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tommysm0ondust · 3 months

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wrote a fanfic guys!! well, the first chapter of it.

it's a teen wolf time travel fic starring my fav duo (and ship) Stiles and Derek!!!

I can't rly find any time travel fics in the fandom that I like so I just wrote my own💥💥💥

hope ppl like it‼️‼️‼️‼️

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53780710

teehee

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skeebidybopbop · 1 year

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Summary:

There was a cacophony of groans and grumbles coming from the pile, until another turtle, this one donning a deep red bandana across his eyes stood up and pointed some sais at the wall. He looked at where he was pointing them, then glanced around the room, a brief look of shock passing his face before he reoriented himself.

“Give me back my brother,” he growled in a low tone, now facing Raph. ___________________________________

So I made a tmnt fic. It is rise and 2012 centric, and there is no bashing of either! It is very silly and probably won’t be updated very fast (`^`’)>

#rottmnt #tmnt fic #tmnt 2012 #rottmnt fic #I needed more silly goofy crossovers #so i took the matter into my own hands #this is only my second fic ever #so constructive critisism is appreciated!#tmnt crossover #rise x 2012

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tanoraqui · 1 year

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(AO3)

There are no books banned from the Great Library of Tirion. There are, however, books which are generally agreed to be dangerous to read. There is a section for them, officially called “Unadvised” and informally called “Cursed Knowledge”, “Shelves of Spiders”, and “the Things The Valar Don’t Want You To Know section.”

There are no spiders in it, Dark or natural; the library staff are careful of that. There are many tomes, scrolls, and other writings which are literally cursed.

There is a slim, perfectly natural volume bound in pale grey leather like any other publication from the Metaphysical Studies department of Tirion University. It is notable only in its contents, described by its title:

The Craft of Necromancy

A study of the manipulation of fëa in life, death, the terrible neither and the tormenting both.

A note from the single author on the fourth page, after the title page and publication information, reads,

On sources and citations in this volume:

This is, I must confess, an unusual study. For one thing, while I wrote it for classic philosophical principle, that knowledge closely held ought be shared instead, I also wrote it for the relief of that sharing, as advised by acquaintances wise and well-versed in healing. To my loving advisors: I was perfectly fine before, but I do feel even better now. I’m glad you’re satisfied.

I do not believe this affects the rigor of the discussion herein. I only share it because context is always part of knowledge that ought be shared, to maximize understanding.

More relevant to the question of academic rigor is: where possible, I have included standard citations of other works on the topic, academic, biographical, and other. However, most of my knowledge on this topic was gained firsthand, either through personal experience, tutelage, or both (demonstrations upon my person, patiently explained before, during and after), and I can provide no verification save my own memory and the reputation of my primary tutor.

My memory has been confirmed to be clear by nurses of the Gardens of Lórien. My tutor has been known by many names, among them, Gorthaur, Lieutenant of Angband and Lord (and creator) of Werewolves; the Necromancer of Dol Guldur; the Lidless Eye; and Sauron the Deceiver.

Despite the last, I have perfect confidence that he was not lying to me anymore by the end. He enjoyed showing off too much for that.

With that in mind, I hope you will forgive my academic negligence in referring to him henceforth only as “a source.” It is a matter of not humoring his ego, even after his dissolution.

All that said, I have endeavored throughout this study to clearly distinguish not only between fact and theory, but between facts which I can verify through personal experience (eg, the trapping of a fëa within its hröa past the reasonable point of death), facts which were expounded upon to me at length but which I cannot confirm beyond my certainty of the source’s genuinity in his intentions to taunt and/or tempt me (eg, the warping of a fëa to suit a hroä other than that its natural own), and facts which were told to me, or to others of my association, in contexts of deception but which were later re-examined for truth (eg, on the binding of one fëa [or ëala] to another). As with any work, readers are encouraged to take the knowledge enclosed herein and make their own interpretations—though I do NOT advise practical experimentation with these matters.

This study should be taken as my final word on the matters therein. While I usually applaud curiosity and thoroughness in investigation, do not seek me out with questions.

Additionally: in light of the sober and sometimes disturbing contents of this study, I have been advised by my editor to reassure the reader (somewhat redundantly, I would argue) that I did, in fact, escape the captivity of my primary source, and I am thoroughly and happily recovered from the various torments, betrayals, etc. inflicted upon my person. My source (and tutor, creative collaborator, friend…) is confirmed to be, at the time of this publication, reduced to a scrap of a shadow soon to fade utterly from the world that is, thanks in large parts to the efforts of others. For accounts of those heroes, I recommend “The War of the Ring: A Hobbit’s Very Extended Journey There and Back Again”, B. Baggins, F. Baggins; “Nine-Fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom”, trans. B. Baggins; and “Garden Plants of the Western Shire”, S. Gamgee.

I recommend the last particular for aspiring gardeners. My floral and herbal window-boxes are all flourishing with the advice of Mr. Gamgee.

Yours in scholarship,

Celebrimbor Curufinwë

The volume is about 100 pages, mostly text with a handful of illustrative drawings scattered among the chapters. In the space in the back pages reserved for commentary from early readers, there is only one comment:

Concerningly accurate throughout.

– Aulë

#the silmarillion #second age shenaniganry #aman ever after #celebrimbor #for emotional presence I should also tag #annatar #sauron #my fic #ficlet #I JUST THINK CELEBRIMBOR SHOULD GET SOMETHING FROM THAT WHOLE EXPERIENCE #AND WHAT HE SHOULD GET IS FURTHER ENHANCEMENT OF HIS ABILITY TO BE A SUPERVILLAIN #NOW VIA EXTENSIVE (UNPRACTICED) KNOWLEDGE OF HOW TO DO NECROMANCY #listen look me in the eye and tell me half the torture wasn’t just the ongoing villain monologue #that was half parody of the teaching and intimacy they’d once had #and half promise that they could have it again if only Celebrimbor stopped being so UNREASONABLY stubborn

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kingbob2-0 · 5 months

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finally updated my fic, “on little cat feet”, after five million years of trying to write, and I figured I’d link it here

if anyone would like a story about Desmond miles getting turned into a cat and ending up in Seattle during the events of infamous:second son, check it out here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40643007/chapters/101831541

#It Will eventually end up as DesDel #So if ur not into that #Here’s your heads up #Hopefully the link works #I’m not good with technology #It won’t be the best written fic ever #But it’s one of my first #And u only get better with practice #Desmond miles #delsin rowe #infamous second son #assassin's creed

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inquisitor-apologist · 1 year

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Reason 552 Barriss should’ve been (Fulcrum) in Rebels: how much harder the Luminara episode would’ve hit if she’d been there.

Barriss had never expected to see her master alive again. She'd lived with her death for a decade and a half; Barriss had felt the Purge, and so few had survived. But she'd never been sure, and the scant hope she'd kept alive for so long had desperately wanted to believe that Trayvis's info was good, that Luminara lived, that she could find her master again. And she had. Imprisoned in a cryogenic coffin, fifteen years gone and dead, her once-master. Luminara Unduli, Knight of the Jedi Order, General of the 71st Elite Corps, Master to a traitor and heretic. Dead, just like the Republic she'd defended.

They'd put her in a force-damned sarcophagus and used her bones as a beacon, tempting survivors to their deaths. Barriss wanted to cry, to scream, to be sick. It wasn't right. Jedi burned their dead. Barriss should--what? What should she do? What could she do? There was no fuel for a pyre, no Masters to preside, no one left to mourn. No one but Barriss, and Barriss was a traitor. She could not give her a proper funeral. Luminara was dead, and still, Barriss failed her. That was all she could ever do, it seemed.

She rested her head against the cold transparisteel of the casket. It was all so wrong. She remembered her last conversation with her master in a cold, featureless visitation room of Coruscant High-Security Republic Penitentiary. Luminara had told her that the Jedi had managed to get her execution date permanently postponed, and Barriss had cried. She'd told her she was being deployed to Kashyyyk, and Barriss had cried. She'd told Barriss goodbye, and Barriss had cried. She'd done that a lot back then. It seemed she was getting back into the habit.

Tears froze on the cold surface of the coffin.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, but what she meant was, could I have saved you? If I'd been there, if I'd never Fallen, if I was still your student, would you be safe? Could I have taken the blaster bolts for you, let you get away? Is there a world where our places are inverted? "I'm so sorry, Master. I don't... I can't..."

She remembered Luminara’s smile. Her gentle, firm presence warm and welcoming even when Barriss had been at her lowest, screaming her hatred from behind cell walls. “It does not matter what you have done, Padawan,” Luminara had told her when she had finally seen the truth of the Temple bombing, sobbing on the floor of her cell. “All that matters is you see the light, change your ways and make amends. It does not even matter if you fail along the way. The dark road is treacherous and difficult to climb out of. What is important is that you try.”

Barriss Offee was not a Jedi. The Temple was destroyed, the Council murdered, the Code abandoned. She could never call herself Jedi again and know that it was truth. That did not matter, not now. What mattered was that her Master was depending on her one last time. She could not hold a proper funeral, but that didn't matter either. She would try.

She stepped back from Luminara's coffin.

She ignited her lightsabers, one white, one blue.

She slashed through the transparisteel, careful not to let the blades touch her Master.

Cold white steam materialized as freezing, fifteen-year-old air leaked out.

Luminara's corpse fell forward, into the gouged transparisteel, with a small thump.

Jedi funerals were short, simple affairs. The body was ritually cleaned, then laid out on a stone slab. Any who wished to pay their respects could come to mourn. The ceremony was held exactly three days after death and lasted perhaps fifteen minutes. Afterward, their lineage would hold a small party, remembering the fallen's life and celebrating their memory. The dead were free, released to the total harmony of the Force. There was no need for extended grief periods or complex rites. A life was to be remembered, missed, honored, not held on to.

Barriss breathed out, composing herself.

There had been so many funerals in the war; Barriss knew precisely what to say and do. Her lips moved, almost on their own.

“There is no emotion, there is peace.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

There is no passion, there is serenity.

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

There is no death, there is the Force.”

She cried, and a small, blue flame ignited in her palm. She continued.

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me. You are one with the Force, as all things shall be. May you find justice; May you find peace. May the Force be with you.”

Her body shook with uncontrollable sobs. The flame in her hand grew larger and brighter. She cried as she pressed her hand against her Master’s cold, dead corpse and watched the fire take hold. The Force Fire left no smoke; it ate through Luminara’s body, dropping her ashes on the cell floor.

Luminara was free. It was too much. Barriss collapsed to the floor and wept.

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wellhalesbells · 4 months

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for the wip tag game, i have questions and they are all about what Big Damn Neutrals could possibly be

Hahahaha. Okay, well, definitely it is a placeholder title and if you thought that sounds like Zoe's "Big Damn Heroes" quote from Firefly, you are correct.

I didn't come up with that until way, way later in the fic's progression because I had no idea that was going to end up being my answer until I got to it.

This is essentially a murder mystery fic. A complete AU where Derek and Laura never left New York and, instead, Stiles left Beacon Hills (and you can imagine what it would take for Stiles to have no ties to Beacon Hills, yeah?) and became their emissary. Derek is still his season one prickly, closed off self and so it's Stiles and Laura who bond and become friends, become family, and Derek who orbits that relationship. Then Laura is killed and Derek and Stiles have to investigate her death together, despite only really having animosity between them. Stiles because Derek never even tried to get to know him and Derek because Stiles took his sister away from him.

It's very slow going with this one because the atmosphere is so specific and it's not often I can get into the right headspace for it but, when I can, it's one of my absolute favorite things to work on! I love how adversarial and full of tension Stiles and Derek's relationship is in this one - right up my dang alley!

Snippet:

Derek slips off his mattress, lands on the floor with barely a sound. Would’ve been none if he’d taken off his boots.

Hands are already wrapped around his biceps like a vice grip before he can even straighten up, his space encroached upon faster than should’ve been possible. Fingers dig in harder and there would be bruises left behind if there could be.

“You don’t get to die,” Stiles hisses.

“I’m not planning to,” Derek snarls back, angry for no other reason than that it’s right there, at the ready. It always is, has been.

“She wasn’t either,” twists out of Stiles’ mouth, even though they don’t know that.

That could’ve been Laura’s plan for all Derek can guess. His big sister, always an enigma, smarter than him, faster than him, first to everything.

Even death.

The silence is rent by a sudden sound like stripping wood. His head jerks, neck cricking, to find the comforter from his bed being tugged through a too-small opening in the slatted railing along the side. Yanking down, pulling, like an invisible sailor hoisting up a net, tickling the hair on his arm, slithering to wrap around his wrist, bind him there. He snaps his head back and now all he can see are Stiles’ eyes, bright and glowing like the moon outside the grime-encrusted window. He fights off a cringe. “Stop. Now.”

The comforter goes limp instantly, puddles innocuously at his feet. Stiles’ eyes are dark and unknowable, his worried face shadowed once again. He pulls in a shaky breath, loosens his grip on Derek but doesn’t let go. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to fuck off without telling me anything, wondering if — if — fuck you for thinking I’d let that happen. Next time I won’t sit here like some patiently waiting fifties’ housewife. Next time I’ll rip this city apart, find you, and drop you off the first forty-storey I find. Fuck you,” he reiterates harshly.

“Fine,” Derek says, less because he means it and more because he wants Stiles to shut up about it.

In truth, they barely know each other and clash more than peacefully coexist. Stiles has been with them — with him, just him now — for five years but he had always been closer to Laura. An employee to Derek, family to Laura. He’s younger than Derek, more bullheaded, more alive than Derek’s been in years and maybe that’s why they never really mattered to each other. For Stiles to pretend that anything else is true now… well.

Derek knows it’s because he’s just lost everything he had. An orphan, with one friend who had up and disappeared on him years ago, when they found him. Then Laura became everything he’d been missing. And it’d seemed the same for Laura. Stiles didn’t have anything but Derek left now. That didn’t mean Derek mattered though; it just meant he was the last one standing.

Just like it didn’t mean that Stiles mattered to Derek either and Derek had thought, more than once, since Laura died: Good, now he can leave.

And then had to fight against the ensuing panic that thought inspired.

He understood it, even if he didn’t agree with his own reaction to it. They were each other’s people by default, by a shared love for the very dead, very gone Laura Hale, and when you had nothing else, that became a thing worth clinging to.

Pack. Or as close to it as they would ever get.

“Get into bed,” Derek snarls.

Stiles sighs and rubs a hand over his face. He sidesteps Derek, drags the comforter along the floor without care, and Derek hears the whump of his flattened pillow joining it on the floor. Stiles tosses both over the stripped bed, says to preempt whatever argument Derek might have, “I don’t do top bunk.”

Derek heaves out his own sigh, stripping off his jacket and knocking off his boots. He sheds the socks too and gets into bed with Stiles.

They haven’t done this since the night they found her body. It hadn’t been a decision then. They’d been too broken to think, too broken to do anything other than shake and blink, tears silently streaming down faces and Derek had sat on her bed for a half-second before tearing it to pieces, shredding it, the bedding mounted up and destroyed and across the room in a fit of destruction and Stiles had flipped the mattress, long gashes rent down the center of it, pulled him down onto it and wrapped his arms around him, holding him as less of a comfort and more of a restriction, to stop him from destroying anything else.

Stiles doesn’t touch him tonight. He rolls towards the wall, back to Derek while Derek scratches at the ridge of his eyebrow with his ragged thumbnail, flaking blood under what little is left of it, staring up at the dark bottom of the bunk above him, wide awake.

•

He opens his eyes to sharp sunlight, rays that’ve had time to hone themselves, coalesce, and start stabbing at strategic places in the apartment. Like the backs of Derek’s eyelids. The comforter around him is rumpled up, bunched in places from a restless sleeper. Which he isn’t. He frowns before it comes back to him.

Laura’s bed.

Stiles.

He’d woken up earlier in the pitch black with Stiles’ forehead pressed into the valley between his shoulder blades, breath a warm and reliable puff through his thin t-shirt, his hand clenched on the hill of Derek’s bicep, snagging him, pulling him back against him.

Derek hadn’t brushed him off. Though it had given him a moment’s pause, strange without the swell of breasts between them, fingers digging and pulling him close to an unmistakably masculine chest. But only a moment’s; he’d been asleep again minutes later.

Wip list is here!

#thanks for the q kel!#i love this one i just have to be in the exact right headspace AND remember it exists and that does not happen often lol #sterek #teen wolf #and yes i added in that second bit - the after the break bit - because this is the only part #of this fic i've ever posted her eon my tumblr so MAYBE SOMEONE REMEMBERS IT????#!ask #wips #my writing

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heftmanrhamm · 6 months

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Heeeeyyyyyyyyy @brezideje :) !!!! Thank you for tagging me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :D <3 <3 💖<3

hardcover or paperback // bookstore or library // bookmark or receipt // stand alone or series // nonfiction or fiction // thriller or fantasy // under 300 pages or over 300 pages or the exact number of pages needed and no more or less // children's or ya // friends to lovers or enemies to lovers // read in bed or read on the couch or anywhere // read at night or in the morning or anytime // keep pristine or markup // cracked spine or dog ear

Tagging: (this is like, if you're wanting to do it. No pressure. Apologies if you've already been tagged or something :) ) @miniaturestarlightdelight @five-potatoes-high @iiep-wop @streetjack

#there's a lot that I would choose multiple for #like there's no real preference for hard or soft cover books but if it's a large non-fic or picture book then I like it hard #if novel I prefer soft because it's harder to turn the pages at times #same goes for the bookshop library thing #though I've not checked out a book from the library in ages #only ever used the receipt as a bookmark... gives the book some history when I look at it again in the future #also had a thing where I hated damaging my books #like no breaking the spine or no slightly bending a page #got bit sad when I see my books bend open (or something) at some random page #but recently I buy second hand books to read and they're filled with bends and dog ears and little random notes #if I own the book I now bend open the pages and mark where I've been with a corner fold #I like looking at the past readers reading history and when I read my book again it'll show where I read up to and all that cool stuff #gives the books some personality and history #however I only do that with soft books #never doing that for a hard cover #am evil lol #maybe there is a preference to the hard and soft covers #lmaaaooo

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coquelicoq · 2 months

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raksura for the ask meme?

YAY

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most) moon was designed in a lab to appeal to me personally, so. it's about the trust issues!

scrunkly (my "baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped) the sky copper clutch!! traumatized children imprinting on a guy with baby fever is usually what i go to fanfic for so to have it right there in canon? incredible. i love all of frost's little tantrums and idk, just the way that she claims moon as her family in a way that has nothing to do with court politics? she's like, we're your clutch, obviously. and this is our court because it's your court, and all the other jabronis who live here are on thin ice. she's ready to throw down with moon's wife/the government at all hours of the day and she's like six years old. i love that moon has that energy in his life even though he personally is pretty confused and exhausted by it lol.

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave) it's hard out here for an ember stan because he is in so few scenes relative to the space he occupies in my psyche! i need 5000% more interactions between him and moon. him and stone. him and shade. him and river. him and the teachers. him and the clutches. him and jade and balm and chime. oh my god him and malachite? him and celadon? him and delin??

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week) niran. i'm always up for a "longsuffering ship captain resigns himself to another restless night of hearing gigantic shapeshifters with incredible stamina fuck nasty on the roof of his cabin" moment. technically i have never been in that exact situation, but i feel like i can relate.

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave) river who is CLASSIC poor little meow meow territory like yes his whole personality is being a grade A asshole and sure he tries to kill my blorbo a few times, but once you get to know him he's so sad and pathetic that i'm kind of like okay where can i sign up to defend him from the largely factual aspersions of his dozens of quite frankly justified haters? he'd hate that. the good shit 👌

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason) stone. every time he crankily says "why did i ever reproduce" upon finding himself entangled in yet another ridiculous clusterfuck thanks to one of his hundreds of idiot great-great-great-great-great grandchildren, an angel gets its wings. he's depressed and antisocial but he can't totally check out because he has to mediate relationship issues between his dumbass relatives. love that for him.

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell) malachite but specifically because malachite would not be scared of superhell. she'd skulk around being invisible, maybe fuck some shit up if she felt like it, and leave when she got bored. she probably makes it like. opal night's sister city or something. and nobody in the court is at all phased. yeah that's our reigning queen who recently got back from vacation in superhell. she does that. she says it's relaxing.

#yooo thank you for asking for this one!! i had already started thinking about it because river is like. plmms of all time for me #he's the platonic ideal of a plmm in my book #books of the raksura #asks #anon #every few months i check the ember ao3 tag to see if there are any new fics and there hardly ever are. but i live in hope #the moon-ember diplomatic attache tag team would be off the chain. it's all i would ever think about #ember was raised to be an imperial consort in a harem drama and he gets there and the empress is just like.#a deadly grizzly bear with no table manners who loves children and can't read and gets his feelings hurt really easily #moon tells him a bedtime story the second time they meet and ember is like #wow i love you. i'd die for you. if you'll be my bodyguard i can be your long-lost anger translator #a match made in heaven 🥰#meanwhile moon is picking up on none of this and is like. well i guess nobody's going to want me anymore now that they have #a REAL consort. he even knows how to pour tea. bastard. but i have to look out for him because he's so young and innocent. dammit #but if anyone actually needs to be looked out for in the cutthroat world of court politics it's moon. and ember is the one who can do that #i love the idea of indigo cloud needing moon to fulfill some diplomatic function and everyone knowing that the only way #to get him to agree is to send ember to point his big sad eyes at him #ember likes to hang out in moon's bower just dressing him up like a doll. moon submits to this with resigned forbearance #if anyone else tries it he bites off their entire head

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storybook-souls · 4 months

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total wordcount for the year is 122,758. kind of based.

#that's 53.1k on ao3 (more than any other year)#14.7k on the second draft of my werewolf novel #and 54.8k on my nanowrimo project #and so it doesn't even count words written in outlines or the handful of unfinished fics i worked on this year #and certainly doesn't count words written and then edited out #or words written in notes documents for the last arcs of the two ttrpg games i finished gming this year #this is definitely either the most or second most fiction words for me in recent memory and probably ever #the only year i THINK might beat it is 2019 where i finished my thesis and published a ton of fic and wrote a dnd one-shot #but even that's probably close

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neon-academia · 10 months

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today someone saved Snakes and Lattes to a reading list entitled “F*ckers who will never update :)”

and that was it.

that was the spite fuel i needed to open up the neglected word doc.

#that and the stray readers who recently discovered the fic and liked/commented enthusiastically on every chapter #i hit a wall but i think maybe i can just walk around it?#it was a mix of very lowkey winter blues (winter in my side of the world)#and a mean comment someone made somewhere online about the story being a confusing slog #which honestly is fair #there's a lot of little details you need to remember for it to make sense #and if i'm only updating once in a blue moon #then it for sure can become a confusing slog #anyway #isn't it quite powerful how one negative comment can sort of keep you from soaking up every good comment you've ever received?#it only lasted a while but that was quite a potent anti-motivation spell!#anyway anyway #i think i'm back #i'm suddenly sitting up in bed at 3am writing down ideas for fic/fanart again so that feels like being back #hope you're all keeping well #if you made it this far and you can be bothered please comment your favourite tea flavour #mine is toffee oolong milktea #i used to order it every week from gong cha until it was discontinued </3 #harney and sons hot cinnamon sunset!!#that's a close second :)#........#the irony of this tag section being another Confusing Slog is not lost on me #snakes and lattes fic #cinnamon irl

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novelconcepts · 4 months

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i don't make resolutions, but if i did

it would be to finish this fic

(and to be kind to myself for however long it takes to actually do so)

#i'm finishing it if it kills me #i know i've been writing this makeout scene for 3 weeks but baby that can't last forever #if we want to get deep and dark and serious for a second i do think a lot of my struggles to write lately have to do with engagement #and how incredibly low engagement has been on the last few things i've written #which like. is what it is. i'm not entitled to anybody's time or comments or kudos.#but when you write stuff you're proud of and it feels like it's barely getting read it's hard to keep momentum.#this isn't intended as a woe is me or whatever it's just kind of like. there. hovering.#happens enough times you start to wonder if it's you. am i just writing for the wrong fandom/ship?#(too bad if so. they're in my bones i'm writing for them and no one can stop me.)#but yeah. if you ever wonder if authors do care or notice about hits. comments. kudos. buddy i am here to tell you #not only do we care and FLOURISH we also notice when those things drop off and readers vanish #and it is a giant bummer. and sometimes makes us wildly paranoid about why that might have happened.#so if you liked a fic today--not even one of mine. just. anybody's. share it. comment on it.#kudos at the VERY least (cuz frankly kudos is there to be an 'i got to the end and this was nice' feature.#so when you get 500 hits and only like 30 kudos? it feels like 470 of those people hated your work)#anyway. that got out of hand. lil' too raw lil' too honest. happens when you let yourself ramble at 11:30 instead of sleeping #to sum: let your local fic writer know if they've made you happy #and as we go into 2024 i am swearing to myself that this fic (and probably several others) are getting finished #come hell. high water. or dishearteningly low engagement numbers.#(and then maybe we...actually work on something original. cuz why not. new year same old me but i'll do my best.)

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phantasmagoric-acquaintance · 1 year

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@taznovembercelebration - holding hands / pushing away

After the swarm of managers and PR experts and hair-and-makeup people that has surrounded Lup for the past hour finally dissipates, Taako pulls up a chair next to her and reaches for her hand.

She takes a break from eyeballing herself in the mirror to give her brother a small, nervous smile. “I’m kinda scared, T,” she tells him, as though he hadn’t figured that out an hour ago.

“You got it,” he assures her. “It’s just a little chat. Fifteen minutes, tops. You’re a great talker and already know what you’re gonna say. Worst that’ll happen, you stumble over your words a little. So what, who gives a damn? You got it.”

Lup doesn’t say anything in response, just squeezes her brother’s hand.

They held hands when they were scared. They always had, ever since they were small. It was always easier to face frustrated directors or daunting public appearances together. It had always seemed to them that no one else understood how overwhelming this line of work could be for a couple of small children.

Days like today, the bright lights and the mic tests and the frenzy of various professionals fussing over hair, makeup, clothes, tone of voice, enunciation… none of it was new to Lup, to either of them. But they hadn’t done a talk show appearance in a long while— not since before Lup’s transition, more specifically. And she’d never done one without Taako.

She’ll be asked some big questions, they know. And it’s fine. She’s prepared with big answers. From the moment she came out, the PR people have been drafting plans to make her transition into some feel-good interest piece for the public to coo about. Taako thinks it’s too big of a burden for a teenager to bear. Be a role model, never say anything negative without some positive takeaway to balance it out. It’s too much responsibility for a kid, he thinks. Why can’t they just let her be a kid?

Taako, for his part, has no interest in being an inspiration to others. If this many people were following him around lecturing him on how to present his orientation in a way that the public finds palatable, he would hurl, or explode, or hit someone, or all three. Lup is infinitely more patient than he.

His stream of consciousness is interrupted when some backstage crew member pokes her head into the room. “Lup? We’re just about ready for you, dear.”

She nods and slides out of her chair. Noticing the pallor in her face, he stands and hugs her gently around her shoulders, careful not to screw up her perfectly pressed outfit. “You got it,” he repeats. “I’m gonna go out there and watch on the monitors, so I’ll be right there. But you’re gonna kill it”

“’Kay. I’m gonna kill it. Thanks, ‘Ko.” She gets on her tiptoes and presses a gentle peck to the top of his head, getting sticky lip gloss in his hair.

“Yuck. That’s enough.” He shrugs away from her. “Gross.”

She smiles. “See ya soon,” she promises, and jogs after the crew member.

As he watches her hurry off, Taako thinks to himself that Lup might just be the strongest person he knows.

---

Lucretia rushes after Taako as he storms off the sound stage. “The fuck was that?”

“I dunno, what the fuck was it?” he retaliates, without turning around to face his manager. “Because to me, it sounded like a whole lotta real personal fuckin’ questions that I ain’t gonna answer.”

“Perhaps it was, and I had made it perfectly clear beforehand that such questions must not be asked, and I will be having more than a few words with the show about it.” She’s trying her best to keep up with Taako, but she can’t quite match his long-legged stride, and he can hear her breathlessness when she speaks. “But honestly, Taako, what can you expect when you can’t even be bothered to show up for the pre-interview?”

Fury, already bubbling dangerously close to Taako’s surface, starts to flood his conscious thought. “’Kay, that’s fine. Blame it all on Taako. Hear that, world? It’s all Taako’s fault.” Through whatever sliver of rationality remains in his mind, Taako’s aware he sounds like a madman. But in the moment, all he sees is white-hot rage, too blinding for him to care how embarrassed he might feel in an hour or so.

Then Lup steps into his path, and he’s forced to slow his roll before he collides into her. He makes a frustrated “Graaah!” as he tries to maneuver around her, but she grabs his arm.

“What has gotten into you?” She’s making those awful sad eyes at him again. Lately, it feels like that’s the only way she looks at him anymore.

He can’t fucking stand it. Her… pity. It makes him squirm. “Nothing. God. Move, lemme go.”

“I won’t! Please, don’t do this, Koko. Don’t stomp off. Talk to me, let me help you. I miss you.”

It feels like it happens in slow motion, him pushing her away. Really, it’s like his mind and body are separate entities. He should stay, he knows. He should talk to his sister. She’s the only one who has always had his back. It’s not her fault he grew into the person he did, not her fault they’ve never known a moment of privacy. The media vultures, they’ve torn into her, too.

But the rage, the rage overwrites all else. And the way she looks at him like she doesn’t know him anymore, the childish nickname, the fact that somehow she turned out so much better than he did, the implication that he needs help, that there’s something wrong with him, as if he didn’t already fucking know that… it infuriates him.

It’s not a hard push, just enough to free his arm and clear a path. He wouldn’t physically hurt her, couldn’t, couldn’t live with himself.

But the emotional damage is clear. Already, tears are forming in the bottom of her wide, horrified eyes.

It’s not too late, not yet. He could apologize. They could talk. She could hold his hand, the way they used to do when they were little, and maybe she could make it better.

“I don’t need your goddamn help. Stay outta my way,” he says instead, and books it toward the building’s exit, into the cold of the night, away from his sister’s sad eyes, in search of some place where the consequences of his actions can’t reach him

They’re too old for handholding now, anyway.

#the adventure zone #taz #taz balance #taznc #taako #lup #whee this is only the second celeb twins au fic ive ever posted (ive written more) but this is actually my most vast and beloved au #i have a separate character playlist for this version of taako specifically #psst pair this with werewolf gimmick by tmg. ive had the idea for the second scene ever since i first listened to that song #even though the song is about wrestling. vibes is the same

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ghosts-and-blue-sweaters · 7 months

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Tommy was very small, then.

Ghostbur had never seen a person so small. He was confused. He didn’t know what it meant. He was a little bit scared. Why did he have a brother?

He doesn't remember the exact moment when it changed; all he remembers is that, while sitting on the not-painful chair, in the room with the not-as-bright lights, holding a baby wrapped in a blanket, Ghostbur decided that he loved Tommy, and that he would love Tommy until the world ended and even after that, and that he wanted to kiss Tommy on the head. So he did.

He’d never held a person so small before.

“Hello,” He’d said, but quietly, so that Tommy’s small ears wouldn’t hurt. “I’m Ghostbur. You are Tommy, and you are loved.”

And then he’d said all those words again, because he liked them; he liked the way they sounded, and he liked what they meant. Hello, I’m Ghostbur. You are Tommy, and you are loved. Hello. You are loved.

He said the words so many times that the nurse asked if he was okay. Ghostbur looked up at her and said, “Tommy is loved!”.

It was a bit of a strange thing to say, especially to someone he’d never met before.

But the words were true, so why shouldn’t he say them? He wanted to say them a hundred times. Maybe he did.

That was the day Ghostbur first held Tommy. It was a bad day. It ended good. It was a happy ending.

Tommy was loved.

Ghostbur blinks, and he remembers that he’s not back then anymore; he’s not seven, and Tommy isn’t the smallest person. He’s not in a hospital, and his mother isn’t asleep on a bed.

He is twenty-four. Tommy is not small. He’s on the couch, and Tommy is asleep next to him, with his head resting on Ghostbur’s lap. Tommy’s face is painted black and red and white. He is still loved.

Ghostbur doesn't think that he was loved when his face was painted black and red. Those people didn’t love him.

That makes Ghostbur want to cry, but he doesn’t cry. Tommy is loved now, and he’s sleeping, and he was very brave.

~~~

“I’ll be fine, Ghostbur,” Sam assures, and Tommy risks a glance behind him, watching the warden stand faithfully near a lever. Sam always acts different, when he’s in the prison.

~~~

Ghostbur swallows, turning to Dream. "It's a pretty big storm. Is-isn't it, Dream?"

Dream's mask glistens with a constant run of raindrops. They slide off of the bottom and drip down to his boots. Drip, drip, drip.

"It is."

~~~

“I can’t see,” Ghostbur says, voice muffled by wool.

~~~

Ghostbur briefly squeezes his eyes shut, turning his head away. “That sounds bad.”

“It sounds bad because it is bad. You know that, right?”

Ghostbur bites his lip, grabbing a blanket between his hands and pulling it tight.

Wilbur’s eyes soften, and he reaches over to tap Ghostbur on the knee.

Ghostbur stares at the spot like it’s a monster. Or perhaps a miracle.

“It’s alright,” Wilbur says gently, even though it’s not. “It’s okay. You can… you can talk to me. It’s better than keeping everything up there.”

He points at Ghostbur’s head, and Ghostbur reaches up a hand to touch at his hair, eyes wide and frightened.

~~~

Ghostbur sniffles and chokes as Tommy presses the white towel around his arm, tears stuck in trails down his face.

Tommy glances up at him before quickly looking back down. “I’m so sorry. I’m so s- I know it hurts. I know it hurts, Ghostbur, I know.”

~~~

Tommy doesn’t think he’s ever hugged someone like this before. So… desperately, like he’s worried they’ll drift away like smoke.

~~~

Tommy looks over at Ghostbur; his face is constantly being lit up by the lights from commercials, and his eyes are still closed. He looks like he’s okay.

~~~

Tommy looks up and finds that he's made it out of the woods. He's walking along the same path as before, but this time beside a pasture. A quick look inside it tells him that it's a sheep pasture; the colorful animals graze or lay in the grass, quiet and peaceful. Tommy smiles. They look really happy.

Tommy keeps his eyes on them as he walks. Some of the sheep are snuggled together, a fluffy pile of rainbows. Others are off on their own, curled up or munching on grass. Not one of them looks upset or scared.

Tommy kinda wishes people were like that. Not munching on grass, obviously, but just... he's not quite sure. Peaceful, maybe? That's not quite it, though. No matter if you were by yourself or with a group, you never felt alone. That kinda thing. You always felt safe.

Tommy breaths out softly. Yeah. That.

~~~

But a ghost haunts you. A ghost didn't always exist; something happened to make it exist. Something terrible and tragic happened to make that ghost exist.

And the thing about ghosts is that once they show up, they don't ever quite leave.

Wilbur blinks, and when he opens his eyes he is surrounded by faded red lights and a dark, cold room. A single platform. A single figure huddled on the ground, shaking with quiet sobs.

Wilbur blinks again, and he's sitting behind the counter at his gas station, the office chair with peeling leather squeaking under his weight. Slushie machine to his right, unopened boxes of cigarettes to his left, along with packs of gum. Lottery tickets behind him on the wall.

Wilbur breathes out slowly. Perhaps he prefers the shadow to the ghost, actually.

~~~

"I thought about it a lot," Wilbur continues, blowing out a shaky breath that mists a little bit. "I would even take walks, trying to find bridges. It was like house hunting, but... not."

Wilbur's brow furrows, as if realizing that he'd said something offensive instead of funny. "It wasn't like that at all. I don't know why... anyway. I um... yeah. I thought about jumping off a bridge. It wasn't always the train station I had in mind."

Tommy shifts on his feet, leaning closer to the railing. "Why did..."

"Why didn't I go through with it?"

Tommy feels angry, suddenly. Angry at Wilbur, or- or at bridges, or trains or something.

His hand balls into a fist before he unfurls it. "Yeah."

Wilbur takes another deep breath. "I thought it would hurt. The more... the more I thought about it, the more I- yeah. I thought it would hurt."

Wilbur looks down at his hands. He's quiet for a bunch of seconds. "I mean, there was a chance that I'd black out as soon as I hit the water, if I jumped from a high enough place. That's what I wanted to happen. But there was also a chance that I wouldn't black out; I'd hit the water and I wouldn't be stunned senseless. I'd just- I'd have to lay there and feel everything. I'd have to feel myself die."

Tommy inhales sharply. "What?"

Wilbur lifts his head, looking away from his hands to glance at Tommy. His eyebrows are pushed together, raised up at the ends near his brow. Lips parted slightly.

Tommy doesn't know why he said “what”. He understood what Wilbur was saying; it wasn't like he was confused.

~~~

The sky is now a dark blue-purple, with the edges of the horizon tinted with orange. If it was any other night, and if Ghostbur wasn't in the middle of a forest, he'd stop and admire the beauty of it all.

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everymlmhybrid · 4 months

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this part genuinely makes me feel like eating dry wall like i can't explain how i feel about it without making some of you finally tire of me and block me about it i think

#.txt #reservoir dogs -#sorry for just randomly posting clips . i was actually working on my vid i swear but then i started Thinking. and here we are.#anyways going genuinely insane in the tags . i'm so sorry. ->#(im only sorry for the sheer amount of tags or if u disagree w/ my interpretations / headcanons. if ur just annoyed lmfao sucks to be you!)#anyways. you guys ever think abt the way orange HAS TO know white's lying to him abt his odds of survival.#bc i think abt that genuinely constantly. all the time thinking about it.#also the ''joe's gonna get you 100% again'' -> first of all . lol. second of all -> ''he was the only one i wasn't 100% on'' hello? HELLO!!#also freddy's voice here makes me feel like punching walls . like it makes me wail in anguish.#no but yeah i think abt the theme of lying & the fact some of the first lies we hear are in this scene in a way #also this part is leaning wayyy harder on headcanon but i always think. like if orange WASNT lying abt who he is. then it'd be reasonable #forhim to not know how likely he is to die and/or how blatantly larry's lying (''i'm talking days!'') but as a cop he SOOO knows he's fcked #but like . what's he gonna do. ''hey i know that's bullshit'' like obviously not and partly bc of How he knows but also bc like #you just don't argue with the only guy who's caring for you while you're seemingly on the brink of death!! LMAO #and certainly not when he's the only one telling you you'll be fine!! even if he's just bullshitting you so you don't freak out!!#I DON'T KNOW i go kinda insane about this scene . as . you can tell.#if you too are insane about this and the implications . don't worry. in several months. my fic will feed you. you will see.#idk . larry lying to and/or for him <33333333 kinda makes me go insane. kinda makes me go wild.#idk. i should be getting ready for bed rn. WHATEVER. bye. logging off. if you read all these i'm in love with you okay #i've just been turngin them around in my head like a microwave for hours so i needed to infodump or else i would explode i think

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the-darklings · 2 years

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I can’t even put into words how beautiful the last part of TIBYIM was! Your writing has been incredible throughout and I feel so lucky to have read your work ❤️ My heart is melting at the ending, however bittersweet it feels to be completed

Thank you, it’s been real y’all. I’m so glad you’re all enjoying the finale so far. Seeing the reactions flowing in is inflating my heart three sizes.

#it’s like one of those weird things where it doesn’t quite feel real yet lmao #tbh maybe because i never really put a hard full stop on it.#the door is closed but not locked. some windows are open etc y’know?#it won’t be the last time i write these characters i know that much #(hotd au alone tho NaNo is starting in a few days so that might be slow coming)#it’s just hard to say whether there’ll ever be another full length story #i’m so proud I finished it (only second fic i ever have)#time to rest but I’m so going to be editing this and printing a copy for personal use (emphasis on personal)#(and someone is working on a bound copy too!!!)#time to put this bad boy on my shelves #asks #fic: today i bury you in me

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singsweetmelodies · 6 months

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your mom being a springbok supporter omg I love that😭 would u consider writing fics about them tho ?🇿🇦

morning anon! ohhh, great question - but i'm afraid it's going to have to be a no, for various reasons. firstly because, well, i simply don't know enough about rugby or about the team... my mum might be a big rugby fan but i'm not, really. i only ever watch 2 or 3 matches once every four years for the world cup 🥲

secondly, even if i did know more about rugby, i would still have to say no because my writer's block is currently so bad that it's even extending to my PhD. (🤣😭) in all seriousness though, i can't write anything of quality at the moment, and the second i do get my writing mojo back, i have a whole list of f1 rpf fics that i need and want to get to.

sorry to disappoint, love! but i hope this answers your question 🥰

#asks & answers #anon #fic asks #of sorts? lmao 🥲#anon i'm very sorry that i wrongfully gave you the impression that i know anything about rugby 🥲#that is not the case i'm afraid #like i said; i only ever really watch the last couple of matches of the world cup and only because my mum makes me #soooo uhhh... not ideal fic scenarios lmao #ALSO - and this is quite personal #i am actually related to someone on the springboks team 🙈🙈 not very closely or anything - he is my second cousin - but still #the degree of separation there is FAR too close for comfort for me #d'you know what i mean?#so even if i DID know more about rugby and DIDN'T have writers block it would STILL be a no because yeah. there is a line #i would feel way way too weird to even consider doing it for any amount of time 🙈🥲#I FEEL WEIRD EVEN JUST TYPING OUT THESE ASKS #akshdjdhdjdhdjdj and i don't even know the guy well... we have met maybe twice #BUT STILL #🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲#it's an absolute no from me i'm sorry anon #(P.S. - the person i am related to is NOT faf de klerk. i just wanted to make that quite clear before i hit post on this 🤣😭)#(there's no way that i'm going to say who it *is* because yeah - degree of separation - but pls it is NOT FAF xD)

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