#get back into writing fanfic they said

[fabfiveunionrep]

trying to write dickroy fanfiction is like painting directly staring at the sun, no white is bright enough

[idonsul]

[myokk]

✨MASTERLIST✨

(fanart, longfics, oneshots)

Welcome to my blog!!! Here is my masterlist of ALL of my little sketches, artwork, writing, and general brainrot related to Hogwarts Legacy💘

🌿 - Madeleine / Maddy / myokk

🌱 - AO3

🌿 - likes and follows come from my main blog, @oerflink, because this is a sideblog (🥲)

🌱 - Eloise Babbit, my MC and basically the whole reason for this blog🫶 I don’t necessarily view her as the game’s MC, as my fic is quite canon-divergent and she is sweeter than the evil gremlin I played in-game😆💓 [link to her character sheet]

🌿 - my art tag🫶🫶🫶 here you can see basically every drawing I've done since joining the fandom!

🌱 - tag for all of the art the lovely people here have gifted me🥹🥹🥹 I feel SO honored whenever anyone takes time out of their day to think of me and draw my little gremlin♥️♥️

Writing:

Before It Felt Like A Sin (AO3 / tumblr - ongoing)

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC, canon divergent, longfic, wip, dual pov Eloise/Sebastian

Summary: Eloise never wanted to be different.

And yet, her differences are what have defined her life up until this point: growing up as a squib in one of the most prominent wizarding families, being exiled to muggle society, and then attending Hogwarts at the age of sixteen.

She finds herself thrust into the life she should have been prepared for from birth but was denied. As she navigates this new life and her new precarious position in her family, she must come to terms with the fact that maybe what she dreamed of her whole life isn't turning out how she ever expected it would.

Tags: slow burn, angst, magical theory, mythology references, pureblood culture, occlumency, legilimency, hurt/comfort, family dynamics, eventual romance, eventual smut, sacrificial magic, blood magic, dark magic rituals, implied/referenced child abuse

[coming soon] - an excerpt from the Ominis longfic I’m working on💘

Oneshots:

clumsy (AO3 / tumblr)

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 9,1k

rating: E

summary: sebastian is clumsy.

or: two stubborn brats make things more difficult than they have to be.

cw: fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, two really stubborn idiots in love to be exact, sir cadogan guest appearance, anne and imelda are the gremlin best friends every girl needs, smut (18+ ONLY), oral (f. recieving), no y/n

note-taking (AO3 / tumblr)

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 3,6k

rating: M (language and sexual themes)

summary: mc loves flustering sebastian with her notes during class😇

cw: NONE this is just fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, it takes a while for them to admit their feelings, I rated it M for some language/sexual themes

legilimency (AO3 / tumblr)

pairing: Ominis Gaunt x f!MC

word count: 1,7k

rating: M (language)

summary: (His parents and Marvolo insist it’s a gift handed down from Slytherin himself, just like the Parseltongue Ominis despises. It is not. It is a curse.)

or: The Gryffindor student has caught on that Ominis can read her thoughts and decides to get her revenge.

tags: ominis is a natural legilimens, he is entirely too introspective, fluff, no y/n

remembering the snow (AO3 / tumblr / tumblr (old))

pairing: Imelda Reyes x Poppy Sweeting

word count: 3,3k

rating: G

summary: Imelda remembers the first time she saw snow.

Her parents always started the story telling her that she cried and cried and cried.

or: a character study on Imelda and how she grew up because I love her & she doesn't get enough appreciation :)

tags: character study, fluff, romance, first kiss, emotional hurt/comfort, I just wanted to write a sweet story & explore Imelda as a character

Illustrated scenes:

(aka where I illustrate little scenes from my longfic and oneshots💓)

🌿 - the summer before Sebastian and Anne’s first year at Hogwarts🥺💓

🌱 - Sebastian hates Eloise’s guts😳

🌿 - Eloise is really, really bad at chess😔 (this scene always makes me laugh SO MUCH)

🌱 - right after the pensieve scene🫶🫶🫶

🌿 - Eloise and Sebastian’s first kiss😇😇😇

🌱 - some angst after their first kiss😇😇😇

🌿 - sebastian overthinks things a lot😔

🌱 - an excerpt from my oneshot, clumsy💘

🌿 - another scene from my clumsy 🫶 I really love writing Sebastian’s pov & this was just so much fun to paint and write😫💓

🌱 - Eloise and her mother😔

🌿 - Eloise is NOT flustered by Sebastian😤

🌱 - late night in the common room 🫠

🌿 - comic of note-taking 😇

🌱 - right before *that* scene in clumsy 🫶 (as requested by Mallow bc of the lighting🤭)

[i-live-in-dreams]

I just thought how each book in the inkheart, inkspell, Inkdeath trilogy explores big questions in literature.

Inkheart: what if characters from books became real?

Inkspell: what if we came into the book?

Inkdeath: what if a fanfic writer got in control of the world?

The last one is about Orpheus idk the least obvious one.

[wreckedandpolemic]

she's got a boyfriend anyway - matty healy

part iii - if we're gonna do anything...

(mdni) hahahahaha... heyyy... been a while huh?

warnings: 18+, drug use, unprotected sex, cheating

Being home is suffocating you. You love your hometown, really, you do, but you’ve gotten so used to reaching out and grasping a starless London night that the stickers on your ceiling feel mocking. Like you’ve stepped back into the body of the girl whose room this used to be, and her skin is two sizes too small. Every time your mother reprimands you for being out late, or swearing, or smoking, you remind yourself that you’re five minutes closer to being back in London, hundreds of miles away and outside your family’s sphere of control. 

Being with Matty is different, though. He tugs you out of that too-tight skin, leaves you loose-limbed and free. You tell him as much, laying back against his wrinkled, black sheets, a joint burning down between his fingers and smoke hanging in the air. His answering smile is gorgeous, big and bright and a little dopey from the weed. A slow song you can’t pin down crackles from his vintage record player. “Shotgun?” he offers, and you grin, straddling him as he fills his lungs with smoke. Your lips hover over his, your hair falling in a curtain around your faces, shrouding you in fitting secret. He blows the smoke into your waiting mouth and you inhale greedily, certain a faint taste of him lingers in your lungs. You lift your head to exhale, blowing rings just to show off.

He stubs the joint out on his bedframe and flings the roach into the corner of his room, planting both his hands firmly on your hips. You’re crossing that line again; your feet have swept across it so many times since you came home that it’s faded from an all-encompassing warning bell to a faint, familiar tick. You press a kiss to his lips, savouring his responding giggle, your high wrapping the pair of you in a blanket that muffles the outside world. His arms snake around your back, tracing soothing circles over your skin. You relax into his chest, the warmth of his skin soaking into yours. Time drips over you like honey and you don’t know how long you lay like that, relaxed in his embrace.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs absently, petting your hair.

You kiss his chest softly, praise spinning in your slow-moving mind like a coin set on its edge. “Flatterer,” you reply, his gaze kindling a spark in your chest. The album ends, the last notes hanging in the air for a moment before fading away. The silence is tender, pleasant. Matty shifts, freeing his arm from under you and you whine, clinging feebly onto him as he rolls off the bed.

You watch him pick his way across his messy room to where his guitar leans against his bookshelf, smiling softly when he picks it up. He sits cross-legged, back against the wall, cradling the guitar lovingly in his lap. He strums idly, chords humming sweetly in the warm air and washing comfortably over you. “Mind if I play you something, love?”

“Please,” you reply, sitting up so you can see him properly. He teases a few more notes from the strings, then sings along in a low, quiet voice. You’re a little too stoned to process the individual words, but you know intrinsically that he’s singing to you, for you, about you. A solid lump of emotion rises in your throat, your cotton-mouth too dry to swallow it back down.

The song ends after some indeterminate amount of time, its linear passage having escaped you long ago. “D’you like it?” he asks, and you nod. It’s just about the loveliest thing you’ve ever heard; the romance of this tortured artist so dichotomous from what you’re used to. “Good,” he says shortly. “‘Cause otherwise that would’ve been well embarrassing.” Turning to start another record, he takes a deep breath and exhales shakily, unfamiliarly and uncharacteristically nervous. “This isn’t, um… We’re having fun, right?”

You tilt your head at him, hazy brain preventing you from reading his tone. “Yeah. ‘Course we are.” You turn a sleazy, charming grin on him, one you realise you learned from him. “Why?”

He smiles at you, a sweet, lovely thing, a far cry from the filthy, teasing smirks you’re used to. “I just…” He shakes his head as you fascinate yourself twirling a strand of hair around your finger. “Never mind. You’re so stoned.” He huffs a fond laugh and props the guitar back up against the bookshelf.

A dazed laugh bubbles up out of your throat. “Yep,” You pop the ‘p’ loudly, smacking your lips so the noise repeats over and over. “Fuck, your shit is so strong. I feel like my bones are glue. Does that make sense?”

He crawls back up the bed next to you, slipping a hand under your shirt to stroke fond circles into your skin. “No,” he laughs. “But you’re cute,” he adds.

“So are you,” you say, poking the tip of his nose and dissolving into a fit of giggles at the way his face scrunches in response. He kisses you lazily, tongue sweeping your mouth in slow, languid strokes; he kisses you just to kiss you, running his fingers through your hair and smiling against your mouth.

Time passes, your head clears, the platter spins and the sun sinks lower in the sky. It’s dusk by the time you peel yourself out of Matty’s bed and shrug your jacket back on. You’re regretful, gathering your things slowly, casting doleful looks at the warmth of his bed as you inch toward the door. “Just stay, love,” Matty tells you, grinning at the relief on your face.

You don’t bother double-checking, just dropping your bag and jacket and falling back into bed with him. “Thank you, darling,” you grin, pressing your lips against his just to feel them warm on your skin. “You and me, alone together in bed all night… whatever will we get up to?” you tease, hands wandering over his chest playfully.

“I have a few ideas,” he smirks, hand roaming down to your ass and squeezing. You tug his shirt off his body, kissing your way down his bare chest. His hand catches yours as you go to unbutton his jeans and you look up at him curiously before pressing a palm against his clothed dick. “C’mon, love. We’ve got all night. Right now, I wanna make you feel so good you forget his fucking name.”

Your thighs clench at his words; the possessiveness in his tone grips you. “Fuck, Matty,” you whine, sudden heat flooding your body and pooling at your core. “Off, off, now,” you whine, yanking off his jeans and boxers in one motion and wrapping your hand around his hardening cock. It’s almost a reversal of last time; in Matty’s room, now, his skin bare while you’re clothed. Slowly, you pump his cock again, relishing the way his hips twitch under your touch.

You kick off your own jeans and crawl back up the bed, leaning towards Matty as he roams his hands down to the hem of your shirt and pulls it over your head. Deft fingers work at the clasp of your bra and pinch your nipple as you slip the fabric off your body. “So fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs, gazing intently at your bare tits.

Sitting up, Matty climbs on top of you, kissing you hard and tracing a finger over the outside of your panties. A shiver runs through you and you grind against his hand, the fabric of your underwear scraping deliciously over your clit. You slide down the pillows so the pair of you are horizontal, looking up and losing yourself for a second in Matty’s big, brown eyes, liquid pools of fathomless desire. He tugs your panties down your legs, rubbing slow circles into your clit and swallowing your responding moan with a kiss. “Shit, Matty, come on,” you whine, rolling your hips against him.

“We have all night, love. Don't you wanna take it slow?” he murmurs, speeding up his motions at your clit. Liquid pleasure drips down your spine, blooming hot in your veins. A whine falls from your lips as he slips a finger into you, your cunt clenching desperately around him as he sets a torturously slow rhythm.

You groan. He’s so devoted to dragging everything out, insisting on toying with every encounter; you’re aching for it already. “No,” you retort. “Shut up and fuck me.” Weak bursts of heat rattle through you, insufficient, ramping up your desire as you kiss Matty desperately.

“So impatient,” he tuts, brushing a strand of hair away from your face and dropping his head to kiss your neck. “How do you want it?” he murmurs against your skin. Your stomach clenches at his words, unused to the care he takes with you, his lips reverent on your skin, awaiting your cue.

“Fast,” you gasp, a breathy moan falling from your lips as he slides another finger into you, the stretch between your thighs burning deliciously. “Hard,” you add, reaching down and wrapping a hand around his cock. “Come on, Matty, wanna come on your cock so bad,” His dick twitches in your palm and his jaw goes slack, desire burning in his gaze.

Matty pulls his fingers out of you, drawing them into his mouth and sucking your arousal off his skin. “Open up, love,” he instructs, spitting in your mouth when you drop your jaw for him. You swallow obediently, the taste of you sliding down your throat deliciously. Climbing off you, he lines his cock up with your entrance, teasing. “You ready?”

Nodding wildly, you clench your cunt and roll your hips, chasing the pleasure he holds just out of your reach. “Fuck me, please,” you whine, tangling a hand in his hair and tugging harshly, relishing the soft whimper he lets out. Finally, Matty enters you, the stretch divine in your cunt. He gasps as you clench around him, coaxing him deeper. “Harder,” you beg, digging your nails into his back and matching his thrusts with your hips to force him deeper into you.

“Whatever you want, love,” he grins. “Gotta give it to you just the way you want it before your little boyfriend gets his pathetic hands on you again,” he promises, the flash of guilt at the reminder of your sin indetectable against the waves of sweet bliss rolling over you. He sets a brutal pace, fucking into you wildly. Your pulse thrums in your cunt, cries falling from your lips as he thrusts impossibly deep into you.

“Shh, not so loud, sweetheart,” Matty murmurs against your lips, sliding two fingers into your mouth to muffle your moans. Your head spins, drunk on him, liquid heat coiling in your veins and melting you in his hands. Euphoria pools in your belly, blood pumping faster and faster, your hips meeting slick and sweet. “That feel good?” You nod fervently, incoherent whines falling from your lips.

You writhe under him. “Matty,” you whine. “Matty, please, fuck–” you gasp, voice breaking on the last syllable as he strikes oh-so-perfectly inside you. “Oh, God,” you cry, digging your nails into his shoulders hard enough to puncture skin. His hand comes down to tease at your clit, callused fingers deliciously rough against your swollen nerves. “Matty, please, please, please,” you whine, hips jolting involuntarily to chase the sweet, sharp bursts of pleasure that ricochet through you.

“Are you close, love?” he asks, his pace stuttering as his control slips.

“Yeah, fuck,” you murmur between soft moans. Matty redoubles his efforts, pressure mounting between your legs, coiling tighter and tighter as you cling to him, lips meeting in a messy imitation of a kiss. He strikes your clit just right, and you scream, heat racing through your blood and sparks exploding behind your eyelids. Euphoria burns you from the inside out, your cunt clenching around him desperately. A pained whine escapes you as he pulls out of you, spilling across your stomach with a groan. Your chest heaves as you gasp for breath, coasting on your high. Matty collapses next to you, breathing hard, and grins over at you wickedly.

Matching his grin, you drag a finger through the mess on your belly and suck it off, swirling your tongue around your finger exaggeratedly. Matty snatches your hand away and kisses you deeply. “Are you trying to drive me crazy?”

“Yes,” you giggle against his mouth. “Is it working?” He nods almost imperceptibly, something intense shining in his eyes that you don’t quite want to understand. You cast your gaze anywhere else, and he clears his throat sheepishly. “I’m, uh, gonna go get cleaned up,” you say, wincing at the cliche as you pad into his bathroom.

Whatever lingering awkwardness you might’ve feared has dissipated by the time you return, cocking your head quizzically at his pose; propped up against the headboard, arms behind his head. “About that blowjob… What?” he complains as you burst into laughter. “No, I’m sorry,” he says, laughing. “I heard it as soon as I said it.” You climb back into bed next to him, resting your head on his bare shoulder.

Kissing at his neck, you taste the light sheen of sweat on his skin. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you tease, climbing over him and settling between his legs. “And that I’m generous.”

The sound of your phone clattering to the floor startles you awake. Blinking blearily, you comb a hand through your sleep-tangled hair. Twelve missed calls from your mum, three from your dad and… oh shit, seventeen from your boyfriend. “Matty,” you hiss, slapping his leg frantically from your position on the floor. “Matty!”

“Huh, what?” he murmurs groggily, stirring to peer down at you from the bed.

“I forgot Michael was coming up from London this morning!” you gasp, frantically hunting for your clothes, the enormity of the last few days suddenly in shocking clarity. Your phone buzzes at your feet as you wrestle with your bra, fingers shaking too much to close the clasps. The caller ID flashes his name, and you draw a trembling breath.

“Want some help?” Matty teases, and despite yourself, you do. You nod despairingly, his warm hands at your back a comfort even now. “It’ll be okay, love,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to the nape of your neck. His touch warms you through, your body melting instinctively against his. God. You are well and truly fucked.

[to-the-all-blue]

A curse turns the crew against Sanji a short time after Wano. It's subtle at first. Subtle enough that he chalks their weird behavior up to WCI. In his mind, he's sure the crew probably just feels uncomfortable around him after he betrayed them. So it doesn't matter that Usopp said something unusually cruel or that Nami threw a glass at him because, well, he understands that he fucked up. And they're his crew, right? He can bear it if that's what they need. Not to mention they're in the middle of the ocean, so it's not like he can leave and give them space.

Then it escalates. Then he's getting hurt. And he starts to realize this is something more. He tries to research it, but the crew won't let him. They gang up on him, making him work nonstop: taking every watch and cooking and repairing the ship and not being allowed to sleep and, and...It doesn't end. If he falters, they punish him. After only a couple weeks of this, he's left exhausted and in pain.

One day it comes to a head. Harsh words turn into a fight which turns into the crew ganging up on him as if he's an enemy combatant and he just can't. He sees them crowd him and he remembers his brothers and he stumbles. He's too exhausted to dodge, too scared of hurting them to fight back. So they get him pinned and are about to finish him off when...

Clarity.

They all wake up, suddenly. The curse is broken and Sanji is nearly dead on the ground between them and they remember.

[last-starry-sky]

now that i've seen you pt. 1 - gaz x f!reader

(aka the voyeur!gaz thing i've had kicking around in my head since i wrote that kinktober prompt last year)

2.8k, sfw, mentions of past relationships, controlling!gaz, title is from THIS poem.

He didn’t meet you went he first moved in. It had been a rushed affair, naturally. Meeting the landlord well before the crack of dawn for his keys. The both of you only wanting to get this over and done with.

Only the hazy, yellow, light from a single, caged, bulb that hung from a wire like a noose outside the vestibule cut through the gray and fog. An early drizzle of rain blurred the individual bricks of the building into a gray-red fuzz. It was fittingly miserable weather for a miserable day.

The thin old man was waiting for him, thankfully, the sour reek of cheap alcohol and old cigarettes filling the space between the two of you whenever he got too close. A few, gruff words were exchanged as he followed him down the dark hallway. None that he could remember. The carpet was whole, but threadbare, and the floorboards squeaked as he passed. 

Kyle sighed to himself. What a shitehole to end up in. After he had opened the door for him and finally handed over the keys, the old man slunk off. He didn’t care. The man didn’t look like the type to follow him about as he pointed out the mold under the sink or the broken screens in the windows. Hell, just standing in the hall he could smell the tell-tale stale odor of a rushed clean out. Great, he thought stepping in the long dark hole that he now called home. Whomever had been so unfortunate to live here before him had probably never had to clean grout with a toothbrush. 

He threw his contract and keys on the counter, leaving the door to sway partially closed behind him. There was a window in the end room that called to him. He passed through the rest of the open space that served as a kitchen, dining, and living rooms. A tiny bump-out of a room (that turned out to be the bathroom) created a small hallway to the bedroom. There in front of him was his only portal to the outside world. It was his sole source of light now that the door had finally clicked back into place on it’s soggy hinges. He sighed in the darkness, hands braced on either side of the door jam as the reality of his situation swirled around and around in his head. 

It’s really come to this, he thought. Everything he’s worked for. His whole life. The pride he wore of being the youngest person to ever pass the SAS exam. The praise of his superiors on missions well completed. His rank. Standing there, staring at the dusty, empty room he would sleep alone in tonight, none of it mattered. Nothing mattered. 

He spun back on his boot, eyes cast low. Keep your mind on the present, he told himself. Wise words he’d been told when he was barely a man. The present, he thought with a long exhale as he made his way in a few steps back to his front door. His present, currently, was unloading his few possessions from the boot of his car. He swung door swung open, then let it close behind him, not bothering to lock it. He didn’t have much to rob, and even if someone was so desperate in this hellhole, they’d have to go through him to get it. 

In and out. In and out. The same pattern he’d done to move out only yesterday, but in reverse. Every box a struggle against terrible memories. He didn’t often buy things for himself. Why waste money when he was away so often? Still, he had gotten used to having a present or two waiting for him every time he got back: a personalized mug, baskets to organize his bathroom things in, a flag from one of the many countries he’d been deployed to. It was nice. Clutter to soften the edges of his usual spartan life. He grew quietly addicted to the deeper feeling that someone had bought something thinking he would like it; the feeling of being loved though the proxy of an object. 

Objects that were now just a reminder of her. 

He unpacked his few boxes in a quiet rage, everything a reminder that he was alone. Dishes and silverware for one. One toothbrush in the cup next to the sink. Only his clothes hanging in the closet. It was quick. Efficient. Just the way he knew himself to be. Now for the annoying part: furniture. 

Everything had happened so fast, and he’s gotten the flat quicker than he’d thought, so there was no one to help. He laughed a bit to himself. Who would he have even asked? Were they close enough to call each other friends? Was he enough of a git to really call in his work mates to help him move on a lark? No, besides, everyone was busy with their own lives, or, if cap was even an option: work. 

The storm cloud rumbling in his brain kept him occupied as he made the long trips from the storage shed he’d rented across town to the flat and back. He could only fit so much in his car, so the annoyance of having to stop his work to do more bloody driving quickly soured his mood even more. He stomped back and forth down the hallway, awkward pieces of furniture slung over his shoulder until he could heave it down in whatever room it belonged in. Not that it very much mattered. The rooms were so small that they looked packed already with his scant few pieces arranged haphazardly as they were. 

The thought of neighbors didn’t even register until after an hour or so later. He was making his bed when he heard the distinct sound of a box spring groaning in the apartment across the wall. He tensed when the realization hit him. The walls had to be thinner than shite for him to hear that, and he’d been throwing boxes and assembling furniture for hours. 

Get it through yer thick skull, Garrick, he told himself, mimicking the hard cadence and accent of his drill sergeant from, damn, not too many years ago. He shook his head, wiping his eyes as he looked out the grimy window on his new bedroom. Another thing on his long list to clean. The window faced out to an alley, but he could see a slip of blue sky past the endless brick walls. It made sense now, that he would hear people waking up on every side of him. Feet landed on the floor above him, sending a rain of dust from the ceiling. Thankfully, the brim of his hat cough most of it. 

He pulled his arms back, groaning as his back popped, easing the tension in his sore muscles. He needed a coffee, maybe a nice tea, something to wake him up, keep him going. He looked out at the scattered kitchen things he had yet to put away. He was feeling lazy, and it would be a pain to search through everything to make one cup of coffee. Coffee that he didn’t even have. He blew out a raspberry with his hands at his hips. Didn’t feel like making the journey to the shops either. A quick lift of his gaze brought him to his jacket, splayed over the tiny kitchen counter, a familiar packet in the right pocket.

“Smoke it is then,” he said to himself, self-satisfied smile curling his lip.

-

He leaned back against the brick as he forced the last of the smoke out of his lungs. It mingled with the lifting fog as it disappeared up into the sky. If his count was on, he was right under his own window. He looked up and back. It was a bit higher up the wall than he stood but if he got a good boost, he just might be able to grab onto the lintel, pull himself up, and peer inside. Just to confirm it was his flat, that is. His intentions were pure. He let his head fall back against the hard wall, the silly idea floating away as the nicotine coursed through his blood; chemicals calming him down as they always did. He let his eyes close for just a moment, but there’s no peace there to greet him. 

“Can’t spare a moment not in control, can you? Always have to know. Can’t let anything lie,” 

He knew that voice all too well. His ex. The woman that just left him. Of course he had let her slip back in the moment he let his guard down. If he kept his eyes closed he could have perfectly pictured her face the moment she had said it too. Teary, red rimmed eyes. Flushed cheeks. Eyebrows pushed together as she questioned why why why? 

If he was a better man he would have known that she was just lashing out, lashing out because she was hurt. She didn’t want to fight just to fight. Never had. He should have stopped. Should have walked away. Cooled down. Went out for a smoke. Instead, he engaged her instigation. Ever the good soldier, he went on the attack, defending himself from . . . from who? From her? 

He flicked his cooled butt into the alleyway. It didn’t matter. It was over. She had said as much last they talked. “I can’t be in a relationship with someone so . . . controlling, Kyle,” she had told him sadly before apologizing. He blew away the thought with a clean breath, the comfort of his smoke break gone. He checked his watch as he walked back to the metal, security locked door that led back in to the ratty hallway. He was wasting time thinking back on her, on everything. He had stuff to do and only a few more hours to spare until he had to leave again.

As he walked back through the musty hallways to his door, the smell of cooking, cigarettes, perfume catching him as he passed his neighbors flats one by one. A thought stuck in his head, keeping him from focusing. The thought of his ex, of all their fights, of everything that bothered her that he refused to face or change: it troubled him. The fact that he couldn’t face the truth. The truth that he wouldn’t let himself admit, not to her or himself, was that she was right. He did have to be in control. Always. He didn’t know why. He had figured a long time ago that it was just a part of who he was. 

He slid his key in the lock.

Kyle is always on top of things. Sgt. Garrick is always watching, always learning, always observing. Gaz will get it. Gaz knows. Gaz pays attention. Smart. Capable. Top of his class. 

He turned the key. 

How can he turn that off, after everything he’s seen, after what he’s done? He blew out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, releasing his iron grip on the door knob. God, what he would give to go back. To stop himself. To make things right-

“I’m trying t’ keep you safe!” he had yelled, “You don’t know what’s out there like I do!”

The door next to him opened, breaking him out of his thought. He stood bolt upright, his stomach tensing as adrenaline raced through his blood: a reaction ingrained in him until it was second nature. He stood silently, hand still on his own door, and watched as a man bumbled out of the door, shuffling on his coat as he ambled away toward the main door. 

Unobservant knob, he noted. Didn’t even notice I was here.

The door stayed open for an unnaturally long time. Maybe it was piece of shite just like his. He was about to investigate when a sweet voice, muffled only by the slowly shutting wooden door, called out, “Bye honey! Have a good day at work!”

The man either didn’t hear or didn’t care. No response returned. 

The woman kept the door open for a few more seconds, likely waiting for a wave or goodbye, before slowly letting it close back. A moment later, the door was pulled fully closed, latch shutting sadly into place. 

He opened his own door on autopilot. He followed the sound of your footsteps through the thin walls as you walked through your own flat. Something in the kitchen first, then down the hall and into the bathroom. You mumbled something. Something he could hear if he pressed himself a bit closer to the wall. Into the bedroom. Back to the bathroom. Bedroom. Hall. Quickly. You were rushing. A jingle of keys. Shuffling a coat on. Shoes against linoleum. 

The pace of his heart quickened, eyes dilating as he realized you were leaving. He had to see what you looked like so badly that it possessed him. If your voice was so light and sweet, he could only imagine what you looked like. 

Quick as a flash, he threw himself out his own grimy door. He made it out to the hall just before you. He leaned against the wood, keys in hand to make it look as if he was coming or going. Whatever you wanted to think worked for him. He kept is gaze low, eyes obscured by his baseball hat, as you opened the door and stepping into the hallway.

He had to keep himself from groaning when he saw you. You were indeed a cute little thing: no makeup except for mascara (maybe) and something shiny on your lips, a demure outfit of a practical skirt and sweater, a little heart locket glinted around your neck. You had your little purse tucked securely under your arm and a lunch bag around the other. You looked as sweet as your - fuck, he’d forgotten - your fucking boyfriend was an oaf. You even noticed him, unlike the dick you lived with. Your eyes met as you spun around to lock the door behind you, a short ‘oh!’ falling from your pretty, pursed lips. 

If it wouldn’t have been against every social norm, Sergeant Kyle Garrick, the best and youngest SAS Special Operative in the whole of the United Kingdom, would have dropped to his knees right then and there in that grungy hallway and begged you to run away with him. Fuck the boyfriend. He didn’t deserve you. Kyle did. 

You had an ethereal light about you, an incandescent bulb trapped in this godforsaken building. An angel trapped in purgatory. When you smiled, Kyle found himself smiling back. You shut your door, wafting your clean, fruity perfume toward him. It smelled like the entrance to the garden of Eden. 

“Hi there,” he found himself saying without forethought, “’m Kyle. Sorry for the noise earlier. Moving in today.”

You beamed another smile as your eyes traveled over him appreciatively. His smile curled devilishly up his cheek. That was something. 

“Hi,” you said soft and unsure, before giving your name. “You were no bother, Kyle.” 

Oh his name. The way you said his name. He could get very comfortable hearing that on the regular. 

“My boyfriend is a heavy sleeper,” you admitted with a short laugh, “His snoring probably drowned out any noise, so don’t feel bad. Even my cat didn’t wake up.” You stepped away, smothering your smile as you looked down the hall. “I’m sorry, but I really have to get to work-”

“Won’t keep you any longer then,” he said with a smoulder, observing the way you turned back to him with flushed cheeks, eyes darting around his face and frame. He knew the affect he had on women. It was almost too easy, sometimes. All he had to do was stand a little taller, flex his arms a bit, and the hungry ones came crawling out. If he could guess from the way you looked at him, oh baby, you had to be starving.  

You bit your lip as you bounced backwards, as if you were weighing your options. Stay and miss work, or leave and miss out. “Nice to meet you, neighbor!” you said backing down the hall. You flashed out a wave at the last second, and Kyle returned it. “See you later!” you called from down the hall.

Kyle stood there, smiling and waving until the outer door shut behind you. With his hand still gripping the doorknob, he leaned against the rough wood and thought on this turn of events. He had . . . a shiver ran up his spine: adrenaline withdrawal. Focus, Garrick. Focus, he urged himself. He had so much to do. Things to think about. Plans to draw up. He bit his lip until he felt a spike of pain. He wanted you, and he wouldn’t rest until he made it so.

[trickstersaint]

hey hi hello! first of all i'd like to say i took your patron saint uquiz and it. Changed my life unironically it's so good. i follow you now because every line in that quiz was a gut punch and i loved it. top tier hurt honestly

my question is this - i am a fanauthor. on the side i also write my own original fiction but i specialize in fanfic. Am I allowed to use your poetry for a reference folder? I wouldn't use your poetry in a fic without explicit permission and without linking back here of course, and I'd never use it for commercial work outside of maybe taking inspiration without copying, but I wanna have a ref folder of Things That Made Me Feel Things about a character. It's not planned to be public as of yet, it's just supposed to be a bunch of screenshots in my drafts, but I'd like to maybe one day make it public once the fic was complete. (I already have your blog linked in my drafts actually, so if it goes public I'm not gonna forget.) I just want to make sure you're comfortable with me using your poetry for fanfic of all things

It's cool if not and have a great day! I still think your poetry is great and evocative and all

hi, anon! you're all good, i prommy. so glad you like the quiz + the poetry, and i would always prefer people come and ask questions if they're uncertain! no trouble at all.

my general stance is that as long as it's clearly credited, i am totally cool with my work being used in personal projects. like you said, i've got a tag for the things that people make! i love to see what people create. if it's for a noncommercial creative project then i would say there's no need to ask beforehand (unless it would make you more comfortable to ask, in which case go ahead and i'll almost certainly say yes <3). my only thing is that if you post it, please tag me in it/send it to me so that i can reblog it here for people to see!

if there are any questions about using my work that anyone has, feel free to ask. i don't think i've got anything particular going on outside of common practice! same way you'd treat, like, a richard siken poem or smth: you wanna credit it so that people can find the source material, and make sure you're not using it for profit unless you have an understanding with that author. i trust you all to be decent about it <3 kiss kiss go out and make your cool little things so that i can be delighted and amazed with them

[aeolianblues]

the real fiction in a lot of band AU fics is the amount of time bands seem to have on the evening of a show!

[melancholic-pigeon]

Okay this is the *actual* last comment, for real, but I just found out Spider is now smearing me as a convert and accusing me of being involved with drama I was not involved with because he mistakenly attributed my apologies for his public temper tantrum as being about something unrelated.

THIS IS A FALSE ACCUSATION and I do not appreciate having yet another bit of fake malicious intent falsely ascribed to my actions and* attributing a completely unrelated attack to me.

Also, it's very sad and disappointing whenever a Jew gets mad at a convert because something else is going on in the Jew's life and the convert happens to be in the splash zone and the Jew falls over backwards to smear the convert and invalidate her faith.

Just....the childish aggression is making me so, so sad and disappointed, from someone I used to think very highly of, who is now lying about me and publicly smearing me with false accusations based on a conflict he started because he misinterpreted something I said and I went out of my way to give him the benefit of the doubt when trying to clear up the mistake HE MADE that led him to decide bullying and attacking me for three fucking days was appropriate and okay and that I'm the bad guy for saying it's wildly unprofessional to behave like this in public to a former customer face.

Sorry, but facts, reality, linear time and the truth of what I actually said and did are on my side here, and I will not stand for being smeared and attacked and shat all over because I had the gall to try to kindly resolve his uncalled for, unjustified temper tantrum.

I am also not sorry that I left a side note in the tags that it was also unacceptable for HIM to drag his daughter into a stupid internet slapfight based on his own reading comprehension failure. Because it was and is unacceptable, and she needs to hear that message from someone.

End of story. Keep digging that hole as long as you like, Spider. It's not helping your case and is continuing to make you look progressively worse and more unreasonable, and the only person you have to blame is yourself.

*revised for clarity

[encrucijada]

i need to talk about speak, prophecy more

[tinypinkmouse]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 镇魂 | Guardian (TV 2018) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan Characters: Shen Wei (Guardian), Zhao Yunlan Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Pre-Canon, Kissing, Dates, Apartment hunting, Light Angst, Young Zhao Yunlan - Freeform, Embarrassment, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Slight Misunderstandings Series: Part 3 of At First Glance Summary:

Dating Zhao Yunlan is not entirely without problems, but to Shen Wei it's all worth it.

[ossia-ombreggiata]

jack is so horrible that ppl seem to forget how horrible oswald is too (to jack as well yea) (what is jackwald if not two guys being utterly horrible to each other, endlessly?) subtly spreading my horrible person oswald agenda in each fic. first victim my beta reader

[saviourkingslut]

not to be about opera again but to be about opera again. as an art form it has the reputation of being super stuffy and something for snobs who don't know how to have fun only but honestly this was one of, perhaps even THE main theatrical entertainment for centuries. i wish people knew how hard these things can go and how engaging they can be. like characters kill and die and fight wars and (almost) commit human sacrifice left and right. characters fall in love they mourn they're ecstatic they cry they're furious it's an extremely dramatic and emotional art form! and i understand that opera does not appear approachable bc of the general conventions of the art form but i promise old works can be fun and engaging if you go watch them with some preparation beforehand (reading the libretto helps) - not to mention not all operas are old bc there are so many modern operas which engage with topical events! also the music slaps.

[gallifreyanconsultingphilosopher]

Hey! After almost a decade of not posting fic, I have posted something once again! Some smut in it, feel free to give it a read if you're curious! If you enjoy it a kudos and/or comment would be appreciated. Since I have AO3 this time so I uploaded it there.

[i-like-books-and-women]

I've been wanting to write but haven't had any real inspo and I've got a bunch of blank docs/half started fics that have song lyric titles that I could 100% work with I just need to figure out which one to work with first so yall get to pick :D

(Can you tell I like the fic titling convention of "majority of the lyric (second part of it)"?)