Have you noticed lately that there's an uptick in writers stepping away from writing? I've stumbled over a handful these past five days...including me.
Have you given pause as to why that is?
Maybe you're the good kind of reader who reblogs and comments...but judging by the tendency, at least most of your fellow readers don't.
As writers, we're told not to be whiny and to write for ourselves. Sure. We'll do that. But there's no point in posting it, if it doesn't generate some sort of interaction. That's why we share: we want to create more than just a story!
So please: if you want more "content" (I shudder at the word), then you've got to give us something back for what we've done. Right now, we feel we're screaming into a black hole that sucks everything up but gives nothing in return.
It's been a while since my last update but I haven't had much time to stitch. The latest addition to the piece is this cute little đ.. next up is an engagement ring đ with proposal date because I'm getting married!!
Been on holiday to Disneyland last week and couldn't take the big frame with me. I decided to bring all the left over floss I have, which is a lot tbh, and an empty piece of aida. I've made a pinteredt board with all kinds of small cross stitch projects. Didn't get very far but I don't have a deadline.
Here is a quick little sneak peak of the projects I'm now gonna work on. I've had these for a couple of years now and started both of them, now it's time to finish them...
This week I finished a project I started back in December. It is one of the quickest projects I actually finished. It's about 35X35CM and I yet have to get a frame for it.
I'm contemplating to add my daughters name and date of birth because I made this for her but I'm not sure.
Over the years I collected many many many cross stitch patterns, floss and even complete kits. I ordered some myself online, got leftover floss, patterns, and half started projects at the thrift store and was gifted some. My mom works as a nurse and tells her clients about me and my crafts when she sees them cross stitching or crocheting and she was gifted a big bag of stuff for me and I was as happy as a little kid at Christmas, this happened again a few weeks ago when my in laws where sprting through their storage facility and came across, what my FIL called, a few threads.. this turned out to be 2 boxes full of real DMC floss (which i counted and it where over 300 new DMC and at least the same amount of unknown/off brand floss) I'm still have to sort through ot and find a way to store it all.
I'm not sure if I can even finish all the kits in my lifetime, but it's fun to try. As I mentioned, I'm currently home bound after having 3rd baby cause she caused me to develop a hernia. This results in a numb left leg/foot and back pain making working practically impossible. So I'm a involuntarily stay at home mom (which i don't really mind btw).
Now that I have loads of time on my hands (well actually loads might not be really true when you have a 6mo baby) I need to keep my hands between bottles and naps. I decided I'm gonna try to make a dent in my collection. I sorted the projects into 2 groups.
Group 1 are the projects that are already started and put down again somewhere half way. Group 2 are the projects that not even have been started yet. At first I'm trying to finish all the already started projects and then go for the new ones.
I'm gonna keep track of all progress or at least try to, and I will post it here as long as i still have my hyper focus on cross stitch. As soon as I have a new hyper focus I will show that but for now it's cross stitching.
If you made it this far thank you for listening to my rambling and I hope you like what I post...
I think I'm gonna start blogging about my crafts again... I just finished this absolutely cute baby cross stitch project and I need to show it off somewhere..
Since I'm home bound with a hernia and keeping myself busy with crafts (atm mostly cross stitch but in the future crochet, dice making and sewing too) I figured why not keep the world wide web updated about my progress.
I do need to update my page now that so much has changed since I posted last..
Fandom: MCU AU.
Pairing/starring: DARK!Bucky x fem!reader.
Word count: 80.
Content: Coming DUBCON/NONCON implied, coercion, drinking, Bucky not taking a no for an answer.
A/N: Trying to write max 100 words is an addictive challenge which @justagirlinafandomworld has provided with the addition of âBaby It's Cold Outside by Idina Menzel & Michael Bubleâ (a gorgeous rendition here â but this song always pisses me off so things got DARK).
Baby, it's cold outside
Heâd chosen the music specifically for this, mirroring the way she shies away even as he leans in closer, offering her the strong drink.
Itâs for her own safety, why canât she see it? Outside, itâs a veritable blizzard â that he hadnât planned, though, it was just pure luck.
Their fingers graze each other as she reluctantly takes the drink fro him. Sheâs cold. Shivering.
Heâll warm her soon enough, though. Heâll show her itâs better to listen to him.
Fandom: Supernatural.
Pairing/starring: Dean & Sam (& John).
Word count: 100.
Content: Abandonments, sibling squabbles, sibling love, meager xmas but still xmas.
A/N: After ages without participating in any challenges or anything, I couldnât resist @justagirlinafandomworld âs challenge and she gave me the song âMerry Christmas (I Don't Want to Fight Tonight)â by Ramones â Iâve never heard it before which is always a delight.
âIâll be back soon,â dad had said leaving for the hunt.
Now it was getting late and Sammy was bouncing on the bed even though Dean was lying halfway under it trying to reach what heâd hidden.
âSammy!â he coughed, a lungful of dust bunnies inhaled.
His fingers just curled around the plasticbagâs handle, allowing him to drag it free and he held it up aloft victoriously as he got free of the creaking bed.
âSammy, Sammy,â he tried to get his brotherâs attention. âOpen it.â
âWhat is it?â the little boy takes the bag though.
Fandom: MCU AU.
Pairing/starring: DARK!Bucky x fem!reader.
Word count: 80.
Content: Coming DUBCON/NONCON implied, coercion, drinking, Bucky not taking a no for an answer.
A/N: Trying to write max 100 words is an addictive challenge which @justagirlinafandomworld has provided with the addition of âBaby It's Cold Outside by Idina Menzel & Michael Bubleâ (a gorgeous rendition here â but this song always pisses me off so things got DARK).
Baby, it's cold outside
Heâd chosen the music specifically for this, mirroring the way she shies away even as he leans in closer, offering her the strong drink.
Itâs for her own safety, why canât she see it? Outside, itâs a veritable blizzard â that he hadnât planned, though, it was just pure luck.
Their fingers graze each other as she reluctantly takes the drink fro him. Sheâs cold. Shivering.
Heâll warm her soon enough, though. Heâll show her itâs better to listen to him.
Fandom: MCU.
Pairing/starring: Loki x GN!reader.
Word count: 100.
Content: Xmas eve, loneliness, sadness, grief.
A/N: Third time! @justagirlinafandomworldâs Flash Fic Challenge is too much fun. This time I got âChristmas Time Is Here by Vince Guaraldi Trioâ.
A time for remembering
The slender candles on the yuletide tree are burning low, the light dim enough to allow the stars and moon outside to cast their cold glare through the window now.
Pulling your legs up in the couch, you take the picture down from the windowsill and watch how the faded photograph still smiles at you.
Loki.
You remember the first yuletide with him. Heâd been so happy that to be a part of it: the food, the ridiculous traditions.
Heâd been even happier to snuggle up on the couch afterwards with you.
Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen
Pairing/starring: Satoru Gojo x fem!reader
Word count: 2090
Content: Gratuitous smut (sub/dom-ish, some sort of safety system, praise kink and more). No plot whatsoever.
A/N: ....oops? Unbetaed â sorry about that but really, thatâs the only thing Iâm sorry about.
He could rip your head clear off and youâd probably thank him.
Okay, you wouldnât but thatâd just be because a corpse canât talk.
AND to be honest youâd rather he ripped something else off of you.
Glaring at Gojo through the mirror from your place on the treadmill, you can see heâs barely breaking a sweat, circling the sandbag and hitting it with barrage after barrage of kicks and punches. He seems...bored? Ceruleans sometimes peeking over the edge of the sunglasses that he insists on wearing indoors (at least itâs a step up from the blindfold that he normally favours). His gaze follows his students as they leave the room and youâre alone with your crush.
Crush. Do you want a relationship with him or do you just want to get fucked senseless? You donât know. Youâd probably take any scraps Gojoâd give you which in itself probably is a worrying sign that youâre a lost cause.
âYouâre staring,â he drawls, making you sputter out a bunch of nonsense to deny it.
Frustrated with yourself on all levels, you step off the treadmill and grab your little towel and water bottle in the hopes of hightailing it out of there. Youâd be skipping the rest of your workout but thatâs okay as you can come back tomorrow â itâs getting late anyways.
âDone already?â Thereâs a hint of mockery to his voice.
âYeah,â you lie, hearing the waver yourself.
âBullshit,â Gojo challenges, âyou always move on to the various machines before finishing with a cool-down run and yoga. I know. I watch you too.â
That makes you stop dead in the track, gaze flickering to the nearest mirror that shows your reflection and him behind you.
Slowly, lazily, heâs stepping closer. And closer. Itâs reminiscent of a prowl and it makes your skin pucker with anticipation for something youâve only dared to imagine, never to hope.
Unable to move, you close your eyes when heâs right behind you, breath barely palpable along your exposed neck and his fingertips trace your wrists before dancing up your arms.
âTell me...will you only always look?â his lips brush the shell of your ear as he whispers, now standing at your side.
You have to swallow hard and thereâs no doubt in your mind that he must have noticed it. You can imagine his cocky grin and maybe even a waggle of white eyebrows.
A quick glance from under fluttering eyelids show you just how wrong you are: his gaze burns, searing every detail of your face as he studies you, his glasses completely discarded.
Itâs impossible to keep back the little whimper as your cunt clenches around nothing and your heart yearns to please him.
Gojoâs one eyebrow arches and a tiny smirk makes the corner of his mouth twitch. âOh, so itâs like that.â
One of his large hands splays on your stomach, gently but firmly pushing you back to the centre of the room where a huge mat is lying, used for sparring sessions.
âGood girl.â
Heat floods through your body and you just know that your panties must be soaked already. You love this. Love how heâs taken charge, crowding you with his larger frame now that his fingers move to the hem of your top. Fingertips make sure to caress your skin as the slightly damp fabric is pulled upwards, eventually meeting the first obstacles and causing the sorcerer to pause.
âListen carefully,â he announces, âtraffic light system. Green is go, yellow is tentative and red is full stop. Got it?â You nod. âUse your words.â
âYes, sir.â The last bit just pops out on its own but the way his pupils expand, you think he likes it.
âColour now?â
âGreen.â
His lips crash on yours. Tasting him for the first time, your mind struggles to find adjectives fitting for it other than âamazingâ and âperfectâ. Heâs demanding. Hungry. One of his hands has grabbed you by your neck to tilt your head just right while the other hand roams your back before grabbing on to the ass and pulling you flush against him which means you can feel his erection through the few layers of clothes.
Then he withdraws a few inches, eyes locked with yours. âColour?â
âGreen, sir.â
Itâs not like youâre just standing still. You canât. Too jittery with anticipation, youâre fighting back wave after wave of goosebumps while your own hands dig into his wild locks, tugging ever so gently which earns you a growl and makes you stop.
âDid I give you a red light?â he promptly snaps, squeezing your butt a bit harder.
âNo, sir,â you pout, âsorry, sir.â
But itâs too late. Letting go of you, he takes a few steps back to survey your puffy lips and the top thatâs still suspended by your chest, allowing the skin of your belly to be admired. Palming himself lazily, thereâs no rush to his movements any longer as he begins to circle you, coming to a halt behind you after a few rounds. The skin of his calloused hands is hot as it comes into contact with your waist.
âTake your top off,â Gojo whispers.
Grabbing the hem and pulling upwards, you almost manage to keep silent as he slips a hand under the waistband of your shorts at the same time. Long fingers sliding under clingy fabrics and down. He kicks your legs out, making you wobble for a moment until your gaze catches his in the mirror at the end wall. Piercing. Unadulterated desired.
âSports bra too,â he orders.
This requires a bit more than simply yanking upwards: hooks in the back, straps to loosen...all the while Gojo has made it his mission to distract you by delving a single finger between your folds, slipping in the wetness from your wanting hole before honing in on your clit. Itâs just light circles. Nothing fancy. But itâs taking your breath away and making it hard for you to stay standing still.
âColour?â
âGreen.â
A smirk. âThen we are you still wearing that bra?â
You canât hold back the whine but the sense of unfairness helps you power through to get the offending clothing off. Barely has it landed by your feet before Gojoâs free hand is cupping your tits, thumb alternating sweeping over the sensitive nipples at the same pace as the circling of your clit which intensifies.
âSo pretty for me,â he bites your earlobe testingly. âSo needy, arenât you?â
Thereâs no point in denying it. âYes, sir.â
âLook into that mirror,â he orders and you can sense the shock of white hair bobbing the direction he means, âlook into my eyes.â
Doing as he wants reduces your world to nothing but him. You couldnât look away if you wanted even as he resumes circling your clit with renewed intensity. His other hands wanders from your breasts to your throat, squeezing lightly and making your cunt clench just as he slips his fingers in.
âI felt that,â he smiles, readjusting his hand so you are riding his fingers, thumb toying with your clit until you begin to forget how to breathe. Then he gives your throat another squeeze accompanied by what must be your doom: âSuch a good, needy girl for me, huh?â
The whine escapes your lips as you try to keep your eyes open through the wave that surges in your body. Your legs are shaking, suddenly too weak to hold you so Gojo has to guide you onto the floor. On your knees, a new whimper escapes as he lets go of you completely and your body aches for his touch.
âColour.â He must know itâs green, but you manage a whispered confirmation anyways. âYou think, youâre a good girl?â You nod, finally finding his gaze only to have concern creep into your heart because his eyes a cold. Icy. âA good girl would have asked for permission first,â he tuts.
Your juices are still glistening on his one hand but now he slowly raises it to his lips, licking it clean in a way thatâs meant to get your mind racing (it does).
âIâm sorry, sir,â you whisper.
Smiling benevolently, Gojo hunches down before you, grasping your chin to tilt your head up to meet his face. âYouâll make it up to me, right sweetie?â
âYes, please let me make it better!â
Your hands move on their own, reaching towards his thighs and sliding up until you have a firm grip on the waistband of his sweatpants. You risk a light tug, fluttering your eyelashes to soften what could seem like a demand into a request...and youâre rewarded with a bright smile.
Rolling forward onto his knees, Gojo lets you pull down the sweats and his boxers. He even lets you get onto your hands and knees, tnogue darting out to wet your lips at the sight of his boner, before grabbing hold of your head with both hands.
âGreen,â you interrupt him just as he opens his mouth to ask.
An eyebrow arches at your eagerness, but what can you say? You want him. All of him in any way possible.
âThen be a good girl.â
Rather than let go of your head, he guides your lips to his erection: big, weeping, an angry vein throbbing along the underside of the shaft as you gingerly take hold before kitten-licking the crown.
He letâs you play for a bit â get yourself familiar with him and his impressive dimensions. It makes it less daunting by the time your lips stretch around the cock head and you start to work your way down the shaft. You live for the sigh it pulls from his chest.
Back and forth, using your hand to compensate because youâve never learned to deep throat and you sure as fuck wonât manage to now with Gojoâs cock...but you do your best, chasing after the âfuck yeahâs and âgood girlâs that indicate that whatever youâre doing is the right stuff. His head has fallen back, eyes fluttering closed and heâs trying so hard not to take over and move your head, his big hands still clasped around your skull. A flick of the tongue. Hollowing the cheeks. All of it to please him.
âStop.â You can barely trust your own ears although his voice leaves little doubt. âLie back, darling.â
You let go with a pop and start to move but youâre too slow for Gojo who somehow has managed to tear off his t-shirt while following you. Heâs caging you in on the mat, chests heaving and brushing against each other as you both feverishly work to get the rest of the clothes off. Pushing and pulling, a seem gives, elastics slap against the thigh as a grip falters for a moment but it doesnât matter because next instant thereâs nothing between you.
Warm and blunt, Gojoâs cock head is pushing against your folds, sliding back and forth easily to get proper lubed although you barely want to wait for such details. Your hands have found his ass, guiding him while he holds himself above you with one arm.
âColour,â he pants, eyes finding yours.
Thereâs a hint of concern in his gaze â if you said no, he would respect it. âGreen. Colour?â
The smirk tugs at his mouth. âGood girl. Green.â
Then he slides in, stretching your cunt and stealing your breath away all over again. You can do nothing but cling to him, whispering praises that mingle with his as he begins to rock into you.
He deserves credit, trying so hard to keep a slow pace with shallow thrusts but his insatiable hunger takes over, driving his hips. Earning him red scores where your nails slip on his back but he only seems to relish it, telling you how well youâre doing, how good you are, how tight you feel...and that youâre his. His good girl.
You seize up, barely remembering to ask for permission this time which you get in the form of a strangled: âCum for me.â
He rides you through it and youâre just about to come down when he changes the angle, prolonging your high instead as he rams into you hard as he cums too.
Heâs twitching, lazily humping through the after-wave when you remember to breathe. You have to fight back a whine as he finally rolls off you because youâre afraid of what will happen next.
As if hearing your thoughts, he kisses you cheek. âGonna get you washed and fed and stuff before the next round, baby.â
Fandom: Original work, still Y/N reader
Word count: 1925ish
Content: Vampires, werewolves, ghouls, gore, near death experiences, memory loss. Future chapters: smut, healing, drama...stay tuned for individual chapter warnings! THIS HAS NOT BEEN BETAED â sorry!
A/N: Yeah, I know, this is probably a bad idea but Iâm sick (okay...recovering now) and I had this really realistic dream and my feverish brain was all like âWRITE IIIIIIIT!â and so I did and now I might as well post it just to prove that Iâm alive. Is it any good? No clue, please let me know what you think. Tags are available in exchange for comments and/or reblogs.
1.
A memory flashes: darkness before opalescent moonlight. But it has to give way to the blurry buildings of the town as you stumble through the deserted streets. A single thought in you mind, whispered repeatedly and echoed by the one person next to you. Matteo. Your mind is too blurred to really know who Matteo is except itâs equivalent to safety. Matteo.
Youâre scared. Confused. You donât even remember the name of the person next to you who is promising to get you to where you need to go. But sheâs familiar enough with the overdone makeup trying to cover the slightly gaunt, pale skin.
Then it happens, of course: rounding a corner, you rush past the door of a bar just as a group of men exit. Barely scraping one of them, itâs enough to set him off in a drunken slur of profanities as he lashes out against you. A wide swing of his arm that you surprisingly easily dodge...but the look of pure hatred on his face has you stumbling and you arenât as lucky when he next strikes. The blow catches you across the cheek, sending you sprawling in a puddle.
âFilth,â he snarls, and his friends echo the distaste. âYouâve come to the wrong part of town, sucker. This is Matteoâs neighbourhood!â
âMatteo,â you whimper, making them laugh and jeer.
One of them pushes to the forefront, still keeping his distance, he gets low to study you in the light still spilling from the open doorway. âLads...this is bad.â
âHells yeah itâs bad...â the leader of the men cackles, âfor her!â
âMatteo. Matteo?â Itâs the only word from your lips, now a prayer for safety although youâre not sure if thatâs based on reality.
A new whimper rises in your chest, long and whiny as the guy apparently in charge of the bullying pushes his own friend aside to step closer still. Crawling backwards away, youâre scrambling for a way out, only too late discovering that youâre in an alley with only one exit: the way you came in. Past the group.
âMatteo!â
âHear that fellas? Sheâs begging for the boss to come finish her!â
Not once has he taken his eyes off of you, as though expecting you to fight back. But youâre so tired. Every limb in your body is aching. And still you canât help but blink in astonishment at the spectacle thatâs beyond the tears of fear: vibrant colours that put the gaudiest paintings to shame and itâs late into the night still. You can pick out green flecks in the manâs eyes, every hair in his scruffy moustache that doesnât quite suit him â his jaw is too weak for it. You sense the wet air, and the stench of dog wafting from him.
Then the senses are blocked out by blinding terror as he is upon you, a strong hand around your throat.
âMatteo!â you cry out in panic.
His lips curl to bare his teeth. âThatâs right, sucker, call for him. Give us an awoo, why donât you?â
âThis is a bad idea, Jack,â the only cautious member of the gang warns, standing off to the side as if wanting to witness it all anyways.
âOne eensy, teensy awoo?â the guy called Jack simpers, slackening his grip on your throat.
It is teeny. More of a whimper or even a question, the thin howl barely makes it past your lips on the first try but itâs enough to make them all laugh. Except that one reluctant guy. When urged to try again, you manage a bit more volume at first but the sound dies as Jack lifts his hand and you see that instead of nails, he has claws.
Itâs a nightmare! It must be.
âMatteo,â you still sob, desperate to be saved or woken up.
The shadow is preceded by a low rumbling growl and you have the delicious chance to witness a manâs face transition from smugness through surprise to resignation before Jack drops you on the ground. He never gets as far as to turn around or even stand up, though, before something tears through him.
You know, maybe more clearly than you want to, that the image of a man torn limb from limb will be forever burned into your mind...still youâre relieved because the figure that takes his place is one that you know you must recognize: Matteo.
Your saviour looks tall from your prone perspective. Heavy coat hanging open from broad shoulders and shortish hair almost vibrating with the pent-up rage thatâs oozing from him. His a strong guy, a sinewy bulkiness honed by hours of work as a lumberjack, you think. Shack leader? You arenât sure, but obviously his presence puts him in charge regardless and everyone has instinctively taken a couple of steps back.
Whimpering, as if itâs the only sound you know how to do, you stretch your hands towards him. Youâre not sure if the hesitation on his behalf is real, but you know the scent that welcomes you by heart and he leans down to grasp your hand, pulling you to your feet, although thereâs a hint of dog that youâve never noticed before. Maybe heâs gotten a pet since last you saw him? When was the last time you saw him? You donât remember and your spiralling thoughts are curbed as he pulls you close behind him, rounding on the group of men.
âOff limits. Sheâs not one of them,â Matteo growls, making the once so tough guys shuffle sheepishly. Then he rounds on the only guy that had tried to stop Jack: âMake sure itâs taken care off. Meeting tomorrow night.â
You know the words are not meant for you, but you canât help but feel that theyâre caused by your presence. Your existence. Still, you donât ask any questions as Matteo rushes you out of the alley and in a zigzag pattern towards his home. He seems annoyed that you have a hard time keeping up with him but he stays quiet about it, merely adjusting his pace after a grunt of surprise.
Perhaps your slow pace is the reason the hesitant guy catches up on the two of you. You notice it just as quickly as Matteo, but where his instinct is to pause briefly to allow the other man to fall into step, yours is to rush on, only halted by a strong arm about your waist.
âItâs okay,â Matteo whispers to you only, âitâs Al, you can trust him.â
What other choice do you have?
From then, thereâs little way to go. A jangle of metal alerts you to keys being passed to Al so he can rush ahead and unlock the door, holding it open for you and Matteo.
âBasement,â your saviour grunts, now almost carrying you â and youâre thankful for it as your legs are threatening to give out from under you. Youâve never felt so weak before. âCage.â
Perhaps the word should worry you, but youâre too tired to even register anything else than the soft bedding that smells deliciously of Matteo. You donât even stir as something clangs next to you.
Mumbled voices to the side. Something about a âbait-bagâ that makes no sense. Then retreating footsteps before Matteo comes to sit on his haunches as close to you as the metal bars allow.
âWho did this to you?â But you donât know. Canât recall. It doesnât matter anyways â not anymore. âShit, Y/N, you need to drink.â You are thirsty. Parched. Starving actually but in a weird way that you donât recognize. âWell, Iâm no good for you, so hang in there.â
It takes a moment more before the sound of Al coming down the stairs makes Matteo sigh in relief. Then a plastic bag is shoved into your hands and you manage to peek a glimpse from under heavy eyelids.
Donor blood. Like some sick joke.
Here you are, thirsty like fuck and they give you that all of things? Maybe itâs just a look alike, wine instead of blood or maybe some juice...but no, every instinct tells you this is the real deal. Groaning, you push the bag aside.
âNo. You gotta drink, Y/N,â Matteo admonishes, âneed to rebuilt your strength. Knife.â The last word is aimed at Al who complies, handing your friend (is he your friend?) the tool so he can cut off one of the stoppers. Tossing the knife aside, he grabs you by the neck through the bars so he can tilt your head upwards, mouth agape and slowly, gingerly begin to pour the contents into you.
You should be revolted. And at first you do gag but that also means swallowing a bit of it and you swear to everything in existence that itâs the best stuff youâve ever had. Still too weak to lift your arms fully, you only manage to hang on to Matteoâs wrist as he feeds you every last drop. And with each ruby bead of liquid, you feel strength return.
âThatâs it,â he coos, âjust a bit more.â
That bit is gone too soon, but now you have the power to sit on your own, eyes taking in every detail of the cage you find yourself in. Heavy metal with scratches and notches. The floor is padded with blankets. The place is almost as high as you, just missing a foot or two and itâs perfectly cubic.
âSorry about that, Y/N,â Matteo smiles wryly, motioning the metal bars, âat least they were not intended for you...but youâre gonna be wild the next couple of weeks at least.â
âWhatâs...? Why did...? I donât understand,â you finally manage.
Matteo sighs. âYeah...this will be a longer explanation. Get comfy.â
He tells you story of monsters and myths, most familiar yet impossible. This story features a small town of supernatural beings that have manages to live under some sort of truce or cease fire, where the minority of ânormalâ humans are wonderfully unaware.
Until now.
You shouldnât believe Matteo...but you do because something tells you that this isnât just some weird vivid dream that youâll wake up from any moment. You wish you could: sitting in a cage in the basement of the only person you can remember, splattered in drying blood...yeah, thatâs not anything thatâs been on your bucket list.
âYou donât remember who sired you?â Matteo asks not for the first time. Shaking your head, all that you can recall is walking home after a long shift. Exhausted as always these days. âWell...maybe once youâve rested up. Better get you cleaned up anyways, I guess. Iâll head to your place for some spare clothes and stuff...anything you want from there?â
âWhy canât I go with you?â You donât like the idea of him leaving. Or rummaging through your place.
âWeâve been over it: townâs split in three and this is the Wolvesâ Den. Vamps are on the other side of Main.â
Thereâs nothing condescending in his voice, just cold fact that reminds you that yeah, you did just down a bag of blood.
âHow long?â You motion to the bars.
âDepends how quickly you calm down.â
âIâm calm.â
Matteo scoffs. âYou just fed, of course youâre calm. Letâs see how youâre doing when I come back,â and with that he gets up and leaves, taking Al with him and locking the basement door behind him.
I know there's a lot of posts about this already. A lot of pleas for more/better engagement from readers of fanfiction (or enjoyers of fanart, gifs, etc etc)...
But I get so disheartened?
I post my stuff here and on AO3. I know I'm not a big blog here and so I can sort of ignore the lack of reactions to my work by blaming it on the fact that it drowns quickly after posting because there are no reblogs except my own and maybe 1 or 2 others and I'm a small fish in a biiiiiig sea.
It's harder with AO3. There, I can see the hits vs likes and on fics that get ~300 hits...it's hard to feel my writing is worth anything when there's maybe 10-20 likes.
Didn't all the other people reading enjoy it? Is it that bad? I know I'm not amazing but still...
I put a lot of effort into my fics. I write in a language that's not my native tongue. I have someone else help me proof read it. I spent ages plotting before even getting to the point of typing it out.
I guess my point is: why do I bother posting if people don't like what I do?
I know, writing fanfic ought to be for myself and not for others. I like sharing, is the thing. Or I liked. I don't know. I just wish there was more feedback. That if people "consumed" my "product" and if they liked it that I'd somehow know.
Anyways...rant over.
TL:DR
I wish people engageed more with fanfic authors and other creators.
