#I know readers use bookmarks as notes for themselves but like if you say something critical maybe make it private?

[kcrabb88]

I dunno if this is just me, but I really feel like there's been a shift on whump in fandom at-large? When I was a teen and first in fandom, and long after that, whump was kind of the bread-and-butter of fandom. There were lots of types of fics, but whump took up a big chunk of them. People would write all KINDS of wild, intense whump and readers would eat it up. It's not that whump doesn't get written now--it surely does--but there's a lot more, I guess I'd call it judgment, or rules people kind of have about it? Sure, there's whumptober, but given those are shorter, daily fics, they aren't quite the same as what I mean, which are the long, epic novel-length whump fics where you really, really dig into the meat of the thing. The details of the whump. The recovery from it. The hurt and then the comfort, etc.

These days, though, I feel like a strain of purity culture has gotten into whump land. Authors get criticized for being too graphic or going too hard despite their warnings in the tags (not to be old, and I love tags, but dang, we didn't even used to have them before Ao3!). I've seen this in bookmarks of my own fics, notes that are less a warning to other readers and more of a judgement on what the writer explored and dove into. Whump, for me, has ALWAYS been a place to explore and experience things I would never want to go through in real life. It's a safe place to do that, and I think can lead to some super interesting character journeys when they're forced to be so utterly vulnerable.

Anyway, I dunno. Feel free to go wild with your whump fic! I need that encouragement myself, sometimes. Something something, purity culture has not only gotten into smut fic and shipping but also into whump fic and I'm intrigued as to why that is. Depiction is not an endorsement for real life, this has been a PSA.

[aphrvdisiac]

OFF TO THE RACES.

ellie williams, abby anderson x fem! reader.

part one of to lie and love like you do.

SUMMARY | you are in a poly relationship with new york’s elite women, ellie williams and abby anderson, but living in the world of power, money, and lust possesses each one of you as the dynamic amongst you three becomes more volatile and violent.

WARNINGS | adult language. graphic violence. polyamorous relationship. abby calls reader “bunny,” ellie calls reader, “little lamb.” mentions of alcohol consumption and drug usage. possessive and obsessive behaviors. dark content: graphic details of t*rture and m*rder, men being pigs, controlling behavior. adult content: sub!reader x doms!ellabs, doing it in a confessional booth, god kink, fingering, degradation, overstimulation, edging, ball gag, strap-ons, face smacking, mommy and daddy kink, knife play w/ branding, double penetration.

NOTES | so brief explanation: this is my fic, off to the races. it used to be on my original, old account that fell under the user “angvlita” but unfortunately i deactivated that account so the fic no longer exists. anyways, all rights are reserved to me for this, and i do not want it published anywhere else. with that being said, please take into caution all the tags and warnings because this isn’t meant to be taken lightly whatsoever. ellie and abby are mean and cruel in here. thank you, and enjoy.

If Los Angeles was the city of Angels, then New York was home for all Hellbound.

You grew up in such a glistening city, where people’s facades weren’t as hidden, illicit affairs took place, and a fifteen year old was trying cocaine for the first time. It held beauty just like Lucifer, having greater cruelty and an ominous essence lingering beneath its soul.

You wish you didn’t get caught up in a reckless lifestyle, that you didn’t become so corrupted that you were a girlfriend to your two best friends.

Ellie Williams, daughter to architect and businessman Joel Miller, and Abby Anderson, daughter to a famous renowned surgeon Jerry Anderson. The two had great power, control, and wealth – they fucking lived off of it. They were cruel and vicious to everyone.

Ellie was a venomous scorpion, Abby personified as such a nefarious viper. The two together were threatening, and it all surprised you when they wanted you in their circle in the early start of Junior Year, easily befriending you.

You remembered it clear as day.

You were sitting at a table, reading Jane Eyre. It was your free period, and you had not much to do, finished with any assignments.

The silence you enjoyed was interrupted when two figures sat themselves down at the table, gaining your attention as you peered up at the book, and noticed elite scholars Ellie Williams, and Abby Anderson.

They were grinning at you, eyeing you like a predator did with their prey, a cascade of goosebumps running over your skin.

“Can I help you?” You asked, bookmarking your spot before closing the book, and setting it down.

You knew it came off rude and too sharp, but their appearance made you uncomfortable, and weirded out.

“We’ve been keepin’ an eye on you,” Ellie said, and your heart sank, not knowing exactly what that mean. “We aren’t here to ruin your life, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I mean, I don’t know,” you chuckled nervously, fidgeting with your Cartier bracelet. “You have quite the reputation.”

“So you know us?” Abby asked, and you shrugged, unsure of what else to say.

“We want to invite you out,” Ellie added, and your brows knitted together, utterly confused. How could you not be? It was a random invitation, and you didn’t have any prior interactions with them.

You just had Fine Arts Honors with Ellie, and English Literature with Abby — though, you never made any conversations with them, and you didn’t see the need to.

“Why? This is new, no?” You questioned, eyeing them back and forth in the moment the duo looked at one another, words kindling behind their eyes.

“Somethin’ about you is sweet… special,” Abby confessed, and a smile threatened to curl onto your lips. “You interest us.”

“Marrona, at 8PM,” Ellie stated, getting up with the blonde by her side. “Just come by, and if you still don’t like us, you’re free to go.”

“You’re trusting a stranger? Interesting,” you lightly joked, smiling to yourself. “The world must be ending, then.”

They smiled with you, a rare expression anyone could come across.

It was an unforgettable night that you thought of for a week before either of you approached each other again.

Many of your friends told you to not fall for it, that you’d be a laughing stock, and would only be ruined. You didn’t know how ruined you would become, and you simply wanted to know what it would be like to sit in their company.

You were sure it was because of your status — your mother was an heiress, and your father was a CEO of an advanced technology business. You were humble about your life, yet knew you had a higher position in money and glory than them. You were sure they wouldn’t just let anyone in, that they were more intelligent to let a random classmate of theirs be brought into their social circle.

The deeper you fell into their rabbit hole, you had become tainted, and cruel as them. You were their rotten apple, something they possessed and prized so admirably as you were theirs only. Before the relationship was even thought of, you weren’t allowed to talk to anyone else besides them, leaving you to drop all your closest friends, and submit only to the two girls.

Yet, they took care of you like no one else did — expensive gifts, abrupt trips to Europe, fancy dinners, and the sex they gave you.

God, the fucking sex.

It was them at the same time, or one coming to your place to claim you entirely. You didn’t mind it, no, you had become so immune to being theirs, you would please them.

You don’t exactly remember how the polyamory relationship came to be; you were getting closer with Abby, Ellie didn’t like it, and the two had come to the idea of sharing you, right before twelfth grade. You weren’t opposed to it, but hated the twisted repercussions that tied into it.

During all of Senior Year, you weren’t allowed to go out without them by your side, or at least one of your bodyguards. You couldn’t get drunk, only at home, and that’s it; they had this monologue about how dangerous the world is, and how they wouldn’t be able to forgive themselves if something happened to you.

You had no privacy, they always had a guy watching you from a distance if you went out with family, and tracked your location. Your only friends were whoever else was in their group, which wasn’t much whatsoever, so you were practically without anything.

When you all graduated, and you were planning to attend Columbia, you hoped some leniency would be kicked in from their part, but no — the two only got more dominant about everything, to the point they refused to let you share a dorm room with a girl.

“Oh my fucking god, I’m not going to fuck her!” You yelled. “You’re being dramatic; it is better for me to live on campus so I don’t deal with traffic every morning.”

“What if she tries something?” Ellie asked, sitting down on her couch with a glass of bourbon in her hand. “You know we are just trying to look out for you.”

“No, you’re being insane,” you stated, and she scoffed, eyeing Abby. “Both of you have really got to stop this shit. I need to make a career for myself, be my own person without your crazy bullshit jeopardizing it all.”

Abby got up, now towering over you as she grinned. “Such a brat you are,” she mocked, and you shivered, glaring at her. “After all this time, we hoped you would start being appreciative.”

“I… I’m more than grateful for the both of you,” you assured softly, frowning. “But please, I'd rather be in a dorm room than some penthouse where you’re being insufferable.”

“The fuck did you just say?” Ellie asked, hastily standing up, and before you could speak, she grabbed your jaw. “Insufferable, huh?”

You whimpered, the grasp tightening, and worried she might crack a bone. “No… no,” you whispered, and the pair mockingly cooed at your panic.

Ellie shoved you into Abby’s arms. “Deal with her, I’m in a good mood today.”

Abby held onto your wrist, seating herself down, and bent you over her lap. “Gotta keep training you, ‘specially after all this time,” she mumbled, flipping up your skirt. “Starting to think we should just replace your ball with some soap, maybe raise up the punishments.”

“No, no,” you pleaded, peeking up at her. “I didn’t mean to say—”

“Don’t fuckin’ stare at me,” Abby spat, and you whined, looking away as you could feel her hands massage your ass. “You’re lucky it’s me being lenient, not her.”

Abby wasn’t wrong there — Ellie was more harsh with her punishment, would leave you in a puddle of tears, and it would be Abby that had to reel her back into reality. You recalled the moment when Ellie had you bent over the edge of the kitchen table, hitting your ass while she kept her thick rings on, and you were in tears by the end.

You didn’t talk to her for at least two weeks, but she repeatedly apologized, and was no longer able to strike you with no more than seven slaps, and if she did, Abby had to put her in check.

You never knew why you liked being punished like this, like a ragdoll of some sort, or why you let consequences happen to you. You were human, but something about these two keeping you in check was pleasuring, and comforting in a way.

The first hit made you squeal, kicking your feet in reaction. “Fuck!”

“Count, bunny,” she said, the nickname made your stomach turn. “I know you can do it.”

“One…” you shuddered, another strike coming after it. “Fuck— two!”

“Only doing five today, it’s okay,” she assured, kissing the back of your neck, and your ass was met with the third strike.

“Three!”

Another one.

“Four!”

And the last one.

“Five,” you moaned, your ass burning. “I fucking hated that.”

“Me too, bun,” Abby said, picking you up, and let you sit on her lap. “Let me look at my girl.”

She took your face into her hands, fingers brushing past your ears, and grinned. “There’s my bunny, are you okay?” She wondered sincerely, a frown tugged on her lips.

“‘M fine,” you muttered, resting your head on her shoulder as she held you. “Is Ellie mad at me?”

“You know how she is,” she reminded, and you huffed, nodding. “We love you, more than you’ll ever know. We wouldn’t be able to live if someone hurt you, or something horrible happened.”

“I know, didn’t mean to be rude,” you mumbled, and she sighed, kissing the side of your head. “I just feel like both your lives should be more than just me.”

“Oh, baby,” she sighed, bringing your head back up, and gazed at you with immense endearment, you could faint from it. “You are our life. Our religion, our air, everything we want and need.”

You grinned. “You mean that?”

“Of course. Now, let’s go see Ellie, yeah?” Abby suggested, and you agreed, trailing in front of her as you walked to Ellie's bedroom in her penthouse.

“Ellie,” you sang out, pouting. “Are you still mad?” You opened the bedroom door, finding her sitting on her desk chair with an electric guitar in her hands.

Ellie looked up at you the second you were in her presence, and she sighed, sitting the instrument aside of her. “Hey, little one,” she greeted, opening her arms for you. You rushed to her, perching yourself on her lap, and wrapped your arms around her neck.

“Sorry for being rude,” you mumbled into the crook of her neck. “I love you and Abby both.”

“Sweetheart, I know,” she rested her hand on the back of your head, her thumb caressing it. “We know what’s best for you, that’s why we take care of you unlike anyone else.”

Ellie wasn’t wrong there, and that saddened you. Your parents had always be mentally and emotionally distant; they were there physically, but always focused on their own issues. It was either your mother was caught up in her pill addiction, or your father having a new mistress.

There never really was time for you — you raised yourself for as long as you could remember.

Many would say you had no reason to hate your life when you have this trust fund, nepotism lifestyle, but you would trade all of that just for parental affection and care. Yet, that never came, and the only people who tended to your needs were Ellie and Abby.

They came into your life when you needed them the most.

“Our parents want a gathering tonight,” Abby walked into the room, clearly irritated. “First stop is church.”

“Church?” Ellie laughed. “Oh baby, it’s your parents that want that.”

You never understood why your parents went to church. They may have grown up religious, but the things you witnessed them doing led them to earning a one way ticket to Hell.

“We could have our fun,” Abby assured, grinning. “Isn’t being selfish and ungrateful a sin?”

Ellie picked your head up off her shoulder, forcing you to look at her. “Yeah… it is,” she smirked at your protesting whines, and patted your bottom. “Get home, and get changed.”

You walked inside the cathedral by your parents side, searching around for your girls. “Ah, there’s Jerry!” Your father pointed out, taking you and your mother to Abby’s dad. “Jerry!”

Jerry turned around, grinning at him, both hugging one another. You hopped to Abby’s side, smiling up at her. “Hi,” you whispered.

“Hey, baby,” she mumbled, gently pinching your arm. “Ellie is in the confessional booth.”

“What?” You asked. “Why?”

“You sinned,” Abby reminded, and you swallowed thickly as she leaned into your ear. “And you need to repent.”

Your parents were caught in conversation with Jerry, and you sighed heavily, rolling your eyes. You knew they wouldn’t pay much mind if you were gone for a bit.

“Don’t fuckin’ roll your eyes,” she spat, tightly seizing your wrists, and tugged you away with her. To your unfortunate luck, the confessional booth had its own room in the cathedral, and gradually spacious, giving you more than enough privacy.

“Let the fuck go of my wrist!” You shouted, and she halted her footsteps, turning around. “I can follow, ya’know? I’m not dumb.”

Abby ignored you, suddenly tossing you over her shoulder as you screeched, furiously kicking your feet. “Ellie’s going to love hearing this,” she taunted, and you zipped your mouth, giving up all protest.

Abby twisted open up the door to the room, putting you down on your feet, and slammed the door shut.

Ellie was leaning against the wall, joint in her mouth, and was wearing a black suit, a bralette underneath her fine blazer. “There’s our girl,” she beamed, yet her bright expression toned down when she took notice of Abby's unsatisfied attitude. “What did she do?”

“Rolled her eyes, being a brat,” Abby said, and you looked down in shame, not knowing why you kept digging a hole for yourself. “Don’t know why she keeps doing this. Maybe we’ve been too nice.”

Ellie hummed, burning her joint out on the windowsill before leading herself into the stall, her legs spreading as she sat down. “We’ll take our turns. Kneel before God.”

You only stood still, gazing up at her.

Abby’s hand curled around the back of your neck, getting a whine out of you. “The fuck is your problem today? Want to be ignored instead?” She wondered, and you shook your head. “It sure seems like that, bunny.”

“Bring her over here,” Ellie beckoned, and Abby guided you over to the auburn-haired girl, forcing you down to your knees. “Wearin’ such a pretty dress today. All for us, hm?”

You looked at her, hands resting on your thighs as you nodded. “Course I did. Wanted to be pretty for you both.”

“Hmm. Roll up your dress,” Ellie said, and you froze, not moving. She inched closer to your face, tilting her head. “Something wrong, honey?”

“No, ‘course not,” you muttered, fingers fiddling with the ending hem of your babydoll dress.

“Then listen,” Abby added in, and your breath shuddered as you bunched the skirt to your waist, exposing your bare cunt. “Won’t you look at that? She thought she was gonna get something.”

“Did you think that?” Ellie asked, and you hesitantly nodded, her cruel laugh ringing in your ears. “After how you’ve been acting all day? Silly girl.”

“Where’s your rosary?” Abby wondered, and you opened up your purse, scrunching it up in your palm. “Not even a pure girl anymore, just a depraved whore for us.”

Ellie grabbed the jewelry piece, wrapping it in between her fingers as the end dangled in your face. “Abby, next to me,” she ordered, and Abby took off her leather jacket, letting it drop to the floor, stepping in the stall.

You stayed kneeled, trying to put water to the fire you sparked.

The tip of Ellie’s combat boot hit under your chin, raising your eyes to hers. “Get over to her,” she cocked her head to the side, and you rushed up and over to the blonde haired woman, who grinned at you.

Abby pushed you down onto her lap, your back pressing up against her chest as Ellie pushed open the sliding barrier, mindlessly playing with your rosary. “Why are you here today?” She began, yet Abby shoved your legs open, one hand on your throat, and the other snaked down in between your thighs.

“F—Forgive me,” you stuttered, shivering to Abby's fingers glazing over your needy cunt, “for I have sinned.”

“Go on,” Ellie agreed, and Abby slowly pushed one finger into you. “What troubles you?”

Your head fell back onto Abby’s shoulder, squeezing harder on your throat as a warning. “Fuck… I—I’ve been selfish, sir,” you continued, whining to her teasing pace. “Cruel and ruthless to those who love me.”

“And why is that?” Ellie wondered, paying no mind to you or your noises. “Do they deserve it, little lamb?”

Abby put in a second finger, the pace now running a bit higher, but made sure to not give you entire satisfaction. “Do they deserve it, bunny?” She whispered in your ear, her thumb pressing on your bud. “Tell her now.”

“No, God no,” you whimpered, placing a hand over Abby’s wrist. “I’m just… just a brat— holy fuck, fuck me.”

“Using vulgar language in front of your God, little lamb?” Ellie teased, knowing what she was getting at.

She was your God — both of them were. They were your religion, devoting every piece of you to them, would do anything to have their forgiveness and love for eternity.

“I’m sorry, God,” you moaned, Abby’s fingers pounding into you as you were beginning to fall apart at the seams, grabbing onto her wrist. “Fuck— Forgive me, God. I need your forgiveness.”

“You have to earn it,” Ellie stated, and Abby breathily chuckled, her breath fanning against your skin.

“Want to be good for your Gods?” Abby asked, and you nodded, your face falling into the crook of her neck. “Gonna do anything just for us to fuck you, huh? ‘Course you are, baby. You’re filthy— look what we’ve done to you.”

A warm sensation ran in your stomach, down to your thighs as your body jolted on her lap. “Please, God,” you pleaded, tears at your waterline. “I want you, God. I’ll never sin again.”

Ellie hummed, looking at Abby. “What do you think?” She asked. “Does the whore deserve to be forgiven?”

“Might have to work a little harder,” Abby said, and you were lost in your head, your climax burning in your abdomen. “She’s going to break another commandment.”

“No, no,” you breathed, shaking your head. “I won’t do it unless God tells me to.”

“Is that right?” Abby cooed, and her free hand combed through your hair, grabbing it. Her fingers slipped out of you, tossing you down onto your knees again with a harsh thud, a soft weep eliciting from you.

Ellie stepped out of her side of the booth, moving to yours, and you heard the rustling of her and Abby’s pants, keeping your head down. A nude Ellie brushed past you, sitting down onto Abby’s lap, both of their seeping cunts shown to your eyes.

“Please us, little lamb,” Ellie said, and you slightly moved yourself closer, your mouth latching on Abby’s cunt, hearing a soft moan leave her. You slid two fingers into Ellie’s, who cursed under her breath, and the pair looked down at you as you stared right back at them, desperation shining in your eyes.

“Doing s’good, baby,” Abby gently praised, her breath jagged, and looped around Ellie’s waist to keep her in place. “Keep fuckin’ going like that.”

Your mouth switched between the two, lapping up their juices as they made out with one another, sweetly moaning into each other’s mouth. All you could do was admire them, kneeling obediently while you drowned your mouth in their juices, needing more than just this.

Ellie put her hand on top of your head, the end of your rosary dangling in between your eyes, and she rutted her cunt against your mouth, keeping it latched. You stuffed Abby with three fingers, enough to fulfill her, roughly thrusting them into her.

The rosary continued to stay in your vision, almost like a mocking coming from Ellie and God; that once a pure angel fell into the hands of the corrupted, and became just what and who they are.

But you loved it, you loved that they curated you into this way. All you wanted to do was please them, see how sensitive they could turn out to be.

You spent the remainder of mass baptizing yourself in between their thighs, drunk on the taste of their sweet pussies.

You had spent the next day at home, making sure you had things planned out for when you moved out for Columbia. Abby and Ellie had convinced you to live in a penthouse that was about a block away from the school, and you had agreed on the fact that it was better to be with people you knew than a stranger as they knew it made you easily uncomfortable.

Your parents had left randomly for vacation, staying at their place in Milan, leaving you alone with your cat. You didn’t mind the loneliness, it was something you well adjusted to as you got older, and you only ached for attention when it came to your girls, but they had their responsibilities that you couldn’t interfere with.

You had finished packing up your box of books, setting it in the corner of your bedroom. Your attention turned to the sound of your phone going off, the soft ringtone coming through. You grabbed your phone, grinning at the contact name of “Jesse.”

“Well if it isn’t my favorite troublemaker,” you teased. “What’s up?”

Jesse James and his girlfriend, Dina Woodward, were the only people Ellie and Abby trusted you with; which said plenty because they would kill anyone who they didn’t know, and tried to talk to you. He was good, despite the fact he came from a shit father, constantly got in trouble with the law, and blew money on anything. Dina was the only one who could put him in check, and you had grown close to her over the time of knowing him.

“I fuckin’ bought a club,” Jesse started off, and you scoffed in disbelief. “Turned that shit into a burlesque. She’s a beau, you have to come out and check it out.”

“Well, I can’t right now,” you denied, and he groaned. “I’m trying to make sure I have everything together before I leave for college.”

“Cry me a river, come on!” He begged, and you breathily laughed. “You are always so attached to Ellie and Abs, make time for me.”

“Is your girlfriend with you, at least?” You wondered, and he hummed in response. You looked at the time on your clock, reading “9:03PM”, and you sighed. “I’ll be there in an hour. Don’t go anywhere.”

True to your word, you arrived at Jesse’s enriching club. You got out of the black cab, and stared at the sign that gleamed in pink neon “Carissima.”

You hummed softly to yourself, approaching the security guard at the front. “Friend of Jesse James,” you said, and he nodded, easily recognizing you. He opened up the door for you, thanking him, and moved inside, hearing the familiar melody of “I Put A Spell On You” by Nina Simone tune through the venue.

It didn’t take much to find Jesse, his arm wrapped around Dina’s shoulder as the two sat on a lounge chair in front of performers, their soft laughter knitting between the music. You walked up to the side of the furniture, their eyes averting to you.

“You made it!” Dina exclaimed, jumping up, and pulling you into a hug. “I’ve missed you. Feels like forever.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you said, separating the hug, and gave a hast squeeze to Jesse before sitting on the side of Dina. “So, what made you buy this?”

“Good investment,” Jesse said, and you awed, chuckling. “My dad doesn’t agree, but it’s beautiful. These performers… mind blowing, a fascination to everyone in this room.”

“You tell Ellie and Abby?” You wondered as Dina handed you a cigarette, lighting it up for you. “They would love this, think you are a genius.”

“I thought you would bring them. Ya’know, since you’re attached to them,” he teased, and Dina smacked his arm, glaring at him. “Bad joke, fuck! But where are they?”

“Don’t know, I haven’t talked to them all day,” you answered, puffing out a blow. “But they got their shit to worry about, don’t like being in the way.”

“You’ve been their world since you met them,” Dina said, taking the stick from you. “However, it is scary how overprotective they are.”

“What do you mean?” You asked.

Jesse laughed. “Those two have always been frightening—”

“Yeah, but their care for her is… different,” she stated, and gazed back at you. “Known them since we were kids, and I can say they would kill for you.”

“So dramatic,” you joked. “They’re the closest people I have in life. They take care of me, know what’s good for me and I don’t know— I’ve never really had that.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she mumbled, handing you back the cigarette. “I just know they’re fucking you good.”

“Okay, I’m gonna go get a drink!” You beamed, inhaling the tobacco, and got up. “You need anything?”

They shook their heads, and you hurried to the bar, continuing to burn out the cancerous stick in a spare ashtray. You smiled at the bartender as she headed over to you.

“What can I get you, love?” She asked.

“Just a cosmo, please,” you said, and she hummed, turning to the drinks. You waited patiently, fingers tapping on the gradient countertop in thought.

A shoulder softly brushed past you, but you ignored the person, until they cleared their throat. “All alone here?”

You shivered to the voice of a man.

“With some friends,” you dryly answered, eyes focused on the bartender who had her back turned from you.

“That’s a shame. Woulda invite you to hang with me,” he said, his voice thick and heavy. “You always still can.”

“No thank you,” you denied, shaking your head, and prayed for your drink to come quicker, only for the bartender to head into the stock room for a moment.

Oh, you felt sick.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Dina and Jesse lost in their conversation, completely oblivious to you.

Your phone was in your purse, and you were scared to even fiddle with it.

“I don’t bite, honey,” he assured, and your heart leaped into your throat as his hand touched your bicep. “Come on. A pretty thing like you should be having fun.”

“Please let go of me,” you said, yet harsh enough to come off stern. “I don’t like your hand on me, so get the fuck off.”

“Now don’t be a bitch,” he spat.

You finally looked at him, your body wanting to collapse on you. He was taller than you, about six foot three or so. Broad and muscular, completely fit. His eyes were dark, had a goatee on his face.

You thought about throwing up all over him just to get this over with.

You hoped people sitting around would notice, yet no one did, caught up in their own worlds. You yanked your arm back, and scoffed. “You don’t got the right to touch me, you fuck.”

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” he threatened. “You come here in that little black dress, and expect nobody to fuck you?”

The bartender came back, and was the only one to notice this unsettling tension. “Hey, honey!” She called out, putting your order on the countertop. “Had to head into the back to grab more cranberry juice, I’m sorry.”

She kept her eyes locked on the man, a pair of scissors in her hand. “Can you hold onto my order for a second? I need to use the ladies room,” you said, and she nodded, making sure to keep the man secure in her radius.

You hurried into the bathroom, your shaky hands taking out your phone. Teardrops collected on the screen as you hit Abby’s contact, the first name on your recent call list.

It took only two rings until she answered. “Bunny?”

“Abby… abby,” you breathily whispered, sniffling. “Is Ellie with you?”

“Yeah, baby. We just got done with some things,” she said, and you sighed in relief. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m… I’m at this club, Jesse’s club,” you began, sucking in a sharp breath. “And went to the bar to get a drink… this man came up to me, wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“What?” Abby’s tone sharpened. “Did he hurt you? Where the fuck is Jesse? Or Dina?”

“He just grabbed my arm. Jesse and Dina were just busy with each other, I was too far away for them to notice anything,” you stated clearly, wiping away your hot tears. “I don’t know if he’s still in here, but the bartender is keeping a close eye on him, and I’m hiding in the bathroom.”

“Stay in the bathroom, we’re coming right now,” she assured, and you hung up the call, sitting yourself on the porcelain seat, trying to compile all your thoughts and emotions.

As Abby brought the phone down to her lap, Ellie glanced at her. “What happened?”

“Someone fuckin’ weirdo touched her,” Abby exsperated, and static rang in Ellie’s ears, scoffing in disbelief. “Jesse opened up his own club, she was there, and went alone to get a drink.”

Ellie texted Jesse for the address, and Abby searched around the backseat compartment. “I don’t know if the gun is still in here,” Ellie said, and the blonde groaned in frustration. “We can’t go in there with one.”

“The one time you don’t bring your weapon,” Abby sighed.

“Got the address,” Ellie mumbled, opening up her phone. “Charles! Hit 7th avenue.”

“The fuck are we gonna do with this dude?” Abby asked, and Ellie grinned. “Talk to me, baby.”

“We fuckin’ kill him,” Ellie stated.

You passed time by playing games on your phone, the stress of it being enough to forget the short horror experience you just encountered. The shout of your name in the bathroom caught your attention, killing your high score in the process.

“Baby, where are you?” Ellie called out, and you rushed out of the stall, getting her attention. “Oh, there’s my girl.”

She hastily brought you into her arms, letting you cry into her shoulder as she held you, cupping the back of your head. “My brave girl, hm? So proud of you,” she praised, kissing your temple. “Abby and I are gonna take care of everything.”

You nodded, bringing your head back, and she smiled softly at you. “Do you have any party favors?” You wondered, and she sighed, shaking her head. “Please, just wanna wash off tonight.”

“Honey, you are not taking coke,” she said, and you frowned. “I know you are upset, but your body isn’t used to it, and you wouldn’t like it.”

“Yes I do! Remember when I did it off your ass on our ski trip in Aspen?” You recalled, and she kept denying you. “Please! Just this once. I’ll have Dina make sure I don’t do more than three lines.”

“Dina couldn’t even keep an eye on you right now!” She shouted, and you flinched, body tensing. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just— You need to be careful.”

“Just three lines,” you repeated.

Ellie reached into her trouser’s pockets, fiddling with the bag, and handed it to you. “Go have fun, baby,” she said, and you kissed her cheek, thanking her before sprinting back out to Jesse and Dina.

The couple bounced up from their seats at your appearance, clear worry plastered on their faces. “Fuck, we’re so sorry,” Dina said, gently grabbing your wrists. “We were so caught up—“

“It’s fine,” you smiled, sitting down on the lounge seat, and popped open the bag of cocaine.

“Fuck, you’re doing lines? Haven’t seen you do that shit since the Debutante Ball,” she said, and you poured some of the white powder onto the table in front of you.

“Ellie and Abby don’t know about that,” you told her, and her eyes widened, looking at her boyfriend who only shrugged at her. “They would kill me if they knew the amount of drugs I’ve done behind their back.”

“You’ve only done cocaine, no?” Jesse questioned, and you only glanced at him over your shoulder, giggling. You took a random card out of your wallet, dividing the powder into neat lines, a dumb smile on your face.

“Jesse, can you go get my cosmo, please?” You asked, sweetness laced in your tone. “I deserve some of that with this shit.” He sighed, nodding, and getting up from his spot.

There were seven lines made, and you wiped off the collected powder from the edge of the card, sniffing it up your left nostril. You exhaled sharply, snickering, and traded the card in for a dollar bill. “You want some of this?” You offered, turning around to look at Dina, and she denied the offer, eyes focused on you.

You hummed, tightly rolling up the bill. “More for me, then.” You brought the paper up to your nose, aligning it with the first line, and took a heavy inhale, a strong burn hitting your nose. You sniffled, bringing your head up and leaned it back, shakily laughing.

“Easy there, babe,” Dina put a hand on your back, rubbing it. Jesse came back on time with your drink, handing it to you, and noticed the dollar bill next to the second line.

“Already started?” He teased, and you took a sip of the cocktail, eyeing to the drug. “I’m all good, treat yourself with that stuff.”

With you doing lines and being utterly distracted inside of the club, Abby and Ellie were on the top floor of the building, inside a storage room with a beaten man on the ground.

Abby took another kick to his gut, Ellie sitting in a chair with a cigarette in her mouth. “You like touchin’ females you don’t know!” Abby yelled, and he sobbed, restrained by cable ties, his right eyes kicked in. “Fuckin’ touching her like that, you aren’t getting away with this shit.”

Ellie took the gun out from the back of her trousers, lucky enough to find the weapon in the glove compartment by the driver. She flashed the object to the man’s eyes, a vile grin playing on her lips as she stared at him.

She got up, and stalked towards his limp body, standing by Abby’s side. “What’s your name, man?” Ellie asked, with her partner taking a hast note to her facade. “Got any kids or anything?”

“My name is Brandon,” he breathed, and Ellie nodded, squatting down to match eye level with him, letting the gun dangle in her hands. “Shit, dude, listen— I—I’m sorry. I didn’t think she was taken.”

“What makes you say that?” Abby questioned.

“A girl like that… wants attention,” he said, and the girls looked at one another before glancing back over to Brandon. “Can even tell she’s got lingerie under that shit. She’s a fuckin’ tease, a whore.”

Ellie hummed, reloading the glock in her hand, and chuckled. “I think I’m done with my cigarette now,” she mumbled, jokingly frowning as she played with the stick in between her fingers. “Too bad I don’t have an ashtray on me.”

Abby took out a switchblade, exchanging it for the gun. “Tell me when you need me to do it,” she said, and the auburn haired girl seized the man’s jaw, squeezing open his mouth as a wave of protests elicited from his throat.

Ellie pushed the bud to his tongue, and cruelly laughed at the garging scream that came out of him. “Keep fuckin’ talking shit!” She shouted, flicking open her switchblade, and held it to his throat. “Swallow that cigarette, wanna see if you still want to run your mouth!”

“You don’t get to talk about her like that,” Abby chimed in, taking off her leather jacket. “You’re lucky we don’t kill you right now.”

Ellie put her hand over the man’s mouth, refusing to let him spit out her cigarette, only giving him the option to swallow it for good. She smiled, pleased with the simple act, and took her hand back. “Got anymore shit to say?” She questioned, tilting her head to the side.

Brandon sniffled, jagged sobs intertwined with his heavy breathing. “You’re both fucking insane,” he began, trying to gather oxygen into him. “She’s going to leave you. You’re going to drive her away with this shit.”

“We’d like to see her try,” Abby said, and Ellie stood up, putting herself aside to let her do as she pleased. She sat back down, opening up her phone to text Jesse.

E: How is she?

J: Two Cosmos in. Had seven lines. Get down here soon.

E: Don’t let her strip her clothes off. We don’t need a sequel to Barcelona.

J: Me and Dina can’t handle her, only you can. She won’t shut the fuck up about you.

E: Don’t let us down again. P.S., may need a mop in here soon.

She tucked her phone away, and admired Abby damaging the man. She was ruthless, yet composing herself enough not to kill him — just yet. His face had molded into a pulp, unrecognizable to anyone as his blood painted on Abby’s hands, his weak pleas being ignored by the pair.

Abby and Ellie got high off of this, hurting or killing anyone who made you uncomfortable. They had been getting away with it for so long, and you had been gullible to it, never blinking an eye to their unknown actions.

They would do this over and over again, even if something was your fault within it, they dealt with you in their own way — but no one was ever to lay a hand on you, and you knew that too.

Abby snagged his wallet out of his pocket, opening it up. “Brandon James,” she announced, pulling out his cash, and putting it in her pockets. “Gonna use this to buy her something pretty and nice.”

“Where does he live?” Ellie asked.

“Won’t you look at that!” Abby said, pressing her boot to his face. “He’s a rich brat. Lives in that building next to yours, Els.”

Ellie chuckled. “Money probably got him out of his shit. Isn’t that right, Brandon James?”

“Please,” is all he could manage to say, dizzy and lightheaded.

Ellie returned over to him, and stood over him before lowering herself. “This may hurt,” she said, signaling for Abby’s help, who obliged by opening the man’s mouth. Ellie grinned, tugging at the tip of his tongue, and began to sever it with her switchblade.

He screamed, thrashing around, but was overpowered by the two women, entirely useless to their strength. “This isn’t even the worst part,” Ellie muttered, grunting as she went on to cut off his tongue. “You made her cry, ya’know? Poor baby was so scared, and didn't know what to do.”

His tongue ripped out, being put to the side of his head. She got up, staring at the blood of her hand, and could only curl her hand into a tight fist.

He fuckin’ frightened her, she thought to herself. He deserves to die.

He was already facing death in a horrid, slow manner, and the last thing he would see was these two, towering over him; utterly indulged by his death, and letting it fuel their ego.

“Kill him. Jesse wants us back,” Ellie ordered, and Abby aimed the gun at his face, her finger carelessly pressing down on the trigger. His face blew, and they both hummed, taking in the view. “Good job. Already called the crew to come get him.”

Stuck yet hast of cleaning themselves up, alcohol and drugs overrode your brain, consuming you. You were sitting on the edge of the couch, staring at the dancers on the stage who moved with elegance, and passion. Each one of them were beautiful, confident in their own way that made your heart beat.

“Wish I was as good as them,” you said, sipping on Jesse’s cup of scotch. “I can fuckin’ dance, but not like that.”

“They’re giving a simple show,” Dina noted, and you blew a raspberry, glaring at her.

“They’re doing much more than that,” you retorted, and inhaled one last bump, coughing. “I… I want to go up there.”

“You’re not,” Jesse denied, and you pouted. “Ellie and Abby would murder you, and then me. We don’t want Barcelona to happen.”

“Oh my gosh! That trip was so fun!” You recalled, warmly smiling at the memory. “Wait, what happened?”

“You drank too much, got lost in the crowd dancing with too many people,” Dina said, and you zoned out, attempting to have any recollection. “Then, you bought everyone shots, danced on top of the bar, and flashed your ass to them.”

“Okay, that’s not bad,” you giggled, shrugging. “I’m going up there!”

“Do you have a death wish?” Dina wondered, and grabbed your wrist, preventing you from standing up. “Your girlfriends are going to kill you if you do some sort of strip tease up there.”

“They’ll get over it,” you said, freeing your wrist from her hold. “They’re not here, anyways, and they won’t do shit about it.”

Jesse and Dina sighed, giving up all attempts and let you run off onto the stage. The burlesque dancers beamed at your presence, letting you stand in the middle as you were too mind numbed to understand what you were doing, just knowing you wanted to have fun.

The song and crowd were an echo, intoxication burning into your body, controlling each thing you did. You sheepishly grinned, your hand reaching to the side of your dress, and pulled down the zipper.

“No, no!” Dina shouted, and Jesse mumbled multiple curse words, sipping down the last of his drink. “Oh, we are so dead.”

Abby and Ellie appeared right next to them, at the exact time you were shimming off your dress, and were exposed in your garter belt, stockings, and undergarments. “What the fuck did we say!” Abby shouted, and the couple sighed, watching in horror with the two girls while you were oblivious to them.

People in the club cheered for you, a few getting their wallets out. You laughed, your vision a blur as you showed off your body, letting your hands run all over your body.

Your girlfriends watched attentively, millions of thoughts piling on top of each other, thinking of how to get off the stage, and back home. They weren’t going to punish you while you were clearly out of your mind, but that gave them enough time to think of how to handle you.

They just fucking murdered someone for you, and your flashing your body to strangers. You were more than ungrateful at this moment.

The dancers on stage encouraged you to do what you wanted, cheering you though they knew you were not intact with reality. “Should I take off my bra?” You questioned, and the people in front yelled in agreement, earning a small laugh out of you. “Yeah? Flash my tits for New York?”

“What the fuck is she saying?” Jesse asked. “Go get your girl before she turns this into a riot house.”

Abby and Ellie both rushed to you, having to fight through a crowd just to reach the steps to the stage. Your hands fidgeted with the hooks of your bra, and before you could strip it off, they got to you on time. “Oh, it’s my girls!” You slurred, hiccuping as you laughed, and blushed in shame. “How long have you been here?”

Ellie took off her blazer, tossing it over you as Abby picked up your dress from the ground. The crowd booed and groaned at your escort as you only waved at them, blowing a kiss. “Bye Dina and Jess! Love you both so much!” You yelled, and squealed from being abruptly thrown over Abby’s shoulder. “Ow, my stomach!”

The limo was parked outside, and the chauffeur opened up the door, Abby throwing you onto the seat but made sure you didn’t bump your head. Ellie climbed in right behind her, the door shutting.

“Hiii,” you slurred, continuing to giggle. “You like my outfit?”

“Who gave you coke?” Abby asked.

“Els!” You said.

“Ellie, we talked about this!” Abby protested, and the auburn shrugged. “She can’t do that shit unattended.”

“I’ve done it so many times without you both,” you confessed, and their eyes snapped at you. “You made me this way — fucking corrupted, and shit. I am your blessing and nightmare.”

“You’re drunk,” Ellie sighed. “You need to rest when we get home.”

“Why, daddy?” You asked, and Ellie reddened at the nickname. “I know you both want to hurt me. I was bad tonight, disrespecting you both. How silly of me.”

“Fuckin’ watch it, bunny,” Abby spat, and you laughed. “I mean it.”

“Whatever. You’re idiots,” you mumbled, and Ellie had thinner patience than Abby did — meaning one more insult would cause her to take you in the car. She tossed your dress at you, eyes boring into you. “You could just hand it next time.”

“You are one more backtalk from getting it,” Ellie warned, and your smile slowly faded. “Anything else you need to confess before we deal with you in the dawn?”

“Oh, I can’t have a life of my own!” You realized, carelessly putting back on your outfit.. “Can’t take drugs without your eyes following me. Can’t even hang out with someone without a bodyguard being there! So fucking annoying!”

“If it’s so annoying, why stay?” Abby asked.

You went silent, looking away from the both of them, and finished throwing on your dress, slouching in your seat. “Only ones who take care of me,” you murmured, so soft and quiet, pouting too. “Make me feel special.”

“Yeah, and we’re the only ones who will put up with you this way,” Ellie added, and you nodded, tears welting in your eyes. “Who else is gonna do that? Tell us.”

You shook your head. “No one… no one,” you mumbled, chewing on your lower lip. “Can… Can I sit on your lap? Please?”

Ellie heavily sighed before giving in, beckoning you. You practically hopped into her lap as you wrapped your arms around her neck, nuzzling your face into her chest.

You fell asleep on the ride back to the shared penthouse.

Sunlight crept into your eyes, taking you out of your gentle slumber. You groaned, stuffing your face into the pillow, and felt warmth on both sides of you. Your eyes slowly parted, finding Ellie’s tattooed arm dangling over your chest, Abby’s looped around your waist.

You were trapped in between them, no way out. Your head pounded, your nose stuffy, and dying in sickness. You stayed still, trying to resurface last night's events, yet only blur spots flickered in your head. You whimpered, loud to drag Abby out of her slumber, her eyes adjusting to the sight of you.

“Hey, bunny,” she whispered. “You okay?”

“Did I drink last night?” You asked, and she weakly chuckled, nodding.

“And you did cocaine,” she muttered, and she brought her hand up, resting it on the side of your face. “You are in trouble.”

You panicked. “Whatever I did—”

“Baby, you are okay,” she assured, thumb caressing your cheek. “But you said some rude things. All we plan to do is spanking, that’s about it.”

“I’m sorry,” you frowned, and she kissed the side of your head. “Hope that’s the only stupid thing I did.”

“And you stripped and performed at a burlesque club,” she shared, and your eyes widened, whining in embarrassment. “Ellie nearly ripped your head off in the car.”

You looked over at Ellie, and grinned. “I’ll make it up to you both,” you promised, pressing a kiss to her lips, and she smiled, nodding. “I’m going to clean myself up, I feel a bit nauseous.”

“We had your things moved and unpacked yesterday,” Abby said, and you sat up, stretching out your arms.

“You broke into my house late at night, and got everything settled that quick?” You laughed. “I’m still a month away from attending school, and you’re already locking me down.”

“Better to get it done now,” she acknowledged, and you got up from the bed, padding over to the bedroom’s bathroom, closing the door behind you.

It took you only about thirty minutes to clean up, unimpressed by how worn out you looked. Your lipstick smeared, eyeliner and mascara cluttered around your eyes, your breath reeking of alcohol.

The shower was enough to relax your body, yet still felt sick, considering you needed a meal. You stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around your body, and stepped in front of the sink.

You found an unopened toothbrush waiting for you, and you grinned, opening it up. You turned on the faucet, and laid down a portion of toothpaste on your toothbrush, running it under the water shortly after.

You brought the object into your mouth, and used your free arm to pick up your pajamas. You walked over to the walk in closet, and looked around for the hamper, only to find it shoved into the corner.

Peeking over the basket, you noticed a white shirt stained with some red on it. It grabbed your attention, looking too crimson to be considered red wine, or anything else.

You just shrugged it off, putting your clothes over it, and went back to brushing your teeth. “Hey Abs,” you called from the bathroom. “What kind of shit did you get into last night?”

“What do you mean?” She shouted back, the loud conversation awakening Ellie.

“One of your shirts is stained,” you said, and Abby inhaled sharply, Ellie shooting up to look at her girlfriend. “Did I fall and eat shit, and get blood over one of you?”

“Honey, you did,” Ellie lied, voice groggy and hoarse. “I had to carry you inside, you had blood coming out your nose.”

“But I have no bruises or anything?” You realized, spitting out the paste, and cleaned up your toothbrush and mouth. You changed into shorts and tee before walking back into the bedroom. “Did you guys get into a fight last night?”

They went silent, and you got into the middle of them on the bed, going back and forth looking at them.

“You had an incident last night,” Ellie said, and your brows furrowed. “A man was being a fuckin’ dick, you called Abby, and we handled it.”

“Oh what, you fucking killed him?” You joked, and they laughed dryly with you, but enough to make it believable. “If you beat him, you just have to say that.”

“We handled it,” Ellie repeated, and moved herself closer to you, putting her hand on your cheek. “Now we need to handle you.”

You rolled your eyes, bitterly scoffing.

“Fuckin’ roll them again,” she dared, and Abby laid back against the headboard, letting everything unravel. “Always going to be a brat? Even when we’re so good to you?”

Your face softened into a doe expression, tilting your head to the side. “Doesn’t that make you want to fuck me?”

“We won’t even touch you if that’s what you're trying to accomplish here,” she taunted, and her hand snaked up to the side of your head, tightly gripping your hair. “When are you going to learn, little lamb? Is what we do for you not enough?”

“It is,” you whimpered.

“Yeah? Then why do you keep acting like it isn’t?” She asked, and eyed over to Abby. “What should we do with her?”

“Break her,” Abby said, getting up from her spot. Ellie grinned, turning her head back towards you, and your cheek was met with a harsh slap. You gasped, and her hand slid down to the back of your neck, pushing your body onto the bed.

“Fuckin’ strip,” Ellie spat, and you whimpered, but obliged. You fiddled with the ending hem of your shirt, taking it off, and your fingers hooked around the waistband of your panties and pajama shorts. “Need you on all fours.”

You huffed under your breath, glad that she couldn’t see you roll your eyes again. Your clothes piled down onto the ground, letting your knees sink into the mattress, your chest laying flat as your ass was lifted to her eyes for display.

“Baby, you’re fucking soaking,” Ellie cooed with Abby returning on time, able to hear the clicking of objects. “Let’s hold off on gagging her until she wants to say some shit.”

Abby moved to your eye level, grinning. “You want to keep being a desperate whore?”

“I’ll get my satisfaction either way,” you assured, and she inhaled sharply, eyes snapping into Ellie’s. The auburn handed her an item, noticing the pink ball. “Wait, wait!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Abby seethed, maneuvering your face and brought it up, fastening up the ball gag. “You’ve really fuckin’ done it this time, bunny. And Ellie is going to handle you, not me.”

You swallowed thickly, your doe eyes shining with pleas but the blonde dismissed you, tossing your face back onto the bed.

Both girls had stripped themselves bare, Ellie positioned behind you as Abby sat in front of you, her cunt for you to gawk at, but forbidden to please.

In a sharp breath, you felt thick silicone push into you, causing your cunt to stretch. You cried, yet it was mumbled, and Abby laughed at you. “Gonna deny you everything, honey,” Ellie muttered, her hands grasping onto your cheeks for support as she carelessly thrusted into you, breaking into you. “Need to make you cry, need to know you’re fucking place with us.”

“We could easily get rid of you,” Abby continued on, and your brows knitted together, shaking your head. “Could’ve fucking disposed you months ago, but no. Here we are, still putting up with your bratty ass.”

You cursed and moaned breathlessly, the pain turning into a bliss as Ellie’s strap pounded into you. “Wouldn’t want that, huh?” She asked, and you cried in response. “Course not, honey. No one fuckin’ loves you like we do.”

You stared at Abby with teary eyes, your hand aching to touch her, only for the blonde to slap it away. “No, take what you are getting right now,” she warned, and you nodded, your hips rolling and swaying with the rhythm of Ellie’s thrusts. “Won’t ya look at that? Little bunny just can’t get enough.”

Your hands grasped onto the messy bed sheets, nails digging into them. You stuffed your face into the material, lewd noises eliciting from you through the ball gag, almost feeling as if your body was jolted with electricity the moment Ellie’s strap found your orgasmic area.

“She’s enjoying this too much,” Abby pointed out, and Ellie hummed, all movement being halted. You groaned in protest, and she switched around your body, laying you flat on your back. She straddled herself on top of you, intimidating you with how she towered over you.

She popped the gag out of your mouth, your lungs engulfing fresh air. “Oh, little lamb,” she softly whispered, and smacked your face again, seizing it afterwards. “You got me upset, you know that? Treating me like shit.”

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered, the strike burning your cheek before she placed another one. “Fuck!”

“You’re sorry?” She repeated, almost as if she didn’t trust you. “For which part, honey?”

“Just… just wanted to get a rise,” you admitted, breathing heavily. “Couldn’t ask for it.”

“Look where that landed you,” she said, and hit you once more, your head spinning. “You going to apologize to Abby, hm?” She climbed off of you, her hands guiding you around to face the blonde. “Say sorry, baby.”

You were a crying mess, and weren’t even at the worst part yet. Though you were scared, you were aroused; maybe you were as depraved as they were. You enjoyed the sadistic acts they brought onto you, wanting to be all theirs to use, and play with.

You were their girl at the end of the day, nothing could change that.

“I’m sorry, mama,” you mumbled, and Abby hummed, careless to your apology. “Please, mama. Didn’t mean it, I’ll be better.”

“You need to start acting right,” she said, and you nodded, mumbling promises through your sobs. “You aren’t able to leave us, you know that, right?”

“I won’t,” you reassured, sniffling. You knew that’s what many people wanted, that they knew you couldn't be without these two girls, simply as if they were your life support.

Everyone knew it.

“Where’s your blade?” Abby asked, and Ellie gestured to the night stand. She opened up the drawer, taking out her prized switchblade, something she always carried with her, but you didn’t know why. “Got to mark our girl.”

Ellie grabbed her knife, flicking it open, and she settled herself in between your thighs. She was grinning to herself, yet so was Abby, the two only knowing what they had done the previous night with the weapon, and you were clueless to it all.

“Need you to be a big girl for me,” Ellie stated, and you sucked in a sharp breath, the tip of the switchblade pointing into your right inner thigh, beginning to carve into your skin. “Right there, baby. Doing s’good for us, focus on mama.”

Abby scooted closer to you, putting your head on her lap. “Don’t cry, bunny. It’s gonna be over soon.”

Ellie branded her initial firstly into your right thigh before moving onto your left inner thigh, starting to cut Abby’s into it. You were trying your best to compose your body, squirming and softly sobbing to your skin being pierced.

“Mama, it hurts,” you pouted, and she caressed your cheek, looking down at you. “I know I’m your girl.”

“Just so you remember,” Abby reminded, groping your breasts. “Sometimes you forget, baby. We can’t keep repeating ourselves.”

You only nodded, melting into her gentle touch. Ellie threw her knife on top of the pile of clothes, smirking at initials. “Ah, now we can give you what you want,” she said, and you sighed in relief, a smile playing on your lips.

Dots of blood appeared on the wounds as the girls got up from the bed, opening the bottom drawer of the night stand. You stared up at the ceiling, ignoring the burn that scorned, and a large hand pressed onto the side of your body, shifting you around.

“Come on, baby,” Abby whispered, positioning you on your knees that sunk into the bed, and could feel her bare chest brush on your back. “Need you to spread yourself for us, you can do it.”

“You’re our girl,” Ellie promised, kneeling in front of you, and cradled your face into her warm hands. “Don’t know what we would do if you tried to leave us.”

Abby wetted her fingers, spitting down on your tight hole as she pushed two fingers into it to start you off. You roughly gasped, your body nearly faltering. “Stay steady, princess,” she said, moving her fingers at an easy pace. “Gotta prepare you for my cock, I need to make sure you can take it nice and sweet.”

Your face stayed in Ellie’s hands, trying to keep you focused on her. “Make sure to keep yourself spread for mama,” she told you, and you nodded, your shaky hands clawed down on your ass as you kept it spread open for Abby. “You can take it, you always do. Isn’t that right, sweet girl?”

“Yes daddy,” you muttered, and Abby’s fingers popped out of you. She put her hand back on your shoulder, guiding you back in the same moment she let her strap harshly sink into your whole. You cursed under your breath, tears welting in your eyes, and Ellie cooed, keeping your face in place.

Abby didn’t move further, letting your hole take in all of her, and nodded at Ellie. She dropped her hands, hooking your arms around her neck as she filled your hot cunt with her strap, and your body shuddered, your face collapsing down onto her chest. “No no, baby,” she said, shaking her head. “You gotta show us how much you want us. Fuck yourself on our cocks.”

“Too stuffed,” you mumbled, and Abby’s hand reached for the front of your neck, tugging your head back.

“Show us how needy you are, pathetic bitch,” Abby spat, and you whimpered, but compiled, gently bouncing yourself on both silicone objects. “Yeah, that’s it, bunny. Fuckin’ take everything we give you.”

Ellie’s was captivated by the way your cunt swallowed her strap, dripping and soaking it already. “This is all you wanted, right?” She taunted, breathlessly chuckling. “Just wanted us to make you cock drunk, for us to treat you like the dumb whore you are.”

“Y—Yes, yes!” You choked out, rolling your hips as your body began to endure the scorching pleasure. “Oh my god, feels s’fucking good, please.”

“You’re barely fuckin’ two minutes in on fucking yourself,” Abby laughed, bringing your head back and laid down on her shoulder, forcing you to look up at her, “And you’re already falling apart. Can even hear how wet your pussy is.”

“Want to be fucked, please,” you breathed, on a brink of sobs. “Can’t do it on my own.”

“You have to earn it, love,” she stated, and grinned. “Show us how bad you need us, want us to fuck your pretty holes.”

You pouted, and she shoved your head back forward, a spin of dizziness whirling in your brain. Ellie sadistically smirked in front of you, her hands laid on your thighs, and tilted her to the side. “Looks you’re about to cry, little lamb,” she teased, and you kept heavy eye contact as your holes stretched further with every desperate bounce. “Got nothing to cry about, honey. You brought this on yourself, you know that.”

“S—said sorry, daddy. I’m sorry,” your breath shook, sobs threatening to spill from you. You were overfilled with needs, feeling as if you were in heat, and only they could put the fire out. You could fuck yourself good, but they could make you feel orgasmic tides crash into your soul, and take you in one.

“Only saying sorry ‘cause you’re not getting what you want,” Ellie said, and you were quick to deny it. “Don’t fuckin’ lie, you know how much we hate that.”

“Please, please,” you begged. “I’ll be so good, won’t be a brat ever again.”

“Fucking lying again,” Ellie scoffed, and Abby grinned, smacking your ass. “Don’t worry baby, we like when you are; means we get to see you cry and break.”

You were stuck in the middle of these two, falling apart on their cocks as they observed you, waiting for you to break down into sobs. This was their whole pride, everything they fucking thrived off of, and if it made them the happiest they’ve ever been, you would them hurt you over and over again.

Your bouncing turned rapid, breasts in sync, and porngraphic noises drawing out of you. Your sensitive spots were being hit at, your eyes rolling back, and could feel heat pooling in your abdomen. Your hands reached out for one of them, but they denied you of it, leading you to fall into pits of sobs.

“There it is,” Abby growled. “Just what we wanted.”

“Can’t do it,” you sobbed, shaking your head. “Please, need mama. Need your help, please.”

“Yeah, bunny? Need us to take over?” She asked, mockery tangled in her tone. “Can’t use that silly brain of yours, huh? Our poor baby that’s useless.”

Her words mixed in with the fire that bubbled inside of you, expanding into your thighs. “Fuck me, fuck me,” you babbled, choking on your tears. “Need it s’bad, please. Just fuck me.”

Ellie halted your movements, and kissed your cheek. “We got you, honey. Let us do whatever we want, okay? We need to fill your holes, want to see it leak out of you.”

The duo situated themselves before handling you to stretch your form better, your knees locking place to keep you up. Abby braced her hands on your waist before her strap brutally thrusted into you, Ellie following the same tempo shortly after.

You could feel yourself being split open, Abby’s hands residing on your hips as Ellie’s let hers rest on the sides of your breasts. Their noises were shaky, rough, and undeniably lewd, a string of curses muttering out of them.

They would always be hypnotized by you, your body, and how fucking well you always took them. They would fuck you hours on end, and they have before, but they couldn’t get enough it. It was a fucking drug, worse than any they’ve taken. Everything about you was addicting and pure perfection to their eyes, knowing that they would be the only ones who could see you crumble under them like this, let them take control of you, and tear you apart.

They wanted to fucking spend the rest of their life in your pussy, fucking destroying it, and letting it cry with you.

Raw lust was a firestorm on your skin, sinking into your body, and coursing through you. Your climax was overrode, about to collapse on you, and take you entirely, just needing to be free. Your legs trembled, slowly weakening, and a muscular arm snaked around your waist to lock you in.

“Our pretty girl needs to cum,” she acknowledged, and Ellie’s fingers furiously hooked around your throat, squeezing it. “What do you think, babe? We let her cum?”

“Don’t know if she deserves it,” Ellie said, and your sobs were uncontrollable; your body was breaking, haze clouded in your head, and your high was unbearable over the limit. “You want to cum, little lamb? ‘M having too much fun seeing you like this.”

“Wanna cum, need to cum,” you blubbered, breath hallowed, and could feel them so far into you, you could almost swear they were poking at your stomach. “I’ll be so good forever. ‘M your girl, only yours; won’t ever be ungrateful again.”

Ellie grinned. “You mean that, honey?”

You mindlessly nodded, agreeing anything just so you could cum — it was fucking torturous.

“Cum for us, sweetheart,” Abby said, and you exhaled in relief, your body relaxing to her permission. Like a violent hit, your high crashed out of you causing your body to jump and shudder. Abby kept her arm around you, the pair not being done with you until they came.

You could hear the sploshing of your juices as Ellie viciously rammed into you, Abby’s cock abusing your tight hole with absolutely no remorse. You were there, letting yourself be their garbage waste, waiting for them to fill you up.

“Imagine if we could fuckin’ put a baby in her,” Abby laughed, her moans knitted into it. “Make her our bitch forever, wouldn’t be able to leave us then.”

“That what you want, angel? For us to make you a pretty mommy?” Ellie asked, and you blankly agreed, braindead and numb. “Keep you trapped forever, nowhere to fuckin’ go.”

Abby and Ellie always considered that; having a family with you, though they never practically discussed it with you, or if that’s what you wanted. They truly wanted you in their life forever, needed you in every way that would kill them if they couldn’t have it. And if you did try to exit out of their lives, they would find a solution to reel you back in.

“Mama gonna fill your hole, ‘kay?” Abby warned, and you hummed, falling in and out of reality. Ellie left her on your throat as extra leverage as she continued to hammer herself into you, her own climax trailing behind the blonde’s.

A symphony of vulgar, raw noises echoed throughout the bedroom, and your second peak surfaced in the depths of your belly, your body frail and trembling.

“Fuck, baby, baby, baby,” Ellie cried out, her nails clawing into your skin, and Abby’s hands crept down to your cheeks, clawing into them. Your skin was running hot and wild, their body heat radiating onto you as the room smelt of filth and sweat, shameless moans and whimpers wailing out of all three of you.

Your cunt and hole were stuffed with cum from their straps with Abby and Ellie’s climax dripped out of their sweet pussies. They pushed themselves out of you, and you fell back on the bed, gathering lungfuls of breaths.

“Won’t you look at that?” Abby said, her and Ellie mesmerized by their cum leaking out of your holes, their initials branded into your thighs. “So fuckin’ pretty, all for us to look at.”

“Head… hurts,” is all you could manage to say, curling up into a ball.

The girls took off their object, dropping it to the floor as they separated to obtain things for you. Abby went to the kitchen, grabbing cold water, painkillers, and a box of cherries for you; Ellie was in the bathroom, wetting a rag, and seized the first aid kit.

They rushed to your side in under a minute, worried that they might have finally done it this time.

“Baby, you with us?” Ellie panicked, and you nodded, sleep wanting to take you. “Can you sit up for us, please?”

“Can’t,” you whimpered, and Abby sighed, helping to pick you up. She kissed the side of your head, holding you sit up while Ellie aided you.

“You did so good for us, sweetheart,” Ellie cooed, running the cloth over your aching cunt and hole as you hissed in response. “I know, I know. Just need to make sure we clean you up well, okay?”

Abby brought up the glass of water to lips, stroking the side of your head while you took slow sips. “There we go, there’s our tough girl,” she whispered, and opened up the bottle of painkillers, inserting two pills in your mouth, returning the glass back to your mouth afterwards. “We’re so proud of you. You’re okay, bunny, we’re almost done.”

Ellie soothed your wounds with hydrogen peroxide, putting bandaids over it after. She put a chaste kiss to your hip, and you smiled small, thanking her. “You want to get some rest?” She asked, and you nodded. “Okay, honey, let us change the sheets while you eat some food, yeah?”

Abby carried to the loveseat sofa that sat in the corner of the bedroom, handing you the box of cherries as she helped out Ellie. The two weren’t even cleaned up, but made sure you were comfortable and okay before they were.

You wanted to cry.

They’re so fucking perfect, you said in your head.

You had eaten about five cherries by the time they fixed up the mattress, and put new sheets on top of it. You set the food next to you, and Abby returned to you, scooping you into her arms as you grasped onto her, sitting you on the edge of the bed.

Ellie picked out a new set of pajamas for you, changing you into new underwear, and a soft, pink nightgown. “Get some rest, and we’re gonna get ourselves fixed, ‘kay?” She said, guiding you under the duvet covers, and made sure you were tucked in. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

You hummed, your eyes drooping, and let rest take over you. You felt them press a loving kiss to your forehead before you passed out.

You could hear your ringtone tune, lulling you out of your slumber. You let it go through as it shut up a few seconds later, and you groaned, trying to fall back asleep.

Then, the ringtone came back, and the buzzing added onto it. Your hand reached for your phone, finding it laying next to you. You grabbed it, squinting to who was calling.

Joel Miller, the contact name flashed.

Why the fuck was Joel calling?

You noticed the time, seeing it to be 4PM — how fucking long were you asleep for?

You swiped the button right, bringing the device up to your ear. “Hello?” You mumbled, clearly exhausted and groggy.

“Hey, kid. I was wonderin’ if Ellie was with you?” He asked, trying to sound calm, but wasn’t. You instantly sat up, finding a note on the nightstand, and you picked it up.

Abby and I went out to get some things. Be back as soon as we can. Love you always, sweet girl.

Xo, Ellie.

“Um, no,” you answered, putting the note down. “Why? Did something happen?”

There was silence for a moment. “The cops are here, asking for her.”

“Cops. Why?” You asked, fear streaming through your whole body.

“They’re accusing her of murder,” Joel said, and you swallowed thickly. “Someone reported their friend missing — a Brandon James — saying how they saw him leave with Ellie, and Abby.”

Memories now began to flick in your brain, like bright lights, and bile burned at your throat.

The shirt. The red on the shirt.

Blood.

“We handled it,” you recalled Ellie saying.

“We handled it” was code for “we killed someone.”

You remembered the Brandon guy harassing you, grabbing your arm, and it sent you into full panic mode. You remember calling Abby about it, and Ellie giving you coke to distract you for the meantime. You remembered them not being with you for a while, keeping you with Dina and Jesse.

They needed you blind and gullible.

“Are you sure it’s even her description? People just say shit ‘cause they hate her,” you said, holding yourself together. “And Abby? That’s crazy.”

“Another person at the club supported it by saying they saw the two walking out with you,” Joel continued, and you quietly cursed under your breath, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. “They were there, so were you.”

You went quiet as you heard some shuffling over the line.

“Do you know something?” He asked.

“I don’t,” you said, sincerity mingled in your words. “I promise I don’t. And I don’t remember anything about being at a club, I’m sorry.”

“Okay, well if you see her or them, call me,” Joel said, and you hummed, hanging up the call immediately. You let go of your shaky breaths, and nodded to yourself as a waterfall of hot tears streamed down your cheeks.

You couldn’t stop thinking of the shirt. It had someone’s blood on it, and they were dumb enough to leave it at home. You knew Jesse and Dina wouldn’t narc them out, they were the same as Ellie and Abby.

You were alone in this; you had the choice of coming forward with the shirt, or keeping your head down, being naive to everything.

Everything started to make sense — the possession, the house, the authority you had given them. They never wanted you to leave, and they eliminated any threats, even ones that hurt you. You were glad they were there at your beck and call, but you never knew it would go to the extremes of murder. You were starting to worry that this wasn’t the first time they did this, but the first time it was starting to catch up with them.

You continued to sob as you went through your phone contacts, and clicked your mother’s number.

It took a few rings until she picked up. “Hello?”

“Momma…” you sobbed out, not knowing how to explain what you were thinking without exposing a lot of things. “Momma, I’m worried.”

Your parents weren’t entirely neglectful — if you really needed them, they were there, and would never get mad at you for anything, even if you had some fault in it. They had their fatal flaws, ones that even affected you, but they’d drop everything if you were in danger.

You never knew why that was, but you appreciated it.

“What’s wrong, dear? What happened?” She asked. “Why are you crying?”

“I think something bad happened,” you sobbed, sniffling. “And… and I can’t be here, in the city. It’s a lot to explain, but can I stay with you in Milan? Please?”

“You’re worrying me, cherie,” she said, and you broke down further, everything in the room spinning with you. “You can come stay. Are you at home?”

“At this penthouse… I’ll send the address to Tony,” you stated, trying to steady your breathing. “Thank you, momma.”

“Of course,” she softly responded, and the line went dead. You rushed down to your feet, running into the walk-in closet, and grabbed a suitcase. You tossed random amounts of clothes until the baggage couldn’t take anymore; you could buy more stuff in Milan.

You tossed your hygienic products on top of the clothes, and before you were going to zip up the luggage, your eyes averted to the hamper. You contemplated taking the shirt with you, burning it in another country so nothing would be traced back to them.

You couldn’t tamper with evidence. But these were your girls, and it was your turn to take care of them, even if their actions made you sick at this very moment. You grabbed the bloody shirt, tucking it under your clothes, and zipped up the suitcase. You put on your sneakers, and tossed a leather jacket over your nightgown.

Abby’s jacket.

You shrugged it off, and grabbed your cell phone, putting it in your purse. You double checked to see if you had everything in your purse before rushing yourself out of the penthouse, and into the elevator.

You didn’t need to leave a note, or anything of that sort. You couldn’t talk to them for a while, not until you made sure you weren’t crazy or overthinking this whole situation. But the shirt was enough to confirm the first of your suspicions, and what Ellie said.

“We handled it”, her voice kept playing in your head, like a broken record.

For now, you needed to isolate yourself; besides, it wasn’t like they would find you.

That wasn’t possible.

You hoped.

[honeyhotteoks]

First off: you're my absolute favorite fanfic author! The way you write the characters and their emotions and dialog is just beautiful! Into the Aurora and This Night Together inspired me to actually give my writing a fighting chance!!!

With that said...how did you start posting your work? I really want to, but I'm sooooooo nervous!! What if no likes it? What if everyone hates it? And is there a certain way to format the post? I'm fairly new to ✨️actually✨️ posting on tumblr and have no clue what I'm doing 😬

oh my gosh, thank you so much!! i’m so honored to know that i helped inspire you to write fic 😭

this is a great question!! i have lots of advice for you, check under the cut~

okay so as far as how i started posting, this is probably not the post helpful answer. i’ve actually been writing fanfic since i was probably like 14 for various fandoms, i used to post on ff.net then on ao3 and now here, and it’s just been years of publicly posting fandom works online. that being said…… at some point you will just want to rip the bandaid off and when you do, i have some advice

there are going to be people who don’t like what you write, it doesn’t matter what you write or how you write. you like my work and i have a lot of followers, but i’ve had people give pretty negative feedback about aurora, tnt, and some of my one-shots. or reviews that aren’t “mean” necessarily but are “constructive”…. however, i’m a big believer that in the world of fan fiction, unsolicited constructive criticism doesn’t belong in comments when the author is posting their hobby for free. all i’m saying is that it’s gonna happen at some point, but you have to remember that the people doing that aren’t writing fic, and i genuinely do not care about the critical opinions of someone who’s never put themselves out there creatively before.

something that hurt when i started posting was the lack of engagement, and i know this is something a lot of writers still struggle with, especially on tumblr. there are fics i have written that are like deeply dear to me and i’m really proud of but have so few notes compared to other fics and that used to really bum me out. what i’ve learned is this:

people actually aren’t perpetually online they just seem it, so if you post something once and never mention it again, people with busy lives are going to miss it

the time you post doesn’t have to matter… but if you’re trying to drum up engagement, then consider the time of day you’re posting. tumblr has good analytics to tell you blog engagement stats and stuff like that, i find that can help with knowing most of your followers are from XYZ time zone and they probably will not see something you post at 2 PM during the work/school day vs. 7 PM or something like that

try not to be sad if you get a majority of likes and not reblogs. i personally like tons of work that i intend to read later, i treat my likes like bookmarks, that doesn’t mean someone didn’t like your work enough to reblog it, it means they use their likes differently OR potentially they have a blog where they don’t feel comfortable reblogging fanfic, especially nsfw fic.

if you’re posting anywhere, know your tags. don’t post something with two hashtags and assume it’ll find its way. unfortunately it won’t, so make sure you tag everything appropriately so it lands in people’s suggested feeds

if you do all of that and then your fic gets some notes but not that many….. and you’re wondering….. why didn’t more people like it? well part of that might just be that it’s not showing up at the top of people’s feeds anymore. if you want to establish yourself in the writing space, engaging with readers is important. if you get a really nice review in a reblog, don’t be afraid to reblog it back. if you get a certain number of notes, don’t be afraid to reblog your own fic and say thank you for 100 notes etc., just to push it up on people’s feeds.

if you’re posting on AO3, just make sure that you’re filling out all the tags, warnings, pairings, etc. AO3 has been around a while and is a well oiled machine, and i know a ton of readers on there use the filters to find the exact niche of fic they want to read. i cannot tell you how many fics i pass by that don’t have tags, are missing a good description, etc.

okay now as far as formatting goes…… here are my thoughts after a lot of trial and error:

before you decide on anything formatting wise, just remember that readers engage with fic on tumblr in a variety of ways. some people are on desktop, some people are on your actual blog web address, and some people are just on mobile. before you teach yourself html coding for fancy lettering in ombré colors…… are your readers going to be able to see it in dark mode? if not, maybe don’t invest the time, because the first thing i do when i see a post like that is scroll because it’s taking me too long to know what’s going on

so yeah, are there rules to format? yes and no. content “yes”, visual “no” but people do follow a particular trend. what i like to do is keep it simple to avoid the formatting issues i mentioned above, but i also invested a little time in figuring out a “look” for my posts so when people are scrolling they might see my layout and know it’s me. details below->

1. a header image or header images, it’s the quickest way for people to get a vibe and it might capture an aesthetic. some authors have a header made for them as an author, some do a custom one per fic, but i typically just make an aesthetic black and white collage and go with that because it looks cool but i don’t have to learn photoshop to do it. go with what you know on this one

2. a title and a SHORT description, i think ‘untitled’ is tough…. people won’t read or remember your fic. no description means people are guessing and might not click, and too long means people might scroll. my rule of thumb is a couple sentences.

3. content tags, and this is VERY important — people need warnings or clarity on what the fic is about. most people skim the tags to find out if they want to read it over a description, especially when we’re talking very short form fic or smut. that’s why tags might be funny or informal, but it’s also really important to tag anything that might be triggering in a variety of ways. something i always make sure i include is every sex act or kink (i never know what triggers one person and not another), and anything related to: violence, abuse, self harm, mental health, physical injury, death, food/diet content, and body descriptors of reader. if you’re writing self insert and you’re describing the reader a particular way, that’s fine but you should disclose it. some of my fics are specifically written for ‘curvy’ reader in mind and its tagged that way vs. like …. ‘short/small/size-kink’ reader. Gender is also important here, i always tag fem!reader because i feel like that works, but i often see more trans inclusive terms like afab!reader etc., so it’s up to you! but we definitely want to be mindful of readers who could feel dysphoric if surprised by pronouns/body-parts/etc.

4. a clear identifier of the ships in the fic. i.e. put the ‘yunho x reader’ or ‘idol!yunho x fem!reader’ tag high up so people know who they’re reading

5. otherwise, i personally recommend keeping the top of the post short, putting in a cut, and then posting everything under the cut because a long post is just a lot to scroll through etc. i favor the small text for my fics headers and regular size text for the actual body of the fic just to keep it looking nice.

hopefully this helps! i’d be happy to talk through anything else too, i love getting into this stuff. my biggest recommendation would be to ask yourself what kind of work you want to post and invest some time in developing a style for your format etc. - even if it’s close to what other people are posting that’s okay! just keeping it consistent and looking good helps get readers to click, so search around and see what you like and then play with your posts in drafts before you do anything.

good luck!!!

[period-dramallama]

Tagged by @theladyelizabeth gratias tibi agoooooo

1. How many works do you have on AO3?: Under my main pseud, 48. My darkfic pseud, 9.

3. What fandoms do you write for? A scattering of fandoms. I specialise in worldbuilding and rarepairs. My main pseud is for Tudor fiction. My other pseud is for darkfic or more explicit fic.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? For main pseud:

C'est la (petite) vie c'est la (petite) mort

Love is a stranger who'll beckon you on

So you can sleep

love hid behind the shadows

The Pelican

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? i SHOULD. I don't always. I just feel... shy? awkward? i feel like a kid discussing their powerpoint. I reply if i have something to say. but i do thank people who leave comments on rarepair fics because i'm just so happy to meet another fellow shipper. And also heartfelt comments like people who survived horrible things and see themselves in the characters, I reply to those.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

So you can sleep. Reader-Y/N is left heartbroken and watchers of the movies know the man is on his way to becoming a serial killer. My other fics i would say are either bittersweet, or have a glimmer of hope, for the characters or their world.

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

Love is a stranger ends on a happy note, but with troubled times ahead (the death of Edward VI, the re-catholicisation of England, the illness of Don Carlos). C'est la petite vie has a depressing beginning but bounces its way chaotically to a happy ending.

8. Do you get hate on fics? I don't write for popular ships, so i guess i don't get enough hits to find haters. Like if you read a rarepair, 99% chance you searched for that ship. And i'm a zealous tagger of dark content! The bookmark of 2/5 tho... I'd have preferred a comment saying what they liked and didn't like (because i still got a kudos and a bookmark so what gives????)

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I dooooooooooo. My darkfic pseud for E, my main pseud doesn't go higher than M. I find smut a challenge to write, so I use it as an inciting incident or to explore a state of mind or a need. (Grief, guilt, power, anger, love).

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? I have as a teenager on FFN.net. But I'm not a big crossover person. But i wrote a song Do You Wanna Be My Ally? To the tune of Do You Want To Build A Snowman?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? There's no incentive to steal rarepair fic. It'll only get you attention from like... 4 people. and those 4 people have probably read the original ANYWAY.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Alas, no.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? I'd be down for it, but I've never been asked.

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship? My first OTP was Lupin/Tonks. They're how i discovered the existence of fanfic. But my all-time OTP is Jane/Rochester. Other ships wax and wane, but my enthusiasm for those two is constant.

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

I have unfinished WIPs on my teenage FFN.net account, because i didn't know what ending i wanted. But i usually write oneshots. I have a WIP for a gothic novel that has been on the backburner for like 6 years. But one day I hope it'll reveal itself to me.

16. What are your writing strengths? I've been told I write fear and panic well. Which is good. Also comedy. Almost always a little bit of that in there. Also readers enjoy the characters, so that too.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Let's ask the reader who gave me 2 stars transitional scenes. starting and ending the scene. setting the scene. I'm not big on description and location. I'm a dialogue-heavy writer, so if the dialogue isn't working for you.... Godspeed, reader.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? Nah, i just say what language the characters are speaking in. But some of my chapter titles are in different languages.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Harry Potter because i was a spotty kid with braces.

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written? Usually the fic I'm writing at the time is my favourite. My longer fics like C'est la petite vie and Love is a stranger have a special place in my heart.

But I suppose the ultimate fanfic crown must go to Turn your back on the Hanging Tree, because it was a dusty old 80k word clumsy fanfic from my teen years that I cared about enough to rewrite as a 17k word oneshot. Murder, desire, women, scheming, BLOOD- all my favourite things.

Tagging @jurijurijurious @caesarflickermans @plvtarch @thefudge @natequarter @coryo @katniiss @astridbecks... i can't recall who else i know who writes fic.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 5.5 Bonus

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language Warnings: None Summary: Local feral human spends some time with their new family. Four short bits featuring Daphne (Maiden OC), Bela, Lady D, Daniela, and a surprise guest. Enjoy. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly, 4: Portraits For Ghosts, 5: Heart Of The Matter

5.5: Family

i.

“Wait, you’re telling me that you came here willingly?” You asked, mouth agape, eyes wide. It felt like every time you talked to Daphne she had something incredible to say. Which was, of course, why she was your favorite maiden to talk to. That, and the fact that she had adapted so quickly to your ‘charming personality’. So far she was the only servant you had been willing to be honest with. Mainly about your feelings regarding your blood bond, but also just about your relationship with Cassandra in general. Something about Daphne simply made her incredibly approachable. From what you had heard, you weren’t the only one to think as such, with her being fairly popular among the castle workers.

“More of us do than you might expect. Some consider it an honor to serve one of the four Lords, and Castle Dimitrescu is certainly… nicer than either the factory or the reservoir. Personally, I came here for a friend of mine. She, well, had less of a choice. I couldn’t bear the thought of her being here without knowing anyone, so it felt like I only had one option. Can’t say I regret my decision, if you can believe it,” Daphne explained, folding laundry all the while. At the same time, you carefully sort through the not yet washed clothing, separating them into two baskets. After all, you wouldn’t want Lady Dimitrescu to end up with a pink dress! Technically this wasn’t your job, nor did you have a job at all, but you hated having idle hands- especially when talking to someone who was working. At first Daphne had protested, but she had given in upon realizing just how stubborn you could be.

“That’s… impressive. I mean, holy shit, that's a real ride or die friendship right there. Is she, uh, is your friend still, you know, around?” You stuttered, cursing your tongue for asking such a thing. If the answer was no, you were going to feel like a real asshole. Which, admittedly, you had a tendency to be. But this wasn’t one of the times where it was intentional. Thankfully, Daphne is all smiles, and even seems amused by your spluttering.

“Yes, we’re even roommates. Well, us and five others. Possibly with a sixth one on the way, if we ever get someone to fill the empty space,” she replies, pausing to think. Then she’s back to work, refusing to waste any time. “Speaking of roommates… I know I said I’m not one for gossip, and I meant it, but a little songbird told me that Cassandra seems to be in a much better mood these days. Are the two of you, well, getting along? It would be nice to know that soulmates can overcome even the roughest of introductions.” There’s a hint of something odd in her tone, and you take a moment to wonder what she’s (unintentionally) hinting at. Had she met her soulmate, only for things to go poorly?... Before answering her, you make a mental note, deciding to see if any of the other maidens had a scar across their nose.

“It’s not like she and I are dating or anything. We’re just, you know, not hating each other. Currently,” you said, shrugging. But Daphne raises an eyebrow at you, and you find yourself instinctively feeling guilty, somehow feeling small next to the shortest person you knew. “Alright, alright, we might have… Okay we kissed. And promised each other not to die, because having your soulmate die hurts like hell. Also maybe she showed me her mom’s art collection and I made a joke about the titty sculptures because holy shit, this house has a lot of titties.” At this, Daphne bursts into laughter, grinning from ear to ear.

“Amen to that, for sure.”

ii.

“So… fan of science, I see,” you say, awkwardly, bouncing a little on your heels. Next to you is the eldest Dimitrescu daughter, who had unexpectedly joined your table in the library. There were several other places she could have sat, with both more comfortable seating and more workspace, but for some reason she had chosen here. So far she hadn’t said a word. Hell, you hadn’t spoken to her since your first meeting, where she had suggested killing you. Naturally, you weren’t quite sure what to make of her. Something told you that she felt much the same about yourself.

“Fan of oversimplification, I see,” Bela counters, after a few tense seconds. Then she sets down her book- a heavy text about Romanian avian fauna- to give you her full attention. “It would be more accurate to say that I enjoy studying biology, particularly the branch of zoology.” Well, this conversation was certainly… happening. Honestly, you couldn’t tell whether she was legitimately judging you, or merely chaffing you for her own amusement.

“You’ll have to, er, forgive me for being overly broad. Consider it a side effect of my nerves, those themselves being due to our unsavory introduction. In case you don’t recall, you put that sickle of yours into my shoulder,” you reminded, with a sarcastic smile. To your surprise, Bela chuckles at this, almost as if fondly remembering the incident. Seriously, you think, why did my soulmate have to be from this family?

“Staying silent was an option. Perhaps that would have suited you better?” Bela says, now clearly teasing, smile much more genuine than your own. Knowing she had a point, you’re quick to blush, mildly embarrassed.

“Touche. I am curious, however, why you decided to sit next to me in the first place. I certainly wouldn’t have tried starting a conversation if you hadn’t,” you explained.

“Like I said… I enjoy studying zoology,” Bela replies, with a sly grin. It takes you a few moments to understand the intended implications. Once you do, however, you’re giving her a hard stare. Then you scoot your chair a few inches away from her, in exaggerated movements. “Don’t worry, I was only joking. Though you certainly are an interesting human. Much more, hmm, cheeky? Compared to the servants, at least.”

“Somehow I get the feeling that they simply prefer being alive, as opposed to not being as snippy. Except maybe Daphne, now that I think about it. Very sweet, that one,” you muse. “Regardless, I think I’ll return to my book now, for it lacks a tongue, and is therefore less likely to taunt me.” Doing just as you had said, you open the book, holding it a bit higher than what would be comfortable, so that it becomes a ‘shield’ of sorts. Nothing was quite as satisfying as subtle body language.

Accepting your words with a shrug, Bela also resumes reading, turning to a bookmarked page. Roughly an hour of relative quiet passes. Neither of you so much as glance at each other, not even when she drops the pen she had been taking notes with. In the end, you are the one who leaves first, and finally the silence is broken. You give your goodbyes, and Bela returns them politely. Though you do not know it, she sets her book down as soon as you leave, pausing to think about you. Now that things had ‘calmed down’, it was reassuring for her to know that you weren’t always full of spite. Still, you held onto your cleverness (for the most part), leaving her with no doubt about the universe’s decision. You were her sister’s soulmate.

iii.

“It’s official: I’m lost in a creepy castle. The universe hates me. Probably should have realized that sooner, considering how it decided to introduce me to my soulmate,” you mutter, scowling deeply, as you wander unfamiliar halls. How had you even gotten lost? Sure, you had taken a wrong turn, but it hadn’t taken long for you to realize your mistake! Evidently you somehow managed to make another one while backtracking. Now you were standing in the center of the corridor, hands on your hips, desperate for some maiden to come rescue you. What you really didn’t want was Cassandra to find you, because she’d make fun of you for the rest of your life. It’s not like she had specifically joked about you getting lost before. Except that was exactly what had happened.

A few minutes pass uneventfully. There aren’t even any distant sounds of life; no footsteps, nor echoing voices, nor the squeaking of floorboards. All you can hear is your own breathing. As well as the occasional sigh, admittedly. By this point, there’s a part of you that’s starting to panic. After all, there was a chance that the castle was big enough for certain sections to be abandoned. Hopefully that’s not the case, you think, I mean, they’d cut the power to those parts, right? Here’s hoping… With that in mind, you get back to wandering, figuring that you’d have to eventually run into a familiar landmark. Or better yet, someone who actually knew the castle’s layout.

When salvation at last reveals its holy visage, it is not in the form of a lowly servant, rather the muffled voice of none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. Neither her exact words nor who she’s speaking to is clear. At first, you can’t even tell where her voice is coming from, but you quickly approach one closed door, then another, searching for the source. Several doors later you’re certain you’ve found her. By then you can tell that she’s not alone. Not wanting to seem rude by interrupting, you take a few steps back, leaning against the wall to wait. For the most part you still cannot make out what’s being said, but a few words do reach your ears.

“-expected more from you. How am I-” the voice gets cut off, not by Alcina, rather a sudden gust of air, akin to massive wings flapping. When the speaker continues, they are both louder and angrier. “Someone is listening. Have you not taken steps to ensure our privacy?” Then the door is swinging open, revealing your soulmate’s mother. At first she’s practically shaking with rage, but her expression turns to shock when she sees you.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with Cassandra?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, clearly stressed, as she steps into the corridor. There’s movement behind her, although you cannot make out any details. Besides, you’re quick to answer her, wishing to avoid her wrath (and that of whoever she was speaking to).

“I’m so sorry, Lady Dimitrescu, I was walking from the dining hall to Cassandra’s studio, and I took a wrong turn. I’ve been wandering for half an hour now. When I heard your voice, I thought perhaps I could, well, enlist your assistance. But you were busy, so I figured I’d wait outside. If I had-...” you pause, gulping, as the other figure steps into view. It’s a face you’re all too familiar with. One that popped up countless times through the village, and again throughout the castle, the owner’s name always spoken with acclaim, with worship. Mother Miranda, in the flesh, wings spreading out behind her, somehow cutting a more impressive silhouette than even Lady Dimitrescu. Instantly you’re falling to your knees, knowing that your sharp tongue was no match for this practical goddess.

“Who is this, Dimitrescu? Why isn’t their blood staining your claws?” Miranda questions, gaze never leaving your trembling form.

“This… this is one of my daughters’ soulmates. They were brought in with the last group of sacrifices,” Lady Dimitrescu explains, uncharacteristically hesitant. ‘Twas a true testament to Miranda’s power, as well as her influence, that she could make someone so powerful seem so weak. Which was exactly why you were shaking with anxiety. But to your surprise, the goddess does not immediately order your execution for your trespass.

“And already they know their place, hmm? Kneeling before me?” Miranda says, a strange smile dancing on her lips. Whatever anger she had been feeling a minute prior had faded, though you couldn’t even begin to guess as to why. Regardless, both Alcina and yourself are quite relieved, though neither of you are quick to show it. “Either they have a good head on their shoulders, or you still take care of some of your duties. Very well, they may live. For now. But I expect next week’s report to be far more favorable. I don’t need to remind you of the price for failing me.” With that said, Mother Miranda turned to leave, a swirling mass of dark feathers flying past you.

A minute passes, maybe two, before either of you feel capable of speaking up.

“Let’s get you back where you belong, yes?” Lady Dimitrescu says, quietly, before placing her hand on your shoulder to guide you. Tension hangs clear and heavy over both of you. Even as you walk down corridor after corridor, the feeling does not ease. At least not until you’re back in familiar territory, near where you had originally made your mistake, finally able to breathe a little. It’s here that Lady Dimitrescu pauses to speak once more. “Tomorrow I will assign one of the servants to give you a tour, in the hopes that this does not happen again. Furthermore, I ask that you forget everything you heard earlier, for it is neither your business… or my daughter’s.” You’re quick to nod, and with that she bids you farewell, leaving you alone. Now, you think, was it left from here, or right?

iv.

“I’m just going for a walk. Why do you care so much? It’s not like it’s any of your business,” Daniela assures you, despite the fact that all you had done was say ‘hello’. If this was her attempt at casting aside suspicion, she had done a terrible job of it. What made her so nervous? Was it even worth investigating? Only one way to find out.

“You’re rather bundled up, planning on being out for long?” You ask, trying to sound casual, leaning against the wall as you did. In response, Daniela pretty much stomps her foot. There’s something odd in her expression, however, that implies your question hit a soft spot. Certainly wasn’t what you had expected. “Don’t mind me, just trying to make conversation with my soulmate’s sister. Speaking of her… have you seen Cassandra? Is she, perhaps, going with you?” A little misdirection never hurt anyone. Probably.

“No!” Daniela replies, fast as a gunshot, too much emphasis to be unintentional. But she realizes her mistake as soon as she’s made it, and makes a clear effort to relax herself. “She’s probably in her studio, doing whatever it is she calls art, on the other end of the house. Besides, I don’t want any company for this walk.” For a moment you merely squint at her, unsure of how to proceed. In the end, you decide that it really is none of your business, being more than satisfied by what teasing you’ve already done.

“Alright, alright. Well then, I’ll leave you be. Just… be careful, yeah? If you get hurt, and your mother finds out that I didn’t stop you from going… not sure Cassandra could save me,” you say, with a shrug. At first Daniela can’t decide whether to be upset or relieved, but she seemingly settles for the latter, giving you a brief nod before heading outside. As the door shut behind her, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had done the right thing.

[thelucyverse]

Seeing some replies to questions from my ao3 ask meme, I've been made aware that not everyone knows the bookmark search! So here's a quick tutorial go get yourself some fic recs:

Ao3 bookmark search

Especially useful for large fandoms where you easily lose the overview, old dead fandoms where reloading the first page won't ever get you anything new but you don't know what else to filter for, a search tag with many incorrectly tagged fics, or just when you want to get fic recs for something!

On the archive, when you're in the search for a ship/tag/fandom, your page usually looks something like this, with the 'works' search automatically selected:

Now, if you clicked the 'bookmarks' search I circled in red here, it will change to something like this, showing you no longer the newest works but instead the latest bookmarks people created:

Clicking filter here...

...you can now not only filter including and excluding additional work tags, but also bookmarker's tags circled blue in the pic above, and what you can also do is click 'recs only' (circled red here) to no longer see all bookmarks (as people might bookmark something they haven't even read yet to look at it later etc, bookmarks don't say that much about a fic's quality), but only the recommended fics! (see next image)

The 'only bookmarks with notes' function below that one is also interesting if you want to see what the bookmakers have to say about a fic before you read it!

To further narrow it down, you can either instead of or in addition to the 'recs only' add the tag you were already looking for in the 'bookmarker's tags' section - then you won't get all fics, but only ones where the bookmarker added the tag themselves!

Good to find fics missing from the tag otherwise, as the bookmark search is still looking at the work tags first even though it's showing bookmarks as not all bookmarks even have tags (confusing at first, I know) and in case a tag is spammed by incorrectly tagged things, you can now ensure that it's been verified by the bookmarking person!

In case of Andy/Quynh sadly not too many bookmarkers seem to have used this function yet, which is a pity with how spammed the works tag is with fics where they barely feature, so I strongly encourage readers to use this function to make it easier to find good Andromaquynh fic, without having to resort to 'otp:true' and filter out all other relationship and friendship tags!

When you make a bookmark yourself and want to recommend it, the button is at the bottom of the bookmark page, circled red here:

Typing a note also helps promote a fic in case someone searched for 'only bookmarks with notes', and in the screenshot above you can also see the tag function I already talked about! (Edit: the tag apparently has to be exact to show in the bookmark search! No 'Andy/Quynh' short version... But once you've typed 'Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Q' it should suggest you the correct tag to click :)

Hope this helps some of you navigate ao3 a bit better in the future!

Edit: part 2 now here!

[thekinghazzastyles]

Black Lake // Remus Lupin x Slytherin Reader

Pairings: Young!Remus Lupin x Slytherin Fem!Reader Warnings: None Word Count: 2175 Time Period: Marauders Era Summary: Remus wants to introduce his girlfriend to his friends but it doesn’t go very well.  Requested: No Authors Note: I hope you enjoy!

Harry Potter Masterlist        Masterlist

You and Remus had been dating for almost a year. You both kept it private for the sake of not being judged. More so you because you’re in Slytherin. Slytherins and Gryffindors don’t date, they aren’t friends, they don’t like one another. But you and Remus didn’t care about the stereotypes forced upon your houses.

“Do you want to tell people about us?” Remus asked. You were both in the Room of Requirement. It was in a library form but filled with muggle books and a small rustic table with a pot of tea on top. There was a couch in the far corner of the room, it looked a little worn down but it was rather comfortable. You had taken a small nap but Remus wasn’t tired so he just stayed awakened to make sure you were always comfortable.

“What do you mean? Like, tell your friends?” You were timid for a Slytherin but, proud of your house. You knew how people from every house would react to you dating Remus. You were more intimidated by his friends' opinions. The Marauders were ruthless with everything they did. The entire house of Slytherin was already mostly on the receiving end of their pranks, bullying, and belittling; but to be singled out by Black and Potter was something you would most definitely not enjoy.

“No, I mean everyone, the whole school. I know you think my friends will do something to you but they won't. I promise.”

“I trust you, but how do you know they won’t? What if they think I’m not good enough for you?”

Remus has never seen or heard you talk so down about yourself. “You are enough for me Y/N, if anything I’m not enough for you,” you were going to cut him off but he stopped you. “You know me and my biggest secret, and after knowing it you still wanted to date me.”

You finally cut him off, “Remus John Lupin I swear on Salazar Slytherin's grave that if you talk about yourself in such a  manner one more time, I will hex you into oblivion. You are perfect, everything about you is perfect. I love everything about you, even if you don’t,” you finished.

“Now I never said I wasn’t perfect,” he smirked.

“Remus!” you laughed.  

“Really though, I want to tell everyone.” You both stared at each other before you nodded, “let’s just let everyone find out on their own, the news will spread quickly.”

* * *

Not a single one of your classes before lunch included Remus, so usually, you would both sneak away sometime during lunch to catch up. Now you’d be able to go up to him anytime you want without caring about anybody seeing. Sneaking away to somewhere private at Hogwarts during lunch had to be the most impossible thing you had ever done.

You had been in the library during your free period looking for nothing in particular. You did, however, find a muggle romance novel you had never read before. Pride and Prejudice seemed like it could be a piece of literature both you and Remus would enjoy. Also decided that this would be one of the best ways to reveal your relationship to the school, you were going to ask him if he wanted to go to your special tree at the Black Lake and read with you.

Briskly you made your way to the Great Hall and straight for the Gryffindor table. You could feel your nerves settling in but you didn’t let your face falter. You approached the table and caught sight of Remus and his friends as they were laughing about something,  not caring if they were irritating the people around them.

The silence in the hall seemed to diminish once you were behind Remus. Potter and Black looked up at you first and they both wore an equally disgusted scowl as they stared you down. “Remus?” you spoke softly, suddenly feeling timid. “I found a new book, do you want to go read it with me?” You failed to maintain eye contact with Remus as you continuously looked down at your feet and the book in your hands.

“What does this snake,” Black seethed, “want with you Moony?” Potter seemed to agree with him but Peter, who was sat next to Remus with Black and Potter on the opposite side, looked like he didn’t feel the need to contribute to this conversation.

Remus stood up and wrapped you in a hug whispering into your ear, “I’ll handle this, promise.” He turned towards his friends, “Guys, this is my girlfriend, Y/N, Y/N these are my best friends James, Peter, and Sirius.”

The entirety of the Great Hall was waiting for the reaction of ¾ of the Marauders. It was silent. No one spoke for what seemed like an eternity before James spoke up, “can we talk somewhere private?”

* * *

The Room of Requirement has once again aided one of your needs. On the journey there you were dreading the conversation that was about to happen. The five of you had been seated across from each without uttering a word for the past five minutes. You didn’t dare look up at the three boys across from you and kept your eyes trained on yours and Remus’ entangled hands.

“What is happening? How did this,” Sirius gestured at you and Remus, “happen?” Sirius leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He and James seemed to be the most concerned with Remus dating a Slytherin. You were completely harmless but solely because you are a Slytherin, they automatically despised you and everyone else in your house.

“No matter that, why would you let this happen, Moony? A Slytherin? Really?” James stood up abruptly which caused you to jump a little. Remus squeezed your hand to reassure you that he was there. “Are you under a love spell? Is it amortentia?” he turned to Sirius, “I think she has him under a love spell.”

They both began whispering amongst themselves and Peter kept to himself on the couch. You decided it couldn't hurt so you gave him a small smile and he gave you one back. You were pleased that he wasn’t completely against you.

Remus stood up catching everyone's attention, “Prongs, Padfoot, Y/N did not put me under a love spell. She has been my girlfriend for almost a year; I think it would’ve worn off by now. I love her and if you two can’t accept that I don’t think I will speak to you for a while,” he finished sitting back down next to you.

“Remus you can’t do that, they’re your best mates,” you scolded him. You didn’t want him to choose between you and his friends, who had been there with him for a lot longer.

“The snake is right Remus,” Sirius was cut off before he could finish.

“Don’t call her that. She is not a snake, she is my girlfriend and I love her. I didn’t think you two could be so close-minded. And I will not sit here and listen to you two belittle her just based on the robes she is wearing,” he finished as the room went silent. “Come on Y/N, we’re leaving.”

“Remus, wait! We can work this out, mate!” James called for him but you both kept walking. He kept walking until we were at the Black Lake. He was first to sit down and lean against the tree, Remus pulled you down softly to sit between his legs.

“Can you read it for me?” His voice was soft. You didn’t want to bring up what had just happened or the fact that you still had classes to attend because he needed this.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” You could feel his breathing slow down as you lay against his chest. His arm was wrapped around your waist, drawing random shapes on your side. You finished the first chapter and pulled out a bookmark before turning to face Remus. “Remy?” you asked quietly to not disturb him.

“Yes?” he asked, not bothering to open his eyes.

“I think you should speak to your friends, without me. I don’t want to be the reason you lose your best mates, Rem. They’ve been with you through everything, more times than I can count. You can’t end a six-year-long friendship over me, I won’t let you.”

Remus was quiet as you both sat there. He was playing with the grass when he gave you a slight nod and met your eyes. “I will speak to them. I’m sorry I upset you. And I’m sorry they spoke to you like that.”

“Remus all that matters is that you speak to your friends. I’m fine. I love you,” you finished, hugging him. He said it back and returned the hug. Remus stood up and held his hand out to help you up but gave you another hug.

What the two of you didn’t know is that Sirius and James had used the Cloak of Invisibility. They didn’t expect to see such an interaction. And they didn't expect you to tell Remus that he needed to speak to them. They had no time to dawdle and had to head back to the Gryffindor common room to listen to what Remus had to say.

* * *

Remus briskly made his way to the Gryffindor common room. Before you went your separate ways, he told you he would let you know how it goes. He was nervous to face the rest of the Marauders; maybe not Peter but James and Sirius had a vendetta against the entire house of Slytherin. When he entered the room the two out of the three boys were sitting down listening to James complain and watching him pace about the room. All three heads turned at the sound of the portrait door closing.

“Remus-,” James was cut off.

“I need you to have a seat and listen to what I am about to say.” James took a seat in between Sirius and Peter, waiting for Remus to begin. “Y/N is my girlfriend and I love her. She loves me for who I am, I trust her. I didn’t think you guys would react this way but this is exactly what she said she was scared of. I wish the three of you could just not care that she’s a Slytherin, she’s never done anything remotely evil, she reads and loves pastries.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius started. “We’re sorry,” he emphasized. “We shouldn't have let this get out of hand. We trust you and your decisions, so we should’ve trusted you on this.”

“We shouldn’t have judged her so quickly,” James added.

“She seems nice,” Peter spoke.

“She is,” Remus smiled, “and I hope the four of you can set aside your differences and become friends.”

* * *

You were sitting in the courtyard working on your potions essay when two shadows loomed over you. Your eyes met with Sirius and James. Closing your book and putting away your parchment, you sat up a little bit straighter before speaking, “may I help you?”

“We wanted to apologize,” James spoke. “We shouldn’t have treated you the way we did and assumed you would be bad for Remus.” James kept his head, too embarrassed to make eye contact.

Sirius decided to speak as it seemed that James was finished, “we just want what’s best for him and if that's you, we have to get used to it. I hope we can set our differences aside and be friends.”

“Okay,” was all you said. You didn’t feel the need to scold them for their behavior, that wasn’t your place. The boys both nodded and walked away. You felt more at ease now that they didn’t dislike you. Your eyes strayed on the spot where the two boys had just been standing, not noticing another person who had just sat next to you. Remus watched you for a few seconds before clearing his throat. “They apologized,” you said, turning your head to face him. “I accepted it.”

Remus didn’t respond. You both sat there with your head rested on his shoulder watching as the sun gradually set. He stood up reaching for your hand. You both made your way to the Great Hall and toward the Gryffindor table. You were too tired to protest so you didn’t say anything. Your head was still rested against Remus’ shoulder even when you took your seats in front of the other three Marauders. You gave them a tired smile and they returned it.

Dinner continued rather quietly from your side of the table. Remus and you didn’t bother speaking to one another but silently communicated through facial expressions. He dragged you to the Black Lake for a moment before curfew set in. As you lay on his chest you focused on the way his heart sounded. “I love you,” you whispered.

“And I, you.”

Harry Potter Masterlist        Masterlist

[sitp-recs]

Hi! I love your blog and the efforts you put into reccing. My question is less about recs themselves and more how you organise your recs 'behind the scenes.' As someone who is hyper organised in some ways and frantically disorganised in others, it would be really cool to know the process that goes into maintaining a rec blog like this if you're happy to share (and of course absolutely no worries if not) <3

Oh my gosh I am so flattered to see you here! As a reader, there are few things cooler than one of your all-time favorite authors saying they appreciate your blog, thank you so much <3 sorry for the extremely long reply ahead, it’s been so long since I’ve answered anything that wasn’t a reclist I got a bit too excited here 😂

First of all, I feel you on a spiritual level re: being organized for some things but not for others; in fact, I struggle a lot between those two sides of the same coin when it comes to fandom. I’ve always been a bit of a chaotic reader - I don’t keep track of my reads, my 600 bookmarks are all mixed without tags, my phone currently has 85 open tabs - most of them fics I wanna read or reread, plus the epics I save on my Marked for Later list... and then never read them lol.

All in all, I’m a complete mess at keeping track of my reads and because my memory is not very good with specific details, I used to take a lot longer to put a reclist together when I started doing this. In this sense, you could say I don’t really organize my blog at all 😂 I try and give up on queueing, I lose links to old reclists and never add them on my masterlist, I don’t even have a backup in case my blog gets deleted, that’s the level of chaos we’re talking about here lol give me danger or nothing

But if we’re talking about making the lists and feeding the blog on a regular basis, after a while you kinda... fall into a routine and get used to your own process, I think? It’s still hard work but reasonably time-consuming once you find a method that actually works for you. I have good memory for titles so first I’ll go through my bookmarks, then depending on the request I also check AO3’s tags to find fics I’ve read before but haven’t kept track of. I only rec stuff I’ve read and enjoyed - unless we’re talking about tropes that aren’t my jam, in which case I either leave the room to people more familiar with them or I tag other reclists, or I highlight fics that I’ve read at some point and might work for someone else. To be honest most of my lists feature the same fics over and over, some of them are quite similar if you look closely!

This process has been working well for me so far, and despite being quite energy-consuming, it’s also a nice therapy! That’s why I keep doing it now that I don’t have as much time to read and write single recs. One thing that helped me along the way was accepting that I wouldn’t be able to deliver every ask, or make the “ultimate reclist”, and that’s okay. I try to encompass as many tropes and authors as I can, but truth is I’m not a fandom authority and there’s a lot I haven’t - and won’t - read. So once I let go of the pressure to deliver perfect lists and really internalized that these are just a few personal suggestions, things became easier.

On that note, reccing is something that can get stressful pretty quickly - either because you’re too perfectionist and feel like you gotta know everything, or because some people come at you being rude and demanding - so setting boundaries to both yourself and the others is necessary and healthy imo! Wow ok this really became a tl;dr rant and I’m not even sure I got to answer your ask properly, but I appreciate you taking the time to send it! It’s always fun to take a minute and reflect on these topics. Hope you’re having a great weekend! Welcome back!

[thewritinggrindstone]

Identifying Harmful Repetition in Your Writing

Something I’ve encountered ad nauseam over the last few projects I’ve edited is a relentless repetition of words, phrases, and ideas. One of the most frustrating and confidence-destroying issues a reader can encounter is poorly executed repetition, which can stem from different problems, including:

Too much reliance on your natural stock phrases.

Limited vocabulary.

Not proofreading close enough or editing thoroughly enough.

Lack of confidence.

Not writing with the reader in mind.

I want to preface this with the fact that obviously certain types of repetition aren’t bad. Repetition is an incredibly powerful tool when used effectively, and what’s effective is subjective per book and per reader. That’s a massive topic for another time. This post is specifically about egregious uses of repetition, the types that any good editor or beta reader will point out as in need of fixing.

Stock Phrases and Words

Every person has their own unique lexicon, a repository of words and phrases they naturally will draw upon when they speak, write, and even think. There’s a reason clichés are prevalent, and that’s because the brain likes the path of least resistance. It’s easy to mentally grab those words and phrases that are constantly in arm’s reach, those words and phrases that are comfortable and familiar, but constantly doing this while writing and then not changing them can result in overuse that is noticeable on both stylistic and technical levels. It can also lead a reader to the understanding that you haven’t thought critically about what you’re writing, which can and will undermine their confidence in you.

If you’re writing a first draft, don’t worry about this too much. You probably just need to focus on putting words down, not exactly what those words are. Repetition is an issue that can and should be intentionally fixed during the revision process.

If this is a problem that bugs you even when you’re drafting, there are different ways of dealing with it. I tend to be highly aware of most repetition within my work, and because I constantly edit as I write, backtracking to add/move information as I go doesn’t tend to interrupt my workflow too much. If I know I’ve already used a word and can’t think of something better after several seconds’ thought, I’ll use the repetition and immediately flag it somehow—usually with a “repeat” comment—so I can deal with it once I’ve completed the draft. Opening a thesaurus or dictionary tends to be more disruptive during drafting than it’s worth, but sometimes it isn’t, and you will need to determine what works best for you according to your own style.

Once you’re ready to target the issue of repetition, you will need to work hard, think hard. Don’t settle for the easy word, the stock phrase, the cliché. Discard the timeworn, the tired, the used-before. Play with language—try to come up with new phrases, unique descriptions. Get silly, flip rocks over, dig around under them, push things as far as you need to create something different, then go back and edit again, refining what you’ve written until you’re satisfied.

It’s going to be a process. It’s going to be difficult. It won’t be natural at first; you’ll need to form new pathways in your brain, just like when you learn any new skill, and that’s uncomfortable, but if you persist, your writing will be fresh and alive and won’t be as prone to being bogged down by reader-infuriating repetition.

Limited Vocabulary

Tying into the idea of your personal lexicon is the size of it. No matter how much you pay attention to precisely what words or phrases you’re using, you won’t have much in the way of options if you don’t have at least a good-sized repertoire to draw from.

Increasing your lexicon is something that just takes dedication and time. You can’t rush it, you can’t force it, but you can be deliberate in growing it. Read broadly, maybe bookmark or sign up for your favorite dictionary’s word of the day, or keep a word cache of interesting words or phrases you like.* I have a document titled “word hoard” in Dropbox where I keep all unusual, unfamiliar, or beautiful words I encounter as well as their function(s) and definitions. Most of these words haven’t properly entered my own lexicon yet, but actively being aware of words that are anywhere from slightly to completely outside what you usually use will help you become a more mindful writer.

* I got this idea from Barbara Baig’s Spellbinding Sentences, which is one of my favorite books I’ve ever read on writing.

Lack of Proofreading/Editing

The identification and elimination of repetition hovers somewhere between content editing and technical editing. It’s an easy problem to skim over, especially when you’re the writer because you’re likely too familiar with every word you’ve put down, and issues like this tend to fade into the background. This is particularly true of writers who have reworded or reorganized a given piece of writing, since repetition can easily become lost in the jumble.

If possible, set your project aside for at least a few days—preferably a few weeks or even longer—then come back to it and read it with fresh eyes while intentionally noting and commenting on or highlighting all uses of repetition, big and small. If you aren’t sure if it’s something you repeated, flag it anyway—you can always check later.

If you don’t have time to set the project aside for a while, read your work aloud. If you can’t bear reading your work aloud or you aren’t able due to circumstances, listen to the document instead. Word has a read aloud function, and there are many online text-to-speech websites where you can paste a piece of writing. The unnatural cadence of the artificial voice might be weird and awkward at first, but listening won’t fully engage the “reading” portion of your brain, and you’ll likely find it easier to notice uses of repetition, among other problems. While writing this post, I have listened through it three times, tweaking phrasing and eliminating repetition—and deleting some of the harsher statements—as I go.

If you’re feeling really brave, have another person read your writing back at you. Nothing like being uncomfortably hyperaware of every word you’ve put down to recognize pretty much every single problem within your work. Just do not overcompensate and decide that nothing you’ve written has any value at all (it does), or that you’ll need to change everything (you don’t). If you approach this method with the understanding that it’s going to be awkward but are nevertheless determined to get something useful out of it, you’ll benefit, especially if your reading partner is willing to help you with any areas you feel you need assistance in.

When editing for repetition, if possible, pay attention not only to noun/verb/adjective usage. Go deeper. What types of repetition are you prone to using? Do you begin a significant portion of your sentences with conjunctions? Are there certain conjunctions you use more frequently than others? Do you reiterate entire sentences two or more times with only slight variations in wording? Do you return to the same idea numerous times? What about tone, do you use lots of rhetorical questions? Sarcasm? Self-deprecation? Self-boasting? Do you frequently return to the same imagery or settings or use of metaphor? Or grammar—are there certain punctuation marks or grammatical conventions you use more than others? Do you have a sentence construction you consistently fall back on?

Again, some of these questions might require an outside opinion for you to find suitable answers, but becoming self-aware of not just what you do but why you do will help you recognize these patterns, which in turn can help you mentally eliminate repetition before it even makes it past your fingertips.

Lack of Confidence

Widespread repetition of sentences and ideas is often a major symptom of a writer who isn’t confident in their abilities to communicate what they’re talking about. “If I just tell you this fact again, surely you’ll believe me this time. I’ll make you believe me. Do you believe me now? What about now? Now? Now?”

The painful truth is... no.

Encountering mindless or fear-based repetition is extremely frustrating for readers. Inevitably, without fail, every single time I edit a book by a writer who has repeated themselves over and over and over again, with every single repetition, I increasingly doubt both their credibility and their ability to pass on important knowledge to me. I feel either patronized and insulted, or I feel annoyed because it seems like the author threw their thoughts down on paper in whatever order they came out and then hit publish with

no regard for how those thoughts will be perceived by others, and

no regard for how they are wasting the reader’s time.

Please, please do not undermine your credibility by repeating yourself. Readers usually only need to read information one time for them to absorb it, maybe twice, so trust your readers. If the reader needs to come back to information, they have that ability. Do not force unnecessary repetition in their faces. Always assume readers are at least as smart as you. If you don’t need the information repeated, give your readers the same respect.

Increasing your writing confidence will once again take time and effort. You’ll need to determine why you’re not confident and then seek out methods of correcting the issue(s). In general, fear of not being heard or understood tends to be the underlying cause of repetition, so learn how to be deliberate in your writing. Say what you mean to say. Say exactly what you mean to say. Understand that you have something important to share with the world, so share it—then stop. Readers will appreciate you for not wasting their time.

 Writing for Yourself

Yesterday I finished editing a project just over 88,000 words. Nineteen chapters. Almost 250 pages.

I hated every word, and I learned nothing.

If it had been a line edit, I could’ve cut the book’s word count down below 50K merely by eliminating all of the repetition. This author is infatuated with the sound of their own voice, talked on and on and on merely to hear their own self-revelations and how special they are compared to everyone else stated again and again in near-identical sentences.

I’m editing another book right now that is less self-important and is far more interesting on the whole (and is thankfully over a hundred pages shorter), but again, the author has repeated themselves sometimes three or four or five times, with some phrases appearing over fifteen times, and I can feel my resentment growing. If an author isn’t going to take the time to put forth a thoughtfully crafted piece of writing, why should a reader likewise invest in it?

There is absolutely nothing wrong with writing for yourself. You should—you’ll learn a lot about yourself as both person and writer, and you’ll enjoy writing more, and you’ll (hopefully) be able to refine your skills.

But if—if—you intend to share your writing with the world, if you actually have something to say, you need to be aware that you have a duty to make yourself understood without wasting people’s time. Do not make people regret having picked up your writing by being so in love with the sound of your own voice that you are no longer courteous to others.

Love your writing. Love it fiercely and passionately and with reckless abandon, but reach a place where you know how your writing is going to be perceived at large. Use as many words as you need to get your point across and no more.

In Closing

If you’re still having difficulty identifying repetition within your own work, ask someone who is skilled at recognizing this issue to look over your writing. It’s always easier to recognize repetition when you haven’t written it, so fresh eyes can give you the insight you might not be able to see yourself.

Know your audience. A children’s book will require a different level of repetition than an instruction manual or a sci-fi novel or an autobiography. If you’re reading a recipe, you’d be annoyed and confused if the author told you to add the same ingredient twice due to shoddy proofreading. Write and repeat accordingly.

Whatever you’re writing, make a point of intentionally performing at least one round of editing with the intention of eliminating unnecessary repetition. Your readers will appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.

[gaitwae]

Little Love Notes •||• Loki x Reader

Synopsis: You often go to the library to think. Lately, you've been finding little notes in your books. Intentional notes. Silly notes. You're close to finding the culprit.

__________________________________

Yesterday's note was a cute one: Your smile? I live for that. It was the same handwriting as all the others, and you knew they were meant for you. You had originally thought the notes were already hidden in the books by the librarian. But you've already seen her handwriting, and you've begun to flip through the books before you check them out. There wasn't even a single paper in them.

At first, if you had your book on you all the time, they wouldn't show up. But if you set them down, they'd appear. Especially in your poetry books.

The first time it happened, it wasn't such a big deal. You, like anyone else, assumed that someone had been writing to a different person, or themselves. The ink changed from time to time, but you began realizing that somebody was intentionally leaving their cursive swirls on slips of paper.

You started keeping them.

For no good reason.

Things were written, like, Have a wonderful day; You're looking lovely this morning; I adore your laugh. Things that made you smile, like That's my favorite book, too; Your heart is so pure; I wish I could say how much I cherish you aloud. Things that made your face light up. My name is one you see often, Have you seen yourself this morning?, I hope I'm not too annoying. Eventually, they would be signed like this: L. 

You made a mental note to finally catch this person. Today. Because, even though he thought he was being sneaky with his little love letters, there was only one person who would ever dare write something like "cherish you aloud." And you were pretty sure that he didn't change his handwriting to slip things in your books.

The whole situation was ridiculously cheesy, yet somehow mysterious.

You smiled at the note in your book. You saw someone peeking through the shelves. His back to the books, his eyes peering behind him. At you. You didn't know why, but you grinned even more. Perhaps this game was worth it. You, pretending you didn't know, and he, never finding out. But the more you thought about it, the more you wanted to confront him with a smile. Or a kick.

And, if your suspicions were correct, your god of a best friend (literally) was going to be beaten. Or kissed. Or maybe both. You had an idea, but knowing the scoundrel, he was going to slip out of it, anyway. 

"Okay," you mumbled to your pages, grabbing, "if this is how he wants to play." You stand up, putting a bookmark at your spot. You smooth out the wrinkles in your shirt and turn to walk out the door.

For good measure, you slipped around the shelves so he wouldn't see you. You watched with eagerness as he moved as fast as lighting, grabbing a pen and a slip of paper, writing something happily. The look on his face was priceless. His tongue was in between his teeth, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration. But his smile after he tucked it next to the bookmark was worth more. It was like a schoolboy getting away with a prank.

"Loki," you called, popping back to the table you sat at in the dark library. He froze, dropping his pen.

"(Y/N)!" he exclaimed, picking up the pen nervously. You walked over, hands on your hips. You smirk. His face was red.

"Have you been the one leaving notes in my books~?" you tease, looking up at him. His mouth opens slightly, but he closed it again before responding in a calm voice. (He did NOT look calm.)

"You know I'm not used to being caught," he begins, laughing apprehensively. He opened his mouth to continue but closes it quickly. He probably knew he couldn't get past you. You shake your head when he tries again, taking his hands and holding them up, sandwiched by your chests. He swallowed as you stepped even closer.

He's been leaving notes in my books, but he's flustered by this, you think with amusement. Some god.

"Nope!" you say. "Because it seems like you've been trying to get caught since the beginning." You flash him a happy smile. He stepped back some, falling back in the chair. You gently swing his hands in yours. His eyes were bright, and his skin was strangely warmer than usual. His hands were clammy. Was he okay?

"I've been waiting to see if you would put the puzzle together," Loki sighed. He rests his head on your shoulder. You giggle some, and he lifts his messy-hair head. You gently brush it back, the way he liked it. He pouts at you. 

"You didn't even see my note," he whined, moving his fingers around yours instead of being entwined in them. He holds them tightly. Like a prince. He is a prince, you think, embarrassed that you forgot. You felt your face get hot but you didn't change your expression.

"Do you want me to read it now?" you ask, looking down at both your hands. "Or was it too embarrassing now?"

"No." He sighed. "I want you to read it. You might as well; you've read the others." He grabbed the note and handed it to you. "The others you might have described as love letters, but this one actually is." His face was on fire. You've never seen the god blush before, you realize. Not before today.

You gingerly take the paper, bringing it to your eyes to read it. You knew you probably should have expected this; he told you what was on the paper. But it still felt . . . perfect. I love you.

"I love you, too," you blurt. Both of you are silent and wide-eyed.

"You mean . . . romantically, yes?" he asks, his voice musical and soft. You nod. Of course, you did.

"Do you?" you ask him.

"Absolutely." He lifts his eyes to you. He's smiling, now. You take your hands away from his and cup his face. He's slightly stunned by that, but you couldn't care. You kiss him, bringing his face to yours.

He smiled against your lips, pulling you closer. You wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to be quiet. (This was a library, after all.) He kissed you sweetly, with a hint of relief. It felt so nice to finally hear it from him.

"Loki," you whisper.

"Yes?" he asked, that voice of chocolate tickling your ear. "What, darling?"

"I knew it was you the whole time." You grin. He chuckled.

"Sure you did," he says. "I bet you were planning on sending me notes back."

"I was!" you laugh, nuzzling him. ". . . later."

THE END

[sammysera]

What happens in Madripoor, stays in Madripoor (SHORT READER X BUCKY ONE SHOT)

Synopsis ~ It’s winter! You have lived in the outskirts of Madripoor your whole life and met Bucky partial way through, he was busy off saving the world until he had to come back. As he walks in the door your heart flutters, reminding you of the forever-teenage-crush you seemed to have on him, his personality, his eyes, his laugh, his hairs, his lips, You both decide to spend a bit of time together away from the crowds of avenging, what’s the worst that could happen?

Warning: profanity, drowning/death, mild sexual content, blood, murder, knives, 

Word count: 3254

This has only other been posted on my Twitter. It should NOT be posted on any other accounts apart from @/imgodbtchesmrvl on Twitter and this tumblr.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The cold gusts rushed through the cracks of the window, begging to be accepted into the warmth of my home. Door creaked to the rattle of the wind’s pushes and shoves trying to get in and infect my home with the spiteful bite of raw frost. My body draped over a small coach in the corner of the living room in front of a dark-screened TV was my hands nestled book pages between each finger. 

My breath was short. The tensity of the book’s situation increased, pokes and prods of the cold dotted my skin heavily beneath my thin sweater. Dancing through the pages of the book my eyes glued to the lettering, each printed meant something which helped to create this world of murder, in the simple nook of my two hands. 

Blood splattered, knives thrown, glares of the dead and skulls of the living crept images into my mind of the entirely different century and world, sat between my palms. Rattle.

I tilted my head as my eyes slipped to the small handle of my front door. Blasting wind impacted the thing for the hundredth time in the last hour so my head shook away the thought of entry, the creep of reading this mysterious dark, world in front of me didn’t help the anxious-confidence of curiosity bugging my mind. Rattle.

I tilted my head as my eyes slipped to the small handle of my front door. This time I shivered as my right hand removed itself from the small portal in my hands and scratched up my bookmark off the couch, beneath my right thigh. I never removed my eyes from that blasted door handle, they stayed locked onto the threat. The bookmark noted the chapter of the book I reached prior to the interruption and I placed the paper-back down on a miniature grey table beside my current seat. Rattle.

My irises still locked onto that handle, I shifted upwards and still not unlocking my gaze I grabbed a little knife from the table beside me. You see, being the best friend one the one and only Winter Soldier doesn’t necessarily gain you any more confidence that you’ll “always be protected”. No. In fact it did quite the opposite, it exposed a weakness. One which could be exploited, especially is said-weakness had no defence techniques and was incapable to do a thing to defend themselves. On the other hand, there is me, Buck taught me basic ways to defend myself from predators and weakened parts of the body that could help me to take someone down if I needed to. Rattle.

My body thrusted against the wall in series with the door as the handle clicked. Shit. The wooden opening creaked as it threw itself around the hinge in an anti-clockwise, slow, manor. My body shivered to the hug of the frosty wind. Footsteps started to sound as a dark body started to enter the frame. I shot my knife towards it but their arms performed an ‘L’ shape, blocking my attempt, my eyes slowly looking upwards.

Bucky ‘Buchanan’ Barnes.

“Bucky.” I smirked at the tall, handsome loveable-stranger. “Hey, Frosty.” His relentless grin stole his features hastily, suddenly he thrusted himself forward onto me- shocking me I slipped backwards onto the hard, wooden floor and he fell directly on top of me but his hands slammed down either side of my head.

My eyes widened, glistening into his. I felt my heart start to palpitate at the sight of his features directly over me, just an inch or two from my own face. His chiselled jaw laced with a thin dark stubble, thin lips parted but soft, lower lip grinningly bitten slightly by an upper tooth, pearly whites staring back at me as his smile revealed at my flustered face. His eyes never left my own from our first conversion of words when he arrived.

Hesitantly his body came down on top of me, throwing a wave over my own body, of desire for my ever-long crush to just kiss me. As his entire body lie over my own, my legs already spread from the fall with his own placed between them, he halted. Mouth beside my ear. 

“A little weak on our defence, huh?” He groaned into my ear, his deep voice soothed the tension of my yearning body. A little laugh left his voice as his body lifted upwards and he settled between my legs, one knee led flat and the other pointed upwards, he never let the grin leave his face as a large hand offered help to my own. 

I grabbed it and smiled as we stood up together and he ripped me into a hug, squashing our body together. My body relaxed under the handsome scent of his, pine from the woodland next to my home, cologne, gun powder and fire. The best scent of all, all of this combined. Buck’s large arms engulfed half of my body and he smiled into my hair, not saying a word, just living in the moment of current affection. 

I pushed my arms around his waist and cuddled into his solid chest, his muscles were easy to feel through his thin shirt, how could he be wearing such a thin shirt in this weather? I blushed a little again under his groan of joy from our glued bodies. I missed this. I missed him. 

Finally after five minutes we parted and he gripped my shoulders with his humongous hands, I smiled at the hold, his eyes stared through into my soul and I felt almost naked from that gaze of his,  “How are you?” I smiled a bit more at the question, “Better now that you’re back, Buck.” I patted his arm and he let go as I left for the kitchen, him plodding his large soldier-body behind me. 

“I assume you’re hungry, Bucky?” my head turned as I started to walk backwards into the kitchen, making it through the doorway then turning back so I would walk forward to the fridge and pull out some ingredients for one of my best recipes: a sandwich. 

“If you wouldn’t mind making me something too, I’d appreciate that.” I looked up to the super-soldier as he plopped his body into a breakfast-bar chair in front of the bar while I shifted around in front of him making two sandwiches for the both of us. 

-=-=-

Time skip: 4 hours later.

catch-up: after the last few hours of talking we discussed life, love, The Avengers, how Bucky was, how I was, what we want in future. We talked about so much half of it I couldn’t even remember. But we decided that now we are going to go out in the snow to just have some general fun. It didn’t snow a whole lot in America this year so when Bucky came here, to Madripoor, he was wanting to at least enjoy the bite of snow at his skin while he was here. 

-=-=-

I shot down the hallway of my little bungalow, darting past Bucky’s door and he chuckled at the sight of my body running round the smallest home he had to ever of been in, as if it was some sort of incredibly important emergency. 

“Seriously, you can chill out Frosty, it snows here about two-foot a day in winter. It isn’t like we are going to miss it.” he cackled lacing his foot with a dark thick boot when I jumped in front of him. I grasped both of his shoulders and made him look directly into my eyes as I explained, “No you don’t understand, tonight’s sunset is going to be the most gorgeous one of the year. You need to see this one.” My face flourished emotionlessness as seriousness stole my features. Again, a cackle left his mouth while he stood up, placing a thick coat over his torso and zipping it shut to encase the heat of his body. 

I nodded to him, eyes wide in question of if he was finally ready to leave and he returned the nod which indicated for us to go. I squealed, almost launching out of the front door and I creased the perfection of the snow which had settled on my front-door-step. 

As I placed one foot into the candy-floss-snow my feet raced through the infinite acres of snow and I raced my body through the trees of the woodland placed in front of my bungalow, running from the calling of Bucky’s voice to stop. I giggled at my head start and hid behind a tree, circling a ball of snow into a snow-ball.

Footsteps crept closer alongside heavy breaths and more calls for his ‘Frosty’. My hand laced my mouth to stop a little giggle escaping at his confusion of where I had hidden, as his back turned towards me I ran out and launched a fist of snow into the centre of his back. 

He spun around, a smirk gaining his features at the sight of me running away from him, no more snow in hand. His body thrusted towards me at a heavy speeding pace while I ran directly towards frozen lake I know of local to the woodland. As I shoved branches out of my path, hearing the gaining footsteps I chose to take a detour from my original path.

Before Bucky realised, I managed to take an arm of snow and climb up a tree, I was then sat up on a thick branch draping across to entwine with another arm from another tree halted proudly upwards, my eyes chased Bucky’s movements below me. A small smile flourished on my face, watching Buck struggle to find my where-a-bouts. 

He spun in circles directly below me, his jacket creasing over his muscular arms, his dark hair being discoloured by the snow falling on top of the short locks of hair, his stubble starting to also discolour. He started to sputter as some snow must have landed on his lips or in his mouth and he slapped his face over trying to get the snow off his stubble and out of his mouth. Forcing my laughter to try to contain itself even more.

My self-control started to lack as I giggled aloud a little bit but not enough to make him notice my location. 

He paused for a moment, squinting in the distance and a breeze overcame the air, dancing his hair forwards allowing from him to use this as an excuse to then run his hand through his hair and pull it from his eyes, this act, although not intentionally flirtatious or arousing, caused that same prior desire for him to just kiss me and be with me returned to my feelings and thoughts.

To contain this, at least for right now, I encased a ball of snow in my hand and swung back my right arm, preparing a throw down towards the back of Buck’s head. Perfect shot. Perfect aim. Perfect target. Perfect everything. I swung it but as my arm came forward and released the ball of frozen water, it slapped into the direct centre of Bucky’s face and I gasped.

Eyes widened. 

Buck’s hand and cyborg moved upwards towards the snow encasing his features and as he wiped it off I released the loudest laughter I had ever had. My laughter captured Bucky’s attention and his face shot upwards towards me, allowing me to admire his beauty through tears of laughter. 

While cackling uncontrollably I suddenly lost my grip, grabbing some snow on my fall down through the air instead of a branch. Everything was in slow motion.

“NO!” Bucky’s voice bellowed as my body dropped from the branch of the tree and my hand grabbed a fist of snow. 

Falling.

Bright images of my parents drowning in the local lake appeared in front of me, I relived each and every moment of that trauma within seconds that felt like hours. The experience of not being able to save them engraved my memory and this must have been my “white light” that everyone talks about seeing when they die.

My hair danced in the pull of gravity versus the light-weight of my hair, it flowed upwards and my body fell through the layer of frost-bitten air, slowly getting closer and closer to the white-bedded grass.

My eyes closed.

Warmth.

My eyes opened and I felt two arms wrapped around me. One under my upper torso and the other under my two legs, shock overcame me as I was sure this was the moment I’d die. My eyes turned to look at my knight, Bucky.

Bucky grasped me in his arms, worry embedded his features as he let go of a breath and closed his eyes bringing his forehead forward into my own, he was scared. Scared he’d lost me. Scared he was going to lose me. “Don’t ever do that again Frosty.” I giggled a bit and brought my forehead upwards. Our mouths centimetres apart, lust for kissing his claimed my mind as we both looked at each other’s lips, my eyes slowly looking up into his, “I planned on doing this everyday, darling.” I smirked and pulled away, shooting out of his arms and running towards the lake.

As I launched from his arms I saw a slight grin claim his lips again, replacing the worry he once had. I couldn’t tell if it was because of the snarky comment and sarcasm which claimed my personality like slave, or whether it was because I called him ‘darling’. 

My thighs pounded against each other as I slid across the opening and onto the ice, I locked down onto one knee, skimming across the soft ice allowing it to slide me as far as it could. I turned in circles across the ice hearing small cracks as I danced, I slightly caught Bucky appearing through the opening and standing on the verge of the ice, smiling at the sight of my let-go. 

Dancing allows my body to let go, I love to dance. It sets my soul free and I love to do it on this lake, when its frozen, or in this opening to honour my parents. They loved my dancing, they loved me dancing. Bucky loved to watch me dance. I’ve seen so many smiles lace his face whenever he watched me dance, it made me feel alive to see him enjoy watching me do something I enjoy. It only made me love him more.

I turned in a circle, several times. Feeling the gushing wind spin out from my speeding rate of turns and and I brought my arm down, a hand gripped my right waist and my left hand. I looked into the depths of who had taken my hand.

Bucky sincerely smiled and started to dance with me. We rushed around the outskirts of the lake, spinning and turning, so many moments where all we did was lose ourselves in each other’s glistening eyes. The snow only emphasised the aura around us. We both love winter so it only feels absolutely perfect whenever we are together in this weather and season. 

Bucky looked deep into my eyes as I stared into his with an equal smile, his ocean-eyes glowed even more in the shimmer of white around us. He spun me round and I fell into his right arm as he brought me down towards the ice with my leg hung upwards in the air, his face following my own.

Our faces, almost parallel following each other at every moment. He brought me up, an even deeper and emotional smile gathered across his entire face, his stubble creased under one of his numbered smiles. 

Bucky doesn’t tend to be joyful too much because of everything he went through so whenever he is around me I tended to do whatever I could to make him smile. Even if it meant doing something incredibly stupid, as long as a smile graced his features, thats all that matters. 

I stood directly opposite him and he spun me before bringing me back down into and identical position to our last, except now our faces were directly parallel. My leg strung up in the air again, assuming a dance pose. 

His deeper emotions surfaced, “I don’t know why it took me so long to do this.”

I tilted my head at his comment and he thrusted forward. Our lips crashed, perfectly. We kissed, our lips smothered each other passionately and there wasn’t a single regret in that moment from either of us. 

If passion could be physically shown, there would be mass fires surrounding our bodies as they pushed together under the heated love through our simple kiss.

Bucky’s hand clenched my ass jokingly and I chuckled at his cheeky grab as he chuckled at my laugh. I pulled my arms around his neck and tugged him closer as our bodies brought upwards. Never once did our lips part. 

Buck’s arms wrapped around my lower back as mine stretched around his lower neck and his little laugh escaped, parting our lips from the struggle of reaching completely around his neck.

“Who’d have thought such a short-ass would be the one I fall for?” he giggled down to me.

“Who’d have thought you’d finally kiss me?” I chuckled back at him sarcastic and not once did my smile hesitate or leave my lips.

“Hey, this is 2024. You could have been the one to kiss me.” He replied with a sarcastic-serious face, cupping my right jaw.

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for old fashioned.” I returned the sarcasm and he pushed his lips back onto mine.

“I love you, Frosty,” his words pulsed through my mind on loop. I couldn’t get enough of those four words in his voice, from his mouth.

“Happy birthday” He smiled more and pulled out a small burgundy box. I looked at the box then up to him and slapped my hand onto his torso lightly with a wide smile of joy from the comment of his love. I didn’t need some sort of gift, I just wanted his love.

“Bucky, I-”

Crack. My eyes widened. Crack. My eyes looked into Bucky’s, fear overcoming. “love”. Shatter.

My body was engulfed by the cold wet. As I fell, I couldn’t even finish the four word sentence I aimed to tell him. Would this be my death? Is this how I die? I saw Bucky’s eyes start to fill with tears as I fell and when I dropped through I was smashing my hand onto the thick ice. 

I couldn’t swim.

I pounded and pounded and pounded, but nothing. Deafening silence.

I watched Bucky’s eyes drain of the passion that once resonated, now all I could see were tears. Panic. Sadness. Anger. Fear. He dropped to his knees, letting go of the burgundy box as it hit the ice beside his knee.

Time passed slowly, but I felt the life paling from me hastily. 

My hair flailed around my head, beneath the surface I was screaming but I didn’t want to show Bucky that fear. If I showed fear, he would be scared. I don’t want him to be scared. He forced his fists into the ice but it wouldn’t give. He just kept punching, his knuckles growing scarlet. 

I just smiled. One of his tears dropped onto the surface of the ice. I started to fall from the surface of the ice.

“I love you.”

Darkness.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! This was originally inspired by a simple prompt I got on twitter and was mucking about making a mini commentary-short-story but then morphed an idea in my mind!

Let me know your thoughts <3

Thank you for reading!

TWITTER: @/imgodbtchesmrvl

[radialarch]

every once in a while on the internet we have another round of “is it good or bad for writers to want kudos” and i’m reminded that one time i answered this question for someone in way more depth than anyone wanted, and perhaps “after a months-long tumblr hiatus” is the best time to amnesty this into the void, who knows

------

Q: I think because of social media, the Internet, the masses (or their reaction rather) become so easily available, their power is also amplified. Maintaining diversity can become a real problem (or is it the contrary?). What are your thoughts and response to this? for people who are just starting to write, kudos and comments could be addictive. When should one follow or change?.. or you should stick to what you believe in?

Okay, so this is an issue I think about a lot, and I should probably preface this by saying that all of what I'm gonna say can be really difficult to do, and, depending on the reasons you are in fandom, it might not be the "right" approach for someone to take anyway.

I said earlier that fanfiction feels to me like a fairly homogeneous genre, and I think this is at least in part because of the existence of very popular, very widely known fics that many people read, and then, either consciously or unconsciously, go on to imitate in their own works. This isn't necessarily a bad thing for individual writers -- I also said that a lot of my first attempts at writing were imitative, it's a process everyone will go through in the path to becoming better writers -- but collectively, it contributes to this communal pool of works that ends up having the same sort of... textual flavor, if you will.

This is a phenomenon that troubles me because I firmly believe that diversity of works and ideas in a fandom are a good thing. Fandom, to me, works best when anything seems possible, when many different ideas can be examined without constraint. I won't always like some of the avenues that are explored -- there are tropes and ideas that I dislike, and I might pass a fic by without clicking if I see it contains those things -- but the proliferation of ideas means that there's much more of a chance that fandom will kick up an idea I love but might never have thought of otherwise.

The thing is, fandom -- the audience that's reading, leaving kudos or comments, bookmarking and reccing -- does not always reward the efforts of writers who are trying to experiment with different things, and I think when you run into that situation you have to take a step back and think about what it is that you want to achieve by participating in fandom via fic writing.

Praise feels really good. Most people like praise. Look, I love getting comments on fic that tell me readers enjoyed it. I'm not gonna lie and say that you should just train yourself into a state where feedback doesn't matter. So if that's what you're in fandom for -- to be social, to connect with other people, to have a fun time where your works will be well-received -- then I think that's a valid approach. Like, if that's what you want out of this experience, then you should feel totally free to do that, that's not a "wrong" way to do fandom.

But if what you want from writing fic is to become a better writer, then first you have to be very honest with yourself. Becoming a better writer involves taking a lot of (textual) risks. Sometimes, you try something and fail; sometimes, you try something and succeed, but what you end up with isn't what people in fandom want to read. And this isn't rewarding in a way that a ton of fannish feedback might feel rewarding, but the process should be rewarding in its own right. For me, writing a story that stretches at the limits of my technical ability and succeeding in it feels fantastic. Comparing a story I wrote a while ago with something current and noting ways in which I might've gotten better is a great feeling. And conversely, I don't like feeling like I've stagnated, that I've settled too much into a comfort zone and stopped trying to do something more ambitious. It makes me miserable. And if that's the case for you, then you have to accept that sometimes, you won't get comments and praise on what you write, and that will make you feel terrible -- but maybe not writing that would have made you feel worse, as a writer.

So I think that's a calculation everyone has to make for themselves. And it's really hard! It stings to see something you've put a lot of effort and time and, sometimes, personal experience into be ignored by other people. I don't know whether that will ever go away. It can help to have friends you can discuss writing with, who will be supportive of what you're doing even if this big thing called "fandom" isn't. You can try to be realistic about what kind of feedback you can expect (writing in a very small fandom, or even nonexistent fandom, can be an interesting way to calibrate your expectations). And some days it will still feel terrible, and you just have to keep asking yourself if it's worth it. And hopefully it is.

On a different note, if you want to do anything to encourage the diversity of ideas in fandom, there are things people can do from the consumer/reader side! For one, I'm not particularly sold on this idea of kudos/comments/bookmarks as a metric of quality. I know a lot of people will like, go to AO3 after they've watched a movie or a show or read a book and sort by kudos and read from the top down; and this is certainly an easy way to choose fics to read, but there are fics that are brilliant and gorgeous and wonderful that will never make it there. I know a lot of people think that, you know, if a fic is good then it will of course get "discovered" and you'll find out about it, but like. Sometimes the person who discovers it has to be you. Be an active participant in the process of choosing what you read (something that applies both inside & outside fandom!) and look, you'll wade through a lot of terrible fic but there are also some great fics buried out there that you might never see otherwise.

And then, when you find something you love, engage with it! Kudos, comment, rec it to your friends. I used to be a terrible lurker until I started writing fic; I still don't leave like, the best comments, but I do it a lot more because it really does mean a lot. Encourage other people in fandom who might be going through the same process you are, trying to decide if this writing thing is worth it, and hopefully, you know, someone else will do it for you.

[jyunshiim]

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬; 𝙨𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙩 *✬★*’☽* ✬ ⤷𝘒𝘪𝘩𝘺𝘶𝘯 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘶

Genre → romance | angst | friends to acquaintances | friends to lovers | college!au |

Contains → fluff | angst | Kihyun x reader ft Changkyun

Listen to →  Compass

Word count → 4207 words

TW → –

Chapters → | Chapter 2 | 

Summary: Best friends since childhood, you and Kihyun had always been by each other’s side before things began to turn in a different direction on Prom night. From then, things changed when you both transferred to college/university. Bonds collapse, deception and fear; what will the future hold?

[ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 ]

９ ｙｅａｒｓ ａｇｏ． ． ．

You remembered your mother’s fingers tap against her arm as she leaned upon the ivory door frame of your best friends’ bedroom. “can I please stay a little longer, Kihyun and I haven’t even finished building the house yet,” you pleaded to your mother who had a smile painted across her face despite being tired from her job and taking care of you. “We have to go now, who will feed Kiwi?” She pretends to be concerned knowing it’ll lure you back home. “no, no I will feed Kiwi,” you immediately stand up and leave the little lego pieces on the floor. “I have to go and feed my cat now,” you from at a tiny Kihyun who sat distraught at the fact you were leaving him. The sky darkened and the nocturnal animals were ought to come out around now. “wave goodbye,” your mother nudges you gently and so you do, with a wide smile and your eyes full of hope.  

You and Kihyun met in daycare and ever since you became best friends. You did everything together and it went on into your senior years of school.

Moving on to further education, you and Kihyun attended the same schools including high school. High school was full of surprises and also many arguments too; friendships aren’t all as smooth as it seems. Kihyun waited at your locker after every lesson you had so you could both sit together with your other friends. Kihyun’s  5’7 slender physique leaned against the cool steel of the locker, his phone sitting in the curve of his hand, scrolling through what seems to be his text messages. He texted you around 3 minutes ago and huffed impatiently – he wasn’t the most patient person in the world - wondering where you were since your class finished exactly 3 minutes ago. The hallways were congested to the point where pushing pass was necessary. The scattered ‘excuse me’s and ‘sorry can I get past please’ were ever so repetitive but it got you through your high school experience up until now. You see Kihyun at your locker, his head resting against the steel.

“what took you so long?” his voice was fruity and oddly comforting to listen to. “my teacher wouldn’t shut up about our late assignments and was setting us more, I had no control over that,” you respond instantaneously as his arm draped around your shoulders. “right, I’ll give that to you,” he tuts and rolls his eyes playfully.

The pair of you ambled through the hallways towards the cafeteria and set your belongings down onto the round table and onto the chairs beside you to reserve them for your other friends since they were coming from the other side of the school. “Jooheon and Changkyun take so long to get here, I’m going to get food, do you want anything?” he asks you waiting to respond. “oh umm- yeah maybe like a sandwich or something?” you suggest. “That’s not enough, I’m buying you a meal,” he informed politely. – of course he’ll buy you a meal –

Jooheon and Changkyun finally make their way to the table where you sat, keeping it occupied so no one else sat there. “Yo where did Kihyun go?” Jooheon asks as he gets out a Kimbap roll from his bag and rips open the packet. You point at the queue where Kihyun was and notice a girl being pushed closer to him by her friends. “There they go again,” Changkyun sighs, “Let me go and help him.” Changkyun always knew these girls will throw themselves at whatever guy they would want to get their attention from and Kihyun hated it.

“o-oh sorry, I’ll keep moving forward,” He apologises to the girls knowing what they were doing. “It’s okay Kihyunnie,” the girl purred; Kihyun could swear he just threw up in his mouth. He ignored her until Changkyun came to save the day. “Kihyun how you doing?” his American accent ringing through the cafeteria. “Ah yes, the English card,” Jooheon nods whilst munching his roll. “Oh is this for me? Thanks, I’ll pay,” Changkyun says as he swipes his card and takes both trays with him and places it on the table. The girls look shaken behind them but in return Changkyun flashes a smug smile before seating himself next to you. “I hate them, they think they can do anything to get what they want,” Changkyun sighs, “you bought bought her lunch again but not for me, how sad,” He tuts, “ you need to pay me back since I paid for it actually so next ones on you alright?” he jokes with Kihyun before sliding the tray in front of you. “Thank you but you didn’t have to,” you pick up the cutlery that was on the tray. The girls walk past, their face painted with disgust whispering something to one another. Was it about you? The 4 of you sat together and talked about your lessons and gossiped about your teachers and also talked about that group of girls who have become an infection to your school. Luckily it was very soon until the end of the entire high school experience since prom was in a few months.

After you lunch break you didn’t have any classes left so you were contemplating whether to go home or stay to study. “Hey Kihyun, are you going to go home or stay to study?” you ask him, your honeyed tone captivating his attention. “Probably, I have a test to study for, do you want to go to the library or to some café?” he asks you. You think for a moment. It’d be more logical to stay at school and study in the library; “the library, I don’t think I can focus at a café,” You grab your books and notes from you locker and make your way to the library and find a table to sit at with Kihyun. The library was slightly fuller than usual, the tables had spaces for 4-6 people but it was only you and Kihyun sitting behind a shelf of books. You set your books and notebooks out for your Business class and open your text book which has an assortment of coloured sticky notes which were highlighted and extremely condensed down. “how?” Kihyun stares in awe at your study notes. “what? My notes?” you point at them “they’re really helpful, that extra effort its worth it” you smile softly at him. “yeah I know but how do you do it, I don’t even know where to start from.” Kihyun sighs. You delve into your bag again and grasp a hold of your transparent stationary holder which was filled with sticky notes, pens and bookmark sticky tabs. You pull your seat closer to Kihyun’s and move your hair behind your ear to help him and teach him how to take notes. You open his law textbook  and ask him what he needs to learn or understand so you knew where to start. “easy right?” you smile as you pass him some notes and memo sheets and he nodded his head, making himself believe that he new what he was doing. You turned back around to look at you textbooks, your eyes scanning the text book although Kihyun’s eyes often glanced away from the paper and pen and was captured by how focused you were, how you would unconsciously tuck your hair behind your ear, how your eyes scan the text you were reading and then articulate it into something concise yet informative. He needed a quick break to grab some water but you didn’t notice that he left since you were focused on studying. He placed a plastic cup on your desk and tapped your shoulder. “make sure you drink? Water is good for your brain” Kihyun smiles at you before sitting back down. “o-oh thank you!” you take the cup and drink the water, “I was going to have a short break anyway to get some water, how’s your notes going?” you ask him looking over to see a few notes here and there but he tried to cover it. “u-uh it’s, going okay.” You stand up to see the other side of him, he was doing quite well and learning how to take notes like you. “see you are doing good, isn’t it so much easier?” you ask him. He nods and hums his response. “don’t worry you’ll get the hang of it,” you nudge him softly.

An hour and a half passes and it was time to go home. You gather all your belongings organising them and putting them back into your bag, reaching for your jacket to which you find isn’t there to your surprise. “o-oh,” you sounded confused “ did I bring my jacket with me?” you ask Kihyun who had already shoved his textbook into his bag. “Oh um, You didn’t bring it with you from the cafeteria you might’ve left it there,” he shrugs “ we can go and look for it now?” He suggests and you agree with him, opening the doors to the library to leave. The school was oddly quiet. Probably because everyone leaves incredibly quickly but you and Kihyun make your way to the cafeteria and nothing was there. “ugh,” you grunt sounding annoyed “ whatever, I’ll look tomorrow and lost and found,” you drag yourself out of the cafeteria and head towards the exit.

“hey dumpling,” Changkyun calls out to get your attention. “stop calling me dumpling, It’s not cute or endearing,” you sigh “why are you still here?” you ask. “seems like someone lost their jacket,” he holds it in his hand, “ you have to get it though,” his smug smile appears gradually. You sigh and try to grab however he pulls It away from you and decides to mess with you and hold It above his head. “awh look at you, you can’t even reach it, that’s so cute” he chuckles. “just give it back, I want to go home” you whine before giving up, “I’ll walk home COLD then.” You turn around and walk knowing he’ll give it back; “okay okay hey, HEY, take it,” he says as he drapes it over your shoulder and Kihyun follows hands in his pockets. Walks home with Kihyun and Changkyun started to become the norm since the start of high school until now. You knew that once you move, everything will change and it haunted you so you enjoyed the moment whilst it lasted.

You arrived at your house and you wave your friends goodbye. “when will your mum make that soup again?” Changkyun asks. “I’m not too sure, I can ask her to make it on Friday?” You suggest. They both look at each other and nod their heads in unison.

It was late in the evening and you open your laptop; 9:45pm. You sigh. It’s been exhausting but you spent all evening tidying, cleaning and also resting after your meal. You lean back into your desk chair, the squeak startling your puppy Lucas. He hid under your bed from the sound then soon after leaving the dark abyss under your bed with a squeaky red ball. You open a word document that had over 9 thousand words for a project that you were doing for your business class. You’d study all night for your classes, some nights on call to Kihyun or another one of your friends, Irene. Tonight, you felt like being alone for some reason, perhaps because your best friend was a distraction?  - I’m probably a distraction too – you think to yourself. You look at your computer and think to play something just to get your mind off school for once. You had a selection of things to do for your classes but a slight break from school wouldn’t hurt. The bright screen of your PC lit up your dimly lit room, your window open to let in the winters breeze as well as the moon beaning outside of your window tonight. You grab your headphones and plug them into the headphone jack and you see Changkyun playing the game you wanted to play.

“Yo look at who’s on,” he says in his annoying mocking tone. “you’ve seen me play before, don’t act so surprised,” you scoff, “is Kihyun playing today?” you ask Changkyun. “I don’t think so, he said he had some notes to finish and study, what a loser,” Changkyun laughs “ I mean, he lives up to that name doesn’t he,” making you laugh a little. Changkyun had always been there for you and for Kihyun, making you and Kihyun always make up by doing the most absurd things he could think of. He comforted you as well as Kihyun.

Whilst you wait in the lobby, your phone screen lights up blue with a notification from Kihyun. It was a text message.

“hey my wifi died but I was going to message you to ask what you are doing?” Kihyun texted you. You responded back almost immediately; “ I’m online playing with Changkyun hbu?” you ask. The response was delayed by a couple minutes. “I’m studying atm, if only if could go online I’d play with you” he responds with a sad faced emoticon. “I wish you could too, maybe have an early night and rest, I’ll go in a bit too,” You message him. “I’ll go whenever you do,” – that’s new, he never used to wait for you– “I mean the rounds are really long but we can call if you want,” you tap at your screen. “ it’s okay, just message me okay,”

You start a round with Changkyun, immersing yourself into the game and occasionally yelling when he’d kill you or when he’d win. “hey! That’s not fair I was drinking!” you squeal when he sneaks around the corner and gets his final kill. “no! how?” you growl. “I have never heard you grown on voice chat,” Chankgyun burts into laughter “it’s cute don’t worry, it’s like a little tiger cub.” You hand reaches for your phone to text Kihyun; it had been at least 30 minutes since you last messaged him. “hey Yoo, you still awake?” you press the blue send button and wait for the response. You kept your phone unlocked and settled it onto your desk beside your pink bunny plushie Kihyun got for your birthday which was placed next to a framed photo of you both. You glanced at your phone every second but he hadn’t opened it or read the message, perhaps he fell asleep waiting for you? “Oi why are you so quiet? Did anything happen?” Changkyun noticed the drastic change in your behaviour. “oh it’s nothing I was just waiting for Kihyun to reply but I think he fell asleep.” You lock your phone after sending him a goodnight. “yeah probably, he doesn’t study for this long so many he just fell asleep and it is 1am-” he reminds you. “1am! Shit I need to go to bed,” you scurry around and put your things away, “I’ll play with you tomorrow or something whenever Kihyun is free, I’ll be going to bed now Goodnight!” you frantically leave the game and wash up and get ready for bed. You lean against your oak headboard, your phone between your hands and scroll through your Instagram. The girls who tried to shoot their shot posted and you felt a pit fall in your stomach making your mouth go bitter.– Why do they think they’re so entitled?– you scoff before locking your phone and setting it onto the wireless charging pad you got from Irene. You lay in your bed letting the cool air in your room circulating settle onto your skin making the little hairs on your arms raise. You close your eyes, your eyelids were heavy, and sunk into your mattress letting the cotton sheets intertwine with your body the warmth sheathing your body. You let out one last sigh before drifting off into a sound slumber.

6:30 am. You twist and turn until you turn your alarm off dragging yourself to your bathroom from your bedroom and push the tap up letting the water run until it went warm. You tiredly reached out for your toothbrush and toothpaste, squeezing the white paste from the tube then setting it down on the sink. Lucas whimpers at your feet wanting you to open the garden door for him so whilst you brushed your teeth you opened the garden door for him and continued your morning. You got dressed as usual and went to the kitchen to see what was for breakfast. It was an omelette roll and some sautéed vegetables. You quickly ate your breakfast with a cup of coffee and looked at your phone. “Good morning, sorry for not replying last night but studying is so exhausting! Are you taking the bus today?” Kihyun messages you. “yeah I am,” you reply sipping the bitter, lukewarm liquid from your cup before pouring it down the sink, “is it near my house?” you furiously type before bolting to your room to grab your bag, Airpods and your jacket. Before you were about to dash through the door, you remembered your lunch. “ugh whatever, I’ll just buy lunch,” you say to yourself before running to the bus stop.  You got there on time and go onto the bus; you search for Kihyun and there he was at the back, his bag reserving a seat for you before the girl from the day before spotted it thinking it was for her. – How humiliating– you slowly walk towards him.

“hey,” she flutters her lashes forcing her cutesy tone, “can I sit here?” she asks. Kihyun locks eyes with you and gulps, “oh um well- AH you are here!” he looks at you as you walk towards the two. You could see her eyes fill with fury and her blood could be heard boiling within her. “hey, did you save the seat for me?” you decided to pull her leg a little. She scoffs and turns around to realise that there are no seats, and she has to stand so she walked away and held onto the rings to keep her stable. “She won’t leave me alone,” Kihyun whispers to you, “what do I do?” you let out a soft laugh. “Don’t you know you get encounters like this because you’re single and prom is soon?” you shake your head “how naïve” you nudge him. “oh yeah true, you have a point.” He looks down at his phone scrolling through his feed and you glance over at him. “so, Kihyun, do you like anyone?” you hum leaning into him, trying to see his face, being playful like you usually are. “I-I don’t think I do,” he nods, “why are you asking?” his voice sounded apathetic when he replied. “did I say anything wrong? You sound really… off?” your playfulness disintegrated, and you were confused at his rapid change in emotion. “no you didn’t, I-I just didn’t have coffee this morning, I’m still a bit tired,” he clears his throat and looks outside, “Don’t worry about it, I didn’t mean to upset you.” He hands you a little chocolate truffle wrapped in gold.

The bus stopped at your school and you both got off however the girl shoved past you causing you to drop the wrapped chocolate on the floor which she then stepped on looking back to make sure you were looking. The evil in her eyes burned bright. Kihyun didn’t see what just happened since Changkyun ran up to him and began talking. You stand still for a second as people push past you, why was she so against you? –what did I do?– “Hey sleep well last night?” Changkyun asks you, his joyful voice added to his charismatic personality. “it was great, I had a nightmare that you broke into my house to get your final kill,” you laugh softly, “that wasn’t a good dream…” you roll your eyes. “wow, Kihyun do you hear this? She dreams of me,” Changkyun provokes you to react defensively, joking around with you. “You’re making it sound so wrong,” you yell. “you finish early right? Do you want to go for lunch together?” Kihyun’s honeyed voice asks you. “Of course, if you’re paying,” you smile endearingly. “Okay, I’ll pay” his arm wraps around your  shoulder before Changkyun decides to open his mouth again. “why don’t you just hold hands?” he jokes again “ you both look like a couple anyway,” He bites at his coffee straw. “No we don’t!” You laugh but only 2 of the three of you laughed at the harmless joke. “awh no, I have class,” Changkyun, “it’s fine you both can go we can hang out another day.”

Time was inching closer to your lunch break. It was nearly time to leave, just a couple more minutes. You eyed the time like you life depended on it, you were itching to leave the dingy classroom – I can’t wait to go to university– the ringing of the bell saves you from you thoughts eating you from inside. You dash out the door, or so you thought you would however Kihyun stood there waiting for you with your jacket he got from your locker. “Let’s go,” he smiles before putting his hand on your back and guiding you towards the exit. “damn you were quick,” you prodded his arm. “ well, you can always count on me, we’re like each others-“ he thinks for a moment, “we’re like each others Compass.” Kihyun’s words always sounded poetic one way or the other. He really knew how to sway you with his words, probably from all those years he made you feel comfortable and content whenever you had a hard time. “There’s this restaurant place down the road if you wanna go?” he points down the road. “oooh yeah sure, let’s go!” your ecstatic energy surprising Kihyun as you cling to his arm. He hesitated but the corner of his mouth curled into a smile and his hands rested in his pockets to seem as if he were chilled out in this situation when in fact he was yelling inside, at the top of his lungs.

The interior of the restaurant was simple yet pretty to look at. It was Bohemian inspired; the stained wooden chairs and tables and the white curtain like bunting on the plants above the ceiling. It also has an element of a rustic style too. You and Kihyun walked in and were seated; you look at the menu and your eyes scan down the laminated card. You point out a soup that you want and a drink too, “ these look really good!” you smile at him as he tries to keep himself at bay. “mmh yeah it does, I’ll get the same as you then!” He calls the waitress and orders what you wanted.  Lunched passed my sooner than you’d expected but you both get out your cards to pay.

“what are you doing?” Kihyun sounded perplexed to say the least. “paying for my lunch, what else Kihyun?” He pauses at you, eyeing you up and down then whisking the card away from you. “Not today, my treat okay?” he goes to a waitress as you wait at the table. He left his bracelet on the table so you swiped it into your bag to give to him later. When Kihyun turns around, it was like the gates of Heaven opened up; there was a luminescent glow outlining his angelic features, features that were carefully sculpted by groups of angels. He was just perfect. Whilst he leads you out, you both walk to the bus stop before he pauses and begins to speak. “you know you asked me if I like anyone,” he starts off getting your hopes up thinking he’ll tell you something that’d make your heart happy, “well, do you like anyone?” his head tilts like a little puppy would when they’re confused. “hmm..” you think, unconsciously smiling to yourself, “maybe maybe not Kihyun,” you shrug giggling at his ‘O’ shaped mouth. “You are unbelievable, did you know that,” he tuts, “whatever don’t tell me, the bus is here anyway.” The bus stops and he gets on scanning his pass and you follow and do the same. There were no seats so you both had to stand; he stood behind you and held the rings above and you held onto the railings. The bus jolted and you lost your balance slightly although managing to get a hold of yourself but at the next stop, a group entered the  vehicle and it was cramped. There was a middle aged man toppling onto you and as the bus jolted again he nearly crushed your petite frame until Kihyun shielded you. You looked at him. What an angel.

“Hey, Kihyun…” you whisper and he lowers down slightly to hear what you have to say with a cheerful bright smile on his face that beamed like a sun on a summers day, “you wanna know who I like right?” you giggle into his ears. His ears burned a pinkish-red; “I really really like Changkyun.”

––

➠ Chapter 2

[alexseanchai]

Fanfic 2020 in Review

I got tagged by @kasienda @noirshitsuji and @marvelousmsmol and I am tagging whoever wants to play!

1) List of fics completed this year in the order they were finished:

*filters own works to complete and updated in 2020*

1 - 20 of 57 Works by AlexSeanchai

nope. *adds filter to include only works of at least 1000 words*

unless otherwise indicated, these are all Miraculous Ladybug:

“don’t bake it lying down”, post-reveal Marichat vs Felix Graham de Vanily

“veracity”, canon divergence from “Ladybug” featuring Mister Bug and Verity Queen (so also Marichat, I guess)

“(no request is too extreme, if) your heart is in your dream”, in which Hawkmoth wins, for the thirty seconds or so before Emilie saves Ladybug and Chat Noir’s lives

“tell me you love me and make me believe it”, in which trans girl Chatonne Noire ropes Ladybug into helping plan her civilian self’s escape slash social transition

“kingmaker, oathbreaker”, in which Hawkmoth wins and Emilie watches her son remove himself from the family

“stay and let me watch you break it down” (Twelve Dancing Princesses), a modern setting

“set a course for winds of fortune”, in which trans girl Chatonne Noire has already escaped and Gabriel and Nathalie are trying to bring Gabriel’s son home

“we ground love in a hopeless place”, in which post-reveal Marinette’s attempt to remain resolutely not in love with her partner dissolves like sugar in coffee when they start a pun war

“ring the bells that still can ring”, in which Alya is deeply confused about why Adrien and Marinette are planning a wedding when last night both were single

“burning wishes at both ends (the cold wind and long loud wail remix)”, in which Gabriel made a monkey’s paw wish and Emilie makes another

“words cannot espresso”, in which Marinette’s OC roommate is justifiably worried for Marinette’s safety, and meanwhile Adrien takes care of Marinette

“the compromise of truth” (the chronologically second-earliest part posted to date of nine lives, snake’s eyes), in which Adrien tells his friends how he won some freedom and respect from his father

“At The Present Time”, the Ladrien/Ladynoir marriage proposal follow-up to @art-deco-shrimp‘s  “Your Presents Required”

“j'ai rêvé (so I don't have to dream alone)”, in which the events of canon must just have been a series of dream sequences, Marinette and Adrien both think, until they both arrive at Chloe’s Halloween masquerade dressed as themselves from the dreams

2) Number of words written:

ahahaha no. I am not counting all my scattered fic drafts and trying to figure out what I did and didn’t write in 2020. I refuse.

AO3 says I posted 162K in 2020. it is counting all of keeps you guessing (like any real love), which (a) I started posting in 2019 (b) is co-written by @galahadwilder​; it is counting all of my meta snippets collection, much of which was written in 2019; it is counting the Vimeo passwords for my vids. but I probably cleared 150K by a safe margin.

3) Your most popular fic:

“veracity” has a four-digit kudos count, wow, when’d that happen? this is also the 2020 work with the most hits and the most bookmarks, but “tell me you love me” has four-thirds as many comments as its nearest competitor.

4) Your personal fav:

“cannot break us, not with a thousand swords”, no question about it. this is the one in which Ladybug proposes marriage to Chat Noir via Princess Bride meme on Tumblr. (if you intend to download the work or otherwise to consume it with creator style off, you want the accessible version instead of the primary version.)

5) Your fav scene:

aaaaaaaaa

—okay so this is cheating and I know it, since Uncertain Humors (the one where Marinette/Adrien is both Orpheus/Eurydice and Theseus/Ariadne) is nowhere near finished, never mind posted (maybe I'll get “Sanguine” done to post on my birthday?)

but it is still my favorite of the year. as you might guess from that description of the story, this scene has content notes for character death:

Hell is a maze. Marinette walks.

This acrid passage has little to see but damp stone, seeming blood-stained in the dim carmine light. At about the height of her heart, the faintly glowing thread cuts through the not-clammy air; it ought to be pulsing at the same rate as the heart it's bound to. She might be able to see her own reflection if she looked down at the open sewage pipe, or at one of the puddles that now and again she splashes through, dampening the canvas of her shoes. She might see reflected what's behind her.

She remembers Mme. Mendeleiev lecturing on human physiology. In healthy humans old enough to have learned how, urination is a voluntary action: one may not know which muscles one tenses and relaxes in order to do so, and probably isn't paying attention to those details when one is doing, but one has conscious control over whether one does. Usually. Stress and anxiety mean some people are unable to relax the relevant sphincter muscle and others are unable to stop themselves. It's voluntary for cats, too: it's one way they mark their territories. Cat-boys have other ways.

There is a moment in every human life when all one's muscles relax at once. Some Parisians have had several such moments.

The thread is braided with itself around her left fourth finger, rows of tiny red half-hitch knots, and falls loosely over the back of her hand to loop twice around her wrist. She holds it wrapped between the fingers of her right hand to keep it at a constant tension, as though knitting with this insubstantial thread, so fragile for something two (two dozen, two million) lives hang from—too thin to sew with, no thicker than one strand of his hair. As she walks, she winds it around and around and around her wrist.

Between her ring finger and her right hand, it loops twice.

Marinette's shoe lands in a puddle she didn't see. The rainwater splashes soundlessly onto her bare ankle and on the stone.

(With cat-like tread, upon our prey we steal— It's a very loud song.)

She walks on.

6) A fic or scene that challenged you:

where the firelight fades, no contest. this is the second story I’ve ever been able to stick with more than a couple hundred words past the 20K mark, but it’s easily the twentieth novel-length I’ve begun. (though also, you know that kedreeva post? well, 90K later, I’m less than 15K from completing this 10K fic! I think.) and I have been learning so much about long-form fiction.

there has also been a lot of weeping and tearing my hair. case in point: I just trashed the chapter 15 draft because I figured out the reason it wasn’t going anywhere! I can probably keep the first few hundred words of that draft without any editing, and another few hundred with some revision...

7) A line of writing you’re proud of:

from “j'ai rêvé (so I don't have to dream alone)”:

Everything about their partnership is fragments of sentences in the dream diary Adrien writes in ultraviolet pen. Disjointed flickers of thought even when examined under the black light he hides in the snack cabinet under packets of Super Yoyo sandwich cookies and bags of cheesy Monster Munch potato chips and boxes of petit écolier butter cookies (chocolat noir)—none of which explains the gym-socks smell. All fleeting incoherent flashes, invisible between the mundane lines of La Modification shelved at his bedside between Leroux and Dumas. None of it is solid. Adrien has more proof his room's haunted.

okay let me break this down for you!

* Adrien started a dream diary to make sense of the memories

* in invisible ink, in a book that (according to Wikipedia) is thematically appropriate and won’t (if Gabriel sees it) look like anything other than Adrien developing an interest in French literature

* shelved between Phantom of the Opera and The Three Musketeers

* look I didn’t come up with the name “black light”

* or “chocolat noir” for what English speakers call “dark chocolate”, or “petit écolier” (that is, “little schoolboy”) for that sort of butter cookie

* also not my fault that “chocolat noir” sounds remarkably like “Chat Noir”, which, attentive readers may have noticed, is not a name that appears in the story after the header and before Miraculous Cure

* I found the website of a store in Boston, Massachusetts that caters to French expats, and the yo-yo cookies and the monster chips were right there in the photos, y’all

* the snack stash and the black light live in the cabinet where, in canon, the Camembert lives; yes, that cheese smells in the real world like gym socks

* this story’s akuma was not able to affect anything but squishy human memory: nobody affected remembers anything about Ladybug or Chat Noir or Hawkmoth, not in any solid way, not even when they read news articles about the subject, and this includes Marinette and Adrien not being able to see or hear or remember their own kwamis—but you know what Adrien’s Insta post about his poltergeist and Adrien’s Insta post with the floating sock don’t show and don’t explicitly refer to?

* I love this paragraph so much (my housemates may have been lovingly mocking me over it)

8) A comment that touched you:

there are people (y’all know who you are) who said y’all are studying my style. I ded of blush.

9) Something that inspired your writing:

by volume of fic drafts that can be blamed on any particular person, the winner is probably @norakwami​

10) Your proudest accomplishment (that one scene; finally finishing that one fic; posting your first fic; etc):

so that longest-story-ever-written record I set in 2007 with the 89.5K story that, till where the firelight fades, was the only story I’d gotten much past 20K?

I broke that fucking record!

and then I deleted the draft of firelight chapter 15 😭

11) Do you have any writing goals for the next year?

I’m starting work on a fantasy novel, a Sleeping Beauty retelling in which I explore (among other things) the economic consequences of the king’s ordering all the spinning wheels burned, and I want to make significant progress on that. and I want to not make my hands any worse; I kind of need those!

(breaking news alert: bodies fucking suck. so does giving yourself repetitive stress injuries in doing one and a half to two people’s worth of work for an organization that was never ever going to pay you more than one person’s worth of pay.)

[milky-mochi]

before you (1) | cyj

genre: nerd! yeonjun, nerd! reader, aged up! yeonjun, college! au, boyfriend! yeonjun

pairing: choi yeonjun x reader

summary: falling in love with choi yeonjun was like breezing through the chapters of a book, with highlights of him bookmarked in your head.

listen to: 🎶 me after you - paul kim 🎶

chapters: intro | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

i. the first meeting

the first time you met choi yeonjun, it was at library club at 18.

the librarian had taken maternity leave and had no one available to take her place. your college, reluctant to hire a replacement, had set up a library club to get volunteers to maintain the library. you loved the library, you loved the librarian, and you loved those credits, so you didn’t think twice when signing up.

choi yeonjun was the first to arrive at the first meeting, arriving twenty minutes early. you had seen him in some of your lectures, and the both of you were known as the overachievers of the school, so you spotted him right away. his thick cream turtleneck was tucked into grey trousers, as his round metal glasses sat proud on the bridge of his nose. he sat by the meeting zone, reading a book bound in leather. when you came closer, you recognised it as one of your favourites.

“hey!” you chirped, setting your bag down in the seat beside him. “you read lori phillips too? she’s brilliant isn’t she?”

temporarily startled, yeonjun panickedly looked up at you. after recognising your face, his lips curled ever so slightly in a tiny smile. he picked his bookmark up from the table and placed it gingerly between the pages. setting the book on his lap, he replied, “yes she is. she’s my favourite author.”

“mine too! in my opinion,” you started, shrugging your coat off, “son of the devil was her best book. the intricacy of the plot was amazing.”

yeonjun cocked his eyebrow. “really? i think cherry bride was her best work. the character development in it was far better than any of her other books.”

“cherry bride was good, but the plot was kinda stagnant.”

“that’s because it’s a character-based story!”

the debate between you and yeonjun soon escalated into an in depth analysis of the author’s famous works. even as more people lingered around the waiting zone for the library club, out of which were people the both of you knew, the discussion continued uninterrupted. it was surprising to you. you had never held a conversation with him before, but the words slipped from your mouth with no effort when you talked to him.

your discussion only hit a break when the head of the english department appeared to give all the volunteers a briefing. with a list in hand, she cleared her throat, beckoning everyone to gather around her.

“thank you everyone for volunteering, everyone. as you know, this will be a student-led initiative. as such, we'll need to elect a president and a vice-president to preside over your duties.

"considering that some of you are fairly new to the proceedings of the library, and that you may not know each other well enough, the president and vice-president will be the two with the highest number of borrowed books from the library. thus, your president will be y/n, and your vice-president will be yeonjun. i now leave you in their capable hands," she finished, handing you a stack of papers and leaving immediately.

both you and yeonjun stood rooted to the ground. sure, the english faculty was notorious for their reluctance towards involvement in extra-curricular affairs, but this was insane. she didn't even give you time to rebut or ask any questions. how the hell did this make sense? how the hell were you supposed to do this?

yeonjun nudged you as he gave you an awkward laugh. everyone turned to look at you expectantly, waiting for a speech, or instructions, or anything a new president would do. wringing your hands, you stood up. “well, uh, this is something,” you laughed, “does anyone have any objections with the whole president thing? any notions of re-election?”

you received no response, apart from blank stares.

“okay then,” you said, eyes darting between the crowd.

yeonjun crossed his arms and leaned against a chair, giving you a look midway between assuring and challenging. clenching your jaw, you straightened your posture. right, you were the it girl. you couldn’t seem incapable in front of the smartest boy in school. you were better than that. “right, here’s how we’re gonna do this.”

“there are fifteen people here, excluding myself and yeonjun. we need eight people for shelving, four people for counter duty, and three for admin processing. group yourselves according to which task you want to do. yeonjun and i will oversee everything. is that okay?”

instead of nods, everyone shuffles to group themselves. yeonjun nods and makes his way over to you. “well, ms president, that was impressive for being thrusted into leadership right from the start.”

“thank you, sir,” you say, giving a mock bow, “i try my best.”

by now, everyone had finished grouping themselves. telling everyone to sign out at 5pm before leaving after their duty, you sent everyone off on their duties.

occasionally, over the first thirty minutes, you would drop by every group to check in on how they were doing and if they needed any help. but eventually, people started getting sick of you. you sighed, leaning against a shelf, and picking out a book to browse through.

“hey y/n, i’m pretty sure people are sick of us checking on them,” yeonjun said, peeking over a bookshelf.

startled, you step back and put a hand over your heart. yeonjun giggled, muttering an apology through his smile. after realising it was him, you giggled too. “you think? they shooed me away like i was an insect or something. like, we’re just trying to do our job, dudes.”

yeonjun laughed. “maybe everyone hates the ‘smart kids’, huh.”

your eyes widened as you registered his words. you’d never expected him to say that, or feel that burden either. you shouldered the label, tried so hard every day to ignore the snide remarks that people gave you for trying your best. for so long, it seemed like it was your pain, and yours alone, because no one else deserved to feel it. it never occured to you that there was someone else suffering too.

with your lack of response, yeonjun panicked. “i’m sorry i didn’t mean to impose i-”

“it’s okay,” you said softly, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “i get you.”

the both of you shared a smile, and it felt like the ghost of the hug both of you needed desperately. but as reality set in, you were acutely aware of your hand, and yeonjun seemed to realise the same thing at the same time. you quickly pulled it away before awkwardly clenching your fist, letting it drop to your side. yeonjun cleared his throat and his eyes darted towards the floor. in order to avoid any more eye contact, he glanced at his watch.

“it’s a quarter to four,” yeonjun said hurriedly, “and there’s nothing left to do. i think it would be okay to leave. are you going home?”

you shook your head. “nope, i have a consultation at six.”

yeonjun’s mouth rounded as he nodded in understanding, though you swore you caught a glint of disappointment in his eyes. at the prospect of that possibly being true, a tiny spark of excitement ignited in your heart, before you chided yourself for it. yet, you couldn’t help yourself from smiling. he was smart, loved lori phillips, and was kinda cute.

“well, we could probably make a move now.”

quickly, as if your body was on autopilot, you snatched a pen from the breast pocket of his coat. retrieving a small post-it from your pocket, you put pen to paper, before handing it to yeonjun.

“here’s my number,” you said. when yeonjun cocked his eyebrow, you felt nervousness brew in your chest. hurriedly, you added, “for like, the club and stuff. in case we need to contact each other.”

flashing another smile, yeonjun nodded, but in a way that made you think he didn’t entirely believed you. “i hope it won’t only be for that, y/n,” he smiled, pocketing your note. “well there’s still an hour before your consultation, you wanna, uh, grab a coffee?”

you smiled to yourself, almost sheepishly enough for you to be embarrassed. “sure!”

“great! then we can discuss how cherry bride was definitely lori phillips’ best book.”

“was not!”

next chapter

[penguiduck]

The Relationship Between Online Readers & Writers: Motivation and Appreciation for Writers: Implementation

Introduction | Part 1: What is this Relationship? | Part 2: Creating Motivation and Appreciation for Readers | Part 3: A Day in the Life of… | Part 4: Creating Motivation and Appreciation for Writers: Perspectives | Part 5: Creating Motivation and Appreciation for Writers: Implementation | Part 6: How to Write the Best Feedback |  Part 7: Where Does This Leave Us?

Previously, I provided some perspective on why writers require feedback and a sense of appreciation. I believe fostering empathy for the writing process is vital in this relationship between readers and writers online, so understanding why it’s important is the first step. In this chapter, I would like to discuss the implementation of how to show your favorite writers appreciation and provide them motivation so they may continue to update the work that you so enjoy. I will mostly be focusing on feedback in the form of comments or reviews, but will mention a few other alternatives.

First, I’d like to provide a quick breakdown of why leaving feedback should matter to you:

1. It’s polite. It’s common courtesy. If someone took time out of their day to provide you with content you enjoy free of charge, then you should take a few minutes to show your gratitude. For more information on why, refer to Chapter 5: Motivation and Appreciation for Writers: Perspectives.

2. If anything, it can only help the writer — as such, this directly benefits you, the reader. Feedback is essential to the writing process. If writers do not receive feedback, they may not feel any incentive to continue writing or, at least, continue posting their work online.

3. This is your currency, your contribution to the online community. One-sided relationships are not healthy or productive. To maximize benefits for both parties, writers and readers, readers must also partake. For more information about currency, please refer to Chapter 2: What Is This Relationship?

With that said, let’s continue with things you can do for writers.

1. Leave feedback. This can come in the form of comments or reviews, notes, or even Facebook chats. The medium doesn’t matter so much, though I have heard from some writers that they prefer their feedback to all be in one place, not only for their reference, but also so that others may see it.

Nevertheless, feedback should be personal, specific, and thoughtful.

When constructing a comment, the content of what you write is important. This is your opportunity to show how much you appreciate and admire a writer’s work. You’ve probably heard of the age-old adage “quality over quantity,” and it applies here. Receiving a comment that says “Great! I love this!” or “I like this! Excited for next update!” is nice, but these comments don’t really tell the writer anything. For all they know, these comments could be copied and pasted from one source to the next — there isn’t any evidence in generic comments that readers have even read your work.

Think about something that you love, a hobby perhaps.

Let’s say you’re an artist, and two viewers leave comments on your work:

a) Pretty! Love seeing your work!

b) Oh, wow! Your art is breathtaking. I really love the vibrant colors you use to paint the background. Your characters always have the most expressive eyes — they’re like a portal to the soul. You clearly put a lot of love and effort into this, and it shows.

Which one would more likely motivate you to paint again? See what I mean?

Or, let’s assume that you’re a dancer. You have a performance, and two friends say:

a) That was great!

b) Your performance was amazing. I thought you were absolutely stunning in that dress, and your music selection is spot-on — it really matches your personality. I’d love the opportunity to see your next performance!

Which one would more likely give you warm fuzzies?

All options above took me less than a minute to type, which is far less time than a writer would spend on creating content for you. I encourage you to put yourself in the writer’s shoes when providing feedback. If all you provide are generic comments, do you think writers feel special at all?

How often should you leave feedback? Well, that depends. If the writer updates often, as in multiple times a week, perhaps a comment every other or every few chapters would suffice — I’m sure you are busy, to0, after all, and while I very much appreciate and enjoy reading all comments (they are always so nice to open my email to!), I don’t expect them every update. Then again, if you tend to leave shorter comments that take you no more than two or three minutes to compose, could it really hurt to brighten a writer’s day? If the writer updates less often, once per month, perhaps, then I think it’s good practice to leave a comment each time.

Consider this: I have a fuel tank for my inspiration when it comes to writing. I can run on a near-empty tank, but it’s difficult for me to do, and I struggle with creating content. It’s far easier for me to write and put out quality work when my inspiration tank is full. Every piece of feedback I receive fills it with a certain amount of inspiration.

A quick “Hey, this is really great! Every time you update, I get so giddy!” perhaps adds one measurement of inspiration.

A more detailed “Wow, I liked how you wrote [character name] in that scene — it was spot on! I feel like his personality is so hard to get right, but you really nailed that thought process. His interaction with [character name] really proves that he’s a lot softer than most people think he is!” perhaps adds three to four measurements of inspiration.

Then, a thoughtful “You know, I’m always so impressed with your depiction of [character name]. The cogs in his mind are always turning, and he’s so introspective. I felt that you captured his strategic disposition well here, and I’m eager to see how he’s going to use this newfound information to approach [character name]. I would think that he’d be a little more soft-spoken, though I’m also eager to see him kind of angry and protective. Looking forward to your next update! Your writing is always a treat to read!” could add ten measurements of inspiration.

Ultimately, readers should provide feedback as often as they’d like, knowing that each comment contributes to that inspirational fuel tank for their writers in varying degrees. If you want high quality, muse-filled updates, this feedback is absolutely essential to contributing to that process. This is why writers ask for feedback and are overjoyed to receive it — it is a precious resource that can only come from their dear readers.

One struggle I often hear from readers is that while they appreciate and enjoy my work, they don’t know what to say. But fear not! In the next chapter, I will go into detail on how to write these personal, specific, and thoughtful comments.

2. Leave likes, kudos, loves, whatever the medium of approval is. I would argue this is bare minimum, equivalent to a “Thank you. I like this.” If you received any amount of enjoyment from someone’s hard-wrought work, you owe them this. It is literally a click of the button and will take a fraction of a second.

I’ve seen notes from readers who say that they will never leave a kudo on AO3 content unless the work is finished. This thought process is asinine. I would compare this to you volunteering to help paint a friend’s house over a few days. You offer your labor free of charge, from the kindness of your heart, and your friend refuses to say thank you, buy you lunch, give you refreshments during the week. “I’ll only show you gratitude when you’re finished,” your friend says. This is toxic relationship. DO NOT do this. Give your writers the appreciation they deserve while they are hard at work, not just when they’ve finished. Do not be so emotionally deprived that you refuse to perform a simple task that can only make writers feel good about themselves and their work.

3. Bookmark, subscribe, and follow on social media. While this isn’t direct feedback, per se, each of these adds to a metric and can grant your favorite writer a following.

I normally wouldn’t say that bookmarks show appreciation because they’re more for the reader’s benefit that the writer’s, but I will say that I’ve seen some comments written on bookmarks on my works on AO3 that have really made me smile. Subscribing, again, is more for the benefit of the reader. However, adding to that number does denote a certain level of popularity for that piece of writing. Following your favorite writers on social media is much the same.

4. Fanart. If you are creatively minded, then perhaps you’d like to express your appreciation through artistic means. This goes without saying, but sending a writer a piece of art inspired by their work is flattering. 10/10 will give warm fuzzies. For me, I always welcome fanart and am thrilled to receive it.

5. Word of mouth and referrals. Market your writer’s content for them. You can tell your friends about it or recommend it via social media. It’s always wonderful to hear when new readers find and enjoy your work, and it’s the ultimate compliment, knowing that another reader referred them. If a writer has a Tumblr or Twitter, follow them and reblog or retweet their updates. I think this is a phenomenal way to show that you appreciate them and the hard work they put into their writing.

Of course, these are just a few ways for readers to express appreciation and motivate their favorite writers. If you have any other suggestions or practices, please feel free to leave a comment!

Next up is a tutorial on how to write quality comments. Stay tuned!

Also posted on AO3.