#must not reread now you just reread this 2 weeks ago

[bellaroles]

And I was just rewatching Thousand Autumn donghua again and also trying very hard not to Reread!

[justjams2003]

I’ll take care of you

Okay so, the person who requested this, asked for it like 2 weeks ago I think. I feel so bad for making them wait for so long TT. I do have several excuses of course but I don’t think that they’d like to hear them. Also I like finished writing it and then I reread the requist and I did like half of it wrong so then I redid it. Um so yeah, sorry for making you wait. I hope it is what you wanted, made the wait worth it :)

Pairing: Le Chiffre x reader

Summary: Your gambling father actually won a poker match against Le Chiffre himself. In a bout of anger, Le Chiffre makes sure to get his revenge

Warnings: Non-con, kidnapping, mood swings, blood tears, praising, degrading, p in v, tell me if I missed any

Word count: 2,4k

Gambling is a dangerous game. And you're a beautiful girl. One almost everyone sought after. Your father would bring you to his poker matches, he'd call you his secret weapon. It made you uncomfortable, but he's a scoundrel. Someone who begs and grovels and will look for the fastest way possible to make a quick buck.  

Most of the time, it worked. He'd ask you to wear your most revealing dress and when you walked in the room, he'd be able to figure out what his opponents tell. It's just plain dirty and low of him. Using his own daughter like that. He doesn't care though; he made his money.  

However, this isn't most of the time. Your father has got himself into quite the trouble this time. Somehow, he'd landed a gambling match with Le Chiffre himself. Of course, others are there but that doesn't really matter too much.  

This is your dear old dad's last buy in, and he's racked up quite the debt. It's only him, Le Chiffre and one other. He feels like he's sweating like nothing before. The Albanian man's stare is like a laser cutting through his bones. Finding all the little secrets and knowing exactly what his cards are. He's 3 million in debt to him already. If he loses this round, it's another 3.  

Now's the time, like you've rehearsed so many times. Your dress has a slit running all the way up to your hip, exposing skin and leaving the imagination excited. Your back is entirely open, and your front fabric is held up by barely a few strings.  

Your hips away as you walk in, and you grab a champagne from the first waiter you can find. You go over and whisper something in your dad's ear. Something unimportant, what is important is that Le Chiffre seems to lock his jaw. His eyes roam every part of your body.  

You feel hot, you never do, this is normal to you. But the way the scar on his eyes gives him this aura of danger that makes you slick. Not to mention his eyes don't even bother to look at your cleavage. They stare into your soul, grasping you and begging you to come just a little closer.  

No, you mustn't. You must stay true to your father. He does all this for you, yes? Or at least that is what you tell yourself. You sit down, crossing your legs and making sure your slit shows off as much as your leg as you can.  

The game goes on. It doesn't look like this distraction tactic has worked much. Your dad looks to be bleeding chips, he still has no clue what Le Chiffre’s tell is and the other man has already given up. Even winning though, the Albanian man still is pouring his heat onto you.  

Your father is down to his last few thousand. His leg is bouncing, and sweat is pouring from him. “I can smell you,” Le Chiffre leans over and whispers to him. Trying to save him just an ounce of his dignity. “I tell you what. You lose this and I’ll let you keep 3 million.”  

Your only parental figure lets out a huge sigh, “Thank you, thank you so much.” He’s practically praising the man for his kindness, Le Chiffre himself. “But I have a condition.” He continues but unfortunately at that point you couldn’t hear much else.  

Annoyingly the waiter kept bothering you and by the time you shoe’d him off, your father called you over. You thought this was another tactic of his. You saunter over, making sure to accentuate your hips. “My dear how old are you?” He asks, caressing your arm.  

You give your best most innocent smile, “I just turned 18,” you flutter your eyelashes at the older men. He seemed to swallow his breathe there and then. His eyes avoid you, everyone, they’re glued to the floor. “Well then.” He bites his lip and again he sighs.  

Then he waves his hand over to Le Chiffre, “You belong to this man now.” Your eyebrows furrow and air escapes from your mouth in disbelief. “Belong to him?” You scoff again and look from your father, then to the other Albanian man and then back to dad.  

“Yes, I’ve sold you to get rid of the debt I’ve racked up.” He explains still not being able to look you or his opponent in the eyes. The man, whom you’ve seen for the first time this evening and honestly don’t even know the name to, gives a vicious smirk.  

There are no words that can even find their way out. That isn’t legal, is it? Though, none of this is legal in any case. If you were to go to the police, you’ll most definitely be killed. By any of these men, they’re all rich by some degree and the fact that your father even found himself here is a miracle.  

Though now it’s turning into a nightmare. Le Chiffre calls for the dealer that he’d like the cards to be shown. You hold your breath. This one moment defines it the rest of your life now. “Mr. Black wins.” Your heart races as your father throws out a matching three eights and Le Chiffre has nothing.  

You two both jump up in joy, showing more emotion than anyone else in that room probably ever has. You give the man a smirk, who’s name you still don’t know. “Sorry mister, whatever your name is, looks like I’m staying all by myself.” You give him a smirk and you and your dad walk off to celebrate.

It’s the middle of the night and suddenly you can’t breathe. You can taste the dirty rag being pressed against your mouth. Even with open eyes you can’t see. You struggle but its big strong hands picking up. You can’t scream, you can’t see with the sack over your head.

Though soon enough it’s pulled off your head. The room has little light, and it definitely helps with the senses. There is no need for light though, the man with the scar over his eye is right in front of you. His bodyguards, presumably the people who stole you from your bed, scatter.  

“You.” You narrow your eyes at him, the ropes burn your wrist. You feel exposed, your pyjamas don’t really count much considering it’s only your panties and a tiny, cropped tank top. You clench your legs trying to hide yourself at least just a bit.  

“You lost. I’m not yours to own.” You almost bare your teeth at him, though you feel that might just anger him. He scoffs at this. “This is what you believe. But I saw you and you are mine. That is something that neither of us will question.”  

He commands, stepping closer to you. He crouches down in front of you, his hand lands on your thigh. He bends over, his nose grazes your inner thigh making his way up to your stomach with a deep breath in. “You want it though; I can smell it.”  

He smirks, it might just be true, his touch does things to you, his gaze but this is too much. Far too much and you feel uncomfortable, and you just want it to stop already. “No, no, it’s not true.” You shake your head and bite your lip to keep the tears at bay.  

He coos at you; his other hand takes your chin in between his fingers to look you in the eyes. “You do want it, you showed me with your eyes. You were more than eager, practically jumping out of that little dress of yours.” He licks his lips thinking back to it.  

“No, please, I-I was just flirting, my dad asked me to.” You beg him, shaking your head as the tears begin to fall. His hand begins to creep higher up your thigh. “Why would want to stay with a man like him? He shushes, wiping the tears off.  

He goes behind the chair and unties your ropes. You try to fight back but already he has your hands in a tight grip. “No don’t fight.” You don’t listen of course and throw your limbs around. “I said not to fight, I will tie you back up, do not test me.” He commands, your hands burn from his constraint.  

A sob racks through your body and you give into the pain. “Such a good girl, so good,” it doesn’t help, obviously. You’re not sure why he thinks it would. His hands find their way to your waist, what you don’t expect is for him to pick you up.  

He places you, even if gingerly, on the bed. His tongue is up and down your neck, sucking here and there only causing more tears to flow from you. “I’m saving you. He didn’t care. I fucking care. Just fucking accept it.” He grunts out.  

Then suddenly his mood changes again. “I’ll take care of you.” Now he’s soft and sweet again. He grasps you by the neck and forced his lips onto you. And when you refuse to kiss back, he grips your neck tighter to the point that it begins to burn.  

That doesn’t part doesn’t break you though, it’s when you begin to feel your lungs burn as well. He does go up to breathe but even then, his hand around your throat is so tight, no air seems to enter your lungs. And finally, when he presses up against you, you give in.

“See? Doesn’t that feel good?” He smirks and nods and when you return the kiss again, he grinds his tight bulge against your crotch. Even if he has his hand wrapped around your throat, you can’t help but feel good. Your panties are wet, after all just earlier you did want to jump on him.  

Your body moves without thought. Shoving yourself closer to him, to get more of that friction he’s craving as well. He groans out when you do this, letting go of your lips, still tasting your spit in his mouth.  

He stands up, you think this is it. He’s letting you go. That’s all he wanted. Yet when he unbuttons his shirt, throwing it over your shoulder, you know it’s not true. You don’t know what to do, what to say. You scootch yourself up to the furthest point on the bed away from him.  

You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to cover what rest of you that you have left. Though soon enough his pants and underwear drop. Showing his massive cock spring out. Already it’s oozing, he’s getting off on your shivering form.  

He grasps his dick, giving it a few pumps. His eyes, half lid, look straight into yours. Again, it seems like he’s into your soul, he’s filled with lust. It feels as though he’s fucking you already. You look away, you feel yourself pulsing. You can hear him chuckle at this reaction you have.  

You hear the drawer open, and your curiosity gets the best of you. You glance over just to be met with a knife in his hand. “No, no wait, please,” you begin to beg already. Only thoughts of the violent things he might do to you run through your mind.  

He coos at you and climbs on the bed again. You begin to thrash and scramble but he grabs you by the ankle. He pulls you closer with such force that you’re laying down again. “Stop it, little girl. You were so good just now.”  

He prods the knife against your neck. You gulp and nod, if you’re good he seems to be nicer. You nod, “I’ll be good, sir,” it’s almost ironic that you still don’t know his name. He hums and nods, “I like the sound of that.” He smirks and again he sucks on your neck.  

Then he grabs the small straps of your shirt and cuts them off. Then shreds your shirt up, doing the same with your panties. You gasp at the cold metal. Fear laces your body every time the edge comes closer to your flesh.  

He hums again, “Your skin is so soft.” You curse your body as your thighs clench together and your cheeks get dusted with blush. His eyes flick down to your bare pussy. He grabs your legs, right by your bum. Already lining himself up with your throbbing hole.  

He doesn’t even bother to prepare me beforehand. He shoves right into you, you scream out, his size is just plain uncomfortable to begin with. He begins thrusting already, not even allowing time for you to adjust. He groans in your ears.  

Holding your legs right up against his pelvic bone, making sure he’s all the way inside you. His lips attach themselves to any part of you he can find. He moves from your one nipple to the other. Unable to be able to keep his lips off you.  

You can feel him inside you. His every grove and vein pressing as far as possible inside you. Your bodies are so tightly pressed up against each other, each thrust causes so much friction. Right up against your clit.  

You can’t help but start to beg for more. “Please, please sir,” it just slips right out of your mouth. You’re bright red, and Le Chiffre gives a wicked smirk. “Please, what?” He asks, thrusting into over and over making it almost impossible to say something.  

Though he’s going with such a force that soon enough he’s groaning and moaning in your ear. You can feel his hot and heavy seed mixing deep inside your body. You can see his muscles strain. And in the moment of pleasure and heat of his body, you feel your stomach tighten.  

And on those last few pumps there is a release in your whole body. He rides out his high and you can feel his gaze on your shivering body. “You’re mine, yes?” He nods, guiding you to say yes.  

After the exhaustion you see a single drop of red flow down his cheek. He slaps your ass, making sure you reply. To be honest, you’re in such awe, shock and exhaustion that the only reply you have is a meagre nod.  

[gumnut-logic]

Alexander Sweetapple and the Volcanic Island (Part 2)

Sweetapple Series Alexander Sweetapple and the Volcanic Island - Part 1 | Part 2

This one was actually written a while ago, but it wasn't working, so I finally sat down tonight and ironed it out a bit better. Well, I hope it's better because it hasn't been read by anyone and it is nearly midnight here.

Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight for the original reread which needed the editing and partial re-write ::hugs tight:: and also to @womble1 for writing part one and being a wonderful support for this series.

Also to all of you who have given your time to support Mr Sweetapple. With out you guys, he would not be the person he is.

The first bit of this might seem familiar as I posted it as a WIP Wednesday at some point, probably on the wrong day of the week.

Again, this is male/male romance, so if that isn't your thing, this isn't your fic.

I hope you enjoy these 2200-odd words.

-o-o-o-

“This is the Comms Room.”

Virgil put a gentle hand on Alex’s lower back to direct him out of the elevator and around a corner.

“This is where we brief and debrief missions.”

The room was huge. Massive glass doors opened onto a triangular balcony giving a fantastic view of the Island’s caldera.

Alex frowned at the glass doors, which were also triangular. He could see the track in the floor that they obviously followed to slide open and closed, but due to their triangular shape they wouldn’t be able to open on a straight plain. The glass must retreat down into the wooden floor somehow.

He built possible solutions in his head, throwing out unsatisfactory calculations, one after the other.

“Alex?”

“Huh?”

Virgil was frowning at him and Alex realised he was several steps closer to the doors than he had been…and standing in the middle of the room building door designs in his head.

“I’m okay.” Maybe a little stunned by…well, everything…but okay. Maybe he was just grasping at the familiar?

That hand appeared in the small of his back again.

He quite liked it being there.

“This is my brother John.”

Startled, Alex turned and came face to face with the one Tracy brother he had yet to meet. Red hair, blue and gold uniform…

“Hello, Alex. It is very nice to finally meet you.” Mr John Tracy held out a hand.

Oh, wow. “You’re the Voice Who Answers?”

“Yes.”

“The Eye in the Sky?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Thunderbird Five!” Oh my god!

“That would be me.”

Alex turned to Virgil. “This is amazing! I knew he was real! I knew it!”

Virgil had a very odd expression on his face.

Alex would analyse that later because he was talking to Thunderbird Five! He turned back to John to find a smirk on the man’s face.

“The rumours of my non-existence have been greatly exaggerated.”

A laugh burst out of Alex.

Now Virgil was frowning at him.

“Well, it looks like you’ve been out-classed this time, Virgil.” Mr Scott Tracy, no hologram required, appeared from behind the grinning astronaut, one arm resting across John’s shoulders, with a smile all of his own.

Alex’s eyes widened as he realised exactly what he had been saying, how it might appear, and, oh god, what had he done?!

It was only the soft hand at the small off his back that held him in place. The hand that slipped further around him and drew him gently closer to Virgil.

That soft and deep voice. “I’m not worried. John lives to be mysterious.”

“Hey!”

“What? Admit it, you love living on a super-secret space station.” Virgil’s arm was very warm.

“Yeah, but-“

Scott Tracy rolled his eyes in such a goofy manner, Alex was questioning if he was actually the same professional super god he had always thought him to be. “Face it, Johnny, he’s got you there.”

“Don’t call me ‘Johnny’.”

Scott squeezed him gently. “You’ll always be Johnny to me. Especially when you think I don’t know about half the things you get up to up there.”

John frowned. “What?”

But Scott was nodding. “Yes, I do know about the discos and the light displays.” He tapped his nose. “A little bird told me.”

“Well, the little bird and I will be having words later.”

Virgil half whispered in Alex’s ear. “Scott is toast.”

Commanding blue eyes were darting between two brothers. “In any case, welcome to Tracy Island, Alex.”

“Uh, thank you. Uh, for having me…and mum.”

His mother was off somewhere with Mrs Tracy. The two of them appeared to be embarking on a friendship that had Alex just a little terrified.

Mr Tracy’s eyes darted ever so slightly in Virgil’s direction before returning to Alex. “You are most definitely welcome.”

-o-o-o-

Mr Tracy and John excused themselves after that and retreated to a desk on the far side of the room.

Virgil returned his hand to Alex’s back and led him down into the sunken lounge, offering him a seat.

“Sorry about that.” Alex wanted to crawl under the couch cushions.

“About what? John?”

Alex nodded.

Virgil snorted. “You made his day. Living in space is his preferred place but out of sight is out of mind and sometimes he can be forgotten.” A sigh and Virgil looked over at his red-haired brother. “It doesn’t hurt to remind him of how valued he is.”

“He lives up there?”

Dark eyes turned back to him. “Yeah.” His voice was wistful and Alex received the distinct impression that Virgil preferred John stay on terra firma.

“You don’t like him being up there?”

“I like it that he’s happy.”

Alex reached over and slipped his hand into Virgil’s, interlacing his strong fingers with his own and squeezing just a little.

Virgil looked at him and smiled, leaning towards Alex, enough for their shoulders and arms to touch.

For a moment, it was very, very nice.

But then Virgil looked down and frowned “Alex, there’s something you need to know.”

Alex immediately backed off. “I’m sorry-“

Virgil’s eyes widened. “No. No, this…” He held up their clasped hands, not letting Alex pull away. “…this, is wonderful.” He reached out with his other hand and nudged Alex closer, drawing their foreheads together gently. “Trust me on that.”

A blush rose in Alex’s cheeks. “Okay.” It would take some getting used to.

Though that hand on the back of his neck teasing the short hairs at the base of his skull - that he could really get used to.

It was very distracting.

“Alex, I need to tell you about Māhia.”

His heart stopped.

“What about Māhia?”

“We took some damage in the earthquake.”

Alex pulled away. “What? Are they okay?”

The hand moved to Alex’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “They’re fine. Everyone is fine. There were a few minor injuries, but everyone is safe.”

“What happened?”

“One of our buildings collapsed-“

“Which one? Who was hurt?”

“The main lab building, but everyone is okay.”

His heart was racing. “Erica?”

“Scott pulled her out. Some bruising and a broken arm.”

He let out a breath. Thank god. “She kicked me out. Said I should go to Gisborne with my mother for lunch.”

“We know. Scott may want to talk to you about updating your location when leaving the premises.”

There was something in Virgil’s eyes. “Oh god, you thought I was in a collapsed building?” A ragged breath. “I’m so sorry, I-“

“Alex, it’s okay. It was an error. We will learn from the error.” The ghost of a smile. “You were in a collapsed building. Just not that one.”

And Virgil had been looking for him. Alex reached up and brushed the hair above Virgil’s ear, cupping the side of his face. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s done. You’re safe, and that’s all that matters.” But Virgil was leaning into his hand.

Alex reached out and drew him into a full-on hug. “I am sorry, Virgil.”

Those strong arms wrapped around Alex and for a moment everything was perfect again.

But his thoughts fell back to Māhia.

As if reading his mind, Virgil pulled away and caught his eyes. “We can contact Erica, if you like?”

Alex nodded. Virgil turned towards his two brothers over by the desk. The two brothers Alex had forgotten were in the room.

With this amount of repeated blushing, his circulation system was getting a good workout.

John nodded when Virgil asked him to put them in contact with Erica. And Alex was immediately distracted by the pink head of hair that sprung up in the centre of the lounge.

The head spun in his direction. “Alex! Oh, thank god! Are you okay? Oh! Of course, you’re okay, because I saw you and…Oh! Hi, Virgil!” A knowing smile spread across her face. “Congratulations, I hope.”

Alex stared at her. “What? How do you-? Are you okay? Virgil said you were hurt?”

She waved an arm in plaster and Alex’s eyes widened. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. But you, I hear there have been developments.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

Alex felt the blush to end all blushes creep up from his toes, conquer his face and take on his hair follicles. No doubt his hair was as red as that of Thunderbird Five.

Thunderbird Five!

Wait…

“What did you hear, Erry?”

“Hear, saw, it’s everywhere. You two are the talk of the planet. Virgil, you know how to kiss a boy. I’m almost jealous.” There was admiration in her eyes.

“Erica!” It was impossible to be more embarrassed.

“What? Check the nets. You can’t tell me the sight of you two reuniting during a major disaster, like that, doesn’t pull the heart strings. I had tears of joy in my eyes, really. Fred had to get me a tissue.”

“Fred?”

“Oh, um, yeah, he’s been helping me.” She looked away a moment, then held up her injured arm. “You know, with this.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Anyway, this isn’t about me, it’s about you and your torrid love affair with a Thunderbird.”

“What?” This time it was Virgil with the outrage.

Erica immediately backed off. “Sorry, Mr Tracy.” But her trepidation didn’t last long. “Just stirring his pot. He needs regular agitation or he petrifies.”

Alex glared at her.

She sobered. “Honestly, Sweet-pie, I’m really happy for you. Happy that you’re safe, and happy that…well, you know.”

Alex looked at his feet and shifted where he sat. Erica might niggle and nag him, but she really did do it all from a kind heart. “Thank you, Erry. I’m glad you are safe, too.”

“Erica?” Mr Tracy stepped down into the lounge. “I hope you and your team are following the media blackout protocol on this matter.”

Erica stared at him for a solid moment.

Uh-oh.

“Mr Tracy, how could you think that our team would ever let Alex down like that! Our lips are sealed. We at Tracy Industries save people, not throw them to the wolves.” A pair of pink eyebrows frowned fit to get themselves unemployed.

“Erica-“

Mr Tracy held up a hand. “It’s okay, Alex.” He turned back to the outraged mass of holographic pink hair. “I’m glad to hear that we are on the same page, Ms Stoltz.”

She straightened a little more in her hologram. “Always, Mr Tracy. You can depend on us.”

“I know. Thank you, Erica.” Mr Tracy turned to look at Alex as if to ask something, but didn’t say anything, He turned back to Erica. “You take the time you need to heal. We will welcome you back when you are ready.”

She nodded before eyeing Alex again. “Sweet-pie, let him look after you. You say you’re okay, but I’ve seen less shades of red and white on a barber’s pole.”

“Erry-“

“He’s under our care, Erica. We’re keeping an eye on him.” Virgil’s arm tightened around him a little more.

“Good. We need him in one piece to finish the Siliwrap project. Now we have to dig most of it out from under the remains of the labs…” Her eyes widened, targeting Virgil. “You did tell him, didn’t you?”

“I know about the labs, Erry.” It hadn’t really sunk in. Thank goodness for automatic backups. Whoever had designed the Tracy Industries computer network deserved an award.

“Don’t you worry, Sweet-pie. Fred has recovery underway. At this rate we’ll have new labs before you make it back.” Her smile returned and targeted Virgil, obvious in the hint that Alex’s stay would be prolonged.

“That’s good to hear, Erica.” Virgil’s tone was polite and perhaps a little amused. “We will keep in touch. Get better soon. Tracy Island out.”

And she was gone

The room seemed suddenly so quiet in her absence. But then he realised that both Mr Tracy and John were no longer in the room either. Where did they go?

“She cares very much about you.”

Huh? “Erry? Yeah, she’s a bit of a lifesaver.”

“I can see that.” Virgil was smiling.

Alex found himself smiling too. But then…

“She said we were on the nets.”

Virgil’s smile disappeared. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

“About what?”

A sigh and Virgil pulled away a bit, reaching for a remote control. He fiddled for a moment and a scene flickered up where Erica had been moments before.

A holographic Virgil was walking across devastated ground, beelining for a holographic version of Alex, who hadn’t noticed his approach.

The expression on holographic Virgil’s face was pure shock.

Alex’s twin caught sight of him. The joy on his own face was a thing from fairytales or the latest romcom.

And then they were kissing.

Wow. Erica hadn’t been wrong. They hadn’t held back.

It was enough to get him hot under his collar.

Virgil was still holding his hand and squeezed gently.

“There are various versions online. This is one of the better ones. We’re working on curtailing its spread, but it has escaped containment. John’s on it, but for the moment, we’re trending.” There was apology in those dark eyes.

Alex turned back to the holoprojector where another version of ‘The Thunderbird Kiss’ began playing. Comments were scrolling past the image, along with the number of likes still climbing despite already being in the millions.

Oh, hell.

-o-o-o-

TBC?

[sugar-omi]

I started writing a Cove x reader for my birthday but I don't have the motivation to finish it, any advice?

honest advice: give yourself the time, and most of all, give yourself the grace for not feeling like finishing it.

there's nothing wrong with you for not having the motivation to finish it, and you do not have to force yourself because if you force it, there's between a 50-60% chance you might not like it or only find it decent.

if you force it, or view it as a job that must be done and done quickly, writing becomes a chore and you lose the joy in it.

advice on how to find some motivation? listen to music that inspires you or relates to the theme n stuff about the fic you're writing. depending on how much music inspires you, it can at least get you to write a sentence

what I do a lot, is i read other fanfic. usually jjk because the writers over there are fuckin masterful, but read some including one of the tags for your fic.

honestly, though. just give yourself the time and grace. another thing, inspiration is a feeling, it's not a sign that you're able to write. so you may not feel motivated, but surprisingly, I've written my best work when I wasn't inspired.

so even if you write, maybe you'll end up rewriting it! that's usually how it ends up for me. I write, hate it, and end up rewriting it either entirely (cough, day 2 for example..) or rewriting one part of it.

conclusion.. don't view your lack of motivation as this looming wall you have to climb, because that makes it more daunting and (seemingly) impossible to overcome.

you are in still-water, but even if the waves of motivation are not crashing, you are still moving.

if you just write. and get past the part that has you stuck, you realize it wasn't that bad. the entire piece doesn't have to be Shakespeare, if that's something you worry about because that's usually what stumps me in the middle of a fic.

it just has to flow. and the river does not run if you do not write it. if you don't try, there is no river at all.

just do your best, sometimes, what you write now is your best but if you reread it later and know you can do better, do it! (like I wrote day 1 weeks ago, n i ended up rewriting it entirely... it happens.)

you got this, and i hope this was at least.. somewhat helpful. good luck with your fic, and happy birthday!!!! 🎉🎉🎉

[luffysprincess]

🎁 ˶˙ᵕ˙ )ﾉ AAAAAAAAMMMMMIIIIRRRAAAAAA!!!! there is so much i would love to say about you — so much so that my brain is already all scattered T T !!!! i’d like to eventually bring up your art ( i know so much time must go into practicing various aspects of it ?! and im always in awe at how lovely your art is !!! like this -> ✨ _ ✨ ahnsnskdk ) but i would also like to bring up how sweet you are ( i see!!! I SEE !!! the thoughtful comments you leave on your friend’s posts / reblogs !! AND MY OWN ?! i mentioned this in a comment on your rb, but you have such an eye for subtle details — you’re so observant and it makes everyone around you feel so seen, including me of course! ) YOUR SELFSHIPS AS WELL ( i would exceed the ask word count limit if i went into detail for each one, so i must mention that in each evie-imagining-amira’s-selfships brain chamber, every single one of your f/os is kissing your hand the way cyno did in that art!! T T they are all treating you as a princess - AS THEY SHOULD!!! i am quite literally imagining the scene right now … in my head … restoring the world’s balance … ) i will cut my love letter for you here, but — amira !! you are so loved and cherished. hehe … my main point was that i came to wish you a wonderful rest of your year !! ⭐️:>

EVIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!-&:$2&-@/8!!$ ILL ACTUALLY CRY THIS WAS THE SWEETEST CUTEST THING EVER

You sent this a week ago, and im finally responding now but everyday I’ve opened this ask up and reread it a whole bunch of times bc it truly was so damn sweet and heartwarming. You are such a beautiful beautiful soul, my dear evie. One of the most wholesome and thoughtful ppl.

You say that I’m observant, but I truly never noticed that about myself until you pointed it out for me!! You yourself are someone who always sees the little things. It’s like you inspect every work of your mooties with an eye glass and then shower them with words of praise for every inch of it. And from my experience, it is so very appreciated!!! You seem to always brighten my day, and I know everyone else thinks the same of you too.

Thank you for loving my art 🥹 I really have come a long way from when I started, and it’s ppl like you who motivate me to improve my artwork so thank you thank you thank youuuuuu. I feel the same way about your writing. I’ve only read a few pieces so far (I wanna check out more of your works soon!!) but what I’ve read so far is so so enjoyable. I especially love when you write for moze bc I picture you as reader and it’s like I’m getting a moevie tidbit!! I eat it up everytime!!!!

Aksjakakahajaja you think of me and my selfships 🥹🥹 one day I’ll draw them kissing my hand just for you hehe. Fr tho you are so sweet ilyyyy

Thank you for this sweet love letter. I wanna print it out and tape it to my forehead so I can read it all the time. You are truly one of the loveliest ppl I’ve ever met and I’m so glad I met you in the first place. I love you evieeeee. I’ve said it before but moze is truly one lucky man. I understand why he’s so enamored by you 🤭

[drgrlfriend]

Fic Writer's Showcase Game

I was tagged by @there-must-be-a-lock - thanks!

Rules: Go to your published works on AO3 and list the first fic you ever published there, the last fic you published, any fic that you wrote for a fandom/ship only once, your favorite fic you wrote in the fandom/ship that has the most works, the fic you wish more people read, the fic you agonized over the most, the fic that sprang fully formed from your mind without any effort, and a work you are proud of—for whatever reason. <3

First Fic: Full Circle

So, this is how I got into writing fanfic. Someone on a non-fandom message board I was on was a big fan of fanfiction, and I thought, "Wow, I haven't thought about fanfiction since my X-Files days! I wonder what it's like now?" I went to FFN (this was pre-AO3) and the top fandom was Pirates of the Caribbean, which I didn't know much about, and I think the second top was High School Musical, and the third was X-Men. So I read some X-Men stories, especially Wolverine/Rogue, and one of them was a very compelling story about pregnancy loss which ended with a very ambivalent ending -- basically, a phone ringing and you don't know if the character will pick up. My friends, I COULD NOT SLEEP. I had experienced a pregnancy loss in the prior year, and I *had* to write a happy ending to this story. In retrospect, it was the RUDEST thing but I was new to fandom and I didn't know anything. I wrote it in an email and then eventually sent it to the author like a cat dropping a dead mouse in her lap, and she was very kind and encouraged me to post it. And that was ::checks notes:: at least a decade ago. Yikes.

Last Fic:

Chrome-Plated Heart Technically a WIP but it's all completed and is just posting twice a week until it's done. A Winterhawk Marvel Pacific Rim AU.

One-Hit Fandom:

Hope

I am kind of a serial fandom monogamist and once I'm in a fandom I tend to linger for a few years, so I only have one one-off in the Cabin Pressure fandom and it's more of a ficlet. A little Douglas Richardson & Martin Crieff cutscene from St. Petersburg. I don't even know their portmanteau!

Favorite Fic in the Fandom with the Most Works:

Lucky in Love

Wow, I had to check but I'm actually now tied for fandoms -- Marvel and Teen Wolf both have 18 fics each. So, I'll go with Marvel, and Lucky in Love, my first Winterhawk fic. I think it's rare to write a fic and then not want to change much about it a few years down the road, but I still reread this one from time to time and I still really like it! Fic I Wish More People Read:

Quriosity

Hmmm. It seems greedy to say so because it got a great reception, both within the 00Q fandom and just objectively in terms of number of hits, etc., but I feel like there's not as much crossover between the Bond fandoms and others I'm in, so if there's one fic of mine I would encourage people to take a chance and try if they know me from Marvel or Teen Wolf fandoms it's this one. There's a lot of fics in my repertoire that have themes of touch starvation / touch aversion but this one is the mostest.

Fic I Agonized Over the Most:

Freedom's Reach

I'm tempted to say the current fic I'm writing (my selkie!Bucky MTH2022 fic) but I think that's just a tendency to think whatever you're writing now is putting up the hardest fight. Freedom's Reach is my Winterhawk historical AU (e.g. American Civil War era) with mail order bride, and I don't know what I was thinking to write 1.) Inherently uneven power dynamic, which is something I typically dislike 2.) In an era I know nothing about 3.) Requiring frequent misunderstandings which I typically dislike. My poor beta @kangofu-cb is a saint for all the whining and self-doubt she had to put up with as I wondered whether I was walking all those lines.

Fic that Sprang Fully Formed: For Everything There is a Season

So, Google tells me that the Four Seasons Total Landscaping debacle happened on November 7th, 2020, which means that within the week I had started posting this fic, and I'm pretty sure I wrote it in one evening. What can I say, I was inspired to think of ... Pierce ... and his ... Restore America's Glory supporters ... getting a pile of manure dumped on him. Go figure.

Proud of for Whatever Reason:

Pretty When You Cry

I am NOT good at writing short, capture-a-pivotal-moment-and-let-it-speak-for-itself fics. As the length of this post attests, I am a prototypical ADHD overexplainer. This fic managed to be short and sweet and intensely smutty but with all the feels somehow crammed in. And then, to overexplain, I had to do a second chapter from the other POV but I like how (to me at least) it doesn't feel repetitive or boring; it's the same events and dialogue but the internal narrative is so different it's still interesting. So, yeah, smutty little feels fic with Winterhawk failing a one-night-stand, check it out. I think between nox and lou most of the Winterhawk regulars already got tagged, so I'm tagging outside the fandom or people I haven't caught up with in awhile so, um ... @flamingo-queen-writes , @drunktuesdays , @pantstomatch, @shatteredhourglass, @1000-directions ... and anyone who wants to do this; I haven't been online for a bit so I'm sure I missed a bunch!

[belphegor1982]

1, 2, 3, 15, and 20!

Oooh, so many questions 🥰

1. How many words have you written this year?

Oh, I have no idea. I can tell you how many words I have published this year, which is 30,358, but written?? Counting the WIPs, including the one(s) I took from last year? No clue!

2. How many works did you publish this year?

A grand total of five 😅 (work. took a LOT of my time and spoons.) Actually if you look at my AO3 page it's 6, but one of them is a repost from FFnet of a Hogan's Heroes fic about D-Day (which I naturally published on AO3 on June 6th). Since I wrote it 10 years ago I don't count it in the works I published this year.

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

This year? Hmm. Maybe Something to Be Said For Curiosity? It's an E-rated fic whose final tag is "#no pining just friends being intimate and having fun about it". As much as I loathe the frankly acephobic thing of "oh these two are such good friends - they must have had sex at some point", the two characters featuring in this story have held hands, flirted, kissed each other and spooned in canon (their players have been best friends for over two decades and cheerfully call each other "husband" - there's 100% trust there). Honestly, it's not that big of a leap to imagine them exploring each other this way and having fun at some point. I hadn't written smut for a while, which is part of why I'm proud of this story!

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

The one I'm working on right now (or trying to ^^') and have been working on for the past... weeks? I don't know. I turned the whump wheel a while ago and got "high fever", got an idea/excuse for it, and what was supposed to be a self-indulgent maybe 2k word ficlet is turning out to be a 4-part behemoth with Plot Things and different PoVs. The worst part is that I've just reached the actual whump bit and I'm struggling with it, and also cannot seem to find a damn title!! Darnit :(

20. Which work of yours have you reread the most?

Generally speaking? Probably either Fairy Tales and Hokum or my One-Step, Two-Step, Waltz series. (side note: today at the supermarket I heard someone call "Salwa!" and instantly was thrust back 5 or 6 years ago when I was rereading and starting rewrites on FTaH, and after some research picked the name "Salwa" for Jonathan's and Evy's unnamed mother 💜) This year? Uhh... Probably a toss between Friends in Low Places and Sticks and Stones, two 6k words works that took me a long time to write. (Also I reread Friends in Low Places after the latest season of The Legend of Vox Machina came out, because one episode featured a situation very much like what happens just before the fic begins - Grog and Scanlan fall from a big height - but it ends... very differently in the cartoon ;___;)

Thank you!! 💜

[marietheran-archived]

LotR reread - book 1, chapter 0 - the (three!) Forewords

Note on the Text:

My, the textual history is complicated even taking into account just the works published in his lifetime.

Tolkien's publishers pampered him tho, letting him revise and revise the book again and again.

Mmm... I remember being very fascinated by all the mentions of the earlier versions as a child. Now, I know some of the information relied here by heart, but I miss the wonder

Yes, I was the sort of person who reads introductions even at ten years of age; I will admit I'm flipping through now, though.

Note on the 50th Anniversary Edition:

"Personally I have ceased to bother about those minor 'discrepancies', since if the genealogies and calendars etc. lack versimilitude it is in their general excessive accuracy: as compared with real annals and genealogies!" Apparently he had visibly not "ceased to bother", but it's still a helpful attitude to try out as concerns such minor slips in the legendarium.

Hmmm... I kind of get why "Dark Power", "Dark Lord" etc. instead of "dark power", "dark lord" buuut I'm still rendered uncomfortable by those capitalisations. My language does not capitalise "devil" and I'm likewise of the opinion that evil does not merit capital letters.

Foreword to the Second Edition:

Yes! LotR is "an account, as it were, of the end and passing away [of the older world] before it's beginning and middle had been told"

"Foresight had failed and there was no time for thought" - even when writing of his own life, Tolkien takes on an epic tone...

Just - the mention of Christopher being sent chapters of LotR when in the RAF and my recent learning that life expectancy for RAF pilots was measured in weeks :( How Tolkien must have felt...

^Just more evidence for my connection of "We shall laugh together yet" and "If you ever return to the lands of the living... laughing at old grief" but that's book 2

Allegory vs applicability!

"To be caught in youth by 1914 was a no less hideous experience than to be involved in 1939" - well, for Englishmen. But I have long ago realised that Western Europe views WW1 which gave us independence as a catastrophe near that of WW2, and possibly with some reason.

I thought to include the prologue with this post, but it seems it must be a separate one, because this one sprawled out very far.

[jennhoney]

I somehow yet again missed a call from my neurologist. He yet again called me himself. That’s wild for a specialist, I think? Everything is relatively fine. My tests keep coming back normal or close to normal. It’s just that my body isn’t working. I’m almost certain it’s not currently getting worse and it might actually be a tiny bit better very recently. So we decided to wait a month and touch base at the end of August. I have stuff to tell him but I think it can wait and I’m curious to see if I can get a little better in that time.

But I want to tell you and @songbirdstew about the building that my neurologist is in. I think it is a liminal space. Our town has a whole neighborhood called The Medical Quarter and it’s right next to downtown and, not to brag but, I’ve been to a lot of the hospitals and medical offices in the Quarter lately. A LOT. They are all pleasant, bustling, busy places. Except for the building my neurologist is in. This building is right in the middle of everything. It’s between two large hospitals and a ton of other medical buildings. To help paint the picture my cardiologist (and lots of other stuff) is in Med Pavilion 1 and my neurologist is across the street in Med Pavilion 2. But I can’t really tell you what medical Pavilion 2 looks like. I sat and stared out the window at it when they were stopping my heart at my stress test. It’s sort of tucked behind a Firestone. It must be taller than the Firestone but I cannot for the life of me picture it. I have a clear image of the parking ramp. There are always plenty of spaces very close to the door but that’s pretty common for Iowa. We’re a great place to park. Stepping into the building feels like stepping into a very nice, bigger on the inside, empty elevator. This could be explained by it being the overflow building, maybe they aren’t at capacity yet but they anticipate growth. We have a lot of old people. Anyway, this is the building where I was accidentally called back for a mental health check when I was actually there for bloodwork and they quickly realized had “the wrong Jennifer”. But the thing I may not have mentioned at the time was that I was sitting in a big empty waiting room. Not only was there not another Jennifer in there. There wasn’t another soul in there. Medical Pavilion 2 is also not in the MyChart system. Everything else that I’ve done seems to be. I don’t get any reminders about appointments I don’t have any way to verify appointments or reread appointment notes. When I do have to get bloodwork there it goes through some weird journey where they apparently walk it over to the main collection site, a few blocks away, and ask them to book an appointment for the blood they’ve already taken. I know this because once that happens I get a notification that I have a bloodwork appointment in like five minutes but it has already happened in the futurePast that is Medical Pavilion 2. Some such bloodwork came back over two weeks ago. I could see it in MyChart. But I knew something was wrong when I still hadn’t heard anything from the office last week. So I was talking to someone from the office and explained that I had read my report in MyChart and I was pretty sure it said I was normal but I wanted some confirmation from someone that knows what they are doing and she said, “I don’t see it. Did you say you read it in..” and she says a word that I assume is their system but I have never heard in my life and I swear was something like Morpheus or Excalibur. So just before 5 tonight I get a call from my neurologist and I miss it by a second. I keep my phone on mute almost all the time so that wouldn’t be weird except I think I was holding my phone (although not looking at it) and NOW I have a smartwatch that lights up and vibrates on on my wrist when I get calls and texts and I didn’t feel a thing. I only caught the light and motion on my wrist of the words Missed Call fading away. And in the voicemail message my neurologist apologizes for not hearing from him sooner he- “tried to leave a message” on my bloodwork results “but I don’t think it went through”.

So, if I vanish at the end of August for a little while I’m likely on a journey in the Fey realm or some shit.

[green-socks]

𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

thank you @blue-aconite for the tag! <3

tagging: anyone who sees this! someone play with me! god i never used to stress so much about who to tag and now i do, pls halp

1. how many works do you have on ao3? 41 2. what's your total ao3 word count? 94,217 3. what fandoms do you write for? currently (still) all about top gun, but there have been others and i have faith there will be others at some point again lol 4. top five fics by kudos

What Do Roosters Do? (hangster)

(Do You) Share My Affection (hangster)

Oh My God, They Weren't Roommates... (cymav)

I Want Your Daddy Too (hangmav)

Wine and Dine (icemav)

5. do you respond to comments? always! nothing i love more than getting to connect with people. 6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? i think that's So Much for Summer Love (Frankie Morales x reader) which was almost three years ago, wow. (ao3 link)

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? like 97% of my fics have a happy ending (like not even hopeful, just straight up happy) but uhhh i feel like the ending in Don't Turn Away (Bob x reader) has the best payoff and is the most uplifting one, maybe?

8. do you get hate on fics? no, which i am of course happy about! i'm a small drop in the ocean.

9. do you write smut? i do, usually it's when the Big Horny hits and i simply must write a oneshot of pwp.

10. craziest crossover? have i ever actually done a crossover?? not a proper one at least.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen? not that i'm aware of!

12. have you ever had a fic translated? not that i'm aware of!

13. have you ever co-written a fic before? i co-write fics every week with buddies in the DMs but no official co-writing project yet! though i have betas whose input i value greatly <3

14. all time favorite ship? icemav, gotta be the ship ever. there's probably some i'm forgetting rn tho..

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? oh, there is many, but perhaps the biggest regret i have is leaving my tangled AU What More Could I Ever Need (Benny Miller x reader) hanging.

16. what are your writing strengths? as evidenced by my top 5 kudos'd list, i'd say i'm alright with doing comedy (since they're all cracky oneshots)? i'm not the wittiest person out there, but i think i manage to make people smile, and that's really all i hope to achieve here.

17. what are your writing weaknesses? cutting corners and rushing through everything instead of taking my time and letting stuff build is one.

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language? if it's a language i don't speak myself, i will 100% get someone who does to check it over/write it for me. i've had beautiful experiences with collaborating on writing dialogue in spanish, for example! languages are my passion and i'd hate to disrespect a language by not giving it due diligence.

19. first fandom you wrote in? i wrote a harry potter fic in a notebook when i was like 11, but the first one i posted was triple frontier.

20. favorite fic you've written? gosh. i always say Bear With Me (Pero Tovar x reader) because i had such a good time writing it and i really am proud of it (okay i haven't reread it in a good long while so i hope that still stands lmao)! but i have a lot of love for those in my top 5 kudos list too, since i've reread them all multiple times and they still put a smile on my face.

[orchidsncrake]

and watch them fall

chapters 1, 2, 3, 4

pairing: joe goldberg/rhys montrose

rating: explicit (preemptive)

tags: au - canon divergence, s4 rewrite, obsession, strangers to lovers, POV Joe Goldberg, murder, bookstore owner Joe Goldberg, Rhys Montrose is a real person, developing relationship, slow build, eventual relationship, eventual smut, tags to be updated

word count: 6,640

chapter 5/?

ao3 link and fink under the break! :)

Joe might be cleaning in his sleep. Logically, he knows he isn’t – he doesn’t sleep enough to be this productive, anyway – but as he runs his fingers along the tops of his books, he can’t fathom any other explanation. After each, his finger comes away clean when it should be caked with dust. It’d be explicable if it were his contemporary literature, but his classics? It’s not often that he rereads Don Quixote – it’d been enough labor to get through it the first time. Joe drops his hands to his side and begrudgingly accepts that he must have left a window open, and a gust blew in… somehow cleaning the tops of all the books shoved into his wall-bound shelves. The TV mumbles on as he walks by it to the door to pick up his shoes, turning into words as he sits on the couch to slip them on.

“...50° and partially cloudy this fine Monday. It’s finally drying out in the heart of England, with those chilling gusts of wind slowing down to a gentle breeze just in time to save those remaining yellow maples. Later this week, we’re to expect some light passing showers with a possible thunderstorm on Friday – but don’t you worry because Saturday will be crisp and clear. Now, off to…”

At least the weather will be nice for Saturday, though Joe can’t tell if that’s good news. Accepting Rhys’ author feels like a fever dream now – something he’d done on impulse without any good reasoning. Yes, he’d like to see Rhys, but the rest? He’d realized after the fact that he hadn’t even asked for the guest list, and all he knows will be definitely attending is Roald and Phoebe. He had intended to leave it at that and learn how to appreciate the unknown, but, well, Instagram is far too easy to use, and who is he not to use the perfectly good tool put in front of him by the people themselves?

Researching Phoebe had been easy to the point that it had hardly counted as research. Everything Rhys had said about her was, unsurprisingly, true. Her Instagram posts that aren’t of her and an endlessly revolving group of friends (he saw a face repeat twice, maybe ) are promotions for a slew of charities, ranging from ending world hunger to introducing designer footwear to the impoverished youths of Yemen (that one is, admittedly, absurd, but Rhys said she was sweet, not particularly smart). Starting about a year and a half ago, Joe found her well-lit and  perfectly posed selfies accompanied by a soft-faced man with a smile that screamed ‘American.’ Following the tags, he’d stumbled upon one Adam Pratt, an American expat (point Joe) and son to a wealthy East Coast businessman. Naturally, he’d taken up a loose version of entrepreneurship, which, if the lack of actual products on his Instagram means anything, is more recreation than anything.

Joe had been surprised to find his neighbor Kate in Phoebe’s birthday post from last year, and yet, there she was. Clicking through a few years of posts, he’d consistently found Kate (Kate Galvin, to be thorough), leading him to conclude that they had to be something similar to best friends. Kate’s account is dry, but he shouldn’t have expected anything more from a woman with a French bob in London. He’d quickly given up on her, just for Phoebe to be his saving grace again with a memorial post for Malcolm and, lo and behold, there was Kate. They’d dated, apparently, though the awkward distance between them in every picture suggests quite unhappily. There was no such post about Malcolm on Kate’s page, nor any pictures of him at all. Only promotions for the art gallery she directs, which brings him to Simon Soo.

Simon’s Instagram reeks of artistic douchebag, and with one Google, Joe had proven himself right. Simon, the son of a technology magnate and younger brother to Sophie Soo, another social media influencer, is a surprisingly good artist. He’s currently working with Kate on opening some exhibit at the museum Kate manages and is often promoted on his sister’s account. He’d bored Joe quickly, and begrudgingly, he’d turned to Roald. He’d only been able to tolerate that demon’s Instagram for a few minutes because, truly, he was a demon. It was full of pictures of hunting tours (a.k.a. recently dead cadavers) and oddly passionate dick-riding of oil companies, so he’d abandoned it quickly and happily resigned to knowing as little about the bastard as he safely could.

Lastly, he’d researched Gemma Graham-Greene, though he’d strongly wanted to ignore her altogether. He’d almost forgotten her until she’d shown up in the background of one of Phoebe’s posts and completely ruined the photo’s charm. She was certainly a… presence, and Joe kept having to swallow back a rising contempt for her based only on the rumor he’d heard on the news weeks ago, which he doesn’t believe. He can’t imagine Rhys being unfaithful, but then again, he has a bad habit of forgetting he’s married. Joe suspects it’s more for publicity than anything because Rhys hasn’t spoken a word about her and very notably is not bringing her to Phoebe’s party, but him. Don’t husbands typically bring their wives by default? Even if they aren’t at the risk of being Mrs. Lovett’d.

He turns off the TV, shaking his head to bring himself back to the land of the present. He braces his hands on his knees to draw himself up from the couch, then grabs his keys from their dish. One foot out the door, he turns around and takes a sweater from the back of a chair to put on over his button-up, though he doesn’t see himself leaving the building today. Locking his door, he stuffs his keys in his pocket and drapes the sweater over his arm. He makes it down three steps before his phone buzzes to life in his pocket, the screen shining through his slacks. Hope blooms ridiculously within him, but abates when he fishes it out to be greeted with UNKNOWN CALLER scrolling across the screen. Still, the last time he had picked up an unknown call, it’d been Irene Crosby, and that’d worked out… well, it’d worked out. But that’d been a call to his landline, wildly different from his personal phone, and he needs to decide already. He taps the screen.

“Jonathan Moore?” He says.

“Oh! Jonathan, I’d hoped I’d gotten the right number,” a feminine voice says, cheerful but not pitchy like Irene’s.

“Uh,” he stammers. “Can I help you?”

“Actually, it’s a bit the other way around. This is Phoebe Borehall-Blaxworth, though you can just call me Phoebe. Rhys said he’d mentioned me?”

“Oh!” Joe exclaims, surprised. He starts making his way down the stairs again. “Yes, Phoebe, he did mention you. It’s nice to meet you,” He says pleasantly, actively refusing to acknowledge how odd this situation is. Maybe the English are just more outgoing than Americans, against every stereotype. Or maybe the rich assume everyone wants to talk to them, regardless of how strange it is to call random people. But he’s not random, is he? He’s an invitee.

“It is just lovely, isn’t it?” She responds strangely. “Well, I do hope you don’t mind the phone call, but Rhys called me last night to catch up – he is a dear, isn’t he? – and asked if it’d be alright if you could be his invite, and of course I had to say yes! I love to see Rhys branch out, since – oh, well. Let’s not talk about that.” Phoebe takes a breath and sighs. “Anyway, he told me you needed a jumper for the event?”

Joe almost forgets to respond, reeling from having his ear talked off. So Rhys had asked Phoebe before inviting him? That means he had intended to go all along, or maybe he really hadn’t, and it’d just been a last-minute decision. There’s no way for Joe to know, which sets his teeth on edge. “Yes, I do. My wardrobe is a bit, uh, limited,” he admits sheepishly.

“Oh, that’s alright, dear!” Phoebe assures him. “I was just thinking that since you’d have to get it to come to my party, I’d take you shopping to get one. And I’d love to meet you beforehand. Any friend of Rhys’ is a friend of mine, and he has said wonderful things about you.”

Joe’s eyebrows shoot up. You have? He sets his pullover on the counter and flips the sign on the door. “You really don’t have to do that, though it’s a very kind offer.”

“Oh, nonsense, Jonathan. It’s the least I could do, and I really must meet you. Are you familiar with Harrods?”

Joe’s stomach almost leaps into his throat. “The luxury department store with the dress code?”

Phoebe, thankfully, only laughs. “Yes, that’s the one. We ought to get you something nice; sometimes, some of our friends can be a tad pompous,” she says playfully. “And don’t worry about the price, dear. I have friends in the company, and they’re very kind people. Well, if you know them, at least. Regardless, it should be a lovely time. So, what do you say?” Joe can practically imagine the broad smile he’d seen over and over on her Instagram, and somehow, even in his imagination, it sways him. Besides, it’d be rude to decline, wouldn’t it? He can’t very well say no to meeting a woman whose party he’ll be attending within the week, never mind refusing something as kind as taking him shopping. And she does seem sweet. Rhys had promised as much, but oh, what would Rhys think if he blew off his friend? He just cannot not accept – he has to.

“That sounds wonderful,” he breathes. He twists the thermostat, listening to the building wake and hum around him like a thing alive. Even as he accepts, he has a sinking feeling that he’s stepping into something he doesn’t understand, like diving into a sinkhole. Still, the sinkhole runs a charity for handicapped horses, so how bad can it be?

“Lovely! Oh, that’s great, Jonathan. Does Friday afternoon work? I have events all through this week, unfortunately.”

“Uh, yes, Friday works fine.” It’s not like he does much else than run the bookstore, anyway.

“Perfect. I’m truly excited to meet you, truly. I’ll send you a calendar invite, and don’t worry about transportation, I’ll come by your shop with a car. Rhys told me where it is, and I must admit, I looked it up. It’s wonderfully cozy, isn’t it?” Joe has barely enough time to agree. “Anyway, I must be going, but it was nice to meet you, Jonathan. I look forward to Friday!”

“You as well,” Joe responds feebly, groaning wearily once Phoebe hangs up. He’s going to be eaten alive. He sits down at his counter with a huff and clicks on the prompt notification from the still-unknown number, which he updates to Phoebe Borehall-Blaxworth. He adds the event to his calendar – 2:00 at Harrods – and sets his phone down when it lights up in his hand. He accepts the call quickly.

“Rhys?”

“Hello, John,” Rhys breathes, sounding weary. “I suppose I didn’t beat Phoebe’s phone call?”

Joe frowns. “Uh, no, I just got off the phone with her. Is something wrong?”

“No, no – well, actually, I’d called to ask you that.” Rhys sounds uncertain in a way Joe doesn’t like. “I didn’t mean to sic her on you, John, honestly. I’d asked her if I could bring you to the party, and she gets excited about new people, and –”

“Woah, woah, Rhys,” Joe interrupts. “It’s okay. She was very sweet and even offered to take me shopping for a sweater for Saturday, which was surprising but appreciated. It’s probably better that I meet her before the party, since she’s the hostess and all. Honestly, it’s okay.”

Rhys’ heavy sigh of relief turns into clipped laughter, and Joe’s shoulders relax. “Alright, mate. Thank god, I was so worried,” he admits, surprising Joe. He doesn’t know why, but he’d assumed Rhys was somehow incapable of worrying. “I’m glad to hear she made a good impression. And she’s taking you shopping?” Rhys asks, the familiar teasing lilt slipping back into his voice.

“Oh, very funny. I couldn’t say no, now could I?” Joe counters. “No, I suppose not. Would be kind of sick, wouldn’t it? To accept going to a stranger's party and then refusing to meet them beforehand.” It’s like you’re in my brain.

“Mhm, so really, I didn’t have a choice, and you’re the bad guy for making fun of me.” “Bad guy? That’s rich. Where’s she taking you, anyway?”

Joe rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t even want to say.”

“Somewhere luxurious and owned by old family friends of hers?”

“Y’know, your amusement with my floundering in the land of the nepotists and influencers isn’t a good look.”

Rhys barks out a laugh, making Joe smile to himself. “I beg to differ. I think it’s a great look. Speaking of looks, though, you are in good hands with Phoebe. She lets her friends wear nothing but the best.”

“Phoebe and I are friends now?”

“Oh, now, dear Jonathan, you’re properly indoctrinated. They’re going to start taxing you less and everything.”

Joe laughs, still surprised by Rhys’ sense of humor. “If all I have to do is spend a stupid amount of money on a discounted sweater to do that, then I guess I’m in.”

“Oh, Phoebe’ll be buying the sweater, mate.”

Joe sits upright in indignance. “Like hell she is.”

Rhys laughs bemusedly. “There’s that American spunk I hear so much about. You’re welcome to fight with her about it but believe me, she’ll win. Like a dog with a bone, that one. If the dog had a trust fund and a manicure.”

Joe loses grip of his momentary resentment and settles back into his seat. “I guess it’s a fight for Friday.”

“So you’re going Friday, then?” Rhys asks semi-coherently, as like he’s eating something. Joe nods, then realizes he can’t see that. “Mhm. Friday at 2. Apparently, some car is coming to pick me up? Which is kind of terrifying.” Rhys laughs through his nose. “Phoebe has a personal driver, some brash cockney bloke. Little scary, mostly because I’m fairly certain he’s killed people before and likes it.”

Joe ignores the sting. “Some people are crazy.” “Oh, that’s not why I’ve got a problem with him. It’s that he’s got these beady little eyes, and I swear he can see into my future. Probably knows when I’m going to die.”

“So murder is fine, but clairvoyance isn’t?” Joe’s head jerks up as the bell chimes, a young woman walking into the store. He smiles at her politely, then nods when she gestures like she needs assistance. “Look, I’ve got to go; a customer just walked in. I’ll bother you about sacrificing me to your cult of entrepreneurs later, okay?” Rhys hums. “Alright, John.” Joe hangs up and sets his phone down, silencing it quickly. He rounds the counter, his hands clasped together before him.

“How can I help you?”

The young woman smiles kindly at him, her pinkened lips splitting to reveal slightly uneven teeth. “I’m looking for a book for my mother’s birthday, but all I have idea-wise is that she’s looking to read more fiction.”

Joe nods and gestures towards the appropriate section. “Would you follow me, and we can find something?” The woman nods and follows Joe’s hand, and he turns around as another customer files in and beelines to the historical non-fiction. At least if it’s a busy enough day, he won’t be able to dwell on Phoebe, though he’s sure it’ll be fine. The bell chimes again as he disappears into the shelves with the woman, pointing out some of the best sellers. Rhys wouldn’t lead him astray, right?

***

The weather channel lied, unsurprisingly. Joe gazes out the window, disgruntled, as he watches rain pelt the pain. He’s already wearing a sweater and boots, but now he shrugs on a raincoat, cursing whatever rogue meteorologist dared lie to the English public. He’s already done his hair – he’s getting better at the curling method, which he holds embarrassing pride in – out of a juvenile fear of being publicly shamed at Harrods for having… curly hair or something. It’s a half-baked anxiety. He grabs his keys, wallet (he will spar this woman), and umbrella, then sets off down to the bookstore. It’s a quarter to 2 now, and Google Maps told him it’s a five-minute drive to Harrods, so he figures he ought to be in the store ahead of time. He’d decided not to open it again today, which, admittedly, he’s been doing too much recently. People will just have to find another small store to hide from the rain and buy nothing from.

The curtains of the front windows are still shut, echoing the statement ‘closed’ that the big red sign on the door shouts. The rain on the door casts a speckled shadow across the store’s wood floors, and Joe stands in its center, enjoying the image. The only sound is the pattering on glass and the faint ticking from the grandfather clock, and he lets himself be lulled into peace. Today will undoubtedly be chaotic, but in five hours, at the absolute most, he’ll be back in his bookstore. Besides, he knows he rationally has nothing to be worried about. Phoebe may be intimidatingly elite, but he was married to a literal serial killer, so he should be ready for anything. Joe’s phone dings with a notification from the woman herself, and then a black car parks in front of the store. Joe takes a deep breath to steel his nerves. Five hours at the absolute most, one new sweater, then back to his apartment. Easy. He walks onto the sidewalk, locking the store behind him, and the rear window rolls down. Joe squints into it as there’s a blur of yellow and pink, and then Phoebe’s face appears, her hand gesturing frantically for him. 

“Come on, Jonathan! You’re going to catch a cold,” she chimes and opens the door. Joe rushes over, takes the handle, and slides into the backseat, pulling the door closed behind him. He sets his umbrella at his feet, brushes his hair back, stalling, and then looks at Phoebe. She’s already smiling brightly at him, her eyes squinted kindly. He tries to smile back, but he’s certain it comes off as forced and awkward. He extends her hand forward, and he shakes it, grateful. At least he knows how to do that.

“It’s even better to meet you in person,” she assures him, then gives him a bold look-over. “I love your look,” she gushes, folding her hands in her lap. She shifts to sit a bit sideways, her legs folded delicately so she can look at him head-on. The spacious backseat allows for it easily. “It’s very academic.”

Joe laughs softly, running a hand over his sweater. “Half of owning a bookstore is looking like you do,” he offers good-naturedly, smiling softly. She hums, then taps on the driver’s shoulder, who Joe had somehow managed to miss. “Vic, we’re set to go to Harrods now.”

“Alright, Lady Phoebe,” the man responds gruffly. He must be the one Rhys had mentioned. Joe looks into the rear view mirror and, horrifically, meets the man’s piercing gaze. Definitely the one Rhys mentioned; beady, indeed.

“Well, I assume you like earth tones, right?” Phoebe asks, returning her focus to Joe. It’s not as intimidating as he had feared it’d be; she seems kind and entirely harmless, not the type to try to trip him up. 

“Uh, yes, I do,” he responds sheepishly. “They’re really all I wear.”

“They suit you, so I see no point in taking you out of your comfort zone. Harrods’ collection is extensive, so I’m positive we’ll find something you like,” she promises, still smiling. She tilts her head to the side, then opens her mouth as an idea dawns on her. “You have slacks, don’t you? If you don’t, we can certainly get you some.”

Joe shakes his head. “No, no, I have plenty. It’s only my sweaters that are outdated.” He looks down at his lap, playing with the top’s hem.

“We’ll fix that right up, won’t we?” She nods resolutely as if that settles it. “I did forget to mention, I invited a girlfriend of mine to shop with us since she’s been a bit of a homebody lately.” She laughs at the in-joke Joe naturally doesn’t get. “She does live right around here, but she insisted on meeting us there – some meeting or something.” Joe furrows his brows. “She lives around here?”

“Yes,” Phoebe confirms, wetting her lips. “She’s the artistic type and says she loves living in the business sector, but I think she only ever agreed to it because her ex had insisted.”

“Ex? And she’s stayed?” Joe asks, then realizes he’s prying. “Oh, I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.”

“Oh, no, you’re alright, darling.” Phoebe pats his knee reassuringly. “It is quite an odd situation, but it’s still a bit fresh, so naturally, she hasn’t done much regarding change.”

Joe nods, mouth shaped around a silent ‘oh.’ “I understand.”

Phoebe hums, looking a bit concerned for a moment. “Yes, I do worry.” She seems to catch herself and goes back to smiling again. “Anyway, I hope this little outing will cheer her up a bit, though she isn’t entirely into fashion. Just sticks to black pantsuits, doesn’t she?” Phoebe laughs, and he follows along, though he doesn’t understand what’s wrong with black pantsuits. 

The car slows to a crawl, then parks on the side of the street. The driver, Vic, turns around, a scarred hand hanging onto the passenger’s headrest. “We’re here, Lady Phoebe.”

“Perfect, thank you, Vic.” Phoebe collects and slings her purse over her shoulder, giving the man a soft smile. He smiles back, tipping his chin, then looks at Joe side-long. He shrinks away a bit, brows furrowed in confusion. What’s he done to him? “Let’s go, Jonathan. You can slide out this side, it’s bound to be flooded out there.” The gestures to the street, then the passenger door opens and Joe sees Vic somehow outside the car and holding it open. Who is this guy? Phoebe slides out easily with the help of Vic, and Joe hesitates to follow, not wanting to get that close to the man. Still, he doesn’t have a choice, so he crawls out and drags himself up onto one leg, his umbrella tucked under his arm. He opens it quickly and holds it over Phoebe, which Vic seems to approve of because he stops visibly trying to kill him with his mind.

“I’ll call you when we’re all set, alright, Vic?” Phoebe says.

“Sounds perfect, Lady Phoebe. I’ll run an errand while you’re shopping if that’s alright?” Joe’s never heard someone sound more like gravel on gravel. 

“Of course. I’ll see you!” Phoebe waves, then holds out an elbow to Joe, which he hesitates before taking. Once they’re linked, she leads him into the store. He has to quickly close the umbrella as she opens the door, shaking it a few times. The interior is incredible, all softly lit with LEDs that make the marble floor shine. The ceiling is all Greco-Roman stone work, magnificent pillars flanking the main walkway. It’s clearly multiple stories tall, escalators tucked in the back. It looks more like a cathedral than a store and Joe feels thoroughly out of place. A young man, no more than twenty, hurries up to them and takes Joe’s umbrella. An older gentleman in a green suit approaches them, hands behind his back. 

“Good morning, miss,” he greets politely, then turns and nods wordlessly at Joe. “May I take your coats?” Phoebe nods, smiling at him, and removes her overcoat. Joe follows suit, and the gentleman takes both and drapes them over his arm. He makes to leave when Phoebe holds a hand out for his attention.

“Excuse me, sir. We’re meeting a friend of ours here – Kate Galvin? She should have arrived about ten minutes ago.” 

Wait, Kate is here? How did he not put that together in the car? Old friend of hers, lives near his bookstore – of course it’s Kate. Somehow, this is terrible news to Joe. Not only is he now spending time with Phoebe, but her best friend who lives across the street from him? It’s all way too close, like he’s in the center of a web that he’s just realizing the size of and will only get bigger. Despite his mounting panic, he follows Phoebe when she waves for him to do so. She leads them deeper into the store, then down a hallway to a private room. Good god, how wealthy are these people? The gentleman opens the curtain to what resembles a wedding dress fitting room, and on a settee sits Kate in, unsurprisingly, a black pantsuit. She’s holding a flute of champagne despite it being 2 pm with one leg crossed over the other. Her brows lift in recognition when Phoebe enters, then drop when she registers Joe.

“Kate!” Phoebe squeals, rushing over to hug the other, who doesn’t rise from her seat. Joe bows his head at the gentleman still holding the curtain, mouths ‘thank you,’ then slips into the room. The heavy curtain falls shut behind him, and he stands awkwardly by the entrance. “Joe, come over and meet Kate,” Phoebe instructs, curling a finger towards herself. Joe shuffles over uncertainty, and Phoebe steps to the side. Kate’s face is still one of judgment, and he tucks his chin. 

“I don’t believe we’ve properly met. I’m Jonathan.” He offers his hand, which she takes after a moment of painstaking hesitation.

“No, I don’t think we have,” she replies coolly, settling back in her seat. 

Phoebe cocks her head, looking between the two of them. “Do you two know each other?” Joe opens his mouth to answer, but Kate beats him to it.

“He lives in the flat across the street from mine, above the bookstore. We’ve caught each other’s eye through the window on occasion,” she explains, sipping her drink. Joe’s shoulders droop when she doesn’t mention how often the ‘occasion’ really is, but she raises her brow at him, keeping him on guard.

“Oh, how peculiar. I somehow didn’t put that together,” Phoebe says, apparently happy to accept she didn’t recognize the street being the same. She looks around until she spots a young woman in the corner that Joe, again, hadn’t spotted. What is up with me today? “You, could you please fetch us some men’s jumpers for my friend here?” She asks, gesturing at Joe. “He’s a…” Joe offers his size, medium, when she falters, “medium, right. We’re looking for something earth-toned.” The young woman nods curtly and scurries out of the room, leaving Joe to the wolves.

“So, John, you own a bookstore?” Kate starts, saving Joe from standing there eerily silent and staring at the wall.

“Yes, I do. I bought it about half a year ago when I emigrated from the States.” Phoebe perks up at this.

“Oh, I love America! They have wonderful perfumes. Where are you from?”

Joe wets his lips and considers lying before realizing he has no reason to. “New York City. I moved from there around the beginning of this year.” Well, at least that’s half-true.

“What made you leave?” Kate asks. 

Joe purses his lips. “I just wanted to travel. The city is great, but I figured I should experience other places while I can,” he offers, smiling.

Phoebe nods enthusiastically. “Oh, I wish I could travel more. I already do a lot, really. Italy in the summer and Sweden for two weeks in the winter, but I do wish I could live abroad for at least a little while.”

Kate cocks her head. “Why don’t you?”

Phoebe wrings her hands. “Oh, you know, Adam and all. He’s very invested in his business and I don’t want to disrupt his process. He’s really trying very hard,” Phoebe insists, looking at Joe imploringly. Unsure what else to do, he nods. Kate only smirks at him.

“He can work without you here, he’s a big boy,” Kate needles. Phoebe only sighs at her, a look of relief washing over her as the young attendant enters the room again, arms full of a stack of sweaters ranging from blue to brown to green. Kate raises an eyebrow and sets her drink down as Phoebe rushes over to where the attendant sets the stack down, tapping Joe’s shoulder along the way to encourage her to follow.

“Thank you,” Phoebe says quickly to the young woman, who nods and settles back into silently occupying the corner. Phoebe holds up the first sweater, happy to be back in her element and free from Kate’s prodding. This first option is light blue that Joe can’t remember the name of.

“Cornflower,” Phoebe offers helpfully. “It’s a lovely color, isn’t it?” Joe only nods, then accepts the sweater as it’s handed to him. Phoebe points to a curtain-covered stall. “You can change in there, Jonathan. Then Kate and I will vote,” she says playfully, bringing her shoulders to her ears with excitement. Joe laughs softly and shuts himself into the stall, laying the sweater on the low bench. What has he gotten himself into? He pulls off his sweater, thankful that he’d had the foresight to wear an undershirt today. He’d worn slacks, as per Harrods dress code, which is an entirely different issue, for a clothing store to have rules about the clothes you come in. He slides the first sweater on, careful not to stretch the stitching, and looks at himself in the mirror. The color seems too light for him – maybe it’d suit Rhys with his eyes, but not Joe. He pulls back the curtain to show the other two, just to have the same conclusions spat at him.

“Too light for a brunette,” Kate says simply. Phoebe furrows her brows at her, then levels Joe with a soft smile.

“I do have to agree with Kate. I think the darker tones will suit you better, with your hair and eyes and all.” She sorts through the pile, immediately setting a light green one aside into the beginning of the rejects. Next, she hands Joe a dark brown one. The material is a bit softer than the first, and when Joe checks the tag, he sees it’s cashmere. What he does not see is a price sticker, which is always a bad sign. “Alright, off you go.” Joe nods and turns back to the changing room, catching Kate’s gaze on the way. He turns quicker and returns to the stall. He’s not sure what he saw in her eyes, but he doesn’t like it. He switches the brown out for the blue, then folds the first one and exits with it in his hands. 

“Oh, I like it! Don’t you, Kate?” 

Kate looks up from her nail beds to assess Joe, then frowns approvingly. “Definitely an improvement from the blue.”

Phoebe rolls her eyes but rushes over, walking around Joe for the full view. “It fits well, certainly. But the brown just seems a bit… much, don’t you think? Much and nothing at the same time. Will you be wearing those trousers tomorrow?”

Joe looks down, as if he’d forgotten which pants he is wearing. “Yeah, I am.”

Phoebe clucks and takes the blue sweater, then returns to the table, adds it to the second pile, then picks up a dark green one. She checks the tag first, nods, apparently pleased, then offers it to Joe. “This one will suit you nicely, I think, since your trousers are a dark brown and we’ve already decided darker tones suit you better. It is difficult to pull off jewel tones – I wish I could myself – but you can. I think it’s the eyes.” Phoebe pauses to stare at Joe, her eyes roaming over his face before locking on his. She leans back, claps once, then shoos Joe away with flapping hands. He squints at her, which gets a grin, and returns to his stall.

He really hopes they choose this one. It’s soft, like the other – the brand was the same, apparently – and fits him well without any of the waist-bunching issues he tends to have, but the color is the best part. The green is dark enough to probably look almost black in poor lighting, and Phoebe had been right, it suits his eyes. Not that he’d ever say that out loud. He opens the curtain to face the music, but is only met with Phoebe squealing.

“Oh, Jonathan, it’s perfect!” She exclaims, clapping. “Kate, look! Isn’t it just lovely?”

Kate looks up and, to Joe’s pleasure, smirks. “Much better than the blue and brown. It does suit him.” She says this last bit to Phoebe and not him, but he decides to take the compliment, which it may not even be.

“Yes, yes, wonderful. I think that was the quickest, most successful shopping trip I’ve ever had,” Phoebe gushes. “Boys just have it so easy.”

Joe laughs, running a hand over his chest to feel the material. “We have the luxury of consistent clothing sizes.” Phoebe giggles and Kate snorts quietly. “I’ll go change and be right back out.” Phoebe nods, humming affirmatively, and he tucks into the stall. He gets redressed in his clothes carefully, then takes a moment to fix his hair, which had frizzed a bit from the repeated mussing. He reemerges, a sweater in either hand, and Phoebe takes the rejected one from him and sets it aside. 

“Alright, and it’s only 4 o’clock,” Kate says nonchalantly, making Joe check the time on his phone. Two hours? What is this, the upper class Doldrums? Kate finishes her drink and stands, walking over to Phoebe, speaking to her softly. “It’s been lovely seeing you, Phoebe. Thank you for inviting me. I’ve got to be off to the museum now, we’re still preparing for Simon’s exhibit.”

Phoebe sighs, wilting a little, but turns to kiss Kate on the cheek. “Yes, I understand. Thank you for coming, it really was wonderful. I’ll see you tomorrow evening, yes?”

“Yes, of course, Pheebs,” Kate promises, then turns to Joe. “Good to meet you properly, John,” she says, though he suspects it’s for Phoebe’s sake.

“Of course, you too,” he replies, watching the attendant put the green sweater in a sturdy paper bag. She comes over and hands it to Phoebe though she knows it’s for Joe, and he squints.

“Let’s go check out, Jonathan,” Phoebe sighs, disappearing behind the curtain divider. He follows after her quickly.

“Don’t you mean ‘how about you go check out?’” Joe asks.

Phoebe laughs softly. “No, silly. This was my treat, as a thank you for being so kind to Rhys.”

Joe huffs, weaving behind her as she slithers through the new crowd of customers. Her heels click on the tiles authoritatively. “That’s absurd, I can’t let you do that. You’re already being kind enough to let me come to your party, which thank you for, by the way. Buying me a sweater is too much.”

“It’s not a matter of ‘can’t,’ Jonathan, but ‘won’t.’ And since it’s a matter of won’t, you will,” Phoebe peeps. Joe stares at the back of her well-styled head, flabbergasted. She arrives at the checkout counter, which is really just an impressive slab of granite with metal cash registers set on top, and sets the back on it. 

“Phoebe–” he protests, only to be silenced with a wave of her hand. Rhys was right. You’re indomitable.

“Cash or credit, ma’am?” The cashier asks, quickly answered by Phoebe’s credit card being thrust before him. He nods, rings up the sweater. There is no screen to show the amount, dear god. “Are you a member with us, ma’am?”

“Yes, I am. My name is Phoebe Borehall-Blaxworth.”

The cashier’s mouth opens in surprise. “Ah, Lady Phoebe! My apologies for not recognizing you. I’ll add your family discount right away.”

Phoebe spins around as the cashier clacks away, the round keys clicking pleasantly. “Really, Jonathan, consider it a token of my appreciation. Rhys has been having a bit of a hard time recently, and while I shouldn’t get into it, you’ve been a good addition to his life. For someone beloved by millions, he doesn’t talk to very many people.” Phoebe turns around and accepts the receipt, stuffing it into her purse before Joe can look. He frowns and she hands the bag over, then pats his arm. “You’ll be just fine.”

He follows her to the front door, where they’re returned their coats. She texts someone, presumably Vic, and in the next moment, the black car parks by the sidewalk. He follows her out, his umbrella staying tucked under his arm, the rain abating for a moment. He walks to the far side of the car, nodding to Vic on the way, not wanting to get that close to him again. They both climb into the back seat, then Vic takes off down the street.

“How was shopping, Lady Phoebe?” Vic asks, completely ignoring Joe. Fine by him.

“It went perfectly, Vic. Found the perfect sweater, didn’t we, Jonathan?”

“Yes, Phoebe did me well.” Joe smiles at her softly, her returning it.

“Well, that’s good to hear, idnnit,” Vic says.

They’re back in front of Subtexts quickly, and the rain has picked up again. Joe opens the door, opening the umbrella just outside of it, then steps into its shelter, the bag tucked safely against his side. He shuts it, and its window rolls down so Phoebe can speak out. 

“Thank you again for agreeing to come, Jonathan. It was a very nice time.”

Joe smiles back at her, leaning down so she can see it. “It was, thank you for inviting me, and for the sweater. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Have a safe drive.” He pats the door’s sill, and Phoebe waves at him as Vic rolls up the window and drives away. He rushes to the store, fumbling with the keys a moment before managing to unlock it, then bursts inside. The trip up to his apartment is a race against pneumonia, and he shuts the door firmly behind him. He puts the bag on his bed, then returns to the living room to drape his coat over the armchair to dry by the fire he sets about starting. He’s just got the fire starter going when his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he stands to take it out.

Did you fall to the queen? Joe smirks. What perfect timing.

You were right about the dog with a bone thing , he responds. The three dots appear immediately.

Did you find something you like?

Yeah, a dark green one. Did you know I’m best suited for jewel tones? He can almost hear Rhys’ laughter, and imagining his grin is easy.

I would’ve figured you for pastels.

That’s mean.

You’ll be fine.

Joe smiles, sets his phone down, and prods the fire, watching the beginning sparks fly up. He’ll survive the party just fine, nothing to worry about. How bad can it be? Just him, Rhys, whom he’s only known for a couple weeks, Phoebe, who he already likes an irrational amount, and the rest of the gilded bloodsuckers. Worst comes to worst, it becomes a very well-dressed game of Clue, but he’s always been good at that game.

[pastelwitchling]

How's everyone's reading going? I always struggle to pick up more than kindle unlimited sports romances when school and work start, but I'm really pushing myself past that stress in small ways.

Here are the books I'm currently reading, just finished, and am hoping to get to soon that I really wanted to talk about:

The Sun and the Star (read): This book is pure serotonin. It's one of the longer Percy Jackson books, but I never felt the length for a single second. There were definite moments where I could tell someone other than Rick Riordan had taken over writing, but that doesn't change how fun and romantic the book was. What an absolute treasure.

Scoring Position (read): kindle unlimited mlm hockey romance. I just finished this today actually, and it ended up getting a lower rating than what it had been for most of the book, but I'm still glad I read it. It did offer a good palette cleanser, and though I didn't end up loving it the way I'd hoped I would, I would still recommend it for a nice time.

Under the Whispering Door (currently reading): I tried reading this a few months ago and DNFed after chapter five or something. I felt like the humor was hit-and-miss, I thought Wallace was a little too annoying, but I knew that I didn't want to DNF it for good. Why? I really liked Hugo, Mei, and Nelson, and the teashop. I thought there was some good potential there. I have to drive a lot to school and work, and I figured that since I couldn't enjoy reading this physically, then maybe I would have a better time on audiobook, annnnd... yeah. The narrator is phenomenal, I would highly recommend this audiobook if you couldn't get into the paperback. He has a way of reading in SUCH a funny way that I was suddenly laughing at lines I didn't think were funny the first time. I've got less than 3 hours of the audiobook left, and I'm having a great time. It's not anything groundbreaking, and I think the first half was very slow and repetitive, but it really has got me thinking about death and life a little bit more, and I really enjoy these characters. I now love Wallace, he's hilarious and becomes so easy to love, and I can't wait to see how this story ends.

House of Sky and Breath (currently reading): Anyone else really have trouble reading physical books when they're super stressed or overwhelmed? That's kind of where I am. I'm annotating and tabbing my paperback copy, I'm 10 chapters in, but I feel like I just don't have the strength right now to physically hold a book, you know? The first book in particular already took me so long to read because of its length (you're not Order of the Phoenix, STOP trying to be Order of the Phoenix, not every story can carry that kind of page count!), and now I just feel like I'd be going through it faster if I can read it digitally. I won't get my ebook copy from the library for over 2 weeks, so I might just try to read as much as I can now, and then finish with the ebook. I know the big spoiler at the end, but beyond that, I have no idea what happens in this book, and I can't wait to find out.

Books I want to pick up next:

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part of last year's reread so that I can start this year's reread. I'm afraid, but it must be done.

Percy Jackson and the Chalice of the Gods: I think I was subconsciously waiting until after the show ended to dive back into this world, and I'm just ready to spend all day with my favorite demigod (and satyr) trio.

House of Flame and Shadow: Is this a shock to anyone? I should've read HoSaB sooner so I would be ready for this book now, but I overestimated by reading speed, so here we are. I hope to get to it before any spoilers start circulating.

Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries: I have more books on my physical TBR, but this is one of the lightest and I think I need that.

The Paladin's Shadow: 'Nough said. Anything by Tavia Lark is gold.

I love talking about books so much, so please do let me know what you're reading now, how you're feeling about it, what you'd like to pick up soon. It's always fun to me to discuss books, and I'd really like to talk more about them on my tumblr from now on. I still have it tagged rin reads if you want to filter that out though.

[foxstens]

once again i must talk about the idea of attraction and sexuality and all that 

recently i had a brief moment where i wondered if everyone was demiromantic, because i confused the idea of romantic attraction with actually falling in love and so i was like ‘how the fuck can you do that with a stranger’. yea no that’s not how attraction works apparently

so now im just sitting here, thinking about how i’ve been exposed to the concept of attraction for about 10 years and i still don’t understand it, really. like once every few years i look up what sexual and romantic attraction means and i reread a bunch of definitions that i learned years ago and im still none the wiser. 

i’ve always had trouble with the split attraction model - i do think it’s nice and useful for the people who feel comfortable using it, but i have trouble applying it to myself because it feels like i don’t experience either, at least not in the way allo people do

like i have a hard time identifying whether i experience any attraction at all, let alone what kind it is, do you know what i mean? so calling myself aroace is by far the easiest, but is it really true?

because i do not actually have much experience. like i’ve had a total of three crushes, all on boys

1. in kindergarten that i do not remember anything about but i’m fairly certain it happened, somehow

2. one in high school that lasted like two weeks perhaps, i have no idea what it was the guy was a total jerk i didn’t even like anything about him, i just paid attention to him a lot for some reason? he was a transfer student and i might have been bored

3. the longest-running one, all throughout middle school there was this guy, him and his sister were the type of kids that could mingle with everyone but they were always to me, the resident Bullied Kid, i even had actually interesting conversations with him at times so i guess it makes sense. he’s the only person from middle school i still keep in touch with via facebook, hell he’s one of three people from middle school i actually remember. y e a h.

i sure hope this isn’t how most people experience crushes. but yea as you can see, i do not have a lot of experience with anything. and the interesting thing is, for years i have been saying that im attracted to women, but i wonder how far that extends. like i can say for certain that i have a much stronger aesthetic attraction to people who present as women, and that if i were to ever be in any sort of a relationship with someone, i can only imagine it happening with a woman. but also i very much prefer the idea of not doing that with anyone, ever. 

maybe at this point it’s not even about attraction or lack thereof, but more about me being afraid of and allergic to people. 

interestingly enough i have a similar experience when it comes to gender. i stll regularly wonder what the heck a gender even is and how people can just. identify with one of them, when i feel so far removed from both of them and from the very concept itself. 

and sometimes i wonder if that’s just how i am, or if it’s more of a defense mechanism. because if you identify with something more... common? then there’s all sorts of expectations and stuff, so it’s better to be... obscure... i swear that made sense in my head

but then again i never did feel strongly about gender, and i didn’t start thinking about sexuality until i was 16 and neck-deep in tumblr culture, and even after that i didn’t start seriously considering my own sexuality until ace discourse became a thing.

[neil-gaiman]

Death: The Time of Your Life

I first found this, remarkably, in the YA section of the regional library in the country town I lived near. It was a different era, and time moved slower there, hindered by poor infrastructure and religion.

The cover drew me; I instinctively knew, somehow, that here queer content resided. Such content was few and far between and incredibly subtle, so I believe to this day that this was my first real taste of representation.

I consumed it in one sitting; we went to town once a week, and my brother and I were dropped off at the town library. It wasn't the kind of book I could check out; my brother would get out Ranma1/2 but I had to be more careful and borrow it from him. But I digress.

It was decades ago now, closer to centuries ago, really. Maybe even a lifetime ago; time was stagnant there and so was I too, trapped within the confines of heterosexual expectations. I was holed up in a corner of the non-fiction section, where no one would think to look for me, knees folded up to hide the cover from any enquiring gaze.

I remember vividly reading this book so long ago, and rereading it today is as familiar and as foreign as seeing my own face, maskless, in a mirror. I remember being disappointed; I thought lesbians would treat women better, that they wouldn't cheat on them. I'm older now, and understand that people are just a series of choices and good intentions that never pan out like you'd hoped.

When Hazel said she loved Death, I felt it too. That waifish, Egyptian-folklore girl with the sad smile - oh yes, I felt that.

I put the book away, and picked up another, pretending nothing profound had just happened to me. I went back to collecting books I could take out, books that wouldn't be questioned when checked out. This book disappeared from the library; I never saw another physical copy again, didn't remember its name and began to think I had dreamt it.

But the concept stayed with me, and remains to this day. We exist, and then we don't. We exist, and we all represent everything we were. We exist, and we inhabit so little of our potential, and we should exist as loudly and as completely as we can.

So thank you, I suppose, for creating this tiny offshoot of representation in a time where it was uncommon and unpopular. Be well, be safe, and if you must make deals with the Timeless, always bring a spare soul to trade.

Thank you for that. (That was better than being given the GLAAD award, although, on reflection, that was probably what I was being given the GLAAD award for -- offering some representation, in the days when it was incredibly thin on the ground, especially in mainstream comics.) And you are so welcome.

[loudstan]

Epiphany (P1. 13, FINALE)

A collection of  NCT werewolf AU stories.

Doyoung (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt. 3) (pt. 4) (pt. 5) (pt. 6) (pt. 7) (pt. 8) (pt. 9) (pt. 10) (pt. 11) (pt. 12) (PT. 13 FINALE)

Summary: The wolf population kept decreasing and those who were left had a hard time trying to fit  into society. Sure, people didn’t consider them as dangerous as vampires, but wolves could still sense some hostility every time they did as much as go for a walk in a public place. Thanks to wolves’ natural magical abilities, NCT (one of the remaining packs) found a safe place among witches in a town where no one knew their secret, allowing some members to finally get a job, study and interact with others without fear of being rejected.Life seems to finally be peaceful for them… except that wolves have needs, and one of those needs is finding their mate.

Pairing: Werewolf! Doyoung x Witch! female reader

Warnings: smut

“So you’re okay with this?” you asked

In awe, he nodded and you wasted no time.

You straddled him again and with no warning you pumped his length a couple of times, lined yourself up and started to sink down.

Desperately, Doyoung scratched the couch to the point he tore the soft fabric up, mumbling something you couldn’t quite comprehend.

If you weren’t so turned on you would have laughed at his weak attempt to stay still while you were sitting there, taking all of him. You thought that convincing him would be harder, but he was clearly about to lose it.

“Are you sure you don’t want to touch me?” you teased, giving a tentative bounce.

He sobbed and squirmed, still babbling nonsense.

“What was that?” you asked leaning closer so you could hear what you were sure was a string of curses and moans. Instead it was more coherent than you expected, and in Latin.

A spell?

You sat up just in time to see a dim light surrounding his wrists, glueing them efficiently to the couch.

“The handcuff spell? Seriously?” he was either being childish or kinky. Handcuffing himself with magic to control his wolf? “How long can you keep the spell going though?” you scoffed.

“I-it’s not up to m-me,” he sighed, slightly relieved that the spell had worked. “It will vanish once you say the password.”

“So, a safeword? Fine, what is it?”

“You’ll h-have to figure it out,” he had the audacity to smirk when he wanted this as much as you. Maybe even more than you, he was the one who got physical pain if he couldn’t have his mate.

“Have it your way,” you said, giving another bounce. “ Like I need your help to get off.”

“We’ll see a-about that.”

You decided not to argue anymore, quickening the pace instead and effectively turning him into a moaning mess. Or maybe the one moaning was you, you couldn’t quite tell at this point.

As the minutes went by and the air grew thicker, your whole body was trembling as you felt him grow inside of you.

“O-oh, god,” you panthed. “ Are you getting b-bigger? Is that your knot?”

Doyoung, who had been observing you with lidded eyes the entire time, finally had something to say.

“Uh, n-not yet. That’s just m-me…”

“Oh… but that means that knots...are a thing, right?

“Y-yeah, it normally happens during heats, but it can also happen if we...get really worked up,” he said, licking his lips. “ But it takes a while of uh...fucking for that to happen. You know, basic werewolf anatomy.”

You looked at where your bodies were connected, your mind completely blank. You had stopped listening after he confirmed he could indeed knot you. You had never thought you were into that before, but there was something so animalistic about being knotted that you could only think about that now.

With a new purpose in mind, you gathered the strength you had left and rode him hard. Doyoung looked at you with wide eyes.

“D-does that turn you on?” he asked in disbelief in between moans.

You whined and nodded. Normally you wouldn’t admit it, but your pride was long gone.

“Yeah? My needy little mate wants my knot? Oh- so g- ah! That feels so good, baby. Just like that, just like that,” Doyoung was also leaving all formality behind, seeing you so desperate for him.

His praises served you as motivation to continue moving, even though your legs had given out. Frustrated, you tried to force yourself to ride him, only managing to grind harsh and slow.

“I can’t, please!” you sobbed incoherently.

“Keep going. Keep fucking going. Come on baby, use me,” he encouraged you while trying his best to thrust his hips into you. He couldn’t fuck you properly if he couldn’t move freely, but it was better than nothing. You were willing to take anything.

“More, more please oh my god,” you gasped as he gave you a few more thrusts, mixed with the weak movements your body could offer in your state.

“Are you gonna cum soon, hmm?” he hissed. “A-re you satisfied?”

“No!” you wailed. You were oh so close, but you didn’t want to cum just yet. “Y-your knot, want your knot.”

“Fuck!” he growled and his member twitched inside of you. “I wanna breed you so bad. You’re mine, mine, mine-”

It was the possessiveness in his voice that had you reaching your climax and collapsing on top of him while he whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

“Good girl, you did so well. I love you so much.”

“Love you too,” you replied weakly, closing your eyes to welcome what you thought would be a long nap, when you heard a sudden snap and Doyoung’s arms surrounded your body.

“Finally,” he growled next to your ear and before you could even blink, he manhandled you so you were on your back under him.

“Wha-” you tried to question what had just happened when he connected his lips with yours into a passionate kiss.

“Did we really have to go this far for you to admit that you love me?” he asked between kisses. “I literally had to fuck the confession out of you.”

“T-that was the password?” you asked gasping when he kissed his way to your breasts.

“Not necessarily,” he delicately licked at one of your niples before sucking on it, moaning.. “The only condition was that you admit your true feelings for me, whether you felt something or not.”

He released the sensitive nub and gave it a last kiss before going back up and pinning your wrists above your head with just one of his large hands. His other hand travelled down to grab his member and without a warning he re-entered you.

You literally shrieked and squirmed under him.

“Too s-sensitive-AH!” your eyes rolled back when he pushed himself in deeper than he could when he was tied up.

“Shh, baby. Don’t you want my knot?” he purred, grabbing your hips and pulling you onto his cock again and again.

“Oh my god, ohmygod,” was all you could mumble.

“Fuck, you like that, baby?” he gritted as he lifted one of your legs and his pace accelerated.

The new angle and how deep he could reach now had you arching your back and letting out a silent scream.

He pulled his hips into him harder and faster, his knot slowly forming at the base of his length. He let out a shaky moan as he forced it inside of you, your mind too blinded with pleasure to feel any pain at first, but when the rest of it started growing inside of you, you panicked.

“It’s too big, s’ too much-please” you scratched his arms and back.

“Take it,” he simply said as his knot grew further while he fucked into you. “I’m gonna fill you up so good.”

Your entire body was shaking. You had never felt so full. And just when you thought the pleasure couldn’t be better than this, Doyoung gasped dramatically and halted his movements. Your eyes followed to where he was looking: at the very bottom of your belly there was a little bump.

“Y/n, look,” he said, caressing your belly as if he was hypnotized. “I’m so deep inside of you.”

“Fuck,” you were officially losing it now. Your locked your legs around his hips, trying to fuck yourself into him. “Give me your knot, give it to me.”

He didn't need to be told twice. He pulls you into him as he fucks forward as fast and hard as he can.

“You want it? You want me to cum right inside of you where I belong?”

“Yes! yes, yes,yes, yes, oh fuck!”

You spasmed around him and reached your high as he fucked you brutally. Right after, he fell forward, his knot squirting furiously inside of you as he let out a delirious laugh, lost in pleasure.

“Oh, y/n look at how good you take it,” he gritted while his hand reached for your clit and rubbed it quickly. “One more time, baby, cum for me one more time, come on.”

Sobbing desperately you felt another wave of pleasure hit you, your entire body trembling before you relaxed completely. You felt Doyoung panting next to your ear, before he started licking and sucking on the mark he had left there weeks ago.

It must be a wolf thing, you thought gaining back some of your long forgotten ability to think.

“Sorry. I'll remember to use a condom for the next round,” he said softly. “I’ll also get you plan B if we need it.”

“You’re lucky I’m on the pill. How many rounds are we talking about?” you asked breathlessly.

“Enough to fuck the attitude out of you-ouch!” he laughed when you hit his arm. “I don’t know, it could take one more round or we could be here all week.”

“Well, fuck.”

“Yep, fuck indeed.”

You two remained in silence for a few minutes before he broke the silence again.

“Can we please be together now? Like, really together. As a couple? I mean, we don’t have to, but-”

You bursted out laughing, but stopped when you saw the insecurity in his eyes. Seriously, only he could get insecure when his knot was locked inside of you.

“On one condition: I get an A for my last written assignment.”

He stared at you in disbelief before he let out a chuckle.

“I’ll reread and re-evaluate every single assignment you wrote this year, after I make you squirt.

“Deal.”

[brightdeadthing]

- Ocean Vuong, from Time Is a Mother (text under the cut)

We are shoveling snow, this man and I, our backs coming closer along the drive. It’s so quiet every flake on my coat has a life. I used to cry in a genre no one read. What a joke, they said, on fire. There’s no money in it, son, they shouted, smoke from their mouths. But ghosts say funny things when they’re family. This man and I, we take what will vanish anyway and move it aside, making space. There is so much room in a person there should be more of us in here. Traveler who is inches away but never here, are you warm where you are? Are you you where you are? Something must come of this. In one of the rooms in the house the man and I share, a loaf of rye is rising out of itself, growing lighter as it takes up more of the world. In humans, we call this Aging. In bread, we call it Proof. We’re in our thirties now and I rolled the dough just an hour ago, pushing my glasses up my nose with a flour-dusted palm as I read, reread, the hand-scrawled recipe given me by the man’s grandmother, the one who, fleeing Stalin, bought a ticket from Vilnius to Dresden without thinking it would stop, it so happened, in Auschwitz (it was a town after all), where she and her brother were asked to get off by soldiers who whispered, keep moving, keep moving like boys leading horses through wheat fields in the night. How she passed the huddled coats, how some were herded down barbed-wired lanes. The smoke from our mouths rising as the man and I bend and lift, in silence, the morning clear as one inside a snow globe. How can we know, with a house full of bread, that it’s hunger, not people, that survives? He pours a bag of salt over the pavement. From where I’m standing it looks like light is spilling out of him, like the dusty sunray that found his grandmother’s hands as she got back on the train, her brother at her side, smoke from the engine blown across the faces outside, which soon fell back into pine forests, washed pastures, empty houses with full rooms. The man clutches his stomach as if shot, the light floods out of him—I mean you. Because something must come of this. When the guard asked your grandmother if she was Jewish, she shook her head, half-lying, then took from her bag a roll, baked the night before, tucked it in the guard’s chest pocket. She didn’t look back as the train carried her, newly twenty, toward where I now stand, on a Sunday in Florence, Massachusetts, squinting at her faded scrawl: sift flour, then beat eggs until happy-yellow. The train will reach Dresden days before the sky is filled with firebombers. More smoke. A bullet or shrapnel, failing to find her. The brother under rubble, his name everywhere outside her like the snow falling on your face forty years later, on December 2, 1984, while your mother carries you, alive only three hours, the few steps to the mini-van where your grandmother, sixty now, crowns your head with her brother’s name. Peter, she says, Peter, as if the dead could be called back into new, stunned bones. The snow has started up again, whitening the path as though nothing happened. But to live like a bullet, to touch people with such intention. To be born going one way, toward everything alive. To walk into the world you never asked for and choose a place where your wanting ends—which part of war do we owe this knowledge? It’s warm in this house where we will die, you and I. Let the stanza be one room, then. Let it be big enough for everyone, even the ghosts rising now from this bread we tear open to see what we’ve made of each other. I know, we’ve been growing further apart, unhappy but half full. That clearing snow and baking bread will not fix this. I know, too, as I reach across the table to brush the leftover ice from your beard, that it’s already water. It’s nothing you say, laughing for the first time in weeks. It’s really nothing. And I believe you. I shouldn’t, but I do.