#gibbering about smut in the fics

[flowerandblood]

I don't like many of the authors' decisions here – sometimes their tropes, sometimes their choice of how they present events, dialogues, sometimes their characters, relationships between them or their appearance. It's not a bad thing. I have a right to feel this way.

But I would never tell them about it. Not because I don't have the courage to do it but because it would give them nothing, nothing good. You criticise when someone asks for it – when someone doesn't, then you should keep quiet.

Why? Because perhaps someone does not want this criticism and it's their right too. I, for example, don't care and I don't want to know how much someone dislikes something in my work. I don't need the fake appreciation of others, just as others don't need mine.

If I don't like someone's stories, I just leave them alone. God bless all of them! Write and be happy.

No one here is an oracle or judge, and some people feel that way. If you don't like what the authors are writing and their choices, give them a holy peace or else all you'll achieve is that they'll be discouraged from writing – they'll think: maybe nobody wants to read this after all, look at my characters, maybe it's pointless, maybe everyone thinks about me and my writing this way.

Sowing doubt and passive humiliation is very popular here for some reason and I find it incredibly annoying. People don't know when to shut their mouths and when their private opinion to which they are, after all, entitled hurts others, making them uncomfortable.

Our right to free speech should not cut someone's wings and mock them. This is an expression of disrespect and basic culture.

Not everyone has to want to change, to develop if it is not their profession but a simple hobby.

Anonymity does not make malicious gibberish sound any smarter, and a large audience or reactions under posts does not make anyone entitled to post an opinion in which they criticise works of others for their choices.

"Why do you write with only small letters? It's so annoying. This character would never do this, are you dumb? Aemond would never betray his family! Oh nooo, next Visenya on a big dragon? Why these OC's are so boring? Reader insert is just for you because you are desperate to fuck. Why do your OC is fat? Why do your OC is slim? Why do make your OC look like this, why won't you try something new? Why do you put Alys in your story as a third wheel when she is Aemond's real love interest?"

Shut. The fuck. UUUUUUP. GOD.

You say – you don't agree, don't read, I have a right to my opinion. Well, I say: your right does not absolve you from thinking about the feelings of others.

You are hypocrites. You cry and make a hiatus when someone sends you a nasty anon writing that you write crap, but you devote 2,000 words on your blog to why a certain trope doesn't make sense, why other authors don't have a right to make their OC's look the way they want.

What you write is not private, it's public. Who are you writing it to? Is it an expression of your frustration? Those you write it about can read it. They may feel very, very bad about it, they can think to stop writing at all or make themselves to do something against their will. But that's not your concern anymore, right?

Taking responsibility for your own words only when it's convenient for you is an expression of immaturity and that's what I see in this fandom – most people here are afraid of adulthood and the clash with it. Because in adulthood everything we do has consequences to face.

But it's easier to say that we simply have the right to express our opinion, no matter how hurtful and unfounded it may be.

I want to be clear – I will see anyone reblogging or write this kind of posts – I will block them. Even if I like you, if you are with me for a long time. I don't want to see this kind of toxic behavior on my wall ever again. Enough is enough.

[meteorrogers]

chocolate covered strawberries | r. d.

summary: a precious person like you was what had been missing in Ransom’s life. 

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

warnings: fluff only, language, implied smut maybe?, oh and beware of fucking soft!Ransom

word count: 3,479 (less or more)

a/n: well, i certainly didn’t expect it to be this long. anyway, this is a soft and ooc!Ransom fic, no spoilers because i follow practically nothing from the movie (at least i think). excuse my errors, please, and enjoy!!😊let me know what you think!!

Ransom is furious, driving home from another family gathering that couldn’t end any differently than with yelling, insults, and throwing things at each other. He has no idea why he‘s still going to these things, he always swears to himself that the next time will be the last time. Maybe somewhere deep inside of him, there’s still a sparkle of hope that one day he will have a normal conversation with his mom and dad.

He needs something to calm him down and while a drink and some bimbo he’d meet in a bar sound amazing, it is still early for that. On his way home, there is this bakery he‘s always liked to stop by because they have the best fresh-from-the-oven chocolate-filled croissants to ever exist. They are maybe even better than alcohol. Just maybe.

He leaves the coat in his car and heads towards the entrance. The bell above the door rings as he enters, taking his sunglasses off. The shop is quiet except for the soft chatter of the patrons that are occupying some of the seats. He doesn‘t even need to look at the display case with all the baked goods, he already knows what he’s having, so he heads directly to the counter to order.

After the cashier takes his order and disappears in the kitchen, Ransom slowly moves to the waiting counter where a young woman is chatting with the older man (Timmy, he thinks is his name) that owns the place together with his wife. The woman has a big genuine smile on her face and occasionally a beautiful laugh leaves her mouth when Timmy says something supposedly funny. Ransom has never seen her before. Maybe it’s not so early to charm his way into a woman’s bed after all. He gets closer and as Timmy hands her her order on a pink paper tray – two Halloween themed cupcakes, with white frosting, yellow and orange sprinkles and a little marzipan ghost sticking out – Ransom only hears their goodbyes.

You are still smiling, cheerful from the conversation you had with Timmy as you turn around, ready to leave, and enjoy the sweet treat on the way home. But you don‘t even have the time to react when you suddenly collide with a solid figure. You stumble a little, but strong hands on your shoulders steady you, which you don‘t even realize since your mind‘s only focus is on the mess you have caused. And just like that, your smile disappears.

“Oh my god,“ you gasp and your eyes widen as they scan the not-so-white-anymore cable-knit sweater covered in frosting and sprinkles. “Oh my god,” you repeat, a little louder this time. Panicking, you quickly dispose of the tray with crumbled cupcakes, taking an unnecessarily high number of napkins from the holder on the counter and trying your best to clean the beautiful cozy-looking piece of clothing.

You have yet to see the person’s face, either too embarrassed to look them in the eye or too concentrated on getting the crumbs out of the wool. Probably both.

“I am sorry.” You say, throwing the dirty napkins on the counter. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve been looking where I was going. I was still so absorbed in the conversation that I didn’t notice you,” Oh, god, here comes the downpour of babbles… „And I didn’t even hear you come behind me or maybe I wasn’t paying attention, that’s prob–“

Your gibbering is interrupted by the stranger’s hand circling your wrist, also stopping your frantic movements.

“Would you calm down? It’s just a sweater. I can buy a new one.”

You finally look up, your eyes meeting ocean-blue ones with hints of green around the pupils. His voice sounded empty, emotionless and you aren‘t sure if he is upset or just doesn‘t care.

“Oh,” slipping your hand out of his hold, you break the eye contact, the situation too embarrassing for you. You look at the mess on the countertop, the paper tray still laying there, dirty napkins scattered across the surface and some of them even found their way to the ground.

Shaking your head, you grab all the garbage, bend down to pick up the ones on the floor and throw it into the trash can situated in the corner.

You turn back to the man, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Um… Can I at least pay the cleaning bill?”

“It’s fine, really.”

He still hasn’t cracked a smile.

“Well, let me buy you something sweet then. What’s your guilty pleasure?” you smile again and look over his shoulder, studying the selection of desserts.

“I said it’s alright,“ he bites. “Besides, I already ordered.”

You don‘t expect him to snap at you like that so it kind of shocks you. Better let sleeping dogs lie…

“Okay,” you nod. “I’m sorry again,” you stuff your hands in your coat pockets and head out.

Ransom stands there, looking at your leaving form and he sighs. Shit.

When you bumped into him, he was really pissed that you ruined his clothes at first, but then you started apologizing, cleaning him and rambling . That infuriated him even more. Why the hell did you even care? It wasn’t even your sweater!

You were annoyingly sweet, which Ransom isn‘t used to at all. Sure, women are nice to him, giving him that fake sugary smile just to get into his pants. He never complains, of course, it makes getting laid much easier when they’re trying to get his attention, not the other way around. But it was just an act. The smile you gave Timmy was genuine and so was the concern about his sweater. How was he supposed to react?

His thoughts are interrupted by the young employee who took his order, signalizing his croissant is ready. He takes it and turns to leave, his face still painted with… confusion?

“Fuck.” He curses silently. You can‘t be far. If he hurries, he can still catch up to you and… apologize? He doesn’t know what he’s going to do, except for one thing.

He faces the cashier again. “Hey, could you give me two of those Halloween cupcakes? With the ghosts. And wrap it up. Quickly,“ his voice is intimidating, arrogant and the boy doesn‘t have the balls to argue so he just does as he is told. Ransom snatches the covered tray from the boy’s hands and sprints out.

He looks around and luckily sees you not so far away from the shop so he decides to add a jog to his steps as he follows your direction.

“Hey!” he yells to catch your attention, which he successfully does. You turn around, brows furrowed, stopping when you notice the man from the bakery.

He runs up to you and when he reaches the place where you’re standing, you open your mouth again.

“Oh, did you change your mind?” Your hand makes a move to reach into your bag. “Just say how much and I’ll –”

“No.” He interrupts and confusion becomes evident on your face again. “As I said, it’s fine.” You expect him to continue, to tell you why he stopped you in the middle of a street. But he just stands there, looking at you as if he expects you to say something.

See, when Ransom spontaneously came up with this great plan, he didn’t think it all the way through. He seriously didn’t know what he was going to do, so now, he is just awkwardly shifting on his feet as he contemplates what to say.

“Here.” He shoves the mini tray into your hands. You look at it and then back at him, still confused. „It’s the cupcakes you bought before my sweater decided to have a taste.“

Really? That’s the smoothest thing you could think of? Jesus, what is wrong with you?

But you laugh. And god, is that a beautiful sound. Wait, what?

“Thank you, that’s really sweet of you.” you smile and before Ransom can argue, you stick your free hand out. “I’m (Y/n).”

He closes his fingers over yours. “Hugh… I mean, Ransom.”

The smile doesn‘t leave your face. “Well, which is it?”

“Ransom, you can call me Ransom.”

“Nice to meet you, Ransom.”

You have known since the beginning that Ransom has some skeletons in the closet. Hence the rudeness when you first met and struggle of wording out an apology for his manners. He managed to apologize in his own way and that was okay with you. You know people who don’t even try, but Ransom? He did his best and for that, you gave him your number when he asked.

It didn’t take him long to call you and ask you out. You agreed.

When he asked you on a date, his plan was to take you out for a dinner in a luxurious restaurant, order some expensive wine to get you a little bit tipsy, and spend the night at your place. The next morning he would silently sneak out of your house, block your number and never see you again.

But you are here, sitting across from him, with that big smile on your face, wearing a lovely cream knee-length dress that shows just the right amount of skin which makes him horny and at the same time, he just wants to focus on not how hot, but how beautiful you look.

“So, tell me more about yourself,” you say after the waiter takes away the empty plates.

There is no way he will talk about how filthy rich he is, how his grandfather owns one of the most successful publishing companies and lives in a huge mansion in the rich part of town. No, he’ll save this information for the gold diggers.

“Well, you might know my granddad, Harlan Thrombey?” Okay, nevermind. “He owns Blood Like Wine?” In his defense, this is all he’s ever talked about with girls. He just needs practice. 

You nod. “Oh my God, yeah, of course, I know him! I mean, not know know him, but I’ve read some of his books! Just don’t ask me about them, I’m not exactly a number one fan.” you scrunch your nose and his mind tells him how adorable that is. Shut up, brain.

“Okay, I won’t.” he laughs genuinely. He always fakes laugh when he is on a date if you can even call the ones he’s been on that. “Besides, you can’t be a number one fan even if you wanted to, because that place is mine.”

“I wouldn’t assume anything else. Are you close with your granddad?”

He averts his eyes for a second and clears his throat.

Instead of answering, he throws the question back at you, his voice defensive, maybe a little too harsh. “Are you close with your granddad?”

The corners of your mouth slightly falter and you look down for a second before facing him again, “I was. He died when I was 15.”

“Oh.” Ransom’s face softens.

“But I loved him. Every Halloween, I’d force him to tell me scary stories all day and all night.” you smile at the memories. “You know, I’m sure he and your granddad would get along. He did come up with some pretty amazing tales.”

And suddenly, he is intrigued. “What was your favorite?”

You tell him about the cursed toy factory, how every Halloween all toys come to life and they stuff all the employees with plush so they become these living toys, too, and from all the anger, they do the same to the future workers the following year.

He laughs at that, agreeing that your grandfathers would indeed be good friends.

“I’m not that close with my granddad,” he says after a few moments of silence. What surprises him is your hand carefully coming to take his which was laying on the table. His eyes focus on your thumb that is stroking his knuckles as he continues. “I’m not close with anyone from my family, actually.” Why is he telling you that? Fucking stop.

He clears his throat and withdraws his hand, scratching the back of his neck.

“You ready to go?” he asks and you just nod.

He isn‘t in the mood for sex anymore, so he drops you at your place and speeds home. God, what are you doing to him? There is something about you that makes him want to open up to you, spill all of his secrets, desires and dreams.

It felt kind of good to tell you about his family, but to be honest, he is scared. He doesn‘t want another person that’s just going to treat him like a worthless piece of shit in his life. I mean, he is, but it would just make him even more shitty.

He’s decided. He is not going to see you ever again.

Then his phone beeps.

(y/n): I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable but I had a great time! I’d definitely be up for doing it again! You can tell me more about your family:)

He scoffs. Why the hell would you want to hear about his family when he told you he’s not close to them?

Then the phone beeps again.

(y/n): Or not! I mean, we can talk about whatever you want! But if you need someone to talk to, I’m here. That’s what I meant.

A smile involuntarily makes its way on Ransom‘s face. Maybe he will see you again.

Since you started spending a lot of time at Ransom’s house, he convinced you to bring some of your stuff. Some clothes, your favorite mug with a whale, saying mornings blow, books and a strawberry-scented shampoo which Ransom became to love.

Almost every morning you share a shower. Sometimes it escalates into a morning shower sex, but most of the time you try and fail to tame him, even though you remind him and yourself of all the times you’ve been late for school, which he doesn’t really care about, to be honest.

You head to the bathroom first, because it takes time for him to get out of bed. After a while, he joins you under the stream of water, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind as he kisses you where your neck meets your shoulder and licks the drops of water from your skin.

You sigh in contentment, putting your arms over his and enjoying the relaxing moment.

Seconds pass and you turn around, taking the bottle of your shampoo while doing so, squirting some into your palm, and the scent of strawberry fills your nostrils. As usual, you bring your hands into his hair, massaging the liquid into his skull and he closes his eyes in bliss, humming.

“You enjoying yourself?” you smirk.

He opens his eyes again and smiles, those butterflies in your stomach coming to life.

“You know I do.” He leans in to kiss you, your arms circling his neck. His hands slide to your butt, kneading the flesh before they grip the back of your thighs but when you are about to jump, he shrieks.

“Shit!” he backs up and his back hits the opposite wall.

You panic, not knowing what’s happened. “What?! Baby, what happened?” You come to him and his fingers are already rubbing at his eyes.

“My eyes! My eyes!” He screams. “I can’t see shit!”

You suppress a laugh, reaching up to remove the hair from his face and wipe away the suds. Then you reach for the detachable showerhead, turn down the temperature, and put it in his hand.

“Here, baby, you have to rinse them.”

He does just that, moans still leaving his mouth at the stinging.

After he finally manages to get all the chemicals out of his eyes, you can‘t hold it anymore. You burst out laughing, unable to stop and he just stares at you with a scowl, putting the showerhead back into its place.

When he turns to leave, you grab his wrists.

“Oh, baby, come on.” you wipe the mixture of water and tears from your eyes. “Don’t leave me here all alone.”

He frowns, his bottom lip sticking out just a little bit. “Might as well. I’m not gonna let you make fun of me.”

The grin is still on your face but you stand on your tiptoes and kiss his pout away. Ransom immediately reciprocates the kiss, pushing you against the wall.

“It hurt,” he says in between the touches of your lips.

“I know, baby,” you say. You pull away and smirk. “Is there a way I can make you feel better?” your suggestive tone hits his ears before you’re sliding down the wall to your knees.

Thank God he didn’t leave the shower.

It’s Friday night and you are watching TV this time in your apartment. Ransom still hasn’t come home from the mansion where he’s spent most of the day, as well as his family. He’s been working with Harlan for quite a while now which boosts up his confidence (not arrogance, there’s a difference) a little and it makes him feel better about himself, proud even, that he‘s finally useful. However, Walt has been giving him shit for it ever since Harlan gave Ransom a chance to be the Acquisitions Editor (of course, he has been pestering him long before that, but now it’s even worse).

Ransom can defend himself, you’re not worried about that, but his family brings out the worst in him, they push him into this dark place that is hard to find a way out of and sometimes you’re afraid that it will destroy him. That’s why you’ve promised yourself that you’re always going to be here for him, no matter what.

And as you expected, you hear your door being unlocked and then slammed shut with a force. He doesn’t even jokingly call out his honey, I’m home! which he never forgets to do. Uh-oh. Doesn’t look good. But again, you didn’t expect anything else.

He comes to the living room, strands of his hair sticking in every direction and falling over his forehead.

“Jesus, why’s it so hot in here?” he takes off his maroon sweater, revealing his plain white t-shirt underneath.

“It’s winter and cold. You expect me to have snow in here, too?”

He just shakes his head, coming to the back of the couch as you crane your head to give him an upside-down kiss. Then he heads to the kitchen, searching the cabinets for something to eat, meanwhile, you turn off the television.

“There should be three croissants in the breadbox!” you say loudly enough for him to hear.

“You want one, too?”

You answer with a no and wait for him.

When he comes back to the living room, he sits next to you and leans his back on the armrest. You’re already looking at him, watching his every move, and trying to see a sign of any emotion he might be feeling. He gives you a knowing look and you shift so you are fully facing him, putting your hand gently on his bent knee and lightly stroking it in a comforting way.

“Three, huh?” he asks with his mouth full.

“Just in case it went really bad.” you give a nervous smile, waiting for him to either confirm or rebut.

Seeing the crumbs fall from his mouth, you reach for the plate that is on the coffee table and give it to him.

“Well... nothing I’m not used to.” he takes another bite of the chocolate pastry. Once he swallows, he takes your hand and kisses your palm. “I love you.”

You smile and lean towards him, supporting yourself by putting both hands on his thighs as you kiss him on the lips that now taste like cocoa.

“I love you, too,” you murmur against his mouth.

After Ransom finishes the pastry, instead of going for more food, he lies down, putting his head in your lap. It‘s kind of a ritual now, every time he comes home (his or yours, wherever you are) after visiting his family, he satisfies his sweet tooth (sometimes it’s 1 croissant, sometimes it’s 5), then he sprawls his body on the couch and rests his head on your thighs, nuzzling his face into your stomach while you thread your fingers through his hair and read a book or watch the TV.

“You want to talk about it?” you ask softly.

You stroke his ear with your thumb. He stays quiet and then sighs.

“Later.”

You bend down as much as your position allows you to, placing a few kisses on his temple and across his cheek before you let him drift off to sleep.

You are Ransom’s safe place, just like he’s yours and always will be.

the end

a/n2: so, ehm... *crickets chirping* okay! i have a thing for fucked up guys who i believe can change if you show them a little bit of love, sue me! no but seriously, Ransom is an asshole and he would probably shove the rest of the cupcakes into my face but a girl can dream, right?

anyways, i do have some ideas for part 2 even if it looks like this doesn’t necessarily need a second part..? it could probably be read as a stand-alone but i’ll see if i even decide to post it lol.

thank you so much for reading, any kind of feedback will be appreciated!🥺❤️i love you, guys!!

oh and my other work can be found under #writer luci !!

[contraststudies]

Thank you for tagging me, @tawnyontumblr​! I’m very bad at doing these writer meme things, so here goes nothing.

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

45 and counting!

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

376,429. Holy moly that is a fuck ton of words (I only properly started posting on AO3 last May iirc).

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Four: Critical Role, Good Omens, Hades, and Kill La Kill.

4) What are your top five fics by kudos?

This list is bookended by two PWPs, which I find hilarious given that I seem to have misplaced my smut brain cell sometime in the last couple of months.

On The Matter of Traffic Violations (Good Omens, E)

“Officer Fell,” Crowley says, and leans forward, enough to give Fell a good view of his décolletage. He tilts his head in the way he knows people find deliciously coquettish, glad that he’d had the foresight to apply some mascara before heading out. “I’m so very sorry about this,” he says, looking up at the officer through his lashes. “It’s late, you know, no cars around… Didn’t notice how fast I was going, that’s all.”

[Or: Crowley flirts his way out of a traffic violation.]

Unbinding (Critical Role, T)

This is a great honor, Essek reminds himself, trying not to recoil as fingers run through his hair, working through the tangles. A braid is made of three strands, symbolizing the inextricable bond between the soul, the den, and the Luxon. A recognition of an achievement by the drow who bears it. With each braid, the soul is bound ever closer to its den and to the Luxon.

It is a lesson Essek learned long ago, but one he is never permitted to forget.

[Or: the story of why the Shadowhand wears his hair cropped short.]

No Church In The Wild (Good Omens, E)

The stem of the wineglass in Aziraphale’s hand snaps cleanly in two, but no one seems to hear it—every eye in the room is trained on the redheaded dancer sashaying to the gleaming silver pole, centre stage for all to see.

Oh, Aziraphale thinks faintly. Good lord.

[Or: the one where Aziraphale gets assigned to the red light district.]

abide gold with me (Critical Role, T)

“Okay, Cay-leb,” Jester says, stretching out the syllables affectionately. “You sit right here so we can watch you and Essek try an orange for the first time.”

The Primal Scene (Good Omens, E - a collab with @lookitsstevie​!)

Harriet notices that there’s a crack of light at the end of the hallway coming from the door to the library, and her mood brightens considerably. Perhaps the tutors are still here, putting together their lessons for the next day before they leave for the night. She leans down to pick up a piece of cloth that’s fallen on the rug. Her breath catches in her throat when she realizes what it is – a necktie with a familiar tartan pattern.

She nearly drops the tie in shock at the unmistakable sound coming from the closed door of the library. A sharp, quickly stifled moan.

[Or: Harriet Dowling accidentally bears witness to divine ecstasy.]

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try. I really do. My friends (and maybe some of my readers) know that this is difficult for me, mainly because any sort of recognition reduces me to a gibbering pile of tears. I’m working on it though, even if it does take me a million years to respond to anything on AO3. 

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

God, which one do I choose. I have been referred to as an angst gremlin for a very good reason. I’m gonna go with The Remains of the Day, a Good Omens fairy tale AU I wrote loosely based on Bluebeard.  

7) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I HAVE. I wrote philtatos, a crossover of Good Omens and The Iliad/The Song of Achilles. It’s the only crossover I’ve ever written, unless we’re counting Variations of an Arrangement, which could loosely count as a crossover of the book/radio/TV versions of Good Omens.

8) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I have not. And hopefully never will.

9) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I do, and it’s usually of the angst with a happy ending variety.

10) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Hm. How do we define stealing? Just kidding. The short answer is no.

11) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

12) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Got one in the works for Critical Role!

13) What’s your all time favourite ship?

Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes was actually the first ship I ever really got into, and they’ll always have a special place in my heart even if I never wrote anything for that fandom. Crowley/Aziraphale from Good Omens of course, and more recently Caleb Widogast/Essek Thelyss from Critical Role.

14) What’s a WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Variations of an Arrangement. I loved writing it, and I still want to finish it one day, but it took a lot of brainpower to write and keep track of the plot and I feel like it’s beyond me, at least right now.

15) What are your writing strengths?

I… hmm. Judging by the way people are always yelling at me in their comments, I guess it’s that I can write stories that make people feel things very deeply.

16) What are your writing weaknesses?

I repeat words so often, it’s embarrassing. I use too many “-ly” adverbs. Also, I find myself using the same turns of phrase across several fics lmao.

17) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Language is a tricky thing. I don’t want to bore you with discourse. I try not to write dialogue in a different language (especially if it’s not one I speak myself) unless it’s absolutely called for, or if they’re just basic phrases and I’m 100% certain I won’t be getting it wrong. I have read fics where this was done very well though, and I’ve found that it really adds to the atmosphere in those cases.

18) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

It was for this old anime called Princess Tutu. I danced ballet when I was younger and loved it so much – I believe I was only twelve at the time?? But I think the fic may still be floating around on FF.net somewhere.

19) What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

I wrote philtatos in a four-day fever dream. It’s not the most technically perfect fic I’ve ever written or anything like that, but I think it’s the one that reveals the most about who I am as a person. That is an incredibly cheesy thing to say, I know. I always joke that posting that fic felt like offering my still-beating heart on a silver platter to the void, but there you are.

For Critical Role, surprisingly enough it’s this ficlet I wrote called sinners, a small bite of Shadowdrei where I was parsing my ideas on Astrid and Eadwulf’s dynamic and where they stood when it came to Bren/Caleb and Essek. I didn’t realize how fully formed my thoughts were until I wrote that. Fascinating what your own writing will show you about the things that are in your mind.

Tagging with no pressure whatsoever: @naromoreau @jenanigans1207 @saretton @theseedsofdoom @musegnome!

[thewollfgang]

in 2021 we stan people being proud of their accomplishments! post your five (or more) favorite fics that you've ever written and anonymously pass this on to as many of your fav writers as you want. let's begin this new year by showering ourselves and each other with love and pride and good thoughts, we all deserve it!

hell yeah we fucking do! 

1. my definition of the holy (changes with each loss)

So she prays. Awkwardly, at first. Sending thoughts and whispers through the void with holy words that feel clunky in her mouth. But gradually it gets easier. Ella hesitantly offers some guidance, swiftly amending it to past tense. Regardless, Chloe appreciates the gesture.

She’s almost constantly thinking about him, talking to him. Dear Lucifer...

This one was written in a blur of tears and pure emotion, even though canon has moved on, this fic and the remembrance of the emotional state post s-4 stays with me.

2. if you saw all of me

Chloe scrambles upright, her human hindbrain gibbering in sheer panic as she struggles against the impulse to press her back against something solid and hold perfectly still like startled prey. It’s a creature that resembles anything familiar in only the barest terms in that it’s vaguely…person shaped.

This was an exercise in the incomprehensible (and also in stretching out my vocabulary). Building an ‘angelic true form’ for Lucifer, having Chloe be witness to him and truly see him an, even further, love him, was so wonderful and intense. I also got to experiment with a little bit of Monster!fucking, which was a new experience. 

3. your body will haunt mine

“I have an idea," Chloe says suddenly, sounding grave.

He's only half turned towards her when she's upon him, attacking the buttons of his shirt.

“What are you doing?” he asks, alarmed.

“They never got a good look at us. Who’s going to think twice at a couple having sex in their hotel room?” she asks, backing him up slowly towards the bed.

Lucifer chokes on air. “I’m sorry, I didn't quite get that. It almost sounded like you said, ‘having sex’.”

This was my first foray into writing some intense smut (my guesses at smut when I was writing fic at 15 were never published and do not count). The first chapter merely plays with the concept, which is all that I was comfortable with, at the time. A year later I added a second chapter and explored that avenue of story telling. The response was, and is, incredibly flattering. 

4. a softer beginning

After a terrible injury leaves Lucifer without his memories of his life on earth, his past in hell, or the Fall, it's up to Chloe to piece him back together.

My first completed long!fic!!! I am still so, so proud of this work and the story it tells. The dive into Samael and what that means, who that person IS. Separating what Lucifer is intrinsically and what he is as a response to trauma. Who is Lucifer without the Fall? It took me 64k words to figure it out, but this is, by far, the fic that I am MOST proud of. 

5. the heart is a fist

Matthew casts a look towards Mister Sharpe, trying to get a read on the man. Clayton is cold, but not in the way a stray bullet is cold. Clayton is the first snap of winter, the crush of peppermint under your teeth. His grey eyes meet Matthew’s and hold. The revolver is offered in Matthew’s direction, handle first.

.

Matthew dreams of cold hands and grey skies. He tries not to think about why.

.

The Dealer grins at him, disembodied hands shuffling cards again and again. An incessant staccato of sound that seems to echo and fold back on itself.

The voice comes from nowhere and everywhere, burrows into his mind like serpent. “What would you give to have him?”

deviating from Lucifer fic for a moment with this one. This story is also a completed long!fic, though not as long as asb. I’m really really proud of this one, because I was stepping into a new fandom, trying a new ship, and juggling a whole cast of characters that all received more ‘on screen’ time than my other stories. This fic is probably one that I could, potentially, see myself turning into an original fiction down the line. (with added worldbuilding to support it, since i borrowed brian w foster’s). I had an absolute delight writing it.

[fanfickittycat]

The Price

TITLE: The Price CHAPTER NUMBER/ONE SHOT: Chapter 3 AUTHOR: fanfickittycat CHARACTERS/PAIRING: Roman Godfrey x OC GENRE: Romance, Smut FIC SUMMARY: Ginger makes a deal with popular bad boy Roman, if he helps her up the social ladder by pretending to be her boyfriend then she’ll be his dog in return RATING: M AUTHORS NOTES/WARNINGS: In which Ginger and Roman don’t speak until their relationship is put to the test 

The day had started off quietly. I had sulked all weekend and the sight of Roman pulling up in his stupid, fancy car didn’t stop me from continuing the silent treatment. I thought he’d maybe call or text at the very least to say sorry; maybe even turn up to the ice cream shop I worked in to tell me in person that he wanted to apologise but instead I heard nothing. The next I saw of him was his car pulling up outside my house, and I dodged the questions from my nosey mother who had been desperate for details on this mystery boy and his beautiful car. I continued sulking all the way to school which didn’t mean anything to him because he kept quiet too. It only irritated me more. I went to History feeling too angry to concentrate, and instead doodled in my notebook. The only thing I could really draw were wolves, after an angsty pre-teenhood of being obsessed with Twilight. The results were scratchy pictures of angry wolves, baring their teeth and howling at a non-existent moon.

I felt listless all day; unable to stop my stomach from churning and my mind from wandering as I sat in class, effectively sleeping with my eyes open. When lunch drew nearer I wondered if I should seek Roman out, but I was still nursing my wounded pride and instead started walking briskly to nowhere in particular. I wasn’t sure if it was my conceited imagination or actual fact, but I felt like everyone’s eyes were on me. Whispers brushed past me and made me feel uneasy because I couldn’t tell if they were real or if I was paranoid. I ended up escaping into the library and disappeared into an aisle to stare at some books and try to calm down.

Someone cleared their throat near me and I looked up to see Theo standing there in the same hoodie he was wearing yesterday “you okay?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine” I gibbered unconvincingly, I brushed a hand through my hair to look more normal but Theo didn’t seem convinced.

“It’s okay if you’re not” he said softly “I saw you yesterday, y’know, crying. You ran into me.”

I felt mortified “Sorry, it’s uh, just stuff. Stupid stuff.”

“Godfrey stuff?” I tried to look nonchalant and shrugged, refusing to look Theo in the eyes even though he was being really nice right now. I wondered what it would be like to have Roman being the same; soft and caring but quickly abandoned the thought when I caught myself.

“I don’t really want to talk about it here” I said, feeling acutely aware of how quiet it was and unsure if Theo was even the person I should be confiding in. I wasn’t friends with Theo but I’d known him for pretty much my entire academic life, which was sort of comforting considering I didn’t have any real friends.

We ended up walking outside and avoiding the newly formed puddles. The parking lot was pretty vacant, save for a few people who were only here to avoid the scrutiny of the teachers and have a smoke break. I coughed, still not used to the burning smell, and watched Theo stick his hands in his pockets.

“They say the weather is going to get better” he offered, and when it didn’t elicit a response from me he sighed “you don’t have to pretend with me okay?”

“Pretend what?” I felt my heart thump, almost painfully, against my ribs as I fizzled with anticipation of what he was going to say. Would he confess that he had feelings for me? That I could let my guard down with him the way I couldn’t with Roman? Was it bad to want that?

“You and Godfrey. I know you’re not really dating.”

I swallowed nervously but tried to look neutral even though my face felt hot “why do you say that?”

Theo shrugged “He doesn’t date anyone and honestly? You’re not… special enough to get his attention, let alone keep it.”

“Wait, what?”

“That came out wrong” Theo said and rubbed his eyes while I stood statue still, feeling more and more upset “I just mean, like, why would he date you?” He gestured at me and I tried my best to keep my feelings down my throat, but Theo’s comments only clicked into place with Roman’s like a cruel jigsaw puzzle.

“don’t pretend like you’re nothing but a desperate attention whore.”

“Is this what I look like to everyone?” I said, my voice cracking as the emotions swelled inside of me. Theo’s figure became blurred as the tears filled my eyes and I blotted them quickly with the back of my hand and sniffed. I felt ugly and exposed. Theo touched my shoulder and I shook him off, half way between being angry and sad.

“Oh jeez, Ginger, I’m sorry but it’s just the truth isn’t it?” Theo said “the relationship is fake isn’t it? I don’t know if Roman has something on you or whatever, but you don’t have to sell yourself out for him like this.” I felt speechless though later I would think of a hundred things to say back, and instead trembled like a fragile leaf in autumn. I closed my eyes, tears squeezing themselves out of my eyelids as he continued “you only look pathetic to everyone now, but if you left him and kept your head down instead then maybe people would actually like you an-“ I snapped my eyes open when Theo’s talking was cut off with the sound of his cry.

I stared wide eyed as Theo’s lip was coloured crimson with his blood, and Roman’s knuckle was stained the same hue of red. For the second time that day I wasn’t able to say anything; I tried to approach Theo but he only backed away, looking more bewildered than anything.

“Roman?” I kept trying to form a sentence but I was so shocked that no word other than his name escaped my lips. He put his arm around me, gripping me so tightly that I understood it as his silent command to keep quiet.

“What the fuck, Godfrey?” Theo had recovered from his state of shock, but his lip was still bleeding profusely and he had to use the sleeve of his hoodie to try and soak it up. It was not a pretty sight.

“That’s my girl you’re making cry” Roman seethed “you stay away from her, asshole” his jaw was tense as he spoke, and his lips curled back in a snarl. He turned around, forcing me to turn with him and his grip didn’t let up even when we were out of Theo’s sight. He pulled me with him into one of his small, secret corners where he let me go finally.

I watched Roman light a cigarette. He offered it to me but I declined “you know I don’t smoke.”

“It’ll help.”

I hesitated and then took it gingerly between my fingers, ghosting my lips over it and taking a breath only to cough and splutter it out seconds later. Roman’s lips tugged at one end; obviously amused by my loss of my smoking virginity. He took it back, showing off by blowing a ring.

“What was that?”

“What was I meant to do? He was making you cry.”

I frowned “you made me cry too, why don’t you punch yourself in the face?”

“Careful dog” Roman warned “I’m your owner, I get to speak to you how I like and other people don’t… But” he exhaled a cloud of smoke “maybe I was a little harsh.”

“Are you apologising?” I couldn’t help but smile; excited by this half victory that I was getting after a dismal day. The sunlight was sharp after days of clouds and Roman squinted as the rays hit his face.

“Don’t get used to it” he said, sitting on the floor to escape the sun, though the light still managed to find him and illuminate the back of his head. I joined him on the floor, holding my breath when my knee touched his but he didn’t seem to care.

“Well thanks for standing up for me.”

“You should learn to stand up for yourself, you worry too much about what other people think about you.”

“You could just say you’re welcome.”

“Dogs don’t tell their masters what to do” he said, but he let his hand stroke over my hair, an action he only did when other people were around. I thought maybe this was the turning over of a new leaf but then Roman, as per usual, ruined it by tugging my hair, not hard enough to really hurt but enough to make me wince ‘ow!’. He only smirked in response and I took back my claim. Maybe he wouldn’t change that much, but something had shifted, even if I couldn’t quite name it.

[thestuckylibrary]

any fics involving/revolving around steve and/or bucky's internalized homophobia? (no smut pls!) thank u !!!

you mean how i worked out a lot of my own internalized homophobia? hell yes i do

Facts About the Moon by Nanoochka

Barnes sees him sketching birds in the back garden or doodling caricatures on napkins, even idly tracing shapes and patterns in the margins of the morning newspaper while he sips his coffee. Steve doesn’t bother to hide the sketchbooks filled with innocuous subjects or half-drawn comic panels, not even the ones containing profiles of Wilson or Agent Romanova, nor those of Agent Carter or their old compatriots from the war. Those he leaves strewn about for anyone to find, hiding in plain sight.

Never Barnes, though; never Bucky. His rendering is as utterly absent from Steve’s sketches as the Winter Soldier is from history.

Sincerely, Your Pal by lettered

“[…] lesbians and gay men writing letters to their lovers and friends faced the special problem of wartime censorship. Military censors, of course, cut out all information that might aid the enemy, but this surveillance made it necessary for gay and lesbian correspondents to be careful not to expose their homosexuality. To get around this, gay men befriended sympathetic censors or tricked others by using campy phrases, signing a woman’s name (like Dixie or Daisy), or changing the gender of their friends. Sailors became WAVEs, boyfriends became WACs, Robert became Roberta. There must exist, hidden in closets and attics all over America, a huge literature of these World War II letters between lesbians and between gay men that would tell us even more about this important part of American history.” - Coming Out Under Fire: The History of Gay Men and Women In World War Two, by Allan Berube

The heart is hard to find by haipollai

Steve is gorgeous, tall and blond and built like a football player. And he talks to Bucky like a real person, not some caricature to appease. The thought of him getting up makes Bucky panic slightly. “No! That’s not-” He blushes and kills time by drinking his coffee. “I’m not- I don’t know-”

“It’s ok.” Steve smiles and Bucky gets the feeling he understands despite Bucky’s gibbering. “Do you want me to go?”

“No, stay. Gotta start somewhere, right?”

The Myth and the Man by togina

Tony gives Steve a copy of his own legend, as written by the Howling Commandos. Of course, the legend is built around the silences - and the silences all wear Bucky’s face.