#wip fic lines up with this a little actually

[lamoureg]

i think i would prefer being shot 57 times over seeing the concept art of viktor trapped under a pillar again

[altruistic-meme]

i love to hear your writing process thoughts and i’m genius so excited to read your fics when they’re ready!!!

dsgljsg hi!! i am so glad to hear that tbh it makes me so so happy that you actually enjoy my endless screaming into the void--

im also very excited to share them :D especially the longer ones though those will obviously take more time to actually write/post lmao but in the meantime i definitely have a few shorter fics to work on and practice with!!

in the meantime, here are some spoils from the latest bout of writing and losing my mind <3<3

[gremlin-girly]

Pot

Part of the Green collection & winner of this WIP poll

Ask and ye shall recieve! Buckle up buttercups, this is my first fic of 2025.

Banner by me, made in Canva w/ Ari's pic sourced on Pinterest (very basic ik). Dividers by @/kodaswrld here

MDNI/Reblog Banners by @/saradika-graphics

Pairing: Ari Levinson x f!reader

WARNING: This fic not only contains smut but also consumption/use of marujuana. If that's not your bread and butter (or if you are a minor) please do not read. I am also not super knowledgeable on the subject... this is just my brain + google <3

Tags/warnings: SMUT, consumption/use of marujuana, p in v (wrap 👏 it 👏 up 👏), corruption kink, Innocence kink (if you squint) slight age gap (reader in their 20s Ari his 30s), praise (good girl), petnames (pretty girl, sweetheart, baby girl, baby, honey), reverse cow girl, sofa sex, vaginal fingering, teasing, soft!dom Ari, cum play, creampie, multiple orgasm

Not beta'd and I don't give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, copied or put through AI!

Summary: You go to your friend's dealer and get the deal of a lifetime.

Word count: ~3.9k

A/N: Now that we're through all those warnings; I can now formerly introduce to you the Green Collection. My first idea was actually for Jake and from there it spiralled but the majority voted Ari instead ☺️ I don't know if I should put it to a vote again or just surprise you with whose next? this has been in my brain all week and I'm on holiday Sunday (woohoo)

Oh and if you haven't seen, I've got a taglist going - just drop me a dm if you're interested! - x

Navigation | Green Collection | Ari Masterlist | Next

No names.

At least, no surnames.

That was apparently a rule of thumb when dealing with dealers. Not like you were stood outside his house (very awkwardly) or anything. Your friend gave you a thumbs up from the safety of his car.

That was the other rule of thumb; never go alone.

You grimaced at him and wiped your sweaty palms against the rough of your jeans, beginning to slowly regret ever mentioning that you wanted to try pot. Said friend in the car said they knew a guy who knew a guy who could help you out, so long as you went with them to get their pick up.

Not much could be said about Ari, other than he was a dealer. You'd asked but you'd been met with a shrug and a "he's a dealer. I get my stuff and bolt."

With your lips pursed into a thin line, you gaze up at the house. It looks inconspicuous next to the others. It's big and homey-looking with a well-kept lawn and a nice (but not expensive) car in the drive. You wonder if dealing is all he does, or maybe this is a friend's house, or perhaps it is his house but dealing is just the side gig. When the door opens you're still expecting a twenty-something year old with red rimmed eyes and a beanie opening the door, or a super scary guy decked out in tattoos. Joke's on you for making assumptions like that.

Ari is tall and muscular, taking up a good ninety-percent of the doorway with his broad shoulders. Long, brown hair fell in waves around his neck and, much like the lawn, his matching beard was thick but well-maintained and the loose light blue cotton shirt he wore complimented his eyes beautifully. You supposed he could look scary if he was angry and frowning, however, with his amused grin as he looked down at you he just looked like an over-sized teddy bear. But maybe that was the point.

"Can I help you?" He asks casually, his eyes scanning you.

"Um, I'm looking for Ari?" You can feel yourself shrink a little under his gaze, he was intimidating regardless of being teddy-bear like or not.

"That'd be me." He confirms. His blue eyes meet yours, challenging you to ask him what you're so nervous to ask.

"C-can I come in?" You stammer out quietly.

"Why?" He presses, making you squirm on the spot.

"Ah, I, erm..." you begin to panic. You can't say drugs - you'd sound stupid and what if he was secretly a cop?

Ari snorts and you look up at him with saucers for eyes. He's grinning, no laughing, at you. Your cheeks begin to burn as you pout at your feet. "You're messing with me, aren't you?"

"Very much so." He moves out of your way, letting you step through the door. "Come on in."

"Not what you were expecting?" He asks, leading you through to the kitchen where the curtains are drawn and there's multiple small bags with what looks like dried herbs inside them.

"N-no." You answer honestly. Your eyes fix onto a drawing on the fridge; a colourful child's drawing where the "people" are mostly vague shapes before looking back at the table quickly.

"At least you're honest." Ari chuckles. "This is your first pick up, I can tell. It's alright, I won't bite."

You wring your hands and wipe them onto your jeans. "Sorry."

Ari snorts again has collects two of the bigger bags and hands them over to you, watching as your carefully hide them into your purse. "Don't apologise. Do you even smoke? Or is Gabriel making you run errands for him?"

You look sheepishly at him; from what Gabriel had said, you weren't expecting this much conversation.

"I haven't tried it before and want to. Gabriel said he'd bring me when he came next."

Ari nods pulling an impressed expression, almost surprised by your naïve honesty. He picks up a small rectangular pack from the table

"Want me to show you how to roll?" He wiggles a pack between his fingers and looks at you expecting an answer.

"Um..." You shift on your feet, feeling a little out of your depth. It would be helpful to know but why would he be offering? Gabriel said it should be in and out and you can already feel your phone buzzing in your back pocket. Then again, Ari seemed nice and you couldn't deny that there was something enticing about the way he seemed to be interested in you. "Sure."

"Right answer." He winks at you and you can feel heat rush to your cheeks. "Hold out your hands."

He pulls out a paper from the pack. It's thin and almost transparent and he places it gently between your fingers so that you hold it in a v-shape, his fingers brushing against yours. He picks up an additional bag sprinkling the herby substance down the centre of the v and your nose crinkles at the smell. It's strong, too much like BO for your liking.

"Awe," Ari coos playfully at you. "It's alright, you'll get used to it."

You puff your pink cheeks in a half-pout. There's something oddly alluring to the fact he likes to try and catch you off guard, teasing and toying with you, and it annoys you that it's working for you.

With his fingers over yours he moves the edges of the paper up and down, before rolling it on itself leaving one edge sticking upwards. He moves the paper towards your lips with a curious look.

"Stick your tongue out." He murmurs and you obey without hesitation. Ari's eyebrows shoot upwards and he smirks. "Good girl."

Heat and shame wash over you as he glides the paper over your tongue and smooths the final edge flat. He inspects your handiwork before handing the blunt to you upright.

"Not bad. Consider this one on the house," He says and before you can take it he moves it out of your reach. "On one condition."

You blink at him. "Um. Okay."

"Next time Gabriel wants his pot, I want you to pick up for him again." Ari's lips tug upwards at the corners, flashing you a flirtatious smirk that makes you feel giddy.

"Sure thing." You nod clearing your throat as he walks you back to the front door. "I-It was nice to meet you."

Ari's eyes sparkle down at you as he opens the door, leaning in the doorway again as you exit. "You too. See you round, sweetheart."

You give him a nervous smile goodbye as you skitter back to Gabriel's car, feeling Ari's eyes follow you the entire way down the drive.

You see Ari again about two weeks later, when picking up Gabriel's next order as promised. The kitchen looks the same as you'd left it, the only addition a blunt that's gently billowing smoke left in an ash tray.

"Been practising?" Ari asks, taking a seat at the table.

"I - yeah!" You get a little too excited and clear your throat adding a quieter "Yeah."

Ari seems happy to see you so enthusiastic and drags the chair next to him out from under the table, patting the wooden seat. "Take a seat and show me."

You're aware of how close you are to Ari when your knee brushes against his and you fight to stay calm. He hands you the papers and watches closely as you pepper in the weed between the paper folded in your small hands; so careful not to spill a single stem. Then you roll tentatively, like he'd shown you before, peeking up at him as your tongue drags along one edge of the paper. The chair creaks as Ari's hand tightens it's grip and you hear his breathing stop for just a second. For a moment, you think you've done it wrong as you seal the blunt over but Ari breaks out into a grin, releasing the back of your chair and letting his hands slap against his thighs.

"You've learnt quickly sweetheart." He sighs, picking up his discarded blunt and taking a quick drag.

"Can I keep this one too?" You ask curiously, admiring you're work as Ari begins to sort through the stems on the table in front of him. His blunt hangs out of the corner of his mouth and his eye brows raise in your direction. The term smoking hot was never more accurate.

"What are you gonna give me for it?"

It's a loaded question and you both know it. Heat grows between your legs and you shift in your seat next to him.

"What... do you want?"

"Ah. Ah. I asked first." He tuts, winking at you. You shift your legs again.

"W-well." You clear your throat, feeling hot all over. "I don't think I'm smoking my joints right - I'm not getting the feelings that Gabi describes."

You peek up at him, feeling stupidly bashful and naïve for even thinking of asking him this, but the rush of being around him is too addictive. Ari's eyes don't leave yours, patiently waiting for you to continue.

"So I was wondering if you'd show me how?" You ask with soft pleading eyes, adding a hasty; "Please?"

"You wanna rent me?" Ari chuckles, looking over at you as he puffs out a cloud of smoke. "Whore me out?"

You fight a blush even though you don't find the idea unappealing. "N-not what I meant."

"Tell you what, since you asked so nicely," he sighs, running a large hand through his hair. "I'll take you up on that if-"

He pauses, setting his wrist down on the table with the blunt still smoking between his fingers, turning to face you fully. "You kiss me."

Now your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, lips parting slightly as if you can't believe your ears or your luck.

"O-Okay." You wet your lips nervously, leaning closer to his face. Your eyes drop to his lips for a brief moment before you push forward, colliding your lips against his. Beard scruff brushes your cheeks and your lips tingle and soon enough there's a large, warm palm on your neck that eases you closer against his body. You relax enough to open your lips wider, letting Ari run his tongue over your lips before he slips into your mouth. He tastes like smoke and temptation and you hum happily into his mouth, letting your lips move against his.

Your hands find perch on the thigh closest to you as you lean into the kiss, the tough muscle beneath your palms flexing under the material of his jeans. Ari's palm cups your cheek, his thumb brushing the faint curve tenderly as he kisses you, sending your brain and pussy feral. By the time you remember to breathe again, you're already light headed.

"It's yours." Ari's voice is thick and he takes another drag. He blows out the smoke long and slow, his blue eyes peeking at you and how you're watching him like a hawk, waiting for him to do something more to you. "I'll show you how to smoke next time and make sure you have the high of a lifetime."

"Thanks." You puff, leaning back and removing your hands from his leg.

"No more waiting on Gabriel either - I'll give you my number." With the blunt hanging from his lips Ari holds out a palm for your phone which you willingly give, you stomach swooping with excitement. "I'll text you when I'm free."

You can't contain the small smile that graces your swollen lips. This whole game of coy cat-and-mouse had you ready to jump his bones from the moment you met and the longer it continued the more you were struggling to keep cool.

You were so glad Gabriel had such a hot dealer to introduce you to.

The next time you see Ari is the following week.

You didn't want to seem too desperate texting him too soon but you couldn't stop thinking about your brief, but seemingly eons long, make out session. Luckily, Ari texted you first after three days inviting you over whenever you wanted for your smoking lesson, but due to work commitments, you had to postpone until the Friday.

Knowing you probably wouldn't just be smoking, you opted to wear some light make up and your lucky thong; paired only with a tank top and a short skirt. If the last two visits were anything to go by, you weren't sure how long your outfit would stay on.

The Uber to Ari's was silent, your head already spinning and you gripped the handles of your back pack filled to the brim with snacks. You hadn't wanted to come empty handed when he was still technically doing you a favour.

Even if he was going to fuck your brains out regardless.

You were less awkward now as you stood outside Ari's door and far more nervous. The cool air kissed your legs and your pussy fluttered with each passing thought of Ari's wandering lips and hands and if he'd tease you in more ways than one tonight or purposefully make you wait - or beg - for him to ruin you.

When Ari finally opens the door, he almost does a double take. His eyes are glued to the hem of your skirt, showing off the tops of your thighs. You can't complain, your eyes are glued to his body too; his tight white t-shirt that wraps around each muscle and his grey sweatpants that have a definite outline of his cock.

You swallow your drool and clear your throat. Ari blinks back to life and grins at you.

"You look good," he says stepping aside to let you through. You edge past him and peek up to smile coyly.

"Thanks."

"I've set up on the sofa. You want anything to drink?" Ari asks, closing the door and locking it behind him, following you through to the living room. "You can drop your stuff wherever."

"Um, no. I'm good, thanks." You drop your bag at your feet. You're back to standing awkwardly again, playing with the hem of your skirt, trying to think of how to start.

Ari walks past you to his sofa and throws himself back into a relaxed position, his eyes never leaving yours; his long legs spread open wide. As he'd said, there's a lighter, some papers, an ashtray and a small bag of pre-ground pot lined up next to him.

Ready for you.

"Alright then, let's get started." He says voice low, patting one of his thighs. "C'mere pretty girl. Show me what you've learned."

You inch towards him, letting his hands find your hips and guide you backwards onto his lap. His hands are warm as they run over your skirt, nudging your legs to straddle over his knees, spreading you open to the living room before you. You gasp quietly, shifting against his large, hard cock against your ass as Ari pulls you backwards, pressing your back into his firm chest. Your heart beats so fast it's almost non-existent; you'd wanted to be ruined and it looked like Ari had been on the same wavelength too. You can feel your pussy gush with need as you try to keep your breathing steady when the small baggy and papers are waved in front of your face.

"Roll us a joint, baby." Ari purrs, his breath fanning against your neck, making you shiver. Blushing, you take the weed and papers, balancing them precariously in your lap as you make up the joint and letting Ari's hands run up and down the expanse of your thighs with ghost-like touches.

"You're so good at that now." He praises, his chin digs a little into your shoulder as he watches you roll the joint. "Such a fast learner."

"Mm." You hum, jumping when his fingers dip under your hem and trace patterns against your inner thigh. Your clit throbs as Ari chuckles, his fingers inching higher but stopping before they're right where you want them to be. "Had a good teacher."

"Stop rolling." Ari commands gently, and you turn to look at him ready to stick your tongue out.

"Ah-ah." Ari shakes his head with a smirk. "I'm not gonna seal it with that. Not when I have you sitting in my lap like this."

Before you can ask what he means, his fingers dip under the material of your thong and run the length of your already-silky folds making you stiffen and bite down onto your lips to keep a pornographic moan from spilling out. Your walls pulse as Ari's nimble fingers work at your clit gathering more of your arousal before removing them entirely, leaving you to whimper pathetically at the loss.

He runs his wet fingers along the bare edge of the joint before cleaning them up with swift licks of his tongue.

"That's the good stuff," he rumbles. "Seal it over."

You do as he says, your brain clouding with lust as his other hand squeezes your thigh like a brand.

"Put it in my mouth, honey." Ari parts his lips for you to gently place the joint between his lips. The lighter flickers to life with one firm stroke from Ari's thumb and he raises it to the end of the joint, taking two quick inhales until the embers glow before tossing the lighter aside again.

You watch closely as he takes a long drag, moving the joint between his fingers as he swallows the smoke and then blows out two smoke rings. You squint at the sting of the smoke but can still make out Ari's smirk.

"Tastes fuckin' good." He teases, making your cheeks go more red. "Go on, take a hit."

He holds the blunt to your lips and you tentatively take a drag, coughing a little as you try to mimic him swallowing the smoke. Ari snorts at your attempt and kisses your nose, making your heart flutter incessantly.

"Good but you can do better." He holds the blunt steady for you. "I want you to take some long drags while I fuck your sweet little pussy okay? Long drags - and hold that smoke for five seconds each time."

You gasp at his words and nod firmly, taking the blunt end between your lips as Ari reaches under you to pull his cock free of his sweats. You can feel the a delicious squeeze around nothing as Ari runs the tip of his cock over the flimsy material of your thong before yanking it to the side. His cock is as big as you'd seen through his sweats, but there's a scalding heat to it as he taps the head against your clit, making you almost whine out your exhale of smoke one two seconds too early.

"Now, to me." He leans over your shoulder, lips parted and you immediately let him him take a drag of the joint. He shifts you in his lap, sighing out his smoke as he slides his cock into you, impaling you onto him. His hands hold your hips in place as he leans back into the pliant leather, groaning loudly as your walls clench around him to accommodate to his size.

"Shit, baby girl," he huffs. "You're fuckin' perfect."

You puff out what little smoke you managed to breathe in, moaning loudly instead as Ari bounces you on his cock. You're leaning back enough to be able to see exactly what he's doing; ramming his cock so far into your pussy his balls smack against you. Your toes curl and your thighs start to strain under the pressure of being stretched wide over his legs.

You try to take more drags but you're interrupted by your own moans and the mess Ari is making of your pussy already. Your walls milk his hard cock and you could swear for a second you saw stars as a familiar tightening in your abdomen signals a fast-approaching orgasm.

"Ari," you pant squeak his name as your pussy clamps around him, the wet sounds becoming louder and louder. "I think- hng - I think I'm gonna cum."

"I know sweetheart, I can feel that tight pussy squeezing me." Ari's fingers press into your hips as his pace continues, a loud groan erupting from his throat. "Take another drag for me first."

You suck on the joint hanging loosely between your fingers, taking a long gulp of smoke.

"Look at me." Ari growls out, a hand sneaking further around your waist and lower. As your eyes lock with his, his fingers find your clit, sending sparks across every nerve in your body. A smug grin crosses Ari's face as your eyes flutter and a moan rumbles in your chest before giving you another command, "Blow."

You breathe out the smoke into his face as he breathes it in, your eyes drooping to half-lidded pleasure.

"You look so beautiful doing that." He snatches the joint away from your loose hands and presses it into the ashtray, despite there being plenty left. He catches your curious look and smiles. "I need to focus on you, honey and I don't need you dropping your hard work."

Ari's fingers find your clit again, drawing tight circles as he fucks up into your tight hole. Your pussy spasms and you moan, your arms reaching for something - anything - to keep you steady as he fucks into you harder. The slapping sounds that echo around the room are drowned by your curses and groans as your second orgasm draws closer.

"You're doing so good for me, sweetheart." Ari murmurs into your ear. "Just knew I'd like you. 'M gonna enjoy having you around to fuck and fill-" Ari's words are cut off by a short grunt, followed closely by quick gasps for air as he cums inside your shuddering pussy. You follow suit, heaving for breaths as you gush over his cock again.

"Stay right there," He urges softly, pulling you against his chest. Slipping his softening cock from you and placing kisses against your neck, he murmurs "I'm not quite done with you yet."

One had runs fingers along your slit, jumping between teasing your oversensitive nerves to pushing his cum back into your leaking hole. With his other, he hands you the lighter before picking up the blunt again and holding it to you to light for him. Your hands shake as you reach over to light it, your poor legs convulsing over his as he strums your messy cunt without a care in the world.

"That's my good girl." Ari presses feather-light kisses against your shoulder and you whimper, trying to focus on lighting the lighter. You flick at the metal furiously and on your fourth attempt, a flame flickers to life and Ari lights his joint in the flame before taking a long drag and blowing the smoke away from your face. He looks like a dragon hoarding his treasure; smoke billowing from him as you turn in his lap and bundle closer, dripping all over him.

Ari watches you with a warm grin plastered to his face, his eyes are glassy, red rimmed and a little puffy as he offers you a drag. It's a small drag, no coughing or sputtering this time, but the weed seems to be taking effect because your body sways and you can't stop smiling up at him. Ari only laughs and urges you to lie further on top of him, running a large warm hand up and down the length of your back.

"You should wear skirts more often, sweetheart." He rumbles, taking another drag, his softening cock twitches against your bare pussy and you sigh with delight. "Although, this one might be ruined by the time I'm finished with you."

End

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

On Good Behaviour 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: after release, you try to get on the right track but your new boss isn’t much help. (ex-con reader)

Characters: Loki

Note: :)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Once you return with the tea, you’re shut out. You’re thankful for the moment of isolation. More and more you enjoy the time when you are alone. When there is no expectation. 

When you were locked up, you always had to be on, always had to be ready. Either a guard was coming to flip your cell or someone else was scoping out what little you. As your mind wands, you can’t help but trace along the scar which marked a fight over your coveted commissary cupcakes.  

You exhale and scroll down the document on filing expenses. You’ll need that for all those transactions at the cafe. An airy sort of disbelief clouds you as you try to focus. How things have changed. Now you can simply go buy a dessert and walk out unscathed. To think you survived like that for so long makes you feel even smaller in this fancy office. 

You have to break that mind set. You have to move on. You can prove everyone right. Not again. Your family, your teachers, your friends. Now, Mr. Laufeyson too. You will not back slide. 

When the door opens, you flinch and glance over. Pine exits first, trailed by your boss. The blond glances over and dips his chin slightly, “it was a pleasure meeting you.” He drawls as he approaches the door. He pauses to peek back at Laufeyson, “about time you got some help. I might actually get my books balanced on time this year.” 

“Very nice seeing you, Jonathan,” Laufeyson shoos him with his long fingers. “Perhaps if you didn’t insist on meandering.” 

Pine snorts, “good luck to you, darling.” He gives a two-fingered salute and lets himself out. You look at the laptop and highlight a paragraph to add to the image of your concentration. 

“Well, you sure do put on quite the front, as your ilk might phrase it,” Laufeyson says as the door clicks shut. He turns and sits on the edge of your desk. 

“Sir, I’m doing my job,” you assure him and look up from the screen. “Is there anything else I should be doing?” 

Your hand rests on the mouse. His eyes scour the desk and he clucks. You wince as suddenly he reaches for you. You form a fist with your other hand as he seizes your wrist. He squints down at the rigid line across the back. 

“This looks like quite the accident,” he muses. 

“Sir,” you tug gently. Your heart pounds behind your ribs. Before, if someone touched you without warning, you’d crack them in the jaw. This isn’t then. This isn’t prison. 

He hums and lets you go, “oh yes, I’m sure you have been through a rather turbulent time. This must all be very dull to you.” 

“It’s calm,” you assure him and rescind your hand, hiding it in your other. 

“And you surprisingly so,” he stands and tuts. You watch him stride around the office. “There is one other meeting today. I expect the same courtesy.” 

“Yes, sir,” you reply. 

He sniffs and spins on his heel. He marches through his office door and your frown. It’s as if he’s taunting you, even baiting you, into misbehaving. But why? Doesn’t he need help? Is that not why he hired you? 

You go back to your review, switching to the inbox as a new inquiry dings in. As you draft your response, a knock interrupts you typing. You clear your throat and stand up. You open the door and your voice clogs in your throat as you reveal a familiar face. 

“Dina,” you blink at your parole officer. 

“Hiya,” she smiles at you. Her blush-laden cheeks and fake lashes are deceiving, along with her rose-coloured jacket and skirt set. “Look at you, dearie, all proper.” 

She squeezes your shoulder and you hold back a growl. People are so touchy outside. Inside, they know better. 

“What are you...” you crane to see the clock on the wall. “I’m not late.” 

“Oh, I’m not here for you. Well, I am but I’m not,” she waves off your worry. “I’m here to chat with Mr. Laufeyson. I find it helpful to review parole conditions with employers.” 

“Uh, right. Yes. I’ll get him,” you back up and welcome her in. She giggles as she steps inside, her eyes flicking up and down. 

“So good to see you trying, dearie.” 

Her cheerful tone grinds on your nerves. She puts on this octave that tweaks in your ears. A mask over her true self. Before you came back with your letter of offer, she was threatening to put you back into gen-pop. 

You go to Laufeyson’s door and tap gently, “sir, your next meeting.” 

There’s a lull before he appears. You back up as he steps through and he slithers toward the pink balloon of a woman floating around. He extends his hand. “Diana, was it?” 

“Dina,” she faces him and her eyes round. “Oh, my, aren’t you a specimen,” she trills and shakes his hand. 

“Dina, apologies, thank you for coming. Might I offer you a refreshment? Coffee? Tea?” He says. You fight not to roll your eyes as you foresee another trip to the cafe. 

“Oh, no, it’s afternoon, no caffeine for me,” she insists. “But thank you, Mr. Laufeyson, you are a gentleman.” She releases his hand. “And so tall. Look at you.” She fans herself and you cringe as you stand trapped against the wall opposite your desk. 

“Shall we?” He angles as he gestures to his office. 

“Oh, happily,” she bounces forward. You watch without a word. Laufeyson turns to follow, his smile falling into a rather derisive expression as he eyes her ringlets. They are a bit young for someone her age. 

He shuts the door after him as she makes some comment about the decor. You shuffle back to your desk and sit. You’re a bit peeved. He could have warned you it was Dina. No, that would be too considerate. 

You roll your chair to the desk and run your finger over the space bar. It would be far more prudent to have a machine, or at least a kettle in office. Perhaps that could be a project for you. You could draw up an estimate of the cost against the price of the repetitive cafe purchases. The initiative might just break through the ice of Laufeyson’s ego. 

💼

There was a routine in prison. Meal times, bed time, it was all the same; it was everything in between that was unpredictable. Would you be sleeping in your bunk or in solitary? 

The days turned thoroughly dull. You're not mad about it. You like the slowly building sense of security. That peace only punctured by vivid dreams and noisy neighbours. 

It's pay day. Your first. You expect a chunk to be missing due to the advance but you've budgeted it all out. As you do your time; all according to boldly defined borders. 

You get out of work and go straight home. Dina checks in to make sure you're not out without reason and she's sure to do so frequently. She keeps asking about Mr. Laufeyson, likely to determine if you're doing well. You think you are. 

You take the early bus. That way you get there with time to spare. You sit on the bench outside the building to eat your overnight oats. You have an earbud in as you listen to a podcast about an old reality show they always put on in prison. You didn't really like it but it became a pasttime anyhow. 

As you swallow the pasty oats, you ponder whether you should add more cinnamon or sugar. You try not to go overboard with the latter. You push your tongue through the mouthful as soles tap closer. The men in their suits and women in their cleancut dresses sift into the building with pricey briefcases and branded coffee cups. 

"Ahem," the pointed leather toes turn and stop before you. 

You look up and swallow. You hide your mouth as you lick your lips. "Mr. Laufeyson. Good morning," you greet. 

"Waiting on me?" He tilts his head. 

"Um, no. Just eating my breakfast." You stir the oats. 

"Outside?" 

"It's... a nice morning," you shrug. 

"Suppose," he mutters. "Well, if you would like to come inside..." 

"I'll be on time," you assure him. 

He narrows his eyes before he goes. You bite your cheek and eye the half-finished container. You feel guilty. You twist the lid on and wipe the spoon clean with a tissue and tuck it all in your bag. Your hunger evaporates. 

You take your travel mug in with you as you hitch up your bag. You slow before you get to the stairs. You suppose you could stop and make sure to appease him. 

The cafe is mostly empty and you put in the usual order. The woman at the counter smiles. A girl, really. Younger than you. She might be in school. When you were her age, not very long ago, you were already in orange. 

"Would you like to try our new light roast espresso?" She asks. 

"Oh, no, it's not for me," you say as you count out change for the tip jar. 

She nods and thanks you for the tip. 

"You mean you come here every day and it's not for you?" She asks. 

"My boss. He works upstairs." 

"Right," she smiles. "Well..." she moves behind the display and grabs a thin sheet of parchment. She plucks out one of the swirled cupcakes. "Cinnamon bun. Another new creation." She shoves it into a bag and puts it on the counter, "free of charge." 

"Oh, no, I can't--" 

"I won't tell anyone," she smiles. 

"Um, okay, thanks, but... why?" You ask. 

"I don't know. You're here all the time. Kind of a hassle to be running down here all the time when you're not even getting anything out of it." 

"I guess so. It's nice. Thanks." 

"Let me know if you like it. I had to get up early to bake." She says. 

"Sure." 

She makes the cortado and you take it with another thank you. You head up with the end of the paper bag scrunched against your travel mug. You approach the door and realise you are a bit short of hands. You knock on the door with your elbow. 

You wait. You try again. Finally, it opens. 

"At last," Laufeyson sneers. 

"Coffee," you offer him the cortado. 

He makes a noise. Almost as if he's surprised. He takes it and backs off. 

"Mr. Laufeyson," you cross to the desk and put your cup and muffin on the desk, your bag in the chair. "I had something I wanted to suggest." 

"Mm, and that would be?" 

"A coffee machine? Or kettle. I drew up a pricing analysis--" 

"Oh, is that your suggestion? What is it, then? Are your feet getting sore? Not used to hard work?" 

"Um," you shake your head. "No, sir. It would be more cost-efficient--" 

"I've no worry for finances. It is my specialty, darling," he retorts. Your lips part then snap shut. You nod. 

"Understood." 

"Besides, it hardly seems you mind so much. What is that you've stowed away?" He points to the paper bag. You look at it and swipe it up. 

"A muffin," you turn to him. "Want it?" 

"Want it? Do I want a sugar-laced mess? No, I do have some standards... despite hiring you." 

Your brows pop up and you blink. You drop the bag on your desk and grit your teeth. You have to make yourself turn away. You pry your fists open and tap the button on the laptop. 

"Something to say?" He prompts coyly. 

"No, sir, I'm only starting up for the day--" 

"Ah, then, you will remember to smile." You don't say anything as you move your bag out of your chair. As you bend to nestle it under your desk, you feel a tickle along the back of your skirt. "Perhaps you might invest in an iron with your first check." 

You snap up and spin, swiping away his hand with a swat. "I didn't give you permission to touch me." 

His green irises flash and he takes a smug sip of coffee, "oh," he shakes out his other hand. "Violence." 

You frown, "no, you... you touched me first." 

"Ah, yes," he holds out his ivory hand to examine, "see, it is already red." 

You shake your head, "you--" 

"I believe that is against your probationary arrangement," he tuts. "Dina did seem rather concerned for your propensity towards anger." 

"I'm not-- I didn't-- you--" 

"Tsk, tsk, and it was going so well." 

You stare at him, temples thumping as he backs away and twists on his heel. He struts into his office with a snicker. You fall into your chair and slump. You should've known it's all too good to be true. 

[xxsyluslittlecrowxx]

𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐄

[ 𝐚𝐤𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐥𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 ]

Hi besties!

Since I'm currently procrastinating on my thesis in the most academically valid way (read: blogging about it instead of writing it), I thought now's the perfect time for a little get-to-know-me post!

Pull up a chair. Bring snacks. Let's trauma bond.

𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 : Elisabeth Eve (yes, it sounds like a tragic heroine, I'm doing my best to live up to it).

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬 : She/Her

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧 : Pisces ♓—aka: intuitive, emotionally wrecked by fictional characters, would 100% fall in love with a brooding ghost in a crumbling manor. I cry about my own WIPs. No regrets.

𝐯𝐢𝐛𝐞 : Haunted victorian literature student, but she owns lip gloss and maybe a sword.

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈'𝐦 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 : Currently writing my english lit thesis on female sexuality in popular BookTok books—which is important, necessary work... that unfortunately requires me to say things like "breeding kink as empowerment" in front of my very, VERY male, very buttoned-up advisor who has definitely never read a romance novel in his life.

Every meeting is a delicate dance where I try to explain why it matters that women are allowed to be horny in fiction—without actually saying the word "horny." Spoiler: I fail every time.

He once asked, with the most innocent confusion, "And... these books... are popular?" and I had to sit there, maintaining eye contact, while explaining the plot of a 500-paged romantasy (with a shadow daddy) that sold out in Target.

The thesis itself? Genuienly about how female readers are carving out space to explore desire without shame. The process of writing it? 60% passion, 40% praying my advisor doesn't ask me to define "breeding kink" again.

𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞 : Emotinally constipated men. Unresolved tension. Slow burns that drag everyone to hell and back—me included.

My stories are 50% poetic thirst, 30% internal monologue spirals, 20% lace, and 100% repressed longing.

If no one is whispering something devastating in the dark and then losing their entire will to live over a single wrist touch, did I even write it?

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐢'𝐦 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 :

a 6k Sylus fanfic that was supposed to be "just a drabble" and is now emotionally unwell.

a vampire x reincarnated soulmate novel where no one is okay, least of all me

hydrating like an adult.

𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐞 :

Enemies to lovers but they cry about it later.

"Touch her and die" but he's the one begging for scraps of affection

Lovers seperated by time/war/miscommunication/his repressed trauma

One bed, hand brush, forbidden glance, painful silence that says everything.

𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 :

I get emotionally attatched to one line of dialogue and it ruins my week.

I cannot write a single kiss without someone suffering first.

I will romanticize anything if you give me long enough and a vaguely dramatic soundtrack.

I hoard beautiful words like a magpie hoards shiny trash.

Okay but now I wanna know about you.

Who are you? What are you writing? What fictional character is currently living in your head rent-free and eating all your snacks?

Tell me:

Your name (or just your vibe)

Your favorite trope you’d die for

The unhinged fic idea you haven’t written yet but think about daily

Or honestly? Just how you’re doing. Be feral. Be soft. Trauma dump in the tags. I’ll probably relate.

Reblog with your answers, yell in the replies, or just send me asks like we’re already mutuals. Let’s emotionally spiral together 💌

@someprettyname @blessdunrest @wolfofcelestia @lovenstan @tsukiimonster OR anyone else who wants to hop on this little “get to know me” train—please. I’m begging. Distract me before I start monologuing to my thesis again. — Sylus Little Crow (aka Elisabeth Eve)

[curiouspupsicle]

Good Omens Fan Fiction Friday (3/21/25) - Ineffable Reality TV

Could anything be more meta than fan fics putting our favorite ineffable pair from a tv show into actual reality television shows?

The results are often amazing! And these are just a few of my favorites from a very rich category.

Since you're probably expecting all of these to be Human AUs, let's start with one in which Angel Aziraphale and Demon Crowley compete on The Great British Bake Off.

In a loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou (T) by chash, Hell wants reality television to remain hellish. Heaven has an interest in it being more heavenly. So they each send a representative to compete in the Great British Bake Off. In this work, Aziraphale and Crowley meet each other for the first time in the competition. A fun little choice is that Crowley writes spy novels in his spare time and the love interest for his main character bears a strong similarity to Aziraphale. Of the many GBBO/Good Omens crossovers, this is among my favorites.

The same writer did another take on the same idea in Our Weekly Bread (G). But this time, Crowley is a teacher whose students submit an application to the show where he ends up competing against the local bookshop owner.

@junkshop-disco picks up the theme of competitors being pressed by outside forces to compete on GBBO in Devilishly Heavenly Bakes (T). Crowley is a rocker trying to stage a comeback after a hit to his reputation. Aziraphale is a priest being pressed to bring a more modern approach to his ministry. So fluffy. So fun.

And if one rockstar vs reverend competing on GBBO is not enough, @aclever-username wrote the charming Matching Stand Mixers (G) that manages to stuff nearly every canon event from the Garden of Eden on Good Omens into the baking show.

But baking shows aren't the only reality tv programs inspiring Good Omens fic writers. Queer Omens (T) by @lurlur is the transcript of an unaired episode of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. On their way to make over Newt before his wedding to Anathema, they are hit by Crowley driving his Bentley. The demon waylays the team to instead work with his angel friend, Aziraphale.

This is another particular favorite of mine--very creative and terribly funny.

@lurlur makes their second appearance on this list with The Value of Wild Hearts (E) in which Crowley is a fan of a book expert on Antiques Roadshow. He knows he has to bring something really special to attract Aziraphale's eye. There's a lot of fun had between Tracy and Crowley who meet waiting in line for their chance to see an appraiser.

Get ready to laugh when you start reading Naked and Afraid: Jingle Hell (T) by @klikandtuna. Crowley is a survivalist YouTuber from London and Aziraphale is a veterinarian for the Chester Zoo. They get paired together to survive in the wilderness for 30 days completely naked and with only their resilience and skill (for those who aren't familiar, yes, this is a real show). This humorous fic has a particularly sweet ending.

The demon Crowley and angel Aziraphale go on a reality show to find their perfect South Downs cottage in A Narrow Escape to the Country (T) by @shaggydogstail. This outsider POV has a tv producer used to working with difficult people finding the pair particularly unpredictable.

A ton of fics have our ineffable pair end up on dating or marriage reality shows. So many that I'll end this here and perhaps revisit this theme later to recommend them in their own post.

Reblog and follow for weekly recommendations of complete fics and WIPs.

Don't forget to check out previously recommended fics on my pinned post of weekly Good Omens fan fiction recommendations as well as select WIPs.

[neverenoughmarauders]

A different kind of tag game?

Hopefully people are keen and @annabtg, @tedwardremus and @jamesunderwater aren't going to kill me for picking them.

I wanted to highlight something of their work that did something to me, and I am hoping at least one of them picks up the ball from here. I want this to be low pressure. It's not necessarily about favourite lines or passages (which dear lord how to narrow that down - there are too many good writers and fics?!). It's more about recreating a bit of the last line / WIP snippet logic with other people's works.

I wondered whether to flag spoilers as two of them pull lines from towards the end, but I wouldn't actually call any of this spoiling. If you read To Shine a Light of Truth, and don't know how it ends, you haven't read the books.

The Chaperone by @annabtg

"Too magic for Petunia, too Muggle for Hogwarts."

Eight words that have stuck with me, to the point the idea manifested itself in one of my fics, something I only realised a couple of months later, re-rereading it.

An Unexpected Ally by @jamesunderwater

Lily Evans had yelled at him, just like always.

I mean I've said it before, this fic broke me. It just did. Obviously, it's a little personal.

To Shine a Light of Truth by @tedwardremus:

There was no obituary in the Daily Prophet. No statement from the Ministry. Just another name gone missing. A whisper in dark rooms occupied by people hiding in a war that was all but lost.

Perfect All Quiet on the Western Front (one of my FAVE novels). It was the most perfect ending to this most perfect fic. And speaking of influencing, Benjy is now a journalist in my story too. I can't not picture him like that after this.

[for-a-longlongtime]

Good lord what is the young Joel and Marcus wip 😏

ANON come here and let me kiss you on the forehead!! This one is special to me 😍

First of all... young!Joel Miller x young!MarcusMoreno is not a pairing that comes completely out of nowhere. As a matter of fact, they're lurking in my masterlist, tucked into a story, but I don't want to spoiler it for other people who may not have read some of the fics I wrote last year.

However, if you know - you know. 😏

Let's get into it:

This is probably one of the heftiest WIPs that I haven't posted anything from yet, as the doc clocks in at about 5K so far - and it's actually going to be a series! I'd say a tentative 9 to 10 (not super long, hopefully LOL) chapters at this point. And I'm actually going to try to have most of this written, or at the very least have half of it done before I post the first chapter, just to make things a little more manageable for myself.

We meet Joel and Marcus in Austin, TX when they're about 20 and 21 years old, and the series will span a period of approximately twenty five years actually, so I'm very excited about that! They meet in a bar - that Joel isn't supposed to be at, because he's not of legal drinking age - when they're trying to break up a fight among their friends, which results into the two of them getting kicked out.

Joel has been working long, long days in construction for a few years in order to support himself and Tommy, as their parents died when Joel was 16/17 years old. One of the reasons why he rolled into that line of work - besides the money - is because the childhood house that they still live in needs so much work done, and the only way he could think about being able to afford that somehow is by learning how to do all the work himself because he'd never be able to afford a contractor.

His life couldn't be any more different than Marcus', who is busy with college and who tries to hide a part of his life for most people - namely that his father is the leader of the Heroics and his mother is a Heroics trainer. There is the expectation that he's going to follow in their footsteps, but his powers haven't shown up yet, so he's trying to focus on blazing his own path.

They end up becoming friends, and music plays an important role in that; the series takes place in the (early/mid) nineties, so get ready for a good amount of grunge / rock / etc. There are a lot of twists and turns in their story (apparantly Little Beast was only the beginning of a whole lot of angst/drama pouring into my fics), so I don't want to reveal too much it, but let's just say that it's a tough ass road and things don't go the way they've planned.

But! I do have enough written so far that I can show you a little snippet of a very rough outline from chapter 2:

Joel and Marcus listening to grunge music and smoking so much pot at Joel's place. Careful first kisses. Giggling about it as they’re so stoned and kind of nervous. (They only smoke pot when Tommy isn’t around/going to be home that night, also to help manage Joels aches as he tends to be sore after a long day at the construction site - that's half of the reason why Marcus brings over weed). They’re both too high to do anything that requires much coordination but Marcus starts grinding against Joel’s dick and they eventually get eachother off that way, clothes still on, sitting on the couch. There are more kisses while they're both still panting, now with a giggle in between breaths every now and then, and the weed just makes them lose track of time - and it's not all that long before Joel finds himself grinding his hips up against Marcus again. "Fuck. Fuck, I…." He can't find the words, especially not when Marcus rocks back against him, just a little slower on his refractory period. "I want…. Fuck. 'm too high. I can't…" Marcus hushing him with another kiss and Joel moans, grabbing Marcus' hips and shifting on the couch, until Marcus is on his back and Joel on top of him. Nudging his hips into Marcus until they line up, still fully dressed, and the little “oh my god” once he gets it right. "Take it, take it, take it," Marcus panting under him, holding onto Joel's broad shoulders, which makes Joel moan against him, and when Marcus' hands grab Joel's ass, something just clicks inside of Joel's brain. And despite that everything is still slow and soft, he just goes feral because he wants it - wants Marcus - so goddamn bad "Wish I was inside you," against Marcus' ear, and Marcus cries out at that, imagining it, and because it feels so good that Joel is fucking his cock against him. "I wish I…" And not all of it is coherent, it's a string of words that fall from his lips, but he kind of talks Marcus through it, what he wants to do to him, and Marcus just loses his shit because holy fuck, Joel's voice is so deep when he's been smoking like this, and nobody has ever talked to him like this while getting off, and he loves it.

Thanks again for asking, Anon!! I honestly can't wait to write more on them and to eventually share these boys with all of you.

Want to know more about fics in my WIP folder? Check out the original post!

pssst, this is me looking innocent and tagging y'all for no reason whatsoever except for that you might be interested to see this WIP that's in the making 😇😘 thank you all so much for the support you gave to GP! @oliveksmoked @ohforficsake @wannab-urs @baronessvonglitter @angiewatson

@iknowisoundcrazyreads @gruaig-rua @thebeldroramscal @milla-frenchy @reallyrallyauthor

@jessthebaker @littleredpandanaps @bitchesuntitled @avastrasposts @almostempty

@almostfoxglove @rebel-held @magpiepills @legendary-pink-dot @mysterious-moonstruck-musings

@din-cognito @penvisions @alltheglitterandtheroar

[abarbaricyalp]

AJ Wilson and the Case of the Disappearing Beard and the Stranger on the Couch

I finished the WIP I've been affectionately, but perhaps exaggeratedly, calling AJ and the Winter Soldier. This fic follows a Sam-Finds-Bucky pre-Civil War canon divergence, in which Bucky meets the Wilsons a whole decade earlier than he actually does. Ignore the timeline. I hate the mcu timeline This was supposed to be a ficlet 🙃 AO3 Link

Sam didn't mean to bring the Winter Soldier home to meet his family. But the situation was dire and the Winter Soldier was really mostly Bucky Barnes by now, so he figured where needs must.

The needs at the moment being the wanted fugitive who had shown up at Sam’s back door three weeks ago, soaking wet in the rain, and so pathetic looking he couldn’t be scary, who had come inside when Sam opened the door, went straight to the bathroom to change and dry off, then had gone to the couch and fallen asleep. Sam had been adopted by a stray cat once, while he was taking classes at LSU. It let him pet it and feed it and talk to it while he got his mail. It came into his apartment a few times to look around, then left again. Sam wondered if the Winter Soldier was also a shapeshifter.

The needs at the moment being that Sarah was only seven months postpartum and Cassius’s cancer had come back with a vengeance that his doctors couldn’t explain. That little Cass was scared of hospitals. That AJ, the baby, definitely couldn’t spend so much time somewhere where illness walked where it liked. That Sam’s family needed him and he needed them.

That his new shadow had looked at him with big, bright eyes and started to say, “Can I–” before he stopped himself and went to grab the single backpack of things he owned.

That Sam had sighed and snagged it before he could, and said something stupid like, “We can split the drive.”

It had been a relatively uneventful trip. Sarah had shouted at him about the uninvited guest, but she couldn't be mad the whole time he was there. Besides, he'd come specifically to babysit the boys. Uncle Sam to the rescue, right?

With his freshly adopted assassin with him.

Okay, so maybe Sarah could be a little mad at him. But she had also decided to go spend the time with Cash, so she wasn't that mad. And Sam figured he was more than making up his apology. It's not like he was letting Barnes wander around unobserved. Not like Barnes really seemed to want to be out of Sam's line of sight. He hadn’t wanted that the whole time he’d been at Sam’s place in DC. If Sam went running, he went running. (He was a much better running partner than Steve) If Sam went for take-out, he came back to find Bucky pacing the living room. If Sam stayed up late, Bucky sat with him.

There’d been some rumblings that the Winter Soldier might’ve died. Something about a HYDRA base explosion and a body with a metal arm. When Sam had looked at him, unimpressed, Bucky had just shrugged and gotten back to cooking whatever red-sauce coated thing he was making that night. It bought him some time and space, but it did mean his freedom had condensed down to the places where security cameras didn’t watch every twitch.

Louisiana wasn’t so bad for that.

It was the third day when Sam looked over from doing the dishes and found Barnes holding the baby under the arms out in front of him. Close enough that AJ could still reach out and snare his impossibly strong little fingers in Bucky's beard but far enough away that they weren't going crosseyed to look at each other.

Bucky was staring at him intently and AJ was giving as good as he got.

"What in the world are you doing?" Sam asked.

"I read that babies start learning faces as early as 2 months old. If he knows my face, maybe he'll like me."

"He's a baby," Sam snorted. "Keep giving him his bottle and avoiding bath time and he'll like you just fine."

"That's not true. They said babies form opinions and it's hard to break them. The toddler did."

"Cass is shy. He just needs to get to know you. He sat next to you at lunch today."

"I gave him extra french fries," Bucky admitted. He pushed air into his cheeks and the baby cackled, smacking little hands against Bucky's beard delightedly. And then Bucky grinned too. Full faced and bright, nose scrunching up, eyes crinkling. Sam dropped a dish into the sink in his distraction.

It was the kind of smile Sam had gotten familiar with on his family's faces in the past handful of years. The kind where a baby smiled at you and you had no choice but to grin back and maybe make a silly face at them. For a moment, he wondered how long it had been since Bucky had gotten to smile like that, off the cuff and big and completely free. It made him look decades younger. For just a split second, he was seventeen and staring at a grainy black and white photo in his history book again.

"Hi there!" Bucky said for the umpteenth time this week. It seemed to be his go-to any time either of the boys looked at him. "I'm Bucky, remember?"

"You've completely held him hostage for three days," Sam said drily, forcing himself to look away from the entirely too endearing scene in front of him. "It'll be a miracle if he remembers the rest of us exist after you leave."

"Bucky," Bucky repeated.

AJ smacked his hands against Bucky's cheeks again. "Ba-ba-ba," he babbled.

"Nuh-uh!" Sam interjected quickly before Bucky could get excited. "He's been 'ba-ba-ba-'ing for weeks. I think he plays with that little sheep mobile too much."

AJ looked over at his uncle, smiling despite the distance between them. He kept curling his fingers in Bucky's beard and tugging on it hard. But Bucky didn't seem phased in the slightest.

"Is he hungry?" Sam asked, coming over to the back of the couch. He held out his hands and grinned goofily.

Bucky, for his part, did lift AJ up to pass him over. "Wanna go see your Uncle Sam?" he asked. "He wants to see you."

And then AJ's happy little smile fell and his cute little face puckered and Sam quickly stepped back. "Nope, take him back," he said just as the first sob erupted.

Bucky brought him back down to cradle in his arm and AJ settled down as soon as he could see Bucky's face again.

Alright, so maybe he had a point about the ways babies learned faces.

"Whatever," Sam sulked, not at all betrayed. "You let me know when he's feeling more sociable."

"What was that about bottles and bath time?" Bucky called back, even sounding younger now. The laugh he let out when Sam threw a peanut at him was practically unrecognizable.

Read the rest on AO3

[tgmsunmontue]

You put a ring on a wild thing - 6/? WIP Hangster

Affectionately titled "Drunk Vegas" fic until I gave it the title above. Likely going to be around 4-5 parts (I say optimistically).

Explicit Hangster. Drinking and dubious decisions and complete disregard for actual facts.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE

PART SIX – AN INTERLUDE (five other points of view)

JAVY

                “Bradshaw!”

                “Uh. Yeah. Machado right?”

                “Yep. Hear you met my brother Jake in Vegas…”

                “Uh…” Bradshaw is looking at him with the definition of deer in headlights and Javy laughs, slaps him on the arm, realizes he’s taken Javy literally.

                “Brother from another mother man, I ain’t his twin. He’s already got one of those.”

                “Fuck. I thought there was something Jake hadn’t told me…”

                Javy laughs, it’s weird hearing someone in uniform calling Jake Jake, rather than his callsign, but he supposes that Bradshaw might end up a part of their family, and none of them call Jake by his call sign either.

                “Oh, I bet there’s a whole lot Shaky-Jake hasn’t told you. What do you want to know?”

                “How long have you known him? And his family?”

                “Oh… oh Bradshaw. I know you and Jake were likely too busy with other things to talk, but you mean to say he’s never mentioned me? I’m a little bit hurt. You guys must never come up for air huh?”

                Bradshaw has gone bright red, his neck splotchy with embarrassment and he feels a little sorry for the guy.

                “Sorry, sorry man. Just…We’ve been friends since we were in elementary school, so… you looking for dirt I’ve got truck loads,” Javy chuckles. The wide grin Bradshaw gives him makes him smile in return.

TOM

                Tom looks at the envelope and he feels the cold shiver of trepidation. He knows he would have heard if something bad had happened to Bradley while he was doing something for the Navy. However that leaves so many ways in which something could still happen to him. The envelope contains a change of circumstance, a piece of paper which might tell him that Bradley has died. Or simply moved his home base.

                He shakes himself mentally. Regardless of what is in there his actions cannot change it and he reaches for a letter opener, one with a jet on the end, the jet-stream making the blade to slice the envelope open and he shakes the piece of paper out, steeling himself for the worst. The relief hits him hard, although it’s quickly followed by a whole raft of other emotions.

                Bradley is married.

                Married.

                Oh.

                To a man. One also in the service, and it was a few weeks after the DADT repeal went through, but clearly when Bradley and… he looks at the other name. Jake Seresin. Clearly when their leaves lined up, the two of them obviously arranged to meet in Vegas and get married as soon as possible. He likes the romance of it, feels a little choked up and tries to pretend it’s not because he wasn’t there to see it for himself.

BRADLEY

                Bradley’s been talking to Jake as often as their combined schedules allow. He’s never had a boyfriend before, let alone one who was also in the service. It’s for obvious reasons, DADT being the first, second and third. This sudden freedom, coupled with the fact that he has someone, a man who laughs at his jokes, calls him darling with his low Texan drawl which makes his skin prickle with something. Jake seems equally happy and excited and he worries a little that maybe it’s the novelty that is making them so giddy with happiness when they talk with each other.

                He knows he remembers more of the night in Vegas than Jake does, although he suspects that more of it has come back to Jake as they’ve talked. He can’t wait to see Jake in person again. Meant it when he said he’d change his home base. Wants to meet Jake’s family. Enjoys learning all about them from Coyote, a different perspective, an outside one. The days can’t go by fast enough, his leave and Jake’s already lined up so that they can spend time together. They have dates planned. Multiple dates. He can’t wait. Jake wants him to meet his family.

                His wedding ring hangs around his neck with his dog tags, and even though it’s not even been two weeks he’s developed a habit of pulling it out and playing with it, rolling it between two fingers when he’s sitting down and relaxing anywhere, like right now, leaning back against the wall in the rec room on the carrier while he waits for a turn to play ping pong.

                “What’s with the ring? You married Bradshaw?” Skippy asks, and he looks down at the ring and shrugs, gives her a smile.

                “Uh. I am actually. Whirlwind romance…”

                “No shit. What’s her name?”

                Javy is watching him with narrowed eyes and Bradley shoots him a confused look. They’ve been getting on really well, he doesn’t get the sudden shift in attitude. Unless it’s about the automatic assumption that he’s married to a woman? But then surely his anger should be directed at Skippy?

                “Uh. His name is Jake,” Bradley says, and he knows he’s blushing a little, he’s not embarrassed to be married to a man, but if people find out the details then… Suddenly his arm is being grabbed and he’s being pulled away from Susie Krippner and frog-marched to a corner of the rec-room.

                “You and Jake’re married? What the fuck?” Javy hisses, eyes wide as he looks between the ring and Bradley’s face.

                “You said you knew!”

                “He said you were his boyfriend. I was about to… well. You saved me getting reprimanded I guess. Wait though. You two got married in Vegas? Holy shit. Oh my god. No wonder Tyler is so pissed. Oh my god…”

                “What… did Jake only tell you that we were…”

                “He said you were his boyfriend. I mean… I get why. I’m with Tyler. I can’t believe you guys kept your whole dating thing a secret…”

                “Uh…”

                “Wait… did you guys… oh my god. You met in Vegas and got married?”

                “Yeah…”

                “Oh my god. Tell me everything. Jake’s fucking dead to me…”      

SLIDER

                “Look, it’s not like it’s out of my way. You can stop thanking me.”

                “I know, I just…”

                “You’re worried. I get it. I got you bro.”

                “Bro? Really?”

                “My kids keep me young.”

                “Are you sure they aren’t tricking you into thinking you’re using their language?”

                “Hmm. Maybe. Anyway. Let me ring you back after I’ve met this young man of Little Goose’s…”

                “Don’t let on that you –”

                “I know how to be discrete Ice, calm your tits.”

                “Calm my what?”

                “Your tits. All the kids are saying it now.”

                “I highly doubt that.”

                “Look it up. Bet you it’s in the new dictionary on the internet,” Slider says, grinning at the sky, because he knows it’s in the dictionary because he went and looked it up, hoping to be proved right only to be proven very wrong. He ends the call without saying goodbye, simply to annoy his best friend. He’s based in Corpus, had been well aware that Ice wants him to go and inspect this new person in Bradley’s life. He heads for the admin office first, because Janice is always a fountain of information if he approaches her right. So he makes a stop at the vending machine to get a bar of chocolate and then the tea room so he can also bring her a cup of tea.

                “Janice.”

                “Admiral Kerner. What do you want?”

                Her tone brooks no nonsense and he knows his flight school shenanigans are probably still biting him in the ass decades later. He pulls a face, and he supposes it’s her prerogative as someone who remembers so many of the Admiralty as snot-nosed kids to not drop a sir at the end.

                “I was just wondering if you would share your thoughts on Seresin.”

                “I won’t share personal information.”

                “I’m not asking you to,” Slider says, and he means it. He already knows the details from Ice anyway. “I’m asking what you personally think of him. How he comes across. Is he polite? That type of thing. Your opinion is generally bang on the money…”

                She hums and rolls her eyes, and he waits, slides the cup of tea and chocolate bar closer and the look she gives him is one he sometimes sees on his wife’s face, like he isn’t fooling anyone.

                “He’s polite. Didn’t want to put me to any trouble. He was a little nervous, happy and excited nervous though. It was a good reason to have him in here.”

                “Yeah. It was. I flew with Goose you know.”

                “I know.”

                “Of course you do,” Ron says with a tired nod. “Of course you do. Pretty sure the place would fall down around us if it weren’t for you and the others.”

                “Oh, undoubtedly. Was there anything else Admiral?”

                Ron knows when he’s being dismissed and he gives her a little salute on his way out. Now he needs to go and find Seresin and make his own judgement call.

TYLER

                Jake won’t give him Bradley’s number. However Jake is an idiot if he thinks that’s going to stop him from somehow contacting his new brother-in-law. Of course, Tyler’s always thought of himself as the smarter twin. He messages Javy and asks, who hands it over with no hesitation and Tyler is familiar enough with life on a carrier to know when might be a good time to call. Of course, Javy telling him also helps.

                “Hello?”

                “Hey Bradley!”

                “Uh. Hi. Who is this?”

                “The better looking twin…”

                “Oh. Uh. Tyler…?”

                “Yeah. Hey man. Just wanted to welcome you to the family…”

                Bradley laughs, and that makes Tyler like him a little more already. Javy has already put in a few good words about him, but Tyler wants to form his own opinion.

                “Thanks? Although I thought Jake was only telling people I was his boyfriend.”

                “Oh. He is. Except for me. He can’t hide things from me. Even when they piss me the fuck off.”

                “Yeah. Well. You and Javy. You can get Javy to tell you, it’s kind of funny.”

                “Nah man, you can tell me…”

                He listens as Bradley recounts the little misunderstanding, the fact that Bradley is wearing his wedding ring with his dog tags make Tyler feel fiercely pleased that this complete stranger already places such a high importance on his relationship with his brother. That Jake is important to him.

                “And I’m sorry you weren’t there. Javy said you were upset you didn’t get to be Jake’s best man… I’d like to say next time, but I really hope there isn’t a next time.”

                Tyler likes him even more, can’t believe his brother fucking lucked out into accidentally marrying a decent guy. He knows it’s early days, but holy shit all signs seem good.

                “It’s all good man. I like the sound of you. Jake can take himself a little too seriously. Hypercompetitive. Usually it’s with me, but he thrives in that environment. Just… you have my number. Don’t be a stranger. Send me funny stories or stupid shit about Javy…”

                “Can do.”

SEVEN

[preet-01]

I wasn’t going to post this snippet until Saturday, but it’s been a very shitty day so I’m trying to find joy in the little things that I can control and won’t catastrophically destroy my life

Here is a snippet from the first draft of a current wip that has drastically changed since I started it a few weeks ago. While none of this will be in the final fic, I did like this snippet a lot.

The actual wip now focuses on hopeless romantic, model Daniel over the course of 15 years as he continually gets his heart broken by multiple formula one drivers until he finally finds the one who loves him just as much he loves them. All of this began from the line: some Australian model that Seb’s been fucking

Max remembers the first time he saw Daniel.

He hadn’t been in Formula One then, no, he’d been in Formula Three battling his demons (a shitty car) and Esteban Ocon (another demon if he was honest). Red Bull and Mercedes had both been courting him — there really wasn’t a better way to say it. Mercedes was dominating that year and Red Bull was on the back foot after dominating for so long. One would think that his best option was Mercedes, but his dad and manager didn’t seem to think so.

Mercedes already had two strong drivers — a world champion and the man who’d beaten his Uncle Michael. A strong and not old line up meant that Max wouldn’t be the first choice. Not for them, they’d put him in F2 and have him fumble around in the Williams for years until either Lewis Hamilton or Nico Rosberg left or retired. Red Bull, however, had a seat for him for the coming year. Not in F2, but in F1. Red Bull had a junior team — Toro Rosso — with a seat that could be his if he (his dad and manager) picked them. And unlike Mercedes, the main team line up gave him room for promotion because everyone knew Red Bull’s champion, Uncle Michael’s protégé, would eventually go knocking on Ferrari’s door. As for the 2nd seat, the Frenchman currently occupying it wasn’t someone the team expected to win championships with.

The first time Max sees Daniel is in 2014 as he tests with Toro Rosso in a young driver session in Suzuka. He’d seen Daniel in the Red Bull garage nodding along to something Sebastian Vettel had been saying to him.

“Some Australian model that Seb’s been fucking,” one of the mechanics had told him when Max asked who Daniel was.

From there on, Max continued to see Daniel around the paddock. Always on the arm of Sebastian Vettel and hopelessly in love with him despite the number of others that Sebastian paraded around when Daniel wasn’t present.

[ladysomething]

🌈 the 🌈 girl 🌈 dad🌈max🌈fic🌈

🌈 Share something soft/fluffy from your WIP.

girl dad max fic and fluffy .... say no more.

Nervous, Charles knocks on the door, fiddling with the hem of his white shirt. 

He waits almost a minute, the lock on the door turning several times in the wrong direction, before it finally goes the right way. It swings open, revealing Céline in pale blue pyjamas, Barbie printed across the front of the shirt in bold pink writing, and a tiara atop her blonde curls. 

“Bonsoir,” she says with a wide smile, and then continues in French, “Daddy says you can come in.” 

“Merci, Céline,” he says softly. 

He’s not entirely sure what to say to her, really. He’s got friends with kids, and now has a niece and two nephews, but he’d known all of them since they were born. It’s different, being introduced a kid later. 

Still, he tries, crouching down and opening up the satchel he’d brought with him. Carefully, he pulls out the little snow globe he found in town, a little forest with a cottage inside. He’d found a jeweller and paid an obscene amount of money for them to put a plate engraved with her name on the front; far more money than he’d paid for the little globe in the first place. 

“For me?” she asks, with wide, curious eyes. 

Céline reaches out for it carefully, little fingers cautious as she wraps them around the glass, leaving smudged fingerprints all over it. 

“For you,” Charles says softly. 

Her little finger swipes over the name plate, tracing her name, and she beams up at him. 

“Merci, Monsieur Leclerc.” 

“You can call me Charles.” He says it the French way, the traditional way, voice soft and curling over the syllable. 

Céline repeats it perfectly, the way her father never did. 

“Can I show you my room?” She asks hopefully. “Daddy made me clean it for you.” 

Charles smiles at the way she says it, matter-of-factly, and nods. “I would love to see your room.” 

She slips her tiny hand into his easily, fingers playing with his nails as she leads him left down the hall, socked feet padding against the wood floor. 

The hall opens up into a large living area, lounge, TV, and dining table to one side, and a farm-style kitchen on the other. Max is behind the counter, donned in a blue apron with a GT3 car printed over the chest, carefully slicing cherry tomatoes. 

Charles’ chest goes tight at the sight of him. He’d kind of thought that Max wouldn’t be here; that this was all just some elaborate hoax designed to mess with Charles’ heart. 

Max smiles widely when he see’s him, lines creasing around his eyes. They’re deeper than the last time Charles saw him; like all he’s been doing since he retired is laughing and smiling. Charles likes that thought—he hopes Max has been happy. 

“I was beginning to worry Céline left you outside,” Max says, putting his knife down and lifting his apron from over his head. Charles is ridiculously endeared by the white shirt and skinny jeans he’s wearing underneath. Some things never change at least. 

“She’s been the perfect hostess,” Charles tells him, while Céline swings their joined hands around between them. “She was just about to show me her room.” 

“We just painted it, didn’t we, baby girl?” 

“Daddy let me choose the colour,” Céline says excitedly. “And he let me paint some myself!” 

Charles raises his brows. That’s sweet, but—does that mean Max did the rest of it? He didn’t hire someone? He finds it hard to picture Max doing manual labour around their house, but he supposes he doesn’t actually know what Max does with his time otherwise. Does he have a job? Doing what? He’s not seen any news about Max in five years, and he knows he would have, if Max had so much as been pictured at the bakery downtown. He’s been looking.

“Why don’t I give Charles a tour, mijn lieverd? Then you can show him your room.” 

Céline sighs loudly, but lets go of Charles’ hand to run off up the the stairs, snow globe in hand. 

[levandright]

HII this is my fluff wip tht i scratch away bc i hv too many smut reqs

Summary : One of them writes a love letter to get over their feelings, but it accidentally ends up in the other’s hands. Not knowing the letter is about them, they ask the writer for advice on how to respond to their own letter, sparking a chain of misunderstandings until the truth is revealed.

What i had in mind :

-Jake wrote it to y/n

-He accidentally lost the letter while he was walking on the hallway

-The letter ended up in front of y/n’s locker

-She picked it up and read it

-Told jake abt the letter (but they r both idiots) until somehow they figure it out bc it got obvious

Feel free to change the plot!! ( I might write a part 2 from ur fic if u make it <3)

Letter of the Heart

pairing : jake x f!reader ୨ৎ content / warning(s) : fluff, they're friends, funny misunderstanding cause they're idiots(jake specifically but its okay <3), highschool au ୨ৎ word count : 1k ・ archive

synopsis. when y/n finds a love letter at her locker, she has no idea who it’s from, so she asks her best friend, jake, for help with what to say. jake, being the good friend he is, jumps in—giving advice, joking around, and even offering to “practice” her responses.

ᐢ..ᐢ lev notes : ended this on a cliffhanger hehe >:3 hope you like what i did mama belle <3 cause i had an awesome time, thinking of what to add on to make it more fun.

part 2 here!

it all starts with a love letter. jake, who’s been silently carrying a crush on you for ages, finally pours out his feelings on paper. he didn't plan on giving you the letter—it just something he wrote to work through his emotions. but the next day, while walking to class in a rush, the letter slips out of his notebook and lands right in front of your locker.

later, you spot the folded note, curious, and decide to read it. your heart flutters as you take in the words—gentle, vulnerable, clearly written by someone who has been holding these feelings close. but who could it be? the handwriting is neat, but familiar. intrigued, you decide to find out.

during break time, you bring it up to jake. “i found this letter outside my locker,” you say, holding it up, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “it’s… really sweet. but i have no idea who wrote it!”

jake, obliviously laughs. “a secret admirer, huh?” he teases, thinking of all the possible suspects. “what did it say?”

you blush reading a line out loud: “‘every time i see you smile, i feel like everything makes sense.’” jake’s heart skips a beat, hearing his own words, but he quickly pushes away the strange familiarity of it.

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

later that afternoon in the cafeteria. you hold up the love letter, cheeks flushed as you read through it again. you sigh looking to jake for help. “it says, ‘you make me believe in all the little things that make life beautiful.’ how… how am i supposed to respond to something like that?”

jake laughs, trying to brush off the pang of recognition he feels. did he… write that? he wonders but shakes the thought away, assuming it’s just an odd coincidence.

“maybe say something like, ‘i didn’t know i had such an impact on you!’” he suggests. “or if you want to be bolder, add, ‘tell me more about these little things.’ you know, just to tease them a bit.”

you beam, nodding. “that’s actually perfect! you’re a genius at this.”

jake chuckles, putting on a casual smile while his heart races. “just call me the love doctor.” he can’t shake the strange feeling, but he pushes it aside, too embarrassed to imagine he might be your admirer.

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

in the library the next day, you and jake go over the letter again, trying to analyze every word.

“whoever wrote this,” you murmur, pointing to a line, “has a way with words. ‘every time i see you smile, i feel like the world gets a little brighter.’ that’s… that’s intense. do you know anyone who’d say something like that?”

jake’s pulse quickens as the words ring a familiar bell in his head. that sounds like… something he would write.

trying to cover, he shrugs. “uh, well, it’s probably someone with a soft side,” he jokes, mentally kicking himself. “maybe they read a lot, or… watch a lot of rom-coms?”

you laugh, clearly enjoying the mystery. “could be… but it feels so genuine, like they really meant it.”

he tries to smile, but his mind races. could it really be… his own letter? the thought sends his heart racing, and he fights to keep his cool, feeling embarrassed that he might be guiding you to respond to his letter.

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

that night, as jake lies in bed, an unsettling thought lingers in his mind. could it actually be… my letter?

the more he thinks about it, the more familiar those lines sound, and his stomach twists with both excitement and dread. sitting up, he grabs his backpack and rummages through it, pulling out his notebook. he flips through the pages, looking for the tucked-away letter he remembers putting there. but as he gets to the back of the notebook, his stomach drops.

the letter isn’t there.

“no, no, no…” he mutters, flipping through each page again. but it’s nowhere to be found. he recalls that day in the hallway when he’d been rushing to class. it must’ve slipped out then!

jake groans, covering his face with both hands, completely mortified. 'she’s been reading my letter this whole time… and i’ve been helping her respond to it!'

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

as you sit in class together, you try to bring up the letter again. “so, about my response… i was thinking of adding a line about—”

jake quickly interrupts, laughing a bit too loudly. “oh, yeah, sure, whatever you think, it’s all good!” he blushes, then looks away. “i mean… i’m sure whoever it is would be thrilled with anything you say.”

you narros your eyes, studying his red face. “are you okay, jake? you’ve been acting really… weird since yesterday.”

jake scratches the back of his neck, glancing everywhere but you. “who, me? no, no, i’m fine. totally normal. it’s… totally normal for me to help you write a love letter to someone i don’t even know, right?”

he lets out a nervous laugh, mentally cringing at how ridiculous he sounds, and you just raise an eyebrow, watching him closely. is he blushing? you wonder, putting the pieces together bit by bit. but you don’t say anything yet, waiting for the right moment.

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

the next day, you read the letter over again, something finally clicking. as you recall jake’s reactions, the strange look in his eyes every time you talked about the letter, you suddenly realize the truth.

the next day during lunch, you turn to jake, a small knowing smile on your face. “jake… i have a hunch. about who wrote the letter.”

jake’s heart stops. “oh? who… who do you think it is?”

your eyes search his, twinkling with a new understanding. “i think it was… you.”

jake’s eyes widen, and his mouth opens, but before he can respond, the bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. you stand up, leaving him stunned in his seat as you head off to class with a glance over your shoulder, you give him a teasing smile.

“see you after class, jakey~” you say with a playful tone.

jake is left sitting there, his heart racing, unsure of what you’ll say—or what he’ll say—when you finally meet again.

perm taglist.@honeybelleee @honeychocos @manaah02 @kozumesphone (open!)

requests. open!

©levandright

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

End Game 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: we're here to boo Andrew.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“So, you’re coming?” Jacob’s voice quavers with excitement. You can’t imagine how he’d sound if you said no. You hate letting people down, it seems to be all you've ever done.

“Uh, yeah,” you say as you steer around the track; opting for some MarioKart over Minecraft that night, “boss says it’s no problem to get the days off. Just have to make it up after. Is... Is everything still good on your end?” 

“Oh yeah, sure thing,” he assures buoyantly, “I can’t wait. Did you still wanna split the airBnB?” 

“Actually, I got a place to stay for the night then I’ll take the early bus back,” you explain as Princess Peach knocks you off the track, “argh!” 

“Right, that’s good,” he says, “good to know you won’t be stranded out there.” 

“Mhm,” you use your boost to catch up to Peach and get your revenge. You don’t mention that Kara will be with you at the con. You just want to be sure this isn’t something wonky. “It’ll be nice to get out of town. My grandma will probably be happy to have the place to herself.” 

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “what’s her problem anyway?” 

“Just the way she is. She likes her space,” you shrug, “I don’t know, I don’t think she expected to be raising her granddaughter...” 

“Ah, yeah, I guess that would be stressful,” he says, “still, seems like you’re not too bad to be around. Got a job, go to school, all that. Think my dad would love it if I put in half as much effort.” 

“Yeah? You make him sound like a hard ass.” 

“Can be. Lawyer, so kinda his schtick,” he chuckles. 

“Oo, fancy,” you snort. Maybe if either of your parents had been lawyers, you wouldn’t be living off your grandma’s resent.  

“I guess. Never really see him that much...” he grumbles. 

“Hm, well, no winning, is there?” You mutter. 

“Not really,” he sighs and hisses, “ugh, Toad!” 

You chuckle and cross the finish line. A respectable second. You wait for him to finish and stifle a yawn. 

“Tired?” He asks. 

“Little.” 

“Me too, long day,” he groans, “neck’s killing me.” 

“Oh, what’d you do--” 

“You know, I’m-- an idiot. Was messing around on my bike.” 

“Of course,” you snicker, “well, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna sign off. I don’t wanna keep my grandma up and my head’s starting to go.” 

“Sure, I gotta get up early anyway,” he sounds less than enthused. “Good night.” 

“You too.” 

“Tomorrow?” 

“Can’t, work. Day after?” 

“Okay, I’ll make it work,” he confirms, “I’m excited about meeting up. Aren’t you?” 

“Yep,” you try not to show your doubt. You’re still not really sure about everything. 

“Can’t wait,” he rasps and the silt in his tone makes you shiver. 

“Yeah, er, bye then,” you hit end session and take off your headset, your ears tender and a bit sweaty. Even if it is awkward, at least you’ll get to hang with Kara for a bit. You haven’t seen her since grad. 

🎮

You’re already exhausted and you’re not even inside yet. The line for the convention is bustling and your excitement keeps you going as you and Kara gab away and move with the slow crawl. The sun beams down and has you sweating, though you could easily blame that on your nerves too. 

“So, this Jacob... is he cute?” She winks. 

“Kara,” you roll your eyes, “it’s not like that. Really. We just game.” 

“Oh yeah. But do you want it to be more?” She teases. 

“You know I’m not really into all that. I don’t have room for a boyfriend in my life.” 

“So boring. Never change, girlie,” she nudges you playfully. “But really, that’s smart. Calvin is too much. I’m thinking of cutting him loose.” 

“Again?” You squint. 

“Not my fault he keeps coming back,” she giggles. 

You peer around, searching out a familiar face amid the ocean of strangers. You haven’t seen Jacob yet. You’re almost hoping he doesn’t show up. Then again, why wouldn’t he? He paid for you to be here. The reminder of the fact strikes guilt in your chest. 

You pause as your eyes catch another pair, further back in the queue. An older man with a beard. He stands out among the crowd. He wears a tidy button-up where most wear graphic tees or cosplay attire. He stares for a moment before he turns away and looks down, probably at whatever kid dragged him there. 

“Well, what are you going to do if he sees you and falls in love?” Kara asks. 

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes. 

“If he’s a nerd like you, how could he not?” 

“Hey,” you frown. 

“What? You’re like the sexy gamer girl type. Isn’t that what dudes want?” She shrugs. “Let me see his pic again. He’s a skinny little thing. He’d definitely be into you.” 

“Urgh, stop,” you cross your arms. 

“Sorry, I’m only playing. You just seem so nervous, I’m trying to loosen you up.” 

“I know,” you puff, “it’s just... I should’ve just said no. This is stupid. I don’t know why I even agreed.” 

“To get out of that shithole,” she snips. “Why do you think I hauled ass the minute I popped by grad cap on?” 

“Mm, yeah, I just hope... do you think he really wants that? Maybe I gave him the wrong idea. Oh, Kar, I really didn’t mean to lead him on.” 

“No, no, I’m sure it’s nothing you did if he does. I mean, he’s probably a virgin so...” 

“That’s mean,” you pout. 

“What, so are you,” she laughs. 

“Exactly,” you shake your head and drop your arms, a buzz jittering your skirt pocket.  

You look down at yourself as you slide your phone free. That was probably a bold choice but it’s so damn hot out. Besides, your Pikachu tee is loose enough to counteract the denim sheath. You turn the screen up, shading it with your hand as you read. 

‘Sorry, not going to make it. Something came up. 🙁' 

You frown and reread the message. Really? You came all the way here, took time off of work, and he’s flaking? 

“What’s up?” Kara asks as she clicks her manicured nails impatiently and stands on her toes, trying to see past the bodies ahead. 

“He just cancelled,” you mutter and type in your reply. 

‘Oh no. Hope it’s nothing bad. Maybe another time.’ 

You hit send and drop your shoulders. You’re surprised how disappointed you are. More so about the wasted effort than anything. Even if you are a bit relieved, it’s shitty. 

“Ah, bullshit!” Kara sneers, “what the hell? What did he say?” She reaches for your phone and you hold it out of her grasp. “That fucker.” 

“It’s probably not his fault. Shit happens.” 

“Babe, you’re gonna settle for a lot of nonsense if you keep that attitude. I’d be friggin pissed if I was you. He brings you all the way here and now he’s too good for you. I bet he saw some cute girl in line and she smiled at him once so now he’s ditching,” she scowls, “I hate boys.” 

“I’m sure... it’s nothing,” you say glumly as your phone vibes again. 

‘I’m real sorry. I hope you still have a good time. Take lots of pictures.’ 

You don’t respond. You lock your phone and put it back in your pocket. It never feels good to be stood up. Even then. 

“You know what, screw him,” Kara snarls, “let’s go in there and buy you the cutest plushie you can find. Hell, maybe you can find an even cuter guy.” 

“Kar,” you warn her. 

“Fine, just the plushie. Maybe two,” she trills, “forget that loser.” 

🎮

The chaos of the convention wipes away the dark cloud over you. You’re almost thankful that Jacob gave you the opportunity to catch up with Kara. You didn’t realise how much you missed her. It’s perfect day where you can forget about your grandmother and your lame job and everything else. 

You rush around from booth to booth. You look at fanart, handmade figures, and stuffies. You��re mindful of your wallet and how empty it really is. You’ll get one thing and a snack. That’s all you can afford.  

As the hours roll by, your early morning bus ride and time spent standing out in the hot sun catch up to you. You feel your muscles starting to ache and your eyelids turning fuzzy. You yawn as you shuffle behind Kara as she waits in line to get a signature from the one D-list celeb she’s heard of. You’d get one too but it’s way too expensive. 

“Hey,” you rub your cheek, “mind if I sit and wait? I wanna grab a soft pretzel anyway.” 

“Sure,” she agrees easily, “looks like it’s gonna be a while.” 

“Want me to bring you a drink or something?” You offer. 

“Nah, just text me where you are so I can find you,” she says. 

You leave her reluctantly. You’d rather not be wandering alone through the hordes but your feet are killing you and your stomach’s been roaring for the last hour. You stand in line for the pretzel stall and get yours with cinnamon sugar and syrup. Messy but delicious. 

You find a table in the corner and settle in. You put your phone beside the napkin and tear apart the doughy goodness. Your phone lights up with a notification from the merge game you like to play and you see several other icons; missed messages. 

You focus on your snack, savouring each bite, as your eyes drift around the crowded centre. You can barely see some of the booths as hordes cluster around. Some cosplayers bat at each other with toy swords as children fight over the arcade machines. You’re overwhelmed by the sheer amount of activity all around. 

You put your head down trying to block out the lights and noise. You feel yourself getting overstimulated. It’s like when you’re in the lecture hall and suddenly you can hear every sniff, sneeze, and keystroke. You close your eyes as you wipe your fingertips on the edge of the napkin, only half-finished your pretzel. 

“Looks good,” a deep voice cuts through the blaring din. 

As you recognise the timbre, your heart squeezes and the world pinpoints at the centre of your skull. You open your eyes and slowly raise your head. You blink dumbly at the unfamiliar man stood in front of you. You think you’ve seen him before, or at least he sticks out from the typical convention attendee. 

It isn’t that he’s too old, there’s lots of older geeks hanging around but they have neckbeards and greasy combovers. His hair is tidy and his beard trimmed close. His clothing also lacks the typical Dorito dust or anime character. You remember, he was outside in the line. 

“Uh, hello?” You utter. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he says as he pulls out the chair across from you. He sits as your insides plunge. You know his voice. 

“Jacob?” You murmur in shock. How? Why? This isn’t the stringy teenager you met online. 

He nods, his jaw tensing, and he crosses an arm over the table, pointing to your half-eaten pretzel, “what’d you get on yours? I can’t decide between sweet or savoury.” 

“Who... are you?” You croak, head spinning as your eyes prick. You knew something was weird. You knew you weren’t talking to Jacob or whoever that boy was in the pictures. 

He takes a breath and lets it out slowly. As his chest deflates, you do too. He’s older than you, bigger than you, and by the looks of him, a lot better off. Why the hell would he be chatting with you? Why would he lie to you? 

“You’re right. I’m not Jacob,” he confesses, the colour draining from his face. He steeples his fingers and considers his next words carefully. You sit back and hug yourself defensively. This is fucked. “My name is Andy, Jacob is my son.” 

“Your son?” You eke out, “why-- why would you lie?” 

He cringes and takes another breath, “he was my son,” he corrects himself, “he... passed.” 

You feel like you’ve been struck. Your mouth falls open, stunned. Not only did he hide behind his son’s photos, but his dead son’s. Oh, god. You feel sick. No, you feel stupid. 

“Look, please, just hear me out. I just—it wasn’t meant to go on this long. When I first lied to you, it was supposed to be that one time. I was... I was lost. I just lost Jacob and I was going through his things. I started playing because I missed him. I wanted to feel like he was still there--” 

“No, no, you got on discord and you started talking to me. As him!” Your voice shakes and your eyes tinge. “That’s not just missing him.” 

“I know, you’re right. I lied but... I got lonely playing by myself so yes, I went onto that discord. You were nice. You didn’t call me a noob or whatever. And... and after work, looking forward to hearing your voice, it got me through a lot of pain. Being alone in that house after so long, I couldn’t cope--” 

“So you lied to me?” You stand and snatch your phone, nauseous to the core, “you manipulated me. How do you know—if you had just been you that I would’ve been any different? If you just wanted to play games, to be friends--” 

“I was scared--” 

“I don’t care if you were scared,” you hiss as you stomp forward. “You’re an adult.” 

He stands and blocks your path. You recoil, put off by his height. He’s a lot bigger on his feet. 

“Please, move or... I’ll scream,” you breathe. 

“You don’t have to do that. Just hear me out,” he pleads. 

“I don’t want to hear anything else from you, Jacob. Or Andy. Or whoever you really are,” you sneer, “move.” 

He shudders and hangs his head. He makes himself seem small as his shoulders round and he backs out of your way. You bite down and march past him.  

You need to get to a bathroom. Now. You’re going to spew up your guts. More important, you need to get yourself together before you go find Kara. She can’t know this happened. It’s too embarrassing. 

[kedreeva]

Hello, I've been following you since Good Omens~ I'm currently writing a fic, and it is growing bigger than I expected. So much so that I'm kind of at a lost on how to outline/draft it. If you have any tips you don't mind sharing on how to better plot a story, I would really appreciate it. :)

I can tell you what I do! It requires a little background.

Back in HS, I had a class about writing essays. Basically, it goes like this- you write on a page "intro, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, conclusion." Then you go back, and after each #1 (or as many as you want), you fill in a major argument/point you're making on your topic, and then under each #1, you write 2, 2, 2, 2, or however many you want. The trick is that each #2 must relate to what was said in its matching #1. If needed, you can add #3s under any #2 that needs it, again each #3 must relate to what was said in #2. It's mostly fill-in-the blank writing from there, and then you go back and fill in the intro/conclusion to match what you wrote.

ANYWAY story PLOTTING is kind of the same thing, to me, except instead of the intro/conclusion being the last thing I do, they're the anchors of the rest. I look at where I want the characters to be at the start, and where I want them to be at the end, and then I look at what needs to happen in the middle to get from point A to point B. I write down what major events need to happen (like #1s), and then under those, which building events need to lead up to them (like adding #2s), and if any minor events/character developments need to happen to get to the building events (like #3s).

Once i know what needs to happen, I block out any chapters, particularly if I know I need to get certain chapters to end on certain notes, and once i know what the chapter frames look like, I do a quick "first draft" kind of sketchy write up (as if I'm quickly summarizing for/telling a friend what happened) of a scene-by-scene. That way I know what to expect going into a chapter, and I know what to expect for the overall.

Importantly, if I don't really know what happens, I leave that room in the outline. USUALLY it becomes apparent what needs to happen, as I go through writing, because stuff happens (in the story) while I'm writing that makes it clearer. if not, then I write it wrong and see why it's wrong, and that sometimes makes something clearer. If THAT doesn't work, then I go to friends or strangers and ask for help. There's a lot of people out there happy to rubber duck with you, or to be beta readers, you just have to be very clear about what you actually need from them (for example, if you want storybuilding advice you can tell them to avoid picking at grammar or spelling, especially since whatever it is may change as you edit or rewrite).

Also importantly, it's okay to change your mind AND it's okay to edit previous chapters as needed while you are writing. EVEN if they are already posted to AO3. Anyone reading a WIP is likely to understand that the story is under construction and sometimes that means stuff changes. Sometimes, when you're writing along, you find out if you make a change to something in the past, it rewires a bunch of stuff down the line, or at least opens a door for you to get where you wanna go with the plot.

And sometimes... sometimes you just need to take a break. Sometimes you're trying to pour from an empty cup.

Good luck with it!

[hustlemeanokay]

Solavellan vs Dread Rook? When did it become a competition? Ship all the ships, I say.

So as much as people like Solavellan (or whatever they call it) - I don't get why people don't like Solas x Rook. It's all there. It's perfect. The tension, the range, the enemies to lovers trope or hell, just the potential for so much writing to be involved. Like, okay... so okay... I go into my personal opinions about what makes each of their relationships different (just a few opinions not like power point presentation style or anything).

When I first played Inquisition, when it first came out, I naturally picked an elf and unknowingly romanced the bald dude. And Solas' romance is a good one. But it's only good because he leaves Lavellan. It's the first time that's happened to a player character in either DA or ME games. A legit breakup. With, at the time, no real reason! It wasn't until after the game, of course, that we were like "OMG!!!" But on the whole, there really wasn't a lot to their romance if you remember what actually happened in the game. But you have to ignore all the fan fiction and fan art that has been done in the decade since then. Just counting the game itself? Not a lot going on there. A couple of kisses, a couple of talks, and that's about it really.

And the whole time, he wasn't being who he really was. He was playing a part. He was Solas version soft-core, so to speak. Because while he may not have started calling himself the 'Dread Wolf', he very much is that person. Solas is prideful. He is a bit of an asshole. He is cold and calculating. The Solas we see in the memories in Veilguard was already turning into that person so the Solas that meets Lavellan is 100% already there. He uses her. The fact that he falls in love with her has very little to do with him using her, he can compartmentalize like that. As Cole says, it changes everything but it can't. But, point being, Lavellan never really got to know him. He always had a mask on. Was always so careful about what he said and how he said it as to not raise suspicion.

But with Rook? Oh, he's pissed. Gone is his careful way of speaking. Gone is his gentle tone and light smile. Rook gets Solas unfiltered. Solas without a mask. Solas the Dread-fucking-Wolf. There's still parts of him that are recognizable. But on the whole, he's more real. Because he's not worried about pretending to be something he's not. Rook knows what he is. Rook knows he's going to betray them, knows he's going to turn on them, is expecting it. (And Solas' manipulations are painfully transparent, with the exception of Varric). What he's worried about with Rook is keeping their blood-magic link in tact and molding them into someone the prison will accept (still not sure how that worked but w/e). But as far as when he talks to them? Sees them? Rook gets under his skin and he slips up and lets it show. He nearly misspeaks almost immediately and he does misspeak later. Rook does that to him. Because he's not keeping himself at arms length with them, he can't.

So the idea of Solas x Rook? Much more... real, as in 'keepin' it real', than Solavellan to me. Does that mean I have zero fics with Solas x Lavellan? Hell no. I have like at least half a dozen with different Lavellans x Solas. But! What it means is that the relationship between Rook and Solas is very intriguing and compelling and is definently fic-fuel. It means that I already have 2 separate fics WIP for them.

You don't have to stand on either side of this line, you can draw a big circle, stand inside of it and clutch both Solavellan and Dread Rook tightly to your chest with you. I'm not sure why there's this insistence that you have to pick one. You've never had to pick one. That's what having multiple OC's is all about. That's how that works.