#like i wrote this a half hour ago and it shows but i’ve yet to go a day without posting and i refuse to lose that streak 😩

[avaf00rd]

Behind the scenes

Leah Williamson x matildas!reader

Tiny little blurb I wrote last minute as I rewatched the show

“Hello you” you grinned as you opened the front door, a smiley Leah behind it with her large suitcase and England hoodie on. The Disney plus camera crew behind you. Pretending as if Leah had just gotten home from England camp and you hadn’t seen her yet. Well she had, about an hour ago though.

You grabbed the suitcase from her hand, and pulled her in from her other free wrist, placing a short kiss on her lips and hugging her tight. “How was it?” You asked excitedly whilst you both made your way to your living room.

“Yeah really good, great to see everyone” your girlfriend explained to you leaning against the large book case near your couch. “Plane was quicker than I thought though, only like an hour and a half”

The camera still following both of you “oh yeah wow that’s not bad at all”

“Suppose I had it a bit better than you travel wise” she chuckled, folding her arms now. Nothing to your 20 hours of travel to and from Australia for your own international camp.

“Certainly” you laughed back with Leah.

“Ladies that was actually really great for a first take so we probably won’t need to do that again. We’ll now just get you both on the couch so we can talk to you both” one of the members of the camera said, holding a clip board and directing his crew to your living room

Leah sat down on the shared couch with you following suit behind. Plopping down next to your girlfriend as she put an arm around you, legs intertwined at the end of the couch.

“You guys wanna stay like this for the clips?-“

“Yes” you nodded fast, as people in the room laughed at your certainty.

“Leah can you tell me a bit about y/n. Like how she is as a person but also a teammate?” The same man asked from behind the camera. They would get her answers and these shots for the docu-series.

It be out on Disney plus just months before the World Cup begins, to help Australia get more of an insight into their team and the players

Leah looked down at you, as you shot her a smile before she started “y/n is such a hard worker. I’ve never met anyone like her. Very funny person to have a laugh with…or laugh at” she nodded

You rolled your eyes “saw that coming”

Leah did one of her wide smiles where her cheeks would go so high and her nose would scrunch up which made you melt completely, “so leading onto that she’s a bit clumsy”

“Not all the time” you mumbled

“Everyone at Arsenal calls her the princess though. Because she’s just the sweetheart of the team, who cares about her team so so much and we get to see that every day here in London” you smiled to yourself as you looked down at the couch while Leah spoke about you to the cameras

“Do you just completely hate this?” Leah laughed

“No keep going” you nodded, making her laugh. Leah often got the sense you got all flustered and embarrassed when she spoke about you so well, to other people when you are in the room.

“Y/n what’s it like getting to train each day and play games with your partner?” The producer asked me

“Yeah I’m extremely blessed, I would say, to be able to basically spend every hour of the day with her. And to put on the Arsenal badge and play for our fans with my favourite person is a bit of a win each weekend for me”

“We’re assuming you two meet through Arsenal?” He asked

“Yeah we met at Arsenal when I transferred back in 2019. And then I went on loan to Barca for a season, but then…yeah I came back-“

“And then y/n asked me out!” Leah cut you off with a grin

“Um okay it was kind of you” you looked up at her with a shake of your head.

“Kinda both of us in a way?” Leah shrugged to camera. Which you just shook your head, to said camera.

“They aren’t gonna understand that” you pointed with both arms to the camera, you and Leah now giggling. You both said a few more things they had asked you before the filming stopped.

“Thanks girls! We will see you tomorrow afternoon for more shots, have a great night, hope we didn’t take up too much of your time” a different lady had said now, as she helped her crew pack up some small equipment.

“Not at all!”

————————————————————————

Being one of the few people in your Matilda’s squad who had been apart of the team for over 11 years, you had been in quite a few scenes in the docu-series. Alongside Steph Catley, Sam Kerr, Caitlin Foord, and more. You got the opportunity to talk about your family’s background in the sport and growing up with the Matilda’s, as well as preparations to win the World Cup.

This morning you had done some scenes at the training centre for your club, along with Cait and Steph as you all talked about playing for Arsenal.

The cameras were with you once again, as Now Leah sat on a small picnic blanket in your local park, late afternoon, where you would often bring your dog, Denny, you were trying to get him to run with the ball at his fist like he was about to shoot.

Leah threw her head back laughing hysterically as you fell over your feet once again, tripping on your own dog, in another attempt to get him to play football. “It’s not going to work” she shouted

“He’ll do it Leah just wait!” You shouted back laughing as you kept trying. When you made it back to the picnic blanket, you did what you were asked to do by the crew which was talk about playing each other in the World Cup.

“I always say it but I really really hope both our teams make it to the final, but I don’t think I could handle versing you in a heated game like that”

“You do it all the time though. We’ve had so many heated games against each other”

“Yeah but a World Cup final though…Hopefully one of us will be out by then” Leah shrugged, looking at you from her position on the rug with her knees tucked to her chest

“Hopefully England” you shrugged back

“No I was joking. I hope both teams are” she laughed once again.

“I think the friendly coming up against England just before the World Cup should be good.” You said as Leah nodded “Most players who will be in the World Cup squad should hopefully be in there so we get a full feel of not just the other team but hopefully our own squads”

“Yeah for sure” Leah said

“I can sense you two have a small rivalry in your own house hold” someone’s behind the camera commented

“Mm I don’t know” Leah grinned as you just laughed

“You know it’s true”

———————————

I’m pretty negative about fics like these that I write. Cause I hate this. But honestly it’s due to some of the recent think about my writing my inbox🫠🫠

So please. If you’re not a fan of it, click out of it!

Luv u all

[zegrasdrysdale]

[ sober thoughts ] n. hischier

paring: Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary : Nico appears on his best friend’s doorstep after the Stadium Series win and confessions are made

warning(s) : slightly drunk nico, mentions of alcohol (but no actual alcohol consumption involved)

author’s note : pls ignore any typos bc i thought of this while drunk and wrote it while tipsy so i will go back and edit when i am 100% sober. it’s a v short and cute thing that i wanted to write (even tho i am working on like 7 different requests rn)

༺═──────────────═༻

The moment ‘nico 🏒🤍’ appears on her phone screen, she thinks something is wrong. She’s especially worried because it’s nearly two in the morning. Something could be seriously wrong.

The last time they talked, Nico was getting in an Uber to go to the bar after they won the Stadium Series game against the Flyers. That was a half hour after the end of the game and nearly three hours ago at this point.

A very exhausted and confused (Y/N) quickly answers the phone as soon as she processes what’s going on.

“Are you okay?” she asks, voice slurred with sleep. “Do I need to come get you from the bar?”

“I’m outside your apartment building,” he tells her. “Can I please come inside? It’s so cold outside and I just played a game in this weather. Please let me in.”

She rolls over and turns on her bedside lamp before she walks to the window. Outside on the sidewalk stands her best friend and captain of the New Jersey Devils. He smiles up at her and waves. “Oh my God,” she gasps as she puts on a pair of slippers. “Why are you just standing outside my building like that?”

“Because I missed you and wanted to see you,” he tells her as she grabs her keys and leaves her apartment. “It felt very wrong that I wasn’t celebrating with my best friend after one of the most amazing games and one of the most beautiful moments of my career. If I woke you up, I’m sorry.”

Without tripping down any stairs, she says, “It’s okay. I was just worried you were passed out on the side of the road in East Rutherford.” She pushes the main entrance door open. “Yet here you are on my doorstep.”

Nico smiles and stumbles up the steps after he hangs up the phone when he sees her. He trips on the last step. She catches him and he catches himself on the doorway. She can smell the alcohol on his breath because of how close they are to each other, yet her heart races in her chest since they’re so close to each other.

“Are you drunk?” she asks as she backs away from him with a look on her face. “How did you get here? Don’t tell me you drove because I might kill you and your team is going to be left without a captain.”

“I’ve had a few drinks,” he admits to her. “I took an Uber because I did have a few drinks. I didn’t drive here. Don’t worry. I still have brain cells.”

Nico walks into the building in a hoodie and jeans instead of the tracksuit he showed up to MetLife in. She’s happy he is in actual clothes because if he showed up in that tracksuit, she might lose it.

“Why did you come here instead of going home?” she questions as they make their way up to her apartment. “I thought that maybe after the game you’d celebrate with your teammates then go home to sleep.”

They walk into the apartment as soon as she unlocks the door. “I told you that I wanted to come celebrate with my best friend,” he replies. She closes the door behind her. “Especially since I couldn’t get you into the stadium to watch the game. I wanted you to be a part of this day.”

She pouts and sits on the couch as Nico turns on one of the lamps. “Your family flew in for the game,” she says to him. “I shouldn’t take priority over them. I get to see you play all the time. They don’t.”

He sits next to her. Not too close but close enough where she can feel the heat coming off his body. If he were to move his knee, it would bump into hers.

“You’re my family too,” Nico softly says. “I wanted you to be there.”

“I’m your friend, Nico,” she sighs. “I’m not your girlfriend or your wife. I didn’t need to be there.”

It feels like she is trying to convince herself too because sometimes the line blurs. Sometimes she doesn’t know what she is to him. She has to remind herself that they aren’t together, and probably will never be together.

A moment of silence falls over them. She looks at her hands on her lap while she plays with her thumbs. Nico’s big brown eyes never leave her while she avoids looking at him.

Nico sighs and practically whispers, “I wished you were there as my girlfriend.”

Her head snaps up and she blinks at him. “You what?”

“I wished you were at the game as my girlfriend,” Nico repeats. “The entire time I wished that you were at the family skate and sitting in the suite with everyone else’s families. I wished you had one of those cute jackets that the wives and girlfriends had with my number on it.”

She stares at him until he’s done talking. Then she starts to shake her head. “You’re just saying that because you have been drinking,” she replies. “You don’t actually mean that.”

Never once has Nico shown that he wanted to be in any kind of romantic relationship with her. He’s never given her any kind of hint or sign that he wanted to be more than just friends with her.

They’ve known each other since Nico moved to the US in 2017 to play in the NHL and never once did it seem like he wanted something more.

There is no way he means that.

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” he says.

“Then tell me when you’re sober,” she retorts. “Tell me in the morning if you actually mean it.”

Nico frowns and brushes a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “Schätzli, you have no idea how long I have wanted to tell you that,” he tells her. “I guess I’ll just have to wait until I wake up before I tell you again.”

Almost as if on cue, he yawns. “Go to sleep, Nico,” she says to him. “Tell me whatever you want in the morning. You know where the guest room is but do you need my help in getting there?”

He shakes his head and sinks down against the back of the couch. “I’ll get there eventually,” he replies. “You can go back to sleep.”

With a nod, she stands up. Nico’s eyes are half open so she takes off his shoes and pulls his legs up onto the cushions. She grabs a blanket to throw over him as he lets out soft snores. The alcohol has finally caught up to him and knocked him out.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to hear you say that you wanted me to be your girlfriend,” she whispers to a sleeping Nico. “All it took you was having a few drinks and winning a big game before you told me how you felt.”

She presses a soft kiss to his temple before she retreats down the hallway to her bedroom just in case he wasn’t actually asleep.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The smell of coffee is the thing that wakes her up in the morning. Not the sunlight or an alarm. Coffee. It takes a second before she remembers that Nico stayed over.

She remembers Nico telling her that he wishes she was at the Stadium Series game as his girlfriend. She has no idea if he remembers that he said that to her.

It’s time to find out.

Slowly, she makes her way out to the kitchen. She finds Nico standing at the coffee machine with his back to the hallway. She yawns and walks into the kitchen area.

“Morning,” she softly says so she doesn’t scare him. He turns his head and looks at her. “You making coffee?”

Nico nods and pours them both a cup. He puts cream in her cup and hands it to her. “I figured we could both use a cup,” he tells her. “Me to get rid of this hangover and you because I woke you up at two in the morning.”

She blows on her coffee before taking a sip. “How much of last night do you remember?” she curiously asks as she leans against the counter beside him.

The moment of silence that follows worries her. He probably doesn’t remember what he said, and she isnt going to remind him if he doesn’t remember.

He takes a sip of his own coffee before he asks, “Are you asking me if I remember telling you that I wish you were my girlfriend? Yes, if that’s the case. I told you that I meant it.”

“And you’re sober?”

“Very,” Nico replies. “And very hungover.”

It surprises her to the point where she almost drops her cup of coffee. Her eyes widen and Nico smiles. “Nico, I could kill you and kiss you at the same time because why did it take you playing in one of the biggest games in your career before you-”

Nico takes the cup of coffee out of her hand while she’s talking then cuts her off by bringing his lips to hers. She gasps in surprise then melts against him as he presses her against the counter. She wraps her arms around his neck and puts her fingers in his hair so he can’t break the kiss.

Never in her life did she think that she would be in her kitchen kissing her best friend of nearly seven years. The thought only occurred in dreams and occasionally during games when she found him attractive, which is really all the time.

This is something she has wanted for two years. Since the moment she realized that she was in love with Nico.

He lifts her up and sits her down on the counter. He stands between her knees and rests his hands on her thighs.

It becomes too much for her and she has to pull back for a second to breathe. Her eyes meet his and finds worry in them. “I just- I don’t think you understand how long I have waited for this,” she breathes out. “Wanted this. Wanted you. I just need a second.”

Nico smiles and pushes her hair behind her ears before he cups her jaw. “I’m such an idiot for waiting so long before I told you,” he replies. “I think I’ve loved you since the moment I met you, Schätzli.” His voice drops to nearly a whisper and his thumbs brush her cheekbones.

“We’re both idiots,” she tells him. “I’m glad you meant it though. I thought you were going to get my hopes up.”

He shakes his head and kisses her nose. “I would never lie to you about loving you.”

“Well I love you too,” she says. “Just so you know.”

Nico laughs and envelopes her in a hug. She smiles and happily accepts the hug.

“I told you that drunk words are sober thoughts.”

“I believe you now.”

༺═──────────────═༻

MASTERLIST

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[betterbooktitles]

"I’m certain I’m not the only millennial who feels we as a nation have taken a dizzying turn when it comes to drugs. I remember a uniformed police officer showing up once a week in 5th Grade (a year before Sex Ed) to explain how to avoid buying and taking drugs. Luckily, I already knew the dangers of the drug trade because I had seen The Usual Suspects. I knew cocaine was a bad thing to buy, sell, or steal, especially from a drug kingpin. The D.A.R.E. program, however, let me know how important it was to say no to anything fun, including alcohol. At least until I understood a little algebra first. We did role-playing exercises where we walked one by one toward the portly police officer and he casually asked if we wanted to hit a mimed joint with him. All we had to do was say “no” and walk to the other side of the room, defying the only rule I knew about improv. We wrote essays about how important it was to preserve our pristine bodies and minds, obviously unsullied since we had yet to take the class teaching us how puberty was going to defile them both. I’m still mad that my friend Nicole’s essay beat mine in a contest, and she got to read hers in front of the whole school all because she had the benefit of an older brother who took too much acid and sat in her room all night talking about why the existence of light proved God was real. My essay about a time I saw my friend’s dad drink a beer and then drive his truck somewhere was also good! We signed pledges to enter the new millennium drug-free. We took the red pencils that said “Friends Don’t Let Friends Do Drugs” and sharpened all of them down to say “Let Friends Do Drugs,” “Friends Do Drugs,” “Do Drugs,” and simply “Drugs.” Despite that little rebellious act, my friends and I spent a solid six months swearing we’d never put any harmful substance into our bodies besides every form of candy available.

Imagine how I feel now as a D.A.R.E. graduate becoming my dad’s drug dealer. It’s less thrilling than I thought it would be. Between my father’s warning not to hang around one specific neighborhood in Cleveland as a kid and nearly every TV show about drugs, I thought I’d always be buying marijuana from an intimidating dude who definitely had a gun and would use it immediately if he thought I was wearing a wire. Instead, I now buy marijuana from a well-lit storefront that looks like the Apple Store. I’ve even gone to a place where a guy with an iPad explained what each available strain would do to me. I buy what sounds good with all the confidence of a man pointing at items on a menu written in a language he can’t read. I put it all in a cardboard box. I place a book on top. I mail the box to my dad from my local post office. I tell myself the book is to hide the contraband crossing state lines, but in truth, the book is what clears my conscience. I want to send my dad something edifying while also sending him the drug that all of America worried would make me unable to read if I tried it once. The unrequested book is a red herring to distract from the vice, like when you were young and didn’t want to buy condoms outright at the store so you cushioned them between a pack of peanut M&Ms and a magazine. Hmm, what else did I need, — right, while I’m here — might as well pick up a few condoms.

Right as marijuana becomes legal in most states, I’m about done with the drug. I’ve had three good times on edibles, and one of them was when I felt nothing and fell asleep at 9:30 PM. I’m flabbergasted that my dad likes edibles. He seems to be a man free of anxiety. Case in point, I once brought him some THC lozenges to our summer holiday in Chautauqua, and around dinner time I told him “You might want to only take half of what I gave you” to which he replied, “I took it hours ago.” He was stoned and no one noticed.

While I’m stuck in my head, stoned or sober, wondering why I didn’t take some acting gig 15 years ago, wondering if I’ll ever make enough money, worrying I’m doing everything wrong including in this moment as I write this sentence, my dad is enjoying himself.

Judith Grisel, the author of Never Enough: The Neuroscience And Experience of Addiction, describes using marijuana as throwing “a bucket of red paint” on your brain. She was approaching the stimulant clinically in terms of how it differed from the laser focus of other drugs (THC reacts with many receptors in the brain, cocaine focuses on one), but now every time I smoke, I think of the red paint metaphor. While other people seem able to crank an entire joint and do insanely complicated stuff like function at their jobs, I am reduced to a gelatinous blob, on top of which my eyes and brain are navigating a dream state that, like many dreams, isn’t all that interesting the next day. Mostly, I get high and can’t decide what I want to watch on TV or what video game I want to play, I realize how hungry I am, and then I fall asleep with cereal still stuck to my teeth. Pot, for me, is like the squid ink hitting the screen in Mario Kart: I can still see where I’m going, but everything gets a little harder to do, and the panicked half-blindness makes everything slightly more chaotically fun."

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An essay on Claire Dederer's book Monsters and movies made by monsters.

Writing inside a Toyota Service Center.

Writing mistresses.

[charmedreincarnation]

Hey angels! I’m still on break but I wanted to show you guys how powerful the law is, and how it’s in effect with everything even when we don’t notice!

Here’s everything I’ve manifested in this year alone !

🌸70,000$ in school scholarships. My tuition does not even cost that much so most of it will be coming back to my credit card shortly

🌸an older sister. I’m the oldest child in my household, and as any older sibling knows it’s so hard. You have to lead, yet have no one to look up to for advice yourself. Anyways my dad got in touch with his old wife, and my mom who was once reluctant to let my half siblings in my life, now encouraged it! My older half sister is literally just like me. We now FaceTime, she defends me when I’m scared, she buys me stuff all the time because she has hella money, and I go to her apartment for sleep overs. I am very lucky and happy to finally have the older sister I’ve always wanted.

🌸an old friendship! I remember in 2020 I was friends with this girl and we were both super depressed, had similar circumstances, and were into manifesting+astrology. I’m sure she’s one my twin flame, and the friendship ended over the dumbest thing ever. Anyways for a year I used dumb methods like the 333 method, sp methods to get her to text me, stuff like that. I ended up giving up but earlier this year I was thinking about her, yanno just wondering where she is. She sent me a heart felt apology the next day. I manifested her without even trying!

🌸All As in school without trying.

🌸losing weight the more I eat. Y’all I’m 5’5 and 112 pounds, yet I eat like an Olympic gold medalists. I don’t even eat healthy and knowing myself.. well that’s something that’s not going to change lol. Anytime I would eat a lot, I would just say the more I eat, the more I lose and the healthier I am…and I never gained a single pound. Only lost! Don’t worry I’m still healthy and my doctors say I’m in a healthy range still, so as long as that continues healthily I’m fine.

🌸my family winning the lottery through the void state. I won’t say specific numbers but it’s in the 7 figure range, and was my first void success! I’m going to keep manifesting and exploring the void to have more stuff in the future!

🌸(dumb) but clearing my name in the unique situation. i remember just affirming the truth always comes out and she got exposed a few hours later. aside from the hate from her anons, I left the situation unscathed for the most part 😮‍💨

🌸not having seasonal depression this year. I did not manifest my depression or anxiety away for personal reasons, before anyone starts! But due to the combination of manifesting and just having a better overall life, it honestly did not affect me much this year.

🌸getting results from subliminals without even listening to them. I left my subliminal era a couple of years ago, and I don’t really use them anymore. But sometimes I come across a really cool one with dope benefits, and I want to use it bc.. why not lol. But I don’t really like listening to them, so I just wrote down that I can listen to it once and after that my brain memorizes the sequence and it works it out repeatedly even when it���s not playing and I’ve definitely noticed results.

🌸manifesting my best friend’s cancer away! I already made a post about this, but this was my favorite manifestation of this year.

🌸every single one of my shifts

🌸so many free things!

🌸and so much more, but these are my favorites!

[jedi-luca]

All About The Pleasing

Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Summary: Natasha really needs you but you’ve been busy in a meeting with the some of the members of the team. What will she do to get what she wants?

Reader has a penis; no pronouns used.

Authors Note: I wrote this like a year or so ago. Don’t worry I will eventually post Avenger’s Lane at some point!

Tag List

Natasha was horny scratch that she was so incredibly horny for you and you were busy.

“Hey baby.” You say as she makes her way in the conference room. You felt guilty that she’s all dressed up in a summer dress no less, something she’s not too fond of wearing unless she’s relaxed.

“Hey Nat!” Steve, Bruce, and Maria smiled.

“Are you all done with my fiancé yet? We did have plans, you know.” She huffed, walking towards the end of the table where you sat with a stack of mission reports. She leaned down to kiss you before plopping herself in your lap.

She roughly wiggled her hips. You grunted feeling her rubbing against your cock. You stilled her movements and she slapped your hand away. As Steve and Maria went on about a report Natasha had unzipped your pants and gently took your semi in her hand. She pumped a couple times before letting you inside.

“Oh my God what the fuck are you doing?” You whispered as low as you could in her ear.

“I’ve been waiting for you for 3 hours. I’m not waiting any longer.” She smirked, feeling you shiver as she rocked her hips trying to keep her moans and sighs to herself.

Steve called your name and she stilled her motions.

“Hm?” You cleared your throat.

“I asked if you have the report from the 10th.” Steve said again.

Natasha quickly grabbed the report and slid it down the table to him. Taking this moment to move up and down.

“Thank you!” He smiled before looking down at the report mug in hand.

“You’re welcome.” She smiled. Maria began talking to Natasha about some old mission.

You were absolutely stunned at how well she was able to keep a straight face while fucking herself on your cock.

The thought of her fighting so hard not to moan made you twitch inside of her. You gripped her before smoothly lifting up and back down a couple times making it look like you were finding a comfortable position but really you were slamming into her for more friction. You didn’t miss her wicked grin as she gripped your hand.

“Do you mind showing me which paragraph?” Maria asked her as her eyes poured over the page.

“It’s right…” Natasha leaned over and you took this opportunity to thrust your hips up. “Right there.” She pointed while you hit her spot.

She let out a sigh as she sat back down on you. She was close and she moved her bottom half as much as she could without someone noticing. She slumped over letting her arms hold her up as she ‘read’ the report.

“Cap, I need a break.” Bruce sighed, taking his glasses off rubbing his eyes.

“Wanna go have lunch?” Steve asked, looking at his watch.

“Oooh that place over on Avenue B sounds good!” Maria hummed.

“Let’s go!” Bruce beamed standing up. “You two love birds coming?”

“I think we’ll make something here.” Natasha smiles. “Maybe a smoothie.”

“Suit yourselves.” Maria shrugged and soon all 3 were walking out the door.

The moment you knew they were gone you bent her over roughly before slamming into her.

“Fuck!” She groaned, arching her back into your hand.

“You desperate little slut you couldn’t wait for me to finish up here?” You smirked thrusting harder.

“I was so horny for you daddy. I needed you to fuck me so badly.” She panted.

“Daddy’s little cum slut got a craving again huh?” You smirked using your fingers to circle her clit. “You’re addicted to me aren’t you?”

“Yes daddy I always crave you.” She smirked. “I can’t wait to call you my wife/ husband.”

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

“A honey cum smoothie.” She smirked moaning out your name as you pushed deeper.

“Fuck you feel so good.” You moaned letting your fingers graze up and down her back causing her to shudder. You massage her pressure points along her back causing her to begin twerking her bottom against your cock.

“Fuck that feels so good!” She moaned, gripping the table.

You pivot your hips trying to hit every spot inside of her.

“Oh my God Y/N faster I’m so close.” You felt her tense as you jackhammered your hips. Her moans were rising as she reached behind her bringing a your hand over her boob. You squeezed still feeling her hand on top of yours as she began coming undone.

“Oh Y/N baby that was so good.”

“Turn back around love. I need to be closer to you.” You pull out.

She smiled lazily as you helped her sit on the table leaning down to kiss her plump lips.

“Hmm!” She moaned as you bit her bottom lip inserting yourself in the process. She pushed your shirt up so she could feel your taut abs. “I love feeling these beefy muscles against my skin.” She moaned. “You’re so strong daddy.”

“Daddy loves feeling you too baby.” You could feel her squeezing you with her thighs and velvet walls.

“Daddy’s getting closer?” She but her own lip this time feeling your lips against her neck making their way to her ear.

“So fucking close princess.”

“I want my smoothie daddy.”

“Get on your knees princess so daddy can give you your honey cum smoothie.”

She smirked, wiggling her hips one last time before doing as she was told.

Your body tensed as she began wildly sucking your cock. Gagging as she pushed you down her throat.

You held her hair back, humping her mouth a few times before pulling out. You began pumping your cock with your hand when she slapped it away with a glare. “No. Me.” She huffed squeezing you.

“Ahhhh” you groaned as your cum began pouring out of your cock.

She dutifully took every last drop sticking her tongue out so you could see her gulp you down.

“Hmmm that was so good daddy thank you.” She licked her lips before taking your hand to help her up.

“I can’t believe we did that.” You chuckled darkly.

“You took too long.” She huffed, as you fixed her smudged lipstick.

“You’re so fucking perfect in every way.” You say caressing her chin before kissing her softly. “I can’t believe I get to be the one to marry you, I love you Princess.”

She blushed and kissed you one more time. “I feel the exact same way, fiancé.” She wiped the traces of lipstick off of you.

“I believe I still owe you a date.” You grin.

“I already have the picnic basket waiting.”

“Let’s get out of here then.” You grin leading her out of the briefing room.

“Marry me?” She smiles with a soft sigh.

“Ohhh, I will be Princess.”

“I think you’ll have to start calling me Queen instead once it’s official.”

“My Queen. Has a nice ring to it.” You smirk holding up her ring finger.

“We don’t even have kids yet and the dad jokes are here.”

You chuckle, kissing her hand in yours thinking about the future.

“Next time maybe we can do that again during movie night.”

“Hmm, maybe if I feel like it.” She winked, biting her tongue before running away from you as you chased her.

[leclsrc]

brought me here – cs55

Three lives bathed in citrus.

auds here... guys i wrote this on a whim because the concept of the intimacy of. just peeling a fruit & sharing it w a lover.... got to me fr. warnings for 1. google translated spanish and 2. a notting hill love letter in the middle. title from this

“Hey, do you want the other half?”

You present a half of an orange to Carlos, words muffled by a slice. It’s a big fruit, almost comically so, but he nods and lets you toss it to him. He pops one into his mouth, lets it crowd with the sweet taste. You smile. “Good, right?”

This is the first time you interact, over a peeled orange and then some. He talks about racing, about Spain; you talk about how you’re new here, interning at another team, and the oranges taste so much better. He asks if you’ve packed another, quietly—like he’s imposing—but you shake your head, no don’t be shy, I’ve got a lot. Swiped them from my neighbor’s yard. 

You yank another one out of your bag and peel it with dexterity. He’s fascinated by this, by watching you, someone who had just been a stranger ten minutes ago, peel an orange and hand it over. “Oranges are best for sharing, don’t you agree?”

“Hmm.” He doesn’t really, doesn’t know what you mean enough to agree. “I don’t know.”

“Think about it.” He focuses on the English, gears turning in his head as it processes through him in Spanish. “An orange can be perfectly pulled into slices, into halves, quarters. You can easily share them without a knife or a cutting board. Just talking like this, we’ve shared two.”

“You’re right.”

“And no orange is alike. So every half really only matches its other half. Cool, right?”

He chews on a slice, nodding and smiling, then opens his mouth to reply. But just as quickly as this conversation has started, it’s come to a close—you’re called to report to work and you leave him, alone and stuttering over a response.

Carlos inspects the slice, the pith, the pulp. Nothing else will match this except the slice you’d peeled it away from. And Carlos doesn’t know this yet, but you’re his other slice, his other half. 

He doesn’t know that in two months you will be peeling an orange for the both of you in his bed, offering a half to him. In six months you’ll be peeling an orange for him while you talk about moving in together. In eight months, you’ll be peeling an orange and inspecting your new flat. In a year, he will toss you a half of an orange, and you will chew on it while reviewing a job offer outside of racing.

In a year and a half, you’ll be sharing half an orange at a friend’s wedding. He will turn to you, watch your fingers fiddle with the discarded peels, and make a decision in his head. In two years, you will peel an orange for him, and this time you let him have all of it, because he’s world champion.

In two and a half years, he will peel an orange for you at dinner, then propose to you hours later. In three years, he will write his vows to you, and express his deep appreciation for the oranges you’ve peeled, for the conversations shared over them. Mi media naranja, he calls you. Always, forever.

And a long stretch of peels and pith later, he will be tucking a little girl into bed, brushing hair out of her eyes and promising an orange for breakfast. And he might wonder then, what life would be in any other universe, if he would still have his media naranja.

—

Carlos passes by a billboard of your face on his drive to work. It’s barely a drive—measly five minutes of traffic, really—but even if he walked or took a bus, the route would still show your face. Smiling and airbrushed and beautiful, on the poster of your brand new movie his roommate has seen twice in the cinemas now.

Your face is also the one staring at him blankly, sunglasses perched on your nose as you wait for your purchase to be checked out.

He’s owned this bookstore in London for five years now, a business decision that made barely any sense because he’s not even English, and hasn’t been to half the countries the store sells books of. They say magic happens with books, but Carlos is surrounded by hundreds of them, and for five years all he’s really got is a magical amount of debt and teenage shoplifters.

But this is magic. Right? It must be. A famous actress buying a book from his store. Somebody sidles up beside you; your eyes widen in mild panic.

“Oh, God. Could I maybe get your autograph? Oh, God. This is mortifying. I’m—I haven’t even got a pen, for God’s sake—”

“Well,” you say smoothly, “don’t worry, I do.” Your voice slides easily through the words, a pen retrieved from your jeans pocket. You let it hover idly while the other customer fidgets to find a good surface for his signature. Eventually, he settles on the front page of his new book, presenting it like a sacrifice.

You sign a clean, illegible scribble. He bows, then shrugs, as if to openly question why he even bowed. “Um, the bow was stupid. Don’t—Christ. Sorry. Big fan, I am. Oh, my—whatever. I love you. Bye.” He half-runs out of the store, and the bell rings noisily as he departs, his head still turned toward you through the glass even when he’s walking away. 

You turn slowly back to him, clearing your throat. “Did you still want to ring that up, or—?”

“Oh, sure. This one, right?” He points at the smaller book—The Dummy’s Guide to London—and when you nod, he rings it up. “That’s not so bad a book. None of the usual ‘Big Ben, Buckingham Palace’ stories you’ll usually find in UK guidebooks. But y’know, there isn’t much to know about this city. It’s posh, a bit pretentious.”

“Right.” You nod, hiding a smile. “And you’re so obviously British.”

He laughs, shaking his head—his accent giving him away—then he smiles. You speak again: “How about this. I’ll let you know if it’s of good use. And no need for a bag.”

“Oh, please do.” He smiles back, placing the receipt on the book. You stay like that for a bit, then on a whim, he tugs an orange out of the brown paper bag he’d brought from the weekend market earlier. “If you’re hungry, or if you fancy a talk about London—for non-dummies and actresses, maybe—we could split the orange.”

You laugh. It’s a beautiful sound. “Okay. Well, oranges really are best for sharing, don’t you agree?”

“Hmm. I don’t know.”

“Think about it.” He focuses on your English, on your unmistakably American accent, gears turning in his head as it processes through him in Spanish. “An orange can be perfectly pulled into slices, into halves, quarters. You can easily share them without a knife or a cutting board. It’s just… easy.”

“You should turn that into a movie screenplay.”

You laugh. “I’ll give you half the royalties if it happens.”

Carlos lets you meet his friends two weeks later. One of them, Lando, totally blanks and forgets you’re a world-famous actress. Charles and his girlfriend serve you chocolate, to which you’re deathly allergic; apologetic and panicked, the only other sweet thing in their kitchen is an orange. You accept it gratefully, peel it, and give half to Carlos.

A year later you accept a half orange, continue mulling over the future of your relationship. You’d been in hiding for so long, in an effort to keep him safe. But this is real, you think. It’s the both of you, like it’s always been, like it’s going to be, always. The day next, after commenting on how your handbag smelled so naturally of orange peel, your Spanish co-star says: “So he’s like your media naranja?” And when you prompt elaboration, “Hmm—like your other half. Better half. Perfect match.”

You invite Carlos to a movie premiere of yours in Los Angeles nine months later. You forget dinner in the rush to make the call time, and squeeze his hand in the middle of the film. He’s too distracted by your acting, but manages to give you tiny orange he’d wedged into his inner jacket pocket. He peels it, gives you all of it. A congratulatory gift all his own.

—

You are both alone in this life, but content. 

“Vendías naranjas ayer, ¿adónde fueron?” Your brows knit together. You’d made this specific stall your very last stop, to make sure you’d get the best oranges. The air is still and humid in Seville, but the weather is beautiful, and the oranges are delicious—really delicious. Andalusia is perfect this way.

The vendor shrugs. “Estamos fuera de ellos. Tienes que llegar temprano.” Then, as if sensing your lack of fluency in Spanish, he switches to accented English: “That man over there just got the last ones.”

Your eyes travel over to two stalls over, where a tall guy browses the tomatoes. His hair is long, his polo is loose, his paper bags overflowing with oranges. And you think, who the hell needs this many? But you don’t press, you simply walk away. You have work, a yoga class, a coffee to buy for yourself. Friends to meet. Money to earn. Countries to travel to.

Nothing tethers you to Seville. You’ll be gone in weeks if you wish to be, gone from the hills and the lovely area. But sometimes, and here especially in such a beautiful place, you always end up wondering if you will find someone to keep you. Someone to quarrel over an orange with, someone to peel it for, and someone to love. 

You wait at the bus stop, eyes watching intently as the orange buyer walks over minutes later and stands idly beside you. You both wait. You both wonder.

[silaswritesthings]

‘I am not in love with a criminal.’

Summary: Reader comes across an intriguing individual that captured their attention months prior.

Starring: Multi character x gender unspecified reader (the characters I had in mind as I write this are mainly Scaramouche and Childe from genshin impact, Dazai from bsd and unknown from mystic messenger but you can imagine whoever you wish to imagine)

Genre: romance, sfw, sharing an umbrella (that's not a genre but its valid!)

Warnings: A bit of cursing, implications of stalking, implications of murder, first person pov :)

Author’s note: It took me three days to write this and I hope it matches the effort I put into it. I was listening to goth and alt music as I wrote this so take that however you wish to take it. Likes, comments, reblogs and new followers will always be welcome!

Word count: 914

Part two is here

No. Just no.

He didn’t deserve a single drop of any affection from me, not a sliver of attention. He was not even worthy of the mud beneath my boots, but…

“Is there something on your mind?” His voice was accompanied by a flash of lightning. The dull sky rumbled as if the heavens were sending a warning. Bitterness gathered in my chest.

“I don’t want to talk about anything with you.” My words were almost drowned by the rain hitting the umbrella he held above our heads; we stood in the middle of the pavement, and pedestrians gave us odd and disapproving looks as they walked around us. The rain had just started but it had picked up quite a bit and I would have been drenched if it weren't for him.

His next words sounded almost hesitant. “You were more friendly when we first met.” My gaze remained fixed on my wet boots, his own facing mine, and I didn't miss the way he shifted on his feet, the umbrella shifting along with the action.

People like him, criminals, are well versed in lies and manipulation. Feigning distress wouldn't have been a hard task for him and I was aware of that. Despite knowing that, the bitterness in my chest lifted just a fraction.

“It’s been months, I can hardly remember your name.” My eyes remained lowered, watching water droplets slide down the leather of our boots.

“But you remember my face.”

“What?”

“You haven’t looked at me at all during our entire encounter yet you seem to know exactly who you are talking to you.” It was his observation not mine. Our first meeting, which happened over four months ago (not that I have kept count), remains as a vague memory in my mind. I would have voiced my thoughts but he was right. Why would anyone entertain a conversation with a stranger like this; with their eyes on the ground and heart in their throat as if they knew something that they shouldn’t.

I knew something that I shouldn’t. No- he revealed things to me that I shouldn’t have known. He’s a criminal.

My gaze lifted to his, regrettably, and my argument stopped at the back of my throat along with my breath. This was not the face of a killer but rather the face of someone that many would kill for.

His eyes lit up. “You’re looking at me.”

I narrowed my own. “You’re a criminal.”

“I’ve never been incarcerated for a moment in my life.”

“You killed people.”

“Without context, it sounds worse than it actually is.”

My right eye twitched. “Do you have an answer for everything?”

He leaned forward, his mouth curving into a light pleasant smile. “Why don’t you test that by asking me every question that comes to your mind? I’ll answer anything, everything even.”

I shifted my eyes from his, a simple look was all he needed to convince me to take his offer. “I have-" I cleared my throat, "plans.”

My eyes returned to him when he straightened himself with a sigh and took out his phone. He messed with his screen for a few seconds. When he showed me the screen, it was a copy of my schedule.

Fuck that.

I turned and walked away from him and forgot why I had even left my apartment half an hour ago. The rain was the least of my concerns because there was a lunatic who had a copy of my personal schedule on his phone. The rain was not the problem.

He spoke in a sing-song manner, “you’re in quite a rush for someone without any plans.”

Anger rose from the bottom of my chest and I turned to face him and yelled, “Fuck you!”

His mouth fell open before he burst into a fit of laughter. My blood boiled as I watched him clutch his abdomen as if he had heard the funniest joke in existence.

Now he was gasping for air.

Now more people were giving us more odd looks.

I marched to where he stood and whisper-yelled, "You're embarrassing me, stop it."

He beamed at me. “I’ll text you later since you have ‘plans’ today.” He handed me his umbrella and waved with the hand holding his phone, the screen and my damn schedule flashing at me, before he stepped backwards.

“Criminals have feelings too,” he said before he walked away with an energetic stride.

“Lunatic.” I cursed him. I was annoyed, wet and could feel the start of a headache from my now ruined day.

When I arrived back at my apartment, I paused by my door where there was a vase filled with flowers and herbs; lavenders, roses and rosemary were bunched together in a deliberate manner. I picked up the vase and read the little white card that was sticking out from the flowers. I then remembered why I left my apartment. It was to find flowers to decorate my apartment.

Do you know you smell like lavenders?

My face burned because of anger.

Right.

Anger.

I entered my home and placed the flowers on my kitchen counter with care, only because the vase looked fragile and I didn't want to clean up the mess of a broken vase.

By the time the sun had set that day, I was already facing another problem. Should I answer the text from the unknown number on my phone or call the police to spare my time and sanity?

[marksbear]

Hello! How are you? I’m that anon who asked if you wrote for Richard Madden, that was a long time ago and I’ve thought long and hard about this. I’m finally ready to make a request!

May I please request a Richard Madden x Male Reader, where Richard has low-key a crush on him?

The male reader is a writer (more of a historian), Richard has all his books and has a nerdy heart, he finds the Male reader‘s REALLY hot. He never fails to praise the male reader and his accomplishments whenever he’s asked who his celebrity crush is (which isn’t a surprise for those who know him). His co-stars also tease him a lot about it.

They have never met in parson (not for Richard’s lack of trying. They finally meet on a talk show (rather a chat show). The male reader is there to discuss his newest book and his new documentary series. All trough out, Richard notices how the male reader is rather shy and introverted, trying to engage with him and asking him question (that he totally did not he from nerding over the male reader‘s books..), and being really attentive (complementing the male readers achievements). He even flirts quite a lot with him (which is real by he way, and the audience loves it). Maybe he even asks the male reader for a small little kiss (which he hopes to receive from the shy writer).

I just want something fluffy and flirty. With Richard maybe asking the male reader out after?

(On a totally different topic, I just read that you’re half Brazilian, can you speak Portuguese? If so; that’s awesome! It’s hard finding Portuguese speakers, I’m Portugais btw! Can I be your 🇵🇹 anon?)

Yes! Hey 🇵🇹! Nice to hear from you again my friend! Yes I speak Portuguese! It's like one of the best things I speak. 🇧🇷.

RICHARD MADDEN X SHY WRITER MALE READER

Richard Madden is smiling at the cameras on the Oscar red carpet with his co-stars next to him.

Soon enough fans in the crowd turn their attention to something else or really someone and scream and cheer. "Y/n! Over here!" "Y/n!" "Y/n please!" The crowd shouts as Y/n smiles and waves at them.

Richard couldn't help to stare in awe hopelessly smiling to himself staring at his crush from afar.

Y/n begins to sign posters and books for fans even getting into short conversations with them as well. Y/n had just won multiple Oscars like "Academy Award for Best Director,Academy Award for Best Documentary, Special Achievement Academy Award and much more

Richard's agent finally pulls Richard out of his trance pulling him to an interview.

"How are we doing tonight Richard?" The woman asks earning a sweet smile from Richard. "Doing lovely."

"Great! I gotta say I love the film. Everything about it I loved. Your acting was top tier good job on the work." "Thank you thank you." Richard thanks.

"But I gotta ask. Who do you think looks best tonight?"

"That's easy Y/n L/n. He always looks wonderful. Honestly everything about him is wonderful. His books and documentaries are so outstandingly wonderful. And great on him for winning." Richard answers without hesitation even looking around for the writer.

"Have you two ever met?" The woman asks curiously. "No not yet. But I would love to meet him. He's my biggest role model---" Before Richard could fully answer one of his co-stars from a nearby interview pokes in.

"And his biggest celebrity crush!" Earning a play shove from Richard giving them a playful glare.

"Is that true Richard?" The woman says with a smile. "Guilty. It's true he's my celebrity crush. I find him quite handsome." Richard smiles before saying his goodbyes to the woman before getting pulled away by his co-star.

TIMESKIP

Richard couldn't believe it. Just hours later from Richard gushing about Y/n now hes meeting him for the first time.

Richard is in the dressing room getting ready for about the seventh time trying to make sure he looks perfect.

While brushing his hair someone knocks on the door. "Mr Madden! You're on." Richard gives himself one more look in the mirror before getting up leaving the dressing room and walking with the assistant.

As the interviewer introduces Richard he could see Y/n already in his seat smiling at the crowd. "Richard Madden everybody!" Jimmy Fallon shouts as on cue Richard Madden walks out smiling and waving at the crowd.

Richard shakes hands with Jimmy giving him a small hello before turning to Y/n who is standing shyly looking at Richard. Richard says hello to Y/n even giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Now Jimmy is giving Richard all his attention not even asking Y/n any more questions or getting any feedback. Y/n was his own little world being the introvert he is. Of course Richard is quick to notice from not hearing his crush talk. Richard gives Y/n a few glances before finally speaking up whispering into his ear.

"Y/n are you always this cute and shy?" Earning Y/n to blush and a small smile to appear on his lips.

"Y/n. What first expired you first to start doing documentaries and writing?" Richard asks out loud this time to include Y/n in the interview.

"U-uhm. Well my first book was about the history of sharks when I was only eleven... As when I got older I started to study more and more about history then I-I started to write about the human revolution, the earth and it's entire history, space, animals, crime and prison and now my latest documentary the truth of Hollywood." Y/n rambles on cutely.

"Could you tell us more about the truth of Hollywood?" Richard asks moving his arm around Y/n's chair bringing him closer.

"Well- It's about the truth about Hollywood. Like what is Hollywood doing to all these actors and actresses controlling their everyone move like much they eat, how they talk and so much more more. It's just me voicing my concerns and just overall exposing them." Y/n says getting cheers and screams from the crowd.

"After this what is next?" Richard asks with a wink already knowing what Y/n is making next. "I'm writing a book of love. About what love is and what it means to the human race and other organisms." Y/n answers timidly.

"So basically he's making a book about us." Richard flirts earning Y/n to blush and shy away from him.

"Y/n. I honestly never imagined you to be so shy." Jimmy teases earning Y/n to be even more shy. "In your writings and documentaries you sound so confident and such a badass, but in real life you're a shy introverted guy!"

Before Y/n could respond Richard says something first. "He's a shy guy with over the three biggest Oscar nominations, worlds best writer award of the year two times in a row, five times Nobel prize winner." Richard praises the audience to roar with cheer.

"In overall he's a beautiful creative man that I think i'm in love with." Richard flirts.

For the rest of the talk show Richard is flirting with Y/n anytime he gets alongside praising him for his work.

With the interview gets to an end Richard asks Y/n one more question. "Y/n I have one more question. Could I get a small kiss?" Once those words fall out of Richard's mouth Y/n smiles uncontrollably blushing covering his face.

The audience begins to chant "kiss him!" over and over again until they get what they want and Jimmy.

Finally Y/n moves his hands away facing Richard mumbling a "fine..." Y/n and Richard move in closer and closer. Y/n is the one who closes the distance pressing a soft kiss on Richard's lips. Richard melts into the kiss for a while before pulling away with the biggest smile on his face.

Richard moves his hand onto Y/n's holding it tightly. Y/n and Richard smile at the audience. While Jimmy begins to end the show.

"And thank you to the newly couple Y/n L/n and Richard Madden everybody!"

THE END

[autisticlancemcclain]

thank u @zenstrike for the tag <333333333 i see ur mic and i'm elated about it

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

185! but i haven't updated in like a week and a half so we're probably closer to 190

2. what’s your total ao3 word count?

556,104. i am very excited to watch it jump up when i finally finish my longfic teehee

3. what fandoms do you write for?

literally just voltron lol. well not counting baby me's wattpad lol. i started writing almost two years ago and just went ham basically. i've been intentionally avoiding things that i know i will get hyperfixated on bc i don't want to stop my writing obsession lol

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

ooooou i'm excited to check. i know it's changed quite a bit over time. i usually sort them by hits!

i will grind you to sand (beneath my louboutin heels) [voltron, 2573 words]: bamf lance fic where i give him a revolver and let him go ham basically

mr. snuggles [voltron, 1656 words]: one of my very earliest fics! lance, lover of weirdo animals, finds a demonic cat-sized spider and adopts it despite his friend's freakouts

he might not look like he gets bitches (but honey that dick was eleven inches) [voltron, 1136 words]: this one is so dorky lol but it's just secret relationship klance coming to light in the most embarrassing possible way

does anyone know where the love of god goes (when the waves turn the minutes to hours) [voltron, 4283]: a canon divergence au where lance is a seer and convinces the skeptics on his team of his abilities by ending the war

this is the part of me that you're never gonna ever get away) [voltron, 3262 words]: a lance & shiro hurt/comfort with a small autistic lance character study! i'm very proud of this one

5. do you respond to comments?

i definitely do on tumblr! it's one of the first things i do when i wake up actually. on ao3, though...i'm pretty sure i have about eight hundred unanswered comments sitting in my inbox 💀 it's an ongoing issue

6. what’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i'm almost sure it's this post-game show lance leaving fic, because i got comments and asks for weeks begging me to write a happy ending lol. but this fic from the hana universe, from when keith is little and shiro is fighting for custody and they haven't figured things out yet. that one is sad. this dream pov adashi fic is also sad and has no happy ending bc, you know. shiro is in space and adam thinks he's dead and everything. my loneliest series is also still in progress and as such there is no happy ending. and this is my earliest angsty-ending fic with MCD

7. what’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

oh god pretty much everything i write has a happy ending?? if i’m being serious?? frankly i don’t do a lot of linear plot. i just write Scenes that are vaguely connected. BUT my h2o fic had a plot that ended happily, as did my cowboy fic, but truly i’m more of a slice of life kinda gal. all my active wips are plot-driven, though, and i plan for all of them to end happily.

8. do you get hate on fics?

oh god yeah. i get it on brown eyed lance, autistic lance, adhd keith, allura just in general (are you sensing a pattern), my refusal to use readmores, and lately just some demands for me to write differently/more?? most of it is just funny so i post it to goof on it lol, but some of it i just delete and pout about until i forget about it 💀

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

yes and it’s nasty and i will literally never ever post it. although i guess i’ve written some softer stuff that’s more allusion than anything, like in my loneliest series.

10. do you write crossovers? what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

not anymore, but i did when i was a kid?? i think i wrote a pjo/hoo/divergent/the mortal instruments/homestuck/a bunch of other shit fic when i was 13. i’ve successfully blocked that era out of my mind tho so i’m not sure. i do a lot of insane aus, tho. i wrote a fic based off a country song written in the sixties. so.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

i’ve had people write continuations of my wips?? which i didn’t rly like. i just ignored it.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

someone has asked me about translating a fic before! haven’t heard anything since tho.

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

i have tried. i’m not very good at it. i have very Specific ideas about things and can be very controlling, so it’s honestly better that i don’t lol.

14. what’s your all-time favorite ship?

klance, easy. been in the trenches of this goddamn fandom since i was 13 years of age. it’s been a Journey.

15. what’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

god, the butterfly effect. i get people asking me to update all the time and i genuinely feel bad, because i have absolutely no ideas or plans for it. i might try to come up with an ending of some kind?? but i wrote that like two years ago, so i have changed a LOT about my writing since then.

16. what are your writing strengths?

dialogue and humour, i think. and sometimes writing lack of emotional communication (if that makes sense — i like to try and write around an emotion).

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

i over explain a lot. and i overuse dialog ur tags sometimes. i have a Very Specific scene playing out in my head and i want everyone else to see it like i’m seeing it, which is my downfall a lot. i’ve been trying to work on implicit stage directions.

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

i think sometimes it’s necessary? it can be a good tool for humour, like with cussing that can’t be achieved in english. but while i understand and read several languages i have always always struggled to speak or write in them. it’s very frustrating so i often avoid the subject entirely lol.

19. first fandom you wrote for?

i’ve been writing fanfic in my head since before i knew what it was, but i started typing things at around 11 when i used to homestuck roleplay with my friends lol. messy messy times.

20. favorite fic you’ve ever written?

oh i am my own target audience. i have several.

i need a man (who’s patient and kind): keith-centric post canon (divergence) fic where lance takes him to his family and keith is good with kids and just keith being loved is the whole point. always.

what if i lose it all: an alternate universe where lance, as a baby, loses both his parents, and then is raised by his oldest siblings. in luis’ pov.

when does a ripple become a tidal wave (when does the reason become the flame): brogane fight & angst canon divergence post season 6; covering shiro’s guilt complex and keith’s unwavering loyalty

he’s into superstitions (black cats and voodoo dolls): halloween verse with witch lance and vampire keith! i have barely spoken about this au on here but rest assured i’m thinking about it all the fucking time

the applebee’s universe: modern au with young keith and lance learning how to love each other

ceilings (plaster): non-linear dream-like fic that’s just so trippy and strange i’m obsessed with it

if the sky comes falling down (for you) there’s nothing in this world i wouldn’t do: a keith character study about how the biggest bleeding heart in the universe loves

the hana universe: brogane-centric universe as their family starts rocky and grows

thank u again for the tag zen <33 open offer for anyone else who would like to hop on!!

[justanotherblonde]

it's sasodei week 2024!

i have precisely one thing to contribute, but ffs it's not done yet grr!! maybe we can blame my dog... she demanded i come play with her no less than nine times (i kept track) as i wrote this post (she does this by shouting at me then humping my leg to show me who's boss, sometimes pulling on my sweater sleeve with her sharp li'l teefs, beagles, man, i tell ya...) 🐶

anyway!! here's a TEASER of my Day 3 Band/Rockstar/Idol AU story ahhhhh!!! it's not even titled yet!!!!! i don't even really know what the tags will be! and i haven't had time to make a header image!! 😫

but this i know, oh this i know:

Sasori is first chair cello of the Sunagakure Philharmonic

He has a dirty little secret hobby: listening to metal (among other genres that are definitely not classical)

One of the bands he listens to is called C4

Guess who's the lead singer???

Yes, you guessed it, it's Deidara, singer/song-writer, perhaps much more...

In this AU, everybody lives!! Well... okay fine, Sasori's parents still didn't make it, i'm sorry

But that means two important things: Third Kazekage is alive! And there are a LOT of Uchiha running around.

There's more, a lot more, but you'll have to wait until i steal more minutes and hours from my dog and my work! but i'll give it to ya, come hell or high water! or wildfires, earthquakes, debilitating PM 2.5 ratings, or uh... dare i say... another pandemic??? FEAR NOT!

if you want to wait for the full thing to drop to read, i've left the teaser excerpt below the cut.

a million thanks to @sasodeiweek for hosting this event and encouraging us SasoDei creators to flex our creative muscles! loving all the contributions so far!

and without further ado...

Rehearsal ran circles round Sasori’s ears. The music followed him always, all hours.

Chapter 1

Rehearsal ran circles round Sasori’s ears. The music followed him always, all hours.

The fine, agile fingers of his left hand twitched; his right hand swayed side to side, marking the strokes of his bow. Eyes half-closed, his feet kept time on the pavement as he walked. It was Haydn this week, Cello Concerto No. 1 in C major. A weighty yet familiar responsibility for Sasori, first chair cello of the Sunagakure Philharmonic.

He sighed. Rehearsal had wrapped half an hour ago. He was on his way home, and tomorrow was a rest day. He didn’t need to torture himself like this. 

The headphones around his neck were a comforting weight, as friendly and intimate as the straps of his cello case on his shoulders. He flipped them over his ears and dug in his coat pocket for his phone. Scrolling through the saved playlists on his music app, he skipped all of the classical “homework” and went straight for his guilty pleasures: dance-pop, glam-rock, musicals… and heavy metal. 

No one at work knew about his low, low tastes.

Well, the Third had known. 

Sasori gritted his teeth, biting back unbidden memories. Now he definitely needed to blast his brain clean with some noise. 

Something heavy.

Something loud.

Something to transport him far away from the sand-scraped streets of Sunagakure.

His thumb landed on the album he was looking for.

Art is an EXPLOSION by C4. Track 1: “Light It Up.”

From that first haunting guitar chord, the tension Sasori held in his chest and face dispersed. He rode that twisting whine down, down… someplace dark and cool, far beneath the earth. As the barreling drums built to a crescendo, he held his breath—wait for it!—

A million years, through timeless stone I’m damned to walk this path alone This darkness, all I’ve ever known…

The lead singer had a deep, melodic voice. He molded each word of the verse carefully, tenderly, as if he were embarking on a ballad… then WHAM!

Cymbals crashed; the roaring chorus caught the last two notes of an electrifying riff like a surfer hopping a wave:

Light it up! Hey, light it up! Strike a match and light it up! My fuse is short, ’m ready to blow, Crush the ceiling down to the floor!

Not in a million years would Sasori admit out loud to anyone that he listened to C4, especially not now that the public were actually aware of their existence. The metal band had catapulted to fame last year with their single “Burn Down All the Discos,” but Sasori had been listening to them well before that. Three years ago, his music app had recommended him a track from Art is an EXPLOSION—C4’s debut album—based on his eclectic streaming history. 

If the first song Sasori had heard by C4 had been anything but “Artist,” he’d probably never have given them a chance: their usual sound was, on the surface, sloppy, and most of the lyrics were childish boasts. “Look at me!” their vocalist seemed to say in every song. 

But “Artist” was different. It was, inexplicably, an up-tempo perversion of Vivaldi’s Winter Largo in F Minor, lamenting how hard it was to live for art’s sake when the world ran on money and heroic virtue. Listeners without classical training would be unable to appreciate or likely even identify the subtleties of what had been done with the classical score, but the first time he heard it, Sasori had been riveted. Vivaldi’s rhythmic harpsichord had been replaced with a softly tapped snare drum; a mournful electric guitar carried the melody when it wasn’t sung. 

Curiosity piqued, Sasori had investigated the rest of the album, and found similar nods to classical music throughout the tracks, much harder to notice than the adapted Vivaldi, drowned as they were in a thunderstorm of electric guitar and percussion. C4 were more than just a metal band: they experimented with typical traits of the genre and also drew from pop rock, classical music, even musical theatre to create a sound unlike anything Sasori had ever heard. They broke all the rules and they did it with glee.

One day—a rest day—home alone and bored, Sasori had looked up the band online. It surprised him to learn that the lead singer had been only sixteen when the band was formed. That powerful voice certainly didn’t sound like it belonged to a teenager. But the band’s website was light on biographical information, and Sasori hadn’t felt like digging deeper. An overwhelming amount of fan sites and social media accounts had sprung up since “Burn Down All the Discos” and C4’s world tour. Bored as he was that day, Sasori wasn’t about to use his precious free time to obsess over some flash-in-the-pan rock band, especially one fronted by a kid.

And yet, he still listened to them.

“Artist” often competed for the position of most frequently-played song on his app, but only when he was feeling particularly moody. 

It crossed his mind that he ought to check if C4 had come out with anything new lately—the app usually sent a message when artists he’d followed released new music. Pausing to wait for a traffic light, he dug for his phone again.

Lo and behold, a new album had dropped not three days ago.

Beauty of a Moment, it was called. The cover art featured the Venus de Milo... mid-explosion.

Sasori chuckled under his breath. “He really does fancy himself an artist, doesn’t he…” 

What a fool. Popular music was not art. Rock music was not art. It came and went, but the classics stayed. For centuries. Forever.

It was the one thing Sasori and the Third had always agreed on, despite all of their differences. 

Speaking of which… 

...

[eruden-writes]

Based on that reblog I'm assuming you're taking requests....if you are may ask for "oh. OH."

If you're not taking them just ignore. Hope your day is really nice

Haha, there's an Arcana flash fic I wrote a looong time ago that this prompt reminds me of.

I asked for a monster and another anon suggested werewolf, so we're going with that.

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Next Part | Masterlist

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The second day of the convention had proved to be less lucrative than Amber had hoped. At this rate, she would likely break a little over even with the stall and overhead. Not terrible, but she had higher hopes for her first convention as a vendor. Especially since she debuted her webcomic earlier in the year. 

It didn’t help that most other vendors near her seemed ten years her junior. Somewhere in their early- to mid-twenties, already popular in their art or writing. It made that sense of imposter syndrome - or the thought she should have done something with her life by now - dig in deep.

Little attention on her stall, plus some rather big name speakers drawing her potential customers away every hour, had left her feeling even more morose. It didn’t help that her best friend, Addie, kept taking off, eager to take in all the sights and programs. Of the two of them, extroverted Addie was more equipped to handle customers. 

And had been the one to convince Amber to risk money on this venture. 

Losing her tenth customer for the morning, Amber had resorted to idly sketching in her sketchbook, letting the sounds of the event wash over her. Her introverted batteries were at risk of exploding if she plastered her customer service smile on for yet-another easily-distracted congoer.

A constant flow of talk, of bodies constantly moving, of noisy little doodads or televisions played. Overhead, a screen indicated upcoming events and, occasionally, played ads concerning prices at the convention hall’s food court. Farther away, near the doors of the main hall, cosplayers posed and cameras flashed.

Someone’s hand leaned at the edge of her table, the plastic creaking under their weight as they leaned to peer at her art. Amber tensed, braced for questions or maybe even a request for a free drawing. Her mechanical pencil continued to sketch, pretending to be too focused to pay the interloper any mind. 

“So, I take it you don’t like Montos?” 

Apparently, someone couldn’t take a hint. Then again, Amber was supposed to be hawking her wares. Namely her art and webcomic. Still, she was bitter over her circumstance and her MIA co-worker. 

Shrugging, Amber didn’t bother looking up as she continued to work on the not-so-flattering caricature of Montos, fan favorite villain of hit streaming show Of Wolf and Blood. “The character is okay - as far as a bad guy, y’know - but the actor is just overhyped.” 

The interloper chuckled, deep enough that the resonance made a tingle shoot down Amber’s spine. There was a smile in their voice as they replied, “I hear that. I’ve been on his sets.” 

“Is that so-” Unimpressed and ready for some harebrained lie, Amber shot the visitor a skeptical look. Her disbelief faded as her eyes landed on Augustine Prime. A pompous name for an even more arrogant actor, if tabloids were to be believed. “Oh.” 

For a beat, all she could do was stare at him. From the back of her mind, she could hear Addie’s gushing voice relaying details about this very man. He/him, seven foot, a lycan with alleged hellhound blood in him, and built like a strongman competitor. 

Amber could see why he was a fan favorite from his size alone, but those dark gold eyes and chestnut brown waves - worn in a way that made Amber think of a surfer dude - certainly didn’t hurt. The fact he was half-shifted didn’t hurt, either. Walking around like a damn anime character with wolf ears and tail on full display. Faintly, she tried to recall if his clothes - a suit with some obnoxiously bright tie - was from a anything she recognized.

“Oh.” It was curiosity and realization that made her glance down at her sketch, part of her trying to gauge how accurately she was. It took her a half-second to realize that perhaps drawing a less-than-flattering picture of an actor would result in retaliation. Her eyes swung back up to Augustine’s face, that infuriating smirk still tilting at his lips. “Oh no.” 

“So, how much?” He nodded to her hands, to her sketchbook.

Amber’s brain grappled for understanding. “H-how much?” 

Augustine’s smile spread a little further, showing off unnervingly perfect - slightly sharp - white teeth. “For the drawing.” 

Instinctively, she snapped her sketchbook shut, slamming it down on the table and folding her hands atop it. “Wh-what?” 

Amusement quirked further through his features as he raised an eyebrow. “The drawing you were just working on.” 

She clutched her sketchbook to her chest, barely keeping a whine down at the back of her throat. From the way the man’s infuriating grin broadened yet again, she was willing to bet he could hear it regardless. Something broke in her mind. Agitation over his smarminess cleaved through her shock and surprise. 

When she answered, her knuckles hurt from clutching to her sketch pad so hard. “I charge $200 for commissions.” 

Augustine’s other eyebrow rose to join its counterpart. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but commissions would mean I’d ask you to draw.” 

“I-It’s not finished.” Amber wanted to bite her own tongue for stuttering, but she sat straighter and tried to sound firm, “So you’d be asking me to complete it.” 

It was only then that she realized people were staring. Hell, they were amassing around her table. There were obvious fans, hoping to catch Augustine’s attention, and nosy busybodies who were undoubtedly wondering what exactly this star was doing at her table. Heat clawed up Amber’s back, threatening to spill a blush across her cheeks. 

Gods, why couldn’t he have dropped by when Addie was here? 

“Can’t argue there. Here you go.” Finally, Augustine shrugged and pulled his wallet out. Amber numbly stared as he slapped down two $100 bills. Her eyes swung to his face, mouth open to protest, but he silenced her with a wink and a grin. “Deliver it to the VIP section when you’re done.” 

Augustine swept away from her table, taking most of the accumulated crowd with him. If he noticed his silent entourage, he didn’t take any notice. As her hand smacked over the cash, sliding it closer to her, she watched the actor swagger off. 

Though most of the crowd had left, quite a few people had remained. She realized they were asking about her art, her webcomic, her relation to Mr. Prime and she fielded the question while still trying to process her own shock. 

There was one thing, however, that lit up in her mind. 

She really should have charged him more.

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Next Part | Masterlist

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If you like my content, please consider supporting me on: 

*:･ﾟ✧ Patreon or  Ko-Fi *:･ﾟ✧

[meddow]

Fic Author Q&A

Thank you for tagging me @curator-on-ao3!

1. Why do you write fanfic?

It’s a bit of a combination firstly wanting to share a plot idea I have with others, secondly, wanting to see something happen which I know won’t happen in the original source, and thirdly, it can be a bit of a fun puzzle – I don’t like this canon, how do I fix it.

2. Which of your posted stories do you think about the most, even though the story is “finished”?

Lately, First Solitary Separate Singular Complete. It was the first fic I wrote after a long break and I was a very rusty when writing it, so mostly what I would have do differently.

3. If you could give yourself fic advice from when you first started writing fic, what would that advice be?

There will be times when you feel you’ve lost the ability to write. It will come back. It never strays that far away.

4. What’s your relationship to fic stats?

I do check them and quite often, but just for hits. I like seeing the hit count on my WIP steadily head up and like to interpret that as it has found an audience.

5. Is there a pairing or scenario or friendship you miss writing? If so, why? If not, why not?

I wouldn’t mind revisiting Lix/Randall (The Hour) a bit more. I still occasionally find myself coming up with AUs for them. I had half a Victorian detectives AU plotted out in my head back in the day and I wish I'd had the energy to write it. Anyway, it was six episodes over a decade ago and yet they still reside in my head.

6. What motivates you to write?

Partly it’s a race against time to get things down before my inspiration runs out. Partly is that writing for me is like cooking. It’s lovely cooking for myself, but its extra special getting to share what I’ve created with the world and seeing other people enjoy it

7. Why do you write for the fandom(s) that you write for?

My muse is very much motivated by newspaper articles and non-fiction and basically shit I see in the world which pisses me off, and Star Trek remains the ultimate franchise for being able to discuss contemporary issues with a shielding layer of fiction over the top.

For example (spoilers for the next chapter of The Endurance of Light) the villains I’m writing at the moment have an ideology which is based of a whole bunch of anti-master, anti-vaxxer and anti-science rhetoric I’ve seen around – and I’m getting to show how the ruling class of that planet use that ideology to oppress the masses and keep themselves in power, while finding and exploiting loopholes that benefit themselves. I don't know if I'm weird, but writing that kind of stuff for me is oddly fun.

Strange New Worlds in particular hits that sweet spot as it has a great set up and characters I adore, but never seems to have enough time/a high enough episode order to really explore the characters and I want to fix that.  

8. If you’re stuck writing a WIP, what do you do?

Go for a walk. I get all my best ideas either wandering around the local park, or in the shower.

9. What do you wish people knew about comments?

I can’t speak for any author but myself, but I’m happy to answer questions about future developments (or the general direction at least, I won’t give a blow by blow) if someone asks me in a comment. I don’t like tagging my fics with whether it’s a happy ending or not or whether a pairing is endgame or not because I feel that ruins any tension and/or mystery I want to build for everyone, but in the comments, I can put details below a spoiler cut.

10. Maybe there’s a question you wish had been on here. What’s that question (and answer)?

As a person who has aphantasia (the inability to picture things in my mind), I’d love to know what other people see when they’re writing, and how much detail. For me, I feel like for a scene I get enough in my mind to create one blurry film still per scene. There's no movement though. I can’t picture things like facial expressions changing or what characters are doing with their hands. Often I feel like I’m just writing off vibes.

I've seen a lot of people I follow tagged already, is there anyone who has missed out that wants to be?

[boytumms]

Hi! I wrote the story about the magical stomach/intestine filling contents! The one with the competitive eater from about two months ago

So, a story about magical stuffing

Two guys sat in their college dorms, bored out of their minds. One, Adam, was training to become a mage, the other, Mason, training to be an alchemist on top of already being a mage. Both were in their second semester of schooling, being fairly new to their trades.

“Dude, I’m so bored,” Mason said, sighing as he looked at the mage. “Do you have any ideas for what we could do to pass the time? Neither of us have classes for the rest of the day either,” Mason said, looking at his watch for a moment.

Adam shrugged, looking at his pile of text books for a moment. “I have a test in one of my classes tomorrow if you’d like to help me study?” Adam asked, picking up one of his books as he spoke.

“Sure. You’re grades suck anyway,” Mason teased, laughing as Adam punched his arm. “Alright, I’ll help you. What’s this test on anyway?” Mason asked, sitting up a little as he spoke.

“It’s on portals. My teacher is going to ask me to open two portals to transport small objects from one side to the other. I just have trouble with accuracy placing the portals, that’s all,” Adam said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“That’s easy. Just focus super hard on where you want the two portals to show up, even if it’s simply in this room,” Mason said, pointing to the space around them. Adam seemed to think for a moment before he nodded, looking in his textbook for a moment.

Mason watched as Adam casted the spell, smiling when he saw that a small portal had appeared in front of Adam. “That’s great! Now you need to make the second portal appear,” Mason said, cheering his friend on.

Adam seemed confused though, checking his book and mumbling words. “Both are supposed to show up at the same time. It’s gotta be close by, let’s look,” Adam said, standing and beginning to search the room.

The two guys looked for nearly half an hour, but couldn’t find it anywhere. Adam and Mason sat back on the couch, thinking for a moment on how to find this mysterious portal.

“Well, what if we put something into the portal? Something safe in case it’s somewhere nearby or by someone? I’ll go get the cookies I made earlier. Those shouldn’t harm anybody,” Mason said, standing to grab the food from the kitchen.

Adam stared at the small portal, wondering if he should close this set of portals and open a new set. The problem was, he hadn’t learnt that spell yet. But he could probably find it somewhere in his text books.

Mason came back in, interrupting his thinking as he held a plate of cookies. “Let’s see if we can find the portal,” Adam said, picking up a cookie and holding it over the portal.

Adam dropped it, waiting a moment to see if anything happened. Both the guys looked around for a mysterious cookie, listening for the cookie dropping in case it was somewhere else. Adam grabbed two more and dropped them into the portal, again looking around.

Adam paused for a moment, looking at his stomach as he felt a little bit of food settle. Could the portal have placed itself inside of his stomach? Adam dropped several more cookies in the portal, his suspicions being confirmed as he felt the cookies settle in his stomach.

“The portal is inside me! I felt the cookies go into my stomach! Mason, I don’t know how to reverse this spell yet! What do I do?” Adam asked, looking at his roommate as he began to panic. Mason set the cookies on the table, grabbing his friend’s shoulders with the most excited look on his face.

“Sorry, but I’ve snuck through your journal a few times. You like stuffing yourself, right? Let me do it for you,” Mason said, dropping some more cookies into the portal. Adam paused at the words as he felt the cookies settle inside, the idea actually sounding rather pleasant since it had been awhile since Adam had had time to himself.

“Only if you stop when I say so. I know my limits and I really don’t want to die today,” Adam said, his cheeks turning pink as he spoke. Mason picked up the cookies and dumped the rest of the plate in the portal, making Adam groan slightly at the feeling.

“Alright. Why don’t you sit on the couch while I get more food? I’ll be doing the work today,” Mason said, smiling as he took the plate back to the kitchen. Adam would’ve been lying if he didn’t say he was nervous, wondering if it was going to be ok to let someone else do it.

After thirty minutes, the front door was knocked on. Mason answered and payed for the fast food he ordered, turning around with a beaming smile after closing the door. “Here’s the food! I got a lot so we can stuff you nice and round,” Mason said with a smile, picking up a cheeseburger out of one of the bags.

Mason placed the whole cheeseburger in the portal before Adam could say anything, the mage huffing a little at the sudden weight of the burger. Adam watched as his stomach seemed to press out slightly, rubbing his stomach a little as he felt comfortable full. Mason repeated this process with four more hamburgers, Adam rubbing his stomach as it bloated little by little.

Adam was now uncomfortably full, rubbing his small bump of a belly for a moment. He looked up when he heard the pop of a soda being opened, his eyes widening as Mason began pouring a two liter Sprite in the portal. Adam felt the carbonation in his stomach, watching as his poor stomach doubled in size. He immediately began burping, the carbonation slowly inflating his already full stomach.

Mason didn’t waste any time before he picked up another bag, opening it and pulling out some French fries. He dumped in container after container, not leaving room for Adam to say anything as he felt the food mash into his stomach with the soda and burgers. The mage was still a burping mess, sighing as he felt the carbonation finally go away.

Adam gingerly pressed against his stomach, sighing as he saw the small food baby that rested in his stomach. “Alright, I think I’m done. That was a lot of food,” Adam said, rubbing his stomach as he spoke. His shirt definitely fit more snuggly now, but it wasn’t tight. Mason didn’t like that.

He picked up another burger, looking at if for a moment before he put it in the portal. “I was gonna have a few, but you seem to need them more,” Mason said, watching as Adam stared in horror. Mason added five more cheeseburgers after that, watching as Adam became a moaning mess. Ten cheeseburgers definitely wasn’t a light meal.

Adam’s stomach was now gently tugging at his shirt, the male panting slightly at the pressure in his stomach. Even his sweat pants were beginning to slide under the curved dome of his stomach. But that didn’t stop Mason, he seemed to be enjoying it too much. He opened another two liter of sprite, watching as Adam shook his head no.

Mason poured the Sprite anyway, watching Adam hold his distended abdomen as his stomach gurgled and bloated more. Adam’s shirt slowly slid up as his stomach expanded, burping soon emerging from Adam’s mouth.

“This is how it’s done, but you’re not even close to what I have for you,” Mason said, grabbing some more food as he spoke. This process went on for another hour, Adam complaining as he was force fed more food. Mason gave him the last of the food, sitting on the couch next to Adam.

“There, all done. Now look at you, you’re so helpless,” Mason said, chuckling as he placed his hand on Adam’s large stomach. He had placed so much solid food, that his stomach was going to take awhile to break down the burgers he had fed him whole.

Mason sat next to Adam and immediately began to massage at the tender abdomen of his friend, watching as Adam visibly relaxed. “That feels so freaking good…” Adam said, slowly falling asleep as Mason continued to help the food work through his system.

“Let’s do this again another time. Just let me digest this first,” Adam said drowsily, eventually falling asleep as Mason continued to massage his swollen abdomen. Mason could only chuckle, knowing that this would’ve happened anyway, even if Adam didn’t want it too.

AKNDJABDNABS HELLO AGAIN!!! Thank you for sending in another story, I do love me some magic stuffing :)))

[frazzledsoul]

literati fics: a frazzled curated list

So there’s been a lot of talk on my feed about “fandom coming back” (it left?) and needing to create user-curated lists of fanfic instead of relying on authors to plug their fics.

Well, this is cheating, because I’m going to plug my own fics, too, but I’ve mostly been reading literati fics for the past few years. I don’t see a lot of Luke/Lorelai fics even being written anymore (also, while I enjoy the fics, my opinions on those two are out of line with a lot of other fans) and I got really into reading lit fics about two years ago, kind of fell out of it, and fell back into in over the past few weeks. So with that behind us, this is what I have enjoyed.

Appreciation by ksfd89 : This is a post revival fic about Rory reconciling with Jess and going through the pregnancy and birth. It’s long, but it’s complete, and I have a soft spot for it as it was the first fic in this fandom that I really latched onto. I don’t think it’s on AO3 but I may be wrong.

the weight we carry by @scoopsgf: This is basically a novel of Jess’s life story, from right before he shows up on the show to a few years past the revival. I love, love, love it and am rereading it right now. It does a great job of writing in canon and also filling in the gaps when Jess was offscreen.

wrapped up in books by @scoopsgf: This starts as a season 6 fix it where Rory reconcile with Jess after the meeting at Truncheon but then (spoiler alert) Rory winds up pregnant with twins right as she graduates from Yale. I got to the end of the first part and I was like wutttttttt but the concept actually works?!? So it’s basically Rory and Jess being adorable hipster parents in NYC.

A Society Affair by Ultra: Rory has been raised in her grandparents world when she hooks up with Jess, who is Hep Alien’s band manager. I don’t see this author talked about much here, but they’re responsible for a gazillion Lit fics. Anyway, this is very cute and features a lot of the Chilton/Yale crew as supporting characters without villainizing them.

Met You At The Right Time by @windowsandfeelings: So I really hadn’t read fic for over a year until I came across this one a little over a month ago and got super hyperfixated on this ship as a result of it. Rory becomes unstuck in time the day after her mother’s wedding and starts revisiting points in her past. Makes excellent (and I do mean excellent) use of the lack of info given to us about that eight year gap between the OS and AYITL.

Harvest Moon by @mrsmess: I had heard about this fic for years but never checked it out because well, I guess I’m a moron. Rory and Jess reunite at Luke’s cabin after her grandfather dies. I don’t know why I avoided it so long because I’m a hick and have spent half my weekends at a lakeside cabin since I was a teenager so you would think this would be right what I want in a fic and yeah, it absolutely is. So again, I’m a moron for not reading this sooner. The sequels are great, too.

Starstuck by @mrsmess: Rory and Jess get stuck in a Groundhogs Day time loop the day of the firelight festival in season 4 and have to get themselves out. I loved, loved, loved this concept and devoured the story in an hour or so.

The Long and Winding Road by @stellaluna33: Rory comes to some realizations about Jess as she becomes a mom. WIP, but I’ve very much enjoyed it so far.

If you didn’t see your fic on here, well, I probably didn’t read it yet. But these are my current favorites.

Onto my fics for this ship:

The Morning After: Jess and Rory hook up in Stars Hollow in the summer of 2012, and everyone finds out about it and talks the subject to death. I’m not sure if this qualifies as a Literati fic, honestly: I was less interested when I wrote it in the actual sex itself than the blended family dynamics and filling in some of the plot holes and unexplained stray comments from AYITL (and there were a lot of them). My thinking was that it would be interesting if Jess’s complaint that Luke didn’t give him the wifi password for six months “and I lived here!” was not a reference to the distant past, but an indication that his business failed and he had to come back to Stars Hollow for a while and hooked up with Rory when she was newly freelancing and starting to unravel. I was going to write a sequel where Jess wrote a mosaic novel in part based on Luke and Lorelai’s relationship and got his shit together professionally as a result, but I never did (oops).  Anyway, this exists, it’s complete, but it’s a got an unsatisfactory ending as it is canon compliant. Also, there are a lot of banjo jokes.

A Simple Twist of Fate:  Jess and Rory are reeling from recent breakups of long-term relationships when they reconcile on Emily Gilmore’s living room floor (niiiiice). How will their new relationship handle the pregnancy that ensues? I’ve gone round and round on this on this blog because I didn’t realize until I wrote it what an outlier it was to have Jess deeply involved with someone else (and oh, yeah, it’s written in Rory’s first person POV. Was I high when I decided to do that? Anyway). It’s twenty six chapters of angst and ponderous conversations about miscarriage, guilt, and depression, with some fluff mixed in. Currently unfinished.

Home: It’s a fast forward of A Simple Twist of Fate. Drabbles about Rory and Jess raising their daughter in Philadelphia. I’m currently working on a chapter about the I-95 bridge collapse (what a cheery subject!) 

Blueberry Pancakes: Okay, so a long time ago I started a story called Full Circle (it’s in my fic list, but I’m not linking it here because the Literati part so far is basically nonexistent). The idea was that Rory would have lots of romantic misadventures while on the campaign trail while Luke and Lorelai would go to therapy and get married and have babies and do all the conventional stuff. Rory would settle down with Jess and at some point Lorelai and Rory would be pregnant at the same time. This drabble takes place in the world of that story, which is why I’m including it here. The drabble French Fries also takes place in that universe, but Rory and Jess don’t actually appear (although their daughter does).

(Fair warning: the previous two drabbles are in a drabble list where I wrote stories about multiple ships, including Rory and Logan. So yeah, if you read the whole thing through you may get it from the other side. I’ve also re-ordered my canon compliant fics so they appear in a series, and there’s some Rory/Logan stuff in there as well, including the last fic I wrote. They are not endgame, but I haven’t written the stories where Jess wins the ship war. So it is what it is).

[trollprincess]

Watched the Teen Wolf movie.

… well, that happened.

I read a spoiler-free review a couple of days ago that was like, “You have to have seen the show before to know what’s going on,” but I’ve seen every episode, like, ten times at this point and I was still asking myself what the fuck was going on multiple times.

This feels like something Jeff Davis wrote on a napkin when he got bored and then didn’t edit. Like, it’s one thing to be like “Lydia left Stiles and he’s off ‘fighting his own fires’, whatever the hell that means.” You can’t get Dylan back, you can’t get him back. Whatever. But why the hell is Derek saying so many very, very dim things? That “your eyes!” line is funny, but it makes him sound like they put a Stiles line in his mouth. Melissa and Argent are in multiple scenes together and I literally had to stop myself and try to remember if they even *spoke* to one another. Are they together? Who the fuck knows? “Did you tell your mom?” doesn’t tell me shit. Maybe they are, maybe they’re not. There’s just so, SO much of this.

Addendum: I mean … Adrian? Really? Seriously?! What, did he get picked out of a hat?

Addendum, part two: Does Eli have a personality? He has no mom so he only has Derek who talks to him like he just met Eli yesterday, he’s on the lacrosse team but in Beacon Hills which guys aren’t, he has no friends that we see, all he does is steal Stiles’s jeep. Oh, and he’s got past trauma from seeing Derek wolf out, but JD can’t write people dealing with past trauma to save his life. That ending is hilarious because “teen” and “wolf” are literally the only two things I know about Eli. At all. I mean, he seems very nice, but it’s not enough to make me want to watch a new show about him. At least Scott had Stiles and lacrosse within that first episode.

So much of a two-and-a-half hour movie had me going, “Okay, that could have been written better.”

I said, “Well, that was A Choice,” out loud twice during the movie, which is two times too many.

Okay, I want to preface this by saying it is NOT a criticism. Crystal Reed is 38. She has had a little work done, which there is absolutely NOTHING wrong with. *However*, these actors are all notably older than they were during the show, which makes sense given they AND THEIR CHARACTERS have aged. So are we just handwaving Allison’s aging? I mean, she’s clearly physically *not* a teenager, but is Allison supposed to have come back as one? Okay, fine, we dangled some keys over the Nemeton and now Allison’s back? I just …

The fact that there are at least two characters who are like, “I haven’t used my powers at all in the last fifteen years!” is annoying as balls. I just have a hard time believing that overachiever Lydia is really going to let her banshee abilities slide. I feel like the Lydia I know, over the course of fifteen years, would have been able to send a dart into the bullseye through an open bar door from a block away from absurd amounts of practice. She might not have been fighting monsters the same way she had in high school, but STILL.

Jackson could have not been there and the flimsy plot would have still worked, and yet Colton was enjoying himself immensely in a way everyone but maybe Ian was not. Also, Jackson and Ethan are still together! Awww. Wish we could have gotten two and a half hours of that.

NGL, I laughed when Derek died. It was mostly because I could see the strings. Which I probably shouldn’t be able to, but I could see “well, he’s Superman now and we can’t bring him back for more movies and episodes” tugging that little plot point into position. To be fair, you can’t really have the character walk that plot point into existence when you’re writing him from minute one as if he banged his head off something.

Scott and Allison … just … can we stop for a second and go back to that question of where she’s at when she comes back? Because I feel like we’re going back to the issues with Malia when she returned from being in coyote form for years, except in that instant she lived those years. And it was still problematic for her to be having sex with Stiles and going to regular high school classes. Allison hasn’t been *alive* for fifteen years. She hasn’t even been a CORPSE. She’s been ash in an urn. And now she’s back after dying when she was a teenager, and it’s just back with Scott and everything’s normal? Come on. Come ON.

Meanwhile, Malia and Parrish. I’m fine with that. Provide that man as many fitted uniforms and fireproof underwear as he needs to rip and/or burn off.

I’m mad about Hikari, because I’m sure she’s great, but also it feels like they wrote Kira in and then when Arden wouldn’t do it they erased Kira and drew Hikari in but without giving her much to do as a person instead of a kitsune. (And if she and Liam were together together, then let them be? I don’t fucking know at this point.)

I know this sounds like I didn’t like the movie, and that’s because I didn’t, but also I appreciate it being so badly written because watching badly written things makes me throw things and shout “I can write better than that!”, and in this case I have a first draft inspired by Teen Wolf crossed with Yellowjackets which I can direct my annoyance at.

[juliasdowntonstuff]

So, about a week ago I did a writing-WIP-tag here on tumblr and that caused an old drabble to resurface thanks to @bella-caecilia. In the last few days I finished it and reworked it a couple times. That did not help in the least - in fact, it only made it worse (classic case of verschlimmbessern) so now I’ve decided to just put it out here to prevent me from making it even worse.

The prompt I used was given to me a by a friend and it was: "I don't need a lot to be happy"

you can also find it on ao3: click here

My dearest Robert,

I hope this letter reaches you well and in good health, wherever you are right now. I still do not dare to imagine what your daily life looks like and what horrors you are facing. But enough about that — I am sure you want to hear about home.

You will not believe what our daughters did yesterday afternoon. The three of them put on a show for me and your Mama! Edith played the piano — her lessons have not been wasted, I can assure you — while Mary sang so beautifully for us. And darling Sybil danced to their music. What a sight to behold.

It baffles me time and time again how Mary and Edith can be so nasty towards each other and fight all day long, and then put on such a nice show together immediately afterwards. Even Carson clapped excitedly for the girls and their efforts — Mary had insisted he stay and watch the show, as you can imagine.

Apart from that, nothing much has happened since the last time I wrote to you. Life has been slow, and the weather is still cold and windy, not at all pleasant enough to go on strolls alone. Oh, how I miss our daily walks, my dear!

I hope you get to come home soon, at least on leave from the front. I need to see you, my darling one.

But until my tired soul sets eyes on you again, I remain your longing, loving wife

Cora

Robert had had a bright smile on his face when an officer handed him the envelope with his wife's neat writing on it, even more so when he found not one, but two letters in the envelope. Reading his wife's letter first, that smile stayed there and almost extended all the way to his ears. He must have looked like a fool, but he frankly could not care less. He was a man deeply in love with his wife, and who could blame him for that?

She did not write much about life at home, she never did. She missed him, just like he missed her and their family, and that did not improve with writing about it too often, both of them had found. She had stopped writing those long letters full of stories of what happened at home months ago. At first, he had not noticed, he had been too preoccupied with the raging war. Still, when her letters had turned from spanning several pages to barely scraping the bottom of one single page, he had started to worry and eventually posed that question in one of his letters. Her reasoning had only been all too understandable when she replied and it made him miss his family even more.

He could not wait to get home.

Two and a half years. That's how long he had already been stationed in South Africa. He had seen his family only a handful of times in the many months since he got called up to serve his queen and country at the front. Even when he got leave, it was rarely enough to travel all the way back to England and see them. This war had cost him over two precious years of his life already. More than two valuable years he did not get to spend with Cora and their daughters and he couldn't wait to get home, hopefully for good in the near future.

Home. Downton Abbey.

He could still picture vividly the abbey's striking architecture as it rolled into view when one came home from the station or simply went on a long walk across the estate. He was proud, incredibly so, that he was the one to call this his home.

If only he was already standing at the gates to the estate.

But he was not. Not yet, anyway. Robert was still on a boat. One that was set to land in Southampton in only a matter of hours. Sure, he would still have to board several trains to take him up to London, then on to York, Ripon and then finally to Downton.

Home was already well within his reach. He had sent a letter to Taylor when he was on his way back to England to inform him of his arrival in the village but asked the chauffeur to keep it to himself as a surprise for her ladyship. By god, the young Earl hoped his chauffeur had listened and kept it to himself.

Then, on the train taking him to London, Robert had finally found the time and peace to read the letter his daughters had sent him. It was clear that Mary was the one who wrote it — he knew her writing that looked mature and meticulously placed for her age only too well. Reading the words she had written in seemingly hasty penmanship made his heart only grow heavier than it already was. He hated to think of his dear wife in such a state that even their daughters couldn't lighten her mood with a joint performance. Those were rare enough as they were. And it only made him want to get home even quicker.

Dearest Papa,

We sincerely hope you are somewhere safe and not getting yourself in danger.

Mama only just now told us we could write a few lines and put them into her envelope to be sent to you along with her letter, but we do not have much time.

All of us miss you so terribly much and we cannot wait for the next time you get home on leave. It seems like we have already forgotten what you look like — Edith and I have had quite the argument about the colour of your hair. She says it is a very, very dark blond, while I think your hair is a shade of brown. You do need to settle this for us, so please come home soon!

Mama has not been feeling too well since the last time you were home to see us. Ever since you left again, she has been in her room for most of her days and has not taken much interest in anything apart from tea with us and Granny. She looks so awfully, awfully sad all the time and we have not managed to cheer her up for long. Edith and I even played the piano and sang for her while Sybil danced!

Granny said that she is worried about Mama's lack of interest, and I have never seen her look so concerned.

Please, come home very soon, Papa!

That is all we wish for.

Promise us to please stay safe and think of us every once in a while.

Mary, Edith, and Sybil

Oh, he would give anything to see the scene of his daughters trying to cheer their mother up. He would give anything just to see their happy little faces look up at him.

What would his darling girls say once they caught sight of him in this state — his arm in a sling, covered in bandages, a healing gash on his forehead? His wounds and bruises were the sole reason he got granted this longer leave that allowed him to travel home to his family. He had not told them of his injury, not even Cora. He simply couldn't get himself to write those horrid words on paper.

Cora.

How would his beloved wife react when she saw him, battered and bruised as he was?

It was the beginning of May, and what a nice day it was.

Finally, after weeks of nothing but horribly dull weather in all of England, the sun had made a rare reappearance. For the first time in weeks, Cora wanted to go outside and maybe sit on the bench for a while — she would have to ask Thompson for her light coat in a few minutes. Cora had not been outside for longer than a few minutes in at least a month, but that had not entirely been to blame on the weather. Similarly, she had not even responded to any of the invitations to luncheon or tea with her mother-in-law down in the village in the dower house. A fact that would likely turn into a lengthy argument when she would next meet Violet, which was inevitably quite soon.

Cora knew that she should take more of an interest in the estate and entertain more of her acquaintances. But truth be told, she did not feel like it and she had no great aspirations to spend evenings with women who looked down on her because of her heritage, not when Robert wasn't there to cheer her up with a look or a stolen kiss.

She had not seen her husband in well over 9 months, and his last letter had reached her over a month ago. He had never taken so long to respond and it concerned her greatly. What if something happened to him, what if he wasn't coming home?

All of this uncertainty only further added to her uneasiness and sudden need for constant solitude. She found no real joy in things she once loved, and not even her daughters had managed to lift the heavy clouds weighing down on her.

Cora was standing at her bedroom window, looking out over the green grass in front of the house and the gravel path that stretched all the way down to the gates of their estate when she saw a carriage ride up to the house drawn by two horses.

They were not expecting anyone, were they? Or had she forgotten about a visitor? No, that could not be — someone would have reminded her; Mrs Hughes would have, surely.

Quickly, Cora turned and left the well-known comfort of her bedroom to rush downstairs and see who came to see them without prior announcement. Just when she arrived downstairs and crossed the threshold of the grand entryway, their butler opened the carriage door to let whoever was riding in the back step out onto the gravel.

There he was in his khaki uniform, climbing out of the carriage with a bright smile plastered onto his sun-kissed face.

Her eyes must be deceiving her, or maybe this was all just a dream.

Had Carson not looked so surprised himself, she would have believed that this was just wishful thinking, a rather vivid daydream at most. But he was here, he was home. Robert was home.

With three quick and long strides, he reached her, stopping only a metre in front of her when she did not move. His bright smile slowly turned into a frown when she still did not show any reaction to his presence.

"Cora," he said, trying to sound encouraging, and it seemed that this finally snapped her back into reality.

"Are you really here? Or are you just a figment of my imagination?" she breathed, looking up into his excited face.

"I am really here, my dear. I got granted enough leave to travel home at long last," he replied, taking off his beige military hat with his gloved left hand.

Then, without any warning, she closed the gap between them and fell into his arms. Her arms wrapped around his neck almost on their own accord and she pulled herself up into his embrace.

While trying to hold her tightly to him so that she would not fall, he winced and drew in a sharp breath. The sudden impact of her body on his was painful, and so was his right arm being squeezed between their bodies, but he couldn't deny relishing in the familiar sensation he had been deprived of for so long.

"Robert?" she asked alarmedly when she heard his sharp intake of breath. Only then, having stepped away from her husband again, she noticed the sling his right arm was in and caught sight of the already healing cut on his forehead. "Robert, what happened?" she gasped.

"Don't you worry, darling. I was wounded, but not too badly, and they gave me leave to convalesce a little. It is not as bad as it looks, I assure you, my dearest," Robert replied before making a start for the main entrance of his ancestral home. "Where are the girls?"

"They are on a walk with Nanny, I believe," Cora said, not at all sure if this was truly the case. Maybe they had gone on that walk the day before, or maybe Nanny had asked for the day ahead? Cora couldn't remember, she hadn't paid close enough attention. Their girls were not all that little any more, and she trusted their Nanny. It's not that she did not care — she did care, a lot! She just couldn't get her mind to focus on anything lately. Not even on her daughters' whereabouts.

"Good, so you can tell me all about what happened without us being interrupted over a cup of tea," he smiled as they went into the library.

///////////////////////////////

"Cora, I have to ask," Robert said after she had given him an account of what had happened in the last few months since he had last been home to England in August. By the sounds of what she told him, everything seemed perfectly alright, but that did not go well with what his daughters had written. Adding to that, he knew his wife well enough to know that she liked to keep her sadness to herself to spare the feelings of others.

"What is it, darling?"

Cora looked at him wide-eyed, expectation and fearful anticipation clearly visible on her still youthful features while her hands closed around the empty teacup she held close to her chest, sitting up straighter on the settee.

Robert scooted closer, carefully taking one of her hands in his. While she was trying to avoid his gaze, his eyes searched her face worriedly. Calmly, he said: "How have you been, truly?"

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked, pretending to sip from the empty teacup in her hands.

"The girls wrote to me and they said you were incredibly unhappy, hiding away in your bedroom most of the time. They even said that Mama was worried about you. Speaking of which — she, too, wrote to me, about 6 weeks ago, stating that you have ignored all her invitations to come down to the Dower House and also haven't invited her to come here, either. I know you haven't been entertaining, that is somewhat understandable. But this is not like you, dear, no matter how hard she is being on you."

"Nothing gets past you, then," she replied dejectedly. "You know everything, even when you are half a world away. It's true, I have not been feeling my best in recent weeks."

"What can I do? What do you need to be happy again?"

"I don't need a lot to be happy, Robert, you know that," she said dismissively, glancing shyly to the ground near the fireplace.

"Yes, I do know that. But what does it take for you to be happy now? There must be something, surely."

"I need to know you're safe," she replied, finally meeting his gaze.

"And you shall have that for at least another fortnight still," Robert replied, taking her slender fingers in his bigger, unscathed hand.

That was not entirely what she meant and he knew that, but a fortnight was all he had to offer, no matter how much he wished it was more.

"What happened?" she then asked, motioning to his arm to bridge the silence that had fallen over them.

"We were under attack during the night, we had not seen it coming. They cornered us, but we fought back. I was lucky that my batsman had been awake, he warned me just in time, he saved me. We managed to get away, not unscathed, obviously. He had to be taken to a military hospital to get stitched up while they sent me home. So many of our fellow men didn't. But enough about tha-"

Suddenly, squeals of delight filled the library when the three girls entered, almost running to their father but remembering their lessons in etiquette and good behaviour.

"Papa?"

"Papa! It is you!"

"I knew that was your voice I heard from out in the hall!"

It was little Sybil in her light blue dress who first asked: "Papa, what happened to your arm?"

"Oh, that. It's nothing for you to worry about. Papa fell badly and needs to let his arm rest for a little while longer. That is why the doctors gave me a sling."

"And what about your forehead, Papa?" Mary asked curiously.

"Like I said, I took a rather bad fall. But this, too, shall heal again, I have no doubts about that. And now come here and let me hug you," he laughed, opening his arms for his three young daughters.

They all but ran towards him again, throwing their short arms around him while squealing in delight.

"Mary, Edith?" he asked as his daughters hugged him.

Dutifully, they all let go of him, stepped away and looked at him expectantly.

"Yes, Papa?"

"I hope you did not give your mother and Nanny too many grievances while I was away?"

The two elder girls looked at each other rather guiltily, but it was Sybil who eventually replied: "They did fight a lot, but I managed to calm them down, apologise to each other and then make them play nicely again every single time."

The young girl looked up proudly at her father, bouncing on her feet so that the hem of her dress swayed animatedly with her movements.

"That was very good of you, Sybil, my dear. Thank you," Robert said as he patted his youngest's head. Turning to face Edith and Mary he added: "Now, the two of you have undoubtedly noticed that I have not yet replied to your last letter and there is still an unresolved argument, isn't there?"

"What do you mean, Papa?" Edith asked sheepishly, her eyes flitting from her father to her mother and back again to her father.

"Well, I gather the two of you have been fighting about the colour of my hair, haven't you?"

"Oh, that. That was nothing, Papa. It was just a silly argument, I should not have mentioned it," replied Mary hastily, trying to diminish the fight she mentioned in the letter to their father. It was, after all, a truly banal question that she posed.

"Was it really silly if you indeed argued over it?" he said when his daughters both shook their heads no rather shamefully. "No, I didn't think so. If you were to ask your Granny for photographs and paintings of me in my youth, you would find that my hair indeed used to be lighter. I had blonde hair when I was a child, with a hint of red in it, just like Aunt Rosamund. Then, as I grew older, it got darker until the darker shade of blonde I had in my youth had turned into brown. Until finally, in the last few months especially, it has started to turn increasingly more grey."

The Earl leant forward in his seated position and pointed towards his temples to let his daughters inspect what he had just told them. And it was true, the hair at his temples was already turning considerably grey, even though he had not yet reached 40.

Just then, Nanny came to call the girls upstairs for their bath. Diligently, Mary and Edith bid their parents goodbye and quickly dashed upstairs. Only Sybil stayed back and moved closer to her father.

With her voice barely above a whisper — as if she were to plot something with him — she said: "You know, Papa, they didn't fight badly about this. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but I can't let them lie to you and mama. They didn't fight about the colour of your hair. In fact, they never truly argued about your hair at all, we simply talked about you, what we remembered about you and how much we missed you. This was all just a plan we came up with that was meant to get you to come home to us faster. We thought if we exaggerated things, you might be able to come home. I am sorry," the young girl said, bowing her head ashamedly.

"Sybil, darling, I know."

"You do?" she asked. Her brown eyes were wide when she looked back up at her father with surprise and shock

"Yes, of course. Why would you ever seriously fight about something so insignificant like the colour of my hair? And I am not mad about this plan of yours, not in the least. I wouldn't even have been mad if they had argued."

"You would not?" Sybil asked.

"You would not?" Cora echoed her daughter, almost at the same time and just as surprised.

Robert quickly smiled at Cora before turning back to face his daughter. He took Sybil's small hands in his.

"Sybil, your sisters argue over many things. They always have and they likely always will. They are very different people, and both have inherited their mother's strong determination, as have you. That leads them to argue a lot, but they are still sisters. They love you and they love each other, they just can't show it. They don't know how. This plan of yours just shows that you care; all of you do, and I am glad for it. So no, I am not mad that you lied."

Sybil beamed brightly at him, more than relieved that her Papa was not cross with any of them for their deception, and quickly made to leave the room and follow her sisters upstairs.

"But only this once, little lady," he shouted after her when she was already out the door.

Her head peeked back around the wooden door again, still smiling widely, as she said: "Of course, Papa, we will never lie, ever again!"

Her parents shared a laugh at that, both knowing this to be quite far from the truth. Neither of them was an only child, after all. Just when they thought they had the library to themselves again and Robert made to kiss his wife, Carson entered with a silver tray in hand. Starting to get quite irritated by the interruption, he asked rather harshly: "What is it now, Carson?"

"I am sorry to interrupt you, milord, but this just arrived for you," the butler replied as he lowered the tray for him to retrieve the envelope. "I will also ring the dressing gong in a minute." Then, turning to face the lady of the house, he said: Oh, and the Dowager Countess has also sent word that she will arrive very soon. She will stay for dinner and she will not take no for an answer this time."

"Thank you, Carson," both of them said in unison, and Robert helped his wife up from the settee. He knew she would immediately want to go down to the kitchens and report the change in the menu to their still rather new cook and inform her of the two extra stomachs that needed to be filled.

Sure enough, Carson rang the gong as soon as he was out in the hall again and soon after that, Violet arrived at the abbey. All evening, Robert wanted nothing more than to finally be alone with his wife. And yet, his mother, who was understandably quite joyous about his leave of convalescence, simply would not leave that night.

///////////

It was almost midnight by the time they were alone in her bedroom, both exhausted after the events and surprises of the day.

Lying in bed, Robert watched his wife, who was still sitting at her dressing table and took off her jewellery. He saw how preoccupied she seemed, that her mind was somewhere miles away. Cora had her brow furrowed and pensively took off her right earring while staring at her reflection in the mirror with a frown on her face.

"Cora, what do you truly need to be happy?"

"I told you already, darling. I don't need much to be happy."

"Yes, I know you don't. But what is it that you truly need or desire? What would make you feel better?" Robert pressed on.

Silence.

For a minute, a deafening silence filled the otherwise cosy bedroom. His wife looked at him through the mirror on the vanity. She let her gaze wander from the long laceration on his forehead to his arm resting limply in the sling, and then back up to his face.

"You, Robert. You are who and what I need. I need you with me, here at Downton, and not away on another continent fighting for your life every single minute of every single day. I need you here with me. I need to be sure that you're safe, that you are far out of harm's way. I need to know you're alive, that you'll come home to me."

Cora turned and finally looked at him.

When he did not reply, she added: "It seems like I have steadily gotten worse at coping without you here. It is true, what the girls wrote in their letter to you. I have been unhappy and I have been ignoring your mother's messages and invitations. I am honestly quite surprised I did not get an earful about that tonight. No doubt that was only because of your unforeseen presence."

"I think you might be right about that, dearest," he chuckled. The same thought had crossed his mind already, as well, and it would be in his mother's character.

"Robert, I mean it. Look at you, you have been hurt badly-"

"It could have been worse, so much worse. So many of my comrades will never return home like I did. But I had a lucky charm that saved me. Which reminds me-"

As gracefully as he could, he hoisted himself out of bed and went to his dressing room. Cora only heard how he rummaged through something, muttering under his breath, until he eventually returned and took a seat on the cushioned bench at the foot of their bed.

"I want you to have this back," he said, extending his left hand.

With surprise written all over her face, Cora looked at what he tried to give her.

It was her lucky charm, the small toy dog she had insisted Robert take with him to the front when he was first called up. Her father had given it to her when she was a young girl and it had always brought her luck, and so she wanted Robert to have it. He would need all the luck he could get, she had figured.

"No, Robert. You need it. I can't take it from you."

"You can. Your lucky charm did its trick, it saved me. I am here, am I not? Please, I insist."

Once again, he urged her to take the toy, extending his arm further towards her.

"No, take it back with you. This time, you and your batsman were only injured. But god knows what will happen next time," Cora replied adamantly.

She took his hand and closed it around the small dog, trying to push Robert's hand back towards his chest.

"Cora, take it, please. I have no use for it any longer. There is nowhere left I could take it."

"I don't understand?"

"The mysterious letter Carson brought this afternoon. I never told you what it was about, did I?"

Seeming more than slightly confused about the sudden change of subject, Cora shook her head no. They hadn't had a chance to talk since then, and she had already forgotten about the letter delivered to him, if she was completely honest with herself.

"It was a telegram from the general I served under in Africa. He said that the last of the guerillas finally surrendered a few days ago and that a treaty is currently in the works, waiting to be signed. That will put an end to this war once and for all. I don't need your lucky charm any longer because I'm staying. I'm staying for good this time, Cora," he smiled.

"You will never have to go back there?" she asked, bewilderment written all over her features.

"No. I will never have to go back there. The war is over for me, for us. I am home and I wanted you to be the first person to know."

Robert tried again to give Cora the toy. And this time, she took it. Gladly. She stood up and put it on her nightstand before getting into bed, waiting for him to do the same.

He lifted the covers on his side of the bed and slid under them, carefully trying not to move his arm too much. Once she had finally settled into bed next to him and her head was resting on his chest as she snuggled up to him, he asked: "Cora, are you happy now?"

"I told you, I don't need a lot to be happy," she replied. "And this proves it. Yes, I am so very happy."

"Good, so am I."