#post: fics

[santacarlatourism]

kiss me once 'cause you know i had a long night

listen, if you didn’t know, bret easton ellis has said that a contemporary patrick bateman would be a taylor swift fan. it is perhaps the funniest fact in the world to me, and so i have to confess that i will probably write about this again in the future. writing pat x reader is already kind of amusingly absurd in and of itself. the song prompt of choice for this entry is taylor swift’s “paper rings.” Rating: 13+ Pairing: patrick bateman x reader Warnings: Discussions of true crime, recreational drug use, I mean I don’t think anything here should be entirely unexpected given the source material Word Count: 1.6k Other entries in this series:

[Kevin Khatchadourian]

Kiss me once 'cause you know I had a long night Kiss me twice 'cause it's gonna be alright

You have to admit: You hadn’t thought you’d actually like Patrick Bateman, but the guy was growing on you.

Your friend had wanted to set you up on a blind double date with one of her boyfriend’s friends, in which the four of you would all go out together. You are fairly certain that it was just because she enjoys the idea of double dates. They are cute and Instagram worthy, and allow an opportunity for her to brag about what a wonderful couple her and her beau are. You don’t begrudge her for it, though. They do seem like a happy enough couple.

The date, however, had sounded tedious from the start. You know this friend from being roommates in your college dormitory, where you had been a scholarship student and she was a legacy. While she has always been kind to you, the way she navigates the world is so far detached from the way you live that it’s often proven hard to get her to understand certain things about your life. For example, the fact that the average person does not have a myriad of formal wear for dinner reservations in their closet, ready to go. You are grateful that she took you out to buy something for the date, but hope that she isn’t going to want to do this sort of thing every time.

You’re exhausted from the moment you walk in the door of the fancy restaurant. She mentioned the name of it a thousand times in the car, but you still can’t quite recall it– Archer? Avalon? Something European sounding that starts with an “A.” It’s all hustle and bustle and it’s too many people crowded in too tiny of a place, something that’s both become familiar during your time in the city, and that you’ve also grown to loathe .

Your friend’s boyfriend waves as you approach, and he introduces the man you’ll be sitting beside for the evening, Patrick Bateman. The two across from you swiftly excuse themselves to “get some air.” Considering you only just arrived, it’s rather obvious that the air they plan on getting is cocaine. It is silent for a moment. “Do you want to know what I do?” Patrick asks you.

You’re about to respond with a partly indifferent but affirmative answer, but before you can do so the waiter comes by and fills you and your friend’s glass with sauvignon blanc. “Do we know what we’d like to– shit!” He accidentally knocks over one of the water glasses.

Although it doesn’t get on either you or Patrick, he apologizes profusely and cleans it up before disappearing once again. Patrick has fallen quiet and seems quite tense, not focusing on you. You sigh and take a sip from the wine glass– maybe he’s just nervous about the potential for a first date to go wrong. Not that you would want to admit it, but a touch of your attitude is also the result of nerves (though plenty of it was, as your friend would say, your innate bitchiness). So you try and be a bit more open and friendly for him.“I don’t bite,” you crack a joke.

“Excuse me?” He asks, snapping back to, as if he’d been lost in some very interesting day dream.

“I don’t bite,” you repeat yourself. “Hard,” A teasing grin appears across your lips. “What’s on your mind?”

You weren’t exactly prepared for the answer that comes forth from this man. “Well, did you know that H. H. Holmes paid to have the flesh from his first victim’s corpse removed after attempting to skin her like a rabbit, and sold her skeleton to a medical school?” He says it almost with an almost desperate, defeated chuckle as he brings his wine glass to his lips and takes a sip.

For a moment you say nothing because you’re unsure if this is actually the thought that was preoccupying his mind moments ago. And you’re also unsure what kind of response he expects from this particular bit of knowledge. And, now that he’s actually made eye contact with you, you notice that he has this distinctly blank look behind his eyes. He clenches his jaw in the silence. It’s becoming awkward. You finally respond: “Oh, so you’re into those true crime books?” You ask.

He swallows thickly; it’s surprisingly audible considering there was nothing in his mouth and the sound of goings on in the restaurant around you– Arcadia, that’s the name. “Pardon me?”

“True crime books. They aren’t my cup of tea, but they’re growing quite popular. The first book in the genre to win the Pulitzer Prize was The Executioner’s Song back in ‘79, so I think people are starting to view it more as actual literature and less as an extended tabloid piece. My library’s been getting an increasing number of books in the ghe genre” You comment. “Though I suppose that depends on the author’s approach. What else do you like to read?”

He stutters for a moment, and it’s sort of cute. So you smile.

After dinner, as you’re leaving the restaurant, your friend departs with her boyfriend. She suggests that you can have Patrick take you home, or that you could go home with him. She winks at you and laughs as her boyfriend’s car is pulled up by the valet and the two get in, disappearing into the night, leaving you alone with a man you’ve only known for a couple of hours. And while you have found his oddities somewhat charming, he’s still the next best thing to a stranger. His car pulls around and when the chauffeur gets the door, you hesitate only a moment before getting in. “Where do you live?” Patrick asks.

You respond with the address and name of your apartment complex. Patrick stares at you blankly in response, but the driver seems to be aware of where that is because he pulls out and heads in that direction. “I haven’t heard of that building,” He finally says, breaking the quiet that had fallen over the backseat.

“Well, that’s all right,” You say, with a good natured smile. But you are mildly confused as to why he seems so surprised. New York City had a lot of apartment buildings, you doubted anyone knew the names of them all.

Patrick is very clearly struggling to initiate conversation, you notice. He’s already talked about his work (you still aren’t clear of what his work day consists of, though), high end fashion (you do think the way he eviscerated the suit of the other man at the table was kind of funny), his interest in true crime (though you never got it out of him what other things he reads, you can infer he probably devours GQ), music (the man is beholden to the Billboard Hot 100, and you decide if this goes any further you’ll have to expand his tastes), and other places to get food and drinks besides Arcadia (places you could not afford– you couldn’t have afforded tonight if, since he was technically your date, Patrick had paid your bill).

You frown a little, studying him for a moment, and wonder if dinner reservations and suits and work and who-wore-what-and-when-and-where is where Patrick Bateman ends. It’s a shame, because based off your dinner conversation you had thought you may have found someone you could enjoy talking about your love of literature with outside of work.

“What do you do?” Patrick says, as if he’s only just realized that the question is something he can ask, and that he has not asked it all night. “You’re on the library board, I recall, I once was with a girl who worked with the ACLU–” He’s cut off by your chuckling, laughter, and his expression tenses up. Darkens a bit. “What?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Patrick, you’re just mistaken, that’s all.” You smile at him, leaning a little closer. You put a hand in his lap. “I’m very flattered you think I serve on the library board, but I don’t.”

Patrick frowns and furrows his brows together and you resist the urge to laugh, again, at the way you can see the gears in his brain turning. “Then why are you going to the library?”

“Patrick, I work there.”

“You work there.”

You nod. “My current job title is library assistant, but I’m hoping to go back to school once I’ve saved up and get a masters in library science. Then I can actually become a librari-an,” you explain, “There’s a bit of a difference in job responsibilities, and of course pay. Right now I check books in and out, shelve them and organize them, help people look through the newspaper archives– I feel like I’ve lost you,” You say.

“No– I mean– I just didn’t expect that a library would… pay so well,” He states, looking over your outfit.

“It doesn’t. My friend got me this for the date tonight,” You say with a teasing smile, as the car pulls up in front of your building. You feel a twinge of guilt. While you hoped your date wasn’t the sort of rich asshole to toss you aside when he realized you weren’t a trust fund baby, you hadn’t intended to deceive him or anything.

“Do you want to come up?” You ask him. It’s later than you would usually have stayed out, and you’re not sure if Patrick is as tired as you are, but you still want to ask. “I know it’s been a bit of a long night, but… And you’re not going to get me to put Genesis on, but I could manage some Bowie,” You offer.

He’s white knuckling from gripping his fist in his lap so hard. For a moment you think that he’s going to have an aneurysm deciding whether or not to accept your invitation, and are about to tell him don’t worry about it, forget it, have a good night, when he answers. “Sure.”

You hesitate, but smile, and on a leap of faith give him a kiss, before sliding out and holding the car door open for him.

[thatbuddie]

people telling you they reread your fic is the biggest compliment you could ever receive. there are thousands of stories out there begging to be found, to be explored, but your story meant so much to someone that they came back to it eagerly, they went over every word again. to love is to return and loving a fic is rereading it. thank you to all readers and rereaders <3333

[ispyspookymansion]

stream i am the prayers of the naive on ao3 dot com

[lapetitepatisserie]

cod × fem!reader ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

The familiar sound of keys in the door alerted you to your husband’s return.

“My love?” he called, looking for you, boots making heavy footsteps as he made his way towards you and your child. His eyes soften once they land on you and your baby girl.

“How’s my princess?” he drawls, voice deep with exhaustion from work.

You look down at the child sitting in your lap, occupied with trying to fit a chubby foot into her mouth. A steady finger reaches underneath your chin, lifting it to meet his warm, intense gaze.

“I’m talking about this one.”

[emberfaye]

You know what?

I love you, fics that take months to update. I click on the newest chapter and have no memory of this place and get to go back some chapters and rediscover how much i love everything about this story.

I love you, fics that take years to update. I think of you fondly, and know your names, go search for you and see an update from this year and scream, diving in uncaring of any missed details (i will finish the update and read you in reverse because this is a treat you have bestowed)

I love you, fics that probably will never update again. Thank you for being a roman empire for my mind, thank you for teaching me about the ephemeral fandom experience, for inspiring a thousand million what if-s, for being a comfort read and a nostalgia read and a reread.

I love you fic writers, who jump into projects and stories with enthusiasm. I love you when you succeed in pumping out those chapters and that love doesn't go away when you stop.

I love you fic writers who post and then get in your own head and never feel confident enough to update, whether it's at all or whether it's just that one story.

I love you fic writers, who have a fandom or media hurt you to the point of abandoning or having a hard time with their WIPs.

I love you fic writers, who lose interest or have life changes or illness or bad memory. Thank you for being part of the fandom, a core part of the fandom. Thank you for the time spent in the fandom.

I love you, fic writers who try out something new and then stop. You're so valid.

I love you, WIP fics that may or may not ever get finished. Thank you for brightening my day in the way only you could have.

[museaway]

I hope the fic you are working on right now finds a reader who will think about it constantly for years

[chiptrillino-art]

something stranger and more wonderful

(ID in ALT text)

my art for @faux-fires (ao3 Link) fic "something stranger and more wonderful"

beta red by @ranilla-bean (ao3 Link) for this years @zukkabigbang2024 event. its truly a beautiful fic. Keeping you on your toes while reading. making you worry about sokka exposed to the whims of nature and zuko, all alone.

big thank you to reikah and rana for all the handholding during this project! And stoping me form overthinking details.

[littlelightfish]

This... this is a whole different kind of psychic damage here. When nightmares got Marcille, we get to knew that her's biggest fear is outliving her friends. This isn't even canon probably, but look at this. This isn't a "I don't want my friends to die" kind of dream. This is a "I'm terrified of loosing my daughters, of something killing them, and being incapable of stopping it" kind of dream. It's so simple yet it explains perfectly the whole of chilchucks character. He loves, he cares, deeply. But he, or doesn't acknowledges, or doesn't know what to do with that knowledge.

Besides that. Someone had to wake him up after this. Imagine the devastation in this man after he wakes up. He just saw his three little babys murdered corpses (or maybe he saw them die, wich isn't better). He would possibly not talk about it, and that would worry the hell out of the party, because we'll, they see him all down and only one of them knows what he saw. Imagine being the one to pull him from that nightmare. Seeing this man, usually so composed, fuking staring with tears and terror in his eyes to the composes of what you can only assume are his daughters. It would be heartwrenching.

Idk, I love this man so much...

[lazylittledragon]

if i had a nickel for every au spawned from twitter that i SWORE i was going to be normal about

[codecicle]

Whar does rpf mean 💔💔💔

historians aren't quite sure. Albert Einstein's last words were "rpf is fine" and we've been searching ever since

[moldycigarette]

this x simon “ghost” riley

cw!: praise, size kink, creampie, breeding kink, bulge, simon’s a nasty dog (and i tried to warn ya)

—————

simon never fails to remind you how much bigger he is than you.

you’re short? no problem, all those missing inches go to simon. oh wait you’re tall? whatever, he still towers over you.

are you chubby by society’s standards? just means there’s more for him to love. skinny? that’s okay too, he’s always down to eat whatever you can’t finish.

no matter what size or shape you are, it’s a guarantee that simon is still bigger than you. and he always manages to remind you of that in the bedroom.

his large hands around your waist, pounding into you with his thick cock. he obsesses over the bulge in your cute tummy from his size, practically drooling over the fact that he can’t even fit inside you’re pretty pussy all the way.

whether he’s fucking you doggy style or in a mating press, he will always tower over you. he makes sure you’re cum is on his fingers and his tongue alone before he shoves his meaty dick inside you; this man has the libido and stamina of a god.

“g’nna fuck this p’ssy so good, love. fill ya’ up to the brim,” he moans, his thrusts growing more erratic as he feels that familiar heat in his stomach.

you’re coming right along with him, seeing stars while he peppers kisses in your neck. “such a good girl f’r me, g’nna make the best mama.”

—————

um sorry didn’t mean to let out my inner whore

[charlotlie]

bitches be like “this is the best piece of literature i have ever read” and it’s either a book that took them six weeks to finish or a fanfic they read at 3 AM

[raynewolferune]

DC x DP Prompt: Bruce is bad at emoting but at least ghosts are empathic (too bad bat kids are not)

Was reading Twincognito on AO3 when I stumbled across this gem again:

~

" “Danny, Tim. I was just…checking in. Is everything alright?” Curse his inability to make meaningful conversation when it wasn’t a life or death situation.

They glanced at each other and shrugged.

Then Danny hauled himself out of the bed and walked over to Bruce.

Bruce tried not to let too much excitement show on his face. "

~

Now I really want to read a story where Bruce adopts Danny post Meta trafficking and is being his usual emotionally constipated self. His kids keep getting mad at him because he's treating their new meta brother who was trafficked poorly (generally being stilted in conversation with him, walking away hurriedly mid-conversation, avoiding Danny when he's feeling really awkward, etc). They think Bruce is discriminating against Danny for being a civilian, meta, dealer's pick, but really it's just Bruce being horribly socially awkward. Danny knows this because of ghost empathy and find the whole thing hilarious. The whole thing comes to a head with the Bat Kids staging an intervention in the Bat Cave.

[fanficmemes]

Love when writers do an insane amount of unnecessary research for their fics. I follow an author that did like 8 months of intense research into 14th century Scotland so they could write smut about it, and guess what. It was some fucking incredible porn AND I learned about old Scottish politics

[righteousenjoymentofthunder]

just. dropping this here

[iamanartichoke]

I don't know who needs to hear this, but as a creator -

I am fine with "the audience" -

downloading my fics

printing my fics

copy/pasting or screenshotting my fics

sharing your saved copy of my fics with anyone else who might want them in the unlikely but never impossible case that my fics are no longer available on ao3

making a book of my fic(s) and running your fingers across the pages while lovingly whispering my precioussss

doing these things with anything I create for fandom, such as meta, headcanons, au nonsense like 'texts from the brodinsons,' etc

I am not fine with "the audience"

doing any of the above with the purpose/intent of plagiarizing my work or passing it off as their own in any capacity

feeding my work into ai for any reason whatsoever

Save the fandom things. Preserve the fandom things. Respect the fandom things.

Enjoy the fandom things.