MDNI AGELESS BLOGS GET BLOCKED 23 yr old dork revisiting the old tumblr days of their teens.
THEY/THEM (prefered but any prn also work)
I plan on posting fanfic and original works
I used to write fanfics forever ago but stopped because for whatever reason. It’s been so long I don’t really remember the reason I stopped. In reality I stopped posting and deleted old accounts, but I never stopped writing. Was so shy about posting if it wasn’t “perfect”.
Now that I’m sick of the dreaming and not doing, you know.
K-pop demon hunters revived this once dead hobby for me lol. But when I have a list of all the fandoms I plan to write for I’ll update this post.
I plan on posting fics AND original works to this blog
Life hack: if I post a sneak peak the I have to finish writing the fanfic eventually right... RIGHT?
Anyway here's a short preview.
Good girls are bad girls that haven't been caught
John Q x Reader Angst maybe Hurt/Comfort idk
CW: There will be some more religious themes briefly mentioned in the full fic but NONE appear in this intro portion. Simon is implied to have deconstructed while the reader remains in church community but begrudgingly. More specific tags and TWs will come later once I'm done and can tag them all but if you'd rather not read based on this short description turn around now. Stay safe!! love your face!!
CW THAT DO APPLY TO THIS INTRO: mostly canon typical swearing , off page drinking, mentions of being hungover, mention of homelessness (SIMON)
Summary: Simon didn't learn much from Sunday school, but he does know that church girls can keep a secret. What he didn't expect was for her to have kept so many secrets from him all this time. How easy is it really to hide a double life?
The chirp of the morning birds and the scurrying of squirrels among the forest treetops would normally make for a bright and shining Disney Princess start to anyone's day. Unfortunately for Simon, he was hungover. Plagued with a raging migraine that was slowly splitting his skull right down the middle. Cheery chirps and sanguine serenades were the last thing he needed. Every sound of the forest felt more like the roar of a jet’s engine surging in his head. Drilling yet another spike through his skull to stab at the grey matter inside. Yellow crumbs of sleep flecked off his lashes as he grinds a closed fist into his eyes and adjusts to the early light of day. The silhouette of the trees above cast onto the upper canopy of his tent shadows that danced erratically, making him dizzy. A few quick smacks to the face and he’s feeling a bit more normal.
While roughing it in the woods isn’t ideal, it sure does beat being on the street. It ain't the Four Seasons, but a shabby little tent made for a decent sanctuary. Simon was sick of restless nights beneath some bridge or in the local shelter that asked too many fucking questions. Plus there was the added benefit of living alone. None of his bandmates were worth having to deal with, no matter how badly Simon needed a place to crash. Having a roof over his head always came with conditions.
Morgan loved pretending to be Simon's surrogate mother whenever he caught him sneaking in and out at odd hours of the night. Arms crossed, sitting in the living room chair with his face painted with disappointment. Like that smug fucker doesn't have a past of his own. And Seth was too much of a nervous wreck to let Simon crash at his place for even a few hours. Shaky and stuttering, always pacing back and forth. If the cops came snooping, there was no use. Seth would buckle long before he’d think up a half-decent lie. And God only knows where the hell Donnie stays most nights. Probably laid up with whatever girl he met at the last gig they played. Then he fucks off to the next groupie whose name he won't bother to remember to rest a few nights somewhere new. So, the tent it was.
The cover of the forest made keeping a low profile somewhat easier. In just two weeks, Simon’s reward money more than doubled, and everywhere he looked 12 was lurking around every corner, the fucking slugs. Rendering all his normal crash pads out of commission for the time being. Shitty living and legal troubles aside, at least Simon could say the makeshift camp was all his. Despite the pleasant solitude, he couldn’t just loaf about there all day. With pigs skulking the streets or not, Simon still had a job to do, customers to please, and money to make.
I wrote approx.. 8 chapter outline for some WIP I gave up on so many months ago. I had this weird stint with sentient object romance and monster romance adjacent like novellas. Love them so goofy yet fun and pretty good in the spice department. To see I still have the idea in me is sweet but i would really love some sleep now jesus christ
WIP Waterboy X OC or X Reader I haven't decided yet
I'm leaning toward OC I won't lie to y'all. Just a small little intro thing, still need edits. Literally he doesn't even show up yet we're world building I guess. I wanna write more slow burns ok! go on and arrest me if that a crime.
FIRSTLY little update TLDR I'm fine despite it all. Tbh thought the fanfic writers curse would only come after I got a little more tumblr famous but I guess no one is exempt from its evil clutches. Doesn't matter, we good now. Sucks I get so worked up I give up on writing for so long, I really do enjoy it. Almost been a whole year but we back on our bullshit. Anyway hope you enjoy!!!
TW: talk of anxiety, implied past history of panic attacks, and talk of medication to manage mental heath. Keep yourselves safe people.
I hadn't felt a pit in my stomach this sick and twisted since college. Way back when, long before I was medicated, around finals during sophomore year, I'd gotten this ache in my stomach I just couldn't shake. My normal methods of distraction for the first time ever had failed me. This looming cloud of dread above me just wouldn't budge. I didn't want to admit it, but I knew deep down this feeling was far beyond the normal end-of-semester jitters everyone else was dealing with. From hand tremors and migraines, sleepless nights, and racing thoughts the blew by so fast they were borderline vomit-inducing, I had the whole lot. I knew well enough had to get help, whatever that meant.
I can say with some confidence now that I have a better grip on this sort of thing , but of course, something just had to throw me off sideways. Fate and Fortune wanted to keep my life interesting, that's all. Throw in a nice curveball just to see what would happen. And right when I had the perfect regime locked down, this shit show creeps in.
SDN was running perfectly fine before some genius upper executive thought we needed a floor-to-ceiling remodel, both literally and metaphorically. Whispers around the office from the parking lot to the water cooler to the break room almost unanimously blame Blonde Blazer for this mess. And while I agree this new plan of action is all unnecessary, I also know two things to be true. It's much too late to do anything about it now and that isn't fair to blame Mandy for it going to shit. Sure, she may have broken the news of this new program and the remodel, but who's to say it was her idea? She may have super strength, but I doubt she has the power to call shots like that. The ever-perfect golden spokesgirl of SDN has to stay in line, act right, and keep her head down just like the rest of us. Despite that, she is still bearing much of the brunt of the pushback. I wish we still spoke were as close as before. Regardless, from what little I do know, she seems to be taking it like a champ. to say I'm proud of her would get me more than a few stares from my fellow dispatchers so I keep it to myself.
Now that the mid semester depressive episode is over I can get back to what I was doing writing fics about the fictional men I wanna make whimper and mpreg birth my children. Also in the midst of figuring out how to make waterboy photos cards. I was born in the right generation. I eat hot chip I charge phone I love the internet
The first few paragraphs of that Sentient Object Romance I told y'all about.
Posting so I don't abandon this WIP. More bobby fic is coming though I swear.
Never been to much of a romance babe until now so I made sure to get acquainted with the usual prose and tone romance tends to have.
In my opinion it sounds not quite conversational like your spilling tea to your friends but more like confiding in your diary, conversational. So that's the vibe I was going for. I'll find my own style later. Now is the time where we make shit exist for the fun of it.
Anyway here it is. The exposition part before all the real fun stuff. Granted this is the most I've ever written for this story so that's a marvel in of itself.
I have to have something on in the background whenever I'm getting ready. If I'm being sincere, I need background noise for almost everything I do. Cooking, folding laundry, cleaning, showering, hell, even brushing my teeth. It doesn't matter. If I don't have some kind of noise, music, a show, a podcast, or something else, I'd lose my mind it's too quiet.
Don't get me wrong, living alone is incredible. I don’t have to deal with idiots who want to play dumb whenever I ask where my leftovers went. None of my roomies' weirdo boyfriends are lingering around, overstaying their welcome crashing on our couch. Best of all, no more annoying conversations overheard from the opposite side of my too-thin bedroom walls keeping me up all hours of the night. I love having my own place. But it does get... lonely I guess. But that's why my constant noise plan works so well. Keeps my brain just stimulated enough that I don't go insane.
On one particular morning the background noise selection was the usual local news spliced with the occasional day time QVC infomercial. I hate the blatant advertising of useless garbage just as offensive as the next person. But the quality of the noise doesn't matter much. As long as it's on. I’m happy.
I rushed about shifting through my dresser drawers for something to wear, and I wasn't really listening to the words coming out of the anchor's mouth. Looking back, I wish I had.
If I did, I wouldn't be here now. Posed out on a street corner damn near cooking in the sun in a skimpy sailor pin-up costume twirling a flimsy plastic sign around. The fact that we were going to reach record highs the same weekend during the biggest arts festival our town throws each year would've been some great intel to have before making a stupid fucking bet. I don't normally care to much if I lose or win at silly games but trust I would've fought like hell I if I had known my dignity was on the line.
If I see anymore straight omegaverse bs I'm going to explode
WHY YOU MAKE OMEGAVERSE IF GIRL OMEGA MAN ALPHA???
ISN'T THAT REGUALR ASS PREGNANCY
WHERES THE GENDER SUBVERSION ??
Mind you I'm not hating read what you want but A/B/O hinges of the freaky stuff it does with gender. Isn't that the whole point or am i missing something??
If I see anymore straight omegaverse bs I'm going to explode
WHY YOU MAKE OMEGAVERSE IF GIRL OMEGA MAN ALPHA???
ISN'T THAT REGUALR ASS PREGNANCY
WHERES THE GENDER SUBVERSION ??
Mind you I'm not hating read what you want but A/B/O hinges of the freaky stuff it does with gender. Isn't that the whole point or am i missing something??
For a fairly long while I have been fascinated by specifically sentient object romance. Why? I don't know. Obsessions like these just happen to me ok. Like how a prophet receives heavenly visions.
I remember forever ago in my early teens getting into monster romance fics and such. Maybe that has something to do with it.
Regardless I have never been a normal contemporary romance book girlie. I love me some weird magic shit. So here's a mock up of a blurb I wrote a while ago.
This WIP is a sentient object romance where the MC, Sawyer, falls for her Tattoo Machine. It's crazy but I thought it was to good of an idea to scrap entirely. I'm more or less posting this so I don't give up on this story.
Sawyer is… or at least was an apprentice at a local tattoo shop until one day, making too bold a move sent her boss over the edge. Quicker than she could blink, she gets herself kicked out of the studio for good. Lost and clueless about what to do next, she questions whether anyone will have her back in these trying times. Little does she know there is someone still rooting for her. With her through every all-nighter, during every bout of artist block. No need to go out searching for her biggest fan because he’s been here the whole time. Buzzing and needling away in the palm of her latex-clad hands.
One stormy night, a rogue lightning strike. The perfect recipe to bring about the creation of new life. They had always been there, a mere whisper from beyond this plane. Unfortunately, without a physical form, there was only so much they could do to help the woman they loved. But with the help of some Frankenstein-esque magic fuckery, NAME UNDECIDED has all the capabilities he’s ever dreamed of. With this new body, his only mission now is to prove an obedient devotee to the only woman they’ve ever loved and the best artist they’ve ever known. What other reason is there for living?
