#<- QUALITY crackfic i will say

[blaiddraws]

So about that one poll...

[callistoscope]

a healthy venture

Summary: As most know, sexual experimentation is all apart of a healthy relationship! It just so happens to coincide with a very awkward relationship for a couple like Harvey and Clarice, however.

Pairing: Cringefail(Clarice) x Harvey. (if you know you know.)

Word Count: 7.4k. I know, it’s ridiculous.

Warnings: Smut, smut, smut. AWKWARD smut. Takes a hot minute to get there, but when it’s there, it is THERE. The sexual experimentation in question is PEGGING with not much else, so….

a/n: this is silly and very crackfic-adjacent but also So Serious to me. also, yeah I guess they’re in a relationship, but early stages? probably had sex before this? Idk, whatever makes the most sense. sorry if the writing style comes off kinda cringe sometimes!!! I really tried to connect the writing style to what I imagine cringefail’s thought process would be like. and it might generally come off more amateurish since it’s been a hot minute since I’ve written. have mercy pls I swear I was so much better at writing like a year ago I’m getting back into the swing of things </3. If you have no idea who cringefail is or why’s she being paired with Harvey, she’s from @clarisinne ‘s comic!!! check it out!!!!!!(peer pressuring you). also @cowboyweevil since u asked me to tag u!

——

Clarice will be the first to admit that her life is consistently in tatters, and more often than not, it's her own hand that tears up that life the most. She had never been the type to have a sturdy head atop her unsteady shoulders— more the type to awkwardly headbutt into every problem and success that dared to beseech her. Both intentionally and unintentionally, sometimes simultaneously.

One thing she does know, a tidbit of information carved so deep into the recesses of her mind that even dementia wouldn't rob her of this simple fact— her sister was a fucking menace.

Clarice could have given her sister some semblance of underserved grace, could have said she wasn't so bad, if only that's where her bad qualities stopped. But Mars's abhorrent behavior was made all the more pesky by how relentless she was.

Her sister was as relentless as the damn splinter still wedged into Clarice's foot, a recent injury she had been careful to make sure Harvey wasn't privy to.

Harvey.

This was all his fault, really. For such a highly respected doctor, for whom which his town had only the most upstanding of opinions of him, beholding him as kind and responsible, Clarice feels safe in saying that her health had went down a steep decline since the moment. . . this happened. Since the moment this strikingly warm, gooey feeling coagulated in her heart, not unlike that of a fatal blood clot. Her life is effectively cut in half from the amount of stress she's experience since moving to this town. Her life force is visibly draining away, day by day, she's sure.

And her darling sister has the nerve to kick her while she's already down. Escalating the gradual deterioration of Clarice's health like the terminal illness only Mars can be like.

Even now, her sister giggles behind her hand in midst the autumn wind, brimming with an audacity that makes Clarice seethe. She has to bite back the urge to chuck her full watering can at her.

Casually, her sister leans down to pluck a pumpkin from the ground, holding it proudly in her arms. A smile plays on her face, one Clarice does not like one bit. "You know... I've been thinking—"

"Stop doing that."

"I've been thinking—" she trots along, happy as a clam. Content as a mischievous cat might be more apt. "If Harvey doesn't step up more, you might really have to take the reins. In a way you don't expect."

Stubbornly, Clarice stays off to the side. She crosses her arms, clutching the watering can high up in protest. Her job this morning was to water whatever crops weren't already covered by their sprinklers, and she was feeling like her labor wasn't deserved the more this conversation carried on. Nothing of substance had been said yet, but Clarice's ears pick up on the lilt in her little sister's voice.

Said sister finally shoots her a cursory glance over her shoulder. "Really! I'm just trying to help you out!" The laughter in her voice says otherwise. "Because, honest to God, the more I think about it— the more plausible it becomes."

Clarice's eyes narrow, body tense in anticipation for the nearing punchline. "... What?" However hesitant, the word ebbs out all the same.

Clarice can see her sister's figure trembling already, frame wracked with inexplicable mirth, and she already wants to sink into the dirt. "Because—" she starts, unhelpfully, voice warbling, "I'm sorry, but that is the exact kind of man who'd wanna get pegged."

Mars's voice grows high-pitched, wavering, and the cackle she lets out would rival a witch. Clarice can hardly focus on that sound, her ears ringing so loud it blocks everything else. Pegging. What the fuck?

Her face grows hot, and it takes conscious effort to not pass out right onto the dirt ground. Whether it be from the thought alone or merely from the fact that her younger sister thought this made for acceptable conversation, Clarice can't be sure. Before Clarice can even hope to respond, the other is rattling off like she's finally been given an excuse to.

"And— and listen! I'm not judging! Good for Harvey! Good for you! As long as everything is safe, sane, and consensual, right?" She bites the words out a bit, trying not to laugh too hard, nearly dropping the pumpkin.

"Stop." Clarice chokes, half plea half threat, blood rushing through her ears. Her mind is fraying at the edges, her brain rotting in record time. She's just starting to stomp her way over to her bastard sister.

"All I'm saying is— I know an online shop that'll ship here, yeah? Sells strap-ons, and has good variety. Pretty quick, too! Poor Harvey won't have to wait very long."

Clarice's free hand just reaches up to claw at her scalp in mortified agony, freezing for one sickening moment. She's on the path to getting her bearings and cursing Mars out like she never has before. Her mind is just on the verge of rewiring itself into proper working order. Like most things in her life, however, Clarice's life never stops at one bad thing.

"Um."

Harvey's voice is small, but the effect it has on her body is not. Clarice's body goes stiff as a rod, and the awkwardly loud clearing of his throat finally coaxes her into snapping her head back to look at him. So hard that one of her braids whips against her throat. Harvey stays where he is, loitering around the entrance of the farm with an odd rigidity to his face.

Clarice's body proves untrustworthy, and the hand holding the watering can goes limp. It's the moment after the tepid metal slips from her fingers that the gravity of her mistake hits her.

It really does hit her— the hefty watering swishes loudly as it lands straight on her foot with the accuracy of an Olympic gymnast.

"Fuck!" Clarice all but howls, stumbling back and promptly tipping back onto the dirt with an equally pained shout. It's a hard fall that ends with her gaze blearily aimed up at the blue sky, her ears picking up the sounds of two pairs of shoes scuttling up their respective pathways.

Of course. Of course it was the foot she had the splinter in.

——

Of all the sexual escapades both her waking and unconscious mind liked to torture herself with by envisioning… Clarice will admit that pegging isn't one of them. Not to say that her thoughts are incapable of running along the more adventurous paths she catches herself pointedly trying to ignore, but it simply had never come up.

Until now, at the violation of her coveted free will, at her sister's hands. She wishes all the terrible things for Mars, sometimes.

And she really shouldn't be mulling over her sister's words seriously, but her mind is deliberately caught on the thought.

... How does Clarice even feel about the concept? Even vaguely, if she just distantly ponders over what exactly that would entail? Maybe she feels some sexual curiosity she'll get to sating one of these days, should Harvey give it the okay?

If Clarice lets her mind do more than skim over the topic, however... the honest reality of what such an activity would bring is enough for her to be content to shelf it out of sheer mortification, never to see the light of day. Harvey, as always, is a different case. Adds integers into the equation that forces Clarice to reconsider everything, to reach for a different conclusion she otherwise never would have. She's forced into growth with him, sickeningly enough.

More annoyingly, she's forced into tending to herself in areas where she usually would shrug and walk it off. As soon as the hard, metal, heavy watering can had crashed onto her foot, the strange tension dispersed throughout the farm had vaporized on Harvey's part. Harvey had been painfully normal to her for those few minutes. Fussing over her, taking her carefully by the arm and coaxing her into her own house, insisting he check her foot for any major damage.

Mars had the social grace to stay outside, and Clarice prays she has enough to feel ashamed. She's knocked out of that thought when Harvey cautiously presses down on the top of her foot, and she promptly hisses.

"Sorry, sorry," he says, mouth flitting to a little frown. Harvey looks up at her from where he's taken a knee in front of her to closely inspect her foot, those brown eyes of his more like puppy dog eyes. "Just want to make sure nothing's fractured." Despite his words, he presses down at a different area of her foot, and Clarice's leg twitches with the instinct to kick him.

Her mind continues to fluctuate between nauseating panic and increasing irritation at Harvey's continued poking and prodding. It all culminates when he leans back, seeming satisfied with his work, meeting her eyes another time.

Abruptly, his eyes widen and his gaze scatters back to the floor, and that's all the confirmation Clarice needs to know exactly what place Harvey's mind goes back to. She'd had hope he'd forgotten about it, but that hope is thoroughly dashed and thrown back to drown in the river.

"So. Um..." he trails back into silence just as rapidly as he starts to speak, a palpable tension fracturing any temporary peace that had settled. Harvey shuffles, a stiffness settling over his body that she notices. It's the soft blush that peeks over his ears that does Clarice in, an innocent seashell pink that makes her eyes dart to the opposite direction of the room in deflection. Her hands claw shakily at the leather of the couch.

"Listen... I know it's technically none of my business, and it wasn't exactly meant for my ears—" Harvey lets out a labored breath. From the corner of her eye, Clarice can see his head tilt up, before hesitantly bobbling back down. He seems torn on where he should be looking. "And, uh— I didn't exactly hear everything? So, uh..." he says, voice wavering at the end. Clarice chances a glance, only to see a bright red blooming over the slopes of his cheeks, hands clenching at the pant leg of the knee he's supporting his weight on.

"I'm really sorry if I'm misunderstanding, but... how exactly did that topic come up?" He squirms a little from where he's kneeling, as if even just saying such vague words wired a shot of adrenaline straight through his nervous system. Clarice can relate, even if she knows what he's feeling is infinitesimal compared to the amount of adrenaline coursing through her.

Steam might start coming out through her ears if her mind ponders on any of this any longer. "... My sister brought it up." she mumbles, voice strained. Clarice brings her hands up, rubbing her temples, her cheeks nearly scorching her palms. Apologies, insults directed at her sister, humiliated blubbering, all sit at the tip of her tongue, but she just can't manage it. It's more like there's a stone in her mouth, on the verge of suffocating her, and her lips feel dementedly stitched together. "She thought you'd— I don't know. You know." It feels like flames lick up her cheeks then, and she winces with grief at the bitter loss of normalcy regarding their relationship. Who is she kidding? That ship had long since passed.

"Ah," Harvey actually scratches at the back of his neck, and something about that makes her want to scream in pain. It's such a stereotypical display of anxiety, and it makes those gooey feelings spring up like unwanted weeds along the sidewalk of her heart. It's endearing, damn him. "So, you're not...?"

Harvey eyes trail back up, she can feel them on her body before she can see them. Her eyes meet his in quick succession, and she feels herself jolt as if she's touched a live wire. He himself seems a bit frozen in comparison, but there's a glint in his eyes. Eyebrows furrowed, looking uncertain yet decidedly... curious. Flustered and nervous, but not disgusted.

Clarice jolts again, eyes going wide, hands falling from her head. She probably tears a few red hairs out in the process, but doesn't have the presence of mind to care when her mind is racing a mile a minute. "Oh God, you are into it." she blurts, bewildered for a multitude of reasons.

Any bravado Harvey seems to have procured promptly breaks from under him, his head bowing down as he's left to pick up the pieces. "I didn't say that!" he insists shakily, sweeping a hand through his hair.

"It's just— if that was something you were into, I wanted to..." Harvey's voice dies, swiftly fishing his hand out of his hair. "I... didn't want you to feel ashamed about it, is all. Or like you couldn't talk to me about it." he finishes with an exhale, his face brimming with a vibrant red.

Clarice swallows, shifting on the couch with an antsy energy. "... How do you feel about it?" she forces out, more stiffly than she'd like. Her methods of communication were never as smooth or clear-cut as she envisioned. Moments like these only exacerbated that flaw. "You can... talk to me, too." She cringes. She sounds a little robotic.

Yet, Clarice had promised herself to try and be more... open, about any such topics with Harvey. To be considerate and hold his feelings with higher priority than following through on her track record and waving them away. Instead of regressing into the skittish fawn she is at heart and dashing away.

Harvey fidgets before slowly rising to his feet, face still red as a rose. "I haven't thought about it much, until now. But honestly, I don't feel negatively about it." Something shifts in his expression, fills his face with unyielding tension, and his eyes shyly flit to the other side of the room.

"Morbid curiosity is probably the most accurate emotion for what I'm feeling." It's said with a weight, as though he's confessing some grand sin to a noble higher priest. "It was clearly just meant to all be jokes, though, so the last thing I'd do is expect anything out of it! Not to say I even really want anything out of it."

She sucks in a deep, steadying breath.

"It's okay if you do." Clarice's face flames as soon as she dares to utter such words. She gestures awkwardly with her hands, body more akin to lifeless metal than flesh and blood. "Haha! Sex—" she chokes, abruptly restarting the sentence.

"Sexual— Sexual experimentation is just a part of a healthy relationship! And we're healthy!" Smiling tightly, the inflection of her voice comes out more manic, a little frantic. She bumps her elbow against him, harder than she means if the wince that stretches over Harvey's face has anything to say about it.

"And it's normal! We're normal, and we can do this! Right, doctor?" Clarice grits her teeth a little, elbowing him again, desperate.

"Y- Yeah! Hah, definitely!" Harvey laughs nervously, rubbing the side of his stomach. "But, we should probably discuss this more, if you're really being serious—"

"— Harvey," Her face is promptly buried in her hands, unable to even cast a glance in his direction. "I'm at my limit. Please."

Another anxious little laugh bubbles out of him, pulling at a loose thread hanging from his coat. "Of course. Yes, that's, whatever makes you comfortable. We can talk about this later."

——

The simple fact of the matter is that they do. It's a verbal scuttle that seesaws back into Clarice conversationally dragging her feet, as most conversation between them winds up being on her end. How Harvey puts up with it is beyond her— hell, Harvey himself is beyond her.

Kind, wonderful Harvey mystifies her as much as he begrudgingly enchants. He is some strange, glittering galaxy that perplexes her with his intent to be swept into her chaotic gravity. Terrifyingly considerate, practically falling over himself with every other word when he insists that they don't have to do this, he wants her to be comfortable, he only wants what she wants—

And... What does Clarice want? The question echoes in her mind, the answer echoing in kind.

To be sated.

This curiosity, it stifles her in its attempt to persuade her. It sits in her chest, leaves residue when it attempts to glue itself in her head. Clarice had waved it off, tried to ignore it, but the remains fester there. The rot of the idea is only fertilizer, and ultimately, it only grows. She's curious, and she's always been one to explore what springs that emotion in her. For the most part.

And when she finally wrings out that honesty out of herself, Harvey flusters, but moves with the natural pull that such a confession swings a conversation into: what now? What's the plan?

There's a list of questions that are steadily answered, ticked off the mental list she's sure Harvey had conjured up in his head. Where? Definitely your apartment, I'd kill you and myself if my sister heard. Okay. Uh, how would we get the... equipment? Ship it to your apartment. My sister would never let me live it down if she got even a hint of it.

Many similar questions and answers filtered out amongst them. Harvey makes some timid remark about doing his own personal research regarding how he should prepare himself, and the conversation is effectively capped off for a few weeks. It's the persistent elephant in the room, one that grows inexplicably bigger one day in later Autumn. Finally, after some surface level digging that more exposed how deeply it burdened Harvey's mind rather than exposed any real concern from Clarice, he admitted that that the equipment came. 'It,' he'd referred to it so aptly.

It. It came. There wasn't much more to plan than the main event itself. Not much more to do other than biting the bullet and doing it. With the grand exception being thinking about it, a crime which Clarice finds herself exuberantly guilty of. The last few weeks had given her heartburn, her thoughts becoming expertly nomadic in the way they traveled from normal and innocent to salient and crude. Stray thoughts that clustered rapidly in one great moment of imagination before popping and deflating like a balloon. Leaving her flustered in midst her daily chores, normalcy strained for the rest of the day.

What would Harvey say? What would he sound like, how would it feel? How would Clarice feel, really, to be the one giving in such a way?

She didn't have to wonder much longer. Even still, her curiosities still ring so loud in her head as she stands at the door of the clinic, heart running at such a magnitude that a hummingbird's would pale in comparison. She clutches her to go bag in an iron grip, the reason why she had a to go bag making her body all the hotter.

Clarice's mind whirrs when the door opens, and it doesn't stop until they reach Harvey's humble apartment towards the top, and even then, it only dulls. She isn't even sure what sort of pleasantries they exchanged, too strung up in her thoughts to be in anything other than on autopilot.

"We don't have to do this," Harvey drills the notion yet again into her head as he is bending down at the side of his bed, hand grasping blindly at the space under the bed frame. "Really. We could just sit in for a normal night. I wouldn't mind any."

Clarice gathers herself, though her efforts are futile when it's like trying to keep water in her hands. "I would." she bites out, sucking in a breath through her teeth with a whistling sound as she gracelessly lets her bag drop to the floor. "I want to. We're doing this." she says, surprising herself with the shaky, albeit no less sincere, conviction in her voice.

"... As long as, you know, you're still down with it." she falters, twiddling with the sleeve of her jacket absently. Her gaze returns to Harvey when she hears a sliding sound, like something being dragged across the floor.

"I am!" Harvey breathes, voice wavering. He isn't looking at her, instead looking at the box he'd apparently stashed under his bed. "... I just like to be sure about these sorts of things." He stands back up with the box in tow, presenting it to her as he steps closer and closer. His face is already flushing, though it's a soft dainty pink that she finds all too fitting on him.

As her gaze roves over the box, it is not a dainty pink that seizes her face. On the white box is an understandably crude picture of a dildo, a strap-on she thinks belatedly, with words in varying fonts spewed around it. Reviews, the technical name of this model, the brand. Interestingly enough, it seems Harvey bought a set, her eyes pick up. A strap-on and a harness.

It hits her all at once, and she makes a sound that is part laugh and part cry. She's incredulous, unable to conceive everything that is happening, the things that click into place. "God, you hid it? Under your bed?" she mumbles, the humor of the situation washing over her as she lets out a raspy laugh. Harvey, the highly respected doctor of Pelican Town, hiding a strap-on under his bed.

Harvey makes an affronted noise, though his voice trembles a little with laughter when he weakly replies, "Yes. It— I didn't have room for it in my drawer." Bashfully, he gestures to said drawer, the one next to his colossal bookcase.

Clarice snorts, and the tension eases. Where this is all going, where the current is taking them, doesn't seem so scary for a moment. Harvey smiles, still a little timid, and starts to open up one of the flaps of the box. "Is it really that funny?"

"I don't know. Probably not." Clarice admits in a weak voice of her own, swallowing as he moves back the layers of the box. It's one of those types, weirdly shiny and like plastic more than the traditional brown box. That tension fills back in slightly when her eyes catch sight of it. Well, not yet, it's in a protective pouch— but nothing can really hide the distinct shape that the fabric really only enhances.

It only takes a moment for Harvey to grasp it, holding it in a limp grip as he pointedly looks at the other contents of the box, ears tipped in red. "And, ah, hm," Awkwardly, he moves the pouch into the curve of his elbow, the back of his arm holding it against his body. His free arm fishes out the harness more preparedly, touching it less like a dead fish. "Here's... the harness."

It takes a moment to realize that he's holding it out to her, waiting for her to take it. Clarice shuffles with nervous energy, taking it and holding it stiffly away from her body. As if any making any further contact with it will scorch her. She already burns, and it's in the most humiliating way. An uncomfortable heat bread-crumbing its way lower and lower, with plenty of pauses. "Should I... put it on?"

Harvey makes a sound, lips parting as if to say something. They only close again, and she can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. He only nods, abruptly turning around. Only then does he find his voice. "Probably, yes."

Respectively, both parties begin to disrobe, Clarice starting with her shoes and socks and whittling away at the rest. A part of her tries to be neat about it, wants to be, but quickly loses that train of thought as soon as she has it. Anxiety gnaws at her the whole way through, until there's a messy pile of clothes sitting next to her and a weight in her chest. And the harness tightly in her grasp. Clarice rubs the fabric between thumb and forefinger curiously, sighing as she starts to journey of putting it on.

And a journey it is, anxiety quickly becoming secondary to the frustration that shuffles to the forefront of her mind. Trying to figure out what could be adjusted, how to hold certain parts of the harness while she slides it further up her body, it was a bit of a nightmare. Clarice adjusts the position of the O-ring when she's decently certain it's secure enough, pulling the adjustable straps against her body tighter afterwards just for extra security.

Clarice exhales a slow breath as she turns, wiping sweat from her brow. Only to find Harvey watching, naked from the waist down, his dark eyes a little wide and glazed, clutching the hem of his shirt. He jolts, hand fidgeting with the hem, as if unable to decide if he should take it off or not. "I'm so sorry, I just—"

"Were you staring at me?" Clarice asks, mortification budding at every nerve in her body in hot sparks.

"I wanted to make sure you weren't struggling with the harness!" Harvey says defensively, slipping his shirt off in one bold movement. "Because, if you were, I did look into it. I... should have mentioned that." His voice grows calm again, face ripening to more of a raspberry pink. Predictably, he folds his shirt up with practiced ease, almost more of a nervous tic than him actively wanting to.

Her eyes absently wander over his body, only to trail down harshly even at something as simple as the look of his bare chest. Clarice catches blurry snapshots at every other part of his body, but her mind is too scrambled to attempt to study the details.

"Should I..." she hears Harvey swallow this time, him almost making a gurgling noise at the back of his throat. "Should I get onto my back?" he continues, voice edging on squeaky.

"No," she blurts, shaking her head frenetically. She can't. There's many things she can do right now, is willing to, wants to do, but having Harvey on his back under her during this, helpless and pliant... she just can't do that right now. It stirs something in her, sure, something she may want to get to know more intimately in due time. Maybe. But not now. "I'm getting on my back. You're going to have to just— figure it out."

She hugs her body, wobbling over to his bed with the intention to plop down in a show of dominance, only to pause. The pouch lays on his bed, the fabric still doing absolutely nothing to disfigure the phallic shape. That's all it takes to make her sweat again, that anxiety of hers rising from its grave as she picks it up much like he had carried it previously. Underlining it all is that tailspin of anticipation, lying snugly under any negative emotions that threaten to impede the event.

"I mean you can just, you know," she stammers, eyes bulging at her own thoughts. "You know." Her eyes avoid him, digging her fingers into the opening and tugging it open, looking away when she grasps at the flared base. Clarice has no hope of keeping her eyes open as she slides it out of the silk, immediately fluttering closed just upon seeing purple. Prying her eyes back open, she forces a study session of sorts, discerning any texture she can make out by sight. It seems... smooth, not sculpted to be very indicative of an actual dick besides the base shape. More like an artist's under drawing.

Harvey is staring at it just as intently, with bated breath, hands clenching into fists. "That's okay, I can do that. I just, before that, I'll need to... prep myself. I can't just—" His hand lurches up to adjust his glasses shakily, that scarlet Harvey has been valiantly fighting off spilling on his cheeks like paint. "I-I need to use my fingers first."

Clarice's eyes aren't beckoned away from the toy at that, but her brain fizzles. It flickers and flames, a part of her screaming to watch and another pleading to cover her face the whole time. You'll never survive if you watch, it pleads.

"... Okay." she chokes, because what other response is there? "I'm also going to... prepare." Her voice sounds so small, even to her own ears. With a trembling hand, Clarice twists the toy in her grip, carefully holding the flared base awkwardly to her pelvis, trying to figure out how to thread the base into the O-ring. Harvey tries to pipe up helpfully, blabbering nervously about what to do, but shuts up when Clarice begs out, "Please shut up."

Harvey is fumbling with something, and once Clarice ensures the strap-on is slotted in correctly, she turns to see him drawing out a little bottle of what she can only assume is lube. He opens it in a diligent twist, coating his fingers quickly and wincing. She notes how he seems to focus on covering two fingers above all else, and that flame stirs again. More like a spark, hesitant but hungry for a chance to ignite.

She stiffly sits and lays on the bed, in such a way that her legs splay out over the side of the bed, soles of her feet touching the wood. Harvey passes the lube to her, pressing it to her stomach. "You're... You should probably use this, too." he says, face flushing a red that Clarice's own rushes to imitate. Harvey sits, but does not lay, in the same way she does. Except he props a leg up on the bed, spreading himself open, pressing that knee to his stomach as he settles next to her. She decides to be grateful she can't see anything from this angle, only his back, everything else too far in her peripheral to make anything particularly lewd out.

That gratitude is a fleeting present, for she is suddenly made intimately aware of the moment he must edge a finger into himself by the way his breath hitches. Clarice can't not notice, it's such a sharp sound that resonates in her ears— the leg up on the bed twitches. The bed creaks, and the spark ignites like a firework.

She brings a hand up to her mouth as her eyes betray her, her own thighs twitching with want for relief as she scours his back. Sees his shoulder blades flex when he must push in deep, loosen when he pulls out shallow. Harvey's very breath is trembling, his hips attempting to buck, but only succeeding in a meek roll with the way he's scrunched up.

"I'm so sorry if this is weird," he says, voice muffled and breathy. He must be covering his mouth with his free hand, too. Clarice can't say anything, especially not when he sighs as a tremor wracks through his body. His hips give another pitiful roll, his head lolling back for a brief second.

"H-Have you done this before?" she asks, perhaps too banally. It's just too practiced, he falls into each motion with too much ease. Experience. Her ears are reacting that way to sound again, any noise muted, as if underwater.

Harvey whines quietly, though the sound reeks more of humiliation than bliss. Clarice's body reacts the same regardless, shifting on the bed fruitlessly. She can feel herself pulsing, and she thinks she's gonna pass out if she focuses on that facet of this situation any more than she needs to.

"... Not before any of this came up. Just over the past few weeks." he manages shakily, "Just... just to see what I thought. To see if I liked it."

The bed creaks particularly loud with one swipe of his pelvis, and the sound he makes does sound more pleased. "Didn't want to make you go through any of this if I didn't even like it."

"... And you like it?"

Clarice buries her face in her hand then, when the silence stretches out a bit too long. Every part of her burns. Every nerve is roaring fire, and it's suffocating. What could even relieve her, she doesn't know.

"... Yeah. It was— it's nice." Harvey gasps out, a flurry of panicked breaths escaping him. He's trying to catch his breath, body going tense as wood. He tries to exhale, some other noise laden in it. "I think— I think I'm ready."

Harvey's arm looks disfigured as he moves it from this angle, the movement sputtering to a quickness that slows just as soon. His head tilts as he wipes sweat from his forehead with his free hand, seeming to completely pause. it's confirmed when he rests the other hand on his leg.

Her mind is caught in a constant loop of What do I do? and I don't know for a few seconds. For once, Clarice's body is dependable and rational, a hand grabbing for the small plastic bottle on her stomach. It's like all sentience has seeped out of her ears, her mind going blank as she pumps the strap-on absently, making the toy nice and slick. Apparently, she’s already poured it out on her hand.

The blankness in her head abruptly swirls into color, thoughts, visions, when Harvey turns his body. He gets onto his knees, ushering himself closer to her body, but not bridging any actual distance. His warm skin and body sit plainly out of reach.

Harvey hums plaintively, and Clarice can't even begin to explore what that could mean.

"You're really sure you're okay with this?"

A deep sigh reverberates throughout the room. Clarice leans back on the bed, pressing her hand harder against her face. "Yes," she groans out, agonized. "I'll tell you if I'm not feeling it."

Harvey lets out another heavy breath, though it sounds less burdened. "Alright. In that case then, I'll, uh, I need to..."

"Okay." Clarice says, high pitched, pulling her hand quickly away from the strap-on. It's weird, wearing this thing. She can feel the phantom sensations of where it tilts, now that her hand isn't there to direct it straight.

"Okay," Harvey echoes her, similar down straight to the tone, the almost squeaky way he says it. "I'll... try not to put too much of my weight on you."

"Thanks." Clarice merely whines, wilting into the mattress.

Harvey shuffles over, bed creaking with every new placement of his knees jutting into the bed. There's a moment where the anticipation builds, becomes something tangible and unbearably thick. The tension squeezes against itself, then loosens, like a heartbeat. Like it's a real, pulsing thing.

Harvey places a hand on the bed, around her side, gripping his covers tight as he murmurs apologies. Throws a leg over her waist as his other hand braces near the other side of her, releasing a shaky breath. He keeps himself up on his knees, looking down at himself and grasping at the strap-on feverishly by the base, holding it more in a line. Clarice doesn't know what expression he's making, what expression she's making, all too busy covering her face. Risking glances through the spaces of her fingers. It's all happening simultaneously too fast and tortuously slow.

"Alright," Harvey exhales, adjusting his knees one more time, face wrought with anticipation. "... Alright."

With a steady gaze downwards, Harvey slowly lowers his body down. He jolts as if struck with electricity when the tip presses against his rim, lips parting with a slow breath as he inches down further after a pause. There's a start of a whine in the back of his throat every time the strap-on slides in deeper, but he always staves it off. Always sucks in more air, and keeps going dutifully.

Harvey keeps to his promise and carefully holds himself up even as the strap-on fills him, an occasional shake winding from his face to his legs. Those dance aerobics classes seem to be paying off, in any case.

This seems to be one of the rare circumstances where Harvey is considerate of his boundaries and limits, hips undulating up and down with a careful air. It's a process he treats delicately, gives himself plenty of time to relax in between motions, and Clarice can appreciate that solely because he deserves to be treated gently. Even if she's horrible at doing it, he deserves that much. That sort of growth is something she owes him, one of these days.

That day will come, but today is a different one, a different milestone. Harvey doesn't contest these thoughts of hers, moaning softly once the gentle treatment becomes unnecessary. Unwanted, if the gradually increasing speed of his rhythm could have any thoughts on the matter.

Through the slits of trembling fingers, Clarice watches. Everything is magnified, all the emotions breaking some impossibly high dam despite the odds. There's shifts in Harvey's expression every time he effectively bounces, lips twitching with effort to keep himself quiet. Sweat glistens along his forehead and neck— he shines in the low lamplight that sits glowing only about a foot away.

The heat between her legs is unbearable. Clarice can't remember the last time she had gotten so wet and hadn't tended to herself. Hadn't been able to. It's humiliating, but that emotion is so weak and malleable in the current of pure arousal her body is getting lost in. Her head is foggy, yet her vision is vibrant with clarity, with Harvey.

Harvey, who's working himself down harder with every passing second. Instead of that lost, cloudy look catching in his eyes, he only looks all the more searching. Harvey sits back further on his heels, letting out a moan that sounds frustrated. Unthinkingly, Clarice's eyes glance downward at the dick between his legs. Straining and flushed against his abdomen, with him close enough that she can see the pearl of pre-cum beading at the very tip. It moves with every motion he makes. The bead drips over, trailing over every bump and ridge.

"... What's wrong?" Clarice dares to speak, voice containing a rasp that floors her.

"... I can't," Harvey whines, back arching as he sculpts his hips into a particular rocking motion. "I-I can't, I need—" he chokes, leaning far enough that he has to grind his hips forward and back more than up and down for the strap-on to stay inside.

Then he jolts at a particular thrust he implores, gasping sharply. His brown eyes go wide, glasses jumping with every movement that he makes, suddenly speeding up. "Oh! Oh, please, please—"

His thighs tremble with effort, and suddenly he's sliding right down. Harvey's weight presses right into her as he essentially sits on her lap, making her let out a grunt of surprise rather than one of any meaningful discomfort. He's straddling her completely, and the whimper he lets out is downright pitiful.

Harvey blinks with wet eyes, his eyes searching for hers, face twisted with embarrassment. Need laces it, need seems nestled into every frantic little movement Harvey attempts to make. Only for Harvey's body to slump back down, clearly too exhausted to keep doing all the work. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I can't— can you—?"

He suffers through the moment for air, face red as a strawberry, thighs still shaking even as he's seated. ".... Help me," he breathes, air whistling through his teeth a little. "Please."

The blood in her body is torn between two places. Clarice feels light-headed, her chest heaving for air she hadn't realized had dissipated. She's sweating before she's even doing anything, before she warily places her spare hand on his hip for support. Harvey groans with relief before she even properly helps him out. "Thank you, thank you." he chants.

He starts to move up again, more uninhibited thanks to the added momentum of Clarice's hand moving with him. Harvey lets out a hoarse cry when Clarice gathers enough courage to start rolling her hips up, meeting in a messy pace where neither is sure who should follow who.

Clarice shudders at the sudden increase in sounds, and more importantly, the volume. Face flaming, her mind wails to reprimand him in some way, to remind him of his neighbors who know him, but more importantly her. It's here where input and output scramble uselessly in the recesses of her brain. "Harvey! You— You need to quiet down." she hisses from her hand, on the cusp of a grand mistake. Her mind aims for swatting at his arm, but seeing as both hands are busy with equally important tasks, an easy pair of dots are connected.

Clarice raises her hand for a brief moment, smacking his ass lightly. Absently.

Harvey downright squeaks with shock, jerking on her lap. "I'm— I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

She could die right that moment, but thankfully, Harvey seems too out of it to make a comment on it. She cowers further into her hand all the same, body as hot as a furnace, eyes watering.

Clarice is just as quick to look through her fingers again, her other hand gripping his hip tightly, heart stopping in her chest when Harvey bites into his palm, muffling yet another cry. His eyes are lidded behind his glasses, breathing unsteady against his palm.

Harvey shakes his head, babbling around his hand as his body starts to tense up. "Clarice. Clarice. Feels good." His voice catches, bed creaking. An embarrassed pride stings her chest, hand clawing into his hip with her nails.

Despite the strain her voice, she forces what she knows he needs out. "You're doing so good, Harvey."

Harvey trembles, eyes squeezing shut, head tipping back. "... Clarice, 'm gonna..." he's nearly incoherent, too weak to keep riding the strap-on even with Clarice's guidance. Her moving hips seem to be enough to suffice, his teeth visibly digging deeper into his skin.

He blinks, once, then twice, then again, each one more rapid than the last. Harvey's body seizes, Clarice can feel it down to his thighs, his head bolting back forward. To her surprise, his other hand goes to cover the one holding his hip, his hips rolling in sporadic little bursts.

Harvey holds her hand to him tightly, dragging in one more ragged breath as the tension crests and drops with an abruptness entirely expected. He wheezes a little, sounding almost pained as his body quakes through the orgasm, cock twitching with little spurts.

All Clarice can do is watch with wide eyes, hiding them behind her hand again when it gets too much. All of this has been too much, really, but the feeling really implodes in the aftermath.

Soon enough, Harvey manages to haul his body to the spot next to her, sluggish and sated when he lets his body collapse. The bed squeaks in protest. Clarice's eyes burn more and more with unshed tears by the second, face hotter than the sun. She is half convinced that when she pulls her hand away, there will be burns staining her fingers and palm.

"Do you..." Harvey suddenly pipes up, lungs still audibly fighting for oxygen. "... want me to return the favor?" he asks, managing to sound as timid as he was breathless. "I mean, I know you didn't... finish." he coughs as quiet as a mouse.

Clarice makes a strangled sound, rolling on the side that turned her back to him. Tears spill out of her eyes, though she can't say any part of her regrets the experience. She's just... overwhelmed, mortified, and irritatingly horny. "No."

"Are you crying?" The bed dips as Harvey's voice pitches higher up in panic. "Oh, I'm so—"

"Harvey, it was hot," she sputters through tears, not giving him the chance to piss her off through his relentless apologies yet again. "Shut up. I'm just overwhelmed."

A hand tentatively reaches for her shoulder, Clarice's body tensing when she feels him stroke her shoulder assuringly. She hates him a little for it, hates it more when she actually relaxes.

It takes a moment of deliberate silence until the feeling soothes in her chest. Wiping away a few tears, she reluctantly rolls onto her other side, facing Harvey. “… Hi.” she says, voice a little muted.

“Hi.” The sentiment is mimicked easily, breathlessly, though he tacks a hesitant smile onto his flushed face. Clarice bursts into a giddy giggle for a reason she can’t quite pin down, giving him a watery smile. Harvey’s smile brightens, looking relieved. Some sexual exploration is healthy in the long run, she supposes, if it feels this freeing at the end.

[afantasyoffiction]

buddie fic recs!

ok so someone in the buddie safe zone asked for fic recs and i. ahem. i may have gotten carried away while procrastinating on my wip ok

so here's my Official List of Buddie and 9-1-1 fic recs which i will update with fics that make me go insane! it saves me going through my ao3 history ever again i hope

short n sweet buddie fics

anything by cavevulpis on ao3, but especially Hotbox Heroes its SO FUNNY. actually especially It's me or the cat, because that one made me scream into my pillow

(anywhere but) underneath the mistletoe by lenaboskow - some festive teehee minific

the (diaz-buckley-han) mistletoe scheme by pinkpeach tea. yes thats two consecutive mistletoe fics what about it theyre both WONDERFUL

appetency by daisies_and_briars - i was expecting this to be like a fun chill fic and it was but it also completely like made me insane

post season 8 ansgty fix it fics

Stay with me (you're all I need) by accio_magic

and it feels like i'm coming home by dershoimvik, this one was so freaking beautiful and i cannot believe mugs make me cry now

strawberry lemonade by itsjuststar - road trip!

it wakes me up inside just to feel your pain by hopelesslittlekilljoy - haven't finished yet but whoo boy. wow

beating the horse by doitgently. i mean with all of these read the tags but this one especially. don't read if ur already anxious it is entirely buck being mentally and physically unwell about eddie! very good fic

at least its not a tsunami by Taboo_writer - not technically post s8 i don't thinkk? but very good very angsty and now i hear that line and want to cry. more about buddie ndes and their relationship over time

i'll run to you (there's no place i wouldn't go) by kabnd. listen. listen. if tim minear copied this exactly??? giving credit obvi? i would DIE its ALL I NEED. like shenanigans? check. wholesome? check. angsty? check. squealing ceaselessly into my pillow bc theyre so DUMB and STUPID and IN LOVE. um. yeah. check (buck looking at his clipboard check) check

i squealed into my pillow

Buck Day Afternoon by Bookwork0303. this sounds like a crackfic and it kinda is but its actually. inordinately funny and way too angsty and way way way too good for what it actually is, which is a fic about buck trauma dumping to the men who are holding him hostage and everyone shipping buddie about it

nursing our wounds by withmeornotatall - a HILARIOUS outsider pov fic where a writer on Hotshots makes nurse 1 and nurse 2 canon like we all deserve

i'll run to you (there's no place i wouldn't go). yes ive said this already. but goddamm this deserves to be on this list twice jfc INCREDIBLE PLEASE READ IT EVERYONE AND GO COMMENT THIS AUTHOR DESERVES EVERYTHING

alternate universe

I didn't mean to say i do, but i do by schrijverr - haven't finished yet but its. very good. too good. i'm not ok abt it

um anyways anyone reading pls comment ur favs! also credit to the fandom in general because. its been how long? and we already have some incredible freaking stuff out here. like the quality of content in this fandom is insanely good, the amount of interaction is so wholesome and i'm generally so happy to be here

[wander-wren]

got another bot-spam comment on ao3, but this one is extra weird. let’s do some investigating!

for those not in the know, The Haunting is my dark whumpy “todoroki gets adopted by aizawa” fic. it’s also 60k words long. so right away i’m doubting this person read it. that plus the generic vibes? bot comment. but i’m also pretty sure i’ve heard of this channel before, specifically because it wasn’t crediting authors. hm. so i go check it out: http://www.youtube.com/@DnWhatIf

first of all, these are the videos i’m greeted with:

now, i don’t want to bash anyone’s taste, but this is so extremely not my thing. nooooo way. some of these read more like crackfic, which is fine, but tonally the difference is SO much. and just makes it even more glaringly obvious that they aren’t reading the fics they’re spamming or even giving them a cursory once-over (or putting strong filters on the bot? i’m not clear how bot comments work)

because this is the first thing you see about The Haunting:

i’m guessing, if it wasn’t completely random, it’s the fact that i tagged izuku as a character. and really it’s just lazy, the whole thing. it’s all bots. ai art in the thumbnail, ai voice reading the fic, bot making comment spam for you. zero respect. if this was an actual podficcer i would consider it! hell, i might even accept ai voice readings (MAYBE), if it was obvious there was a human person who cared behind them. it could certainly be a tool for good, since podficcing isn't very common (we love you podficcers. if i had a little bit more confidence i would be one of you).

but anyway, hang on, lets back up a step, because the whole reason i looked into this was the credits issue. the video “what if deku became a teacher at ua” (ugh) (i hate the title gimmick also) is going to be my guinea pig.

so in the little intro (also done by ai), it says “all credits to their respective authors” which, yikes. however, they do link to their permission statement and the fic in the description, so it….could be worse. but also, these are the comments

(and it continues like that for a bit)

the channel name also has a 4.0 after it [edit: it did when i started this post, then i got distracted for two days, and now it is gone. hm], which implies they’ve had a lot of trouble with keeping it up. so it seems likely that this is the channel i heard about stealing fics, they just finally learned to get permission and give credit to try and keep it up this time. the permission statement on this video is real (i wondered if they would just link to something else and assume no one would check), but even THAT author references being “freaked out” (positive?? unsure) when they heard of people finding their story on youtube. before giving permission to upload with credit. so that’s not great

also this sludgepit of content is absolutely the thing that attracts people with no patience clamoring for updates literally one day after the video goes up. go figure. bad vibes all around.

also, if you’re wondering about the quality of the reading (i’ve stumbled on some pretty good ai voices as of late!), it’s, uh. i don’t actually know about how all this works, but i feel like when you pick a voice to read a story it should at least be able to approximate character name pronunciation. and flow.

but alas.

i also don't want to bash the authors in question but the truth is from the very minimal poking around i did (not giving this channel any more of my time than absolutely necessary), the writing featured is....mediocre at best. which is fine and good for the fandom ecosystem and i will NEVER be anything but happy that people are writing and posting less-than-perfect works, especially since some of these premises are pretty unique and i think it's better to have the fic than not. we all start somewhere, fanfic is an excellent way to practice and get feedback at the same time, etc.

but these channels, these kinds of operations, they're going to prey on new and young authors and that's who is going to be saying yes to them. because they want the exposure, they want to be told their work is good enough for someone else to care to record it for youtube, they haven't been around long enough to recognize this for what it is: someone taking extreme shortcuts to get views and likes and a bit of notoriety off of other people's work. and that's shit.

and remember that youtube videos can be monetized!

now, i doubt this channel in particular has been monetized, although it does meet the minimum requirements as far as numbers go:

it shouldn't meet the requirements for the monetization policies, specifically these ones:

especially with the disclaimer in the beginning that the content is not their own--which might be why previous versions of the channel did not give credit. who knows.

however, youtube DID just have some scandals about people making videos that were pretty much entirely plagiarized, which were monetized, so i don't have the highest hopes in the world. still, it doesn't seem monetized, so no strikes against this particular creator for that, at least, but defo something to look out for if anyone ever brings up hosting podfics on youtube.

so yeah, bot spam, not a complete scam this time but definitely really sketchy, bad vibes all around. and i still kind of want to give them permission to use my fic just to see what would happen, lmao

[sunriseverse]

hi [bonks you] hi [bonks you] hi [bonks you]

E, M, & U for the fanfic writer asks <3 (unintentional emu)

[BONKS YOU]

E: What character do you identify with most?  Is there a certain fic of yours that captures these qualities particularly well?

hm well. from the fics i HAVE written………i would say my time loop ofmd fic? has a special little pride of place in my heart. i would also respond to being caught in a time loop by going through every single stage of human emotion accessible to me.

M: What’s the weirdest AU scenario you’ve ever come up with?  Did it turn into a story?

i have written. so so many aus but i think probably the “weirdest” one was the time i wrote like. a victorian!magical realism!newmann au where they were also both women. i genuinely have no idea what prompted me to write it but i sat down and banged out a precise 20k in less than a day so. there was some interesting stuff going on with worldbuilding i think? i have considered revisiting the au once or twice but my love affair with pacrim has yet to rear its head again. baring that the twoshot where the precursors make newt fake his death and get extensive cosmetic surgery but that’s more for the body horror weirdness than any inherent weirdness to the au itself.

U: Is there a pairing you would like to write, but haven’t tried yet.

rattling the bars of my cage when will i finally write my canon compliant verse-realistic xiyao fic. i need to write about their situationship so so so bad but unfortunately i am but a college student with many obligations and not nearly as much time as i would like to dedicate to finishing at least one of the canons and so for now it will remain as two rambly paragraphs i wrote to misty on discord. it’s so good though i promise it’s angsty and bittersweet and tragic. the other one is hwz which is. TECHNICALLY started but i realised i needed to know more about canon before i could continue it because it accidentally evolved from a crackfic to a missed chances canon compliant angstfic with a hopeful ending. oops. well we all already knew i like my pairings angsty.

[almostfancywombat]

Bon Ton Mortelle 2

| (Kardashian Crackfic-Reader Insert!) | You are (Y/N) Houghton, a distant relative of the Kardashians. After Auntie Kris discovers your parents died in a horrible accident at the Spam Factory, she takes you under her wing. You are given a new name to fit her aesthetic and adopt her lifestyle as an A List celebrity. Will you thrive in this new environment or discover you lack the qualities necessary to become a star? Time will only tell. Until then, you'll happily mooch off of Kris and join the Kardashian-Jenner girls in crying, fighting, and working the media when required.

You've envisioned this house. Countless times, enough for it to be imprinted on your mind. You've seen glimpses of it through the television and in the filtered photographs of your cousins. When you were younger, you heard tales of their extravagant holidays, the film crews rushing to film it all, clinging to their every word. And while you've always yearned to witness its grandeur in person, the mere thought of entering makes you feel small and unimportant. Add how a cameraman tracks you, and you're on the verge of a mental breakdown.

As you summon the courage to enter, the sound of your squeaky suitcase wheels echoes through the vast space. The weight of your backpack digs deeper into your skin with each step you take. As you take in the sheer size of Kris' Calabasas Casa — a structure that surpasses the size of yours and your neighbor's entire rental unit — it feels as if you have just landed on a different planet. As you step into the living room, you cannot help but feel overwhelmed by the grandeur of the high ceilings adorned with light fixtures that cost more than your tuition.

What is it like, living amongst the 1%? What is it like to have so much, yet still desire more? If someone had told you yesterday that you would come to occupy the same place as multimillionaire marketing genius, would you have done anything different? Lived a little more, knowing there was light at the end of the tunnel? Now, all you will worry about is college, maintaining your grades. Even then, you could probably afford the best tutors in the state, if not, the nation.

Speaking of college...

"Kris," you begin, nearly swallowing your words. You can't look at her, so you stare at her vase instead. After she's kindly taken you in, you don't want to pose any unnecessary problems and risk having her believe you'retaking advantage of her kindness, but you have just uprooted your life and want to ensure the only thing that matters is still accessible. Sure, you can rely on the remnants of your family, but your parents had drilled the value of education into you.

Any, as far as you could make it in the system. They would've still been endlessly proud if you had chosen to pursue a trade instead of white-collar career. But you had always wanted to do better, if not for your sake, then theirs.

After all, it was your father's Associates degree that had lifted you from society's bottom rung, allowing you a decent life as the daughter of a meat production manager. He often home home late, reeking of whatever the daily shipments entailed, most often, sausages or steaks. Your favorite nights where the ones he'd return smelling of pepper and processed meats. But if you had to choose one scent to remember him by, it would be when he'd take you to the bookstore and you'd both return with the scent of old books clinging to you.

"I don't want to trouble you," You begin, voice small, "but could I possibly loan a car?" Even asking makes your stomach churn. Haphazardly, you tack on an excuse. "I don't think any buses run to my school."

"Don't worry," says Kris, cheeks dimpling. "I've already arranged for a transfer of your grades and personal belongings."

Your heart skips a beat. Wait, what? While you had agreed to stay, you hadn't expected things to happen so soon. At the very least, you wanted to pack more than a suitcase and college book bag, finding suitable owners for your few precious belongings before your kleptomaniacal roommates sold everything. But now, Kris has taken the agency from your hands.

Without another word, you drop your suitcase and sprint outside, exiting the gargantuan complex Kris calls home.

You didn't make it far before Kris' driver caught up and manhandled you into the car. You manage a good punch to his jaw, but Kris reaches through the window and helps him guide you inside. The ride is tense and silent with you seething as Kris hummed along to Janet Jackson and pestered you about Kpop.

 "I just don't get it," she claims.

 You don't feel like explaining the common person's interest in parasocial relationships and turn to the window. Fortunately, you recognize this neighborhood, an endless suburban hell scape of red roofs and cheap, bisected houses with chipped paint.

Touching down, you exit the car before the wheels even come to a stop. Kris' driver shouts after you, but you cannot hear him over the pounding of your heart. You follow the gravel path leading to your duplex, fumbling with the keys.

Your roommates are sitting on the couch, eating the leftover food you'd brought from your parent's wake.

You want to rage, to rip the plates from their hands and fling the shards their way, but you steel you mind and continue down the hall, reaching your door within seven great strides.

Your hands wrap around the handle, cold to the touch. You cannot bring yourself to step inside. Your room is a shoebox. You wish you'd have taken that chance to study abroad and rent a 60k yen room in the middle of Tokyo because although Calabasas is just as overpriced, the city is of far more interest to you. If there was one thing you envied of your cousins, it's their jet-setting capabilities.

Throwing open the door, you are greeted by nothing. Your posters, miscellaneous trinkets, the clothes strewn about your floor — everything is gone. Even your futon bed, which you'd bought for an astounding sixty dollars. To think you'd thrown down with a single mother for it at the Facebook Market Place meet-up.

You stomp back outside, a specter to your ex-roommates. Not a word, not a sound, betrays your true emotions as you slam the door shut, feeling the frame, your skeleton, rattle. Turning around, you see Kris.

"What have you done?" You spit, eyes narrowing into slits.

A smile plasters across her face. "I donated some things," she coolly says. "I can't believe you lived like that. But don't worry, Y/N. Now, you can leave everything behind."

You nod, climbing into the car. The plush seats rumble as the cad accelerates, taking you further and further from the final shred of normalcy you'll ever know.

You don't utter a word on the ride back. The air is stifling and the A/C chills your bones. Kris doesn't say anything, and you stew in your thoughts until her mega mansion appears on the horizon.

Desolate, you stumble out of the car and into the house, because this place is not your home. Never was that duplex but at least you had felt a sense of belonging there. Despite the open floor plan, you feel like the walls are closing in. You stumble into the sterile kitchen, where you expect respite. Instead, you find Kendall at the island, toying with a half-eaten apple.

Kendall, a cousin you haven't seen since grade school. How do you approach her? Cordially, knowing her mother has graciously taken you in? With rage, because her mother has also discarded your belongings, finding your life inferior?

"Hey, Ksenia."

Sliding into the seat beside her, you raise an eyebrow. She can't be that ditzy, can she? "Hey, Kendall. I know you haven't seen me in a few years, but I'm Y/N. We're cousins through my mom."

"I'm just trying new names on you. You're a Kardashian now, Krystina," she says, shrugging. "You need a name like theirs."

"No thanks," you huff. You'll keep the name your parents gifted you, thank you very much. "I was born Y/N and will die Y/N."

"Kancel, reintarnation exists," says Kendall, oddly earnest. "You'll always have a chance to be yourself again until you achieve enlightenment. I would know because I went to a summer retreat in Lhasa. Now I'm incredibly spiritual. I'm in tune with people's past lives, and I'm also aware of what they will be in their next ones. So, it's with the uttermost confidence that I can say your parents are dead and don't care. They're in the Cornfield. They're never coming back."

"Okay...?" You raise an eyebrow, more perplexed than offended. Kendall means no harm, and you've always known the people of high society were on drugs. But from Kendall's countenance, you're surprised she isn't currently attempting to recruit you into an MLM.

"Don't be cocky," she warned. "You just kind of look like a Kardashian. That's why they adopted you as one of their own."

You open your mouth and promptly shut it, perplexed. "Aren't you a Kardashian?"

"No," Kendall says, biting into her apple. She lazily chews, staring at the indentions her teeth leave behind. "I'm a Jenner. We have a secret alliance, Y/N. But don't worry. You don't have to choose a side."

Setting her apple core on the counter, you see its browning insides. You have never liked apples. Delicate skin pulled taut over a core that decays once exposed...

Kendall steps on the pedal, the trashcan lid lifting. You see your reflection on the chrome, distorted. You see her too, only far more crystalline. Dropping the apple core, it thuds, dully resounding. The lid snaps shut with a bang.

"Not yet, at least."

[i-dont-want-your-hysteria]

ok again I clearly cannot read, so yeah it doesn't have to be a crackfic sjfkdjhk (tbh I thought that just meant funny, so make it funny ig? like a comedy fic then, The Hangover style)

Disclaimer: Ami sent me 2 asks before this before she finally got the hang of how she was supposed to submit LOL

Prompt: you show one of the guys your hometown- but your hometown is notorious for having the worst quality roads. (non era-specific)

Words: 405

-----

"Christ-! Be careful!" Sav ordered when you hit another deep bump in the road, "You're gonna make me spill this!"

"How many times do I have to tell you, I am being careful!" you barked back, not tearing your focus from driving, "You can't say I didn't warn you!"

And warn him, you had. You were both fortunate enough to be in the area of your hometown while also having down time from touring. A bonus: Sav had stayed true to his word when he said he wanted to spend this down time having you show him around where you grew up. It was just a short little day trip, and you'd prefaced him earlier that day with a bit of background info of the area. But, there was one thing you told him that he didn't take seriously.

"When you said the roads were 'bad', I didn't think you meant that every five seconds there was a bloody- ah!" he yelped and placed a hand over the top of his filled cup when the car unexpectedly bobbed again.

You laughed at him evilly, "Oh, so you underestimated how much I was stressing the 'bad'? Darling, it was a bad day not to get a lid on that soda."

"Yeah I- I see that now."

"Now imagine riding the school bus on these roads," you quipped.

"Bloody hell, I'd be sick..." he rolled his eyes.

"Ever wonder why I've got the strongest stomach out of all of us? It's cos' I've been conditioned. Watch, I'll even go slow-"

Pressing on the brake, the car began to bobble and wobble less forcefully, but deeper into the potholes.

"-and it's somehow worse."

"I've seen a lot of roads..." Sav began, observing the approaching track before you both with a nod, "...but this might actually be the worst."

"Told you so, now hang on tight, we only have so much time-"

Hitting the gas again, you sped up to let the car bump and thump as it was before.

"Ah! Y/n-" Sav objected, "You're forgetting I have a-"

Just then, you hit another big bump. The liquid in Sav's cup flew upwards just enough that some of it splashed down onto his lap when it landed.

"-drink!" he sighed, but couldn't help but laugh at himself as he hung his head.

"Told you, sweetheart," you laughed out loud with him, "Bad day not to get a lid."

-----

requests are open!

submit here!

[olderthannetfic]

I'm in a fandom where there's a lot of (some would say too many) minors. Which is fine in and of itself. Even though the media technically isn't for them (the movie was rated R), the stage adaptation certainly brought in a wave of new fans, and that's always a good thing. In fact, I'd say most are fans of the play and haven't even seen the movie in a while or at all. And these kids are creating things, mostly fanfic and art, and it's genuinely amazing.

The problem is most of the content (the fanfics) is crap. And I don't mean like it's not my thing or their ideas suck, no, some of the things they're writing about are about my blurbos, and their ideas are great! Every idea is or has the potential to be *chef's kiss*. Just the execution is bad. Basic SPAG is out the window, "no betas we die like men" (I know it's a meme but what they really mean is no proofreaders smdh), bare-bones dry as hell telling not showing, and there's just so much of it. And I get it, they're kids, they're trying, they're learning, they're going to suck. I was also a kid and my writing sucked complete monkey butt. But there doesn't seem to be a crumb of improvement happening anywhere. And I know change is gradual, but when you pump out 100 actual fanfics in a year or less, there should be some growth, you know what I mean? I should be able to read your first-ever fic and your most recent fic and notice, "wait, something is different here!" but that's never the case.

Most if not all is objectively garbage, and they keep eating it up like it's gold. And the objectively nicer fics, the ones with proper SPAG and clear research, that captures a character voice so clearly especially when it's not the Canon Voice, that takes so much time to craft and polish and are so rich with detail, depth, complexity, and nuance (and are, admittedly, long as hell) get barely a glance, much less a comment. It hurts. All that effort and no one cares. So many good writers aren't writing anymore and I'm tired of junky fast food. I want a quality homecooked meal by that weird aunt I never see but I know makes some good fuckin lasagna.

It's really fucking weird how that's such a thing, the crackfic you shat out in an hour gets all the kudos and comments while the AU/UA you slaved over for days, weeks, months, years even, gets maybe two comments if you're lucky, and one isn't a reply. All that effort and for what if no one cares? I'll consume it because I made it, but I want others to try too, that's why I brought it to the table. To share. And it's not even a rarepair or a "I don't like that char/pair" thing because a lot of people are multishippers. My main pairs aren't the most popular, but it's pretty up there. The cake comic only works if people actually come up to the table. If no one comes up, what happens?

I suppose it has something to do with instant gratification, doesn't it? The more content you pump out, the more there is to consume, the more they'll eat it up because cheap garbage is an endless supply while gourmet food is a luxury most can't afford. And I know there's also the whole "people don't like waiting so they won't read WIPs" (at the same time, slowburns are immensely popular?) but on the other side of the coin there's "no one is interacting with WIPs which is why they never get finished if the author hasn't moved on from the fandom because [reason]". I know that's why *I* won't post anything til it's done, or it's a oneshot. Attention spans are so short nowadays, and if details are not spoonfed to readers with airplane noises, they won't use their brains to pick up on the nuance, and it's shit. It's shit storytelling and I hate it so damn much.

I tried reading a BNF's most popular fic in spite of the fact I don't ship the ship like everyone else and their mom, and I couldn't get past the first part of the first chapter. Not because of the ship (the whole point of the fic is them getting together so they're not together at the start, obviously) but because the writing was so incredibly mid. Like, this is what everyone's creaming their panties about? This thing? Really???? And I thought, well, they put out a new oneshot recently, I'll read that and see where they're at. Their most popular fic took a long time to craft and they had to have gotten better over the years, right?

Spoiler alert: they didn't.

I don't understand.

And they've got such a wide reach, I keep seeing their very distinctive art style and people praising the fuck out of their mediocre content I just ended up blocking everything and anything having to do with them.

I know so much of this is "be the change you want to see in the world you bitter old bitch" and "if you want something done right you gotta do it yourself ya dumbfuck" but I'm really tired, burnt out, and I want to relax a bit. I read and rip into shitfics and they make my blood boil with how incredibly bad they are and I want to write just to spite them because I know I can do better, I have done better, but I can't do that right now (and that's incredibly irritating because I want to). And sure, fandom isn't serious. But it also doesn't have to suck this much ass. Really makes you appreciate the gems buried hidden under all the rock and dirt and manure.

Gaah, sorry for all this. I just have a lot of frustration and I genuinely hate the state of the fandom. Clearly creativity around these parts is named Persephone; she's gone to Hell and she ain't coming back for a long, long, painfully long time.

Thanks for listening. Again, sorry for my rambling rant. I love reading your replies so if you have anything to add, I'd love to know!

--

Heh. This is often the case in a fandom with more enthusiasm than experience.

Some people do improve over time from exposure and practice... But writing 100 fics won't do much if the writers are only reading other similar fics and nothing else. Moreover, if most of the audience is similarly inexperienced, they're not going to be able to see the lack of quality you do. They genuinely like the crappy stuff and create an echo chamber where that style is lauded.

Short attention spans matter some, but I don't think that's the primary culprit here.

[roguelioness]

catching a cold heart

A lil @wayfarer-exchange crackfic treat for @coldshrugs featuring her beloved Ephyra Metaxas. Here at last is the long-promised (threatened?) Effiro ship :D

A thin trail of ominous soot drifts upwards to the heavens from the tower. Even though it’s been a familiar sight these past days, it still brings a sense of foreboding to Oshiro’s stomach - only now it’s even worse what with the insane plan Anaxes has cooked up. He snorts to himself. No good will come out of bringing Wayfarers into this mix - it’s foolishness to think otherwise.

A thread snags on his ribs and knots itself in his chest when he thinks of one particular wayfarer. Metaxas was elegant and poised, and though her eyes had flashed with heat at several points in the discussion, she’d maintained her calm. For all he distrusted her kind, there was something magnetic about her, a indescribable quality that had him uncomfortably aware of her presence from the moment she walked in to the moment he left.

The rustling of leaves alerts Oshiro, telling him he’s no longer alone. Even so, he’s startled to see Metaxas step around the corner, her black serithan fluttering prettily in the wind. She freezes at the sight of him - that knot grows tighter and more uncomfortable - her expression immediately smoothing over into one of calm equinamity.

“Archsage,” she greets with a graceful nod.

“Wayfarer Metaxas,” his tongue is three sizes too big for his mouth. In this gentle dusk her skin glows, the many cuffs decorating her auburn locs twinkling beneath the soft golden sunlight. Her half-lidded gaze appraises him and leaves him feeling like he’s been taken measure of and found wanting. A flush suffuses his cheeks as he recalls the manner in which he’d spoken to her during the meeting, and shame has him dropping his gaze to the ground.

The silence between them is thick and awkward. He can’t bear it. He cannot stand to know that someone as beautiful as she is might think him arrogantly cruel. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out with all the grace of a sinking stone. At her raised eyebrow, he adds, “For what I said during the meeting. I was… I chose my words poorly. You are no lesser than I am for your lack of magic, and it was wrong of me to have implied otherwise.”

She’s silent for several long moments, and he fights to not squirm beneath those golden eyes. “You’re forgiven, archsage.”

The relief that flows through him is immeasurable. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. “Allow me to make it up to you. My quarters are close by - would you like to stop by for some a drink?”

Again, she raises that elegant brow, and a smirk blooms on that beautiful mouth. “I could be persuaded to accompany you for some wine.” She takes a step closer to him. “If you ask me nicely.”

He would beg. For her, he would cast aside his pride and fall to the ground on his knees, and plead for the opportunity to be further enthralled by this wondrous being. Without hesitation, Oshiro kneels, coating the pristine trousers of his abberan with mud and uncaring that the stains might never wash out. His mouth is bone-dry, and he has to lick his lips before he speaks. “Please, Wayfarer,” he’s left reeling by the power she radiates, “please grace my humble quarters with your presence. Please.”

Stars are forged in the brilliance of her smile. “Certainly, archsage.” Even as he’s looking up at her, she bends till their faces are but inches apart. “But why don’t you call me Ephyra?”

[aggressivewhenstartled]

Look y’all okay so the downside of titling your crackfic as obvious crackfic is that you get fewer views but like

The people who click on it anyway a) knew what they were in for when they clicked b) are so proud of you when you deliver quality despite the ridiculous premise…

…and c) are apparently the kind of folks to leave a 2:1 hits to kudos ratio and comment like bananapants.

Can I just say y’all are awesome and I love you so much, THANK YOU. AO3 fans and commenters are the BEST, I never get anything but positive encouragement and lovely interactions.

[dracosathenaeum]

Masterlist ✨

AO3 | WATTPAD | NAVIGATION | requests: closed♡

My most popular fics! Naps with Draco | Wrong Tie  | Words Hurt | The Game

Last Updated: 7th January 2022 | Love Languages: Quality Time

MINORS DNI WITH SMUT | TAGLIST FORM | WIPs | Fluffmas

▹ Sleeping with Draco | fluff

▹ Wearing his Clothes to a Quidditch Game | fluff

▹ Introducing Draco to Muggle London | fluff 

▹ Sunday Mornings with Draco | fluff/smut

▹ Kinky Shit you’d do with Draco | smut 

▹ Valentine’s Day with Draco | fluff/smut

▹ They Both Die in the End (assassin!draco) | angst 

▹ Dating Roadman!Draco | CRACKFIC

▹ Draco Answering the Most Googled Questions | CRACKFIC 

▹ Draco Malfoy’s Hands | fluff/smut 

▹ Draco x Shy!Reader | smut 

i. Naps with Draco | 248 | fluff

ii. Jealousy | 523 | fluff?

iii. I Want to go Home | 543 | fluff/angst

iv. Attention | 668 | fluff

v. Sleepless Nights | 1,154 | fluff

vi. Hippogriff Clouds | 515 | fluff

vii. Playing in the Rain | 792 | fluff 

viii. Cramps | 491 | fluff     

ix.  Broom Cupboard | 888 | smut 

x. Cuddles | 831 | fluff 

xi. Skin | 986 | fluff 

xii. Under the Desk | 510 | smut 

xiii. Quidditch Practise | 785 | fluff 

xiv. Cockwarming Pianist!Draco | 598 | smut 

xv. Shaving | 867 | fluff ft crackfic 

xvi. Lollipop | 594 | smut 

xvii. Asshole | 221 | CRACKFIC

xviii. Consumed | 514 | smut 

xix. Surprise | 1,229 | smut 

xx. Approval | 383 | fluff with a hint of smut? 

xxi. Point to Prove | 609 | smut 

xxii. Comfortable | 652 | fluff 

Wrong Tie | 850 | fluff

『  You and Draco are secretly Dating, but after a closet hook up you both walk into the Great Hall accidentally wearing each others ties 』

Words Hurt | 2,572 | angst/fluff

『  You over hear him insulting you to Theo and Blaise 』

Something Precious | 2,321 | fluff/angst

『  You and Draco realise your feelings for each other when he’s the treasure you have to rescue during the Triwizard Tournament 』

Enough | 1,728 | angst/fluff

『  You and Draco have been dating for almost 3 years but he breaks up with you out of the blue, you ask him for closure but instead you find a broken boy with a heavy burden 』

Love Potion | 4,456 | humour?/fluff

『  You beg Draco to make a love potion for you to give to Harry who’ve you’ve been crushing on but Harry ends up falling in love with Draco but Draco is in love with you 』

The Story of Us | 1,353 | angst 

『  You and Draco are both death eaters, but you come up with a plan to escape the life you are dealt 』

Masquerade Ball | 1,062 | fluff 

『  A certain blonde saves you at a masquerade ball 』

I Think I Love You | 1,246 | fluff 

『  Draco kinda messes up telling you he loves you 』

Try | After | 1,397 | angst 

『  Arranged marriages don't always work 』

The Game | 3,651 | smut/fluff/angst 

『  Friends with Benefits to lovers with a spin of a bottle 』

RPG | 1,582 | angst 

『  You and Draco have different love languages, different ways of showing your love 』

Library Escapades | 1,548 | smut

『  Draco fucks you against the shelves of the library 』

Still into You | 2,101 | fluff/angst 

『  A look back into your relationship with Draco and how you got this far (Still into You by Paramore) 』

Cockwarming/Fucking CEO!Draco | 1,584 | smut

『  Uh yeah, as the title says 👀  』

Poker Night | 1,424 | smut 

『  Every time Draco wins a game, he gives you an orgasm for everyone to see, every time he loses a game, you get on your knees and suck him off. he hasn't lost once. 』

I Can’t Pretend Anymore | 2,111 | angst 

『  Draco’s friends and family hate you; you’ve stood by for years but it’s no longer enough. 』

Diamonds | 2,487 | smut 

『  Draco fucks you whilst you wear nothing but the Black family jewels 』

Harry Potter and the Haggis | 1,227 | fluff/crackfic

『  Happy April Fool’s Day <3 』

Commitment Issues | 1k | angst/smut 

『  You and Draco have blurred the line between friends and lovers, but he only used you to get what he wanted; sex. 』

Sneaky Hands | 1,439 | smut | newest fic!!

『  Draco fingering you in the library whilst Blaise watches 』

Soulmates | completed | angst | 3 parts

『  Everyone witch and wizard gets the chance to meet their soulmate once they reach the age of 16, you don't expect yours to be the the cold and cruel ‘Slytherin Prince’ 』

Great Love Story | completed | angst/smut | 3 parts

『  No one ever thought you two would break up, yet here you were watching Draco stare at Pansy as if she were his world 』

Draco’s Love Languages | ongoing | fluff | 5 parts

『  Draco as each of the love languages 』

Christmas 2021 Event | completed | fluff | 4 posts

Obliviate | 2.2k | angst

『  You find out Draco has the dark mark so he obliviates you to protect you 』

Borrowed Time | 286 | smut/angst

blurb where you fuck Draco but know you’re running out of time to be with him

Be My Date? | 4,640 | fluff

Cedric, Harry, Ron, Fred and George ask you to the Yule ball but you’re secretly dating Draco; he gets a little jealous

I See the Light | 1,307 | angst

Voldemort kills you

[thebigqueer]

omg new year new fun tag game. ty for the tag!! this looks fun

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

49 currently but i have deleted or orphaned some so it could be more than that

2. what’s your total AO3 word count?

187454

3. what fandoms do you write for?

only riordanverse. i’ve considered writing for adventure time but i just don’t have enough passion for it

4. what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Soft Touches in the Darkness (valgrace one shot)

moonlight (valgrace one shot)

Promise? (solangelo one shot)

Lost Voices (solangelo tartarus fic)

Secrets Uncovered in the Firelight (solangelo one shot)

5. do you respond to comments?

no cuz i’m shy 😭 but i do sometimes if someone’s comment is particularly exciting or i like a take. i do always always appreciate the comments though they make me happy <333

6. fic with angstiest ending?

hmm… i would say Bottle the World (arcane au valgrace snippet) or Flaming Eyes (leo & jason)

7. fic with happiest ending?

probably New Year, Old Beginnings (valgrace secret santa au).

8. do you get hate on fics?

no not really. & i’m thankful for that!!

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

not publicly i don’t 🤭 but if you were to look through my docs there’s probably like one sexy piece with my ocs. idk if it counts as smut cuz they don’t actually do anything... it’s just toxic lesbian horny rage nothing really happens lol

10. do you write crossovers? what’s the craziest one you’ve ever written?

i don’t really but i do have an arcane au. it’s not really a crossover i just kind of made up a plot for pjo characters based on the end of arcane lol. (arcane au snippets) WAIT I JUST REMEMBERED someone once asked me to do a (crackfic) she-ra & pjo crossover but i can't find the link unfortunately...

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

i don’t think so

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

nah

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes but weve only posted 2 before. all the other co-written fics never got finished unfortunately

14. what’s your all time favorite ship?

honestly i don't have one i think it really depends on my mood and what im reading at the moment.

15. what’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

ARCANE AU 😭 MY POOR ARCANE AU IM SORRY 😭 it's not that i wont write it its just that its never going to be coming out in full its all gonna be in one shots because i have 0 energy. also i had this one "immortal" au i tried writing a while ago and i still like the concept just not the characters i used at the time but i dont think ill write it again

16. what are your writing strengths?

i write a lot (as in my word counts are high per fic) but i dont really consider it a strength because i don't think length equates to the quality of a fic. a fic is good even if its short or long, and i like short fics more beacuse i feel like im feeling just as much in a shorter amount of time but other people might prefer long fics. its about what you write about and how you do it, not about length. ive also been told im pretty good at integrating introspection with dialogue but idk.

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

also plot. it's like the fics that have a really dense and thought-out plot are the ones i never get to finish cuz i get too intimmidated after i finish planning them. i'll always plan them out in bullet points and then even when im almost done planning them out i just give up at the last minute and then never get them done lol. maybe one day i'll finally write something. i think if the plot isn't too dense then it's better off

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

i think it's cool. i don't think i've done it yet but maybe i will one day.

19. first fandom you wrote for?

percy jackson. it was a solangelo fic in first person on wattpad 💀 WAITT SCRATCH THAT. when i was in 2nd grade me & bff at the time LOVED the rainbow magic books so i think we wrote something that was similar in plot to that. that was a banger series

20. favorite fic you’ve written?

i really liked "Stay. For Once." (lost trio fic) because it was my first time writing something for the lost trio and even though looking back i might change some things i think i really loved writing about them & thinking about their dynamic. i also really liked "Stars Bursting Across His Lips" (valgrace one-shot) not because i actually like the fic itself that much but it was really fun to write cuz i think driving on a highway at night is the sexiest most erotic most romantic thing anyone can do. i dont think i have a true favorite though.

tagging: @crushing-on-nico-di-angelo @perachel-heretic and anyone else who wants to do it. no pressure though

20 questions for fic writers

tagged by @mrv3000

1. how many works do you have on Ao3? 195

2. what's your total Ao3 word count? 403 068

3. what fandoms do you write for? percy jackson and the olympians, heroes of olympus, trials of apollo, kane chronicles, magnus chase and the gods of asgard, nevermoor, her royal highness, roots of chaos, x-men (films mostly but some comic bleedover), avatar the last airbender, the legend of korra, the kyoshi novels, marvel cinematic universe, bbc ghosts, a song of ice and fire, doctor who, the locked tomb, star wars (prequels mostly), spiderman comics, rosewood chronicles, derry girls, dc (vaguely, comics)

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

rot with all the burnouts in the cell (dc marvel crossover)

oh my brother, my brother, my brother (who have you become in the wake of all that's happened?) (star wars timetravel)

breezeblocks bricking up my heart (my take on a dadneto reveal)

water into wine (five times percy was the son of dionysus and one time he was the son of poseidon)

5. do you respond to comments? i do my best

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

that's relative and i have so many fics that this probably isn't accurate but by my own measure it's probably don't want to fight the tide (nevermoor fic, being immortal sucks)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

again that's relative but i'd say there's a million roads to rediscover (pjo/hoo five times jason missed his sister, and one time he saw her again)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

occasionally i get like smarmy comments like one on a certain fic that the timeline didn't line up (it did + i had page references + it was tagged canon divergence anyway) but not really

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

i have one so ig lesbian threesomes??

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

i write so many crossovers i love putting characters in situations. probably rot with all the burnouts in the cell since it involved a ton of drama

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i'm aware of

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

i think one of them but i can't remember which one. (technically this is studying) i'm trying to translate a few of my drabbles into scots gaelic

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

in part like it got started and then i got ghosted before anything else happened

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

the couple i've written the most about is a tie between morridence, fierrochase, and jadie, but i'd say i get the most feelings about ruegard

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Great the Roman is coming up to its third year anniversary this month and i only hit the halfway point a few months ago so we'll see

16. What are your writing strengths?

lesbians. probably emotional stuff if i'm being serious

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

plot. its part of the reason i only do oneshots about 1k-3k but i'd like to work on more big fics. part of the reason was i started a bunch back in 2021 and i'm still working on two of them

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

one of my fics has some dialogue in scots gaelic but i cannot remember for the life of me if its supposed to be 'S ann or 'S e form and its haunting me

19. First fandom you wrote for?

fun fact: i originally wrote on wattpad and published a fierrochase fic on the release day of the hammer of thor. it's called fierrochase and it Sucks but it might actually be the first one ever which is fun if not slightly haunting

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

well you don't know me. but i know you it's a asoiaf time travel fic from the pov of people who don't know. i feel like i really pushed myself with characterisation on it

tagging people who i think write fic @tragedykery @lesmiserablol @oh-hush-its-perfect @thebigqueer @aphrodititi @ethannku @speedytherandom

[simmancy]

Sid Galloway for @prismaticpotentia​’s Devil From Below

he/him; 29; bisexual

Spellcraft & Sorcery; self-assured, loner, kleptomaniac

your local shady information merchant

Everyone in the land knows Sid, even if they say they don’t. After all, even the best and kindest lords need someone to get their hands dirty and that’s Sid’s best quality: he doesn’t mind being the person in the dirt (for the right price, of course). He’s a hard ally to win outright, and no one’s ever quite sure if he has morals, or what his own personal goals are.

I only ever have disconnected thoughts and headcanons so here’s some stream of consciousness under the cut:

he always wears gloves because of a traumatic event from his past but also to keep his physical hands clean of all the terrible things he does. “Kit, doesn’t that sound a LOT like Kaz Brekker?” you might say. To that I say... Shhhhhhhhhhhh.

In the novel, he’s of course quite a flirt. Every novel needs a morally grey bad boy, right? Especially one that... can help take the villain down for their own dubious reasons????

There was probably a moment with the gloves that made people go WILD but of course he cannot be with Annabelle. He is too Terrible. He will simply support her from the shadows.

Word of God from the author is that he too loved Annabelle, making everyone’s crackfics perfectly valid.

He lives by Knowledge is Power, and also chases down ancient myths and magics in the hopes of righting the wrongs in his backstory.

I don’t have any other thoughts on his backstory 😔 He’s probably a bastard of a lord himself. Sure hope he doesn’t end of in control of that guy’s lands!

[haleigh-sloth]

the good chapters are the ones that make me laugh so this one was the best yet. hori should just give in now and make bnha a full-on crackfic (well... not really fic but u get it) i mean he seems to like watching the fandom in flames and laughing lol

I feel like he knew if he didn't bring Bakugo back quick he was gonna legit lose readers. Like I think he knew better than to drag it out for months.

Gotta say though, this is the weirdest way for it to happen. It's funny, but also just makes me sigh.

TBH, the story would have retained better quality if none of it had happened in the first place, but here we are.

[forgwater]

Lemme just say I just discovered ur blog, read the Floyd's nightmare idea, saw the reverse mermaids and oh mY GOD UR BRAIN IS SO BIG AND WRINKLY, THIS IS THE HIGH QUALITY, DOUBLE, TRIPLE FRIED CRACK I'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR MY ENTIRE EXISTENCE CAN I OFFER U MY FIRSTBORN- jkjk, but really just needed to say ur blog is ✨delicious✨ and tysm for sharing ur creations~

thank you so much! <3

always happy to entertain the masses

also,

you said you're interested in crack

may I interest you in an old crackfic I made?

-Trying to stop Rook from terrorizing the NRC students, inspired by Steven the seagull (both romantic and platonic versions): part 1  part 2  part 3 part 4 part 5-

if you're interested, of course

Lilia might be interested in that newborn though...

*disappears into the mist*

[almostfancywombat]

Bon Ton Mortelle

| (Kardashian Crackfic-Reader Insert!) | You are (Y/N) Houghton, a distant relative of the Kardashians. After Auntie Kris discovers your parents died in a horrible accident at the Spam Factory, she takes you under her wing. You are given a new name to fit her aesthetic and adopt her lifestyle as an A List celebrity. Will you thrive in this new environment or discover you lack the qualities necessary to become a star? Time will only tell. Until then, you'll happily mooch off of Kris and join the Kardashian-Jenner girls in crying, fighting, and working the media when required.

"How could you mourn for the people and places you've never known?"

The pure vileness in your tone does not phase Kris, whom you have not seen in years. Instead, she dons a Cheshire smile, cheeks shiny and round.

"Y/N, let's not be so brash and reconsidered." Kris' lips quirk further upwards, invoking rage. How could she consider your emotions brash? Must you show her how crass and livid you can be? The prospect of turning ballistic is tempting.

She leans over the back of a cracked plastic chair, inches from your face. You two are the only ones left in the dank funeral parlor, basking in its hazy light, breathing in the air that reeks of chemicals and cakey makeup. You cannot tell who the source is. It is stifling. Unreal. You do not understand why you are here.

The lack of witnesses further temps you to slap that smile right off her face. You have a clear opening; you could physically spit at her, hit her, or ruin those tacky suede shoes, but you digress. It wasn't as if you would dare to challenge her bodyguards, who stand at the door like royal guards protecting the queen.

Even if you went ahead with your little revenge fantasy, you expect she would be as straight-faced as ever. Botox makes faces mannequin-like, but something about her tight-lipped grimace puts you on edge. You can hardly see her careworn gaze as it trails on you, though it is difficult to ignore. Unfortunately, though, with your bias, all you force yourself to see is a caricature of her features, the traits fashioned like a mosaic.

"I know you, Y/N." Kris' voice betrays her expression. Her face suddenly twists, pinched and sallow. Noon marks lunchtime. She must be hungry, you reason, because even the rich get hungry.

Or so you decide. Other emotions are not becoming of Kris, especially not the ones that bring remorse. She continues with severity to her tone. "And right now, I know you don't mean what you say. You're upset, and although I can't fix it, I can help lessen the pain." She places her tanned, manicured hand over yours, and you recoil as if it was a hot iron. "Don't you want to live without worrying about your next meal? And what about rent? It's not getting any cheaper these days." She suddenly backtracks. "But don't get my words twisted; I still want you to choose what you think is best."

Kris is right; it's all twisted. Your brain is so very wrong. What would your mother say if she saw you acting weak, forgoing manners in pursuit of boorish behaviors? And over someone gratuitous at best? She would want to disown you from beyond the grave.

You glare at the speckled floor from the cold plastic chair, too ashamed to meet her gaze. You have forgotten to remain guarded around people like Kris, friendly people with intentions murkier than oil. Needless to say, you do not trust her entirely regarding the lady's intentions with skepticism. She is a locked diary to your open book. You wear your heart on your sleeve, and you cannot allow her to see that it is broken.

Manners be damned; you want to scream at Kris until she knows she should not be here, spewing what seems like insults to your parents legacy. She should not have the gall to stand before you, pretending to share your sorrow with crocodile tears faker than your offer and clothes. The ones you wore to look somewhat decent at your parent's wake. From their plain casket to threadbare garments, they are still unable to rest comfortably.

You are a failure in that aspect and will forever cherish all they provided, satiated with what little you had, and continue to have. You will not accept Kris' promise of riches, no matter how appealing, because you cannot imagine life any other way. You cannot imagine Kris' children with their lives of champagne and bags that cost more than your tuition. You cannot imagine even breathing in their spheres of influence. Even beholding them seems unfeasible when society makes it evident where inglorious people like you belong. Despite how badly you wish for it to be amongst their kind, you know you belong far from the spotlight, living quietly and meekly in a world that needs more electricians than stars.

You belong to the dying middle class. Not whatever Kris' charity would render you. At the woman's pity, venom runs a circuit through your veins. Red hot and bubbling, it is challenging to remain levelheaded. The kindness stands as a mockery.

You bunch the hem of your shirt in your fists, feeling what little remains of your uneven nails dig into your flesh. Finally, you loosen your grasp to chew your right index finger until it bleeds. "Fuck off, Kris," you seethe.

The room spins. Red dots your vision. Venom drips from your lips. "You don't care about me. You don't even know me." And she does not. Never has, and never will, not as long as your pride remains intact.

Kris hums and smiles. For the first time, you notice that it does not reach her eyes. "That may be true, but I know you must be having a hard time after the, uh," she tiptoes around the subject, "meat grinder incident, but—"

"Don't call it that. Have some respect."

"Right, I'm... I'm truly sorry for your loss, Y/N. You may not believe it, but it's mine, too." You resist the urge to puke as she continues. "I know there's plenty of distance between our families, but I don't want that to stop you from having a brighter future."

When you look to the future, you have tunnel vision. It is dim and dark.​​​​​ But Kris would not know that, and you are unwilling to share. But your will is eroding the longer you remain in her presence; the mere prospect of enjoying life is overwhelming when you live paycheck to paycheck.

In the end, there isn't much of anything to consider. Because in the choice between being cozy and keeping your dignity, you would be crazy to choose the latter. Before you are proud, you are starving. Kris offers bare-bones, but at the very least, you will have a foundation and resources to build yourself up.

You grit your teeth and take her hand in yours, gripping it as tightly as possible. You wish the skin would melt beneath your withering glare, that your strength could cause her bones to crumble, but that would be cruel.

No matter your disdain, Kris is family, and family is all you have ever had.