#rie writes

[blood-mocha-latte]

// ANGEL FROM MONTGOMERY // 9.3K // RATED T

Sunday. Early spring, 1951. 

Meatball turns nine on Monday, Macon’s back hurts, and Benny is halfway through reading The Awakening. 

READ ON AO3

TAGLIST (from this)

@saturnwisteria @angelfruittree @thegrandpineapple

[riewritten]

Sometimes I forget that Johan Liebert is canonically fluent in other languages.

Imagine him giving giving you one-on-one English classes for whatever shenanigans and one day you come at him with the fruits of his labor.

"Your English is getting good day by day. That's great. It won't be long 'til you say goodbye to my lessons."

"Really?" you gasp, clearly proud of yourself. "Hold on, how about I try to construct sentences while you correct my mistakes?"

Johan has always been the one to initiate an activity to gauge what you've learned, so needless to say he's amused to not humor your request. "Go on."

"I have a cat. His name is Johan. He's quiet but likes to cuddle a lot."

"No mistakes, but to sound more native, you can say it this way instead: I have a cat named Johan. He's quiet but likes to cuddle a lot."

"Oh! Okay, let me try again." You take your time before speaking again. "I want an old rich guy who give me money after he dies."

"No, you don't."

"Huh?"

"You wouldn't want that."

"Oh! Yes, I wouldn't," you agree, much to his relief (why is he relieved?) "But you were supposed to correct my grammatical errors, Johan."

"Oh."

"So...? Did I have any errors?"

"The correct way to say it is: I want a rich old guy who would give me money after he dies," he says, only to add, "But you wouldn't want that. Trust me. You don't."

"I think I would like the idea," you negate. "I need money, after all."

Only if you know that the person responsible for the economic crisis you're undergoing is right in front of your eyes. Fortunately, you don't, which explains why Johan is in front of you.

"Someone younger could give it to you. Don't you worry."

"So..." you awkwardly start, "are we still doing the game or not?"

Well, only if you didn't make a sentence like that, Johan wouldn't be so distracted.

"Yeah," Johan chuckles almost nonchalantly. "I forgot I was supposed to do that."

[wingsofbadass]

Ranma 1/2 au where Lan Zhan falls into the Spring of the Drowned Girl, except it's a blessing instead of a curse.

With art by @lilkikibat 💖

[caparrucia]

Written wholly and entirely for @garbria who always comes up with the best ideas and enables me terribly.

[riewritten]

CRYING. CYING CRYINNGSNDJGNDNR!!!?!?@#?@ first johan liebert fan art, a MAJESTIC one at that, dedicated to my fic‼😭💘 yOU ARE SUCH A GREAT ARTIST what the hell?!?!?! LIKE THE LINES?!?!? THE SHADING AND COLORING STYLE?? delicious. SUPERB. i will eat ur art 1000/10

now i CAN definitely imagine johan shamelessly huffing a lil cig at YOUR bathroom door (the audacity of this bitch!!!) after removing his anna liebert costume, make up, and all because he's confident not even the stink of cigarette smoke could wake his favorite roommate up 😔✊ he had spent a lot of nights observing you sleep to know that much, after all.

the only con is that he'd have to clean the ashes along with his make up kit among many other things. you see, it's actually quite apparent to notice that someone had smoked inside your bathroom—there would be ashes on the floor, the stinky smell would stick to the tiles, and it would all be piled up with your annoyance to whoever the fuck would break into your house while you're sleeping just to do such an abhorrence.

but johan, this unhinged man, is living off the thrill of being caught, of being noticed and known by you—well, much to his denial of his own existence. he thinks it's just his self-destructive tendencies at work, but deep inside you should know that this fucker is sometimes disgustingly filled with satisfaction during scenario-buildings—an event where you could see him all bare and exposed, a point in time where the monster lays itself bare to the one who interests him most. oh, you'd be so terrified. perhaps your whole world would crumble, even. he sure knows it would—that is in accordance to his will—for the monster, for the first time in his life, wants to have a tumultuous impact towards another living being.

he doesn't know the reason why, though. this is the first time the monster inside him took this type of interest towards someone.

HERE'S THE OIL WELL FIRES FANFIC for those who haven't read it yet btw <333

@riewritten caught johan getting out of drag

kept procrastinating on this cuz i kept nitpicking but i need to work on my perfectionism so i went ahead and tried to finish it instead of throwing it in the WIP dungeon LOL. now go read “oil well fires” by riewritten. genuinely the best johan fic i’ve read and i can’t wait to read the future chapters 🙏🙏

[eatenthing]

An old one, an old tale

[cirr0stratus]

read Little Talks by @blood-mocha-latte i’m insane completely normal about it

[plrle]

Idk if you still have requests open but if yes can you draw Prieur wearing a choker with a π shaped charm (like this: https://www.amazon.com/necklace-mathematics-jewelry-math-teacher/dp/B01FLW687U) ? 🥺

sorry for the long reply! finally made it to your request :]

it seems that Prieur likes it!!

[riewritten]

and the way he could be so experienced yet inexperienced in handling your very giant affection, right?

like he'd start at innocently asking, "are you okay?" whenever you flinch, face flushed, as he languidly examines your arm for vital signs. and you'd just nod at him meekly, still couldn't look him in the eye, screaming in your head "man, have pity on me."

and perhaps your body eventually takes phoebe bridger's waiting room so seriously because you'll start getting sick more often. more reason to come to him! until one time he just tells you with a defeated smile after check up, "eat and sleep well so you won't have to come back here, okay? look at you. you're never been this sickly before!" then he pats your head. he means well, he really does, but it garners nothing but a glare from you.

"then see me outside your clinic room."

tenma's smile turns awkward, "c-come again?"

"go out with me! that way i would stop being sick because my body keeps on finding you!"

tenma slowly retracts his hand on top of your head, and slowly but surely, heat creeps up his face. you run out of his room out of shame even before he could say more such as, "b...but... code of ethics... doctor and patient are not supposed to go out..." oh bullshit. you want to pounce on him. the code of ethics could go fuck itself when you two end up fucking each other.

oh god, how embarrassing. with his handsome face, you just knew he'd have lots of experience with romance, so why is he so shocked and flushed at your remark? as if your body listened to you, you stop getting sick after that encounter, perhaps because your own ailment is utter shame of showing your face to him again.

it was until you saw each other coincidentally at some cafe did your body feel unwell again—head dizzy, stomach churning, knees weak and mouth holding back a squeal—all because of his new haircut. he's already handsome in his poorly maintained straight hair that he couldn't cut because of busy schedule, but now? oh man. oh man. and the way his eyes perk up as soon as it sees you? the way he smiles? the way he calls your name in delight as if you two haven't seen each other for decades? this man is so undeniably hot, but his adorability is what got you wrapped in his pretty (broad and rough) fingers that you want somewhere indecent.

and yet, and yet, and yet! the first thing you blabbered as soon as he reaches you was, "my word, you look so hot in that haircut."

he gets all red again but his fluster is immediately cut off when you slap yourself in the face, hard. "sorry," you mutter weakly afterward.

"thanks," when you look at him again, he's now genuinely smiling. "you look much better now, too. perhaps you don't need to go out with me to feel better, yeah?"

with utter shame you look away, "i think i have this chronic ailment of not thinking of my words before i speak."

"that i can see well," he teasingly adds. "mind sitting with me, then? perhaps we could talk about it and i could come up with a..." he thinks it through, "prognosis."

oh, he's so corny and pathetic. you adore him so much. please stop the urge to pounce on him in public, though.

"sure thing, doctor."

ACTUALLLYYY im kind of in a Tenma mood right now. I want reader trying their best to not look at him disrespectfully, because it feels downright sinful to think of him in that way.

[blood-mocha-latte]

AN OLD VOICE || PART VI || 25K || RATED E

Joe pulled him out of his thoughts handily, pressing three fingertips to the back of George’s neck and pulling away before George could even turn to look at him properly. 

When he found his face, releasing a breath like he hadn’t known he was holding it, Joe’s eyes were warm. Always were, but different than they had been, in a way. More open with worry, with something that George still had trouble reading. 

“A week.” George told him, before the silence could stretch on for too long and begin to pry up the carefulness around his ribs. Joe just nodded back, eyes still prodding over George’s face like he could find something that George didn’t even know was there. 

“A week.” He said back, hoarse. 

They still didn’t move. 

(The end of the first journey.)

READ ON AO3

TAG LIST:

@mstiemountainhop @zehroni @disastrouscanasta @lamialamia @rosemaryandbrine @fallsirens @hanniewinnix @ewipandora @frstcorinthians @almost-a-class-act

[riewritten]

How about Erwin just being a gentleman and protective? 🥺

ahah... 4 months before i catered to this req... ahaha... sorry didn't mean that. i was just feeling silly. this is a very general premise tho, so i made the particularities myself!

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. gen neutral!reader x erwin smith 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬. 1.1k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬. hurt/comfort, mental health issues & nuances of self-harm, basically erwin smith comforting and protecting you from… tada! yourself! (pretty ppl with ugly demons unite!)

The room is warped with sheer worry on your end while apparent scrutiny on Erwin's end. Only the two of you are in the room, facing each other, with the table separating both of you. He squints his eyes yet again; yours averts elsewhere but his deep stare.

"You've been wearing clothes quite too warm for this summer recently," he starts. "Do you have anything to tell me?"

"What else would I tell you? It's cold for me. Is it my fault that my skin isn't too thick anymore?"

He sighs upon hearing you feign ignorance. You very much know what he's talking about. 

"It's true, Erwin. My skin has been turning thin and fragile recently."

"May I see?"

"No."

"Why?"

You don't answer. Instead, you lower your head from him, lacking confidence for your reasons. Erwin waits, albeit he intentionally puts pressure on the question. After minutes, you finally give in to it, "It's been quite itchy recently."

"And...?"

"So I wear the sweatshirts. It would help ease the cold. It would help ease the itching."

"And?" he presses again, emphasizing the one-word question with utter urgency. Erwin's not one to lose his patience, but he's slowly coming to terms with the situation at hand and it is, indeed, getting quite urgent.

And with the lack of your answer, Erwin finally stands up. Despite its graced and precise sounds, the heel of his shoes is ringing your ear in further trepidation. He kneels when he's in front of you, urging you to look at his face.

He holds onto the tip of your sweater to gesture that he wants to fold it up himself, "May I?"

"Erwin," you mutter. A warning, perhaps.

Nonetheless, his other hand plays on your fingers, running circles on your palm in a calming gesture. He calls your name, "May I?"

You take minutes before getting the courage to nod. Anyone would've lost their patience by now, but Erwin instead responds with a small but sheerly proud smile as if to say: there, there. It wasn't too hard to do, was it?

He slowly folds up the sweater to expose more of your skin, holding precise gentleness as if he's really taking your dilly-dallies into account—that it is indeed fragile, and the sweater you're wearing is to alleviate its fraying.

Then there it goes. The answer is unveiled with the revealed skin. Aggressive and swollen nail scratches stain your skin. It's not something acquired by sharp objects. No, not at all. And that worries Erwin even more. He could easily put you off limits to external objects, but if this is the case, then, "How did you get this?"

You try to swat your hands away, getting irritated and defensive. "I told you, it's itchy."

"So you were scratching it?"

"Obviously? You have so many questions."

This is when his tone goes stern, "Answer me properly."

"I'm getting uncomfortable with this talk. Let me out of the room now."

"The uncomfortable one in this talk is the one causing the wounds."

"I will apply anti-irritant cream later on, okay?"

"And you know well the scratches didn't stem from something physical."

Indeed. You purse your lips tight. Erwin got you. He caught it badly, and his tone clearly shows he won't let it go.

Your itches are coming from anxiousness. The scratches stem from sheer uncomfortability and rattling thoughts. It's all coming from the inside, and thus fraying your skin mayhaps is a way for you to spit it all out.

"That's why I've been wearing sweaters," you say, the defense not so mighty anymore, but when Erwin doesn't answer, your face finally crumbled into guilt—a pang of genuine, reeking guilt. "Are you angry?"

Instead of answering, Erwin holds your fingers again and examines your nails. Then he stands up, goes to the closet, and returns to you.

"Stand up."

Erwin—when slipping into the tone of a commander—isn't someone to mess up with. So you follow suit. You stand up from your chair.

"Sit on the table."

"Eh?"

"Sit," he orders strictly.

Strange enough, you follow suit. Despite the glare and confusion, you hoist yourself up the table and sit. Erwin replaces your spot on the chair and faces you.

"Erwin, what are you doing?"

He holds your hand; the gesture answers your question. The thing he got from his closet was a nail cutter. Snip snaps cover the room. His silent yet resolute stance leaves you no choice but to let him. After all, he's right. The one uncomfortable in this conversation is the one causing the wounds. He's not angry at you per se; he could never be when he's worried. But the facet of you that causes this wound, this anxiousness, is what he wants to go away. This man would swear to protect you from anything and anyone, just as you would do for him. But at the same time, his most brutal rival is you—the hardest thing to do is to protect you from yourself. Not like he could crack your brain open and scoop the voices rattling inside your head.

So instead, he snips the sharp of your nails. Then he gently damps cream to the scratches of your skin, all the while thinking of different alternatives for you to do aside from fraying your skin—perhaps another way for you to spit the overwhelming voices out, something that would not result in wounds hidden by your sweatshirts.

He'd pretty much do everything—everything to protect you, everything to counter your aggressive mind by his sheer gentleness and resolve—precisely what you deserve for everything you had gone through.

"I'm sorry, Erwin," you mutter in guilt, worrying about his silence amidst his huge gestures.

"Does it hurt?"

You nod weakly, "It stings a bit. It didn't bleed, but it seems to be irritated."

"You do know it's not your fault, no?"

"Tch," you huff in mock, "not like someone else caused the skin scratches."

"You wouldn't want to enter a discourse you're certain you'd lose."

"Thank you," you mumble, "for cutting my nails for me."

"This isn't a free service."

"Then how else would I pay you back?"

"Live with me," he interposes, yet he sounds too resolved to ask your opinion. "At least until the itching subsides."

"N-no, I'm okay, really!"

"That was not a question. I'm merely informing you. That's the only way you could pay me back."

"Is this non-negotiable?"

"It is. You have no choice but to follow."

The only response you could come up with is a chuckle.

Erwin chuckles in turn. His sternness has wholly subsided.

The uncomfortably subsides a bit, too; the silence that follows suit no longer feels cold. Perhaps Erwin's presence is akin to the sweatshirt you've used to conceal your frayed skin. If you try to rely on him this time and let him cover you with his warmth, you wouldn't need to persist in the hot weather. Erwin could protect you with his devotion and care without forsaking your comfortability, without the need to resist and hide your vulnerability.

🔖 @frenchdyer @watyousayin @collinnmckinley @aeanya @xiaotopia | SUBSCRIBE TO STORIES

MORE OF SWEET SUBTLETIES SERIES HERE

[wingsofbadass]

fic author self-rec

When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers.

Thank you for tagging me, @sassybluee and @wrecklwj, and thus forcing me to let myself be perceived, lol.

1. Keep Me (MDZS, wlw Wangxian, E)

My pride and joy, tbh. My first ever Wangxian, my first ever NaNo win, something I never thought I could accomplish. It falls into one of my favorite tropes in this fandom which is straight boy/girl/whatever wei ying, which is just always such a joy. I really poured myself into his and I feel like I'll never be able to top this one. But also, Lan-er-jiejie made me lose my mind and write 50k of [confused horny noises] so.

2. Like a Knife to the Heart (MDZS, Wangxian, E)

Plot? I don't know her, normally. But I tried my hand at such a thing for last year's Bottomji Big Bang and it was such a fun experience. It was also unexpectedly fun to really lean into the unapologetic romance of historical settings for once and then mix my Wuxia love into it.

3. you bring it out of me (MDZS, wlw Wangxian, E)

Somehow, every Wangxian fic I write is some kind of new experiment for me. This one, written for a Subji event, had me writing the probably niche-iest thing I've ever written, wlw subji with jealousy and exes to lovers and a flavor of bdsm I wouldn't even know how to categorize?? But this was really peak freedom, peak "I do what I want!" to write and I'm so happy with how it turned out.

4. trostlos (SNK, JeanMarco, T)

I wrote this for one of the many JeanMarco Gift Exchanges I was a part of and I think it's my favorite bit of worldbuilding I've done. It's not a very long fic and by now I wonder how I managed to squeeze so much post-apocalypitic angst into 8k, but it's a powerful one, I think. I'm still really proud of it.

5. Only You Build Me, Only You Break Me (VLD, Shallura, E)

I may no longer fuck with this show or fandom, but I do still love some of the nsfw propmt fills I did here, especially the Superhero AU and the Sailor Moon AU. Just looking at it now makes me want to do something similar again for more current obsessions.

I now curse @flecksofpoppy @materassassino @avoidingavoidance @reservoirmonks and @ilip13 with having to expose themselves like this <3

[dailyreine]

　OC Ask Game ⁺˖⋆

↳ free to reblog + play!

What inspired you when creating them?

Their favourite place and memory there.

Do you have any crackships with them?

Cats or dogs?

What's their go-to drink?

Favourite sitcom and or horror film.

Do they have siblings?

Tell us a secret about their lore!

Their lucky, unlucky, and favourite number.

Which reincarnation of James Bond would they like the best?

A song that plays when they appear.

Pick a Minecraft block for them.

What was their childhood “thing”? (e.g. Pokémon, dinosaurs, princesses...)

Their favourite season of the show they're in (or favourite arc, if they're from some other form of media)

Pick a cereal that you'd put them in a bowl of.

What does their Pinterest look like?

What does their Tumblr look like?

What does their phone case, home and lock screen look like?

Favourite sea animal.

Are they “lalalala” or “okokokok”?

A song you'd like to animate them to!

Name a character from a different fandom they'd get along with.

Give them a sweet fluffy moment to make up for all that trauma you gave them.

Their favourite word?

Random fact!

[eatenthing]

[stories-by-rie]

there are false friends that make you go "eh okay" and there are false friends that haunt you every time you open your mouth to speak

[riewritten]

@danchou-danchou i'm afraid i'm having so much fun with these 😭

my last line is from Mere Droplets of Water Can Still Make a Glass Full, context is that reader ended up assisting drunk erwin back to his place.

You're seated on the floor beside his bed, forehead propped on the edge of his foam. Your eyes are fixated on the cold floor, and yet you could feel Erwin's gaze on the crown of your head. You swear that the silence could choke you to death—it would. Hell, it would. As if Erwin hears your plea, he places a hand on the crown of your head and says, "Go home now, please." You try to raise your face and meet his eyes, only for him to press his hand further to stop you. "Don't show your face to me when I'm on this state. I might end up doing things I would regret tomorrow."

i don't have lots of writer friends, so @rinamars @satorisa, i hope u wouldn't mind! (also @collinnmckinley, i thought you'd like to hear erwin out on this so i specfically chose mere droplets for this game)

Last Line Tag

Original thread ~

RULES: share the last line you wrote for your WIP, and then tag as many people as there are words. ...

Apart from a few bandages wrapped around his forearms, his body lay unusually bare; an apparition of ghostly pale skin.

(Guess who ^^)

Tagging: (I've got to annoy 20 people now? Fuuuck. Note to self: edit out these stupidly long, run on sentences). @this-is-krikkit @wanderlustqueen-writes @sixpennydame @littlerequiem @leviismybby @romantichomicide95 @nuri148 @wyvernslovecake @fanmoose12 @moogleterra @mstwnttd @yokohamapound @dreamingon-forever @hangeslefteye @nube55 @giuliadrawsstuff

Help, I have no friends so I'm having to bother the people who have already done this! Thanks for the tag @youre-ackermine @humanitys-strongest-bamf - you're it now! And I'm sure you guys don't mind sharing another line? @roseofdarknessblog @the-milk-anon