#i've been thinking about this prompt since u sent it and

[malleleothreesome]

hope y'all like Malleus cause apparently my brain can only write for him at this time :)

[jennamacaroni]

Deborah is always giving things to people, and people think because she is very rich and very capable, she doesn't need anyone to give things to her. But Ava gives her something. [you take over from here]

its been two and half years that i've been ruminating on this prompt and never have been able to figure out what this gift could be. this morning i finally found my answer. thank you for sending this prompt which i'm sure at this point you've long forgotten about <3 love u

The package arrives by courier the same evening that Deborah learns ‘My Bad’ is going to network television.  After an obscene bidding war, the purchase price from NBC Universal’s deal will be more revenue for Deborah than all 2,500 Palmetto residency shows combined.  It also happens that NBC has the Super Bowl next February, and network executives pitched the big game to Deborah’s team as the perfect lead-in to maximize viewership.

That’s how big Deborah Vance is in popular culture these days.  Big enough to follow up the most-watched television program of the year.

It’s kind of stunning, Deborah thinks, as Marcus offers her the iPad with the contract pulled up, ready for her signature.  Maybe in her wildest dreams she imagined this level of fame and brand recognition, but it was never all that realistic.  Especially not at her age.  It was impressive enough to sustain her Vegas residency as long as she did in a culture where even the most prolific actors are put out to pasture after age forty.  But here she is, about to sign the biggest deal of her career, north of seventy years old.

Josefina interrupts them before she has the chance to sign, knocking softly on the doorframe to Deborah’s office, holding a small package wrapped in a recycled paper grocery bag.  “Sorry to interrupt, Deborah, but this was just delivered.”

Deborah waves her off.  “Leave it in the kitchen, I’ll get to it later.”

Josefina turns to follow Deborah’s instructions, but something changes her mind.  She hovers instead in the entry to the office, a strange look on her face.

“What is it?” Deborah asks, studying Josefina’s frown, mind going back to Ava hovering in a similar doorway holding the envelope from Kathy back after Frank died.  She shakes the memory away and stands, holding out her hand and beckoning Josefina forward and to get on with it.  She thought this was finally over, that after nearly hitting her with the Rolls Kathy would have gotten the goddamn message.

Josefina enters but stops short of handing it over.  She looks Deborah clear in the eye and says, “It’s from Ava.”

Ah.

Deborah isn’t sure if anyone on her staff is still in contact with her ex-writing partner, but it’s been six months since Deborah fired her on that Hollywood rooftop.

First came the denial:  Ava teary eyed on a night that she should have been celebrating, not believing Deborah’s words.  I can do three months severance and extend your health insurance for six.  Then came the anger, weeks of indignant and resentful texts and voice messages, Ava at her worst poking at every tender part of Deborah she knew, which is just about all of them.  Deborah never once wrote back.  Then bargaining for her job back, even when Deborah knew she was doing just fine writing for television back in LA, that she was even becoming pretty successful.  Then came the weeks where Deborah heard nothing at all, Ava’s messages stopping completely, no updates on any of her social media that Deborah most definitely didn’t keep checking, just to make sure.  Ava’s name in the credits became the only way Deborah knew she was still out there, still okay, still working.

Deborah clears her throat, swallowing down the acute tightening, ignoring the quickening of her heart rate.

“I’ll take it,” she says, curtly, “give me a minute.”

“I already opened the champagne Jimmy sent,” Josefina explains, handing Deborah the box across the desk.  This was a night for celebration, but Deborah suddenly feels like anything but.

“I said, give me a minute,” she snaps, more forceful this time.  Her tone clearly hits the mark because Josefina and Marcus share a knowing look before seeing themselves out.  The contract, Jimmy, the champagne, it can all wait.

She sits back in the opulent wing-backed chair and lets out a long exhale, holding the small wrapped package and measuring its weight.  There’s not much to it really, just wrinkled paper, crooked lines of clear packing tape, and Ava’s chicken scratch with her name and address.

She unwraps it carefully, like she’s afraid of what might be inside.  There’s a plain white envelope with Deborah’s name written small in the center and a box for a pair of noise canceling headphones.  She slips her finger under the seam of the envelope, tearing it open.  A piece of note paper is tri-folded inside, Ava Daniels in neat block printing stamped along the top of the personalized stationery.  Deborah chuckles, thinking Ava has come so far from writing solely on post-its.  The note is simple, Ava’s messy handwriting in black ink in the center of the page:

For your collection. - Ava

Deborah opens the box but there are no headphones inside, only a bunch of balled up paper surrounding an oblong taped up ball of bubble wrap.  Contained within are two ceramic figures, an unlikely pair:  it’s quintessential Deborah in her favorite updo wig, a pants suit dusted in golden glitter, complete with golden high heels and microphone in hand.  The other is a slightly shorter and paler figure with short auburn hair, striped t-shirt, high waisted jeans, and thick black Doc Marten boots.  The tiny Ava is holding a small black notebook.  They’re both laughing, and if placed side by side, the salt and pepper shakers turn slightly into one another, like they’re leaning in and sharing a raucous joke.

Deborah tears up, staring down at them centered on the desktop, Ava the pepper to her salt.  The other half of her pair.  She misses her desperately then, and if she’s serious with herself, has been for the past half of a year, never letting herself truly sit in those feelings until now.

She picks up her phone, squints at the screen through tears, and pulls up Ava’s contact.  Before she knows what she’s doing, Deborah hits the call button.

The phone rings twice, then is sent to voicemail.

The recorded message says, “It’s Ava, drop it like it’s hot.”

Deborah clears her throat.  She has no idea what she even wants to say.  I miss you.  I’m living my dream, I’m famous as hell, about to be more rich than ever, but I’m not happy.  Not without you.  Please come back.  None of it is worth it without you.

But that would be selfish.  Ava is doing fine, thriving even, without Deborah.  She needs to let her be.  Instead, she says, “Hey, it’s um, it’s me.  I got your package.”  She sniffles, swallowing tears.  “They’re perfect.  Thank you.”

She hangs up.

After her hands stop shaking and she’s gathered herself, Deborah carries the shakers to the wall of china cabinets where her collection is fully lit and on display.  She makes room right in the center one at eye-level and sets them together, close enough to touch, their heads leaning into one another.

A few moments later Deborah signs the contract and the house celebrates, Jimmy toasting Deborah and her accomplishments over the phone to a bottle of Dom Perignon, a vintage for 1976, the very year Deborah filmed the late night pilot and ended up starting her stand up career.

If anyone notices the new addition to the salt and pepper shaker collection, no one mentions it.

[viviennes-tears]

I've found my Sylvie (Tom Hiddleston and Wife X reader one shot)

18+ blog: It is YOUR responsibility, as a reader, to think about the content that you consume at your own discretion. 

~

A/N: This one was a lot of fun to write and I got to incorporate some smuttiness I've been dying to add into something. Hopefully it has paid off and thank you Anonymous for sending me the prompt. 

Prompt request by Anonymous: Hi can u pls write a fic where tom hiddleston costars with his wife in the loki series both the seasons and while coming off stage after answering questions about the show he cant resist how beautiful she looks and when the rest of the cast is not looking he suddenly pulls her in a secluded area and has his way with her

Hav a lovely day ahead

Summary: Yourself, Tom, Owen Wilson and the rest of the Loki cast have to be on stage for a Q&A to promote the second season. However you have disappeared some time before needing to be on stage and you made Tom worry about you in the process. Of course you showed up eventually and had to make an entrance with an outfit change. Although after a successful Q&A, along with Tom announcing you're a couple, he grabs your hand and guides you to an empty room so he can have his way with you after all that teasing with your low cut dress.

Warnings: Smut, dirty talk, p in v, vaginal fingering, teasing and fuck used once?

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

Tom sighed heavily. There was just ten minutes to go before you, Tom and the rest of the main Loki cast needed to be on stage for the season 2 Q&A, but you were nowhere in sight. All Tom could do was wait in the green room for you with the others. He knows you're in the building because you came in together, you said you would be a couple of minutes, yet it was much longer than two minutes already. He was constantly checking his watch for the time and checking his phone in case you had replied to his text. 

"Nothing." Tom muttered to himself whilst checking his phone for the thousandth time. You'd gone completely silent on him.

"She'll be here, don't worry." Owen said, having caught Tom talking to himself as they sat next to each other.

"Yeah, you're right." Tom agreed, pocketing his phone and putting on a small smile.

However it wasn't long before Tom, Owen and the others were then being shown to the left stage wing where they had to wait for the cue to go on stage. Along the way Tom hoped you would be there waiting by the time he reached the wing himself. However when they arrived at the left stage wing you weren't there as he had hoped, so he asked for someone to go look for you. 

"Where are you, darling? I'm worried." Tom quickly sent you the text, seeing as you never replied to his last one, then he was last to be handed a mic before going on stage. 

Unfortunately it became too late. The crowds were clapping and cheering as soon as Tom heard the introductions start. He glanced towards the corridor they just came down, yet you still weren't coming, so he decided he just had to go on head with the others without you. He took a deep breath before he took the walk out onto the stage with the mic in hand. The crowds roared with excitement as soon as they saw his face. He politely waved and smiled at them on his way towards centre stage. Before Tom sat down on the couch he greeted the lady who was hosting with a friendly 'hello', then gave her a kiss to each of her cheeks, lastly he unbuttoned his suit jacket. 

"It's good to have you all here, but where is Y/N?" The host asked into her mic, once they got comfortable on the couch and the crowds had settled down.

"I have no idea. She was here...." Tom began to say into his own mic before the crowds went crazy again as you strutted out on stage with a mic too, waving and smiling at the crowds just as he had done. Your entrance caused them all to twist sideways to see you, yet Tom's jaw slackened quite loosely, lucky he caught himself before he let it drop completely. 

Clearly since arriving at the venue and you disappearing you had changed your outfit. Instead of the comfy casual jumper and jeans you had on to start with, now you walked out in a flora floaty floor length dress, but you kept your makeup and hair the same. Also the dress was a little bit low cut, not overly, but enough to catch Tom's eye as you walked out. As soon as you were centre stage you greeted the host with a 'hi' and a hug, then you turned to the others one at a time to greet them. Tom was last as he stood up abandoning the mic on the couch, then you gave him a hug before both of you sat down close together with mics in hand.

The host went on to talk to everyone about Loki both season 1 and 2, or at the very least you said what you were allowed to without spoiling the new season. Everything seemed to be going well as each of you talked about how you enjoyed working on the show, with each other and the crew. Of course Tom classically used tennis analogies, throwing in Shakespeare references, he even brought back his analogy about Loki being like both the light and dark keys on the piano. You loved that one more than the tennis ones. However throughout all of this Tom would not always very subtly look down at your breasts. Not that you minded as that was the idea, but occasionally Tom would have to snap his gaze away, especially if he was looking and a question was directed at him. Although the odd time you caught him looking you gave him a knowing subtle side glance whilst trying to keep your composure. 

Afterwards everything was directed to the audience and those who were confident enough to step up to the two side microphones to ask you, Tom or any of the others a question. There actually ended up being two very long lines of people who had gotten up to ask a question, some were rather easy, whereas others were more complex and gave you all a lot to think about in such a short time. Although Tom is practically an expert at these types of questions after years of practice, he'd often deny it, but you'd graciously prove to him otherwise. Not that you'd say the other's weren't either, just you dumbed that title to Tom seeing as he's been a part of the MCU a lot longer than the rest of you. Well actually you hadn't done a lot of acting work prior to landing the role of Sylvie, so you felt as though you were a lot more inexperienced than your fellow co-stars.

A few questions in from the audience a little girl stepped up to the microphone and after waiting patiently for the mic to be readjusted then she shyly said, "Hi everyone."

"Hi," Yourself, Tom and the others say simultaneously.  

"What's your name and how old are you?" Owen adds, as he gave the young girl a smile.

"S-sophie...I'm six." She replied, as she nervously balled up the end of one of her long sleeves on her top and held onto it. Everyone awhed at her young age and they could tell she was so nervous yet brave to stand up in such a crowded room.

"What's your question sweetie?" You asked softly, as you shuffled to the end of the couch and rested your elbows on your thighs.

"Do...do you...erm...will Loki and Sylvie ever...will they ever become boyfriend and girlfriend?" Sophie asked quietly and kept a tight on her top.

"Great question..." You began to say, as the others agreed with you. "I think a lot of people would love to see them become boyfriend and girlfriend at some point. Although I think Sylvie personally has to find herself...to find her glorious purpose first." You added confidently. 

"Yeah, I agree. Sylvie is in a very different place to Loki personally, but clearly there's a connection between them which we've already seen in season 1. Like we got to see on Lamentis 1 and then again when Loki shares his blanket with Sylvie...erm...they do have a lot to work out between each other too, especially after the end of season 1 when she pushed him through a Time Door. So you'll have to wait and see where they go from there really in this new season." Tom elaborates before Sophie thanks you both for answering her question and then she steps away from the mic.

"Going off of Sophie's question and talking about working together earlier...have you found a deeper connection between the characters since last we saw them on screen....and how has it affected your off screen relationship?" The host jumps back in.

"Definitely, yeah. I mean Sylvie, she's a variant of Loki therefore Tom and I spent a lot of time together talking about his experience since being apart of the MCU...and we all remember the Loki lectures..." You began to say and laughter filled the room when you mentioned about the Loki lectures Tom gave. 

"Ah, yes the Loki lectures and Tom turning up at my door during the middle of the night, it was like Jeff Spicoli and Mr hand." Owen cut in, igniting more laughter from those who understood the reference.

"Yes we all enjoyed the Loki lectures from professor Hiddleston over here..." You teased, lightly nudging Tom when you called him professor Hiddleston, which caused him to blush slightly. "So...erm...there was a lot of time spent breaking down the characteristics of Loki and I even asked to read some old scripts Tom had as well as everything else...like comics mostly focusing on the Lady Loki variant and general research of the mythology. I had seen everything Marvel prior to getting the role of Sylvie as well, I've been a fan since forever...I had read some comics prior to getting the role too, but not as much as after I did. Of course...spending that much time with anyone you're going to know a lot about them..." You were really getting to your answer and you were doing very well to keep to what the audience already knows. Keep it all spoiler free. Tom sat there listening to you intently, even wetting his lips, which ended up distracting your train of thought.

"Hum...well Loki he's had this opportunity to find a connection not only with Mobius on a friendship level...something he's never really had and so to see him and Sylvie together is amazing...astonishing even for his character development, but also by going through all that he's hoping to amend what he's done in the past. Which in turn I think he really wants for Sylvie too, like he says at the end of season 1, he just wants her to be okay...hoping like Sophie and everyone else we will get to see more of that going forwards. Also as we mentioned earlier we've enjoyed working together and spent a lot of time together..." Tom luckily stepped in when you lost your train of thought, however as soon as Tom mentioned he spent a lot of time with you in particular that's when he reached his hand over to yours. He didn't hesitate to lace his fingers with yours and hold your hand firmly in his, looking at you lovingly with those baby blues, both of you smiling at each other. "I've found my Sylvie." 

That was it. That was how Tom decided to announce the two of you are together. There of course had been rumours going around about you dating, despite the rumours though you'd been lucky enough to keep the relationship quite private, with only the cast knowing at first followed by friends and family to know about the full extent of your relationship. Albeit you were taken aback slightly by Tom's timing to make the announcement, yet you weren't completely clueless about it either, you'd at least spoken about announcing your relationship publicly. Just the finer details of when and how was never finalised, not until now.

After you recovered Tom lent over to you and gave you a peek on the lips, causing you to blush, the audience went crazily energetic at the announcement. Then Tom turned your ring around so everyone could see it, because prior to that moment you'd kept the diamond turned inwards whenever out in public, but now having it showing felt amazing. No longer having to hide your relationship was a huge deal, especially as you recently got married in a private ceremony with just family and a small group of close friends. Despite your relation now being public knowledge you'd still keep a lot of it private, it just made it easier that way, because more importantly after Tom had bad experience in the past from being too open it was best not to overly share.

Once finally off stage you thought you could finally relax, Tom on the other hand had other ideas. He held your hand as he guided you backstage, Tom seemed to be in a rush, sneaking you off with him when no one was looking. It dawned on you what you were going to do when Tom found an empty room backstage. He pounced on you right after the door was closed and locked behind you. His hands were greedily all over your body and his lips impatiently kissed you. It didn't take you long to melt into him as he pushed you against the wall beside the door.

"Why did you have to get changed into that dress?" Tom asked, as he buried his nose into your hair.

"Just because." You replied cheekily.

"You're such a tease." He chuckled into your ear before he kissed down your neck.

Your arms tightened around him and a soft moan escaped your lips as he kissed down your neck, not that it lasted for very long, as Tom cringed and made weird noises because he'd tasted your perfume. You chuckled as he licked the back of his hand to try and be rid of the taste off his tongue. That's when he turned to you with a mock scowl on his face and then placed a kiss on each of your wrists. You always did love it when he gave you that look, or whenever he put on his menacing Loki face, it turned you on fiercely. 

Next thing you knew was you being hoisted up off the floor, your legs wrapped around his waist as his hands slid up your thighs underneath your dress, then your knickers were torn off you. He kept a tight hold of you with one hand on your bum, as he then stuffed the torn material into his trouser pocket, swiftly followed by his slender fingers rubbing against your lower lips. Another soft moan escaped your lips as you felt his fingers bringing forth your arousal and spreading it around, then he pushed them deep inside you. He rhythmically played you like a well played instrument with his fingers. When he deemed you ready he reached down to undo his belt and trousers, pushing his trousers and boxers down just low enough for his erect cock to spring out. You bit your lower lip with anticipation as he gathered more of your arousal with his fingers, watching him smear it between his dry fingers, then spreading your arousal along the length of his cock. A groan couldn't be concealed, as his cock jerked as he stroked himself firmly, while coating himself from head to base with his pre cum and your own arousal.

Tom did manage to tear his hand away from himself in plenty of time before he lined himself up with your cunt. At first he teased you by brushing the tip against your wet pussy lips, making a gasp to lodge in your throat, and unconsciously you squeezed the back of his neck slightly.

"Tom, please." You said with a pouty lip after he'd teased you for a little while.

"Hmph...alright love, I'll stop teasing." Tom says huskily with laughter in his voice.

Tom purposely took his time to sheath you onto him, soft moans came out of you both in unison once you felt him in all the way, but he just as agonisingly slow pulled out again to just the tip. "Tooooommmm."  You complained in a whiny voice.

Suddenly Tom began pounding in and out of you mercilessly and his hands were as tight as a vice on your hips and bum. "Is this what you wanted, huh, is it?" He spoke with a low deep seductive timbre, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

"Ye-yes...god, yes!" You said just as your breath and heart rate quickened simultaneously. 

"So beautiful." He exclaimed, his own breath quickening as he sped up even further, making sure he gives you a thorough fucking now you'd asked for it.

"Ohhh...ah-yes! Don't stop!" You moaned, as your thighs squeezed around his hips and your fingers combed through his hair.

"Oh, Y/N...Y/N, Y/N." Tom's voice came out breathier and rougher than it had previously. Hearing your name like that though couldn't stop you from deeply kissing him again.

He soon rested his forehead against yours, in fact all of his face was in yours, his nose pressed into your cheek and his lips slightly parted against your own parted lips. His hot breath passing into your mouth like second hand smoke, your ears pricked up at the sounds of his heavy pants, and his eyes closed as he took you deeply and savagely until you both lost complete control. Your climax gushing out of you like a tidal wave crashing onto the sea shore, whilst his own came out shortly thereafter in thick hot ropes, coating your walls with his love nectar. 

Even after both of you had cum he made sure to keep hold of you, allowing you both to take a moment to breathe, whilst his cock fully emptied out into you and softened. Afterwards Tom kissed you softly and pulled out. Cum instantly rushed down your legs as soon as he set you down on your wobbly legs. 

"I guess they all know we're together now." Tom says, his voice still hoarse and breathy with hints of laughter too, but he looked very happy. Not just because you had sex, but also because he was happy everyone knew you were his.

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

Tags list:

@muwuzic @jennyggggrrr

Tom Hiddleston Masterlist

Source: @viviennes-tears

[ineffabildaddy]

ask game! (prompts are from the fandom questions)

30. What inspires you to write?

31. What’s the nicest thing someone has ever said about your writing?

34. What is you greatest strength as a writer?

it's 'say only nice things about ourselves' time 😇❤️

thank u for instating saying only nice things about ourselves time!!!! i love u💙💙💙

34. What is you greatest strength as a writer?

i've been pondering this since u sent the ask a few days ago and i genuinely don't know☹️ i'm finding it really hard to come up with anything, so if anyone has any ideas lmk dkdkkd

31. What’s the nicest thing someone has ever said about your writing?

i think the question i answered here is similar enough that i can refer back to it heh (and ofc it mentions u uwu). again love uuuuuu

30. What inspires you to write?

your art!!!!! and our conversations in general uwu

@foolishlovers' amazing ideas hehe

others' writing (looking at u leonard cohen)

at times, everyday activities (the b.s. fic idea was born from me going to the barbers for my monthly cut + beard trim + and thinking what if crowley..... dlkfkjfgd)

music, abstractly

other stuff that i can't remember rn probably hehe

[rimupon]

I started writing a bit about Tanya on the Rhine, however (despite my desire to write) I cannot think of where to take it. I've established that she's generally unhappy with rations, has a small stash of coffee and chocolate with her (which she will not consume, because of the "what if I need it later?!?!" phenomenon all too familiar with people who play videogames), it is nearly Christmas, and Visha is... present. Say literally anything, I want to write about Youjo Senki I just have no idea what to do with it.

The desire to write burns very bright, so there is no hurry.

OKOKOK IDEAS! I'll do my best!!

Some sort of prompt… I can work with that. I assume this is a one-shot of some sort, so I'll keep it hopefully on the shorter side

I guess the first question is: is this the first stint on the Rhine with Visha, or is this Rhine Pt2 with the 203rd? Judging by ur description, i assume its round one.

Genuinely the first thought that came to mind is a fic that deals with the two corporals Tanya sent to the rear/pillbox? Her platoon is down two people at this point right, so it's just her and Visha…? Maybe they get replacements or something and it doesn't go well, or maybe they get reorganized into another platoon, or maybe they just dont, and those two have to work hard on their own. Something from there…

My next thought is a fluffier route… Perhaps either Visha or Tanya tries to make Christmas special somehow? I'm not sure how, but they try. Maybe Visha wants to get on Tanyas good side. Maybe Tanya wants to reward her subordinate. Maybe this is when Tanya discovers Visha can make Really Excellent Coffee?

Last thought is the angst route: Her first time on the Rhine is just after she gets the Type 95, so maybe she's having trouble adjusting to using it in live combat? Not in the "she gets seriously physically injured" way but the "she gets seriously mentally injured" way. You could tie it into Christmas again somehow, since technically its a religious holiday? Maybe Visha asks if Tanya wants to pray or something and shes like "WTF no why would u say that" and it comes to light the Type 95 has been messing with her behavior and she's really upset by this discovery.

I dunno, I hope that gets you somewhere. When u finish this fic, let me know/send a link, I'd love to read it!

[wolfiemcwolferson]

i wrote u a message some time ago abt it but it seems that it was not delivered or something like that (might be my own fault cause I ~may or may not~ have had 3 glasses of wine before so absolutely no fuckin idea if I actually sent it or just wrote it and went to sleep)

ANYWAYS….

I have written u before telling how I ABSOLUTELY ADORE the way you write piarles (ultimate otp), and then the last fantasy fest fic…. I MEAN…. I’ve read it 4 or 5 times already and I absolutely love omfg how can u write something like thisssssss. I think by the time the winter e can he fic comes I’ll probably have memorized if, and then I’ll just memorize the winter exchange fic also because I KNOW it will be perfection as always.

(whenever u can, please feed me with your piarles fics, thoughts, 5 sentences prompts. I take everything u want to give)

Hi friend!

Your message from a few weeks ago did send, but sometimes I'm so overwhelmed with the nice things people are saying that I hoard them up like little nuggets and re-read them at 3 AM when my brain is telling me to delete everything in my current google doc and start over.

BUT, I appreciate your kind words so so much it's unbelievable that other people love my little brain drabbles as much as I love coming up with them.

I have a little one that I have had in my notes app forever and ever that isn't full fic worthy, but would make an interesting little ficlet so here you go:

Piarles AU- based off the song Cherry by Harry Styles, but with a Happy Ending

Charles makes a burner Instagram account - which is really really stupid considering he did it when he was drunk with Carlos and the username is absolutely something Pierre would recognize, but...maybe he'll see it and feel guilty. Maybe one day he'll be checking to see if someone has watched one of his dumb stories on Instagram and he'll see it and he'll know. Charles is still waiting. Maybe he'll feel guilty then.

Because Charles misses him. Every single time his phone dings and he gets a dumb notification on that stupid burner account that Pierre has posted a story, dread fills him up. Is he finally going to post the probably boyfriend? Is he finally going to do more than soft launch him?

Soft launch - stupid stupid word that Lando had used to describe whatever Pierre was doing with that man. Posting pictures of two plates out at a fairly romantic dinner. An artsy shot of a flat that definitely didn't belong to Pierre. A balcony that leads out to a ridiculous view of a French vineyard.

Stupid French boys with stupid money and parents with rare art collections that steal soulmates and - it would hurt less if Pierre had looked miserable for at least a day. One single day of him looking miserable.

But, the day - the day - after he told Charles that Pierre 'needed time to figure out if he was doing the right thing', he was back to his normal self. Smiling in pictures. Hiking. Going out clubbing with Yuki.

Charles wanted to scream at him a little bit. How dare you doubt this? You know who I am just as I know who you are. I've known who you are since I met you. You are the person who knows me best. You are the person who helps me buy clothes so I do not wear one color. (Charles doesn't like to think too much about the fact that he has been broken of that habit completely and it is thanks to Pierre's years and years of work.)

Pierre didn't need to figure out if he was doing the right thing. Because the wrong thing was what he was doing now. (But it's hard for Charles to find fault in him. All Pierre has ever known is Charles and Pierre...well, Pierre thinks things to death.) ((But, what is there to think about when you and your best friend admit that the feelings you have for each other go well past platonic? What is there to think about?)) (((Charles is being a dick. There is plenty to think about. Pierre is so hesitant to give his heart away. That's fine. Charles will wait.)))

Yuki comes to see him when he's on this side of the city - bringing him absolutely zero scraps of Pierre, but plenty of gossip about their other friends - who Charles does miss, but all their conversations are stilted and odd. No one wants to bring it up. Charles doesn't know if he's thankful for it or he hates it. Probably a bit of both.

Charles is laying on the couch, thinking about calling Carlos to come over and drag him out of his flat so he doesn't have another night of...this, when his phone buzzes on the table. It's Instagram and he huffs before swiping it open and Instagram switches his account, pulling up Pierre's newest Instagram story.

It's a short video of footage from a train window. Going home.

Charles lets his phone drop to the floor, scrubbing his hands over his face a few times before he picks it back up and pulls up Carlos' contact. He can go out. He will go out and he'll - he'll dance with his friends and he will...not think about Pierre.

.

Post shower, Charles is arranging his hair in a way that says...well, something. Lando will rearrange it when he gets here so he's not sure why he's bothering, but his door is buzzing and he gives up. Going to swing it open and beg Lando to help him, please.

It's not Lando.

"I was hoping," Pierre says, eyes on the floor, hands in the pocket of his coat, voice small and scared, "that you still meant what you said at Halloween."

Charles is frozen in the spot. "That I love you?"

Pierre's eyes flick up to his, quick, and then immediately back down. Like he's afraid.

"I do. I still love you."

Pierre takes one step towards the door, eyes still on the floor. "I know now." He shrugs, voice smaller. "I am sorry, Charlito. I should have -"

Charles reaches for him. Tucks him into his arms. "You know now." He whispers, feeling Pierre cling to him. "You know now."

"I love you too." Pierre sobs into Charles' chest.

He came home.

[jensettermandu]

Hii you dont have to reply to this cuz i dont wanna to stir up any further issues but i just hope you read this pls but no offense to anyone and i understand why this happened // the poll but why are ppl being mean to the gpidol loseridol anons..? they ask for stufftoo and the person just asked for one thing why is it a big issue they act like they’re the ones writing the fics, if you as the writer dont have an issue with it why do they? sorry i just dont like how mean they r being in your anons and i mean no offense at all but its so unnecessary, sheesh let ppl ask for stuff too and im so sorry you even havevto deal with this shit.. you just wanna write and make ppl feel included but the anons are making it feel like YOU have an issue with it and ik you dont but it feels so secluded and even i get too nervous to ask you for a request im just really sorry, you’re amazing and your writing makes a lot of ppl very happy including me cause of how good it is and you genuinely dont deserve this shit over a poll or for simply including others in your work :/ if you read all this thank u, i have been an og from wattpad and i genuinely appreciate you and your work and i adore it, but i hope its not too much for you atp with how much people want sm from you already thank u for giving us the work you create <3

thank you, you're so sweet babe

i just think it's cause i've gotten so many gp idol requests that people feel like i might leave gp reader behind which is not happening since i enjoy both equally (gxg too) i am just trying to make everyone feel included with this which takes a lot more than having a blog that focuses on one thing specifically. that's part of why i chose to do a poll rather than choose myself what i will write. like just a week ago i was only writing for jennie and here i am writing for more than her

and for the bash of loser idol, i get that everyone has their preferences 'cause i do too, BUT do not be shy to send in more requests for these things since i do not mind writing these prompts and stuff such as loser idol and whatnot. please do not take anything anyone has sent to heart and whatever isn't of your taste just ignore it and stay for what you like <3 I DO NOT THINK IT SHOULD MATTER WHAT THE REST OF MY FOLLOWERS THINK OF IT SINCE I AM THE ONE WRITING AND SHOULD BE COMFY WITH DOING IT WHICH I AM. period.

despite the little conflict that happened, i am trying to make this a place where all of you can request whatever you want without needing to feel nervous about it (you are anonymous for a reason) if it happens that i do not want to write it, i will either just ignore it or politely decline it

[folliesandfolderols]

Writing prompts day 18

From this prompt list. I set a goal of writing at least 150 words per day in 2024, which sounds pretty pathetic but if you take into account the fact that I haven’t written any fiction since 2019 it felt like a feasible target. Anyway I’ve finished the first draft (it topped out at 88k words) and will be unlocking each post as I edit.

read from the beginning here

Days 16 & 17 here (combined due to work being murder on my word count and not wanting to make super short posts)

***

74. "You good?"

***

By the time Tim woke up, Damian had been gone long enough that the spot where he had lain was cool to the touch. Tim determinedly didn't think about what it meant that he'd reached out for Damian before his eyes had even opened.

He also didn't think about the text Damian had sent, which was a simple get as much rest as you can today and nothing clingy or affectionate. A message that was either of those things would have been strange, of course, because their relationship had never been close, and sex wasn't some sort of magic bullet to change that dynamic.

He didn't think about the teeth marks embedded in his shoulder, pink and blue in the closet mirror when he caught his reflection. He didn't have any memory of Damian biting him, but it must have happened at some point. It wasn't worth trying to pin the moment down in his recollection.

The arms trafficking case kept him fully occupied for the rest of the afternoon and early evening. Jason had cloned a mid-level goon’s phone with text messages about a possible transfer point in Corpus Christi. Tim busied himself hunting down the purchase points for the various phone numbers in case they led to further information, and then remotely accessed as many of the phones themselves as he could. So obviously he didn't have any time to flash back to the sensory memory of Damian's body, curled around his own, gone soft with sleep in a show of trust that Tim never could have predicted even a few weeks before. He was way too busy for that.

His phone vibrated with Bruce's rhythm around 8 PM, just as he was getting ready to head to the Cave for the pre-patrol briefing. I'm going to move you to a different night this week. Spoiler's taking your route.

Tim frowned. Last-minute changes to the schedule weren't really Bruce's style. Unless . . .

He replied, something wrong?

Damian mentioned you seemed unusually fatigued last night. Resting tonight is the right call.

A flush of anger heated Tim's chest. That little shit. Unusually fatigued Tim's ass, he was always this tired! Tim had no clue what Damian's ploy was here, but whatever it was, it wouldn't work. He texted back, that's not true i'm good to go tonight

I've already called her in. It's just one night. Feel free to work from home if you don't want to get sleep, but I hope you do go to bed at a reasonable hour, for once.

Coming from Bruce, that was the equivalent of an intervention-level expression of concern. The only thing missing was a banner and a therapist. Tim couldn't argue more without being the asshole in the situation. Fuck Damian, anyway, and not in the fun way. What the hell was he playing at?

Ok, he replied to Bruce, and then tapped Damian's text thread.

u good

A few seconds passed, then, Of course. Why?

bc i just got benched for the night thanks to you

He scowled and added, wtf is your problem?!

The three dots on the other half of the screen pulsed, disappeared, pulsed, and vanished again. After several long minutes, Damian finally responded, I'm not the one who had a nightmare flashback and was asleep standing up earlier today, so any problem here is certainly not mine.

Tim saw red and had to do some meditative breathing. This was what he got for fucking someone who was barely not a teenager. No. That was unfair to other twenty-year-olds. This was what he got for fucking Damian. He should've known it would make Damian feel like he had some sort of right to lord his superiority over Tim.

Well. He had known it was a dumb decision and he'd done it anyway. Twice. That didn't say anything good about his decision-making abilities. In that regard, he and Damian were on the same page.

dont fucking tattle tale on me to b to try to cut me out brat

The ellipsis reappeared but he kept typing.  i know it's probably hard for you to understand given your whole ~lack of experience, but fucking someone doesnt *actually* give you the right to fuck them over

i thought you'd outgrown this sort of petty bullshit

This time the response was near-instantaneous. You are being ridiculous. Go to bed if you can't speak sensibly. I'm going to mute you now.

Tim threw the phone across the room and then punched a pillow for good measure. What an absolute asshole.

days 19 & 20 here (once again combined since work kills my word count and I don't want to make super short posts)

[freetheworms]

10 and 51 together please.... good luck 😂

ahskjhdhasjk okay nonnie at first i was convinced u were just trying to kill me with this combo but… somehow i’m actually really happy with this fic ?? so thank u ??? also u didn’t specify a ship so i went with reddie cause i felt like it fit, hope thats ok !

It was official. As of 3 o’clock this fucking morning, Richie Tozier had come to the conclusion that he goddamn hated squirrels.

There was a reason, of course. It’s not like he went around making a habit of declaring war on small rodents, but squirrels — nay, one particular squirrel, had to fucking go. 

The little fucker had decided to take up residence in the house Richie shared with Eddie at some ungodly hour of the night, and Richie was feeling downright murderous at being awoken from a rather steamy dream by the sound of tiny rodent feet scurrying through the walls incessantly.

See, Eddie was a nurse at the local hospital, and Richie was a small-time DJ for some local radio station he was convinced nobody really listened to. They weren’t exactly made of money, but the small, if a little dilapidated house they were able to afford together was honestly fine with Richie.

That is, until the Devil in a small fluffy rat suit managed to climb its way into Richie’s humble abode to ruin his life.

Luckily for Eddie, he was working the night shift at the hospital, and had no idea the lengths his boyfriend was going to at 5 in the fucking morning to get rid of some fuckin’ squirrel that possessed almost as much nerve as King Trashmouth himself. Almost.

In fact, by 6am, Richie was about ready to burn the whole fucking house down just to take this little asshole with it… but of course, even his tired brain managed to remember that Eddie would probably murder him next. So, he settled for taking a sledgehammer to the wall behind their shared bed in an attempt to find the little menace because how else was he supposed to get at it?

Yeah, okay, maybe his tired brain wasn’t doing so shit hot after all, but it would all be worth it when he won this war.

By 8am, Richie was more exhausted than ever, and the walls of the bedroom had certainly seen better days. He hadn’t necessarily caught the squirrel, but he also couldn’t hear it anymore. Maybe he’d scared it off? Yeah. Yeah that was probably it. Stupid tiny squirrel was no match for him. Yeah… no match…

He had finally started to drift off to sleep on the couch when the front door swung open to reveal a very adorable scrub-clad Eddie.

“Hey Rich,” Eddie threw his keys onto the coffee table in front of Richie.

“Mmm,” sleepy-Richie groaned back, “babe,” he made grabby hands for Eddie to come cuddle with him.

“I gotta eat, Rich,” Eddie said, turning instead toward the kitchen, in the opposite direction of his needy boyfriend. “And,” he continued, “I was thinking maybe after that you could… help me unwind a little before I go to bed.”

Richie was tired, but he wasn’t that tired. His head immediately perked up to meet his lover’s gaze. “Oh yeah? What’d you have in mind?” he raised a playful eyebrow.

Eddie knew he had his boyfriend’s attention now, and he intended to take full advantage. It had been a stressful night at work, and he really could use a little… release. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He smiled innocently as he leaned against their ugly laminate countertop.

“Mhmm,” Richie put on his most sultry voice. Two could play this game. “C’mon babe, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you want.”

“You really want me to tell you?” Eddie tapped his chin as if he was contemplating for a second, before his fiery gaze returned to Richie’s, “Why don’t you come over here and make me?” he finished with a deliberate lick of his lips.

Oh yeah. Richie was awake now, all right. “Maybe I will…” he trailed off as he stood from the couch, and started to make his way to Eddie.

THUNK.

“What was that?” Eddie looked incredibly puzzled as he searched the room for the source of the noise.

Richie’s shoulders tensed almost painfully, as he glanced quickly up at the ceiling in a silent prayer to whatever cosmic power was hellbent on pissing him off today. “Oh, fuck no,” he halted his strides toward Eddie, and instead turned to the source of the dreaded noise: the fireplace. There was a rather large acorn now sitting on the floor in front of it, and Richie could hear the faintest scratching of tiny nails on the inside of the brick chimney.

Without saying another word, Richie crossed the living room to his and Eddie’s bedroom — the only bedroom in the tiny, one story house — despite Eddie’s rapid fire questions, only to re-emerge in the doorway a few seconds later with his handy-dandy sledgehammer.

“What the fuck?” Eddie looked a mix of confused and horrified. “Rich, why was the sledgehammer in our bedroom?”

Richie didn’t answer. Instead, like a man on a mission, he crossed over to the fireplace, kicked the unused decorative logs out of the way, and crouched down to climb into it.

“Richie. What the fuck?” Eddie repeated.

Richie only shook his head at him with a determined expression, before he attempted to climb up the chimney.

“Seriously? The chimney? What the hell are you doing? Why the hammer? RICHIE!”

The only answer Eddie got was muffled from between the bricks, “The squirrel can’t fucking win, Eds!”

“What?”

“If I let that squirrel beat me, I might as well hand your sweet ass over to it too, and no way in hell am I letting that happen!” Richie really did have a one-track-mind, and he was way too tired and too focused on destroying this pest to stop and explain the whole situation.

Eddie was more confused than ever. He always knew his boyfriend was fucking weird, but now he was convinced Richie had honest-to-God lost his mind.

A few more minutes of trying and failing to get an explanation out of Richie, and Eddie finally decided to just go to bed. Nevermind food or sex, he was suddenly way too fucking tired to be dealing with this whirlwind of shit. He headed for the bedroom, blissfully unaware of the impromptu reno-à-le-Richie that awaited him.

Richie had only just caught sight of the subject of his rage and insanity, when he heard Eddie from their room, so loud and startling that he jumped and almost smashed his head off the brick.

“OH MY GOD, WHAT THE FUCK RICHARD?!”

Richie gulped. Oh shit.

lmao well there u have it… i would never have guessed this would become one of my favourite fics ive written so far but i just had so much fun 

hope you’re happy ! (cause i am heheh)

[slasherhaven]

howdy!¡,,, i love your writing👉👈. are u taking requests? if so could i request a (oddly specific) future s/o that is spared bc when they were unconscious and Luda was singing she called her mama so Luda decided to keep her bc "I've always wanted a girl" and so she finds herself having to interact and introduce herself to Thomas? If not that's okay dw!

Thomas Hewitt X Female Reader

I’ve Always Wanted a Girl

Word count: 2682

Luda May dabbed a cloth against the cut on your forehead, wiping away the blood. You had a pretty nasty fall, hitting your head and knocking yourself unconscious. 

Instead of having Thomas take you straight down to the basement, she asked him to lay you on the couch. You just looked so peaceful in your sleep, so she thought that she could at least take care of you a little while Thomas prepped the basement.

Luda May knew that you couldn’t actually be left alone, in case you woke up and escaped. So, she went about her business, cleaning up the living room. All while humming and singing softly to herself.

Your hearing rang in your ears as your consciousness slowly returned to you, eyes blinking open but vision blurred. You slowly started to process the sound of somebody singing, a blurred figure moving around the room. The song sounded familiar...something your mother used to sing to you as a child.

“Mama?...” you weren’t even aware that you spoke, but the older woman heard you instantly.

Your voice halted Luda May in her tracks, making her turn to you. A small smile formed on her face, well isn’t that sweet?

She walked over to where you lay and sat down beside you. “You’re alright now, Dear” she cooed to you, brushing your hair out of your face. The touch and shushing was comforting in your dizzy state, and it lulled you back to sleep.

Luda May looked up when she heard Thomas enter the room, probably to take you down to the basement. “Leave her be, Tommy” she smiled, earning her a confused head tilt from the large man. “I’ve always wanted a daughter” she confessed, making her intentions known.

Thomas just nodded, accepting her decision. He didn’t mind so much as long as you didn’t harm anyone, but he was sure that Hoyt wouldn’t approve. Though...Luda May would certainly get her way.

“Thomas, be a good boy and take her up to the spare room, will you?” she asked.

Thomas nodded, walking over to you and Luda May stood up. He carefully slipped an arm under your shoulders and another under your knees, lifting you off of the couch and holding you against his chest. He could see what Luda May saw in you, you looked so sweet and peaceful, he just wondered what had happened to make her change her mind so quickly.

Luda May just smoothed a hand over your hair again before letting him carry you up to the small unused bedroom.

Laying you down on the bed, Thomas cautiously pushed some hair out of our face, examining you before pulling his hand away. You were beautiful, even in your state of disarray after everything you had been through that day. There were still the stains of dried tears on your cheeks, but still you looked unrealistically pretty. You were the prettiest, sweetest looking thing in this house, you wouldn’t be a bad addition to the household. At least that’s how Thomas felt while looking at you, before quickly turning on his heel and leaving the room before he caught himself staring too long. 

And that’s the short version of how you became the newest Hewitt. The family was obviously still cautious of you, watching your every move, but they made it clear that you were one of them now. Maybe you just had no backbone or maybe you were a realist, but you accepted your fate with some time and tried to adapt to it. 

Luda May had insisted on you referring to her as “Mama”, and you did to keep the peace, Monty bossed you about most of the time, and you avoided Hoyt as much as you could since he seemed to be the least happy about your presence. Luda May had seemed to take on a motherly role with you, speaking to you as if you were her daughter, asking you to join her with chores and cooking. It had become a little routine for you now.

Then there was Thomas. Luda May had introduced you to him, he had nodded and shook your hand when prompted too. His hand completely engulfed your own, but his hold was surprisingly gentle despite the strength you could feel he possessed. 

He didn’t talk much...ever, actually, and he seemed to avoid you a lot. If you didn’t need to be in the room together, he wouldn’t be there, hiding away somewhere else in the house. Though, when you were in the same room, you could sometimes feel him staring at you. You were sure he didn’t notice it, otherwise he would have surely been more subtle about it. Whenever you looked over and caught him staring, he would stare at the floor or his hands in shame.

Truth be told, you weren’t sure what to make of the large man. He was intimidating and had a threatening stature but he never gave you true reason to fear him. He was quiet and gentle whenever he had to interact with you, he was downright timid, and he seemed to have the same avoidance you had with Hoyt. 

You could tell that he was closer to Luda May, his mother. She had told you the full story of how she became Thomas’ mother, having found him cold and alone as an infant. Thomas hadn’t looked at you while she told the story, like he didn’t want to see your pity.

“Oh Thomas!” you heard Luda May’s concerned voice coming from the entrance of the home, “what have you done?” 

With a small frown, you wandered out of the kitchen to see Luda May fussing over Thomas. He was holding a dirty, blood soaked rag against the palm of his hand. He just shook his head, silently assuring her that he was fine.

“If you’re not going to take care of it, I will. Go to your room, I’ll be up in a moment” spoke like a true mother, you smiled a little bit to yourself. As much as you hated to admit it to yourself, you were an honorary member of this family.

Thomas huffed, making you smile again, before nodding and marching up the stairs.

Luda May muttered to herself, shaking her head as she turned to you. “Oh, Y/n, dear. Come with me” she encouraged, passing you as she walked into the kitchen. You followed behind obediently.

“Thomas has cut open his palm. Probably on one of those cars, they’re death-traps” she told you as she started digging through one of the kitchen cabinets. You decided against pointing out the irony.

“Now I have to convince Hoyt to finish the job” she huffed before turning to you with a box in her hands. “Do you mind taking car of Tommy for me?” she asked, presenting the box, presumably a first aid kit of sorts, to you.

“Oh, I don’t think I know how too” you shook your head, eyes widening slightly.

“You clean the wound, clean it with some alcohol to prevent infection, and wrap it with some bandages” she told you simply.

“What if it needs stitches?” you asked, still not taking the box.

“I taught you to sew, didn’t I?” she asked and you nodded, eyes wide at that being the only qualification you apparently needed. “Thomas will help you with the rest” she assured you before thrusting the box into your hands.

You gripped the box nervously before Luda May left the room. Wandering out of the kitchen, you came to the bottom of the staircase. Walking up the stairs was daunting, you had barely spent any time alone with Thomas, and this was definitely be the longest amount of time you spent directly interacting with him.

Finally, you were standing outside of Thomas’ bedroom. You decided to knock, not wanting to be impolite. You heard movement on the other side of the door before it was pulled open, you had to tilt your head back slightly to look up at Thomas’ face.

His eyes were widened slightly, clearly surprised to see you. “Luda May sent me to look at your hand” you explained, glancing down at his still bleeding hand. Even though Luda May insisted on you referring to her as ‘mama’, you only did so when she was around.

Thomas seemed hesitant but eventually nodded and stepped to the side, allowing you to enter his room. You heard the door close behind you as you quickly glanced around. The room was a little bigger than yours but you wondered if Thomas comfortably lay on the single bed in the room, he seemed a little too big for it even though an average sized man would probably be comfortable in it. It was tidier than you expected it to be, no clothes left out or anything.

You turned back to the man when you hears his footsteps behind you, he was still a few feet away from you.

“Uh...should we sit down?” you asked when he didn’t make any move. 

Thomas nodded before crossing the room to his bed, sitting down on the edge. You walked over and sat down beside him, leaving enough room to place the first aid box on the bed between you both.

“Let me see your hand” you ordered gently. 

Thomas unwrapped the dirty rag from his hand and held it out to you. Carefully, you took hold of his hand in both of yours, turning it slightly to examine the wound. Thomas just watched, noticing how big his hands were compared to yours. He had noticed it when he shook your hand all that time ago but this made it even more oblivious, how you used both of your hands to move and turn it as you pleased. It was cute but the tenderness of your actions was what tugged at his heart the most.

“We should clean away the blood first. I can barely see it” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him. “I’ll go get some water” you suddenly dropped his hand and stood from the bed, with a nervous clumsiness.

You barely looked at him before leaving the room. Thomas shook his head at himself. You were so nervous, even to just be in a room with him. He wished he knew what you were thinking but he was sure that you were afraid of him, probably thinking he would hurt you. He couldn’t blame you. Why wouldn’t you think that? What else could make you so nervous about being near him?

His thought were interrupted by the sound of the door opening and closing, making him look up to see you walking back towards him with a bowl of water and a new cloth.

You sat back on the bed, placing the bowl on top of the box that sat between you both. 

“Hand” you spoke gently, holding your own out. He placed the back of his hand in your palm, growing unsure when he saw you frown. 

You hummed before pushing his hand back again. He was about to insist that he take care of his own wound, it wouldn’t be the first time, but then you pushed the box and the bowl further back onto the bed. He was surprised when you moved to sit closer to him, turning your body to face him and bringing one knee up onto the mattress.

You took hold of his hand again, gently placing it in your lap. He was definitely surprised by your actions but allowed it.

You worked in silence, wetting the cloth and cleaning away the blood from his hand. Thomas watched how intently you worked and how gentle you were being with him, like you were purposely trying not to hurt him.

Once the blood was cleaned up, you placed the bowl and bloody cloth down on the floor and opened the first aid kit. Inside the box was a small bottle of alcohol, a tube of some sort of cream, a fresh cloth, bandages, and the items you would need to apply stitches.

You picked up the bottle of alcohol and the fresh cloth. “This will probably sting” you warned him, looking up at him with genuine concern in your eyes. He just nodded. 

You poured some alcohol onto the cloth before pressing it to his injured hand. He didn’t make a sound of pain or pull away but you did feel him tense even more than he already was. “Sorry” you murmured, making sure to coat the hold wound.

Once you were done with that, you placed the now dirty cloth in the water bowl with the other and closed the bottle before placing it back in the box. 

You looked back at the hand, squinting at it slightly. You weren’t an expert at tending to wounds, you didn’t really know how deep the wound was or if it called for more than bandages.

“...do you think it needs stitches?” you asked, looking up at him again. Looking a little lost at what to do.

Thomas examined his own hand before shaking his head, smiling a little to himself as you let out a sigh of relief. 

You reached back into the box, picking up the tube and smiling as you read the label. “Here, let me put some of this one it” you offered. 

He just nodded, placing his hand back in your lap, allowing you to apply the antibacterial cream to his wound. He needed all the protection he can get with his work conditions.

You continued in silence as you finished and wrapped the bandages around his hand, securing them before packing everything back into the box.

“How does that feel? Too tight?” you asked and he shook his head, assuring you that it was fine. “Don’t forget to change them, alright?” you advised, “oh, and keep it clean.”

Again, he just nodded.

“...did you do this on one of the cars?” he nodded again. “Does that happen a lot?” he nodded again, confused about your questioning.

You just frowned, but you weren’t surprised. You had noticed a lot of little scars on his hands as you worked and the house wasn’t exactly hazard free. “Well, you should be more careful” you put a small smile on your face as you met his gaze again.

“I should go and finish cleaning the kitchen...if you need something, let me know, okay?” your offer seemed sincere enough, so he nodded. You were used to his silence.

You stood and collected the items you had brought in with you, heading for the door. When Thomas realised that your hands were full, he shot from the bed, hurrying over to open the door for you. 

“Thank you” you smiled before leaving the room. “Tommy” his name made him stop closing the door, pulling it fully open again to look at you. You stood in the hallway now, items piled in your hands, a timid look on your face. “We should hang out more, I feel like you keep hiding from me” you let out a shy laugh.

Thomas was stunned. You wanted to spend more time with him? He nodded before he even realised he had. But he was glad he did because it seemed to put a smile on your face before you turned and headed for the stairs. 

As he watched you disappear down the stairs Thomas became aware of a realisation that filled him with shame and dread. There was no way you would be so kind to him, even be in the same room as him, if you knew the way he thought of you, how he felt about you.

It’s why he had avoided you for so long, admired you from a distance. He didn’t want to scare you and he was nervous around you. Ever since the day he carried you up to the spare room, he had been infatuated with you. He had been enraptured by your beauty, and then in awe of your kindness considering your circumstances.

He loved you...

[kaaytea]

Could I request some ryousuke fluff? I'M SORRY THIS IS SO VAGUE BUT ANY RYOUSUKE CONTENT FROM U WOULD MAKE ME SO SO HAPPY! Thank you and i love your writing so much 😭💞💞

A Warm Welcome

Kominato Ryousuke x reader

A/n: You never have to apologize when it comes to Ryou requests! This was a very self indulgent fantasy that I've been thinking of for way too long now, hopefully it's fluffy enough 🙈

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

"Is it too late to get off at the next station and head back to Tokyo?"

Your voice shook as you spoke—though you couldn't tell if it was from nerves or the consistent rattling of the train.

Ryousuke looked up from his phone, pink fringe brushing innocently at the bridge of his nose as a twisty smile pulled the corner of his mouth up.

"Not chickening out, are you?"

"N-no!" you sputtered. Heat spread through your veins to your cheeks as your boyfriend watched you fidget in the train seat. You hugged your backpack closer to your chest, squeezing onto the object like a child would to their parent; the action was grounding, plus, it helped reduce how noticeably you were shaking. "I just . . . Nevermind. Forget I said anything."

Ryousuke hummed at your words, playing off your dismissal with a carefree response, but that didn't stop the sceptical look he sent you before turning back to his phone.

Grey blurs of buildings flew past the window across from you, and the long, dark wires connecting the train to the line shimmied with excitement as the transport rumbled along; occasionally a splatter of green would join the show as you moved farther away from your temporary home at Seidou to the Kanagawa prefecture.

Your bottom lip had long since become raw from biting at the protective layer of skin, and yet you found it entirely difficult to stop. In an attempt to halt the damaging habit, your hands busied themselves with the little keychains and trinkets hanging from your bag. No matter what you did you couldn't shake the sick feeling growing in your chest; a pressure that shortened your breath and shot an antsy emotion through you. There was no reason as to why you should be this petrified, your friends had assured you you'd be fine—"Ryou will be with you the entire time," they had said with teasing laughs, "Just enjoy yourself!"—but you couldn't stop your mind from imagining every terrible incident that could unfold on this trip.

As the train came to a stop at the last station before the one you were set to get off at, Ryousuke snuck a look at you. It didn't take long for him to lock on to your fidgeting hands and the irritated state of your bottom lip. Pocketing his phone, Ryou reached out and pulled your hands away from the keychains on your bag and set them in your lap.

"If you're really not comfortable with meeting my family then we can go back to Tokyo. I can text my mom right now and tell her you're not feeling well."

"No!" You said almost too quickly, "I mean, I really do want to meet your family, it's just . . ."

"Just what?" Ryousuke prompted, his voice had taken an uncharacteristically gentle tone—it always did when involving you, which was something you came to love.

"I'm afraid they won't like me."

Your voice was just loud enough to be heard over the noisy train, but Ryousuke's snort of amusement came out clear above the mulling murmur.

"Ryoou," you groaned, slapping his knee as you watched his shoulders shake from quiet laughs.

"I can't believe that's what you're worried about."

"It's a justified fear!" This time you shoved his shoulder lightly, which only seemed to make the smile on his face widen. "You speak so highly of your mother and father—not to mention I'm terrified your little brother will hate me!"

"Haruichi isn't going to hate you," he said. Ryousuke's hand sought out yours, resting the loosely linked digits on his thigh. "At most you'll make him nervous because of how pretty you are."

It was rare for Ryou to compliment you—not because he didn't love you, but because he normally expressed such feelings in different ways as opposed to verbal praise. Nonetheless, your cheeks warmed at his words, your head dipping to stare at where your hand held his to hide your blush.

"No one in my family is going to hate you, (y/n). My mom's loved you since the moment I told her I was dating someone back in first year. She always asks how you're doing whenever I call her."

"Really?" You said looking up at him. You couldn't imagine how the woman was so fond of you already when she hadn't even heard your voice.

"Mhm," Ryousuke answered with a nod.

Your chest started to warm at the confirmation. It was as though you had just been given a hug; the maternal love you had been missing at Seidou flooded through you at the thought of Ryousuke's mother being so invested in your well-being.

The train softly lurched forward as it slowed to a stop—Ryousuke's hand left yours, instead moving to hold onto your arm to prevent you from falling due to the sharp movements. Once fully stationary, the doors slid open and a pleasant woman's voice rang over the intercom announcing the current station and a string of future destinations.

"We get off here," Ryou stood up with you following close behind. He swiftly took your bag and slung it over his shoulder—ignoring your many protests—and rested his free hand on your waist to guide the pair of you through the crowded platform.

Your eyes wandered, picking out the differences between the Kanagawa train station to the one you frequented in Tokyo. You weren't entirely paying attention, so when your eyes landed on the destination Ryou was directing the two of you towards the wave of anxiety you had forgotten surged.

Not too far away stood a small family of three; a short woman, a taller man standing on her left, and a young boy situated between both parties—all of which shared the same features you thought to be unique to Ryousuke.

It was magical how quickly your opinion on the family's acceptance of you changed. The longer you watched them while Ryou drew the both of you closer, the more welcomed you felt. Ryousuke's mother was merrily waving the two of you over, a warm, welcoming look on her face; her husband stood quietly next to her, but exchanged happy words with the woman the second they had spotted their son and his partner. Haruichi—one you had been most terrified to meet—bounced happily on his feet as he awaited his brother's arrival.

The family was small and cozy, and because of that, you found all your previous worries blown away by the autumn breeze.

[generalfoolish]

Could I request a soulmate fic from your list? Either 8 with Loki or 29 with Bucky (like maybe the soulmate is his mission but he can't do it or something and it ends fluffy?)

Don't mind about gender.

Inner Workings

Pairing: Loki x gn!Reader Series: Soulmate AUs Soulmate Prompt: The voice inside your head, your inner monologue, is in the voice of your soulmate

Word Count: 2.8K

A/N: Hey babe! I love Loki for this one! (I'm not brave enough for Bucky yet, but I love the idea of him fighting against his training and not doing the mission for his soulmate 😭) This is a request from I've been working through the Soulmate Prompts! Sorry it took a minute to get out, I struggled with world building a bit this time and then it got away from me. Hope you enjoy 💕

Masterlist Join the Foolish Taglist!

"Sure thing, sir. We'll get the new one sent over right away." You rolled your eyes as you hung up your phone.

Imbecile. Utter moron. Surely, there are better uses for your immense talent? Something other than listening to idiots droll on about their supposed issues.

You clicked onto the job search page, stifling a grin at your inner monologue. Ever since you could remember that lilting and coy English accent was reminding you to take no shit. If it wasn't for your constant inner voice telling you to grow a spine, you were certain you'd disappear altogether.

You clicked your pen absentmindedly while waiting for the searches to load. You wouldn't really leave your job, but it never hurts to look.

You should, without a doubt, leave this job. The work is mind-numbing, and I would know.

It had been strange at first, a British male in your ear, urging you to act out mischievously. But you'd accepted it in time, and you often surprised yourself with what you were really thinking.

You turned your focus back to the computer screen and glanced through the titles. Nothing much stood out, but as you were about to click off and do your actual job you noticed a quite high paying offer.

What're you waiting for? Click on it.

A job experience working with Stark Industries, which offered much more than your current employer. Renewable energy, climate change research, environmental management, and the list went on. You were more than qualified, having studied environmental and biological sciences at university, but Stark Industries? That was a long shot.

Apply for it, you oaf. You're burdened with glorious purpose, would you waste it here? Would you waste your limitless talent here amongst those who would see you fail?

You wondered for a moment before clicking further into the application. You'd try for it, not that you were expecting a miracle.

You finished the day and started your long trek home. You turned on a podcast to tune your thoughts out. For once, your inner turmoil and thoughts seemed at odds with one another, and it unsettled you in a way you'd never experienced before. You felt split in two, mind and soul ripped apart from within.

When you finally made it back to your apartment, you had the worst migraine of your life. All you could do was lay in bed with a washrag over your face and hope you didn't puke.

You fell asleep like that, praying for death with your damn consciousness telling you you deserved more than you were getting. That life had beaten you down, but you were destined for beautiful things.

You dreamt of a golden throne. When you sat upon it you were confined there by snakes. Millions descended upon you, choking you, and you awoke covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Your migraine had faded to a full throb, but for once, it was quiet. You were alone with the implications of your dream. No sarcastic, accented voice in your ear telling you to do better, work harder. Just loneliness, and a new bitter feeling of emptiness.

There was an acrid taste in your mouth that pushed you to the kitchen of your small apartment. You plodded along, reaching for a glass to fill with the tap water that would leave a hint of burning chlorine behind.

"You've wanted to understand for so long, haven't you?" Your fingers tightened around the cup, and your skin crawled at the voice. A familiar rasp you’d never heard outside of your mind, a coying tone that carried with it the heat of your past failings, an unsubtle reminder that your grand plans had been wasted and unfulfilled.

Now, sitting in front of you, on your couch, was a real man who that voice belonged to. It was fitting, your own consciousness belonging to another, after you had reasoned that there was nothing quite as soul-sucking as your current dead-end job.

“You’re the voice in my head.” His voice, your voice, told you. You looked at him in the dim light of dawn, and you tried to steady your trembling hands. He was beautiful, transcendent even, highlighted by the glare of the moon. His skin was smooth and pale, marble-esque and ancient, not a far cry from the Pantheon statues of gods. He sat rigidly, uncomfortably, too big for the small space, too tall for the low couch. Yet, you knew him. Not from looks alone, though his narrowed green eyes seemed familiar in a way you could not name, and his lips reminded you of a memory you could not recall. It was in his countenance that you found yourself falling heavily into. The heavy set of his shoulders, under armor and gold, and the frown that rode his lips, drew you in further and showed you a relationship you could not comprehend.

“As I am the one in yours.” He said, reiterating a point you had missed while admiring him. In an instant, or an eternity, you woke up in your bed. The sun glaring through the window promised an over-snoozed alarm, and the rumbling of the city below outlined an impossible commute to work. Your dreams were mostly forgotten as you scrambled out of your sheets and to the closet. You’d skip the shower today, and regret it later.

When your phone buzzed on the nightstand your heart stuttered to a stop. Anxiety and a fear of confrontation paralyzed you. Eventually, the stress won out and you answered it breathlessly. The first words shut your brain down.

It was Stark Industries.

You got the job.

You started immediately.

You waited for the inner monologue to begin, for your constant companion and champion to tear this opportunity down, or lift you up. But, nothing came. Sure, your mind was flooded with thoughts, worries, and fears, but none of them fit that which you had come to expect. For once, you were filled with silence, and the emptiness echoed endlessly. The loss reverberated in your bones, you felt hollowed out and wrong. You might have dealt more easily with a loss of a limb.

~~

When you finally arrived in front of the Stark Tower, the door opened before you. A man took you, wordlessly, and led you to the elevator. He punched the number for floor 33, and stood stoically in his corner. You tried to minimize yourself. The quiet, stuffy air of the elevator was nearly impossible to breathe in. At once, you feared breathing too loudly, and appearing too meek. You tried to focus on slowing your breath, too quieten it, and look around. It was clear that Stark was a fan of open floor plans, because as the glass elevator raced higher your view of the entire tower was only getting better.

The floors crept up quickly, and when 33 was reached the doors opened abruptly. The reveal was breathtaking. It looked like what everyone imagined the future was going to look like back when the “future” held an idiosyncratic hold over the masses. Sleek, gunmetal silver accents, solid glass walls, open office spaces, and the ever-present, looming sense of real money growing in every corner.

The man from the lobby led you silently down the hall to the left. Behind every glass panel was something you wanted to see, something you were dying to know more about. If you weren’t struggling to keep up with the quick strides of your guide, then you might find yourself pressed against the glass trying to sneak a peek at the new tech.

Your escort stood beside the only closed off room on the entire floor, and you obediently knocked, before pushing the heavy door open.

“Hello?” You asked, shouldering the door open. The office was a stark contrast to the open labs before, heavy wooden bookshelves lined the space. Books spilled onto the floor, and covered the massive desk in the middle of the room. A man sat in the middle, nose down, reading quickly. He lifted his finger, and you closed the door behind you. The heavy thump and click coincided with a flourish of the man’s hand to the chair in front of the desk, but still his eyes remained trained on the book in front of him.

You took the seat, wordlessly, studying the man as he studied the words before him. His black hair fell to about his shoulders that was slicked back and curled at the ends. His skin was milk white, nearly translucent in the dimly lit room, the only light streaming in from in between the curtains over the window. His forehead was creased in thought, but his eyebrows pulled tightly across the span of skin leading to sharp, green eyes. Underneath thick eyelashes, you could see those eyes flitting across words, and occasionally, he would crinkle his sharply angled nose, pulling those dark eyebrows down further. He was bunched over the text, but he looked achingly familiar.

Finally, when you thought you might explode from anticipation, he looked up at you. Immediately, those emerald pools cut through you, and you recognized the stern expression. He had been the subject of your dream, and you almost laughed. How incredibly lucky, that you would have a weird dream about your new boss, a man you’d never seen, hours before being offered the job. You stifled the laugh, and any trace of embarrassment you were definitely feeling, and waited for him to speak.

You would finally be able to put this to bed. It was a fluke that you heard a man’s voice for so long, and now that you had a face to the voice, actually seeing someone without the familiar intonations would absolve you.

Except, the man didn’t speak straight away. In fact, he looked as confused as you felt. The air seemed to slip from the room, and he smoothed a hand down his hair, seemingly nervous.

“What are you doing here?” He asked finally, your stomach lurching in time to the syllables. Every word hit you square, and your heart beat heavily against your ribs. You knew that voice better than your own. When you couldn’t speak, when words died on your tongue, that voice was there. That voice had uplifted, admonished, and surged you into the person you were today. Now, sitting across from you, this new face spoke that voice again. Your tongue felt too big for your mouth, which was too dry.

“Who are you?” The man tried again, those dark eyebrows casting down and darkening the impossibly bright eyes beneath them. Still, your throat froze around any sound you could make. You sat still, dumbfounded and mute.

Your mind, though, raced with possibility. And as clear as ever, your voice was back to you, his voice, that voice.

What in god’s name is this? An All-Father trick? An illusion I’ve created? A cruel temptation, courtesy of Tony Stark?

You furrowed your own eyebrows. The voice was one you recognized, but the thoughts were new to you. Tempered, less emotional, tired.

“I just accepted a job at Stark Industries, and then I was led here. Are you my new boss?” You asked, a sudden wave of courage cresting through you. The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully, before templing his fingers in front of him.

“Ahh, I see.” He told you, cryptically. “I am Loki, and you...you have some explaining to do.” You narrowed your eyes at this man, this Loki.

“I have no explaining to do. I am more than qualified for the position.” He waved his hand dismissively.

“Not about the position, of course you’re perfect for it. It was created for you.” Your mouth fell open with an audible click of your jaw. He raised a long and slender finger, asking without words for you to allow him to explain.

“I asked Stark to create the position, because I’ve been getting glimpses, moments, of a life for years. I’ve studied what it means, and I was able to manipulate the bond recently. You have haunted me for many years, you know.” You wrinkled your face in confusion. He was admitting something that seemed too incredulous to be true, and yet, you had had the same experience with him.

“I’ve known your voice for sometime.” You admitted, quietly, still processing. You searched his face, knowing instinctively that he was telling you the truth. “What does it mean, then?” You asked, looking into those deeply, sincere eyes. He smiled with half of his mouth, the tilted grin surprising you more than anything else, and he gestured around the room to the scattered and stacked tomes.

“I have no idea. I’ve spent years searching. I thought, perhaps, you were a witch. I thought you may have enchanted me. I spent some time learning all the abilities which could trigger such a thing between two strangers, and I have not learned a single thing. Even now, sitting across this desk, you are as strange to me as you are familiar.” His lopsided grin had leveled into a defeated line, a sullen thing.

“It’s like a bad rom-com.” You joked, half-heartedly, trying to lighten the mood. He narrowed his eyes.

“Rom-com? Romantic comedy, a type of movie or story.” The veil seemed to lift.

“I haven’t spent much time on Earth, doing mortal things.” He nodded as he explained. You screwed up your face again, puzzled at his words. You realized what you’d missed before.

Loki, brother of Thor, almost invaded the world, an actual god.

“Is it something from your planet?” You asked, reeling from this new realization.

“Rom-coms are definitely a Mid-gardian invention.” He snarked, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. You glared at him for a moment, before shaking your head.

“No, this connection between us. It’s like some dumb trope in movies, soul mates? The idea is like you're destined to be with this person, or maybe you share a soul, or your soul was split, or something. I’m not super into that, but is there something like that where you’re from?” You asked, leaning forward on your knees. You hadn’t expected this as your first day at Stark Industries.

“Of Asgard?” He considered your words, and his face slackened. “There was hamingja, or luck. But differently than you might think. It can be passed through generations, and is the quality of your essence. Not quite a soul, nor a mate. But, what you’re saying may have truth to it. If our soul’s are mates, then what’s next?” He was animated now, clearing space on the desk, dropping heavy books to the floor. You shook your head.

“Loki, soul mates aren’t real. It’s a Hollywood idea of love, it’s all glitz. It sells the movie, but there isn’t truth to it.” You told him, settling back into your own chair. Clearly, he had been onto something when he was chasing down enchantments and spells. But, why would anyone enchant you this way?

“There must be some truth to it, if it’s so prevalent amongst mortal stories.” He argued.

“Maybe, but it’s not like there are soul experts.” You joked. He clapped his hands in excitement.

“There are a few who may know more, Wanda or Strange, maybe. I’ll reach out. In the meantime, have you eaten? I’m positively ravenous. There’s a cafe near here, it’s the only place I’ll get a cup of coffee. The swill they serve here is a tragedy. Surely, they could afford real beans.” He stood and grabbed his coat as he talked. You went along with the movements. Food, coffee, it was too banal. The conversation had dipped it’s toes into something existentially upheaving, the existence of soulmates, and then settled back on flat ground as if it was an entirely normal topic.

The cynic in you wanted to deny everything, and just leave. This was too much, right? Too crazy. Yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to this. You had been hearing Loki’s voice for years, as long as you could remember. What would that mean, if not that you were linked somehow.

If nothing else, if everything else was falling down around your ears, you could have a cup of coffee with this perfect stranger. You could sip a latte and bitch about the ludicrous wealth of Tony Stark. You could eat a bagel with a beautiful man, and see what you had in common with him. You could even get used to the casual mentions of magic. It was a small step building to something you weren’t sure you could fathom, yet, but you were ready to take it. Whether Loki was your soulmate was a bridge to cross when you came to it again, for now, you just wanted the company of an old friend you’d never actually met.

tagged: @certifiedhunter @greeneyedblondie44 @ceruleanarwhal@litteraltrassh @jaskiers-sweetkiss

[kenobihater]

(I hope u dont mind me sending this as an ask i was gon do a reply but it ended up being long ;o;) idk if this classifies as romanticization but i love stories or hcs where witcher mutations are a bit more otherifying than we see in canon - such as changes in blood color/viscosity, maybe muscles that are anatomically different than nonmutated humans/elves, and the fangs like you said - the closer they hit Uncanny Valley the better. mainly because i think that its a little cheap that witchers look exactly like a normal human/elf (besides the eyes, depending on the canon, since i think in the books they keep their normal coloring - geral's eyes are described as "dark" often enough for that at least). visualizing the trauma inherent to witcherhood and making the metaphorical stripping of humanity/personhood manifest physically just Hits Harder, yanno?

and also i absolutely adore stories/settings/hc that actually acknowledge the witchers' enhanced senses and apply them realistically. cause like, we don't really know how far their hearing stretches, for example (at least i can't recall any specific details) but I think it's mentioned that witchers can hear heartbeats well enough. so they could easily be overwhelmed by sound even in a room so still and quiet that a normal person could hear a pin drop, simply because living beings are within that room - how difficult it must be for them to sleep in human settlements or share barracks freshly after the trial of the grasses when nobody speaks yet everyone is defeaned by their hearts and lungs and blood thundering in their eats. and hell, stomachs make lots of sounds that we can't usually hear - the witcher probably have a front row seat to all the fucked up noises all bodies make.

i dunno why i sent all that besides wanting to start a discussion to hear your opinions on it so i am a) sorry for bursting into your ask box like that and also b),,,,could you,,,,Rant About Things?? like both the whole discussion that prompted this and also whatever thoughts you have about witchers bc i love that (once again i am sorry)

i love getting asks, don't apologize! this is gonna be a disjointed and rambly response, so heads up for that lol! firstly, yeah, idk if that counts as romanticization, but i love the trope of a more heightened otherness too, and that's the kind of romanticization (if you wanna call it that) that i enjoy! anything that really makes them not quite human really helps to, as you said, stress the changes both mental and physical they go through during the trials.

secondly, yeah, acknowledgement of enhanced senses is totally my jam. i struggle to remember to do this in fics sometimes, but i've been getting better about it because it's just such a cool concept, yanno? balancing the right amount of enhanced senses in writing kind of reminds me how in my star wars fics i had to learn to acknowledge the force as a baseline sense for my force-sensitive characters. it's there, but you don't want to draw undue attention to it that would distract from the story. you want to use it to enhance, not hinder your plot, but it is important to recognize when it could actually be a detriment to the story you're telling and allude to that in the text (like, for example, in one of my upcoming fics i have someone lie to lambert and he mentally acknowledges it's a lie bc he can hear her heartbeat, but doesn't call her out on it for a reason. if i didn't acknowledge his superhearing now with the lie but bring it up later, it could ring false to the reader).

also, in the same vein of enhanced senses those are all wonderful points! sensory overload is something i occasionally experience and it is a cruel bitch, so having that due to enhanced senses all the time, and you're unable to turn it off and just have to learn to live with it and tune things out? oh, it's so good!

thank you for sending the ask, and also you're offering me free rein to rant? thank you! currently, the only thing i feel i could rant about is how psychosis is treated in the fandom by non-psychotics, particularly in regards to cat witchers.

you can't just decide to go the route of writing them as psychotics and then just go "oh yeah, this character is psychotic :)" and NOT elaborate properly! that's literally like saying "oh yeah, this character has Symptoms of a Disease" and not fucking telling us what disease they have! because at the end of the day, that's exactly what psychosis is - a symptom for several different diseases! usually, the only elaboration fic writers do is going "ooooh, they have psychosis so they are Evil and Violent now" which, i cannot overstate this enough, is the single worst misconception about psychotic people i know of, one that has real life repercussions for psychotic people and has caused untold pain and suffering. putting this dangerous misinformation into your fics because you want to write a character as Edgy and Morally Bankrupt and blame it on the psychosis is fucking disgusting, and if anyone reading this does this you owe me and every other psychotic person in the fandom $50.

also, i don't like the take that mutagens can cause people to be psychotic. to my knowledge, drug-induced psychosis is possible, but isn't permanent, meaning even if the cat mutagens caused acute psychosis in the people receiving them, it wouldn't last more than maybe a few months, and while it could trigger an underlying, latent mental disorder, it could not create one. there's no such thing as injecting someone with fantasy steroids and accidentally giving them bipolar disorder (because it's always bipolar, when the writers do deign to name it). brain damage is another thing entirely and can cause personality changes, but i don't know nearly enough about it to talk about it with confidence.

bottom line, if you're non-psychotic and wanna write psychotic cat witchers, do your research, don't imply the mutagens did it, don't act like their psychosis is linked with their violent tendencies, and really think about why you want to write the characters that are almost entirely referred to as evil and morally bankrupt (except for lambert about aiden) as psychotic. psychotic people can write whatever they want, hell, i'm writing aiden as bipolar, but the difference is i'm doing it to see myself in the character and i'm also not implying he's unhinged and violent. i don't speak for all psychotic people, but those are just my two cents on something in the witcher fandom that REALLY irks me, and i think i'm gonna write up an actual proper post on it. thank you for letting me rant, i really needed this because i'm Fed Up lmao!

[stumbleonhometomycats]

🐣🐨🦔🐢🐄🐸🐧🦭

DID YOU LIKE MY COUNTDOWN!? That was fun! I had fun. That was actually more fun than I thought it would be! There were too many good posts to name. It was very fun reading all your comments and theories.  Though side note: animal anon has no problem with people joining her BUT it must be animals and it must not mess with my countdown. No statues! Animal anon does animals, not statues. Side side note: can someone settle the debate of if that emoji is a hedgehog or a porcupine? Because I have no idea. Side note side note side note: sorry if you got multiple asks in a day...my system isn't perfected yet so sometimes I send two (or three) because I forgot I sent one and didn't want to accidently miss anyone (also sorry if i did miss you, still perfecting the system, no one has been animal anon blacklisted, i promise!)

Anyway, GUESS WHAT TODAY IS!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉 It's been one year since I started animal anon! How exciting is that?! Phew, what a year we've had together! I mean what better way to start this second year than some chaos since that's how animal anon started to begin with! I will admit, it was slightly stressful coming up with something to meet the occasion of this event. I hope the countdown and this post live up to it. No, I'm not going to reveal myself just yet.. maybe that will be for year 2...😏😏. BUT I will give you some fun facts about me! So let's see; first, I'm from the Midwest (so not Canadian, but close so I do have a slight accent), but I currently live in the TriState area. Second, I am a MASSIVE theater nerd. No, seriously I have been to 21 shows since Broadway reopened in September and I'm actually going to my 22nd tonight. I don't know if this makes that fact better or worse, but I've really only been to about 12 different show because out of those 22, 10 of those are one specific show. Third, I am fluent in German and English. Though, I suck at writing in German, I never learned how to, so don't ask me to do that please. Fourth, my favorite color is red, so you can guess my favorite Taylor album (and coincidently also the show I've been to see 10 times on Broadway...). Fifth, I love to talk A LOT if you couldn't tell by the essays I send yall. And lastly, I can also confirm I am not Taylor...but I will say that I do share something very important with her... tell me your guesses down below as to what very important thing you think Taylor and I have in common, and I'll send some extra animals to whomever I see gets it right first!

So contuining on with my dissertation here, this week I have been trying to figure out a prompt to live up to this occasion. As I already mentioned, my system isn't perfect! And I've been thinking a lot about community lately and how that's been lacking for so many because of Covid. So what I want yall to do is if you get this dissertation of mine, please send a message, post, anon, whatever you want to at least 1 other blog (though you can do more), telling them something you like about them and giving them an animal emoji! That way we can keep spreading the love all day long to as many as possible! 🥰

As always, you are all brilliant, kind, worthy, beautiful and as this past week has shown, hilarious and unique human beings. No seriously, some of your posts had me kneeling over in laughter. If you would so like, you can tag #animalanon so I and everyone can read all your lovely posts! IM STARTING EARLY TODAY SO WE CAN PARTY ALL DAY LONG BECAUSE I LOVE YALL SO MUCH 🎊 🦥🦁🐯

Animal anon you are a gift to this fandom. Also, by not revealing your identity I am forced to believe you are Taylor. Sorry! That's the thing you have in common, you literally are Taylor Swift. That emoji is def a hedgehog, also I know a guy. (it's as sketchy as it sounds) that sells hedgehogs if you ever want one.

THANKKKKK YOUUU for one full year of fun and lightness that you bring to the fandom. We are no longer swifties, we are animal anonies.

LOVE U

[thenighttrain]

🐣🐨🦔🐢🐄🐸🐧🦭

DID YOU LIKE MY COUNTDOWN!? That was fun! I had fun. That was actually more fun than I thought it would be! There were too many good posts to name. It was very fun reading all your comments and theories.  Though side note: animal anon has no problem with people joining her BUT it must be animals and it must not mess with my countdown. No statues! Animal anon does animals, not statues. Side side note: can someone settle the debate of if that emoji is a hedgehog or a porcupine? Because I have no idea. Side note side note side note: sorry if you got multiple asks in a day...my system isn't perfected yet so sometimes I send two (or three) because I forgot I sent one and didn't want to accidently miss anyone (also sorry if i did miss you, still perfecting the system, no one has been animal anon blacklisted, i promise!)

Anyway, GUESS WHAT TODAY IS!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉 It's been one year since I started animal anon! How exciting is that?! Phew, what a year we've had together! I mean what better way to start this second year than some chaos since that's how animal anon started to begin with! I will admit, it was slightly stressful coming up with something to meet the occasion of this event. I hope the countdown and this post live up to it. No, I'm not going to reveal myself just yet.. maybe that will be for year 2...😏😏. BUT I will give you some fun facts about me! So let's see; first, I'm from the Midwest (so not Canadian, but close so I do have a slight accent), but I currently live in the TriState area. Second, I am a MASSIVE theater nerd. No, seriously I have been to 21 shows since Broadway reopened in September and I'm actually going to my 22nd tonight. I don't know if this makes that fact better or worse, but I've really only been to about 12 different show because out of those 22, 10 of those are one specific show. Third, I am fluent in German and English. Though, I suck at writing in German, I never learned how to, so don't ask me to do that please. Fourth, my favorite color is red, so you can guess my favorite Taylor album (and coincidently also the show I've been to see 10 times on Broadway...). Fifth, I love to talk A LOT if you couldn't tell by the essays I send yall. And lastly, I can also confirm I am not Taylor...but I will say that I do share something very important with her... tell me your guesses down below as to what very important thing you think Taylor and I have in common, and I'll send some extra animals to whomever I see gets it right first!

So contuining on with my dissertation here, this week I have been trying to figure out a prompt to live up to this occasion. As I already mentioned, my system isn't perfect! And I've been thinking a lot about community lately and how that's been lacking for so many because of Covid. So what I want yall to do is if you get this dissertation of mine, please send a message, post, anon, whatever you want to at least 1 other blog (though you can do more), telling them something you like about them and giving them an animal emoji! That way we can keep spreading the love all day long to as many as possible! 🥰

As always, you are all brilliant, kind, worthy, beautiful and as this past week has shown, hilarious and unique human beings. No seriously, some of your posts had me kneeling over in laughter. If you would so like, you can tag #animalanon so I and everyone can read all your lovely posts! IM STARTING EARLY TODAY SO WE CAN PARTY ALL DAY LONG BECAUSE I LOVE YALL SO MUCH 🎊 🦥🦁🐯

U DID IT BEFORE I SLEPT, THANK YOU<3 i'm pretty sure it's a hedgehog, porcupines are bigger (and uglier). happy 1 year of being animal anon 🥺 your asks brighten my day and you've made this fandom so much more fun! i really hope you reveal yourself one day! i looove musicals and i'm so jealous you've seen so many broadway shows wtf TAKE ME WITH YOU 😭😭 and re the important thing you share with taylor - your fave number is 13? you're born on dec 13th? you have a bf called joe? you're a cat person?

ilysm and thank u for all the fun and chaos and positivity you've brought

[cassyapper]

Just finished wwm/ta, and I adore how you write kakyoin. He is such a rage-filled mess of a weird man, which is so refreshing since most fanworks seem to declaw him so to speak. Do you have any tips on writing him? Both in general and maybe also what you think he'd be like as an antagonist? I have an idea for au where he's like a slightly more threatening Team Rocket who reluctantly gets attached to everyone over the course of multiple attempts to defeat them, but idk if that fits his character.

I'M SO SORRY I'M RESPONDING TO THIS A FEW DAYS AFTER U SENT IT i've just been exhaustingly busy but i'm here now

first things first, thank you so so much dude i'm going to cry tears of gratitude....im so so glad ppl have been liking my take on part 4 kakyoin so far and im so excited to continue to share how i think he will evolve as the story continues/as we see flashbacks that explain how he got to where he is in the first place...basically AH thank u so much anonymous it means the world to me <3 i like to inflate my ego by thinking i know kakyoin p well so im glad to hear u say u like how i keep him scathing (":

also i think ur idea of antag-become-awkward-bestie kakyoin is BRILLIANT i love love love it please send me a link when u write it!!!

as for writing him in general there r a couple things i keep in mind: - kakyoin has a sense of humor. half the things he does he does cause he thinks the reactions he'll get are funny (like im pretty sure the cherry thing was not something he normally does he just did it cause jotaro's disgust was hilarious to him) - kakyoin is made up of what i call complementary contradictions. he's polite but also an asshole. he's considerate but also cruel. he's stiff but also immature (like when he laughed at polnareff's underwear joke). few things are constant about him cause he varies his outward expression depending on who he's talking to and the circumstances (though an example of some of his constants is his intelligence and his vanity and his passion). because of this you can have a lot of fun with him; he doesn't all react the same way to things that in theory are similar! he's a slippery eel kinda guy - at his core kakyoin is desperate to prove himself mostly to himself. he projects his own insecurities onto other ppl and i dont think he realizes it, which is why he's smart mouthed and bitchy about ppl being too coddling toward him; he's taking it as underestimation and not as a sign of care. he refuses to give benefit of the doubt cause he's an asshole and also cause this. at the same time tho he does deserpately want someone to care about him (this is what the holly line meant it wasnt a fucking come on toward holly it was about how she gave affection in a way he could accept while still keeping his pride okay fuck off). so keep this in mind when writing him; it's one of his main motivators even though he doesn't really realize it

as for antagonist kakyoin, i would keep the above in mind as well as: - kakyoin loves playing with his food so to speak. every time kakyoin was in a fight in sdc, he mocked his opponent and teased them and just completely tore them down verbally. loves to threaten awful things with a smile <3 - kakyoin does not follow laws or a leader he follows his moral code first and foremost. his principles are incredibly important to him and they're what prompt him to go on the egypt journey in the first place, so esp when dealing with a switching of sides, keep this in mind! kakyoin would have some introspection about it i think

thank u once again dude it means a lot <3 i know this got wordy but i hope it helps!