#and yet you cannot even bring yourself to write two paragraphs

[fantasyoverreality98]

why do I always seems to have massive breakdowns at approximately 11:30 PM

[flownwrong]

resdogs fic recs

Having gone through most fics for this fandom (or at least this ship) I could get my hands on, and encouraged by the usual gang, I bring you a few recs under cut. Might or might not find some more later.

Free Agent Orange by @nigeltde-fic

A stunningly fond look at Freddy's fuckups and fucked-up-ness. Strikes me every time how much of an unreliable narrator he is here, detached and ready to cut into his otherness while just glancing off both the soft core of himself and the spine to support it, and how, in the end, he can never be anything other than himself. Can't think of another resdogs fic that gets at the undercover of it all quite like this one.

Cut My Throat by Delphi

Delphi's Freddy is ever-watchful, aware of himself — dangerous, too, for White. Competent, but clear-eyed about turning away from duty. The perfect puzzle-pieces-slotting-together desire between them here is electrifying. That first coming-together is scorching and urgent, a perfect use of the classic shaving setup, and the second one is confused and unmoored until it finally isn't. The ending kind of kills me every time with how it both circles back and doesn't.

Already Gone by Delphi

Quiet and sweet. I think it's incredibly hard to write a truly molasses-slow, non-urgent resdogs fic — especially in Freddy's narrative voice. This one works perfectly, despite focusing on paranoia. And all fic for this ship will be, by definition, bittersweet, but this is maybe the sweetest of the lot. The last paragraph always leaves me halfway to a smile.

In Deep by veronamay

I really love a Freddy who starts off too hard in the other direction in his own head — high on getting in, high on being off the leash — right up until the moment where he's hit in the face with the fact that he is down bad, and didn't he know it all along, through all the bullshit? But of course.

The New West by gigantic

Larry is hard to write and hard to explore. I think gigantic uses second person very well here to draw a line stretching way into the past and bring it all the way back to the bitter end with a merciless punchline. Reads like a good companion piece to the first fic on the list, actually, another slightly unreliable introspection of someone with tightly-leashed hope inside.

Something Better For Yourself by ostreatus

Another Larry piece. ostreatus says in the notes they wanted "to imagine a scenario or two where Freddy is largely unreadable beyond surface reactions", and it's something I can never get enough of. They manage, too — you can gauge just how affected Freddy is, and what did it, because you have context. Larry, struck where it isn't even supposed to hurt anymore, cannot. It's hopeless and moving.

And here we have it, folks. Side-note: while re-reading my bookmarks, I became conscious of the disconnect that should've been obvious to me — the reason canon-compliant resdogs fic strikes the reader in the heart is the sense of doom, of course; but while we know the doom is utter tragedy and what amounts to murder-suicide, the doom Freddy senses is just the betrayal — yet we all seem to agree it never feels any lighter. I just think that's neat.

[polyghostfacehours]

Alright, alright, alright! You said I should request something so here I am! Let me get ahhhh Poly!Ghostface fic obvi, Billy and Stu and the reader with some roleplay. I am thinking our two boys all in costume plan a scene, call the reader up while they are masturbating, dirty talk, the reader plays the part and tries to deny it, more teasing until what the reader doing cannot be mistaken, totally obvious. Then those boys "break in" and join them! Mutual masturbation ensues, maybe more? Bless XO

Ohohoho! Does it hurt carrying such a large fat galaxy brain? Because this is the *chef's kiss* good shit. I made this female reader so that I could make this super detailed and good for you. Fair warning: this got looooooooong lmao. I also incorporated squirting near the end, just because I wanted to try my hand at it adn wanted to write how I think the boys would react to it! If that's not your thing you can skip the last few paragraphs!

TW: NSFW, sex, voyeurism, attempted dub-con roleplay, brief knifeplay, brief slutshaming, squirting/female ejaculation.

It's been a little over a whole week since Billy and Stu had mentioned wanting to have another roleplay sesh, and the anticipation was getting to you. Normally, they did it within the week of discussing it. But they sure were taking their sweet ass time now. But then again, that was part of the fun, wasn't it? Make the plan, then live out your lives like normal until they decide it's time.

It was fun, it was sexy, and you were getting wet just thinking about it.

So wet, in fact, that you found yourself unable to sleep. With a huff, you kick off your blanket and panties and get to work. If they weren't going to be helping you out for god knows how long, what was the harm in relieving some tension? You knew that they forbid you from touching yourself in the days leading up to a session, but you couldn't help it, really. They'd been rebuffing almost all sexual contact with you the whole week, yet were just as affectionate with each other as always. It was torture to watch them heatedly make out on top of each other while Don't Look Now reran.

Sweet sweet torture.

The memory still fresh in your mind, you sigh as your fingers find your clit, alternating between rubbing tight circles and rapidly stroking up and down. Your other hand was rubbing and tugging your nipples over the thin tank top you wore, the fabric bringing a nice, silky feeling that shot straight down to your already dripping core.

After awhile of this, you were getting closer. So close. Almost there...and!-

RRRIIIIIINNNNGGGG

Your hands paused and your eyes shot open. You scramble upwards to look for your phone, throwing the sheets off the bed in your scramble. Once you spotted it, you looked at the caller ID and blinked in confusion.

Unknown Number

You knew it couldn't be Billy and Stu, they weren't even home. just yesterday, they had driven out of state for their, ah, extracurricular activities, and had mentioned not being home for at least a couple of more days.

So whoever this was...wasn't them. No harm answering though, you supposed. As you were about to hit the pick up button, you paused, and a fucked up idea crossed your mind. What if you...kept touching yourself? But also picked up the phone? You wouldn't dirty talk with the stranger, of course, but just acting like you weren't fingering yourself as you spoke?

A shiver went through you at the sheer taboo of it, and a thought crossed your mind that the boys must've really fucked you up if you were even entertaining such a thought.

Your heart thumped in your chest as you leaned back against your pillows, hands going back to their original positions on your body, and before you could make better life decisions you hit the pick up button.

"Hello?"

"Hello Y/N"

OH. Oh no.

If your heart wasn't pounding before, it for sure was now. There was no way they were home already. They had just left yesterday. You look over to your closed blinds, closed walk-in, and closed bedroom door. There's no way they could see you. You hadn't heard anyone come home and had made sure the front door was locked less than an hour ago.

You smirked. They must be calling from wherever they were on the road. It was probably Billy's idea too, to get you riled up and drive you crazy days before they could even get back.

Your hands started to move faster, this had went from taboo to a straight up opportunity. They had denied you all week, and you weren't even allowed to touch yourself. Yet here you were, doing just that. Getting yourself off against your boyfriends' wishes while they were none the wiser.

The thought alone almost had you moaning out loud. But you couldn't have that.

You fingers dipped into your pussy "Yes, this is her? Who is this?"

The voice chuckled. You couldn't tell if it was Billy or Stu, but you could tell that it was sexy. God you loved that stupid voice modulator.

"I think you already know the answer to that, baby. It's me, your favorite midnight stalker."

Your breathe almost hitched as your fingers rubbed a spot inside you and your palm grinded against your clit, but you held it in.

"Aaah, it's you! It's been awhile since I've heard from you. Sooo, how are the kids?"

"Not growing inside of you, unfortunately."

You bit your lip at that. You weren't sure if you had a breeding kink or not, but something about that statement had you arching your back.

"Mmmm, I see. And how about the missus? She doing well?"

"Oh, she's doing well. Almost too well."

Your hands briefly froze, before continuing their task. You had already established they weren't there. They were probably bluffing, hoping to convince you into having some steamy phone sex. It wouldn't be the first time. But you weren't going to give it to them. After the way they denied you all week, they didn't deserve it.

"She seems to be really enjoying herself right now, even though I explicitly told her not to."

"Aww, that seems like a real shame. But you shouldn't assume things. She's probably just watching reruns of The Fog."

You were proud of how steady your voice sounded, the phone now cradled between your shoulder and ear, freeing your hand to once again flick at your nipples.

"She isn't."

You almost chuckle.

"In fact..."

You were almost there. You close your eyes and tilt your head back, so lost in the feeling, the voice, the naughtiness...that you don't hear the sound of the walk-in closet opening.

"The little slut has been touching herself the entire time."

At the sound of the voice no longer coming from the phone, your eyes once again shot open and your body moved itself on it's elbows. And before you can mentally process anything, the bed dips on either side as the two masked figures you're so familiar with surround you.

Their cocks are already outside of their unzipped jeans. One, that you recognized as Stu's, was only half hard and the other, Billy's, was painfully hard; flushed, angry, and leaking, as if he had been rapidly stroking it just seconds prior from walking over to you.

You eyes glance down the length of your bed to see the closet door wide open, the insides of one of the doors coated in ropes of sticky white cum. You must have really been in the moment if you hadn't heard Stu's usual loud ass moans as he came. Or maybe Billy had put a hand over his mouth. It didn't matter either way now, as his dick was already hardening again. Stu's stamina truly was something of a marvel.

You go to reach up and help stroke them both, but the reality of the situation came crashing down when Billy tangles his fingers into your hair and pulls your head back. Suddenly, you have a knife to your throat, the steel frightening, yet familiar in it's coldness.

"Oh, no, no, no. Bad girls don't deserve to get what they want when they break the rules" Billy hisses. You know he's not actually angry angry, but if the way his dick pulses every other second in front of your face says anything, you can tell he's surely frustrated with you.

Stu's hand is now wrapped around his own cock, stroking at a languid pace. You hear his giggle cracking behind the modulator, and he joins in on the taunting.

"Yeah. It's pretty fucked up of you to break the rules like that babe. Here we were, ready to give the-nngh, the time of your life. Waiting all week, oh, to get you to scream. We even waited in the closet for the past 3 hours after you got changed-"

"So imagine our surprise Y/N-" Billy cut him off, trailing the knife from your neck down to your collarbone, leaving a thin cut beading with blood. "-when we see you spreading your legs, your pretty little cunt on display...dripping wet...-" he untangles his fingers from your hair and wraps his other hand around his painfully hard member, beginning long, quick strokes "-putting on a show for us, but breaking the rules. Well, poor Stu couldn't stop himself from cumming if he tried."

At this point, you're panting. You want nothing more than for them to stop talking and ravage you; to pound their cocks into your pussy, mouth, ass...anywhere they wanted.

Billy notices the hungry look in your eyes and drops the knife to the floor behind him in order to grab both your limp hands, roughly throwing them back onto your body.

"Go ahead." he says "You wanna touch yourself so bad without us?Then keep going."

You look up at him confused, didn't they want to fuck you? After all the waiting you've done this week, didn't you deserve it?

Billy gives a cruel laugh

"What? Don't tell me you thought we were actually gonna fuck you after that shit you tried to pull? Gotta say, your acting on the phone was good. If I didn't see you fingerfucking yourself with my own eyes, I might've believed your little charade." he sneers as the hand on his cock speeds up.

Fuck.

You look pleadingly up at Stu, your one remaining lifeline here. You spread your legs further, and pull up your tank top to display your breasts, nipples pebbled with arousal. Displaying yourself completely, you use your totally-dignified-absolutely not begging sluttiest voice possible.

"C-c'mon Stu. Don't you want treat me like the cumdump I am. I'll let you fill me up as much as you want..."

At your words, Stu's breath hitches behind the modulator (and you can hear Billy groan quietly behind his), but you suppose the fact that he already got to cum once hardened his resolve because he didn't budge an inch and just continued to stroke himself. You can practically feel his eyes dart between your breasts and sopping core.

"Oh babe, baby, darling, kitten...of cooourse I wanna use you as my personal cumdumpster! And I will, I promise I will! But bad girls who don't follow the rules don't get to be filled up, only covered up, sorry!" Stu grunts out out, and you can see that he's getting closer and closer.

Tears of delicious frustration prick at your eyes, but you now know that no amount of begging is going to get you what you want. So you resign yourself to your own hands, the touch still good and pleasurable, but nothing compared to theirs. You watch as they stroke themselves. Stu moans and groans as his hand twists and flicks around his length, periodically spitting in his palm, and then resuming. Billy's filthy dirty talk fills your ears, him having already procured and used the little bottle of lube he keeps in his pants at all times, his hand tight and tugging his cock roughly and rapidly.

Before long, and before you get to cum and keep enjoying the sight, Billy spills all over your chest, making sure to also get some on the cut on your neck because of course he does. Stu, overwhelmed by the sight of his boyfriend painting his girlfriend in his release, cums a few moments later, this time purposely aiming on your pussy.

For a moment, you feel like actually just stopping in frustration. You already had to only rely on your hands even though they were right there, but now you were also deprived of watching them too. Not to mention the torture they put you through this week.

With a deep sigh, you're just about to remove your hands and get up to clean, when suddenly the two rip off their masks and launch themselves at you.

One of Billy's hands wrap around your neck, as his other moves down to pinch and rub your cum-slicked clit in short, rapidly fast motions. Stu's between your legs in an instant, ignoring his own cum being spread by Billy's near vibrating fingers and alternating between sticking his long tongue and his own fingers inside of you, wiggling against the sensitive upper walls of your cunt. The hand not occupied with his tongue-finger tag team goes to move up behind your thighs, up the length of your body, and to your breast, playing with your nipple. Billy's hand around your throat squeezes at just pressure the you like.

It all happened so quick, you could've sworn they planned this position (and knowing them, they probably did). Your head thrashes back and you immediately start chanting and moaning their names like a prayer, no thoughts, only pleasure filling you.

You don't know how long you stayed this way for. 10 minutes? An hour? You couldn't say, but all you know is that once you feel Stu's fingers thrust upwards just so, his tongue licking the top of your entrance, and Billy's fingers move even more impossibly fast on your clit, you start to see white cloud your vision. Your orgasm rips through you, and it's one of the most intense you've had in a long, long time. You swear you hear them both chuckle, although you're not sure why.

You feel Billy pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. After a moment of catching your breath, you open the eyes you didn't even realize you had shut. You see Billy up already, removing his Ghostface garb and clothes, and heading to the bathroom. Stu is still in-between your legs, eyes closed and resting on your thighs. You reach down to affectionately card your fingers through his short hair, and if a man could purr you swear Stu was doing it.

You sit up just as Billy walks back in with a few damp and dry towels. He helps you clean yourself up, as Stu reluctantly moves off of you.

"Hey, get up, both of you. We have to change the sheets."

You look up at him with a questioning look. You were tired and it's not like you guys hadn't fallen asleep on a slightly soiled bed before. Billy smirks and nods at Stu.

You turn to Stu, who had already gotten up and derobed, and to your absolute mortification you realized his grinning, smug face was absolutely soaked. At first you thought the worst. But realizing it was not, in fact, an unwanted golden shower, you blushed. You look down on the bed below you and found a sizeable wet spot trailing from the back of your ass to where Stu's chest had been.

The look on your face had them chuckling again, and now you know why they did so earlier. Billy helped you up and Stu had the absolute gall to come over and high five Billy before making his way to the bathroom as well, most likely to wash off his face.

Wrapping his arms around you from behind, you feel Billy let out a content sigh as he buried his face in you. Trailing his lips over your shoulder, up your neck, and to you ear. You feel him give a small kiss and release you.

"I'll take care of the sheets. Get that wound taken care of."

You almost forgot about the cut on your neck and collarbone. Luckily Billy had wiped away his semen from the wound already, so it was just a matter of patching up. You walk to the bathroom to do just that and see Stu drying his face. Noticing you enter, he grins and leans back against the sink. You smile sheepishly at him.

"Sorry Stu. If I had known I would've warned you. I don't think I've ever squirted before."

He gives you an are-you-kidding-me look.

"What? Don't be sorry, babe. Shit was was so hot. Like, I mean...like you've came in my mouth before and all. But nothing like that." He sighed dreamily and you laughed, equal parts flattered and happy he wasn't mad.

"Still, I didn't wanna drown you in my pussy juice."

"Babe, if I could live in your pussy I would."

"Yeah, but what about Billy's dick?"

"Eh," he shrugs "I'm sure I'll see it in there enough. It'd cause earthquakes and destroy the little house I built in there every time you guys had sex though."

"Guys, what the fuck is this conversation."

You both turn to Billy, who had just walked in and who's 'what the fuck' expression was so good you and Stu couldn't help but laugh, your embarrassment at the situation all but gone.

With the sheets changed and wound dressed, the three of you settled into bed, curled up against one another, it being Stu's turn in the middle this time. As you're about to drift to sleep you hear Billy shift, presumably to look at Stu, and you almost die at his next words.

"It's my turn next time Stu."

"Yeah, no problem buddy."

~~~

PHEW okay. This was a behemoth (or at least I felt like it was) and Im actually really proud of it! I hope this is to your liking and did you justice bisexual-horror-fan!

Since this one was so long, and I tried my hand at writing mutual masturbation and squirting, I'd love any and all feedback from you guys! Requests are still open so lay em on me baby.

[shivunin]

Adopting a mannerism the other has (gesturing, performing a task in a certain way) -- for your choice? 👀

So I had to hold this prompt up to each of my OCs to see who it fit best haha. After writing about three paragraphs for each of them, deleting it all, and starting over, this is what I finally landed on. It's funny how mannerisms seem natural to write until you're trying to think of them specifically, isn't it?

Here's a bit of Elowen, and here is the link to the list :)

At Your Side

The nobleman found Elowen just after she passed the doorway to Herald’s Rest. 

She was exhausted—she always found the trip up the Frostbacks jarring, even on a gentle mount—but she stopped to listen anyway. The Inquisitor had come to learn that nobles liked to feel like they were Doing Something Important; more, they seemed to enjoy feeling like the Inquisitor herself was managing their problems. 

Oh, she assumed they knew that supply issues and such were not things she handled herself—they weren’t entirely oblivious, even when they seemed that way—but giving the appearance that she cared about their complaints usually saved her work later. If she weren’t so tired, really, she wouldn’t mind at all—but as it was, she was hyper-aware of her state of dishevelment, the clothing she’d slept in to make the ride in the morning faster, and the state of her teeth. She hadn’t even noticed that she was gripping the hilt of her spirit blade until the nobleman—lesser, one with holdings in Emprise, if she remembered correctly—stopped talking to stare down at it.

“I am certain our people will look into it promptly,” Lavellan assured him when his words trailed off after the second glance at her hand, “Of course, the long-term supply issues represented by the state of next year’s harvest cannot entirely be solved by the Inquisition. However, I am confident that a plan to supplement the people’s access to safe food can be built soon. I will ensure that the right people know about this.”

“Yes,” the man said, looking down at her hand again, “I knew it was only a matter of bringing the right attention to the matter. I—forgive me; I see that you are needed elsewhere.”

Tired as she was, Elowen could only blink after the man as he hurried away. Leliana took his place quickly enough, an amused cant to her mouth. 

“I take it you have not made it to your quarters yet?” she asked, and Elowen exhaled in a rush. 

“No,” she said, “Thank you for the rescue. I can hardly see straight; I don’t even know what I just told that fellow.”

“Nothing terribly scandalous,” Leliana said, and tilted her head toward the stairs, “I was listening; do not trouble yourself with him. Even if you had, there are few who would listen.”

The two of them turned for the stairs to the great hall, and the nobles hovering along the aisles abruptly ducked away or turned their heads as Leliana came into view. Elowen admired how the other woman could do that—convey through some hidden alchemy of posture and facial expression that she was not to be disturbed. She wondered if it was something she could be taught, too, or if one needed Leliana’s reputation in order for the trick to work properly. 

“We have several reports regarding the projects undertaken before your trip,” Leliana went on as they walked toward the throne at the back, “But they will wait for you to bathe and rest.”

“My thanks,” Elowen said, scraping her short hair back and settling the tousled strands, “I don’t think I’d remember any of it in the morning if I went to the war room now.” 

They’d reached the door to her room, but Leliana did not immediately turn away. Her eyes had settled on Elowen’s hand, still wrapped around the hilt of her blade. 

“Something wrong?” Lavellan asked. 

The corner of Leliana’s mouth quirked slightly and she shook her head. 

“I do not think so,” she said, “Though I do believe our friend from Tevinter may owe me some coin.”

“What?” Elowen asked, but Leliana was already turning away, the ranks of nobility melting away before her like mist in the morning light. 

Even as puzzled as she was by the conversation, Elowen only looked after her for a moment before she pushed the door to her chambers open and gave herself privacy at last. 

It wasn’t until she locked the door to her bedroom behind her that she unwrapped her hand from the hilt and let herself relax.

[heartcal]

“who do you believe?”; l.h.

Disclaimer: i didn’t want to write sierra as a bad person because i personally cannot see that, and i know there’s some discourse about her within in the fandom but i don’t want any of that here! so i named the girlfriend after a girl who bullied me in elementary school lol (but another disclaimer: i do not want to see any hate towards the boys’ s/o! pls don’t send any asks that talks bad about them, i will not answer them!)

thank you for requesting! :^)

a/n: while transfering this from microsoft word, the formatting kept screwing up for some reason so if there are some janky paragraphs, i apologize! not too comfortable with this one compared to my previous fic (this feels rushed) but it is long and i did not mean for that to happen lol. enjoy!

if there are any mistakes, please tell me!

pairing(s): not really a mention of luke hemmings x reader but it’s mostly luke hemmings x named gf (rachel/oc) (gender neutral but if i slipped up, please let me know!)

summary: having known luke for years, it was bound to happen eventually. the crush you developed happened before you could stop it, and you did your best to keep it a secret. you told no one, did your best not to show it, so what do you do when his girlfriend finds out?

genre: angst, and mostly angst >:^)

warnings: swearing, luke’s gf being mean, bullying?

wc: 4,057 (she’s a long one)

my masterlist!

You don’t know when it happened, or frankly how it happened, but one thing is for sure: you don’t want to feel this way.

Was it when he bought you a stuffed animal version of a pet you had as a kid, one that you remember so fondly and still tear up about it to this day? Or was it when he would always bring back a certain candy you can only find in its country of origin, and bring as much as customs would allow? Maybe it was when he printed out every photo he could find from the beginning of your friendship to the present day (at that time) and made a scrapbook for your birthday since you cherish memories?

Whatever memory it was, you want to track it down and destroy it. It wasn’t fair that you developed such strong feelings for your best friend, knowing he doesn’t feel the same since he’s taken.

It’s not that he isn’t attractive – far from that because if anything, you wish you could draw just so you can draw him because there’s no way someone can look that good – but it’s more of the fact that he’s your best friend, someone you hold dear to you.

You two grew up together; saw each other’s worst phases, styles, and embarrassing moments (it was well documented towards the middle of the scrapbook). He was with you when you went through bad break-ups, and you with him. Throughout school, you two were inseparable, and when the band got big he made sure to keep you close and to never lose contact. It was hard in the beginning but you two managed.

Now finished with college, you’ve taken on the role of working with the team when they’re on tour and helping plan aesthetics for the next album. He offered the jobs after you struggled to find a job after graduation, and in the end, you enjoyed being with the guys and doing the tasks needed.

Tonight, the band was set to play their new album to an intimate crowd. It was to welcome back old fans and welcome new fans, introducing both sides to a new sound they worked hard on. You couldn’t be any more proud.

You sat on the couch as the guys walked around the room, pepping themselves up and hyping each other. You had finished doing your tasks with the crew and spent your free time watching the band prepare as the audience began to fill in the theater seats.

A nudge on your arm makes you direct your eyes from Michael styling his hair with a nervous expression to the person on your left.

“What’s up?” you asked, smiling at the curly-haired individual.

Luke shrugs, glancing around the room before his eyes land back on you. He has a small smile on his face as he leans back onto the couch, “Nothing.”

You scoff, shaking your head with a smile, “Yeah, sure, ‘nothing,’” you mimic, tilting your head to the side, “I doubt that.”

“What do you want me to say?”

You give him an incredulous look, crossing your arms as you turn to face him. You can tell he’s nervous, like the rest of the team and the band, but he won’t admit it. He’s always wanted others to view him as strong and unbothered, especially when those around him feel off.

He mirrors your position, a smirk on his lips because he knows you’re about to lecture him.

And he’s right.

“Your band has a new album out in a couple of days—an album you guys have worked hard on even when your management gave you shit, mind you—and you’re about to perform a majority of the songs in front of 500. Are you not nervous?”

He shakes his head, smugly smiling as he returns to his position leaning against the couch, watching Ashton dry the wet ends of his hair.

“Liar,” you mumble, uncrossing your arms and taking your phone out to check the time.

“Alright,” Luke sighs, giving in, “maybe I’m a little nervous, but I’m not a wreck.”

He’s still a liar. The success of their last album was astounding, so creating an album to reach that level and hopefully top it was hard enough. Playing it in front of an intimate crowd who may or may not like it was tough.

Luke isn’t cocky. He’s a humble man, but he likes to joke around in stressful situations. He’s used to concerts, so he doesn’t have any anxiety when it comes to performing. But when he is nervous for any reason, he won’t show it. He’ll act cool, completely collected with his head held high in confidence. If he needs to relieve the stress, he’ll either do it himself with a strong pep talk, or he’ll go to you.

“What are you nervous about?” You ask, wanting to make him feel better.

“Will they like it? Will it even chart? Is it too bold?” he continues listing out his insecurities about the album and the performance, finally lifting everything off his chest.

And you listen. The way his eyes stare into yours with slight confidence, covered by worry makes your heart sore. Luke’s kept everything inside and now that he’s listing his grievances, it makes you wonder just what else you can get out of him that he’s kept buried inside.

However, before you can give him your insight on this particular problem, “Luke!”

His head immediately turns to the door, the worry in his eyes fading out into sheer happiness and adoration. Something you’ve always wanted to see directed towards you.

Luke stands arms wide as he captures his girlfriend in his arms for a hug. Her arms wrap around his waist as his arms go around her shoulders, dipping his head down to kiss her on the head.

“I can’t believe you made it!” you hear him speak with excitement, expressing more words of happiness as he guides her to another part of the room.

You don’t miss the way her eyes glare in your direction, and you’re not afraid to give her a look back.

Rachel was nice when you met her. You actually liked her, despite your crush on Luke, and you were rooting for the two. But, a couple months ago during a stressful week, she turned on you. Her attitude towards you shifted, almost as if you had disrespected her and her bloodline. She would always act as if you weren’t in the room, and when plans were made with the boys, she would “accidentally” leave you out. It was embarrassing for you when you’d find out your friends went out, calling you to find out why you didn’t come. Due to the embarrassment, you would go along with it, making up some excuse as to why you were absent.

None of the boys, to your knowledge at least, have caught on to her antics, and you honestly hope they don’t. Whatever it is you did to her, you want to find out for yourself so you can fix it.

With a sigh, you stand from the couch, stretching your arms briefly before wandering to Calum, who stood in the shower room connected to the dressing room.

“Hey,” you greeted him with a warm smile.

He smiles back, finishing his drink before tossing the plastic cup in the trash. He grabs his bass, which was placed on the counter, and holds it out to you.

“You want me to see if it sounds out of tune?” you jokingly ask.

He nods, “Yeah, I feel like one of the chords might be flat.”

You chuckle as you pluck a random chord. His instruments are always tuned before it’s time to play. One of his pre-show nervous ticks was the constant doubt of his instruments being playable.

“It’s fine, Calum.”

The doubt shows on his face as he brings his guitar back to himself, putting it on and checking the chords himself, but it doesn’t last long as Ashton’s voice calls everyone to the center of the room.

Walking with Calum to where the rest of the crew was, you notice how attached Luke was to Rachel. Joint at the hip, arms wrapped around each other; it was annoying.

“Show starts in ten,” Ashton gains your attention, holding up a cup as Michael hands Calum a similar cup before doing the same to Luke. The three follow the drummer’s action as he continues, “let’s make this show fuckin’ awesome.”

The crew cheers, dying down quickly as Michael gives his thoughts, “We worked our asses off for this album, I don’t have any doubts about it. We got this, guys!”

The cheers resume as those with a drink take a celebratory sip before placing their empty cup on a surface near them.

Calum leaves your side to join Michael while Ashton heads to you.

“You excited?” he asks, putting his right arm around your shoulders with a large smile.

“Yeah!” you return the smile, “What about you? Nervous like the others?”

He shakes his head, crinkling his nose, “I’m not too nervous. I’m just happy to play again.”

You’re about to ask him what song he was the most excited to play, starting to get into the conversation but yet again you are interrupted by Rachel.

“Hey, Ash,” she greets him, Luke following close behind her as his arms make their way back around her shoulders again.

“Hi, Rachel,” Ashton nods his head at her – his eyes dance to Luke briefly before returning to Rachel’s, “didn’t think you’d make it.”

“Couldn’t miss your big show,” she smiles, looking up at her boyfriend as she pats his stomach.

Luke laughs, gently pushing her hand away from him, “I’m surprised, too—“ he grabs the guitar a crew member hands him, left arm lifting itself from Rachel’s shoulder as he slips the strap over his head, “—because her schedule did not look clear enough, but here she is.”

“Three minutes,” a different crew member rushes out, patting Luke and Ashton’s shoulders before rushing to tell the others.

“See you after,” Luke shifts his guitar away from Rachel before leaning down to kiss her on the lips – something you wish you didn’t see – and turning around to head out of the dressing room.

Ashton gives you a quick hug, “Excited for the lights,” he mumbles in your ear before turning to Rachel to give her a side hug.

It doesn’t go unnoticed how Rachel’s eyes glared at you by Ashton, but he doesn’t mention it as he heads out with the other guys towards the stage.

As a majority of the crew follow them out, you stay behind to clean up the empty cups and other trash, trying to occupy yourself as Rachel too stayed behind.

Her eyes followed you as you moved about the room, carrying the small plastic bag with you as it fills up with cups and wrappers. You could feel the glare burning into your side and back as you paid her no mind.

When it was just you two left, the bass from their opening song was heard and felt as you finished picking up the garbage.

“For how long have you liked Luke?”

You froze. Your head whipped towards Rachel, wide-eyed as you glanced around the room to make sure it was just the two of you.

“What…what are you talking about?” You can feel an extreme warmth rising up from the bottom of your back, all the way to your face, nervousness clouding your brain as she stares you down.

“Luke—,” she crosses her arms and moves to the couch, “how long have you liked Luke?”

“I don’t—I,” you stutter, your stomach dropping as you realize you’ve been caught.

His girlfriend knows you like him.

“Cut the bullshit,” she spits, “I can see it. You’ve been friends with him for years, you obviously caught feelings for him.”

You shake your head, standing up straight to give off the illusion of confidence. Turning your back to her and towards the door, “I don’t have to talk to you.”

You opted for walking out of the dressing room and go watch the band from the side of the stage, but you made a quick stop in the bathroom to splash cold water on your face.

You did what you could to avoid her during their performance. You knew she was watching you, seething at how you ended the conversation so fast.

Rachel wanted to break you down, find the reason why you like him and separate you two for as long as it takes to make him fall in love with her. She finds you a problem in their relationship because of how close you and Luke are, because of how long you’ve known each other. A threat to her and her relationship.

An hour and a half later, the show is finished and the whoops and cheers from the crowd indicate the album was very well received. That thought swept the interaction with Rachel from earlier under the rug as the boys’ adrenaline spread throughout the crew.

Ashton was first to greet you, sweaty and ready to envelop you in a hug but you’re quick to avoid it, ducking down just as his arms closed around the space where your head was. He laughs it off, heading for his next victim.

Next was Calum, who grabbed a drink from Andy and gulped it down. He had a smile on his face after, only growing wider when he saw you. “I think they liked it!”

“Bass in tune, huh?” you return, patting his back as he passes you to go to the next person.

Michael is the third, taking off his hat (which made you question why he was so worried about his hairstyle that he spent at least fifteen minutes playing with before the show). He stops in front of you, phone in hand as he takes a picture of the two of you: a tradition he started a few tours ago as a joke.

Finally, Luke makes his way towards you, ready to ramble about the show but is brisked away by Rachel. He doesn’t even glance over at you after he’s taken away towards the hall.

Entering the dressing room where the rest of the boys sat, you saw Michael talking animatedly on the phone, Calum laying across the couch with an arm over his eyes, and Ashton wiping off excess sweat with a towel. He was the first one to notice you.

“Ready for that hug?” he asks as you approach him.

“Why not.”

You hug each other, smiling as you pulled away. In the distance, over the cool-down music, you hear Luke’s laughter in the hall. Knowing he’s with Rachel makes you wonder if she’s told him about her suspicions, and that thought alone makes you clam up all over again.

Ashton immediately notices, tilting his head as he asks you what’s wrong.

“Nothing,” you quickly reply, eyes focusing on him.

He notices how jittery you seem, but he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable so he says nothing.

“Guys,” Andy comes in with his camera in hand, “we need to take a few photos.”

The three agree and follow the photographer out. You move to the snack table for a bottle of water, but before you can take a sip, someone clears their throat in the doorway.

You roll your eyes immediately because you know who it is. You don’t pay her any attention and instead take the sip of water you need.

“We need to finish that conversation you oh-so rudely ended,” Rachel moves into the room, keeping her voice down as she crosses her arms.

“We don’t need to finish anything.”

She scoffs, “I asked you a question, and you were so quick to avoid it. I think you’re proving a point.”

“What point?” you turn to look at her, “I know you don’t like me but I don’t know why, can we start with that?”

“Like I said before, I know you like Luke. He’s my boyfriend, and I don’t like how he’s close to you.”

“We grew up together,” you state, standing tall as you glare at her, “of course we’re going to be close.”

“Well I don’t like it,” she huffs.

You shake your head with a sigh, closing the lid to the bottle as you turn your back to her. You were getting angry at the fact that someone who didn’t know Luke as long as you did was hinting that you should stay away from him.

“Stop hanging out with him.”

A curt laugh escapes you before you can stop it, “Are you jealous of our friendship?”

“No,” she smirks, “but I know you’re jealous of our relationship.”

She’s right; you’re only a little jealous of their relationship, but it’s not something you want to risk your friendship with.

You open your mouth to defend yourself, but you’re caught off-guard when nothing comes out. The one opportunity to make her believe you don’t like her boyfriend and you can’t say anything.

Giving up with sinking shoulders, you glance at the door before looking back at her. Grimacing at her knowing smile, “How did you find out?”

She hums, “It was easy. I love him, so I know what it looks like to look at someone you love. You made it so obvious, I’m surprised no one else found out!”

You grit your teeth. You did your damn best to make sure no one, especially Luke or Rachel, know how you feel about him.

“I’m not intimidated by you,” she walks closer to you, arms uncrossing as her hands move to her hips, “but I won’t deny the fact that you and Luke have chemistry.”

“What will it take—” you place the bottle back on the table, “—for you to leave me alone?”

“Do the same to him.”

“What?”

“Leave him alone, unfriend him,” she shrugs, “simple as that.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you walk around her to the door, ready to end the conversation.

“Do that or I’ll tell him,” with a harsh tone she walks towards you, grabbing your arm to stop you from walking.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Okay,” another voice from the doorway makes the two of you jump, “that’s enough.”

Ashton walks into the room, grabbing Rachel’s hand and removing it from your arm.

“W—” she stutters out as she watches the tall man move to stand in front of you.

“I came back for my drumsticks—” his eyes shift to the object sticking out of his bag before dropping down to Rachel, “—but instead I find you, what, threatening a good friend of ours?”

Rachel is speechless while you’re frozen. It was embarrassing enough for one person to find out about your crush on Luke, but now Ashton might know and you want to go into hiding.

“Let it go,” you tug on Ashton’s shirt to get his attention but he doesn’t move.

“Telling someone who’s known your boyfriend longer than your relationship to just abandon him is low, Rachel. Don’t think the way you’ve been treating our friends has gone unnoticed.”

You hear more footsteps approaching the room, and now you wish the ground can swallow you up. You don’t want all this attention on you.

“What’s happening here?” Michael says as he peeks into the room, Luke behind him as Calum leans against the other side of the doorway.

“Nothing—,” Rachel tries to deflect but with four pairs of eyes on her, it becomes too much. Tears start pouring out, and you’re in disbelief.

How can she be the one crying after she was the one who was rude to you?

Luke immediately rushes in, creating a beeline right to her side to wrap her in his arms.

His eyes dart to yours, an emotion on his face of something you’ve never seen, but you know it’s not good.

“What did you do?”

You’re taken back by his tone and the way his angry eyes stare you down. It hurts because instead of staying neutral and finding out what exactly happened, he immediately chose a side: a side of someone he’s known for only for a short amount of time.

“Mate,” Ashton speaks up for you, “I think you’re asking the wrong person that.”

“No,” Luke’s voice raises, eyes moving from yours to stare into his band mate’s, “I’m asking the right person.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, your eyes welling with tears as the weight of everything happening within the last ten minutes starts to bring you down. Your eyes move away from the ones boring into yours, and with a tremble in your voice, “I didn’t do anything. She’s the one who started—.”

“Bullshit!” Luke’s roar cuts you off, “Absolute bullshit, because if she started it, then why is she the only one crying?!”

The two other guys move in to the room to mediate the situation.

“Luke, calm down,” Michael’s hands raise to the motion of ‘calm down’ as he tries to get Luke’s attention.

“There’s gotta be more to the story,” Calum moves to your side, checking on you briefly.

“Don’t,” Luke states as he watches Calum grab your shoulders to move you out of the room.

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” Ashton questions. He watches Luke soothingly rub Rachel’s back, wiping her tears with his free hand.

“My girlfriend is crying and you two were the only ones in here,” Luke replies, gently grabbing Rachel’s arms so he can look directly into her eyes, “what happened, babe?”

“I asked them—,” Rachel sniffles, continuing her façade, “—if they needed any help cleaning the room earlier and they yelled at—at me and told me to go away. Then after the show when you guys went for your photos, I came here to apologize to her, even though I didn’t do anything wrong.”

She was selling it; the tears, the sniffling, the stutters, and hiccups. A great actress who knows what she wants.

“That’s not true,” you inhale, your ears feeling warm and ringing, “she has had a problem with me lately and I don’t know why!”

Luke scoffs, shaking his head, wrapping Rachel in his arms again.

“C’mon,” Michael mumbles, wanting to leave the room.

Ashton turns around, watching your face go from pleading to blank as the tears fall from your eyes. He turns his head to face Luke, “You’re unbelievable,” he grabs your shoulders and starts to move you out of the room, “let’s go.”

Michael is already out of the room, the tension too much for him and ruining the after-show vibe. Calum is waiting by the door ready to help lead you out. Ashton has you turned around, pushing you towards the door.

“Wait, Luke,” you mumble, getting out of Ashton’s hold and turning back to face Luke.

He doesn’t look at you, sighing as he rubs Rachel’s head as it’s against his chest.

“Please,” you plead, begging him to look at you and when he does, you ask, “who do you believe?”

“What?”

“Who do you believe, Luke,” you gulp with a sniffle, “me or her?”

For a moment, you think you see hesitation. His jaw tenses as he stares you down, his best friend for years and someone he turned to when times got tough. He then looks down at the girl in his arms, someone he loves crying into his chest.

He sighs again, this time soft, before looking up to meet your eyes. He does notice the tears, the pain etched on your face as his other best friends watch them. “I believe Rachel.”

“This is fucking stupid,” Ashton mutters as he gently grabs your shoulders again to lead you out of the room.

You let the tears fall freely, not meeting any of the boys’ eyes as you kept your head face down.

You’ve lost your best friend. He chose someone else over you, a lie he chose to believe.

Whatever it was that made you catch feelings for your best friend, you wish you can find it and destroy it, along with any other memory you’ve made with him. After tonight, you want him erased from your cherished memories.

---

part two!

[ayamturd]

could you maybe write smth with eret and a light coral for the color-project?

roussillion coral│eret

warnings: hurt comfort, fluff

pairing: in-game romantic!eret

a/n: while this is my first time writing for eret, something about them brings out the poet in me lol

also everyone say ty to mitzi, they’re my hype person and confident booster and il them <3

as background, this covers the guilt and worries of being deemed a ‘traitor’ :)

‘colors’ m.list

By the burning fire, warm in the bubble standstill that broke through the empty night, were two lovers that laid in the peace they crafted by hand. 

You were relaxed, against the chest of your other half while their heart beat soundly in your ear. Even as your eyes were closed, they signified anything but your exhaustion; rather, they paired the small smile you wore on your lips. 

Eyes closed, ears filled, you were vulnerable by the security promised in the safe haven Eret emitted.

As they were previously reading aloud to you, their voice a rich timbre that defined the echo in the living space, silence now permitted the air following the end of the most recent paragraph. 

You chose to soak in the quiet, patient to the inner thoughts that likely rang in their head. 

By your expectation, a hum called your attention. 

“I wish I could protect you from everything.”

Eyes now open, you became spaciously aware of your surroundings as the reality of sound broke through. You met their gaze, their face lowered to yours as you had to stare at them above. 

Gone were the dark shades and instead the unfortified sight of their blank pupils, the milky film so vacant yet at the very same time, so alluring. No matter the times you would need to restate the fact, you loved Eret’s eyes and the guarded emotions they displayed only to those willing to look close enough. 

They were a beauty only to appreciate in dedication. 

Despite your shameless study, you willed a humorless laugh in response. 

“Who says you can stop death?” you whispered, words strained as you pulled your chin higher. “Like the wise say, ‘You cannot find peace by avoiding life.’”

Eret sighed, and while you slipped a teasing smirk, it fell when they turned away in dismay.

Like strings attached to the balanced weight of a scale, as they attempted to distance themselves, you sat up in return. 

The floor felt less comfortable as the tension soon set in. Adjusting yourself to fully meet them, you let the blanket that engulf you fall aside; all material comforts irrelevant to the hurt your lover felt. 

“There are so many people that would claim triumph against me through you.” 

You paused, taking in the anxious worries that have plagued their peace many times before. Guilt was a dangerous weapon that manifested not in the present times of battle, but rather the promised future after loss. 

Calling their name softly, you considered them with considerate eyes. 

With a hand to their cheek, you raised their cupped face whilst gently stroking the stressed skin. Although they towered over you in stature, they practically crumpled from the innocent inflictions your touch brought. 

“You tell me every terrible thing you’ve ever done, yet I am still here to love you anyway.”

From your words, your singular sentence, they melted into the comfort of your arms. 

“Thank you,” they murmured against your skin, voice wavering in weak defense to the emotions that overcame them. “Thank you for loving me even when I carry the stains of war.”

You pulled them closer, holding their tall figure dear until you both collapsed on the previously fallen fabric. Giggles briefly interrupted your serenity, slowly fading away into something that could only be described as tender harmony. 

Wordlessly, you maneuvered your bodies to cover yourselves in the blanket once more, only together. 

Wrapped in the light orange hue, security was once again restored through the promise of warmth. Love a compassion given not of requirement, but of a devotion through intimate trust. 

“You are worth every scar and heartache.”

[salcreus]

Hermits Helping Hermits, and why it’s so brilliant

Excuse any grammar mistakes, it is very late and I am very tired as of writing this haha

First off, if you don’t know, there’s this new thing that the Hermits came up with called Hermits Helping Hermits- HHH for short as I like to call it.  Here’s twitch’s VOD of Ren’s POV if you want to get to know that better, instead of reading a badly written paragraph about it by yours truly. (This one is by far the one with the most interactions with it, but there are far more hermits involved in this event :) <3 Check their twitch streams and/or Youtube VODS channels for more of that chit-chatting spicy goodness)

But, if you don't want to sit through two and half hours of video footage (which honestly I don't blame you), the best resume that I can give of it is- actually very explicit in the name. It's just a bunch of hermits helping out another hermit with a certain task, something that is repetitive and would take that hermit absolutely aeons to get done with. It's a very small resume, but at the end of the day, that  /is/ the core of this "Event" of sorts.

Now that you got that out of the way, excuse me as I indulge in all of the details that make this simple concept fry up my brain with joy.

Collaboration. That's a word that we thrive for and love whenever a new stream or episode comes out, it brings out the best of all hermits involved while combining their skills and humour (which I'll touch upon in a bit). It's just overall a bomb fest of creativity and oh boy do we eat that shit up whenever we can (If you need any more proof of the fandom's love for collaborative works, check out the poles our beloved miners and crafters have done to us, audience, asking about which content we prefer. Really. It's absurd how much collabs destroy the other options of the polls).

And honestly... HHH is exactly all we have ever wanted in terms of interactions between hermits. You have a bunch of buzzing bees that are together, in this calm environment, doing tasks that don't quite require that much brainpower, and you got yourself this podcast-Esque vibe going on that just works wonderfully with the stream format that they have going on- And that's not even mentioning the use of the voice chat mod! The way that they don't have to just jumble about in VCs, and can just fly away to talk, promotes this easier way of being part of the action (In this first stream we could see hermits just showing up midway through, or leaving, which, unlike having to click away from Minecraft and onto Discord and switch VCs and all of this tedious process- It doesn't feel forced. It's organic, and they are the ones that have the power to do whatever they want.)

(Also quick note not to ever pressure the content creators into talking or joining in yada yada don't be a prick about it <3 They are human beings too, not your personal TV show)

Humour. (Told you that we were going to talk about this) ...Actually, I'm lying, this is more to analyze their interactions and tie with the thing that I talked about above, but I don't actually want to make two separate tabs for this text so like ehhhh- Okay okay so. We all know that putting different types of personalities into a room is bound to give some good shenanigans, we all know that show and tale, so I am not going to re-tell it (Unless someone someday wants me to write about that which I doubt because I'd be a massive nerd about it). No, I want to focus more on the environment itself and how /that/ is one of the tricks on how their conversations turn into this amalgamation of chiller, more daring topics.

Now, by more daring topics, I don't mean that they are going to start cursing out their viewers, but it overall feels like we get to retire a bit from the Minecraft Funny Persona, and focus more on the humans being behind it. Of course, their personal lives are none of our business, but it's nice to see them acting like the nerdy adults that they are- Which I feel is a bit forgotten in this fandom, yknow?  The fact that they, too, are absolutely silly and would laugh at 69 jokes as much as we do (season 5 chatting my beloved). This chill, lowkey profile induced by the conditions I talked about above impacts their humour, and thus, their way of interacting in this free for all space where they can just vibe!

Also, I cannot mention this ^ without congratulating Rendog for his way of giving everyone their own moment on the spotlight. If it hasn't been clear before by the Hermitcraft panel at Minecon a few years ago (which he was the host of :) <3), Ren is bloody AMAZING at sparking conversation, and overall debate managing; I blame his cockiness and his lack of shame, but who am I to judge. The way that he managed the tasks given, and was able to put everyone on track when the train was moving away from the action, really shows his skills when it comes to entertaining an audience. I am NOT going to forgive him for the pee talk though, hate the furry </3 /j

Creativity! This is just a small thing that I catched on when I was watching, but I really liked how Bdubs was giving tips on how to make the spikes on the biome pop up more (by the use of walls, stairs, slabs). It wasn't something that was really the centre of attention in this "episode" of HHH, but I appreciate the possibilities that this gives in terms of hermits learning as they work together on something, the sentiment of giving tips and tricks as to how to make something pop up, or how to improve on a certain detail- Another moment involving this was when Xisuma was talking about that lava cast shemanty machinery that I am far too dumb to talk about but you know what, he sure was saying words and I am sure they are very useful. The collaborative process of coming up with ideas and solutions is one that always fascinates me (Maybe that's why the mayoral building is my favourite one of the season so far) and I cannot wait to see what else they can bring to the table, even if it's small.

If this hasn’t convinced you yet I don’t know what it will, but, to be fair, I'm just someone that is Far Too Excited about HHH :pensive_emote: But to wrap things up very badly because I am awful at closing statements, the hermits look like they are having fun with it, which is what matters at the end of the day! They are all kind, wonderful individuals that treat us far too good, and this is not exception. Can't wait to see what they are going to do next, and how this event series is going to develop :) <3

(I was also going to go more on topic about the interactions that happened and jokes, but honestly I think that's a side document for another day dsjffsdmf;;)

[justpevensies]

P.S I Love You

blurb: Edmund sends you a lovely letter while he is away on a diplomatic trip and you remain in Narnia. 

inspiration: the song P.S I Love You by The Beatles, 1963.

A/N: This was just a cute idea I had, I wanted to write it out quickly! No warnings at all.

As I write this letter, send my love to you

Edmund had been away on a diplomatic trip to the Lone Islands with Peter for a week, not expected back to Cair Paravel for another month at least. The night before their departure, the two of you promised to exchange letters - for you both knew the distance would trouble one another greatly. You had waited patiently for him to write first, knowing he was busy and you didn’t want to disturb or distract him. Finally, the first letter had arrived and you sat in your room, carefully opening the envelope. You didn’t realise how much it would please you to see your name addressed and written in Edmund’s handwriting. The first sentence read: “Dearest (y/n), As I write this letter, I send all my love to you”.

Remember that I'll always be in love with you

You were worried about Edmund going away, it was natural. Not just in the fact he was a King going to do important duties and you wanted him to be successful but this was the first time he’d be leaving you since the two of you got together. Your insecurities and inner thoughts as you lay awake at night couldn’t help but convince you at times that he would find a beautiful woman or girl on his travels and would bring her back to Narnia and make her his Queen. You always thought that it annoyed Edmund, constantly seeking assurance from him but he always told you that he didn’t mind. The second sentence in his letter read: “Remember that I shall be home before you know it and remember that I’ll always be in love with you, let me assure you through these words if I cannot in person”.

Treasure these few words till we're together, keep all my love forever

As you read on in the letter, Edmund began describing some the progress him and Peter had made: the trip was going well so far and they hoped to reach a deal and agreement with the people in peaceful circumstances. You couldn’t help but feel so much pride for the Pevensie brothers, both of them were polar opposites yet they worked so greatly together in their roles as Kings - both in battle and in council. Brotherly love united them always. Edmund then signed off this paragraph by writing: “As much as you’d enjoy to hear about our progress I won’t bore you to death with all of the details, I shall save that for when I come back to Narnia and I can tell you in person. When I’m not working all I can think about is you and how you are and what you’re doing. But, treasure these few words until we’re together again and keep all my love forever.”

I'll be coming home again to you, love

It was almost the end of the letter and Edmund began to write about the future, saying that - if all goes to plan - the brothers may be able to return to Narnia sooner than planned. Oh, you couldn’t wait to tell Susan & Lucy! Even though Peter would probably tell them in the joint letters he sent from himself and Ed, you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep the potential excitement in. Right now, however, Edmund was talking to you and it made you smile from ear to ear. “I’ll be coming home again to you soon, my love”.

And till the day I do, love

He signed off his letter with some final little notes: to say hello and give his love to his sisters, to look after yourself and to not worry about him for he could look after himself. “However until that day when I can see you again, please look after yourself and make sure you’re alright for I miss you. LOVE Edmund”.

P.S. I love you

You, you, you 

You smiled and held the letter close to your chest, beaming with joy, after reading the last little sentence. You could hear his voice saying every single word, you could feel his love flying off the page. As you looked back at the signature, you noticed a final little note at the bottom that read: “P.S I love you. You, you, YOU.”

He had underlined the final “you” and that emphasis made you fall backwards onto your plump bed, giggling and totally love-sick. You knew you had to write a reply immediately but for the next little while you would remain exactly as you were: re-reading these beautiful words. 

[leviathan-dee]

Okay how about a drabble where Vergil motivates his female s/o who is struggling to do her assignments? Can be sfw or nsfw depending on the suitability of the topic and I may or may not having this motivation problem 😂

Aii!! I’m so sorry this took so long 😓 Tbh, I saw nsfw and took this as an opportunity to get my simp train going. So here goes, a lil bit of...

°°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.· 𝓢𝓹𝓲𝓬𝓮 °°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.·

Motivational Lessons

Vergil x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Word Count: 1,613

Fumbling on an assignment that was due in less than a week was admittedly not how you wanted to spend your days off. You were surrounded by countless closed study books, dried out pens from their disuse, and an empty word document, a cursor blinking quizzically at your inactivity. It’s been almost three agonizing hours since you began your search for a drop of motivation. Alas, no such luck. Even the cup of tea that your partner brewed at the beginning of your session remained unmoved, the condensation on the mug dripping down to pool onto the blank papers.

You sighed, inadvertently drawing Vergil’s attention.

“You are troubled.” Without lifting his gaze from his beloved hardcover of poetry, he spoke, the comment blending between lines of a question and a statement. You sighed once more, carding your fingers through your hair.

“What gave you that idea?” Your slight burst of annoyance felt like whacking the hornet’s nest, however Vergil’s reply was more gentle and soft spoken than before.

“The lack of movement for the duration of your coursework. What gives, my sweet?”

“I just can’t get into the mindset. I think I’m too stressed with all that is going on.”

Snapping his book shut, he uncrossed his legs and tilted forward, directing his attention now completely to you. The pose he assumed was akin to a cat, ready to pounce on its prey. Perhaps you were imagining it, but the sudden mischievous glint in his eyes unnerved you just as much as his predatory pose.

“Perhaps you are in need of encouragement?”

“I’ll bite. What do you have in mind?” You swallowed thickly, anticipation building like a steady flow of water. Only time will tell if you would regret your words.

“Let me demonstrate.” Moving with a feline grace, his arm swayed in the opposite direction, guiding you to stand from your seat. Once you obeyed, he propped himself upon the cushioned surface, his stern expression morphing into a minuscule smirk.

“Sit,” he presented you his lap by patting his thigh, “you are tense. A prime reason as to why you simply cannot get anything done.”

With an incredulous expression, you gawked at the sudden change in his demeanour. Admittedly, it was a bad idea to disobey the devil, knowing your previous experiences containing punishments of the euphoric kind. You planted yourself comfortably upon his leg, feeling his arms securely tighten around your waist. His palms were warmer than usual. In fact, you noted that his gloves were off. Strange...

“Now focus on your assignment. Need I encourage you, I know exactly what to do.” The growl that rolled off his tongue caused a shiver to travel through every fiber of your being. A wickedness entirely indescribable churned deep within his gaze. It wasn’t often you experienced that; Vergil knew to reserve this part of him for special occasions.

Apparently, this was one such occasion.

The cursor continued blinking, it’s manner now seeming wary. You stared at it, wondering what words might flow from your already exhausted mind. There were so many jumbled thoughts. Some from the carnal closeness between you and your beloved, and very few were of the coursework itself. Vergil propped his chin upon your shoulder, breathing down your neck. Was this a warning? Or encouragement?

“Need I promote your thoughts? Or is your mind elsewhere?” As you expected, it was neither. This was a promise; an invitation. For both of your benefits.

You could feel a smirk ghost his lips, as his hands continued to rest on your waist possessively, their grip tightening to an almost uncomfortable pressure. Unsure of whether to begin your coursework, or to let fate take its course, your fingertips started their sluggish crawl across the keyboard. Vergil seemed to ease his grip, instead shifting to your right thigh, resting his warm palm on top of the plump surface. This made you suck in a breath between your teeth which only Vergil would notice. No matter how much you wanted him to simply have his way, this was a good opportunity to finish what you’ve started studying-wise.

… 

After two paragraphs of constant erasing and rewriting, you sighed, irked at your own scattered mind. Evidently, Vergil watched your entire tirade at the keyboard. It was almost as interesting as a tumultuous nineteenth century drama. Every few words, he hummed in approval, reading and checking your text. However, your gusto seemed to slow to an almost complete stop. You could feel his mischievous smile once again grace his visage.

Bringing his palm up to cradle your chin from behind, he directed your vision behind you, his own smoldering gaze melting you from the inside.

“Is that it? You’re giving up, my sweet?”

“No, I just need a break-” You were cut off by a feathery caress at your loin, promoting whatever feverish thoughts that waited on the cusp of your mind. Instinctually, you leaned into the touch like a starved animal. Vergil seemed to enjoy your reaction, knowing full well that only his fingertips can encourage such a visceral response from your body.

“A break, you say? Let me assist you,” he purred in your ear, heated breath only intensifying the sensation of his digits running circles achingly close to your clothed core.

You couldn’t withhold your lewd mewls, letting them cascade out of your lungs as Vergil’s teeth began sinking into your bare shoulder, followed by promises of ecstasy in the form of trailing kisses upon your skin. His hands teased at your waistband, slipping beneath the fabric to find his goal. Your own fingers searched for purchase, not to lose yourself entirely to this hedonism. They found their way to the blue devil’s hair behind you, and encouraged his tongue to trek along the flesh of your shoulder.

A maelstrom of pleasure spread through you as Vergil’s hand began lavishing your folds with longing strokes. The sheer playful movements of his digits were teasing, daring you to release your tension all over them, there and then. It was almost shameful how easily he could elicit such a reaction from your body. How he forced these noises from you, the pressures of assignment life fading away into nothingness.

Approving hums vibrated within Vergil’s chest, resonating against your back, provoking the throbs deep in your core. You moaned in turn, giving him the greenlight to plunge into your heat with two digits. Admittedly, you were now certain this was his plan all along, usually wearing fingerless gloves even outside of combat. Besides, he seemed too eager to get you in this state.

That sneaky devil.

Nevertheless, that motion was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Your walls tensed instinctually around his fingers as they shamelessly pumped in and out. Vergil knew exactly the spot to caress, seeing how your frame arched itself to accommodate his own. God, he loved seeing you in this state; At his mercy.

“Y/N. You will finish this assignment, as I will finish you. Is that clear?” The sovereign tone with which Vergil spoke alone could send you spiralling over the edge. You nodded eagerly, desperate to release the tide of pleasure rocking against your swollen walls.

Observing your lethargic demeanor, and your eyes glazed over with depravity, the devil decided to send you into paroxysms of pleasure by focusing two hands on your heat. With one swirling your bud, and the other continuing its rhythmic movements inside you, his smug visage in the now blacked out screensaver of the monitor observed your near undone state.

“How are you feeling? Relaxed yet? Encouraged to do your studies? I won’t have you failing. Not in this state.” To your surprise, Vergil's smirk never faltered. His tongue continued to play upon your shoulder and neck as you encouraged his efforts with your incoherent cries.

“Vergil-'' Your fragmented moans, and the bucking of your hips against his working hands only prompted him to intensify his tirade. He left you kicking helplessly, trying to find an object to perch against with your legs, and swing your hips in any direction if only to lessen the overstimulation. Blank papers landed to the ground, and pencils and pens alike tumbled from the force of your pleasured kicks against the furniture. Even the untouched tea spluttered all over the desk, staining amber upon the surface of the paper beneath. But you didn't have a care in the world; right now your focus was on the endless waves of gratification you were bestowed upon by the blue devil.

All of your previous worries seemed to melt away. Even the stress of creeping deadlines and sleepless nights dissipated into a mere sliver of a memory. Your rippling muscles beneath Vergil's hands eased, his own limbs holding you in place as you fell limp from exhaustion on his lap. With a tender trail of kisses along your neck, and the last one behind your ear, he hummed and coiled his arms around your waist to pull you into a warm hug. You hummed in return.

"Was that encouragement enough? Or do I have to resume this motivational lesson?" Vergil purred in your ear, a hint of playfulness meandering in his voice.

"Hmm, I am still feeling a bit tense." You rolled your shoulders to accentuate your 'discomfort', expecting Vergil to react accordingly. And react he did, his immense strength scooping you into his arms from behind, your body weighing a feather on his frame. With proud steps and a teasing expression, he marched towards your bedroom, a saccharine smirk dancing on his lips.

"I was hoping you'd say that. You'll be writing books once I'm done with you, my sweet."

[baeddel]

@androfem​ has made a number of good posts about transmisogyny, addressed to a milieu I’m very glad not to be part of anymore. I wanted to run off of something they wrote in this one...

[2.5k words. transmisogyny, racism tw. epistemic status: Hawkeye Gough]

while hedging an argument in the second paragraph, they write “i’m by no means someone who can definitively say what tme/tma mean” (thus preparing us to hear a definition but to treat it as nondefinitive), but that they see the acronym ‘tme’ (’tranmisogyny exempt’) as “the most palatable attempt trans women and transfem nb people have made towards identifying whether other trans people are one of them or not, and other trans people communicating that as well voluntarily.” By palatable they mean to other people in their milieu, who they spend the rest of the post attacking over the reasons they found all the other terminology (casab etc.) unpalatable. Their criticisms are all quite good.

But - am I crazy, or, aren’t they wrong in this quote? The way I remember it, trans women did not come up with the term ‘tme’. This was something that tme people came up with themselves. The use of tme would eventually become imbricated with the disuse of casab, under the argument that casab requires you to ‘out’ yourself, and so on, which was its own controversy. But originally it wasn’t related to this reservation or at least I never experienced the two as connected. tme was something that, to us, came out of nowhere; it was something like an alien bacteria penetrating the atmosphere from the belly of an asteroid; it woke us up to a whole neighbouring discourse that we were unaware of. That neighbourhood was made up of cis women, trans men, and nonbinary cafabs who were beginning to grapple with the ‘transmisogyny question’. At the time, most people did not take the concept of ‘transmisogyny’ seriously; many people still believed that trans women had male privilege and so on. It was a huge surprise to us to find a whole emerging discourse of non-trans women who believed transmisogyny was real and took it seriously enough to invent their own terminology for describing it.

It’s possible you can trace the coinage to some trans woman somewhere. But at least, at the time that we encountered it, we understood it to be the self-description of non-trans women. A lot of trans women at the time reacted very negatively to this. One of the main criticisms was that tme was not a ‘coherent category’ - could we say that it tries to be too definitive, ie. a definition that overapplies? The anxiety was that it would collect the experience of subjects which cannot rightly be put together; trans men, cis women, cafabs, whoever else, do not all experience patriarhcy(!) in the same way. They all have different proximities to misogyny, emotional labour (when you were still allowed to say that), access to community, sexual access & availability, and so on. Later or earlier, I don’t remember, this same discursive device would be used by trans women against casab; we were derided for “treating casab like a coherent class.”

Androfem may be surprised to learn that this criticism orginates with trans women, if they weren’t there for this. The gesture returns, later on in their post, when they chastise others in their milieu for reading trans women’s arguments in bad faith. They caution that “the assumption shouldn’t be made that [a transfem is] completely unaware of or in denial about” all of the various nuances of proximity whenever she says “definitively” (emphasis mine) that “tme people aren’t affected by transmisogyny”. At this point, the taboo on definitions reaches a delerious extreme - Androfem’s peers take issue even with this tautology! And the solution Androfem proposes is not to take the claim seriously, but to secretly insert something that disrupts it, imagine some inapplicable cases, and so on, and, further, to assume that she is also doing it behind the scenes. Androfem identifies this obsurantism with transmisogyny; their peers cannot bear to take a trans woman seriously, so they will always send her work back and demand a new more palatable analysis. And we trust they are right to make this diagnosis; but this trans woman experiences it as the terrible return of her own native discourse. What we sowed in 2012 they now reap in 2021.

Why has this discourse progressed to such an epistemologically vicious place, where no statements about gender are possible? Baudrillard would enjoy watching our transsexuality become transpolitical. For whatever unconscious reason, whenever we are presented with a master signifier capable of rendering the transcendental field, we are immediately compelled to castrate it. Our destiny is to constantly throw discourses into indifference. Maybe. But the more direct lesson is that something went wrong with the method of analysis we employed to explicate transmisogyny in 2012. What went wrong?

Maybe we can begin with some statements in Androfem’s post and work backwards. They write that “tme people benefit ... from transmisogyny”, although they insert in parenthesis “(some more than others)”. This was an analysis we would have subscribed to in 2012. In 2021, we now want to ask: who benefits and in what way? Who benefits more, who less, and why?

It’s true that transmisogyny brings some profit. Growing up as trans girls we are often deployed as women are deployed; we become the older sister, surrogate mother, and secret girlfriend. Whenever our peers see us in the correct light and notice our softness (to borrow a Saxon term), they exploit it. For boys the profit derives primarily from our socially acceptable proximity in the enforced homosociality that children in our culture endure. The trans girl is a girl who you can have sleepovers with, who you can have in the boys locker room, and so on, and therefore have early sexual and emotional access to. Girls generally exploit it a little later on, when heterosexual relations are expected. The trans girl can be a special kind of boy, like a ‘gay best friend’, but who is sexually available. Both boy and girl cast their brief teenage becomings on their own special gendered Other who is capable of facilitating it by her difference. Contra Balzac, it is precisely her castration that allows her to function as a superavailable Other, not (yet) as an overproximate Same that makes us recoil.

This relation of the tme to trans women dominates in the Bay Area of California, where trans women have resumed some of our traditional roles as temple functionaries. You probably have some homeless or recently homeless or about-to-be homeless trans woman (lets say she is ‘having to be homeless’) in your overcrowded apartment who will always be there to help you process your gender feelings and is probably down to fuck if you can get over yourself and make a move on her.

But these wages of transmisogyny are transitory and marginal. While most trans women will have encountered some of these kinds of exploitative gendered relations, it is by no means a universal experience of tme people. And, whats more, it is possible to have these relations, with the same benefits, which are not exploitative. I have known many cis girl-trans girl couples who got together under the bonds of enforced heterosexuality because of the profit each had for the other - the trans girl is not threatening, better about her boundaries, and so on, perhaps because of her own experiences of sexual exploitation; the cis girl, for equally contingent reasons, just ‘gets it’, and doesn’t try and make a man out of the trans girl - and when the trans girl realizes she is trans and comes out to her partner, the two track an escape route from heterosexuality together. There is no reason to expect it to always go one way, exploitative, or always the other, emancipatory. Is the cis girl ‘benefitting from transmisogyny’ in this scenario? Is she perhaps benefitting less than others, or more than others? I think that we cannot easily analyze every relation between person and person in terms of cost and benefit; even when we are bound by structures of domination, we cannot already anticipate the outcome. At the same time, if such experiences are rare, we aren’t surprised, because we know that the desiring-situations are staged in a certain way that makes discovering these kinds of escape routes difficult.

But simaultaneous with these occasional benefits, 1. transmisogyny is usually damaging to a trans woman without bringing any profit to her persecutor, and 2. transmisogyny is usually damaging to a tme person as well. Don’t you think so? Superficially, it acts as a limit on your presentation; all cis men growing up experience limits on their behaviour, backed by punishments, to prevent or destroy whatever might seem transsexual in them. Maybe it plays a similar role in the upbringing of cis women, trans men, cafabs, etc., in ways that are waiting to be articulated? On a deeper level, transmisogyny - as the hygeine of gendered categories, the social governance of presentation, etc. - plays a crucial role in the overall desiring-situation of oppressive heterosexuality; it creates a series of taboos, anxieties, myths and harsh realities which, in some indirect way, help to maintain heterosexuality’s renewal in each successive generation.

I think some harm was done by a too-ready application of frameworks developed to analyze white supremacy to the question of gender. The progressive leitkultur in those days was still the ‘invisible napsack’. While for transmisogyny the benefits are merely occasional, there are universally accessible wages of whiteness. White people enjoy a distorted labour market; the deterritorialization of black neighbourhoods creates (barely) affordable apartments for (eg.) white students [the scenario with the Oakland enaree we described implicitly takes place in one of these apartments]; and, most generally, there are habits of prosociality between white people which are difficult to break that continually renew the same distribution of wealth, status, care and intimacy [Eldridge Cleaver referenced Harry Golden’s gag about ‘vertical integration, horizontal segregation’ (pg 67) as a good description of race relations in Folsom; we find it to be a good description of race relations in the trans community as well].

When we tried to apply these readymade frameworks to transmisogyny, we found it difficult to construct relevant categories. Transmisogyny could not be domesticated to a form of exploitation metaphorized in economic terms. Therefore, every further demand for a ‘materialism’ that could clearly enumerate the relationships of exploitation would be frustrated, finding only edge cases and anecdotes. There was no underlying machinery that always produced this or that outcome. Therefore, each category was “incoherent”, too definitive, unable to capture what we took for an underlying system that was just out of reach. But the problem was only a misplace of focus. Transmisogyny is not really a system of exploitation; it’s the nightmare of a patrilineality that cannot enforce its borders. It is necessary therefore to move beyond categories like oppression and privilege, bigot and victim, exploited and exploiter, and deal with the domination that captures both ‘tme’ and ‘tma’ in its ruses. Now we can answer some of the old warhorses; CASAB is not a class which we can say anything about, nor is tme or even tma; it is rather the residue of a paternal subjugation, a ‘weight of dead generations’ that everyone confronts moments upon their exit from the womb; a universal coercive sexuation which we cannot help but encounter, combat or obey, enforce on others and despair in our private moments. Everyone, everywhere, is aware of the problem; and the exit is waiting, somewhere, as yet undiscovered, for anyone to seize.

So much for the riddle of 2012. In 2021 the situation is not really the same. Androfem’s milieu were not socialized by anti-revisionist parties and do not metaphorize their experiences in economic terms. Their platform is a sort of legalism. They enter into a discourse which has been a continuous bloodbath for twelve years (the relevant year for them is not 2012 but 2009, and the website not tumblr but wordpress); every discussion has already been had; what is necessary now is only to enforce the common law precedent. They are obliged to accept the existence of transmisogyny because it was already accepted before they got there; they don’t really understand why and are not curious about it. They are not gender abolitionists, but inclusionists. If they had lived thirty years ago they would probably have been exclusionists and thirty years before that, inclusionists again. Every conversation begins with some pious disavowal, ‘I can’t believe we’re having this conversation again...’ Everything has already been tabulated in their stare decisis; asexuals are not lgbt, queer is a slur, cottagecore is colonialist, and so on. What motivates them is primarily some irrelevant triviality like whether this or that fanfiction is normalizing abuse or whatever. It is thus easy to see why Androfem argues that the old taboo on being definitive is transmisogyny; in their milieu it is a strategy for rendering the anti-transmisogyny laws unenforcable. If the law is ever invoked there is a loophole; look here, you missed this nuance...

Much of that milieu - from my own experience with it - is dominated by TERF cults that essentially run friend groups as front organizations; they start off siccing teenages on each other over shipping drama and soon encourage mobbing trans women undesirables. These networks were active on wordpress in 2009, they were on tumblr when I joined in 2012 (where they were able to leverage irl connections to intimidate members of my friend group who were organizing), and they are running discord servers and stalking tumblrs here in 2021. [If anyone from that scene is reading this far and this sounds at all familiar to them: I’m sorry but, yeah, you’re in a cult. You’re better than this! The fandom drama commentariat is not really worth trying to reform. Sauve qui peut!]

These are normally crypto-TERFs who are ‘officially’ inclusive of trans women and, in fact, their friend-group cults are usually full of trans women. Trans women, we have to say, make the most ruthless transmisogynists. To this extent we must disagree with Androfem when they say that “the smallest demographic in [TERF] communities are transfems”; in my experience transfems have sometimes been the most numerous, and it is precisely because TERFs are organized around transmisogyny. The reasoning behind this paradoxical outcome is understandable only in terms of dianetics and thetan space operas.

Anyway. I have sometimes felt that transmascs need some kind of Prince of their own; someone who is able to articulate his own transsexual line of critique in the face of trans women’s well-known and well-settled one, but with the minimum amount of ressentiment; who can hold his own against transfeminine parochialsm and not cave to cheap attacks, but also not make them, and not become parochial himself. I think that ‘tme’ is at its most valuable as an organizational principle when only someone like Androfem can “definitively” articulate it. It has to be a space for tracking the escape from my own desiring-situation on my own terms, in my own style, by my own design; bathed in my own light... But to be capable of accomplishing this it needs to become a break with all previous discourses. One that is open, flexible, and forward-looking; a dangerous gambit which is definitive and unprecedented...

[filmsmakkari]

Congratulations

Wordcount- 1.7k

Hamilton!Tom Holland x Angelica!Reader

Tom Holland x Princess!Reader

I would recommend listening to the song here!

Full Series Masterlist

Your time in Hasnaa was joyous. You wished you could have stayed there forever, but you most unfortunately had to return to your husband, and your disastrous marriage in London. With him, the days were drab and dull. It felt as if every day dragged on longer than the last, but drag on they did, and before you knew it, five years had passed.

You were sitting at the end of the table what felt like miles away from your husband, when a servant entered with a letter in her hand.

“It’s from Prince Phillip, your grace.” The servant girl curtsied before exiting.

“Thank you,” you said as you opened the letter.

It read:

My Dear Aunt,

Cold is my heart as I reckon with the affects my father’s whims have had on our family name. I’m not sure if word has yet reached you there in London, but I must most regretfully inform you that our dear Duke of Saataun has had a most unfortunate affair with the young Countess Nadia Renoylds. Apparently, it took place when we were visiting grandfather at the Fadar da Hasnaa, a considerable time indeed. He also had the privity and connivance of the count, whom he paid off to not tell mother. Apparently, the entire affair was an elaborate scheme on the Renoylds’ part. Their most intricate plan was for the countess to seduce father into an affair, and then blackmail him. If father did not find himself in a prosperous enough position to put wealth into their pockets, they would tell mother of the affair. Of course, this all took place many years ago, and father did pay the count off. None of this would have come to light if those vultures Anthony Monroe, Christopher Jefferson, and Aaron Blackwell hadn’t accused father of embezzlement. To prove his innocence, father published an essay entitled “The Reynolds Pamphlet”in which he admits the truth of his affair, and how he did not in fact embezzle money, but rather used it to pay off his mistress’s husband. In truth it isn’t much better, but he committed no crimes. He might have mortally wounded his prospects, but his papers are orderly, that is a fact none can deny. I have attached a copy of The Reynolds Pamphlet with this letter so that you may read it yourself. Tis no surprise that my mother is outraged. She has father sleeping in his office, and last night as I was passing her cracked bedroom door, I saw her setting fire to all the hundreds of letters he’s written to her. I know it is much to ask of you, seeing as you are the ruler of a large realm, but if you could journey here to see her, I’m sure it would be much consolation. With our dear Peggy sick in Paris, you are the only of her sisters with the ability to make the journey. Please consider.

Votre neveu le plus adorant et le plus vrai,

Prince Phillip of Saataun

Your heart sank as you read your nephew’s words. You quickly took the “Reynolds Pamphlet” from under his letter and read it.

It Read:

I owe perhaps to my friends an apology for condescending to give a public explanation. A just pride with reluctance stoops to a formal vindication against so despicable a contrivance and is inclined rather to oppose to it the uniform evidence of an upright character.

The charge against me is a connection with one Anthony Reynolds. For purposes of improper speculation, my real crime is an amorous connection with his wife, for a considerable time with his knowing consent, if not originally brought on by a combination between the husband and wife with the design to extort money from me. I had frequent meetings with her, most of them in my own house, the Duchess with our children being absent on a visit to the King.

This confession is not made without a blush. I cannot be the apologist of any vice because the ardour of passion may have made it mine. I can never cease to condemn myself for the pang, which it may inflict in a bosom eminently intitled to all my gratitude, fidelity and love. But that bosom will approve, that even at so great an expence, I should effectually wipe away a more serious stain from a name, which it cherishes with no less elevation than tenderness. The public too will I trust excuse the confession. The necessity of it to my defence against a more heinous charge could alone have extorted from me so painful an indecorum.

The essay went on for several more paragraphs, but you could not bear to read any more. Your heart felt as if it was cracking as you thought of your dear Eliza. Oh, all the pain she must have been in. How could Thomas, your Thomas have done such a thing? How could he have hurt your sister in such a way? The anger must have been clear in your eyes, as your husband suddenly spoke.

“What is it?” his monotone voice asked. He barely even looked up from his newspaper.

“My dear sister, Eliza, and our brother, Thomas seem to have been involved in a scandal. I must return home immediately.”

“Oh, well you do that. I shall remain here.”

Oh, of course, he was. You held back an eye roll as you stood and went to your quarters to begin packing.

You booked passage on a ship that was heading for Saataun the next day and quickly made your way home. Your carriage was awaiting your arrival when you stepped off the docks, and you immediately directed him to Eliza’s palace. When you knocked on the door, to your surprise, it was answered by your nephew, Phillip, now fourteen years old. You hugged him tightly.

“Where is your mother, Phillip?” you asked as you released the boy.

“At the store, I believe. But father’s just upstairs, in his office.”

You thanked the young boy before rushing up the stairs and into Thomas’s office.

His eyes widened at the sight of you. “(Y/N)?”

“I came as soon as I heard,” you said flatly.

“Oh, (Y/N), thank God,” he rose and walked towards you, taking your hands and trying to kiss it “someone who understands what I’m struggling here to do-” he paused as you snatched your hand away from him.

“(Y/N)?”

“Congratulations, Thomas.”

He looked at you confused.

“You have invented a new kind of stupid! A damage you could never undo kind of stupid, an open all the cages in the zoo kind of stupid! Truly, you didn’t think this through, did you?”

You gestured with your hands as you spoke. “Let's review, shall we? You two a rumor a few-what was it, three- people knew and refuted it by sharing an affair of which no one has accused you!” You got close to his face, saying, “Thomas, I begged you to take a break and you refused to.”

Now you were pacing and speaking loudly. “You’re so scared of what your enemies will do to you when in reality you’re the only enemy you ever seem to lose to! Do you know why Jefferson can do as he pleases? He doesn’t dignify schoolyard taunts with a response! So yes, congratulations, Thomas.”

“(Y/N)...”

“You’ve redefined your legacy. No, really! Congratulations,” you said, walking out.

“It was an act of political sacrifice!” he exclaimed.

You stopped in your tracks, looking back at him bewildered. “Sacrifice? Thomas Holland, you know nothing of sacrifice.”

“What does that mean?”

“Thomas, I languished in a loveless marriage in London, I lived only to read your letters. I look at you and think “God, what have we done with our lives, and what did it get us?” It doesn’t wipe all the years or all my tears away, but I’ve returned to Larione, and this time I’m here to stay. Do you know what I’m here to do, Thomas?”

“(Y/N)...” he said, coming close to you and cupping your face.

As much as it pained you to do so, you grabbed his hand, tearing it from your face, and saying, “I’m not here for you.”

Thomas sighed, tears burning in his eyes.

You felt the anger begin to rise again as you spoke, “I know my sister like I know my own mind! You will meet a more gentle, kind, trusting soul. I love my sister more than anything in this life! If it comes to choosing between her happiness and mine, I will choose hers every time! Yelizaveta is the best person in our lives, so never again make the mistake of forgetting that you have been blessed with the best wife! For the rest of your life, every sacrifice you make is for my sister, you be sure to give her the best life!”

You raised your hand and slapped him as hard as humanly possible and turned to leave. You paused in the doorframe, turning back to him. “Putting what we had aside, I’m going to find my sister and I am going to stand by her side. I already know “you could never be satisfied.” God, I hope you’re satisfied.” And with that, you were gone.

Your night was spent whispering comforting words to your younger sister, remarking to her “Oh, my dear Eliza, I fear you have married an Icarus. He has flown too close to the sun.”

You did in fact stay in Larione, just as you had told Thomas you would, choosing to relocate to the Fadar da Zuri. It was frowned upon by the public that you, the Empress of Jimbaari, were staying in a palace outside of your country without a husband or some other guardian, but you didn’t care. Your sister and her happiness were all that mattered to you. You prayed for your sister’s happiness. You also prayed that she’d forgive Thomas. Not, in fact, because of your love for Thomas, but rather as you didn’t want anything weighing on your sister’s gentle soul.

As for your ever most complicated relationship with Thomas, you barely interacted with him, not speaking to him when at their home and not writing to him. Though sometimes, you would catch him staring at you with such deep longing that it made your heart ache. And it pained you so deeply, because you knew you couldn’t have been more in love with him- even after his betrayal. So, pray you did. Prayed for your sister’s inner peace, and your own, prayed for the well being of the children, and prayed begging the lord why in all his goodness, he would cause you the utmost pain by bringing that foolish soldier Thomas Holland into their lives.

[rpbetter]

"writes dubcon therefore is a freak who should be bullied off the site" ho boy i'm fed up with people acting as if consenting adults writing [insert "problematic" fictional thing here] is the worst thing in the world. seen way too many people justifying harrassment of REAL PEOPLE by "they write thing that triggers me". ok, and? mute the tags or don't follow! "it triggers someone" is not a valid reason to ban a topic. piano music triggers me yet i don't go around demanding everyone stop playing the piano.

Anon, not only is everything you said absolutely valid, but also, thank you for demonstrating that triggers are incredibly varied and as such, we cannot predict everyone's triggers. Making the entire "point" of banning for possible triggers invalidated as hell.

We should be aware of things like the most commonly occurring phobias (things like arachnophobia and coulrophobia that are, additionally, easily triggered by imagery) and tag them. We should be aware of very obvious triggers, that are, again, easily set off by imagery, like blood, eye trauma, and depictions of domestic violence. And we should always read and be aware of our writing partners' stated triggers so that we can tag them appropriately or even decide that it isn't going to work because our muse, canon story, or interests are going to present an unfair situation in this partnership.

But triggers can be highly unusual, as well as activated differently (even at different times) for everyone. I'm not triggered by seeing hotel rooms in pictures or movies, I'm not triggered by writing scenes that take place in them, but I'm triggered to some degree by being in one. It's outrageous oversimplification to act like all triggers are the same, they all display the same way, they're all going to trigger someone on the same basis, everyone's going to react the same to their triggers. There is absolutely no way to prevent 100% of possible triggers for 100% of the population, 100% of the time.

Add to this that way too many people trivialize triggers by throwing around that term to justify the banning of something that makes them uncomfortable or that they take a personal, moral issue with. "I don't like this" and "I'm grossed out by this" and "this makes me feel uncomfortable" is not being triggered. It's just a good way to weaponize the better nature of other people so that they comply.

Most people legitimately do not want to trigger someone, especially if they have triggers and know what it's like. Just like no one wants to be accused of cruelty towards trauma survivors in general, or be designated a pedo, rape apologist, or fascist. They're all things to weaponize in order to isolate, shame, and control. And that's really fucking gross. These are serious, real things that have no business being trivialized to police content, win internet arguments, or garner popularity.

The potential for someone to be triggered isn't a reason to ban anything; we have tags, we have blacklist.

While I'll be the first to say that tumblr's blacklisting can be as shitty as everything else on the site, the primary issue with running into content you don't want to see comes down to two factors: no one tagging/tagging correctly and actively exposing yourself to that content. Going through people's properly done tags and blog warnings about their content in order to "call it out" is actively exposing yourself by choice. You actual walnuts.

Calling people on on their "problematic" content is bringing those topics to the attention of other people. That's the whole point of this gross behavior: look at the freak pedo abuse apologist I found, they write dubcon!! Don't look if you'll be triggered uwu

Buddy, pal, my guy...you just put that on blast for anyone to run across. Maybe their blacklist catches those words in your callout post, maybe it doesn't. Maybe they think you're a safe space because you promote yourself that way, so they click it anyway. Point is, you just willfully and irresponsibly exposed people because it's more important to you to demonize a rando on tumblr RPing something you take issue with. Good job!

Furthermore, dubcon itself is such a hilarious issue to take. Do they realize that isn't always sexual, or? Not? I'm thinking not. Funnily enough, one of the oldest posts I've been working on for this blog is about exactly this topic, the myriad situations that are dubious consent. That doesn't have to be sexual, and neither does it have to be intentionally predatory. You can come up with some amazing character development with a lot of muses in the RPC with dubcon because almost everyone's muse has some manner of trauma that might negate their perception of their own consent...and what do you do then? Is it removing more agency from that muse to shut them down, or is that always the better option? Can you separate your opinion as the mun from your muse's natural reactions? How does this impact the muses involved not just that moment but the next year?

Point is, dubcon isn't always some rapey situation. Even if it was, even if someone is writing it that way, it's literally not your business or your problem.

There's one mutual-in-law on my RP blog that really bothers me. They write things that I find fetishizing, incredibly rapey, all around shit that bothers me. I don't want to see it, some of the things they write makes my damn skin crawl. This person doesn't know it, we certainly don't speak and I don't think they like me very much, but I've repeatedly defended their right, specifically their right as a person with some long-term callouts on them, to write what they want to. I have them blocked and their urls blacklisted so I never have to see my mutual reblogging their threads. It's not a problem because I don't click "show anyway." Why would I, if it genuinely bothers me so much?

That's how you handle things that bother you; you use the tools available to not interact even by accident. Not by launching a morality crusade.

If any of us want to write what we enjoy, we have to allow others that same freedom. It's always a matter of time before this policing grows to include more and more topics, it's been used multiple times to get well-meaning people who don't fall into the general demographics to police queer, BIPOC, and other marginalized groups off of platforms. We've been fortunate in most of the RPC that it implodes on itself before it gets all the way there, but even so, you can see it.

It starts with things that produce a visceral reaction in the great majority of people, positions this with a repeatedly condemned idea presented as solid fact that fiction is reality, and you've got the start of something awful. Today it's something you don't like, maybe even something that triggers you, so you either support it or you quietly allow it to happen. Who needs to write that "freak shit" anyway, can't they just be gross privately? Six months from now, it's something "problematic" that you enjoy like violence that's canon-typical for your muse, or your OTP because they're gay and that's fetishizing, they're cis male and female but one or both is bi and that's bad representation, or they canonically have a rocky relationship so that's romanticizing toxic/abusive relationships.

If you can't care for any other reason, you really should care about how it is going to impact you sooner or later. In an environment like this, you can stay in your space, put warnings on your blog, and tag properly and you're still going to get a callout if the wrong person finds your blog. Just takes a single person with more time, energy, and skewed ideas of justice than they have reading comprehension or common sense.

Again, I cannot encourage people enough to give warnings, but it's difficult to ignore why those warnings are slipping; they're a way to be found, designated as a Problem, and called out. Look, it's another reason why callouts actually make things worse, not better! People put that shit in their rules so you can avoid content, they're being responsible and interested in promoting a safe RPC. Let them do it, damn.

You can't tag everything, and if you've never experienced what a giant series of repetitive tags is like on a screenreader you probably should before you tag seven paragraphs of possible issues. You can tag for visuals, you can tag for the obvious things, and you can tag for what's in the rules you agreed to when you followed/followed back. But you should also warn people that you write "dark topics" on the tin, and expand on that in your rules for specific things like graphic violence, toxic relationships, dubon, and addiction.

That's how responsible adults, not over-aged children, make better decisions about their mental health and general comfort. Not by appointing themselves the watchdogs of the damn RPC, here to protect you whether you want to be or not, find that incredibly insulting or not when you're in one of their categories of people who must be protected, by forcibly banning Problematic Everything. Problematic, of course, being entirely in the eye of the content police.

It's fiction. No one and nothing real was harmed. It's great that you are so invested in the fictional world and people that make you happy, but take a fucking big step back into reality. The real people you're harming with your bullshit had every right to peaceably exist. If what they're writing is triggering to you, stay. away. from. it.

Without any coincidence whatsoever, that's how you get from the base-point of Problematic Material to Problematic Mun. Yeah, it's just fiction, it's just RP, but I also took something out of context OOC or was upset by their tone on their own blog or couldn't exercise the minimal adult logic to remove myself from their presence OOC as well. So, now, you've got OOC behavior being added to the callout, if it wasn't already. Everyone is now ableist, transphobic, racist, and a misogynist because it lends that visceral reaction to the callout and ups the game from just being "y'all so gross you aged up a cartoon character to ship" to "this is REAL and it won't be tolerated! OP is actually a pedophile, they told a sexual joke in a discord server with a minor present and I have the receipts!"

What are the most storied callouts in the entire RPC? I'm absolutely certain the same names came to mind no matter what fandoms you're in, and one of them was "Matt." Another was probably "Ares/Snow". They're all successful and keep being brought up out of the closet anytime people are bored enough because their primary punch is the mun themselves being a predatory threat to the community. The mun is verified to be a bad person. Well, of course, that's got to be repeated, it worked. (Even if it did not, at all, work and only made it harder for people to avoid any of these muns.)

Are there people in the RPC who are legitimately a problem? Absolutely, yes. We're all supposed to be adults, however. Part of being an adult is having and acting upon one's agency. If someone is coercing you into things you are not comfortable with, shut it down. If you have difficulties being certain of those situations, run it by a trusted, honest friend or available, impartial source in the RPC for a second opinion. If you can't handle any manner of confrontation, there really are situations in which it's perfectly alright to block someone without any discussion. It's just the internet, you're in control of your space. Own it.

Minors are a whole other can of fucked up worms I'm not even getting into right now except to say that because a minor exists in a space they were told to stay out of does not mean we ban all topics inappropriate for their consumption.

tl;dr: banning shit doesn't work anyway, the whole idea is predicated upon some incredibly problematic takes IRL, and no, there's no justification for it outside of intense personal problems with one's own importance. That energy would be infinitely better spent volunteering one's time to help real people in crisis or after surviving one, or even oneself in developing some healthier approaches and thought patterns.

[damienthepious]

tuesday vibes are Cuddle Sleepily

To Be Inside Your Arms

[ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Sir Damien, Lord Arum, Rilla

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Post-Episode: s02e36-41 Second Citadel - The Battle at World's End, (literally directly post. so like. yeah), Early Relationship, Sleepy Cuddles, Awkwardness, (they're trying), Literal Sleeping Together

Summary: They went somewhere to talk, but that talk is honestly going to have to wait until they aren't so completely drained.

Notes: I've had this idea for a while, to the point where I tried to start it like... five different times. I literally have like Five different half-paragraph openings for this exact pseudo-conversation, and this one FINALLY stuck. They're all... very new at this. Also? Yes, I know we just finished s3 and here I am writing DIRECTLY post s2 content, but consider: I Want To.Title from the song Parallels by Big Thief.

~

Lord Arum brings them somewhere safe, after their duel, after their song. It is a small structure, nearly impossible to distinguish from the plants surrounding it until Arum points it out, pressing on one particular knot in the wall of thick, woven-together vines and prompting a hidden door to swing open for them and reveal a small, cozy sort of space.

Rilla helps Damien out of his armor after they close the door of the little bark-walled hut behind them, and they clean off the worst of the grime, the tears, the mud, the blood. Rilla sets Damien's arm properly, and the lizard pretends not to keep a concerned eye on them as he starts a fire in the clay hearth, putting water to boil for tea. Rilla splints her poor ankle as well, batting Damien's hands away when he tries to help, and when she finishes she sighs with such weariness that it cuts through to Damien's heart.

Arum frowns, then, watching Rilla's face, the purpling shadows beneath her eyes, the slump of her shoulders, and then the monster extinguishes the fire before the water comes to a proper boil.

There is a pause before Rilla notices, which is even more damning evidence of her exhaustion than anything else.

"What, change your mind?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I did, in fact," Arum rumbles, looking away. "We won't be needing the tea to accompany our conversation. There is no productive conversation to be had while the both of you are in such sorry states."

"S-sorry?" Damien manages, his voice going high, and the monster's frown deepens, the frill at his neck raising just slightly, in anger or whatever else Damien does not know.

"You are both injured, and you are both clearly well past exhausted. I would rather hold a conversation with creatures more lucid than the both of you will currently be."

Damien blinks, entirely uncertain what Arum's sharp, uncomfortable tone and his deeply deliberate avoidance of eye contact indicate, but Rilla folds her arms over her chest with something like a smile ghosting across her lips.

"If that's your way of saying that you're worried about us, that's very sweet of you."

Arum growls, still looking away as he pokes at the hearth to ensure that the logs aren't going to reignite. "Don't be absurd," he says quickly, and something in Damien's chest skips at the transparency of the denial.

"Okay," Rilla says soothingly, smiling a little wider. "Right. Entirely selfish reasons, then."

"Entirely," the monster says, still looking away.

"I imagine that you are rather exhausted yourself, Lord Arum," Damien offers.

"Yes, well," Arum straightens, huffing in a way that reminds Damien of a bird ruffling its feathers. "Any day during which one nearly dies or averts an extinction event is bound to be somewhat draining, and each of us have experienced at least one of those two since the sun rose today."

Rilla snorts a laugh, and then- another expression crosses her face, far more serious.

"Thank you, by the way," she says, and Arum immediately winces. "I don't… I don't know that we would've made it out of there, if you didn't tell me... just, thank you." He turns towards her with a rising snarl, but Rilla's smile is awkward and uncertain, and the sight of it makes the angry rattle in Arum's throat stutter off.

He swallows, and then looks away again, his tail flicking. "Don't... don't thank me for- for giving you a chance to clean up the mess that I made, Amaryllis," he mutters, and then he shakes his head as she opens her mouth to retort. "And this is- precisely what I meant. We can argue over culpability and injury and morality in the morning, if you have not changed your minds by then, takatakataka."

Rilla scowls more deeply as Damien considers Arum's phrasing, noting that the lizard only suggested that they might change their minds. Apparently, Arum does not imagine that his own feelings are in danger of any such shift.

"Fine," Rilla relents, "fine, fine. Okay. Sleep, then. Is there a bedroom tucked in here or are we just gonna pile up on the floor?"

Arum turns with a grumble, presses a hand against a wide leaf that Damien assumed was simply part of the wall, and the flora swings aside, showing another smaller room.

Rilla grabs Damien's uninjured arm as she passes him, pulling them both along together to follow the lizard.

"Okay?" she murmurs, her eyes cautious, and Damien's heart aches again with fondness, with appreciation, and he squeezes her hand in return.

Arum pretends not to hear them, reaching to light a small lantern with a flick of the wrist (Damien is unsure, precisely, if the monster is using some magic, or if he is simply deft with some small tool Damien cannot see) and then turning to frown in the vague direction of their clasped hands.

"I suppose this will have to do, for the moment," he says, and Damien struggles to bury a smile.

The bed is- not exactly a bed. It appears to be as much grown as the rest of the structure, low to the ground, woven from soft living leaves, with a silk sheet puddled unceremoniously across the bottom half. Damien sags at the sight regardless, his body preemptively relieved at the mere idea of rest, and beside him Rilla exhales an entire lungful of exhaustion herself.

Arum's lip twitches, almost a smile, and then he gestures towards the bed. "I suppose I should... leave you to it, then." He pauses, flicks his tongue in the air as two of his hands brush at his cape and the other two fold stiffly behind his back. "Sleep... sleep well."

Damien's heart twists, sinks, and when Arum glances back towards him again he realizes that he must have made some small, unhappy noise. Rilla squeezes his hand again, more gently.

"Unless you would prefer I stay," the monster says quickly, and then he glances away. "This part of the swamp is not particularly dangerous, but of course I would understand if you should require a- a show of good faith, or-"

"I'd just rather have you here," Rilla says, and the monster snaps his mouth shut.

"I... yes," Damien agrees, his voice feeling small. "I know it has been rather too full a day to finish with a... a negotiation of our positions, together, but- but at the very least, I think, we have agreed that we- we would like to try. To try to- to be, together. If it would not trouble you to-"

"I did not wish to press past your own comfort." Arum winces, makes a rumbling noise in his chest with his frill fluttering, and then he takes another step closer. "That's all. If this... if you do not mind my presence-"

"Oh for Saints' sake," Rilla mutters, and then she simply turns and tips herself over like a falling tree, bouncing to land on the bed with a heavy sigh. "C'mon, already," she says, her eyes already closed as she scrabbles with a hand to snatch the sheet and pull it closer. "Whole point is that we're fucking exhausted, and I'm too tired to pretend that I don't want the both of you where I can reach you, even if we haven't put words on it yet."

Damien's heart swells, Rilla's breathy, lazy, slipping-towards-sleep voice so familiar and safe, even in such a strange place. Arum takes another step closer with a small laugh, his frill settling and his own eyes full of something that Damien recognizes after a moment as fondness. Damien bites his lip, as if that will do anything at all to stifle the size of his emotions, and then he reaches a hand out to help Rilla untangle the sheet.

She grabs his wrist and pulls, though, and Damien doesn't have the presence of mind (or the inclination, truly) to resist, and he stumbles sideways to collapse beside Rilla, yelping as he goes. Rilla mutters wordlessly, tugging Damien closer with one hand and pressing her head into his shoulder, and Damien could not suppress his smile for the whole of the world as he curls his arms around her, settling helplessly against the softness of the bed.

He glances up, over Rilla's shoulder, and Arum-

The amount of desire in Arum's vivid, violet eyes knocks the breath from Damien's lungs. He stares down at them, his hands still fisted tight in the fabric of his cape, his frame held so carefully still, and then as Damien catches his gaze he exhales a breath, his tongue flicking in the air.

Rilla makes another grumbling noise, stretching her other arm - the one not clinging to Damien's back - out across the bed, in the vague direction of Lord Arum, though her eyes do not open again. Damien laughs lightly, and then he meets Arum's eyes again.

Arum hesitates, frill fluttering again, but then Rilla makes another, slightly angrier noise, and Damien draws his hands soothingly down her back with another breath of laughter.

"I very much doubt she will let either of us rest, Lord Arum, unless you come join us," he says, keeping his tone teasing and light, and Arum laughs as well.

"She is... rather stubborn," the monster mutters, fond again, and Rilla finally cracks an eye open to glare at him. "Alright," he shakes his head, "alright."

He follows the grasping direction of Rilla's other hand, slipping onto the bed on the side opposite Damien and letting her draw her palm down his bicep, down his forearm before she grips his scaled hand and squeezes with a contented sigh, finally settling against the softness beneath them.

"Better?" Damien murmurs, his lips close beside Rilla's temple, and she sighs again, nodding slightly.

"Stubborn," Arum murmurs again, draping himself out on the bed beside Rilla, but when he leaves a careful degree of space between them, Rilla rolls closer. She presses her cheek against his shoulder, then tugs his hand to settle over her heart with an impatient huff. "Amaryllis-"

"Shush. We're sleeping. Want you closer. Manage feelings in the morning."

Arum glances over her head with a raised eyebrow, and Damien smiles helplessly, and then he- he decides that Rilla is right. He shifts closer as well, folding himself along Rilla's back and wrapping an arm around her so he may do as he wishes, and curl his hand around Rilla and Arum's own, clasped by her collarbone.

Arum exhales, shaky with a hint of a rattle at the back of his throat. "Ridiculous," he mutters unconvincingly, and then with his free hand he reaches and tugs up the sheet, arranging it to rest properly over all three of them before he settles.

It feels... easy, Damien realizes with some surprise. The complication, the tangled web woven between all of them, the friction and lack of understanding and the fear (or worry, at the very least); it will all return with the morning, Damien suspects.

Right now, though. Right now, in this moment, in the haze of exhaustion but with the assurance that they are all three of them together, whole, and safe, finally safe- that they are willing to look each other in the eye and speak their hearts, that they may rest upon each other, may tangle their hands between them-

It feels easy, to brush his thumb across Rilla and Arum's knuckles, twined together. It feels easy to let the weariness carry him deeper, closer to slumber, tucked warm beside his forever-flower and Lord Arum.

With time, Damien thinks, and with patience, perhaps they might make all of the troubles between them feel easy, as well.

[katierosefun]

Heyy, just wanted to say I LOVE your stories (and all you headcanons and tags hehe) I'm new here and wanted to ask how and when you started writing fanfiction for star wars and if you have any tips 😊

hello! thank you for the kind words :’) and of course, welcome!! 

so if we want to get really technical about things, i started writing star wars fic like,,,,waaaay back in 2013, and i kinda cringe a little when i think of those fics now because lol i was thirteen years old then--and i wrote for a little while until maybe 2016-ish? and then took a break because of mental health things, and then got back into writing fic in the past year and a half or so! 

as for the how, i wanted to write star wars fic mostly because as a thirteen year old, i was devastated by the season five finale (back then, that was when the show just got cancelled and the season five finale was the only series finale we were gonna get!), and i just kinda wanted to write all these stories about the tcw fam actually being happy. filling in the gaps and all. (lol considering how my gut reaction to the tcw season seven finale was also to write as much fic as possible, i can safely say that some things just don’t change.) 

as for tips! i got a little into writing gen fic specifically here, but as for writing fic in general: (and under the cut because i,,,as usual, went off for a while.)

1. rewatch/reread source material! this is something i usually do when i’m trying to refresh my memory on a certain episode--i won’t watch through the whole thing, sometimes i’ll just kind of jump around, but i like to get some quick look back into the source stuff to put myself in the right headspace to explore how to extend/expand the story somehow. 

of course, if you’re writing something that’s an AU then you don’t really have to worry about this, but!! rewatching the source can also just be super helpful when you’re trying to characterize properly/try to get a feel for what the characters’ voices are like. 

2. wookiepedia is your  best friend, but if you don’t have enough info on something, either search through fanon star wars meta or!! just make up something on your own! like, i cannot tell you the amount of times i’ve wanted to tear my hair out because i couldn’t find enough information on x or if i had to stop and be like “wait, but does star wars even have y??” sometimes, wookiepedia is helpful for providing those answers, and other times, blogs like @gffa really provides a big, broad look at all the stuff in star wars, and her blog kinda runs like wookiepedia itself, so i can guarantee that you’ll find some useful stuff if you’re ever kind of lost about what certain jedi customs/culture or in general, what different cultures were like in the galaxy far, far away. 

but also, as i’ve mentioned, i think it’s okay to just kinda ignore the technical stuff and just make something up in star wars as you go along. you don’t like that glass in star wars is called transparisteel? then use glass. you’re not sure if star wars even celebrates the new year? screw it, why not? you’re the writer--you get creative license!

3. there is no such thing as “too much” of one trope. so, idk if you might struggle with this, but just in case you do--sometimes, fic writers will hit a wall and be like “no i can’t post this because so many people have already written about this/used this trope/etc.” to that, i say pffft, nah. there’s a post floating around here on tumblr about a cake analogy and how like,,,to you, you might have just brought another cake to a party with already so many cakes, and you might feel kinda embarrassed about that, but to the large majority of people? all they see is more cake, and who doesn’t love more cake? 

what i’m basically trying to get at here is!! write whatever you want and don’t worry about if someone’s already done it, because everyone in fandom lives to see their favorite storylines expanded over and over and over again/everyone lives to see their favorite tropes used over and over and over again. fic is wonderful for that very reason, and you shouldn’t deprive yourself of enjoying that. 

4. this might seem kinda trivial, but spellcheck and formatting is...mostly important. the unfortunate thing about fic is that sometimes people will click out the second they see a huge block of text like so: 

“this is just a practice run,” i say as i start this paragrah. i don’t really know what i’m writing about but this is an example, and i know that this is probably going to look really, really ugly on the screen but here we go oh the things i do for explaining fic i already know that this has gone long enough but who is to stop me you know? wait no i haven’t made any spelling errors yet to prove my point so okay let me think of a common spelling error i can’t think of any right now but hm let’s see i will causally say that i have made a spelling error. oh look! i have made a spelling error (well, not a spelling error, more like a mix-up of words) because you can tell that instead of writing casually which would be more correct i wrote causally and those two are very different things. but there are other spelling errors that can sometimes be a turn-off for readers like when they notice that the k in kenobi isn’t capitilized and once or twice that’s all fine and most people will overlook that, but if you do that consistently then most people will be turned off and click into another fic and oh dear it seems that i am actually explaining things so i guess that means i should stop with this ugly paragraph and actually move forward. “move on!” i shout to myself now. (and just pretend that something like this continues for a good two or three pages.)

do you see how ugly that is? it’s an eye-strain to most people when they read, and you can write the most beautiful fic in the world, but if the formatting and the spelling is off, then most people will move to a different fic. (which is, again, unfortunate, especially for younger and newer writers, but! ‘tis a thing that comes with fic.) 

5. have fun! don’t get yourself caught up with appealing to the crowd. write what you want to write first and foremost, because at the end of the day, it’s you who’s putting in the work and the effort to craft a story, and if you’re about to invest your time and energy into anything in your free time, then it should be something that brings you at least some joy and comfort. so go on and write, and keep writing if you enjoy it! no one can take that away from you. 

hope that all helps!! 

[duchesschameleon]

what if - chapter 4

summary: a long lost letter leads to an adventure in Italy for three people who find love and healing along the way. a letters to juliet au

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader words: 1841 a/n: alright, getting into some of the meat of the story! this one is longer and the original chapter 4 was so long I broke it up so now there is a planned nine chapters for this fic. chapter 5 is written and will be queued up for sunday’s post, but as my parents are visiting, chapter 6 might be delayed. I’ll try my best not to but no promises. a huge thank you to @qvid-pro-qvo​ for the beta!

what if masterlist

The next day, there’s less tension between you and Aaron. He’s more amenable to talking to you and even smiles at you in the rearview mirror of the car. There’s a smile on your face as you write in your notebook, keeping track of the Carolyn’s you visit and adding to your story. The radio’s on and once Dave had found a station he liked, he forbade Aaron from changing it. Not that he’s listening to the music. He talks over the music, filling the car with stories from his summer spent with Carolyn, the afternoons they spent together in the fields and the nights spent walking through the trees in the moonlight.

You smile wistfully as you listen to the adventures - and troubles - Dave and Carolyn had gotten into. Aaron even quirks his lips in a ghost of a smile. It’s a small thing, something you would have missed a few days ago but now find yourself noticing it. Even catching his eyes a few times in the rearview mirror.

So far, the Carolyn’s are proving to be a bust, no one Dave recognizes. The map you’d marked up with all their locations is spread out on the hood of the car and you and Aaron are leaning over it, trying to agree on where to go next.

“That one’s isolated! If we go there, we’re done for the day,” you argue.

“Exactly. One more for the day and then back to the hotel,” Aaron says, crossing his arms over his chest. You shake your head at him, trying to avoid looking at his forearms. The bands of muscles spanning his forearms are flexed and on display in his polo shirt, they keep catching your eye and you just turn back to the map.

“It’s early afternoon. We cannot just visit one more Carolyn, even with driving time that’s leaving too much on the table.”

“We’ll get those two tomorrow morning, they head out towards some of the others,” Aaron points out. You scrunch your eyebrows, bending closer to the map.

Shit, he’s right. You sigh and stand up. “Fine, we’ll do one more today.” Aaron just quirks his lips into one of his smiles,  and you huff out a breath and fold up the map. Dave chuckles as he watches the two of you, Aaron smirking as he puts his sunglasses back on and you grumbling.

Choosing to visit only one more Carolyn Bartolini turns out to be a smart idea for many reasons. The one on the way back to Siena takes a bit to find. Since it turns out to not be a simple house, but a whole estate. There’s a winding drive to the large house that is surrounded by land, hosting gardens and crops.

“Look at that, Dave,” Aaron says, looking around as he drives down towards the house, “you may have gone from a girl who worked in the fields to a woman who owns them. And you got to skip all the messy bits in the middle.”

“Life is the messy bits,” Dave scoffs, hitting Aaron on the shoulder. Aaron clears his throat, looking a little sheepish and you smile softly, silently agreeing with Dave. The messy bits, the adventures, they made life interesting. You look out the window, heart squeezing with the missing presence of your partner.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts as the car turns off, shaking your head and taking a steadying breath. You and Aaron trail behind Dave, letting him do the talking. The person who answers the door beckons the three of you inside, leading you towards the garden and Carolyn. The garden is lush and gorgeous, filled with flowers and perfectly trimmed hedges. You walk along the hedges, letting Dave and Carolyn talk. You can overhear their conversation, talking about that summer Dave spent in Italy and Carolyn answering his questions, but you can tell that this isn’t the right Carolyn. Her answers aren’t right, not specific enough, and you can hear the disappointment seeping into Dave’s voice. But Carolyn keeps talking and responding, obviously trying to impress Dave.

You make your way back towards where Aaron is standing and cross your arms over your chest. Dave’s words from the car are still rattling around in your head and pulling your thoughts towards your partner, the messy bits of life you’d shared and the adventures you’d promised to share. You turn your attention to where Carolyn is fawning over a melancholy looking Dave, trying to impress him. It's not an unfamiliar scene at this point, Dave can apparently charm any woman, even if she’s not the one he’s looking for.

“I wish I was your Carolyn, I would have enjoyed a life with you,” she’s telling Dave as they walk over to you and Aaron, “but I also would not have let you go in the first place.” Dave smiles at her and you all say goodbye.

As you walk back to the car, step in step with Dave, you smile and ask, “What is it with you and Italian women? They just fall at your feet.” Dave chuckles and you catch Aaron’s quirk of a smile, happy you managed to make both men happy for a moment.

By the time you get back to the hotel, all three of you are exhausted. Aaron walks with Dave to his room, wanting to make sure he’s alright and bring him anything he might need. You head back to your room alone, already planning on spending the evening writing. There’s a good amount in your notebook and you want to start getting it into a document. You might even reach back out to your old boss, talk about coming back to work in a different capacity once you return to New York and feel ready.

You settle at the desk in your room, laptop out and booting up, and feel yourself get pulled into the rhythm of writing an article. The notes and thoughts in your notebook aren’t terrible, but polishing them into a more cohesive story fills your evening and you look up at one point for a break and realize it’s nearly dinner time. There’s a simple room service menu you order from before sitting back down in front of your laptop to continue working. The knock on the door announcing the arrival of your food pulls you from your trance. As the hotel employee wheels the cart out of your room, you hear a knock on the doorframe.

Aaron’s voice is calling your name and when you peak your head around the wall to the door, you see him holding the door open. “Oh, come in,” you tell him, standing up from the desk chair.

“Well, I was going to ask you if you wanted to get dinner, but you seem to already have that figured out,” Aaron points out.

“Yeah, I’ve been working on the story and didn’t want to stop so-”

“Can I read it?”

You blink at him. “Uh. No, not yet. It’s not ready.”

 Aaron takes a step towards you. “Come on, just a little bit. I want to make sure you’re telling the story right. That I’m being portrayed accurately.”

“Trust me, you’re being portrayed accurately. No worries there.”

Aaron huffs out a breath and shoves his hands into his pockets, raising his eyebrows at you. “Oh really?”

“Yes, really,” you laugh. You push off from the desk and grab Aaron by the shoulders, turning him towards the door. “Now leave me be so I can work in peace.”

He says your name, almost in a whine and you roll your eyes, opening the door. “Out. Goodnight Aaron.”

“Just one paragraph, please,” he protests as you shove him out of your room.

“Goodnight Aaron,” you say with a tone of finality.

“Goodnight,” he says, the door swinging shut in his face. You settle back in at the desk, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. 

The next morning, you search the patio for Aaron and Dave. They tend to beat you to breakfast and you figure today is no different. But you can’t find them anywhere so you simply grab yourself some food and sit at a table, facing the entrance to the breakfast area. You keep an eye out for them as you fix yourself a cup of coffee and pick at the pastry you’d gotten, pouring over your notebook.

“Ah, good morning.” You look up to see Aaron standing by the table. You smile, tapping your pen against your cheek.

“Morning,” you say as he sits down. There’s a comfortable silence as Aaron pours himself coffee and you concentrate on your notebook. It's still just the two of you at the table after a few minutes. “Where’s Dave?” you ask, eyes still scanning the pages of your notebook.

“He said he wanted to sleep in today.”

Your head snaps up and you look at Aaron. “Is he okay?” You can hear the slight panic in your voice, mind already racing with where the closest pharmacy is and what could possibly be wrong.

Aaron says your name, eyes locking on yours and cutting through your worry. “He’s fine, just tired,” he assures you. You let out a breath, nodding. “So he’s going to lie in for the morning. I was thinking about, uh, going into Siena and seeing the sights. Since we’re here you know.” He shrugs, glancing over to you.

“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea.” You turn back to your notebook, plans for working on your story filling your thoughts. Aaron lets out a soft scoff and you look up at him, confused. “What, it is a good idea! You should go explore. I’ll stay here and work on my story.”

Aaron looks out towards the city, his thumb running over his other fingers, nerves coursing through him. “Right, work on your story,” he mutters. “Of course.”

You look up at him, taking in his pose, how tense he looks. Quickly, you glance at your notebook and think it over in your head. You’d gotten a lot of work done the night before, the story was coming together quite nicely. Taking time away from it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. And the way Aaron’s holding himself, the way he was talking, it’s almost as if he wants you to come with him. You shake that thought, thinking of how callous and rude he’s been to you this entire trip, how dismissive he was of the entire plan to find Carolyn. But, you are here in Siena. Adventures in Italy, you hear your partner whisper, as if their voice had been carried by the breeze.

You sigh and place your pen in between the pages of your notebook, saving your place. “Since we’re here,” you say grabbing Aaron’s attention, “we might as well explore.” He flashes you one of his small smiles and you return it, before putting your notebook in your bag and standing up. “C’mon Aaron, show me the sights.”

taglist: @qvid-pro-qvo​ @averyhotchner​ @kelstark​ @hurricanejjareau​ @oreogutz​ @whentheautumnleavesfall​ 

[patchworkofstars]

How (Not) to Meet Your Soulmate

Read on AO3

Relationships: Prinxiety and Logicality

Words: 4,082

Synopsis: It's moving-in day at college, and soulmates Logan and Patton are looking forward to finally meeting in person after years of writing each other messages on their skin. Their friends Roman and Virgil, however, just can't seem to do things the easy way!

** Thanks to: **

@lovelylogans​ for the Secret Santa wishes that inspired this fic in the first place

@metaphoricalpluto​ for helping me brainstorm ideas, listening to me rant, and generally being an awesome and supportive bean

@painfullybisexual for going above and beyond in helping me understand how US colleges work

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

“How”, complains Roman, “Is anyone meant to fit all their outfits into a shoebox like that?” He waves a frustrated arm at the tiny closet the college has provided, then glares at the three cases worth of clothes on his bed. The pile steadfastly fails to reduce.

“I managed it okay!” the room’s other occupant points out cheerfully, smiling over from where he’s pinning photographs of family, friends, and various cute animals haphazardly onto a cork notice board.

“I meant anyone fashionable", Roman amends, flashing his childhood friend and now roommate a grin to show he means no malice.

Patton giggles, reaching to pin another photo, then drops it with a sudden squeal. Grabbing a bright blue pen from his desk, he flings himself joyfully onto his bed, all else temporarily forgotten in favour of the neat indigo text rapidly appearing on his arm.

Roman rolls his eyes. “What time is your date with Logan?” he asks, once Patton has finished replying to his soulmate and flopped back onto his bed with a contented sigh.

“Four o’clock, at the fountain in the main quad”, Patton says, a dreamy look in his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m finally going to meet him face to face!”

“Yes...” Roman busies himself cramming yet more outfits onto the already overstuffed rail in his closet, while studiously avoiding looking at his own, conspicuously bare arm.

“Have you arranged when you’re gonna meet Virgil yet?” The question was inevitable; it’s not Patton’s fault that Roman was hoping not to hear it.

Roman pauses in the act of hanging up a prince costume he's sure he'll find an essential use for at some point. "We're thinking of meeting tomorrow instead", he replies, keeping his tone light. "Virgil's stressed about moving in and navigating the new place, even with Logan around, and we figured after all these years we can survive another day apart."

“You don’t mind waiting?” Patton sits up, frowning, and Roman tries not to squirm under his gaze.

He grimaces. “Well, okay, I'm not thrilled about it, but I want to do what’s best for Virgil. And besides, now we’re on the same campus, there’s a chance fate might intervene.” He presses his hands to his chest, his expression morphing into the smile of an incurable daydreamer. “An encounter of destiny, unplanned, between two souls bound to each other! Doesn’t that sound so much more exciting than something planned?”

“Well, as long as it’s what you guys both want!” Patton smiles, uncapping his pen once more and drawing a heart on his arm. As soon as Roman turns away to continue unpacking, he bites his lip. Beginning a new message to Logan, he thanks the universe, not for the first time, that his soulmate and Roman’s are best friends too.

~~*~~*~~*~~

Logan finished unpacking over an hour ago, taking pleasure in carefully organising his small selection of semi-formal clothes and his more extensive collection of books. Now, he sits relaxing at his desk, reading information about the college in between messages too and from Patton.

Reaching the end of a paragraph, he glances once more at his left arm and notices a new stretch of blue ink dancing its way into being across the skin. He frowns thoughtfully as he reads the words. Hmm…

He looks over to where Virgil is lying back on his bed, surrounded by messy heaps of his unpacked belongings. His eyes are closed and he's listening to music on his headphones, shutting out the chaos and unfamiliarity of his surroundings. Still, Logan knows that exclusion doesn't extend to himself. They've been friends since middle school, and the neurodiversity that brought them together has given them a shared need for space and stability. Virgil finds organising his room a trial, so, on Logan's advice, he's pacing himself. First, he unpacked by dumping everything out of his bags, and now he's taking a break before tackling the more substantial chore of organising it all for the year ahead.

Watching Virgil twitch slightly to the beat of the music, Logan considers. Patton's concern is a reasonable one. Logan was surprised himself by Virgil's reluctance to meet Roman, and while he didn't press the issue at the time, his soulmate has offered a different perspective. Perhaps some subtle investigating is in order after all.

“Virgil”, he begins, to get his roommate’s attention, “Why are you delaying meeting Roman? I realise you find the prospect of meeting new people a stressful one, but surely you cannot consider Roman a stranger after so many years of communication with him?”

Virgil grimaces, opening his eyes and rolling over to face Logan. “Take a wild guess”, he grunts. “I’m putting it off because I know he’s gonna be disappointed. I’ve been able to make him think I’m cool and edgy in writing, but that won’t last two minutes in person when I don’t have all that extra time to think about what to say.”

Logan frowns. “I have never read any reputable reports of people being disappointed when meeting their soulmates. On the contrary, most studies have found a remarkable degree of compatibility between even those with markedly different personalities.”

“Tell that to my anxiety, L.” Virgil sighs, propping himself up onto an elbow. “It’s just a massive step, you know? Feels like too much to handle on the same day as moving in here.”

“Entirely reasonable.” Logan gives what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “It was not my intention to pressure you into meeting sooner. Still, I want you to know I am confident that when you do meet Roman, you will find him happy to accept every side of you, even the ones you struggle to accept yourself.”

“Maybe.” Virgil clearly isn’t convinced, but Logan decides to drop the topic for now. If he’s still refusing to meet Roman tomorrow, they can discuss the issue further then.

He glances at his watch. "I need to leave soon for my planned meeting with Patton. Will you be okay without me?"

“Already?” Virgil groans, flopping onto his back once more.

“We arranged to meet an hour before the new students' assembly to give us ample time for conversation." He hesitates, trying not to sound reluctant as he adds, "If you need to come with me, I am sure Patton will understand."

Virgil shudders. “Hell no, I don’t wanna watch you being sappy and weird. I’ll be okay. Probably turn my music up and kill time by organising some of my stuff.”

Logan nods. “A sensible idea.” Picking up his bag, he checks he has everything he wants to take with him, then takes a deep breath. “I will see you later. Please send me a text if you need me. I may not see it immediately, but I will be sure to check periodically in case.”

Hand on the door handle, he freezes abruptly as an unexpected wave of nervous adrenaline hits him. Distantly, he’s aware of Virgil asking if he’s okay, and he nods despite the way his heart is hammering in his chest. “Text me if you need me”, he repeats, the words a mantra of friendship. Then the handle turns, and he is on his way.

~~*~~*~~*~~ 

It’s 3:55 when Logan arrives at the fountain, his usual precise punctuality waved in the hope of seeing Patton's. He sits down on the curved stone seat, hands gripping the concrete to still their shaking as he scans the crowds moving around him. The walk across campus has helped to clear the nervous fog from his mind, but the way his heart is pounding, a less scientific thinker would say it was trying to escape his chest.

Wrapped up in these thoughts, he doesn’t notice Patton until the man is six yards away, his long stride rapidly closing that distance. Logan freezes, his heart continuing its thudding beat but somehow doubling the rate, and he has to force himself to breathe. He stands on shaking legs, his eyes fixed irresistibly on the figure now standing before him.

Patton beams down, all tan skin and cotton candy sweater. “Logan?” he asks breathlessly, and Logan’s head nods mechanically as he stares.

Patton's smile somehow widens even further, and he shakes his hands at his sides as if needing to expend some of his boundless excited energy. "I'm so happy to finally meet you! Face to face, I mean! Is it okay if I shake your hand? It sounds silly, but I kinda need to touch you so that I'll know you're really real!"

Something in Logan’s chest relaxes, letting him breathe more easily at last. “I assure you I am no illusion”, he says, smiling as he holds out his left hand.

Patton stares at it, then giggles, and Logan suddenly understands the metaphor of being hit by Cupid’s arrow.

“I forgot we’re opposite-handed!" Patton explains, holding out his own left hand to shake Logan’s eagerly. “I mean, I knew, obviously, but it’s somehow different seeing it in person. Like, now I really know, you know?”

"Indeed, observing for oneself is generally more impactful than hearing information secondhand.” Logan smiles up at him. “You are taller than I expected. For some reason, I assumed you would be approximately my height or shorter, although I now realise that was irrational of me."

Does he sound silly? Perhaps, but he’s unexpectedly overwhelmed by the feelings Patton is eliciting in him. They’ve been having written conversations ever since their soul connection formed, and over time a friendly intimacy has developed between them. Several years have passed since he became aware of the warm sensation thoughts of Patton bring to his chest.

But now, having the man standing before him, seeing his brown eyes sparkling with joy and excitement and the affection in his smile... Hearing his voice and the soft lilt of his accent... Logan has never felt so much all at once before, and it's sending his usually tidy thoughts swirling and scattering like papers in a sudden breeze.

Patton laughs, and the sound shoots another arrow of giddy heat into Logan's chest. "Guess we never thought to tell each other our heights, huh? I'm kinda glad I'm taller than you, though, wanna know why?"

“Why is that?” Logan asks, dazed.

Patton beams at him. "'Cause it means I can wrap you up in a great big hug like I've always wanted to! If you're okay with it, that is?"

Logan nods emphatically, finding his expansive vocabulary buried beneath the sudden lump in his throat. As Patton wraps strong arms around him and rests a warm cheek on his hair, his eyes prickle with what he’s confused to realise are tears. The sensation is so rare, it takes a moment for him to connect them to the glow of happiness spreading through him. With a contented sigh, he raises his own arms to hug Patton back, settling comfortably into his embrace.

~~*~~*~~*~~ 

Virgil sits on the edge of his bed, frantically bouncing one knee as he wonders if he should set out alone to the assembly. Deep in his spiralling thoughts, he startles hard when his phone buzzes with a text from Logan.

“Salutations,

Would it be possible for you to make your way to the event without me? I realise it may be selfish, but I am keen to spend as much time as possible getting to know Patton better. You are welcome to sit with us if we encounter you when we get there.

- Logan”.

Dammit. It’s what Virgil was expecting, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy about it. He hates both crowds and formal events, and the thought of walking into this combination alone causes bitter dread to pool in the pit of his stomach. Plus, going without Logan means he’s almost guaranteed to end up sitting next to total strangers. He shudders.

Still, he refuses to make Logan worry. Firing back a quick “I’ll be okay”, he puts his earphones in and tries to lose himself in the music as he makes his way across campus to the venue.

Head down, eyes fixed on the ground a foot ahead of him, he tries to forget just how many people are heading the same way he is. As he approaches the hall, he becomes vaguely aware of a loud voice talking nearby. The small part of his mind paying attention concludes it's a telephone conversation, since only one side can be heard.

“But you can’t just abandon me to sit on my own!” the voice wails. “What will people think?! Yes, I’m sure he is handsome and smart and wonderful, but bros before souls, that’s what I always say. Well, okay, maybe I’ve never said it before, but I’m saying it now! Yes, I know, I can hear him. You're right, his accent is cute. I can’t wait to hear my soulmate's- OUCH!!"

A flailing arm thuds into Virgil, who is nearly thrown off balance by the shock of the impact. He looks up, glaring daggers, to find the loudmouth scowling back with equal fury.

“Watch where you’re going, clod!” the overdressed stranger rants.

“Same to you, watch where you’re flinging your arms!”

"I'm having an important conversation-"

“What’s the point in waving your arms around when the person on the phone can’t even-”

They're interrupted by an official-sounding voice ringing out over a tannoy, reminding everyone that the assembly will begin soon and they should hurry inside and find seats.

The disparate parts of the crowd begin to converge, pushing into the hall, and Virgil and the loud stranger are carried along side by side in the flow. They find themselves pushed together to sit on the end of a row of chairs, and although Virgil is still annoyed, he takes some relief at having the aisle seat.

“How did I get stuck next to the emo nightmare?" he hears his neighbour grumble under his breath.

“Karma for being a nightmare yourself”, Virgil mutters, and the stranger at least has the decency to blush.

Their bickering might have continued indefinitely, but at that moment the MC steps up to the microphone to begin their welcome, and an unspoken truce descends.

*****

When at last it's over, Virgil sits back in his chair and sighs wearily. "That was even more boring than I thought it would be", he remarks to no one in particular.

Of course, the stranger beside him responds as though it were directed at him. “I’m surprised you heard any of it with your earphones in the whole time. I could hear your music all the way through!”

Virgil turns and raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? Well, maybe you wouldn't have if you hadn't been leaning over so close to me. You were practically on my lap!"

The stranger huffs, glaring back at him. “It’s not like I had a choice! It was the only way I could see past that mountain of a guy in front of me!”

“Well, sorry I didn’t realise you were so keen for a good view of some guy standing talking.” Virgil scowls. “So you could hear my music, huh? Is that why you kept tapping your fingers on your knee? Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“I didn’t realise you were paying so much attention to my legs! And besides, I defy anyone not to tap their fingers along to Panic! At The Disco!”

“Wait, you recognised it?” Virgil frowns at the thoroughly preppy-looking guy next to him. “I wasn’t exactly the mainstream stuff. I didn’t take you for an emo.”

“If you must know, my soulmate's an emo, and he introduced me to them. I might not share all his tastes, but as a theatre kid, I always appreciate theatrical flair."

Oh right, soulmates are a thing. Virgil gives a grunt that could mean anything, turning his attention away from the stranger's continued rambling. He watches as more and more individuals and groups make their way to the exits. All the freshmen are meant to be here, which means Roman must be somewhere amongst them. For the first time, he almost regrets never asking for a photograph or more detailed physical description. But he always feared Roman would expect the same from him in return, and then be disappointed or put off by his ever-present hoodie and black eye shadow.

It doesn’t help that the vague description he’s been given of “Tall, with brown hair and blue eyes”, could fit far too many of the students here, including the one tapping a foot and making impatient noises beside him.

With a sigh, Virgil stands up, switching his music back on and turning up the volume as he waits for a gap in the flow of bodies. As soon as one appears, he steps into it, letting himself be absorbed and carried away towards the door. As he moves away, he’s distantly aware of his former seat-mate speaking, but he’s too stressed, too busy trying to blot out the strangers surrounding him to think of looking back.

~~*~~*~~*~~

Roman sighs, flopping dramatically backwards onto his bed. It's been a long day, and he wants to relax, but his mind buzzes restlessly with frustration.

Patton sent a text to say he’ll be getting dinner at the dining hall with Logan, and while he did say Roman was welcome to join them, Roman has no desire to play third wheel, thank you very much. Besides which, he can't shake the petty resentment that his hopes of a destiny-driven encounter with Virgil have apparently been dashed. Instead, he got stuck with some other emo, who, while admittedly very cute, had the cheek, the absolute bare-faced audacity to zone out while Roman was speaking to him and then walk away without even a goodbye!

With a huff, Roman rolls over and glares at the time. It’s 7:15 pm, earlier than his and Virgil’s usual chat time, but he needs to feel connected to his soulmate right now. With a surge of misery, he realises he’s lonely, as well as more envious of Patton and Logan than he’d like to admit.

Fumbling in a pocket, he pulls out the red glitter gel pen he reserves for soul-to-soul talks, and writes “Hey, stormcloud, are you free?” on his left arm.

After a few moments, a spidery dark purple reply writes itself onto his right arm. “Yeah, wanna talk now?”

"Patton's off with Logan, and I need to vent!" He underlines "vent" three times, as emphatic in writing as he would be out loud.

“Is that all I am to you? A listening arm?” It’s followed by their own version of a “:P”, to show that Virgil is joking.

“Of course not, my shadowling! But I’ve had the most boring day, and I'm lonely~".

“Yeah yeah, Logan’s ditched me too, remember? Did you make it to the assembly? I looked for you”.

Roman groans, then does his best to reproduce the sound in writing. “Uggghhh, I did, and I got stuck next to the most annoying guy ever!”

“Hah! Can’t have, because the most annoying guy was sitting next to me. He kept fidgeting and getting in my space through the whole thing”.

Roman grins, standing up and moving to the sink, where he rinses the red ink from his arm to make space for more, Virgil must have the same idea, because a moment later the purple text begins erasing itself too.

“I wish I could’ve sat with you”, he writes, as soon as his arm is dry.

“Same”. There’s a pause, and then, “Kinda regret not meeting you today”.

Roman stares at the words, running his left hand unconsciously through his hair. Destiny might have denied him a chance first meeting, but if Virgil has changed his mind, there’s no reason for them to hold back any longer. Decision made, he uncaps his pen and writes “Want to meet now?” before he can lose his nerve.

The seconds tick by with no response, not a drop of purple ink appearing, and he begins to worry he’s misjudged Virgil’s feelings. Then, at last, three letters appear, small but undeniable:

“Yes”.

“Yes!!” Roman echoes in a yell to the empty room, leaping up and grabbing his jacket from the back of his desk chair. Then he hesitates, sitting back down on the edge of the bed as he realises he doesn’t know where Virgil’s room is. Or even if he’s there, for that matter.

Besides which, while Virgil did accept the offer, his reply wasn’t exactly enthusiastic. Best to make certain he really wants to do this first.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting”, Roman writes, adding a smiley face for good measure.

This time there is only a short pause before the words appear. “Yeah, the whole assembly thing made me wanna see you properly”.

Roman takes a deep breath, trying to still the tremor of excitement rushing through him. “Okay!” he writes back. “Want me to bring anything? I have a popcorn maker and every single Disney movie!”

“Seriously? You brought a freaking popcorn maker to college?”

“We always said we’d have movie nights when we finally met up, eating popcorn and talking all through the films!”

“You are so unbelievably extra”.

“You love it!”

“Yeah, I’m weird like that.”

“So, no popcorn?” Roman asks.

“Are you kidding? Of course bring popcorn!”

Roman grins.

*****

He takes his time making the popcorn, giving Virgil space to adjust to the change in plans. As he does, his thoughts drift to his grumpy seat-mate from earlier, and he remembers wincing as the guy picked at his chipped black nail polish during the endless speeches.

That gives him an idea…

“How about we paint our nails while we talk?” he suggests. “It’s relaxing and we’ll look good!”

“Sure”, appears on his arm. “I’ve only got black and purple though.”

“Fear not, my dark and stormy knight, I have every colour of the rainbow!” Roman grabs his makeup pouch and empties it onto his desk, separating out a selection of his favourites. These he puts back in the pouch, then it goes into his bag with the tub of popcorn.

“I’m ready to head out!” he writes on his arm. “Where’s your room?”

There’s a pause, then the address appears. But before Roman can lower his arm, Virgil adds, “Brace yourself for disappointment”.

“Why?” he writes back, frowning.

“I’m just… probably not gonna be as cool as you expect”.

“Don’t worry, I know you’re not as cool as me!” He replies immediately, then hesitates. Virgil has been vulnerable with him, and he should repay the honesty.

“I’m nervous too”, he admits, “But this is us, remember? We’ve spoken every day since we turned ten and our soul bond formed. We’ve listened to each others’ favourite music, watched each others’ favourite movies, and stayed up all night talking. We’ve shared our hopes, our fears, and our dreams. Even if we weren’t soulmates, you're my best friend, and I love you. Nothing's going to change that.

*****

It's a short walk across campus to Virgil's dorm, and nervous energy quickens Roman's strides. At last, he finds the right number door and gives a firm knock. Slowly, cautiously, it opens to reveal...

“You?!” Roman practically screeches.

“Seriously?!”

“I cannot believe this! Are you actually telling me you’re Virgil?”

“How many ginger-haired emos from Milwaukee do you think there are on campus?!”

“You’re Virgil...” There’s a pause as Roman’s expression visibly cycles from indignant, through dawning realisation, to settle on contrite. “Sorry about, you know...” He waves his arm, and Virgil raises an eyebrow.

“Sorry you clobbered me with your arm?”

“Well, yes… I was talking to Patton and didn’t notice you.”

“Yeah, I got that. Sorry I wasn’t, you know, watching where I was going.” Virgil looks down, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, I know I’m annoying. If you’re gonna leave, just go.”

Roman frowns. “Don’t be ridiculous. You might be annoying, but you’re my best friend! I came here to eat popcorn, riff on Disney movies, and hug you, and I’m not leaving until I’ve done all three!”

Virgil looks up, finally managing a lopsided smile. “You sure?”

“Of course! And besides, I bet I can be twice as annoying as you.”

With a snort, Virgil steps back, opening the door further to let Roman in. “Good to know fate made the two most annoying guys in the world soulmates.”

Roman grins. “Soulmates about to have the best evening ever!” he replies.

~~*~~*~~*~~ *~~

@creativity-killed-thekitten​ @the-prince-and-the-emo​ @shesavampirequeen​ @patton-in-name​ @pearls-of-patton​ @xxladystarlightxx​ @suyun-doo​ @softestlittlepuffball​ @evilmuffin​ @milomeepit​ @musikasworld​ @holy-anxiety-batman​ @quoth-the-sparrow​ @daring-elm​ @sandersfanders​