#fic I write
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The List.
Based on the Cass Apocalyptic Series.
The first part of this has been rumbling around in my brain ever since that Super Sad Scene a month ago, but yesterday’s update gave me the other side of the coin, so to speak, and finally pulled it all together.
@somerandomdudelmao thanks for the fuel, friend
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Donatello’s days have become a series of checklists, as of late.
No, that’s not exactly true. His days have always been about lists: what he’s done, what he can delegate to someone else, what still needs doing. But these days he’s been doing less and listing more, piling tasks from the first category onto the second as fast as he can manage, hoping he has enough time to empty the queue.
The full catalog is written out in a series of files, reorganized for accessibility to the layperson and meticulously up-to-date as of yesterday. He meant to run through it again this morning, ensure all the relevant instruction manuals were attached to each item and double check his protocols, but he wasn’t… he couldn’t…
He’s going to die tonight.
It irritates him, his own miscalculation of the timing more than the stark presence of his oncoming demise. The latter has been inevitable for quite some time, long enough that he’s gotten used to the idea. But he thought he had another week or two, and he doesn’t like being proven wrong. He wonders if his brothers know.
Probably not. They know it’s bad now, obviously, because they’ve piled him with pillows and blankets and surrounded him on all sides, and Leo has finally gone quiet. But they trust him, they’ve always trusted him, even when they shouldn’t, so if he swears he’ll last a few more days, they’ll believe him. He thinks. He’s pretty sure. If they knew it was tonight, he doubts they would choose to sleep through it. Donnie thinks about waking them up, but only for a moment. He’d like to say it’s a noble act, to leave them in peace a little bit longer, but the truth is he’s just too fucking tired to move.
There’s something settled bone-deep in his chest, a heaviness that sits on him like a stone, a peine forte et dure pressing him down and down, stopping his voice and his breath and his heart. He wonders if this is what dying usually feels like, or if it’s unique to the Kraang. Raph would know.
He cranes his neck to the right, to catch Raph’s face out of the corner of his eye. Raph’s working eye is half-open, staring down at the floor. Donnie could ask him. (He won’t. Let him fall asleep.) The movement of his head is so slight it doesn’t even catch Raph’s attention. He’s too tired for anything more. He’s so goddamn tired.
His lists are out of reach at the moment, with his physical interfaces back in the lab and his ninpo locked behind a wall of oh-god-it-sounds-too-exhausting-to-even-try, but he memorized them all long ago.
Raphael: Maintenance (delegated to Casey, who has it well in hand). Plans (tucked away in a dedicated folder, long term, but someday they’ll have the materials, and Raph will have a proper body again, someday). Honey (yes, he passed that along last week).
Raph has access to the tracking programs, so he can keep an eye on everyone himself, even when Donnie can’t pull up locations or vitals for him anymore. He has his own space in the base once more, somewhere to close a door when he needs to (he insists he doesn’t, but Donnie isn’t a fool). He has more excuses to spend time with Casey, who’s taking over his upkeep. Donnie hopes it fills in some gaps for both of them.
He runs through the list, double checks each item. It’s his last chance to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything important.
He looks down, finds Mikey.
There’s a stockpile of the anti-aging serum in his safe, the formula in his database, plans for the permanent solution clearly labeled. As long as they have his lab, his systems, Mikey will be as young as his years. He’s walked him through the greenhouse, even if most of it is controlled by the computer system. Mikey misses the world being green; it’ll do him good to spend more time around the plants. He has his tea, his candles. He has Draxum, who by now should have received a — mildly — threatening message warning him not to pull any disappearing acts anytime soon. He has their ancestors, just a short call away.
Donnie’s sure Mikey will call on him soon. He doesn’t plan to stray far.
Up a bit. To the left. Leo.
The arm — Leo knows how to take care of it, as does Casey.
The passwords — reset, something even Leo will be able to remember without resorting to blackmail.
The schedule — reshuffled for the next few days, he’ll have a hard enough time sleeping as it is.
The photos — everything they have, even the embarrassing ones. He even managed a couple of prints, and one precious shot from their pre-apocalypse days, something for Leo to tuck into a pouch and carry with him, when they’re not around.
Raph, Mikey, Leo. He doesn’t think he’s missed anything. Donnie lets his head fall back, too exhausted to hold it up any longer.
Is it enough?
His mind stretches further out. He’s unraveling.
What about April? Her prescription is up to date, they just checked a month ago. She has the latest in his combat tech, which has kept her safe in the field this long, so he has no reason to think it will falter now. He’s leaving her a few extra pieces, since he won’t be able to use them anymore. Leo will find the time for a movie night once in a while, he’s certain, even if his taste in Jupiter Jim movies is horrendous. They still have coffee; he’d die before he let that particular supply run out. He will, actually.
Casey. Fuck, Donnie’s gonna miss his birthday. But he did plan for this, his protocols will kick in. The mask is finished, everything is in place. He’s reconfigured his workstations, fit them for a tiny human instead of a seven-foot turtle. Casey has a better head for mechanics than any of his brothers ever did. Kid likes to be useful, so Donnie’s left him as much use as he can. He’s taught him everything Casey can learn and left instructions for more, when he’s a little older and wiser. His family will take care of him, they’ll make sure he gets there.
The base. It has to hold, to give them somewhere safe. The infrastructure is sound, and they have people to manage repair work. Supplies are decent, the most critical items in stock, everything that can be made renewable is. Their allies — Leo handles interpersonal issues and leadership, but Donnie’s checked the list with a pragmatist’s eye, left notes and rankings for priority. Security is the largest concern, but he’s spent nearly half his time with his assistants since his self-diagnosis (he could have spent it with his family), running them through the programs and adjustments, trying to bring them up to somewhere in the realm of his own expertise (a fool’s errand, but still). They’ve been rigorously instructed, they understand that the little things like sleep are secondary concerns. It has to hold.
Is it enough? For them to be okay?
He’s done everything he can. He can’t do any more. So it has to be enough.
Donnie blinks, and for a moment isn’t certain his eyes will open again at the end of it. But they do. At least one more time, they obey him.
Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Home. He rolls back through the list. It’s his last chance. He can’t miss anything.
Mikey’s hand tightens unconsciously around his wrist, fingers meeting easily on either side. Donnie feels only the echo of the pressure.
Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Home.
Something bright sparks at the edges of his vision before it fades. The last gasps of a dying brain, he supposes. Synapses firing one last time before they’re snuffed out.
Raph.
Mikey.
Leo.
April.
Casey.
Home.
Light.
There’s light.
It hurts.
He thought dying would stop the pain, but it’s risen to a fever pitch instead. His brother’s arms are gone, but the disease wraps around him in their place, consumes him. It rages like a wildfire, burning through his center until pieces start to flake away like ash.
Oh, this is what it does, what it was built for. The Kraang could have killed him in a lot of different ways. He’d wondered why they chose this one.
He hasn’t planned for it. This is something he didn’t even know to fear.
It’s bright and it hurts but it’s quiet as he crumbles, folds in on himself like a black hole in the utter silence of outer space. It’s quiet enough that the voice that breaks through does so clear as a bell.
His head turns to follow the sound, instinct. He’s lost half his field of vision, but what’s left is enough. He looks, and finds Casey.
Casey looks at him, at him, not the body. Donnie opens his mouth to ask a question — What are you doing here? How? Why? — but something else sloughs out instead. Not blood. He doesn’t have that anymore.
Casey calls his name once more and starts running.
Donnie’s questions fold back into his mind. His mouth clicks shut, he swallows back the putrid rot and pushes himself up. His arms are shattered but they’ll have to hold him. They have to. Because Casey is here and he needs something, which means Donnie missed something, which means he isn’t done.
His spirit disagrees with him, doesn’t see the logic. His arms don’t hold.
Casey reaches to catch him as he falls, and the touch ruptures him instead. He scatters. Into the air and the ground and Casey. For a moment, he’s just pieces, fumbling around and latching onto anything that welcomes them, and Casey does that. They flow into him. They’re him. They’re…
He’s…
Casey, he’s…
Donatello pulls himself back together. Most of himself, anyway. The infection hasn’t followed him but the damage persists. He’s run through with cracks and crevices, shaking bits away into infinity with every movement. But there’s more of him here than not.
Unexpectedly, Donnie is not gone. He’s still dead, but that’s fine, he planned for that one.
Casey has him now. He wraps himself around Donnie in layers, helps hold him together with a kind of sheer will that makes up for any lack of mystic knowledge in spades. Casey asks him to stay, and Donnie takes up the task like Sisyphus sizing up the hill. This time, this time I’ll do it right.
Even better, Casey has taken him to another time, one where all of Donnie’s long-term plans are now completely-fucking-reasonable plans. Casey’s going to fix it, so Donnie can fix everything else. Whatever else needs it. He hasn’t really asked. And he knows he’s missed something, but he doesn’t think too hard about what, not yet.
First thing’s first: he needs a body.
It’s so simple to accomplish that it seems like the universe is mocking him. Just a quick 1-2-3, ticking off the list. It feels almost stupid, like running back through the early levels of a video game after unlocking all the ultimate weapons and burning through enemies and obstacles, laughing, shit, did I used to think this was hard?
In no time at all, his own face has formed in front of him.
In no time at all, he’s gasping.
It’s only been a few hours since he last breathed air, but he’s missed it.
Another thing he’s missed? Functional musculature. Casey slams into him and Donnie is startled to find that it doesn’t knock him over. His arms and legs look like actual limbs again, not fragile little sticks disguising themselves as such. He stands, dragging Casey along without a second thought. The weight barely registers. It’s amazing.
The power trip is heady, but it only lasts a few minutes before reality kicks it in the ass and pulls him back down to earth.
We lost, Casey says.
They’re dead, Casey says.
It wasn’t enough, Casey does not say, but Donnie hears it just as clearly.
All those plans, the preparations, the precautions and protocols, they only borrowed a year or two before they fell apart. He sees the timeline spiral out before him, tighter and tighter until it collapses in on itself, rendered all the more insignificant from his own point of perception. He was alive yesterday. His family is dead today.
Everything he did, it wasn’t enough. Of course it wasn’t. He was stupid to think otherwise.
(Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Casey’s still here. It was enough for him, at least.)
It cuts at him a little, to have been so wrong. But he’s strong again, now. He can take the wound. More importantly, he has another chance to get it right.
Donnie breathes. His chest expands smoothly, easily. The air doesn’t rattle in his lungs. He’s alive, he’s a genius, he can fix anything.
He pulls up a list.
#rottmnt#cass apocalyptic series#Rise of the TMNT#fic I write#*looks at the word count* haha. anyway. i'm normal.#Donnie's expressions when he looks at his family one last time are so fuckin good they're so clear#I looked at him and I was like 'oh cool I can literally read his mind'#which may or may not be true (you tell me) but holy shit was it effective#(please @god let the formatting of this post hold)
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a comic about fix-it fanfics
#original comic#fanfic#fix it fic#fandom#dr who#bbc sherlock#avengers#my comic#my art#been thinking about the truly dumb amount of time I've spent reading fanfic#i started writing fix-it fic like a couple months ago and I Get It#teenage pim was a dumbass
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Please, for the love of god, please don’t be this person. No matter how long it’s been since an update, no matter how many unfinished stories are sitting on their account, no matter what - do not be this person.
Not only is it insanely rude, but you also do more damage than you think be being such a self-entitled ass about something someone created for free and for fun. “This author” can see what you say.
RIP decency indeed.
#Archive of our Own#Ao3#Ao3 Comments#Writing#Fanfiction#Fanfic Writing#I wrote over 100k on that fic before burnout took hold#I poured my heart into what I did manage to finish#adhd’s a bitch that doesn’t always let me write what I want to write but I got that far#don’t make me feel ashamed because you didn’t get to see the ending
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Reblog and put your rare pair in the tags/comments! I want to see the depths people will go to create, for the most random two characters in the most obscure media.
#poll#fanfiction#writing#ao3#my answer is 4 i am curious if anyone can beat that#rare pair#fic#rare pair in question is Iron Bull/Carver Hawke just ftr#unhinged
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#text#copypasting a 21 chapter chat fic i wrote in 2018 into one big document#seeing glimpses of it#most of the time it's like. man. i did not write this#but then i see a phrase i was certain i came up with last year#and im like ah . so ive been making that joke since i was 15 ?#peer reviewed banger#rbsoff
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unstoppable force (desire to write) vs immovable object (tired)
#writing#on the plus side i did make a decent amount of progress on the thesis#on the minus side it sapped my fic writing energy#also we're having a very loud windstorm but that's unrelated#kvetch oc
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Nothing will dispell the "the curtains were just blue" myth faster than writing something yourself, because the amount of pretentious symbolism i am putting in my silly little fanfics is ridiculous. I mean SO much with these words, literally every single one of them. This fic has twenty five typos and zero correct uses of punctuation but if there's curtains you bet your ass I put thought into what colour they were.
#writing#fic writing#like this is stuff i'm doing for fun with my perfectionism meter turned down as far as i can get it#and i am still thinking about it A LOT#talk to me about how in red string fic jgy perceives the memory block both as syrup and as mud but nmj thinks it feels like blood#it's just a thing in their heads that mentally feels kind of thick and sticky but they both made something different of it#it's about issues with cleanliness / lies as a way to craft an illusion of a better lopking world vs the constant violence nmj lives in
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i love it when characters are codependent. i love it when losing someone feels like losing a limb. i love it when two people "complete" each other so wholly and terribly that one can barely function without the other. i love it when the fear of losing the only person who understands them is so all-consuming they'll destroy anything to stay together, including themselves.
#gray.txt#im really normal about moirails#i need to start writing again LOL#ive done 3 entire fics in the last decade but also im on adhd meds so maybe thatll help#still need 2 overcome my debilitating perfectionism tho. it's a work in progress
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When you finally get to the scene you’ve been waiting to write
#writeblr#writing#writer#fic writer#fic writing#writing memes#fic writer meme#YYEEAAAHHHHHHH#happened tonight#I was so giggly
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come back skulk Cub my beloved come back
#hermitcraft#cubfan135#skulk cub#he’s so Normal about skulk#this has given me so many fic ideas#tho idk if I have time to write them all
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Link
Donnie hummed along to a song he didn’t know, not particularly caring whether his contributions matched the melody. The playlist had veered away from familiar territory over an hour ago, but he hadn’t felt the need to change it. Pandora was easily one of his top ten favorite human inventions; it was just so good at maintaining a vibe. On a second computer screen, one not devoted to music management, he watched a glowing green timer tick its way up while he typed out some notes one-handed. The other hand was occupied.
As the timer flipped over to the next minute mark, he paused his typing to rip a paper towel off the roll and lay it lightly over his left arm, letting it soak up the excess blood without applying pressure. When he tossed the used towel to the side, new blood began welling up along the laceration once again, though the flow was much more sluggish than it had been a minute ago. Promising, but if it didn’t stop entirely within the next three minutes, he’d have to chalk this one up to a miscalculation, maybe revisit the original formulae. On the plus side, there didn’t seem to be any difference in rate between the proximal and distal aspects of the wound, so it looked like the proximity question was a non-issue.
Under the heavy beat of the music, he heard footsteps approach his doorway.
Based on @cupcakeslushie‘s Separated AU. Thanks for letting me play in the world!
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When writing fanfiction... there are two beasts that wage war within the writer. *sage nod*
#writing#ao3#writers on tumblr#writers#writers life#writers and poets#writing memes#ao3 writer#writing humor#fanfiction#memes#writing a totally canon Drarry fic but still having BECAUSE I SAID SO moments
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When you first introduce him, Simon instantly knows that he hates your now ex-boyfriend—especially after he broke up with you only two months into the relationship, and the reason behind it sets his teeth on edge.
You’re perfect and so sweet; how could he—
“He broke up with me because…I um…Do I really have to say it? It’s embarrassing.”
He bumps his knee into yours because he really fucking sucks at saying the right thing when the moment calls for it. “You don’t have to say anything.”
With a huff, you get a little flustered and glance down into your glass of beer, brows furrowed. “I couldn’t make him fit.”
It’s so soft, but he hears it as if you’d shouted it across the bar.
The only thought he can think of is that your ex-boyfriend is an idiot once he has your back pressed up against his chest and trembling thighs spread over top of his. Three of his thick fingers already work deep inside of you, filling the room with filthy squelching sounds and your breathy moans.
His thumb carefully drags over your clit, loving how you twitch in his arms. “See? Someone just needed to stretch your little pussy properly, huh?”
“Mhm.” You nod, pressing yourself further into him, thighs butterflying open. “It feels so good.”
“You’re so loose and wet. I bet my cock would slip right in.”
Your walls clench and flutter around him, and it takes everything in him not to toss you onto the bed and fuck you into his sheets. “Simon, can you fuck me? Please?”
It’s hard to deny you when you ask so sweetly, but he can’t give you what you want—not yet. You whine when he pulls one of his fingers out, but it cuts off into a surprised squeak when he grabs your smaller hand to bring it between your thighs.
“Put one of your fingers inside your pussy.”
You turn your head to look up at him, kiss-bitten lips pulled into a pout. “But—”
“Come on, love, be good for me.” Teeth nip your jaw as a warning. “I know you can be so good for me.”
Slowly, you ease your finger in beside his with little pants of his name. His cock jumps against your back as he watches your cunt open up to suck in the intrusion—it makes his stomach twist. Simon traps your finger between his and curls them alongside his inside you, tearing a sharp cry from your chest.
“You’re so gorgeous.” His words are raw, rumbling somewhere deep within his chest. “I’m gonna make you feel so good. So full. Better than your boyfriend ever could.”
Masterlist
#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley smut#simon riley imagine#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x you#ghost x reader#ghost imagine#ghost smut#cod smut#cod fic#cod imagine#cod x reader#mw2 smut#mw2 x reader#mw2 imagine#.things i write
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This... this is a whole different kind of psychic damage here. When nightmares got Marcille, we get to knew that her's biggest fear is outliving her friends. This isn't even canon probably, but look at this. This isn't a "I don't want my friends to die" kind of dream. This is a "I'm terrified of loosing my daughters, of something killing them, and being incapable of stopping it" kind of dream. It's so simple yet it explains perfectly the whole of chilchucks character. He loves, he cares, deeply. But he, or doesn't acknowledges, or doesn't know what to do with that knowledge.
Besides that. Someone had to wake him up after this. Imagine the devastation in this man after he wakes up. He just saw his three little babys murdered corpses (or maybe he saw them die, wich isn't better). He would possibly not talk about it, and that would worry the hell out of the party, because we'll, they see him all down and only one of them knows what he saw. Imagine being the one to pull him from that nightmare. Seeing this man, usually so composed, fuking staring with tears and terror in his eyes to the composes of what you can only assume are his daughters. It would be heartwrenching.
Idk, I love this man so much...
#dungeon meshi#chilchuck#chilchuck tims#if someone wants to write a fic on this#@ me#PLEASE I WANT TO SEEEE#or dm me so i actually see it#please#if someone makes something of this post...#swnd me an ask with a link#this post exploded i cant with all the notifs#i wouldnt know if someone @'d me#i did a tags recap down on the notes and wrote a bit of#chilchuck angst#for the simps out there#my shit
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To all my writers who have a tough time with smut terms and not knowing which ones to use, I have found the holy grail for us.
This reddit user, who I've recently found out is @kjscottwrites here on tumblr, took a poll of 3,500 people and went really in depth with asking their favorite terminology, along with actual pie charts on what the readers preferred to see in their smut.
Check out their post with the link to the Google doc here!
#hope yall enjoy😌#share to save a life because god smut is so hard to write😭#fics#fan fiction#fanfiction#writing#writing tips#smut#write#don't mind me#i dunno what else to tag this as
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To illustrate this post by @mayahawkse I would like to visualize to you the difference:
A post in 2023:
A post in 2014:
A zoom out of the same post:
This is what a community looks like.
See how in 2023 almost all of the reblogs come from the OP, from their few hours/days in the tag search. Meanwhile in 2014 the % of reblogs from OP is insignificant, because most of the reblogs come from the reblogs within the fandom, within the micro-communities formed there. You didn't need to rely on tags, or search, or being featured. Because the community took care of you, made sure to pass the work between themselves and onto their blog and exposed their followers to it. It kept works alive for years.
It's not JUST the reblog/like ratio that causing this issue, it's the type of interaction people have. They're content with scrolling and liking the search engine, instead of actually having a reblogging relationship with other blogs in their community.
Anyways, if you want to see more content you like, the only true way to make it happen is to reblog it. Likes do not forward content in no way but making OP feel nice. Reblogs on the other hand make content eternal. They make it relevant, they make it exist outside of a fickle tumblr search that hardly works on the best of days.
If you want more of something, reblog it.
#i said i wont ever rant about this bc it's unseemly but HONESTLY.#you simply cannot complain about not having enough of A or B or C and then never reblog / interact with the content you love.#If you LOVE something you cannot just leave a like and silently wait for more to happen#I know countless of content creators that simply stopped doing art/writing fic/making edits#You need to understand that fandom content is made FOR the fandom FOR the engagement FOR the entertainment and fun it makes.#If a content creator does not have fun IN the fandom-- why would they spend the scares free time they have on making this content?#And we're not talking about things that you don't like-- no one expects you to reblog things you don't like.#However I think it's safe to say that when a post has more than 5k it's not some random shitpost with no value.#tumblr issues#tumblr#content creators#buns.txt#something something please don't starve your local clowns
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