#i’d do that again but i’ve read most of the fics. alas

[orphetoon]

i need to get unhealthily obsessed with something again

[crosbyism]

now I must know who you consider outrageously hot. sid? nate? other non-hockey fellows?

lmao ok anon ur on. to be frank while sid and nate both scratch very specific itches in my aesthetic brain and i go heart eyes AWOOGA every time nate wears what i call his “assassin outfit” (the travel day one where he’s wearing a turtleneck), that is like. my favourite food. y’know? like i recognise that those men are very hot to ME, specifically, and not necessarily objectively so hot you can’t look at them directly. my fave restaurant, which is not listed in the guide michelin or the san pellegrino top 100. you know what i mean.

there are VERY few men in the nhl i would even consider for the “can’t look at him directly” drop dead gorgeous intimidatingly hot category. i’m talkin’ palm sweat, can’t look them directly in the eyes when you shake their hand kinda hot. the type of hot that makes you self-conscious about even looking at them, where you have to remind yourself not to stare. where you get physically flustered by their looks. Anna Kasterova kinda hot.

but you know what: i’ll pick out a couple guys for ya, anon. disclaimer: gabe landeskog and kris letang are incapable of making this list because as a pens n avs fan i’ve had exposure therapy to them. In no particular order:

Alex Wennberg

if i had to shake alex wennberg’s hand, i’d have to look at his left earlobe to do it. i’d be the guy getting jittery just ‘cause of his eyes. that’s not a natural shade of blue. because i’m a parody of myself, i also have no doubt i’d see his earlobe and go oh no, even that’s handsome somehow. you know how erik johnson once said he was the poor man’s gabe landeskog? well, if we’re talkin’ in those terms, gabe landeskog is the poor man’s alex wennberg. if i sat at a dinner table with this man, i’d strategise to sit next to him so i wouldn’t have to deal with seeing his face all night and giving myself a conversational handicap by drifting off in the middle of a sentence just because i got so mesmerised by his face. intimidatingly handsome.

K’Andre Miller

k’andre miller is easily the most gorgeous guy in the nhl. i’m not sure i could be in the same room as him. that picture of him with his girlfriend? it took me ten minutes to realise that there was a woman in the picture because i was too busy staring at him. and his girlfriend is beautiful!! but not as beautiful as him; alas, it would be a miraculous feat if she were. if attaining perpetual beauty is a sisyphean task, K’Andre Miller is simultaneously the rock the rest of humanity is pushing up that mountain and the benevolent victor at the mountaintop, looking down at us all with kind, pitying eyes. again, simply being in the same room as this man would instantly obliterate me into dust.

Nick Schmaltz

i will admit that i could be in the same room as nick schmaltz and even look him in the face, albeit not for long. but the instant there’s a friendly touch on my shoulder or back, it’s fucking over. nick schmaltz is the kind of beautiful that would induce full-body shivers if he got too close. i’d have a physical reaction from the proximity. he’d think i’d have allergies and i’d have to excuse myself to the bathroom and afterwards maintain 6 feet of distance for the rest of the night, which would no doubt leave him with the impression that i either hated him or was a freaky rude germaphobe.

Honourable Mentions:

Roman Josi

i’ve seen roman josi irl and he really is that handsome in real life. extremely attractive. intimidatingly hot for sure. however, i feel like i could hang out with him in a smaller group for an evening without embarrassing myself, so he doesn’t make the top 3.

Tom Wilson

tom wilson is very hot, but his actual beefcake stature would be the biggest reason to feel intimidated, also i’ve read various brobeans fic too often to not feel somewhat comfortable with the idea of chilling out with tom wilson for sure.

Carey Price

honourable mention bc he doesn’t play anymore. extremely beautiful man. couldn’t be in the same room as him for sure. my god what a beautiful man.

[writing-for-life]

Keeping Them In Character...

It’s so interesting what you wrote about fixing Morpheus in the other post, @rriavian. I didn't want to take that one too off topic, hence I made a new one. I hope this is okay, because I love talking about these things, especially with other writers (everyone who reads this, writer or not, feel free to join in). I think I’ve said this somewhere else before (can’t remember where): If we keep him in character, there is no fixing him anyway.

But fanfic wouldn’t be fanfic without those attempts, and I totally get why. I want a different ending for him, too, alas, not in canon, even if that might sound contradictory. If they touched the ending in the show, I’d honestly be pissed off, but that’s my personal problem, and Neil can do with it whatever he wants—it’s his story. So I guess every fic that sees him alive at the end starts with the premise that we have to bend him into shape ever so slightly to make it possible. To me though, there’s a world of a difference between that and basically turning him into an OC with no resemblance to Morpheus bar name and looks (not saying that isn’t fair, it’s just not for me because if I wanted that, I’d write an OC, because that’s what he would be to me).

Morpheus is not weak. I even get why some people who mainly came to the Sandman via the show might be drawn into that direction initially, because we obviously see him very low at the beginning (I’m hesitant to say “at his lowest”). But after that, he pretty much stands in his power again (with ups and down obvs)—a power that burdens him for a multitude of reasons I don’t want to go into now, otherwise I’ll still sit here tomorrow. Wrote about it a million times though.

I think the fundamental misunderstanding is that anyone can fix him. So whoever we pair up with him can only walk with him, but he’ll need to take the steps himself, and more importantly: He would need a reason to want to do that. And yes, that’s exactly what my OC tells him at some point because she suffers, and she’s done with it despite understanding him on a deep level and accepting who and what he is—I think you're right when you say there’s a tendency in fandom to turn one half of the relationship into some kind of martyr and/or “void filler” to save someone. And the tricky thing about Morpheus is: He actually is looking for something to fill a void (which, to stress that again, doesn't mean he isn't powerful, so it's not to be mistaken for general weakness). And both in The Sandman and in real life, that never leads to anything good, but I can see why it's tempting to fall into that trap because his character lends itself particularly well to that type of trope (and I even play around with that in the first part of my fic, but it was also clear to me that it won't end there).

Now, this obviously isn’t real life, a story doesn’t necessarily have to lead to something good, but the most important question, to me, was always: What would make him take said steps himself, and above all: WANT to take them? Because truly, that’s where it all falls down in canon. And there is enough scope to explore that in quite a few different ways in my view.

For me, it was always clear that it can never be through wanting to change who or what he is on a fundamental level (that’s why I’m not into retired!Dream AUs, because they would fundamentally change who he is. Again, totally fine if people want to explore that, it's just not for me). I honestly believe he would bristle at that and recoil/retreat. Because it would just add to what is at the core of his very dilemma: If you want to change who and what he is, you basically admit you don’t truly understand him (not even those closest to him truly do), and that’s part of what breaks him (I say “part”, because there are more things in the mix than one can shake a stick at). And there is a clear difference between his being capable of change (we all know he is) and wanting to change him. They are not one and the same, but sometimes, fandom treats them as if they were.

Misunderstanding him, misinterpreting him is inherent to his being: He is Dream—forever out of reach, forever nebulous and unreal and weird and prone to be misunderstood/misinterpreted unless you stop trying and just trust the process/intuition--otherwise, it wouldn’t be (a) D/dream. It truly applies to all that he is. And you see what happens when he tries to rationalise things himself: Although he understands the boundaries between dreams and reality and keeps them in place, he is UNreality, and forever will be. And the way that gets ignored in fandom sometimes baffles me. Although it also doesn’t, because of course we’re human, and we want things to be real.

Back to those steps: I personally think he would never take them for himself because he doesn’t believe he has a story, and outright centring himself as the main character who is in charge of his own story is something he will always deny himself. But I think that’s also the way in? Because if he could perceive, at least initially, that he is part of someone else’s story and that they WANT him in that story (all that he is and isn’t, including all that is broken) with full acceptance but without complete self-denial. That they don’t try to change him, because they understand what the unreal is (and that requires a very particular type of person). That he would want to try because the love he has for them weighs heavier than how little he loves himself (was it you, @stellerssong who recently also wrote something along those lines, or am I making that up?). And that by doing that, he gradually learns to see himself through someone else's eyes. And once on that path, he would maybe, just maybe, start to understand that indeed he has a story of his own, and that he might be able if not to entirely rewrite, but at least to keep on writing it from this moment onward. Like everyone who believes (because believing something is possible means trusting in it despite it not being real, and trusting in the process rather than the result. He knows the power this wields over everyone but himself--not because it’s not true for him but because he won’t allow it. But maybe he could get himself to a stage where he allows it). That it's not about fixing anything really, but growing enough around what's broken and always will be, instead of trying to make it smaller or go away.

Yes, I do believe that might be possible, although there's much more to it than I've written here because it's incredibly complex, and it requires a lot of give and take, compromise and yes, pain along the way. And maybe it might not work at all (I never really 100% know where I end up when I write because my characters always, always make those decisions for me, and despite setting out with a plan, I almost never end up where I had initially intended to go. So if you asked me today, I couldn’t promise that I truly know where my current WiP is going and who will be where at its end, and it is very frustrating at times because I’m not always happy with what these guys are doing. At the moment, I'm truly not). But I believe he would at least try if someone who allowed for those dynamics were around. And that’s why I wrote an OC, because while I can see one or two canon characters that get fairly close to what I'd envision (and none of them are one half of the bigger ships), I ultimately couldn’t do it with them because there was something in their established dynamics that threw it off for me. Unless I would have pulled at least one of them (probably both) OOC to a degree that felt too much for me. But I'm always super interested in other people's process and line of thinking.

But yeah, that’s the precarious dance between trying to keep him in character while also working towards a different ending (that's obviously far less of a problem in one-shots). If that will ever work—who knows…

[missamyshay]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks for the tags @fieldsofview & @seek--rest 🦦

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

35

2. What's your total ao3 word count?

582,965

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently Spider-Man and The Bear.

4. Top five fics by kudos:

across the hall

spotlights and moonlight

106 miles

reset

maroon

5. Do you respond to comments?

Every single one! Might take me a while to get round to it, but I’ll always try my best to give a thoughtful response.

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

Hard to say, I’m not good at drawing a line between ‘angsty’, ‘hopeful’, ‘happy’ etc endings. Everything is a little bit of all. But perhaps timeless.

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

Again, difficult. But maybe The Balcony.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

on my way you will always be famous! The only fic I’ve had active hate on. I’ve received no less than eight anon messages telling me how much they hated it since the day I posted it back in December—the most recent one being sent just last week! Or how much it ‘didn’t work’ for them for a number of reasons that just go to show me that they didn’t actually dedicate the time to properly read the fic. I’d like to think that they’re all from the same miserable person, but alas, I know that they aren’t. It’s still one of my favourite things I’ve ever written though, y’all can’t make me hate it! ✌🏾

9. Do you write smut?

I do!

10. Craziest crossover:

I haven’t done one yet but I’d like to! I had ideas for one swimming around a few months back, but haven’t made any real headway on it. Never say never though!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not yet!

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

Currently writing my first collab—spotlights and moonlight with @seek--rest—and I’m loving it! Definitely want to do more collabs in the future.

14. All time favorite ship?

PeterMJ

15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

If it’s still up, I have plans to finish it!

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I’m good at making characters feel like real people, and I think I’m descriptive of details in a way that matters—in a way that makes the world of the story more vibrant and lived in.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I have absolutely no control over my wordcounts!!!!!!! 😡

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Why not!

19. First fandom you wrote in?

Marvel.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

on my way, or anything from my cycles series.

Tagging: @ambeauty @palettesofrenaissance @tllgrrl and anyone else who sees this

[lioncunt]

i love hearing your opinions on all the characters!!

what do you think about claudia?

thank you so much!!! 🥹🥰

and ohhhhh my. my daughter my GIRL

first impression: kirsten dunst claudia (again when i was 15) and i loved her INSTANTLY she played the fuck out of that part, i loved how gleefully evil she was and her rage and torment and just the LOOK and concept of her was so fucking cool to me!!!!! i was devastated when she died, it broke me to pieces. her and tomstat were my favorite parts of the movie and i think they’re the reason i have such a deep love for claudia’s relationship with lestat, because you could just feel all the complicated love and hate between them in the film. when i read the book, i felt much the same way, but i understood her hatred of lestat even more and i was further enthralled by her predicament. i loved her reasoning for killing him, how it was for HER, how it was revenge for dooming her, for not seeing her beyond anything but a dress-up doll who will never change, for not taking her seriously, for this selfish act of creating her for his and louis’ sake. i loved how she took back her ownership of herself, how she’s the truest vampire because she has no memory of being a human, and how she’s always the smartest person in the room. i also was touched when i read the history behind her character and the tragedy of michele rice, so claudia holds a lot of meaning for me in that way as well.

impression now: just like with louis, the show took this character and elevated her to new heights. i again loved her instantaneously on the show, she was so DELIGHTFUL in episode 4 i fell completely in love with her all over again. the change to her age and backstory adds a whole new dimension to her character, and the acknowledgement of how her predicament affects her love life is soooo horrifying and tragic. episode 4 remains my favorite of the series, i feel like it’s such a complete arc contained in a single episode for her and i love it so much. i adore how bailey played her, her acting is phenomenal ESPECIALLY in her “who am i supposed to love” monologue, the change from her innocent childlike personality to the angst-driven teen to the bitter adult is fucking exquisite, i want everyone to award her for her work it’s better than 90% of performances i’ve seen this year. the relationship between her and louis in this adaptation is sacred, this complicated dynamic from parent-child to brother-sister and then even further where she ends up almost parenting him is so fascinating and disturbing and bittersweet and i tear up if i think about them too hard. my only qualm is i feel she deserved to stab lestat 90000 times more in this version but alas it was not to be. as for book claudia my impression is pretty much the same except that i LOVE her ghost hallucination appearance in body thief i think she should haunt lestat every day of his life and in hell too!

favorite moment: like i said above “who am i supposed to love” brings me to tears every time. also when she mocks lestat choking on his blood fjdksk and in the book “i’ll put you in your coffin father” is the most iconic line i WISH they kept it in

idea for a story: madeleine being the same age and them having a romance is something i’ve wanted for a year now, it’s probably not going to happen in the show given the actress playing maddie’s age but i’d still love to see it in a fic

unpopular opinion: in the book, i feel people get caught up in whether claudia was morally right in killing lestat, and to me, it’s more about how it was an act for HER. she did it for Herself, no one else. it doesn’t matter whether she was right or wrong to do it. she needed to be free of him. in the show, i think she should have killed even more innocent people :)))))) fill up the river with bodies babe drown out the pain ur doing great

favorite relationship: non romantic relationship in the book is her and lestat, and in the show it’s her and louis!

favorite headcanon: she is a LESBIAN

[thistlecatfics]

2022 Roundup

Thanks for the tag @danpuff-ao3 ! and oh yours was so lovely to read through.

Rules:

Post the top 5 works you're most proud of that you released in 2022 (not necessarily your most popular),

your top 4 current WIPs that you're excited to release in the new year,

your top 3 biggest improvements in your writing over the past year,

your top 2 resolutions (ways you wish to improve your writing/blog) for the new year,

and your number 1 favorite line you've written this year!

Danpuff covered nearly everyone I thought to tag but also @fonkeloog @billsfangearring @narcissa-black-supermacy​ @fvckyouimaprophet @sliebman10 and let me just tag them again: @broomsticks @vdoshu​

5. Post the top 5 works you're most proud of that you released in 2022 (not necessarily your most popular)

1. Icarus (Pansy/Millicent/Parvati, 20k, M)

The addiction/trauma recovery/we’ll kill each other or save each other fic. 

I love my characters. I always do, and I think it’s my strength as a writer. But these three have such tight grips on my heart that it’s almost painful to reread and yet I keep doing it. 

2. Duty (Regulus/Sirius, 2k, M)

Regulus Black’s life in less than 2,000 words. 

So intensely personal I never expected it to but one of my more popular fics. I’m so proud to have created a literary work I’m proud of woven almost purely out of myself and my hurt.

3. Alphard’s Favorite (Sirius/Peter, 5k, M)

Peter is a good friend to a drunk and sad Sirius... to a point.

More fics where Peter fucks 2k23!!! But also - resentful Peter is SO much fun to write from, and this has my favorite concluding line I’ll ever write. 

4. Family Legacy (Andromeda/Ted, Remus/Tonks, Teddy Lupin/Victoire, 1.6k, T)

This tragic, queer family can give us all hope. 

Proof I can also write something wholesome. Queerness and transness is beautiful, and we are a legacy. Not overly sweet but pure honest love. 

5. you will burn right now but then you won’t regret it (Fleur/Tonks, 32k, M)

All is not well, and Tonks and Fleur are on the case (and definitely don’t have feelings for each other.)

A case fic! I wrote a case fic! One that says “fuck the police” and “messy dykes deserve love too.”

4. your top 4 current WIPs that you're excited to release in the new year

It’s ambitious to say these will all be released in the new year based on 2021’s writing pace BUT

My Black family AU

Inspired by Jade City by Fonda Lee, I want to write an ambitious Black-family-against-the-world fic. Andromeda does not run away, and Sirius sorts Slytherin, and everything changes. Each cousin has their own POV chapters. It would be by far my most ambitious writing project, and I doubt I’d finish in 2023. I’ve been sketching out broad arcs for each character, outlining and writing some scenes to practice getting in their little morally grey heads. Ships as they stand now would be Sirius/Remus, Andromeda/Bellatrix, Andromeda/Ted, Narcissa/Lucius BUT I also want to fit in some Narcissa/Lily and maybe some Regulus/Barty. Who knows. I’m excited.  

Bellatrix: Protector to threat to dangerously out of control to [spoiler!]

Andromeda: Lost girl with a serious drinking problem to spy to survivor

Narcissa: Naive romantic to realist politician

Sirius: Little rebel princeling to a responsible family head

Regulus: Underestimated spare to hero

Andromeda Liberata book 3

I’ve written a bit for it, but I’ve been feeling uninspired. It’s not abandoned, but it’s certainly on the backburner. 

Fenrir/Remus trauma processing fic

When you go back to the person who hurt you to try to make the trauma meaningful or manageable, but it ends up making you feel so much worse.

Tonks/Bellatrix My Dark Vanessa inspired fic

I thought I could get this done for Fuck the Faculty but alas I got concussed again. Defense professor Bellatrix. Grooming. Incest. Bella getting revenge on the sister who abandoned her, but also whoops maybe she does have genuine feelings for Tonks, but whoops again she’s destroying her. 

3. your top 3 biggest improvements in your writing over the past year

Freedom - writing boldly and unapologetically.

Exploration - I wrote a wholeeeee lot of different types of fics this year.

Confidence - I was confident in my writing this year in a way I wasn’t in 2021. 

2. your top 2 resolutions (ways you wish to improve your writing/blog) for the new year

I need to find a way to integrate writing into my non grad school, non daily drinking life. (I stopped drinking by myself on weeknights in 2022, and, while it’s been good for my health, it’s been terrible for my writing output.) As a private practice therapist my schedule will be entirely my own which is both exciting and terrifying, and I need to add structure.

I want to work on another long, plotty fic! That Black family AU that’s wrapping itself around my soul. 

1. and your number 1 favorite line you've written this year!

The ending line for Alphard’s Favourite which floored me as soon as it entered my head: 

He fucked Sirius three more times, once more at Hogwarts, twice more afterwards, each time calling him his good boy, his favourite.

He fucked him a fourth time, if you count blowing up a street and pinning the blame on Sirius, which Peter did.

[roseandgold137]

Sorry there are so many but i am sooo curious 👀👀👀

For the fanfic writer emoji asks:

😅🤡😈✍️🎢🎶⛔🌞❌🧐🏆📈🦅👀💞🧠(<- for Tim)🤩🤲🎉⌛🤯

😅 What's a story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists?

hmmm none come to mind immediately bc I mean I’m pretty chill with everything I’ve made existing, but I suppose if I were to write Meet the Family again I’d definitely change a few bits that kinda make me :/ now lol

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

“… Janet had money. And Helena’s birthday was soon… though a summer home seemed a bit extreme. Perhaps just a holiday would be enough.”

every so often I think of this line again and realise I’ll never actually live up to it

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

hmmm if nothing else I think I do plan to be lmao

✍ Do you have a beta reader?

not in the slightest everyone is just lucky if I even give it a second look before posting, that’s why I have to constantly go back and fix misspellings bc I never double check 😅

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

Definitely Every Good Gold Digger, I mean it has the most going on (pretty sure it makes up over half of my total word count on ao3) and if you actually stop to consider the premise it’s literally two people that never meet in canon going through the most frustrating speed dating slow burn I can create while also being interspersed with random time jumps so I can tell a story that takes place over several years. So I’d say the rest is pretty tame haha

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

Not often actually bc most of my writing actually happens in classes where my background sound is the teacher I should be listening to lol

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

Wire Bird was supposed to get a chapter two but it was frustrating me to no end so I just abandoned it

🌞 Do you have a preferred time of day to write?

No, just whenever I have the time and motivation I suppose

❌ What's a trope you will never write?

Bad parents Jack and Janet drake my beloathed. I can’t even read it without having a physical reaction like literally I get completely thrown out of the story and just need to like cool off 😭 drake defender til I die

🧐 Do you spend much time researching for your stories?

I start writing and then the research happens on the go 💪💪 I didn’t even know Brassempouy existed before chapter three of EGGD

🏆 What's your most popular fic? 

Based on hits, Every Good Gold Digger. Based on kudos, Meet the Family. But considering EGGD has far more subscriptions by far and also it’s definitely the one I’m more well known for so I’m going to give it the crown

📈 How many fics do you have?

On ao3, 24, and then there’s another from an ask I’ve been meaning to upload, and then there’s various half-finished wips that may or may not turn into anything lol

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

TECHNICALLY some of them have had outlines but very few of them remain true to them so mostly I make it up so long as I have the main story beats in mind

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

still working on the dick kidnapping one, so far he’s on patrol with Bruce and living his best reckless life. In version one anyways. Version two has him already caught and he is a significantly grumpier teen lmao we’ll see which version wins out

💞 Who's your comfort character?

Probably Tim or Janet I’m very partial to them, though Bart definitely appears as my art blorbo he’s everywhere in my sketchbooks so I suppose the three of them. I’m not very good at narrowing things down

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them. (Tim)

Ooooo. You know considering how often I think about him this question should probably be far easier but alas. He’s a total mama’s boy, but that’s basically canon, so I won’t count that. I think he ate crayons as a kid, but that’s not a favourite headcanon. I like to imagine him as an animal lover, because I genuinely can’t really imagine someone not like that, so I suppose that would be my favourite, bc it’s the trait I always give him even if I never say it

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write? 

Tim definitely I never stop thinking about him which makes the whole process very streamlined

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

of course I would

“ “We didn’t do much golf, to be honest,” Jack murmured, dropping his head into his hands suddenly. “Janet. Janny. I made out with Bruce Wayne in the golf range bathrooms.” He peeked at her through his fingers. “Stop laughing at me.” ”

I’m just going to leave you all with that 👍👍

🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success?

When I link it to here and everyone gets excited in the notes 💪💪💪 those first five minutes after posting is like ambrosia to me

⌛ How long does it take you to write a fic, or a chapter?

It varies so widely, some chapters get done in a matter of hours meanwhile I’m on like two weeks for this one lmao

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

I mean before I would have said romance but I actually think I’m doing pretty well at it, so maybe action honestly? My strength is definitely slice of life and fluff so sometimes I feel like my action can feel a bit off pace yknow

Thank you so much for the ask <3 it was very fun going through them all :)

[localplaguenurse]

uh hi !!!

im new to the genshin impact fandom even tho i’ve loved the game’s music and character designs for like the past year and so, and i’ve watched my brother play it since it came out,,, but i just started playing it for myself like two weeks ago !!!

anyway zhongli has always caught my eye and now that im playing the game and know most of the lore,, i wanted to read some fics about him and came across as gold as gingko trees on ao3 last week

when i tell you that fic changed the entire trajectory of my life in just the span of 5 hours.

the way you write is absolutely amazing and breathtaking and i loved reading your notes with each new chapter ab your beta reader, and the funny comments n all

sorry for dumping all of this on you lol

thank you so much for blessing me and many other readers with a fic like that !!!!!!

ty n take care <3

Aw, thank you so much! I only got into the fandom like a year ago and am honestly more of a lore reader than a game player. It’s like 30% a retention thing (I get REALLY into new interests and then abandon them before I get really into them again, rinse and repeat), 30% a time thing (kinda like retention, I just can’t find the time to play), and 40% the only console I can play on is my old ass high school laptop and oh. Oh boy it does not like the ice cave in Dragonspine. Anyways that’s just the long way for me to say that I learned all of the lore I know specifically to write fic about it. It’s good lore! I just can’t play the game 90% of the time-

It’s funny because beta for years has rambled about Zhongli but he’s not why I joined. It was the fatui trailer. It was Pantalone. Deadass. Which like happy one year anniversary to my corruption arc!

I’m being jokey but to bring it back, I’m really happy you enjoyed the fic! Every time I say that I feel like it comes off as very copy and paste, but I’m honestly really happy people enjoyed it and I’m really happy I wrote it because at the very least I’d be a miserable little sad sack. It’s so weird to think that this all started as beta giving me inspiration and me needing a distraction from my depression. And then people actually read it? And liked it? I mean I think I’m a good writer but goddamn, how’d I pull it off like that?

I do miss writing it though, but alas. At least we’ve got Ivy living in my inbox asking questions and giving me prompts lmao.

Take care!

[darthnell]

14, 17, and 26 for the weird writing asks

14. Do you lend your books to people? Are people scared to borrow books from you? Do you know exactly where all your “lost” books are and which specific friend from school you haven’t seen in twelve years still possesses them? Will you ever get them back?

I’m not opposed to it, but it’s been a hot minute… I think the last one I lent out was my copy of Evelyn Hugo; we passed it around my immediate family to read ! I’m not quite sure where it is now though.. oops. I was gonna lend my copy of Verity to my sis (interesting book .. will not elaborate further .) but its also mysteriously disappeared… I also have been in the process of moving for the past few months so there’s that too. Most of my books are still packed away, alas. Who knows if I’ll ever get them out of storage

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

Ooough.. Um. Well, this answer definitely contains detail and minutae as requested so uhh we’re putting it below the cut LOL

So my current wip is a hunger games fanfic; all the thg fics I’ve written in the past few years take place in the same universe; it’s an au of canon where the Mockingjay Rebellion fails. The story I’m currently writing takes place in the year 151 where the Games are still prevalent as ever. I don’t really talk about the context/lore about the actual rebellion failing in the story since its all background information that the characters already know (and it’s not super relevant to the story itself aside from the outcomes) so I might as well share here !

The Mockingjay Rebellion (also called the Second Rebellion) failed mostly because of District Three. They (probably with the help of Beetee) betrayed the rebels and Thirteen; the Capitol was able to win with their aid. They struck some sort of deal to benefit Three in the fallout (honestly the details were probably a little hazy because of wartime shenanigans).

The one solid piece of lore I have regarding the fall of the rebellion is the bombs— the ones that Beetee and Gale designed, the ones that killed Prim. (I mention this very briefly at the end of THE REPARATION CLAUSE). Remember how Snow uses the Capitol kids as a meatshield outside the President’s manor? Some heavy lore for this: that’s not the first time this happened. This is also covered in TRC, but tl;dr the Capitol does this during the Dark Days as well, except they genuinely thought the rebels wouldn’t dare strike. Case and point, the president at the time even puts his own kids in the mix. That president is Snow’s father. And the rebels attack anyways. Coriolanus’ older sister Venus dies in the attack; he’s 8, she’s 12 at the time. Yes, Coriolanus watches her die. A lot of other children die in the attack, and that ends up being the motivation for the Hunger Games, and why it specifically targets children. I can go off on a tangent about this versus the canon reason for the Games from BOSAS but thats a rant for another day. The thing I’d just like to highlight about that is the Capitol using personal vengeance to justify their systematic violence (which is a theme that I explore throughout my works in this series, and not just from the Capitol’s end).

ANYWAYS. Keep that in mind as we jump back to canon, where Coriolanus orchestrates this same mechanic of bringing the children into the President’s manor. He is So Very Aware of what happened the last time this was done. He knows the rebels have the balls to do it again. He knows how strongly his own people react to a massacre of this degree. …In canon, we know that a hovercraft with a Capitol seal dropped the bombs, and it was most likely the rebels. Here, it’s the opposite— Coriolanus calls the attack, and a hovercraft with the rebel seal/mockingjay drops the bombs.

In hindsight, I’m so glad I figured out the tiniest way to change the course of the Mockingjay Rebellion to fit the needs of my au LOL. It… really works so Perfectly though, and I love it. In TRC, I explore a bit how fucked up Coriolanus’ father became as a result of the war… and I think this does a really good job of illustrating how badly it messed with Coriolanus himself. (It feels… more fitting to me than uhh despising Katniss bc she reminds him of his weirdgirl ex lmao . Anyways.) He really orchestrated an attack that mirrored the same one that he watched kill his sister . …I just really love what kind of villain this makes him, idk. Obligatory mention of how someday maybe I’d like to write more about his rise to power as a character…

Okay ! You thought we were done? We’re not done, there’s a lot of fallout from That. The Victors’ Purge. Is. Merciless. …I’d like to think that in his last moments, Beetee is realizing his mistake in siding with the Capitol, rip. But…yeah, as I have it now, not a single Victor makes it out of that. (My initial reason for that was I had 0 intention of writing any canon characters ever LOL). But yeah, none of them make it out. District Thirteen is Exposed— they Exist, and everyone knows it. But Snow doesn’t demolish them. Instead, they’re now required to send tributes to the 76th Hunger Games, and every Games henceforth. (When I first started writing, I sort of like.. had them participating now bc i wanted one of the tribute chars to be from D13, and then later figured out the mechanics of Why. Another reason that my choice of divergence ended up being so unintentionally perfect; 13 had to be exposed in order to send tributes. I digress…)

…Can’t remember if I said this anywhere like in my fic or my blog or on discord or anything, but the Victor of the 76th is Hera Latier from Three. She’s Beetee’s niece, and she’s very important in terms of how my verse is structured bc a) she serves as a perfect symbol of what happens when you remain loyal to the Capitol, and b) after she wins, she makes a deal with Snow to allow D3 to become a Career district. It’s framed as their reward for serving the Capitol during the Mockingjay Rebellion and it Works.

So… yeah ! There’s the explanation for why D13 sends tributes to the Games and why D3 are Careers. But wait, there’s more ..!

Another thing I haven’t mentioned in my stories that much (which I’d love to write a little one shot or short story exploring)… the Presidency itself. I have a lot of… government worldbuilding, I guess, for how the Capitol/Panem actually functions. Tbh this answer is long enough that I don’t feel the need to go too deep into it, but what is relevant is elections ! I know, elections in a dystopian dictatorship regime? Wild… but I never said they weren’t corrupt. One thing that’s neat about the Capitol is they love to maintain appearances, and isn’t it nice for their citizens to feel like they get a choice in government happenings..? Anyways. This system v clearly benefits the president who’s already president— there’s no term limit, and after each election they win, the term extends by another four years (so after winning their second election, the pres doesn’t have to sit through another one for eight years, and so on). So, it’s very very rare for a sitting President to lose an election. I think for Coriolanus’s last election, he ended up winning himself like a 20 year term LOL. Anyways.

That being said … after Coriolanus’ presidency (he ends up retiring and peacefully passing it along), his granddaughter Celestia is elected (in the year 82 I think..? I’d have to fact check it but somewhere around then, idk). She’s a good president in terms of post-war recovery. But as time goes on, it becomes clear that she’s a little… softer on the districts than some in the Capitol would prefer. The tl;dr of this is that unrest starts brewing in D9 following a particularly brutal tribute death in the 118th Games; this continues to escalate up until the year 120, where it breaks out into riots/rebellion. These became known as the Grain Riots, and mostly stayed contained within D9 due to their disadvantage as a spread-out district with no real means to communicate and spread messages to others that would be willing to help. One of the main reasons that the Riots were actually stopped was due to the efforts of a young Peacekeeper named Venera Valorius, but not before she was severely injured (the rioters got ahold of her and took out one of her eyes rip). Venera got her revenge on D9 in the end, but she wasn’t finished.

Many in the Capitol believed that this could’ve been easily prevented, had Celestia been a stronger president, Venera chief among them. Celestia even wanted to cover up the whole thing and pretend like no sort of rebellion ever happened under her watch; she offered Venera the highest-tech replacement eye the Capitol had on the market, free of charge, and a life of comfort in exchange for keeping quiet about the whole thing. But to Venera, this was utterly unacceptable, and only served to highlight Celestia’s flaws as president.

So she did what any extremist who truly and whole-heartedly believes in their cause would do— she campaigned for the presidency for the next two years. Her platform was strong, and incredibly popular; Celestia couldn’t have her assassinated without sparking public outrage for offing a wounded war hero (rolls eyes) (and I think Celestia as a character wanted to be better than her grandfather, and had spent most of her life trying to do so). And so for the first time ever in Panem’s history, when the Election of 122 came around, an underdog won the presidency. It’s kind of funny; Venera is 22 at this time LOL. Tbh Celestia probably didn’t even think it was possible and severely underestimated her. Is this unrealistic? Probably. But hey I’m having fun in evil political girlboss land. Its also funny bc at the time of True Vengeance (151), Venera is still president, but she’s also divorced and a little bitter about it kxkxkdkd. But yeah her story would be a fun one to write someday. She’s. More than a little unhinged. If you’ve ever listened to the song Thought Contagion by Muse, thats. That’s her lmaoooo…

Well anyone who actually read all that, I hope you enjoyed !

26. How do you get into your character’s head? How do you get out? Do you ever regret going in there in the first place?

Get…out…? You people are getting out ? 😳 /hj

Umm well Ven and Oberon (pov chars for True Vengeance) just kinda live in my brain like little diseases.. or tumors.. jdkdkd. When it comes to writing them ig, since I can only write one at a time, I uhh idk, I guess I spend some time thinkin real hard about whatever situation I’ll be writing them in and what they’re thinking and feeling and wanting from it. Sometimes it’s like a “what would I do in this situation” and then add in their personality modifiers afterwards LOL (excess anger for both of them, and crushing self-loathing for Oberon, pride and desperation for Venatrix…. They’re doing so great…!)

I get out by going outside and touching grass (but then I think about how Ven is outside and she’s also probably touching grass wow shes just like me fr—) (/also j djdj).

Do I ever regret going there..? Hm. I wouldn’t say regret. There have been some scenes that I’ve written where I needed to like lay down afterwards and give my brain a break from the horror.. (Ch 22 was one of them ahaha..) but I wouldn’t say I regret that. Some things just take more effort for me to do. I know I’m not a super fast or efficient writer either, so I’m not the type to like.. get really Into It and dissociate for four hours and come out of that with 3k, if that makes sense. …I wouldn’t be opposed to that though, but my brain just doesn’t do that. More short bursts than anything, so I have to be ready at All Times … Idk I probably think more about my characters than normal but its fun so who cares !

[greenvillainredemption]

PSA for Encanto fic writers: When someone has compulsions, the people around them are not supposed to copy/validate/encourage the compulsions.

Something that really annoys me in fics is when the kids copy Bruno’s rituals and he’s like ‘aw they accept my quirks’ because as sweet as it sounds on paper, that is not how any of this works. I get the intention here, it’s cute when a kid validates a quirky habit with no judgement. But the thing is his rituals aren’t just quirks or stims, they’re compulsions. Idk if these writers just don’t know what OCD is, or if they fanon diagnose him with something else, or if they’re just young writers who don’t get that there’s a mental health issue at all, but yeah I just feel the need to put this out there.

I can understand why people have these misconceptions, still using Encanto as an example here, a lot of fics will have Alma outright tell Bruno to stop with the compulsions. That’s not good for obvious reasons, so I’m guessing most of these writers just assume that the complete opposite of that is the right thing to do. This is, alas, not correct. Both are different sides of the same coin.

Compulsions are a temporary short-term way to deal with a specific anxiety. So when your compulsions are suppressed, the unrelieved anxiety can give you physical discomfort at best and panic at worst. But on the other hand, when they’re validated or encouraged by others, the compulsions can get worse. Again I must stress, compulsions are not just quirks, stims (feel-good actions without the anxiety), or tics (completely involuntary). It would be mean to say that stims or tics can ‘get worse’, because the root cause of them isn’t inherently harmful. Compulsions on the other hand can very much get worse, and are harmful to the person performing them, because they directly tie into and perpetuate the cycle of anxiety. Every time you perform a compulsion, it reinforces the belief that the compulsion is the only thing keeping the bad things away. Basically the worse the compulsions get, the worse the long-term anxiety gets.

I’m not gonna tell anyone how to deal with a character’s compulsions because if I knew the answer I’d be cured lol, but just avoid these two opposite approaches, because they’re equally harmful. Unless you want to use this information to write some good well-meaning but harmful angst. From my experience the best thing to do if you don’t have professional help is to just let it be; don’t scold or make fun of the person for doing them, but don’t mimic them.

The only exception I’ve read that did this well was one where a young Dolores copied a compulsion without knowing what it meant and Bruno just kinda looked sad about it. This works because her copying him wasn’t validation, it was just an observation, and he didn’t take it as validation. That was something I found realistic and cute in a bit of a sad way.

[eloves-writes]

a failed attempt to hate you

(tristan dugray)

a/n: i can only apologise if this writing is terrible, i wrote most of this in the middle of the night hopped up on medication for my disgusting cold. i hope it makes sense. anywho thanks for reading, enjoy, mwah <3

screw mr medina for making you help tristan study. you knew he knew from rory your inherent disdain for him, and it wasn’t your fault he was falling behind therefore not your responsibility to help him (as you had told mr medina last tuesday, with no effect). it was now sunday morning and you held little hope he would actually show up this time; he had somehow managed to cancel on your little study date 6 times already and it had only been 5 days since you were handed this apparently mammoth task. honestly, you didn’t expect him to show up at all, especially not anytime before noon- for which reasons you had made the decision put on your usual lazy sunday morning reading in bed get-up, which included (but was not limited to) an oversized rock concert shirt rory’s friend lane had given you in an attempt to clear her closet of non-christian attire, nothing but underwear underneath since you wouldn’t plan on leaving the comfort of your bedsheets for many hours, and a loose silk scrunchie you accidentally stole from rory keeping your hair out of your eyes. 

your book of choice today was ‘harry potter and the goblet of fire’ , the most recently released chapter of the boy wizard’s adventures at hogwarts. the clock beside you read 9:15 as you comfied yourself for a morning of magic and adventure, which naturally was ended a mere 8 minutes later at 9:23 when the doorbell rang downstairs. you assumed your mother would answer it, but when it rang a second time you remembered your parents had both gone out to watch your sibling’s soccer match and you’d have to get it yourself.

it didn’t even cross your mind to put pants on, or that it may not be the postman at the door, until you opened it to see your very favourite chilton student whose eyes had hastily wandered to your bare legs. typical high school boy, you thought to yourself before your brain actually grasped the situation and kick started into action.

‘tristan. hi.’ you said with a slight shock in your voice.

‘erm, hi. i hope i’m not interrupting anything,�� he smirked, glancing down at your thighs again.

you rolled your eyes so aggressively you hoped mr medina could hear it from wherever he was spending his day, irritating boy-less and free to do whatever he wanted with his time.

‘you’re not,’ you quipped. ‘i just didn’t expect you to actually show up this time. and early may i add, i’m sure we said 11.’

‘we did, but i’ve got plans later so i thought i’d come by earlier and get this over with.’

‘how did you know i didn’t have plans? i might have been busy before 11.’

he pulled a face of amusement and you could swear you saw a hint of sarcasm shining through his eyes too. ‘right. are you done talking now or can i come in?’

‘you can come in, i guess,’ you sighed, closing the door behind him and showing him to the kitchen table. ‘wait here, i’ll go and get my books.’

‘grab some pants whilst you’re at it.’

‘stop talking,’ you called as you walked upstairs.

you came back downstairs a few minutes later fully-clothed and carrying your english notes to see that tristan had wandered from the chair you specifically remembered telling him to sit in, and was instead tracing a finger along the bookcase that stretched across the far wall of your living room. for a moment you just watched him nosey into your life; the framed certificates, the family photos, the 5 tapes of ‘beauty and the beast’ stacked atop of each other because it was your favourite film when you were 9 and practically every living relative had bought you a copy. beside those was a picture of you dressed as princess belle at disneyworld with chocolate ice cream smeared from cheek to cheek, a huge smile plastered between. tristan picked it up and turned to face you.

‘thoroughly adorable. seriously, you should go for this look more often.’

‘ha ha,’ you grimaced, snatching it off him and placing it back on the shelf. ‘are we studying or reminiscing on my past fashion choices?’ 

‘oo, someone’s in a good mood this morning huh,’ he teased. you pulled another face, once again silently cursing mr medina for completely ruining not just your day, but in fact your whole week. by god this boy got more irritating the more time you spent with him- it had only been 10 minutes, but it was 10 minutes longer than you ever previously had or ever wanted to.

 ‘can i get a drink before we start?’ he asked, redirecting the conversation and walking past you back into the kitchen. he began opening various cupboards, searching for a glass. ‘where’s the-’

‘why yes, tristan. you can have a drink,’ you snarked, opening the cupboard behind him with a dramatic flourish. he raised his eyebrows at you and reached forward to grab a glass, leaning over you as he did so. you caught a whiff of his cologne and almost forgot to dislike him for a moment.

‘there’s, um, soda in the ... fridge,’ you told him, voice unwillingly faltering as he looked down to meet your eyes. he had pretty eyes. pretty, blue, sparkling, stupid, annoying, asshole eyes. 

you found the thick tension sickening. you refused to be another girl at school who simply swooned over him when he walked past your locker. you didn't like him. you were here to teach him english. because he was dumb. and actually, his eyes weren’t that nice.

he grabbed a soda out of the fridge and you both sat down at the table and began reading through your analysis of ‘to kill a mockingbird’, adamantly pretending not to see him staring at you the whole time. 

why? he had had every popular and pretty girl in the whole of chilton, how was he ever so starved of female attention that he would look at you so admirably when you liked to make it clear you despised him? in fact, you enjoyed making a special effort to flip him off, or pull a face at him when he walked by, or kick his chair extra hard in spanish, or... oh shit. you had seen it from an outside point of view now, and it was glaringly obvious; maybe you did like him, just a little bit. shit. rory owed lorelai 10$ and a cheeseburger from luke’s, though you didn’t want to have to admit she was right when she’d said you were like a kindergarten boy pulling a girl’s ponytails because he thought she was pretty.

‘hey tristan,’ you started, breaking the comfortable silence between his questions and suddenly nervous to talk to him. stupid, it was still the exact same boy you’d been complaining about all week, nothing new. 

he looked up from your notes. ‘what’s up princess?’ 

that was definitely new.

‘don’t call me princess’ -he smirked irritatingly- ‘do you need to stay much longer? i mean, is there anything else you want help with?’

‘trying to get rid of me?’

‘no! no. i just thought that you’d only stay and pretend to listen to me for like, half an hour then vanish. it’s 11:30 and you’ve been through my whole binder.’

‘it is? time flies.’

‘tristan.’

‘i do care about my grades, you know. and you’re a good teacher, i might have a chance at an A.’

‘why didn't you show up the last 6 times we planned then?’

he put down his pen- your pen, actually. it had pink sparkles on the lid. ‘got to keep up my street cred.’

‘ha ha. funny,’ you replied as blankly as possible, pulling back a smile you could feel in your stomach. you made eye contact again and, like every other time since you’d sat down and started studying, you held each other’s gaze for longer than necessary. funny how realising you like someone makes you suddenly act like it.

‘i should get going then right,’ he said, picking his jacket from the back of his chair.

you felt weird, almost as if you didn't want him to leave after praying earlier he wouldn't show up. alas, your parents would be home soon and you would be willing to bet money that tristan would have some interesting jokes about your being home alone that would not slide with your dad.

‘yeah. i hope you get that A,’ you said, accidentally smiling as you walked him to the door.

tristan turned to lean on the frame of the now-open door and put on a face of mock surprise. ‘my, my, y/n. was that a kind comment and a smile? you’re spoiling me.’

‘shut up, i hope you fail.’

he smiled back. ‘you really mean that?’

‘i guess not.’

there was yet another beat of heavy silence.

‘see you monday.’

‘see you monday.’

you closed the front door as he walked down the drive, but noticed tristan’s car keys still sat on the kitchen table. a porsche, of course. you picked them up and reopened the door to his fist poised to knock. the two of you laughed awkwardly for a second.

‘i forgot my-’

‘you forgot your-’

another awkward laugh. jesus christ this was uncomfortable. you passed him the keys, and with absolutely no warning at all, your lips were suddenly met with his. they were soft and confident, and his free hand held your face as you tried to process the new situation. you quickly melted into the kiss, letting him take control until he pulled away and smiled that sparkly smile you didn't hate as much as you tried to.

‘didn't see that one coming,’ you said breathily, brushing some loose hairs off of your face.

‘i knew you didn’t hate me.’

‘ever the arrogant twat.’

‘hey, does this mean you’ll stop kicking my chair in spanish?’

‘absolutely not. in fact, i think i’ll kick it harder.’

‘as long as you let me do that again.’

tags: @leossmoonn for inspiring me to start writing again, @account123445 & @lmaoidekanymore6 for asking me to post tristan fics! (couldn’t figure out how to make the tags work but if you read this, you know ✨)

[penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories]

Collision

A/N: Sooooo a month ago, I would NOT have predicted I would be writing the most involved smut I’ve ever written about Obi-Wan Kenobi, despite the many wips I have demanding attention, but alas, here we are. I’d like to thank @beskars​ for rolling past my dash and whipping me out of any control or prior plans I have with their amazing fics that inspired me. This one is especially inspired by this blurb by @beskars​ which just absolutely rocked my shit. (Seriously, though, go read everything they write, they’re so talented)

Also, I’m so nervous, as I avoid writing Star Wars for a Reason, alright? But here we go regardless!

Also, if this gif belongs to you, please tell me so I can give you credit. The source wasn’t trackable from where I found this. 

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force sensitive! reader (no Y/N)

Warnings:  SMUT!!! Trust kink, Hair pulling, Oversensitivity kink, Hand kink, Voice kink (if that’s a thing? I know it is in the Obi-Wan fandom, at least), soft dom! Obi-Wan, Too many feelings for porn anywayyyyy

Without anything else: 

His Force signature is completely unlike any other you’d encountered. Sure, each was unique, but there was something about the unshakable, blooming light that surrounded his very being. It was singular. Inimitable. 

Which made these moments all the more difficult. As if your fingers being too small and smooth couldn’t make you feel his absence enough, the lack of his energy filling every corner of the room left a deafening emptiness. 

So all you had was the memory of moments between the both of you. You let the thoughts take you, concentrating, trying to make it as real and present as possible as it plays out on the backs of your closed eyelids. 

You’re not sure when your pleasure became so completely reliant on a single person, but here you are, chasing an orgasm that promised to be disatisfying from a simple omittance. You chase it all the same.

His eyes, his hands, his smile, just… him. 

It’s taken so long, but it’s finally within reach as your fingers focus on your clit, rubbing far too rough in desperation. 

Then, his… voice. It takes form in your mind, clear and crisp as if he were standing right in front of you, even if the words are blurred in the fog of sensation. 

Straining to hear them, they finally take shape.

It’s just your name, and that alone shouldn’t be your undoing, but it’s how he says it. Full of wonder and familiarity and desire. 

Your high hits sharp and sudden and short as your attention turns fully to the rest of the words.

Mother of… stars, Darling. Are you… heavens, you are, aren’t you? 

You should’ve known, should have felt him lingering on the edges of your consciousness. 

Wait… for him to be able to do that, he has to be… 

Clarity slams down over you and you’re instantly up and throwing on the first articles of clothing you see before running out your quarters’ door and down the hall and straight out of your building. The pavement of the street is wet with the recently-passed rain, and it’s almost enough to dampen the sting of the jagged duracrete under your bare feet. 

You stop, eyes scanning the passersby for a hint of him, but hoods are still up, heads still down from the rain, and everyone’s moving so quickly.

So you close your eyes. 

He’s only taught you a few things. Your time together is so limited, after all, and there are just so many other ways to spend it. 

But he’s taught you this. Concentration unwinds your features as you feel outward, searching again. Your range is still shaky even at short distances, but his signature, remember? Singular. Stunning.

Here.

You open your eyes.

Standing near a corner of the neighboring building, looking directly at you, smiling. 

His mouth doesn’t open, but you hear the “Well done” all the same, whispered against your thoughts. 

Then it’s a run, all out, from both of you to cover the distance between. He stops only slightly short to soften the crash of his body against yours. You don’t, thudding into his open arms, clashing against the piece of armor on his chest, regretting nothing despite the short flash of pain. 

As you melt into the warmth of the embrace, into the sturdiness of his figure, the ferocity in which he returns the embrace, something deep within you stirs at the scent of him. It’s muddled with sweat and both the artificial smell of metallic machinery and the contrasting metallic smell of blood, but it’s there. So you take it all in; Obi-Wan Kenobi and the wake of war still fresh on his skin. 

But in his eyes. Oh, in his eyes. There's not a war there. 

He draws back, a smile with something behind it sliding across his features. “As lovely as this street truly is…” 

You laugh and nod, coming out of your single-minded trance. It’s not a lovely street at all. 

He raises an arm of his cloak to shield you from the still-cool air lingering from the storm, storing you under his arm as you make your way back to your quarters. 

You reach for each other the moment your door closes behind you, and he whispers against your hair, “Oh, how I’ve missed you.” 

You nod, wetness gathering in the corners of your eyes as it sinks in. He’s here. “I’ve missed you too.” You bring your hand up to his face, scraping your fingers against his beard. “ So much.”

And then he’s leaning down, kissing you ravenously, even as his hands around your waist brush softly against the fabric of your shirt.

It’s tongue and an edge of teeth, enrapturement with an edge of desperation as you meet him, mouths slanting into familiar but long-gone-without taste. 

There’s been far too much loss here to hold each other loosely. 

Breathless and thumming with the energy of each other, you break apart, and he rests his forehead on yours. 

He breaks the contented silence after a moment. “Before anything else, for your sake and mine, I think a shower might be in order.”

You smile up at him. “How about a bath?”

“Hmm…” He strokes his beard in mock pensiveness. “A tempting counteroffer indeed. However, I think I’d prefer to wash away all this,” he waves a hand over his torso, gesturing to the stains across his robes.

“Who says you have to choose? You go on ahead and shower, and I’ll join you for a bath when you’re done.” 

*****

You can sense his Force signature loud and clear, but even still, he’s careful to approach gently if your back is turned to him.

The underworld of the city had been unforgiving at times, and it's taken you a long time to not instantly enter an attack stance if someone touches you unexpectedly. If it’s anyone but him, you still flinch. 

You remember the instant understanding and compassion in his eyes the first time you’d thrown an arm up in defense of a nonexistent blow. 

It’s funny. He has far more capacity to do damage than anyone else you’ve ever encountered, but strength is an entirely different matter when it’s marked by gentleness instead of cruelty.

Obi-Wan had completely shaken your definition of power upside down. 

You push your thankfulness to him through the Force, unable to put how deep it runs into words. 

The impact is loud across his face even before he responds with an ask for permission. He always does after anything puts you on edge.

You hug him first in answer, not at all minding the way the dampness in his chest hair transfers to you. He has a towel wrapped around his waist, but as you let your eyes admire his torso, your want to have the towel gone grows substantially. 

He quirks an eyebrow once he notices your stare, a playful grin changing the energy of the moment. 

“Shall we take that bath, then?”

The question is absolutely dripping with intent, and it pools right under your belly button. There will never be a time when his voice alone doesn’t send your control teetering, but when he says things that way? 

You reach down to take your shirt off, followed by your shorts, followed by everything else until you’re naked in front of him. When you look back up at him, your breath hitches at the longing saturating his expression. As if in confirmation to that very thought, he pushes the feeling toward you, loud and clear and vibrant and just... You try to help the pathetic little noise that leaves your mouth, you really do. 

Once you gather up your pride again, you answer. “That’d be good.”

When the tub is filled with almost-too-hot water, you settle in, trying to gather yourself into one side of a tub only meant for one. 

In your effort, you miss the exact moment he loses the towel, but you catch when he notices you… well… noticing him. He’s such an unassuming man, his little moments of cockiness are such a treasure.

Perhaps part of the singularity of him is forged by the duality of many of his qualities. 

His attention turns to the bathtub and the instant issue of space, and his brow furrows a little, going into solving mode. 

He puts his index finger up, “Here… let’s try this,”  he says as he arranges himself in the water at the end opposite of you, spreading his legs. He makes a twirling motion with his finger. “Turn around.”

Once you do, Obi-Wan pulls you back between his legs. As you scoot yourself fully back into him, the small of your back brushes against his cock, and he lets out a low groan in response. You can feel the vibration of it in his chest, and it’s just… so much all at once. Your legs snap together in effort to put the pang of want into check.

He moves his head to the side of yours, mouth against your neck as he murmurs, “I heard you. Earlier. You were playing with yourself, weren’t you?” 

One of his hands cups your breast, giving a short pinch to your nipple, and the other slips down to your thigh, pushing gently to open your still death-grip clenched legs. 

There are so many sensations all at once, between the heat of the water, his breath against your cheek, and the sinful splay of his hands, it takes a valiant amount of discipline to wrench your legs away from each other. 

His hand dips under the water, down your stomach, a single finger tracing across your pubic bone, then he stops short. 

You make a sound of indignation, and he tsks.

“I asked you a question, little one.”

“Yes,” you exhale. “That means you had to be listening in on me. I can’t project that far yet.”

“So it seems we both are found guilty in this instance, although my motives were innocent, I assure you. I was checking to see if you were home.” 

“You’re aware I own a comlink, yes? And at some point you stayed to listen, long after you confirmed I was home.”

You turn and catch the tail end of pinkness flushing his cheeks. “Indeed, you are correct. I… hope I haven’t crossed a boundary with that. I know we haven’t exactly prediscus…”

You look him square in the eye, addressing his unease before it has space to blossom. “Obi, you’re fine. I appreciate your concern, I don’t mind you listening, or watching or whatever you want.”

He smiles, tentatively. “Watching?”

It’s your turn for your cheeks to warm, despite the still intimate positioning of both his hands. 

“If you’re close enough to watch, I’d rather you’d be a participant. My hands are no substitute for yours.” 

“I don’t have to be in close range to watch, per se. But we can discuss that later, but for now…” he finally slips his finger down further, slipping between your folds, going straight for your clit. “I don’t dare deprive you.”

Again, your legs contract together, and he pushes them back apart. “Keep them open, please.”

It takes more effort that you’d care to admit to do so as he brushes his finger back and forth between your opening and you clit with not nearly enough pressure. He knows it, too. He’s been in your mind enough to know how to do this with maddening precision, but he can now do it without using your thoughts as a guide. 

In short, he’s teasing, and he knows it. 

You can normally give a decent protest, waiting him out until he’s teased you long enough for him to see fit, but you’re still swollen and slick from a climax that took far too much friction to achieve.

“Obi-Wan, please.”

He lightens his touch even further, and you move your legs together yet again, hopelessly trying to force the contact you need. He lifts his hand from you completely, and you could scream at the loss. Instead, he places his hands firmly under the backs of your thighs, drawing you up as he shifts down a little, hooking your legs over the sides of his. 

Like this, you’re ridiculously exposed, his knees spreading your legs and preventing you from being able to draw them back together. You have to bend your knees to allow it, which sags your body deeper into the bath and against him. The only leverage you have is the cramped contact one calf has against the tile wall, as the other one dangles over the edge of the tub. 

You’re at his mercy. 

Thank the Maker he’s a compassionate man because when he touches you again, he cups his hand, two fingers pushing into you, making sure your clit is in their path when he drags them out of you. 

“Kriffing… oh Maker, your hands…” you choke out, trying without success to lift your hips into the pressure of his fingers. 

“Hmm? What of them?”

You shake your head, feeling the ability to verbalize competently start to fade. 

He presses his lips right up against your ear, scraping his beard against the tender skin of your neck as he takes your breast into his free hand. “Tell me.”

Distantly, you recognize the tone of his voice as being a little more on edge than usual, a little more unraveled. If you were in any position to do it, you’d exploit it to your benefit. 

“They’re… your fingers… they’re a lot...mm.. thicker than mine. And.. fuck!” He picks up his pace and concentrates the circles his thumb is now drawing. He’s making this difficult on purpose, giving you what you need now of all times. 

“And what?” His melodic accent seems above it all and unaffected, but the fact he’s grinding his cock ever so slightly against your lower back betrays him. 

“They’re comp… competent. You just know what you’re doing with… with them. In everything.”

You think of the way he uses them, how capacity just radiates from his hands, whether it’s wielding his saber, punctuating a statement with a gesture of them, or just gracefully navigating everyday tasks that other hands would stumble over.

 “And mine are too s...soft. Yours are…”

You feel his smirk against your neck as he purposefully catches a callus against your clit, and that’s it, sending you tumbling hard, toes searching for anything to lift yourself into it as they curl in. 

When you sag back against him under the weight of sensation you expect him to make a witty remark, but as you finally start to catch your breath, you recognize the hitches in his. And the flush of his skin, far to warm for the now lukewarm water: His desire is loud. 

You treasure it. Because any emotion he allows himself to feel loudly is a victory. 

After you manage with some fumbling to get out of the tub, you sift through your cabinet for some towels. 

He thanks you when you hand him one, his etiquette not forsaken despite the fact you just watched him suck the finger that’d just been between your folds into his mouth. Let it never be said Obi-Wan Kenobi wasn’t a gentleman. 

It’s almost regrettable to see him drying off, as sensuous as he looks wet. But all is forgiven once you see the aftermath of him towel-drying his hair. It’s a mess, a righteous mess, strands falling in whatever direction they please, some sweeping across his forehead. 

You take his hand in yours, tugging him gently out the bathroom. You haven’t bothered with a towel, naked body dripping water all over your floor as you walk backwards, Obi-Wan’s hand in yours as he lets you lead him to your bed.

His eyes are gentle as he holds your stare, but you know him well enough to see the restlessness in how he carries his weight. 

You want to answer the silent plea, give him what he needs and more, bleed your adoration all over him, give into that voice inside you that says to hold nothing back. 

Maybe it’s the galaxy itself, whispering on behalf of the man who keeps laying himself down for it.

Even if it isn’t, when the stakes are as high as breaking codes and looking down the barrel of war’s tendency to not return lovers to each other, there’s no room for half measures. 

You stop just shy of the bed, pulling his hand up to your mouth. Darting your tongue out to meet his index finger, you make sure to flick it just a little before taking the finger into your mouth down to his second knuckle. 

You do your best not to smile when you hear his sharp inhale. Holding eye contact, you draw back your lips up and push them back down his finger once more before removing it from your mouth.

There’s a thin line of saliva between your face and his digit as you do so, and just before it breaks, he gathers it up on the thumb of his other hand. He tucks his fingers under your chin to tilt your jaw up before smearing the liquid back over your bottom lip. 

Your knees immediately respond with a pathetic cry to give out. That’s just as well: your plans for him don’t involve you standing up after all.

You fall to your knees before him.

There’s a small puddle of bathwater under you, but it falls to the back of your mind when his cock twitches as your shaky exhale greets it. 

“Love, you needn’t… not like that.” He starts moving to tuck his hands under your arms, to take you up to your feet, but you bat his hands away. 

You slide the side of your cheek along the length of him, not even looking back up at him. “I want to. Like this.” 

He shakes his head, and you stop. “Unless you don’t want to?” you ask, bringing your eyes back up to his.

He closes his eyes, seemingly trying to collect his thoughts. “It’s... degrading. I won’t have that for you.”  If the way his voice is absolutely wrecked has anything to say, his objections aren’t in the fact he doesn’t want this.

“And I won’t have you be anything except worshiped the way you ought.” 

He’s a sight. Looking up at him from this angle, watching the few droplets he missed with a towel find hiding in the curvatures and edges of his body, how his muscles twitch sporadically at your breath. 

Obi-Wan’s body is littered with the remains of battles and the evidence of the capacity to fight them well, and he blushes, blushes at the notion he should be worshipped. 

You angle your mouth so it’s right against the tip of him, letting him feel your lips as they move with your words. “Have you any other objections?”

His hips cant slightly forward into your lips as he grits out, “Alright.”

He’s trying to stay in that irritating state of composure he always manages, and you want to break it in half. Crack his control enough that he actually allows the awe you have for him to seep in through the fissures. 

So you take him as far as you can right away, letting him hit the back of your throat. 

Obi-Wan groans, deep and unchecked as his head rolls back, exposing his neck beautifully to you from where you kneel. 

A jolt of desire sends one arm forward to brace yourself against his thigh as the other one shoots between your legs, petting where you’re aching for him, but you jerk it away the moment you make contact. It’s still so exceedingly tender, you can’t bear it if you want your coordination to stay operating.

Then he’s sliding his hand to the side of your head, fingers jerking away just short of your hair.

You hum your distaste for his hesitation around him, and you can tell he’s trying to understand what you’re saying with valiant effort, so you take his hand and press it back against your hair.

“Nmh...Darling, I can’t… I’m going to pull if my hand is there.”

You let him slide off your tongue so you could have it back for your own purposes. “Then pull.”

He sighs, sagging in defeat into the pleasure as you take him in again, no slowing in your pace this time. 

You rock your hips at the way his hand just swallows the base of your skull before he gathers up your hair, testing the waters with a small yank.

A moan escapes you before you can stop it, before you realize how much that doesn’t really work well when your mouth is this full. Your hips rock into empty space when he really pulls, not harshly, and honestly not as hard as you would have it, but it’s so fucking right and good.

You imagine he’d protest doing this without being connected to your mind, knowing exactly where your boundaries lie if it weren’t for the fact he himself craves this very sensation. You’ve always been so caught up in how much he loses it when you tug on his tresses that you haven’t bothered to mention how much you love it on yourself too.

It’s a fast escalation into mania, with his fingers scraping against your scalp, continuing to generate little noises from you, the vibrations sending the muscles in his lower abdomen into convulsions as he flexes to keep from thrusting into your mouth. 

At last, he pulls your hair rough enough, just shy of the edge of painful, but your elation is cut short in the realization he’s doing it to wrench you off of him.

You try to move back onto him, reluctant to lose the taste of him, but he sees it, anticipates it even, and how wonderful that you’re predictable in how much you crave him this way. He helps you to your feet, and then he’s caught you up by the backs of your thighs, placing you down on the bed, without any pomp and ceremony. 

He crawls over you, stopping to spread you open with two thumbs and place an open-mouthed, wet kiss right at the apex of your thighs, dragging his tongue through your folds, and you don’t even have a second to think of trying to muffle your damn near scream. You’re so tender and he’s too deliberate, too knowing, and his beard is hardly the right antidote for your borderline sore flesh. 

But through the haze of sensation, there’s a craving, heady and propelling.

You tug on his arm, gesturing for him to come up, and he complies, dragging a knuckle up over your stomach, crawling over you until his face is over yours. You reach up to kiss him, and he meets you, bruising passion and all, as you eagerly taste as much of each other as possible. 

You wonder if kissing Obi-Wan will ever not feel like being smited. He’s astonishingly talented with his tongue. Always. Whether it be that whip-sharp intellect, his ability to place just the right words together for the situation, or the more… tangible uses. 

It’s already blurring your thinking capabilities down to base function, but when he reaches down, takes his cock in hand, and starts dragging it down your slit and back up again, smearing your slick all over both of you, something sparks, your nerves shouting something, and you’re not sure yet if it’s a cry for more or for mercy.

You break the kiss, muffling your moan into the side of his jaw, fumbling with the words to tell him to stop. To keep going. 

He seems to pick up on it.  Obi-Wan looks at you, really looks at you in that way only he does, piercing and perceptive. It should be unnerving, and maybe it would be if you didn’t trust him so much. It doesn’t make you feel critiqued. It makes you feel understood somewhere deep in the fabric of your bones. 

He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear before placing his fingers to your temple. “May I?” 

It’s such a momentous thing, being in someone else’s mind in this way, that he always asks, no matter how many times you’ve given explicit permission. The look in his eyes sends you reeling, how much want there is in his question. 

There was a time that letting someone know you like this, inside and out, would have terrified you. You can tend to hide under so much pretense to protect yourself, and this just breaks through it all. 

But he let you in first. Under all his pretense, projecting his mind outward and laying the pureness of his intentions flat and bare. 

The enormity of what has transpired between you two has been nothing short of a battle. 

Because you both had a tendency to hide, and it’s a fight to forsake the shelter of those things. Him in the monochromatic views of a religion that give purpose to his trauma. You in the simplicity of jadedness to give protection to yours.

But his presence demands something of you. Not him himself, no. Maker bless this unpresumptive man. But there’s something about the sheer authenticity in which he handles himself that you dare not give him anything except your full vulnerability. Because that’s exactly what he’s given you. And anything less is an unacceptable offering to this man deserving of every good thing the galaxy has to offer.

 So you lie underneath him naked. Naked and unafraid as you whisper your “yes” in response to his ask.

There’s armor discarded somewhere on your floor, and it’s an appropriate metaphor if you’ve ever seen one. 

You think he’s going to tease you more. That’s generally part of why he needs to be in your mind. To be able to ride the line of too much and not enough when you’re unable to articulate the words to do so aloud. 

But you catch his eyes right before they close in concentration, and you know he’s not in much better a position that you are.

You still aren’t expecting for him to do what he does.

To reach down and align you both, pushing into your body at the same time he pushes into your mind.

It’s blinding sensation, and he’s so reverent, so gentle in both, but he’s still overwhelming as you try to anchor yourself against the waves. He doesn’t move in either at first, and at first you think it’s because he’s letting you adjust, letting you get used to what feels like a part missing from your very being fitting back into place within the crevasses of your subconscious, letting your body adapt to the wondrous fullness. 

But then you open your eyes, watching his face twist in pleasure as the hand not on your forehead grips the blanket with white-knuckles. The stillness isn’t just for your benefit, and you need to hear it. Stars, do you need to hear it.

So you lift your fingers to his temple, asking aloud, “Please?”

And he’s nodding before you’re even done with the word, already recognizing you plan before you can say it.

You haven’t done this during sex before. He’s let you in, as practice, but he had strong parameters within his subconscious as to not overwhelm you as you as a beginner. 

You suddenly stop, worried that you’ll hurt him with your clumsiness, but you hear him, loud and clear: No, go on. You won’t hurt me.  Your uncertainty doesn’t budge, still hesitating until his voice is in your head again.   I need… please, love. I...I want you to.

So you push your subconscious into his, and stars, if it’s not the most beautiful thing you’ve ever experienced. Somewhere, you hear his physical voice gasp at the penetration.

He’s beautiful. For all the dualities of his personality, he should feel maybe shifty or unsafe or at minimum uncoordinated. It doesn’t. It forges without crease into the balanced being before you. 

There should be stark juxtaposition, but it’s not. It’s striking balance emanating from a powerful light. 

He hears the affirmation, and even as he’s shaking his head, a drop of wetness splashes on your cheek from above. 

One world-worn soul knows another when they meet, and the recognition feels like coming home to a comfort to the depth of which you’ve never known. 

I love you, you whisper against his mind, meaning it with every fiber of your being. 

And I, you.  Even here, without it’s verbal manifestation, his voice holds an almost beg. 

It carries for a moment, echoing back and forth between you two, louder and louder, before the notion demands your bodies to do something about it. He listens, hips dropping into yours, fitting himself into you fully. 

“Yes,” you hiss against him, and you can feel his Force signature sing at the blessing as he finally starts to move. At first, you try to meet your hips up into his, but the thick drag of his cock against your hyper-sensitive flesh prevents a second try. 

“Obi, I… I can’t. It’s too much.”

He stills again, and you’re thankful for the break, but in the same breath you want to yell for him to keep moving. 

He can feel him get strategic in your thoughts, and he must find what he’s looking for, because he groans against your cheek. “I think you can. Be strong, little one. Hold on for me.”

You won’t be able to hold this for long, no matter how strong you are. In response to that thought, he lets his fingers off your temple, the connection how stable enough without the contact. He pulls out, and you whine your disapproval into empty space. 

“Shh shhh shh,” he says aloud, following it up with his inner voice that says, Trust me.

Then he’s pushing your thighs back, hooking your knees up over his shoulders, and pushing back into you. 

Both of you let out indecipherable exclamations as your Force signatures shout their pleasures, amplifying one another’s. This isn’t going to last long, and you both know it. 

Not with the way you run your fingers through his hair and yank the way you know he likes, not with the way he drags against just the right spot at this angle, not with how much each of his reactions and blisses essentially become your own as you hear them so clearly without any barriers of thought. 

You’re so shamefully wet, and you’re certain that’s the only reason the friction isn’t absolutely unbearable as his pubic bone strikes against your clit every time he thrusts into you.

It’s a tease, and your breath is starting to come out more like heaves and gasps for air because of it.

“Obi, I…”

But he hears it before you can say it, thumb pressing with no-joke pressure over your clit, sending your inner muscles into spasms, which in turn pulls a depraved noise from Obi-Wan.

Being in his mind like this gives you a new respect for how he’s able to keep his bearings and control throughout this mind-bending loop of feedback, how well-practiced someone has to be in the Force to do that as well as strong in their own discipline. 

It must be pushing even his limits, because he starts to open his mouth, but then shuts it, opting to instead press a loose but insistent warning to you.

Yes, please, Obi. I want you to, want it…  You run your nails across his shoulders before finding a grip there to leverage yourself against the movement. 

Where? 

Your mind must answer the question for him, because the next second he’s pulled out to your entrance, pressing his cock right up against you without pushing in, and spills himself. 

The way his jaw scrapes against the side of your face as he tries to hide the noises he makes is one thing, but his Force signature, Maker, his Force signature is another. His ecstasy and feelings toward you are so loud, as all-encompassing of the energy surrounding you two, that you follow him right over the edge. 

It’s mind-splitting and soul-mending all in the same overpowering strike. You can’t hold your delve into his thoughts, but he keeps his in yours all through it, imbedding his consciousness in yours, calling your signatures together into one.

 As he falls on top of you, both of you trying to catch your breath, you hear it. 

How the Force itself seems to harmonize to the unity it’s bearing witness to. 

It somehow makes it feel like your climaxes aren’t the edge of something, but rather the foundation for something far bigger than coital pleasure. 

“Do you…?” 

“Yes, Darling. I hear it too.”

Your hearts bleed irony and rhymes when you collide. It’s a song of divine reversals of the pains life has given you. You cut him on your mind’s sharp edges and sooth him with your soft soul. He bruises your thighs with calloused fingers and challenges everything you’ve known with his tender eyes. 

But the crashing doesn’t feel like devastation. There’s wreckage, for certain. It’s the type of colliding that renders sand smoother at the ocean’s smash.

So let it.

May he continue to mark your thighs and stain your soul, and may your crashing continue to leave you both raw and reborn.

[princesssarcastia]

2021 Harry Potter Fanfic Primer

im here to point fingers at the incredible authors that have enabled my new interest in HP content.  im still conflicted and upset about it, tbh, but for now we’re leaning into the curve.  we’re getting out our shovel and finding out just how deep we can make the hole we’re in.  hand in unlovable hand my beloved <3.  anyway, these fics are wonderful, their authors are wonderful, and you should go read their stuff. if there’s a star next to it that means im losing my mind over it and always will be.

Creatively Maladjusted, by elumish on AO3, 101k  (they also have a wonderful writing advice blog on tumblr, @elumish, which I recommend following if you are a writer) 

A very excellent re-telling of harry’s first year at hogwarts if he were sorted into Slytherin, plus some more not!fic or piecemeal re-tellings of his second and part of his third year.  Harry, in this, has a slightly different trauma response to growing up with the Dursley’s.  He’s a bit quieter, and the signs are a bit more obvious to the people around him, and I enjoyed that immensely. 

Honestly, if you’re going to get sucked into something you have absolutely no business getting sucked into, elumish is the way to go, their fic is incredible. their teen wolf fic is also immaculate, if you’re so inclined. 

Dissonance, by ImpishTubist on AO3, 2.5k (@impishtubist on tumblr)

Set during fifth year.  Oblivious!Harry has always been a delightful trope when well executed, and this is well executed.  Plus, some angst between Remus and Harry over what Umbridge has been doing to him.

I would certainly recommend a lot of ImpishTubist’s other hp work on AO3, like Lacuna.

blow us all away, by rexcorvidae on AO3, 23k (@rexcorvidae on tumblr)

In progress (like, updated last week in progress).  Currently in the beginning of Harry’s first year.  Fem!Harry, Indian!Harry.  Hagrid puts Harry in touch with Remus when she has questions about her parents, and they become reluctant, traumatized, angst-ridden pen pals who keep missing each other’s true intentions like ships in the night.  hot DAMN do I love this fic.  there’s hints of the way the dursley’s treat Harry peaking through in her letters, and I appreciated the attention to “hmm, her experience as a girl of indian descent in britain under the thumb of a bunch of white people who like being Normal may not have been gucci”

Definitely comb through the rest of their HP fic, too, I may or may not have gone feral over it.

Where the Heart is, by silver_fish on AO3, 15k (@kohakhearts on tumblr)

Woof.  This one said, “hey, harry was probably SUPER depressed in the summer after fifth year.  like, clinically.  maybe someone should do something about that.”  Fuck yeah.  Then this one said, “that someone was Snape.”  You all know my opinions on Snape; generally, Bad.  But damn if this fic didn’t wholly convince me by the end of it.  I thought it was a very realistic way for Snape to start seeing Harry as a person all on his own, and not a proxy for Snape’s angst over James and Lily, respectively.  The angst is wonderful, the ending is even more so.

*bernie sanders voice* I am once again asking you to read through the rest of the author’s HP fic.  a lot of them have similar themes; there’s actually a great one with Molly that i’m not reccing here, Wonder.

☆Bindings, Bindings, by Quietlemonhush on AO3, 60k (@quietlemonhush on tumblr)

WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS TO YOU HOW MUCH I ENJOYED/AM ENJOYING THIS.  If I had to pick a single fic and say “you, it’s your fault I’m stuck here,” it would be this one.  Anyway Lily in the afterlife is So Very Angry about how Petunia is treating Harry, and how Sirius is rotting in Azkaban, and how Remus is alone, that she literally brings herself back to life and drags James and Regulus with her.  All three of them are there to chew bubblegum and fix everything that went wrong after they died—and would you look at that, they’re all out of bubblegum!  There’s only Fury left.  That inciting premise is very crack, but every moment after that is very much not crack.  Lily and James love harry more than anything, the way a child should be loved; James and Sirius have the epic friendship of a lifetime; Sirius and Remus have staggering amounts of resolved sexual tension and take turns keeping each other in check; Regulus, though he realized that Voldemort and his family were shit before he died, is still unlearning all his racist bullshit and, also, years of trauma.  Actually, they’re all traumatized, but hey: now they have one another again and not a damn one of them seems inclined to let go anytime soon.  Quietlemonhush went, “hey, HP has a lot of Awful people in it, and a lot of Righteous people in it, and many of them are Very, Very Powerful; also, love is the most powerful force in the universe” and i said “hell yes tell me more right now.”  And then they did!

Quietlemonhush writes Sirius/Remus in a way that makes it sooo much fun to devour, so the rest of their HP fic is most certainly worth a look, if that’s your thing.

Rebuilding, by Colubrina on AO3, 113k (@colubrina on tumblr)

Hermione/Draco (*shrug emojis into the abyss* yeah, yeah, like none of us have ever been there before).  Takes place during Hogwarts 8th year, and while the beginning is, IMO, a little unfair to Ron, it gets much better.  Tells the story of Hermione and Draco clearing the air, learning to like each other, having some hormones over each other, and then falling in love.  Also tells the story of Hermione and Theo Nott becoming friends; the story of how every single 7th and 8th year student is fucked to hell by the war and the Carrows; the story of how they start an emotional support group about it and all become friends; and the story of, what the hell do you do with yourself after that kind of trauma?

I’ve been dipping in and out of Colubrina’s HP since before I was even on tumblr; I actually found them in those dark yesteryears when the only fandom interactions I had were on fanfiction.net.  Of such fame as Green Girl, which is an HP fic staple, and has also written a lot of wackier, crackier, and darker things than that.  If you don’t take yourself too seriously, I highly recommend many of their big HP works, though I imagine it’ll press some people’s buttons.  Colubrina’s work really does take up a corner of my mind whenever I’m in an HP mood, and will take up yours if you let it.

☆ all waiting is long, by shuofthewind on AO3, 149k ( @shu-of-the-wind on tumblr)

This is so well written that I can’t stop thinking about it.  It is occupying my mind when I lie awake at night, you know?  It’s one of those.  Hermione messes with something she probably shouldn’t have in Grimmauld Place, so when Sirius is sent through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, she gets thrust into an alternate universe...in 1975.  Instead of handwaving it away, shuofthewind actually gets into the mechanics of it in a way that makes sense, to emphasize that hermione is never going home.  ever. The world she finds herself is shifted slightly to the left, quite a bit darker, but in a “the author is treating the idea of a society-wide conflict over blood purity much more seriously than JKR ever did” way, not a sensationalist way.  Now, Hermione has to grapple with all her grief at losing everyone she’s ever loved or known, the moral/ethical/magical implications of sharing what she knows about her future in an alternate world, and, you know, a goddamn war with people who want to murder her for being who she is.  This Hermione is smart, and she’s kind, and she’s powerful, and she’s making real friends.  If you hate JKR’s guts I’d go read this right now, because it delivers in all the ways she failed us.  It’s plotty, its got great world-building, and it pulls back the white curtain on the wizarding world to show you that, like real life, it’s multicultural and full of queer people...and the discrimination that comes with both.

shuofthewind write epics, mainly for the MCU, and I’ve read some of them a looooong time ago, so this fic kinda seemed out of left field for me but im SOOOO GLAD it exists.  If you want MCU fic you can sink your teeth into, go for it, but alas, they do not have any more HP fic (.......yet?)

Speak Now [+] Listen Now, by mrsfrizzle on AO3, 33k altogether

Harry reaches out to Remus for support because Umbridge is getting to him with her literal torture.  Remus, being a former professor, former mandatory reporter, person who loves Harry and has since he was born, and all around good man, tells Harry he has to tell someone, or Remus will.  It’s everything any adult looking back on that time in HP canon ever wanted, which is for an actual adult to say “what the fuck, those are literal chidlren” and then do something about it.  Then, a far more dangerous task: Harry trusts Remus enough to go to him about the Dursleys.  Harry and Remus’ relationship develops SO WELL, and there’s a bit of exploration about how Sirius may not exactly be guardian material, because he did in fact spend 12 years of his life getting tortured instead of growing up.  I think I’m actually going to go reread this right now, because it speaks to my id.

they do have some other HP fic which did not appeal to my hyperspecific wants, but may appeal to some of yours.  I think they’re also a published author, there should be a link on their profile page.

chase the stars, by Duskglass on AO3, 101k (@felix-duskglass on tumblr)

When Harry is five years old, a picture of him ends up in the Daily Prophet, and Sirius Black, Terror of Ministry Officials Touring Azkaban everywhere, gets a hold of that issue.  He then, in order: breaks out of Azkaban; crosses the countryside to Surrey; Finds Harry: Kidnaps Harry; Breaks Into Remus’ Apartment; starts processing (or maybe just acknowledging) his trauma from Azkaban, the war, and his childhood; and pines after Remus.  It’s a little plotty, and deals a lot (sometimes through flashbacks) with the specific awful things that happened to Sirius—largely because, after years in the constant presence of Dementors, those are nearly literally the only memories he has left.  It’s a wonder he’s got the strength to love Harry and Remus at all.  But then, maybe it isn’t.

This is a Very Serious Fic, but the rest of Duskglass’s HP work is actually just cracky enough to tickle your funny-bone, while still making you think “okay but why couldn’t we have done that in the first place.”

So!  That’s it for recs, for now.  These are all things I’ve found and read in the last month; if any of y’all are interested in my old HP recs, let me know and I can make a post for that, too.  While I’m still very conflicted about my choice of current fandom, I am not in ANY way conflicted about my taste in fic and authors.  Send these guys some love, read their fic if you’re so inclined, and leave some nice comments at the end of it.

[majicmarker]

oh heeeeeeeeeeey 🌞 💖 💌 🧐 🏆

oh haaaaiiiiii 🥰🥰

🌞 do you have a preferred time of day to write?

listen. time isn’t real, whenever i get the Urge To Write i wring that baby dry with no regard to my REM cycle or other basic human needs (like breakfast pizza — that is to say, regular frozen pizza i just happen to eat for breakfast — or just, food in general) whatsoever.

💖 what made you start writing?

boooooring answer but, i’ve always wanted to write, have always been writing, it lives inside of me burrowed down deep in my bones the same way i burrow into my admittedly-too-many blankets.

the way i’ve approached my writing + my ambitions for it has certainly evolved, gone through some bumps and bruises along the way — which is quite a long story, really, save it for my memoirs — but i’ve never wanted to not do it. so i just do it, for i am a woman of principles and the principle is life is hell, do whatever u want.

💌 how do you feel about comments and feedback?

give ‘em to me, the more detailed and unhinged the better. i don’t always reply to every comment — tho i certainly do if something needs explained or someone needs reassurance (the number of times i tell y’all you literally never have to worry bc i am but a marshmallow, and my fics are just mini marshmallow pieces of myself, but i’ll keep telling you, no problem) — but i love ‘em all.

(all being everything that’s not like, criticism, because show me where i asked.)

(read: i did not ask. literally none of us ask for that, get outta here with that shit.)

🧐 do you spend much time researching for your stories?

mmmmm not really? smtimes i need to pop a li’l some-somethin into google, but i tend to keep my plotlines simple, so there’s not really a need to research. (i did momentarily consider setting the sex shop au in the canonical timeframe, but i didn’t want to research ‘80s sex toys/shops when my personal experience working at the store was already ready and rarin’ to go.)

the most time i’ll spend on anything is a title, if i don’t have one immediately in mind — and i usually have one ready to go, bc most of my fics are inspired by a song or a lyric, but there have been a few times i’ve spent daaaaaays waffling between songs and lyrics, repeatedly googling them to decide which sounds and works best for the fic in question. it’s maddening, i don’t think i’d survive any more intensive research than that.

🏆 what’s your most popular fic?

nooooo idea, tbh. it’s probably something on my ffnet but you could not pay me to access that again, actually i think my password was compromised so that profile belongs to the bots now i suppose. alas, and all that.

anyway, it’s hard to say, i think, because you have to calculate hits and comments and kudos and subscriptions and hoo boy, i am not invested in notions of popularity enough (or at all) to do anything resembling math — tho, sure, i’d be willing to bet that the fake dating au will take the cake on my most popular fic, esp by the time it’s complete.

ultimately, though, numbers aren’t something i bother to worry about unless i’m already having a self-esteem crisis. really zaps the fun — and, more pointedly, the reason i write in the first place — out of it for me.

[wrapped-up]

hello friend! it’s been a while 🌙🌙🌙

how have you been? I hope you’re well. it’s been a crazy month-ish for everybody I feel like. some part of me wants to blame this on astrology but alas I am not an astrology person so let’s just pretend something is in gatorade and leave it at that

here to say, I am still here and still caught up with everything you publish! I fell behind a chapter on wnwtc around 21 but it was actually fantastic because the day I finally found time to read it, you posted chapter 22 the next day, which made me very happy. upon you posting chapter 23 the other day I actually ended up rereading them both yet again. they’re such easy reads and it’s so nice to be so near the end and have them just… living their lives, tying together all of the loose ends. I’m definitely going to go back and start from the beginning when you finish, just to see how jarring it is to go back and see where they were, and how they’ve grown up. I want to say thank you for writing and that you are always the most wonderful at the whole Word thing and also thank you for writing a fic that was so easy to sink my teeth into and identify with the characters and their growth and their love and their sadness. I’ve said this to you before but your characters are all just so woefully human. and I know you’ve complained before about how bloody long wnwtc got but it’s a testament to how genuinely good of a writer you are that it is longer than you intended (or I suppose just as long as you intended but in a ‘why did i write such a long fic’ type way) and yet it’s still so enthralling and absorbing. (also none of us feel that way and to be quite honest the fic would be 300,000 words long and i’d be there. you could write a spin off about regulus sleeping his way through berlin or sirius just tending to his garden day in and day out or, dare I say, bloody GABRIEL and I would be seated quite happily!!)

I’m not going to make this too long mainly because I’m actually quite scared that tumblr will DELETE IT AGAIN because this app hates me, but honestly I think i’ve said what I wanted to say. just wanted to throw some appreciation over your way and tell you how much I still love and inhale your work and that you really do have a natural knack for this stuff and it’s honestly an absolute gift to be able to have it shared with us!!! (also I want you to know I snort laughed like 3 times in the newest wnwtc chapter. you’re also funny as fuck) and I’m proud of you for (almost) finishing wnwtc!! I will be seated very happily for the last chapter and I may cry when it ends you can’t hold that against me

hope you have a wonderful day, lots of love 💛🌙🌙🌙

Hello darling 🌙

It's so lovely to hear from you!

I'm doing just fine, thank you. Just returned from a week in Italy, soaking up the sun, eating enough gelato for ten and pretending I still speak the language. Divine!

Thank you for saying such nice things about WNWTC. I always find finishing fics super hard, and when there's also been a tangible drop off in engagement with it, it's often difficult to find the motivation. People like you make such a difference in getting me writing so thank you.

[winterscaptain]

intellectual guesswork.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: another ajf update that requires absolutely no context to enjoy! i love you all so much. send some extra love to your favorite writers this week :)

one quick thing - if you’re on my taglist, please consider dropping a reply or a reblog! i love to see what you all think, and it encourages me to keep going :) it’s also getting a bit long, and i want to make sure my mutuals and people who engage are seeing everything - tumblr sometimes has a hard time with a lot of mentions. 

words: 1.6k warnings: none!

summary: “ignorance of the law excuses no man - from practicing it.” - addison mizner. au!may 2008

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next? edited: january 12th, 2021

You all settle into one row. Aaron’s on the end beside you, looking very sharp in a crisp black suit, his favorite Rolex, and a settled kind of confidence you’ve only seen in him a few times. It’s like he’s in his natural habitat. 

Aaron’s record as a federal prosecutor speaks for itself, of course, but you’ve never seen him in action. As often as they can, the bureau’s leadership sends him in as an expert witness. This time, the case happens to be one of yours. The judge hasn’t required a sequestration for Aaron, so you get the treat of sitting together in the courtroom. 

He’s scoffed and mumbled snide remarks under his breath all morning. You’re just itching to see him get up on the stand and give this joker an education. 

Emily leans over, whispering in your ear. “I promise you’ve never seen anything like this before. Hotch is going to rip this clown to shreds.” 

You stifle a laugh and look over at Aaron. He heard her. Leaning toward you, he murmurs, “All my JD does is collect dust. When I use it, I’d like to enjoy it.” 

“Your Honor, the prosecution would like to call our expert witness, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, to the stand.” 

He takes a breath and rises, buttoning his suit jacket and crossing the courtroom. His presence commands respect and everyone in the courtroom seems to shrink before him. 

The prosecution’s questions go over smoothly, and the defense attorney stands with an unreasonable amount of confidence. 

Emily leans over. “He thinks he can get Hotch with at least one of these questions, and he might. But just watch.” 

You nod, taking everything in. 

“So you’ve stated that it was your profile of the killer that led you and the police to my clients door that night.” 

“Behavioral analysis was a factor in our investigation, yes.” 

Without hesitation, the attorney follows up. “And was behavioral analysis also a factor in the Olympic Park bombings case in Atlanta?” 

“Yes, it was.” Aaron’s eyes and tone never waver, no hint of arrogance or cheek. 

“And was that suspect you identified,” the attorney asks, far too aggressively, “Richard Jewell, ever convicted of the bombings?”

The prosecution objects, and you watch Aaron. Every part of him observes the proceedings with an outwardly detached interest, but his eyes are alive - strategizing and anticipating. It’s like you can see the wheels turning as the lawyers bicker. 

 The judge ends the squabble. “I’ll allow it.”

Aaron, now with permission, answers simply, “No, he was not convicted.”

“Because he was innocent. Your profile led you to the wrong man.” 

Oh, give me a break. It takes everything in you not to scoff and you can feel Emily’s eye roll.

“Jewell was not the perpetrator, but if you look at the real Olympic Park Bomber, Eric Rudolph, you’ll see that our profile was dead-on.” 

Dead-on indeed, Aaron. 

“Well, how about we look at the Baton Rouge Killer? Your unit said that he was white and living in the city. He was Black and from the suburbs.”

Aaron’s eyes narrow and you feel Spencer shift beside you. Emily shakes her head. “Don’t worry,” she whispers. “He always recovers, never in the way you’d expect.” 

“How do you know?”

Emily’s face pulls into a little smile. “I’ve read the transcripts. Hotch is terribly clever.” 

“You said that Dennis Rader, the B.T.K. Killer,” the attorney continues, “was divorced and impotent. He turned out to be married with two kids.” 

JJ huffs, and you hear her whisper to Spencer, “Can we quit with the sermon?” 

His lips turn up. “Just wait.”

Dave leans over and stares them down over Derek. Stop talking. 

All of you look down at your hands like chastised children, but your gaze floats back to Aaron right away. 

The prosecution objects again, this time on the grounds of preaching. The judge forces a question, and the attorney turns back on Aaron.

“Having been wrong on those cases, isn’t it possible that you were wrong about Brian Matloff?” 

“No.” Your chest squeezes. He’s completely firm in his denial. 

How does he do that?

“Fact is,” the attorney continues like Aaron didn’t speak at all, “behavioral analysis is really just intellectual guesswork. You probably couldn’t tell me the color of my socks with any greater accuracy than a carnival psychic.” 

“Objection!” 

Her outburst is unnecessary. Aaron has a plan. His eyes track to you as if to check in. Are you paying attention? 

If you weren’t watching before, you’re certainly watching now. Always. 

“Withdrawn.” 

“Charcoal grey.” His flat assertion makes you gasp and you immediately cover your mouth with your hand to stifle the sound. 

The attorney turns around. “Well, look at that,” he exposes his socks to the court, and they are, in fact, charcoal grey. “He got one right.”

Aaron’s not finished. “You match them to the color of your suit to appear taller. You also wear lifts and you’ve had the soles of your shoes replaced. One might think you’re frugal, but in fact, you’re having financial difficulties.” 

You do your best to school your expression and remove your hand from your mouth. Checking down the row, you see six smirks watching the witness box. 

“You wear a fake Rolex…”

And you’d know. 

“...because you pawned the real one to pay your debts. My guess would be to a bookie.” 

Is he smiling?

“I took this case pro bono.” There’s tension in Mr. Charcoal Grey’s voice. You can hear it behind the false confidence and it pulls a smile from you. “I am one of the most successful criminal attorneys in the state.”

Hotch continues, completely bypassing him. “Your vice is horses.” There’s definitely a little smile on his face now. “Your Blackberry’s been buzzing on the table every twenty minutes, which happens to be the average time between posts from Colonial Downs. You’re getting race results.” Your smile gets wider, and Emily grabs your hand. 

“Just watch.”

“And every time you do, it affects your mood in court, and you’re not having a very good day.” There’s something that looks almost like concern on Aaron’s face, but you know it’s nothing if not facetious. He’s ripping this poor man to shreds without changing a single thing about his presentation.

I love - 

Don’t finish that thought. 

Why not?

Remember how he’s freshly divorced?

I know, but have you seen him?

“That’s because you pick horses the same way you practice law -” 

You lean forward and Emily follows, her thumbnail between her teeth. 

The final blow. 

“- by always taking the long shot.” 

If this was any other setting, you’re sure the entire team would be on their feet, shouting and jeering. But alas, you’re in court, so you settle for a wide smile and a suppressed laugh. Amused brown eyes meet yours from across the room and you shake your head just the tiniest bit. I can’t believe you.

His lips twitch. 

“Well, you spin a very good yarn, Agent, but as usual, you’ve proven nothing.” He’s just trying to recover something, anything left of his dignity. He fails, miserably. 

“If I’m not mistaken,” Aaron says, his eyebrows raised just a little, “the results from the fifth race should be coming through any minute.”

Just then, his Blackberry buzzes on the defense table. “Why don’t you tell us if your luck has changed?”

You raise your hands to your face to cool the rising heat in your cheeks. 

“Your honor, this is - “

The judge takes matters into his own hands. “What do you want me to do? Either show us your Blackberry or cut him loose, counselor.”

Hotch and the defense attorney share a loaded look. It’s a battle of wills. 

Aaron wins. 

“Nothing further.”

+++

When you all leave the courthouse, you practically latch onto Aaron’s arm, completely floored. 

“How did you do that?”

He laughs and Derek jumps up beside him, shaking his shoulders. “Come on, Hotch. That was incredible.” 

“Why have a law degree if you aren’t going to use it?”

+++

He offers you a ride home later that evening and you take him up on it. You’re both still in the car, idling in front of your house. 

“That really was impressive today,” you admit, your eyes on your hands.

You can feel his soft smile rather than see it. “Thanks. I know it didn’t quite go the way we wanted as far as the case itself, but there’s more to come.” 

“It’s never as bad as it looks in the first couple of days.” 

“Exactly.” He sighs. “Thanks again for being there today. It’s…” his lips twist as he thinks, “nice to have the team around.” 

You reach out, squeezing his forearm before immediately letting him go. “Of course. We’ll always be there for you. Plus, there’s nothing better than watching you tear blowhard lawyers to shreds in a court of law.” 

“I’m not sure that’s exactly how it went.” 

“You’re kidding!” You laugh. “That’s just what happened. The man left without half his soul! You absolutely tore it from his body.”

The pair of you quiet, and you move to get out of the car. He stops you with a hand over yours as you unclip your seatbelt. “Really. Thanks for being there today.” 

“I can’t emphasize this enough - it was my pleasure.” 

Enough of a pleasure as it was, his smile in the dark of the car is the best part of your day.  

+++

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