#lily how do you think of such beautiful prose??? so many of these lines hold pure POETRY

[gothsuguru]

WAHHHHHHH LILY I’M GONNA SOB I LOVE YOU SM

OKAY FIRST OF ALL THIS IS LITERALLY ONE OF THE SWEETEST THINGS ANYONE HAS EVER DONE!!!!! THE LOVE YOU HAVE FOR SUKUNA & YOUR MOOTS… SNIFFLES <333 i hope you know we love and appreciate you so much i’m Literally smooching you as we speak :3

ALSO THE IO MENTION RAHHHHHHHHH OFC SHE WOULD BE THE FLOWERSHOP OWNER AND THAT SATORU WOULD BE HER HUBBY 🤭 AND THEN KENJAKU FOR ARI IS LEGITIMATELY ICONIC I KNOW THEY LOVE THEIR SILLY BRAIN TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH IT WAS SO CUTE <333 AND THEN . GULPS

ME AND SUGURU??????????????? WHEN I TELL YOU I FUCKING SCREAMEDDDDDDDDDD I LITERALLY BAGGED A BAD BITCH THANK YOU LORD LILY 🙏🏼🤭 AND ME AND HIM ARE GETTING MARRIED??? IKTR! BUT SERIOUSLY THIS IS A SUCH A SWEET LOVE LETTER TO NOT ONLY ALL YOUR MOOTS BUT SUKIE AS WELL :’) sniffles…….. let me get into it in the tags :3

in your peach blush dreams

synopsis : in which sukuna unexpectedly stumbles upon something – or rather, someone – he almost never believed could exist. w.c: 2.7k.

pairing : soulmate!florist!sukuna x f!reader

warnings : FLUFF! non curse au. adorably grumpy sukuna who only pretends he doesn’t believe in love or soulmates.

a/n : based on this request. hope you enjoy nonie!! @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat @gothsuguru @bungalowbear @hiraethwrote , i hope you love your cameos <3

divider / ao3

ryomen sukuna was a skeptic.

point. cut. blank.

anybody who knew him knew it well.

he didn’t believe in ghosts, poltergeists, or any of the things that cry and go bump in the night. there was always a logical explanation for everything and anything that happened outside the realm of normalcy. the world was ruled by physics and chemistry and numbers, and even though he was a florist, sukuna understood and wholeheartedly accepted the beauty of science.

however, there was one teeny, tiny thing that completely – and rather rudely – disregarded all of his beliefs.

and it was only a little dream.

one that he had been having since he was old enough to remember things.

sukuna couldn’t remember if there were before this particular one started, or even if any occurred after it. but he always remembered how he knew it was coming – the way his stomach would churn and lurch, like he was being catapulted from a cannon, free-falling through a black expanse of space and time and stars.

and then, sukuna would land face-first into a field of marshmallow-soft petals, bathed in the light of a pink sunrise.

at first, he didn’t know what sort of flowers had cushioned his fall. it took him quite a number years to even attempt sketching them, using a cheap set of coloring pencils he’d bought with his pocket money. and even, not a single person he showed his scratchings to had any clue at all.

it frustrated him to no end.

sukuna would always end up crumpling his drawings in his little fists and hurling them straight into the bin.

and try again.

and again.

it wasn’t until he was sixteen that he finally found the answer he had been looking for.

sukuna had just gotten a job working part-time at a flower shop after school. at first, the thought of being there was beyond humiliating. his twin brother had relentlessly teased him about it when he found out, which quickly resulted in a flurry of knuckles and fists.

he arrived to his first shift with a sour look and a black eye.

io, the shop owner at the time, gave him a humorous look with soft, chocolate eyes and taught him how to speak the language that only flowers knew. how to listen to the soft poetry held within the curl of their leaves and petals, telling you everything they needed to bloom.

in time, sukuna learned to enjoy it.

but he would never admit it to anyone.

one day, the shop received a rather large delivery of frighteningly familiar baby pink flowers. sukuna froze, his hands slippery and wet from the water droplets falling from the stems.

“what are those?” he’d gritted out, disbelief coated on his cracked lips.

io took one glance at the flowers in his grip, and answered, “oh, they’re zinnia flowers.”

zinnia flowers.

he whispered under his breath, testing how the letters rolled over and under his tongue.

after all this time, the answer to the mystery flower was finally in his palm, and sukuna couldn’t decide whether or not he felt relieved or disturbed about it.

all he could muster in response was, “right.”

io stared at him, and a young sukuna felt himself shrink a little under her gaze, his cheeks blossoming a brilliant red shade like the david austin roses beside him. he pretended to ignore her, distracting himself by placing bunches of flowers into water buckets and slowly, meticulously, arranging every single stem beautifully in the display window.

sukuna hated every second of it.

he felt like every single pink petal on those flowers were mocking him, laughing at him for being so wound up over them.

it was so unbelievably pathetic.

he’d never felt more like a loser in his whole life.

because despite all his beliefs about the supernatural and a higher power, he couldn’t hate those flowers even if he tried to, not really.

because they were hers.

the other person already sitting there in his dreams in an endless field of zinnia blooms.

she wouldn’t notice him straight away, even though sukuna crash-landed in a heap just beside her leg. she was too busy staring up at the clouds painted in strokes and swirls of blushing pink, with the sun bleeding in tones of vibrant peach. all he could notice was how her lips were parted in wonder as she took everything in around her with a wondrous energy.

it was only when he pushed himself up to sit beside her that she finally noticed him.

and laughed.

and it was the most beautiful thing sukuna had ever heard in his life.

it was joyously infectious, and he couldn’t help his own laughter from bubbling up from deep within his chest like a volcano. they laughed together for what seemed like hours, the limits of time stretching on forever in the land of dreams, and sukuna felt the angry fire in his soul simmer just a little.

and he would become sad.

because he knew this was when the dream would always end.

he’d open his bloodstained eyes to the dreadfully familiar, dull white ceiling that belonged to his bedroom, and sukuna would know he was back at square one all over again.

feeling alone.

so unbearably alone.

because the dream would still linger in those precious few minutes after he woke up, a ghost hovering over a gray sea. sukuna could feel the other half of his soul slipping away to wherever she belonged to in this vast world, and he would selfishly claw for her, begging and screaming in his mind.

don’t go! don’t go! don’t go!

sukuna wasn’t stupid; he knew she couldn’t stay, but that didn’t stop a bitter taste from spreading over his tongue like a drop of lemon juice.

it twisted him inside, and he hated the universe for making him yearn so deeply for someone he had never even met.

and might never.

it didn’t take long for io to catch on. she was always acutely aware of people, and to be known by her was to always be seen and understood.

“they scare you, don’t they?” io murmured to him gently, too gently for sukuna’s liking. “the zinnias.”

he snorted dismissively, cutting perfect forty-five degree angles into the stems of snow peonies. “i am not afraid of a fucking flower, io.”

she arched a brow, unimpressed. “no?”

“no.”

“are you sure?”

sukuna huffed and rolled his eyes, adding tufts of baby’s breath to the bouquet he was assembling. io leaned over the birch countertop, her wrists adorned with various pink ribbons and a playful twinkle in her eyes.

“i know what it is,” she said in a sing-song voice, drumming her nails against the wood.

he ignored her again, a blooming pink starting to grace the tips of his ears, and busied himself wrapping a brown piece of paper around his finished piece.

“what?”

she didn’t answer, cryptically singing about knowing things and of a man she would know one day come to know, with hair as white as the peonies in sukuna’s bouquet and eyes brighter than bluebells. it was only five years to the day, when io married that very man she had been singing about, that he realized she had known all along what had been on his mind.

and now, at the tender age of twenty-one, ryomen sukuna wondered when it would be his turn to love.

and be loved in return.

❀᭢᜴꤬

when she was a child, she used to love drawing.

and the thing she loved to draw most was him.

the boy she saw in her dreams. they weren’t very good drawings – just two stick figures holding each other’s circles for hands, one with bright fuchsia hair because that was the closest color she had in her pencil kit. they would be standing in a field of flowers too, though the blooms were just colorful blobs scattered around their stick feet.

“not it!” she’d exclaim, pouting pitifully. “not what he looks like!”

her two best friends, kairo and ari, shuffled through their pencil cases, offering her shade after shade of pink pencils, but she shook her head at them each time. after a while, she would start to wail, despair clutching her little heart in its claws. her friends would put their arms around her, offering her all the trinkets and sweets they had in their pockets, just to see her smile again.

but they couldn’t understand how she really felt, how lonely she was sometimes, because they had already completed their souls.

ari had their kenjaku – their kenny.

and kairo had her suguru.

they had found their souls at such a young age and would never know just how much of the rest of the world felt for most, if not all, of their lives. they always had someone to watch over them. even now, the two twin boys were staring at them, gauging whether they would also burst into tears alongside her, ready to step in and make them smile again.

that was all she wanted, really.

for the pink-haired boy in her dreams to make her smile when she needed it.

as she grew that little bit older, her dream became more vivid. she could remember more details – how the sky was aflame in peach and coral, the sweet smell of the flowers beneath her, and how her boy would land next to her. she could even feel how much it was him that needed to smile.

so she laughed.

and laughed and laughed until he did too.

she wished she could stay there in that dream with him and make him laugh forever.

but she couldn’t do that.

in his sadness, there was strength too – something unyielding, strong enough to bring mountains to their knees. it told her to stay strong, to be like him, to keep her chin up and tell the world that she would live.

so she did.

she went on with her life, making sure to laugh often and well.

she grew up witnessing and being surrounded by love. high school and university presented their own challenges, filled with late-night cramming sessions and caffeine-induced hazes. she watched more and more of the friends find their souls, pairing off in effortless harmony while she lingered on in the stardust of their love.

but she still continued to live.

still kept an eye out for a particular head of pink hair wherever she went.

and now that she was done school, entering the big, bad world of work, her heart longed all the more for the boy from her dreams – who no longer looked like a boy at all.

he was a beautiful man now.

with dark tattoos etched into skin, mysterious lines and circles that perhaps told the story of his life. she wanted to know all about them, if they even meant anything to him at all, and if they were a angry shield to protect himself from people getting too close.

she hoped it wasn’t.

she didn’t want to be one of those left locked out.

“you’ll find him,” jess said encouragingly to her one day, as she was lost in a daydream of pink flower fields.

jess always knew when she was there.

she hummed softly, chewing on the plain cheese sandwhich she’d brought for her lunch break.

“so,” jess began, in an effort to distract her. “any nice plans for your time off?”

“uh, yeah actually. my best friend is getting married, so i’ll be helping her out this week to get everything ready.”

“oh, that sounds really nice!”

then, nanami kento walked into the staff room, his tired eyes brightening at the sight of jess sitting there, happily munching on the lunch he had no doubt prepared for her that morning. her friend sighed wistfully, a fond smile on her face as the blonde man took a seat beside her.

suddenly, there were two and a half souls in the room.

and she couldn’t help but smile, hoping that her time was coming.

it had to be.

❀᭢᜴꤬

“hea, do we have any lilies in the back? i need them.”

sukuna took another quick glance at the behemoth of a man in front of him, who shifted from one foot to the other, his green eyes darting all around the shop.

“urgently.”

“just a sec!”

the shop was silent for a moment, with only the sound of the fan blowing and the soft snip, snip, snip of sukuna trimming zinnia stems. he looked up again at customer, raising an eyebrow at how nervous the poor man looked while waiting.

“we have these white roses here,” sukuna suggested, pointing with his scissors at a small bunch. “in case we don’t have any white lilies.”

the man shook his head. “no, no. they have to be lilies. her name is lily.”

sukuna might have once laughed, but it was the way the man said her name with a hushed sort of reverence – and the tip of a velvet box peeping out from his trousers – that he understood who she really was to him.

so sukuna didn’t laugh.

“it’s really important,” he added, dark locks sticking to his forehead, as if that alone would convince the grumpy florist.

sukuna sighed, setting down his scissors and wiping his hands on his shirt. “i’ll see what i can do for you.”

so he went to the back himself, assembling a bouquet of white lilies, adding white pampas grass for flair and eucalyptus for softness. sukuna spent quite a bit of time on it – more than he probably should have – fluffing and adjusting every petal and leaf until it was absolutely perfect.

it was worth the effort.

the man’s palpable relief was infectious, making the corner of sukuna’s lips twitch upwards.

“keep your money,” he grunted, his nose slightly turned up. “just come back here to get what you need for the wedding.”

the bell at the front door tinkled in farewell as the man left, and sukuna picked up where he left off. there was a bridal party order for tomorrow, and of course, he was in charge of creating the bride’s bouquet.

sukuna always was.

“hea!” he called out. “if you need a hand with the bridesmaids’ bouquets let me know. i’m almost done here.”

the doorbell tinkled.

but he wasn’t looking up.

“i’m good!” hea answered back, her voice faint.

sukuna clicked his tongue disapprovingly, not liking the shade of ribbon he was holding against the peach-colored zinnia in the bouquet. he dipped down behind the counter, arms stretched above him and fingers drumming on the wood as he scanned through the mess of ribbons and other decorations tucked away in small cubicles.

hmph! nothing.

sukuna pushed himself back up.

and there she was.

staring at all the shades of pretty pink zinnias that sukuna had painstakingly displayed the day before.

his heart actually stuttered.

and before he knew it, he had somehow slipped and landed face down on the ground.

“fuck!”

“oh!”

sukuna pushed himself back up, stumbling like a newborn foal, his eyes completely and utterly fixed on her while a poor zinnia lay crushed beneath his foot.

but that didn’t matter in the slightest.

because holy good god, she was looking at him too.

with her pretty lips parted in shock, and her pretty eyes wide and glossy, and her pretty hair looking exactly like it did in his – no, their – dream.

she’s here. she’s here. she’s here.

“i’m here for the bridal flowers for kairo!” she blurted out suddenly.

sukuna inhaled sharply.

what a pretty voice.

“t-that’s– ahem – not due until tomorrow,” he whispered, almost inaudibly.

her eyes widened a fraction more, if that was even possible. then, her features completely relaxed as she tipped her head back and laughed.

and laughed.

sukuna felt like he was back in his dream again.

only it was real this time – more real than anything.

he chuckled lowly, his laughter rising like helium, melding with hers in a gloriously wonderful crescendo.

and all sukuna could think of was.

finally.

i love you, i love you, i love you.

❀᭢᜴꤬

©storiesoflilies 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[theesteemedladydebourgh]

Why IF WE NEVER MEET AGAIN is Art, Capital Letters and I’ll never get over it

An Essay (by someone who has been ravaged by @thequibblah one too many times)

IWNMA is two months old! Wow, the time flies. 🥳 i read this fic on Halloween and it fucked me up even more (yes, more) than that dreaded anniversary. so this is mostly going to be me quoting my favorite bits, rambling and freaking out and occasionally trying to be coherent and actually talk about WHY it’s so brilliant. because it is brilliant, and if you haven’t read it that should be the only thing you need to know: it’s brilliant and sad and hopeful and sweet and yes, right back to brilliant. go read it.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully articulate what it is about this fic that captured my heart and makes me feeling a mixture of longing and confused. It makes my heart ache, in short, and after the first time I read it I wasn’t quite sure why. It took several rereads to put a finger on it—a mixture of beautiful prose enveloping and aiding incredibly crafted characters.

There is something about suze’s writing that makes me want to be a better writer—in fact i think just reading her works DO make me a better writer because I inhale her beautiful prose and weep over her lovely characters and I take a tiny bit of them with me when I’m crafting my own stories.

I don’t know how to describe it other than: IWNMA perfectly captures the fact that words are nothing but strings of letters. Meaningless, except humans put so much meaning and yearning and love into existence, so these strings of letters make us feel absolutely incoherent things. (Incoherence, in general is how I react to suze. Both personally and professionally 😌)

now i’m going to be very embarrassingly emotive and generally freak out.

“I love you,” Lily says, quietly. The night holds the words for a moment, then releases them. She hasn’t yet looked at him. “I’m in love with you, and I’m tired of pretending I’m not.”

Everything splinters after that.

um. Opening lines? Killing me? I am such a sucker for starting the story in the middle and then going back because…Drama. and Showmanship.

I love the pure brilliance of the magazine headlines interspersed throughout and how they give us little details and sneak peeks, and show the complete divide between the Truth and the Show. It’s the flashy, gasp headline writing and when it’s contrasted with the quiet chaos behind the scenes it’s just…

There’s something almost suffocating about movie star AUs to me, because there is so much misunderstood and we know that a lot of them felt trapped, and I can feel that in IWNMA. Even if Lily’s not sitting around panicking, thinking ‘I feel trapped’, you can feel it in the writing, in the breaths taken, the spaces between them. The way she acts, the way the love story plays out behind and in front of the scenes.

“Long time,” James Potter says once he’s finished laughing, holding out his hand.

James Potter makes an introduction, and I Love Him.

I also love that the ex-husband is just…the ex-husband. He needs no space. No capital letters. begone.

To claim that she fell in love again on August 3rd might be stretching things. But Lily tastes possibility, light and sweet as summer fruit on her tongue, for the first time in a long time on that night.

She loses it, too, many times over. Wait — we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

I’m just going to keep repeating myself and saying ‘I love xyz’ but I love these lines. I love the summer fruit, and the lightness of possibility, and the way it feels like a story being told about them, while also a story that is very much Theirs.

“That,” he says, “is a fucking view. Your estate agent wasn’t kidding.”

Lily laughs. It’s maybe easier now to appreciate the stunning beauty of this house through someone else — though it was immediately apparent to her when she first scoped it out.

“Try waking up to it,” she says.

“I want to,” he says at once. “Seriously, I’ll buy it off you right now.”

He wakes up to it at the end I am so—

“I’d offer you my jacket,” says James, “but I have none, and also, it’s August.”

😭

Most of this is just me being In Love with James, until we get to P&P era and then he’s on thin fucking ice so…

“I’ve got two hands.”

“Two hands you’re using to not help me in the slightest.”

Suze I just know you meant this on purpose. You do not fool me. I know.

He says, with feeling, “Lily, take my jacket, it’ll protect you from this Arctic evening—”

She groans. “Fuck off, oh my God—”

“—your every moment of discomfort tears me apart—” With a flourish, he mimes removing a jacket and draping it over her shoulders.

“You’re a terrible actor,” she says, shrugging off the nonexistent jacket. “Charlie Chaplin’s rolling over in his grave. While weeping.”

Will I copy and paste this entire scene is the question. The answer could be yes, but the word count of this draft post is…embarrassing so close to 2022.

The Rome scenes are just…like, can I frame them and weep? It makes me want to be in Rome and also be in love and also have James Potter as my own, which is not a new feeling per se, but it’s certainly a very strong iteration of it.

Lily has decided she likes Italian bars best of all — drinks are the same everywhere you go, but the food, good God. (James makes a crack about how he’ll look unrecognisable at the end of filming if they go on like this every day. As if, she thinks, with a resentful glare. She’s seen him running around the neighbourhood each bloody morning.)

No comment, he’s ridiculous and the best.

“Oh, no,” James murmurs now, dropping the smile, “I hadn’t realised. I’ll do my best to be attractive for you.”

The entire bar scene, with the snipping and the laughter and how she’s just slightly unglued just by him being him…

Trelawney as the neurotic director is the best thing that’s ever happened, and suze is just so masterful in the way she’s woven the elegant and the silly and the uniquely longing to make this masterpiece.

“If you ask me, this is all for authenticity. Freddy absolutely wonders if Sabine knows he’s an okay kisser.”

“Freddy’s a great kisser,” James says, following.

“We’ll see, I guess.”

His hand closes around her upper arm, just above the elbow. Lily turns around. “What?”

But he simply looks at her without speaking. She waits for a long moment. Then, “Never mind.”

She shrugs, cool as you please, though she wants to stay wrapped in the sudden electricity, here. “See you on set, tiger.”

He chokes on his laughter.

Really all picking out my favorite parts is doing is making me realize how good of a writer she is. like…read these all in a row and tell me you’re not overwhelmed just from that, and then read the whole thing and tell me you didn’t weep.

The first kiss scene. Honestly? suze, you need to direct a movie. The screen and the setting is perfection and you would win awards for it, just saying (as you’ve won awards for this fic, which I’m glad it did, because I would’ve sulked for ages if it didn’t)

Trelawney calls cut!

“Again?” James can be heard saying. Lily stays there, behind the screen, trying to settle her racing heart.

“No,” Trelawney tells him, “that’s the one.”

“That’s the—? But we only—”

“That’s the take.”

😭 the implication that their first kiss was so genuine and perfect it fit the film.

“I’ll walk you,” says James.

She tries to wave him off. “It’s literally around the corner, James.”

“It’s late!”

“It’s half past ten.”

“Late,” he says again.

“Oh, all right,” she says, and tucks her hand into his elbow.

It’s the beginning and somehow it already feels sad (probably because the scroll is still very long, so we know they’re not going to be happy for the rest of it) and yet also euphoric and…I love secret relationships. Secret love affairs.

She’s aware of the rise and fall of his shoulders, in time with her own, and the part of his lips. But she’s not looking anywhere but his eyes, the rich hazel glimmer of them. She is quite helpless.

“You’re not— Are you drunk?” Lily says.

His brow furrows, but he answers, “No.”

She exhales, long and slow. “Then I think… It would be better to just get it out of our systems, yeah?”

When he nods, he seems relieved. “Upstairs?”

I absolutely love this scene because it seems quite abrupt—they haven’t discussed any of it—but the silence in all the words before it might as well have been a full on conversation because they know where they are (physically, at least) and that the other is there too, and so there’s only a few words required to make the jump (that isn’t even a jump, it’s more of a soft step)

“You’re — an okay kisser,” she tells him, left breathless.

😭

Afterwards she wonders about the semantics of this. Fucking one’s co-star seems de rigueur in the industry. But realistically they have not fucked, not unless the definition’s changed since last she checked. A one-and-done would feel separate from the rest of the world, safely so. Now she can still smell the earthy impression of rain on his skin, can still hear plucked strings and Doris Day. Lily realises, rather clinically, that she would like to do it again.

Really, really. She’d really, really like to do it again.

As if he can read her mind, James begins to sit up and get dressed. She watches in silence; when he’s finished, he curls one hand around her calf.

His smile is slanted, ironic. “Never again, then.”

She smiles back, though she’s sure she doesn’t look so poised. At least they’ve come to this realisation together.

And then even at the end they’re in sync. Even when they’re missing each other by miles, there’s this sense of in sync-ness (not the band), because they’re just built so perfectly to fall in love.

It is wrong, definitely wrong, on ethical, moral, certainly religious grounds, to feel a little flustered at the way he does up a zipper.

The scene in the trailer just makes me…have I mentioned I’m in love with this James yet?

“You’re brave,” James says, simple as that. “For holding onto someone when you found them, and even more so for letting go when you needed to.”

They get each other. A love story could be boiled down to that simple fact, and IWNMA is just two people who get each other (in a variety of torturous situations, thank u suze)

“We made something,” he says, softly.

There, he has voiced the thought she’s had since that last day of filming, since he spun her around and the world seemed forever changed once her feet landed on solid ground again. She’s made something — and she’s done it in collaboration with people, of course, it’s not about who owns how much of this. But she’s made something, and (heart tripping, breath catching) she’s done it with him.

This is one of the lines that actually made me tear up. This fic hurts to read sometimes, because it’s so earnest and it just…tugs right at the most aching, deep parts of you because it’s about the start of love, the making of art, and the two intertwined. I’m 😭

She shifted in her chair, crossed and uncrossed her legs. “I think if there’s one thing my romantic life proves, it’s that vetting by sex is not very thorough.”

“If it’s thoroughness you’re worried about,” Mary says seriously, “all the more reason to find Potter again and give him a few more goes.”

I love Mary. 🥰

Maybe the naïve reaction to that is to believe she was always made to be an actress, not a model. Lily knows it’s silly — no one is made to be anything — but she holds onto the childish impulse in that dark room.

Will I use something other than 😭 to describe my feelings maybe maybe not.

The moment might’ve come across as abrupt, but the camera lingers sweetly on Freddy’s face as he strides out of the garden. This is no guilty, hurried retreat, which was how Lily’d assumed it would appear.

Instead James milks every ounce of his natural earnestness for all it’s worth. Freddy is lit with wonder, giddy and flushed and quite appallingly in love. He lifts a hand to his mouth as he goes, not to wipe at it but just…to touch, as if to memorise through every sensation what he’s just experienced.

The film goes on, but, if she’s being perfectly honest, Lily stays there. Replays that lovely little smile, his thumb upon his lower lip, again and again.

That is what makes James Potter good at his job. Instinct. Sincerity. There is no doubt to the viewer that he absolutely believes what he’s doing.

He believes it because he’s in love with you, idiot.

You brought me all this way to say hello? she almost says. “Hi,” is what she actually says.

His mouth tilts into a half-smile. “You know something funny?”

No, she almost says. “What’s that?”

“Last year in Rome, when I left the villa and flew back home, I suppose I knew we’d have to see each other again—”

Now Lily manages to get her dig in, a well-placed elbow to the ribs. “Oh, you sound thrilled about it.”

He rolls his eyes. “Let me finish. I knew we’d both be at this premiere, but I felt as though you’d just…vanish. And I’d never see you again.”

She manages a blustery laugh. “That’s a touch ridiculous, no?”

“Oh, it’s quite ridiculous,” he says with a nod. “You know I enjoy giving you ammunition.”

Are her cheeks red? They must be. She feels like she’s had a dizzying number of shots in a too-short period of time.

The universe is playing some kind of joke on her, she thinks, because surely a thought that she’s had — on the night they first kissed, no less — didn’t organically occur to him too? Surely he can’t read minds?

Made for each other. Made for each other.

The LA scenes are right up against the Rome scenes for my favorite, because it just feels stingingly alive. You can feel the sun and the wind and the exhilaration and the plastic-life in every word, in all their actions and the studio sets. And I was waiting for them to get together the ENTIRE first time I read it and I was very miffed when they didn’t, but now I appreciate the space. It felt like it was time for them (unknowingly) to settle into love. Because...(yes, i’m going to say it), they’re best friends. 😭

“Please, Evans. We’re both having the time of our damn lives, and you know it.” He’s back to his relaxed position of earlier.

Lily arches a brow and does not feel a thrill in her stomach. “Are we?”

He glances at her, grinning that crooked grin of his. “Well, we’re in it together, aren’t we?”

Yeah, I had to get up and pace when I read this bit. You know the lines that bury themselves somewhere deep in your chest and fill you with restlessness and you need to take a break just to savor it and also to get out of the headspace of it, because it’s nearly too much to feel? This is that. It did it to me on my first, second, third and fourth rereads. I paced and made a cup of tea and then returned.

In a smooth American drawl James says,  “You’re in El Ay, baby. Get used to it.”

This should not be as attractive to me as it is.

Drunk Remus is the best thing to ever exist, suze thank you for inventing him.

“No,” she says, nonchalant, “I didn’t think you looked cool.”

“Ouch.”

She shrugs, trying to think past the alcohol to put the sentiment to words. “I mean, you looked — like a person. Not like a movie star.”

“Ah,” he says.

At first he mulls this over in silence and she wonders if she’s misstepped. But then he laughs quietly, and she wants to kiss his dimple…only Mary floats into view in her mind’s eye. Her sex life is not something that happens to her.

“So you have to let me buy you a Fluffy Duck, anyway,” she says, hurriedly circumventing the past few minutes.

“They don’t feel the same way about Fluffy Ducks here,” James says.

She wraps a hand around his forearm, allows him to steer them to the bar. “Don’t they? Well, you’ll have to read me what’s on the menu, then.”

“Me?” He points at his specs.

“Hmm. We’re fucked.”

The bartender’s occupied, so they stop a ways off. She doesn’t let go of him as she squints at the board. His head tilts towards hers; he’s frowning at it too.

“Any luck?” Lily whispers.

“Can’t see a damn thing.”

“Just make up an innuendo. Half the cocktails are sex-related. You know, on the beach, in the sheets, what have you.”

He laughs, and she swells with pleasure. “Is that what you’ve learned today?”

She scoffs at his teasing tone. “You laugh, but I’ll go up to this bloke right now and say, ‘I’ll have a Slow Comfortable Screw on the Countertop,’ and he won’t even blink.”

James laughs even harder, a hand pressed to his ribs. “Sorry?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” With an exasperated sigh, she turns to say, right in his ear, “A slow, comfortable screw—” And then her brain catches up to what’s happening, and she stutters to a stop, wide-eyed.

James tips his head even nearer, hazel eyes so close. “No, go on,” he says, half-smiling.

Her face grows hot. “Erm.”

“You ordering, or what?” the bartender calls.

“Yeah,” says James at once. “She’s having…a Slow Comfortable Screw — any particulars on the where and the how of the slow comfortable screw, Evans?”

“Fuck off, oh my God—”

This entire thing—! Just makes me 🥰😭

Then she plucks their drinks off the counter, smiling at the bartender. “Here’s your slow hard fuck,” she tells James with a playful glare.

“Slow comfortable screw,” he says.

“Whatever, Potter.” She takes a sip, then hums approvingly.

James is watching closely. “Good, isn’t it?”

“It actually is. I never took you for such an expert on slow comfortable screws.”

His grin spreads wide. “Didn’t you?”

Lily’s mouth falls open. “You— Wow.” That’s the first time either of them have mentioned Rome. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“No need, I already know how you feel about it,” he says.

“Jesus Christ.”

❤️

“That was a better apology than my ex-husband’s,” she jokes, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

She’s ready for him to laugh in return. But instead, his eyes flash and his jaw clenches.

“Just for the record,” he says, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “fuck that guy, yeah?”

She’s so surprised she can’t do anything but make another joke. “Won’t be doing that again, actually.”

But James is utterly serious; he shakes his head. “Really, Lily. What a fucking moron he is.”

Her mouth is dry. It takes several tries at clearing her throat for her to speak again. “Yeah, I know. Erm. Thanks.”

He gives her an odd sort of look. “Don’t thank me.”

I’m running out of ways to say: I love James and this is amazing so…I love James and this is amazing.

After L.A., London is a strange place to live.

Or maybe that’s backwards — L.A. was a strange place to live, and in returning to London she’s discovering how much her notion of normal has changed. London is a place, but Los Angeles is a dream, a story breathed into life by the sun-bronzed hopefuls who crowd its streets. But even dreams can feel stifling sometimes.

just. How many ways can you make me incoherent.

“You look beautiful,” James murmurs into her hair.

“I know,” she says without thinking.

He laughs.

(Later her mother will cut out a photo of this moment from OK magazine, and Lily will look at it every time she’s in her kitchen.

Until she won’t anymore.)

Yeah now I’m enraged. Fuck you suze.

Don’t cry when you’re on divorce number two.

She doesn’t pull him towards the doors. She says, “And…what did you think?”

Something between an exhale and a laugh escapes him. “I didn’t think.”

She waits for him to elaborate, for one moment, then two, then three. He leans close, his breath warm against her ear, lips brushing her skin as he inhales. Now, he’ll say something, and the sparks skidding along the surface of her skin will be set to rest.

Then James draws back, brow furrowed. He makes no sound. For a moment Lily wonders if she did something to dissuade him, or if someone else called out to him — but she realises that it’s far simpler than that. He has nothing more to say.

He takes her hand, and they move towards the theatre.

I can feel myself heading straight for actual anger right now. The lovely shininess of this fic has been replaced by rage because we’re heading straight for P&P and…

😭 (not the good kind)

Desire tightens in her belly. How long, she wonders? Today? Just now, waiting for her to arrive at his door? Or is it an older imagining than this film, this set?

She pauses to shed her top, and James takes the time to remove his. She marvels at the breadth of his shoulders, at the lines and muscles she hasn’t seen like this in years. He’s filled out. She wants to map the new feeling beneath her fingers, re-learn the topography of him.

It’s absolutely insane how it feels so familiar and intimate despite the fact that they haven’t had sex in years.

“That’s it, baby,” he says, which is new — he’s only ever called her by her name in bed. It is so breathless as to seem involuntary. She pushes against him harder, desperate to see what else he might say.

if I wasn’t so upset about what’s coming I’d be screaming

Amelia seems not to have noticed the effect of her words because she adds, thoughtfully, “You’d be good for Shakespeare.”

“Macbeth,” says Lily, the same time as James says “Much Ado.” He squawks at her, horrified, and Amelia laughs.

“What d’you mean, Macbeth? I thought we miss being typecast!” he protests.

We, Lily registers, her smile warm, satisfied. “I’d make an exception here, we’d be an excellent pair of Macbeths. On the stage, I reckon. No cameras, loads of fake blood.”

“Ha bloody ha.”

“Quite literally, yeah.”

[…]

She shrugs, maybe so. “It’d be fun with you. Sexy, even.”

James laughs. “Murdering a king is sexy?”

“Being haunted by it afterwards is sexy,” she corrects.

“Sometimes I forget you read English at uni.”

“Well, I didn’t finish the degree, so there’s no need to sound that way about it.”

His smile has softened, the sun slipping towards the horizon. “Come to bed, Lily.”

The night is hers. She goes with him

Yeah still upset.

Lily drops her cigarette and squashes it beneath her heel. “I don’t think you’re that terrible a person, no.”

His smile is a little fainter than usual. “Oh? High praise, that.”

“Considering that for a very long time, I thought men were out to get me personally, especially the ones I was attracted to,” she says, “I think so, yes.”

James says, “Ah, so you are attracted to me.”

“Were you unsure?”

“Can’t a bloke have a bit of an ego boost from time to time?”

She lifts one sardonic brow. “And what is it we’re doing, shagging in secret, if not that?”

He grins and presses a kiss to her mouth. They’re alone, but still, his confidence is quite breathtaking. Then again, many things about him are.

When he pulls back, he says, still grinning, “You taste disgusting. Please quit smoking.”

Lily tells him to fuck off. He kisses her again before he goes.

Now I’m just angry and it’s entirely because the next scene is The Scene and I don’t even want to read it because it’s so well done and intimate that I feel like I’m intruding and also JAMES YOU CLOWN 💖 and the symbolism of the love confession, the unprotected sex, the walking away—

She looks at him then. He hasn’t yet taken off his specs, which he usually does by this point. She hopes he won’t try to, because she’ll tell him not to do it and will have to come up with a reason why.

Really, she’s not even sure she knows why. Maybe it’s because he looks most like himself with them on. Maybe she just wants him to see her.

This is the only bit I’m going to put in here, because otherwise i’d do the entire scene and then I’d be a mess for the rest of the day. Moving on.

“I fucking love you,” she says, without turning around. He might not even hear it. She’s basically professing her love for the door.

But she hopes he‘s heard. She hopes he sees the shadow of her leaving behind closed eyelids for days — I fucking love you. She’ll love him resentfully until she doesn’t anymore.

Lily lets the door swing shut behind her.

No no no nope nope nope NOPE this made me cry and pace too but this was in more of a rage-fueled upset.

Quietly, he says, “It was good, though, wasn’t it?”

[…]

“It was really good,” Lily says, “since you want to know so badly.”

She hitches up the skirt of her dress and walks away. That, she knows, is the last time she’ll see James Potter. Or the last time he’ll see her.

rageandcryingrageandcrying

“Is it as easy to you as it is for me?” she says, reaching for her car door.

He doesn’t ask her to clarify any aspect of that question. James only glances upward, momentarily, before saying, “It’s almost too easy.”

I think I’ve pinpointed what it is I love about this fic and it’s the whimsy and it’s how it’s two love stories in one. It’s a love letter to acting and it’s a love letter to people, and they’re falling in love so many times it’s like a constant rollercoaster you never get off. They just keep falling and falling and you wonder when they’ll realize it (or not be idiots about it jfc James)

“I just,” James says, then stops to close his eyes briefly. “I don’t want to pretend with you. I want things to be real and I want to make certain that they are, and I want to mean it when I say I love you.”

Lily’s breath hitches. When, she thinks. When. Only, maybe he didn’t mean it like that; maybe the wording is incidental.

She says, softly, “It’s all pretending. But I suppose when you’re in love you just…don’t mind them catching you slip up.”

A faint, desperate laugh escapes him. “I’m not ready. I’m sorry, but I’m— And you don’t deserve to have to wait, Lily.”

I’m so

Can I take back all my compliments and say I hate suze?

All the notes and flowers and messages sent back and forth through third parties is just longing and distance and the wrong timing and I’m physically antsy reading it because I want them to be in the same place at the same time so they can fucking fix it.

James being fucking James Bond.

The fucking PHONE CALL. If I’ve made it this far into the fic, I’m either beaming or weeping or snarling, there is no other options. (Today it’s a weep-beam)

“I read the interview too. It was a nice profile.”

She smiles, briefly placated. “Thanks.”

“You, er, said you wanted to make movies with me until you died.”

“Oh, God.” Lily laughs, palm to her forehead. But she finds herself not embarrassed, somehow; there’s a strange new feeling in this conversation, one she can’t remember from Love Ends, and it makes her comfortable. Something where there was nothing, or the pronounced absence of something else. “I did say that, didn’t I? In retrospect, maybe a bit much to admit in national press—”

“No, I’ve been trying to say it to the press for years,” James says. “My publicist is running out of favours to call in. Eventually I’ll see it in print, don’t you worry.”

“You should come into the party and let it slip. There’s bound to be some tosser here who’ll go running to the paps.”

😭😭���😭😭

I hate the waiting…but that’s what makes it so sweet at the end.

There’s an odd moment of hesitation, and she wonders if the line has been disconnected. Then he says, “Yeah. Me too. Are you sure you’re having a good time?”

“Mm, positive. Why?”

“You answered as soon as I called. How did you hear the phone ring?”

Lily shifts so her back isn’t digging into a jar of something or other. “I was in the kitchen. Perfect timing, like it was meant to be.”

She hears his little exhale. Another pause. “Are you drunk?”

“Maybe,” she says, coyly. “So, you should really come inside, because I think I might fall asleep in my own pantry, and no one will find me. Then I’ll wake up with my neck totally fucked.”

James laughs again but it’s quiet this time, like something private. “Yeah, okay.”

The quiet, sunny feeling of this last part of the story is worse/better than a grand declaration. Grand declarations almost fit better to short-lived romances—ones that only last a few chapters—rather than ones sprawl out over years, where the love has been slipped into their bones, not just their hearts, and can’t be taken away. They both know this and so the ending is a quiet coming together, just like that first night in Rome. It’s an, I know we’re in the same place now. I know.

Now a montage of this perfect final scene.

“What?” He’s still frowning. “You said love ends.”

“Not this one,” she retorts.

[…]

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Lily says. “You could’ve told me on the bloody phone yesterday, and I’d have come to the phone box and snogged you senseless, and brought you back to the house, and—”

He’s starting to smile. “You were very drunk.”

“So?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I think you owe me eight or nine hours’ worth of kisses, James.”

“That’s a serious debt.” He reaches out haltingly, slides a hand around her waist. “Is that why you’ve come out in a bikini now? More available real estate to kiss, as it were?”

[…]

“But…you thought about it?”

“A lot,” he admits begrudgingly, and she adds a point to her tally, “but I tend to think about you a lot.” He kisses where her pulse trips frantically in her throat, glances up at her from under his lashes. “You really weren’t naked?”

Lily’s grin is broad, giddy. “You really aren’t James Bond?”

[…]

“And I won’t be on the cover of Vanity Fair all the time,” Lily muses, tangling her hands in his hair. “We can’t have you forgetting me.”

This laugh is big and incredulous; his eyes fly open. “As if, Lily. As bloody if.”

[…]

She shakes her head thoughtfully. “I can’t see myself swayed by any such loser. What about when some small-town coed with big dreams sidles up to you on the Strip and asks to buy you a Slow Comfortable Screw?”

“I get my slow comfortables elsewhere,” he assures her, teeth grazing her collarbone.

Lily takes his face between her hands, drops the act for a second. “Our schedules really won’t line up well. If we’re going to do this, we—”

He’s already nodding. “I’ll make the time. For you, anything.”

“So will I,” she says, a sudden warmth blooming in her cheeks.

She’s in love, and he loves her back. This is the sentiment on the tip of her tongue when he kisses her again.

[…]

“I am not,” he says, pausing to kiss her hard again, “going to forget you, Lily.”

“I know.” She has to blink forcefully to clear her vision, sure that she has some reasoning to give even as all conception of logic scatters from her head. “But I want you to keep me with you.” His eyes are such dark pools. She swallows, grasps for something lighter. “Think of it as an anniversary gift. Ten years to the occasion you first pretended to see Barry Manilow in my house.”

Fervently, James says, “Next year I’ll bring Barry here myself, I swear to God.”

Lily tips her head back and laughs. It hits her all over again, that she loves him.

[…]

She feels a shiver run through her and smiles, flicking open the button on his shorts. “So, you know I’m going to see you again.”

His gaze softens. He pushes up his specs, still balanced on his elbows to look at her. “I know I’m not letting you go.”

And of course the iconic:

yes i am writing a quick oneshot of the rest of the day before james goes back to malta, no it will NOT be 40k words thanks

xoxo quibblah

👀

HA. Love you suze 😘 

(also maybe I’ll do this for IWEP on its 2 month anniversary, because we know I still haven’t gotten over ‘you’re my best friend’. like. At all. Still haunts my dreams).

the original draft of this post was basicallly just: hey suze you fucked me up answer for ur crimes.

so...

hey suze you fucked me up answer for ur crimes.

(tldr: if you haven’t read IWNMA READ IT and in conclusion we stan suze in this house)

❤️❤️❤️

[evotter]

jan, march, sept + one of your choice, love. have a great day, u icon

thank u kyra i adore u

january: what was the first fic you posted this year?

the first fic i posted this year TECHNICALLY was the epilogue of a different path. the first standalone was chewbacca (aka my introduction to the jily world once again and i have such a soft spot for it)

march: do you listen to music whilst writing? 

yes! pretty much always; if it’s not music, it’s a TV show.

september: share a comment or review which still warms your heart?

quite literally anything you’ve left on any of my fics BUT there are a few that i hold dear to my heart. i’ll post them under the cut cause they are LONG :’)

ancient: the first fic you ever posted online?

hahahaaaaaaa. it was my own version of rick riordan’s the son of neptune before the actual book was published. it was on ff.net, and the first chapter got 7 reviews, and i felt so good about myself after that lmfao. who knew i’d still be writing 8 years later?

ask me questions!

OKAY so i have 3 top favorites:

from a different path:

okay so i had seen this in someone else’s bookmarks the other day, thought it was an interesting concept—especially since i too love slytherin!percy and strongly subscribe to ofswordsandpens’ headcanons about it—but didn’t give it another thought until i was listening to a video about the cursed child and went: wait, there’s a percabeth hogwarts au that i saw somewhere. and immediately i hunted this down and i’m just in awe? i tore through it. belatedly, i realized that i made a mistake: i didn’t write down my thoughts as i was reading, which is definitely a disservice to you. however, here are a generalized list of things that i loved.

first of all, with hogwarts au’s, there are three main aspects that i look for: plot, characterization, and quality of writing. normally, fics of this size lack one or more of these key factors, but i was astonished to find that the plot is tremendously tight and intriguing (my lip bled from biting it so much because i’ve been stressed to the max), you write these characters with such distinct voices i can easily picture them saying everything—except, of course, now in a little british accent—and your writing flows so well, it feels almost like i’m reading an actual harry potter book, just with percy and co. you also do a masterful job of weaving together aspects of the pjo universe with the established canon of hp.

and there are so many specific things that i love. primarily, the way you write the relationships in this story; not just concerning percabeth (though i will get to that in a minute), but also with each of the interactions between all of the characters. i applaud you for how you handled luke/annabeth and rachel/percy, and the friendship among them all is just incredibly well done. i especially love how well you wrote connor and zoë and just, a lot of characters that i don’t often think about when i think of pjo. grover and percy’s friendship especially is heartbreaking, i just. he’s so protective because he loves his friends and holy fuck i also love how you wrote grover in this. but i just adored how you wrote annabeth/percy—the love between them, both platonic in its early stages and the romantic all throughout, was doubly apparent. i ached when they kissed each other’s cheeks, and i inwardly cheered when she kissed him in the locker room. there was just such a natural progression, to me, of their relationship. and man did i dig it. i’m excited (and maybe a little scared) to see where you take their relationship in the future.

boy, this is getting long. sorry. but some more just little quick things: loved the b99 reference, with both of their competitive natures playing out in a similar way to jake and amy’s. i kind of want to go back and see if i can find any other references that i missed because i was just too engaged in the story to catch them. also, zoë’s death killed me all over again, thanks for that. i like how you’re working the kronos plot in, and i can’t wait to see how the Final Battle plays out. what else? oh! professor hestia? beautiful. eventual maybe professor percy? outstanding. percy kissing the top of annabeth’s head? breathtaking. rachel being a quidditch commentator? earth shattering. (truly i cackled when i saw that.) mrs. o’leary being a cat? incredible. how you incorporated percy’s water powers? stunning.

ooh, this exchange was beautiful and had me cackling it was so in-character:

“None of us are dying.” Connor clarifies. “Not you, not me, not Annie, not the rest of us.”

“I might have to dispute that.” Annabeth says, from Percy’s other side. “Call me ‘Annie’ one more time, Stoll, and I’ll kill you myself.”

Connor only grins at her. “Sorry, love. No more ‘Annie’. Can I call you Beth?”

“No.”

“Anna?”

“No.”

okay, so i just finished chapter nine and i am blown away. sorry for how long this comment was, but a fic of this magnitude truly warrants it. i can’t wait to see what happens next.

i leave you with just two words: “holy shit.”

from a different path: 

god, oh my god, am i the only dumb bitch who didn’t get what the prophecy was??

anyway, i stumbled on this fic last year, patiently waiting for its completion, and now that i’ve rediscovered it, i’m so glad i finished it all in one go! i couldn’t imagine the tension of waiting for the next chapter, especially since the tension is so well-crafted!! i hardly noticed the tonal shift even as the story got darker and darker as it led up to the war, and in that way i was reminded of how extremely similar it felt to reading the hp books for the first time! you nailed percy very well i might say, and the awkward-yet-caring relationship he has with his dad. i daresay you gave connor and zoe more characterization than rick riordan himself, and the percabeth you wrote is perfect to the nth degree. i appreciate that you didnt bother with all the love triangle and unrequited feelings nonsense as well.

but i have to say, even as i cried at sally and paul’s wedding, or at dionysus’ quiet mourning for castor, what really struck with me most was the way you handled silena. for that, i have no words. that was a job extremely well done. thank you so much for blessing us with this fic.

from chewbacca (a comment from u!): 

A girl in a bright yellow hooded raincoat stumbles into the cafe on one of the slowest nights James has ever seen. Her coat is dripping all over the floor he’d just cleaned (but it’s fine) and when he leans over the counter he sees that her boots match the coat.

First of all!!! Thats the best opening line in the world and nobody can convince me otherwise. I want to become a publisher just so that if you ever write a book, I’d be able to publish it. ( like omg, what an honor??? )

She looks like sunshine, standing there with the amount of yellow in her wardrobe. Briefly, James wonders if that’s her favorite color. It’s got to be.

Im going to quote this whole fic but I really love these lines? Like, you have this distinct style of writiting that I aim to acheive and you’re literally such a rolemodel!!! These are my favorite kind of fics to read. Funny story but I was going through a ‘no thanks Jily’ mood (  a horror, i know !! ) but your fics are just,,,,exceptions? You could write about trash and I’d love it and ask for you to sign me up.

 “Say it again, but convincingly this time.”

ooof this dialogue??? let me breathe

This is the longest he’s stood still since he started working. It’s actually a miracle.

and the funniest person award goes to YOU. also, the most talented and cutest but thats neither here nor there.

james taking care of fleamont, switching off the lights gives me just a nice and realistic vibe? its so simple but i love how you added it.

honestly at this point, ive been sucked again by the fanfic. it feels less like a fic and more like a masterpiece that belongs in a museum but anyway.

“James is supposed to be helping.

James is on his phone.”

ugh i love ur mind. im rereading and its so nice and lovely. even if its like 1am and im exhausted, this fic is sustaining me.

“Do it off the clock, would you?”

PEAK HUMOR

have i mentioned how much i love that scene with euphemia? she seems like such a lovely mom. i love ur euphemia the most. and ahh, both of them just rushing to the hospital ? another 100% good scene.

“Euphemia smiles too, but looks at Fleamont rather than at her son. “Yes,” she says. “It really does.””

fic? or shakspeare? HMMM

A girl in a bright yellow hooded raincoat stumbles into the cafe on one of the slowest nights James has ever seen // “Get fucked.”

the fic!! has made a circle!!! i love how it begins and ends along the same lines. I really want to know how??? are you so talented im in love.

i just really love this fic, okay? i love how james is just the kindest, lily is allowed to have feelings, its just so soft and warm. and it makes someone feel loved, want love anyway.

the dynamic between the characters are just so real and great and im astounded, in short.

your sirius is everything. so many fics potray him as a dick??? which is first of all #rude and also, not at all true. you made me love these characters even more so i sincerely hope you never stop writing.

you’re such a beautiful writer and the way you string words together is just poetic and gorgeous and all the other good adjectives you can think of. i read your spiderman x reader too and i was a goner for you. EVERYTHING YOU WRITE IS SO GOOD. i read it so long ago but i can vividly remember peter whipping the mask off and she just going wtf stop on the window ledge. what im trying to say is that you leave this lasting impression on people that make them remember random scenes and words / prose long after they’ve read it which is a remarkable feat, i believe.

and im so sorry im not on tumblr rn bc i cannot keep recing this fic but i have told my friends about your writing and they loved it too. you’ve got like a million fans. when i do get back from my hiatus, im going to keep recing your fics and people will cry because their universe will shift thanks to the newfound joy of your presence in their life.

lastly, im more of a dog person and that, more than anything, should tell you how much i love this fic. i love u. and basee on your writing, i want to hug you, be your best friend and make you cookies bc again

WOW