#i'm an unstoppable fic-writing machine!*

[hjea]

Trip knew that he would probably pay for his little after-the-fact admission about transferring back to Enterprise later, but by god it had been worth it for the look on T’Pol’s face. Immediately post-Bound, Trip tries to define his relationship-status.

aka Trip blathers on about the situationship. 😁

#star trek enterprise #trip tucker #t'pol #trip x t'pol #i'm an unstoppable fic-writing machine!* #(*this is a lie. i wrote most of this like six months ago and then abandoned it when i couldn't make it work to my satisfaction) #(but starsandfireplains posted the first chapter of their very intriguing post-bound fic yesterday and i went 'hey i have one of those') #(and took another look at it and it wasn't as bad as i remembered!) #(anyway read this and read starsandfireplains new one too and let's all celebrate trip's smug little face at the end of that episode) #fic #mine

[deadgirlwalking91]

new update - 'Thank You for the Venom', chapter 4 🎸 🗡️

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter 4 Summary

After a hard day, all Lute wants to do is relax in the bath. Alone.

Adam, however, has other plans.

Author's note:

I have a super cool announcement to make - I now have a beta reader! And not just any old beta - she is none other than the most incredible, incomprehensibly talented @branded-rose! She deserves the utmost thanks for being my sounding board, fellow head-canon theoriser, hype gal and all-round legend. Also, if you aren't familiar with her work, close this tab right now and go check her art and accompanying mini-fics out!

I have had the MOST fun writing this chapter. The concept for it has undergone a few transformations in my mind, and I'm glad it's ended up where it has. I hope you all enjoy reading it!

As always, thank you for the comments, likes, reblogs, inboxes and for reading this silly little story <3

***

Lute’s Apartment, Exorcist Training Centre, Heaven

Lute hated being injured.

It wasn’t necessarily the feeling of being in pain that she couldn’t stand. On the contrary, she welcomed the tenderness of every bruise, the sting of every laceration – hell, the dull, aching throb of every broken bone that had been inflicted upon her over her years as an Exorcist. Pain meant she had no hesitations in putting her body on the line; she was renowned, after all, for her reputation as an unrelenting, unstoppable, balls-to-the-wall killing machine.

Her body was heavily adorned with the scars as proof of her status; hundreds of faded gold marks of varying sizes were flecked upon her otherwise pale skin. Each healed wound beheld a gory reminder of her battles and triumphs.

No, what irked Lute was the unwanted attention that she attracted whenever she sustained an injury. Thankfully, due to her recent refocus on physical conditioning, there were no weapons being handled and therefore, there should have been minimal opportunity for anybody to come into harm’s way under her guidance.

There was just one variable that Lute hadn’t accounted for: her dickhead boss.

What the fuck had Adam been thinking, tackling her so suddenly during that afternoon’s training session? One minute, she’d been pointing out common weak spots to hit on a Sinner’s body to expose their vulnerabilities, and then the next she’d unexpectedly been crushed by him. Her right hip and lower back had taken the brunt of the fall as he’d grabbed her around the torso, pinned her arms against her body and drove her into the floor with a force so great she’d been winded before she hit the deck.

Then, her sisters had shrieked, screamed – there may have even been one who cried, there usually was when someone hurt themselves – and crowded around her as she lay on the hardwood floor, dazed, confused and completely smothered by Adam’s considerably larger frame.

“Get off her, Sir, she’s not breathing!”

“I-is…is she dead?”

“Lieutenant, are you alright?!”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Commander?! What the fuck was that?!” Thank God for Vaggie, who had elbowed her way to the front of the gaggling group and stood, hands on hips, glaring at the angel who lay atop her friend.

“Out of line, Vagina,” he had drawled lazily, finally pulling himself up to a standing position. “You owe me burpees for that.”

“I don’t owe you a thing after the bullshit you just pulled,” she’d snapped back, helping Lute stand to her feet. “Ladies, back up, she’s coming through.”

“Thanks,” Lute had managed to grunt, shuffling away from the crowd as quickly as she could so they couldn’t see the golden flush of humiliation that had started to warm her cheeks. There was only one thing that she hated more than being injured, and that was being embarrassed.

Luckily, the colour of her face had returned to normal by the time she’d knocked on Sera’s door to report that training had been cancelled for the rest of the day. She’d even come up with the perfect excuse: the Exorcists had made such remarkable progress with their strength training she was giving them the rest of the afternoon off as a reward while she made some adjustments to their schedule.

Too bad her hip and lower back had started burning by that point – not to mention the feathers of her wings were incredibly ruffled, a dead giveaway that she’d been involved in some kind of mishap. Sera, astute as ever, noticed her limp and disgruntled appearance and had demanded to know what had happened. And it wasn’t like Lute could lie to the Head Seraphim.

At least, not off the cuff.

And so, she found herself fumbling for her key outside her apartment door, ordered to rest up for the evening lest her injuries worsened.

Oh, she was going to rest up, alright. Today’s events called for a bath so damn hot her skin would burn brighter than the surface of the sun, a glass of wine in one hand and steamy novel in another. She’d slip beneath the bubbles of her bath and into the pages of her book, with zero plans to re-enter reality for at least three – no, maybe four hours.

At last, she felt her apartment key in bottom of her bag. Sighing in relief as she entered her immaculate personal sanctuary, she softly pushed the front door back towards its frame without looking, kicking her trainers off as soon she was fully inside. Hanging her bag onto a hook in her entryway, she made a beeline for her small kitchen – specifically, for a bottle of red wine she knew she’d had stashed away at the bottom of her pantry for emergencies and unexpected visits from Vaggie.

After the day she’d had, this was absolutely classified as an emergency.

Ignoring the burn that seemed to now consume most of her lower body, Lute located a wine glass and unscrewed the lid of the bottle, pausing to take a long swig directly from it before filling her glass.

Classy.

Sipping her drink from its intended vessel, she plucked a candle off her coffee table and wandered into her bathroom to start preparing for her date with her bathtub.

As Lute sat her glass and candle onto the counter, she caught her reflection in the mirror. God, she looked like she’d had a day – though, to be fair, she’d had the absolute wind knocked out of her only a few hours earlier. Her platinum hair, half of which had been twisted into a small knot on top of her head, had loose strands starting to fall around her face. The bun was askew, leaning more towards the right and threatening to unravel any minute. If her little altercation hadn’t been so public, it wouldn’t be so farfetched for one to imagine she’d been sandwiched between her boss and the floor for a different reason.

Snorting in disgust to herself at the mental image she’d painted, she released her topknot and leant down to turn on the bath mixer, nudging the lever closer to the right until the water temperature was practically scalding. Perfection. She plugged the bath and turned her attention to the unlit candle.

She’d forgotten the lighter. Dammit. She walked gingerly back out into her living area, peeling her crop top up and off over her head, letting it fall to the floor somewhere near the bench of her kitchen, her socks following. Usually, she’d never allow herself to leave stray items of clothing around her apartment, but she was so hyper focused on getting into her bath she was willing to break her own rules - just this once. Besides, she’d tidy up before bedtime anyhow.

After she grabbed the lighter from an overhead cabinet that was just out of reach, requiring a little assistance from her wings, she set back to the bathroom to light her candle. The calming combination of rose geranium, bergamot and patchouli filled her bathroom almost instantaneously; the smell reminded her of the one and only time she’d allowed Vaggie to drag her to a day spa for a massage and to get her wings preened.

It was a one-time event because, as it turned out, strangers touching her body made her skin crawl and she couldn’t bring herself to relax, even if the aim was to help relieve years of built-up tension, stress and physical exertion. Getting her wings preened was even worse; the therapist kept running her fingers through all her sensitive spots, which made Lute squirm uncomfortably throughout the entire session. Neither experience was what she would call enjoyable.

The only good thing to come out of that disaster was the candle she’d purchased to reassure Vaggie the day hadn’t totally sucked.

She took another sip of wine and looked back in the mirror, turning to see if she could see any obvious signs of bruising on her body. She pulled the waistband of her leggings down for a better look – ah, there it was, a familiar dark orange patch beginning to bloom directly over her right hip. She leant forward to inspect it further – that was going to be ugly tomorrow – and a repetitive, robotic tune sung from her pocket, breaking her concentration. Probably Vaggie checking in on her, bless her.

Lute dug her hand into her pocket and retrieved her phone, frowning as she checked the caller ID.

Commander Adam.

“Absolutely not.” She hit the red decline button and padded out to her lounge, where she turned her phone off and tossed it onto her couch. Bath time had a strict no-phone policy, and Adam had already ruined enough of her day – she didn’t need him encroaching on her night, too. She shimmied her leggings down her lower half, resting against the arm of her couch to support her body as she bent over and tugged the end of them off her feet.

Clad only in her underwear now – a practical, black, seam-free thong ideal for wearing under workout clothes – Lute headed into her bedroom, where she grabbed the book she was currently reading from her nightstand, closing the door as she turned towards the bathroom. Pausing in the hall to rid herself of her last item of clothing, entered the bathroom, fully naked, shutting the door firmly behind her.

The bath was now full and inviting, bubbles threatening to spill over the edge and onto the white tiled floor, steam visibly rising from its depths and dissipating somewhere just short of the ceiling. Grinning in anticipation, Lute shut the mixer off and turned off the light switch, the flickering flame of the candle providing the only source of light – just enough for her to be able to read. Grabbing her book, she stepped into the hot water, allowing the heat to envelop her completely as she slid down into its warmth, tucking her wings comfortably against her sides.

Sighing contentedly to herself, she opened her paperback up to where she’d dog-eared her page and allowed herself to be fully consumed by the words between the well-loved cover, banishing any thoughts, any feelings, any pain that had arisen from her day out of her mind.

What she was blissfully unaware of was that she hadn’t closed her front door properly.

Or that she’d missed two calls, a voicemail and a text message from her boss.

And that he was on a frantic mission to try and find her.

Right now.

Adam and Lute’s Office, Exorcist Training Centre, Heaven

“You’ve reached Lute. Leave me a message if it’s important.”

“What is the point of having a damn lieutenant,” Adam growled to himself furiously, “if she doesn’t answer her fucking phone when I need her to!” Huffing impatiently, he threw his phone onto his cluttered desk, knocking a ball made entirely of rubber bands onto the floor. Women were always on their phones, why was this one any different?

Because her sole purpose in life is to make everything difficult.

He glowered in the direction of Lute’s spotless desk. This was all her fault. If she hadn’t of approached Sera with her shitty statistics and stupid proposal, he wouldn’t be facing the prospect of a pointless life in less than a year’s time. Sera would have just let Extermination Day continue as it was, and things would stay the same. Stay normal.

And now, he had to figure out a way to coexist peacefully with the she-devil. Pretend to support her ideas. Not lump his paperwork on her. Make small talk with her.

Fuck his life.

“Ribs or wings?” He asked the empty chair. He figured he may as well sound out some practice questions in preparation. “Actually neither, you’d be the type to survive on gross shit like protein shakes and probably don’t know what real food tastes like. Alright…” he cleared his throat. “Uh, what was the last movie that made you laugh? Nah, that one’s dumb, I don’t think you’ve been programmed to laugh or understand humour.” He groaned. “Last one, because I’m starting to feel like a dickhead. Most fuckable member of a band…go!”

Silence.

Adam narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah, you would pick the drummer,” he grumbled, standing up. He reached for his phone and tried calling Lute again. Bitch better pick up, or he’d search every nook and cranny of this complex for her. And once he found her, she’d have hell to pay. Screw the idea of a truce, she was pissing him off now.

“You’ve reached Lute. Leave me a message if it’s important.”

Beep.

“Fucks sake, Lieutenant, pick up your phone!” He hissed. Instead of locking the phone after hanging up, he hit the message icon instead and tapped out a quick text, tongue between his teeth as he concentrated.

Adam: Lt. Call me. That’s an order!!!

He shoved the phone into his pocket and sighed, puffing his cheeks out. Dammit, he really had no other choice but to find her.

If I were her, where would I spend my spare time? No – it could take hours trying to find her. I need a workaround. Someone who would know where she lives.

Adam grinned maniacally, inspiration suddenly kicking in.

“I’m a ge-ni-us,” he sang to himself, taking his phone out once more and tapping on a contact.

“Hello, Adam. Have you calmed down?”

“Me? Pfft. Don’t worry about me Sera, I’m so fine. I’m calling because I really want to apologise to Lute, but she’s not answering her phone. Do you have her apartment number so I can drop by to check on her?” He balled his hand into a fist near his crotch and made an obscene gesture. Check on her, his ass.

Silence.

“Adam.”

“Sera.”

“If I do this in good faith,” her voice was dangerously cool on the other end of the phone, “and I find out that you’ve misused the information I’ve given you, there will be consequences. Understood?”

“Crystal, boss.”

“Her apartment number is 583. I mean it Adam, one more incident from you and I-”

“SweetkaythanksSeraloveyoubossbye!” He quickly hung up the phone before Sera could finish her sentence. He’d deal with the inevitable lecture he’d get for hanging up on her later.

He had a lieutenant to hunt down.

Apartment Block, Exorcist Training Centre, Heaven

It wasn’t often that Adam found himself in a situation that required him to make a mental pros and cons list.

However, Lute had left him in quite the predicament: her apartment door was slightly ajar. Which meant he was likely to find her in there: big pro.

He was also likely to find her in a more hostile state than usual, given the events that had transpired earlier that day: big con.

But, if he went in, he’d be able to propose a truce, which would help ensure the success of the next Extermination: bigger pro.

Also, he could twist his pitch to emphasise that it would make her job easier: another big pro.

Fuck it, that was all the evidence he needed. He was getting impatient. He nudged the door open, expecting a response from inside. Nothing.

“Lieutenant?” Adam called, pushing the door open further and poking his head inside. “You home?”

No answer.

He frowned as he fully entered the apartment, observing the immaculate home in front of him. His colleague lived a truly minimalistic lifestyle – he found it borderline depressing, really. A small TV, two-seater couch and coffee table were all that occupied her living room. No decorative clutter. No prints on the walls. No photos of friends. Clothes on the floor.

He did a double take. Clothes on the floor?!

That… he hadn’t been expecting. Then again, he didn’t take Lute as the type to leave her front door unlocked and open when she was nowhere to be seen.

He strode forward, trying to get his bearings around her apartment based on the trail of her clothes. Crop and socks by the kitchen counter to his left. He walked past the discarded pants next to the couch on his right. A dead end with two closed doors and…something scrunched up on the floor? He bent to take a closer look and bolted upright once he realised what it was.

Her underwear.

Dismayed, he blinked repeatedly at the offending item of clothing on the floor in front of him. This surely had to be some kind of fucked-up fever dream. Because if somebody had told him that during his search for his second-in-command that he’d find himself staring down at her underwear on the floor, he would have thrown them down into the pits of Hell himself.

“Sera must have put some kind of curse on me with her four hundred weird eyes,” he muttered. “This is too messed up to be real.” He took a wide berth, desperate to avoid the offending undergarment, and found himself directly in front of one door, with another to his left. Both were closed.

He tentatively opened the door in front of him, hoping to catch her in bed, asleep. Where else could she possibly be? He knew he’d likely pay for it – she wasn’t likely to enjoy being woken up, least of all by him – but it’d be worth it just to see the sheer panic that would likely cross her face for a brief second before she went off the rails.

However, nothing could have prepared Adam for what was behind that door.

Because, he’d found his lieutenant, alright. In the bathtub, her body illuminated only by candlelight.

Naked.

Adam looked down at her, his eyes widening in horror. Oh no. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening. This was meant to be her bedroom, she was supposed to be asleep and she definitely wasn’t supposed to be fucking NAKED.

He’d opened the wrong fucking door.

“SHIT!”

He clapped his hand over the mouth of his mask, accidentally banging the door completely open in the process, revealing his presence to the wide-eyed angel laying in front of him.

The same wide-eyed angel who, renowned for her reputation as a bloodthirsty killer, had a murderous look in her eyes that he’d never seen before, despite many an excursion down to Hell.

Shit. I’m SO dead.

Lute’s Bathroom, Apartment Block, Exorcist Training Centre, Heaven

“I am going to KILL you!”

The water in her bath had long gone lukewarm, but white-hot heat radiated throughout Lute’s body, starting from her cheeks and spreading rapidly all the way down to her toes. Still seated, she instinctively flung her book to the other side of the room. She desperately grabbed in the direction of her towel with one hand, her other arm pressed tightly against her breasts in a feeble attempt to cover as much skin as possible. She just needed to get this towel around her, sprint to the kitchen, grab the butcher’s knife and-

“Shit!” Adam yelped, turning away from his lieutenant, drawing his golden wings around his middle to protect himself. He hastily began retreating into her lounge, eyes fixed on the front door. At lighting speed, Lute seized her opportunity to stand – an awful squelch filling the room as water sloshed out of the bath onto the floor - and retrieve her towel, hastily wrapping it around her body with one hand, not bothering to dry herself before hurling herself out of the tub towards her superior.

Her wings were weighed down with half of the water from her bath, soaking through her white towel completely so it clung to her like a skin-tight dress. As she ran, enormous puddles of water pooled in her wake, but she didn’t care. Water could be cleaned up anytime.

She had mere moments, however, to violently murder her boss.

With an almighty cry, she launched herself at Adam’s back, still clutching the towel at the top her sternum. Her knee caught him in his lower back, causing him to stumble and trip, face-down onto the carpet of her living room.

“How-” she growled, straddling his upper back with her thighs, knees poking into his armpit, leaning forward so that her free arm curled around the front of his neck, “- the fuck did you get into my house, you disgusting piece of shit?”

“Maybe,” Adam rasped, using both of his hands to pull Lute’s arm away from his windpipe, “you should learn to lock your door, Lieutenant. You left it wide open for all of Heaven to come in and enjoy the show!”

“And you didn’t think it polite to knock?!” she roared. “Or, I don’t know, try calling me first?! What could you possibly want so fucking badly,” she grunted the last word as she squeezed her thighs against his back, bracing herself so she could fend off his hands, which were gradually freeing her elbow from his throat, “that you needed to walk in on me in the fucking bath?! How long were you standing there, perv?!”

Adam groaned in discomfort as her knees dug into his underarms. Lute squeezed harder again as she moved her mouth closer to the side of his head to get close to his ear.

“I am giving you three seconds,” she snarled, ignoring her towel slipping down her chest as she channelled all her energy into closing the gap between her elbow and his neck, “to explain yourself before I choke you to death. I don’t care if Sera casts me down into hell; a life of damnation would be worth it if it meant I got to be the one to end yo-”

Adam’s right hand let go of Lute’s forearm and he braced it on the floor so he could jerk his right shoulder up and over to his left violently, causing Lute to teeter off-balance and fall sideways onto her already bruised hip. She yelped in pain, motionless for a moment and Adam, now free, took advantage of her breather to straddle her thighs, pinning them together with his own. His knees were quickly becoming soaked as he pressed into the wet towel that still clung to her lower body, but he didn’t care. She howled in rage and made to claw at his mask with her free hand before he caught her wrist and held it to the floor above her head, his face only inches above hers. With his other hand, he swiftly untangled Lute’s fist from her towel and brought it up next to her other hand, pinning her down completely.

“Listen here, girlie,” he seethed as she thrashed her legs violently behind him, attempting to use her hips to throw him off. “I didn’t fucking come here to do anything untoward, alright? I needed to talk to you urgently and you weren’t answering your phone. Your door was wide open. What else was I supposed to do?”

“You didn’t notice the trail of clothes on the floor and think I might be otherwise occupied?”

“Oh please, I’ve seen enough thongs to last me an afterlife. Your underwear on the floor wasn’t going to stop me from finding you. Besides, I’d assumed you were in bed, asleep. Hold still you crazy bitch, I need to talk to you.”

“There is nothing you could need to tell me that necessitates coming into my home uninvited - argh.” She arched her back to try and twist herself free, her towel now dangerously close to being rendered completely useless. Frustrated, wet and spent, she let her head drop back against the carpet, her chest heaving with exhaustion. Adam’s eyes flickered downwards, and he grinned devilishly.

“Didn’t realise you gave up so easily, Dangertits.”

“What the fuck did you just call me?!” she hissed. Her cheeks flushed brilliantly as she looked down and realised that he’d snuck a quick look at her cleavage, which was beginning to spill over the top of her towel.

“You heard me, babe. I think that’s what I’ll refer to you as from now on. It really…” he let his gaze trail down to her chest again, before deliberately taking his time to being his eyes back up to hers again, knowing that he was antagonising her now. A wicked gleam etched across his mask. “…suits you. Ready to wave the white flag and hear me out?”

“I’d rather fucking die.”

“Not an option, Lieutenant. Shut up and stop running that filthy mouth of yours for a sec and listen to me. That’s an order.”

Lute glowered at him.

“Let me go.”

Adam snickered. “Not a chance.”

“Now.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“I’ll tell Sera.”

“Tattling again, Lieutenant? That would be twice today. I’ll give you a hot tip, because I’m feeling generous.” He bent his head low against her ear, his forehead pressing against her hair as he whispered into her ear. “I strongly advise you against it. Wouldn’t want the boss thinking you can’t hold your own now, would you?”

Lute shuddered at his closeness – or was the adrenaline starting to wear off and a chill settling in because of the wet towel? It didn’t matter, anyway. He was right. She couldn’t go to Sera again with something like this. It would make her appear weak. Incapable. Not to mention that the whole situation was utterly humiliating, and there was no way she was telling a single soul about what had happened tonight. Not even Vaggie.

“What do you want, then?”

Adam lifted his head back up, so their faces were parallel once more and scoffed.

“Are you kidding me, babe? We’re not having this conversation right now! In case you haven’t noticed, you’re soaking wet – not in a good way, either – and basically naked. We can talk tomorrow morning.”

“Y-you,” Lute gasped, shutting her eyes in disbelief. After all this, he wasn’t even going to tell her. Oh, how she wanted nothing more than to tear him apart, limb by limb. “You asshole. You evil, conniving sonnuva-”

“Nine o’clock. Our office.” Adam released his grip on her wrist and rose to a standing position. He held out his hand to help her up, but Lute swatted it away angrily. He could shove it up his ass, as far she was concerned.

“Don’t be late.” He straightened his robes and headed towards her front door, whistling merrily to himself. Lute pulled herself into a sitting position, readjusting her towel so she was adequately covered once more. She said a silent prayer of thanks that the wetness of the towel meant that it stuck tight to her lower body, ensuring some level of modesty for her during their scrap. She desperately wanted to scream at him, throw something at his head, charge at him again and make him pay for the humiliation she’d just suffered.

But she didn’t. Because, despite wanting to exact her revenge immediately with every fibre of her being, she was overwhelmingly exhausted. At this point, all she had the energy to do was crawl into bed and forget that she’d even woken up this morning.

Adam grinned as he opened the door.

“At ease, Dangertits.” He saluted her mockingly before exiting.

He managed to close the door just in time to hear the TV remote hit the back of the door and clang to the floor.

***

Next time: Lute's suspicious that Adam's trying to poison her.

#hazbin hotel #adam x lute #guardrock #guitarspear #guitarspear fic #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin lute

[the-cult-of-riley]

Sleeping With Ghosts (Act One: Chapter Twenty Seven)

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female OC

[[Masterlist]]

A/N: Oh, baby, this is it!!!

The last chapter of Act One. I hope you guys are ready for the hell I’m gonna bestow on you all lmaooo

I just wanted to say, while I have a bunch of shit written for Act Two and a boat load of ideas, I am up for suggestions. If there's something you'd like to see in the fic, don't be a stranger. I can't guarantee I’ll do it, if it doesn't mesh with the ideas I have, but as a free writer, my work is always evolving and taking on a life of its own. So hit me up if there's some specific shit you wanna see.

Also this chapter is a little rough so… re-read the tags and take care of your mental health.

Placebo - A Million Little Pieces

There wasn't much I used to need

A smile would blow a summer breeze through my heart

Now my mistakes are haunting me

Like winter came and put a freeze on my heart

I've lost the power to understand

What it takes to be a man with my heart

I saw you wanted this to end

You tried your best to be a friend to my heart

But I'm leaving this worry town

Please no grieving, my love, understand?

Whenever I was feeling wrong

I used to go and write a song from my heart

But now I feel I've lost my spark

No more glowing in the dark for my heart

So I'm leaving this worry town

Please no grieving, my love, understand?

Understand?

Understand?

Understand?

Understand?

Understand? (Can't you see I'm sick of fighting?)

Understand? (Can't you tell I've lost my way?)

Understand? (Look at me there's no denying)

Understand? (I won't last another day)

So I'm leaving this worry town

Please no grieving, my love, understand?

Then I'm leaving this worry town

Please no grieving, my love, understand?

All my dreaming torn in pieces

All my dreaming torn in pieces

All my dreaming torn in pieces

All my dreaming torn in pieces now

A burst pipe was dripping, the nose echoing in the desolate concrete room. Sounded like a bullet ricocheting off the walls. Simon fucking wished it was, wished it ricocheted right into his brain. How long had he been here? It all bled together, felt like forever at this point. His body was well and truly broken, had so much done to him that he’d been sure he was a goner multiple times, yet somehow he was still clinging on. His mind though, that he was trying to clutch with all of his might, bloodied fingers and all. 

He wasn't sure just where it all went wrong, to be betrayed by his superior like he had, to wind up in the hands of a monster. Roba wanted him to join their side, thought he’d make a great soldier for him. Wanted him a mindless drone to follow his brutal orders. An unstoppable machine. He wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t ever fucking do it but boy was Roba determined to try and break him. 

It had been your run of the mill torture at first but Simon was prepared for that, fucking passed his RTI training with flying colours for a reason. But when that didn't work it got meaner, more brutal, until Simon’s body was littered with scars, so many he was sure he looked like mincemeat. The one that sliced through his top lip into his cheek had been the most painful. It was still trying to heal. 

When Roba realised he wasn't getting anywhere to break his new favourite toy, he resorted to tactics that Simon hadn’t been prepared for, ones that had damaged his psyche beyond repair. He’d been confused when the first prostitute had been brought to him and he’d been horrified at what they wanted him to do. He was married and he wasn’t about to fuck a hooker. Roba hadn't liked that though and as the poor girl hit the floor with a thud, bullet hole in her head, Simon had felt bile clawing its way up his throat. He might not have pulled the trigger but he damn well killed her, and that was the fucking point wasn’t it? The mind games. 

Roba knew he'd play along more if innocent lives were threatened and so that's what he did. He kept bringing him women that if he was honest, might not have even been willing participants and they forced him to be touched against his will. And if he didn’t get hard, didn’t fucking finish as they watched like the sick perverts they were, the girls wound up beaten or dead. He wasn't sure he’d ever be right in the head again if he ever got out of here, especially not when it got even worse when even that hadn’t broken him completely. 

Then it turned into the men taking turns with him, being used in a way he’d never even considered. He felt dirty, like he’d never wash clean, like he was tarnished from the inside out and all he could think about was her. Could she still love him after he’d been with other people? No, that wasn't right was it? Hadn’t been voluntary, hadn’t been willing. He knew exactly what it was he went through, the R word that burned in the back of his mind like vitriol. He’d been defiled. 

Would she think of him differently or would she open her arms out to him, wrap them around him in a tender embrace and tell him it would all be okay? Simon’s eyes closed, tears leaking down the sides as he lay on the hard concrete floor, the cold biting into his broken and naked body. He could just about hear her, the delicate voice floating through the peripheries of his shattered mind.

I’ve got you, Si. I love you.

A deep and aching sob wracked his bruised chest, his heart yearning so fiercely for her that it caused him more physical pain than the beatings. She was the only thing keeping his sanity in check, the only thing he was clinging onto so desperately. He needed to get back to her, needed to be in her arms, needed to feel like he was still a man, still worthy of love. 

He felt so disconnected from everything, disjointed and wrong. Nothing felt like it made sense anymore other than her. He’d never allow them to break him because he couldn't leave her all alone. He’d promised her that years ago, made it solid with his vows to her. He wouldn't die here, wouldn't leave her grieving and alone. He’d get back to her no matter what it took. 

His whole body tensed up as he heard the door down the hall rattle, the key in the lock turning. A cold, creeping fear trickled through his veins like ice and his chest felt like it caved in. He knew what was coming for him, knew what time it was. And so, he allowed himself to float away somewhere else. Somewhere it was warm, somewhere with blue soft eyes gazing at him, a bright smile just for him, small hands smoothing through his hair and telling him it was all okay. He'd be okay as long as he was with her. 

He’d been through a lot of horrible things in his life but nothing could top the last three months. Nothing could top being hung by his ribs with a meat hook or being buried alive with his dead, treacherous CO. But even then, he hadn't given up. Even bloody and gasping and retching and fractured. He’d dug his way out of that grave with the jaw bone of his bastard of a Major, got himself right out. Finally. He could go back to her. She was all he ached for, all he wanted. 

Getting out of Mexico had been a blur, wound up being picked up by a Captain called John Price that he’d briefly worked with before. He wasn’t sure how he fucking found him, wasn’t sure of anything anymore and then weeks were spent in hospital as he recovered. His brain was fuzzy, his mind trying to erase the horrors he’d endured, trying to stuff them into a box so deep in his mind he’d never be able to find them. Didn't work though, did it? His body recovered, leaving awful scars that covered every part of him. His face made him sick, a scar along his cheek and lip and one that curved around his left temple. Would she flinch when she looked at him? Would she feel as sick as he did? Would she still look at him the same? His body might have healed but his mind sure hadn't. He had this hope, that once he was home, once he was back with her that it would all be okay. She’d make it okay. 

“You thought any more about what I said?” John asked him, watching as Simon slid a hoodie on. The man had been kind enough, slowly earning his trust after not leaving his side. 

“We both know I wouldn't pass a psych eval… not anymore,” he bit out. He tried not to think of the nightmares or the crippling panic attacks he kept getting out of nowhere. Tried not to think about the dreams where he was hurting people, hurting innocent women and enjoying it. Tried to tell himself that Roba hadn't won, he hadn't. 

“Doesn't really matter about that, does it? You've got potential, Simon. A bit of therapy and I think you’d be good to go. I’d love to have you on my team,” the man murmured, giving him a sympathetic look. He felt honoured that after all he went through, this man, a seemingly good man, had decided he was worth something. Decided that he wanted him on board. He felt like a fragile piece of porcelain, cracked and waiting to fall to pieces. He was nothing like the brave soldier he’d thought he was. 

“I appreciate it but… I’m done. I want out. Just wanna get home, back to my wife. Wanna… settle down, get better, have kids. I don't want this life anymore,” he admitted hoarsely. 

His hand moved to his tags, the pendant she got him still there. A tether to her. He couldn't do this life anymore, not after all he’d been through. He just wanted a normal life, wanted to just be with Charlotte. John nodded, moving at a snail's pace to tap him on the shoulder. He still flinched anyway but he was getting better. He hoped to god he wouldn't flinch at Lottie’s touch, he knew it would break her. Her soft heart would already hurt for him when she found out what he’d endured. 

“Alright, well… Here's my number anyway. Call me if you change your mind or… if you just need a chat,” he smiled and Simon nodded, grateful for the man who just appeared in his life when he needed him. He’d never forget his help. 

“Thanks, John,” he murmured. 

He got the special treatment of a private military plane back to Manchester and he looked around at the pitiful smattering of snow and the twinkling lights people had up. It was Christmas day. Even after everything he’d been through, he was excited to see her, his stomach twisting in knots at the prospect. She’d be so surprised to see him and he just needed to feel her, needed to take in her comforting scent and to hear her beating heart. 

A thought occurred to him then and he decided to go to his mum’s first and he knew Tommy, Beth and Jo would be there after spending Christmas day there. Not really to see them as he knew his current scarred state would cause quite a stir but because Lottie’s present was there so she wouldn't see it. His mum had helped him with it. He’d been so excited about giving it to her. While he knew it was wrong, he decided he wouldn't tell his family what happened to him, they didn't need to know those horrors. He’d come up with some bullshit about a bomb or something to cover for his scars. He would tell Lottie though, she deserved to know the truth and why he’d come back different. 

He was glad the houses weren’t too far apart, his steps picking up as he saw his mum’s house. The lights outside blinked rapidly and he smiled at the stupid inflated snowman in the front garden. It wasn't lost on him how close to death he’d been not too long ago and all these little things he’s taken for granted meant so much more to him now. He moved through the front gate, approaching the door and frowning when he saw it was open a crack. 

“Mum! You’ve left the door open!” he called out, pushing it open as he stepped inside. For a house full of people on Christmas day, it was eerily silent and Simon felt a chill sweep up his spine, his military alertness taking over. 

“Mum! Tommy!” he called out warily, moving inside the house fully. 

As he walked into the living room, the world stopped turning and he couldn't breathe. Mum. She was lying on the floor in front of the Christmas tree and his first thought had been that she’d had a fall or a heart attack or stroke. But as he rushed to her, turning her over to her back, blood pounded in his ears at the bullet hole in her head. No, no, no. 

He jumped up, hands clutching the sides of his head as he shut his eyes, frantically shaking his head. He’d had dreams like this before. It was a dream, it had to be. Yet when he opened his eyes again, the lifeless body of his mum stared back at him. He looked to his left seeing Beth slumped on the couch, bullet wound to the head. He couldn't hear the wounded noises he was making with the pulse blaring in his ears but his cheeks were wet and he clawed at his chest as he tried to breathe. Joseph was in the armchair, body half falling off with blood dripping from his small head.

“No…” he wailed, swaying on his feet as he stumbled over. His hands shook, hovering over the boy before he carefully lifted him so he didn't fall, leaning him against the chair. Tears fell in rivulets, loud and gut wrenching sobs tearing at his throat as he cradled the boy's bloody head. 

Tommy, where's Tommy? His lower lip quivered as he released Joseph, looking around with blurry eyes as he tried to make sense of what happened. He needed to find Tommy. Tommy had to be okay. He moved around the room before going into the kitchen and something broke in him completely at the sight of his baby brother laying on the floor in a pool of blood. An agonised noise left his lips as he fell to his knees on the floor, arms going around his brother uncaring of the blood. He was cold, so cold and he sobbed, clutching Tommy as if it would breathe life back into him. Bad dream, had to be a bad dream, need to wake up, wake up. 

“Was hoping you’d show up.”

The voice made him whip around, eyes widening to see Washington, one his squad mates who had also been taken. He’d thought he’d died. The man looked at him with cold eyes, devoid of the life he’d known them to be and it all clicked in his head. He’d been turned, been sent here to dole out Simon’s punishment for getting away, for not bending to Roba’s will. They’d died because of him. 

He set his brother's body down, standing up to his full height. He towered over Washington but the man was unflinching, gun dangling in his hand. Big mistake. So much pain and rage swept through him that he could hardly contain it. He lunged at him and the fucker wasn’t prepared for it. The gun clattered to the ground but Simon didn't care about that, didn’t need a fucking weapon because he was one. 

He knocked him onto the floor and Washington tried to scramble away, shocked when Simon’s fist collided with his temple and stunned him. But he didn't stop there, couldn't stop there. His fist hit and hit and hit and hit until the man's head was nothing but a pile of broken bones and mush. Until there was brain matter dangling out of his useless split open skull. Until there was no noise coming from the man other than the sick squelching of his head. His rage knew no bounds, ragged breaths ripping in and out of his lungs violently. He couldn't make sense of how he got here, couldn't make sense of anything. Charlotte. Oh god no. 

He took off with his heart in his throat, tearing out of the house and running down the street at inhuman speed. The fear he felt was like nothing else he’d ever experienced as he kept running until he felt sick. He pushed himself until their house came into view, Christmas lights up in the window. He came to a screeching halt at the living room window, seeing Lottie folding up washing and putting it on the couch to sort out. 

The relief he felt made him crumple to his knees, vomit projecting out of him at a painful speed and onto the driveway. She was alive, she was okay. She wouldn't be though. Roba would come for her, he’d get her because she was all Simon had left and his heart ran cold at the notion. His family were dead. Gone completely. He’d never see his mum's warm smile, see Beth’s kind eyes or hear sweet Joseph's laugh again. And Tommy… he’d never hear his stupid jokes again, never roll his eyes at him, never give him big brotherly advice, never hear him poke fun at him for anything and everything. His baby brother who he’d fought so hard to protect his entire life and he’d failed him. He was dead because of him, he’d killed him. 

He wished he’d died back in Mexico so he didn't have to endure the searing pain ripping through his soul. And if he lost Lottie… no, he couldn’t, he fucking refused. He quickly left before she saw him, a plan forming in his mind. He needed to kill Roba, she’d never be safe if he didn’t. Would she be safe even if he did? This proved his line of work was dangerous and he’d made many enemies over the years. He'd never really thought it would bleed into his personal life and now look what happened. 

He couldn't do that to her. Having her alive was better than having her with him temporarily just to die because of him. The idea of leaving her like that was painful, he knew just what he was doing by breaking his promise of leaving her alone, but he had no choice. He couldn't have her die because of him. He had to make this right somehow, how to get justice and revenge for his family, had to keep his wife safe even if he had to hurt her in order to do that. He made his way back to his mum's house, a sick feeling festering in his stomach like an infected wound. 

There was this eerie emptiness that suddenly wrapped around him like a blanket and he welcomed it. Something shifted within himself and he felt it deep in his core. Simon Riley didn't exist anymore, there was nothing left but an empty shell of a man. A ghost, doomed to haunt the earth as his penance. And so, he did the only thing that made sense, setting fire to the house in some kind of funeral pyre for his family, leaving his tags on that murdering cunts neck so he could finally kill himself once and for all. 

The one thing he grabbed before he left was the gift he’d made for Charlotte. He didn't have much left of her now, this was it. He’d left his tags behind as much as it wounded him, but he could keep this. Remind himself he was doing this for her. 

When he was far enough away from the house, he made the trek into the city centre, head down and avoiding everyone. He finally got to his destination, chest heavy with grief as he eyed the bus stop in front of him. He could almost envision himself sitting there as if he was a spectator, watch Lottie stroll up in that little dress, watch her pluck his cold heart right out of his chest and warm it up. 

He blinked rapidly, tears falling down his miserable and marred face, moving over to sit down, clutching the gift tightly. He wished so badly he could say goodbye to her, to feel her embrace, to feel her soft kiss just one more time, but in a way he knew he’d never be able to leave her if he saw her tearful face. He rummaged in his pockets, reaching out the two gifts off John. A pocket knife and a burner phone. He flicked the knife out, scratching into the metal seat at his side carefully. 

S.R 

<3

C.R

Maybe she’d see that one day, maybe she’d see it and know it was him, maybe it would comfort her. His lower lip wobbled horribly and he wiped at his eyes, pressing call on the only contact in his phone. 

“Hello?” he answered after two rings. 

“Price… I need help,” he choked out, unable to stay strong under the unbreakable weight of his pain. 

He willed that coldness to come back to him, that emptiness was much easier to handle than all of this emotion. He needed to bury himself, needed to become nothing but a ghost so he could carry out his revenge and keep Charlotte safe. He didn't deserve to have a happy life with her like he’d longed for, was stupid for ever thinking it was possible really, wasn't he? He was nothing but bad luck, cursing everyone he loved to a painful death. He’d never be able to make up for what he’d caused but he’d spend the rest of his miserable life making sure Charlotte wouldn't suffer the same fate. 

#simon riley x oc #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x oc #ghost x oc

[bakuliwrites]

A Distant Past- Gortash x My Tav

Rating: Mature Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Enver Gortash x OC Tags: Slightly suggestive, a bit of angst, Gortash spoilers, BG3 spoilers, pre-events of Baldur's Gate 3, Gortash backstory, OC backstory A/N: I have no idea when I'm going to get around to writing my fic about my Tav, Orlando, but I'm coming up with all sorts of content for it. It's just completely out of order. So, here's a little mini-fic which will be featured in my eventual fanfic. For context, this occurs after Gortash and my Tav have escaped the House of Hope, but years before the events of Baldur's Gate 3 :) Want to know more about my Tav? Check her out here

Lifting his head from his cluttered desk, Enver pinches the bridge of his nose, willing the pressure of a nascent migraine to dissipate. He’s been working for hours, maybe even days, with little to show for it. Unfinished, half-baked ideas litter his workspace and he’s certain his five o’clock shadow has progressed into full beard territory. His dark eyes flick over to where Orlando is scratching away at some parchment, the grip on her quill irontight. The Tiefling’s forehead is crinkled in concentration, as she is no doubt absorbed in formulating some new potion derived from her luminescent tears. Recently, she made a bit of money selling a vial to a scientist of middling renown, who hopes to turn them into a viable light source. But that one sale hasn’t been much in the way of funds, hence her dedication to expanding her little business.

Enver listens to the harsh scratch of her pen on parchment and smiles to himself. Orlando’s patience is endless. How long has it been since they slipped through Raphael’s claws? A decade, at least. And how long has Enver been promising her safety, security, stability? Even longer. 

Thus far, he’s been able to provide exactly nothing for her. He’s resorted to thievery and scrounging around for whatever food and living accommodations he can find. It was Orlando that managed to secure the two of them a temporary home, albeit water damaged and reeking of brine. A hut on the beach in Baldur’s Gate isn’t exactly prime real estate, but it serves its purpose for now. Shelter and somewhere to work is all Enver really needs. He is a man of unwavering perseverance, more so than he even realizes, yet, in his late twenties. 

Even in this dingy shack they’ve commandeered as a workspace, Enver sees promise. He sees potential, if he can get any of his damn machines to actually work. Miniature prototypes of devices he’s given the temporary titles of, “Steel Soldiers,” (a name he plans to change one day) lay disassembled around his workspace. Blueprints for better designs, newer designs, cover his desk and spill onto the floor. Meanwhile, Orlando has laid claim to a small desk in the corner, comfortable in the dark and claustrophobic den she’s built for herself. She’s always been more productive in small, shadowy spaces. She glances up for a moment, webbed ears perking up when she hears Enver sigh. She meets his gaze and beams gently.

Part of Enver wishes he could give Orlando the life she’s always imagined, the one she wrote to him about in the secretive notes they used to pass back and forth in the House of Hope. Were she to stay with him, perhaps he could give her some semblance of that life, though it certainly wouldn’t be the saccharine fantasy she’d cooked up all those years ago. A fantasy she also appears to have abandoned. Years of struggling to make ends meet seem to have dashed any hopes she had for a cottage in the woods with a gaggle of children and flocks of sheep (or was it chickens? He can’t recall).

Enver is certain he can give Orlando a life better than the simple one she imagined as a child. He is meant for greater, grander things, and so is she. Orlando is more lethal than she realizes. Were she to unlock her potential, were Enver’s potential to be recognized- by the gods, they’d be unstoppable. Bane would no doubt be pleased. And whatever eldritch patron Orlando is bound to- well, it’s safe to say they’d benefit from a union as powerful as his and hers. 

Enver lets his mind wander for a moment. In another life, he stands at the grand window in a magnificent office. His magnificent office, one with mahogany shelves from floor to ceiling and space for him to fiddle with his machines. The deep blue waters of the Sword Coast shimmer brightly in his view, and Enver knows he’s made it. He’s the top of the top, the cream of the crop. In this dream, in this life, he is beloved, feared, and standing victoriously on the pinnacle of the world. A portrait of him, powerful and commanding, hangs above the mantelpiece, with Orlando sitting elegant and proud at his side. Triumphant, he swivels back to the window, gloating over the city that failed him so spectacularly as a child. However, the dream suddenly shifts. Night descends on Baldur’s Gate and the stars twinkle softly in their heavenly bezels. 

Enver still stands at his office window, a newborn son swaddled in his arms. The boy’s chubby cheeks are softer than velvet, his teeny, pink lips slightly parted in peaceful slumber. He looks like his mother, right down to the little horns sprouting from his head and the bioluminescent spots on his delicately webbed ears. But he has his father’s eyes (and possibly his nose, though it’s still a bit early to tell). He is the picture of innocence, cherubic and new. The world is a marvel to him still, the mysteries of which his parents will help him unravel in time. Mysteries Enver had to unravel for himself when he was a boy.  

A surge of contempt wells in Enver’s chest. Looking down at the sweet face of his little one, he cannot fathom how a parent could sell their child. He simply cannot comprehend letting anyone wrench his precious babe from his arms in exchange for a petty amount of gold. His son- Mirak or Nikhil, he decides (he recalls Orlando daydreaming about naming a son one of these names)- stirs, wriggling restlessly in his blanket. When the boy yawns, the slightest squeak escapes his throat, and Enver feels his heart swell. Who could be so cruel as to assign value to that which is priceless? 

In this other life, he feels Orlando’s arms snake around his waist and pull him close. She rests her head against his broad shoulders and when she leans up to press a lingering kiss to Enver’s neck, he smells her sweet jasmine and musk perfume, and for a moment, Enver could convince himself this life is real.

“My handsome men,” she affectionately hums, squeezing him tight. Enver shifts the baby to one arm, wrapping his other around his wife and drawing her near. The feeling that surges through him in this moment is foreign, utterly unknown to him. Is this what it’s like to feel unconditional love? Love without expectation? Love not as a commodity or something to earn, but something entirely inherent and guaranteed? Here they stand, a family of three. United, as they should be. As families ought to be.

But this life will never be. Enver’s trajectory has not allowed room for the comforts of settling down. This other life is a fantasy in every sense of the word. A ridiculous notion Orlando planted in his head over years of pining after a life that will always be out of reach. He must carry on, determined as ever. If life will not give him what he wants, then he must take it for himself.

A gentle touch draws Enver from his thoughts, ink-stained fingers carding softly through his jet black locks. Velvet lips press tender kisses to his cheekbones, scratching against his stubble and smiling softly against his skin.

“Come to bed?” Orlando tempts, her voice a drawl as her hands smooth along his shoulders. Meeting her eyes, Enver knows in his heart that they are on the cusp of something brilliant. Something life changing. He will stop at nothing to ensure a safe future for himself, for Orlando.

Enver grasps Orlando’s hand, pulling her into him, letting her settle on the desk in front of him. Her startled gasp turns to a giggle, which is swiftly hushed when his lips crash hungrily into hers. Orlando returns his kiss with equal fervor. Enver doesn’t have time for sleep, not if he wants to build the life he’s promised her for so long. But Enver won’t say no to blowing off some steam, refreshing his thoughts and losing himself in his cherished one for a while.

A/N: I don't intend for this fic to have any redemption arcs for Gortash. I want it to purely be a dual route fic: one ending with a corruption arc for my Tav and one ending where she will have to face off with Gortash. But I can't resist writing about what could have been in another life, if things had gone differently for them. Thank you for reading :) More to come.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #enver gortash #bg3 gortash #gortash x tav #gortash x oc #slightly suggestive #bg3 fanfiction #my fanfiction #dani writes #gortash spoilers

[goatsandgangsters]

“succession theme intensifies” and “the gangster au I'm not writing but could as a flex” 👀👀👀

send me a wip and I’ll give you a snippet of fic

despite the titles, these are both grishaverse fics. but you can see where the brainrot went “what if….. we take the prestige dramas……. and we rub them all over this other thing.” 

“gangster au I’m not writing” does actually have a good chance of being published one day, because I absolved myself of the need for a Plot and decided it’ll just be a genfic with some vignettes and a healthy garnish of historical details

“We enlisted together, you know. Thought it’d be a good idea, get out of—get away. A grand adventure.” He spread his hands wide to illustrate, a momentary showman’s smile. “It was so routine, you know? When it happened. Repairing wire. Talking about—I don’t even remember. One moment there, and the next…” He whistled the bullet’s trajectory, but there was no spectacle about it now. Just a sad stare out to sea. A recriminating scoff.  Wordlessly, Aleksander passed his cigarette through the darkness.  Nikolai looked at it a moment, one little light on the dark shore, and laughed at something private when he took it, took a drag. And then another, exhaling the world on a cloud of smoke.  “Used to be able to blow smoke rings. Neat party trick,” he said, gaze on the sea. “I’m out of practice.” 

meanwhile, “succession theme” is seven pages of actually written fic, followed by 20 full pages of bullet points where I have entire scenes blocked out in mostly dialogue with absolutely no line breaks, just massive walls of Giant Scene Paragraphs Per Bullet Point and I really don’t know why I did that to myself

“I believe their position,” Aleksander said through his teeth, “is that the historical significance of the building—” “Oh, fuck historical significance!”  His fingers flexed on the table. “Shall I relay that as our official company view?” Aleksander muttered, rubbing his temples with forefinger and thumb. His remark went unheard as Pyotr continued this afternoon’s tirade.   Behind him, on the leather settee in Pyotr’s office, Vasily sat with a hand over his eyes—no doubt hungover. Loitering about for no discernible purpose, other than no one could find him a coloring book.  There was not enough free coffee in the break room’s burnt-bean encrusted coffee machine in the world to make a meeting with Pyotr Lantsov bearable.  “It’s a prime location. View of the whole Os Alta,” continued the unstoppable force of today’s headache. “Is this the dream city, or is this just another shithole in the countryside with pig farmers fucking their mothers?”    Ivan, brave Ivan, took the next blow. “Be that as it may, they aren’t willing to sell.”

send me a wip and I’ll give you a snippet of fic

#thank youuu! #*tour guide voice* and on the right you can see nikolai as a disowned-rich-kid-turned-rum-runner with WWI trauma #and on the left you can see: this meeting could have been an email #nikolai lantsov #aleksander morozova #grishaverse #my writing #hosseinis

[crows-home]

for the get to know your fic writer thing- 3, 7, 17, and 11!

(3 - Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic)

(7 - How do you choose which POV to write from?)

(17 - What do you do when writing becomes difficult? (maybe a lack of inspiration or writers block)

(11 - Link your three favorite fics right now)

This answer got a little long uh. oops! ^^" Here's my silly answer, but my more in depth answers will be below the cut

3. Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic

Usually it starts with a little idea in my brain. A "gosh wouldn't this be such an interesting/ fun scenario?" They're usually just for me to play in my own brain as bedtime stories, and nothing more. But sometimes I'm hit with that itch to write and get something out there.

I do what I like to call "word vomit." Just. Writing whatever the hell comes to my mind. Here are some examples I found in my doc that make me laugh looking back now

The beginning phase is just me going ham!! Throwing ideas at the wall, typing whatever's in my head without spell check or care. Like i'm writing notes to myself.

After that I do "scenes." Basically just breaking down big moments of the fic that I have in my head and writing them down. You know those moments/ideas that you come up with in your head that you can't stop relaying? That.

After that it's just connecting the dots, making everything fit together. I like to think of it like painting. Mixing together colors, seeing what fits and what doesn't, using different brushes. Sometimes I'll get through a scene and realize I'm rambling too much, it has too much dialogue, it doesn't make sense with the story- so I scrap that piece or find a way to save it for a different part of the story.

Then editing. A lot of editing. And hating what I wrote, wondering why people like it. Leaving the canvas alone for a while, coming back and going "actually i really like this. this is so fucking cool, especially for what i have planned at the end hehehe" Sometimes I polish it up in a way that i like, sometimes I go "fuck it. it's good enough"

And THEN it's done :)

7. How do you choose which POV to write from?

It's a few factors! Sometimes it's based on what I think would be fun (ex: "What if I wrote a fanfiction from Sonic's perspective. What might he have been thinking/ going through?") But sometimes it's what I want my readers to see.

Like, in the last chapter of "You are at your lowest", I wrote in Rouge's perspective during her meet-up with a certain character. That's because I intentionally didn't want the audience to have the other character's P.O.V. I wanted to leave readers wondering/ guessing/ confused.

17 - What do you do when writing becomes difficult? (maybe a lack of inspiration or writers block)

Depends!! If I'm not feeling inspired, I'll usually check on Tumblr or instagram to get back in the mood/ vibe or read some comments that people have left!! They really pull my head out of a dull space when i need it :) <3 If I've got writer's block, I'll either take weeks off writing or force myself to sit down and just write, no matter how bad it is. Then I just work with what I have.

11. Link your three favorite fics right now

aaaaaaa ok i love reccing fics and i have a lot but here's a few:

Slumber Party by Detton

Summary: Edward Richtofen and his traveling partner, "Tank" Dempsey try to survive in an ice apocalypse.

It's been years since i've played CoD- probably almost a decade, now- but a while ago went looking for Zombies fics for the nostalgia of it. And ough, this fic has my heart!! A Dempsey/Richtofen WIP that includes the main four and their interactions in an ice apocalypse. i just really like it a lot, and if this is your thing, i recommend it!! It's super sweet, and has superb writing 👌

The Buzzsaw Dilemma by redpenship

Summary: How do you stop an unstoppable force?

Three weeks after meeting Sonic, Tails is kidnapped by Doctor Eggman and tasked with building a machine capable of defeating the hedgehog. His success marks his first day as the doctor's secret apprentice, in which he must help the Eggman Empire against his will.

Tails becomes determined to use what little power he has to reduce the empire’s harm. When larger threats arise, he realizes that he can use his influence to save the world—and if all goes well, destroy the empire from the inside out, too.

If only alien invasions didn’t make things so complicated.

OUOSUDHFSFHSDH OBSESSED!!! oh man, a WIP about Tails being forced to help Eggman, and I'm super stoked to see where it goes. But heed the tags, because it does say "Major Character Death" and "Animal death"!! I'm so enthralled by the world building and reading this take on Sonic and Tails. Brainworms!!

Lastly I'm gonna link Sometimes the Picket Fence isn't Perfect by @skimmingmilk. It's a whole series on Sonic and Tails finessing their way past Mobian CPS and it's just so hasdkasdbkhas.

i'm still getting caught up, but i watched the last bit of the latest work being written on stream a few days ago and i 🥹🥺😭 they're so cute. They're brothers your honor!!

#answers #seeing soulkiah in my inbox i 😳 lol thanks for the ask!! #SORRY THIS TOOK HOURS TO ANSWER LMAO #i had so so so much fun answering this one!!!! aaa i really wanted to talk about my writing process #i am. so sleepy. but im so down for continuing answering more of these through the weekend! #ok goodnight cleveland #edit: RIP I TAGGED THE WRONG BLOG TOT my baaadddd

[unclekaz]

i'll be honest, springtrap and nolan having personal journals has been very prominent on my mind, mainly just imagining how they write.

springtrap has very good calligraphy but it's slightly sloppy since he never figured out a comfortable position for his writing hand in his life, awhile nolan literally writes chicken scratch. even nolan can't read what he writes, he only knows what it says because he remembered what he wrote down awhile writing it.

but also im imagining their styles of writing. nolan is very expressive and impactful in his mind because you know. machine theory is a perspective fic- but im imagining it's surprisingly brief but also details nolan's feelings. it's essentially what he always wants to say but could never bear to speak it, i.e his inner dialogue translated into a physical form

springtrap? it's his diary. it's full of solid looking doodles, the occasional sketch of nolan, and probably a LOT of mentally ill and likely very bad poetry. he absolutely hides it somewhere because of just how insanely obsessed he is in love with his husband, venting his feelings but also expressing is love in one center place. he'd love tumblr

press see more for two prompts each that are supposed to be excerpts from springtrap's and nolan's personal journals, you'll uh. you'll understand who's who.

'He's impossible to deal with some days. I cannot help but fret and worry over his conditions, but all he does is give me that warm smile. Well... At least I can always be there for him. It still distresses me to see him so thin. To think he's capable of so much while nearly being skin wrapped over bone is horrific. He seems to like my cooking, so maybe everything will be okay after all.'

'Come and see, please, indentured shall be thee to save my lover's soul. For he cannot bear the champion's curse any longer! Come, bitter conduct. Come, unsavory guide! Save the soul of my eternally damned beloved! For they seek a treasure unpossessed, a yearning in the heart unfulfilled with viscera... Save them, oh thee! Save them!'

-|-|-;ɛ -|-|-;()|_]o}|-;-|- ()/= |_ɛ/-\\/||\|o} |-;||nn ||\| }()|nnɛ()|\|ɛ'} [/-\/~ɛ /-\|\|o| o|/~|\/||\|o} ()/=/= |} /-\ /~ɛ()[[|_]/~/~||\|o} -|-|-;()|_]o}|-;-|-. |-|- }|[|<ɛ|\|} |nnɛ -|-() ɛ\/ɛ|\| [()|\|}|o|ɛ/~ -|-|-;/-\-|-. | \/\/|}|-; | [()|_]|_o| -|-/-\|_|< -|-() |-;||nn /-\|o()|_]-|- -|-|-;|}, |o|_]-|- |-;|} ɛ-/ɛ}... |/= ()|\||_-/ |-;ɛ |<|\|ɛ\/\/ \/\/|-;/-\-|- /-\ }|[|< |0|_]|0|0-/ |-;ɛ |-;/-\o| ()|\| |-;|} |-;/-\|\|o|}...

(The thought of leaving him in someone's care and driving off is a reoccurring thought. It sickens me to even consider that. I wish I could talk to him about this, but his eyes... If only he knew what a sick puppy he had on his hands...)

|nn-/ |o()o|-/ |} }-|-/-\/~-|-||\|o} -|-() }|_()\/\/ o|()\/\/|\| -|-|-;/-\|\||<} -|-() |nn-/ |\|ɛo}|_ɛ[-|-. |'|nn [/-\|0/-\|o|_ɛ, |o|_]-|- |\|()-|- |_]|\|}-|-()|0|0/-\|o|_ɛ. -|-|-;ɛ |-;|_]|\|o}ɛ/~ |0/-\|\|o}} /-\/~ɛ o}ɛ-|--|-||\|o} \/\/()/~}ɛ, -|-|-;ɛ ||\|}()|nn|\||/-\ |} }-|-/-\/~-|-||\|o} -|-() |<ɛɛ|0 |nnɛ |_]|0 /=()/~ /-\ \/\/ɛɛ|< }-|-/~/-\|o}|-;-|-. | /'|_]}-|- [/-\|\|'-|- |oɛ/-\/~ -|-() -|-ɛ|_|_ |-;||nn... |-;ɛ'o| }-|-/-\/~-|- [/~-/||\|o} ()\/ɛ/~ |nn-/ [()|\|o||-|-|()|\| /-\|\|o| |oɛo}o}||\|o} |nnɛ -|-() -|-/-\|<ɛ [/-\/~ɛ ()/= |nn-/}ɛ|_/=. ()/~, |-;ɛ'|_|_ o|() |-|- |-;||nn}ɛ|_/=. |'o| |_()\/ɛ -|-() ɛ|\|\/|}|()|\| |-;||nn \/\/|-;|}|0ɛ/~||\|o} }\/\/ɛɛ-|- |\|()-|-|-;||\|o}} ||\|-|-() |nn-/ ɛ/-\/~} -|-() |-;ɛ|_|0 |nnɛ }|_ɛɛ|0.

(My body is starting to slow down thanks to my neglect. I'm capable, but not unstoppable. The hunger pangs are getting worse, the insomnia is starting to keep me up for a week straight. I just can't bear to tell him... He'd start crying over my condition and begging me to take care of myself. Or, he'll do it himself. I'd love to envision him whispering sweet nothings into my ears to help me sleep.)

#vigilante.txt #to think they're on the same page when it comes to nolan's horrific condition is so bittersweet #springtrap being horribly parental by fretting over if he's eating enough #it being justified because nolan is like. shockingly underweight #nolan ventilating his distress over springtrap and admitting his fantasies of leaving him in someone's care #even calling himself a 'sick puppy' because his mental image of himself is literally scum #what they need is to read each other's journals and just hug and whisper to each other lovingly. #my eyes are watering. #springtrap fic

[abidethetempest]

mega 3-in-1 rise and fall retrospective post!

(because i forgot to do them for the last three chapters..... oops) literally one person i think is cool liked my post about bringing these pack and I am Not Immune to peer pressure so I decided to do the ones I missed right away lmao

Chapter 10

As I said in the authors note on this chapter, this one was hard for me. Mainly because I was writing it while working on my conlang and then I got too excited abt the conlang and kinda forgot to write the chapter,,,,, I honestly can't remember if there was anything cool or important I wanted to highlight for this one. Rereading it now, I don't see anything to point out in particular. I mostly had fun writing Risen being kind of a menace with her lack of self preservation, and having Erikses go into mom-mode at the end.

Chapter 11

Aster

oh hey look that guy again. i'm sure he's not gonna cause any problems at all :)

no but in all seriousness, I do really like writing about Aster and how Risen feels about him. It's cool to have him be seen as a very real threat, esp in a game where as the player I feel like this unstoppable murder machine 90% of the time. Risen also has to worry about the lives of the House, who are most definitely not going to get back up if Aster kills them like she does. She's already prone to paranoia when it comes to him, so tapping back into some of her fears after a few chapters of relative peace was refreshing. (For me, anyway, I'm sure it sucked for her.) Excited to show you guys her growth as a character thru dealing w Aster and also to get to the more exciting bits of this arc.

I Wish Erikses Was My Mom

need I say more? Erikses is kind of my favorite character (okay maybeeee she's tied with Aakse tbh) and I just love writing her interactions with Risen. I was concerned that it would feel like her relationship with Risen moves too quickly from "tentative ally/mentor figure" to "i have been adopted this nice crab alien" but I eventually came to my senses and realized this is my fic and I can do whatever I want.

I do honestly feel like this was the right time to have them get closer, and not just because I want to write cute bonding times. I'll probably elaborate on this more in that sidefic I have planned; Erikses is someone who has always wanted to be a mentor and parent figure but it simply never worked out until now. Now Risen is suddenly thrust into her life, and Erikses has come to care about her beyond the initial "honored guest who I owe a great debt to" dynamic.

Writing that hug healed my soul. Erikses is best mom confirmed.

Chapter 12

all caught up now!

The Nightmare

ehehehe I bet I got some of you with that little fakeout huh >:3c sorry not sorry. It wasn't in my outline, but I felt like I wanted to show that, even tho Risen got some nice comfort from her alien mom Erikses last chapter, she's not instantly cured of all fear. But now she has Erikses in her corner if she ever needs someone to remind her its still gonna be okay.

Traveling Songs

A thing that has been in my brain since almost day 1 of this project is the idea of group songs being big in Eliksni culture. Traveling songs are specifically meant to bring good luck on your journey and keep everyone entertained (and awake) during all that damn walking. Also the sound of large groups of people singing together just does something to my brain okay.

Erikses, let me see what you have? A knife! NO!

Everybody's favorite scribe stabs people in her free time, go queen. This cultural detail is another one I've been kicking around for a long time. I think it came more out of the Long Drift than Riisborn Eliksni culture. Everyone needs to know how to fight, because the universe can be an incredibly cruel and hostile place, especially after the Whirlwind. Even scholars like Erikses traditionally are trained in some kind of weapon, tho their skills are usually more focused on self defense.

Risen Can Change Her Knives Now?

This is not a Risen-specific ability! (Actually none of her abilities as a Guardian will ever be hers alone, just a matter of skill, age, and practice.) I headcanon that Guardians can change the form of their Light-based summons (Hunter knives, Titan hammers, Golden Gun, Dawnblades, etc.) to fit their own personal tastes or fighting style. Within reason, ofc-- a Golden Gun will always be a gun, but maybe some Hunters make it a sniper instead. Risen wants her knives to look like Erikses's and in a quiet environment, with time and focus, she can do it. This is a lot harder during a fight, but practice makes perfect.

Embroidery <333

Once again, R&F is secretly just me gushing about every fiber art I know/want to learn forever. Embroidery is one I want to learn real bad; I do cross-stitch already a tiny bit, so I think I could do it in theory, but it just looks like magic to me ughhhh so cool.

Erikses choosing to share her art with Risen is a significant act in Eliksni culture, and somewhat formalizes their teacher-student relationship (we have not gotten to my cultural concept of iksabas yet but when we do I will have so much yelling to do about Erikses and how she makes Risen a member of her family thru the act of sharing her language and her craft with her).

whew okay thats a long boi in the soup but there's three chapters worth of retrospectives!

#destiny 2 #destiny #destiny fanfiction #destiny oc #destiny rise and fall au #rise and fall retrospectives

[wild-karrde]

Karrde!!! Oh, I am so happy for you!!! 800 followers is more than deserved! You are such a gifted writer and I am honored to have you as a friend and be here to celebrate with you 💜

Can I send in your fic Inspiration for the Director's Cut thing? Cause honestly this piece is just to die for and honestly, sometimes fics like these that get too meta (too close to home lolol) give me a lot of secondhand embarrassment (it's the anxiety in me lol) but it is SO GOOD!!!

What inspired you to write this fic? To you enjoy going meta like that? Do you wish you got meta more often, or is it a once-in-a-while sort of thing for you? Did writing this take you out of your comfort zone as a writer? What was the most fun thing about writing this piece?

Again, congratulations Karrde my beloved 💜💜💜

HIYA SAM!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE KIND WORDS. I AM SENDING YOU ALL OF THE INTERWEBS HUGS AND AM ETERNALLY GRATEFUL THAT YOU ARE MY FRIEND!!!

As for Inspiration, that was honestly just a crack idea that I let take hold one evening. Full disclosure, it kind of started with my husband, who knows about my fic writing, and I make a habit of talking about it with him sometimes (yes, even the spicy stuff). He's honestly one of the first partners that has kind of encouraged this hobby (there's a reason I married him), and lets me spout off my HCs and ideas and is so supportive and cool about it (even if he really isn't much of a reader/bookworm). I wanted to explore that kind of dynamic with one of the clone boys, and Echo seemed like the PERFECT one to do it with. I've always had the HC that he's a bookworm that read reg manuals until he got a hold of an actual novel, and then he was just an unstoppable reading machine.

As for the meta aspect of it, I honestly had never thought about writing something that felt this close to home before? But it was SO FUN, and I spent a lot of time kind of thinking about what to include as kind of the "universal writing experience." I loved writing out that moment where the reader can only think of one word and exactly zero synonyms, so she's making notes to herself in the margins to go back later and FIX THIS BECAUSE IT'S TERRIBLE. It wound up being a bit of a love letter to the writers on here in that respect, and then I just had the good old-fashioned sort of fantastical smutty fun with it. ;)

I don't know if I'll ever write something quite as meta as this again (because I totally get the second-hand embarrassment aspect), but dang if I didn't have fun going for it with this one, and honestly, the response to it made it completely worth it. I don't know if I'll ever top the excitement I had seeing the comments for this one (specifically the ones going 'OH MY GOD I DO THIS TOO' with the writing stuff). I'm so stoked you loved that fic though! It was a bit out there for me, but honestly, one of my favorites!

Thanks for participating in my 800 Follower Celebration!

#800 follower celebration #follower celebration #inspiration #echo x reader #echo x you #arc trooper echo

[greendragonqueen]

do you listen to music when you write/edit "An Arranged Marriage" ? what kind of music gets you in the mood to write/edit the fic?

I do have music that I listen to get inspired, but I don't oftentimes write while listening to music. I listen to all sorts of music over the course of my day, so I tend to have it quiet when it's time to sit down and write.

...

Well, I guess that's a lie, because I've got two lists: inspiration music and writing music. Both I occasionally dip into if I feel that it is necessary for the scene (parties, dances, etc) or if I just feel the vibe is necessary.

Inspiration music is whatever song I've latched onto for the day that just gets my interests going. I can't possibly list all of the songs that have inspired me, we'd be here all day if I did, but I can offer some of my most recent songs I've listened to. They may not even be possibly related to the story, just the vibe that's being given off by the song has caught my attention.

"Dance With Me" by Phillip Phillips

"5 AM (extended edition)" by Amber Run

"Song of Durin" by Clamavi De Profundis (honestly they're pretty good for anything I'm writing)

"Wake the Witch (feat Roxane Genot)" By Karliene

"Let You Down" and "When I Grow Up" by NF

"Reasons" by Beth Crowley

"Everybody Knows (unstoppable)" and "Maneater" by Royal Deluxe

"You're Not Welcome" by Naethan Apollo

"Rise Up" by 2WEI & Edda Hayes

"Castle" & "Colors" by Halsey

"Experience" by Ludovico Einaudi

"Royalty" by Egzod, Maestro Chives & Neoni

"Glimpse of Us" by Joji

"Golden Hour" by JVKE

"Your God is Dead" by Really Slow Motion

"Middle of the Night (Violin)" by Joel Sunny

"Carry Me", "Eurielle", and "Hate Me" by Eurielle

"Glitter and Gold" by Barns Courtney

"You are the Reason (Duet Version)" by Calum Scott & Leona Lewis

"Somewhere Only We Know" by Lilly Allen

(I will also say that some of these songs are good for Mergana in general, but not all Mergana songs are "An Arranged Marriage" songs and not all "An Arranged Marriage" songs are Mergana songs. Perhaps one day I'll compile a list for Mergana, but that will take a lot longer to do.)

Writing music is just wordless, storyless music that just has the sort of... vibe that I'm going for that I play in the background while I write. Mostly, it's this list that I will pick a song from and listen to on repeat in the background, but sometimes they're inspiration as well.

Various different Gregorian chant albums

"La Petite Fille De La Mer (Remastered)" by Vangelis: Delectus

"TLT Birdies" by The Lonely Tree Birdies

"Snowfall" by Oneheart & reidenshi

"Kammergrav" by Danheim

"300 Spartans (feat. Merethe Soltvedt)" by Lunan & Richine Kohan

"Dreamer" by Low Roar

"Don't Be So Serious" by Low Roar

"Don't You Dare (make me fall in love with you)" by Kaden Mackay

"Heather (Violin)" by Joel Sunny

"Experience" by Ludovico Einaudi

"Leave A Light On (Jayson DeZuzio Remix)" by Tom Walker

"Send Me On My Way" by Rusted Root

"Wish That You Were Here (From “Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children” Original Motion Picture)" by Florence + The Machine

Very rarely will you notice the 'musical intention' while in the story, but if there is like a specific song that I wish for people to listen to while reading it, I will list it in the chapter.

Alright, I think that's all I got! Thanks!

#An Arranged Marriage #Mergana #Music playlist #Merlin x Morgana #BBC Merlin

[alfredosauce50]

Hiii just dropping in here to say I'm really really happy you're writing WMMH again 😭💖💖 don't get me wrong, I love your new stuff and your writing is always awesome (esp that new Mathias fic!!!!) but I think WMMH holds a special place in my heart for being the fic to convert me into loving Cyberpunk!Alfred jfjfnfjd

Cyberpunk Alfred has my whole soul. He has the deepest and truest characterization in that story, and the same goes for Allen. But even a basic summary would capture their personalities down to a T:

Alfred, the bull-headed vigilante on a quest to preserve humanity on the precipice of collapse. Allen, the poor mechanic who finally lands some stability by fadoodling with organized crime a corporation. An unstoppable force meets an immovable object. Who will come out on top? None of them. Your dad does.

Also, I’m so fucking glad you’re staying so in tune! It does a lot to keep me motivated. Have this treat while you wait 👀 I wanted to finish the chapter but it’s super late and I didn’t want to get lazy.

(It’s also nice to see you enjoyed Viking Mathias 😉)

What makes me human

[Cyberpunk! America x reader] 4

(remastered)

“You know him?” You frowned. Allen never stuck around to answer, bursting into a sprint to chase after the fugitive. Before he disappeared into the crowd, you ran after him, unable to drop your quest for the truth. “Wait!” You called out. “Who is he?”

“Remember that crazy shoot-out that took out three whole floors of the building?” He never slowed his pace, letting the gap between you both grow larger by the second. But that was what he intended, as much as it hurt to leave you behind. “The terrorist that killed half our men? That’s him. That’s the guy.”

“Christ on a bike,” Alfred hissed.

While he darted his head from left to right, all he could hear was the frantic whirring in his chest, then the dripping of a gutter nearby. Hiding in an alleyway wasn’t exactly hiding, and if he was found, he was as good as dead. Everything he fought for would go down with him to the grave if he even got one.

Whipping his head to the street, he expected to see a dirty asphalt road, only to see anything but.

A pair of scarlet red eyes burned so brightly at him, all he saw was purple as he was shoved against the wall with a heavy ‘thump.’

“Shit—” He seethed. A combat knife jabbed at his face, and it would’ve skewered right through him if he hadn’t caught his assailant’s hand. Tightening his grip on it, their arms began trembling as they pitted their raw strength against each other.

“Is this how Mizumoto greets old friends? Doesn’t seem very polite.” Alfred grinned, voice straining.

“When I realized (F/N) was gone, I knew someone had taken her,” Allen spoke in a low tone. He pressed the blade deeper into the other’s skin, darkening his glare. “And look who I run into. Alfred fucking Jones himself. You have some balls trying to steal from us again after we nearly killed you last time.”

Where there should’ve been blood, was nothing but a transparent slither of body fluid. He was the same freak he remembered, an artificial killing machine that couldn’t bleed. But Allen wasn’t afraid. And that lack of fear was what put them in the same league.

“But the thing is, you didn’t.” He spat, shoving the knife away. “I won’t stop until I get that chip. You know I won’t. ‘Specially when you corpo assholes are getting something that shouldn’t be had!”

Alfred raised his leg and kneed him in the crotch.

“Gh—!” Allen hunched over with two hands over his jewels. In his bout of disorientation, he was kicked back to a safe distance. While he hissed in pain, wincing some, he glared at Alfred through his eyebrows. “Real classy of you to do that, dipshit.”

When he straightened up, he spat at the other’s feet.

“I’m doing you a favor by telling you to give up,” He shook his head, raising his arms. “Do you really think you can make a difference to the world by yourself?” Already, Allen knew he was wasting his breath by reasoning with him. Alfred was blinded by hatred and his self-righteousness all the same.

It showed in his unwavering gaze, which burned with a faith that could put any religion to shame.

“I mean, look around you!” Even in that brief pause, they heard something in the background. They always heard something, be it the mechanical hum of the city, or the echo of spokespeople in ads. “Cyberpunk. That’s what we’re existing in. It’s our present and future until we blow ourselves apart.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re the yakuza’s lapdog,” Alfred scoffed, raising his brows.

“So?” Allen leaned against the wall behind him. Fishing out a cigarette, he lit the end and took a puff. “If you’re not cops, you’re little people. And if you’re a Mizumoto, you don’t have to be a fucking pig.”

“If we’re going off personal reasons, then there’s nothing wrong with what I’m doing either.”

“You killed thirty-one people that day,” The other snarled. How this guy could preach justice when he had such little regard for human life was beyond him. “And you still didn’t get what you wanted. I would’ve taken that as a sign to move the fuck on.”

“Oh, I was just getting started,” Alfred laughed dryly, watching Allen tense up with unbridled anger. Veins bulged around his neck, and he flushed crimson. “Killing yakuza is what I live for. You and her are the worst class of criminals to walk Los Angeles.”

Allen threw him against the wall.

His entire body pulsed to his rapid heartbeats, and his eyes narrowed with a manic kind of malice.

“I’m warning you, Alfred. Leave her out of this.”

“Or what, you gonna kill me?” He grimaced, never faltering from the threat, nor the chokehold. If Allen wanted to do away with him, or worse, take him in, he would’ve tried harder. But just as he suspected, he didn’t have the power to make that decision.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t have the orders to.”

“Not even to save her?” Alfred shoved him back, his tone thick with scorn. That shut Allen up. He could revel in his lie all he wanted, that he was living a life of freedom and class. But at the end of the day, he was only hired gun. “You really are a lapdog.”

Alfred: Fuck the yakuza. All my homies hate the yakuza

(If you’ve read chapter 14 onwards, it’s safe to read under the cut)

But believe me, you haven’t seen anything yet. I think about the conflict between Alfred and his clone every day. And I think about how they’d clash in a literal clone war. Like, fuck. Not sure if you’ve seen Altered Carbon, but the main protagonist literally just did Rock Paper Scissors to decide which version lives.

#ask answered #thanks for the ask anon! #what makes me human #WMMH #update #edit #remaster #alfredosauce50 #hetalia fanfiction #hetalia #hetalia x reader #scifi romance #sci-fi #cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077

[beeeinyourbonnet]

Fic Writer Questions

Ty for tagging me @bearrycool! <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3? A whopping thirty-one. But I have 374878946 more on my tumbr x]

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 310,575

3. What fandoms do you write for? Once Upon a Time and the assorted fandoms associated with anyelle, also one outlier in the Sherlock fandom.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Intentional Fallacy, somehow the one random Sherlock fic, an IF deleted scene remix, a fic that was gonna be real good but I couldn't get to work for me, and a lil dark castle fluff called Handprints.

5. Do you respond to comments? I do! Try to stop me! I am an unstoppable chatting machine!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I'm not an angst writer but anything that I wrote with any sort of arc in the canon Enchanted Forest would have ended in angst because...curse.

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

8. Do you get hate on fics? I only ever got hate on the cursed site ffnet.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yes yes. I don't know how to answer this. The ace kind xD

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? Oh yes indeed x] probably one of the ones that takes Belle and adds at least two other Bobby characters? Maybe develle + Nosty?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? I've had people ask me if they can translate but I have not seen any finished products.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No I am a control freak.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? RUuuUUUuuUmBeLLe

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? All of them :')

16. What are your writing strengths? Voice

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Finishing things

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? It's great when done thoughtfully

19. First fandom you wrote for? Idk as a child I used to write a lot for me but prob the first fandom I ever posted in on the internet was either Inuyasha or HP

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? Hmmm idk. I think my bellish fic, The Beginning of a New Book, is some of my best writing.

Tagging some people because I'm supposed to: @ladymaliwan, @ace-cf-cups, @passionsanddevotions annnd ummm. Idk. Idk who writes because I am out of touch but PLS TAG YOURSELF AND SHOW ME ALL YOUR THOUGHTS

[blinkaftermidnight]

i do not understand how you have the capacity to write the quality/quantity that you produce and also consume media (I guess I am referring to SW right now) lol what the fuck are you a superhero

A machine, or maybe I'm mentally unstable lmao, but I am unstoppable. Maybe you can understand why I don't read much fic, then. Also I honestly haven't been consuming much media the last two weeks or so - mainly just the new episodes of Kenobi and The Boys, and I watched the first four episodes of First Kill last night as a break from writing/editing. Other than that, I've been slowly making my way through Broad City and I've been watching the NHL playoffs, but a lot of what I watch now is on in the background. All while I attempt to read books (but that's kind of stalled the last few weeks while I've been obsessively writing). Also my sleep schedule is insanely fucked, so I've been writing until 3 or 4 am during the last week to hammer out the first draft of the Star Wars AU.

Look, it was a surprise to me that other people don't crank out the amount of words I can (if I'm focused) in a day. Like if I know where the story is going or just really want to write a particular story, the words usually flow. We can just ignore my periods of burnout and the over one year break I took from creative writing while academics, my job, and my ex dominated my life when I stopped feeling like I wanted to do it and questioned why I bothered to write fiction in the first place.

tldr: idk man the words just come to me. Maybe that's my sorta useless superpower

#Anonymous

[moongumi]

under our moonlight²

pairing: khonshu x reader

⟶ cw. age-gap (lol its khonshu), uni!au, avatar!reader, soft khonshu, smut

sypnosis: you are taken to the british museum for school and well, khonshu knows a lot about what's there.

⟶ wc. 3k

a/n: khonshu vibes over here! this chapter builds on their relationship before and after MC becomes his avatar. I'm looking for beta readers for this specific fic so if you're interested dm me!

part 1 // part 2 // part 3

Khonshu remembers the day he met you, the day he met his little bird. The day you died and were awakened by him again to serve your deity. It wasn’t a day you’d ever want to be reminded of, but of course every year the anniversary of your father’s death comes around and darkness surrounds you.

Beep. Beep. The beeps kept going, reminding your mother that you were no longer with them. Only an hour ago did a tragedy happen, a huge car accident on a forest trail, vehicles zooming at speeds that were unstoppable crashing through the forest trees cutting them in half before it hits you and your father─you had pushed your mother out of the way and completely ate the impact.

Khonshu watches in the small hospital room, surrounding you were your mother and other relatives that you never spoke of-mourning the loss of your father and the loss of you soon enough. You were in a coma, your head completely caved in and even if you were too awaken-your bones were crushed, you’d be completely paralyzed and have no memories most of your life─death would be a mercy.

Your mother was devastated, your family had all the money in the world and none of that money could’ve fixed you. 

Khonshu pitied that thought, the thing people wanted, craved the most in the world - riches, cannot deny the fate of humans.

When your mother had to leave to let your family out past visitors hours it had come down to it, your mother was discussing her options with the doctors and the only option that was viable was to pull the plug and let you rest before your body would decay. 

Khonshu knew he only had so long, “Y/n L/n.”

You woke up, strapped underneath piles of tubes and wires. Choking on your breathing tube you pulled it out, coughing out. The machine next to you beeps loudly, but Khonshu shuts it up with a flick of his hand.

You reached for the pain in your body, head wrapped and legs strapped in confusing contraptions. That was until you saw the large figure in front of you, a ghost.

You screamed, and Khonshu sighed.

“Rest your mind mortal, I am Khonshu.” He begins, seeing the horror in your face, “I am the Egyptian God of the Night Sky.”

“I know who you are─in writing but you don’t look like your drawings.”

You knew of him, he was grateful and pleased. Living in this world it wasn’t rare to see superpowers and weird things but you didn’t expect an Egyptian God.

“You are dying. Accept my offer and you will rise again as my Moon Knight.”

You breathed heavily in front of him, your small body shaking as you took in what was around you. Realizing that this was the only way, it didn’t take much for you to see your mother outside the door alone. You remembered the crash and knew what happened.

“Khonshu, what are the clauses of your deal?”

Khonshu was blunt and to the point, “You serve me and you live.”

☆.・゜゜・*. * ·✧*. * ·★.・゜゜・✰

Your bed’s wet, sheets covered with your sweat.

“Nightmare?”

You sigh, rubbing your eyes, “Something like that.”

Khonshu sits on your window still, breathing in the night sky, “Let’s take your mind off of it.”

Breaking people’s faces with your bare fists definitely took the edge off. But it was only enough for the moment, you walk home on the streets of London hearing the chatter and screaming of drunk people at this time of the night.

“I’m going to get a drink okay?” You walk into a local shop and grab two bottles of wine, only maybe did you need two but hell, having an extra was nice.

Khonshu waits outside the shop as you come out, “Is it about your father?”

“Yea, it’s only been a year. I don’t wanna go to the anniversary, saying anniversary makes it seem like a celebration─”

“Call it a memorial, little bird, it is not going to be a party, I hope for your sake,” He interrupts but you appreciate it.

You walk home with him by your side, “She’ll call me tomorrow probably so can we take time off from Moon Knighting?”

“Of course, I would never make you serve me in such tragic times.”

☆.・゜゜・*. * ·✧*. * ·★.・゜゜・✰

Khonshu watches you from his favorite spot, at the window next to your bed that aligns perfectly with the moonlight. He feels calm by it, and only observes the way you were crying over the film you were watching with the first bottle of wine nearly finished.

“I can’t believe he’s died!” You cried out as if Khonshu was even watching the movie or cared to understand what was happening in the film. 

Khonshu hums looking back at the crescent moon, “It is a beautiful night.”

“It is but I’m sad!” You mutter, laying against the couch trying to fix your hair that had gone completely everywhere, “Do you remember every night Khonshu?”

“Of course, I am the God of the Night Sky, darling.”

“Do you remember the night that I died and came back to life and my dad didn’t? Do you remember picking me instead of my dad-”

“You were chosen for a reason, you were born to be my avatar - and no one else could take your place,” Khonshu cuts you off, his voice coated with passion.

“But why? Why did my dad have to die?”

Khonshu gets up, leaving his scepter against the brick walls. He’s next to you and crouches down on his knee cocking his head- allowing your eyes to meet with the void of his own, “You were supposed to die that day too, you are here now because of me. Fate is cruel.”

“Fate isn’t real.”

Khonshu sighs, “Fate is what you make it out to be, fate is the path you create and your fate brought you to me and you made the choice to come back to life - without you here your mother wouldn’t be herself and I wouldn’t have you in my life.”

“Uh─fuck, my mom’s a bitch, Khonshu, don’t remind me of her.”

He sighs again. He only spoke out of his heart so much knowing you wouldn’t remember most of it, but it seemed to allow you to open up about your own feelings quite a bit. He knew of the situation with your mother, after all, he was there the entire time.

Your mother had moved on within that year, dating a new man and it seemed like she was bound to become engaged within the month. It was disgusting as you would word it, it wasn’t like your father died from illness or they divorced, he was killed and your mother had moved on with her life with the excuse of, her not wanting to stay in mourning for the rest of her life. Which explains how you didn’t want to attend the yearly event about your father that was hosted by your witchlike mother.

It wasn’t long until Khonshu notices you sobbing uncontrollably, popping open another bottle before taking a swig of it. “My life would be a lot worse without you, Khonshu.”

“Well yes, you would not be alive my dove.”

You laugh, eyes still wet with tears, “No─no. I meant you make me really happy, Khonshu.”

If he had a heart, he didn’t know if he did or didn’t, it would swell. He felt a strange feeling a pump in his chest, his fingers tingled hearing such a heartfelt thing leave your pretty lips. Your cheeks were red from the alcohol and your eyelids were heavy, your lips curved with a genuine smile.

Never in his life, had he felt like this about an avatar. His little bird had pulled strings in his soul enough to completely change the way he thought about this devotion-based relationship.

His wrapped hand reaches out for your fluffy hair, brushing your hair back out of your face. The little contact pushes you back against the cushions and your head fell against the soft material causing your eyes to shut completely. You didn’t even notice him caressing your hair, down to your cheeks - his eyes unable to keep themselves from lingering onto how your shirt fell off your shoulders. His large hand pulls it up, thinking you may be cold─definitely not because his eyes would lurk further and further.

“My dove, sleep well. You’ve got a rough week to get through but I will be alongside you like always.”

☆.・゜゜・*. * ·✧*. * ·★.・゜゜・✰

You wanted to pound your head against the table, listening to your lectures about non-sense. They were discussing your options for the next assignment, doing jewellery design was more of an impulse choice and just to make your mother happy as you didn’t even want to go to university.

They mentioned stuff about attending galleries and museums to collect data and inspiration, most importantly they were offering a class trip to the British Museum.

You tapped your feet as you spun the pen in your hand until you notice him standing next to your lecturer, and the pen drops against your sketchbook. You are needed, my avatar, we must prevent the death of many by this useless war.

You had to squeeze through your classmates and even though probably no one was looking at you, it felt embarrassing to leave the lecture before it finished.

“I can’t believe you’re pulling me out of class!” You whisper yell, rushing down the steps to get outside before Khonshu could take you to the destination you were needed.

Khonshu scoffs, picking up his staff and walking alongside you, “You must be confused, little bird. You are firstly my avatar then secondly, anything else.”

“I just wish I could, you know, attend class and be normal for even a day?” You mutter.

He cocks his head, “You are able to do such things but protecting the lives of others is the price you must pay for the gift I bestowed upon you.”

“I know, you remind me of that too often.”

“And you complain about the clauses too often.”

☆.・゜゜・*. * ·✧*. * ·★.・゜゜・✰

It was already the day of the museum visit and were excited to break out of your school, work, and home routine, not including the Moon Knight stuff.

You’ve never actually been to the British Museum even though it was only a couple of tube rides away. You were going with your class and all plus you were all paired up to go around the place, you assumed it was a sort of attempt of making students make friends.

“You better behave today,” You mutter, getting on the coach that would take you all.

Khonshu scoffs, outside of the coach only watching you through the window, “You are off to the museum that houses stolen artifacts from tombs and temples, some of those items belonged to me and my fellow deities. Surely, you would want my very intuitive commentary on what you are to look at, would you not?”

“Sure but, I want to be normal today? Okay.”

You sit in a window seat and the other seat was soon occupied, “Uh, wait─”

“Hey,” The guy from work the other day, for some reason his name was not ringing any bells, “It’s Thomas or Tom.”

“Oh sorry, I forget people really easily.” 

Tom laughs, “It’s okay, I thought you’d call me or text but I guess I was just hopeful. We could still be friends, right?”

Friends? Who does this vermin think he is to be sitting next to you without permission. Khonshu's rough voice scrapes your ears and you couldn’t even hear what left the other guy's mouth, you only smiled and nodded hoping he wasn’t asking anything too serious.

“I’m your partner for today, if you’re wondering why I’m here.” 

You gape, “Ah, alright. That’s cool.” It was cool, he seemed like a nice guy and he was your age so hopefully, you’d have something to talk about.

I recommend you break his windpipe before he slobbers all over you. You sighed, looking away from Tom and whispering, “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Sorry?”

“Hm?” You pretended as if nothing had happened.

Tom smiled, “I thought you said something.”

“Oh might’ve been my headphones.”

You are making me lose my patience, crow. I will not let this stand, you will not be able to withstand my wrath. The coach shakes as Khonshu uses his powers to make the winds move. You try your hardest to ignore him but the death bird gets closer and practically tries to shove his head through the window glaring at you. Fuck, this was going to be a great trip.

☆.・゜゜・*. * ·✧*. * ·★.・゜゜・✰

“Khonsu─”

“What?” You whip around as if you were exposed.

Tom points at the hieroglyphs, “That’s apparently Khonsu, depicted as─a pigeon?”

A Falcon, little bird, correct this man before I correct the way his head can rotate. He lurks behind you, watching your every move like he always does.

“I think that’s a falcon,” You say, doing as Khonshu would’ve liked. 

Tom hums, squinting his eyes at the hieroglyphs again, “Looks like a pigeon.”

“He really does─” You had to stop yourself before you said something too personal, you laugh it off and pretended it was a part of the conversation and moved on. Only to look behind your shoulders to see a rather displeased-looking Khonshu, his head tilted downwards as if he was looking at you over his non-existent eyebrows.

“More about this Khonshu, I’ve barely heard of this guy.”

You shrug, holding onto your tote bag, “He seems cool though, a moon god.”

“Yea, they’ve got a lot of stuff about this God, he doesn’t seem very popular.” 

Khonshu scoffs, this child does not know what he is talking about. He seems ignorant of the Ennead and the Deities that form it.

“I don’t know much either, to be honest, I only learned about him recently.” You say, replying to Khonshu indirectly hoping to be on some sort of common ground with him because knowing this relationship he’s bound to complain all night.

“Khonshu means Traveller─”

“Hm, might have something to do with him guiding the travellers of the night sky.” Tom looks at you with shock, surprised that you knew that information. If only he knew you helped Khonshu guide those travellers, that would be a real trip.

Tom chuckles, “You are brilliant.”

“Thanks.”

You are brilliant, little dove but this boy is getting on my last nerve. Khonshu hisses. He’s right next to you now and you look up at him but it looks like you’re looking at the tall scripture.

“So, is it true? That you mark the passage of time, with the moon, and with that allow new life to be created. After all, we learn in astronomy that without the moon the world would go out of bounds, natural disasters, animals would perish and plants would die and we would run out of food and also die?” Your eyes are glued to his. If Khonshu could smile he would but he would never tell you that. Yet, he nods, impressed.

“Woah─that’s cute how you talk to the image of Khonshu as if he’s really there,” Tom places himself between you and Khonshu unknowingly, “You’re really passionate about this stuff, huh?”

“Oh,” You laugh, “Yea, something like that.” 

My dear, without the moon you wouldn’t be able to experience those autumns you love so much. Without the moon, there would be no seasons and no life. Khonshu spoke, his words were soft and lush.

You smiled, at Khonshu, not Tom, and your eyes glimmered, “That’s beautiful.”

“Yea.” Tom says. Khonshu wanted to bash his staff into this kid’s skull, for interrupting your moment with him.

You snap out of it, looking at Tom for once, “Oh─what?”

“You said that was beautiful,” Tom points at the scripture that included a painting of Khonshu, a human form of him.

You tap your head, “Yea duh, sorry, I literally zoned out.”

Tom doesn’t mind, brushing it off easily before moving on to the other displays. You walk behind him trying to catch up to the rest of the group as well, but not before asking, “Hey, you have a human form right?”

Sometimes, only sometimes. Khonshu replies.

That surprises you, “Sometimes? When is sometimes?”

Sometimes.

Your eyes land on something very shiny and pretty so you take out your phone and snap a photo of it, feeling the cold air whoosh behind you as you see Khonshu’s beak come into view from your peripheral.

Hm, he’s still here. Khonshu murmurs.

“Who’s that,” You look towards Khonshu but Tom answers because to anyone else you were just talking to the only person people can actually see.

“That’s a statuette of Ra, apparently, at least I know something,” He laughs, “He’s the God of the Sun.”

“Hm, is that Khonshu’s sworn enemy or something?”

Tom shrugs from the other side of the glass, “I would think so.”

Khonshu breathes heavily, you met his gaze asking for an answer with your eyes. Yes, Ra and I do not get along, after all the moon and sun are complete opposites.

“So you hate him?”

Yes. I hate him.

“Me─I don’t know him but being a God of the sun sounds cool.” Tom was actually getting a bit annoying now, somehow you enjoyed the museum with Khonshu a lot more than another human being and it seemed Khonshu despised Tom as much he despised that sworn enemy of his.

Shut up, vermin. How many times is he going to think you are talking to him when clearly you are speaking to me. Khonshu growls, trying to bite off the guy’s head.

“Not everyone can see you, Khonshu.” You whispered. 

Khonshu hums, “Good, I only want to be seen by your pretty eyes.”

☆.・゜゜・*. * ·✧*. * ·★.・゜゜・✰

© moongumi 2022. all rights reserved, do not copy and publish my writing anywhere else.

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#khonshu x reader #khonshu smut #khonshu #moon knight fanfiction #khonshu fanfic #avatar!reader #mcu x reader #mcu fanfiction #📖 ⟶ fic. under our moonlight

[scrabbleknight]

2, 3, and 10 for the fic ask meme.

2. In terms of fanfiction, I'd love to write a TFA or Gwenpool fanfic.

Transformers Animated was always my favourite cartoon of the franchise. It's fun and stylistic and rarely takes itself too seriously. That's not to say it doesn't have serious moments. But sadly, it was cancelled after the 2nd season, just as Sari Sumdac (the MC) was about to leave for Cybertron for the very first time.

If I could, I'd write a continuation for that story, focusing on Sari adjusting to the new life among her people. She grew up as human for a very long time so it can be difficult to try and live as a Cybertronian, especially considering she's a Technorganic (half organic, half machine). There's a stigma against organics (humans) in that show btw, with some even afraid of touching one.

As for Gwenpool, she's my favourite Marvel superhero, being a pseudo-Mutant with the power to perceive reality as a comic book. This also comes with quirks such as jumping in and out of reality, traveling through time, using comic book logic, knowing anything that's been shown in comic form (because she has access to all the pages) and in one small Deadpool release, even create anything out of nothing just by drawing it.

Is she OP? Yes. Is she unstoppable? Hardly. Because despite her powers, she's still quite human. She can't shoot lasers or have super strength or anything like that. So she has a hard time fighting against powerhouses like the Hulk. But the main focus of her character is that she's constantly under threat of being retconned, so she tries her best to be popular.

I wanted to write a fanfic exploring that. One idea I had was her being at the edge of the universe, just sitting alone and contemplating with her thoughts, only for Galactus to appear and become her talking buddy. Being all-powerful, he knows how powerful Gwen is and sees her as an equal, all while observing her very mortal issues. Another idea was that she erases her own memory with the help of her wizard friend Terrible Eye and went to college. But then, a great catastrophe is about to occur so the heroes need Gwen's help to get the Infinity Gems and save the universe. But to do that, they need to go through a series of quirky challenges (placed by Gwen) to release her memories. In doing so, they also see the world through her eyes. So far, the only person who believes her abilities are the co-characters from her own series (Terrible Eye, Batroc the Leaper, Mega Tony, Cecil).

The problem is that both franchises have decades of storytelling, and I'm not American. So I don't have access and resources, nor the reason to even try. It's a HUGE WALL and frankly, I'm unprepared to try and climb that.

3. I'd describe my writing as direct and straight to the point.

Look, I'm not very good at fluffing my words. I see people writing a single scene and that alone takes up 1-2k words. Meanwhile, I write entire episodes in 6-8k words. Do you know how many scenes there are in one episode? A lot.

If I wrote like they do, a single episode could easily be up to 20k. This is also the reason why my uploads are very slow. I technically put in more ideas per chapter than most, even if it's a lower word count.

10. That would be Unchosen One, For Want a Nail and of course, Heroic BSOD.

The Unchosen One basically means a person who is not the chosen one but says "Fuck you" to fate and ends up doing the thing the chosen one was supposed to do anyway. For example, Link from Wind Waker (exclusively) was not the reincarnation of the Hero of Time and didn't have the Triforce of Courage. But because his sister got kidnapped, he ends up going on the quest to save her and even the world.

For Want a Nail is an alternate universe/what-if trope that asks "What if you change one small thing? What happens?". It comes from the tale where a horse got a nail stuck to its hooves and thus, the messenger couldn't deliver an important letter and one thing led to another and now, an entire kingdom is in ruins. The difference between FWaN with The Butterfly Effect is that no time travel is involved, and that it's not about cause and effect.

Finally, the Heroic BSOD. What happens when the hero is so utterly traumatized by certain events? They shut down. This is a tragic trope and it breaks down a heroic character down to their fleshy fragile core. It's chilling, deafening and really dangerous to everyone involved because if the hero can't do anything, then who can? So this episode of theirs is really compelling! I love it!

You can probably see all of this in SatF...

#ask meme #ask answered #gwenpool #tfa #transformers animated #transformers #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #tropes #heroic bsod #unchosen one #for want a nail #fwan #writing asks

[seventhstrife]

Yo! If you’re still doing the fanfic ask game: 💕 🤔 🏅 💡-LilacShadow

OH YOU BET YOR ASS I'LL KEEP TALKING ABOUT MYSELF!!!! 🤣🤣🤣

💕: oooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhh boy, the WIP I'm MOST excited about??? well, I don't want to spoil it, half because I don't want to get people's hopes up since it'll be a far way off, half because I'm so excited about it I want to make it a surprise lol!

I'll just say that it's a completely new AC fic, stars my Best Boy Des, and I really really hope everyone likes it! 🥰

🤔: Even though whump is my passion, I haven't really written it! I've written angsty stuff, but nothing that's like, so bad I've made people cry lol! I have a lot of angsty tropes I love to read and see, but I haven't had the opportunity to write some truly awful stuff. Hopefully, that changes! 😈

🏅: It's a tie between Cross Our Hearts 2018 and Latch!

Cross Our Hearts ended up being this big, ambitious project that I thought would be very chill and casual, and quickly became this unstoppable ProtoCreed machine lololol

I've really enjoyed flexing my creative muscles with it tho! And then people I've talked to through it, of course.

Latch was another prompt fill that became more than a one-shot, and even though I usually hate most of my older fics, this one has aged pretty well! (In my opinion XD) It was fun, especially hopping around POVs, and I wish I had the time to go back and write a sequel. But still, whenever I look back at it, it makes me smile ~\(≧▽≦)/~

💡: weirdest thing I've been inspired by........hmm........well, I have two wips for these indie horror games and like....whenever I finally post them, I expect to get ZERO interaction LMAO! the games aren't.....the best....one, specifically, I'm pretty sure is considered one of the worst horror games of all time.....but I was inspired nonetheless! shitty horror video games, my beloved <3

Thanks so much for the asks, Lilac! Really had to do some soul-searching this time around! XD

the prompt meme linked here!

#asks #replies #ask game #lilacshadow