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[draculasfavoritewife]

Idle Hands

Summary: Whenever Tony forgets to go to bed, it's always been up to you to bring him back to your side.

Pairing: Tony Stark x fem!Reader

Warnings: Heavy on the softness compared to most of my other stuff; I was in a very sentimental (read: sad and touch-starved) mood back when I wrote this lol. Tony Stark is a TEASE both in word and deed -- I have said it is canon therefore it is now. The feral way he makes me feel should be illegal. Also you can read the...implications of my vague wordings towards the end as tame or as smutty as you wish ;)

I feel the need to mention here that Tony Stark has been my most favorite comic book character since I was but a mere 11 years old. He holds the distinction of being my longest-running fictional crush/object of my obsessions and I love him so deeply and for so many little reasons that I could write a PhD dissertation on him. So please enjoy my little love letter to the man that has held my heart for nearly a decade and a half <3

It's that point of the night where you really can't decide if it should be counted as ungodly late or ungodly early. 4:00 am does tend to scramble the thoughts.

You've been drifting in and out of an uneasy sleep for what feels like forever, and as you roll away from the digital clock display on the wall with an annoyed sigh, you suddenly see why.

The other side of the bed is utterly untouched.

He hasn't been here with you at all.

You sit up, trying to remember if he had plans tonight. The calendar app on your phone has no record of a gala, awards ceremony, board meeting, or anything else that might have taken up his time.

Which means he's probably down in the lab again.

Briefly, you contemplate trying to call him, but you know from experience that he probably isn't taking calls right now, even if FRIDAY tried to put one through for you. He's in that zone that only designing and building can put him in, the one mindset where his too-busy brain is crystal clear and the world at last makes sense to him.

So you pull yourself out of bed, throw one of his old sweatshirts on over your cami and pajama shorts (he keeps the AC cranked all the way whenever it's warm outside) and pad out of the bedroom and on your way downstairs.

His lab is awe-inspiring as always, no matter how many times you see it. The purring thrum of the generators and the comforting pulse of dimmed lights, the heavy, electric feeling of the air itself -- he's described his workspace to you as having a life of its own before, and you can understand so well why time escapes him down here.

You just hope he's not using it to escape from other things as well.

He's deeply absorbed in his work on something at a station opposite the door, and your heart skips a beat even as you smile fondly at the familiar sight. Clad in sweatpants and a black tank through which you can just barely see the blue glow of his arc reactor, he looks all at once more human than usual and like some being from another world entirely.

It's the Stark curse, he told you once, and you recall the wry slant of his lips as he said so. To know you're a god trapped in a mortal body, an infinite mind with a finite number of years to use it. It's the reason behind all his greatest triumphs -- and all his harshest falls from grace.

And somehow, you were lucky enough to be the one he fell in love with.

It still feels like a dream sometimes.

Realizing he isn't going to look up on his own anytime soon, you stifle a yawn and knock sharply on the doorframe.

"Tony?"

He stiffens as if he's been shocked (always a possibility, when he's rewiring) and shoves the safety glasses high up on his forehead. "That would be yours truly. Everything alright?"

With a laugh, you cross the room, warmth rising in your chest as he immediately sets down his tools and steps out from behind the table to meet you. And damn, he always looks good -- he is Tony Stark, after all -- but there's always something about him when his hair gets all unruly and he has THAT look of intense concentration on his face that really drives home to you all over again just how gorgeous he is.

You cuddle up to him, and he kisses the top of your head.

"Asked you a question, Honey."

"Do you know what time it is, Tony?"

There's a prolonged moment of answering silence as he glances up at one of his nearby monitors. "Crap. Well, why are you up?"

Pulling back slightly so you can tease the protective eyewear off his head, you give him a look. "Can't sleep."

An eyebrow tilts; he's playing dumb.

"And that's my problem why?"

"Jerk." You take your time playing with his glossy dark hair, neatening it back up before raking your fingers through it to mess it up again. "Maybe because you love me...?"

"Oh, so you're down here looking for sympathy, got it." He smirks at you, a well-practiced and infuriatingly handsome look. "In that case, sorry about your insomnia, Beautiful. There's melatonin in the drug cabinet upstairs." He snares the safety glasses from your fingers once more and makes as if to return to his work. "Sympathetic enough for you?"

You wrap your arms around his waist from behind, stopping him from going any further, though the smug son of a bitch starts tinkering with his new designs again even through your persistent clinging. It mesmerizes you for a couple seconds, always has, the way his hands work with such delicate precision and dexterity, and you can't help selfishly wishing he would turn them towards other, less...mechanical endeavors at this moment.

He probably would, in all honesty, but Tony Stark is the king of making you work for it. Philanthropic he may be, but some things even you have to earn from him when he's feeling particularly devilish.

"I don't want your pity," you hum, pressing a sleepy kiss to his shoulder. "I was lonely without you."

"Perfectly understandable. I've been told by many that I'm scintillating company. You can, by all means, stay and watch me work, you know. Feeds my humble ego."

You roll your eyes and impatiently reach up under his shirt, feeling his muscles tense at the unexpected coldness of your hands.

That finally gets his attention and makes him turn around. Before you can even fully comprehend it, he's swept his work out of the way and lifted you up onto the worktable instead, restless fingers drawing intricate patterns on your inner thighs, though his eyes never leave yours, crystalline blue pinning your attention to his amused face instead of his very distracting hands.

"That," he grins, "was adorable. Sleepy version of you is so much more demanding. Maybe I should stay down here too long more often."

You try to frown at him, though his sparkling gaze and mischievous touch make that impossible. "How dare you."

"I do a lot of dumb things to see where they get me. You know that." He nods at the thick gray sweatshirt still keeping you warm. "Why don't you take that off for me, Sweetness. You make me cold, I get to return the favor."

Unable to come up with something snarky to say in return with the way his hands are making you shiver now, you do as he suggests with little resistance, the exposed skin of your arms and chest prickling at the much cooler air.

He leans in to tenderly kiss your neck, and your breath leaves in a sigh at the way his facial hair scratches at your throat. He's always been a helluva kisser and the meticulously maintained goatee is just the icing on the cake. Making out on his worktable was not the original plan when you first came down here, but even by his own admission Tony's best plans are usually improvised.

And you're certainly not complaining.

"What did you want from me again?" he murmurs, close to your ear.

The absolute audacity of him.

"Mmmmmmm," seems to be about all you can manage at the moment, and you know very well what's coming next.

He pulls you closer to him, the movements of his fingers turning agonizingly slow and prompting a slight gasp from you.

The smile that gradually spreads its way across his mouth is absolutely wicked.

"What was that, Sweetheart? I didn't quite catch it."

You try to reclaim some semblance of coherence, but his firm hold on you prevents you from escaping his delightfully systematic torture, so instead you grab on to his well-defined shoulders, your forehead resting against his chest. The mechanically-stabilized beat of his heart echoing beneath his skin a brief reminder that he's alive, despite everything he's been through, and he is yours. There's no one else on his mind, no one else he's let this far into his messy and often painful world.

The world may know him as Iron Man, the one who has saved them more times than they could ever count, but how many people really know the Tony that you know?

That same Tony who now raises one hand to tip your head back, whose sharp eyes soften with affection for the slightest of seconds before the anticipated words fall from his tongue, the words he knows will always unravel you.

"You just have to tell me what you want. Come on, Princess. Use your words."

You shudder and lean in to beg for another kiss.

"You, Tony. Always you. Please."

He kisses you back with renewed intensity, leaving you completely breathless.

"There we go...was that so hard?"

[writerlyhabits]

Aliit ori’shya tal'din

Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Your second day in the covert reveals both new and familiar faces; hospitality and hostility.

Chapter 3 of the Shereshoy series | Masterlist | Ch. 2 | Ch. 4

Warnings: lots of Mando’a, mild language, soft Din, awkward Din, protective Din [he’s got a wide range, okay?], original Mandalorian characters… maybe a little bit of angst? It’s mostly worldbuilding, so I think that’s about it. 

AN: A word from the author – “I’m in grad school, I take forever to write things.Soon I will start grad school again, which means I’ll write this instead of my dissertation. I’m quite fond of the Mando Legends Lore, if you haven’t noticed. I literally got Kad Ha’rangir & Arasuum tattooed on me.”

This is the third part of a sister fic for my one-shot (Courting) a friend of mine wrote based on this request, and I’m so happy she’s letting me share it with you guys! She is also sharing it on AO3, so be sure to send her your love and kudos there as well! We hope you enjoy 💛

Translations, in order of appearance:

Aliit ori’shya tal'din: Family is more than blood

Rejorhaa'i kaysh murcyur gar shupur’ika?:  Are you gonna tell her to kiss your ouchies?

Cuyi ulyc, vod.: Be careful, sister.

Aliit: family

Ad(e): child/children

Kar’ta beskar: the central "diamond" of Mandalorian armor; lit. heart armor

Mirjahaal: peace of mind, "healing", general term for emotional well-being especially after a trauma or bereavement

Beroya: bounty hunter

Kurshi: tree

Sen’tra: jackpack

Buir(e): Parent/Parents

Akaanati'kar'oya: The War of Life and Death (Mandalorian myth), creation story

Verd'goten: a special trial for one to become warrior; lit. birth of warrior

So'haale: births

Urman'gedete: prayers

Eparave: feasts

Cyarir evaar'la: Courting

Alii'aliit: meeting of the clans, the closest thing mandalorians have to government or parliament; lit. "clan of clans"

Tsad: group (of people), alliance

Bes'ede: Mythosaur

Kandush : inevitable doom

Time moves differently underground.

With Odona, the hours passed quickly. As a team, you could disassemble and reconstruct nearly any ship in their small fleet, save for a few parts— which no one had yet found and delivered. The days were faster when the guardsman opted to join you in his free time, his first visit and subsequent dialogue with Odona still memorable.

To what do I owe the displeasure; Oh Mighty Protector of the Covert and Savior of Foundlings?

The pleasure of my company is for your friend, ‘Dona.

Why? Going to terrorize her again, Ik’? Ven’rejorhaa'i kaysh murcyur gar shupur’ika?

Cuyi ulyc, vod.

You had sensed there was a joke hidden within their jibes, one you were unable to decipher in their foreign tongue, but neither took the time to explain. Whilst Ikarus lacked use for the labor that required fine motor control, his presence disrupted the monotony of the many tedious and repetitive tasks you and Odona spent much of your time doing— their frequent banter kept you entertained throughout the day. 

The time you had spent in the medbay was shorter— the most common injuries coming from the older adolescents early on in their training, whose resilience and constitution had yet to strengthen— as well as wrist and ankle sprains from poor fighting forms, the occasional laceration from knife safety training; and at worst, injuries from the teens and young adults earned from a vigorous sparring session.

But with Din, the mornings and evenings together never felt long enough. The hours were reminiscent of your time with him and the Child in the Crest, the warmth of your aliit protected by familiar cold walls; the stone of the cavern both analogous yet antithetic to the durasteel of your former home. 

One forged of hands, and the other of time— one of the fires of a furnace, the other the fires of a planet’s mantle. Your time together before was that of contrivance, engineered— with agendas to follow and assignments to complete— your interactions affable yet somewhat artificial, a present barrier precluding your companionship from evolving into something more… More natural, more innate, more intimate. Here, your time together had been more candid, endearing— Din no longer shied away from any probing questions or physical closeness, which allowed that previous barrier to melt and slowly flow away like that of bedrock to magma, reshaping and remolding your times of leisure together to hours of unified repose.

The hours turned to days, the days turned to weeks, and the weeks turn to this moment, where seemingly no time passes at all— blanketed in the familiar darkness of your room. The unlit and chilled space, at first an unacquainted oddity, now a comfortable companion to spend the sleeping and waking hours in. The ritual remains the same— awaken with the Child, have the morning trade-off with Din, make the caf, and begin the tasks for the day— like clock work, a well-oiled droid.

This morning is almost no different, and yet, you hesitate to leave your bed, your conversation with Din the previous morning still fresh in your mind— 

Din had sat aside the table, his body resting against the wall— unarmored, arms crossed, head tilted to the side, the same position as every morning. Once you handed him the Child and sat, caf in hand, he finally spoke.

“I’d like you to join me tomorrow,” he stated. 

The lack of pleasantries from him was unsurprising, though a teasing ‘Good morning to you, Din’ was a tempting response. Instead, you greeted him with a grin and an unobjectionable reply— 

“Alright, what are we doing?” 

He hummed, pleased with your immediate acceptance.

“The adults alternate supervising the ade. Tomorrow, it’ll be our turn.”

You gestured toward the Child in his arms, in a playful retort. “Don’t we supervise this ad every day?”

The Child cooed in his arms, his ears perked tentatively at his mention. Din sighed, with a smile in voice.

“We do. It’s tradition for all of the adults to care for the ade… All have wisdom to share.”

Skeptical, you thought: ‘What would I possibly teach them?’

You observed the Child resting so comfortably on Din’s chest— his tiny hand gripped tightly into Din’s clothes, right where his armor’s kar’ta beskar normally sat. It was a stark contrast compared to the Child’s behavior upon your first meeting. With any loud noises and sudden movements, he would shrink inwards in his cradle— as if he could make himself any smaller. Medical scanners made him grimace, unfamiliar places and people made his ears droop— seeing others upset made him wary. And yet, he was endlessly curious. Despite his initial unease with the two new adults in his life, the Child was quick to trust you both— and with his trust, his personality came through… his affection, his laughter, his love. 

From there, Din learned how to tend to someone outside of himself— what it meant to have someone that relied on him, and more colossally, someone that wanted Din, as he was. The Armorer branded him as the Child’s father, and the delighted squeal from the little one sealed the bond that Din had been trying to hide for so long. Just as the Child learned to trust Din with his welfare, so too did Din learn to trust the Child with his own mirjahaal.  

Perhaps it wasn’t the lessons they taught, but rather the connection they made, and the wisdom they sought.

With this, the true question then inverted from the skeptic ‘what would I teach them’, to the sanguine ‘what will I learn?’...

“...When do we meet them?”

—

To the ade, the former beroya is nothing more than a tall kurshi fit to climb. 

Somehow, Din appears endlessly patient and playful with all six of the young children. They utilize their limitless spurts of energy to continuously attack Din as a squad, bringing him to the ground— he’ll exclaim a faux wail, and collapse to his knees— and the collective giggles of the ade begin the cycle again. 

Whenever a child grows tired of their battle, they come to you— wanting to be tossed into the air, or onto the nearest surface. Supposedly being gently thrown around aids in their brain development, and ‘it’s good practice for their first sen’tra flight’, Din tells you. The logic is questionable at best, but hearing their joyous squeals makes the ever-growing muscle fatigue worthwhile. Even the child of the Djarin clan is as equally amused, his own little spirit mightily lifted by the experience of being with other kids again. 

During your time on Sorgan, the Child was happy to interact with the other children— but mostly, he watched them, rather than play. Perhaps he was still too shy or too wary to fully engage with so many people, but surrounded by these Foundlings now, he looks at home; like he belongs. Amidst this cohort, he’s made a new friend, Mara, the youngest of the lot. Her long and dark hair reminds you— and perhaps the Child— of Winta, Omera’s daughter. The two spent the most time together on Sorgan, and despite the little one’s inability to say, he misses her. 

Mara and the Child sit away from the squad play-fighting Din, in front of the single wall of volcanic tuff— embellished with crimps and pockets, graven by many hands. You watch them, as they examine the wall, looking up and down, side to side. Your eyes travel upward to the small cavate, almost eight feet from the floor. You watch as Mara looks to the Child and nods, and begins her ascent up— using her fingers and toes to grip tightly onto the various crevices in the wall— and the Child begins to follow.

You step forward, almost instinctively, wanting to call out to them to stop, wanting to reach out to the children to prevent a fall—

Then, from nowhere, Din appears at your side, extending his hand to stop you. “Don’t,” he says softly, “Let them try.”

You look at him puzzled, and he continues. “If you distract them now, they might fall…” he pauses, and turns his head to watch them, “...but if you allow them to focus, they can succeed. Watch…” 

The pair silently step closer, closing the distance between themselves and the wall, watching the two ade slowly make their way up to the cavate. Mara climbs inside first, and lays on her belly, reaching out to the Child to help him trek the final span of the wall. Once inside, the Child turns around, to face the entire room below him. He squeals a little clamor of excitement, proud of his triumph, before looking down to his buire.

“Good job, kid,” Din says. “Come on down, it’s time to go.”

The Child looks at you both doe-eyed, his ears drooping, as he peers over the ledge. He looks back to Mara, and back down over the ledge, contemplating his next move. 

You lean slightly towards Din, speaking in a hushed tone. “I don’t think he knows how to get back down.”

“He can do it,” Din says confidently. 

You challenge him, “He looks scared.” 

Din insists, “Then he’ll do it scared.” 

He steps forward once more, his body almost pressed against the wall, reaching one hand up. “Come on kid, climb down.”

The child’s ears droop even lower, letting out a quiet whimper, a little anxious look on his face. He looks back up to Mara, who gives him an encouraging “You can do it,” before he finally begins his descent towards you and Din. 

Carefully, his little clawed feet grip into the same pockets he used to climb up, and his hands hold onto the ledge. He looks down at his buire with a slightly quivering lip, then back up to his hands. Slowly, he presses on, his movements deliberate and cautious, gravity tugging at his little limbs with relentless persuasion, clammy clawed-hands threatening to slip free from the cold stone. His disgruntled babbling fading with each tentative step, footfalls growing more steady with every downward stride. 

His little foot finally reached something soft— the hand of his buir, waiting for his arrival. With an excited squeal, he looks to Din, holding out his clawed fingers for Din to grasp. Din takes the Child into his arms.

“Good job… I knew you could do it.” Din whispers to him.

With his ad in hand, Din looks back to the cavate, where Mara sits silently. “You too, Mara, come down,” he says. 

Mara, unlike the little one, is less graceful, only climbing down two feet of wall before leaping off. You instinctively reach your arms out to catch her, but are a few seconds too late, as she lands confidently on her feet, smiling up at you. She giggles, asking the Child “Wasn’t that fun!” and the little one cooing affectionately with a bright smile.

“They need to rest.” Din says, before leading Mara and the Child back with the other ade. You follow him in toe, and aid him while he attempts to settle the children in preparation for them to sleep. 

The chamber is bathed in the soft, warm light of the cressets along the walls. The ade sit and lay in a circle on the floor, looking up at the two adults expectedly, waiting for you both to join them. Din gently places the Child in Mara’s lap, seating himself amongst them. 

The ade demanded a story before they would agree to their midday nap, and with only one long sigh, Din relented. As you sit beside him, the tale of Akaanati'kar'oya begins.

—

In ages past, when cosmic realms were naught,

Two gods emerged, each with a purpose sought.

Kad Ha'rangir, embodiment of change,

A dance of growth, His essence did arrange.

Arasuum, the god of slow decay,

In stillness thrived, where life would fade away.

Eternal foes, in battle they engaged,

Ideals clashed, the cosmic script was paged.

Kad Ha'rangir, with eyes of vibrant light,

Envisioned galaxies in endless flight.

His very step, a ripple through the void,

Transforming all, where life and change enjoyed.

Arasuum, with eyes as deep as night,

Desired a realm where stasis held its might.

Decay His touch, a silent, withering breath,

A universe in stillness, touched by death.

In ceaseless clash, their cosmic struggle roared,

A dance of gods, where destinies were stored.

Stoic truths emerged from this grand design,

A tale of action, life's breath so divine.

"For action is the breath that life bestows,

A vital force, as mighty river flows.

Inaction, slow demise, a creeping shade,

A silent death in stillness' dark cascade."

Through galaxies and time, the story spread,

Of Kad Ha'rangir, where change was bred.

Arasuum's touch, a cautionary tale,

A realm in stillness, where all things frail.

So heed the moral, in verses spun,

That action is life, beneath the sun.

For inaction's grasp, a silent breath,

A slow demise, an encroaching death.

—

The ade rest together in a haphazard heap of limbs on various bedcovers and furs draped across the floor. Exhausted from their Beroya Battles and abseil adventures, they finally sleep, leaving the two adults to quietly watch over them together. In the chamber’s silent embrace, the air hangs heavy and chilled— a symphony of stillness envelops the room, broken by the muted shuffle of shifting bodies, and the hushed breaths of the ade. The only audible rhythm is that of the pulsating cadence of your own heartbeat and the rush of blood moving inside your head. 

Your eyes scan over the ade, finding a sense of calmness watching their steady breaths, in… out. 

In… out.

In… out.

Your gaze once again falls onto the Child, cuddled against Mara, also breathing steadily. In the gentle cradle of his friend’s arms, he looks peaceful. Had he ever slept this soundly on the Crest?... Who held him every night before us? Who will take care of him after us?

In the softest whisper, to not disturb the ade, you lean closer to Din, telling him the obvious— “He’s happy here.”

“...Yes,” Din replies, just as quietly. 

“Was this your experience, too? After the Mandalorians saved you?”

“No.”

His visor is trained on the little one’s sleeping face—the same face of a child who was once trapped in the suffocating darkness of a sealed cradle—a cage, a cage whose opening only revealed another prison, in the form of two bounty hunters hovering over him like… a B2 Battle Droid, with a blaster pointed in a child’s face. A child rescued from death at the last possible moment by a shiny warden, offering an adiaphorous detainment. 

“It was… a time of war. I was trained to fight in it. I hope… that they never have to.” Din says, his gaze scanning over the ade once more. 

“I thought all Mandalorians were warriors.”

He, too, believed the same notion for many years. Training from the day he was rescued to the day he became an adult, after his verd'goten, life became a perpetual streak of jobs. Commission, retrieval, payment. Commission, retrieval, payment… Until a strange, golden, aureate armorsmith joined his tribe, bringing tales of the “Great Forge of Mandalore,” and the songs of the artificers that echoed through the speos as they worked. He remembers the first time he kneeled in front of her small, austere forge, in a dark room beneath a busy market above, listening as she spoke of the ethos, the rites, the latria, the true way of the Mandalore. 

“No. Everyone is trained to survive. But… we used to live, too.” 

“...Until Mandalore was taken.”

“Yes.”

So'haale, urman'gedete, eparave, cyarir evaar'la, alii'aliit… A cultus he could only dream of, but never truly have. Spoken knowledge fades into whispers, slipping through his fingers like sand as the voices of the ancestors grow ever fainter. Each decampment a dissolution of tsad res publica, each step forward a battle against oblivion. 

“I’m sorry.” You lean over, resting your head on his pauldron. “...Maybe there’ll come a time when we’ll live in the light, on a planet that welcomes us.” 

Din knows that within every Mandalorian is a patchwork of unfamiliar faces and ever-changing landscapes, their solace and safety as elusive as a bes'ede itself—and yet they endlessly repugn the kandush they have faced time and time again, guided by the conviction that within the uncertainty of the cosmos lay the promise of a sanctuary forged from the resilience of their spirit. 

He tilts his head, resting it atop yours. “There will.”

Ali'nare vencuyanir yaim. This is the Way.   

Thanks for reading!! If you’d like to be notified when I post a new fic, be sure to follow @writerlyhabits-library + turn on post notifications! 💛

To show this author your direct support, go ahead and check this story out on A03 + leave some kudos and a nice comment 💜

[the-mediaeval-monk]

ok I am gonna bother you with an ask! I've been meaning to read your Brother Cellanus series for at least a year now, shame on me that I have not found the time yet, but some day I will, prommy! But from what I've seen on here it looks so cool and fun and unhinged in the best way <3 also, if I may ask, as someone who also is just about to finish his Master's degree in Medieval studies, what did you focus on? :D

I love asks so thank you for sending me one :D

Thank you so much! I really enjoy writing Brother Cellanus and I hope when you read it you enjoy it. :D

I plan to work on editing the first volume to self publish as a physical copy some time this year. (I just need to actually edit it and also find an artist to do a cover for it. I have a friend I want to commission for the cover art, but she is very busy right now.)

I wrote my dissertation on queer medieval monks and how they used ritual magic (necromancy in particular) as a way to perform masculinity.

[matchakirby]

hi tumblr! I’m Eve, a queer Scottish poet returning to the motherland that is tumblr.com. I very much was in the tumblr trenches during my teen years (I spent a lottt of time on this platform between 2013-2018) but thought it was about time I returned with a new account, since I’ve been hearing tumblr is a very chill place to be rn?

embarrassingly, I used to run a fandom blog (think superwholock but heavy on the Sherlock, with some HP in there before JK Rowling showed her true terf colours) and a Muse blog (they are still my favourite band and I can now happily say I’ve seen them live 3 times!).

I’m now 23, about to graduate from uni with a English Literature & Spanish degree, where I specialised in creative writing poetry :)! I write weird, queer, eco-horror narrative poetry about transhumanism, bodies, gore, and other fun stuff. I probably won’t be using tumblr for that, but if I’ve peaked your interest you can find me on IG @ devilfruitpoems. I recently wrote a book (!) as my dissertation which I feel like tumblr would really enjoy if it still has the spirit of the site I remember lol.

right now, I’m really into mcr (obviously, I never grew out of that), old patd, other emo-aligned groups, post-punk, alternative 80s/new wave, Midwest emo, shows like the walking dead, aggretsuko, the breaking bad universe (lol), and a lot of film bro movies although I do not share their gatekeepy attitude about what’s good and what isn’t. my favourite movie is literally Lego Batman. I’m really into fashion and self-expression, so probably will document some scenemo outfits here (I am lucky enough to have a job where I can dress how I like!), and of course I’m heavy into literature. I’ve been on a real Ursula K. Le Guin kick this year, and she inspired a lot of my dissertation with her eco-horror feminist science-fiction. soooo before her time. I’m honestly into a lot more stuff, but it’s hard to think of it all compactly to write in one post lol so you can always send me an ask. I’ve recently started playing breath of the wild (I’ve put it off for years) and I’m a big Nintendo head so expect some reblogs related to games as well :)!

it’s lovely to be back, and I hope to find some cool blogs here soon! I love video essays, Internet lore, stories, as well as shitposts, so recommend me some good blogs if you can!

Thanks!

Eve

[mumms-the-word]

THINGS THAT I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW ABOUT MY FELLOW WRITERS

I can’t remember who tagged me with this or if I stole it 😭

Tagging: @elspethdekarios @sorceresssundries @fantasyfictionfables @lewdisescariot and anyone else??

No pressure friends as always and sorry for double tagging, this has sat in drafts for like days

Last book I read: For fun? I honestly can't remember. For my dissertation, Phantasmion by Sara Coleridge (and I haven't recovered, it was an acid trip of a fantasy novel)

Greatest literary inspirations: Bram Stoker (fave classic writer), Marissa Meyer (influenced my love of YA fairy tales), Ursula K. Le Guin (her style is SO GOOD)

Things in my current fandom I want to read but I don't want to write: I skim/read a lot of smut for someone who will never write it. I don't even read it that much, but occasionally something catches my eye (I appreciate you smutty, smutty people). What I'd want to read but not write is slice-of-life style shenanigans between characters, the kind that comic artists like @a2zillustration do really well. Send me recs if you know other BG3 comic artists!

Things in my current fandoms I want to write but I think nobody would be interested in them but me: my current masquerade fic I love writing stuff that is incredibly specific to my Tavs because I find it fascinating to explore different character perspectives and voices? But I know the fandom tends to enjoy generalized Tavs or "you" POVs more than specific OC characters, which is fair given the nature of the game, so I don't share as much of my Tav-specific stuff these days

You can recognise my writing by: the lack of smut...and probably an overuse of adverbs. and the fact that every chapter/oneshot is ridiculously long. I'm new to fanfic, okay, I wrote full books as a hobby before this lol

My most controversial take (current fandom): oh boy I have...many, probably...I've already gotten blocked for one hot take (I think it was a misunderstanding??) but it wasn't even my most controversial take. I think my most controversial take is that there is no One Correct Way to interpret a character, and anyone who tells you that "you're reading the game files wrong" or "that isn't what is canon" is ignoring the fact that a) that's not how interpretation works, and b) the branching nature of the game is going to necessarily mean that different people encounter different things in different orders and may not even get the dialogue that you hold so dear to your interpretation of the character, and that is okay. We shouldn't ask everyone to become an expert in every facet of their favorite character's identity because not everybody has the time or energy for that. We should just hope that people are having fun. Like I know this is a complex topic and I don't want to ramble about it here lol but that's the gist

Top three favourite tropes: in no particular order, 1) arranged/convenient marriage that leads to genuine love between characters, 2) super big tall buff scary guy (tortured past optional) is actually a total sweetheart who is a little afraid of his own strength (bonus points if he falls in love with a smol person he must protect and feels slightly unworthy of), and 3) FOUND FAMILY I love it every time

What’s your current writing mood (10 – super motivated and churning out words like crazy, 0 – in a complete rut): fic writing I'm like....idk a 6? dissertation writing, which I am actually supposed to be writing, is a solid 1.

Share a random frustration: my students keep insisting on using AI to write their assignments and it is BEYOND frustrating how much time it takes up for me to read their assignment, mark where they've used AI, and then forward it to the next tier in our "Guess what you done fucked up" system for this class

[brzatto]

Hello! I'm the person who wrote the dissertation-length comment on chapter 2 of BCM. My essay of a comment probably speaks for itself but I really love your writing. I'm still thinking about your fic over a week later and reread your reply to my comment over and over. It took me a full evening to read chapter 2 because I would read a part, sit and think about it, then move to the next part. Even though the chapter was so long I was scared with each paragraph that it was going to end, I didn't want to stop reading. The ending was really satisfying, if the fic ended there it would be a lovely ending, but like I said in my original comment I'm so happy there's more to come. The ominous reply from you saying you might scrap what you've written and rewrite the ending nudged me to message you. I really hope you don't scrap what you've written so far! Even if it's not the direction you want the fic to go now, I think everyone would love to see the alternate ending if you're happy to share it in the event you don't use it for the fic. Kind of a "BCM 0.5" if you will. Everyone is begging for the porny carmrich writing so thought I'd throw my hat in the ring and beg for the alt. ending of BCM. xD

Also thank you for leaving such a long reply to my comment! I really liked hearing your thoughts about Carmy and Richie and would love to hear more about your writing process. Your fic was the first The Bear fic I ever read and it hasn't left my mind since I first read it back in December last year.

Sorry for another really long message I can't seem to stop typing once I start. xD

(p.s. you should post the carmrich pwp huhuhuhuhu)

of course i remember you! i always remember repeat commenters and i distinctly remember being at work when i got the email for the first comment you left me on bcm, it was a really lovely comment and it made my entire night.

i say this often to a lot of commenters but it really does mean so much to me that you enjoy my writing and it has that sort of effect on you!!! like more than you’ll ever know. i can count the number of times i’ve actually published works on ao3 on two hands and i’ve always gravitated towards rarepairs with nicher audiences in almost every fandom i’ve been in so the type of enthusiasm i’ve received so far with bcm is really genuinely touching. i always try my best to reciprocate the energy given to me in the comments i get but longer ones make me especially happy because i loooove discussing character analysis and dynamics with people and i’m always eager to know how other people interpret my characters and my writing! thanks for how much thought you put into all of your comments, i always look forward to reading what you have to say <3

as for the ending of bcm i don’t actually think i’ll fully be scrapping it, it’ll still end the same general way that i had in mind but i’ll probably end up rewriting/reworking it because a big chunk of the fic leading up to it is still unwritten and by the time i actually get close to the ending it probably won’t make much sense as it is currently word for word. i don’t normally write in chronological order, i write scenes out as they come to me (i usually envision climactic scenes very visually in my head and then write them out first lol) and then fill in the gaps/flesh out the storyline as i go. but since i got the idea for this fic and planned it out back before s2 came out and now s2 is out and canon’s been vastly expanded i’ll probably end up also borrowing some elements from s2 for my own storyline purposes just because if i’m being fully honest… i actually can’t tell you what ch3 of bcm and onwards is going to be like. i have vague notions of major plot points and the direction i want the story to take and fragments of later scenes in my docs but even as it stands now uncompleted bcm is the longest thing i’ve ever written (it’s 49k on ao3 and 60k in my docs) like… ever. i’m not used to finishing fics at all much less writing long fics (if bcm would count as one) so this is all very much new territory for me but everyone’s support and encouraging really helps keep me engaged and on track! including yours 🤍 in the event that the ending does drastically depart from what i’ve originally envisioned for it i probably will upload the alt ending separately. i’ve also sort of toyed with the idea of writing some scenes out from richie’s pov but if anything that’ll be something that comes much much later.

[the-ragingenby]

Second chapter is already out! I surprise myself sometimes >:3

AO3 Crosspost:

Dear Fellow Traveler

Chapter 2: Affections

It had only been a few weeks since Spencer and Morgan had been talking, but Spencer felt like he'd known the man forever. He’s even found himself getting distracted at work just thinking about how he’d get to tease Derek later, which was a first for him.

Honestly, he still surprises himself with how bold he can push himself to be.

“Dr. Reid?” Spencer looked up from his book to see a student nervously shuffling a few papers in their hands. “I know the professor isn’t here right now, but do you think you can take a look at my essay before I hand it in?”

Spencer nodded and quietly took the papers from the student’s hands, pulling out a pen from the drawer. Within a few minutes, he wrote a few detailed notes on different sections before handing it back. “Your introduction and second paragraph need a little work, but otherwise I’d say it’s solid.”

The student nodded, gratefully taking back the papers. They moved to leave, then paused, turning back to Spencer who had taken up his book again. “Do you know when Professor Gideon will be back? Not that I mind you teaching the class, but he’s–”

“More lenient with grading, I know.” Spencer said, looking up at the student with his usual blank expression. “He’ll be back this afternoon and return to teaching tomorrow, so you can relax.” The student’s shoulders slumped with relief, and they quickly excused themselves.

Spencer heaved a sigh. It was always like this at Virginia University. Half the students here paid their way into the school and don’t know what they’re doing, then expect for the teachers to pick up their slack. I’m tired of it. He put his book down, suddenly losing interest in reading. He felt too crummy to really enjoy it right now.

After a moment of thought, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. It turns out, Derek had sent him a message. Curious. He doesn’t often text during the day.

[3:37 pm]

De-Reel_Morgan: Hey Pretty Boy. I have some free time right now, so I wanted to check in.

[3:38 pm]

De-Reel_Morgan: Did the professor you were covering for come back yet?

[3:52 pm]

throughthe_Reids: Not yet, but he’ll be here soon. I hope.

[3:52 pm]

throughthe_Reids: The students are getting antsy now that their grades are dropping. They thought they could get away with turning in tossed together assignments and expect a good grade.

Spencer looked up when someone else walked into Gideon’s office. Lo and behold, it was the man himself. Gideon paused, staring at Spencer in surprise. “What are you still doing here, Reid? Office hours ended two hours ago.” He laughed as Spencer quietly slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“I told your students that they could come in until four, since many of them had questions.” Spencer explained. “I don’t blame them. This chapter is particularly complex.” Gideon squinted at him.

“But don’t you need to finish your dissertation?” Gideon asked, sliding his bag under his desk and pulling up another chair.

“I finished it a few days ago and already made all the necessary corrections. Besides, finals are in a few weeks, then graduation. So, I’ve got time.” Spencer explained. Gideon always worries about him, but really, Spencer is fine. I’m always fine.

Gideon settled down and slipped on his reading glass, looking through the pile of assignments Spencer had spent the afternoon grading. Spencer fiddled with his hands for a moment before reaching for his book, hesitating when his phone buzzed.

Out of habit, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, reading the new messages from Derek with a gentle smile.

[4:01 pm]

De-Reel_Morgan: Ah, I’m sorry. But hey, as long as you know you’re doing a good job, at least some of those kids are learning.

[4:02 pm]

De-Reel_Morgan: Try not to beat yourself up about it, okay? I know you’re an awesome teacher.

[4:02 pm]

throughthe_Reids: Thanks, Derek. We’ll talk later. Promise.

When Spencer looked up, Gideon was gazing at him with a conflicted expression, glasses sliding down his nose. “So who are you talking to?” Gideon asked with a sigh. “You hardly ever use your phone as it is, and you're smiling like a kid who managed to steal some candy from a jar.”

Spencer hesitated. Gideon probably won’t be too impressed if he told the truth. But it wasn’t easy to hide things from Gideon. So, what the hell. What’s the worst that could happen? “A friend of mine introduced me to another friend, who I’m talking to now.” At that, Gideon frowned.

“Even after everything that’s going on right now, you’re still taking that risk, Reid?” Gideon huffed in disbelief. “That man is still out there. How do you know it's not him?”

“Gideon, I respect you, but even I know this guy’s M.O. by now. My, uh, friend is nothing like that. And the person who introduced us is more than trustworthy.” Spencer stated. Gideon’s frown only grew deeper.

“You can never trust anyone, Spencer. How long is it until you get it through your head?” Gideon stood up, gathering his things.

“Gideon, I understand that your time at the BAU was traumatic, to say the least.” Spencer murmured, trying hard to appease his mentor. “But not everyone is like the unsubs you were trying to catch, and just because I need to be cautious does not mean I shouldn’t try to continue living my life.”

“Spencer.” Gideon drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “If something were to happen to you under my watch, I would never forgive myself. And if you are talking to anyone in the BAU, like I suspect, that will only ensure that something bad will happen. I want you to stop talking to them. Both of them. It’s safer that way.”

Spencer didn’t say anything else. He shouldn’t have said anything. Now he was going to feel horrible for the rest of the day. “Right. Good afternoon, Gideon. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He said, trying hard to keep his voice flat, emotionless. It hurt less that way. Quietly, he slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and left the office.

He took the subway home, as usual, and collapsed on his bed. He could already feel a migraine approaching, and Morgan doesn’t know about his condition. I don’t want to leave him hanging, but the screen is going to start hurting my eyes sooner rather than later.

With a heavy sigh, he pulls out his phone and typed out Penelope’s number, letting the phone ring. She picked up almost immediately. “Spencer! Hey! Hi! Are you okay? Did something happen? Are you in danger?”

Despite himself, Spencer laughs. “No, no. I’m fine, Penelope.” He murmured, smiling gently. “I just, uh, needed to talk? I guess? Or rather, let you know that another migraine is coming on. So I don’t want to leave Derek without him knowing what’s happening. Could you let him know?”

Penelope didn’t reply for a moment, and Spencer realized her silence must mean she’s plotting something. “Why don’t you call him yourself? I’m sure he’d love to finally hear your voice.”

“Penelope, he doesn’t even know what I look like. He’s been complaining that you haven’t even shown him pictures.” Spencer replied, slightly shaking his head even though he knew she couldn’t see him, and promptly stopped when it sparked more pain. “Besides, I sound like a high schooler on a good day. I can only imagine how I’ll sound even a half hour from now.”

“Aw, don’t say that! You don’t sound too bad anyway.” Penelope teased. Spencer rolled his eyes.

“Thanks, Penelope.” Spencer sighed, playfully exasperated.

“But seriously, he’s been dying to hear your voice. He sounds like a starved puppy sometimes.” Penelope continued. “But he’s lovable. And I’m glad you’re giving him a chance.”

“More like he’s giving me a chance.” Spencer added softly. “I still can’t quite believe that he’s made the effort to continue talking to me. I didn’t want to believe Gideon, but maybe he was right.”

“Gideon’s back? And he’s already being overprotective? Shocker.” Penelope huffed. “Anyway, I don’t want to pressure you, so don’t worry. I’ll let him know for you. Talk soon. Love ya!”

“Thanks again, Penelope.” Spencer murmured, wincing as pain sparked behind his eyes. He hung up, then managed to drag himself out of bed and head to the bathroom. He took a cloth and dampened it with some cool water, laying it over his eyes as he laid back on his bed.

As he fought to regulate his breathing, Spencer found that just quieting down his brain for a few minutes made him feel a little better. He spent the rest of the evening like that, occasionally getting up to dampen the cloth again.

Despite his wishes, Spencer found he could only fall into a light doze. Sleep eluded him, as per usual. But he found that when Derek encourages him to rest, he finds it much easier to do so. Ah, if only it didn’t hurt so much. And I don’t want to bother him either.

Spencer wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he suddenly felt his phone vibrating viciously. He didn’t want to answer, really, but something in him pushed him to carefully peel the cloth off his eyes and haphazardly tapped at his phone, eventually answering the call.

After a few moments of silence (Spencer always allowed the person on the other line to speak first, for security reasons), the smooth voice on the other end asked, “Pretty boy, you there?” At that, Spencer felt himself freeze, both in shock and utter disbelief.

“S-sorry, who is this?” Spencer shot up, stifling a groan of pain as he did. It couldn’t be Derek, could it? No, no, of course not. It’s probably that bastard again, trying to get me to let my guard down. I should’ve checked before I answered. God, this always happens whenever I get close to anyone–

“It’s Derek. Uh, Derek Morgan. Garcia said you were in a lot of pain yesterday, so I just wanted to check in. I thought about texting you, but I realized you probably couldn’t look at them in your state.” Derek explained, his voice soft but strong.

“Yesterday…?” Spencer couldn’t quite believe it. He glanced at his table clock, which indeed proved that a whole day had passed. Well, it was actually getting closer to forty-eight hours. And nothing from Gideon. Though I shouldn’t be surprised. “I see.”

“Sorry, I know this was kind of out of the blue, and I know you aren’t feeling the best, but I was worried. Probably more worried than I should’ve been.” Derek admitted after a moment.

Spencer couldn’t help but smile, despite the pain he was in. “I’m sorry to have worried you. I told her not to make it sound too bad, but I guess she exaggerated a little. It’s just a migraine, nothing serious.”

Derek laughed. “Yeah, I know. But I don’t like knowing that my pretty boy is in pain.” Spencer blinked slowly, stunned. His pretty boy?

“Yeah, yeah. Well, I’m sorry if I don’t sound my best.” Spencer said, desperately trying to change the topic of conversation. If any more little nicknames come out of his mouth, I don’t think I’ll survive. “I normally sound better than this. Not by much, but better.”

“No, don’t apologize. You sound, uh, cute, actually.” Derek let out a nervous laugh. “Anyway, glad you’re good and in one piece so I guess I’ll leave you alone now, bye!” Spencer didn’t want him to hang up. But he knew Derek was busy. And considering that Gideon had suspected the people he was talking to were from the BAU, Spencer could only assume Derek and Penelope worked with them too.

And all this thinking is making my brain hurt. “D-Derek, wait.” Spencer found himself saying, mentally smacking himself. Stop trying to keep this man from his job. “Do you think you could just…stay on the phone with me for a little longer? I just wanna hear your voice.”

There was silence on the other end for a moment, and Spencer felt that he had pushed the boundary much farther than it should have been and why did he say that–

“Alright, Spence. Anything to make you feel better. And if you promise to try to get some sleep.” Derek finally said, huffing gently in amusement.

“Yeah, promise.” Spencer agreed quickly, laying back against his pillows. He could hear Derek moving a desk chair, maybe, and settle into it.

“I’m not sure what to talk about. You’re a lot better at this than I am.” Derek admitted. Despite his words, he sounded a lot more confident than he did a few minutes ago. As Spencer closed his eyes, he fell asleep to the soft, steady cadence of Derek’s words, with him talking about his team’s latest cases and how much he’s enjoying Doctor Who so far.

~

Spencer woke up with a start the next morning. His migraine was basically gone, just the sensation of the dull, lingering pain, but nothing excruciating. At the very least, he was able to check his phone without wanting to gauge his eyes out.

As he read the messages from Derek, he froze as he slowly remembered all that had happened the previous evening. I must have been more out of it then I realized. Spencer let out a groan of pure embarrassment, pressing his face into his hands. “He was complimenting me on my voice and I didn’t say anything about his and it was probably really rude. And I asked him to stay on the phone with me and he was probably busy and I just don’t get why he’s wasting his time. God, why am I like this?”

After getting all that out of his system, he went through all the messages he had missed while he was out of commission. Gideon was checking in, assumed right about the migraine. Alright… He paused when he realized he had more than a handful of messages from Derek, of all people. And most of them are from before we had that call.

[6:51 pm]

De-Reel_Morgan: Hey, Spence. Just checking in.

[6:51 pm]

De-Reel_Morgan: I know we normally talk around this time, but I get it if you’re busy. Just don’t push yourself too hard!

[10:13 pm]

De-Reel_Morgan: Alright, maybe I’m getting worried over nothing and you’re asleep. Rest well, okay?

[7:27 am]

De-Reel_Morgan: Heard the news from Garcia. She told me not to worry, but it seems that’s all I’m good for these days.

[7:27 am]

De-Reel_Morgan: Please just take care of yourself, okay?

[8:39 pm]

De-Reel_Morgan: Alright, I can’t take it anymore. Not being able to hear from you is driving me crazy. And I wanna make sure you’re okay. That too.

[8:40 pm]

De-Reel_Morgan: I’m gonna give you a call, so forgive me if I sound a little like a crazy person. I promise I’m not normally like this.

[4:12 am]

De-Reel_Morgan: I’m assuming you finally fell asleep. Have you been having trouble sleeping, Spence? Just let me know and I’m 10000% willing to do this again.

[4:13 am]

De-Reel_Morgan: But not just to hear your voice or anything. No. Nope. Nothing like that.

[6:33 am]

De-Reel_Morgan: Hopefully you rested well. I looked into some temporary pain relief for migraines, and they say that warm drinks might help a little. So maybe try some tea, or hot chocolate.

[6:33 am]

De-Reel_Morgan: But lay off the coffee for a little while, you little addict.

Spencer felt his face grow warm at Derek’s affections. Maybe, just maybe, it was alright to think that Derek cared about him. Like, really cared about him. Despite what Gideon had to say, he really wanted to keep talking to Derek. He makes me feel…special. Like I’m worth something. And he’s nothing like the person Gideon’s trying to protect me from. I think, just this once, I can make my own decisions.

[thereweresunflowers]

hiii <3 feels like we haven't talked in like forever

anyways I wanted to ask if you've watched ofmd?? like I watched it a week ago adn immediately thought of that dissertation you wrote with pirates and gayness in it (there's a lottt of gayness in ofmd) and that piece you did was fab btw

anyway how is '23 treating you? god it sounds weird to say. 2023. Wow. wasn't it 2019, like, a week ago? friggin' hell.

<3 <3 <3

hiiiii tessa beloved hello!! how are you i hope you are doing wonderfully <3

alas i have not yet watched ofmd :( i know it's on bbc iplayer now so i really do need to get on it but the time has been runnning away from me. if it had come out while i was writing that diss i DEFO would've watched it and written pages on it because it sounds exactly like the kind of thing which would need to be involved. maybe if i do watch it i can do an actual uni level essay on it to develop my diss haha

and 2023 i going swell so far thank you - i'm on holiday still till the end of this week so it's been a very slow start, which has been nice. i hope school stuff isn't too stressful atm and that you're finding lots of things to enjoy! <333

[about27th]

big applause to myself

went through a mental difficulty just now but feeling better now

it's been a long yet quick two months putting myself out there, worrying every second about getting judged by people

however, it's been a surprising journey

the recognitions and encouragement i received were immense -- especially the gentleman who approached and told us we did a good job making people curious about our idea, it's really a good start

the host said that he's bn waiting the entire night for our turn; the judges expressed their astonishment watching the video pitch; there's also bn great laughters throughout our Q&A section --- what have i done to deserve so much attention! it was totally INSANE

yet i still blamed myself for not doing good enough and had to call samaritan to try to get rid of the strange and uneasy feeling

i mean

i wrote the entire business proposal without any business background

i made a 3-min pitch video in 2 days with no prior video editing experience

i wrote a damn good live pitch script

although didnt fully understood what the judges said, i still answered their questions in fluent english and in front of a full house of audience

most importantly, i got to turn something that seems challenging into a viable idea

what else do you want to achieve?!

now in retrospect, was that not another kind of recognition? HUGE recognition. yes, other groups were awarded tangible prizes.. but only our group received that special treatment, that's SOMETHING

i started to feel that, after last year's dissertation presentations and this workshop, i may have greatly underestimated myself; i am actually capable of lots of things than i ever know..

i know my cptsd is really fking with my ability to feel pleasure and enjoy life

and here i thought of Richard's advice -- is that (whatever 'bad' happening) something to blame myself for, or a lesson to learn from?

yes it could be done better, yes you could have treated it more seriously; but instead of keep blaming yourself for something that no longer can be changed, why not learn from it and give yourself credits for the part that's done well?

and also, always remind yourself not to overly focus on your own but pay attention to others and genuinely cheer for them when they succeed.. it's ok to not be perfect even when in a seemingly life changing event; knowing how to feel happy for people will also make you happy (and less resentful)

that's the note for myself

give credit

take the recognition and not assume it to be the expectation that you need to meet

pay attention or engage with others, distracting yourself from imagined problems

“In the midst of every crisis, lies great opportunity” --- Albert Einstein

i'm so glad i've turned this crises into an opportunity to learn

below is the link for my video pitch, i hope it'll put a smile on your face because many have told me that's what i've made them; if it doesnt, dont have to be mad at me, it's a learning process

well done jojo!

[burst-of-iridescent]

You didn't have to go so hard in your zutara dissertation and yet you did and it is amazingly detailed and so well written

You deserve a Standing Ovation 👏👏👏

thank you sm anon! that's so kind of you to say <3 it really means a lot to me.

i honestly expected the dissertation to get like... 10 notes? so to see how many people are enjoying it has been amazing. i wrote it in the first place to convince a kat.aanger friend of mine but she didn't want to read it (lol) so i thought it might help someone else explain why they ship zutara/why it's such an amazing ship.

i'm glad you liked it and thank you again!! i hope you have a great day/night ahead xx

[kathonyxbee]

Wicked Game

Happy Day 6 of Kathony Week! 🐝🌷⛈

I know I've been a little absent the past 3 days, but I had to finish and submit my dissertation. Which I did, yesterday, so I wrote today's fic. I do have an idea for a fic for yesterday's prompt, so I'll probably post that, too when I do it, but I don't think I'll have one for each day.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this smut galore! 💕

Make me. That was how it had started, this wicked game of theirs. With two simple words and a yellow cap.

Day 6: "Make me"

Anthony hid Kate's yellow cap, so when she asks him to tell her where it is, his response is "make me" and Kate does like a challenge.

Or, when Anthony gives Kate a challenge, she decides to torture him and smut ensues.

Anthony let out a heavy sigh and took a sip of his scotch, taking comfort in the familiar sensation amber liquid burning his throat, trying to relax. Not that he really needed to. It was only his family coming to dinner, after all. He took another sip, downing his drink. At least not all of them were coming, but it was enough that Hyacinth and Gregory would be there. Dear Lord.

The door to his study burst open, and he sat up, alarmed, but relaxed upon seeing Kate enter, looking a vision in a yellow gown covered in jewels that sparkled as they caught in the light whenever she moved. And Kate always moved, always in motion. And she always sparkled. She’d clearly been getting ready, her hair pulled into a neat twist, a few curls escaping it, and she hadn’t yet put on her jewelry, save for her engagement and wedding rings which always resided on the fourth finger of her left hand.

Kate had been a ball of stress, of constant fretting and worrying for the past two weeks or so, ever since the two of them invited his family over for dinner. They’d put the event off, first because they wanted to wait until the season was over, then because of the accident and Kate’s leg needing to heal, and then she’d gotten pregnant with Edmund, and then they’d moved into Bridgerton House, and Edmund had been born and the past year had been a whirlwind. But they’d finally decided on a date, and even Kate had to admit that doing this dinner at Bridgerton House was a much better idea than at his bachelor lodgings. So, invitations had been issued, and Kate had been spending the past two weeks fully immersed in the preparations. And, Anthony hadn’t quite anticipated what hell that would be. He was surprised no servants had deserted, but then Kate wasn’t a monster, not like that horrid Araminta Gunningworth. Actually, Kate was always lovely and kind with the servants, who were quite devoted to the new Lady Bridgerton. Suffice to say, the past two weeks had been eventful at Bridgerton House. But, finally, the dinner was happening and Anthony could have his wife back.

His wife.

He smiled at her, and opened his mouth to greet her, but Kate beat him to it, coming to stand in front of his desk.

“Anthony, have you seen my yellow cap?” she burst out, huffing slightly, clearly annoyed. “You know, the one that matches this dress?” she added, giving him a pointed look, one eyebrow raised.

Ah, so that was why she was here. Well, this was certainly going to be interesting because Anthony had absolutely no intention to tell her where it was.

“Well?”

He smiled, “hello, dear.”

“Yes, hi. My cap?”

“I have absolutely no idea where it is,” he lied. “Have you tried asking the servants?”

Kate huffed and rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest, “well, of course I asked the servants!” she snapped. “I asked them, first,” she glared, rather pointedly at him, and he leaned back slightly, trying to appear relaxed, but concerned, not to give away the fact that he had the bloody hat. Or, why exactly he’d taken it. “But, then,” she drawled, rounding the desk to sit on it, closer to him, “I thought there is one person in this household I haven’t asked. And, he most certainly knows where my cap might be.” She smiled triumphantly, and he swallowed thickly. Even with the slight distance between them, he was suddenly assaulted by her scent, soap and lilies, leaving him dizzy, intoxicating with the scent of his wife.

“Humboldt?” he offered with a shrug, referring to their butler.

Kate rolled her eyes, “very funny,” she muttered acerbically. “You,” she said simply.

“Me?”

She nodded, “yes. You. You see, dear husband,” she said sweetly, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips, “it just occurred to me that you have a rather peculiar dislike for my caps,” she informed him.

“I do?” It sounded like a question.

“Indeed,” she nodded.

“Well, I do find them unnecessary,” he told her, shrugging. “Especially when a woman has such beautiful hair as you,” he told her, reaching to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. Kate rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed with his answer.

“Nice try, sweetheart,” she murmured. “Where is my cap?”

“I have no idea, darling,” he told her, emphasizing the term of endearment a little too much, and she tutted in response.

“Anthony?”

“Yes?”

“We both know you know where it is,” she said, glaring at him pointedly.

“We do?”

“We do,” she nodded emphatically. His shoulders slumped, slightly, causing Kate to grin. “Tell me where it is?”

“No.”

“No?” She arched an eyebrow.

“No,” he nodded.

“Anthony?” she prompted, trailing her fingers along his arm slightly, causing him to stiffen.

“Yes?” he dragged the word out, trying not to succumb to the fact that Kate had quite the effect on him.

“Tell me where my cap is,” she said slowly, enunciating each word, leaning closer to him, so close he was enveloped in her scent, making him dizzy.

“Make me,” he muttered. And, as soon as the word fell from his lips, he regretted it because Kate eyes flashed with something. His wife, after all, did like a challenge. And, Anthony knew, without a doubt, that he was in deep trouble.

“Very well,” Kate pursed her lips slightly, and stood up to lock the door of his study. Anthony swallowed convulsively as she returned to his desk.

Slowly, Kate swung her legs over, so she was sitting more comfortably on his desk, as opposed to just leaning on it, but put some distance between them, designed only to torture him.

“Kate,” he gulped, “what are you doing?”

She grinned, rather wickedly, that gleam in her eyes making him feel rather heated, and then leaned forward, closer to him, but not close enough to touch. “Well, dear husband,” she drawled, “we are going to play a game,” she informed him.

“We are?” he uttered, unable to formulate anything more coherent.

“Oh yes,” she murmured, her voice low and husky, and all Anthony wanted was to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless, but that was probably not the point of this game of hers. “The rules are very simple. I will try to guess where you’ve put my cap, and every time I’ve guess it right, you can touch me,” she informed him simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Touch you?” he muttered.

“Oh, yes,” she breathed out, and then tugged on the neckline of her dress slightly, revealing a little more of her breasts. Her perfect, perky breasts. Anthony reached for her, intending to help her, but she stopped him, her fingers gripping his wrist. “No touching,” she muttered, leaning closer to him. “Not now,” she smirked.

Oh. Good God.

“Kate, I-” Anthony swallowed thickly, cutting himself off, as Kate’s hands roamed over her breasts, squeezing them slightly, tugging the material of her dress away from them, revealing more of her perfect chest, but not too much, just enough to torture him.

She bit her lip, “so, is it here? At Bridgerton House?” she asked, still working to free her breasts, and Anthony wanted to reach for her, to help her. Up close, he noticed that her dress wasn’t simply a light yellow, but mixed with a light peach and pink fabric that made Kate’s dark skin glow. It was an odd sort of thing to notice, the specific colors of her dress, but there it was.

“I could help you, you know,” he informed her, licking his lips. She hummed, still smirking.

“Oh, yes. That would be lovely. But, first you must tell me if I’m right,” she told him. “That is how it works, dearest husband. You tell me if I’m right, you can help me,” she explained, her lips twitching. Oh. Good Lord, she was good, his wife. She was bloody good. Deviously so. She would win, either way. And, he had already lost. And, he found, that he didn’t particularly mind.

“Yes,” he grunted. “Yes, it’s here. In this house.”

She grinned, her eyes gleaming with glee. “Well, go on, then. Help me, Anthony,” she muttered breathlessly, motioning for him.

He didn’t need to be told twice, and immediately moved closer to her, reaching for her, his hands going to the three small buttons at the back of her dress, slowly undoing them. He didn’t need to see them to know where they were, and he much preferred to be staring at Kate’s bosom as he undid the buttons.

“Good,” she muttered as his hands rested on her shoulders, fingers grasping onto the sleeves of her dress, intending to tug it off, but she stopped him, seizing his wrists. “My turn,” she muttered as he removed his hands from her shoulders, pushing him back into his chair.

And then, she reached for the hem of her dress, her hand going underneath it, and Anthony knew where this was going to lead, what she was about to do, and she was going to use it to torture him. He reached for her again, but she stopped him with her free hand.

She tutted, “that isn’t how the game works, Anthony. I haven’t made my guess, yet.” She smirked, “no touching, or I shall have to tie you to this chair,” she added. He only managed to grunt his assent as Kate let out a small moan.

He didn’t need to see beneath her skirts to know what she was doing. After all, not only did he have a rather vivid imagination, especially when it came to his wife’s body, but he also knew her body, better than his own, even. He knew every inch of skin, ever crevice, her tickle spots as well as her pleasure spots, he knew all of her. And he knew her hand had trailed along her legs until she’d reached her maidenhead, and he imagined her rubbing her fingers against it as she panted slightly. He felt himself getting hard, wanting to get up and sweep her into his arms, lay her on his study desk and have his way with her.

“Is it…” he breath hitched slightly in her throat, “is it in our bedroom?”

He shook his head, and stood up to move closer to her, this time reaching for her corset, his fingers deftly undoing its laces as Kate let out another moan, her movements beneath her skirt becoming quicker. “But, you already knew that, didn’t you?” he whispered into her ear, his lips brushing against her skin, and he felt her shiver slightly.

“Oh, yes,” she murmured, panting slightly. “Is it,” she paused and her free hand ghosted over her breasts once more, rubbing them slightly as he sat back down, “is it in the drawing room?”

He shook his head once more, but didn’t move.

Kate was looking increasingly flushed, her movements more rapid, “is it in the informal drawing room?”

Again, he shook his head.

“The dining room?” she asked, her breath hitching in her throat as she continued to pleasure herself.

“No,” he told her, his own voice husky as he stood up and rounded the table, and slowly began undoing her coiffure.

“Anthony!” she exclaimed, but he ignored her, removing the pins in her hair, letting her curls fall down, slowly, one by one.

“I did help you. Twice,” he whispered into her ear, and because he couldn’t help himself, he nipped slightly on it, teeth grazing it lightly. “And, it’s not in the dining room, either. Or, in Edmund’s room.” He smirked, “two can play at this game, wife. I’ve helped you four times, now.”

Kate gasped, and reached for him, her hand cupping the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair as Anthony removed the last of her pins, her dark curls now falling freely down her shoulders. She stiffened, arching her back slightly, and he could see that she was reaching her pinnacle as her fingers continued to rub against her clit.

“The spare bedrooms?” she asked.

“Wrong again,” he muttered as his hands roamed her breasts, over the material of her dress, rubbing over where her areoles were, causing Kate to let out another moan. She arched her back again, tensing slightly, as he nipped on her ear once more while his hands continued groping her breasts. “I could tell you, you know?” he whispered into her ear.

“You forfeit so easily?” she quipped as she leaned against him slightly, her hands gripping his hair harder.

“You drive a hard bargain, wife,” he remarked. “Besides, I think I should much prefer helping you than playing this game,” he added, smirking slightly.

“I see,” she murmured.

“You do see, don’t you?”

“Well,” she trailed her fingers along his jaw, “where is it?”

“If I tell you,” he muttered, “I want a condition of my own.”

“And, what would that be?” she whispered as his hands trailed down to rest on her waist, and he could practically see the smug smirk she wore.

“I get to have my way with you,” he said simply, his voice a low, husky whisper. “On this desk,” he added, his voice hoarse.

“Well, I do like the sound of that,” she murmured, smirking slightly.

He merely hummed and pushed her dress down until it pooled on the floor before undoing the rest of the laces of his wife’s corset. And then, he picked her up and gently set her onto his desk, sweeping his things off in the process, but he could care less as he took in the sight of Kate lying on his desk, her curls a halo around her head, her skin flushed, her eyes dark with lust as he removed his tailcoat and cravat.

“So, where is it?” she whispered as she sat up slightly, helping him remove his waistcoat and shirt, her hands roaming all over his torso.

“Where is what, dear wife?” he asked, furrowing his brow slightly.

“The cap!” she huffed.

“Ah,” he sighed. “I’m not going to simply tell you. Where is the fun in that?” he quipped, and Kate glared at him as he positioned himself over her, ready to pounce. “You’re going to have to make me,” he told her, smirking deviously.

“What?” she gasped as her hands wound around his neck, fingers gripping onto his hair, tugging on it.

“Make me,” he muttered against her lips, the scent of soap and lilies enveloping him once more.

🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷

Make me. That was how it had started, this wicked game of theirs. With two simple words and a yellow cap.

Kate had never considered herself a wicked woman, had never considered that what happened between a married couple was for any purpose other than making children. But, Anthony Bridgerton had changed all that. He’d taught her that it was as much about her pleasure as his, he’d taught her how to pleasure herself, he’d taught her how to be adventurous and, yes, wicked. After all, her husband used to be the biggest Rake of them all. Of course, he was now anything but dangerous and rakish, but the two of them did enjoy the occasional bedroom adventure. He’d made her wicked, only for him, of course, and she found that she did not mind. She rather liked it, actually. After all, she was the one who had come up with their little wicked game, pleasuring herself in front of him until he’d given in.

“Make me,” he repeated, breathlessly, against her lips. Kate smirked. Anthony’s brow furrowed.

Slowly, she tilted her head and pressed her lips against the crease that had formed between his eyebrows, a barely-there kiss, her lips merely ghosting over the spot before she cupped his cheeks, and captured his lips with her own as her legs wrapped around his waist, and she felt him move between her legs, rocking slightly.

Her lips moved slowly against his, but Anthony soon deepened the kiss as his hands roamed her body, fingers trailing along her sides before cupping her breasts, rubbing over her nipples. Kate didn’t shy from responding to his movements, her own hands roaming all over his body, fingers trailing along his back as her lips became more urging, more demanding against his.

Anthony briefly broke the kiss, and pulled back slightly, his nose rubbing against hers. “Kate…” he gasped, “I don’t think- I can’t wait, Kate, I-”

“Me neither,” she murmured against his lips. “I want you, Anthony. I want you now.”

That was all he needed to thrust into her, and he shifted them both around slightly, accommodating himself, and allowing her to be comfortable. She always was, her husband fitting perfectly inside her. The two of them fit, just right, as if they’d been made for each other, perfectly in sync. Slowly, he began thrusting into her, and she ground her hips against his, matching his movements.

“You feel so good,” he muttered. “So damn good, Kate…”

“Mm… Anthony,” she moaned as her fingers dug into his skin slightly. She needed him, needed him like she needed air. “Faster, Anthony,” she urged him, breathlessly, and he picked up pace, his thrusts becoming more rhythmic as their lips crashed once more, molding perfectly with each other, tongues tangled together. “Oh, Anthony…” she sighed against his lips as he broke the kiss.

“Kate…” he gasped before his lips brushed against her jaw, pressing a kiss there. And then, another one. And another one.

“Oh, Anthony…” she moaned, breathless and panting as he trailed kisses along her jaw before moving to her neck, his lips brushing against it, pressing kisses down the slope of her neck until he reached her collarbone and he settled on a spot, biting on it. He nipped, he sucked, she moaned, she whimpered.

His hands didn’t stop moving either, continuing their ministrations on her breasts, rubbing her nipples, squeezing her breasts slightly, earning another moan from her, her grip on his hair tightening, her hips continuing to grind against his, matching his thrusts. They were completely in sync, their bodies completely familiar to the other. It was like they knew what the other was thinking, what the other needed. I burn for you. I desire you. I want you. It’s never been so good… Only you.

He kissed, he licked, she sighed, she groaned.

Her hands were in his hair, tugging on it, fingers threading through it before drifting down, hands roaming over his back, nails digging into his skin. His hands were cupping her breasts, rubbing her nipples, making her moan and whimper, and God, his ministrations on her breasts made her weak, dizzy with pleasure.

It’s fast and urgent and filled with need, and slow and loving all at once, each touch filled with a thousand affirmations, a thousand unsaid I love you’s, a thousand whispers of need.

One of his hands removed from her breasts, and he reached for hers, his fingers tangling with hers as he pressed it against the desk, as his thrusts became faster and faster, more urgent, and she knew he was close and so was she, and she didn’t mind.

Their lips connected briefly, another passionate and demanding kiss, all teeth and tongue, and she was sure her lips were going to be swollen afterwards, but she didn’t care. In this moment, with her husband, copulating on his study desk, she didn’t care.

He broke the kiss once more, “I’m so close… Kate… are you?”

She moaned, “so close, Anthony… I-”

He cut her off with another searing kiss, and his palm pressed harder against hers, his fingers tightening through hers, and she felt herself tightening, too. Anthony pulled away from her again, breaking the kiss, though his lips remained mere inches from hers. She bumped her nose against his and arched her back as he thrust again, harder this time, and she felt herself reach pinnacle, moaning his name as she held onto him. Then, he went utterly still and let out a loud groan before collapsing onto her, and she felt herself relax, too, slumping beneath him.

He rolled off her slightly, but still wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer.

“You are so perfect,” he muttered, breathlessly, and she blushed. He pressed his lips to her temple. “You.” Kiss. “Are.” Another kiss. “So.” Another kiss. “Bloody.” Kiss. “Perfect.”

She reached for him, cupping his cheek, tugging him towards her so she could look at him, and their gazes met once more.

“So are you. We fit perfectly, dear husband,” she murmured, her lips curving into a soft smile. “I know I have been a little crazy the past few weeks with the family dinner and all,” she admitted, biting her lip slightly.

“I know,” he nodded. “But, you have nothing to worry about, Lady Bridgerton,” he told her, pressing his lips to her forehead, and she relaxed in his arms. “You are the perfect viscountess, Kate. The right viscountess. For me. And, my family knows that. You have nothing to worry about,” he added.

She smiled, “thank you. I love you, Anthony.”

“I love you, too,” he told her, his voice firm, certain. His brow creased again, slightly, and she brushed her finger against it, smoothing it.

“Is everything okay?” she asked softly because he only got that crease when something wasn’t okay, when he was worried, or concerned, or angry, or anything but content.

“Yes,” he nodded, his lips curving into a smile. “But, we should probably go and finish getting ready. We do not want to be late, do we, Lady Bridgerton?”

She grinned, “of course,” she muttered before she lifted her head slightly and brushed her lips against his forehead, right where that crease formed. “Now, quit worrying, Lord Bridgerton,” she added as he stood up and pulled up his breeches, buttoning them before grabbing his discarded shirt and waistcoat.

They helped each other get ready, Anthony lacing her corset as she tied his cravat before he helped button her dress as well.

“I should go upstairs and attempt to salvage my hair,” she sighed once they were both ready.

“You do have time,” he told her, checking his watch.

“Anthony?” she prompted, because she hadn’t forgotten why exactly she’d come to his study.

“Yes?”

“Give me my cap, please,” she gave him a pointed look.

Anthony sighed and opened one of the drawers of her desk, revealing the yellow cap.

“Don’t wear it,” he said softly as he handed it to her. “And, don’t put your hair up.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion, “why?”

He came to stand closer to her and gently played with her hair, running his fingers through her curls. “Because your hair is beautiful, and I don’t want you to hide it. Especially here,” he said, his voice husky.

Kate’s lips curved into a delighted smile. “Very well,” she murmured with a sigh.

She did, indeed, pull it into a half-up twist, choosing to use one of her flower pins to adorn it, and when she caught her husband’s gaze, he gave her an appreciative smile. And, she couldn’t help but wink at him.

[nettlestingsoup]

hey morgan! 1, 3, 7, 14, 15, 23, 24, 25 and 27 for the fic asks? that's quite a few haha sorry. also i hope you feel better soon!! <3

hi honey! the more the merrier, right? and yeah, i slept for 12 hours and now i'm making more soup, so this cold should be gone very soon!

1: favourite fic has to be all that makes me holy, i found in you. technically i started it last year, but i did the lion's share this year and i'm honestly so, so proud of it.

3: favourite line or scene... probably a scene from protect me from the dark outside (despite what hides within) (the southern gothic au). it is... a horrifying scene. very gory. but i'm proud of it, because i feel like it actually really encapsulates the genre i was trying to imitate; it's not often that i really push myself with regards to genre, but i did for that au and that scene just feels right. here's a tiny section of it, but i don't want to spoil too much!

It sounds different this time, Changbin thinks; it’s not unlike Silas, not like it’s dropped some pretence of his identity. It’s still using his voice, after all. His throat. But there’s something wrong about the way it speaks. Something strained and wet and painful. As it approaches the boundary of the garden, Changbin understands why. The thing that pushes through the vines is still recognisably human, but rot sets in quickly in the heat and humidity of the forest, and the creatures that roam the foothills of the mountains are always hungry. And Pastor Silas has been dead a week, after all.

7: all that makes me holy, at a final count of 93,973 words!

14: i never expected to go back to the lichtenberg au. i wrote it out as a quick thing last year but never really planned to develop it more, but i'm enjoying it!

15: honestly, i learned this year that changes in my writing habits aren't the end of the world. i've had a huge change in my lifestyle this year (from uni to a full-time job) and it's really affected my writing time. i don't have one lecture in the morning and then a free day in the morning. i don't have hours and hours at my disposal to find music that fits the vibe i want, or to write out full 2k word scenes. and to be honest, it's been a real struggle to work with the time i have; i panicked a few times that starting work was the end of me writing stories because i just do not have the same amount of time and energy anymore. but i've adjusted. i can't write as much as i used to, or as often, but that's ok. i'm learning to make use of the time i have. i'm learning that it's ok to just write what i want instead of powering through one story when i'm not in the mood. at the end of the day, writing is about having fun and catharsis for me, and i guess i'm learning to value those things more than obsessive productivity and devoting all my time to my stories like i did when i had the time to do that. was that a bit long? i think that was a bit long.

23: the hyunin seven swans au eludes me. one day i'll write it. also some post-apocalyptic minchan. also any minsung at all (it's been a while since i wrote them).

24: evy's magic academy fic! i haven't finished it yet but it's so soft and warm and good.

25: same answer! i'll be honest, i have not read a lot of fic this year. university exams plus a dissertation plus starting a whole new life in a new city does not allow a lot of time for reading. i'm hoping to get some in over christmas, though.

27: ... same answer? like i said, it's been a tough year for reading.

thank you for these asks! sorry if this got very, very long <3

[spanishrose2002]

Deep fic writer 1,3,11

Let me begin by saying thanks. I love these things. I had to sit on this one (until I got some sleep and coffee) so that I could answer them well. 1. what's the fic you're most proud of?

I'll be honest, I love all my fics for what they are or what they could have been. I know that's probably vain to say, but I write them because I love them. Even the ones that got wrecked for one reason or another were fics that I wrote with love and with a great deal of hope, so I'm sorry they got wrecked, but I love what they were meant to be. In a way, I'm proud of all of them. Even the ones I haven't finished are things that I enjoyed. I set out to make something, and I did.

3. what fic are you emotionally attached to?

I'm emotionally attached to all of them in some way. I put bits and pieces of myself and my life in all of them. That being said, I would have to say that Broken Mirrors is the fic to which I am the most emotionally attached.

11. Has a fic you’ve written ever caused issues/controversy? Boy have they ever, at least at a personal level! Let me tell you, I have had people come for me for a variety of reasons. (I'm convinced that some people literally have nothing better to do.) I've had people criticize my fics because they were too long.

I've had people come at me for my use of OCs. I've had people criticize me a great deal for liking to write pregnancy fic, babyfics, kid fics, etc. and I've had people basically devote their time to writing me little dissertations of negativity over why this is not realistic (in fiction, often based on a show about zombies...). This one should be starred and bolded, probably, because this is a SUPER common complaint I've gotten since I started writing for Caryl YEARS ago. I've had people get mad because things in my fics didn't happen in the way or at the speed in which they thought they should happen. I've had people inform me that my fics weren't dramatic enough, while having others fuss about the drama I've put into them. I don't think anything I've ever written has caused something like a fandomwide issue or controversy (though, I could be wrong or forgetting something), but there have definitely been lots of dramatic moments where individual (and small group) readers have come for me for various things. I could basically write you a little novella about the drama surrounding a good number of the fics that I've written.

[thadelightfulone]

All I Want... 25 Days of Christmas Challenge, Day 5

November 21st - Part 2

Erik’s tablet chimed as he finished up the dishes. He set aside the leftovers for later and went to see what DeeDee had to say.

He roared with laughter at how she ended the email. Why was she so stuck on finding out if he found the love he described? Her curiosity tickled him and now he had to decide how to navigate this conversation away from that kind of talk. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk about the non-existent once-in-a-lifetime kind of love that he wanted. But how do you explain to someone how you never felt you deserved it, so you never went looking for it? And therefore, you don’t have it. 

Erik sighed and reached for something stronger than water to drink. 

He took the tablet, the bottle and glass into the living room. He took a seat on the couch and cracked his knuckles and began to write his response for the Curious DeeDee. Erik shook his head and laughed again. 

Erik hoped this would be enough to get DeeDee away from asking again, but something told him it wasn’t over.

---

DeeDee had devoured half of the pizza and the bottle of wine. She went to her room to  change out of her cleaning clothes into her favorite hoodie and a pair of yoga pants. 

Her laptop went off when she returned from the back, and DeeDee jumped onto her couch in excitement. She couldn’t wait to find out that he found his true life long love. 

If she couldn’t find it for herself, there was no reason for her to not want that for everyone else. Live vicariously through her new friend, Erik. Wait, could she consider him a friend? She scrunched her face at that rude thought and opened his email.

SUBJECT: RE: ‘MgYHeArTaNdSOULa’

Hi Dee Dee,

I know you know I meant science, but I will answer one of those questions to quell your curiosity. I, also, commend you for pursuing your doctorate, and in advanced chemistry, no less. 

So, it’s kind of a funny story, but I never meant to leave it in there. 

Fun fact about the note, it is much older than you think. I was a civil engineering major during undergrad, when I originally wrote that note and left it in the book. 

It happened when I was returning all my checked out books from the library. I was getting ready to move and needed to get them all in to avoid any replacement fees that would have prevented the conferral of my doctoral degree. So, I turned all of those books in without checking them. Which was definitely out of character for me. Especially since I lived by all my written notes for both class and research. 

I discovered it was missing when I went to look for it after the move. I knew exactly where it was, but I knew I wouldn’t be going back to get it. So, it was just out there. Besides, I knew what it said by heart, so it was fine.  

I will tell you I never expected to be discussing it years later though. It has been a very pleasant surprise.

Thank you,

E

“Of course, he would avoid the damn question.” She huffed out and poured another glass. It should not be that hard to answer, either he found it or is still in search of it. DeeDee’s hand stilled as she brought it to her lips. Nope, not going there tonight. She took a long drink of her wine.

She set the glass down, drew up her legs and crossed them before settling the computer on her lap. In a flurry, DeeDee’s fingers danced across her keyboard as she wrote her response. The alcohol heated her up to match her current mood. 

---

Erik was chilling, in a half-assed attempt to watch the movie playing on TV. He had turned the volume down because the woman’s high pitched tone was grating on his nerves. He set the whiskey down on his coffee table and leaned back with his feet propped up and closed his eyes. 

The easily recognizable email alert stirred him. Oh, she had time. It had only been about 20 minutes since he sent the last email. He sat up and opened up the email. 

SUBJECT: RE: ‘MgYHeArTaNdSOULa’

Mr. Erik, 

So, you really aren’t going to answer that other question? Ok, that’s fine. I’ll let it slide for now.

Thank you for that. I have always wanted to work in the science field and I found toxicology while I was working on my Bachelors. I enjoy it and definitely appreciate having Dr. O as my mentor. 

That is an interesting story. The one time you lost control and you left something like the note behind. Well, I guess it is just my luck that I found it and decided to look for you, huh? Oh, and you’re welcome. 

What do you do now? I know you aren’t working in a lab or researching much anymore.  

I read a little bit about you but I don’t know much about the work that the Wakandan Outreach Centers do. I would love to hear about it.

DeeDee 

“That’s right. Quis, did say she was one of his students.” Then why was he worried about the person being a stalker. Erik set the tablet down and reached for his cell to text him. 

Erik: Quis, why were you worried about DeeDee?

Quis: What? 

Erik: About stalker potential?

Quis: Man, I didn’t even know it was her until she came and showed me a picture.

Erik: What picture?

Quis: Our Grad Student of the Year picture from the front of the Southern Digest.

Erik nodded his head, “So, Miss DeeDee knows what I look like. Or what I looked like.”

Quis: Everything good, man. 

Erik: Yeah, yeah. Just wanted a little background, can’t be too sure of people asking for help these days.  

Quis: DeeDee could never stoop to Karina’s level. She’s safe. 

“The hell, she is.” Erik picked up his glass and took a sip. “This woman is becoming more dangerous, as we speak.”

Quis: So, I take it that you can be of use to her?

Erik: Uh yeah, she is very sharp. 

Quis: You have no idea.

Erik: Thanks again. Oh, and I got the email, so I’m making plans now. 

Quis: Great. Later, man.

“If Marquis vouched for her, then I have nothing to worry about.”

Erik dropped his phone back onto the couch and picked up the tablet. 

“Here goes nothing.”

--- 

DeeDee was on Spotify. She picked a list at random and let the music take her away. She was slowly bodyrolling to Rome Flynn’s ‘Keep Me In Mind’ with a refreshed glass in hand, when her phone blinked. She walked over to it and saw that Erik had sent another email. She took a sip and picked up her phone to open his reply. 

SUBJECT: RE: ‘MgYHeArTaNdSOULa’

DeeDee,

How did I go from Erik to Mister? 

I guess if you get to know me better than maybe you would find out the answer to your question. 

But you are right. I tend to have a tight rein on things, it has always been that way. So, when I lost the note, I was irritated before I realized it wasn’t going to matter in the long run. But it appears to have landed in exceptional hands. *winks*

Well, I am in the family business. My family started the Wakandan Outreach Centers. The first one was opened up here in Oakland. I am the Director of Operations for it and all the Centers on the West Coast.

My first love will always be science. So, although, I may not be active in the field according to your definition. I still use everything I learned and conduct research with my cousins on a regular basis.

Since you know so much about me. Tell me something about DeeDee. Like how much longer do you have to complete your doctorate? 

Mr. Erik

“Does he think that wink is gonna work on me?” DeeDee hid her smile behind the glass. “Damnit.” 

She locked up the phone and walked back to her couch. DeeDee traded devices and picked up her laptop to reply to Erik. 

“You don’t get to wink at me and then wash over the topic again.” 

DeeDee pressed down hard on each key as she typed. She admired the fact that his family was close enough to work together on something as big as the successful operation of multiple Outreach Centers across the U.S. But she would not rest until he answered her. 

“You aren’t cute, Mr. Erik.” She glanced over to the notebook, where the newspaper clipping of him and Dr. O was folded up inside. She recalled some dimples and a bright smile. He definitely towered over her 5’4 frame. He stood at least 2-3 inches taller than Dr. O, and she had to look up at him all the time. “Yeah, you not that cute.”

She clapped her hands and hit the ‘send’ button. Her phone went off. She saw Beverly sent something in the group chat.

Bev: Dinner and the club, tonight?

Phyll: You know I’m down. 

DeeDee: No thanks. I’m covered for the rest of the year.

Bev: Come on, DeeDee. 

DeeDee: Phyll, don’t you have work?

Phyll: Don’t try to change the subject, Dee. 

Bev: You ain’t doing nothing important. It’s not like you have something to study for anymore.

DeeDee looked at her computer. “Come on, Erik. Give me a reason to stay home tonight.”

---

Erik just brought the glass to his lips when the tablet alerted him to another email. So, they were really doing this tonight? Back and forth emails in real time. He doesn’t even remember the last time, he looked forward to hearing from someone. It had been a while since someone had his attention like that. And after a few simple emails, he found that DeeDee squirmed her way into that space. 

“What’s up Miss DeeDee?” He opened the email, “Ready to share?”

SUBJECT: RE: ‘MgYHeArTaNdSOULa’

Mister Erik, 

*pouts* Fine. I don’t know why you can’t just answer the question now, but ok. 

That is wonderful. Sounds like the family business is treating you well. And you are enjoying what you do. That is all I want from my career. I want to do research and teach others. It’s a growing field so if we can get more men and women of color into STEM careers, I am here for it. 

Something about me -- I’m an only child and a legacy student. Both of my parents attended Southern. In fact, it’s where they met all those years ago. And I like to read...like I can read anything and get lost in someone else’s world for hours.

But this is hopefully my final semester, I am preparing to defend my dissertation next month. Wish me luck!  

DeeDee

“Her parents met at Southern?” Erik put the tablet down and walked over to his fireplace. He picked up the center picture from the mantle and closed his eyes briefly.  Two people were standing together in front of a large building. He rubbed his fingers over the top of the image of his parents. It read John B. Cade, it was the library at Southern University. Where his parents met and fell in love. 

Erik took a deep breath and put the picture back up. He stood there and looked at the tablet.

“Is it possible that she could be?” He shook his head before he went down that road. The image of the last woman he thought could be his one and only flashed across his mind. He groaned out. Erik walked over to the couch and grabbed the tablet. “Only one way to find out.”

Taglist: @teakturn​​ @ghostfacekill-monger​​ @shaekingshitup​​ @nahimjustfeelingit-writes​​ @woahitslucyylu​​ @ladymac82​​ @bugngiz​​ @eyeknowmywrites​​ @ajspencer1892​​ @arafatih​​ @issimplyaamazinggg​​ @tchallasbabymama​​

[weilongfu]

Wei’s 2020 Roundup

2020 was a long year (understatement of the century) and I did a number of things and did not do a number of things. A large portion of it was held up by academic responsibilities (papers and dissertations which are still ongoing despite defending) and the onset of the current global situation. But really, I feel like that’s enough depressing things so let’s get on to the happier things worth mentioning.

This year on AO3, I published approx 90+ new fics (exact number unclear, especially counting prompt fills). I wrote for many new fandoms and I’m very thankful for everyone that enjoyed my fics and felt so strongly as to leave a comment or kudos on them. Thank you for your encouragement and I hope that the new year will mean I can bring you more new things that you will enjoy. And maybe actually reduce my WIP folder instead of just adding to it. 

Works from 2020 that I’m proud of: The name etched on my chest (the one you forgot) - HIStory 3 Trapped, Jack/Zhao Zi Wish in ways long forgotten - Mystic Pop-up Bar Rich boy Demigods and the Collective Unconscious - Multiple Thai BL crossover The Dryad’s Blood - My Engineer, RamKing (Re)Write your own fate - WHY R U, SaifahZon Ship it like binary stars - HIStory 3 MODC, Hao Ting/Xi Gu

I also failed on my part of the HIStory 3 translation project with @stebeee , of which I am very sorry that I did not pull through. I definitely let myself get way in over my head not only learning Chinese, but also attempting to learn Traditional Chinese at the same time.

Min, I’m very sorry to have been a very poor partner. T^T 

These things aired, please allow me to thank all of you who have been good friends, followers, and more this year. Even if you aren’t tagged, please know that if you follow me and constantly show up in my notifications, I see you, I acknowledge you, and I appreciate you. And if you’ve mentioned me in a post before that I didn’t reply to, I’m sorry it slipped by me, but I appreciate it all the same. @sarah-yyy @stebeee @earthfluuke @thewickling @audoldends @ohdrey89 @florbexter @randomingoftherandomness @jordayyy @chanagun @thanatsarans @so-much-yet-to-learn @ctl-yuejie @ladymusashi 

While we’re here, I raise my glass to andwebegin. I sill miss you Andy, I hope we get back in touch one day. <3

Thank you everyone for making 2020 bearable, if not at least good enough, and I look forward to seeing everyone in 2021.

(I say this as if I’m not going to be trawling through this hell site as this year ticks over into 2021.)

[dillydedalus]

march reading

kinda forgot about this i guess. anyway feat. uh, magical ships, dubious mental health institutions (plural) & a parisian building with 99 rooms. 

the forever sea, joshua phillip johnson (forever sea #1) i firmly believe that more fantasy lit should be set on ships bc ships are inherently a sexy setting & you could have pirates which are extremely sexy. this has ships (and pirates) and also a sea made of grass? a magical plant sea on which ships sail via magical fires, so conceptually i’m very into it all. the plot is fine, but the protagonist kindred has a very bad case of Main Character Syndrome so prepare for mild annoyance throughout. also while i generally enjoy book magic vs wild magic i wish more works would treat them as two ends of a spectrum rather than ~book magic bad and boring, wild magic cool and *~natural*~. but overall i think this series has potential. 3/5

jagannath: stories, karin tidbeck ([partially?] translated from swedish by the author) really cool collection of sff stories by tidbeck, many of which veer into mild horror and some of which are influenced by swedish folklore and especially swedish fey stories. i enjoyed most of these a lot, especially the existential call centre horror story, the ‘god won’t let me die’ one, and a taxonomy of a cryptid that goes a little off the rails. 4/5

annette, ein heldinnenepos, anne weber a novel in verse about anne beaumanoir, a real person who was a résistance member during world war 2 and later supported the algerian national liberation front, for which she was sentenced to 10 years in prison (she escaped to tunisia and later algeria). she’s clearly a very impressive and interesting person & i conceptually enjoyed the idea of writing a modern hero(ine)’s epic, but i feel like the language could have been a bit more stylized to match the form. 3/5

salvage the bones, jesmyn ward (audio) bleak but ultimately hopeful novel about a black family in the days before and during hurricane katrina, although the focus is on the family dynamics, the 14-year-old narrator discovering that she is pregnant, and the kids trying to keep the puppies their dog china just had alive and well. enjoyed this, altho i did it a bit of a disservice but listening to it a lot of short chunks. 3.5/5

regeneration, pat barker (regeneration trilogy #1) set mostly at a military hospital for soldiers with shell shock during world war 1, this novel explores the existential horror of war, psychological treatment (& the horrible absurdity of treating traumatised men just enough so that you can send them straight back to Trauma Town), and the meeting between siegfried sassoon & wilfred owen. i find i don’t really have much to say about it, but it is very, very good. 4/5

how to pronounce knife, souvankham thammavongsa a short story collection mainly about refugees and migrants from laos to canada, many focusing on parent-child relationships and being forced to work in low-paid jobs, often ones that are damaging to their health. the stories are very well-observed and emotionally nuanced and detailed, but with 14 mostly very short stories, the collection as a whole felt a bit samey, which i guess is something i often experience with short story collections. 3/5

faces in the water, janet frame horrifying semi-autobiographical novel about a young woman stuck in new zealand’s mental health system, moving to different hospitals but mostly from ward to (more depressing) ward in the 40s/50s. while there is a shift in attitudes during her stay that sometimes makes the wards more tolerable, mostly the patients are neglected, abused, and the threat of electric shock therapy and lobotomy always hangs over them. 3/5

the upstairs house, julia fine fuck why did i read so many books about mental health conditions this month??? this is another entry in my casual ‘motherhood as horror’ reading project, in which a new mother develops post-partum psychosis & imagines the modernist children’s book writer she’s writing her dissertation on and her poet sometimes-lover haunting her and her child (margaret wise brown & michael strange, who are real people i was utterly unaware of). this does pretty good on the maternal horror front, but i wasn’t entirely sold on the literary haunting. 2/5

1000 serpentinen angst, olivia wenzel a very interesting novel about a woman struggling with grief over her brother’s suicide, an anxiety disorder, the (non)state of a (non)relationship and discrimination/marginalisation based on her identity as a black, east-german, bi woman (while also being, as she notes, financially privileged). much of the novel is written in a dialogue between the narrator and an unnamed (& probably internal) interlocutor, which was p effective for a novel more focused on introspection than much of a plot. 3/5

atlas: the archaeology of an imaginary city, dung kai-cheung (tr. from chinese by the author, anders hansson, bonnie mcdougall) fictitious theory about a slightly-left-of-reality version of hong kong and how maps (re)construct the city, very heavy on the postmodern poststructuralist postcolonial (and some other posts, i’m sure). in many ways my jam. unfortunately my favourite parts of this were the author’s preface and the first part (fictitious theory of mapping alternate hong kong); the rest felt very repetitive and not particularly interesting, altho i’m sure i was also just missing a lot of cultural context. 2.5/5

under the net, iris murdoch .........i liked the other two murdochs i’ve read (the sea, the sea & a severed head) quite a lot so either i was not in the mood for her very peculiar style of constructing novels and characters or, this being her first novel, she just wasn’t in full command of that peculiar style yet but man this was a slooooooooog. don’t stretch out your modern picaresque with an incredibly annoying narrator over more than 300 pages iris!!!! 2/5 bc this probably has some merit & i just wasn’t into it

the impossible revolution: making sense of the syrian tragedy, yassin al-haj saleh (tr. from arabic by i. rida mahmoud) collection of articles and essays saleh (a syrian intellectual & activist who spent 16 years in a syrian prison) wrote from 2011 to 2015, analysing the reasons for, potential and development of the revolution, as well as some background sociological discussion on the assads’ regime. very interesting, very dense, very depressing. wouldn’t necessarily recommend it as a first read on the topic tho. 3/5

angels in america: millenium approaches & perestroika, tony kushner the page to tumblr darling quote ratio in this is insane (”just mangled guts pretending” and so on) and also it just really slaps on every level. also managed to get me from 0 to crying several times. brilliant work of theatre, would love to see it staged (or filmed). 4/5

life: a user’s manual, georges perec (german tr. by eugen helmlé) 99 chapters, each corresponding with a single room in a parisian apartment block; some chapters are basically ‘here’s the room, here’s a long list of objects in the room, that’s it bye :)’, some are short insights into the lives of the people living there, some (the best, mostly) are long, absolutely wild tales that are sometimes only tangentially connected to the room in question. why are the french like this. 61/99 rooms 

sisters in hate: american women on the front lines of white nationalism, seyward darby (audio) nonfiction about women’s role in white nationalist hate movements, mainly based on the stories of three women who are or have been involved with various contemporary american alt-right/racist/neonazi hate groups, while also looking at general social trends and the history of white women’s role in white supremacy. interesting and engaging if you’re interested in this kind of thing. if you’re both politically aware and internet poisoned, it’s probably not much that is completely new to you but still worth reading. 3/5

starting in april i will be Gainfully Employed (ugh) & thus probably not read as much or read even more bc i have no energy for anything else