#i tend to avoid the word in fic i think its an out of universe word

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

any of you nerds already made a list of in-universe use of the word companion for companions or do i have to do it myself

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Pity Party.

Synopsis - Carmy just wants to see you treated the way he thinks you deserve. He decides to take matters into his own hands.

Pairing - Carmen Berzatto x Female Roommate Reader

Word Count - 3k

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol mention. carmys filthy mouth.

Age Rating - 18+

Author's Note - hello hello hello!! i am back!! i had a wonderful vacation soaking up the sun, and i am feeling refreshed and ready to go. i have had so many ideas over the past few weeks, so i'm excited to get some of them written asap!! this was a fic that came to me randomly, as i was thinking about roommate!carmen and how much of a menace he'd be if you ever talked about other guys. this was written as a part of my carmen roommates collection. it doesn't follow on from Finders, Keepers or Sweet Dreams, but it does exist in the same universe - so you can decide if this takes place before or after!! as always, feel free to send me any ideas or thoughts or burning desires you have. so much love <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Series Masterlist. Masterlist. Inbox.

"You're back early."

Carmy had swung the door open, expecting to come home to an empty apartment. Instead, he's met with the sight of you, sitting on the couch, undoing the straps of your shoes.

"Fuckin' disaster," you mutter, loud enough for him to hear.

He breathes out a chuckle at the stormy look on your face. Carmy thinks you're cutest when you're angry. He aches to smooth the crease between your brows with his thumb.

"That bad?" he asks, taking a seat next you and kicking off his sneakers.

"You wouldn't even believe."

He rises and makes his way to the kitchen, filling the tea kettle and placing it on the stove top. Grabbing two mugs, he casts a glance over his shoulder at you, frowning at your body language. You look defeated.

Carmy steeps two cups of tea, placing one of them carefully into your waiting hands. He resumes his seat on the sofa, pressing his thigh against yours and turning to face you.

"You wanna talk about it?"

You think for a moment before replying.

"You're gonna laugh at me."

His face instantly crumples, confusion written all over it.

"I'll never laugh at you. I'll laugh with you, sure. But never at you."

He nudges your shoulder with his, urging you to go on.

"Okay, fine. The actual date was pretty good. He took me to that Italian place downtown-"

"Dolce Vita? Did you get the truffle pasta I told you about?" Carmy interrupts you before you can continue.

"Yes, oh my God. It was incredible. Do you think you can recreate it sometime?"

"Fuck yeah. They're pretty secretive with their recipes, but I think I can figure it out. You can help me if you want - I'm gonna need a sous chef."

He pulls a reluctant laugh from you, the sound echoing off the ceramic of your mugs. You both know that being the sous chef involves you sitting on the counter drinking wine while Carmy does all the work.

"Of course. I'll always be your sous chef."

"I'll hold you to that."

You smile at him gently, a little taken aback by the sincerity in his voice.

"Anyway. The dinner went great. He seemed super interested in me, asked me questions, told me about his job, his hobbies, his dog. He was hot, and good to talk to. I thought I'd hit the jackpot."

"And then?"

"And then we went back to his apartment. And it all went to shit."

He chuckles, blue eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"Tell me more."

"You really want to hear about all of this?"

It's not like you and Carmy aren't close. You absolutely are. It's just that there's always been this unspoken connection between the two of you. A bubbling, fiery attraction that you both shut down repeatedly, screwing the lid on tight whenever it rears its head. So, you tend to avoid talking to Carmy about dating. You're scared you'll accidentally blurt out the truth - you compare every single date to him.

"Of course I do."

His answer is so genuine it makes you ache. You continue, hesitantly.

"Well... things got a little... heavy. He wasn't a bad kisser, I guess... he just wasn't... a good one? He kept biting my lip super hard and it kinda hurt. Then he pulled my clothes off like a high schooler, and he's on top of me, and I'm waiting for him to sort of... do... anything? And then he's finished. Like, completely done. And then he has the nerve to ask me if I finished."

Carmy's mouth has fallen open, shock etched across his face. After a long, heavy pause, he speaks.

"What the fuck?"

You look at him for moment, before bursting into contagious laughter. He joins you, both of you with your heads thrown back, giggles reverberating around the lowlit room.

"I mean, seriously," he pants, still laughing. "What the fuck?"

"I didn't even answer him. I just put my clothes on, grabbed my bag and left without saying a word."

Every time you try to stifle your laughter, a giggle escapes. The situation wasn't funny at the time, but looking back, it's hilarious.

All of a sudden, you both go silent. You're deep in thought, reflecting on the seemingly never ending stream of bad dates that you've endured. Carmy is watching you intently, ocean blue eyes glued to your face.

"Fuck," you breathe. "This is kinda pathetic."

Carmy inhales deeply, and turns his body so it's facing yours on the couch.

"The way I see it," he begins, "you have two options."

You quirk a brow in confusion and stay quiet, waiting for him to explain.

"You can sit here feeling sorry for yourself, or, you can let me fuck you the way you deserve."

Your mouth falls open in shock at the exact same moment your brain seems to shut down. You can't think. You can't process his words. All you can focus on is the way he's staring at you. You suddenly feel hot under his gaze, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. A shiver runs down your spine, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

"Wh-... what?" you choke out.

"You heard me, honey. You can wallow in your little pity party, or you can let me show you what it's like to be with someone who can actually make you come. Your choice."

His voice has dropped an octave lower than usual, the tone warm and honeyed. He's still staring at you, blue gaze unrelenting.

"Is this gonna fuck everything up between us?" you whisper hesitantly.

Carmy reaches out and places a gentle hand on your cheek, thumb stroking careful circles into your skin.

"I don't think anything can fuck up what we have," he murmurs. "You're the only thing in my life that makes sense."

His confession seems to sober you up, the honesty in his words snapping you back to your senses.

"Okay."

He almost does a double take at the sureness in your voice.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Put your money where your mouth is, Carmen."

"There she is," he chuckles. "You scared me when you went quiet for a second there."

"Well, if what you say is true, you're not gonna be able to shut me up for the night."

He laughs darkly, and slides closer to you slightly.

"Oh, honey. You're gonna wish you hadn't said that."

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, tracing the journey of your neck with his fingertips. He rests his hand lightly at the base of your throat, the heavy weight of it making you pant.

"If there's any point where you don't like something, or you want me to slow down, just say so. Okay?"

You nod your head, entranced by the sudden dominance he's displaying. You've never seen this side of him before. You can't believe he's been hiding it this whole time.

"Words, pretty. Need to hear you say it."

"Yes. I understand. I'll tell you, I promise."

He doesn't say anything in reply, just smirks. He lets you sit in the silence for a moment too long, the anticipation slowly killing you.

"Please, Carmen," you breathe. "Please."

"Fuck," he groans, shuffling closer to you. "You sound so pretty when you beg."

Carmy leans in and kisses your cheek gently, testing the waters. He presses a kiss to your other cheek, and pulls back to watch for your reaction. When he's happy, he tilts forward and leaves a careful kiss on your chin, then your forehead, then both of your closed eyes, before kissing you on the side of your mouth. His closeness makes you whine, desperate for him to give you what you want.

Finally, he connects his lips to yours, starting off slow and tender. When you tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and try to pull him even closer, his resolve snaps. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, exploring eagerly. You clamber over him and climb into his lap, straddling his hips and pressing yourself into his body.

Carmy can't decide where to put his hands. He's grabbing at your waist, running his fingers up your back, pulling you into him by your ass. You're both groaning into each others mouths, enraptured by the other person and the all consuming way they kiss.

"Can I take this off?" he asks lowly, pulling at the hem of your dress.

Instead of answering, you pull it over your head, throwing it onto the floor in front of you.

"Fuck," he murmurs. "Most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

His hands are roaming all of your exposed skin, as if he can't get enough. He's terrified he won't ever get to see you like this again, so he's not going to waste a second.

You grind your hips down into his, eliciting a groan from the both of you. His hands tighten their grip on your waist, as he leans up to press open mouthed kisses to your jaw. Your fingers fly to the hem of his t shirt, pulling it off swiftly. You manage to shove his jeans down and off, before attempting to pull off his underwear. Carmy stops you in your tracks.

"Nuh uh," he tuts. "This is about you. Not me."

He pulls you off his lap gently and shuffles so his back is resting against the couch cushions. He spreads his legs wide, and gestures for you to sit between them. When you don't move, he looks at you carefully.

"Give me a color, pretty girl."

You take a deep breath, and smile at him softly.

"Green, Carmen. Promise."

You manoeuvre sideways, so you can place yourself with your back to his chest. He wraps his arms around you for a moment and holds you tightly, as if he's scared you'll disappear any second. You relax into his embrace, all the tension leaving your body. You have nothing to worry about. It's just you and Carmen, in the place you call home.

You drop your head back into Carmy's shoulder, and allow yourself to get lost in the feeling of his hands on your skin. He's begun tracing patterns down your arms, your sides, your stomach, until he reaches your underwear. He plays with the band, dipping his finger underneath in a feather light touch. Goose bumps rise across your body and you shiver, practically vibrating with need.

"Carmen," you whisper. "Don't tease."

"But that's half the fun," he murmurs into your ear, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You can picture it perfectly, too. The way his eyes crinkle, the way his mouth curves, the way he bites his lip to stifle it. The image in your mind makes you melt into him further. You want to be as close to him as you physically can be. You'd completely disappear into him if you could.

He brings you back to reality by cupping you over your underwear, groaning when he feels the saturated material.

"Oh, pretty girl. Is this all for me? Fuck."

Suddenly, his game of teasing has lost all its fun. Carmy twists his fingers into your underwear and pulls them off in one swift movement, throwing them in the general direction of your dress on the floor. He places a hand on each of your thighs and spreads them apart, hooking them over his legs.

Carmy starts off slow, careful. He caresses over your skin, gentle and almost apprehensive. When he gets to your core, he swipes a finger through, testing the waters. When you buck your hips into his hand, he knows you're both on the same page.

"Just relax, okay? Gonna make you feel good."

His deep, smooth, whiskey like voice is doing nothing to help the heat bubbling in your stomach. You only whine in response, wiggling your hips to urge him to keep going.

Carmy throws one arm around your stomach, keeping you plastered to his body. You can feel him hot and hard against your back, and you so desperately want to feel him that your mouth is watering. You grind back into him, and he reads your mind.

"Not yet," he whispers. "This is about you, remember? Need to show you what you've been missing."

With that, he circles your clit with two fingers, slowly but surely. He revels in the noises you elicit. They're making him dizzy, disorientated. He never thought he'd be the one to pull a sound like that from you. He's quite convinced he's dreaming.

"Let me hear you. Don't hold back on me, okay?"

You nod your head frantically, willing to give him whatever he asks if you get what you want.

Carmy slips a finger into you slowly, moaning under his breath at your warmth. When he thinks you're ready, he adds a second finger, and sets a steady rhythm, trying to figure out what you like.

After he's set his pace, he starts to curl his fingers on the up stroke, grinning to himself when he finds the spot.

"Yeah? Right there? That's it, isn't it?"

You're nodding and shaking and pawing at his forearms, trying to tether yourself to reality in any way you can. You think you might be floating, on cloud 9, in some sort of euphoric trance. You can't believe no one's ever made you feel like this before. You're convinced no one ever will again.

Carmy quickens his pace and basks in the glory of your moans. He thinks this might be the most beautiful you've ever looked, spread out completely for him. Every inch of your skin is touching his, and it makes his heart skip a beat for a second.

He presses a kiss into your hair and keeps his mouth there, murmuring honeyed praises into your ear.

"Doin' so good for me."

"You got it, honey, that's it."

"Atta girl. Keep going. Almost there."

"You look so fuckin' pretty like this. Fuck. Gonna be thinking about this forever."

"I'll ruin you, baby. Nothing's ever gonna compare to this, to what we have."

All you can do is moan in response, his filthy words pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You're almost there, but something is stopping you. You whine in frustration, tears welling in your eyes. Carmy feels the tension suddenly grasp your muscles, and leans down to mutter to you softly.

"What is it, sweet girl? What do you need? Just tell me. Anything, and I'll give it to you."

You're not sure how much you trust your voice right now, so you decide to show him instead. You take the hand that he's using to hold you to him and move it up your body until it's resting against your throat. You tighten your fingers around his, and moan in response to the pressure.

"Oh, baby," he coos. "Filthy fuckin' girl. Here I thought you were so innocent, and this whole time you wanted to be choked like a whore?"

The way he degrades you so lovingly makes you mewl. You'd never ever trust anyone else to speak to you this way in such an intimate moment - but with Carmen, there's no hesitation. You know he's just telling you what you need to hear in the heat of the moment. And you love him for it.

"Fuck, Carmen," you manage to choke out. "Keep going. Don't stop, please."

"I'll do anything you want if you keep saying my name like that," he whispers.

"Carmen," you moan in response. "Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy."

You're chanting his name like a prayer. He's rutting into your back, hips grinding and circling in time with his fingers that are maintaining their steady rhythm. His fingers tighten around your throat as he crooks his digits just right, and the result is a devastating moan from you that Carmy wishes to have on repeat for the rest of his life.

"So close," you whisper hoarsely. "Harder."

Carmy uses his thumb to circle your clit with one hand, other hand pulling you by your neck back into him tightly. He grinds his hips dirtily into you, and the feeling of him so silky and warm against you is what sends you over the edge. The corners of your vision go white as you arch into him, head thrown backwards into his chest. The sounds you're making are so melodic, so borderline angelic that Carmy almost cries. Heaven, he thinks. This is salvation.

Carmy finishes with you, climaxing onto the soft skin of your back. You both relax simultaneously, chests heaving and panting. He removes his fingers gently and wraps both arms around you, pulling you into him tightly despite the mess. He reaches to brush the hair out of your face, and the gesture is so tender it makes your lip quiver.

"Thank you," you whisper after what feels like hours of comfortable silence.

"Sorry I called you a whore," he murmurs back.

You let out a surprised laugh, vibrating with amusement in his arms.

"I know you didn't mean it."

"I mean I did give you the best orgasm of your life, so... call it even?"

"You're forgiven," you chuckle. "Completely forgiven."

You trace gentle patterns over his forearms with your fingertips, following the black ink of his tattoos. He sighs in contentment and places a kiss into your hair, relaxing further into the couch.

You sit together like that for a while, neither of you too concerned with the time. It's not often you see Carmy so relaxed, so serene. You're enjoying it for as long as you can.

"We should clean up," he says quietly, eventually. "Sorry about the mess."

"It's okay. Worth it," you tease, pinching his thigh. He pinches your side in retaliation, which makes you jump.

"Come on, trouble."

He stands from the couch, never letting go of the grip he has on you. You have no choice but to stand with him, yelping as he half carries you through the apartment towards the shower.

The sounds of both of your laughter bounce off of the abandoned mugs of tea still sat on the coffee table, melodic and joyous. The moonlight seeps through the windows, illuminating the beginning of something special in the living room of your shared apartment.

[blossom-hwa]

in the absence of heartbeats | k.th

pairing: Taehyun x gender neutral!reader genre: angst, fluff, vampire!taehyun, medium!reader warnings: violence word count: 4.8k notes: — been thinking of this idea for a while but the idea of writing a whole fic for it is very tiring so I decided to just write out this scene lol — for some clarification, my definition of a "medium" is just someone who can see and speak to ghosts! nothing more than that :) After a harrowing night, you find comfort in the cold arms of one with no heartbeat, but much warmth in his heart. 

TXT Masterlist

It's close to two in the morning when you finally decide to leave the library. Your eyes are burning from the light of your computer and there's an ache in your neck from hunching over a desk for way too long, so even though you're not quite done with your essay you end up calling it quits. You haven't written anything substantial in the last half hour anyway. 

All the while you're packing up, a prickle of unease won't stop rippling up and down your spine. It doesn't stop when you leave the room, footsteps echoing loudly in the halls, nor does it stop when you actually exit the library and step into the cool night air. A light wind breezes past your face, but it doesn't soothe you like it normally does after hours spent cramped in one of the quiet study rooms. You find yourself tensing up instead.

Experience tells you not to ignore the feeling. If the hair on your neck is standing up, it means something. What it could mean right now, you aren't sure—you've left the library late and made the short trek back to your apartment many times without issue—but something is wrong. 

You look out at your dark campus, its sidewalks lit only by lamps and the moon. You look back at the library and its windows full of warm light. Almost unconsciously, you find yourself drawing the silver knife you always keep tucked away. You feel a little safer with the blade in your hand, but the prickle of unease doesn't fade away.

It's just so...empty. So quiet. Which shouldn't be that weird—it's nearly two in the morning, of course campus is going to be empty and quiet—but something about tonight's silence still feels unsettling. You glance around the expanse of campus again, and then it hits you. 

There are no ghosts. 

Instantly all of your exhaustion disappears, replaced by a heightened wariness at the situation. There aren't many ghosts who linger at your university—not compared to other places, at least—but there are usually a few hanging around. In fact, you've never been in an open place where there no ghosts, period. As you scan the campus perimeter again, your heart begins to race when you confirm that there are indeed no ghosts around, not even one trailing morosely over the quad.

Ghosts go where they wish. They usually tend to linger around their place of death or somewhere important to them when they were alive, but that's by their own choice. They're not bound to any one place like so many people believe. For them all to be avoiding your campus...

What—or who—could have chased them all away?

You swallow. Whoever they are, whatever they are, you don't want to meet them. Which means you need to get out of here as soon as possible.

So you hurry down the library steps, then start speed walking back to your apartment as fast as you can. It's just fifteen minutes away. You'll be fine. 

Except, five minutes in, you realize that you haven't left the strange absence of ghosts behind. 

In fact, it might just be following you. 

You fight the urge to look back. Someone or something must be following you, but who the fuck would follow you from the library back to your apartment? Why the fuck would anyone want to? As far as anyone except a select group of people knows, you're just a regular college student struggling through finals week like the rest of them. The people who know you can see ghosts, or who at least know that something about you is linked to the supernatural, have no reason to follow you home. 

Except...

Except one.

Your heart drops. Sanya. The guy who's been pestering you for weeks—the guy who asked you once if you could see ghosts, and who kept trying to catch you unawares to ask over and over and over again. Each time you said no. Each time you asked if he was feeling alright in the head. You're a good actor and you know it, but he just wasn't buying it for whatever reason until a couple weeks ago when you finally blew up on him and told him to stop invading your damn space. He hasn't bothered you since then, so you thought he finally believed you, or at least got the message to leave you alone.

Maybe not, though. You didn't think he was unhinged enough to have chased away all ghosts by virtue of his presence, but right now you have to consider all possibilities. Desperation can make people do crazy things. Talking to ghosts...you should know that.

You should've stayed back at the library with its warm glow and well-lit rooms. At least there was a security guard there. But you didn't know, and it's too late to go back. All you can do is keep going and hope you make it back to your apartment before Sanya—or whatever it is that's following you—gets you first.

...The streets are really quiet right now.

The sick taste of fear rises in your throat. You're already walking as fast as you can but you try to go a little faster, all the while clenching your knife so tightly your knuckles feel like they might split. With shaking hands, you also pull out your phone and dial a number as fast as you can with numb fingers. Answer, you pray. Please answer, please, please please—

The call goes through. 

"Hey, Kai," you say as normally as you can. Thank god, thank god, thank god—Kai won't ask questions, and he'll catch on easily. "Where are you? I'm just ten minutes away—"

"Y/N?"

That's not Kai. 

That's Taehyun. Taehyun who always felt a little strange to you, a bit like a ghost but physical and solid and real. Taehyun who has no heartbeat. Taehyun who laughed when you confronted him about it, and challenged you to figure out what kind of supernatural creature he is without him telling you. Taehyun who found you talking to a ghost and asked what kind of supernatural ties you have, which birthed the stupid little bet between you two about who would figure out the other's identity first. Taehyun who is infuriating. Taehyun who is kind.

Taehyun, who is a friend and can still help.

"Oh, hey Taehyun," you say, praying your voice stays steady. "Kai's not there?"

"He went to the convenience store and left his phone," Taehyun replies. "Did you need him? He'll be back in a few."

"No, I—just letting you all know that I'll be at his place in ten minutes," you say. "I'm at 117th, was just heading back from the library. Sorry—" And here your voice catches, like an idiot—"Sorry I'm so late, I just got caught up with an essay."

Taehyun remains silent for a second. Then—

"Y/N, are you okay?"

A sob almost bursts out of your mouth, catching you by surprise. You're so scared—your heart is racing faster with every street you pass that is still devoid of ghosts—you hadn't realized it until he asked that simple question, are you okay, but you're scared. So scared. 

"No," you say lowly. "I think someone, or something, is following me." You swallow hard around the fear rising in your throat. "There—there aren't any ghosts."

"Ghosts?"

"I'll explain later," you say, panic creeping into your voice. "I don't know who or what is fucked up enough to have them all avoiding the area, but I think it's following me and I'm still like ten minutes away from the apartment and I'm freaking out—"

All the hairs on your neck stand up. 

MOVE.

You don't even think before flinging yourself to the side just as something—someone—barrels into the space you just occupied. 

You're back on your feet in a second but so is the figure that jumped out at you. Adrenaline rushes through your veins and you start sprinting, clutching your knife like a lifeline—and all the while Taehyun's yelling into the phone, asking what's going on, but between the running and the adrenaline you don't have enough breath to answer except with sharp gasps—

Something lands heavily on your back. You go tumbling down and your knee explodes in pain. Your phone skitters onto the street but you still have your knife, which you swing wildly until it connects with flesh and the mass pinning you down lets go, if only slightly, with a sharp yell. Kicking out your good leg, you manage to pull yourself free, ignoring the sick squelch of flesh as you drag the knife out with you. 

You force yourself to stand. A streetlamp illuminates an unpleasantly familiar face contorted in pain as he also rises, blood flowing freely down one arm. 

"Y/N," Sanya says, and you take a step backward even as your knee screams. "Y/N, I just wanted to talk to you—"

"What the fuck?" you snarl. Your hands are shaking so much you wonder how the knife hasn't fallen to the ground yet. "You want to talk, so you follow me home from the library and try to attack me—"

"You wouldn't talk to me otherwise!"

"Because you keep asking me about ghosts, ghost, fucking ghosts—where the fuck did you get the idea that I can talk to them? Where did you even get the idea that they were real?" You point your knife at him, praying that he doesn't see how badly you're shaking. "I've told you so many times to just leave me the fuck alone—"

"I saw you talking to one," he interrupts, lips curling in a snarl. "I saw you—don't deny it! You were talking to one after class, I heard you call it by name. Lilia." Sanya takes a deep breath. "Lilia Taylor. Committed suicide almost thirty years ago. She's dead, and you were talking to her. Don't fucking deny it!"

You can't say anything. Your voice isn't working. You can only stand there in horror, because there is a ghost named Lilia and you've definitely spoken to her before, even if you can't quite remember the specific occasion he's talking about. 

You're fucked. So fucked. In the past ten years, you've only made the mistake of being caught talking to a ghost twice. You learned that lesson from childhood. Taehyun thankfully ended up being harmless. But Sanya—

He must take your silence for affirmation, because his voice turns desperate, more pleading than anything, and it breaks your heart. "Please, Y/N," he begs. "I just—I just want to talk to my mother. One more time. I didn't—didn't get to say goodbye before she died, it was too fast, I just want to talk to her one more time—"

You shake your head. "I can't do that," you say roughly. "That's—that's not how it works. I only see ghosts. I can speak to them but I can't command them to talk to me. I can't even speak to a specific one if I don't know where to find them first, and that's assuming they're here. That they haven't passed on." You swallow. "I'm sorry. I couldn't speak to your mother for you even if I tried."

For a long moment, Sanya remains silent, his head bowed. You hold your breath. He'll understand. He has to. He can't—can't force you to do something you can't do in the first place. Right?

Slowly, he lifts his head. You take a deep breath, ready to continue soothing, until you see the glimmer of menace in his eyes. 

"You're lying," he snarls. "You're lying."

"I am not lying," you snap, anger and adrenaline powering your voice. "I can't do it. If there even is a way, which I doubt, I don't know it—"

"YOU'RE LYING!"

This time you don't manage to dodge. Your fucked up knee buckles and the full force of his weight knocks you straight to the ground. Your knife clatters on concrete. Your head smacks the sidewalk and pain explodes in your skull but Sanya doesn't even seem to register the blood running down your face as he jerks your head back up. "You're lying," he hisses, staring straight into your eyes. "You fucking liar. You know you can, you have to—"

"I can't," you snarl back through the pain. "I can't! And no matter how much you fuck me up, you can't make me do something I do not know how to do!"

"You can see ghosts!" His voice is rising, hysteria coating every word. "You can talk to them! You have to be able to do this, you have to—"

"I can't!" you scream. "I can't fucking do it! What else do you want me to say, Sanya, what the fuck else?"

"I want you to STOP LYING!"

For a moment, there's just the night air, the silence, your heavy breaths snarling through the air. You blink blood out of your eyes, silver flashing in the corner of your vision. Your knife. If you stretch just a little, maybe you can get to it.

You try to focus on Sanya, even though two of him are starting to swim in your vision. "You're crazy," you say quietly, stretching out your fingers. "You're crazy—crazy enough that even ghosts avoid you. You can't force me to do something that I just can't do. You can't bring your mother back." Almost there—you can feel the handle at your fingertips. "You don't even know if she's still here! She's probably already passed on!"

"Shut up!" he screams, and your head hits the sidewalk again with a sickening crunch that echoes in your ears. There goes the knife, you think vaguely. "Shut up, shut up—you're lying, you're fucking lying—"

He raises your head again, and you brace yourself for another hit. But just as you feel yourself going down again, all of Sanya's weight leaves you at once. 

Body numb, vision blurring, you manage to lift yourself up just enough to see Sanya splayed out on the street, a familiar figure standing over him. Your hands aren't cooperating much so you can't wipe the blood out of your eyes, but from this angle it looks like...

Taehyun?

The figure turns just enough for lamplight to fall on its face and your breath catches in your throat. It's Taehyun, but it—it's not. Taehyun doesn't have gold eyes that glimmer in the moonlight. Taehyun doesn't have fangs that extend past his lips, shimmering white against the night. Taehyun doesn't move that fast, doesn't have nails that shred right through skin, doesn't have a voice that could produce that deep snarl from his chest as he stands over Sanya's prone body like a predator in the night.

Out of the muddled mess of your mind, one word emerges. Vampire. 

Of all the times to figure it out, why now?

Your weak lungs heave out something like a laugh. Taehyun's head jerks towards you and then all in a second, you're being gathered up in strong, familiar arms. The fangs have disappeared but his eyes remain a glittering gold, mesmerizing, and your aching head just wants you to sink into them forever but Taehyun's talking and he keeps on talking and it's really hard to just let your eyes close and relax when his voice is so distracting—

"Y/N. Y/N!" He's shaking you now, and fuck that hurts. You must make some sound of protest because he stops, thankfully, but then those gold eyes are suddenly so close to yours and he's talking again. "Y/N, stay awake. You can't go to sleep. Stay awake, don't close your eyes—"

Thinking is so hard right now. So is keeping your eyes open, especially when the world keeps blinking in and out of sight. Why can't you just sleep? You're trying to keep them open, you really are, but it's so easy to just not, and when your eyes flutter shut yet again you hear what sounds like a panicked curse before suddenly you're being lifted up and then you're moving. The night air is cold and so is Taehyun but with the last vestiges of your energy you burrow into his chest, chasing a comfort you never thought you'd find in the absence of a heartbeat.

No heartbeat. That stirs something in the depths of your mind, and then you remember something that, to your muddled brain, is very, very important.

"Taehyun."

Your name comes out in a panicked gasp. "Y/N?"  

You blink again with immense difficulty. Gold eyes, fangs, no heartbeat. "Vampire," you get out.

He snorts, though you don't miss the panicked edge to it. "That's what you're worried about?"

Worried? Why would you be worried? Taehyun would never hurt you. But that train of thought is too difficult to chase down, so instead you focus on what you were going to say in the first place. "...Did I win?" you mumble into his shirt.

"Stop talking," he hisses, something like a half-hysterical laugh rising in his throat. "Stop fucking talking, and don't close your eyes—"

Of course, that's when your eyelids decide to fall shut, and you hear no more.

. . . . .

Your dreams are filled with ghosts, pain, and mesmerizing gold eyes. You're woken up several times and each time is just as annoying as the last—lots of hushed voices telling you to keep your eyes open, things poking you in different places, and at some point someone is shoving something at your mouth and you think it might be someone's wrist? Which is stupid, because why would anyone be shoving their wrist at you, but then something tangy and metallic starts entering your mouth and even though the taste is terrible a voice that sounds a lot like Taehyun's is whispering for you to swallow, please, please, please so you do, even though it's fucking gross. 

When you finally wake up for good, it's to a dim room, lit only by a small lamp in the corner. Your head feels like it's been filled with cotton, your eyes are crusty, and your mouth tastes like something died in it. You try to speak but all that comes out of your parched throat is a dry croak. 

"Y/N?"

You turn your head to the sound of the voice and come to three conclusions.

One: Moving your head hurts a lot less than you thought it would. 

Two: Someone is sitting by your bed. 

Three: Taehyun is sitting by your bed, holding your hand. 

"...Taehyun?"

Relief cracks across his face. "Oh, thank god, you're awake." He turns to a nearby nightstand that holds a pitcher and an empty glass. "Are you thirsty?"

You do your best to nod. The glass of water that Taehyun pours you tastes like heaven. 

Several glasses later, you aren't so thirsty anymore, and your mind feels a little more focused. You look around the little room, then at Taehyun. 

"...Your eyes aren't gold anymore."

"What? Oh." He blinks. "Yeah. That only happens when I'm...in my other form."

"As a vampire."

He nods, a little smile curving his lips. "Yeah. And before you ask again, yes, you did win our bet."

Fuck yeah. You beam up at him. "Sick." Then you frown. "Wait, have you not figured out what I am? I thought the ghosts gave it away."

"There were still a few options, even with that hint," he says, taking your hand again almost absentmindedly. You glance down but decide not to say anything. It feels nice, anyway. "Necromancer. Medium. Witch, maybe."

It would be funny to keep him in the dark, but that's also a little cruel. "I'm a medium," you admit. "I talk to ghosts. Can't really do much else, though."

"So you weren't just talking to yourself the day I caught you," he says with a little snicker. You snort, but he's not done. "Did that guy find out? That's why he was after you, wasn't it?"

The room suddenly feels cold. You shiver underneath your blanket, hand squeezing Taehyun's almost involuntarily. His skin is also cold, but the pressure of his palm against yours comforts you more than the thin warmth of the blanket. 

"Yeah," you get out. "Yeah, he...he'd been bothering me for a while. Asking if I could see ghosts and whatever. I lied, obviously, and at some point I thought he got the message to leave me alone. But he saw me talking to one of them. I didn't know." You take a deep breath. "He thought I'd be able to help him talk to his mom. I told him I don't know how to summon specific ghosts. I don't even know if it's possible, at least for me. But, uh." You try to smile, but it fails. "He didn't really like that."

Something like a snarl sounds in the back of Taehyun's throat. "I could tell," he says, and there's no mirth in that statement. 

A blurry memory comes to the forefront of your mind. Sanya lying in the street, arms and legs splayed at strange angles, Taehyun standing over him. "He's...is he dead?" you ask, mouth dry. You're not sure if you want to hear the answer. 

"No." Taehyun spits out the word bitterly, like he almost wishes the opposite were true. "No, he's not. I didn't kill him." He looks at you almost hopefully. "But if you want me to, I can finish it."

You swallow. Relief and fear do a strange little dance in your chest. "No, I don't think I want him to be," you reply, and Taehyun nods, albeit a little disappointedly. "But I don't really want him coming after me again, either."

"Don't worry. Kai said he would take care of that, if you decided you wanted him alive." Taehyun gives you a half smile. "One of our friends is a witch. Memory alteration spells can go a long way."

Most of the fear dissipates, and you let out a sigh of relief. "That's...good." You stare at the blanket. "He just wanted to talk to his mother. Grief can drive even the sanest of people mad."

"...I know."

A little silence falls. "Where am I, by the way?" you finally ask. "Your apartment?"

"Yeah. It was closer." Taehyun shrugs. "Also, I hope you don't mind, but I called my witch friend over to take a look at you earlier. His name's Soobin."

Hm. You vaguely recognize that name from your intermittent wakings. Which brings back the memory of something else, a tangy and metallic liquid in your mouth. Instinctively you wrinkle your nose. 

"Is something wrong?"

"Oh, I just remembered a dream I had." You shake your head. "I was drinking something really weird. It tasted bad."

Taehyun's face turns a little sheepish. 

"...Not a dream, I guess," you get out. Right, in dreams you can't taste anything. How did you forget? "What was it?"

Taehyun raises his wrist, revealing two fading marks against his skin. "Vampire blood has healing properties," he says guiltily. "It was the only thing we could think of without sending you to the hospital. You had a major concussion and your knee was pretty busted, too."

You stare at his wrist, at the marks that seem to be fading before your eyes. "I drank blood. From your wrist."

"...Sorry?"

"No, no, don't be sorry." You pinch the bridge of your nose for a second. "I...appreciate it? It kept me alive. I'm just trying to process things." Then you realize something. "God, I haven't even thanked you for saving me." All at once you remember the fear, the terror, the pain, and then it hits you, really hits you, just how close to death you came. "Thank you, Taehyun," you say in a much smaller voice. "I...I really owe you my life."

Taehyun clasps your hand between both of his and looks at you, his dark eyes deep and serious. "You don't owe me anything, Y/N," he says quietly. "I came because I was worried. Because I didn't know what was happening, and I was scared for you. It was my choice to come," he says, voice brooking no argument. "I don't believe in exchanging lives. I'm just glad that you were okay, in the end."

That does it. Just like his simple question when you were walking home—Y/N, are you okay? His words release the floodgates and all the tears start falling, the full terror of the moment hitting you like a truck—but he's holding you, cradling you close, and you're curling into him again as you soak his shirt with tears, finding comfort in his voice, in his arms, in the absence of a heartbeat in his broad chest. 

By the time you're cried out, you're exhausted again, but you don't really want to go to sleep just yet. So instead you stay curled up against Taehyun, his arms holding you close, and take in shaky breaths until you feel a little steadier. "Sorry for crying," you mumble, even though you make no effort to pull away. "Your shirt's going to be gross."

"I don't care about the shirt," Taehyun says sharply, though his voice softens when you look up, startled. "Sorry. I just meant that...I can replace the shirt, Y/N." He takes a breath, and you notice he looks a little nervous. "But I can't replace you."

His words strike a chord deep within your heart, bringing a sort of funny feeling to the front of your chest. "Damn right you can't," you try to joke, but it falls a little flat. 

"I'm serious." And then he's pushing you away a little, but only so that you have the space to look him in the eyes. "I'm serious," he repeats, large eyes dark and somber. "You almost died, Y/N. And if you...if you did die..." He swallows. "You know why I agreed to that stupid bet?"

You blink. "...For fun?"

"No. Well, yes." He huffs a little. "Y/N, I wanted an excuse to talk to you more."

A little warmth curls in your chest, spreading slowly outwards to the rest of your body. You don't say anything, though.

"You're a fun person to be around, Y/N," Taehyun says, and he's smiling a little in a way that's more mesmerizing than his golden eyes. "I liked you. I wanted to be around you more, and talk to you more. I'll admit, I was definitely curious about what exactly you were, but I didn't care about that as much as I pretended to." He leans in a little, and you don't flinch away. "I like you a lot, Y/N. And before you have—I don't know, some other near death experience—I wanted to tell you that." The smile slips away. "If you died, I never would have told you. And I would have regretted not telling you for a very long time."

He's looking at you in a way that warms you, even though his hands are cold, even though there's no heartbeat in his chest. So you let the quiet warmth of his gaze spread through your body, let yourself lean into him a little more before you press your lips softly to his. 

Taehyun kisses back firmly but gently, never pushing, never yielding, as steady as his arms holding you against him. You don't kiss for very long, but when you do break away, you're warm all over, and you can't stop smiling even with eyes still sticky from crying. 

"I'll tell you that I absolutely cared about this bet as much as you thought I did," you say, and his laugh only makes you smile more. "But I can't lie, Taehyun, I liked you a lot too. I tried to dislike you on principle. You were so fucking annoying about it," you emphasize, eliciting another lovely laugh from his lips. "But I couldn't, because you were sweet, and kind, and even though you teased me all the time, you were still always there. Even when I almost died."

His eyes on yours, dark and sweet. Like the lamp glowing softly in the corner, gentle and quiet. 

"You may not have a heartbeat, but mine can beat for both of us," you say quietly. "If you'll let it. If you'll let me."

Taehyun kisses your forehead, your nose, your lips. All feather soft, like butterflies lighting on your skin. "Is that answer enough?" he asks.

You smile back in reply and curl back into his chest. Taehyun's arms close around you again, his head coming to rest on top of yours, and there you sit, and breathe. 

One heart beating for two, two breaths sounding as one.

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

[mylordshesacactus]

Tag Game - Writing Patterns

List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern.

1.Smoke and the sharp tang of blood drifted over Teldrassil. (Reunification, Warcraft)

2. It was a nameless backwater moon in a nameless backwater system, and Ahsoka had never wanted to be anywhere less in her life. (Riposte, Star Wars)

3. Padawan learner Barriss Offee scuffed her heel idly against the duracrete. (When These Moments Have Passed, Star Wars/Fox and the Hound fusion)

4. “Going somewhere, Lady Crowley?” (Shadows and Goldclover, Warcraft, E)

5. It’s a good place for an ambush. (some desperate small creature, Warcraft)

6. Sunrise on Rannoch was—Tali’s chest constricted painfully. (Housewarming, Mass Effect)

7. “Again,” the instructor ordered, voice crisp. (Quicksilver, BG3)

8. The world grows quiet. And their time grows short. (Truesilver, BG3)

9. A boy dreams of a wolf’s whelp. (an unkindness of ravens, Assassin's Creed: Valhalla)

10. FOREWORD (By Miranda Lawson) | In 2196, a young asari named Ashethe Matolis was granted asylum by the Alliance. (257 Years Of Unanswered Correspondence With An Ardat-Yakshi Monastery, Mass Effect)

-

I think the most prominent pattern here is that I definitely have a strong preference for opening "with two feet down", as my high school mentor and creative-writing teacher put it. Not necessarily in medias res, though I do love doing that--but immediately grounded, placing the reader IN the scene from the first sentence.

As such a lot of these involve sensory details, an immediate touchstone for the character's physical location or surroundings, or both. The worst thing you can do for immersion is have your reader spend several hundred words either unable to picture the characters in context, or THINKING they're picturing the context correctly and then out of the blue dropping that they're actually somewhere completely different.

(Unless you're deliberately misleading the reader in order to deliver a punchline, obviously, but I think that should go without saying.)

I also tend to make my opening lines direct and to the point, and rarely open a fic with a full paragraph. In order to give the reader that sense of standing on solid ground--essentially of "landing with two feet down," falling into the fic and looking around to see where they are--you gotta give that opening line a little room to breathe.

The only exceptions on this list are 4, 9, and 10, and honestly, only 9 really counts!

-> The structure of 257 Years is an epistolary fic, so it actually IS serving as that immediate sensory grounding--It's establishing from the very beginning the sense that you are, in-universe, picking up a book and opening it to the front page.

-> Shadows & Goldclover is my fun little Tess/Lorna porn, and the setup is in fact that Tess is startling her in the garden. So the initial brief disorientation (I do immediately give some setting details in the next paragraph) is exactly the sensory experience I want my readers to have, it puts them in the same headspace as Lorna

-> Unkindness Of Ravens is, genuinely, one of the best stories I've ever written and I hope people are willing to give it a chance even if they're not really asscreed people--it stands on its own just fine as an exploration of fictional Norse queerness. And in that case, the deliberate sense of....an unmoored, vague, disoriented lack of any solid physical setting, is exactly what I was going for! It's a prophetic vision; it should feel otherworldly. I deliberately avoid giving the reader ANY solid ground until after the scenebreak..at which point they are IMMEDIATELY given sensory details and a place name, because the whole thematic point of the fic is Valka being brought in from the cold and finding acceptance, security, and a place to belong.

[k2ntwo]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

A bunch of writers that I follow have already been tagged and responded @helloliriels @khorazir @7-percent @discordantwords @totallysilvergirl to name just a few. Now I have a few new things to read that I somehow missed the first time around as well as a bunch of old favorites to go and re-read. So much good fic is out there by so many talented writers!

In the spirit of adding to folk’s ever growing MFL list I’ll just pile onto the bandwagon with my answers as well.

 1.  How many works to you have on AO3?

56 although there are several collections of snippets that technically could be counted separately. On AO3 I'm KtwoNtwo.

2.  What’s your total AO3 word count?

496,860

3.  What fandoms do you write for?

Primarily Sherlock Holmes (most all iterations from ACD to Sherlock) and James Bond.  However, I dabble in a good number of other fandoms upon occasion.

4.  What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Metamorphosis

Conversations from Q-Branch

50 Reasons (The Q-Branch Edition)

A Rare Breed

Brothers Three

5.  Do you respond to comments?

Yes, even if its just a “I’m glad you liked it.”  The only ones I don’t respond to are the generic solicitations to join some random contest or fic publishing website.  Those get blocked and reported.

6.  What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Well, I don’t really write major angst but The Four Riders has got a bit as does the poem Gun in the Drawer though they both end on a hopeful note.

7.  What’s the Fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of my fics have happy endings but probably A Toast to the Science of Deduction resolves the happiest of the lot.

8.  Do you get hate on fics.

Nope.  Only got one anonymous troll alleging trademark infringement due to a title.  I fired back a factual rebuttal: basically "there is no book by that name by that author, there is no lawyer by that name, you didn’t provide contact information and btw trademark doesn’t work the way you allege" then added a set of quotation marks to the title.  Never heard anything more about it.

9.  Do you write smut?

I have but I’m not terribly good at it.  Most of the time the characters look at me then politely, or not so politely, shut the bedroom door in my face.

10.  Do you write crossovers?

Oh God Yes!  Technically I think I write fusions, where both fandoms end up in the same universe, as opposed to crossovers but I’m rather unclear on the difference between same so I tend to just call 'em crossovers and leave it at that. 

11.  Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I could find or prove.  I did have a couple of strange search results pop up with my use name and some fic titles attached but the websites all seem to be defunct now.

12.  Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not to my knowledge.

13.  Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No.

14.  What’s your favorite ship?

Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

15.  What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

There’s a fic based on a song by Abney Park that I’ve got an outline for but it never seems to go anywhere.

16.  What are your writing strengths?

I can merge and/or crossover all sorts of different fandoms. 

17.  What are your writing weaknesses?

Typos and punctuation.  Being slightly dyslexic I can’t spot the former and I never know if I’m using commas correctly or not.

18.  Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I actively avoid doing so because I’d butcher it badly.

19.  First fandom you wrote for?

Emperor’s Edge by Lindsay Buroker.  I will admit that I wrote in my head, but never got around to put on paper, a number of Star Trek stories when I was significantly younger.

20.  Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

I like all of them for different reasons.  The one I’m most proud of however is The Emerald Falls my Study in Emerald inspired ACD Fic.

I'd love to have some of the artists/podcasters respond to this with whatever modifications are necessary to fit the medium involved. Hours of podcast or number of artworks as opposed to number of words for example. @podfixx @bluebellofbakerstreet if you haven't responded to this thing already and I just missed it.

[arosnowflake]

Been thinking lately about the Fanfic Writing Style(TM) and how incredibly restrictive it is because any deviation from a fairly paint-by-numbers third person POV tends to be wildly alienating to the average fanfic reader, and will actively be avoided.

This is especially obvious when you look at how first person POV fics are treated; they are automatically associated with bad quality, and people will immediately turn away from a fanfic the moment they see it's written in first person. There are reasons for this; firstly, it is true that beginning writers will often use first person because it feels a little more accessible than the other options, and most beginning writers are of course not very good yet on a technical level, especially not if they are also children, which many fanfic writers are. So the association between first person and bad quality is not entirely baseless (though, y'know. definitely at least a little mean spirited, if unintentionally so). Secondly, and this is a personal sentiment but one I've seen some people echo: first person can read weird when combined with fanfic, because fanfic often does not benefit from a closer connection with the POV character. We are here to watch blorbo do thing, it can feel a little weird when it is instead I doing the thing, y'know? This is personal preference, of course; no accounting for that.

However, regardless of the reasons, kneejerk avoidance of first person POV fics is probably one of the driving factors behind the homogenization of the fanfic writing style. It's difficult to put into words to me, but especially if you read a lot of fanfic, at some point it's obvious that most of these stories are written in the exact same way, with the same sentence structure, cadence, and metaphors. The often-mocked italicized Oh, usually used in its own paragraph, usually used in a romantic context, is an example of this: a writing quirk turned universal enough specifically in fanfic to be singled out and ridiculed for its frequency.

This style isn't inherently bad, many authors pull it off very well, but it's certainly restricting. Essentially banning the usage of the first person POV alone is already severely limiting, but even just a slightly different usage of the third person POV is discouraged if everyone is writing the exact same way.

This leads to an overarching problem in fandom, namely that all characters tend to sound the same. The style of writing is the same whether writing about a jaded 40-year-old man or a peppy 12-year-old girl. A story set in 1940's France will have more or less the same writing as a story set in 2010's America. Writers do often try to add little details to their narration to distinguish different characters, and success with this varies, but is usually limited. Narration in fandom is rarely personalized to the character, and instead falls into the homogenized fandom style more than anything else.

I don't have a specific goal with this post. I'm not necessarily saying 'we need to STOP big fandom's writing style' or whatever, I don't think that's productive or feasible. I do think that we should all, as readers, be a little more open to stuff like first person POV fics or stranger prose experiments rather than skipping over or closing out of a fic as soon as we encounter them, and as authors (if you actually care about improving your writing) I'm encouraging you to take a look at the prose style used in your fanfic and see if you could diversify it because oftentimes readers do respond positively when they see it, so I guess if there's anything to take away from this post as a call to action, it's that. But mostly this is just me musing on something I've noticed in my own fanworks recently that irritates me.

[poppypopp]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

thanks to @fogsblue and @nyxianthe for the tag.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

70 works total

2. What's your total A03 word count?

889,291 (holy hell)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Horizon, mostly

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Flame and Shadow - (Nil/Aloy) - 368

All the World Aflame - (Nil/Aloy) - 280

Toward the Sun (Nil/Kotallo/Aloy) - 273

Glitter and Gore - (Nil/Kotallo/Aloy) - 170

Where the Wanderer Goes - (Nil/Kotallo/Aloy/Fashav) - 165

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I really try, but I'm horrible at it! I always forget to reply and then I always feel super awkward. But just know, I read every single one and love them all SO SO much!

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Toward Them, the angst-heavy spinoff of Toward the Sun (an AU of that fic, if you will)

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Oh man. Most of them have happy endings. I rarely write anything that doesn't have one. The happiest might be Toward the Sun and its sequel, No Shadows in the Sun.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not on the fics, no, but I'm well aware that my tastes skew toward the minority.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, almost every fic is rated E for exactly that. I write a mixture, MF, MM, and MMF primarily.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I've written a couple. I don't know if they're crossovers or fusions, though. The craziest is probably the Nil/Kotallo How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days fic, Hearts and Diamonds.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of (and I hope it stays that way)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not yet, but Nyx and I dabbled in a co-universe with the AO Magazine fics.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Hmm, as engrossed as I've been in Horizon, my ALL-TIME ship would probably be Destiel. I've read sooo many of those fics over the years (although never written one).

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I stubbornly refuse to admit that there are any I won't ever finish, but it may take me a while. 😂

16. What are your writing strengths?

Hmm, I think dialogue comes fairly easily to me. Also smut's not too terribly difficult.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I tend to struggle with remembering to add descriptors. I often have to go back in the editing process and add descriptions of people and things.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I'm not opposed to it by any means, but since I don't know any other languages, I'd be worried about getting it wrong and taking readers who did know that language out of the story. For that reason I'll probably avoid doing it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Fallout 4

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

That's a tough one. Maybe G&G. It was incredibly fun to write.

I'm going to tag @wandereringray and @every-raindrop77 but no pressure!

[forget-mad-not]

Alas, I have not read Macbeth and therefor cannot judge or analyse you on your references. If I miss or misinterpret anything blame it on that. English classics are still difficult for me in terms of english, for the most part, so I tend to avoid them. Schiller, Büchner or Goethe references are very welcome though. /j

I love how everything, even before the last paragraph (the revelation) points to the fact that this is not the height of the plot, the story reaching it's climax of an organic development but a perfected, practiced tale being told to the audience.

"Once upon a time: all as it should be."

The very first line, fairy tale opening. This is the Actor introducing his audience to the tale. I really love how fond you seem to be of repetitions. How it is repeated again in the last paragraph, promising that nothing will change.

"Revenge is always predestined, a necessary heartbeat. If it is a good story, it must be fulfilled, because every good story is a promise kept, like ‘till death do us part’ or ‘I’ll protect you’."

Well, this is just foreshadowing to DAMIEN in the best way possible. Again, drilling in the fact that Celine is a character in this, by the Actor perfected, tale. Repeated actions over dozens of the same day all coming to a climax where she buries the axe in Marks chest. Revenge being fulfilled, planned, leading to Damien taking the leading role. As planned.

To me, it almost seems like sentences in italics are either thoughts planted by the Actor or direct comments of his (I'm obsessed with him, I can't help it).

Your use of stylistic devices is fantastic. The frequent use of anaphoras, parallelisms and repetitions combined with your fantastic use of metaphors? Perfection

Keeping this short as it is 00:29 here and I am tired.

Spoiler for anyone out there, we're talking about this fic of mine:

And now I'd like to shove all the thought-forming tools of my entire academic career into the answer /hj /lh

First of all, I swear I'm going to put a Woyzeck-quote in a piece of writing just for you :"D ✨

In this piece of writing, by the way, I didn't so much refer to the plot of Macbeth as use fragments of its more known speech because intertextuality is a wonderful thing:

Small allusions, I know, but first of all: they sound good ✨ On the other hand, the mental image of theatre evoked by these lines are to further build associations that are meant to suggest the reality-creating function of a story (which is an important point of the characters in WKM?, especially in relation to Actor and the DAMIEN-video).

The loop-mechanic, the act of continuous repetition, also evokes a sense of rehearsal, which can develop the classic rules of storytelling and the methods that can give a story its most powerful form. One might think, of course, that a self-regarding all-mighty story-creator like Actor would be aware of them and use them to the verge of obsession.

HOWEVER. Of course, there has to be a 'however' :"D

You point very well here to the self-reflexive nature of the text and, more importantly, the story, probably my favorite canon element of the Markiplier Cinematic Universe.

Because Actor may be aware of the elements that make up a good ol' perfect story, but on the one hand: fiction is not life, and on the other hand Mark as a writer (consciously or in his usual 'sounded cool' way) has very cleverly in DAMIEN subverted the audience's expectation and literally put a gun on the wall that didn't fire and said 'fuck Chekhov'.

Basically, he managed to take his Markiplier-promises to the level of storytelling meta-criticism. Brava.

So this fanfiction was trying to be a lyrical expression of that idea, as Celine, thinking like Actor, tries to adjust and win in this twisted world, because until the story is over, she can win. (The tragedy: the story will never be over.)

From that point of view, your point about the italicized sentences is absolutely correct, on some level Actor did indeed plant those ideas there, but they are more Celine's (otherwise correct-seeming) assumptions about Actor's strategies.

However, Celine's downfall in this situation is, ironically, that she is trying to play Actor's game, following in his footsteps, trying to make sense of his arcane, stupid story-beats, trying to use them to her (and Damien's) advantage. However, all this does is make us go round and round in circles and we just tire ourselves out.

Maybe, a solution (won't solve everything, though, some things can't be fixed, and that must be accepted): if you don't play by the rules, there is no play.

You can only break out of the loop. But look, it's cracking around the edges like ice anyway. Leave the gun on the wall. Here's an axe, more practical.

Fuck Chekhov.

But hey, that's just a theory, a dead author's theory! (Next time our lesson respectfully will be 'fuck Roland Barthes', just watch :"D)

Meo dear, thank you so much for your thoughts and for taking the time to reflect on my story and share your interpretations with me, it means a lot! :"3 💜

And, I haven't forgotten, I will definitely keep in mind your offer of beta-reading and German proofreading ;) ✨

[palehottubchild]

Get to know me

Thank you @sflow-er you know how much j like doing these ahahahhah

Do you make your bed?

Not really, i try to but in reality i never get around to it

What's your favourite number?

3, 9 and 12. NOT 6

What is your job?

i currently have two jobs, one of which is a little hard to explain but essentially boils down to research in healthcare and the other is hospitality in the biggest tourist attraction in my country (which is a seasonal job). two VERY different jobs in very different sectors, hahah

If you could go back to school, would you?

I actually am still in uni and i do not feel any particular wish to go back to high school. I would, however, have chosen a different degree if i could start over again but thats a different story.

Can you parallel park?

Technically yes, i can, but i hate it and it takes ages so i avoid it at all costs.

A job you had that would surprise people?

actually most jobs ive done surprise people, but more so because nobody knows they exist as jobs. In high school i used to do delivery for the pharmacy and as mentioned before now the research job. both things most people dont know are things someone gets paid to do until i tell them hahah.

Do you think aliens are real?

realistically i dont think its possible at all that we are the only planet with living beings on it. i do believe that there are no aliens in our solar system, but i do not believe that in the entirety of the universe only one planet managed to create life. I also think that life might look very different on other planets but im convinced 'aliens' exist in some way shape or form

Can you drive a manual car?

Again, technically i can. but i try to avoid it all costs bc ive only driven automatic cars basically since i got my license lol

What's your guilty pleasure?

reading fic, even more guilty if its from a fandom im technically no longer into but i sometimes just get this weird nostalgic need, you know

Tattoos?

Not yet, i have a design and a place in mind but my family is very strongly opposed to all tattoos and i still see them often enough to be a little bit afraid

Favourite colour?

for clothes, blue or brown. for other things anything in the navy colour palette (so like burgundy and navy and other colours in those kinda hues)

Favourite type of music?

I honestly will listen to anythign that has a recognisable distinct melody (so mostly excluding metal, too heavy rock and some rap) but am especially fond of 2000s 2010s dance music or indie/pop music from anything between the 80s and the 2010s. Not a big fan of what seems to be more modern pop culture but i can appreciate a harry styles or a taylor swift every once in a while

Do you like puzzles?

Yes!!!!! anything that i can use my brain for im down

Any phobias?

creeped out by all bugs and spiders (yes, even the cute and pretty ones) and not a big fan of big animals. slightly uncomfortable at high heights, dont do well in the dark and very very very uncomfortable in small spaces

Favourite childhood sport?

Did gymnastics until i was about 7 and then switched the the loml that was swimming and did that all the way up until uni. hated anything involving running or a ball

Do you talk to yourself?

Not when im alone, sometimes when other people are present

What movies do you adore?

I tend to like any movie i watch. Special mention to knives out, megamind and bottoms though

Coffee or tea?

I like the fancy coffees when im out having a drink or having lunch, at home i prefer tea

What was the first thing you wanted to be growing up?

i dont remsmber what came first exactly but the three professions that had the most prominent part in my youth were hairdresser, teacher and most of all writer. I always liked writing and words and languages and making things but unfortunately that took a stark dive durong high school that im still recovering from lol

as usual consider yourself tagged if you feel like doing this ahah

[dread-red-queen]

some questions for writers

tagged by @fereldanwench

Last book I read: I honestly can not remember the last time I sat down and just read a book, I do enjoy reading dont get me wrong but I just have not found a book that I want to read recently, I did used to really love the Anita Blake Vampire Hunter Series by Laurell K. Hamilton

Greatest literary inspirations:  not really sure If im honest I'm more inspired by tropes and situations my brain randomly comes up with that are probably not as random as I think they are.

Things in my current fandom I want to read but I don't want to write: I'm not really sure, I tend to love reading what I also enjoy writing which is usually gritty angst, romance, alternative universes, sacerin sweet romance or spicy romance full of passion, or just spicy in general I love the trope of two characters just being so in love or in lust with eachother trying to resist giving in only to do just that when the other looks at them, that sort of thing I dunno.

Things in my current fandoms I want to write but I think nobody would be interested in them but me: more fic focusing on my OC Raven and her softer side or just exploring her past and stuff, I wanna share my baby, but I know when its not about main characters in a fandom or at least have them feature in it, that might not be everyone's cup of tea

You can recognise my writing by: I tend to really like writing spicy content, I think my plots are ok Ish. I'm sure not everyone likes my plots as much as I do but I have fun writing them and I share them in case someone else might also enjoy them

My most controversial take (current fandom): I dont really think I have any "controversial" takes, but I will say I really dislike the use of the word C*nt in regards to describing lady parts in romance scenes especially if up until the use of the word the scene has been so sweet ,tender with beautiful wording. I personal just find the word a bit to vulgar for romance, I dont mind using the word if describing someone horrible but yeh I guesse some might consider that a controversial or hot take *shrugs*

Top three favourite tropes: 

stuck in close proximity like trapped in a tight space and being hyper aware of the others body.

kissing to distract, get through to someone or to avoid getting caught by guards

enemy's to friends to lovers is also one of my favourites

What’s your current writing mood about a 5 I'm trying to wrap up my latest fic Present & Future, I got my ending written as inspiration randomly struck me the other day but im struggling to get to that ending, I dont normally write fics out of sequence but I was on a roll and got carried away. now I'm wondering if I have set myself up to not finish the story at all haha

Share a random frustration: I'm currently in the process of packing to move house, My husband serves in the military so we have some work we need to do to the house before we leave and I think my husband is being a bit paranoid on just how much work we need to do, considering we are paying a cleaner to make sure the house is perfect for march out. I'm like why am I on my hands an knees scrubbing when I'm going to pay for a cleaner to do it XD

tagging but no pressure XD @breezypunk @severemiraclefest

[hirazuki]

Thanks for the tag, @ruiniel!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

15

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

~126k

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Published: Bleach, Naruto, Typemoon's Fate Series, Final Fantasy XIV, Hakuouki, Tolkien, Voltron: Legendary Defender, Dragon Age: Origins

Not published yet: Hunter x Hunter, Winx Club, W.I.T.C.H.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

6

A Step Faster

Allies

What We'll Find

Of Silver and Stone

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yup! I appreciate people taking time to read and let me know what they thought, plus comments are so few that it really doesn't take much time to respond to them. AO3 refuses to notify me when someone has commented, though, so sometimes it takes me a while to notice... ^^;

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh, for sure my unpublished VLD fix-it fic. As far as published stuff goes, probably Worth While.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think it's a tie between What We'll Find and Here To Stay.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

None currently, but I have in the past :) It was extremely amusing, tbh.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Mmm, yes? No? I guess it depends on your definition -- I've definitely written smutty scenes, but I'm a huge fan of suggestion and favor suggestive descriptions of things associated with the characters in question (like, sunlight stroking tree branches or the sun sinking down over the forest for Eöl/Aredhel) over explicit descriptions (and not just for smut, but for pretty much everything -- descriptions of things just straight up as they are tend to bore me), so -- idk if that counts!

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Nope! I have a strong dislike of them, and I always filter them out when searching for fics myself.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

None that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Again, none that I'm aware of.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope! The most I've done is weave in my sister's or a friend's same-universe OCs (with their permission, of course) as background characters, to enrich the worldview/environment.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

It changes based on my mood/hyperfixation at the moment, but I think this one goes to Ulquiorra/Orihime purely on terms of longevity and intensity of obsession XD

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I really, really, really want to finish 6, but my drive for Bleach still hasn't returned to its pre-manga ending levels yet and I doubt it ever will. I also really want to finish my VLD fix-it fic, just because I enjoy what I've done with the last chapter and really want to get that last chapter published... I just need to write all the other chapters that come before it, first XD

16. What are your writing strengths?

I... have no clue lmao. Characterization? Descriptions? I write as though in a trance, so I have very little recollection of what I've written after I've finished/posted it lol.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Quantity, regular writing/posting, consistency, finishing projects before starting up three new ones, being completely at the whim of the hyperfixations and allowing them to buffet me around as they will X_X

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

If I'm decently knowledgeable in the language or know someone who is and could translate for me, and it makes sense with the characters/universe, sure! Most of the fandoms I write for don't really have language barriers among their characters, though, so it's very, very rare.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Oof, who knows? Unpublished, probably... hm. Tolkien? Published, I'm pretty sure it was Dragon Age: Origins.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Ahaha, I don't really have one. Like with my art and my cosplay, when I look at it, all I can really see are the imperfections, which is why I avoid reading my own writing once I'm done with it ^^; (unless I absolutely have to; to remember where I left off in a long-fic, for instance)

No pressure tagging: @mirkwood-hr-department, @melkors-defense-attorney, and @estramor, and anyone else who writes and feels like it!

Writing and writtering

Tagged by @effervescentdragon, thank you!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

71

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

406k

3. What fandoms do you write for?

All them Castlevania series, Tolkien

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Castlevania: reader prompts

Another way

Môr

Prickly thorns, tender roses

Guide me

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I used to respond to all comments, nowadays not responding means I love them in silence but likely overwhelmed.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

It's a tie between Circles , Brittle And Brief , and Whither you go

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably Past and Forever

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not as of yet

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes. Emotional&Explicit is my flavor

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Hmm technically, if The Silmarillion/The Lord of The Rings counts?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

One's in progress, or should I say a friend and I are writing the same fic with different endings.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Argh, tough to choose!

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Still hoping to one day finish the ones that are up on ao3, slowly...

16. What are your writing strengths?

Hmm, I have the most fun with deep third-person point of view.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Need more planning up in here

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I tackle it sometimes! It's fun trying to write it in a way that doesn't require a footnote (unavoidable in some cases though)

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The Lord of The Rings!

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Having the most fun with Beyond this place of wrath and tears right now

0 pressure tag: @hirazuki @cilil @melestasflight @yuzukimist @herinke and anyone else who feels like it!

[addicted-to-dc]

Jason Todd/Red Hood X Reader - The Archives

Hello hello! I had so much fun writing this, and I hope to make it into a mini series (I’ll keep telling myself that). I’m expecting 2 or 3 more parts for this, but damn I’m in love with this story already. I know that I’ve written too many Jason Todd fics, but I can’t help that he’s my fav.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warning: Paranoia, fluff, etc. 

If it weren’t for your full ride to Gotham University, you would have left Gotham in the dust a long time ago. It has a pretty good program for your major and you get to live here for free, but the negatives are obvious.

There are insane and super powered individuals that like to cause panic and ruin everything. Maybe it’s because you’re not from Gotham and are just hyper aware of everything. The University tries to reassure its students, especially the out of state ones, but you can’t help it. You’ve been lucky enough to avoid everything that’s happened so far, but you have a feeling that your luck will run out soon.

The library has always been your go to safe place no matter where you went. Most students stuck to areas that they knew, but you tend to wander. Finding an empty spot is difficult until you know people’s habits, which led you to the archives. There are plenty of tables, hiding spots, and knowledge to entertain you when you’re bored of your assignments. Anything from old newspapers to unpublished works could be found. Besides, the smell of old paper beats the musty smell of your dorm room. No one visits much, not since the archives were all uploaded to an online database.

It became your safe space, a home away from the dorm that you could always rely on to clear your mind. It was undisturbed until October hit. You guessed that he was researching for a history project. Why else would someone be here?

Every time you see him, which is on a daily basis, you just move to your side of the archive and try to finish your work. There’s a sadness that your space has lost its secrecy, but it’s nice to have company. You two soon get used to each other’s schedules, and soon enough it’s an unspoken agreement to see each other. Despite all this time spent together, you haven’t even said one word.

You can’t help but crush on the guy. At first, you only saw a mauve blur as he ran between areas to find whatever he was looking for. Then the blur evolved into a dude wearing a hoodie and jeans, and a good looking one at that. Whatever his name is, he’s doing a very intense investigation. That was the first clue that made you think that he’s getting a higher degree. He shows up at the weirdest times, but you do that so you can’t say much, and is researching enough to write at least one book about it. He always cleans up after himself and has everything cleared by the time you’re ready to leave. It doesn’t hurt to be cautious about your work, but he takes it to a whole new level.

Your courage disappears as soon as you walk past him, giving a smile and a nod before exiting the room. It kills you every time, but the way he looks at you whenever you leave just makes your mind go numb. Everything you rehearse crumbles to dust, replaced with silly soliloquies and poetry that no guy would ever be into. Your love for literature made you into a huge sap, and you couldn’t help it when you melt as soon as you look into his eyes.

Just as you think it’s another failed attempt, you hear his voice.

“Hey, uh, you forgot this last time.”

Gods, even his voice was amazing. You turn around and see your beat up poetry book. The cover was long gone when you found it in a discount bin, but its writings drew you in ever since the first page. You can’t believe you lost it and didn’t even notice.

“Oh, thank you,” you reply, smiling so wide your face hurts. “I guess I was in a rush yesterday.”

You can’t believe you’re talking to him.

He laughs, “Yeah, I guess we both didn’t realize the time. It’s an interesting book you have there, though. I hope I didn’t intrude by reading…”

Oh, oh. You swear your eyes turn into hearts at that admission.

You wave the hand that has the book in it, “It’s fine, I’ll finally have someone to talk to about it. Did you like it? I mean, whatever you read?”

Mystery Man laughs again, gesturing to the book, “It’s intriguing. I pride myself on finding weird stuff like that, but it seems you’ve picked up something even I haven’t seen before.”

“Oh, really?” you ask, looking at the beat up book. “You know what it is? I just bought it ‘cause it looked… sad. It needed to be read, y’know?”

“I understand completely,” he smiles, moving to your side to open the book to a certain page. “This right here? This line tells me who this mystery poet is.”

You stare at the line as if the answer would pop out at you, but you just look at him for it.

“Amadeus Arkham, a pretty famous person if you know your Gotham history,” he replies, flipping a few more pages. “This is a copy of his original works, but it’s rare enough as it is.”

You couldn’t believe it. All this time you’ve been reading this and it’s the words of the man who founded Arkham Asylum. A man that went through so much only to die a madman in his own asylum. Mystery Man sees the recognition in your eyes.

“You could have kept this,” you said, focusing on him, “but you didn’t.”

He shrugs, “It’s yours, not mine. Plus, I’ve already taken a few pictures of the book so…”

A laugh escapes from your lips. You would have done the same thing, and the look on his face tells you he knows.

“Not to be that kind of person, but after spending weeks together in this room,” he starts, and your heart begins to race, “would you like to go out sometime? I know a few of the spots Amadeus references in his works and-”

You nod, probably a little too hard since it makes him unable to continue his sentence. Sometimes it kills you that words don’t work for you sometimes, but this time it’s different. You don’t even know his name and he can read you so well.

“If you don’t mind, can you solve one more mystery for me?” you ask, placing the book in your bag.

“I could,” he replies, the playful tone nearly rendering you speechless again.

“A name for my mystery man?” you ask, biting your lips to stop you from laughing.

“Only if I can yours.”

“(Y/N),” you respond.

“It’s Jason.”

Damn, it fits him so well. How in the hell is this happening right now?

“Well, Jason…” you trail off and tilt your head, squinting your eyes. “You seem like a Jay or Jayce type of Jason.”

“Jay is fine,” he chuckles, flashing that damn smile again.

You don’t know how you’re going to finish this conversation. This man completely shuts off your brain. How do you turn it on again? Wow, that needs rephrasing.

“I would love to see what he wrote about,” you answer, your face heating up as Jay’s face lit up. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I can do tomorrow. Same time?” Jay asks, his hand reaching for the door handle.

You nod, “Yeah, you wanna meet here?”

Jay opens the door and follows you out of the room. You look at the time and notice how late it is. How is it already 9 p.m.?

“Sure, near the statue?”

“Near the statue,” you agree, walking side by side until you finally see how dark it is outside.

The looming darkness reminds you where you are. It’s almost Halloween, and you’re sure that some sicko is probably waiting out there to lure you into a van or something. Your roommate needs to stop roping you into watching horror movies.

“Hey, uh, you think you can walk to my dorm with me?” you ask, nervously looking outside. “I forgot how dark it gets here in the fall.”

You adjust your bag and tighten the straps, mentally preparing yourself for the trek. Jeeze, he asks you out on one date and you’re already latching onto him like a crazy person.

“Yeah, it’s just a block away, right?”

Nodding, you push the door open and firmly grasp his arm as you start walking. It’s ridiculous that you’re already showing your paranoid side to him, but it’s nice to finally have someone to walk beside.

“You’re not from Gotham, aren’t you?” Jay asks, guiding you to the sidewalk.

“It’s that easy, huh?” you sigh, looking around you. “I love this place, I love its history, but it has a reputation. My parents nearly made me go to a different university, but this one always had my attention.”

You pass by the first street, your body relaxing as the conversation continues. It doesn’t hurt to learn more about Jay, especially his recommendations in novels. You’ve never learned this much in a single conversation, and you hope that this will never stop. You can get used to this.

Continued in part 2

[har-rison-s]

mask & seek: 4

batman x fem!reader

based on: Hello! May I request Battinson x SpiderWoman!Reader fic where she's from the MCU but then she ends up in Battinson's universe and meets him? Maybe he doesn't trust her at first but once she saves him from something, he relents then begins to trust her and maybe then a relationship ensues?? Thank you so much and have a great day!! ❤

a/n: fuck, i just realised i've put the wrong synopsis of this story for the last 2 chapters i'm so sorry guys, my mistake LMAO. sorry to break y'all's reality like that, i really am. so hi. because this is the first chapter that really deals with the multiverse stuff head-on, i have to clarify that in this DC universe new york doesn’t exist. i haven’t read a lot of the batman comics, so i’m not really sure if it exists there. but since gotham (at least in my opinion) is based off new york city, i’m writing it so in this au that new york isn’t a place in America. hope you get what i mean :D happy reading. i’m seeing the batman again tomorrow!!!!! beyond excited

main masterlist

bruce wayne masterlist

part three

part five

warnings: descriptions of injuries, of fixing one; brief mention of using a knife, mentions of needles and catheters (i hate them so much); slight insecurity talk; oh and the best one - silent pining :)

word count: 4.8k

a/n: (who got you frowning like that baby girl) took me 15 minutes to find a suitable gif, god help. full credit to owner / maker!!! 

y/n grunts and wobbles from one foot over to the other, holding her side. it hasn’t been a particularly successful night, to say the least. one of their opponents had a nasty knife, and, unluckily, she wasn’t as agile to avoid its sting. “my place is so far away…” she whines, thinking of any other place to go where she could tend to her wounds and rest. just a little. only an hour or two of sleep sound heavenly right now. plasters and gauze around her waist sound nice, too. and she’d love some water. or hot cocoa.

bruce’s ears prick up at the desperation in her words, and he turns his head sharply to her. “we can go to mine,” he tells her in his vigilante-husk that she knows fades away as soon as there’s only the two of them in a room without their masks on. she gives bruce a confused look and quizzical eyebrows. he notes her unstable stance and tries to identify her injuries.

“you sure?” she asks.

he’s never taken her to his place before. he’s never even offered to take her there, either, in the last four months of them working together. she doesn’t know where it is, what kind of property it is—but does that really matter? they’ve always gone to her place because it’s in the center of gotham, and she’s just always had the upper hand in that. plus, she has a first-aid kit and wound-tending skills, which—she’s quite sure—batman doesn’t have.

bruce nods and then struts the few steps over to her. he reaches an arm around her shoulders, his other arm circling the front of her torso, holding onto her hand above the problematic spot in her side, “i’m sure,” he tells her and begins to lead her down the dirty old alley, into the depths of the narrows, it seems to y/n, helping her with every step, “i’ll take you on my bike.”

she finds the last remnants of humor in her system and makes a chuckle, “that’s what a girl’s gotta do for you to take her on a motorbike ride—get nearly beaten to death?” she asks him teasingly. bruce has learned over time to take her humor as it is—as humor—even in gloomy situations. and so his lips tug upwards in a half-smile at her joke. but he can’t distract his mind from her being as injured as he was on the night she saved his life. okay, no, she’s worse tonight than that.

“here we are,” he says once they’ve rounded the corner far from the site of their recent fight, and a beautifully subtle motorcycle comes into y/n’s view. bruce rests her against a near-by wall while he goes to unlock the vehicle, and y/n can only make out a “wow” at the sight of the thing. all black and, though it has signs of frequent use, all the surfaces look like silk. this motorbike sure is worth getting beat up for.

bruce unlocks the bike and comes over to y/n again, with two helmets in his hands. he helps her put hers on—y/n’s vision has started to blur and sway a little, and her limbs grow weaker and weaker by the second—then he secures his own helmet on and helps her walk over to the bike, his hand on the small of her back, the other still holding her hand. once at the bike, he places both hands on her ribcage, right below her chest, and, trying to do it both gently and with strength, lifts her up onto the seat of the motorbike.

y/n cries out like a hurt child—first time bruce has seen and heard her like this in all this time—and her face twists up from the pain, her features and the tears in her eyes visible in the as-of-yet open screen of the helmet. it breaks bruce’s heart to hear that sound from her. “i’m sorry,” he tells her quietly, sincerity thick in his husky voice, “i know it hurts.”

she gives him a momentary glance through the slit in her helmet, and their eyes connect in a deeply private look for a few moments. trust, loyalty and submission are dark undertones in their eyes, and for those few moments, they just stare into each other’s orbs, searching them, exploring them, emerging themselves into them, not saying a single word. they’re sure that not even thoughts pass through their minds in that brief time.

their faces close, bruce’s hands on her body. care for her pulsating through them with every pump of blood his heart makes. y/n nearly reaches out and runs her hand across the side of his face. if only he wasn’t wearing the helmet, she could thread her fingers through that night-black hair and be even closer to him than she is now.

he knows her. he knows nothing about the her that she is on the surface. he doesn’t even know her name. but he knows her essence, he knows her depths. and he knows how important it is to her what she’s doing, and what they’re doing together. he hadn’t realized how much meaning it held to him, too, until now. and he, too, almost reaches out to touch her face. both of their shyness wins over their boldness to act.

but when he finally does, having gained the courage and boldness to, he touches her to close the screen protector on her helmet, so she wouldn’t get any dirt, mud or possible rain into her eyes or face while they drive. the air of disappointment hangs between them afterwards—a sour one. but y/n is losing consciousness and willpower too fast to dwell on it much. and he’s supposed to be caring for her so, even though his body screams at him to move his hand lower, to cup her neck from the side in the gentlest, most affectionate manner, he withdraws from her to get onto his motorbike.

y/n is feeling or seeing hardly anything at all right now, but when batman rests his gloved hands on her legs to move them on each of his sides, she almost moans. almost, and thank goodness for that. he finds her arms next and pulls them around his torso, pulling her body closer onto his. “hold tight onto me,” he tells her, “don’t you let go.”

and she tries her best to do that throughout the quick and bumpy ride around gotham. she has no idea where he’s taking her exactly, she couldn’t map it out in her current state if she tried. all she sees are lights and objects flashing past her at lightning speed, and she hears all kinds of different sounds around her, as well. the world blurs into one big tornado milkshake from her point of view, and she can hardly keep herself conscious. but she has to, otherwise her arms will let go of bruce and she’ll fall off. and merely the thought about those consequences sobers her up for the remainder of their ride.

the noises and lights fade away towards the very end of it, and y/n furrows her eyebrows as she feels the world around her go quiet, so quickly and suddenly. she sees only darkness now around her, the single light source in it being batman’s motorbike light at the very front. she moves her head slightly to the side and lifts it, too, to try and recognize her surroundings. as if that’s going to do her any good, what with her state and the unknown place she’s in.

then batman pulls his motorbike to a stop, inside a room or hall—y/n can’t really tell—that has some barely-working lights on the ceiling, as well as rows and rows of something moving, something alive. she can’t see what it is, but it looks like a huge quantity of some small creature.

bruce makes sure to move y/n off the bike before she can slide off it, and he hoists her up bridal-style in his arms, carrying her over to one of his desks afterwards. he lays her down gently on her back, lifts the helmet off her head, and does the same to himself, ridding himself of his cape and armor, too, immediately afterwards. y/n tries to move, tries to sit up on top of his messy desk, tries to get a hold of herself and the situation, but bruce captures her again before she can make any movement. “don’t move,” he tells her in a half-commanding and half-pleading whisper. he takes her mask off—he’s seen how she does it before, and he slips it off with complete ease—and looks into her eyes again. he sees her eyes for real now, and he sees her face, too—hurt. a bruise on her cheekbone, a cut in her cheek. how did he let this happen? her eyelids are fluttering in weak efforts to stay conscious, but she mostly fails. how can she look so heavenly even in a state like this? “just stay with me.” bruce finally tells her before scooping her up into his arms again. she won’t get the help she needs down in his lab cave.

perhaps alfred has some first-aid kits. no doubt he has those, he’s patched bruce up many times before. bruce gets into the elevator and presses the level number for the living quarters of wayne manor. he glances down at his partner, and his heart lurches in his chest. her face has gone pale. he looks down to where her side is hurt, her hand still lightly hanging onto that spot, and bruce gulps. her thick, dark blood is seeping through her suit. it’ll be ruined.

his trembling hand reaches over to the dark patch, and he cups the side in the gentlest way he can, so as not to cause her any more pain. and he feels the wet liquid against his skin, coating his pale pigment a dark color immediately. bruce grows scared of it, of how that feels. her blood on his hands. his first instinct is to let go of her, of what makes him scared. but he doesn’t. he can’t. he pulls her even closer into his hold, and now he looks at her face again. his blood-coated hand absent-mindedly reaches up to her cheek.

he just wants to feel her in his hand, feel that she’s still there, feel that the silk of her skin is still intact. y/n doesn’t feel much of anything at the moment, bruce’s touch on her in those multiple places is such a far-away feeling. one she wants to feel completely, but is miles away from, unable to reach. she’d much rather drift off to sleep now. she feels so tired. there won’t be any harm in simple slumber now, will there?

bruce doesn’t understand how this escalated so quickly. she was joking just some ten minutes ago, and now the very life is fading away from her. bruce doesn’t know if he’ll be able to… he doesn’t even want to say the words. in short, he’s not sure if he’s fully capable. he needs help.

and it arrives sooner than he expects. as the elevator pulls to a stop at the right floor, the door slides open and no other than alfred is standing right behind it. the older man is immediately confused about bruce using the elevator at all, he’s confused as to why the man who will always be a boy in his eyes has come up at all. bruce breathes a quiet gasp of pleasant surprise, and then he almost trips over his own tongue while trying to say something. “bruce, what are you—” but alfred’s question stops half-way when he notices the limp figure in his godson’s arms. and the blood on the figure’s side, the blood on bruce’s hand. and then he sees the desperate look in bruce’s eyes.

“help,” he manages to say, “help her.”

alfred sees the slowly-healing bruises on bruce’s own face and arms, but he nods. the woman in his arms is in need of much more urgent care than bruce himself. alfred doesn’t need any closer inspection to determine her state of health, and how important it is to act now. so without another word, he ushers bruce to the spare room he set up himself a month or two after bruce started his vigilante night shifts. a room with everything that a badly injured person could need. a bed, medical equipment, books, even a tv, and a bathroom connected to it. one of the guest bedrooms that alfred couldn’t bring himself to make into a storage room.

his breath trembling, arms shaking, eyes filling up with tears, bruce carries y/n to the large bed as quick as he can. he and alfred lean over her for the older man to determine what they should do first. cuts along her arms, those two bruises on her face, and the big, bad bleeding injury in her side. alfred looks to bruce. “what were you doing?” he asks his godson, and sees he’s staring at the woman before him with glassy, strong eyes so full of emotion as he’s ever seen.

bruce shrugs. “nothing extraordinary,” he says, “was like any other night. only…” he gulps, “only the thugs had more weapons we didn’t know about.” he shrugs. “i don’t know how it happened,” bruce’s breath hiccups in his throat, his voice now verging on crying, “can you just help her, please?” he finally looks at his godfather. bruce doesn’t care how he sounds. he just wants her to look alive again, to be alive.

“we both can,” alfred assures him, “we’ll need to take off her suit to get to that horrible wound. you do that,” he walks off towards the small trolley of medical equipment in the room, “we’re gonna clean it, and then we’ll have to stop the bleeding first and foremost.”

bruce looks at y/n again. he needs to take off her suit. will she be okay with that? would she be okay with that? he wants to ask her, but, judging by the pale, unconscious look on her face, that’s quite impossible now. bruce just doesn’t wish to expose her to him while she’s unconscious and doesn’t know he’s doing it. but he needs to get over that, over those anxieties. her life is at stake.

so he turns her over to her side just for a moment, while he finds the hidden zipper in her suit and unzips it. she makes a small noise, a near acknowledgement of bruce moving her around. much to his peace of mind, a bra comes into view, the black strap of it hugging around her back. as soon as the zipper is down enough, bruce turns her over to her back again and carefully, with all the caution he can muster up, he takes the suit off.

holes show in places where the suit—and her skin, too—has been cut into. dried blood sticks around the corners of them, but some blood is fresher than some other. bruce gulps at the sight of it, but keeps peeling the spandex off her. once he’s peeled off enough for the biggest injury to be out in the open, he leaves the rest of it be, the elastic fabric bunching around her hips now.

god in heaven, it looks really bad. she hasn’t just been cut, she’s been properly stabbed. somewhere near her large intestine, though bruce doesn’t know precisely where, and just hopes that it’s nowhere critical. alfred has come up beside the bed, where bruce sits with y/n, and prepares some disinfectant and cloths for them both to use. disinfectant. just the same one she always uses on her own and bruce’s wounds. he’d make a smile at that connection if the situation was any less grim than it is.

“here, just—” alfred hands the tools over to bruce, and he quickly takes them.

“i know how,” bruce tells him and immediately gets to work. alfred gives him a puzzled look, and bruce can feel it on his temple as he gets to cleaning her bad injury. there’s so much blood, it’s seeping down into the sheets. they’re gonna have to change them if she’s staying here.

alfred connects the dots. “so she’s the one after my job of patching you up nearly every night, is she?” he asks his godson. alfred begins to prepare a needle and catheter for the stranger’s vein, so he can hook her up on a pain-killer patch.

“think it’s the other way around now,” bruce tells him. alfred shakes his head with an almost-smile. no matter how long bruce holds a cloth to her wound to stop the blood, it keeps pouring like a waterfall.

“she’s losing a lot of blood, bruce,” he tells him, “you know a hospital would do a much better job than us.”

bruce gives him a sharp glare, “and you know why we don’t do hospitals,” he says in a grave voice, “she also heals faster than us.” he adds then, and keeps tending to her hole of ever-pouring blood now that he’s cleaned it. alfred raises his head after adjusting the catheter into her vein. she makes a small noise at that, too, obviously having felt the prick to some extent, no matter how subtle. bruce’s heart lurches in his chest at the small noise, his eyes immediately looking to her face.

“what do you mean, bruce?” alfred asks. bruce just looks at him momentarily.

“she’s enhanced,” he says, “doesn’t work exactly like you and me would in these cases.” alfred’s still confused, but he brushes it off, telling himself he’ll probably find out later or won’t need to. the important thing now is to make sure this woman survives the night.

“what about her blood? does that regenerate faster, too?” he asks, and then shakes his head again. “we’ll need to get more for her. you don’t know her blood type, do you?”

bruce doesn’t, but he can find out. he finally dares to look below her face, where those sacred letters lie, an abundance of information with them. that tells him everything.

y/n parker

birth date: 04/06/1994

city of origin: queens, new york city, NY

occupation: barista at saint jeremiah's coffee

former occupation: waitress at mudd's cave

OPEN MEDICAL FILES? the system suggests.

bruce hesitates a little, processing all this new information on her all at once already, but then nods at the system’s question. an out-poor of medical records, vaccines and tests done comes up in his vision. thank god he didn’t take out the lenses in the cave, or this would have taken a lot, lot longer.

allergies: lactose, strawberries, tulips

blood type: AB+

chronic diseases: none

blood type AB+. the same one as bruce’s. he looks to alfred, who meets the younger man with an awaiting look. “she has my blood type,” he tells him the discovery. and she wasn’t born far from his birthday, either. just a couple months earlier. how curious.

“interesting,” alfred says finally, “i’ll try not to drain you too much, bruce, so i’ll take just a drop now and we’ll see—”

“take as much as she needs,” bruce says with dark determination in his eyes, “i’m not injured.”

“can’t exactly let you die, sir,” alfred argues back and prepares another needle and an empty plastic patch to withdraw bruce’s blood. bruce doesn’t care what happens to him. alfred might take every drop of his blood if it meant y/n would be saved. saved. certainly an interesting word.

alfred knows what bruce thinks of himself in this case. he never cares what happens to him. what matters to him is what happens to the world. that his job has been done, that it has been done well. bruce doesn’t care if he dies, either, as long as his message and goal has been fulfilled. this time, the world is swapped for y/n. she’s all that he cares about, all that matters right now. y/n. what a name.

knowing this, alfred fills two of those empty patches with bruce’s blood. just to see if it might be enough. the prince of gotham has to admit he feels light-headed already, he guesses his worries and stresses, and over-all regular exhaustion from the fight before have been slowly draining him, too. but he helps alfred patch y/n up with cotton and gauze to secure her injury, protect it from the outside factors.

alfred handles the patching up itself—plasters, balls of cotton and gauze. bruce merely helps move the unconscious y/n around slightly, so that alfred has no trouble wrapping the gauze around her waist, so that they don’t make her injury worse. bruce’s hands splay on her partly-covered hips, the very tips of his fingers only digging into her skin very slightly to lift her hips up and down from time to time. bruce has to say he feels awkward and not right, handling her the way that he is, while she’s unconscious and ignorant of the way he touches her.

but that over-whelming care he feels for her, that has gained almost an animalistic trait, seeps through and makes that anxiety of his sink. he’ll just have to tell her about what he and alfred did while she was unconscious, and she’ll understand. there’s no way she won’t. he won’t tell her, of course, how right her silky flesh felt against his rough hands, how well she fit into his hands, and how his first instinct was to touch the rest of her skin, as well. he’ll keep that to himself, and will hope that urge will pass with time.

after her injury has been wrapped up and secured in isolation from any harm, the two men of wayne manor work to settle y/n into bed properly. while alfred changes the sheets, bruce lays her on a near-by couch, and rids her of the rest of her suit, throwing the ruined piece to the ground. thankfully, she’s not as badly injured anywhere else in her body, so she can rest now. bruce searches the cabinets next to the large bed for any clothes, and, luckily, there are a couple pieces laying about. he chooses sweatpants and one of the plain shirts for her.

while he pulls the pants on her with ease, bruce experiences trouble with the shirt. how can he put it on if she’s connected to the blood patches through her vein? he has a bit of trouble figuring it out, but at once he does. he pulls the shirt over her head, puts her mobile arm through the sleeve, and then carefully puts the attached-to-the-patches arm through the sleeve, as well, but leaves the small wire that’s pumping blood into her to snake upwards. it now runs across her upper arm and sneaks out through the top opening in her shirt, further running up to the adjusted patch, just closer to her now.

she doesn’t make a noise or move at any point in all this ruckus, and bruce is glad to see her at peace. she’s not as pale anymore already, and her breathing has regulated. she’s healing herself and is getting the amount of blood she needs. as she now lays in the bed, dark grey sheets tucked around her, pillows in the same dark grey tone tucked behind and below her, bruce just watches her. alfred is cleaning up their medical equipment, but he’s doing it quietly in another corner of the room. bruce hardly acknowledges his presence at all. he just watches her as he sits in bed beside her.

how her chest rises and falls with long, even breaths. how her eyes flutter here and there—she must be dreaming—and how her fingers twitch slightly at her sides. he hopes it’s something pleasant she’s dreaming of. y/n. his whole world seems to have changed now that he knows her name. y/n parker. it doesn’t change her in his eyes, and it’s strange that he knows her name. he’s not entirely sure he wanted to know her name, now that he does. it’s strange.

her origin being new york city explains… exactly nothing. bruce doesn’t think he’s heard of a place like that before. the system showed him a state, too, behind the city, but it didn’t ring a bell, either. what could she be doing here, in such a place as gotham, if she’s from there? it sounds like a famous place, one bruce should know. but he doesn’t. though, he reckons, he’ll spend some time searching for it during the day, once she’s all settled in under the covers.

even though he wants to be at her side at all times. he wants to be here when she wakes up, he wants to be here with her when even the smallest thing happens. but he also has her suit to work on. that ruined, full-of-blood suit. after this incident, he can’t let her roam around the city in spandex and rely on her agility or his protection to keep herself safe. he won’t hear any protest from her about it, either. he can’t let her be this vulnerable to these thugs, or to anyone for that matter.

bruce blames himself for what happened to her. he never cares what happens to him, either if he’s fighting alone or together with her. he didn’t even catch one of the thugs striking her with a knife, brutally stabbing her, until the very end of the fight. how could he have not seen it? how could he have not heard it happen? he should have been by her side, should have kept a closer eye on her. yes, they’re both kind of independent in their fighting styles, but still, they work as a team, they’re supposed to be looking out for each other. how could he have let this happen?

the dawn rises and ignites light across the sky, which can be perfectly seen through the window of this bedroom. bruce sees it only when that light hits y/n’s cheek in a soft manner. he turns to look around the room, then, and finds alfred sitting in a chair in one of the corners. bruce rises to his feet and draws the big curtains closed, so that y/n wouldn’t be bothered by light from the world and could sleep as long as she needs to. he feels a sour tone as the last ray of the sun caresses his own face, but he pulls the curtains completely closed.

“you should get some sleep, too, bruce,” alfred says quietly as he rises from the chair, “she’ll be alright without you. just needs time.” he walks over to the door. bruce turns to look at him.

“how much?” he asks in a hush. his and alfred’s eyes connect. the older man shrugs.

“a couple days, if she gets better.” he answers. “a week, just to be sure.” he tells bruce. “if she doesn’t get better, well… then we’ll really need to get her to a hospital.”

bruce averts his eyes from those of his godfather’s, but nods. neither of them are doctors, scientists or miracle-workers, even if they try to be. so they can’t always expect themselves to be able to do everything. some things are out of their hands.

“i’ll send breakfast up for you, you need your strength. then you can get some rest,” alfred informs bruce, his ringed hand tapping on the thick mahogany door, “as for her,” he looks to the sleeping woman in the bed, “we’ll get her a meal as soon as she wakes up, alright?” bruce nods in response, still not saying anything. “good night, master wayne. or should i say—good morning.” alfred says and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. bruce knows he’s exhausted, too. the paper work usually keeps alfred up at night, but when that’s not the case, then it’s bruce that keeps him up. this time, it’s both bruce and his accomplice.

alfred will enjoy to get acquainted with the woman when she’s in a much better state, because, dare he say, she’s been keeping bruce busy in a healthy way, and she’s been caring for him now that bruce forbid alfred to do so. bruce has also been in better moods lately, and alfred can only thank her for that. he just has yet to know this wonderful person.

with half of the sent-up breakfast in his stomach, the blood loss and exhaustion wearing his body down and the darkness of the room due to the drawn curtains, bruce can’t keep himself awake anymore. sitting by the bed in one of the bigger sofa chairs, on the side she lays in, and watching her, he feels himself nodding off every once in a while. eyes drifting closed and head dropping onto the mattress. so he finally gives himself that sweet release—bruce gets comfortable with half his body on the mattress and half still in the chair—and lets slumber take complete control of his body and consciousness.

if anyone wants a tag next time, please let me know :)

permanent tag-list: @gabiatthedisco​​​​​​ @v0idbella​​​​​​ @works-of-fanfiction​​​​​​ @ur-gunna-h8-ths​​​​​​ @betweenloveandfire @but-legendsneverdie​​​​​​ @deardeacy​​​​​​ @thewinchesterchronicles @mavieesttriste16​​​​​​ @intrrverted​​​​​​ @the-freak-cassie-131​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @gasbomb69​​​ @xoxobabydolls

series taglist: @blue-aconite​ @captainbarness @chiliiscereal​ @miniflower93​ @scorpio-echo​ @faithsreviews​ @buckysjuicyplums​ @legendaryfishdreamexpert​ @eucalyptrus​ @matchesarelit​ @daphne-bloom @aestheticpisces​ @baybay123455 @measure-in-pain​​ @spookysins @calumspupils​ @prettygirlpattinson​ (i'm sorry if someone's @/s aren't working, idk why!!)

[sitp-recs]

(Perfect artwork for Modern Love, by @cambiodipolvere)

Today is the day of one of my favorite people! And I totally resent @tackytigerfic and Starry for almost sharing the same birthday, god the STRESS 😂 Tacky is my first and closest fandom friend. We clicked together so fast and easy that sometimes it feels like I’ve known her all my life, like we’re two dog moms living in the same neighborhood who happen to read fic in their free time. Despite our conflicting time zones and crazy schedules we manage to chat every other day, tagging and sending each other all kinds of stuff, coming together to cry scream about a brilliant fic we’ve just read or shaking our heads in embarrassment at every other unnecessary bullshit post. Tacky’s bright and wise energy uplifts my spirit even on my moody days, and makes me grateful for her friendship and for this fandom life. Okay so this got long and I had to put the rest under the cut:

It’s such a lovely and precious thing, to have someone with whom you can share every single thought that crosses your mind, your scariest, most embarrassing, petty or disturbing idea, without fear of being shamed or judged by it. I trust Tacky with all my heart to hear me out, share a joke or a piece of advice, even on the (rare) occasions when we don’t get the same perspective - that doesn’t happen often when it comes to Drarry, as we are taste twins!

Tacky my darling, you’re such a good person, and such an incredible friend. Thank you for introducing me to this lovely community, for being my safe haven and your unique self, with so many qualities I admire and feel inspired by: kind, witty, earnest, wise, and so very human. I love your humour and empathy, and your chill yet no-nonsense personality; I love your talent and how articulated you are; I love your passion for Drarry, and how you let this emotion inform the way you navigate the fandom and create for it. And god, but you’ve been creating some of the most beautiful content I’ve seen in these recent years! I’m permanently in awe of your ability to write Drarry in any shape, format or length, transforming even the most ordinary moment into an extraordinary and meaningful piece of character or relationship development. You know how you mentioned yesterday that some authors change the way you feel about a ship in a deep, definitive way? Well, you are that author for me. Your works made me fall in love with M-rated contemplative romance, and also allowed me to fall in love with Harry in a way I never thought it was possible before.

Some people - myself included - got to know you through the fun and intriguing A Lick and a Promise, others through the atmospheric and sensitive Modern Love, others through your contemplative and heartbreaking short form. Each story has its merits and purpose, and all of them share a Tacky trademark: the heartkick factor! Your talent has no limits and goes across different genres and tropes, that you explore with a bold twist full of personality and heart. And even more impressive is your consistency at always raising the bar - every new fic of yours becomes an instant fave and makes me think “wow I thought Tacky couldn’t get better yet here we are”. Seeing how your writing evolves as you find your narrative voice is a beautiful and humbling experience, I feel so lucky!

I’m really grateful for being active in the fandom at this moment in time, because that allows me to read and engage with your brilliant work, and to have you as a dear friend. I can’t wait to see what comes out of your beautiful brain next. It was an impossible job choosing a single fic to rec today, so I decided to do a belated Tacky reclist! Naturally these are my personal and biased must-reads, and I urge everyone to go check these beauties right now. Feel free to include your own favorites too, and don’t forget to leave them some appreciation.

Happy happy birthday my darling Tacky! This fandom life wouldn’t be the same without you. I hope you have the amazing day you deserve!

Between the Power Lines (2020, M, 3.2k)

The road trip fic you didn’t know you needed. I got utterly immersed in the heartbreaking quietness of this, feeling like a witness to an ordinary yet poignant love story. Such tender intimacy, such character development, such lovely American aesthetics with barely any dialogue. This is, IMO, the fic that reveals Tacky’s triumph in storytelling.

Even the Night (2020, M, 3.4k)

This fic has a surreal atmosphere, those Midsummer vibes unbelievably sexy and intoxicating linked to the sensorial experience of fumbling together in the night. Masterclass in tension building, a silky and languid dream-like affair.

Aim for my Heart (2021, M, 3.4k) - Harry/Draco/Ron

One of the most sensitive and stunning portraits I’ve ever seen of a poly/triad relationship, this fic packs so much character and longing! It’s a privilege to watch Ron and Draco’s tentative dynamics through the smitten eyes of the one person that loves them like no one else: Harry.

The Long Fall (2021, M, 3.6k)

I can’t even write about this tender domesticity without getting a lump in my throat. Best opening scene I’ve read in years, and a refreshing way to approach both mpreg and parenthood, painfully honest and lovely. This became an immediate comfort read for me, and it’s probably one of the fics I revisit the most.

Mortal Frame (2021, M, 6.6k)

This thrilling, fast-paced spy story left me breathless since the first paragraph, gods what an immersive ride! I’m so here for Drarry on the run, sharp and urgent with danger but mellowed by the silent trust and tender intimacy only Tacky can master. Major bonus points for the brilliant take on the Horcrux hunt plot line!

Last Offices (2020, M, 6.7k)

Oh, this fic 💔 I tend to avoid MCD but there’s something so deeply fascinating about body washing rituals that I caught myself mesmerized by this. I just couldn’t put it down, so emotionally compromised I felt. There’s a sort of strange comfort in the heartbreak of doing one last act of service out of devotion to someone. This fic inspired so many difficult but lovely feelings in me, and one of them was hope. Only Tacky could possibly achieve that!

Our Little Life (2020, M, 7.2k)

Inventive and singular, this story hit me straight on the solar plexus and left me speechless as I saw the (clever, magical and bittersweet) plot unravel. Such a fabulous take on alternate universes and all the angst potential behind it. Come and bask in the yearning melancholia of a short yet intricate and perfectly executed plot.

And One to Play (2019, E, 21k)

What a fun and delightful fic, I can’t have enough of pining Harry losing all sense of propriety when faced with a hot, competent and pragmatic Draco. This has fab dynamics, unhinged protectiveness, even more unhinged attraction between two idiots who can’t keep their hands off each other. A must-read for any Auror partners fan!

A Lick and a Promise (2019, E, 55k)

Hot, BAMF Professors carefully balancing a fuck buddies situation while solving a Hogwarts mystery, do we need anything else? I certainly do not. This fic is so fun and intriguing and immersive, with amazing supportive cast and a delicious get together feat secret shagging and oblivious pining. Love it!

Modern Love (2020, E, 61k)

My favorite read of 2020, this fic is a love letter to Drarry and will always hold a piece of my soul. Sensitive, wistful, tenderly aching and so very romantic, this is a Muggle Draco triumph with a superb Harry, exquisite slow burn and a side of suds comfort. I promise it will be impossible to listen to Bowie again without thinking of this love story.

Bonus: five stunning drabbles!

Something in the Way (2021, T, 119 words)

“Up,” he said, and Draco, sick with love, raised his arms above his head and allowed Potter to slide the jumper on him, big hands stroking it flat over Draco’s stomach until they both shivered.

Stir-Up Sunday (2020, M, 300 words)

“I want you always,” he said, tugging again on the fine curling length of it. “Is it okay to say that?”

Whalebone Arch (2021, M, 722 words)

“Are you still not talking to me?” Draco steered Harry towards the crisps. “Do I have to suck you off in the loo to cheer you up?”

Semiplume (2021, T, 923 words)

“Did you know,” Harry murmured, and he put his arms around Draco, fearless. “I’d be your mate. If you needed a mate, I mean.”

Relic Radiation (2021, M, 927 words)

“You’ll kill me,” Harry said, and Draco turned his face towards the darkened sky, lunar pale, his profile some stupid unearthly thing—a flaring blazar, a supernova—in the light from the kitchen window.

[olderthannetfic]

As I said, @hilichurlrights​, you can really tell how ignorant such people are of the composition of fanfic fandom, never mind the rest of the world.

I agree it makes sense...

I just think it makes people fucking morons and they should learn better.

This response is an example of the very thing the original ask was bitching about and with good reason!

AO3 and tumblr are full of m/m shipping. They are equally full of useful idiots doing the work of TERFs and homophobes by accident. That’s where this nonesense about “fetishizing” leads: to trying to force people to avoid m/m content.

(Funny story: I know a 20-something who proudly told me she only has het ships because she knows it would be fetishizing for her to have any m/m ships. Good job, wankers, you sure made fandom more progressive by getting rid of the queer shit.)

It’s very telling that the constant refrain is that WOC are sidelined for two white men, as though WOC aren’t “sidelined” in favor of white het in spaces with more het shipping. I’m not even convinced that sidelining is a good way to look at people spending hobby time on X vs. Y anyway, but it’s definitely not a good way to look at this specific pattern because shippy fic is romance. Women are “sidelined” in m/m because it’s m/m. All of the non-leads, regardless of gender or orientation, are always “sidelined” in romance novels. That’s what the genre is.

This is the kind of insidious rhetoric that the bigots sneak into our spaces to be absorbed and repeated by unwitting progressives.

Do you not get that spreading this nonsense is demanding that people like heterosexual fiction and and demanding that they prioritize hetereosexual fiction as more progressive? Or are you pitting f/f with WOC against white m/m? The examples I can think of where this comes up tend to be about shipping some very popular white guy lead with either the WOC or the white dude from his canon.

Plenty of people don’t read fic about women because they don’t identify with women or because they have trauma or because the media industries and genres they’re into don’t depict women in ways that inspire them. There are so many valid reasons including the very obvious one of other people’s hobby time is not yours to command.

The word ‘fetishizing’ itself is tremendously ambiguous in this context too. This isn’t some universal evil we all agree is real or all agree on a definition for.

Fic is not primarily operating in the realistic family drama space where “good representation” seems to hang out. It’s more likely to be romance novels or crime procedurals in terms of its genre elements. Some of it is erotica. Much of what I see called out as “fetishizing” is actually just rape fantasy--a normal and healthy thing everyone has known was fine since the 70s unless you are, once again, a conservative religious asshat or a radfem. Or, worse yet, plenty of it is just “Women aren’t allowed to write about men” with a whole pile of misgendering, mislabeling of orientation, and demands for people’s RL info.

Writing a female Asian character as some ninja prostitute stereotype is fetishizing.

Being horny for m/m is not. Not even if you’re a cis woman. Not even if you like kink.

Being horny is not a bad thing.

Every time you uncritically call people’s amateur m/m art “sus”, you’re helping out the bigots.

[klancefics-cache]

hi, do you know any soft, long one-shot fics? or hurt/comfort fics?

you’ve come to the right place B)

Hyperbole, but whispered by 13434x

(chapters: 1/? | 49659 words | M)

"It reminds me of the sun.”

"The sun is prettier,” Lance mumbled.

"It is.”

A crescendo filled the inside of Lance’s chest as the star lit up the interior of the vehicle, and the words were out of his mouth before he even registered the inevitability of them.

"Like you,” he whispered, ”pretty like you, Keith.”

-

Aegis, a planet that floods itself every thousand years, is left especially vulnerable in the threat of a galra invasion, a threat that urgently sends the Paladins of Voltron on a mission against nature itself to rescue the entire population of the planet; meanwhile, Lance personally sets out to mend his rocky relationship with one certain Red Paladin—preferably before they all succumb to the wake of the Great Wave—and then maybe, hopefully, he’ll manage to find his way home across the entire universe while he’s at it.

i want your heaven and your oceans too by mothpoem

(chapters: 1/1 | 11610 words | T)

“Not—not that you’d be my rebound! I mean, you’d be helping me take my mind off of this guy, but to be a rebound, I’d have to have dated him first, I think, and he doesn’t even know I like him, so. You wouldn’t be a rebound. At worst, we become badass partners-in-crime with a grudging respect for each other, at best, we’re soulmates for life and this is fate trying to help us find happiness. So. Um.” Lance swallows and looks up at the Blade of Marmora soldier through his lashes. “What say you?”

They look down at their hands for a moment, fingers twisting together in deep thought. Then they’re pulling their gloves off, revealing pale, half-bruised knuckles of the human variation, and their mask is dissolving, giving way to big blue-purple eyes and an achingly familiar jet-black cowlick. “Who,” says Keith Kogane, in that low-pitched rumble that makes Lance’s stomach roil in the good way—holy fuck—“is this guy you’re trying to get over?”

got got got it bad by kairiolette

(chapters: 1/1 | 10377 words | T)

"He leans in to hook his arm around Keith’s shoulders in full. It’s right in Keith ear, when he speaks. “I have a crush on someone new, like, every week.”

“No—it's not someone.” Keith brings his head up, and it feels as heavy on his neck as if it were his center of gravity, and he meets Lance’s eyes with his own. Keith doesn’t mean to communicate something through their silence, he just kind of gets caught up in staring at Lance’s face, which tends to happen lately. Sharp features, cheekbones and chin. Impossible eyes and a loud mouth as expressive as his eyebrows. But Lance seems to come to some understanding on his own. He sits back in a rare, rare moment of speechlessness, that mouth of his slightly pursed and twitching in its search for words in what can only be, though Keith doesn’t know much about body language, immense confusion on the brink of realization."

Or: Keith acknowledges his feelings for Lance and promptly goes through the five stages of grief.

First Day of My Life by wyverning

(chapters: 1/1 | 9445 words | T)

Lance has avoided asking about it all night, mostly because he’s pretty sure it’s weird to ask your friend if they’d be interested in cuddling in the same bed.

in this moment, you mean everything by rosedvst

(chapters: 1/1 | 13050 words | T)

“You really wanna kiss me, Kogane?” Lance asks, suddenly serious. His fingers twitch anxiously and his teeth gnaw at his bottom lip.

Keith looks at him through the screen, right into his blue-brown eyes. (He can never tell what color Lance’s eyes are--they always seem to be shifting and changing in the light, just like the inside of a kaleidoscope.) “Yeah,” He breathes. “Yeah. You just said you wanted to make me a mixtape in a declaration of your love to me. I want to kiss you so hard right now.”