#having people appreciate me For My Writing is such a new experience. making friends through ao3 comments. the ask from just now

[astrxealis]

i miss the times back in shadowbringers. don’t get me wrong i love how things are in endwalker but there was just ?? something so magical about shb to me ???

[poppiesforthirteen]

sappy hours don't look at me

[rosenclaws]

Hi! 👋

I saw your requests were open and I was wondering if I could submit a request?

The reader is a shy artist who is a friend of Wades. She carries a sketchbook with her everywhere to sketch new pieces, but she doesn't show her work to people unless it's to Wade.

She and Worst!Logan become friends and slowly develop feelings for one another, but they won't say anything to each other because they think that the other wouldn't want them. Until Worst!Logan finds her sketchbook by accident and finds the book is filled with sketches of him. Worst!Logan confronts her about it, but she's a stuttering mess, and they end up confessing to each other. And please make it extra fluffy. Maybe throw in a kiss or a makeout session. Your choice lol.

Thank you and have a good day! 😊

Hidden Feelings and Hidden Sketches || Worst!Logan Howlett x Reader

warnings: drinking, swearing, wade making suggestive comments, make out sesh towards the end, reader gets drunk and logan helps her out. Logan also calls the reader sketch. It got kinda suggestive at the end I apologize sldfjka

a/n: Hi!! This idea is adorable omg I love it, I hope it was fluffy enough for you I have to admit I'm not great at writing pure fluff. I also hope wade is funny because I am not funny so its hard to write his dialogue sometimes. I also altered the plot a little so i hope its okay

You never quite understood how you and Wade became friends. He was possibly the biggest extrovert you have ever met and you were the exact opposite. He saw you once at his favorite diner with your sketchbook and he jumped into the seat across from you.

Yapping on about your art and if you drew often and that he once tried to paint but the class didn't appreciate his art and asking if you'd paint him naked as a present for his girlfriend. Which you declined very quickly.

He wouldn't leave you alone, talking and asking you all sorts of things. You getting a few words in and him covering the other 98% of the conversation. He left with the promise of seeing you again and disappeared before you could say anything else.

It was an odd experience that's for sure but you liked Wade. Sure enough he kept coming back and a friendship had blossomed. He invited you over to dinner multiple times but you always declined, choosing to meet at the diner instead.

Slowly he got you out of your shell around him. Cracking jokes and sometimes putting him in his place when he went a little too far. You showed him your sketchbook after a while and he gushed over your drawings. Begging you to draw him at his best angles and you would sometimes give in.

When he disappeared for a while you got worried, that is until he showed up with a new dog and a very handsome new friend. You couldn't take your eyes off of him. Wade spotted you and waved but you didn't even notice.

"I know right, he's like a tall glass of rage filled water." Wade sighs as he sits across from you.

"I uh what?" You hug your sketchbook close to your chest as you rip your eyes away from Wade's new friend.

"Oh don't pretend like you weren't eye fucking him the second he walked in here, not that I blame you." Your eyes widen as you start to stutter. Your face heating up as you stare at the pancakes in front of you instead. A loud grunt catches your attention. You can barely meet his eyes as your brain is too busy being embarrassed by what Wade had said.

"You can sit on my lap angel cakes." Wade pats his leg but gets shoved to the side as his new friend sits down across from you.

"Logan this is my friend, be a good kitty and play nice." Logan rolls his eyes and chooses to ignore Wade. He does look at you though, burning a whole through your skull.

"Hi Logan," You say shyly.

"Hi." A few beats of silence pass until Wade breaks it as usual.

"Well aren't you two the life of the party, if you excuse me I have to go relieve myself." Wade stands up and instead of asking Logan to move, starts to climb over the man.

"What the fuck?!" Logan hisses as he grabs Wades shirt and tosses him to the ground. You can't help the laugh that escapes your mouth as your friend flops to the ground.

"So rude." Wade shakes his head and heads off to the bathroom. Silence falls once again as you awkwardly push around the pancakes on your plate.

"What's that?" Logan asks, nodding towards your sketchbook. You grab your book and shove it into your bag.

"Nothing! It's uh, just a sketchbook it's nothing don't worry about it." Logan raises an eyebrow as you panic in front of him.

As if you couldn't feel more embarrassed. You debate on waiting for wade or just leaving to save yourself but Logan makes the choice for you.

"You don't have to stay, not holding you hostage." He sips his coffee as you let out a shaky laugh.

"Not much of a talker." You play with your fork as you look up at Logan. He's much more handsome up close.

"Neither am I." He offers a small half smile and you return it. He's still incredibly intimidating but maybe you can stick it out a little longer. Logan's food comes and the two of you eat in a comfortable silence and when you're done you work up the courage if he'll be here tomorrow. He holds the door open for you as you step outside.

You clutch tightly onto the strap of your bag as you wait for his answer. He lights a cigar and you try and suppress your smile when he says he will be. As you part ways you realize that Wade never did come back from the bathroom.

That sneaky bastard.

-on

The diner uh, meetings as you called them, with Logan were amazing. His grumpy exterior was hard to crack but eventually the two of you started to become friends. Being with Logan started to become your favorite parts of the week. He was more than the tough guy persona he put on. What surprised you the most is that he seemed interested in you too. Well you know as friends.

Logan could appreciate someone who liked the quiet. He never pushed you out of your comfort zone, never made you feel uncomfortable. He was just Logan. Call it what you want but it was only a matter of time before you fell head over heels for that man. Not that you'd ever tell him.

How could you?

He's a superhero. He's gorgeous and grumpy and funny and so much more. All you do is draw silly pictures. So for now you settle on friends. Even if he makes your stomach turn with ever smile. Even if his laugh is the best thing you've ever heard. Friends. That's good enough for now.

-

"Wade Wilson I am going to kill you!" You say angrily.

He had texted you asking you to meet him for coffee and you had agreed solely because you never got the chance to scold him for his little dine and dash.

"Leaving me alone with a stranger!" You slap his hand as he tries to reach for your pastry.

"Ow! That was so five months ago! Anyways I was just trying to help. You know, relieve the sexual tension." You gasp as he makes a very lewd gesture with his hands.

"Besides, you and Logi bear are spending a lot of time together for just being friends huh Boo-Boo." Before you can stop him he reaches for your sketchbook. Keeping it just out of reach as he flips through the pages.

"Give it back!" You plead as you reach across the table.

"Oh. My. God. How come you never draw me this sexy?" He shows you the pages and you fall back into your seat in defeat.

You know what's in there and now Wade does too. Pages and pages of sketches of Logan. You feel like a stalker. It's not your fault! Ever since you met him he's all you can think about. All you can draw.

"Please give it back." You beg but he refuses.

"You'll get it back after you admit to Logan how you feel."

"What!" Your jaw drops as you make another lunge for your book.

"I am a very impatient man and I'm not about to wait another thousand words for the two of you to fuck." He stands up and tucks the book down his pants.

"Ew really?" You groan as you let your face fall into your hands.

"I'm having a get together and you're invited. Logan will be there it's the perfect opportunity." You feel like throwing up at the idea of talking to Logan about any of this.

Maybe you could just steal it back tonight. Or maybe you could never show your face to anyone ever again. Yah the second option sounds better. If only it was that simple. You waited for many anxiety filled hours, the only thing on your mind is getting your damn book back. You knock on the door and it swings open with Wade standing there, a stupid smile on his face.

"Honey badger at 4 o'clock." He hands you a drink and pushes you right towards him. You shoo him away, taking a deep breath and head towards Logan.

"Hi Logan," You say nervously.

"Didn't think these were really your thing." He says with a smile. You laugh nervously and nod your head.

"Yeah well...I thought he'd finally stop asking if I came to one of these things." You joke. Logan snorts and offers you the seat next to him.

"Good luck with that." You sit next to him and swirl around the ice in your drink.

If you're going to tell him then you're going to need a lot of help. Logan's eyes widen as you down your drink in one go, making a face before asking for another one. He's never seen you at a party, let alone drink.

"Why don't you take it easy there sketch."

"It's a party right, why not have a little fun." Logan keeps an eye on you as you drink and drink. As the night passes on he realizes that you might have had a little too much. You can barely get a sentence out by the time the party's over.

"Hi Logii!" Your arms slink around his neck as you stumble into him.

"Come on, let me take you home." He chuckles as he helps you to the door.

"Nooo, I needa get my uh..." You stop and think for a moment.

"My uhhh" Logan hums as he helps you to your apartment. You stay close to Logan as you walk through the night. He's just so warm and he smells so good.

"Got your keys?" You pat around for them and frown. Logan reaches into your bag and pulls them out.

"Right here." He unlocks your door and helps you to your bed. You sigh as your head hits your pillow.

"Oh! my sketchbook. Wade has my sketchbook." You say with a yawn.

"I'll get it back tomorrow, now sleep well." Logan takes off his jacket and lays it on you. He brushes your cheek gently. A soft smile on his face as he leaves you to sleep peacefully.

"Good night."

-

God your head hurt and the sun was way too bright. You crack your eyes open groan as you head pounds. What were you even thinking last night? You wanted your damn book back that's what you were thinking. A loud knock on your door makes you moan in pain. Getting up you swing open your door only to be met with Logan holding your book. Your face pales as you see a smirk on his face.

"Wade gave me back your book." You reach out for it but he holds it back.

"You're a real good artist sketch." To your horror he opens up your book and flips to one of its pages.

Right in front of you was a side profile sketch of Logan. It had been while you were at the park or something. The sun was hitting him perfectly, he had this content look on his face. You couldn't help but draw it when you got back home. To capture him in a moment where everything felt okay.

"I uh..I.." You don't know what to say. He caught you red handed. Your face is on fire from shame and embarrassment as he finally hands over your book. You can't even look at him.

"I'm sorry." You whisper. Shutting your eyes you hope he gets the hint and leaves, leaves you to wallow in pity.

"Sorry? Why are you sorry." He grabs your chin and tilts your head up.

"I'm flattered sketch. I think you really captured me pretty good." You still can't bring yourself to say anything as you hug your book tightly. You can't tell if he's making fun of you or what.

"This isn't funny Logan." You try and push his hand off you but his grip is strong.

"Not trying to be funny." He brushes his thumb over your lips.

"Logan..." Your eyes flick down to his lips and you know he catches you.

"Say it, come on don't be shy. Not with me." Sighing you dig your fingernails into your book.

"I love you." Your voice is barely above a whisper, eyes squeezing shut. You almost hope he doesn't hear it but of course he does.

He presses his lips to yours roughly. You drop your book in shock as you melt deep into his kiss. Wasting no time in kissing him back, hands wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. He deepens the kiss as his hands fall to your sides. You pull away much to his disappointment, his lips chasing after yours for a moment.

"I love you too." He kisses your jaw lightly making you sigh.

"You know, those drawings were good but I think you got my lips wrong." You furrow you eyebrows, you thought you got his lips pretty good. After all you stared at them long enough to memorize them.

"Yeah sweetheart, think you need a lesson." He walks you back until you hit your couch.

"Get up close and personal." He winks as you bite your lip. How flustered can he make you?

"Then maybe you can show me more of those drawings."

Well, If it would help make your drawings more, accurate. Then who are you to say no?

"Okay." You run your hands along his arm as you look back up at him. Nerves and excitement swirling around your eyes.

"Don't worry sketch, I'm a pretty good teacher."

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

The Alchemy

AU where Harry is the star quarterback at his college and y/n is an English major.

Based very loosely off The Alchemy by Taylor Swift

CW: Smut

Word Count: 6,871

Leaving my family to go to University was a bittersweet decision. My heart tugged at the thought of being away from them, but my passion for mastering the art of English pulled me towards my dream. My family had always been my biggest supporters and I wanted to make them proud by becoming an English professor. This meant leaving behind my comfortable life in a small suburban town in Florida to study abroad at one of the most prestigious universities. The campus was nestled in the very heart of where literary greats had once roamed and created their masterpieces. It was as if the walls exuded inspiration and creativity, urging me to chase after my dreams with even more fervor. Though I missed my family dearly, I knew that this journey would lead me to become the best version of myself and honor their unwavering support and love.

It was a whirlwind of experiences as I made my way through the unfamiliar streets. The currency conversion was a constant challenge, with every transaction feeling like a game of guesswork. And then there was the driving - on the opposite side of the road no less - which required all of my concentration to avoid any mishaps. But perhaps most daunting of all was the non-stop partying at pubs, a culture shock for someone like me who had grown up in a small town in America.

Thankfully, I was able to find a flat that was within walking distance from the school, and even luckier to have another American girl as my roommate. Mia was a sweet, bubbly girl from the middle of nowhere Kansas, embracing every aspect of British culture including the pub scene and the charming local lads.

Living with Mia meant constantly having people over, and it seemed like every night brought new faces into our home. I didn't mind too much, mostly enjoying the lively atmosphere and meeting new people. However, there were definitely some moments that tested my patience, like when one of Mia's friends named Arthur ended up getting sick and leaving his mark in our kitchen. Despite these occasional hiccups, I was grateful for this experience abroad and all the unique encounters it brought my way.

Though Mia's social butterfly nature could be trying at times, I appreciated her warm companionship in this foreign place. It was on one such night, after we had cleaned up the remnants of Arthur's ill-fated escapades, that we found ourselves cozied up with mugs of tea and watching the rain patter against the windows. 

Mia was unusually pensive as she stared out into the drizzly Manchester night. "You know," she began softly, "sometimes I wonder if I'm chasing the wrong dreams. My parents wanted me to become a doctor or lawyer, something stereotypically successful, but I just wanted adventure. Now here I am, living it up in England, but it all feels...empty, like I'm still searching for meaning."

I nodded thoughtfully, sensing the vulnerability in her words. Though Mia put on a bubbly facade, there was more depth to her than met the eye. 

"I think the great thing about being here is that we have time to figure it all out," I offered gently. "We're writing our own stories, not just following someone else's script." 

Mia smiled, some of the spark returning to her eyes. "You're right. That's exactly why I love being here with you."

As the rain continued to drum against the windows, Mia and I sat in comfortable silence for a moment, each lost in our own thoughts. Finally, Mia turned to me with a curious expression.

"Do you ever have doubts about your dreams, too?" Mia asked, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

I considered her question for a moment before responding, "All the time. Sometimes I wonder if I'm on the right path or if I'm just going through the motions."

Mia nodded understandingly, her eyes reflecting the shimmer of uncertainty. "It's scary, isn't it? The idea that we might wake up one day and realize we've been chasing a dream all along."

I placed a comforting hand on Mia's shoulder. "It is scary, but it's also part of the journey. We're allowed to question and evolve along the way."

She smiled weakly, her gaze drifting back to the rain-splattered window. "I guess that's what makes life interesting, right? The uncertainty of it all."

Our conversation was interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. Mia got up to answer it, revealing a group of our friends who had decided to brave the rainy night for an impromptu gathering.

"Come in, come in!" Mia exclaimed cheerfully, ushering everyone inside. The room quickly filled with laughter and chatter as our friends settled in.

As I looked around the group, my eyes landed on a few familiar faces who have crossed paths with me several times before. Among them was Arthur, a friendly face that always brought a sense of comfort and familiarity. As everyone piled into the room, my gaze wandered to him - Harry Styles, the renowned quarterback of our school's football team. I couldn't help but feel a tinge of excitement at being in the presence of such a well-known athlete. When I first arrived from the United States, I had assumed the term "football" referred to what we call soccer back home. But as I soon discovered, American Football was just as beloved and popular in the UK.

Harry noticed me looking his way and met my gaze. There was an intensity in his green eyes that made me quickly avert my own, focusing instead on my friend Grace who was animatedly sharing a story next to me. 

I tried to tune into her words, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the handsome footballer across the room. By all accounts, Harry was cocky, brash, and a bit of a player. And yet, I couldn't deny there was something magnetic about him. He carried himself with a self-assured swagger, his athletic frame filling out his clothes in a way that betrayed his strength. 

I scolded myself internally. Just because he's nice to look at doesn't change the fact that he seems like an arrogant jock. Still, when our eyes met again, I felt a flutter in my stomach I couldn't ignore. 

Harry said something to his friend that made the group erupt into laughter. He flashed a crooked smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I quickly looked away once more, but the image of his smile lingered in my mind.

Get it together, I told myself sternly. Harry is off-limits. With his reputation, getting involved would only lead to trouble. I turned my focus back to Grace, pushing all thoughts of Harry's eyes, smile and broad shoulders out of my head. 

For the rest of the night, I avoided looking in Harry's direction, though I could feel his gaze on me periodically as the hours wore on. By the time people started trickling out, I felt certain I had avoided any direct interaction with the dashing footballer. 

That is, until I went to lock the door behind the last guest and found him standing there. He flashed that crooked smile again as he leaned against the door frame. "See you around, Y/N," he said, holding my gaze for a moment before disappearing into the night. I stood frozen, my heart racing as I replayed those five simple words in my head.

As I stood there in shock at Harry's unexpected presence, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling inside me. His parting words echoed in my mind, leaving me slightly breathless and unsure of what to make of the situation. Gathering my composure, I locked the door behind him and turned to find Mia watching me with a knowing smile.

"Looks like someone caught your eye, Y/N," Mia teased, nudging me playfully. "Harry Styles, huh? Quite the charmer."

I flushed slightly at her comment, trying to brush off any implications. "Oh, come on, Mia. It's not like that," I deflected, hoping to downplay the significance of the moment.

But Mia wasn't convinced. "Sure, sure," she replied with a wink. "Just remember, not all that glitters is gold."

Her words lingered in my mind as I bid her goodnight and retreated to my room. Sitting on my bed, I couldn't shake off the image of Harry's smile or the way he had looked at me in that brief moment by the door. The conflicting thoughts swirled in my head, leaving me restless and contemplative.

The following day at school, as I made my way through the bustling halls, I noticed a familiar figure leaning against the lockers up ahead. It was Harry, his usual confident demeanor on full display as he chatted with his friends. As our eyes met briefly, he flashed a grin in my direction before turning back to his conversation.

Feeling a surge of boldness, I approached him tentatively. "Hey, Harry," I greeted him, trying to keep my tone casual despite the flutter in my stomach.

"Hey there, Y/N," he responded with a smirk, his green eyes twinkling mischievously. "Didn't think you'd show up here again so soon."

I felt my cheeks flush at his words. Clearly he was referring to my abrupt exit last night after our brief encounter at the door. I scrambled to think of a clever response. 

"Well, we do go to the same school," I pointed out, trying to keep my voice light despite the nerves I felt. 

Harry chuckled, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he regarded me with amusement. 

"True enough," he conceded. "But I got the sense you were trying to avoid me last night. Did I make you nervous?"

His bluntness took me aback. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. Harry's eyes danced with mirth at my flustered state. 

"Cat got your tongue?" He teased. 

I took a steadying breath, determined not to let him get the best of me. "You wish," I retorted, hoping the bravado in my voice sounded more convincing than I felt. 

Harry laughed, a rich warm sound that made my knees weak. Our eyes locked and in that moment, it was like the noisy hallway melted away and there was only the two of us.

"Feisty. I like it," he murmured. Before I could respond, the warning bell rang, snapping us both back to reality. 

"See you around, Y/N," Harry said with a wink before disappearing into the swarm of students heading to class. 

My body froze in place, heart thudding against my ribs as I gazed at the infamous Harry. He exuded an undeniable air of trouble, and yet, as our charged banter replayed in my mind, I couldn't deny the adrenaline pumping through my veins. With a determined stride, I made my way to class, refusing to let this boy be the cause of my tardiness.

I took a seat in my Studies of Shakespeare class, the one subject I truly loved. The works of William Shakespeare never failed to captivate me, and if you could understand the Elizabethan lingo, his witty humor shone through brilliantly. Unfortunately, this particular teacher seemed to have a talent for draining all the life and humor out of these masterpieces.

I tried to focus as the professor droned on about the themes in Romeo and Juliet, but my mind kept wandering back to my encounter with Harry. Something about our charged banter had awakened feelings in me that I didn't quite understand. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a folded piece of paper land on my desk as if taken out of a scene from a movie. I looked around furtively before opening it. In an unfamiliar scrawling handwriting it read:

"What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun." - H

I felt a thrill run through me and quickly tucked the note into my bag before the professor could notice. So Harry was in this class too? I scanned the room subtly until I spotted him a few rows behind me. He caught my eye and gave me a roguish wink.

I turned back to the front, trying to ignore the simmering exhilaration I felt. Over the next few days, the notes kept coming during Shakespeare class, each with a quote or two from the Bard himself. They were usually cheeky and flirtatious, hinting at some blossoming rapport between us.

I found myself anticipating each one, my heart skipping a beat when I would spot a new folded note on my desk. Our eyes would meet across the room, a hidden smile just between us.

After class one day, as I gathered my things, I sensed Harry approach my desk. "So when's our study session?" he asked nonchalantly, though there was a glint of something more in his eyes. I hesitated, knowing I should keep my distance, yet unable to deny I was intrigued.

I nervously tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, trying to appear nonchalant. "Well, I don't know... I've heard you're not the most dedicated studier," I teased, giving him a playful smile.

Harry chuckled, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong. I may not look like it, but I'm quite the Shakespeare aficionado," he replied with a grin.

I raised an eyebrow in skepticism. "Is that so? Well, I suppose we could arrange a study session... if you can prove your expertise," I challenged, a hint of challenge in my tone.

His grin widened, accepting the challenge. "Consider it done. How about we meet at the library tomorrow after school?" Harry suggested, his gaze unwavering.

I hesitated for a moment, the thrill of anticipation coursing through me. "Alright, it's a date then," I agreed, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of spending more time with him.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Harry flashed me one last grin before disappearing into the bustling hallway. My heart raced with both nervousness and exhilaration as I packed up my belongings, eager for our upcoming study session.

The following day at the library, I found myself anxiously scanning the room for Harry. My pulse quickened when I spotted him sitting at a table in the corner, a stack of Shakespearean plays spread out in front of him.

I made my way over to him, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement swirling inside me. "Ready to impress me with your Shakespeare knowledge?" I asked with a teasing smile as I took a seat across from him.

Harry flashed me a charming grin. "Just watch and learn," he said confidently, picking up a copy of Romeo and Juliet and flipping to a random page.

As he began to recite lines from the play with passion and flair, I couldn't help but be captivated by his enthusiasm. His eyes lit up as he delved into each line, bringing the centuries-old words to life in a way that was both mesmerizing and captivating.

By the time our study session ended, I found myself completely enthralled by Harry's interpretation of Shakespeare's works. As we gathered our things to leave, he turned to me with a twinkle in his eye, he knew a lot more about the works than he let on to.

Harry turned to me, “So now that I’ve shown you i’m smart, I know Shakespeare, when are you coming to one of my games?” he asked confidently.

I was taken aback by his forward invitation. Attending one of his football games felt intimate in a way that made me nervous. 

"Oh, um, I don't know..." I fumbled over my words, suddenly feeling shy. 

Harry tilted his head, giving me a crooked smile. "Come on, it'll be fun. I'll even give you a personal tour of the field afterwards," he joked. 

I bit my lip, considering it. There was no denying I felt drawn to him, despite trying to keep my distance. And the thought of seeing him command the field sent a little thrill through me. 

"Alright, I suppose I could stop by," I finally conceded, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear self-consciously. 

Harry's face lit up. "Brilliant! Our next game is on Friday. I'll leave a ticket for you at will call," he said eagerly.

I nodded, butterflies taking flight in my stomach. "Okay, yeah. I’ll see you then," I replied softly. 

Harry gave me a dazzling smile and I felt my knees go weak.

Friday night arrived and I found myself filled with nervous excitement as I made my way to the football stadium. I couldn't believe I had actually agreed to come watch Harry play. As I approached the ticket booth, I gave my name and they handed me the ticket Harry had left for me. 

I found my seat in the packed bleachers and waited anxiously for the game to start. When the players rushed onto the field, I immediately spotted Harry's mop of curly hair. He looked focused and determined as he took his position on the field. 

As the game began, I was immediately drawn in by Harry's commanding presence on the field. His movements were fluid and precise, each pass and dodge executed with passion and skill. With each successful play, the crowd erupted into thunderous cheers, mirroring my own excitement. It was impossible not to join in, jumping to my feet and cheering for Harry along with everyone else.

At halftime, Harry made his way over to the sidelines, sweat glistening on his forehead and tattooed arms, his chest heaving from exertion. As he scanned the crowd for familiar faces, his eyes locked onto mine and a wide grin spread across his face. He waved enthusiastically, causing my cheeks to flush as I shyly waved back in return. 

In the second half of the game, Harry's presence seemed to radiate even more brightly. With each touchdown he scored, his fists pumped triumphantly in the air. The crowd roared and cheered as he ripped off his helmet and hoisted it victoriously above his head, his teammates swarming around him in celebration.

As the stadium emptied out, I stayed behind with a swarm of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I couldn't wait to see Harry once again. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he emerged from the locker room, his hair still damp from his post-game shower but his eyes shining with joy.

"So, what did you think?" he asked eagerly as he approached me.

"You were truly spectacular out there," I gushed earnestly. A wide grin stretched across Harry's face.

"Come on, let me give you that promised tour," he said playfully, offering me his arm. Laughing, I happily took it and followed him onto the empty field, my heart racing with excitement and admiration for the amazing athlete by my side.

Harry led me onto the empty stadium field, the night air crisp and cool against our skin. He pointed out spots on the grass where pivotal plays had happened, describing them with a passion that revealed his deep love for the game. 

I found myself enthralled, leaning into him as we walked, his arm solid and warm beneath my hand. When we reached the middle of the field, he turned to face me. His eyes were soft, searching my face in the dim glow of the stadium lights. 

"You know, I was afraid you wouldn't come tonight," he admitted quietly. 

I tilted my head. "Why's that?"

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "You never seemed to like me much before. I figured I wasn't your type."

Heat rose to my cheeks. He wasn't wrong - I'd unfairly judged him as arrogant and cocky. But tonight had shattered those assumptions. 

"I guess I realized there's more to you than meets the eye," I said softly. 

Harry's smile widened. He lifted his hand, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. My breath caught at his touch. Slowly, he leaned in. I let my eyes fall shut in anticipation...

But suddenly, the stadium lights flickered off, plunging us into darkness. We jumped apart in surprise. 

Harry laughed. "Guess that's our cue to head out." 

He took my hand, interlacing our fingers, and led me towards the parking lot. I walked close beside him, hyper-aware of his palm pressed against mine.

As he towered over me, Harry's eyes scanned the street, searching for a car. "Where did you park?" he asked, his voice deep and smooth.

I shifted nervously on my feet, avoiding eye contact. "Oh. Uh. I didn't drive. I just live around the street," I murmured, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. The thought of navigating English roads was terrifying to me.

A warm chuckle escaped from Harry's lips as he looked back down at me. "I can drive you home, love," he offered, extending a hand towards me. His scent wafted towards me - a mix of cologne and something woodsy - and I couldn't help but feel a flutter in my stomach at his closeness.

As Harry and I walked towards his car, our hands still entwined, I felt a sense of excitement and anticipation build within me. "So, tell me more about this amazing game-winning touchdown," I teased, trying to break the silence that had fallen between us.

Harry laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he glanced at me sideways. "Oh, you mean the one where I body-slammed the other team's runner into oblivion?" He pretended to flex his muscles playfully. "That was pretty epic, if I do say so myself."

I shook my head, feigning disbelief. "You're such a show-off," I said with a grin. "I bet you were the star of the school playground too."

Harry snorted. "Hardly. I was more of a loner growing up. Spent most of my time with my nose buried in books."

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow in surprise. "And here I thought all jocks were brain-dead."

He laughed again, his laughter echoing through the empty streets as we walked towards his car. When we finally reached it, Harry unlocked the door and gestured for me to get inside. As I slid into the passenger seat, I couldn't help but notice how perfectly he filled the driver's seat - broad shoulders tapering down to narrow hips and long legs. The image of him all sweaty and wet from a shower flashed through my mind, making my cheeks heat up again.

"So," Harry began as he started the engine and pulled out onto the road, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, "tell me more about yourself."

I felt myself blush even harder at his directness but decided to play along. "Well," I said slowly, thinking quickly. "I'm a huge bookworm too - Harry Potter is probably my favorite series ever."

Harry chuckled softly as he glanced at me briefly before looking back at the road. "I can see why you fit right in here in England then."

We drove through the quiet streets in companionable silence for a while before Harry spoke up again. "You know, you don't have to act all tough around me," he said quietly, his eyes still on the road as he slowed down at a stoplight.

I turned to face him fully now, surprised by his words. "I wasn't trying to be tough," I said defensively. "I just didn't want you to think that... well, never mind what I didn't want you to think," I muttered under my breath.

Harry's face softened into a gentle smile as he reached out to brush a strand of hair behind my ear once again - a gesture that sent shivers down my spine despite the warmth of the car interior. "It's okay," he murmured soothingly as he took my hand in his once more and squeezed gently before letting go when the light turned green again.

The rest of our drive was filled with more easy conversation punctuated by moments of awkward silence broken only by the sounds of our breathing and occasional traffic noises outside. When we finally pulled up outside my house I found myself hesitating before opening the car door knowing that this was goodbye.

Under the dim glow of the street lamp, I tentatively turned to face Harry. "Thanks for...for tonight," I stammered out, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze. 

His emerald eyes twinkled mysteriously as he simply nodded and began unbuckling his seatbelt. His eyes never left mine, setting off a simmering warmth between us that was hard to ignore. 

"I should probably walk you to your door," he said softly, accentuating each word with an inexplicably seductive lilt. My heart pounded in my chest as we exited the car and made our way towards my apartment.

Once at the front door, we stood facing each other in silence, the air around us thick with unspoken words and desires. I felt his strong fingers gently cradle my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. The intensity of this simple touch sent sparks racing down my spine, pooling heat in places I hadn't even known existed.

"Can I come inside?" His voice was barely a whisper but it echoed loudly in my ears.

My mind screamed caution but my body had other plans. “Yes,” I breathed out, unlocking the door and pulling him inside.

Inside, Harry's lips found mine in a searing kiss that left me breathless. His tongue teased against mine, creating a warm and delicious friction that sent shivers down my legs. As he pressed his hips against me, I could feel the unmistakable hardness growing between us. Our hands roamed freely over each other's bodies, exploring new territory and seeking pleasure through every touch.

Harry's fingers made their way to the waistband of my skirt, pulling it down over my hips and letting it fall to the ground. He lifted me up onto the edge of a nearby table, spreading my legs slightly as he stood between them. The feel of his fingers brushing against my inner thigh caused me to gasp and arch my back in anticipation.

Harry pulled back abruptly,“I’m sorry,” He started, “that was really inappropriate.”

As Harry apologized, his eyes were drawn to the hint of my arousal peeking out from between my legs. His hesitation vanished as his fingers brushed against my wetness once more, this time without pulling away. He groaned in approval and leaned forward, pressing his lips against mine once more. I craved him in the worst ways.

Our tongues tangled as he pushed me back onto the table, spreading my legs further apart. His hands found their way under my shirt, skimming over my stomach before lifting it up, exposing my bra-clad breasts. He took a deep breath, inhaling my scent and trailing his fingers lightly across one tight nipple.

"Harry," I moaned, cavinginto his touch. "Please don't stop."

He smirked wickedly down at me before pulling back slightly. In one swift motion, he yanked my shirt over my head, tossing it aside carelessly. Grabbing hold of both sides of my bra, he pulled it down too with such force that my breasts were freed from their confinement.

I gasped at the sudden rush of air hitting my sensitive nipples but before I could catch my breath, he took one of them into his mouth sucking hard while pinching the other between two fingers, teasing it mercilessly.

"Fuck," I whimpered, clawing at the table underneath me as pleasure coursed through me like lightning. The intense mix of pain and pleasure sent waves of desire crashing over me as I felt myself becoming wetter with every passing second.

Sliding one hand down towards his pants, I slowly undid the button and zipper before slipping my hand inside his boxers to grip him firmly around his growing erection. He groaned into my breast at the contact sending shivers down my spine.

"You want me to fuck you?" he whispered hoarsely against my skin leaving a trail of saliva along my collarbone as he ran his tongue upwards caressingly .

"Yes," I breathed out between parted lips unable to form complete words due to the intensity of emotions running through me. 

My heart raced as his erection throbbed in my hand. I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, mixed with the desire that seemed to emanate from him. His other hand slid down my back, over my ass cheeks, and gripped them roughly, pulling me closer against his hardness.

"Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are? You and your little shy good girl act" he growled into my neck, nipping at the skin there softly. With one swift movement, he lifted me up onto the countertop, pushing my legs apart with his hips. His mouth trailed kisses along my jawline, down my throat, and on my breasts. 

I arched my back slightly offering myself to him more fully as he took a hungry mouthful of one of my nipples into his mouth sucking on it hard while pinching the other between his fingers causing a sharp intake of breath from me which made him smile devilishly before moving on to devour the other one.

My body trembled with anticipation as he bit my neck playfully, his rough hands sliding over my hips and ass cheeks before pulling me against him. His cock twitched against my wet core, making me whimper in want. "You like that, don't you?" he growled, his voice low and husky. "You're so fucking beautiful."

"Harry," I moaned, my voice reduced to a desperate whimper as he continued teasing me with his words and touches. "Please..."

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with our ragged breathing and the occasional moan. I could feel myself getting lost in the sensations, my body responding eagerly to his movements. His hands were everywhere, tracing over my curves and gripping me tightly as he pounded into me.

My own hands were roaming his back, digging into his flesh as I tried to hold on to something amidst the overwhelming pleasure that was coursing through me. Every inch of my body felt on fire, and I couldn't get enough.

"Fuck," he grunted, his face contorting with pleasure. "You feel so good."

I whimpered in response, unable to form any coherent words as he continued to move inside me relentlessly. My whole world had narrowed down to this moment – his body against mine, the sound of our bodies coming together in a perfect rhythm.

My mind was blissfully blank as he increased his pace, his thrusts becoming rougher and more urgent. I could feel my climax building up within me, like a fire threatening to consume me whole.

And then it hit me like a tidal wave – intense and all-consuming. My back arched off the counter as I cried out his name, my body trembling with pleasure as every nerve ending exploded with ecstasy.

He followed soon after, letting out a loud groan as he spilled himself inside me. We stayed still for a moment, trying to catch our breaths and bask in the aftermath of our passion.

But eventually reality came crashing back around us. Panic started creeping up inside me as I tried to gather my thoughts and make sense of what had just happened. 

As I lay there, my heart still pounding in my chest, he gently pulled out of me and straightened up. His eyes, dark with desire just moments ago, now softened with a mixture of tenderness and regret.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of our heavy breathing. "I shouldn't have let things go this far."

I sat up slowly, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me – confusion, guilt, and a lingering sense of pleasure that refused to dissipate. 

"It's not just your fault," I murmured, avoiding his gaze as I tried to gather my clothes around me. "I wanted this too."

He reached out a hand to touch my arm, but hesitated before making contact.

"We should talk about this," he said finally, his tone serious. "About what it means for us."

I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his words settling between us. What had started as a moment of passion had now morphed into something more complicated, something that demanded attention and discussion.

As we dressed in silence, the air in the room felt charged with unspoken thoughts and emotions. The intensity of our physical connection lingered like a ghost between us, refusing to be ignored.

We began to gather our clothes from around the room, now tainted with the evidence of our reckless choices. Harry buried his face into his shirt before pulling it on, perhaps ruminating on what just occurred, or maybe trying to drown out the reality with the lingering scent of his cologne.

"Y/n," he started after a long silence, pulling his trousers up. His voice sounded strained, an indication that he was struggling with the right choice of words. "I... I didn't mean for this to... I mean, I like spending time with you." He sighed heavily, rubbing his face between his large palms.

I remained silent as I fastened my bra. The finality in his voice was suffocating, making it harder for me to breathe with each passing moment. I felt my heart thumping loudly in my chest – a crude reminder of the complication we had willingly dived into.

"I like you, Y/N," he said finally, his voice a hoarse whisper. The words hung in the air between us, hovering like a dense fog, obscuring any clarity that might lie beyond.

I stopped fumbling with my blouse, my fingers stilled by his confession. "Harry," I began, my voice barely audible. Fear clung to me, making my words tremble.

"I know," he cut me off before I could finish what I started. "I know we're both in different places... Me with football and you with your studies." There was a tingling silence after his statement, as if he was waiting for me to confirm or deny his declaration.

I sighed heavily, tugging at the hem of my blouse, feeling the cool fabric against my still heated skin. "It's not that simple Harry," I admitted, blinking back tears that had started to sting my eyes. "This," I motioned around the room, encompassing our discarded underwear strewn haphazardly around the room - a silent testament to the passion that had just consumed us, "this complicates things."

He ran his hand through his tousled hair and nodded solemnly. "I understand," he replied, a hint of resignation etching lines onto his face. His gaze was heavy with something akin to regret as it met mine.

My breath hitched in my throat at the intensity of his stare. I wanted desperately to reach out and ease the burden that seemed to weigh heavily on him. But reality was an insidious shadow that lurked in our midst, reminding us of the impracticality of our desires.

"I think it's better if we keep our distance for now," Harry broke the silence after what felt like an eternity. His words were like cold water dousing the fire that our bodies had kindled only moments ago.

A feeling of sudden emptiness clawed at me. His words, though probably said in goodwill, felt like a punch to my gut. I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over.

I nodded, unable to bring myself to utter a word. He stepped towards me and for a moment I thought he would pull me into his arms one last time. But he merely extended a hand that I shook lightly, the gesture felt impersonal after the intimacy we had just shared.

Without another word, he turned and left the room. I stood still in the silence that followed, the sound of his departing footsteps echoing in my ears long after he was gone.

Mia came home later that night, oblivious to the charged atmosphere that still lingered, suffocating and heavy in the air. Her chatter about an extra credit assignment she’d completed was a stark contrast to the silence that had enveloped the room just hours ago. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” she asked suddenly, noticing my distant gaze. I gave her a weak smile in response before excusing myself to bed.

As I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, Harry's words echoed through my mind. "I think it's better if we keep our distance for now." His voice was etched into my memory, roughened by regret and something else I couldn't quite place. His face bore an expression that told me this was as hard for him as it was for me.

The next day was a blur. My classes seemed trivial compared to the turmoil swirling in my mind. My interactions with others were mechanical and flat as if I was watching myself from outside my body.

Football practice was going on when I walked past the field on my way back from the campus library. My eyes instinctively sought out Harry among the sea of players. I found him focused on his game, every muscle in his body straining as he kicked the ball towards the goalpost.

His world seemed unchanged—still revolving around football—while mine felt like it had been knocked off its axis.

The following weeks were no easier. Everywhere I went, I could feel his presence like a phantom pain - a dull ache that refused to fade away. In every conversation, every song playing in the background, every corner of campus - Harry was there.

I knew we had made a rational decision, given our circumstances. But my heart couldn't comprehend what my mind had already accepted.

Months passed and winter set in, blanketing Manchester in white. Serene and beautiful yet so melancholy it mirrored my mood perfectly. The once familiar campus looked different under the soft glow of the snow as if to mirror the change that had occurred in my life.

One evening, as I was walking back from the library, I spotted Harry sitting alone on a bench, bundled up in a thick coat, his breath misting in the frigid air. His eyes were trained on the football field, currently blanketed by snow, and his hands were tucked into his pockets, his usual energy replaced by a pensive quietness.

I hesitated, weighing my options. We hadn't spoken since that night – the night when our worlds collided and then abruptly fell apart. But something drew me towards him – an inexplicable magnetism I had been fighting for so long.

Stepping tentatively closer, I cleared my throat to announce my presence. "Harry," I said softly, trying not to startle him.

He looked up at the sound of my voice, surprise flickering across his features before they settled into guarded neutrality. "Y/N," he responded with a curt nod, but made no move to invite me to sit.

Taking a leap of faith, I lowered myself onto the bench next to him, maintaining some distance while also bracing for the icy cold through my jeans. For several minutes we sat in silence, lost in our own thoughts as we stared out at the snowy field.

"I've missed you." The words slipped out before I could stop them.

He turned toward me then, his emerald eyes soft and searching as they met mine. His lips opened as if to say something but closed again as if reconsidering his words.

"Y/N..." His voice trailed off and there was a long pause before he continued. "I’ve missed you too."

Relief washed over me at his confession but it was quickly replaced with a gnawing sadness as I realized that missing each other wasn’t enough to bridge the gap between us. Our realities were still the same - he was still the star football player with ambitions bigger than Manchester itself and I was still an English major trying to carve out a place for myself in academia.

“Do you ever think about…?” I started, swallowing hard as I tried to voice the question that had been eating at me.

“Us?” He completed my sentence, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze was heavy but he held it steady, openly showing the vulnerability he usually kept hidden beneath his star athlete facade. “All the time.”

The honesty in his confession hit me harder than I expected. We were both stuck in our respective worlds, looking at each other from afar but never truly reaching out.

I took a deep breath, feeling the biting winter air fill my lungs before exhaling slowly. “We can’t keep doing this, Harry,” I said finally, breaking the silence that had fallen between us.

He looked at me then, his gaze filled with understanding and something else I couldn't quite place. “I know,” he replied softly, his eyes never leaving mine.

The future was uncertain and full of challenges. But if there was one thing I had learnt from this whole ordeal, it was that some chances are worth taking. No matter how daunting they may seem.

[callmelola111]

guilty conscience ☆ part one

⭑ part 2 , part 3 , part 4 , part 5 →

synopsis: it’s your first year at college and you’re 1,500 miles away from home. you’d feel completely alone if it wasn't for your attractive roommate ellie. will this attraction complicate the already uncharted territory? or will she be the answer to all your problems?

      |✯| pairing & wc: college!ellie williams x roommate!reader. wc: 1.4k

      |✯| cw (by part): 18+ themes (MDNI), fem reader, modern au!ellie, feelings of angst, sexual themes on like the verge of smut, some swearing

a/n: hey lovelies!!!! this my first time posting a fic so plz enjoy. feedback is appreciated as long as it is constructive. im new to all of this, and still learning. i plan on making this into a series so expect more coming soon. sorry if this chapter is very reader-centric. once reader gets to know ellie better, i’ll write more about her perspective. this will be a slow burn despite part 1 already having sexual themes (lol sorry, couldn't help it), but do expect eventual real smut <3 <3 (p.s: lets b mutuals, message me!!)

As you packed the last of your belongings into your parents' 2008 Toyota, excitement was the last thing you were feeling. When speaking about college, most people explained this coming of age experience with phrases like “change”, “hard work”, and “no sleep”. These pessimistic descriptions made the big move that much harder. Unlike your friends from high school, you were crossing multiple states to attend your dream school. You would’ve been stuck in your home state too if it wasn’t for your impressive art portfolio which earned you a full-ride. Art school is where you know you’re meant to be, but the anxiety of doing it alone lingered.

Of course you were happy to be escaping the grapples of your small Republican town, but you couldn’t help but wonder if 1,500+ miles would really be the solution to all your problems.

                                          ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★

“God where is she??” you grunt to yourself. The brown swivel chair provided as dorm furniture was your only source of entertainment. You spun around in circles, checking your phone every few minutes. You were anticipating a text from Ellie Williams. Through the cracked screen your phone read 11:03pm and the notification wall was empty.

Ellie is supposed to be your roommate. The two of you had met through the university's online roommate matching system. Your interactions were limited to the few texts sent back and forth about move-in times and who’s bringing what. Ellie was supposed to show up 5 hours ago to move in her stuff but she never arrived. You consider messaging her to check-in but Ellie’s previous texts wreaked of un-interest so you thought it best to leave her alone. You knew nothing about the girl, or even what she looked like, but with her stand-offish demeanor and your overthinking, a friendship didn’t seem in the cards.

Another half-hour passes before the sound of keys rattling pulls you out of your trance. Realizing you’re about to be face-to-face with your new college roommate, you snap up from your slouched position and push your hair behind your ears in preparation.

The slender door lazily swings open and your gaze quickly shifts to the faux wood floors. There was a sense of hesitancy, like you weren’t ready to see your fate just yet. A pair of dirty, black converse covered in writing sulk into your line of sight, triggering you to look up. As you did, your eyes were met with the most jaw-droppingly beautiful girl you’ve ever seen. Peeking through her messy auburn locks were piercing jade green eyes and an angular nose scattered with freckles.

It was Ellie Williams, and she was the epitome of “cool girl". Your head spun with all kinds of thoughts as your physical body went idle. You sat before Ellie gawking until she broke the awkward silence that had gone unnoticed by you. 

“Uh, hi… I’m sorry for coming in so late… some stuff came up. But uh, I’m Ellie Williams.” She held her right hand out towards you to shake it. It took you a second, but you snapped out of her spell and quickly shook her hand in return.

“Shit- Ellie, hey, it’s uh, nice to finally meet you.” You stumbled through your words as nerves overpowered your usual confidence.  There was an obvious awkward tension between the two of you. A typical feeling when moving in with a complete stranger.

Silence loomed in the air as Ellie took a stationary tour around the small, 12 x 20 ft. dorm. She surveyed your side of the room, taking note of any items that could hint towards who you are as a person. Her eyes stopped on a band poster you had hung up just hours ago. 

“You listen to Sleater-Kinney?” she inquired. 

“Hell yeah, they’re one of my favorite bands. Honestly anything in the riot grrrl music scene is right up my alley. Do you listen?” you replied with more enthusiasm and less nerves than before. 

“Yeah, yeah I do,” Ellie answered nonchalantly. You took note of her answer realizing what it could mean. Sleater-Kinney was like the gayest band ever, and Ellie definitely knew that. Maybe she just likes them for their music, but it's possible she also found the lyrics laced with sapphic pining to be relatable. Selfishly, you were dying to know her sexual orientation. Ellie seemed like too much of a stranger to ask her outright and so the game of reading between the lines began. Little did you know, Ellie was wondering the exact same thing about you. 

It was getting late and Ellie decided to save unpacking for the morning when she wasn’t so tired. You climbed onto your stiff dorm mattress and fluffed your pillows for sleep. Ellie did the same in her bed. 

“Is it cool if I turn out the lights now?” you asked, still navigating the new social dynamic as roommates. Ellie replied with a gentle hum and you hit the switch turning the room pitch black. As you lay in bed all you can think of is Ellie and the future. You didn’t know what it was, but you knew she was special, and you yearned to understand her. With these thoughts in mind, your eyes slowly begin to droop and you slip into a deep slumber. 

The next thing you know Ellie is sitting at the foot of your bed staring straight into your soul. Her beautiful green eyes felt especially intense as the rest of her face was shadowed from the dark room. 

“Ellie- I-” you could barely get out 2 words as you sat up from bed flustered. You felt like prey and she was the hunter… and you liked it. Ellie slowly inched her way toward you, crawling on hands and knees. She didn’t have to say anything, you knew what she wanted.

Your plush thighs sat between her knees and her crotch hovered over yours, heat being exchanged. You wanted her so bad. You needed her. Ellie took your chin in her hand and pulled you in close. You exchanged breaths as her lips brushed up against yours. She couldn’t wait any longer and pressed her face into yours, capturing your lips which she so longingly desired for. You fell back onto your pillows and she followed intently.

Her body lay pressed against yours and she desperately shoved her wet tongue into your supple mouth. It was ravenous and you wanted more. You knew she did too as you began to feel the rotation of her hips digging into your pelvis. The heavy breaths coming from her swollen lips were in sync with the fervent grinding. You bucked your hips towards her in a frenzy. Ellie took her veiny hand and ran it along your waistband. As she began to slip it into your pants... you woke up to discover your own hands cupping the heat below and Ellie nowhere to be found. 

“What the fuck.” is all you could say. You pulled your hand from your pants and stared at the slick spider-webbing between your fingers. God this was humiliating. You climbed out of bed to wash your hands and glanced at the clock. It was 7:15am and Ellie was already gone. That seemed kinda odd for a 19 year old college student. You wondered where she had disappeared to so early in the morning.

Soon, the over-thinker took over and you began to grapple with the possibility that you said something out loud during your naughty wet dream. What if Ellie heard you? God what if you moaned her name?? What would you even say if she brought it up? Before you could formulate a hypothetical response, Ellie walked right through the door.

“AHh-” you yelped, startled by her presence. Ellie backed into the doorway holding a coffee in each hand. 

“God, sorry, you scared me.” you explained. Ellie shuffled back inside, twiddling her thumbs trying to decide what to say.

“Sorry, I just left to grab some coffee early this morning. I couldn’t sleep.” She continued, “I brought you one too. As an apology, for any trouble I might have caused by showing up at almost midnight to move in…”. Your cheeks flushed with color and you hoped she didn’t notice.

“Oh, thanks Ellie, that's nice. I promise there was no harm done.” you answered, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Seemingly enough, this news meant she was awake while you were, ya know... dreaming. Ellie definitely wouldn’t bring a pervert coffee though. Right? Either way, you knew one thing for sure, you've got to have her.

  ← masterlist ⭑ part 2 →

[tin-wufborf]

Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics (Part 5)

Hi everyone! I am back from brink of death to bring you yet another platter of fic recs. Thank you all so much for you patience and for the continued love you all have shown these posts. I truly appreciate you all.

Also, just in case this has been bothering anyone: you will definitely see more author-diversity and newer fics as I work my way though my bookmarks. I'm working chronologically through my Sterek bookmarks from the oldest to the newest, so that means we're all currently reliving the early Sterek scene together while also getting to experience the moments where I would discover an author whose writing-style I particularly liked and then binged their entire body of work all at once before going back to the main tag's offerings (hence the large number of works by specific authors going on right now). Not sure if that bothered anyone, particularly the point about there being multiple fics from the same authors--people care about odd things sometimes, but I've seen discourse around this specific thing and would like to head it off at the pass--but I thought I'd make a statement about it because I was noticing it and was like "I wonder if this is bothering people...lemme speak on it". And now here we are!

Okay, enough yappin' from me. Let's do this!

List and links to previous/next part(s) below the cut.

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DISCLAIMER: This is me warning you all that some of the fics I've included in this list may cover explicit, dark, and/or "taboo" subject matters. I cannot express enough how little I care what anyone thinks about any of that; all I want is for you to use caution when reading anything I've listed here and to please review and heed whatever tags the authors have provided in order to keep yourselves safe. Your experience from this point on is your own responsibility, not mine and not the authors'.

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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17

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i'm just the same as i was (now don't you understand?) by paradis (T | 1/1 | 2,738)

"You're a virgin," Jackson says. "Everyone says you're a virgin." "Everyone but me," Stiles points out. More silence. Stiles thinks he can hear crickets chirping. "I'm kinda cold," he complains. "Well when were you not a virgin anymore?" Isaac asks, perplexed.

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by nightlights the children pray by hoars (T | 1/1 | 2,745)

Scott leaves for ten years and comes back.

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Nothing is as Bad as it Seems by paradis (T | 1/1 | 3,636)

“I know, it’s a shock,” he says. “But there’s more. Your friends– they’re werewolves. And that’s dangerous, Stiles. But I can keep them away!”

“I know they’re werewolves, you idiot!” Stiles shouts

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Stiles Stilinski's Knitting School for the Were, Other-Worldly and Supernaturally-Inclined by TypewriterLove (G | 1/1 | 3,789)

He'd trawled through online pattern directories, before finding something called Ravelry. Drumming his fingers against the desk, he'd hit the "register now!" button.

ScarletNerded's first action on their new account is to look up patterns with "wolf" keywords.

(In which Stiles ends up teaching the entire pack how to knit- which results in werewolves making socks. Alternatively named "Beacon Hills Stitch & Bitch")

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different definitions of good by preromantics (G | 1/1 | 4,259)

The one where Stiles has a fishy sort of excuse for not getting in a boat on the ocean. "Maybe I'm not really into the idea of getting caught by the coast guard on a stolen boat," Stiles says. Which, while not the reason Stiles definitely needs to stay behind, is also a pretty valid reason.

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No Destination by scottmcniceass (T | 1/1 | 5,043)

It's not like they're going anywhere in particular. They're just driving, getting away for a bit. Escaping everything. Together.

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Well Tempered by jsea (T | 1/1 | 5,290)

His fingers start moving almost of their own accord, and it feels easier suddenly. His fingers feel less clumsy, and the music that flows forth isn’t quite so somber anymore. It’s not the happy airy sound he wants so desperately to give to Stiles, but this feels right in its own way. More him. More them.

Or, the fic where Derek used to play piano, and he does again. But only for Stiles.

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we are tangled by drunktuesdays (T | 1/1 | 5,716)

"Derek was at your house?" "For like ten seconds," Stiles said. "I'd say it was weird, but is anything about Derek ever not weird?"

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can't be hateful, gotta be grateful by HalfFizzbin (T | 1/1 | 6,260)

"Be cool, Dad, we've decided to con Grandma."

(Or, the one where the Stilinski men drag Derek to Thanksgiving dinner at Grandma's and she gets the right wrong idea.)

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Flint and Tinder by rufflefeather (T | 1/1 | 6,781)

"Hi," a voice comes through and Derek really wishes it’d take more than that to know who it is.

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The Alpha to My Alpha by CupcakeGirlA (T | 1/1 | 10,717)

“Derek will kill you. He’ll tear you limb from limb!” Stiles says, scrambling away from him. The Alpha ambles closer.

“No, I don’t think he will,” the Alpha says. “I mean aside from killing a couple of hikers in his territory and doing him this favor, I haven’t really done anything to Hale. Once I’m gone he’ll probably be happy with the gift I’ve left for him.”

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Derelictions of Duty by Regann (T | 1/1 | 10,846)

No one wants to be the bearer of bad news to someone as nice as Sheriff Stilinski -- especially when he's your boss. That's why none of his employees want to be the first one to tell him about the scandalous goings-on between his only son and the former murder suspect Derek Hale. For all of their sakes, hopefully the Sheriff will find out all on his own...

(Or, 5 times a Beacon County Sheriff's Office employee witnesses the unique relationship between Stiles and Derek but neglects to tell the Sheriff and 1 time he witnesses it for himself.)

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Going, Going, Gone by paradis (M | 3/3 | 12,296)

The Sheriff comes up to him after the services. "I don't believe he's dead," he tells Derek.

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Promises aren't Meant to be Broken by paradis (T | 1/1 | 12,463)

“Thanks for saving me,” Stiles blurts out, staring up at Laura, wide eyed.

Laura grins. “I like you,” she says, “we’ll be friends.”

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powerful in-scent-ive by kellifer_fic (T | 1/1 | 14,533)

Stiles holds up a hand, because he really can't listen to the bites-are-all-right speech that Derek has given Scott dozens of times. "Dude, don't."

"Look-" Derek tries again, oddly persistent.

"Derek, man, my worst nightmare is not me getting bitten, it's him. It's always been him."

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Strangeness and Charm series by hoars (4 works | NR-M | 14,744)

The Gypsy AU

1. for the way this animal love, lurches monstrous up my chest (M | 1/1 | 2,481) “Strangeness follows the Romani, what is a little more?” Elder Travj asked. That was the night Derek’s pack began to follow the caravan; a night marked by fire and loss. 2. wanting to make you happy and warm and unafraid and free (M | 1/1 | 4,022) "Laura called you a thief." Derek breathes into his neck. "And what did the she-wolf call you?" Stiles asks. "She called me a gypsy." And Derek does not sound wronged. He sounds insecure and of longing. "Then perhaps she finally speaks truths." Stiles says. "I am a thief and you like me, a Roma." 3. these places will have to substitute (NR | 1/1 | 2,229) (Interlude) “The chovihano is harmless to Derek.” Mother says. “I assure you, Miss Laura, Stiles would not hurt Derek.” The shaman says. “Stiles cares greatly for your brother.” But still. Something in her is screaming, howling and growling. 4. for the grunts and the screams we extract from each other (NR | 1/1 | 6,012) It doesn't make sense for the lunatic to be eating people but biting others. All evidence but for the mass grave indicated the lunatic had been recruiting, building a pack, not finding a meat source. Werewolves, even lunatics, weren't prone to cannibalism. “It's a true sign of madness.” Derek says, as if repeating something he’s heard a dozen times since he was a child. "The mark of the beast."

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You Make Me See How Much I Have by paradis (T | 1/1 | 16,943)

“You’re lucky you got here now,” he says, “Ten minutes – maybe you could get your –” there’s a crash before he can say get your daughter, and Stiles resists the urge to either slap his hand against his face, or slap Derek, because no one ever understands how difficult it is to have a kid in the store by themselves unless they’re also parents.

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Past Imperfect, Future Conditional series by elisera (3 works | T-E | 17,311)

1. Necessitate by (E | 1/1 | 3,888) Derek’s juggling the kids -- Noah hanging off his back, Ella standing on his foot while holding onto his jeans with a death grip and both of them still talking up a storm about their day at kindergarten -- and two bags of groceries in his arms that evening when the sight of Stiles standing in the backyard makes him weak in the knees. Stiles is in profile, ranting on his phone to Scott about the contract negotiations for the new construction on the Peterson property, and there’s a flush on his face, his ears pink and his mouth red from where he keeps biting it but the worst thing, the absolute worst thing is the round curve of his stomach, straining against the tank top he liberated earlier in the week from Derek when the heat wave hit and none of his own fit him anymore. It’s going to be stretched to hell by the time the kid is born but right now Derek can’t find it in himself to care. 2. The Weapon You Choose (E | 1/1 | 12,029) When Noah trudges down the backstairs that morning, he finds Dad sitting on a step halfway down and chewing on his knuckles, watching Papa making coffee like it’s a special on the discovery channel and not an almost daily ritual. Anyway, Noah needs the car on Friday; he might as well make nice so he sits down next to Dad, jostling his shoulder with his own in greeting. Dad raises an eyebrow, mirth in his eyes and his mouth curving around the knuckle stuck in it. Papa grunts just then, still trying and failing to open the tin with the ground coffee in it and Dad head snaps around, once again riveted. Noah rolls his eyes hard but he guesses people who’ve been together since the dawn of time need to get their fun wherever they can find it. 3. Pancake Wolves (T | 1/1 | 1,394) Stiles is on his third cup of coffee when Derek tromps down the stairs. He looks at him over his shoulder, taking in his barely open eyes and the pillow creases on his face, unable to keep from smiling at him. Derek yawns widely and just keeps going until he can wrap his arms tightly around Stiles’ waist and lean against his back, letting Stiles take his weight.

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Jurisdiction series by elisera (3 works | T-E | 19,897)

1. Jurisdiction (M | 1/1 | 7,025) John is a pretty level-headed guy. He wasn’t always, back during his own Sturm und Drang period, but he married a firecracker of a woman and got a kid with an affinity for trouble like he got payed for ending up in it, so someone had to level out or they would’ve ended up living in a treehouse or Lapland doing god knows what. Anyway, getting a hold of his temper is one of John’s better life achievements. It makes him a good sheriff and it kept him from blowing his lid too badly those last two years when Stiles started acting out in a way that John had never seen before. But the temper is still there. He’s reminded of it when he comes home on a random Saturday in March after spilling his milkshake all over his uniform shirt only to notice he didn’t have a spare in the station and finds Stiles bend over the kitchen sink with hunched shoulders. 2. Life With Werewolves: A Beginner's Class (T | 1/1 | 2,836) Five times Sheriff Stilinski was really through with werewolves and one time he wasn’t. 3. Life With Humans: The Stilinski Edition (E | 1/1 | 10,036) “You still smell weird,” Derek says, pressing his nose against Stiles’ armpit, trying to figure out what about Stiles’ scent still bothers him so much. Stiles slaps his head and Derek nips the soft skin of his inner bicep in retaliation. “I,” Stiles says, still panting and shivering from his orgasm, “do not smell weird, you weirdo. Maybe you should take your nose in for a checkup, it’s clearly out of whack.”

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red series by hoars (3 works | NR-E | 32,156)

1. Festival of Red (E | 1/1 | 11,592) “See? I need my daisy crown or I won’t get Chased.” Stiles frowned. “And then I’ll have to do it again next year. I really don’t want to do it twice.” The good and the bad of getting Caught this year included not having to do it again and the bad was he’d have a werewolf mate for the rest of his life. Stiles is seventeen. He has a lot of life to live. Unless his wolfy mate has no sense of humor or a temper. Those with no sense of humor and tempers tended to hate Stiles the most and wouldn’t that suck? Being tied to someone for the rest of his life who hates him. That actually sounds like his type of luck. “You’ll be fine.” Allison beams because she’s a sweet person and can obviously read Stiles like a picture book aimed at toddlers. 2. Navigating our Marriage (NR | 1/1 | 8,316) The squeal to the bride-hunting fic that involves moving, emancipation, a family feud, a baby shower, a list of reasons and a magic cat lady. 3. Families: Eternally Messy (NR | 1/1 | 12,248) The third installment to the bride hunting fic that now involves pregnancy then babies, adult looking responsibilities, epic fails and proof no one picks their family.

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************************************************************************

[cgogs]

Oneshot #1 - Nothing / dsmp pjo au (c!dnf) 2k

this is a little bit of an experiment to see if i like writing this pjo dsmp au, and if people like reading it. its super short, but i wanted to get out a little bit of writing to see if i was into it. if i like it i'll start working on more :] so basically feedback is APPRECIATED

“You’re awake.”  “How could you tell?” “I can always tell. Idiot.”

“You’re awake.” 

Dream blinks. The bottom of the top bunk comes into focus in all its wooden glory. He’d been staring at a blur for the past half hour, desperately trying to stay awake. 

“Dream?”

Okay, that really is George talking, and not some sleep deprived delusion. George’s head peeks over the side of the bunk facing the window, moonlight eclipsed by his hair. He can barely see his features, but he knows exactly the look George is giving him. Something between judgmental and concerned. 

“How could you tell?” Dream whispers back. 

“I can always tell. Idiot.”

George likes to tease him for sleeping like a corpse, hands laced together over his stomach. Dream moves his hands to his sides before George gets the chance to mention it.

“D’you want me to do the thing?”

“No.” The last time he let George use his sleep magic, he had a nightmare worse than the ones he was running from in the first place.

“I’ve gotten better at it!” George promises, sounding a tad desperate. “Let me try.”

Some of their cabin mates begin to shuffle in their sleep. There’s a quiet, ‘shut up’ thrown their way, sounding a little bit like Tommy. Probably Tommy.

Dream lowers his voice further. “I’m going for a walk.”

There’s a pause. But it doesn’t seem like he hates the idea. “We’ll get in trouble.”

Dream sits up, swiveling his head around the room to see if anyone’s paying attention. From the back, he can see everyone sound asleep in their beds. When George was claimed, the Hermes cabin elected to put George in the very back corner of the room. The general sentiment seemed to be that they were afraid of George emanating some kind of sleep stink or something. George seemed sad being ostracized, which was understandable.

It was easy for Dream to swap with his new bunkmate, which delighted the boy. George had said he was only pulling long faces because he wasn’t able to bunk with his best friend anymore, which. Dream had no particular emotional reaction to. Please trust him on this.

(Later, Hypnos would claim more sons, and the Hermes cabin would get over it, and Dream will just have to seethe in silence.)

With the coast clear, he stands carefully.

“Mr. D is going to turn you into a tree.” George rolls to the other side of the bed to watch, glaring at him through the wood railing. 

“Come with me.” 

“What? I don’t want to get in trouble. Can’t you just lay back down?”

Dream holds out his hand, reaching up. “Just trust me.”

He’s aware that it isn’t exactly a convincing argument. George tentatively takes his hand, anyway. His hands are soft like they haven’t worked a day in their lives, which might be a little true. But they’re only kids, so time will tell.

George keeps hold of his hand even as he climbs down the ladder. It makes Dream sort of feel like, a knight or something.

“You’re, like, my princess.” Stupid thing to say. Whatever, he already said it, and George is already trying not to laugh so he doesn’t wake everyone up. He holds his breath through a snort, which makes a silly noise, which makes Dream struggle not to laugh as well. Domino effect of stupidity.

Dream tries to communicate with his hands that they could be careful of the creaks in the floor, which he’s previously memorized. George sleepily nods his head like he understands, still smiling dumbly, and immediately steps on one of the loose boards, letting out a very long and tedious creak. 

Okay, fine. If any of the kids in the cabin snitch, they’ll know they aren’t truly Hermes’ child, and the unclaimed ones can cross him off their list.

Outside, the air is warm and perfect, like it always is. Or should be, anyway. George’s hand is cold.

“Okay, so, where are we going?”

Dream points up to the roof, and George’s expression sours. 

“You didn’t say anything about climbing.”

“Well, I’m not gonna take you to the woods if you can’t be quiet.”

“Is that where you go? Won’t nymphs catch you?”

“We’re the babies, they think we’re cute. They just tell me to go back.”

“We’re twelve, not babies.”

“Yeah? Then get climbing.”

George stomps the ground petulantly, but doesn’t go back inside. Dream has to let go of his hand to show him how to climb up. The breeze sifts through his hair gently, the cool air clings to his skin. He’s made this climb a few times, not that it’s hard. But he can hear his friend groaning with every new foothold he has to take.

It’s a big cabin, it’s got to hold a lot of kids. He pities the kids who have to sleep in the top rungs, they have to climb up and down at least two ladders to get in and out of bed. Maybe the ones on top are, like, the strong half-bloods. Ares and Hephaestus and stuff.

Dream pulls himself up on top of the roof with ease. 

“Not so hard.” Dream gloats, smiling at George still struggling on the last edge. 

“Help?” George frowns pitifully, voice small and winded. He holds out his hand. “Please?”

Dream takes his hand and pulls him up. “I’ve gotcha.”

He wobbles a bit on his feet, but steadies. George is only in his pajamas, his own sacred artifact. Sometimes he’s seen him walking around camp in his pajama bottoms. There’s only two beads on his necklace, opposed to Dream’s six. He thinks he’ll have to turn his necklace into a bracelet and get a new one pretty soon. 

“I’m so tired.” George whispers, rubbing his eyes with force.

“You’re always so tired. Do you mean it this time?”

George moans grumpily. He’s standing like he’s waiting for Dream to tell him what to do. So he does. 

Dream takes his hand and guides him to lay down on one of the flat parts of the roof, above a protruding window. The wood is old and creaky, and tomorrow Sapnap (who sleeps at the top of Cabin 11, though Dream thinks it's pretty obvious who his godly parent is) will tell Dream to stop going up there in the middle of the night for what is probably the tenth time.

Together, they look at the night sky. There's few clouds, like always, and somehow all of the world’s constellations are clear. Like New York isn’t right next door.

That one is Andromeda, next to Cassiopeia. He learned that in class the other day. “Class” used loosely– they try hard to have stuff for kids to do around here. 

“Is this what you do?”

Dream looks at him. “Hm?”

“Like. When you leave your bunk you just come up here? When you don’t go to the woods.”

“Yeah. I like the silence.”

“Hm.”

There’s a long pause. Then, George asks another question, sounding even more sleepy than before. Something unnatural tugs at Dream’s eyelids when George comes near. 

“Did your nightmares come back?” His voice is quiet, so quiet, so not even the sky may hear. 

Dream didn’t want to say as much in front of so many people. Even if they were asleep. He nods. “Let me help.” George pokes his shoulder. 

“I’m scared!” Dream laughs quietly, “You did a terrible job last time.”

“Okay, whatever, I’ve been practicing.” George says, accent really peeking through. His mother is from Oxford, if he’s remembering correctly. Work visa. Not that Dream really understands what that means. He just understands George sounds very British, and it’s fun.

“Really? And who have you been practicing on.”

“Sam.” George seems rather proud of himself. “Sam, and it was good and I did good. So you should let me help.”

“Oh.” Dream really thought he’d catch him in a lie. “What does Sam even dream about?”

George rubs his eyes, moaning in thought. Which is a strange way to describe it, but that’s what George does. He rolls away, attempting to yawn away from him. He’s been trying not to yawn near people. It’s cute, but doesn’t make much of a difference. Dream yawns, despite his best efforts. George rolls back when he’s through. 

“Sheep.” Is all he says. He leans his head on Dream’s shoulder. “Let me help.” “Why are you so adamant?”

“Because it’s, like, the only thing I can even do. Everyone can like, make cool plants or be super smart. I just sleep.” George hesitates, but follows through. “And I like you. You’re my best friend.”

Dream’s heart swells, enough to melt his apprehension. Or, maybe it’s the desperation that comes with sleep deprivation. It occurs to him he never changed out of his jeans. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Do it.”

“You’re scared?” George looks up. His eyes are the kind of blue you see in the scariest parts of the ocean. The color of trenches that touch the center of the Earth. “Don’t be scared. You’ll wake up no matter what.”

“I wasn’t scared of that, but, I guess now I am?” It’s hard to keep eye contact. Something about the sleepy glaze of George’s eyes makes Dream’s soul want to give up. Whatever that means, he’s not sure.

“Sorry. It comforts me to think about.” George holds his arm gently. “You have to look at me. Remember?”

Truthfully, he didn’t. He doesn’t remember anything about how George lulled him to sleep. But he follows his instruction, and soon enough he can feel darkness creeping in all around him. It feels like having the biggest, heaviest quilt gently laid over him. It feels like getting dragged underwater. The sound of the wind in the trees melts into pure silence.

He’s vaguely aware of the sound of a yawn, his or George’s, he’s not sure. And then there was nothing at all.

For the first time in weeks, he doesn’t dream. No nightmares about green fire and the earth swallowing him whole. No death, no inevitable fates and failures he can’t avoid. Just, cold nothing.

He’s woken up by someone poking his cheek. He’s slow on the uptake, which is unlike him, but it’s so early in the morning some of the sleep lingers like a shroud. It’s a nymph. She’s not very happy. You can’t keep doing this. 

And when George is asleep, he’s really asleep. And using magic tuckers him out– he’s only just started trying to use it. There’s like, a meter he’ll have to level up. At least that’s what George said. 

Bottom line, he’s hard enough to wake up when he hasn’t exhausted himself. Dream is tasked with the impossible job of carrying George back down and into bed. 

It’s a good thing he weighs nothing. 

[blurglesmurfklaine]

4, 7, 9, 12 for the ask game <3 (all glee if possible)

Yay, thanks for these Crys! 7 was previously answered so I went ahead and skipped it :)

4. say something nice about a ship you don't ship (it can be another ship in your fandom, a mutual's OTP, etc)

I don’t ship St. Berry, but I am of the opinion that if it couldn’t be Finn, I’m glad it was Jesse. He and Rachel really are two sides of the same coin and they seem to love each other very deeply and I hope they’re happy together!

9. a ship that isn't your OTP but that you enjoy

Samcedes 😭 they are my emotional support heterosexuals your honor. But also, they are two genuinely good people who care deeply about one another samcedes you will always be endgame to me

12. compliment someone else in your fandom

Okay this is gonna be a lot because I AM going to do all the active fandoms I’m in! So under the read more!

Glee:

First of all you, Crys! And @backslashdelta You are both so talented with your gif making that it kind of drives me insane.

@kurtsascot is probably one of the most talented writers I’ve ever had the pleasure of interacting with. I feel so lucky that we’ve gotten her so late in the game! I feel similarly about @rockitmans and @thelegendofjenna

@esilher @twinkkurt and @justgleekout make the most BEAUTIFUL fanart I’ve ever seen, and I also wanna thank @carsonphillips for klainegifs and keeping the fandom interesting with their events!

@somefeministtheatrepls is not only an amazing friend but the most thoughtful beta reader and honestly partner in my writing?? Writing is much less stressful because I don’t even worry about things being clunky or weird because I know her ass will help that chapter SHINE

@nancysgillians @kurthummeldeservesbetter also get shoutouts because they are wonderful people to have in your life

Newsies:

I could fill novels with how much I love and appreciate @somanywords! Their amazing storytelling and also volunteering to make art for the MiniBang I hosted earlier this year??? On top of listening to my insane ramblings?? They don’t make em like this anymore folks

@one-paper-bag is also SOOOOOO incredibly talented with their art, and their lovely comments on my Spider-Man AU keep me going (on GOD we are gonna get you another chapter ON GOD!!!!)

@livesincerely and @agentsnickers are some of the most prolific and INSANELY TALENTED writers I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading, and also genuinely lovely people! You know when you see someone on your dash and ur just like “wow. I hope they are having a FANTASTIC day and life. They deserve one.”

@piedoesnotequalpi and @regina-cordium are also so incredibly FUNNY and have the most correct takes on every single newsie and that’s on that ❤️

911:

I’m relatively new to this fandom, so I don’t know a ton of people yet, but there are def people I see on my dash that I have noticed!

@cranberrymoons @lesbianrobin @insertlovelyperson have written some of my absolute FAAAAAAVE fics! I feel like they really have a handle on who the characters are in a way that’s true to the show and kind of difficult to pull off!

@texasbama makes amazing gifs and honestly anytime I see her on my dash I laugh bc genuinely she’s so funny. Also on the list of hilarious contributors is @buckgettingstruck

And a couple of people who I think have genuinely great vibes are @buckera @leathercouchcushion and @yaz-the-spaz

And of course I can’t talk about 911 without a second mention to @regina-cordium who puts up with all my Texas!Buddie nonsense andbansndbsk

-

Okay yeah so that was a LOT sorry!! I didn’t mean for it to get so long BUT I do mean every single word! I’m really blessed to have met so many amazing people through fandom and my experience on this site has been nothing less than superb because of yall ❤️

[ponyartistbrainiac]

I know this won't mean much to y'all but after over 10 years of trial and error and practice and experiments my art has finally gotten to the place I wanted it to be since I was a small girl. I always wanted to make beautiful emotional pieces that i pour my heart and soul into that showed my passion with every stroke and despite being mostly blind I made it.

These pictures gain very little traction and get virtually no notice at all but despite it all I pour hours upon hours of blood sweat and tears to make pieces I can be proud of.

And even though no one understands me or my work (outside of my boyfriend who is the amazing light of my life I can't seem to stop myself from making them from time to time marking occassions only I understand but I always wish people would enjoy the art anyways for what it is.

Perhaps one day people will appreciate my work. Perhaps I will just be a blip in history that no one remembers or maybe some sort of cautionary tale about being autistic and having a passion that burns hotter then anyone can handle. Either way I am proud of how far I have come. Being mostly blind and autistic no one ever believed in me but maybe thats what fueled my urge to want to prove my worth to everyone by showing them how powerful my imagination truly is.

Even if it scares them...

Im not sure why I am writing this tbh my grandfather just died and I have been thinking about my life up until now quite alot this week. Where do I go from here? What do I do now?

My friends are all moving to live around me and its wonderful and crazy and everything is happening so fast. But I wish to push myself even further beyond.

Maybe someday i can make something that everyone can appreciate or atleast my peers. But for now perhaps I should look into new horizons perhaps maybe practice more on my aliens that I love to draw thanks to Outer wilds or maybe work on my animation skills so I can make moving pictures no one understands.

Anyways thanks for sticking around through everything if you have been here a while. The internets on fire and I am doing my best and if you are new... Hi I'm Pepper and I am glad you are here.

And thank you for everything

I started making these paintings after recovering from covid which I honestly thought was the end

I was so over joyed with being alive i painted that first painting of derpy and rarity and I have been chasing that level of zen... that high... ever since and I can finally recreate it consistently. Thank goodness

I was worried it was lightning in a bottle for a while...

Never give up!

[jj-5656]

Sneaking Suspicions With; Tangerine (Bullet Train)

A/n: Are we proud? Two uploads in two days. This is how I procrastinate doing any homework. Could not get this idea out of my head so here we are. This is my first for Tangerine, but I just recently rewatched Bullet Train and couldn’t resist. Had to add Lemon too because it’s simply not complete without him. Also, the bit about Thomas is all true, I was obsessed with that show when I was young. Enjoy!

Summary: The one where your boyfriend attempts to build a kitchen table, and nearly slaughters your neighbor...

T/W: A LOT of cursing, some suggestive humor, mentions of violence...duh

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” You wince as tools clatter in the kitchen. Discarding your current task of rummaging through boxes with Tangerine’s scribbled writing marked ‘bathroom’.

You’ve finally moved in to the new place after months of preparation. Having been together for 8 months, it was about time you moved in together. Tan practically lived at your old place anyway, though taking this step was intimidating for both of you. His brother had egged you on for months, desperately wanting their shared apartment as his own.

Hence why Tangerine is sat on the floor, muttering curses as he attempts to assemble your dining table.

“Tan, why won’t you let me help you?”

“I told you, I’ve got it, love. Fucking bastards,” his shoulders tense with anger as he speaks. “Can’t even make a buildable fuckin’ table. I’ll show them ‘quick and easy’ right up their fuckin’-”

“Did you even look at the directions, baby?” He furrows his brows, turning to you like you’ve grown another head. 

“Directions are for morons.” 

“Or for people with zero table assembling experience.” You mutter, fighting a grin under his tense stare. He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow, only sporting a wife pleaser and trousers in the summer heat. You internally cringe at the reminder your stubborn boyfriend intends to install the air conditioner on his own as well.

“Maybe we could ask Brian across the hall, he said he does construction for his dad part time.”

“You chopping it up with that lad already? Right git, he is.”

“He’s nice, Tan.”

“He’s a flirt, and a shit one at that.” It forces a laugh from you, Tangerine frustrated that the sound still manages to ease the tension from his muscles. 

“I’ll ring Lemon, then.” 

“I swear to Christ, if you call my muppet of a brother-” 

And that’s how Lemon ends up knocking at your door, takeout in hand and a bright smile on his face at the sight of you. 

“Hello, lovely. Call for reinforcements already?” 

There’s a distant “fuck off” from the kitchen, but you nod nonetheless, thanking him for the food and much needed company. Lemon’s rooted for your relationship even before his brother. Insisting he get your number that fateful night in that shitty club all those months ago. 

***************

You’d been sharing drinks with a group of friends when a man bumped into you, nearly knocking you over with the size of him. He’d caught you by the shoulders before you could fall, sending the drunken, clumsy patron an icy glare before surveying you for any injury. He’d clasped both his hands around one of yours, profusely muttering overly-posh, accented apologies. You were ready to cuss out whoever had been so careless before you laid eyes on him, overwhelmed with the British charm and piercing eyes. 

“Can I buy you and your friends a drink? I’ll be out of your hair after, promise.” His sincerity makes you want to request he sticks around the rest of the evening, though you shake your head. Polite commonalities ingrained in your nature. 

“Not necessary, I appreciate it.” You assure with a kind smile, ignoring your friends gawking at the pin-stripe clad gentleman. He nods, not wanting to make you any more uncomfortable as he gives your elbow a gentle squeeze in one last apology. Heading back the way he came, sitting beside another well-dressed man at the bar. What looks like a round of chastising from the raven-haired man, and the handsome stranger is waving him off, glancing over at you and taking a generous sip of his drink. 

“You did not seriously just turn Poseiden-incarnate down.” Your girlfriend finally manages to close her slacked jaw, frustrated with your shyness. 

“He was just being polite, Brooke. I didn’t want to have him buy for the whole table in obliga-” A waitress approaches before you can finish, smiling brightly at the lot of you as she sets down a round of espresso martinis. 

“The gentlemen across the bar insisted. On him, of course.” The older woman shoots you a wink, a chorus of cheers from your friends in salute to the man across the way. He sends a kind smile, tilting his own glass and looking like he hates the sudden attention. He meets your eyes for only a moment, starting up conversation with the man beside him in a silent obedience to his promise of leaving you be. 

It’s hours before you see him again, headed outside for some fresh air after spending too much time on the dance floor. You’re sober enough to hold your own, comforted in the array of bouncers nearby if needed. You’re sat on a bench just in front of the club, craving some relief from your heels. There’s a flick of a lighter beside you, a curse when it doesn’t ignite any flame. You’re searching through your clutch instantly, offering up your own light without a second thought. 

“Didn’t take you for a smoker.” You perk at the accent, trailing the extended arm to meet the man’s gaze for the third time that evening. 

“Don’t. Not cigarettes, anyway.” He smiles through the now ignited stick, quirking his head in quiet contemplation. His eyes study you, and surprisingly, it’s almost endearing. There’s no suggestive indications to his observations, like most men you’d encounter. It’s contemplative, as if he’s trying to figure out. 

“You always stare at strangers?” Your wit pleasantly surprises him, and his grin grows despite himself. 

“Apologies, love. Just taking it all in. Mind if I sit?” You nod, thanking the cold for the constant flush of your cheeks that’ll hopefully conceal the blood that rushes to them at his words. “Never got your name.” 

“Y/n, nice to meet you.” You take his extended hand for a shake, wincing at the formality of your words. 

“Tangerine, pleasure’s all mine.” He awaits the usual ‘like the fruit’ with sudden irritation, but it never comes, so he relaxes.

“That a nickname?”

“Of sorts.” You don’t pry, not interested in scaring him off just yet. If he wanted to tell, you, he would. In his mind, Tangerine thanks you profusely. Pleased to have met someone uninterested in forcing information out of him. 

“Whose your friend?” You mean the other good-looking guy beside him the entire night, who must still be inside. 

“Brother,” he corrects, not unkind. “Hoping he won’t be trollied on the way home.” Your eyes narrow, unaccustomed to the slang. Tangerine exhales a stream of smoke away from you, wetting his lips with a twinge of amusement. 

“Drunk, love. Or wasted, as you’d put it.” A laugh escapes you, thoroughly entertained with his dramatic mock of an American accent. 

“That is not how we sound.” You nudge his shoulder with your own, defensive and patriotic for likely the first time in your life. “You guys are still salty we won.” He bellows a laugh this time, and the warm sound erupts butterflies in the stomach. 

“Blokes chucked boxes of tea in the ocean in retaliation. The fuck kind of war crime is that?” 

“One that proper fucked your economy.” You attempt your own dramatic accent, curious as to why he tries so hard to fight smiling. You assume he’s usually much more stoic without the aid of alcohol and new company. 

“Bloody hell, that was awful.” He teases with no real ill-will, stubbing out his cigarette when his brother stumbles out of the building. You hear him mutter something about ‘shit timing’ as the taller man approaches, kind smile adorning his handsome features. 

“You’ve found your Edwards!” He clasps his hands together, absolutely delighted before he sits himself in between the two of you. Tangerine looks absolutely pissed, astonished when you beam brightly at his intoxicated brother. 

“Edwards?” You question despite Tangerine’s shaking head of warning. 

“Edwards.” He assures, adjusting his suit jacket as he gets comfortable. “Wise, kind...We’ve only just met, I know. But, you see, I’m great at reading people.” 

“Christ, here we fucking go again.”

“Everything I learned about people, I learned from Thomas the-” 

“Tank engine!” You finish for him, the pair shocked at your enthusiasm. “That was my favorite show when I was little!”

“You don’t say?” The man beams, looking over at his brother with an undoubted stamp of approval. 

“Swear it. Had the stuffy for years, an entire train table set too.”

“The one with the wooden tracks you could build yourself?” 

“And the magnetic crane to lift up the figurines!” The two of you are absolutely enamored, enthralled in the conversation whilst Tangerine broods opposite you. Making a mental note to shoot his beloved brother in the foot the second he gets him alone. 

“Bloody hell, I loved that set. What a coincidence!” He turns to his brother, shaking with anger. 

“Fuckin’ unbelievable.” Is all he manages, messing with the rings on his fingers to calm himself from the outright cockblock. Fuckin’ muppet. 

“Names’ Lemon. Pleasure to meet you doll, truly. A real Edward, you are.” 

“You really think so?” The alcohol ends any fight to conceal your pleased expression, glancing over at Tangerine who forces a smile at your grant of attention. 

“Know so. Brother over here’s a Gordon, don’t you think?”

“I could see that.” This time you’re the one to study said man, lip quirking when he shifts under your gaze. 

“Alright, we should get you home.” Tan rises with a roll of his shoulders, ready to head back with his head hanging low in a failed feat. Lemon frowns, pushing away the strong arm that’s pulling at him so he can dig through the inner pocket of his expensive jacket. Pulling out a folded and well-worn sheet of paper. 

“Here comes the fucking sticker book. Of course.” 

“You know I bring it everywhere. Here, love.” Lemon peels the Edward sticker from the sheet. Sticking it onto your finger with a soft ‘boop’. You gasp, delighted. 

“The lady’s real chuffed, Lemon. Let her get back to her friends for Christ’s sake.” He pulls the man to a standing position, waving down an approaching taxi with an ear-piercing whistle. “You got a friend getting you home safe, sweetheart?” You nod, pressing the new sticker to the back of your phone and pressing your case back on it. Aiming to keep it safe indefinitely. Tan suppresses a smile, finding it absolutely adorable. He buttons his jacket, straightening in self-discipline to push away the love-sick thoughts. 

“Have a good night, you two. It was nice meeting you.” There’s a hint of sadness in your tone, the farewell and the unlikeliness of running into them again tugging at your heart strings. Weird, considering you just met the two men and you already want to get to know them more. Especially the handsome fuck with the unrelenting charm. 

“Like-wise, love.” Tangerine ushers his brother into the backseat of the car, muttering something to the driver before turning on his heel to face you again. Brows taught in consideration. He battles with himself, weighing if he’s selfish enough to try and get to know someone as seemingly kind-hearted as you. You’d deserve better. He surveys you a final time, every nerve-ending in his body begging for more. You’re about to head back inside when he clears his throat, grabbing your attention.

“Any chance you’d be willing to give me your number, sweetheart? Just to make sure you get home safe?” He prays it doesn’t sound too hopeful, as desperate as he is for you to comply. You cock your head incredulously, and he swears his heart skips a beat. 

“Just to make sure I get home?”  

“And maybe to ask you to dinner. Or, you say no and I fuck off.” You chew on the inside of your cheek to suppress the excited grin. Hoping you appear nonchalant despite yourself. Taking a few steps forward, you extend your hand. Brows raising in expectation as he stares at you. He snaps out of it, digging into his pocket with a muttered ‘oh, right.’ 

“All right mate! Thought you’d never get the balls to ask her. Been going on and on about her since you nearly tackled ‘er”

“Fuck off, Lemon.” Tan seethes, eyes averting to you when you giggle through your rushed typing into his phone. “He’s drunk, pay no mind.” 

“Trollied, right?” There’s teasing heavy on your tongue, and it takes everything in him not to pull you in for a kiss right there. On the curb of some mangy club whilst the impatient driver honks in warning. 

“Right. Goodnight, love. Careful getting home, yeah?” You nod, mindlessly standing up on your tip-toes to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Night.” 

And with that, you’re headed back inside. Feeling his eyes on you the entire time. Only looking back when the door closes behind you. Ensuring he can’t see you spying. He has his head down, biting a smirk from his lips before gaining composure, tossing himself into the cab beside his brother. 

***********

“You’re not needed, I have this handled.” 

“You don’t actually. I’ve seen corpses more capable of brain activity than this, mate.” 

“Piss off.” 

“I would, but I like your girlfriend more than you, and therefore don’t want to leave her with this,” he motions to the mess of tools and table parts, “all alone.” 

The two of you sit opposite him, Lemon unfolds the discarded instruction sheet with a deep sigh. 

“You’ve got the wrong bolt on that one.”

“No I don’t.” 

“You do, mate. Considering I’m the one with the fucking instructions.” 

“See, if I was a fuckin’ mug like you, I’d need the directions. But I’m not, so I don’t.” 

“Well, you must be. Considering that’s the wrong fucking bolt.” 

You rub your temples, fighting an oncoming migraine. Taking the drill from the floor and setting it counter-clockwise to remove the damned bolt. Tan takes it from you, setting his hand on your stomach to push your criss-crossed form backward. 

“Hey!”

“What did I say? I didn’t want you doing this, Dove. You’ve just gotten those nails done. I-” He stops himself, taking a breath. “We got this covered.” 

“This seems patronizing and sexist.” 

“Quite the opposite. I respect you so much I’d rather not have you sit on the floor and do this.” 

You huff, arms crossed as you glare at him. Too worn out to argue, and figuring there’s an array of boxes to be unpacked, you scramble to your feet. 

“Fuck you.” 

“Maybe later, love. I’m quite busy at the moment.” The cheeky response gets a laugh out of even Lemon, who straightens as soon as your heated gaze snaps to him. You flip them both off, no real anger to it as you head back toward the bathroom. 

**********

Another couple hours pass and you’ve finished both bathrooms and are working on the master bedroom. Airpods in to block out the onslaught of arguments. You hum to your music, unaware of the eyes on you.

Tangerine leans against the doorway, finding comfort in watching you in your shared home. It’s weird, new, to share just about everything now. Scary, no doubt. Tan had walls around him so high it took months for you to even shake them. But you’ve done it, somehow. A little minx, he regards you, because you’ve managed to get through to him sometimes without him even realizing. He’s eternally grateful whatever scraps of good karma he had left accumulated to bring you into his life. Terrified it might one day be ripped away. Every time the thought passes his mind, his throat tightens, and he gets the overwhelming urge to hold you and never let go. 

Your startled gasp snaps him out of it, a hand clasping over your heart in shock. “Christ, Tan. Give a girl a warning.” 

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He swallows, a beat before continuing. “I love you.” Your eyes narrow at his sweet tone, trying to uncover the mischief in his sultry voice. 

“What’d you do?”

“Nothing, honest. I can’t say I love you?” 

“You can.” You turn your head from him, suppressing a smirk as you busy yourself with folding clothes. “Just...Not in the hall, okay?” 

“What? Why?”

“It’s just,” you’re holding in a laugh now, a death wish for sure. “I don’t want Brian to hear, that’s all.” He crosses his arms, hiding his clenching fists at your teasing. 

“You think that’s funny? Taking the piss like that?”  You muffle a laugh with your sleeve, morphing it into a cough. “Tread lightly, my love.” 

“You know, I bet Brian builds loads of tables. Must be real fast at it, considering he works in construction and all. Lot’s of strong men in that field of work.”

“Y/n.” Your name is rare on his lips, singed with irritation. You’re clearly well-past having him worked up, You press on, keen on getting him back for his suggestive comment from before. 

“I always wanted to get to know a blue-collar type. So hardworking, great with their hands-” You’re in the air and flopped onto the mattress yet to have a bed frame before you can even process it. He cages you in, an arm on either side of your head to support himself as his eyes bore daggers into yours. Curls unruly and dampened with sweat. 

“Stop it. Or beloved Brian’s in a body bag by tomorrow morning, yeah?” You know he’s not entirely serious, but also entirely capable, so you nod. You press your lips together, thoroughly amused. He takes your jaw in his hand and uses his thumb to pull your lips free. Tugging you into a kiss, he’s only satisfied when you gasp after your bottom lip is bit. Not too hard, he’d never hurt you, but it’s enough warning to shut you up. He gets up, hands on his hips and breathing heavy as he watches you get to your feet. Wordlessly, he sweeps a leg under yours, chuckling when you’re collapsing back into the mattress with an umph. 

“You really are a fucking Gordon, you know that?” There’s no time to scramble away from his lunging form as he tugs you by the ankle toward him. One hand grabbing your arm and the other on your leg as he hoists you over his shoulder, cheekily reminding you of the power imbalance as he carries your squirming form down the corridor and into the kitchen. Where Lemon lays sprawled out on the now standing table. The air conditioner hums across the room, and the faux argument is ripped from your mind as you survey the accomplished tasks. 

“Nothing a little teamwork and drive can’t do,” Lemon boasts. “You know where I learned that, Tangerine?”

“If you mention the fucking trains, It’ll be the last thing you fuckin’ do.”

*************

“Tan, could you pass the lo mein?” Your boyfriend chews thoughtfully, considering it for a moment before extending it to you. Your eyes narrow when he pulls away as soon as you reach. 

“Maybe you should ask Brian.” 

“My god, we’re still on this?” 

“Should have known better than to tease him with another man, love. Gordons are prone to jealousy.”

“Fuckin’ pipe it, Lems.”

“It was a joke, baby. Are you gonna hold this over my head forever?” You find it endearing, hard to believe Tangerine could think there’s even a hint of honesty to your teasing. 

“Until I’m sure you’re proper guilty, yeah.” There’s a hint of play in his tone, and you know he only wants to hear you repeat your devotion. 

“Tan, love, baby, sweetheart, love of my life, will you please pass the lo mein to your dutifully devoted girlfriend?”

“Sure thing, love. Could have just said so.” The playful banter is stuttered to a halt when Tan sets the box beside you, the legs of the newly built table creaking as they give out. With their instinctive reflexes, Lemon and Tangerine keep the entire thing from collapsing. You’re slack-jawed, in utter shock at the absurdity and slight victory of being right, as god damn usual. 

“Dove,” your boyfriend’s voice strains under the exertion, meeting your eyes “be a doll and take everything off here?” You’re up in an instant, quickly snatching the array of food and plates off the surface. Lemon begins to laugh despite himself, and Tangerine seethes with frustration. 

“Maybe we should-”

“Don’t. Don’t even think about saying that fuckin’ muppets name.” Tan stares daggers into his brothers eyes, paying no mind to your stifled giggles. When they finally set the table on the ground, you approach him. Tugging at his arms so you can wrap yours around his waist. You press your chin into his chest, running a hand through his unruly curls. 

“Baby.” You’re soft, tone so sweet and eyes big and pleading. 

“Lose the puppy eyes, doll. It’s a no.” 

“I personally would like to finish dinner not on the floor. But that’s just me.” Lemon purses his lips, brows raised expectantly at his brother.

Tan releases a deep, shaky sigh, dark gaze softening when he meets yours. He tries to tug his head away when your hands hold it, but you’re insistent, making him face you again. 

“I’m all yours, alright? I promise.” You kiss both his cheeks and then his neck, some tension leaving him. He tilts his head in faux irritation when you stick out your pinky to him, grinning when he finally gives in and wraps his much bigger one around yours. 

**********

“It’s already so nicely decorated in here.” Brian surveys the room with a polite smile, turning to you. “All this is your eye, y/n?” You straighten, hoping the man won’t notice your boyfriend’s homicidal stare. 

“Tan has more taste, admittedly.” You’re not just trying to take the attention off you, it’s the truth. 

“Well that should be obvious, he got you.” Lemon coughs, setting a hand on his brother’s shoulder with tight, grounding grip. The slightly shorter man boils beside him, eyes boring into yours in an enraged ‘I told you so’. 

Your neighbor places his work bag on the floor, cringing at the sight of the flattened table. He approaches the brothers, clueless, patting their arms with sympathy. 

“Should have gotten me earlier, guys. You know you can call me over any time for some help. Handiwork isn’t for everyone, some things are just left for the professionals. 

“No kidding.” Tan mutters, letting Lemon pry his fingers from the biggest kitchen knife you own when the man’s back is turned to them. 

“We’ll have to grab brunch sometime, y/n.” He’s blissfully unaware as he talks between rounds of the drill. Unscrewing mistakes and penciling out where they should actually go. “I’ll fill you in on the rest of the neighbors. Some of the ones to avoid and all.” Lemon’s practically wrapped around his brother, praying to a god he doesn’t believe that the clueless fuck will shut up. You cross the room while he drills away, placing your hands on Tan’s chest and pressing into him. He can’t even see you, can’t even feel you as his blood burns his own skin. Considering the fasted method of kill and cleanup over and over again in a final stitch to calm himself. 

“You’ll have meet Cody first, of course. I’ve already told him there’s finally another young couple in the building. Thank god.” 

“S-Sorry, mate?” Lemon loosens his grip in realization, fighting a bellowing laugh. 

“My bad, I tend to drill when I’m talking. Cody gets on me for that, too, This is what I mean, sweetheart. We need to escape the doting boyfriends for a little. Enough to drive anyone nuts.” He shoots you another smile, pleased to see you nodding profusely. 

“Absolutely.” You turn to Tan, whose brows are taught in utter confusion. “They can be a real pain sometimes.”

“But, alas.” The drill whirs, he stops talking for a beat and then releases the trigger to finish. “We love them.”

“To bits and pieces.” 

Tan collapses against the counter, right exhausted from the strain of keeping his composure. Pure relief washes over him, and you let him pull you into an embrace.

“Boys, would you mind helping me turn this right side up? i think I’m all finished here.” They comply, Tan reluctantly pulling away and kissing your temple in silent apology. Together, they set it upright and each give it a good shake to ensure it’s stability. 

“Thanks, mate. I owe you.” Your boyfriend gives the now beloved neighbor a firm shake, a hint of guilt in his eyes. 

“British and handsome, you two are truly a killer pair.” Brian gathers his things and checks a notification ding on his phone. Sighing fondly. “Speak of the devil.” He waves his phone to you with a lighthearted roll of his eyes. “See you all soon.” Giving you a quick hug, he exits as soon as he came.

“Most definitely not a diesel, that bloke.” 

[farfromstrange]

Lizzi’s Valentine’s Special & Follower Celebration

Dear Everyone,

Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, and I thought, since this silly little blog hit over 1.1k followers yesterday, I want to give you something special.

First of all, though, I want to thank you. I’ve been on here since (and I checked with the archive) July 19, 2022. I can't believe that it has been almost two years. I started watching Daredevil after watching Spider-Man: No Way Home in December of 2021 and hearing Matt Murdock say, "I'm a really good lawyer," after catching a brick. So, I started watching the show, and that was during a time I was really miserable. Mentally and physically, I wasn't in a good place, but after watching Daredevil for the first time and falling in love with Charlie Cox as a genuine person and an actor, it felt like I found a reason to keep going.

I started writing fanfiction again, which I kind of neglected because I felt like this hobby of mine wasn't going anywhere. I wasn't inspired at all until I watched the show. If I hadn't, I probably would not have gotten back into writing and using it as an outlet for my feelings, and I probably wouldn't be where I am today. Thanks to Charlie's portrayal of Matt Murdock, and watching his interviews, I felt like I could do the things that I love again and follow my dreams. He's the reason I chose to major in English. And while I owe him that much, I owe you guys here on Tumblr and AO3 even more.

When I first posted here, I didn't think people would even be interested in what I had to say and write. But then more and more people started visiting my profile, you guys started following me, and it kept me motivated to keep writing, even when I'm miserable, and I sometimes only post once every blue moon.

I feel so honored that you guys chose to follow a silly little blog run by a silly little 20-something-year-old whose first language isn't even English (but made it her entire personality), and who chose to write about traumatized dark-haired characters portrayed by Charlie Cox. I'm overwhelmed by the love you continue to show me, and every time one of you chooses to reblog or comment on one of my works, saying that it resonated with you, I feel like I'm doing something right. I'm sharing my ideas, my own experiences, my wishes, and even my deepest, darkest dreams through my writing like it's a fucking diary, and you eat it up every single time.

I'm just so glad that this community exists, as chaotic as it sometimes is, and that you chose to stick around, even when I suck at keeping promises sometimes. You keep teaching me new things about who I am, my writing, and how important it is to put myself first. I don't know if you've heard it lately, but you guys are incredible and I appreciate the hell out of every single one of you.

Thanks to Tumblr, I made lifelong friends (especially looking at you, @blackshadowswriter) and found like-minded people that made me feel less alone. That alone was worth making this account and continuing to post on here.

You may think that I'm being dramatic, but for someone who has never really experienced the kind of validation this community gives me, I want to celebrate this milestone. It means more to me than I can even put into words. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I love you all so much! Please, don't ever forget how amazing you are.

That being said, I've got some exciting things planned.

The other day, I found a folder in my Docs titled "the vault". I completely forgot about it because I usually keep my WIPs in a different folder. As it turns out, I made that folder for fics that I originally never planned to post, or ones that I'd finished but wasn't happy with. It’s many, but it’s a few. Some are deeper than others. I also jotted down rough ideas and outlines last year that I stuffed in there, some of which I've actually shared with you but never started working on. Until now. And the contents of that vault are what I want to give to you now.

INTRODUCING: The Vault

6 stories from the vault. 1 bonus fic. 7 days.

I went through a myriad of emotions while I wrote these. For some, I actually bled my soul onto paper. For others, it was merely a brain fart that led to their existence. They're sad, horny, and at times angry, but some of those were originally written for me, and only me. Those that weren't started as a few sentences in a folder before I forgot they existed. Either way, I don't want them to catch dust. And I wouldn't want to share them with anyone else.

Starting February 14th, I will be posting one fic every day until February 20th. My “The Vault” works are Matt Murdock x Reader works, but I've made an exception for the bonus fic. I won't tell you what they are about, but I will give you a list of installments and what kind of fic they are so you know what to be excited about (and maybe which ones are not your cup of tea).

-> The number at the end tells you the date I will be posting it on, but I put it in chronological order as well.

INSTALLMENTS:

1. If You Need To Be Mean (angst, hurt/comfort) 14.

2. Mismatched Bridesmaid (fluff, smut) 15.

3. Weed Cookies (humor, fluff, cw: accidental drug use) 16.

4. the grudge (songfic, angst, hurt/comfort, cw: death of a parent) 17.

5. Halloween (Smut) 18.

6. I Want To Fuck A Priest (Smut, cw: priest!Matt) 19.

BONUS:

7. Now That We Don’t Talk (Part 2 of Is It Over Now?) -> Frank Castle x Reader (smut, angst) 20.

A few more words: You are free to send me an ask if you want to know more, but be prepared that I won't be answering in much detail. I don't want to spoil the fun. I would, however, not mind talking about them as vaguely as possible (if you’re interested).

Thank you all. For everything. And I hope you stick around to read these little gems.

With love from yours truly,

Lizzi <3

[syoddeye]

feel free to ignore this one-

i have been a big fan of fanfiction for a while and recently got into cod. and ive noticed a lot of poetic writers tend to head down the noncon/ddne territory, and i guess it’s always a conflict for me?

cus it’s beautiful, but always so fucking sickening. nasty stuff for sure. and being one of my favorite authors, i guess im asking if you believe the writing is supposed to justify it? romaticize it- instead of condemning? maybe it slips past me but im always unsure if the writing is supposed to be seen as strictly art that divulges into the depths of a dark mind and a bad man- or it’s indulging in a fantasy.

im breaking from my comfortable shell from the ‘white picket fence happy ending cute tale’ fanfiction and actually really enjoying reading dark fics because good ones do such a wonderful job at toeing the ‘this is so beautiful but I feel like vomiting’ line- but in the back of my mind i wonder if it’s supposed to be read in a positive light- like the assaulter is…good?

im a bit new to it all which is why I guess there’s a shred of shame in it, because I don’t like the actions in ddne. they’re unsettling, gross (unfeminist? unsure) - but the writing is often times why i have to finish them because it’s jus so beautiful, pulls you in. your guts are all shriveled but your mind is wide awake and your mouth is wide open like you’re trying to swallow the poetry whole (not to be dramatic).

have you ever felt this? or am i jus like. vanilla.

hey friend, thanks for your patience on this.

i know you’ve already reached back out and i’m glad the links shared here helped. i’m gonna respond to both asks here because i don’t want to break your anonymity without your consent.

i’m also disabling reblogs. everything below this is my opinion and experiences. other folks will obviously feel differently. (if any of my smart and talented friends want to chime in or correct me, please do.)

first, i respect and appreciate your openness. you are kind and your thoughtfulness shines through both messages. feeling conflicted about complicated and difficult topics is normal. not to get all woo-ey off the bat, but we’re human beings. this is our first time planetside and all that. it’s important to cut yourself some slack. this post is generally how i see it:

“the human brain is weird. sex fantasies ≠ actual desires. if you ask yourself, “would i want to act out this thing in real life” and the answer is “fuck no,” then you’re fine. shipping is also not an indicator of what you would condone in real life. you are not secretly a monster. you are a human being. human beings are complicated.”

you ask: [do] you believe the writing is supposed to justify it? romanticize it- instead of condemning?

no, and this is where i think the posts i shared help. i do not believe dead dove or dark fic justifies sexual assault and rape, in the same way i do not believe games or horror films make people violent.

you also share:

“maybe it slips past me but im always unsure if the writing is supposed to be seen as strictly art that divulges into the depths of a dark mind and a bad man- or it’s indulging in a fantasy.” “in the back of my mind i wonder if it’s supposed to be read in a positive light”

this just tells me you’re engaging with fiction in a normal way. it’s normal to process how a story affects you. when reading fiction that depicts the disgusting, there’s a chance you feel disgusted. you remind me of how i felt when i first started reading dark fic. i had to unpack and grapple with years of being told any sexual fantasy that wasn’t heterosexual + monogamous + only explored after marriage was a one-way ticket to superhell and made me an awful person. surprise, it doesn't!

again, i’ll echo my first reply in case anyone needs to see it again: content warnings and tags aside, if readers hit an unexpected limit/boundary/landmine in a fic that they know will adversely impact or trigger them, they need to exit immediately. disengaging from fanfic is a reader’s responsibility. no one is forcing anyone to read fanfic, and no one should feel like they have to finish fanfic because it’s beautifully written, at the expense of their well-being. 

(to note, because i don’t want folks to think i’m ignoring it, but i’m not going to wade into what’s feminist or not when it comes to fiction. i think that’s a whole other discussion and i’m not in the headspace to engage.)

(another note, semi-related - something that continually frustrates me in the broader discussion of dead dove and dark fanfic is the pressure for victims to share personal information to justify their opinion, no matter where it falls. while i do share some stuff about my personal life, i do have limits. i’ve been asked point blank in my ask box and ao3 comments if i’ve ever been sexually assaulted, because some folks feel entitled to that information to ‘justify’ my writing about it. people can and will make their assumptions, but i will never divulge that info here, on tumblr.com, of all places. that’s a hard line for me.)

to your second message, i am sincerely happy that those links helped. it really boils down to ‘it doesn’t equal your actual desires’. you said it was a huge relief to see that, and it is! again! i felt a galaxy brain moment when i stopped hating myself for liking darkfic. reading/writing dark fic isn't an endorsement.

and and and not to sound like your grandpapa out on the porch, but now that i know your age—you are young. do not beat yourself up for learning or not knowing your limits just yet. i am in my 30s and learning shit about myself all the time. i’ll be 60 and having lightbulb moments reading fanfic.

okay. i think i’ve yapped enough. linking to early’s post again because it’s so, so good.

[gemapples]

see you in 2024 💗💗

very personal ramble about my year and experiences, etc. under the cut. kind of neg just a warning but if anyone would be willing to read it the whole way through i'd appreciate it so so much

2023 was certainly... a year for me. had many highs but a Ton of lows, went forward one step but took two steps back. i'd be lying if i said i didnt struggle and know what to do for a lot of it

i did get to meet and even become friends with people i look up to, got to learn new things i didn't know before. and one of the problems i noticed throughout this year is i spent way more time than i needed to focusing on my usefulness for others and what i can do for people rather than prioritizing myself and my mental health. i think a lot of problems i experienced in 2023 was due to me getting too caught up in how i'm perceived by others (especially on social media like tumblr). for 2024 i want to work on this and be sure to put myself first in every situation and be the best person i see myself as -- not overdo it for the sake of others. i'm going to try being more straightforward with myself and how i choose to approach people. i want to be more involved in this fandom and get to know more people who love kirby better rather than just hiding away and watching from the side like i have for many years, waiting for them to approach me first at some point. i made a lot of progress on this a lot in 2023 but i could always be better :')

regardless though, i wouldn't have been nearly as ready to get back on track if it weren't for the support you all have given me throughout this year. august and september were two of the worst months i've ever experienced; i won't get into it (if you know you know), but goddd was it harder than i can even describe. i've never had to go through something that resulted in me questioning my Entire artistic ability, my whole worth, and whether everything i've grown and learned from is just completely fake. i couldn't look at my work and all of my social medias without being completely disgusted and disappointed with myself. i'm in art student too, so you can imagine how fucking hard it was to balance and muscle through that as well lol. it was nothing but hell. if i didn't get the support i did from everyone, i can say with full confidence i wouldn't have been able to pick up my pencil phone and get back to drawing Nearly as quickly as i did. in fact, i probably would still be deeply effected by it and not have the motivation to continue posting for at least a long while. so i seriously can't thank you enough for that. all the words i was told still stick with me to this day and gave me a reason to keep pushing and learn to better understand myself

im tearing up as i write this so i'll have to cut it short LOL but i want to express how deeply it means to me that through all the conflict i've experienced throughout this year, you guys were there for me and were so generous to offer your time to support me and help me out. knowing i make at least one person smile and enjoy what i post is enough for me. hopefully 2024 will be easier on the emotional rollercoasters, i think all of us could use a long break from chaos really lol

thanks for everything and i love you

-mac

[the-togepi-man]

How do you deal with loving multiple people? I've been with my BF for almost a decade and I love him to pieces. Over COVID I made a new gay friend and started having feelings for him. We've hung out a few times and there's always this tension and pretty obvious desire between us. Still I prefer monogomy and wouldn't betray my partner like that. I talked to my partner about these feelings and he gave me a hall pass to fool around with my friend but I felt like that just made my feelings more complicated. Now my friend just recently got into a new serious relationship and I'm really happy for him but also it sortve broke my heart? I just feel like the most selfish person and I don't really have anyone to talk to about these feelings. Everyone has been understanding but I just feel like a monster all the time.

Awesome question, anon I'm going to put the tl;dr up here, then do more under the cut. I feel you, friend. There are days I still wake up and think "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve the love or kindness or patience to figure this out." "Some people search their whole lives for someone like my partner. I am spoiled and bad for loving more., wanting(?) more." But that's not true. You learn by unlearning. Love isn't something that can follow a textbook definition. Relationships are complicated and intricate and trying to put them in a category is stressful and will make you feel bad. I can speak on that from example right now. I love Sean so much that I can't imagine a world where I am not supporting and loving him and saying "thats my man." But I am also quite frankly, falling for another friend who I have been falling for for a few months now.

You learn to accept loving multiple people when you realize your human experience is yours alone to act on

I wont lie and tell you I have all of this beat. I still worry that I am the right thing for Sean (my partner.) I worry that he is one of the most amazing people I have met in my entire life and that he deserves so much more than what I provide. However... I have talked to him about it. And something he loves about me, is that I have that capacity to love. Not to mention, people are not meant to "belong" to someone. If he was unhappy or saw no future, he could have cut this off and lived a life of his own choosing. That's how relationships work. Who I am and WHAT I am bring something to his life that helps he grow and provides something that he wants to nurture and love. I am insanely proud of you for talking to your partner about your feelings. A lot of people don't make it that far. Some relationships don't survive that talk. So talking to your partner as the first step is incredibly powerful. Keep that dialogue open, allow for them to have a space where they can dip out, but also let them know how much you appreciate being able to share these feelings and work through them together.

It sounds like your partner is aware of your feelings and understands that life isn't black and white, and the norms we have established as a society. I think it might also worth be exploring why *you* think you prefer monogamy. Personally I think monogamy is all well and good, and while i wish I could just be a "one and done" kinda guy- I know that's not my heart. I have two friends who have been together forever, and they are also open. While one does fall in love, he also knows he is monogamous in that regard because he just doesn't have the time to provide for two people personally because of how busy his life is and will be. But that doesn't mean he loves anyone any less, he just has his definition of love and what he's looking for. I think in a relationship, if you show that you care and provide and put effort in to that bond, that's what counts. Sean has no doubt in his mind that I love him and still love him even when I've fallen head over heals as I have for someone while I write this. After all, love isn't a pie chart. You don't love one person 70% and another 30%. Each person is their own precious bond, so why should you have to assign them basic terms when that just doesn't do? In my heart I know my love for Sean hasn't wavered at all. So I continue to show that. My partner (and maybe partners one day) are a prize to be won every day, so I will always make sure I follow that philosophy. All this is to say, you have to create your own definition for what love is based on how you feel and what your morals are. It sounds like you're going about this in a way where you're the only one who is really in danger of getting hurt, and man, more than anything I feel you. You're not carrying that weight alone. I can't say it's easy, nor is there a right answer. If the guy I'm in love with (who isn't Sean) got in to a relationship right now, I know it would really do some serious damage to my heart. But that's what I told myself might happen, thats part of being in love and caring about someone. You want to see them happy. It could happen while single too. It's just how life goes. I talk to Sean about it all the time, and how scared I get that he might leave us- even though he's not even *with* us. I am really rambling here, but I guess I am just trying to say that, from what you've said- You're operating as a good person. You love your partner, and have love in your heart for others. You are acting with kindness, you are acting to make sure that nobody besides you feels bad. Your feelings are valid. No matter what anyone says, your feelings are valid.

The human heart isn't something that operates on logic. It follows no societal norms, it challenges your brain, and refuses to silence itself. Which is exactly why you need to listen to it, if only to help yourself understand that your world isn't black and white. You are not evil for loving more than one person.

Keep trucking, anon. Don't beat yourself up over who you are, and show yourself some kindness, as you clearly do for everyone who is involved with you

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

i stand with you in the face of a defensive misunderstanding of what critique is.

i think understanding what a critique actually is is a skill that increasingly is not taught. i remember going through freshman art courses feeling the frustration that all negative, nasty, unhelpful, and missed-the-point-entirely feedback is so commonly conflated with critique, and then critique gets a bad name because everyone remembers the time someone said their painting looked like an asshole (true story, altho now i think i would take it as a compliment) instead of the time a teacher or friend or classmate helped them uncover a hurtful bias or think of new ways to explore the same idea or how to connect it to related ideas or how to look up and understand other people's ideas on the same topic.

anyway i think you're great.

ahhh you're so kind to me!! i appreciate your support, and i think you are great also.

i have experience with giving and receiving critique as a student myself, and i think it was the best part of my degree! i majored in creative writing in college, and critique was just a generally accepted part of learning to become a writer. i don't even remember people being especially worried about receiving critique on their work. we had guidance on what kind of feedback was useful, but we were still at liberty to give it as we saw fit as like messy 19 year olds. the standard was that we gave it both written on printed copies of the work AND aloud in front of the whole class, and the writer receiving it was not permitted to speak during the critique. understanding how people are perceiving your work is important!

i don't have any particularly negative recollections of the critique process, although once in a high school writing class, the boys in the class told me that my male characters touched each other too gently and real boys are more rough with each other. in particular, they took issue with me writing that one boy nudged another. nudging is too soft. nudging is for girls. that was more than 20 years ago, and i still think about it sometimes because it was such an interesting perspective! i did not take their advice, though.

i should dig up that piece and see if it reads queer in any other ways. i think that's what they were getting at. (actually i once had a non-fiction class tell me i was in love with my roommate after reading an essay i wrote about her)(i did not listen to that advice either, but having 12 acquaintances tell you that you're gay in 2006 before you realize it yourself is Truly Something!)

i think people have conflated criticism and critique and think that being more openly analytical is the same thing as being negative. but analysis is so fun to me! analysis is why i joined fandom in the first place, and it's why i write fic! can we trust each other to be respectful and to speak in good faith even when we're not singing each other's praises? for me fandom would be better if we could.

oh i also want to clarify that i don't think it's impossible to demonstrate that you've thought deeply about a piece of fanwork while remaining completely positive. people do it all the time and do it very well!

i know i sometimes have tunnel vision wrt my own perspective. in a lot of situations, i wish it were more acceptable to be more direct, and i know people sometimes find the way i express myself to be kind of shocking. i know a lot of people like to be spoken to more indirectly than comes natural to me, and i don't mean to imply that my perspective is the only correct one or that there's no good reason to err on the side of gentleness/politeness in our responses to amateur art and writing. i just think that at a certain level of circumspection, it feels like we're all holding each other at arm's length.

i think for people who can't bear to feel exposed, making and sharing art is always going to be painful and difficult, and maybe too painful and difficult to enjoy the process unless they're sure of a soft landing. but like. the rewards of being loved only come after the mortifying ordeal of being known, right?

[dreadfutures]

Fan Work Friday Funday

Rules: If you’re tagged, MAKE A NEW POST to showcase ONE fanartist and/or fanfic for any fandom you recommend (with links). Then tag someone to give their recs next! Don’t forget to reblog the rec you were tagged in, and include these rules! :) If you have more than one person to highlight, consider spreading it out!

Bonus: Choose works by people you aren’t super tight with, or choose older works that maybe haven’t gotten some love in a while. :)

This summer I think I'm going to highlight my favorite writers and artists who delve into either the wider world of Thedas than just the Ferelden/Orlais we see in the games, and the writers who I believe capture Solas the best.

Today: some of the latter.

WRITER: @theharellan | @queenaeducan (AO3)

I discovered Tas's works via her Solas RP page, The Harellan, which also contains her masterful Solas meta.

Here's one of my favorite Solas think pieces: Solas Has Friends, and Some He Holds Loyalty to Before You. Oh and another: Protagonist Bias in the Red Lyrium Future

But I encourage you to check out the rest of the writing on @theharellan because in the past, Tas has answered many thought-provoking questions about Solas, both in and out of character. And man, Tas just has Solas's voice down both in RP and in writing.

Tas has written some of my favorite character studies. For example:

Fic: Remembering Well

Victory at Adamant came with a cost, and Solas does not want Varric to spend his first night in a world without Hawke in it without a friend.

This fic shows a beautiful reflection of Solas and his relationship with grief, and with the new world he's in--and his companions. It's really touching, and I remember reading it in the excellent fanzine Solamancy and being just gut-punched by it. Really beautiful prose, and firmly centered in Solas's head.

Fic: Tales of Fen'Harel

There are always two sides to every legend. A series of original legends about Fen'Harel.

Tas, in addition to thinking about Solas's worldview and conveying it clearly and thoughtfully, writes like a true storyteller. I love the legends and customs she's come up with for the elvhen over the years, and this small collection of legends demonstrates the skill she has weaving the canon lore with original headcanoned folklore.

Fic: Homecoming

Charter attends a Tevinter party, hoping to deny the Dread Wolf another ancient Elvhen artefact.

Tas is one of the first people I personally interacted with to really passionately encourage gen fic. She wrote me this fic in particular as part of an exchange, and I really treasure it. Now, it's a Charter & Lace Harding and Charter & Agents of Fen'Harel fic, sure -- but it's really, really good. And at the heart of it, the story Tas tells speaks to the true man beneath the mantle of Fen'Harel. This fic made me cry, and it still does.

And with that, I encourage you to check out the rest of Tas's works <3 They've written a lot over the years and have a trove to sift through, and I hope that as we experience more of DA4, it'll inspire more to come.

I tag forward, to recommend fics about Thedas at large or about Solas (if you're up for it - otherwise, any fics or fanart recs will be appreciated <3 )

@rosella-writes | @fadedsweater | @queenaeducan | @shift-shaping | @knightdawn