#ao3 q&a

[monarchetype]

ao3 questions meme

Stolen from @lurking-latinist​‘s post. Doing this on my main blog since the answers ended up being multifandom.

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

55 works.

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?  

171,997 words! That’s almost half a Sanderson novel!

3. How many fandoms have you written for?

Ao3 says 19, but a lot of those have massive overlap. I’d group them into Metal Gear, Doctor Who (+spinoffs), Critical Role, Final Fantasy XIV, Xenoblade Chronicles, Monster Hunter, Wheel of Time, and Star Trek. That’s only 8. Doctor Who’s many fandom tags are doing the heavy lifting there, methinks.

4. Top 5 fics by kudos?

My Critical Role longfics definitely clear here.

#1: Angel With a Shotgun, an AU of the Briarwoods arc where Percy is an Aasimar and doesn’t have Orthax

#2: The Fallout of Falling Up, a one-shot follow-up to Angel With a Shotgun

#3: Harbinger of Change (For Better Or For Worse), a little canon-compliant one-shot about an episode of The Legend of Vox Machina, written the week said episode came out. Apparently relevancy does wonders for your kudos count- I wouldn’t know.

#4 Liquid Lives, a Metal Gear Solid AU where Liquid Snake, y’know, Lives. (Yes, I promise it WILL be updated.)

#5 Heart of Whitestone (Residue Animate), a post-Campaign 1 Critical Role fic where all the magic rock that Whitestone is built on becomes sentient. Shenanigans ensue. Also, not dead, I would like to wrap this one up as well.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. If I don’t have anything to say about the comment, then no, but if it’s a question I’ll gladly answer and if it’s a lengthy, high-effort comment then I will be sure to respond to show my appreciation.

6. A fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Love Thy Fellow Man, easily, no competition. My only fic marked “Mature” and unrepentantly tragic.

Runner-up is a much tighter competition, including but not limited to Died With Him- the tag “Seventh Doctor gonna Seventh Doctor” says it all, really- In Too Deep (The Look On His Face) wherein I imagine the protagonists of Metal Gear erring just a little too much on the side of love, and Butterfly, which is pure Shalvis + Endless  Now angst (it’s a Xenoblade thing.)

7. Do you write crossovers?

Very rarely; both of my published crossovers are with Final Fantasy XIV. Vox Machina Plays FFXIV Online A Realm Reborn Plus Award-Winning Expansions is, of course, not a true crossover in that it’s the party of CR campaign 1 playing FFXIV. The Award-Winning Expansion of Rassilon is a bit more of a traditional crossover, with a setting fusion between FFXIV and Doctor Who.

FFXIV is a hyperfixation of mine that has been going nearly 2 years strong now, outlasting both Critical Role and Metal Gear Solid, so it’s not surprise that it’s the focal point of my crossings-over. (And before you ask: yes, there’s a page or so of a draft of the cast of Metal Gear Solid playing FFXIV somewhere in my writing folder.)

8. Ever received hate on a fic?

One time I had someone post “this sucks, kys” on some of my works, but I think it was splashover from my Twitter account, considering it was three unrelated works from two entirely different fandoms.

9, Do you write smut?

Absolutely not.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I’m aware of. 

11. Ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Also nope. My motivation is very unreliable (cough cough unfinished longfics) so I wouldn’t want to put that on someone else.

13. All time fav ship?

I only started appreciating ships recently (more or less when I started my ao3 career) so it’s basically too early to tell. Otasune is probably the ship I understand the best, so let’s go with them.

14. WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Oof. I’d like to wrap up Liquid Lives and Heart of Whitestone at some point, and I think it’s doable (hey, I wrapped up AWAS!), so let’s be optimistic and not say those two. As for something I want to finish but think it beyond me: probably the idea I had for a sequel to Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance that I came up with before I even played the game and had a few on-and-off bursts of motivation to work on. 

15. Writing strengths?

Ouch, that’s a hard one. Definitely not character voice or finishing what I started. “Ideas” is also a terrible answer (everyone has good ideas). Looking at my ao3 works I struggle to find a common point of pride across individual fics... let’s just go with writing without caring that I’m writing about things that aren’t popular.

16. Writing weaknesses?

Confidence that I’m capturing characters voices, finishing what I started, setting a scene.

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

Write it in English, indicate it’s another language, stay constitent with how you indicate it.

18. First fandom you wrote for?

Published a work for? Critical Role. Wrote down, in the physical world? Minecraft. Wrote in my head? Unknown- I’ve been writing stories in my head for as long as I’ve been conscious.

19. What’s your fav fic you’ve written so far?

Find Our Wings. My progression and growth alongside the Angel With a Shotgun series is very obvious in Find Our Wings, I think. It’s clear (to me, at least) how comfortable I am in the skin of the two POV characters. The emotions and ideas I explore in Find Our Wings are also much more robust than most of my other fics- who knew that could correspond to longer wordcount! It’s one of the few fics I can go back and read and not immediately jump on every little error or thing I can improve on... probably because I sat on it for a few months before publishing. Editing! Wow!

[royalarchivist]

Richarlyson: You're skinny sir, are you eating well these days?

Pac: Not really. To tell you the truth, I've been eating... I stole, together with my son, we stole some cupcakes from the Federation. I ate some, but I know chocolate isn't the best thing to eat, right?

Richarlyson: 12 kilos D:

Pac: 12 kilos?!? No– what? My god. My god... Am I malnourished, Doctovo? Am I- Am I malnourished?

Richarlyson: You weigh less than a pitbull, sir.

Pac: Less than the singer? Damn... [Laughs]

Richarlyson: [Hits Pac]

[bodythieves]

shane mccutcheon x you | cw: intox!makeout, slight fingering?, dirty talk-ish | stoner!shane, neighbor!shane, anxious!reader (is that how i label this shit?)

THIS IS RLY LONG!

okay, okay. let's be honest here: you are not one for change. you are not one to break out of your routine, one to sway from your typical path. no, rather, you are steadfast in every moment of your day, to an absolute t. some of your friends like to tease you until your skin feels hot, and you look down at your feet. you have a google calendar (your lord and savior) and a prescription for an unnamed anxiety medication that you'd-rather-not-talk-about.

and shane. oh, god, shane mccutcheon. shane was your neighbor in a shitty LA apartment, a hairstylist/absolute fucking menace. every other day, she's sitting on the stoop, feet flat on the ground and elbows on her knees, a cigarette dangled between her lips. she'd smile, check you out- go to say something. but you- being you, of course- would quickly swing open the and duck inside.

today was particularly awful for you, though. your therapist had broken up with you. he was moving to a new practice, they didn't accept your insurance, and you had just gotten so comfortable. remember how we made it known that you weren't great with change? the smallest thing could make you itch. make you feel as if you had lost everything, like it all was over. so, understandably, you were having a meltdown inwardly that you couldn't let out until you reached the sanctuary of your one bedroom apartment and closed that manager's-special, white door. except you wouldn't be doing that, no. not now. because you felt your face betray you as you neared the pathway that led to the glass vestibule of the apartment complex. there she was.

"oh, look," she snorts softly through her nostrils, her lips quirking up into a smile upon seeing your own (even if it was microscopic). she had just sat down to smoke as you neared, her lithe frame hunched over as she picked through a paper cigarette pack. "didn't know you were able to do that." tracking shane's movements, your eyes followed the brunette as her slender fingers plucked out a cigarette, and brought it to that smug grin.

"I've smiled at you before." you said this far quicker than you would've liked to. quick enough that shane could tell you were already nervous. your paces brought you to the cement set of steps before the vestibule, the glass reflecting a soft glare from the setting LA sun. as you came closer, you let your gaze drift over her. shaggy brown hair, a charming disposition- definitely was trying to make you laugh. you cleared your throat, then looked back at Shane's cigarette before she lit it. "do you.. care if i bum one of those?"

um, who the fuck is that? why are you asking for a cigarette right now? oh, that’s right. you were being you when faced with uncomfortable amounts of difference in your typical day-to-day life. your therapist dumped you, your job is mundane, your family is incessantly nagging you, your anxiety is never-

“oh?” shane perked up, the filter of her cigarette now between her teeth as she smiled, rather than her lips. dark green eyes sparkled playfully, but her brows pushed up in an attempt to feign sympathy. she could tell you were feeling off today. after all, you were speaking. “yeah, sure, of course,” she said, fingering open the back with her thumb and taking a look. something about shane’s voice sounded so teasing. as if she wanted to sound like she’d take care of you, like she was worried. her left hand moved up to pull the cigarette from her teeth and her tongue darted out to wet the corner of her lip. A small tsk could be heard from her. “mm.. I only got my lucky left. you don’t care to share, do you?”

you were gonna faint. you were gonna fall over, die, cream your fucking pants. yeah, of course, you thought shane was hot before. why else would you avoid her every time she tried to holler at you? you couldn’t handle that. like we established earlier- you’re a hazard when your schedule is disturbed. but now? right here, standing just a couple feet away from a shane, engaging in conversation, breaking your perfectly time-alotted pattern? the thing that kept you distracted from all the shit of your daily experience? you’d never seen anything hotter.

you felt your body begin moving against your will, sitting down beside shane without missing a beat. your feet became brutus, your mind julius, crying why! you too?! you’re betraying me! as you turn and allow the backs of your sneakers to hit the cement step, lowering yourself down. part of it was definitely to show yourself off to shane. at least a little bit. if you were going to deter from your repetitive habits, why not be a little risky? flirt a little? on the other, you just needed to know that another person was real. what better proof is proximity? “yeah, that’s cool,” your voice is quiet as you take in the sight of shane so close and in such pretty light, your nerves absolutely eating at you.

her lighter was lime green and struggled to spark at first. instinctively, you reach out. you cup your hand around the lighter and use your fingers to hide shane’s cigarette. smoke curls from her nose and she pulls her face away, pinching her brows together as the cigarette began to spark. nodding a silent thank you for your assistance. hush sounds of burning paper, then a cloud of smoke, exhaled through the woman’s nose- you begin to forget. why had you never really spoken to her before? why do you avoid interaction like this?

“well,” shane mumbled from the butt of the cigarette, more smoke leaving her nose. “you have a pretty smile.”

you and shane sit in a friendly silence for a moment, but it’s quickly changing. you can feel that shane is checking you out. of course she is- you’re insanely cute. with high features that are just soft enough, making you so easily approachable. if only you weren’t an anxiety attack on legs! taking a glance at her, you can feel your heart pick up motion in your chest, thrumming inside of your work uniform. shane puts her fingers to her lips and pulls the cigarette away with her thumb and forefinger.

“you smoke weed?” you asked her, raising your eyebrow. your fingers moved, taking the cigarette between your own thumb and finger.

“uh,” she said, starting to let out a chuckle. “i mean, yeah. why?”

“you hold it like you’re smoking a joint.”

“hm,” shane smirked a little, letting you take the cigarette from between her fingers. “do you smoke?”

you shrug a little, taking a slow pull from the dart of tobacco, letting the thick smoke hit your throat and sit for a second. it had been a long time since you’d had one, and it always felt so right when you needed it. “sometimes,” you said, still holding your drag in your throat. “gives me bad anxiety on occasion. try to steer away from it.”

“damn,” shane’s green eyes rake over the side of your face, taking in your features as you blew out a faint stream of smoke. “you think this could be one of your sometimes?”

you pass the cigarette back, turning your head slightly to the left so you can look at shane. a sheepish expression crosses your lips and you mull over the thought. but only for a minute.

“yeah. honestly, i could probably use it.” what was a little more change? what was a little more anxiety? at this point, neither could push you any further than you already were. your response to shane’s question caused the brunette to smirk around the filter of the cigarette, and she nodded as she exhaled. you two sat for a few minutes after, sharing the smoke. there weren’t really any words spoken, but the lack of conversation was made up for in exchanged glances. you took a final drag of the cigarette, then dropped it on the ground and used the toe of your shoe to step it out.

simultaneously, you and shane stood on your feet from the stoop of the apartment complex. you looked her over- taking in her tall and dangly frame, hidden beneath a dark gray zip up and loose jeans, hanging from her hips. her shaggy hair was flippy and chopped, a small blonde tuft in the back. she was.. god, she was actually so cute. you looked away for a second, remembering that you were about to join her. upstairs. in her apartment. and smoke weed. with hot cheeks, you turned on your sneaker and moved on to the cement steps, pacing towards the glass door and slipping your key inside. shane’s presence was looming. literally. you felt her come up behind you and grab ahold of the metal frame just above your head, pulling it open wider so you could get in.

christ, you thought. you were betraying everything you knew: routine, mundanity, consistency. to go hang out with your neighbor who brought home new girls every other night, who smoked out the whole complex, who always smiled at you when she saw you. fuck, fuck, fuck- sneakers, both yours and shane’s, lightly thudded on the linoleum steps of the apartment hallway, bouncing off walls. jeez, focus long enough, you were certain you could hear your heartbeat echo back to you. oh, god, oh, god, oh, god- you stand behind shane, she leads you into her apartment. messy, disorganized, totally not you. you are well kept, you are neat, you are- totally about to jump this woman’s bones. you realize this as Shane sits down on her futon, legs spread wide, her lap just begging for you to come sit on it. oh, god. fuck. oh, god, oh-

“fuck,” you breathed out. you’d had to have been holding that in forever, lungs burning and eyes clenched tight. your head fell back on to the arm of shane’s futon and you could’ve sworn that this was all just a dream. that joint was either insanely strong, or you were losing time because of your previously high levels of anxiety and tension. ‘relax’- she had whispered to you, just before this heated session- ‘let me take care of you. i know what i’m doing, swear. only if you want me to.’ of course you wanted to. to deny that would be an absolute lie.

you feel shane’s breath fan against your neck, the sensation warm and all-consuming. her nose pushing against your jaw and nestling below your ear, soft lips brushing along your skin, ringed fingers slipped up your shirt and ghosted her fingers over your naval, teasing gently at a metal piercing that lay in the skin. her smile could be felt against your neck and she reared back, leaning on to the heels of her feet with a playful grin. her eyes sparkled and she pulled the hem of your shirt up with her right hand, then moved her left from the back of the futon. that hand made its sneaky way to your thigh, pushing your knee into the futon’s black fabric.

“that’s cute.”

“yeah?”

“oh, for sure. you.. got another one?”

“no,” you murmur shakily. you suddenly wished you had more. wished you’d succumbed to those thoughts of impulsivity that rushed through your brain when your spiraled out of control. you thought, for a moment, it would’ve made you more attractive. but… it seemed like shane didn’t mind it. she dropped your shirt and brought that right hand to her mouth, running her thumb and forefinger over her chin. her left then took hold of your black slacks, the uniform for your job, her forefinger hooking into a belt loop.

“that’s okay,” she said, looking at you through her lashes, letting her hand fall as she spoke. “you’d look really good with some more.”

you can’t do this any longer you are losing grip now. you shift your hips desperately, the futon squeaking annoyingly beneath you, but you brush it off. your nerves are shot, you’re insanely horny, you need to get this shit out of your system. “shane,” you mumble lowly, trying to get her attention. you succeed.

but first, she cracks that teeth-rotting smile. the one just sweet enough to make your mouth hurt, and sexy enough to make you sick. then, she does it. she leans in again, and you are full on making out. no longer just slowly kissing, clouded in a smoky haze, kisses tasting of resin and cigarettes. her lips are so soft, her fingers nimble and dexterous as they cup the small of your back. she pulls you. up, into a sitting position, and wraps her palm around the nape of your neck to hold you there. the hand that had pulled you shifted once more as shane lay back on to the futon, and you went right with her. she was handling you. not forcibly, no, but gently, enough to just guide you.

and seeking a safety net in your crumbling control, you let her. you slid into position, right in shane’s lap like you’d wanted to be in the first place. perfect. hanging your head low, you pushed down against your neighbor’s lap and felt yourself rush with a specific heat you only experienced when you knew you weren’t supposed to be doing something. foreheads pushed together, lips a breath apart, you closed the gap. your hands brace the sides of shane’s head and your knuckles nearly turn white from how hard you grasp on to the wooden frame.

shane’s kiss is absolutely filthy. she’s licking, drawing your mouth open as if it were a profound cavern she was in dire need to explore, pulling air from your lungs. you aren’t sure how you’re still feeling at this point, but a trace of shane’s touch runs down across your belly button piercing again and pulls at the button of your slacks. expertly, her lips never once stop moving as the plastic black button pops and she teases down your zipper.

you. oh, you have never been so hungry. you were starving. fuck schedules. fuck routine, to hell with repetition. what was it for anyway? to be comfortable? being comfortable never brought you into situations like this. without thinking, one of your hand relents from the frame and rushes to grab shane’s hand, pushing at her wrist so her fingers would cup just above your underwear, palm right over your pubis. you hadn’t shaved in awhile. though you were tidy, you hadn’t had any in awhile. shane liked it though. you could tell based on how she smiles against your mouth.

words no longer suffice. you clench violently around nothing, your need so heavy that you feel your pulse in the depths of your center. shane pulls away only for a moment to gaze into your eyes as she pulls the fabric of your slacks just slightly past your hips. enough to where she can push your underwear to the side and tuck her fingers against your warm skin, and enough to watch you react.

“you..” shane nearly moans out the word. “you’re.. stupid wet right now.” her brows turn up and she parts her lips, leaning forward on to futon so she could be closer to you. her fingers moved. and you’d never felt something so good. silver rings, soft fingertips, hands that knew what they were doing. you shuddered and jerked, nearly squealing as she ran her thumb over your clit. she looked like she was about to worship you. like she was ready to pray to you. she was so adorable, somehow.

“yeah,” there’s hardly anything but desire behind your voice now. “yeah, i.. i told you-“ you grunt and jerk your hips.

just as Shane’s fingers begin to move in circles, your eyes flutter shut and you begin rocking your hips.

“i needed that joint.”

shane hums out a low chuckle and nods her head. her thumb leaves your clit for only a moment. brushing south and rubbing along your entrance, she eases the truth from your lips.

“i hoped it would end with this, too.” you tone was airy, so overwhelmed with need that you could hardly hear yourself speak.

and just like that, how the truth did set you free. shane’s lips met yours and she kissed you so slowly. lips locked passionately, as if she were thirsty and the only refreshing thing was your kiss. her fingers moved back to your clit, stroking and pushing in motions that rounded your hood with horrifying ease. this was too good. this was great. this was perfect.

you were never going to stick to routine ever again.

notes: okay that’s it im done Im so sorry to lead up so much to barely anything at all but. BUT I GOT NERVOUS. ANYWAY HERE’S THIS IM TAGGING @thestarkillers bc ik they love shane the way i do and this is for them ok bai ALSO i wrote the second half of this drunk. enjoy!

[ao3-anonymous]

Fastest Growing Fandoms on AO3 This Week (08/20/2024)

Every week I pull data on how many fics are in each fandom and compare to the previous week, then calculate the percentage increase to determine fastest growing fandoms.  Since this naturally skews towards smaller fandoms, I have included the same data filtered to Over 1k, 5k, & 10k fics.

Overall:

Over 1,000 Fics:

Over 5,000 Fics:

Over 10,000 Fics:

Source: AO3 Fandom Dashboard

[quinncadens]

I'd love some input from anyone reading this!!

You're in the middle of playing a game, watching a show, reading something, or maybe just finishing it up. You're hit by the realization that you're currently in the middle of something special. Something that ticks all of the boxes for top-tier content that you have. Something that makes you think. Something that makes you feel. Something that you won't ever be able to experience for the first time again. Something that will become a standard you hold everything else to. Something you won't ever forget.

What is that something for you? What do you call that feeling? Gush about it! Give me that wordsalad. Go feral homie, I wanna know!

[infinitemilk]

I LOVE this fanfic, it only has 1 chapter and it's not that deep, but how the author decided to write kageyama coming out to Hinata was simply GENIUS. Like, look at this

this is so real 😭😭 I always see some people drawing or saying that "if Hinata was a girl, Kagehina would be canon". But the truth is that Kageyama DOES NOT care about girls, in fact if Hinata was a girl they probably wouldn't have met and their promise would never have been made. Just like kageyama said here "if we weren't both guys we wouldn't know each other"

The name of the fanfic is Hunger Pangs by snikkeler_doodle and you can read it here!

[moralcandy]

fifteen things that don't come back, by charlie slimecicle:

number one. the paper airplane you and your daughter throw at your husband while his back is turned in the kitchen, the two of you hiding behind the counter as you snicker quietly when he stops humming and yelps a curse as he turns around with a faux angry expression and a poorly-hidden smile.

number two. the glass your daughter broke trying to grab it from the cabinet on her tippy-toes. you didn't look over until you heard the glass shatter against the kitchen floor, too preoccupied with grabbing the jug of cold orange juice from the fridge to notice until it was too late. golden, afternoon sunlight shone warmly on the both of you from the open window as you swept it up while she stood to the side with a sheepish expression.

number three. your husband's soft shirt he let you borrow when you said you couldn't find your own but really you just quickly shoved yours under the bed when he wasn't looking. you absently noted that it smelled like him. your lips curved into a slight smile without input. your foot shoved your shirt under the bed a little bit farther.

number four. the pictures you took of your daughter and niece, hugging eachother as they posed for the camera, the photo incinerated into ash when you blew up your house. you frantically dug through your daughter's chest afterwards, soot covering your hands as you searched for the photograph. you did not find it.

number five. your niece.

number six. the feeling of a cold glass of wine held tipsily in your hand, the waterdrop of condensation slipping down the glass at the same pace your tears did down your cheeks. you downed the alcohol until there was nothing left except a burning feeling and a lump in your throat. the bartender did not give you another drink.

number seven. your friend, the one who used to laugh hysterically with you as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders before he began to scream at you while he wrapped his hands around your neck. he pushed you into the dirt, the metallic taste of blood in your mouth and the feeling of wet dirt on your skin as you absently question whether the water dripping on your face was the rain or the tears slipping down your friend's face. you know that was the funeral of your children, but you think both of the real 'you's died that day, too.

number eight. the warm, rumbling feeling of laughter in your chest as a smile hurts your cheeks, the sensation long gone. your mouth, for a moment, twitches into a small smile at the memory of the feeling.

number nine. the feeling of hands on your own, your husband's warm hands intertwined with yours as your cold, golden rings clink against eachother. your daughter's tiny hand clasped around yours as she leads you to a butterfly she found, grass brushing your ankles as you walk.

ten. the sound of your daughter's amused laughter, snorts interrupting occasionally. her head leans back as she giggles, her eyes scrunched up in happiness.

eleven. the sound of your husband's soothing voice, lilting with fondness as he looks at you. a smile absently crosses his face as he speaks, audible in his voice. you always remember smiling back.

twelve. your golden wedding band your husband lovingly slipped onto your ring finger so long ago, the one you furiously tossed into a dusty corner with particularily bad aim. you blame the poor aim on the tears blurring your vision, but it could've been the alcohol, really.

thirteen. your husband. you try to go to sleep in the center of your bed now, knowing that he won't be there. when you wake up, you always find yourself on the left side of the bed, as if you've moved in your sleep to accommodate someone. you scowl and think that your asleep self should stop being so stupid. ..you make the bed just in case he really does decide to come back.

fourteen. your daughter. whenever you make yourself breakfast now, you keep accidentally making two bowls, the muscle memory automatic, familiar, and no longer needed. you sit down at the table and set the bowls and begin to eat, but you always end up just stirring the cereal with your spoon as you stare at the untouched bowl across from you. you always end up throwing them both away. without your input, a frown tugs slightly at your lips as your pour out the second bowl but you know that nobody else was even here to eat it anyway. your eyes burn.

fifteen. your daughter, the one you know isn't the real one. sometimes you walk down those train tracks where you found her, hoping she'll be here this time. she never is. ..you still keep checking, just in case.

[rain-is-cool]

Please guys I’m genuinely dying when I go on the teaduo tag on ao3 and see that 90% of the fics their only in the background for a pissa or a guapoduo or a hideduo centered fic like bro can a person not just read abt lesbians now a days???

I’m fr dying like pls yes I love some of those other ships but the reason I’m on that tag is because I want to see TEADUO SPECIFICALLY not just them as a background couple or smth 😭😭😭

(No hate to anyone btw I’m just rly sad 😭😭)

[onedayiwillgrowwings]

"That's what happens when you rot somewhere long enough: you start to call it home" - The Night We Met by majjale

[xuxudio]

successfully choosing the most doomed ship in any media since 1999

[foxymc]

I miss parrotduo so much. They were so happy. Just look at them:

[kyouka-supremacy]

We should talk more about Akutagawa seeing Dazai in Atsushi and being revolted by him, that's such a juicy concept to explore

[qcomicsy]

I think Wade Wilson deserves tenderness.

I think he deserves someone to kiss his brow and his scarred knuckles, to hold him very close and let him sleep on their lap.

I think he deserves to have people to call when he has a bad day and I think that someday he deserves to look at the mirror and realize that there's moments that this doesn't hurt as much.

[gremlinshatephilosophers]

Phil: “If one of you were to put their jacket down over a puddle for the other like an early 2000s - these questions! We would both push each other into the puddle.”

Dan: “No, no no. Phil would trip into the puddle, try to grab me for support, and pull me also into the puddle.”

Chivalry is dead (it drowned)

Rating: G

Words: 1,477

Summary: Sometimes when Phil makes a joke and Dan shoots it down, or when Dan warns him of his own clumsiness again and again, Phil simply lets the intrusive thoughts win and does what he wants. And maybe sometimes Dan is right, and he ends up falling down in a dirty puddle under a bridge on a long walk back to their tour bus after a show.

Based on a question from the Philadelphia pre-show about throwing your jacket over a puddle for someone.

[idolision]

Wei Wuxian: *Yawn*..... Mmmm .... I don't remember anything.

Lan Wangji: ...............................................

+====+

Ephialtes

[Top Wei Wuxian X Bottom Lan Wangji]

AO3 - Cycliph

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46230973/chapters/116389231

[infinitemilk]

OKAY I JUST READ THIS FIC AND I'M CRYING (OF HAPPINESS). I usually hate longfics and avoid them as much as possible, but I've been making exceptions for a while now. I'll tag the user who recommended this fic to me. I'm glad I read it!! After "I like the way your clothes smell" I'm more emotional than usual 😞�� love them sm

thanks for @momozogger0 for recommending this fic to me!!! I'm so happy that i read it 😞😞