#its been years and i still get the urge to write rant posts about it lmao

[flodaya]

I hate when we start playing oppression olympics within the queer community, yes it’s amazing that skamfr has a trans man in a happy relationship with a cis woman, doesn’t mean the writers are exempt from criticism for breaking up their currently only queer/wlw couple on the entrie show?

plus notice how even then, basically all queer characters are white? lucas, elliot, alexia, lola, max.. maya is the only queer character of color (june doesn't count, she's not a prominent character)

not only they broke up the only relationship between two women, but the only queer interracial relationship of the show, and maya, the first queer main of color, ended up alone.

it was horrible and i am a white sapphic, i can't imagine how it was for many sapphics of color.

like truly, it's good that max, a trans man, is in a fulfilling relationship with a cis woman who loves and supports him, but that doesn't mean the show is good queer rep!!??

wtfock has queer rep, and i don't think i need to explain my point more.

plus even then, don't they see the favoritism? can't they see that they choose anais, a skinny white cishet girl, over max, a potential trans main?

he would have been the second trans main of the skamverse and the second of the new gen. and we would have seen his transness from his own point, not tiff's. (a cis woman)

by breaking mayla up and giving the season to anais instead of choosing redouane or max, they proved once again that they don't care about diversity and that queer rep/rep of color.

also, quite respectfully, not everything is about them.

this was about sapphics and i don't want to hear non sapphics opinions on it, i don't want to say if it was lesbiphobic (is that the term? ) or not.

even sapphics like shirley can be lesbiphobic so imagine how non sapphics are.

EXACTLY!! i haven't even finished watching the season but i have so many thoughts about shirley and deborah's reaction and the season/skamfr as a whole

i see her excuse of "equality is if we treat all couples the same" and all i can think of is that picture about equality of every human being getting the same bike but a small child needs a different bike than an adult man, and a physically disabled person needs a different bike than a able-bodied woman, and so on, achieving equality isn't achieved by giving every single person the same set of tools because some people have a disadvantage and need a stepping stone

so saying breaking up your only wlw couple and giving your only wlwoc a bitter-sweet ending when every other main got to ride happily into the sunset is a step in the right direction of equality just seems so ignorant when 1) all your het couples are still dating, so if we treat them all the same why is the only one that's broken up sapphic? and 2) there is a definite lack of wlw couples in todays media, this just proves shirley's own ignorance on the topic of wlw/queer representation which is a shame since she is part of our community and had a chance to give us positive representation instead of what lesbians always get which is either ambiguous endings or tragedy

my parasocial relationship with paulina and the rest of the druck s6 writers is still going strong because i feel like we all (and especially twt stans) owe them an apology, like y'all don't appreciate good wlw rep when you get it, a whole season focused on a loving and healthy relationship between two wlwoc, what season will ever compare

[hyunnows]

IN THE CARDS | LEE FELIX

“… the stars in the sky who decided love was not in the cards for you.”

PAIRING(s) | Felix x reader

THEMES | angst, unrequited love, high school juniors!au, I think that’s all :>

WORD COUNT: 1.23k+

RATING | pg

NOTE | surprise! no- I’m not off hiatus yet. Unfortunately my laptop is still out of order and I hate writing on my phone but I really wanted to post something ✦ angsty ✦ so here we are T^T anyway I hope you enjoy and I hope I can get back here soon! Have a great day/night! Also feel free to ignore this new layout, or give feedback whether you like it or not, ty <3

SKZ M.LIST

You’d liked Felix since the third week of school when you two were freshmen. Now, years later, you still harbored the same feelings for him, except much stronger. Throughout your freshmen, sophomore, and now junior years, you’d grown closer to him. You two’s friend groups often ran into each other and combined, making the two of you semi familiar friends. You’d even hung out a few times together.

Of course you never acted on it. You were too shy to do anything about your schoolgirl crush. In fact, you were sure it would fade eventually, which was why whenever Areum—your best friend—would bring up your “mystery boy”, you’d always do your best to conceal his identity. You just knew she’d try to play Cupid, and you just weren’t ready to be embarrassed like that.

But recently, you'd heard him talking about a girl. One his and your friends apparently knew considerably well, and one he hung out with “sort of often”, as he’d described it. Yet he always seemed hesitant to talk about it, especially when you were around.

Trying to solve the mystery, your friends had come up with a few theories. One being that there wasn’t a girl in the group and he just wanted to throw them off. Another being it was a newer girl who’d recently transferred and taken a liking to your social circles. And the last one being that he had a crush on you.

Your friends were oblivious to your feelings for him, yes, but that didn’t stop them from seeing some sort of chemistry between the two of you. Their main pieces of evidence included that Felix always preferred to sit on your side of the table at lunch, that he could be caught looking your way a few times a day.

So when you saw him looking a bit nervous and glancing around you, you couldn’t help but think that maybe he’d grown some feelings for you over the time you’d known each other.

Twiddling his thumbs, he’d waited for your friends to clear out from the hall quietly asking you to stay behind so he could speak with you privately.

When your friends heard him ask you to stay behind, they all winked and giggled like middle schoolers, nudging you and bouncing their brows. Even if you didn’t want Felix to have a crush on you, they’d have you pretty convinced he was going to ask you out with their borderline ridiculous behavior.

Still playing with his hands and shifting side to side as he waits for you to approach him. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, and you try not to look too eager to hear what he needs to say. “What did you need to talk to me about?”

“Well you know how our friend groups have been mixing up a lot the past three years, and we’ve all grown kinda close. It’s only natural that someone would end up liking someone else, right?” He rants, trying not to stumble over his words or say too much more than he needs to. You nod at his question, doing your best not to smile stupidly at his cute antics and urging him to continue talking. “Well, I was just hoping that maybe…”

You hold your breath in anticipation, your hands you’re hiding behind your back clinging to each other with excitement. It’s actually happening, he’s as asking you out—

“Maybe you could ask Areum to meet me behind the sakura trees in the field later today. Oh, but don’t tell her its me she’s meeting, I want it to be a surprise, so just say she’s meeting you. Unless you don’t want to, because I can ask someone else—“ his voice rings in your ears, any other words he utters blending together into an incoherent mess.

All those glances, the nervousness, the giddiness and whispers between his friends and blushed cheeks when you were around… they weren’t directed at you.

It’s only now you realize, he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at Areum

He wasn’t nervous or shy or excited because you were around, it was because Areum was with you.

The whispers and flustered expressions, they were because he liked her.

Not you.

Her.

You knew your best friend was pretty, and smart, and funny, and kind… just like you were. But she was all of that, and more. She was any guy’s dream girl and you’d never envied that more than you do right now.

But you pick up your slack jaw, blinking away the tears that were trying to well up in your eyes and smiling as brightly as you can muster. Clasping your hands together, you squeal with excitement, jumping around with false joy. “Oh my god, you have a crush on her? That’s so cute! You two would be such a great couple! Yes, of course I’ll tell her! What time?”

At least you had time to prepare for the scene you’re about to witness when four o’clock rolls around and you watch your best friend approach the sakura field with a face full of confusion. You watch him nervously pick up the flowers he’d bought her and take a deep breath—all while he was hiding behind a tree and trying to collect himself.

When he finally emerges from his hiding spot, a sheepish smile on his face as Areum turns to him with a raised brow, trying to do anything other than wish you were in her place right now. Oh, what you would give to have Felix look at you the way he looks at her—like she alone was responsible for keeping the world turning and making sure the sun rose everyday. What you would do for just a taste of the affection he reaches for her hand with, the gentleness he places the flowers in her grip with,

You barely hear her answer to his long, well rehearsed yet still raw and genuine confession, your ears clogged with the sound of your own pulse and uneven breathing, You swear the shattering in your chest is more than just your emotions—it’s too painful to not be physical too.

When you walk into the halls the next day, you can only blame yourself for the happy new couple holding hands by your locker.

And when he stops you by the wrist to thank you for your help, you hide the bitterness in your tone as well as you can, muttering a soft, “Don’t mention it.”

Truly, you never want them to as long as you live, because you never want to be reminded that you’re the reason they ended up together. You introduced them, asked them to hang out with you in hopes of having your love requited. You’re the one who never opened up about their crush, or did anything about it for that matter.

And when Areum joins in, a bright smile on her perfect face as she thanks you for helping them get together, you really do mean it when you say with the most gentle tone you’ve ever used, “Don’t thank me, please,” Your faux smile hiding the pain in your eyes as theirs lock with nothing but love for the other.

But in the end, you did this to yourself, and have nobody else to blame besides someone the stars in the sky who decided love was not in the cards for you.

NAVI

[askyourwritergrandma]

Hello grandma

I hope you're doing alright.

I have started to write a fanfiction for the first time. I always wanted to write a story since I was 8 and now at the age of 22 I have decided to write. I thought I should start with a fanfiction because it's easier since I don't have to write characters from scratch.

Now I'm done with the first part out of five parts of story and I'm happy with it, everything is exactly as what I had planned and I'm putting a lot of effort on it. My problem is that I'm scared to post it when it's done. I keep thinking that what if my idea was stupid, maybe I should write it for myself and never share it with anyone.

I'm sorry my ask is more like a rant. I haven't told anyone that I'm writing.

I keep saying to myself that I've got nothing to lose, nobody is going to know that I wrote a fanfiction and posted, but deep down I'm thinking if I can't get a fanfiction right, how I'm supposed to write my original story that I've been thinking and writing notes about it for almost 3 years.

Sorry again that was long.

Take care grandma especially in these dangerous times ❤

Hi anon!

I'm doing just about as well as I can be (and resisting the urge to put a gif of that sloth from Zootopia here). I hope you're doing well too.

Welcome to writing! Before we get into anything else, I just want to say regardless of wherever your writing journey takes you and whatever you see out there in the greater internet regarding writing, if you have taken the time and energy to put words to a story, you are a Certified Story Teller. You are a writer and you should absolutely be proud of it and your story.

I don't know if you've run across it already or that unfortunate encounter lays in front of you still, but you will 100% definitely find yourself, at some point, reading some nonsense gatekeeping discourse about who is and who is not allowed to call themselves a writer. You might find a cutting bit of well-thought-out vitriol about the worth of fanfiction vs. original You will wade through some manner of self-published vs. traditionally published. I want you to remember as you go, take only what you need from these things. A bit of how-to, a sampling of advice that you like, encouragement when you find it and leave all the hateful, limiting nonsense behind.

That feeling that you're describing in your post, that awful doubt that your story (and by extension yourself) aren't good enough is something that all writers (all creative types, really) feel. They might be honest about it like you are, they might play it for laughs, they might slather it in arrogance or they might weaponize against others to make themselves feel more adequate. Strip away all that, the fact remains that you have put your time, energy, emotion and heart into creating something. Its an act of vulnerability whether it's a novel, a one-shot, a pwp or a headcanon and its perfectly, 100% completely normal to have anxiety about sharing it.

But some advice about how to cope with that, and maybe a few things to ease you into sharing your work!

A few frank things that we need to be completely honest about regarding your first story:

Much like a baby learning to walk, when you start writing, you will wobble and hang on things to keep yourself upright and fall over. This is completely normal. In fact, there is absolutely nothing you can do to prevent it. No amount of advice or plotting or intense study will change the fact that your first story is the starting point.

Try not to compare your writing or your ideas to other writing/ideas that you see. Its natural and everyone does it and it has it's own function in your growth as a writer, but don't base your success/failure on it. Instead of that, look at what you've written and compare it to your own idea of what you wanted to write.

Some people will not like your writing and you don't need them to. Someone passing on your story isn't an insult, it's just not the right audience for your work.

Sometimes it takes a while to get people to notice you and that time can feel a lot like defeat. Its easy to get disheartened if your goal is to be seen. As a young (as in new to writing) writer you should try to focus your sense of accomplishment/success/failure on something that is entirely in your control. You cannot control if someone will click on your story, but you can control challenging yourself to write prompts. Write different characters? Write different scenes? There are a lot of writing prompts/writing exercises on the internet that you can use to practice some of the less exciting things about writing.

In fact, that's what young writers need more than they need anything. They need practice. So much practice. Not because your stories are bad, but because just like walking, its a challenge to start with but the more you do it, the more you understand the mechanics and basics the easier it gets to manage the exciting things.

TL:DR, nobody shows up with an award winning first story and anyone who says this is the first time they sat down at a keyboard and wrote anything is probably not being entirely truthful. Writing is a talent and a skill and you have to work at it to develop both.

NOW, the harder stuff, how do you get the confidence to share after I've just spent all this time telling you that first stories are starting points and people might ignore you? Try this:

If the story you are currently working on is your first born and it is sacred and special to you, do not start by posting it. The first thing you write that you put your heart into is like falling in love for the first time. You aren't likely to forget it. (As evidence, the first story I ever wrote and loved is a story that I am still writing version 209490834903 of atm. It's also a story I share the least with anyone because I am violently protective of it.)

Start by writing random prompts you see floating around on tumblr. These are blurb stories that you don't need to spend longer than maybe 10 to 20 minutes on. They will never develop full plots because they are usually just a scene or some dialogue. If you follow a prompt blog like this there's a good chance that the other people who follow it will respond to you once in a while with comments. Its a good place to start because you aren't emotionally invested in it but it gives your writing muscles a work out.

Fight back against the anxiety that's telling you that your story is silly, that it won't be read, that it's not worth it with positive affirmations. My story is good. I'm doing my best work. It is worth sharing. I know there's a whole writing culture that likes to erase their previous fics or never talk about their old writing because they think they're embarrassing or bad. Maybe they are in comparison to where that writer is now, but at the time it was written, that was the best work they had ever done. Celebrate that rather than let it haunt you like a shame blanket.

To put my money where my mouth is, here's a sample of my oldest fanfic I still have access to:

"Something wrong, 'Geta?" "No." Vegeta snapped. "You never answered my question." "Oh," Goku said. He reached behind him to pick at his butt. "I was just," then he scratched the back of his neck. Behind him his tail was swishing merrily. "Sort of, I... Kind of. Well, you see, I might have... That is to say." "SPIT IT OUT ALREADY!" Vegeta screamed. "I wished that there could be more Saiyans."

(why yes, that is from a DBZ Vegeta/Goku Mpreg NC-17 fic)

I know this was long and I'm not sure you made it to the end. I want to encourage you to take the chance and put your work out there because it won't find an audience if you don't. But I also want you to know that if its not something you're comfortable with, and you do write it for yourself, and you keep it just for you that doesn't make you any less of a writer. Move at your own pace, do what you're comfortable with, and keep challenging yourself.

Thanks!

[chaoskirin]

I wanted to explain a post I reblogged to my @chaoskirin blog earlier, about why you can’t separate the art from the author when it comes to J.K. Rowling.

And to qualify this, I was a HUGE Harry Potter fan. I had doubts at first, but once I read the books, I was hooked. HP art, HP RPs, HP fics... You name it, I did it.

I’ve seen a lot of pushback against letting Harry Potter go, because “as adults, we should all be able to separate art from its creator.” (Paraphrased--but it’s always that argument.) The thing with JKR, though, is she refuses to be separated from her work. She has outright rejected the idea of “death of the author” and makes sure she’s integrated into the HP world so thoroughly that you can’t tear her out of it.

I know it’s hard to accept this. I’m sitting here thinking “should I really post this?” Because there’s a chance I’m just way off-base. But as an artist and writer myself, I can recognize that when my real-world beliefs go into my art, they only build people up, they don’t tear them down. Meanwhile JKR often used her work to write stereotypes and illustrate her beliefs in books meant for children. Cho Chang, goblins, lycanthropy as an allegory of HIV/AIDS, etc. And then there was the character stuff that happened outside the books: Dumbledore-is-Gay, the American School That Ripped Off Native American Culture...

Finally, there’s the use of her fame as a vehicle for her hate. Transphobic rants on Twitter, laws created with her blessing which seek to hurt trans people, attacking and near-bullying people who disagree with her, and getting away with all this because she has a blue checkmark next to her name. And this is only scratching the surface.

We could get into how people still love Charles Dickens and Rudyard Kipling, whose racist beliefs were “products of their time.” (which is a non-excuse to be fair--other people who lived during those times were very NOT racist, but that’s a digression.) But their beliefs don’t begin to compare with the real-world harm JKR has done.

Because if she’d written racist caricatures out of ignorance and then apologized when called out, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I mean, some people would. Twitter in particular doesn’t want people to get better--they want people to be perfect from the start. Which brings up a major problem with social justice champions--they paint everyone who fails with the same brush, rather than holding accountable those who STILL fail, while championing those who have learned. And that, in turn, makes boycotting people like JKR more difficult, which is the entire problem with cancel culture: If you cancel everyone, you make the world numb to real problems.

The point is, JKR not only used racist caricatures in her books, not only did she queer-bait and malign AFTER her books, not only did she write MORE stories with the same damaging rhetoric she’d already been called out on, but she continues to actively harm REAL people in the REAL world. As one of the most famous people in this generation, she has a platform, and she’s chosen to use it to hurt.

And her fans already gave her WAY more chances than they tend to give ordinary people who fuck up. It’s not like she went right from hero to zero. She’s had years to realize that she’s hurting people, and she just doesn’t care. Every time she’s called out on the bad stuff, she doubles down. She doesn’t even PRETEND to feel remorse.

I know it hurts. I know it’s your childhood. I know you really want to argue against this because disavowing something that meant so much to you is near-impossible. But please, I urge you to try.

Because she’s still active in her own fandom, and because she continues to regurgitate damaging bullshit which is actively hurting people, and because she has not and likely will never apologize for this, you can’t read her work critically while taking her out of it. You can’t be a fan of it without the understanding that she--and by extension, the books themselves--are harmful. You can’t continue to consume new material without supporting her. You cannot separate Harry Potter from JKR.

[perhapsthanatos]

10:32 pm with yuta ♡

nct’s yuta x fem!reader (got inspired by a dream of mine & found the idea really cute)

alternate title: be the james dean to my audrey hepburn

genre: fluff. a pinch of angst. non idol au. badboy!yuta au.

word count: 1400~

playlist: chinatown by wild nothing, lover’s rock by tv girl & work this time by king gizzard and the lizard wizard.

warnings: featuring johnny (not a warning though). smoking cigarettes. cursing. lowercase intended. not proofread.

a/n: hi i was supposed to post a vampire!haechan fic but i really wasnt happy w it in general :( the plot or overall idea of the fic was really good, but i just felt as if i didnt do it justice so here we are :( but ngl, i kind of like this concept more? maybe bc i can see it more vividly? idk, i feel like my writings r getting repetitive & its getting on my nerves lmaoo this is getting long im sorry do u guys even read this part anyway? i would also like to apologize abt the amount of projecting im doing lmao ive been having some rough days & i love my sister but hate being compared to her so often so this is a way for me to rant abt it ig? also so sorry its coming out a little later bc i woke up late today (& procrastinated for the rest of it so here i am posting really late at night) & decided to go to the convenience store to get ice cream (& a ton of other bad shit pls dont do this its rlly unhealthy) for breakfast bc i can :) any who, enjoy lovelies <3

“oh my, y/n! you’ve grown up so well! just like your sister!”

“oh! i’m sorry i’ve almost mistaken you for your sister! y/n is your name, correct?”

“y/n, darling, you are looking so dashing! you really do resemble your sister, don’t you?”

“ah, you must be y/n! i’ve heard all about you and your sister from your father!”

you swear that your reddening cheeks are threatening to fall off any moment now from all the fake smiling. the hundreds of superficial compliments, the insincere flattery and the need for these people to constantly compare you to your godforsaken sister makes you feel even weaker than you are. it gets harder and harder to keep up with a big persona that isn’t at all you. as lucky as you are to live such a lavish lifestyle, you can’t help but hate how your family has to be so perfect. you hate how you have never fit in with them, even if you are so good at faking it. you hate how you have always been stuck in your sister’s shadow, constantly haunted with the reminder that you yourself aren’t good enough. you hate how you now have to entertain the rich and brainless guests at your parent’s gala because she’s gone for some stupid prodigy competition and everyone is only talking about her in front of your face. so what if she’s better the better sister? you still have the right to earn respect, right?

you’re exhausted from all the small talk. your facade gets more brittle by the second under all the pressure. your body feels as if it's gonna give out due to your brain shutting down after all that interacting. you try to keep on going with the night as it unravels itself by being the perfectly poised poster child, trying to make your parents proud. but alive yet almost completely devoid, you decide enough was enough. what if you left right now? no one would notice, would they?

after pulling up your phone discreetly to send a few text messages, you pass through lots of people dressed in gold and finery in a way that wouldn’t have you noticed right away. keep your head down and don’t you dare make eye contact with anyone. nearing the end of the room, grabbing the first glass of whatever alcohol you see and downing it in one gulp, you start walking away as quickly as possible from the ballroom. “ignorant privileged fucks,” you angrily whisper to no one in particular, setting the now empty glass on whatever surface and begin to head to the main exit where no one could spot you running away.

“and what do you think you’re doing here, miss?”

a voice interrupts you, looking up you see that it is your father’s head butler; johnny. he is dressed in a simple black suit that makes him appear taller than he is. his long brown hair is slicked back and his bowtie seems brand new. you have known the man since he started working in your household less than ten years back. you were a reckless child, often trying to find ways to sneak out, finding a way to escape from this life and he sympathized with you. after all, he could barely imagine living your life, never catching a break for yourself and always pretending to be someone you weren’t. he often helped planning when you would sneak out into the night, scheduling things like what time you should leave and what time you should be back, more specifically a time when no one would notice. he would take care of your form of transportation and have your location on at all times, just to be extra safe. as much as he wants you to have fun and have a bit of freedom, he still worries that something might happen to you. because of all this, you two have grown to have a very strong bond. you could confidently say that he is most definitely a parental figure in your life since your parents (and even your sister) are often overseas for work.

“what do you think i’m doing? you think i wanna be in a room with those half-baked bipeds? fuck no!”

“i know, i was just joking. you looked like you were about to explode in there, i wish i could help.” he laughs, pulling out his phone preparing what you might need. “so what will it be for today? the driver? we just need to pay him to keep his mouth shut. a taxi? it’s cheaper than paying the driver, but you still need to pay… not like that’s a problem for you though. maybe an uber would be good enough—“

“actually, i got myself covered. thanks.”

his jaw slightly drops and his eyebrows furrow. he looks straight at you in shock. “what do you mean you got yourself covered?”

you look down at your feet, a nervous habit. “i got myself a ride, you don’t need to help me. i’ll be back as soon as dawn comes.”

he raises his eyebrow. “who’s your ride?”

“doesn’t matter,” you glance down at your phone seeing a notification and wave a goodbye, leaving rather suddenly. “i gotta go, i’ll text you when you need to open the gates!”

“y/n! wait! who’s your ride— and she’s gone.” johnny sighs, watching as you run towards the front gates, tossing your stiletto heels away on the grass while you’re at it. he heads back inside, silently hoping you’ll be fine.

knocking the window of the old black mustang parked outside behind the big bushes, the driver rolls down his window and sends the most charming smile.

yuta in his black beanie, long blonde hair, worn out doc martens, signature leather jacket and black skinny jeans. it almost makes you laugh on how he wears the same thing almost everyday but still manages to look so good.

he is most notable for having a big bad boy reputation and you knew that he was the breath of fresh air you needed in your life. a person who can understand having the pressure of having to be or to fulfill your persona. a person you can completely be yourself around. a person who is full of warmth no matter how cold he may seem on the outside.

“get in, princess.”

and that was all you needed. you tiredly walked to the other door and sat yourself in the car. rolling his window back up, he looks at you. you are wearing a simple yet stunning black dress along with silver jewelry adorned on your neck and wrists. your makeup is perfectly done but still struggles to hide the fog in your eyes. he has the sudden urge to clear them away. he softens at the sight of you. no one is perfect, but he finds you being perfect enough without ever having to dress up.

“where to?” he asks as gently as he could. he knows that you are most vulnerable during these moments and that it is hard to finally break down your walls after a day full of stress, so he doesn’t pry immediately. all he wants to do is to keep you here, safe and away from your burdens and for you to stay comfortable with him, even if it couldn't be for long. but is that too selfish of him to ask? he hates how you hate your life and it is taking every bone in his body to not run away with you. but who is he to tell you what to do or what to change anyway? all he can do for now is try to find a way to make you genuinely smile.

“take me anywhere,” you whisper to the latter. “i just want to be as far from myself and my life as possible. miles away or the nearest convenience store, just take the long way home before dawn.”

you look down at the cup holders, spotting an open cigarette box. you tug one out of the nineteen and light it with the lighter you kept in your pocket. you lean back and close your eyes. he only admires as you bring the cigarette to your lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke afterwards. letting the radio play quietly, he starts the car and begins to drive away from the mansion. he can’t help but wonder how you (an elegant daughter) and him (a bad boy) are millions of worlds apart, but more similar than you think.

© perhapsthanatos (efa)

[everything-laito]

Hypersexuality and Laito Sakamaki (UPDATED)

Hiya guys! Been a long ass time since I’ve made a post like this, I’ve been getting so much ask box activity + had school so I haven’t had the time to make an original post! This has been something I wanted to write for a while, and not only was I busy with school, but this one hits home hard to me personally, so I was going back and forth for a bit writing it. But I think I’m ready :)

I know there’s kind of a general consensus that anything DL related comes along with a trigger warning whether stated or not, but just a TW considering I’ll be talking about some real life experiences; not in depth or detail of course, but just mentions of it :) Not only is this a Laito analysis but it’s also an educational tool to help other people know about this!

So, without further ado, rant under the cut! 

Hypersexuality is something that many sexual assault/harassment and rape survivors experience after the abuse. People associate asexuality or sexual repulsion as the only (or common) psychological affect after experiencing those situations. However, there is another affect that can happen, and it is more common than people think, and aforementioned, it’s hypersexuality. It’s basically having more sexual feeling and urges after the experience, in order to cope with the nonconsensual one. And it’s exactly what Laito experienced after Cordelia’s abuse.

I’ve also experienced something like this. I don’t believe I’ve experienced it in full swing, but definitely something like it. I haven’t been raped thankfully, but I have been sexually harassed/assaulted before a handful of times. I know I’ve briefly mentioned that in other analyses, but I’m just explicitly stating it here.

I first learned about hypersexuality this year actually, and my Laito nerd brain was like “holy shit that’s the name of what Laito is going through.” Then I was like “oh fuck I’ve gone through that a little bit too.” I thought going along with  would help me “heal” myself, and it really was doing the opposite. (UPDATE: realized that what I thought was a lot of sexual trauma/hypersexuality was mostly compulsory heterosexuality (but still with those dabbled in too—quite a terrible combo) because last month I realized I’m not attracted to men! Although those experiences I mentioned did mess me up a bit, realizing this is a huge step in the right direction for my own mental well being. Just had to make this correction on my part, since the original post had more emotional investment than I would have liked it to :)) 

Like I have said in my little update, I realized I was going through mostly compulsory heterosexuality while also going through some minor sexual trauma/hypersexuality. Although again, I have not had it as bad as Laito has or other sexual assault survivors (which I am grateful for that), I still have a personal grasp of coping mechanisms with traumatic experiences or experiences I did not particularly enjoy. (If you are interested in learning more about compulsory heterosexuality, feel free to send me an ask! I just don’t feel that it’s appropriate to talk about it in regards to Laito or make a post about it, since it doesn’t relate to him)

And that’s probably also why I can resonate with Laito so much, at least on that scale, and even if I experienced a grain of what he’s going through. I know he’s fictional but these are definitely real experiences and real feelings. 

Laito’s case is a bit different than just feeling overtly sexual. Although he’s trying to heal himself through sex and other intimate actions, he’s also doing it as a type of revenge. He doesn’t like purity, and in fact, he’s quite jealous of it. I’ve heard this is also a pretty human way of coping with this type of abuse, and it is why I love Yui as a character. She’s incredibly strong and sets an example for Laito. This makes Laito jealous yet entertained by her, and that’s also a reason why he probably keeps her around. He also attempts to use Yui as a vessel to avenge his own feelings (even not knowing about Cordelia being in her at first). I  personally wasn’t like that, but given the circumstances, there’s definitely people who are. Laito’s character can be so human to me sometimes, its astonishing, despite him being a character, a vampire, and just generally does some wacky or terrible shit. 

You could say his hypersexuality could also be similar to typical Pavlovian Conditioning. You’ve probably heard of the whole experiment of training (conditioning) a dog to expect food when they hear a certain sound and thus, his mouth waters. We’re conditioned by a lot of things in our lives, from triggering a “flight or fight” response from this specific ringtone or high school bell. It’s just a built in “routine” our minds utilize to process pattern recognition. I know I say this a lot, but we don’t know how vampire brains in the DL universe compare to human brains (and quite frank, I don’t think we will), so I will just do my typical human brain picking. 

In Laito’s case, he was conditioned to “love” Cordelia in a fashion that was incredibly gross. No, I won’t sugar coat it. In my Cordelia/Laito analysis, I talk about how Laito was probably groomed. Grooming is another type of conditioning. Although I don’t believe his grooming was sexual, it definitely “prepares” the victim to be exploited in that fashion later on. It’s to build a false sense of trust to be betrayed. Later on, when Cordelia started having sex with Laito, he became used to it in a “conditioned” fashion. When someone said that Cordelia was calling him, he knew what it was. He also thought it’s what he wanted, even though he knew that he didn’t. I believe I have referenced his MB Dark Prologue monologue before, but not this part of it. Here’s the monologue: 

――Who is it that I give my love to? Throwing myself away, I caught the sight of someone Someone I didn’t recognize, Suddenly, I realized I was looking into a mirror. The mirror reflected myself within it. I couldn’t see anything else. I am disgraceful for this greed. I was wearing a visage. What I wanted, certainly was love. It’s not that easy. Because of these words, I suffer. No matter how many times love is said, The only thing that will be important to me, Is only the physical contact and body.

I know I've said it in the Laito/Cordelia analysis, but Laito is visibly confused in his flashbacks. He’s trying to grasp what love is, but then convinces himself that love is physical contact, and not emotional connection, especially near the end. He knows he’s suffering but he is still conditioned to think like this. Same case for people who suffer from hypersexuality. 

Although many people do not know why it occurs, it can be a symptom or “side effect” from disorders, medication, and the like. In the sexual trauma case, I believe a main reason is that the person utilizes sex to cope with trauma, or because they are used to sexual acts being forced upon them. That’s where conditioning still comes in. He’s treated as one of her suitors, lovers, or the like. Even as a stand-in for Richter and Karlheinz. He doesn’t consider Cordelia to be his mom until the DF Vampire ending. On top of him not receiving emotional gratification which leads to all sorts of just awful stuff for him, sexual attention is the only type that he receives until Yui comes along. He is used to not having emotional support or connections, which is why physical contact is what he is more “comfortable” with, while at the end of the day it still does not satisfy him.  

It creates a positive feedback loop of him being unsatisfied, while being confused about where he’s unsatisfied in, leading to him trying to “fix” himself or avoid his own personal, emotional problems through lust and sex, but then still finding himself not “healing.” Then the cycle continues, enthusing his hyper sexual behavior even more.

I was sent some great articles from @souchiika on the DL discord (thank you so much!) and one of the articles stood out to me, since I did not talk about this type of topic on this blog yet. Here’s the link to the article, and here’s the quote that stood out to me!

Furthermore, indirect effects were also statistically significant, providing support to the hypothesis that depression and guilt would be serial mediators of trauma-hypersexual behavior relations. The paths through depression and guilt have been found to be the most significant with moderate and high indirect effects on hypersexuality. Moreover, male gender, as covariate variable, is a relevant risk factor for hypersexual behavior.

Hypersexuality is something that is still being researched like I mentioned earlier, but since these findings came out, it definitely makes sense in Laito’s case (and in general). Like I said, Laito does feel unsatisfied and even shameful of his actions, which is more apparent in the beginning of his and Cordelia’s “relationship.” In those flashbacks, he asks himself if this is what he really wants, and although he attempts to force himself to like these actions as a coping mechanism, there is still a relative degree of shame and guilt he has. It is also apparent nearing his DF Ecstacy ending when he finds out that Karlheinz foresaw Cordelia having sex with him, and even wanted it to happen. All that shame and guilt came bellowing out while he was in a fit of distress. In initial attempts to mediate this guilt and shame, he projected his feelings onto other women through sexual acts, leading to more of this hypersexual loop. I know I talk about Laito projecting a lot, but it is frequent in his character. Like I’ve always said, it’s typical “bully” power dynamic manipulation. If Laito can bring a victim of his down to his level, then he feels better about himself (but it satisfies him for only a short while, until Yui in MB+). 

Also, note that this is no excuse or justification for him to rape or sexually assault others. It is merely an explanation as to why he does it (as for my posts in general, it’s not a justification, it’s an explanation). 

Another reminder that rape and sexual assault isn’t about the sexual urges, but about power. That’s why anybody with any background can do it, given the circumstances. 

This post was a bit hard for me to write, so I apologize if I got too overtly personal for your liking. Like I’ve said in the past, I’m not writing this to gain sympathy too, and sure that sounds superficial of me to say now (although I truly mean it), I just want to use my platform as an educational tool. Sorry about the change in my typical tone :) 

Sorry if this was too much of a doozy, I really wanted to talk about it and to educate people, despite it being a bit personal. I just felt like the most effective way was to convey how real this topic is, despite this fandom knowing about it in a fictional setting. 

I hope you have a great day! -Corn

[otterskin]

I didn't like the LOKI show, no matter how hard I try, and it's messing with me.

My mother died at the end of December. A lot of other bad things happened as well, like the severe brain injury of my father.

I didn't cry. There was so much to do. I did it. And even then, when there was nothing left to do, I didn't cry.

I found distractions.

Today I went to see the Green Knight after a tough week at a new job that had me leave my father in another province even though he still needs help. I was trying to get back to the life I'd dropped.

I loved the Green Knight. The Arthurian Legends are as dear to me as Norse Mythology, and my copy of them had the Green Knight on the cover. The film was truly excellent, evoking the feel of the story whole still doing something unique and very A24. I cried at one point, like I did when watching the first THOR, because of how much it meant to see something I'd loved since the very first years of my existence finally make it to the big screen and be...right. It's own thing, it's own artistic product, but right.

Then I opened a tab in a browser and saw I had some messages on a website I comment on. It was just some minor criticism of the LOKI show I'd posted beneath an article and how it handled certain things.

I was downvoted. Berated. Hated. Lumped in the ad hominem twitter users who attacked the director and writer (I'd never, ever!) Told I was biphobic because I wanted to see more of a queer lens (I even addressed how difficult it is for bi people in queer cinema and society in general in my criticisms of the romance, but even that wasn't good enough - just disliking it was 'bad'.) I was told I just wanted my 'fanfic' made (I never made any laundrylist of plot points I demanded). I was accused of being a begrudged shipper (ha! If anything I'm an anti-shipper). I was told that I should love the show, it was awesome, and I was bad for not thinking so.

And I started to cry.

I don't cry. Only at movies. Not at real life. I didn't cry at my grandparents's funerals, I didn't cry when I was left with the body of my mother in the hospital room and my brother cried on my shoulder. I didn't cry when working through my dad's severe new disabilities as I realized how much he had lost. I didn't cry while realizing how messy my parents' finances were. I didn't cry when my mother's friends called me in the middle of the night and cried into the phone. I didn't cry when saying goodbye to my dog and going back to a rundown apartment with a terrible smell so I could go to work in a dark room for hours at a time.

But now I'm crying and writing this.

I've realized why. During everything, I looked forward to the LOKI show. The first THOR is deeply nostalgic to me and I watched it often in my first year of Uni when I was away from home. It tied in thematically to what I was going for. Thor 2 came out before I went on exchange, and while I disliked it overall, talking about it was a welcome distraction from my anxieties. Thor 3 was nerve-wracking, but it also came out during my first major job which I was struggling with, and I saw it so many times in theatres...it was such a huge comfort.

Looking forward to LOKI wasn't just a distraction. It was like a promise. A promise that I'd make it till then and see it and maybe it'd give me some comfort.

That's on me. That's a personal thing. It's an unreasonable expectation.

But I needed it, all the same.

Then it came out.

I tried. I really tried to like it, to forgive it, but the problems are things I've criticized for too long in so many other things. I always try to be respectful about, I never go ad hominem and attack the creators, only critique their work and I always mentioned what I liked but...

I didn't like it.

I have no urge to rewatch it.

And the Green Knight...the Green Knight was everything I wanted and needed it to be. It didn't let me down, though I've been anticipating it about as long as the LOKI show. They're very different, obviously, but in my heart they share the same compartment.

And after a very trying day...I realized how badly I needed to rewatch a Loki show I liked. But I can't even enjoy THOR or Thor:Ragnarok anymore. It's like everything I did like has been poisoned.

This thing that got me through immense pain is causing me pain. I don't want to be toxic. I'm sure it's in me. I try so hard not to wallow in disappointment, but to not even be allowed to talk about my problems without being lumped in with abusive online monsters...

I can't do it. I just can't.

This is supposed to be an escape, not another trial.

I needed the LOKI show to be good, so I could come out of the dark into the light, or at least walk through the night with a lantern ahead of me. And instead it was just more darkness, and it's not even entirely its own fault. It's the online discourse. It's the uncalled for harassment of Herron and Waldron. It's the taunting jabs at people who didn't have a good time as if we're all jerks. It's having people roll their eyes when you point out things that made you uncomfortable in the story, it's feeling slightly gaslit when you find something gross that the story intended to be gross and then being told it's not gross, actually.

I'm sorry. I don't want to cause pain. I just...

I needed it to be good. And unlike Thor 3, which delivered me respite in a dark time...it let me down. Worse, it's hurt me.

I said I don't cry, only at the movies. Something about them lets me cry in a way nothing else does. I can't cry at a funeral, but I can cry in a movie theatre at the drop of a hat. It's a release valve, a way for me to process things.

I think I was waiting for LOKI to give me permission to cry. To give me something that could release this pain in me. And instead, it just gave me more.

I never should have given it that power. I didn't want to. But I had to, to get through this.

I'm putting away the few THOR pieces of tat I have. I feel foolish. I always knew it was a capitalist piece of art, chucked from creator to creator with no creative shepherd, which in itself was stressful.

The fandom is no sanctuary for me either, since I'm primarily interested in the family dynamics and I'm sick of 'Odin is an ABUSIVE MONSTER' stories or even unrelated fics and posts just dropping in hate for him that's not at all canon but seems to be very popular to the point where people think it is. Especially since I often read these stories when I need to think of home and my father. Or, most pleasantly of all, when I get called an abuser or abuser-enabler because I say I like Odin as a character. I also can't really bear to deal with anything to do with Sylvie, whom I had high hopes for as someone who wants more female tricksters, but instead I got this...this Mary Sue that's very hard to criticize without being yelled at. I swear I'm coming at her writing as a feminist and I don't hate anyone, I don't, I just...sigh. She's just personally frustrating to me and not being able to discuss it without being called names sucks.

Not to mention I'm asexual, and I always struggle with romance in media being pushed as the 'ultimate relationship more important than any other'. Part of the reason I liked THOR so much was that romance was not the main feature of THOR and definitely not THOR 3 (while my disliked Dark World was all about it, and so is LOKI). And when I criticize the romance, I get called a prude (guilty, I guess), a troll, or, my favourite, just 'a hater'.

I don't want to hate. Who wants that poison in their veins? I'm here because the Thor series HELPED me because I LOVED it. And now I look at the things I used to love and I...don't, anymore.

So much is asked of me right now. I can't willingly invite this painful thing to sit on my chest as well, especially since the world is already shoving it into my face without my doing anything, in ads, in news, in everything.

I suppose that's why I've leaned even more into Odin lately. He was untouched by the LOKI series (though not the Simpson special, which worries me). He's a trickster, he's queer, he's nuanced, he's 'misunderstood' (that old cliche, but he's misunderstood and misrepresented by the people always yelling about how this or that character is misunderstood, which amuses me, except when it gets to me), and he's in many ways free to make my own.

I still have some stuff I'm going to publish that's practically finished. Finnesang has a lot more written for it but needs some major sit-down time for re-writes and edits. Lokabrenna is practically done, just needs tweaks and Beta. I'll be here a little longer.

But I think I'm going to have to step back for now and put my passions into other things.

I will be back. After all, after Thor 2 came Thor 3. Maybe Love and Thunder will right the ship and Thor can still be awesome, and maybe eventually a creative I love will come to work on the franchise. Really, that's the key for me - I loved Branagh before THOR, and loved Waititi before Thor, and disliked Waldron's work (though I gave him every benefit of the doubt and hoped and prayed to be wrong - sadly, it was what I expected.)

But...if LOKI season 2 is more of this, more romantic tropes I hate and Loki being an afterthought in his own show and his family being devalued for new characters...I can't do it. I can't watch something I used to love just throw that all away for something I dislike.

My tears are finally drying. I wrote a lot of this while the screen was blurry, so I hope there's no grammar or typo too embarrasing. I'm not sure I have the strength to re-read it. Sorry for the rant. It helped me feel better.

Thank you all. I hope I feel differently someday.

[mercurial-madhouse]

Five Favs of 2020

Four beautiful souls, @lululawrence @harryanthus @hadestyles and @tomlinvelvetfics tagged me for this one! You know how much it means to me to be tagged, thank you! 🥺🥺🥺

RULES: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome work.

🖌📜

1) Three Days in February: Could I truly pick any other? This wee sleeper cell  (yes, the pun is intended) Larry brought the most amazing people into my life and made it onto four top fics of 2020 lists despite being my first fic. I spent two days sobbing my eyes out about that one. I’m quite terrible at trying to sum up my own stuff, but @hadestyles ranted at me about this one:

“The plot is so unique and the fandom has always been ginger with toying with rare tropes but you crashed in with an out of the box fic with a slow burn, hitting head to a wall angst, I will strangle you idiots level of pining, please stfu before I die laughing banter, god they’re fucking ridiculous and relatable characters and then the mystery!!! There’s also the stifling sexual tension...at one point I had the urge to just throw them in a room and make them fuck it out. And YOU COULD WRITE IT BUT STEPHEN KING COULDN’T WRITE CH 13.”

😳🥺

I’m also still finding out that half the things I put in here as part of the story have actually happened in some form or another!? I’m mildly concerned about that.

Everyone who has given this beautiful darling a chance, you have my undying gratitude and likely a lot of tears and snot on your shoulder now from my overwhelmed wailing. But with luck, you were also too busy snorting out so much laughter to notice!

🖌 📜

B) Event Horizon: This one is my writing style at it’s most unrestrained. It’s only 4k because it’s so intense even I couldn’t handle more than that. Not only that, but I put a massive plot twist in this one that as far as I know got everyone!!! \o/

I love magical realism and messing with tropes, so this one flips the soulmate trope on its head while still having a happy ending. I’m quite proud of that. As @harryanthus described it: “Along with a soulmate you gain powers that you have no control over and no one teaches you how because it’s different for everyone and when you find someone who is supposed to stay by your side and help you face it, you just depend on them. In the thrill of being in a relationship healthy boundaries get blurred and it is hard to admit that you need HELP, so H and L admitting that they cannot do it alone and need help is brave.”

I’d love to see the idea turned into a full feature-length fic too. Not necessarily my universe, but the idea! Any takers? 👀

🖌 📜

III) Christmas Idiots : Wrote this one on a whim for the 1DChristmasFest and almost scrapped it too! It has my brand of action in it, but it’s also the softest and fluffiest thing I’ve written to date. My favorite about this one is that I wanted to create a fic you could curl up with in front of a fire all cozy and just enjoy the winter feelz. From what I can tell, I’ve succeeded in that! I also absolutely love that everyone calls it Christmas Idiots, because that isn’t even the official title! 🤣 

🖌 📜

Then) Fractured: Officially the first fest for me, ToT! Only 666 words, if you’ve read and seen the word count on TDIF, you’ll see why that’s such an accomplishment. It was my first foray into Louis’s POV and I managed to pack so many clues and emotions into this one and I’m just super proud of how it turned out. 

🖌 📜

Finally) Interlude: One Night In March : This is the closest to a complete PWP I’ve come. All my fics straddle fine lines ( 😉 ) and this one is no different. Even this one has clues and twists because all is not what it seems and that makes me so happy!

Ah, the tags. You know me. I want every single content creator out there posting their pride in their work. And I want to see it and share in your pride! So I’m tagging every creator off the top of my head that has come across my tumblr whether this is a first time tag or I tag you even though you’ve never interacted. I still want to support you. Please, please if you see this and I missed you (It’s really hard keeping track of an entire fandom of creators), do it anyway and tag me!!! There are some people I can’t tag although I’d love to, so please pass this on to @cupcakentea @jaerie and @thepolourryexpress for me, at least so they know I was thinking of them too?

@2tiedships2 @allwaswell16 @absoloutenonsense @beau-soleil-louis  @bearmustard @chrysopon  @becomeawendybird @brightgolden @chloehl10 @crinkle-eyed-boo @dinosaursmate @disgruntledkittenface  @doncasterkitten @falsegoodnight @haztobegood @hiccoops @homosociallyyours  @jacaranda-bloom @kingsofeverythingmain @larryissocute @laynefaire @lesbianiconharrystyles @lil0 @londonfoginacup @louandhazaf  @local-troubled-writer @louloubabys1992 @loustarlight @louistomlinboo  @mizzhydes  @outropeace @persephonelouis @quelsentiment @raspberryoatss @rosewithdagger @runaway-train-works  @scrunchyharry @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed @soldouthaz @solvetheminourdreams  @tempolarriefix @theisolatedlily @twopoppies @uhohmorshedios @vintageumbroshirt  @whenthebodiesspeak  @yvesaintlourent @zannithinks

[xomarauders]

Have you ever thought about doing a part two to that post where remus played rugby and during a prty Sirius confessed his feelings for him ? Cuz it’s literally perfect and I love it soooo much

i’m sorry this took me so long to write! i hope you enjoy this second part! 

read the full thing here on ao3 

—

There was another rugby game two weeks later and Sirius was cheering in the stands next to Lily and Peter—as usual—but this time, he was wearing a letterman jacket with the last name “Lupin” scrawled across the back, staring at Remus playing on the field knowing that he was his. That Remus would hug and kiss him after the inevitable win, that he would dance with Sirius during the party in the common room and not Emmeline Vance. Remus was his and he was Sirius’.

It still gave Sirius butterflies to think about it and he blushed slightly, thinking about the cliché of it all. James and Peter had taken upon themselves to tease Sirius about how flustered he became around Remus spite living in the same dorm as him since first year. Remus would just laugh as Sirius pouted, pulling him close into his chest and saying how he found it “cute.” The blush was practically a permanent fixture on his face now.

They were winning, and the whole crowd had become wild with anticipation as the last few minutes of the game ticked away. Marlene McKinnon had already started informing people about the victory party even as Gideon and Fabian Prewett scolded her for possibly jinxing the whole game. Sirius laughed at their superstitions, but the humor did not last long as a loud whistle from below directed his attention back to the field. His stomach dropped.

Remus was lying flat on his back on the ground, eerily still with a swarm of players and coaches surrounding him. James was there, helmet off and hands running through his hair, words coming out his mouth at a rapid speed, though Sirius couldn’t make out what he was saying. He distantly felt Lily next to him, trying to get his attention but there was a ringing in his ears that blocked her out. The medics rushed out onto the field and hoisted Remus—still alarmingly unconscious—onto a stretcher and evacuated the scene. Sirius did not hesitate a second. He ran down the bleachers, following after them with his breath caught in his throat.

“Remus!” He shouted, wishing futilely that the sound of his voice might be enough to wake his boyfriend. Instead, he got the attention of coach Moody, who gave Sirius a look of exasperation mixed with empathy.

“We’ve got him, Sirius. Go back to your friends.”

“I’m not leaving him!”

“You sure as hell are if you don’t want my foot up your arse!”

Sirius hesitated. He knew Moody meant business, but he couldn’t stand leaving Remus alone, especially if he were in pain. Remus never would have left him if the situation were reversed.

“Please, Moody. I can’t stand the idea of him being in pain and me not being there for him.”

There were tears welling up in Sirius’ eyes now, and no matter how much he tried to blink them away, they remained until finally spilling onto his sharp alabaster cheekbones. Moody huffed before nodding his head.

“Fine. But you stay out of the way, alright? Let Pomfrey look him over.”

Sirius nodded and joined Moody as they followed Remus towards the hospital wing. Pomfrey was already shouting orders to the sports medic assisting her as she flashed a small light in between Remus’ eyes. Sirius stood in the doorway, Moody’s orders of staying out of the way ringing in his head. He fought the urge to just rush over and kiss Remus, kiss him awake and cure him with love like they do in those cheesy, heteronormative princess movies that Prongs made them all watch that one summer. But he knew he had to behave. Had to let them help Remus.

Pomfrey confirmed that Remus had sustained a concussion from being knocked to the ground with such force, but other than that he was fine. Sirius was relieved to hear that his boyfriend should make a full recovery as long as he rest properly, which meant Pomfrey was going to make him stay in the hospital at least overnight. Sirius insisted on being able to stay with him and after a long fight of trying to get him out of there, the nurse begrudgingly agreed. With a cot set up right next to Remus’ bed, Sirius laid there, attempting to sleep but being predictably unsuccessful.

Instead, he found himself staring at Remus’ slack expression as he slept. He looked so peaceful—Pomfrey must have given him the good pain meds—and Sirius smiled slightly. He was relieved that Remus was overall okay, but he couldn’t help but still be worried for his boyfriend.  

“I’m glad you’re okay, Re.” He whispered into the air. He leaned over to brush a bit of Remus’ curls off his forehead and placed a gentle kiss on his temple. When he laid back down again, his body finally gave into its exhaustion and he fell asleep.

* * *

“Sirius. Sirius.” A sing-song voice was whispering, soft lips tickling against his ear and Sirius reached up to bat them away, still too sleepy to want to wake.

“Five more minutes, James.”

“I certainly hope James isn’t waking you up like that in the mornings.”

Sirius opened his eyes to see Remus’ smiling face above him, cheeks flushed slightly pink and his curly hair a mess a top his head. Sirius smiled up at his boyfriend, taking in the beautiful sight and feeling so grateful that he was okay and awake and—

“Oh my god!” Sirius shot up. “You should be laying down! What the bloody hell are you thinking? Pomfrey said to rest, Remus, so you rest!”

He started fussing over his boyfriend, getting him back into bed and tucking him in more snugly than was necessary. Remus himself just began laughing, amused by Sirius’ fussing and the look of concentration on his face.

“I’m fine, Siri. Really. There’s no need to worry.”

“Well, I already am worried. I’ve been worried since last night.” Sirius pouted. “I thought you’d gotten seriously injured, like…like a broken neck or something!”

Remus reached out and took Sirius’ hands in his own, effectively stopping his boyfriends ranting by placing a kiss on each of his knuckles. Sirius blushed and looked down at his feet. How was it that Remus could still be so cool and collected when he had been knocked unconscious only hours earlier?

“Well, I am so lucky to have a boyfriend who is so concerned about me. So concerned, that the nurse had to set up a bed for him to sleep in right next to mine.” The grin on Remus’ face shined brighter than the morning sun. Sirius really was in love.

“You would have done the same.” He murmured.

“Yes. But I still would like to thank you anyway.” Remus leaned forward, planting a quick, gentle kiss on Sirius’ lips. He smirked. “And once this concussion is healed, I plan to thank you properly.”

Sirius’ eyes twinkled. “Well that can certainly be arranged.”

[gerberbabey]

cocaine | kiara carrera

madison bailey rlly met her gf ON TIKTOK, thats wild and now i see that my chances arent as low as i believe. anyways love that for them.

writing this made me so damn depressed. like if anyone would like to fall in love w me, im just here...chillin.

masterlist | cocain series: 2 | 3 

summary: Kiara falls in love with someone who isn’t willing to love anymore (story inspired by the mentioned song and this scene).

warnings: that gay shit, cursing, angst, underage drug use, underage drinking, mentions of dying, unrequited love?

♫ Cocaine by Pink Sweat$ ♫

Kooks could talk as much shit as they wanted but it didn’t exactly stop them from showing up at the boneyard for a kegger. They whined and complained about Pogues but still came around to the other side of the island because they knew they would have a good time.

“It’s like watching National Geographic,” Kie winced and you sputtered out a laugh, stumbling back as you tried to keep the water from dripping onto your clothes. There was a pocket of Kooks jumping around to the music, moving in a weird sort of unison that was both stiff and awkward.

“Ew,” Kie laughed as you leaned forward to spit out the water that you had been trying to drink. To be honest it wasn’t that funny of a comment but you were also high of your ass so everything was hilarious.

“I can’t breathe,” you huffed out and Kie had to hold you steady when you stumbled into her. You were laughing so hard that it was at that point where you weren’t even making any noise. She couldn’t stop herself from laughing because of how hard you were laughing.

“Oh my god (Y/N) it wasn’t even that funny!”

“Then why are you laughing?!”

“Because you’re laughing!”

The two of you burst out into another fit of giggles as you wrapped your arms around the girl, resting your head on her chest as she wrapped her arms around you and struggled to keep the two of you standing.

“Are you two ok?” Pope walked up to the two of you just as you stumbled into the sand in a laughing heap. You let out one giggled and took in a deep breath as you stared up at Pope, your head hazy and heavy.

“Chillin dude,” you drawled out and Pope shook his head before he helped the two of you up. Kia brushed off the sand from her curls and you gave an aggressive shake of your head as you brushed out the sand from hair at the same time. Kie let out a noise and Pope stepped back to avoid any sand flying at him.

When you stopped you stumbled to straighten up. Everything around you was moving fast and yet slow at the same time and you let out a laugh.

Kie couldn’t help but look at you with a dopey look on her face. She wished she could tell you just how much she loved you. The day Kie had realized she was in love with her best friend was a bit of a stressful one. Kie was a firm believer of the “No Pogue on Pogue macking rule”. Not only did she believe it would change everything if broken, she also didn’t want to have a reason to be tied down to the Outer Banks. She loved her friends, her family, and her life on the island but she knew she was capable of so much more. Deep down in her heart she knew that she was meant to travel the world. That the best way for her to succeed was to get out of the Outer Banks and into the world.

But then one day she looked into your eyes and knew she loved you. That she was in love with you.

You were friends with the Pogues before she’d joined the group but you were the first one she met. You met the rest of the Pogues through JJ, and then had integrated Kie into the group after you started working at The Wreck.

After the betrayal of Sarah Cameron and the pain she went through being ostracized by her entire school, meeting you and then the boys had been her saving grace. Sure you weren’t jumping to your feet to try and help baby sea turtles into the ocean, but you always listened to her. You understood her.

“I mean everyone’s freaking out about plastic straws but the cups are like...more plastic,” you added to her rant and she nodded enthusiastically.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying!”

She was pretty much convinced the two of you were soulmates the day you had played her a playlist that you made just for her.

Yet even though she was so head over heels in love there was too many reasons why she couldn’t tell you.

One of the biggest reasons was your lack of faith in love and relationships. Convincing you that falling in love and being in love was a good thing proved to be a difficult feat. You’d been hurt so much by the concept of love that you’d moved past the point of thinking you’d ever fall in love. You left it behind and believed wholeheartedly that it wasn’t something meant for you. You didn’t believe in marriage and didn’t believe that you would ever find that person. You’d stopped looking and that meant that you couldn’t and wouldn’t see Kie in the way she wished you would.

“Yo (Y/N)!”

You and your friends turned at that and Kie watched you grin as you ran up to the boy who called you. You jumped into his arms and Kie bit her lip.

“Dude! What the fuck is up?!” You yelled as the boy laughed and let you down. You were jumping around excitedly, “Yo when did you get home?”

“Yesterday.”

“Who’s that?” Kie asked JJ and the boy turned to look at what she was talking about.

“Huh? Oh that’s Quincy, he graduated last year I think? Went to the Navy or something, him and (Y/N) were really close.”

“Oh.”

Kie wondered why she never heard about Quincy.

“Kie!!!” You waved her over and Kie pushed down that weird feeling that was rising up and hid it with a smile. She moved to stand by you and tried not preen when you took her hand in yours, intertwining your fingers and holding on tight. She hoped that Quincy would conclude that she was yours. (You may not have been hers, but she was wholeheartedly yours).

“Kie this Quincy. He was my fuckin plug before he left,” you laughed and Quincy crossed his arms and gave you a look. Kie felt a little relieved but then thought about this.

“Didn’t you start smoking when you were like...in middle school?” Kie asked and Quincy laughed while you shrugged.

“Yeah, can you imagine how I felt seeing this 12 year old asking me if I sold?”

Kie tried not to cringe. You’d been smoking for way longer than she’d known you. Your tolerance surpassed JJ, likely because of your lack of tolerance breaks. Kie could argue that at least you’d only smoked weed and hadn’t dove into other, harder drugs. The one time you had, Kie nearly had a heart attack and the boys almost killed a boy for urging you to take it.

You’d told her once that you just really liked how being high made you feel. The strain you smoked made you feel relaxed. It eased your mind and your body.

You told her that you started smoking after your parents separated. They’d fallen out of love and decided that rather than being adults and dealing with their issues themselves, they’d put the weight and stress of their problems onto your shoulders. A year later you had decided you were going to quit because you’d fallen in love with your boyfriend of a year and a half. You nearly did stop getting high, but then your boyfriend broke up with you, didn’t tell you you why, and then ghosted you.

3 days later he’d posted about his new girlfriend (he’d reassured you nothing was going on between them when you were together. The time stamp of the filtered picture told you and everyone else otherwise).

Kie wanted to spite the people who’d led to the walls you built around your heart.

You had guided Kie and Quincy back over to the other Pogues and Kie couldn’t help but cling to you that night. She didn’t like Quincy’s familiarity with you. It was kind of childish really but it’d been a while since you’d looked eager to interact with anybody who weren’t the Pogues. Kie’s heart skipped a beat when she realized how absolutely ok you were with her holding and touching you.

“Hey...(Y/N)?”

“Hmm..?”

The two of you were laying in her bed. The kegger had ended some time ago and though the two of you would’ve usually stayed at the Chateau with the boys, she’d decided she wanted to spend the rest of her night alone with you. She’d appreciated Quincy taking the two of you to her house.

“You really don’t think you’re going to get married?” she questioned quietly and she watched you open your eyes and look into her own.

“Hm...Yeah. Probably not,” you told her honestly.

“Why not?”

“...I don’t know. I don’t think I’d want to commit to someone that much. Plus...I don’t think anyone would wanna commit to being with me either.”

Kie would.

“But what if someone loves you...so so much, but you just won’t open yourself up to them? Would you really risk losing that before you even know it?”

You stayed silent at that. This was something that constantly went through your mind. sometimes you thought about those “what if” moments constantly. What if you’d given that boy a chance? Would you be in love with him now? Would the two of you be happy?

Yet you also thought: but maybe the two of you would be miserable instead. Maybe it would just lead to more pain.

“I don’t know if I could deal with being hurt because of love again.”

“...Ok...”

The two of you eventually drifted off to sleep. Kie’s chest hurt but she dreamt about kissing you.

Kie sometimes wished that she could be the one to bring your heart out of its hiding place. She wanted to be the person that you were willing to finally love. She wanted you to toss aside the risk of getting hurt because she’d make it clear to you that she would never hurt you.

JJ had gotten too high once, and had told her that you and him sometimes went to the dock and just sat there in silence. That the two of you would allow your worries to ease just by being beside one another and that you both knew that even without talking, or venting, or even smoking, you understood how JJ felt and JJ understood how you felt.

Kie wanted that.

She wished she didn’t have to push so hard for you to feel comfort in her, but she would continue pushing nonetheless. Despite how close the two of you were as friends, vulnerable moments were rare with you. 

“Kie, I need you to leave this alone ok? It’s seriously not any of your business,” you’d tried to shake her off and she only became angrier. The boys had shuffled out of the room the moment you’d walked in with Kie yelling at you.

She had went to pick you up and caught you snorting a line of...something, in your room.

“None of my business!? I can’t just let you hurt yourself like this (Y/N)!”

“Kie you smoke with me! Fucking weed is killing me just as much as any other drug would! If you cared so much then don’t cherry pick what you decide to care about!”

“Don’t ever tell me how I feel!”

“God you’re not my fucking mom Kie, just stop!”

“No (Y/N)!”

You’d stormed off after that argument. Out of all the people in your life you thought Kie would be the last person the chastise you for anything you did. You thought she understood. Kie felt terrible when you didn’t come around to the Chateau or even talk to her and the Pogues for the rest of the day. Kie’s heart was in your hands and you were squeezing.

The next day, Kie had bursted into your room crying.

“You can’t be mad at me for just wanting you to be ok...” she sobbed and you held her tight to you. 

“I know Kie, I know. I’m sorry,” you mumbled into her hair before you gave her a kiss on the forehead. She pulled back to look at you and she took in the worried expression on your face. She was hyper aware of the feeling of your thumbs stroking her cheek. Kie shut her eyes and leaned forward to press her lips onto yours.

Her heart broke into a million pieces when you gasped and backed away.

“Oh my god...” Kie sobbed and stood from where the two of you had clung to each other on your bed, “I’m sorry-I just..I’m gonna go-” 

You couldn’t say a word as you watched Kie rush out of your room.

“Fuck!” she yelled before the door slammed shut.

part 2...?

[bestchar-imagines]

Why post nsfw then if you're a minor... get off of social media

yall just BEGGING for me to rant huh

yes. im a minor. and yes. i post nsfw

im completely fine with adults interacting, just do not ask me nsfw questions about myself. asking me what a kink means (ex. "sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, but what does dumbification mean?") is perfectly okay. just do not ask me personal nsfw questions (ex. "How often do you masturbate?" "Have any sex toys?")

asking my muse nsfw questions about on roleplay blogs is fine. because you're not asking me. it's a muse.

i have been through horrible, horrible things. do you think im just going to show myself off out there just for the hell of it? no.

yeah, i've also posted nsfw things on other accounts.. like my self-ship and spam one. but keep in mind that im only 15, im still growing and going through body changes. im going to have hormones, and unless i dont have access to the media, i'm going to express myself in one way or another.

sure some things i say can be TMI at times, but then there's always the choice to unfollow and block. or you can ask me to put tws/cws on that thing. id tag it. and id tag future posts like that as well.

hypersexuality is something that ive been going through for years. do you think that a teenager is just going to.. hold back on these urges for years upon years upon years?

i use writing as a way of coping, and one of the things i write just so happens to be NSFW, one of my favorite things to write. so what am i gunna do? i'm going to write it.

there's no other (healthy) way for me to cope in the household im in. its a shock i even have this cope in the first place, but if it works. it works. im sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, but if that's the case, you're more then welcome to unfollow and block me.

[ushiwakaa]

𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’re a mangaka who draws from your own experiences to write your stories. your new editor disapproves this method.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: akaashi keiji x reader

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst, hanahaki au

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: suicidal thoughts/ideation, blood, vomit, major character death

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.2 k

𝐚/𝐧: this was written for the cheese cult’s hanahaki fic event !! djnfjdngjnjfnjnjngjn this took me so , so , so long to write because every version i wrote ended up hitting the same brick wall of unimaginable angst and believe it or not, this is probably the happiest version. i was supposed to post this two whole as days ago but hey , at least it happened

From over the cover of the fairytale he reads, the young boy boy peers at you with soft sage eyes — checking to see if you’re still awake. You are, but you’re careful to keep your eyes closed, face buried into the blanket. 

“The end,” the young boy finishes softly, closing his book.

He gingerly places the book to the side before sliding in next to you under the covers. You can feel his eyes on you for another moment before he takes a deep breath — there’s a secret, a confession, something on the tip of his tongue. 

You never hear it.

You wake up with a start, a cough half-way up your throat. You cough and cough and cough until the first bud breaks air, tickling the back of your throat. You reach your fingers into your mouth and pull. 

Bitterly, you stare at the withering bouquet in your hands. 

The flowers are wet with your saliva — only a hint of blood coating the white of the petals. 

When you went to the doctor about it, she said you were lucky. She said that your flowers were so small, you could go your entire life with an unrequited love and they would leave your respiratory system alone. She also added, no doctor in their right mind would perform a removal surgery on a person who was more likely to die on the table, then by their illness. 

While cultivating roses would be painful, at least it would be a quick death.

Like every other day, you toss out the pathetic string of baby’s breath in the garbage bin as you head into the washroom to wash out your mouth. 

You get off of the train at a quarter to ten — thankfully on time for your meeting. 

Kaori gives a friendly smile when you enter her office. Even behind her desk, you can see her burgeoning belly. Despite pushing eight months into her pregnancy, she beams. In her smile, she wears the name brand brightness that they all share — the people with a requited love, that is. The lucky ones whose flowers weren’t fed with misery and tears.

You try your best not to resent her but your jealousy bleeds when you sit in the glossy, apple green chair.

“How are you?” Kaori asks, her gentle eyes watching you.

You give a vague shrug, a small smile. “Sad that this is it.”

She’s pleased by this answer, giving a laugh. It reminds you of blue bells rustling in the wind. “I’ll be back and ready to work on your next series before you know it.”

You give an empty chuckle.

There’s a knock at the door and you both look. A man stands in the doorway — staring at Kaori dryly. His plain neutrals are out of place in her bright office but her brightness doesn’t flicker as she waves him in. You play with the sleeve of your severely drab cotton blouse as you wonder if that’s how you look here. 

“Akaashi! Glad you could make it.” 

He gives a slight bow to Kaori first, then you. You stop fiddling with your sleeve and return the bow while seated. He takes a seat in the chair opposite to you (Kaori dubbed it the pineapple throne after its piss yellow hue). He’s too tall for it. It’s almost comical. You might write that in for one of your characters.

“(Y/N), this is Akaashi Keiji. Akaashi, this is (L/N) (Y/N).” She turns to you. “He will be taking over as your editor for the last volume while I’m on maternity leave.” 

You look over at him — “Akaashi… Keiji?” 

At an arm's length, you can see the gentle slope of his nose and the delicate curl of the eyelashes that frame the muted green of his eyes. There’s something that’s strangely familiar about him but you can’t put your finger on it. You know him. You don’t know how, but you do.

“I look forward to working with you.”

You smile, but at the back of your throat, you can feel a familiar itch beginning to grow.

Despite the connection your body draws to him, Akaashi doesn’t show any recognition in return. 

He taps his pen lightly on the paper. “What’s going on here? What’s your plan for this girl?”

You peer over the desk to look at the character on trial — the panel shows the short haired girl spewing forget-me-nots into the trash bin. Immediately, you frown. It’s annoying that he doesn’t know her name. She is literally one of three main characters.

“Konoka?” You settle back into your seat. “She’s going to die.”

He looks up at you. “I gathered that much, but why?”

If the robot says it, it really must not make sense but then again, you doubt he even understood the nuances of the series if he couldn’t even remember Konoka’s name. “Because she has Hanahaki Disease.”

“Okay, but —” if you hadn’t been growing annoyed by his flat tone, you might’ve swooned at the softness, “forget-me-nots are small. She couldn’t possibly die of Hanahaki.”

“That’s why she kills herself.”

He’s silent for a moment, calculating his next words. “...You realize that she’s one of your most beloved characters, right? Your readers don’t want to see her die like that.”

“This is the trajectory the story has been on since she and Tanaka met again.” Your tone is more charged than you intend, but you can’t help but defend Konoka’s decision fiercely. “She has to commit suicide. It’s the only way she can move on.”

“Yes, but Kanoka—”

Pointedly, you cut him off, “Thank you for your opinion but I refuse to compromise on that.” 

He purses his lips. “I sincerely ask you to reconsider.”

“I will not compromise my artistic integrity for your comfort.”

“Killing characters off isn’t profound. It isn’t always necessary.”

“In this case, it is.” Your cheeks burn red as you stand up for yourself — this fight is on a personal level. “I’m not killing her for shock value. I’m killing her because every night, Konoka dreams about Tanaka, and everyday, she wakes up and throws up flowers because she knows he doesn’t love her back. I’m killing her because there’s no one else for her. I’m killing her because the flowers won’t and that — that’s more painful.”

The silence in the aftermath of your rant is deafening. He says nothing to you for another moment, staring into the smoulder of your eyes with a calculating stare. It might be a mistake to appeal to the emotional aspect of it — after all, you sort of doubt he has any at this point — but, at the root of it, that’s what it is: an emotional problem.

“Fine,” he says. “You still have to redo this panel, though.”

Your mouth burns with a minty tang as you walk back into your room — drawn over by the buzzing sound of your ringer. Looking at the caller I.D., you have half a mind to throw it across the room and get back under the covers. 

But, with all the professionalism you can muster at nine in the morning, you say, “Hello?”

“Are you finished with the second draft?” Akaashi’s flat drawl reverbs through the speaker.

You resist the urge to sigh. “Yes.”

“Can you come by the office to drop it off?”

“Today?” You scratch absently at your collarbone. “Uh… I can swing by tomorrow, but if you really need it today — you can pick it up from my apartment?” 

There’s silence on the other line — likely weighing the pros and cons. In the weeks you’ve worked under him, you’ve noticed that he does nothing without proper evaluation. 

“Is three o’clock alright?”

You’re in the middle of vacuuming when a knock at the door interrupts you. While you’re expecting it, you’re not any less annoyed. You open the door with a tight smile, manuscript already in hand. Akaashi gives a monotone greeting in his monotone clothes with his monotone face. 

“Hello. May I use your washroom?” 

You give a sigh as you open the door wider. “The door on the left.”

He enters your apartment, neatly putting his shoes by the door. You toss the manuscript back on the counter. You meant to send him on his way, but, because he’s already here, you put on a kettle to boil. 

“I sincerely hope you reconsider your plans.”

You turn around at the comment, looking at your editor with a raised brow. “I’m still killing Konoka.”

He’s a different person when you look at him. For once, there’s something behind his eyes — a sharpness to his gaze. That feeling returns — the one that sees flowers tickling at your trachea.

Gravely, he repeats. “I sincerely hope you reconsider your plans.” 

He must’ve seen your garbage bin. You feel ready to throw something else up now.

“Tell me about them,” Akaashi says.

“About who?”

“Whoever it is you’re willing to die for.”

“I…” You feel faint as you rub at your clavicle. “I don’t think you want to hear this.”

“That’s why I asked, isn’t it?” 

So you do. 

You swallow your pride as you tell him about the little boy you once knew. You tell him about the summer you didn’t leave each other’s side and how one day, while you were camping, you woke up next to him and he was coughing petals and buds and thorns. When his parents took him to the hospital, he never came back and you didn’t get to ask any questions before they moved away. 

You tell him that you started dying that day. That the doctors told your parents that the surgery was too risky for your age. That when you came back a few years later, they told you that it was still too risky when the chances of your death were slim. Some days are better than most, you tell him, but because you never stop thinking about him, you’ll never get better. 

It’s the same story that you are writing. 

Akaashi looks at you for a solemn moment, watching you with incredible disbelief. He’s going to call you an over-dramatic idiot for wanting to die over a childhood crush. If it wasn’t your reality, you’d agree with him too. What a stupid reason to die.

But then, he coughs. When he moves his hands from his mouth, both your stomachs drop while you stare in horror at the soft petal, sopping wet with his blood. 

His eyes widen the same time yours do. Immediately, the phone is in your hand, calling an ambulance.

He thinks he’s dying.

This feeling now, and the feeling from back then... They’re one in the same.

That night, you fell asleep facing him. Your button nose and dark lashes were illuminated by the glow created by his flashlight. It wasn’t until he peered over the cover of the book, he realized that you were knocked out cold.

“You’re so pretty,” he wanted to say.

Instead, a coughing fit seized him, which woke you in turn. He’d been complaining about a dry throat recently, so you disappeared to get him a water from the coolers outside of the tent. 

When you came back, the sleeping bag was littered with bloodied petals. The chilled bottle hit the floor as you gave a blood-curdling scream.

This time, when Akaashi wakes up in the hospital, he’s already coughing. In rapid succession, four blood-soaked petals of varying sizes, the round bud they were plucked from, and two thorns spew from his mouth. He looks at you, startled, more emotion than you’ve ever seen him exhibit. 

Your eyes are red rimmed and swollen.

Gently, you pick up the debris littering his lap and toss it into the garbage beside you. The thorns fall through the maze of baby’s breath you had also coughed up and hit the bottom of the bin with a dull thud. 

"Keiji?” you sniffle, your voice soft. “How do you feel?”

“Not good,” he answers. Akaashi chuckles but you can see the blood dribble from his mouth. You wipe at his chapped lips with a tissue.

“The doctor said to call him when you woke up. Let me just —” You feel dizzy as you stand, maybe a touch overwhelmed. “I’m going to go get him.”

There’s a minuscule tug at your hand. When you look down at Akaashi, he’s watching you. His eyes are still a faint shade of green, but there’s a new shine behind them.

“Can I tell you something first?” You hesitate for a second. Then, you nod. “I hope you reconsider your decision.” In the chaos of the past few hours, you had forgotten the matter that brought you here. “I want Konoka to choose herself over Tanaka. Even if she coughs up flowers everyday... I want her to live.”

You take Akaashi’s hand — large, smooth, and cold — in yours. “I can do that.”

“I know that it hurts, but she needs to know that means she’s alive.” You squeeze lightly as his words resonate within you. “I haven’t felt pain in a decade. But, that means I haven’t felt anything. Right now?” He gives you a small smile. “I’m more alive than I’ve ever been.”

Gently letting go of him, you say, “I’ll get you the doctor.” 

You wince when he coughs again — loud and wet. A confession in this final hour won’t do anything. The withered flowers have to come out somehow. 

Still, “I love you,” you try. 

He smiles weakly back at you. “I love you too.”

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @akaashichigo @drainedjaz @haikkeiji @annalyn-annalyn @mlkytobio @sosugasweet @cali-writes-sometimes @simping4ratsumu @shishinoya @from-left-to-write @akaashit-baeji  @kxgeyamasmilk @agaassi @hanibuni @cupofkenma  @kawanisshi @milk-n-writings @thiccbokuto @shinsukestan @sufiawrites @wakaitoshi @skyguy-peach @fern-writes-ig @briswriting @kawaiikraykray @bubbleteaa @miyuswriting @raevaioli @ouikarwa @hakueishirei @pineapplekween @estherwritess @keiji-n @achoohq​ @badlywritten-hq​ @mochibeaa​ @oinkanna​ @chxrry-wxne​ @spudicide​ @airybby​ @asranomical​ @karmasuna​

[owlespresso]

royal treatment / emet-selch

Consort!Reader/Solus zos Galvus My ko-fi is still open for donations. I write headcanons and drabbles in exchange for donos. https://ko-fi.com/owlespresso Commissions are also open! https://owlespresso.tumblr.com/post/186937812263/commissions-are-open  SPICY CONTENT below the read more. You have been warned.

The scent of rich incense curls into the air and twines around your robed form as you navigate the royal chambers. Quietly do you tiptoe around the grand canopy bed and the plush leather couches. In the distance, the entrance to Solus’s personal bathing chambers stands. It’s slightly ajar, steam curling into the air from the slight crack, hinting that it’s in use.

It seems Solus wants you to bathe with him, tonight. As the emperor’s constant companion, you are accustomed to seeing sides of him that he reveals to no one else… including his unabashed nudity.

Does he long for a more sexual touch tonight? Or will he simply be satisfied by the lone press of your bodies together.

A thrill shocks up your spine as you near the door, gently pushing them open. 

Steam already rests heavy in the room, obscuring your vision momentarily. Its moist warmth settles against your skin. The smell of sweet roses and chamomile clings to the air and floods your senses. One of his highnesses’s favorites.

The chamber is wide and composed mainly of stark, white marble. A hollowed out, square space in the center acts as the main bath, flooded with crystal clear water. Pillars stand firm on either side of the tremendous room, thick and engraved with intricate, decorative patterns. 

Red and pink petals drift aimlessly over the bath’s surface. A small station to the right holds shelves of towels and toiletries, as well as a rack to hang one’s robe. A table resting in the corner hosts a bevvy of drinks to pick from. Had you been alone, you likely would have perused the selection. 

“And here I was, thinking you forgot about little old me.” The emperor’s voice rings soft and sultry over the open space. He rests against the far edge, elbows resting atop the finely cut marble. The muscular stretch of his torso is held above the water, ilms of perfect skin on full display. He is a man chiseled from only the finest of stones, every curve and sharp plane honed to strict perfection. Though his years on the battlefield have long passed him, it’s clear he still takes care of himself. 

It’s a devotion you can’t help but admire. 

“I could never,” you insist gently, a smile curling the corners of your lips upwards. Just the sight of his bare chest is titilating to you, finally freed from its usual prison of the royal regalia. The thick, flowing garments that usually cover him from head to toe are mercifully absent, letting you know you’ll be able to enjoy his company to the fullest, tonight. “I hope you’re well, my lord.”

You shrug your shoulders, allowing your silken robe to slide from your body and collapse to the floor, a puddle of sleek fabric. You’re completely bare underneath it, nipples already hard, cunt beginning to moisten in anticipation for what’s to come.

“As well as one can be after a long day of dealing with the oh-so-noble court,” he sighs languidly and rests his chin atop the back of his fingers. “I fancied my days on conquering and bloodshed to be over, but perhaps I should bring the troops down south to conquer the rest of Corvos. T’would be a splendid excuse for a vacation.” His gaze drags over the stretch of your body, lingering on the curve of your hips and the soft curve of your chest.

“An invasion as a vacation?” you inquire with a raised brow.

“A vacation in comparison to the dry monotony of conversing with rich fools.” Solus huffs out a laugh.

“Perhaps you should give yourself some time to relax before you commit to that plan,” you say with a soft smile, wading into the warm depths. The water sloshes around your waist, a few of the crimson petals sticking to your skin. “Allow me to help you to relax. It’s the least I can do after all you’ve been put through, today. I imagine count Flavius really put your nerves through the wringer. He was ranting for hours yesterday about the new taxation policy, like he doesn’t have enough money already.”

Upon your approach, he moves from his lofty, lounged position. The water shifts around his steep form as he steps in your direction, arms outstretched. You steer yourself immediately into his embrace, hands resting atop the broad stretch of his chest. The smell of rose water tied with natural musk surrounds you, all too familiar and comforting. 

“As much as I appreciate your willingness to serve your emperor, I would much rather take the lead this time round. Let us use this time to unwind… and wash away the wretched stench of countess Leonus’s perfume.” He wrinkled his nose, eyebrows furrowing into a scowl. His lips set into a pout which you were unashamed to admire as cute. 

He shakes his head as though to clear the memory of it, reaching towards a porcelain dish perched close to the ledge of the bath. He grasped a pale soap bar, meticulously cut into the shape of a rose. The needlessness of it made the corners of your lips curl into a wry smile. Every piece, every belonging was touched by the wealthy’s incessant need to make every object in their house unique and ornate.

He pays no mind to it, instead lathering up his hands as you finally come to stand before him.

“Please, take a seat.” A soapy hand presses against the small of your back, urging you into his lap. You rest upon his thighs, hands perched atop the broad curve of his shoulders. Though this is a dance you knew the steps to, you could not suppress a sharp intake of breath, nor could you fight the sheepish warmth that coalesced in your face. His gaze, keen and searching, roamed from your eyes to your chest, making a grand sweep over your top half. “Truly a sight to die for.”

He emphasizes his point by bringing his hands over your chest, calloused palms and fingers rubbing against your sensitive nipples. They raise to firm peaks within mere moments. Your eyes shut, lips parting around a soft gasp. He leaves white suds in his wake, spreading the sweet scent across your skin. 

“Idle flattery will get you nowhere, your radiance.” Your voice comes out shakier than you’d like it. His flattery, you immediately come to find, will get him wherever he wants to be.

“Oh? Is that why you’re already putty in my hands?” he says with a scoff, giving your hips a pointed squeeze. At this point, it’s more about teasing you than washing you clean. You bathe before your nightly visits to him, he knows this well, and has likely memorized your schedule for the lone purpose of teasing you at the most optimal times.

“Guilty as charged,” you acquiesce with a little laugh. You can already feel the slick gathering hot and heavy between your thighs, cunt drenched with your anticipation. “I can’t hide anything from you, your radiance.”

“At last you realize how futile it is to try and hide from your emperor,” Solus presses kisses up and down the expanse of your throat. There’s no doubt he notices every subtle twitch, every little noise you make. The water sloshes around your midsection as he urges you further atop his lap. The tip of his hardened cock kisses the softness of your cunt. 

His palms slide to cup your bottom, fondly squeezing each cheek. His thumbs caress the supple skin in slow circles, another sensation to add to the blossoming pile of them. It’s a series of delicate but purposeful touches that leaves you breathless and wanting, those long fingers mapping your sides and worshipping your body. No ilm is left unattended, your body relaxing muscle by muscle as he descends upon you. 

Any and all prospects of getting clean are washed down the drain as you lose your common sense to lust, eyes shutting, allowing yourself to get caught up river’s torrent. He’s the pull of the tides, the twining of the dark water around your legs, tugging you towards the soft soil at the bottom of the stream.

“Solus,” you sigh, fingers running through lush, ebony locks. You pull on the strands ever so slightly, feel an inkling of satisfaction as he softly moans against your collarbone. 

“Mmm?” he purrs in response. His long fingers curl around your right breast, giving it a pointed squeeze. Your back arches instinctually, gaze lifted towards the domed ceiling. His lips dance across the other, tongue rasping over your other nipple. He gently teases the firm bud with his teeth, before his lips wrap around it. The molten beginnings of your pleasure lap at your seated form, toes and fingers curling at the growing intensity.

He gives it a firm suck, the light press of teeth tearing a surprised gasp from you. He plays at the other with long fingers, squeezing and twisting it. He grants you no reprieve even as he releases your breast with lewd pop.

“Whatever is it that you want from me, my lovely? I cannot give you what you want unless you tell me.”

“Fuck me,” you plead, warm breath brushing against his ear. The shiver that rolls down his spine in response does not escape you. The tips of your nails run over his shoulders, causing goosebumps to spread over that vulnerable, pale skin. You every trick, touch him everywhere you can in order to elicit more of a reaction. If you know anything about Solas, it’s his unfortunate penchant for teasing. And at this point, when your mind is solely on pleasure, you’ll do anything to speed the process up.

“No, no,” he coos soothingly, “You’ll get your satisfaction later, my love. But for now, allow me to savor the privilege of your company.”

“All the flowery language in the world won’t satisfy me as much as your coc—” you feebly begin to reprimand him, in the middle of your weak scolding, he made a pointed roll of his hips. The heated length of his cock rolls exquisitely along your sodden folds. The sudden jolt of pleasure made your head loll back, a gasp wrenched from your weak throat. 

“Why waste your time on words when you could be making such beautiful noises for me?” Solus croons mockingly, his touch wandering back up to your chest. Calloused hands press to your hardened nipples, the course texture making your back arch all over again, too winded to offer a competent reply.

There’s little else you can do but squeal and croon and writhe atop him.

“There we go. Was that so hard?” he spares you no quarter, the honey-coated words striking hardest when you have almost no way to retort. His fingers find home between your legs, beginning to tease your arousal-slicked cunt. He barely presses into your entrance, eyes shut, head tilting to the side as you roll your hips. The hand not pulling pulse after pulse of arousal from the crux of your legs spans across the full size of your hip, holding you in place.

He drinks his fill of you, kiss after greedy kiss pressed to your soft lips. He pries your pleasure from you, works your body as a master musician works a violin, fingers dancing along thin strings. Your clit twitches with each fine note of pleasure, working you towards a warm release despite his intention to draw it out.

As though sensing the incoming climax, his touches halt. 

“Solus!” you near scream, fixing him with an incredulous stare. Your hands feebly press to his shoulders, your bottom lip caught underneath your teeth. Your hips immediately begin to wiggle and squirm, desperately attempting to grind atop one of his broad thighs. “Please, can we—”

“Hush, sweetling,” Solus cajoles, fingertips dancing up and down your sides. “You’ll receive your pleasure in due time. Bear with me until then. Trust that your beloved emperor will take care of all your needs.” 

How can you not, when he dominates you so sweetly? A shudder rolls up your spine, eyes sliding shut as you melt into his touches and embrace. He completes you, builds you up and tears down when he sees fit, a splendid cycle you immerse yourself in completely. 

It’s impossible to tell how long you spend in the baths. Your world zeroes down to him and him alone. 

He teases you to near orgasm at least twice more, leaving your pink folds agonizingly sensitive. Your cunt twitches when his fingers tease your inner thighs. Had the warm waters not surrounded your lower half, your cunt would have been utterly soaked with your juices. Your chest heaves up and down with each heavy breath, your torso slick with sweat.

“You’ve done so well,” Solus praises. His hands wander downwards, long fingers pressing to the soft flesh of your ass, urging your legs around his waist. Your heels press to the small of his back, weak arms clinging onto him for dear life. “A pitch perfect performance.”

The head of his cock presses snuggly against your sodden folds. It’s enough to coax another moan out of you, made to sing for his majesty as he makes the long slide in. His thick member throbs against your walls as he splits you open. His girth leaves not an inch of you wanting, pressing against every nook and cranny that demands his attention. He fills you to the brim, satisfies you in a way no man ever has or will again.

Tears blur the pale creams and yellows of your surroundings as he takes you. 

“Oh, what are those tears for?” Solus taunts. Plush lips brush against your wet cheeks. Fondness drips from his voice, a hand wandering south. “Are you really so desperate for release? You poor thing.” His voice curls with mock sympathy, as though he hadn’t driven you to this state in the first place. You have half a mind to tell him as much, but the sudden rock of his hips knocks the coherency out of you.

“Is that better?” His long fingers span the length of your hips, squeezing the flesh underneath his palms.

“Do you really have to ask?”–is what you want to say, but all you can manage is a hasty nod. Your eyes fall shut as he begins a sharp, relentless pace. The gentle caution he had spent so long teasing you with vanished in a mere moment, replaced by the domineering emperor foreign territories had grown to hate and fear. Each thrust is consummated by a new, overwhelming wave of pleasure. Your orgasm is brought closer at a faster rate thanks to prior teasing, made putty and limp in his hands.

Finally, at last, your orgasm washes over you. The space behind your eyelids goes bright white, your body trembling and writhing helplessly against the broad stretch of his chest. Your nails feebly catch against his snowy skin, blindly scrambling for purchase.

He fucks you through it, because of course he does. There’s not a drop of mercy to be found within his ragged thrusts. His hot breath brushes against the shell of your ear in the form of pants and growls, for even he cannot keep his veneer of kingly arrogance. He loses his rhythm, his hips jackhammering into your center. He blindly seeks his pleasure, and in a few moments, he finds it.

His hot essence coats your walls, cock hitting the deepest point inside of you. The sheer sensation of it makes every of your limbs quake, wrenches a gasp from your scream-raw throat. 

Silence settles between you, besides your own haggard panting. You pull breath after breath into your weary lungs. You haven’t even regained your bearings when he begins to stand, arms wrapped around you tight. The cold stings against your lower half as he lifts you from the water, easily stepping out of the bath from the elevated bench.

“Twas a grand performance,” he murmurs into your hair, pulling back to press a delicate kiss to your forehead. “I would say you’ve earned your fair share of rest. Allow me to take care of the cleanup.”

Easy, you think to yourself, thumping your head to rest against his shoulder. Your eyes shut, and the fatigue that has settled among inside your limbs drags you into a state of light dozing.

[hale-13]

Happy FanFic Writer Friday!

Can you give us three of the most angsty and three of the fluffiest fanfics/one-shots you have along with sharing a few lines from them? They can either be a posted story or wip you're working on :) 

Happy (beyond late because I have been a hot mess recently) FFWF! <3

So sorry this took so long - I wanted to give it the time it deserved and, since my job consists of staring at a dog in an O2 cage all night, I happen to have plenty of time! For the sake of everyone’s dash, I’ve added a cut below :)

Angsty

99.99% of what I write is angst so this is a little difficult but lets put this from least to most (in my opinion anyway lol)

Slipping Through the Cracks

“Better if he leaves you now,” a little voice in his head whispered. “It’s better to be alone.” And maybe at one point he would have fought against that mindset but now he couldn’t help but agree. Peter destroyed everything he touched and everyone around him was doomed for misery. Better for Ned to get out while he could.

Caliber

I’m not going to share any lines from this as it may be triggering to some. I’ve wanted to cover gun violence for a long time - I don’t often get political on the internet/in my fics but this is a cause I believe in strongly. I could get on a massive rant about common sense gun regulations and how America is failing our youth but I’ll spare you. This fic is not the best and it was hard for me to read through again and again to proof it but I plan on revisiting it at a later point to improve it some.

Crimes of Opportunity

Peter wakes up with a gasp that quickly disintegrates into a series of painful coughs. His entire body aches and pulses like a giant bruise and his chest feels like its on fire. When he’s finally able to kind of catch his breath he tries to look around. Wherever he is is pitch black. The distinct smell of rot surrounds him and he shivers. He’s on his side, crammed in an uncomfortable position with something cold and damp resting over his legs and against his back.

He tries to shift his legs, tries to move the weight off of them and feels it shift sickeningly against his bare calves, the sound of skin brushing skin echoing in the small space and Peter gags in realization.

“Not right now,” he tells himself as bile rises, burning his esophagus and the back of his tongue before he can swallow it down. “You can’t right now.”

He should have listened to Tony, Peter realizes, and it may be one of the biggest regrets of his life. He should have listened when Tony told him to stay out of it.

“If I get out of here,” he bargains with himself, “If I get out of here.”

Fluff

Ugh this was the hard part! I have very little fluff so I’m picking my fav fluffy scenes in no particular order :)

We Can’t Have Faith for Everybody - Chapter 9

“I trust you,” Peter’s voice is still a little hoarse and he’s sure his own eyes are red rimmed but he does trust and believe her.

MJ suddenly lets out a snort of laughter and grabs his other hand in hers, leaning in to peck him on the lips. “We have this whole penthouse to ourselves with no parental supervision and we’re literally crying in the doorway,” she cackles out and Peter starts laughing with her, both of them a little hysterical and leaning on each other for support as they crack up. It takes a few minutes for it to die down to giggles but they do eventually collect themselves. Peter pulls her in the direction of the living room.

“Want to watch The Office and make out?” He asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and causing Michelle to laugh at him again.

“Duh loser,” she answers with a smile.

The Softest of Endings

As the intro to Finding Nemo started, Tony reached over to snake his arm around Peter’s shoulders to carefully pull him into his side. Peter went willingly and then went nearly boneless when Tony threaded his fingers into Peter’s hair and started untangling it. They watched the movie in silence for a bit, Peter resting more and more into Tony’s side before it fell asleep – all before the school of fish even went on their field trip.

Tony continued to massage Peter’s head as the movie played quietly in the background and couldn’t help but think about how lucky he was to have the kid in his life. Sure, Peter had definitely shaved a few years of his life and was the reason his hair stylist still had a job but Tony wouldn’t trade it for anything. And, as much as he may bitch, the recovery may be his favorite part. Days spent lounging around watching movies and cuddled up with his kid?

Heaven.

Repressing the urge to grin, Tony leant over and gave Peter and gentle kiss on the side of the head before relaxing back and letting his own eyes slip shut. An afternoon nap sounded just about perfect to him.

Conditioned

Tony let out a soft chuckle, squirting a healthy dollop of the shampoo into his hands and lathering it up before applying it to Peter’s hair, working through the snarls and tangles with care and scrubbing the leftover blood out of the curls. Peter went nearly boneless under his ministrations and Tony would definitely be lying if he said he didn’t milk the washing and conditioning portion at least a little bit. He knew that Peter had to be feeling pretty miserable and it settled something buried deep inside him to provide just a little extra comfort.

All too soon, though, he had rinsed out the last of the conditioner leaving Peter’s hair clean and dripping as he turned off the water. Peter made no move to get up or to open his eyes, breathing deeply and seemingly on the very verge of sleep, so Tony grabbed one of the towels and started to wring the extra water out of the kid’s hair, running the towel through it cautiously. “Just need you to sit up for a second here kiddo okay? Then you can nap, scout’s honor.”

Sorry this took so long!!

[panharmonium]

Stiles?

[disclaimer for other folks before I start this one: I HAVE ONLY WATCHED SEASONS 1-4 OF TEEN WOLF.  I *am* going to finish it, and I have been carefully avoiding spoilers for anything past Season 4, including general impressions of whether or not people like various seasons, comparisons of quality between seasons, etc.  PLEASE do not reply to this post or talk to me about Teen Wolf unless you are scrupulously avoiding ALL discussion of seasons 5-6.  Thank you!]

First impression:

Positive!  I already have a weak spot for smart, witty side characters, so I liked him from the start.  But I didn’t get super interested in him until the episode with the parent-teacher conference - the sequence where each parental group is having a conversation with a different teacher and something is revealed about each of the kids is actually what got me hooked on Teen Wolf as a whole.  Before that, I’d been kind of casually interested in all the characters, but then the show turned around and was like, “hey, remember the character tropes we set you up for with these kids?  SURPRISE, WE’RE SMARTER THAN THAT!  EVERY SINGLE OF THESE CHARACTERS IS FULLY ROUNDED AND FLESHED OUT AND DOESN’T FIT IN A BOX.”

The whole way that sequence is edited is just fantastic.  How it cuts between what the teachers are saying and what the kids are doing at that moment - amazing.  The minute I heard about Jackson’s adoption/Scott’s missing dad/Stiles’s mom/Lydia’s intelligence + her parents’ separation, I was a goner for that show.  

Impression now:

Love him.  It’s hard for me to say “favorites” with Teen Wolf, because I really do adore every single character.  But he’s one of my favorites. XD

Favorite moment:

Way too many.  One of the smaller moments that I really love with him is during 3A when they’re trying to escape with Cora from the hospital, and they’re exiting the ambulance, and Stiles stops midway out and the scene kind of slows down as he stares at the intake form hanging on the ambulance door, because he just saw the signature line that said “Parent/Guardian” and he’s figuring out that Jennifer isn’t actually aiming for “warriors” right now, she’s aiming for “guardians.”  And then he takes off running, because he knows Jennifer’s going to go for Melissa.

I love the way that entire scene was cut, and the way they start playing this song as he begins to figure it out, and the way everything else slows down and the world falls away as realization sets in.  I just really love seeing how smart he is - his brain is always working, even when they’re in the middle of a crisis.  Like Lydia says, “You’re the one who always figures it out.”

Speaking of Lydia - another favorite Stiles moment is at the dance in 1.11, when he tells her he knows how smart she really is and that she’s going to "write some insane mathematical theorem that wins [her] the Nobel Prize.”  I just - I will legitimately go to the mat over lazy, provably incorrect takes that try to argue that Stiles was just immaturely idolizing the “image” of a girl he thought was pretty.  The entire point of their relationship is that Stiles has always seen past the airhead image Lydia puts on to survive their high school jungle - he doesn’t shame her for putting it on, but he doesn’t lie to her about believing the act, either.  He knows she’s a genius.  He admires her so much.  He thinks she’s the coolest damn person in the world.

[^Someday I will type up the infuriated rant that rises in me every time I see some unbearably misguided take on Stiles’s relationship with Lydia falling into the “Nice Guy (TM)” category (when it is canonically the EXACT OPPOSITE), because every time I see someone say that I get the urge to start breaking stuff.]

Idea for a story:

Oh, boy.  Well, I have about 50k of unpublished Teen Wolf fic (from both Stiles and Allison’s POV) on my computer, which was all part of a massive two-part project that in retrospect I think was maybe a little too ambitious for me at the time.  I’m not abandoning it, because I love what I’ve written so far, but it needs to be seriously re-worked before it can be continued.

Ultimately, the project was my answer to some things about 3B that I found unsatisfying on a storytelling front, but it was a bigger thing than I could pull off successfully at that stage of my writing life.  I’ve been getting a lot more experience with longfic and plotting from my Merlin work, though, so I think once I pivot back to Teen Wolf I’ll be better placed to tackle this project.

Unpopular opinion:

If there’s anybody here who ships the Big Teen Wolf Ship, you’ll probably want to go ahead and scroll on by this bit.

I have generally been very diligent about avoiding the TW fandom, just because I’m still avoiding spoilers for the seasons 5 and 6, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been, uh...exposed to way more information about its ship distribution than I ever wanted to know.  And I remain BAFFLED about why it looks the way it looks.

I say this every time this topic comes up, but there are some ships that I just don’t care for, and then there are some ships that I literally cannot comprehend where on earth they came from.  Derek/Stiles is a ship where I can’t understand where it came from.  It squicks me so badly.  Literally just the tiniest glimpse of it makes me want to crawl out of my skin.  

I don’t know if people just...don’t understand that Derek is canonically in his twenties?????  Or if they’re all fast-forwarding the timeline and aging Stiles up; I don’t know.  I’ve never investigated.  But I don’t understand why this ship ever even occurred to anyone.  I don’t get it.  I was teaching high school when I was Derek’s age.  There is NOTHING romantically compatible between a 16 year-old and a 22/23 year-old, in any non-fucked up version of reality.  

So there’s the grossed-out factor, for me, and then there’s also just the fact that this ship is yet another example of fandom’s inability to read any relationship with a fascinating, complex dynamic as anything other than romantically-motivated, despite the fact that a romantic relationship is indisputably NOT present in the canon.

Anyway.  I could say more about this, but ultimately I’m a “you do you” person.  I’m not going to bother anyone for shipping this, and I don’t care what people do with their own fandom time.  But my personal unpopular opinion is that Derek/Stiles is the most bizarre, textually unsupported, squicky ship I’ve ever seen.

Favorite relationship:

Stiles and Scott, Stiles and Lydia, Stiles and Allison, Stiles and Melissa.  And STILES AND HIS FATHER.  

Favorite headcanon:

This is WAY old, but to pull from an ancient post: a friend and I used to talk about the Great Flu Epidemic of 2005, which brought down the entire McCall-Stilinski clan over the course of a single weekend and which has never been definitively traced back to its source. To this day, the four of them still argue about who brought it home first.

Stiles does a science project on it in the fourth grade and on the one hand his teacher is actually impressed and relieved that Stiles was finally able to focus on something long enough to finish an assignment, but when little Scott McCall keeps interrupting Stiles’s presentation to present contrasting evidence it turns into a Production of Epic Proportions and the class gets too riled up to focus on anyone else’s projects.  

The call home that time is basically like:

Mrs. Gordon: “So the good news is this project was surprisingly well-researched - ”

Papa Stilinski: “Oh, god.”

[nightingiall]

quarantine fic rec in honor of 1daaw

hi, friends! 

it’s been so long since i actually sat down and read fic and what better time to catch up on all of these wonderful writings than when we’re all stuck at home. over the past few weeks i’ve been slowly compiling this list, and while i haven’t even made a dent in my to-reads, i decided to post what i have so far in honor of 1daaw. as i read more over the next few weeks since we’ll still be stuck at home, i will try to compile more fic rec lists as i feel like this is a great way to show some love to my favorite stories and authors. i haven’t had a chance to reach out to all these amazing writers to tell them how much i love these stories, so if you’re on here, take this as my official love letter to you. 🥰

niall fics:

and they’ll hang us in the louvre by @in-madhouses​ 

there is SO MUCH about this fic that i absolutely fell in love with. the enemies to lovers trope, the characters, the plot, and the absolutely fantastic writing are all to die for. basically, niall and his friends (aka some of the 1d boys) are actors on a television adaptation of the marauders (so already i’m like !!!!!!) and aahna is a recurring guest star on the show. the two of them just grate at each others’ nerves the whole time they have to shoot together and it’s all quick-witted banter and heated moments and exquisite characterization. aahna is unapologetically herself, not afraid to tell it like it is (the rant about the neocolonialism of southeast asian cuisine in the prologue was the best thing ever) and she’s definitely up there as one of my favorite OFCs of all time. 

this story is witty and fun and a perfect light-hearted read. inm is such a gorgeous writer and some of the lines in this story read like poetry. i literally found myself stopping on multiple occasions and going wow. honestly, what a treat. inm also has a self-isolation drabble series that i’ve been meaning to get into and i can’t wait to start reading that as well. 

but oh, my heart still burns by @houseofbrokenhearts​ 

as i started to read this story, i had the biggest smile on my face. it begins with shane and niall as young, inseparable best friends and continues on into their adulthood in which things get complicated, as they always do in these scenarios. it’s nostalgic and innocent and sort of whimsical. i laughed at the part where shane is upset at not getting a cell phone when niall does because it reminded me of being a kid in a similar situation. also the scenes where they reunite after years of being apart? impeccable. 

this story has beautiful writing. i felt as though i could feel every emotion as shane was feeling them, and once i started i just couldn’t put this down. it has not been updated in a while which, as a writer who has also left her fics only to update months or years later, i understand that life gets in the way or we may lose motivation or whatever. but, whatever the future holds for this story, i just want to put it out there that i so so so adore it, and niall and shane are one of those fic pairings that i will possibly never stop thinking about. 

why did we climb and fall so far by @niallismymuse​

first of all, holy shit. when i finished reading this i literally sobbed my eyes out and then laid in bed staring at the ceiling for an hour. this fic is only four chapters and it made me feel so many things. at points, i was looking at my screen with heart eyes because niall and ellie are so in love and then i was laughing because their banter is the cutest and then all of a sudden i’m getting my fucking heart broken. 

second, i think it’s a testament to how wonderful a writer shelly is to be able to elicit these emotions so powerfully, taking us all on a rollercoaster of intense feelings. the prose on this is just phenomenal and there were lines that absolutely took my breath away. i am so picky with what i read sometimes because fiction has this ability to take you places you may not be prepared to go (definitely a trigger warning on this for heavy themes), but i am so happy i found this because it was such beautiful writing. i can’t even begin to imagine the energy and emotional willpower it must have taken to write this, so to shelly, thank you for sharing your words with us. this story is definitely one i won’t be forgetting anytime soon, and i can’t wait to dive into the rest of your stories. 

harry fics:

matchmaking for experts by @booksncoffee​

eriza is one of the most prolific writers of the 1dff community and her consistency and drive is something i enormously admire. this story is just one of many really fantastic ones from her and i urge everyone to go check out her masterlist--you won’t be disappointed. 

but anyway, back to matchmaking for experts--it’s only one chapter in and i am already hooked. there is so much to unpack in just one installment: harry’s apparent tense relationship with his father, the colorful workplace environment of the matchmaking service, the slight mutual pining between maia and harry that i anticipate will only grow as this story goes on and i am hype for it. i’m right there with the rest of the matchcierge staff in lowkey giving maia and harry’s relationship the side eye and rooting for them. all in all, it’s a fantastic beginning. eriza, you are so talented, and i can’t wait to see where this story goes. 

rumor has it by @stylishmuser​

first off, p is wonderful and brilliant and she deserves all the praise in the world. this story is the perfect collision of my two favorite worlds (bollywood and 1d) and i absolutely adore it so far. i don’t even think i have enough words to describe how much i love this story and its characters. literally, if ishika were a real person i’d want to protect her with my whole life. her characterization and history are crafted so so well; she’s vulnerable and strong and determined. i can’t wait to watch how she grows throughout this story. 

also, there are moments that literally have me staring at my screen with the biggest heart eyes: ishika making harry taste pani puri, harry being so soft and gentle with her at the beach and at her fitting, the pining. i am literally so in love. p also writes this story with such care and precision that it shows. it is so intricately crafted with so many layers and is just such a pleasure to read. she also updates so often that i am in awe of her drive. i have to dive into the rest of her stories, which i know are absolutely amazing even if i haven’t read them yet, and i’m looking forward to that as well. p, what a beautiful story. i can’t wait to see where it goes. 

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i know there are so many more fics that i need to read and i’m always taking recs in my inbox. until then, happy reading, and don’t forget to send some love to these authors when you’re done!