#full draft uploaded on ao3

[sarcasticbutsincere]

Horror and Hurricanes: Husk of the soul (by MagnoliaCrescent360 on ao3)

In the dimly lit, locked room, Cassandra found herself face to face with her longtime nemesis, Damian. His eyes gleamed with undisguised glee as he poised to strike with a knife, more enthusiastic than ever to end her life. Completely helpless, bound and out of breath was apparently how he preferred his victims. She could barely move, considering that she was tightly strapped to the chair and it didn't help that Damian was occasionally brushing the flat of the blade close enough for it to just graze her sternum lightly.

She, her breath shaky with trepidation, tried to make confidant eye contact with Damian.

"Any last words?I reckon you wouldn't want to just go out with screaming, huh? Or a pathetic plea; that's what they all attempt in the end. It gets awfully boring after a decade or so.", He sneered, his voice dripping with contempt, daring her to complain.

Tears welled up in Cassandra's eyes as she uttered the words she never thought she would say to her homicidal idiot. "I love you," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart.

Damian froze, a forlorn, towering statue in the unintentionally romantic candlelight, the knife lowering slightly as confusion flickered across his face.

"What?" he demanded, comical disbelief etched in his features, as if he could already hear the shippers and fangirls from miles away.

#original character #original character x original character #original mythology #dark comedy #full draft uploaded on ao3

[majesticmagics]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Multi

Fandom: Ensemble Stars

Relationships: Nagisa/Ibara/Jun/Hiyori, Nagisa/Ibara, Hiyori/Ibara, Jun/Ibara

Characters: Ibara Saegusa, Nagisa Ran, Hiyori Tomoe, Jun Sazanami

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Unreliable Narrator, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Saegusa Ibara-centric, Food as a Metaphor for Love, ibara's unhealthy relationship with food, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, the t rating is for ibara-typical swearing, as well as some sexual references that i think are too brief for an m rating, but those will appear in later chapters, also i will be sure to put warnings in the relevant chapters, it's polyeden but there's gonna be a lot of hiyoiba because that's just the kind of guy that i am

As it turns out, Ibara has three boyfriends that he didn’t know about. Well, technically he did know about them, but he didn’t realize that they were dating for real, and not as a platonic business relationship - which would obviously be the much more sensible choice here. Sure, they went on dates and other such things, but why wouldn’t they? The more intimately they knew each other, the better their fanservice would be, and in the idol industry, fanservice translated directly into money. It’s all a completely platonic arrangement, naturally. / “Ibara has made it very clear that he’ll return our affections in his own time!” Hiyori turned to Ibara, with a gentle expression that he didn’t know how to interpret, and gently took hold of one of Ibara’s hands. “Isn’t that right, viper-chan~?” Hiyori’s hand on his own made him pause. The three of them knew that Ibara had no interest in actually dating them outside of work, right? They knew that this was all just a business plan to improve their teamwork as a unit, right? …right?

#ensemble stars #enstars #nagisa ran #ibara saegusa #hiyori tomoe #jun sazanami #polyeden #nagiiba #hiyoiba #juniba #ao3 fanfic #i wrote a thing :D #posted last night #the full thing is nearly done but i'm uploading it a chapter at a time #in the full draft we're currently on 16k+ words #expecting ~20k

[finn-week]

Here are the prompts for Finn Week 2023 (September 17-23)!

Reminder that you can pick and choose any prompts you like - for example it's fine to draw fanart of a "general" prompt, and if you really like one of the art prompts, it would be fine to write a fanfic for it (or make any other type of fanwork!).

Audience challenges are for the whole week and you're welcome to download the graphic provided, check off the challenges you've completed, and upload yourself to show your progress :).

If you have any questions, please feel free to send us an ask, or join the Finn Discord (ask for an invite).

Full list of rules, and prompts and challenges as plain text under the cut:

Rules

Any type of content focusing on appreciating Finn is encouraged, fics, fanart, gifs, videos, meta, etc.

Gen, any shipping, nsfw, etc are all allowed, but please tag appropriately on Tumblr (eg. nsfw, gore) and ensure any 18+ content or fics over 500 words are under a cut. If you’re linking to a fic on an external site like AO3 with its own tagging system, then a cut is not necessary.

There’s no minimum word count/level of polish, or minimum number of days. Post for one day, post for all seven days! It’s up to you. Sketches, drafts, or other pieces you might decide to work on more later are also fine.

Late posts (not during the week or on the associated theme day) are also very ok

Please tag with #finnweek2023 if you want to be reblogged here. NSFW posts sometimes get hidden in the tags, so you can also @ us if you notice we haven’t reblogged your post. There will also be an AO3 collection available closer to the event week. You are also welcome to tag your audience challenge posts and we'll reblog those too!

General Prompts

Day 1 - Lightsaber OR Role Swap

Day 2 - Jedi Finn OR Reunion

Day 3 - Stormtrooper Rebellion OR Fairytale

Day 4 - Flowers OR Post-TROS

Day 5 - Injured OR Bonds

Day 6 - Chosen Family OR Courage

Day 7 - Free Day

Alternative prompt - Memories (can be swapped for another day's prompt as needed)

Art Prompts

Day 1 - Stargazing

Day 2 - Fine Arts Study (Finn fanart in the style of a famous artwork)

Day 3 - Neon lights

Day 4 - Outfit Swap

Day 5 - Building a lightsaber

Day 6 - Shirtcut Meme (https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/shirt-cut-meme)

Day 7 - Free Day

Alternative prompt - Favorite color (can be swapped for another day's prompt as needed)

Audience Challenges

(can be completed in any order on any day)

Reblog/retweet/comment on at least 5 Finn-centric works

Comment on an old favorite (whether or not you’ve previously commented)

Leave a comment on a Finn-centric work more than 1 year old on any platform

Create a mood board for a Finn-centric fic

Make a rec list of at least 3 fics

#finnweek2023 #swfinnweek #rebel finn #sw finn #finn star wars #finnpoe #finnrey #finnreypoe #finnlo #finnrose #fn 2187 #finn

[phyllisthefirst]

Standing here until you make me move or The One with all the Dates 

The "Plus One"-option on Bill's wedding invitations sends George into an existential crisis. His solution? Go on as many dates as possible to find someone to bring to the wedding. Which is ridiculous, because Joe is right here and has been in love with George for ages. The problem? He doesn't know if George knows, and he sure as hell doesn't know how to tell him. [Warnings: Mention of predatory behavior, lots of alcohol consumption, tooth-rotting fluff.]

The first time Joe asks George out, his friend actually laughs. 

Luckily for Joe’s pride, he wasn't really asking him out, not in a “will you go on a date with me”-sort of way. It was more like Bill trying to not-very-subtly hint that maybe George should come to his wedding as Joe’s date and George finding the mere suggestion hilarious. 

Because that’s how it all starts, with the Plus One-option on Bill’s wedding invitations sending George into a full-blown crisis. 

“Some of our friends are already getting married, and I can’t even get a plus one,” he laments into his rum and coke. 

“I didn’t even know you were looking to date someone,” Joe points out, very sensibly he thinks. (He should have known that George wouldn’t respond well to “sensible”.)

“You’re right, it’s no wonder I don’t have someone to bring to the wedding - I wasn’t even dating. But that changes now.”

And so it begins. 

Before Joe has had a chance to grasp the full meaning of George’s declaration, George is on his phone, registering for three different dating apps. The rest of the night, he’s busy uploading photos and writing quippy introductions and swiping right on what must be the entire gay population of Philadelphia. 

Joe tries not to let his face show how much it stings: Here he is, a friend who’s been through thick and thin with George, who’d do anything for him, and who can’t imagine anything he’d like more than to sit next to George at Bill and Fran’s wedding, to dance and flirt with him and take him home at the end of the night - but George would rather take a chance on an army of strangers.

With a sigh, Joe takes a long draft of his beer, turning his attention to the TV mounted behind the bar. It’s showing a hockey game he would normally be interested in, but right now, he barely registers the score. The only thing he’s aware of, out of the corner of his eye, is the regular motion of George swiping on his phone. 

He can only hope that this idea, like many of George’s stupider ones, fizzles out quickly. 

***

It doesn't. George goes at the task of finding a date with the single-minded zeal of a hyperactive pitbull. 

The problem is, George doesn't seem to be very good at dating people that would actually be a good fit for him (in Joe's humble though admittedly biased opinion). 

[Read on ao3]

Joe knows this because unfortunately, George decides to bring his dates to Currahee, the bar conveniently owned by their mutual friend Bill, where Joe helps out behind the bar a few times a week because Bill can't afford to hire an actual second bartender. George claims it's convenient because he lives just one block over, and as much as it pains Joe to watch the parade of losers George has decided to pick over him, at least this way he knows all those dates are taking place in a safe, public space. If a few shitty nights are the price Joe has to pay for that, so be it. 

And, it has to be said, the nights suck for both of them - because George's dates are terrible. 

The first date is with a guy who won't shut up about his crypto scam, and even tries to get George to invest. George is trying so hard to please the man - his first date in months, he confided in Joe beforehand - that he almost signs up for it. Joe has to intervene by accidentally spilling a glass of beer over the guy’s phone. The douchebag immediately starts yelling for Joe's manager and demanding he be fired or possibly stoned to death, until George gets to his feet, a hard look in his eyes, and shoves in between Joe and his irate and surprisingly buff date.

“Look, dude, you need to chill. It was an accident. I can give you my insurance details and we can get it sorted, if you really can't afford to replace it on your own.”

Joe has to hide a grin as the man huffs, murmurs something rude and strides out, sticky phone clutched tightly in his hand. George may appear ditzy sometimes, but he's got a sharp brain and a real knack for manipulating people. (A talent that would be suspicious if Joe wasn't so sure that George would only ever use it for good.)

“Thanks,” Joe says, gets behind the bar and pours George a shot of Bourbon, one of the good ones from the high shelf. Bill would give him shit for it but Bill doesn't need to know. He slides it over, noticing George's questioning glance. “For saving me from having to pay up for that stupid expensive phone.”

George takes a sip of his drink before he raises his eyes to look at Joe for an unnervingly long time. 

“I'm not sure if you weren't the one who saved me first.” Joe can practically hear the gears turning in George's head as he tries frantically to keep his face impassive. 

He's saved by the arrival of a particularly boisterous group of guests, some of whom are regulars who know George and pull him over to their table. Still, as he turns his attention to the bar and the glasses that need cleaning, he can still feel George's eyes on him. 

***

The next date isn't quite as eventful, but it's with another wildly incompatible person and George seems bored to tears. The third one goes similarly, which really makes Joe wonder why the hell people would ever try and find someone on those dating apps. Isn't the point of those that you can get to know someone a little bit before you meet, find out if you have similar interests? But the man on George's third date spends the entire evening talking about his camping trips and the long hikes he's planning, and Joe knows from painful experience that George hates anything outdoorsy that goes beyond lounging around in the park. 

On the fourth date, Joe nearly intervenes again. The conversation seems to be going fine, flowing smoother than on the other three dates, but Joe can't help but notice how George's date keeps egging him on to drink, keeps ordering new rounds. An hour into the date, George looks glassy-eyed and tipsy and his date keeps crowding into him, leaning into his space, putting his hands all over him. Joe watches from behind the bar, noticing with growing alarm that George seems more and more uncomfortable, repeatedly making it a point to lean back or try to subtly remove the man's hands from his body. The message doesn't seem to get through. 

Bill, who came by to relieve Joe, is watching the scene with equal unease, eyes glued to the two men before them. Somehow, he still notices when Joe sets down his towel and makes a move to get out from behind the bar and tell the creep to get out. Bill's hand on his arm stops him. 

“Don't. He can do this on his own. We'll keep an eye on them but you can't swoop in to try and save him.”

Rationally, Joe knows Bill is right. George may be small but he's by no means frail. It's just that he's also friendly and never wants to hurt anyone's feelings, and sometimes that translates into never telling anyone No. But on this evening, Joe's worrying turns out to be for nothing: not two minutes later, George abruptly gets to his feet. Even in the dim light of the bar Joe can tell how pale he is. 

“This isn't going to work,” he says, voice flat, before he turns and walks out. 

This time, Joe doesn't let Bill stop him when he strides out after his friend. 

“George!”

George flinches at the sound of his name but turns around after a second. For an instant, relief flashes across his face, followed by something that looks uncomfortably like embarrassment. 

“That was bad, huh? Should have probably ended it sooner.”

“As long as you ended it.” Joe wants to comfort his friend, to tell him that he did the right thing and he's proud of him, but as always, the right words don't seem to find him.

“I guess you would have just socked him in the face.” George sounds bitter, and Joe just knows he's somehow coming to the conclusion that the other man's shitty behavior was his own fault.

“Maybe. Maybe I would have frozen up. I don't know, George, because I've never been in this situation. But it doesn't matter. What matters is that you got yourself out of it.”

George scoffs. “By running away like a scared kid.”

“By drawing boundaries and sticking to them. What you just did was brave, George. You should be proud of yourself.”

George doesn’t look entirely convinced but he also doesn’t protest. Joe hopes that his words have lodged themselves in George’s mind and that maybe, however long in the future, they’ll help him see himself the way Joe sees him. 

“You want me to walk you home?”

George shakes his head. 

“I think I need to be alone right now.”

“Alright. If you do want some company later, just call me, alright?” 

You’re not alone, he wants to add. You have people who love you. But George has a habit of helping everyone else and refusing help when he needs it himself, so Joe doesn’t want to push and risk that he’ll retreat further. 

“Thanks, Joe.” 

George still looks a little down, understandably, but before he turns to walk away, Joe notes that he’s less pale than he was just a moment ago. Tamping down on the urge to fuss over him some more, Joe watches his friend walk away, eyes tracking him until he turns into his own street, before he walks back inside the bar. 

George’s sleazy date is still inside, arguing with Bill about not wanting to pay for all those drinks he pushed on George. Joe retreats behind the bar, knowing there’s no need for him to intervene. Before anything else, Bill Guarnere is a stubborn son of a bitch - it’s only a matter of time until the creep realizes he’ll be lucky if an empty wallet is all he walks out with tonight. 

***

For about a week after that night, George doesn't have a date lined up. Instead, he asks Joe if he wants to hang out and watch a movie on Saturday and they do, just the two of them because all of their friends are busy, according to George. 

George, who came in looking like he hadn't slept in days, falls asleep twenty minutes into the movie and doesn't wake up until the credits roll, and Joe feels simultaneously like the luckiest and the unhappiest man alive. 

He doesn’t wake him up, just drapes a blanket over him and makes breakfast the next morning. 

***

Date five is another bust, though at least it's not as unsettling as the one before, just a rather short evening of lukewarm conversation. The guy bails out after less than an hour with a classic fake emergency and leaves George behind looking absolutely dejected. 

This time, Joe doesn't even bother to hide that he's taking the good Gin when he fixes up a drink and takes it over to George's table. 

George looks up and smiles at him, but it's a mere shadow of his usual 1000-watt-smile.

“I think I'll just head home. Thanks for trying to cheer me up though.”

George leaves and Joe returns behind the bar, pensively sipping the excellent Gin and Tonic he knows George would have loved. 

He's greeted by the smack of a towel across his thigh (the non-prosthetic one, so it really stings) and a glowering Bill.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“That was for being an idiot! Why don’t you just tell him you actually want to go out with him and spare us all this torture?”

“What would be the point? He’s obviously not interested.” 

“Why, because he’s dating a bunch of assholes?” 

“He clearly thinks that anyone would be better than me.” 

“Maybe he just doesn't know you're an option at all, have you thought about that?”

He has, but it doesn't seem likely. Sure, Joe doesn't exactly wear his heart on his sleeve, and George can be a little distracted sometimes. But surely after he's been pining after his friend for literal years now, George must have noticed something. He's good with people, almost creepily perceptive when it comes to all things social, so there's no way he doesn't know how Joe feels. Joe just always figured he didn't want to make things weird for them by bringing it up, which would be typical of George - always looking out for others' feelings. 

Joe doesn't reply, too afraid of what will come spilling out if he opens his mouth now, but Bill seems to get it and doesn't probe. 

“That Gin is coming out of your paycheck by the way.”

“What paycheck?”

Bill just flips him off.

***

The sixth date is the best for George by far, and the absolute worst for Joe. Because for once, George and his date seem to actually hit it off. 

They're talking and laughing the entire evening, heads bent together to show each other stuff on their phone. George's eyes are sparkling and he's smiling the whole time and he's never looked better. 

When the two of them leave together just after midnight, it's Joe who needs a drink - plucked from the bottom shelf but filled to the brim. 

Bill doesn't say anything. 

***

Oddly enough, despite their clear connection, date number 6 doesn't make a repeat appearance. 

“He was great and we had a lot of things in common, but we didn't click romantically,” George explains the next time they’re hanging out at Currahee (they really should find some other place to hang out. Maybe pick up a hobby other than drinking.). “I've invited him to my DnD group though.”

So George has made a friend but still doesn't have a date for the wedding. Joe feels a flash of relief, immediately followed by guilt because that's his friend and he deserves to find love. 

He pours George a drink and takes one for himself while he's at it. Despite George's cheerful tone, Joe can tell this whole thing is getting him down. 

***

Still, George won't be kept down for long. Three days later, he's at it again, and Joe finally reaches the end of his tether. 

He's witnessed a lot of deplorable behavior on those so-called dates, but date number seven  takes the cake. For the entire evening, George tries his hardest - makes conversation, asks about the other man's interests, and fires off joke after joke. 

The man doesn't laugh at a single one. And then he has the nerve to interrupt George halfway through a genuinely funny story to ask derisively:

“Do you always talk this much?”

That's when Joe sees red. Because yes, George always talks this much and especially if he's nervous, but that's one of the things that make him him. And if that guy can't appreciate that, or feels the need to put him down for it, then he has no business wasting George's time. 

George may appear like nothing more than a fun-loving goofball on the surface, but deeper down, he’s smart and warm and caring and able to be quiet when it counts. After Joe’s accident, it was Bill’s aggressive brand of tough love and George’s cheerful but never patronizing support that got him through the worst. 

In short, George deserves better than this asshole. 

Before he’s properly thought about it, Joe is standing by George’s table, glaring down at his friend. He’s pissed at the asshole sitting across from him, but more than that, he’s pissed at George for letting himself get treated this way. 

“I need to talk to you,” Joe blurts out. 

“Now? I’m kind of in the middle of something here.” 

“Now.” 

George murmurs an apology, then follows Joe behind the bar. 

“What the hell is going on?”

“Why are you letting that guy talk to you like that?” 

“Like what?”

“You know. Talking down to you.”

“He wasn’t that bad…” George starts, but Joe is all out of patience. 

“He’s an asshole. And so were at least two more in your parade of morons. And yet you keep going out with them. So why do you do this to yourself?”

“I told you, I don't want to go stag to Bill's wedding.”

“Who gives a shit about Bill's wedding?” 

“Hey!”, comes a muffled protest from the storage room. Joe pulls George out the back exit - Bill has already witnessed too much of this shitshow.

“It's not just about Bill's wedding, okay? I just… I don't want to be alone anymore.”

“That's not a good enough reason to waste your time on assholes who walk all over you or try to take advantage.” 

George opens his mouth as if to protest, but Joe doesn't let him. He doesn't talk much, usually, but he figures it's about time he said his piece.

“Besides, you're not alone, alright? You've got me and Bill and all our friends.”

“It's not the same though. I want…”

“I know. And I'm telling you: You've got me.” George still looks confused. Joe’s never been good with words, he knows that, but it suddenly feels vital to really make himself clear for once. “If you wanted me like that, you could have me.”

“I… you… what?”

“I told you I'd go to the wedding with you. Hell, I'd go anywhere with you. And of course I'll respect if you don't want that, but you have to stop putting up with assholes who treat you like garbage. You're worth more than that.”

And then Joe witnesses something he hadn’t thought was possible until now: George is all out of words. He just keeps staring at Joe, mouth slightly open, eyes wide as saucers. 

Having to be the one to keep a conversation going with George of all people is not something Joe has ever experienced, but if he has to, he’ll do it. He’s on a roll anyway, after keeping everything in for so long.  

“I'm in love with you. And it's okay if you don't feel the same way about me. But I need you to know that you’re great, and…” 

Joe doesn’t get a chance to continue what would be a very long list of everything great about George, because he’s suddenly cut off by a pair of lips on his. 

George’s lips, to be precise. 

They’re soft but purposeful, and it’s gratifying though not at all surprising to find that they’re not just talented at talking a mile a minute. 

Now it’s Joe who freezes in surprise, but George seems to be recovering well from his initial shock. His hands, which were on the collar of Joe’s jacket to pull him in for that spectacular kiss, are now sliding around Joe’s neck and into his hair, fingertips scratching along his scalp in a way that makes goosebumps race along his skin. 

Belatedly, Joe realizes that that’s something he’s allowed to do as well, and he puts his hands on George’s waist, gently at first and then, when George pushes closer, digging in a little firmer. It’s a good decision, because he was still not entirely sure that this is really happening, that he didn’t just slip on the constantly wet floor behind the bar and hit his head (he keeps telling Bill he needs to buy some safety mats).

But no, this is real: George’s waist under his hands, sporting the tiniest hint of love handles because George always slacks off on going to the gym in the winter, George’s chest flush against his, his hands still running through Joe’s hair, his lips wandering from Joe’s mouth to the edge of his jaw and along his neck to catapult Joe right back out of his body. 

He moans and George’s breath hitches against his skin, his hips stuttering forward and God, he’s tempted to drag George back inside and straight to the bathroom to see what he might try to make him do that again… But there’s something they should be doing first. 

“George…” he pants. He should be embarrassed to be so out of breath, but then who wouldn’t be, in his place? George doesn’t react, still nuzzling into his neck and making it hard to think straight, and he just barely manages to repeat his name. 

Slowly - reluctantly, something inside Joe sings - George pulls back to look at him. He’s flushed, his lips red and puffy and if Joe thought he looked good the other night, smiling at the date that luckily just turned into a new friend, it’s nothing compared to how he looks now, slightly dazed and a little goofy and the most beautiful thing Joe has ever seen. 

“George, I… I need you to say something.” 

George shrugs. 

“What’s there to say? I’m in love with you too. I just had no idea you felt the same.”

“I asked you to go to the wedding with me.” 

“No, Bill told me to go to the wedding with you, and you just sort of grunted and glared at him. How the hell was I supposed to know you wanted the same thing?”

Joe lets his head drop forward on George’s shoulder, understanding only belatedly that he’s embarrassed. After all, if he had the guts to tell George how he’s feeling, they could have spared themselves a lot of terrible dates.  

“I guess I’m not good at talking about my feelings.” 

George huffs out a laugh. “Terrible. But you managed it in the end, and that’s all that matters.” 

He pulls back a little, ducking his head so he can catch Joe’s eyes. 

“Wanna get out of here?” 

Joe doesn’t have to be asked twice. He barely remembers to stick his head in the door to call out to Bill that he’s leaving early tonight. 

Bill takes one look at him, presumably looking just as messy as George, smirks, and makes a shooing motion with his hands. 

“Get outta here.” And then, because Bill can never resist being an asshole: “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

“That rules out practically nothing,” George comments with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and Joe leans down to steal another kiss before they start making their way to George’s apartment, taking a lot longer than they usually would because they have to stop every few steps to kiss again. 

They’re halfway up the stairs to George’s apartment when something occurs to Joe. 

“Hey, if you felt the same way, why didn’t you say something?” 

George shrugs. “Because I thought there’s no way in hell you would want me. I mean, look at us.” He gestures vaguely at the space between them, and Joe stifles a sigh. 

Clearly, between his own inability to communicate and George’s criminal lack of self-esteem, they have some things to work on. 

But that can wait, at least for today. 

***

Later, after they’ve made out all over George’s apartment but they haven’t talked all that much - because like George put it, what else is there to say? - George draws back from yet another steamy kiss to look at Joe, studying him the way he’s been doing sometimes. For a moment, he just looks, his fingertips running feather-light along Joe’s jaw. Then he laughs softly and shakes his head. 

“I can’t believe I could have been doing this for weeks,” he says, almost to himself, with an awe in his voice that makes warmth unfurl inside Joe. 

“This?” Joe raises an eyebrow, hoping to make George blush, but the other man meets his eyes with no shame and smiles impishly. 

“You.” 

Joe barks out a laugh, then leans in to steal a quick kiss from George’s lips. 

“George? You could have been doing this for years.” 

Now George’s eyes widen and that coveted blush does appear. 

“Years?” He squeaks. Joe nods, and George lets his forehead thunk against his shoulder. “I’m an idiot.” 

Joe can’t help but smile again, too happy for his usual admonishment that George needs to stop calling himself an idiot. Instead, he hooks his finger under George’s chin and forces him to lift his head, only so he can dip down and kiss him again. 

“Yeah,” he confirms as he draws back, a little breathless. “But you’re my idiot.” 

George doesn’t protest. 

Joe feels like his heart is going to explode right out of his ribcage. 

#band of brothers #luztoye #band of brothers fic #I promise I'm still working on my OC fics. I was just super tempted to try this.

[whumptober]

I'm uploading the first fics as drafts on ao3 for whumptober and noticed there isn't a tag in additional tags for 2023, only previous Whumptobers. How long does it usually take for the tag to appear?

This is something that is not within our control so I cannot say for sure when it will show up. It usually takes a bit of time for tags to become 'canon' and appear in the drop down menu, but hopefully shouldn't take too long if enough people are using the tag. From my understanding, a tag needs to be used 3 times by 3 different users for it to be canonised. So for now, you just need to type out the full tag in the additional tag box and hopefully soon after enough people have used it, it will start to appear!

#mod kitty #asks

[olderthannetfic]

Writers and artists who dabble in original stuff and D&D will definitely know this one, but I really learned to appreciate AO3's free to use gift economy after a site called WorldAnvil has been on a downward spiral for years now.

WorldAnvil is a site where you can upload your own originally created worlds. It was created by a worldbuilder for their partner and much like AO3 was a passion project from the community for the community.

When I first discovered it, it seemed incredible: customisable world pages, templates for things such as species, creatures, spells, classes, and whatever else you can think of, and a social component to find and comment on other people's worlds. It was the worldbuilder's paradise.

Then, the misery began. Features that were previously free were taken away and later paywalled, for example the ability to have more than three (?) unposted drafts. I use drafts all the time to collect information that's not complete yet, but private worlds are a paid feature so the drafts had to be limited. Then came the image limitations. Both number and size of images are limited and you can only upload 100MB of images total, and you can't embed images from other sites, all so that you'll pay the site for the privilege to use a proper amount of images. Then the number of articles you can make was limited to 175. No collaboration, no subscribers, none of the many features that once were available that have now been paywalled.

You want any type of comfort or user-friendliness on the site? Better pay up $100-300+ a year or go back to remaining severely limited. You're better off staying on toyhouse and making use of its full world CSS customisation, its unlimited images and articles, and its many features.

Makes me appreciate AO3's model so much more, especially since this story sounds so much like Wattpad's.

--

If it was originally a labor of love, it may also be a victim of its own success: image hosting costs money, and the owner was probably paying for everyone's. (Even if there were ads from the beginning or optional donations or whatever, they're unlikely to have covered everything reliably.) As a site grows in popularity and number of active users, the costs associated with it can grow exponentially.

[random-introverted-blog]

Flickers of Loss - Part 2 | Coming to a tumblr blog near you

It me, it us, this blog.

I made the preparations last night but only started drafting (and winging the hell out of) a part 2 to Flickers of Loss Thursday night when I uploaded it to AO3 - Here, if you prefer to read there - and like, three peeps asked nicely for it. The idea had crossed my mind several times and I was going to write more anyways but for myself.

If you'd like to read it or reread the first part, the link is - Flickers of Loss - there

Didn't expect people to be invested enough to ask.

That said; Part 2 is called No More, and is scheduled to upload Saturday, December 16th at 6:30 P.M Eastern Standard Time.

You can thank AO3 for it, specifically ME over there (shoutout to one of my more frequent flyers). Was like, three people who won me over to write and post this.

If you missed it, the teaser screenie from my writing software is here.

For the question no one asked and I'm purposely leaving on the bottom here: "What about Across Stars and Time?"

I'm still tapping my chin on it but Christmas is coming up and I do intend to spend more time with family, friends and my partner (hi love).

This is another one I didn't really see myself revisiting. I wrote the ending the way I did because while it is Ascended!Astarion on his shit again, few people actually enjoy a downer ending. So I wrote it open ended so you, the reader, could envision whatever you hoped would happen after. Does Spawn!Astarion find you? Will he survive a second confrontation? What happens to you in that time? What's Ascended!Astarions world like (he did emphasize he's High Lord Astarion Ancunin...) and it was left for you to decide.

Of course I had plenty of ideas, I threw out plenty of little things plot devices but that was again, to provide you the tools necessary to devise your own happy/depressing ending.

The way things are looking, a Part 2 (or even, gasp a full/long fic) of Across Stars and Time is likely/imminent in the relative future. Probably under a different name, because then the story would outgrow the title.

As for a Part 3 of Flickers of Loss/continuation of No More? Can safely start taking bets and crossing your fingers. Again, it depends on how invested people are. I can write happily for myself. Posting it is for peoples enjoyment and happiness. If there's neither of these present, there's no need to work on editing/planning/drafting more for a nonexistent audience.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate #bg3 #shadowheart #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate shadowheart #astarion #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate fanfiction #ascended astarion #bg3 astarion #baldur's gate astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion angst #ao3 baldurs gate #ao3 writer #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #vampire spawn astarion #spawn astarion #dark justiciar shadowheart #dark justiciar shadow heart #baldurs gate romance #baldur's gate romance #i will let the rot consume me #i am the goddess queen of rot

[priincekin]

Artifice - Hyuluka Oneshot

When Hyuna is coerced into accompanying her celebrity ex, Luka, to a lavish event, their troubled past and unresolved tensions resurface.

CW for an unhealthy relationship dynamic and manipulation!

For in depth tags, please check the AO3 upload. (Coming soon)

"Remind me why the hell I agreed to this?" Hyuna muttered under her breath, tugging at her too-short slip dress that clung tightly to every curve while simultaneously trying to adjust her thigh-highs, casting a glare at Luka across the limo. “… Send my compliments to your stylist for making me into a knock-off Barbie, and then tell ‘em to go play in traffic!”

Luka, of course, didn’t acknowledge her provocations. Nooooo, he was too busy prettying himself up, mascara wand poised. Figures.

Hyuna's frustration simmered as she watched him, his indifference stoking her anger.

Her eyes then fell once more on the infuriating list of 'rules' Luka had drafted for the evening. She had seen the paper before and thrown it away, but seeing that Luka went through the effort to print another one was enough to piss her off all over again. The neatly typed instructions on the crumpled paper seemed to mock her with their orderly bullets and condescending tone and Heperu’s letterhead.

“Now listen here, sweet cheeks, and listen good," she burst out, holding up the paper. “For the last time, I ain’t followin’ these rules, quit givin’ me more of these papers! You can shove ‘em right up your—“

"Please mind your language, Miss Hyuna,"

"Oh bite me! We all know I'm just arm candy, and it ain’t hard to stroke your ego for a few hours. Trust me. I’d know. So fuck off and lemme live a little! They're a joke.” She looked back down at the sheet with a scoff. “’Giggle, don’t laugh' - really? Who you tryin’ to turn me into?!”

God, the way they were arguing almost reminded her of old times. Back when he was her high-school sweetheart. Though, she was shocked he wasn’t being more argumentative toward her. By the end, Luka’s good moods were becoming rarer and rarer, and just being around him was like walking on eggshells. For a bit, Hyuna had made excuses for him — of course, with her temper, there was only so long until she was bound to explode.

Once she had blown up, the relationship was, of course, doomed. There was no recovery from the things she had said. They broke up over text. Yet, even though it was technically her fault, Luka leaving town soon after still wasn't just a minor plot twist; it was a full-on mindfuck. She'd catch herself getting all misty-eyed over their cheesy ice cream dates, where they'd crack up at the lamest jokes, or those beautiful nights in the deserted auditorium. Luka serenading her like she was the only girl in the world. Pity his dad slammed the brakes on that short-lived romantic gesture and forbade him from ever doing it again.

And then, after all that, Luka just had to go and get famous. Suddenly, his face was everywhere – magazines, billboards, you name it. Each time Hyuna saw that face, she reminded herself she should feel lucky to be rid of him, and that she had herself to thank for it.

But then, the tabloids started flaunting photos of Luka with his new girl of the month, and oh, did that grind her gears, even though Dewey and Isaac kept telling her it was nothing.

Was it jealousy? Boredom? Or maybe just an allergic reaction to being erased by some blond bombshell with a plastic smile? Whatever it was, hearing about each breakup was like savoring a fine wine; that was, until Luka had the nerve to show up at her door, needing a date for some swanky party after his newest beau gave him the middle finger.

Hyuna sank back into the velvet seat, her attention snapping back to the moment. Her fingers flirted with the edges of what was possibly the world's most irritating shawl, offering about as much modesty as a cocktail napkin. The silence was unbearably awkward; she had to fill it somehow.

“… A compliment wouldn’t kill ya, you know. Or is it too hard to admit you’re dazzled by all this?” With a teasing flourish, she let the shawl slip just a tad, winking and blowing a kiss for good measure.

Luka glanced up and quickly gave her a once-over, sighing in disappointment. “I would not say that. I feel like you should be more focused on having an amicable attitude rather than needlessly flirting.”

“Uh-huh. Yep, I’m totally flirting. Maybe if these heels weren't giving me so many damn blisters, I’d be in a better mood. But ‘till then, the only smiling I'll be doing is smiling through the pain. Now, pass the champagne, will ya?” She held out her hand.

Luka protectively moved the bottle away from her. “Please reference page four, line five of the contract. There is a clause stating that, should you be intoxicated or otherwise behave troublingly during the event, your payment will be voided and you will owe me three more dates as reparation.” He tried, in vain, to hide his smug little grin.

“There’s a what?!” Hyuna scrambled to pick the paper back up, and lo and behold; right there, in the tiniest font imaginable, was exactly what Luka had said. “Oh, you little—”

“Miss Hyuna.”

Hyuna forced herself to take a deep breath. ‘This shit is for Hyun-woo’, she reminded herself. ‘Do it for him.’

As cheesy as it was, her brother was the light of her life. For being an eleven-year-old boy, Hyun-woo was surprisingly sweet. Not at all like the assholes he went to school with, Hyuna had made sure of that much.

After she won sole custody of him, all of the expenses had fallen onto her shoulders: the bills, food, his allowance, and seemingly a million other things. Most of the time, she could make it work, even on her pathetic bartender’s paycheck.

But Christmas was a whole different kind of struggle. Living paycheck to paycheck meant there was never extra cash for Hyun-woo’s presents. The real sting was in the simplicity of his wishes – a DS game, a cheap Nerf gun, an outdated board game. That's all he wanted that year. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she saved, some unavoidable expense always reared its ugly head, draining away her meager savings. It seemed like there was no other way.

Finally, the limo pulled up to a grand mansion, its lights casting a cold glow over the entrance. Hyuna peered out the window, noticing two girls at the doorway: one in a suit with long pink hair, discreetly fiddling with a ring box in her pocket, and the other, with short black hair, clad in a white dress. At least some people were having a nice time.

“Well, ain't this just peachy," she muttered, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "A regular palace for Prince Charming and his temporary Cinderella."

Luka finally looked up, meeting her eyes. “Now that we're here, remember to smile and wave. It's all about appearances, isn't it?" He forced a smile himself as if to set an example, but it only soured her mood further. “Though, you are certainly at an advantage with how beautiful you are.”

“Too late for the compliment, buddy.” Hyuna rolled her eyes. “I'll smile and wave. Like I'm a damn parade float." She opened the limo door and stepped out, her heels clicking against the cobblestone driveway. The cold air hit her and made her wish, yet again, for a longer dress.

Luka, as if by magic, whipped out a plush white fur coat from the trunk and slung it over Hyuna's shoulders with a flourish. For a split second, she almost bought into it, the coat's luxurious softness tricking her into thinking he might actually care. Was he finally clued into how uncomfortable she was? To how exposed she felt? She let herself indulge in that thought, the tension in her shoulders easing off a notch as she grabbed his outstretched hand, her cheeks betraying a reluctant blush.

Then, wham. The scent hit her -– a blend of chrysanthemums and wilted roses, laced with bitter almonds. It was perfume, and definitely not her brand. That's when it clicked. This wasn't some chivalrous move; it was Luka’s version of peacocking, a display for the few nosy onlookers ogling at them. They were absolutely eating it up.

Hyuna’s grip on his hand turned from soft to vice-like, not out of romance, but so she didn’t facepalm right there and then.

How utterly 'Luka' to turn even a coat into a performance.

Hyuna shuddered, skin crawling under the perfumed fur. "Wow, so generous!” She whisper-yelled. “Real classy, Luka! Decking me out in a coat you lent to your last fling? What's the grand plan here, recycling her bling for me next?”

Luka tsked under his breath. "The one time I attempted kindness with you... How fascinating, though, that you care so much about what she did.”

They entered the glittering ballroom, all string quartets and designer outfits straight from the pages of Vogue. Hyuna sized up the crowd, mentally tagging each socialite with the most absurd names she could think of.

As Luka steered them towards the center, Hyuna operated on autopilot — a plastered smile, forced giggles at their pretentious bragging just as Luka asked. But, instinctively, she occasionally leaned over and muttered to Luka under her breath:

"You think that dude knows his fake tan is literally dripping down his arm?"

"Twenty bucks says that girl trips on her dress. God, it looks like she’s wearing a curtain…"

“Manners, darling.”

“It’s either I say it to you or I say it to their faces,” she hissed back.

‘Four hours.’, she chanted inwardly. Then sweet freedom and her even sweeter paycheck.

Hyuna continued to trail behind as Luka flitted from one circle of guests to the next. Her cheeks ached from keeping a smile while straining to laugh daintily at comments ranging from dull to outright crude and dehumanizing.

After the fifth round of banal small talk about vacation homes and polo tournaments, Hyuna found herself practically wilting into the plush fur coat. God, even the coat was getting on her nerves. Its cloying floral scent made her stomach turn, and she couldn't stop fidgeting with the garish ruffles lining the sleeves.

Luka suddenly clamped a firm hand on her wrist, stilling its motions. "Stop that. Honestly, your manners tonight..." He sighed, guiding her toward the dance floor where a few couples swayed lazily. "Just try to enjoy yourself a little?"

Luka drew Hyuna near, seemingly for a waltz. She opened her mouth to object, but reluctantly rested a hand on his shoulder, resisting the childish urge to stomp on his polished boots. As they began half-heartedly twirling, Hyuna felt remarkably disconnected — it was nothing like the way they used to dance — but it wasn’t long before a burst of coos and applause pulled her eyes toward the garden entrance. There stood the two girls from earlier, both with tears in her eyes. One had dropped to her knee, presenting a ring with trembling hands.

"Oh, would you look at that?" Luka smiled softly. "I suppose this manor would look awfully nice in the proposal pictures.”

Hyuna usually wasn’t a sucker for such cheesy moments. Still, she couldn't help but track the heartwarming scene over Luka's shoulder. A real proposal, she mused. No pretense or strings attached...

Hyuna started to turn around to watch, but everything was ruined by one uneven floor tile.

Mid-spin, her stiletto caught on it, sending her flailing backward. She crashed to the floor — thank God for Luka’s coat, or else it would’ve been even worse.

A horrified collective gasp echoed as every head swiveled her way, including the two girls. The applause and music ceased with a screech. In the excruciating silence, she felt hundreds of eyes boring into her, Luka’s especially. His grip closed on her arm, wrenching her upright with a sharp whisper. “What did I say about manners? You just ruined their entire proposal.”

Hyuna felt her cheeks burn red-hot, as guilt settled in the pit of her stomach. “Oh, yeah, ‘cause that was totally on purpose! Screw askin’ me if I’m okay, right?” She whispered back, wishing that Luka would just shut his mouth and try to cover for her.

"I cannot believe you've embarrassed me like this, after everything I've done." Luka's usual composure cracked, voice lowered to a harsh whisper. "The other guests can hardly look at me now. This appearance was crucial for my image, not to mention our agreement, and you..."

He trailed off, shaking his head. His fingers dug into the fur coat with white knuckles before he released her. When Luka raised his eyes to meet hers, he looked absolutely disgusted.

"Just get out of my sight. I need to salvage what remains of this wretched evening."

Hyuna weakly scoffed, then pulled herself free to sketch a barely passable curtsy to the crowd. “Sorry for the unplanned entertainment tonight,” she called out, trying to ignore the sobs. “As you were!” Ignoring the whispers echoing around her, she beelined away from Luka; anywhere but there was good enough for her.

Hyuna shoved through the murmuring crowd, cheeks burning under the weight of so many prying eyes. The stilettos clicked loudly against the tile floor as she muttered insults towards the gawkers blocking her escape. Just as the cool night air kissed her bare shoulders, a familiar voice called out.

"Heyyyyyy, Hyuna! Fancy seein' ya here!"

She whirled around, a biting retort poised on her lips. But there stood Dewey and Isaac, surprisingly dapper in their mismatched suits and shit-eating grins. Despite her overwhelming emotions, Hyuna couldn't restrain a hint of a smile. Leave it to these two knuckleheads to appear from thin air when she needed it most. Hyuna placed her hands on her hips, arching an eyebrow.

"What the hell are you guys doing here?" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "This ain't exactly an open-invitation party, geniuses."

Isaac rocked eagerly on his heels. "Oh it was easy peasy to sneak in the kitchen door while them fancy waiters were distracted. Plus, you mentioned you'd be ‘ere with, uh… Y’know, Mr. High-and-Mighty," he said, gesturing vaguely toward Luka's direction. “Wanted to see how it’d play out since he’s such an--”

Dewey quickly clamped a hand over Isaac's rambling mouth. "Can the chatter before we get tossed out!" He shot Hyuna a sheepish grin. "Just, uh, wanted to check in on ya. Make sure princey isn't being too much of a sleaze."

"A sleaze? Nah, try self-centered jackass," she replied, launching into a recap of the disastrous proposal scene. Dewey and Isaac's eyes grew wide as saucers.

"No way he blamed you for that!" Dewey scoffed. "What a prick."

Hyuna threw her hands up in exasperation. "Thank you! Guy drives me absolutely insane."

Isaac gave an enthusiastic nod and dove a hand into his suit pocket. "Yeah. Hey, uh, you guys tried the shrimp? I snatched a bunch when those waiter guys weren't lookin'." He held up a fistful of mangled cocktail shrimp, tails dangling limply.

“Dude, what is wrong with you?!” When Isaac raised the shrimp to his mouth, Hyuna swatted it out of his hand and onto the floor. “Rule one of stealing food! Bring a ziplock or tupperware!”

Isaac dejectedly stared down at the shrimp on the floor. “... I ran out of ziplocks.” His lip quivered like he was about to cry.

“Then buy more! You have a job!” Hyuna whisper-yelled, playfully hitting him in the shoulder. “Unless you got fired again!”

A prickling unease crept over Hyuna as she felt eyes boring into her back.

“Uh… girl? You might wanna turn around…” Dewey said, pointing behind her.

Luka was staring. His polished composure had vanished, replaced by clenched fists and an infuriated glare. Stalking over to her, his expression

"We need to talk. Now." Luka's grabbed tightly onto Hyuna's arm as he steered her away. She shot a helpless look back to Dewey and Isaac.

"Get your paws off me!" She shook out of his grasp. "You don't own me, Luka. I can talk to whoever I damn well please-"

Luka's bitter scoff cut her off as he took her wrist yet again. "Oh yes, cozying up to a pair of hoodlums should shine brilliantly in the gossip columns."

Finally, they reached an inconspicuous, plain door. Luka pushed it open, revealing a small, dimly lit linen closet. With a swift movement, he pulled her inside and shut the door behind them, plunging them into near darkness, the only light coming from the crack under the door. Hyuna bristled, backing herself away from him and towards the wall.

“Why are we here?! Someone definitely saw us come in here, and you know what they probably think we’re doin’ right now?! They prolly think--”

Luka leaned close, taking a deep breath. "This night was already disastrous enough without you flirting to make me jealous." He paused. "Go ahead, deny that's what you wanted."

“What are you talking about?! You literally told me to get away from you!” Hyuna's retort came out quieter than she intended as Luka’s hands found the curve of her waist, pulling her closer. The cold of his body against hers was so disgusting but oh so familiar, and Hyuna found herself melting into it. But she still felt his eyes on her, watching her every movement as he stared up at her from her chest.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Hyuna muttered.

Luka’s eyes finally closed, sighing softly. “Like what?”

“Like I’m something you own,” She finally found it in her to try pushing him away, and to his credit, his grip faltered. “You know damn well I hate when you get all possessive, ‘specially over Dewey and—”

“It’s not about them,” Luka cuts in sharply.

“Oh, please! They’re so gay for each other, you’d have to be blind not to—”

“That’s not the point, Hyuna!”

“Yeah, well, you’re choosing to be a dick about it!”

Before Hyuna could say anything more, his lips found hers in a kiss. Hyuna’s eyes widened. She didn’t kiss back, but she didn’t pull away either; for all she cared, he could kiss himself breathless.

Hyuna’s pulse raced as her heart, slowly but surely, began to betray her. She hated him, sure, but somewhere, buried under layers of hurt and pride, a fragment of what used to be lingered. This wasn’t about wanting him. It was about wanting what they used to have. She’d always been too stubborn to let go of things…

As his kiss deepened, Hyuna's resistance finally crumbled.

This was stupid.

She found herself responding with equal fervor, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. The small space seemed to shrink further.

So stupid.

Hyuna closed her eyes, letting him close what little distance was left between them. But it didn’t feel close enough.

She hated herself for this.

Breaking the kiss, Luka’s breath was ragged against her lips. “This is the end for us, isn’t it?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Instead of answering, she reached down, pulling him back up to her, their lips meeting yet again. This wasn’t just about pretenses or contracts. This was something raw, something real that wasn’t supposed to happen.

What felt like an eternity passed between them before she pulled away, a sad, sardonic smile playing on her lips.

Thank God the room was dark, or else Luka might’ve seen the angry tears clouding her vision.

"... ‘course, you had to start tryin’ to be sweet at the worst time.”

Luka looked at her, a hint of frustration in his eyes. "This isn't about timing, Miss Hyuna. This is about…"

"About what? Us?" Hyuna cut him off, sidestepping further into the shadows of the closet. "There is no 'us', remember? We're just a couple of fucked-up people who can't seem to stay away from each other, even after years." She crossed her arms, her heart racing. "I ain’t doin’ this anymore. That kiss? That was it. Now, are we gonna be adults about it and end this for good, or are you gonna keep bein’ in denial?"

"I wish it were that simple."

Hyuna let out a short, mirthless laugh. "Right, ‘cause everything's gotta be complicated with you. Newsflash, Luka, it doesn't have to be. We make it complicated. Mostly you. This was all supposed to be fake, but nope, you took me into a closet and started makin’ out with me.”

For a moment, Luka was silent. Then, with a sigh, he stepped back, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I suppose it's time we face reality. This... whatever it is, between us, it's not healthy."

The words, though expected, stung Hyuna more than she cared to admit. She should’ve been grateful that he didn’t keep fighting it, but nope. Her heart was sinking. But she nodded, her own resolve steeling. "Yep. It’s time.”

Luka reached out, his hand trembling with unspoken words. “Hyuna, I—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted sharply. “Just don’t. Spare us the dramatics.”

There was a pause, heavy and laden, as Luka seemed to process the information. Then, like a scene from a worn-out play, his charm slid back into place, smooth and unnervingly familiar. It was like he became an entirely new person in a matter of seconds, and Hyuna bristled.

“On second thought… Darling, you’re seeing this all wrong,” he said. “We’re a match made in heaven, you and I.”

Hyuna’s attempt to step back was futile; Luka’s grasp was firm yet gentle. “Luka, cut the crap. I know what you’re doin’.”

“But think of what we’ve shared. Our dates, the outings, me holding you when you cry.”

“And the fights? The tears? The screaming matches in the school janitor's closet? Dammit Luka, you were the reason I was crying!” Hyuna countered, her voice wavering.

“Hyuna, darling, that’s how relationships work. We bicker, yes, but we never fail to come back together…”

“You left,” Hyuna snapped. A knot of anger and hurt tightened in her chest. His words were half-truths and blatant manipulation, and yet she still began to feel swayed.

“You know very well that was my Father’s decision for my career and not my own.”

“But did ya fight back?! Probably not, ‘cause since when do you think for yourself?”

Luka lowered his voice, clearly giving up. “... Aside from that, who understands you as I do?” Luka’s voice was soft, almost persuasive, his words carefully chosen. “We’re inevitable, Hyuna. Stay with me, and your brother’s future is secure. That’s a promise only I can make.”

“You… really?” Her resolve wavered further. Luka was stupid rich; if he wanted to, he could pay for her brother’s college education. She’d never have to worry about paying for his gifts ever again. Luka was right. This was a promise only he could make.

“You’re so damn impossible,” she muttered, caught in the tempest of his gaze. Reluctantly, she found herself drawn into his embrace, their lips meeting in a bitter kiss of surrender.

Was it really so wrong to fall back into this cycle? To choose the devil she at least knew over uncertainty?

As their kiss deepened, her doubts seemed to dissolve into the heat of the moment.

#alien stage #alien stage hyuna #alien stage luka #fanfic #oneshot #hyuluka #alien stage hyuluka #divider credit; cafekitsune #no beta we die like sua

[asimplearchivist]

ℂℍ. 𝕀 — 𝕀𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕒𝕤𝕜𝕖𝕥

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary 🗡 ⤏ cade yeager’s older sister never knows what she’ll find in their barn upon returning from her routine antiquing trips—the submission box at the driveway is often littered with junk of all kinds that they try to fix for a living. ⤏ you just never would have expected for him to take on the task of repairing a cybertronian. pairing 🗡 bayverse!optimus prime/yeager!reader word count 🗡 8.7k a/n 🗡⤏ i've been cleaning out my docs drafts debating on whether to upload certain unfinished works, seeing as some of them are partially complete (like this one). this was going to be a longfic that followed the events of aoe and would go on to tlk, but i lost steam for it pretty early on. there are a few more snippets that wouldn't stand well enough on their own to be posted, but i thought these three chapters would express the vibes i was attempting to convey. ⤏ this is an aoe ua where lucas didn't call the government about optimus right away, cemetery wind didn't find him immediately, and cade has an older sister by one year. the reader is ex-military and protective by nature, and not one to be trifled with - especially in regards to her family, as she would gladly sacrifice her life for theirs. she suffers from a psychosomatic limp in her right leg after sustaining a gunshot to her left shoulder while serving in afghanistan years prior. still suffering from ptsd, she's turned to exercise and bodybuilding as an outlet. she spends her time and makes money restoring antiques and furniture and occasionally collaborating with cade on his robotics. ⤏ this is kind of silly looking back on it (also not as well written, seeing as i created it back in 2017 [oh my god that was six years ago]), but i've promised myself i would try to work against my internal criticism and not cringe at something i spent a lot of time and love to make. i saw a few posts on tumblr floating around about posting old drafts and i thought i might do that with this, among others, so keep your eyes peeled for those.⤏ let me know if you see any glaring grammatical mistakes/spelling errors i missed, but more importantly, please enjoy this gem of my past! :)🗡 MASTERPOST 🗡 🗡 ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER 🗡

Tessa woke dreamily, a pleasantly warm haze dampening her thoughts as she blinked the sleep from her eyes. Shimmering sunlight streamed in through the window, lighting up her room and causing motes of dust floating in the air to gleam like tiny flecks of gold. She stretched slowly, enjoying the feeling of tension releasing in her muscles. She smiled when she remembered that finals were over. She was free. (Until she went to college, that is. If she went to college.)

Though with the bliss of waking up to a quiet morning, she realized that it was actually quite out of place. It was suspiciously quiet. There wasn't any shouting from the landlord trying to sell the house again, or explosions coming from the barn. It was awfully peaceful, and Tessa really didn't know how to feel about it. It was only when she closed her eyes in contemplation of dozing off again that she remembered.

They had a transformer in the barn.

"Dad," she groaned, rubbing at her face and sitting up slowly.

A week had passed since Cade Yeager had unknowingly brought home a wanted, illegal alien (a literal alien, funnily enough) in an attempt to dismantle it for salable parts. But of course - of course it had to have been her dad. It couldn't have been anyone else's, because that's just what her life was: hectic and chock-full of crazy shit. So why not add housing an Autobot to the list?

She still couldn't believe her dad had managed to talk both her and Lucas down from making a call to the government about their accidental find. She didn't know how he did it - but he'd kept haggling and nagging and pushing until they'd acquiesced, and now they had a half-destroyed thirty-foot robot living in their barn.

Tessa couldn't say that she disliked Optimus, however - on the contrary, she was rather intrigued by him. He was very benevolent and soft-spoken (only did this show after their initial scare - Lucas wouldn't step close to the 'Bot for a solid two days afterward), and his voice never failed to soothe her with its otherworldly rumble. He was quiet, though, and didn't talk much - at least around her. Her dad said that he spoke with him very frequently, usually while he was repairing or constructing a makeshift part for the injured Autobot, and that entailed them being alone.

Cade had told her, the first night after he’d convinced her and Lucas not to call in the government, that he intended to let Optimus stay there for as long as he needed - until Cade could get him back into fighting shape, at the very least. It was wrong, what the government was doing to the Autobots - hunting them down like animals - and Cade sympathized greatly. Tessa admitted that she did, too, now that she knew the government wasn't actually targeting just Decepticons, but she was scared of the repercussions that it could potentially have on her family. Her father had assured her that nothing was going to happen to them, and that helping Optimus was the best thing that they could do right then. And he was already getting better info on robotics, just by looking at the 'Bot's inner mechanisms - not to mention that the Cybertronian made the continuous effort to answer any sort of question that Cade asked him. It was benefiting them already, he'd said. Tessa had sighed softly, pushing the tray of already lukewarm dinner into her father's hands before returning to the safety of their room.

Needless to say, Tessa made sure to give them both ample space. She would rather not have another missile ricochet through the house.

Tessa yawned, stood, and trudged into her bathroom, already resigning herself to cooking breakfast (again). She figured that the typical eggs and bacon would suffice - she just sincerely hoped that her dad hadn't pulled another all-nighter. Optimus had urged the stubborn human male to rest accordingly before, so maybe he'd done the same the previous night. She'd noticed that her dad was starting to get dark circles under his eyes.

After taking a soothingly hot shower and dressing for the day, she wandered downstairs and into the kitchen. It was methodical, routine, how she went about cooking the eggs and frying the bacon to her dad’s taste. Soon the savory smells were wafting from the stove, and when she heard the dull thumps of heavy, uneven footsteps descending the staircase she breathed out a sigh of relief. Cade shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes and tugging the hem of his shirt down over his stomach. His hair was mussed, his movements stiff, and Tessa lamented her lack of foresight in not setting up the coffee pot beforehand.

"Morning, Dad," she said, flipping the bacon as it sizzled and hissed up at her. He mumbled something that could have potentially been English, trudging over to the fridge to pop the door open and draw a glass bottle of soda from its depths. He twisted the cap off, tossing it haphazardly towards the trashcan tucked into the corner of the kitchen (and effectively missing it by a long shot) before sinking into the chair already pulled out from beneath the table. His head fell into his hand, his shoulders slumping as he mumbled under his breath.

He was tired.

"How late did you stay up last night?" she asked him, transferring the now crisp bacon over onto the plate already loaded with heavily salted and peppered eggs. She moved over to him, setting it down in front of him before shuffling back to grab him a fork from the drawer.

Cade, obviously still submerged in a half-catatonic state, made the mistake of plucking up a strip of bacon. He jolted up, hissing and cussing as he swiped his fingertips against his pajama pants. Tessa gave him a scolding look, handing him a fork.

Cade sighed, taking it. "Eleven...?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, cocking her hip and planting a fist above it.

He averted his gaze guiltily, looking entirely like the man-child he was. "...Maybe closer to two. Or three. Or was it three thirty...?"

"Dad," she groaned, tugging at her hair in frustration. "Nothing good is going to come out of this if you work yourself into the ground! Optimus doesn't need to be repaired in the span of four nights-"

"Tessa - honey, you don't understand!" he interjected, squinting against the sunlight streaming in from the window. "I've already been able to make three of my inventions work because of him! He's helping me build these things, and the sooner I can sell them, the sooner we can get some money rolling in."

The young blonde opened her mouth to argue further, but the genuine look in her father's eyes made her stop short. She hesitated, and he took the opportunity to stand and grasp her arms gently, drawing her into a tight, reassuring hug. She resisted but for a few seconds before sighing and giving in, wrapping her arms around him and breathing in the familiar scent of mechanical grease and sweat. Memories lingered in the back of her consciousness. This was her father, what embodied him. Comfort and grease.

How lovely.

"Tess, baby," he murmured into her hair, brushing his fingers through it slowly, "I promise this will turn out okay. Just give me a little time. Optimus is genuinely grateful for what we're doing for him, and he's trying to repay us in any way that he can." He squeezed her affectionately. "We'll get out of this soon. Everything will go back to normal."

"I sincerely doubt that," she mumbled into his shirt, though secretly she was soothed by his words. He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head before they both drew away from each other. Cade returned to his seat, digging into his cooling breakfast while Tessa moved over to the coffee pot to get a fresh brew going. She knew he was going to need it, if he was going to function at all that day.

"Did Lucas get those parts you need?" Tessa asked, popping the top off of the coffee maker before grimacing. She hadn't made coffee in a week, how old were these grounds? Yuck.

"Yeah. Most of them," Cade said through a mouthful of eggs. Tessa sighed, but did not scold him. "I'll have to order some. If I can fix up that old tape recorder, I've got a buyer on Ebay. Fifty bucks."

"Hmm." Tessa tossed the old filter out, disposing the forgotten bottle cap while she was at it. She opened up the cabinet, straining on her tiptoes to reach the filters and grounds. Curse her short genes.

"Optimus says that a lot of his self-regenerating systems have kicked in now that he's out of emergency stasis-lock. Whatever that means." Cade swallowed before shoving a wad of bacon into his mouth. "But he's still looking pretty rough. I think he needs a good wash."

"But won't that make him more obvious?" she asked, filling the pot up in the sink and pouring it into the tank. "Won't the government be looking for his old paintjob? Maybe we should paint him a different color or something."

"He mentioned that he changed his vehicle mode while on the run from that ambush," he said. "Combine that with all the rust he's got, I don't think he'll be easily identifiable for a while. But, still..." He polished off the soda before sighing. "I feel bad for him. He seems to be in a lot of discomfort, and I'm pretty sure he's still in pain. He's cooped up in that barn, having to crouch or sit all the time. The guy can't even step outside for fear of satellites seeing him..."

"Maybe he can go out at night," she suggested, sympathizing greatly. Texas heat sucked sometimes, and some days in the summer you couldn't even step outside for fear of suffocating on contact. "He can stretch his legs a bit without so much fear of being seen."

Cade visibly brightened. "Good idea. I didn't think of that."

Probably because you're just running on fumes, Tessa thought wryly as she flicked on the coffee pot.

"In any case," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the counter. She jabbed a finger at him, giving him a firm (and faintly pleading) look. "I want you in bed before midnight tonight."

Cade grinned around his fork, his eyes glittering with faint amusement. "I'll try," he said, swallowing, "but I can't make any promises."

"I'll make Optimus lock you out of the barn," she warned, knowing full well that the thirty-foot mech would most definitely agree to it. They both knew it. "Just...try, okay? Or I'll spike your dinner with melatonin, too."

Cade shuddered, cringing. "Okay, okay, chill," he said, picking up the last strip of bacon before standing with his plate and wandering over to the sink. "I'll go to sleep at midnight."

"Before midnight," she pressed.

"Before midnight," he acquiesced.

Cade washed off the plate, chewing studiously on the bacon like a tobacco addict while Tessa stepped over to the fridge and unraveled the loaf of bread. She dropped two slices into the toaster when Cade's cell phone began to ring.

He growled softly, flicking the faucet off before fumbling with his pajama pants. "It had better not be that damn..." He drew out the phone from his pocket, squinting at the name before the blood drained from his face.

Tessa's face creased in immediate concern. "What? Who is it?"

Cade's trembling thumb slid across the screen before he lifted it to his ear. "Heeyyy, sis..."

Tessa felt her blood run cold, a thrum of nervousness welling up in her stomach. Cade cast her an anxious glance before rubbing at the back of his head. "I'm fine. Tessa's fine...wait, you found a what? That's awesome!"

His enthusiasm was short-lived, as it died just as quickly as it had come when Tessa gave him a sour, pointed look. "Uh, yeah...Tessa finished up her finals. Yeah. No, I haven't finished that...you found a part for it? Nice." He fidgeted where he stood, leaning against the counter and rubbing at his mouth. "Listen, we've, uh...I made a big buy here a few days ago...no, it wasn't...okay. I, uh..." He grimaced, his teeth bared as he ran his fingers through his hair. "How long's it going to be 'til you get here?" He paused, listening intently, before the barest iota of relief relaxed the muscles in his shoulders. "Okay. This evening? Later? All right...yeah, see you then. Love you, too. Bye."

The second he lowered the phone from his ear and ended the call, he let out a prolonged, hissing curse through his teeth. Tessa worried her lower lip between her teeth, waiting for the ball to drop. Cade sank back against the cabinetry, his head hitting the upper section with a dull thunk. "We're screwed. I completely forgot about..." He shook his head slowly. "She's coming back tonight, maybe around seven. We've got to hide Optimus somehow."

Tessa stared at him incredulously. "How? He's a thirty-foot robot!" she hissed at him. "She practically lives in the barn, and that's the only place he can hide! She'll sniff him out in minutes!"

"I know that," Cade pressed, shoving the phone back into his pocket so he could scrape his hands down his face. "But she'll kill me when she finds out-"

"What, that you accidentally bought a literal illegal alien and now you’re trying to fix him?!" she cried exasperatedly. "Of course she's going to kill you!"

"We can't tell her," he insisted. "She's ex-military. Who knows how she'll react when she finds out we've got a Cybertronian in the barn."

"We can't keep it from her," she protested. "Even if we do manage to hide him at first, she'll find him eventually. She spends as much time in there as you do, if not more - which is stupid," she muttered. "And you'll have to continue repairs on him eventually."

Cade sighed resignedly, dropping his face into his hands. "At least make spaghetti for her," he mumbled, voice muffled. "The most we can do is butter her up before we tell her. I...I need at least tonight, so I can think about how I'm going to tell her."

Tessa stared at him for a long moment, but the tense silence that threatened to fall was broken by the toaster popping. At least that was one device in the house that Cade hadn't tampered with.

"Don't worry about it," Tessa told him, trying to offer some relief to his nervousness. "I'm sure once you explain everything to her, she'll understand. Like you said, he's helping out a lot with your robotics, so it's not a completely fruitless endeavor. And, once he's fixed up and leaves, we can call the government and point them in the opposite direction. That way we'll get the money but we'll throw them off his trail."

Cade looked up at her, a slow smile tugging the corners of his mouth apart. "I love you," he cooed. "You're smart like your mother."

Tessa flushed, turning to she could both pluck her toast out of the toaster and hide the smile that split her face in two.

It turned out to be a terribly hot day, as was typical of an early Texas summer. The only respite against the blazing sun was the industrial-sized fan humming near the barn door and the tin roofing reflecting most of the sun's oppressive heat. Sunlight streamed in from between the wood paneling and the opened loft window, providing enough illumination to cast dark shadows against the interior of the barn not under its direct assault. But, despite the dust and rust and grime clinging to his plating, the few unmarred spots of Optimus' armor gleamed.

Cade swiped an arm over his forehead, the beads of sweat and friction serving to wipe away at least some of the grime that had collected there. He had half the mind to take off his shirt, soaked and sticking to him in all the wrong places. He felt about as dirty as he probably looked. Even still, he doubted that Optimus would appreciate seeing a half-naked human - especially a half-naked human that was as dirty and unkempt as Cade knew he was. Or maybe the mech wouldn't care at all. Either way, he wasn't going to risk it, particularly since he was working with hot metal. He'd experienced the repercussions of that before and it had been no bueno.

Hefting the heavy-weighted hammer and setting the rounded metal casing against the molding sphere, he tapped out an angle that had been too sharp. The shift and scrape of metal on concrete almost made him flinch, but the movement in his peripheral reminded him of the barn's other occupant. Optimus was clearly uncomfortable, hunched over and grimacing every time he jostled one of the chains hanging from the ceiling or bumped against the scaffolding Cade had set up so he could reach his chassis. It had struck Cade how clearly he could read the mech's expressions - he was certainly human-like, despite the vastly differing components that made up the Cybertronian's faceplate.

"You took a hell of a hit, you know," he said, squinting at the casing with a merciless eye before wandering over to the standing cutting torch. "The missile just missed your power source."

The massive mech blinked, tilting his helm slightly, before he glanced down to the exposed internal workings within his chassis. His spark flickered erratically, casting an eerie glow against the dim shadows within the barn. "We call it a spark," he responded softly. "It contains our life force...and our memories."

Cade stilled, staring up at him in surprise. He hadn't thought... "Yeah...we call it a soul."

Optimus ex-vented slowly, his optics flicking away. He absently scratched at part of his pectoral plating, rolling his shoulders slowly. Cade inwardly winced at the metallic grating noise, trying to remember if he had some car grease. Yeah...add that to the growing list of things he was going to have to fix.

God, this guy was a mess.

Optimus grimaced suddenly, glancing down at his armor and plucking at a sizable shell casing embedded in the rusted, peeling metal. He tugged it free, staring down at it rather apathetically before flicking it away. Cade heard it bounce off the side of something somewhere to his right with a sharp cling. "Cade..." The Autobot hesitated, blinking as his optics shuttered, making the mechanic wonder if it indicated deep thought. "...why are you willing to help me?"

Cade paused, fiddling with the nozzle of the blow torch. "I guess maybe because you trust me to," he mused, leaning back as the torch roared to life and illuminated everything around him in a flaring orange glow. He quickly popped the welding mask down over his face, adjusting his grip on the round casing before bathing it in the spurting flame. Optimus watched his actions in rapt attention, seeming to absorb the human's reply.

When the metal was glowing as orange as the flames that were heating it, Cade shut off the torch and trotted back over to the ball bearing before pounding out more angles. He eyed it one last time before trotting over to the barrel of oil he'd had for years, dipping it in gingerly and being wary of the flames that flared and licked up at his hands. He then doused it in the barrel of water he'd set up next to it, turning his face away from the steam that hissed and shot up into the air. When he lifted the mask again to admire his handiwork, Optimus leaned over slightly as though to look at it, too.

"It look okay?" Cade asked while popping the mask back up onto his head, turning and walking up to the massive 'Bot so he could inspect it. The Prime nodded and reached out with an open servo, taking the casing before slowly and carefully fitting it around the flickering blue light within the depths of his chassis. He let out a heavy gush of hot air that ruffled Cade's oily hair, not quite a sigh of what must've been relief but probably the closest thing he could come to it.

"Thank you, Cade," he murmured sincerely. His shoulders slumped as though he finally had the chance to relax. Cade supposed he would, too, had the physical manifestation of his soul been so exposed for so long - and around strangers, no less.

Around strangers who were the same species as those who had made him wary of them in the first place.

"Hey, Optimus," Cade began tentatively, drawing out his syllables as he tried to conjure up the right words to inform the Autobot of their growing predicament. He didn't really know how he was going to react. "I've...got some good news and some bad news."

This seemed to set the mech on his guard, as his shoulders drew up again subtly with a tenseness that Cade suddenly regretted inciting in him. His optics shuttered, narrowed, and focused wholly on Cade, quiet and waiting. Of course, the moment he'd finally had a chance to relax, Cade had to go and ruin it.

The inventor sighed, pulling the mask from his head and rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. "Good news is my sister is coming back." He looked back up to Optimus. "The bad news is that my sister's coming back."

Optimus shifted restlessly, optics flickering rapidly between extreme dimness and flaring brightness. "Is she one that could pose potential danger?"

"Not really - at least, I don't think so," Cade added hurriedly. "I just...I don't know how she's going to react to...this." He gestured towards Optimus vaguely, for lack of a better word. Or any word, for that matter. "She's ex-military, and I know you guys worked with them for a long time. I don't think she ever worked with the Autobots, though, since she was discharged before the first attack in Qatar, but..."

Optimus stilled, tilting his helm slightly. "Do you wish me to tell her the circumstances of how I arrived here?"

"No - no, it's fine," Cade responded, "I can handle it. I've just...I've been trying to figure out how to tell her."

"Tell her the truth," Optimus said simply, gently. "That is was an accident. It was most definitely not your fault." He paused. "If she should wish me to leave, then I will be on my way. I do not wish to cause dissonance within your family."

It's a bit late for that, he thought wryly, but didn't voice it. "Optimus, we've been through this - I want to help you. I want to help you get back on your feet, if nothing else - it's just not fair how these guys are chasing you around like you're some wild dog." He frowned, anger beginning to simmer low in his gut. "I think she'll understand."

...At least, I hope she will.

Dear God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, it was good to be home.

You pulled off of the interstate onto the highway branching off and directing you closer to your destination. You hummed softly along with the radio playing just over the rumble of your tires rolling over the pavement. Your arm was probably well sunburned by this point, having laid across the open windowsill for five days straight. The wind tugged at your tightly-bound hair, warm and dry as the sun brushed the edge of the horizon. The scent of flat, grassy plains - the scent of home - had you finally, finally relaxed after your trip.

Finding fixer-uppers for Cade and yourself to restore proved to be something you'd long ago gotten into the habit of doing - every three weeks you'd pack up your truck and trailer and drive around your proud home state in search of potential quarry. Scholarship opportunities for Tessa, as well as acceptable colleges, had recently been added to your list. None particularly met your standard, but...it was your niece in question, and you had always been protective of Tessa. Perhaps more so than Cade, in your mind. Maybe it was a Yeager trait.

You breathed out a sigh as you slipped your sunglasses off the top of your head and over your eyes. The sunset was certainly a sight - vivid oranges and reds melting together like a forge, blazing just as hot. You couldn't wait to take a long, hot shower and sleep in your own bed - cheap inns and motels be damned to the seventh circle of Dante's hell, honestly.

Paris, Texas welcomed you soon enough. There were a few people lingering in the streets or stores, but it was quiet for the most part. You waved towards a few acquaintances as you drove by, feeling relieved excitement bubbling up in your stomach as you drew closer and closer to home. You couldn't wait to work with Cade on some of the things you'd found in your brief travel. You'd even bought a couple of things for Tessa that you could freshen up and give her for her college dorm as a going-away present.

God, you were going to miss her. But...it would be nice to have the house to Cade and yourself again. Just like the good old days.

A flush of warm contentment washed over you when you pulled onto the familiar old farm road, dust swelling up from your tires and rising up in a thick cloud behind your trailer. You slowed down as you approached the rickety old mailbox and the metal crate welded beneath it, turning in slowly. You stopped when you saw that the electrical lines were crossed.

Oh, boy...maybe you shouldn't have gone on this last trip.

It seemed that your arrival was well anticipated. The robotic mut you and Cade had built what seemed to be forever ago was already whirling around in circles, yapping on and on about voice recognition and dialing nine-one-one. You could've sworn you'd fixed that. Cade was standing on the front porch, arms folded over his chest and fingers drumming against his arm.

He was nervous. What the hell did he do this time?

Parking and disengaging the engine, you grabbed your duffel and purse out of the passenger's seat before sliding out of the truck. Cade stepped down from the porch to take them, to which you waved him off and instead pulled him into a tight hug. The strong, familiar scent of motor oil and grease filled your nose. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," he said, arms resting on your back. He rested his cheek against the crown of your head, pressing a light kiss to your temple. "Drive back was okay?"

"Yeah. Didn't shoot anyone."

"Always a good thing." He pulled back, grinning and grasping your arms gently. "Tessa made spaghetti."

Your hunger, now making itself apparent in the way your stomach twisted and growled irritably, predominated your rising suspicion. "Praise God. I've had enough McDonald's to last me three lifetimes."

Your brother's warm laugh, more relaxed than his tense body language had been moments before, followed you into the house as you both went inside. The hearty smell of the Yeager family spaghetti sauce filled your nostrils and your mouth watered immediately, the tension draining from your limbs as you cast a glance back at Cade. "Let me go put this up real quick," you told him, trotting up the stairs. You heard him acknowledge you with a grunt as he turned into the kitchen.

The upper floor was dark and quiet, and it allowed you to breathe in the scent of home as you made a beeline for your room. You entered, tossing both bags onto your bed and making a flying trip to the bathroom to relieve yourself. You made quick work of washing your hands, simply wiping off the warm water on your jeans as you descended the stairs. You heard Cade's voice before you got to the doorway leading to the kitchen, the urgent, low tones initially obscuring Tessa's lighter whispers. Your suspicion returned, but you couldn't make out what they were saying because of the music playing softly from the radio.

You really hoped they hadn't broken something they shouldn't have. Didn't matter if it was a law or piece of equipment - if Lucas had been messing with your punching bag again, you'd be wringing his skinny little neck soon enough.

You made a show of yawning, stretching your arms over your head as you clomped around the corner. Cade turned to you, holding a pitcher of tea in one hand and a glass of ice in the other.

"I'm assuming you wanted tea," he said.

"Yeah, that's fine," you said, taking the glass after he filled it and sitting at the table. Tessa was distributing spaghetti on three different plates, as well as corn and salad. She set it in front of you with a swift one-armed hug around your shoulders, which you readily returned. "Heard about your finals. Good job, kiddo."

"Thanks!" she said, smiling and practically oozing pride in light of your praise. She meandered over to the oven, popping it open and grabbing an oven mitt to draw out a tray of garlic bread. "Want one?"

"Yes, please," you breathed, plucking one from the tray when she proffered it to you before dropping it on the edge of your plate to save your fingertips from the hot sting.

Cade plopped down in the seat across from you, reclining back and exhaling deeply. He rubbed at the dark circles beneath his eyes. You squinted at him, about to ask if he had been staying up late again, when Tessa, too, sat to your left.

"Pray?" she said, glancing between the two of you. You nodded, and all three of you bowed your heads so you could utter a brief prayer of thanks. Afterwards, you scooped a generous forkful of spaghetti into your mouth, practically melting in your chair as the warmth and flavor blossomed over your tongue.

"Oh my god, Tessa, never change," you told her firmly after swallowing. She flushed, hiding her smile behind her glass as she sipped lightly.

"How was the trip?" Cade asked, tearing the slice of garlic bread apart and stuffing a chunk past his lips.

"Good, for the most part," you said, reaching for the salad dressing to drizzle it over the chopped lettuce and tomatoes. "Got a few things that I can fix up pretty quick. Joe Anderson's been nagging me for a table for three months now. I think it's Amy's birthday soon and he's looking for something to give her."

Cade breathed out a sigh of relief. "I've almost got a couple of doohickeys fixed. Got a couple of buyers on Ebay. I think I'll be able to pay the electric bill with them."

You looked up at him, your chewing slowing to a stop. "Is that why we're borrowing the neighbor's electricity?"

Both Cade and Tessa stilled, exchanging a hesitant glance. The nervousness in the air was palpable.

"Is that what's going on?" you asked, voice simultaneously firm yet gentle. "You've been acting weird. Were you not wanting to tell me?"

You didn't miss the very pointed look that Tessa directed at her father.

"I thought I shouldn't have gone on this trip," you muttered. "I'll try to get that table done tomorrow. The sooner we can pay it, the better."

Cade shifted uncomfortably in his seat, rubbing at his neck anxiously. "That's...not what I wanted to tell you."

You raised a brow. "Is it about that 'big buy' you made?"

"I...yes," he replied hesitantly. "It's a truck."

You blinked. "A truck."

"Yes - an old truck. A semi. A cabover. I was planning on dismantling the engine for parts to sell."

"Planning on it?" you asked curiously.

"Yeah. I...ran into some...trouble with it." He straightened, fiddled with his fork. "You'll have to see it for yourself."

"If all you needed was help on it, all you had to do was ask," you told him gently. "But we'll start on that in the morning. I'm tired. You look tired - have you been staying up late again?"

He flushed, opened his mouth perhaps to protest, but Tessa interjected with a flat expression and a strong nod.

"Sleep," you pressed firmly, "and we'll tackle it when we're both fresh. Comprende?"

"Sí," he muttered, casting his eyes downward.

"Good." You smiled, half affectionate and half exasperated. "I'll cuddle you aggressively if you don't."

"Resistance is futile," Tessa chimed in, spearing a chunk of lettuce with her fork.

You reached over and squeezed her arm with a grin, directing it at Cade. He finally met your eyes, and after a long moment he returned it, looking as tired as you'd ever seen him.

You had once been a very deep sleeper. When you were younger, back when Cade was smaller than you, he always thought something was wrong whenever he would get up in the mornings and fail to rouse you unless he were to practically scream in your ear. You slept through thunderstorms and fireworks alike, never once stirring from your oft dreamless slumber. Very rarely did you dream, even rarer did you suffer from nightmares.

Unfortunately, that was a long time ago.

After graduating from high school and enlisting your services in the marine corps, you'd quickly learned that sleeping deeply was not an asset useful to a soldier. Countless times of interrupted rest trained you to be instantly alert at the slightest of noises or potential dangers. It had served you well, the night your base in Iraq had been attacked - you'd heard the distant rumble of non-American military engines across the way and you'd saved your troop by waking and warning them just in time to escape your bunker before it was incinerated into smoke and ash.

The ambush had been long and violent. They'd come in under cover of the dunes on the far east side, near a mountain range, and had wreaked havoc on the base, killing many and injuring more. Snipers, unfortunately, were present - when you'd gone to rescue your superior officer from a burning quonset, one had nearly managed to blow your left arm out of its socket. It was only by God's grace that your squadron's medic had gotten to you in time to staunch the bleeding. Your arm barely survived, and as a result of some psychological bullshit, you now had a rather inconvenient limp in the opposite leg. Unnoticeable to you (and your family) now that you've all gotten accustomed to it and have dealt with it long enough that it wasn't as bad as it used to be. Only if you had one of your spells did it act up again.

And by 'spell', it obviously meant a full-blown anxiety attack courtesy of your PTSD, which used to be triggered by anything ranging from the sound of someone dropping a pen to having night terrors. The night terrors, in themselves, were not particularly bad - you'd gotten used to the images of blood spattered across the sand and the sounds of screams and explosions ringing in your ears, echoing over the rivulets of time and memory. No, it was the aftereffects that you hated; waking in a cold sweat, trembling all over, nausea and lightheadedness threatening to send you over the side of your bed. Over the years, however, you'd gradually recovered - returning home after being medically discharged and falling back into a semi-normal, tamer routine certainly helped. The night terrors and your spells grew fewer and farther between as the years drew on. Having Cade and Tessa as a support system helped majorly, as well.

But, as is the case with everything, there were always exceptions. Sometimes, out of nowhere, you would dream of the ambush - crying out in your sleep as a result and never failing to draw Cade into your bed to wrap you up in a tight, warm embrace. His presence, the sound of his heartbeat and his gentle murmurings and reassurances helped to calm you down, but it still frustrated you every time that it would happen. You thought you were getting better. You thought that you'd forgotten the terror and the pain. But revisitations of it were inevitable.

Tonight, it would seem, would be one of those nights.

The air was cold. The sand was cold. Your heart, heavy and lodged in your throat, was thumping painfully as you crouched low and wide-eyed in a grenade-blown pit, avoiding crossfire and the sight of the enemy. You were trembling, deep and wholesome panic thrumming through your entire body as you tried to think, tried to comprehend what was happening, tried to articulate what you needed to do. A distant murmur of sentimentality in the back of your mind told you that you should go back to your bunker, try to salvage what few belongings you were permitted to have. Shock and the ingrained soldier's sense would not let you.

Gun. You needed your gun. You needed your gun so you could fire back, save others, protect your squadron. Where was it?

In the smoldering remains of your bunker, along with everything else you'd owned.

Another grenade clattered against the smoldering side of the communications center, falling dangerously close to an armored Jeep and rocking it on its wheels with its concussive explosion. You winced, shied away from the flash of fire and shrapnel, and looked wildly, desperately around for an ally, someone you knew, someone you trusted.

"Yeager!"

Your head shot up, eyes focusing in on the medical facility. The chief medic was hunched in the doorway, clutching an IV bag in one hand and its partnering needle in the other as he stared straight at you.

"Merendsen!" he shouted. "Merendsen's trapped in his bunker!"

Now given an order, a purpose, your mind locked onto it with renewed determination. However, when you told your body to move, it did not budge. You shook and shivered, but your limbs would not accept the commands given to them. You heard an unintelligible shout from another point in the camp, closer to the medicinal facility, and the chief medic looked back to you with furrowed brows. "They're readying a mortar! We've got to evacuate!"

To this day, you still don't recall ever getting up. All you remember is no longer laying in the sand, only running headlong through the crossfire and explosions and yelling towards the bunker where your commanding officer dwelled. The building was half collapsed, crackling and hissing with flames that licked against the shadows of light. You stumbled to your knees, digging at the crumbling and charred cement and hoping you wouldn't get hit. You gasped and cursed when you scorched your hand, but you were rewarded when you heard a groan amidst the rubble.

"Sir!" you gasped, trying to find the location of the sound. "Merendsen! Captain Merendsen!"

"Yeager...?" he rasped, and grunted when you shifted a rather large chunk of rock.

"Help me, sir," you panted. "I can't get you out by myself."

He groaned, though whether through pain or delirium you didn't know. You saw his bloodied, swelling fingers poke out from between a gap in the debris. Several painstaking and anxiety-riddled moments slid by, and as soon as his shoulders were visible you grappled for him and tugged him free of the debris. He choked out a curse, blood dripping from his head and hands as you dragged him onto the sand.

"We - we need to evac," he wheezed, glazed eyes taking in the decimation that was once home camp.

"We're working on it, sir," you managed, using a sizable chunk of concrete for cover as you tried to plot the best route to the medical facility. There was heavy fire being exchanged through the main route, several of your comrades hollering and bleeding while trying to hurl back as much as was being given to them. None noticed your predicament.

The medical facility. If you could get him there, he'd be safe until everyone got organized. It was the most well-protected place in camp (or what used to be the camp).

"Can you walk?" you hollered above the blast of fire swelling around a Jeep that had been turned over on the edge of camp.

"I'm fine!" he shouted back, gritting his teeth and trying to get his legs beneath him. His pupils were blown. He had a concussion. "Let's move! We need to get out of here!"

You hauled his arm around your neck, drawing his weight into your side and hefting both yourself and him to your feet. You huffed and strained beneath the extra weight, eyes stinging as sweat and dirt and smoke blurred your vision.

It was painstaking, bobbing and weaving through debris and smoke for cover. Your comrades made way for you, giving you cover-fire when crossing areas where you were plainly visible. Your commanding officer was grunting and cursing due to pain, trying his best to support his weight despite the fact that his leg was bent at a rather unnatural angle.

You rounded the corner, spotting the welcoming entryway to the medical bunker, and somewhere in the back of your conscious mind you recognized it - recognized this moment - and began to dread despite not being able to change the events of the past. All you registered was the distant flicker of red right before Merendsen was hollering in your ear. Your mind and focus clicked into place in that instant - sniper. Deeply ingrained instinct kicked in and you threw your weight to the side, shoving your captain into the sand as pain unfathomable exploded in your uncovered shoulder.

The next thing you knew was Merenden's face over yours, mouth moving but no sound coming forth. You realized you couldn't hear - not just him, but everything else. Your ears were ringing, body cold and frozen. Your heartbeat, hot and painful, throbbed in your shoulder (or, in retrospect, what was left of it).

Turning your head in an attempt to gain your bearings, you saw the sickening color of scarlet staining the sand beneath you, splattered over Merendsen's pinched face as he hunched over you protectively. He dug his palms into your shoulder, eliciting a weak, breathless gasp as pain bloomed across the forefront of your psyche. You felt the squish of blood against your torn and rent flesh. Your vision flickered, the dark draw of unconsciousness tugging at the edges of your consciousness. You were suddenly tired. Tired, and dazed, and hurting.

"...eager! Yeager! Stay with me, soldier! Don't you dare give up on your family!"

You blinked slowly, eyes listlessly returning to Merendsen's. His face was twisted into a pained, worried grimace.

"You've got a niece to go home to!" he shouted above the din, and you vaguely recognized the shift of sand as someone else skidded to a stop beside your head. The chief medic's face, illuminated by fire, swam on the side of your vision as though submerged in water. "Your brother needs you! Your family needs you!" Merendsen lifted his hands away from your shoulder so the medic could replace them, and your captain moved to grip your limp, trembling hand with his own. "Don't let go, soldier - that's an order!"

You remembered smiling, thanking him with a broken and soft and terrified voice. Then you remembered no more.

You remembered the pain, and its clawed grip upon your rapidly fluttering heart, and that was the first thing you felt when you jolted awake - except for the fact that there was no pain, and no slick, stickiness of blood soaking your shoulder and the cold sand beneath it. Your heart was still beating, though, thumping in your temples and throat and making quite the impression of itself on the inside of your chest cavity.

You blinked and sat up slowly, sucking in several lungfuls of cool, clear air. Your brain began to reboot slowly, gradually swimming out of the dark depths it had submersed itself in. You exhaled shakily, your hand going to your left shoulder. A pang of remembered agony tingled through the damaged nerve endings. Damn phantom pains.

Several tense, quiet moments passed. You breathed, focused on your heartbeat, closed your eyes against the vestiges of fear and shock. Your heart calmed, your body stopped trembling. You brushed your dampened hair away from your neck and grimaced as you registered the sweat clinging to your skin. Your eyes settled on the band of moonlight shining through your opened window, allowing the pleasant night air passage. A cursory glance towards your alarm clock assured you that yes, it was far too early to be awake.

4:21. Great.

Your eyes adjusted slowly, and you frowned when you saw your bedroom door still secured tightly shut, realizing your brother's warm presence wasn't currently wrapped around yours.

Cade hadn't come. He always came. He always knew. Where was he?

The distant clatter of metal against wood caused you to freeze. Your senses focused in on the sound, ears straining to hear anything else. Instead, dead silence settled over the outside world once more.

Your hand slipped silently under your pillow, the familiar bite of cold metal a comfortable weight in your hand as you settled your fingers around the grip and drew it out into open air. Your pistol gleamed in the moonlight as you slid your legs off the bed and slowly eased your weight into your feet. The floor did not creak nor groan as you crept to your window, peering around the edge to scrutinize the yard below.

No signs of life, nor disturbances. All was quiet.

Your eyes narrowed, and you made your way into the hall to check on your brood. Tessa was asleep beneath her sheets, hair strewn out over the pillow beneath her head. You closed the door silently. Cade, too, was in bed (thankfully), snoring and sprawled out over his mattress. He was deeply under, you could tell - how much had he been working before you'd returned?

Assured that they were safe, you padded down the stairs and made your way to the back door, grabbing a flashlight on your way by and stealing outside without a sound. You kept to the shadows, prowling towards the barn warily. Though every fiber in your body was tensed and focused on making your approach undetectable, your mind was buzzing. Who would be in your barn at this time of the night? Your first thought went to some wayward teenager or young adult looking for a quick buck, but you found that unlikely given you hadn’t heard a vehicle approach. A glance to the field and road beyond your home also proved that fact, as there was not a vehicle in sight. It could've been a raccoon, but you found that unlikely. Maybe something had just fallen over?

Nevertheless, it wouldn't hurt to check. You just really hoped that you wouldn't have to use your gun. You really weren't in the mood to shoot anybody.

Circling around to the back of the barn where the larger door rested, you readjusted your grip on your gun and tucked it behind the barn’s door handle. You braced yourself, taking a steadying breath. In one smooth motion you clicked on your flashlight and raised it level with your head, throwing the massive but relatively light door open before raising your gun to the immediate darkness within. "Whoever the hell you are, raise your hands - and don't make a mistake you'll regret, because I will shoot you!"

Two wide, startled, glowing blue eyes blinked down at you from inside the depths of the barn.

Shocked out of words for a split second, you froze. Then, "What the actual f-"

You had only a moment to register that the eyes belonged to a gargantuan, alien frame. It seemed that it, too, had been stunned by the mutual shock of discovering the other, but not for a moment longer. In that same instant, the gargantuan, alien frame lunged for you.

Screw not being in the mood to shoot somebody.

You raised your pistol and your finger twitched over the trigger, but the unknown figure was faster. A massive hand swiped out at you from the shadows, knocking both the gun from your grip and your entire body off of your own feet. The breath gushed out of you as you made harsh contact with the ground, the jolt stunning and dazing you. You scrabbled for purchase on the dewy grass beneath you as the figure leapt to loom over you, blocking a huge portion of the sky and casting a dark shadow over you. That same massive hand slammed down into the soft soil next to your head, fingers groping for your comparatively tiny body. You rolled away, stuttering out a curse as your hand found purchase on something cold and metal and heavy enough to be used as a weapon. Without thinking (not that you had the capacity, with your mind scattered and adrenaline coursing through your limbs), you found the creature's glowing, narrowed eyes in the dark and chucked the object at its crested head.

The clang of metal meeting metal rang out with the brief flash of sparks right before it was drowned out by a deafening bellow of pain. A disk-like shape fell from the creature's head and you had naught but a second to again roll to safety before it sank into the ground like a blade while your flashlight clattered a few feet away from you, light flickering across the ground. Green fluid spurted freely from the figure's cracked skull, but you were distantly confused to see electrical sparks shooting from the open wound.

Cade's shocked outcry of your name snapped you back into focus. Your head whirled to see him jumping from the front porch, sprinting straight for you and your still growling attacker. The ground shook beneath you and you were startled to hear the unknown figure (danger threat protect) garble out a roughened, pained version of your brother's name before its massive hand made another move to grab you.

"Optimus, no, don't-!"

"Cade, stay back - this human has a gun!"

"What the hell?!" you cried, staggering to your feet and away from the - holy shit, was it-?

Was it a transformer?

"Cade, get back!" you shouted, your eyes now finding the metallic sheen gleaming off the figure's silhouette. "Get back, get the shotgun!"

"Wait, just - wait a second!" Cade sounded panicked, worried, though you realized with terror he was running for the transformer and not you. "Optimus, wait!"

'Optimus'? Why did that...

The gargantuan figure froze as the human male stopped between it and you, waving his arms frantically and looking as pale as a sheet in the moonlight. "Please, just hang on a second!" He glanced wildly between the both of you, eyes pleading. "Let me explain!"

Both you and the transformer stilled, chests heaving and eyes looking from Cade to the other with suspicion and wariness.

"This is your sister?" the robotic alien rumbled, taking you off guard. It eased onto its haunches, sitting up and allowing the moonlight to illuminate its figure. Rust and peeling paint caught your eye, dust and grime obscuring much of what must've once been shiny metal. Its face was twisted, mouth pinched as it turned its glowing gaze to you. You realized that the disk that had fallen from its head was one of two ear-like arrays with sensor finials. The open wound(?) was still dribbling that same green substance. Blood?

"Yes, Optimus, this-" Cade exhaled heavily, hands and voice shaking with relief as you both stood down. He looked to you, guilt and apprehension forming in his eyes as he gestured towards the mechanical being behind him. "I..."

A short silence settled upon the three of you, tense and anxious. After a beat, you sighed and glanced up at the transformer, leveling it with a pointedly non-aggressive look. You saw the stiffness in its metal-plated shoulders relax minutely, then looked back to Cade only when you were sure the unspoken ceasefire was cemented.

"So..." you deadpanned, a wry, weary quirk forming at the edge of your mouth as you rubbed your sore cranium. "...who put him in your basket?"

#fisara's codices #fanfiction #transformers #bayverse #aoe #transformers: age of extinction #optimus prime #reader insert #optimus prime/reader #mine

[cha-melodius]

I got a list, so you get a list. 4, 11, 20 (please take this as permission to answer 20 as many times as you want, I LOVE LOVE LOVE writer meta)

xoxo MJ/kiwiana-writes

Ahahaha I will always take a list!! Thanks! You're out here with some ones that made me have to think for a little while lol. (Meta asks for writers link since there's a cut at the end of this post.)

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

Pretty sure I've shared this before in a question like this, but too bad. I just love the tension that builds in this sequence (and the release that comes immediately after this; spoiler alert: Alex runs). From Chapter 7 of Nova, Baby:

Diego chokes out a fake laugh, but there is real fear in his eyes now. “I’m sure I do not know what you’re talking about. You know my customers are never for sale.” “So it wasn’t money, then,” Alex surmises. It’s not that surprising. Batista is good at hitting people where it hurts. Diego says nothing. “How long do I have?” Alex asks. Out in front of the store, a car door slams. “Better for you if you don’t run,” Diego murmurs. Fat chance of that.

11. What do you envy in other writers?

Oh, a number of things. The biggest ones are probably humor—I think my writing can be reasonably funny but not the kind of side-splitting hysterical one-liners some people pull off—and really poetic, beautiful language. Sometimes when I read a really achingly beautiful work I feel like giving up lmao. Oh, and some people just seem to be able to pull off effortlessly sexy writing—not even talking about smut here, but just the overall vibes of the work. I mean, it's probably not effortless, knowing what I know about writing, but it feels that way.

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

Oh man, the meta question. I do love talking about meta in my writing but I never know which fic to pick when people ask me these questions. Ok, this time, instead of focusing on one work, I'm including one piece of trivia about the last 5 works I published lmao.

The post-blowjob scene in Falling Down the Stairs of Your Smile was added at the last minute (literally I had already uploaded a draft to AO3 before I went back and added it) because I just got it in my head that I really needed a moment of Henry telling Alex to stay. I love thinking about all the ways that would fundamentally change their relationship from the beginning.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, I did a fair amount of reading about people surviving on rafts in the ocean for Enemies of the Ocean. There are lots of crazy stories out there, and one of them—Steve Callahan—is referenced in the fic. The most insane part about THAT is that Callahan's boat was called the Napoleon Solo. Yes, really. Too bad the story was for a different fandom.

The sir/daddy pronouns joke in Something To Be Proud Of, which several commenters loved, was shamelessly stolen from @dumbpeachjuice. See! I'm not actually that funny. 😂

I really wanted them to get caught in the rain wearing less clothing in Lessons in Foreign Diplomacy (by which I mean wearing only a shirt and pants and not a full waistcoat and jacket combo), but @orchidscript disabused me of the notion that anyone would be strolling the grounds in such scandalous attire lol.

Although I have in fact visited the Harrods Food Hall, I have eaten only one of the cheeses featured in Will You Brie Mine? (manchego), to my deep disappointment. Someone get me some monk's head cheese, stat. Also I went back and forth about whether to make Henry a baker or confectioner or something of the sort, but the man gives cheese recommendations in canon! How could I resist?

#ask games #about my fics #nova baby #rwrb fic #rwrb

[jokeringcutio]

Update: The Man Who Claimed To Be Yours

Now that I have finally continued, I have rewritten the outline, adjusted the estimated length of the tale from 12 chapters in total, to 20 chapters. [ For those of you who don't know what I am talking about, you can check the story here ] As those of you who have read and been following the tale online know, I have uploaded 9 chapters in the past. That was with the original outline. The tale ended with Arthur having turned into the Joker and successfully kidnapping you, dear reader, already pregnant with his child. Can't have you all left stranded there, can I? What happens next: Things become more gritty and violent. I have rewritten chapters 10 and 11, and have kept some parts of 12 aside to be used in the tale later on. I had a bit of difficulty finding the right vibe now that the location has changed (no longer in your comfortable home or at the job) and Arthur has become the Joker. I didn't want to lose the feeling of the past chapters, which were mundane and full of smut. In my first drafts, the chapters lost that feel. Not enough smut. Too much I wanted to say in one go. Didn't work. I eventually found back the vibe and the right plot bunny to keep the tale interesting. Between chapter 9 and 10, I have added an interlude (so basically, an extra chapter), describing how the reader is taken by Joker and his new followers to a secret hide-out. I am currently writing chapter 14. This means we have 10, 11, 12 and 13 all written out as a draft. These chapters contain scenes which include cunnilingus, smut, a new friend for our Reader, a rescue plan, plotting against the Joker, violence and maiming (not against our Reader), jealous Joker, visibly pregnant Reader (and Arthur/Joker being all touchy because he wants to feel the baby kick) and well, there's loads more to come! Keep following me for more progress on the tale, snippets, and tidbits about what is going to come next. I plan to write the entire story till the end before I will publish it.

In the meanwhile, if you like my writing, feel free to browse my masterlist. New tales, drabbles and headcanons appear regularly. Feel free to send in suggestions and prompts as well, though I might be slow in responding to them. Make sure to check out my account for recent updates, as I usually post in a European time frame and I notice that many of my posts are overlooked because of it (which is why I sometimes decide to post prompt fills on different sites as well such as on AO3 ). If you liked The Man Who Claimed To Be Yours and are into Dark Romance/being kidnapped by an older man (with gorgeous dark hair and mental issues rofl) I can recommend my Black Phone Fanfic The Chance to make a Change. This story is complete in draft (so you won't have to wait 2 years or more to know the ending), and is currently being uploaded. It has the same kind of vibe as TMWCTBY. If you want to stick to our Arthur Fleck/Joker then I have tons of little fills written about him, as well as plans for new longer fics. I still want to continue The Princess and The Clown, perhaps rework it. But if you want something short that is complete, can I recommend No Family Man? If you like long-haired men, villains and age gap fics, then I would like to point you at the many Arthur Harrow fills I have written (don't worry, you don't have to have seen the Moon Knight series or read the comics. I haven't either). I am currently working on an asylum patient Harrow x Reader fic as well. Now, to end this post, I have posted a gif that is fitting for The Man Who Claimed To Be Yours. It's not the gif that inspired the entire tale, but it is pretty meaningful to it. I think many readers will know why. Hope you are all having a wonderful day, Yours sincerely, JokeringCutio

#Arthur Fleck #TMWCTBY #Arthur Fleck Joker #Joker 2019 #Arthur Fleck x Reader #Arthur Fleck x You #Joker x reader #joker x you #reader insert #dark romance #Arthur x reader #Arthur joker #joker #joker 2019 fanfiction #writing progress #personal note

[tanaleth]

tanaleth's fanwork masterpost, 2023 edition

My tags (all fandoms):

Art

Sculpture

Fic

Fandom tags:

Dragon Age

Mass Effect

Pathfinder

Pillars of Eternity

CP2077

The Witcher

Elder Scrolls

Fallout (more on sideblog)

Ace Attorney (more on sideblog)

Baldur's Gate (Minthara my beloved)

Dragon Age

I've made too much crap over the years to list it all (and I am also not great at remembering to upload everything to Tumblr), but this is the big stuff:

A snarky-but-earnest rarepair fic full of templar/city elf angst and a certain amount of apothecarial flailing. This was one of those ideas that started out tongue in cheek but quickly turned sincere... or as sincere as anything you could describe as "Dragon Age: Asunder meets Doc Martin" could possibly be. (Also has a couple of unfinished spinoffs that I'll come back to some day.)

Halamshiral fanvid set to this one Broadway number. Just trust me.

Mass Effect

All my fic drafts remain sadly unposted, but I've done a fair bit of art.

Fallout

So, so much Danse content. But also other things! See masterpost on sideblog. (Also: FO4 companions as D&D classes, FO4 guys as a sexy calendar.)

Ace Attorney

Currently wailing over Miego. Fic; art; tastefully named sideblog.

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

Other places to find me

Twitter - Instagram (gathering dust) - DeviantArt - AO3

#masterpost

[bonefall]

sorry I;m new and it's a lot to catch up on but can you briefly explain your better call mapleshade au?

Sure thing! As long as you don't mind that I'm gonna hijack your ask to answer a few other meta things at the same time! @katiek101 Rounding up your replies over here.

Btw never be afraid to just ask me questions about stuff, I need to update my Masterpost because I haven't added to it in a couple weeks but I'm always willing to just link people to stuff when asked!

What is the Better Call Mapleshade AU?

I summarized it in this reblog, which also contains @nightly-ruse design for BCM Mapleshade!

"Mapleshade is able to get into StarClan through a very slim ruling out of sympathy for the loss of her kits. She’s a prosecutor/defense attorney motivated by her own desire to be highly revered, playing as a literal “devil’s advocate“ against the awful choices we see StarClan make in canon.

In contrast to StarClan being the ‘council of well-meaning angels‘ who cause bad outcomes, Mapleshade is a self-concerned demon who makes good ones. Because of that, she looks somewhat out of place. An opposer for StarClan, a devil for a good cause.

The AU was born out of some joking with “Snowbird Anon” (hence the name #Better Call Mapleshade AU) and then evolved into an actual premise because my followers are literally the coolest"

It is separate from the #Bonefall Rewrite, but was inspired by aspects of it, namely a trial scene that is going to happen in Darkstar's Commandment.

though to be fair, I am considering just absorbing it into the rewrite. but for now they are still two separate, but related concepts

Do you plan to write/publish any aspects of the Bonefall Rewrite? Where would it be posted if so?

I WISH. Unfortunately I'm chronically unable to finish anything and only motivated by talking directly to people (I actually write first drafts of college essays in discord DMs). In a perfect world I would love to make full multi-chapter fics of the Super Edition rewrites such as Darkstar's Commandment and Firestar's Quietus, though.

Maybe one day, if I can speak to a psychiatrist! **laughs in undiagnosed neurodivergence**.

SO for now, everything is notes! Notes notes notes and rough drafts. The things I AM able to finish. If I ever wrote out anything, I would upload it to AO3. I promise I would make a post if that ever happens.

THE CURRENT NOTES I'M EDITING: Darkstar's Commandment, a follow-up story to Mapleshade's Vengeance, following Darkstar as she establishes the law about protecting kittens.

Blackstar, Russetfur, Rowanclaw

I powered through all of the "History Has Its Eyes On You" series in like 3 days between bus rides! I really like the take on them being a complicated couple (I keep thinking of that line, "their nests were as close as could be without being close at all") and my favorite story was the one where Russetfur went to bury Smokepaw.

Things are really different in my take, though! I see Blackstar as exclusively MLM and Russetfur is his WLW bestie. If Russet has children, they'll be honor dammed and raised by someone else.

I think you will quite like what I'm planning for Russetfur's death. It's a moment of deep pain for Blackstar that makes him relapse into some old, bad habits, leaving him wide open for Sol's influence.

Blackstar's sister Fernshade is going to have surviving children with Wolfstep (Ivytail is one of them, who eventually has Gullswoop), and I'm considering giving Flintfang a kitten or two as well. So there won't be a need for Blackstar to have kids anyway, besides, I like the idea that he's sort of Ivytail's embarrassing uncle, in a ShadowClan way where he's super intimidating to other clans.

And so Rowanclaw won't be part of that family... he is a son of Brokenstar. Same litter as Littlecloud, from Newtspeck. He will be bonding heavily with Tawnypelt over a shared experience of inheriting something VERY heavy.

Firestar's Quest with Brokenstar Details

The good deets are in this ask over here, but I really need to sit down and make a draft of it sometime soon. I'm held up on Darkstar's Commandment first, lmao

In a nutshell, Brokenstar was actually a nature spirit the whole time, the ghost of the 5th tree at Fourtrees. After the exile, the oak tree was blighted, fell over, and cracked on the highstone. It broke in the shape of Broken's tail; an omen of the curse that would befall them, revenge for the greatest sin of the clans.

This is (Brokenstar's Cataclysm)

After his death, he reconnects to these memories. In order for his restless spirit to finally be given peace, SkyClan must be resurrected. Runningnose enlists Firestar to help because he's such a little goody-goody two shoes and could never let an ancient wrong go unrighted. Hilarity ensues.

This is (Firestar's Quietus)

#Firestar's Quietus #Brokenstar's Cataclysm #Bonefall Rewrite #Blackfoot #Blackstar #Russetfur #Flintfang #Brokenstar #Firestar #Ivytail #Rowanclaw #Rowanstar #Littlecloud #Newtspeck #Better Call Mapleshade AU #Also I mean it! Feel free to ask me anything #I would like to consider myself an approachable person #I keep anon on (for now) exactly so people can ask questions they might find 'embarrassing' without fear #I don't mind linking to other posts or summarizing premises #Mapleshade

[justworthlessreblogs]

waffleverse: full bibury fic author's notes

this fic is so long and i had so many writing decisions/notes i wanted to talk about that they couldn't all fit in ao3's 5000 character limit. so i figured i might as well put them here. they'll be under a cut to prevent any accidental spoilers!

writing notes:

- first off this fic drove me CRAZY. another one of its nicknames was “the frankenfic” because i really did feel like i had 3 fics i was shoving into one. and it also took on a life of its own. every day i wake up and scold myself for deciding that covering 33-40 was a good idea. it was not helped by me not having many strong feelings about any of the episodes in that set, which led to me feeling really bored when writing them, and then in the last month of writing i said “fuck it, we ball” and started just making up shit. i also remembered Hey I Made Bibury Try To Kill Rio Back In May I Should Do Something About That. so you get bibury backstory! plus i was sad that they never explore her’s and rio’s time working under noir in canon aside from like. one scene in episode 18

- rio is trying his best to be better at emotions but it is definitely an uphill battle and not linear. the other cures meant well by accepting bibury so easily - after all, it didn’t really work out that great when they were constantly suspicious of him - but he didn’t see it the same way they did. in his eyes bibury was getting away with everything even though she did similar things to him. this was inspired by how the show itself does not seem to ever hold bibury accountable (at least as of where i’m at) but makes it very clear that rio needed to do something to make up for what he did (which i am fine with! this is not a “omg poor rio he was so hated by the writers” moment. i just found it interesting and thought i could explore it)

- episode 37 was the reason for like. nearly all of my original writer's block. it almost got cut, but in the end 34 got the chopping block instead because i felt that bibury didn't really have a justification to be there and 36 got basically entirely cut because i thought it was boring. plus 37 was just… too important to not acknowledge unfortunately. i still definitely want to write a waffleverse version of 34, though, i just think it’d work better on its own! which is why i summarized it here. i had the entire thing written out and saved it, so the original version will probably get uploaded to spice of life someday

- rio being like “i am so mad at my sister. however she is upset so i will make her waffles” was very funny to me. the duality of rio kuroki

- i left the bib & rio talk at the end open-ended, since i had so many things they could have possibly discussed that i couldn’t fit them all in naturally no matter how hard i tried. so let your imaginations go wild lol. however i guess i do have to thank that original draft of their conversation since it was the thing that finally, finally, made me figure out what i wanted from this fic - exploring not just bibury, but bibury and rio. this fic was originally a lot more ciel-heavy than what the final product ended up being, and frankly bib & rio didn’t interact much at all, and i wasn’t able to get to the bottom of why they still hated each other until i remembered. hey. attempted murder

- you are all so lucky that i ended up incorporating 26 into this fic because the original plan was for the scenes that changed to be stuck into spice of life when i got around to writing them someday. the mcu-ification of waffleverse is defeated for another day

- no fantastic animale because i really dislike those super forms and the attack. this is one of two times i have actively disregarded canon, i usually try to stick as close to canon events as possible (which is why the crystal animals are in this. you have no idea how badly i wanted to cut them). fantastic animale is Just That Bad. this was literally the first thing i decided after i started planning this fic. so animal-go-round is powerful enough in this ‘verse. just roll with it please

- no "do sweets bring sadness?" dilemma here because i didn't vibe with that part of the episode. i was looking forward to bibury shenanigans :( the crystal animals are just cielbib shippers /j

- if the writing seems disjointed i apologize it's because this thing was written on and off over a period of 3 months and is also super long

- i had so much fun writing the bathroom scene. finally allowing myself silly rights. the flashback scenes were also really enjoyable

- i messed with the yukari v. kirarin fight because i was a little disappointed with how it played out in canon. yukari tells everyone right away here because she had a Realization because of part 4. kirarin is more resistant than the average fairy to diable in this universe but not fully immune

- RIO FINALLY GETS TO SAY FUCK WOOHOO i've waited so long for this. also bibury is definitely a character who would cuss if the show's rating wasn't the japanese equivalent of tv-y7 so i was a little looser here

- you all know it in your hearts that aoi was 100% a vine kid. also there was no way i was letting that joke slip past me

- did the math and i'm preeettty sure that rio's age in the prologue section checks out with the waffleverse timeline? when i started this series i was under the impression that rio had been gone for way longer than what the series ended up implying, and so in waffleverse i decided he was gone for about a year. he's 12-about-to-turn-13 in the prologue and 14 in the present (his & ciel’s birthday was shortly after part 4!)

-bib starts calling him rio pretty quickly because a) she may have been evil, but she respects people's preferred name choices and b) yukari already had an arc about realizing how he's not julio anymore and i really didn't want to write that same arc a second time!

- waffle’s secondary attack finally shows up!!! waffle protége my beloved. giving him some sort of barrier just Felt Right (and waffles are the perfect shape for it). i like to think he can split it apart and use it offensively a la rosetta reflection. it was originally supposed to show up in 34 (which got cut) then in 37 (then i cut the battle from the episode since it felt very forced) and then i worried i wouldn’t be able to fit it in at all but got the opportunity with the climax rewrite

- in regard to bib's aging i'm going with "noir's presence slowed down her aging a lot somehow, so she may be chronologically 106 or so, but in all other aspects she's around 13-14 and will now start aging normally again". the same would've happened to rio had he stayed with noir longer. insert noir child labor joke here

- hey remember that time noir tried to take rio back!? i guess 40 kinda busted that for canon by establishing he sees them all as expendable but in my defense while i was writing part 3 i saw it more as a twilight-dyspear situation. and then i ran with that. at this point i’m just gonna have to accept that waffleverse isn’t purely canon divergence any more thanks to me writing it as i watch the show, which leads to the show debunking things from earlier parts 

- was a bit disappointed that the great fairy meeting episode didn't really involve, well, a meeting. so they actually get some time to talk strategy here! i'm so sad the technological limitations of ichigoyama meant that i couldn't have waffle give a powerpoint presentation on noir like i wanted to. it would've been so funny. maybe i'll make it for fun someday

- yeah i messed with episode 40 like. a lot. sorry. it's just how it ended up working out tbh. i actually debated back and forth for literal months on if i should give bib a "canon cure waffle" moment or not, and nearly did it, but decided against it because in the end it just didn't feel quite right for a multitude of reasons. so you were going to get fairy combat and then bib yelling at grave instead. and then that got rewritten once i decided i wanted to expand more on why rio & bib are so antagonistic to each other. you can still see traces of the original climax though in ciel showing up with the fairies, as well as the part where bib confronts grave! bib also originally wasn’t supposed to be dragged into the town with them, she was gonna stay on the mountain and then venture down with ciel and the fairies. but rio said Nope She’s Coming With Us once the fic's course changed direction

- my beta enabled me on the "bibury hasn't slept in an actual bed in a century" thing. i originally sent it to him as a joke. he told me to go ahead with it. but let's be real noir would do something fucked up like that

- let waffle fight the townspeople 2k23. this is the other time i actively disregarded canon in the fic idc what it says He Would Do It

- bibury’s verbal beatdown of grave was inspired by her canon one in episode 40

- ciel & bib's relationship isn't gonna progress past "mutual crush" at any point in waffleverse simply because i cannot write romance sorry. rest assured it blossoms into a beautiful love story. they get married on the island where they met properly for the first time. rio is ciel's best man

- i came to the realization that a lot of my decisions regarding this fic were along the lines of "fuck canon". idk what that means

#precure #pretty cure #kirakira precure a la mode #cure waffle au #waffleverse: writing #waffleverse: behind the scenes #long post #so sorry about the length. you can blame bib fic and its 13.9k word wordcount

[melonpalooza]

DUDE DUDE I AM FREAKING AMAZED BY YOUR CODING SKILLS ON AO3 (Is it coding? EITHER WAY-) How do you make it look like discord? Does it take lots of time to do? Did you copy the code for how it's set up from discord itself? How do you do it?! (not exactly asking for a step by step but a gen overview?) I'm super curious >:3

Hello, Anon!

Thank you for the ask! I've always wanted to info dump about my process lol

Okay, so I use a workskin that I hobbled together from multiple sources, sometimes adding my own elements by tweaking some things here and there.

Credits verbatim from my author notes (every link and user listed is from AO3):

Discord Workskin from unpredictableArtist (wovenstarlight). Extra code from BookKeep.

iOS Workskin from CodenameCarrot, La_Temperanza. All I did was augment the borders and colors to make it “dark mode”.

"Email" Workskin lifted and repurposed from La_Temperanza for the sake of looking like the Notepad app instead.

If you want the (current) workskin code, I can upload it in another post! Because the original codes are already a free resource, I don't see why not in sharing the full code that I use, y'know?

Once that is set as the workskin, however, all the chapters simply have to be written in raw HTML format! To make it easier for myself, I write everything in an app called "Notepad++" that highlights the syntax, making it easier for me to read/spot mistakes! I have a "master list" of usernames and commonly used code and I copy and paste it to the chapter with the messages. I also test the code on a site called jsbin to make sure it looks alright (sometimes I don't though, and just "update" the draft on AO3 like 50 times lol)

Basically, I have prompts on a google doc -> notepad++ -> ao3

If you are curious this is what the beginning of Ch. 21 looks like in its "raw" state in notepad++:

There is actually a lot of extra coding in this (all of the "hide" classes), so that it is still readable even if a reader has "Creator Style" off.

But yeah, all of that above is for the first three messages of the chapter:

But trust me, it's not as intimidating as you think, especially with my master list file (I'll even post it if you're interested and you can test it out for yourself!). And that's basically it? Not sure if I answered your question, but there you go! Of course, if anyone wants to do something similar on AO3, feel free to ask and I will assist! :)

#the last ronin becomes a discord admin #melon speaks #ao3 #css #tlrda asks

[thingsthatbleedfic]

📌 PINNED POST

Welcome to the blog for Things That Bleed, a crossover fic of Danny Phantom, Alex Rider and SCP Foundation. This fic project is a collaborative effort between creators @artistfingers, @ghostly-cabbage, and @kkachis. Full credits can be found here.

This fic is uploaded and available to read on AO3! We also have a supplemental fic with the Foundation's SCP articles, which will include content not yet featured in the fic. This can be read here!

📕 LIST OF TAGS

#admin: For administrative posts.

#art: For all art on this blog.

#official art: For in-story illustrations.

#sketches: For sketches of cut content, early concepts, and doodles that didn't make it into the final draft.

#fin art, #kkachi art, #abriel art: For indicating the illustrator(s) of a piece.

#fanart: For any fanart we receive!

#asks, #submissions: For all answered asks and received submissions.

#fin, #kei, #kkachi: For indicating which author wrote or reblogged and tagged a post.

#updates: For the posts about the latest updates.

#wips: For sneak peeks of work-in-progress material.

#things that meme: For memes. Crunchy, spicy TT🅱️emes.

#admin #kkachi