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#I'll be working on more fanfic chapters...

aveyna · 1 month

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I'm debating on whether I should scrap this scene since Alastor has suffered enough [Though, it'll only get worse from here], but it's also kinda really necessary & sets up some direct parallels from the previous two chapters. There's a reason as to why Alastor keeps having flashbacks to his death--Like, an entire biblical standpoint on how suffering can lead to absolution.

Such as the stories I used to read/hear about from my family, over how people would sometimes nail themselves to crosses around the Easter season.

It's gradual, how he remembers more elements from his death little by little throughout the entire first quarter of the story.

Alastor suddenly has to process a century's worth of repressed memories over the course of a few days. It's not the same for everyone, but trauma is invasive and repetitive--Alastor's going through a lot, he doesn't know how to cope, & he doesn't have the fortune to come to terms with everything at his own pace.

#hazbin hotel #staticradio #radiostatic #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin fanfic #knife through the heart #wip #I'll try to work more on this after work #Will probably only have one more chapter out this month and the following Chp will be released sometime in April #Please pardon the typos wrote that excerpt quickly and posted it without giving it a read through

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umbracirrus · 3 months

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And so, the Whispering Door plot begins... And Elyse still hasn't been able to catch a break. She'll get one soon though!!

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Fic rating: E (for future content)

Fic relationships: Balgruuf the Greater/Female Dragonborn

Chapter description:

When all that she wanted to do was finally take a chance to relax, a conversation with Nelkir makes Elyse feel uneasy and leaves her with many unanswered questions...

Chapter excerpt:

A whispering lady behind a door. But which door? The need to find this damned door was driving Elyse mad – more so than the mind games which she had needed to put up with ever since finding out that she was Dragonborn so that she could figure out who she could and couldn't trust. Every word and every conversation played at her mind. It had her listening out, more so than usual, and she had been finding herself privy to more than she ever usually would be. Perhaps that was the entire point. There was someone wanting her to listen, wanting her to act. What made it worse was that shutting herself away, trying to distract herself in the confines of her quarters and even away from Dragonsreach, made it even worse. And she had a feeling that she wouldn't be able to get the feeling to stop until she found the door and the 'Whispering Lady'. But where was it? And who was it? Those questions had her, in the late hours of the night, roaming the halls of Dragonsreach, in the hopes that she could learn something – anything – to give herself just a few moments of peace.

#meg has done some writing #fic - the perfect storm #skyrim fanfiction #tes v fanfiction #skyrim fanfic #balgruuf x dragonborn #dragonborn oc elyse #i'm trying to steadily work on the layout for my chapter update posts to give a bit more information. like relationships and stuff.#except my brain is absolutely not functioning with coming up with ideas for tags so i'll just slowly add more as they come to mind

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byronicbi · 5 months

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if there is one piece of advice that i could offer writers that aspire to get traditionally published, is that when people say the industry is wholly subjective, they are 100% correct and coming to terms with this is the difference between continuing on and just breaking.

whenever i'm not getting automated rejection messages, agents who actually take the time to explain why they're passing on the manuscript (a HUGE rarity but i've been lucky this round) makes you realize real quick that it really does boil down to "actually, i just didn't vibe with it".

i keep seesawing between wanting to scrap or keep my opening chapters, and so far it's been pretty 50/50 between there's too much going on, and, there's not enough going on on most of these rejections.

the most bewildering comment i've gotten so far was that there wasn't enough worldbuilding in the opening chapters. not enough worldbuilding. in a horror novel. a contemporary horror novel. something that goes against every standard regardless of genre.

like, zoinks scoob. it's all good. i'm confused, but we're chill about it.

#text tag.#it's this nebulous sort of trend where agents want 'fanfic style' works and while that's all well and good #you have no idea how hard it was to unlearn that kind of style in order to write something more 'traditional'.#i recently got into writing longfic again to pass the time while in the trenches and it's just so DIFFERENT--#like writing two different genres despite writing the same genre. if that makes sense.#if you want three chapter's worth of backstory i'll give it to you idc but i'm so perplexed #that her exact wording was 'yeah it needs more of that boring stuff nobody writes nowadays'#this woman is a pretty big name from a pretty big agency too i trust she knows what has sellable appeal etc etc #but it was a very interesting glance into how this is all going down internally. driving home the point that yeah. it's all subjective #and nothing but a numbers game.#my second word of advice for writers is to hyperfixate on something else and each blow will make you shrug and go write porn.

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divinekangaroo · 2 days

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just enough to let me drown - pettiot - Peaky Blinders (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | ? | ?

During S6-E5, starting with Tommy meeting Diana at the narrowboat, how he gets back to Arrow, that particular Dinner, through to Tommy returning home after dropping Jack Nelson off at the train.

Tommy was running out of women who didn’t look like other women. If Lizzie found out, he’d have only redheads left to fuck in his old age.

No. No old age. Only this.

Diana Mitford/Tommy Shelby, Past Oswald Mosley/Tommy Shelby, Tommy Shelby/Lizzie Stark, Past Oswald Mosley/Lizzie Stark, Jack Nelson, Charles Strong, Small Heath Sex Worker | Reference to Incest, Dehumanisation, Cigarette Burns, Disassociation, Racism, Class Issues, Intrusive Thoughts, Extremely Dubious Consent, Post Rationalisation, Flashbacks, Dyfunctional Relationship, Self Harm, Oral Trauma, Trauma, Plausible Deniability, Close POV/Unreliable Narration, Horrible Dinner Parties, Prostitution, Shame, Hurt/Comfort, Eating Inedible Objects, Vomiting, Pre-Seizure Markers, Where Fascism becomes a Personally Targetted Sexual Nightmare, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Falling Off the Wagon, Unreliable Memory, Hoarding, Orgasm Control, Innuendo, Ethnic Slurs, Trying (so fucking hard!) to Communicate (emotion is the enemy of oratory!), Spiralling, Purposeful Ambiguity, Failed Love Confession/s

#my writing #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy x lizzie #tommy shelby #tommy x diana #tommy x mosley #lizzie x mosley #jack nelson #charles strong #a purposefully 'did that actually happen? did he actually say that? was it all in his head' chapter #i promise the flashbacking and tommy's trauma-blurred sense of time/place only happens once more in this story he's done with the past now #featuring snips of my headcanon of tommy's hoarding habit:#as a little kid he collected/stole little bits of rich people tokens and hid them under the floorboards with a vague thought one day he'd -#-have enough to become one of them #also tried to write this so the t-l scene in the show (getting dressed and 'when i know everything i'll tell you everything') still works.#lizzie is pissed at the perfume but she always believed tommy slept with sex workers ongoing through their marriage. not the same as diana.#lizzie realising txd happened the morning after txl's hotel ILU seemed important. nothing in what diana said at dinner did that. and so #also wanted tommy handing duke to uncle charlie.in this way that tommy arranged the fam's marriages #sorry uncle charlie that i never saw you as a dad. but here you go: a fatherless son i prepared earlier. good luck #as to what tommy's 'script' was with lizzie that got derailed when she laughed at him: reader's choice. XD #he spirals around and around and around what happened with diana and never touches centre

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thetomorrowshow · 2 years

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poisoned rats in a pot of grain - ch. 11

Masterlist - Previous - Next

i'm stan and i was wrong

ok so i KNOW i said that last chapter would be the penultimate one but alas. here we are at ch 11/12. I SWEAR NEXT ONE WILL BE THE LAST ONE IF NOT YOU CAN HUNT ME FOR SPORT

cw: food, flashbacks, panic attacks, injury

Jimmy’s not sure what to think when he’s sitting in Major’s car once again, this time without a mask (and Major took his off as well as soon as they got into the car, pulling his hair up into a beanie to hide the blue, but Jimmy tries not to stare too much). It’s been over a year, he realizes, since they were last in these places.

Like last time, the clothes he wears aren’t his—but at this point, they might as well be. An oversized grey hoodie with the drawstrings removed. Blue sweatpants. Socks with the little grippies. A trash bag of similar clothing is in the backseat.

When he met with Major three days ago, he hadn’t expected this. He’d expected yelling, a jail cell with his name on it, thirty-to-life in prison.

Not a home. And a . . . a friend? Can he call Major a friend?

His head hurts. He’ll take a headache any day over that early, sluggish phase of his anxiety medication, though. The phase had left him feeling disconnected from his body, as if he was merely an observer from above. He didn’t like that. At least he can fully process everything going on right now.

Major turns on the radio and Jimmy practically jumps out of his skin when some country-pop song starts blaring from the speakers. Major turns it down with a muttered apology, then the car jolts back and they’re moving.

Jimmy runs his hands along the seatbelt, grounding himself bit by bit. The car starting to move had felt a little too much like a van pulling out of a garage, but not so similar that Jimmy felt anything more than a deep sense of dread. He breathes in, holds it for a moment, then lets it out. He’s safe. He’s with Major, and Major took care of him that one time so long ago when he’d tried to escape and had been such a bad pet—

In. Hold. Out. He’s safe. His fingers tap along the seatbelt. In his lap is a nice, new journal, and a pack of unopened markers. Josh had given them to him this morning after their last session. If his thoughts get too loud, he can crack open the journal and put some of them out of his head.

Major might think he’s weird. Barely ten minutes out of the mental hospital, and he already can’t handle himself. But Josh would tell him he’s had a very traumatic past year (and life), and that it’s okay to use coping mechanisms in public.

“Still want to stop at McDonald’s?” Major asks over the low music, and Jimmy can’t help that his eyes jump to his face.

Not that Jimmy’s seen very many unmasked heroes, but those he has seen he’s always been slightly disappointed with. Major is entirely different. Major is. . . .

Well.

Without even looking in the side mirror, Jimmy knows he’s turning a bit red. He hasn’t had any viable romantic candidates in a year, who can blame him? Major’s pretty, that’s it. It’s just—it’s a natural reaction to get flustered in the presence of a hot person. It doesn’t mean anything.

“I was gonna stop and get myself a chicken sandwich anyway, so it’s not like it’s out of the way. Anything you’ve been craving?”

He’s not sure how he can repay Major. His apartment and all of his belongings are likely gone, along with his money. But Major’s offering, and it seems safe to accept. . . .

He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He wants to tell Major that just a hamburger is fine, that he is hungry, that he’s been craving fast food, but he can’t. He stares determinedly at the dashboard, willing his voice to work. His entire body is run through with tension, waiting . . . waiting for some undefinable other shoe to drop.

He hates it.

Major doesn’t seem bothered by his lack of response, just whistles a little to himself as he pulls into a McDonald’s drivethru. He grimaces at the line. It’s early afternoon, Jimmy realizes with a glance at the clock display. Lunch rush.

Lunch rushes are things. He forgot about that. There’s so many cars and people here. Jimmy shifts uncomfortably, slumps down a bit in his seat. That’s a lot of people seeing his face. He doesn’t like that. He really doesn’t like that. And he’s in the passenger seat, which means that he’s on the outside of the drivethru line and the front windows of a car are never tinted as darkly as the back ones and just anyone could look in and see him—

What can you do to fix this? Josh seems to ask in his head. What’s a simple thing that will help calm you down?

He can cover his face. His shirt? It’ll look a little silly, but not too bad. He glances over at Major, sees him idly looking out the window while tapping his hands on the steering wheel. Jimmy pulls the collar of his hoodie up until it covers his nose, hoping to quell the jitters in his stomach.

It helps tremendously and he lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Major does happen to look over, but he doesn’t comment on it.

“I’ll order me a chicken sandwich, and you a burger, and both of us fries. Sound good?”

That’s . . . oddly considerate, isn’t it? Jimmy nods, looks over to meet Major’s eyes, sending him what he hopes is a sufficient smile with his mouth covered. Major apparently understands and smiles back.

“Right. That’ll come with ketchup, onions, and pickles, I think. Is that all good?”

It sounds fine, so Jimmy nods again, and soon enough there’s a burger and fries in his lap and a cup of water in his hand and he’s not entirely sure where to put it or whether he can eat in Major’s car. Major has pulled back onto the road, his own sandwich unwrapped and held in one hand, so Jimmy assumes it’s okay and sets the water between his knees before unwrapping his burger.

“My name’s Scott, by the way,” Major says between bites, and Jimmy, burger halfway to his mouth, freezes. Does Major expect him to say his own name, now? Because words aren’t exactly his strong suit right now.

As if he can read Jimmy’s mind, Major continues, “And I know that at the hospital, they were calling you TJ for some reason? But I . . . I know your real name, I think. Do you want me to call you your real name?”

He’s not sure why Major—or, Scott—would know his real name, but after taking stock of himself, he realizes that he actually wouldn’t mind being Jimmy. No secret identities, nothing misconstrued about his role. Just Jimmy.

It’s dangerous, he knows. But his name is his and his to give out where he wants to, and he wants to be called his name for once. Before his nerves can get the better of him, he nods.

Scott’s smiling a little when he speaks. “Okay. Hi, Jimmy. It’s nice to properly meet you.”

Jimmy makes it about thirty minutes in Major’s house before having a panic attack.

Josh had told him that even with his medication, the sudden change of environments would probably trigger emotional distress. So Jimmy’s sort of expecting something to go down—and down it goes, while he’s sitting in the middle of a bedroom that is so familiar it almost hurts to look at. It’s the same room he’d woken in that one time so long ago. He hadn’t thought he would remember it very well. Now that he’s here, though, he remembers everything about it, down to the color of the carpet, and it’s far too much to cope with.

His clothes are still in the trash bag, his new journal on the bed. There’s a desk in the corner, chair pushed up into it. He’s not sure what to do with that. One side of the room has both a closet and a set of drawers, which is somehow both thoughtful and utterly overwhelming because Jimmy only has three shirts and two pairs of sweatpants, one of which is reserved for sleep.

But what really sends him spiraling is the brand new phone in his hand, already unlocked and set up with Major—labeled Scott—as the only contact.

He doesn’t know what to do. There’s an app on the phone that leads to the internet, and Jimmy hasn’t been connected to this form of the outside world in months.

There’s a new phone in his hand. There’s a charging cable already plugged into the wall.

There’s an outlet in the wall that’s never going to blow out when he plugs his phone in. A phone that won’t spontaneously catch fire. A messaging app that won’t glitch out and send highly inappropriate texts to his contacts.

His tears aren’t of joy, like he’d expected. He’s not happy. He cries because everything is wrong, everything’s changed and it’s so very hard to cope with change after days—after years—of maintaining a routine.

So once Jimmy’s done hyperventilating over all the things that are new, once he’s done bawling about how nothing makes sense, he curls up in the corner of the room against the bedframe and stares at the wall until Major—Scott—calls his name. Then he rises, shoves the phone into his hoodie pocket, and leaves to join the superhero for dinner.

Scott really wants Jimmy to leave his room more often, and he’s not even subtle about it.

And sure, maybe lying on the floor staring at the wall for hours at a time isn’t the best thing, especially when he occasionally misses his medication because of just how deep he’s sunken into that mindset. Scott had laid down a ground rule of eating at least one meal a day together, and some days that’s the only time Jimmy can manage to drag himself up to face the world outside his bedroom.

It’s not that he’s not eating—he’s certainly not very good at eating, but whenever he has the strength to to slip out of his room and fix himself some lunch or breakfast, he grabs a couple of non-perishables and stocks them away in the set of drawers. If Major notices, he doesn’t say anything. And when Jimmy’s stuck in the recesses of his own mind, he’s always got a sleeve of crackers or a can of soup to keep his strength up. It’s certainly more than he’d eaten before.

About two weeks in, he has his first therapy session with Nora, who is a very nice woman but frowns when he mentions that staying in his room just feels safer. He knows what’s going to happen while he’s there. He knows that everything there, while new and disconcerting, is more familiar than anywhere else (including this downtown office, so far away, with the stiff sofa and the sequined pillows) and therefore more tolerable.

He doesn’t mention that while he’s in his room, his mind slips into a deadened state where all he can do is stare at the wall and hope that no one will come to hurt him.

He does mention that every time Scott knocks on the door, he immediately shoots to his knees and bows his head, months of conditioning refusing to relinquish its grasp.

Nora suggests two things: one, leave the room more often. Spend time in other parts of the house, engage in leaving the house maybe once a week. Jimmy doesn’t like that suggestion at all—it sounds terrifying and like a recipe for disaster.

Her second suggestion is to leave the door to his bedroom open, and really, why hadn’t Jimmy thought of that?

It makes perfect sense. He can’t be taken by surprise when Major knocks if there’s no need to knock. So even though it’s nerve-wracking and possibly one of the hardest things he’s ever done (anyone could see him, anyone could come in and hurt him), Jimmy starts leaving the door wide open.

And then he’s embarrassed about the way he occupies himself in his room, so he starts holding on to his phone while he stares at the wall, a video pulled up and ready to play in case Scott passes the doorway.

And then he just starts actually watching the video pulled up.

He still doesn’t have a reason to regularly leave the room, but he starts watching a long series of videos purely by accident and ends up getting sucked into the series, taking more and more time out of his staring-at-the-wall time and redistributing it to other things. It’s almost like just engaging with the content of the series gives him energy to do more.

And by some happenstance, Scott mentions that he has a home gym over dinner one night.

Jimmy’s never been able to properly work out. He used to go running, and he picked up more than a few hand-to-hand fight tricks in his time both as a hero and a villain, but an actual gym he’d deemed too dangerous for his spontaneous volatility. And suddenly, with his powers no longer as random as they had once been, he has the freedom to do whatever he wants. Somehow, he hadn’t already put that together.

It’s a little overwhelming, if he’s honest. When he mentions it in passing to Scott (as casually as he can, though he spent days building up to it and he’s inwardly shaking in terror), Scott only looks sad for a moment before offering to start small—use the home gym for as much physical activity as he’s cleared for, try to spend more time out of his room each week. It’s just like what Nora recommended, and while Scott isn't a certified counselor, he is probably the smartest person Jimmy knows.

He’s also the kindest person Jimmy knows—he doesn’t know too many people, to be fair (his social circle consists of his conservator and his therapist and that’s it), but that doesn’t mean that Scott isn’t the first person to seem to genuinely like him in . . . well, forever. Jimmy knows, after several weeks of nothing but patience and encouragement and reassurances that there isn’t another shoe about to drop, that Scott only has his best interests in mind. He trusts him on this.

So he starts working out. He starts joining Scott for movie nights. He starts helping out with chores here and there, and that’s perhaps the most surprising thing—Jimmy finds he likes doing chores. He feels like he’s actually helping out, repaying Scott’s hospitality in little ways—and it reminds him of the time Before, when he and Lizzie would clean the bathroom together or switch out the laundry. It ain’t much, but it’s honest work, and he hasn’t had the opportunity to do anything like it in years.

He has panic attacks, of course. He has flashbacks. One morning he lies in bed, too terrified to move because he’s back on that table and faceless scientists are operating on him and Xornoth has a gloved hand in his hair.

He can feel Scott’s touch on his arm, he can hear what he’s saying, but all he can do is whimper when Xornoth demands, “Eyes on me, little bird.”

“Jimmy, can you look at me?”

He can’t, he really can’t, because Xornoth just told him where to look and he can’t disobey his master’s orders.

Scott’s thumb is making circles on his wrist, and Scott himself is saying things like “Wake up, please” and “It’s just a nightmare, you’re okay, you’re safe”.

Scott’s never lied to him before.

So despite the threat of Xornoth right in front of him, the next time Scott asks Jimmy to look at him, Jimmy opens his eyes and sees Scott and not Xornoth.

And though he can still feel the IV in his arm, the touch of too many rubber gloves and a too-familiar hand carding through his hair, Jimmy knows it’s not real.

Scott holds out his hand, and with a herculean effort, Jimmy takes it.

Scott smiles, and it’s enough to break the flashback’s hold completely.

Jimmy, haltingly, smiles back.

It’s after that flashback that Jimmy knows he can trust Scott. That had been one he wouldn’t have been able to break out of by himself, one that would have swallowed his voice for days. Scott had interrupted it before it had really ascertained its hold on him.

Sure, he’d trusted Scott before. He’s trusted Scott for a long time—ever since he first put his life into Scott’s hands. But this is different. It’s like an entirely different type of trust, because Jimmy now trusts Scott as not just a caretaker, but as . . . as a friend.

He knows for certain now that Scott isn’t taking care of him out of some moral obligation. Scott genuinely cares about him. He’d suspected, of course, but he hadn’t been able to know for sure.

Jimmy finds himself shy for the rest of the day, avoiding eye contact and speaking nary a word. The dynamic has changed, somehow, and he’s pretty sure it’s in a good way.

Even good change, however, is change, and he’s exhausted and anxious about anything that might go wrong. He goes to bed early, finds comfort in the security of laying on the floor and staring at the wall until he drifts off.

Jimmy ventures out into the world again for the first time five weeks into his stay with Scott.

It’s not a long trip, nor a dangerous one, but Scott drives him down to a city park and they walk together, Jimmy with a medical-style face mask on and Scott with his bright blue hair tucked into a beanie.

They bring vegetable peelings and scraps to throw at ducks—which is confusing to Jimmy, but Scott had said something about bread being unhealthy for them which is whatever—and on a bridge, over the duck pond, they talk.

Scott starts. Scott talks about college, about his friends, about how he became a superhero—and with that, his misadventures in dating.

“Wait, you dated a villain?” Jimmy asks incredulously. “And you almost joined him?”

“I was a stupid college kid,” Scott defends, though he’s laughing. “I made dumb choices back then.”

“Oh, and you never make any these days.”

“Exactly,” Scott declares pompously. “I’m known for my impeccable decision-making skills.”

Jimmy chucks a potato peel into the water, watches the ducks and turtles fight over it. “Was it a good decision when you let me into your house last year?”

Scott goes silent, looks down. “Yeah,” he says after a moment, fiddling with the railing. “One of my best ones.”

Jimmy blushes. Not quite what he’d been expecting, but he’s not going to say no to a bit of a confidence boost. “Really?” he asks quietly.

Scott doesn’t answer, though. “Was that really where you lived?” he changes the subject. “Where I dropped you off that one time? Because . . . well, after you went missing . . . again . . . I—I kind of went looking for you. And the landlord of the building I dropped you off at didn’t recognize the description I gave.”

“Oh, no. I had you drop me off a few streets away, I think,” Jimmy replies, casting his mind back. A lot of his memories from then—the brief period between captivities—are fairly blurred and unstable. “But yeah. I lived in that neighborhood. Nothing special, I know.”

It hadn’t been anything special. It never had been, not as long as he’d lived on his own.

“I sort of thought you had a decent bit of money,” admits Scott, tossing a scrap to the ducks. “I mean, you were always robbing banks and rich citizens.”

Jimmy scoffs. “Okay, firstly, I have zero credit score. There was no way I could get anywhere nicer than the shadiest of apartments without getting arrested for having suspicious amounts of physical money. Secondly, I lost a lot of that money. And third of all, most of the time stealing from actual people was an accident—I usually just shoplifted from Walmart or whatever.”

It’s quiet between them, then, and Jimmy stares out over the pond, sees turtles lined up on a log a little ways out. He turns to ask Scott if he thinks he can throw far enough to get food to those turtles, only to find Scott staring at him, slackjawed.

“Wh-what is it?” Jimmy asks nervously. Scott blinks several times, straightens.

“I—lost how? And what do you mean, stealing on accident? That was—that was an insane amount of money that you took, what happened to it all?”

Before Jimmy can answer, Scott continues. “Lost, like—like you blew it all at a casino? Or—”

“Gosh, no!” Jimmy bursts out incredulously. “Me? In a casino? Are you joking?”

Scott has the decency to look embarrassed, at least, the tips of his ears turning pink. “I—all right, then, how?”

“I . . . I just lost it.” Jimmy shrugs, flicks a piece of carrot into the water. “Depends, really. Once on the pier my wallet fell out of my pocket and rolled into the ocean, where a fish swallowed it. Once I dropped it all down a drain. One time a roll of bills caught fire in my hands.”

“No way.”

Jimmy rubs the back of his neck, fingers rolling over the scar there. “Yeah. It never worked out for me. I think I mostly just kept doing it because . . . I guess I wanted someone to stop me.”

Scott doesn’t respond for a long while. When he does, his voice is quiet. “I’m sorry. I should’ve noticed.”

“That wasn’t your responsibility. We were enemies, Scott.”

They stand there in silence a minute more, then Scott hands Jimmy what’s left of the bag of scraps, and Jimmy upends it, shaking about half a bag’s worth of vegetable peelings into the water. Ignoring the frenzy below, he and Scott set off for home—which Jimmy is privately grateful for. He didn’t want to say anything, but he’s been growing more and more anxious that even with the medical mask, someone would recognize him.

“So,” Scott says once they’re back on the proper trail, heading in the direction of the parking lot. “Stealing from rich people on accident?”

Jimmy groans, but he’s smiling. He really, really likes this. He likes the way Scott talks to him, like an equal, not like something delicate that could break at any moment. He likes the way he teases. He likes hanging out with him.

“Look, what you have to understand first is that most of the time, I had no clue what I was doing, I was just trying to not hurt anyone. Got that?”

“You disabled the alarms on Joey Graceffa’s house before sneaking in, Jimmy. We have camera footage of it. You’re telling me that was an accident?”

“Entirely.”

Scott had asked him, back in his first week here, when he would be feeling up to meeting with Lizzie.

Apparently that day is today, around two months into his stay at Scott’s house. He’s anxious—too anxious to be in his room all morning, instead sitting around in the kitchen or the living room and just generally getting in Scott’s way. The man has become his main source of comfort and is probably the only person he truly trusts in the world—even Nora doesn’t see him at his worst, those moments only for Scott.

Scott had taken the day off without even asking Jimmy if he wanted that, which warms his heart every time he remembers it. Scott curls up on the couch and puts on a commentary video to watch, which Jimmy can’t help but become absorbed in. He doesn’t even know the movie the commentator is reviewing, but it seems terrible and the commentator is witty. It doesn’t put his anxiety to rest, but he manages to become distracted right up until Scott checks his phone and lets him know that Lizzie is on her way.

Then he runs, bolting from the couch to his room in a matter of seconds. He hides behind his bed, trying to breathe. In, hold, out. His hands are shaking. His entire body is shaking. This isn’t good. He doesn’t feel good.

Long minutes pass. His ribs hurt. His ribs burn. One of them is broken, it’s surely broken, it was kicked in and snapped he can feel it—

His scrabbling hands pull up his new blue sweater (he’d tried to dress nice for seeing his sister again) and he prods at his side. Nothing. It’s normal.

Flashback. Okay. He’s fine. Somehow, over his panicked not-breathing, he hears the front door open. That was—okay. Perfect. He loves that for himself. He’d expected maybe twenty minutes of time to calm himself in his room, maybe longer, but apparently his bad luck was still in effect even when it literally couldn’t be.

Another few minutes before there’s a soft knock on his door.

“Jimmy? Can I come in?”

Jimmy can’t quite make his voice work (please not today, not when he actually has to talk), so he shifts around until he can extract his phone from his back pocket and texts Scott an answer in the affirmative.

A moment later, his door creaks open. “Jimmy? Are you—hey, there.”

Jimmy looks up through watery eyes (when did he start crying?) to see Scott kneeling beside him. Scott doesn’t say anything at first, just settles in against the bed and holds out a hand.

Jimmy takes it.

Despite himself, he feels his heart jump.

Scott sits there with him for a few moments, then says quietly, “It’s okay if you can’t meet with her today. Do you want me to tell her to come by a different time?”

And Jimmy feels a wave of gratitude and affection for Scott utterly overwhelm him, because in the past decade, nobody has ever shown this level of kindness toward him. Few people have seen him as anything good or deserving of love, and here Scott is, holding his hand and offering to change everything out of nothing but the kindness of his heart.

Just knowing that Scott is here, and that Scott is Scott, Jimmy feels okay with what he has to do. Not great, but at least capable.

After all, how bad can it be compared to living as a pet for literal months, abused at every turn to the point of barely even knowing his own name? Talking to his long-lost sister about how he killed their loving parents is going to be a walk in the park.

“My life sucks,” Jimmy realizes aloud. He lets out a bark of laughter. “Gosh, it really just has sucked, hasn’t it?”

“I . . . Jimmy, I’m. . . .”

“It’s fine. Really,” Jimmy adds, when Scott raises a brow. “I just can’t think of anything good that’s happened to me in the past decade, up until—” he cuts himself off, heat spreading to his cheeks. “Anyways. Don’t—don’t send Lizzie away. I can talk to her. I just . . . freaked out.”

With Scott’s help he stands, and with Scott’s hand still in his he finds the strength to walk (his bad hip twinges, but he’s not sure if it’s actually acting up or if the pain lingers from the brief flashback) into the nice living room.

Lizzie’s sitting there. Maskless. Street clothes.

Her fingers tap-tap-tap against her knee. Jimmy knows that feeling. That anxiety, but nowhere to run. Holding it in because there’s no other option. Staying quiet and complacent because if your master thinks for even a second that you’re moving without permission, they’ll punish you terribly and brutally.

He’s working on that.

Lizzie looks up when he enters, smiles cautiously.

Jimmy doesn’t think he can be blamed when all of his words of apology die in his throat and all he can think about is how much he missed her.

Something tips her off. He’s not sure what. But she stands, spreads her arms, asks the question quietly.

“Is it all right if I hug you?”

Jimmy throws himself into his sister’s arms and sobs.

Jimmy’s been living in Scott’s house for nine weeks and two days (not that he’s counting) when the man hugs him.

It’s a shock, one that sends him reeling and grasping for any reference on how to work with this. He hasn’t been hugged since . . . he hasn’t been hugged . . . in years, probably, because even before everything he’d been a fairly solitary individual. He doesn’t think he’s been hugged on a regular basis since childhood.

If Scott is a hugger, that’s probably going to change relatively shortly.

Scott pulls away quickly, likely put off by the way Jimmy freezes (because of course he can’t respond to things like a normal person, he’s a pet he acts like a pet), and holds him at arm’s length, face cycling through all sorts of feelings.

“Sorry, I really—I should’ve asked, we ought to make a list of—”

Jimmy gently deattaches his arms from Scott’s loose grip, then tries for a hug of his own. It’s awkward, and stiff, and he thinks he put his arms in the wrong place but Scott—

Scott doesn’t mind, just gasps slightly and relaxes into Jimmy’s hold, hums softly. And even though he knows he’s doing it wrong, he can’t help but feel this is unequivocally right.

Uh-oh.

Very suddenly, Jimmy’s life is shifting from a depressing series of torturous events to a romcom. Because out of nowhere, he has a crush on—on Major.

It’s so sudden that his vision seems to tilt, from this way to that, in a dizzying sequence that leaves him feeling rather ill. He barely has to wonder why Scott’s become an object of his attraction. It’s barely been more than two months and he’s already done a million incredible things.

Three days in, he’d gone over Jimmy’s medications with him and asked about allergies and favorite foods and the like, obviously trying to make Jimmy’s time here as pleasant as possible.

Whenever Jimmy expresses that he likes a food, Scott writes it down. There’s now a list in Scott’s list notebook (he makes lists so often that’s all Jimmy can think to refer to it as) with all of Jimmy’s favorite meals.

Jimmy had mentioned offhand that he went to a trampoline park once as a kid and had missed it ever since, and Scott had gone out of his way to look one up and offer to go, eyes bright.

Scott leaves the doors open ever since he noticed Jimmy doing it.

He never complains about Jimmy’s frequent panic attacks.

He’s seen Jimmy at his lowest, and continues to care about him.

Not to mention, his cyan hair is gelled up into the loveliest little curls, his eyes are a prettier blue than the noon sky, the dimple in his left cheek is placed just perfectly to offset his brilliant smile. His arms are strong and chiseled, as Jimmy’s noticed on one or two sleeveless occasions, and the one time he’d seen Scott with just a towel wrapped around his waist his mouth had actually gone dry.

How had he not noticed before now? It’s fairly obvious, in hindsight.

“We should make a list of what physical touch we’re okay with,” Scott tells him as he pulls away, and Jimmy only closes his mouth and nods and tries furiously not to blush.

He can’t have a romantic relationship right now. He’s not even interested in one. He’s trying his best every day to remember that he can even be a human, let alone a boyfriend.

He shouldn’t. But gods above, he wants to try.

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m34gs · 10 months

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List of Ideas I have so far for Kalim x Idia fics:

firefighter Kalim and apartment tenant Idia whose smoke alarm keeps going off (non-magic, modern world au)

retail employees Kalim and Idia who work at the same store fall in love (non-magic, modern world au)

established relationship Idia and Kalim go to a concert (canonverse au)

established relationship Idia and Kalim are about to get married and have some last-minute nerves (canonverse au)

established relationship Idia and Kalim on a picnic date (canonverse au)

Prince Kalim falls in love with Idia, King of Spies (fantasy au)

Idia and Kalim adopt a kitten and bond over it (canonverse au)

established relationship Kalim and Idia ice cream date (canonverse au)

Rapunzel Idia falls in love with Prince Kalim (fantasy/rapunzel au)

pre-relationship Idia teaches Kalim how to play video games and starts to fall in love (canonverse au)

Yandere Kalim won't let Idia go (canonverse au)

pre-relationship Idia and Kalim have an impromptu sleepover after a disaster befalls a library book. (canonverse au)

There will definitely be more, and I don't know if/when I'll get to all of these, but I am working on it!

#twisted wonderland #kalim al asim #idia shroud #kalim x idia #kalim/idia #fanfic #fanfic ideas #I'm already working on some of these but I haven't posted them yet #I'm trying to finish up my other Kalim x Idia multichapter fic before I start any new multichapters #but maybe I'll get some of the oneshots out #No I won't be disclosing which ones I plan to be oneshots and which ones will have multiple chapters...hehehe #that's for me to know and you to find out #I don't usually go for this many canonverse AUs...#lol #but I'm sure there will be more non-canonverse AUs to come ahahaha

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iwakitsune · 2 years

Link

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: Gen Fandom: Splatoon Relationship: Frye & Big Man Characters: Big Man (Splatoon), Frye (Splatoon), Original Splatoon Character(s) Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Childhood Friends, mostly focused on the canon characters, tags to be added if I write more to this

Summary:

Where you can play and hide, warm and happy like fond memories. (And maybe you get sunburned, but that'll be fine too.)

#splatoon #splatoon 3 #frye splatoon #big man splatoon #fanfic #art #this is entirely self indulgent #and i don't know if i'll write more of this but maybe yes #if there are other chapters please know that the working title for this one is pretty much 'and the sun says hello!'

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icannotgetoverbirds · 1 year

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fanfic hell (/pos)

For those of you wondering what my brain's been chewing on for the past few months. I present to you my incredibly long fanfic.

How long, you may be wondering if you haven't seen the other post?

The low estimate is 154-253.5k.

The more accurate estimates are at about 308-338k.

The most generous estimates could be up to about 507k (assuming the intended goal of 169 chapters is reached).

For reference, Gone With The Wind tops out at just under 420k (haha nice).

Why? Why am I doing this? The answer is, I don't know.

Something about this story just has my brain chewing and chewing and chewing like an overdone but delicious steak that keeps giving you more and more flavor as you chew it.

Every time I think the plot's going to thin out and I'm going to have to give up or shorten this, my brain spits out more plot points to happen.

I have so many fucking notes and a decently well-documented source material to work with (the SDV wiki is pretty extensive).

Even the documentation of the source material that already exists isn't extensive enough for how ridiculously in-detail I'm going - so I'm spending at LEAST 6 fucking hours using a mod to record NPC paths, which I'll then manually input into those spreadsheets I was talking about. Some NPCs are going to get more content than the original source material gave them, so their schedules are going to have to be generated from scratch.

Mind you, this whole fic starts a year before the PCs even arrive. So not only do I have to figure out schedules for things that happen before the events of the game (such as Abigail exploring the farm and Elliott moving in), but I have to adjust schedules for Year 1 (or 2 depending on how you look at it) according to deviations from the source material.

Y'all can probably find this if you look hard enough for it, the first 8 (correction: 9) chapters are published on AO3 and I've been talking about some of the details on both my AO3 and my Tumblr account. The fic tags need updating since some new developments happened - I'll get to that eventually.

Anyways, those little lines and dots are just to indicate that Jackson and Apollo are both farmers. Yes, Apollo is a woman, despite her name. fuck your gender roles and gendered names she does what she wants. Yes, Maru is non-binary, because why the fuck not. Yes, Haley's trans because fuck the police.

#once y'all find it I'll link it in my pinned post #uh warning the title is incredibly cheesy. please help me pick a better one #now that the story's beginning to pan out to more characters i might not even focus on the original main characters as much #that. might make the chapters longer since i'll be hopping between scenes dkldsjlgkdsd #im thinking maybe 'queer as in fuck you'?#honestly who fuckin knows #sdv #sdv fanfic #stardew valley #stardew fanfic #fanfic #also for reference almost everybody here is some kind of cryptid or mythical creature or w/e #im taking the 'changelings are actually just autistic people' lore and running with it #jay harvey and maru are all autistic hence changelings (therefore not fully mundane)#jay's a fucking selkie but like owl instead of seal #shane and marnie are druids #haley and emily are psychics because why the fuck not #elliott is a merman #leah is supposed to be a sylph but im still not 100% sure how that's gonna work out idk fuck shit abt sylphs #im thinking about alex being part dragon or something hence why he stronk #and of course we ALL know who abigail's real father is. come on.#sam and sebastian are mundanes and true humans but like. they Know #most people in town Know #harvey didn't Know until jay showed up #maru? eh maybe kinda sorta #penny is completely oblivious #she might end up Knowing at some point tho #jodi is oblivious #lewis is oblivious #pam is oblivious

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msmacabre310 · 2 years

Note

🍦🤩🤯

🍦 What's the sweetest fic you've created so far?

Probably Chocolate Milk, although I will say that I have some absurdly sweet moments in my upcoming Luisa Encantober fics and in my ongoing project that I have posted approximately zero of lol (it's called Children of Wax and at some point in the next ten years it may eventually make it to AO3).

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

You know, I'd say I write Bruno the most, but in terms of characters to explore I actually really like writing Alma. She's got super complex motivations and internal conflicts. Actually, for that reason Alma & Bruno's relationship is something I enjoy exploring.

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

I definitely struggle to write romance. The emotional parts I'm not bad at, it's mostly anything related to physical intimacy that is not super in my wheelhouse. I personally do not have physical touch anywhere near the top of the list of my own love languages so every time I write scenes like that I feel like you can tell it was made by somebody who's not super into it lol. Also as someone who's mostly into women I sometimes forget some, ahem, important aspects of hetero romances if that's what I happen to be writing.

#asks #fanfic #my own writing #the more I talk about CoW the more I feel like GRRM except nobody even knows what I'm talking about because I've shared none of it lol #I have the first chapter pretty much done and have contemplated posting it for months but the problem is a lot of the beginning #needs some work and I write entirely out of order so TBD on when that'll get done #and I worry that I'll accidentally pigeonhole myself into writing it in order if I post it and grow to resent the fic #blegh

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gothwineaunts · 5 months

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Summer Camp Fanfic Fanart

(I'll just copy/paste a bit of my last post in case anyone missed it) So, we decided to make fanart of fanworks. Yeah, it's meta and chaotic, but that kinda feels right. If y'all like this we may do more in the future. This is the last one for today! Hope you had as much fun as we did!!

Ahahaha. So, listen. It was just too good a scene not to feature. This moment is from scouthearted's 'Neversmores' on Ao3. It's got six chapters out now and they're all nostalgic summer camp perfection. Everyone is camp counselors. Annabel is a hot lifeguard. Gay shit happens. Like, I don't even feel like I need to explain why this is good, right? Sapphics, we're all suckers for a summer camp story. That can't just be me. https://archiveofourown.org/works/50104561/chapters/126530674 --- And if you've never been on ao3 before, please understand that there's a WIDE variety of content there and some of it can be very over-the-line. Familiarize yourself with the tagging system before you go clicking around to make sure you're not reading things that are outside your comfort zone/age rating.

#nevermore webtoon #nevermore #red post #annabel lee #annabel lee whitlock #annabel lee x lenore #white raven #lenore #nevermore webcomic #lenore vandernacht #morella nevermore #summer camp au #whew lifeguards though #right?

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n30nwrites · 2 months

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Fetch (Shifter! Tf141 x Male! Reader)

Chapter 4 of Good Doggy

Masterlist

Tw - Drunk Assholes (inspired by real stories from me :)), Slight blood warning, Language (its a COD fanfic??), OKAY SO LIKE I GUESS SLIGHT SUGGESTIVE STUFF?? I WANTED TO MAKE IT LONGER. A SMALL SCENE OF NSFW BUT NOTHING TOO DEEP BUT STILL PUTTING A WARNING, ITS IN BETWEEN THE NSFW GRAPHICS. Gaz has a praise kink.

Beta Reader/Editor - @letmelickyoureyeballs

Updated: 3/5/2024

The bar is filled. It’s a Friday night, of course it is but you hate it. You don’t like dealing with assholes. Not after the conversation with Maya.

“I cannot serve you anymore. If you don’t decide to leave I will call the cops.” The man in front of you shouts profanity after profanity, angered by the law. Humans were stupid that way. “Here’s a water.” You slam it down, annoyed.

Idiots. Drunken idiots.

Yeah by Usher starts playing. The club you worked at was loud, you have ear plugs in just so you wouldn’t be overstimulated by everything, but you could still hear enough.

“Why do you have a mask on?” He's irritated already which means that this conversation will not end well. You usually strive to give your coworkers the assholes, not caring that he'll have to deal with it.

"It's to stay safe, I don't want to get sick-"

The man cuts you off and you debate on spitting in his drink, "That's not gonna keep you safe, the only way to stay safe is to build your immune system." He keeps yelling, and some spit leaves his mouth. You place down the menu in front of him as he keeps yelling, "That's the only way to stay safe, not a stupid mask!"

You walk away, going to your coworker and telling him to get his order cause if you do you'll be fired. You instead went over to the list of music that was going to play and put on a favorite song of yours, not caring for some disgruntled noise from other patrons as you bobbed your head to the beat, distracting yourself from the day you had.

"Ye lik' this song mo gaol?" It's the familiar accent and the way the hairs on your arms stand makes you more irritated. It was roughly 1 a.m. and most people would be tired. You'd reckon it would start slowly down in 20 minutes, which meant you could get some work done.

You turned to face Soap.

"I'd hope so, I chose it." You tell him as you get closer to him. "You still stalking me?"

"Ah'ahmnot a stalker, juist wanted a drink." He smiles boyishly, as if he wasn't Sergeant John ``Soap" MacTavish with more confirmed kills than unconfirmed.

"At the bar I work at?"

"Juist a coincidence"

"I'd prefer it if you didn't lie to me." You told him while you mixed a drink. "You obviously have something for me."

"A'm in loue wi' ye"

"Not possible." You tell him, interrupting his "confession". You set the drink down in front of him. "$13" You tell him the price.

"I didnae orda a drink?" He looked cheeky, and you wished some part of you didn't find him attractive. But he looks up at you and you can't help but imagine other scenarios, particularly some where you're both naked.

"Well you can either pay for the drink and drink it, or pay for the drink and I'll drink it and talk with you some more." Soap immediately puts down two 20s.

"Th' rest can go to mah bartender." You slip the extra cash into your pocket, going to your POS system and breaking out for your thirty minute break that was required. You grabbed the drink on the counter and left your work area, Soap following behind like a puppy. You found a booth in the corner most people avoided. Sitting down at what could fit five others at most. Your mind goes back to Maya, who’s probably taking care of Icarus, your dog, and Marigold, her familiar. Maya worked as well, but it was an in-house job where she dealt with customers in need of assistance.

"You hurt our feelin`s earlier," He says first as you take a sip of the drink you made. "Hae we dane something tae offend ye?"

"Don't want to get your hopes up." You tell him, "I'm not one for soulmates."

"So ye know?"

"Of course I do. You reek of wolf." He starts to sniff himself and you want to laugh at how ridiculous it looks. "You wouldn't be able to smell it. And it's not a bad smell, just obnoxious cause there's four of you."

"So ye aren't human."

"Nope, never was."

"What are ye?" You never felt shame in what you were. Didn't feel shame in general, it took Maya for you to start walking around in clothes.

But you didn't want to tell him.

"None of your business."

Gaz knows that Price is going to talk about the bloodshed in the morning. He knows that Price already knows but doesn't care to stop it tonight. Price is just too drunk, Ghost doesn’t care, and Soap is who knows where. It wasn’t like he killed humans tonight, just some animals that were definitely going to get the town's attention (He might’ve killed a bear) but not the hunters.

He's decorated in blood and he loves it. It soothes some messed-up part of him. His teeth still have specks of flesh in it, that he licks clean

He smells you. Heavenly you. You who smells like some plant burning. He didn't understand it, but he loved it.

You're next to Soap, and Soap has the biggest grin as you walk together.

Though you probably don't see it as together. You probably see it as him stalking you, but you don't seem to have your usual air of distaste. You have sunglasses on, something he hates cause he can't stare at them. Your mask is black, and you also have a hood on. You look perfect, he just wishes you were in his bedroom.

Preferably naked and-

Nope.

He kind of hates it at the same time though. Soap getting so close to you, still determined to find a way to be with you. Soap didn't lose hope, not like Gaz did. But he'd be damned if he didn't do something. He lets out a growl, standing menacingly as he runs forward, towards both of you, knocking Soap down as he growls at him, his teeth snapping. If Gaz doesn't get to be happy, Soap shouldn't either.

He just wasn't expecting your reaction.

"Get off him." He followed your command, staring up at you and following your eyes when you bent down to be eye level with him. "God you are so..."

"Cute." Your voice gets higher as you gently rub behind his ears, the blood not bothering you at all. Gaz almost forgets how you looked at him earlier, your words that cut him melted away and he just thinks he has a chance.

You loved dogs, who wouldn't? Even if that dog was actually a grown (hot) man.

"Look who's such a pretty boy." You kept rubbing his head as Soap just stared in shock. "Such a handsome boy, who did you eat?" You coo at Gaz, who leans into your touch and praise, enjoying everything about this moment. Gaz has to take a moment to remember himself, that the praise you give him is nothing.

But he can't help but imagine scenarios in a different setting.

NSFW Start

It's such a simple setting. In his room, the lights are low. He's flushed, shirtless and on the floor, while you sit above him.

"Can't you be a good boy for me?" You lick your lip before biting it, you stare at him, your eyes actually showing, looking at him with lust and love. A perfect combination, and your lips, god, you were perfect for him. "Come on, you know you want to." You lower your shorts and Gaz gulps, he stares at your cock, mesmerized.

"You're hungry for it, aren't you whore?"

NSFW End

"Arr ye fecken' kidding me?" Soap says, breaking the peaceful moment, and Gaz's daydream. "A' it took wis a wolf fur ye to lik' us?"

"I still don't like you all, but dogs are always a great company." You keep petting him, Gaz's eyes closing slightly, and Soap sits up.

"Ah can do that toh." His accent gets thicker as he rushes to grab your hand, forcing it away from Gaz and instead putting it in his hair. Which was mostly shaved on the sides.

"You aren't a cute puppy right now." You yank your hand away.

"He's fooken' bloody!"

Gaz licks your face, and you slightly smile.

----

Listen, hating people is one thing but I could never hate a dog, let alone a wolf. Reader still doesn't feel comfortable around the boys, but he does like the dogs.

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