#fwoosh writes

[fw00shy]

Slow Days, Bad Habits

When Draco told Pansy he was moving to Los Angeles, Pansy said, "Fuck off, you're not." It was a Thursday and the afternoon sun stretched over Pansy's fire escape patio like a lazy cat. Draco fished out the olive from his glass and ate it, saying, "No, I really am," when he really wasn't — lying was a bad habit of his, and he was five martinis deep — but the next day he woke up thinking: Why not?

Doing what he wasn't supposed to do was a relatively new bad habit of his (sure he used to break rules, but he never broke Father's rules) but it was by far his favourite. Doing the unexpected. Turning heads. Like when he wore the shirt the Muggle orphanage gave him for painting walls to one of his mum's "Sorry We Lost the War" benefits and Daphne said, "You? Volunteering? No way, I bet a thousand Galleons you bought that from a thrift store."

Los Angeles was everything London wasn't and everything Draco wanted to be. Cars built to go 300kph putting bumper-to-bumper down wide, yawning freeways. Plastic surgery to cover up whatever you didn't like about yourself. Every day Draco looked in the mirror and changed something different. What if he had a different nose? A larger mouth? Would his life change for the better? Some days he wished he had more time to figure out how to turn his life around. Other days it was a lot easier to let his eyes droop until every second stretched long and he lost track of it, another day lost in the waste of his life. 

When Draco saw Harry at the farmer's market he knew Harry had moved to Los Angeles to disappear. He knew this because Harry wore dark glasses and a cap pulled low over his scar. He knew this because the papers had reported Harry missing four years ago, and had never found him since. He knew this because he had moved to Los Angeles to disappear, too. Draco bought his oat milk and his strawberries and walked back home with them tucked under his arm, like his little secret. That was another bad habit of his now: secrets. Anything could be a secret if he wanted it to be. His favourite bench at the park. The line from an Ada Limon that made him cry. Waves crashing against the pier. The scent of jasmine in his mother's garden. And now, Harry, in LA. All his secrets. All just for him.

Draco saw Harry at the farmer's market again the following week, around 1pm when the stalls were packing up and the baskets of strawberries numbered in the ones and twos. Draco came to the farmer's market every week and some weeks they ran out of what he liked, but he was fine with that; this was the time best suited for him.

Draco watched Harry meander past the stalls, his hands behind his back, like he was browsing with no intent to purchase. But why? Maybe he was a ghost. Draco chuckled at the thought, and then he saw Harry walking toward him.

"I won't tell," Draco said. "So don't Obliviate me, please. I like my memories. Or the recent ones, anyway. I mean, they're nothing special. Just things like, eating a good peach. The sun sinking into the sea. Waking up and not being too hot or too cold. Normal things." (Running his mouth: maybe the original bad habit?)

Harry blinked slowly, his mouth slightly agape. He didn't look like he was going to attack Draco. He wasn't even carrying a wand. 

"So," Draco said, smiling, a little more confident now. "I won't tell if you won't tell?"

"You live here too?"

"Sure do," Draco said. "Do you want to come over?"

So it was their secret now.

Which was fine. More than fine, even. Draco didn't normally like to share, but he sure did like breaking rules. Especially his own.

#drarry #fwoosh writes #drarry squad #drarrymicrofic #drarry microfic #wildly #i seem to have 1k+ followers on this lil blog #thank you very much for following me!

[fwoosheye]

A couple of years ago I found this prompt on pinterest and wrote a story there which I've now decided to put here too, but as I can't find @writing-prompt-s original post so... This was the prompt:

Story under the cut:

The Forgotten Prisoner

Time flows oddly when you have no way to measure it.

They knew they had been sole prisoner in the underground facility for 200 years when the earthquake buried them completely. Two of the three guards had died in the collapsing dorm, leaving the last guard trapped in darkness. No electricity, no water, no food, no heating. They could remember hearing the young guard – barely more than a child – screaming in the dark as he tried to find his companions, and his anguished cries when he found them.

When the lad eventually fumbled past their cell, close to delirious with exhaustion, they spoke to him. Soothing, comforting, but never lying. It had been the first time since they arrived that they were let out. Together they had searched for a way out, and found none. Far too soon the boy passed, and they turned an old office into a burial chamber. Dragging out cabinets, the couch and everything else but the lone desk which they left in the middle as an altar upon which they laid the body.

Then they had continued their quest on their own, but immortal does not mean immune to exhaustion or the need of food and water.

They were eventually forced to give up and settle to wait for rescue, and so they did: Outside the last guards resting place. They had settled down on the couch as if in meditation, and stayed there. To weak to move, to weak to stay alert for more than a few moments at a time, but never able to slip into the eternal sleep.

And so they sat there. Collecting more and more dust, through additional earthquakes and everlasting darkness and solitude. Then one day, their monotone existence changed. A rumble of shifting rock, so unlike that of an earthquake. When the rumbling eventually stopped, they heard something even more rare:

Voices.

Voices coming ever closer, their words incomprehensible but still familiar enough they could tell their tongue stemmed from the one they had last heard. Then, through closed eyelids, they could see light.

At last they had been found.

#fwoosh writes #others writing prompts #immortal in prison for 10 000 years #prison #buried alive (in a building) #let me know if i missed some tw #the forgotten prisoner

[divinitysheart]

WHAT COLOR DOES YOUR LOVE FEEL LIKE?

DEEP STAINING RED

Ripped out confessions, warm velvety whispers and a heart like an open wound. Your love flows out like dripping blood, beautiful, flawed and twisted. It's gut wrenching, the type of painfully dramatic feeling that makes you clutch your chest, picturing dramatic monologues about love and loving and big screen over the top scenes of sobbing into your pillow until you fall asleep.

It rips out of you, clawing it's way up your throat more so than tumbling out. Sticky words that just need to be let out, feelings so big they don't fit inside you. Your love isn't easy, it's a true bloody mess, dripping and staining everything it touches in a desperate attempt to be seen, to be felt, to be loved back. And you, you love so hard, so deeply, so much for someone who carries all that pain.

Atlas holding up the world, how are you? Is your love still flowing? Is your heart still open? Still pumping and bleeding and dripping with blood and tears? Still painting your beautiful pictures and writing your love letters in deeply personal red ink?

Because I see them, I read them, I love them and you, you, you, you. Clench your chest, scream your love, cry it out. Spill your words of loving, keep your heart beating, keep your love coming and paint the entire world red with it. Make it in your image, keep going, it's okay. Maybe one day the whole world can be red and loved and beautiful just like you.

TAGGED BY: @oathofpromises 

TAGGING: @3rdher​ @abyssforged​ @gmetheory​ and anyone else who wants to do it !! ^^

#FWOOSH ( dash games ) #♕ paragon of torna ♕ jin #( this is way too fitting for him im at a loss for words ) #( tbh this is just a sign to actually start writing out that post on his character sometime soon )

[randimason]

Aziraphale is trending on Twitter but AFAIK it’s the Tweet above & people having a meltdown that Neil revealed he keeps a diary.

He being Aziraphale, not Neil.

I have no idea whether Neil is a diarist, and now wondering if he keeps a diary and why he does / doesn’t.

He once said he wrote to figure out what he believed, but that might something that’s part of writing fiction, not writing full stop.

Anyway, Aziraphale hasn’t done anything to trend on Twitter besides be Aziraphale. And if that is what’s breaking Twitter, Tumblr would make their minds go fwoosh.

#twitter #trending #good omens #aziraphale #diaries #writing #neil gaiman #ineffable husbands #I should just submit the Ask

[pixiatn]

Danny & Duke Prompt/idea for y'all while I'm still trying to write my fic

Now I still don't know if I'm gonna include this in my fic, but I wanted to post it incase I didn't but essentially, Halfa/Quarta!Duke

Ok so basically Pariah Dark would be a halfa (until giving up his humanity/human half like Dan) and was sealed into the Infinite Realms by his brother, Gnomon The Eternal Light who was also a halfa, this in turn not only makes Duke part ghost, but also the biological nephew of Pariah Dark.

Duke has a very small amount of ectoplasm flowing throughout his body and also has a core much smaller/underdeveloped than other ghost and even halfas. He inherited abilities from both his father and his uncle resulting in him having a mixed core (light and dark [psh, ok y/n✋🏽🙄])

Insert traumatized Danny attending Gotham Academy after running away for whatever reason👁️👁️, ahem, and staying in the schools dormitories. Danny's first day is going great, he woke up early, made it to class on time, and his classmates were being nice to him, maybe things here wouldn't be so bad. THEN FWOOSH, almost instantly Danny feels a powerful (and somewhat familiar) chill down and his ghost sense goes off and then he starts panicking, cause if he goes ghost then the GIW will know where he is, if he doesn't help then this ghost will seriously fuck up the school.

Bbg spends a bit too long in his head contemplating his options and feels this overwhelming presence get closer, he doesn't hear anybody screaming so thats good. It very quickly becomes not good when the presence comes closer and he realizes why it feels so familiar, it was an aura similar to that of Pariah Dark. Well great that's just fucking great, first day at a new school and he's possibly gonna get beat up by the former ghost king, which by the way, WHO THE FUCK LET HIM OUT-

Danny is thoroughly surprised though when it isn't a ghost capable of mass destruction that comes into the class but actually a rather cute boy his age (oh very pretty ghost guy ok) it isn't until Duke sits at a desk and people start talking to him does he realize (holy fuck this guy is like me)

During his lunch break Danny-boy slips into the Ghost zone to ask his lil ghost council (which consist of Pandora, Dorothea, Frostbite, Wulf, and Clockwork) if it's possible for two different ghost to have similar auras, Pandora states the each ghost aura is unique to that individual, the only way for two ghost to have similar auras is for them to be related

Great, so Danny's classmate is a relative of one of his strongest enemies, and former king of the Infinite Realms? Fucking great

Edit/update: On Dukes side, he finds himself rather drawn towards the pretty new boy in his class and he doesn't know why (it's bc unlike him, Danny has a shit ton of Ectoplasm running through and Dukes still developing core is drawn to that)

Anyway when he starts hanging out with Danny, his core starts absorbing the ectoplasm in the air surrounding him (which comes from Danny constantly exiting/entering the Ghost zone an using portals) which in turn helps Dukes core develop faster, making his powers stronger and granting him new ones

Meme time

#Duke x Danny propaganda #Quarta!Duke #dp x batman #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #would duke technically be the right heir to the throne? #idk about that stuff man😞 #duke thomas #danny phantom #deadlights #Dukes powers develop much slower due to him being a quarter ghost #danny fenton #dc x dp prompt

[botboots]

capture [megatron, cybertronian!reader]

hi! so sorry for the lack of activity, been super busy getting ready for finals! wanted to post something though, so heres a small draft i started a while ago to try and write more gore/angst stuff, trying to push myself a bit more :) might not be the best thing ive written, but i think its alright enough to post - lmk if you want a part 2!

warnings: blood, gore, torture, death word count: 1.1k (GN, cybertronian!reader) continued under the cut

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

The soft creaking of chains is the only sound that fills the barren room. You hang your helm, energon loss and a weary processor debilitating you, limbs heavy with thoughts clouded by fatigue. Lidded optics gaze down to the drying spilled fuel that covered both the floor and your frame. You take a ragged in-vent and close your optics, trying desperately to keep yourself from shaking.

Don’t make them think you’re weak. The others just need a little more time.

A faint mechanical fwoosh greets your audials, and a soft purple light is cast through the open door for a brief moment before being blocked out by a large, spiked shadow. You don’t even make an attempt to look up as heavy footsteps, followed by a lighter pair, make their way to the center of the room where you hang. The chains that secure your arms above you chime against one another as you shift, grimacing at the twinge under your shoulder plating.

“How is our prisoner today, Knockout?”

The cherry red medic slowly waves a scanner over your frame, clear disgust setting onto his faceplates at your state - or more so the state of your finish, ever the most important thing on his processor. Your gaze narrows at the mech while he waits for the scan to process. You had never known of a cybertronian who could be so unapologetically self-absorbed.

Knockout hums and skims over the data pad, tone annoyingly peppy when he answers, “Besides some minor energon loss, I believe they’re capable of taking another session or two before their… expiration, my liege.”

“Good.” Megatron replies lowly, “You’re dismissed.”

As soon as you hear the door close, sharp digits grab your chin. The servo lifts your helm so that you look straight into the warlords blazing red optics. “You only have so much time before my patience runs thin, Autobot.” he threatens, “Where is your base?”

You return his gaze with steeled optics, “Doesn’ matter how many times you beat me,” your voice is littered with faint static as you speak, “‘m never tellin’ you.” Megatron glares at you, opening his intake to disregard your words; but before he can speak you raise your helm and spit at him, a small glob of energon splattering onto his chassis. His optics widen, a hilarious mix of disgust and anger shaping his features - in any other situation, you would’ve laughed.

His narrow optics flit to you before raising a digit and swiping the blue substance from his frame. He flicks it away, and your vision suddenly spins when his fist slams into the side of your helm. Your frame shudders and you grit your denta, trying to let the sharp pain roll off you.

“If you’d like to play dirty,” Megatron snarls into your audial, “then I would be more than happy to accommodate.”

//

Energon drips from your intake. You feel as if you had been thrown into a spiked pit, scratches and dents littering your frame. Megatron circles you, running a clawed digit along your form. The sound of screeching metal-on-metal makes you cringe, and you try to ignore the flaring pain it leaves in its wake over your already battered plating.

He drops his servo from your frame, moving in front of you to raise your helm once more. He says nothing, only glaring. You return his gaze, exhaustion clear, but he doesn’t miss the glint of challenge in your optics. Megatron isn’t an idiot - he knows your type, and he knows you meant what you said.

The warlord snarls, “If you refuse to tell me the location of your base,” he raises his servo. “Then I will at least take the opportunity to thin your ranks!” Panic floods you right before he swings down, claws ripping through your chassis; bright, blue energon splattering onto both of your frames.

You wail - hot, white pain overtaking your thoughts. You thrash and kick out, sending Megatron stumbling away from you - but all of your attention is locked onto the excruciating pain taking hold of your body. Optics blown wide, you can’t help but stare as energon spills from the four, deep gashes carved into your chassis.

You barely feel his servo grab your helm and violently shove it upwards, trying to force the last of your attention on him.

“You should have taken your chance.” He sneers, sharp denta glinting as his gaze bore into yours.

You can’t look back. Not with any real meaning behind it. The only thing you can process is the pure, unfiltered agony taking over your frame. It was spark-splitting, and you can do nothing but wallow in it as Megatron makes his way towards the exit; leaving you heaving as you bleed onto the floor from the chains that suspend you.

Not moments later, you feel the ship rumble. Blaster fire can be heard behind the door, and you feel a sliver of hope grow in your spark. Even if they can’t save you, at least you won’t spend your last moments alone on a Decepticon warship. However an explosion jolts your frame, twisting you at a particularly painful angle; you cry out, venting labored as you try to re-focus on the sounds outside - anything but lingering on the torment of your wounds.

The gunfire dies down, and you hear a shout. Their voice wasn’t familiar, but you didn’t particularly care at this point - as long as you were given a chance at escape, you couldn’t give less of a scrap about what faction, or lack of, the bot saving you aligned with.

The door slides open. With strained effort, you lift your helm just enough to see who it is. You tense up in apprehension - this isn’t anyone you know. They were slightly blurred to you, but from what you can make out their frame is silver and blue with two red stripes on the top of their helm, and comparatively smaller than most of your comrades. Whoever it is, they seem to freeze as soon as they lay their optics on your mangled, energon covered form.

You probably looked dead.

The bot runs out, and for a moment fear seizes you at the prospect that they thought you were already gone, and decided that a sparkless Autobot wasn’t worth their while. You try to call out, but you only irritate your wounds - your chassis throbs as your voice fizzles out into static. All you can manage is a whine as you curl in on yourself; only managing to lift your knees a few inches upwards.

Your venting stutters. Tears well up in your optics. Your frame begins to shake. 

You were going to die here.

#this isnt technically meg x reader but idk what else to tag it as lmao #still working on requests! #transformers #transformers x reader #transformers fanfiction #tf x reader #tfp x reader #megatron #megatron x reader #transformers prime #cybertronian reader #transformers x cybertronian reader

[foolnamedjoey]

I keep forgetting you need to write out sound effects

it makes me feel dumb every time I write "FWOOSH" though

[66sharkteeth]

Got a few scion-related questions since it seems like we’re on a streak with those

Can the scions communicate with anyone besides Rex and Jericho? Like could they learn sign language, or at the very least just pick up a pencil? And could Jericho’s scion communicate with Bags or Charlie the way it can with Jericho since they’re in on the hivemind too?

This could kind of be lumped in with the first one, but can the scions communicate with each other? It doesn’t look like Rex is in the Jericho-Bags-Charlie posse, so I’m assuming they host different hiveminds, but does that mean they’re just stuck staring at each other or can they still talk in some way?

They can only speak verbally to Rex and Jericho (when not possessing their bodies), though they can kinda get some words out through hisses and stuff when in their blank form (I think like 3 people in the world noticed it kind of spoke in this panel):

I dont think this is really "talking" though and maybe more like...the hissing and fwooshing of their flames? Because they don't technically have vocal cords. However... They do roar and shit, so maybe that throws that out the window haha. I feel like they technically shouldn't be able to do that, but they wouldn't be nearly as scary and intimidating if they couldn't roar and hiss.

Technically, Rex's knows sign language, because it knows everything he does. They could also both technically write if they wanted to, but neither really needs to. Communicating through body language has been enough for them so far.

As for Charlie and Bag Girl, I think it could technically speak to them like it does Jericho, but it choses not to (it doesn't even speak to Jericho very much. Rex's is VERY chatty in comparison).

And lastly, no, they can't speak to each other, outside of writing or possessing Rex/Jericho.

Fun fact, I ALMOST wrote this scene for Jericho's scion to speak briefly with Rex's.

However, for various reasons, I felt it works better if we barely ever hear from Jericho's scion. I feel its much more intimidating and mysterious that way, vs. Rex's, which is def intimidating, but clearly the obnoxious little brother of the two scions.

#city of blank #jericho #rex #scion

[unolvrs]

uno i like your judgement and i like how you explain stuff, so tell me, what is your opinion on the way gege decided to 🔪 gojo?

spoiler warning for jjk manga!

i actually discussed this in-depth with a friend and my conclusion is that ehhhhh, i guess it makes sense why he did that because the teacher will always get defeated for the student to avenge him and/or be the one to beat the final boss but the way it happened is a little wack. gojō said back in the first chapters that he's confident he can beat sukuna even in full-form but okay, let's give megumi's body a credit: maybe that really did give sukuna an edge but c'mon! gojō going all sappy and shōnen manga saying that he knows sukuna didn't give it his all? that shit honestly made me stareeeeee. the whole fight was intense in a weird way. every chapter left everyone hanging and the hype and expectations were getting out of control.

maybe that's really the bad side of jjk especially with the weekly leaks from certain twitter accounts: the expectations are too high that everyone else will always have something to say bad about it, including me. there are still so many things left unanswered and so many characters left hanging. i'm not even the biggest fan of gojō but the whole thing made me ??? well, i guess it's an introduction to the upcoming final boss fight between itadori and sukuna but honestly, like i said, there are so many things left unanswered including the characters still labeled unknown ifyk what i mean...

but of course, jjk still isn't done yet, so there may be more to come. i have no idea what gege is planning or what's going on in his head but i'll just say that people will always have something to say whether or not he executed it this way or that way.

for now, i'm gonna say i didn't like how he handled the whole thing but that's just me. it was very abrupt and to built up, lasted a little too long, only for fwoosh. maybe gege wanted to add a realistic aspect to it which includes all the unanswered questions, the characters that suddenly disappeared, or maybe, it's bad writing. no one knows until jjk finishes!

that's what i think!

#問 ━━ answers #jjk manga

[sitp-recs]

Hidden Gems by @fw00shy

I’ll never stop screaming about the masterpiece that is Phoenix in the Fire - not on this list but one of my top five favourite short fics ever - but when it comes to Fwoosh, suddenly I can’t find the words to covey the way her writing cuts me raw and deep. She’s hands down one of the most talented, daring and resourceful writers I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been around for a very long time. A master of short form, her unique and bold style steal my attention right away, her sharp dialogue and unbeatable world building make me sit straighter and forget whatever’s going on around me, her impeccable prose with perfectly chosen and well-placed words takes my breath away, her tender angst makes my heart break for pining Harry, her deliciously explicit, self-indulgent smut make me sweat like a whore in the church 🥵

As if that wasn’t enough, fwooshy’s range is really impressive and she always manages to deliver a long-lasting blow with any genre, any rating and any length, but especially under 3k. Her creative mind, vibrant characters and powerful writing deserve way more recognition and that’s why everyone should go check her catalogue right now. I’ll help you out and share a short selection of goodies below - I could have chosen any 10 fics at random but I wanted to include a little bit of everything, even tropes that aren’t really my jam (hello MCD!)…. unless they’re written by her, lol 🤡 this is actually my second reclist for Fwooshy so I tried to diversify a bit, you can find the previous one here. Happy Monday with these delicious short treats!

Drarry:

Silence on the Seventh Floor (T, 970 words) - such a creative and heartbreaking drabble, love this pain-in-the-ass ghost!Draco and smitten Harry, my heart ached so much for them. Cw MCD

Draco haunted the seventh-floor corridor of Hogwarts. A Third Year found him up there one night, knocking the frames together as though trying to shake something out of them. She reported it straight to Headmaster Potter, who passed her a Cockroach Cluster and sent her off to bed with a promise to handle it.

Basement Level 9 (M, 2k) - poignant and disturbing short story with dark!Draco and a resigned Harry who loves him, plus excellent dialogue and a brilliant Ron puzzling the pieces together, ugh so good 😔🤌🏼

Draco was behind the bomb that blew up Level 10, though they didn't talk about it.

You Either Fuck or You Get Fucked (E, 2k) - the ultimate enemies to lovers PWP with scorching hate sex, crude dirty talk and top notch banter, sharp and witty! I’m obsessed with this confident Harry and their sexy push and pull, thought I’d combust on site 🔥

"That's not how fucking works. Fucking's…" Draco waved a hand in the air. "You either fuck or you get fucked." "Sure," Harry said. He took out a Sickle. "Toss for it?" Read my rec here.

10:47 am (T, 2.3k) - this series of short yet immersive slice-of-life vignettes are wonderfully original with vibrant multiple POV and such distinct character voices. One of the fics that best showcase Fwoosh’s genius writing

Scenes of lives lived out in front of an open balcony window.

Big Hands (E, 4.5k) - Victorian AU with pianist rivals, yes please!!!! Incredible world building, delightful and on point humour, unbelievable ust, that basic hand kink we all deserve AND a piano sex scene as a treat, this is rich and sexy and the atmosphere is irresistible

Draco Malfoy is a pianist who's just moved to Paris. Harry Potter, his new roommate, has the biggest hands he's ever seen. Draco is immediately obsessed. Read my rec here.

in a rambling way (T, 7.5k) - probably the softest Fwoosh fic I’ve read so far, a gorgeous and wistful break up make up with lots of pining Harry, camping shenanigans and peak road trip romance. A must read!

Ron knocked Hermione up, and now Harry's got to figure out how to clone himself so that his friends don't split up fighting over him. Falling for Draco again was never part of the plan.

Rare pairs:

In the Mood (E, 367 words) - the hottest 367 words you’ll read today, delicious established Dron feat. rough sex and feral possessive Ron hoho me gusta!

“I saw you with Harry today," Ron says. "In the Ministry cafeteria."

Money (M, 1k) - my favorite Ginsy treat out there, hot af and with an impressive amount of character and story for a short fic. Superb Pansy + superb Ginny POV, I want them both to ruin me (and then each other) pls and thank

Pansy looks like money. Ginny's letting her call the shots.

Laundry Day (E, 1.8k) - I’ve been in a Ginny/Hermione phase lately and this neighbours AU PWP is s total banger! Laundry room snogging, confident buff Gin and shy horny Hermione, excellent dynamics and really hot smut

Hermione was afraid of Ginny, because Ginny made her wet.

They Bought A Sports Bar (T, 2.2k) - another compelling femslash because yes, Fwoosh can write pretty much any ship. A fascinating take on Cho and amazing dialogue, love her subtle dynamics with this patient Ginny, and the idea of a sports bar is brilliant!

Ginny buys a sports bar (run-down biker pub, really) and ropes Cho into helping out. They're just business partners, so why does everyone else think they're more?

#hidden gems s2

[ddelline]

time loop thursday

blurb | I did in fact miss wednesday wip posting deadline, but this works, and I did just write 6k of this in one sitting, even though I really did not have time to do that. this behemoth fic, istg

premise | since this isn't really a normal time loop fic, but also kind of time traveling all over the place!fic, ofc I'm visiting All Of The Trope-y Timelines. and here we are at hidden inventory/sudden death. bc I love writing shōko. honestly mainly bc of that. still no goyuu (lmao) but it is a quite lengthy bit of hi/sd!trio feat older!satoru

Suguru puffs an exasperated breath and crosses his arms over his chest. His nails are bitten down, not filed as they usually were; his left ring finger and pinky are taped. Must have happened at some point Satoru can’t recall from their (thankfully) brief bout with Fushiguro. “I can’t say either of that made it on to my list of concerns. This extra examination was unnecessary, as well. Why wouldn’t you notice it’s him? Satoru’s a horrible liar.” Suguru tips his chin in Satoru’s direction. He raises an eyebrow at him. His expression is relaxing in slow increments, even if it still retains an edge of caution. “You can tell from the CES. Like this.” Suguru reaches out towards Satoru. It’s cautious without for that matter being slow, clearly telegraphing, giving Satoru the chance to influence what happens next.

A horrible, rippling weight in Satoru’s chest seizes at that. He thinks it might be his whole heart. It’s such a painfully Suguru thing to do; is a thoughtful, mindless tic he’s had since they were kids, all of nine gangly years, spiteful and prideful and intensely aware of their prodigy: complete assholes, in fact. But it’d been underscored by sullen, insecure tenderness, like awkward adolescent friendship tends towards. He dispels Infinity with a twitch of his fingers. Three of Suguru’s fingers make contact, press lightly down in the crook of his elbow. He withdraws momentarily after. “It’s a lot more tempered, but it feels the same. There’s no change in the mass or texture of the signature.”

Shōko rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. “Never mind a shikigami, your sense of curse echolocating seems to be just as good. Better. Why don’t they teach us this in med school?”

“Don’t call me a curse,” grouses Suguru. “And they do teach us this. In jujutsu school. You just happened to sleep through the majority part of the curse energy analysis curriculum.”

Shōko shrugs. “Cursed energy is just like, fwoosh, and crrrck. Like the crackle of fire, you know. Sometimes a little shhhwp, and yoosh.” Suguru rolls his eyes. “Besides, saying that just because it feels like Satoru, it has to be him, is reductionist. Your cursed energy signature isn’t necessarily fixed. Vessels’ CE have shown to adapt, even to a certain extent mix, with the host curse’s. From a scientific point of view, it’s highly unlikely that something like an innate technique capable of cloaking or imitating another’s CE, for example, can’t exist.”

Satoru whistles and grins. “Here’s someone who did all the suggested additional readings. At least in that class. I appreciate your being in my corner though, Suguru. Even if that was a solid, grade A-smack down.”

“Satoru,” says Suguru, in the same breath as Shōko says, “Gojō-san,” after which they both chorus more or less identical sentiments of “shut up, no one was talking to you.”

Spindly fingers fit themselves into the spaces between his ribs. They reach inwards, finding his lungs and heart and curl; settle securely around bloody, wildly pumping organ matter. They squeeze. Satoru’s fingers spasm marginally where they’re resting across the flat of his own thigh.

He failed them both before. And in so many more ways than he ever realized. More than he ever will, probably. No matter how long he lives, or how much he learns. Whatever he does, or doesn’t do here: he won’t fail them like that again.

*

Yaga rucks his sunglasses up to rest on his brow and pinches the bridge of his nose. An aggravated breath hisses out of him. Satoru can guess what comes next. “Goddamn!” swears his now-teacher, future-headmaster. When he looks at Satoru again, moments later, his expression is grim. “I can’t fault you for this one, Satoru. Maybe I ought to praise you. But goddamn.”

“Please don’t, sensei,” sighs Shōko, “One violation of fundamental world principles per day is enough.”

“I agree,” says Suguru. Satoru tsks.

Yaga gestures for them to zip it. “Enough. Cynicisms and smart quips aren’t going to get us closer to figuring out what to do about this,” he levels Satoru with a sharp stare again, “we’ve not got any time, either. Ijichi’s doing his best to keep the damned lid on for now, but a near-successful assassination of the Star Plasma Vessel carried out by a member of one of the big three—on warded school ground, no less; it’s a shitstorm the size of a hurricane brewing in a teacup. High council, the noble Three, plus a string of second tier branch families, jujutsu regulatory institutions—we’ve got an official inquiry pending from the desk of the PM; no one doesn’t want to get in on how we could’ve let this happen.”

Satoru desperately wants to note, out loud, something about Yaga’s uncharacteristically colourful language. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the gravity of the situation—no one is more keen than Satoru to figure out what the actual fuck is happening, or root out the apparent fail safe at the heart of the temporal knot he’s gotten himself stuck in, unpick it and put things right again. But frankly, if he’s not allowed to take a moment to breathe, and appreciate, Yaga Masamichi illustrating the monumental fuckfest of the protection and escort mission of Amanai Riko as a hurricane sized shitstorm wreaking havoc within the bounds of a tiny teacup—then what point is there to all the pain, suffering, and trauma they’ve needed to endure along the way (some of them twice over, now)?

“We didn’t let it happen, though,” says Satoru, who is sadly twenty nine and sensible. “Believe me, I’ve been privy to the alternative. It’s far shittier.”

“So you’ve alluded to,” says Yaga, “Cursory background is provided, but I don’t think that’s enough.”

Satoru doesn’t glance towards Suguru and Shōko, parked behind respective desks to his left. The crux of the matter, and the solution to the problem, won’t become apparent to them just because he provides a detailed account of this future’s, and his own past, eleven years. “People died. Curses banded merrily together to plan an apocalypse. Gojō Satoru, Strongest Sorcerer, failed. We failed, pretty spectacularly actually, in preventing jujutsu society, an idiotically archaic reactionist system which favoured genealogy over talent and control over reform, from rinse, recycle and repeat-doom cycling us straight off a cliff.” Satoru pauses, levelling Yaga with a flat stare, “If I had time stamps, I’d call Ijichi in to transcribe. But since what happened today didn’t happen the last time around—I’d guess we’re winging it from here. Sensei.”

Silence as thick as dewy, muggy fog settles over the classroom. Satoru slouches more exaggeratedly into the desk he’d taken to leaning against when they’d been summoned. Either Suguru or Shōko voices a small, shock-adjacent expel of breath. Yaga remains quiet, only emoting by way of one eyebrow twitching, and a muscle in his jaw spasming and fluttering with tension.

“Heartbreaking: the worst person you know just delivered a rousing speech on progressive political reform,” says Shōko faintly.

Suguru heaves a belly deep sigh. “Satoru,” he chides, “All of that, and you’re still so disrespectful?”

“All of you. Shut up,” booms Yaga. He unfolds his hands, displacing his weight, and slowly gets to his feet. Satoru vaguely entertains the hilarious irony in surviving Fushiguro Toji stabbing the Inverted Spear of Heaven through his frontal lobe, only to end up being strangled to death by his teacher for mouthing off during a debriefing. A lunging attack isn’t forthcoming, however. He stands, keeps regarding Satoru with dark eyes and a tense jaw. Eventually, he just sighs. Deflates. “You’re still an arrogant shit, Satoru, and for that you don’t deserve to be rewarded. But you’re right. Damned if you aren’t right.” His teacher pauses, then nods at him, hard and jerky. “You grew up. A lot of people probably benefited from that. Let’s see if we can as well.”

#fandom: jujutsu kaisen #work: fic #jjk #fic: cv/sm #wip wednesday #goyuu #at it again tagging goyuu when the goyuu is still pending #ddelline's blatant in-tag lies #when will this fic end #no one knows #certainly not me

[fw00shy]

Accio is the only spell I know

part 2 of Slow Days, Bad Habits because I wanted to know what happened next

When Draco took someone home in LA, there was no cobblestone path, no chirpy doormat to prime guests as they walked up to his door. Instead, they entered through the garage and walked past the shelves of ancestral junk straight into his living room, where he forgot to clean up the takeaway from last night. It felt a bit like exposing all his guts to a stranger, and Draco blushed, plucking a fortune cookie wrapper from the carpet while Harry was distracted by a set of photographs hung up on the wall.

"You were so young in these," Harry said. He pointed to the one in the middle. "This is from first year, yeah? When you had your hair slicked back like a helmet."

"I'll never forgive Mother for that haircut," Draco said. He peered over Harry's shoulder and shivered with disgust. He wished he'd never been that boy.

"Oh come on," Harry turned, grinning. "It wasn't so bad. I thought it looked rather fetching, actually."

Draco raised a brow. "Really?"

"Really — well, I'd never met someone so blond in my life before. The perpetual sneer, however —"

"Let's not talk about the past," Draco said. He crossed the living room to the kitchen, his fingers drumming over the wine rack. "Cabernet? Pinot? Or, I've got a chard in the ice box —"

"Any will do," Harry said. He'd followed him into the kitchen and pulled out a chair from the little table in there.

"Oh," Draco said, watching Harry sit down at the scratched up table. Harry's skin looked sallow under the harsh lighting. Draco had thought they'd be in the living room — he hadn't thought — if he had known, he'd bought better lighting for the kitchen. He hadn't thought this through at all, this was a mistake, truly —

"Is everything alright?" Harry asked.

"Sure," Draco said. "Sure, let me just pop the cork—" he took out his wand — "Accio!" 

The wand flew across the room and hit Harry between the eyes. Draco watched with horror as the spot welted up and reddened an increasingly concerning shade of crimson.

"If you were trying to kill me —" Harry started, rather churlishly. 

"I wasn't!"

"— you missed. Again." Then he laughed and Accio'd the wine to himself, where he drank it straight out of the bottle.

"That's disgusting," Draco said, but he took the bottle and swigged when Harry offered it back. 

"It's lonely in LA," Harry said. He sighed, sinking into the chair. "I've been here four years and nobody knows who I am, which is great for the most part, but then there are moments when I feel — I feel like a part of me's gone missing. Like I look in the mirror and I can't remember who I used to be." He looked over at Draco. "I'm not like you." He smiled. "I change wherever I go. You haven't changed at all."

Draco tensed. "Let's not talk about —"

"The past, I know, I know," Harry said. "Say, you go to that farmer's market a lot?"

"Every week," Draco said.

"Even when it's raining?"

"It never rains here. That's the best part about LA. Sunshine every day whether you're up for it or not."

"And you like the sun?"

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Not really, no."

"You really haven't changed," Harry chuckled.

Draco frowned. "I don't know why you keep saying that."

"Saying what?"

"Saying that I haven't changed. That's — I don't like that. I've changed. I'm not Draco Malfoy anymore—"

"You've changed your name?"

"What? No. You know what I mean. I'm not the same boy who — who was a bully and a snob —"

"Still a bit of a snob. Not that I mind." He raised the bottle. "Snobs serve great wine."

"Are you even listening to me, Potter?"

Harry tipped back in his chair and grinned. "You really haven't changed a bit."

"Look here, Potter, I'm trying to apologise and —"

"Apology accepted," Harry said.

Draco blinked. "What?"

"Besides," Harry continued. "I think you've got my words all mixed up. Which, again — typical Malfoy behaviour. What I mean is you're still the same inside. You've changed your mind but not yourself. Even if you believe different things now — better things, in my opinion — you're still a posh git."

Relief spread warm across Draco's chest. "So you don't hate me?" 

"No, on the contrary. Being here's the first time I've felt at home in a long time. And you've still got that —" He blushed, looking away.

"Got what?"

" — nevermind."

"Tell me."

"No, I —" Harry's blush deepened. "It's a secret."

"I can keep a secret," Draco said. He lowered his voice. "Whisper it in my ear."

"Okay," Harry said. He leaned forward, cupping Draco's ear with his hand, his breath hot. "You've still got that cute dimple in your cheek."

Draco sat up, his hands flying to his burning cheeks. "Merlin!" he squeaked. Then he asked, maybe a little too eagerly, "Really?"

"You're so funny," Harry said. "Really."

"I've got a secret too," Draco said. 

"Whisper it to me," Harry said, offering up his ear.

"Okay," Draco said. He scooched their chairs closer, his hand on Harry's thigh as he leaned in and said, "You haven't changed either. You still drive me insane."

Harry's eyes squinted in confusion. "So does that mean—"

Draco kissed him on the nose. Then he pressed their mouths together, his hands on Harry's waist.

"I never know what you mean," Harry said, breaking away with a ragged breath. "At least, not at first."

Draco closed his eyes and breathed against Harry's neck. He thought about what Harry said, about how he'd changed his mind but not himself. Why had he spent so many years denying who he used to be? That Draco who made those mistakes was the same Draco who learned from them. One could not exist without the other. Was that so bad?

"But do you know what I mean now?" Draco asked.

"Yes," Harry said. "Do you?"

"Yes," Draco said. Harry's arms came up around Draco. Draco sighed, pulling him in closer.  And in that moment, he finally felt like himself again.

#drarry #drarry squad #fwoosh writes #drarrymicrofic #drarry microfic #not sure how micro this is anymore #consider it's 1k #but it has major micro spirit???

[fwoosheye]

If you get this, answer with 3 random facts about yourself and send it to the last 7 blogs in your notes, anonymous or not! Let's get to know the person behind the blog! ☆.｡.:* .｡.:*☆

I wear glasses 🤓😎

I am halfway done with my education to become a teacher (for elementary school, years 4-6)

One of my wip:s is a satire that's about an annoying chad stumbling across a magic lamp and wishing all pronouns disappear with very forseen consequences for anyone who knows basic grammar, and if I manage to finish it it will be released under a not-at-all-subtle pseudonym

#fwoosh answers #anon #:3 #and no i'm not gonna pass this on either for the same reasons i mentioned in the other asks #and on an unrelated side note my phone replaced released with “Tewkesbury” when i answered this #i have no idea what Tewkesbury is #is it a name? a place? #i have never seen the word why did my phone think i wanted to write that?

[divinitysheart]

People I’d Like to Know Better!

1.    𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐒  /  𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄: Eden

2.    𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘: December 16th

3.    𝐙𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐂  𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍: Sagittarius

4.    𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓: 5’4

5.    𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒: Writing, Rping, Art, Gaming,  Art n Crafts, 

6.    𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄  𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑: Any shade of blue! But I specifically like darker blues.

7.    𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄  𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊: The School For Good and Evil (probably because it’s the only book I remember reading and liking )

8.    𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓  𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆: Ribs 

9.    𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓  𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄  /  𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖: Scream 5 

10.    𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓  𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃:  My RP replies 

11.    𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: Honestly, a lot inspires me. For example, when I hear that specific song when I’m looking for the motivation to write and loop it, another example would be when I see RP threads on my dash because I take a lot of interest in the way someone writes and see if I can improve my own.

I’ve only been RPing for about 3 years as of recently now that I think about it, and I’m still growing and learning my writing style for RP and I truly appreciate everyone who’s writing with me for their patience.  ♡

12.    𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘  𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃  𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑  𝐔𝐑𝐋: To be completely honest, it was kind of just impulse to make the url  “Divinitysheart “, I was struggling with picking out a url and it came to me randomly hehe

13.   𝐅𝐔𝐍  𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓: If I’m ever writing for a crossover with a character/series I do not know much about, I do some research into the game/show/book they’re from so I can learn more about it! 

Tagged by: Stole it from the dash hehe >:3c

Tagging: Anyone who’d like to do it!  ♡

#FWOOSH ( dash games ) #✦ resting point ✦ ooc #( my writing style goes through progressive stages and has been slowly getting more to my liking lately )

[lorellaishc]

The Best Ideas

DWC Minimode July 2023, Time/Fireworks, CW: none, @daily-writing-challenge

Edmund set down the last device he'd been asked to carry, and wiped the sweat from his brow. "I'm just saying, this doesn't look particularly wise." he commented, looking at the project Lorellai was assembling.

"No no no, it's fine, trust meh, I've done th' math, this is goin' to be great, and it'll boost everyone's spirits!" Lorellai declared, pulling down her tinted goggles and carefully applying her micro-adjuster. "And we've got a certified fireworks operator on site who agrees!"

Cay waved, and then went back to busying themselves with the smaller attachments.

Edmund huffed. "I just get nervous when you've got a single rocket of this size," he said, motioning towards the monstrous amalgamation of fireworks in a single assemblage, "and then up on that ridge, there's them bronze dragons poppin' out of portals to watch. They know somethin's going to happen, lass, and they're a ways beyond yer calculated safe distance." Edmund narrowed his eyes and peered on the ridge, where more and more bronze dragon portals were popping up. Two dozen dragon visages were up there now, wearing dark glasses. He was pretty sure he saw Chromie and Soridormi both look right back at him, and give him a thumbs up, their expressions hidden behind the shades. Edmund sighed.

"That's just pre-explosion anxiety, meh dad said it's pretty common among th' uninitiated, dunnae worry! Come on, let's get over to th' launch bunker."

"It's two boulders you ran the cable out to, and Stroganoff who got comfy next to them." Edmund said dryly.

"And it'll be fine!" Lorellai smiled, fairly skipping along, followed by Edmund and Caythaes to crouch behind the boulders and the unbothered hornswog. Lorellai grabbed the megaphone, and her voice blared out. "READY TO LAUNCH! CLEAR THE LAUNCH ZONE! CLEAR THE LAUNCH ZONE!" Edmund snapped the goggles she handed him over his head, adjusting them as best he could to fit in the limited time. The grin on her face as she lifted the plunger in the launcher did not fill him with confidence.

"FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE! IGNITION!" she shouted, as she pushed the plunger down, and everything became light, noise, and fire.

Several moments later, the ringing in Edmund's ears died down, and he gingerly pushed the goggles up from his eyes. The landscape was scorched around them, save the space behind the boulders which had protected them from the back-blast. Lorellai and Caythaes were both flat on their backs, giggling, and Stroganoff turned to look at them, revealing that the side of him that had faced the blast was covered in soot. Good thing he's lava proof, Edmund thought, as a pair of bronze portals opened, granting passage to Chromie and Soridormi.

"Wow, what a show! First it went FWOOSH and then it went BOOM and then it was all Crackle crackle crackle and then the big BOOOOOM!" Chromie declared, her grin matching Lorellai and Cay's.

"Indeed, it was an impressive display, and a successful mission. The timeline is safe once again." Soridormi declared, unable to keep a smile from her normally stoic face.

"Wait, what's this about the timeline?"

Chromie patted him on the knee. "Believe me, the timeline where you never know what you three averted is a happier one for you than the ones where you find out. Thanks for the show everyone!"

Lorellai and Cay both gave a thumbs up as the bronzes left, leaving Edmund blinking in confusion. This was definitely a day that was going to end in whiskey.

#drogar writes #daily writing challenge #This was a fun one #Edmund's a great straight man to the wackiness of the meddlers

[betterthanyalls]

AN- 12-10-2023 I made this sooo many months ago i forgot now but I was scrolling through my tumblr posts lost to history, I audibly gasped when I saw this. I hate and love myself for writing this.

Chugga Chug

Train!Bendy x Plane!Reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“CHOO CHOO!” Bendy screamed as he was rushing down the tracks, he sped up even more. A child was playing on the railway and didn't notice Bendy nearing. Then a loud splat was heard, the child was run over by Bendy. He felt happy now, his kill count reaching 27. Bendy continued on his tracks, blood coating the front of his locomotive. Above him was y/n. She was a majestic plane that soared through the skies. Y/n zoomed through the skies as a passenger plane. At the moment she was carrying 53 passengers from New York City to London. Y/n flew smoothly then remembered she was flying people to Great Britain. She hated Great Britain after her last 7 husbands were british. Anger built up inside her as she decided that nobody was going to get to London on her flight. She started flying higher and higher, making all the passengers lose oxygen. She started doing loop-d-loops until everybody on her flight was dead from the great forces. She then started darting to the ground until she saw a locomotive with blood on its front. “Fwoosh foosh(Hello there!)” Y/n greeted the train. “Choo Choo(Hi toots, I’m Bendy)” Bendy replied back. “Woosh(I’m Y/n!)” Y/n spoke back. They conversed slightly until they got to the topic of deaths. “Chuga Chug(I killed 27 people so far)” Bendy bragged. “Woosh Woop(Only 27? Im at 53!)” Y/n retorted. “Chugga Choo(That’s really hot)” Bendy spoke while flabbergasted. “Fwoosh Fwoop(Have you seen yourself?)” Y/n winked. Then before Bendy could compliment her back, a car drove straight into Bendy. It resulted in Bendy being derailed with the car screaming “BEEP BEEP(STAY AWAY FROM MY FUTURE SENPAI)!” The car screamed at Bendy. Bendy tipped over and screamed in pain. The car stopped to address Y/n “Beep Honk!(Hello there y/n-san! I am Cuphead)!” Cuphead told Y/n. Y/n glared at Cuphead after he hurt her new hubby, she then nose dived at the car. Cuphead screamed in pain as he was crushed by baddie Y/n. Y/n then helped Bendy up and said “Fwoosh Whoosh(I love you Bendy, let's get married)!” Bendy was surprised but loved the idea “Choo Choo!(Yes let's do it!)” Y/n then asked one more thing “Woosh?(Are you british?)”. “Chug(Yes I am!)” Bendy responded to her. Y/n did a double take and then shot off to the sky. She wasn't going to marry another british guy.

The End!

#bendy x reader #x reader #crack fic #batim x reader