#when i cowrite a book what then!!!

[pearlessance]

A Dance In The Dark

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Joel has always taken care of you. Always been your kind, attentive protector. And that doesn’t change, even when you read a scene from a dark romance novel and discover your tastes may be a bit more sordid than you once thought. But even in this he wants to grant you your every wish—and when he offers to put on a mask and chase you through the woods, the opportunity is just too wicked to pass up.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content MDNI, feelings of embarrassment and shame, established relationship, Joel ties readers hands with his belt, knife play, BDSM undertones (primal play specifically), sexual aggression, degradation, fingering, p in v, hair pulling, shameless smut this is basically just pure filth

NOTE: this is a cowrite i did with joelmillersgirlfriend! we busted this out in less than two days because i was bound and determined to get this published on the best holiday of the year! please check out her stuff over on AO3 where we have several other cowrites because i love her 🩷

happy halloween my loves 🩷

Read on AO3!

MASTERLIST

You don’t tell him right away. Don’t tell him at all, really. 

Joel discovers your peculiar fascination all on his own.

He’s late coming home from work. His dinner sits on a plate in the microwave, leftovers packaged and put in the fridge for his lunch tomorrow. His lack of punctuality is nothing new, but you’ve always been good at filling the time and finding a distraction while you wait for him. 

On this particular night, you’ve changed out of your clothes and into one of his T-shirts, nestled into a soft cocoon on his side of the bed, book in hand. The tea in your mug on your nightstand has gone tepid, too lost between the pages to consume anything but the content in a timely manner. 

You’d found it in the horror section, a book written by a name you’d never heard of, a story of a young woman’s abduction with overarching themes of perseverance and self-discovery. You find it a bit graphic from time to time, the details of her torment vivid and lifelike. But that’s to be expected in a horror novel and doesn’t surprise you.

The part that does surprise you, however, is the romantic undercurrent between the woman and her captor. He makes declarations of love, fully admitting his obsession with the young woman, claiming to want nothing from her but her own empowerment.

It’s an even bigger surprise when you reach the halfway point and discover that your horror novel is also an erotica. And the text is well-written, pulling you into its depths, and you think it might be the craziest yet best book you’ve ever read if for nothing else than the way it makes your heart race behind your ribcage.

“Is it that good?”

His voice startles you so badly the book falls from your hands and into your lap. “What?”

Joel laughs, a soft sound of amusement. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, toeing off his shoes. He leans over the edge of the bed to press his lips to your forehead, and you find yourself swimming in the subtle affection.

And you know it’s because you’ve been reading smut for the last three hours straight, but the feel of his lips against your skin is heavenly. You abandon the book, tucking the edge of the dust jacket inside the pages to mark your place and discarding it onto the nightstand. It’s second nature as you twist your hands into the soft fabric of his flannel and pull him close.

He smells like pine and sawdust and sweat. His hands are rough and calloused as he cradles your face, lips turning upwards against yours. When you deepen the kiss, sliding your soft tongue against his, Joel laughs again, a little darker this time. He pulls away and the loss makes you whimper because you need him. And the bastard knows it. Because when his gaze roams over your face, lingering on your lips, there’s a heavy undertone of lust behind the playfulness. “S’alright, sweet girl,” he says gently. “None of that whinin’. M’gonna take care of you like I always do. Just wanna know what’s brought this on is all.”

You’re not sure you can admit the truth to him. And even more than that, you don’t have the words to explain that what’s got you so worked up is a scene in your book where the main character is being chased through the woods, her captor wearing a Halloween mask, under the pretense that if he catches her, he’s going to fuck her. Your cheeks warm at just the idea of such an admission, so instead you say, “I just missed you is all.”

Joel doesn’t believe it for a second. He knows you like the back of his hand and sees easily through the lie. And when he glances at your book on the nightstand twice, you know you’ve been caught before he even says a word. “Thought that was one of those scary books you like.”

“It is,” you tell him. Because, technically, it’s the truth.

He narrows his eyes at you, that all-knowing smirk still plastered on his face. “Yeah? Bein’ scared’s what’s got you all squirmy like this?”

As much as you’d like to deny it, to argue his assessment, Joel leans over a little further and his weight on top of you, heavy and sure and safe, makes your breath catch in your lungs. Warmth pools low in your belly and that low, husky tone in his voice only makes matters worse. 

“Think whatever’s in that book’s got you all worked up. What’s it about, baby? Hm?” Joel shoves the blanket out of the way and slides his hand between your body and his. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the feeling of his hands on you, the contrast of his roughness against all your softest parts. It’s like the first time every time, and you can feel the steady thump of your heart as it hammers behind your sternum.

Heat rises up your chest when his hand touches your favorite spot, already knowing what he’s going to say. You’re drenched, the insides of your thighs slick with excitement. Joel breathes out a tell-tale hiss at the feeling, pulling back to glance down at you. Humor is suddenly nowhere to be found on his face, no smirks or teasing words. Just dark, hot lust, turning Joel’s eyes black.

“Christ,” Joel groans, continuing to explore between your legs. 

You don’t want to tell him what the book’s about, and thankfully he seems to forget he’d asked the question as his long fingers find their place, curling inside of you. 

Joel keeps his promise. He takes care of the ache for you like he always does. He makes you finish on his fingers and his tongue and when he finally sinks deep inside you it feels like relief. You warm up leftovers for him afterward, and he doesn’t pressure you about talking about your book. Instead, he tells you about his day while the two of you sit at the kitchen table and the light of his love fills you from the inside out.

You finish the book in less than two days, but its content lives in your head for far longer. 

Showering, cooking, running errands - you find yourself thinking about that scene in the woods so often you begin to wonder if it’s altered your brain chemistry.

That weekend you go out for drinks with a couple of girlfriends, letting Joel know you’ll likely be late coming home. He makes you promise to call him if you need a ride and says he’s going to invite Tommy over to watch the game.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary. Joel’s little brother practically lived with the two of you until Maria stepped into the picture, and you pinky swear to call if you need him.

You don’t, though. You spend more time gossiping and laughing and catching up than you do drinking. But it’s dark when you pull into the driveway, and though you don’t see Tommy’s truck you assume Joel might have picked him up and you fully expect to see him standing in your kitchen with a hand in the fridge grabbing another beer. 

Tommy’s nowhere to be found, though. And there’s no referee calling shots on the flat screen. There’s no sound at all, in fact. At first, it alarms you. But then you see Joel sprawled out on the couch in sweatpants and a navy blue t-shirt with a book in his hand.

He glances up from the pages only long enough to smile up at you and say, “Hey, sweetheart. Have a good time?”

You hesitate, watching him from where you stand at the doorway. Joel read occasionally, but only if he needed to. If he wanted to learn a new song on guitar, if he had taken on a new car project and had to teach himself how to repair it. He didn’t read for luxury.

“Yeah, it was nice. What about you? Where’s Tommy?” you questioned, tiptoeing over to where Joel was spread out. The book was positioned in a way that didn’t allow you to see its cover, but it most definitely wasn’t one of Joel’s manuals. 

Joel turned to grin at you, his eyes scanning your body, stopping to look at the frown on your lips. 

“He canceled, ditched me to hang out with Maria,” he huffed, rolling his eyes. Your frown deepened as you moved closer to Joel, still eyeing the book in his hand that was conveniently covered by his large palms. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve come back sooner,” you said, reaching down to run your palm through his gray-streaked hair. You had convinced him to stop touching up his roots, some sick part of you loving how mature he looked. 

“I didn’t wanna interrupt. ‘Sides, I wanted to see what got you all worked up the other night,” Joel explained casually, finally exposing the book he was holding. All of the colors left your face as you processed what was happening, that he was more than halfway done with the story. Joel was well into reading the disturbing erotica, but somehow still hadn’t put it down. 

“This is some dark stuff. You’re telling me that this is what had you drippin’? Had you clenched around me, legs shaking?” Joel asked, breaking heavy eye contact with you to go back to reading.

“Come on, Joel. Give it back,” you whined, reaching down to pull it out of his hands. The word embarrassed didn’t cover how you truly felt. Mortified was a better fit.

He wrestled around in your hold, turning his back to you and shielding the book with his body. “Not yet, I’m just about to reach the good part. I wanna know what happens when he catches her.”

Maybe not mortified. You were fucking humiliated. Tears threatened to spill as you reached down, pawing at Joel’s arms to grab the book. “Stop it. It’s just a stupid fantasy, I know it’s dumb.”

Joel glanced back to see the wetness filling your eyes, instantly releasing his grip so you could take the book back. His large palm reached up to cradle your face, to comfort you.

“Hey now, I never said it was dumb. I didn’t mean to upset you. I guess I never really knew you were into that kind of stuff. Nothing’s wrong with it.”

His words are sincere and make you feel a little bit better, but you still feel ashamed that Joel had read the book. You know he’d never judge you, but it feels like your closest kept secret has been thrust into the light without your permission. Warmth spreads over your face, down your neck, twisting your stomach into knots. “I know but I…I just didn’t expect you to read it.”

“Then I won’t,” he says quickly, pushing himself up off the couch. He places a warm hand on the side of your neck and says again, “I won’t. I promise. No tears baby, alright?”

You nod and sniffle, trusting him, knowing that his words hold sincerity. Exhaling a long breath, you try to shove the mortification away and focus instead on this man before you who loves you enough to learn everything about you, even the things best kept hidden. 

Joel gives you the book and you shove it in the back of your side of the closet, hidden beneath a shoe box. He helps you out of your dress and showers with you, washing your hair while you tell him all about girls’ night and the newest gossip.

After, when you’re both cozy in bed, wrapped up tight in his strong arms, stealing his warmth with your cold feet against his legs, you think maybe you might’ve overreacted about the book. You know Joel would never judge you, not even about this. You think maybe the embarrassment comes from somewhere within, that maybe it’s more like insecurity than shame. And so you say, “I’m sorry about earlier. You can finish the story if you want.”

Joel presses a kiss into your hair. “Not really my type of book, anyhow.”

Even though he says it mostly to comfort you, the words make you laugh. You bury your face into the crook of his neck and can feel the vibration of his amusement as he shares the moment with you.

And when you both settle enough to speak again, his voice is a little quieter as he asks, “You want me to do that to you?”

This time you fight your shame. Wrap it up tight and store it away for something else, something more worthy than a peculiar taste. You think about yourself in place of the main character, running between thick tree trunks with dead leaves crunching beneath your feet. 

You think of Joel in place of the woman’s captor, mask over his face, presence dark and looming as he seeks you out. A shiver runs down your spine, so sharp and demanding that your body trembles in his hold. 

“S’okay if you do,” he murmurs. You can feel each word through his chest, a delicious tremor against your suddenly too-hot skin. Joel lifts his hand and brushes your hair gently away from your face, thumb tracing the outline of your lips. “Know it did somethin’ to you. Turned you real greedy the other day. Hm?”

Arousal pools low in your belly, and you can hear your heart in your ears. You think he could convince you to do anything when he talks like that, voice low and gravelly. “Maybe,” you say. “I don’t know.”

“Read another part,” he whispers. His thumb travels slowly down your chin, over the curve of your jaw, down the column of your throat. “He’s got that switchblade in his hand. Touches her real nice, all sweet and loving. But he keeps that blade right…” Joel drags his index finger slowly across your neck. “ Here .”

The sound that escapes you is more than need, it’s something else entirely; more like desperation. You didn’t think it was possible to want him any more than you already do but this Joel who strikes just the right amount of fear in you? He makes your mouth water, makes you tremble and shake with just the caress of a single touch.

He grips the back of your thigh with his free hand, pulling you close, pressing you tight against the growing erection behind the cotton fabric of his boxers. Joel’s always been insatiable for you, sometimes getting worked up just from staring at you too long. But you begin to wonder if this is something he wants, too. “Should take you out someplace real nice,” he mutters. “Get all dressed up. You can wear that pretty pink sundress I like. Take you out to a nice dinner, treat you so fuckin’ good…an’ when the sun sets, I’d drive you someplace real dark. Let you loose.” 

Even though he’s barely touching you, thumb stroking the skin of your hip gently, your clit pulses between your legs, hips shifting against him of their own accord. Your breath comes fast and labored and you think you’ve never been this fucking wet before—never wanted him so bad . It feels like you can’t think, can’t breathe without it, without Joel . 

“Give you a head start,” he continues. “Long enough for me to put a mask on. Wouldn’t even let you see it ‘til I catch you…An’ I will catch you, sweet girl…but you’d have no way of knowin’ who it was. Could be me. Could be anyone.”

The idea is filthy and disgusting but your body doesn’t seem to mind. Your spine arches, breasts pressing up against his chest. Joel lays there stone still, holding you, letting you rut against him like a woman starved. “ Please ,” is all you manage to choke out. He hardly acknowledges the word, but you can feel the smirk form on his lips against the shell of your ear. 

“I’d fuck the good girl right out of you,” he says. “Fuck you ‘til you’re nothin’ but a dumb little slut.”

“Jesus— Joel .” He's degraded you before, but it’s never been like this, never felt like this. You reach between your bodies and palm his cock in your hand, and a dark laugh leaves him as he helps you. 

In a few quick movements, he pulls himself out of his boxers, shoves your panties to the side, and sinks his cock inside of you, filling you so full it hurts . But you don’t care, because there’s nothing more you need than this, and thankfully he understands. Like he always does . 

Joel fucks you right then and there, whispering filthy things all the while, and you think he’s always understood you. Maybe even more than you’re able to understand yourself. Older and wiser and gracious—always giving you exactly what you need, exactly what you want. 

Before you fall asleep that night, he kisses you softly and asks, “Do you want me to tell you before it happens? To warn you?”

You’re not sure how to answer at first. Because the concept as a whole terrifies you; it’s new and foreign and dangerous. And you think you might need the warning to calm yourself enough to enjoy it. 

But you trust Joel. More than anyone else in the world, you know he’ll always keep you safe. You know he’d never do anything to hurt you. 

And so, you pull the blankets tighter around your shoulders and say, “No. I want it to be a surprise.”

That night, you dream about a man chasing you through darkness whose hands feel more familiar than your own. You think about it for the next week. Daydreaming at work, while you’re making dinner, while you’re driving to run errands. It’s all you can think about, the only thing that fills the gaps of silence in your day-to-day life. 

You wait. And wait. And wait . 

Joel tells you Friday night that he’ll have to work overtime this weekend to make up for a lost part shipment. Nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary. Saturday morning he encourages you to sleep in, kisses your forehead before he leaves, tells you he loves you. And despite no inclination from him, you have a feeling that today is the day. 

When you wake up a little while later, the sun casts shadows through the blinds, and you notice that Joel’s placed that pink sundress on his side of the bed. Laid it out for you. 

You shower and groom yourself, mentally preparing for the moment it finally happens. It has to be today. And if Joel is lucky and planned it out right, he’d find out that you opted out of wearing panties underneath the sundress. He’d find you slick, shaved, aching in anticipation. 

He notices your nervous excitement when he comes home from work, late and covered in sweat from a long day. You’re practically bouncing on your heels, having spent the entire day filling the time, waiting for his arrival. The sun had already started to set in the distance - you probably only had about an hour left of the day. 

Please, God, let it be today .

“Sorry I’m late, sweetheart. Had an electrician cancel last minute, left me scramblin’ to get the project covered. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” he muttered into your lips as he greeted you. His arms wrapped around you, his body warm and hot against the thin fabric of your dress.

“That’s okay,” you say. “Everything go to plan other than that?”

“Sure did. Finally finished up that warehouse over on Cherry Street. Figured I’d go out and celebrate.”

You find yourself deflating at the words. Because, usually, Joel celebrating the end of a big project means the involvement of Tommy, too. And if Tommy’s there, then tonight is decidedly not the night.

Joel seems to notice the change in your demeanor. He places his hand on the side of your face and drags his thumb down your jutting bottom lip, releasing it with a wet pop . “Wouldn’t be a celebration unless I had a pretty little girl to buy a drink, now would it?”

Either way, even if it’s not tonight, you know you’ll enjoy the time with him like you always do. So you shelve your disappointment and timidly ask, “Will it be…just the two of us? Did you want to invite anyone else?”

He shakes his head, a playful spark glinting in his warm eyes. “Nah. Just wanna take my baby out. Give me a minute to change and we’ll head out. Sound good?”

You know your nod of approval probably looks too hopeful, too excited, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not with this golden excitement fills you to the brim, the anticipation making your hands tingle. 

It only takes Joel ten minutes to change out of his work clothes and into a nice pair of jeans and a flannel, but it feels like forever. He asks you about your day while he drives to your favorite restaurant, and listens intently even though you have nothing interesting to say other than the fact that you’ve changed the curtain on the window above the dining room table.

He opens the car door for you and holds your hand as he directs you through the crowd at the restaurant, and orders for you when the waiter comes over. Even though you get the same thing every time, the gesture makes you feel small and safe and cared for.

You drink a glass of wine, and he tries out some sort of hoppy beer. Joel tells you about a song he heard on the radio that he wants to learn on guitar, but while you try to listen all you can think about is what comes after this.

A million thoughts run rampant through your head. He hasn’t said anything about it, hasn’t given you any hints besides laying the sundress out for you, but the rush of it all weighs heavy on your chest. Paired with the lowered inhibitions from the wine and you interrupt him to say, “Joel. Can you just…can you tell me? I changed my mind. I want to know so bad.”

That playfulness returns to his eyes. He tilts his head the smallest bit and leans over the table to hear your whispered words. “Tell you what?”

“You know ,” you insist. “Don’t make me say it here.” Despite the embarrassment that climbs your cheeks as you listen to the chatter around you, you can’t wipe the grin from your face. You try to hide it behind your hand instead. 

“Can’t say I know what you’re gettin’ at here, girl,” he says. But that knowing smirk says otherwise. You can see the challenge in his eyes, the push for you to ask the question you’ve been swallowing down all night. 

Folding your arms on the edge of the table, you lean in as close as you can and ask so softly, “Are you taking me to the woods tonight?”

He smiles—a big, toothy show of enjoyment, and leans back in the booth. Joel’s big, you’ve always known it…but seeing him now, shoulders broad and rugged, arms straining beneath the cotton sleeves of his flannel… God , he makes you weak. You can feel yourself flush beneath his scrutinization. Can feel the familiar stickiness of your arousal begin to gather between your legs, too. “An’ why would I do that, sweetheart? Ain’t nothin’ out there for a little thing like you.”

The wine is sweet on your tongue as you take the last sip and shrug casually, pretending as if your hands don’t tremble with anticipation. You try to put on a show of confidence. “Never know,” you say. “Could be a big, bad wolf out there that needs hunting down.”

Joel laughs at that, but he’s waving down the next waiter he sees for the check.

When you leave the restaurant, you realize now the sun has fully set and the darkness has descended. The moon hands high in the sky, the only illumination granted apart from the headlight of Joel’s truck. He helps you into the passenger side and buckles you in, hands gentle and caring, always taking care of you. 

Pressing a kiss to your shoulder, he asks a single-word question. One you know is likely equally for his comfort as it is yours. “Okay?”

You are. Despite the fear that begins to rise in your chest, knowing the impending events likely to unfold, despite the shadows and the traversing of the unknown, you know that you’ll always be safe with Joel. “I’m good,” you promise.

He drives for far longer than you expect. Past every stoplight, outside of the city limits, weaving through the backroads until you’re well and truly lost. Every time you pass a wooded area you think he’ll slow to a stop, but he doesn’t. And every moment fuels the adrenaline coursing through you, ratcheting both your panic and excitement to immeasurable heights.

When he does finally stop, pulling off to the side of a road you swear you’ve never been down before, your heart is beating so fast you can hear it in your ears. 

He pulls the key from the ignition and the lights cut out, wrapping the both of you in complete darkness. You can make him out just enough, though. Enough to see the predatory look on his face, enough to sense the danger you’ve placed yourself in.

Your mouth goes dry and your brain goes fuzzy as you watch Joel reach into his pants pocket, pulling out a switchblade that glimmers in the moonlight. The small knife makes a snapping noise when it opens, gleaming, taunting you. Excitement buzzed through your body, a nagging voice in the back of your head screaming to run. 

“Better get a move on,” Joel whispers, his face shadowed and lips pressed into a grim line. The energy had shifted so quickly that you were uncertain what to do. Even if you did try to run, you doubted that your shaking body would make it very far. 

A brooding intensity surrounded Joel, and even though he barely moved to reach back and grab something out of the back seat, the air still felt tense with a silent warning. In his free hand was a gas mask, worn and frayed. The round, glass eye lenses were clouded, displaying its years of disuse. He reached up with one hand to slip the mask down his face, leaving only his eyes revealed.

The white-hot heat that was burning through your veins somehow ignited even further when he finally locked eyes with you. Joel’s eyes were narrowed, carrying a different energy behind them; one that was full of mischief and lust. The moment lasted for a couple of beats…

One, two, three…

And then Joel’s hand snapped out, reaching rapidly to lock around your wrist. Thinking, breathing; none of it mattered. The only thing on your mind was running, some animalistic survival instinct that you didn’t know still existed within you taking over. Your wrist easily slipped out of his grip as you flung open the car door, escaping Joel and running into the dark forest.

There was a chill in the air that made your breath fan out in front of you while you ran, your heavy footsteps practically echoing through the woods. Every couple of moments you would stop and glance around, attempting to see through the endless rows of trees. You didn’t see anything and only heard the sound of your own breathing.

Joel could be scary when he wanted to. Like that one time, a couple weeks into knowing him. Some asshole had followed you around the grocery store late one evening, trailing behind aisle after aisle until your hands were shaking in fear. Joel was one of the only people you had befriended in town since you were new to the area. 

He’d showed up five minutes after you’d called him, despite the fact that you knew he lived over ten minutes away. Joel approached the man, and you were grateful that you weren’t the one he was speaking to. Despite not hearing his words from where you were standing, you could see the dark anger on his face, a look that made your blood run cold. 

The guy who was following you left immediately after, scurrying off with his tail between his legs. Joel followed you home in his truck even though your apartment was on the other side of town. He’d never been scary to you .

Until now. 

Joel’s body came out of nowhere, grabbing you and yanking you against him. The switchblade pressed onto your throat, your heartbeat pounding against the cold metal. You couldn’t see Joel since his vice-grip had your back pushed on his chest. 

“You call that running?” he asked, letting his fingers skate down the skin of your thigh, just under the low cut of your sundress. His calloused fingertips caught against your soft skin,  raising higher and higher.

“I think you wanted me to catch you. Here you are, lettin’ me rub on you like the little slut I knew you were. I haven’t even properly touched you yet, but you’re already spreading your legs for me.”

Your face warmed at his degrading words. He was right. The excitement of the story wasn’t only the anticipation, but it was the thrill of the hunt. As much as you wanted Joel to touch you, to make your vision blur just from using his fingers, you knew you couldn’t give in so easily. 

With all of your strength, you push away both of his hands, ripping out of his grip. He reached down to grab you but you snatched his shirt instead, pulling at it fiercely in an attempt to dodge under him. You heard the fabric rip, but you were too afraid to really acknowledge it. 

You took it as an opportunity to escape, dodging Joel’s grasp. You wasted no time in steadying yourself before sprinting away, only sparing a quick glance back to see Joel. His shirt was half ripped, the gas mask blocking any form of expression on his face. 

“Damn, baby,” Joel spoke. He stood, shrugging off his flannel before using the switchblade to finish ripping the fabric of his shirt. “If you wanted me to get naked, you should’ve just said so.”

As much as you wanted to watch the way Joel’s chest flexed in the moonlight, you couldn’t handle any distractions. You had to run.

And you did run for what felt like hours. By the time you stopped for a moment, your heartbeat was in your throat and you could feel a slick mess building between your thighs. Your legs were speckled with dirt and pieces of leaves from the way you were kneeling on the ground, searching for Joel. 

You didn’t see anything extraordinary through the branches of the forest, but you heard something. A snap.

It was enough to get you back on your feet in an attempt to flee.

You couldn’t see him, but you could feel him. Though your eyes betrayed you, you could sense his closeness, could sense the space between you lessening with each passing moment. Sweat beads at your hairline and your panting echoes between the trees.

The cracking sound of wood beneath his heavy work boots cuts through the deafening silence, and you turn abruptly and throw yourself in the opposite direction. But Joel’s fast, too fast . 

He catches up to you in a second, and you know you won’t get lucky twice, yet still you try. You push your legs as hard as you can, running as fast as you can, trying to navigate the uneven terrain.

Joel’s fingertips grasp your shoulder, and you pull away from him so violently you lose your balance, scraping your knees against the rough forest floor.

You quickly turn onto your back, kicking yourself away from him, trying to see through the thick fog of terror in your mind. His slow breaths sound mechanical through the gas mask’s respirator. He looms over you menacingly, looking every bit the wicked man you know he can be.

His shoulders rise and fall slowly, his breaths even while you struggle to catch yours. He tilts his head, a predator indulging in the chase.

And you know right then that you’ve been caught. Stuck in the spider’s web with no hope of extraction. Your voice shakes when you speak. “Joel?”

There’s no softness in him now. None of that gentle ease he always has with you. He lowers himself to the ground, knees on either side of your hips, and grabs for your hands.

You struggle against his hold, even knowing it’s useless. He wraps a calloused palm around your wrists and squeezes tight, and when you buck your hips up against him, trying to wiggle out from beneath his heavy weight, it serves no purpose but to further diminish the little energy remaining in your weary limbs. 

Joel raises your arms above your head, pushing your too-sensitive skin deep into the earth, trapping you in place. You can hear the clicking of his tongue behind the mask. “Stupid little girl,” he says. “Never had a chance. Did you?”

His voice is muffled, deeper. You know it’s Joel. Behind the fear, behind the adrenaline, you know it’s him. But it doesn’t sound like him, not in the way you’re so accustomed to, and it sends a chill down your spine.

He adjusts his position, sliding down your legs just enough to grip the bottom of your dirt-stained sundress and rip it upwards. The air feels like ice against your center, slick with your arousal. You clit pulses with need, despite the way you still fight him, struggling nonsensically in his tight hold. “Look at how fuckin’ wet you are, baby,” he says. “Haven’t even touched you yet an’ that pretty pussy’s just fuckin’ crying for it, ain’t she?”

Your spine bends, arching off the ground. The sounds that leave your mouth are animalistic, a desperate whimpering, a wanton need.

And then suddenly his hand is tangled in your hair, pulling hard at the roots, holding your head up just enough to witness your exposure. “I said look ,” Joel grits out. “Want you to watch just how fuckin’ selfish she is. You listenin’ to me?”

“Yes— yes, ” you choke out. The muscles in your neck strain to keep your head held high enough to see the moment he lets go of your hair. But you heard him loud and clear, and you do just as he says.

His hand slips between your legs, and you fight the urge to let squeeze your eyes shut as his fingers slide over your clit. He circles it roughly and you can feel yourself clench around nothing, your body begging to be filled, begging for Joel . He uses the perfect amount of pressure, deft fingers moving fast, and it takes less than a minute before that familiar warmth begins to trickle in. 

But you want more, you always want more, and so you find yourself lifting your hips upwards, trying to shift his hand lower, trying to let him know right where you need him most. 

Joel laughs. A sick, maniacal sound that sends a cold flood of terror through you. “See? What’d I say? Fuckin’ greedy ,” he says. You know it’s meant to be an insult, but there’s a strange fondness as he says it. An undertone of worship.

You sigh out his name, unable to form another word, forgetting all else that came before this moment, disregarding all things that may come after. All that matters is this, all that matters is him . 

“She wants it so bad,” he murmurs. “An’ I’m gonna give it to her.” His movements are cruel and almost painful as he turns you over, pulling your hips out from under him. Joel shifts your wrists to his other hand and sets them against the small of your back, using his free hand to force your head down. The earthy smell of decaying leaves greets you, and you greedily suck in cold breaths of air, trying to will your heart to slow its racing. 

You can’t see his movements but you can feel him shift behind you, and a second later can hear the familiar clink of his belt buckle and the swish as he rips it from the loops of his jeans. The bite of leather is harsh as he winds it around your wrists, tightening it in a familiar, practiced way.

“Joel,” you breathe out. It sounds like a plea in your ears, and maybe it is. Because everything is too much, too intense . You need all of him, you think. Need the wickedness, that dark thing he’s been hiding all this time. But you need your Joel, too. The one who buckles you in, who kisses your forehead before he leaves for work in the morning. The one you know will always keep you safe, even when he defiles you. “ Joel ,” you say again. 

His hands freeze on your hips, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin as he leans over and presses his cheek to yours. He waits for you to speak, giving you as long as you need to sort through the heightened emotions. 

Your brain feels like mush and you struggle to form a coherent thought that’s more than one or two words strung together. You know you’re terrified. But you know, too, that you don’t want him to stop. And so all you manage to say is a barely audible, “I love you.”

He cradles your head in his hand, thumb stroking gently over your temple. And then he runs his nose over the curve of your jaw, and though he doesn’t say it, doesn’t break the spell he’s so carefully created in order to indulge your wildest fantasies, you know that no one has ever loved anyone the way that Joel Miller loves you. 

But just as quickly as that gentleness appeared, it vanishes into nothing like the fog of your breath in the cold air.

“Gonna show you what happens when little girls roam into the woods,” he says. You can feel his erection as he presses it against you, heavier and harder than you think it’s ever been before. “Can try an’ hunt down the big bad wolf all you want. But if he catches you …”

You’re a trembling mess in his strong hands. His words are the only beacon keeping you grounded, you’re certain of it. 

The metal teeth of his zipper grate as he pulls it down and undoes the button of his jeans, pulling his cock out. He slides the head through your arousal, coating himself in your slick. “Just know, whatever he decides to do with you is gonna hurt .”

And then he’s pushing his length into you in one smooth movement, leaving you no time to adjust to the size of him. The stretch is painful and foreboding, every muscle in your body tensing up at the impact. “ Fuck— oh my God —”

“Can pray all you want, but there’s no one out here to save you,” he spits. Joel doesn’t give you a single second to breathe before he’s rocking his hips into you, setting a punishing pace. You can feel his cock throb inside you, can feel that he’s enjoying this just as much as you are. 

You grit your teeth against the pain of it, fingers flexing in his grip. “ Joel —I can’t—!”

“Yes, you can, baby,” he says, voice low and echoing. “I know you can. So shut up and fuckin’ take it.” He leans over you, pressing the side of your face into the ground. You can taste moss and earth but with each thrust, the pain is quickly subsiding, replaced instead with a blinding pleasure. 

That warmth builds again, coiling around your spine. Pressure builds quickly and you can feel yourself dripping around him, making a mess of the coarse hair above his cock. “Joel— fuck .”

He reaches on hand around your hip, easily finding your clit and strumming it with swift, practiced movements. You clench around him and he lets out a deep groan in response. When he leans forward and tells you, “Open your mouth,” you do so immediately, brain fuzzy and overstimulated, unwilling to do anything unless he tells you to. 

Joel slides two of his fingers into your mouth and shoves them so far down you nearly choke. It’s instinctual when you close your swollen lips around him and suck. 

You can hear the smile in his words as he speaks. “There you go,” he mutters. “Told you how this would go, didn’t I? Told you what would happen. Nothin’ but a dumb little slut for me now, baby, hm? Yeah?” 

All you can do is nod, unable to form a single coherent thought. Your orgasm hits hard and fast, almost unexpected. It washes through you, electricity dancing beneath your prickling skin. Your moans reverberate through the trees, and you’re suddenly glad he’s driven you so far out so no one can hear you. 

“Oh, she likes that ,” Joel says, talking you through it, circling your clit and fucking into you a little harder. “Likes the way it feels to be all full’a me, hm? Yeah, there you go. Gonna give this pretty pussy just what she needs.” 

His rhythm falters, staggering just the smallest bit. And while he’s just given you the best orgasm of your fucking life, there’s something about this that makes you feel finally satisfied, full in a way you’ve never been before.

The moment he bottoms out inside of you, Joel turns you on your back and pulls the mask off of his face. His cheeks are flushed and rosy, but there’s a sense of completion in his eyes that you’re sure is mirrored in your own. He kisses your cheeks, your forehead, the bridge of your nose. 

And all you can say is, “Oh my God.”

Joel laughs. It’s one of those full, good-natured belly laughs. Your favorite kind. “Well? Was I better than your book?”

You cover your face with your hands, muffling your giggles between your fingers. “Much better.”

[deception-united]

Writing Software I Use & Recommend

Brainstorming:

Campfire: Great for organising your thoughts and making detailed character profiles, customised maps, worldbuilding, plot organisation—amongst other features. You can write your manuscript here and post it; and they have many helpful writing tips on their blog. Here's a general overview (customisable):

Notion: Although not conventionally a writing software, I find it immensely helpful for getting my thoughts sorted out. It's organised and easy to navigate, and the interface is manageable and uncluttered. (Keep in mind it's hard to cowrite on Notion—if you're planning to, I suggest making a separate Gmail account and both logging in with that.)

Microsoft Word, with spellcheck off, in Comic Sans (I saw the font thing somewhere and hate that it works). This is what I use when writing excerpts or spontaneous ideas, and it's actually quite effective, though I couldn't tell you why.

Writing/Editing:

Reedsy: The manuscript editor is organised and lets you set writing goals, split chapters, and jot down notes for later. I highly recommend it for authors looking to self-publish—once you're done, you can format and export your book as an eBook or PDF; and you can connect with various editors and find the one that's right for your novel.

Scrivener: Although, unlike the others I've mentioned so far, this software isn't free, the formatting is great for making an outline, collecting any research and notes, and writing your manuscript.

Feel free to add on any more you know of! Hope this was helpful ❤

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[wrathofrats]

Seeing blind (you’re too good to be all mine)

Chapter 2, read under the cut or on ao3

(Part 1) (special thanks as always to my cowriter, @divine-misfortune)

2.9k, teen audiences, no warnings apply

Rain wants to apologize, Swiss wants to kiss him, the barn has other plans in store.

Rain avoids Swiss like the plague for a couple days. He can barely leave the house because at least then he can be certain he won’t have to see him. His room is stuffy and confining but at least he can read and try and forget the way Swiss held him or how big his hands were or-

This is bad for him. It’s distracting him, he can’t think of anything else even if he desperately wants to. The characters in his stories suddenly turn into him and Swiss, daily chores come with an image of Swiss standing next to him. He feels like he suddenly developed an illness or something with how bad this dumb crush is.

Rain shoves his meatballs around at dinner. The patterns in his spaghetti and his dumb daydreams much more interesting than whatever his father was rambling about.

“I’m thinking about firing a couple of the hands, works getting slower and I need some fresh workers who haven’t learned how to slack off all the time”

Rains ears perk up. He can’t, he can’t just fire them now after he has to pine 24/7 over one of them. Or maybe it’s for the best, maybe it’ll make him think better. Whatever it is has him speaking before he realizes what he’s saying.

“I think they’re doing fine, it’s cold outside cut them a break. That one worker … Sam? He’s been doing well”

His dad gives a confused chuckle, “Swiss? And how would you know how they’re doing”

“Well I’ve been-“

“Have you been hanging around the hands again? You know what i told you rain. I don’t like you being around them, they’re not good for you.”

Rain shrinks a bit in his seat. He stares down at his dinner because he knows he shouldn’t be. He’s a good son, doesn’t often break the rules and even if this one is stupid there’s a part of him that still feels ashamed.

“I’m not, I’ve been reading outside. The weather’s nice and it gets stuffy, I’ve just been watching in between pages, you deserve to know how your employees act when you’re not around” he scrambles. Rain looks up with a hopeful glint in his eyes that his dad will believe him. His dad looks like he barely buys it, but he sighs. It’s been dropped for the time being at least.

The rest of the meal is pretty quiet besides small talk from his parents about the bruising of some of the plants or whatever they liked to discuss. Rain shoved a couple more bites of spaghetti into his mouth before throw his dish in the sink and heading upstairs for bed.

The window of his loft always had the best light as the sun went down. Not too bright to blind him but just enough that he could sit and read comfortably. It has a great view of the barn and field, nice entertainment whenever he wanted to see what everyone else was up to.

Rain watched the sun fall behind the trees. The barn light was still on. The doors swung open as Swiss popped out to grab another bag sitting outside of it, dragging it inside. He didn’t usually stay this late, almost everyone goes home before sundown.

His heart beats in his chest. He could go down there, he could see him again. Last time they talked he left pretty rudely and honestly rain feels bad about the situation. Swiss deserves an explanation if nothing else.

The blood in his head rushes by his eyes as he closes his book and hops up to put his shoes on. His dad is still awake, theres no doubt about that. And after their conversation at dinner if he found rain sneaking out? He would probably never be allowed to leave the house again.

Rain creeps down the stairs quietly as he can. His father is still watching tv, evident from the changing lights in the living room, and he prays the extra noise will drown him out. Rain doesn’t break rules often, he’s a good kid but something about this boy has him acting unwise. Swiss is alluring, as nice as can be but cocky and too flirtatious for rain to be able to act normally.

As he sneaks through the door and the cool air hits him he realizes he has no real excuse to be out there. Does he just unabashed go up to Swiss and make it obvious he was watching? Or does he try his little act that he has something else to do and Swiss being there was purely a coincidence. Swiss never believes him anyways.

Rain keeps looking back at the house as he walks, scared that his dad really did hear him and is going to bust through their front door to scold him and drag him inside. He looks at the windows, the car, any place his dad could go and see him sneaking out.

Swiss appears in front of him before he can stop himself.

He runs straight into him before he can even finish his worrying. Face first and nearly sends him onto his ass before Swiss is instinctively grabbing his waist trying to keep him upright.

“What are you doing out rainy?” Swiss chuckles, making sure he can stand on two feet before letting go.

Swiss didn’t budge when rain ran into him, sturdy and commanding and fucking grabbed rain by the waist so he wouldn’t fall over. Rain flounders, barely registers that Swiss was even talking.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Just asking what you’re doing out, don’t you have a curfew after dinner tadpole?”

Rain just looks at him as his cheeks heat up. He doesn’t have a good excuse ready.

"Oh just...taking a walk, it gets stuffy in the house ykno-" and it's so obvious it's a lie, it's almost endearing. Rain stumbles back, trying to get more breathing room. The nickname flusters him and the way Swiss has his arms crossed in front of him so he can see how big his arms are even through his sweatshirt.

That stupid smirk doesn’t leave his face either. Swiss is sure he knows why rain is out this late, and honestly this little display is cute. He decides to play dumb, just for fun.

“Oh well if that’s all then I’ll just get back to-“

“No- wait-“

Swiss tips his head to the side and rain is looking back over his shoulder again nervously. They’re just standing out in the open and they really shouldn’t be, but nervous looks adorable on him.

"Thought your daddy didn't want you hanging around with all of us rough folk."

"Maybe he doesn't - I'm an adult though, I can do what I like." Rain crosses his arms in front of him. He sneers at the ground. Part of him is embarrassed because he is an adult, he doesn’t need to be coddled and the fact that everyone else knows what kind of stupid rules he follows makes it that much worse. The other part of him is just angry. Rebellious. He wonders if he would be taking this many risks if he has free reign of his life, or if Swiss is truly just that appealing.

"Oh? You can, can you? So what is it you like then?"

The answer is obvious and Rain could just die, one more look over his shoulder and he's grabbing Swiss by the wrist and pulling him into the barn where at least they won't be seen. The guilt starts to come back. Quick thoughts about wanting to kiss Swiss again melt into a shameful pit because he truly hasn’t explained himself yet.

“Fuck- Swiss I’m sorry about the other night. I never apologized for what happened” rain started. He played with his fingers as Swiss opened the doors to let them inside. “What I did was rude and you didn’t deserve for me to freak out and leave you like that”

Fuck, now he’s babbling. He wants to make it look like he only pulled Swiss in there to apologize and for nothing else after shoving him into the shadows.

“I almost thought you didn’t like it” Swiss admits, just a little bit of his own bashfulness showing through. Rain stumbles a bit at the insinuation that he did enjoy it.

“I didn’t- I mean-“ rain stutters over an excuse for himself. Obviously he enjoyed it, but he can’t seem like he’s that easy. But on the other hand it would be cruel to make Swiss think he really actually didn’t.

“Well if that’s the case then what did you pull me in here for”

“I wanted to apologize asshole” there’s a petulance to his voice that Swiss can’t help but encourage. Continue to poke and prod at his strings until he tells the truth.

“I still have stuff to get done rainy, can’t believe you’re trying to be a bad influence and keep me from my work”

“I’m not”

“Oh what would your dad think, tsk”

It's dark aside from that little bit of the orange light of evening filtering through the slats in the door and the light hits just right in Swiss' eyes, they look like amber and honey and rains heart is pounding - trying to keep his cool, Swiss gets him so tongue tied it’s hard to even keep a conversation.

"He's not going to think anything about it, he doesn't need to know I'm here." Rain takes another look at the crack in the barn door, stepping backwards more into the shadows.

"Ohh we're rebelling are we? Next thing I know you'll be asking for a cigarette and sneaking wine coolers-"

"I'm not a child."

And maybe he imagines it

But he swears Swiss gives him a slow once over. His eyes glancing down and coming straight back up with a cocky smile.

“Yeah but you’re a priss, just the farm princess aren’t you”

And the nickname shouldn’t get to him because it doesn’t mean anything but rain visibly blushes and tightens up when he says it

“I am not, I can be just like the rest of you”

“Prove it then”

Rain gets a little too antsy, a little too irritated, just grabs him by the collar and smashes their lips together

He can feel Swiss grinning, knowing full well he won, and Rain is annoyed but he doesn't care, the only thing in his brain is need him need him need him and it's embarrassing how bad it is. He tries to remember how Swiss did it the first time, not entirely sure what he's doing still, and Swiss could leave him to fumble but he can't pass up the opportunity to take over.

Something about guiding sweet and naive rain is honestly too tempting for him. He lets him awkwardly try and figure it out before correcting him, giving a small there you go, between kisses and Swiss swears he hears a high pitched sound in the back of rains throat.

“Princess likes a little praise?” Swiss chuckles when rain stops to breathe. His pupils are blown wide and he’s still clutching his shirt so he can get too far away from him. He’s adorable, and Swiss can’t tell if he wants to eat him up or absolutely tear him apart.

Swiss. An see whatever gears rain has left in his head turning, trying to decide if he wants to protest against the princess thing or not. Rain gives a quick look or irritation before he fully processes the comment, and just stumbles because how exactly is he supposed to respond to that?

“Tell me what you want rainy and I’ll give it to you”

Rain doesn’t know the answer. It’s an instinctual question and rain can’t help but stare at him wide eyed while Swiss just gives a small chuckle. It almost feels wrong, he’s rushing it and he doesn’t want to scare rain off now that he finally has him.

“That’s ok,” Swiss smiles

“No, come here I want to try this again” rain tugs Swiss’ arm and climbs up the ladder. He thinks he’s got it now, that he can actually kiss Swiss without seeming like a complete idiot. They crawl back into the loft and rain makes Swiss sit exactly where he found him the first time, and it’s so horribly endearing.

“Well?” Swiss asks once rain just looks at him, “what are you waiting for?”

Rain hesitates for a second, swallowing thickly before putting his hand on Swiss’ cheek and moving his face closer to his. There’s an initial pause when Swiss is close enough to feel his breath on his lips, like rain has to think about what to do before he tenderly kisses him. It’s slow, soft at first before rain gains any more confidence in his actions.

There’s no more thought in the process. Simply autopilot as rain can’t think of anything besides how good he tastes and how nice he feels against him. Swiss still tastes like apples, fresh from the orchard and honestly he should tell him to stop stealing the produce but god if it makes him taste like this when they kiss rain doesn’t think he could ever tell him no.

Swiss backs them up to the pile of hay that had been matted down from endless people laying on it. A decent space, better than the old wood floor. Rain lays down easily, still connected to Swiss.

He’s dizzy, the kisses are slow and deep and god it feels like they’ve been doing this for hours but rain simply can’t think straight in a situation like this.

Swiss pulls away from him for a minute just to admire him. Even in the dark his lips are kiss swollen and the prettiest shade of red he’s even seen, accompanied by a blush that says he’s still embarrassed and new to this and god Swiss could stay in this position forever.

“Wait- Swiss what time is it?” Rain sits up after a second, realizing that the sun was already all the way down now.

“Um, probably about 10? Why what’s wrong rainy” Swiss moved to stand up, offering a hand to rain to pull him up beside him. He looked worried, like he was about to panic.

“Shit my dads asleep, I can't go back in now” he says. He starts to pace a little, trying to think of options. His dad always goes to bed at 9 because he had to be ready by 6, and this has never been a problem because rains never snuck out before. It’s too quiet, his dad is a light sleeper and that old door creaks like no one’s business.

“Could you sleep here tonight? Sneak back in once he’s already out in the field?” Swiss asked

“I mean, I could. Probably my only option” rain sighs loudly and plops down back into the hay. It’s a lot less comfortable the second time around, every little piece poking his skin and reminding him that he will have to stay here tonight. His light sweater doesn’t do much to keep him warm either, it’s particularly cold even for this part of the season.

“Hold on, there’s a couple extra blankets that the horses use in the winter, just washed them too” Swiss scrambled down the ladder while rain just sat in his corner. Maybe the night would go fast, he would fall asleep quickly and tomorrow he could lay in his bed as much as he wants to.

Swiss threw a heap of blankets back up into the loft, climbing up beside them.

“Got extra for pillows too, hay in your hair isn’t comfortable, ask me how I know”

Rain smiles, grabbing the pile and picking one out to shove under his head, and another to put over himself. It wasn’t the best makeshift bed but it would do for the couple hours at least.

“Thank you Swiss, you’re too nice. I’ll see you tomorrow”

“What? No silly I’m not leaving you all alone” Swiss says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He places himself right next to rain with the other blankets, covering up and laying down.

“Swiss no, you work tomorrow you don’t have to do this”

“I’m a gentleman after all. Besides there’s all sorta things that go bump in the night like coyotes and what have you, It'd be cruel to leave you all on your lonesome” a part of Swiss feels bad. He’s the one that kept rain out so late. Maybe he is a bad influence on him for keeping him so long.

Swiss pulls rain close to him with his hands clasped in his because they feel so cold Swiss wonders if it’s painful. Besides, Swiss runs hot anyways. He warms him up right in his side with rain using Swiss’ arm more as a pillow than the blanket, nuzzled into his neck with soft exhales against his collar bone.

Rain drifts off soon enough, barely even concerned with the predicament anymore. But Swiss? Swiss can’t sleep a wink. It’s his turn to be plagued by a pretty boy and god he’s got it bad. All he can do is watch him and not move a muscle in fear of disturbing his beauty sleep. Though Swiss is positive he would be beautiful even without it.

Swiss doesn’t want to admit to himself the swell of pride that comes with how fast rain falls asleep in his arms. He leans down to give him a small kiss against his forehead carefully, whispering a soft goodnight before getting content with the fact that he’s not sleeping at all, head dancing with only thoughts of rain.

[romanarose]

If You Wanna be Wild: Chapter 7

Co-written with @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction my beloved Fen, who I could not do this without. Thank you for being my emotional sounding board, my dear friend, my wonderful cowriter and helpful beta reader. I adore you.

Javier Peña x Latina!sex worker!informant!Reader x Santiago Garcia

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Summary: Everything falls apart and evryone is alone.

Content and warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter unless something is added: Sex work, drug trade, some drug use/pressured used, sex workers and the mistreatment/stigma surrounding them specifically in the 70’s (my blog is sex worker positive) but ima put potential dub con depending how you look at it as a sex worker who works with dangerous men, some action surrounding reader and the guys and the drug trade, SMUT HEAVY, corruption kink (were corrupting santi here, he’s young, 25), no loss of virginity tho, threesomes, some slight m/m smut but that’s not the focus here, but as you know this blog is an lgbt blog so I’m always open to gay shit. Talk of war and some PTSD but I won't be going a whole lot into it. Covert/emotional incest in the past, Santi's mommy issues, m/m dynamics, internalized bi/homophobia

Reader speaks Spanish and has hair. I've decided Candy is just latina bc she's a sex worker in Colombia so this is what I'm doing. Reader also has curly hair and dark skin.

ADDITIONAL WARNINGS!:mentions of rape an violence, what happened to Helena, smut, repressed feelings, angst.

Almost everything was written by Fen <3

2.7k words

Support writers! Reblog and comment!

**************

There was no making up. There was no Javi bringing Santi food as an apology, there was no talking. 

When Santi walked into the office on Monday, he saw the fucking desks rearranged, Javier’s and Santi’s on other sides of the room instead of pushed face to face. Santi quickly rushed to the bathroom where he panic vomited and had an anxiety attack, resulting in him being 45 minutes late. Javi didn’t say anything about it.

Where Santi couldn’t eat, Javi couldn’t stop eating, munching down food and taking frequent trips to the vending machine. His doctor was going to kill him. Santi could barely function, even coming in late or leaving early which was a cardinal sin in his book. Still, none of it stopped him from seeing Candy. Occasionally Candy asked about him because all month Javi hadn’t been to see her either. Santi couldn’t get much answer either.

They worked, but mostly separately. Javi had even been trying to find somewhere else to work, but there weren’t exactly free rooms in the precinct. They talked occasionally but only about Lorea… making Santi desperately lonely. He had his family and he loved his tias, but they weren’t Javi. It was the day of the rally for the beatification of Laura Montoya, which forced them to be in close proximity as they dressed in plain clothes and scouted the area for any sign of the Lorea family. Not wanting to look too much like officers on alert, Santi tried making conversation, none of which was working with Javi, only getting few word answers. 

The boy was going to drive him absolutely batshit insane if he didn’t stop talking. It was bad enough he kept asking. ‘Should we get food’ or ‘it’s nice out today’, but his voice mixed with the crowds and noise and music and chatter or the rally, people shouting about whoever it was they were here for, politicians trying to stop them and constantly flashbacks of that night of the ball… Then Santi had to go and say 

“She misses you.”

“You mentioned her name one more fucking time and I’ll-”

“You’ll fucking what?” Santi snapped, his nerves had twisted, hardened suddenly by rage. 

His anger took Javi by surprise, he’d never heard him speak like that to anyone let alone him. 

Santi took his pause as indignation. “I mentioned Candy once. Once. And that’s only because you haven’t seen her, or called her or anything!” He hissed. “She’s worried about you actually, she-”

It was Javi’s turn to snap. 

He grabbed the younger man by the back of his collar and pulled him into a side alley, using his own momentum against him and slamming him up against the brick wall. 

Sant let out a little huff of air as his back collided, gritting his jaw as pain raced along his back. 

The action had been forceful, but not enough to cause discomfort for most people. However, a rough, uneven lump of mortar had poked oddly against the scar at the nape of his neck, sending a tingle down his back.

Javi rammed the heel of his hand into the wall next to Santi’s head, using his height to his full advantage as he leaned over him like he was interrogating a suspect instead of a colleague. A friend. 

Santi breathed hard, his frown pinching his eyebrows together, and Javi would say he even looked cute if he wasn’t so bloody annoying, so obsessed with getting under his skin. Unable to let anything go, constantly digging at him in his self-righteous attitude, just needing to push, and push, and push, and…

Cute. The thought caught him off guard. When had he started to think of Santiago as cute?

“What the fuck are you doing Peña?” He growled, puffing his chest out, but not pushing back. 

Javi shook his head slightly, trying to break his racing mind, trying to get back to reality. “Candy, look, you can’t just-”

“She’s an adult Javi, I can-”

“You’re going to get her killed!” His voice raised at the end, louder and more desperate than he had intended, with just the slightest waver. He hoped Santi didn’t hear it, but he probably did. Nothing got past him. “Do you understand?” Santi glared at him, the muscles in his jaw flexing. Those stupid large doe eyes looking painfully dark and enticing. “You’re flaunting her. Taking her to the ball and, and-”

Santi scoffed. “That’s none of your business, I asked her, I-”

“You’re gonna get her gutted and dumped on the side of the road!” Javier screamed, haunting flashbacks to Helena’s beaten and raped body, wrapping his coat around her and having to carry her out, not sure if she was dying or not. “You know how easy it would be for Lorea to do something? This isn’t even a put two and two together situation, Pope, it’s you waving a four right in his fucking face! And what do you think is gonna happen when he takes her, huh? When he beats her and rapes her an tortures her to get information on YOU!” 

Santi swallows, his face still hard, but that little bob of his Adam’s apple draws Javier’s eye, but he doesn't respond. Javier lowers his voice, fist still gripping Santi’s jacket.

“She’s not gonna give you up, she’s not gonna help them hurt you. She’s gonna end up dead. You’re gonna…” He closed his eyes for a moment, took a small breath. It was easier not to look at him, not to have to stare at his soft eyes and plump lips. “You’re gonna end up dead too, Pope. I can’t… I’ve seen it, okay?”  

Javier screwed up his face, opening his eyes so that he could look at Santi man to man. Implore him to see reason. 

“I’m not telling you to stop seeing her, I’m just saying.... I’ve seen shit happen to girls in her line of work. To officers like you that are still wet behind the ears to this kind of thing-” The second it was out of his mouth, he knew he’d made a mistake. 

“I’m not a fucking child, Peña.” Santi hissed, pressing forward and getting up in Javier’s face. “I know that’s what everyone at the station seems to think and all their little Virgin Maria mierda. I don’t care. I don’t give a fuck if all they see is that.” He pushes firmly on Javier’s chest, almost smacking as he punctuates his sentence. “But I thought you’d know better! I was black ops special agent, I spend years of my life in almost every goddamn continent doing retcon, assassinations, covert operations and rescuing women and children and getting SHOT! I’m not-”

“I’m not saying you’re a child-”

“You are! You are!” Santiago growls, smacking Javi’s chest repeatedly. He doesn’t care that he does sound like a child in that moment, arguing relentlessly on semantics. His emotions are bubbling over and muddying his head. “You’re saying that you know best. That your word is law. Despite all you do to endanger Candy!”

“I do n-”

“You do! You think you’re above it all, you’re just as bad, you pretend to care but you-”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Garcia!”

“Make me!”

He doesn’t think. 

There’s always times he doesn’t think. When he gets too lost in whatever emotion he’s letting overwhelm him. Sometimes rage. Sometimes guilt. Usually negative either way. That’s where Santi is a good partner, keeping a cool and level head while Javi plays bad cop.

Usually ends up with him throwing a punch, not a kiss. 

Santi knew ‘make me’ was childish. Knew it was playground nonsense reserved for kids still in single digits. But if everyone was going to keep calling him that, keep pretending that he wasn’t the only actual goddamned adult in the room then-

Then…

Javier’s lips on his steal his breath away, rob him of every thought that has ever run through his mind. And, for once, it’s blissfully quiet. The anxieties pushed away for the peace of a lover's kiss.

Javi presses closer, pushing Santiago further into the wall and cupping his face with his warm hand as he kisses him, body to body, warmth to warmth. Darting out his tongue to just trace Santi’s bottom lip and groans when he parts them immediately, no hesitation, and lets him lick into his mouth. 

The angle’s a little awkward, Javier’s body trapping Santi’s hand between their chests. But Santiago’s fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer as his kisses leave him breathless and desperate for more.

Javier’s leg bumps into his and Santi moves a step, moaning softly and then whining as his thigh presses against his half hard cock, a sharp spike of pleasure running up his spine and- 

His thoughts all come crashing down. What the fuck, what the fuck  was he doing? His mother’s voice rang in his head, screaming his name. 

He could get arrested for this, thrown in jail, worse. He was going to burn in hell.

Santi pulled back quickly, disentangling himself from Javier so quickly that both men nearly fell. He turned, not giving the older man a second look, and ran out of the alley into the crowded street. 

He didn’t even hear Javier call his name. 

*

“Are you okay, baby?” You asked, your naked body covering Santiago while giving him tender kisses, scooting yourself up and down his cock. You loved to tease him, get him whimpering and watch as all those troublesome thoughts left his pretty little head. He was too pretty to be so worried all the time.

He’d been stressed on and off about Javi, occasionally bringing it up, but you think he stopped when he realized it upset you. You were really good at pretending to care when old professors droned on and on about academic works or when men talked about themselves or complained about their wives and mothers again and again and again. You could’ve faked not being upset when Santi, but you didn’t fake anything with him. Javi’s absence hurt your feelings. You were worried about him, and you were angry at him for abandoning you and hurting Santi. For continuing to hurt his feelings. Bitch.

But honestly… you just miss him. A lot. It would take more than a poster to patch this, he’d have to make things right with Santi too, but you’d forgive him. You just wanted him back, and you wanted Santi happy again. He was already thin enough, and as your body slid up and down the sweaty length of him, you could feel he’d lost weight. 

Santi moaned loudly, gripping onto your hips as you bounced on his length, his eyes rolling back in his head as your heat engulfs him over and over. Pulling him deeper and deeper. 

The fat tip of his cock presses deliriously, perfectly rubbing over your walls with every slick slide. Stretching you so wonderfully like he was made for you. He was, he really, really was. Something was bothering him today, and he was finding solace in you. You were happy to give it to him. Pushing all other thoughts out of your head. 

He whines, babbling nonsensically with his eyes closed, “please, please, please,” He rocks up against you, letting his body override his brain as you fuck him into the mattress. “Please, gonna come, please, need you so much,” he gasps, almost sobbing from pleasure. 

You stroke his cheek and pick up your pace, even if he hasn’t said you could tell how close he was. The way his stomach muscles tense, how his eyes are screwed shut and head thrown back into the pillow, “it’s okay, it’s okay, you can come, give it all to me.”

He shakes his head rapidly, “no, please,” he moans, “need you, need mommy to come, please.” 

His whines change in pitch, the little sounds getting higher and higher as he reaches the point of no return. His mouth hangs open, his skin flushed and sweaty, and heat floods to your core. 

You brace yourself with your left hand on his leg behind you as you ride him, leaning back ever so slightly to change the angle just enough that he continuously hits perfectly inside, stretching you to your limit. 

Santi sobs, the position change sending a buzz up his spine, pressing on the thick length of his cock to a surprisingly maddening degree. His whole body pulsed, stealing the air from his lungs.

He bucks up once, his eyes fluttering open in surprise as he comes, his length pulsating. He empties himself deep inside you, his orgasm stretching onwards and overtaking every possible thought. 

You smile as you watch him, happy to see him so blissed out. You ride him throughout his high, trying to prolong his sensations as long as possible. He deserved it.

He sighs, shivering with aftershocks as he comes back to himself and looks up at you. You open your mouth to speak, the words on the tip of your tongue.

Santi grabs you by the hips, urging you up and off him and pulling your aching pussy onto his face. He lets out a small groan at the mess he made, his cum leaking out of your folds before he runs the tip of his tongue through them. 

You bite back a moan, grabbing onto his hair for stability as his mustache brushes against your clit.

His mouth feels like heaven as he lick and swirls around your clit, his movements soft but certain, quickly pushing you towards your peak.

Instinctively you buck your hips, grinding down on his mouth to chase your high. He rocks you against him, urging you tp move and fuck his eager tongue. 

“Santi…” you whine as you come hard against him, pulling fiercely on his hair. 

He continues licking, moaning against you as he drinks down every drop of your release. 

You breathe heavily, boneless for a moment before slowly moving away to lay down next to him. 

He pouts a little as you settle. “I wasn’t finished.” He smiles cheekily, your cum shining all over the bottom half of his face,

You giggle, and gently swat his arm and cuddle up next to him. Santi didn’t need instruction, scooting his back to your chest. In your arms, where he belonged. You loved being like this with him, but somehow it always felt like something was missing. You loved when Javi used to hold you, protecting you with a strong arm around your body, but again, you felt like something was missing, in your arms this time instead of around you.

You kiss the scar on his spine. “Good boy, Santito.”

It happened so fast. Santi teanses and you barely have a second to register how he turns to you, his eyes widen in panic, his skin turning ashen before he’s up, out of bed and pulling on his clothes so fast that it shouldn’t have been possible. What the fuck? Did you do something wrong?

“Santi?” you start, trying to keep your voice soft but unable to hide the fear that has overcome your words.Why is he leaving? What did you do wrong? Did you mess up things with Santi too, the one good thing left? You barely sit up before he’s shoving a handful of dollars at you, practically just throwing them in your direction and the bed. 

“Here.” His voice is quiet, distant. Like he’s not really there. A stark comparison to his panicked, edgy movements. He doesn’t even bother tying his shoes, simply shoving his feet inside them and stumbling towards the door.

“Wait, Sant-”

He slams the door on his way out. 

Leaving your bed cold, and you alone.

It was supposed to be sex, talking. Build a nice repour. That was it. You were good at it too, making old ugly men think you were infatuated, but yourself detached from even the most charming and attractive. Something happened with Javi and Santi, a line that became blurred, friendship and genuine attraction and care. Now they were gone. 

You hate yourself for how hard you cry.

***************

thank you so much to everyone whose stuck around while i sort my SHIT OUT (its never ending)

If you like me writing javi, i wrote a drable today too, and if you wanna see a totally insane version of santi, come to rooms on fire!

be sure to give @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction a follow, he's amazing and my everything. they are pumping out AMAZING works rn for the moon knight bingo.

I appriciate you all very very much, please let know your thoughts in the comment!!!

I know you've stuck around for this song, please drop a comment and say hiiiiii!!!!

follow @romana-updates for more!

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[swan-lite]

Dang it, okay, I have thoughts

James Somerton made an apology video in which he says "I'm sorry" several times but

Couches it in a pity party

Does not directly address any of the people whose work he stole by name

Never uses the word "plagiarism," instead referring to his theft almost exclusively as "citation errors"

James discusses how many videos he and his team were releasing and the frequency of releases as if someone was pressuring them to release a high volume of videos, as if to say it isn't his fault that there were quality problems

James offers to make his videos public again and add "citations" in a pinned comment or in the descriptions as a means of crediting the people he stole from

He also insists that some of the videos won't need these citations because some of them were his own "original work"

(In other words: that he has nothing more to hide)

James states that he isn't bigoted against ace folks, bisexual folks, trans folks, or women and that the several disparaging remarks he has made against these communities in his videos were not written by him

Because we have receipts for several of these remarks thanks to Harry's (hbomberguy's) video on James, we know that they didn't come from the articles and books he was stealing from, so if James didn't write them then the only other person who could have was his cowriter Nick

James then immediately says that he's not trying to blame Nick

James does not try to explain the ace/arophobic, biphobic, transphobic, or misogynistic remarks he has made on his Twitter or Patreon accounts

James mentions - and seems genuinely bothered by - the "people online" who are spreading lies and misinformation about him

Finally, James discusses future projects he would like to work on

He then deleted the apology video

Harry states near the top of Plagiarism and You(Tube) that "When someone more competent than Filip uses [his] techniques in a subtler way, we can recognize them for what they are."

This is not competent. It's not even subtle. James's career was so thoroughly eviscerated literally overnight that this is the best he can do, and it's not even good.

James says that he's sorry, but doesn't actually explain what he's sorry for. He doesn't admit to, or take responsibility for, the extent of what he actually did. In this way, he can now say when confronted that he apologized. But with the wording, he still manages to avoid actually taking ownership of his actions. In other words, it's using passive language to imply that what he has done just happened. He definitely didn't sit down and choose to commit extensive plagiarism - of course not! What really happened? *shrug* Anyway, sorry for it.

When iiluminaughtii (henceforth referred to as Blaire) tried to explain the many times in her video essays she has misspoken or misused words, she played it off as a byproduct of the amount of "work" she churned out for her fans. James is trying to do the same thing here, only it is deeply ineffective. It's quite upsetting to me to think that some of his fans - young queer folks who are probably used to having to make themselves small - might on some level fall for this trick. The idea is to make you the viewer feel guilty for the demands you have placed on this creator, when in reality this is a grown adult who knew exactly what he was doing.

I'm not going to spend too long on this next point. If you've read this far, you're probably invested enough to be well aware that James has used the trick of burying a citation under a mound of text no-one will read many times. It's the same trick Blaire used, and the one The Internet Historian used as well after he was caught.

James stops short of making a "Colombo villian speech" in this apology video. He does, however, take the time to say that he has nothing more to hide. Again, if you've watched Harry's video, you know this literally always means that the person who insists they have nothing to hide is absolutely hiding something else. Whether this is more plagiarism or some other skullduggery we haven't yet found out about, I'm sure it will come to light eventually. I'm honestly surprised and a little disappointed that James tried this tack. Obviously he's thought better of it, since the video is gone now. But I would think a grown human who has just been the subject of an hours-long piece of, frankly, journalism would know better than to say something like this.

With the comments about his bigotry, James is trying to simultaneously redirect attention and perform allyship by saying "Look, I have an asexual friend! Who may or may not be public about his sexuality at this time!" This is the kind of thing I think a lot of us in the queer community are used to - supposed allies downplaying microaggressions by pointing to folks in the ally's proximity who happen to have an identity that they are being accused of speaking badly about. "This one person can stand to be around me, so clearly I can't be all bad." Personally, as someone whose racist parent tries consistently to downplay their own racism by pointing to me, their mixed race child, I can tell you that this is always misleading. In this case, I feel comfortable saying it's intentional. James tries to excuse the bigotry that "ended up in the videos" by saying that he didn't have time to edit the scripts properly. He doesn't seem to realize that time constraints often make people much more honest. In reality, this is James trying to make excuses for the bigotry he put in his videos because the time constraints he put onto himself made it much more difficult to disguise how he really feels.

James then directs some indignation at the people who are online discussing what he did. I would interpret his discussion of his income as an oblique reference to Dan Olson's thread about his recording equipment if I had a degree in literary analysis. My degree is not in literary analysis, so I'll leave it there. Ahem.

James makes reference to future projects he hopes to work on, as if this endeavor has in any way preserved or helped to bolster his shattered reputation. Jessie Gender makes a great point in saying this feels like a promise of work we could get out of him if we all just collectively decide to ignore all the harm he has caused. And James has caused harm. Whether he meant to or not, given the sheer magnitude of his plagiarism, there is absolutely no doubt that he has caused significant harm to a community he claimed to defend.

I want to spend a moment on something others have already pointed out. Actually, Harry pointed this out too. If James's theft were in any way defensible, he would have defended it. He would not have gone to such great lengths - up to and including deleting videos - to hide it. He wouldn't have used Nick as a shield, he wouldn't have outright lied in his livestreams, and he wouldn't have deactivated his Patreon (before reactivating--y'know what, this post is long enough, we don't need to get into that). James lied and dodged and beat around the bush for years BECAUSE he knew what he was doing was wrong. I had a justice studies professor once tell my class that nobody wakes up in the morning and decides to be A Criminal. People make choices, and choices have consequences, but most people don't choose consequences. People choose the thing that benefits them and consequences follow. James made a long, long series of choices, and I would like to remind everyone that they always had consequences. Even before Harry's video came out, James was facing consequences. Those didn't come from nowhere, they came from the people he was hurting. He knew about them, he just didn't stop because of them. He stopped because he literally couldn't keep going anymore.

Finally, James deleted his misguided response to the multitude of accusations against him. I don't think I need to explain to anyone what that indicates.

I would like to finish by saying that nobody should be harassed. Nobody should be bullied, or dogpiled, or doxxed. Nobody should wake up in the hospital because their dad realized he needed to call an ambulance. James's life is undoubtedly in a really difficult place right now, and while he absolutely deserved to lose his career, that's all he deserved. I hope he regains his health, I really do.

And I hope Harry and his team don't feel any responsibility over this. It seems easy from the outside to believe they wouldn't, but I also know that if I had just released a 4-hour long video detailing someone's fraud and then found out they had been in the hospital because of an incompleted suicide, I would feel pretty conflicted about a project we know Harry already felt conflicted about.

I hope Harry and his team are doing okay, and I hope James starts doing okay soon, and I hope James realizes this was the wrong damn time to try to release an apology. It was a bad apology.

[cornus27florida]

Personal Review GwenDerick/FredDolyn Time-Travelling AU - Canon Divergences

I like to compiling everything to help me going forward...

Basically I make CPC fanfic about time-travelling AU (to the past) and thus making it Canon Divergences AU (means it will changes over plot points in the canon source) - my two favorite troupe AUs as it could explore so many possibilities of "what-ifs" in the original source material of the story...

There's an ongoing project by myself that I am not sure when it'll end but I know how the details it goes.. Thanksfully for the addition of my cowriters @ Queen_Allu (same name as in AO3) and @ Jazzyluvs008 (sunflower8) at the middle early part of the journey to not making me feeltoo lonely. The project is hopefully not that (too) ambitious for myself that could strains my own heart and body (espc the eyes) and my own mental and minds (there's some chapters that even on introduction arc already made my heart's bleeding and head's dizzy) - as I am on 1/7 path of the journey there based on ch

GwenDerick/FredDolyn is make me built such a special place in my heart as hardcore shipper, I really adores their journey of relationship from a complete stranger (which the male scared shirtless over the female with such unorthodox look) to such a trustworthy friend (with the help of the CPC and how the story progress, the male opens up to the female) to likely now as to be a lover (there's definetely romantic note between them, as basically they are already say love to each other - even with such 'tragic' situation as the current story)

So, Troupe "Stranger to Friend to Lover" AU canonically? Hell yeah it is! I feel this another reason why GwenDerick is so special in my book of shipper - because it's so natural and could happen to anyone, so relatable in real life. Gwendolyn is not perfect (I am not talking about her look that basically the main plot turner in the story, I am talking about her lack of skill in communication that make the whole CPC story to be happen) and so does Frederick isn't Prince Charming (I won't talk further about it, as I know there's so many people that still hates him and could utters so many hate speech over him - feel free to do so, it won't change my love over him as I think that Frederick is the best boy in the CPC that has the best character development ever possible).

There's actually several others AU troupes that happened to GwenXFrederick canonically, but I won't talk about those as I like to focus on promoting my own fanfic which featuring them as the main couple while using my top two AU troupes as the gears for the series to moving them to go...

I really wish for more people to read it, I really do.. And could give me feedback over it. That fic is basically the retelling of 'retelling' which is the CPC | Cursed Princess Club [webtoon]

[Hahahah, such an UNO reverse card ain't it? :3 ] WIKI :

The creator, LambCat, describes Cursed Princess Club as a chance given to her to take all the things they loved from fairy tales and stories of their childhood and combine them with all the messages they wished they got to hear back then. -> Here the list of ALL tales and stories that I could recognize in the overall of CPC until now which one thing that I notice? Every stories come from Western with slight non-direct nods of Eastern references. I like to be proud about my own origin as citizen from Eastern country so I'm putting them inside the fanfic story as well.

While thinking of fairy tales and brainstorming, LambCat's thoughts included "What if the spells didn't break and there wasn't a happily ever after? What would that scenario be like?", that got cross-pollinated with with the idea of insecurity and shame in general. -> the spells didn't break means the 'permanent' cursed condition, which all the CPC members are inflicted with it and overall I say - I am truly adore how each of them accepting their condition as being cursed in healhtly way BUT as the CPC story hinting of things that possibly could lifting them from their curse that not come from typical cure it all "True Love's Kiss" such as: Abbi's 24 hours curse reversal potion, the Cure-Curing Crystal (+ the period pauser for Prez' condition by Whitney) and informations from the Omniscient Clam... That make me thinking as generally all the CPC members already accepting their cursed condition (the first important step of grieving one's trauma), WHY not making the chance for them to could get cured from their curse WHAT IF the journey to lifting the curse is so painful BUT really worth it? I really want to explore it, that's why I am making Frederick cursed 'literally' as the driving point of the fanfic story that I am making... He need to deal with his curse, along with resolving the initial metaphorical curse that already in there as Plaid Prince Royalty...

In the beginning, the story was a simpler one about looks not being everything. It has expanded to being about the idea that society has a lot of things they want from us. Cursed Princess Club was about how many of us have two parts of ourselves. One that we want to present to others based on what they want, and one that's just us. What if there were a clash between them? What emotions would come from that? -> there's so many examples about it in various characters, such as : Blaine (his true self that he shown in bare to Maria after the piano duel VS the mask that he keep shows in the public as 'the perfect Plaid Prince Charming'), Frederick (his distant "icy"-shallow-judgmental 'Plaid Prince' persona VS his true self that really just wants to read books as doing nerdy stuffs etc by having true friends that could understand him), Gwendolyn (her 'polite' selfless sweety princess VS her selfish persona that just wants to skip forward to her imagination of 'happily-ever-after' with Frederick which wants to skip the hurtful feeling over confrontation about her shattered perspective) ...and the CPC as entirety, why the logo (insignia) is a rose depict half pink and half black/brown? Because even thou never confirmed it yet the meaning of it, I say it's related about accepting the previous non cursed form-persona (pink) and current cursed form-persona (black/brown).

So my fanfic, Returning Back to Make Amends wants (and really hopes) to could explore the things that the CPC tells but WON'T shy over the mature themes that hinted in the story as it's being put down on some notches, and to doing so I like to use Frederick as the main character of that fiction RaS (Reversus ad Satisfaciendum) by establishing unique personalities that depicted about him - and as I relate to him the most, I feel I could do it imagining the fanfiction story that make him swapped role with Gwen which now he's the Protagonist of the story while Gwen is the deuteragonist

It could really work and without making other characters to changes dramatically (as to not making an OOC/ Out of the character), Prez still the tritagonist of the story and the CPC as the best support system over the 'cursed' royalties. Aside from Frederick being the character that most relatable to me, I love to explore the possible interactions of him (but with more knowledges already, as he already get and learn stuffs until the episode 145 plot points) with everyone. What will he do to his own family? What will he do when meeting the CPC as the much needed support system for him...with so many things to consider first? What will he do when interacting with Gwen as he could get chance to return to the past, to make amends.. but his greatest mistake already done?

I've read so many stories be it from various webtoons, fairy tales, novels, games, fanfictions... My greatest inspiration, and the motivation that making sure that I could reach to that end is a SniLy time travelling fic (A Peace Not Promised)

But let's end the general description of the fanfic, as we jump onto the story itself. Let's begin from the prequel of the story

The Prequel of the Story (MEPHISTO) https://www.tumblr.com/cornus27florida/733053034090921984/cpc-fandom-need-more-love?source=share

From that fic's comment, I am really glad to could make in character's depiction especially to the Plaid Royal Family

As a prequel, one could read it before reading my fic series 'RaS' for better enjoyment but not necessarily need to read it either. In nutshell, the prequel fic really help me to establish the possible scenario that happened to the Plaid Royalties - as overall the punishment scenes gives too much shock to everyone that make the digestion of what really happened is difficult to happen. Also the title inspired by the [Oshi no Ko] ED song - is to giving the hint of time travelling scenario

Mephisto = power to manipulate events throughout time

Does that means the whole cause of the time travelling AU is related to a demon? Eh, huge spoiler for my fanfic - a highly classified content that I won't deny or confirm 'till the end

Now let's go to the RaS! We're start with the summary description!!! (most finds it's so scary, WHY ;-;)

"What-If" at the episode 145 where Frederick canonically supposed to break free from the prison - unfortunately passed away instead?

-> PNP starts with the main character, Severus Snape, passed away as like canon Harry Potter where he bitten by the snake (Nagini, Voldie's Pet).. There's so many time travel AU stories that making the main character(s) to die first too

Follow the difficult, cursed journey of Frederick that becomes the protagonist of his story as given another chance to make amends by the angel of the fortune Gwen by returning to the past - few months ago before his death day as imprisoned by Leland alone in the hole Given knowledge from the memories of what might happen but inability to tell them to the ordinary, non-cursed people as blazing rusted chains of 'non-divulgence' will accompany Frederick to prevents him to telling the truths; about him that come from the future, about his kingdom's vile plan to the Pastel Princesses, about the details of the events that'll lead to the doomed future...

-> I am not a good writer by any means, this project RaS is literally the first time I am making a huge multi chapters series which make me so anxious... But I know I am not the only one that making fanfiction with that 'skeleton' like that, 2 huge fandoms (Harry Potter and NARUTO) in the fanfictions has many examples of that, but I admit that in the CPC fandom my project gonna be the very first to exist. It's gonna be the very last? Hmm I don't know honestly, I've seen some CPC fanfic with time travel element with potentials...

In the 'magical' world of the CPC series, "time travelling" is something unheard off and considered to completely fictional even for the club that consisting of cursed members. It's out of the world, and all those Fairy Tales books have no match for this particular "curse". Could Frederick makes differences for a happy ending, or he'll die again trying?

-> Time travel. Wao. Such a huge interesting plot driver that so strong and powerful, but could become very messy if not handled right espc if disregarding the canon original stories and rationale thinkings of the story (even if the origin material is a fantasy genre). There's a special character trope identity for time traveller that making FIX-IT the story (another troupe of mine that I really like, usually part of the subplot of "Canon Divergence) which is "Peggy Sue". Frederick is Peggy Sue, but I try my possible best to not making him as Gary Sue with the canon Frederick's skill - Administrative Support = he knows that he can't do everything alone, he needs the help from others that as the story progress we see the friends that he finds along the way as becomes "The Alliances" that'll progress along the way BUT before he could do anything, reaching his goal to saves Gwen - he desperately need to help himself first as in canon analogy, he need to climbing the hole first before even thinking to saves anyone yet...

Most people are scared over the honest summary that I did huhuu T^T But, that's simply the truth? I really hate fanfic that not being honest about the summary of their story, so to not making myself as a hypocrite.. I tell things like that as to not scaring anyone but well... Example: [I am really sorry, didn't mean to scare anyone!] my jaw droped after reading just the description

I am cut to the WARNINGS then for well deserved wariness

This fic decided to be rated M (mature) for reasons as following: (domestic) abuse in form of what Leland could do to his own family, character death (Frederick's reason to reviving the past - is death), (graphic depiction of) violences including cursed attacks (acid damage, were-spider transformation), drugs overdose, also mention (as including ideation) and depiction of suicide.

Most CPC fanfic are on teenager category, and honestly I am in dilemma if RaS should in M or T because PNP as main reference is T rated - even with the character death, subtle hints of mental issue including suicide by jumping from the astronomy tower etc.. I even changed for T at some moment, but then I decide to change back to M so I could be more free to put much needed warning plot points, it's not just death to establish the time travelling condition.. it's for taking complete dark turn over the dark truths that hinted all along in the CPC, like for example eating poisoned apple = suicide

Ch 1 My Deepest Regret

The shortest chapter indeed but I am not sure if anyone aware of my deliberately quote from Jamie. Jamie is the first character in the CPC that truly ships gwenderick after all

Jamie of the CPC ofc not the one that giving quote, but his IRL paralel did. It's such a heartwarming enpowering quote

“Don’t give up. Don’t give up on your story. Don’t give up on the people you love. Hope is real. Love is real. It’s all worth fighting for.
”

— Jamie Tworkowski

Ch 2 The Angel of the Fortune at the Afterlife

I know there's so many religions and beliefs, but personally I believe that the afterlife (world) is exist and there's angel(s)

Ch 3 Returning back to make amends

One of the most important moment in the story is when title drop happen, right! So does this fic, with one sentence that I like to pointing out regarding the whole story as following:

Also your death too, why did you forget? Probably with you returning to the past, there's gonna be canon divergences that even make people not as what you know in the past.. Who knows? -> there's so many examples of time-fix fic, but for much needed plot points that involve huge spoilers - some characters aren't like what they're depicted in the canon (espc as reviving the past, the 'introduction' meetings bound to be different) but doesn't make them OOC dw

Ch 4 Breakfast Affair at the Plaid Palace

I am really sorry for the ping but I want to credit you again for helping me making divergence of Frederick's confrontation at the Breakfast of Episode 16 @alexandersimpleton!

Ch 4 is the first huge dread of me to officially making canon divergence but overall I feel I am doing pretty job over it!

Ch 5 How does it feel to be cursed?

Ch 5 basically make full interpretation that Frederick read ALL of Fairy Tales possible including the ones that come from Eastern - whole new side of the world that not really ever mentioned in the CPC that making major kingdoms as whole in continent, while we know the existence of the Braided Island that unknow exactly = other side's world

So far he's handling the curse pretty well in my book- Since he's reading the tales that he knows to know if his curse is in one of them

That's HC scenario that I really love to happen if Frederick is literally cursed, what he'll do for the first time? Read books

Ch 6 Long Road Journey

hmm not so much to say as honestly that chapter is 'ugh, I need to write that no matter what for sake of the future' BUT the scene where Lance dragging Frederick out is like this;

Ch 7 SHATTERED

Ch 8 Midnight Snacks

The perks of Canon Divergences Time Travelling AU is we could explore characters early, even for the characters that in canon not yet introduced (example in that ch, Renée) if see the canon timeline - and in the fanfic you could fleshing out their character as well, Renee being an artist that keen on details IMHO not that far fetched because we've seen how she could draws a frog with stitched mouth well for Aurelia

Ch 9 Blondies’ Wariness

My inspiration of that chapter is from CPC meme of this:

https://www.tumblr.com/the-neighbors-kid/707946794118692864/a-jokey-cpc-blonde-people-alignment-chart-i-have?source=share i

@the-neighbors-kidsorry for ping but really appreciate the meme as it's even give me reference for the story!!

Ch 10 Fairy Tale Ingredients

Based on my own CPC theory analysis as following : https://www.tumblr.com/cornus27florida/712232201376432128/curses-and-cures-magics-and-science?source=share

Ch 11 My Curse and Tales that Related to It

https://www.tumblr.com/cornus27florida/734969016718901248/chapter-11-review-ras-the-cpc-fanfic?source=share

Ch 12 Green Eyed Ezzy

Credit again for Isaac @the-giggling-guava that helps me a lot to fleshing out the Princels as the whole, I really love how it's done but I am surprised myself over that ch is 8k hahaha

Basically that ch is the one that hurting me so far in term of heart, mental and overall self - and I am channeling my own hurts to make that much needed Princels intro as reality

Chokehold inspirations for making that chapter :

IHF's (@cpcposting) fanart of Frederick with black hair dye

IHF's fanfic that making Isolde has a brother, and a band - but instead 'uncle' for Plaid Princes has blue hair and grey eyes, I want to make him a symbol of 'union of Plaid Princes but GOOD (as the evil is OFC Leland)' by making him has great talent over music (Blaine), grey hair (Lance) and green eyes (Frederick, still mystery where he got 'em)

https://www.instagram.com/p/CZ8K6udN3VI/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

"Please, don't ever like me.. If you like me, there's only heartbreak in the future as the true nature of my curse is unknown - never mind how to break it. You should hate me instead, I am the sole reason your perspective is shattered. I am indeed the monster. You shouldn't in near proximity to a dangerous monster, it will rips you apart as already done with your self-worth..." - Frederick, chapter 11th

Personal shout outs to @meritre24601that reinforcing me that speech very in character of Frederick.. and I remember @saemi-the-dreamertheory about the symbolisms !!

https://vxtwitter.com/risdelusions/status/1729762922547540196?s=20 + https://fxtwitter.com/marinaapbch/status/1730323802175779016 Fred's mind : And all alone again - it will fine, as long as the loved ones (Gwen) will be safe, she has CPC now

+ I love Checkov's guns, which the books that the Princels gifting to their guests... might become important later on ;)

Overall I am making up all the titles, EXCEPT Syrah's one

I will do reblogs from this point forward for the incoming chapters, is also to help me get better in organizing ^^

C'mon me from the future self, YOU CAN DO IT I BELIEVE IT

[sotvtaughtmehowtofeel]

20 Questions for Writers

Thanks for the tag @autumnwoodsdreamer 💜

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

47

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

118,647

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Prospect. I used to write for The Last of Us but alas, the rot has shifted

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Uncle Joel

Safe

Home

Tell Her

Tacos

These are all short little one shots for tlou

5. Do you respond to comments?

I really try to but I think the honest answer is no 😭 every once in a while I go on a bender and respond to like 50 comments but I get so anxious responding because I'm like hiii thank you 🧍‍♀️ the best way to talk to me is on here tbh but please please don't stop leaving me comments I love them with my entire soul

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably Joel. It's a death fic, but honestly it's not very good lol I have a death fic for Prospect that is mostly written that's gonna be wayy angstier, I just have to finish it

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

To see myself reflected in your eyes 💜 Cee and Ezra deserve to live a happy life thanks

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I haven't, I've been lucky. People have been super supportive and so so nice on my fics (I love you all).

tbh I don't think my writing is popular enough to get hate lol.

9. Do you write smut?

No

10. Do you write crossovers?

I have written so many crossover fics that will never ever see the light of day lol I do not have any on ao3

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of (again I don't think my writing is popular enough for either of these things to happen haha)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Tumblr user tlouobsessed and I cowrote a fic (sobbed in our dms together). I took all the ideas we had talked about and wrote a little ficlet from them and I consider that cowriting

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Oh, how to answer that. Willow and Tara (Buffy the Vampire Slayer) were my original OTP, I shipped them before I knew what shipping was. Nomi and Amanita (Sense8), couple of all time. There are more but I think those are my top two.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

No Light 😭 I have ideas but no rot left. Maybe season 2 will reignite it, but I just don't know. Also, Stolen Future, the Prospect death fic I mentioned earlier. Idk why but I'm having so much trouble just finishing it. I do hope to actually finish that one day.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I can write some good dialogue and fight scenes sometimes

I think I do a good job with storytelling sometimes? Combining different threads across a story to bring it all together. I'm thinking of how the present and flashbacks interact in By Midnight Time and something from Stolen Future

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I cannot describe things to save my life. All of my fics happen in empty white rooms good luck I hope your imagination fills everything in. It's such a fundamental aspect of writing that I am so so bad at lol I'm trying to learn from my friends and reading published books but it's hard!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Prev also said this but I agree, italicize other languages. Otherwise, go for it, but do your research if you don't speak the language

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Buffy the Vampire Slayer back when I was a teenager. Didn't know what fanfic was, but my sister and I had a LOT of feelings about Buffy and we had to express them somewhere so we wrote our stories.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

By Midnight Time. Now I just need to freaking finish it 😉

Although I'm also very very fond of Blood of the Covenant and Water of the Womb, a one-shot told from both Ezra's and Cee's pov

Absolutely no pressure tags: @orangechickenpillow @blooming-gwens @dilf-din @ellies-little-gun @ellies-enrichment @outer-edges @steeb-stn @wicked--loving--lies

[therealvinelle]

Since you hated the angels in SPN (i can't disagree with you about how they butchered them for people who are religious)

What do you think of good omens if you read/watched it?

I've both read and watched it!

I think it's a very good book and a very good adaptation, though I prefer the book and don't plan on seeing the upcoming season of the show.

At the risk of ruffling feathers, I think the best parts of the book came from Pratchett, I really like Gaiman's work (Having read American Gods, Coraline, and one of his short story collections) but... the two authors have different strengths, I think I'll say, and Good Omens played more on Pratchett's strengths than Gaiman's.

Mainly, with Gaiman, my issue is that while he comes up with very good concepts and has the prose to back his ideas up, he can't really carry a plot through to a satisfying end. His short stories are great because it doesn't become a problem, his attempt to write full length stories tend to suffer.

That being said, reading Good Omens you get the idea the authors wrote it to have fun and mess around with nifty characters and "hehe well what if 'his number shall be' was actually referring to a phone number!". Power to them, I'm guilty of the same when I cowrite with @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin, but the thing that strikes me about Good Omens is that there's a lot that... doesn't actually need to be in the book.

Let's say that we take out Shadwell, Madame Tracy, Anathema, and Newt Pulcifer.

How does this change things?

We lose out on a lot of the fun interactions that make Good Omens what it is, but the story wouldn't actually change at all. Perhaps they don't have to, I rather enjoy that Aziraphale and Crowley risked everything to prevent the Apocalypse, the novel is about an angel and a demon preventing the Apocalypse, only for them to not matter at all as Adam makes the decision on his own: but rather than ending the book on a punchline as the entire cast just sort of stands around awkwardly wondering if they can congratulate themselves when they uh haven't done anything, there's instead the soaring music of "They did it!"

"Uh, what did they do?"

"Something, I'm sure!"

Very Good Omens of them, but there's a strange dissonance where it seems we really are meant to think they did something.

Adam too is an odd character, in that he has been the unknowing God of his little world who is strongly implied to have created The Them (quite literally, given how his power seems to work). He is a facsimile of a human, one who seems to very much want a perfect human life and is capable of creating this for himself, but in doing so becomes so artificial that the weather reports give Newt the creeps.

And yet we don't... do anything with him. He's too humanised to come across as what I described above, but not human enough for me to not see him the way I do. He's just sort of there.

So yes, I have complaints about Good Omens, but overall it truly is a delightful book, just one where I would have chosen differently from the authors at many points.

[pop-punklouis]

ok here we go. some of my 5 star books from the last year or two 🫶🏽

A PLACE FOR US; fatima farheen mirza || contemporary literary fiction. exploration of family dynamics and faith. cannot recommend it enough if u enjoy either of those things in media. it’s one of my favorite books of all time but i do feel a responsibility to say only read it when u have time to sit and cope with it for a while. it WILL leave u a husk of a person! (if u read this and dislike it, you Must lie to me)

TRANSCENDENT KINGDOM; yaa gyasi || contemporary literary fiction. mommy AND daddy issues, dead sibling, arduous relationship with faith, a fair dose of the immigrant experience. not as taxing as the previous rec but definitely still an emotionally heavy read. i need to read it again soon actually i think it’s so stunningly written

BURNT SUGAR; avni doshi || contemporary literary fiction. what can i say about this book. what emotion didnt it make me feel. just the epigraph alone was enough to make me want to drown myself in a vat of acid. the cyclical relationship between mothers and daughters is so fucking sickening and the way it's depicted in this book... my god. i was so miserable reading it and i wouldn’t recommend it anyone who has mommy issues and hasn’t learned how to deal with them. if you dont have mommy issues... you might have them after reading this book who knows. but it’s still 10/10 from me

NINTH HOUSE; leigh bardugo || dark academia, fantasy. loser girl of all time who can see the dead is put in charge of keeping secret societies at yale university in check. a random girl gets murdered and all signs point to one of the societies being responsible. book 3 isnt out yet but it’s sooo yummy u will adore alex she’s my best friend (also has a sexy generationally wealthy white boy. i want to eat him)

THESE VIOLENT DELIGHTS; micah nemerever || dark academia, thriller. definitely one of the crazier books i’ve ever read. batshit insane. two boys develop a delicious friendship that devolves into the worst kind of codependency and results in them murdering someone to make sure they can’t ever replace each other in their lives. gay people can do anything except be normal.

GIOVANNI’S ROOM; james baldwin || classic literary fiction. i don’t think i need to say anything about this. it’s about realizing you don’t know u have a home until you leave it and once you’ve left you can’t ever go home. it’s about isolation—self-inflicted and otherwise. it’s just… everything. everyone should read it. everyone!

HAPPY PLACE; emily henry || contemporary romance. exes who pretend to still be together at their friend group’s annual vacation. i’m not typically a romance novel girl and not everything i’ve read of henry’s has done it for me but this one… i was giggling and twirling my hair. getting flustered and having to take a moment to collect myself. it’s so so good. i do believe it’s miss henry’s best work

THE ROUGHEST DRAFT; austin siegemund-broka & emily wibberley || contemporary romance. cowritten by a married couple about a cowriting duo that hasn’t written together in years. they haven’t spoken since but they’re contractually obligated to put out one more book together. didn’t make me giggle like happy place but i really enjoyed it

seed i love you so very much HELLO!!!! thank you. I've already written all of these down. i cannot wait to dive into their pages.

[scarlet--wiccan]

Solicit and variant covers for sw6 are out on marvel.com and aipt. Amaranth is suggested to have “auspicious parentage” which makes me think she’s a stealth legacy character (even if it’s just some magician who hasn’t appeared since the 70s). I guess she is kind of a legacy character of Wanda already; could be a reverse of Billy’s situation (initial a sort of Thor legacy before being revealed as Wanda’s son)

Maybe she’s a Maximoff relative, since they are a magical dynasty of sorts now? Or related to them from the other side of the family (unknown dad who killed Natalya)

Just posted the covers and solicit blurb!

Here's the full quote from Orlando:

“Ever since she debuted in Jen Bartel’s gorgeous variant cover, I’ve been intrigued by Amaranth. Who was she? What was her story–no, her mystery? So, when the chance came to bring her into SCARLET WITCH and explore those questions with the rest of the creative team, I leapt. Bringing Amaranth through the Last Door gives us a chance to upend Wanda’s dynamic with a scenario where Wanda’s faced with a powerful, mysterious being she struggles to figure out–an inverse of her own dynamic earlier in her life. Amaranth’s unique gifts hint towards an auspicious parentage and impressive power, but her life has been tinged with tragedy. There might be no one in the Marvel Universe that can help her, but if there was one–it would be the Scarlet Witch.”

I like all of your ideas a lot! Orlando certainly loves to make deep cuts-- maybe she'll turn out to be Mantor's long-lost daughter. Speaking off, do we think Mantor's coming back? So far, Scarlet Witch doesn't seem like the sort of book to permanently kill someone off like that, but then, Mantor isn't exactly a character that editorial needs to keep around. But I also thought of Agatha herself-- she's got a pretty large extended family, going back at least as far as the Salem witch trials, and not all of them made it to the New Salem enclave.

Reading this quote, my mind immediately went to the witch lineage concept that was introduced in Scarlet Witch (2016). Like I said, I think this storyline would be a really good opportunity to expand on some of Robinson's worldbuilding, which Orlando's already been referencing. Introducing a Maximoff cousin would be really exciting, but I have a lot of anxiety about a non-Romani writer exploring their family history, especially as it pertains to witchcraft. It's something I want to see, but I want him bring a consultant or cowriter on board.

But what I'm really interested in is how Orlando compare's Amaranth's situation to, presumably, Wanda's experiences with Chthon. Giving her the opportunity to guide or protect someone who's going through something similar could be a really great character moment.

[illusion-of-death]

🍓 and 🛼 and 🥤!

(Ask game here)

🍓: How did you get into writing fanfiction?

A couple of different ways, I guess? Looking back, I definitely wrote fanfic WAY before I had any idea what that was (like my own sequels to books we read in elementary school, for example). I never started considering actually posting anything until a friend suggested we cowrite something together, which we did, and then I didn’t do much of anything else again until a few years after that when my bestie @ofstormsandfire pitched a SUPER cool fic idea to me and I impulsively asked if I could get involved. And I’m so, so glad I did. And now I cannot be stopped.

🛼: Describe your latest WIP with five emojis.

🤖🤡⚔️👻🏰 <- this looks WAY more unhinged than the fic actually is I swear

🥤: Recommend an author or fanfic you love.

So aforementioned bestie wrote this really neat fic called no one ever mentions fear, which is a very large part of the reason I got as invested in Breath of the Wild as I am. This story’s so much fun.

Thanks for asking!

[danpuff-ao3]

Tacky, @tackytigerfic, hello new friend! What a lovely human they are! (They are a Libra after all. And a Leo rising?? Everything makes sense.)

We first met on Reddit, bonding over a love of character flaws. 🥰 Quickest way to my heart. Outside of yummy snacks, that is. This person also has a big big love for Drarry...They love their OTP as much as I love my Snarry, which I have big respect and admiration for. It brings my heart so much joy to see such passion and devotion for one's ships! They're such a soft, warm, lovely presence in the community and I'm so glad to know them! And to have read some of their works, which are so full of color and joy and care, that I simply must share!

Aim For My Heart

Draco/Harry/Ron. Rated: E. 3,471. Polyamory negotiations. Developing relationship. Jealousy. Possessive Harry. Falling in love. Self-discovery.

I wanna note how gorgeous this was. Soft and feel-good, while also acknowledging some darker realities. Such as feelings of jealousy and possessiveness even in polyamorous folk. Polyamory isn't the absence of those feelings, but the desire and willingness to work with and/or through them. And that little bit was so meaningful to me to see, that nod to something so often considered ugly or a failing, and recognizing it as a simple truth and human nature that it is. And that it doesn't have to be a bad thing, nor does it have to spell doom.

Harry's in love, Ron's in control, and Draco just wants a nice lunch. They say three's a crowd, but Harry doesn't always agree. Not when he gets to be in the middle, anyway. - In which Harry's in love with Ron, and Harry's in love with Draco, but they're not in love with each other. Not yet, anyway.

Between the Power Lines

Draco/Harry. Rated: M. Words: 3,261. Road trips. Vacations. Friends to lovers. Falling in love. Very sweet.

For Harry Potter, all roads eventually lead to Draco Malfoy.

Or: this is not an AU! It's just Harry and Draco meeting by chance in an imported food shop in Connecticut and going on a road trip together. Featuring motels, cacti, Americana, and a hefty dose of pining.

Buttercup

Harry/Scorpius. Draco/Harry. Rated: E. Words: 2,814. Revenge sex. Hate sex. Moral ambiguity. Open/ambiguous ending. Angst.

The first of their fics I read! I came for the Scarry, ngl. (Hot pool boy Scarry vs my husband Snarry...🙈) and the "morally dubious everyone" tag really sold me. What a delightfully screwy mess this is!

Scorpius shoulders his way through the crowd, making for the bar just behind Harry. He's waiting for something—anything—but it's still a delicious shock to feel Harry's fingers against the skin of his wrist, dipping maddeningly slow under the cuff of his robe. Scorpius half-turns, raises that pale eyebrow exactly as the mirror had shown him, and lets the sneer drip from his mouth like a curse. 

"Potter."

Call Me Friend, But Keep Me Closer

Harry/Neville. Draco/Harry. Rated: M. Words: 4,164. Cheating. Angst. Jealousy. Moral ambiguity.

Messy and screwy and I LOVE IT.

"Neville Longbottom had always loved plants, but he loved Harry Potter more."

Neville's got a good thing going with Harry... or so he thinks.

Dreaming Skies

Co-written with @sweet-s0rr0w. Draco/Ron. Rated: E. Words: 20,572. Past: Charlie/Draco. Bedsharing. Roommates. Humor. Getting together. Boss/employee. Dragontamer Ron. Warder Draco. Magical theory.

I love me a good Dron!! 😍 And I'm forever impressed by (and envious of) people who cowrite! Especially seeing two great creators coming together on one excellent project!

Draco's life is going nowhere, so when Charlie Weasley offers him a job out on his reserve, Draco doesn't think twice before booking a Portkey. After all, it's not as if he has many other options. But when he arrives in Romania, he realises that nothing is quite what he expected... 

(a story about dragons and baking, friendship and little kindnesses, putting down new roots and falling in love)

[bluemeetgrey]

 I would rather Cassie  take her time with TWP, so it won’t end up like COT. Or cowrite it with an author, who could do her marginalized characters justice. Because I believe one of the biggest reason why we never saw Christopher alone, or see his point of you in the book. Was because she doesn’t know how to write him. What would happen then, when she could no longer swept her artistic character under the rug? Ty would probably be extremely flat, or extremely stereotypical. So please please please Cassie, do your research or get a coauthor. Do not under any circumstances, consult autism speaks! There are so many more equitable organizations that could help you with your research. Please! We all love Ty, so please do him justice!

[trillscienceofficer]

Cohesion (String Theory, Book 1) Jeffrey Lang July 2005 (366pp) [Star Trek: Voyager] The story falls between the fourth and the fifth seasons of the show. A discovery of planets in a binary system with one of the stars being a white dwarf proves to be too mysterious to pass up. With all of the lethal radiation flowing into the system, why is there a planet showing signs of life? When the Monorhans ask for help with their vessel, the Voyager crew starts a chain reaction of chaos. “Heather Jarman and Kirsten Beyer wrote the plot outline for the String Theory trilogy with very little input from me. We three knew we were going to be cowriting the three books, but when the time for plotting came I was absorbed in another project. This wasn't a problem for me since I knew K&H had a much more in-depth knowledge of Voyager and had some definite ideas about what kind of story they wanted to do. I believe that the original plan was that I would do the third book, but because of various scheduling factors, I ended up with the first, which was fine with me because I really enjoy writing Seven and B'Elanna. This is all a protracted way of saying, ‘The idea for Cohesion wasn't mine.’ However, I did have a lot of input into the story details, particularly the creation of Monorhans. In the original outline, H&K deliberately left their background, history, physiology, culture and so on, pretty vague with the idea that I would fill that in, which turned out to be one of the most satisfying aspects of the project. Also, the time/space mechanics had to be figured out, which ended up being very enjoyable, too (though frustrating at times). I really wanted the science in this book to make sense, which I think it does most of the time (barring the usual Star Trek hand-waving).” Jeff continued, “The writing process was much different in this one in that I had to adjust the story and characters to line up with what Kirsten was doing in Book Two (she was working on her rough draft as I was moving into draft two or three) and Heather was planning for Book Three. Most of this worked out very easily since we communicated pretty regularly via phone and e-mail. The biggest problem with my first draft was H&K had problems—very legitimate problems—with my characterization of Janeway. I had trouble getting my mind wrapped around her persona, but H&K steered me in the right direction. All in all, Cohesion was a lot of fun.”

[...]

Heather remarked, “This really begins back in Voyager's fifth season when I met and became best friends with Kirsten Beyer. Our first discussion was a heated, but polite, discussion of whether or not Janeway in ‘Night’ (fifth season premiere) was some kind of Janeway clone or whether she was actually Janeway, since the episode seemed to be so out of character for her. Together, we developed several stories that were pitched to Voyager. Our first (and favorite) was a story called Cohesion about Seven of Nine and B'Elanna. Once it became apparent that Voyager was never going to get over their infatuation with things that go boom, we gave up developing new ideas.” [...]

From “Voyages of Imagination: The Star Trek Fiction Companion” by Jeff Ayers (2006)

[aristi-achaion]

[20 Question Fic Writer Tag]

tagged by @johaerys-writes hehe ❤️

How many works do you have on AO3? 35!

What is your AO3 word count? 321,184 (that's nearly a book)

What fandoms do you write for? Right now, primarily for Patrochilles (TSOA/Hades game/classic lit), but I've also written for a bandom I'm in :)

What are your top five fics by kudos? Chronos, The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face, I Can't Believe I've Met You, I'm So Blessed You're Mine, and A Welcome Threatening Stir!

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Yesss absolutely! I try to respond to every comment, even if it's from an older fic. I love hearing what people have to say, and seeing that they enjoyed the story is what makes me keep writing haha

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? This is easy because I don't think I've ever written something angstier than I Know I Always Said That I Could Never Hurt You, it's the only fic I've ever tagged "hurt no comfort"

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Another easy one, Chronos!! I was only too happy to give them everything they deserved and more by the end of this fic, they'd been through too much haha

Do you get hate on fics? I don't think I've ever gotten *true* hate, mostly just people yelling at me because I've made Achilles suffer haha but I like strong emotions, it means i'm going my job correctly!

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yes, always. It's mostly pretty vanilla stuff, but I experimented with writing some kinkier stuff with Cuffed.

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? I've never written one!

Have you ever had a fic stolen? No, but there was one time where someone posted my fics on a different website without permission. They gave me credit, but I believe the site was taken down or at least the fics were deleted (some kind of bootleg ao3??)

Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! I've had a fic translated into Spanish, and I've been asked if someone could translate different fics into Russian and another language :)

Have you ever cowritten a fic before? Yes, I haven't in a long time but I had a really fun time cowriting! I wrote the Rocket Man series with an incredible author :) It's fun to bounce ideas off another person and see how your writing styles merge and evolve together!

What's your all-time favourite ship? Favorite ship to write about is definitely Patrochilles, but I've been reading a ton of Firstprince lately, they're like a comfort ship for me haha

What's a WIP you'd like to finish but doubt you ever will? I started writing a cowboy au back when I finished school, wrote a couple thousand words for it and then just dropped it. I want to finish it though!!! I just don't know when I'll get to it, and I don't live in the country anymore so I don't have a lot of inspiration lol

What are your writing strengths? Probably writing intense emotions, and having my characters go through some truly distressing moments. I'm a cancer so I like to pride myself on being in touch with my emotions lol

What are your writing weaknesses? Description, and the fact that I struggle with getting a story started. Part of me always wants to pull an Ernest hemingway and just describe the scenery for a couple hundred words before I do anything, and I don't know what to do to fix that lol

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I like adding it if I'm comfortable with the other language or have a person who speaks the language to consult with. I think it's great when you want to emphasize the place/culture the characters come from, but when the translations aren't right there it can become a little tedious lol

First fandom you wrote for? Bandom fics, I don't want to say it but it literally might be McLennon 🥲

Favourite fic you've ever written? Honestly... This is tough. Because Chronos is definitely my most popular fic and I'm very proud of it. But there's also a few that I had so much fun writing, like This Side of Paradise, that almost felt inspired when I was writing it. That one is definitely the most sickeningly romantic fic I've ever written, another I'm very proud of. I also actually really love I Know I Always Said That I Could Never Hurt You, because I was able to incorporate a lot of actual text from the Iliad into it, and I think I did a really good job!!

This was so fun!!!!! Thank you Jo ❤️

[katastrophic-n3vulaa]

Torn Pages: Chapter 4: He, Shaker of Worlds

By: n3vulaa_undercover (Ao3) & BlueCalibriFont (Ao3)

Book Summary: Inumaki tears through reality like it's made of paper, and he and his classmates find themselves in a world not their own. Violence, sleep-deprived Gojo's and shenanigans ensue.

Previous Chapter: Chapter 3: Snakes & Spirits Behind Locked Doors (click!)

Next Chapter: Chapter 5: Shut Your Eyes, Lest They Are Stolen in Your Wakefulness

(Full character list on the Pinned post on my blog, or click here.)

Characters in this chapter: Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, t̷̫͉͍͎͖̘̙̆͛h̷̤͈̹̓̅̉̍̓̑̕͝ẻ̴̢̧̯͚̺̱̰̮͖̟̲͋͂̿̈̈̐͐̓̕ ̶̢̲͕̤̯̟̫̫͚̓̏̀̂̇̒́̈́̃Ẽ̶̖̣̌́̔n̴̡̡̮̹͍̟̥̪̻͈̔ͅf̷̢̡̨̢̗̥͙͂̈́̈́͐ǒ̸͈͈̘̪̩̳͔͔̣̹̭̰̬͗̄͒̊͠ͅr̴̨̗͚̗͙̮̾͘c̶̨̛̼̝̲̳̳̺̞̦̖̗͕̠͂̅̋̀̽̾͑͑͜͜͠ȩ̶̡̨̞͔̫̞̒̆͂̿̓̐̆̎̎͊̿͝ͅr̴̢̩̲̞͖͓͉̠̮̮̊̇͗̽̓̒͗͌͜͠.

Chapter 4 Word Count: 3383

Chapter Summary:

Gojo is the Honoured One, but he is not meant to tear through realities.

That is for c̶̗͚̱̫̻̘̍a̴̯̜͖̋͗̇́͘l̴̰͉̹̠̥̗̰̬̋ã̵̢̞̦̲̻͓̘̼̙͚m̴̳͇̭̠̗̀́̾͘͠ͅį̷̢̛̛̭͓͓̝͈̩̦̲̟̝̠̰̔̓̆̈͐͛͆͒̓̾͐t̴̬̳́͒͛͑́͗̈́͊͊̅̈́̕̚i̴̧̧̱͇͉͚̻͖͔̼̎͒́̾̈̓͌̀̇̃͘͘ͅe̶̛̹̝̟͒͒͋̅̇͒̈́̆͛͘͠ś̴̡͎̤̺͖̭̝̬͍̖̯̱͕̪̑͛̀̉́̉̀̑̽́͝ͅ.

One of which Gojo is not.

Chapter Notes:

Blue: I bring to you tired parental Gojo *MatPat voice* Now with snippets of real LOREEEEEEEEE, courtesy of my fabulous cowriter.

Kat: Why thank you, Blue. We now have a multiversal working ranking system :D

Chapter 4:

Nanami steps cautiously into the courtyard, careful to make his steps loud and audible to its occupant.

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have to- Gojo would see him coming from a mile away, probably further, but these aren't normal circumstances, and there's no telling what state Gojo is in so it would be prudent to be somewhat wary, lest he get his head torn off.

He doesn't think his co-worker would intentionally hurt him, but Gojo's always been a bit of a wild card, annoyingly unpredictable and unhinged on a good day, and borderline psychotic on a bad one.

He hasn't seen the man for the last two days, has only been made of aware of his return this morning, but he knows that the last few days have been bad ones. Even if he wasn't painfully aware of the cause behind Gojo's anxiety, his appearance alone would be enough to clue Nanami in to something amiss.

Gojo's hair is unruly and disheveled, even more so then his usual mess, and his eyes are unconcealed, blindfold discarded to reveal dark bruises beneath two impossibly blue oceans of fractals. He's pacing the courtyard with a manic intensity, occasionally pausing to throw glares at the nigh-invisible scar in the center. Nanami himself can barely make it out, residual cursed energy all but gone to his eyes. He's muttering to himself too, the exact words inaudible from this distance.

"When was the last time you slept?" Nanami calls, voice kept even and flat. He already knows the answer.

Gojo barely acknowledges his presence, a slight head tilt in Nanami's direction the only indication that'd noticed him at all, before he resumes his single-minded pacing.

Nanami grimaces at the lack of response. He may already know the answer, but the blatant disregard is a bad sign. "At least tell me you ate something." He sighs, resigned, and this time he is graced with a reply.

"I had coffee in Berlin." Gojo mutters absentmindedly. "And two more in Singapore."

Coffee isn't food, Nanami doesn't scream furiously at his idiot coworker, just as he doesn't shake him frantically by the shoulders until the white-haired menace finally passes out and gets some actual rest.

Instead, he takes a deep breath and looks at the facts.

Right now, Gojo is exhibiting signs of intense sleep-deprivation, and if he were anyone else he likely would've passed out due to cursed energy overuse by now. But even for the Strongest Sorcerer, frantically scouring most of the planet for four people amongst eight billion over the course of two days without stopping to rest once is a lot. Even more so when done on an empty stomach.

Nanami tosses a chocolate-coated muesli bar, one he'd picked up from the cafeteria specifically for the mess of a human in front of him, at Gojo, who makes no move to catch it, simply letting it bounce off of his Infinity. "Eat." Nanami commands flatly. "You'll be no good to them starving and tired." He's careful to keep his tone neutral, coldly logical as not to give off anything that could be perceived as pity. Gojo doesn't respond to anything he sees as pity well, treats it like an attack on his very person and retaliates accordingly.

Gojo stays petulantly still for a long moment, before relenting and picking it up. He chews the muesli bar sullenly, eyes never leaving the center of the courtyard. Nanami has no doubt that Gojo is still watching him too though, unearthly gaze cataloguing his every movement.

"Any progress?" Nanami asks and Gojo tenses, angling his head just enough for Nanami to catch a glimpse of the frustrated scowl contorting his coworkers normally annoyingly cheerful face.

"So that's a no then." Nanami murmurs disappointed despite himself. He'd hoped against hope that Gojo might be able to achieve something once he'd gotten back from his search- if he hadn't already found the missing students during his hunt, but he'd tried to keep his expectations low. Evidently he hadn't kept them low enough.

He takes a deep, centering breath. "It'll be fine. They're strong, they can handle a lot." Nanami says, a half-hearted platitude that barely convinces himself of it's veracity. "I know they are!" Gojo snarls like a wild animal, eyes alight with unearthly rage as he spins around to finally face Nanami. "They're strong, and they're capable, and they're all alone and I don't know where they are and they're only children-"

The Strongest cuts himself off, shaking and breathing heavily as he turns away from Nanami yet again.

"Don't. Don't do them that disservice." Nanami says softly. "They are a lot of things, but they aren't children. Not anymore."

"Maybe not." Gojo replies, just as soft but still dangerous, still tinged with that wild, inhuman edge. "But they shouldn't lose what remains of their innocence. They shouldn't face this alone."

"And they aren't alone. They have each other." Nanami reminds him patiently. Gojo huffs disbelievingly, but the tension lining his frame dissipates minutely, almost unnoticeably.

"Right as always Nanamin." Gojo says, with a ghost of his usual obnoxious cheer. Nanami rolls his eyes but doesn't protest the use of the childish nickname.

"Any theories? Or observations?" Nanami asks after a moments silence, and Gojo purses his lips. Maki had explained what had occurred well enough- the experimentation with Inumaki's technique, the cursed spirit (which had been disposed of accordingly after it was determined that it was not the cause of the rift), the tear in time and space and how the first years had all leapt in after their unconscious upperclassman, but that still left a great deal of unanswered questions. The most pressing of which; where had the portal brought the students? They have no leads so far, and short of somehow reopening the portal they have no way of finding the students in question.

Maki herself was currently on an assignment with Panda, having reluctantly acknowledged that her skillset wasn't suited to retrieving her classmates. She and the other second year had however insisted upon regular updates on how the search was going. Nanami hates that there's nothing new to tell them, hasn't been anything new since the other students first went missing.

"There's something weird about the remains of the rift." Gojo says finally, running his hand through his disheveled locks in a hapless attempt to groom it into something that doesn't resemble a feral albino racoon. "The cursed energy around it is... brighter somehow. Cleaner almost."

Nanami raises an eyebrow, but he thinks he knows what his coworker is talking about. Before the remnants of cursed energy had faded too much for him to them make out, he'd also noticed an oddly gleaming quality to it.

Gojo pouts, childish persona returning in full force. "It's giving me a headache." He whines petulantly, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Or maybe that's the effects of severe sleep-deprivation finally kicking in." Nanami deadpans unsympathetically.

Gojo wrinkles his nose in mock offense. "Sleep is for the weak." He grumbles like the overgrown child he really is. "And for teachers who's students don't make it into a habit to get into life-threatening accidents." He amends hastily at Nanami's unimpressed scowl. They stare at each other for a long moment, before Nanami inevitably relents to the preternaturally piercing gaze of his coworker with an irritated huff.

"Take a painkiller if it gets too bad. Don't be an idiot." Nanami sighs eventually, feeling the beginnings of his own headache start to blossom. "Nanami!" Gojo gasps dramatically. "You do care!" Nanami rolls his eyes and prays to an uncaring audience of gods for patience. It's a pointless endeavor really- if any gods cared even a whit about this world they would not have inflicted Gojo Satoru on it, and by extension on Nanami.

"Don't get any ridiculous ideas." Nanami dismisses the others over-the-top dramatics. "I just don't want to deal with the aftermath of whatever atrocity you inevitably commit." "Too late!" Gojo crows triumphantly. "No take-backs!"

A child. Nanami works with an overgrown man-child capable of destroying the world. Whatever gods are out there must be laughing hysterically at him.

Well he hopes they choke on their fucking laughter. Screw them too.

"And what atrocities have I ever committed?" Gojo continues, faux-seriously, or with what Nanami hopes is faked sincerity because if not his head might explode at the sheer audacity the complete and utter idiot before him possesses.

"The Furby." He spits out, the word a simultaneous explanation and a expletive in and of itself. Gojo snorts, breaking the mock-innocent façade. "Oh come on, that was hilarious and you know it." The menace to polite society laughs, loud and insolent. Nanami's eye twitches, headache in full bloom. " 'Hilarious' isn't exactly the word I'd use to describe that abomination ." He hisses.

Gojo, high on sugar and life on one otherwise unremarkable afternoon, had decided that it would be amusing to find a cursed Furby and smuggle it onto the campus, where it began it's reign of terror over staff and students alike. The damned thing is seemingly indestructible, and nobody's been able to exorcise it so far, so it's been deemed a special grade and treated as hazing for newcomers, and a general menace to everyone. Well. A menace to everyone, with the exception of the bastard who'd brought it in. It seemed to avoid him. Said bastard did absolutely nothing about the cursed thing and instead chose to laugh his ass off at everyone else's misery.

(Nobody's been hurt yet, but it's only a matter of time. Nanami has caught the curse lurking outside of his office with a knife, and how had it even gotten it's hands on that when it doesn't even have hands -)

"That's just because you didn't see the face the old man made when he found out about it." Gojo huffs petulantly, before perking up. "His facial muscles contracted so hard, I thought for sure he was going to have an aneurysm!" "I don't need to know about your stalker tendencies Gojo." Nanami sighs. Really it's a miracle that Gakuganji is still in one piece- Gojo seems to have made it his life's mission to harass the elder into an early grave. Well. Earlier.

"Don't be such a spoilsport Nanamin." Gojo pouts, and Nanami snorts humorlessly. "I'll live with being a spoilsport if it means you don't kill the old man. Seriously, lay off of him." It's not an order, because Gojo makes it his personal mission to spite orders, but the request is half-hearted anyways. "Sure!" Gojo agrees amiably, in a tone that Nanami knows he'll come up with new and creative ways to torment the elderly principle once the missing students are found and brought back safely. Well. He tried.

Nanami massages his throbbing headache- at this rate he's going to need a painkiller, and sighs. "Anything else of note?" He asks and Gojo pulls a face. "Watch this." He says and steps closer to where Nanami knows the rift to be. Gojo reaches out and touches the bright cursed energy that Nanami can just barely make out, and his coworkers fingertips crackle with power.

The bright cursed energy curdles and flails in protest like a living thing, and no forewarning could've braced him for the sheer intensity of the wrongwrongwrong that it discharges like an electric shock. Nanami sucks in a breath and can do nothing but brace against the impact.

When the unnatural feeling finally dissipates enough for him to dare to make an attempt at moving, Nanami whips back to his coworker, worried shout dying on his lips when he sees Gojo standing entirely unharmed, save for the pensive frown adorning his face. "I don't think it likes me." He mutters sullenly, and Nanami can only stare in incredulous silence.

He takes a moment to pull himself together, still shaking off the horrible wrong that clings to him like a particularly hardy weed, and scowls at the reckless, impetuous little shit that could've killed both himself and Nanami in one rash, foolish move. "Are you insane?" He demands shakily. Gojo raises an eyebrow, and Nanami scowls. Right. Being batshit insane was practically a requirement for becoming a Jujutsu Sorcerer at this point, rendering the question inane.

Nanami takes several deep, calming breaths before asking a slightly more useful question. "Was there a point to all of that?" He asks irritably, and Gojo thankfully steps away from the portal remnants. "Well yeah. Whatever that is," the 'that' is emphasized with dramatic hand gestures. "It's not cursed energy. At least, it doesn't behave like any cursed energy I've seen."

Gojo.. does have a point, even if Nanami could have done with a less disturbing demonstration of said point.

The bright power wasn't cursed energy. Not even the most unnatural cursed spirit gave off that fundamental sensewrong . Because while cursed spirits are warped twisted things that set every one of Nanami's instinct ablaze, they don't quite chafe against his perception of existence itself the way this does. Maybe they had once- maybe he's just gotten used to cursed spirits particular brand of bullshit, but that explanation doesn't quite sit right with him.

"I'm not paid enough." He mutters, drained and hungry. "Seems our cute little students have gotten themselves in quite the mess this time." Gojo agrees with morbid cheer, and Nanami scowls at the reminder that the first years and Inumaki are trapped somewhere with this strange, unnatural energy.

"I'll leave you to it then." Nanami says after a commiserative silence. "If you don't make any headway after an hour, gets some rest. And for gods sake- eat something, a muesli bar and three cups of coffee is not nearly enough sustenance." "Yes mother." Gojo mocks, smile too wide to be wholly real, and Nanami has the sinking feeling that Gojo is only humoring him. He leaves the courtyard anyway, resolving to come back before the day ends at the very latest to check in on his coworker.

Later, he will regret not dragging Gojo to the cafeteria by the collar and forcing the man to eat some actual food. Later, he will regret even pretending to take Gojo at his word. Even now, an odd sense of foreboding pervades his every thought, every movement away from that accursed courtyard. But it's not enough for him to turn back and insist that Gojo accompany him for breakfast. It is not enough to change fate.

Satoru's plastic grin slips from his face the moment Nanami leaves the courtyard. All of his eyes refocus on the ugly scar that ripples and shudders with every step he takes closer to it.

He thinks about Nanami's words earlier. Rest. His lips curl in a dismissive sneer, because he can't afford to rest, not now while his precious students are alone and somewhere unknown and maybe already dead- no, they are alive, they are fine.

Because Nanami wasn't entirely wrong- his students are more than capable, and to assume they are weak and helpless without him is insulting and dismissive of all the work they've put into becoming strong.

And while Satoru himself isn't weak, he's never weak and it is blasphemy to presume otherwise, he certainly is not at full strength. His eyes throb, tired and overused and his stomach aches, the muesli bar from before may as well have been air for all that it fills it. But still, he can't take a break. No, giving up on his students now would be an admission of weakness an Satoru is not weak.

He's so close to the closed portal now that he can almost hear it's protests, can feel it crackle with that bright, garish power that is not cursed energy. What was the command Inumaki had used according to Maki to create the portal? Tear apart? Yes that was it, he can see it, can see how reality had been clawed asunder, can see how it had bent and ripped to obey his students command.

Tear apart.

His student had cleaved reality itself apart and now Satoru will have to reopen the hastily stitched-together wound in very fabric of his universe to get them back, something that could risk destabilizing the natural order.

Satoru steps closer, and the rift trembles with something that he could almost mistake as wariness. 'Go back' he imagines it whispering. 'Go back. This is not your place Honored One, not your right. Go. Back.'

"Wow, maybe Nanami had a point." Satoru muses aloud. "Maybe the sleep deprivation really is getting to me."

The rift does not respond, save for the intensifying of it's tremors.

At his touch, the lurid energy recoils, sending jolts of wrongwrongwrong arcing through his whole body. It's not a painful sensation, though it is slightly unpleasant. It feels more like a warning, like the deterring prattle of a disturbed rattlesnake, like the charged tang of ozone that precedes a thunderstorm.

Unfortunately, Satoru has never been very good at heeding warnings.

So he grits his teeth and grasps at the too-bright not-cursed-energy that makes Six Eyes ache, and tears it apart.

It doesn't rip easy, fighting him every step of the way. The energy almost feels alive, sentient in the way it struggles and quails in a desperate attempt to flee from his clutch. He only holds on tighter, and almost unconsciously, Satoru activates Red, familiar crimson energy dancing along his fingertips, the orb barely the size of a ping-pong ball. It does not need to be bigger.

He's distantly aware of the ground beneath him cracking, pulverizing into a cloud of dust that Limitless keeps at bay without a second thought, and vaguely amused, he imagines the expression of Yaga's face. The principal won't be pleased with the destruction of school grounds, though in Satoru's defense, it was hardly intentional.

He grimaces, before expanding Red minutely, and the foreign power screams in protest, simultaneously inaudible and deafening in volume. Satoru's ears ring with the thunderous buzz of tinnitus, but he does not relent, pushing harder, digging his fingers into the alien energy because his students are on the other side and he will not be denied-

Something gives way and the bright, shimmering light gives one final dying shriek of protest before it tears open and Gojo Satoru tumbles headfirst into a different world through the seeping wound in the fabric of reality not meant to be reopened by him.

He catches glimpses of slow-dying stars, universes-not-yet-made, sees the exasperated scowls of beings-with-a-thousand-faces in the fraction of a second he stays in the space-between-the-fabric-of-the-worlds and for a brief, horrifyingly glorious moment he sees before the pull of reality drags him down and he falls.

Satoru doesn't pass out, but it's a close thing. He sways unsteadily where the portal had spat him out, disorientated and nauseous and so, so tired.

He can't see anything.

No, no that isn't right.

He can see. He can see everything, just as he has always seen everything.

And he can still see everything. But everything is so appallingly bright, is such a nauseatingly kaleidoscopic flood of color and emotion and wrongwrongwrong that it makes him want to gouge his eyes out, rip them from his skull, make it stop make it stop-

Satoru does not gouge his eyes out.

He does not scream.

He instead fumbles around his pocket for his blindfold, mechanically pressing it against his eyes in the naive hope that it will do something to block out the blinding, searing light.

It doesn't help.

He does not scream.

Instead Satoru presses against the blindfold harder, bearing down on it with enough force to crush a lesser mans skull into a bloody mess of brains and white bone fragments.

His skull does not shatter.

He does not scream.

And after an eternity, after a second, the blinding light finally seems to lessen in intensity and he relaxes his grip on the blindfold by a fraction, barely lessening his hold at all, but a mere fraction is enough for the horribly bright light to increase tenfold, searing itself into every one of his eyes and it burns it burns make it stop-

Gojo Satoru s̶̢͇͓̪̜̣͕̖̘͗̂̾͘ ̴̡̪̝̩͖̲̘̦̍̇̿́c̴̗̘̺̯̜̦̖̣̟̬̫͎̣͐̄̂̓͝͝ͅ ̴̜͉̏̉̐̅̔r̶̺̻̜͆̐̆͛͆͋̎ ̸̡̛̠͚̘͚̙̯̱̹͛̓͋́̿̒̂̽͝ẹ̶̰͎̻̾͋͒̉̌̕ ̶̞̦̟̳̯̳͛̋͗ä̶̡̡͉̼̺͚͔̟̖͍̫́̽͆̍̿̐̽̎̂̚̕ ̶̗̪̤̩͖̠̜̂̓̄̓͊̊̈̿͌̇̆̏ͅm̴̞̜̆͋ ̷̧̨̧̪͍̗̪̤̮̯̠̈̾́̓̈́̌̐͌̾̚̚͜͝s̸̡̧̗̖̫̥͚͎̻͔̙̺̈̈͂̌̓̀͆̓̕ and the worlds tremble.

Omake:

The G̶͓͈͇̲̣̊̾́à̴͚̒͒̈́͊t̵͖̦̅͂̐͂̕e̵͉̹͊̾͛͐̚w̵̛̜̋̂̐̈́a̷͕͂̐̾̉͜y̴̙̯̏͠ yields to another, tearing open a fresh wound.

It occurs on the island of Uzushio, a land of ghosts.

The S̸̜̣͒t̷̗̂͂r̷̠̋ò̵̧ń̴͉g̵̢̓̈́e̷̜͝s̵̭̪̑͛t̵͚͠ opens the ancient, hastily-closed G̷̪̯̼͔͊̋̆̋a̷̧̳͈̿ť̵̨̩̞̝͝e̶̖͒̍w̴͈̽́ǎ̵̮̻͚́͠͝y̸̼̮̎̐̕ between worlds, and falls through a t̸̴̶̸̵̷̵̷̨̡̛̹̗̜̫͎̝͖͓̩̫̲͖̹̺̠̩̣̖̣̗͚͖̘̞̥͕̮̠͎̜̠͌̾̈́͋̓̿̆̅͆́̈́̏̂̈̄̇̃͋̾̿̋̊̈́̍̀̅̀̓͂̈͛̀̓̈́̚̕̚͘͘͜͠͠͝ͅę̶̵̵̸̷̥̬̙̳̫̫̻̳̯͕̝̭͎̐̆͐̓̈́́̊̿̈́̋͑͗̄̽̅̄̀̽̃̿̊̋̀̀́̋̓͘a̵̷̴̛̺̭̺̼̓̓̾͑́̓̇̑͝͝͝ͅř̸̴̷̸̨̢̡̗̱͕̰̜̦̭͙͓̼͓̫̬͎̩̹͕͍̍̄̇̊̓̓͐̏̂̿͗̾̒͠͝ͅ. The Ğ̵͔̣̜̼͇̳͔̣̾̈́̽̽͗͐͛̿͠ȃ̴͈͇̹̳̹̦̪́̓̇̄̀̉͌̿͝t̵̢̤͖̯͚̞̪̩͙̠͙̽ë̴͔̼́̆̈́͛̉͆̉͌́̚̕ was not ever meant to open again, it breaks the Laws of the universe to open without a conduit. There is one remaining that can act as so, and despite the raw power The S̸̜̣͒t̷̗̂͂r̷̠̋ò̵̧ń̴͉g̵̢̓̈́e̷̜͝s̵̭̪̑͛t̵͚͠ holds, it is not he.

So despite the Ghosts of the Island recognizing the energy, pulling to keep the tear open, it is taped shut by a Being not limited to the artificial worlds. The Being is an E̶̛̱̩̗͇̬̊̀̄͝͝n̷̮̻̪͓̘̆̎̃f̷̨͔̦͔͆̒̏͐̀͝ȏ̵̝̳̫ŕ̴̥̽́̂̐c̷͚̼͕͓̱̑̐̀e̴͙͒̊̈́̎̂̈́ŗ̷̹͉̫̀̑̈̏̊̄ of the Laws, and one of the Laws state that the Ğ̵͔̣̜̼͇̳͔̣̾̈́̽̽͗͐͛̿͠ȃ̴͈͇̹̳̹̦̪́̓̇̄̀̉͌̿͝t̵̢̤͖̯͚̞̪̩͙̠͙̽ë̴͔̼́̆̈́͛̉͆̉͌́̚̕ shall not be opened without a

Ç̷̸̵̸̴̴̸̸̶̴̸̶̷̨̨͎̲̙͖̣̥͎̜̘͕̼̮͕̪̱͚̝̤͖̥̫̗̺̼̹̱̲̯͚̪̜̟̫͈͕̠̳̗̱̤͒̏͊̈́̀͌̈́̍́̿̓̏̂̎̅͋̈͒̐͐̄̉̈̅͐͂̓͋̒̀̄̈́͗́̔̅̈́͊̒̀̅́̀̀̊͛̊̕̚͝ͅo̵̸̷̴̵̴̷̸̷̵̴̵̶̡̨̢̻̺͇͙̣̘̗̫̳̟̱̭̩̤̙͚̱̫̙̳̬̼͉̟̜͚͚͕̻̪̝̲͓͙͉̻̠̠̬̗̥̭̹̠͖̠̭̪͖̱̤̗̬͈͛͑͆̋͌̀͗̀̐̔̀̈́̆͋͋̀̈́͆̈́̃̾̆͗̍̅̄̍́̈́͒̾̐̆̏̈́̽̂̒͛͊͗̉̂̀̀̿̕͘̕͜͝͝͝͝͝n̷̷̶̵̶̵̵͓̘͕̲̱̹̮͓̯̗̙̭͈͔̻͎̗̬̣̺̫̫̒̊̈̏̆̀̊̍͂͛̈́̒̌̽̓́͋͆̀͑͊́̿̚͘̚͜͝͝d̷̵̴̵̶̵̵̷̴̶̡͚͍̟͎̬̻̣͖̞͇͈͖̺̜̜̠͍̙͓͈̻̼͎͈̠̹̲͈̙̺̜̄̆̉̉̈́͗́͊̏͋́̇́̓̌̅̏́͋̉̾̓̿̾̋̿͛̄͑͑̕̚͜ͅų̸̴̷̴̶̶̵̴̴̡͈̼̥̦͎̰̫̬̝̮͕̜̰̖̞͖̫̳̭͉͇̻̗̱̦̪̲̤̝̮̜̓͋̿̋́͗́̎̄͑̅̆̽̐̈́͌̌͆̅͋̏̀̄̌͗̈́̆͗̈́̌͂̅̀̉̑́̕̕̚̕͝͠i̶̷̵̷̷̷̸̸̷̸̡̡̢̛̛͇͚̪̤͇̳͕͈̟̤̟͎̣̙͙̟̘̥̫̪͍͇̙͖̝̮͖̳̟̙̠͒̃͗͑̈́̿̉̍̃̀̈́́̈́͗̽̐́̐͐̈́̌̀͆̓̐̉̽̄́͌̔̔͛̑̿̈́͝͝ͅͅͅṭ̵̶̷̷̸̴̸̷̵̶̴̶̛̠̹̜̮̞̬̭͕̺̫̟̙̩̠̰̗͈̪̭̟̤̩̞̞̟̼̰̘̟̮̥͎͎̽̂͌̀̑͂̿̋̍͌̉̈̄́͋̓͒͆̍͂͌́̋͂̽̈́̋̽͑̈͑̄̉̀͑͘̕̕̚͜͝͠͠͝ͅͅ

The S̸̜̣͒t̷̗̂͂r̷̠̋ò̵̧ń̴͉g̵̢̓̈́e̷̜͝s̵̭̪̑͛t̵͚͠ falls into another world, almost touching the burgundy ground, yet having an infinite distance between them. The island is alight with energy, yet drowned in the blood of Defenders of the Ğ̵͔̣̜̼͇̳͔̣̾̈́̽̽͗͐͛̿͠ȃ̴͈͇̹̳̹̦̪́̓̇̄̀̉͌̿͝t̵̢̤͖̯͚̞̪̩͙̠͙̽ë̴͔̼́̆̈́͛̉͆̉͌́̚̕.

The S̸̜̣͒t̷̗̂͂r̷̠̋ò̵̧ń̴͉g̵̢̓̈́e̷̜͝s̵̭̪̑͛t̵͚͠ opens the Six Eyes, each one being blinded by the light.

End Notes:

✨The Omake is tumblr exclusive✨

Chapter 1: Bloodstained Ink (click!)

Chapter 2: Heights & Scarecrows (click!)

Previous Chapter: Chapter 3: Snakes & Spirits Behind Locked Doors (click!)

Next Chapter: Chapter 5: Shut Your Eyes, Lest They Are Stolen in Your Wakefulness

Original Character List & Pinned Post (click!)