#thank you for a bit of context of what's going on

[les4elliewilliams]

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫.

⭑.ᐟ｡𖦹°‧ warnings . . . approximately 7k words, smut with plot, cheating, older!ellie (reader is 23), chef!ellie, body hair, fingering/oral (e!receiving), no use of y/n, food play, ellie drinks coffee in this one :p 𐔌.author's note.ᐟ ֹ���꒱ first post of the year!!! muahahaha (totally not proofread :p) HAPPY NEW YEARRR!!! i just wanted to take a moment to say thank you from the bottom of my heart to each and every one of you who reads and interacts with my writings/posts in general. it truly means the world to me. :3 i also wanted to let my moots know that i love you all, y'all are so funny and cool, and i appreciate you more than you know. even if we haven’t interacted much, just know i’m lowkey stalking your blogs (in admiration, ofc… i’m definitely not hiding in your basement as you’re reading this)

It wasn’t supposed to go this far. You’d never planned to walk this road, never imagined the day you’d become someone like this. A homewrecker, or whatever the fuck people called it. This wasn’t you, not really. At least, that’s what you told yourself. 

But as you kneeled before the Ellie fucking Williams, none of that mattered. Your soft hands held on to her hips with a fervent grip, almost as if your life depended on it, tongue dragging up her dripping heat, collecting every bit of that sweet, sticky honey from the slit of her soaked pussy to the carved ridges of her toned abs. She was a masterpiece, sculpted by Michelangelo himself, and you were hungry for her essence, desperate to savor every inch she had to offer. No matter how many times you have done this before, it never gets old—she never gets old.

Golden syrup trickled from the curve of her perky breasts, pooling in the valley between them before rolling down to her hardened nipples. You couldn’t just ignore them, couldn’t leave them standing there neglected. Slowly, deliberately, you made your way up, tongue swirling, teeth grazing, your mouth worshiping her as she deserved. She whimpered—soft, breathy, almost vulnerable.

You’d done that. You made her sound like that.

But Ellie wasn’t one for patience, not in the kitchen, nor in a different context. That was her thing—impatience, control—making things happen whenever she wanted it. Her calloused hand gripped your shoulder, pushing you back down with the kind of force that sent a jolt straight through you.

“Get me off, like you always do, will ya?” her voice rasp and lazy, dripping with authority. 

You looked up at her, smirking despite your knees throbbing from the cold tile beneath you, bruises blooming on your skin like pretty violets, a dark reminder of how many times you’d been down here like this lately. “Yes, chef.” 

You didn’t break eye contact as you sank lower, lashes fluttering, bambi-eyed and eager. Ellie always had this power over you, this hold that went deeper than lust. You admired her. You wanted her job, her life, her. You wanted to be her, and fuck, you wanted to be with her, too. But that was a dream too big for the likes of you, and you knew it.

So for now, you gave her what she wanted, what she demanded, losing yourself in her, the scent of her, the taste of her. Your tongue laid flat and ready, exposed for her, and she didn’t waste a second. Instinct took over as her hips bucked against your pretty face, her throbbing, greedy clit grinding against the wet muscle of your tongue. Her desperation only fueled you, and as her heat consumed you, your breath hitched. Your free hand slid down, pressing against your own aching core, rubbing yourself through your soaked panties while you devoured her.

In minutes, you were a wreck. Hair tangled and wild, her hands yanking at it with no care for gentleness. She didn’t give a single fuck if she was hurting you—not now, not ever. That’s just how she was, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way. The pain only made you hungrier, needier, leaving you gasping for more.

“God,” she gasped, her voice breathless, “She doesn’t do it like you do.”

Your heart skipped, your cheeks flushed, and you couldn’t stop yourself from humming proudly against her. The vibrations made her hips jerk, her clit twitching against your warm tongue as you worked on her with even more determination. Your fingers moved faster, circling your swollen bud through the drenched fabric of your panties. The soft moans that escaped your throat only made her rougher, fingers digging into your scalp, pulling you closer as she chased her release.

“Fuck…” she cursed, her voice breaking as her head tilted back, her eyes fluttering shut. She was gone, completely lost in what you were giving her. “This is why you’re my favorite.”

The words hit like a shot of adrenaline, causing a fluttery, erratic sensation to erupt in your stomach. You sucked harder, more hungrily, her juices dripping down your chin and mixing with your spit, your tongue lapping it all up like you couldn’t get enough.

A low moan rumbled from your chest as you got more of her taste, vibrating against her clit and making her cry out in return. Her toned thigh tightened around your head, pulling you impossibly closer. You could barely breathe, your nose buried in her trimmed, reddish bush, but you didn’t care. Her other hand released its grip on the steel counter behind her, letting her back fully press against it to seek steady support while she trapped her stiff nipple between her fongers. Each calculated motion you made left her gasping, her shallow breaths hitching as if she were on the verge of losing control.

Your fingers slipped past the waistband of your white panties, eagerly teasing your slit before pushing them into your pulsating walls without wasting a second more. You were too wet, too sensitive, and way too horny to be patient, couldn’t wait until she came to feel good. You winced slightly, stifling a soft mewl as you sank them deeper and deeper.

She noticed, of course, she did. “What a fucking slut you are,” she chuckled, her voice a breathless mix of amusement and disbelief. Her hips ground impatiently against your mouth, her grip on your damaged hair tightening to the point of pain. “Just like that,” she gasped, her head tilting back again as her body tensed. “I’m close already.”

You couldn’t stop a giddy chuckle to slip past your lips. The sound was soft, playful, but it didn’t go unnoticed. Her head snapped downward, her brows furrowing in confusion as her gaze locked onto yours.

“Something funny?” she asked, her voice sharp despite the breathlessness.

“What, your wife doesn’t touch you at all?” you taunted, your voice laced with mock innocence as you pulled back just enough to meet her hooded gaze.

“She does,” Ellie shot back almost instantly, her voice sharp and defensive. But her actions betrayed her words as her hand gripped the back of your head, forcing you down again with the kind of need that spoke volumes. She was selfish about it, pressing herself against you without hesitation, demanding more of you like she always did.

You gave in, plunging two fingers deep inside her, curling them just right, finding that sweet spot that made her body restless and her moans grow louder. Your mouth stayed busy, lips and tongue working on her rose nub in tandem, sucking and flicking in rhythm with the movement of your hand. Her body was tight, trembling under your touch, and you couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride knowing you were the one making her feel like this—pulling sounds from her that her wife hadn’t in years. It was wrong, but Ellie couldn’t bring herself to stop. Not with the way your fingers worked inside her, not with the way your tongue seemed to know exactly what she needed. 

You looked up at her briefly, catching the flicker of something in her eyes—guilt, maybe, or shame—but it was quickly replaced by hunger as her fingers tightened in your once-soft hair. “Don’t stop,” she rasped, her voice growing desperate. And you didn’t.

How could you sleep with another woman’s wife? The thought lingered in the corners of your mind like a restless echo of a whisper, making you feel guilty and disgusting, until your gaze landed on her again, and suddenly, the guilt felt distant, almost irrelevant, like it was never there to begin with.

Even a blind person would succumb to her allure, you told yourself, as if that excused anything. That charisma of hers—it wasn’t just a pull. It was a wicked spell that left you weak in the knees. The world around you always seemed to fade into a hazy blur as she walked into the room, her presence overwhelming and intoxicating. Self respect? It vanished the moment her soft lips crashed against yours, leaving you drowning in the pounding of your heart and your feelings for her.

Maybe it was her beauty, effortless and unassuming, the kind that seemed to defy time itself. She wore it effortlessly, as if time itself had conspired in her favor. She looked fresh, radiant even, no matter her age. Thirty-six. Was that too old for you? Surely not. There were worse gaps out there, you reasoned, though even the thought of reasoning felt ridiculous when it came to her. She made rationality crumble, made you question things you never had before.

Ellie hadn’t always been this person, this version of herself that took and took without restraint. She hated it, hated the way she’d sunk so low, but she couldn’t stop. Not when it came to you. She’d had plenty of pretty girls come and go in her kitchen, of every age, bright-eyed and eager to prove themselves. But none of them had caught her attention the way you did. There was something about you that made her stomach twist and her chest flutter in ways she didn’t want to admit.

 It made her feel disgusting.

The guilt clung to her like a parasite, heavy and suffocating, consuming her at night as she lay next to Dina. Sweet, devoted Dina, who didn’t deserve any of this. Dina, who kissed Ellie goodnight with the same tenderness she had ever since high school, who still looked at her with love in her eyes, even though Ellie knew she didn’t deserve it.

But the truth was undeniable. Dina didn’t make her happy anymore. Maybe it wasn’t even Dina’s fault, maybe the problem was Ellie herself. Years of love, years of marriage, and yet something had changed. Dina was steady, reliable, safe. But safe had grown boring. Too domestic, too… predictable.

Then you walked into her restaurant.

Ellie remembered that day like it had been etched into her memory with a hot iron. You had this nervous energy about you, your manicured hands trembling slightly even as you tried to project confidence. It was endearing the way you squared your shoulders and forced a smile despite how jittery you clearly felt. Ellie couldn’t take her eyes off you.

Your nerves were a tangled mess, a whirlwind of excitement and dread swirling in your chest. Meeting someone you had admired for years was thrilling, yes, but it was also overwhelming in a way you hadn’t expected. Your love for cooking had always been an anchor in your life, a passion ignited by your dad—a man whose laughter echoed in every inch of the house on cozy Sunday afternoons, whose hands expertly kneaded dough or seasoned a sauce with precision and care. Those moments were your happiest memories, fragments of a simpler time.

When he passed, it felt like a part of you went with him. Alongside the grief came a determination that burned quietly within you. You owed it to him, you told yourself. You had to carry on his passion, keep alive all the little tricks and lessons he had passed down. He never got the chance to go to a culinary school, never had the means to chase the dream he so clearly deserved. You’d been luckier. You had opportunities he could only ever dream of, and for that, you couldn’t complain.

However, somewhere along the way, doubt began to creep in.

It was subtle at first—a quiet voice in the chambers of your mind that questioned if you were truly good enough. That voice grew louder with time, eating away your confidence. Even after you graduated from a prestigious culinary school—one that rarely opened its doors to just anyone—you couldn’t shake the feeling that others were better. 

More talented. More deserving.

Still, you pushed forward. Giving up wasn’t an option, not after everything you’d invested: all your savings, grueling hours of study, sleepless nights, sacrifices you had made, and the moments you had teetered on the edge of failure, only to claw your way back. Quitting now would mean throwing all of that away. Worse, it would mean letting down the one person whose opinion mattered most to you.

How would your dad react if he were still here? Would he understand your struggles, or would he shake his head in disappointment? Those unanswered questions haunted you late at night, swirling endlessly in your mind as you tossed and turned in your bed. Would he be proud of the path you had taken? Or would he see your insecurities as a weakness?

You didn’t know. You might never know. Yet that was part of what kept you going, clinging to the hope that, somehow, all of this would be worth it.

When your culinary school recommended Ellie Williams’ restaurant for an apprenticeship, your heart nearly stopped. You couldn’t afford not to say yes, but that didn’t stop the nerves from turning your stomach inside out. She was a legend, known for her perfectionism, innate talent, and the kind of reputation that inspired both awe and fear. She wasn’t just a great chef. She was the chef, and to top it all off, she’d walked the same halls at your school. Knowing she had started where you were now gave you hope, but it also set the bar impossibly high.

Ellie was why you chose that school in the first place, and now you were walking into her domain, hoping you wouldn’t screw it all up.The interview wasn’t something you could avoid, no matter how much you wanted to. Everything about her was intimidating—the stories of her strictness, her infamous zero-tolerance policy for mistakes, and her disdain for laziness in any form. All of it left you shitting your pants in anticipation.

The moment she stepped into the office a waitress had told you to wait in, the air felt like it had shifted, and the chatter of the bustling restaurant beyond the door suddenly muted. She carried herself with confidence, the intimidating kind. Her auburn hair was pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, a few rebellious strands framing her freckled face. The years had carved faint lines into the corners of her olive eyes, but they only added to her beauty. Her gaze was piercing, the type that made you feel stripped bare with just one glance.

She wore her chef’s jacket open at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms adorned with faint scars and a faded tattoo. Her stance was casual but strong, her crossed arms flexing toned muscles beneath the freckled skin. She looked like someone who had worked for everything she had and who wasn’t afraid to call you out if you hadn’t done the same.

The interview itself was mercilessly brief. Ellie didn’t waste time, her words were stern and straight to the point. She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, her expression unreadable except for the slight downturn of her lips. It wasn’t just that she looked unimpressed, it was as if she had already decided you had something to prove.

Her voice cut through the silence with a rasp that spoke of too many late nights and maybe one too many cigarettes in her youth. “I’m not here to hold anyone’s hand,” she began, “And I don’t give out praise for showing up. I want to know why you think you can keep up here when most fresh-out-of-school types run for the door the second they realize what I expect.”

You stumbled over your words at first, her intensity throwing you off balance. Her stormy green eyes stayed locked on you the entire time, dissecting every word that left your mouth. You couldn’t help but notice the faint quirk of her brow, a hidden challenge laying in its arch, daring you to falter.

When you finished answering, her expression didn’t change, her arms still crossed in that stance that screamed impatience, like she had better things to do. She let the silence stretch, as if weighing your every word. Finally, she nodded, just once, curt and decisive, before standing.

Your posture straightened awkwardly, every muscle stiff as you tried to hold her gaze. You didn’t want to look nervous, not to her. Ellie Williams wasn’t the kind of person who tolerated insecurity, and the last thing you wanted was to give her the impression that you didn’t know what you were doing.

“I’ll give you a week,” The older woman conceded, “A trial. During that time, you’ll work every shift I tell you to—no complaints. If I think you’re slacking even once, you’re out. Understood?”

Anxiety coursing through you at her words, the pressure settling on your shoulders like a lead apron. You nodded, swallowing your nerves and summoning every ounce of determination you had left. “Understood, Chef.”

“Good.”

Ellie pushed herself off the desk, her hand extended toward you, and for a second, you froze. When you finally reached out, your fingers met hers—rough, calloused, worn down by years of relentless labor in kitchens like this one. Her grip was firm and commanding, her knuckles marked with tiny cracks and the faded scars of burns long since healed. You couldn’t help but notice how her hand lingered just a second too long, enough for you to feel the weight of her scrutiny.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, “Don’t disappoint me.” 

“I won’t,” you promised, your voice cracking slightly, betraying how much you wanted to sound confident.

Easier said than done.

The week passed in a blur. Each day felt like a battle that tested you to your limits. The kitchen wasn't just hectic; it was hell. A scorching inferno of non-stop work. Pans clattered, oil sizzled, and the air seemed perpetually thick with heat and the aroma of garlic and herbs. Voices shouted over the din, and orders barked with urgency. The counters gleamed under the lights, every inch of the space immaculately polished, ready for Ellie’s scrutinizing eyes to find fault in it.

And find fault she did.

It was like suddenly, you couldn’t hold a knife to save your life. Ellie would swoop in, catching you mid-slice with a firm, “Stop—just stop for a second.” Her voice cut through the noise, causing the chattering to quiet down. Suddenly, all eyes were on you. It felt so humiliating. “Are you a chef, or are you a five-year-old holding a knife for the first time?” She’d stand there, arms crossed, eyebrow cocked, watching you squirm. You tried to steady your hands, gripping the knife tighter, and all you got was a scoff, a look that made your stomach twist.

Then it was the mess. “Look at this mess! You think I’m running a playground here?” The older woman would gesture around your station, eyebrows pinched, lips in a tight, judgmental line. “Clean as you go, or you’re out of my kitchen.” There was no leniency. Her gaze was like a hawk’s, sharp and all-seeing. The second you moved a dish or reached for a towel, her eyes were back on you, always expecting you to fail.

And food presentation? Forget it. “Did I ask for a food explosion?” She’d glance at the plate you’d put together, her mouth twitching in that grimace that made you feel about three inches tall. “Plates come out looking perfect, not like someone took a bite out of them before they left the kitchen. This isn’t cafeteria food; it’s a reflection of our work—my work. Start over.”

Every mistake felt magnified, like each misstep was some personal insult to her craft. One evening, she caught you hesitating by the stove, trying to balance the pan with a little too much caution. 

“What are you afraid of, a little fire?” She stepped up, snatching the pan from your hand and demonstrating with quick, fluid movements, flames licking up as she seared the dish. “If you can’t handle a hot pan, you’re not going to last five minutes here. Heat means flavor—no hesitation. Either own it, or let someone else do it who actually knows what they’re doing.”

Each critique came hard and fast, like she was testing just how much you could take before breaking. But you’d see that flash in her eyes, just for a second, when you corrected yourself or caught her rhythm without her saying a word—a glint of approval, almost pride, though she’d never admit it. That kitchen was hell, and Ellie was the one lighting the fire.

Gradually, you grew on her in ways Ellie refused to acknowledge. At first, it was your dedication that caught her attention. You were so damn passionate, throwing yourself into every task with a fire she hadn’t seen in years, not even in herself anymore. It reminded her of how she used to feel about cooking, back when it wasn’t just a job, back when she wasn’t doing it for anyone but for herself. A sparkle that had been her whole world until the sparkle began to fade.

That same drive she once held was mirrored in you, and it hooked her in a way she didn’t let you see.

At first, it was harmless, or at least, she told herself it was. Viridescent eyes would wander absentmindedly while you worked over the stoves, catching the way you moved, the confidence in your hands, and the soft furrow in your brow when you were deep in concentration. It wasn’t even intentional at first, just a passing glance, a stray thought. Then she noticed the way her gaze lingered longer each time, how her mind wandered just a little too far. And once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop.

She made sure you never noticed. Ellie was good at that—at control, at holding the reins so tight they left marks in her palms. Whenever you turned her way, she’d tear her eyes away before you could catch her looking, busying herself with anything else. But there was no denying the way her focus shifted, no longer just assessing your technique or critiquing your timing. Her gaze followed you for other reasons now. The curve of your body in those faded denim jeans seemed to pull at her attention no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, and every time she brushed past you, the accidental touch of her hand against yours sent a spark up her arm that she couldn’t shake.

Still, she kept herself professional. She corrected you like she corrected everyone else, keeping her harsh tone and her words blunt. You weren’t special, she told herself. You couldn’t be. And yet, when her fingers lingered a second too long while adjusting your grip on a knife or guiding your hand to the perfect spot on the cutting board, she felt the edges of her resolve begin to fray.

Then came the night that changed everything.

The last customer had left, the dining area was quiet except for the faint buzz of the lights. The rest of the crew had clocked out and gone home, leaving you alone in the kitchen, scrubbing at a caramel spill that had hardened into the countertop like cement—a clumsy incident of yours. Your movements were hurried, and your brows knit together in frustration as you scraped at the sticky mess.

Ellie stayed behind, like she often did, overseeing the final cleanup before heading home to Dina. The thought was always there, hovering at the back of her mind like a shadow, but tonight, it felt distant, blurred. She stood at the far end of the counter, arms crossed, her gaze glued on you without even realizing it.

Something about the way you moved hypnotized her. The way your lower lip caught between your teeth, the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead from the heat of the kitchen, the fluid way your body bent and shifted—it all made her stomach twist in ways she hadn’t felt in years. You were stunning, achingly so, and the red-brown-haired woman couldn’t stop herself from noticing every little detail about you.

Her chest tightened as she battled the strange, unwelcome flutter deep in her gut. It wasn’t just attraction—it was something more insidious, something that made her feel both exhilarated and ashamed. She didn’t feel this way when she went home to Dina anymore. She hadn’t for a long time.

Ellie furrowed her brow, her thoughts an unsteady swirl as she watched you wipe at the counter, your features etched with determination. She told herself to leave, to walk out and go home, but her boots stayed rooted to the floor. 

When you finally finished and prepared to leave, you took a deep breath, the familiar wave of intrusive, overthinking thoughts gnawing at your self-esteem all over again. You steeled yourself, fighting the inner tension, before turning toward Ellie. She was focused, double-checking a few final things, but your stomach twisted with nerves. You couldn’t let her walk out without asking, without knowing. It might have seemed pathetic, but you needed the truth, needed to know if you’d wasted your time, if you should’ve just walked away and taken a job at McDonald’s instead. Because if that was all you were capable of, then why bother aiming higher?

“Can I ask you something?” you ventured, stopping the older woman in her tracks. Your voice carried a note of hesitation, the vulnerability in it impossible to miss.

Ellie paused, glancing over her shoulder before turning fully toward you. She wiped her hands on the apron snug around her waist, her expression shifting from its usual intensity to something softer. “Sure,” she uttered, curiosity flashing in those green eyes.

You hesitated for a beat, your fingers nervously brushing over the edge of the counter. Then, before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out. “Am I completely helpless? Like… am I trash?”

The insecurity in your voice hung in her ears, and for a moment, Ellie just stared at you, her mouth tightening as the question sank in. Something about the way you stood there—your shoulders slightly hunched, your gaze fixed somewhere below hers, bracing yourself for the worst—tugged at her chest.

She recalled that feeling all too vividly. The nights spent doubting herself, the pit in her stomach as she questioned if she was good enough to stand in a kitchen like this. It was a memory she thought she’d buried, but now it resurfaced in the form of you—young, insecure, and so painfully earnest.

“No,” Ellie reassured, her voice was firm but not unkind. She stepped closer, her apron swaying slightly as she moved, and her eyes softened into something warmer, a nuance you had never seen before in those irises. “You’re not trash. You just… need time to find your footing. Everyone starts somewhere, and I’ve seen enough to know you’ve got more potential than you give yourself credit for.”

You weren’t helpless. You were just trying to figure it all out, and she couldn’t help but see herself in you, more than she cared to admit.

It wasn’t then that things started between you two. Not that night. But exactly a week later, it began.

It happened during a chaotic morning when you accidentally nicked your finger while chopping vegetables. The cut wasn’t deep, but the sight of blood had you panicking. Ellie had swept in with a surprising amount of care, guiding you to her office to patch you up and calm you down.

She hadn’t pictured you as the panicking type—self-assured was more the image you projected—but that moment revealed something else entirely. You were sweeter than you let on, a little naive, even, but there was a warmth to you, a vibrancy she hadn’t realized was there.

At first, it was innocent enough. A lingering touch as she wrapped the bandage around your finger. Then came the late nights in the kitchen, staying behind to help her with something small or lingering because she had promised to teach you a few of her tricks, always claiming you were the only one worth teaching. 

Initially, it felt special, as if you were being singled out for something significant. You didn’t realize that those excuses were designed to keep you there longer than anyone else. You had no reason to suspect otherwise. Ellie was subtle and calculated in her approach, so it never occurred to you that she might be making a move—especially with a whole wife waiting for her at home.

Ellie knew what she was doing, she always did. Once you had let her see the cracks in your confidence, the way you second guessed yourself, she used it to her advantage. Whenever you vented about your insecurities or the weight of expectations, she was there, whispering reassurances in that husky voice of hers. Her praise was addictive, and you found yourself craving it more than you’d ever admit.

Before long, the lines began to blur. Innocent late-night conversations with a married woman gradually evolved into deep discussions over shitty after-hours coffee as you sat on cracked stools in the empty kitchen of her restaurant, the smell of grease still lingering in the air. She’d vent about her wife, about how distant things had gotten, how they barely spoke unless it was to fight. All you’d do was nod, offering words of comfort because that’s all it was supposed to be. Comfort. But then her hand brushed yours one night, and everything started spiraling.

Those comforting touches soon escalated into stolen kisses in her office, the kind that left you breathless. Her hands explored you sinfully, and she couldn’t get enough. Then you’d find yourself waiting for everyone to pack up and leave, your heart thrumming in your chest like never before. For the lights to dim, and the sound of keys to jingle when Ellie locked the front door, making sure to keep any potential intruders out. When the coast was finally clear, she’d be on you, no hesitation, no second-guessing. Her lips, as soft as petals of a blooming rose, would crash into yours like she’d been starving for it, her hands rough and desperate, would shamelessly yank at your shirt, your pants, anything that was in the way.

It was always messy. Messy and quick, like you didn’t have time to think about what the hell you were doing—perhaps because she didn’t want to think about it, not before, not during, and certainly not after. She’d leave the moment it was over as if it had never happened, leaving you with only the echoes of what had happened. She’d shove you up against the cold steel of the prep table, and it’d be so fucking wrong but so fucking good all at once. Her lips, her hands, her voice—it was addictive. The way she whispered filthy things in your ear completely contrasted the sweet nothings she used to talk her way into your bed.

The only other sounds were the occasional car passing by outside and your obscene whimpers, loud and unrestrained as she shoved her fingers deep inside your cunt. She liked it that way, liked seeing you lose control while she stayed so composed. Her wedding band glistened under the low kitchen light, covered in your juices, the gold stained with the sin of what you both knew shouldn’t be doing.

It wasn’t love, not really. Or maybe it was, in some twisted, fucked up way. Whatever it was, it kept you coming back.

Maybe it was because of the way she looked at you as if you were a risk worth taking—it made you feel invincible. Special. Because she had chosen you, of all the girls that worked for her. She hadn’t even chosen her wife, Dina, who waited at home every night as she fucked you roughly on the kitchen counters, bending you over the surface as your hard nipples pressed against the cold metal and her fingers plunged deeper into you. That was enough to make you dumbly believe she couldn’t live without you, that she’d be willing to leave Dina for you.

It was in those moments that you felt like you were her everything.

After six long, agonizing months, the truth hit you in the back of the head like a ton of bricks—you weren’t special.

You weren’t the one she picked. You were just another victim of her lies. She was just that—a cheater. And just like every other cheater, she promised you love and loyalty only to pull the rug from beneath you when you least expected it. 

Your heart dropped when you saw Dina walk into the restaurant, bouquet in hand, her son clutching her hand like a lifeline. It felt like the world spun too fast, and all you could do was stare as she sauntered into the kitchen, greeting everyone with that perfect, beaming smile of hers.

And then Ellie—your Ellie, the one who made you believe in something real—just kissed her. Not a quick peck, but a real kiss. One that felt too familiar. A kiss that made you sick, made your stomach churn like you had swallowed rusty nails. You could hear their voices, muffled through the noise of the restaurant, but the words were clear as day. Trivial shit. Talking about their son. Pet names. Casual chatter, the kind that could’ve been any couple. But it wasn’t supposed to be them. Not when Ellie had kissed you like you were the fucking air she needed to breathe, like her wife had failed her in ways you couldn’t even begin to understand. Ellie kissed you with that desperate hunger, like she was starved for something real, and you naively fell for it.

When the auburn haired woman looked back at you, for a split second, everything froze. She saw the pain hiding behind your strained, faint smile, the hurt you were barely managing to mask. Her face went pale, and then, like a fucking coward, she ditched her wife, brushing her off with some lame excuse about being too busy. You saw the fear of being caught. The guilt. The shame. All of it etched in her face, and you hated her for it.

You confronted her, demanded answers, tried to make sense of the lies she’d spun to you for months. But she stuck to her story, every word coming out of her mouth an excuse to protect herself. “It’s not like that, it’s all a facade. She’s not like this at home.” Fucking bullshit. Dina was the perfect wife. The kind of woman anyone would kill to have by their side. Ellie was the fucking problem. She couldn’t stay away from things she shouldn’t want—you. She never could.

She convinced you, promised you she would leave Dina, that one day, it would be just the two of you. But when that night came—the night you spent together, tangled up in sweat and passion—it was the end, one you never knew was coming. You were still panting, your heart pounding, when she rolled off of you.

“Babe, where’re you going?” You croaked, your voice strained and filled with disappointment. Your arm reached out slowly, but she was quicker, already perched on the edge of the bed, ready to up and leave. You could hardly keep yourself together as she pulled on her clothes.

“Home. To Dina.” The words fell from her lips so casually, as if they didn’t tear you apart to hear them, as if the aftermath of your activities wasn’t still gripping your chest, stealing your breath. You propped yourself up, your hair a tangled mess clinging to your sweaty forehead, forcing a playful expression, masking the pain inside you with a fake pout.

“Five more minutes? Where’s my aftercare?” You hoped your teasing would soften the moment, maybe make her cave the way she always did. It was a little game you’d played, and it usually worked. 

In return, she dropped a whole bomb on you that made your chest tighten painfully and your stomach sink, “Look, we can’t keep doing this.” Her back was to you, her muscles flexing as she reached down for the rest of her clothes, the soft moonlight casting a faint glow over her freckled skin, leaving you drowning in the silence that followed.

“What?” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. Your eyes trailed over her back, over the red scratches you’d left there in the heat of it all, unable to comprehend how things had turned upside down so fucking fast.

“You heard me.” Her voice grew colder all of the sudden. “I have a wife, and I’m not gonna divorce her, no matter how bad things are.” She sounded so final, like her decision was set in stone and nothing would sway her.

You tried everything. You begged her, your voice breaking as you told her to stay, to not walk out of your life just like that. You yelled, you cried, you threw every last ounce of yourself into making her see what you two had, what she was throwing away. Nothing worked. She still left. 

It didn’t just end there. She had one more kick to land. A week later, she fired you.

Fired you.

She called you into her office, and just when you thought she was about to offer even a shred of compassion, there was another cold punch to the gut. She handed you a card with a number on it, and you stared at it, bile rising in your throat. As if everything you two had could be wrapped up in a neat little package with a goodbye card like you were nothing more than some evidence she needed to get rid of in order to clean her conscience and carry on with her life like you never happened.

“What’s this?” You had questioned, confused, pissed off by the lack of any emotion in the exchange.

“Another restaurant that would much appreciate your devotion. She’s my friend and—” she kept going, but you couldn’t hear it anymore. The more she spoke, the more you felt the anger boil inside, hot and suffocating. You couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Are you firing me?” you snapped as the realization hit you harder than it should’ve. You’d fucking hated this job, she made you hate it, but it had been the best thing that ever happened to you. And Ellie knew that, she knew how much it meant to you. She simply couldn’t stand to look at you anymore. Guilt had started eating away at her—after six months of sleeping with you, no less. 

Ridiculous.

“No, my friend Abby told me she needs more—” She tried to bullshit her way out, but you saw right through it. She sighed, frustration in her voice as she planted her hands on her hips, looking down at the floor, avoiding your gaze like the coward she was. “Yes. I’m firing you,” she finally admitted, cutting through her own bullshit.

“Is it because of—”

“Yes.” She confirmed, not even letting you finish the question.

“Wow.” You blinked at her, the words heavy in your mouth, disbelief written all over your face. You barely managed a faint frown, feeling your insides twist. Without another word, you turned on your heel and stomped out of her office, ripping your apron off like you were shedding the last bit of dignity you had left.

That’s what led you here. Sitting in your car, parked in front of Ellie’s house—this massive, gaudy mansion that felt like a fucking slap in the face. Too perfect, too shiny, too fucking out of reach for someone like you. Your fingers dug into the steering wheel, gripping it as if you wanted to rip it apart, your eyes locked on Dina’s silhouette as she paced back and forth behind the windows. Meanwhile, Ellie was still at work, living her life as if nothing had happened, while you were left drowning in your stupid, fucking choices. Only because you fell for her words, her kisses, her promises.

She couldn’t just ruin your life and walk away without consequences. No, you wouldn’t let her get away with this shit. You felt like a goddamn homewrecker, not only because you had slept with a married woman, but because of what you were about to do now. 

Your hand hovered over the doorbell, your fingers shaking as you tried to convince yourself this wasn’t a mistake. 

It was too late to back out.

The seconds dragged on like hours before she appeared. Dina, standing there at the door with that look on her face—confused, curious, like she was trying to place you before she realized she had never seen you before.

“Sorry? Do I know you?” Her voice was soft, too soft, as if it was meant for someone who had slept with her wife. Those warm, brown eyes staring back at you made you feel like the lowest piece of scum, causing your words to catch in your throat, tangled and desperate. It was as though they were trying to strangle you from the inside.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything, sweetie?” Her tone shifted, softening as she noticed the panic clouding your eyes, the tremble that gripped your body. But no amount of softness could quell the scorching anger inside you. You wanted to throw it all out—the truth. The ugly truth.

Before you could even utter a word, her son appeared from behind her, his small hands holding up a drawing, pride beaming from his small face. “Mommy, look!” His innocent, excited tone cut through you, “Can’t wait to show mama, too.”

Dina gently hushed him, running her fingers through his brown hair, and your eyes locked on the ring glinting on her finger. Your gaze lingered on Dina for a moment before drifting to the family photos adorning the wall behind the woman. Some captured small trips, others moments on the beach, while a few were wedding and baby pictures. Then, your eyes returned to the child’s innocent face, his tiny hand clutching the drawing—it made something inside you crack, without a warning.

You swallowed hard as you blinked, fighting to compose yourself.

“Sorry, I was looking for... Jake. I must’ve gotten the wrong address.”

[sparxyv]

WIP tag game!

(again muahahaha 😈 thank you for the tag @heylorrain!)

i love these little threads because i always have SO many WIPs that i get impatient to share ..

MILENAAA MY GIRLL i love you forever muah muah

no idea if i'm ever going to finish these but.. we'll see

yule ball nonsense ^^ i feel like im spoiling my own posts with this.. pls guys you don't know all the context stick with me !!! (+bonus points if you can guess who the characters in the third one are)

SUPER BLURRED BECAUSE ITS A SURPRISE .. 🙌🙌

+ little snippet to a three part pre-HL mousey fic?? 👀

----------------

Athol was absolutely certain he was the most miserable soul to ever set foot in Hogwarts.

     The rain drummed against the window, as if trying to mock him with its relentless rhythm. He flopped back onto his bunk with a theatrical sigh, arm draped across his face. “I don’t get it,” he muttered to himself for probably the fifteenth time that morning. He peeked out from under his arm to glance at the little collection of odds and ends on his windowsill—a bracelet, a scraggly flower, and a wooden snake that still had a chip in its tail from a very unintentional duel. His first few years at Hogwarts had felt like it was packed with endless laughter and ridiculous adventures. Now? It was like staring into the soggy bottom of a cauldron someone forgot to clean. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the kind of dramatic punctuation that perfectly matched his mood. If life were fair, it would strike right outside his window to really drive the point home. Instead, the storm just kept drizzling on, indifferent to his misery.

It wasn’t like he was entirely friendless. There was his bunkmate, sweet Duncan Hobhouse, who always had a kind word and a dozen excuses to avoid trying anything remotely exciting. But Duncan didn’t fill the gap left by Sebastian, Anne, and Ominis.

The fight—the great betrayal as Athol had taken to calling it (in his head, anyway)—had turned his fourth year into a gray slog. He had hoped, maybe foolishly, that things would blow over. Instead, Sebastian seemed determined to act like Athol was a ghost haunting the Hogwarts castle.

At first, he’d been immensely angry with Sebastian. How dare he blow up after one small comment, then completely ice Athol out of his life? As if he were nothing? And now, although the anger at Sebastian’s dramatics still remained, he just missed his friends.

They hadn’t even talked since the second week of the school year - it’d now been 37 days. 

Athol groaned, throwing his head back. What could he even do about the whole situation? He couldn’t apologize, no. His pride wouldn’t let him, and he didn’t even believe Sebastian deserved an apology in the first place.

----------------

(I HOPE THIS MAKES AT LEAST A BIT OF SENSE LOL.. i feel halfway illiterate when writing 💀💀)

no pressure tags! : @myokk @choccy-milky @syaolaurant @traceyc-uk @diana-bluewolf @dwightschrute11 @rypnami @iatnen @lycowarrior @dom1re @siboom777 (ANDD anyone who wants to join!)

[waitmyturtles]

Final Thoughts on Spare Me Your Mercy, Thailand's Biggest Queer Show of 2024*

(*domestically!)

Due to the holidays, I was behind on watching last week's finale of Spare Me Your Mercy, but I got it in, and I'm glad I did.

I am mucho on the record that I thought, throughout this series, that the romance portion of this series was done weakly. I throughly enjoyed and appreciated @clairedaring's objective and appreciative commentary throughout the airing of this drama to provide all of us with context about novel!SMYM versus series!SMYM, helping us to understand what of the many bits were missing between the two versions of this story.

There has been a nice lot of debate online about the ultimate success of the telling of the SMYM story in drama format, both pro and not so pro regarding the script. There was also quite the revealing interview with the screenwriter Lux Sirilux, who revealed that the show's design purposely excluded NC scenes to favor more time being spent on the euthanasia ethics debate (thank you so much to @clairedaring for reblogging so much, I wouldn't have these references without you!).

I want to note that even despite the recent holidays, that the heightened online burble of debate around SMYM indicates to me -- like the ensuing debates after the airing of the 4 Minutes finale -- that the story of the SMYM drama format didn't land for everyone. If it was universally successful in its storytelling from all the classic narrative markers, then much of this debate would not be happening.

I first entered the SMYM world understanding that it was a part of a storytelling trilogy of sorts, connecting Sammon's previously adapted stories in 2020's Manner of Death and 2022's Triage (I haven't reviewed Triage yet, but I watched it in 2024 and it is absolutely one of the five best Thai BLs I have ever watched.)

To go back to the Lux interview quickly, and to note fan commentary in defense of Lux's position: what Lux Sirilux posits is that the show essentially decentralized NC scenes and intimacy in favor of giving the script more time to dwell on a debate about euthanasia -- the ethics and morality of being a part of a person's death, and the ethics of a person deciding to die in the first place. The defense of this position essentially stated: well, because the show wasn't intended to be about romance, then why criticize it on its romantic context?

When I think back to the show's original positioning as a part of the MoD/Triage trilogy, I think to myself: the couples of TanBun and TinTol were absolutely central, as romantic pairs, to the success of those two stories, and both shows absolutely balanced their mystery elements so as to leave us fully satisfied on two (!!) genre fronts. At least, before SMYM premiered, to be excited about the TorJJ/KanTew coupling was therefore a reasonable expectation.

As well: there was a lot of implied attraction and romance in SMYM. A lot!

All these scenes! And we had more.

As soon as this show started airing, I was pulling for it to work as well as Manner of Death and Triage had. And I was side-eyeing to my drama homies about what I was smelling, when I started to feel like SMYM was NOT working. While a defense that the show was never meant to be a romance is... an interesting postscript to ponder: I don't buy it, because many elements that were clearly designed to otherwise communicate romance actually failed. I squinted heavily at the middle episodes of this series, really wondering, ".....so......are these guys.... DATING? Just feeling things out?!"

If these elements weren't actually intended to be in the show, the attraction between Kan and Tew, then -- why did we get them?

What was missing, narratively, for me? It was emotional context based in the reality of how I understand intimacy to function between two humans -- an understanding that, in the very best of art, I don't need to suspend in order to make a narratively unsuccessful show otherwise work.

The progression of emotional (let alone physical) intimacy was choppy in this series, to say the least. @clairedaring gave us the very important context early on that the novel version of SMYM had two volumes -- the first of which focused on KanTew's dating, before the ethical clashes of euthanasia entered the picture. If we had had that narrative context in the drama, the drama would have worked wonders, and I believe the crew was working throughout this debate in the writing process, from how the script turned out.

The script here did not work, because even if romance was intentionally deprioritized to focus on the euthanasia debate -- many episodes still spent too much time on KanTew, without giving us viewers an emotional journey for us to understand where they were in their emotional intimacy. And I posit, because the script seemed to be so indecisive, that the euthanasia debate got lost for much of the show as well. Up until the end, in the final episode, with that utterly fabulous attic scene.

If only the show had the strength of dialogue and conflict as that attic scene! I wrote yesterday that Tor and JJ will win awards for the whole series, based on that scene alone. That scene finally held the full and holistic scope of the tension between Kan and Tew totally bursting out in all its glory.

Let me just note, though, that we had to get through the first half of the episode to get to that scene -- a first half that really, REALLY made Kan look like an AWFUL LYING SCUMBAG to Tew (HOW COULD YOU LIE TO TEW LIKE THAT IN YOUR HOSPITAL BED, KAN, AND TELL HIM THAT HIS PAIN HE WAS FEELING WAS GUILT, YOU MF'ING ASSHOLE, okay I got it out of my system). Really, with all the lying Kan was doing to Tew about Tew's mom, I was praying that Tew would do the full COPS treatment on Kan, "Bad Boys" and all.

Kan was, in my absolutely personal opinion, ultimately rendered unforgivable during that first half of the finale (regardless of my personal thoughts on the ethics of euthanasia) simply because of his disingenuousness to Tew. The penultimate conversation in attic between Kan and Tew was a phenomenal encapsulation to the ethical conflict that Kan and Tew had danced around for the entire series -- and it highlighted, to me, again, where the script had failed the show, because it actually put a spotlight on moments when the EXCELLENT and FASCINATING nuances of the euthanasia debate in Thailand were sidelined for weak attempts at romantic development. (The socioeconomic nuances, the inequity in health care nuances, the impact that terminal illness has on caretakers, all of them! GAH!)

My takeaway from all of this is that the crew of this show did not hit the exact and delicate formula of deciding what the crux of this show should have been about, despite the commentary we received posthaste from the screenwriter. While the intention of that commentary indicated that the euthanasia debate was supposed to be the only center of the show -- too much time was spent showing us KanTew moments, and those moments lacked context and clarity to give us viewers an understanding of where they stood in their engagement or relationship at any one time. Thus, I do think the postscript commentary from the crew was also a touch disingenuous, regarding the success of the narrative itself as art.

And — I believe it was also disingenuous to the two previously adapted Sammon stories of Manner of Death and Triage as well, as both of those dramas were able to hold both mystery and romantic storylines to excellent ends, with wonderful touches of intimacy along the way (MaxTul couch scene, my beloved). There's more to say, as other people have noted, about writers deprioritizing intimacy to tell "another" story, as it were, but that's a debate for another time, that I think speaks to where Thai BL is going in general.

But otherwise, while I think SMYM was ultimately narratively unsuccessful (that last "I love you" and the rushed close were just brutal), I'm not surprised about how well it did in Thailand. No one can argue with the star power that Tor and JJ hold in Asia — the show was always going to do well, no matter the artistic success of its narrative. I just wish the show had lived up to the caliber of acting and writing that Tor and JJ got to display in that attic at the end.

[naoke666]

Rereading Iruma. I am paying some extra attention to the Demon King bits for reasons (writing essay about my gays), and there is actually something in the first volume that surprised me a bit.

(My introduction to Iruma was through the s1 of anime, and back then the early chapters didn't have good quality translation. So this is actually my first time properly reading them)

So, when we talk about Iruma and ambition and his character arc towards discovering his own ambition, we usually consider that it starts from Iruma's and Ameri's first conversation in the student council room. Or, well, at least I did.

But now I think it starts a lot earlier.

And it begins thanks to, of all people, Sabro.

Right here.

I think this is the very very first tinsy bit of an inkling of this character arc. "Wow, it's so cool that Sabnock wants to become a Demon King and is actively working towards his dream! Couldn't be me tho :)" girl. You have NO clue.

There is something else that I find interesting about this. Apparently there are at least a few folks who not only think that Iruma is not going to become a demon king, but that there is 0 foreshadowing for that. Ig it's the result of the latest many-ears arc, which, if read very literally and out-of-context, may lead one to the conclusion that Iruma would rather be a teacher than a demon king, and thus that's what he is gonna choose in the future.

But, if Iruma's search for ambition begins here, in the mini-arc that introduces the demon king, inspired by a character, whose ambition is to become a demon king. Well. While nobody can say for sure how the story will end, this is a pretty clear indication of what the story's direction is and has been from the beginning.

[bloopitynoot]

Reading TGCF: Chapter Four

For those who don't know, I am reading TGCF for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag Bloopitynoot reads TGCF. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read BUT if you followed along with my SVSSS read, the rules and vibe are the same.

I have been obsessed with the masala chai kit my partner got me for Christmas, so I'm back with the chai today; it's just so creamy and spicy, I love it.

I will give a heads up now that I am not sure if I will have chapters this weekend. My partner and I are going up to visit her family and I don't think I'll have the time to read and post. So lots of advanced warning there will be a small gap in posts later this week!

Let's go chapter 4!

These titles are getting to me; so long. I mean, they are very accurate, but so wordy LOL.

This is so funny. Xiao-Ying: I'm a real person! I put you (Xie Lian) in drag! Everyone else: what an abnormal man with queer hobbies. p104

This is so annoying. they literally told these fools explicitly NOT to do one thing. I do hope Xiao-Pengtou dies because OMG, the audacity of this man. p105

and now this guy wants to profit off of the bride's deaths. So shameful! p107

barf, barf, barf. Now they are ranking the DEAD women's looks and daring each other to assault to corpses. Ew. Why are cis straight men. p108

Oh. I've made it to the forest of hanging corpses. Love that. p110

I love how chill they are seeing the corpse forest. like, "ah, that's the Green Ghost, he likes corpse forests. He's just about a supreme. Better leave him be." p110

The ANTICIPATION! The fact that Fu Yao is scared of the butterflies. WHAT ARE YOU?!?!??! p112.

My heart for this bandaged boy! I don't know who he is, but he feels like a bullied little guy and I just want to hug him and make him soup. p114

Good. They finally shut Xiao-Pengtou up. p115

This is like a fuck-ton of powerful entities on this mountain. We've got a wrath level, near supreme, and then butterfly boy who isn't even on the level system he's so powerful. What karma does town owe, like damn! p117

and the Ghost Groom was there the whole time! Sneaky bride #18 p118

What a sweet boy; Xie Lian apologizing to the corpse bride's before having them fight each other p120

Xiao-Ying is too nice! I would have just left Xiao-Pengtou where he was. fuck that guy. p121

Xia-Lian really showing up to work with his auto-pilot customer service voice, "Thank you, thank you. Please support my act with money if you have the means, or with applause if you haven't...what?!" p122

ofc the spiritual energy runs out when you are about to get the most important bit of information. p124

oh man. I kind of feel bad for the Ghost Bride. Her shitty story and cheating lover. That's a rough go. p126

This is what I'm saying! They should not have saved Xiao-Pengtou. Look at the problems this vile man is causing now. p129

I'm not even going to give xiao-pengtou an RIP. He was the worst kind of person. He got the day he deserved. p130.

Rouye out here literally doing the Lord's work. Bless that feisty string for saving our boys life again. p132

Fuck. I'm crying about Xiao-Ying. Damnit. I knew she was going to die because I liked her character. :((((( p134

OMG. Two General Pei's . 137

Okay I take everythign back about the Ghost Bride. She's so dramatic LOL. She even broke her own legs too??? Dang. What an intense woman. p139

Another cliff hanger! My next bet is that maybe the bandage boy is the Green Ghost????? p143 (don't actually tell me lol).

RIP My Girl

This was a banger of a chapter. I am so sad about Xiao-Ying though, I really liked her headstrong character.

Also in this chapter; if I had taken a shot for every time I had murder thoughts about XIao-Pengtou I would have surely been deceased. Glad that death happened though. Big oof on the most unlikeable character since Jin Guangshit.

[anotheroceanid]

Can you make like...an organized lore post for your AUs that you link to in your pinned post? 🥺 I was trying to look through your Athenide AU and got so confused cuz I was like "what do you mean she's lost?? Where did she go? 😭"

It would really help, so pretty please with a cherry on top consider making something like that?

Thank you for your consideration 🙇

See, this is a thing I really want to do.

With WTHB, I do intend to either post a companion book (fic?) with the content involving timeline, characters, maps, context for some things, etc.

With the Athenide AU is a bit harder, because I considere it a collaborative work, so I have different intentions with it.

I created the series in AO3 and I tagged ttg as a concept fic (if that exists), but what I intend to do is to write multiple oneshots in the form of myths (with different versions as if it had different “authors” and modern interpretations), in a way to give yall things to create with Athenide as if she was a real goddess in our world.

Like, write less about her but how she was seen by history (be it by mortals or demigods). Don’t know if it makes sense, but think theoi, think Reddit posts, think outsider povs by gods and demigods. I think the fun part of this AU specifically is how each person added their touch, so I want to encourage it, somehow???

Athenide is everyone’s dollhouse and I love that, but it also makes a little bit harder to make a lore post because we have a looooot of content at this point.

I can make a longer post explaining the “main” plot points, but I intend to work it further on ao3 later on. Thing is: this would demand a bit of time, so only after I post the chapter 7 of WTHB, that is my priority right now.

Alongside with that, there’s also the Lestercy AU, but I considere everything in this series to be canon. It’s written by @tiredbitchposts and it’s amazing. At this point, anything I write about the Lestercy au is a fic of her fic, so, yeah.

So this long post to say: yes I want and will organise the lores, but it’ll take a while. After all, I too will have to go through the whole Athenide tag so…

[di-42]

2024 fic roundup

Finally getting round to doing this! Just in time for the end of the year!

Many, many thanks to @curiouspupsicle and @bellisima-writes for tagging me all those weeks ago, ant to @cheeseplants for creating the questions. Enjoy curious's answers here, bellisima's answers here, cheeseplants's answers here.

What fandoms do you write in?

Good Omens, only Good Omens, nothing but Good Omens.

How many words have you published in 2024?

133k. Huh! Me?

What is your greatest achievement this year?

In the context of fandom and fanfiction, being brave enough to put myself out there and share my work is probably my greatest personal achievement. But I'm also quite proud to have plotted an 85k fiction while working 55 hours a week (and being lucky enough to have a husband and friends to spend my free time with).

What are your favourite top three fics you wrote this year?

That's an easy one! None of my favourite three are the ones with more engagement, strangely enough!

And I Did, rated E, 85k.

While I know this could have been written much better, I am incredibly proud of this fiction. It's whole season 3 fiction where I managed to pour all my headcanon in a way that hopefully doesn't feel too forced. I think it has an original plot, good side characters and tension. I tried to throw in some humour wherever possible as well. It features Supreme Archangel Aziraphale and Grand Duke of Hell Crowley. They haven't talked for almost two years. The end of the world is approaching. They are on opposite sides. And they both know neither of them was ever going to make a different choice to the one they made.

Only Ever Meant For Someone Else, rated T, 9k.

My first human AU, wheee! It was so much fun to write! I think writing human AUs allows so much freedom, although one shots and shorter stories can be a bit harder than canon compliant short stories. But I had a chance to explore some versions of the characters that I don't really see in canon, but very much enjoy in fictions, and wanted to try my hand at that. And I liked the result! Written for the Scribbling Vaguely Downwards advent calendar.

Every year, the night before Christmas, taxi driver Aziraphale drives passengers to and from the hospital for charity. On the Christmas morning of 2023 he was ready to go home and rest with a cup of tea, a mince pie, and a book after a long night.

Guess who?

“No, you may not!” Barked the other. Then he started pacing up and down the pavement, rambling to himself. “Anathema’s going to kill me. She’s actually going to kill me! She had to go into labour on fucking Christmas day, just my luck!”

Oh, dear.

“In-into labour?”

The stranger stopped pacing and, yet again, looked at Aziraphale sternly. He joined together the tips of his right thumb and forefinger, and punctuated his next words with a gracious movement of his hand.

“Yeah. It means she’s about to give birth.”

“Does it, now.”

Angel! Angel! They're At It Again! rated M, 5k

I really love this little story of mine. I've been told that it made some readers cry and laugh at the same time, and it doesn't get much better than that.

It's the year 2030. The world never ended. Aziraphale and Crowley are living happily and safely together as a married couple. Everything would be well, if it wasn't that lately Aziraphale has been a bit busy. A bit distracted. Now, Crowley can't have that, can he? He seeks the advice of his girlfriends, who unwittingly give him an idea on how to liven up his marriage.

A fluffy story about how we get to a certain cottage.

What was your biggest pit of despair moment?

Tying up all the loose ends in And I Did. Sometimes it felt like I was just hitting a wall and I couldn't possibly ever go through. I felt so embarrassed -mortified, really- that some people had read the story up to a certain point and I had just to let them down, because I couldn't possibly write anything that would make sense with the rest of the story. Even though the main points were planned from the beginning, there were still all those little details that write themselves, basically, and I had no idea what to do with some of them towards the end. I still don't know how I managed to pull it off, honestly, but somehow I did it in a way that I found satisfying enough.

What have you learned?

That people are so much better than I am. Really. And I don't mean at writing fiction. Well, people are better than me at writing fiction, but that's not what I mean here. The amount of people who are ready to read about someone else's ideas and headcanons with an open mind, enjoy stories that they don't necessarily agree with, is astounding. I have very much to learn from this community.

What fic did you want to do but never made it off the ground?

I could tell you. But then I would have to erase your memory.

A fiction that has never made it off the ground is a fiction that has yet to make it off the ground.

Did you beta any fics? Any favs you want to shout out?

I was asked a couple of times, but due partly to my lack of time, partly to English not being my first language, I had to reluctantly decline. I do offer my thoughts on my betas' fictions, though. One of them hasn't published her work yet, and the other has a fantastic one shot on Ao3, called The Corset.

Aziraphale never understood just why he had been issued with a body likes his. He was the Guardian of the Eastgate, after all! So when in the 17th century corsets for men were fashionable again, he had an idea ...

What three fics have you read this year that you love?

Hah! We both know it's not going to be only three, don't we?

Some of these fics were written before, some long before, 2024, but I only read them this year. It's quite hard to pick my favourites among so much talent and creativity, but I'll do my best. I also can't help but notice that my all time favourites are not among the superpopular ones, so please don't be shy and check them out! (And leave kudos and comments!)

The Beginning Of The End (Again), rated M, 78k.

Season 3 fiction full of plot, great characterisation, humour and pining. It has of course a happy ending. It is beyond me how this fic didn't get more engagement, especially when it first came out, closer to the end of season 2.

The Anon Before Christmas, rated E, 66k.

One of my favourite human AUs. The characterisation is spot on and the slow burn is just absolutely perfect. But I did love the whole array of characters surrounding Crowley and Aziraphale. I love how this story is as much about friendship and chosen family than it is about love and romance.

The Bookseller And The Garden, rated T, 13k.

Canon divergent fiction where Crowley is a demon stationed on earth, Aziraphale is an angel stationed on earth, but they have never met until present day. There's no end of the world in sight, only an angel and a demon falling in love and not knowing how to break it to the other that they're not human. I laughed all the way through.

Wrong Turn, rated T, 37k.

Honestly, I don't know why this fiction touched me so much. I just couldn't stop thinking about it for days after I finished it. It's a post season 1 fiction where Crowley suddenly finds himself in a parallel universe at the time the apocalypse is just about to happen. The Crowley and Aziraphale in that universe have a different history to our Crowley and Aziraphale. All our Crowley wants to do is to go back to his universe and his very own angel, but how? As you follow the main plot and focus on Crowley's thoughts and actions, you'll start slowly feeling the other story get hold of you, and it won't let go until the very end and beyond.

Happiness, More Or Less, rated M, 21k

This human AU moved me so very much I cried. Crowley moves into his new flat in Soho, only to discover the flat in haunted by the ghost of the owner of the bookshop downstairs. I won't tell anything else about the plot other than it does have a very sweet happy ending, and it gets there via a rollercoaster of emotions. This is really one of those fictions that leave me in awe of the fandom's talent and creativity. Read it, read it, read it!

One last one that I haven't finished reading yet, but I know it's one of my all time favourites, is The Last Angel, rated E, 162k.

Canon divergent fiction where Crowley and Aziraphale were never assigned to earth, Armageddon happened and hell won the war. I've said many things about this fiction, among which that I can't believe the writer does this in her spare time and writing is not actually her job, and this is the most Good Omens-y fic I have ever read. It's astoundingly good.

What ideas are percolating for next year?

Watch out for The Angel Horror Show! When I learned that Peter Hinwood, the actor who played Rocky in The Rocky Horror Picture Show didn't have a long career as an actor, bout instead went on to become an antiques dealer, I knew I had to write this fiction with Aziraphale as the actor who many years ago played Angel/Rocky in The Angel Horror Show and subsequent film The Angel Horror Picture Show and is now living a comfortable life as a book and antiques dealer, and Crowley as the actor who played Demon/Frank, and went on to become a successful movie and theatre actor and director. I've just started writing it and I'm extremely excited about it!

Who do you want to thank?

Without the shadow of a doubt @sabine-smitten-obviously and IneffableShortCake who have been so incredibly generous with their time and support in the past 8 months! But also everyone who's ever left me a comment making me feel like my stories were liked, from the long comments to the ones with just enthusiastic syllables, from the incredibly witty ones to the more personal ones, thank you, thank you, thank you!

Tag, answer any Qs that suit and play along!

I think because I'm so late in the game that most of the writers I would usually tag have already been tagged by someone else, but perhaps a few haven't done this yet.

@smua70 @ngk-668 @ineffable-duck7

And anyone who wants to answer!

This was fun!

[livingformintyoongi]

— Small section to thank my dearest @parkitrighthere for tagging me, you are the sweetest, I adore you, *kiss your beautiful brain*.

— So, uhm, first of all, I really didn't expect to get this far with this blog (I mean, I already have 460 something followers and it's like, I don't know, so unrealistic, thank you so much to each of you for your love <3). It's not the first blog I have on tumblr, but it's the first ql that I really put a lot of effort into it (I lasted more than three months, it's an accomplishment, believe me). I really love writing and publishing my little random ideas here, and I'm glad that at least for some people it can be useful to enjoy their free time ^^ now that I'm on vacation I've tried to let go as much as possible, because I'll probably disappear again in March (who knew that studying Architecture was so overwhelming?). Until then, I hope I can continue writing for you as I have done so far, and again, thank you very much to all of you who read and leave messages, you really are a love, you deserve to find a bill of the highest value in one of your pockets 🫂

-> MOST POPULAR FIC OF 2024:

First Time | Min Yoongi | 1,083 Notes | May 12th 2024

-> LAST, LONGER & FAVORITE FIC OF 2024 (not sorry at all lol):

Echoes Of Love | Kim Taehyung | 53 Notes | December 20th 2024

FICS RECS OF 2024:

-> First of all, I want to add that I already had a list of recommendations before, all with small comments (you can see it here). I mention it because it never hurts to recommend those wonderful fics.

-> Dear Mate! [KTH] By @parkitrighthere | I really felt very tense reading it, like, too much, it was so exciting! I felt the conflict inside, like, for a second I really questioned whether or not it was okay to just give into Tae (because of the whole incident thing at the beginning and everything), but the scene was so well put together and I just Kjsdjksdjjjswks I gave in, I was oc, I literally gave in to her 🕴.

-> A human Touch [KTH] By @snackhobi | This was a series (two chapters, one drabble) and I literally started and finished it yesterday, it was so addictive to read! I really enjoyed with the writing of the author, it was just majestic,I could feel myself perfectly in the scene. Also Tae was so adorable, he could breathe and I was already screeching on the floor because unfortunately the character doesn't exist here and there are no dysfunctional androids in the world :(

-> Always The Bridesmaid [KTH] By @kookingtae | This is an adaptation of 27 Dresses and GOD, HOW I LOVED IT. I watched the movie before so I could get a bit of context (because I hadn't seen it in a while) and then I read it and, I swear, it was so fascinating, I loved it so much more than the movie (it's different, believe me). The author added her own touch without taking away from the essence and she did it so wonderfully, I really highly recommend it if you have free time and want to read something a little more light-hearted! (Although it has angst most of the time, if you love angst, you'll like it).

-> Ain't No Sunshine [KTH] By @whimsical-ness | Another adaptation, this time of Notting Hill. In this version, the actor is Tae and the protagonist is the one who attends the book store. Honestly, I also liked it a lot more than the movie (I found it funnier, I got more attached to the people... I don't know, but I liked it more :>). It was a pretty fun read, and again, the author did an amazing job! (It also has angst, obviously, but as an angst lover this is like, I don't know, perfect).

-> Taste Of Love [KTH] By @vopegist | In a nutshell: the sweetest thing you'll read all month. It's super fluffy and super beautiful and peaceful and wonderful and spectacular. You can really feel a warmth in your chest every time you read it, and it's so easy to get attached to both characters! (It has a sequel, which I highly recommend).

-> What do you do when you have just been cheated on? By @1uvtae | This is, literally, my favorite of favorites. I read it months ago and I can still feel the anxiety coursing through my veins when I remember it. It's an amazing story, Taehyung is a character that I consider too charismatic and I really understand why oc fell in love with him (who doesn't? Look at him). I don't even know if I can describe it in words, it really is something you must watch to understand. I highly recommend it (remember to read the warnings!).

TOP STATS OF 2024:

-> Total Notes: 6,4k

-> Total posts counted: 203

-> Total words written: 72.3 k

-> Tops muses: Taehyung & Yoongi 🩷🩵 (Honorable mention to Taylor because my inspiration comes from her music).

TOP TEN TRACKS OF 2024:

-> Who - Jimin

-> Guilty As Sin? - Taylor Swift

-> Hate You - Jungkook

-> Yes or No - Jungkook

-> loml - Taylor Swift

-> Good Luck, Babe - Chappell Roan

-> Maroon - Taylor Swift

-> How did it end? - Taylor Swift

-> Die with a smile - Lady Gaga, Bruno Mars

-> Love wins all - IU

GOALS FOR 2025

-> First, I think I would love for my college career not to drag on all my time and to be able to make good progress on everything I have planned (it's too many things for one person, but the only one to blame is me, so...)

-> Finish BOTN before the end of 2025, the series is super planned in my head, but I'm so scattered and so distracted that I always pass on writing it down :(

-> I wish I could write a one-shot over 30k... but it's so hard for me to write long fics, I always feel that the transition from one scene to another is bad for me, so I end up splitting it into parts.

-> Finish the 7 requests I have pending. Most of them are smut and lately my brain has been super negative to the idea of writing spicy stuff, I'm out of practice? Probably.

-> Socializing more with you guys. I really love the tumblr community in general, and I ADORE talking to anons/moots about everything and nothing at the same time, but I'm pretty introverted and don't really know how to bring up conversation topics 🫠.

-> I'd like to get better at making banners, there are some out there that are soooo cute, they make me envious (the good kind), I'd like to learn how to make some like that in the near future!

-> And I think that's all (? Personally I feel that I ask too little :].

Before I finish, I want to clarify that I'm not going to tag anyone because all the people I was going to name have already been named 😔 buuuut, I'd like to leave this space to give many thanks to certain people I may not have interacted with much but I still appreciate very much because they always show up in my inbox to give notes to the things I post, sooo, here we go:

Mooties~

First of all, I want to say thank you to my best friend @thunderg, She's literally my best friend, I've known her since I'm like, I don't know, 4/5 years old? We've been friends since I was about 13 or so and I'm really grateful for that, she always supports me in everything I do (which is generally a bad idea lol). I really don't think I would be here without your help, Ily 🫂💕.

Second, I would like to thank @parkitrighthere, I know we have only known each other for a short time, but I really appreciate your friendship (can you call it that? I hope so 🫡). You are literally the first person I actually talk to around here, you honestly have made being here feel so much more fun exciting, thank you so much for everything! 🩷.

Lastly, I wanted to thank @angellekookie for all your help since we met (it's only been a few weeks, but that doesn't take away from the fact that your help was very helpful). I really enjoyed talking to you, and I can't wait for you to start posting content here as well, you write very well, and I wholeheartedly believe you will be very successful here, good luck with your project! 🫡

No-mooties~

To my dearest @sunhyepark16, I know we haven't talked at all (technically we have, but not directly), but I want you to know that you have a special place in my heart since the first request you made for Taehyung 🫂💕 I never said it because the opportunity didn't arise, but in this blog you were my first protégé and I really enjoyed doing the requests you made. Thank you for requesting them <3 love you 💕.

To @lizzymizzy-blogg, we haven't spoken directly either, but I've seen you so many times on my blog that you also ended up becoming someone special (that's weird? I hope I didn't make you feel uncomfortable 😔) I really appreciate the support you've given me, from the bottom of my heart, thank you so much 💕.

And last (but of course not least), @agustdjiminblog. If I'm being honest, I'm not sure how long I've known about your account, but lately I see it in so many things and that really makes me very happy! I wanted to thank you for giving me support on the things I do and for keeping an eye on them, it really means a lot to me. 🩷🩷

And that's it! I hope I didn't bother any of the people I mentioned, I really didn't mean to make anyone uncomfortable! I just wanted to take this moment to thank those people who made this year much more enjoyable (on this platform).

Bye bye, see u later 🫡

[eriisaam]

And we're done! Thanks everyone!

So as a follow-up:

Regarding spicier/weirder/darker/etc content, it seems most of you are alright if I get a bit more experimental, and if you're all alright with that, then from now on, I'll try to be a bit braver on the kind of stuff I explore from now on, all of which will of course be tagged for, but not otherwise warned ahead of time. (That being said if it's especially intense, I might compromise still on putting it preview-first, so I'll keep that in mind). Stuff I reblog otherwise seems unanimous to just drop it as-is, so I'll keep that in mind too going forward.

-

Regarding future projects, this one seems to be the most split, so this one I'm willing to compromise the results a bit more. You all do seem to be ok moreso with showing whatever I have, whenever I have to show it, but a bit more of a mixed split between small crumbs (like in tag prompts or asks) or waiting until there's a significant thing to share and show (particularly art), so given the nature of it being a bit more involved to even share things in the first place (these are original projects, rather than fandom-based, so there's a bit more to unpack context-wise than usual), my compromise is sharing things when there's a good chunk of ideas to share about them, or when the opportunity arises, but the lull otherwise might be taken up by the summoner OCs instead. (So what I mean by this is they'll have more about them shown much sooner than just keeping it bottled up until I can release things in sets, but also at least saving up enough to have a good chunk to share, rather than the more instant scattershot like the summoners had, by virtue they had fanon things to lean on sooner and easier, if that makes sense).

Either way, I might be a bit braver on sharing more about that too in the future.

-

Regarding tagging, based on the strong leanings, I'll continue to only tag for the characters as-is, with the exception of self-inserts, prominent alts, or localization carry-overs thereof (ex: Robin, Grima/Grima Robin, Robinsona). I did worry about whether or not we need a divide on specific genders or not, but for the most part, it seems not. Thanks for clearing that up!

-

Likewise, with regard to spoilers, it seems the majority of you prefer tagging whichever is the more popular/accessible whether or not it's spoiler-heavy, so for characters I was a bit more on the fence over (ex: Whether or not it's Rafal or Nil), from now on I'll lean to whatever seems the most consistent (Rafal in this example case).

-

All of this is great feedback, and a perfect time at the tail end of the year, so I'll keep all this in mind, going forward into the new year. Thanks~ 💖

So! How about a quick blog survey for housekeeping sake... And since this one's a bit beefier it'll have a longer run time and more spam, sorry in advance

My plan was originally to have all of it in a single post with multiple polls each, but apparently it's reblogs that allow you to do multi-polls (not all in one initial post), so this is part-asking, part-stresstesting, so if it doesn't work, you didn't see aaaaanythiiiing.)

[closedspeciesteahouse]

(succubuns) (trigger warning:CP) I don't know if the blogs reflect a significant portion of the community, but an area of contention was the owner Luca's artstyle; people complained how their art has become increasingly more immature looking. Regardless, their patreon was taken down specifically for distributing CP. Looks from the emails that patreon had a month long investigation and overlooked the account in its entirety. Official announcement vvv https://succubuns.com/news/133.patreon-down An anon who reported it vvv https://www.tumblr.com/succubunsvent/742176017621336064/hi-email-anon-here-again-reporting-in-on-the?source=share Bit of context, same anon asked the site domain about employment clarification, turns out succubuns was violating labor laws and it got their site shut down a bit. Succubuns mods have called the shut downs "griefing" attempts; not all too sure why when it's easy just to explain their error as misunderstanding what qualifies as legal "employment". That email https://www.tumblr.com/succubunsvent/740977667917135873/740972072741879808-is-absolutely-yves-or-luca-or It's a trainwreck, but it's hard to look away. I've never been in the species and can't say anything of the owners' intentions, but from the succubun site I can say the official artstyle is troublesome.

☕️

[deathsmallcaps]

I need advice.

I’m a white intern working in a mostly white southern(ish) high school. Students of Color number at under 2%, perhaps even lower. It’s a very white, rural community - I grew up in a fairly mixed, suburban northern community, and part of my family is Black.

Several of my white students say rude things to my Students of Color. I’ve told them to knock it off *as appropriately as I can* but I’m probably one of the few adults that actively discourage that behavior.

I don’t want to let this shit fly under the radar, but I also know that if an adult of authority *who will only be here for a couple more weeks* interferes, and then doesn’t stick around, it could make things worse. Additionally, I know these kids are probably very very very used to this ‘system’ and that making a short-term change could be more harmful than helpful.

I asked one of my senior students after a very racist incident *where she was laughing along with the perpetrator but I told him to stop anyway* that I can move him, or her, so she could be more comfortable (admin either does nothing or slaps wrists, especially for seniors). She said it was fine and that he was always like that.

I must emphasize, I think they were bantering (they talk so much I think they consider each other friends?), but it was also wayyy fucking out of line, especially in a school setting. And the guy says so much out of line shit I’m surprised he isn’t rocking a full set of dentures to replace the teeth he ought to have lost by now.

Another student took me up on my offer to move people, but I ended up moving him, which sucks because he was the victim in this situation. Unfortunately, I have to keep his aggressors in their spots, as they are highly rowdy in all the ways and require a lot more supervision than he did. And the class is really full. These were also all freshmen, so I wouldn’t be surprised if that affected the victim’s reaction.

So I’d really appreciate advice as to whether I should let it be, or continue as is, or step it up even more, from People of Color in largely white, especially rural, communities. Like any advice from current or previous educators, especially Educators of Color would be appreciated, but specifically southern/rural ones would be wonderful. I’m going to talk to my family members about it, but they’ve lived in more Northern settings their entire lives and they may have less … applicable (?) experience to the situation.

Again, I’m an intern, I’m going to only be there until winter break 2024, and I don’t want to fuck things up for these kids in the long run with my northern ally ‘sensibilities’. Thank you!

[triglycercule]

dust and horror angel and demon themes,,,, they could totally parallel each other...... :3

dust=angel of death described in the delta rune prophecy (self declared) (i DEFINITELY elaborated on this one waayyyy before but anyways dust with a fucked up savior complex SAVE ME SAVE ME.... death is a blessing ass guy. life is torment and he will be the one to liberate monsters from their bodies and with the strength they provide to him be able to take down evil evil creation of pure misery that is the human ✨✨✨ dont worry his evil cackles are to HIDE HIS PAIN of saving everyone....... trust)

horror=demon that dragged everyone in horrortale into hell (as perceived by everyone else) (i think it would be a cool hc if everyone outside of snowdin viewed horror as literally a demon. maybe undyne preaches that. anyone outside of snowdin might be WAYYY worse because they starve for longer and literally take part in cannibalism so they might not have the same sort of mild sanity that snowdin residents do,,,, besides he DID kinda bring them all eternal suffering. kinda. nobody but undyne knows what happened at the core so she could totally just paint the story to blame horror fully)

ANYWAYS i like the possible dynamics this could have :333

dust to horror (please let me kill you PLEASE let me kill you i can end it all so peacefully wouldn't it be nice??? i promise ill make it quick just for you),,, horror to dust (i want you to live and suffer with what youve done i want you to watch all of your choices hit you one day and i'll be there and laugh at you. i'll keep you alive just to keep you suffering ok?)

OR dust to horror (you dont deserve to die you dont deserve to even be hurt by me. not because youre the exception but youre the Exception i absolutely loathe you so youll never get the sweet release of death :3) and horror to dust (just let me die already i dont wanna be here. youre supposed to be a savior right??? an angel?? then why don't you save me already when i need it more than anyone else)

[mixtapedoh]

actually you can go with seungmo + winter falls too. i think he's more of a winter falls girlie than lino. actually anything with winter falls 😭🙏

you knew what you were doing when you paired seungmo with my favorite skz ballad,,,,,,, your support and your mind will never go underappreciated in this house ♡♡♡♡♡

ᴀɢᴀɪɴ, ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɴᴏᴡ ꜰᴀʟʟꜱ (ᴡᴇ ꜰᴀʟʟ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛ)

☄. *. ⋆

pairing: kim seungmin x reader (not endgame) genre: angst, reminiscing word count: ~1k warnings: heartbreak, mentions of blood (metaphor and imagery), all thoughts no plot (sometimes fanfiction is about VIBES and VERSE, not cohesive story telling), gratuitous sneaking in and bastardization of song lyrics

olive's notes: you know know i had to go full tumblr for the title of this fic. song lyric titles (with something in parenthesis) how i love you, how i have missed you, how you changed the very synaptic pathways in my brain ♡. nothing will ever be as influential as you ♡.

consider my mini writing event ?

It wasn't the weather that made you think of him.

No, because that would be all too cliche — tidy and neat — something easy to anticipate and, perhaps, simple to avoid.

In a way, you could blame it on the snow: the soft, fluffy flakes too carefree to be cold, spinning on the barely there wind, a graceful pirouette to a gentle, almost forgotten landing. It was beautiful — the first snowfall of the year — and because it's arrival was so benign (unexpected and mild, creeping into the edges of the day until it's whispered chill tickled your skin and it's gossamer flakes were delicately kissing your head), you had no warning against the flood of memory it would bring in it's wake.

It was the couple on the end of the street that reminded you, though, if we're to be fair to the elements and truthful in the story we tell.

Two figures at the furthest distance from your current standing, hand in hand, startled as they walked out of a shop and into sudden snowfall. The leftmost of the two, seemingly more ecstatic than their loving counterpart, stuck out their tongue, angling their head skyward, and after a moment, laughed in delight, or some approximation of it. They turned to their partner, kissed them on either cheek, and then took off their jacket to place around the other's shoulders. Perhaps there was an exchange of half-hearted argument, but the moment ended with the two of them walking off, one double-braced against the building cold, the other habitually turning their palms to the clemency of snow — as though the moment was pure and this weather something to be held.

Snowflakes fell of your cheeks. If you were to be asked, they were to be blamed for any wetness, there.

Memories come in waves, and they are a vengeful and needy sea: demanding to be realized, sure in the devastation they bear. But how long is it before an experience crystalizes into memory? What is the minimum amount of time that needs to occur before that passage is significant and longing for someone can turn into missing them?

You weren't quite sure if it could be called missing him: this gnawing, guilty feeling accompanying your thoughts of Seungmin.

Once, the two of you had been friends so close, no one could talk about either of you without mentioning the other. His footsteps always following yours, your voice a necessary addition to any of his statements. So close your names spilled into the other, so present there was a space carved in the both of you for the other to reside in. Side by side or in tandem, there were always two.

And there were two, that night, when your warmth was carbonated with a fizz of intimacy and bubbles of desperation. You confessed to the secret of loving him and he worshiped that attachment with his lips. Again and again, a mantra that intensified to the fervency of song.

I love you, love you, love you.

And how many times did you say that before the sentiment set to rot, and the permanence of that phrase became something of the past?

I loved you, loved you, loved you.

Again, snow fell on your cheeks, pulling you just far enough out of your mired thoughts, to remind you to finish your walk to that lonesome, quiet destination called home.

You had Seungmin for longer than you held him, and the feeling of his voice in your mind was more resonant that the touch of his lips on yours. Evocative, cohesive, tenacious — something you couldn't yet unstick from the crevices of your thoughts.

Seungmin beside you, Seungmin whispering into the shell of your ear, Seungmin placing his love in the spot where your neck met your shoulders, the crook of your grin, the place above your heart.

But the wind blew, the novelty faded, the movie ended and you were stuck in the credits where words became meaningless and effort was forgotten in the aftermath of spectacle.

The ease corroded, the bitterness spilled, past tense slipped into the habit of your speech until all the tenderness between you was finished and gone by.

I loved you, and it wasn't his words or yours, but something set on the table for the both of you to consume. A sentiment on which you both engorged and drank dry.

Everything had changed, and yet you were somehow still the same. Seungmin had been so clearly and undoubtedly part of you — you carved out his place inside you alongside him! You hollowed out a space for him, and he for you — and yet with the absence of him, should there not have been something desperate and bloody for you to fix? You had searched and pleaded and clawed at the edges of you to find that void so you might set it to rights, but it evaded you, still.

I loved you.

Perhaps it had already healed over.

Perhaps it had never been.

But still, that unfound cavity ached in you. It was filled with the sound of his voice, and the phrases in his diary he'd let you read and you held to committed memory — it was shaped like the palm of his hand when it cradled you, and it contorted to the essence of his grin.

Would it have been different, had you never said anything all that time ago, and instead chose to keep those feelings in a bottle, only to be uncorked should Seungmin, himself, had fallen first and told you so? Maybe you could have kept that bottle of spirits in the most hidden parts of you, and, on nights when your yearning sharpened to the point of a knife, drank from them — an alcohol of illusion — just enough to get by? Maybe he would have found the bottle, and smashed it to ruin, or maybe he would have loosen it and get the both of you drunk off your own delight.

You would have liked it, perhaps, had he been the one to fall.

Maybe then he would stare at the innocence of snowfall and mix the feeling of it's melt with salty tears.

(ʇɹɐdɐ llɐɟ ǝʍ) sllɐɟ ʍous ǝɥʇ 'uıɐɓ∀

☄. *. ⋆

blog home

[goldentigerfestival]

seeing some of y'all talking about/have talked to some of y'all who have said to me how y'all feel like the dub forced (western especially) masculinity into Yuri, and

yeah.

I left that out of the actual posts themselves because it felt too opinionated for the actual posts (even though you know it's my blog I can do what I want, but I don't want people discrediting me over shit like that), but yeah.

it feels a lot to me like they wanted Yuri to be some cool masculine edgy dude instead of a silly, playful, dorky, emotional, caring man. as if his silliness and emotional side is something to shy away from and isn't "cool enough" for a main character.

it's sad to me because he's such a different person between versions - enough that if I'm interacting with someone who only knows dub Yuri, it genuinely just doesn't feel like we're even talking about the same character sometimes. I want to be talking about the same character, but since some people only know the dub, they only know what the dub made him out to be.

I've seen a variety of things - art, writing, memes, whatever - where there are times I'm genuinely able to be like... that's such a dub Yuri specific thing. like, the way he gets portrayed is something I'm able to look at and be like "that's literally something only dub Yuri would say/do". it's not the fault of people who don't know the original context, but that's why it frustrates me so much - because that's all some people can know contextually (listening to the audio alone gives you a pretty clear indication of how much tone isn't the same between versions, but obviously some people will still be missing context), and the dub changed the experience (and went out of its way to do so) completely for those people. again - not the fault of the people who played the game. it's the fault of the people who were in charge of context/tone and took advantage of that and changed things and made him literally behave differently (because there's... take what's in front of you and translate that, and then there's going out of your way to change what's right there so the context/behavior is no longer the same).

it especially shows to me in interactions with Flynn between the western and JP fandom. the way Yuri behaves interacting with him in fan created media is sometimes vastly different from my experience between both fandoms. again, it's not people's faults who don't know Yuri's original personality, but it is the dub's fault for portraying him that way.

for me it's heartbreaking to see how dub Yuri treats Flynn and how the dub itself narratively treats Flynn. I love the relationship they have in JP and I love them both as characters in JP. like I've said, sometimes I want to punch dub Yuri for the shit he says and the way he behaves. I've never felt that way about Yuri in his original context. I've felt worse for dub Flynn than JP Flynn because I feel like JP Flynn is better cared for by the narrative/characters, but god, poor dub Flynn??? jesus.

the thing is, this comes from a place of strong love for Yuri (and Flynn!) so I hate that they changed things. I always stand by media in its original, purest form, no matter where in the world that media came from. localization absolutely should fix things caused by language barriers and tweak oddly sounding things - sometimes there's no choice! but it's not there to create a newly existing piece of media. it's not there to create a new character plastered on the face of an existing character or to fulfill the loc team's opinion of what that character should be.

it can be difficult - usually impossible - for me to be experiencing JP exclusive content and trying to imagine dub Yuri in those situations (think like, the drama CDs or Rays' content). I know I'm not the only person who feels this way and is extremely bothered by it.

obviously I'm not the be all end all - I'm one person with feelings and opinions, but I just feel very strongly about this kind of thing and I want to share how wonderful of a character Yuri is in his original form. a lot of the clips I posted I posted because I love his silly or caring attitude. I could blab to you about him forever. so, I hope more people will give this man a chance and experience him the way I know him.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

costume design, set mockup, and rehearsal photos from this guide to the show that's like really thorough in providing Context like, mini articles about the creators of the original movie, musical, and movie musical, about other versions of productions, the history, quotes of other commentary, interview quotes, context of other / preexisting genres like b movies, faustian stories, "what if a plant was weird" stories, glossary of terms (such as references that may generally be less obscure if you were in the '60s, e.g.), suggested further reading....haven't read it top to bottom but i think it's fantastic, link to the pdf as post source

[moe-broey]

Was bravies and showed off some of my comics ESP featuring Moe (who I've been extremely protective of up until this point) to my family at The Gathering and received RAVING reviews such as:

"Oh this one is interesting, it looks like he's wearing eyeliner 🙂" - Auntie, about Moe

and

"I don't like the language here 😰😤😮‍💨" - Nana, @ Moe saying Fuck