#like those best fics from olden days

[arminsumi]

hii!! hru?? i hope ur doing finee!! :))

so i have a request 😭😭 imagine olden times gojo satoru x reader, reader comes from the lower class poor family and gojo is the higher rich class 🤩🤩 gojo and reader go to school together and gojo is rlly known and popular in school so reader gets curious and tries to talk/start a conversation with him!! then they become friends but they eventually both develop feelings for eachother 😭😭 but because of their differences they cant get together/love eachother and gojo's parents dont rlly support gojo marrying a poor girl and want him to marry someone with a high status!! (u can make gojo have a future arranged marriage if u want, i jus need an angsty fluff fic 😭)

✎ runaway lovers

💗 さとる

note : i found this buried deep in the drafts !! :( i'm late but i wrote this in one go and it was so fun, i got so absorbed into the story... ugh i'm a sucker for olden day gojo stuff. one of my fav posts was that hanahaki gojo fic. anyways!! aaa i swooned a bit at the part he says "i will always find my way hom and she is my home" 🥹

content : one day at school, those six eyes catch you spying through the gap in the door, and from that moment on gojo satoru grows fascinated with you. he just has to introduce himself to you. he doesn't care about the whispers around him and just falls right in love. unfortunately, his parents frown upon you two being together, and they try their best to pry the two of you apart.

warnings : fem reader, angsty fluffy, misunderstandings, gojo gets put into an arranged marriage, forbidden romance trope

playme : you're in love

"gojo satoru...?" you question curiously.

your friend nods, starry-eyed. "you know, from the gojo clan? oh, he's so... he's just... you can't even envision how good-looking he is; you just have to see him with your own eyes. come on."

"alright..." you chuckle, letting her lead you down the corridors. she trips clumsily on the way.

the two of you peer into the senior student's class. you whisper under your breath to her, "which one is he? there's so many people in the room... and i can barely see."

"just search the room. you'll know him when you see him. he stands out." your friend whispers excitedly.

your eyes look searchingly. and then they land on a head of snow-white hair; there's a boy, two years your senior, sitting upright like a stick and clad in a blue-toned kimono with an endearingly simple pattern on it — but you're not fooled, that's the highest quality silk. a clan crest stares at you, as his back faces you.

You peer through this slit in the door.

you're staring at him like you're spellbound. and... those hyper-attentive six eyes catch onto you right away.

gojo curiously peers behind him over his shoulder. when you see his face, it immediately makes sense why your friend — like so many other girls in this school — is completely taken by him.

and he... he's taken by you, the instant the two of you make electric eye contact. you look away as if singed by spilled boiling tea.

gojo's heart thumps in his chest.

who was that, just now, peering through the slit in the door? she was...

"good-looking, isn't he?" your friend smugly nudges your shoulder as the two of you scamper away like mice, escaping outside.

gojo's class concludes moments after catching you spying through the slit in the shoji door, so he quickly makes a path to follow after you as you escape to the taiko bashi bridge with your friend as if you're two criminals.

and he ends up eavesdropping on your conversation at a prime moment.

"...he looked like an angel..." you say in awe. his heart flutters and he widens his eyes, straining his ears to hear more but the bush of flowers is fluttering so loudly in the wind that it makes it difficult. so much for six eyes... what he wishes he had right now is six ears.

he picks up fragments of your voice. it gives him... butterflies, for the first time he understands what it means to have butterflies in one's stomach.

"...ah, don't tease me...!"

he blinks his pretty eyes and listens to you.

"...i can't possibly introduce myself to him...he's not just my senior...he's the prodigal son of the gojo clan..."

his heart... does something. a smug look forms on his face.

well... if she can't find the courage to introduce herself to me, then i'll introduce myself to her.

and so he does. when his best friend accompanies him on a gliding exit walk along the bridge, he stops by you and...

he bows deeply, like you're a very important person. but you're not, you're a commoner in most eyes at this school... and yet he doesn't treat you as such. it even takes his best friend, suguru, by surprise because he knows satoru to usually be a bit pompous.

electric eye contact is made between you and satoru when the two of you rise from your greeting bows.

"have we met before?" he begins smoothly, "your face reminds me of a girl i met in a dream."

your throaty stutter endears him, but makes his best friend snicker.

"satoru... don't go around flirting with monkeys." he says meanly.

for the first time, satoru ignores something that his best friend says. a reality-shattering moment, really, suguru widens his eyes as satoru asks; "what's your name...?" as if he's desperate and determined to know it.

and that's where it all begins. on the taiko bashi bridge. one spring.

it doesn't take long for his parents to find out that he's conversing with a commoner, and they put a stop to it immediately. not only because of your status... but because they don't want him to be "distracted". he needs to keep a "narrow focus" on his studies. and... they refuse to let some commoner mingle romantically with their precious prodigal son.

girls snicker in secret about you. rumors spread that you forwardly introduced yourself to gojo.

"i heard that she chased after gojo-senpai and desperately tried to introduce herself to him. she's obsessed with him or something, it's really pathetic!"

speak of the devil... no no, he's an angel like you said... satoru appears. not a word slipped by him. it makes his blood surge, is stomach twist; they had some nerve. he wants to cuss them out, be improper and raw and visceral. but he refrains. because consequences.

"i'll have to correct you two," satoru's sudden appearance shocks them out of their bodies. that voice is chilling. "it was actually me who initiated that introduction on the bridge. she was too lovely to ignore..."

oh, satoru... why did you choose the word 'lovely'? now rumors begin to circulate the school that you two are dating. they rapidly make their way to his parent's ears, and while his father may be lax on his lectures, his mother is strict.

she parts the two of you. cleaves your budding friendship. rips the two of you like paper, refusing to let her son be tainted or distracted by someone like you.

but does he listen to his mother's orders to never speak to you? no. he sneaks out to meet you after school. he squeezes in through your window at night with a toothy grin. he secretly invites you to his birthday parties ("where has the birthday boy run off to...?"). he holds your hand when no one is looking.

and he cups your cheeks and leans in for forbidden little kisses when it's just you and him in the vacant school corridor.

your faces melt like butter against each other. it makes his heart lurch to have a forbidden fruit touching his lips like this... it makes him feel weak, which is just laughably ironic. so weak, that he wants to take a bite... even if it puts both the reputation of him and his family in jeopardy.

there's a sad twinge in his chest when he thinks about how you and him are forced to keep your love secret.

"i'm sorry that... i can't show off something as beautiful as you without getting the both of us in trouble. i wish we could kiss right in front of the whole world's face." he admits in a soft murmur.

it's simple, these sad times. but then the future comes and delivers despairing news on gojo.

one day, while having tea with his mom and dad, they tell him that a marriage between him and another woman is being considered.

he violently jumps up from the table. a teacup shatters on the floor.

"huh...?" his shock and surprise slowly morphs into pure anger, "like hell! you can't j-just spring this on me. i refuse to be married to anyone except y/n—"

"—that commoner? you... still speak with her?"

his face drops. oh, shit... now he's given it all away.

and what a consequence he faces. locked into his room, like some funny version of rapunzel. he paces around, mind racing and heart palpitating.

his contact with you is cut off in the most brutal of ways.

his mother comes to you, and tells you with a convincingly icy lie;

"gojo is too kind to tell you himself... so he asked me to inform you instead; he never wants you to see him again. his heart has found a wife, and he doesn't want you to seduce him away."

you remember choking up and sputtering broken sobs at this reveal.

he couldn't tell you from himself... ah... did those kisses mean nothing? am i the other woman?

gojo doesn't know why you avoid him so violently the next time he sees you at school.

"hey — wait. can i talk to you? it's important." he asks.

you give him a bitter look. "i'd rather we not. i don't fancy being the other woman in your life..."

you confuse him. and he blinks at you astoundedly. what caused this? he's a smart boy, he tries to figure it out. but it leads to long nights of brooding in his futon, body sinking deep into the plush until he feels like gravity is accelerating on him alone. but it's just his thoughts. he tosses and turns.

he doesn't give up his determination, though. he will find out what deterred you from him...

oh but when he figures it out, through suguru's admittance, he bursts in through his mother's tea ceremony one day and confronts her with the rage of a dragon. right in front of guests. completely embarrassing her.

"you told her! you lied to her? do you think you can keep us separate forever? — NO. I WILL ALWAYS FIND MY WAY BACK HOME. AND SHE IS MY HOME!"

his yell is so piercing and raw that it makes his mother drop into her seat. the guests have mixed looks.

the backlash he receives for lashing out and denouncing his arranged marriage is severe. the scowling looks he receives are not nearly as bad as the ones you receive. unkind words is putting it lightly; the whole village and school turns against you. they still view gojo as the star child of his clan, but now as a star that has strayed from its rightful place in the sky.

he meets with you in secret. what begins as a tearful explanation and angsty bunch of confessions to hidden truths, turns into a steamy make out.

gojo needs your kisses like he needs air, like he needs water, like he needs food. you're his essential, he tells you that;

"my vitals would fail if you left, as if i would be stabbed."

he mutters against your lips other things... and then cries with you. it hurts to see such a pretty boy cry.

"satoru..." you begin soothingly.

he presses his forehead against yours. tear drops roll off his cheeks and splatter against your face.

he draws out your name. the wind stills. there's a long silence.

"...run away with me..." he murmurs. "please, let's leave this place behind... and start a family somewhere no one knows our names."

© arminsumi 2023

[tippenfunkaport]

Quickstart Guide to getting into the She-Ra and the Princesses of Power fandom on Tumblr

(Maybe someone has made one of these already but i am behind because of NaNoWriMo so I am making my own because I do what I want.)

Welcome to Tumblr, new or returning user! It's lovely here and the SPOP fandom is still quite active. Here's a quickie guide on how to become a part of it!

Finding content

Confusingly, this fandom uses three main tags: SPOP, She Ra, SheRa (Tumblr ignores case as well as the - in She-Ra so using She-Ra is effectively exactly the same as using just She Ra or she ra). Then there are tags for individual ships (some of the most popular ones are Catradora, Entrapdak, Glimbow, Seamista, Scorfuma etc).

To find content, search for either one of the main fandom tags (spop, shera, she ra) or the tag for your favorite character or ship. They'll be a big blue follow button under the tag you can press so that Tumblr will automatically pepper new posts from your followed tags into your dash.

Then, while you're looking at the search results, take note of who's posting stuff you like and start to follow the people whose posts you dig so they'll appear on your dash. (Understand that some blogs are side blogs so the blog that you followed and the one that follows you back or likes your stuff may have completely different names because one is the side blog and one is the main.)

Looking for something niche? Try a combo of terms! (Tumblr recently changed things so you can search within post content AND tags. So if you're getting, say, Hunger Games and My Little Pony results while trying to search for Glimmer, try searching for Glimmer SPOP instead to narrow the results down.)

Just remember that search results and tag results are different things! Search results show all posts with those terms anywhere in the post while tag results are literally only posts tagged with that exact phrase.

Sharing your content

When posting, make sure you tag your content in the tag field at the bottom of the posting form, each tag separately. As you start to type, the site will helpfully suggest popular tags to get your started. Unlike on other sites, you CAN have spaces in your tags (so it's Best Friend Squad not BestFriendSquad). No need to add the hashtag, Tumblr will do that for you after you hit submit.

At the least, you'll want to include the base fandom tags (spop, shera, she ra) and then any ships or characters in your post (Catra, Adora, Entrapta, etc). Other tags it might be helpful to add are any triggers, descriptors like fanart, fanfic, meta, incorrect quotes, etc or something for your own blog organization (like "my art" or "fics by me"). In yee olden days of Tumblr, you had to do things like make "Catradora fanart" or "shera catra" a tag (and some people still do this out of habit) but the way Tumblr has changed search, if you just make Catradora and fanart separate tags, it will show for anyone who searches for both.

Making Friends and Followers: Reblog and interact!

Tumblr lets you be as social (or not!) as you want. The reason the site is called Tumblr is posts get tossed around and around with other users adding tags and notes that (in theory anyway) make it better and get you more engagement: like a rock tumbler making dirty rocks all shiny. There are a million posts already on here that say this but I'm going to say it again: Likes do nothing. They are basically bookmarks. The way to connect with people on here and to keep the fandom alive is to reblog content and, if you want, add comments or tags.

See a cool headcanon? Reblog and add your thoughts! Someone posts a fanfic idea? Reblog and let them know how excited you'd be to read that! Every post on Tumblr is a collaboration and reblogs are how you pass posts around and support the content creators.

If people don't want you to interact with their posts, they will turn reblogging off so you never have to worry that your commentary isn't welcome. Reblogging your own stuff with commentary is a great way to get more engagement on it (say reblogging your fanart a few days after you posted it with some behind the scenes trivia about what gave you the idea for it or what brushes you used or reblogging to add some of your favorite reader comments from your fanfic).

Reblog the stuff you like and if you really like it? Reblog it now and queue it up to post again later. Reblog your own stuff multiple times. Don't worry about being annoying, that is 100% the culture on here so you'll fit right in. There's no algorithm so your blog is less like a book people will read in order and more like a TV channel: not everyone is watching at the same time so reruns let people catch the stuff they missed.

The more often you post about something, the more likely you are to find others who are into the same thing you are and that will help you find your happy little corner of Tumblr where you can thrive.

Discourse and drama

There is, blissfully, far less discourse and drama on here than other platforms but blocking on Tumblr is secret so feel free to block with wild abandon and no one will ever know. Want to be a little hater yourself? Know that it's a major faux pas to put ship or character hate in the tags. So if you really hate Melog, and you tag your anti-space kitty screed "anti Melog"... just know that everyone who searches for Melog will see that post unless they have specifically blocked the tag "anti melog" because Tumblr search includes tags. If you want to drink your haterade in peace, don't use the main fandom tags on anti posts and tag it as "discourse" or "drama," two commonly blocked tags. If you are a messy bitch who loves drama and WANT the people who love the character or ship to see your Big Angry Fandom Feels... just don't be surprised when the people who do love the characters or ship you are hating on interact with your posts or block you. And, on the other side, blocking the haters is as easy as blocking the users themselves or the hater tags (examples: "anti spinnerella" or "anti swift wind").

Which is all to say, be a little hater if you want but Tumblr is very much an f around and find out kind of platform so choose your experience wisely. And don't be surprised if people choose to block.

Which brings up a very important thing we're already seeing play out with new users: if you are used to a site with an algorithm such as TikTok or Twitter, you probably didn't realize how much it was coddling your fandom experience by specifically showing you posts it knows you'll agree with. Now that you're on a site with no algorithm, you're free from the insular feedback loop that you were in before and many of you are realizing that what you took to be popular takes are actually fringe opinions. It's jarring to realize you've been duped but you should be directing your anger at the platform that manipulated you, not your fellow fans who haven't been brainwashed into believing whatever you swallowed.

Other cool stuff

Download the xkit desktop browser extension for some extra features that make Tumblr even easier to use

Your blog has a queue which lets you stock up posts that Tumblr will release for you on a schedule of your choosing. VERY useful for when you go on a spree and want to reblog a billion things in a row but don't want to completely take over your followers dash. Throw all those posts in your queue and your blog will look active for days to months without you having to do anything. (This is actually the only way I blog, almost everything you see on my blog was queue up in advance)

Open up asks for art or fic prompts, questions or other conversation starters (You can block any annoying askers, even if they are anonymous!)

Schedule posts in advance such as for your favorite character's birthday or holiday / date specific stuff

tags are for visibility... but they are also for chatting and commentary? it's weird but you'll get used to it

there's no visible follower count so we're all pretty much on equal footing no matter how many followers you have

dates are hard to find on posts by design! posts never expire and old post make the rounds again all the time. It's NEVER "creepy" to go through someone's blog and like or reblog a billion old posts but every much encouraged. In fact, going through old posts to fill your queue is a great way to not only give yourself content but also give a blog you love new life!

Welcome to the SPOP fandom on Tumblr, we're happy to have you!

And that's all I can think of at the moment! Questions? Feel free to ask em and I'll do my best!

[limabeans-babies-forthewin]

Boy Kills World headcanons

So someone asked the general fandom for some Boy headcanons for Boy Kills World.

And like, I've been mentally writing fic for this movie since the first time I've seen it (i've seen it like 4 times in theatres. God help me when I get it on Bluray). So like. . . I have a few?

Kinda keeping them generic here since I might want to write the fic in the future, and I want to keep some things just for me. So like. . . here are a few that I have.

Also, I obviously know June 27th isn't her real name, but I'll be using it here.

General

I like the idea of him searching for a new name with help of course. Since who he was as a child was basically wiped from his memory for a while and then who he became died with the Shaman, none of the names (or lack thereof) he had feel appropriate anymore. So he just tries a bunch out with June 27th and tries to see what fits.

Constantly searching for himself. Since his memory was fucked and a majority of the time after was him becoming a warrior, he doesn't know what else he likes to do. So he just allows himself to do whatever he wants no matter how insane because he wants to know.

The same can be said for June because I doubt she had a lot of freedom or time to explore life for herself.

The Best Handwriting. Calligrapher maybe? Constantly switches between teacher letters (the ones straight from those learn-to-write books and Ye Olden Cursive depending on the day and how much energy he has.

Can't cook. Can make enough to keep himself alive, but it won't taste good.

Will automatically win at any word game ever. Do not play Scrabble with him, he will obviously win. Motherfucker grew up reading the dictionary. June has gotten mad and leapt at him for playing 'Rancorous' after she played 'awful'. It was fun.

Also, I don't see June 27th as being straight. She just isn't.

Romance

I picture him like a Doberman-type boyfriend. Will be lovey and fluffy and playful, but only to You. If anyone tries to mess with You while he's around, he will try to maul the person.

Leaves You love letters almost every day because it's pretty much the only way he can express his love. You will need a dictionary, though, since he casually uses hilariously complex words all the time. It's impactful, but it also makes reading them kind of slow since You have to stop and look up words every three seconds.

I like the idea of the two of you (and June) learning sign language together. While Boy has a great hold on reading lips, he's pretty limited in how he can respond. So sign language!

I feel like one of his love languages is physical contact. Hand holding, head scratches, cuddling, all that. He loves it, to the point where You hardly to ask if he wants to. He will respect boundaries, though, so if You say no, he'll respect it.

June 27th is you two's biggest supporter. Best wingman when you and Boy are getting together and sister when you two become a thing.

You're probably going to be his first real crush/relationship, so he's going to be a bit awkward and overly enthusiastic at points, but he'll mellow with time.

That's all I got for now. If you have any of your own, I'd love to read them. So yeah! Bye!

[3416]

If I were to hypothetically write a Hanahaki disease AU for 1634 who should I hypothetically be torturing with unrequited (definitely 100% requited) love?

Should the flower be a symbol of their love? Or the other one’s favourite?

I definitely know it will have a happy ending because I can’t physically put myself through writing something that doesn’t eventually have a happy ending.

(Also would anyone read it? There are 0 fics about it so I want to take it upon myself to make one)

i'm gonna answer this under a cut with my thoughts flkdsjf

okay, i lowkey forgot that was even a thing. it's been YEARS since i read it, BUT my first thought was it should obviously be maple leaves they cough up, just for funsies. and i do think people would read it!! though i know the fandom for this branch of hrpf is smaller than i'd like, i still think you'd get some feedback if you're on ao3!! i keep trying to think how to get some writers back into this, but i feel like the best way to attract ppl is to do the writing yourself... i haven't been able to force myself to sit down and write for some time so KUDOS TO YOU!!

as for who should be tortured with the unrequited love.... after reading a lot of 1634 fics (mostly from the 2016-2019 era bc that's when it was booming for them apparently), a LOT of people have this idea of mitch being the one more comfortable in his sexuality/pining after auston/maybe oblivious to his own feelings abt auston specifically but knowing he's gay.... but i think the opposite way is a bit more fun, imo. mitch is someone that's grown up in this very boys-focused culture and it's in his nature to glom onto guys and show them physical affection and the idea of him trying to fit into expectations of him... dating girls... doing everything the right™ way bc of how he was raised and criticized growing up... not fully letting himself deviate from the norm bc he does have the boys to lean on when it comes to hockey... is fascinating. with auston... he's always done things a little less conventionally... from the fashion choices and his opinions changing on that overtime to playing pro in a foreign country before joining the nhl to even being from arizona ... idk. the idea of him recognizing his own sexuality and figuring it out privately is more believable of the two to me. developing/having feelings for this guy who's been by his side since he was a teenager.. the loyalty and trust there would be so important to auston, who strikes me as someone that rlly plays his own emotions and private life close to his chest. like... plus auston's not really quiet abt HOW much he loves mitch so that angle rings very true to me. anyway... those are my thoughts on that personal dynamic. i think it'd be easy for auston to look at mitch, who is endearing to everyone on the team and likes to 'keep the boys together' as auston says, and see the way he interacts w other guys in that boundlessly joyful way and feel like it was unrequited. BUT. then again, it could go anyway since it's just fic... i just personally could do with more pining auston in my life, since a lot of popular fics from the olden days do the opposite. AND auston coughing up maple leafs (even tho he himself is a leaf... it would represent that hometown love mitch has had for them anyway) would make sense that way too.

i wish you the best of luck in writing it though!! it'd be interesting no matter what you do. i think all the hanahaki stuff ive read in the past is a very cutesy take on it, but rereading about it now is so.. almost gruesome/bleak. like... DAMN. anyway, no matter what you do, i'm sure it will be interesting and good!! sending you lots of productive vibes. i'm always down to talk about them lol.

[kindlistener]

(The meme is not by me.)

If you fancy learning more about me and my writing, feel free to venture below the cut.

KindListener/ArcaneChariot are the main usernames I go by on Tumblr/AO3/X/etc.

I write for many, many, many pairings, such as; Borsalino/Taro Midori (OC), Cap Hatfield/Theodore Stanhope (OC), Don Pierce/Kurt Ackerman (OC), Dorian Grey/Basil Hallward, Eli Klaber/Stephan Wolff (OC), Shang Tsung/Liu Kang, The Corinthian/Alistair Moreau (OC), Viktor Vector/V as well as a whole bunch of /Reader stuff and that's just scratching the surface! Recently, I've been writing Henry Christmas/FTM!Reader/George Moody, Herbie (Gypsy)/M!Reader, Nicky Frazer/M!Reader, Tristan Farnon/Gordon Abram (OC) and other pairings involving Petey characters.

Honestly, I don't read all that much that isn't my work because I'm usually writing, studying or planning to write.

I've always been a writer, even back before I was on the internet, back in the olden days. 👴🏻👴🏻 I once made a TA cry after I unknowingly wrote a gorefic when I was 11. I still feel bad about that...

The first fic I wrote and posted was actually a gift for my brother. It was a Dorian Grey fic because we were both into the movie at the time.

My favourite fic is difficult. I've written a lot that I'm very proud of, such as this Don Pierce fic, this Miracle Guy fic (don't knock it til you try it) and my most recent Trissy fic. But, honestly, I take pride in my art and I try to give people the best content possible.

I couldn't really say which one has been my hardest fic. Honestly, I just kind of give the fic a starting point and some themes/plot-beats and then I let it run it's course. The hardest, I suppose, might be 'The Angel and the Preacher' because it made me question my own spirituality and morality which was quite intense.

Hmm... Research... Honestly probably either 'Safe Haven' or 'The Angel and the Preacher' because you may not realise it but there's a lot to giving birth/being a priest who struggles with his faith/etc. I remember watching so many videos on labour and giving birth and just frantically writing down notes. Still, they were interesting fics to write.

Honestly, the fics most near and dear to my heart tend to be ones I work on with friends; whether that be RPs (like I've done with @the-broken-quill and Lu) or fics that have had art drawn in tandem (like 'The Angel and the Preacher' with @bludpudding's beautiful, beautiful stained glass artwork). I really like sharing my hyperfixes with my friends and making art together. 💛💛

My favourite trope (if you could call it that) would probably be writing trans/intersex characters, usually FTM. As a FTM person myself, I can write from the perspective of a trans person (of course, not all experiences are the same but I tell it from my perspective) and I enjoy getting to get those thoughts and feelings down on paper because it's definitely not represented enough in the fanfic community. However, if we're talking about kinks and things that tend to come up in my work, it'd probably be giving oral or face-fucking or like a daddy kink or something. ISAOJVISAJVVUSDJ

This is detailed on my Caard but I don't write straight, necro, rape, scat or underage content (even though I've been asked to write these previously). F/M content; I don't write straight stuff because I can't really relate to straight people RIP. Necro; I feel it's disrespectful. Underage; just no. Scat; is gross (sorry, scat fans). And rape/SA; I have personal experience with so I don't enjoy sexualising/glorifying it. I have written rape recovery stories, like with this Campion fic, but otherwise I can't stand it.

I couldn't tell you about my favourite scene but I do enjoy the scene in this fic where the Second Corinthian returns to the grave of one of his victims and is approached by the victim's brother. It's a scene about redemption and it was really nice, expanding on the Souvenirs comic like that.

I get my inspiration from many different places. Sometimes it just kind of pops in your head and you're suddenly planning out dialogue for a specific scene and sometimes it's just little scenes like this (where Tris is pretending to be a dog and, of course, I get thinking about pet play)...

The hardest scene I ever wrote... It may be the beginning of this fic, where Devon (my OC) gets the idea to pick up a homeless person and dress them up for a gala they're going to, in order to keep themselves from being forced out of their rich family. It's difficult juggling the struggles of not being accepted by your family, disability and homelessness. Of course, none of them are equal and all are horrible issues to have but trying to keep the main character sympathetic in such a situation is definitely difficult.

My favourite characterisation might be in 'Safe Haven'. Seeing Don Pierce go from being this rough, tough mercenary to the caring father of twins was definitely a journey that I had to go on with him.

God, I want to write continuations to so many fics. The first choice would be writing a continuation to 'The Angel and the Preacher', which is in the works but it's a very emotion-heavy work so it requires absolute concentration and I'd be scared of it not being as good as the first chapter. Possibly a sequel to this fic but, again, I'd be scared of it not being as good as the first part.

This is all my OC work ever. Because OCs take a lot of getting used to and a lot of characterisation and a lot of lore-building, I feel like a lot of readers just want something they can pick up and instantly know what's going on. But I'm also guilty of being lazy and not wanting to do all the world-building and character design and lore so I'm just as bad. But, whenever I post a Character/OC work, I'm always scared that my views will go down and that's definitely reflected in my stats. Still, when I do write for my OCs, I really enjoy it.

"Mmmnn... You're not a shark, you're a puppy, but I can work with that. I'll make you the cruelest, most devious mutt at the firm... Soon enough, you'll be able to rip your colleagues apart and you'll thank me for it. Isn't that what you want?" (from an unposted Callahan WIP.)

'WOW that was amazing! the story, the characters and of course the second part. i was giggling and blushing like a little innocent girl. thank you very much it's a great work!' Honestly, it's the little things. People don't have to pour their hearts out to me and gush about my work. Just little comments like that make my day. 🥹🥹

I have so many WIPs and discontinued works, whether that be from just switching hyperfixes or being booted out of a fanbase. 🥲🥲 But, for the most part, I manage to finish my fics, even if it's like getting blood from a stone...

Personally, I'm subscribed to bludpudding, FanFicReader01, QuoteMyFoot and ZeroEchoBravoSeven.

I would recommend some fics but I just spent ages doing the links and Tumblr didn't like it so like just here's the link to my bookmarks. Go wild.

This was really fun! I hope you got something out of this and maybe even added a couple fics to your reading list.

If you got this far, I love you and I hope you have a wonderful day. 💛💛

[fonulyn]

what sort if things do you want to talk abt with people/what would make you feel better?

I mean, in an actual utopia? :'D I'd love it if people were excited for what I'm working on. if they'd ask about the fics in progress, kick my butt when I can't get shit done, and push me into doing more. maybe even give feedback already during the process! i know it's too much to ask for, especially when so rarely even finished fics get excitement or feedback, but it's what a Dream World would look like lol.

ideally I'd love it if I had some friends who I could actually brainstorm with and talk about the stuff I'm stuck on or trying to otherwise flesh out. my dog does listen but rarely has any suggestions I can take :'D I know I got spoiled because earlier (like …two years ago lol) I had someone who was always excited to talk about the ideas and brainstorm with me, and who kicked my ass into gear if I was dragging my feet, and I got used to it and now that i'm supposed to just figure everything out alone I have zero motivation to actually do it. the kind of instant feedback I got then was the best motivator ever. now? eh.

and I'd love it if my feeble attempts at trying to talk about wips wasn't just brushed off. if i post on tumblr about something it's most of the time ignored. i've tried to talk to multiple people, and in return i get either the "you'll figure it out eventually" or a complete topic change immediately. no follow-up questions, no excitement, no nothing.

and I'd love it if people didn't go "oh I can help brainstorm that!" and then not even bother to read it. go "I'm gonna comment on that soon!" and never do it. empty promises do nothing but get hopes up and end up in crushing disappointment.

I know people are busy, people have their lives and shit happens but like. it's easy to not make promises you can't (or have no intention to) keep, imo.

and idk in the Olden Days I had multiple people to chat general fandom with, and it in turn sparked fic ideas, and excitement, but now that doesn't really exist either.

just to be clear I'm not expecting anyone to be at my beck and call 24/7 all the time :'D god no :'D but it's so friggin' disheartening when I get a new idea, am all excited about it, and then deflate when I know I don't really have anyone to hype me up about it. so then i won't do it. or then i write like two sentences a day maximum and never get shit done. and every damn day i'm getting closer to just quitting for good. i really really don't wanna abandon my to-write-list and leave shit unfinished but it's starting to look like the only viable option left.

idek. I'm tired. i know it's just a pipe dream and i'll just keep struggling until i fade away from fandom and no one notices lol but yeah.

(it is really nice to just chat about anything with people too, tho, so a shoutout to those who did reach out and who i've been occasionally chatting with :3 it is appreciated!)

[janeaye]

2024 Golden Globes

Hello!! I watched the Golden Globes tonight and like many others was underwhelmed and off-put by the monologue at the top of the show. Bored and reading too many Buzzfeed "Best Dressed" and "Check Out These Awkward Moments" posts after, I decided to take a sorry stab at a shortened, substitute monologue. I'm no comedy writer, but consider it award-show alternate universe fan fic. Enjoy :)

---------

Welcome to the Golden Globes!!!

The Golden Globes of course are a unique time where television and film combine for a night of joint celebration. Which differs from our more categorial counterparts in the Oscars for film and the Emmys for TV. And so for those of you looking to claim a Globe tonight for either medium, please know this does not make you one step closer to the EGOT. Okay? That G is for Grammy. Leave that to Taylor Swift & Billie Eilish. (Hi Taylor *smooch*. Billie *wink*.)

Tonight the Golden Globes competes with the likes of the final games of the regular season of the American National Football League. Thank God we’re only competing for ratings and not actually competing. Although these folks may portray the occasional superhero or athlete on screen, these are a bunch of theatre and improv kids, okay? Wouldn’t be pretty.

We also have a couple new awards this year. We have one for stand-up comedy. You’ll notice no current late-night show hosts are nominated in that category. That’s because they perform 80% of their comedy sitting down. Doesn’t qualify. Not a high enough threshold.

Another new award is for cinematic and box office success. Because if there’s one thing those nominees need more than all of the money they made at the box office is the acknowledgement of all of the money they made at the box office. In the form of solid gold handed to them on a glittering stage.

Amongst that gold, true Hollywood Royalty is here. We have Emma Stone. Margot Robbie. Oprah Winfrey. All people that exude the confidence and message and grace of Barbie. But perhaps not quite that of Poor Thing's.

The content nominated tonight really is magnificent. Killers of the Flower Moon is nominated tonight. Or what women used to be called in the olden days before menstrual cycles were truly understood.

The cast of Oppenheimer is here tonight. Oppenheimer has one of the most star-studded ensemble casts I’ve ever seen...From Matt Damon to Cilian Murphy to RDJ..It’s the stuff Valentine’s Day and New Year’s Eve dreams are made of. (Sorry Bradley Cooper.. Robert De Niro..)

Saltburn made it in under the wire for a nomination for the outstanding Barry Keoghan. Barry, somehow I was more comfortable when you portrayed a deranged joker at the end of The Batman than I was when I saw you in a mere bathtub. 

Speaking Batman, William Dafoe is here tonight. He’s one of a select few nominees who have multiple projects up for awards tonight. William, of course, voiced the Noble Pelican in the English dubbed version of The Boy and the Heron. And yet Batman himself, Robert Pattison, was actually the voice of the eponymous heron and not William, which, if you’ve seen the film, I mean believe me you’d understand why I’m mentioning that tonight. Truly a shocking non-plot-related twist for us viewers.

And, finally, you know what, forgive me for the delay folks, Happy New Year! Welcome to 2024. It’s a big year. Big year for our industry following what our incredible writers and actors advocated for last year...Big year for world events too. Leap Year. The Olympics. The Election. Because at the end of the day, can’t we all agree that Paris & [insert US politician’s name here] don’t get enough attention as it is?…

:)

[danpuff-ao3]

The Making of: Sin Again

Sin Again: written and posted in July 2019.

It's not the most exciting of stories, but it is the most important on my writing journey.

In 2019, it had been 3 years since I last wrote fanfiction. And those had been Marvel fics. My last time actively writing in the Harry Potter fandom was 2012.

The Snarry bug had struck. I felt the urge to write as I hadn't in so long. There was a scene in my head, so clear, and so exciting! But where to put it?

In ye olden days, I would build entire stories around a scene. Everything I wrote had to be big and grand.

But why?

I was home alone that day. My partner was at work. My laptop was open and I was pacing the floor. My mind was spinning in circles, trying to craft a whole complex plot for the sake of one scene.

So why not write...just that? Just that one scene?

Was that even allowed????

(If you know me, you know the standards I have for myself are Actually Insane.)

I can't tell you how long it took to bring me there. Or why it was so hard. After all, I'd written a few Marvel one shots. What was it about the HP fandom, or Snarry in particular, that felt like it needed to be more?

Maybe it was the scene itself, so in the middle of matters.

I don't know. All I do know is the sense of burden I felt. The panic. The desperation. And how I argued with myself. How I agonized in convincing myself to write that scene, just that scene. To write only what I wanted, exactly how I wanted it.

Sin Again is 705 words. It takes place shortly after Harry and Severus' first time together. There's no explanation to the first time. There's no real plot. The smut isn't overly detailed. It's not especially kinky.

There's nothing grand or important about it. It's hardly my best writing, either, seeing how much improvement I've seen the past three years.

Still, I'm proud of it. It's exactly what I envisioned. It's exactly what made me want to write again. And in tearing down my expectations, and allowing myself to follow my whims, I felt such freedom.

It was a revelation. My writing didn't have to be anything. It could just be fun. It could be however much or however little I desired. And for a gal constantly buried beneath a pile of ideas, this was especially thrilling. How much more could I explore by writing many of my very specific ideas?

Since then, I've written a lot. My AO3 account has 78 Harry Potter fanfics! All but 1 written in these past 3 years. (You & Me was written after Alan Rickman's death, in the middle of my Marvel obsession.) My writing has grown. I've explored so many ideas. Such specific ideas! I gave myself freedom, and I made the most of it.

Nowadays, I feel weighed down my own mind again. I've never been a person who balances well. I'm a lady of extremes, I'm afraid! I have work to do in setting aside my burdens, and unshackling myself from my expectations. And looking back at this story is a good reminder that...I'm allowed to write whatever I want. It can be anything. It doesn't have to tick boxes. It doesn't have to be better than the last work. It doesn't have to have plot. It doesn't have to be special. It doesn't have to perfect. It can just be.

[mogwaei]

I know Mao is partial to her briar, but does she ever use glass pipes or water pipes? I feel like there could be some really cool alchemical magical possibilities there! I can only imagine what amazing fanciful smoking contraptions the ancient elvhen would be able to devise!

I LOVE THIS QUESTION!!

Simple answer: absolutely!

More complex Mog lore below the cut >:D

if she had access to any of these things, she'd toss away the mundane briar in a heartbeat. The only reason she has a briar in present-day is because it was easy to acquire. In Ye Olden Times, the possibilities were endless and it excites me so much! I like to think that her dwarven lads would have exposed her a variety of complex instruments too since they were big into botany and alchemy. They would have shown her how to craft such things from unique crystals or even glasslike flora, some which can only be harvested by ancient dwarves! It's awesome timing that you bring this up because in my upcoming chapter, she meets a dwarf who gifts her with something called "eldersong" that she shapes into a pipe. If you could rank that material on a game scale (Common to Mythic), it'd be Mythic. My lass deserves a treat.

I could go on and on about the botanical side of this whole thing, but just to give a wee peek into how dedicated her adopted family could be -- imagine a band of dwarves and their elf trekking into Fade-saturated mountains just to find an insect that would give them the equivalent of True Sight if ground into a powder! 😂

And come Arlathan, she was thrilled seeing the types of herbal mixes and implements the elves were putting together. The elves I think would be more focused on what they could derive from the Fade/Dreaming, growing plants and such since I imagine those yield the most potent effects. As for smoking implements...I've written about them using hookahs, but there were 100% all sorts of weird contraptions. The more sinister figures in Elvhenan would have created devices that could reduce spirits into a consumable state. Has Mao partaken in such an activity? We don't know 👀

Given a chance to do something for herself, I think Mao would explore the possibilities of bringing the best of both worlds together and would spend years simply experimenting and crafting. :3

Anyway I've rambled enough! This is genuinely one of my favourite little lore things I've been building for Mao both inside and outside of the DA universe, I can't tell you how happy I am someone asked about it, thank you so much!!💚

[fic here]

[kdsburneraccount]

pressing the ‘more observations from the men’s basketball rpf tag’ button

(Spins in chair like Dr. Evil and strokes chin) I am much obliged to answer this ask 🧐 One thing that stands out especially compared to a couple of other Sports RPF fandoms is just the sheer amount of Chinese fanworks under the tag (checked and it makes up about ⅓ of the works, which is a pretty big portion, pretty sure with other sports it's a lot less than that). I'm willing to attribute that to how popular basketball is in China, and because of how large that fanbase is, there probably are more than a few people out there writing fic in Chinese 😎 This part is more "me extrapolating this detail into a more meta-y thing" than an actual observation but I do see that a large amount of those fics in Chinese are either Not Rated, Explicit, or Mature. I believe that the high amount of Not Rated probably has something to do with being kind of vague about the contents of the fic in question, perhaps because Chinese fans are accustomed to that manner of posting (reminiscent of the olden days of fandom? Probably) due to censorship and whatnot. In general in Chinese fandom it does seem like AO3 is viewed as the black market for fic, where the darker and more explicit subject matter can be uploaded without fear of getting taken down compared to other sites that are mainly used in mainland China. Especially since AO3 has been blocked in China for a while, I remember one author mentioning it in their notes. It's kinda interesting to consider, because it shows how fandom can vary depending on location, especially in places that have different cultural (or governmental?) norms from the US. I've translated a couple of Chinese fics because I do speak it, I'm not the best at reading but I manage, and I'd say that some of them are pretty interesting. A couple premises I found sort of fascinating:

Multichapter fanfic that had Rudy Gobert and Donovan Mitchell team up as police officers to track down Ricky Rubio, who is apparently some kind of smuggler (They fall in love along the way, of course, and there are a variety of shenanigans that ensue). Also includes Frank Kaminsky, for reasons I do not know, as a well-meaning but pretty dumb rich kid. It's incomplete and I don't know if the author will ever update but it was one of the first NBA fics I read on AO3 that stood out to me, so I do have a very rough translation of it (read: used Google Translate) in my Docs. Would say that it's definitely a wild ride, maybe one day I will share with the author's permission.

This one PG/Kawhi fic that was about them as workers in an aquarium, where PG is an actor in the mermaid show they run and Kawhi owns the aquarium. I actually translated it, felt like a lot of the prose didn't need a lot of tweaking to work, but then again it's been a year since then so looking back might actually be kind of rough but anyways...

But yeah, there are some other things like the Spanish fanfic that I'm not super well-versed on, would assume that's to do with the popularity of those players, but those are some interesting things I've seen under the tag.

[yuusaris]

1, 9, and 12 for the author ask game ✌️

1) Who is your favorite character to write for and is this the character you find easiest to write for?

Do you know how badly I wanna say Zorc? Do you? do you even know?

I can't say Zorc, however, because all the cool Zorc shit I wanna write and have ideas for, despite how much fun I have planning his bullshit, i haven't written yet.

Phyrric was so fun! I want to work on so many things with him but I've got so many other things to work oooonnnn. He'll have his day. I'll have my Zorc fic one day. He's gunna be in Body/Life. He's crucial to Kntsugi/Necromantic. I know he's getting here. it's just slow.

As for easiest? Zorc has actually gone through a variety of changes and while I've liked all of them, I'm finally settling into one I like a lot - but that's not easy, xD. No, no, I think the easiest character I've written was.... actually, Lavernius Tucker? from Red vs Blue. I've got WIPS that are gone due to my laptop being long dead, but he was one that I had a lot of fun writing for, and his character is actually one I was able to nail a lot of really good beats with, very easily. That's a character that came naturally to me, tbh.

9) Do you visualize scenes in your head before you write them? (Can you picture the setting, character body language etc)

50/50.

When I'm thinking of a scene, I'm thinking of the blocking, the voices, the body language for sure - but visual setting I can never do right. I can't imagine being in a house or apartment that I have not already been in - notably, in the HP series, when I read those as a kid? Couldn't imagine the Great Hall for shit. Always looked like my elementary school cafeteria until the movies came out.

12) Do you like to switch pov’s a lot or stick to one character?

I don't know about /like/ but I tend to stick to the same POV - makes it easier for information flow in how I write, one character means the world can unfurl in a good way for the reader. It works as the best way for me to show information, and so I don't end up writing characters with inside knowledge they shouldn't have because I wrote it already in another chapter. This also

There are exceptions- both my Body/Life project and How To Be A Vampire (formerly The Earl of Demise) WIP will utilize switching POV's, but not in a large capacity, and not often. For Body/Life, I plan to use POV switches sparingly, and often just to switch to Bakura (though Amane will get a handful herself). And HTBAV has two POV characters, - Ryou being a disgraced olden times nobleman whose POV is shown through diaries and Yusaku, a modern vampire born wrong, for whom the diaries are a grounding thing as he navigates a world he's unfamiliar with - but both are the only POV's for their respective timelines.

So, singular points of view are not only easier for me mechanically, but also for me to structure information and the timing of it.

[thecorruptedquietone]

When did you start liking K2? And what caught your attention about the ship? :o

So somewhere around winter of 2010 my friend started showing me a bunch of ship art because they were well aware I’d been a long-time SP fan. Most of it was actually Style but some was K2. And, since Kenny and Kyle have literally always been my favourites, it was kinda natural for me to declare them the OTP.

And they have run my life ever since. 

[alrighty-matty]

sunflowers by the windowsill: chapter 1

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: after ten years you found yourself back in your hometown and working with your best friends just like in the good olden days. As you feel yourself grow alongside them, something also grows between you and Matt, throwing everything off balance.

Warning: fluff, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, workplace romance.

Note: first of all, shout out to @helluvahazelnut for beta-reading this. intended to make this series an easy, comforting fic to read every weekend. there’s not a heavy conflict plot-wise (re: DD usual violence type) but might be implied every once in a while. this is a series about friendship and love so i hope you find comfort, love, friendship, and happiness between lines i write here.

series masterlist

read it on ao3

Josie’s was one of the places that withstand a lot of changes throughout the year—a stubborn will to remain the same despite the inevitable roll of changes that crashed through time. You were pleasantly surprised when you stepped in, the familiarity of the place you wasted your time back in good olden days still offered the same comfort that used to lull you in.

Even the faces were still recognizable. Josie still remembered your usual drink—a simple vodka soda. She was still bracing and brash and oddly welcoming.

Your eyes cast glances around, wistfully drinking the whole thing. The sticky floor that will make walking a bitch and a half to do, the neon light that washed the room, and the pool table tucked behind. It was funny how Josie’s seemingly went through a very small amount of changes yet you couldn’t say much about yourself.

New York had been home once—and still is inside your heart—abandoned long ago in pursuit of dreams calling from outside. You sucked your drink through a straw slowly and sighed, cursing the thought of having to leave this place again.

Landing your eyes to a familiar spot, you felt your heart sink to the bottom of your stomach like a heavy sandbag. It was now filled with a group of rowdy people, clearly drunk but glued to their seats and keen to drink the night away. That exact spot used to be an unofficial official throne of you and Foggy and Matt.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault really. If anything, there wasn’t any problem in the first place—it was a matter of different schedules and different places. Frequent texts and calls eventually reduced into scarce greetings, and eventually yearly birthday wishes.

God, you missed those idiots so much.

“Fuck me, did my eyes deceive me or is it really you?”

You whirled around towards the source of the voice—familiar and warm and tugging your chest painfully. You gasped, eyes widened like a saucer when you finally met the owner of the voice.

“Foggy?” you let out a laugh, more of a surprise than mirth.

“You, bitch!” Foggy squealed and rushed himself towards you. You didn’t think twice, you accepted his invitation for a hug and squealed back. “You’re in the city and didn’t call? What the hell, man!”

“I know, I know.”

“I thought I was hallucinating when I saw a familiar face,” Foggy shook his head. “It’s really you.”

“Aww, I miss you too.”

“Don’t make me push you,” Foggy warned half-heartedly. “You should’ve called.”

“Well—”

“Matt! Matt! Matt, get your butt over here and guess who I just met!”

Matt appeared behind Foggy’s back almost as if the air conjured him up out of nowhere. You raised eyebrows to your hairline and snickered, never thought you’d see him in his after hours. He still looked the same but older, sans his funky glasses, which he abandoned and replaced with cooler ones. It framed his face better, you admit.

He was holding a bottle of beer in his left hand. You rolled your eyes. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

“You still like that awful bland beer,” you mused.

“And you’re still as awfully opinionated as ever,” Matt shot back with a grin. “Didn’t think of ringing any of us while you’re visiting?”

“Right?!”

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t plan on visiting. Also didn’t plan to stay long.”

“This sounds like a story worth telling over drinks, don’t you think?” Foggy wiggled his eyebrows. “Join our table! And oh—I want to introduce you to someone. You’d like her.”

“Is this someone special?”

“If you were thinking what I’m thinking, then no.”

Matt wordlessly grabbed your drink from the counter and walked towards the table. It was hidden in the middle of busy patrons that chased for fun on the night, hidden enough from unassuming eyes. You didn’t know what to feel about how Matt and Foggy had found another spot to sit and lounge around in Josie’s without you.

True enough, someone was waiting at their table with a drink trapped between her hands. She introduced herself as Karen, and she had a very sweet smile and welcoming eyes. She lit up like a Christmas tree when Matt introduced you to her, almost made you feel like a magical being and she was a hopeful child that wished could get a glimpse of you. You were glad that Matt and Foggy managed to find a friend in her.

“I’m so, so, so glad that I get to finally see the face behind the name they talk about so often!” Karen practically squealed in your ears, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to mind. “Gosh, they talk a lot about you and it feels like we’re friends already.”

You snorted a laugh. “They did?” you shook your head. “Good things only, I hope.”

“Most of them,” she winked.

“If you ever tell anyone any weird stories about me, I swear,” you punched Foggy’s arm playfully.

He gasped dramatically in faux pain, staring at you with a scandalized look. “Ow!” he hissed. “I would never! Matt, however—”

“Don’t drag me into your mess, I’m not the one who couldn’t shut up once drunk.”

You gasped. “Oh, you’re an ass, Nelson.”

Karen chuckled. “I take it as you have some juicy stuff on both of them then?”

“A lot, you wouldn’t believe most of it.”

“Tell me! Tell me!”

Foggy sputtered, “I didn’t take you here to stain my name!”

“You should know better than that,” you said and laughed out loud when he flipped you. “So, Karen, how did you end up with these losers?”

Karen perked up at you. She launched into the story immediately in great detail, you were both horrified and intrigued at the amount of mess it involved to take them into this point. You couldn’t bring yourself to feel surprised—somehow this was the exact kind of mess you had thought Foggy, but most of all Matt would get themselves into.

“—so I offer to become their secretary after the whole mess,” she laughed as she finished her story, hand wafting in the air merrily with her story. “What a story, huh?”

“I’m so sorry you have to end up with these losers after the whole mess,” you said with the best sincerity you could muster. Foggy booed and threw a crumpled tissue at you, whilst Matt nudged your feet underneath the table.

“They can be a handful,” Karen nodded cheekily. “Okay, okay, enough about me. I want to know what they were like in college? They have this pact of solidarity going on and won’t tell me anything.”

Foggy shook his head frantically and mouthed you to shut your mouth and not let out a single word.

Matt cleared his throat obnoxiously and slowly turned around in your general direction. “So, what brings you here?”

“Oh yeah,” Foggy perked up at the opportunity to steer the conversation away. “What brings you here until you forget to call?”

You snorted at your drink. Foggy and his petty streak were two things that never ceased to amuse you greatly.

“It’s Mom,” you said, trying your best to sound as nonchalant as ever. “She’s been… well, not well to say the least. She keeps insisting she’s fine,” you sighed and toyed with the straw on your drink, already half-empty. “I’m just worried, you know? My siblings and I live so far away.”

Matt pushed a plate of french fries towards your direction. “Move back here.”

You blinked at him. “Well, I have a job that is not here,” you grabbed a french fries and shove one to your mouth, nearly laughing at how familiar the taste was. Even the grease stubbornly remained the same as the rest of this bar was. “But it does sound like it would be a great idea, though.”

“You know what? Just move here,” Foggy nodded solemnly. “I’m serious. What’s so good about your firm anyway?”

“They pay pretty numbers,” you retorted.

“It doesn’t have to be a mere idea, you know,” Matt dipped french fries into hot sauce and offered it to you. “Moving back here.”

You chuckled mirthlessly. “You are both aware that it’s not exactly easy to find a job here, yes? I still need a job,” you took the fries from Matt and munched it quietly. “Besides I don’t think Sergio would really like moving into a new place. He hates it.”

“You really need to throw him away,” Foggy scoffed.

“I would never!” you gasped, horrified that Foggy ever suggested that to you.

“What’s so good about him anyway?”

“He is my life!”

“What!” Foggy said in a high-pitched voice. “You would never dedicate your life to a man before.”

“What? What man?”

“Repeat after me, okay, repeat after me,” Foggy shook his head frantically. “No man is cute enough to hinder you from your dreams.”

You blinked at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“He’s right,” Karen nodded solemnly. “You should never let a man dictate your life. Fuck them!”

“Yeah! Fuck them!” Foggy parroted excitedly.

You gaped and flickered your eyes between them and Matt—who happily sipped his beer and refrain himself from chiming in, hiding a smile beneath the rim of the bottle.

“What are we talking about again?” you asked slowly, unsure.

“Let me clarify,” Foggy cleared his throat and sat straighter. “Fuck Sergio, and fuck what he thinks if you want to move back here.”

You blinked at him before bursting into a laugh. “Sergio is my cat, Fogs,” you wheezed, shaking your head. “He gets anxious in a new place! He hates traveling far.”

“Oh… oh. Oh, yeah, that makes a lot more sense.” Foggy blinked owlishly. “Who the hell in their right mind names their cat Sergio anyway?!”

“I did! Here, look at him,” you fumbled with your phone and shoved it towards his face. “He looks like someone whose name is Sergio!”

“He looks like a cat.”

“A cat whose name is Sergio.”

“Why the hell would you name him Sergio?”

“Look at him!”

“I am.”

“Okay, okay, enough,” Matt snorted and pulled your arm away from shoving Foggy with a picture of Sergio wearing a frog hat. “Also, you forgot one thing,” he turned around slightly to face your direction. “Me and Foggy own our firm. We can always use one more associate.”

“Here,” Foggy fumbled with his wallet for a little while and slid over a business card towards you. His business card—printed on a fancy paper with fancy font and all. Nelson and Murdock. It made you smile slightly. “In case you need convincing to endure Sergio’s hatred for a new place and would like to build our old dream again together. I also still think you shouldn’t name your cat Sergio, by the way.”

You rolled your eyes and sighed, tracing your fingers at the business card on your hand. It felt sturdy and somewhat heavy, the pressing weight of reality that your friends trudged along to build the dream you once shared with them without you laying on your palm. It should bore your name too somewhere in the middle, but it never did.

Nelson and Murdock, so they became.

There’s a flower shop tucked amidst concrete jungle like an oasis in the middle of a desert.

It was hidden enough from unassuming eyes, but once you landed your gaze on it, you were unable to see the other way. Stepping inside was almost as if you were transported into another realm beyond human comprehension—colorful and soft and blooming with life—a treat and a break from the bleak city outside.

You walked slowly between rows of flowers that winked at you beautifully, trying to lull you in with their charm in wish you’d pick them to take them home. The lady behind the counter patiently watched you ogle every single flower displayed.

You halted your step as your eyes landed on a bucket of carnations. Hand traveled down to your bag where you could feel the shape of your wallet pressing, you let out a sigh at the reminder of the previous night’s encounter. Foggy’s and Matt’s words echoed inside your head, and the pressing weight of Foggy’s business card suddenly felt hot against your palm.

It sounded too good to be true, yet it was too tempting to be ignored and brushed over as if it were merely drunken words and nothing more. You couldn’t say you were truly happy with the nature of your job now—considering the firm you were working on was sitting in the hot seat for winning a very controversial case—and it left you feeling hollow and purposeless.

It should be about helping people reach the justice they deserve. Yet after everything, you felt like you only denied them the only thing you worked hard for—it felt vile.

A soft chime of the bell above the door pulled you out of your trances, but it was the familiar and unmistakable sound of tapping against the floor that made you turn your head around.

The tapping sound receded in hesitant stop. “This is not a coffee shop, is it?”

“Oh, this is a flower shop,” the lady said kindly. She immediately stood up from her seat. “Do you need help to reach the coffee shop? It’s not far, I can walk you.”

“Oh no,” Matt laughed politely and shook his head. “No, thank you. I guess I confuse your shop with the coffee shop.”

You slowly sneaked behind him, careful to make sure your footstep was light. Matt had the knack of recognizing someone’s footsteps somehow.

“Aren’t you a delight, Murdock? It’s good to have a familiar face around,” you tapped his shoulder lightly.

Matt whirled around, his face pinched in confusion briefly before it dissolved into a knowing smirk, a soft laugh escaped his lips. “Of course, I’d find you here.”

“You should know better. I like flowers.”

“You and your obsession with plants,” Matt said with a smile. He extended his hand towards you slightly. “Show me around?”

You linked your arm in his middle and started to guide him into the nearest flower—a white lily stood proudly—and nodded towards the kind lady behind the counter. “What you’d like to know, Murdock?”

“Whichever flower you find pretty?”

“You know I found every single of them pretty.”

“Not all of them,” Matt retorted. “You like sunflowers the best.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Can’t believe you remember.”

“It’s hard to forget when you keep yapping about it.”

You elbowed his rib, ignoring his pained grunt as you dragged him closer to the next flower and began to describe what you saw. Matt had always been a great audience when it came to your plant shopping routine, he was attentive and more than happy to listen to you describing every single detail to him you found fascinating—even when he had to muster up a faux exasperation every single time.

The store wasn’t big enough for you to move around a lot, but there were enough flowers to put you out of breath. Matt hummed and asked questions every once in a while, sometimes when he caught your excitement at certain flowers he would lift a finger to touch the petal gently—much to your horror—but somehow it was delicate enough not to leave any trace.

“And this one,” you gestured vaguely around. “Is carnation.”

Matt nodded slightly. “Your mom’s favorite.”

Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline. “I’m impressed,” you remarked. “You remember?”

“Of course,” Matt scoffed, somewhat looking mildly offended that you thought he didn’t. “How is she now, by the way?”

“She insists she’s okay, and she actually looks okay?” you hummed and tapped your finger against your chin. “Dad says the doctor told her she’ll be okay as long as she keeps a healthy lifestyle and has light exercise daily,” you sighed. “But a heart attack was still a huge surprise and scary, you know?”

“The offer is still on the table, you know,” Matt said.

“Matt—”

“Think about it,” he cut you off before you could begin. “It’s an ideal situation. You’d be able to visit her more often than not.”

You pulled your arm away from him. “I don’t know, Matt.”

“Remember helping people and making a better place? One client at a time?”

You frowned at him and his audacity to recite your dream—one you proudly screamed on top of your lungs in campus ground with your arms slung on his shoulder and Foggy’s—darting your eyes away from the offensive sight before you.

“It might not make a pretty number,” Matt said softly, breaking away the silence before it had a chance to settle in. “But it’s still your dream. Our dream,” he paused before adding, “Me, you, and Foggy.”

“Is this your way to say you miss me?”

Matt huffed a laugh. “Don’t get it inside your head, I have a very peaceful ten years without you.”

“So you miss me, then,” you teased.

“Ha-ha.”

You grinned at his pinched face. “It sounds so… idyllic,” you purse your lips, somewhat surprised you had chosen those exact words. Matt nodded quietly. “But it’s a very big leap to take.”

Matt’s hand fumbled in the air momentarily before he met your wrist. He squeezed it gently once he latched his fingers, a faint smile blossomed on his face. “Just remember that Nelson and Murdock would love to catch you once you take that leap.”

You glared at your phone that hadn’t stopped ringing in the past twenty minutes. You considered chucking it against the wall and spit at it while you could, the screen displayed the caller ID—your boss, unfortunately—glared at you for attempting to ignore it.

Fucking boss and his inability to understand that weekend is off-limit. Hell, didn’t you tell him your mom was sick?

Don’t get it wrong, you love your job. God, you loved it so much because it had been the only thing you always wanted—or so you thought—being an associate for a big firm had been a dream come true. You knew that being married to your job left little to no room for personal time, it wasn’t like you hate it.

But you could only take one stressor at a time.

Mom is fine. She is fine. She is downstairs, breathing, and watching her favorite soap opera.

You sank your head into your palm and let out the loudest groan of the century. The ghost of Dad’s call, almost crying—you never heard him crying in front of you before and you didn’t plan on hearing it more often—a week ago when he broke the news that Mom was rushed to the ER for a mild cardiac arrest had been embedded into your memory.

The buzzing sound finally receded after you ignored it long enough. You sighed and threw a shirt haphazardly into the suitcase laid on the floor, opened and wide waiting for you to pack things you had haphazardly assembled days before. It felt wrong to kiss your mom goodbye and make a half-hearted promise to see her on the next holiday after everything.

Your phone rang again, and you felt bile rise in your throat.

Enough is enough.

You punched the reject button in furry, couldn’t let yourself feel horrified with the bold move that you never pulled before. You immediately punched a number that you had memorized from staring at it long enough.

“Hello?” the voice answered on the fifth ring.

“Hey, Fogs. It’s me,” you let out a shaky breath. “I want to talk about Nelson and Murdock. Is the offer still on the table?”

Matt halted his steps when his ears caught a familiar sound—the very exact sound he hadn’t heard so often in the past ten years. He wasn’t surprised that he had grown to miss it, but he was a lot more surprised that he could still recognize your steady heartbeat all these years.

He threaded through the sea of people hastily walking on the sidewalk. The wind was harsh today and there was a sharp taste of promising downpour hanging in the air. He scrunched his nose, thorn in between hating it and loving it.

The sound of your heartbeat led him to a flower shop. He could feel his lips twitched into a smile. The more things change the more they stay the same.

A soft chime of a bell greeted him as he entered the shop—various smells of flowers immediately attacked his senses. It had been a while since he found himself stepping inside a flower shop, he never had a reason to when you were not around. He found himself missing it now that he stood right in the middle of it, a glimpse of old days where you’d drag him into one after a particularly annoying class—it was always criminal law class—and spent hours inside looking around flashed in his mind.

He felt a pair of eyes staring at him. Well, he sighed. Couldn’t blame them. It’s not every day you have a blind guy inside your shop.

“This is not a coffee shop, is it?”

taglist: @1800-fight-me

[teddy-boar]

Historical!AU, with rich noble girl Christine Cunningham and stable boy Edward Munson:

Chrissy's family is moderately noble, having some distant ties to a local lord but nothing too fancy. They're probably merchants or vintners.

Eddie's mom died in childbirth and his father passed away in an accident when he was four. His uncle Wayne raises him

The two kids met for the first time when Wayne deemed him old enough to start working with him in the Cunningham stable, which was when he turned 8 (it was the ye olden days, ok? so this is normal 😀) and Chrissy was 6. Instant puppy crush, but neither understood what they were feeling. Eddie used to think rich girls were just snobby spoiled little things that hated his kind, but Chrissy was different. She was kind and gentle and smart and curious. But only when they were alone. He saw glimpses of her with her parents and other nobles and she looked completely different, stiff and proper like a porcelain doll in her fancy get up.

They developed a timid little friendship over their childhood years whenever Chrissy could sneak out to come see him and the horses. He taught her how to feed them and brush them, promising to teach her to ride someday but she was afraid her mother would reprimand her. Chrissy always had to bath herself thoroughly after a day spent with Eddie before supper came because her mother could smell the horses and the hay on her, and she didn't want to get lectured every time she went out to see her friend.

They start to spend more time together when they're in their teens after Chrissy is granted a little more freedom to roam around. And slowly, they start developing more intense feelings for each other and both are terrified.

Eddie talks to Wayne about it one day and the man immediately warns him off of it, "Because we're not the same, her people and us. We're dirt beneath their boots and they will never see us as equals. Best you bury those feelings, boy, before you get yourself in trouble."

Chrissy is specifically horrified because ever since she was born, she's been told there's only one person she's supposed to love and to one day marry, and it's the pastor's son, Jason Carver. She's met Jason a few times and he's a nice boy, he's polite, he's got great table manners and he can command the room's topic of discussion even as young as he is. But she doesn't love him, she loves.... Oh no.

So the two bury their feelings deep within, tension builds every time they are around one another because they just want to kiss the other

Cue the angst!!! The Cunninghams and the Carvers finally settle on an engagement and the kids are to be married in a few months. Chrissy withdraws herself and stops coming out to see Eddie. Eddie is just gutted but there's nothing he can do.

Quickly, the wedding day draws near and Chrissy just gets more and more depressed. And on the night before the big day, she sneaks out of the family manor, ventures out to the town, and finds the Munson home. Eddie lets her crawl into his window, unbelieving that this is actually happening, and they spend the whole night staying up just talking about all their feelings and emotions. They kiss and Chrissy feels like she can breathe for the first time in months.

"Let's run away together..." Eddie suggests, and through her tears, Chrissy says yes.

Eddie knows of an abandoned shack deep in the woods where there are rumors of witchcraft and demonic happenings around, but Eddie likes to use this place as his hideout and knows it is harmless. They rebuild the shack as well as its surrounding area and make it their home in the woods. Eddie steals livestock from a few farms in town to raise his own animals, while Chrissy gardens and plants their fruits and vegetables. They are self-sustainable, and thanks to the nefarious rumors of the area, no one ventures out here to find them. They can live in peace and quiet with just each other.

Feel free to add more or write a fic. Please write a fic of this, I beg of you. I don't have the vocabulary to write a period piece, I just really want one.

[spencersawkward]

i’m so happy ur on tumblr now!! i love between the lines so much, could you write a blurb or one shot about mgg and a younger co-star, but like very spicy if possible 🙃, idk i just love that scenario🥵.

i was literally about to write "omg i love this concept too!" and then i was like “well no fucking shit, sophi.” lol. YES i can 10/10 write you a one-shot with a similar scenario! also thank you for your kind words that was the first fic i ever wrote so it’s very near and dear to my heart!

summary: reader goes to a holiday party with her co-stars and best friend, Matthew... but all the fun happens in the dressing room.

content warnings: this one is quite dirty but i’m also proud of it lol. unprotected penetrative sex, oral (female receiving), degradation, use of the term “little girl,” creampie, age gap. dirty talk?

pairing: Fem!Reader/Matthew

word count: 4.7k

masterlist

"no."

"what do you mean, 'no’?” Matthew laughs, looking between me and the mirror.

"I look like the Ghost of Christmas Past." I lift up the soft white tulle of the dress, watching it float back down to settle over my skin. he's got his eyebrows raised and there's a smirk on his lips like he's holding back a laugh. I resist the urge to reach around and hit him.

"would you rather wear that?" he points to the punch-stained gown that's now laying pathetically over the back of the vanity chair. I genuinely ponder the idea for a moment.

"honestly, the crime scene vibes might work well with the theme of our show."

"seriously, it's not bad, Y/N!" he insists, drawing my attention back to the mirror.

"you're just saying that because you're the one who spilled on me and you don't want people making fun of how clumsy you are." I cross my arms over my chest. he gives me a dubious expression in our reflection on the wall.

"do I seem like I care about that?" he challenges.

"I--" the truth is that no, Matthew is not the type. Matthew is the kind of person to flounder in front of anyone and proceed to crack a joke about himself. he's humble. but I kind of like when we talk like this, our back and forth.

after a year of working together on the same show, he and I have grown incredibly close. I'm friends with all my co-stars, but he and I just have the natural friendship chemistry that makes me want to spend all my time with him. when we're not on set, we're hanging out on his couch or ordering dinner or driving out of town to check out wacky sites around California. we just have fun. pure, clean, honest fun.

of course, in my dreams it isn't pure or honest. frankly, there's a lot of sordid scandal to what goes on in my head when he accidentally touches my arm or brushes his fingers over mine. the amount of times I have gone to cast parties trying to work up the nerve to kiss him are embarrassing. he's older and more experienced and, obviously, he has no interest in me.

but that doesn't matter.

the only reason I'm standing in a dressing room alone with him is because he knew someone on the crew who could hook me up with a replacement for the night. he left while I slipped out of the old one and came back in only after knocking and checking, like, twice to make sure I was decent. he's so respectful that it's almost like he's afraid of making me think the wrong thing-- which makes me feel absolutely stupid for my almost schoolgirl crush.

"come on, you look great. let's go enjoy the party."

"was this a dress one of the victims was wearing?" I ask with a laugh.

"probably. not like we carry a lot of gowns on set." he grabs my hand, makes my heart leap into my throat. he only does it to urge me along, but it still feels intimate as I follow him out of the room, tossing one more evaluative glance at myself in the mirror. I seem terrified.

we continue to do our rounds at the party, Matthew filling my glass of eggnog even though I hate it. I wince and take a sip while we talk to some of our co-stars.

"what's wrong with you?" Shemar chuckles at my expression.

"lost a bet."

"with whom?" he glances between Matthew and me, knowing damn well already from the mischievous grin on the former's face.

"I told you not to take it." Matthew says over the rim of his glass.

"if you mention it one more time, I'm gonna throw up eggnog all over your outfit." I threaten him, but we're both smiling. Shemar frowns.

"what was the bet?"

"you know David-- the guy I was telling you about?" I reply quickly, determined to give my side of the story. Shemar nods; I told him last week when David oh-so-chivalrously danced up on me at a club and asked me out. usually in those situations, guys just want a one-night stand, so I was impressed and agreed. "anyway, Matthew said if it turned out that he was a weirdo, he would get to pick my drinks for the next week whenever we go out."

"your drinks? that's specific."

"she's so picky!" Matthew teases me.

"leave me alone, you dick!" I elbow him and he dodges just in time.

"tell him why he was a weirdo." he grins. the glare I give could kill. but Shemar is waiting expectantly for me to share the information, so I sigh and set my jaw before telling the truth.

"he collects antique dental tools."

"what?" Shemar laughs disbelievingly. I throw my hands up.

"I don't fucking know. we went back to his apartment and he showed me his whole collection."

"you're attracted to weird people, Y/N." Matthew says. I raise my eyebrows and almost say something that dooms me. I hold my tongue, however, and turn back to Shemar with a reserved smile.

"anyway, how are you?"

...

the cast holiday party is actually pretty fun. I tend to leave these functions early in favor of my couch and some ice cream, but something about the bright colors and the smell of wintergreen in the air makes me want to linger in the studio.

I stuff myself with sugar cookies and Matthew mercifully lets me switch from eggnog to Sprite. normally, I'd drink at such an occasion, but I'm a messy drunk and this is one of my first real jobs as an actress. I don't want to even come close to jeopardizing that by breaking some expensive equipment or something.

my throat gets a little sore from all the talking I do-- Paget and I spend about half an hour horribly belting out Christmas carols at the baby grand piano they brought in. they originally had someone hired to play it, but the guy disappeared about an hour ago.

by the time it hits around ten pm, my limbs are tired. I thought people would be leaving (a lot of them have families), but the party is still very much raging when I start to wind down. maybe it's because I'm sober.

"hey." Matthew sidles up next to me as I sit at the piano bench with a slice of lime in my mouth. I like to suck the juice out of them; sour things are my favorite.

"hi." I pluck the fruit out and drop it back into my soda. he sits next to me, his cologne filling my senses with the kind of sensual warmth that it shouldn't be making me feel. he always smells so good.

"ladylike." he gestures to the movement.

"is that why you call me 'princess?'" I smirk, half-joking.

"once-- I called you that once!" he defends. it's not a lie. he used the nickname when he was mocking me for my somewhat selective food preferences. it was sarcastic, but I wish it wasn't. something about the way he said it in the moment made me blush.

"is there a reason you've come to grate my nerves?" I raise an eyebrow and he turns away from me as he bites back a smile. I pout. "what?"

"you're talking like a Jane Austen novel."

"what's wrong with Jane Austen?" I defend, skin heating up. his proximity is doing things to me that it shouldn't.

"nothing," he glances at me before moving his gaze to the ivory keys. "do you play?"

"elementary level, sure." I giggle. he runs his fingers over them, never pressing down hard enough to release a sound. I'm entranced by the delicate nature of his actions, the veins and the curve of his fingertips, the sheer width of his hand. I think about it too much for it to be healthy.

"show me." it's a direct order, one that doesn't feel directive but still ends with me placing both hands on the piano and wracking my brain for something to play. I decide on a piece that Paget and I were doing earlier, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

I've never been quite good at piano, and the nearness of his body is like an anvil on my fingers, but I play anyway. and it feels good. his eyes are on me, drawn to my tracings over the instrument as they press and lift and glide.

"sing." I tell him.

"no!" he protests. I don't stop playing, only now getting into the thick of the tune.

"oh, come on. just the chorus..." I plead, turning my head to beg. "please?"

I bat my lashes playfully, fully intending it as a joke, but Matthew softens a bit. for a fraction of a second, I think he looks at my mouth. he turns his head back to the piano and lets out a quiet "here we are as in olden days... happy golden days of yore..."

"there you go!" I egg him on, and he starts to get more into it. his voice is absolutely off-key; he's no singer, and somehow that makes him even more endearing to me.

Matthew has always been this flawless, intimidating figure in my mind. even when we first met, I was certain that he was hiding something because everything else about him is so... perfect. he's funny, sweet, genuinely kind, handsomer than hell. it didn't make sense. but knowing that he can't carry a tune makes me feel a bit better. it humanizes his beauty.

while he sings, I can't help looking at him. his side profile is even more enchanting; the curve of his features meeting a smooth elegance in his jaw and cheek, especially when his mouth is open. he catches me smiling at him and returns it with his own gleeful face, now totally fine with singing like a fool in front of everyone. nobody is even really looking at us-- they're several drinks in and lost in their own universe of drunken laughter.

there's something kind of magical about that, I think. we're sober. when the song draws to a close, I lift my fingers off the keys and into my lap.

"you're quite the Pavarotti." I joke.

"the who?" he furrows his brow with a smile.

"he's a famous opera singer."

"oh," he laughs, "thanks, Mozart."

I twist my face up as I hide my smile. this is also part of the reason I could never tell Matthew how I feel; we just fit together too well. he almost always gets my references and I understand his, even though there's an age gap between us. he's an old soul with a youthful heart.

"how's your night going?" I ask him softly, changing the subject. he sets his hands on his lap, absent-mindedly toying with his fingers. it's not a nervous tendency at all. he does it whenever we're on set.

"as of right now? pretty damn good." he replies with a smile. I get warm again at the implication. he doesn't mean it like that, but god, do I wish he did.

"very smooth." I compliment appreciatively.

"how about you?"

"it was kind of boring, but then this rando sat next to me and started singing Christmas songs and it got a little better." I say flatly, grabbing my glass off the top of the piano and running my fingertip over the rim. he drops his head in a giggle.

"you're something else."

"insult?" I clarify.

"definitely a compliment."

"I like compliments."

"well, I wasn't lying before. you look really beautiful in that dress."

"the murder dress?" I glance down at it to hide the absolute wideness of my eyes at his words. he's completely flustering me and I'm starting to find it hard to breathe. he said I look beautiful. not "pretty," not "great"-- beautiful.

"yes, the murder dress." he gets a little pink in his cheeks, and that makes me want to explode on the spot.

"well, say goodbye to it because I'm gonna go change back into my plebeian clothes," I stand from the piano bench. "it's past my bedtime."

Matthew looks up at me with an unreadable expression and I feel my heart flutter in my chest. I hate leaving him. "do you wanna come with me? like-- walk with me?"

"sure." he nods, stands, and follows behind. I can feel his presence like a delightful reminder of the emotions surging in my stomach. we wind through the crowd of party-goers until we end up back in the dressing room, away from the party. it's quiet.

Matthew walks in with me, carrying our drinks in his hand, and he's about to stroll back out so I can change when I touch his arm. the door shuts automatically behind him.

"wait," I swallow quickly. "can you unzip me?"

"oh." Matthew looks at me, then at the glasses in his arms, then at the vanity. he sets them down and comes back quickly, his frame behind me while his fingertips locate the little piece at the top of my gown. my breath hitches in my throat when he brushes over my spine by accident, one nail dragging accidentally against my skin as the fabric slowly gives way. I don't know if he hears it-- it's nearly imperceptible-- but he definitely hesitates once he reaches the place where my back starts to curve into my ass. he pauses, doesn't breathe until he reaches the end of the zipper.

"there you go." he mutters. his voice is a little more hoarse than usual, and he clears his throat as he steps away. I know he's going to back out. he's going to back out of the room and wait for me to slip into nothing and I know, somehow, that he's going to be thinking about how I look in here with my clothes off. he's going to wish he stayed.

and I'm going to wish he'd done more than stayed.

before I can lose my nerve and allow the moment to be swallowed up by practicality, I shrug the straps of the dress down my shoulders and let gravity take over. it drops to the floor, leaving me in only my bra and panties. I can sense him behind me; he's silent for a moment.

"Matthew." I say, the name sitting on my tongue like a sugar cube. perfectly formed, slowly dissolving.

"y-yeah?" he stutters for the first time since I've met him.

"are you looking at my ass right now?" I ask, still turned around. the way he's frozen in place tells me that I'm right.

"yeah." he admits.

"you can touch it, if you want." I murmur softly. part of me doesn't think this is real, the way each sentence leaves my throat like it's been pre-planned. truly, I don't understand how my brain is moving so quickly.

"are you... sure?" he's hesitant, but even I can taste the longing.

"yes."

his hand smooths over my butt, softly at first like he's still not believing his own eyes, before moving back to grab it. he squeezes the flesh, and a low exhale from him tells me that he's excited.

"do you want more?" my voice barely carries. my head is almost foggy from how good it is to have his grip on my body, even in such a simple way. I can feel myself getting wet.

"how much more?" his lips brush over my shoulder and I get goosebumps. my mouth opens and closes for a moment, searching for the right words.

"however much you want."

it's flint and steel, the way he sparks. the air literally leaves my lungs when Matthew grabs my hips and spins me around to face him. my lips part as I peer up at him, at the lust that now darkens those hazel eyes and the way he holds mine. his touch is certain. he pulls our bodies together, tilts my chin up to kiss me.

it's passionate, strong, the kind of kiss that causes me to lean back a bit just to receive the full force of his desire. but I return the affection easily, moaning into his mouth. I've never been held the way that Matthew holds me. like I'm made of sugar glass, like he wants desperately to feel the soft give of my skin and make a home of me.

the heat between our bodies is almost overwhelming, and I sigh when he subtly pushes our hips together. his erection is against my stomach.

"fuck." I mutter when I pull away for air. Matthew doesn't stop his perfect movements, though, tugging my earlobe between his teeth and starting to leave love bites up my skin and over my shoulder. he chuckles against my throat. I shiver.

"you alright, little girl?" he asks.

"just--" I let out a moan at the sensation of his fingers exploring my bare waist. he reaches behind me to unclasp my bra. "just surprised."

"about?" he slides the straps down my shoulders and looks me in the eye. the lack of physical contact makes me whine.

"that you want me."

"how is that surprising?" he smiles, using one index finger to guide me to look at him.

"you don't seem like it."

Matthew raises his eyebrows as if I'm a crazy person. truly dumbstruck. "what?"

"you-- well, I don't know." I frown, but Matthew takes my hand and moves it over his torso until my palm is resting over the considerable bulge in his pants.

"is this enough proof?"

I struggle for words, sputtering. "yeah-- yeah, it is."

he bucks into my hand a little and I bite my lip, eyes moving up to meet his. something passes between us that I don't fully understand, but feel in my bones. I have never, in my life, wanted someone to fuck me as much as I want Matthew to fuck me right now. my jaw clenches.

"I need you." I tell him like this is the most relevant piece of information that will ever pass between us. he smirks.

"yeah?"

"mhmm."

"then lean against the wall and let me give you what you deserve." he orders. for a second, I try to think through what he means. then I look behind me at the open space and back up, him following me closely. his hands move up to cup my breasts, kneading and tweaking my nipples as he kisses my lips. the coolness against my back causes me to gasp, and he swallows the sound with his tongue before moving down my body.

he's torturously slow, taking one of my nipples into his mouth while he shrugs off his suit jacket. he switches to my other peak, one hand splayed over my stomach, and then proceeds southward with his lips. his kisses are delicate, open-mouthed, as they find their way to the waistband of my panties.

he hooks his fingers in them and looks up at me.

"can I eat you out, baby?" he asks. I bite my lip.

"please." like a beg.

"oh, you're polite tonight." he smirks, tugging the garment down my legs and discarding it somewhere in the room. I don't respond, and he doesn't seem to need me to, because he pushes one leg up for better access to my pussy. "let's see if it lasts."

my back curves off of the wall involuntarily when he holds the flat of his tongue against my clit suddenly, trying to roll my hips against his face. my fingers tangle in his hair, one leg resting over his shoulder.

he starts to flick at my clit. I lose grasp of my own language.

"Matthew, that feels so good, I--"

he attaches himself to my bundle of nerves, seemingly turned on by the sounds I'm making for him. he groans as he laps at the wetness between my legs, dipping into my folds and sucking the soul out of me. I whine and use his curls as leverage to gain more friction. he peers up at me.

"needy little girl." he mumbles against my pussy. I shove him back into me.

"make me cum, then." I beg. I can practically feel the devilish smirk on his face as he devours me like he'll never get enough. every twist and lick of his tongue is sending me to new places. I'm panting, chest heaving, while I grab my own tits and buck into his mouth.

he moans. my orgasm hits me like a wave, causing me to nearly thrash with pleasure as I cry out.

"Matthew, keep going, fuck yes!" I feel tears prick the back of my eyes, the culmination almost too much to bear as we hold contact. he stares into my fucking soul as he eats me out, and I want to stay like this forever. it's hard to support myself with my legs going weak, but I love it. the sensations are otherworldly. it's only when I'm about to collapse that I push his face away from me.

"I love your pussy." he tells me, licking his lips as he sets my legs down. I grin and let my head fall back against the wall.

"thanks."

"come here, princess." he takes hold of my hips and guides me over to the mirror, turning me so that he's standing behind my frame. the pet name causes me to smile.

"what?" I reference our reflection. he stares at me, reaching around to squeeze my tits.

"I wanna fuck you in the mirror." such a vulgar thing, said so beautifully. he kisses my cheek. "if that's okay with you."

"I don't care what position we do as long as you're fucking me." I breathe honestly. he chuckles and draws me towards him so his clothed boner is against my ass. I reach behind and work the button on his pants. he undoes the ones on his shirt. we're silent, him watching my naked body move like he's trying to memorize every detail.

when he's finally stripped, he lets me stroke his cock for a couple moments before pushing my upper back forward so I'm holding onto the sides of the mirror. I see him biting his lip as he lines himself up at my entrance.

"you ready?" he checks. I nod and he smiles at me once. pushing in, the smile melts into a jaw-dropped haze, eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Y/N..."

"it's so big." I try to breathe. he's so deep, I grip the mirror until my knuckles turn white. he's going to snap my body in two with the angle of his cock, filling me easily.

"tight little thing." he grunts as he holds himself inside. I can only watch in shock as I try to adjust to the sheer feeling of him. Matthew runs his hands over my sides, my ass, touching whatever he can. "how's that?"

I start to wiggle my hips and he groans at the feeling of my walls desperately swallowing him up. "Matthew, I need it."

"need what?" he thrusts into me and I have to fight a scream.

"need you."

"fuck... yes." he hisses out, sliding into me. "you're so wet I don't even need to try."

I bite my lip to withhold my sounds and he stares me in the eyes in the mirror as he starts to fuck me harder, building a pace with his hips. he growls a little if he hits certain angles, getting ruthless.

"so many times when I wanted to be inside you, princess..." he trails off. I start to play with my clit with one hand, using the other to stabilize myself with the mirror. the idea turns me on.

"when?"

"whenever you have attitude," he pants. "tonight, in that innocent fucking dress. making me wanna pound you like a little slut."

I make a high-pitched sound at the shudder of pleasure that jolts through my stomach at his words, wanting more. I've never heard him talk this way before.

"Matthew, shit--" I rub myself in circles, caught between watching his face and watching the way his hips slam into mine.

"you're begging to be fucked, you know that?"

"am I?" I smile sweetly in the mirror. we're in our own world, locked in a fantasy that I never want to leave. I can feel him in every corner of my body, sinking beneath my skin. he digs his nails into my ass.

"mhmm." he hums. I can feel the familiar weight in my stomach that indicates how close I'm getting. a knot that screams to be undone by his perfect length. I would do anything for more of this. I can taste everything good in the world on my tongue.

"I'm so close." I whine.

"I can tell," he studies my face in the mirror. "so pretty when you're breaking."

"oh--" I feel my thighs tense and my body pulses, the euphoria almost overwhelming. we move steadily, rhythmically, and he pushes my climax to new levels. "faster." I cry.

Matthew is quick to respond, gripping me closer while he plows into me like he's never going to have my body again. the sound of it is filthy, perfect, a mess. he groans at the sensation of my cunt pulsating around his cock.

"cum for me, princess." he moans, losing himself in the embrace of my core. the foggy stare in his eyes is like drowning in the ocean. I sink below, not caring at all about the consequences of him inside me. fuck working together; I need him. "where should I cum?"

"in me." I groan.

"beg." he commands easily, watching my face contort in pleasure. I could pretend to fight it, to give a little attitude, but I don't want to. I love begging for him.

"fill me up, Matthew. please." each word punctuated by the breathlessness of my voice. he gets even more ferocious with me, beating up my pussy until I'm sure he's going to leave me sore.

"right there, right there," he gasps, hitting the same spot that makes me go cross-eyed. "such a good little slut."

his cum shoots into me, deep and warm and erotically twisted, and I nearly collapse. it feels weird, but so good at the same time. full. he groans out my name and withdraws, quick to grab my shoulders and hold me up as I almost fall. I hadn't realized that most of my body weight was supported purely by his thrusts.

"whoa." he lets out a tired laugh, gentle in his touch. I'm heaving air into my lungs.

"sorry." I apologize, my body unstable.

"are you okay?" he seems genuinely concerned and I nod.

"yeah, I'm fine. just a little overwhelmed."

"here," he scoops me into his arms and brings me over to the old love seat in the dressing room, laying his jacket down before putting me on top of it. "can I get you something?"

"Sprite." I gesture to the glass on the vanity, and he smiles as he goes to get it. I gulp down whatever remains of it. "thanks."

"of course." he keeps glancing at my face and the red marks on my hips where he was clutching me like a lifeline. "I'm sorry."

"what?" I set the cup down. "don't ever be sorry for fucking me like that."

"no, I meant--" he laughs, but then he sees my playful expression and realizes that I'm genuinely alright. I think my legs were asleep.

"you're a saint." I tell him. he frowns and shakes his head bashfully. I'm already getting up and collecting my clothes. "or maybe what we just did prevents you from reaching sainthood. I don't know."

he places his hand on my lower back, kisses my forehead tenderly.

"seriously. you're okay?"

"I'm perfectly fine," I assure him. "but I would be better with a milkshake."

Matthew breaks into a slow grin, staring at me like I've done something miraculous.

"how are you so perfect?"

[themuseic]

Namestealer

Kylo Ren  / /  WC: 1,320  / /  AO3 Mirror

Warnings: Myth/Fantasy AU, Grooming, Manipulation, Insecurity. 

A/N: This is a myth/fantasy AU that I thought up regarding the relationship between Ben Solo/Kylo Ren and Snoke. To prepare for this fic, I did a good amount of research regarding practices in which names hold power over others to ensure I didn’t appropriate a direct myth or legend. However, I may have missed information, so please feel free to inform me in my ask box or messages. Thank you! 

He was made of shadows and legends. The whispers in the dead of night.

He lived in the dark and in the mist that shrouded the woods.

He traveled through the pregnant pauses in difficult conversation, leaping from chasm to chasm as he fed off of the misery that drenched the silence. He slithered between the inflection in speech, wrapping his being around words, around names, and tearing them from their owners, warping the nameless into whatever would serve him best. 

Ben had heard of him before. He had been warned of him by his parents, his friends, by the programs that ran on his television late at night, when he was the only soul awake. “Don’t let the Namestealer catch you,” they warned. “Don’t let him take your name from you.”

Benjamin Solo’s name was all he was given. “No trinket can hold a candle to your name,” his parents insisted. “You have the name of a prince.” He knew he had to protect it, had to ensure that his legacy could persist beyond his body. He had been chosen, bestowed a name that harkened back to a powerful warrior of the olden times and to a bloodline borne of independence and skill, infamous across the stars.

Ben understood this. He worked tirelessly to uphold the legacy, to hone his skills and live up to the expectation before him. He labored over his studies, bore his legacy proudly. Ben Solo would be known to all, he was sure of it.

And if he believed for long enough, surely it had to come true. 

Time passed, and Ben changed. His limbs sprouted, and he quickly overtook his father in height. His raven hair grew past his large ears, which Ben was grateful for, and his face slimmed as it shed his youth. He was the perfect physical intersection of his parents, a walking reminder of his heritage.

Ben wasn’t sure why, but his reflection made his skin crawl. He began to avoid it.

And as Ben grew, he found he didn’t care quite so much about his name. He stopped finding pride in his history, instead focusing on his failures and all that he had yet to become. Each pat on the back or cooed greeting to “Han’s boy,” or “Leia’s son,” was another reminder of that. 

He would never be enough. 

The tales of the Namestealer did not fade like other myths and legends, left behind with each passing year. No, those stories persisted, told huddled around a campfire at night, drawing shivers and halting breath from those who heard them. 

Ben didn’t mind. He harbored no fear of the specter. “What’s in a name?” He would scoff. “Not much in a name.”

One day the Namestealer came for him. 

Gnarled and pale, he infiltrated Ben’s mind. His talons dug into his consciousness and being, pulling at him inch by inch until he was threadbare. A perfect canvas to hold whatever the being sought to impose on him. And Ben, desperate for a sense of self, was powerless to resist him.

With each new taunt and each falsehood muttered in his ear, Ben found himself more consumed by the Namestealer. His consciousness was overtaken by the being, twisting around his very soul and squeezing tight. Ben offered himself up, looking for something - anything - to make him feel alive, no matter what that looked like. 

“Nothing special about a name, boy,” the Namestealer muttered in his ear. “No use guarding it.”

Tendrils of rage flowed effortlessly from the twisted mouth into Ben’s ear. He was filled with and consumed by a nagging sense of disgust. For who? He couldn’t tell you. 

The Namestealer visited him daily. Nightly. He came to Ben so often that soon, not even five minutes would pass before Ben heard that familiar rasp reverbarting in his mind. 

Ben’s consciousness and soul began to warp with the tight grasp of the Namestealer. He fell, deeper and deeper into the darkness, swimming through the viscous pool of lies laid out for him, bludgeoned by their sharp edges as they chipped away at his resolve, his determination to not fall victim to the phantom. 

He staggered through life. His energy focused on his fight against the Namestealer. Ben felt as if he was only barely keeping his head above water, his grasp on his name held just out of reach of the snatching hands. 

There came a point where Ben became tired of running. Tired of dancing from the unrelenting phantom, tired of the upkeep it took to honor his name, tired of breathing only to know that he would have to do the same thing again the next day. He laid in his bed, wiggling his feet where they hung off of the lip of his mattress, contemplating his purpose, his place in the vast galaxy he was meant to call home. 

“Hand it over boy,” the voice snarled in his ear. “Give it to me and it will be easy for you.” 

Ben blinked once, twice. 

His broad chest inflated. Deflated. He was tired. So tired. 

His large, pale hand stretched out into the pitch black night, an invitation and a death sentence. 

Ben withheld the shudder that threatened to run through his body when he felt the sinuous fingers of the Namestealer wrap around his palm and squeeze lightly. He inhaled once before he emptied his lungs of breath. Ben tensed every muscle in his body in preparation for what was to come, but it was not enough. 

The minute he felt the breeze of an exhaled breath on his forearm, he gritted his teeth and whined against the feeling. 

“Give me your name.”

Whimpers preceded his answer. “Ben Solo,” he eeked out. “My name is Benjamin Solo.”

Baleful laughter filled the room at his response. The boy was scared of it. It sounded twisted, evil. He second guessed his willing offerance of his name, the only thing he truly owned. 

He began to squirm in the Namestealer’s binding grasp, and in a moment of charity, the Namestealer granted him his freedom from the shackles. 

He laid there, unmoving, as he processed his ritual, his fate. Suddenly, there were lips at his ear, breath. A new name was whispered to him. A brand seared into his being. 

“What is your name?” the Namestealer whispered, glee dancing at the fringe of his taunt. 

“Kylo Ren.”

A twisted smile spread across the ghostly face that gazed down upon him before curled into a jeering sneer. “Ben Solo is no more, boy,” the Namestealer hummed as he reveled in the admittance. The creature curled himself around Kylo Ren’s body and lapped at the shell of Kylo Ren’s ear, as if to taste him. 

Kylo rolled the name around his mouth. His new name, forced upon him under the farce of choice. It tasted saccharine. 

He stood. He felt… lighter somehow. Not as if his worries were washed from him. Not as if he was a brighter, happier person. 

No. He simply felt… weightless. As though he had shed a layer of himself, as if he missed a whole section of his being. He walked to the restroom in a daze, barely understanding the new feeling that flowed through his veins. His ankles threatened to give out, and he grasped onto the white ceramic sink bowl, grasping at the stone to stop from collapsing. He panted heavy through his distress, allowing his jet black hair to shield him from the world, before he took a final deep breath in and snapped his gaze up to the mirror before him. 

Kylo studied himself in the bathroom mirror for the first time in years. He was still physically the same - lanky and pale, dusted in whispers of stars. Nothing had changed, but he couldn’t suppress the feeling that just maybe, everything had. 

“What’s in a name?” Kylo Ren thought to himself.

Everything.

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