#so anyway i wrote something she's a muse who is a thing now

[immobiliter]

it's the way that i add el on a super, super lowkey basis, but then she eventually sneaks her way into becoming one of my big muses on this blog lmao

[arc-misadventures]

There’s Something On Your Face

Another day, another dollar, another poorly written news story.

Jaune Arc may have finally landed his dream job at the, Daily Planet. Being able to tell, and explore various stories that help inform people throughout the world. Being able to see, and hear all sort of things. And, being around some of the most talented reporters in the world. It was his dream come true!

But, good gods the people here were illiterate.

Jaune: Haaa… Good lord…

Nora: What’s wrong, Jaune?

Jaune: This place is filled with some of the most talented news reporters in the country, but they all seemingly pose the writing capabilities of an eight grader! Which isn’t all the surprising considering the country’s falling education system…

Nora: Why, what did they spell wrong?

Jaune: Ruby, was writing a report about the ecological damage, Lex Corp has committed in that gas leak we had the other week. And, she wrote: ‘The effects of the ass leak will have unseen effects…’ Ass leak… Good lord…

Nora: Well… it’s where gas leaks emanate from.

Jaune: …

Jaune: You’ve been hanging around, Yang too much. That… that was just horrible.

Nora: She makes worse puns than that, and you know it.

Jaune: True. Speaking of bad puns, where is, Yang?

Nora: I don’t know, maybe she got an exclusive scoop, and had to go report on it again.

Jaune: Yeah, another exclusive scoop…

Jaune turned to look outside, his mind gazing over the familiar high rise landscape before him as a question that had been plaguing him ran amok. That stopped when he saw a green blur fly past followed by a white figure chasing after it.

Jaune: Oh, looks like, Superwoman’s got a dancing partner. Though I don’t think it’s a good dancing partner.

Nora: Wait, what?!

He said this as nonchalantly, and generally uncaring as possible as he saw his coworkers rush to the window to see what was a abuzz.

Jaune had been at the, Daily Planet well before, Superwoman had arrived. He had reported on her first exploits as a hero saving, Metropolis. Had conducted several personal one on one interviews with her. Hell, he had even been saved by her a few times. So seeing her go about doing superhero things like saving the city from an alien invasion, some villain with a massive ego boner, or simply saving some kids kitten stuck in a tree, he had seen it, and written about dozens of times before. It was time that the new blood reported on such stories. Besides, he would know about it all in the end anyway, when he checked up on their atrocious grammar mistakes anyway.

But, as, Jaune looked through the window to see, Superwoman’s white cape billowing in the wind. Her dazzling smile radiating the sky as he blond locks of hair shined seemingly created a halo of light around her. Making her appear like an angel in the sky. He couldn’t help but ask himself the same question he often found himself ask all the time as of later:

Who was it that wore the mask of, Superwoman?

~~~

: Hey, Jaune!

Jaune’s musing from grading more spelling mistakes, and poor grammar was broken when a warm voice freed him from his stupor. He looked up to see violet eyes hidden behind thick black rimmed glasses with a warm welcoming smile he knew all too well.

Jaune: Oh, hello, Yang. Where have you been?

Yang Xiao Long had been working at the, Daily Planet for a few years now, she was a highly skilled reporter with an uncanny ability to always snag the hottest scoop from under your very nose. She also had this odd habit of suddenly disappearing, and reappearing at will. She could have been fired for this if she didn’t keep on bringing such fantastic news stories though.

But, as he looked upon her, her dorky little smile, and her hair tied in its usual ponytail. He could help but wonder how she would look like if she removed those ugly frames of hers, and wore contacts, it was such a shame to hide such a beautiful dace after all.

Yang: Oh catching this juicy story by the docks!

Jaune: The docks? What were you doing around there?

Yang: Oh… I was… I was just out for a jog. That’s all~!

He could help, but quirk an eyebrow at her rather odd remark. They lived in the same building, the docks were on the other side of town from where they lived. And, she found this supposed juicy story on a jog? That didn’t add up.

Jaune: And, the story?

Yang: How, Lex Corp recently bought it, and how a lot of strange items have been coming through. And, an odd amount of stuff like fruit, and vegetables.

Jaune accepted the paper containing, Yang’s story, and put if with pile of stories he need to review. Her brief synopsis sounded ridiculous, but, Lex Corp was a shady place. He was once been given a bag of peanuts by them, and he would swear on his life that whatever he ate that day wasn’t a real peanut.

Jaune: Okay, I’ll give it a look see when I come to it. Need anything else?

Yang: Nope, that’s all.

Jaune: Okay, now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to pondering how our education system if failing to teach proper english to people.

Yang: Okay! I’ll be here if you need me.

Jaune watched her, the country girl in the big city seemingly skip her way to her desk to work on what ever new story she had concocted.

She was a nice girl, but she was a little odd. Everyone was a little odd so that wasn’t a huge problem, but their was something especially odd about, Yang. He had several feelings about the girl, he understood, and rationalized them as best he could.

And, yet there was just something he couldn’t pin down about the girl.

~~~

Jaune looked to the clock on the corner of his computer screen, and saw that it had ticked past six o’clock. He looked around the office, and saw that it was only him, and one person left in the office.

He rubbed his eyes as he stood up. He grabbed some paper, and walked over to the last person in the office.

Jaune: Congratulations. You the only person who didn’t piss me off today.

Yang: What?

Yang looked at him confused as he handed her back her news story. She looked at the paper, and the only mark she saw was the stamp that read: ‘Print it.’

Yang: I’m confused.

Jaune: I’ve been reviewing, and fixing everyone’s stories all day, and yours is the only one I didn’t have to fix. To which I thank you.

Yang: Oh, no problem, Jaune! Were there any bad spelling errors you need to fix?

Jaune: Lets see, first off there was, Ruby’s mistake of writing, ‘Ass leak,’ instead of, ‘gas leak.’ Nora got lost on a tangent of talking about pancakes in her story, again. Neptune’s story was supposed to be about the new swimming pool that was built, but he spent most of his time failing to flirt with girls according to, Sun. And, the cherry on top was, Blake’s report on the faunas rights rally. Instead of writing, ‘feline’ she for some reason wrote the worss, ‘peal lime.’

Yang: Pfft-hahahaha!

Yang’s warm laughter was infectious, and brought a smile to his face as he watched her happy smile play across her face.

Jaune: Considering the fact she is a cat faunas she should know what the hell she’s talking about, but nope. Apparently she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

Yang: ‘Peal lime.’ Ha! That’s a good one.

Jaune: Yeah. So thanks for not giving me more work to do for a change.

Yang: Just doing my job, Jaune. Think nothing of it.

Jaune: It’s always nice to have something to relax to. So let me have this one. Okaaaaaaay…?

Jaune’s words began to slur as his head tipped inquisitively to the side as he looked at, Yang’s face. The action made, Yang nervously fidget as he appeared to be looking for something.

Yang: I-Is there something wrong, Jaune?

Jaune: There’s something on your face. Hold still, I’ll get it.

Yang’s face started to become flushed red as, Jaune leaned down, and moved closer to her face. She started stuttering as his hands came closer to closer, and then the unthinkable happened.

Jaune had pulled off her glasses.

Jaune: Ah ha! I got it, there was a disguise on your face, Yang. Or perhaps I should say… Superwoman~!

And, had swiftly, and effortless unmasked her super hero persona.

Yang: H-How… How did you find out…?

Jaune smiled softly at her as he took a seat in the chair across from her. He handed back her glasses to which she rapidly put back on to hide herself so to speak.

Jaune: I thought you’d put up more of a fight, and deny you were, Superwoman. But, to answer your question, I’ve had several reasons to suspect it was you. The fact that when one of you is present, the other has seemingly disappeared. That you seeming always have the scoop, then Superwoman deals with it before the authorities could possibly deal with it. Before we even have the oppression to publish the story. You seemingly have insane reflexes that no normal human with years of experience could develop. And, i know you have super hearing; how else could you have heard where, Mrs. Schnee’s wedding ring fell. You had her back to her, and it fell upon a carpet, I couldn’t hear that, and yet you did. These are all speculative reasonings though, easily can be construed as drawing conclusions. But, do you really want to know how I knew you were, Superwoman?

Yang: H-How…?

Yang was sacred, for the first time since she had dawned on the cape, she was genuinely scared. She knew, Jaune could be highly analytically minded when he wanted to, and that he had this terrifying habit on picking up on the smallest of details. And, if he seduced her secretly identity just by noticing the small details others would pass over, what else had he discovered about her?

Jaune: Your eyes.

Yang: What…?!

Jaune: Your eyes… People may share the same shade of blue, brown, yellow, what ever colour there is. But, they don’t look that same. I remember staring into those violet eyes for the first time, and being mesmerized by how soft of a warm violet they were. Then, I remember when, Superwoman saved me from that weird, Toy Master fellow, I couldn’t help, but notice how beautiful her eyes were. But, I knew this was the first time I saw them, I couldn’t help but shake the feeling that I’ve seen them before. And, I finally answered that lingering question that plagued the back of my mind. So, does that answer your question, Superwoman?

Yang: …

Yang: I-I’m not in my costume… Y-Yang’s just fine… And, yeah… that answers my question… Well at least some of them, but yeah…

Yang looked away nervously before starting, Jaune down with a worried expression etched across her face.

Yang: So you know my secret identity… N-Now what…? Are you going to tell the world that, Yang Xiao Long is, Superwoman?

Jaune: No, no I won’t tell anyone.

Yang breathed a sigh of relief that washed away all the fear she had been building up.

Jaune: However, you have to do one thing for me.

And, suddenly all that fear, and dread came rushing back like a tidal wave.

Yang: A-Are you blackmailing me?!

Jaune: Mmm… Kinda, yeah.

Yang was shocked, she saw, Jaune as such a sweet, and caring person, was he really going to blackmail her?!

And, what would he make her do? Steal a vault, break a bridge, kill someone?! What could he possibly…

Jaune: Perchino’s, tomorrow, say five o’clock?

Yang: Eh…?

Yang looked towards this goofballs smiling face as she was utter lost in thought at what he just said. So lost that she honestly took a minute to go from her fear to being blackmailed to realizing what he had just said.

Yang: P-Perchino’s… a-at five…?

Jaune: Does six work better?

Yang: Waitwaitwait! Are you asking me out on a date?!

Jaune: Surprised?

Yang: Honestly, yes. Yes I am… I thought you would tell me to rob a bank for you, or something like that. Not ask me out… o-on a date…

Jaune: Well, if it makes you feel better I’m asking you because I’ve been meaning to for a while now.

Yang: Y-You have?

Jaune: Yeah, it’s just every time I try you’re suddenly gone. But, now I know why. So, since I have you here; Does five, or six o’clock work for you?

Yang: …

Yang: F-Five o’clock…

Jaune: Awesome! Well, it’s late, and I need to get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow, Yang. Don’t stay up too late saving the city! Bye.

And, with that, Jaune was gone, leaving a bewildered, Yang behind.

In the space of five minutes, Jaune Arc had turned her world upside down. He unmasked her effortlessly, twice. He had her quaking her her boots when he said he was going to blackmail her into committing a crime. And, he had asked her out on a date instead.

He had asked her out on a date.

Yang was asked out on a date.

Yang: I have a date tomorrow…

Yang: …

Yang: I have a date tomorrow…?

Yang: …

Yang: I have a date tomorrow!~!

Yang squealed in glee as she realized that her crush had asked her out on a date. This was unbelievable, unforgettable, highly unpredictable, highly…

(Shatter!)

Yang’s exuberance was cut short as she saw that several of the offices windows had been shattered from the high pitch her joyous squeal had made. She looked about the office, before looking back at the window in shock.

Yang: …

Yang: Oh shit…

///

I had a thought the other day: It’s called the Kryptonian AU, who says, Jaune has to be the Kryptonian.

[thekrakenlolz]

Start up Fic - Ellie Williams x Reader

part 2

Summary: You switch dorms at your boarding school after you and your girlfriend go through a messy break up and you no longer can handle being roommates with her. Only your new one is a different kind of problem

a/n: I wrote the first chapter only to realize I have no idea what comes next. So here's my plan: if y'all like the set up, you can give me suggestions for what you want to happen next. I basically just laid down the base. So you can read it if you want and see if you have any ideas. But just as a warning, I'm not gonna write smut without a plot, I'm not about that life. I have a vague idea of what I can put next but it's very cliche and overdone sooooo yeah, thanx in advance<3

Also, English is my third language so expect bad grammar

°_*-°_*-°_*-°_*-°_*-°_*-°_*-°_*-°_*-°_*-

Your eyes wandered over the walls as you walked along them. The paint was starting to flake off, revealing the concrete underneath. Your school was old. Like old, old. Like Victorian ages old. Something most of your friends scoffed over, but you personally liked. You thought it gave it character. Of course a little bit of a touch up wouldn't hurt, but bathroom doors that are actually still attached to the stall hinges were overrated anyways.

You were following Miss Jenkins, your housemother, hunched over as you were balancing three of your bags on your back. Uncomfortable, yes, but you were trying to minimize the amount of trips you had to make to move all your shit over to your new dorm. Anything to avoid seeing Samira more than absolutely fucking necessary.

"Here we are" Miss Jenkins sighed, stopping in front of one of the gray doors. It took everything in you not to roll your eyes. You were still pissed that you had to put in 4 requests over the duration of 2 months before they finally assigned you a new room, but now she was acting like she was doing you a huge favor. Like taking 15 minutes out of her day was so much to ask for. But you kept it down, thanking her again before opening the door and stepping in.

The lengthy process of actually getting a new room gave you plenty of time to stress over who your new roommate would be. This girl, however, didn't even come to mind. You weren't even sure what her name was, your social circle and her's didn't interact much. E-something? Or was it L?

Mystery girl was sitting at her desk, headphones in, and carefully shading out something in her notebook. You noticed she had tucked her left leg under her, a bad habit you also possessed. She didn't register your presence, her eyes still fixed on the paper. You threw your bags next to your bed, which finally caught her attention. "Oh fuck" she jumped up from the desk and hurried over to your bed, picking up the stuff she dumped on it. "Hello to you too" you mused.

Sweatshirts, textbooks and pencils started flying over onto her bed. "I'm sorry, I thought I had until Sunday to get my shit off your side" She explained, tossing a hairbrush across the small room. You watched it hit the wall and fall down onto her Zelda themed sheets. Cute, you noted. "No worries, take your time, I still have stuff to move over"

So you were back in the hallway, slowly but surely making your way back to your old dorm and with that, to Samira. Now that you were by yourself, you took the time to think about your new roommate. You still didn't know her name but one thing was for certain: she was incredible looking.

Her thick straight auburn hair cut off above the shoulders and her cheeks were densely dotted with freckles. She was very toned, especially in the arms. She was probably in the lacrosse team.

You did notice she was more on the masculine side, so might maybe even be gay. You full stopped, forcing yourself to remember, that's exactly the type of shit that got you in your current situation in the first place. No fucking your roommate, dude, we talked about this.

--------

You took a moment to collect yourself before entering your old room. You drew a breath in, scanning the ugly grey door that separated you and her. 12B the lettering read, touched up with some sharpie. You reached for the knob.

She was sitting at her desk, scrolling on her phone and demonstratively ignoring your presence. You bit down on the inside of your cheek. This wasn't what you expected. Somehow you preferred another stupid fight over this new silence.

You stacked two backpacks on one arm and three bags on the other. The weight made your walk out rather inelegant. You stopped in the doorway. "Goodbye Sami."

You could practically feel her hesitate.

"Bye."

[gretavanlace]

Valtava

Josh Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, unprotected sex, pain during sex (this is handled gently and lovingly) language, dirty talk, etc.

Everyone thank our dear @jake-kiszkas-smirk for the scene where his head is resting on her stomach. I’ll say no more to avoid spoiling it, but it’s delicious and it was her idea that she so kindly left in my hands. Thank you, you filthy genius, you. I love you madly. Also, I no longer remember who to credit for this pic of Josh, it’s been in my camera roll so long. But I couldn’t not use it for this…that’s dangerously close to sacrilege.

“This scene right here,” Josh speaks over Ray Liotta’s musings, one arm stretched across the back of his couch, the other bent to stroke his thumb along your jawline, absently “This is where Scorsese really stretches his wings. Here we are, watching the heinous discovery of murder after murder while Layla, a song about love and lust, lulls us. We feel both safe and shaky.”

His fingers now wind through your hair, relaxed and warm, with your head in his lap. “I think it serves as a reminder that even ugly can dip its toe into the waters of beautiful, if you squint hard enough.”

He pauses and talks over his own stream of thoughts, “Well, most ugly things, anyway. Someone saw these murders as a necessary evil. Something to ensure the world they had built for themselves, for their families, stayed clean. Someone went home and slept a little easier knowing there was one less heart beating out there ready to turn state's witness on them.”

You nod and hope for him to keep going. The way his mind works fascinates you, as does the unique lilt of his tone, and the excitement that sharpens his gaze when he is ruminating on something that really spins the wheel for the hamster in his brain.

Catering to your unspoken wish, he carries on, “And maybe even the victims were in on the method to the madness, y’know? They chose the life they chose, they understood how quickly loyalty and love can shape- shift into survival and self preservation. Layla helps the audience understand. It marries the beauty and the bloodshed for the people in the seats.” he shakes his head in wonder. “It’s fucking genius.”

“Thought your brother was the big Marty fan?” You ask, studying the perfect cupid's bow of his lips from below.

“Jake?” His eyes are on the screen, but his focus is on you. “Tarantino. I dig the use of his nickname, though. Marty. It makes it seem as if you have him over for dinner regularly.”

“Maybe I do.” You tease.

You earn a smile, but still not his gaze. “And what do you serve?”

Adopting a tone of nonchalance, you shrug, “Usually, we make love until dawn and then share cold spaghettiOs right out of the can.”

“Ah,” He nods seriously, “the opulence. It’s all very grand.”

A comfortable silence wraps itself around you both until you have a thought that pokes to be shared.

“Do you suppose Scorsese might have chosen Layla because of the double-edged sword it also happens to be as a piece? Since Clapton wrote it about his best friend's wife?” You feel a blush heat your cheeks, and immediately wish you hadn’t contributed. He knows so much about film and you know so little.

True to Joshua-form, however, he hushes your unease effortlessly. “Shit! I’d never even considered that. The beauty for Clapton was the ugly for Harrison. God, I’m so in love with the way your mind sees everything that’s invisible to mine.”

I’m so in love with…

He means the ideas in your head, the quiet corners of your thoughts, but it quickens your heart and nudges the butterflies in your stomach to life, nonetheless.

So, you pull yourself up, a thigh nestled on either side of his waist in the blink of a breath.

“Hi.” You long for the timid smile dancing shyly on your lips to morph into something sultry. Something sexy. Something that might flicker the darkened flame, that hides down deep in his belly, to life.”

“Hi.” He grins back, allowing you to wiggle around until you’re comfy in his lap. “If Goodfellas is boring you, I stand zero chance of keeping you entertained, baby love.”

Your fingers worry over the beads looped around his neck and then twist into the soft pink linen of his shirt, finally coming to rest at the button fastened nearest to his throat. Your eyes travel over him, hungry to soak him in. To tuck this image of Josh, so quietly content with you perched above him, away in your heart…a pretty picture to revisit when he inevitably becomes a memory.

What is he thinking? That question seems to occupy your mind more often than any other. He is an enigma. A mystery parading as wide open sunshine.

Intrusive thoughts, cruel and unrelenting, silently bully you. You’ve become quite adept at ignoring them over the years, opting for at least some semblance of normalcy in your quest for a happy, healthy life. Whatever that means.

But these thoughts in particular are cloaked in far too much truth…too many signs pointing to the worst being the obvious…to be easily disregarded.

You want to say these things to him. If only to bask in the assurance you might catch in his reply. But to risk the absence of said reassurance, is a feat too great.

Instead, you begin a tentative roll of your hips as you lean in close to meet his pillowy lips with your own. He tastes of mint, and the IPA he has been nursing, and Josh.

Like always, he indulges the kiss, but stills your hips, and you long to vanish into thin air, leaving nothing more than a coiling wisp of smoke in your wake. The rejection comes with a throbbing ache in your chest. Is your heart truly breaking? Now you’ll be forced to offer it to him in pieces.

And he isn’t the only one to indulge in old habits, because, also like always, you crawl into the safe embrace of humor. “You’re right, Joshua…you’re boring me. Back to the brilliant mind of Marty, my beloved.”

You slide off of him and stretch back out on the couch, focusing on the screen to hide your tear glossed eyes as he gets comfortable behind you.

“Scorsese, you bastard,” he shakes his fist in mock indignation, “how dare you steal the affections of my woman?”

A forced laugh comes out sounding a little too close to a sob. You play it off as best you can. Nothin’ to see here.

Alas, he catches it. And, of course, he won’t leave it alone, though you certainly ask him too.

“What is it, baby? What’s wrong?” He turns you toward him, hovering over you as you lie on your back and long to melt away. “Talk to me.”

“I just— I mean,” death seems of great comfort. “Is it me? Do you not… are you not… am I not pretty enough? Or sexy enough? Or… I don’t know,”

A frown of deep concern furrows his brow as his palms move to cup your face, “What? Are you not…Jesus, baby, of course you are. Fuck, if anything you’re too much. Too pretty, too sweet, too smart, too sexy.”

Your words come quiet and small, quivering with painful vulnerability “Then why?” You close your eyes, and thankfully, he allows you to hide this way.

Exactly what you knew would happen, happens. He lies without lying. “Why, what?” He sounds of feigned confusion. He knows what you mean.

Throat now constricted and pulsing with a wringing pain, you close your eyes tighter, unwilling to bear witness to whatever lie will follow his last. “Why don’t you want me?”

A tear breaches the dam you had hoped was impenetrable. You loathe and curse it.

“Hey, shhh…don’t do that. Don’t cry.” He brushes the tear away and then kisses over the path it took.

“Don’t cry?” You snap. A twinge of regret flares to life within you. You’ve never spoken to him unkindly, and could it be that there’s no going back? Perhaps this is it; the end of the road you’ve been heading inevitably for.

To your great surprise, he laughs. You crack an eyelid open to find it sincere. “So, she’s capable of something other than sugar, spice, and everything nice, after all.”

His hand smooths down your chest - can he feel the violent rattle of your heart as it thrums and beats out of control?

When at last he speaks, there is an edge to his tone you’ve never heard before. It warms you clear through to your curling toes “You think I don’t want you?”

You shrug, all pink cheeks and complete ineloquence.

“Well,” he soothes, drawing gentle patterns upon your temple and forehead, “you should know, that is far from the case.”

But, rather than take the moment further, as he so easily could, as you so desperately want him to, he sinks into an innocent position - resting his cheek on your stomach as you struggle to keep it from rising and falling too rapidly, his eyes, once more, on the screen.

The film drones on; mafia murders and cocaine swirling down flushed toilets. Betrayal and 20/20 hindsight…

…and on you watch, on the surface - in reality, you can think of nothing else other than the weight of his head on your stomach.

There is a dull ache there, inside you, gripping at every nerve ending all at once. He knows what you want, and he very obviously doesn’t want the same thing. He doesn’t want you.

He speaks first, and there’s too much truth in it. He knows you too well. “I need you to stop that.”

“Stop what?” You stupidly offer a tiny shrug, but for what? He isn’t even looking at you.

“Your walls, I can feel you stacking bricks. Stop, or I’ll take a wrecking ball to them.” he pets over your forearm comfortingly. It doesn’t help.

“Alright, Miley,” you toss the joke out like a life preserver for yourself. “Just don’t start licking sledgehammers and we’ll be alright.”

He gives you the softest laugh. It more closely resembles a sigh, “Is it only sledgehammers that you are opposed to me licking?”

Oh.

When he coolly pushes your shirt up and begins dragging his lips, licked slick and warm, around your belly button, you think you might burst into tiny, burning, longing, pieces. God, how you want him.

“You like that, baby love?” He speaks the words melodically into the room like a lullaby, hushed as a priest absolving you of your sins in a darkened confessional.

A whiny hum is all you seem capable of, but it doesn’t look like it matters much to him.

“Yeah?” He’s teasing now, and you think it might kill you. Your hips begin a barely perceptible rock in response. “Can I touch you, sweetheart? Do you want that?”

“Josh, please,” his name is less than a whisper. It’s a plea gasped into the dark, dancing with the flickering glow of the tv as it blinks and changes like lightning.

The warmth of his hand between them causes your thighs to twitch and tremble, but he hovers just above making actual contact. “God, look at you. How could you ever doubt how much I want you? So pretty. Can I touch you here, baby? My pretty, pretty girl.”

With a soft moan, you lift your hips, pressing into his palm. He doesn’t push for words, your body has given him all the consent he needs, and the want in your eyes reiterates.

His mouth is wandering your soft, flushed, stomach as he slides your pants away, gentle and sure, the tip of his tongue bridging the distance between his kisses.

Your hands weave down into his wild curls, comforted by the way they wrap themselves into your touch, spiraling around your fingers as you tug at them and tenderly scratch over his scalp. A particularly sweet drag brings a shiver to life on his shoulders. He groans in appreciation and runs away with another piece of your heart.

“Oh, fuck,” you murmur, surprised and grateful, when at last, he sinks a single finger into your warmth.

Should you at least have the decency to feel shy about the sound it makes? About the way you must be soaking his skin? Perhaps. But you don’t, and judging by the curse he secrets into the still of the night, there isn’t any reason to.

“Does that feel good?” He isn’t taunting you, it’s a genuine question, but there is a hint of a teasing tone there as well, peeking out from around the edges of his words and you think it might just be the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.

“So good.” You’re whining and writhing beneath him, tiny pouty huffs of breath tumbling off your lips over and over…but you don’t care about that either.

His finger slips out and you mourn it pitifully, until it swirls around your swollen clit, tearing a shaking cry out of your chest. And then, there it is again, filling you as his thumb begins a slick trail of tight circles just right.

“You want more?” Oh god…the way he sounds, the way you feel. He’s setting you further and further on fire with his gentle, decadent, prodding. With his breathy, gingerly obscene questions. Flames - scorching and crackling - lick up inside you. Incinerating as they consume.

“More?” He asks again, rasping the word, wantonly urging you on.

“Yes!” You nod frantically, spreading your legs further. You want him, need him, so badly…coveting the very breath in his lungs for its privilege of being inside him in a way you’ll never know. You long to trickle down into his pores and vanish.

A second finger - they feel longer than they have ever looked - joins the first and then begins a perfect, guiding, curl.

Tucking into that perfect place inside you, he fucks the pads of his fingers against it ever so carefully. Gently spinning your head in every direction.

He rests against your belly as the muscles inside churn and flex beneath his ear, watching intently as his hand fucks away at you. He wonders what it might be like to stretch you to almost breaking. How it would feel to push another finger inside, and then another, and another. When would you tell him to stop? Three? Four? Could you take that burning stretch? Would you relish it and ask for more? Fuck, he hopes so.

But you feel so tight around him…just two fingers full and you’re squeezing like you’ll never let go. He worries, and the pounding pulse of neglect that aches rhythmically in his cock, reminds him that he worries rightly so.

He has always believed you to be the most beautiful thing his eyes have ever had the pleasure of landing upon, but he’s never seen you like this - spread open, soaked and puffy with want. With need…for him. It doesn’t seem possible.

The way you move…fluidly, like ripples chasing over the surface of a placid lake, urging him along with your body. Your gorgeous cunt sucking his fingers in. A goddess, a beckoning siren, an angel…he can’t look away.

Can’t until he hears it, until he feels it, how close you are. Wild, frothing, horses couldn’t keep him from the gift of watching your face as you fall apart. An army of men wouldn’t stand a chance. He wants this moment with you, and he will have it. He wants to make you cum, and he wants to watch your eyes go blurry with it, and so watch he will.

“C’mon, baby…” he goes breathless when his face tilts up to meet yours. You are flushed and panting, lips parted. The soft pink of your tongue just barely visible, blushing like saltwater taffy in your mouth and he wants to lick against it, wants to taste you.

The smallest blips of a sound he can’t describe chase each other out of that beautiful mouth he wants to kiss so badly. Tiny uh’s that shift into gasps of desperation. You’re right there, and he wants it more than you do.

With his bottom lip caught between his teeth, he eases his chin into the softness just below your navel, creating a delicious pressure, and crooks his finger so perfectly, pressing and stroking until it feels like you’re floating and the only thing holding you in place is him.

It is celestial. He is every constellation and you are the astronomer, feet held to the ground by gravity, eye pressed against a telescopic lens hopefully, frantic for a glimpse of his wonder.

There is only Josh.

“Almost there, pretty girl,” he nods, gaze glossed with lust and something that looks like love. “You gonna give it to me?”

You are. You’re going to give it to him. You couldn’t stop it now if you tried. Fluttering walls trap him inside you as his stare fixes, unmoving and heated, with yours.

“That’s it, baby love, that’s it.” He urges you on, leads you deeper and deeper, those long, warm, perfect, fingers working you like he’s been there a thousand times before. “Shh, you’re alright. I’m right here, just breathe for me.”

That’s all it takes for you to realize your lungs are burning for a breath you’ve been unknowingly denying them - and with that hissing, hungry, gasp for air, you explode under him.

He watches, mezmorized, as your eyes roll back, teeth clenched like some ethereal, feral creature. It bursts out of you, clear and shimmering, like liquid diamonds, but you don’t know it yet, he can tell…you’re too far gone, and he fucking loves it. He fucking loves you.

He has said it aloud. I love you, sweetheart. I love you so much. I love you.

But that’s the thing that he doesn’t know yet because he’s also too far gone.

You’re quiet, gentle. Sweet, whining whimpers floating out of you as you vibrate and spill.

On your end, you hear the confession of how deeply his feelings run, but you don’t register…it will settle in later and you’ll weep for not saying it back. Though you don’t need to, he knows.

Once you’ve settled, he pushes up until you are eye to eye, lapping your release off his fingers. You’re sweet enough to lick off a whisk like cake batter, and he tells you so…but you can focus on nothing but the shining glint of you that he wears so well.

Shocked by the sheer amount, you blush hard and hot. Burning brighter still when it drips from his hand and lands on your lip. In an act you don’t seem aware of, you lick it away like a raindrop. The very sight of it, the somehow still innocent depravity, weakens him until he is forced to swallow a whine.

“Had I known what I was missing,” he grins lazily, “I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself.”

The confusion sends you crashing back to reality.

“But why stop yourself at all?” Your eyes are so wide and clear. It makes him want to gather you up and keep you safe.

Once more, it crosses his mind that you’re an angel. He wonders where your wings have gone.

“Because, I—“ he falters, shaking his head as if he might rattle his thoughts into place. Finally, he opts to show, not tell, pressing his hips against yours so you can feel him.

And feel him, you do, but only for a moment. He’s so hard you’re cozy from the heat of it through the sweats he was lounging in when you arrived.

You’ve noticed. Of course you have. You’ve stolen a glance or two when he wasn’t looking. How could you not? You’d just always thought, and not to be crass, you’d always just assumed he was a shower, rather than a grower.

Now you aren’t so certain. He felt massive during the short amount of time he was rocking into you.

“You’re thinking very hard, baby love.” He smiles down at you. “Are those thoughts in my favor, or…?”

He trails off and awaits your answer with that Josh-like patience. Rather than speaking, you curl your hands around the waistband of his pants and then cast your eyes up, in silent question.

Nodding the go ahead, he continues watching you closely…studying your reaction as you tug him free.

“Oh, fuck,” the expletive sighs out of you as the tip of his cock - leaking, angry and swollen - slaps up, well above his belly button, with a solid thump.

He’s big. So big. Long and thick, beautifully shaped. Blushing pink at the head, and visibly pulsing under your awestruck scrutiny. You absently wonder how he isn’t light-headed for the amount of blood it must require to bring him to such full attention.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” He explains softly, finally letting you in on the secret of why he’s been so skittish, “And I didn’t want to…”

His confession loses traction as he watches your mouth rather than meeting your gaze.

Your palms reach for him, cupping his angelic face with as much gentleness as the renewed desire racing through your veins will allow. “You didn’t want to what?”

While he searches for the words, you curl your thighs around him and pull him in, moaning out his name like a mantra when you feel him against you, skin to skin.

“God damn, baby…” he rocks his hips closer to yours and then remembers what he’s doing. “I didn’t want to scare you. And I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah, you said that.” You tease, trying to lighten the heavy load of his anxiety.

“I know.” His mouth meets yours, searching out a slow, needful kiss. “But I kept imagining hurting you, and you being too sweet to say so. I’m still imagining it.”

Your tongue licks into his mouth as you wrap your fist around him. “Look at you, Josh,” you smile shyly through a kiss that is anything but shy. “My fingers don’t even touch.”

“Grew up under some power lines.” He teases, relaxing as he pecks along your jaw.

“I want you inside me.” You sound despondent, and feel just as forlorn, the look in his eye warns you may have a fight on your hands.

“Pretty girl,” he tucks himself away and begins kissing a slow, serpentine trail down your body after he flutters your shirt, indicating he wants it off. “I could barely get two fingers in your sweet little pussy. Why don’t you just let me kiss it? Don’t you want to cum on my tongue, hmm? Won’t that feel nice?”

Such filth is a captivating development, and one you like very much…but, you stop him all the same. Grabbing him by the hair with enough force to tilt his head back, pulling his mouth away from your straining nipple, you issue a demand you intend to make sure he fulfills, “I said, inside, Joshua.”

He raises an eyebrow and suppresses a grin of dirty glee. “Joshua?”

Ignoring him, you watch as he licks the pad of his thumb and then arch away from the cushion when he begins a steady, swirling journey over your clit with it. “Gonna make you cum first, love. Again and again. I’m gonna baby this gorgeous cunt until my name is the only word you want in your mouth…and then I want you to fill my mouth.”

“Jesus, Josh…” you’ve never wanted anything more, but you can hardly force the words out to convey just how fucking agreeable you are.

“You want that?” He flicks over you faster and faster, indulging in your pouty, needy cries, praying they never end. “You want to cum in my mouth? Feed me something sweet?”

~

“Easy, baby love,” he coos, whispering to you like you’re a tiny, broken bird, fallen from the nest and afraid. “You’ve got to relax a little more for me.”

“Yeah…” you nod, staring up at him as if he painted your entire world into existence. And maybe he did.

No longer able to count the number of orgasms he’s gifted you with, you feel like liquid silk. Or clay in his palm, happy to be molded to his liking.

“Yeah?” He drops a kiss onto your forehead and pushes in just a hint further, eyes darting up when you hiss with discomfort.

You offer a smile for him to continue and he returns it gently, but the way he’s fighting for breath betrays him. He wants you badly, he’s going slowly mad with the need to bury into your body to the hilt.

His fingertips skate a ticklish trail down the curve of your waist and then grip into your thigh, spreading you open a bit wider.

Both bare now completely to each other for the first time, you’ve given yourself over right there on the couch. The room is silent, save for hushed words and choked breaths twisting languidly through the air, the movie long since over.

He’d wanted to carry you off to the bedroom, but you refused.

You want him here. You want him now.

Palm cradling the back of your head, he brings you forward until your mouth is sucking at his shoulder. “Just like that, sweetheart. Good girl.” His praise flips your stomach. A violent somersault of carnal need. “You just suck and bite all you want. I’m gonna take care of you. You know that, don’t you?”

Nodding urgently against him, you’re far too interested in the marks you're leaving against his overheated skin.

“Words for me, okay?” He coaxes so gently it makes your chest ache.

“You’re going to take care of me.” You mumble through a long lick along his collarbone.

Without reply, he slides in deeper, yet still not much more than the tip rests inside you.

A shocked cry escapes you before you can stifle it and his face snaps up, searching your own for tells of pain that he doesn’t have to look all that closely for. “Baby,” the pet name sings out of him, a soft crooning apology. “Let’s stop, I…”

“No, please!’ The frantic want bubbling up inside you colors your voice and surprises you both, but he masks it well.

“Hush, love. No one’s stopping yet.” he soothes, massaging your hip carefully. Just wisps of touch, but you relax beneath it like a sleepy babe cradled up snug and safe.

You’re not fond of that ‘yet’ he tacked on to the end of his promise.

“Deeper.” Your hips lift, forcing his hand while you gulp down another sound of discomfort.

“Don’t.” His grip is suddenly digging into your waist, no longer careful, but swift and insistent instead. “Let me take my time. Let me be gentle. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He’s right, and you tell him as much as he begins a slow, stuttering journey. Starting and stopping as you writhe with impatience and uncomfortability in his capable hands.

Reaching up, he guides your fingers down until they brush over your sensitive clit. “You take care of this for me, okay, baby? Help me make this easier for my pretty girl…I can’t stand the thought of hurting you.”

“Please, Josh…” you sound a mess, and who gives a damn? “Please!”

You’re right, it’s time. He knows it better than you do. He can wait no more. There isn’t far to go anyway.

Suddenly, with one firm thrust, he drives in all the way to the base, shuddering as you coil around him like a hot, wet, fist. Squeezing harder and tighter and fuck….

“So fucking tight.” He is trembling, fighting the urge to let go already. “It’s like you don’t want to let me go. Pussy so pretty and soft. Like the sweetest thing all dressed in pink. Aren’t you fucking gorgeous?”

Your eyes drift closed, breathing through the last remnants of the biting sting. You’re so full, it feels so good. So right. So completely perfect, you cannot begin to fathom how you’ve lived all these years without him inside you.

“Say it.” He sounds like an angel clawing his way closer and closer to something he can’t survive without any longer.

“What?”

“Tell me you’re gorgeous.” He’s fucking you faster now…and it stings, but it hurts so good you want to feel the burn forever. “Say you’re my beautiful girl. Come on, I wanna know that you know.”

“I—“ your face flares as pink as the cunt he’s currently locked inside

“That’s it, baby love…” he coaxes, pumping into you with long, torturous strokes. “C’mon,”

A little less tentative now - he effortlessly makes you believe - the words finally come “I’m gorgeous.”

He smiles so wide his nose crinkles as he nods and dips his lips to meet your own. “Fuck yes you are. My pretty girl. You’re doing so well, look at you. Just taking and taking and taking me.”

Pulling you up and away from the pillow gently, he guides your line of sight to the sinful image of him gliding in and out of you. His cock, glistening and covered in your unbridled desire - it catches the light and steals your heart. Is it possible to be in love with a cock? Or are you just in love with the man who wields it?

Both. Most definitely, both.

“Look, baby, look…” a quivering huff escapes him. “It’s like coming home. Being inside you is like coming fucking home.”

“Harder,” you beg, winded and lost. He feels so good inside you. Stretched further than you ever thought possible around him, you clench and twist a fist into the throw pillow beneath you until your fingernails threaten to rip it open.

“Just…fuck,” his pretty face buries itself in the crook of your neck with a whimper as he falters. “Just a little.”

The room is hazy and blurred, filled with sounds neither of you can seem to quiet. Each moan and breath filling your head up until you feel feverish. Every groan and gasp pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

Your bodies meet in a sweat glazed dance that causes your teeth to grit together - biting down hard to suppress a scream that he might confuse with pain.

He tucks his own teeth into your throat deeply, growling out a melodic sound that sets you on fire, when the salt of your skin hits his tongue.

A shaky, “I’m gonna cum, baby love…where, baby, where?” Pants out of him with a desperate urgency the moment he releases your skin from his bite.

“Inside…” you plead, clawing at his waist as your thighs lock him in close. “Cum inside me…c’mon. Please,”

“Pretty girl begging for my cum. Begging me to ruin this beautiful little cunt…” he sounds as if he’s talking to himself, like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re real.

“Ruin it, baby,” your palms drift up his back, slow and steady…urging him along gently. “Ruin me.”

A sound so exquisitely angelic rumbles up out of his chest. Deep and primal, but somehow gentle and submissive, like he wants to fall at your feet in veneration of something holy and ancient.

He falls against you, pulling you as close as he can get you, and then draws the scent of your hair in only to feel that much closer. Rocking into you as he slowly comes down and finds himself.

Gathering you in his arms, he lifts you away from the disheveled couch, ignoring you when you protest weakly that you can walk.

A bath is drawn and laced with plain epsom salt to soothe your throbbing muscles. He slips into the steaming water behind you, cradling you as he drags a washcloth over your skin.

Quiet verses of a song you’ve never heard are whispered in your ear as you drift into a light slumber without worry, confident that he will keep your head safe above water.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @thelvnternskeeper @theweightofjake @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @calumspretty @sunfl0wer-power @sad1lynn

[gleefullypolin]

Stacy's Tipsy Musing's - Colin Bridgerton Hot Takes - Part 3

Ok boys and girls, we need to have a little chat about Colin Bridgerton.

Part 2 has been out now for a couple of days and there have been a lot of hot takes to come out of the season. A LOT of hot takes. I’m going to break this down into 4 parts. 4 questions that I'm seeing really bad hot takes about Colin.

Now none of this is new, I gotta say before Season 3 aired Colin was a hot button topic anyway. He seemed to be the Bridgerton brother that lots of people love to spew hate takes on anyway. But damn I gotta say its painful seeing the Polin fandom have so many bad takes falling from their lips.

So, I figured...having a little drink tonight, sitting down for Father’s Day (Happy Father’s Day, Colin) I’d give you the opinion on some of these takes that you didn’t ask for...Mine!

Last time we talked about Colin’s entrapment statement to Pen and if he truly meant it.  Question 1, Question 2, now lets get to Question 3:

Why would Colin sleep on the couch and ruin their wedding night and then continue to sleep on the couch after they are married?

Ok this has a lot to do with why he put her in the carriage home alone instead of going home to fuck her while he was angry which we discussed in part 2. Colin was unable to be intimate with his wife while he was angry, jealous, and ashamed of himself for being any of those things. Just because she was his wife, just because he had rights to lay with her, did not mean he felt he was in a place to do so.

Colin knew that this lie, these feelings, this hurt between them had caused him to build a wall. It was pain that was between them. He did not want to actually abandon her, because lets be honest, they had other rooms in their home, he chose to sleep right outside her bedroom door, right where he could still be within distance of his wife. He needed to be near her, but he could not be with her.

Colin again is Violet’s most sensitive child, who wears armor. And the moment his most trusted friend and love lied to him, he put that armor back on. Book Colin got over Lady Whistledown quickly because Pen didn’t have Marina to write about in the book, or in fact much that she wrote about Colin at all besides him being charming. Show Colin needed to process much more, and even then, he truly got over it in a matter of a couple of days. DAYS people! It took El a year.

But Colin needed time to process his feelings, and he processed that without confusing sex into it. You could see that it wasn’t that he didn’t WANT his wife. He very much wanted Penelope. That was shown by him walking into her room and very quickly drooling all over himself. He even admitted to her that he wanted to hold and kiss her, but something was holding him back. He simply could not be intimate with her while there was all these feelings holding him back.

Colin was determined that removing Whistledown from Pen would do that. Until in his alone time, he re-read her letters and realized that all this time, he was in love with the one person he thought he despised. He loved Lady Whistledown because she was always a part of his best friend. She had always been there in his interactions with Penelope. And he didn’t need her to remove that piece of herself, he didn’t need to save her, he didn’t need to do anything, except stand beside her and love her.

Once he did that, it opened the door, it opened his heart, and they found their way back to their bedroom.

Stick around for part 4....

How could Colin refuse to listen to Pen and just jump in to fix the situation with Cressida?

[venluming]

Meltdown (Petrigrof)

Wordcount: 2.05k.

Type: One-Shot, SFW

Warnings: None, really.

Summary: After a long, stressful day, Simon has a meltdown and Betty helps him through it.

Extra Notes: Hello, hello! I’m writing again, yay!! I felt proud enough to post this little one-shot of Petrigrof! I don’t see enough fics that depict Simon as autistic, so I wrote one myself! And… it’s him having a meltdown, haha— but hey, it’s something! This is also based on a personal experience of mine, so there’s that. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

With the gentle pattering of rain against the window and the warm air flowing through the heater in the corner, Betty sank into the covers of her bed, bundled up in her favorite brown, woolen blanket. Beside her was a hot mug of lemon balm tea that she occasionally sips to help her go to sleep.

In her hand, she held a sketchpad with small sketches of random objects around the room, assumingly for an art project, or maybe just as general practice. She had recently begun picking up this hobby again, as she had been so busy with other things, such as her expeditions and research papers for other minor classes she had. Betty enjoyed making pieces for herself, although she very seldom mentions her love for art to others for reasons of… well, no one really cared enough to ask.

Well, all except Simon.

Speaking of Simon…

It’s just about 8 PM right now. It’s pretty dark, and Simon still hasn’t come home from his afternoon class. Betty mused on where he might’ve gone. Perhaps working a bit later than usual, which was a somewhat common occurrence with him. He’s known to be quite the workaholic…

‘I wish he wouldn’t push himself so hard…’ Betty thought, frowning slightly.

No matter, she’ll have to give him a good “scolding” when he arrives home.

…Well, not an actual scolding. He hated getting those, as it always triggered his PDA.

After a bit of time passes, she’s finally finished and decided to put a pin in it for tonight. Her main worry seems to be her lover who still hasn’t arrived yet. What was he doing?

“He’s probably just working a little late, Betty. Nothing to worry about..” Betty mumbled, taking a sip of her tea and letting out a soothing hum. What a wonderful, serene-feeling taste.

Just then, Betty heard the front door slam from downstairs. Betty quickly turns towards the bedroom door and begins to climb out of bed but pauses when heavy footsteps start trudging up the stairs, then stopping momentarily. She waited quietly for any sudden movement when the quiet steps grew louder as they approached the door.

As expected, the door swung wide open, which startled Betty a little. Standing there was a… sopping wet cat who seemed to have, unfortunately, been caught in the storm of the hour. His clothes were drenched in rainwater, dripping onto the floor. His tousled hair cast downward as it stuck to his cheeks and forehead— but he desperately wiped the stray hairs away from his wet face. He looked… terrible —with his vest and shirt slightly unbuttoned to where the collar barely touched his neck, his bow tie clenched tightly in his hand.

Simon stood in the doorway for a moment with his head hung low. It felt like, as soon as he stepped through, he just… fell apart. His hands found his head and he gripped a fistful of dark brown locks, then an exasperated and strangled groan tumbled out of his throat. Betty immediately ran to his side, attempting to touch his face but he jerked back from her, vigorously shaking his head. Betty was a little confused and slightly perturbed at first, but upon observing him more, his body language told her everything she needed to know. The way he trembled in front of her, arms up in a more defensive position like a scared little kitten despite having his hands tangled in his hair. Betty knew what this was.

“Okay, no gentle touching, alright.. uhm ,” Betty made her way to one of the lamps in her room and turned it off. “Here, I’ll turn off some of the lights for you, okay?”

Simon nodded, running a hand through his soggy locks. Glob, he was so glad to be home, home to his lover. She always knew what to do when he had these moments. Moments where his body shut down and wouldn’t cooperate with him no matter how hard he tried. Moments where every single article of clothing on his body felt like sandpaper scraping against his skin. How much it hurt to utter a single word. No matter how much he might’ve wanted to, it felt like walking barefoot on pins and needles while everyone else but him came prepared with steel-toe boots.

Simon’s wet clothes clung to his shivering body. He hated the feeling of wet clothes, he hated it. He desperately peeled the clothes off his body and they hit the floor with a gentle ‘thump ’. Betty scrounges around in the closet for his favorite blanket while glancing back at her lover every few minutes. She could feel him trembling from afar, even as warm air encircled him, and in those moments, she wished that she’d been there when this first started so she could have helped him through it.

“Okay, let’s get you wrapped up,” Betty pulls out the navy blue blanket and scurries over to him. He seemed to have already stripped himself of his clothes, to which she wrapped the soft blanket around his shivering body and led him to their bed. “I’ll get you some water… do you want some water?”

Wiping his tear-stained face, Simon nods and tries to bask in the warmth of his blanket and the heat from the heater, now that he laid closer to it. Betty opens the door and glances back at Simon with a gentle smile before closing the door and running down the stairs.

Not long after, Betty comes back with the water and places it on his bed stand. He seemed to have dove under the covers again with only his head poking out from his blanket. Betty chuckles, climbing over to the other side of the bed and laying beside him. Upon observing him closer, his scleras were bloodshot red, like he’d been crying for a while. Simon scooted closer and stared into her eyes for a moment before looking at the sketch pad in the space between them. Betty slowly turned to the book and picked it up, placing the pad in his lap. She figured he might want to say something without straining his voice since he’d gone non-verbal.

Simon’s hand snakes out from beneath the covers and he takes the pencil attached to the pad then flips to a blank page. Betty watches him curiously as he begins to write something down in a slow, gradual manner, his face softening the more he writes. He flipped the page over and she couldn’t help it when the corners of her mouth rose to her cheeks.

“Thank you, I love you”

Betty resisted the urge to take him into her arms and pepper his face with kisses. Alternatively, she takes his free hand and squeezes it firmly.

“I love you too, Simon.”

Simon flips the pad back around and begins scribbling something else.

“I need more pressure”

Realizing what he meant, Betty nods and begins climbing on top of him, aligning the side of her face with his own, and dropping most of her body weight onto him.

“Howzzat? That enough for you? Twice for no, once for yes.

Simon taps her once and she smiles against his face. She looks to him for permission, which he does give, then proceeds to wrap her arms around him and give him a firm squeeze. A small giggle escaped his lips as Betty held him in her arms.

After a while, Betty found herself growing more drowsy by the hour. Really, she had only been rambling to Simon about her day and other miscellaneous things. Only after a few minutes of talking did she hear the gentle snoring of the man who’d curled up beside her with the slow rise and fall of his chest. She thought that now it might be a good note to end off for tonight.

Leaning over the sleeping man, she pulls the cord to their dimmed lamp light then snuggles up against him. With a soft glittering of her eyes, she drifts into a soundless, serene sleep.

────────────────────

“Mmhh… five more… minutes…”

A chuckle escaped the man’s lips as he shook his lover once more. Betty stirred but her eyes stayed shut. After a few more gentle shakes, Betty groaned, rubbing her eyes before sitting up slightly and opening her groggy eyes to look at him. She sighs and gives him a tired smile.

“Ah, morning… how’d you sleep?”

Simon pressed his lips against her forehead. “I slept alright, you?”

Betty’s smile only grew when she heard his voice. Ever since last night, he’d been quiet as a church mouse, so hearing his voice again, it quelled that lingering anxiety she didn’t realize she had inside.

“Heyyy, you’re talking again! And I slept alright myself. I’m assuming you’re feeling better after your meltdown last night…”

“Indeed,” Simon lays against the bed frame, his bare chest exposed to the warmth of their room. “Thank you, again… last night was really… stressful— for me. I—uhm… glob, I was suppressing that for a while…”

Betty pouts, gently jabbing him in his side. “You dumb-dumb, why did you suppress it? You know that’s not good and… you can step out of class, you don’t need to prioritize your work if your nervous system is donking out!”

“Ahm— I was doing another presentation, and a lot of smaller things kept building up… and before I knew it, it almost happened— in the middle of it. That same guy threw another… book at me today. Starting to reconsider this whole thing, honestly…”

Betty huffed. “Again?? Who was it, was it the same guy? I should really teach that guy a lesson—“

“No, no… it’s okay,” Simon waved his hands. “You don’t… it’s fine. Please don’t.”

“No, because what’s this guy’s fascination with throwing shit at you??”

Simon shrugs. “No idea, but it’s fine. I’ll manage.”

“Simon…”

“I promise it’s fine, dear. If it’ll make you feel better, the next time it happens, I’ll give them a lecture on presentation etiquette, how does that sound?”

That was mostly a joke.

“You sound like you want a book to be thrown at you.”

Simon chuckles, scratching his nape. “Alright, bad joke.”

Betty chuckles right along with him until they’re both laughing at his really stupid lecture joke. The laughter soon died down though as the two climbed out of bed, raising their arms to stretch.

It only took Simon a few seconds to realize he wore only his underwear, which he remembered was a result of yesterday where his damp clothes lay bundled still near the doorway, so he made his way towards the closet to search for his spare PJs he’d leave here in her room.

Betty, being her usual self, stares lovingly at his backside, especially towards the lower region. She folds her arms and smirks to herself.

“Hey, are you working on your glutes?”

Simon blinks, trying to process what she just said. He slowly turns around, perplexed. “What?”

“Like… glute exercises.”

It took him a minute, but it finally clicked and his cheeks began to burn at the question. He rolls his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Oh, haha . Ass joke, funny. I don’t… workout, that’s just how it naturally looks.”

“That just makes it better!”

“Betty.”

Betty giggles, embracing him from behind and nuzzling into his cheek. “Okay, okay… I get it, too early…”

He huffs. “Way too early…”

“Apologieees— I’ll go make us some breakfast while you change . What’re you in the mood for?”

Simon finally finds his blue and white-striped pajamas. He slips on and buttons the shirt and then the pants. “Pancakes.”

“Cool, cool!”

As Betty quickly exited the room, Simon stood beside the closet, pondering over the events of last night. How fast she was able to catch onto his symptoms, how loving and caring she was during the ordeal, how safe he felt when he finally let himself break down in front of her, which he hadn’t done in a while.

His lips curled into a warmer smile, feeling content.

He’s really happy to be with such an amazing person. He wouldn’t trade her for anything else in the world.

“I should help her with breakfast…” He finally said, closing the closet door and making his way downstairs to his soon-to-be wife.

[gotafewtricks]

dear my new fav kiri writer,

if you saw the le sserafim collab (kiri's hot, fite me), you know that romance dynamic where it's like idol x fan but the idol is the fan's bff and the fan (who has big crush on idol to the point they buy ONLY merch of them) has no clue said idol is their friend (and the idol's real struggle of "do i tell them i'm idol or i just watch them be an absolute dork at simping me") lmao

if you can pull it out of a hat, i'll love that lol

★ I'm (maybe) fearless

Really? I'm pretty honoured. I wrote like, two sentences with her and you already like my interpretation of Kiriko? Honoured <33 Anyways, YES, mhm—I have seen that! I've been meaning to play around with this dynamic, anyways :3

I could see Kiriko as a popular singer and dancer; though, I could also see her as a YouTube personality as well. I'll settle with a singing Kiri for now :3

As a vocalist, Kiriko had to work her way up to the top. It was rather difficult having to hide all of that at first; knowing damn well how it would affect her life outside of the showbiz. Scheduling was something she'd worry herself to death over; knowing that her easygoing personality wouldn't fair well with having to keep up with dates, knowing the promises she's made to her friends back home, and her fans.

Being a close friend of Kiriko was such a rewarding experience—you knew how determined she was at her job, with clearing out the yakuza scum of Kanezaka. You'd worry about her often, with how it may even take her a few days, to weeks, or even a month to get back in touch with you. You understood that those were times where she was busy with the Hashimoto; as it wasn't just tiring, exhuasting local work. She has explained to you about their, the Hashimoto's, extensive relations with other criminal organizations around Japan.

Though, what you didn't understand, was that Kiriko wasn't just occupied with beating up some petty criminals in her absence.

As much as she hates to lie, she knows that she cannot be visible as a pop star. Not only she would become a much bigger target, she already keeps her work more on the downlow with the Hashimoto—and, even then, she is recognized as one of the heroines of Kanezaka. Alongside with the reputation of her mom being a formidable foe with the blade, and her dad being a known weapons-maker... it makes the girl's head hurt having to process what'll happen.

You were a huge fan of Kiriko's idol persona—really, really huge. Photocards upon photocards would be decorated with cute stickers, slid inside holographic heart sleeves to add to your ever-more growing collection. It'd embarrass you if you actually tallied the amount of money you've spent.

You were there at the beginning of her career, finding her randomly by chance whilst refreshing your recommended feed. Taking a listen to a few songs she was cast in, and you were automatically hooked. Either it was just her energy, voice, looks... everything about her was just something, someone rather, that you could find some ultimate comfort it.

Although, you were not on the verge of it being a disturbing obsession—as you were rather worried about your favourite idol. You'd understand if she had to post something about taking a brief hiatus, as you'd imagine yourself being so, so exhausted being in such a position. There was just something so relatable with her that makes you connect all the better to her—she just really felt real.

Often times, many people would put up a fake smile; a façade, in front of fans that only like them because of a shared attribute. Either just appearance or that "Ah, yeah, you sound good!" aesthetic, you were glad that you saw the girl on stage and acting like herself. There was such an energy would would always be commented on in interviews that the idol would have, and you always wondered how she was always so energetic.

Maybe she was an incredible actor, you'd muse.

The thing you hated most, though, was not being able to watch any of the videos as soon as they'd drop. You knew to not disturb Kiriko by messaging her during important missions, but you can't help but send her some screencaps of some really adorable pictures of your favourite idol, now, can you? Kiriko would laugh whenever you'd complain about how she always has to go out whenever there were tours going on.

Kiriko, at first, would be extremely flattered. She does have a crush on you, and has had one for a while, but she didn't want to ever complicate things.

Seeing you gush about her idol career, and how you related so much to this celebrity—and how you loved literally everything about her, Kiriko couldn't help but feel just oh-so flustered over... "Heh, wow... my crush likes me?"

There was something that Kiriko did take notice of, and it was with how you phrased everything that she did appreciate. Not just the compliments, and even if you did just praise and praise her vocal talent, perfomances, and looks—there was something that Kiriko did enjoy listening about, and it was how you really felt, in comparison. Because, all-in-all, Kiriko loves her fans. Every single one of them.

If she could sign autographs all day, if she could talk to everyone at a meet-and-greet, if she could spend hours and hours rambling at panels and conventions—oh, she would. She adores how she was able to build up such a community, and how it thrives off of interaction. Not just from her, but how everyone else is just so supportive. It really makes her feel like she is doing so much more for not only just the town of Kanezaka, and not just for Japan—but for the countless, countless others out there in the world.

There was something special, though, with being best friends with a fan.

You'd talk to her about a new single release, talking about what your interpretation of the song was. You could easily tell that it was experimental, as the lyrics were not written by her herself—rather, someone else. Her phrasing would have more wordplay—her cadence would've been more casual and loose, to reflect on her more teasing, playful nature she likes to exhibit on-stage. You'd explain, with stars in your eyes, about all of those little details you've noticed.

Kiriko would nod along, affirmingly so. It's not like she's had to be in the studio, recording for hours and hours at a time to get the perfect take—having the mixers work at the vocals and instrumentals.

It took Kiriko a long while to think about this, but she finally did come up with a way to express her view, and to finally fess up to you.

Kiriko wasn't one to lie, as it made her feel dirty. Obviously, she does have a trouble-making stream to her name—running around the streets of her hometown whilst trying to get to the bakery first-thing was something she'd always get motherly chided for. As with her career, she felt like she really had to tell someone. It wasn't illegal for her to be an influencer, but it felt like she was lying to her best friend—lying to you.

She didn't know how you'd react. There was a surprising amount of comfort she did feel whenever you'd talk about her idol persona, considering you didn't blindly just love the music and her looks—rather, her personality, and how real and tangible she felt. How she was able to make such a committed, compelling fanbase that you were proud to be apart of, and to contribute to it. With everyone else having nothing but praise for the young rising star, Kiriko would be a bit scared at the fact of someone only liking her just due to a shallow reputation.

Though, over the course of this life, she felt both fulfilled in not only receiving the love of many others; but giving it all back in her work. Either with her songs, or some pest (Hashimoto) control, she's in debt to all of her fans. She really couldn't thank them enough.

As her heart drew heavy, the worries increasing everyday, she just might as well spit it out. With your concluded reasoning, Kiriko thought that you'd understand why she had to keep it a secret—obviously—and not go around telling anyone else. She knows about the industry, and how celebs with lovers are treated, so she just needs to be careful—teetering across those rules.

Whilst the two of you were together out at night, hanging out behind the arcade—per usual—you offered Kiriko one of your earbuds. It was playing one of her songs, and you were bopping your head to the rhythm; whispering the lyrics to yourself.

"Do you want to know something?" Kiriko would then ask, and she immediately felt her heart thump. Just being close to you already makes her feel so, so anxious; it felt as if she wasn't a pop star, and wasn't an expertly-trained ninja—just a little schoolgirl again.

With a hum, you'd turn your attention to her, adjusting your position on the ground to be more comfortable. With your legs in the right spot, you then settled down. "Yes? I'm sorry, this song is so good."

With a laugh, Kiriko would reassure you that it's okay. God, how she loved just seeing you so happy, and with how she was able to leave such a positive imprint on you with her hard work—it felt as if you were her world. Her everything.

"Eh, don't worry." Kiriko's little chuckle was contagious, as you smiled as she gestured her hand towards you. "There's something really funny about this track, actually. I'd be surprised if you didn't already know it; you nerd."

You two then continued on with your banter, and then you listened to what Kiriko had to say about the song. After a moment, the chorus came on, and then Kiriko started to explain her thoughts out—her voice in that tender tone, reserved for the ones closest to her.

"The lyrics were actually written for someone in particular. There's a theory floating around that it's for this idol, or for this other person but..." She'd then laugh, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Pay more attention to the words. You're smart; you can figure it out."

The chorus was then explaining about the singer's love for their best friend, and with how everything matched up so perfectly—the vocalist musing about past childhood memories, talking about certain interests, and explaining their want to fully express yourself... you blushed. You looked up at Kiriko, she was wearing a smirk, and then down at your phone at the song currently being played. You didn't want to just assume it was you, as you didn't want to embarrass yourself, but-

"I dunno if you know their name or not, but they do look awfully a lot like you. Maybe I should make the two of you meet, huh?"

[television-overload]

'sh-boom' (an X-Files fanfic)

Like usual, I caved and instead of leaving my "someone should write this" post be, I wrote it myself. I'll tag some people that expressed interest in this prompt below the fic! Shout out to @baronessblixen who already wrote the perfect Scully-accidentally-kisses-Mulder fic. You can read that here!

Now, for Mulder accidentally kissing Scully cause he dreams about her all the time.... takes place February 1998, mid-Season 5.

Read on Ao3

There’s a trick to fighting insomnia, Mulder had discovered. Not a cure, by any means, but an improvement, nonetheless. All you need is a super off-limits best friend you’ve fallen stupidly in love with, spend practically every waking hour of the day with her, and then spend the rest of your time thinking about her until your exhausted and delusional mind has mercy on you and blesses you with her presence in your unconscious state.

A foolproof plan, really. Scully had even noticed he seemed more well-rested and happier in the last few weeks, so something had to be working.

Although, there were—he had to admit—a few rather notable side effects.

Despite what others might tell you, Fox Mulder was not one to have trouble distinguishing between fiction and reality. Usually. But in his defense, his dreams were very, very vivid, and there had been a time or two that he’d referred to something Scully had said, only to realize at her blank stare that it was the figment of her in his imagination who’d said it.

“Must have been someone else I was talking to,” he’d awkwardly say, thankful that she kept her mouth shut about the fact that there was no one else he’d have such conversations with, and they both knew it.

He’d also been on the receiving end of more than a few raised eyebrows and patented “what is wrong with you?” looks, which were well-deserved for catching him staring even more than typical. Sure, he was sleeping better at night, but his brain was now trained to find restfulness when thinking about Scully, which was pretty much an all-day thing too. Sitting across from her in their isolated little office for extended periods of time made his eyes glaze over and eyelids droop halfway shut. Oh, the horror… he probably looked like a drunk idiot. He hoped he at least looked somewhat normal, not like a drooling dope with a dumb smile on his face who was clearly not having a productive day at work.

What would old doctor Pavlov have to say about this sorry scenario?

His consolation was that Scully already knew he was weird, and stuck around anyway, so he had no qualms against going home night after night and picking up where he’d left off in Scullyland the night before. Let’s see, he was just about to their son’s first little league baseball game, of which Mulder was the coach, of course. “Scully, don’t forget, we signed up to bring snacks for the team after the game.”

Behind closed eyes he saw her raise her arm to show him the already packed bag she was holding, an exasperated but loving look in her eye. “Always one step ahead of me,” he said fondly. With practiced ease, they danced around each other in the kitchen of a fairly unremarkable house, grabbing sunscreen, sunglasses, water bottles, keys… “Alright, sport, get in the car! Bus is leaving!” he called out, smiling as the sounds of little footfalls preceded the sight of his freckle-faced son, clad in shiny new baseball cleats.

“Got your glove?”

“Yep.”

“Your bat?”

“Yep.”

“Spitting tobacco?”

“Daaaad…”

“Mulder!”

“I’m just kidding, get in the car, will you? Coach Fox can’t be late, it’s unprofessional.”

“Wait I forgot my seeds!”

A minivan. Perfectly unremarkable. Admittedly, very comfortable, and spacious.

“Fox…” Scully mused with a shake of her head as she buckled her seatbelt.

“What? All the great baseball legends have weird nicknames. I just happen to have been born with mine.”

“The Great Bambino!” a little voice piped up from the back, glancing out the window as they ventured forth into the miles and miles of farmland.

“That’s my boy. ‘Oil Can’ Boyd. ‘Cool Papa’ James Bell. ‘Shoeless’ Joe Jackson. Did you know Lou Gehrig’s teammates called him ‘Biscuit Pants?’”

A giggle from the back seat.

“Alright you’ve made your point.” He loved it when she used that voice, the one that meant she was tired of his antics, but not really. Of course she loved his senseless rambling. She did it too sometimes, albeit with a few more hyper-specific medical terms thrown in there, leaving him unable to do anything other than smile and nod.

When they arrived, they piled out of the van, the messy brown hair of his son—already sweaty somehow, by the way—disappearing into the dugout with a gaggle of other overexcited little boys. “Good luck,” Scully spoke as she planted a kiss on Mulder’s cheek and made her way to the stands, setting up a cushion and portable fan that were sure to be the envy of all the other parents.

The field smelled like grass and dirt and the leather of brand-new baseball gloves just waiting to be broken in. It was a smell straight out of his childhood, of those summer nights on the Vineyard getting eaten up by bugs under the bright lights of the baseball fields. The crack of a ball against a wooden bat. Coming home covered in sweat and dirt and with a kid sister in tow who insisted on playing with the boys.

It was in this dream state where he found peace. Not in the past, but in some amorphous future. A future where he had a family again, a loving home. Where he wasn’t a coward and had a beautiful wife and partner who somehow made everything work. They fought monsters. They went grocery shopping. They filed paperwork with Skinner. He coached little league. They drove to work together. They picked up their son from school.

Baseballs went flying. Teams celebrated their first win. Little boys were tucked into bed, and he kissed his wife goodnight. That’s just how it was.

It was freedom. A freedom he didn’t think he’d felt since his life changed with a flash of light.

In the morning, he’d wake in a haze. With his brain on autopilot, he’d amble about his apartment, brushing his teeth, making coffee, tying on a tie… Caught somewhere in between these worlds of make-believe and reality. It was a benefit of his eidetic memory, he supposed, to be able to remember his dreams and stay in them even after coming to consciousness. Didn’t work out so great when he had constant nightmares, but hey, now that’s been solved too.

Somewhere along his drive to work was usually when reality really set in. He tried to not let it bring him down too much—it was his own fault, after all, that his life bore little resemblance to that which revealed itself in dreams. But he couldn’t help the slight pangs of disappointment he felt when he thought of the lonely couch he slept on every night and the sad state of his fridge.

“Good morning, Mulder,” Scully called out her usual greeting as she breezed into the office.

Mulder’s head lifted off the desk where it had been laying. “Mm—morning.”

Scully chuckled, setting down her bag in her chair and working to remove her heavy coat which she hung on the coat rack. His dream may have taken place in the heat of summer, but it was unmistakably the dead of winter in Washington, D.C.

“Not get enough sleep?” she asked, her amused tone not entirely disguising the genuine concern she felt for him underneath.

“I slept fine,” Mulder answered, “just… still waking up.”

Scully shook her head and let out another low chuckle, taking her seat across from him. She pulled out a file from her bag and began scanning through it, the lamp next to her providing most of the light, as the cloud-covered sky through the skylight threatened to dump a heap of snow on the city.

The day went on like that. Mulder managed to actually get some work done, finalizing some paperwork he’d been putting off (to Scully’s exaggerated shock and disbelief). She, on the other hand, was working on going over some medical reports a field office had sent over for her expert opinion, something that flattered her and made Mulder bloom with pride.

He didn’t even mind that much that they didn’t have a case to work on at the moment. That was another thing that had changed since he’d started indulging in these dreams: he could sit still for five minutes without vibrating out of his skin.

Of course, he’d never stop yearning for the truth, wondering what was out there waiting for him to discover it. But lately, he also found he enjoyed these quiet days where barely a word was spoken between them. It was comfortable. Everything unspoken didn’t need to be said aloud because it was a given—they both knew without saying everything that could possibly be said.

Lunch?

Yes.

Can you hand me a pen?

Sure.

The winter sun set early, and night was well on its way by the time Mulder looked up from his work to check the clock. Sure enough: quitting time. He stood from his desk just as Scully did, making his way over to the coat rack to grab both his and Scully’s coats. She snapped her bag shut with a click as he handed it to her before slipping his arms into his own coat sleeves.

Scully fluffed her hair out from under the collar of her coat. Mulder flicked off the lamp. She draped her bag over her shoulder. He grabbed his own briefcase and circled around his desk toward the door.

“Night, Scully,” he spoke like he did every evening, dipping down to place a quick kiss goodbye on her lips.

He froze.

Lips still touching, he swore he felt his heart stop and his fingers go numb. Somehow amid all the blaring alarm bells and internal screaming, his brain was able to send the signal back away, you idiot! to the rest of his body, and he obeyed, straightening up to look at her with what he knew she recognized as his ‘panic face.’

The only light now was coming from the streetlamps in the parking lot and the gentle snowfall reflecting it down into the office, the dim yellowish light making it difficult to tell what she was thinking. A wiser man would say something, apologize, explain it away, even leave, dang it! Get out of there! But Mulder was frozen. And apparently mute. Just perfect.

The seconds ticked by. Was that clock always so loud? That was it, he’d really gone and done it now, hadn’t he?

A smile formed across Scully’s lips, barely visible in the darkness. She blinked up at him with an oddly relaxed look in her eyes, sparkling in the faint light.

“Night, Mulder,” she replied before patting him twice on the chest above his heart and turning to leave.

It must have been a combination of her words and her touch that eventually broke him from his stupor, because he finally blinked and managed to stumble back to his office chair only to collapse into it, covering his face with his hands and letting out a muffled scream.

What an idiot. What. An. Idiot.

This was the price he had to pay for his risky little endeavor to sleep through the night. Dreaming of Scully had a cost, he should have known it was only a matter of time. He was messing with the delicate balance of things. Mulder and insomnia, insomnia and Mulder. They went hand-in-hand. Trading it in for the much more pleasant musings he had for his partner was too good to be true.

He sat there in horrified, humiliated silence for what felt like hours before finally heading home to what would inevitably be an appallingly horrible night’s sleep.

-.-.-

Mulder hadn’t slept. At all.

He laid awake most of the night staring at the ceiling and mentally berating himself over and over for blurring the lines so much that he’d briefly forgotten he and Scully weren’t actually together. He had every intent to call out of work the next day, and maybe the day after that, every day until he could come up with something to say to make things less awkward between them the next time they’d see each other, but then Skinner called.

His stomach dropped to the floor when the words “I need to ask you something,” crackled through the phone, the gruff voice of his boss sending a chill down his spine. It turned out all Skinner wanted was for Mulder and Scully to check out some reported aquatic dinosaur sightings in a lake in central Kansas, but Mulder still felt dizzy from the adrenaline the initial words had sent coursing through his system.

Against his wishes, he was dressed and in a taxi to the airport before noon, realizing too late that he hadn’t eaten anything either.

As he entered the bustling terminal, he saw Scully standing near the check-in point, dressed in her sensible heels and no-nonsense suit, her suitcase resting on the ground near her tapping foot. She checked her watch and glanced up to the departures sign before scanning the crowd. He winced as her sight settled on him, and picked up the pace.

“Jeez, Mulder, you look awful,” she said by way of greeting.

“Sorry I’m late,” he spoke, hoping to divert any conversation away from what had happened the night prior.

She wasn’t so easily dissuaded, however. “What happened to you? Are you sick?”

It seemed he would have to say something after all. He settled for, “Haven’t had anything to eat.” There. That would throw her off his scent.

Scully’s eyebrows furrowed and she grabbed the handle of her suitcase, beginning to pull it in the direction of their gate. “Well, you can have the other half of my muffin, it’s in my purse.”

He said nothing after that, choosing to follow after her like a lost puppy. They made their way through the metal detectors and had just enough time to get to their gate before they were boarding.

True to her word, just as soon as they’d reached cruising altitude, Scully extracted half a blueberry muffin from her purse and placed it on the tray table in front of Mulder, who was leaning heavily on the wall of the plane, staring blankly out the window. He mumbled his thanks and ate it in 3 clean bites, feeling only slightly guilty for inhaling his food like that in front of her.

Sensing that he wasn’t in a talkative mood, Scully posed a one-word question. “Insomnia?”

Mulder leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

“I thought it was getting better?”

“It was,” he answered, hoping she wouldn’t read into it.

Mulder sat up again, reaching for a book in his bag, but Scully’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. Gently, she pushed him back until he was resting again, forcing his head to the head rest with the soft touch of her hand over his brow.

“Sleep,” she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

-.-.-

After the rocky start to the day and the awkwardness on his end throughout the flight, Mulder came to the conclusion that Scully was acting perfectly normal, so he might as well do the same. Well, she had kissed him on the cheek, but that wasn’t unheard of, was it? They’d done that before. Sure, it was rare, but she was worried about him. Aside from that, it was as if nothing had even happened, and if Mulder had been just a little more crazy, he might have believed it had all been a dream after all. It wasn’t though, and the touch of her lips on his still burned when he thought about it.

Against his better judgement, on the first night in the motel in central Kansas, he decided to employ his, now patently risky, sleep technique. It didn’t help that his subconscious supplied him with dreams of a family road trip and motels just like the one he was staying in. It took everything in his power not to say, “Wake up, buddy, time to hit the road,” to an invisible—and sadly, impossible—son in the morning. Even harder was it to suppress the words “Morning, beautiful,” from escaping his lips when he first ran into Scully in the lobby.

She seemed appeased that he had actually gotten some rest, at least, when she saw him at breakfast. The day went on without issue. Things between them were… normal. Conditions: good. Weather: frigid. Why they were investigating a potentially cold-blooded creature in the middle of February was beyond him.

He suspected this case would turn out to be yet another wild goose chase. Nothing was living in that water except maybe a very cold and very large escaped alligator from a nearby run-down zoo. Unfortunately, his recent contentment with boring, unexciting cases didn’t seem to apply here. Or at least right now.

To his relief, the local law enforcement decided to handle it themselves and even had the presence of mind to sheepishly apologize for having them come all the way out there. Flights were booked for the next day, following an almost four-hour drive back to Kansas City.

When they arrived back at the motel, Mulder fished out his room key from his pocket and inserted it into the door to unlock it. At the next door over, Scully set her briefcase on the ground before crossing the distance to him right as he turned the handle, stalling him briefly in the doorway. She stood there just long enough to reach up for a quick peck on the lips, the kiss as brief as he had done two nights before.

“Wha—” he mouthed silently, interrupted by Scully’s easy, “Goodnight, Mulder,” leaving him gaping at her in the doorway, his hand still on the doorknob, as she went off to bed.

-.-.-

It was getting harder to tell fiction from reality, and that was tough for Mulder to admit. Scully smiled at him in the morning when she climbed in the passenger seat of their rental car, and for a moment Mulder felt the gnawing feeling that they’d forgotten to put their son in the backseat despite knowing he wasn’t real. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, but that could only help so much.

Her humming half the ride home was straight out of his dreams too, a happy sound that he hadn’t heard much in the months since Christmas and Emily. She even held his hand during takeoff on the plane, not that that was uncommon, but still.

When they finally touched down in the snow blanketed capitol city, she offered to drive him home rather than have him wait for a taxi out in the cold. He gratefully accepted, unable to come up with a valid excuse not to. That was when it happened again.

Once was a mistake. Twice was a fluke. Three times on the lips, and Mulder had some questions. Namely, was he going completely crazy, or did he miss something?

As she pulled up to his building, she put the car in park and stretched across the center console to give him yet another kiss, finishing it with a smile and a, “See you tomorrow, Mulder.”

Unable to tear his eyes away from her lest she fade away like his dreams, Mulder fumbled for the door handle and pushed open the car door, stumbling his way to his feet.

“See you tomorrow,” he managed to respond, in a voice that he felt wasn’t his own.

He started his way toward the entrance to his building in a daze, screeching to a halt when he heard her call out, “Mulder!” through the opened passenger window.

He turned back, croaking out a very eloquent, “Huh?” as he searched for her face in the dark car interior.

“You forgot your bags.”

Oh.

Scully chuckled and popped the trunk for him. He rubbed his hand awkwardly over the back of his neck and trudged his way back to the car to retrieve his possessions, slamming the trunk shut when he was finished. Scully gave a wave out the window and took off into the night, and for a second night in a row, all he could do was stand there and blink in the direction she had disappeared.

-.-.-

Calling out of work would be useless, it wouldn’t help the issue at all. He was more confused than ever, but Scully seemed to be perfectly fine, so it must be his own problem. What if he’d somehow manifested his dream life into his waking one, that by some mystical force, certain elements of it were slipping through into reality? He could open an X-File. Test out his powers of manifestation—if he didn’t completely lose his grip on reality in the process.

In his dream last night, they’d celebrated her birthday, and now he couldn’t remember if they’d already done so, or if he ought to get started on planning something in real life. What day is it again? It was driving him crazy. Crazier than usual.

He would just have to talk to her. Ask her what was up with all the kissing, not that he minded. But was that actually happening? Was he imagining things? If he brought it up, would they go back to what it was like before? Would it get worse? What if he kissed her again? This time on purpose?

Every time he went to say something, his mouth opened and no sound came out. He was sure she’d notice at some point. How embarrassing. Hours ticked by, and before he knew it, it was the end of the day. An epic fail, as far as his attempt to talk to her went.

He stood from his desk with a sigh, resigned to another day of confusion tomorrow, and started toward the door with his bag and coat in tow.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” her voice called from behind him, and there she was, standing by his desk, arms crossed expectantly over her chest. That eyebrow. That darn eyebrow was doing its thing too, what does she mean by that?

“Scully?” he asked, brain tired and worn out from a tumultuous week.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked again, uncrossing her arms and shifting in that way that exposed her well-masked nervousness. It was the first sign he’d seen that he wasn’t losing his mind, this really was unusual. And she knew it too.

Eyebrows furrowed, he walked toward her until he was standing right in front of her, desperately trying to read her expression as he looked down at her. Her eyes met his with determination, deliberately holding eye contact when every cell in his body screamed Danger! Run away! There was hope there, too, but Mulder didn’t want to guess what that hope might be for. This was not the moment for guessing.

She was still looking at him expectantly, though, and he couldn’t think of anything else.

Slowly, giving her plenty of time to move away or shoot him if he’d read the situation wrong, he bent toward her, placing one hand over her elbow and the other brushing lightly over the hair covering her ear. Her eyes fluttered shut and her breathing hitched, and there! She was leaning forward too! Not quite standing on tiptoes, but stretching to meet him, nonetheless.

Taking this as a good sign, he closed the rest of the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers, holding them there for one, two, three, four, five seconds before pulling back and letting his arms drop to his sides. His eyes remained tightly shut, afraid to open them and see the disgust or annoyance that would surely greet him.

He swallowed past a lump in his throat, his face pinched in concern, but he dared not move. After a moment, he felt two hands cup his cheeks on either side, the thumbs brushing out the lines of tension around his eyes. Something about the motion coaxed his eyes open, and what he saw wasn’t disgust or annoyance, but a content and relieved smile on the face of his partner.

He was entranced.

“Goodnight, Mulder,” she spoke softly, the same words from the other nights, but with a considerable amount of weight that hadn’t been there before. After a moment more, she began to pull away, and Mulder felt his heart stutter. Without thinking, he stopped her, grabbing her by the upper arms and pulling her to him. His eyes fell shut again as he dove toward her lips, stopping short by a few inches and pressing his forehead to hers instead.

“What is this?” he whispered, desperate to know, needing to put a name to it.

She let out a breathless laugh. “I was hoping you’d tell me.”

“Am I dreaming?”

She laughed again, and man, what he would do to hear that sound every day for the rest of his life.

“I just thought you’d decided to institute a new goodbye ritual, and went with it.”

It was Mulder’s turn to smile in amusement. He hummed.

“No, I’ve dreamt of this,” he murmured, nuzzling her forehead with his. “I thought I was going crazy.”

“If you are, then what does that make me?”

“I don’t know. If not crazy, then what other option is there?”

Reaching to cup the back of his neck, she pulled him ever closer, her next words brushing against his cheek. “I can think of something.”

His eyes opened to see her staring back at him, a flood of emotions he wasn’t sure he could name dancing there, reflecting identical ones in his own. Uncertainty gave way to resolve, and he hoped she would lend him some of hers, because he would surely need it.

He knew it was coming, and still it blew him away.

This time, her kiss was slow… purposeful. He melted into her, pulling her closer with an arm clutching to her waist and the other hand splayed across her shoulder blade.

The fog in his brain prevented him from determining how much time passed, but eventually they had to come up for air, identical smiles gracing their faces.

“I think I know what this is, Mulder, and I think you feel the same way. But if I’m wrong, this is going to be really awkward.” Her words were spoken with laughter, but there was an underlying sense of doubt. Doubt that by no means had any place there.

“No, I think you’re right,” he answered, cupping her cheek with his hand. “I think you’ve got it figured out.”

Her eyebrow went up again and a teasing smile played on her lips. “Can I get that in writing, or…”

He grinned and pulled her to him once more. “Oh, shut up.” And he kissed her.

---

Tagging @agent-troi @welsharcher @hippocampouts @invidiosa @whovianelle @captainsolocide @randomfoggytiger @today-in-fic

[eternal-dragon-of-time]

I got really into the potential of a Drakath Arcadia route. So um. I wrote it lol, here's what I think his dialogue would've looked like if he had beat out Sepulchure in the polls.

Drakath: Chaos Incarnate

Surprised to see me? You shouldn’t be. You’ve had my attention since the beginning, so who else would be worthy to be here? Ha! You don’t have to look too excited about it, knowing I took a spot from someone else you might’ve liked more is just encouraging me. I was hoping to have another battle to decide your favor, but this competition seems easy enough as well. You know how strong I am, and who better to solve your problems than someone who caused them? Don’t expect this from me ever again, but today you’ll have my full power supporting you.

Motivation: 

Initially that invitation was just good for a laugh before being tossed, but then I heard about some of the other people that were entering. Be glad it's me and not one of the nobodies I had to fight off from trying to get your affections. Besides, this is an opportunity to have you all to myself again. What do I mean by that?

Tournament:

Why are you bothering to ask? I won it easily, even the resurrected corpse was barely a work out. The hardest part was the sheer number of opponents, you had a lot of champions for your hand. I’ve never fought someone over love before. I don’t get what the fuss is about when compared to battles over the fate of Lore. I’d rate our own clash far above this.

Competitors:

Gravelyn is staring daggers into me, and Safiria looks like she is weighing the risk of drinking my chaorrupted blood. Neither of them worry me. Gravelyn spends the majority of her time fussing over an Empire I pushed to the brink of collapse, and the Vampire Queen is a bit player in a world that left her behind. More importantly, neither of them know you as well as I do.

Quest Accept: Under Umbra Wings

Finally, I was getting tired watching you waste time with the others. You and I will be taking the rightmost route up. No need to bother with the ladder, unlike the others I have wings strong enough to carry the both of us. Don’t act so shocked, I can play nice if it means winning over the others. You can even go play with the butterflies before we get started, you looked like you enjoyed it.

–

Quest Complete:

You don’t have to squirm so much. It’s not like I’m going to drop you, even with these leeches trying to crash the party. You’d know if I was going to let you fall anyways. Probably. Speaking of the overgrown mosquitos, do they look strange to you? Something is off about the way they fly, and they come apart like dolls if you press them too hard. Don’t look at me like that, try it yourself.

Quest Accept: Battle Muse

More of these fake foes, it’s like cutting through wax. I’m not a stranger to my enemies falling apart before me, but it's usually not so literal. These ones look like that usurper’s knights too. I wonder, is that intended as a taunt or a gift for me? Hm? You want to fight them for yourself? Sure, I don’t mind. It’ll be like old times, I always did like sitting back and watching you fight.

–

Quest Complete:

Sorry to cut this break short but I need to get you out of the water. Stop trying to wriggle free and look down at the pool beneath us, you can see where the pond is dyed purple from where I lingered. Guess that answers my question. I’ll be flying us over this for now. Why are you looking at me like that? As nice as it would be to have you out of my hair, I’m not going to let you go out in such a pathetic way. Besides, I still need to win this.

Quest Accept: Denial in Read

Why would there be reading material during this challenge? There was a book like this on the other climbs as well? …Nothing that has you that excited can be good, you keep your eyes to yourself. Great, more of these things are coming after us. I’ll take care of them this time, it’ll be fun to see how many more of them I can break then you. Feel free to admire my work if you want, or find something else to occupy your time if you don’t want to see me smash your record. Maybe inspect the tree trunk, or the armor pieces. Not the book.

–

Quest Complete:

You read it didn’t you, that smug look on your face is telling. Well? Aren’t you going to tell me what was in it? You’re insufferable. Whatever, I’ve cleared out the room so we can continue upwards. Hm? You pulled these gems off the armor pieces for me while you were waiting? Is this some stupid Hero’s Heart Day thing? No, you can’t take those back, I'm keeping them.

Quest Accept: A Better Toy

Have you noticed the ground get more twisted the higher we go? It almost looks like… No. It doesn’t make any sense. I would know if Chaos magic was at play here, and I don’t feel anything, no connection to it at all. We’ll find the truth of this higher up and- How did we get here!? This can’t be real, it's just some pathetic attempt to get under my skin. Well it won’t work, you’re already here to do that. I’m fine. I don’t need her. Stay behind me, I’ll gladly rend this place apart.

–

Quest Complete:

I gave up everything, my flesh, my self, my strength. All for her to use me up and abandon me. Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, but sometimes I can’t help but wonder if there was something wrong with me, that if I was just stronger she would’ve let me come with her. Pathetic, isn’t it? You know, I’ve never had to wonder if I’d ever see you again. You just kept coming back again and again.

Pre-Boss Dialogue:

Stop it, I can stand on my own. I don’t need you, or her, or this thing trying to worm its way into my head. I am strong, I am worthy, I am fine alone.

End Questline Dialogue:

The reality that monster invented could never have happened, but that didn’t stop me from dreaming. It’s easier to believe that there was something I could do then face the truth. That I’m not perfect, and I was never going to be enough. Augh. I didn’t expect that to hurt so much to say. You look ridiculous being concerned over someone who’s killed you, but I can’t stop you. That's just the kind of person you are. The person I can trust you to be. I’ll remember this Hero, fondly even.

[canon-in-too-deep]

End of a Series, and Deleted Dinner With Gortash Scene

After over 75k words, I closed out the last part of my Don't Forget You Love Me series on AO3 yesterday. It's a light hearted Baldur's Gate 3 fic starring Gortash x Tav that started out as a rom com and ended with family fluff. The final chapter was a small scene for the sequel The Fluffy Raccon (a fluffy one shot collection after the main story ends), and I just had so so much fun with these characters, I wanted to make a post here to mark a personal milestone. 🦝🦝🦝 The last year, I've gotten back into fandom, which led me back to writing, and writing has led me to typesetting...and it's been a helluva time! I'm having a blast sharing everything I've made in my hyper fixated frenzies, and have loved getting to focus my passion on all these projects. So thank you to everyone who's stopped by to smell the pixels! The first chapter of my Gortav fic can be found here. Below the break is a deleted scene from Don't Forget You Love Me that I wrote for Chapter 3 that I ended up scrapping and rewriting. I found it in my old notes folder, and decided to let it get some sunlight here. I have some more Gortav (Tavtash?) deleted scenes and snippets cluttering up my google docs. If I get time or if there's interest, I might post them here as well. Also if you're just here for free typesets I'm working on more of those too!

Scene: Tav has amnesia. Tav has forgotten that she is married to Gortash. Tav has dinner with Gortash. Tav glared at Gortash from across the dining table.  So what if all the healers and clerics in the city had come to the archduke’s residence and spent days fussing over her, before declaring that her memories of the last fourteen months were assuredly gone?  So what if all the politicians and lords of the Upper City bowed to her and sent her get well missives, all while bemoaning the poor health of their dear archduchess?  So what if even her friends—those that she could get a hold of, anyway—told her themselves that the Elder Brain had long ago been dealt with and her pact with Gortash had been expanded to involve marriage? She still wanted to kill him. “Dearest, at least eat something whilst you glower at me,” Gortash said, not even looking up as he sliced through a cut of meat with a silver blade. “Maybe it’s poisoned,” Tav suggested.  “Maybe that’s how you got me to marry you.  Maybe you doused my food with some kind of love potion, and—” “Enough.”  Gortash spoke sharply, and set down his utensils.  He cleared his throat, and braced both hands against the table.  “If you insinuate such things again, I may lose my patience.” “And what, you’ll show your true colors as a monster?” she said, crossing her arms. “And I just might take more drastic measures to jog your memory,” he said, lowering his voice. Tav’s brow furrowed.  “Like what?  What the fuck are you talking about—” Gortash got up, his chair scraping against the floor as he left his spot at the head of the table to stride over towards where she’d positioned herself farthest from him.

Tav gripped the arms of her chair, staring up with open irritation at the archduke now towering over her.  His dark gaze swept across her features, before settling on her own eyes.

“Perhaps you might remember something more…engaging of the senses,” he mused, his voice dangerously low to Tav’s ears.

“What are you—”

Her words caught in her throat, as a large hand came up to caress her cheek, stroking down with calloused fingers, to end with a delicate hold of her chin.

“The first time, we had dinner together, you refused to eat less there be poison in the food.  Of course, I offered to feed you by hand, but you were such a stubborn little thing…”  His thumb came up to trace her bottom lip.

Tav slapped him and snarled.  “Bastard!”  She got up and stormed off.

Gortash, unperturbed, nursed his reddening cheek, and said aloud to himself, “Ah…she did the same thing the first time, too…”

[thebigoblin]

Everything

I'm supposed to be studying for my exams, instead I wrote this. I had to do 2 chapters! (short ones, would barely take me an hour, but still!) This might be the first installment of a series. Idk, my muse is unpredictable.

Anyways... here ya go, my fellow sterek lovers <3

PS: won't be putting this on AO3 yet, I'm not opening that again till my last exam is over. Now on AO3 after some minor edits! And wowza i did not realize this thing was more 2k words lmao. I was thinking this a lil ficlet oof.

One should never fuck with a genie, otherwise they fuck with you.

How does Stiles know this? Because he's an idiot. An idiot who rubbed the lamp even after Lydia told him not to, and asked for a wish he really wishes he hadn't. And the worst part of it all?

He's all alone now.

*

He wakes up floating in the air. He screams, because he can see the forest floor below him, and he's definitely gonna fall so he needs to brace himself—

"Where the hell are my legs?!"

"Gone," the genie giggles. She's blue in hue, white jewels around her white eyes, and she has her teal long hair in knots the same way Stiles' stomach is now. Stiles gulps. She laughs. "You wished for this, Stiles."

And with that, she's gone.

Stiles doesn't fall, but he wishes he had. Especially when he sees his dad trudging through the forest with K9 dogs, unaware of his existence even though he shouts, cries, and yearns.

His dad looks up, but never at him. He tries to touch his dad, make him aware of his existence, but all his dad does is look terrified of something Stiles doesn't know of and unaware of Stiles' mere existence.

Finally, his dad leaves, muttering, "Stupid teenagers and stupid games."

Stiles follows, because that's the only thing he can do right now.

*

Turns out, this isn't 2013, and this isn't post senior year. He's in 2011, and this is the morning after Stiles and Scott had found Laura's body and Scott had gotten bitten. Except, in this freaky world, Stiles doesn't exist.

Why would Scott even go to the forest at night if Stiles didn't force him? Scott's said it himself, that if it wasn't for him Scott never would have had to endure the life he has. He could have been normal. If only Stiles wasn't there.

And in this world, Stiles wasn't.

He gets the answer the same time Melissa gets it, her mascara smudged, wedding ring on her finger, matching his dad's, both of them sitting on the couch of Stiles' childhood home.

"We haven't located him yet," his dad is saying, voice tinged with regret and fury. "That kid. What could have been so important that he went to the forest in the middle of the night? And after I told him about the body!"

So Laura is still dead, huh. He wonders why even this world is taking from Derek, but that's forgotten when Melissa says this —

"Did you ask Jackson? He knows everything that Scott does. He must know where our son is!"

Jackson and Scott are friends in this world? What even? Stiles had always believed that he was the only thing keep Scott from being cool and popular, and now he knows this to be true. If Stiles never existed, then Scott would have had a much better childhood. And much cooler people to hand out with.

"I did. He says Scott was terrified of the killer and had wanted Jackson to come over for a sleepover, but Lydia didn't let him." At least those two are still together. "And that was the last thing Jackson and Scott talked about."

Melissa looks up, staring straight at his dad. "And?"

His dad never beats around the bush. As a cop, it's much better to be blunt than to dance around the truth, and right here, right now, he's a cop delivering a bad news to a woman whose child is missing.

"And Scott had a fight with Lydia over that, apparently, and he went to cool down at his favorite spot in town." His dad pauses, and Stiles' stomach drops out.

"Where, John. Where?"

He says in sync with his dad, "In the preserve." And then in sync with Melissa, "Damn it Scott!"

*

Scott comes home in the evening, unscratched and alive, and it seems like he hasn't been bitten, and Stiles is glad for a moment, but then he sees things. Like Scott scrunching his face on the second floor when the main door opens and shuts, Melissa leaving for work, her worries for her son soothed. Like Scott laughing at seemingly nothing, but then Stiles goes down and sees that his dad's watching a rom-com in the living room. And most damning of all, the next day, Scott does the thing with the pen. He gives it to Allison right as she enters the class, like he heard she forgot hers — even with multiple walls and a good amount of distance between where that conversation happened and where Scott was sitting in the class.

And then Stiles realizes, he never had anything to do with this. It was Scott's destiny to become a werewolf, and it doesn't matter if Stiles is there or not. It's Scott's destiny.

"His destiny was always to become a True Alpha."

He's in his not-bedroom, sitting on Scott's bed, contemplating his original wish. He was upset at the time; Scott had reinforced his belief of Stiles ruining his life, and he'd just found out about the genie lamp Lydia ordered from... somewhere. It was like fate, him wishing to never exist, so that the people in his life could have a better life without him.

He's contemplating whether or not that wish was even warranted, and what are all the implications of him never existing in this world, what else changes, and if it doesn't really; that's when the genie decides to come back, a somber look on her face.

"He wasn't."

She scares the shit out of him, her hand on his knee, comforting but cold. He shrieks, and she gives a little smile, shakes her head. Repeats, "He wasn't meant to be an Alpha."

And Stiles tells her everything.

"Me being there... it doesn't matter. He became a werewolf in this world, because it was destiny." And, "I don't impact the people around me." And, "Nobody would miss me. Nobody. I'm just a nuisance. It's great for them that I don't exist in this world."

The genie looks at him sadly. "No, Stiles," she cups his cheeks, and he lets him, lets her wipe his tears with her thumb. It's comforting, like his mother's voice or her laugh. "That's not true. You matter. You matter in ways you don't even realize."

"Do I, really? Do I?"

"Yes. Scott was never meant to be a True Alpha, but you know who is? This person." She snaps her fingers, and they're in the charred remains of the Hale House suddenly, sitting on its burnt floor. Stiles' heartbeat quickens, and he sees him then — sad, angry, and terrified, all at once, all of it in his eyebrows, his face a marble statue carved out of a constant state of paranoia.

"Derek."

"Derek Hale," the genie agrees.

"He was...? But he gave up his powers. To save Cora. And then—"

"And then Derek's power weakened. It didn't vanish. For any other Alpha, the spark would have been depleted completely, but not for Derek."

"Not for Derek?"

"Not for the greatest Alpha to walk this land since the very first Alpha that ever existed." Stiles is too stunned to speak. All he can do is look at the Derek sitting in the corner of the destroyed living room, gripping a folded photo in his hands, looking so young yet so old. Wracked with guilt and pain, so much pain.

The genie continues.

"He is Destiny's Child. The Seed of Power, The Bloom of Prosperity. He is The Phoenix, risen from flames of blood and death and betrayal. He is the True Alpha, and for him, the power would have come back."

"Then why didn't it?" His head is spinning with all the titles, his mind hysterical over them. But he's sitting with a genie in a world that isn't his own, his legs turned to a single tail like a mermaid floating in air, and he believes now.

"Because where there is light, there is darkness. Deaton used nefarious ways to steal that Alpha Spark from Derek, and with Julia's sacrifices, the Nemeton was a powerful conduit for his malpractices of magic."

"And he gave that to Scott. But why?"

"Stiles... Derek is Power. And you? You are Knowledge. You know why."

"Seed of Knowledge... He's the brawns and I'm the brains? Geez, you make it sound like we're the two sides of the same coin." The genie just looks at him, her white eyes sparkling. He decides to not focus on that, instead thinking of an answer to his own question. And then he gets it. "Having power is great... but controlling it is even better."

"One makes you accountable, the other makes you the master."

Stiles has to admit, "Deaton is smart. Shit, does this mean Scott was manipulated all this time?"

"Perhaps. But right now, I want you to focus on this: What is your destiny? You said it youself, you're the two sides to the same coin. You, my child, were correct."

"Like I always am?"

"Like you always are," she agrees, and then they're shuffling through scenes of Stiles' life like it's a goddamn movie.

Every scene is Stiles saving Derek. Or being there for Derek. Being Pack.

When Stiles spent nearly a whole day with a dying Derek in his Jeep, and almost chopped off his arm save him.

When he let Derek lay low in his own room.

The pool.

After Boyd's death.

The time he spent the whole day at Derek's loft, deliberate and silent, a shoulder to lean on, the day of the fire's anniversary.

And on and on and on.

"That's you two, existing, side by side. Now look at this."

She shows him this world's Derek. His fate.

Derek dies by Kate's bullet, untrusting of Scott to go ask for help, and too stubborn to not haul ass into the Argent's mansion to go look for the bullet himself. Unfortunately for him, Grandpa Crazy was there, too, enjoying his meal. And then later...

"I don't- I can't- Not him, please, He can't die, I—"

They're back in his not-bedroom.

"Why would you show me that?! Why the hell would you—"

"Because you matter. Humans interact every day, and maybe sometimes those interactions mean nothing. But you and him? Each one of your interactions does mean something. Your Destiny is intertwined. You are the brain to his brawns, the brawns to his brains. You're strengths of each other in a way that Ares himself envies, that Apollo sings of, that Eros prides himself on."

"What are you saying?" This is getting too much for him, now. It's one thing to be there for each other, for him to mean something in someone's life, in Derek's life... but this? Too much.

The genie smiles, teeth and all. She has vampiric teeth, except all her teeth are long-fanged. "You are each other's."

Stiles pauses. Thinks through everything that has happened between him and Derek. They're friends. Derek is a beta and he's still the annoying human, and they're always circling each other, joking and ribbing and fighting and slamming each other into surfaces. Well, the last part Derek does to him.

They're close.

They're not in love.

"Not yet,"

"Don't tell me you can fucking mind-read." He only gets a smile in return, the full-fanged one. "Okay... moving on. What do you mean not yet? And you didn't actually complete your sentence. We are each other's what?"

"You are each other's everything." The words echo all around him, inside his skin, in his bones. They hold a weight, bearing down on his chest, arms around his body, like a tight, vicious grip, and the genie repeats, "Everything."

And that's the last thing he hears out of the genie before waking up on the preserve floor, Derek staring down at him, his eyes flashing red.

Stiles blinks up at him.

"Stiles, what did you do?"

He gulps.

"Technically, I didn't do anything,"

"Stiles!"

[thegeminisage]

IT IS. star trek update time. last night we did ds9's "the muse" and voy's "the thaw."

the muse (ds9):

the a-plot of this was so fucking stupid. WHY is it always jake and older women...can we please cut him a fucking break...

also, the mysticism around writing. "i can show you exercises and techniques" "you have so many ideas it all seems too big to you right now" come on. the only exercise and technique she needed to show him was how to fucking outline. it's not MAGIC you don't get divinely graced with the ability to write a book you just sit down and do one little bit at a time. i cannot believe writers wrote this. insufferable. they sound like george rr martin i hope he is having a bad day wherever he is

jake and sisko at the end were so cute though...sisko my beloved...

the b plot.............................................

here's the thing. while i have reversed my stance on lwaxana troi, who got much better in her final few episodes (was this the last one or do we have one more...?), i don't want odo/lwaxana to be better than odo/kira and the odo/lwaxana was REALLY GOOD. and ik some people really didn't like the way odo/kira wound up happening in canon so even though idk what happens yet NOBODY TELL ME i am bracing for it to be bad and to love it unconditionally anyway. so that was a huge struggle for me

odo in his little shapeshifter playground feeding off of lwaxana's giddiness...i wish deanna had been able to do the reverse-empath thing on tng, it would have been so much fun

ALSO i cant believe he finally got his first little smooch!!!! GOOD FOR HIM

the thaw (voy)

sigh. so apparently a lot of people really like this episode but i...hated it. one of the worst voy episodes to date actually

whatever this episode THINKS it's saying about fear is lost under the set dressing. and the set dressing IS really cool - i like the wacky practical effects and bright colors. it reminds me a lot of tos. in fact, this whole episode could have been a tos episode, but it would have been one of those tos episodes that makes the top 10 worst ranking or whatever

the problem is the Randumb XD Humor...it's like q, like the squire of gothos. it just doesn't hit for me and never will. like, the actors were good at what they did, the costumes looked great, the set was funky, even the background music really fucked, but things being Randumb XD is just too dated for me. i don't mind star trek being dated most of the time but this is where i draw the line. maybe i'd like it better if i gave it another shot, but i probably will not be doing that

i think janeway called it in, with her acting. like everyone's like damn she ACTED no girl she did a lot of dramatic whispering. and who can blame her. the script was all over the place

i just think if you're trying to terrify people you could do better than the circus theme. yeah, clowns bad, but even tng had that spooky morgue thing happening

also, lost opportunity: if this clown guy can kill people by scaring them to death ie making them live the experience of getting their heads chopped off virtually which gives them a heart attack in real life then why not write tuvok, local expert at conquering fear, into this episode? you could have cut off tuvok's head and he wouldn't have died of fright. it would have been perfect for the metaphor

the ending to this episode would have fucked a lot more if the rest of it hadn't sucked so bad. janeway's murder walk was REALLY good. it's also something kirk would have done, if they'd had the holodeck in tos, and thank GOD they didn't

but yeah, the solution of fear needing conquering and wanting to be conquered just doesn't hit when most of the script...didn't really talk about fear, it was just wilding out

TONIGHT: ds9's "for the cause" and voy's "tuvix"...okay, wait, i'm just now looking at these episode titles. everyone on reddit is always so mad about janeway killing a guy named tuvix but i thought i got it mixed up with tuvOK. like i literally thought she killed tuvok and everybody was like dw about it she doesn't kill tuvok so who tf is tuvix...is this a clone thing or something? like black shirt green shirt tuvok?? please let it be a clone thing

[veritable-trash]

May Our Flowers Always Bloom

guess who spent wayyyy too much time on canva making this(it's me)

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Character(unnamed, 3rd person, minimal descriptors)also this is a fantasy AU where oberyn is a forest prince, canon be damned

Summary: He could still remember the first time he saw her enter his grove. Not many dared to venture so far into the wood but she had seemed so at ease. Feet bare to the moss and dirt, flowers delicately woven in her hair, a song he’d never heard gracing her lips. 

He’d been stunned.

Word Count: 3.3K

Rating: T - no smut, though maybe there will be??? who knows, but also parental death, and at this point i think that's it. let me know if i missed something! my whole blog is 18+ anyways so kiddos SCRAM

A/N: hahahaha holy shit. it's been actually an age since i've written anything at all and then today i said fuck it we write and then i wrote this. this is a little fantasy au with my lover oberyn who i've wanted to write for AGES. canon is not really relevant here other than like general personality and such. i might write a part two, maybe make this a series, but every time i say that i never finish or write it so i'm just gonna leave this here for now and see what happens. more rambles, notes thoughts at the end but i hope you enjoy!!!! also minimally edited basically just skimmed so apologies for any mess :) <33333

masterlist woot woot

~~~~~

She had grown up at the edge of the great woods. 

A bit further from the village than maybe strictly necessary but her parents had always been a little off, at least by the town folks standards. 

They had always turned to the earth, turned to the plants to heal and guide them and she had grown with her toes wiggled into the soft dirt, hands clutching at wildflowers and weeds. She knew nothing else. Hated the noise and the chaos of the town. How people stared and whispered about the wild family out in the woods.

She never felt like she was wild. Almost felt as if the townsfolk themselves were the wild ones. But she toed the line between the “real” world and the world of her creation.

The magical realm of the woods.

Her parents had of course warned her of respecting the forest. That though they tried to live as one with all that the earth provided, there were dangers that lurked among the gnarled roots and towering pines. She must tread carefully and never, ever after dark. 

And she obeyed, but only just. Curled up against the base of the trees, writing or sewing or singing or musing, until the sun barely grazed the top most points of those towering giants high above her and the forest began to melt into darkness and secrets.

Those were her favorite moments, eyes adjusting to the low light, fireflies dancing between the trunks and leaves, the calm silence filtering its way signaling the time for rest, and for some reason she could never explain she never felt danger. Even when she would reappear from the woods, darkness having fully settled and her parents scolding her for staying out so long, she somehow knew nothing would harm her among those woods. 

She was somehow interwoven with the roots and moss and flowers and leaves. 

~~~~~

He could still remember the first time he saw her enter his grove. Not many dared to venture so far into the wood but she had seemed so at ease. Feet bare to the moss and dirt, flowers delicately woven in her hair, a song he’d never heard gracing her lips. 

He’d been stunned.

Oberyn had only just been allowed to venture in the human realm. He was still a child to his mother, the wild unruly one who could not be trusted to keep the secrets of Dorne to himself. To understand that the human realm could not know, never know, about the forest kingdom. 

For even though Oberyn could see her in the brightest light of day, she could not see him. He could only appear as one of those verdant things that always seemed to attract her attention. Only upon his knighthood could he enter the human world. 

And so he watched her. 

Sat with her in those mystic groves. Grew her beautiful flowers to pick and adorn her hair. Whispered to the lightening bugs to guide her home when she stayed till twilight. Followed her through the forest until the very edge, keeping her safe, clearing her way, making sure nothing harmed her on her return home. 

They were both so young when they stumbled upon each other in that wood, knowingly and unknowingly, and he grew to cherish those moments. He had always felt a bit different from his family. Lonely and misunderstood, and for some reason around her he felt whole. A calmness settling over his ever twitching hands that he was constantly scolded for. 

He knew he was young, infatuation fickle and deceiving, and yet he could not lie to himself that his heart somehow felt tethered to her. Even the silent companionship of reading right next to her filled the gapes between his ribs with warmth. 

He would sometimes read over her shoulder at the pages of the newest novel she was devouring, aching to know more about the world she came from. Aching to know more about this girl that haunted all of his dreams. 

If his family noticed a shift in his habits, they paid no mind, ever the youngest child, left to his own devices, but he yearned for his knighthood. Ached to be known to her somehow, for it was torture only being able to ghost soft gentle breezes across her skin. Watch her skin prickle, and the most content sigh to fall from her lips. 

He could go mad with this want. 

~~~~~

Her parents passed soon after her 18th birthday.

It had been sudden and destructive. A trip to the market for more supplies cut short by an overturned cart and poor poor timing. The village had helped her but even with such grief and suffering regarded her with distrust. 

The wild girl loosing her wild parents, it truly is no surprise. Who knows what they get up to in that little shack by the woods. Witchcraft probably. Yes, yes most likely so. 

And when the whispers and worry and pain all became too much, the wood was still always there. The first few months after her parents passing she would run there. Tripping over roots as tears overflowed in her eyes, not sparing those flowers even a second glance as she collapsed in the middle of the grove, sun filtering around her but her body feeling nothing. 

She’d dig her nails in the moss, tearing at it as she wailed to no one and nothing, aching for something to ease the pain of a loose she still did not know how to process. Would lay there, unmoving for hours on end until the numbness finally took over and she was able to walk home, unfeeling and disjointed, reality but a film over her eyes. And even in those most dire moments the wood somehow always guided her home as though the trees opened themselves up to create a path.

Her work continued, mothers came for tonics for crying babes, elders came for salves for their aching limbs, and she continued to bear the mantle her parents had trained her for all these years. She had to make coin somehow and the work steadied her. Reminded her of her mothers calming cadence listing off ingredients, her father teaching her of proper techniques for harvesting.

She grew many years in the span of only a few months, but she had to hardened. Had to strengthen her spine and learn to be sure in herself even when it felt like all her threads were fraying. 

The woods were all that saved her in those trying moments.

It was somehow always warm and soothing, wild flowers littering her path as she traveled aimlessly to cleanse her mind. Picking them one by one to build the most beautiful bouquet that would grace her work table in the cottage. It was a ritual for her at this point in her life, always returning to that sacred groove that somehow gave her the greatest peace she’d ever known. Where worries seemed to melt into the soil beneath her feet and lighten the load on her shoulders just a touch. Always a gentle breeze to remind her of the wonders of the wood. The calm that could be found there. 

Her strides back home were always a touch more assured, a touch lighter, and she somehow knew it was all going to be alright somewhere in the end. And every time she’d step out of the wood, she would always turn around and whisper,

Thank you.

~~~~~

You’re welcome flower. 

He was taller than her now, able to look down into her eyes when she whispered those simple two words that set his heart racing. Sometimes it even seemed like she was looking right at him, eyes somehow connecting even between the realms, though he knew it was not true. 

He’d been at a loss when she’d first stumbled into their grove, tears staining her cheeks. He could not understand what plagued her. Was it heartbreak? Had she loved another? Had they hurt her so? 

It had sent him into a rage he’d never felt before. The jealousy, the want, no the need to hurt whoever had hurt his flower overwhelmed him till he could barely see straight. 

His hands had ghosted over her hunched spine, he’d whispered his sorrow for her suffering and it only drove him crazier.

The knowledge that she felt none of it. Wasn’t able to hear a single word. 

He grew her flowers, sent her breezes, shifted the very earth of the groove to cradle her in the plushest of moss and yet her eyes seemed to register none of it. 

They were hollow and vacant, the pain seeming to have sucked every twinkle that had made his heart skip.

But he never stopped trying.

He couldn’t stop. His flower, as he’d started calling her, was suffering a pain he could not understand but he could try and fix. 

Though he was still but a boy, he wanted to be a man for her. 

He grew brighter blooms, lined a path for her to walk to and from the groove, sent breezes filled with orange blossom and spiced earth to ease her heart, used his powers, though still weak, in every way he knew how, and slowly he saw his flower blooming once again.

The first time she’d picked a flower after that never ending winter of pain, he almost shed a tear. Her eyes had sparkled just slightly and she’d tucked it behind her ear, the softest hum of content gracing his ears. 

He felt as though he had slain the greatest beast that ever lived. 

~~~~~

It had been two years almost to the day after her parents passing that the forest had shifted.

She didn’t know how to explain it but the air between the trees no longer smelled of orange blossoms and cinnamon. 

It just smelled like the dirt and decaying leaves and dampness that came with the forest. 

There were no flowers lining the way to that ever calming clearing like she had grown so accustomed to. No soft breeze pushing her along. 

She couldn’t understand it, and even more perplexing was the single most beautiful flower that she found growing in the center of groove.

A lone sprig of forget-me-nots trembling in a breeze that only held the faintest notes of that orange blossom that she had known for the past two years. 

Something in her heart stirred, body growing both cold and hot all at once, unsure of how to understand what this shift, this change all meant. 

It felt almost blasphemous to pick the flower, and yet she couldn’t leave it all alone in this place that no longer felt like a home to her. So she delicately clipped it at its base and turned around and walk back to the cottage. 

The journey took longer than usual, no guiding flowers or friendly lighting bugs to guide her, and her heart sank further as though she had lost something great once again. 

She gently pressed the flower between the pages of her most treasured journal clutching it to her chest as she watched the forest, as if waiting for something to emerge, the sparkle to return, for the forest to feel like hers again.

But as the sun sank behind the treetops and the sky shifted into the darkness, the forest did not call to her. 

It was the first time in a very, very long time that she truly felt alone.

~~~~~

Oberyn had both not wanted to leave and ached eternally to start his quests. He knew what it meant to turn 20. To reach the age where knighthood must be found in a man, for he had longed for this day all his life.

But watching the confusion and pain on her face as she left the forest that day felt like a knife in his gut. A weeping wound that he did not know he would survive. 

He had been foolish to leave the flower, he knew that. Risky and impulsive and dangerous to say the least but he could not leave her without somehow saying goodbye. Without somehow showing her that he would come back, that he could never stay away from her for too long, but he could not foretell how long his quests would be. No way of knowing where he would go, who he would meet, the man he would become in the distant realms.

There was war out there, struggle and strife, and he knew his family expected greatness from him. When Doran, his older brother, had returned from his journeys, he came back with prestige and honor, but he had also come back with an illness that it seemed no one could heal.

What if Oberyn was left like his brother after his journeys? How many years would he be gone? What if he could not return to his flower? What if she left the forests edge to never be found again?

He could barely sleep the days leading up to his departure, and those final moments with her in the groove brought him to his knees. 

He knew he was young, knew that loves came and went and that there would maybe be others for him to love, but something about her called to him in ways he had never understood. And yet if he wished to truly be with her, to brush the delicate skin of her cheeks, to hear her say his name, to feel the warmth of her skin against his, he had to go. He had to toil and suffer and fight and return back to this place and finally reveal himself to her as he has always wished to.

That was the only way. 

And so a flower he left. A memento of their many years together that she knew nothing about but maybe someday would learn of when the time was right. 

~~~~~

She didn’t exactly avoid the forest after that strange day, but she didn’t tempt the fates so to speak.

There was a change in the energy of the forest, a boundary of sorts she had never felt, cutting her off from something. She no longer stayed into the twilight hours, returning earlier and earlier from her scavenging and harvesting, and even stranger was she hadn’t been able to find her groove. 

It was as though it had disappeared completely, a figment of her imagination. The trees looked the same, the path well worn by her own two feet and yet she could never seem to reach it. It always seemed just around the next bend and it made her brain wobble. 

Her reality was somehow shifting and changing, as though those years after her parents passing had been just a daydream. But now she knew how to survive loss. Knew how to put her head down, focus on her work, her garden, the townspeople, her home. One day in town on an errand she had stumbled upon a scruffy little kitten, skittish and hungry, and had wrapped him up in her arms and brought him home. 

Viper and her were inseparable from that day forth. 

And though every so often she would stare at the forests edge, a wistful sigh escaping her lips, there was a life to be lived. Her life. A life that she had been neglecting for too long and had been too afraid to start.   

Life became a bit easier after that. The realization of wanting a future that made her proud, that would have made her parents proud, focusing her and giving her new purpose. She was no longer that wild girl of her youth, but a woman of healing to those in need. The valley she lived in wasn’t extremely large, but there were enough children with runny noses and achy joints to keep her busy and fulfilled. 

The days, months, even years began to pass in calm waves, time lapping at the shores of her life, peace finding its way back in her heart, her soul.

Though every once in awhile loneliness would come again. A chill in her spine reminding her of all that she had lost, all that she could never have, and the only balm in those moments was pressed between the pages of that old weathered journal. Even years later there still remained a trace of that orange blossom spice between those pages and somehow the blue of the flower remained true. 

She sometimes would worry that one day she would open the journal and the flower would be gone, all traces of those memories erased as if they never existed, but that day never came.

~~~~~

His quest seemed never-ending. The distances he traveled unfathomable even to his understanding. 

It felt like there was no land he had not traversed as he fought and learned and matured. 

A lanky boy no longer but a man, roughened, shaped, cut, molded, and broken apart only to be thrown back together again.

He thought of his flower more often than he cared to admit.

~~~~~

It was the 10 year anniversary of her parents passing. 

A lifetime so it seemed and yet the ache still lingered fresh every year on the day. 

She knew it always would and now after so much time it was more comforting than painful, knowing that she would always hold them close in her heart. The pain now a symbol of love not suffering. 

That morning had felt strangely fresh, the air lighter around her as the sun rose above the mountains, an unidentifiable familiarity weaving through the breeze. 

She entered the forest as she always did, though there was no plan for this walk. No need to scavenge, no pressure to look for fresh herbs. This walk was to mourn, to honor her parents and the memories she held of them in this sacred place. 

Weaving between the trees, it somehow felt new to her, like the light had shifted once again, coloring the path before her in the richest of greens. She closed her eyes for just a moment and could almost hear her mothers laugh echo between the branches and leaves above her. A lone tear trickling down her cheek as she couldn’t help but smile at the thought. 

As she aimlessly moved through the forest, she got lost in her own mind. The memories of so many moments flashing before her as she pondered all that she had lived through. A life so full and yet, today, as it happened every year, she felt lonely. No longer achingly so, but still, there was a life she still desired that had never presented itself to her. 

A love like her parents had.

She was no nun by any means, but no one had ever grasped her attention the way she had always dreamed. Maybe she was fickle, cold and reserved, but her heart had suffered much and for some reason no one had ever felt right. 

Her mind continued to weave through her memories, the forest thickening around her as she traveled deeper and deeper into the green. It had been a long time since she had gone this far, but today it felt ok to keep going. As though a solid hand lay at the base of her spine guiding her gently along. 

All of a sudden the tree line broke, that ancient grove appearing before her once more as though it had been waiting for her arrival. 

Her breath stalled in her chest as memories came flooding back faster and faster. The tears, the flowers, the pain, the joy, the tranquility, the confusion, the comfort, the love. 

She collapsed to the soft mossy floor, the feelings bringing back the strongest deja vu, burying her head in her hands as tears blurred her vision. It felt like some kind of dream, some inexplicable moment of fiction. 

Then the breeze kicked up and she smelled it.

Orange blossoms and cinnamon.

And as she opened her eyes, tears tracking down her cheeks, she saw him. 

A man too beautiful to be real crouching before her, a look of devastating devotion etched in his golden irises.

“Hello my flower.”

~~~~~

whoop whoop of course i left it on a cliffhanger come on now it's the best way to do it :))))))) anyways lifes been kinda crazy and so writing has just been not a priority but i had a lot of fun writing this. i definitely don't like writing dialogue hence ending at this point because there haven't been any interactions between these two BUT i missed this and want to push myself to write again and maybe this is the perfect way to do it. so maybe they will interact soonish who really knows <3 reblogs comments are like super duper appreciated and loved so if you liked it or have thoughts or generally just wanna ramble about how hot this man is come hit my line! anyways hugs kisses the whole gambut of affection and maybe i'll be writing to ya soon <333333333

[tayfabe75]

What are your thoughts on The Alchemy? All the football references make you think it's about Travis, but if you take them away, the rest of the song just doesn't make sense for him in my opinion. Especially with “this happens once every few lifetimes” from it and “once in 20 lifetimes” from cardigan. 

Hey, anon! Honestly, I'm so glad you asked about this song. When I first heard 'The Alchemy', I was cackling at what I believed were obvious football-related red herrings… This suspicion grew exponentially when Taylor decided to mash it up with 'Treacherous' of all things!

And of course, it's "touch down", not "touchdown":

Which implies some sort of aircraft… an airplane? (Perhaps a UFO? 🛸)

Even if it is a sports reference, who's to say it's not rugby? Especially when paired with the word "blokes"… Also, what's with the word "blokes" anyway? Americans don't say that! lol And Taylor sang it with a heavy accent during the acoustic set…

Now, I know what you might be thinking, since I've seen a few 75 fans get upset with Taylor over this song, assuming it's super petty and she's making fun of Matty. Well, part of my personal ethos is to give people the benefit of the doubt rather than automatically assume malintent. So, my thinking is that even if Matty truly did ditch Taylor because he couldn't take the heat of her fan's burning pitchforks and he thought he was doing her a favor by leaving… the absolute last thing she would do is write songs making fun of him for it. The woman who wrote 'Peace'?! Nah, I don't buy it!

I firmly believe that Matty gave TTPD his blessing. I think it's chiefly an album reflecting an earlier time in Taylor's life, a time she couldn't write about any of that stuff without giving away Matty's identity and personal details of his life that he did not want to be public (it was not just her story to tell). Now, though... Matty has since shown incredible vulnerability and bravery in discussing his past addictions, and frankly, humanizing addicts for his impressionable young fans! Taylor, too, has great empathy for those struggling with addiction - something she spoke about a few times throughout the 1989 tour (gee, I wonder why…) usually preceding the song 'Clean'.

And though they have at least a decade-long public history, Matty was only recently "inducted" as a muse into the "Taylor Swift Cinematic Universe". If I had any, I'd bet money that Taylor had the green light to write this album from Matty, himself (and that he's been easter egging the hell out of it leading up to its release!)

Like you, "once every few lifetimes" immediately reminded me of 'Cardigan'. Of course, you have a reference to heroin (see above), and someone getting out of a hospital… making this song almost sound like it's, at least in part, from Matty's perspective. Ditch the clowns, cut the amateurs...

And, whoever's heart is reserved, the sign is not still there for someone they just met, right? If it is about someone new, then it sounds more like a restaurant reservation or something. Not the most romantic metaphor (and frankly, a strange one if you ask me!)

Further, the song is from 2023:

Anon, I just can't suspend my disbelief enough to hear this as a song written for someone she just started dating (way more "unhinged" than the exchange of "I love yous" with someone you've known for ten years, anyway...) But! I very well could be wrong. Hopefully time will tell.

Lastly, there's something called an "alchemical marriage", which is a sacred union that transcends the physical realm into the spiritual, joining twin flame souls together. Do with that what you will...

Thanks for the ask! 🤍

[staceymcgillicuddy]

annual writing self-evaluation

Thanks to @astorytotellyourfriends for the tag - I didn't do this last year!

1. List of works published this year (in the order that they were posted):

If She Lived in Space, Man, I'd Build A Plane crimson & clover pulling overtime model citizen; zero discipline what you give just serves me right two jack trippers and a chrissy perception check all my kinktober fills a hollow tree

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

Gosh, that's hard. I'm proud of all of them for different reasons, and I have issues with all of them for different reasons. I guess I would say "what you give just serves me right" makes me happy, and was something I had to push myself to do, but I was pleased with how it turned out in the end.

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

I hate that I have two fics out that I haven't updated in ages! I am not proud of that! And there are a few things in all of them that I'd tweak.

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

Oh golly. Alright, from a hollow tree, which was my Halloween fic featuring Lilith!succubus!Chrissy:

Fog slips into the van when he opens the door. A mist so thick it’s disorienting as he drops to the ground, and the shape of a girl forms itself out of the gloom.

5. Share or describe a favorite comment you received:

Almost every single regular commenter on Soul makes my heart sing and my panties drop, and I'm so sorry my brain is being stupid right now.

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

Right goddamn now. It's like squeezing blood from a fucking stone, and I have no idea why, but everything comes out strained and blechy and I hate it, and I refuse to inflict it on anyone else so I'll just sit like a lump, churning out crap and never showing it to anyone.

7. A scene or character that you wrote that surprised you:

Genuinely did not think that I would get so into the Hopper/Chrissy/Eddie dynamic as I did when I wrote it as a crackship as part of kinktober. But, like, I could get DOWN with that shit.

Also, Hellcheerington surprised me. Oh, and writing Eddie's dad for Soul was weirdly cathartic? I was determined to make him a person and not a collection of cliches, which was easier said than done. I think I got there, in the end. Hope so, anyway!

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

I didn't, I fucking regressed. Or, no, not really. I pushed myself a bit, tried to get sharper and cleaner with some prose. Read some theory books, worked on my rhetorical devices, forced myself to kill a couple darlings along the way (but not all the darlings, god damn it).

I also published a book, so yay?

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

I'd like to get back to writing original fiction. I've been in a slump with that, too, because it doesn't have the instantaneous feedback that fanfic does. I want to split my time between fic and pro writing stuff, and I want to be very realistic about how much mental energy my real job takes up. When I used to write like a madwoman, I didn't have the role I currently do, which is a senior project manager leading a team, working mostly with executive-level staff. Don't get me wrong, my job pisses me off a lot, and stresses me out, too, but it pays well and we live in a shithole of a society where money matters in the grand scheme of things.

So, like, I guess I hope to grow as a writer in writing even when my brain doesn't want me to, or it doesn't feel great to do so.

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

Freaking Shirley Jackson, man. That bitch can write.

11. Anything in your real life show up in your writing this year:

I'm always putting kinky shit I see or experience at the bdsm club into my fic. I am as God made me.

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

Everything is made up and the points don't matter. Stop comparing yourself to other authors. Turn off stats on your AO3. Write what you fucking want and quit worrying if other people are going to like it.

13. Any new projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

I'm going to be so, so glad when Soul is done because I love it so much but it is also the millstone around my neck.

14. Tag three writers/artists whose answers you’d like to read:

@binickandros, @pipergirl17 and @phoenixwrites please!

[peaxhxhair]

Comic-con || Corinthian

Pairing: Corinthian x Trans male! Reader

Requested?: YES?

Sent in by: Anonymous

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of sex (Please let me know if there are any others x )

Summary: M/n and Corinthian attend a convention.

Word Count: 795

Author's note: This is the oneshot that I wrote by accident (instead of Headcanons). Anyway, hope you enjoy x

The Sandman - Masterlist

Consider buying me a coffee! <3

“Are you cold, love?" my boyfriend said mockingly as he watched me shiver from beside me. Standing outside in the cold was something that had to be done while waiting to be let into the convention. It was part of the experience, one of the things that made it worth it when we were finally let into the warm building. I had managed to drag Corinthian with me, since I didn't think going alone was a good idea. Luckily, he was happy to tag along… After some convincing.

“no, I'm fine" I huffed, not wanting him to comment on it for the rest of the day. Though, he didn't seem to buy it, taking his jacket off and placing it around my shoulders.

“I told you, you should have worn something warmer” he said, as I wrapped the jacket further around me. I grumbled at him, even though I knew he was right. I've been to too many conventions to not bring a jacket for the wait in line. Though, It honestly wasn't that cold when we left my apartment. Most of the time, inside the convention hall is pretty warm, but it is usually cold while waiting in line. I should have known that by now. 

Before we knew it, the line began to move. I eagerly rummaged through my bag for our tickets, eventually finding the plastic-wallet that I kept them in. I handed one to Corinthian, who studied it questionably. I figured that he wasn't stupid enough to not know what it was, though I wanted to say something, just in case. "You show that to the guys inside, then they'll give you a lanyard” I explained as we got closer to the doors, and he hummed in acknowledgement.

~~~

“ooh! let's look there!" I called, even though I knew my boyfriend was behind me. I could feel his fingers were still laced with mine. At first I hadn't noticed how bored he seemed to be. Sure, he tried his best to sound interested in what I was showing him, but there was only so much he could pretend. 

In some ways, I understood that if you weren't interested in this kind of stuff, then it could be boring for people, like, I wouldn't want to go to a convention about horses or something.

The blonde stood beside me as I gazed at all of the art shown on a nice looking Ladies stall, trying to seem as though he was looking, as to not offend the lady. “That guy kind of looks like me" he eventually mused, pointing to a nicely drawn picture of Nanami from Jujitsu Kaizen .

When I looked up at him, I chuckled when I realized that he was right.

“Sure does babe, though you're not really the type to wear blue” I chuckled, handing the woman behind the stall some cash, in exchange for her artwork. Quite a lot of her work actually, she was really talented.

“You think I'd look good in blue?" he asked, as I thanked the Lady as we began to walk away.

“You look good in everything, it's actually insufferable" I grumbled, and he chuckled as his fingers linked with mine again.

“you know what else I’d look good in?" he whispered, only loud enough for me to hear. My face turned red at his suggestive tone, and slapped his arm as a wall to tell him to shut up. He took the first chance he got to drag me away to the closest bathroom, and I followed behind willingly. 

~~~

I almost grunted as my back was pushed against the door of the toilet stall. my hands gripped his shoulders as he held me up, his rough lips on mine making me shiver.

“Cori” I breathed, as I pulled away from the kiss, staring into his eyes or, well, his sunglasses. “I think we should slow down…” I suggested, starting to grow nervous about where this was going.

“Why, doll?" he asked, his thumbs starting to rub circles into my thighs, it was hard to put what I was feeling into words, especially since he already knew. The fact that I'm trans isn't something we really talked about often, but it always seemed to be a topic in these situations.

“Is this what I think this is about? "he asked, and I nodded. His eyebrows raised slightly when I confirmed it, and he sighed slightly "awe, sugar, you know I don't care about that stuff. You're a

man. That's all that matters to me" he said, and I nodded silently, " Plus, I have teeth for eyes, I can't really judge.” he said, and I chuckled at his words, feeling a little better after what he said.

"Right, can I go back to fucking my boyfriend now?" he asked, smirking as I nodded,  and he began to attack my neck with kisses.