#doing literally everything but writing fics

[sorryimananti-romantic]

to a dying? atinyblr

i don't usually speak about these things, but a lot of blogs (amazing writers) are leaving this platform or taking time off bc of lack of engagement which serves as a big demotivating factor. especially and specifically in this atiny fandom, some things have come to my attention and i just want all readers and writers to take a look at this post and refresh some reading and writing etiquettes, as well as revive the essence of being a part of this fandom.

feedback:

i understand that there are a lot of silent readers on here, but since tumblr is dying and our fandom is not very huge, the least you can do to show the writers some support is like the post. 

which brings me to the point that the like function didn't even exist in the past. this site still runs on reblogs. as readers, to show your favourite writers some semblance of support, you should be reblogging with tags. a simple ‘#ateez x reader’ or ‘#ateez fics’ is enough. it's literally not asking for much– reblogs are the only way writers can get reach.

if you cannot do that bc of your blog's aesthetic or whatever, side blogs exist. if you still cannot do that, a simple anon ask appreciating the writer sometimes saves them.

also, what has happened to the quality of reblogs? readers consume years of writers’ work and efforts in mere hours and don’t even leave any feedback? art in general in all forms is very underappreciated and with all sorts of problems like plagiarism, ai writing and everything, true art and writing is dying and needs to be appreciated now more than ever. we’re literally the last generation witnessing ai take over in all fields of arts. appreciate content creators before it’s too late, don’t be a content glutton!

updates and requests:

asking writers for updates when they specifically mention that they would prefer posting at their pace is wrong for so many reasons– we all have a real life. you, the reader, do too. just like you don't always have time to read, writers don't always have time to write. do you ever see the writers asking their readers 'why have you not read my latest chapter?' 

most of the times, writers mention in their bio/faq post or elsewhere that they do mind being asked about updates. respect your writers, please, and do a little scroll before you send such demanding asks (also, sugarcoating when asking for updates does not make it any better!)

if you are only asking about updates, it demotivates a lot of writers bc these same people will disappear when it is time for feedback. writing is a form of art. we can write, artists can paint, musicians can compose music, but all of it has no meaning unless it is shared with an audience and appreciated. readers are just as important as the writers but there is no way of knowing fics are valued unless feedback is given.

the same goes for requests. you can only send a request when the requests are open, which is usually mentioned in the writer’s bio/faq post. it’s literally not that hard to check if requests are open and it’s basic decency to not send a request when the writers specifically mention that requests are closed. when sending a request, please be courteous. a ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ are examples of being courteous when sending requests.

the fanfics in atinyblr:

i understand that you can read whatever you like, but why is it that in the atiny fandom, fics that do not contain smut hardly ever get attention? as a writer, i enjoy writing and reading smut, and while i am not specifically a smut blog, i have noticed how fics containing smut get far more reach than fics that do not contain smut– not just in my case, but other amazing writers as well. 

there are such amazing fictions in this fandom. all fics are crafted with dedication and care, yet stories without smut often get sidelined. writers are not able to express themselves in their writing freely anymore and they simply conform to a genre they know readers will consume, as they are forced to consider adding smut to their stories so they can get more reach in this fandom. i have heard accounts from a lot of writers who were inclined to add smut to an otherwise smut-free fic just for reach.

this is by no means hate to the smut writers. i am also not placing blame on them. smut drabbles have always been in this fandom, and there are amazing smut writers out there, doing their thing. it is the readers here who are failing the writers. readers are quick to talk about the lack of ‘good fics’ or ‘plot’ yet will not even bother searching for these works. there used to be a good balance and appreciation for all genres alike.

i know that smut is what's hot and trendy these days, and drabbles in general, no matter the genre, are easier to read when you want to take a short break. but there is such a lack of longfics in this fandom, especially as of lately, and as someone who has personally witnessed the ratio of longfics decrease exponentially, i felt the need to point this out. appreciate all writers! appreciate all genres! longfic writers need as much validation and encouragement as drabble writers, and vice versa! don't be too harsh on longfic writers for not pumping out fics at the same speed as shortfic writers.

and on that note, smut drabble writers experience a lack of quality feedback despite the high engagement, so readers, please don't hesitate to point out exactly what you liked about a fic, even if it's a short drabble! be kind to those writers, give them time to write and be kind when sending requests! they may post more often but they, too, have a life.

tags:

this is specifically for the people who will post a very normal picture of a member, no caption, but tag it something like #ateez smut, #ateez hard hours, #ateez x reader. and for the people who tag their asks with irrelevant tags– literally learn to tag your post properly, and stop crowding the wrong tags. you're just proving the point that if you don't tag a post with the smut tag or something similar, it won't get reach. if you've posted with a caption, that makes sense (though it still doesn't warrant some of the tags being used there).

as for writers, also learn to use your tags appropriately. fics that do not contain smut should not be tagged with smut related tags. believe in yourself. i get that there is the problem of reach but do not overcrowd tags with irrelevant material.

disclaimer:

this is by no means about me. if i cared about the notes, or lack thereof, i would have stopped writing a while ago. while it is challenging to be a writer here, especially as of lately, i still enjoy posting whatever i write no matter the genre or the word count. but it's a bit disappointing that my planned out fics get much less attention than a simple smut headcanons post that i wrote in the heat of the moment with my friend in literally a few hours as a joke (which has reached almost 10k notes btw in a span of 2 years). sure, it has exposed my blog to new readers but that's about it.

this post is for all the amazing writers who have left, are thinking of leaving, or are struggling to voice these problems because they are afraid of being marked as 'problematic' or a 'hater' or something worse. i am not afraid to voice my opinion on here, and if you think that i am wrong, feel free to interact with this post and correct me because i am not claiming that i am right about this.

these are just the observations i have made as someone who has been actively writing on this platform for about 4 years now, and since i have a decent number of followers, i hope this post gets more reach. do not be afraid to reblog this if you agree, and even if you do not, reblog this so someone else gets educated. i may have missed some points so feel free to add if you want too.

[fairytaleendingss]

Inedible

Summary: You feel guilty when your OCD prevents you from eating the dinner James has cooked for you.

Pairing: James Potter x fem!reader

CW: OCD symptoms, food anxiety, intrusive thoughts, mentions of food poisoning.

Hey guys! This is kind of different from some other stuff I've written previously but I wanted to give it a go. I'm kind of nervous for people to read it since it's quite personal so be gentle haha.

For context, I have been experiencing symptoms of OCD for the last couple of years (quite intensely at times) and I've unfortunately been unable to receive an official diagnosis so far. However, I also deeply resonate with many people's experiences with the condition and I have always wished there would be more fanfiction and content in general which depicted these experiences. So I figured, why not give it a go myself?

This is solely based on personal experiences and I'm aware that everyone has different symptoms so it might not be 100% accurate to everyone's experience. But I hope that someone out there is able to relate to it.

Let me know what you think and if you'd like to see me write more fics that involve a reader with OCD.

--

You sat at the dinner table as James bounced around the kitchen. The clattering of pots and pans could be heard as your boyfriend worked on his self-proclaimed "masterpiece".

You had had a long week at work and come Friday night, James insisted on treating you to a surprise homecooked dinner. You appreciated the gesture but James wasn't particularly well known in his friend group for his cooking capabilities and that made you slightly anxious. He insisted that he knew what he was doing, that this was his mother's old recipe and he'd helped her make it 1000 times growing up but something inside of you was still unsure. His determination to exile you from the kitchen wasn't helping matters either.

"Hey, honey, if you're going to use that cheese in the fridge, could you check the expiration date? It's been in there a little while." You called as your foot bounced up and down beneath the table.

"Don't worry, I'm not using that one," he called back. More pots and pans rattled around and you couldn't help but chuckle at the noise (and inevitable mess) he was making.

You leaned back in your chair and heaved out a heavy breath, trying to calm your nerves.

"This is so stupid," you muttered to yourself. "It's literally just dinner."

James emerged from the kitchen a few minutes, carrying two full plates and looking particularly pleased with himself. He placed one down on the table in front of you and took a seat opposite.

"Here you are, love. Dinner is served."

You mustered the best smile you could before glancing down at the plate in front of you. You did your best to contain your disappointment.

Chicken.

Dear god, why did it have to be chicken?

You looked up to see that James was already digging in, while a million thoughts raced through your mind.

What if he hasn't cooked it properly?

You'll get Salmonella and end up in Hospital.

If you eat this, you'll get sick and miss out on your friend's birthday party tomorrow. You've been looking forward to that for weeks!

"Is everything okay?"

James was staring up at you with those big brown eyes of his and you felt guilt begin to flood every inch of your body. He'd work so hard to make you this! He was so excited. You were letting him down by not trying it.

You nodded shortly, sending him a tight lipped smile as you picked up your knife and fork. Quickly you scooped up some of the vegetables on your plate and shoved them into your mouth.

Of course they tasted delicious.

They were sitting up against the chicken! What if they're contaminated with bacteria?

Did he remember to use different chopping boards for the meat and vegetables?

You shook your head discretely, as if in attempt to clear it of intrusive thoughts. It didn't work.

For the next 10 minutes you watched James eat while hesitantly picking at the greenery on your plate, all the while guilt gnawed at the walls of your stomach. You felt so bad that you were almost ready to cry.

At one point you picked up your knife and dug it into a piece of the chicken. You examined the slice thoroughly, shifting it on your fork to see it under the light. It looked fine. Not pink at all. Perfectly cooked.

But what if you just can't see it properly?

What if another section of it is undercooked?

You just couldn't do it. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't bring yourself to eat it. The thought only made the pit in your stomach grow deeper. James was going to be so upset.

As if on cue, the boy looked up at you, observing the anguished look on your face.

"Hey, what's going on? You've hardly touched your meal. Don't you like it?"

Your heart clenched and you felt tears burn against the back of your eyes.

"No it's not that. I'm just not very hungry tonight."

James raised a brow at you, setting his cutlery down. "Come on, love, I know that's not true. I've been listening to your stomach growl all evening. Tell me what's really going on."

You sniffled lightly, looking down at your hands which were fidgeting in your lap.

"I'm so sorry James. I feel really bad but I don't know if I can eat this."

You didn't look up at him. You couldn't bare to see the disappointment on his face. Feelings of shame and embarrassment began to join the flurry of emotions that swirled within you. You felt ridiculous. It was only a piece of chicken after all.

"Sweetheart, look at me."

You didn't know when exactly it had happened - you were too distracted with your own shame - but at some point, James had moved from his chair and was now kneeling at your side.

He lifted a gentle hand to brush away the tears that had begun to leak down your cheeks.

"Hey, it's okay. You don't have to eat it if you don't want to."

You sighed, a new wave of tears beginning to fall as you looked up at him. "I do want to eat it. It looks amazing but I just... I can't!"

You were getting frustrated now. You were annoyed that your stupid brain wouldn't let you do something as simple as eat the meal your boyfriend had so kindly made you.

"Y/n, it's okay. I understand, you can't help it," James comforted, pulling you towards him and engulfing you in his strong arms.

He gently rubbed your back, whispering words of reassurance into your ear as more frustrated tears fell.

After a while, you pulled away, straightening yourself up, feeling absolutely mortified by your reaction to something as simple as a meal in front of you.

James, however, seemed completely unphased.

"Why don't we put this in the fridge and order some take-away instead?"

You looked up at him with wide eyes. "But you just spent so long making this for me."

"Eh, not to worry," he reassured casually. "You're just having a bad day, lovely. I'm not going to pressure you to eat it. Besides, Sirius is coming over tomorrow. I'm sure he'll eat it. He's always keen to go through our left-overs."

You sniffled, letting out a watery chuckle.

"That's my girl," James muttered affectionately. "Now why don't you look up the menu from that Pizza place that you like down the road while I tidy up."

You nodded lovingly, watching James whistle to himself as he wandered back into the kitchen.

You let out a sigh, pulling out your phone. Thank god for James Potter.

[ovaryacted]

The way some of y’all act on this platform like you fucking run shit on here is actually ridiculous. Y’all criticize writers for what they write, how they write, what tropes they use, how frequently they write, what ideas they have, how they manage their pages, and everything else under the damn sun. But yet you still want people to continue writing and share their work FOR FREE may I add. Y’all can’t keep reading fic and picking it apart every which way, you can’t have it both ways. Pick a damn side.

Fanfic writers don’t get paid for doing this, for dealing with the stress of coming up with ideas and writing pages upon pages of something they want to share, formatting the posts, and then sharing it on this platform or an AO3 just to get berated, judged, critiqued, accused, plagiarized, exploited with AI, and ignored. Y’all literally give people everything but support on here and then bitch and cry about nobody wanting to write fanfic anymore. Maybe if you guys grew some fucking sense and supported the writers that are actually here instead of constantly policing their actions and pushing their buttons and jumping down their throats for little ass shit, we’d have more people willing to use their spare time to write fanfic.

Y’all get bold as hell using the anon button, saying whatever y’all want without caring of how it may come off, but god forbid people respond back with just as much vitriol, all of a sudden they’re the bad guy and you’re playing victim. We literally have bigger things to fucking worry about than bullshit anon hate that won’t amount to anything. When you all realize that we soon won’t have a platform to share fic and our writing to begin with because of mass censorship and your favorite fic writers are being targeted for being sex offenders for engaging and creating pornographic material as planned in Project 2025, then maybe we’ll fucking get somewhere.

Let people enjoy this app while we have it, cause trust me, it won’t be long before you all have no more fic to complain about. Maybe when that happens, you can finally use your free time and whatever energy that’s left in your brain to do something useful for once.

[milessunflowers]

Hiii I have been meaning to request with you but I keep forgetting (adhd suck sometimes) anyway I have had a strange hyperfixation on hockey (I live in a country where ice hockey isn't a thing so i have to watch from my websites) anyway could I get a franco x hockey player trans!reader where like franco is just supporting them though out a few games and stuff totally cool if not and am I able to grab the

🍄 anon?

FRANCO AND HOCKEY PLAYER READER YES YES YES YES YES i love franco and hockey and think abt the video of him on the ice during last seasons lv gp and it's literally my favorite!! so much inspiration for this!

franco colapinto x trans!hockey player!reader

synopsis: franco lives out his wag dreams with his hockey player boyfriend

author's note: mushroom anon, you have spoken my language. i love franco and hockey so mushing the two together really sparked creativity. this is more going to be like headcanons if thats alright! there are just so many ideas and like i couldn't just put it into one fic (maybe i should write a multi part fic of franco being a hockey wag lmk what yall think). like always, feel free to request! i might have gotten a bit carried away but its okay bc franco <3

when he can finally attend your games, he is over the moon excited

goes all out with like dressing in a jersey with your number, face paint, everything

he is 1000% the loudest out of everyone in the stadium

depending on your role (e.g. enforcer) he'll cheer even louder if you get into a fight

he definitely doesn't find it to be hot and sexy

absolutely loves watching you celebrate if you get a goal (but if you're a goalie, it makes him happy when your team celebrates you)

goes all out when you win a game

full on party mode

like balloons and everything

and if you don't win a game, he still will celebrate you (do with that as you please)

lots of hugs and kisses when you leave the locker room

your teammates find you guys adorable (if not a tad bit annoying)

your teammates are also totally chill about you being trans

they think you're the coolest

franco thinks you are the coolest

during the las vegas gp when he's invited to the rink, he is so excited

tries to show off but absolutely fails and falls on his ass

you tease him relentlessly for it afterward

he pouts and so you make it up to him (also do with that as you please)

every time he was the chance to go to one of your games, he takes advantage of it

just like when you can make it to his races

when he's at the rink, he isn't formula one driver franco, no he's full on wag mode

even if he is shown up on the jumbo screen or anywhere else, he is known as your boyfriend

he lives it up to the fullest because it takes the pressure off of him in a weird way

if anyone asks, he loves hockey more than f1

he's insane when watching you

literally your number one fan

and vice versa

you are his number one fan

when either one of you have an event, plus one immediately

so lovesick that you can spot the heart-eyes from space

when given the chance during your interviews, you bring him up

you guys just are so supportive of each other and love each other, people wouldn't be surprised if you guys got secretly married during the las vegas gp

TAGS! (if you would like to be added, lmk!)

@op-81-lvr-reblogs, @koalapastries, @justaf1girl, @ghostking4m, @spoonfulofmilo

[luvstappen]

girl i freaking love your series! srsly can't get enough! while we wait for the new part; do you have lando writers you love or fics you can recommend!? i trust your judgment <3

omg thank you so much, that means the world to me!!! 🥹💖 you're the sweetest!!!

not gonna lie, it's a little embarrassing how quickly i RAN to my old tumblr account to check my likes for this! turns out, i mostly read angst and smut (very humbling).

anyway, i've put together a little list of my favourite f1 fics! these are primarily the ones i still think about daily or can instantly recall off the top of my head.

please note that most of these fics are 18+ !!! i tried to include as few smutty fics as possible but honestly, some of these are just too good to leave out. also, i threw in a mix of other drivers too because there are sooo many great fics out there!

not all of these series are finished, though! and honestly, pretty much everything by these authors is worth checking out.

Lando Norris

it's a match (SMAU series) – my favourite!!! honestly, everything by this author is too good (the cat sitter series is also worth mentioning... see below!!!!!)

in a galaxy far, far away (SMAU series) – love love love this one!!!! such a classic and really well-made. it's star wars themed (and again, everything by this author is worth checking out!)

everything is papaya? (SMAU) – this is so messy and just so good!

focal point (series) – a really lovely college!au series, feels so real and sweet

monaco kiss .wav (18+ smut!) – changed my brain chemistry forever

puzzle piece – too cute, i'm obsessed

lacy – this one was so good but also made me wanna kms... really angsty and painful

selfish (ft. oscar) – literally my first liked fic and honestly, i think it might have inspired INTHAF a little? anyway, I loved it!!!! amazing, messy and angsty (i can't help myself)

the prophecy (SMAU series) – just finished this and it was adorable!

Oscar Piastri

strangers (18+) – the way i will NEVER stop recommending this. the writing is perfect, and honestly, everything by this author is worth reading!

matchmaker (SMAU) – such a cute and wholesome read

obsessed (SMAU) – this was so fun to read!!!!

last christmas (SMAU) – beautiful and heartwarming. i'm sat

Max Verstappen (yes I'm doing that)

strawberry wine (series) – AHHHHHHHHH!!!!! so well-written and perfect and also emotional? i swear this is amazing

for what it's worth (series) – this is so funny and just chef's kiss

midnights (series) – beautiful but also angsty and has alternate endings!

the cat sitter (SMAU series) – hilarious perfect amazing. a must read classic for me <3 this was the story that made me fall in love with the smau format

yuck! (SMAU series) – another gem i loved sm

Honourable mentions

fucked-up little thrill / charles leclerc (18+ smut!) – this one had me crying screaming throwing up i swear

blue moon hotel / george russell (18+ smut!) – i remember finishing it at like 2 am and then staring at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep because it was all i could think about

eve of destruction / lando x oscar (18+ smut!) – i don't usually read driver x driver but this one was CRAZY good and it completely changed my life (available on AO3)

[librathefangirl]

The Color of Betrayal

ao3 | The Seven Deadly Sins | Chapter 1/1 | 1.6k+

When he was little, Zeldris never thought he would lose Meliodas’ green eyes. When he got older, he never thought he would tremble at the sight of his own.

For @zorria. It is finished bestie! Hope I did it justice <3

This fic is inspired by zorria's hc that Zeldris kept his demon powers activated all the time because his green eyes reminded him of Meliodas (which in turn was inspired by my latest demon bros video). I was also listening to "How Do I Say Goodbye" by Dean Lewis while writing the majority of this fic, so there's that…

Read on ao3 or under the cut!

Zeldris had always associated Meliodas with the color green.

Because when Zeldris thought about his brother, he thought about his eyes. The vibrant green as Meliodas dragged Zeldris into the library to read (instead of training like they were supposed to). The deep green as he held Zeldris close and let him cry into his shoulder (when their mother no longer could). The steady and calm green that never wavered (no matter who they were directed at); feeling strong and secure even without the veil of darkness.

The same green Zeldris saw in the mirror.

Zeldris had gotten his eye color from Meliodas. That had always been a fact in his mind. Their mother hadn’t had green eyes, and their father– Their father’s were void of color. Zeldris couldn’t remember a single moment where the Demon King’s eyes hadn’t been shrouded by darkness. But Meliodas’ eyes had always been an unforgivable green; reflecting the one in Zeldris’ own.

Or so it had used to be.

When they were kids. When neither knew better. Maybe Meliodas had known better, shouldering every disapproving glare from Chandler like it was nothing. They were both quickly becoming good at pretending (or at least at pretending they were good at pretending).

But everything had its end.

When he was little, Zeldris never thought he would lose Meliodas’ green eyes. When he got older, he never thought he would tremble at the sight of his own.

Meliodas grew (Zeldris did too, but Meliodas was older, was the firstborn, was supposed to be the next Demon King), and apparently that also meant Zeldris couldn’t keep his green-eyed big brother anymore. Because Meliodas started hiding his eye color – or rather, he started using his darkness more. It wasn’t something Zeldris thought a lot about at first. Of course Meliodas had to use his powers more, and of course that also meant Zeldris would see less of his green eyes. It made sense. Zeldris would do the same when he got older and more involved in the matters of the Demon Realm (in the war).

But it wasn’t just the war and the power.

Even in the castle, even when he wasn’t using his powers for anything (even in the absence of their father’s gaze), Meliodas kept his darkness up. It became like a symbol, a literal mark showcasing Meliodas as the powerful successor to the throne. But more than anything, it became a shield. And hidden underneath it all was the big brother Zeldris saw less and less of.

(The same big brother that Zeldris would one day lose.)

Before Zeldris even knew what was happening, the only times he saw the green he’d grown up loving was when they were alone. Alone and away; unseen and unscrutinized. When they were allowed to be just brothers, and not the princes of the realm. It was then that the true version of his older brother shone through again. The one who didn’t care about what their father or masters said. That was also when Zeldris realized that the color of their eyes wasn’t just a feature they both had, it was a secret treasure of Meliodas that only Zeldris got to share. (That only Zeldris got to see.)

And then that went away too; the day Zeldris lost his brother, his eyes were as black as their father’s.

Meliodas’ black eyes had never been like their father’s. The Demon King’s eyes were without emotion; a black hole that destroyed anything coming near. Meliodas’ eyes were an abyss, and deep there within you could see the shimmer of everything just out of sight.

(Of the secret Zeldris had once treasured; and always taken for granted.)

Zeldris didn’t want to look Meliodas in the eyes that day. It hurt. He couldn’t tell what would have been worse: seeing the emotions in his brother’s eyes as he broke every single one of Zeldris’ hearts, or if his eyes had been as dead as the Demon King’s. Zeldris got into Meliodas’ face and the black was all he saw. It was there and it was wrong and it hurt. Zeldris couldn’t stand it. He turned around and left without looking back. 

He had seen the last of his brother’s green eyes without even realizing it. (Now they were no longer his treasure to hold.) Zeldris couldn’t even remember the last time he had seen them. (They were not his to see anymore.) But now he never would again. (Did Meliodas let Elizabeth see his eyes as openly as he had Zeldris?)

Maybe they had never been for him to see at all.

As he got out of sight, Zeldris could feel his own darkness wavering. So he clung to it as if his life depended on it. This was not the time to fall, and especially not for everything to spill out. Black eyes were a sign of strength, their father always said. That’s stupid, his brother had countered when Zeldris was too scared to even let his darkness drop when it was just the two of them. Having feelings is just as important as having power. There’s strength in both.

Zeldris didn’t have a brother anymore, so he listened to his father’s voice. (So he kept his eyes black.)

He needed to be strong. They all depended on that now (Gelda depended on that). The feelings tearing through Zeldris like a sword through water wouldn’t help him. It made his hands tremble. There was no strength there; just a growing void where his brother’s name had always been carved. It made him angry (how could one demon cause pain like this?) Anger was easier (Zeldris hadn’t hurt like this since their mother died). You could do something about anger; pain was passive, anger required action.

(Next time we meet, it will be as enemies!)

Without even realizing it, Zeldris spent the rest of the night with his gaze on the ground (or the walls, or the door; anything without a reflection). The last thing he wanted was to see himself. Because if he did, he knew what he would see. The dark mark on his forehead (We’re the same!) The same one Meliodas’ had, another thing the two of them shared. (Yeah, Zel. It means we will always be connected. You and I.) 

And if he wasn’t careful, that darkness would disappear. The blackness in his eyes would melt away – black like Meliodas (or were they black like his father’s?) – and Zeldris would be faced with green. The same green he had seen every day growing up. The same green he had found outside the castle like rare rocks on the beach. The same green he would never see again.

Zeldris hated the color green.

It was the color of betrayal. There was nothing vibrant or deep or steady about it. There was no strength. It made his hands tremble and his eyes fill with tears.

The color of betrayal and pain; permanently etched into Zeldris’ own face.

It wasn’t fair. Few things about Zeldris’ life had been fair (his mother, Gelda, now his brother too…) But just because it was there, didn’t mean Zeldris had to see it. Why would he spend his life staring at the color he hated? There was no point.

It was a sign of weakness.

Meliodas had been weak. He had thrown away everything he had worked for, for the sake of one woman. (Zeldris didn’t have that strength). And not just any woman, but a goddess (the Supreme Deity’s daughter no less!) Meliodas had been weak – that was why Chandler had always been so mad when Meliodas wouldn’t cover his eyes with darkness. It had been the first sign. The same eyes Zeldris had loved had been the proof of the inevitable; Meliodas was not cut out for leading the demons.

He had just pretended.

And Zeldris had been the fool who believed him.

He had been the fool who loved him.

There was no need for that anymore. Zeldris could do what Meliodas couldn’t. His black eyes would be proof of that. He wasn’t the brother of a green-eyed traitor; he was the son of the black-eyed Demon King. (You are no longer my brother!) He didn’t need to pretend. (If he had no brother, he had no one to miss). He could do this on his own.

The Demon King had black eyes. His successor would too.

(It didn’t matter what was hidden underneath).

Zeldris' eyes would be black.

And if that meant Zeldris didn’t have to be reminded of Meliodas each time he saw his own reflection… Well, that didn’t matter now, did it? Zeldris didn’t have any reason to show his green eyes. He was stronger than that. (Green eyes were a weakness; that was what their father had always said). He needed to prove that he was stronger than that. (He needed to have black eyes). The rest of the demons needed to look at him and see a leader. (And not the traitor’s brother).

Meliodas’ name had been synonymous with brother, with strength; now it only meant traitor. Zeldris didn’t need that association. (It didn’t matter, everybody knew he was Meliodas’ brother). He didn’t need the green eyes to remind them. (Everybody knew regardless of the color of his eyes). So he would carry his father’s black eyes with pride. (Everybody would always know).

Zeldris was the second son of the Demon King. He was the new leader of the Ten Commandments. He would lead the demons to the victory his brother couldn’t.

(Seeing his own green eyes just hurt too much.)

That was how Zeldris would be remembered and recognized; by his black eyes, and not his green.

(They were the remains of the brother he had lost; of the brother he still loved.)

He didn’t need any green eyes.

(They just reminded him of how he actually felt.)

[lookingfts]

You're telling me this AU could give us queer Anthony, jealous Kate, a consensual Kanthony sex tape, danger in exotic locations, one bed, protective Anthony fighting with stubborn Kate about being reckless.... This AU is a goldmine! (Hehe, Au is the symbol for gold on the periodic table of elements. I made myself chuckle 🤭)

Please write this!

(If you want to, of course. 😇)

Ha! There is a lot of dig into here. I'm not ready to commit to another multi-chap just yet (there's so much else going on in my life and my brain is so full) but it's fun to tease it out a little. As always, I so enjoy hearing all your thoughts and ideas!

I'm kind of laughing at the idea of something biting Kate and Anthony freaks out like he does in the show, but instead of a bee it's a poisonous snake. They could really have some bonkers adventures.

I was literally just wondering if you've ever written a sex tape fic. Send very in your wheelhouse. Imagine they're getting carried away and Anthony pauses to turn off the camera but Kate stops him and asks if they can keep it on and Anthony's head explodes (in more ways than one). Ooh ooh ooh is their first time going to be recorded??

"Don't," she says softly, and Anthony stills, his hand halfway to the camera. The tension between them is so thick that she can't breathe, recklessness swirling in her blood, but she wants to remember this. If everything falls apart after, if this is just a strange moment out of time never to be repeated, she wants something to hold onto. "Leave it on."

Anthony stares at her, all flushed cheeks and parted lips, and Kate has never wanted anything, or anyone, so much as she wants him. "Are you sure?"

"I trust you," she answers, and she does. Implicitly. Anthony has been by her side for a third of her life, through so much, through everything. He would cut off his own arm before he would do anything to hurt her.

He hesitates for a second, then withdraws, stalking toward her with dark eyes. Kate shudders a little under his predatory gaze, willing prey, and exhales heavily as he unbuttons her linen shirt and slides it over her shoulders. "You always did look so beautiful on camera."

[hazelfoureyes]

Hi hazel!

I hope you are doing better after your posts news months ago. We missed you and your energy on this app. Due to recent events, I have been very stressed and very scared and I've been rereading the A Doe In Fall series to take my mind off of everything.

So i just wanted to say thank you. It's literally not related and you did not do that for me and my harsh feelings about a lot of things in this life rn, but regardless your fanfics have been a perfect escape for me since a year or two ago?? Geez... it can't have been that long... anyhoo I am so utterly grateful.

When you're ready to post more parts of A Doe In Fall or The Safeword is Radioapple, I will be here ready and waiting to absolutely devour your wonderful story and words. However, I just wanted you to know how much your work is helping me in the now with what you have written. So thanks 💖💖

It's also so crazy to say cause i feel like this is like the "you saved me" posts but like this one consists of smutty demon character fics based on the 1920s-30s and also Hell 🤣 but i am above being any sort of ashamed so bring it all on im ready 😈

What a terribly sweet thing to say! It’s been a year of smutty smut smut on here. Which is… huh?? Lmao

I’m so glad my stories can give you an escape! That means so much because it means I’ve succeeded in pulling you into the little scenes in my head 😭 I’m escaping there anyway so might as well write it out and let us all go! Field trip!

A gentle reminder the ending of ADIF has been written for like 6+ months now, I’m mostly now just babying the bits that are done and adding things to flesh out the world of our lovers before The Event. So I promise it will finish…. Cuz I already wrote the painful parts 😭 Your inbox genuinely helped me get over my “I’m scared to open Google docs” paralysis and continue fleshing out the next that’s half written, so thank you!

I think I’ve been really in a “scared to move so gonna zone out” mood for like three months now and it’s really sapping the soul out of me. Like I’m scared to indulge in hobbies or art for some reason… like I’m scared of expending the energy or falling in love again with things. I can’t explain it well I’m just terrified to write. But I did! With your kind words in my ear!

Your inbox really made my day and is the kind of thing I have to struggle to not post on my personal insta like HEY LOOK NICE PEOPLE LIKE ME 😂 💖

[stop-talking]

Game of the summer ?!?!

[teethkid67]

PAYDAY

aka a valentine for the lovely @itsnotmystic / @corvids-calling - fanart for stars fic of the same name, which you can read here !!! i really enjoyed this concept and wanted to do some art for it :3 hope you like it because i REALLY loved your work & i hope this shows that !!! HAPPY VALENTINES DAY !!!!

this is also a loose love-letter to the wonderful @arginnit 's crazy background-drawing-ability and style/skill at portraying environments . wadds your stuff is insane and i love it

happy @mcyt-valentines exchange !!!!

[justaz]

arthur (prince of camelot) still has to study under a tutor bc yknow uther wants him to be very intelligent before becoming king or something bc its super important idk idc anyways merlin is doing chores in his chambers while arthur is squinting at a book and merlin eventually caves and asks him what he’s reading and arthur gruffly explains that its a collection of stories from greece that make absolutely no sense so merlin asks him to read them outloud to him. arthur of course teases him and calls him an idiot and asks how he could possibly help but does as he’s asked and reads the stories to merlin as he does his chores. merlin (being crushed under the weight of destiny and tormented by the prophecies that kilgharrah spews) understands the stories almost immediately and gets all excited and starts rambling about them with arthur. arthur is glad to have someone who understands so he can give something that reflects a hint of understanding to his tutor who accepts it and moves onto the next unit of education.

the thing is, arthur finds more stories in camelot’s library and brings them up to his room to read them aloud to merlin under the guise of completing his studies but really he just wants to watch as merlin’s eyes gleam when he understands whats happening and listen to him ramble on and on about them bc he’s gay. the stories stick with merlin though and he realizes that they’re cautionary tales, that the heroes who were told too much of their future doomed themself to fulfill them - that them fighting the prophecies led to their completion. merlin takes it to heart and gives a big “fuck you” to kilgharrah before forging his own fate and helping morgana with her magic and handing out an olive branch to mordred and now everyone can live happily and peacefully in an albion teeming with magic.

[crossthread]

No jokes here. The Navy’s best pilot and the Navy’s best admiral. Between them, eight air-to-air combat kills and five stars. These were men who commanded respect with or without your approval. This was the picture of ruthless competence.

Debriefing (& Other Stories) • part 2 of Easier Done Than Said by @compacflt

[menlikeair]

NEW YORK AINT THE SAME WITHOUT YOU. [aidan shaw x fem!afab!reader]

mdni. smut. mentions of alcohol, mentions of cheating. intoxication. language. oral m receiving. angst! unprotected sex, aidan is kind of an asshole, be warned.

words: 3.3k

new york city drummed on balmy summer nights and the heat only amplified its pulse. people from all walks of life were carving out their own spaces in a city that never slept.

except for you, alone in your apartment. left to your own devices with nothing but the hum of sparse traffic outside and the patter of rain against your window. it poured heavily and bounced from the pavement, adding a rhythmic backdrop to the humid summer night.

the city seemed to mock your solitude with the straight downpour.

on the other side of chelsea, in stark contrast to your state, aidan stepped out of the club into a relentless sheet of rain, his mind a whirlwind. neon lights reflected off the wet pavement, casting a glow around him.

betrayal still stung, and in true aidan shaw fashion, rain or shine, baby, he had once told you. he kept his promises.

the street bloomed white under two jittered flashes of lightning.

“juliet, give me my sin again!” he shouted, his voice cracked and carried a lazy slur. if you hadn’t known this tone so well, you’d almost mistake it for a teenager shittily spewing out shakespeare in hopes of getting some while his little juliet’s parents weren’t home.

you stepped from the bed and to the window to confirm what you already knew. it only took a small squint through the flowy curtains. it would almost be romantic if he wasn’t sopping wet and pathetic with a cocky shit-eating grin plastered across his handsome face as he caught a glimpse of you peering down at him.

you paced down each step before slinging the walk-up apartment’s heavy oak door open.

he leaned forward with both hands against the stairs gate, trying to keep his balance as the water soaked through his clothes and he laughed deeply to himself.

“really cute, but in case you didn’t notice, people live here, romeo.” you hissed and reached down to pull him up the stairs by the collar of his shirt.

aidan trudged up the narrow staircase closely behind you as you stomped. each step creaked under his weight.

“that was stupid, wasn’t even funny,” you mumble and glance at him from over your shoulder as your hands fumble with the keys in the lock.

“i come by it honestly.” he placed his hand over his heart and grinned mockingly.

the air inside your place was thick with the scent of fresh paint and sawdust. remnants of ongoing renovations.

he stumbled slightly, catching himself on the doorframe as he craned his neck to look around you. he surveyed the construction disaster of your so-called ‘living room.’

“well, look at you, little miss la-dee-da.” he pressed past you through the entrance.

“you’re dripping all over my rug,” you muttered from behind him.

“am i?” he sneered back at you.

his gaze flickered to the half-finished bookshelf in the corner.

“i’m quite the handyman, sugar.” he declared as he stripped himself of his jacket and tossed it onto a loveseat sitting awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“could’ve done this for you in a day if you kept me around long enough…” his finger glided over the drywall dust that had collected on a stack of books against the wall before turning to walk closer to you.

“so. what’s new, pussy-cat?”

the tone in his voice seemed to imply he was toying with you. the response was caught in your throat like an air bubble with no escape way.

you studied him quickly, almost obsessively. everything about him was different. they say hair holds memory, and for your own sake, you hoped that had been true. aidan had rid himself of his lengthy cupid curls, and as his broadly toned abdomen pressed against his clinging white dress shirt, you guessed a gym membership was included in the deal.

“what are you doing here, aidan?” you tiredly muttered, trying to hide any expression of shame that dared to ghost across your expression.

“thought i’d see what you were up to, troublemaker.” he grinned deviously, raising his eyebrows as he swayed a bit. he slowly turned on his heels to continue his track around your disastrous living room.

“man, the tunnel! great little place, you been?” he leaned down to pick and prod around at all of the misplaced trinkets on your coffee table. a dull thump of an overplayed club hit rang through his ears, and a few too many straight whiskeys clung to him.

you glanced at him and your mouth fell into a slightly o-shape in a lousy attempt to force the words out of your throat.

the audacity.

you rolled your eyes, “yeah, the tunnel. heard of it.” you mocked back sarcastically.

he hummed in response before letting a short huff of breath out. he turned to face you once again.

“anyway,” he raised his eyebrows and stepped close. too close for comfort. his broad frame towering over you made your heart thump harder and your mouth go dry.

“i think you got some explainin’ to do, little lady.” he expressively pouted his bottom lip.

“you look…different…” you squeaked embarrassingly in response and cleared your throat to divert the attention away from yourself.

“i thought you’d like it.. look like one of those limp-dick wall-street boys you’ve been runnin’ around with lately..” he grinned as his hands wrapped around the small of your waist to manually pull your body closer to his, leaving a suffocatingly insufficient amount of space between the two of you.

his words took you by surprise. on very rare occasions had you heard the man speak with hostility, it just wasn’t his thing, so you wondered why the words left his lips so naturally and smoothly.

“you’re very drunk..” your hands landed on his wide shoulders as you arched your back in a lousy attempt to create any amount of extra space with the man who effortlessly towered over you.

“no, ma, i ain’t.” his deep voice mocked an exaggerated southern drawl as his body leaned closer to dispel the newly added space.

you huffed, exasperated. a strap from your ivory nightdress slipped down your shoulder. you brought a hand up and pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration and took a step away from his grasp.

images of a night months ago flashed through your mind. you remembered the dull headache that pounded between your eyes as sunlight poured through your apartment's cracked window. slamming doors and jumping up to run to the window, hoarsely yelling out for aidan, to tell him it wasn’t what it looked like.

but it was exactly what it looked like.

some lousy bartender with a pierced eyebrow sprawled across your bed right beside you in his underwear, there was no way to explain.

so, you didn’t.

you took your last look at aidan as he quickly hurried away from your apartment for the last time. until now. no email with an explanation or apology. no phone calls, no letters. and, at last, he was here for his closure.

he stepped away and leaned back against his palms on the island bar that separated your tiny living room and kitchen. an unfamiliarly smug smirk painted across his defined face. you caught a glimpse of his ribcage snugly pressed against the damp white fabric of his dress shirt, the newly toned muscle between each column of bone made your breath hitch. rainwater trickled from his brow onto the linoleum below his feet.

“aidan, i’m sorry,” you muttered apologetically. your expression softened as you searched for the words to explain, “i was very drunk and my friends.. they wouldn’t stop pressuring me.” your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you continued.

“always in my ear about me losing my youth dating someone older, and—”

the shame flashed across your face sent a fresh wave of irritation through him. a deep hum from aidan stopped you and you watched as he tilted his head to the side to examine you. his hard expression didn’t change and your blood went cold as you realized that soft spot in his heart for you had long since turned rock-solid.

he adjusted his hips as his thick length twitched impatiently against his left thigh.

“you left me hangin’, baby, high and dry..”

he sucked his left cheek between his teeth and tsked, glancing down at his feet and he leaned back further against his palms, stretching his toned body.

you threw your hands up with a shrug of your shoulders in defeat “i’m sorry, i don’t know what else to say…”

aidan took one hand he was leaning against and completely grasped around your wrist to pull you a step closer.

“come here. what are you standing so far for?” he relaxed, looking down at you as he examined the surprised micro-expressions lighting your face up. the feeling of your wrist in his hand made his already-drunk thoughts spin. his jaw went slack as his body pressed into you with ease.

“you can’t just do this.” you hoarsely stammered, the pressure around your wrist applying as he pulled you closer.

“do what?” the man grinned against you teasingly. he turned his body and boxed you into the counter, bracketing you against the faux marble.

aidan's broad six-foot-five frame completely engulfed you. his hand released your wrist before snaking around your hips to pull you into his torso.

“busting in like you own the place and—” you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip and pressed into him closer, motioning over his body with your eyes

“this.”

you nervously toyed with the neckline of his shirt, slipping your fingers underneath to slide against his collarbone.

aidan’s breath hitched as your fingers traced against him. his eyes darkened, and he leaned in closer. the heat between you was palpable, and every inch of your body was hyper-aware of his proximity.

he ducked his head down and hunched over you, slowly pressing a kiss against your mouth and using his tongue to push through your lips like an intruder. you melted into him. thoughtlessly, like second nature.

and for a sudden, hopeless moment, you missed him. you missed his weight against you. his lips on yours just like this, slacking your jaw to allow his hot tongue to slip against yours as his hungry hands palmed your ass through a thin and nearly iridescent night dress.

you felt his thickness twitch against you, behind the constricting material of his tightening dress pants.

you were drunk on the way he smelled.

it was overtly masculine, everything about him was and always had been. heavy, earthy, and warm, the tinge of whiskey lingered on his lips and the scent of oak on his skin long after he’d left his workshop.

he pulled away to step forward, guide you into the living room, and sit in the heavy oak chair he’d designed with his own hands, sprawled back cockily. it creaked beneath his weight.

go on, baby.

you didn’t know whether it was his husky voice that had commanded you or your subconscious guiding you to pay your karma, but you obliged.

watching him loosen his belt, you lowered yourself to your knees and scooted forward.

“pretty girl,” he muttered to himself and tsked his tongue against his teeth in thought.

“you hurt me, you know that?” he felt better when he wasn’t made of steel with you.

his head tilted to the side to examine your flushed face and you instinctively pulled him out of his boxers. you craned your neck forward to trail a lick up the underside of his cock. his familiarity and warmth made heat coil low in your belly, pooling wet and anxious between your legs. he held you off, just enough so that he could watch you struggle forward trying to take him into your mouth fully.

he twitched against your tongue, huffing out a sharp breath. the uneven hitch of his breath urged you to continue and you take him into your mouth further. your throat constricted wildly, and he hissed through his teeth.

the two of you belonged to each other once again, the salvia pooling in your mouth, running down his length as your mouth and lips did the apologizing that your words couldn’t, belonged to him. his hand at the back of your head which felt like security, raising his hips to fuck up into your mouth. his groans belonged to you, just as they always had.

you whimpered softly as he tugged your hair to pull you from his flushed cock. a line of spit hung off your bottom lip, sticking to your chin. you wiped away tears from your clumped eyelashes with the back of your hand and sunk your teeth into your plump bottom lip eagerly. the need to please him was sudden and violent. his strong hand caught in the soft tangle of your hair.

his face was stricken with an expression you couldn’t quite grasp. with his nostrils flared and jaw clenched, you could recognize anger. but his softened gaze and furrowed eyebrows felt like sincerity, guilt. he couldn’t tell if he wanted to fuck a lousy apology out of you or send you to bed and leave as if nothing had ever happened in his drunken haze.

he used his large hand to wrap around his shaft and drag his slick tip against your open lips before pulling you down onto him once again.

your apology was warm around him, pressing up against the back of your throat.

it hurt in the way it was supposed to hurt — your guilt scorching away inside you.

he forced you down, filling your mouth with his cock, tears clouded your vision. your whimpers were garbled, broken things around his cock.

he’d been the one to teach you how to take it without a fuss, maybe he didn’t hear you over the resounding crashes of thunder and your window rattling on his hinges. couldn’t see the tears welling when you fluttered your eyes open up to him as he tilted his head back against the chair in a guilt-stricken haze of pleasure.

his gaze fell onto you, and his strong hand released the grasp on your hair.

“come here.” the man muttered, motioning you up with his head.

your fingers hooked at the straps of the flowing night-dressed and it fell to pool around your ankles. you stepped out of it, slipped onto his lap to straddle him, and closed your eyes as you sunk onto him with ease. he didn’t give you time to adjust to him before he rocked his hips to fill you completely.

a sharp hiss of an inhale left through your teeth as his tip reached far deeper than you had been used to in your time apart.

he leaned forward and groaned against your warm skin as his hips guided themselves upwards, he closed his eyes. his hands grasp around your waist to steady you and hold you in place as your legs shook in response. his head dipped down and his lips and tongue sloppily grazed your nipple.

“ ‘m sorry. ” your words left your lips like a soft cry as his cock reached deeply inside you, making your head fall backward, torso and breasts arching further against his mouth.

“you’re always doin’ shit you need to be sorry for.” he grunted into your skin and pulled you from his cock with both hands on the sides of your waist. he angled himself back and slowly rocked into you with a moan.

“gotta have the patience of a fuckin’ saint with you.” his jaw clenched as his thrusts went harder, deeper than you could handle.

you whined, an attempt to writhe away from him, but it was no use. you were his, and his strong hands around you made it impossible to lift yourself from him. your fingers dug into his wide shoulders over the translucent material of his damp shirt.

“it’s too much, it’s—” you took a ragged gasp as he pressed deep inside, screwing your eyes tightly shut.

he leaned closer as your body cautiously moved up and down.

any expression of guilt or shame had long been replaced by something else. anger, hunger, and he wanted you to feel it.

“it hurts, baby? does it?” he tilted his head with his slack jaw, a ghost of a smirk tugged the corner of his lip while watching you nod weakly through half-lidded eyes.

his free hand reached between you to draw slow circles against your swollen clit with the pad of his thumb.

“how bad does it hurt?” he sneered at you. his words were like venom. any ounce of sympathy had long since flown out of the window by now. he hoped it hurt.

at least this is the type of pain you could contort and manipulate into some kind of unsettling pleasure. you should consider yourself lucky.

he pressed further and you arched forward with a gasp, your lips trembled as they tried to form words that were no longer there, letting out a desperate sequence of moans, whimpers, and sobs. you answered his thrusts with weak rolls of your hips, pulsing around him. enveloping him. your body seemed to respond with a will of its own.

you thread your fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck. you leaned forward to kiss him, sloppily and still salty from his pre-cum. your surrender was sweet on his tongue and he trapped it in his mouth, it belonged to him, anyway.

his thumb continued its path against your clit, spelling his name against you slowly, long and drawn out so you wouldn’t forget.

you were close, desperately so, and your hand slipped down to brace yourself against his chest. you pant into his mouth, sinking and drawing him further inside. he buried his face into your neck, and rocked his hips against you. he felt your throat constrict, your breasts heaving against his chest as he lazily worked his name against your clit with the pad of his thumb, over and over.

you kept making those pretty sounds, clasping your fingers into his hair and holding yourself steady on his broad chest. his orgasm convulsed through him as he moaned, a ripping noise from his mouth that ricocheted through his brain and against the thin skin of your neck. he rocked unthinkingly into you, riding out the rolling tremors that racked his body.

aidan swallowed unevenly, his breath escaping his swollen lips in shaky bursts. his thumb left your swollen clitoris. you whined sweetly in response, trying to rock yourself against his toned naval for any kind of friction. the constricting tightness as you wordlessly begged for more made his hips jolt in over-sensitivity. the feeling dizzied him, striking into the sides of his skull.

he braced himself and stands with your legs wrapped around his waist.

he carried you through the hallway effortlessly and laid you onto the unmade bed with ease.

when he pulled out, you whined and writhed in discomfort, the feeling of anxious excitement pooled somewhere deep in the pit of your stomach. you wanted him, his hungry mouth against you, coaxing you to an undeserving climax with his tongue. not tonight.

he dropped his pants around his ankles and stepped out. from his thighs, he pulled the elastic waistband of his boxers back around his hips snugly and tugged the uncomfortably damp shirt over his head.

aidan watched as he leaked from between your legs, coating your inner thighs. he reached between to gather a bit of it. he brought his two middle fingers up to press past your lips and onto your tongue, watching intently through bleary eyes as you suck him clean.

with a soft groan, he laid down to pull you onto your side and flush against him. he wrapped his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin. you leaned forward to press a ghost of a kiss against his neck.

every breath you took sent the thud of your heartbeat thumping through your head.

you could feel the man radiating heat, his eyes fluttered closed tiredly. you listened intently to the rapid thrum of his heart against his chest.

[spacedlexi]

twdg s4 really gave us an adorable wlw romance for the main character about building a home and a family where the two antagonists are an evil woman who she was partially cared for by as a child and her girlfriends fucked up not-exactly-ex girlfriend who wants her dead (who has been manipulated by Evil Woman and they are character foils) AND its written by a gay woman and its fucking CRICKETS!!!!! i dont understand !!!!!!!

[cryptocism]

yoohoo, I just need you to know you've ruined my life✌️ /j but like. finished reading frequency, what three days ago now? and since the moment I put it down, I have been. directionless. listless. I am consumed by, not DESPAIR, because despair is too passionate a word but. dissatisfaction? I miss the life I lived while I was still reading it. which is honestly rather appropriate considering some of the themes in the fic. I miss the person I was when half of my mind existed in the realm of the au. I fear I may never get over it and I may never recover the life I once had before this fic ruined me for all others, but I also cannot bring myself to regret reading it even if I never feel satisfaction again. I have tasted ambrosia, and the bread and wine of men shall forever be ash upon my tongue. pay my therapy bill.

i know these asks were sent in july but i love them and want to immortalize before they get buried in my inbox

first of all thank you so much!!! frequency has been one of my favourite projects to do over the past couple years i love that ppl are so into this absurdly niche fic. (i cannot pay ur therapy u simply must reread it forever rip (i mean writing it was like 50/50 self-indulgence and catharsis which means maybe reading it does the same thing lmaoo))

second yes! yeah it was Six who changed the timeline. a big old theme, possibly the main theme, of the whole fic is about change and who gets to create it. Six mirrors Thad in the ways that he believes himself unworthy of importance, and that the capacity to create change is inherently barred from him because of who and what he is.

so it was really important that Six was the one to make the choice to try change things - the guy whos entire powerset relies on being as inconsequential as possible. it shatters the original timeline, it results in his death, it causes a lot of very bad ripple effects, but he also saves Nathaniel. who saves Jude. who together both save Thad - who saves Bart and CRAYDL and defeats Three and discovers his own capacity for change in the process.

that was sort of the point of the whole "the spectrum of change is a horizon, not a tower" litany. there's no hierarchy. anybody can go towards it, they just gotta choose where they're going.

Six doesn't really save the day, but by wrenching the prewritten tragedy off its course, he creates the opportunity for Thad & co. to save it themselves.

[lily-onher-grave]

of all the fics i might have picked up and written more for, I neither wanted nor expected it to be Horrors. but I re-read it today and had thoughts, so I guess have some brief glinda has gone mad with grief and is now ruling oz as a good wicked witch rambles, taking place some 20-30 years after the end of the fic:

Throughout Glinda the Good’s lifetime, the rumors about her only grow. They say she does not age. They say she will not die. They say she is the true St. Glinda, come back to purify Oz. They say she is Lurline, Ozma, any number of icons and idols. Glinda stops listening at some point, too tired and too busy and too bored to pay any mind.

And so she doesn’t hear when rumors of another person begin. But then, these aren’t rumors, really. They are stories, told plain and simple, from a man who frequents the theater district and speaks fondly of his school days. He talks about a Munchkin girl with fire in her heart, a rebel who held so much love for the world it made her angry, and desperate, and frightened. He talks about her roommate, who thought her odd when they first met, but who came to eventually feel that same angry, desperate, frightened love—all just for her.

He talks about walks along the canal, and trips to the pub, and quiet nights spent staying up too late in the library. He talks about love. He talks about loss.

“And the odd thing,” he always says when his stories are done, “is that the Munchkin girl—you know, we loved her so, we forgot all about it, eventually—but the Munchkin girl was green.”

The lower city learns first of this green girl who was loved, but the stories spread. A tale, a fable. Something whispered lovingly to children at bedtime, tell me the story of the girl who was green, who was loved. Something spoken to lovers coming together after an argument, I am angry and desperate and frightened, I love you so.

It’s not so strange to think about, in the Oz that was forged by Glinda the Good.

“There was a Witch, once,” parents will say to their little ones. “They say her skin was green.”

But the children will not ask if she was frightening, if she was mean. They will only say, “Was she loved?”

And Glinda the Good, hidden away in her guilt and her grief and the numbness no one left alive can breach, will never hear it when they answer,

“She must have been.”