#yes this is stolen from the notebook!

[fruittarts-with-rosepetals]

mai would write 365 letters to zuko during his banishment

[steampunk-raven]

absolutely adore plural memes that revolve around using simplyplural or pluralbot or similar things because I don’t use any of those but I still somehow understand the joke

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ A Boy Named Heretic 

tw: mentions of stalking and theft. Dottore in his Akademiya days, reader hinted to be from Khaenri'ah. SFW

Imagine little boy Zandik, discreetly hiding behind the columns of the Akademiy, trying to take a peek at you from afar. You’d stand among your peers, the Akademiya’s uniform embracing your constitution to further highlight your comforting poise. You are taller than the young boy, a perfect image of a senior student with just a few semesters away from graduating and becoming an official researcher. Alas, the teen felt self-conscious to approach you directly, since he was only a junior trainee Dastur. 

Imagine little boy Zandik eavesdropping on your discussion with your friends. You’d complain to your friends how one of your notebooks on Linguistic Semantics and Pragmatics was lost. You were a diligent student, and your written notes were a reflection of your hard work, so it was natural for you to feel bummed out about losing your notebook out of the blue. Zandik would persist in eavesdropping, noticing your friends providing consultative pats on your back: “Maybe you left it some other place?” or “Maybe you forgot it in the previous class?” - they’d say. Little did you know that a young trainee Dastur was hugging your notebook close to himself, not admitting to anyone that he was the one who stole it.

Imagine little boy Zandik sneaking off into the lush gardens of the Akademiya or some other miscellaneous corner of Sumeru. He’d hold your notebook protectively as if it was his newest treasure from the one he adores. He’d spend hours reading your notes, analyzing your handwriting, and smiling at the small doodles left on certain pages. Zandik’s fingers would gently trace the outline of your pages, memorizing the unique theories and thoughts you conveyed in your notebooks. His dorm room was filled with various notes or papers you randomly discarded or forgot about. Now it proudly hung, being displayed on his wall. 

Imagine little boy Zandik never telling anyone that he was the one who pocketed your negligible belongings. Yet in a couple of weeks or months, you’d mysteriously find your long-forgotten notebooks once more. There it is, in your backpack, as if you never lost it. You’d scratch your head in confusion, unaware of carnelian red eyes staring at you from across the library. Even yet, oblivious of the boy whose cold stare would turn into a longing gaze. Any books you borrowed from the library a week ago were now on his desk.

Imagine little boy Zandik being conveniently nearby when you stormed into the student affairs office, complaining to one of the supervisors how your Akademiya uniform was stolen. You’d relentlessly argue about how you definitely did not leave it somewhere randomly, only to forget it after returning from a research expedition. Thus, after a useless talk in the office, you’d sigh and slump down in the empty hallway wearing casual clothes due to your missing uniform. 

“...Excuse me, miss?” - a small voice interrupted your thoughts when a junior student approached you. He stood there for a while, hands behind his back and big round eyes gawking. 

“...Um, yeah?” - you replied with uncertainty, trying to conjure a polite smile. “How may I help you?” 

“You’re not in your Akademiya uniform. I heard a commotion from the office from which you came from…” - he spoke, although hesitantly as if looking you straight in the eyes was an act of disrespect that could shatter him. “Did you lose yours?” 

“Ah, well, about that…” - you groaned, running a hand through your hair. “I’m sorry, was I too loud that other students heard from the hallway? My bad… Yes, I have indeed lost mine. Although I am more than certain it was stolen directly from my bag.” 

The young trainee Dastur stood in front of you, his eyes still wide and observant of your every move. He mustered a reply and said: “Don’t worry. No one heard… Only I did.” 

You stared at him awkwardly. Where did this boy come from? 

“Is this yours, miss?” - he suddenly revealed neatly folded clothes from behind his back. And wouldn’t you know, it was indeed your uniform. You hopped up in an instant. 

“Whoa-! It’s my uniform! But how, and where did you find it?” 

Imagine little boy Zandik invoking all his courage to stand still before you while biting his lips nervously as he handed you your belongings. Your immediate shift to awe and excitement upon your found uniform was a lot. You were indeed taller than him, your mere presence made him feel like a child, stammering and shifting coyly. However, he finally muttered his name to you and explained how he found some folded uniforms mysteriously left behind. 

Imagine little boy Zandik feeling relieved when you believed him, even when you noticed that the uniform was oddly warm despite being missing. And yet you still looked at him with sincere gratitude and a warm appreciation. The boy’s lips would tug into a guileful smile when you left. He’d remember your smell from the uniform. 

Imagine little boy Zandik managing to catch you every morning in the Akademiya’s hallway. He’d always approach you, so silent yet observant, but only when you weren't surrounded by your classmates and other seniors. You thought it was a coincidence that his breaks matched yours and that he’d inadvertently stay in the same remote hallways you always preferred. He was visibly reclusive when talking, but his curiosity was palpable like his gawking red eyes. He often asked you about your interests, research, classes, and frankly anything. The young trainee Dastur never got bored of hearing you ramble and rant about ancient technology or languages; instead, the boy huddled close to you, with his legs swinging gently. 

You didn’t have to know that his break schedule did not match yours. But your inconspicuous meetings became a daily routine nonetheless. 

Imagine little boy Zandik clutching onto your uniform and asking in horror: “What do you mean you’re leaving the Akademiya?!”. You informed him that although you graduated and got your thesis approved, you refused all invitations to work as a researcher or a trainee professor at the Akademiya. It wasn’t an easy decision, and you wished to withhold that information from him, but the boy was eerily observant. He saw your signed papers and coaxed an explanation from you. 

“...I’m sorry, Zandik. I have to.” - your voice filled with as you stared down at him clutching onto you. regret 

 “You can’t just leave!” - his grip on you was not firm, but it was pleading. “You are an exceptional alumni! You could become a professor in just a few years. If you wait just a little, I’ll finish my senior classes and become a junior like you, too! And- and, in just a couple of years, I’d be a student in your courses! I’ll be your best student in class, I promise!” 

The boy begged and pressed himself onto you as if you’d vanish forever. It hurt to see him like that, it hurt to say you’d leave him. You squatted down to meet his gaze.

“Zandik, it’s all right. You’re already a top A student in your class. It’s just the circumstances that are calling to me, and I’ll have to leave Sumeru. I won't be staying to work here. I’ll… have to return to my home country.” 

“You won't even stay in Sumeru…? But your theories on ancient technologies, the ruin guards, the anthropology of the Cataclysm… a-and me - you can’t just leave it all behi-'' Znadik's lips were shut with your palm, trying to keep him at bay and not cause a scene. It took a while to shush him, and you’ve never seen him in such enraged distress.

“As much as I loved my studies and research, I… do not wish to stay in the Akademiya. This institution would not be so welcoming if I were to pursue my theories. This is not the academic career I desire.” 

Imagine little boy Zandik not understanding at the time. Why would the Akademiya not be happy with your topics of interest? What’s so wrong with learning about Khaenri'ahan technology? You’re Khaenri'ahan. What’s wrong with your thesis on the origins of cataclysms throughout Teyvat? He read them, he worships them, and you determined to leave it all behind? 

Imagine little boy Zandik concealing his choked anger as he whispered “... You would leave me behind?”. He never confessed he was the one who stole your notebooks numerous times, or how he reads your papers at night with a flashlight, or how he stole your uniform to relish your scent and imagine it was you he was holding tightly. 

He could’ve held you. He could’ve done many things if you stayed. Now his last anchor in this cursed institution was gone. 

Imagine little boy Zandik glaring daggers at a classmate named Sohreh, who blurted out once: “So what if some random alumni left the Akademiya? It’s not like their research was the most unique one… students come and go, right?” 

Imagine little boy Zandik is no more. Because after 400 years, in his place stood a dangerous man, deemed a heretic and the 2nd of the Fatui Harbingers. He would achieve great scientific length, no matter how immoral and heretical they were, all thanks to the inspiration of your works when you were young. His works in creating segments were not for naught, because his influence was used for both the Fatui’s and personal gains too. Personal, as in scavenging the corners of Teyvat and Abyss to locate you. 

Imagine Dottore finding you, after almost 400 years, instead of the little boy you once knew. Because that little boy from the Akademiya never stopped imagining you being back.

➻ A small illustration of Zandik that I did for this fic is here too :)

[moralesmilesanhour]

teamwork (makes the dream work...?) epilogue

summary: they ass is NOT doing homework 🤣

wc: 1k+

A/N: That's a wrap, guys! tysm for reading and enjoying!

prev 'if you believe in me'

“Miles, what is this emo shit you got me listening to?” you laughed.

Miles was currently in the middle of an imaginary drumming solo next to you, with two mechanical pencils as drumsticks. Once the final cymbal crashed, he turned to you to respond.

“I don’t give a fuck if it’s emo, that beat goes crazy. You done with your conclusion yet?” 

You rolled your eyes.

“No, but I’ve got all my body paragraphs together.”

“That shit is due Monday,” the boy adjusted his glasses, “Mr. Padilla don’t do extensions.”

Shutting your laptop in protest, you got up and stretched your arms. “Can we take, like, a ten-minute break?”

Miles smirked. “The last half hour felt like a ‘break’, but sure.”

The smirk fell from his face when he noticed you staring at something on his desk.

“Aye, don’t touch nothing–”

“Is this me?”

Too late.

Miles’ notebook was already in your hands, flipped to a page full of sketches of your face. There were little lines scratched out next to each sketch, as if he were measuring the proportions of your eyes, nose, ears... 

His lines were sharp and geometrical, as always, but they softened at your hair and lips. Speaking of lips, there was an oddly-detailed sketch of them off to the side. He’d even managed to include the suggestion of gloss.

You looked up to see Miles standing in front of you with his arms crossed, expression unreadable. 

“You done invading my privacy yet?” 

“Nope,” you placed a finger on the page. “How long did you need to stare at my face for this?”

You held back a laugh when he tensed visibly.

“Not long enough for it to matter,” he deadpanned, finally snatching the notebook out of your hand. “It was just a study.”

“Oh, so you’ve been ‘studying’ my lips? Got it.”

Miles’ eyes flickered down at them as you spoke before he returned to his spot on the bed. “Whatever. Break’s over.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” you teased as you followed him, “the drawings are nice! You made me look prettier.”

The boy looked at you like he wanted to say something - to argue - but he remained silent. You elbowed him playfully in the side.

“What, you think I’m ugly, then? I’m telling you, Morales, one day we gon’ fight–”

“No,” he interrupted.

“Complete sentences, please,” you mimicked, laughing when the boy sucked his teeth in response.

“Fine. No, you’re not ugly, and I like drawing you. Can we move on?”

With a triumphant smile, you finally cracked open your laptop again. “Yes, yes we can. I need your genius powers to proofread this for me.”

Miles leaned in to get a good look at your screen, hitting you with the crisp scent of sports deodorant and some generic brand of lotion. You watched his eyes dart back and forth as he read your work out loud to himself in a low mutter. While he read, your gaze drifted away from the screen and landed on his side profile. His ears were now delightfully occupied by tiny gold studs that you would’ve missed at a farther distance. Past his jawline at the nape of his neck, a thin gold chain peeked out at you from beneath his black graphic tee.

Your eyes met Miles’ the moment you brought them back up to his face, amusement playing on his features.

“Yo, are you good? There something on my shirt?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. “Go back to reading.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m done. I just said you need to switch these two body paragraphs so they flow better.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” he laughed, dimples on display. “I’m scared I’mma get my face stolen one day. Do you stare at everybody like that?”

A beat of silence passed as you considered whether to say something bold a second time, if not just for a reaction.

“...Nah, it’s just you.”

Miles blinked, the smile dropping from his face. “Huh?”

“You’re nice to look at, and I can’t draw you in my notebook to make it last longer,” you tilted your head comically. “Staring will have to do.”

Like clockwork, the boy’s hand shot up to his ear to toy with his piercing. He glanced out of the window. 

“The sun’s setting, you should really get that essay done,” he blurted out before narrowing his eyes at you. “What’s so funny?”

You had a hand over your mouth to stifle the laughter. “I’m sorry,” you giggled, “it’s funny when you’re nervous.”

Miles scoffed.

“I’m not nervous.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you sang, beginning to type your conclusion paragraph.

There was no response. 

Your typing slowed as the silence grew long, feeling Miles’ eyes on you until you finally stopped to look at him quizzically.

“Yes?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

He leaned in closer until your noses were in danger of brushing each other, looking determined despite the rapid rise and fall of his chest. You met his gaze with a challenge.

“Well? You just gon’ sit there?”

Miles couldn’t hear anything above the heartbeat pounding in his ears, his eyes squeezed shut as he closed the distance between you. 

No one told him that kissing would feel this weird.

For one, your lip gloss wasn’t half as sticky as he’d anticipated it to be, tasting like artificial fruit flavoring. Your sweaty palm came up to rest on the side of his face and kept him anchored as his breath stuttered. Having no idea where he would put his hands (another thing no one had explained to him), he kept them flat on the mattress for support as you deepened the kiss and he leaned back. 

Your hand was gripping his chin now to guide his face. Having kissed at least two other boys before, you had a vague idea of where it was supposed to go. Unlike the other two, Miles was tense, almost unmoving, despite being the initiator.  

Miles’ head buzzed when you pulled away, chuckling softly.

What the hell was so funny? The boy felt white hot blood rapidly coursing through all of the veins in his body at once. He thought he might start floating, like a hot air balloon. Or explode. Or vomit. Preferably the first one.

“Are you okay?” you asked, dropping your hand. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

He blinked slowly, three times. “Yeah, I’m…fine.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. That was, um…” 

Hand on the neck. “Interesting.”

“A good interesting, I hope,” you laughed.

Miles tilted his head, a small grin spreading across his lips.

“I don’t think I’d mind doing that again.”

Handing the boy your phone, you said, “I think you’d need my number for that.”

-

[kathlare]

bed chem

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: In the heart of New York City, a shared moment of creativity blossoms between Amelie and Lando. Amid playful banter and the warmth of their connection, vulnerability emerges, allowing them to bridge unspoken emotions. As music weaves their dynamic together, their bond deepens, blending lighthearted teasing with heartfelt sincerity.

Wordcount: 1.7 k

Warnings: just fluff

May 10th, 2024 - New York City, NY

Amelie’s apartment in New York was a reflection of her: eclectic, warm, and effortlessly stylish. The faint sound of cars honking from the streets below filtered in through slightly cracked windows, mixing with the soft hum of music from the speakers. Benny, her docile gray ragdoll cat, was sprawled out on Lando’s lap, purring contentedly while Björn darted around, chasing a piece of crumpled paper he’d stolen from the counter.

—This is it. I’m never leaving,— Lando announced dramatically, running a hand through Benny’s silky fur. He leaned back on the couch, his legs stretched out, looking entirely too comfortable in his sweatpants and hoodie. —I’ll just move in and live here with you and Benny. Björn can have the couch.—

—Björn wouldn’t let you, even if you begged,— Amelie teased, leaning against the kitchen counter, a mug of tea in her hands. —He barely tolerates me most days.—

As if on cue, Björn darted up to Amelie, swiped at her ankle playfully, and bolted off again. She rolled her eyes but smiled, taking a sip of her tea.

Lando watched her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. —Speaking of begging…—

Amelie groaned, already sensing where this was going. —No. Absolutely not.—

—Oh, come on!— Lando set Benny down gently and stood, crossing the room in a few quick strides. He stopped in front of her, hands pressed together like he was praying. —Just one song. Please, Ames. I’ve been patient. I didn’t say anything when you wouldn’t show me snippets during the gala. I deserve this.—

—You deserve nothing, Norris,— Amelie said, her tone playful but firm. She turned back toward the kitchen, but he followed her like a shadow, practically clinging to her side.

—Not even a little sneak peek?— he pressed, leaning down slightly to meet her gaze.

Amelie sighed, setting her mug down. —You’re impossible.—

—But you like it,— he said with a cheeky grin.

—Unfortunately, yes,— she muttered, pretending to think it over. Finally, she threw her hands up. —Fine. One song. But no commentary until it’s over. And if you don’t like it, you’re not allowed to say anything.—

—Deal.— Lando’s grin widened, boyish and triumphant.

She grabbed her keys from the counter, motioning for him to follow. —Come on. Studio’s downstairs.—

The small recording studio was tucked into the building’s lower level, a cozy space filled with instruments, stacks of notebooks, and the faint scent of coffee and lavender. Lando looked around, curiosity lighting up his face as he ran a hand over the keys of a piano.

Amelie booted up her laptop, scrolling through files until she found the one she was looking for. —Okay, sit there,— she instructed, pointing to the small couch in the corner. —And no interrupting.—

—You’ve got my full attention, Ames,— Lando said, holding up his hands innocently before plopping down.

The room filled with the soft opening chords of Bed Chem. Amelie glanced at Lando as the first lines played, his expression instantly shifting. His posture straightened, his eyes fixed on her, and his lips parted slightly as the lyrics began to sink in.

"I was in a sheer dress the day that we met We were both in a rush, we talked for a sec You're friendin' me up so we could connect And what are the odds? You sent me a text…"

His brows lifted, a mix of surprise and amusement washing over his face.

Amelie didn’t look at him directly, choosing instead to focus on organizing some papers on the desk. She knew this song would catch him off guard—it was personal, maybe the most personal thing she’d written.

As the song reached the chorus, she chanced a glance at him.

"Who's the cute boy with the white jacket And the thick accent? Like… Maybe it's all in my head But I bet we'd have really good bed chem…"

Lando’s jaw dropped slightly. —Wait… what?— he muttered, breaking the no-interruption rule.

Amelie paused the track, spinning her chair to face him. —What? You don’t like it?—

—Are you joking? I... This is... You wrote this about me?— he stammered, running a hand through his hair as a slow grin spread across his face.

—Maybe,— Amelie said coyly, her cheeks warming under his intense gaze.

Lando stood, crossing the room in two long strides. He stopped just short of her, his hands finding the arms of her chair as he leaned down. —“Bed chem”? That’s a bold lyric, Ames.—

—Bold, but accurate,— she shot back, her voice steady despite the way her heart was racing.

Lando stared at her for a moment before letting out a low laugh. —You’re something else, you know that?—

—Takes one to know one, Norris.—

He tilted his head, his blue eyes locking onto hers. —You’re obsessed with me. Admit it.—

—You’re the one who begged to hear my songs,— Amelie countered, her voice dropping slightly, teasing.

Lando’s gaze flicked to her lips for a brief moment before meeting her eyes again. —You’re right. I did. And now… I think I’m even more obsessed with you than before.—

Before she could respond, he closed the gap between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was anything but soft. It was intense, consuming, his hands sliding from the chair’s arms to cup her face as he deepened it.

Amelie responded in kind, her hands finding their way to his hoodie, pulling him closer. The kiss was electric, charged with every unspoken word and emotion they hadn’t yet voiced. When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, their foreheads resting together.

—So, you liked the song then?— Amelie asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

—Ames,— Lando murmured, his voice rough, —I fucking loved it.—

Amelie smirked, still catching her breath, her fingers playing with the hem of Lando’s hoodie. —That’s a relief. Would’ve been awkward if you didn’t.—

—Oh, it’s awkward alright,— Lando teased, his voice low, his accent. His hands slid from her face to rest on her waist, his thumbs brushing lightly against the soft fabric of her shirt. —You just casually dropped a song about us and acted like it was nothing.—

—It’s not nothing,— Amelie replied, her tone matching his, teasing and bold. Her hands slipped under his hoodie, her palms skimming his stomach, which tensed under her touch. —I just thought you deserved a little surprise. That’s all.—

—A little surprise?— he echoed, laughing under his breath. His lips brushed against hers, feather-light, as he whispered, —You know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?—

Her smile widened as she leaned in, kissing him again, slower this time, savoring the way his hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer. His touch was possessive, but not demanding; it was like he was savoring the moment as much as she was.

Lando broke the kiss, trailing his lips down her jaw to her neck, leaving a path of soft kisses that made her shiver. —You drive me insane, Ames,— he murmured against her skin, his voice muffled but no less intense.

Amelie tilted her head back slightly, giving him more access, her fingers curling into the waistband of his sweatpants. —You say that like it’s a bad thing,— she teased, though her voice came out breathier than she intended.

Lando chuckled, the sound vibrating against her neck. —Not bad. Just dangerous. Very, very dangerous.—

—And here I thought you liked living on the edge,— Amelie quipped, though her playful tone faltered as his lips found a particularly sensitive spot just below her ear.

Lando pulled back slightly, his eyes darkening as they met hers. —I do. Especially when it’s with you.—

Amelie’s heart raced as he pulled her to her feet, his hands steady on her waist. Their faces were inches apart, and the intensity in his gaze sent a thrill through her. Without breaking eye contact, he guided her backward until she was pressed against the edge of the desk.

—You’re trouble,— he said, his voice husky, a teasing smile tugging at his lips as his hands slid under her shirt, his touch warm against her skin.

—Takes one to know one,— she whispered, pulling him closer by the drawstrings of his hoodie.

Lando captured her lips in another kiss, this one deeper, more urgent. His hands roamed her back, her sides, exploring in a way that left her breathless. Amelie’s fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, earning a low groan from him that sent heat coursing through her.

The world outside the studio faded away, leaving only the two of them, completely lost in each other. Lando’s kisses grew more intense, his hands bolder as he lifted her onto the desk effortlessly. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, their bodies pressed together in perfect sync.

—Ames,— he murmured against her lips, his voice ragged, filled with longing.

—What?— she asked, her own voice unsteady as she looked into his eyes, her cheeks flushed.

He smirked, brushing a strand of hair from her face. —I bet we’d have really good bed chem.—

Amelie laughed softly, pulling him back into another kiss. —Only one way to find out, Norris.—

[see-arcane]

When I read this entry the first time, one of my first thoughts was, ‘Well, this is all incredibly horrifying and awful, but you still have your secret pen and journal, buddy! Use paper from that to make another letter and envelope! You’ve got something to work with!’ But on the heels of that came the rational counterpoint train of thought:

Yes, Jonathan still has the journal.

To be miserably specific, all Jonathan has left is his journal. 

If he uses up some of that paper and gets caught by Dracula again, then that gives away the fact that he has a secret pen and paper stowed away. A secret notebook to judge by the sheets’ torn edges. Meaning his very last piece of personal property and refuge gets put in danger of being stolen the second he tries to use it for anything else.

He simultaneously has means of writing to others and the implicit threat that it will get vanished too if he dares to try and use it. 

[panthera-tigris-venenata]

Do they keep a diary/a journal?

Mal - yes, actually. But no gross feelings stuff, ew. Just drawings. ...Of various levels of "disturbing". (Peak being begining of D2, of course)

Jay - nah. Better stuff to do. Also lowkey paranoid it'll be stolen.

Evie - yes, technically, multiple. She keeps one journal to jot down what was when done to any potions she's brewing (the correct scientific procedure), her fashion one, of course, for whatever designs she dreams of, and lastly, one to note down orders and payments for her shop.

Carlos - nah. He's got a collection of loose papers with important and "important" info on them. His cousins still keep finding them in Hell Hall. Jay has to move them from his parts of the room regularly. Mal found papers stuck in between her journal.

Uma - no. WAY more important shit to do, and she finds it way too sentimental. She keeps records of stuff important for the running of her crew, but doesn't consider it a journal, rather a public record.

Harry - yes. To the surprise if absolutely no one, the thing he writes most about is Uma. There are several original songs and poems for her as well. He wouldn't mind if she found it.

Gil - I wanna say yes, he tries. He's not very consistent though. The only thing he writes about is his friends and crewmates – he accidentally puts it down in the common space of the ship often, and most of the crewmates picked it up once. Cos, y'know. You see, you take. If they read it, they began blushing furiously under the excited "My friends are SO cool" Gil wrote and gave it back to him without a word.

Claudine - once she stops living with her father, yes, though it took some convincing. She doesn't write regularly, though, because she just doesn't know what to write, and is afraid of putting her thoughts on the paper. Later, she writes poems in letters so small it's illegible, since poetry masks the true self a bit.

Harriet - yes. She writes regularly, though not a lot of feelings stuff. She writes poems and vague stories draws whatever comes to her mind (mostly abstract stuff) and keeps it tightly locked up in her cabin, since that shit is DARK. Smee twins accidentally found it once and Sammy kept complaining they were afraid of her drawings for two weeks straight.

CJ - ...she tries to. It never lasts more than two days in row. But she adds new disjointed entry every time she's reminded that her older siblings do so. It's actually extremely disturbing in different way than Harriet's since she has ZERO ability to self-censor.

Freddie - two. One for music and one for dreams and card readings.

Celia - one. Dreams and Cards and Friends on the other side. Though, technically, both sisters share another one, written in cryptic code and abbreviations and moved from place to place with regularity but without a set schedule. This one is about secrets of the Isle residents, the ones they bother or dare to write down.

Dizzy - I wanna say yes, actual diary, feelings and all. To utter exasperation of all her older relatives.

Anthony - no, keeping tabs on the salon is enough, thank you.

Dulcia - look, my girl deserves a Burn Book.

Ginny - not really. If she absolutely NEEDS something noted down, she tells Anthony. Exception being medical notes at the Escape but she delegates paperwork away any time she can. Also, I feel like her handwriting is borderline illegible to anyone but her and the three people she shares mental disturbances with (Maddy, Anthony, Harriet)

Maddy - she keeps tabs on the Apothecary and like Evie, writes down the shit she's synthetising. It's only correct to do.

Ivy - Yeah she gets a burn book too. She deserves it <3. It's in one notebook with scraps from fashion magasines and and some kaligrams. (Again, that's a form of self-censure. Can't read it, so it isn't there.)

I think I ran out of Isle kids, so AKs (all regarding a diary):

Audrey - canonically she does, I have nothing else to add.

Ben - he tries to, but he doesn't manage to write regularly, what with being a CHILD KING and all. It's healthy for him tho. Took the habit from his mother.

Chad - I refuse to believe this boy has a diary. He views it as "useless" and "too feminine".

Jane - yes, actual diary full of feelings. Starting each entry with "dear diary". She locks it religiously though, since her mother can and will read it if give an oppurtunity to.

Ally - yes and frankly it should be studied and/or published (with different names for the sake of privacy, but i'd pay a lot to read a diary of Ally Liddel of Wonderland)

Lonnie - ...no. she tried to, few times, but never quite managed more than few entries in a row. She doesn't particularly like sitting still, and fancies the thought of someone actually reading what she thinks about certain stuff even less.

Jordan - ...she uses her blogs and vlogs as a diary. The more private ones. Not her Drama Channel.

[piratefishmama]

Forgiven not Forgotten | Part 4

People often wondered whether a person dreamed while comatose. Whether they were aware of time passing.

It was constantly up for debate, some claiming yes, they could hear people, they could see faint shapes behind eyelids that simply refused to open, could hear questions, and sometimes respond with the faintest of movements.

Some claimed visions of torture would torment them, where IV’s, and tubes were placed to save their lives, chains, hooks, and ropes would be instead, every pull on a tube causing pain from a hook, every itch from bed sheet rash intensified like sandpaper rubbing their skin raw, every noise amplified into screams from chambers down the row, until their minds became inescapable torture chambers of their own making.

Eddie Munson was somewhat thankful that his mind, for the first time in his life, seemed quiet.

It wasn’t a torture chamber, or the semi-dark space behind his eyelids, it was a black void, the floor covered with water, or… some kind of liquid, he didn’t know what it was, but if he thought really hard, usually he could conjure something in there and that something wouldn’t be damp, the water wouldn’t touch it.

Be it that couch from Max’s trailer to lounge on, his bedroom, or a lone, solitary picnic table for him to sit upon and ponder life’s great mysteries. If he thought hard enough, he could make any place he knew appear for a time.

Was he dead? He assumed he should be, given his spectacular final act… but something about the void felt… purgatorial.

Not quite the pearly gates he never expected to get within an mile of, not quite the burning pits of Hell people assumed he’d somehow claim a throne in, but a middle ground. The waiting room between life and death. Limbo, Purgatory, not the up, or the down, but the middle where the powers that be left you until they could determine your fate.

Eddie liked conjuring his bedroom.

It was pretty accurate too!

He had his little fidget toys, he had his baby, which honestly sounded a little funky in the void space, but hey, he could practice things in there! He had his yoyo, was getting pretty good at the rock the baby trick, he had that basketball that he’d stolen from the gymnasium on a dare. He had his handcuffs from that time Hopper had forgotten to link his cuffs to anything, and just allowed him to bolt into the woods to figure out the cuffs somewhere else, he had his notebooks to scribble in.

Although nothing he scribbled ever actually stuck around.

He didn’t like looking in the mirror. The mirror… it felt. Wrong somehow. He couldn’t quite place why it felt wrong. The image looking back at him. It was him, but… it was wrong. Didn’t know how to explain it. Like he was staring into the face of something else wearing his skin, something else standing in a place somewhere else, even though it did look like him, it did look like his room. It felt wrong.

That was really the only thing that felt wrong in his void. The mirror. It was easy to ignore.

Most things were easy to ignore there. Like the strange passing of time. If time actually passed. Eddie had no idea, given his scribbles never stuck around he figured time was pretty much set in stone where he was, it didn’t pass. It didn’t matter really. Not much mattered. He was dead after all right? He’d gone lights out, and frankly had he any choice in his way to go? He’d have probably picked the one he went with.

He just wished it wouldn’t have dealt a crushing blow of trauma to the boy who’d quickly wormed his way into Eddie’s cold, cynical heart. He should apologise for that. Maybe in his next life, or maybe when the powers that be figured out where to drop his ass, he could get one of whoever shared the eternity, to pass on a message for him.

Like some kind of supernatural game of Broken Telephone.

Dustin had a friend with superpowers right? Or at least she’d had superpowers at one point, playing Broken Telephone from the great beyond couldn’t be that farfetched right?

God he was tired. Which was new. His limbs felt… heavy. Which was funny because he’d honestly forgot what his limbs were supposed to feel like. But all of a sudden, while sprawled out on his bed, he just felt… heavy. Eyelids drooped shut, breathing slowed, weighted down, he could hear the faintest beep, repeating, over and over again, it’d never been in his void before but—

It was fine. He could… he could handle a beep in his void. His void that seemed to grow a warmer shade of brown, details of his bedroom blowing away like wisps of smoke on a gentle breeze

Figures moved across his warm brown void, it wasn’t even a void anymore though if he were honest. It felt impossibly small. More just a space. A space behind his eyelids. Eyelids which struggled to open but seemed to want to.

Maybe he wasn’t dead. Maybe he was and this was just the process of waking up in the afterlife. Who knew. Not him. He’d been stuck in a void for… a few weeks maybe? Few days?

Probably a couple of days.

“—e’s coming back… heart rate is steady, vitals seem normal, Mr. Munson, can you hear us?”

“Mnnhhh” oh cool, his voice! There was a crack in his brown space, a crack that looked blurry, like looking through water, through tears, and sleep trapped in thick eyelashes, he tried to lift a hand to clear his eyes but found it locked down, trapped by something he couldn’t see.

“Get those damn things off my client this instant.” That was a voice he didn’t recognise.

“It’s a precaution.”

“Against what exactly? Please, in your infinite wisdom, officer, tell me what exactly this semi-lucid young man could ACTUALLY do to you in his current state? What? Are you scared that he’ll wiggle a pinkie at you? You’re grown men, act like it for heavens sake.” A different voice, feminine, commanding, didn’t recognise it though, respected it a little, but he didn’t recognise it.

“Mom… Officer, please… just take the handcuffs off of him, he didn’t do anything. He wouldn’t do anything. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, knowing him he’d open all the windows in the house just to waft the damn thing out” Oh. Oh now that—That voice. He recognised that voice. The weight on his wrist seemed to vanish. Awesome.

“Oh now… I must be dead” his voice, sure, but awfully croaky, like he’d smoked a full six pack every five hours for a month. “Although how I went up I dunno…” didn’t hurt to speak but… it felt weird.

“Munson? The hell are you—”

“Pretty sure that could only be the voice of an angel.”

“He’s… very medicated.” the first voice seemed hesitant to speak, Eddie assumed doctor.

“Hiiiigh as a kite” he managed to croak out with a crackly chuckle that cut short with a grunt and a pained wince. He preferred his void. He didn’t hurt in his void.

“Jesus Christ, Munson.” His favourite voice was back! “Doc can we get some kind of wipes or something here?” Moments later, the gentle touch of large, rough hands on his cheek had that funny little heart monitor pick up its pace. It largely went ignored, although the silence while it went wild was pretty condemning. “Calm down, I’m just wiping your face.”

Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t say it. Dooon’t—“sponge bath from Steeeeeeve Harrington, what a thing to wake up to.” Dammit.

“Maybe we should—" another man’s voice he didn’t recognise.

“Don’t even think about leave me alone with this.”

“Awww” that hand gently whapped his face, it didn’t hurt, just served to shut him up. Weird that it didn’t hurt though, he was pretty sure he’d been bitten on his face, a tap should hurt even if he was high.

“Don’t aww me, you did this shit to yourself. I told you, what the fuck did I tell you, Eddie? Don’t be a hero, don’t be a goddamn hero, and what do you do?” Steve angrily, yet still somehow gently, wiping the gunk away from his eyes as he spoke like some kind of vexed mother hen.

“…”

“That’s right, you got yourself ate. What. What REASON? What could you have POSSIBLY—”

“Would have gotten us both if I hadn’t. They came in… came in through the vents in my room… if I hadn’t—hadn’t drawn em out—Dustin was right there, man… they’d have come through the door. It was me or both of us. Shit—M’sorry Steve… is… is he okay? He hurt his ankle, was limping I think… is he—” oh hey light, everything coming back so quickly as his eyes were cleared up, the light was a lot, but not enough to detract from Steve’s face right there and— “Where’s all your hair gone? I swear you had it last time I saw you… Max! Where’s Max? Did—is she..?”

“Dustin’s fine. Max is fine. Doctors say they think she’s gonna wake up soon. Eddie… what do you remember?”

“…Most metal concert that the world never saw, evil bat tornado. Then… pretty sure I died. I mean. I did right? There’s no ifs or buts there, I kicked the bucket, hopped off this mortal coil, one with the wiiin—”

“Eddie.”

“Right, sorry. Uhm… yeah, not much, Harrington, sorry to say memories kinda end after death. Not that I was ever a believer of the pearly gates but—would have been nice to be proven wrong.” He remembered the void. Remembered every waking second of the void, but… with so many people around him, he wasn’t about to mention the void. “Why, should I be remembering something?”

“…No. No this… this is better. This is proof enough.” Steve turned to the soldiers in the room, right at the back where Eddie hadn’t looked. Not the police who looked cramped and uncomfortable. The soldiers standing rigid in the back, eyeing the bed and its occupant with suspicion. One standing in front of the others, stoic, his uniform adorned with the medals of rank. “You lot hear that? That’s proof enough, right?”

“…For now.” The one in front spoke “We’ll be keeping an eye on you all though, as a precaution.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, his expression one of pure hatred, one that looked so foreign on his face to Eddie, yet… it seemed so at home there now, it became it so easily. “You’d better believe we’ll be doing the same to you too, sir.” The soldiers left, the front man first, then the other two followed stiffly, and Steve relaxed, expression softening, he released a soft breath through his nose, then turned back to Eddie.

Eddie who found the silence that followed just suffocating enough to come to an unsurprising conclusion. Something that should have been obvious from the clues around him but yet he still had to ask about.

“…I wasn’t just out for a few days. Was I?”

Part 6

[theregencywriter]

Lost in Silence 2 - Theo Sharpe x Reader

A/n - okay so this is embarrassingly short! I had such a chaotic day but I still wanted to put something out so I hope it's still okay! <3

Theo Sharpe was always attractive, Y/n couldn’t lie. Though most of her days were spent alongside her mother doing daily household tasks, on the odd chance she went to her father's place of work and Theo was there the two would play. Running between the printers, throwing discarded paper at each other, the two would enjoy each other's company into the long hours that the printers required. Though by the end of most days the two would be lightly stained with cheap ink, Y/n couldn't help as they both grew older they exchanged stolen glances, and though Y/n had to move away before it could bloom, she always wondered if he thought her as beautiful as she thought him, despite the ink.

Now, presently stood Theo, taller and with a more defined jaw and ears that stretched outwards slightly more than they used to, one thing was the same - his kind eyes. Y/n watched as the woman that was speaking walked off of the stage and hugged Theo. Though her heart sank momentarily, after he handed her a pamphlet she walked off, as if friends.

Was she jealous? No no, she couldn't be. Right? She was unsure of what to do. She had meant to find him and give him back his notebook, a plan she was beginning to realise was riddled with idiocracy. As she turned to leave a man came to her side. “Excuse me miss, I- '' Theo looked at her and paused. He gulped, and Y/n couldn't help but look at his Adam apple as it pulsated in doing so. “Y/n?” He questioned. It was as if seeing him again had reduced her to that same love stricken child she was all those years ago, though now she found herself in quite the predicament. In the heat of the moment she could only think of doing one thing.

“.....Theo? Is it Theo? You seem familiar” She smiled politely as she spoke, pretending to vaguely recognise his face. He stumbled over his words, clearly either shocked it was her or that she apparently didn’t remember him in the same capacity that he remembered her. “Yes, its Theo, Theo Sharpe?” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke, pausing momentarily as if allowing her to try and remember him. “Oh yes! The son of my late fathers coworker.” Y/n had never realised how posh her voice had become, but hearing his again made her sink into her old accent, though more falsified and sounding like a parody. He looked at her and jerked his head slightly back in offence.

“Yes, the son of your later fathers-” He trailed off. “I’m sorry? Is that all I was to you?” “How do you suppose?” She questioned. “We were friends, were we not? Or am I misremembering?” His words were tipped with a harsh edge that made her shrivel up slightly. She took in a sigh, “No, no of course not. If I may be honest, seeing you again made me panic.” She chuckled as she said it. It had been the first time in quite some time that she had spoken so freely, unafraid of enunciating or tiptoeing around a subject. “Panicked? What for?” He joined her in a laugh, further easing her state. “I do not know truly. It has been a while hasn’t it?” SHe reached out and placed a hand on his elbow like she had done a thousand times as a young girl, though when her hand was met by a firmer and larger arm by that of man than she remembered she took it off again almost suddenly. “I’m sorry, I forget myself.” She grinned an awkward smile, placing her hand on her forehead as the heat stifled her and took in her surroundings to avert his gaze. “Do not worry, miss Y/n,” He leaned in cheekily “You are not in Mayfair. We may converse freely away from the gaze of that Whistledown.” She looked back at him in confusion. “You know Whistledown? How?” He grinned as if the owner of his own secret. “I print it.” He spoke, confidence beaming from his face. “Well, I say! You must show me where one day, if I am not being too forward.”

“Not at all, why not now?” He asked. For a moment she grinned as she contemplated it, but a sad look soon took over her expression. “I cannot, I’m sorry. I need to be getting back home.” He nodded his head and they hugged, him stroking her back in a manner that she could not help but reminisce about later on that night in bed. As she walked out and entered into the nearest available carriage, she ran her fingers up and down the blue book, still in her possession. Another reason to go back, she thought as she rode off.

[pinkluver93]

Words Left Unsaid

A continuation of my KehXReader fic "Is This Jealousy I'm Feeling?" Enjoy!

“Ovenist….you’re attracted to me in some way, aren’t you?” 

Ovenist….Ovenist…. 

“Ovenist, you okay?” 

You look up and Nasir, the special agent helping you with the case, is looking at you oddly. You nod. “Yeah, I just got lost in thought for a minute….” 

You had called him to talk about the new evidence you’d found at Keh’s shop. He had come as soon as he could, since it’s busy at the WPA and it’s like he’s the only one there most of the time. It’s been a week since you investigated Keh, and you’ve reviewed all your notes. Now you two are reviewing the stack of papers you found. 

“I think it’s some sort of….manifesto or something.” 

Nasir studies it for a few minutes, looking at the pages. He nods with certainty and gives a determined smile. “So this appears to be a mockup for a pizza chain Keh is starting.” 

You look at him confused. “A mockup?” 

Nasir smiles. “Yes, it seems that he’s planning to expand his pre-existing pizza parlor into a chain…but it’s not called ‘Ambrosia’ now, it’s called….” He looks at the top of the paper. “Keh-lifornia Pizza Kitchen. Hmm, sounds familiar….” 

You nod. “Yeah, I suppose. I wonder if that’s why he might’ve stolen the dough. Maybe he’s using the notoriety from getting the dough to start his chain?” 

Nasir smiles. “Intriguing perspective, and it could be true, given his past….but I would talk to him and see what he has to say about it, since it could be motivation. Let’s keep our focus on the other suspects as well.” 

You nod. “Okay.” 

“Do you have anything else to show me or tell me?” 

You shake your head ‘no’. 

“Cool, call me if you want to talk about a suspect or show me a piece of evidence.” With that, Nasir leaves, and you get lost in thought. Not just about the case, but Keh’s words still linger in your head. 

How am I supposed to continue investigating Keh if he’s caught on to the fact that I kinda like him? Ever since PizzaPalooza ended, I’ve had these butterflies in my stomach I can’t control, and I SWORE I wouldn’t say anything! Ugh, why did I have to let him know how I felt about Angelica deep down? And how he shouldn’t be with her? What do I- 

“Hello? Can I get an All-Dressed Pizza? Can I also get it well done?” 

You snap out of your thoughts once again to take your customer’s order and move on with your day as usual. 

At close, you print the daily sales receipt from your tablet. It was considerably low; you had only completed one ZaZoom order and had to do 2 refunds.  

You document the day’s sales on the Pizza City Portal, where every ovenist had to input sales to show whether they are making enough to stay in business or not. You start to think about some aspects of the case you hadn’t thought of before and you grab your notebook and your special pen. Your notebook sits by you but your pen is not in its usual spot.  

What the-where's my special pen?? 

You move everything around in your reach by your shop counter-receipt paper boxes, your store’s lost and found box (which hasn’t been emptied since you opened and is filled to the brim), and some of your personal belongings...but your pen is nowhere to be found. 

Soon enough, you have searched your entire restaurant, from the kitchen to the one-person bathroom, and you have no luck. Your heart sinks as you pack up your things, lock the store and walk to your car. As you open your car door, you hear footsteps behind you, and prepare for the worst... 

....but instead of a robber’s voice, it’s a gentle, familiar voice.. 

“Ovenist?” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Ovenist?” 

You close your car door in shock and the first thing you see is a shadow..albeit a very tall shadow. Next you look at who the shadow belongs to..... 

“Dr. Keh? What are you doing here?” 

He reaches into his lab coat pocket and takes something out to show you.... 

Your eyes widen. “Wait, is that-? My pen!” 

You mentally cheer, studying the golden fountain pen with a certain name engraved in it. You reach out to grab it, but pull your hand back.... 

“Hmm...” 

Keh looks at you confused. “What’s the matter? You don’t want your pen? You only tore 3 quarters of your miniscule shop down looking for it...” 

You do a double-take. “Wait what?” 

“Incase you weren’t aware,” Keh starts. “Every business in this city, yours included, is not only under 24/7 constant surveillance, but it is also public record and uploaded to the WPA website nightly.” 

You stand there, stunned. “Wow....that’s crazy...” 

Keh snorts. “Yes, I’m not really rather fond of being constantly under scrutiny, but that’s the cost of having a business in this city, and...it does have benefits..” 

“Yeah...” You absentmindedly say. “Wait, you see benefits of this?” 

Keh smiles. “Yes, it was rather fun watching you destroy a good portion of your store only to spend your time to put it back the way it was again. It was better than watching TV, dare I say.” 

You cross your arms and frown. “Real funny. That pen was very special to me, okay? The fact that I lost it and the thought that some member of the Deep Dish Gang had stolen it from me really messed with me.” 

Keh was still holding the pen and nodded. “I wasn’t laughing at the fact that you lost something valuable and meaningful to you, Ovenist. I was merely laughing at you destroying your store for any reason whatsoever. I cherish my belongings as much as anyone.” 

You nod solemnly, taking the pen from his hands. For a moment, your fingers touch his fingertips, which have a strong but silky-soft texture. It felt like a smooth lotion had just been applied to them. You think you saw Keh slightly blush at the contact, which you would’ve never seen if not for the bright street light by your car. “Well thank you for keeping it safe for me. I really appreciate it.” 

While he tried to hide his blushing cheeks, he coughed. “Well uh...you’re quite welcome.” 

“Do I owe you anything in return?” 

Keh raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” 

You slightly smile. “Well it’s just....whenever you do or want to do something nice for me, you expect something in return, like with the artichokes. So I was just asking....” 

Keh looks at you for a minute, then nods. “I see. Well, you dropped it when you quickly left my shop so I knew it was yours. I studied it and knew it was very special to you.” 

You look up at him in confusion. “But....why didn’t you come by if you knew it was mine? You waited until now to come....”  

Keh put both of his hands in his pant pockets and looked down a bit, then looked at you in the eyes again. “Well, we’re not exactly on good terms, Ovenist, given our history overall. I feared you would think I stole it if I brought it to you. I was originally going to have someone send it to you anonymously....” 

“Anonymously? Well why didn’t you go through with it?” 

Keh put his hands on hips and studied you. “Because for once, I wanted you to think of me as...well...” 

You look him in his eyes. “What?” 

“I wanted you to think I was a good guy, okay? I wanted you to...well, think at least somewhat highly of me...” 

You blush a bit. “But....why me? Why not the other Ovenists?” 

Keh rolls his eyes. “I could care less what Cicero thinks, I REALLY don’t care what Alicante thinks....but you, Ovenist....I don’t know. For some reason, you’re different.” 

You start to fiddle your special pen in your fingers and shyly look up at him. “I’m....different?” 

“I can’t explain it, but....yes.” Keh says. “For once in my life, I’ve found a puzzle I was never able to solve, and that’s you, Ovenist.” 

Now is your turn to snort. “You could’ve fooled me! You’re always so mean to me....” 

Keh swallows and nods. “Yes, and....I deeply regret it. I’m sorry. I’ve been trained since I was a youth to be incredibly competitive and ruthless, and.....because of that, I-” 

You both hear a group of tourists approaching, walking down the street.  

You widen your eyes. “I think we better go our separate ways for now. I’m sure you don’t want anyone spreading rumors, right?” 

Keh nods. “Yes, I agree. Though I think the Pizzagram hashtags are already trending....” 

You both get in your cars and drive away before the tourists see you both together.... 

[guiltyasdave]

twenty questions for fic writers!

thank you for the tag @notjustjavierpena @amanitacowboy @novemberrain-writes <3

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

15!

2. what's your total AO3 word count?

94,796 words

3. what fandoms do you write for?

right now, all things pedro pascal. i have a stranger things fic up on ao3 as well though.

4. top five fics by kudos (i looked at tumblr notes instead because the fics have been up here for much longer)

no one can hurt you now

nights are so starry, blood moonlit

safe and sound

delicate

it’s nice to have a friend

5. do you respond to comments?

YES!

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

when we go crashing down. i still get sad thinking about it 🫠

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

dress my beloved <3

8. do you get hate on fics?

nope and i hope it’ll stay that way lol

9. do you write smut?

it’s all i do really.

10. craziest crossover?

i’ve never written a crossover.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

no and i hope that’ll stay that way too.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

no!

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

wildest dreams with my tumblr bestie @joelscurls <3

14. all time favorite ship?

me x every pedro boy 😌

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i am pretty determined to finish all my wips at some point.

16. what are your writing strengths?

i don’t know tbh. i think smut is up there lmao

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

dialogue!

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

love it, shouldn’t come from google translate though 🫠

19. first fandom you wrote in?

lord of the rings with my best friend at the time. we wrote into a notebook that we traded back and forth lmao

20. favorite fic you've written?

wildest dreams is that girl always and forever <3

no pressure tags: @catchallfangirl @beardedjoel @beskarandblasters @swiftispunk @undercoverpena @joelscruff @burntheedges @mermaidgirl30 @huntingingoodwill @corazondebeskar-reads

[ddagent]

Next Fic

So, my previous fic poll ended in a draw, so let's have another go! A few different options, this time, with some supporting evidence for each to help you make your decision!

May I present the poll:

And the supporting evidence!

Option 1:

"Uh, boss, your friend is here."

Detective Anthony Crowley looked up from his notebook and turned his golden gaze back to the crime scene tape a few feet away. Behind the white and blue tape, highlighted by the flashing lights of the police cars, was Reverend Aziraphale Fell. Clerical collar, sunny disposition, and two takeaway cups in his hand. One of those was six espresso; one was hot cocoa. Ridiculous man. Snarling, Crowley shoved his notebook into the back pocket of his trousers and stomped through sand to shoo Aziraphale back to his church.

"You can't be here."

"But—" Aziraphale began, a pout forming on those perfect lips. "—I can help. I was ever so good before—"

"—we were nine, Aziraphale. We're not making up mysteries and legging it in and out of caravans and arcades anymore." Which was a pity. The mysteries Aziraphale always dreamt up for them as children were less brutal than the one that currently laid before him. Huffing out a sigh, Crowley took the proffered coffee and gestured for a uniformed officer, Constable Honey, to escort the vicar out. "I'm sorry, Aziraphale. I'll see you on Sunday, yeah?"

"We'll see each other before then, no doubt." Sure, sure. "When you realise you do need my help."

Option 2:

Swiveling his hips, Crowley slid through the open bathroom window of AZ Fell and Co. Even though the bookshop had been broken into three times now, the proprietor, one Aziraphale Fell, still had no sense of security. No locks on the window, no alarms, no cute dogs that Crowley would have to pet and stroke in order to disarm. No, Crowley was free to move around the shop as he pleased. Maybe it was because Crowley had never actually stolen anything that Aziraphale felt safe.

Bah. Crowley didn't want him to feel safe. He wanted him to feel scared. Crowley could do anything here. Anything.

Slipping into the living room, Crowley noted that Aziraphale had fallen asleep on the sofa again. A threadbare blanket was pooled at his feet; a copy of some eighteenth century novel had fallen to the floor. Moving deftly, Crowley adjusted the blanket, placed the book upon the table, and tipped out Aziraphale's hot chocolate. There. Mental insecurity. Aziraphale would know that someone had been in there. Someone who could do anything.

As it was, Crowley committed the most heinous act of all: he left a rare book upon Aziraphale's coffee table, a product of his earlier activities. Gabriel Archer, that twat, wouldn't miss it. And it would certainly give the bookshop's profits a major boost.

Option 3:

"Excuse me, I was wondering whether you had a VHS copy of The Eastern Gate?"

From behind the counter, Crowley didn't even bother turning around to address his customer, so ridiculous was his request. Yes, Crowley had a copy of The Eastern Gate: it was one of Aziraphale Fell's early works, a black and white film focusing on an angel overseeing Eden. It had been very well-received at the time but public interest quickly waned. For years it spent time on BBC 2 on Sunday afternoons - that was where Crowley's copy came from, recorded with great care and attention onto VHS.

He had one copy. And it was not for sale.

The customer cleared his throat. "Dear boy, I do wonder if you could—"

"—in a minute. This is the best part." The Bastille had come out in the 90s, part of the interest in musketeers and the French revolution. Aziraphale looked delectable in the heavy iron chains and all those pretty frills. Just gorgeous. But, with great reluctance, Crowley pressed pause and turned to 'attend' to the customer who wanted the impossible, even in Crowley's memorabilia shop. "Listen—"

But Crowley didn't say another word. Because his customer wasn't just interested in Aziraphale Fell. He was Aziraphale Fell.

Option 4:

"Crowley, can I ask you a question about Twitter?"

Crowley immediately zoned back into the room. He had been fixated on the slight tinge of silver and white at the temples of Aziraphale's blond hair; the curve of his mouth as he indulged in dessert at The Ritz. For some time, Aziraphale had been discussing his latest project: a gripping drama for ITV featuring a gay romance between two childhood friends. It was the sort of project that Aziraphale did often - but this time he had been paired opposite BAFTA winning actor Raphael Archer.

Not that Crowley was jealous or anything. He hadn't campaigned for the role. Hadn't sent an audition tape and told he wouldn't be believable starring opposite Aziraphale in a romantic role. As if he hadn't spent thirty years yearning for this man. Oh, they had played detectives together, odd-couple roles, best friends. But never romantic leads.

And the first time a project came up that was perfect, Crowley lost to Raphael Archer. That Scottish twat. Breathe, Crowley. "What about Twitter, Angel?"

"I don't use it." No kidding. "But Raph does." Oh, Raph is it? "And a lot of his followers have started using a hashtag. Something #raphaphale?"

Crowley's glass immediately shattered. Thirty years as Aziraphale's shadow and this Scottish wanker gets a ship tag?

Option 5:

He was here again. Sitting in the front row with his delicately pressed tan trousers, neat little waistcoat with the gold buttons, and the delicate puff of blond curls. In his lap (which Crowley noted, not for the first time, was rather spacious) was his paddle, with the number 666 printed in red lettering. Since the man had started attending the auctions at Eden's Auction House, Crowley'd had fantasies about that paddle.

How the hell was he going to make it through today's auction?

Still, Crowley was a professional (allegedly). So, he took to the podium, gavel in hand, and addressed the crowd. "Lot number one is a collection of Austen, incredibly preserved from the period, featuring four books - including Pride and Prejudice and Persuasion." He swallowed a number of sarcastic remarks, bit back his need to share the crackpot biography he'd read about diamond heists and whisky smuggling. Not the crowd. Never the crowd. "Shall we start the bidding at fifteen hundred?"

The man was the first to take the bid. As it was accepted, he wiggled happily in his chair. Oh, Crowley was gone.

[clartidk123]

Roast this WIP, i will definetely not have a mental breakdown due to self steem issues. (But really, please at least try to remain positive, im in a really bad place right now.)

Gregory looked down at his brand new stolen Freddy sneakers. Sure, they were stolen, but at least they were fashionable. And they served to distract him from the iminent akwardness he was going to suffer.

It had been three week since him and Tony had last seen eachother. He tried to talk with Ellis, but he was probably not going to talk to him anymore. After all, nobody was going to talk to a murderer. It wasnt his fault, right? He was being controled. But why did he go into this mess?

Focus Gregory. He looked at the sneakers, then at the school’s doors, then at the small classroom he used to go with his. Friends.

He took a deep breath, and continued walking to it.

Then he saw him. Tony was talking with Ellis and some other people. Gregory knew he probably made a report on how he was almost killed by Freddy Fazbear himself, sure, nobody would believe it, but the thought of someone knowing the terrible things he did as Doctor Rabbit was. UnBEARable. God why was he joking now?

He tried to walk past them unoticed, but Ellis saw him.

“If it isnt Doctor Rabbit himself. I am really dissappointed in you man.”

Gregory watched in terror as Tony turned around to see him. “Hello.”

Tony didnt say anything, and just turned around again. To be fair, if Gregory was Tony, he also wouldnt trust him.

Ellis approached. “Look Rabs, Tony wont talk to you ever. You tried to kill him!”

“I know! But i wasnt me!”

Ellis gave a chuckle. “Yeah. Tony told me how you talked and knew everything about us while you were that way.”

“Please, believe me Boots! I wasnt myself. I wasnt Greg! I wasnt real!”

“Tony said you were. And i believe in my best friend, not in a murderer.”  

Gregory was going to becom a willingly murderer if Ellis and Tony continued that way. “He said first im a murderer, how do you know it isnt a lie?”

“Stop trying to playing smart Rabs.”

“Stop. Calling. Me. That.”

“Oh what? You are going to try to kill me again, Mister Redemption Arc?”

Ghregory’s eyes widened, and looked at Tony after he said that. “You really dont believe me right? You really believe i really tried to kill you?”

“Am i not right?”

“Yeah, you are right but...”

“So you admit it.”  

“Stop interrupting me! You dont let anyone talk to you! Everyone needs to be just like the way its perfect to you!”

Ellis looked at Tony, and vice versa, like he was saying that was true. It was time to strike.

“But, look. You are perfect for me. So let me try to be perfect to you.”

The other two continued looking at eachother.

“Look Tony, i think Rab is talking something true and...”

“No.”

Before Gregory could say anything else, the bell rang. He watched powerless as Tony and Ellis walked away from him. He just stood there. He looked at his stolen sneakers again. Freddy was his favorite character, and he was right when he thinked that maybe it would bring him some comfort.

He looked back at the now empty corridor. Crap. He was probably late now. He raced to his classroom, and tried to ignore the person staring at him.

He tried to pay attention to the most boring class in the world, but really, every class that wasnt art and technology related wasnt a big interest to him. So he kept doodling on his notebook.

“Gregory!”

Gregory snapped back momentarily to reality after the teacher called him out. “Yes Mister?”

“Stop doodling your little fantasies and start paying attention.”

Gregory gave a weak nod. He kept thinking about it, and the murders. Now not even Tony and Ellis liked him.

He looked around to see Ellis spinning his pencil, and Tony being completely absorved by the task. Gregory just stared at them until Ellis looked shocked as he looked at him back. Gregory awkwardly waved at him, which made Ellis look at the window. Gosh they really hated him right?

Gregory looked back at the black board, and let a small sigh out. He was probably going to the Pizzaplex after school, after all, he needed to distract himself, and he really didnt have anywhere else to go.

Ellis was probably going to be there, and Gregory couldnt manage to talk to him right now. He just wanted to live a good life, but he was as just bad as that rabbit man from the games.

But alas, he had to do something.

[rebelliousstories]

With Friends Like These

Relationship: Donnie Darko x Reader

Fandom: Donnie Darko

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Pining, Strong Language, Mentions of Sex and STDs

Word Count: 2,137

Masterlist: Here

Jake Gyllenhaal & Co. Masterlist: Here

Summary: Friends should always have your best interest at heart, and should never disrespect the bro code: do not disrespect the girl your friend has a crush on.

Everyday felt like a game of Russian roulette: am I going to be somewhat normal or am I going to have a mental break today? That was just the day to day life for Donnie Darko. He had some reprieves through the day that kept the freak outs to a minimum, but most days it felt like a game of chance. It didn’t help that he felt like he was being chased by a six foot tall bunny suit named Frank. And while he had friends, they weren’t real friends. People he went to school with, shared classes, and a lunch table with didn’t qualify as good, real friends to the boy. But what other choice did he have? It was worth putting up a fake front for a few hours every day, if it meant he wasn’t lonely. The one thing he couldn’t stand was their comments about the girls around school. Every time a vulgar thing came out of their mouths, Donnie knew it was time to either tune them out or leave to go do something he enjoyed.

“Did you see Jessica’s little sister? Baby girl is all grown up, and looking just a hot as her sister.”

“Damn, Heather’s got a great rack now. Not like how she was in middle school. Looked like a damn nerd with those glasses and braces.”

“Eve’s smokin’. Not someone I would go with but I’d to take her out.”

Everyday, the same vulgar comments about different girls around their school and town. It wasn’t limited to the students either, adults and teachers that were female got the same treatment. Although the boys had two brain cells that told them to be more careful with those comments, just in case someone would hear.

Today, was no different than any other day. Donnie felt somewhat stable today, no bunnies, no cryptic messages, no voices, no hallucinations. He felt alright. Sitting at the lunch table that he normally sat at, the boy tried not to listen to the comments being made today. And while he was unsuccessful for the first few minutes, someone came by to steal his attention. The same girl that had stolen his attention from his sophomore year of high school. Donnie sat up straighter when he saw her walk into the lunchroom and look around. He watched her get into the lunch line and grab her school assigned lunch. Once she was ready, she floated by his table and went to the only empty seat in the lunchroom. The other side of Donnie’s table where he sat with his “friends” was usually empty, except for when she came in.

Donnie tried to breathe in deeply without making a show of it. She chose the vanilla and jasmine perfume today, with cocoa butter. He hunched down, tried to make himself small again, and looked down at the girl at the other end of his table. Her lunch was pushed to one side, while her other was free for a notebook. He was too far away to see what she was working on, but she looked like she was flipping in between writing and drawing.

“Uh oh, Donnie is being a creep again.” The boy in question was being brought back into reality. He turned around to the other boys confused as to what they were talking about.

“What?” He asked, as he witnessed the growing smirks on the others faces.

“Why are you just staring at her, dude? That’s so damn creepy. Why don’t you just go and talk to her?” One of them said, as Donnie willed the blush he felt creeping up on him to go away. He looked behind quickly just to make sure that she hadn’t heard them talking, but she was just continuing to work in her notebook.

“Or better yet, forget her?” Another one piped up. Now Donnie was really confused. He turned back around to face the one of his friends that just spoke.

“What’s that suppose to mean?” Donnie’s question sounded out of confusion, but was subtly laced with anger. He waited to see what kind of hole this guy was going to dig himself into.

“I mean, either get your dick wet or leave her Donnie. Seriously, I get that you’re weird too but even that’s stooping a little low for you. But if you want a pity date, there are plenty of other pretty but messed up girls to go with.” The rest of the group didn’t notice that Donnie was holding on by a thread. His patience and resolve were slowly but surely fading away. He had to remind himself that he was in public and acting up now would not be the best idea. But that would require a conscious, which he, himself, questioned he had.

“You know what, yeah you’re right. I mean, cause what the hell ever. I guess I should just sleep with anyone with no standards. I mean that’s how you’ve had three different STD scares in the last year, isn’t it?” No one was laughing now. The boy shrunk down in his seat, embarrassed at how loud Donnie was talking.

“And maybe she’s not attractive to you, but that doesn’t matter all that much to me. She’s probably, no scratch that, definitely better than hanging around you fuck-asses. Open your mind and ears before opening your damn mouth.” By this point, Donnie had stood up from the table and was holding his school bag over one shoulder. He was determined to get away from the group of boys after this.

“Donnie, calm the hell down man. Why are you sticking up for her? She doesn’t know who the fuck you are.” This boy just didn’t know when to shut up.

“Maybe not. Still doesn’t give you the right to make those comments about her. Besides, Diana Oliver doesn’t know who you are and you two slept together last weekend!” Donnie shouted. The whole room fell silent. No one dared even breathe as they watched the troubled young man walk out of the room with his bag over one shoulder and notebook in hand.

He sat alone in the abandoned classroom, with nothing but the noise in his head to keep himself company. His sketchbook was flung across the room in a flurry, his bag laid in the opposite corner. Quietly, he beat himself up over the incident in the lunchroom. Now even she knew that he had a crush on her. Donnie struggled to admit it to himself on the best of days, and it was now open for the whole school to laugh at. Once he had calmed down, he shuffled over and grabbed his book bag and notebook. Checking them over, and making sure that no serious damage had been done, the boy made his way over to a desk and chair to sit. He put the notebook on top, book bag to the side, and took out a pen. Sketching provided him solace from the outside world. Something for him to get lost in and keep the violent impulses down. Something for him to do alone when the world and voices get to be too much.

“Donnie?” The boy’s head shot up like a bullet out of a gun at the sound of his name. She was standing in the doorway. She was standing in the doorway of the classroom that he was in. Why wasn’t she at lunch?

“Um… hi?” Real smooth, Donnie. Hi? That’s what you’re going with?

“Hi. Can I come in?” Her voice sounded smooth like honey, and had a little lit on the end of it that he couldn’t explain.

“Sure. Free country and all.” She stepped inside the room and took the seat next to Donnie. It shocked him a little bit to have her this close; he thought she was just going to take a few steps into the room.

“I um, I wanted to thank you. For lunch. Or what happened in the lunchroom, rather. That was nice of you to say about me. No one has really done that for me before. Um, sticking up for me, that is.” Her gaze dropped down to her hands as she spoke. Rhythmically, she rubbed her hands, popped her knuckles, and twirled her ring around. A sort of nervous tick, Donnie guessed. But what did she have to be nervous around him for?

“Oh you’re welcome. They make comments all the time. I’m kind of sick of it to be honest.” His voice got quiet the more he talked, and was thankful for the silence that fell between them even if it was a little awkward.

“Did you mean it?” A quiet question was asked. It lingered in the air. Donnie kept his head down close to his arms but cut his eyes up to the girl in front of him. Neither one of them needed clarification on what she was asking. They both understood what needed to be spoken about.

“Every word.” His eyes dropped down, embarrassed to find out what would happen now that he had admitted it to the girl. But confusion filled him when he heard giggling. When he looked up, sure enough, there she was. Giggling at him. As if second nature, Donnie started to laugh quietly, still unsure if she was laughing at him.

“Donnie Darko, you are a weird guy.” She giggled out.

“Yeah. I get that occasionally.” He started to laugh a little more as he realized she wasn’t laughing at him.

“You realize that I have had a big fat crush on you since my freshman year.” Now it was Donnie’s turn to laugh at the statement.

“Really?” He asked as they found the mood and air start to lift.

“Really. Freshman English when you sat beside me. I thought you were cute anyways, but listening to the way you described your thoughts on ‘The Catcher in the Rye’, it solidified it with me. From that point on I always tried to get your attention, but was too scared to do anything.” She admitted, looking down at her hands once more.

“Sophomore year.” Donnie said quietly. He watched her head shoot up fast, as they both realized they found each other in their hearts the same year.

“Sophomore year, I was watching you give a presentation in English about how ‘The Nature of the Beast’ was a warning to us. About how we were going to become the thing we hated if we weren’t careful. The way you spoke, it was just beautiful. I had never heard someone speak so clearly and perfectly before. Your voice added to it but the thoughts on the paper you were reading off of were what attracted me. Not to mention you’re really pretty.” A blush had creeped on them both as they talked. Before anymore words could be spoken, the lunch bell rang. They knew that students were going to be flooding the hallways and classrooms once more, meaning that they had to get to their classes. The pair of students gathered their belongings and walked out of the door towards their classes.

Walking down the hallways, they were kept in silence but the sneaking glances more than made up for their lack of words. As they neared their current English class, Donnie pulled her off to the side quickly before they went inside. His eyes darted around and his mouth felt dry all the sudden.

“Would you want to go with me?” He asked as fast as he could. The students started to wean down and they only had a minute more at the most before they most definitely had to be back in the classroom. She said nothing, but simply smiled and reached into her bag. Donnie watched as she took out her notebook and ripped a page out.

“I’d love to go with you, Donnie.” She pulled the door open and went into senior English, leaving Donnie standing outside with a piece of paper in his hands. He smiled to himself, feeling accomplished with himself. Turning the paper over in his hands, his smile widened. At the top was today’s date, but the contents are what made him smile. A pen drawing of Donnie, side profile, and sitting at the lunchroom table, with what looked like a poem scribbled next to it.

Emotions we take to heart,

Never do they leave,

And if I even try to start,

A lie I can’t believe.

Young love, they call it,

But that’s not true,

For I am unfit,

And that leaves me blue.

A tale as old as time,

With souls as old,

Wishing on dimes,

I try to understand what I’m told.

But I’d gladly lay down,

And take everything you have to give,

Get away from the town,

And truly live.

[bookishjules]

fic writer twenty questions!!!

tagged by the lovely @timelesslords <33 (that's kind of alliteration if you think hard enough hehe) aka an incredible writer who i admire greatly (for which reason i'm linking her version of the post here) <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

28

2. What's your AO3 word count?

103,418

3. What fandoms do you write for?

very primarily percy jackson (i.e. pjo/hoo/toa) and the shadowhunter chronicles

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

1. Percy to the Rescue (69)

2. A Different Kind of Adventure (54)

3. Napkins and Notebooks (54)

4. Mistletoe (52)

5. The Holiday Market (51)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

i do! it may take some time (if i get in my head about something lol) but i will always get to them if they elicit a response. i appreciate comments and the people who make them so incredibly much

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

probably Acceptance. it's <900 words but it's the only fic i have flagged with "main character death" so..

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

this is so hard.. prospecitvely i want to say it will be The Shape of the Tide just because of how much of a journey it will take to get us there. but as of right now it might be You, Me, and Nick just because of how damn cozy it is.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i get a lot of "why would you do this" but so far *knocks on wood* no real hate.

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

yes. and i have no idea how to answer the second question.. um ig pretty straightforward explicit hetero smut? (so far.. if anything else i could def see myself writing sapphic smut in the future)

10. Do you write cross overs? What's the craziest one you've written?

i have written one (1) crossover. it was a percy jackson/harry potter next gen where the percabeth fam move to the uk and their son gets a letter from hogwarts. i was like 14/15 and gave up two chapters in because i couldn't figure out the conversion rates of american dollars to pounds to wizard money o7 (ftr i would totally write more. it can be so fun to play with characters like that and see how they interact etc.)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i am far to unknown for that lol

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

no sirr

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

no, but i would love to

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

es a tie between percabeth (pjo) and sizzy (tsc). (some might determine from observing my blog (or sideblog) that it's actually just sizzy. but (a) i love them in different ways, (b) i don't recieve asks about percabeth, and (c) the scarcity of sizzy fan-content makes my heart act out the economic principle of supply and demand lol)

15. What's a WIP you'd like to finish but doubt you ever wilI?

ivy.. i would love to see this story completed but unfortunately i no longer ship ghostwriter and even with reshaping the plot to change the endgame, i just don't feel like writing that much about jesse anymore.

16. What are your writing strengths?

i feel like i'm pretty okay at tackling complex emotions? i've also gotten comments on my imagery, voice, and characterizations.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

endings; it's the biggest critique i remember receiving in my college writing classes. i also feel like i have a tendency to get lost in the weeds sometimes, which results in too much narration. also just general confidence.. i get spooked really easily.

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

it's fun if it's spanish! but so far that's the only other language i've written dialogue in.. (thank you, leo)

19. First fandom you wrote for?

i actually think it may have been ella enchanted ? it was back on figment.com when i was 13-14 and was for some sort of challenge and i thought like ooh i can connect this with ella! (i was prob in my reading and rereading the book era) but it was super short and barely connected lol

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

gonna take a page out of lexi's book and split this between fandoms hehe

for tsc: Trying. i have found myself sitting at the top of my stairs ready to leave just rereading the first like 5k of this fic way too often. (it's also horribly the longest piece of writing i think i've ever finished. so it holds a special piece of proof to myself in it.. even if its only like 8k)

for pjo: Here Without You. there's an entire fraction of my soul tied up in this fic i swear. i'm never not thinking about it. it's been incredibly cathartic for me to write, both for myself and the characters (incl. calypso who i was not expecting to learn to appreciate/understand as much as i have)

leaving the tag open bc i can't think to save my life rn but! if you write fic and wish to do this, consider this your designated tag <3

[formula-fun]

Fic Writer Interview (thank you @chandelier-s-notebook for the tag my dear!!)

I'll use a cut as well!

How many works do you have on ao3?

On this account, 6! In total its something like 50 I think!

What’s your total word count?

you will probably not believe this but it's 1,021,939. most of it is on different accounts or on anon. i promise you a lot of the early ones are....not really worth reading

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

fire + sound (you guys are freaks ily)

i'd sing you a morning golden and new

Of Shadow

remember me love, when i'm reborn

something for band of brothers from 10 years ago that's anonymous

Do you respond to comments? Why/ why not?

Yes, i try to respond to all of them! it means a lot to me when people take the time to comment, so i try to always take the time to give a response

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Definitely this one. I used to have a no sad endings policy and this is the first thing i've ever written that's broken that!

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

if i had words has a pretty happy ending! once the sequel is done it will have a VERY happy ending

Do you write crossovers?

Not in the sense of crossovers with two characters from two different fandoms. i love a good au though!

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I don't think so. Occasionally I get comments that come off as a little rude, but I try to give people the benefit of the doubt and assume they didn't mean it like that

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

hahahah do i ever!! and now i have friends who enable me so its only getting worse from here im afraid!!!

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No, i've floated ideas online and had them stolen before but i've never been plagiarized

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! A couple of my older fics. It's one of the biggest compliments imo

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, I cowrote a crack fic a few years ago and i'm gonna be cowriting another soon! we're still in the brainstorm stage right now

What's your all-time favourite ship?

oof ok canonically i think stucky is kind of boring but some of the fics really went off

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

................we will have GTA6 before we get the pacrim au...............

What are your writing strengths?

Hmm probably setting descriptions? i get a lot of compliments for the capri scenes in if i had words. sometimes i write decent smut but i dont consider it to be reliably something im good at, it can be hit or miss

What are your writing weaknesses?

planning, outlining, anything like that. there are many cases of me writing 90% of a fic and then taking a million years to post the final chapter because i'm not quite sure how everything is tied together at the end. usually i write 20%, stop and make an outline and then write the rest, but the outline for the ending is always so vague that it just doesn't really work out and it takes way more brain power than it needs to. i am aware of this. unfortunately i will probably never change.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

this is such a good question okok so it depends a little? say its charles' pov and theyre speaking french. i usually just put it in english but indicate theyre speaking french because the reader knows as much as the pov does. but if someones speaking dutch i usually just say "x said something in dutch" because he doesnt understand it so neither does the reader. sometimes i put the actual dutch if doing it the other way would break the flow of it, but i dont provide translations unless its something that charles would understand

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

band of brothers i think!

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

actually i dont know if there are any!! maybe piarles? yukierre? honestly though i'm pretty happy where i am <3

What's your favourite fic you've written?

if i had words is my baby <33 i dont know if i have a favorite out of the two parts though. i love them both in different ways. i maybe have a slight preference for charles', though!

going to tag @talkingismylifewrites @wedriftlikelonelyplanets @mvpanda1 @samu-writes