#consider revisiting them to say hello

[jojo-schmo]

Digging through my old notebooks, I found an old Poppy Bros OC I made about 11 years ago!! I don’t think I ever gave him a name or much to do, so I thought it would be nice to say hello to him again after so many years.

So here is the reimagined, yet familiar, Allegro!! (The Poppy Bro)

I’ve turned him into a Bard! But not just any bard. The instrument he specializes in is…

Trombone. :D and the song I’ve chosen to represent his personality is Dance Boheme performed by the legendary Joseph Alessi.

You could call him a trom-bro, maybe. 😎

But yes I want to develop him even more he’s fun!!!

[newtkive]

pixels [newt x reader - modern text au]

ch. 1 - the gc birth

in which two online friends navigate a romance through a minecraft groupchat with their stupid friends

or, newt, the quiet, stoic boy, and y/n, the bubbly girl both curse the world for keeping them apart, but at least they can send each other cute emojis and hope the other doesn't notice their blossoming feelings.

warnings: strong language, mutual pining, none really.

➥ m.list

__

notes: hi :p im very new to writing on tumblr (but ive always been a reader) so pls bare w me! and im trying to revert back to being 14 (im 23 lols..) so im revisiting my old favs including the maze runner/thomas (bc i binged the artful dodger and now im obsessed again). there will be non-text chapters in the future as well, when everyone eventually meets. this will be newt focused so enjoy !! also everyone is like a realistic age from 23 to 28

__

THE GLADE

[ 7:45 PM ]

alby added minho, y/n, newt, tommy, and gally

alby: Hello, guys.

minho: wtf is this

newt: uhhhh

tommy: hi :3

y/n: so this is why you asked me for my # in private

gally: i didn’t consent to this when i gave you my number

newt: don’t give strange men your number y/n

tommy: oh that’s y/n?

alby: Wait, Newt you had Y/N’s number already??

newt: yea

tommy: o.O

y/n: i gave it to him like two weeks after we met lmao

tommy: SO HE HAD YOUR NUMBER FOR A YEAR AND I DIDNT????

y/n: well he asked and you guys didn’t :p

newt: lmao

minho: ik he smug as fuck rn

not u asking for a girls number lmao simp

newt: stop

y/n: we all talk in discord anyways so i didn’t really think about it

plus you guys are friends irl so idk

it felt kinda weird to insert myself heh

minho: we’ve known you for a year and a half y/n

we play games all the time

call all the time

we even send packages and shit

you’re very much considered our irl friend

y/n: REALLY?? 🥺🥺

tommy: internet friends are real friends 😍❤️

minho: the heart eyes are crazy

but yes dude

newt: of course you’re our close friend. just cuz we live near each other and you’re a bit far away doesn’t mean we don’t adore you

minho: ADORE IS CRAZY LMFAO

but real ig

y/n: AWWWWW YOU GUYS LOVEEE MEEEEEE

hahahahha

HAHAHHAHJFIEKMGOR

I LVOE YOU GIYYYYSSSS IM PUTTING ALL OUR MINECRAFT BEDS TOGETHER LATER

gally: i do not want my bed to be infested by you guys

minho: gally sleeps in the corner

gally: no i dont i sleep in my mansion

y/n: cherry blossom mansion*

gally: and you sleep in a shed

y/n: cherry blossom shed* its pink and that matters.

tommy: love you y/n 😊🥰

y/n: love you tommy <3333

minho: that’s actually nasty stop now

y/n: u mad ur unloved

i love how the gc name is our minecraft town name :((

newt: aw it is

minho: can we talk about why tf this was made when we have a perfectly good discord

alby: I’m done with Discord.

newt: you got your shit hacked didn’t you mate

minho: mate 💀💀

british people so crazy

alby: Yes maybe..

I don’t want to make another.

y/n: or your old ass doesn’t know how to

minho: LMAO REAL

alby: Gonna ignore that. But I am getting too old for it. I have a new promotion at work so that means I won’t have time to play with you guys as much anymore. So I decided to make this groupchat in hopes to talk to you guys more to make up for it :)

minho: every group always has the old head with the job 💀💀

newt: minho admitting he’s jobless

minho: you work at a library be so fr rn

newt: i have an income. you have a room in your grandmas basement. we are not the same.

gally: LMFAOOOOOOO

minho: stfu :////

y/n: AWWWWWWW ALBYYYYYYY

tommy: YAAAY!!!!

im going to text you guys all day

tell you every meal

every thought

every interaction will be meaningful and glorious

newt: you are 24 years old you don’t have to do all that

minho: no fr im turning off my phone if he starts this shit

why not just do it before in the discord ??

tommy: easy access now and i tried before but stopped since no one really replied..

y/n: i say we all do it :D i will too tommy

newt: ok second thought that’s fine

minho: .

gally: that’s wild.

y/n: YAAAAAY!!!!!!!!!! NEWT YOU GO FIRST

newt: first with what

y/n: say what u ate today

newt: didn’t say i’d do it.

tommy: i ate muffin, monster energy drink, and hamburger :3333

you guys next

minho: that’s all you had bro..

y/n: hot cheetos and french fries and coffee :D

minho: ??????? BRO

how are you guys alive

y/n: it's my day off and no class so i just wanna rot in bed and that means no cooking

newt: please eat and drink water.

like for real and document it

y/n: ok wait

there

tommy: yum!

minho: y/n..

newt: cereal does not count

y/n: I DONT HAVE ENERGY TO MAKE ANYTHING OKAY

im a 23 year old broke college student my fridge is bare

newt: alright what do you want?

y/n: wym?

newt: like if you could pick.

minho: that’s so cruel 😭😭 just making her imagine it

i like it go on.

tommy: i want chick fil a

minho: i knew you hate the gays

tommy: I AM THE GAYS?????

y/n: ugh that does sound good

mmmm chickem sandiwh waffle fry I Want that Os mYch

newt: that’s what you would order?

y/n: mmmcm yeahshhhhh

newt: ok

minho: that’s it?

i thought soemthing would happen

tommy: me too

like a spell! magic 🪄

y/n: sigh

my cereal tastes bad now

newt: well it is cocoa puffs.

minho: L cereal

y/n: DTOP SAYING L ITS SO ANNOYITIGJNGGGGG

minho: she so madddd 😂😂 L

newt: you're annoying minho

minho: youre just saying that bc shes saying that

newt: no ive always said it. and i will continue to. youre fucking annoying

minho: who bought you your coffee yesterday

newt: ???

myself

and i paid for yours too

im the one with an income

minho: .

well i didnt think youd remember that well.

newt: it was literally yesterday.

minho: yeah but ur old

newt: IM THE SAME AGE AS YOU

minho: yeah but im 🤗✨ 26 ✨🤗and youre... 26😬😔

tommy: guys stop fighting

newt: we aren't fighting

maybe this gc was a bad idea

tommy: NO!!!!!!!!!

y/n: NOOOO!

tommy: this is like y/n is here w us irl

y/n: awwwwwwwwwwwwwww

minho: no it's not. we would smell a foul stench if she was

y/n: i ahte you sooo bad.

wait there is a knock at my door im scared

newt: answer it

minho: aren't you supposed to say don't open the door for strangers ????

newt: well usually yes

y/n: no im not expecting company

newt: just do it pls

y/n: ok :D

minho: bruh..

i hope she gets robbed and u feel bad forever newt

newt: why would you want that

minho: bc she owes me money

newt: YOU owe ME money

minho: yes but i have a good reason she just wanted robux

tommy: Y/N DONT DO IT!!! I HAVE SEEN DATELINE

y/n: :o....

tommy: Y/N?????????

OH GOD THEY GOT HER

minho: why would she text a silly face if she got got

tommy: clearly its a surprised face

maybe its not her

its like those cut out magazine letters murderers use

y/n: who got me chick fil a!!!!!!!!!!

minho: me

newt: you literally did not

minho: shut up

y/n: newt it was u i see ur name on the receipt

newt: well

y/n: :(

newt: what why are you sad?

minho: im hungry too

y/n: u spent ur money :(

newt: you're hungry are you not?

minho: she's not but i am

y/n: yeah but..

i feel bad you shouldn't have

newt: just eat it or i'll be mad

minho: i think i want red lobster

newt: it's really no big deal y/n

y/n: thank you newt :(((((

newt: you're welcome

go eat and watch ur show or smth

minho: i owuld love to eat and watch a show rn <33 ohhhh im starving

newt: can you shut up

gally: im muting this gc if this means i have to deal with your guys' shit more than usual now.

minho: thank god

newt: good

tommy: good

y/n: good

the food is good too <3

newt: good.

_

lmk if you want to be tagged!

[sonicboomrevisited]

When you think about it it’s suuuuper sneaky and cruel from Robo Sonic to trick Amy like that, considering that at the very beginning (if I remember correctly), in issue 1 when Sonic was only partly robot, there was a tiny little moment when Amy did reach him for a second and confusion came through his programming. Also he really knows how to mess with her and her feelings - I swear, each page he seems more and more like our Sonic but evil version.

Also I love how we still more on the humour side (especially after introspective part of issue 2, I LOVED IT WITH MY WHOLE HEART but like I said before, it’s great how SBR is balancing dark and humour, honestly the whole theme of Sonic being turned to robot is dark enough and you make sure we know it but don’t overwhelm us with angst). I think motif of the hunt for Sonic’s teammates has a lot of potential for situational comedy. not super related, but I can’t stop thinking about that one scene from Sonic Boom where Sonic goes “did you really think escape would be that easy” - I remember watching that episode for the first time and genuinely not knowing if he’s joking or not, and the whole scene of their fight in that episode made me thinking (not for the first time ofc) how unstoppable Sonic would be as villain and I love that SBr somehow explore that idea~ And it occurred to me how people often think of Sonic Boom as just comedy and fun - and yes, it is a sitcom and the rules of the world building are adapted to the genre, but hello- it is the only Sonic’s piece of media yet where Sonic is actually hypnotised?? Where Tails (mind and body) is actually turned into robot?? Where Sonic has a real mental breakdown about saving people, where Sonic is captured by the psycho fan- literally the list goes on. And honestly Boom!Eggman did many truly evil things, just because they were reduced to joke because of convention doesn’t make them less evil).

That being said, I still think that closer to the end of issue 3 vibe will get darker again and more angsty and honestly, even after everything I said about comedy aspect, I can’t wait for the drama as well! I trust your abilities fully and can’t wait for what you cooked for us!

(Also, i went back to previous pages to check that one scene i mentioned before. And going back to issue 1 - which was fantastic - I can’t notice how BIG progress you made in drawing and colouring, it’s incredible!)

Ahhh, asks like this makes me so emotional! It makes me incredibly happy to know how much you enjoy our dark storytelling in Boom's World. You're absolutely right that it tends to go to some pretty crazy places thanks to it's episodic/sitcom nature which have definitely helped inspire a lot of the stories we are telling and want to tell (It's not called "Revisited" for nothing)!

I'm happy my growth is visible. 😭 It's kinda crazy to me what I've been able to accomplish in a year. Especially since before this comic I didn't do much (if any) background work. I will say, though, while I (Multi) colored Issue 1, @star-stages has been in charge of colors since Issue 2!

I appreciate your faith in us! We promise not to disappoint!

[goddessofroyalty]

hello! the fanart of Viktor with a baby you reblogged this week got me right in the soft feels u.u would you consider revisiting the Work/Life Balance 'verse? (random ideas: pregnant Viktor dealing with a minor illness (very minor, not a complication, no real threat to his health and no threat whatsoever to the baby, but Jayce is still fussing over them)? how a newborn affects Viktor's already hectic work/sleep schedule? either Viktor can't or chooses not to nurse and good papa Jayce does his part with formula and bottles?)

Kind of combined the second two parts of this into what I’ve written but more leaning on good papa Jayce helping feed their baby. Maybe I’ll figure out a quick 4th scene (to even out the POV’s) that focuses a bit more on Viktor’s messy sleeping schedule. Have also made a note of the first prompt as well to do separately.

I’ve given up and am naming this kid Naph as well. Why? Because it’s a nice easy name for me to kidnap and gods knows Arcane played fast and loose with League lore anyway. Also I like it and it has become the default in my brain if nothing else fills the space. It can be easily subbed out if I decide on something different later.

Warnings: past-mpreg, omegaverse (I refer to the baby as pup that’s literally it), some mention of after-birth pains (nothing major just a bit tender)

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

Viktor wakes to the sound of a baby crying.

“I’ve got him, don’t get up,” Jayce says as the sleep fades from Viktor’s brain and he remembers that it is their baby that is crying not just some random abstract one. Their baby that Viktor had given birth to days prior and had finally been allowed back home that day. The doctors happy with both their progress.

The bed shifts as Jayce gets up to go to their child. Viktor pushes himself up on his arms to sit up more as he does. Wincing as his weight settles on where he’s still tender from the birth.

“I told you not to get up,” Jayce says holding their son in his arms as he looks back at Viktor. It is a good image and one Viktor could get used to seeing. Will get used to seeing, as surreal as that feels.

“And I have not gotten out of bed.” Nor will he be. Not when he has a perfectly good and willing Jayce to get things for him while he still heals from the birth. To make up for you having done all the work to this point Jayce had said and Viktor had nothing to gain from fighting him on it. “What’s the time?”

“2AM. And you can go back to sleep,” Jayce says. “He just needs a bottle.”

“I’m awake now.” Viktor had never been able to go back to sleep once he woke. There always something he’d rather be spending the time doing than tossing and turning. “I can hold him while you heat up the bottle.”

“The doctors said you need rest,” Jayce says despite it being clear he needs both hands to keep their son settled which would leave none free to prepare a bottle as well.

“I am resting!” Despite how much he misses it he still hasn’t returned to the lab since he was put on bedrest in the final trimester. Working on formulas and schematics from bed can hardly be considered work. It’s just keeping his mind occupied. “Let me hold him.”

Jayce clearly wants to argue but he relents when Viktor raises an eyebrow. Carefully handing their son over and only taking his hands away once the baby is very secure and settled.

Viktor would almost be offended at the lack of trust but he all-too-well understands the impulse. It turns out newborns are tiny and so delicate. It is almost terrifying to think about all the different ways they could accidently hurt him. It is scary to even have him in Viktor’s arms but also nerve-wracking when he is not within easy reach.

“I’ll be right back,” Jayce promises, only taking his eyes off them when he physically leaves the room.

Viktor once again examines his son while he waits. He had hoped their child would have taken a little more after both of them rather than looking mostly like Viktor but it is still impressive to think mere days ago Naph was still growing inside him and now the boy is alive and experiencing the world, frowning up at Viktor as his tongue peaks out between tiny lips, followed by a small cry of impatience.

“Not much longer,” Viktor promises. If his milk had come in the wait wouldn’t have to be this long. But it is useful to know that Jayce can look after their son entirely on his own if needed.

Naph is still far too young to actually understand what Viktor is saying. Another louder cry being made as Jayce hurries back into the room.

“No, no, don’t cry, I got it,” Jayce rambles, sliding into bed beside Viktor, warm bottle in hand. He pauses when Viktor holds their child back out to him. “Uh-“

“You said you were feeding him, no?” Viktor has no problems with doing it as well but Jayce likes to feel useful. And Viktor likes to watch him with their son.

“Right, of course,” Jayce recovers quickly. Carefully taking their son back into his arms, offering him the bottle. It only takes two passes of the teat for the tiny mouth to open to let it pass.

“He is hungry,” Jayce says as their son makes quick work of the bottle.

“I suppose it was a big day for him.” For Viktor and Jayce they came home but all their son knew until the day before was the hospital.

“It was,” Jayce agrees, shifting slightly to allow Viktor to lean in closer and push the fabric from their son’s onesie down from where it had crept up to his mouth. “But we can all rest for now.”

Viktor gives a hum of agreement despite how he already itches to get back to the lab.

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

Jayce wakes to find himself alone in the bed.

It isn’t that unusual. Neither he nor Viktor can be said to have a normal sleeping schedule even before their pup was born. But Jayce still never likes it when he reaches out for his partner only to find cold bedsheets.

He pulls himself out of bed and shuffles to the main living area. There’s no point trying to get back to sleep anyway and he might as well check on Naph to make sure he hasn’t woken in the night.

Viktor had apparently had the same thought whenever he had gotten up. He stands in front of the blackboard they had set up so they can make any changes to their equations even when not in the lab, a piece of chalk balanced in the fingers of the hand resting on his cane as the other holds their son steady where he is swaddled against Viktor’s chest. A slight bounce with every move clearly to keep the pup settled.

“I put coffee on,” Viktor says, not even turning around to acknowledge Jayce. Not that Jayce wants him to – he’s perfectly happy just watching his partner and their child together.

“Thanks.” There’s an almost empty baby bottle next to the coffeepot. It’s cold to the touch so Jayce rinses it out in the sink and puts it to the side to be sanitized with the others. He makes Viktor a cup of coffee as well as his own. “Couldn’t get him to go back to sleep?”

“He doesn’t want to be put down,” Viktor says, looking away from their life’s work to their son. “Clingy. Like his father.”

Jayce can hardly blame his son for that – he wants to cling to Viktor too at times.

“I can take him if you need to write,” Jayce says as he brings Viktor’s coffee over to him. Tapping his partner on the arm with it before placing it down on the table they keep next to the blackboard almost exclusively for coffee. He picks up the old empty one and takes it back to the sink.

“It is fine,” Viktor says with a small shake of his head, his eyes flitting back to the blackboard. “I have nothing new to add to it anyway.”

Jayce would suggest Viktor go back to bed then but he knows his partner would have as much a chance of going back to sleep as he would.

Instead he joins Viktor at the blackboard. Close enough that Viktor can shuffle over and lean against him while they both try and figures out how the equations fit together and wait for the morning sun.

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

“Jayce!” Viktor calls because he is in the middle of wiring up the controls for the latest iteration of Hexgates and their son is crying. Jayce is just doing some paperwork, necessary, yes, but nowhere near as dangerous to be walked away from in the middle of.

“Huh?” Jayce asks as he sticks his head into the room before realizing why he was called. “Right. On it.”

“Up we go,” Jayce says as he picks their son up from the cot they keep in the lab for him to sleep in while they work. Out of the corner of his eye Viktor watches his partner hold their son high to sniff at his backside. “Nope. Must be hungry.”

Viktor returns his attention back fully to his work as Jayce carries their son into the kitchenette of the lab to heat up a bottle for him. He’s still at it when he two return, their son still in Jayce’s arms as he comes to watch over Viktor’s shoulder.

“How are you going?”

“Nearly finished.” The wiring had nearly taken him all day but it should be worth it.

“And then we can test it?” Jayce asks despite the fact he should already know the answer.

“Yes. They should lead to a less, uh, jolty experience when the jump is made.”

Jayce doesn’t respond, but Viktor can hear him pace around the lab no doubt bouncing their child in his arms as he does to keep the boy settled and not distracting Viktor’s work.

Viktor doesn’t alert his partner to the fact once he finishes. Instead watching the two of them for the minute it takes Jayce to notice himself. He had been told by many how lucky he was to have Jayce as the father of his child and, really, he cannot argue it.

[darqx]

Nope!

I like that I've had people say they can relate to my characs and/or that my characs feel real 🥰 That really makes my day cos it means I'm doing ok with my characteristation then haha. In terms of Rire in particular, one of my fave things is when people can't decide whether they like him or hate him and end up settling on a weird mixture of both and squaggling about it. I find this extremely gratifying.

Hello! Thanks I am doing good (now that I'm having a break from work ahah) :D I'm gonna be real and say I'm not sure if I'm the best person to ask considering I was only involved in like...one and a bit horrorporn projects |D - Gato would prob be the MVP at the moment - but I'll give you some gen advice that hopefully you can find useful :)

Plan your project. Most people are NOT good pantsers and it's not easy to get a cohesive plot/project if you don't have SOME idea of what you are doing. Whether you are doing a VN or a comic or whatever, make sure you have an outline of what is going to happen for your own reference.

Find an audience. If you're lucky then an audience who will enjoy your project will find you (which was the case with BTD and some throwing it out there.) Most of the time though you will need to advertise your project to like-minded people first. Put your characters, art, teasers out there! If you want people to care about your project you have to give them a reason to care about/get excited about it.

Be prepared to be disliked. This is true for any project because everyone doesn't like everything, but if you are going for horrorporn (or really, anything that could be considered weird i guess) there's a much higher chance of people looking at your stuff and going what the ever loving fuck. Anyway the point is you will need to just do your own thing and try not take certain things personally even if they seem aimed at you personally. Or just be like:

4. ✔️ Just do it. Self explanatory, dont let your dreams be dreams lol.

Thanks very much for asking first! I'm flattered that you want to create fangames like that with my BP characs, but I'm unfortunately going to have to say no at the moment. This is mainly because I haven't got my own project with them out yet and I don't want people to potentially get confused with the origins. Maybe after I start posting and establish the comic more, we can revisit this question :)

Thank you (and to all the other lovely asks like this)! Psh don't worry about being new to being an artist, everyone has to start somewhere!

[foxconfessorandthewolf]

I’m trying to wade through the muck of a long depression and want to get back into engaging with fandom so I guess I’ll make kind of a re-introduction post, just to say hello again. So hi! I’m Ripeteeth or Teeth, this is my sideblog for specifically snarry fic, which I’ve primarily written under the name Drawlight, though I’ve had other pseuds in the past as well.

I first fell in love with them around 2002 or 2003 and I kicked around on livejournal and Walking The Plank for a time as a fanartist known as Snitchhitter, mostly doing work like this:

I dropped out of fandom in 2006 due to personal stuff, mainly college, and then came back in 2019 to write. As drawlight I posted my first ever fics, some of which I’d love to revisit and rewrite, but overall I’m still very proud of them.

Ghost Story, E, 32k

After the war, Severus Snape takes a position as a tutor in a strange house in Cornwall with a stranger master. (A postwar fic inspired by Jane Eyre)

White Light, White Heat, E, 32k

In 1347, Benedictine monk and scholar Severus Snape goes to fetch a young man joining the abbey. In 1347, rumors come of a strange and unrelenting plague from the east. (Medieval AU)

Strange Pilgrims, E, 11k

After the war, the world moves on quickly from wounded soldiers and damaged places. Harry Potter doesn't know if he believes in anything anymore; Severus Snape always believes, whether or not he wants to. (Sickfic)

The Lighthouse Keeper, E, 10k

Harry visits one Severus Snape every year on the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. This year, he brings a bottle of scotch (single-malt, 100-proof, excellently-distilled).

Goblin Market, E, 20k

The Horcrux is slowly poisoning Harry, whose mind has curled around it in a way to protect it from being dislodged. Severus Snape, resentfully accomplished Legilimens, must navigate the labyrinth of Harry's mind and pull out the infection at the center. (Postwar, inspired by Labyrinth)

The Amphora, M, 5k

The problem with love is that there will come a day when we will hold each other last. (In which Severus dies and Harry mourns. A grief fic.)

The Forest King, E, 93k

In a single night, all magic disappears across the world. Harry receives a strange and yellowing letter that there may be an exception, that one wizard may be yet living, isolated in the little town of Cokeworth. As Severus Snape begrudgingly assists Harry with unraveling the mystery of the loss of magic, they sink into a world neither had ever dreamt of, learning that there are many things shrouded in history and legend, that some of those things do not wish to be found. (Featuring the author’s deep love of Arthurian legend.)

Pentamerone, E, 15k

A DNA testing service can analyze spit and blood for what they call a "soulmate". Harry has had his done, Severus considers. Or, a love poem in five acts. (A soulmark fic but not in the way you might expect.)

Suspiria, E, 5k

You like to cut yourself on his bones, and he likes to let you. (Second person POV, two extremely fucked up people finding solace in each other.)

the body snatcher, E, 2k

This is the only touch he’ll ever know of Potter, a stolen wank with borrowed hands. (Snape makes some very poor choices with Polyjuice potion. Currently anonymous as I get weird and squirrelly sometimes about posting on my account.)

[bedeliainwonderland]

@aeshnacyanea2000 I have accidentally deleted your ask (blaming the stupid scam emails, I am so sick of them), but luckily still have the email. (The last bit is But now... for those reading this).

Hello friend ❤️ Thank you for this!!! I am here for any and all bedannibal thoughts!!

Oh this is delicious! It removes the important part: the history they share together before the events of the show. They are starting off from a completely different point, even simply considering the location (Florence?? it just begs for romance), but also the absolute lack of any professional connection between them. Even as a simple link to a possible conversation (as in the fact that they are both doctors could, and did, provide them with a safe topic of a conversation they could fall back). Whereas here, it is purely romantiiic from the start.

I am taking a moment here to think about them in all the romantic glory. Hannibal shows Bedelia Florence. She loves it (as much as she enjoys the city, she has never had anyone show it to her in such way before) and he loves having such a worthy companion. Isn't it what he has always wanted?? Especially here, in a city that means so much to him. They are both so smitten by each other's intellect. The attraction is undeniable, they spend more and more time together. They become lovers and the trips around town give way to endless hours in bed. They have never felt this way before.

Now that I have gotten this out of my system, let's talk about the tragedy of it all. There is no way this could end well and Hannibal knows it. Even without the looming threat of being captured (which is inevitable since he made sure to fuck up enough for this to happen...), he is not who he says he is. And even though, he is absolute being himself (to a degree of course) when he is with Bedelia, it makes little difference, he is still pretending to be someone else aka lying. Now, about being himself... The real question is does he sense that Bedelia might be the ONE aka the person he can reveal himself too and she would accept it. I believe he does, but that just adds to the tragedy. Obviously, it is waaaay too early for revelations of any sorts, but he has so little time. Would he just fantasize about what could have been if they had more time? Would he use the little time they have to build memories he could then revisit? Or would he do something rushed when the noose was closing around his neck?

And an even better thing to consider: Bedelia sensing that there is more to him than he shows. Because of course she does, even before she realizes she does. (It is absolutely something that attracts her to him in the first place, but does not make that connection yet.)

Of course, I always want them to end up together (because they must!) and even if it seems doomed here, I like to think of a scenario where their time together is long enough for secrets to be (partially) revealed, Bedelia's anger come and spent, the reconciliation and understanding that they need each other and their eventual escape together. This is improbable but a girl can dream. (Sorry, I am such a sucker for them). The more likely option is Hannibal being caught and Bedelia then finding out who he really is. She should be terrified and angry, but she is only intrigued. And then one day, while in prison, Hannibal receives a guess, a certain renowned psychiatrist, Dr Bedelia Du Maurier.

This was super fun, thank you for letting me rumble about them!

[bubbleteasing]

Hello! I love all your fics, it's pretty hard to dig through sans reader insert fanfics to find decent writing haha. Do you happen to have any recommendations?

Thank you!!! And thanks for asking this- I haven't been reading many fics lately but this made me revisit a couple of old ones... They're as good as I remembered.

I'll leave a list under the cut 🙂‍↕️

Classic Sans and/or Papyrus

The Party Incident and Other Embarrassing Anecdotes by poubelle_squelette

This was such a fun read. MC sneaks into a party to eat and drink for free and when Sans asks them how they know the birthday boy (Papyrus), they say they're dating his brother.

They pretend to date eachother, which stirs a lot of drama because the mc starts being harassed, buuut they still go with it.

I also remember this had some short underfell spin off (like a couple of chapters but written with uf!Sans instead), which I was feral about.

OsteoCitation by ShittyDinner

Mc is roommates with Sans and Papyrus. They're both kind of into them, and it's really fun. Smutty too if I remember correctly.

I haven't read this one in a while (years) but I definitely will soon.

Underfell / Mafiafell

Overgrowth by SociopathicArchangel (I'm gonna give some context about this one before talking about it)

Only the overgrowth story is from the author. Anything else is not 'canon' to the flowerfell au.

This one is not shippy at all (despite some people considering it a frans fic) as per the author's headcanon. There was some drama involved with this story (the author was also a great artist and was making a comic of this au, but people were impatient and started doing their own versions of the comic even though the author wasn't ok with it), but what made the author delete the fic and the rest of their socials all together was that people started reposting the original story on Ao3 and claiming it as their own, which made the author really upset. The video linked in the title is the only thing they were ok with.

This story is very special to me. It shows how shitty Uf!Sans world is and how it affected him. Why he is the way he is and all that.

When Frisk comes to the underground, he cannot fathom anyone being nice, which makes him believe he's being played. The plot also heavily relies on resets, which I love.

The story is quite sad (and I love that too), so have your tissues ready!

Sooner or Later You're Gonna be Mine by Staringback

The very first Mafiafell fic there is I believe? I could be wrong but I think it is.

Technically Frans but Frisk is an adult, has different pronouns, different skin tone... I consider this a self insert with extra steps honestly.

If you think my depiction of uf/mf Sans is an asshole buckle up. This one's an obsessive asshole for no reason.

Reverse harem/multi

These sort of stories overwhelm me usually, but I still read some of them.

Aggre(g/v)ation by Llama_Goddess (this is what inspired 2x1!)

MC lives with Sans when suddenly Red and Skull (uf and ht Sanses) show up. They're cousins according to Sans, and they really like MC.

This fic is a classic, and I think everyone has read it, but if you haven't do give it a read! It'd really fun.

Saving Three Ex-cell-ent Skeletons by RecklesslyCaffeinated

I believe this one is inspired by some asks answered by llama on her Tumblr. It's the same trio as in aggre

MC is a nurse at a monster prison. There are three different skeletons there, and even though they look similar they're quite different. The one thing in common is that all of them dig her.

I love the story on this one, it feels like I'm watching a tv series if that makes any sense.

[10thmusemoon]

hello!! i recently read your fic where shen yuan is qijiu's baby and I loved it! In the notes, I saw that there might be more of the thread where yue qingyuan didn't leave cang qiong after he found out he was pregnant, is there anywhere I can read it? :3

Aw thanks!! And yes! I’m still in the process of making that its own proper fic but there was a little bit of that at the beginning of this thread that ultimately turns into the fic that’s posted!

(There’s also The Sect Leader is an Omega!? Which is 25k for anyone just tuning in to my omega!YQY agenda.)

Cw: omegaverse and mpreg

I’m gonna take this as an opportunity to ramble on this because I’ve been thinking about more QiJiu omegaverse.

What I love about omega!yqy and why I always revisit that dynamic, is that he’s the strongest cultivator in universe, he’s a big beefy dude, and he is everything that goes against the stereotypical omega expectations. As the sect leader he takes care of the sect and no one expects that he needs anyone to be protective over him. Not even YQY sees that as an option, he has only ever looked after others, no one has ever looked after him.

Except well, Shen Qingqiu.

Who, before they even presented, was possessive over Qi-ge and looked out for them both. And then as the lord of the second peak, as the strategist, protects YQY and that which is his (the sect), which of course, is also SQQ’s. He refuses to acknowledge that’s what happening but it is.

In a situation where their shit is together enough to have shared heats/ruts (and while it’s consensual yearning, SQQ is patting himself on the back for having ‘stolen’ YQY’s heats for himself, as if there was ever any other option YQY would consider), an accidental pregnancy only would throw a huge wrench into things.

Despite the fact that omegas are expected to get pregnant, and despite what SQQ may be driven to say while heat drunk, he never actually expects YQY to get pregnant.

So when it does happen, I fully picture it being a moment of crisis for SQQ.

And while I love the fics where he is a doting and possessive parent (see hints in NYY’s Best Day Ever), in my eyes, it wouldn’t fly like that.

In the universe where YQY stays, where SQQ actually lets him talk, his immediate reaction is that of revulsion and horror.

SQQ doesn’t want to share YQY with anyone, especially when he thinks his current hold on him is already precarious. (it’s not, they’re just both idiots who can’t talk)

I do think tho, that YQY would be ecstatic but also be hyper aware of the fact that this is a nightmare for SQQ. In YQY’s twisty brain, this is a connection to SQQ that can never be severed, one he assumes SQQ will interpret as shackles, so he won’t push for him to take responsibility of the child. He will, however, give him the option to be involved. And he really hopes he will be, but at the same time YQY sees the writings on the wall, and imagines that SQQ will no longer see him as a convenient body to warm his bed and return to the brothels.

(Having sex with drastic miscommunication is just the QiJiu way)

Mean SQQ is spiraling because WTF why would YQY keep this thing when he’s an unmarked, unmarried omega? He is ruining his, and by extension, the sect’s reputation! wtf why would he do that??!! Why would he risk everything he’s built for some child. He’s ridiculous, he’s stupid for even considering it.

(SQQ may be projecting a bit here.)

He may also be incredibly jealous of the role his own unborn child is taking in YQY’s life, superseding any importance SQQ or Xiao Jiu may have held. But at the same time, instincts and his general possessiveness over YQY, means he can’t exactly stay away. He bitches and moans and acts like he doesn’t care but he is involved during the pregnancy process because he can shamelessly dote on YQY (while pretending he isn’t) and provide for him in ways he hasn’t otherwise been able to. Their inner omega/alphas are just singing the entire way through. YQY is being cared for by the most important person to him and SQQ gets to be openly territorial in a way that no one can question. (The pregnancy sex is insane, so much emotional tension that they think only They are feeling!!)

The other peak lords also have to like, deal with whatever is going on with them. Their shared heat/ruts were an open secret but now there is a BABY?? I do think that at some point SQQ will lie and say they’ve Been married for years, just to cover for their reputations. In true pidw, this doesn’t help His reputation because people remember all too well the rumors of his brothel visits but what can they say when YQY is vibrating out of his skin with happiness over this.

(This becomes another Thing they don’t talk about, but being called husband in bed is as good as hitting the g-)

Then comes Shen Yuan.

And now there is this physical manifestation of the thing that will steal YQY away. By nature of being a baby, he does take a lot of attention away from SQQ due to the fact that he is literally dependent on YQY to stay alive. The rosey days together come to an end as SQQ retreats to brood and YQY is being depressed that the wick has finally burned out and their farce of a relationship is over.

He’ll come over sometimes (refusing to admit it’s because he misses YQY) just to look at SY, to try to find the traces of YQY in him that he can latch onto. Unfortunately babies don’t really look much like anything at first but swollen little aliens, so it really doesn’t help. Even worse, when he starts to develop his own distinct features, SY looks more like Shen Qingqiu.

And there is no one SQQ resents more than himself.

There's more to this such as how the other peak lords play into thing but in the end, I think it would take something flipping in SQQ's brain where he starts categorizing SY as something valuable of his (like his favorite hair pin, or expensive robes) that he starts to care about SY as something other than a Thing That Belongs to YQY.

When SY starts to develop his own personality and independence, I think that's where the next major shift would happen. Oh look, here is a thing that is no longer something like a creature and is a human with thoughts and agency and some of those thoughts include idol worshiping SQQ and YQY. Hmm.....interesting.

(in a transmigration situation, i don't think SY would have access to all his memories until he's older so this is plausible!)

Anyways, SY is upgraded from Expensive Hairpin to Purse Dog where SQQ gets a kick out of dressing him up, doing his hair, seeing what tricks he can do, and showing him off. But the second he needs actual human connection, he shoves him back at YQY.

As SY ages (and subsequently earns SQQ's respect) he's able to identify what SQQ is saying between barbs and mutual, if distant, affection. Having grown up with the titular scum villain, and seeing him be affectionate with YQY, he would be invested enough to do well to save both their skins from Luo Binghe's wrath.

Does being a parent make SQQ a better teacher? Hmmmm debatable, possibly unlikely, there is no YQY for him to throw his disciples at but at the very least he has a basis of comparison for age appropriate mile markers.

(He does not, SY is not a normal child by any means. His lineage and transmigration have made him OP in all the ways.)

SQQ will look at his students struggling to master something SY learned three years previously and get an opportunity to both shame and brag, he delights in this. Meanwhile, SY is dying inside, certain that he now has a horde of enemies across QJP (He does NOT, the wife beam is in affect) so he actively decides to stay on QDP and hide behind YQY's skirts and tag along to meetings so he can be nosey about the world building. He is also living his best life as the spoiled son of the sect leader and wandering across the peaks getting into monster shenanigans. In a nod to canon, instead of bringing back lost fans (because SQQ would never!) it's SY that LQG drops off to QJP or QDP by the scruff of his robes.

(SQH is going insane in the bg, WTF is happening with his plot?!)

To match the Father, Oh Father reveal, here Shen Yuan's freak out would be over finding out that QiJiu never actually married and that their whole relationship is even WEIRDER than he initially thought.

(meanwhile LBH sees qijiu as a love story and plans to follow in their footsteps and marry shen yuan so they can rule the sect together. Little does he know that sy has 0 plans of becoming the sect leader.)

[stationintern]

Hello all,

November was… it certainly was. But, no matter how much life is life-ing, we always have fics. Thank the heavens, truly, for all of you beautiful people.

I found and revisited so many FANTASTIC fics this month, and I hope you enjoy them as much as I did as we carry on into December.

Let’s go!!!

The Edge Of Something by @tackytigerfic M, 1.4k

This was so hot I may have melted a bit. At this point, the tackytiger agenda isn’t even an agenda anymore. It’s a lifestyle. A quick and juicy MUST READ!

On Permanence by @the-starryknight M, 1.4k

Like the tags say, this fic is actually quite soft. I don’t think I’ve recced anything by Starry before, which is very surprising considering every time I read something they’ve written I have to stare at my ceiling for a few minutes. Very soft, very sweet. Eternally lovely writing from Starry.

Connecting Lines, Connecting Crimes by @sleepstxtic M, 15k

Fic writers will never cease to amaze me. This was so well done. Incredibly relevant, tender, and clearly made with love and passion. And it’s FREE! I cant believe I get to read fics like this. @sleepstxtic, this was so beautiful.

port in a storm by saltwatergarden M, 8k

God, I love a Draco Malfoy who runs a business. Cant stress that enough, actually. Loved the well thought through circumstances here, and have spent at least two nights imagining an epilogue to this in my brain.

AITA for being “obsessed” with my childhood nemesis? by rainstormradish M, 4.2k

Oh my god. I have been WAITING to talk about this. One of the funniest fics Ive read in a very long time. As a lurker on reddit, every little detail just sent me into fits of giggles. Kicking my legs, squealing. Could not recommend this more. For some reason, I cant actually tag the author here? But, their tumblr in the same as their ao3 name.

The Tune Without the Words by @teledild0nix G, 2k

I read this for the first time a while ago, and it is just so soft. A lovely little birdie and his lovely little ex-boyfriend. I just reread it while writing this rec to make sure I’m remembering it correctly, and I’m a bit tipsy so it nearly brought me to tears. Pls read.

Have a lovely December!!

xx, Moon

[pixeldolly]

The Sacrifice - Part 5

Evelyn's sensitive nose identified apartment A3 as Roman's last known destination, where his scent faded into nothingness. Her nerves were on edge: something about that place made her heckles rise, although she couldn't put her finger on it.

Meanwhile, Jacob tried to gather information using more conventional methods.

"Damn it! There's no name on the mailbox."

"We could just try knocking."

"And say what? 'Oh hello, sorry to disturb you at this hour, perfect stranger, but have you, by any chance, seen our missing friend? He's tall, blond, completely gorgeous?'"

"Gorgeous, huh?"

"I didn't mean it like that! I'm just stating an objective fact."

Evelyn decided to stop teasing him; they could revisit the matter of Jacob's unresolved feelings for Roman once they found him safe and sound.

Like it or not, someone needed to try talking to whoever lived in apartment 3A and see if they knew anything about Roman's whereabouts. It was their best lead. Their only lead, in fact.

Heart pounding, Jacob summoned up his nerve and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he knocked again, louder this time, then a few more times after that.

Still, nothing.

If anyone was at home, they weren't answering.

Frustrated, Jacob signalled for Evelyn to come out of hiding. That had been her idea, since the sudden appearance of a werewolf on one's doorstep after dark tended to make people less than willing to open the door.

"I don't like this, Jake. There's something really weird about that place. Being close to it feels like approaching a bear's den; your fur stands on end and you can practically taste the danger."

Jacob, who liked it less and less himself, turned his attention to the apartment on the left.

"There's a light on in Fiona's bedroom; that means she's at home."

"It might also mean she's busy, if you know what I mean."

Jacob was willing to risk it; his sister would be supremely pissed if he interrupted her date, but this was important.

To his relief, Fiona turned out to be home alone. Not that he expected her to be eager to help; the two of them had never been close, and Fiona was no fan of Roman Turner.

Well, if he had to beg, he'd beg.

"Hi, sis. Sorry to drop in on you like this, but we, uhh...we need your help. It's about Roman..."

He glanced at Evelyn for support.

"He's...kind of gone missing, and we have reason to think he might be in this building."

"Possibly against his will. Can we talk? Please?"

Fiona Merridew stared at her impromptu visitors, hand on hip and an unimpressed look on her face. The silence stretched uncomfortably long, becoming brittle.

"And I thought this was going to be a boring evening," Fiona said at last. "Please, do come in, and bring me up to speed on the latest drama involving your ex."

Her acid tone and withering gaze made both Evelyn and Jacob wince.

"This is ridiculous, you know that, right? Even if he is next door, has it occurred to you that he may want to be there? And that he doesn't want to be contacted? It wouldn't be the first time he's gone off with a new lover and left you high and dry."

Jacob bit his lip; what if his sister was right, and he'd made up this whole kidnapping fantasy because he didn't want to consider the more mundane alternative?

But no, Evelyn and Ulf believed it too!

"There's some bad vibes coming out of that place. Whatever's going on in there, I don't like it."

"What's going on is probably Eliza casting some spells -"

"Wait - Eliza? You know her, then?"

"I know her name's Eliza Clare and she's a dark witch who recently moved back into town. We spoke a bit the other day, but she's not my friend or anything."

Jacob felt his legs turn to jelly on the spot, and a lump of ice settled into the pit of his stomach. The room, together with Evelyn and Fiona, swam before his eyes.

"Oh no...oh no no no!"

"What's the matter with you?"

"That's her! Roman's mother! The witch who did terrible things to him as a child! He told me! He said her name was Eliza Clare!"

"Now you're making even less sense than before. The woman who lives next door is in her 30s - there's no way she's old enough to have a son of Roman's age."

"She's a witch! Couldn't she make herself younger with magic?"

"Well, there are various illusion spells one could use to project a different appearance, but they're inconvenient to cast and maintain long-term...Then there are the more permanent methods, but that's where we start getting into blood sacrifices and demon-summoning."

There was a pause, during which the temperature seemed to drop several degrees.

"Hmmm...come to think of it, she does resemble Roman quite a bit."

"Well, shit."

[heylavellan]

Happy DADWC! For your Rook/Lucanis, if it inspires you, how about this from the burning love list:

Don’t go into this lightly. If you’re mine, you need to understand I will burn the fucking world to the ground for you.

Happy writing!

hello hello thank u for this little gift. im going to make lucanis think about his feelings far too much. also, it gives me a chance to revisit the interest scene.

veilguard spoilers ahead!

@seigephoenix | @dadrunkwriting

do you understand?

rating: g

words: 593

additional notes: antonio de riva is qunari, uses they/them pronouns!!

-------

Lucanis slumped in the chair, sipping his third coffee since the disaster with Antonio just moments before. Spite crouched before the fireplace, staring at the flames as they danced and crackled.

Rook crept out of the dining room some ten minutes ago, when he made his second coffee. He tried not to dwell too much on that whole debacle, but it was still too fresh in his mind. His mind twisted itself into knots trying to comprehend what exactly happened there.

Like a fool, he ruined a perfectly romantic moment because he panicked. It was like a scene from the Dueling Hearts series. He'd even used a line from the second book: "You like to walk a little too close to the edge." He'd always wanted to use that one when he found the right person.

By all means, Antonio could be that person. Steadfast, reliable. They cared for Treviso as he did and stuck by his side even when Spite was at his worst.

»Why didn't you kiss them?« Spite asked, laying on the rug and dtaring at the ceiling. He had been asking himself the same question really. He should have. They both wanted it, so why didn't he?

"I don't know," he told Spite, taking a long sip of his coffee. He furrowed his brow, taking another sip. This cup was far more bitter than it should be. Lucanis was horrendously distracted pondering the whole situation, but he hadn't messed up coffee like this in a while.

But he lacked the energy to make a new cup, so he settled into his chair further and resolved to finish the drink. »You know. Don't want to say it,« Spite insisted.

Lucanis blinked a few times. That was probably true. It was far easier to bury those emotions, safe away from where they could be used against him.

Antonio's pointed ears poked out of their long dark hair, down for once instead of the bun they wore throughout the day. For once, they looked relaxed and it looked absolutely stunning on them. He'd purred the lines he'd always wanted to from his books, slowly backing them against the wall. He leaned casually against the wall, trying to frame them in with his forearm.

Their face was dusted with a blush, keeping up with clever repartee. This was the point at which he should kiss them. He wanted to. Maker, did he! But that was the problem. As he leaned in, his mind warned him. Or maybe it was Spite. These days it was difficult to distuinguish between the two.

"They don't want you like you want them. They take it lightly, when you'd burn the world to the ground for them." Just a few finger widths away from kissing them, he excused himself.

From what he saw, Antonio's affections were spread around amongst the crew. He wasn't a sweet girl like Harding or a powerful warrior like Taash. Lucanis was the Demon of Vyrantium, once. But he was captured by Venatori and came out the other side an abomination. As intense as his affections were, Antonio would be better with one of them. Hopefully, they would see that and move on.

"Thinking about it doesn't make it better," he grumbled, taking another long sip of his coffee. Unbidden, the memory of their scent, of rain and vitaar, assailed his nose. Lucanis scowled, trying to drown his senses in far too bitter coffee.

Spite considered him for a moment. »They will come back. They will see,« he asserted. »Like spark fanned into flame.«

[mypurp1e]

lucid part two

summary: you have the journal back. now what?

relationship: Agatha x Reader

word count: 5.2k

good to know: hi kate

note: hello, this chapter is also reposted. there may be slight differences from the original post, since i know i would do some last minute edits but may not have saved them to my files. anyway. sorry again for any trouble. :)

links: archive of our own | part one | part three (tba)

You stared at the book in your hands. You stared so long that you could see the pen marks on the insides of your eyelids when you blinked.

This couldn’t be real. You had to be imagining things thanks to the lack of sleep and the abundance of anxiety you’d accumulated over the last few days.

But you kept looking, and the words on the page didn’t change. So you flipped to the next page. More red. And on the next. And the next.

Almost every single page was littered with annotations, arrows, underlines, and at the bottom of each entry, a grade.

An actual letter grade.

She’d marked up the notebook as if it were just an essay you’d turned in for class. Academic feedback on the dreams you’d had about her.

After one paragraph, which you could tell you could tell by the slope of your handwriting that you’d written in the middle of the night, she noted:

C. Rushed. Grammatically inconsistent. Suspension of disbelief stretched to its limits.

Your face hadn’t stopped burning since she’d handed the notebook back to you, but it was hotter than ever as you read her critique.

You wanted to stop already. You needed to close the book or risk losing any remaining shred of self-respect you still had.

But something wouldn’t let you. Morbid curiosity, maybe. Or perhaps the chance that something she’d written in the margins would give you just a little bit of a thrill, whether or not she’d intended to do so.

A few pages later, in the margins of a longer, more detailed entry:

Your focus wanders here, bordering on sensory overload. Choose a lens: touch, sight, sound? One will do.

Then there was just:

Good.

Good. Good? What was good about it?

You couldn’t bring yourself to revisit whatever dream that comment appeared next to. You hadn’t reread any of them, actually, and didn’t think you’d ever be able to read any of them again, knowing she had seen them all. You’d just think to yourself She’s read this, at the end of each sentence.

And then maybe you’d have to scream into a pillow.

Between all the thinking and screaming, it would take an excruciatingly long time to get through even a short entry.

Still, you quietly folded the corner of the page over itself, just in case you ever did want to find out.

At the bottom of another page she’d written,

B-. Demonstrates a weak understanding of the female anatomy—surprising, considering the extensive knowledge on display elsewhere.

You felt a wave of shame like you’d never felt before. What had you possibly written to make her say that? And was it better that you’d apparently made up for it elsewhere? Or did that make it worse?

Worse. Definitely worse.

Then you read

An impossible position for anyone but a contortionist, which the professor—to my knowledge—is not. If she is, that should be established earlier in the narrative.

and your knees buckled. Your free hand barely found the corner of your mattress to keep you from falling to the floor. That one felt… different. Like a confirmation that she knew. Like a claim. And you didn’t know what to do with that.

As you neared the end of the notebook, it became harder and harder to continue. You didn’t have to read these dreams to know what they were about. They were fresh, not yet buried with the rest. You knew exactly what she was referencing in her notes now, so when she wrote something that was just a little too specific, you had to take a deep breath and close your eyes, letting the part of you that was begging you to stop and the other part keeping you moving forward fight it out.

When you finally made it to the last page, to the entry you’d made the day the journal went missing, there was a mixture of horror and relief as you read:

Your subject has proven to have quite the manual-oral fixation. Fascinating.

written right next to where you’d described swirling your tongue around her fingers.

You slumped back, your shoulders thudding against the wall, as if your body had only just caught up to what your mind had been feeling for days.

Your eyes swept over the final grade of the book.

A. Compelling, if not overindulgent.

Something turned warm in your chest—an “A” from Agatha Harkness? Unheard of, even in the classroom—but it chilled a second later when you read the line below:

See me during office hours.

You slammed the notebook shut and threw it across the room like it had burned you. Your head fell forward into your hands, fingers pressing against your scalp, trying to give yourself something to focus on besides the inky words floating around in your mind.

It would’ve been one thing to receive the notebook back as it had been. Just your words on the page in dark-colored inks. Nothing more, nothing less. There would’ve still been plausible deniability in that.

But this? There was no hiding from it. She’d not only seen what was inside; she’d read it. Analyzed it. Added her own words to it right alongside yours. Probably laughed the entire time.

And after all that, she wanted you to go to her office hours for what? So she could scold you? Humiliate you more? You weren’t naive enough to hope anything good (Good. Fuck. What an awful little word.) could come of it. Or maybe you were, but you were telling yourself you knew better.

So, no. You wouldn’t be going to office hours. You wouldn’t even be going to class for the foreseeable future. You were going to do whatever it took to never be in the same room with Agatha ever again.

The notebook remained on the floor in the corner of the room overnight—its new home as far as you were concerned—and it wasn’t going anywhere. Not until you moved out or found the nerve to burn it on the roof some night.

Maybe at some point, when you could stand to look at it again, you’d pick it up and put it somewhere a little more out of the way, like under the mattress or in a drawer. But even if it wasn’t in the most convenient place for now, it was still here, in your dorm, and not there, wherever that had been.

 (In her office? In her home? If you weren’t careful you could picture her sitting up in bed, notebook open against bent knees and glasses perched on her nose as she read, smirking non-stop. But you tried not to think about that.)

But, as you were about to head out the door the next morning, you found yourself bending down and slipping the notebook into your bag, a self-betrayal you couldn’t stop. It was like you suddenly couldn’t bear to have it out of sight, like if you couldn’t see it or touch it within three seconds of thinking about it, you risked diving headfirst into another spiral about it going missing.

You wouldn’t acknowledge that, maybe, there was something else tethering you to the book, something more than just the fear that it would disappear again.

It was the same thing that compelled you to fan through the pages as you sat in the quad with your mug in your other hand, pretending not to look at it all while hoping for the faintest flash of red ink that would make your cheeks burn and your chest tight at the same time. It was the same thing that made you rub the one folded corner of a page between your thumb and forefinger anytime you weren’t taking notes in your seminar. The thing that had you clutching it to your chest as you peeked discreetly around corners, looking for her even in places she had no business being.

You were flipping through the pages again as you sat down for dinner that night—not seeing anything inside except the occasional flash of color—when Wanda slid into the seat across from you like she’d appeared from nowhere.

You jumped and your finger lost its place in the pages, causing the rest of the notebook to fall closed with a soft thud.

Wanda’s brow raised in amusement.

“Whoa. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” you nodded, then took a deep breath through your nose. “You just surprised me.”

Wanda nodded back, but you could tell you hadn’t dispelled all of her suspicions. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing toward the notebook.

You shrugged, trying to regain some of your composure, but you’d lost the upper hand on subtlety already. “Just notes.”

“Did they get graded? What was all that red?”

“New memorization technique.”

“Can I see?” Wanda asked, reaching for the notebook. The way you saw it, it almost seemed to float into her waiting hand before you pulled it off the table entirely.

“No.”

“Okay… You’re being weird,” Wanda said, and you knew it was true, but you didn’t give in. The notebook remained securely in your grip under the table. “But fine. I don’t need to look at your secret note-taking strategy. If I fail this test for the gen-ed class I’m taking, though, I’ll blame you.”

You laughed once, sharp. “Blame yourself for not taking it freshman year like the rest of us.”

Wanda tilted her head as if demonstrating her decision to disengage, then stood. “I’m going to go get food.”

You followed, but not before putting the notebook back into your bag.

You checked three times to make sure it was still there before you left the cafeteria after you’d finished eating, even though you felt pathetic by the second look. Wanda pretended not to notice.

Thursday morning came and went. You stayed in bed—just staring at the ceiling, not even scrolling on your phone—long past the time you should’ve been in Harkness’s class. But even if you weren’t physically there, your mind was.

The slide on the projection screen would have the name of the day’s lecture in a simple, bold font; nothing garish. She’d probably started with a reminder of the midterm due date, then offered up a general berating to the procrastinators. Maybe she’d looked over to her right, seen your empty seat, and had to pause. Nothing dramatic, just for a second. So brief, no one would really even notice. But you would’ve.

Then you shook yourself out of your own head because, even after everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours, you still wanted that. And it was humiliating.

You spent the weekend almost entirely in your room, surviving off the stash of almost-expired snacks and a few water bottles you’d forgotten were hidden in the back of your mini-fridge. Texts came in from friends, but you didn’t respond to any of them until Wanda threatened to come over and drag you out herself if you didn’t give some proof of life.

Somehow, this weekend was even worse than the last when you had been running all over Westview. You didn’t realize then that ignorance really was bliss. The stillness was suffocating, and the knowing was tearing you up inside.

But that wasn’t keeping you from getting stuck on a whole new set of unanswered questions.

Why had she bothered to give the notebook back, and why had she written those notes inside of it? Was it just to tease and torture you? A silly little mind game she decided to play with you? You wouldn’t put it past her, and if that’s all it was, you’d have to begrudgingly appreciate her commitment to the bit, even if it made you want to disappear to start a new life in some faraway country.

Why had she read it at all, once she knew what you were writing about? Was it just the same compulsive curiosity that had kept you reading her commentary? Just some sort of sick delight from finding something herself pulled into so completely indecent?

But… she had made sure you knew she read everything. There wasn’t a single page without some kind of marking, at least not once you got past the class notes and the less scandalous dream fodder from earlier in the year. That had to mean something. Right?

No matter what you tried to do—read, do homework, or even just scroll on some stupid app on your phone—the questions wouldn’t leave you alone.

More than once, you were tempted to press on the bruise. You’d even pick up the journal and stare for a long time at its cover, but you could never bring yourself to actually open it up. The most you could do was feel for that folded corner and run your finger over the crease, back and forth. By the time you were in classes on Monday, the crease was so soft that the little paper triangle was barely hanging on anymore.

By Monday night, the feeling had become unbearable; you had to do something to stop it from continuing to fester.

At nine-thirty on Tuesday morning, you left your dorm as you normally would, but instead of making the journey to the room on the third floor of the Stark building, you found yourself heading toward the administrative offices.

You were standing in front of the registrar’s window by the time the bell tolled to mark the start of the 9:45 classes.

When the student worker—Kate, according to her name tag—asked you what you needed, you didn’t hesitate. “A course withdrawal form, please.”

She shuffled through a row of file folders before plucking up a half-sheet of paper.

“Here you go,” she said, holding it out for you to take. “Better hurry. Deadline’s Friday.”

You shifted the weight of your bag higher onto your shoulder and clicked your pen. “I can just fill it out right now. I’m not in a rush.”

“You can fill out most of it,” Kate agreed, “but you need a signature from your advisor if you’re going to drop to part-time.”

“That’s okay,” you assured both her and yourself, positioning the tip of your pen on the First Name line. “I still have enough hours.”

“And you have to get one from your professor, too.”

Your heart sank.

Your eyes scanned the form and, yep, down in the bottom right corner, a line for an instructor’s signature.

You glanced back up at Kate. Her face was schooled into a look of practiced sympathy, like you weren’t the first person she’d had to break that news to. “Rough semester?”

You snorted. “Something like that.”

“Well,” Kate said, leaning forward on the surface of her side of the counter. “You can try the online form. Usually if the professor gets it by email, they’ll just sign it and send it back. Nothing in person.”

That was the best news you’d heard in over a week. You looked up at her, eyes wide and grateful. “You are a lifesaver.”

She laughed quietly before collapsing back in her chair. “Good luck,” she said with a tilt of her head before you walked back toward the exit.

The bell in the campus clock tower started to signal it was ten o’clock just as you stepped back into your dorm building. Agatha would be three slides deep into her PowerPoint by now.

When you got back up to your room, you sat down at the desk in the corner. You almost never sat there—the wooden chair was uncomfortable and you could hear the music that your neighbor seemed to play around the clock even more clearly than usual. But it felt like the right place for now.

You grabbed your laptop out of your bag and pulled up the registrar’s website, searching for the digital version of the form you’d crumpled into a ball on your way back; there was no way in hell you were using the paper copy.

When you finally downloaded it, you filled in the fields in record time. You wanted to get it over and done as quickly as possible; there was no point in delaying it. You were never setting within fifty feet of Agatha Harkness ever again, and this form was step one toward that goal.

The basics were easy—name, date, student ID, course number—but you hesitated when you got to “Reason for withdrawing.”

You couldn’t very well say: “My professor read through all of the sex dreams I’ve had about her, so I now need to use the class time to attend very intense and targeted therapy instead.”

So, after thinking a little bit more, you went with, “Course load too heavy.”

It was kind of true, or at least, you could argue it if you had to. Besides, seniors dropped classes all the time, realizing too late that they only had energy for the bare minimum in their last couple semesters.

You sent the completed form to the printer down the hall, then walked down to sign it and scan it back in. As you walked back down the hall with the printed copy in hand, your eyes were drawn to the last space you needed to fill.

Instructor’s signature.

It wasn’t written in red ink, but it haunted you just as much as any of the writing in your notebook.

When you got back to your room, you sat down at your desk and opened a blank email. You attached the scan first, something that allowed you to feel productive without actually doing any of the real work. But once the file showed up at the bottom of the window, loaded, there was just you and a blinking cursor.

You took a deep breath and typed:

Subject: Course withdrawal

Good morning, Professor Harkness,

I’ve decided I need to withdraw from your course. I’ve filled out the form (attached), so all it needs is your signature. Would you mind signing it so I can turn it in to the registrar? The deadline is coming up on Friday.

Thank you in advance.

You scanned the message twice for typos, even in your auto-generated signature. It wasn’t like it mattered at this point, but you had just recently realized you had a fear of being “grammatically inconsistent.”

Then you hit Send.

The reply came almost instantly, even though class should’ve still been in session—maybe you were missing a quiz.

Subject: RE: Course withdrawal

Bring it to office hours.

-AH

You read the email over and over again until the words stopped making sense and a metallic taste tinged the inside of your mouth; in the silence, you’d managed to bite enough skin off your lip that it had started to bleed.

Of course,that’s how she responded. You should’ve known better.

So, now, you weren’t just facing a W.

You were getting an F.

Because there was no way in hell you were going to go to Harkness’s office hours to ask her permission, in person, to drop her class. And there was an even smaller chance of you ever going to class again.

So between the lack of attendance and the assignments and tests you’d miss, you were going to fail.

An F, though… And after you’d worked so hard over the last few years. Were you going to take the hit to your GPA so you could avoid a few minutes (awkward, humiliating, and soul-destroying as they would be) of embarrassment? Avoiding her wouldn’t make her somehow unread those things you’d written about her, and screwing up your transcript wouldn’t change the words she’d written on those pages.

Then again, how much damage could one little F do, right? Maybe it just sounded bad, and it wouldn’t drop your GPA by more than a few decimal points. And you could start planning right now on how to talk your way out of it if someone ever happened to question the course on your transcript.

The ideas chased each other in and out of your thoughts for the next hour as you lay on your bed on top of the covers. You were missing your second class of the day, again, just to stare up at the ceiling of your dorm, like the pinholes in the tiles would rearrange themselves to spell out a solution for you.

Your phone buzzed on your stomach and you almost ignored it, feeling like the mere act of raising it up was beyond your current capabilities. But when it buzzed again a few minutes later, you picked it up.

A calendar reminder was fixed in the middle of your screen.

Harkness office hours: 3-5 PM

You’d set the alert just a few days before your journal had gone missing, assuming you’d want the time to ask a few final questions before turning in your term paper. And then a second alert for good measure.

If you were going to get that signature, you only had two chances to do it—today’s office hours or Thursday’s.

So you could sit with the pit of dread in your stomach for two more days, risk skipping again and securing your F. Or you could go now. Get it over with.

You could probably even avoid seeing her one-on-one. You just had to stake out her office and wait for another student to go in, then interrupt so you’d have an unwitting buffer between yourself and Agatha.

So, that afternoon, that was what you did.

Or tried to do.

You walked into the department and took up camp on a bench down the hall from Harkness’s office, waiting for someone, anyone, to knock so you could hijack their meeting. But you sat there for over an hour, and not one other person walked up to that door. You knew people were afraid of her, but it was midterm season, and still, no one was there.

When an hour became an hour and forty-five minutes, you debated leaving. There was still one more session of office hours before the form was due. You could wait down the hall again, and maybe someone else would show up then. And if they didn’t, well, you’d have a decision to make. But at least you didn’t have to make it right now.

Releasing a deep sigh through your nose, you got up to leave, but a door creaked open further down the hall and stopped you cold, only halfway standing.

You felt her before you saw her; her gaze was too heavy to ignore. But, oh, did you try. And, despite knowing exactly how it would play out, you prayed to whatever higher power was out there that she would ignore you too.

“Leaving?” she asked, cool-voiced, but there was something in the undercurrent that felt familiar in a way you couldn’t explain.

You closed your eyes and let out a soft breath through your nose before finally turning your head to look over at her.

She was standing just outside the doorway to her office, coffee mug in one hand, phone in the other. She was still but not frozen, her thumb hovering deliberately over her screen like she’d been mid-scroll when she’d noticed you. The fabric of her button-down rustled softly as she moved to lean against the door frame.

You scrambled for words. “Yeah, I was,” you said, finally noticing the burn in your hamstrings and shoulders from the way you were still half-hunched over. You stood the rest of the way with as much confidence as you could muster.

“So you’re not here to see me,” she said more than she asked.

“No.” The word somehow stretched itself into two syllables, the second lifting a half-octave higher than you mean it to.

She nodded, raising her mug in your direction before turning and heading down the hallway in the opposite direction, but left her door cracked just enough to say I’ll be back. It wasn’t for your benefit, you told yourself. She’d just left it that way in case anyone else showed up. There were still a few minutes of her office hours left, after all.

A voice in your head was screaming for you to leave. She’d given you the opportunity. You needed to take it. Go. Leave. Run.

But you weren’t moving.

She had already seen you, and as much as you hated knowing that, you hated the idea of retreat even more. Cowardice from afar, you clearly had no problem with. But cowardice in person? It would probably be the most humiliating part of the whole thing when all was said and done. If you left now, you wouldn’t be coming back.

So you took another deep breath, rolled back your shoulders, and straightened your spine. You could do it. You could hand her a piece of paper and wait a few seconds for her to sign it. That’s all it would take. And then you could leave and move on from Agatha Harkness with your dignity intact. (Mostly… Kind of… A little bit, anyway.)

She didn’t seem too surprised to find you’d floated closer to her office door by the time she returned, coffee mug steaming in her hand.

“Thought you didn’t need to see me,” she said before bringing the cup to her lips. Still neutral. Still not giving anything away.

“I don’t,” you said. “I just need a signature.”

You both stood there, wrapped in the silence, before she reached out and pushed the door fully open. “Come in, then.”

She walked inside, and you followed, but at a distance. You stopped only a few steps into the room, maybe because you didn’t know what would happen if you got any closer, or maybe giving yourself space to bolt if needed.

She didn’t offer you a seat, and she didn’t take one herself. She just leaned against the front of her desk, one arm bracing her against the edge and the other holding the mug near her face as she watched you.

“The form,” she said, holding her hand out expectantly. Her first two fingers curled twice in quick succession, and you had to hide the hitch of your breath as you handed the paper over.

She took it and held it just below eye level, gaze flicking back and forth as she skimmed the filled-in fields. “Course load too heavy,” she read, tone deadpanned. Not mocking. Just shy of amused.

“Yes,” you nodded. You rolled your shoulders back again like a change in posture would help anything. “I’m working on my senior project and I have two other required classes I think I should focus on.”

She set the form beside her on the desk, then the coffee cup on the other, before crossing her arms over her chest.

 “This isn’t about something else?” Her eyes flicked to the paper then back up like a dare.

“No.” You gestured to the form as if it had already explained everything. “I’ve just got a lot of other work to handle.”

She hummed as if she knew better but wouldn’t say so.

The quiet fell between you again, but she made no move to sign the form. Not even to grab a pen. She just stood still. Unwavering. Even more unnerving with silence than with her most cutting words.

You couldn’t take it.

“They’re not about you,” you finally said. You didn’t know if that was what she wanted to hear, and it certainly wasn’t what you planned to say, but it was out there, and you had to go with it. “I just wanted you to know that. They’re about one of my other professors.”

She tilted her head, the corners of her lips twitching almost imperceptibly. “I didn’t know there was another Agatha on the faculty. You’ll have to introduce me.”

So you had written her name somewhere in those pages. You’d known this whole time it had to be true. You just hadn’t wanted to admit it.

She exhaled through her nose, a small but knowing smirk breaking out across her face, and, God, it felt so familiar—the tendrils that had fallen in her face lay exactly where they always did before you brushed them back in your sleep. You swallowed. Hard.

“Easier question, then,” she offered like it was a favor, but you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from sighing. “How will this affect your graduation status?”

“I can just take it with Professor Hayward in the spring.”

She didn’t even try to stifle her scoff. “The only thing that man hates more than an undergraduate lecture is a department meeting.”

You shrugged. “A class is a class.”

The look that flashed across her face told you she was highly unimpressed with your answer, but it disappeared in the time it took to push off from where she was leaning against the desk and walk around to sit in her chair behind it. Her elbows perched on the tabletop, and she rested her chin on her laced finger, assessing you with sharp blue eyes that somehow made your skin sting.

Finally, she reached one hand out and tapped her fingertips over the form, acknowledging it for the first time since she’d set it down. You watched as her nails clicked rhythmically right over the space that was empty and waiting for her signature.

“So,” she said, breaking your trance. “Am I signing this or not?”

You should’ve been able to answer right away. Yes. Yes. Even a Please, I’m begging you, because what was one more embarrassment on top of the pile you’d already collected?

But instead, you said, “I don’t know.”

You stood there, not quite believing the words that had just come out of your mouth. She let you sit with it for a few breaths before breaking the stillness.

“Well,” she said as she slid the form to the edge of the desk. “Come back when you do. And until you’ve dropped the course, you should remember the midterm is due on Thursday. And that I don’t allow make-up work.”

“I know.”

She leaned back in her chair, the seat groaning softly with the shift of weight. “You missed a quiz today.”

You shook your head, trying to fight a grin while running your tongue over the backs of your bottom teeth. “Figures.”

You stepped forward only as much as you had to pick the form up off the desk, then turned to leave, only stopping again in the doorway when she spoke again.

“Thursday,” she said as if it were its own kind of farewell.

You didn’t say anything more. Just gave her one last look and then stepped into the hallway.

You walked out of the building into the chilly New Jersey autumn air and stopped right outside the doors, clutching the fabric of your coat snugly around your neck as you looked out at the campus grounds. The air that escaped your lips as you sighed fogged around you for just a moment before disappearing.

Somehow you’d walked out of that office with an incomplete form, a half-promise to show up to class again, and no solution to your problem. You weren’t right back to where you started; you were someplace even worse.

[danpuff-ao3]

Thanks for the tag @cindle-writes!

"Self-rec time! What are your favorite five fics that you've written and why? After replying to this ask, feel free to pass on to five other writers to spread the love. 💗"

Tagging: @perverse-idyll @writcraft @lizzy0305 @ripeteeth @lqtraintracks @threadbearao3 and whoever else might want to play!

It was hard to narrow down, as I've written well over 100 fics in my time (most available on AO3, but I still have some secrets). This has been good to look at and think about in light of my recent writerly struggles. Gave me a nice reminder of what I love and what I've accomplished.

1.) Contempt | Devotion

I'm counting them together, since they're the same story from different perspectives. Nothing will ever top them for me. They are THE Snarry story for me. They've been my OTP for 20+ years, and those works are years and years of dedication (and devotion, ha) to this ship. It's all the feelings I've ever had about them. It's the version of them, as individuals and together, that most resonates with me.

It is, as I often say, the story of my soul. I ripped these words out of my teeth, out of my bones, and wrote them with my blood. It was an agonizing process, and one I would do again and again, because I could not be more proud of anything, and it still amazes me that I created this story. That I finally pulled it out of my soul and put it to words. All of the passion I have for them, all of my history with this ship, all of it is right there.

(Also shoutout to the other little ficlets in the series; this version of Snarry will always have my heart.)

2.) Collateral Damage

While Contempt is the Snarry of my dreams, Collateral Damage is the DRON of my dreams.

Draco and Ron are my secondary OTP, and while I could write and rewrite Snarry to death, I have a hard time revisiting Dron as the main relationship, because I feel like I put everything I had for them into this one story.

The fic is written in Draco's POV, which I loved and was such a treat. I loved exploring Draco and Ron as individuals, and as a couple, and considering them more than I ever had before. It was fun playing with some real enemies-to-lovers, and seeing it become something really passionate and loving and fun (but also angsty, because I'm ME, hello).

It's a tale of revenge and insecurity, and fooling yourself while you try to fool others. I tried to really love on Draco and Ron both, while also diving into their respective flaws, and while I already loved them, writing this fic made me love them all the more.

3.) The Curse of Anteros

Another Snarry, of course. This one is such a love story, in some ways, though there's plenty of questionable (objectionable) content there. But for me, that made it all the more romantic, this sort of love conquers all, even in the worst of scenarios. My boys survived toxicity, and a curse, and life.

It's also a concept I've played with for quite some time, inspired by a Charmed episode (which was itself inspired by a film called Ladyhawke). It was a fun exercise in watching them grow, and watching time move on, with their connection unchanged. The story spans decades, and really, I'm not sure I've written anything more romantic!

Also features art by my dear friend @mrviran which is phenomenal and I am still totally awed by what they created for this story!! It was fun inventing a creature together, too <3

4.) A Matter of Time

Another Snarry which also holds a special place in my heart. It was a unique experience of trying new things. For one, it was alternating POV, which I don't normally care for; for me it's hard to maintain flow along with maintaining character voices. But ALSO it was told in reverse chronological order, which I'd been dying to try! Also...the angst. I love it.

And the END!!!! The end kills me and I love it. </3

5.) Cruel Summer

I waffled with choosing 5, because I felt like it should be Orange Blossoms, and I think part of me was scared to put this one on the list. You know...devastating and dead dovey as it is. It's a Sirry fic, one that I'd been cooking up in my noggin' for a few years.

I wanted to play with a darker side to Sirry, and portraying a very unhealthy and troubling relationship which really only felt natural with all that Harry and Sirius had been through. I wanted to do them and the concept justice, which I really think I did, and I'm really proud of how it came out. There's more story to tell...the real story, I think, will be the aftermath, but we'll see if it ever actually comes to fruition. In the meantime, I really love this story, awful as the content is.

[crumblinggothicarchitecture]

I'd like to know your opinion on why ts songs are considered so good lyrically by her fans. That one line in cardigan is hailed as the peak writing skill by them. The one that says you drew stars around my scars. Am I missing something or are they just gaslighting me?

Hello- sorry it took me sooooo long to get back to you :) I am a busy little bee these days- but I love chatting with people too! <3

So, the line “you drew stars around my scars / but now I’m bleeding” is perhaps good writing, when we only compare Taylor Swift to her own work. It’s certainly a change from “the players gonna play, play, play,” but it is not somehow a gift to lyricism. I know that swifties tend to use lines like these to say that “look see, she is a talented writer” when the truth is that it’s just a boring metaphor that essentially goes nowhere in the song.  

Yeah- They are literally gaslighting you. It’s an alright line- but it’s not genius. The reason swifties think this line is amazing is because of the alliteration between "scars" and "stars." Apparently one alliteration is enough to make someone into literary genius? Just one repetitive sound- and they think she’s pulling off something amazing.

Compare this line to a full narrative arc in an alliterative verse epic poem from early Germanic Literature- and Swift's writing is basically loose change on the dashboard compared to gold bar- lyricism.  

So, her line "you drew stars around my scars / but now I'm bleeding" is mostly incoherent. She's honestly saying word salad in most of her songs- with vague rhymes at the end of each phrase- but I digress.  

I think you're keying into a thoughtful observation here. Putting aside my comment on its general incoherence, let me first speak to the fact that this line is an attempt at metaphor.  

She is saying "you drew stars" in effort to merge the conceptual point of "drawing stars" to someone reaching out- or creating interpersonal connection. She continues "around my scars" to showcase how this new connection sees her past, the “scars,” and is encapsulating it with a drawn star instead of, for instance, marking it out with a black mark or something. The connotative value of the word star, in this case, calls forward the idea of goodness and since it is tied to her connotative value of "scars" as a past hurt- the line ultimately means that some new interpersonal connection is viewing her past and approving of it rather than hating it.  It's meant to ring as a redemptive arc- yet nothing in the song actually needs redemption or ever mentions it again. The theme drops immediately after the line finishes.

The line finishes, "but now I'm bleeding" which is meant to mean that the scar is reopened- because the connection she made is no longer interested in her. This analysis, however, requires many leaps in logic. I cannot point to any specific linguistic markers that would denote the connection between "scar" and "bleeding." Though Swift clearly means to interconnect these two points, scars don’t bleed. So, she’s trying to say that the scar has reopened- perhaps because the person who drew the stars is leaving. However, there is nothing in the language itself that suggests this conclusion; rather she relies on audience reception to jump from point "a" to point "b." She never calls it a wound, she mentions "bloodstain" is a later line- but the connection between all the different phrasing is tenuous at best. I mean that there is no storyline within the line itself that is suggestive of the meaning Swift is attempting to lay out.  

Beyond this line- nothing in the whole song ever revisits the thematic purpose of the metaphor. She never mentions stars, or scars, and does not revisit the theme of redemptive love. She barely even lays out the idea of redemption in love in the first place- and further drops the imagery by never going back to the same theme again. She conjures up this image just to drop it immediately.

This is a pattern in her work- she writes one thing, and then drops the idea. 

I mean it sounds clever- without actually being clever.  

[steddieas-shegoes]

Hello love! ❤️

I wrote this little blurb and don’t know where to go with it so I figured you could have it if you want it ❤️ I can see it being something good but I don’t know if I’m the right person to write it. But here it is:

My star ✨ you absolutely could do so much with this and I hope you revisit it. For now though, I’ll add a little something to this and maybe it’ll help you do more too ❤️

Eddie doesn’t pull into the driveway, he knows better. He waits on the road.

Steve was already waiting outside for him.

That’s never a good sign.

He was hopping into the passenger seat before Eddie even registered that he was walking towards him.

“Where to?”

“Anywhere but here.”

Eddie turned around and left the neighborhood, keeping the radio turned down in case Steve wanted to talk.

But as they continued towards the trailer, Steve remained silent.

“Did something happen?”

“Just my dad being my dad.”

“Did he hurt you?”

Eddie felt Steve’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look away from the road.

“No. Not physically.”

“Good. Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Maybe later.”

Steve leaned his head back against the seat.

The rest of the ride was silent, and Eddie let his mind wander to all the possible things that could have gone wrong.

“I can hear you thinking.”

Eddie put the van in park in his yard, finally looking over at Steve.

“Just worried.”

“I’m okay.”

“You say that a lot for someone who isn’t okay a lot of the time.”

Steve sighed.

Eddie watched as he considered what to say, reached his hand out to rest on his leg to comfort him.

“He’s mad because I haven’t found a better job. He figured I would have worked on making contacts or something. I dunno.”

Eddie squeezed his thigh.

“You don’t want that though.”

“Yeah well. Try telling him that.”

“I could.”

Steve smirked.

“Yeah? What would you say?”

Eddie leaned in close, lips almost close enough to touch Steve’s.

“I’d say that he doesn’t know his son well enough to judge what he chooses to do with his life. I’d say that his son is perfect the way he is. I’d say that I love his son no matter what career he chooses, if he even chooses one at all. I’d say he doesn’t deserve to have you.”

Steve closed the space between them, his breath hot and lips warm.

“And I’d say, fuck you Richard, I’ve got plenty of people who are proud of me.”

“That’s my boy,” Eddie said before kissing him again, hungrier, wetter.

“Can we go inside so we don’t get caught in your van?”

“That’s no fun. You love when I take you apart in my van.”

Steve’s blush said more than his words could.

But Eddie led them inside, past Wayne’s room, to his bedroom.

And despite the kiss in the car, Eddie didn’t let things go far tonight.

Steve needed him close, needed him to hold him, but didn’t need more than that.