#yes i wrote another part to this give it a read or give the universe a try

[crownedwille]

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: Young Royals (TV 2021) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Simon Eriksson/Wilhelm Characters: Simon Eriksson, Wilhelm (Young Royals), Original Character, a small appearance from Malin Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Simon Eriksson, Alpha Wilhelm (Young Royals), Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, how to be in a healthy equal relationship when your instincts are telling you the complete opposite, they're still working on it, Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings, Oral Sex, there are not enough fics with Wille getting a blowjob and i'm here to rectify that, this was supposed to be merely porn but it gathered a bit of plot because i couldn't resist, mostly in the 2nd chapter, Not Canon Compliant with Young Royals (TV 2021) Season 3, i recommend reading the first part to understand the dynamics and backstory but you don't have to, Unlabeled Wilhelm (Young Royals), Also an important tag Series: Part 2 of Something Real As Pain Verse Summary:

It has been a week since Wilhelm's speech. Simon and Wilhelm are adjusting to the new changes in their relationship while coming to realize certain things are harder to let go than others.

[sludgeguzzler]

god i love lotr especially the online fandom bc i might not be a part of it but knowing that one of my dads most formative pieces of media something that he told me stories about in great detail (he knows the lore by heart) making me grow up hearing about it, is also some 17 year olds source of gay fanfiction is simply the best thing

[cobragardens]

CORRECTED & UPDATED! Clothes + Equivocation = Romance:

The Husbands in 1793

EDIT: I made a significant error when I wrote this. As @goodjomans kindly points out in the comments to Part 2 of this essay (massive shoutout for this, goodjomans! also I love your name!), Aziraphale is the one who dresses the executioner in clothing like Aziraphale's original ensemble, not Crowley. This changes my conclusions about the meaning we can take from this scene!

On the one hand, mea culpa, y'all. I shall get on with eating my crow. On the other hand, I had to go through this frame-by-frame to catch which of the ineffable spouses puts Jean-Claude in his new togs, and the answer only lasts three frames. Here it is:

After Aziraphale changes his clothes, but before Crowley snaps his fingers and unfreezes time, there's a shot of the executioner over Crowley's shoulder, and he is now wearing a light coat with gold embroidery on the shoulders like Aziraphale's. Aziraphale arranges the executioner's death, not Crowley. So I feel like an idiot for missing it, but not a total idiot.

Let's discuss how this information changes what we can read from this scene! I'm going to leave my original text in place and edit with bold green. I can still stand by most of this essay, but this detail changes how I read the meaning of the husbands' communication at the end of this scene.

So we're all clear on the fact that the universe of Good Omens is an inescapable nightmare dystopia in which either of the husbands' merciless authoritarian regimes could be watching or listening to them at any time, yes? And that if either are caught 'fraternizing' with the other that means discorporation, torture, memory wipe, and/or death for either or both of them, yes?

Which means Crowley and Aziraphale can never speak or do anything openly to each other about their friendship or attraction or love. Everything they say and do has to have an innocuous meaning they can point to in case anybody ever sees or hears something Team Azcrow can't explain away. Walls (and ducks) have ears, and the price of slipping up--as we see in 1827--is heavy.

When a character says or does something that has two distinct meanings because they need to disguise what they really mean from one party but make their meaning plain to another, lit-nerds (and lit nerds🍃) call this equivocation. Equivocation is a kind of coded communication meant to pass hostile ears and eyes in plain sight but reach its intended recipient with its true meaning. The 1793 scene is jammed with it.

A lot of that coded messaging revolves around the clothes Crowley and Aziraphale choose in this scene, so--THESIS PARAGRAPH, BITCHES--we're going going to talk about how their clothes read to the people of this time period and location, what their clothes tell us about their characters, how their clothes help them equivocate, and what they're really saying with that equivocation. And Spoiler A-fucking-lert, it is ROMANTIC AF PRETTY GD ROMANTIC. Let's get nerdy!

We start with Aziraphale's beautiful champagne-gold and powder-pink ensemble.

This outfit would tell people of this time period 3 things about Aziraphale:

That he's insanely wealthy--These clothes would be silk, hand-embroidered with thread made with actual gold. Each individual garment could cost years' or even decades' worth of working-class wages and take a team of skilled artisans dozens to hundreds of hours to make.

That he's a fop--i.e., a man who loves fine clothes and dressing up and looking fancy. By the 1790s in England, once-fashionable foppishness was giving way to the Neoclassical 'Corinthian' style, and was considered effete. (Fun note: During this time period, effete did not automatically indicate gay, and pink was considered a masculine color, so while Az. is queering it up to the audience here, his clothes would not have read as gay or overtly effeminate to the other characters around him.)

Even though he's insanely wealthy, Aziraphale wears clothes that are decades out of fashion.

According to the Victoria & Albert Museum, "As the [18th] century progressed, the male silhouette slowly changed.[...] Coat skirts gradually became less full and the front was cut in a curved line towards the back. Waistcoats became shorter. The upper leg began to show more and more[...]. Shoes became low-heeled with pointed toes and were fastened with a detachable buckle and straps or ribbon[.]

Source

That description is not what Aziraphale's wearing. Judging by his heel height and the length of his waistcoat, Aziraphale is wearing a style that's at least a decade older than this:

And this is from 1765. The great crepes caper happens in 1793, almost 30 years later.

My inference: Just as he has in the modern period, Aziraphale has settled into a style he really likes and refused to let go of it long after it's gone out of fashion.

We'll come back to this set of Aziraphale's clothes in a bit, but we need to talk about Crowley's first, because Crowley's clothes in this scene help render a line he says later about this outfit very flirtatious and darkly romantic.

First, some background: What was considered acceptable attire for wealthy people in France changed pretty much overnight during the French Revolution after the storming of the Bastille in 1789 and the fall of the French monarchy. Instead of advertising wealth, clothes now had to advertise political allegiance, and they had to do so loud and clear. And if you didn't want to be murdered by the French First Republic, that political allegiance had fucking better be to the Revolution.

People started wearing a looooooot of super patriotic shit. And I mean it was like little kids on the 4th of July; clothes were red, white, and blue in any hue and garish combination and print. The cockade, a fabric rosette in the colors of the French flag, was required by law to be worn by men, and despite that was just as popular among women. To show solidarity with the laboring classes, the fabrics the wealthy wore went from embroidered silk in light Rococo colors (what Aziraphale is wearing) to sober neutrals without decoration in wool, cotton, and linen.

Now, the script note for Crowley's clothing in this scene is this:

But clearly there were some changes made between script and filming, because Crowley does not appear standing behind Aziraphale; he appears lounging.

And he's not dressed as a French peasant.

Here's how French peasants dressed in 1790:

Peasants at this time wore styles that distinguished them from the styles of the upper classes not just in materials, colors, or patterns, but in shapes. Full trousers and cropped boxy jackets in French flag colors were the marks of the laboring-class Revolutionary, and both styles were huge changes from hundreds of years of French fashion up to that point.

And that's not what Crowley shows up wearing. Crowley is wearing the knee breeches, stockings, waistcoat, and frock coat of a wealthy man, and in fact his clothes reference a very specific type of wealthy man.

In the 1790s, if you were an aristocrat who wasn't happy about the Revolution and you were so sure of your privilege that you would risk your life showing it, you wore black in mourning for the monarchy and in protest of the violence of its deposition. If you were an aristocrat who wanted to protest and you didn't want to be immediately murdered by the French First Republic, you wore a style called half-mourning, which was black with a colored coat.

Here's a picture from a 1790 fashion magazine of an aristocrat in half-mourning:

"The text accompanying the plate describes his ensemble as 'half-mourning,' referring to the aristocrats who lamented 'the diminished powers of the monarchy and [signaled] their willingness to die for the royal cause'" [emph. added]. [Source]

Notice: the shoes, stockings, breeches, waistcoat, and cravat are all black. You with me?

Because here's Crowley in 1793:

I've turned up the brightness and exposure in this image so he's more clearly visible against the stone, but I haven't warmed it up. He's wearing a coat that's a dark blackish red. Everything else, even his cravat, even his shirt, is black. (The black shirt is anachronistic, a lovely little nod to Crowley's refusal to wear angelic white.)

This is 179fuckin'3, y'all. Marie Antoinette is executed in 1793. It's 3 full years after that fashion plate up there in his bright red jacket, and that lil dude was already risking his neck way back in 1790. As we can see from the fact that the government are apparently now grabbing random wealthy-looking Englishmen off the street to murder without trial, the time for a man demon to be sauntering around Paris dressed in all black or even nearly all black is well past.

Crowley's also wearing a whole assload of huge silver buttons, which would have been flashy and tacky and frankly pretty weird in 1793 but very definitely an eccentric Rich Person Thing to do, bc regular buttons at this time were horn or wood and covered with the garment's fabric. The only man in France who could get away with this fancy aristo shit anymore was Robespierre himself, and only "devotion to the cause[...] excused Robespierre’s showy dress since he was perceived as a bridge between the politically empowered bourgeois deputies and the ardently antimonarchical unenfranchised classes." [Source]

So when Crowley teases Aziraphale--

--both of them are perfectly well aware that Crowley's outfit would get him just as killed as Aziraphale's.

And that's why Aziraphale's expression is annoyed when he has abandon his "standards" and change his clothes. Because Aziraphale's the one who needs the favor, Crowley makes him take one for the team and wear the goofy hat.

The clothes Az. changes into here still tell people that he's rich, but they also say he's a hardcore Revolutionary. The red jacket in a current cutaway style, the cockade and sash, and the bonnet phrygien (the red garden-gnome cap) all announce this guy is a huge supporter of the Revolution. His clothes are all still aristocratic in shape and materials (and he keeps his now-unfashionably frilly lace cravat), but he's no longer flaunting obscene wealth in a city filled with angry starving people, and the gnome cap says he's in solidarity with the working classes even if he isn't one of them.

Once he restarts time, Crowley is not leaving that prison cell safely without either changing his clothes or taking Aziraphale with him, because Crowley looks like a rich asshole protesting the fall of the monarchy--which is frankly exactly the kind of thing he'd show up wearing to the Bastille during the Reign of Terror (just like he wears athleisure in Heaven). But Aziraphale's new appearance covers for them both: if the rich-looking guy with no cockade and wearing all black under his almost-black coat is in with this other guy who's obviously a Revolution fanatic, then the rich guy's probably okay, right? He just forgot his sash at home or something. Bees.

Something else happens when Az. changes, too. Look at Aziraphale's new dress from a different angle:

Half-mourning is a white shirt, but a black cravat, so this isn't half-mourning. He's wearing three different badges of the Revolution to make up for the fact that Crowley looks like a Satanic libertine (which tbf he is), but Aziraphale's new ensemble is black and dark red.

Y'all. Aziraphale changes into Crowley's colors.

Now, this is a more fashionable and higher quality version of what the executioner is wearing, so Aziraphale has very plausible deniability here; if anyone ever pulled him up on it, he could say he just copied our man Jean-Claude.

But let me show you what English fashion looks like right now:

This is a French painting of a wealthy Frenchman, but he's wearing the English 'Corinthian' style. It was painted in 1795, so this would have been the very cutting edge of fashion in England in 1793, and the fabrics and colors look right at home in Revolutionary Paris. (He's wearing the cockade on his hat, btw.)

Look at all that angelic white! The buttery almond of the buckskin breeches, the golden kidskin gloves, the rich tan of the riding boots! The blue of the greatcoat! All colors we know Aziraphale prefers!

And yet this is what Aziraphale chooses:

We know from the entire rest of the show how very particular about his clothes Aziraphale is. And yet 150 years before he (accidentally) admits in words that he's Crowley's friend, Aziraphale wears Crowley's colors to take him to lunch to say thank you for a rescue.

When we decide whether a character's speech or action is equivocation, one of the things we check is whether equivocation (and deception generally) is something that character does elsewhere in the text, which, with Aziraphale, hahahahaha, DUH. He's already using equivocation in this scene.

The lunch date itself is equivocation on Aziraphale's part. Aziraphale tries to thank Crowley for the rescue, but Crowley says,

So Aziraphale says,

No more words like "thanks" or "rescue" used, but a couple hours of good food and drink and conversation, Aziraphale hopes, will express the gratitude toward Crowley it's not safe to speak aloud. With this, Crowley and Aziraphale explicitly establish that they are equivocating for each other's safety and using coded communication--immediately before Aziraphale changes into Crowley's colors.

So yes, Aziraphale may well copy the executioner's clothes. But consider: When a character who can't speak or act openly says or does something that has two or more possible meanings, this can be read as equivocation.

We don't get a face reaction from Crowley about Aziraphale's new 'fit, so we can't be sure how he feels about this. But this whole scene is, even on its surface, about 1) the meaning clothes transmit to a viewer ("Oh good Lord," says Aziraphale when he sees what Crowley's wearing) and 2) how to show gratitude and appreciation when you can't speak of them openly. And we know Crowley notices clothing and clothing colors, because look at what he wears, like, ever. So it's very reasonable to presume he notices Aziraphale wearing his colors, and it fits well with both the rest of Crowley's actions in this scene and with his being very hurt and angry when Aziraphale later characterizes their interactions as "fraternizing."

Right, so we've covered what's going on with the husbands' clothes, and we've looked at two examples of equivocation on Aziraphale's part, viz., lunch and his change of colors. (Here's an example of equivocation on Crowley's part as well.) Now let's look at that super interesting thing Crowley says about Aziraphale's first outfit.

Here's the line:

Crowley follows up here on earlier lines in which he teases Aziraphale for coming to Reign-of-Terror Paris for crepes: "Dressed like that?" meaning Aziraphale was guaranteed to get arrested dressed like an aristocrat. The top layer of equivocation is always an innocuous meaning: the plausible deniability meant for the hostile/unsafe listeners. That's Meaning 1.

But "Dressed like that, s/he's asking for trouble" means two other things, too. It's a veeerrrrry familiar phrase, isn't it? We've all heard that arrangement of words in that order before. It's used when people think someone (usually but not always a woman) is dressed to invite sexual attention.

How do we know we're supposed to take this modern meaning from this phrase? This is how:

We have learned in literally the previous sentence to this one that rain has not been invented yet. The only two humans in existence have just left the Garden. Balloons definitely do not exist yet, humans couldn't tell you what lead is, and yet this is a phrase Crowley uses and Aziraphale understands. This tells us, the audience, in the very first line of the very first scene with these characters, that their speech is anachronistic and modern, and that we are to understand their phrasing in its contemporary sense.

So. When Crowley says "Dressed like that, he was asking for trouble" in 1793, we should read that in the context of the scene and in the senses the phrase carries to us today.

And since Crowley is using a phrase that means the executioner is dressed to invite sexual attention, and the executioner is wearing clothes identical to Aziraphale's, then Crowley is necessarily telling Aziraphale that when Aziraphale was wearing those clothes--those frilly, effete, unfashionable-for-decades clothes that nobody else likes and the French now murder people for wearing--that was, in Crowley's view...provocatively sexy. Meaning 2.

"Dressed like that, s/he was asking for trouble" is also what people say to justify violence, especially sexual violence against women and queerphobic attacks against men perceived as gay or just 'insufficiently' 'masculine'. In fact justifying assault is likely the most common way this phrase is used today by a wide margin. Meaning 3.

Crowley's joke isn't even really a joke in this sense; it's a vicious barb. And, because it must, it sounds like it's at Aziraphale's expense: You wore the wrong clothes, you weren't careful enough to guard yourself against the men who want to do you harm, so you deserved the trouble you got. Meaning 1.

Except remember: Crowley is also dressed for trouble. And Aziraphale is aware of this. Crowley's 'fit would be almost as offensive to the Revolutionary French of 1793 as Aziraphale's Rococo pastels, and probably just as likely to get him arrested and murdered by the state if he weren't making letting Aziraphale keep him safe by wearing the cockade and the silly hat. Crowley's not saying anything about Aziraphale here that he's not also saying about himself; and as we know from Aziraphale's initial "Oh good Lord" when he turns around and sees Crowley's black and red half-mourning (with extra black and gobs of silver), Aziraphale knows it.

Then why the rapey joke, Crowley?

This is fucking why:

Crowley rocks up at the Bastille just in time to witness some grubby fucker assault his friend. Assault the person Crowley will greet 15 seconds after this as angel.

Crowley's first act after freeing Aziraphale is to send this dude to his death. Nope! Aziraphale is the one who arranges to have the executioner killed in the clothes he would have killed Aziraphale for wearing. He takes Jean-Claude's ability to speak (but not to make sounds, interestingly! Jean-Claude can still whimper, Jean-Claude can still cry!) so the executioner can't tell anyone about the 'mixup.' It's unclear which of them blocks the executioner's power of speech. The vicious joke about assault in Meaning 3 isn't at Aziraphale's expense at all. It's not You wore the wrong clothes, so you deserved the trouble you got. It's If this guy thinks you deserve trouble for wearing the wrong clothes, he can eat his own rules.

And that's the other piece of evidence that, along with Crowley's ensemble, shows us the audience and Aziraphale which meanings Crowley intends with his equivocation. Meaning 1 is cancelled out by Crowley's clothes. That leaves Meanings 2 and 3.

Crowley and Aziraphale share clothes as a common interest. They don't have the same style, but they're both aware of current fashions, and Heaven and Hell aren't. You can't tell me Hastur or Uriel would recognize the significance of Crowley saying "Dressed like that, he's asking for trouble" about someone else while wearing black stockings and cravat and waistcoat himself. And that means Anything the husbands communicate to each other through clothing choices goes undetected by their masters.

SO. With all this in mind, let's go through the 1793 scene again and look at what their clothes help them say without words.

Concluded in Part 2!

[emlovessid]

@into-the-jeggyverse for the bingo prompt coffee shop au, 769 words inspired by this tiktok // bingo masterpost

He's trying to hide Regulus' birthday present when he finds them.

He'd swung past his place after class to grab his overnight bag – artfully-wrapped present hidden in amongst his trackies and jocks – before arriving at the flat Regulus shares with Evan and Barty. It's Regulus' birthday tomorrow, but James unfortunately has an eight am class; his only class that the lecturer actually takes attendance, or else he'd skip. Regulus' first class isn't until two, so James' plan is to leave his gift on the end of the bed for when Regulus wakes up, which won't be until at least ten am, knowing Regulus.

James gives Regulus a quick kiss on the cheek when he lets him inside, saying, "Let me just dump my bag and then I'm all yours," before taking the stairs two at a time up to Regulus' room on the second floor.

He doesn't want to be rustling about in his bag in the morning when he's trying to be stealthy, so with a peek back down the stairs to make sure Regulus hasn't followed him, James pulls the present out of his bag and looks around for a good hiding spot. Opening the wardrobe door, he pushes aside some of Regulus' clothes to tuck the present behind them when he freezes.

At first, he isn't sure what he's looking at, plastic stacked on plastic. Reaching out, he picks one up out of curiosity and as soon as the light hits it, he realises it's one of the plastic iced coffee cups from the coffee shop James has worked at since he started university three years ago; the coffee shop where they first met, actually.

It was in his second year that James first saw Regulus, who very quickly became a regular, coming in two or three times a week during semester for his vanilla iced coffee.

But that doesn't explain why Regulus has a stack of the cups hidden at the back of his wardrobe.

Turning the cup in his fingers, James feels his heart leap into his throat at the words he sees written in black marker on the side:

Regulus

And beneath it:

Have a magical day :)

James immediately recognises the handwriting as his own, though he doesn't specifically remember writing this message. Reaching into the wardrobe once more, he pulls out another cup. And another. And another. Each of them with Regulus' name and a short message.

Happy Tuesday!

Have a great weekend :)

Good luck with exams!!

I really like your smile

Seeing you is the best part of my day

Do you want to get coffee with me? Somewhere other than here?

I had a really great time last night :)

He's staring at the cups in disbelief, that Regulus has seemingly kept every cup with every note James has written him since meeting nearly two years ago. There has to be close to a hundred of them, stacked neatly in rows. He lets out a wet laugh as he reads the next one, tears in the corners of his eyes as he remembers the day he wrote it.

Will you be my boyfriend? Yes / No

He remembers it like it was yesterday, the way he had to steady his hands as he wrote it so his handwriting wasn't all over the place, the way his heart was beating loudly in his ears as he slid the cup across the counter to Regulus, the way Regulus laughed as he turned the cup and read the message.

"What are we, fifteen?" he had chuckled, before adding, "Can I borrow a marker for a sec?"

James had watched nervously as Regulus uncapped the marker, picking the cup up and dramatically circling his response. He'd leant over the counter to tuck the marker back into James' apron, before turning the cup in his hands to take a sip, smirking around the lip as James saw that he'd underlined and circled Yes.

It's like this that Regulus finds him, sitting cross-legged in front of Regulus' wardrobe, cups scattered around him and eyes watering with unshed tears.

"Oh," Regulus whispers.

"You kept them?" James asks, his voice hoarse as he looks up from the cup that reads I love you to find Regulus standing in the doorway, wringing his hands nervously. "You kept them all?"

Nodding, Regulus says, "Yeah. I mean, almost all. There was one that Barty threw out accidentally but otherwise, yeah. Every single one."

Putting the cup in his hand aside, James pushes himself to his feet, striding across the room to Regulus and muttering, "God, I love you," before crashing their lips together.

[bridgetotheskyyy]

godly hither

series masterlist

chapter summary: gojo has a fetish

chapter warnings: smut, 18+ content, fingering, pwp absolutely NO plot, gojo is a tease, gojo's also an ass

word count: i have no fucking idea i wrote this so long ago wait *checks ao3* 1.1k

a/n: very excited to share this series on tumblr as well I hope you all enjoy! based on this thirst post I made ages ago

read on ao3 here

“Go — Gojo!”

He couldn’t deny it; he had a certain preoccupation.

Gojo laughed as your spine arched at the command of his finger — his thumb feathered against your clit as his index teased the spongy space within you. You moaned at the touch and he rolled the universe that lived in his eyes, your leg brushing against his obvious erection as you squirmed.

“That’s right,” he said, his head falling back, relishing in the warm wet of your cunt, “squeeze me, love.”

He honestly enjoyed it more than fucking you. How victimized you became at the slightest touch. Despite how his cock strained against his boxers, begging to be buried inside of you. He retrained eyes on you, on your naked, shameless form, begging and whining — and all at the single, paltry touch of his fingers. He smirked, marveling at the sight. Gojo wagged his thumb on your clit, delighting in the way your hands went to cup your breasts in response, your legs imprisoning his wrist as they squeezed against them.

Gojo had done this for so long, tortured you so. He knew your end was near, knew he held your climax in his hands, so close he could hold it, fit it in his palm. He loved it. To have the power to make you cum, your release at his literal fingertips.

With a wicked grin, he knocked against your g-spot. Gojo laughed at the shuddered gasp you rewarded him with, his mirth carrying into the cold, quiet space that was the storage closet, dispersing into a series of echoes. You whined before clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle the cry. Gojo licked his lips, an idea propelling him forward —

He offered his other hand to your mouth.

“Use this, darling,”

You happily took it, biting into his hand. He grunted at the feel of your teeth, his cock twitching, aching for release. He thrust his finger deeper. It was a simple, horrible tease of what could really feel you up, what you truly wanted. Your hips rocked into his other hand, growing impatient for your end, biting down on the one he offered with stuttered gasps. The boxes behind you squeaked against their cardboard, threatening to fall as a consequence of your rutting. Gojo felt his own heavy breathing, your midsection brushing endlessly against his erection.

He swooped down, moving his abused hand to inch closer to your lips, yet another part of you he owned, and licked them.

“Perfect,” he managed, meeting your eyes. He maintained composure for just a second, but only a second.

Gojo bucked against you. He lived for your agonized moan, descending into a whine. He allowed you to suppress your voice with his thumb before bucking into you again.

You trembled, mewled, and all at the curl of one tiny little finger.

Well, technically two — he remembered his thumb at your heat and pressed it into the tender, singing nub — but who was counting?

Oh, that’s right … he was.

The smirk that painted Gojo's face had to have been sickly; he would make you whine and mewl and beg for another one.

“Say it,” he bucked, almost as though he were truly fucking you. The boxes above slipped farther apart, farther forward, inclining for the floor.

“Please!” you shuddered, no patience for playing coy. “Please, gods, yes, Gojo — please, give me another! Another!”

You had played this game before and knew the rules. Victory.

Who was he to deny you?

He slipped a second finger in, then a third, the moist of your cunt sending saliva to his mouth.

“Yes —! Mmph! …” you hissed, because you wanted to scream and because you couldn’t scream.

Gojo forced two fingers into your disobedient mouth, muting your senseless appraisals as you squeezed your eyes shut.

So wonderful. It was he could to do to resist releasing into his boxers, fighting to keep his tongue from falling out of his mouth like a fucking dog as you hooked a leg around his waist, burying your face in his neck, clinging to him in such a delicious, damsel-like fashion. He maneuvered his other hand, wet with your saliva, to your ass to push you up, your arms around his neck as he fed you his fingers.

“Yes …” he said as his fingers thrusted, as you offered him your sweet honey. His fingers curled, pace torturously slow as he asked your climax to come forth and coat him with your sinful juices.

You moaned, squirmed in his embrace, and he could only want more. You were going to cum, cum, and it would be because of him. All because he commanded it —

He covered your mouth with his as your climax came, your insides clenching down on his eager fingers as they brought you to your end. Gojo was delirious with his own pleasure, his orgasm supplied by the endless rutting of his hips against yours. You would both be filthy and dripping in one another’s cum.

He couldn’t wait to lick your wet off his fingers, couldn’t wait to savor your taste, but he preferred to let you finish. Your orgasm sent your head lolling backward, pushing a box at its edge back against its brothers just in the nick of time.

He touched your orgasm from you. Once the final grasps of your insides waned along with your pleasure, he pulled his fingers away. He fed them to his mouth, one by one, licking off the cream as though it were frosting from a delectable pastry.

“Mm,” he sang.

You peaked an eye out to watch him, your gaze heavy-lidded. Your breath was shallow as he eased gently to the floor. He did not let go; your legs were weak from the play and he did not want you falling.

You were the one to push him away as he began to work on the second finger, sucking vigorously. You checked your clothes and grumbled, annoyed, at the wet spot circling your jeans.

“Mmmm,” he sang still, ignoring the mess he’d made on you. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” You said. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

You gestured to the stain at your jeans.

“Say you dropped your popsicle.”

“Popsicles don’t smell like this, Satoru. And you could’ve gotten us caught!”

“Wouldn’t that have just made it more fun?”

“Maybe for you.” You fought back, but your breath was still noticeably labored and it only made him feel triumphant. “Pervert …”

You passed him, aiming for the door.

Heh, you’re right, (Y/n).

He let you go, beginning on the third finger, licking off the orgasm he had won from you.

[namjoonscoffeeshop]

Move-In Day | Drabble

A part of DEEP series

✧ Pairing: Yoongi x reader

✧ Word Count: 2.1k

✧ Song: "From the start" by laufey

✧ Flower: Gladiolus are a romantic flower that symbolize secret love

a/n: First drabble for the duration of the hiatus of DEEP. don't be shy and if you want a scene your curious about please write a ask! I had thought of this a few weeks after writing the first couple chapters but never had a chance to include it. It then was lost in my notes until now. I know I said friday, but here is a chapter early! I added the song I was listening to as I wrote the chapter, not saying to listen to it as you read but....why not?

index | askme!

Taking out the last basket from the trunk of my car, I shut the door. It was nice weather today, there was a subtle wind that helped cope with the heat. Looking up at the apartment complex I couldn't help but feel an excitement and nervousness to what was to come soon. 

running up the stairs I enter the building, the walls were brown as if they were of wood.  paintings which yoongi and me already walked around examining to see if they were real. 

He says they aren't, I tease him and say that he wouldn't know but you can definitely tell that it's a print out. there are multiple small antique looking tables with a vase of flowers in each floor. the tenants has told us that each floor has a different flower. Of course I had to go to each floor and they weren't wrong, our floor has vases full of Gladiolus. Their beautiful delicate red petals and their alluring scent made it all the more better. 

turning the corner I come in view of the elevator "hurry up" yoongi says loudly. smiling I run down the hall into the elevator "are you that excited" he says raising a brow, not able to contain the smile creeping on his lips as he stares down at you. "yes! aren't you? you always said you wanted to leave home"

licking his lips he takes the basket from you, placing it on the box beside his feet "yeah you're right" the doors to the elevator close and he eyes the number panel. you're eyes turn to the panel and you giggle "you waited for I could do it" you tease him, rolling his eyes he reaches over "forget it then" 

"no no i'll do it!" you hold his arm, the reason he waited was because on the panel each floors flower was next to the number. pressing on your floor you hold his hand "we're going to have a lot of fun together" you give him a reassuring smile.  

when you had told your parents that you were moving and attending your dream school they were supportive. but there was a catch, they said it would only happen if yoongi went too. they had heard from his mother that he was thinking of attending as well. and since you had applied to schools close to home they had other options. 

you hated that you doubted yourself to the point of applying to safe schools near home. if you had trusted yourself and just applied to xxx university then it would've never been a problem. but there was a issue..yoongi's father wanted him to immediately start working at their family company. there was a huge argument and my parents were involved, yoongi then announced he got accepted to the same school as and said he was leaving. 

you asked him if he chose this cause your parents had put that condition in letting you move. his reply was simple. He said 'I just need to get away from home, and plus..i'm not ready to part ways from you'  at that moment your head said that you should be happy, butterflies erupt in your stomach but your heart ached at his words, part from you yet. The two of you having to go your separate ways is inevitable. 

The doors to the elevator opened and he carries both the box and basket while you rush down the hall to your door. The two of you having your own apartment but right next to each other was the most exciting thing to you. 

Your mom was inside helping you unpack the boxes "is that the end?" she sighs seeing another box being brought in "yes" you respond "Didn't you make her a donation box as well" yoongi says placing the box down "yes I did, she choose to keep everything" your mom glares at you "I had nothing I wanted to part with!" you defend yourself but they both stared at you in disbelief. 

yoongi leaves to his apartment where your dad was, helping him unpack. Thankfully you guys started early in the morning by 5pm everything was almost done. with the few boxes left of clothes and all but the living room furniture fully built...it was the only furniture your mom and you could handle to to do together. 

"don't worry I'll do the rest of her furniture later" yoongi and your dad place the boxes of pizza on the living room floor. scooting next to you he leans in and whispers "you'd think that maybe just maybe you would've built the table for us to eat" 

"oh shut up, if you want it that bad then you can go build it!" you glare at him which he can't help but mess with your hair as he pushes you slightly. the entire day you felt excited but now that your parents were getting ready to leave you felt uneasy and nauseous. your troubled face was no secret to your mother, pulling you into a tight hug she said words of encouragement to you, your dad talking to yoongi waiting for the chance to hug you too. 

"alright, take care. the two of you, watch over each other" your dad says as you both walk them to the elevator. 

you were sitting on your floor in the living room as you brush your hair after showering. yoongi went to his apartment to do the same. After 20 minutes or so you hear a knock on your front door. jumping on your feet you rush to the door opening, "did you even check to see who it was" he says walking in "why? I knew it'd be you!" you wrap your arms around his waist giggling "weren't you just sad" he unwraps your arms, turning. you hum "I had a moment, what's wrong with it" chuckling he hugs you. 

"yoongi"

"yeah?" 

"did you build your bed?" 

"it was the first thing I built" he laughs 

"thank god, can I sleep over?" he tilts his head, making a noise as if he was thinking. hitting his chest he laughs "yes, lets go then cause i'm tired" not bothering to get anything but your pillow you both walk next door. his apartment had most if not all the furniture done but the apartment was very much crowded with boxes "What were you guys doing? just unboxing?" you shake your head moving a box over so you could walk better "yeah, that way I will only worry about yours instead of having to do it all alone" pouting you stare in disbelief "alone? I'm going to help you!" shaking his head he lifts his palm "stop there, you know damn well why I don't want you to help" 

parting your lips to tell him his comment is insulting you couldn't help but stay silent when you remember how the last time you helped him in one furniture there were more left over screws then there should've been and then he built something wrong due to your horrible instructions reading. "fine" you cross your arms and walk away. entering his room. 

he follows after turning off the lights. his bed was made and the boxes opened had more pillows, grabbing one you jump on the bed and get under the covers. "tomorro-" covering your mouth with his palm he shakes his head " I am tired, I am not going anywhere tomorrow" rolling your eyes you can't help but stare at him as his eyes occasionally close as if to rest. 

your heart fluttered as his hand rested on your arms, his thumb brushing against your skin "sleep y/n" he mutters, you shut your eyes but after a while open them again to look at him. he sighs, eyes opening "can you not sleep?" he says. 

"don't worry, just sleep" you say turning around. you hear him sigh as the weight of his side shifts. you feel the warmth radiating from him against your body as he wraps his arms around your frame pressing your back against his chest. his legs intertwined with yours. he bury's his face in your long dark hair "sleep" he whispers. 

maybe it was the fact that the two of you had move far from home, and you don't know how long it's going to take to get used to living alone, even if he is next door. sleeping "alone" is maybe the most unnatural thing to you. 

"can we sleep together until i'm used to all this" he snorts, laughing into your neck "we can always sleep together we don't need reason..but if you do not shut up and go to sleep right now I will kick you out" you can't help but laugh 

"goodnight yoongi" he hums 

you wake up before him, his arm resting over you as his chest is pressed against your back. you manage to slip away without waking him up, the light entering from the windows made him scrunch his brows as he shifts in bed. you quickly look around grabbing a random folded box and propping it up against the window. I need to find the curtains , you mumble leaving the room as quiet as you could. 

even if he planned for the two of you to stay home and not go out, you felt as if you needed to help him unpack since he would be busy doing your furniture. four hours passed and it was 12 o'clock when he finally got out of bed. he followed the shuffling sounds, entering the separate room as you carefully set up his books on the shelf that he had built the day before. leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed he clears his throat to catch your attention but fails to notice you had headphones on. 

he doesn't move from place, watching you open another box and pulling out the books as you carefully set them on the shelfs. it wasn't until you got to your second box since he had entered that you turn, surprised you couldn't help but scream as you felt startled by him. he laughs at your wide eyes. "yoongi!" he apologizes, walking up to you he glances in the box you were emptying "it's your music books...I left you instruments alone..not wanting to break anything" he looks to his left seeing his piano leaning against the wall as he had left it and his two guitar cases on the ground "thanks" he says, opening his guitar case he points at the devices on the wall "do you know what that's for?" 

"a tv?" you say, you didn't know what it was for, should you mention you almost bust your head open with one as you stood up and failed to notice something was there. 

he places the guitar on the wall stands, standing back as he ensures its safe "ta-da" he says with a childlike smile on his face "I almost busted my head open with that" you purse your lips, the ends curved up. "what?" 

"I bend down to pick up a box and when I got up, almost hit my head" you laugh, now it was funny, but he wasn't laughing "should I remove them?" he mutters

"what? No! now i'll know...I was just careless" his face showed concern, sighing you take out more books from the box "I just won't come in here yeah? you always wanted to mount your guitars on the wall back home. don't take it down" 

"you can come in here...just be careful" he watches you nod, helping you place the rest of the books onto the shelfs. after joining you, it wasn't long before you both finished the room "I finished the living room and kitchen earlier all that's left is your room. do you want me to do it?" you ask, shaking his head he waves his hand as if dismissing the idea "I'll do that, why don't we get something to eat and then head to your place and start there" you both leave the apartment to get something. 

"i'll carry it, you just worry about opening the door" you open your purse and dig into it, searching for your keys "where are they" you mumble. 

sighing his eyes narrowed   "y/n please please pleasee tell me you didn't lose your keys again" you give him a sheepish smile "I think..I left them inside"   

"let's check my apartment" 

after a long search the two of you sit on the sofa defeated. "Sorry.." you mumble, his elbows propped on his knees as he rubbed his temple. you couldn't make a joke to lighten up the mood, feeling as if he was really mad at you. 

he looks up at you and chuckles "what am I going to do with you" 

and this is the story behind why yoongi has a copy of your key. 

taglist:

@baechugff

@thetaehyungstan

@yoongibaybee

@gimeow

@pjmsneverland

@eissenheimer

@taetaechim7

@acquiescence804

@seoullove96

@waitaminswife

@keshiadeija

@gaby-93

@amarawayne

@ykkjm

@ot72025

@joonie1213

[irlkdj]

Doksoo Analysis: Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint [SPOILERS]

I’d like to talk about the relationship between Kim Dokja and Han Sooyoung and how I perceive it. At its core, I think their story portrays that when we really love someone—truly and fully—we are willing to give up our own happiness to ensure theirs. This is something we see from both Sooyoung and Dokja. Han Sooyoung may seem selfish at times, especially at the beginning of the novel, but that’s because we did not yet know at the time that she gave up each of her nights and slept away her days to save Kim Dokja. We see Kim Dokja constantly throwing his life away because he loves his companions—something he is often berated for. So yes, the two of them are the same in this aspect: I love you, and I will destroy anything that gets in the way of your path to happiness. I will uproot the world and empty oceans; I will shoot down the sun and grab the moon to give to you, so long as you are safe and happy. Kim Dokja and Han Sooyoung are not perfect people. And I think they see the faults in one another, and love even those pieces of themselves that the other hates. Han Sooyoung who hated Kim Dokja so much for sacrificing himself over and over again—and yet she ended up doing the same thing for him. Her memories, her time, her youth. She spent all that time ensuring the happiness of a little boy who thought he couldn’t be happy. We see in the epilogue that Han Sooyoung truly loves every part of Kim Dokja as she races after him in that train station. She reflects on his negative and positive traits positively:

“That was the exact same face of Kim Dokja she remembered.

The man who came to her 1863rd regression turn. The man who she wanted to see again. The detestable man with his own brand of ass-kissing. The man who lied really easily. The man who she enjoyed being around, since they could lie about something together and snicker among themselves.

‘----‘

The man, who didn't remember her.”

When Han Sooyoung even considers the possibility that Kim Dokja could really, truly be gone, she thought: “That was the sound of someone only living in their past finally letting go of that very past. Right at that moment, Han Sooyoung was overcome by the bizarre guilt of corruption, of betrayal.” Her regret of not being able to save him properly. All of her efforts wasted. But they weren’t wasted, not to Kim Dokja, who got to experience love, joy, friendship, and family because of Han Sooyoung. She created a world in which he could be happy. She crafted a universe where Kim Dokja could be loved just by being.. Kim Dokja. So they’re really in this constant loop. Han Sooyoung sacrifices herself to save Kim Dokja, Kim Dokja sacrifices himself to save the world she created. And then she tries everything in her power to get him back. And Kim Dokja continues to love that story she created for him:

“Not being able to comment did bum me out. I wanted to let Han Sooyoung know of my emotions one more time. To tell her that I could only come this far because of the story you gave me, that I loved your story more than anyone in this world.” 

Kim Dokja loved her story. But people are stories too. Friends, families, lovers, strangers. We’re all stories in the end. Han Sooyoung and Kim Dokja. She wrote the story. He read it. They created a world together. And in the end, they tore it all down to ensure the happiness of those they loved. Because what is the point of such a world if Han Sooyoung cannot turn to her left and tease Kim Dokja. What is the point of such a world if Kim Dokja cannot take another joyride with Han Sooyoung, and get made fun of for screaming “I am the protagonist!” 

I’ll leave with this. The last thing Han Sooyoung wished to do before her memories faded was to see Kim Dokja. Just to /see/ him. Can you grasp the weight of this action? 

“Kim Dokja felt that sensation of touch on his shoulder and looked behind him.

However, the incoming waves of commuters heading to work swept him up, and he got pushed into the subway, instead.”

Just one last touch. One last glance. One last time—can I please see him again? Can I please see the man that I am about to ruin the world for? Can I please see that he is whole? That he is real? That he isn’t words behind a screen? I think this moment really displays just how much Han Sooyoung really.. loved Kim Dokja. Wholeheartedly and unapologetically. Just seeing him one more time before disaster struck, and knowing all that was about to ensue: that was her moment. The moment that made it all worth it. This man. This pathetic man. I will destroy the world for you. And I will not apologize for it. So don’t you ever apologize for existing, and don’t you ever forget how loved you are. 

[ash5monster01]

Truths of Our Past Series

Pairing: Older!Charlie Dalton x FemReader!Wife

Warnings: mentions of suicide, depression, depressing thoughts, past trauma, facing trauma, romance, understanding, fluff.

Summary: You had met Charlie in University, were married shortly after, and had become accustomed to a beautiful life together. When you receive a wedding invitation to one of Charlie’s previous classmates weddings you discover that Charlie had a dark past, one he had been trying to forget. In the midst of it all you try to help him through it while finding out that he’s not the guy you thought you married at all. Maybe he’s even better.

word count: 1.3k

Intro ←→ Part 1

Masterlist

You still remember the first time you had seen him. It was the beginning of Junior Year. Autumn of 1963. You had been riding the bus across Campus watching leaves fall from the trees. As most people your age conversed loudly over the latest parties and hardest assignments, five rows ahead of you sat a doe eyed boy wearing a beret and nose stuck in a book. Pride and Prejudice. You had never seen a male read Jane Austen before and at that seem to enjoy it. A smile crossed your face before your mind even caught up with your heart. Because somehow, just five rows ahead, was the man of your dreams. So you stood up on the moving bus, ignoring the complaints of elbows you bumped in the aisle, and sat next to him.

You smiled wide again as you thought of this. Watching that same boy sit across from you in the living room, readers rested low on his nose, and his eyes scanning the pages of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. You had now known the man across from you for six years, married for three. He still read like he did that day on the bus, transported to another world, not even a fire able to gain his attention. Love for him seeped out of you and you found yourself discarding your own book and standing to cross the living room. His eyes stayed trained on the page, unmoving until you were settled neatly in his lap.

“Well hello Mrs Dalton” his eyes finally met yours, an amused smirk painted across his features. He dropped the book once your arms curled around his neck, free hands now sneaking around your waist in return.

“Hi Mr Dalton” you smiled sweetly at him, nose nudging with his own as you removed the readers from his face.

“To what do I owe the pleasure in the presence of my beautiful wife” he asked calmly, lips pressing a soft kiss into your cheek. You smiled, snuggling closer.

“I missed you” you told him earnestly and he chuckled.

“I’m right here darling” he told you, not quite understanding what you had meant.

“Well your physical form is, yes. But your soul, that was somewhere in 1912 Brooklyn” you told him and he laughed, forehead pressing against your own.

“Williamsburg Brooklyn to be exact dear” he teased and you shoved his shoulder before curling back up into him, embracing the feeling of his warmth. His hand rose up your back, rubbing comfortably and now giving you his full attention. "What did you do today?"

"I wrote an article about the possibility of there being a draft, awfully depressing. Then I came home and talked to Chris on the phone before cooking dinner" Charlie smiled as you recounted your day, still writing for the NY Times under a pen name since you were a woman.

"How is Chris and Knoxie, and my favorite nephew Johnny?" Charlie asked, a fond smile on his face at the mention of his friends.

"Healthy, Knox got a promotion and Johnny got an A on his spelling test. Chris wants to enroll him in Welton but Knox isn't quite sure" you felt Charlie tense up at the mention of Welton, long and hard school days spent there now long behind him.

"If that old tool Nolan is still running the school I wouldn't want Johnathon there either" Charlie said, voice bitter in the warm air of the home. You sighed against him, wishing he talked about his time there more than he did.

"Chris said he retired three years ago, the only thing holding her back is not having Johnathon live with them, but he has such a bright future it might be a price worth paying" you explained but Charlie shook his head, eyes now dark and recalling a place in his heart he didn't quite like.

"I hope they think about it, Knox remembers what it was like" Charlie said and you felt guilty for bringing it up, you always felt guilty bringing up that place. Your life with him had always been in the heart of the big city and when the mentions of small town Vermont came up he was more tense, less him. You knew vague details, horror stories of lifeless teachers, and being expelled from school, losing a friend.

"You know Chris, she'd last a day before she brought him home and hugged him for a week straight. I never even figured the kid would go to Kindergarten considering she cried on the phone with me for an hour after leaving him there" you told him and finally Charlie was smiling again, laughing lightly at your accusation which was more than likely true. Chris was a helicopter parent, but Johnny was such a good kid.

"You’re probably right. She sure as hell loves that kid" Charlie said, bouncing his legs so you bounced in his lap. You giggled sweetly while looking up at him and he finally pressed his lips to yours.

"I'm going to get ready for bed, you coming?" you asked sweetly and he smiled before nodding and kissing you once more. His sweet and beautful flower.

"Right behind you, I'm just going to go through the mail on my desk and then I'll be there" he told you and you nodded while he helped you up from your spot on his lap. He watched as you disappeared down the hall into your shared bedroom. Once you were gone he pushed himself up to his feet and walked to his study. You had left the stack on mail in the center of his desk and he smiled as he sifted through the bills and letters from his mother in Paris. He only froze when he saw one with a Vermont return address.

Charlie felt his stomach drop over the thought of returning to Vermont. He had done it before, to see Knox and Chris. It wasn’t uncommon for him to be in attendance but every time it brought back memories he wished he could forget. Setting the invite down he realized there was a letter underneath the invite.

A week. A week in Vermont. Charlie hadn’t spent a whole week in Vermont since his Senior year of High School. Even as fear consumed him, heartache numbing his lungs, he pictured quiet and mousy Todd. The same Todd he watched grow from a shy boy to a successful man. The kind of guy you could never ever say no too. So Charlie sighed as he plopped into the chair of his desk and pulled out a piece of paper to respond.

And just like that Charlie agreed to visit the past but only because Todd Anderson asked him too. Dead Poets Honor. A promise Charlie would never break.

a/n: this is a possible series I was hoping to explore. If anyone would be interested please let me know and I would love to follow through the plot. Y/N will be used very little, it would be a short series that tugs on the heart strings. Any feedback would be appreciated greatly. please enjoy xx

[aritany]

what's the origin story for dgdss? if you don't mind 🥺

oho! well. as it happens, i love telling this story.

if you want to know how my childhood best friend writing a short story about me ended up leading to me getting a big 5 book deal, read on.

tw for reference to self harm and some...... unpleasant commentary (not mine) about it later on, folks.

so.

i was homeschooled until my very last year of high school (yes, like mean girls, except my mean girl dominated the first 15 years of my life and that last year was just blissfully chill) and like many homeschooled children, i was a part of a co-op.

cool, right? it's like School Lite™ where you put a group of feral children in a classroom, except you're all varying ages and grade levels, and also, nobody in the room is an accredited teacher, and nobody seems to have an issue with this.

my mom and her mom were best friends, and we were born around the same time, so naturally, we were best friends too from birth, and we were part of the same co-op all through my elementary and junior high school years.

anyway. i won't air all of the dirty laundry regarding our early friendship, because the whole book deal thing doesn't touch it, and i also think there's no need to be pointing out the behaviour of an Actual Child in retrospect. all you need to know is that we were best friends, our relationship was fraught, and by the time we hit 12-13 it was to the degree that people started telling me, hey man, this is Very Strange Behaviour and You Might Be A Victim, and i had to go do some introspection.

the introspection led to the general conclusion oh shit, but we stayed friends, because obviously. when you're 13, breaking up with a best friend is literally The End of the world, and anyway, there was a lot of good in there too, right?

right?

anyway, things took a turn when we were about 14. i struggled heavily with mental illness and self harm as a closeted religious teenager (who'da thunk?) and i confided in her about a small fraction of what was going on, because she was my best friend. i didn't tell her details, because even then i knew what i was experiencing was heavier than was probably appropriate to burden another kid with (and i stand by it!), but she knew the gist.

several Tense moments resulted, one of which was the day she pointed out self harm scarring in front of other people and asked me what happened, ran away, and refused to talk further about it, so i had to talk to her mom, who told me i should apologize to her, considering my mental health struggle had been so difficult... for her.

yeah, you know the type of people we're dealing with, here.

she was determined to undermine me in front of our mutual friends. anything to make me look worse, in one way or another. anything to step just a little higher. if i was interested in something, here's a public dissertation on why it's a dumb thing to be interested in. if i had a crush, forget keeping it a secret, and forget the notion that it's normal, because it's not, it's stupid, and shallow to have a crush in the first place. if we had a similar interest, here's a dressing down about how all i ever do is steal the things she likes (even if i liked them first).

needless to say, by the time the whole deal with the short story is going down a few short years later, we're on the rocks.

let me set the scene. we hadn't seen each other in several months, due to the On The Rocks of it all, and were meeting up for coffee while our moms were also getting coffee. hashtag classic homeschooled behavior, etc.

we're catching up, and she tells me she needs to apologize for something. i am, as you might imagine, agog, considering the rarity of apologies from this girl. she tells me she wrote a short story and submitted it to her university journal to be published, and that in hindsight she thinks she should have asked for my permission first.

i am, obviously, suspicious. to her credit, she gives it to me to read through and then leaves to go do christmas shopping. it's a muddy-ish faux-deep piece about a narrator who has a best friend struggling with mental illness and self harm.

(oh, you might say. to which i say, yeeeeah.)

in the story, the narrator depicts the struggle of trying to care about somebody who is in pain, referring to the best friend as 'cariad' the whole way through, which is just so weird i'm not even going to touch on it. google it if you'd like. the line that i still remember (and will probably remember until the day i die) is the one where she describes her cariad as feeling the need to use a razor as a microphone.

i honestly don't recall what i said when she eventually came back, but i contained all of the aggression of a piece of pocket lint at the time, so i imagine it was along the lines of oh. yeah, okay. [insert image of the saddest wettest cat you've ever seen]

i never saw her again. we went our separate ways, and that was that. we never talked about it.

(the one upside of it was that my mom, with whom i have a Notoriously Contentious relationship, was outraged on my behalf. that was the first (in many years) and last (ever) time we were on the same side of a battle, so, you know. silver linings.)

but the real indignity of it to me was that my friend never really knew. i never really told her about what was happening in my head. she never knew why i was hurting myself, or how bad it got, because i did everything i could to keep that to myself, and at the end of the day, she thought it was all for attention to the degree she wrote a transparently biographical account of it and chose razor as a microphone as a phrase on purpose.

dead girls started as a way to process the complicated feelings i had about that friendship and then obviously ultimately became a whole different creature in the process. i wanted to write about how it felt to go through that never having had another close friendship to compare it to, and how confusing and nauseating it was to have other people point out shitty behaviour.

it became about healing when you can't get closure. how do you move on when you'll never know why somebody hurt you?

nothing that happens in the book is based on real life events between us, partly because i'm not a hypocrite, and partly because if your work can be traced back to your personal experiences, perhaps you should do what you can to be kind.

'my julia,' as i like to call her (she is not named julia, because, oh my god) is nothing like julia hoskins in appearance or general personality. but the way she made me feel? oh, that's all there. nora feels it the way i felt it.

i wrote dead girls back in 2020, and got agented with it in 3 weeks of sending my first query. we got a book deal for it with a penguin random house imprint 1 year later to the day, and next week it's going to be out in the world, and i'm not going to lie, it feels really damn good.

also, her short story got rejected by her university, because it was bad. so you might lose some, but you win some, too.

[pragnificent]

Tagged by @tina-mairin-goldstein! Tagging whoever else wants to play.

1.How many fics do you have on AO3?

78.

2. What's your total word count on AO3?

934,933. Wow, maybe I can break a million this year....

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Just HANNIBAL right now (and for like the last seven years or so). Been vaguely thinking about picking up a second but nothing has caught my interest strongly enough.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Attachment - 7,592

The Fisherman and the Beast from the Sea - 4,565

Sashimi - 2,807

Hungry Ghost - 1,585

Identically Different - 1,382 <- This is my best series and yall should give it a shot <3

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to, and I enjoy doing so, but sometimes the brainworms win and I don't get stuff done even when I really want to.

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

Breathless

I don't love this story, but "Hannibal is effectively braindead after the fall, but Will keeps caring for the body and feels that Hannibal is there with him, up until the body dies and Will turns himself in because there isn't any point anymore" probably counts as the most angsty? If you are in the market for a "Hannibal receives a brain injury and he, along with everyone else around him, has to cope with that" story Tina's For Remembrance (Holes in the Floor of the Mind) is a much better pick. And as I continue to think about it, Means of Influence has a pretty angsty ending.

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of my stories have slightly bittersweet but still mostly happy endings. Part of the thing about that is I think it's really hard to envision a situation where Will is like 100% Happy Happy, his own mind hates him too much and every little scrap of happiness needs to be fought for and then vigilantly guarded. But I put both him and Hannibal through so much that I always want them to be as close to content as they each can be.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I have gotten two flavors of Fic Hate. 1.) People calling the five year old kid OC in ATTACHMENT slurs like "r*tard" and saying "he belongs in jail" and etc.

Every time Hannibal or Will fuck someone who isn't each other at least one person decides to Yell At Me.

I think I've gotten the old "you didn't tag for bottom Hannibal!!" nonsense once or twice too, but who hasn't?

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

A little. I actually started Hannishark bc I was really intimidated by sex scenes and wanted to see if I could pull off a short monsterfucker story. I feel like I've gotten better at writing these but am generally more comfortable leaving them sparce on anatomical details and big on feelings/conversations.

10. Do you write crossovers? If so, what's the craziest one?

I've got a WRONG TURN crossover series that I'm very proud of here: Bear Mountain Road AU. You don't need to have seen any of the movies to read it, or anything, the movies' premise of "a clan of inbred mountain cannibals waylays travelers" is really just an excuse to put Hannibal (and Will and D, as child members of the cannibal family) In Situations. If I counts as a cross over, I've got a universe swap between the novels and NBC HANNIBAL here: Shiloh

I also have a vague idea for a SAW / HANNIBAL crossover but I've been sitting on that for so long, who knows if it'll ever happen?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not so far as I know.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, several times.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Yep, a couple of times.

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

Hannigram and Reba/D (guys we need a fuckin ship name).

15. What are your writing strengths?

Character, emotions, dialogue.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Sex scenes, pacing.

17. Thoughts writing dialogue in another language?

Fine by me, tho I only think I've done it one or twice.

18. First fandom you wrote for?

FARSCAPE.

19. Favorite fic you've written?

Identically Different AU !!!! This it the best thing I've ever written and probably the best thing I will ever write.

[prolix-yuy]

20 questions for fic writers

Thank you for the tag @oonajaeadira! Funny enough I saw this go around a couple months ago and meant to do it, then life got crazy. This seems like a great time to jump on in!

How many works do you have on ao3?

48! Wowza! That's not counting fics I only post here (like my Writers Iron Chefs and the Bangathon)

2. What's your total ao3 word count?

338,089. That's kind of crazy, I'm not gonna lie. And some of those words aren't filthy :P

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe!

4. Top 5 fics by kudos

Something New, One Very Good Night, Both Sides of the Door, A Sweet Response to Tragedy, and Good Company. 4 out of 5 of these are from I Think of You, which does warm my little heart. I did laugh that their popularity is completely out of order from the series.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes yes yes! Every single one I get! I'll even yank your tags out and comment on them when they make me especially happy. It's the best part of sharing my stories.

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

TECHNICALLY One Very Good Night had the angstiest ending before I continued the series. Same with Cognitive Dissonance! Apparently I get to an angsty end then just write a part 2.

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think that's tied with the real ending to my Whiskey & Westworld series, and all the gooey soft fun of my Javi G series. Both make my heart glow in different ways.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Knock on wood, nothing so far. I've gotten a couple of interpretations of my fics that have made me cock my head because I just don't think the person read the story, or if they did they skimmed over the character development part. But otherwise I've had a very nice time with everyone here <3

9. Do you write smut?

If you don't know by now, I'm not sure what you've been reading...

10. Craziest crossover?

100% Whiskey & Westworld. Golden Circle meets android theme park? Lusting over cowboys and having existential crises? It fit better than I ever thought it would and I still love the crap out of it.

(though as a side note, having Javi P be the person who helped Santi find his girls in the SW!Frankie AU is another fav)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I hope not? Yeesh.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but that would be pretty neat!

13. Have you co-written a fic before?

No, but I have had the distinct pleasure of @psychedelic-ink writing a fic in the SW!Frankie AU that made my whole life.

14. All time favorite ship?

HELP I'M TORN. It's a tie between Din and my Reader in I Think of You and Dieter and Murch in Best Laid Plans. I think about both of them so so so much.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will

I have a handful of small WIPs in a folder that who knows if they'll come to fruition. I think the greatest contender is probably the Post-Apocalyptic Frankie I tossed around because The Last of Us came out and it might just meld into a Joel story instead.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'm good at pacing and giving enough description to keep a reader engaged but not bogged down with details. People connect with my reader characters in a way that makes me super happy. And I write damn good smut.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I can't write outlines or my brain says "it's done :)" and I never write the story. I can't write out of order. I struggle with making characters have meaningful fights and arguments because I'm non-confrontational IRL and it makes me anxious.

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language

Flavor! I love reading it! I tend to shy away from writing it because as someone who knows another language, it never feels natural to me to throw it in. Pet names are a nice way to use it, and I'll allude to speaking other languages in descriptions, but it's difficult so I tend to not add it much in my stories.

19. First fandom you wrote for

Gundam Wing when I was about eight or nine. Part of my username is in homage to that! My friends and I would write our fanfics and then read them all out loud at sleepovers together. Pre-internet, this was my Tumblr lol.

20. Favorite fic you've written

You know, I love all of my fics a whole damn lot, and my top ones are still hard favs. But I think for a story that came out of my heart in a really nice way and that I hold a little closer than the others, The Plan might just top them a tiny bit.

NP tags: @iamskyereads @psychedelic-ink @julesonrecord @wannab-urs @ezrasbirdie and anyone who wants to play!

[iwritelmao]

The Maximoffs

summary: Wanda begins her studies on research, history, and literature, while in true Maximoff fashion, bending the rules a bit. Additionally, her classic shut-in behavior must end... With Peter's help, of course.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5 Coming Soon)

Wanda sat in the library, hunched over a book, exactly how she’d been about six months prior in Queens NY, in the library of Fordham University. Only this one was much smaller, even in its non-relative impressive size. Wanda liked that though. There were no whispered conversations at the circulation desk, no study groups being a bit too loud in a far corner. It seemed in this school, you were either dead silent, or you weren’t the type of person to be in a library.

Of course, there were exceptions. Like when Scott barged in to call Jean out on importan X-Men business. Something about national security being in danger. Or when Hank and Raven flirted over engineering volumes. Or when the professor came to check on Wanda after her third hour of isolation.

“I see you’ve abandoned War and Peace.” He noted, though he didn’t seem upset.

Wanda looked up sheepishly from the book she was reading. “You have a first edition Wuthering Heights.”

“Yes, I believe I also have Jane Eyre lying around somewhere.” Charles Xavier smiled at the girl’s astonishment. “A great something or other of mine was a Brontë fan.”

“Wow…” Her voice was barely at a whisper.

“Do you like to read?”

“Kind of? I think most of the appeal is seeing where the books have been. Looking for signs of whoever read them before; names inside covers, library logs, notes in margins.”Wanda said enthusiastically, though still keeping her voice down. “It’s like you can look at someone else’s life, their reality, through the window of another reality entirely… that’s a special thing for those of us who can’t read minds.”

Charles nodded. “I can imagine.” He said. “Though what I can’t guess at… is why you dropped out of university.”

Wanda looked up from the book. “It’s a long story.”

“Wanda you’re a wonderful student, filled with more academic curiosity than I can begin to muster out of Scott, or Jean, or even Kurt.”

She tensed up. “I really just don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Would you rather talk to your father?”

She clenched her jaw then took a deep breath. “No. And he obviously wants nothing to do with me or Peter.”

“You can’t really believe that.”

“Professor, he knows. And I’m willing to bet he’s known for a while.”

Charles Xavier sat up just a bit straighter. “No, that’s… surely he would’ve said something.”

“Yeah, your guess at ‘what the fuck’ is as good as mine.” Wanda said softly. “Don’t believe me? Read his mind, or something.”

“I’m not going to- no, I believe you,” Charles said. “Whatever he knows or doesn’t know, Erik wants a family more than anything. There must be something keeping him from speaking out… there must be.”

Wanda got back to her room to find Peter sitting cross-legged on her bed, flipping through one of her books. He looked up briefly before turning his attention back to the book, silver hair shielding his eyes. "You wrote all over this thing."

"That thing is a history textbook, so yeah, I annotated it," Wanda said, dropping her bag at the foot of her bed and sitting next to her brother.

"On Bohemian Culture..." Peter read from the cover, then moved to the sticker on one of the bottom corners. "Rented copy... Weren't you supposed to give this back to Fordham?"

Wanda shrugged. "I wanted a souvenir. And it's actually really interesting."

"God, you're boring," Peter tossed the book aside. Wanda used her powers to catch it in mid-air then set it on her desk. "Make any friends yet?"

The girl looked confused. "Why?"

"You're kidding," Peter remarked with raised eyebrows. Wanda shrugged. "Okay, fine. I'm heading out on the town with Hank and Raven tonight, you should come."

"The teachers?"

"Unless you, a vaguely 20-something-year-old, wanna go hang out with the gaggle of eighteen-year-olds," Peter suggested sarcastically, referring to Jean, Jubilee, and Scott. (seriously what the fuck is the aging system in these movies? I'm choosing to believe that the Maximoff twins are both 23 cause I feel like it)

Wanda rolled her eyes. "Fair. But Hank and Raven are... well, I don't know. They're something. I feel like they'd just be babysitting us all night." She said. "Plus, what nightlife is there in Westchester, New York?"

Peter stood up. "Would you stop making excuses to exile yourself?"

She looked at him for a long time, trying to find more reasons to say no, stay in, and read. But she kept drawing up blanks. Her mind kept going back to that one question. Where exactly was one supposed to find good nightlife in Westchester?

Raven threw her head back laughing and Hank watched adoringly. The older man smiled, then took another swig from the bottle of wine he'd brought (apparently, beer didn't agree with his stomach). Raven and Peter shared a six-pack, while Wanda sat and watched with a lukewarm, unfinished hard cider in her hands. She wouldn't drink anything that wasn't sweet or fruity.

They sat around a bonfire in the woods. It had previously been populated by the K-12 students during the homecoming season, but now all that was left was long since scorched grass, and empty bottles littering the clearing.

It was nice, Wanda decided, to be so free with a small group of people. Hank had been hanging from the trees earlier. Raven, shifting from blue, to blonde, and back as it suited her comfort. Peter darted back to the Mansion more than once for more ice to put in the cooler. Wanda had refrained from using her powers much, maybe because she wasn't drunk enough. Maybe because she was too intoxicated to do so safely. After all, dangerous things could happen if one played with chaos magic, the very threads of reality, so carelessly.

"Wanda!" Raven called out. "Your turn."

"Oh, uh..." Wanda paused, considering the question they'd all gone around the fire answering. "Nowhere."

Hank tilted his head. "What do you mean, 'nowhere'?"

The young woman shifted in her seat. "I mean, I've never..."

Peter spit out his beer. "What?" He stared with wide eyes. "What about that one guy? What's his name? He took you to prom, and after, you went to his place and..."

"Watched Never Ending Story on VHS."

Raven set her drink down. "Let me get this straight... You're a twenty-three-year-old virgin?"

Wanda shrugged. "I guess. I mean I've never really felt that way about another person. Sure, I've wanted to date people before... maybe even kiss them, but anything past that..." She looked up from her hands to see the rest of the group staring. "Sorry, I know it's-"

"Natural," Raven said. "Whatever you feel, or don't feel, it's for a reason. It's okay."

Wanda looked at her with a smile. For a moment, the only sound was the crackling of the fire, until Peter took a worryingly long sip of beer and said. "My first kiss was a guy on the track team at the high school I went to."

All eyes went to Peter. His twin sister's eyes widened as her head snapped in his direction. "Not Oliver..."

"Yes, Oliver."

"I thought you hated Oliver."

"Oh, I did. Hated him all the way to third base."

[oceangirl24]

20 Questions for Writers

Thanks @mrsmungus for the tag. ❤️

❣️How many works do you have on AO3?

13 total, including three fanart art gifts. The only writing I have is my current work. I'm bringing the old FFN stories over on another account.

❣️What is your total AO3 word count?

834,995- 1 million before the year's end would be nice.

❣️What fandoms do you write for?

So far only Boy Meets World. The fanart gifts have been in other fandoms.

❣️What are your top five fics by kudos? Autumn in Philadelphia Trilogy- 243

Flashbacks- 109

Christmas to Last a Lifetime- 94

Not too shabby for such a massive series with an OC as a main character.

❣️Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes. Eventually.

Ever single comment is incredibly important to me and I don't always have the spoons to respond the way I want to. Rather than rush a response, I wait until I can give it my full attention. There are times, however, when certain comments appear to go answered for months. Those are comments from people I am in touch with privately and have already thanked. I will respond to those in time as well.

❣️What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

The Darkest Night without question.

❣️What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

At this point, probably Christmas to Last a Lifetime.

❣️Do you get hate on your fic?

Is having someone throw a tantrum in your comments hate?

The writer who did this was upset over how the first part of AiP ended because they did not read the tags or summary. They also complained about my OC being better than theirs and whined about liking Audrey more as though at 11 years old I created with Aud malicious intent to hurt them 20+ years later. 🙄

This was the person who also tried to push me out of the fandom, harassed me, and stole my work.

So, hate, no. Immature, entitled behavior, yes.

❣️Do you write smut?

No it's not my thing to read or write. My story is canon compliant and I'm staying true to the content of the show as well. Since it's a 90s kids' sitcom, situations were only dealt with to a certain degree.

❣️Do you write crossovers?

Technically. lol The AiP trilogy is a crossover with BMW and its sequel show, Girl Meets World, but since it's in the same universe I don't count it.

I am in the works of doing a real crossover that I'm really excited about, hopefully soon.

❣️Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes. See the hate on fics response.

I debated how much to say since my socials are still being monitored but you know what, I don't care.

This person stole big chunks of my work from three of my stories and readers have noticed. That's how I became aware of it. Two readers brought it to my attention and just recently another mentioned it also.

I've dealt with it thanks to my dear friends who have had my back through this year + long ordeal.

And ngl, it was satisfying to see her panic and meltdown when the report was submitted and rush her ending. The subsequent attempts to cover her tracks have been popcorn worthy as they have been both comical and pathetic.

Anyone who knows me will tell you I'm too nice and give too much benefit of the doubt which is why no one outside of my friends' circle has seen the massive report on the theft and harrassment.

However, should you dear [REDACTED] try it again, I'm holding onto that report and won't be so nice the second time around. It won't be your friend who's been asking for the link since December 8th that I'll give it to either.

❣️Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not to my knowledge.

❣️Have you ever co-written a fic?

Not yet!!! But soon and I'm so excited.

❣️What's your all-time favorite ship?

As for canon ship, they change all the time, but currently it's

❣️What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

At this point it's looking like Birthday Wishes. lol I mean, I have it outlined to the end and the next chapter is almost ready to go, but I'm prioritizing Saudade and have little time for BW, unfortunately.

❣️What are your writing strengths?

I'm not sure. May be characterization? Possibly world building and character development.

❣️What are your writing weaknesses?

Conciseness. lol Also SPAG editing. My brain skips words like crazy when writing and even editing. No matter how many times I go over things, I miss so much.

❣️Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I avoid this personally because I know enough that I'd mess it up. And I only know Swedish which isn't really a language that figures into my work naturally.

As for fics I'm not writing, it really depends on how it's done.

❣️First fandom you wrote for?

Boy Meets World. First published was Labyrinth.

❣️Favorite fic you've ever written?

Ah, how to chose. Autumn in Philadelphia trilogy. I can't get anymore specific than that. lol

No pressure tags to play for: @axolotlsupremacyowo @tsunderesalty @amberlide @winterlovesong1 @justanotherpersonwhowrites @obscureobsidiandraws @stealing-your-kittens @bees-and-sunshine @ligercat

If anyone would like to be included in the tags, please let me know and I'll be sure to get you next time.

[lonesome-witching]

Married

Another wedding. This time one in the rich Robin, poor Nancy universe. If you want to read the previous parts, you can find : Part 1 here, Part 2 here, Part 3 here, Part 4 here , and Part 5 here.

Do you have any prompts yourself? Or do you want to dive into what I wrote before? You can read my previous prompts or send me some new ones.

Nancy had insisted that it would be a small wedding. Their closest family members, some friends, that was it. Nothing big, nothing expensive. Because Robin had to pay for everything. And Nancy still felt guilty about it.

She felt guilty about the expensive white dress Robin’s mom had insisted on. She felt guilty about the grandiose meal Robin’s father had picked out. She didn’t even want to know how much the Buckley’s had spent on this day.

But as she stood in the doorway, holding her mother’s arm, ready to walk out there towards her future, she felt the guilt fade away. She was going to enjoy today. This was the first day of the rest of her life. A life she would share with Robin Buckley, this whirlwind of a woman that had wormed her way into Nancy’s heart. She could barely remember her life without Robin. And there she was, at the end of the aisle, Nancy’s final destination.

“Are you ready?” Karen asked, squeezing Nancy’s arm.

Nancy nodded her head. She had never been more ready for anything. She wanted to stand next to Robin, wanted to vow to love her forever, wanted to kiss her. She wanted to start her life, really start her life. Even if she was still living on campus, even Robin was working overtime. She was worried they were beginning to mimic Nancy’s parents. They all knew how that turned out.

But Nancy wasn’t her mother and Robin definitely wasn’t like Ted. They wouldn’t make her parents’ mistake. Even if they were also marrying young. So far they had gone down the exact same path. Robin had a cushy job at her patents’ firm just like her dad had before they committed fraud, she had the money, she came from a good family.

“Mom,” she whispered softly as they took a step forward.

“Yes?”

“Did you ever love dad?” There was a fear clawing at her heart. Did she make a mistake? Maybe they should have waited.

“What? What is going through that head of yours?”

“Did you?”

Karen sighed, pulling Nancy forward. “Your dad was easy. I don’t think I ever truly loved him. It was a long time ago, Nancy.”

She loved Robin. That was the difference. She loved Robin. And Robin wasn’t easy. They would make this work. Nancy wanted to marry her. They wouldn’t end like their parents. She wouldn’t let them.

“You look beautiful,” Robin whispered once she was in earshot. Nancy couldn’t help but smile.

-

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have a speech to make.” Richard Buckley stood up, holding his glass. “Tonight, my only daughter has gotten married to the woman she loves. I never expected this outcome, I will admit that. But I would be an idiot if I wasn’t happy for my baby girl. When she first brought Nancy home, it just felt like they belonged together. And here we are. A few years later, and the two of them are married. Now, I can yap on about this beautiful moment for ages, but I think we all want to get on with it. So, to celebrate these two wonderful women, I’d like to give them our wedding gift.”

Robin leaned towards Nancy. “I asked for a honeymoon to Venice.”

Richard pushed his hand into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “We’d like to give you your first home. But don’t you worry, Nancy, it is not at the end of a cul-de-sac.”

“Oh my God, dad, is this real?” Robin jumped up. He dropped the keys in his hand.

“Of course it is.”

“Dad,” Robin whispered, “I told you not to go overboard. The trip to Venice would have already been a lot. But this… Nancy doesn’t like to be spoiled.”

Nancy cleared her throat, grabbing Robin’s hand. “Thank you so much, mister Buckley. I cannot express my gratitude. Thank you so much.”

“Oh, please, call me Richard.”

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Robin asked. Her eyes were begging for Nancy to be honest.

“Yes, Robin, it’s alright. In fact, I think it’s lovely.”

“Alright, then I’ll pay for the trip to Venice.”

[johaerys-writes]

[20 Question Fic Writer Tag]

tagged by @baejax-the-great thank you!

How many works do you have on AO3? As of now, 47.

What is your AO3 word count? 1,084,458

What fandoms do you write for? Currently neck-deep in my Patrochilles (Iliad/TSOA/Hades) obsession. But I've also written for Dragon Age (Pavelyan), Voltron (Sheith) and Castlevania (Trephacard, Lenector).

What are your top five fics by kudos? High-Flying Birds, Like Friends Do, Winter's Fruit, Jasmine and Yarrow, Where Blood Roses Bloom.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I love responding to comments!! Even if it's just to say Thank you. I absolutely love rambling in my replies and getting into discussions about lore or characters' motivations and such. This is the fanfic experience at its best for me.

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Honestly I'm not great with angsty endings haha. Even if the fic as a whole is very angsty, the ending tends to be happy. I think the fics with the saddest ending are Loyal To The End and The Wound That Never Heals, both Hector/Carmilla (Castlevania). Some people have told me they found the ending of At The Water's Edge quite bittersweet.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Now we're talking haha. Of my most recent ones, Twin Flames has a very sweet ending. Fall Into Your Tide also has a super hopeful ending, and another favourite is A Place To Be. I'm all about that comfort after the hurt babey.

Do you get hate on fics? I think I've only ever got hate once or twice? As far as I remember. I honestly couldn't care less about it, I forget it as soon as it happens lol.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yessir. Not exactly sure what kind? Are there different kinds? I would say that my favourite to write is angsty smut with lots of complicated feelings. And also I do like sprinkling some kink here and there whenever I feel like it.

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? I've only ever written one crossover and I still love the fuck out of it, it's a Witcher/Dragon Age one with my OC Tristan Trevelyan and Dorian Pavus and it was sooooo fun to write oh my god. I would love to revisit that universe ngl!!

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of? Depends on what we mean by stealing. I have had parts of fics of mine lifted and used in other fanworks without credit, it wasn't great but it's been a little while since then and I haven't noticed anything else (not that I've gone looking though).

Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! A super lovely person has been translating High-Flying Birds into Vietnamese.

Have you ever cowritten a fic before? Yes! I've cowritten several fics with friends and it's always so nice, I love working with other people.

What's your all-time favourite ship? Oof that's a tough question. If we go by number of fics written, it would have to be Patrochilles. If we go by number of words written, it would have to be Pavelyan (almost 450k 💀). If we go by number of fics I've read and bookmarked, it would have to be Sheith. So idk if I can give a straight and clear answer lol.

What's a WIP you'd like to finish but doubt you ever will? God I really do want to finish A World With You and I do think I will do it eventually, it's just that I know there's a LOT of it left and it's often really daunting. I also want to finish Where Blood Roses Bloom but, again, the plan I have in mind is kind of ambitious and it will take me a while to get there. Also, Blood Roses In The Snow is one I want to get back to, and that one would be easier to finish since there's only like a couple chapters left.

What are your writing strengths? Probably imagery, introspection, and I've also been told I write good action scenes!

What are your writing weaknesses? Dialogue, probably. It stresses me out the most haha. I also used to be able to write complex plots but it's gotten quite hard lately, idk why :(

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I don't love it. I'm fine with a word here and there or even a phrase, as long as it's been sort of explained before or it's one that's widely recognised. I just feel like having a big chunk of untranslated dialogue in the middle of a story breaks immersion and I try to avoid it whenever I can.

First fandom you wrote for? Dragon Age, specifically Inquisition.

Favourite fic you've ever written? Noooo you can't make me choose, don't make me choose 😭 Damn that's tough. Twin Flames is still a huge favourite. A Place To Be is one I often come back to and I'm super proud of how it turned out. A World With You is the first fic I ever posted and the longest, I have spent so much time with it and it has a special place in my heart. And this might be cheating because it's my current fixation, but I feel like you're a walking disaster, and yet— is some of my best writing yet, I'm very fond of it.

Tagging forth to: @elveny @pikapeppa @mary-aries @darlingpoppet @pinkfadespirit @sketchass @starlightvld @petrowriting @in-arlathan @figsandphiltatos @heypax and anyone else who'd like to do this! (Also, if you don't want to be tagged for these memes let me know!)

[smolvenger]

I Say Nothing That Frightens Me, Part One

Pairing: Loki x fem! Reader

Summary: As a young Asgardian, you have grown to be friends and secretly pine for the younger Prince Loki. After his fury has sent him off to put himself in danger, his mother sends you on a quest to find him and bring him home. Your quest makes you cross paths with a mysterious group that calls themselves the TVA. There, your mischievous prince can be found. But it comes with a heartbreaking revelation. He loves another.

Warnings: angst a the end, mentions of Sylvie as a romantic love interest. This will be angsty (but have an eventual happy ending, so stay tuned!). Unrequited love and pining! Loki definitely isn't gonna return Reader's feelings!! hahahaha...unless...oop. ;)

Word Count: >3K

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

A/N: Ah- the first fic I ever wrote for the big man himself- Loki! I realized I accidentally inspired this from Bizet's opera Carmen, minus the Punish The Woman ending and the cheating and sexism and antisemitism that can be prominent in the opera's plot, hence the title. I wrote it all the way in 2022 and realized I forgot to post it on Tumblr. For a while, it's been this one part because writer's block hit me early last year. I hope y'all like it and give it enough comments and kudos and responses so I can motivate myself to finish it. Send me good vibes to begin on part two! Enjoy!

Taglist: @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @villainousshakespeare @lovelysizzlingbluebird

I say that nothing frightens me, I say alas that I answer for myself, But no matter how brave I am, At the back of the yard, I’m dying of terror Alone, in this wild place Alone, I’m afraid, But I’m wrong to be afraid, You will give me courage, You will protect me, Lord. (English Translation) - Henri Meilhac, from Bizet's opera, Carmen.

It had been a week and there was no sign of him. No word. Nothing. His father couldn’t care less. He kept on ruling Asguard as if everything was normal. As if the only disturbance was a teapot being knocked over in the kitchen. Something simple and easily fixed and none of his business.

That was not the case for his brother or his mother.

Or most especially for you.

Thor had already gone. And there was no exact contact but whispers. People were dying. There was some grand scheme. Something about even the Tesseract and the Infinity Stones. About Midgard and then the Universe being taken over and at the center of it was your close friend and companion, the missing prince.

You sat alone that morning in the garden, watching the fountain burble. Feeling the bit of breeze and the chirp of birds. It all seemed so beautiful and peaceful. You didn’t know if it was to comfort you or if it was mocking you for your inner turbulence. If only you weren’t so worried so you could enjoy it. You were so lost in thought that a sweet, low voice pulled you out of your head.

“How long have you been here?”

Jumping, you turned and stood up, dipping into a curtsy.

“A while, your highness!” you answered.

Looking up, Queen Frigga smiled. And you smiled back.

“It’s your usual spot, I know. Every other child was training with weapons and swords, but you would run here, crying…”

“If you recall, I kept losing. And I was terrified of getting stabbed.”

“And after you had your cry you came back, and kept on…” she finished, she took a hand to smooth the top of your head lovingly.

Your muscles ached on cue from the memory. Yes, you lost often training on how to fight. Seeing the other warriors glide their swords with ease and grow up to be the pride of the kingdom. You preferred regular studies with reading and culture, history and knowledge, and science. Practice battles often had you thrown to the ground in defeat. But at least when it came to a fight, you returned.

“I had to finish it, that was school after all. It’s how I grew up…” you recalled.

She took a hand to dip into the cool water, tracing a pattern followed by the fish inside.

“You’re worried about…” she started.

“Loki, yes. Is he behind this invasion?” you questioned.

“I don’t doubt it. Loki’s been too angry, too jealous, and without a good outlet. All of his life he kept it inside of himself and now that it’s released, it’s piled up from the years of silence. He’s letting it all out at once…” she said.

“He’s…he’s going to get hurt…” you observed worriedly. Mentioning him in this place made it sadder.

You recalled the day years ago. You ran into the garden at this fountain and accidentally happened upon the dark-haired prince reading. You profusely apologized, saying that you were sneaking out of training. And Loki said that he could help you. Then you asked what he was reading. And such began this friendship between the two of you. He gave you tricks about how to fight and confessed that he enjoyed theatre. You told him what your favorite foods at the feast were.

The memories of you too exchanging books and chatting about them between your classes did not stop in your adulthood. They made you happy, and lately even happier. Thoughts of him switched to private, intimate fantasies as you were alone in your room at night.

Now that he was gone, all that was left was a bittersweet tinge in the air.

“He doesn’t hurt himself when you’re around him…” Frigga commented.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re his friend…so save him. Take him off the ledge, find him…”

“But..but I thought Thor would find him!” you argued, standing up. Remembering your manners, you returned to sitting. This could be seen as an insult to the queen, but her arm dismissed the gesture.

She was different from her husband.

“He won’t listen to Thor. Loki’s always been jealous of him, there will be too much of a fight, too much scuffling. And me, I’m his mother but you…you’re his friend. I’ve seen it. He’s too jealous of Thor. He’s mad at his father, mad at me but……you’re different. You might be able to help him. Talk him out of it…” she instructed.

She put a hand on your shoulder, leaning forward, her eyes big and a little watery.

“Y/N, I charge you, as a queen…as a mother…find Loki, find my son…and bring him back…”

You touched the hand and looked up at her.

“If my queen commands, I will” you replied dutifully.

Although a secret part of you was relieved, thrilled. Not just for an adventure. But to find him.

The queen prepared you for your quest well. There was a special sword and a dagger just in case. You couldn’t use magic yourself, but you knew that you had some strength, and being Asgardian, whatever diseases you encountered would not bother you. As you gathered, with some slight armor over your clothes and bags with an extra set of clothes and rations that would satiate you until you found something more, she did something surprising.

On the hour of your departure, the queen gifted you with a beautiful sword- the hilt was bejeweled but all sides of it were still sharp to cut a foe to ribbons. You placed it in a sheath in a belt tied tight around your waist. She gathered your face in her hands and kissed her forehead.

“Thank you…”

“To tell you frankly, I wanted to…wanted to go…go see him…” you confessed.

She blinked and then smiled. No doubt she could tell you felt warmer mentioning that.

“Really?”

“I miss Loki…I miss him more than anything…” you confessed.

She smiled. “I miss him too.”

From under her long sleeve, she gave you a necklace. Nothing but a small string with a glowing blue crystal on it.

“This will take you anywhere on Midgard. But ask for Thor. If you find Thor, you might find him. Ask if there’s any trouble…that is his specialty," Frigga said.

“I promise…I will be back here with him alive and unharmed!" you vowed.

Clutching the necklace, you touched each other’s hands as a last goodbye.

The necklace glowed.

“Take me to Midgard, please," you guided it.

There was a flash of light. You felt a little heavy for a second. It was as if you were falling, but very still. When the light vanished, you saw that you had landed on a field. The wind blew through the grass as it bowed in return. A big red farmhouse stood quietly. An old man in his rocking chair stood up and squinted at you in surprise, hands on his hips.

Midgard was a large place. It was time to start looking.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“He took the Tesseract and vanished” Thor explained.

“He did WHAT?” you shouted.

You could hardly believe the words coming through your ears. All those weeks. Searcing everything. The country took forever to get through. Eating grits, checking the news, and finding ways to get to New York City, the most likely place he would attack…and he had vanished.

“But I…I…where could he have gone?” you asked.

Thor shrugged “If I knew, I would have told you, Y/N…”

You wanted to kick something, to punch a wall. But you just leaned over the desk, your hands flat on it, and sighed deeply.

For a day, you let yourself sulk in the guest room. All of that traveling had wiped you out. You were so done. There were blisters on your feet and you could feel the grime from your smell. You spent your day bathing, wondering what on earth you could do now.

New York City was large, still reeling from its recent attack. But all in all, people seemed fine. Not too many casualties. Not zero, but not eighty. Wandering around the city, you wore a large hoodie and pants to cover your Asgardian traveling clothes. There were so many people, sights, and smells, it was dizzying.

Stomach gurgling, you wandered around. Midguardian food did not completely satiate you the way food back home did, but it was better than nothing. And it was a while since you ate, anyway.

Stopping inside, the doorbell rang. You ordered your food, chewing absent-mindedly on the crackers served right before. The wrappers crackled as you tossed them over your shoulder.

It sounded like a song back home. A song they did for dances. Once you go to a party together. Loki disliked social gatherings and preferred to hide away. You managed to talk him into coming down. Talking to one person. Trying the wine. Dancing. Saving one dance for you. He found he liked it. And he was enjoying himself, getting into little fights, laughing, flirting…

The flirting. There was a pretty red-haired boy, a woman with blonde hair, and even another person he kept flirting with that night. It must have been another heir to the throne trying to set a match that night. Even though in hindsight those matches never resulted in a betrothal, the images in your head made you want to vomit. Seeing him made you…it made your stomach turn. You tried to go to sleep that night, but your brain kept racing. Reviewing everything. It meant nothing, right? That words-he was being friendly!? Those phrases weren’t in any way romantic…right? Besides, he was just your friend! Nothing more…

. Ordering their food and drink for the first time for something new. Anything to get your brain off of your search for the misbehaving prince and your past. But it haunted you for a week. You barely spoke with him and buried yourself in school and training. But every morning, you woke up early with those thoughts, that memory still burned in your brain.

“Hey, watch it, dumbass!” someone yelled. It brought you out with a jump.

Getting out, you didn’t notice a person. Slamming into them, they fell right on the floor in their nice suit, their tray of food flipping in the air.

“My lunch! How could you?” he screamed.

“I’m so sorry!" you apologized. "I can pay you!"

"Forget it! Leave me alone!" he fumed.

You turn around to focus back on your food. But your ears could still hear his nasal, tenor voice.

“Look at that mess!” he complained from behind you. “She might as well be another damn Loki…”

Your sandwich froze in midair and you set it down in shock. Your stomach twisted in knots. The words were still forming in your brain. What…no…surely, they can’t mean…

But as you kept your ears peeled back, it occurred to you…they were. They meant it. They were talking…talking about him-him! You finished your food quickly, quietly. Then you got up and followed them through.

They went to an alleyway. Nothing but trash cans and tall brick walls. Children in the distance laughed as they played and cars honked their horns in frustration in the streets a few feet away. Unaware

All you had to do was create a distraction. Digging into your pockets, you pulled out a tiny ball. A favorite of the younger prince when you were children. Briefly, you smiled at the toy. In your adolescence, both of you would try throwing them in hallways to see which maidservant it would spook. It was harmless and would make them jump and squeal and you both would guffaw with laughter.

Looking over, you timed it carefully. The agents in their suits pressed buttons on a device and a portal opened in the brick wall. It was the size of a New York bagel when you tossed the ball- it hit the wall and exploded in a flurry of pink fireworks. The agents turned their heads, jumping when you ran fastly as you could, and jumped into the portal.

You would see him. Him! Him! And soon! At last- you could have cried as blues and yellows flashed through your eyes. You were falling through universes. And perhaps, your heart would be at peace, and you would tell this wayward prince the truth. How you felt. How your body ached for the brush of his fingers against your hand. How you worried for his safety. Despite his many flaws, if he was a poisonous well, you would still drink it. You would find Loki, bring him home, and tell him that you loved him more than life itself.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

When the bright colors faded, all that was were tans. Earth tones. Browns, greys, tans, and whites but all dirtied and plain. This was far from the magnificent palace and beautiful landscape you secretly hoped for. It looked like an average Midguardian office. Except the surreal posters. But at least it seemed to be benign. There were no weaponed guards. As you walked forward, you saw that desks were pushed aside, mugs with coffee stains long since used and stinking from not being washed, and in the distance, there was old music playing and a ticking grandfather clock.

You stepped forward shyly. Just because it looked harmless didn’t mean there was a trap lurking somewhere.

“Well, I’ll be damned, Asgard fashion!” a voice from behind you cried.

Twirling around, you got out your sword. So far, you were lucky to not use it. But that time was now over. You pointed it right into the face of a man in a suit with grey hair and a mustache. He held up his hands in peace and you released them.

His mouth opened into a smile as he glanced over you, eyes trailing down from your hairstyle to your boots.

“Wait, is that…that can’t be! I think I recognize you! Are you Y/F/N??” he asked.

He walked up to you slowly as if you were a predator released from a zoo.

“I am she. Sir, do you know of Loki Laufreyson, Prince of Asguard and God of Mischief? I’m looking for him…” you asked desperately.

The man nodded.

“Like the back of my hand. He’s trying to disband the TVA right now…”

You put your sword back in your hilt.

“I don’t care about the TVA, I care about him…I need to…I need to make sure he’s okay. I need to take him back home, back somewhere safe! I’ve been on this journey forever all for him! I need him! I mean…I need him to go back to his mother!” you explained.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. You caught your breath waiting for his answer. But he said something else.

“Oh, Y/N, you poor thing….” he sighed.

“Oh gods, is he dead?” you asked.

“Probably not…or not yet…but…”

“But what…”

“I didn’t know he had…the clips showed you both together, but there was no wedding…”

“Clips? What do you mean? I don’t know what you speak of…but that doesn’t matter- where is Loki? Don’t play games! I beg of you- take me to where he is!” you cried, ready to grab the man by his collar.

His eyes went soft. You felt suddenly vulnerable.

“Do you love him?” he asked.

Bullets striking your chest would have shocked you less. An electric rush ran through you. You found yourself looking away and feeling suddenly warmer than what was comfortable.

“Love…define love…” you said.

“I can tell, you have…feelings. Not platonic, romantic ones. You have the hots, a crush for this god. That is how we are defining love right now! Do you love him?”

There was silence. The song stopped playing on the speaker and skipped to a trio of women singing about birds.

You felt as if this was a monster to fight. But not a literal one. And you were taught to be brave no matter what.

“I…I do! Now tell me where he is…” you answered plainly.

“I…I know where he is. Call it the end of the Universe and I know a way to get there but…Y/N…I need to prepare you…” he said with a deep sigh.

He walked up and put a heavy hand on your shoulder. His lips curled as if getting ready to spit out a poison he did not want to inflict on you.

“What is your name, sir?” you asked.

“Call me Mobius,” he answered.

You shook your head.

“What could possibly upset me, Mobius? He’s alive and not injured, I have reason to rejoice why would you say that? Loki is alive and once I find him, I will tell him how I feel and-”

“Y/N, he’s there with a woman he’s fallen in love with…”

It hits you like a rock. No. No no no no-no. You began shaking. The world went dizzy except for him. You began to sit down to ground yourself.

“Wha…he’s in love with someone else?”

Mobius nodded.

In spite of your warrior education, you sat down on a chair and burst into exhausted, heartbroken sobs as Mobius watched. Hand still on your shoulder empathetically.

“That’s not even the strangest part about it…” Mobius added on.