was stuck here with Gon?

But he wouldn’t be able to find Alluka at all without Gon’s help. Even with the path guiding him, he’d needed Gon’s assistance. Now without the path, Killua would undoubtedly get lost without ever seeing Alluka again.

So he had to give Gon what he wanted while also leaving his options open. He couldn’t lie but that didn’t mean honesty and truth were black and white, either.

“Alright,” Killua said at last and Gon perked up. “I…I promise. I promise we'll be together forever if you lead me to Alluka and bring us back to the Wonderland entrance. Okay?”

The joy on Gon’s face was unparalleled. And when Gon rushed forward to throw his arms around, Killua shoved down the swell of guilt in his chest.

He cared about Gon. Unquestioningly. But Alluka had to come first.

#dc writes #killugon #killua zoldyck #gon freecss #hunterxhunter #wips #wonderland au #aged up au

[kittenofdoomage]

Hi, I'm the anon that asked about how to improve at writing smut. I started a writing blog called LittleGhoulGhost in which I write for the characters of the band Ghost. My writing style is fit more for snippets and glimpses into the lives of the characters, but I want to be able to do chapter stories as well. I've read your work for a long time, and originally found you on AO3. How do I improve my writing stamina and string chapters together? The way I think is in movie format, and it's typically only for certain moments. It's hard to get what I see into words.

Hello!

Moving from drabbles to series can be a challenge, for sure! With longer stories, I find writing a synopsis/summary of each chapter helps, or even just a rough outline of your whole story. It doesn't even matter if you write it in order, you can always go back and tweak it if your characters end up going in a different direction (they will do that!).

When you say you think in movie format, so you mean you see the scenes/pictures, rather than the words? Because my brain works the same, I don't think in words, I replay the scenes over and over in my head (usually at about 3am but eh, that's being a writer, I suppose 🤣) and even do it with ones I've already written if I'm not entirely happy with them.

My other tip for writing a long series; it can sometimes be useful to just not write it in chapters to start. Write the whole thing, as rough as you like, then reread it a bunch of times and figure out where your chapter placement would work best. I tend to keep my chapters between 1k and 4k, but please bear in mind, I'm actually crazy, your chapters can be as long as you like.

As with all writing, the real key is practice, practice, practice. Get yourself a friend or a fellow writer who is happy to check your work for grammar etc., reread it as much as you can (you will never catch ALL the typos but don't feel bad about it, major publishers miss them sometimes too!) and make as many edits/drafts as you need. Make moodboards, banners, really get into your story.

Most of all, don't feel bad about how long it takes. Writing is bloody hard! I've got WIPs I've been working on for three years 😬 with the stamina, while yes, you wanna get the work done, don't force it. I've found forcing it only frustrates me with what I've written, and you cannot rush any form of art. Take your time, and enjoy the world you're creating.

(Side note: I had no idea who Ghost was before they started playing them a lot on Planet Rock and now my favorite song is Call Me Little Sunshine)

I hope I didn't waffle and that all makes sense ❤ GOOD LUCK!!

#writing advice #not sure how helpful it will be #I'm always terrified doing these #but I hope I help

[nagdabbit]

here, have a tiny soft snippet of chappy 3 of the bookshop au

working title(because i still haven't named it yet): why use drugs when you can used books

words: 1k

bryan apologizes for being a dick, mox gets free coffee

.

The bell chimed at him, mid-morning. A couple students had been in and out, but it had otherwise been fairly quiet without Wheeler taking up space at the counter. Cozy and quiet enough he didn't feel the need to make up a task just to stay in the cave of his workroom.

Besides, without anymore to pawn it off on, he had actual shelving to do.

"Holler when you're ready to check out," he called out, buried in the stacks. He'd divided the store between all the cheap paperbacks and used books to one side, and all the vintage books to the other. He hated calling them that, but apparently calling them old was bad for business, or something. 

Collectors and antique hunters would come through in waves, cleaning out his shelves every few months or so. Some of them hoping to complete a collection, others looking for something to match their new couch. Those he tended to tack an Asshole Tax onto. It was one of Eddie's better business ideas.

He had a few moments to himself before he noticed movement off to his right, customer come looking for him.

Except that wasn't really right.

Bryan stood at the end of the row, lips turned down at the corners and his brow heavy. He had a coffee cup in each hand, from that place down the street he liked to get bread from on Saturday mornings. They knew his usual order, but he doubted Bryan did.

“Hey?”

"Peace offering." Bryan lifted a coffee cup in a weak kind of wave, eyes still intent on Jon's. Still unnerving and distracting as all hell. "I was threatened."

Jon snorted out a laugh and glanced away, turning back to his books. "Eddie or Yoots?"

"Wheeler. He takes after you."

"Nah, he takes after Chuck. I just taught him bad habits," Jon joked, slotting another book into place. "You stickin' around, or was this a drive by apology?"

Bryan was silent a moment before he stepped up to Jon's side and offered over a coffee. It wasn't his exact order, but it was sweet enough to do. "I'm in town for a few days."

Jon gently judged Bryan's shoulder, "Well, get to work."

Bryan chuckled, relaxing a little. "You make all your friends work?"

"Curse of owning a business, I'm afraid."

"You can't hire someone?"

"I'll buy you lunch."

Bryan laughed again, one of those quiet, snickering sort of sounds. But he did as he was told and silently began to follow Jon's lead.

Mostly silently. "And it's not an apology."

"Yes it is."

"Bullshit. I'm calling a truce."

"So you got your ass verbally handed to you, by a determined twink, and you came all the fuckin' way back to Philly to buy me a cup of fuckin' coffee, and you're not apologizing?" He lifted his eyebrows at Bryan for a long moment before turning back to his work, "Call it a peace offering all you want, but you threw a fit in my shop and now you're back with gifts."

Bryan paused, staring at the side of Jon's face for a long moment. "How does anyone put up with you?"

"Reluctantly."

Bryan snorted and turned back to his own shelf, sliding book after book into place. 

It was nice, having company like that. It usually timed just right that he was buried under special orders and restoration jobs whenever anyone stopped in. He rarely got to have Wheeler or Eddie or anybody else just in his space while he worked. Not until the evenings, when the lights were off and their dinner plates were full. When he'd have only a scant few hours to enjoy the company before sleep started itching at his eyelids.

"So, what do you do here?" Bryan asked, after a long, quiet while. 

"Is it not obvious?"

A strong, warm hand lightly shoved at his shoulder. "This can't be all. Not with Wheeler locking you out of your own office last week."

"Nah, you're right. Most of my time is taken up doing repair and restoration work." He tapped the spine of one of the books he'd just placed, before turning to look back at Bryan. "These don't usually look this good when they first end up in my hands."

Bryan blinked at him, then turned to look at the shelf in front of his face, studying the neat spines. "You… made these."

"Nah, just made sure they'd last a little while longer." He shrugged, "And not all of 'em, either. Just the ones I know somebody'll want, ya know? Ones that look ready to fall apart. Most of my actual repair jobs are for private clients. Big stuff, family bibles, rare stuff worth a lot. That kinda thing."

"This is—when I imagined your life outside of wrestling, I never would have imagined this," Bryan murmured, sliding a book carefully off the shelf, fingertips tracing over the repaired binding.

He wanted to ask what Bryan had imagined. If he thought Jon would even have survived without wrestling. And, truth be told, he almost hadn't. Almost let that loss get to him. He shut himself off from the world there for awhile, before he found himself again. 

He wanted to ask what kind of life Bryan imagined for him, even if he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

"You imagine a lot about me?" He asked instead, watching Bryan's hands. He held the book so gently, like it was special.

"Yeah. Of course I did," he scoffed. "You disappeared."

"I got hurt."

"So did I, but I didn't just drop off the face of the earth."

"We ain't the same." He flicked his eyes up to Bryan's, just for a moment, just to find the man staring at him again, and then looked away. "And—besides, this place happened. This is my home now. This is what I'm good at."

Bryan was silent for another of those long beats, unmoving, but coiled tight like he wanted to. But then he relaxed a little, shifted his attention to the book cradled in his hands. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm beginning to see that."

#why use drugs when you can used books #moxbry #aew fic #jon moxley #bryan danielson

[harri-etvane]

Fanfic Ask Game (super late to the party but hope I can still send something in 👀): 💖👻📥🖊🌈[fic of your choice]🧠💭🍰 and: ✨

💖 What do you like most about your own writing?

I'd like to think that even if what I write is short, it's still impactful? Even if just for one reader. I feel like I'm decent at really getting to the heart of something fairly quickly, in about 1k words haha.

👻 What is one WIP you think you may never pick back up?

I just had to trawl through my google docs bin lmao. There was a WIP that was sort of seasonal / Christmas themed, there was a snowstorm, everyone ended up cosy and warm etc. It ended up in the bin mostly because I kinda got fed up of it and it felt a bit same-y to some of the other stuff I've posted.

📥 What is your fave fic to receive comments/messages on?

Any of them! I do kinda enjoy seeing what people think about Fidelis et Verax tbh.

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.

I did a massive WIP clear-out over the weekend, but-

He knows how cold his hands are, his fingers linked together, his whole weight pressing down until he’s sure something is about to give  - but it is not Volodymyr in the end - the sky instead lets loose her grief, the rain pouring down on them. He knows how cold Vova’s skin is, unearthly white on the cold, grey ground - the smell of autumn somewhere in his nostrils, decaying leaves, damp, sour earth.

He doesn’t know how to stop the beads of sweat on Volodymyr's forehead, at odds with all this, the frozen rain, his quivering, faint breathing. He is slipping through Maksym’s fingers like the rain pooling on the ground - the sudden rush of time fleeing past them both.

🌈 What inspired you to write [insert fic here]?

I can't pick any particular fic, but I get a lot of my inspiration from quotes from interviews, photographs from OOTP etc. Most of what I've written comes from specific things; even if it's just a conversation on here with someone, or a comment might have sparked an idea.

🧠 What’s an idea you have that you can’t quite call a WIP yet?

I keep wanting to write Something about Vovan and his terrifyingly alarming trip where he went and got Borsh on the very edge of Kyiv Oblast at the beginning of the war; but I can't make it work for the life of me, so it's just a Concept as of now.

💭 What is a headcanon you have about your own work?

After chapter one of this fic, Maks always makes sure Vova has a cosy sweatshirt.

🍰 Name one of your fave comfort fics (doesn’t have to be your all time fave).

I don't really talk about my other fandoms, but I love this Endeavour Morse fic.

✨ Choose three adjectives to complement your own writing

Subtle, sweet, gentle.

thanks for asking xx

#thanks for asking love x

[eirenical]

This is the opening scene to what will someday be a much longer story, but I think it can stand on its own, as it is, so I thought I’d post it as a teaser.  ^_^  It will ultimately be a fix-it for canon that ends in our main love triangle becoming a threesome (because I can’t resist an OT3... ;D), but for now is... mainly Luo Fusheng getting himself in far too deep and then realizing what a terrible position he’s put himself in.  

...enjoy?  ^_^

Convenience | Granting You a Dreamlike Life

Luo Fusheng x Xu Xingcheng | Rating: M

Missing scene for episode 3--the night before the morning after.

In Europe… at school… many of my friends had such arrangements of… convenience.  I always thought… how lucky they were to have that.  And now I have that, too!  How lucky am I?

Luo Fusheng lay awake for some time after Xingcheng had finally fallen asleep, those words echoing in his ears.  He’d thought—  It didn’t matter what he’d thought.  He’d been wrong.  He’d been on one page, and Xingcheng had been on another, and that was the only thing that mattered.  Xingcheng’s wandering hands, the dumpling, the way he’d rushed back to the theatre, all but falling over himself to make sure Fusheng wasn’t injured… the way he’d leaned so earnestly against him, pressing Fusheng into the door of his bedroom the second it was closed behind them, mouth opening hot and eager against his… none of it had meant what Fusheng thought it meant.

Convenience.

And when Xingcheng had pushed him across the room to the bed, backing him up with insistent kisses and hands that couldn’t strip the wet clothes from him quickly enough… that hadn’t meant what Fusheng thought it meant either.  And when they were both naked, Xingcheng holding Fusheng's wrists tightly over his head as he moved between his legs, sucking marks into every piece of exposed skin he could reach, branding him with bruises of Xingcheng’s own making to mask the ones Fusheng had earned fighting Hu Qi's gang earlier… that hadn’t been what Fusheng thought it was, either.

Possession.

Fusheng eased out of bed and padded across the room to the mirror.  The kiss bruises that Xingcheng had left behind stood out in livid color against the larger, duller bruises from earlier.  They littered his torso, his collarbones, his neck, raw like open wounds.  He imagined he could still feel Xingcheng’s teeth in some of them.

Not love.

Xingcheng’s fingers had left their own marks—bracelets of bruises around his wrists like fine jewelry… the only type of gift a convenience deserved.  Fusheng pressed the heels of his hands hard into his eyes.  He could do this.  He could adjust his expectations. His expectations hadn’t been realistic to begin with.  Xingcheng was going to marry Lan Lan.  They all knew it.  It had been planned since they were children.  Xingcheng wasn’t his to keep, had never been his to keep.  Not like this.  Fusheng should be grateful to have even this much.  He should.  It was selfishness of the highest order to want more, to yearn for something that was not his, that could never be his… that Xingcheng didn’t even want to give him.

Love…

It was safer, by far, to be a convenience.

To be a friend.

He could do that.

Fusheng reached into his chest of drawers and pulled on his softest set of silk pajamas, hiding that night’s memory away along with the sight of each and every one of those bruises.  Pulling out another set of pajama pants and a tee-shirt—Xingcheng never had been able to sleep with his arms covered—he moved to the bed to dress his friend, his brother.  How many times had he done this?  Helped Xingcheng out of his clothes and into sleepwear when Xingcheng was too drunk to do it himself, or already sleeping?  Too many times over the years; so many times that they’d all blurred together.

Memories did that… blurred together.

So many drunken nights, so many nights when Xingcheng had fled his cold, silent home seeking comfort—in drink, in song, in Fusheng’s company—and Fusheng had given him everything he needed, everything he asked for.  Always.  No hesitation.  Fusheng had kissed him, petted him, soothed him, swallowed him down like a personal benediction… but they’d been young, then, not even properly men.  It had been fun and games, then.  Young men trying to be adults, to take adult comforts from each other, when they were anything but.

It was different now.

Fusheng slipped back into bed, gaze sliding around the room, cataloging the damage from the evening, the things he would have to clean up come morning, before he had to explain it all to Luo Cheng… or worse, Shuang-jie. No.  No, he couldn’t risk that.  Shuang-jie would see the bruises, no matter how he tried to hide them.  She would ask, and she would scold, and the word ‘convenience’ would slip off his tongue and shatter on the floor for him to cut himself to ribbons on and she would know—

Fusheng bit down hard on his forearm, breathing ragged as he fought to get himself under control, adding one more damning bruise to the set he already had.  When Fusheng came back to himself enough to disengage his teeth and lower his arm, Xingcheng had shifted, turning towards him in the bed, his left arm now slung over Fusheng’s stomach, his hand heavy and possessive where it lay, and a sweet, contented smile on his face as he curled closer.

And, in spite of his turmoil, that smile… that possessive arm… they sparked a surge of warmth in Fusheng’s chest, even as a tendril of deeper, darker heat coiled low in his belly.

In all of Dongjiang, the only one who can tell me what to do… I’m afraid it’s you.

The words had slipped out of him in a moment of sentimentality on the back of a motorcycle, the wind snatching them away so quickly that Fusheng had almost hoped Xingcheng hadn’t heard.  Fusheng had once sworn that he would never let Xingcheng know that, would never reveal how deeply Xingcheng had hold of him.  Da-ge had forced that promise from him one drunken night while Xingcheng was overseas.  Fusheng hadn’t understood then, how dangerous that knowledge could be for him, if Xingcheng had it.

Fusheng understood, now.

And it was far, far too late to do anything about it.

Da-ge… you were right.  You were right, and I’m sorry.  I should have listened.

Resolutely closing his eyes, Fusheng did his best to let it go, to let Xingcheng’s warmth and sleepy weight drag him down to sleep, himself—desperately hoping all the while that that was the only thing Xingcheng would drag him down to… and somehow knowing that he was not going to get off that easily.  Xingcheng owned him, body, heart, and soul… and now Xingcheng knew it.  Fusheng didn’t stand a chance.

#granting you a dreamlike life #luo fusheng #xu xingcheng #luo fusheng x xu xingcheng #eirenical.fic #gyadl fanfic #rating: m #missing scene #episode 3 #the night before the morning after #snippet #...if it can be called a snippet at over 1k words #;D #ANGST AHOY #emotional hurt no comfort #fusheng is in for a rough time in this fic #but there WILL be a happy ending #promise #^_^ #eventual lfs x dty x xxc #eventual OT3 #but not for a while yet #...enjoy? #all the naughtier stuff is behind the cut #and here's a #long post #tag in case the cut doesn't work

[recurring-polynya]

Do I mind if I ask how you approach writing longer fic? I've always struggled to write anything more than maybe two chapters long and I'm curious if you have a particular method to how you approach such stories.

Thank you so much for this ask! I absolutely love it when people ask me for writing advice because it makes me feel like a Smart Person Who Knows Things.

Before we start, here is one grain of salt to take all of this with: I have a naturally long-form brain. It is very hard for me to write something less than 1k. Short fiction is great, and there is nothing wrong with sticking to short things if that's what your brain likes to do.

So. You have decided to write a story. This is going to focus on "stories". Some people write fic that's more freeform or whatever, I am not going to cover that. What I mean by a story is this:

It starts

Some stuff happens

It ends

It is highly probable that your story contains a change of state, which could be that a villain is defeated, or a goal is reached, but it could also be that character falls in love with another, or someone learns to like broccoli.

I like to start out by completing the sentence, "This is a story where _______". This is basically like coming up with a summary for an ao3 post, except that it doesn't need to be catchy. Lots of different kinds of things could go in that blank! It could literally be what happens: This is a story where Ichigo goes back in time and punches young Aizen in the nose. It could be about what you want to explore: This is a story where Hitsugaya gets a better understanding of his zanpakutou. It could be about the vibe you want to achieve: This is an AU where everyone is in a punk rock band and has cool hair and outfits. The idea of this is to clearly define what you, the author, is interested in writing. Make sure it feels right! Maybe you pick the first one, but when you say it out loud, you say, "You know, I really just want Ichigo to go back in time so he can horse around with young Renji and Rukia and punching Aizen in the nose is just an excuse for that." That may sound dumb, but it's fine, actually! Most people don't read stories strictly for the plot, they read stories for the implications of those plots! Will my favorite two characters kiss? Will there be funny interactions between these two groups of characters? Will there be sick fights? Stories are excuses to have scenes. Sometimes, you will have a story where the interesting sequence of events is the draw, but the point is to know what you're about.

Once you feel happy with your "mission statement", you need to decide the bounds of your story: where it starts and where it ends. It may be easier to start with the end. In some cases, it may be obvious from your mission statement: everyone gets home, a villain is defeated, Kenpachi realizes the meaning of friendship. On the other hand, let's look at that punk rock AU. You've picked a vibe, but you don't really have a natural story arc. It has to have a destination, though, otherwise, it's not really a story, it's a recipe for 3 chapters of an abandoned fanfic. So brainstorm a little: Maybe they get a record deal? Maybe they win a Battle of the Bands? Maybe Byakuya accepts that the band is actually good and tells Rukia he is proud of her. Do not settle for a plot just because it works. Pick something that makes you excited! You're the one who is gonna have to write it!

I said that we needed to pick a beginning point, too, but I'm actually going to skip that for now. The next thing I do is think of all the Big Scenes I want to write, the ones you are hype to write, the ones that pop in your head as you think about the premise. Make a bullet list. They don't need to be in order. The descriptions don't need to be super detailed, but write down anything about it that is important to you. If there's a mood or a snippet of dialogue or a joke you want to make, go ahead and jot that down so you don't forget it later. What you're doing now is putting broad blotches of color on a canvas, filling in space and leaving the detail for later.

Once you are pretty happy with what you have down, try to arrange it in chronological order. Put your end at the end (if it wasn't one of your big scenes, add it now). The next task is figuring out how to traverse your scenes. You've already picked out where you want to spend the majority of your energy. The rest, I regret to tell you, is your slog writing. Now, it often happens that you will find joy in some of these scenes and your best writing may occur there, but that's serendipity. These are the scenes that you are gonna have to make yourself sit down and write, so you honestly want to limit them to just the ones you need.

So how do we do this? Look at the first thing on the list. Can you start there? If so, congrats, that's your beginning. If you can't, what needs to happen to get to there? Where can you start so that you can get to your first fun scene as soon as possible? There. That’s it. You’ve picked your beginning, good job! Now, go through the rest of your list, and add in things that must happen, even if you don’t particularly look forward to writing them. The characters need to travel from geographic point A to point B. Shuuhei needs to say something that Izuru hears and misinterprets. The Central 46 makes a new law. If you have a good idea of how these things happen, go ahead and write them down, but it’s okay if you don’t know yet. Fill in all the blanks so that if you think of each bullet list as a scene, you could read it as a story, start to end. Once you get writing, you might add more scenes, or move things around or whatever, but you should have a thing that functions as a story.

If you struggle with this, an alternative is a story with a very strong structure that is going to guide you though what you have to write.Here are two examples from my own stories Hold On, Hold On (which is only one chapter, but the principle is the same) is structured around the 5 stages of grief. Not Broken, Just Bent takes place over roughly a week, and I just decided what happened every day of the week. See You on the Other Side takes place in the middle of a bunch of canon events, which worked at mile markers.

Congratulations. You’ve just made a rough outline!

Special note for avoiding burnout!: I am a slogger. I will drag myself through the broken glass of an interminable plot to get to a single thirsty scene. That's why, at this stage, I try to look at the ratio of what I want to write to what I must write. It's gonna vary for everyone, but this is a hobby, and if looking at this proto-outline makes you feel deeply tired, maybe this isn't a good story to be devoting your time to! Can you carve it down? Can you chuck two scenes you really want to write and get rid of 80% of the slog? Or maybe you can't! In that case, just write that thirsty scene as a standalone drabble! Or just go work on something else! Maybe in the future, this one will come back to you and you’ll have a fresh idea or a renewed enthusiasm for it.

Another thing I sometimes like to do at this point is to write out some notes about my characters and their motivations and moods. Character A is homesick. Character B is so determined to defeat the enemy that they are having a hard time being sympathetic to Character A. Character C cares for both A and B and is trying to support them both. This is sort of background info that you want to keep in your head as you are writing. Depending on the type of story you are writing, this might actually be the main plot, or it might be happening subtly, but adding to the emotional impact of the story. It’s very easy for me to write these sorts of emotional arcs, but if you struggle with that, you may wish to go ahead and made a more detailed outline for that, too.

Now, it’s time to start writing! I am great at beginnings-- it is very often the case for me that the opening scene was one of my Big Tentpole Scenes. (Before you hate me too much, I make up for this by being double horrible at endings; just let me have this) Usually, I will start at the beginning and write linearly for as long as I can until I get stuck. Then, I will look forward on my outline and do the next chronological scene that I feel like writing. In general, if I sit down to write and there is something I have an urge to write, that trumps everything else. Inspiration is a precious commodity, and you should embrace it when it hits! You can slog any day. I will occasionally hold off writing a scene that I really want to, because I am saving it, like a prize for myself for getting that far. This is a very personal process of figuring out what motivates your brain and then giving your brain what it needs to be its most productive.

Eventually, you will run out of things you are excited to write, but the good news is, you’ve got a bunch of story now! Odds are that what’s left is going to be a lot of those connective tissue scenes, and you’re just going to have to do them, except that now, because you’re connecting two concrete points instead of two abstract points, it will be a lot easier. You can continue running jokes you’ve started. Maybe you invented a cafe in an earlier scene where your characters hang out and you can have them return there. Try to think of ways to make these scenes more fun, both for yourself to write and for your reader to read. 

Around this time, I like to start refining that rough strokes outline into what I will call an “as-built” outline. (This is an engineering term where you update your plans or models for something to reflect any changes that had to be made along the way). This is a great activity to do at times when you feel like you have writers block. I write down every scene I have written as a 2-3 word blurb, in order. I break the scenes into what I think makes logical chapters, and I will do a word count on those prospective chapters and write it down. As you do this, you will realize that maybe you can move a scene from here to there, which will make it 1000% easier to write. Things may be happening too much, or you’ve got the characters eating three times in the same chapter. If you have subplots and dangling threads, this is where you make sure they get closure. I know this sounds very headache-y, but you are so far along in the story at this point that it’s really not-- it’s a way to look at the problems you have left. Use some sort of formatting (I like to bold things I haven’t done and sometimes I put them in red) and it gives you a very visual to-do list.

You specifically mentioned multi-chapter fanfics and I admit that I don’t tend to think in chapters, I tend to think of the story as a whole and just break it up where it feels natural. The as-built outlining I described is very helpful in making sure that my chapters feel balanced. They don’t necessarily need to be the same length, but I like them to have the same amount of stuff in them. One chapter may basically contain one long scene, and other may contain many short ones. I don’t tend to, but you can certainly have a fanfic that varies between short and long chapters, that can actually be an interesting effect. But like I said, I always like to know what I am doing, and so having it mapped out, you can say “welp, this is what I’ve done, how do I feel about that?”

Polynya, you may be saying at this point, do you write the whole fanfic before you post any of it? and I regret to inform you, the answer is yes. A lot of people write as they go, and I have made one attempt at this and I didn’t like it. I don’t like locking myself in, I just need to be able write out of order and go back and change things. Here is the story of a little in love: someone gave me an AU prompt and I got mildly obsessed with it, and wrote 5 snapshots drabbles in that universe, ending with a slight cliffhanger ending. I probably should have stopped there, but I decided to keep going. I wrote out an outline of 5 acts where the first act was detailed to the degree of each chapter being specified. The chapters here were much smaller than I usually make chapters: 1-2k. I wrote act i and ii and it was actually great, and then I hit act iii which required a lot of set up for misunderstandings and a mini romance arc. I couldn’t wing it, but nor could I figure it all out with outlining. I write dialogue in almost sort of an improv “Yes, and...?” style, so until I do it, I don’t know what’s going to happen. So, what I did was treat the second half of act iii as a complete story in the process I describe above, wrote the entire rest of it, and then posted it. One might notice that the chapter lengths grew to 3-5k each. I have two more acts to go, and I haven’t decided how I am going to do them yet, but I suspect I will treat each of them as their own mini-stories.

(I will admit that in Heart is a Muscle, I tend toward chapters that are about 10k long, and this is honestly too long, someone should smack me. If you like punchy chapters, 1-2k is good. I think 3-6k is probably an ideal chapter length. Is this how long the chapters are in my latest fanfic? Absolutely not.)

Okay, so there’s one more step, which is quality control. I am habitual re-reader-- I read my fanfics-in-progress over and over and over while I am working on them. I understand that not everyone does this, but I am usually the primary audience for my own writing, and this is the actual fun part for me. Nevertheless, you should re-read your work at least once, to make sure it hangs together.

This is purely optional, but I recommend it: get a writing friend (if you don’t like re-reading your work, I recommend this even more strongly). If you can get a full-service beta reader, that’s great, but if you can’t find someone, or if receiving that level of critique stresses you out, it’s perfectly valid to just find a friend who will read your stuff and a) shower you with compliments, b) reassure you about parts you aren’t sure about (or suggest ways to help) and c) point out any huge problems you missed. When I am writing a long fanfic, it is a huge motivational factor for me to be able to send my beta chapters as I finish them. If you are already an established writer, and you have people who consistently comment on your fic, they might be overjoyed to get a sneak peak at your work.

And that’s it! That’s the way I do it, anyway! Some people are able to sit down and write a very detailed outline and the write it start-to-finish. Good for them, I say! I have tried this and it doesn’t work great for me. I will admit that some of my fics (especially my early ones) I just sat down and banged out whole-cloth like an insane person and they are generally better than the ones I actually plan out, but that’s not a reproducible process.

As one final mechanical note, I usually write in Google Docs, which I can access on multiple devices (I used to write a lot on my phone), has convenient sharing functionality, and I use the ao3 html formatting script add-in. I generally have two documents for a single story-- one is the outline, and any other notes I want to have handy. I’ll usually put a trashcan space at the bottom for scenes that got cut but I don’t want to lose. The other is the fanfic itself.

I hope this is helpful! Please feel free to follow up with other questions and good luck with your writing!

#writing advice #longform writing

[ghoste-catte]

I was curious what advice would you give to someone new to writing fics? I've been wanting to get back into it but haven't seriously written something since high school. I hope this isn't an annoying question or anything!

Not an annoying question at all! I'm just a little worried that I won't have terribly good or useful advice. To be honest, I also sort of stopped writing in earnest right as I finished high school, and didn't pick it back up until my late 20s. It's certainly an adjustment! But I think the few things that really helped me get back into writing fic as a hobby and something I spend quite a bit of time on would be:

Write for yourself first, then find your other motivations. My original inspiration in getting back into fic writing was that there just were not that many fics I liked for my favorite pairing, and I wanted more of them, and I especially wanted more with the tropes and characterizations I wanted to see. I think at the very core of anything you need that internal spark that drives you. At the same time, for me at least, if I just relied on my own drive, I would not get much done; I need some external guardrails. So having people send prompts, or writing for particular events, or writing stuff for friends really helps me to get my ass in gear and finish stuff. That may not be the perfect motivator for you, and that's fine! You just gotta figure out what is.

Be open to inspiration. Anything and everything can be spun out into a story with the right tweaking. Obviously stuff like music is a classic inspiration source, but I've also pulled ideas from poetry, from memes, from Reddit threads, from YouTube videos, from rambling conversations on Discord and from real life to make fics out of. So many times, someone will post a silly Twitter screencap, and I'll think, There's a fic in this. And a lot of the time, there is! Research is a wonderful thing, but so is serendipity. If you're out there actively looking for ideas, eventually one that you like will stumble past you.

Find your community. I can genuinely say I never would have finished more than one fic if I didn't have fandom friends to talk to about even stupid headcanons, to bounce ideas off of, and to encourage me (and to encourage them in turn!). Discord has been a godsend, and some of my closest online friends are people I met in the GaaLee discord server. As I've gotten more comfortable as a writer, I've also joined general writing servers and Reddit communities and have found them immensely helpful on both a motivational level (bingos, sprints, owe-me challenges) and on a craft level (plot workshopping and writing ethics and live grammar help). It's a lot easier to think about fic ideas and hash through problem moments when I have a constant stream of fandom-related chatter coming from the little people who live in my phone! Ao3 is an amazing website, and it's great as, well, an archive, but it isn't social media by design. If you want conversation and human connection and cheerleading, you've gotta forge out and find it.

Make it a habit ... If you want to produce anything longer than a couple hundred words, you really have to set aside time for it. And writing is just like knitting or dirt biking or painting little model figurines: the more you do it, the more easily it comes. When I was first getting back into the proper swing of things, I committed myself to 30 minutes of writing per week. Just 30 minutes. I didn't even hit that goal every week, but there were tons of weeks I got on a roll and went over that amount, and by the end of the year I'd written over 200,000 words. I used to spend an hour laboriously tip-tapping out 200 words, but now I can easily blow through 1k in a 50 minute sprint. It's all about training that muscle.

... But don't make it a chore. With fanfic, you aren't doing this as a job, and you aren't ultimately doing it for anyone other than you. That means you can take breaks when you need them, you can set deadlines and then fail to meet them, you can write stuff and then decide to never post it. When you start getting burnt out, when the practice loses the joy and energy, stop. There's no 'hustle' here. In our capitalist society we're so trained to push past our limits and keep going even when it hurts us, but the hobby you do for connection and relaxation and whatever else shouldn't be like that.

Ignore metrics. Sometimes stuff isn't gonna get hits, or kudos, or comments. There are some basic 'rules' as to the stuff that does and doesn't get traction, but every time you post something it's a roll of the dice. If you're focused on watching that kudos counter tick up, you will get bummed out fast. And any writer will tell you that the stuff you think is your best work will never be the stuff that gets the most accolades. So you have to find something else to give you a sense of success. For me, it's watching my wordcount go up in my stats and those occasional comments where someone has a lot to say and that one person who always leaves me a <3 emoji (and, shout out to @egregiousderp, having someone to have long one-on-one conversations with about the stuff that never made it to page).

Don't strive for perfection. It's really easy to want your first ever fic to be a complete showstopper, the best fic fandom has ever seen, hitting all the tropes and the ideas and the characterization that you just know fandom is missing and would be everyone's top favorite if only it was written. This is a trap. No one fic can be all things. Most people who want to write an epic as their very first venture will not see the end of that epic, because they haven't put in the practice hours to make something on that scale work. That's not to say you can't start out with a big, sprawling multichap, just don't expect it to be the greatest thing since sliced bread if you're just starting out, and be okay with abandoning it for greener pastures if you get to that point. Think of the first time someone makes a vase out of clay or bakes a loaf of bread. That's never their best vase or their best bread. If they keep up with it, they'll make more and better vases and loaves. Likewise, your first fic is probably not gonna be your best fic. See it for what it is: your launchpad.

You can't edit an empty page, but you can over-edit a full one. This kind of spins off of #7, but if the words aren't there, you can't fix them. Daydreams and headcanons are fantastic (and god, how many times have I wished for a speech-to-text engine that projected my falling asleep thoughts onto a Google doc for later perusal), but they aren't fic. If you want to write fic, you've gotta get comfortable with the idea of sloppy outlines and rough first drafts. You can't build a house without a frame and you can't build a man without a skeleton (I mean, you can, I guess, but he'd be one floppy man). The nice thing about fic is that it doesn't matter if that frame is structurally unsound or the skeleton has 18 too many bones, you can clean that up in the editing process. But you can't start hanging curtains and arranging furniture in something that doesn't even have walls. That's the process. But! Also know when to set down the editor's pen and say, "Okay, this is good enough for government work", and call it done. ("Done" doesn't have to mean "posted", but it does mean, "I'm done picking at this for now, and I'm gonna go write some more stuff".) Over-editing can make stuff seem laborious and forced, and it prevents you from actually improving. To continue belaboring the house metaphor, you can spend your whole life rearranging furniture in just one room, but the end result of that is a pretty narrow existence and a room with a lot of footprints and tracks in the carpet.

Write shit down. When you have ideas, jot them down--in a notebook, in a Google Doc, in the Notes app of your phone, in pen on the back of your hand. You think you will remember that brilliant line of dialogue or sparkling snippet of narration or genius plot that came to you in a dream, but you Will Not. Write it down. Write it down. Write it down! There have been so many times when a fic was completely saved by past!me having written down my shower thoughts about what happens next in the fic, that present!me had completely forgotten about and was floundering over.

Have fun with it! Try different stuff. Try stupid stuff. Try experimental stuff. Do stuff you've never done before that you aren't sure will work. It's important to get comfortable with your niche (for example, I know I'm never going to be the sort of person who writes intricate plots of intrigue or super long 100k epics or detailed battles), but you can't find that niche unless you explore lots of different niches! Figure out what you love and what you absolutely hate, and then keep doing the stuff you love.

Okay, so that was actually TEN things, but ... I hope you still found this helpful. Feel free to send another ask if any of this was confusing or unclear. Good luck with your fic writing and, if you want, send me a link to what you've written once you've written it! I'd love to read it.

#answered #anonymous #writing advice #i guess? #am i qualified to give this? #no #but im doing it anyway

[bigtiddies44]

Games 2

Summary: You get a new tutor and he looks pretty innocent and harmless. Boy were you wrong.

Pairing: Jungkook x female character

Genre: Smut, FWB!au, University!au, Fuckgirl!au, F2L!au

Wordcount: 1k words

Warning: Car sex, public sex, more ass groping, more making out, neck kissing, hickeys, short snippet of begging, mutual masturbation, voyeurism kink, dirty talk, JK turns shows his submissively side, and main character shows her dominate side

Chapters:  Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Side stories: Drabble #1

Authors note: I created a tag list so if you want to be added let me know. Once again feedback is appreciated.

It’s been a couple of days since your last tutoring session and you have yet to get a text or call from Jungkook. You’ve seen him around campus though especially in the hallway when the both of you are with your friend groups. You always catch him staring not listening to a word his friends are saying. You send him a quick wink every time making him look away with a blush. You like to toy with him it’s fun to see him get flustered. This time though it’s a little different.

You catch him looking at you and like clockwork, you send him a wink. You expect him to look away but he doesn’t, he holds eye contact. He clenches his jaw making sure to show his irritation and you raise your eyebrow challenging him. He looks away telling his friends something before walking away.

What’s up with him? Did I do something?

You let it go and join back into the conversation as if nothing happened. A couple minutes later you get a text and you see it’s from Jungkook. You turn your phone to the side slightly so your friends don’t see.

Mr.Tootuh: Parking lot now.

Your legs start to tingle, you type your response quickly and press send.

Y/N: Which one?

Your eyes don’t leave the screen anticipating his reply. Almost immediately after you get a reply.

Mr.Tootuh: The one near the football field.

Luckily your friends didn’t even seem to notice you typing away at your phone. You quickly put your phone away and give them a lame excuse. They seem to buy it except for Yoongi whose eyeing you suspiciously but you ignore him, quickly scurrying out of the building and speed walk to the parking lot.

After practically running there like a madman you finally get there. You see him standing there leaning against his car, you run over all giddy like a little kid.

“Thought you’d never text me.” You say biting your lip trying to hide your excitement. He stares back at you with his dark eyes still clenching his jaw. “What’s wrong? Why are you so tense?” You smirk rubbing his chest slowly. “You look frustrated.” You tease him dragging your nails against his shirt making him tremble. He pushes you back gently and opens the backdoor.

“Get in.” He looks at you daring you to challenge him further but you wanna see how far you can push him. You raise an eyebrow at him and cross your arms. He scoffs and moves toward you whispering in your ear. “Get your ass in the car or I'll bend you over in broad daylight and fuck you.” You inhale sharply your legs almost giving out, “And I’ll leave you ten times more sore than last time.” Nothing more needed to be said, you jump into the car eager than ever and he follows behind you closing the door. “Get over here.” He pulls you onto his lap hands going straight to your ass leaning in kissing you. You two go at it like two horny teenagers tongues dancing with each other. 

You moan in his mouth wrapping your arms around his neck pulling him closer to you. You roll your hips against his bulge, he pulls away letting out a breathless moan. You stop rolling him your hip but you feel a hard smack on your ass soon after making you clench around nothing.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” He says huskily. You move your hips again making sure to move as smooth as possible while watching his facial expression, slowing down and speeding up as much as you please. Biting his lip he’s in pure bliss, you decide to try something. You press down as hard as you can and roll your hips forward. He whimpers gripping your hips hard, moving your hips faster against him. You kiss his neck and his hips jolt upwards. “Fuck baby!” He cries out. You keeping moving even faster trying to get him even more excited but all you end up doing is getting yourself riled up. 

“Please fuck me.” You beg. 

“What that?” He looks at you with a smirk. 

“Fuck me.” You whine. You move your hips hoping that it’ll convince him.

“Nope, not today babe.” You were gonna try and beg some more but he stops you, “Pants and underwear off now.” He didn’t have to tell you twice. You move off his lap and do as he says settling down on the seat next to him. “Turn toward me and spread your legs for me.” You obey shamelessly spreading them putting your pussy on full display for him. He stares at your wet pussy and he licks his lips. “I want you to play with yourself.” He says boldly catching you off guard.

“You want me to what?” Making sure you heard him correctly.

“You heard me. Play with your pussy for me.” He stares at you with those dark eyes and slowly you move your hand to your clit drawing small slow circles. He watches your movements absolutely mesmerized. You press down harder on your clit rubbing it a little faster, getting lost in the feeling you close your eyes and start moaning out his name.

Fuck, I could cum right now.

You move down to your entrance pushing your fingers in curling them. Biting your lip you find the spot and hit it repeatedly.

“Fuck.” The voice pulls you out of your trance and you open your eyes and what you see makes clench around your fingers. You see Jungkook squeezing himself through his pants, eyes never leaving your core. 

“I wanna see.” He looks up at you in a fucked state, “I wanna see you.” You repeat yourself. It takes him a couple of seconds to process what you said but he unzips his pants and pulls his underwear down, stroking himself slowly. You stare at his hand and he stares at yours. Spitting in his hand, he continues stroking going faster this time. The site sends you over the edge. You moan, moving your fingers even faster not stopping. Walls spasming around your fingers you cum hard. You pull them out slowly and put them in your mouth sucking them clean. He watches your actions mouth open in disbelief.

His fist moves faster the slick sound ringing throughout the car shamelessly moaning eyes now closed. You decide to help him out a little and move scoot towards him.

“You gonna cum?” He lets out a whimper. “Look at you, legs wide open like a little bitch for me.” You continue, “Go ahead and cum for me, baby.” Whispering in his ear seductively, you move down to his neck and give him a hickey. He lets out a loud moan, body shaking as he cums on his hand and stomach and you watch. For a couple of minutes, he sits there catching his breath trying to process what just happened.

“Shit.” He laughs to himself searching for something to clean himself up. You watch him once again trying to figure him out. He notices and smirks at you. “What is it?” He asks acting all innocent.

“How do you act so innocent and shy one minute, and then turn into a sex demon out of nowhere?” He laughs at your choice of words and looks at you smiling like last time.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He says innocently.

Leaving you with even more question than answers.

Tag list: @moonchild1​

#bts #bts smut #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios

[zaharadessert]

Okay but I really want to know what fics are hiding behind these titles (really all of them but I guess I have to pick): I Did Right, OH, and SK.

Hey! So... I did right is still in my WIPs folder because I have a couple of one shots I want to write to round out the bunnies in that universe. I haven't relegated it to backburners yet because I am determined to get them done already!

One will focus on Emma and Killian and how things develop post marriage. The second will focus a little more on some Captain Cobra, with a little bit of Outlaw Cobra for good measure! I'm going to admit that I haven't written a word of either of them and for that I am very sorry... but... hopefully talking about them will get me some muse on them and I can get them up before the end of the year...

- - - - -

OH... Occupational Hazards... This is my second cake fic with @motherkatereloyshipper based on the 'I'm not a tripper I was selling the last snow shovel' picture, and it's... gotten a lot more complicated than originally intended and the plot needs untangling before I can go any further. Buuuuut... have a snippet...

Killian was frowning hard as he looked down at the open exercise book in front of him containing the almost complete drawing and accompanying incomplete paragraph Henry Swan had produced yesterday. It hadn’t been until he was marking the children’s work at lunch time that he’d noticed it. He was wondering if he was doing the right thing by talking to Miss Swan about his concerns. He’d gone to see Ms Mills, who was the safeguarding lead for the school as soon as he’d managed to pick his jaw up off the floor. She’d wanted to call Child Protective Services the moment she’d seen it, but there was something about the gleam in her eyes as she suggested it that made him pause.

Then he’d considered what he knew.

He’d known Henry for a couple of months now, and nothing the lad had said or done had raised any red flags. He knew that hesitating for even an afternoon could be detrimental, but Henry was happy. He spoke highly of his mom and his aunt and uncle who had apparently helped out a lot when it came to raising their nephew. He’d met Henry’s uncle when the man had brought him in on the first day of the semester, as Miss Swan was at work. He’d seemed like a level-headed, forthright gentleman whom Killian could not imagine being happy about his sister’s, or was it sister-in-law’s, situation.

If he even knew about it.

He couldn’t remember the man’s surname, but it wasn’t Swan.

But the work in front of him could not be ignored, not if he was going to continue his career with a clear conscience and continue to uphold the morals he was keen to impart to his students. So, it was all of this that made him want to give her the chance to explain, to ask for help before they took anything further.

- - - - -

I've been talking about SK for a while, and a lot of people have forgotten what it stands for, which is amusing. However, I am here to officially announce that this is my Serial Killer fic. It's inspired by a line of a tv show I overheard my Dad watching which went something alone the lines of...

You used me as bait for a serial killer without telling me?

And hence, the serial killer fic was born... This is also the fic that @jrob64 picked for me to bump up my list when she won my 1k kudos/100k words giveaway. Which is why it's moved out of the bunny folder. So, here is your snippet...

It was fairly warm considering it was evening, Emma was glad that she’d ignored the instinct to grab her red leather jacket before walking out there door. Aside from the fact that it would have been leather on leather, she wasn’t sure why, tonight of all nights she’d gone without it, but she had. She was humming to herself over the sound of the traffic at the end of the side street she was waiting on. A tune she’d heard while sitting in a coffee shop staking out a bodega that afternoon. A mere fragment of it really, repeating over and over again in her head.

She sighed and flicked open her clutch to check her phone. One thing leaving her jacket behind meant was a distinct lack of pockets.

The last message she’d had from Walsh had been hours ago, confirming the time but changing the location of their date. She was so confused by it that she almost called him, but there must have been a reason for his confirmation by text.

He was chasing down a serial killer after all, where she had the advantage in bail bonds that time didn’t generally cost lives, Walsh did not. Things were often a little more time sensitive when you were a homicide detective for the NYPD. So Emma had accepted more than a couple of cancelled dates, had fallen asleep alone more times than she would have liked, had reheated his dinner while he dragged himself, exhausted, into the shower, all more often than his boss should have allowed in the few months since she’d moved in with him.

Emma had assumed that moving in with Walsh would mean more of the small moments she’d come to enjoy when one of them had stayed with the other for the night. It seemed a given as they were no longer spending their time in separate apartments, they would have more time together but that wasn’t what was happening. Or at least, Emma didn’t think it was happening as often as it should.

Had Walsh become bored with the status quo? Or now she’d moved in had he lost the thrill of the chase? Was she not as exciting as his job? Not interesting enough to entice him home of an evening? Either way, the situation warranted a conversation later. Maybe tomorrow, she didn’t want to spoil their date.

If Walsh, who was now half an hour late, ever turned up for it.

- - - - -

and there you go @sotangledupinit those are the answers to your deepest darkest desires of knowledge for my WIPs... I hope you enjoyed the answers, even if the first one was a little cryptic, and links to my other responses so far are below...

Reblogged answer about Dark Hook Husband...

#cs ff #captain swan #zaharadessert writes #ouat #wip game

[lansyuan]

do you love fics where wei wuxian and lan wangji parent the crap out of lan sizhui? do you want to read accidental baby acquisition fics until your eyes bleed? would you die as your heart slowly turns to mush from the softness of this family? bitch the fuck, me too. here are some of my personal favourite fics of wangxian ft their turnip son a-yuan. its a range of canon divergence, post canon, thirteen years of inquiry, raising a-yuan at the burial mounds au etc - there’ll be something for literally everyone. enjoy!

the kite string and the anchor rope by fleurdeliser (38k+)

When A-Yuan gets sick and Wen Qing doesn't have the supplies she needs to properly treat him, Wei Wuxian can only think of one place to go for help. 

a crying shame by thunderwear (16k+)

Lan Wangji gets emotionally blackmailed by a toddler. It somehow fixes everything.

to recollect and long for by wonderlands (22k+) *2/3 works posted at time of posting this rec list.

a 3-part series about best boy lan sizhui and his wonderful dads who love him and each other very much.

forgetting envies, remembering your loving hold by cosmicfuss (3k+)

The first time Zewu-jun plays for him he is five and the man is trying to comfort him, playing soft songs good for soothing children. It works to a degree but he wants his gege, he wants his gege to play his lullaby. Zewu-jun apologizes and tells him that his gege is hurting right now, and needs to be alone to get better.

When he plays the xiao, A-Yuan says, "you're holding it wrong!" When he turns fourteen, he learns to play guqin, and is many years ahead of his classmates in that regard. A large factor in that is how much he has practiced Inquiry. He has grown up hearing snippets from the jingshi, of Wangji attempting to reach a spirit that never answers.

When he's sixteen, he hears a familiar tune played in the forest, he and his fellow juniors battling a stone god. It's been years since he's heard it, and he wonders why this man, Mo Xuanyu, knows it so well.

Or, Lan Sizhui grows up and learns, and remembers.

five times wei wuxian tried to embarrass lan sizhui by blackelement7 (6k+)

(and one time he realized just how badly he'd played himself)

or: In which Wei Wuxian starts a fight but Lan Sizhui (with some meddling from Lan Jingyi) ends it.

inquiry by incendir (10k+)

Sizhui cannot fall asleep for a long, long time that night. He hears the ever-familiar melody again. He thinks perhaps he has memorized it by now.

storge by respira (9k+)

Lan Sizhui is a lake.

as the warren grows in number by kore_fics (3k+)

Before Sizhui could take another step he was surrounded by black and red, loud laughter in his ears and warm fingers running through his hair, messing it up. Palms squished both his cheeks together and Lan Sizhui let out a laugh.

Lan Sizhui was home.

tell some storm* by qurbat (31k+) *the moments with Sizhui are in chapter 2, however I highly recommend reading the whole fic, it’s adorable.

"We were raised as a generation of war, A-Yuan," Xian-gege said to him. "If your generation choses to be one of love - well, I don't think any of us would be opposed to that."

In the aftermath of the events at the Guanyin temple, the cultivation world scrambles to understand their current reality. A man roams the countryside with a string of white in his hair. Another sits on the highest seat of power with a ribbon of red around his forehead. The younger generation turns out to be full of romantics. Nie Huaisang is to blame for everything, always. Jiang Cheng realizes that happiness has been more that 16 years overdue.

Wei Wuxian declares that it's time that bitch pays up.

After a generation of war - much to the consternation of the elders, much to the delight of the young, much to the pleased shock of the subjects of the tale - the world welcomes a love story with open arms.

guess we're not eating leaves today by missingnarwhal (2k+)

Baby A-Yuan has cooked up a feast, but only one lucky gege will actually get to taste it!

Set in an alternate timeline where everything is okay after Wei Ying + Wens started living in the Burial Mounds.

response by aki_no_hikari (12k+)

What if Wei Wuxian hadn't been silent to Lan Wangji's Inquiry?

love, in all its small pieces by ynvel (4k+)

Ah Yuan is brought to the Cloud Recesses and exchanges the sun and its ashes for the clouds. Lan Wangji brings a boy home, calls him his son, and renews the promises he made.

Or: Lan Sizhui is adopted by Lan Wangji and learns about his new life. Lan Wangji in turn learns about hope and living again.

child surprise by ariaste (4k+)

He huffs a sigh. “Fine. Just - let’s just make it the law of surprise, shall we? That’s nice and simple, eh? Leave it up to destiny what will bring us back in balance. Let it drop something of yours into my lap, something small, and we’ll call the debt paid.”

Three debts, three repayments.

there's a lunatic in mo village by bastetcg (11k+)

There's a lunatic in Mo Village! And to Lan Sizhui's surprise, Hanguang-Jun has decided to bring the madman back to the Cloud Recesses! How embarrassing!

A mostly canon-compliant look into Lan Sizhui's thoughts and childhood.

on being a big boy by emberloey (1k+)

“My little A-Yuan,” Dad had said the next morning, kneeling down to A-Yuan’s height with a smile, “all grown up now. Soon you’ll be hunting without your poor old dads.”

“Never!” A-Yuan shook his head and latched onto Father’s leg. He smiled up at Father, who smiled back and nodded his head. “A-Yuan always needs Dad and Father!”

in all these shades of blue (i think we found you) by fleetling (5k+)

5 times Sizhui thought about his father's white robes, and 1 time Lan Wangji wore blue.

(Or: Lan Sizhui had never seen his father in anything other than white robes.)

this is when the feeling sinks in, i don't want to miss you like this (come back, be here) by mischievousmurmurs (6k+)

Just now… the butterflies’ conversation. Where did you learn that from, Ah-Yuan?

Ah-Yuan pats his chest. In here, shushu. I feel it in here. And in here, too, he adds, pointing to his head.

Sizhui has never quite been able to remember nor forget the memory of seeing people who he knows loved each other, loved him, and whom he loved in return.

or - a wangxian story, as told by their adopted son.

yours, mine, and ours by casecous (2k+)

When they have both mostly recovered, and A-Yuan is back to his smiling, playful self, Lan Wangji presents him with a forehead ribbon. A-Yuan’s little fingers bump into Lan Wangji’s thumbs as he traces the cloud motif along it.

“You are Lan now. This is very important,” Lan Wangji tells him and A-Yuan looks away from the ribbon to meet his eyes. “You must not take it off as you please. Only family may touch it.”

A series of wangxian family moments.

innocence by snowberryrose (8k+)

In which Wei WuXian gets to raise A-Yuan.

Canon divergence from episode 31.

to recollect and long for by mme_anxious (4k+)

Lan Xichen is there when his brother becomes a father. Lan Sizhui is there when his father's heart breaks, again. Wei Wuxian is there when his son gets drunk for the first time.

Or, the GusuLan forehead ribbon, in three parts.

our little one by writedeku (6k+)

A-Yuan is here. A-Yuan, who Wei Ying loved so much. A-Yuan, who was taught to laugh just like him. Wangji hugs him to his chest and curls over him, ignoring the way the wounds on his back pull and tear. “I have to take care of you,” he says. “I will not leave you.”

(Or: Lan Wangji comes back from Yiling with a child he does not know how to care for and a black hole in his chest. Somehow, he makes it work.)

gathered herbs & sweet grasses by hansbekhart (19k+)

Later, when he’s older, it’s this that A-Yuan will remember most: the stretch of silence, the two of them both dirty and shaking with fever, as he looked at Brother Rich, and Brother Rich looked back at him.

the sacred homeland by particulate (8k+)

He has many names, and some are mouthfuls of blood.

[Or; a chronology of Sizhui, in which he does not forget.]

to the act of making noise by words-writ-in-starlight (19k+)

His father in white plays the song late into the night, and when A-Yuan wakes up confused and afraid, the guqin lulls him back to sleep.

Lan Sizhui hears his father play the same song every night for his whole life, and never, ever get an answer.

when he comes home to you by kika988 (2k+)

Home is Cloud Recesses now, and that's a thing Wei Wuxian is still getting used to. He still feels like a guest here, most days, though Lan Wangji has done everything to make him feel at home. He stands out like a sore thumb amongst the serene disciples and flowing white fabric.

Cloud Recesses has been home to Lan Wangji and Sizhui for years. It is their home, where they've built their family.

The thought warms Wei Wuxian even as it sits a little ill with him. He's an intruder here, in their homes, in their lives, the same way he had been in Lotus Pier.

five times people didn’t know sizhui is lan zhan’s son and one time they did by trilliastra (3k+)

“A-Yuan.” He repeats, reaching out for the boy, growing restless when he can’t touch him. “A-Yuan.”

Oh. Lan Xichen closes his eyes as the tears start to fall. Oh, Wangji.

Carefully, Lan Xichen takes the boy and lays him next to his brother on the bed, Wangji holds him protectively against his chest and A-Yuan stops his little cries immediately.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen tries again, running a hand through his brother’s hair softly, “who is he?”

“He’s my son.”

5 times the lan head disciple broke the rules by liji (6k+)

“I am not aware of any rule forbidding falling in love,” Hanguang-Jun said at last. There was a quiet sadness in his eye, like he was watching a scene from far away. The novelty of it gave Sizhui the courage to ask his next question.

“Have you ever been in love, Father?” he asked.

(or, five times that Sizhui broke the Lan sect's rules growing up)

the seasons change (but i love you the same) by kdkdkd (7k+)

"Hanguang-jun!"

When did you stop calling me Bàba, A-Yuan?

Lan Wangji had always promised himself that he would never become a poor father like his own had been.

Unfortunately, it feels like he has failed to keep that promise.

✨ bonus round ✨ uncle jiang cheng and nephew lan sizhui

tintinnabulum by respira (8k+)

A small bell chimes, the sound soft and pleasant like the water crashing against a pier, like low whistles in an empty cave, like a guqin playing a lullaby.

#the untamed #wangxian #lan wangji #wei wuxian #lan sizhui #lan yuan #wen yuan #wangxian family #wangxian fic rec #myficrecs #creations #listen i just really love this family #1k