#garbage fest fics

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

violet soul

a smutty lucifer x reader fic for your enjoyment have fun <3 i feel embarrassed i was able to produce such filth :))))))

triggers warnings: dubious consent (the reader is not sober while giving consent! while they do believe they have given consent, they are not realising they're being manipulated into it!) and just like rough sex i guess haha but nothing requiring a specific trigger warning

hope you enjoy!!!

*slithers back into the void*

______________________________________________________________

You started having… dreams, recently. Very odd dreams. They feel real, way too real, and you wake covered in sweat, and the only thing you are able to think about is the dream, as if you’re still there. When you manage to fall asleep again, you simply continue where you left off. 

The dreams consume your waking life. You think about them constantly. Images, smells and sounds remind you of them. 

After a few weeks, you visit a therapist and complain about nightmares. She listens and nods sympathetically, and then she asks what the dreams are about. You open your mouth to tell her and find that you can’t. 

“They aren’t about anything, really. They are just… vivid,” you say, feeling embarrassed because of course you know what they’re about. If only you could remember right now. 

She looks at you with confusion in her eyes. “It’s okay, you can tell me,” she says gently. 

You wish you could, but you don’t know. You spend the rest of the session talking about things that don’t matter.

Later, you leave her office with a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. You feel like a woman possessed. 

The second you leave her office you remember the dreams again. 

In your dreams, you wonder aimlessly through a very dark place. Nothing happens, really, but it’s scary. Everything is so vivid, so lifelike. You feel the cold stone underneath your feet, the unbearable heat in the air that makes it hard to breathe, the smell of something rotten, something burning. You can never find your way out. Sometimes, you catch glimpses of… creatures. You always make it a point to avoid them. They pay no attention to you anyhow, but they are disturbing to look at, their faces contorted, deformed, burned, melted. Some have teeth like wild animals, some have no faces at all. You couldn't describe them in detail, really, you never stare. You always feel like there is someone watching you, but when you turn, there is no one around. 

The therapy session feels like a defeat and you call a friend to complain. They are sympathetic. You talk for a while, and you feel better — finally, someone understands you. Maybe you aren’t crazy after all. 

Then she asks you what the dreams are about. You open your mouth and nothing comes out. Your voice is gone. 

“Hello? Do you hear me?” your friend asks. You stare at your phone.

“I’m here,” you say, your voice miraculously returning. “My mom is calling me. I’ll call you later, okay?”

You hang up. You call your mom and another friend. You cannot tell any of them about the nightmares. Either your voice disappears, or you can’t remember a single thing about the dreams. The concern and disbelief in their voices make your stomach churn. You know they don’t believe you. You feel crazy. 

It’s evening already and you are so tired. You have run out of people to call and you’re not sure you’d even want to call anyone anymore. You feel on edge, weeks of poor sleep making you paranoid. You start wondering whether all of this is another nightmare. You try pinching yourself to wake up. It doesn’t work. You curl up on the sofa and turn on the TV, turning the channel to something mindless. 

You don’t notice when you fall asleep.

You are in that place again. A sickly sweet smell of something rotten is filling the air. The dark corridor you find yourself in is long and narrow, lit by torches that cast an orange glow onto the dark stone around you. There are doors all throughout it. You turn around. The corridor seems to be never-ending on both sides. You suppose there is no difference which direction you take, then. As soon as you start walking you see the door in front of you open and a black demon with no face steps onto the corridor. You scream and run in the opposite direction. You hear no footsteps behind you and you know it isn’t following you — they never do — but you can’t make yourself stop running. You run and you run and you run through the never-ending corridor. It’s hard to breathe, the air is so hot and it’s stuffy and you’re feeling dizzy and you hear your heartbeat in your ears, but you never stop. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been running when you find yourself at the end of the corridor. There is a grand door in front of you. Without thinking you try to open it, and it’s so heavy you have to use your entire body weight to push it. 

As you open the door, you find that the air is suddenly lighter. The rotten smell is no longer there, and instead it smells faintly of violets. Violets are your favourite flowers. You inhale deeply, relieved you can finally breathe.

The place you find yourself in is enormous, lit by torches. The ceiling is so high you aren’t sure you can see all the way up to it. You could look around for hours and still not be able to take it all in. As you observe the enormous hall, your eyes catch a glimpse a tall, dark figure standing a few feet away from you. It has huge, black wings. You wonder how you didn’t notice it immediately upon entering. The figure is looking at you. 

You know that’s the Devil. For some reason, you aren’t surprised. 

Somehow, you are now standing next to each other. 

The Devil is beautiful, you think, with their cherubic face and bouncy white curls that seem so soft, almost angelic, and you have to fight the urge run your fingers through them. 

The Devil is tall, so tall. Their stature is elegant, feminine. You admire their broad shoulders, the gentle curve of their breasts underneath their silken red robe, their imposing, black wings.

What really pulls you in are the eyes. It’s not that they’re a lovely cerulean blue, so deep you might get lost in them, it’s that they are looking at your very soul. 

They are the first to speak. 

“Finally, we meet officially, little lamb.”

Their voice sounds like the sweetest sin, silky and smooth and melodious. You find yourself enamoured with it. 

“Are you behind my nightmares?” you ask. 

“How pleasant your stay here is is entirely up to you,” they say and cock their head. 

“What do you mean, my stay here? This is a dream. I am still at home, in my bed,” you say, confused. 

“Not quite. You could be, if you so wished. But you wished to be here, didn’t you?” The corner of their lip curls slightly, as if they find all of this amusing. 

“I haven’t slept in weeks, and you tell me that’s by my own volition? That I wished to be here?” 

You can’t believe your ears.

“Think, little lamb,” they say, their voice sickly sweet. “You have called for me, don’t you remember? You said you were lonely.”

Dread fills you when you realise you do remember. It was a joke, a drunken escapade. You were out with your friends, drinking. You went into the woods. The moon was full. You were, as per usual, the clown of the group, making everyone laugh, complaining how you were the only one without a girlfriend. You climbed onto an old log, and proclaimed, “I would sell my soul to the Devil for a girlfriend! Fuck, I am so lonely!” and you laughed, and everyone laughed. They teased you, saying you surely don’t mean it, and you said, “of course I mean it,” and you spun around, took a swig of the cheap wine you brought along, and called upon the Devil three more times. 

“Tell the Devil I mean it”, you said, “tell her I’d fuck her if she would have me, I am so fucking horny,” and you laughed and everyone laughed, and you were drunk, and you don’t remember the rest of the night or how you got home. The next morning you were so hungover you barely remembered anything that happened. 

Until now. 

“Loneliness is a demon that eats at people. I would know,” they chuckle, the sweetest sound. “Especially humans… Humans crave connection, they simply long for it. And you are lonely,  my sweet little dove, I can feel it.”

“I—” you started, but they interrupt you. 

“Don’t worry, lamb, I am here to help you. That’s why you’ve asked for me, haven’t you?”

You want to tell them you didn’t ask for this, it was a mistake, you didn’t really mean it, you were drunk, you take it back—

Their silky voice cuts through your thoughts. 

“Tell me, would you like to be my friend?”

When the Devil asks you to be their friend you ought to tread carefully. 

“What happens if I refuse the Devil’s offer for friendship?” you ask.

They chuckle. They lean in, impossibly close. You are scared to death, afraid they will hurt you. You squeeze your eyes shut. You feel them in your space, around you, everywhere. Their wings flutter around you. 

They don’t lay a finger on you, however. You feel hot breath on your ear.

“I prefer Lucifer,” they whisper in your ear. You notice that Lucifer smells faintly of violets and burning wood.

“I realise you are reluctant to accept my offer for friendship. However, would you like to take a stroll with me?”

You open your eyes and see them towering over you. A shiver runs down your spine.

You are still unsure. 

“You don’t have to, of course,” Lucifer says, “but it will probably be a while before you wake. Might as well kill the time.”

They do have a point, you think. 

“I guess we can take a stroll,” you say and they grin at you. It’s a dangerous sort of smile. You find it incredibly charming. 

They offer you their arm to lean on. After a second of consideration, you take it. 

Their arm is warm, and as you link yours underneath it you immediately feel safe.

You blink, and suddenly you are in the most beautiful garden you have ever seen. Your mouth gapes open in awe. 

“Are we still in Hell?” you ask. 

“We are indeed. This is where I take my friends.”

You stay silent for a moment, taking in the beauty around you as you walk. Violets are blooming at every step. 

“How did you know violets are my favourite flower?” 

“Oh, are they? A mere coincidence,” says Lucifer and grins widely at you, flashing their white teeth.

You walk together for a while. Their strong arm is supporting you and you can’t help but be enamoured with them. Every once in a while, you feel their wing brush against your back. It sends delicious shivers down your spine. Their white curls are bouncing ever so slightly as they walk and you find yourself staring. They don’t seem to mind. The weirdest thing is, you can’t remember the last time you felt this peaceful. You find yourself thinking you could get used to this.

“Why do you want me as your friend, though?” you ask after a while, “What do you hope to gain from that?”

“Why, I hope gain a friend. And as for why I want you in particular as my friend…” they stop walking and look at you. “I do find your soul utterly captivating.”

“I must admit, I am surprised you haven’t asked what you will gain from our friendship. Don’t you wish to know?” they cock their head ever so slightly. Their piercing eyes are looking at your soul again. You feel naked. You cannot look away.

“Tell me, please,” you say.

“Think of every desire you’ve ever had. Every sinful thought that ever crossed your mind. Everything you never thought you could have. Do it.”

You do it. 

“Did you imagine it?” They take your chin in their hand. You feel your skin tingle under their fingers. They lean in, closer, closer, closer, until their nose is almost touching yours. You feel their hot breath on your lips. 

“It’s yours to have now.”

You feel dizzy. Your chest is heaving. You feel a craving, a desire you can’t name, and you can imagine the sweet gratification of its fulfilment. 

“Everything?” you ask, your voice hoarse. 

“Everything,” they say, and the hot breath that washes over your lips makes you wild. They are still holding your chin. It’s not painful but you can’t move. 

“May I… make a request then?” You are so overcome by desire that you struggle to think.

They chuckle, a puff of heat on your lips. “Greedy girl. You already made your request that night in the woods. But I will humour you. Make one more.”

You barely comprehend what they’re saying. All you feel is desire. Your eyes drift to their wings. 

“May I… touch your wings?”

You want to touch their beautiful wings so badly, but you are waiting for permission. There is a second of silence. To you, it seems like an eternity. 

Finally, they speak. 

“I said, whatever you desire. I fulfil my promises.”

They turn around slowly. You find yourself face to face with their wings. They are jet black, but you can see little veins running through them if you look closely. They seem impossibly smooth. 

You reach as far up as you can and run the back of your fingers all the way to the place where the wings grow out of their back. Lucifer shivers. 

Encouraged by that reaction you repeat the same motion again and again, then mirror it on the other wing with your other hand. Then you run your hands all along the base of their wings. 

Lucifer moans. 

The sound sends a jolt straight to your core. The wave of arousal helps you gather the courage to plant a hot kiss on their right wing. They moan again. You continue to kiss your way to the base of their wings, then all the way down along their spine until you reach the very end of it. The moans they are letting out are unholy. You fall down to your knees, your hands on their hips now. You want to continue your way down, but you are not sure if you’re allowed to. It takes an absurd amount of effort to stop. 

“Can I?” you ask, hoping, praying they will say yes. 

They turn around and look down at you. Their piercing gaze makes you dizzy, makes you want to pray to the Devil. 

They snap their fingers and suddenly you are in that grand hall from before. There is a throne there now and they are sitting on it. You are still on your knees in front of them. 

“Take what you desire,” they say.

“You may touch me here,” they touch their knee, “or here,” they move their hand upwards on their  thigh, “or there,” they slip their hand underneath their red robe. When they pull their hand out their fingers are glistening. You feel your mouth water. 

“Or even there,” they continue, their tone almost nonchalant, as they slowly, deliberately pull the robe off of their shoulders, exposing two small, perfect breasts. “Wherever you wish, my pet.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You start by kissing their leather boot. They seem to like that.

“Yes,” they say, their voice breathy, “worship me.”

And worship them you do. 

You slowly reach underneath their long red robe, running your hands over their boots and then reaching their smooth knees. You spread the robe open and kiss your way up their calves to their knees. You are moving on from their knees to their thighs, leaving a trail of hot kisses on their impossibly soft skin, when they move one of their legs up and put it over the armrest of the throne, spreading themselves in front of you. They aren’t wearing anything underneath the robe and you are met with the sight of their glistening arousal. You barely stop yourself from burying your face in those silky folds immediately — you want to kiss your way up to them, you want to savour it. 

You continue kissing their milky thighs, revelling in the way they feel under your lips. Lucifer’s breathing is getting more ragged by the second. You bite into their thigh. It feels like sin.

“Naughty thing,” they let out a breathy chuckle. “Bite me again.”

You bite their thigh again and they moan. You can’t restrain yourself anymore and you bury your face into their pussy. They grab a fistful of your hair. You suck, you lick, and there is no method to it, only lust. You are overwhelmed by how good their arousal tastes and you just want more, more, more. 

Their wings flutter around you. One of them touches your back, and you remember how much you caressing them made them moan. 

Lucifer is grinding on your face now and it’s so hot you almost don’t manage to pull away. You look up at them and say, “I want to touch your wings.”

“Go ahead, then,” they say. They are ever so slightly out of breath and their gaze is hooded and heavy. 

You climb up into their lap. With one hand you reach between their legs, running your fingers along their wetness, and with the other you start caressing one of their wings. The moan Lucifer lets out as soon as your hand touches their wing is sin itself. You start kissing their neck as you caress the wing with one hand and circle their clit with the other. You keep the motions on their clit steady, but you experiment with touching their wings, squeezing their breasts, alternating between the two, touching different spots, seeing which one makes them moan louder. What sends them over the edge is when you give their wing a hot, open mouthed kiss. They let out a high pitched moan and you feel them tense up underneath you. You continue to touch them until they push your hands away. 

Their orgasm is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever witnessed. But still, you desire more, more, more. You feel frenzied and hot all over. 

“Please,” you say, “may I request one more thing?”

“You’ve requested enough things,” they say and push you away from their lap. You fall on the floor. 

“Please, I will do anything.” 

Mistake. But you don’t care. Lust is making you lose your mind.

“Anything? Well, aren’t you a greedy little slut.”

The word sounds sinful when they say it, their gentle voice and angelic face clashing with the crudeness of it on their lips.  

They get up from the throne, silken robe closing around their legs, no longer exposing them. Their breasts are still bared. They tower above you. 

“First you get drunk, like a naughty little girl you are, then you go into the woods and call for Lucifer Morningstar, the Ruler of Hell, like they’re a servant who is here to grant your pathetic little desires.”

You are still on the floor, looking up at them. You feel like you’re about to cry, but you are also still burning with desire, the ache between your legs not waning for a second. It’s almost uncomfortable.

“And now, you ask me to touch you. Greedy, greedy girl,” they sneer. 

“However, to show you I am still interested in being your friend, I will grant your request. Get up.”

You get up as quickly as you can. You feel hot, way too hot. You feel a throb between your legs, uncomfortable, unrelenting. You wonder if that’s what happens when you fuck the Devil. 

They grab your jaw. “You like it when I do that, don’t you?”

You want to nod, but you can’t, their grip is too strong. “Yes,” you say instead.

“Let me tell you a little secret, as your friend.” They lean in. Smell of violets overwhelms you. “I like it too,” they whisper. Their hot breath on your ear almost makes you fall apart.

They let out a melodious chuckle and kiss your neck. You shiver, but you feel like you’re on fire.

“Oh, poor thing,” they coo at you. “I haven’t even started yet, and you are already falling apart. Tell me, pet, what made you think you’d be able to endure being fucked by me, hm?”

“I… didn’t think that. I didn’t think anything, I was drunk—” you say, feeling embarrassed.

“Oh, but you did, sweet lamb. You said it yourself. Tell the Devil I mean it, tell her I’d fuck her if she would have me, I am so fucking horny.” Their voice is sickeningly sweet. “Well, what if she would have you, hm? What would you do then?”

“I—I don’t know.” You can only think about the ache between your legs. 

“Hm. Well, then I shall have to fuck you and see.”

They bite into your neck. You cry out. They grab a fistful of your hair and pull you towards themselves, clashing your lips together. They forcefully slip their tongue into your mouth, claiming you, making you theirs. You can barely breathe. 

They snap their fingers and suddenly you’re naked. If this was any other scenario, you’d feel self conscious, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You are consumed by lust and you feel like you’re going crazy. 

They break the kiss. “You wanted me to touch you. Like this?” 

You gasp when they slap you. You hate yourself for liking it. 

“You like that, I know,” they say softly, “but it’s not enough. You still need more. Tell me, what would you do for more?”

“Anything.”

You’re burning. 

“Anything? Oh, I do hope you mean that.” 

They lean in and kiss the cheek they just slapped, the softest, warmest kiss that makes you tingle. It feels like heaven. They run their hands over your breasts, squeezing them with gusto, then pinch and twist your nipples forcefully, making you yelp. 

“Will you be my friend, then?” they ask sweetly, pulling you closer and squeezing your ass, making you moan.

You are too dizzy and too hot to form sentences. They spank you forcefully. You moan again, louder this time.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, yes, anything,” you say. 

They smile. It’s lecherous and it sends a shiver straight to your core.

“Finally, pet. But you have kept me waiting for far too long. I feel like some sort of punishment must be in order.” 

They snap their fingers again and you find yourself bent over their knee as they sit on their throne.

“Thirthy-three strikes. Count.”

They don’t give you even a second to process the command before they start spanking you. You lose count immediately, only aware of the delicious jolts to your core each time they spank you. 

“I said, count.” They spank you so forcefully you see stars. A single tear rolls down your cheek. “Now look what you’ve done, I have to start all over again.” 

They start spanking you again, and this time you count. It gets harder towards the end, and you can't stop yourself from crying. Your pussy is throbbing with need— you’ve never experienced anything quite that intense — and each slap on your red ass makes you flinch. Pain and pleasure mix in a delicious way and it’s overwhelming, but you still need more. 

“Thirty-three,” you finally cry out as they spank you for the last time. 

Not giving you a second to recover, they pull you up into their lap with ease. You wince in pain as your ass touches their thigh. 

“Aw, poor baby,” they say mockingly. “Let me dry those tears.”

They catch one of your tears with their finger and put it in their mouth. They moan in pleasure at the taste. 

“Delicious. Try it.” They catch another tear, ever so gently, then slip two fingers into your mouth.

“Suck.” 

You obey.

“See, you can be a good girl when you want to,” they say gently. “Yes, such a good girl.”

You melt at their praise. It makes you warm all over. They pull their finger out of your mouth with a wet pop. 

They kiss you again, this time softly, delicately. They run their nails over your back, the most gentle of touches, but it makes you shiver and burn and shake. They put one hand on your neck, tangle it into your hair, bringing you closer, closer, closer, while the other hand finds itself on your waist. They slip their tongue in your mouth, and you lose yourself in their touch. You don’t know where you end and where Lucifer begins anymore, and that ache between your legs feels like actual hellfire. Maybe it is actual hellfire. Maybe that’s what happens when the Devil fucks you. You don’t know.

Their hands are everywhere, and you aren’t sure how many hands there are anymore, and you don’t know where you are, you don’t know who you are — the only thing you are aware of is Lucifer and fire, fire, fire between your legs. 

“Yes, my sweet lamb, moan for me,” they purr, and you are surprised to realise you are moaning rather loudly and unabashedly. You are barely aware of your actions, no longer in control of your body.

After an eternity of delicious agony, their fingers graze your clit. You feel like you’re about to fall apart.

They circle your clit, agonisingly slowly, and you wail. You tangle your fingers into their soft hair, trying to hold onto something to keep yourself from falling apart. 

“Oh, darling, I am barely touching you,” they say sweetly. “I do have to ask you before you lose yourself completely, do you want to stay here with me?”

You can barely comprehend what they’re saying. “Stay?” you manage to utter through your moans. You try to rut against their hand, but they grab you by the hips, holding you still. 

“Yes, lamb, stay still for a second longer, yes, that’s it,” they coo at you. “Good girl. Yes, will you stay here with me forever? For all eternity?”

“Eternity…?” 

There is a distant alarm going off somewhere in your head, but you can’t pull yourself together long enough to think rationally. They run their fingers over your wet slit and suddenly there are no more thoughts left in your mind. 

“Yes, my sweet. An eternity of pleasure, an eternity of this,” they hiss as they slip a finger inside of you. You grip their hair tighter, afraid you will fall apart. You have never experienced pleasure as intense as this. 

“Yes,” you say, “yes, yes, yes, please, yes. I want you so much, oh please, fuck—”

They start pumping their finger in and out, slowly, hitting just the perfect spot, but it’s not enough, you need more. 

“More, please, more, aah—” you scream as they slip another finger and start fucking you forcefully. It’s the most intense pleasure you’ve ever experienced. 

“Do we have a deal, then?” they ask, completely calm and collected as they fuck you into oblivion. 

If you were in your right mind, you would have been wary of making any sort of deal with the Devil. If you were in your right mind, you would have realised your fate was sealed that night in the woods and that they had you all along. But considering the Devil is currently kuckle deep in you, you have no chance. They know that. They simply enjoy toying with their prey. 

The only thing you manage to do is to scream an ear-piercing “yes” as you come. 

When you come down from your high, the fire you felt before is no longer between your legs, and it is no longer pleasant. It is in your soul. The air no longer smells of violets — it smells like rotten flesh. 

Lucifer gives you their sweetest smile. They look like a true cherub, the prettiest of angels. 

“Welcome to Hell, sweet lamb.”

[rise-my-angel]

.

[nana-mizu-shiki]

: Them together would lead to so much chaos, mischief, revenge, and CHAOS!!

Like they would bond over the amount of Trauma they have. They were all bullied/Discriminated against in some way, you cant tell me otherwise. Shinsou for his 'Villainous' quirk, Midoriya for their lack thereof, Hatsume for 'being crazy', Monoma for their 'Weak' 'Villainous' or 'might as well be nonexistent' quirk, and Nezdu for being a quirked animal.

Like, I'd love for them to be beasties and terrify everybody in UA when they're together. Like it's fine when Shin & Mono are walking in the hallway, or Mido & Hatsu, or Hatsu & Nez, but Mido & Shin & Mono & Hatsu together leaves students splitting like the Red Sea trying to get away from the 'IzuCrew', the 'Gremlin Group', the 'Chaotic Course Reps'.... Man I really wanna write a fic now...like, ShinMonoMido, Quirkless Mido, DadMic, BakuBark Bashing, Gen-Ed Mido until the Sports Fest, where the four of them DOMINATE the second round together, The Garbage Grape gets expelled, UGGH!!

I'll write more on this. I will.

Edit: From the future, I can tell you I abandoned this as I got sucked into a new fandom, but anyone can use this prompt as long as you tag me! Ty! <3<3

☆Shin☆¤Mono¤♡Mido♡

- [-Nana{♡}Mizu-]

[sweet-s0rr0w]

day 21 of @hprecfest - a fic rated M

flashback, warm nights by warmfoothills - M, 13k, 2020

Summary: “What’s killing me is that I actually quite fucking like Christmas, festival-for-a-personally-irrelevant-religion-turned-commercialised-garbage-holiday though it may be, and now I’m stuck in the perpetual almost-there of it all with an idiot who gets himself cut up every time no matter how differently I try and do things!” “Killing you?” Potter asks. “I thought I was the one who’s about to get my torso sliced into?”

Excerpt:

“You need to go faster,” Draco cuts her off. Potter’s eyes are half-lidded already, and it’s scaring him. “Seriously, Granger. He’s going to pass out and then I’m going to pass out and either he dies or I wake up back on that street and have to do this all over again.”

He doesn’t care that he sounds insane. He’ll explain it all properly once he’s sure Potter’s not going to die in the back of a car. He knows magic and he knows that, whilst he might be about to loop back to the start again, it’s equally possible that this has just been a one-off, a random blip, and if that’s the case, this is his only chance to make it right.

“Don’t yell at her,” Potter says beneath him, quiet.

Draco’s chest fills with dread when he looks down to see Potter’s eyes are closed. “I’m trying to save your life here, Potter.”

“I know,” Potter mumbles, sleepy and indistinct. “S’nice. But it’d be nicer if you stopped yelling so I could sleep.”

“You can’t,” Draco says, swallowing around the lump in his throat, but Potter just shushes him softly, and everything goes dark.

All you want for Christmas is... a festive Horcrux-hunting and Death-Eater-battling super romantic timeloop Drarry fic. Right?! Gosh, what a coincidence! Have I got the perfect gift for you!

If you read it, and especially if you love it, please do let me know! And as always, please do take the time to leave the author a kudos/comment <3

day 1 - first fic you remember reading

day 2 - a fic rated G

day 3 - a fic not on ao3

day 4 - a comfort fic

day 5 - a romantic fic

day 6 - a fic for a ship you don’t normally read

day 7 - the best of your OTP

day 8 - a fic that was recced to you

day 9 - a WIP

day 10 - a fest/event fic

day 11 - an underrated fic

day 12 - a fic from your favourite author

day 13 - a rare pair

day 14 - a fic rated T

day 15 - a fic over 50k

day 16 - a podfic

day 17 - a fic that makes you cry

day 18 - a fic that makes you laugh

day 19 - fanart

day 20 - a fic with fanart

[thestalwartheart]

007 Fest 2024 Masterpost

It's 11:59pm here on the 31st of July, and I'm signing off from Fest 2024 feeling like this:

Fics

toothpaste a cup runneth over the wait the quiet whisper i can't get no the hour before tea he's a little bit

Misc

Moodboard: TEXAS HOLD 'EM (00Leiter) Moodboard and ficlet: A little bit Alexis Bond Poem: first impressions

RADI00Q: 31 Songs for Bond and Q

A full playlist of every song featured this month is available on Spotify (thanks @eleanor-is-fine!) and YouTube.

Want to relive the moodboards? Here they are:

Song 1: Good Luck, Babe - Chappell Roan Song 2: Will We Talk? - Sam Fender Song 3: I Saw - Young Fathers Song 4: This Is The Last Time - The National Song 5: Everything - MUNA Song 6: Little Red Corvette - Prince Song 7: I Hope That I Don't Fall In Love With You - Tom Waits Song 8: Blue Monday - New Order Song 9: Love Calls You By Your Name - Leonard Cohen Song 10: Catherine Wheel - The Whitlams (covered by Megan Washington and the SSO) Song 11: Pale Blue Eyes - The Velvet Underground Song 12: England - The National Song 13: Phobia - Nothing But Thieves Song 14: Sunday Best - Megan Washington Song 15: You Are In Love - Taylor Swift Song 16: I Touch Myself - The Divinyls Song 17: The Heart Is A Muscle - Gang of Youths Song 18: Want Me - Baby Queen Song 19: Mystery of Love - Sufjan Stevens Song 20: Do I Wanna Know - Arctic Monkeys Song 21: Call Your Girlfriend - Robyn Song 22: I Wish I Was Sober - Frightened Rabbit Song 23: The Walls Are Way Too Thin - Holly Humberstone Song 24: How Soon Is Now? - The Smiths Song 25: Ocean Blue - Kita Alexander Song 26: Maybe You Know - Holy Holy Song 27: Writer - Paolo Nutini Song 28: A Sunday Kind of Love - Etta James Song 29: Linger - The Cranberries Song 30: Overcome - Nothing But Thieves Bonus song: Tears For Fun - Griff Song 31: 'Til Forever Falls Apart - Ashe & FINNEAS

--- GUEST SPOTS ---

Voice In My Throat - Pearl and the Beard Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex It Had To Be You - Frank Sinatra Wildest Dreams - Taylor Swift Shameful Company - Rainbow Kitten Surprise Splinter - MYRNE & salem ilese Please Please Please - Sabrina Carpenter Drive You Home - Garbage Hold Me Closer - Cornelia Jakobs The Ocean - Dar Williams Starlings - Elbow Talk - Hozier

I am genuinely so thankful to everyone who hyped up and supported me this month. You’re all angels.

And if your song didn’t make it to RADI00Q this month: I’m so so sorry! There were a few I didn’t have the spoons to get around to. But stay tuned - August and September might bring a few surprises 😘

[riceisgood123]

I originally wrote this as a thread fic on twitter, but liked it so much I decided it deserved a cleanup and to be posted to ao3. It’s short and sweet, a giant fluff fest really.

After the election results last week, everything has been garbage and I just wanted to write something that felt good and might make people smile, even just for a moment. So I come bearing soft klance.

It might be rough, but we’ll survive. Stay strong ❤️💙

[rubywingsracing]

I NEED to collab with someone on a Landoscar/Supernatural Au for @hypersoft-fest week 3. Would love someone to write a case fic and I’d provide the art! Obvi would be a ghost/poltergeist fic to go with the paranormal theme. Praying that the Supernatural and Landoscar fandom overlap in the writer category. For the artist challenge this week I immediately thought of these books:

Not sure how niche they are but I used to have a few of them and they were total garbage and each a diff case but I loved them, and the cover art is such a specific vibe that is so nostalgic to me!!!!

So pls pls pls hmu on the discord or on tumblr or even on insta i beg of you

[katyawriteswhump]

Bed of Roses (steddie love month, day 17)

For @steddielovemonth, Day 17 prompt: Love is about a hand reaching out to you so you don't get lost (@yournowheregirl ) Thank you <3

Rating: M. CW: prostitution, unwanted kink/abuse/pet-names (NOT between Steddie) alcoholism, substance abuse. Tags: rockstar Eddie, rent-boy Steve, make-up fic, angst, shameless perversion of Bon Jovi lyrics. WC: 2,000.

...

“'Cause a bottle of vodka's still lodged in my head…”

In his dressing room, pre-show, Eddie grasped his second bottle of vodka in an unsteady hand.

“…and some blonde gave me nightmares; I think that she’s still in my bed.”

This was NOT GOOD. Eddie had gotten sap-fest Bon Jovi lyrics slithering around his brain. He couldn’t for the life of him remember his own lyrics.

“Hey, Amigo,” he announced to the vodka. “I got a venue of ten thousand to entertain, and you’re literally my Obi-Wan—my only hope.” He caressed the bottle’s label. “80% proof, huh, Baby?” 

I’m serious, Eddie, you’ve had enough. You WANT to follow Kurt Cobain into the 27-Club?

Riiiight. That was not a Bon Jovi lyric. That sounded more like Steve Harrington, in sensible-parent mode, hands planted on his slender hips.

The tears struck fast. Eddie clonked the bottle onto the dressing table then followed it, pressing his heavy head to the glass.

He seriously didn’t want to die. However, he was so through with this life. Of any life, without Steve. The cavity where his heart once lay veered between grating emptiness and an unbearable pain. 

His fingers twitched toward the bottle. Screw it, the show must go on, and he’d lost his only light in the darkness…

“… as I dream about movies, they won't make of me when I'm dead.” 

That still wasn’t one of his own darn lyrics. In fact, he couldn’t remember a single goddamn word of any of Corroded Coffin’s songs.

A sharp knock on the dressing-room door had him squealing like a little piggy. An old guy poked his head in.

“Who the hell are you?”

“You hired me, Mr Munson. Dirk Gordon—Private Dick?” 

“Ah… Yeah, so I did.” Eddie’s rotten heart hammered way too fast. “Have you..?"

“Yes, Mr Munson. I believe I’ve found him.”

…

“What do you mean, you're not gonna pay me?” Steve wrapped his arms tight around himself. The only heating in his boss’s rundown office came from the guy’s endless chain of cigarettes. “I spent the whole evening simpering at that old dragon. You told me she liked music—I talked music endlessly.”

“You yammered on about some death-metal garbage. She likes Wagner.”

Steve wrinkled his nose. “What’s Wagner? That crusty old film-star?”

“Oh, Steve, Steve, Steve. What am I gonna do with you?” His boss sauntered around the desk and hooked an arm around him.

Jesus, you stink.

“You’re good-looking, kid, you’re charming, but you simply can’t cut it with that kind of high-end client.”

“She seemed happy.” Steve shrugged his shoulders, failing to shake the guy off him. “She paid you, right?”

“Not the full whack, and you got a fancy meal out of the bitch. Look, I’ll give you your cut, if you do better tonight.”

He squeezed the back of Steve’s neck. Steve tried not to shudder. When his boss produced a piece of paper and wedged it down the back of Steve’s skin-tight jeans, he stopped trying to hide his revulsion.

“Details are all there. He’s a banking exec, early forties—no more dinners and dances with Doris, you’re spending the night at his house.”

A dry lump clogged Steve’s throat. “Is he gonna want..?”

“Sex? Christ on a bike, what trade do you think you’re in?” He squeezed Steve’s butt.

“Jesus fu—” Steve bit his lip, fixed on his damp sneakers. 

“Believe me, Steve, your hair ain’t your best asset. You’re gonna have to sell that plump lil’ ass for real, sooner or later.”

Steve flinched, then schooled his features as blankly as he could. 

“This guy’s got a few kinks, but as Johns go, he’s a pussycat.” He lifted Steve’s drooping chin with his knuckles. “Show him what ya got, Sport.”

Steve couldn’t get out into the drab morning fast enough. He retrieved the paper from his underwear, shoved it in a pocket unread, then stumbled, zombie-like, into a diner. “Black coffee, please? It’s an emergency.” 

The waitress smiled. “You want breakfast, Steve?”

He shook his head, though his stomach grumbled.

He ended up slumped on the table, his face pillowed in his arms. Christ, ‘male escort’ had never seemed like a great idea, but he’d figured the pay would beat waiting tables. So how come he was still behind on his rent, and that he still couldn’t afford to eat some days, let alone buy his pain meds?

He muffled a miserable laugh in his elbow. He genuinely wished he could afford to get smashed, get high, because nothing could fill that gaping black hole of pain. Even worse, one of his fave Bon Jovi songs was playing on the radio, and SO not helping:

“Tonight I won't be alone, but you know that don't mean I'm not lonely.” Shit! He was fighting back dumbass tears already. “I got nothing to prove, for it’s you I’d die to defend.”

Why the hell did he run away? He can’t recall any reason that mattered anymore. “I’m sorry, Eddie,” he mumbled. “I miss you so much.”

Somebody touched his elbow, and he jolted up. “Sorry, hon,’” said the waitress, “we need this table for dine-in customers.”

“Right.” Steve swiped any tell-tale moisture from his cheekbones.  “I’ll clear outta your way.”

...

“Ready for playtime, Bunny Rabbit?”

Steve’s skin crawled, and his face burned. He’d gotten his head in the client’s lap, and the guy was playing with his hair. It would be tolerable, he guessed, if he’d not so often laid in Eddie’s lap like this, and… Christ, Eddie! Steve shut out the unwanted touching and began to drift. He was so beyond tired. And that song from the diner crept back:

“Now as you close your eyes, know I'll be thinking about you. While my mistress—she calls me to stand in her spotlight again…”

The pinch on his cheek startled Steve back to the present. “You kipping there, Bunny Rabbit?”

“Uh… er, sorry, Daddy.” Uuuuuuurgh! “Whatever you want, Daddy.” He dared sit up. “I’ll grab a condom and, uh… stuff.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” When Steve went to rise, his arm was grabbed, and he was held in place. “I don’t like rubbers, Cutie.”

“You heard of this thing called AIDS?” Dipshit!

Steve wrenched his arm free. The guy raised his hand and slapped him. Which wasn’t exactly out-of-the-blue, because face-slapping had been listed among this repellent son-of-a-bitch’s kinks.

“I’m paying top whack for you.” He leaned over Steve, suddenly kinda huge and scary, not least because Steve now saw double. “Your pimp said you were clean, so I’m gonna have you any way I like.”

“I… uh…” Steve kicked the bastard’s shin and shoved him hard. “Go to hell, asshole.” 

He fled out into the night, still dizzy from the blow. He pulled his mesh vest back on over his head. The icy wind bit, and he realised he’d left his only jacket behind.

“Jesus Christ! JESUS CHRIST!” He kicked a lamppost, holding back on venting the true force of his feelings. Still hurt.

He limped off up the street, fast as he could. The ache in his toes at least distracted him from the ringing in his ears. An hour later, he stumbled around the corner of his block, thinking only of throwing himself into his bed, while he still had one.

He was so close, when the hairs on the back of his neck stood suddenly on end. Through the haze of his exhaustion, he realised a car crawled up the gutter behind him.

Had Mr Happy-Slappy-Sleazebag come after him? Then again, Steve’s pursuer could be anybody. After all, he was walking through a red-light district, shivering his ass off.  Dressed like the whore I am. Hahaha!

The car pulled up right beside him. A blacked-out window rolled down.

Steve ran, turning sharp up a dark alley, then… Shit, shit, SHIT AGAIN! He was only a hundred yards from his digs, and yet he was so messed-up that he’d sprinted up a dead-end.

He nearly kicked the bricks. Instead, he punched them, as if that would blast through the solid wall. He turned about, bit his grazed fist, and sank slowly onto his haunches. 

Two figures approached up the alley, silhouetted against the lights of the street behind. Get up, Harrington! GET UP! His legs wouldn’t obey, and his breaths came only as rapid gasps. Nothing felt real anymore. Am I gonna die..? I’m gonna die!

A hand stretched out of the gloom.

Steve stared at it—at the familiar chunky silver rings, which couldn’t be real. He glanced up, and… wtf? It was Eddie, apart from it wasn’t Eddie. This dude looked more like Eddie’s ghost. Steve’s eyes fluttered closed.

Maybe I scored some Benzos after all, and totally ODd.

“Stevie?”

No mistaking that voice. If this was a trip, it was a good one. Steve pried an eye open, and Eddie’s hand was still there. Steve took it, let it help him to his feet, because… Why not? Suddenly, they were in each other’s arms, clasping each other tightly. This is real. You’re real!  Eddie reeked of booze, and also of something devastatingly comforting and familiar. Somebody’s wretched sobs shook through them both.

“I’m s-sorry.” Steve sounded broken. “I-I honestly don't know why I left anymore. I was such an idiot.”

“No. I was the idiot. I’m sorry, too. So very fucking sorry.” Eddie sniffed hard, lifted his tear stained cheek from Steve’s shoulder. “I’ve not been doing so good without you.”

Steve blinked the moisture from his vision. He wondered if he looked as wrecked as Eddie—red-eyed and waxy pale, under the distant glimmer of the streetlamps. Probably. If he hadn't leaned against Eddie, his legs would’ve given out again.

He laughed, without knowing why. Eddie laughed too, and it warmed Steve’s soul. “Gonna be honest, Eddie—not been doing so good without you, either.”

…

When Eddie got out of rehab, Steve waited on the steps of the clinic, hand stretched out to take his. He pulled Eddie close, and then into a sweet, lingering kiss that renewed Eddie more thoroughly than even a lengthy booze-free sleep.

“I’m never going through that again,” said Eddie, his lips still brushing against Steve’s.

Not least because I never ever want to be parted from you again, even for a fortnight.

“Yeah, but you’re dry, Eddie, and you’re alive. I’d say that’s goddamn metal of you.”

They started back to the car, hands still clasped tightly. “Not gonna take credit, Stevie. You’re what got me through.”

“You might’ve got me out of a fix, so we’re even.” Steve’s sigh rode on a wistful sadness. “I mean, I was so lost. Thinking of you was all that kept me… I dunno, alive, I guess. You know, I kept on thinking about that Bon Jovi song.”

“Uh, you know how I feel about Bon J—"

Too late. Steve burst into song: “Well, I'm so far away, each step that I take is on my way home. A king's ransom in dimes I'd give each night to see through this pay-phone—”

Eddie pressed fingers to his boyfriend’s parted lips. “As much as I hate cutting you off in your prime—two teensy-weensy issues. Firstly, I had no idea where you were, and you never called! Second, what’s wrong with my blood-and-death drenched lyrics?”

Steve took Eddie’s fingers and kissed them: “Hurt too much to think about them.”

“You know what, Sweetheart? Hurt too much to sing them, without you around. Even though none of them are actually love songs.” Eddie raised his gaze to the heavens, and looped his arms around Steve. “Go figure.”

“You sure they’re not love songs? C’mon—they’re all secretly about me, right? Only coded or something. I’ll crack it one day.”

Steve’s gently mocking smile destroyed him, in the best possible way. They tumbled into a French kiss, and he resigned himself willingly to the only thing that mattered: 

“And the truth is… Baby, you’re all that I need.”

...

Thanks for reading <3 Likes, comments and reblogs always much appreciated :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on ao3).

[hp-confessions]

I honestly just fully believe that HP is just too big to die

JKR is a garbage human, she's horrible, she's disgusting, the moment she drops dead I'm going to be so damn happy

But the thing is that at this moment HP has 519,075 fics on Ao3

That's a stupid large amount the only thing bigger then it is the MCU

Any random side character you get attached to in HP you will likely find at least 300 fics for

Rolanda Hooch? 1,126 

Hannah Abbot? 3,616 

Charlie Weasley? 11,490

So like yeah you should read other books but unless you get lucky and really end up loving like LOTR or ASOFAI it's just not the same

It's just sometimes when it comes to fandom it doesn't actually have as much to do with the source material as you think

yeah i could read/watch 100s of other magic based series and i do! But I end up falling back onto HP because fandom wise it's just not the same

Merlin (BBC) for example is one I've seen thrown around as a replacement and one I have seen and read/write for

Merlin has 63,610 fics but out of those 32,933 are the top ship Merthur with the closest after being a little under 5k

So like great if you like Merthur this fandom is perfect for you

But anything else?? not really. you can maybe find a few things if you get lucky and end up loving a canon ship or something but there's just not much else and I know from writing most people here don't want to read much else either

which is fine and fair but means I don't fit very well

which is a similar issue with another series people like to recommend

Little Witch Academia

it has 3,205 fics which is a good amount for a random anime imo

but looking at the numbers its similar to Merlin in that the fandom seems very decided on what ship they care about with the top ship having 2k vs the second place romantic pairing at 310

So again if you love that ship Great! you will fit right in. If not? well that fandoms not for you then

And yeah Fic numbers are not everything and should not be everything but when something is that big??? you really just think it's going to fully go away? like honestly? is it just wishful thinking or what

like I could go into how fandom fests seem to be happening at all times in the hp fandom

Like i think the Marauders side of the fandom popping up so heavily from TikTok of all places is proof enough that it won't

I don't know i just think it's never going to die out like some people like to hope and that it's better to have people in the fandom that hate JKR then for all people with a conscience to leave and let it become a TERF wasteland

I just don't think its a good idea to leave TERFS to feel safe here because I do fully think that as long as all those fanfics exist there will always be more people finding it

People who are less online who don't know as much about how horrible of a human she is

In my opinion i think the best possible thing we will get is if people stop buying things she makes to the point where it's no longer even profitable and she just stops

i don't think that's really possible either but a guy can wish and hope

~

[itsaash]

Pumpkin Spice

@noots-fic-fests thank you for including this prompt so I can take something that happened in my life and turn it into something decidedly better, ha. Enjoy some fluffy, domestic Jily! And I believe sweater weather Harry was born in March? So he'd be 8 months old the next October

Lily had just wanted to make something nice. Sure, sure, the days are long but the years are short. But when you’re in the thick of having a 8 month old people could just fuck right off with that advice. Because the never ending loop of naptime, nursing, introducing solid food, play time, diaper change, and repeat made some days interminably long. And James was an amazing partner and an even better dad, but the season had started up again, and Lily was not in the groove of solo parenting. She was skidding on one wheel on the edge of the groove threatening to fall over at any moment. 

When she was nursing Harry, cuddling his warm body close, she’d sometimes scroll on her phone and cooking videos were some of her favourites. She’d be lulled by the perfectly aesthetic backdrops and clean kitchens. The process of turning a group of ingredients into something new and amazing. Her feed knew her well and alternated between plans and ideas for baby food, and delicious looking snacks and drinks. Being October, pumpkin everything saturated the videos. Bread, muffins, cookies, stew, coffees, all featuring pumpkin. She didn’t have much time or energy for more time in the kitchen after the essentials of baby food and basic meals. But maybe a pumpkin spice syrup was achievable? 

So after forgetting to get canned pumpkin at the next two grocery store runs, Lily finally remembered and was excited to make something for herself. Harry went down for his afternoon nap, and after stepping carefully to sneak out of his room she went into the kitchen to make the syrup.  The can opener, pumpkin, vanilla, and spices were lined up on the counter, and she measured  the sugar into the water for a double batch. She stirred the sugar in with her little purple whisk and watched it dissolve. She checked the recipe again, ok, it needed to reduce for a while. She turned down the heat and went to the bathroom. 

Then went to move the laundry into the dryer. Shit, that was a pile of clean laundry. The clothes got put away, and she tracked down the new box of trash bags for the garbage in the laundry room that she had emptied the lint trap into. May as well take out the other bathroom garbages while she was at it. Weird, this bathroom smelled bad. She looked around, had a diaper fallen behind the trash can or something? There wasn’t an obvious culprit so Lily finished emptying the bins and brought them all downstairs to the main garbage in the kitchen. 

The kitchen was a haze of smoke. 

“What in the ever loving pumpkin fuck of goddamn stupid pumpkin fucking shit…”

A string of incomprehensible curses continued as Lily dropped the trash bags and raced to the stove to turn off the burner. The water had long since evaporated and the sugar was beyond burned with her cute little whisk melted sadly to the side of the smoking pot. The smell hit her senses like a freight train as she put on an oven mitt and carried the pot outside and left it on the porch, slamming the door just a bit on the way back in. She turned the hood fan all the way up and went around opening every window she could get her hands on. Thank god it wasn’t too cold outside yet. 

Lily hardly knew if she should laugh or cry. It smelled truly awful. How had she not realized that smell was a burning smell? How could she have forgotten this one thing she had wanted to do for herself so quickly? And how had the stupid fucking smoke detector not gone off?? Although now in hindsight, with no major harm done, and the smoke already dissipating, she supposed she was glad to not have a baby awoken from a nap by screeching added to this situation. She walked away from the blaring sound of the hood fan and sunk to the floor under an open window on the other side of the house. Which is where she was when James got home. 

“Hey Lils love! I’m home — oh shit wow you’re right there! You scared me,” James said. He came in the door and was startled when he turned to take his shoes off and saw Lily sitting there. He set down his bag and walked over to her and slid his back down the wall. “Why are we sitting on the floor?” he asked softly, nudging her with his shoulder. 

Lily waved her hand vaguely at the house, cheek resting on her bent up knees. “I ruined our house with this awful fucking smell. Can’t you smell it?”

“Well, yeah, but you don’t seem to be panicking, so I figured it’s not an emergency.” He scooched even closer and wrapped his arm around her shoulders and Lily turned to tuck her face into the warmth of his shoulder. “Want to tell me what happened? You ok?”

Lily wasn’t crying, but her voice was thick and she was just so tired. 

“I just wanted to make pumpkin spice syrup. But then I got distracted and immediately forgot about it and it’s such a stupid thing to have done and now it smells so bad.” Her breath hitched at the end and she heaved a breath in. “And my little whisk and the pot are totally ruined.”

James just tightened his grip on her shoulders and hugged her close, let her breathe and be still and cry. 

“It doesn’t smell that bad,” he said, finally. 

“Fuck off, yes it does.”

“Ok, yeah it does.” He took in a theatrical sniff and winced. “That’s what burned sugar smells like? It’s nuclear level.”

“It was even worse 20 minutes ago,” Lily muttered. 

“Want to go cuddle on the furthest couch from the kitchen until Harry wakes up?” 

Lily laughed but nodded, and then moved to the couch in the theater room, which was quite separate from the rest of the house and had a baby monitor in it. James laid on the couch and Lily cuddled into his side, making herself small. James ran his fingers through her hair over and over. 

“You know it’s ok, right Lils? You’re fine, Harry’s fine, the house is fine. It’s ok.”

Lily hummed noncommittally. 

“Ok, but can you tell Loops about it? So that I can tell Sirius how bad sugar can smell? Because, honestly, who would’ve thought.”

James smiled to himself when Lily let out a real laugh and reached for her phone. She texted him, a smile quirking on her face. 

my house smells like sugar. And not the good kind like in cookies. Like the awful burned kind and it’s truly terrible. 

I also need to test my smoke alarms. 

These two things may be related.

Not one minute later her phone was ringing. James laughed and kept running his fingers through her hair as she talked to Remus. She told him the story, after reassuring him they were all fine, and her voice lost some of its tightness as they joked over the lengths they’d go to for a PSL and Remus threatening to come smell it for himself while the smell was “fresh”. She, laughing, said fuck off and good bye, hung up and turned to cuddle into James chest even closer. He smelled like the soap from the rink and like himself and when she breathed in deeply she didn’t smell the sugar at all. 

“I’m sorry I made our house smell terrible.”

“I literally don’t care, Lils. I’m just sorry it didn’t work out how you wanted it to.”

She let his breathing soothe her as his chest rose up and down under her cheek. 

“You can close your eyes if you want, flower. I’ll get Harry when he wakes up and I’ll go out with him and get a grocery store special for dinner.” Lily knew that meant a rotisserie chicken, a truly bizarre combination of the pre-made side dishes, and probably something sweet from the freezer aisle. But it was always perfect. She hugged him tighter and nodded. And she drifted off.

Lily woke later to the sounds of James and Harry coming into the house. James was keeping up a running conversation with Harry, talking to his son like he was much older than his 8 months. Lily stretched under the blanket that James must have laid over her, and the smell hit her nose. She cringed, but tried not to dwell and went to see her boys. 

“Mommy’s awake, Harry, look!” Harry babbled happily and Lily took him from James, kissing all over his face. 

“Did you two go on an adventure?” she said to Harry in an animated voice.

“We sure did,” James replied, picking up bags and heading to the kitchen. “To the wilds of Target. And we totally scored.”

Lily watched as he pulled groceries from the reusable bags like a magician pulling a never ending scarf from a sleeve. First came the expected rotisserie chicken, a container of spinach and artichoke dip, two options of chips, a pre-made spinach salad, and a few other grocery essentials.

“Wow, good choices, Harry!” Lily cooed. “I’ll be breaking into that dip immediately. Hopefully the terrible smell doesn’t ruin all this good food Daddy got us.”

“The power of spinach and artichoke dip can overcome anything,” James reassured her, and moved to take Harry from her. “Can you open up that bag, Lils?” he asked, pointing to one. Lily raised an eyebrow, but went to the bag and looked in. She paused for a long moment before reaching in and pulling out a wicker basket filled with all sorts of treasures. 

“James! What is this?!” she exclaimed as she freed the basket from the bag. 

“It’s a boo box!” James said happily. “You’ve been doing such a good job taking care of Harry when I’ve been on roadies, babe. And I love you so much, you do so much for us, so Harry and I wanted to do a little something for you.” He came over and leaned in to press a soft kiss below her ear and Harry pulled her hair happily.

“Thank you so much,” Lily said thickly. 

“You're welcome,” James said easily. He turned and settled Harry in his high chair, and got some blueberries and a mini cucumber from one of the bags and washed them to pass to Harry for him to gum. 

Lily looked through the basket. There was pumpkin spice syrup, of course there was. She huffed a laugh but was thankful for the easy version of the fall treat. Next she touched the new whisk, red this time, and sent James a small smile still tinged with sadness. There were also smaller bottles of brown sugar cinnamon, apple, and chai syrups. She set those aside and found three of the tubes that have all the ingredients you need for different soups, a foot mask, a lip mask, and finally underneath all of that she pulled out a crew neck sweater. It felt creamy and soft in her hands, with cute fall themed charms all over it. She hugged it to her chest and looked up at James. “James, baby. This is so nice.” James stepped close and took her into his arms, wrapping her in a hug from behind, his chin hooked on top of her head. He reached around her to point at some of the treasures. 

“Lots of syrups to try is fun, right? I’m so going to try that apple one in something. And look how funny that lip mask is. Harry laughed so cutely when I held it over my mouth and pretended to talk with it. Let’s see the sweater on, isn’t it so soft?” he rambled. 

Lily smiled with her eyes prickling as she pulled the sweater over her head. It was a bit oversized, the sleeves hung perfectly so she could scoop the cuff into her hands and feel the softness. James hugged her again, trailing his hands under the sweater to rub her back and feel the softness of the inside of the sweater. 

“I love it James, thank you.” 

“Love you, Lilyflower,” James said and leaned down to press a kiss to her lips. Lily turned and pressed a kiss to Harry’s head, thanking him too. He burbled happily back at her with purple fingers and mouth. James pulled out his phone to take a picture when the doorbell rang. He set his phone down on the counter.

“I’ll get it! But I’m so getting a picture of you in that sweater with Harry when I’m back.” He pointed finger guns at her as he walked a few steps backwards towards the front door.

Lily laughed and watched James’ back as he turned around and walked down the hall to open the front door. Her thoughtful, giving husband. The smell of burnt sugar still undeniably hung in the air, but it was fading. Her guilt was fading too, replaced with love for her family. 

“Hey! Oh wow no way,” she heard James say from the door. 

“Who is it?” she called as she started to put away the soups and syrups into the pantry. 

James didn’t answer and she walked back to the side of the kitchen from where she could see the door. 

“James? Oh!” 

He surprised her, he was right there when she turned the corner, a big box in his hands.  

“No one was at the door when I opened it. They must’ve just delivered the box and left.”

“What is it?” Lily asked.

James placed the soft cardboard box on the counter and opened the lid, revealing 6 of the most beautiful cookies Lily had ever seen. They were huge, fluffy and delicious looking. A chocolate chunk on, one that must be red velvet, one that looked like it might be peanut butter, and more that she could only guess at the flavours, but couldn’t wait to taste them and find out. 

“Oh my god. They’re beautiful. Who are they from? Did you order these too?”

“Nope, not me, oh here’s the card,” James replied. “Awww, they’re from Loops, see.” He passed the card to Lily.

To Lily

I hope these drown out the burned smell!! Congrats getting through the day without a kitchen fire!

Re

Lily laughed. “That little shit.”

“I’m surprised he went with cookies and not some sort of fire extinguishing blanket,” James laughed. 

“Don’t suggest it, or at least 2 will be at our door as fast as he can get them shipped here.”

“Actually, I think that’s kind of genius? I’m going to order one. I’ll send them one too.” He broke off a piece of the chocolate chip cookie and popped it into his mouth as he opened up his phone. “No harm in being prepared.”

Lily could only nod along with that logic, and she reached out and broke an orange cookie apart, and yes, as the taste of pumpkin spice cookie filled her senses, the burned smell finally faded away.

[poppypickle]

Half-Finished Fic Fest

Back with more old fic. I think I wrote this around 2012, probably as a fill for this prompt during a Gossip Girl promptathon:

No, no, I think it's more like a ghost That's been following us both Something vague that we're not seeing Something more like a feeling

I think I never posted because I felt like others had already done post-canon Dair reunions more justice. But begone, self-doubt!

There's a dream in my brain that just won't go away Dan/Blair  1162 words

Blair tells herself she's happy. Because happy is what happens when your dreams come true, right? When you get everything you ever wanted? Yes, of course she is happy.

She does not think about what ifs — does not imagine any other path but the one she has chosen. No Frost-ian ruminations about roads less traveled for her (no poetry whatsoever, in fact). Because what would be the point? She has finally (finally) won Chuck's heart, and Blair is blissfully, perfectly happy thankyouverymuch.

It's just… Maybe she expected the happiness to feel a little bit different. To be less heavy.

But it does not do to dwell, so Blair clutches the sparkling diamond ring around her neck until it leaves angry red imprints on her palm, and reminds herself that she is very, very happy.

***

Dan tells himself he's over her. He dabbles in revenge for a little while, writing nasty tell-all essays about everyone in his life and hoping they will fill the aching hole inside of him where her pithy insults about his hair used to be. He lets it all drain out of him like a thick, infected puss until he wakes up one morning and discovers there's nothing left but a nasty scar. And suddenly, he is sad instead of angry.

So Dan throws himself into new pursuits — he re-enrolls at NYU, gets another internship, dates as many tall blondes and redheads as his schedule allows. He rents a new apartment and does his best not to feel sentimental when he finds three of her DVDs and a pot of La Mer face cream tucked away in the bedside table he's cleaning out.

Tossing everything into the garbage with a purposefully casual flick, Dan thinks of Blair only in the abstract. They were together until they weren't. It was wonderful until it wasn't. Until she decided it wasn't.

Whatever, he's over it.

***

It's five years later when they see each other again, at a Saturday Film Forum matinee, of all places. Blair hears herself calling out his name before she can stop herself, and when Dan turns around he looks so perfectly like himself (messy hair, a knowing half smile pulling at his lips) that it nearly takes her breath away.

It takes four long strides for him to reach her, and just like that Dan Humphrey is standing in front of her again, two steaming cups of coffee clasped in his hands. For a split second, Blair imagines that they are 22 again and that one of those cups is for her. She flicks the thought away with a sharp intake of breath.

"Blair," Dan says finally, and it comes out far gentler than she expects. "Are you here to see Rebecca?"

"Of course," she says, fidgeting idly with the edges of her skirt. She forces her fingers to still against her thighs. "It's a classic."

"Hitchcock's best, some might say."

"Some might say. Not me."

Dan smiles in spite of himself. "North by Northwest is still your favorite I assume?"

Blair cocks her head to the side. "And you preferred –"

"Vertigo," he nods.

She smirks in spite of herself. "You always did have a weakness for blondes."

"A long time ago," he acknowledges.

"How have you been?" she asks, and it seems like such a silly thing to say that she finds a blush creeping up her cheeks. But Dan just tilts his head to the side and smiles.

"I'm good," he says simply. "How are you? How's work? Chuck?"

"Work is wonderful, busier than ever," Blair smiles. “And Chuck is…Somewhere in Europe right now, I think. It didn't work out."

Dan's eyes crinkle. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

She shrugs it off with a wave of her hand. "It's fine."

They hold each other’s gaze for a moment before Dan murmurs, “I only ever wanted you to be happy, you know…”

It’s such a Dan Humphrey thing to say. A shade too earnest. A little wounded. Perfectly sincere.

Blair feels a lump rise in her throat. She opens her mouth to reply, but just then a petite woman with an auburn bob slides up next to Dan with two matching striped bags of popcorn in her hands.

“The line was so long. I hope all the good seats aren’t taken.”

Dan seems to startle ever-so-slightly before remembering himself and sliding his eyes away from Blair to smile down at the other woman. He fumbles with the coffee cups in his hands, passing one to her as he takes one of the bags of popcorn in between his long fingers. 

"Blair, this is Tess. Tess, Blair. Blair and I…went to high school and college together."

Blair’s eyebrows lift before she can stop them, but she quickly schools her face into something more neutral. “Nice to meet you.”

"Are you seeing the movie?” Tess asks, her smile wide and bright. “I'm a Hitchcock virgin."

Blair purses her lips, an insult on the tip of her tongue before she catches Dan's knowing smirk and stops herself. "Well you'll love Rebecca. It's the only one of his movies that ever won Best Picture.”

"That's what Dan was saying."

"Go grab us some seats and I’ll be right in,” Dan says, and Blair tries not to notice the way he puts his hand against the small of Tess’ back before she walks away.

“Girlfriend?” Blair asks after a moment, when it’s just the two of them again.

“Not yet.” Then, “It’s new.”

“But it could be something?” she presses, unable to stop herself.

“Lots of things could be something,” Dan says vaguely, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the floor. Then he lifts his chin to look her right in the eyes. “If you get the timing right.”

They stare at each other for a few long moments before Blair finally says, “It was good to see you.”

Dan looks like he wants to say something else, but then he seems to think better of it. “Yeah, you too,” he says, then turns toward the theater doors.

Blair rocks back and forth on her kitten heels, staring at Dan’s back as he walks away. When he opens the doors and starts to disappear inside, she hears Joan Fontaine utter that haunting first line.

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.

Blair sucks in a sharp breath and turns away from the theater. She’s not in the mood for a movie after all. 

***

Four hours and two glasses of wine later, Blair texts him, her fingers trembling over her phone. Maybe he doesn’t even have the same number.

Funny thing, I wasn’t happy.

Dan’s reply comes almost immediately.

Funny thing, I thought I was over you.

Blair bites the inside of her cheek, her heart racing as her fingers hover over the phone keyboard. Then:

Maybe we could get the timing right this time.

Maybe we could.

Want to get coffee tomorrow, Waldorf?

I thought you’d never ask, Humphrey.

[fictionfixations]

self indulgent fic

okay. so. you know in my white rabbit fest part 2(?) post (where i showed screenshots of funny and/or notable parts basically)

i went

"I want to write yuu fucking decking him because apparently no one else is"

okay

so

what i didnt say was right after that i wrote it

and honestly its kind of garbage. and it has a bunch of canon dialogue

but

this was the moment i really let go and said whatever i wanted. so it was truly self-indulgent. (i actually got asked if i was gonna make another part to this lmfao. ...actually i got an idea im gonna speedrun part two rq LMFAO)

but anyway i like some of the insults i put in here.

and i like yuu having a spine

so. um.

[wield-the-mighty-pen]

For the ask game: 🙌, 💪, 🥘

🙌: What's a line or paragraph of yours that you're proud of?

Ahhhh, this is such a difficult question for me, I personally struggle with rereading my fics because during each reread I cycle between thinking it's total garbage or that it's not so bad, and it's just too stressful for me to look through usually. But I did write a poem about spring the other day and there was one part that I really liked so I guess I'll include that:

Help my sweet April Guide me to warmer days Bring me to late night sunsets So I can fall asleep to the sun's dying rays

💪: What motivates you to write?

I have a general need to do something creative every so often and I have fulfilled this through drawing, painting, knitting, and of course, writing. Whenever I feel the need to do something creative it doesn't really matter which one I do, so that's one motivator for writing.

More specifically though, I am best motivated when I give myself strict deadlines. For example, for my eras fest fic, I had the due date for the event to keep in mind (plus for this fic I was also motivated and decided to start working on it when she actually played as a surprise song the song I was planning on basing it on Buenos Aires, Argentina night 1 was my sign lol). Another example of this was for my fic All Along There Was Some Invisible String, where I gave myself "word quotas" or amounts of words I wanted to write in a day. I'm not suggesting this method for everyone but it definitely helped me.

🥘: What wip are you most excited about?

I've been really busy these past few weeks so I'm not currently working on something, but I do have a few Adrinette April ideas that I'd really like to write if I had the chance/time and I also really want to write my Snekmouse "This Side of Paradise" fic idea (it plagues me every time I hear the song 😭)

Thank you so much for the ask <3

ask game

[raxistaicho]

Man i hope you're taking a long, long break once you're done with the cursed torment of Cardboard Edelgard. Subjecting yourself to so much garbage can't be healthy. Besides, her "Edelgard-On-Thracia" fic isn't really worth talking about, just more of the same.

Honestly, a lot of the remaining material looks like massive skim-fests, just Reyna fight scenes, and her fight scenes are terrible.

She also seems to have mostly abandoned the Edelgard-in-Thracia spinoff.

[andypantsx3]

Hello Andy! I just wanted to express my gratitude to you. I have enjoyed reading your stories for a while now. They are like a warm blanket on a cold day. I think your skill as a writer is extraordinary. There's something so distinct about the way you can make people relate to the reader in your stories. Really, I think you have healing powers. That's how much your stories turned my bad days to good ones. Anyway, apologies for rambling, but I just wanted to let you know your work is bringing literal joy to people's lives :3

On another note, I was wondering if you've considered writing for new characters? In the future, I mean. And if so, who do you have in mind? It's so amazing seeing you depict these characters as I quite adore your perspective on them. What do you think about Aizawa, for example? He is my absolute favorite, I would love to hear your thoughts on him as a character or a possible future story material :3

Ahhhh thank you so much!!!! I screenshotted this and I'm putting in my lil folder of faves. This means so much, thank you for loving my fics and my weird little readers. 🥺🥺

Omg I love Aizawa but I'm so intimidated by the idea of writing him!! He's one of those characters that deserves so much special care, I would be so worried about mischaracterizing him or getting him wrong. (Not that any of the ones I have already written for don't deserve that, but you know what I mean.) He seems like he would be especially hard to get right!!

I do think someday I would like to try him but I would want to build up my confidence in characterization first, and I'm not there yet. I am just dying to write about his little manbun though, I will say that lmao.

I would also like to diversify my love interest portfolio as well lol. Eventually I would also like to write oneshots for Sero & Natsuo Todoroki, and I have an unfinished Garbage Fest request for Amajiki that I still need to work on. (And also one for Gang Orca but we're not thinking about that one lmao).

And I want soooo badly to write a full series for Dabi/Touya; that is definitely in the cards for sure!

Outside of BNHA I also think I want to write some JJK stuff for Gojo (no one @ me) and eventually something with Yuuta.

Anyway that's what's on my roadmap!! Please send good vibes my way in hopes that I can accomplish these all someday!!

(OH!! And also if I ever get into Haikyuu I have my eye on Kuroo, if I ever get into Trigun I think I might like Wolfwood, and if I ever get into Genshin, I'm looking directly at Childe, and now Alhaitham... But getting into the game seems like a huge commitment, so we will see lmao.)

[orionauriga]

i have neglected several of these tag thingys that people have mentioned me in (my apologies i am forgetful and also having to tag other people can make me #anxious) but i'm finally catching up!!! so thank you to @moondal514 for tagging me in this like two months ago <3

currently reading: i'm about to start the winners by fredrik backman! i absolutely loved beartown and us against you so i'm very excited

favorite color: dark grey (like, ominous stormcloud grey) (#3b3b3a hex code type dark grey)

last song: west coast smoker by fall out boy

last show: i think it was the most recent season of black mirror? i have not watched much tv recently admittedly. thank the depression

currently watching: nothing......see above for why lmao. been watching a lot of youtube tho...danny gonzalez drew gooden kurtis conner chad chad etc

last movie: i am decidedly a tv show person over a movie person and i won't get into the reasoning for that here but my friends convinced me to watch insidious: the red door in theaters with them despite not having seen any of the other insidious movies. it was hot garbage

sweet/spicy/savory: SWEET!!!!! i have an incurable sweet tooth that i inherited from my father. if i don't have a little treat every day i go insane

currently working on: mostly my fest fic! i'm also occasionally working on a domestic katekevaaron fic about their sleeping issues, but the brain has determined that the fest fic is first in line even though it doesn’t have to be ready until like october

current obsession: nothing is Consuming my brain atm strangely??? HOWEVER, the figure skating season is properly starting in the next few months and i sense that obsession is about to re-activate very soon. also whenever fall out boy starts the international leg of their tour i will be resuming my obsession of checking to see what magic 8 ball (surprise) songs they do without me bc i love hurting myself

6 mutuals: no idea who has/hasn't been tagged in this SO mutuals who see this and haven't done it i'm tagging you. them's the rules