tiny spikes, tinier words

Hello! I'm Hedgy! She/Her. Giving this writing thing a try. 18+ 

[hedgy-hog]

Hi! I'm Hedgy!

18+ She/Her. I thought I would give some writing a try! Things will be sporadic, as I have a busy schedule much to my dismay. As of right now, I don’t have any particular ADCU characters I write for, but that may change if I continue on this journey. Thank you for joining me. Don’t be afraid to show your spikes, and I hope you stick around!

Find me on AO3!

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[hedgy-hog]

Steady Waters

Paterson x GN Reader

Words: 1.3k

CW/Tags: Anxiety, anxiety/panic Attacks, mentions of anxiety/panic attacks, comforting Paterson, fluff

Read on AO3

You have been waking up before him for over a week now, riddled with unrelenting anxiety. For once, Paterson wakes up before you.

His heart swells when he wakes up before you, taking in the steady rise and fall of your chest. For once, your muscles are relaxed – stilled. The dark circles under your eyes have diminished, but a twinge of your restlessness still remains. He’s certain it will disappear in the next few days. He presses a kiss to the top of your head before twisting his upper half to check his watch and slide it on. It would be good to let you sleep. In the meantime, he’ll try his best to make a breakfast that doesn’t consist of cereal. 

The fanning of breath awakens you, tickling your nostrils and slowly calming you with the feeling of lips against your skin. They’re soft, slightly chapped, plush, and saturated by rousing awake for some time before you and the lingering sips of coffee. For once this week, he’s awoken before you. You sigh through your nose, shifting your spine from one edge to another with a few pops. It would be a sin to open your eyes now as much as you want to see him. You need to pace yourself, make sure you’re calm and ready to take on the day in stride – or at least attempt to do so. It’s been so hard lately, but one thing has remained constant in your life. His lips find you again, peppering along your forehead, the top of your cheeks, down to the slope of your neck. Your hand slides under the blanket, finding the side cooler than usual. He must have been up longer than you thought, let you rest thoroughly before coming back to rouse you. You sigh his name, the corners of your mouth gently turning upwards. Your arm escapes from under the covers, fingers finding their way into his soft hair. 

Paterson has been worried. Worried is an understatement. You have been waking up before him, jolting, gasping. Your body trembles, hands clammy as you try to draw in shaky breaths. He would ask if you’re having nightmares. You always answered no, you’re not. You didn’t remember your dreams, but your body forced you up with unrelenting anxiety nonetheless. Your hands didn’t cease as they tried to grip the coffee mug when you were in the kitchen, trying to hold a normal conversation when your mind was somewhere you couldn’t locate. When you kissed him goodbye, you could cry, half between begging him to stay and half-embarrassed he has to see you like this. 

He called you when he had to work. You went so far as to save the random numbers of odd coworkers and the office phone to your contacts so you know when to pick up. His voice was both a blessing and a curse, both soothing your nerves and setting you alight at the same time. You begged him to enjoy his break with a wavering tone, he didn't need to waste his time talking to you when he could be enjoying his lunch and writing his poems. I am enjoying my break, sweetheart. I’m talking to you, he always said. After the third time, you told yourself it was a go-to line to ease your nerves. Still, you hung onto every word, every breath you could pick up through the mouthpiece. Even when he didn’t say much, his presence was enough. You both laughed at corny jokes, easing your nerves just a bit. There were times you’d have to bite into a quivering lip, apologizing when things got too much. He had to reassure you that it was okay, he didn’t mean to make you feel like that. You reassured him that it’s not him, it’s you. You just had to work through this and that you loved him. 

Sometimes sitting in silence was enough, yeahs few and far between and some breathy chuckles as you wrapped yourself further into the covers. You were thankful you had given yourself this time to relax, taking off work and not caring about the consequences for now. You listened as he scribbled away, not wanting to pull his focus away when he was deep in thought and writing. You asked if he needed help when you didn’t hear his pen moving for a certain amount of time. Sometimes he agreed, other times he said he could move on to something else for the time being. The break was always too short. You hated when he had to hang up, but he reassured you he'd be home soon. 

You tried your best over these last few days to make dinner, even though it had been hard to hold anything down. Pat deserved to have something to eat when he came home. The meals were nothing amazing, border lining on decent and you knew it. You knew you could do better, but for now, this was all you can do and you both knew that was okay. He welcomed you with a warm embrace and a kiss to the top of your head, thanking you for all of your hard work. You didn’t have to do this, honey, he would say. You nodded, saying it was the least you could do. He ate it in stride, watching as you pushed the food around on your plate. You would try to eat, but nothing seemed to be settling in your stomach correctly. You shot him a forced smile across the table, not quite meeting your eyes. Pat would finish in silence. He wouldn’t go to Shades, not with you like this.

At night, he would hold your trembling form in his arms, listening to you sob into his chest at thoughts you couldn’t quite place. Everything hurt. You were so tired. You mumbled over and over into his soaked t-shirt that he didn’t deserve this, that you were sorry. He held you close, hand spanning up and down your back, hushed whispers that you didn’t need to apologize until your body gave out and fell asleep, just to awaken before him the next day for the cycle to continue. 

Your eyes peel open slowly, taking in the sight before you. Paterson rests on his side, peering down at you through dark lashes as you press your fingers into his scalp to relieve some pressure. The sun has been up a few hours by now, filtering in through the light curtains and bouncing upon his cheekbones. There lay your angel, hazel eyes glimmering as he takes you in full and you, him. 

“Good morning. Did you sleep okay, pumpkin?” he asks, voice low as he bends down to press his lips to the tip of your nose. Your lips upturn further, fingers lowering to trace along his jaw. “I didn’t want to wake you super early if you needed it.” You nod, blinking to sharpen your vision. For once, your hands aren’t trembling. They lay flat against his jaw, thumb coming to rest upon a relaxed dimple. 

“Mmmm… yeah. Thank you for letting me sleep, Pat.” You’re so good to me, you wish to say, but you’re certain he can see it in your eyes. He finally leans down far enough to kiss you properly, you responding almost instantly. You wish at this moment you could push him away, complain about your morning breath, but you need this, need him. He has soothed the ache, the emptiness, and he didn’t even need to try. But he did try; he tried for you. 

“I made your favorite for breakfast. Do you want to come in or want me to bring in it?” he asks once he pulls away, forehead flushed against yours. For once, your stomach rumbles. You forgot how hungry you really were. With a breathy chuckle, your arm wraps around him, pulling him close to you. 

“Right now? I just want to lay here with you. It can wait.” Paterson surrenders himself to you fully. He climbs onto you in return, adjusting you both so he could pull you close. You’re still in his arms, clear-minded, only focusing on the feeling of him all around you and his signature scent – clean, almost sweet, and the tiniest twinge of stale beer. You burrow your face into his shirt, dry for the first time in almost a week, and lay a kiss upon his chest, right above his heart. 

For once, it’s steady waters. 

[howlnatural]

the most fun thing about being a fic author is when you know what’s supposed to happen but when you go to write it you realise that, for the event to be plausible, you need to add another 2k of development and establish like six extra things before you can even get to the scene you need to write, and by ‘most fun’ I mean fuck everything someone take this fucking story away from me I’m on strike

[richietoaster]

Are you a “can’t write dialogue” writer or a “can’t describe anything” writer

[brittany]

“Sometimes,” Driver says, “I think that the best version of the story is the first time we read it. The first time everyone does a table read” — when the actors all sit together with their scripts and say their lines — “it’s alive. It’s a sort of theater. You’re not overthinking. Then you memorize the lines and every impulse is overthought. Whereas before, you’re not caring about moments not working; you just want to make sure you read all the right lines. There’s something amazing about that, and amazing in the art or the films that I like. It’s not so figured out. It’s more abstract. Like Robert Motherwell, or Cassavetes’s movies, or Altman. There’s a messiness to it.”

[themuseic]

The Lucky Ones

Clyde Logan x fem!Reader  / /  WC: 6,007  / /  AO3 Mirror

Warnings: Fem!Reader, No Pronouns, PIV Sex, Dirty Talk, Creampie, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Squirting (If You Squint), Brief Slapstick Violence, Alcohol Mention. 

Author’s Note: Written for @jynzandtonic​ for the 2021 ADCU Spring Fic Exchange!! I had so much fun participating and writing this. Please ignore the fact that this has been on AO3 for over half a year. I’m sorting out my posts and reorganizing. Enjoy and thank you for reading!!! 

Keep reading

[noclevernamelbr]

[jojosbizarrespam]

[crownquill]

I made a what the fandom thinks of you generator

[melanimed]

How to be More Inclusive in Your Reader-Inserts

I finally made something for fanfiction writers to use as reference on things to avoid when writing. if you are making a reader-insert story, be sure as most people as possible can see themselves fufilling the role you want them to in your story. 

I became a POC fanfiction writer after years of feeling excluded in reader-insert fanfiction. It’s important as a job as a writer to know your audience—some of which may not always fit in your “view”.

Please take the time to read this to help better yourself in the future. I know I didn’t hit every issue, but I’m willing to update it in the future. 

I apologize if this isn’t the prettiest thing, but it was important for me to create.

[hedgy-hog]

Let Yourself

Charlie Barber x F! Reader

Words: 12.3k

CW/Tags: Reader has a child, Mentions of food, Alcohol, Implications of Masturbation, Reader is referred to as “mom”

Read on AO3:

A/N: This fic was written for the @adcuficexchange​ Fall 2021 Exchange and inspired by a prompt that @kittensmctavish​​ sent to me. Thank you for the amazing ideas!

When Henry befriends a boy at the park, Charlie finds himself gaining a new friend as well in a single parent. But as the days pass, and the text messages grow in abundance, so does Charlie’s apprehension. He can’t afford to lose a good thing. But when you smile at him like that, the risk may be worth it.

His sneakers skip through the mud, reminiscent of the rain that happened last night. Rain in California is a rarity. So when, to your surprise, you heard the crack of thunder and the pounding of heavy rain against the roof of your home, you thanked Mother Nature and cradled your son tightly to you. The thunder rattled him, as much as he didn’t want to admit it to you. Now you wish you purchased rain boots. The mud is going to be torture to get out of his sneakers fully. But for now, you let him play, hopping over the puddles and splashing about in the enclosed playground. 

His father canceled again, stating he had to take care of business and would make it up to him. Little by little, you watch your pride and joy become crestfallen, head slung as he hears your harsh whispers over the phone. Alfie doesn’t deserve this. No child does. Your arms cross over your chest as you watch him play without a care in the world, distracted for the time being by the pain you know he has to be feeling. He doesn’t understand what an asshole his father truly is, rather spending time on his escapades than his own child. He uses the excuse of business; he’s just too busy to take him to lunch today,  loads of meetings. But you know, and he knows you know. You hate lying to Alfie, but you are not going to tell your nine-year-old son that his father would rather be with another woman than him. You sink in on yourself at the thought. Sometimes he gets it, he’s a smart kid, but the times he curls in on himself, eyes glazing over with unshed tears asking why Daddy doesn’t want to see him, you wish to cradle him close and punt your ex into the sun at the same time. 

Keep reading

[hedgy-hog]

I want to hear about a soft moment with Henry Mchenry. Something gentle, and cuddly.

Henry McHenry x GN Reader

Words: 866

CW/Tags: Alcohol, tobacco, smoking, mentions of drugs, implications of substance abuse

He fucked up. At least, he feels as though he’s fucked up. His big joke, his big laugh of the night and it fell flat. Almost complete silence, maybe a curse underneath a single breath. What did they expect? The announcer itself had stated it would be mildly offensive. Idiots, fools – all of them, none of them worth his time or his jokes. What do they know? Yet his chest still feels hollow. You met him halfway down the stairs on the verge of pouring his fifth drink, reaching out your hand for him to take. He’s quick to down what is in the glass already before enveloping your hand in his, letting you lead his too-heavy body up the stairs.

It’s hard for him to talk; he doesn’t know how. He’s trying to learn, but for now, he’ll let you do the talking. You’ve always been the one to sense when something is wrong. You ask the questions, always straight and to the point, and he responds in equal amounts. You wish for him to cut back on the drinking, the substances in his system when he goes to aftershow parties without you, but it’s one step at a time. Your questions are soft and concise tonight, slowly peeling the sweat-drenched clothing from his body. He lights up a cigarette in the meantime as you throw his clothes into the hamper to soothe his nerves. Instructing him under the sheets, he smushes the burning bud of his cigarette into the ashtray on the bedside table. Sluggishly, he complies, flipping the almost too-heavy cover upwards and slinking in. You follow suit, sliding into your side and beckoning him to you.

Fuck, he’s losing them, isn’t he? He’s losing them with every joke he tells, with every missed laugh, chuckle, scoff. Fuck them, fuck them, fuck them, but no. No no no. He’s losing them, he’s lo-

“You’re not losing them,” you reassure him, ushering him to curl in on you. You know him so well, can read his mind like this wizard. Magical, ethereal. It’s almost unreal how he finds himself here, wrapped in your embrace, your fingers carding through his soft hair. “It was one bad night, Henry. Everyone is going to have them, unfortunately. No sweat off your back, though. Just rest, okay? I’ve got you.” You do. You do have him. No one has ever had him as you have. Sometimes the urges come, the one to take off and run. He doesn’t deserve this. When has he ever? The ghosts of his past littering his mind, still too strong to cut through the haze of glass upon glass of whiskey. With a billowing breath, he allows you to consume him entirely. His head lolls to your chest, your steady heartbeat reverberating into his ear. A reminder, albeit fast and fleeting, that you’re here, you exist.

Henry’s arms loop around your center, anchoring himself to you like a child to their mother. One hand remains in his hair, separating any knots gently with your fingers. You apply pressure to his scalp, a calm relief from the pressure behind his eyes. This is what he longs for, maybe even more than the continuous laughter reverberating through venue after venue. His fingers dip into your hip, skin alight as he traces against your pores. There’s nothing to say, only feel. He knows; you know. Sometimes it's hard for him to say, to think about. If he does, the fear is always there. It will flee, you’ll flee, he’ll flee. But no. Right now, he stays grounded, locked in your arms, and he in yours.

This is better than laughter – your… your love. It’s better than the booze, the nicotine. It’s hard to admit at times, but he knows it's true. He uses every ounce of control left in him not to shiver when your lips brush against the top of his head, once again reassuring him that everything will be okay. They will be. He has people to make laugh, sure, but when your laughter is the best sound, why would he wish to hear anything else? His finger inches up, sneaking underneath your shirt to brush at a spot he knows is sensitive. Your muscles cave in on themselves, the softest of laughs erupting from you along with the goosebumps. Yes, the perfect sound indeed. The perfect calming sedative he truly needs. Ever so slightly, the corners of his mouth rise in the hint of a smile, dark lashes brushing against his cheek as he settles in for rest.

You hold him all night, remaining awake for a short time after his breathing subsides to a steady and gentle pattern. You wish to ease his mind more, wish to take the pain away, wish to laugh for him louder than anyone has ever laughed before. What had drawn you to him when you met is not why you have stayed. No, there is so much more to it, and with that, much work to be done. But tomorrow comes a new day and both of you can try again. For now, you let his warmth draw you under, his pulse lulling you to bliss.

[jynzandtonic]

I’m home. It’s been a long-ass day. I have a gin + tonic in hand. I’M THIRSTY.

Send me thots/ideas and I’ll drabble on ‘em.

[iseeitiseetheisland]

Adam Driver for Variety, 2019

Credit- Adam Driver Central on Twitter

[timotaychalamet]

Paterson (2016) dir. Jim Jarmusch

[oberynmartell]

"this character is not canonically bisexual" to YOU. i know them personally

[lavenderursa]

C O M F O R T Masterlist

Westworld AU

Clyde Logan x F!Reader

Summary: Clyde Logan visits a new world to escape.  

Warnings: Angst, Sexual Content, Implied Violence, Each post will come with a warning, Mentions of Alcohol

Wordcount: 5.1K

Notes: This entire series will be little vignettes of Clyde in a Westworld AU, mostly using any Writer Wednesday prompts that inspire.

***

does it matter if I’m real or not?

Fix What is Broken in Us

We’re Only Human

Both A Bit Late

No Alarms & No Surprises

If I Was Free

***

Completed 01/01/2022

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