#i love writing & talking about writing choices

[wtfaniii]

Hi! I bring you this final part! Thank you for your support, readings and love.🤎

N/A: I have pending orders and I hope to complete them as soon as possible. I will upload one of them this afternoon. Thanks for your support!!

PAPARAZZI

Hwang In-ho x reader

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Summary: A private detective that Gi-hun had hired to investigate those games he participated in three years ago, is taken against her will without knowing that a certain man with power and money knew absolutely every detail about her.

Warning: Blood, violence, kidnapping and some romance, I was listening to Lady Gaga's Bad Romance while writing this, sorry not sorry

Note: This would be the last part, if were to resume it I would do so when the third season comes out, thank you for your love!

The plan to escape through the ventilation ducts would be carried out that night, after playing the third game.

"Players, the third game is about to begin, everyone is asked to wake up and prepare" the female robotic voice spoke from the speaker.

The girl smiled as she saw that the piece of metal had in his hands had finally taken the shape that would be quite useful to her.

—I did it... —Her murmur with a radiant smile.

—¿You did what? —001 asked, approaching her with curiosity, as if he hadn't heard anything of the conversation she had with 388 during the night.

—The key to get out of here —She said proudly, showing off the piece of metal.

In-ho put on a confused expression, but deep down he was more than fascinated and intrigued, as well as anxious for night to come and for her to execute the "escape."

—Trust me, we will get out of here.

He gave her a silent smile.

As they left the room to be taken to the next game, In-ho stayed behind to talk to one of the guards with the triangle symbol. —455 will try to escape tonight through the ventilation ducts, keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn't, then she'll be taken out of the game, ¿understood?

—Yes sir —replied, giving a brief reference, then he left to catch up with the group.

The next game would be called "mingle" and it was for groups.

The game consisted of grouping up every time the robotic voice said the number of players that had to get together and take one of the small rooms that were scattered around the place, the platform would spin before this so you are probably a little dizzy.

—If the number is more than six, we'll take the other players —Gi-hun said.

—¿What if the number is less than six? —Dae-ho asked with some uncertainty.

—We're split up, but we mustn't lose our patience— Young-il said seriously. —You two try not to get away from us —added looking at Jun-hee and the girl, who both nodded.

When the platform began to spin and the children's song started to play, the tension in the atmosphere was present, once again the girl was afraid of dying so inevitably her hands trembled, In-ho noticed this and without thinking much he took one of her hands with his.

—Trust me, we'll get out of here —He repeated the same words she had told him, making her smile.

The first stop was ten, that was easy, they met up with another group of four with players 120, 007, 149 and 097

The second was four, In-ho never let go of the girl's hand. —You four go, we two will look for others —He stated confidently.

She felt pretty safe with him so she didn't refuse, once again it was easy to find another partner and get to a room on time.

The third was three participants per room, once again it was simple, the girl was Gi-hun and Young-il but when they were dividing she was knocked down by another player.

In-ho opened his eyes searching for her in the crowd as Gi-hun called out to her but seeing that the timer was about to end they had no choice but to run and carry player 149 who was standing alone in the middle of all the chaos.

Meanwhile, the girl was stunned, looking for someone to go with to save her life when suddenly someone arrived and practically pulled her by the arm with brute force straight into a room. When the timer came to an end, she saw both players.

—Thank you very much.

Player 333 nodded, taking deep breaths.

She would remember him number, he had practically saved her life and she would make sure to do the same once she managed to get out of there for help.

Coming out of the cubicles, the first thing In-ho did was look for her with his eyes and when he saw her coming towards them, a sigh of relief left his lips, a reaction he never thought would have in a long time.

It felt strange to feel the anguish of another person's life again, especially that of a girl he knew as well as the back of his hand but hadn't spent enough time with, it was as if she had gotten into his head and heart without him realizing it.

When least expected it, he was already hugging her.

—Sorry for letting go of your hand.

—I'm fine... —The girl sighed, gladly receiving the gesture —He saved me —She added turning to see 333 who was a short distance away, watching them in silence.

He didn't care who had done it, he was just grateful that she was still there, although his triangle team had orders not to kill her, it was impossible to deny the immense concern he felt.

Finally, teams of two had to be formed, the participants fought to survive and this time, In-ho made sure not to lose the girl at his side.

In-ho grabbed a man who was about to enter the empty cubicle and pushed him back, allowing her to pass through, but she froze when she saw another player there.

—Get out —Young-il demanded firmly, staring at the man.

But seeing that the player refused, he rushed towards him, the girl stayed at the door preventing anyone else from entering.

When the timer was coming to an end, the only sound of a 'crack' reached the young woman's ears, she turned around in fear, but when she saw Young-il alive sighed and dropped to the ground tiredly.

She didn't judge him, her knew that humans naturally attacked when felt in danger.

[...]

The third vote had concluded, the circles and crosses had been tied so the elections would be repeated the following day.

But she couldn't bear another day, these games changed people, she saw it in Young-il and her didn't want someone good to get his hands dirty like that again.

Or at least that was the image she had of the man.

She couldn't stop watching him intently as chatted with Gi-hun, he was a gentleman, kind and sociable man but seeing him in that cubicle killing a man by breaking his neck in one move to save them both made her heart beat like never before.

She was fascinated by riddles and had a hunch that this man was one that needed to be solved. She didn't know, but her intuition told that Young-il was a poker face.

But for now, her needed to execute his plan.

She got up from where was and walked to the bathroom, there were only a couple of hours left until nightfall and she didn't want to walk around that island in the dark.

—Oh no, she's going to do it —Dae-ho muttered nervously as he watched her walk away.

—¿What is she going to do? —Gi-hun asked.

—Will try to escape and go for help.

The group looked at her with concern as she entered the bathroom and the two guards continued to guard the entrance.

She walked over to the toilet, pulled down the lid and stood on it to reach where the vent was, using the deformed piece of metal to remove the screws.

A proud smile formed on her lips as she was able to remove the lid and push herself up with his feet to begin climbing through the duct. ¿Could this be a dream? Judging by the fresh air she perceived in his nose these ducts would lead her to an exit to the outside.

But before she could declare victory and move forward faster, she felt two hands grab her by the ankles and pull back, back to his nightmare.

—¡No! ¡Please no! —She screamed, digging her nails into the metal of the duct as if that would stop, but she only managed to hurt own fingers a little.

When the guard with the triangle mask had her in hin arms and held tightly, she hit him in the stomach with his elbow to free herself.

She ran to the bathroom door to get out of there but as soon as touched the handle she was shot in the leg causing to fall and scream in pain.

Her scream mixed with the gunshot caught the attention of the players outside, it caught In-ho's attention, they weren't supposed to shoot her.

Meanwhile inside the bathroom she was bleeding and crying in pain and fear, she believed that this was end but another guard entered the bathroom and stuck a needle in her neck forcing her to fall into the subconscious.

"Player 455, eliminated" said the robotic voice over the speaker, leaving her fellow players bewildered and sad.

Gi-hun stood up and walked towards the guard guarding the bathroom and shouted angrily, followed by In-ho.

—¿What did you do to her? She wasn't playing! ¡You killed her!

The triangle raised his gun and pointed it at him to get to back off.

—She tried to escape and that will not be tolerated.

—¡That's not fair! You're only eliminated if you lose one of these games —Young-il yelled at them, putting on a little drama show just enough for the guards to get him out of there too so could see the girl.

When the doors opened and more guards entered carrying a black box with a huge pink bow through the door In-ho paled, he had given a specific order, it was just to take her out of the games, not kill her.

—¡You killed her! —he shouted at them this time a little more excitedly as watched the triangles take the girl out of the bathroom and place her in the box to later close it —¡These weren't the rules! ¡I demand to see your leader!

The guard nodded and asked him to follow him, once out of sight of the other players In-ho glared at his worker waiting for an explanation.

—She's alive, just sedated, we thought this was the best way to get her out without raising suspicion.

The feeling he had a few moments ago was like torture but also a small flash in his dark heart, after so long he had not felt such a whirlwind of emotions since his wife.

[...]

In him golden room, in the middle of the bed, the girl rested, with a bandage on her leg and wearing more comfortable clothes, a white blouse and grey pants.

The front man walked through the door and sighed at the sight of her there, leaving the gun he had used against the guard who dared to shoot her disobeying his orders on the table by the entrance and walking cautiously towards her.

He knew was breaking the rules by taking her out of there but he couldn't let her die, she had made him feel so many things again in such a short time that it was terrifying to a certain extent.

With his hand he moved a couple of strands of hair away from her face.

The girl gently opened her eyes and seeing a masked stranger near her, she tensed up because was still a little dazed to react otherwise.

—Calm down —he said under the mask with the voice modifier —I won't hurt you, we already fixed your wound and you'll be fully conscious in a few hours.

—You... you are... the front man... —She said trying to clear her mind and focus his vision.

—¿How much do you know about me? —He asked curiously, sitting on the edge of the bed without stopping to observe her under the mask.

—I know as much about you as you know about me... —She smiled at him with a hint of arrogance —You sent your employees to follow me for a while... They're not as stealthy as you thought.

He smiled under the mask, he knew for sure that she was intelligent, she was extremely afraid of death but had strategies and a brain to know when being stalked.

—¿Do you want to take off your mask?... I want to know if right about something.

—¿About what?

—You’re Young-il —that took him by surprise —¿Or should I say In-ho? You’re a man of many riddles.

He took off the mask, not just physically, he was also going to let her enter his soul.

—¿Since when did you find out?

—Oh not as quickly as I would have liked, I figured it out now that you sat up in bed.

From him posture, carefree and passive, and the way he stroked her hair, she deduced that he was someone who had already had contact with her.

Moreover, she had read a long history about the front man, the man in front of her was more than just that, more than just a cold-blooded assassin and leader who controlled these games, he was now showing his more "Young-il" side.

—¿Like Sherlock Holmes? —In-ho asked, half amused and half curious.

—That's my job... —She sighed tiredly, closing her eyes again.

They both knew they had many things to talk about and clarify but now was not the time, she longed for some peace and rest and he had to return to the games or he would raise suspicions.

They had a pending conversation but first, In-ho had to put an end to all this and put everything back in its respective place, after all, the girl was no longer in the crossfire, with her safely in him room, it was time to act.

N/A: This is the last part! Maybe I'll pick it up again when the third season comes out, I wanted to do something like Joe and Love only without the killer and crazy stuff.

Tag List:

@carrotjuicepdf @sxmmerchxldblog @syraxnyra @deathsmellzz @starkeyszn @deftonianfr @djloveyou3000 @lowkeyhottho @shadow-tumbler

[wendichester]

Hello! Could I perhaps request the winchester of your choice (whoever you feel fits this situation best) x reader with an established relationship, where maybe it's an anniversary so he wants to make something special for you, like a special dinner in the bunker, the bedroom filled with candles and a bouquet of flowers, that sort of thing, because for once there isn't a case

EXCEPT: you haven't left the bunker all day, there's no reason to! You three finished a case the day before so you took this as a resting day since there wasn't any other case found, so! The brothers have to find a way to get one to keep you out till the evening, while the other rushes to get everything set up

I hope this isn't too detailed/unclear?? Tysm anyway if you write this!! I love your blog a lot <3

⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡ anniversary surprise,

summary. dean wants to do something special for your anniversary

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 963

notes. though i would also see sam doing something like this, it just screamed like dean behaviour. he's the softess little thing to me ‹𝟹

The bunker is unusually quiet for once—a rare luxury in the hunting life. After wrapping up a tough case yesterday, you've taken full advantage of the downtime. Still in your pyjamas, you've spent the day curled up on the couch with a book, refusing to even glance at your laptop.

Sam, however, hasn't been able to sit still. He keeps pacing the bunker, glancing at his phone like he's expecting bad news. It's distracting enough that you close your book and call him out.

"You trynna dig a hole in the ground or something, Sam? What's wrong?"

He freezes mid-step, looking at you like a deer caught in headlights. "What? Nothing! I'm fine."

You squint at him, unconvinced. “Sam, if you’re trying to avoid telling me about a case, just spit it out. I’m not leaving this bunker today unless something’s on fire.”

He stammers for a moment, clearly scrambling for an excuse. Then, his eyes light up like he's just had an idea. Oh, boy. "Uh, there's this event in town. A... a book signing. By an author I like. I thought it might be interesting, but I, uh, don't wanna go alone."

The confession catches you off guard. "A book signing?"

"Yeah," he says quickly, nodding like it's the most logical thing in the world.

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. Sam Winchester, shy about attending a book event? It doesn't quite add up, but you decide to let it slide.

You glance toward Dean, who's pretending to be engulfed in his phone and beer, but is clearly eavesdropping. He doesn't even look up, clearly uninterested.

"Alright, Sam," you say with a sigh. "I'll go with you."

Relief washes over his face, making the situation even more weird. "Great! Thanks."

The book signing ends up being more enjoyable than you expected. Sam is in his element, geeking out over the author’s latest release and chatting animatedly with other fans. You find yourself wandering through the bookstore, skimming through titles and enjoying the relaxed atmosphere.

Afterward, you grab coffee at a nearby café, the conversation flowing easily as you and Sam talk about everything and nothing. It’s a rare, peaceful moment—one you don’t take for granted.

By the time you return to the bunker, the sun has long since set, and the air carries a cool, crisp chill. Sam walks ahead, fishing in his pocket for the keys.

“Shoot,” he says suddenly, patting his jacket. “I think I left something in the Impala.”

You shrug, already halfway to the door. “Alright. I’ll meet you inside.”

The moment you step through the door, you stop in your tracks.

Rose petals are scattered on the floor, forming a delicate path that leads toward the kitchen. Soft, flickering candlelight spills into the hallway, and the faint scent of your favorite meal wafts through the air.

“Dean?” you call out, your voice trembling slightly.

“Over here,” he replies, his voice warm and inviting.

You follow the trail, your heart pounding in your chest. When you step into the kitchen, you’re met with a sight that takes your breath away.

The table is covered with a white cloth, set with actual plates and silverware instead of the usual mismatched collection. Candles are arranged in the center, their golden light casting a romantic glow over the room. Your favourite store-bought meal sits neatly plated, steam rising in the air.

Dean is leaning casually against the counter, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. He’s wearing a button-up shirt instead of his usual flannel, the effort not lost on you.

“Happy anniversary, sweetheart,” he says softly.

Your stomach drops as guilt washes over you. You completely forgot.

“Dean,” you whisper, your eyes welling up. “I… I didn’t—”

“Hey,” he interrupts, pushing off the counter and walking toward you. He cups your face gently in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “It’s okay. I know you’ve been busy. This is my gift to you.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you stare up at him, his green eyes filled with nothing but love and understanding. “What did I do to deserve you?”

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m the lucky one to have you.”

You bite your lip, emotion threatening to overwhelm you, but Dean tugs you toward the table before it can. “Come on. Dinner’s getting cold.”

The meal is perfect, just like everything Dean does when he puts his mind to it. Between bites, you and Dean fall into easy conversation, laughter punctuating the air as you recount memories from the past year. The stress of the world melts away, leaving only the two of you in your little bubble of happiness.

After dinner, Dean takes your hand and leads you down the hallway. When he opens the door to your bedroom, your jaw drops.

The room is softly lit with more candles, their gentle glow highlighting a small table set up in the corner. A rich chocolate cake sits in the center, accompanied by a bottle of champagne and two glasses. The bed looks impossibly inviting, piled high with plush pillows and fresh sheets.

“You really outdid yourself,” you murmur, turning to him with wide eyes.

He shrugs, but the pleased grin on his face betrays his pride. “Only the best for my girl.”

Your heart swells as you step closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love you, you know that?”

“I love you too,” he says, leaning down to kiss you.

The rest of the night is spent wrapped in Dean’s love and care, the perfect celebration of the life you’ve built together. For once, the world outside doesn’t matter—all that does is the warmth of his arms and the steady beat of his heart.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas

[cardansriddle]

Bound by the Ball- Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader

Summary: Tom is determined to make you his date to the ball. The only problem? You have a boyfriend—and you absolutely cannot stand Tom Riddle.

warnings: banter. like a lot of banter. sexual tension. tom threatening reader to get his way? 5.5k words i got carried away :)

A/N: I know i disappeared from the face of earth, but got inspired to write this one this week. Love u all, hopefully I won't go MIA for too long again (i probably will).

༻♛༺

Unattainable was not a word in Tom Riddle's dictionary.

He had never bothered to familiarise himself with the word. Why would he? If Tom Riddle was to be described with one word, it would be determined. Had he decided to set his sight or mind on something, he would go to any length to obtain it. He had sicarded the notion of "impossible" long ago.

So it came as a slap in the face when what he thought the easiest of attainable things, became not so easy. Truthfully, Tom had not even wanted a date for the stupid ball in the first place. However, when the Headmaster insisted that the Head Boy must have a date, it was not as if Tom had any choice in the matter. He had begrudgingly began his search. His requirements for his date were simple: Not dimwitted, an adequate dancer, and witty enough to keep up with him.

He was mentally going over the checklist when the sound of his name amongst excited chatter broke his reverie.

"Have you heard? Apparently Riddle is looking for a date for the dance."

The wizard halted and slowed his steps so he could listen to the conversation of the girls in front of him. The redhead squealed at the information.

"No!" She said in disbelief. "Imagine being asked by the Tom Riddle to the ball." The girl sighed as if imagining the scenario in her head. The wizard was suppressing his urge to smirk when suddenly the witch who had been silent all through the entire exchange scoffed out a laugh.

"Would not wish that misfortune on anyone."

The redhead gasped, affronted. "Misfortune? Have you hit your head? It is Riddle we are talking about. The charming, smartest boy in the school Riddle?"

"He might be the smartest wizard in Hogwarts but he has the emotional intelligence of a rock."

The two girls beside you gasped your name in unison but you brushed them off with a chuckle.

"I suppose you think your Montague is better?" The redhead giggled again and the other witch joined her in what Tom realised to be their teasing.

He watched your profile as you rolled your eyes at their antics. "At least Montague has human emotions and is not stone cold. The only thing Riddle has feelings for is his textbooks."

"Yeah, the only emotion Montague shows is drooling after you like a lovesick puppy."

The ginger was quick to correct her friend. "Hungry dog you mean."

"I am not saying he is perfect. He is handsome enough and has the approval of my family. That should suffice."

The redhead groaned audibly. "Ah, yes! The traits which define the very notion of romance!" She exclaimed sarcastically. Before you could retort, Tom's attention was pulled to the call of his name.

"Oi! Riddle!"

Tom abruptly halted in his steps, the echo of his name reverberating down the dimly lit hallway. A low curse escaped his breath as he realized the three girls in front of him had also come to a stop, their shoulders tensed with anticipation. He turned his head sharply to find Lestrange hurrying towards him with determined steps. When the younger boy finally stood before him, a mischievous grin played on his lips.

"We found the perfect candidate for your date." Lestrange's eyes shifted momentarily behind Riddle, prompting him to turn and inspect the source of their newfound audience. Three pairs of eyes were locked onto them, two wide with a mortified fascination, and you, who had recently questioned his emotional intelligence, regarded him with indifferent eyes. It was as if his very presence left you unaffected, perhaps even bored.

Tom arched an expectant brow, though his gaze remained fixed on you. Your brows furrowed briefly, and he could see the realization dawning on you—you knew he had overheard your conversation. Yet, even then, you managed to morph your features into an expression one of displeasure and tugged on your girlfriends' arms.

"Can I help you, ladies?" Tom's voice cut through the hallway, a subtle challenge lingering in his words. His gaze remained fixated on you, waiting for a glance or acknowledgment.

"No. Excuse us," you curtly replied and pulled your friends away. Tom watched your retreating back, waiting for the moment you might glance back at him, but you did not grace him with a second look.

He turned his attention back to Lestrange, his curiosity evident. "Well, who is it?"

"Er... well, she just left..." Lestrange's weak gesture indicated the direction in which the girls had disappeared. Tom's gaze lingered on the empty corridor.

༻♛༺

His gaze had begun to seek your figure amongst the crowded hallways. He was waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike so he could have a plausible excuse to talk to you. But it was as if you had vanished from the castle. He would see your two friends who you were inseparable with walking around without you. It confounded him. Where had you disappeared to?

"Lestrange."

The boy startled at Tom's voice, tripping over his own feet before righting himself. He turned to meet the Prefect's sharp gaze. "Yes?"

"The girl. What do you know about her?"

Lestrange's brows furrowed thoughtfully. "The candidate for the ball?"

Tom heavily resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, Lestrange. Who else?"

"Well, she's very reserved, and is very...picky with who she keeps in her circle, so I have not managed to talk to her. But from what I have gathered, she's from a good, respectable family, excellent grades, and the ball gown she has chosen is not ridiculous."

Tom rose an inquisitive brow. "How do you know about the ball gown?"

Lestrange shrugged. "Shagged her redhead friend the other day and saw her dress laying on her bed." He said as if it was the most obvious explanation. "You would approve." He winked.

Tom resisted the tempting urge to roll his eyes yet again. Depraved and idiotic as Lestrange was, Tom could not deny his questionable ways were effective. "Anything else?"

The boy scratched the back of his head, suddenly looking sheepish. "Er...she may or may not have a boyfriend." At Riddle's heated glare, Lestrange threw his arms up in defence. "In my defence, I knew it would not be a problem for you!"

Tom decided it was not wroth wasting his time to curse the younger boy, so he sighed tiredly. "Get me her schedule."

"Oh, no..."

༻♛༺

He had not anticipated that while on the quest of hunting the girl down, she would come looking for him herself.

"Riddle!" A feminine voice yelled out his name from across the empty corridor. He heard the hasty approaching footsteps behind him as he turned around, and was surprised to see you storming towards him with fury on your face.

He rose a brow in acknowledgement, which seemed to make you angrier. "What the fuck are you doing?" You seethed.

"Taking a peaceful stroll?" He deadpanned.

Your glare intensified at his mannerism, and you crossed your arms over your chest in indignation. "Care to explain why your little Lestrange has been following me around?"

Tom kept his expression neutral, although internally he was cursing Lestrange's lack of talents for being inconspicuous. "Do I look like his father? Why do you assume me responsible for his actions?"

"Do not play dumb with me Riddle." You huffed, pointing an accusatory finger in his face.

"Perhaps he has taken a fancy. How am I to know?" Tom simply shrugged. His nonchalant demeanour only fused your anger more, and you took a step closer to him as you seethed.

"First you eavesdrop on our private conversation—"

"Which was about me, so it's a little contreversial—"

"—and now you've got your goon following me around—"

"Again, why him following you is my problem?"

You threw your hands in the air, seemingly done with his behaviour. "You are insufferable! Merlin's beard, it's like talking to a—"

"Go to the ball with me."

Whatever you were about to say died in your throat, leaving you to blink up at him in stunned silence, trying to process his words. "What?" Was the only coherent thing that you were able to croak out.

This time it was Tom who stepped closer to you, hands stuffed in his pockets as he casually repeated his earlier statement. "Be my date to the ball."

You managed to gather enough of your wits to let out an incredulous laugh. "Have you gone mad? Do I need to help you into the Hospital Wing?"

"I'm perfectly fine." The corner of his lips curled into a smirk as he leaned in, his presence invading your space. "Now, say yes."

"You can't just demand that I be your date, Riddle." Your voice was sharp with exasperation, still grappling with whatever was going on in his head. "Besides, I already have a date. My boyfriend. Naturally." You added.

"Ah, of course. The dimwit that you can barely tolerate?" He asked smugly, a pointed jab at the conversation he'd overheard days before.

Your lips parted, indignation flaring as you struggled to formulate a rebuttal. "I tolerate him just fine," you finally managed, though even to your own ears, it sounded weak and far too defensive.

"Reputable enough to please your parents, but not skilled enough to please you I would wager." He countered.

"How dare you!" you hissed, your voice rising despite yourself.

Tom tilted his head, his smirk unfaltering. "Did I strike a nerve? My apologies. It’s just hard to watch someone of your... caliber settling for mediocrity."

Your jaw clenched, and despite fighting it, heat flared in your cheeks. You might have not liked Tom Riddle, but that did not mean you did not know just how rare it was to receive a compliment from him. And his words had been a compliment. So of course, it was only natural for you to get flustered. But you would not concede to him so easily. "You are delusional, Riddle. The only thing that matters is that he is far better company than an arrogant, self-important—"

"A self-important what?" Tom interrupted, his tone low and sharp enough to cut. His dark eyes bore into yours, leaving the retort stuck in your throat.

You stepped back, trying to put space between you, but Tom mirrored the movement, closing the gap effortlessly.

"You’re deflecting," he said smoothly, his voice laced with quiet amusement. "If you truly cared for him, you wouldn’t feel so unnerved, you would not struggle so needlessly to list his likeable traits, and you most definitely would not be so willing to have this conversation."

"Willing?" you echoed, the word tumbling out before you could stop it. You let out a sharp breath, shaking your head. "Oh, Riddle, it is not my fault you mistook my utter disdain and aggravation for you as interest." You taunted. "As a matter of fact, before you are more mislead, I am done indulging whatever this is." You turned on your heel, intending to storm away, but you barely took a step before a hand shot out, catching your wrist.

"We are not done yet" Tom’s voice was low and composed, but there was a dangerous edge to it, one that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Let go, Riddle," you demanded, attempting to yank your hand free.

Instead, he moved faster than you anticipated, stepping in front of you and backing you up against the wall behind you. Your back hit the cool stone, and you instinctively braced yourself with your hands against his chest, trying to push him away.

He didn’t budge.

His arms caged you in, palms flat against the wall on either side of your head. The smirk on his face was gone, replaced by something darker, more intent.

Your breath caught in your throat, and your eyes flickered around the empty corridor for any passerby. Were you to be caught in this compromising position with a boy, alone in an empty corridor, while courting someone else, you would be utterly ruined.

"Riddle, this is hardly appropriate. Let me go."

"Why should I?" he murmured, his voice velvety smooth as his face hovered far too close to yours. His head dipped slightly, and you froze as his nose brushed against your cheek, a slow and deliberate motion that sent a shiver racing down your spine. "I have got you right where I wan."

"Riddle," you said warningly, though the word came out more breathless than you intended.

His nose trailed downward, skimming along your jawline and then the curve of your throat. You inhaled sharply, your hands curling into fists against his chest, unsure if you were bracing yourself or preparing to push him away.

"Stop it," you tried again.

"Why?" he asked again, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below your ear as he spoke. The warmth of his breath against your neck made your heart race despite yourself. "Because you might start to enjoy it?"

Your breath stuttered when you felt his fingertips grazing along the hemline of your skirt. You knew this was outrageous behaviour, and you really should have screamed for someone, but his fingers left a fire trail and you felt as if you were being put under a spell. You had never felt this alive, this hot, this desperate for—

His lips hovered at your ear, his breath hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Say yes to the ball," he murmured, "and I will make you feel things you’ve never felt before... and never will again."

Your resolve almost faltered, your breath coming in shallow pulls as his words coiled around you like a spell. You could feel the walls you’d so carefully built beginning to crack under his relentless pressure.

Just as the word teetered on the edge of your tongue, a sound broke through the haze. Footsteps echoed down the corridor, drawing closer. The sharp reminder of reality snapped you back to your senses and your eyes snapped open.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you shoved him hard in the chest. He didn’t stumble, but he let you go, a sly, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he straightened to his full height.

"You’re impertinent and unbelievable," you hissed, your voice low but trembling with leftover emotion from what you had just experienced. Without waiting for his reply, you turned and bolted, your hurried steps echoing as you disappeared around the corner.

Behind you, Tom’s laughter followed, low and rich, like a predator enjoying the chase. After all, this was just a game for him. But he had not expected it to be so entertaining.

༻♛༺

Breakfast was a usual affair as you sat across from Adam Montague in the Great Hall, his voice a constant hum in the background as he rambled about Quidditch and the upcoming match schedule. Normally, you’d feign enthusiasm or at least muster the energy to listen politely. Today, however, your thoughts were consumed by a pair of dark, calculating eyes and the memory of hands that had left a trail of fire in their wake.

Tom Riddle. Of course. Somehow amidst your determination to avoid fawning after him like everyone else in the castle did, you had become just like them— with thoughts plagued by him.

Even thinking of his name itself felt like a forbidden secret, heavy and dangerous, lodged deep in your chest and an ache in your head. Yet no matter how much you tried to keep it at bay, the memory of him refused to fade.

You could still feel the ghost of his breath against your ear, the heat of his hand as it crept beneath your skirt, and the way he’d whispered those words—low, commanding, and laced with desires you shouldn’t want to hear.

You shifted in your seat, your skin prickling with awareness as the memory played over and over in your mind. It wasn’t just what he’d done— it was how he’d done it—with utter confidence, as though he already knew how you would respond, how your body would betray you before your mind could catch up.

And he had been right.

The thought made you burn with equal parts shame and longing. You shouldn’t crave the way his touch had made your pulse race, the way his voice had wrapped around you like silk.

"...and if the Harpies can pull off another win, they’ll have a real shot at the Cup this year," Adam said, his voice rising with excitement.

"That’s... great," you murmured automatically, like you always did, though your mind wasn’t even in the same room.

You remembered his face when he’d pinned you against the wall, his smirk infuriating and his proximity suffocating in the best possible way. You’d told him to stop, but deep down, you hadn’t wanted him to. Not really.

The truth clawed at you. The horrifying realisation that no one had ever made you feel the way Tom did in those fleeting minutes. Not Adam Montague. Not anyone.

You glanced at Adam, who was still talking, utterly oblivious to the war waging inside you. His blue eyes sparkled with excitement as he gestured animatedly, still drolling on about Quidditch. He was everything a good boyfriend should be—dependable, safe, respectable enough for your parents.

But safe wasn’t what you wanted.

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t just crave Tom’s touch or his words; you craved the way he made you feel alive. The way he challenged you, unraveled you, almost pushed you to the edge of something you didn’t quite understand but desperately wanted to explore.

And what vexed you the most was the fact that he had done all of that in a matter of minutes. He had made you feel all that with one interaction. Perhaps everyone around you had been right about him and his irresistible charm.

Damn you, Tom Riddle. You thought bitterly.

You realised you needed to escape and clear your head when Adam launched yet into another analysis of Quidditch tactics Harpies could employ to secure the Cup and you felt the walls closing in around you. 

"I just remembered," you blurted, cutting him off mid-sentence. "I wanted to ask Professor Slughorn something about the essay due tomorrow. I will head to class early."

Adam blinked, surprised at being interrupted so abruptly. Then he shrugged, muttering a befuddled 'okay'. Grabbing your bag, you stood, planting a quick kiss on his cheek before turning on your heel and heading toward the exit. The moment you stepped into the corridor, a wave of relief washed over you, though it was quickly overshadowed by the devil himself.

You had not even made it far when his voice cut through the air. "Running from something, or someone?"

Your stomach dropped. Turning your head, you found Tom walking toward you, his stride calm and assured, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

"Go away," you said sharply, quickening your pace.

He didn’t miss a beat, easily falling into step beside you. "That’s hardly polite. Especially since we’re headed to the same place."

You frowned, glancing at him. "What are you talking about?"

He arched a brow, his smirk widening. "We have the same class. Surely you haven’t forgotten?"

Your lips pressed into a thin line. Of course he would find a way to make your morning even more unbearable. "Fine," you muttered, clutching your bag tighter. "Walk wherever you want, just don’t talk to me."

"Such hostility," he said, his tone light but laced with mockery. "I wonder if Montague would approve of your temper."

You shot him a glare. "Adam has nothing to do with this."

"Doesn’t he?" Tom asked. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were avoiding him just now. Tell me, how does it feel to lie to your boyfriend so early in the day?"

Your cheeks burned, but you refused to dignify him with a response. Instead, you quickened your pace, hoping he’d get bored and leave you alone.

He didn’t.

By the time you reached the classroom, your nerves were frayed, and you stormed inside, determined to put as much space between you and him as possible. Sliding into a seat near the middle, you silently willed the rest of the room to fill with other students.

But of course, Tom wasn’t finished. With a deliberate smirk, he crossed the space and sat down in the chair beside yours.

"You’ve got to be joking," you muttered under your breath, refusing to look at him.

"Now, now," he drawled, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "Shouldn’t we at least try to get along? After all, we’ll be spending so much time together."

You turned to him sharply, your irritation bubbling over. "What are you talking about now?"

He leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed, though his eyes gleamed in amusement. "Oh, nothing." A pause. "Just that the ball is approaching, and I’m a man of my word."

Your stomach flipped, his implication clear. You opened your mouth to respond, but the professor’s arrival cut you off, forcing you to bite back whatever retort you had planned.

"Ah, Mr. Riddle!" Slughorn’s jovial voice boomed as he clapped his hands together. "I trust you’ve been giving the essay topic some thought. I’m particularly eager to hear your take on the use of powdered asphodel in calming draughts. Such a fascinating ingredient! Might you indulge me in what your take is?"

Tom inclined his head, his expression the perfect craft of false modesty. "I believe powdered asphodel is essential for crafting a truly effective calming draught. Without it, the potion’s efficacy in more severe cases is significantly diminished."

You couldn’t stop yourself from scoffing. "Essential? That's an overstatement. Asphodel might enhance the effects, but it risks leaving the drinker overly reliant. A calming draught should ease anxiety, not render someone unable to cope without it."

Tom turned to you, and you immediately regretted speaking up upon seeing the amused smirk plastered on his mouth "An interesting argument, but overly cautious. Without asphodel’s potency, the potion becomes too mild to address real crises. A weak solution is no solution at all."

You narrowed your eyes. "There’s nothing weak about proper balance. Valerian root and peppermint, for instance, can achieve the same calming effect without the risk of long-term harm."

Slughorn looked between you with visible delight, like a spectator at a match. "Ah, how I delight in a healthy debate! Keep at it, you two. This is precisely the sort of engagement I hoped the topic would bring. I look forward to reading both of your essays." He winked and sauntered off towards his desk just as the students began filing into the classroom.

Then, Adam Montague walked in, his steps faltering the moment he spotted Tom sitting beside you. His eyes widened, and his lips parted in confusion. "What the hell are you doing there, Riddle?"

Tom, utterly unbothered, leaned back slightly, a smug smile tugging at his lips. "I wasn’t aware this seat was reserved. Perhaps you should have labeled it, Montague." His tone dripped with mock innocence.

Adam glared, his jaw tightening. "It’s my seat. I sit there every class—next to my girlfriend."

"Ah," Tom replied coolly, glancing at you with deliberate slowness. "Shame you didn’t put a label on her either." He drawled.

Adam’s face flushed, his hands balling into fists. "Get up. Now."

"I do not think I will."

Adam took a threatening step forward, but Slughorn suddenly clapped his hands again. "Settle down, everyone! Time to begin." His cheerful tone left no room for argument.

With a frustrated huff, Adam reluctantly moved to a desk across the room, his glare burning holes into the back of Tom’s head. Meanwhile, Tom leaned slightly toward you, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "Bit possessive, isn’t he?" He hummed quietly. "Though perhaps not enough. Were it me who had you, I would not let you out of my sight."

You gaped at him, wondering if he had lost his wits. "Excuse me? I am not something to be owned, Riddle."

His hand dropped under the table and you barely suppressed a gasp when you felt it land on your thigh, grazing dangerously high under your skirt. "And yet...I would treat you as if you were my greatest possession."

Heat surged to your cheeks, and you quickly averted your gaze, utterly flustered by his words. The quiet intensity of his voice and the sheer audacity of his statement left your heart racing in a way you couldn’t explain. You quickly pushed his hand away without drawing any attention. Desperate to put some distance between you, you shifted your chair an inch or two away from him, the scrape of wood against stone louder than you intended. You kept your focus firmly on the front of the classroom, determined to concentrate on Slughorn’s voice as he began explaining the potion you would be brewing.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the faintest flicker of his smirk, as though he knew exactly how much he’d unsettled you—and relished it.

You gritted your teeth and stared resolutely at the blackboard, clutching your quill tightly. There was no way you’d let him see just how much he had gotten under your skin. You told yourself you only needed just enough willpower to get through this class and then you would be free.

And when finally the bell rang, signaling the end of class, you bolted from your seat. You didn’t want to give Tom any more time to—to do whatever it was he was doing to you. You headed straight for the door, but before you could make your escape, you heard Adam’s voice behind you.

"Hey! Wait up!"

You sighed and turned around reluctantly. Adam was quick to catch up, his brows furrowed in confusion. "What the hell was that back there?" His eyes flickered from you to the empty seat beside Tom. "Why didn’t you say anything? You just let him sit there."

You tried to offer a casual shrug, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your pulse was still racing. "It’s not a big deal."

"But he was all over you," Adam said, his voice low with irritation. "And you just—"

"Adam, you're a big boy. I'm sure you do not need me to stand up for yourself." You cut him off, a bit sharper than you intended. "Really. Let’s just drop it, okay?"

He stared at you for a moment, clearly unconvinced, but he finally nodded. "Alright, but this isn’t over. We will talk during dinner." He stated with a frown before turning to walk to his next class.

You had a free period, so you decided you would head to the library to get ahead in your studies. But as always, peace and quiet did not come easily to you. Not when Riddle was concerned.

When you saw him leaning against the wall, patiently watching you, you almost screamed from frustration. "No! Absolutely not. I am not having any more interactions with you. Whatever was going on, is done. Go ruin someone else's life with your presence, and fuck off from mine."

He pushed off the wall, crossing the distance between you slowly, as if a predator trying not to startle its prey. You took a step back with bated breath with each step he took forward, and in a blink, he grabbed a hold of your hand and began leading you away from the corridor. You tried to wriggle out of his grip, but the action just encouraged him to tighten his hold.

"Riddle!" You tried, but he shot you a dark look shadowed by a loose strand of raven-black hair over his eyes. The dangerous glint in his stare sent a chill down your spine.

Before you knew what was happening, he pulled you into a dark alcove, hidden from the gaze of any potential prying eyes. Your pulse quickened at the way he cornered you, feeling his breath against your skin.

"I'm starting to think you have a thing for dark hidden corners." You muttered, trying vainly to distract yourself from his close proximity.

He ignored your comment. "One kiss," he murmured, his lips barely brushing your ear. "And I’ll leave you alone."

You narrowed your eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of control. "One kiss?" you scoffed, taking a step back, though he followed, keeping you trapped against the wall. "And what do you think is going to make me give in to this nonsense you're asking me?"

Tom chuckled softly as he slowly grazed a finger along your collarbone. "I don’t think you’ll give in. I think you’ll want to."

Your heart skipped a beat at his touch, but you refused to show it. "I don’t want anything from you." You shook your head, trying to remain defiant. "Stop playing games, Riddle. I’m not some toy for you to use and discard."

Tom smirked, one eyebrow raised. "If I wanted a toy, I’d choose something less... challenging." He stepped in even closer, his body fully touching yours now, and you could feel the heat radiating off of him. "But you, you’re more interesting. So, here’s the deal—one kiss, and I’ll leave you alone. After all, you don’t seem to be able to resist me, do you?"

For a weak moment, you hesitated. He was close, too close, and the air between you crackled with an intensity you couldn’t deny.

"I’m not some damsel who will fall for a cheap trick, Riddle," you retorted, though the words were hollow, even to you.

Tom’s eyes darkened, and he reached out, cupping your chin with his fingers, forcing you to look him in the eye. "And yet here you are, trapped in my web, pretending you don’t want this just as much as I do." His voice was low, intimate, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "One kiss and I promise, then I will let you go."

You inhaled sharply, torn between the desire to push him away and the overwhelming temptation to give in. For the briefest moment, you wondered what it would be like—just one kiss, one taste of what he was offering. He would not back down until he got what he wanted, and you knew that, so you decided to end your own torture by giving in.

"Fine," you muttered, almost against your will, your voice low with frustration. "But just one."

Tom’s smirk deepened as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a slow, almost teasing manner. It started gentle, a light pressure, before he deepened the kiss, and you felt your resolve start to slip away. His hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer, canting your bodies together, and the action almost made you whimper.

You were not supposed to enjoy this.

Frightened by your own pleasure at the way he had kissed you, you placed your palms on his chest and pushed him. When he pulled away, his eyes gleamed with triumph. "I’ve changed my mind," he murmured, his voice silky. "Go to the ball with me. And I’ll leave you alone."

You blinked, momentarily stunned. "No. No, Riddle, you promised you would stop."

Tom’s smirk was sharp, almost cruel. He suddenly stepped away from you, his form no longer caging you against the wall. "I promised I would let you go. And I did just now. I did not promise anything about the ball."

Your breath caught, your chest tightening. "You can’t—"

"I can," he interrupted, his tone final. "And I will. So, say yes, and I’ll leave you in peace. But if you don’t..." He let the threat hang in the air for a moment. "Or I’ll tell Montague about this little... encounter."

You stared at him, your heart racing, in disbelief over what he was saying—no— what he was threatening you with. Your breath hitched as he leaned closer again, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "And I think Malfoy would be very interested in knowing that Adam’s place on the Quidditch team is up for discussion. One word from me and he’s off the team for good."

You opened your mouth to protest, but he silenced you with a soft, teasing kiss—brief, but enough to make your heart race even faster. When he pulled back, his gaze was firm. "Say yes. Or everything he values will slip right through his fingers."

The silence stretched between you as you hesitated, but deep down, you knew there was only one choice. "Fine," you muttered, your voice small, but the fire in his eyes made your chest tighten. "I’ll go. But only because you’re threatening him."

Tom’s smirk returned, but there was something else there now—satisfaction, and perhaps a touch of something else you couldn’t quite place. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, darling." He said as he pulled away completely. You watched him walk away, slumped against the wall, completely helpless as his chuckle echoed down the hall.

༻♛༺

[thedissonantverses]

You are More than Your Scars:

Or Why Davrin and Bellara are our Elven Heroes in Veilguard

Davrin and Bellara represent the past, present, and future of the Dalish in Thedas. The way the writers used them as parallels of what being an elf means in this universe is endlessly fascinating to me as a long time Dragon Age fan.

Davrin we know has a complicated relationship with his clan and his past. As an adult who has been on his own, he recognizes what his clan was trying to teach him. As a kid he didn’t, and he went charging into the world with no regard for those lessons or his own safety. Clan life wasn’t for him, but he still carries the weight of all of that history with him. Uncle Eldrin did what he could. (Check out this write-up for a better look at Davrin's relationship with black fatherhood thanks to @master-of-the-elements) He could have gotten rich with his skillset and his need to challenge himself, but he chose the Wardens to find a sense of purpose in a world that doesn’t always give elves that choice.

He gets his hands bloody and makes the world a better place one monster at a time. Long before he meets Assan, he’s a protector first and a hunter second. He found his own way forward, one that combines the traditions of the Dalish with helping the people of Thedas now. All of the people of Thedas. As a Warden he also carries the weight of elven legends like Garahel. Elves have always lived and died to protect against the blight, and Davrin is no exception. Davrin is Thedas as it is now, where elf or warden or man can mean many different things, and it's how you define it the path going forward that matters.

Bellara also has a complicated relationship with her clan and with the past. We see this primarily through her brother Cyrian, but it's clear due to her neurodivergence she didn't necessarily fit in growing up and stands out even amongst Veil Jumpers. Losing her anchor in Cyrian, the person who knew her best, didn't help. People tend to dismiss Bellara because she talks too fast and thinks too fast and stumbles. But she's intensely passionate about her people's history and legacy and has devoted her life to the seeking of knowledge. She is exceptionally intelligent, she is kind, and she is ferocious in the defense of what she loves. She represents the side of the Dalish that have been seeking lost knowledge, but it's what she does with that that makes her so compelling. Learning not to shrink from that knowledge is crucial to her as a character.

Bellara, by careful design, has an existential crisis about the Evanuris and what they mean for the Dalish, who have already been through enough as a people. It's through Bellara we see what it means to learn about the horrors of your own history, and how to break away from it to make it better. That the many nuances and complications of the past don't need to define your relationship to your culture. You are more than the worst things that have been done to you and yours.

What both of these characters represent is not just an examination of generational trauma, but how to heal and move on from it. Davrin and Bellara, any way you slice it, are heroes. Everything from their arcs to their character design shows off what it means to be Dalish and I can't praise Veilguard enough for their inclusion.

[literatureloverx]

BSD men as Lana Del Rey songs

( or how their darlings likely perceive them)

I was bored… ♥️ The Nikolai part was really hard to write because he’s clearly Britney Spears-coded. Anyway, I did my best—enjoy!

FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

Lana Del Rey — Sad Girl

“But you haven’t seen my man, you haven’t seen my man…you haven’t seen my man, you haven’t seen him…He’s got the fire, and he walks with it. He’s got the fire, and he talks with it…”

Lana Del Rey — Young and Beautiful

“Dear Lord, when I get to heaven, please let me bring my man. When he comes, tell me that you’ll let him in. Father, tell me if you can… all that grace, all that body, all that face makes me wanna party… he’s my sun, he makes me shine like diamonds…”

Lana Del Rey — Once Upon a Dream

“I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream… I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam… And I know it’s true that visions are seldom all they seem. But if I know you, I know what you’ll do…you’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream…”

DAZAI OSAMU

Lana Del Rey — Cinnamon Girl

“Cinnamon in my teeth, from your kiss. You’re touching me. All the pills that you take— violet, blue, green, red—to keep me at arm’s length, don’t work. You try to push me out, but I just find my way back in. Violet, blue, green, red, to keep me out, I win.”

Lana Del Rey — Ultraviolence

“He hurt me but it felt like true love… Jim taught me that, loving him was never enough…with his ultraviolence…”

Lana Del Rey — Smarty

“Who has the face like smarty does? Who has the voice like smarty does? Who has the choice like smarty does? Nobody, nobody…”

NAKAHARA CHUUYA

Lana Del Rey — Million Dollar Man

“Someone as dangerous, tainted and flawed as you…one for the money and two for the show…”

“…You're screwed up and brilliant, look like a million dollar man…”

Lana Del Rey — Guns and Roses

“'Cause you were so much better than the rest of them. Out of all the others, you were the honest man. He loved guns and roses, guns and roses…”

Lana Del Rey — Born to Die

Come and take a walk on the wild side. Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain…you like your girls insane.”

NIKOLAI GOGOL

Lana Del Rey — Art Deco

“You’re not mean, you just want to be seen…want to be wild. A little party never hurt no one, that’s why it’s alright. You want in, but you just can’t win…So you hang in the lights…”

Lana Del Rey — West Coast

“Your love, your love, our love… I can see my baby swinging, his Parliament’s on fire and his hands are up… On the balcony, and I’m singing, ‘Ooh baby, ooh baby, I’m in love…’”

Lana Del Rey — Gods and Monsters

“In the land of Gods and Monsters…I was an angel living in the garden of evil…Screwed up, scared, doing anything that I needed…shining like a fiery beacon…”

AKUTAGAWA RYUUNOSUKE

Lana Del Rey — Shades of Cool

“But I can’t fix him, can’t make him better… and I can’t do nothing about his strange weather… but you are unfixable…I can’t break through your world… ’cause you live in shades of cool, your heart is unbreakable…”

Lana Del Rey — Diet Mountain Dew

“Hit me and tell me you’re mine…I don’t know why, but I like it. Scary? My God, you’re divine…”

Lana Del Rey — Brooklyn Baby

“They say I’m too young to love you. They say I’m too dumb to see. They judge me like a picture book, by the colors, like they forgot to read… I think we’re like fire and water… I think we’re like the wind and sea. You’re burnin’ up, I’m coolin’ down…you’re up, I’m down…you’re blind, I see.”

[grandline-fics]

id like to request something - desperate kiss prompt with kid💗 love how you write him hihi

DESCRIPTION: Prompt: Desperate Kiss

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Kid

WORDS: 822

A/N: Thank you for the request! I also didn't realise it's Kid's birthday until I was finishing this. I hope you like what I came up with for Kid and this particular prompt

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

———————

Kid was always so self-assured, confident to the point some would call it arrogance. He was a true pirate, he wasn’t going to just roll over and let someone else take something he wanted. He also wasn’t going to just give up on pursuing something he wanted because someone was there first. Life was too short in his eyes to live anything but how he wanted and he did it unapologetically. Kid thought he was unshakable and never considered himself capable of hesitation. Then you had to come along and throw a wrench into his perception and the worst part? You had no idea what you did to him and with every passing moment of being around you he felt like he was slowly losing grip on the situation and going mad. 

On the calm, dark waters the Victoria Punk idly sailed through Kid had settled into his watch for the night. Knowing how bored Kid could get you decided to join him at least for a little while. To pass the time you shared a drink and idly chatted, mostly reminiscing about past adventures and tavern brawls. Which led you to talk about the most recent trip on shore that had gotten out of hand. 

“That poor guy didn’t have a clue what was happening.” You laughed with a small shake of your head. “Did you really have to punch him with your metal hand though?”

“Why not? Fucker had it coming.”

“Maybe it was the drink I had that night but I can’t remember him really doing anything to warrant a fight until everyone got involved.” You tired to focus your memory but still nothing came to mind. “I mean one minute he was boasting about his own crew then you appeared.”

“You forgot the part he tried to recruit you to his crew.” Kid explained and you gasped, reaching out to grab Kid’s arm as the memory sharpened. 

“That’s right!” You laughed, how could you have forgotten? Then you grinned broadly. “Were you scared I’d be sweet-talked into switching crews?”

“Don’t be a moron.” Kid scoffed, doing nothing to move away from your touch. “I wasn’t letting some nobody think he could take what’s mine.” Your smile stretched at Kid’s choice of words. You were part of the crew long enough to interpret what he’d been trying to say. You were his crew, a member of his family and he was a very possessive person and violently protective of the things that were important to him. To think his motivations went beyond looking out for a member of his crew wasn’t even in your mind to consider. 

“That’s what makes you the best Captain there is.” You smiled before finishing your drink. With a sigh you got up from your seat, taking his empty mug into your hand as well. Kid watched you carefully, his mouth falling into a scowl as he realised you were turning in for the night and he still had a handful of hours to endure a boring watch. You spotted his sour expression and mistook it for the earlier topic of conversation. Playfully you rolled your eyes and leaned down, pressing a kiss against your Captain’s forehead. “Promise I’m not going anywhere Captain. Stop worrying okay?”

You smiled and as much as you wanted to head straight to bed, you instead began to head for the kitchen to leave off the mugs you’d both been drinking from. The last thing you wanted was a lecture from Killer about the deck being left in a mess needlessly. Behind you, you could have sworn you heard Kid mutter ‘fuck this’ and thought he was cutting the rest of his watch short because of of how quiet it was. It wasn’t the first time he’d done something like that so it wasn’t entirely unexpected. What was unexpected though was when you heard his rushed footsteps drawing closer. As you reached for the door to the galley you were sharply turned and your back pushed against the solid wooden door. “Kid, what the-”

Before you could finish your question, Kid’s hand secured itself against your hip and his lips pressed hungrily and eagerly against yours. Fuelled purely by the desperate need for you to see him as more than just a Captain and desperate for you to finally see how he felt about you he couldn’t help but act the way he had. Against your lips, his arrogant grin crept in when he heard you drop the mugs in your hands as your mind caught up to what was happening. As the clattered loudly against the floor, you grabbed his arm and the back of his neck, returning the kiss at last with equal need. Inwardly he berated himself for doubting himself and hesitating making a move, because had he known kissing you would be like this he would have done this a long time ago.

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya ,  @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu , @appalost , @dindjarins1ut

[slaytheday12]

Omg I had the cutest idea for a fix for Walker and if I'm being honest I just didn't want to write it myself 😂

But, hear me out, Walker and reader aren't dating but they're hanging out on like TomTom live and the chat keeps shipping them together and they like secretly like each other.

Idk I think it would be cute, don't feel pressured to make it PR anything. Love you ❤

Chat knows best

Walker adjusted his phone on the stand, his easy smile as his live stream began. You sat cross-legged on the couch beside him, a little more nervous than you cared to admit. It wasn’t your first time joining his live, but every time you did, the chat seemed to erupt with shipping the two of you.

“Hey, everyone!” Walker greeted, waving to the camera. “Hope you’re all doing good tonight. And look who’s with me, Y/N decided to crash the party again.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging him. “Yeah, because you begged me to join,” you teased.

The chat instantly exploded.

“Y/N AND WALKER TOGETHER AGAIN 😍” “Okay but are they dating yet?” “Besties or something more? 👀”

Walker laughed, glancing at you. “They’re starting already,” he said under his breath.

You smirked, leaning closer to the screen. “You guys have no chill, huh?”

“STOP FLIRTING, OMG.” “Just date already!” “They’re literally soulmates, I’m calling it.”

Walker cleared his throat, scrolling through the flood of comments. “Alright, let’s try to keep it semi-normal tonight. We’re here to hang out, answer some questions, and maybe argue over movie rankings.”

“Which I’ll win,” you added confidently, earning a laugh from Walker.

The two of you started answering questions, most of them harmless. But every now and then, a comment would pop up that made your cheeks heat.

“What’s your dream date?” “Are you guys secretly dating? Be honest.” “They HAVE to like each other. Look at them.”

Walker hesitated as he read one of the questions aloud. “Uh… ‘If you could go on a date, where would it be?’” He looked at you, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Any thoughts?”

Your stomach flipped, but you kept your voice steady. “I don’t know… maybe something fun, like a theme park. Rides are a great distraction.”

“Solid choice,” Walker said, nodding. “I’d go for something low-key, like a picnic on the beach or something.”

The chat immediately lost it.

“OMG HE WANTS TO TAKE HER TO THE BEACH.” “STOP, THEY’VE DEFINITELY TALKED ABOUT THIS.” “Walker, just confess already!”

You laughed nervously, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Your fans are… relentless,” you muttered, though you couldn’t stop the blush spreading across your cheeks.

“They’re passionate, that’s for sure,” Walker said, rubbing the back of his neck.

The live continued, but the energy felt different. Every teasing comment or playful glance only added to the undercurrent of the unspoken energy. By the time Walker ended the stream, both of you were flushed and grinning.

“That was… intense,” you said, leaning back against the couch.

“Yeah,” Walker agreed, his voice a little quieter now.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward, but more like you were both reflecting on something.

Walker broke the tension first, glancing at you with a small, hesitant smile. “You know… they’re not entirely wrong.”

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat. “What do you mean?”

He looked down, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. “About me liking you,” he said softly. Then, as if he couldn’t stop himself, he looked back up at you. “I’ve been wanting to say something for a while, but I didn’t know how. And, well, leave it to the live to push me over the edge.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. He liked you?

“Walker,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “For the record… they weren’t wrong about me, either.”

His eyes widened slightly, a grin spreading across his face. “So… does this mean we’re giving them what they want?”

You laughed, your heart lighter than it had been all night. “I guess we are.”

Walker reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. It was a small gesture, but it felt like the start of something so much bigger. And for the first time, you didn’t mind the chat being a little too nosy. After all, they’d just given you the push you both needed.

A/N: not me completing a request in one day.... can u tell i have to much time on my hands lol. send me request pretty please with a cheery on top. also thank u for the request love u moreee

Tags: @izzystylinson, @sophand4n4, @kaiwrites092

[the-kingshound]

I loved the update just because it exists. I loved the bit with the mounts (especially Arthur's trying to ground MC) but my tiny bit of concrit is the "I know you're a mage" convo feels...shoehorned? Like we get the panic attack and Arthur just says he doesn't think the same way as Uther and it's just...It feels (imo) that the Hound once more just accepts Arthur at face value again? I loved the rewrite making the Hound more wary of Arthur, and this kinda felt like a slip? Idk it just feels like there could be...more there. Or perhaps Arthur will try to revisit the topic? Cause like idk about you but if I was just told "I don't want to do anything to you buuuuuut people in my court might," I'd feel threatened and like...I wouldn't believe a single word prior to the "my court might" part. Cause like the Hound is a political prisoner, the nobles (Our sister in law is amazing) made that clear, so it's just another chain Arthur is adding, a little "Be careful love, you don't know what SOMEONE might do if they found out you're a mage :) :)", you know?

And as someone who played as a Hound who is absolutely dreading this marriage (they literally feel like a prisoner) that whole thing kinda felt as if that wasn't an option? Like for example, the walking into the church thingy you have: I feel better, I'm not alone, and the "I am strong and proud" options, but no real option for...just numb? I personally just headcanoned the Hound was disassociated to the point they won't remember the day at all. (I kinda hope we might just get to breakdown with our brothers, or idk alone in the dark)

Also I forget, but is this a game where we have to rack up romance points to lock in? Or one we choose the route? Because I honestly didn't feel that my Hound would want to talk to anyone during what is (to them) a celebration of their collaring/house's defeat.

BUUUUT I truly do hope you take this as constructive. You won't please all of us, and you shouldn't try to. I love that you gave us even this and you are incredibly strong and lovely for pushing through everything. If I am out of line, feel free to ignore or tell me off and I'll just smash my Hound into a better mold for the story lol. After all, it is your story, tell it how you want.

I would really like to give you a long response to your very helpful feedback, but I fear I am lacking the energy to do so. I just want you to know that I hear you, and in truth you make really good points.

1) yeah I do admit I was getting close to burnout with writing in this update, and that scene in particular might have suffered for it. I'll revise it, and hopefully try to not make the interaction feel so jarring. (Note: did you try to pick the more... aggressive option? It goes in a different way, maybe it is less weird?)

2) you are totally right on the options for the marriage - especially because you can play a very numb MC. I'll either edit or add that option. Ohh and the breakdown with the siblings is peak idea. I'm writing that down.

3) as for the romance points: this game is focused strongly on MC. You can choose the pace of the relationship your Hound develops, and for romance, you need to first have some platonic points with said RO. Platonic means in this case that MC wants to spend time with them, and doesn't have to go further than what will become a lifelong friendship.

You do have to pick at least an option to have platonic points with a RO, but you won't get locked out of anything in this game. Every choice shapes your personal Hound's story, this is not a game that punishes you, or that is focused solely on romance.

Thank you for sending this in! This kind of feedback, especially if worded clearly and kindly lik you did, can be so helpful and I love getting it even if it makes me pause and rethink some things.

[phneltwrites]

I wish you would write a fic where…

….Jan-Olof decides he has had enough of Erik and Wilhelm's antics, escapades and scandals. He retires. His successor is a young man called Simon Eriksson. The moment Wilhelm lays eyes on Simon for the first time, he trips over his own feet and falls (in love). Simon, however, isn’t impressed with the two princes. They make his job difficult. He can’t decide who’s worse. Pretty quickly Wilhelm is also annoyed because while he can’t stop staring at Simon, Simon is exactly like J-O was: professional, conservative and boring (but also cheeky/rude when it’s just the two of them). They have lots of stupid arguments but there’s also loads of unresolved sexual tension between them. Meanwhile Kristina watches everything from the sidelines and facepalms mentally.

💜

I was trying to think about this one and rotating it and I'm not so good at talking so here's like the short fic version of what I'd do! The angle I basically took here is about how anxiety from the outside often looks like rudeness and being judgmental.

Everyone knows this is a bad job. It’s why it’s the one for the most junior member of staff. Simon’s often caused himself to question his life choices and the series of misfortunes that have led to him firstly working for the Swedish monarchy—a thing he ideologically opposes—and as a wrangler for Prince Wilhelm. His literal, full-time job is to make sure the Prince is where he’s supposed to be, upright, and in clothes. On day one he’s informed they need someone for this because it is extremely difficult.

The prince is unreliable, they said. He’s used to being catered to and he doesn’t consider how to make any one else’s job run smoothly. Don’t expect any consideration. He won’t practice his speeches and will act unprofessionally if you follow-up on his preparedness. Just put things in front of him and hope for the best.

Simon doesn’t love the idea of being personal servant for a manbaby who is emotionally volatile in the workplace.

At first he thought it might not be so bad. Wilhelm introduced himself carefully, with a handshake and direct eye contact, dead serious like it wasn’t ridiculous on the face of it. He slid Simon snacks under the table at their first interminable briefing meeting.

“I didn’t think it would go this long,” Simon muttered as thanks.

“When you see the line ‘review precedence’ it means we have to list everyone who is going and what order they’ll walk in,” he whispers back with a grimace. “I always bring snacks when I see that.”

Simon files the note away and when he says as much to Wilhelm, Wilhelm rewards him with a real smile. His entire face brightens and when he does it reminds Simon that Wilhelm is his age.

All of that optimism dies the moment they have their first event where Simon is in charge of wrangling, without anyone else guiding him. And he can’t find Wilhelm. Why did he think that Wilhelm would make an exception to his unreliability for Simon?

He runs around, dashing from room to room, as if a six-foot suit bedecked man might be overlooked in a corner like a stray pair of headphones.

The patter of rain on the window draws Simon’s attention by chance and then it’s his second heart attack. Wilhelm is out there. Soaking.

Simon dashes out and immediately feels the rain seep down the back of his neck. It’s raining hard enough that it pushes at his curls, wetness worming its way in.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Simon feels hysterical. He grabs Wilhelm’s wrist. It feels like ice. He drags and Wilhelm follows him, feet stumbling. Simon closes the door behind them and starts to fret. Wilhelm’s hair is wet. His suit is wet. His tie is ruined. He got a whole onboarding document on the caretaking rules for silk ties. Exposing them to rainwater is not best practice. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

Meanwhile, Wilhelm’s hair drips onto the parquet floor. He isn’t saying anything. He’s supposed to be giving a speech to this anti-drunk driving charity in ten minutes and if Simon sends him out like that, he’ll get demoted in such a way that they’ll make his life miserable enough until he quits. He thought Wilhelm respected him a little but he’s just standing there, staring at nothing, looking bored. Offering no solutions, no explanations. Least he could do is apologise. He’s not even looking at Simon, instead peering at the detailing on the baseboards. Now is not the time to develop an interest in design.

Simon is going to get fired. And Wilhelm doesn’t even care. Simon supposes he has ultimate job security and doesn’t know what insecurity would feel like.

“Look at the state of you,” Simon scolds. “How could you do this? Is this hazing? My first time so you want to fuck with me?” Simon brushes at Wilhelm’s hair, helplessly. The front pieces have slid onto his forehead. “I get that this is nothing for you, but this is my job. I need this.” He takes Wilhelm’s tie. He pops the top button open. Maybe it looks intentional. “You get everything handed to you. I’m here to make sure you have your tissues and your shoes are shined and all your whims are taken care of. And all you have to do is show up and hand out some ribbons, shake a few hands. Would it kill you to take it seriously? Or at least, if you aren’t, would you try not to waste my time? Your extremely royal highness? If that isn’t too hard for you.” Wilhelm is just like the rest of them. Every rich kid at University who complained that the professors weren’t nice enough to them, or who whined that they were broke because they spent all their money on drinks and movie tickets and for the first time had to consider a budget. People to whom it had never occurred to them that they’d have to be careful about anything in their life. That they’d have to think ahead or go without.

“Yeah,” Wilhelm says absently. Simon stops talking. He glares at Wilhelm. “That’s right. Isn’t it?” The question sounds like it’s of no matter to him. Simon wants to shake him.

Wilhelm does it first, shaking his head, water flying. He wipes his hair with his hand, slicking it back as much as he can. Then he steps out.

Simon doesn’t watch the speech. He’s not allowed in the room anyway. His precedence is too low.

Later, he sits around with the staff, Friday night out to celebrate the week and starts to complain. Everyone laughs in that nostalgic way that Simon has never mastered.

“You didn’t bring an extra suit?” Margot asks. “Someone didn’t train you right. For his Highness you always have to bring a full change.”

“And his headphones,” Andreas jumps in. “If he starts looking like he’s going to bolt, those can keep him in place for a bit.”

“At least if he runs he usually comes back,” Karl says. It seems that everyone has a Wilhelm story. “It’s the hiding that’s more difficult.” Karl is one of the older members of the team. He leans over to Wilhelm. “His Highness knows all of the nooks and crannies in the palace. Every built-in cupboard and weird space under some stairs. You’ll get to know them too.”

The longer this goes on, the less funny it gets. Everyone had told Simon how difficult Wilhelm is, how spoiled, and he’d seen Wilhelm’s behaviour today as careless. But this is so consistent.

Then Margot hammers the final nail. “He can’t fit in the worst spots anymore. You’re lucky. Trying to reach in to the top shelf of a wardrobe to get a grip on him while in heels was not what I studied for.”

“How long ago were you managing him?” Simon asks. He feels the shape of the answer already.

She purses her lips. “Ten, fifteen years ago? Don’t worry, it won’t take you that long to get a better portfolio.”

So she was a grown woman and Wilhelm was what, seven?

He stands up. “I have to go.”

***

He goes to Wilhelm’s rooms at the palace. His badge gets him in the building but a guard stops him at the door. “No staff entry to the prince’s private rooms outside of working hours,” she says firmly.

Simon hadn’t thought about that. He didn’t think about that.

He won’t push his way in.

***

Simon grabs Wilhelm’s sleeve at the end of the next briefing. “I’m sorry I snapped at you,” Simon says.

Wilhelm is staring at his sleeve where Simon has a hold on it. Simon lets go. Wilhelm’s fingers twitch, turning and curling towards Simon’s. He looks up at Simon and blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“No, that’s what I’m saying.” This conversation is going weirdly.

Wilhelm looks confused. “For what?”

“For snapping,” Simon repeats.

Wilhelm doesn’t look any less confused. “You were doing your job.” He says it, almost questioning. Like why are they still talking about this.

Simon did not think he could feel worse, but Wilhelm’s total lack of understanding why anyone should give him any consideration makes him want to claw at his shirt collar.

Then Wilhelm is called away.

***

At the next function, which is a rose garden tea thing that Simon can’t pretend to understand, Simon finds Wilhelm sitting on a bench next to a trellis.

“Hi,” Simon says.

Wilhelm takes a big inhale, shoulders rising up and in. “Am I out of time?”

Simon thinks about it. Thinks about Wilhelm forcing himself out there. Then he says, “Want to get out of here?”

Wilhelm laughs. Then he takes a second look at Simon’s face. “Oh.”

Simon puts out his hand. Eyes darting between his hand and Simon’s face, Wilhelm takes it. Simon tugs and Wilhelm comes easily.

When they go, they don’t look back.

[ropebunnykant]

Hi!! What are your thoughts on the confrontations at the empty pool vs the ocean? Obviously the ocean is relevant to kant's past but the juxtaposition of the two is so interesting to me but I can't really figure out if that was just an aesthetic choice or if there's actually something to it.

Looking forward to your thesis about the boat scene!!

omg thank you for asking and i will absolutely be writing an in depth post about the boat scene probably later on cause it was sooo chock full of things and first kanaphan deserves every fucking award possible for that scene

i will say, i think when it comes to analyzing media, there are so few things that are done and chosen "just for aesthetic." i've had other people comment on that when i've talked about the religious imagery, and while yes, aesthetic is important in media and often times can be reason enough for directors and designers to choose them, i would say more often than not there is also meaning behind big choices like set. they put fadel and style in an empty pool for a reason, just as they put kant and bison on the boat for a reason.

now, the boat was likely a very obvious choice for bison because like you said, it's relevant to kant's past and kant told him on their first date that he was scared of the ocean. so, of course tying him up and putting him on a boat surrounded by water to confront him would be the exact sort of psychological torture bison would want to inflict on kant.

but when you compare it to fadel and style, i think it's also a way of representing openness, and in a way it's a representation of each couple.

because fadel confronts style in an empty pool, and he's stripped style almost completely naked. style is laid almost totally bare, and that's true in a literal sense as well as a metaphorical sense, because fadel knows he's a "snitch." and the thing about fadel and style is that while yes, there's been lies and deception there, style has also been very earnest in every way he can be. it was only more recently that he had to start lying for real, and even then he still sneaks in as much truth and openness with fadel as he possibly can. and it's exactly what he does here - even with a gun to his head and fadel telling him not to say he loves him, style still says it because it's true and style doesn't know how to be anything but open and honest with fadel.

and then when it comes to the bison and kant of it all, there's a lot more lies and deception. kant is not laid bare in the same way - bison even has him in essentially a costume by putting him in the patient scrubs. but at the center of it all is the fact that even with all the lies, even with the murky waters, kant has been honest with bison. he's been vulnerable with him. and that's how bison knows putting kant on a boat and telling him to jump overboard is the cruelest thing he could do to him. it's fair game to bison because of what kant did to him, but it also shows that even if bison thinks everything was a lie, there was always some amount of truth to it. because kant never had to give an assassin his biggest fear, but he did it anyways.

i also think the empty pool vs the ocean says a lot about bison and fadel's intentions in the scene, even on a subconscious level. i don't think fadel at any point planned to actually hurt style. maybe he told himself he would, but i think deep down he knew he would never be able to go through with it. so, he puts him in an empty pool where yeah, he can get hurt if he pushes style into it and he hits the floor of the pool, but those injuries likely won't be serious enough to kill him - and he won't drown.

whereas bison, despite likely also knowing he can't actually hurt kant himself, took him somewhere he could make kant do it for him. and even then, it's clear he regrets it as soon as kant hits the water, because he's calling out to him as soon as he jumps off, as if he didn't expect him to actually do it. bison wants to hurt kant but he knows he can't, whereas fadel wants to want to hurt style and knows he can't. and those are two very different things.

[dollopole]

In most analyses, and sometimes, mine included, we often talk about how much Merlin forgets himself and who he is, in the later seasons, his personality and character and beliefs, and how he gets replaced by something heavier, by a person who’s literally the other side of Arthur, who can’t think on his own, if he doesn’t consider him first.

But what I personally think we get wrong is when this happens. Because Merlin confesses to Arthur, “I’m happy to be your servant, ‘till the day I die.”

And that happens so early, and what does Arthur do, if not fall irremediably in love? It’s not even a fall, it’s a continuous precipice, a tumultuous one, where he doesn’t know what to hold onto, if not on the one man who unfolded that truth to him, only after a few months of knowing him.

Merlin was ready and did lay down his life for Arthur, mere days later to their first meeting.

No matter their choices, whatever they are bad or good, they can’t do it otherwise, even if they want to, they can’t decide differently, because theirs is not love: it’s destruction, it tears them apart, yet they can’t stop picking up the pieces, one after one, until they’re all again.

Merlin is woven in the fabric of the world, and if Arthur is born of that magic, then he can’t help but feel drawn to him. It doesn’t matter if Merlin is his servant or not, because he would have found a way to serve Arthur no matter the circumstances. He uses his magic only for him because he doesn’t know otherwise. Arthur writes rules and laws based on what Merlin tells him to because he doesn’t know otherwise.

They listen to none but each other, they fight for none but each other, they love none as deeply but each other.

It’s more than devotion, it’s a risk, and Merlin and Arthur took it as soon as they laid eyes on one another.

“Do I know you?”

Perhaps, Arthur did, perhaps, he felt that pull of destiny, that part of him he never understood that had awoken on Merlin’s command.

They are one and the same, and that’s more than love.

[superconductivebean]

Just my thoughts—as a fandom hermit of sorts.

Creating for nobody but yourself is actually discouraging when it's done repulsively. You'll feel its hard slap later down the line—unless your inner reader began to enjoy you as an author. They will gradually subside your inner critic and might teach them few lessons in how to appreciate maybe not the work itself—who of us doesn't have an one we dislike in some way?—but the craftwork went behind its creation.

How to do that?

Surprisingly easy.

Watch your creative decisions. Introspect. See yourself in your work.

You are inseparable in some way or another, your reflection is present within it, and by that I imply how you felt writing it and why did you think something would or wouldn't work. The only one who usually know is you, so, if you feel something is wrong, it probably is. The best is the enemy of the good, yes, but I'm not talking about perfectionism. I'm talking about the need to listen to that tingle and being able to assess it before editing.

Perfectionism is, in a sense, artistic pessimism. It tells you everything is wrong but it can't be an objective truth. Then some scenes must be wrong, and alright, good, the field is narrowed down. Which ones? Where? Why? At that point, put the work away for a day or two, then re-open, re-see, realise, that yes, that could be improved, except it isn't a scene. It's a sloppy word choice. It changed the sentence, that avalanched into a little rearrangement, and voila, everything works.

You fight the pessimistic outlook with a little bit of rest.

The more you learn how to treat your work, the more you might grow excited to try new things and not because you want to show them to the world but first to yourself.

That little part of you is who actually matter. Learn to love these little emotion abstractions. Care for the little guy, nurse them, feed them different ideas, styles, work them up to your master and see yourself forming in directions you'd never thought you would be able to simply because them—you—wanted to try something new. It would not matter if those were successful or not; when the entire process is a journey, the output's performance begins to matter very little.

Besides, the little guy would want company—and that's when other people come in. The reader doesn't like negative responses or no responses at all, true. Know who does? Your inner critic.

They're all too eager to overthink things and they're the perpetrator of your pessimism. So make them analyse why something clicks for many people and why something goes under their radar, make them a little analytics-building machine (which is also a skill), and just keep its outputs close in case you're curious how different fandoms or communities work. It's mostly a useless information. But you will be certain about things, and certainty brings comfort.

It will help to find readers in case you'd need more, too. Or if you'd like to meet someone new. But is it a guaranteed method? No, it isn't. Sometimes you'll write the most influential fandom monsterfic and all these people will pass by. Othertimes you'd write the smallest fic in the fandom but all its people will get around it because they liked your take on things or became curious with your ideas—and they can actually stuck around. You may never know. Fandom isn't business, it is rather a wild fair with barely predictable events in its main mystery.

Besides.

You can't make yourself a miracle to everyone; but be the miracle to yourself, and people will notice it and will try to comprehend you. Be Original, they say. They lie. They want the same jacket but red. Or the same jacket but sewn from kelps. Be Familiar But Be Outland-ish. Do your thing, that everybody else does, in your own fascinating way. Be the artist after all, be that bitch and leave people with the art-shaped holes in their thoughts.

I used to play an instrument once. I was bad at it, well, I was taught poorly and was only ever learning how to play from the sheets. It never go outwith or far and the instrument is long-sold, but I'm still able to recall the emotions I had while playing it. Heartbeat was the metronome, the hands were going in perfect synch, the entire body was able to feel the timings, and at some point, it wasn't simply the flow and going along with it. It was being the flow. The architect behind its creation—well, yes, the music wasn't mine, but being able to recreate it and make it sound as it supposed to sound was utterly captivating, enamouring, absolutely wondrous experience.

Years later I became enamoured with the writing—the process of it. If I manage to build the flow correctly and sail down my own rivers with little to no bump, unless planned, I'm overjoyed and amazed.

But will it go far? How well will it perform? Sometimes I do care if I know people might be interested, but beyond that, it's just doing its thing and bringing me joy because it's a puzzle, because it's a never-ending fascination—and because it's even more than that when done in the completely different tongue. And people take to it. Because it looks fun, perhaps, or it's something they had rarely seen before done in the language, or maybe it's just the way I tend to pick words and arrange them. I always get different answers. But what I know for certain: that something I found within me works both for me and people liking my things.

That what matters.

It all might sound a tad bit mental but it's so important to be in harmony with yourself as an author, as a reader, and as your own critic—who else knows you as much as you? Don't forget the people you have—the crowds will come and go, but the friends will stay.

Maybe this is a hot take, but as creative people, our #1 priority in our work should be ourselves.

It is not, AND SHOULD NEVER BE, what would get us the most engagement. Dispel "content creation," popularity, and monetization from your brain. Write, paint, draw what you want to! HOLY SHIT!!!!!!

The people who resonate with it will eventually show up. But the people who don't? Who cares???? The art you personally create is meant to help you heal, to help you express, to bring you joy and pain!!!!

You need to learn how to work on something because you deeply care for it and can revel in that self-satisfaction. Of course recognition feels fucking great! We all want it. We are humans, but you need to stop creating with the idea of other people consuming your work!!!

Give into the art movement. Create a renaissance for yourself. Fuck other people. Be that bitch! People are not going to be in your lives forever, and when you're left to your own devices, you should be able to look at what you've created and fucking love it.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

The unification of lovers

Friedrich Harding x wife!reader

warning : kiss, fluff, hurt/comfort, breaking social norm, tiny emotional

Summary : A marriage for which he was resented and she was stigmatised as a money-grubber, but it was a marriage of pure love and no compulsion for the two of them. They loved each other and no one would break them up, not society, their families or anyone else. United at the altar, they would finally belong to each other.

info : I just had to write more for Friedrich (maybe the others will have a look too) and can be seen as a continuation of this one. Have fun reading ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bells rang out whenever a couple got married in the great church of Wisborg, the only large religious building in the harbour town, the rest had to suffice for the docks where the boats anchored and the houses of the crowded town only seemed to get wider and higher.

Which is why the church almost seemed to drown among all the noise and the deeds that people did every day.

But not on this day, at least not for a small group of friends whose path led them to this church, the place where the most controversial couple would be married.

The clouds that usually hung over the city and swallowed up the sun even for the couple shone through and let the sun shine on the carriage that was on its way to the building.

A couple who seemed to be looking gracefully and confidently into an uncertain future, but a couple who, on second glance, came from such different social backgrounds in Wisborg that it was a scandal.

Friedrich, the rich heir and head of the Harding family of ship merchants, a man who could have chosen any woman, whose name and, above all, money would have opened doors and any woman in Wisborg and beyond would have given him everything...but his choice had fallen on a housemaid, his housemaid.

It was like light and shadow here in this neighbourhood, in society, in everything they all knew, as if someone would just sail into the thick fog of the sea and expect to find their way out again.

But it didn't matter, the couple didn't care that there would be an outcry, that Friedrich's father had almost beaten him in anger at the ‘foolish youth’ as he had called it.

She, his wife, although congratulated by the house staff and the couple Thomas and Ellen, had felt the eyes of the town on her since the announcement.

She couldn't seem to take a step without seeing the contemptuous looks, hearing the murmurs and even being spat at in front of her dress - it was the greed and jealousy that came from the town.

A darkness that brought tears to her eyes and she tried to cover her face as best she could with the bonnet until she was back with Frederick, whose embrace and voice shone like the light of hope.

Blue eyes that looked at her with a kindness and certainty that made her hope, ,,Leave them the jealousy, they will become ugly, they will never have what we have" he had assured her and hands held hers, hands held one another as he engaged her in a kiss.

The weeks leading up to the wedding were filled with feelings high and feelings low, Frederick's every whisper in his company about the wedding.

He would not tolerate people talking about his future wife with such an ugly voice, he was a man of class and he would do what he wanted and he had chosen her.

She was the one his heart belonged to, he reminded her every day when he came back to her, the kiss on the back of her hand, ,,The colour of love and our wedding" he meant the slight smile visible on his lips.

The smell of roses that he brought her surrounded her, various flowers and jewellery he would give her everything she wanted, it was the least he could give her for her hand in marriage.

When they could finally give each other the attention that society denied them, sitting together in front of the fireplace reading and talking, nibbling on biscuits and holding hands.

It was the little moments of hope and affection from Friedrich that made her look up whenever she walked through the streets.

He made her feel reassured, like on that special day when she got into the carriage where Ellen was sitting and the black-haired girl helped her with her white dress to get it into the carriage.

Ellen had become a good friend, someone she appreciated for her extraordinary nature and liked to hear her dreams and secrets, they were there for each other, two birds that could seemingly look beyond Wisborg and see the bigger picture.

There was nervousness in her, hands playing with each other, adjusting her dress and she saw Ellen's calm but happy look, ,,Mrs Harding you will be today, a wonderful moment believe me" she heard the words and looked at Ellen's ring, simply beautiful, Thomas's pride as he proposed to his Ellen.

Taking Ellen's hand gently, she squeezes it appreciatively, ,,Everything looks with disgust at us, at me...but not you two. My Friedrich is like a crack in the mirror that shows me that there is something behind it that is not always the same", she admitted, thinking back to those moments.

Countless glances in the house, the light touches that always seemed to be an accident and the gratitude in his voice, she had fallen for him from the very beginning.

Just as he had fallen for her the first time he saw her, when she had started working for him, an angel in a dark hopeless city. With a kindness and goodness that had overwhelmed him and made him give her his heart.

The clatter of the hooves on the stone slowed to a stop, the door opened and Elllen was the first to get out, Thomas was already waiting for his wife outside the church, ,,A wonderful dress" he said with a cheerful smile as he helped her out of the carriage.

The couple gave the bride one last cheer and encouragement before heading into the church, the few who came at all, as her own parents were months away in the country and Frederick's family had turned their backs on him.

But it was a small gathering at which the bride and groom agreed to unite the classes and let nothing stand in the way of their love, and when the bells rang again, the door was opened and they walked down the aisle.

She saw Ellen and Thomas who seemed to be overcome with emotion, the house staff on the other side of the benches wiping away their tears and proud of her and Friedrich, her beloved Friedrich couldn't take his eyes off her.

Blue eyes just like hers, tears already threatening to flow as she stood opposite him, the suit and dress harmonised it looked and felt right, ,,We have gathered here today to consummate the union of these two young people" the priest began and at last they could hold hands again.

She could feel him joyfully and caringly stroking his finger over hers again and again, something he had always done to soothe each other.

Friedrich's seemed just as trembling as hers, gazing along at each other, a smile and joyful overwhelmingness as the ceremony progressed, finally in a few moments they would belong together.

When the yes word finally came from both of them, a few tears flowed down her cheeks as she saw the golden rings, the engraved names inside, ,,May our love last forever" he spoke as he took her hand and placed the ring on her finger.

Blinking away the tears and seeing that he was fighting tears himself, she reached for the other ring on the pillow and took his hand, ,,And let no one break this bond of love" she spoke, tears threatening to flow again as she felt his hands on her side, pulling her closer.

They could finally give each other the kiss that would start their time together as husband and wife.

As her friends and acquaintances cheered and the bells of Wisborg announced another wedding and the marriage between a rich merchant and a housemaid was sealed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@juliemarauderfan , @g0dhasbeen , @luhvbot , @lavieenvalentina , @wattyey , @deepestplaidscissorstoad

[delilahgrey14]

୨⎯ An Educational Affair ⎯୧

╰┈➤Pairing: Wolverine/Logan Howlett x fem!Reader 

╰┈➤ Word Count: 2418

╰┈➤ Summary: You are an educator at the X-Mansion, along with the history teacher and famous X-Men, Logan Howlett (aka Wolverine). One day you decide to perform a little experiment on Logan, just to see how it will go. You want to see if your long time friend will fall for you in-between classes. How will it go? Will you pass…or will you fail? 

╰┈➤ TW:   <18+ MINORS DNI PLEASE>   Mentions of PTSD (In reference to Logan’s memories), Alcoholism, Language, Sensuality, Pet Names, Moderate Sexual Content (P in V, protected, consensual sex), Sex in Public? (Kinda?), Minor Reference To Praise Kink

╰┈➤ Author’s Note: Hi! I hope you enjoy, I just wanted to put a quick note in here that may or may not help, but while writing this I pictured more of the movie version of Logan Howlett, so any references to him being taller than the reader or any references to stature were more geared to that physique, but as the reader it is ENTIRELY your choice to picture him in any way you see fit! (I just have a problem with Hugh Jackman lol)

-D.G.

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It was just another day at the X-Mansion. You had become familiar with the entire place, inside and out. After working there as a teacher for about three years, you were a professional when it came to keeping yourself occupied in-between classes. All of the other teachers and X-Men always had something going on, whether that be saving the world or being a mentor to the younger mutants in the school, but you found yourself spending more time alone. Occasionally you would talk to the other X-Men and educators, but only one of them really caught your eye…Logan. 

A history professor at the mansion and famous member of the X-Men, he was an amazing person to talk to. Although it took many years to get to that point, Logan loved to share stories about all of the years and events that he was a part of. You were always so grateful for Professor Xavier helping Logan get his memories back, they were so entertaining, and you were always there for him when the memories got a little too hard to handle. For years Logan relied on copious amounts of whiskey to get through these memories, but the longer that the two of you knew each other, the more willing he was to put the bottle down and let you comfort him. 

You developed feelings for him with time as well, not only did you care for him, but damn was he  hot. The way that he would make those flannels and jeans look like they were made just for him. The way that his blue eyes shimmered when the sun hit them just right, and the fact that he only showed his soft side to you was so…damn…hot. Sometimes you found yourself fantasizing about how his rough, calloused, skin would feel against yours. How his warm soft lips would feel on yours. How big his-…no. You couldn’t, he was your friend. Friends shouldn’t think so much about how amazing it would feel to be taken by another friend…but what if he thought about those things too? How could you ever know if you didn’t try to drop a few hints? 

You came up with a plan, and it was foolproof. You would start slowly, a change in perfume, a new lipstick, maybe unbutton one more button on your blouse when you went to go see him in between his classes? Surely he would notice, and sure maybe nothing would come of it…but it could work. You decided that you would start your little experiment the next day, it was a Tuesday so that would mean that you would have the rest of the week to keep up this little plan and if nothing changed by Friday, you would attempt to move on from this little crush you have developed. 

On Tuesday, you decided to try out a new perfume, well, new for him. It was a bottle that you kept in the back of your closet that you only pulled out on special occasions, and this was perfect. You pulled on your best pencil skirt, black heels, linen blouse, and black thin frame glasses and headed over to teach your classes for the day. All went well, but it was a little hard to focus on teaching literature when you were too excited to see Logan’s reaction to your little ruse after class. Once your last class was over and you knew Logan’s was too, you made your way over to his designated classroom. In Logan fashion, he was drinking a bottle of something that was concealed in a stainless steel travel mug. You let out an accusatory cough and gave him a look that said I thought we talked about this. 

“Hey! This is coffee. JUST coffee.” Logan said, defending his progress in moving on from his addition to the substance.

As you made your way from the door over to his desk, making sure to put a little extra sway in your hips, you saw him take notice of the new scent. Alongside his visible mutations, Logan had an extremely strong sense of smell, so nothing seemed to get past him.

“Did you put on a new perfume? It’s nice…”

You smiled, glad that your little plan was beginning to work. 

“I did, I’m glad to see that you noticed. How was class?” You said, continuing to smirk

He regained his composure, he had been lost in an almost trance like state, taking in not only what seemed to be the perfume, but all of you. You never noticed him do this before, but you loved it.

“Uh, fine. The kids didn’t want to hear any of it, as per usual. How about yours?”

“Good, good.” You were enjoying seeing him trying to hide how flustered you were making him feel.

“Well uh, anyways. I better get going. I have…uh, papers to grade? Yeah. See ya”

He scurried out of the room, you couldn’t help but notice how much he was smiling when he left. You couldn’t wait to see how the rest of your experiments would go.

You continued to change one little thing each day, and each day he seemed to get just a little more intrigued and interested in you. The lipstick made him lock onto your lips for your entire conversation, the blouse had a similar effect, it was time to pull it all together. It was Friday, the final day that you were going to play this little game. You decided to put all of it together. The enticing perfume, the ruby red lipstick, the low cut silk blouse that showed off just enough to drive Logan crazy. Once again you got your best, black, tight pencil skirt that showed off your curves just right, black stilettos that made the whole thing come together, and your trademark thin rimmed black glasses. Perfect. Once again, you made your way to your class, taught a few lessons on Shakespeare, then when they were over, made your way to Logan’s classroom.

Instantly you could see the look on his face turn from a bored expression to one that was borderline feral. 

“Sweetheart, I have no clue what you have been up to this week…but I can’t say I don’t like it. What has gotten into you”

He looked you up and down, taking in everything, every part of you. Not just the new additions, but ALL of you. He approached you with a slow, smooth walk, and when he finally came up to you, he had a look in his eyes that screamed that he wanted you so bad. You couldn’t believe it, it worked! He was obsessed with you, and you were willing to take this to the next level. With a wave of confidence, you said,

“You know, there aren’t any more classes for the rest of the day…and it’s just you, and me, and this empty classroom…” You gave a little wink and a smirk as you unbuttoned another button on your blouse, revealing the tiniest bit of a black, lacey, bra you put on to complete the look. This was it, the final thing to make him go absolutely insane…

He no more than let you finish your sentence before he ran over to the classroom door, shut and locked it, then ran back to you. 

“Darlin’ you are playing with fire here. If you want this, I want this, but I need to hear you say it.” He looked at you with desperation in his eyes, he wanted this now as much as you did.

You made your way over to his desk and leaned against it, a seductive look in your eyes. Licking your lips, you pulled out a condom from your bra and held it up, teasingly.

“Come here, handsome”

As if all of his restraint flew right out the window, he rushed over to you. He kissed you passionately, pushing his tongue into your mouth. This was everything you hoped it would be. He moved his lips from yours to your neck, moving with a fierceness, like he had a mission and knew exactly what he was doing. He began to move his hands down your body, tracing your curves, feeling you, needing to feel more, and the stubborn blouse you were wearing was getting in the way. He cleared off the desk, pens and books clanking to the ground, grabbed you by the waist, hoisted you up onto the desk, and swiftly pushed your tight skirt up so he could push your legs apart. Oh god he was so hot, he did everything like he was on a mission, and it was so attractive how much it seemed like he needed you. He moved his hands from your exposed thighs and back up to your blouse, your breathing was quickening, every time he touched you he sent shivers down your body, the heat growing between your legs each minute. Logan fiddled with the buttons on your blouse, cursing under his breath at the fact that he couldn’t get them undone. 

“Fuck…these damn buttons, ugh. Fuck it.” He exclaimed, “Sorry sweetheart, I’ll get you a new one”

He ripped the blouse with his bare hands, his strength was so attractive. He rolled the shirt off of your shoulders, fully exposing the lacy black bra. Tossing the shirt off of the desk, Logan let out in a low growl,

“God you are so beautiful, how was I able to wait this long to have you”

He kissed you more, gasping for air in between each deep, passionate kiss. He was grabbing your breast with one hand and beginning to move his other in between your legs. You let out a soft moan as his hand grazed the outside of your panties, which were becoming soaked the longer that his hand remained there. He grabbed the matching black panties and pulled them down gently to your knees, looking into your eyes with a sexy, dark look, like he was preparing himself to pounce. You decided you wanted to be a part of all the action too, you removed your glasses and set them aside, then removed the white shirt that Logan was wearing, placing your hands on his chest and sliding them down to his jeans, beginning to unbutton those too, exposing his protruding and obvious bulge through his underwear.

“Someone is excited to see me, hm?” You said in a flirtatious tone. 

He chuckled in return, now pulling down his waistband swiftly and quickly grabbing the condom you had teased him with from before and rolled it, somehow seductively, onto his massive cock. As you watched him do so, you were reaching the point where all you wanted was for him to be inside of you. You began to tremble in anticipation, grabbing at his neck and shoulders and pulling him closer to you, kissing him passionately once your lips met. Logan slid you forward on the desk in one swift movement, moving your skirt up further in the process so that you were now fully exposed to him. You were pulsing, every breath felt heavy and you were becoming impatient. As you tried to get yourself closer to him, trying to get him to give you what you wanted, he gave you a sensual, commanding look. 

“Ah ah, sweetheart. Someone is getting a little impatient on me…but you aren’t getting anything until you tell me how much you want this.” He said with a devilish grin, like he knew exactly how much this was driving you crazy.

You looked up at him with desperation in your eyes, your breathing was strained and your usually confident, steady voice was now reduced to a whimper. As if to make things worse, Logan moved his hand down, moving slowly and softly over your sensitive clit.

“Logan…I…uh, need…you, please.” You begged, trying to keep steady through your growing moans, he knew exactly what to do to make you feel so good, but still needing more.

He smiled, getting what he wanted from you.

“That's my good girl, telling me what you need.”

He placed his calloused hands on your waist, and slowly guided himself into you. He let out a growl while you let out a loud moan as soon as he was inside. When he knew that you were ready, he found a rhythm that felt amazing. You were never one that was able to finish fast, but you found yourself quickly reaching your precipice in his care. In a menagerie of moans and heavy breathing, you found the strength to sputter out, 

“Logan…I’m so close…” 

You were shivering now, your entire body contracting, which only made Logan more turned on than ever before.

“Come for me sweetheart, you can do it. Be a good girl and come for me.” He commanded. It felt so good when he would talk to you like you were his.

You were so close, you clenched around him, your entire body pulsing with arousal. You were so close, and by the sound of his groans, he was too. You did as he said, reaching the edge and falling into the abyss of ecstasy as fast as you got there. Crying out in pure bliss as you rode the waves of your orgasm, you saw the look on his face become a mixture of pleasure and a seductive smile.

“Good job sweetheart, you are so good, fuck.” He moaned

No more than a few seconds later came one final thrust and a full body shiver from Logan. Both now satisfied, you both made your way to the floor, leaning against the desk and holding each other. You were amazed by how good that felt. God, you knew that a man that handsome and talented had to be good at sex, but you could never quite comprehend HOW good that was going to be. Logan had handed you his old sweatshirt he got when he first came to the mansion to make up for the ripped blouse from before. With his arm wrapped around your shoulder, he kissed the top of your head and pulled you into a tight embrace.

“That was the best time I've ever had darlin’. Did you enjoy yourself?” 

You nodded, placing your head on his shoulder, you never wanted this moment to end. What did this mean? Were you more than friends? You didn’t know, but right now you didn’t care. This was the best idea you had ever had.

[rlbbackup]

A year in review - 2024 (SxF)

So, after reading the lovely @unhappy-sometimes's 2024 retrospective (which I highly recommend you read!), I thought I'd do something similar!

This will be pretty long and have lots of links and tags but I hope you enjoy this little romp I took down memory lane about all the fics I wrote this past year!

All for Naught

This was a fic that was inspired by a conversation with @glacialdawn and I wrote it up completely in 12 hours. I’m not exaggerating! We were just goofing off in dms and we got on the topic of Yuri’s decision to become an SSS officer and how it relates to Yor’s raising him…and it evolved from there. 

All in all, I’m VERY proud of how this fic turned out. Having it be solely from Yor’s POV and forcing her to deal with an abrupt change in how she views her brother was a lot of fun. Of all the reveals that may or may not happen in SxF, I personally feel that the Briar Siblings reveal will be the most critical. Yeah there’s betrayal involved in the TwiYor one and Anya’s reveal will likely end in bloodshed, but Yor has hid what she needed to do to raise Yuri for over a decade and a half at least. And while she admits that her brother is intense, seeing him in his work environment would probably shatter something within her. The work of the SSS isn’t glorious. Neither is that of an assassin. 

All this to say that with this as the start of my fics in 2024, I’m not surprised how later fics turned out XD

Hypothetically…

While my Post-reveal, Pre-relationship series has been written almost entirely out of order, I really enjoyed the inspiration that led me to writing this one. When I saw this post by @itsmechini, the words almost poured out of me. Twilight and Yor have had a lot of things taken from them in life, things that ultimately made them who they are but they didn’t have a choice or say in the matter. Having the choice to reveal who they truly are to each other and accepting the other for who they are feels like a healing of that particular wound and I couldn’t help but put pen to paper. 

I was also inspired by the writing style of the lovely Puolain while writing this, leading me to use different scene change styles and I think it flows better because of it! 

I will also admit that I cried several times while writing this, especially at Yor’s answer to a hypothetical question asked. Beyond that, this was a really cathartic fic to write and I’m glad I got to share it with you guys!

Side by Side and Locked in Tight

THIS FIC.

It’s been bouncing around in my head for a long time now, since I love the song that inspired this (Cop Car by Sam Hunt - there is also a version by Keith Urban, but the Sam Hunt version feels softer so I’m going with that one XD). I had an early draft of this fic existing in my Google docs since… 2021 I think? Right after I fell down the Ken/Anya shipping cavern and haven’t wanted to climb back out.

But actually writing this fic was a STRUGGLE until talking prompts out with the people in the SxF Rare Pair server. While it was a NSFW prompt, handcuffs just broke through the fog I’d had regarding this plot idea and BOOM I was finally able to post it. 

While Ken has some of the shortest character involvement in SxF, I love this kid. I get he’s practically an OC at this point, but I’m okay with that and I love playing around with how he’d interact with the Cecil Hall Gang. I want them all to be friends. Anya should have more friends!

Anyway! I go back and read this fic from time to time and I’m still happy with it. Especially the twist at the end XD

Don’t forget to lock the door

Another fic created with the help of the Rare Pair Server! (love you guys!)

One thing that makes me laugh constantly in SxF is the fact that the Forger’s apartment has a deadbolt but it looks like the Forgers never use it XD. Imagine all those times people barged into the apartment stopped by a simple use of a sliding lock 🤣So, why not make it a plot point of a fic!

I blame @creativwit for this ultimately. Though it was a pleasure to write Twilight and Franky needling each other and Yor soothing both of them. On a second/third/however many times I’ve read this thing, I still love how they are soft with each other in their own ways.

Little Black Number

A fic inspired by my own art!

Sometime in 2023, I was talking to some friends on discord when I was reminded of Princess Diana’s “Revenge Dress” that she wore after then Prince Charles’ “Tell All” interview where he sort of hinted at being unfaithful to her during their marriage. This spiraled into “I’m pretty sure Yor would look fantastic in the Revenge dress” and going from there.

Now, based on anecdotal evidence, it’s believed by myself and others that SxF takes place mostly in an alternate version of the 1960s. Endo-Sensei does mix things about the world regarding technology in his story, but the fashion is straight out of 1960s fashion magazines. So, the revenge dress is way out of the possibilities. Still. I think the dress would look good on Yor and drew it!

The dress I describe in the story is notably different (namely that the skirt is ankle/floor length versus the above knee design of the inspiration). 

To the story itself, I really want Yor to have friends and while I’m still wary of Melinda I think the two of them could be close! So I wrote about them having girl time together, bonding even when they are in two different social groups and where they can compromise on things. It was a quick and fun write! I really loved this one!

A moment of weakness

This fic was inspired by @/usleepover's art on Twitter!

Like most of the other fics mentioned here, this was inspired by chats on Discord. I have USleepover and @astersugar for this. Long before ch. 109, we were wondering what would lead these two to interact, and guessed that it would probably involve Dr. Forger’s office. Now…that conversation spiraled into something wildly different from what I did in this fic, but it did inspire me.

As a little more background, I have had a fic in the background for a year and a half now where Yor experiences a medical emergency and how the Forgers’ lives change as a result. I have no idea when or if I will ever post that fic since it’s…heavy. Emotionally and mentally heavy. But I was able to write this in relation to it. While I’m not specific in what ails Yor, I did leave enough for one to guess. Like it’s larger, heavier sister, this fic took an emotional toll on me. Having someone you love in the hospital and not being able to do a damn thing to help them is…difficult. I can’t put into words exactly how difficult that is. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, that’s how bad it is. So writing Loid and Melinda come to terms that they are out of their depths and still want to do something for Yor was cathartic in a way. I’m really happy with how this one came out and still reread it on occasion.

Rendezvous

I half blame @sister-cna-reader for this 🤣Her Hidden Under Roses’ Au with McMahon and Sylvia has me in a CHOKE HOLD and I was sunk for this ship from the start. So I decided to write about it. The other person I “blame” for this is @/Ari_Gateau on AO3 for encouraging me and ultimately giving me the prompt idea in the first place! You both are wonderful and I love you dearly!

I went back and forth on where in any timeline to put this, but ultimately decided that my PRPR verse was the best place. With Twilight and Thorn Princess revealed to each other, I could see their handlers also involved in that. Handler and Director aren’t exactly friends, but they are allies enough to watch each other’s backs if they find themselves on an assignment where they have aligned goals. 

Leaving this fic with the ending I did was a choice I also debated internally but I like it! And I guess that’s what matters 🤣

Pink Sakura

OH BOY THIS FIC.

The inspiration for this hit me upside the head very suddenly on Kiss Day (May 23) and I decided to choose violence. Like with Side by Side and Locked in Tight, I pulled my “canon but mostly an OC” buddy Ken back for some hanahaki “fun” 🤣This one is in the same universe as Flowers and Thorns, but this is clearly the angster younger sister. And once I started writing, I couldn’t stop. I wrote for almost three days straight before I was ready to post this. But it was worth it.

Adding Anya’s chapter wasn’t something I had originally planned (not that there was much planning involved in this fic 🤣) but once I finished Ken’s chapter, I realized there were some pretty glaring plot holes. So I used Anya to fill them and I think that worked out really well! I know hanahaki isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but I enjoy it and I’m glad I wrote this one!

New Moon Blues

I return to my Myth Au! 👏 I’ve mentioned this in my author notes, but this whole au was developed by several people (@httplovecraft1890 , @gonnahypatia, @whatroguewrites, @awphooey2u, @juuyeah and @connoisseursdecomfort) and started by @foxtamer113. I couldn’t have made this without everyone’s inputs!

This one was a plot we had discussed ages ago. I think once we nailed Loid and Yor’s roles down, we almost immediately started brainstorming how Anya fit into their lives. We pretty much made her their biological child from the start (if my memory serves me), which I genuinely love in Aus. We did debate over HOW she was born, even though we agreed that she would be a baby goddess. One of the ideas mentioned was something about mingling blood and tears but we decided that the "Athena" route was much more fun to play with. In the end, I altered it just a bit mostly because of inspiration from a comment on the story before this one (Soothing Rays). (thank you to that commentor! I can’t find it right now, but you are amazing!)

Floodgates / Throwing Away Fate (just to keep you safe)

These fics are a RIDE my guys. 

First off, Floodgates was originally a gift from the lovely @creativwit and I hijacked it because of conversations about this au on discord 🤣(like several others on this list amirite??) The idea of Kasper came from those conversations and we’ve grown insanely attached to him. Originally, he was going to be the contact that Garden silenced in ch 43, but we loved him too much to do that.

Since then, we had this idea of what would happen if Franky really did end up in Garden’s crosshairs, and Wit wrote the first chapter of Floodgates as a start. I’m pretty invested in Yor as a fault, so I kept thinking about how she would handle this situation and ended up writing the “interludes” for this fic. I’ve since renamed those chapters to the lyrics of Loyal, Brave, True by Christina Aguilera since that’s the song I primarily write these chapters to. 

Throwing Away Fate is a prequel (hence why i’m mentioning it here) and was pulled from those same conversations. I love the idea of Kasper already been head over heels for Franky before the real action gets going in Floodgates, so I wanted to explore how he found Franky and went on this adventure running from Garden. Originally, I had wanted to write more (up until they are found in Floodgates ch. 1) but I was running out of steam and didn’t want to force myself any farther. Maybe one day I’ll (or wit, or both of us together) write the scene where Shopkeeper finds Kas. That might be fun 😈

Crosslegged in the Dim Light

Unlike the song this title is drawn from, it’s pure fluff! I saw this art by EvuriKigen and immediately started writing. There wasn’t much thought put into the development of this fic since I just started writing. The only thing I did think was that I wanted this to be in my Post Reveal/Pre relationship series, where even though Twilight and Yor have all their cards on the table, sometimes they don’t need to talk about the specifics of their jobs. They know and trust their partner, and that’s really the point of this story. 🥰

Inferno

Shifting gears pretty abruptly, we once again dive into my chats over discord 🤣While I will grumble about how Yuri’s superior doesn’t have a name 😒, I love the dynamic Endo-Sensei set up for the First Lieutenant (I know in the English version he’s called “Captain” but the Japanese says “First Lieutenant” so that’s what I’m going with!), Yuri and Chloe. So I wanted to expand on that outside of their tracking down WISE agents. 

And while I know there is no evidence of any of them being closer than colleagues, my shipping brain just loves the idea of Chloe at least admiring her superior. Hence This fic. 

Like Crosslegged in the Dim Light, I wrote this one very quickly and with little thought about plot. I’m pretty happy with this one!

7 Minutes in Heaven

This one was a beautiful joint venture with @cambot77, @sister-cna-reader, @strangeduckpaper and @creativwit! As with several of the last fics, this one started it’s life on discord. It was our original hope to have this done by Kiss Day (May 23) but that changed as we all kept writing. It was a blast!

Writing out a list of all the pairs to start off was a treat because I kept randomly forgetting some of them XD. But we got them all and planned out a vague idea of what could happen in each chapter. Then I used an online spinner to divide up the ships that hadn’t been previously claimed. After confirming that everyone was happy with what they had, we made the order. 

Ao3’s Collections and Co-author features really helped us here and reading everyone’s chapters brought me genuine joy. It’s so wonderful watching how all of our different writing styles and takes on the characters fit together as a whole. I honestly cannot pick a favorite chapter since I love them all. Thank you all again, my dears. This project was so much fun!

Complicity

The fact that it took me 9 months to finish this one is still astounding to me 🤣I had planned for All For Naught to be a stand alone, but then I saw a prompt on the @dailytwiyorprompts tumblr and that quickly flew out the window!

Seeing everything from Twilight’s perspective and going through his mental gymnastics was honestly a blast. Not sure if there will be a follow up to this duology or not, but anything’s possible.

Psyche

The last fic I started in 2024. This is a gift for the lovely @cantareincminor and was something she requested specifically. Her prompt was: “Mole hunt arc with a twist: Garden sends Thorn Princess to Shellbury to assassinate Wheeler. Instead of Nightfall, Thorn Princess is the one to stumble upon Wheeler and Twilight. She absolutely mops the floor with Wheeler and saves Twilight. Up to you whether his mask is off or on—could be awesome either way if she believes her husband or her brother is in danger.”

No going to lie, I was completely surprised when this developed into a 10k first chapter. The second chapter is still in the works and looks like it may also end up about that length and there’s no clue about the 3rd. But I want to talk about the inspirations behind this fic beyond the prompt. 

The title for this fic changed multiple times as I was writing it and probably spent more time as “untitled” than anything else. But within the day I posted it, I was struck by Orpheus by Cantare herself! I honestly love mythology (as my Myth series shows I hope 😅) and considered the wider plot of where this story would go. Without giving away too much, the story of Eros and Psyche just fits. Yor is the wife that doesn’t truly know her husband and through some twist of fate ends up finding out. While this story won’t be a one-to-one retelling of the myth, there may be echoes found within it until the end. And I’m really excited to share that with you all!

Honorable Mention: Sleeping with the Telephone

While I started this fic back in Nov 2023, a lot of it has been written in 2024. This fic has been an honest to goodness rollercoaster to write…and it’s not done yet. 

In my author’s note, I mention that I originally wrote part of the first chapter as a one shot on my RP blog, but it has developed moreso than I could have anticipated. There are a lot of themes in this, from draftees suddenly leaving their children and spouses behind, to family dynamics and the struggles therein, how war impacts relationships as a whole, and the like. Of course most, if not all, of these are addressed in Spy x Family, but bringing the war back to Ostania and having them fight another country entirely was interesting. 

Unlike the phenomenal @niregonnagiveyouup’s Not a Vein of Stars (which i HIGHLY recommend), I wanted to base this story around some of the hot conflicts during the Cold War. The US and USSR were infamous for recruiting other countries to help fight “their own” wars (like the Philippines sending troops to South Korea and The Warsaw pact sending troops to fight with the USSR in Albania). This still happens in the present day (such as the UK sending troops to Afghanistan and Belarus to Ukraine), even if it’s not to the same insanity that WW2 was. I don’t like it. I never have liked war, and writing this story from the perspective of a family being caught in the proverbial crossfire helped me hate it all the more.

But this story is a passion project of mine. I’m at the home stretch and re-reading this story to center myself for that happy ending I’ve promised myself really helps me love it all the more. Someday soon that fic will have a complete next to it’s name and I can’t wait. 

I know this was long as heck, but thanks for sticking with me! I didn’t realize I had written so much this past year since I took a break for a good chunk of it. But in hindsight, I’m really proud of how all of these works turned out and want to thank everyone who read, left kudos and/or comments. You all are wonderful!

Happy 2025 everyone! Here’s to more stories! 🍾

[cosmogyros]

I posted elsewhere about that horrific translation of Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto, and a friend commented: "I'm curious how a translator looks at other's work and knows it's a bad translation". Of course the translation nerd in me was thrilled for an opportunity to rant about my specialty, and I proceeded to reply with a multi-comment thread analyzing this particular example. For posterity, I'll combine it all into a single messy "essay" here.

It's actually quite easy once you're familiar with translation "from the inside"! I'll come back to this post with some examples later today, because I'm a huge nerd and love talking about this stuff, haha.

...

Okay, big thread incoming, buckle up. The book is called Kitchen and is by the author Banana Yoshimoto, who – from what I understand – is well-known and beloved in Japan. The book description on Goodreads starts this way:

"Banana Yoshimoto's novels have made her a sensation in Japan and all over the world, and Kitchen[,] her best-loved book, is an enchantingly original and deeply affecting book [...]"

So, clearly this book is something special, right? I started to read it, and on every page – in practically every paragraph – encountered language that I can only describe as "weird", such as the following:

Three things in particular struck me in this example: the word "alarmed", the word "abruptly", and the word "it" strangely set off in quotation marks. None of these word choices have any larger context in the story that would make them make sense.

Someone else who wrote a very astute review of the book on Goodreads was able to put her finger on exactly what the likely problem here is:

"There are simple errors in translation that can only result from using a bilingual electronic dictionary that provides a list of approximate synonyms rather than actual definitions."

When you look at it this way, it immediately starts to make more sense. Imagine this re-write of the paragraph above:

"When I stepped off the elevator, I was startled by the sound of my own footsteps echoing in the hall. I rang the doorbell, and Yuichi opened the door at once. 'Come in!'"

If you're familiar with "the way literature works", so to speak, you'll immediately recognize that "startled" and "at once" are examples of words that have a similar meaning to the (presumed) original Japanese word, but fit more accurately in the context of the English translation.

(This is obviously different from "creative language", which is lovely and fun and not to be messed with. I love the line "my gaze landed with a thud", for example!)

Another perfect example of bad translation here: the sentence "I couldn't know," which stands out so oddly that it throws the reader out of their reading rhythm. It would make much more sense for the flow of meaning if it said:

"What was this table doing in the apartment? I had no idea."

or

"What was this table doing in the apartment? There was no way to know."

To an experienced translator, a grammatically correct but contextually wrong choice such as "I couldn't know" at this particular spot stands out like a sore thumb. If Google Translate had existed at the time this translation was made (1993, I believe), I might have accused the translator of using it. As it is, I suspect she must have been using whatever the equivalent tool was, at that point in time.

If you want more analysis, check out this fantastic review (the one I quoted above) from Sarah on Goodreads.

Two more good examples she provides in her review are the following, which I will copy in wholesale:

"Words in Japanese that have more than one possible English meaning are translated not only incorrectly, but inconsistently. (The Japanese '笑' could be 'smile' or 'laugh' in English. Maybe it is not a huge distinction, but when a character 'smiles' at something his friend says and then can't stop shaking it creates the impression of an unbalanced or perhaps epileptic person when, in the original, the character was simply laughing.)"

And:

"Even the friendly Japanese exclamatory 'えええ' has been translated with an inappropriate emotional volume. In response to a ringing phone: “[Mikage] answered it. 'Aaaah!' screamed a high, thin voice. 'Mikage, dear? How have you been?'” This accounts, I suspect, for a huge amount of the inconsistencies in the prose, and for characters that vacillate wildly between contradictory and inappropriate emotions."

Sarah follows this up by observing:

"Japanese is a context-dependent language. A translator who can't be bothered to acknowledge multi-sentence discourse is not ready to translate prose. Instead, she has given us characters who emote passionately, overreact wildly, and then are described as cold, hard-to-read, independent and stoic (or vice versa)."

In conclusion: How do you know if it's the author or the translator you're displeased with? To a degree it's guesswork, sure. But if you ask yourself "What EXACTLY am I displeased with? What strikes me as odd?" and the answer is repeatedly "the specific words on the page" (see all my examples above), then you have to keep in mind that it is the translator who chose those words.

If the original is NOT weird and stylistically unsettling, then it's the translator's responsibility to make sure their translation is not weird and stylistically unsettling either.

If the original IS weird and stylistically unsettling, then it's the translator's responsibility to create a writing style that displays sufficient internal consistency that the reader rapidly recognizes, "Oh, this book IS supposed to be odd and quirky – that must be the author's personal style!"

This translator did neither A nor B.