#rooney writes

[academicdisasterfic]

keep doing this

For @drarrymicrofic prompt 'bared'. Thanks to @wolfpants for the speedy beta x CW for minor injury.

'Potter—'

'Shh.' Harry turns on the faucet with one hand and holds Draco with the other, the sudden spray of hot water burning their icy skin. 'Just let me.'

'You can't keep doing this.'

'Doing what?' Harry focusses his gaze on where Draco's lip has split open, ugly and jarring against his pale skin. He brings the tip of his index finger to it, mutters a quiet Episkey, watches as the skin knits itself back together.

They're in just their briefs, and Harry thinks that Draco looks so young like this; drenched and skinny and vulnerable, gazing at Harry like he holds the world in his palms.

'Potter,' Draco says, pleading, and Harry reaches for the shampoo - the one the Ministry supplies, the one that smells like mint, and lathers it into his palms.

'Turn around,' Harry says softly, and Draco does, presses his back to Harry's stomach, tips his head back against his shoulder. Harry massages his temples, his scalp, his forehead.

'It's not fair you can do Healing charms without a wand,' Draco mutters, and sighs when Harry's fingers press into the base of his neck.

'I know,' Harry whispers, and brushes loose strands back from Draco's face so he can rinse out the shampoo. 'I know.'

'You can't keep doing this.'

'Why?'

Draco's eyes flutter shut, blue veins visible on the lids. Harry has the bizarre desire to touch them, to cover them, as if hiding them would make Draco any safer.

'Why?' Harry's hands rest on either side of his neck; Draco's pulse jumps. His eyes squeeze further.

'It's not fair. You know why. You've got to know, by this point.'

'Hmm.' Harry presses his nose against Draco's cheek, slides his hands up his torso, feels his heartbeat. 'You've never asked me how I felt, you know. You've always just assumed.'

He can feel the moment Draco gives in; his hips hitch back and his limbs go soft, and when Harry presses his lips against his neck, hot and needy, he gasps.

'Harry—Harry—'

'Draco,' Harry murmurs, and Draco turns to him, eyes wide and disbelieving, his angular body moulding beneath Harry's hands, pressing into the cold tiles.

Harry presses a thumb against the newly healed skin. Draco's jaw goes slack, and he lets out a soft moan as the tip of Harry's finger slips past his lips, as he wraps his mouth around the nail.

'I can keep doing this,' Harry whispers, and kisses him.

[moonstoast]

—longing for love

what i could never confess without some bravado by emily palermo // nickie zimov // homosexuality by frank o’hara // normal people (2020) // the unabridged journal by sylvia plath // holly warburton

[sicknessinmotion]

HUMANITY WILL HURT YOU & LOVE YOU & CRY WITH YOU; ON THE WORLD LOVING YOU

the good place // unknown author // sally rooney // judas h. (@judas-redeemed) // coldplay // unknown

[frenchnewwaves]

Normal People

[quotefeeling]

Marianne had the sense that her real life was happening somewhere very far away, happening without her, and she didn't know if she would ever find out where it was or become part of it.

Sally Rooney, Normal People

[kitchen-light]

The fact that erotic attraction in Austen’s work is forced out of language—sublimated into ambiguous gestures and looks and seemingly innocuous speech acts—constitutes in very large part the drama of her narratives. In a sense, then, it is from the unavailability of language that the tensions of the novel arise. We might propose the novel as a kind of book in which the most important subject cannot be spoken about. The genius of Jane Austen’s technical achievement is apparent not only in her wide readership but in her formal legacy. Austen’s narrative structures, her command of pacing, her perspectival techniques, her staging of small knowable social worlds: these are the basic ingredients of what we would now call the novel as a form.

Sally Rooney, from her essay/lecture “Misreading Ulysses”, published in The Paris Review, December 7, 2022

[babooshkart]

It’s Harry’s dream house. A brick cottage, covered in ivy and crawling vines, sits at the end of the driveway. It’s dusted in snow, trees reaching over the garden beds, and chickens are clucking and pecking at the ground. Draco takes a sharp inhale, and pulls Harry through the wards, and Harry knows that feeling - it’s the way Grimmauld greets him. The magic tangling around him, welcoming him home.

A Melody of You & Me by @academicdisasterfic (65k, rated E)

The perfect read for the holiday season. Rooney, you are a marvel. Merry Christmas, everyone!!! Go read this gorgeous fic!!! 💕💕💕

[the-blue-wraith]

When you're living in a household full of cruelty and bitterness and you were never given any kindness, you'll believe the world hates you for being who you are. You'll believe you don't deserve any kindness because the people around you never gave you that. When you see someone being kind and gentle you can't help but feel disgusted. As a child, I experienced this and I hated the world. In Astarion’s perspective, I definitely understood that. This part of his narrative is really relatable to me because I've been there.

He hated when your Tav helped people and treated them with kindness because he was never given any of that when he needed the most. No one came to him during his lowest moments. Until he met Tav who originally he planned on seducing them so they would protect him, and the first person who treated him with genuine kindness. After facing Cazador he realized he can be much more than what he was made for, someone who can break the cycle of terror that he endured for 200 years. He had nothing for so long, with his freedom he can finally start healing and be able to make decisions for himself. He will never be used as a toy anymore because he is his own person now.

I have never loved a character like this before. His story means so much for trauma survivors just like me. Astarion means so much to me and I'll be forever grateful for knowing this character.

[thoughtkick]

Marianne had the sense that her real life was happening somewhere very far away, happening without her, and she didn't know if she would ever find out where it was or become part of it.

Sally Rooney, Normal People

[aceghosts]

15 Lines of Dialogue

I was tagged by @voidika and @nightbloodbix to do this challenge! Thank you!

Tagging (Opt In/Out): @bbrocklesnar, @marivenah, @alexxmason, @sergeiravenov, @carlosoliveiraa, @strangefable, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @amalkavian, @confidentandgood, @clicheantagonist, @theelderhazelnut, @cassietrn, @direwombat, @captastra, @cloudofbutterflies92, @katsigian, @inafieldofdaisies, @simplegenius042, and anyone else who wants to do this!

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

Rooney Shepard (Cyberpunk 2077)

“Even at the cost of my own life,” Rooney picks up their whiskey glass again, “If you’re going to ask me if I regret it, I don’t. I would do the same again if given the choice.”

“You are a client,” Their tone is firm as they continue to dig their grave, ever obstinate, “You are hiring me to find someone. Unless you would prefer someone else to take this case.”

“Hmm…,” They start, tilting their head for a second as they pretend to think before answering with a smirk, “No.”

“People depend on me, Yorinobu. I cannot let them down. If I stop, I fail them. And if I fail them, then what use am I to anyone?”

“Fine,” They say, pulling out their monowire, “Remember, I gave you a chance to turn back.”

“I can do all of these things, but I know when others need me first,”

“No, I made a promise that I intend to keep. I’ll find a way out for us both.”

“It’s more than that. He’s my teammate; I’m responsible for him.”

“I can blame myself,” They look at him, meeting his eyes, “It was my job to protect Jack. He was my younger brother. He needed me, and I failed him. Danny, too.”

“No.” Rooney’s tone is deadly quiet, a grim look on their face.

“Work. You know how I am.”

“Not for a lack of trying,” They joke back, wiping at their eyes.

“I do. I let everyone down who didn’t make it off Space Force One. I refuse to let anyone else get hurt. Not as long as I breathe.”

“I know what is at stake. I’ve made a decision and decided that I’m okay with that risk.”

‘Glad to see you too, Silverhand’, Rooney thinks. A moment later and perhaps a touch more fondly, they add, ‘I mean it. I really thought I might have lost you, and it terrified me’.

[galaxywhump]

Prompt: Wren doing something that's blatantly stupid/suicidal (like going out into the jungle to pick fights with the wildlife) when he becomes apathetic about his own life, and Daniel's reaction to that?

[SV-240 masterlist]

Thank you for the prompt, anon! Sorry it's so late, it's been in the making for a while now and I finally got the motivation to finish it.

Warning: this is a rather heavy one; it's also not canon.

contents: slavery whump, forced relationship, creepy/intimate whumper, suicide attempt (nothing graphic), depression, restraints, comforted by whumper.

~~~

Wren leaves the house without Daniel’s knowledge.

He still has the tracker, of course, but when he left, Daniel was napping, so hopefully he won’t wake up for a few more hours. Wren just wants to go for a swim in the picturesque pond he remembers the path to. He’s unarmed, without so much as a kitchen knife, but he’s not scared. He’s not anything.

There is an emptiness inside of him that has had a grip on him for several weeks now. It’s the sort of hopelessness he’s been trying so hard to avoid, but instead of making him Daniel’s loving partner, it’s only making him… do this. Go for a walk in the jungle, looking straight ahead, not scanning his surroundings, barely flinching when he hears rustling and other sounds of the dense forest.

He’s had these thoughts a few times before, but now he’s decided to follow them. Not directly, even though he knows there are several options inside the house; instead, he lets fate decide, since it seems to control his life anyway. So he goes for a swim. If fate decides he should stay underwater, he won’t fight it, nor will he fight if it decides not to let him reach the pond at all.

He’s clothed, and yet feels so exposed, a puny human in a jungle full of animals he knows nothing about, having only met one, which tried to kill him. Maybe there are others like it. Maybe one is already stalking him.

Keep walking, not running, walking with calm emptiness. Get away from Daniel’s house, leave his life on the jungle’s mercy. He frowns when he feels a small pang of regret. He should turn back. He should live. But it’s too late now, isn’t it? He’s far enough that the way back would be anything but safe, and he doesn’t want Daniel to question him once he returns. He takes a deep breath, clenches his fists, and keeps walking.

There are noises all around him.

There’s a noise somewhere behind him.

Soft steps, a low growl. He’s being stalked.

He closes his eyes.

And then there’s a familiar man-made sound, cracking bolts of plasma piercing the air; one followed by the sound of the animal fleeing, one hitting a tree just a few centimeters left of Wren, making him jolt in place.

“Hi there,” he hears Daniel’s voice, almost playful. He swallows and slowly turns around to face his captor, who’s standing still with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed.

“You missed,” Wren says, lifting his chin, though there is nothing more to his defiance, no spark in his eyes.

“If I wanted to shoot you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” There is no affection in Daniel’s voice, and Wren prefers it this way. “Have you forgotten about your tracker?”

“No.”

Daniel raises his eyebrows.

“What was even your plan?”

“I went for a walk,” Wren explains, looking him straight in the eye; his expression remains empty.

“Good one,” Daniel scoffs. “You know you’d be dead before the day’s over, don’t you?”

“I do.”

The silence that follows is unbearably heavy. Daniel gets it, and for a split second he looks genuinely surprised before going back to his usual unbothered expression.

“Come here. Let’s go home.”

Wren doesn’t break eye contact.

“And if I run?” he asks. “Will you miss again?”

“I’ll shoot, but I won’t kill you. I’ll target your leg, maybe both, and I’ll drag you back. Now come here.”

He does, his head lowered, brow furrowed, mind blank. The jungle around them is bustling with life, never completely quiet, yet the silence between them feels suffocating enough that it could spread over the entire forest, forcing it into stupor. Neither of them says a single word on the way home.

Home. Wren sighs. Home. Daniel’s house is his home now, there’s no denying that. He’s too tired to deny anything anyway, not to mention worry about what Daniel’s going to do to him after his stunt.

They’re still silent when they reach the house and the door closes behind them. Wren follows Daniel to the living room, sits down on the couch, and watches him retrieve two pairs of leather cuffs.

“You’ll have to be restrained more after this, you know that?”

“Yeah.” Wren puts his arms in front, wrists close together, and does the same with his ankles. The cuffs close, a familiar sensation, and he stares down at them, barely feeling anything.

“It’s for your own safety.” Daniel doesn’t crouch down, doesn’t sit next to Wren, still standing in front of him, towering over him.

“Yeah,” Wren repeats, his voice monotone; he only wants this pointless conversation to end, and Daniel can sense it, which doesn’t mean he cares.

“Look at me.”

When he does, Daniel frowns seeing the weary emptiness in his eyes.

“Why did you do it?” he asks, and his accusatory tone makes Wren flinch, like he’s being scolded. It’s the last thing he wants to experience today.

“Take a guess,” he mutters, lowering his gaze, as if even looking up requires too much energy.

Daniel sighs and his frown deepens. He knows the truth, as much as he doesn’t want to accept it.

“I won’t let you do that, Wren.”

“I know. Cause I have nowhere to run, right?” For the first time today, there is something in Wren’s voice, the tiniest of sparks. “I can’t fucking escape you and this-this fucking nightmare, I’m stuck here and you won’t even- you won’t even let me-” He gets choked up, and to his frustration he tears up. “Fuck, just fucking hold me already and spew your bullshit, I know you’re going to do it anyway.”

Without a word, Daniel sits down next to Wren, who leans against him and exhales slowly when Daniel embraces him.

“I’m not going to spew any bullshit. I just…” Daniel trails off for a moment and gives Wren a light squeeze. “I wasn’t expecting this, and it hurts.”

“Oh, it hurts you?” Wren laughs in disbelief. “Poor you, the guy you’re keeping captive and torturing is a depressed loser. Cry me a river.”

“It hurts me because I love you, Wren.”

“You said you weren’t going to spew bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit to me, and I hope that soon it won’t be bullshit to you, either.” Daniel sighs, a heavy sigh that makes Wren even angrier, which he knows is, at the very least, better than complete emptiness. Daniel doesn’t have the right to feel and react this way, not when he’s the cause of all of this. “And remember that you were depressed even before I bought you.” He feels Wren tense up at that. “You can’t pretend otherwise, it was right in your file. Depressed, isolated, drinking problem. You were lonely, and that made it possible for Berkeley to make you disappear without raising any eyebrows. Now you’re here, I’m here with you, I know about your problems, and I want to help. On my terms and at my pace, but I do.”

“You’re not helping,” Wren croaks, trying and failing to blink away tears, Daniel’s blunt words feeling like a dagger piercing his heart, over and over again. “I wasn’t- It was better than this, I wanted to get better, I just…”

He just couldn’t, and it was only getting worse, until he started spending entire hours - he was too busy to afford days - curled up in his bed, staring at the wall, questioning the point of it all, and he was alone, completely alone, and-

“On Earth, I wouldn’t have been there to stop you.”

Daniel’s words are like a punch to the face, strong enough that Wren would sway on his feet if he wasn’t sitting down. It’s true, he realizes in horror, and a painful sob reverberates through his body; he slumps in Daniel’s embrace, overwhelmed by the most terrifying what if he’s ever had to consider.

“Shh, sweetheart.” Daniel gently runs his hand up and down Wren’s arm and pulls him closer as he sobs, unable to stop, because Daniel is right, and he was so stupid, and in a twisted way he almost let Daniel win.

What could have been back on Earth doesn't matter anymore. Here, if he dies, Daniel wins. It’s a way to escape, but it comes at too great a cost, and now that he can think more or less clearly again, he can’t believe he even attempted that. So stupid, so stupid, and if it wasn’t for Daniel, the very same person he's fighting against, he wouldn’t be here right now.

He won’t thank Daniel, he can’t, but he leans into his touch ever so slightly, and he’s still crying, so overwhelmed by what he almost did and so relieved that he’s still here, still fighting.

“Cry it out, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

For the first time, though he would never admit it out loud, he’s grateful for that.

~~~

taglist: @faewhump @inky-whump @whole-and-apart-and-between @whatwasmyprevioususername @procrastinatingsab @funky-little-glitter-bomb @goneuntil @redstainedsocks @luminouswhump @lonesome--hunter @as-a-matter-of-whump @renkocchi @whump-only @muddy-swamp-bitch @girlwithacoolcat @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @sophierose002 @whump-headspace @to-whump-or-not-to-whump @kixngiggles @ohwhumpydays @whumpsical @wibbly-wobbly-whump @stab-the-son-of-a @his-unspoken-words @pumpkin-spice-whump @onlyhappywhenitpains @suspicious-whumping-egg @morning-star-whump @burtlederp @there-will-always-be-blood @springwhump

[academicdisasterfic]

Threshing

drarry | 1.5k | e

A slightly late gift for the lovely @anaxandria-writes for @drarrymicrofic Wheel of Drarry mini-exchange. Thank you to my love @wolfpants for the fantastic beta.

CW for chronic/terminal illness (but with a happy ending).

Years later, Draco would think it all began when the bartender asked him, ‘Would you like the shiraz, sir, or the tempranillo?’

‘Tempranillo,’ Draco said, but as it transpired, they had run out of the tempranillo, and the bartender had to dash out to the back for more, despite Draco’s protests that the shiraz would be fine.

Draco was left to tap his fingers on the wooden counter, and as he gazed aimlessly around the crowded room, he wondered  whether thirty was going to feel any different to twenty-nine.

And that’s when he saw him; lingering by the door, flannel rolled up to his elbows, dark stubble covering his jaw. He looked tired, and Draco knew, knew before he even saw the string appear between them. He didn’t hesitate; it was like drawing breath, walking over to him, and Harry looked so relieved, as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment, even though neither of them could have known, as these things were never able to be predicted, not even by the most gifted Seers or centaurs.

The string shortened and drew them together, and Draco reached out his hand to cup Harry’s face.

‘You look tired,’ Draco said, and Harry leant into his neck, inhaling, grabbing Draco’s waist, drawing their bodies together, fitting Draco’s hip bones against his. Draco gasped.

‘Of course it’d be you,’ Harry muttered, and then, ‘we’re going back to mine.’

They fucked in the kitchen, over dirty dishes and piles of unread mail on the sticky counter, Harry eating Draco from behind until Draco couldn’t take it and wrestled them to the ground, sinking down on Harry’s cock and riding him against the hard wooden floor.

They fucked on the sofa, Draco opening Harry quickly and efficiently so he could take him from behind, Harry whimpering harder, harder into the cushions.

They fucked in Harry’s bed, this time slow and reverent, Harry sucking Draco’s nipples until Draco was thrashing and sobbing, arching up and begging to be touched, and then Harry pushed into him and held his face between his huge, calloused hands. That's when Draco fell in love with him; fell in love as Harry covered him and held him like a precious, beloved thing, like he couldn't believe he was allowed to love, and be loved, by him.

After, spent and exhausted, Draco looked at where the string joined them, and asked, ‘Why now?’

Harry smiled, crooked and sweet, and kissed the back of Draco’s palm.

‘Probably because I’m dying.’

…

People weren’t supposed to be Horcruxes.

When Voldemort destroyed the part of his soul that lived inside Harry, Harry’s magical core didn’t know what to do. It had spent seventeen years growing and shaping itself around something that was no longer there, and it rebelled.

Harry hadn’t noticed for the first five years or so, too lost in the aftershocks of peace. But then he noticed the exhaustion, then the heart palpitations, the weird visions, the way he couldn’t quite cast like he used to. And by the time the Healers had figured out what had happened, it was far too late.

Back then, he still had good days, and Draco took advantage of them; dragged them out to the mountains, to the seaside, to gay clubs and bars and parades. He moved into Harry’s flat and quit his job so they could spend the bad days in bed together, doing the Prophet crossword and drinking tea and watching daytime soaps. He couldn’t feel Harry’s pain exactly, not like in the soulmate stories he was told as a child, but sometimes he did think he knew Harry better than he knew himself; knew the meaning of an eyebrow twitch, or a downturned lip, or a slight hand tremor. Loving Harry had been easy, effortless; like falling through clouds, and then when Harry was writhing in spasms, or sleeping through whole days, or waking in sweats and shouts, it was more painful than Draco had ever imagined pain could be.

Sometimes, Harry would get distant and withdraw, wracked with guilt that the bond hadn’t given Draco a choice but to care for him. Draco would get angry that Harry could even conceive of such a thing; even contemplate the thought of them not being together. Harry still wanted to put everyone else before himself, and Draco was still the same spoiled boy who wanted more than he should. He never made any apologies for that.

Sex became more gentle, with more laughter. Draco snorted into Harry’s mouth once when Harry tried to wrap his legs around him and his entire back cracked; Draco placed pillows under his head and knees instead, and sank down on him slowly, just like the first time, only now appreciating every detail; the greys in Harry’s hair that Draco actually thought were really fucking sexy, the soft dark hair beneath his navel, the dark circles beneath his eyes that refused to budge. 

Sometimes Harry couldn’t finish, and Draco would try not to be upset about it. If he was, it was never in front of Harry.

…

The summer they both turned thirty five, Harry stopped being able to cast.

He was still magical; Draco could feel it, even when Harry couldn’t, could feel the golden warmth surrounding him, and could also feel its frustration, the way Harry’s magic so desperately wanted to escape and couldn’t.

Things got worse after that.

Harry’s fits were worse, and he was addled and confused after, taking hours to come back to himself. Draco could only sit by the bed and stroke his hair, read to him, watch as Longbottom and Lovegood came in with increasingly bizarre herbal concoctions which never did anything, but Draco appreciated them both anyway, the way they teased Harry, reminded him who he was.

Granger and Weasley were more distressed and less able to be funny, but they tried as hard as they could. Rose liked to snuggle next to Harry after his fits, tell him about her friends and teachers, knowing he wouldn’t remember the details but was always soothed by her voice.

Teddy didn’t visit very much, which Draco couldn’t blame him for; he’d lost enough parents.

One morning, Draco was woken up by Harry’s lips on his neck, and his hand over his stomach.

‘I want you to give the Invisibility Cloak to Hugo,’ he whispered. Draco’s blood ran cold. ‘James and Sirius’ mirror to Ron. The Potter fortune to Teddy. Everything else is yours.’

Draco wanted to scream at him. To point to the string, still a vibrant red connecting them, and ask him how he could even fathom leaving Draco; why his body didn’t love Draco enough to keep fighting, to stay alive. 

But Harry had already fallen asleep again.

…

Not even Voldemort had dared approach the fae. They took more than they gave, always, but as long as the thing they gave Draco was Harry, he didn’t care what he’d sacrifice.

The Forbidden Forest was very dark, and very quiet.

‘You called,’ came a voice. The fae never showed themselves. 

‘I require your help,’ Draco said, voice firm. 

‘For your mate?’

‘Yes.’ Draco tried to imagine Harry, seventeen and terrified, walking to his death out here. He just had to be half as brave, and he could do this. And then he thought about Harry in their bed, skin blotchy and grey, his body shaking in pain, and everything else faded into insignificance. ‘He’s dying. And he saved you too, that day.’

‘That’s debatable.’ The voice sounded vaguely affronted, and Draco stared stonily ahead. ‘It would have taken more than a mere human to eradicate us.’

‘I know. But it would have been harder without Harry.’ Draco squeezed his eyes closed. ‘You would have had to leave the Forest.’

Something squawked overhead, startling Draco's eyes open. The stars were very bright.

‘You do have the power to save your mate,’ the voice echoed, seeming closer, and Draco’s heart soared. ‘But something must be given; energy cannot be destroyed or created. A life cannot be created from anything other than a life. Do you understand?’

Harry was never going to forgive him. Draco was okay with that.

…

Years later, Draco would think it all actually began when the bartender asked him, ‘What do you want tonight, sir?’

Draco flicked his gaze over him, and the bartender flushed. ‘Usual spot, Sebastian. Five minutes.’

Pulses thrummed in the dark, smoky room. The night smelled like sex; arousal and sweat and blood.

Harry had started by the time he got out there. Sebastian was always too keen. It was one of the things they liked about him.

‘Hello,’ Draco said, amused, and Harry unlatched himself from the young man’s neck. He was so beautiful like this; selfish and greedy and so very alive.

Or a version of it.

‘Does he taste good, Harry?’ Draco asked. Harry and Sebastian groaned at the same time. ‘My turn.’

He did taste good, Draco thought with satisfaction. Sebastian moaned as Draco pressed his hardness against him, eyes rolling back in pleasure. Behind them, Harry was panting, and when Draco finally sent Sebastian back inside with a Blood-Replenishment Potion and a quick cleaning charm, Harry was on him in seconds.

‘Here?’ Draco asked, amused, and Harry growled softly.

‘I can’t wait.’ His voice was gruff and low and his eyes were trained on Draco’s lips. Draco smiled and lifted his hand to cup Harry’s face, string dangling between them, blood-red and taut.

‘Sweetheart. We have time.’

[moonstoast]

— dissociation

the book of disquiet by fernando pessoa // a breath of life by clarice lispector // againts the mass of the night by kaye donachie // how to dissapear completely by radiohead // normal people by sally rooney // rené magritte // virgina woolf // by me // enrico robusti

[sicknessinmotion]

YOU LOVE LOVE LOVE THE WORLD & IT FINALLY LOVES YOU BACK; ON HUMANITY

cinders // tumblr user starei // dead poets society // sally rooney // duane l. herrmann // sense8 // judas h.

[thehopefulquotes]

Marianne had the sense that her real life was happening somewhere very far away, happening without her, and she didn't know if she would ever find out where it was or become part of it.

Sally Rooney, Normal People

[riddles-n-games]

Ok, I know my head is screaming at me that I already have so many unfinished fic drafts in Google Docs, not to mention how many more fic ideas in mind but I really want to create a story where Avery's mom is alive. Honestly, think how much more interesting The Hawthorne Legacy would've been if she was there. Like, in general, I'm gonna probably create some fics with that kind of AU when I pull that time out of a hat.