#and once a month I indulge in a bit of browsing somewhere

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

I am, on the whole, a very touch averse person.  But it’s been ten months to the day since I’ve had a hug.

[jaskiersvalley]

I'm OBSESSED with your writing and your stories, I'm so glad I found your blog, now I always have something new to read!! ❤️❤️❤️

I remember watching you blitz through the blog, leaving likes on a lot of the stories. It really made my day! Now, who knows how many months late, I bring you some silly Witchers and their mutagens.

Kaer Morhen’s Open Door Policy

When Jaskier was invited to Kaer Morhen, he’d thought the open door policy that Geralt mentioned meant that anyone was welcome to stay for the winter. It warmed his heart that the Wolves were so welcoming and generous with their winter lodgings. What Jaskier didn’t anticipate was that said open door policy was a literal thing. He arrived in Kaer Morhen with Geralt, they were stomping snow off their boots when someone rounded the corner at some speed. Slowing down, the man made a beeline for them.

“Lambert,” Geralt greeted before he was veritably bowled over in a hug. If Jaskier squinted, he could have sworn Geralt was given a long sniff and maybe even a lick, perhaps over the lips. But surely he must have seen wrong because Jaskier himself wasn’t given such a greeting.

Two more figures appeared and introductions were made to Eskel and Vesemir. It was quite nice really, even if a lonely winter with just the five of them. However, if gave Jaskier a chance to get used to the ways of the keep. Mostly, it was learning to leave doors open a crack and how to keep the hinges well oiled at all times. If he didn’t, it was guaranteed someone would turn up.

At first Jaskier had thought it was because he wasn’t trusted, not an accepted member of the pack. But that thought was quickly thrown out the window, especially when he was dragged into the cuddle piles in front of fires. Those were rather nice, if a little too warm and sweaty for his liking. Yet, every single time he forgot about keeping a door open, whenever it snicked shut behind him or clicked open as he stepped through, within ten seconds one of the other residents appeared. Usually it was Lambert, rounding the corner at quite a pace even as he tried to make it look like he hadn’t dropped everything and run. It was rather offensive in a way, at least that was what Jaskier thought until he was sat quietly in the library, Lambert browsing for something when his head snapped up all of a sudden and he was off at full pelt. That wasn’t the first time Jaskier saw him running. On more than one occasion Lambert almost bowled him over in corridors as he rushed towards whatever he had heard.

“Doors,” Geralt had explained quietly one night. “If we hear a door open or close, there’s this overwhelming urge to go see who it is, what had happened.”

Now that Jaskier knew, he paid more attention. Any door had Lambert running. Much more sedately, Eskel would usually follow, lumbering towards the source of the noise and trying desperately to look like he wasn’t doing exactly like Lambert. However, he had a weakness, as Jaskier discovered. The cupboard doors in the kitchen. If Jaskier, or anyone else for that matter, happened to go and look in one, Eskel was bound to bumble into the kitchen within a short space of time, looking bashfully hopeful. It was cute, Jaskier even started indulging and giving Eskel snacks because the way he softened and smiled at the offering was far too endearing.

“You’re only encouraging him,” Vesemir grumbled as he watched Jaskier hand Eskel half a slice of honey coated bread. Rather than argue, Jaskier gave Vesemir the other half, not commenting on how the old Wolf appeared for seemingly no reason in the kitchen. The treat certainly silenced him.

For a first winter, it was a good one. Jaskier was satisfied when he left that he was getting the hang of the odd open doors policy. It was the next winter that proved to test his patience. As well as the Wolves, there was a Cat there too. Haughty and aloof, Aiden spent most of his time perched up high somewhere. He slowly warmed up to Jaskier though, cautious at first. However, Aiden seemed to be rather fond of the open door policy, only ever opening or closing a door when he wanted attention. And that was rather frequently. More than once a day Lambert would go running because Aiden slammed a door somewhere, wanting to play.

It was all very well until Jaskier had to use the privy. That was one door that the Wolves learned not to run to. Even though Lambert still twitched, head swivelling it its direction before grumbling and returning to what he was doing. Jaskier was trying to just have a peaceful moment to relieve himself, a considerate two stalls down from an occupied booth when he heard someone else come in.

“Lamb?” Aiden’s voice drifted through the air, a little plaintive and lost.

“What?” Not all that unusual for Lambert to sound irritated.

“What are you doing?”

Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up at the question. What could Lambert be doing in the privy other than the obvious one of four things?

“I’m taking a shit.” Well, that answered which of the four it was but Jaskier could heard the sounds of a body leaning heavily against the door.

“Oh.” Aiden sounded almost disappointed. “I thought I heard some rustling like a snack being opened.”

“I promise I’m not fucking eating while taking a shit. Who eats in here anyway?” Grumbling, Lambert scoffed. “Don’t tell me, I bet it’s Geralt.”

Jaskier couldn’t hold his tongue anymore. “Geralt most certainly does not eat in the privy.”

The sound of a body moving and Jaskier knew Aiden was stood outside the door to his cubicle. “Jaskier. You’re in there.”

“No I’m not.”

For a moment there was confused silence before Lambert growled. “I swear Aiden, if you don’t leave us alone-” his threat was lost as Aiden moved back to Lambert’s door and there was an odd scratching sound. “No. Aiden. Don’t you dare. You can’t sit on my lap here! Not again. We almost broke it last time. Get out. Get out!”

The sound of a door being kicked shut and a huff from Aiden gave Jaskier a good idea of what had jut happened and he was scared to go out. However, not a minute later another voice joined the fray.

“What happened?” Eskel asked.

Jaskier buried his face in his hands in despair. So much for a peaceful piss.

The whole door thing was becoming quite ridiculous. Especially with Aiden slamming them to get Lambert’s attention. And then being offended whenever he encountered a closed door. Those were all gently knocked on and a head poked through if there was no answer. It meant nothing was private and Vesemir had to use a broom to get Aiden off the top of his wardrobe one evening when the Cat had gone missing all afternoon. He seemed to have no respect or care for anything, not when it came to prime napping spots.

It got to the stage that the common areas had their doors removed and Vesemir started hanging heavy furs in their place. Which did actually make the rooms warmer and there was no more needless running around. Though Eskel still bumbled into the kitchen in the hopes of a shared snack. Jaskier had rapidly cottoned on to the fact Vesemir fought such an urge in a novel and simple way. He was almost always either in the kitchen or within sight of it. So he could see if there was an opportunity for a snack without having to move. The old Wolf was clever, Jaskier had to give him that.

Some days, Jaskier did crave a bit of silence and solitude. Those were rare and far between days but they did happen. When they came, he took to wandering through the crumbling corridors of Kaer Morhen, trying to imagine what it had been like in its glory days. Quite amazing, he should think. So lost was he in his musings, Jaskier didn’t notice until too late that the floor wasn’t solid below his feet. It gave way and he fell with a yelp, landing awkwardly on his ankle. The pain was quite blinding, rendering him into a whimpering mess, throat tight and unable to call for help. Even when he managed to gather himself up, it didn’t seem to help. His voice just didn’t carry and the Wolves probably couldn’t hear him. It was cold, dark and Jaskier was in pain which made it difficult to think. There was a door not far from him and, in a moment of sheer desperation, he pulled himself towards it on shaking arms. Near enough, he reached for it and, with all his might, slammed it shut. It bounced open from the force and echoed through the room. Mustering up a little more energy, Jaskier shoved it again and the crack of door hitting frame made him wince. That would have to do. Jaskier managed to lie down, pillowing his head on his arms, shivering.

His hopes were answered when he heard the steady stomp of running feet skidding to a halt.

“The fuck?” There was the sound of a deep inhale as the area was scented. “Where you got to bard?”

“Down here,” Jaskier called back and squinted towards the hole he had fallen through. “My ankle.”

“Why would you do that? Wait. Never mind.” Lambert turned away and, a hand cupped against his cheek and lips he let out what could only be called a howl before his attention was back on Jaskier. “What did we tell you about wandering off?”

More feet, more people and Jaskier teared up in relief. He watched as Aiden hopped down the hole and took stock of the damage. A soft cry of pain left Jaskier as he was picked up and his ankle was jostled. In a few, seemingly easy, jumps, Aiden was passing Jaskier over to Geralt who cradled him against his chest. There was a still body-warm jacket draped over Jaskier and he burrowed into it, finding Eskel’s scent mixing with Geralt a comfort.

In the infirmary he was patched up, fussed over and, in the end, bundled into a pile in front of a fire where the others snuggled protectively up against him. By the next morning all the doors were back in place and Vesemir ground his teeth when Aiden slammed the kitchen one for Lambert’s attention.

[ophie-writes]

Meeting & Dating Clarence Worley -Clarence Worley x GN Reader

Hey y’all!! It’s been a minute, and I promise I have some stuff in the works (including that jd smut that’s been on the back burner for months) but I’ve just had so much True Romance brainrot recently, and I needed to put my thoughts to paper because JESUS I’m whore knee for Clarence (we’re essentially the same fuckin' person) so I hope you enjoy!

I know there’s not many Clarence stans out there, but this felt self indulgent ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ In the meantime though, I would love some requests!! they keep me motivated, and don't be anxious abt It! i love writing what you wanna see!

Warnings: unedited, these warnings are a little specific, but; a lot of talk abt food, brief mention of murder, mention of catcalling, pda, a couple nsfw mentions, talk of Clarence’s Elvis conscience, Clarence has adhd, fast moving relationship

Words: 1.1k

HOW YOU MET

You happen to meet Clarence for the first time at Heroes for Sale

You were a bit of a regular since you first moved to the area, and didn’t you didn’t really notice each other for a while

Sure you went for whatever suited your fancy, comics, cartoons, hell, you could even rent a couple pornos somewhere in the back if you wanted to.

But once in a while you came in looking for new cds and cassettes available on the top level near where Clarence would hang out most of the time

That’s when he started noticing you a bit more.

You were browsing through Bim after bin of cds, both new and used, until you picked up a Janis Joplin cd you must’ve missed last time

“Now that’s a great one.” Clarence was standing right next to you, much to your surprise, smiling and gesturing to the cd with the hand that wasn’t holding a small bag of McDonald’s fries.

You two get to chatting about music a little more

Clarence seems to have an extensive knowledge on almost any artist you can name

but the was he rambles about Elvis is so articulate it almost seems scripted. Still, you’re enamored by the amount of passion he has

His eyes light up as soon as you ask about it in any capacity, and it makes your heart warm to see someone so genuinely happy about something.

He asks you out to the movies that same night. Some martial arts movie or something.

You can tell he’s excited about it, but he’s trying to hold back a little so he doesn’t scare you away. It kinda seems like that’s happened a lot.

Clarence has ADHD and you can’t change my mind

You can’t help but say fuck it, and go with him that night.

It was just you both in the theatre, so you got to make as much commotion as you wanted, flinching when people got hit, and gasping at all the twists.

It was more like you were watching each other watch the movie, as you found yourself looking at him quite frequently

Taking in his cute reactions and grins to what was happening on screen

At multiple points Clarence found himself doing the same, endlessly smitten at the fact that you were enjoying something he loved.

Once the first movie was over, there really wasn’t anyone standing at the booth, so you shushed Clarence as you walked out, and pulled him to another theatre.

An old black and white monster movie was playing, but you weren’t intent on paying attention.

You let go of his wrist once he’s against the back wall, and next thing you know, you’re making out in the dark

You both end up at his place above the comic store some time later, and have one hell of a night.

and that’s the start of it all.

From there on out, you two are attached to each other

GENERAL RELATIONSHIP HCS

you learn more stuff about comics and pop culture than you ever thought possible.

Clarence’s room is basically an Elvis shrine, but once you move in with him-

(an inevitability seeing as how you were staying with a friend anyway, and had just gotten to Detroit less than a month ago)

- you put some of your stuff there too. Clarence sure as hell doesn’t mind! He loves seeing and hearing about anything you love.

It makes him feel understood whenever you blab about what you’re passionate about.

That means an eclectic mess of decor strung all around the room. It’s livable, but enough for someone to walk in and not know what to focus on.

But you both know exactly where everything is in your organized mess

And you both love it that way <3

Jumping headfirst into the relationship means learning things about each other along the way. Expect random tidbits of info sometimes.

Preferences of his, or certain things Clarence does that you pick up on that you find endearing.

He mutters or nods to himself sometimes like he’s talking to someone, and he kinda dodges the question when you ask about it until he’s comfortable enough to share

Once he eventually tells you about his little mental Elvis, you don’t judge! You know he really only uses that coping mechanism to make tougher decisions.

It’s not common though. Only when he’s really grappling with something.

After a while, you tell him it’s ok to run things by you instead of going straight to ‘The King’

He takes your advice, and starts to talk to you about anything that troubles him.

ON A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT NOTE:

THIS MAN’S METABOLISM WORKS FAST

Clarence eats like,,,, five meals a day not including snacks

He’s healthy somehow???? The way his body works is a fuckin’ anomaly—

But that means he’s always showing up with your favorite food in hand!

He’s not a particular kind of guy when it comes to fast food chains, so your favorite is his favorite.

HE’S GRABBY

You’re a l l over each other, so you better get used to reckless amounts of pda

he always licks his lips straight after kissing you so he can have your taste on him, whether it's your lip balm, or just saliva, he doesn't care.

God help anyone that wrongs you because Clarence WONT stand for it.

If someone tries to catcall you or get into a fight, he’s there INSTANTLY

doesn’t matter if the person has two feet or 100 lbs on him, Clarence is absolutely not backing down when it comes to protecting you.

Need I remind you his only fear of murder is getting caught-

Near constant making out

Lots of quickies in the most unexpected places

(Definitely gonna make nsfw headcanons for Clarence when I’m feeling up to it)

Calls you the most affectionate/random ass pet names

Lover is a BIG ONE

Love of my life

Darlin’

My steady (referring to you in front of others)

Cherry pie

Which eventually just gets shortened to ‘cherry’

Moon pie

Angel or Angel face

Treasure

This mf will call you his man/woman/paramour in front of people and it makes your face feel hot every time.

Loves when you wear his clothes. Seeing you in his massive jackets that are too big even for him when he layers up sparks joy

Sometimes you’ll use one of his Hawaiian shirts as pajamas with nothing else on save for your underwear if that

It drives him INSANE

He’s always admiring something about you.

He talks about you A LOT if you’re ever not around him.

Clarence will blab to just about anyone about what a wonderful partner he has, and he loves to show people that you belong to each other.

He said it himself, he’s a pretty resourceful guy, so there’s not much that he needs to be happy.

But when you came into his life, it gave his world a whole new meaning, and he’s willing to take this to the end and go as far as you want it to.

[luthienebonyx]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Friday's Child - Georgette Heyer, HEYER Georgette - Works Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gil Ringwood/Ferdy Fakenham, Anthony "Sherry" Sheringham/Hero Wantage, Isabella Milborne/George Wrotham Characters: Gilbert Ringwood, Ferdinand Fakenham, Anthony "Sherry" Sheringham, Hero Wantage, George Wrotham, Isabella Milborne, Chilham (Friday's Child) Additional Tags: Friends to Lovers, Past unrequited love, Eventual Requited Love, Pining, Idiots in Love, just generally idiots, Friendship, Romance, Marriage, Pregnancy, Comedy, Romantic Comedy, a teensy bit of angst, The Season, Christmas, Road Trips, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, On Purpose, hedgerows, Jealousy, Hurt/Comfort, Regency, obviously, elaborate descriptions of clothing, Minor Original Character(s), Across a crowded (ball)room, What Happened After, Post-Canon Summary:

The tale of a memorable and eventful six months in the life of Mr Gilbert Ringwood, Esq., following the marriage of his friend, Lord Wrotham, to Miss Isabella Milborne in June, 1817.

~

Okay, so this is my YULETIDE AUTHOR REVEAL, and there is quite a story to this one. Fair warning, this is an EXTREMELY self-indulgent post.

Every single story I've written for Yuletide over the years is one that I probably wouldn't have otherwise written, and every single one of them has also wound up being amongst my personal favourites of my own work. I've loved writing all of them. However, the story I wrote this year is one I've been talking about writing for quite literally twenty years, but the history of it goes back even further. So, sit back, and I'll tell you the tale of the long path that eventually led me to writing  That Greek Thing.

~

Some years ago (Shall we specify that it was the ninth decade of the Twentieth Century? Yes, I think we shall!) there lived a girl who was at that rather difficult age when she was no longer a child nor yet a young lady. This girl, whom we shall, for the sake of convenience, call Miss L, lived in a village by the sea in a far distant, Antipodean land. She was a quiet, bookish beanpole of a girl, almost a bluestocking - the sort of individual who lived rather too much in her own head, in fact. One day, as Miss L browsed the offerings on the secondhand book table at the annual fete of the local church, she chanced upon a volume, sadly dog-eared and with a long crease right through the front cover, titled ‘A Civil Contract’ by Georgette Heyer, which had clearly become surplus to its previous owner's requirements. Miss L had recently read and loved Miss Austen's ‘Pride and Prejudice’ for the first time, and it was immediately obvious to her that Miss Heyer's work was set in a similar time period.

So Miss L bought A Civil Contract, and read it, and laughed heartily at the various supporting characters such as Mr Chawleigh, but her youthful heart found the arranged marriage central to the story rather more serious and subdued than she had been expecting. It was not really the book she had expected it to be, but it tugged at her memory, so when she was next perusing the titles at her local library and she chanced upon another title by Miss Heyer, she resolved that she should give it a chance.

She loved this book - though which one it was, exactly, of Miss Heyer's many works is lost to the mists of time - and thus was born a great and enduring literary love.

Miss L noted the very long list entitled "By the same author" at the front of ‘A Civil Contract’ and embarked upon a most determined pursuit, proceeding to haunt fetes, book exchanges and other such faintly disreputable premises in which secondhand books were to be found, in search of Heyers she had yet to read. Dear reader, you must remember that this was long ago, and if it was not quite before the Internet itself, it was certainly well before the advent of the world wide web. One could not simply conduct a quick search and download a book into one's own hands in the space of a few minutes. One could not even easily order books, except through the auspices of an official bookseller - and Miss L was young, and sadly short of funds.

So Miss L hunted most carefully, and over the next several years amassed a collection of all of Miss Heyer's novels set in England during that period between 1811 and 1820 known as the Regency. However, Miss L never met another soul who would admit to having even once read any of Miss Heyer's works, though clearly such persons must be out there somewhere - for otherwise, where would all the books in Miss L's collection have come from? So Miss L continued, hugging Miss Heyer's works to her as her special secret. She read other works set in what was then becoming known as the Regency romance genre, but they were as pale copies of Miss Heyer's sparkling and beautifully researched originals, and she soon lost interest.

Miss L grew older, and assumed the life of a young lady, and other considerations took up much of her time and attention. However, she always returned to Miss Heyer's novels eventually, greeting them like old friends who would never fail to make her smile in the midst of troubled times.

Things continued thus until the closing years of the century - and, indeed, the millennium - when Miss L one day stumbled upon that wondrous community known as online fandom. The fannish life soon consumed much of her time, and she read a great deal of "fanfiction" while also, hesitantly, trying her own hand at writing and sharing offerings of her own.

And then came a most unexpected occurrence. Miss L was reading through the daily bulletin from her favoured Xena: Warrior Princess/Hercules: the Legendary Journeys slash Mailing List, when lo, she espied a most intriguing subject line. It proclaimed, very simply: "FIC: Regency Fuck (1/?)".

Here we shall pause a moment to explain that while, in these modern times, the genre known as the Regency AU is quite well-known in fandom, at that time, more than twenty years ago, this was not at all the case. AUs themselves were not near as wide-spread a phenomenon as they are today, and Miss L had never in her life even considered the possibility of the existence of such a thing as a Regency AU - and yet there it was, before her.

She read the first chapter of Regency Fuck most quickly, and then went to see what other members of the Mailing List might have made of it. The chapter had been received in a most positive light, but everyone else searched and failed to find exactly the right description to do it justice. Most compared it to Miss Austen's work. However, Miss L knew something that all the other members of the Mailing List (except ONE other, clearly) did not: Miss Heyer's very first novel set during the Regency period had been entitled Regency Buck. Miss L had squealed with joy upon reading the first chapter of Regency Fuck, for it was not merely a story set during the Regency but rather, and most clearly, one set in Miss Heyer's very particular version of that period.

So at last Miss L gathered her courage and sent an email to the author. Its exact contents are also lost in the mists of time, however the general gist was: SLASHY GEORGETTE HEYER?! - to which the author of Regency Fuck replied, just as ecstatically: YES!

Thus began a correspondence about gentlemen in tight breeches that continues to this very day. The author of Regency Fuck, whom we shall call Miss Damerel - actually, no we shall not, for as everyone with any proper understanding would know, Damerel is a title NOT merely a surname. Therefore, we shall refer to her henceforward as Lady Damerel. (In any event, Lady Damerel was not then yet going by the pen name Damerel, for in that case Miss L should have been left in no doubt whatsoever about which of Miss Heyer's heroes Lady Damerel numbered amongst her veriest favourites.)

So Miss L and Lady Damerel continued their correspondence as Regency Fuck grew longer and longer, and it was no doubt at about this time that first mention was made of Miss Heyer's 1944 novel Friday's Child, and in particular two of the primary supporting characters, Mr Gilbert Ringwood and the Honourable Ferdinand Fakenham, and how very easy it would be to slash them.

"Someone should write it," Miss L opined.

"Yes, someone should," Lady Damerel agreed.

"I should probably write it," Miss L continued.

"Yes, you should," Lady Damerel said, with great eagerness.

However, Miss L did not write it, though she continued to mention the idea of it every now and then in the years that followed. And a great many years did follow. Miss L and Lady Damerel drifted in different fannish directions, but their friendship remained true - for who else in the world could quite understand their twin mutual and abiding loves for Miss Heyer's works and gentlemen getting each other out of their tight breeches?

Some eight years after their first acquaintance, Miss L journeyed to Great Britain, where she met Lady Damerel in the flesh at last. They travelled together to Bath, and spent a most diverting time there, imagining this or that of Miss Heyer's characters walking the streets, taking Georgian elevenses at the Pump Room, and drinking rather too much of a mysterious white liqueur (which they had discovered in a local tavern) in the evenings at their hotel.

At the end of their time in Bath, they parted sorrowfully, knowing that it would be long before they set eyes on each other again, and went back to their lives. Of course, the correspondence continued, just as before.

At around this time, Miss L first took part in the great fannish holiday time tradition of Yuletide. She was quite overwhelmed to discover that asking for a Heyer story was an option open to her, but she gathered her courage and did ask for such a thing, and received a most delightful story based on The Foundling as her gift. In later years, she received other beautiful little Heyer stories at Yuletide, but she could not quite find in herself the mettle, or perhaps the presumption, required to offer to write Heyer fic herself - for what if she could not do it justice?

Miss L did write Regency AUs in a number of fandoms in the years that followed, however, and she enjoyed the experience very much. She then fell away from writing anything at all for a number of years, and began to wonder if she would ever write fanfiction again.

She was, naturally, quite in the wrong in making this assumption, and in mid-2019 a new fandom set her to writing great screeds again. However, the very first thing she had written that year was actually a drabble - a story of exactly 100 words - using characters from Miss Heyer's Frederica in filling a request for Miss @thisbluespirit​, in a small fandom challenge in which they were both taking part. It was a small step, but a very important one. 

That year, Miss L took part in Yuletide again for the first time in some five years. However, it was not until the end of the following year - that damnable year, 2020, of which we will not speak further - that Miss L finally decided that THIS would be the year that she would finally write a full-blown Heyer fic. She signed up for Yuletide, offering nine fandoms in all, but rather stacking the odds by ensuring that seven of those fandoms were Heyer novels. It seemed as if Fate must have taken a hand when she received her assignment and discovered that she had been matched with her recipient, Miss @afterism​, for none other than Miss Heyer's Friday's Child. Upon investigating further, she discovered that Miss Afterism was particularly fond of Gil/Ferdy - and so, at last, Miss L embarked on writing the story that she had been considering for so long, some 35 (or perhaps even more) years after first reading Friday's Child.

Dear Reader, she ADORED writing this story. She did, of course, e-mail Lady Damerel posthaste to let her know that she was at last writing Gil and Ferdy's story.  She was also anxious to share with Lady Damerel - because she knew that no other of her acquaintance would quite understand - how she had quite burst out laughing when, while walking her dog - who is, of course, named Lufra after the family dog in Frederica - one day she had realised that this story could only be titled That Greek Thing.

And so at last That Greek Thing was completed and posted and, on Christmas Day, the Yuletide collection was revealed. Very fortunately, Miss Afterism was very happy with That Greek Thing. Lady Damerel also squeed in a most unladylike way about it, and others also commented with words of approval.

Miss L ventures to believe that this story is actually the story that she wanted it to be, and hoped so very hard that it would be, and she still cannot quite believe that she has written it at last. Of everything she has ever written for Yuletide, it is the most special to her.

She thanks you very much for reading both the story - if you have done so - and this most self-indulgent narrative.

[debrisangkasa]

consuming

I've been thinking that the definition of art is very loose. Someone can throw a paint on a wall and tell the world it's art. While there's no wrong or right, there should certainly be categories.

Recently, I've been listening to different types of music and also reading different writings (stories, not books) from different authors. There's this thing that's obviously noticeable but you couldn't tell when you are consume something: how much efforts the artists put into their works. I read this beautiful story that is so well-written, the experience itself is very pleasant. Although the overall theme was ordinary, the writer was able to deliver it in such a way that it became special. If you ever watch The Florida Project, that's one of it, just superior lol. On contrary, there are many stories with interesting themes and unpredictable plots (not saying it's the requirement) that was poorly written you want to skip most of it. A star is born is an example of an annoying movie. The idea was great, but the experience is meh.

About the music, I can see now many are pretty generic. By generic, I mean it sounds obscurely similar. I love pop, yee, you see where I'm coming from. Before you continue, this is purely opinion (how I see it). With the ease of access and connectivity (which is a good thing), it's easy for artists to release something every few months. But, sometimes it seems like many are doing a hit or miss. It can be painfully unpleasant to listen to a song. You know, there are many people who have "my new EP is OUT". Just browse any music cover on youtube, I can guarantee you can easily find one.

No, you may think I undermine artists. I'm not. It takes effort and bravery to create something. I recently learned how difficult it is to produce a song. Sometimes, the gap between the resources can be evident. Some singers are blessed with great songwriters, experienced producers, and just their experiences. Those factors, although not mandatory, contribute to the quality. Artists can still create a masterpiece without them. It takes more efforts and it's not that impossible. Everyone starts somewhere.

This is a common fact, maybe. But, we rarely talk about it when it comes to art or maybe nobody has ever talk about this with me. lmao.

Tl;dr consuming something that was well-made is very very pleasant. It's almost feel like indulging in luxury, but in a good way.

but yeah, everyone has different intentions. One could make something for public and one can just pour something off for themselves. This is a bit off tangent, there's a lot I want to share but I'm too lazy to write it down.

Also, if you are wondering.. I cringe at my writings too every once in a while.

Everyone starts somewhere and we can continue.

note: there are several works that were done in a blink, but was soooooooo good. wait, i'm still trying to understand.

[thewarblerette]

Why Don’t You Stay?

Summary: Damon calls up a past flame, and she’s not amused.

Word Count: 1864

A/N: Literally the last Damon idea I had tbh. If people like this a lot, I’ll do a second part of it or continue it. Just send me an ask or somethin’ But I have a lot of fucking feelings about young damon wow

Warnings: Angsty af jfc

The phone echoed in Desiree’s apartment. She rushed to grab it from the receiver on that cloudy day in London. A usual look for the gloomy city.

“Hello?” She said, looking out the window, hoping there wouldn’t be any rain that day. The young woman had an appointment with her internship program later.

“Hi, there, Des.”

Desiree’s indifference became regret. She pinched the bridge of her nose. She knew that voice, and she couldn’t escape it. Wherever she went, there were magazines of him, interviews and television programs of him, enticing her to come back to him, to go back to him.

She knew the kind of person he was. Intelligent and bright, but arrogant and hot-headed as hell. Desiree knew she didn’t need that in her life.

That life was not for her.

The slender woman sighed. “What do you want, Damon?” She could hear the pout in his voice with his next response.

“Aw, why are you acting like that? I know you’ve missed me. I know you’ve thought about me…” He paused for a moment. “I’ve missed you, y’know, love.”

Desiree rolled her eyes, dryly laughing. “Right! Like you missed me among all of the other girls you’ve fucked before me and after me. Sure. I believe that.”

There was silence on the other line for a moment, the other sounds on his end in the background told her that he was making this call in a place where there were people.

Did they even wonder who he was talking to, she thought.

“Hello?” Desiree was five seconds away from hanging up. She didn’t have time with this. Her annoyance for him was flaring up.

“I’m still here, Desiree.”

“Then?”

“I just…I just…”

“Uh-huh?”

“I just miss you is all. Alright? Fucking christ.” His voice got smaller, he leaned into the phone. “I know what we had was supposed to be a one time thing, but I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re different than the rest.”

Desiree didn’t respond, so Damon asked what he wanted to ask since the beginning of that phone call.

“When can I see you again, Desiree?” Damon’s voice was filled with longing. It made the girl sick.

“It was nice talking to you, Damon, but I have something that came up.”

“No! Des, wait! Ple-” Click.

The pain in Desiree’s heart was too much to bare when it came to that asshole. What a beautiful asshole he truly was.

Maybe he knew what he was doing to her, maybe he didn’t, but did she care? Not one bit.

As Desiree relaxed until it was time to get ready, she thought back to their brief time together. The sloppy kisses he gave her, but so heated and lustful. The way their clothes were ripped off of each other simultaneously, then they practically attacked each other all night. Damon’s eyes never leaving her, they were always locked on her.

The next morning she awoke to the cherub-like beauty look at her with a sleepy eyes and a smile to match. His arms were lazily around her frame and he brushed his lips against her soft cheek. Desiree smiled at the soft gesture, but she saw something in his eyes then that she didn’t understand until now. That quiet sparkle she saw in his eye was a deep infatuation for her.

Their little tryst had been six months ago. Desiree hated to admit it, but she had the best sex with the singer that she had in awhile. She could’ve always indulged herself and go back to him time and time again, but she had a first hand account of how he was in the face of celebrity, and she couldn’t handle him.

The brown skinned girl looked at the clock and started to get ready for her internship meeting, Damon’s call being pushed to the back of her mind.

Damon’s phone call had been three weeks ago. Desiree had only thought about him every now and again with him being on magazines, and Blur’s songs being played constantly in the record store whenever she went go to one.

It was another gloomy day when she entered the shop, light music was playing in the background. Desiree was in a purple windbreaker that shielded her from the weather’s elements. She went straight for the R&B section of the store, trying to find something new from America. She made herself keep up with the music scene there, no matter how hard that was. Maybe the new TLC album was out.

Ten minutes has gone by while she was mindlessly browsing through the sections while quietly singing Pet Shop Boys, swaying to the beat of the song. She put a few braids behind her ear while the selection of the song changed to Girls and Boys.

Desiree groaned and looked up at the person at the front desk of the shop. The guy had his head turned to the front door, he followed the person that had just come in. The employee was stunned to see Damon walk through the store in a disguise of sunglasses and a hat.

Desiree slowly started to make her way to the back of the store. Her ex-lover was scouring the indie rock section, casually pushing through one CD after the other. The young woman tried to stay where she was, but her heart started racing. Slowly, but surely, she took a step and then another and then another. She put her hood up just to make sure he wouldn’t notice her.

Damon saw something out of the corner of his eye. He turned to his left side and saw a girl move slightly. He squinted his eyes a bit because he had seen her somewhere. Her braided hair, her slender fingers, her stacked rings, her firm and toned legs, and her Doc Martens. He finally realized who she was when she moved her hood just a bit.

It was Desiree.

Fuck, he whispered. A smile curled on his face.

“Desiree!” He sort of yelled, not wanting to cause attention to himself. The woman that had been on his mind for weeks was finally right in front of him.

She turned around to when Damon called her name. He tried to go after her, but she ran to the back of the store on the other side of the racks.

“Desiree, wait!”

“Stay away from me!” She yelled back, running to the front of the store. She passed the guy at the front desk and ran out the door she stopped to take a short breath, then briskly walked down the sidewalk. She heard the bell from the record shop door ring open and then close, footsteps quickly catching up to her. Damon tried to touch Desiree’s windbreaker, but she kept knocking his hand off.

“Desiree, please stop, we need to talk. Please.” He huffed and pleaded. He hadn’t been playing football for a minute. He mentally reminded himself that he needed to get back on that.

“Oh my GOD!” She yelled at him. Her thick braids whipped with her head, almost smacking him in the face. Her light brown eyes were alive with fury. She had had it.

“I knew my friend never should’ve made me go to your stupid concert. If I didn’t go I wouldn’t be here right now. I would be in this fucking MESS.”

The dirty blonde pop star staggered back just a bit after what he had just heard come from her. She continued when she saw his expression.

“What, Damon? What is it? What have you been dying to tell me since that phone call, huh? What the fuck do you want.”

“I want to take you out. I don’t want to stop seeing you. I…like you.” Damon’s blue eyes never stopped looking at hers, and one of the few times in his life, he didn’t like what he saw in someone’s eyes, in her eyes.

“You like me. You fucking like me?” With each word, more and more people were on the street, looking at what to see all the commotion was. They had thought it was a simple lovers’ quarrel, but not until they saw who the man was.

“Yeah I do. So what?”

“So what? You have a girlfriend, asshole! Why are you pursuing me when you have her! What is wrong with you?!”

“She and I…have a unique arrangement between us. She’ll understand.” The girl in front of him scoffed at his answer.

Desiree stepped up to him, almost closing the gap. She opened her mouth to say something, but Damon stopped her, putting his lips to her ear. “Before you even say anything. Let me say this: do not act like you didn’t look at me the way you did the morning after, alright? You and I both felt it. We have something here. It’s what I felt with Justine, and now I’ve found this sensation in you. I’m not letting that slip away from me so easily, Des.” He rendered Desiree speechless with his words. She had thought about this over and over again. She knew he was an addiction; a fun addiction, but an addiction all the same. She knew she had to quit cold turkey or she would be feening for him sooner or later.

Desiree nodded. “Yes, okay? I have thought about it. Us together would be nothing I could ever imagine, but no. I can’t do this with you. I’ve heard the way you’ve treated your girlfriend. I don’t roll like that.”

“I can promise you it won’t be like that, Desiree. Please.” Damon took her hand into both of his. Desiree’s eyes were the size of saucers at what he was suggesting.

“Look, I understand girls fall at your feet, but listen here okay? Yes, we fucked once. Was it nice? Yes, it was fucking spectacular. Would I ever want to do it again? No. And you know why?”

After a bit of silence, Damon begged to ask the question. “Why?”

“Because you are an arrogant asshole who has an ego the size of the fucking universe and I cannot be put into a situation like that. Your girlfriend must be a fucking saint to deal with you. And I will be damned if I ever become someone’s girlfriend when they’re like you.”

“So, I’m guessing that’s a no to seeing each other?” was all Damon had to say after Desiree’s yelling.

“Forget my number. Forget you ever met me. Forget we had sex. Good riddance, Damon.” She turned on her heels and went on her merry way.

Damon just stood there, a crowd had surrounded them both, but now that Desiree was gone, all eyes were on him, while some had gone to follow Desiree and try to get the scoop on what her relationship was with the Britpop heartthrob.

He was stone-faced on the surface, however, he felt an overwhelming sense of embarrassment washing over him. Damon put his sunglasses on and went into the opposite direction that Desiree had gone.

Damon could only imagine what the magazines would have to say about this tomorrow.

[tatianawrites]

séverine 006

Sunday, September 29th

Friday, she leaves work late. Again. Painfully late, she’s champing at the metaphorical bit, more than ready to leave. Things have gone poorly this week for her employers. That means opportunity for her, though, a likely chance to move up within the organisation, and this is the primary impetus behind the late, late nights she pulls for a week.  Any meeting she can edge in on, she does. Any report she can help file, she does. The more she knows, the more dangerous she is. 

The more danger she’s in.

And so she likes it.

But then there’s Diego, saying they need to work together, soon, always something off the radar with him these days, unofficial, so she finds time and it is Thursday night when they end up on the roof, by the couch. I used to be a degenerate here. She reads this situation like he’d flat out said it -- let’s -- but they don’t; as ever, it’s the tension as much as anything else that keeps them gravitating towards each other.

On Saturday, she’s out of office, she’s at a cabin on the beach. She is letting herself simmer in need, wondering what might have happened had she taken a single step towards that filthy couch, when her phone gives that special chime and her heart drops into her stomach. This is supposed to be a retreat from work, but, then, this is not a summons she can ignore.

Tʜᴇʏ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ. Aʟʟ ʜᴀɴᴅs, Mᴏɴᴅᴀʏ.

That night, looking over the waves, drinking wine, she knows:

Change is coming.

They will absolutely have need of her, and she will absolutely be available for them.

Which means Sunday, then, is her last chance for some time. She sends Boo the message shortly after sunrise: This is reckless of me, but…

But.

If not now, when?

… I’ve rented a little beach cabin for the weekend. Would you like to come out for the day, or dinner?

When it seems he’ll take her up on it, she knows he knows what she’s offering. No ratty couch you’ve fucked meaningless faces on. I demand better.

She thinks, overthinks, what she’ll wear. How she’ll greet him.  Whether to play at being demure. How gently to encourage him. Whether she ought to abandon pretense at all -- he surely will -- and the thought is enough that she allows herself a moment to fantasize. His rough hands, his tense body, his quiet lips, how they could share not a word of conversation all day but if he said her name, once, she’d fall apart.

An oversized button-down. Lazy, loose, over her bikini top -- the one that fastens in the front. Linen shorts, breezy and airy and light, with the waist that ties. Easy, all of it. He’ll see that.

She is almost embarrassed by herself.

But this is her last chance, for awhile, and they’ve toed this line for so long she’s half mad with it.

She will be fine so long as she does not think of Emma.

Because, she understands, this is a victory for the other woman: Emma remains in the picture, she has not faded away at all but only tightened her grip on Boo. Séverine reaching out like this is a weakness, and she harbours only a few illusions that Emma will not find out.  For all she knows, Emma might well be standing alongside Diego as he browses wines, or indeed might have been the person responding to her DMs; it has happened before. 

Séverine will pretend not to care.

And she continues to pretend not to care as the hours tick by, the sun crests in the sky, begins its lazy descent, and she makes lunch for one, and tries not to look at her phone but tries also not to look at the pathway descending to her little cabin, so when he has neither shown up nor said a goddamned word by sunset, she is trembling, incandescent with rage.

Surely he wouldn’t do this. Surely he wouldn’t ghost her. Surely he must be dead in an alley somewhere.

She polishes off the half-bottle of wine she has left. She has made barely a dent in the dinner she prepared.  Potatoes wilt, butter congeals in the creases of corn. She wraps herself in a cardigan and reaches for a book, starts tea, reminds herself that none of this, with him, has ever mattered.

Her work matters. Cutting the head off the snake matters. This lust? It does not matter.

She is in the cabin’s immense, luxuriant bed when Diego finally reaches out: I’m sorry. I am safe. Something came up.

And while she ought not to reply, while she ought to throw her goddamn phone across the room, she can’t help herself: a single word, as careless as she can manage: Ah.

For months now, when he has called for her, she has come to him. For months, when he is in need she drops her work and finds her way to his side. Time and time again they say to one another, I trust you, and perhaps this is her fault, showing a vulnerability to him, needing him not for work, but for selfish indulgence.

She turns her phone off entirely.  So it goes.  This is not the first time she has been let down; this is not even the first time she has been let down by someone in the bloody DAF.

Tonight, she will sleep; tomorrow, she will return to work.

And she will let that be her escalation.