#Writer AU

[hunnylagoon]

Take Me to War

PT1 Friendly Fire

Streamer! Ellie Williams x reader

A writer, I think is someone who pays attention to the world. We are observers, it is in our nature to be off-putting and turn shallow things deep.

Premise: Your neighbour is becoming increasingly loud and you decide to do something about it.

PT 2 Here!

Two things I hate the most?

My neighbour and New York City.

They shared something in common, they never rest. I liked my quiet life in my small town until I was convinced that all of the greatest writers lived in the city, what a joke. I sold my virtue to move to New York and now my body burned with the shame of not belonging.

I worked as a journalist and in advertisement but it didn't fill the gaping mass that consumed me, I felt like a sellout so I quit to do freelance, and now I feel like even more of a sellout. Freelance is making me think that I hate ghostwriting more than I hate my neighbour and New York City.

It's like you do all of the work and get zero reward but I'm desperate to pay the bills and all that stuff I've been telling myself all my life 'I may never be a rich man but the rich man will never have me' well, the rich man most certainly had me. I was paid an almost criminal amount of money to pour my soul into art just for it to get stamped beneath a new name and make a gross income six times the size of what I sold it for.

I look for happiness everywhere but I do not find it. I search for it in things everyone seems to pry joy from; I go clubbing, walk in Central Park, and date around, but happiness doesn't seem to exist there for me.

I plead for it in my morning cups of tea with a spoonful of honey, the sunshine glittering in a puddle after a rainstorm, for a brief moment, it flickers in the light of my cinnamon-scented candle. The truth is I am almost comforted by my sadness and it is in my lowest moments that my creations are the most beautiful, it is like I am dead and I despise those who aren't for I enjoy the company of my silence more than anyone I have ever met.

It was my dream for my name to be above 'New York Times Best Selling Author' but instead, it is just my work beneath it and maybe that's why I'm so bitter.

Right now as I am trying to salvage the bits and pieces I was given by a washed-up pop star for her memoir my neighbour is screaming and laughing incoherently in their apartment, it makes me miss living in an actual house.

The noise usually started up when I would finish up my writing and get ready for bed, then it would go all the way through the night. The dumb fucker probably threw parties every single night; my roommate never faced an issue with this as she worked at a club and was usually working when the deafening noises would begin.

I on the other hand who lived in that apartment and worked from that apartment was always cursed to listen to the random thumps and spats of laughter that sounded all through the night. At least once a night when I'm sound asleep, I hear a bang against the wall and each time without fail, I'm brought awake with my heart thumping.

Trust me, I have retaliated.

On occasion when I'm sleep-deprived and at my absolute limit I'll bang on the walls, that only stops the noise for a minute. I've even complained to my landlord and that one week was heaven until it eased back to the clamour that I've almost grown used to.

Almost.

I still hate it.

I'm broken from my thoughts when my phone rings, it vibrates till it's almost at the edge of my desk and I feel for it; don't worry buddy, I wanna jump too. I read the caller ID and I almost wanted to gag, it was a woman from the publishing company who reached out to me and asked me to write Nicole Elliot's novel. Despite wanting to throw my phone against the wall to stop Noemi's constant checkups and get back at my neighbour while I'm at it, I answer the phone "Hey, Noemi!" I glance out the window where the winter sun has long set, leaving nothing but billboards, street lamps and neon signs to light up the New York night. Under the unforgiving lights I can barely make out the gentle snowfall.

"Hey," She draws it out and I can hear in her voice that she is smiling "I know it's a little late, just checking in, how is the draft coming along?" A loud thump sounds against my wall along with intolerant cackling "What's that?"

"Just some street noise," I dismiss "Anyways, the draft is coming along great, I'm a couple thousand words away from finishing it. I will of course send it to you and I would really love it if you could reach out to Nicole and ask for her opinion on it before I carry on with the final copy," I give a middle finger to my wall, even if my neighbour can't see me, it makes me feel a little bit more formidable "I did follow her outline, which was difficult but I think I salvaged it pretty well."

This time there is a yelp from my neighbour and what sounds like someone slamming their hands down onto a table, Noemi thankfully ignores it "You haven't been in touch with Nicole?"

My eyebrows furrow "She hasn't responded to any of my emails and she's been turning down all of our scheduled Zoom calls, so no, I have not been in touch with her."

"Weird," Noemi comments and there is a brief break of silence between us "She's been M.I.A on our end too," I could hear her scribble something down. "So can you get the draft to me by Friday?"

Two days? If I lock myself inside and don't see the sun then I totally can "Absolutely!" I do work better under a deadline.

"Great," She sounds almost relieved "We will hunt down Nicole, it would be nice to get her greenlight with this but whether or not she approves it, she has already signed off and it will be going to print."

"Okay," I fight the urge to respond with 'sick' or 'aight' because I'm an adult now and someone who is masquerading as a professional.

"Sorry, what was that you mentioned about an outline?" Noemi asks, she sounds more confused with each word "I wasn't aware Nicole made any-

She is swiftly cut off by a crash from the other side of my wall, when I say crash I mean it. It sounded like someone just bodied their car into drywall. My eyes went wide as I saw a crack splitting up my once pristine white wall. I hold my phone against my collarbone as I get up and pound my fist against the wall, giving it a kick for extra measure.

"Is everything alright?"

"Certainly," The nice thing about phone calls is that the person on the other end can't see your awkward habits or subtle outbursts (Or neighbours breaking through your shared wall). After I hit the wall, everything went silent for just a second before laughter sounded heavily from multiple people. "Noemi, thank you for sourcing me out to write this, I am really grateful for this opportunity I will send you that draft on Friday." I try to wrap up the call but she speaks up.

"Well, I've read your work and I was very impressed, I trust you will do well with this. Sorry to have called you so late-

"Thanks, have a nice night now!" I'm talking faster than I can even think, the only thing in my head is the fact that my neighbour is slowly deteriorating my wall.

"Wait-

Before Noemi can finish her sentence, I've hung up the phone. I'm leaning back in my cushy office chair, hands gripping my hair as I stare down the newly formed crack in the wall. I don't entirely like to be confrontational, even in school I hated drama, but I was beginning to think it was necessary.

I saved the progress I had made on the memoir and pushed myself up from my desk. I was clad in nothing more than a t-shirt and some plaid pants, it was my writing attire and in the moment I didn't care much to make a good first impression. It was fucking freezing the second I got up from my desk.

The moulding on my bedroom window was broken which allowed the frigid New York air to slip into my room and make me shiver with each breath. At my desk, I would usually have a throw blanket to shroud my freezing body but the moment I discarded it, I felt regret. I almost wanted to wrap myself in it to confront my neighbour but the pyjamas alone didn't help me look tough.

I did however shove my feet into some cow slippers and march right up to their apartment.

Apartment 2D stood in front of me, the pastel blue door making me angrier with every second that I looked at it. I rapped my knuckles on the wood and crossed my arms to stop me from shuddering.

My nerves built up as I slowly heard a door within the apartment shut followed by footsteps leading to the door. I would just ask them politely to quiet down and calmly work on a way to fix the shared wall that they are slowly ruining.

The door opens and staring me down is a woman. I had expected it to be a man to be truthful. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, the colour teetered on the verge of auburn and brown. The woman is clad in a black tank top and grey sweatpants, it's almost parallel to my outfit.

"You need to be quiet," I say the first words that come to mind "And stop assaulting my fucking wall."

She sucks a sharp breath through her teeth "Are you apartment 3D?" She asks to which I nod "I knew you would be stopping by soon." She has this sheepish and almost sardonic smile on her face and despite the amusement she's portraying I can see sadness brewing in her green eyes like a storm.

"I don't know what you're doing in there where you are up all night, I don't even have a clue how you sleep and work with all this time to spare to be a nuisance." I say and then swiftly feel the urge to backtrack "I'm sorry, that was a little rude, but mate, I can't sleep or work when you're being loud doing whatever you do."

"Fuck," She mutters looking back into her apartment and then at me "I'm sorry, I'll keep it down."

"What about the wall?"

Her eyes look me up and down, settling on my cow slippers "I'll find someone to fix the wall."

I press my lips tight together, looking dead into her eyes, scraping my brain for something else to say. It was almost like I wanted to fight. I had expected this to be a full-out conversation that ended in yelling but god she was pretty and she was telling me just what I wanted. "Okay."

"Okay?"

I regard her once more with what I assume is a cold glare before ushering back into my apartment and slamming the door behind me, the whole time, my neighbour watches me from her doorway.

That was the first night of uninterrupted sleep I'd had in a month.

-

I woke up earlier than I would've liked when my roommate Margot came home from work at 4:56 on the dot. She made sure to slam every single door and cupboard before throwing herself onto her bed in all of her makeup and musty clothes that had to endure whatever happens at a nightclub between the hours of 8 pm and 4 am, which I can't imagine is very clean.

Still, even though I was a little ahead of schedule I fell into my morning routine. It started with ignoring my phone, this was followed by a mug of Bengal spice tea with a teaspoon of honey and a splash of cream.

Sometimes I would curl up on the couch, though it snowed last night and I loved fresh snow. Freshly fallen snow absorbed sound, it was like soundproofing for the earth. There wasn't anything like the rare peace you could find in New York. I figured I would have my morning tea on the fire escape.

My peaceful image was destroyed the second I pried my window open and crawled through I was hit with the intense smell of pot. "Shit," I mutter, instinctively wafting the scent away from my nose.

"Sorry, man," I see my neighbour leaning against the railing of the fire escape, nursing a joint. It hadn't crossed my mind that I shared a level of the fire escape with her, I had never seen her out here but now the smell of weed that drifted through the damaged moulding on my window made sense, I had always assumed it to be Margot.

"Joint for breakfast?" I ask, half-joking. A dusting of powdery snow adorns each step and railing, creating a delicate layer of white that contrasts with the industrial gray of the metal though it looks like my neighbour has pushed all of the snow off the platform.

"Nah, for dinner I guess, it helps me sleep," She's in the same outfit from last night, except her hair is now loose around her face and she threw a hoodie over her tanktop.

I furrow my eyebrows "You've been up all night?" The slight tension from the previous night has dissolved completely.

"Yeah," She says it like it was a stupid question and it partially was but I hadn't stayed up that late since New Year only because I was the designated driver and was in charge of getting everyone home safe. "I don't sleep much, that's probably why I keep you up all night."

I mean, I'd let her keep me up in other ways "Honestly, I've gotten used to it, it's almost like white noise." I try to sympathize even if it isn’t necessarily true.

"Next time I'm loud, you have every right to bang on my door and chew me out." She takes a drag from her joint and I watch as the smoke escapes her lips, her cheeks tinted pink from the cold.

"Good to know," I glance behind her at the open window and all I see are purple LED lights cutting through the darkness of her apartment. "Now I know that we share a fire escape I'll just crawl through your window and yell at you that way," I joke, taking a sip from my snoopy mug.

This makes her laugh in the slightest, she crushes what remains of her joint on the cold railing and tosses the bud into the pot of a dead plant that's covered in snow and has lived on this fire escape long before I moved in; one time I just about removed it but I felt bad, it's like I was evicting it from its rightful home "Feel free."

"Am I allowed to ask why you're up all night breaking the sound barriers?" I ask, pulling my fuzzy robe tighter around my body to fight the bitter air. "Are you the leader of a cult? Would it be better for the world in the long run if I push you right now?"

The corners of her lips curl up into a smile once again "You've figured me out, just know I've got some big plans with Koolaid," She plays into my teasing.

"It was flavour-aid, actually." I don't know why I said that.

"What the fuck is flavour-aid?"

"Koolaid basically," Silence stretches between us "So what do you actually do all night?"

"It's a bit complicated," She says, of course, it was complicated. "I work from home," She couldn't do something normal, she probably did voice acting or ran a podcast or some weird shit like that.

"Sick," Don't worry, I made myself cringe when I said that too "I work from home too."

"Yeah, you said something about work last night, are you in marketing?"

I shake my head "I'm a writer," every time I tell someone that, I feel a twinge of embarrassment. I know it wasn't a noble career like my parents had hounded me over, but it felt noble to me. I had two absent parents and was raised by a pack of wolves, I would devour as much food as fast as I could because I didn't know when I would be eating next. I was far too emotional to be around all of the narcissists who preferred their own faces to my company, the only friend I had was the written word.

Since then I have been serving my soul up to strangers through word documents.

The thought makes me homesick for the arms that did not hold me and I truly expect my neighbour to make a mockery of me, the way others have. The way they've told me 'It's a tough industry but hang in there!' and pat me on the back like I'm a hopeful child clinging to her mother's skirts.

"That's really cool," She smiles while she gazes out to the skyline, I can see her perfect side profile and ski-slope nose "I wanted to be a writer, I thought myself to be a poet, and then I thought myself to be a scientist and wanted to be an astronaut. Now, I'm here."

"Where's here exactly?"

"Working things out, figure it out as I go," She shrugs like she is unsure of her answer.

I think it's beautiful how everything around me has been touched by human hands and carries so much history. For a quick moment, my mind wonders to those who built this building, the calloused hands that crafted the iron railing and now my neighbour who was leaning against it. "What's the end goal with this whole freefall thing?"

"To make it out alive."

"And your name?"

"It's Ellie."

-

That night Ellie stuck to being quiet as she promised. The next night was a different story. I was so close to finishing the draft of Nicole Elliot's memoir and was praying that the deadline would pass with no issue.

However, the noise began again. I was coming around to like Ellie and I didn't want to go yell at her again so I shoved my headphones in and turned up my playlist as loud as I could. There is no song I can blast in my headphones to drown it out.

She did say that the next time I was loud I could come and chew her out, I wouldn't do that; I would just knock on her door and quickly tell her that she was being too loud, and then we would both carry on with our respective work.

I stopped in front of the smooth door and raised my hand to knock. Ellie slips the door open just a crack, when she sees that it's me she opens the door. "Hey, Ellie."

"Hello," She smiles "To what do I owe the pleasure?" She had a very nice smile.

We both know the circumstances of my visit but I spell it out anyway "Dude, you're way too loud, it's disruptive and I'm working under a deadline."

"I know, I'm sorry." She looks genuinely apologetic.

"I don't know any office job that needs you to scream for hours on end," Alright, that blows what could've been a simple visit where she apologizes and I leave, I always had to add on.

"Right, sorry," She carries herself with so much confidence that it is like she is wearing armour made of gold though she has these subtle awkward tendencies of someone who has never been loved and was forced to improvise. "It's hard to explain,"

"Yeah, you've said-

"Do you wanna come and see?"

I'm taken a little aback and for a minute I think this is all a ploy for Ellie to lock me in her her apartment and kill me because she is sick of her neighbour banging on her door "What?"

"Well, you've asked a couple of times and if you have a minute I can show you."

I pause, mauling over her proposal. I think of my laptop on my spruce desk, open to the final pages of the memoir and I make up my mind "Alright, just not too long."

"If you say so," Ellie opens the door wider for me to move past her and then shuts it behind us.

Ellie's apartment is what I had expected from her even though it is surprisingly nice. She has a large L-shaped sofa in the living room adorned with throw blankets and pillows and a huge flatscreen with a coffee table in front of it. The layout is exactly like mine but inverted, her open kitchen has some odd knick-knacks that looked like they belonged on an Amazon must-haves list.

I don't go into her bathroom and the door leading to one of the rooms (What is equivalent to Margot's bedroom) is shut. The apartment itself is pretty sparse aside from little bits and pieces as she only moved in a month prior.

On the left side, I see that purple LED spilling out of what I assume to be her bedroom.

She walks in ahead of me and the second I follow in after her there is one question I have to ask "Ellie, are you a porn-star?" There are entirely too many computers in here. Her desk is set up with one of those fancy triple-screen PCs and she has a laptop placed seemingly randomly on a white loveseat that's pressed against the right wall.

There is one of those galaxy lamps that projects that trippy shit onto your walls and ceiling. The screen of her PC is facing our shared wall and I can see a huge hole where I assume that a loud crash from the other night occurred. Plastered all over the walls are posters from video games and movies, many of which I hadn't seen.

"What?" She sounds nearly offended "No," she grabs a folding chair from the corner of the room and unfolds it beside her black florid office chair. She sits on the folding chair and motions for me to sit in the office chair. "Come, sit."

I hesitantly sit in the chair "Are you going to attack me now?" I ask, getting defensive for no particular reason other than it was in my nature "Because I've read The Outsiders and I'm pretty sure I can fight."

She chuckles "I'm not gonna fight you."

"Because I'd win?"

She furrows her eyebrows but has this look of amusement on her face "Yeah, definitely."

"So what is this?" I motion around at all of her equipment.

Ellie puts one earbud in then hand me the other "Chat," She says, looking dead at the camera clipped onto her PC "This is my neighbour who came to yell at me for being annoying, she has every right."

"Who are you talking to?"

"I'm streaming," She said, clicking something on the screen so it changed, instead showing Ellie and I in front of the camera, I looked absolutely lost next to a rolling chat bar full of jokes that I didn't understand and people saying hello to me.

"So I was right," I turn my attention to Ellie "You are an internet person."

"Yeah, I'm an internet person but you weren't right, I don't do porn."

"Not yet," I shrug "Times are desperate," To this, the chats come in even faster than before. "So do you just sit here all night and scream at people?"

"I play video games and do challenges, sometimes I do just sit here and scream at them."

"That makes so much sense," I say "If there's any job that needs you to be obnoxiously loud and annoying, it's a youtube personality."

"Okay, well-

"So you're like Logan Paul?"

Her eyes go wide "No-

"What explains why your eyes are so bloodshot."

"You are a writer," She says it like it's a fact I wasn't aware of "You are in no place to judge, you probably spend as much time in front of a screen as me."

I nod "I hate to say you're right," My attention shifts to the hole behind me "Can you explain how playing video games put a hole through the wall?"

Ellie looks almost embarrassed, she doesn't say anything in response, instead, she just clicks something to screen share with us in a little box in the corner and then goes into YouTube. She types in 'Ellie Williams falls through wall' My eyebrows furrow as I read it, and she clicks the first video that pops up.

The video starts off strong; Ellie is cackling at something that her friend off-camera is saying, her friend then makes a comment that makes her laugh even harder and she throws herself back in her chair. This act breaks it, you can hear the chair snap beneath the pressure and Ellie just lets it happen as the chair crashes against the wall. Her eyes go wide when she realizes she's just put a massive hole into the wall and seconds later you can hear me on the other side banging my hands on the wall. Her eyes go wide and she stares at her friend off-camera, all of the laughter stops abruptly before her friend can't hold it in anymore and erupts in chortles, and the video cuts off.

My hand flies over my mouth to fight back the laughter I so badly want to let out. Ellie and I sit wordlessly, the only sound being donations on the screen and my giggles slipping through. Eventually, I manage to compose myself and look to Ellie, I don't have much to say except for "Oh my god."

A/N: Streamer! Ellie won the poll so here we are. As I was drafting out the other chapters for When I Was Your Girl, I decided that it is most likely to be discontinued unless I do a rewrite which will not be in the near future. I’m not rocking with the plot and there was a lot of mixed feedback, sorry if you were invested I guess, but you have this series to be invested in now!

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: Big Name Feelings

FANDOM AU! • Crowley is a BNF fic writer, and Aziraphale is a lurking artist who might be just a little parasocially in love with him. How they ever became friends is beyond him, but here they are: One month out from Prophet Con, and Crowley is asking him to be his boyfriend. Just for the weekend, of course.

Length: 103,997 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit / Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥

Best for: Safe in Public, Human AU, Slow Burn, Fake Relationship, Pick-me-up

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by ghostrat

*Minor Spoilers* It's here! The finale of one of the most entertaining and immersive fanworks that I have ever experienced is finally upon us! I feel like most of you who follow me here are aware of this fanfic or have read it. However, for those who haven't or might come across this post later: I'm begging you to read this one. Buckle up; it's a long post today.

So, if you're not aware, this fanfic involves writer Crowley and fan artist Aziraphale. Crowley, being ace, seeks a boyfriend to shield him from unwanted attention during an upcoming convention. Aziraphale, smitten, agrees to be the fake boyfriend. This Arrangement is sure to work out exactly as planned!

Every one of the author's stories feels cinematic to me. The worlds are always so real and immersive, but this one, in particular, will have you feeling like you're actually watching the story unfold in real life. Some of that is achieved through embedded media like chats, artwork, and Tumblr posts, bringing a sense of reality to these conversations. The rest comes from really rich prose. You'll flow through it very easily, yet deeply.

The use of fandom and a convention as the backdrop for this fic was, to be honest, genius. I've seen attempts before, but none captured the spirit quite like this one. The fandom lore for The Nice and Accurate Prophecy (the in-universe fandom they're in) was rich enough for us to fully grasp the shape and feel of why they loved it so much, yet it never impedes the ongoing story. This story perfectly captured what it's like to be a fan: how friendships develop, how ideas and fan theories are freely discussed, the passion for a shared topic. The con, in particular, will fill anyone who has ever attended a fan convention with a strong dose of nostalgia and love. Oh, and having them in their 50s? Thank you! There is no age limit to fandom!

Having Aziraphale as the artist and Crowley the writer was not the most obvious choice, but it's one that worked amazingly well for the story! Crowley struggles with words and expressing his feelings in real life. However, in stories, he can build his own world and express whatever emotions are on his mind. Aziraphale, who does not wish to draw attention to himself in real life, expresses himself through his bold and beautiful artwork. His specialization in traditional, physical artwork is so fitting for him, though he's not unwilling to try new tech. There is a scene where they stumble upon some street art that Aziraphale had done. I teared up at that scene, and it's not even angsty! Just the casualness of it, how it's not Aziraphale but Crowley who boldly leads them to it, how Aziraphale doesn't sing his own praises. He's not self-deprecating, but he doesn't celebrate his work. He's still learning that he has value that's worth celebrating. At least now he has Crowley to teach him to be proud of himself.

They are both beautifully written characters. It's a real testament to the skill of the author to bring these characters into such a different reality and have them be unmistakably Aziraphale and Crowley. Sure, they're updated for the time and setting, but their souls are still the angel and demon we know and love. This setting is an amazing way to explore the different sides of their personalities. Crowley's asexuality, in particular, was one of the best depictions I've ever read. It brought a new level of understanding to me, and I'm sure many of you will feel a kinship with him. Really pay attention to what's being said here, there's some really deep and insightful passages that are worth analyzing. Like this moment, which may have been a subconscious thought, but again speaks to how deeply the author understands the characters.

This was such an amazing experience as a fan. I've never had a fic feel like this much of an event before. Every chapter drop was so exciting; I never knew what exactly to expect. And now, with the end being over 100k words?? Where did that word count come from! That's insane! I'm sad to leave this iteration, but I'm so excited for what's to come next. So please, if you haven't read this, give it a try. It's such a impressive work, so much time and effort was put into this and you can tell. It's not only a love letter to Good Omens, but one to fandom and fanspaces as well. Thank you, thank you, thank you for this journey

There are some explicit scenes towards the end, but they are all marked and skippable, so I'd say you're perfectly fine reading this in public.

Edit from after actually seeing the finale: no I’m not tearing up it’s just really dusty in this room. I’m being so normal rn 🥹🥹🥹

Read it here, fic by ghostrat

[r4wrx0]

Writer newt they will never take you away from me

[crazyoffher]

ETERNAL BLUE.

warnings: nightmares, sarcastic commentary.

-

The night was gloomy, and window blinds were open to try and illuminate some light in the dark room, but only a light gleam from the moon shined through, barely enough for you to make out Jenna’s body some days. 

Every night you’d go to sleep safe and sound in the arms of your wonderful girlfriend, and you’d never have any interruptions in the night, always waking up in the light of day to her humming a tune rather loudly in the shower. This night, however, was different.

You shot up, sweat coating the collar of your shirt, your entire neck, and your forehead. You panted hard, as if all of the wind had been knocked out of you, and you knew exactly why you were like this at 3:25 in the morning.

You had a nightmare, easy. They never happened when you were sleeping in the presence of Jenna, though, and it confused you just as much as it confused the shorter girl feeling you jump out of her arms in shock.

“Holy sh- (Y/N), are you okay?” She shot up as fast as you did to meet your level, her brown eyes darting all around your sweating figure. Her hand found it’s way to your back, disregarding the dampness of your shirt and rubbing in circles to comfort you. Your breathing was still irregular, your mouth agape as you turned to her, giving her a small smile.

“I’m doing spectacular. Why do you ask?”

Her hand left your back and joined her other hand in pushing you aside—almost off the bed at that. “Now is not the time to make jokes! What the fuck happened?” Concern was written all over her tone and face, and you felt a little bad at your joke.

“I have nightmares, duh.” She pushed you again, this time leaving you to fall off the bed and have the wind knocked out of you… again. Jenna mumbled an apology before pulling you up and pushing you back on the bed.

“You have nightmares?” You nodded, biting your lip and wiping away the sweat beads that sat on your forehead. “Have they always been there? (Y/N), we’ve been dating for almost a year now; why haven’t you told me?”

“I never wanted to worry you. You’re always busy with work, and I didn’t want to add any more stress.” You wiped the sweat off your palms before taking her hand and interlocking your fingers together, bringing your hand up to kiss the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, ba-”

“What are they about?”

“Hmmmmm?” You darted your head forward, dragging out your words, and Jenna pushed your head back. “Answer me.”

“It varies.”

“And what are the varieties?”

“Well...” You bit your lip once more, chewing on it slightly while you found the right words. Despite pressing you, Jenna remained patient as you collected your thoughts.

“Some of them have to do with Jonathan and some of them with my dad.” Jonathan was your ex-boyfriend who did things that a normal boyfriend wouldn’t do to you, and your dad wasn’t the best guy growing up, leaving you with permanent scars and more bruises than you could count during your teenage years. Jonathan was long gone in prison, your dad was dead, and the only way they could now haunt you was when you were asleep.

You hated it.

“I take medication for it, but it doesn’t always work. And now that I’m thinking back, I might have forgotten to take it earlier.” Your hands roamed your sweaty hair, pushing it back before falling back on the bed. Your arms sprawled out while Jenna eyed you with sympathy.

“You want to talk about it in the morning?” You nodded. Jenna got up, making her way to your shared closet before pulling out a shirt, shorts, and underwear and setting them in your lap. “Take a shower; you’re sweating like a maniac.”

You barked out a laugh despite the conflict in your mind, taking the clothes she handed you and giving your girlfriend a gentle kiss before heading for the bathroom. Jenna wasted her time scrolling through Instagram, her fingers creating a mind of their own, and scrolling through your account. She’d gleam at the pictures you’d post of you and her whenever you were together.

It was when you came back that she shut off her phone, immediately taking you into her arms despite your damp figure and burying her face into your shoulder. Her hand repeated the same motion as earlier, rubbing soothing circles on your back and humming a song that she knew was your favorite. Before she could process it, she could hear the soft snores that you’d generate whenever you were in a content slumber.

She didn’t wait too long before allowing the darkness to take her, her hands gripping your figure softly but firmly, as if she were afraid that something or someone would take you. But you were hers; she knew that, and she’d comfort you any day of the week if it made you content and happy. Because that’s what girlfriends do—they love you.

☟ ☟ ☟

taglist: @grandpatrolnut @annalestern @jennas-10 @rhythm-catsandwine @yara124 @daryldixonsw1fe @alexkolax @red1culous @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @n0vabug @idkwimdtbh

[pascaloverx]

Sweet Love

Summary: You're an up-and-coming writer, congratulations. To protect your beloved job, you're willing to do anything. Even strike a deal with the devil, better known as your sister's neighbor. You and Dean Winchester don't really see eye to eye, but in a moment of desperation, you agree to collaborate with him for a greater good.

Author's Notes: Many characters do not belong to me but to the Supernatural Universe (2005-2020). I hope you enjoy the fanfic's story. The fanfic will contain strong language and future adult content.

preview chapter two

CHAPTER ONE

You never imagined yourself knocking on Dean Winchester's door. I mean, you don't count having had dreams about him that involved you getting to know each other intimately. But going to his apartment to ask for help wasn't in your plans.

"I need you." You say softly as if telling someone a secret. Maybe your speech sounds like a whisper. Dean's obviously not hearing you properly, because he's humming Livin' On A Prayer as the song plays inside his apartment at full volume.

"What?" Dean says almost shouting as he looks me up and down. He looks confused like he doesn't hear you at all. You then decide to do something. You approach Dean almost seductively and say close to his ear that he won't regret it if he turns down the volume.

"Does your sister know you're here trying to get me into bed?" Dean asks as he turns off the music that was playing. Nothing against Bon Jovi, but seeing Dean turn off the sound for thinking he's going to sleep with you kind of lifts your spirits.

"If I were going to let you fuck me, I wouldn't ask my sister's opinion. I don't think you ask Sam's opinion when you decide to have sex." You speak while still standing, hoping that Dean will notice that he is only in his underwear and change into more decent clothes.

"You come over to my house, make me turn off my music and now I've suggested that I ask my brother if I can have sex. This conversation seems better by the minute." Dean speaks clearly enjoying this moment. You end up looking at his body from top to bottom but as soon as he notices, you turn to face the door.

"I need your help." You say while avoiding looking at Dean. He might have noticed, since he put on some pants. Not that you watched him put it on.

"With what?" Dean asks as you turn to face him. He put on his pants but is still shirtless. But now is not the time for you to notice these things. Even though his body is...

"I need to write steamy scenes in my book. But I just can't do it. It's like I can't think of anything sexy and I need to get this book published soon." The words coming out of your mouth don't seem to fully fit together. I mean, what is wrong with you that you would look to Dean Winchester for help?

"And what do I gain? Helping you will take up a lot of my free time, you know..." He seems too convinced, as if his ego could fill the air in the entire apartment.

"Free time? You mean wasted time. You've been living off your rich mother for I don't know how long. And I intend to pay you for the consultancy." You say everything with a certain pretentiousness in your tone of voice. Somehow, Dean Winchester brought out the worst in you.

"Do you think that just because I have a rich mother my life is easy?" Dean says, getting even closer to you, getting so close that you could smell his perfume invade your nostrils. In fact, Dean Winchester smells like men's perfume and sex.

"I think. Maybe it's not the easiest thing for you but it seems easy. So do it as an personal fulfillment, do it for the money, do it to show your mother that you are more than her son." You say feeling a heavy conscience as you realize that maybe you were rude to Dean, maybe even a little unfair.

"Nice attempt to manipulate me. I'm going to deny the offer and urgently ask you to leave my apartment. I'm accompanied and my visitor should be waiting for me in the room. So there's less you want to insult me ​​more or join me and my visit, I suggest you go to your apartment." Dean looks offended, maybe a little irritated. You look at him a little regretfully.

"I'm sorry if I seemed rude. But I would really like your help and I'm willing to give you whatever you want." You say, desperately trying to appeal to the side you know exists within Dean. He might not even notice, but claiming you're willing to give him whatever he wants is just a lure to make him interested. At least that's what you tell yourself. But it doesn't seem to work, he closes the door just as you're about to cross the hallway that separates his apartment from your sister's. What a disaster, now you'll have to stop being a writer and move on to a new field. You can't live forever with your sister.

"Be in my apartment later. Let's start working on your book. And I'll decide what I get for the help I'm giving you. As you said yourself, you'll give me whatever I want." Dean says as he opens the door to his apartment while you open the door to your sister's apartment. You immediately turn around and hug him. Without any explanation, your first instinct was to run into his arms. And you only realize how strange that is when you see the half-naked woman coming out of Dean's bedroom and staring at the two of you hugging at the door.

"See you later, buddy." You say, giving Dean Winchester a slightly friendly punch on the arm so that his visitor doesn't find it so bizarre for him to be hugging you at the door. He looks at you as if you've lost your mind, and then you quickly leave, entering your sister's apartment, hoping that the partnership with Dean Winchester is a good idea.

[diva-calderu]

Stiles Stilinski x Derek Hale

Artist x Writer AU

For @whitewiccan

[miraculousfanworks]

Writing Prompt: Unorthodox Applications of Ancient Wisdom

Set about 5-6 years after Marinette and Adrien first received their Miraculous. They're approximately nineteen and twenty and their friends are all super into a popular sci-fi book series. The fourth book is about to be published (everyone always talks about how prolific the author is and assumes they have to have a ghostwriter. There's even talk of a film or television series. Alya has another blog that's dedicated to the mystery of the identity of the author because as popular as the books are, no one has a clue as to their identity. Scientists and historians are very interested in the author's identity as well because the book is hailed as the most scientifically and historically accurate science fiction that they've ever read.

...the author is Plagg writing about his greatest hits. He eventually comes clean to Adrien and Adrien has to pretend that he's the one who has been writing the books the whole time and he was just trying to stay under the radar and get published without his name attached just to see if he could.

Prompt by: afayebray

[hell-drabbles]

Mammon 2

Summary: The amount of meat on Mammon’s thighs had you curious. Mammon is just happy–and a little frustrated–at your attention on them.

(Mammon has some meaty thighs huh?)

“Huh,” you shrugged your shoulders to ease the oncoming soreness in them, “you don’t have stretch marks.”

Your fingers poked and prodded the place where his thighs curve into his hips. His robe was fully open, undone by Mammon himself in rather enthusiastic anticipation, but his upper body wasn’t really of interest to you right now. It’s his legs that grabbed your attention.

Mammon’s a pretty big man in both stature and sheer presence. Around him, you’ve seen demons either look him square in the eye or have their heads tilted down so low you think they can’t even see his toes. Either way, rarely is attention drawn to anything below his crotch. It can’t be helped, the flare of his chest, especially when compared to his thin waist, compels the eye to look at it.

“Do you want me to have them?” Mammon breathed out, tapping his knees against the sides of your neck for your attention, “You sound disappointed.”

“No, it’s not quite disappointment,” there was plenty of fat over his muscles, so you couldn’t help but give his inner thigh a light pinch. Mammon twitched and opened his legs wider. No underwear. Huh. “It’s just a little weird to me. Something I need to adjust to. I looked at all kinds of bodies just to see the little details in them for my books, so it’s weird to me to see someone of your size not have stretch marks on the soft parts.”

None on the stomach, none under his arms, or his back or neck. Not even on his inner thighs. Weird. Well, he is a devil but you’re pretty sure that even devils are subject to the side effects of puberty.

“So is it too weird for you to continue?” Mammon shrugged off the rest of his robe before sitting up, “I can fix that up real quick, if you want.”

“Get back on your back,” your tone went from simple musing to a solid command.

Mammon smiled with a shiver and rested his form on the poor creaking bed. He kept his mouth shut, not attempting to goad you as he knew he didn’t need to. Really, you appreciate his patience and ease.

Then, you remembered the things you bought the other day.

“Hold on a moment,” you pushed Mammon’s legs away and speed walked to your closet. You dug into a plastic bag and pulled out a simple pair of black thigh high socks with the most delicate white lace you have ever seen. “Look what I got you. I saw these in your size and I had to get them.”

“So, I am on your mind as much as you are in mine,” the way he crossed his arms under his head kind of irritated you. There he goes with his ego. He’s wanting a change in pace. He’s probably growing impatient then.

This quickly though? Ah, well, your fingers have been skimming over the dip where his thighs meet his ass.

“Isn’t it only natural to want to dress up my belongings?” You settled between his legs once more and started pulling the socks on him. “Can’t very well neglect you.”

Mammon didn’t resist. He even helped pull them up higher until they squished quite nicely against him. Honestly, you didn’t know if they would fit him or not. You half expected them to rip somewhere on the way up, but no. They’re holding up very well. The fabric gets more and more transparent as the sheer mass of his thighs spreads them thin. The lace pinches the flesh in such a way that it seems as though he’s overflowing from them.

You couldn’t help but touch where the socks end and where his thighs start. It’s a very interesting curve.

“Yup, this looks nice,” you nodded, entirely ignoring his shivering waist and jutting hips.

You gave a good smack to the side of his ass and watched as he nearly ripped the pillow under his head. A broken moan escaped his throat.

“Caught you off guard, huh?” You laughed.

Cute. Oh so cute. You’re going to drag this out for as long as possible. That is your right as his owner.

[theprofessionalpromptmaker]

Person A: I wouldn’t have so many original characters if it weren’t for you! Person B: I’m sorry my creative dick is so fertile and keeps knocking you up with fictional children~ Person A: …Dude. Person B: …I’m sorry, I forgot we weren’t alone. Person C: -sipping their straw loudly- Person D: …And they were ‘co-writers’… Person C: Oh my god, they were co-writers.

[ayamari-no-goshi]

Don’t Forget to Write (6)

.... I apparently forgot to post the last chapter when I released it months ago. Oops.

AO3 -> first, previous

Fandoms: DC (Batman comics)

Summary: From Dick’s POV.  Damian happened to win a contest to illustrate a new book by an up and coming author. Being the good brother he is, Dick decided to check the book.He quickly realized he was reading a  very first hand account of one of Jason’s old cases, and deciding to act like a normal person would, he decided to read some of the author’s other works. What he found shook the very foundation of what he thought  was true?  

Warnings: rated T - mostly for swearing and questionable mental health. Amnesia

Parings: none

Notes: originally uploaded to AO3. Cross-posted to tumblr

“Stop grumbling for a moment. It’s about to start,” Dick teased as Jason continued to pace. After almost two months of preparations and another three weeks to convince Jason, they were finally having the press conference to announce he was alive.

His brother shot him a look as he messed with his tie yet again. While it was clear he was nervous, most of his discomfort came from the prosthetics he had to wear to make it look like nothing suspicious happened, and he was doing his best not to touch them. Over time, they would be changed to make it appear as if he’d healed either on his own or through some treatment. They were currently leaning towards the latter as an explanation, especially with how severe the damage to his hands used to be.

Deciding messing with his clothes wasn’t getting him anywhere, he reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a cigarette, and placed it to his lips. They were working on breaking him of that habit again, but at least he had no desire to light it. With the return of his memories, there was now an understanding why he couldn’t tolerate the smell of the smoke. It subconsciously reminded him too much of what happened.

“I thought Pennyworth searched your person for those.” Damian seemed moderately impressed.

Jason gave a mischievous grin. “He did.”

“You’re going to have to teach me how you did that. Nothing gets passed Alfred,” Tim stated as he double checked the prosthetics on Jason’s hands. Those were the ones most likely to come loose.

“I’ll think about it.”

It warmed Dick’s heart to see how his younger siblings interacted. While they were still getting used to each other, things were going relatively well.

One of the first things Dick did was make sure he gave Jason a summary of the others’ histories. It ended up being the right move as Jason admitted he had very conflicted emotions over the fact there had been other Robins after him. The one thing he couldn’t seem to reconcile with was Bruce allowing any child back in those colors. He didn’t think that kids truly understood the risks of playing hero, and that was something he was still coming to terms with himself. Dick made sure to tell his brother that it was his death that brought that to light for him too.

But as a result of that conversation, Dick noticed Jason’s protective streak towards his younger siblings. At one point, he had a nasty argument with Bruce after Damian came to his apartment to get away from the Manor for a night. Since it was a fight with Bruce that triggered his flight and eventual death, Jason was not going to tolerate Bruce’s inability to articulate his emotions and cause another catastrophe. It was amazing to watch, and in its own way, started changing how they conversed with each other for the better.

It also opened the door for everyone to start randomly crashing at Jason’s apartment. However, his apartment wasn’t really large enough for the constant influx of siblings and pseudo-siblings. So, they were working on getting Jason a much better apartment that was up to Bat standards near Crime Alley. It was supposed to be a surprise. But seeing as he stated that if anyone spent an exorbitant amount of money on him needed to make a donation of an equal amount to the charity organization who helped take care of him while he had no memories, he clearly already knew. In Dick’s opinion, that was a fair request.

For the most part, they were going to leave the decorating up to Jason. But they were all working on finding more bat and bird plushes to match his other ones. Damian had been the one to announce it wasn’t appropriate he only had ones that represented Dick, himself, and Bruce. They were still trying to figure out if Steph’s and Alfred’s should also follow that pattern or be different animals.

They were also working on sprucing up Jason’s old room. While he didn’t want to give up his independence, Jason had begun staying over the Manor some nights. It thrilled Alfred to have him back home, and soon the two started baking together again. And if he wasn’t doing that, Tim, Cass, Steph, or even Damian had begun commandeering him for various activities. Usually it was related to movies, but Dick did once catch Jason assisting Damian with some of his English homework. Even Babs, once she’d gotten the okay to come visit, had started stealing Jason away on some days.

Alfred even reported he found Bruce and Jason playing chess together. Dick could remember his brother venting about how Bruce always beat him at the game when he was still in the Manor. While it didn’t mean that everything was good between them, it showed they were working on it.

In Dick’s case, he decided to wait for Jason to reach out to him regarding bonding activities. Sure, he made suggestions of various activities he’d like to do with him, but they were just that, suggestions. Not only was Jason overwhelmed with everything, but there was also the distance there had been between them before his death. That was something he couldn’t just erase. While Jason hadn’t yet taken him up on any of his offers, he had rather shyly asked if Dick could help him get back in shape. And to him, that was a huge victory.

Even though Mask was finally back in jail, the likelihood he’d be back out on the streets sooner than later was high. So, retraining himself made a lot of sense even if he had a wicked swing with his tire iron.

They still weren’t entirely sure if Jason was going to rejoin the vigilante life. While it had come up in a couple conversations, Jason’s answer was always vague. However, he was willing to start being their ears on the streets. He already had a good rapport with the regulars of Crime Alley so sending them information he happened to learn wasn’t too much extra work. Babs had also started training him on her system, just in case.

The other aspect that was up in the air in Jason’s life was his writing career. His stories were an unconscious attempt to put back together the pieces of his former life, and he’d accidentally given away a lot of hints towards their lives and secrets. With his memories back, it was unlikely he’d be able to write in the exact same way which could raise some alarms. For now, he was reviewing what he had almost finished to see how much he needed to change and whether or not it was salvageable. He also wanted to write some short pieces in different genres to see how they’d be received.

There was also upheaval happening at the publishing company. After it was revealed Amy was Black Mask’s assistant once he was finally caught, the GCPD finally got involved. While most of the recent disappearances of writers were directly related to Mask and his paranoia, there was evidence it had occurred in the past if one of the Families were involved with the company. Trying to save face, the company gutted itself out and was in the process of rehiring, which put most of their projects on hold. At least Jason currently didn’t have to worry about any of his projects getting him into any more trouble for the time being.

The only thing he seemed certain of was that he was going to continue working with the organization that helped him out so much over the years. Now that he would have a proper identity again, he would be able to support them in ways he couldn’t do before. Well, that would be after he dealt with any outstanding bills or taxes he owed over the years. He was also going to go for his GED. Once that was squared away, he was going to consider college since it had been something he always dreamed of, even when he was on the streets trying to care for himself.

“Cass, seriously! Stop stealing them!” Jason snapped. Coming out of his thoughts, Dick watched as their sister gracefully kept just out of reach while laughing. It had become something like a game between them.

“Since we’re getting close to show time,” Dick stated after glancing at the clock. The press conference was to begin in just five minutes, “Let’s go back over the basics.”

“I didn’t start getting my memory back until I met you guys after the interview with Vicki Vale, which is mostly true,” Jason stated, almost bored, as he gave up on getting his cigarette back. They had reviewed this several times by that point. “But it wasn’t until Black Mask got interested in me which got Batman’s attention that revelations were made.”

“If asked, we are to state that Batman recognized him due to previous interactions with us and started the process of verifying his identity,” Damian continued. “We are to let Father answer any questions regarding the non-existent body in his grave.”

“Bruce stated he’s going to phrase it as a misidentification that had only recently come to light,” Tim continued. “He’s going to do what he can to help the GCPD to identify whoever is in that grave. I’m still not entirely sure exactly how he’s planning on that one. I thought he was going to ask J’onn to play the role, but it seems like he has something else in mind. He also has some story regarding how the switch happened and how you returned to Gotham.”

“I thought he was going to play the ‘we have no idea, but we’re going to find out’ card. At least that’s what he told me,” Jason huffed. “Thankfully, I can’t really contradict whatever bullshit he comes up with. The time between coming back and waking up in the hospital is thankfully fuzzy. Are we certain someone got hold of my medical records?”

Dick nodded. “I think Bruce did that on purpose to help prove how bad of a condition you were in. It’ll at least take some of the pressure off of you, but I don’t doubt some idiot is going to try to push some buttons.”

“If they want to go after me, that’s fine. I’m not going to be happy if they decide to take digs at anyone other than me or Bruce.”

“Wouldn’t that be a headline? ‘Lost Wayne son fist fights reporter’,” Tim teased, though there was no doubt in Dick’s mind that it could happen.

“Let’s try not to do that. But I think both Lois and Clark are in the audience. They’ll hopefully be able to keep things under control.”

Outside their family, the first two people Bruce let know that Jason was alive ended up being Clark and Diana. They had asked to see him as soon as he was willing. After that, it was only a matter of time before the rest of the hero community found out. Dick was partially responsible for the leak after he let it slip to Donna, who told Wally, and it just snowballed from there. Soon other heroes were visiting just to see Jason. It had the unintended effect of allowing him to start making friendships he never had a chance to while being Robin. It was easing the loneliness he’d been harboring for years.

Someone knocked on the door of the room they were currently borrowing. “Guess that’s our cue,” Dick stated as he gently pushed Jason towards the door.

…

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Dick questioned as he watched Jason do his double checks on his gear.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he answered as he pulled up his hood.

It had been almost eight months since he’d recovered his memories, and he was finally going out on the streets under a new persona. While he hadn’t directly agreed to it before the previous months, he had started back into his training with gusto almost immediately after he got the okay. Unlike the rest of them, he was going to predominately stick to one area as he eased back into it.

He hadn’t picked out a name just yet, but that was fine. He was half willing to let the people of Crime Alley come up with a name for him, but for now, he was going to act as more of a shadow than a directly seen force. To start, he was going to target the pimps and the drug dealers in the area. Once that was better under control, he would branch out to targeting the gangs. They were hoping he’d be able to keep out of the sight of the major rogues until he was in a situation where he was better established.

While he didn’t want to say it, Bruce was uneasy about letting Jason back in the field. His protectiveness had come out in full force as he helped Jason construct his outfit. And interestingly, unlike the rest of them, Jason wanted to make his outfit look less traditional hero and more akin to a civilian. Dick once asked if he wanted to appear as something like a ghost, especially with how Jason wasn’t going to show most of his face. While Jason didn’t directly answer, he just smiled.

In a morbid sort of way, it made sense for him. He’d already died and crawled his way back from the dead. If anyone had the right to act like a ghost, it was Jason. And knowing his brother, he was going to milk it for all it was worth on the streets. Jay always did have a flair for the dramatic after all.

“You better come home in one piece,” Dick warned him. “Seriously, don’t be afraid to call for help.”

Jason stared at him for a moment. While Dick couldn’t see his face well, with the hood up all he could see in the shadows were the red tints from his domino mask, he could tell his brother was smiling. “I lost everything once because I thought I wasn’t wanted. You proved me wrong and helped me find a different ending. I’m not going to risk giving that up again.” He patted his shoulder. “Besides, I still have to get you back for that prank you pulled last week. Can’t do that if I’m dead.”

Dick couldn’t help how he momentarily froze. Jason had begun making jokes about his death. They seemed to be a coping mechanism for him which meant the rest of them had to get used to it. As distressing as addressing it could be, it was something that happened, and they couldn’t get around it. Some days, he wondered if that was why he made those jokes.

“That’s true, but you still need to be in one piece to enact your revenge.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I bet I could get Tim to help me.”

“Pranks can wait until after Patrol.” Bruce gently touched Jason’s shoulder. Concern was barely visible on his face. “It’s time.”

As they took to their respective vehicles, Dick couldn’t help the excitement that raced through him. His brother, the first one he taught how to properly be Robin, was finally going to fly with him again. It had been a long time coming, but they were finally all together again.

Who knew that a simple book, written by a young man without a memory, would have been the key to it?

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: Where We Begin And End

When writer and restaurant critic Aziraphale starts chatting with the handsome and captivating Crowley every weekend at the local pub, he thinks may have found the perfect distraction from a rather irritating situation at work, considering work is the one topic neither of them have ever broached.

Length: 27,592 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit/ Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Best for: After Dark, Human AU, Pick-Me-Up

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by espresso_six_shots

*Minor Spoilers* This was such a fun and saucy story! It truly has a bit of everything you'll love: undeniable chemistry, a little pride, a little prejudice, misunderstandings, and plenty of steam.

Crowley and Aziraphale meet in a bar and instantly connect. Of course they do—this pair is electric together! They flirt and have fun, but don't share their careers with each other, which ends up becoming their Achilles' heel. But where's the fun if things were cleared up at the start? Crowley is a restaurant owner, and unbeknownst to him, Aziraphale is the restaurant critic he's been trying to win over. You see where this is going?

This story uses some common tropes, but it still feels fresh and fun. It's got all the playfulness of a rom-com, so expect a big blow-up and some grand gesture apologies. I love Aziraphale's bitchiness here. It has that slight haughty camp that I crave for his character, the kind that's catnip to Crowley. And Crowley himself is such a sweetie underneath his hard exterior. I love that he truly wants to do his best here, he works hard and cares a lot about his restaurant! I loved that aspect of his character, and I would eat up an entire story focused on the restaurant itself. The side characters were so much fun, I would love to spend more time with them.

It gets pretty steamy so save this one for when you're away from prying eyes. This is a perfect little pick me up, and I promise you'll have fun with it!

Read it here, fic by espresso_six_shots

[0ffurself]

Imagine Ponyboy becomes a writer in the future. He publishes 'The Outsiders' to the public, hoping to let people see how the Greaser have it. Once it shoots off he makes a profit off of it and writes more.

Ponyboy moves out of Tulsa to find a better environment. Years later, he comes home and decides to see the old house. He visits the place where the drive in had been located and spends some time with people he'd missed.

At the end of his joyous weekend trip to his hometown he decides to bite the bullet and visit places that reminded him of the worst. He visits the hospital, looking at how remolded and different it looks. He visits what the lot had been and before it was turned to something new.

He walked by Johnny's parent's old house, newer and brighter lights shined inside. He stepped on he spot Dallas said his last word, his name. He drove around town and noticed how not different it seemed. How people were closer, how money didn't separate people.

He goes home, deciding to open up a copy of 'Gone With the Wind'

{This AU is coming from someone who has not read 'That Was Then, This is Now' but it's been stuck in my head for quite a bit, i wrote a small chunk on Twitter.}

- 🐍

[hp-fanfic-archive]

Dream by the Fire by GallifreyisBurning Pairing: Harry/Draco Rating: M Word Count: 11k Podfic available here Read by: acGranger Length: 1-2 hours When Draco Malfoy resurfaces in England after eight years abroad—tattooed, pierced, and wanting to take over a corner of Harry's coffee shop to work on a writing project—Harry can't help but be intrigued. Where has he been? What is he working on? Why here? And why does he have to look so stupidly hot with all those tattoos? find the full podfic library here