#which if you think about it is the ULTIMATE slowburn

[doctorweebmd]

i was procrastinating thinking about why its so hard to find a quality long sskk fanfic because in my previous experiences i feel like every fandom i've been in has had DOZENS if not HUNDREDS of Pulitzer-level fanfics so i decided to look at the amount of fics each of the fandoms i've written for has on ao3 to see if that explains the disparity

J/J, >15,000 S/D, >33,000 G/R, 108. Total. 2 of which are mine. K/MC, 169. 1 of which is mine. BK/DK, >43000 holy shit G/P, >9000 SSKK, >7000 (remove SKK, then only >4700 remain)

in conclusion i have been incredibly spoiled lol

[reidbae]

Ecstasy

summary: You’re always nervous around your professor, which he has taken note to, but had chosen not to speak on. It’s not until you come to his classroom late to turn in a missing assignment that he decides to ask you about it, and he’ll do anything for the answer.

warnings/mentions: dom!spencer x sub!reader, teacher x student relationship, tall x short, reader is 22+ and spencer is 32+, age gap, AFAB reader, use of Y/N in slowburn but pet names used during smut (sweetheart, baby, doll, honey, etc), degradation, praise, choking, fingering, rough sex, hair pulling, vaginal sex, office sex technically lol, literally just filth dude

wc: 4.4k

a/n: hey, i’m kit! i write a lot in my free time and i think it’s high time i made a tumblr. this is my first post and the first smut i’ve written in a while. this is partially slowburn but it’s MOSTLY smut. anyway, hope you enjoy and also know that i take requests!

You knocked on the classroom door before entering it, shutting it quietly behind you. “Professor Reid?” you called out, unsure if the intelligent doctor was even here so late.

He looked up from his desk, his nose previously buried in paperwork. He was no doubt grading assignments, and you felt a twinge of guilt for interrupting him.

You nervously cleared your throat, beginning to approach his desk. “I’m sorry for interrupting you. I- I know it’s late. I just have that missing essay you wanted me to make up?” you explained, holding out the essay that you had finished shortly before you got here.

You noticed Spencer’s eyes darting to your clothing, lingering there for a few moments as he seemed to be taking in the view of you. You’d pulled on the first thing you’d found in your closet, a skimpy red dress that was tugging forcefully against your body. Ultimately, however, Spencer didn’t say anything and cleared his throat, then accepted your paper from you.

He looked it over for a second, then spoke up. “This is a lot of work, Y/N. It only needed to be two pages,” he pointed out to you.

You began to sweat at that comment, gazing at him with an apprehensive expression. “I- I know, sir. I just wanted to make up for the fact that I’m turning it in late. I hope you won’t take points off,” you explained. He may have made your palms sweat, but you did still care heavily about your grades.

“I’m not going to,” he said with a soft smile, placing your essay down on his desk. “Your essay seems to be well written, as usual, from what I’ve read so far.”

You could feel your face heat up at his praise and you gently nodded. “Thank you. And thank you again for giving me an extension.”

He nodded, too. “You’re welcome. But I hope you’re aware that I won’t always be so understanding, Y/N. I was glad to give you an extension this time, but I won’t shy away from taking points off if this happens again. I want you to learn to be more punctual,” he sternly continued.

It was conversations like these that made you heavily aware that no matter what you felt, Spencer was still your professor, and he wasn’t afraid to remind you of that. Shyly, you nodded your head, becoming more nervous as the seconds went on. “I- I understand, Professor Reid. I promise that it won’t happen again,” you could barely stammer out, coherent sentences beginning to fail you.

He smiled up at you and gave you another respectful nod. “Good. Make sure you live up to that,” he said firmly.

Did he have to be so overly stern? “I will,” you simply returned. You weren’t really sure what to say at this point now that the reason you’d come here had been addressed. You took a shaky breath, then nodded in finality. “Well, um, I guess I’d better get going now. Again, sorry to disturb you so late, Professor. I’ll see you tomorrow,” you timidly told Spencer, turning on your feet and starting to walk towards the door.

Spencer’s husky voice stopped you dead in your tracks. “Can I ask you something, Y/N?” he asked you. Nervously, you turned back around, looking at him.

“What is it, sir?” you politely responded, giving him your best innocent smile.

“Why are you always so nervous around me?”

Your eyes widened as your cheeks flushed red, caught off guard by his sudden question. You knew that, at some point, he would confront you about your continued nervousness around him that had started the second he became your professor three months ago. You were awful at hiding it: You blush and sweat, you stutter and stammer, and you toy with your hands and hair when he talks to you. You couldn’t be blamed for your attractiveness to the handsome doctor, but, really, you wish you were better at burying it.

“N- nervous?” you responded, in a feeble attempt to sound clueless. “I- I’m not- What makes you say that, Professor?” you asked, knowing exactly why he was asking.

“You seem much more nervous and tense when you talk to me as opposed to when you talk to others. It’s something I’ve noticed since the beginning of the semester,” he explained to you, folding his hands atop his desk.

“Uh, well, you know,” you nervously laughed, avoiding eye contact with him at all costs. “I’m just shy.” Yeah, right.

“You’re loud and exuberant around your other professors, along with your classmates. I’ve heard you laugh and joke with quite a few people. It seems like this nervous demeanor is only saved for me,” he pointed out, sounding completely convinced that he was correct in his observations. He paused for a brief moment before continuing on. “Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?”

Your expression turned shocked at the fact that he could possibly think that anything he did would make anyone uncomfortable. “No, no, I swear, it’s not like that,” you mumbled shyly, shaking your head.

“Forgive me for thinking so, Y/N, but my words do hold some truth to them. You are aware of this behavior that you’ve constantly displayed towards me over the last few months, though, correct?” he asked. His words came out so fluently, as though he had been meaning to come to you about this for longer than you’d anticipated. In regards to how you were speaking at the moment, you wish you could say the same.

“S- Somewhat,” you admitted.

He looked more intrigued now that you had confirmed the fact that you were nervous around him. He leaned back in his chair now, hands in his lap as he stared up at you. “Then, tell me what it is that’s making you nervous. I’d like to clear up whatever it is.”

You immediately shook your head, eyes still averted from the brunette professor. “I- It’s nothing.”

“It’s not ‘nothing’ if you’re constantly stuttering when you talk to me, or fidgeting with your hands when I walk by your desk,” he said, his stern tone growing increasingly prominent with each word he said. “I want to know what’s going on, Y/N.”

“Nothing’s going on,” you instantly defended. You were not in the mood to blow your cover about this. Not today, and maybe not ever.

“Oh, really?” he asked you in return, cocking an eyebrow. “You just told me you know that your behavior has been odd over the last few months,” he sighed. He grabbed a pen on his desk, clicking it a few times before continuing. “You and I both know there’s something wrong. This issue will never be resolved if you don’t discuss it with me. I promise that it will be to your benefit.”

You couldn’t help but remain silent. If you spoke, you’d stutter, only further proving Spencer’s point. You didn’t shake your head or give any sign at all that you’d heard him.

At this, he sighed again, shaking his head from what you could see out of the corner of your eye. “Am I going to have to figure it out for myself?” he asked you in a genuine tone. His voice, you noticed, was notably lower than it was before.

You only rolled your eyes in response to that. The fact that he had asked why you were nervous was one thing, but the idea of him attempting to figure it out was much more daunting, and you weren’t looking forward to it.

“Don’t give me that, Y/N,” he demanded when you rolled your eyes, tone fierce. “If you can’t verbally tell me what’s going on, your body language will.“

“My body language has nothing to tell,” you tried to correct him, trembling hands finding your hair and messing with it anxiously, eyes still torn from Spencer’s.

“You seriously believe that?” he almost scoffed, shaking his head. “I teach you how to read this stuff. Your body language has nothing to tell? You mean your shaky hands, stuttering, and red face have nothing to tell? Or, what about the fact that your hands are tangled in your hair? Or, that you can’t even look at me?” he went on, and he didn’t stop there.

“Do you want me to list every possibility I can think of until you tell me why you’re so nervous?” he asked. There was no tone of joke in his words: You knew that he would do it, and he’d do it with pride, at that.

“No,” you told him, the first word you’d said since the beginning of his ramble.

“Are you sure? Maybe that’s what you need.” Maybe it was the hour or the context of the situation, but you could swear for a second that this sentence had some air of teasing to it.

“I- I don’t, Professor Reid,” you stammered out.

“Tell me something, Y/N. Why are you the only student I have who still calls me ‘Professor Reid?’” he questioned.

“It’s respectful,” you tried, but it sounded like bullshit even as the words left your tongue. Spencer wasn’t that far off your age. Every one of your classmates called him by his first name, as he had said he was comfortable with several times. But you knew that calling him by his first name would put him on the same level as you, and if you didn’t see him as your professor, you weren’t sure you’d be able to control yourself.

“I’ve said several times that it’s okay to call me Spencer. All of my students do, and some even call me ‘Reid,’ they’re that comfortable. Yet, you only use ‘Professor,’ ‘Professor Reid,’ and ‘sir’ to address me,” he went on. You slowly started to realize that he was profiling you, and you felt your face grow redder, already knowing the outcome: He would figure you out.

In hopes of making yourself seem clueless, you shrugged. He wasn’t buying it, and asked, “Does this have anything to do with your continued nervousness around me?”

“I- I’m not nervous,” you could barely manage to get out, let alone lie properly. Deflection was your last hope of getting Spencer to drop this topic, a hope that you were almost positive would not be worth hoping for.

“Look at me, then, Y/N.”

No. Immediately, no.

“If you’re so ‘not nervous’ around me like you say, then look at me. If you’re not anxious, or shy, you should have no problem doing so,” Spencer said in a confident tone.

“I- I can’t look at you,” you immediately returned. You wanted to, but given the context of this situation, you knew he’d easily get you to talk if you did.

“Why?” he asked, his tone one of pure and utter confusion. Because I’m afraid of what I’ll say if I do.

“I just can’t,” you repeated, rubbing your eyes.

He sighed again, sounding genuinely exasperated. “Do you need me to profile it out of you, Y/N? Because I have no trouble doing that,” he said sternly. “I want you to feel comfortable around me. But I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on with you.”

When you didn’t respond, he took a deep breath, tapping his fingers on his desk before standing up and continuing. You were really looking away now. The fact that he was at least five inches taller than you was not helping.

“You show common signs of tenseness when I’m around you, like a stiff jaw, sweating, shaking, and, above all, avoiding eye contact,” he started, and you scoffed. Fucking profilers.

“Your body language offers common tells of your continued nervousness around me, like touching your face, constantly fidgeting with your hands and hair, and turning red when I say your name.”

“Stop,” you managed to say, your face growing darker at his words. But he continued.

“You’re talkative and open with others, but closed off and shy with me. You talk with your hands during class but they find their way into your hair the second I’m in your presence,” he went on.

“Stop,” you tried again, your voice growing quieter and your singular word coming out in a low whisper.

“You’re my only student who seems to refuse to call me by my first name. You can present in my class without flash cards but are unable to form clear, coherent sentences around me-“

“For fuck’s sake, Spencer, I’m attracted to you!” you finally blurted, unable to take any more of this.

He stopped talking, looking at you as if he was physically unable to process what you had just said. “What?”

“I’m attracted to you,” you repeated again, finally looking up at him and now realizing how hard it would be. Your cheeks were clearly flushed red, and your body was trembling.

He chuckled for a second, then immediately stopped. “That’s what this is?” he asked you in disbelief, his tone evidently amused, as if this was something he heard on the daily basis. “Attraction?”

“Yes,” you returned.

“And it makes you this nervous to talk to me?” he asked you genuinely, but his voice still showed underlying tones of amusement.

“Yes.”

He thought for a moment, truly taking in your words. Then, a faint smirk danced across his face as he walked around his desk with his hands in his pockets, stopping a few feet away from you.

You refused to give him whatever satisfaction he seemed to be gaining by teasing you and looked away as he looked at you. He chuckled, stepping closer. “You’re nervous because of a little crush? Come on, Y/N. How old are you?” he teased.

You rolled your eyes again and remained silent.

“Look at me,” he said sternly, taking another step closer. There was now minimal distance between the two of you. It would be easy to lean and kiss him. What the hell is he doing to you?

All you did was shake your head. Absolutely not.

He reached out to cup your cheek, caressing his thumb over it as he looked down at you with a smirk, from what you could see out of the corner of your eye.

“You’re always so good in class. Be a good girl for me now, won’t you, Y/N?” he cooed, continuing to smooth his thumb over your face. You felt yourself growing redder by the second.

You shook your head, not at him, but at yourself for what you were about to do. You were too easy. You made eye contact with him, gazing lewdly up into his auburn eyes.

“That’s it,” he murmured. You were correct: He was smirking at you. He spoke up again. “Three months is a long time, sweetheart. How many fantasies have you had about me in that time?”

You blushed harder at that, stuttering out, “A lot.”

“Voice one to me,” Spencer continued in a raspy tone. His voice was riling you up, and you were almost unsure of how to answer. “What’s on your mind?”

“I- I’ve thought about-,” you tried, but you stopped, unsure if you should even speak the explicit fantasy that came to your mind first into the universe.

Noticing your hesitation, Spencer said, “You can say it, sweetheart. What have you thought about?” he demanded, although his words were almost sweet.

You took a breath of courage before replying, “A- About you, bending me over your desk,” you barely managed to stutter out.

He chuckled even further at your shy admission. “Doing what to you?” he asked in his teasing tone.

You let out a small frustrated groan. Isn’t it obvious?

“Fucking me.”

He gave you a flirty smile at your words. “What do you want, sweetheart?” he now asked you in a raspy tone, the distance between you becoming too hard to resist closing.

“To take you across this desk,” you openly admitted, finding it difficult to stare at his eyes when his lips were so close.

“Then do it.”

His words mixed with his proximity gave you the confidence to finally pull him in, wrapping your arms around his neck and fervently kissing him. To your surprise, he reciprocated instantly, roughly grabbing your waist and backing you into his desk.

He lifted you up with ease and sat you on the only part of it that wasn’t filled with papers, his lips never leaving yours as his tongue explored your mouth. After a few minutes, there was nowhere his hands hadn’t roamed, as he shamelessly grabbed your neck, cupped your tits, and squeezed your ass.

His fingers found their way under your dress, his cold hands meeting your warm skin. You shuddered at the contact, moaning surprisedly into your kiss. You could feel him tugging at the hem of your panties as he pulled back from you, breathing heavily.

“Professor,” you breathed out, calling him ‘Professor’ out of habit. He shook his head at you in response to it.

“Say my name,” he demanded of you, continuing his movements with his hand as he looked down at you.

“Sp- Spencer,” you stammered out, breath quickening at his dominant tone.

“Attagirl,” Spencer praised, hands dipping suddenly into your panties. You gasped, looking up at him with a sultry stare. His fingers slid in between your soaked folds and you involuntarily let out a whorish moan.

“Fuck, doll, you’re already this wet?” he asked you in a tone that was a mixture of both surprise and excitement as his fingers felt all of your built up arousal. “Is this all for me?”

You didn’t know what to say, in pure and utter shock that this was even happening.

He gave you a look that screamed both pleading and demanding at the same time. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he cooed, moving his fingers in no particular direction, which made you moan softly anyway.

“I- It’s all for you, Spencer,” you stammered.

“There you go. I like hearing that pretty voice of yours,” Spencer cooed. He buried a finger into your cunt, and you groaned at the sudden intrusion. He started slow, making sure you were comfortable with this sensation, then stuck another in, quickening his pace.

You arched your back as he curled his fingers inside of you, hitting a spot that you had never been able to reach when you were touching yourself alone. He knew exactly what he was doing, using another finger to rub slow circles around your clit. He pumped his fingers in and out fast, eliciting several moans of pleasure from you.

You leaned in to fiercely kiss him as he continued to finger you, sliding your tongue into his mouth. He accepted it gladly, gently choking you with his other hand as the two of you kissed. You groaned into it, his use of force getting you closer and closer to your high.

He pulled away, then started on your neck, kissing and sucking harshly as he continued to finger you below. His pace was getting faster, pushing his fingers deeper with every second that went by. When he curved them further than he had before, he found exactly where your pleasure point was: Your G-Spot.

“Fuck, Spencer,” you groaned out, your climax directly around the corner as he left kisses and no doubt hickies all over your neck.

He payed close attention to your reaction, making sure to continue to finger you directly where you needed him and continuing to rub your clit in quick motions. You were nearly there, and he surely knew that. However, suddenly, all movements ceased, and he pulled away from your neck to lustfully look down on you, retracting his fingers from your wetness.

You looked up at him with a mirroring lustful expression, but only because you were so close to releasing, and he had just taken that away from you.

“Sp- Spencer? Why’d you stop?” you stuttered out a little frustratedly.

“Because that’s not where I want you to finish,” he said, like it was the most simple thing to humanly comprehend. He backed up a step, then lifted you from his desk, spinning you round and bending you over it in one swift movement. You gasped as his hand found your lower back, his crotch pressed up on you and his bulge pressing into your ass.

“Spencer-“

“You said you saw me bending you over across my own desk, right?” Spencer reminded you in a low voice.

“Y- yeah,” you returned in a needy voice.

“Thought so.”

You could hear him unbuckling his belt from behind, working quickly to undo it with his only free hand. The sound was followed by that of his zipper, and then of him shrugging his pants partially down. He then turned his attention to you, pulling your dress up and revealing your red panties that matched the color of your dress. He chuckled, no doubt at that fact, then pulled them down.

He took his cock out of his boxers and pumped it up and down a few times. You tried to turn your head back to look, but he used his free hand to turn your head back around. You were about to say something about it, until he suddenly thrusted deep into your cunt, and you let out a whorish moan.

“F- Fuck, you’re so big, Spencer,” you couldn’t help but moan out. He was far inside of you, and his throbbing cock was no doubt seven inches minimum.

“You can take it,” he groaned back, placing his hand on the back of your head as he moved slowly but deeply into you. His hands roamed your body again, settling on your tits. He used a hand to grab one, eliciting a mewl from you. He fondled it with force, running his thumb in forceful circles around your tit as he pounded into you relentlessly.

“You like being fucked like this, sweetheart?” he cooed in your ear, voice audibly raspy as his movements didn’t cease.

“Yes, sir,” you responded in a slutty voice, calling him ‘sir’ for the first time in what felt like years.

“Such a, fuck- Slut for me,” he said in between thrusts. His pace was getting faster now as he rammed into you from behind, going at a speed you were finding difficult to not readily climax from. His words only enhanced this feeling.

He grabbed the back of your head by your hair, turning you to face a part of the classroom to your left.

“That’s where you sit in my class. Perfect view of my desk. Do you fantasize about this when you look at it?” he asked. His words came out in groans as he tried to both talk and maintain his quick pace.

“Maybe,” you breathed as you looked at your own desk where you had been sitting mere hours beforehand, never in a million years anticipating this.

“That’s not an answer,” he forcefully said, ceasing his movements and beginning to pull his cock from your cunt.

“Wait- Fuck,” you sighed, whimpering when you no longer felt him inside of you. “Yes, I do,” you admitted, telling him exactly what he wanted to hear.

He chuckled at your needy attempt to feel him inside of you again, teasing your wet entrance with the tip of his cock. “That desperate, huh?”

“Y- Yes, sir,” you said softly, finding it hard to get any words out as you took note of his teasing. He thrusted back into you, pushing hard and fast.

“Slut,” Spencer grunted. He pulled your head back by your hair, managing to grip it gently despite his rough pace. “My fucking slut.”

You moaned at his use of degradation, feeling your climax beginning to bubble up inside of you again, but you held it back, wanting to prolong the pleasurable feeling that you were receiving.

“Such a, fuck- Slutty dress,” he suddenly commented, toying with the hem on your dress. “Always wearin’ skirts hiked all the way up to your ass. Hoping I’d notice that, sweetheart?” he asked, the hand that was pulling your hair roaming over to your neck and choking you.

All you could do was nod as your words failed you, coherent sentences vacant in your head and absent from your mouth, as they usually were regardless.

“Use your words, baby,” he demanded of you, squeezing down harder on your neck.

You groaned out, complying and stammering, “Y- Yes,” in response to his question.

“That’s a good girl. Doin’ so fucking good for me,” Spencer praised you.

You were moaning loudly now, the sound of both of your grunts filling the air as Spencer continued at his quick speed. You could feel your eyes watering at the pressure and size of his cock that was deep into your cunt, and your climax was approaching as fast as his pace was going.

“Spencer,” you whispered, cheeks hot and absolutely flushed.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Spencer groaned back.

“I’m close,” you breathed, words breaking.

He let out a soft moan at your words, then moved his hand away from your neck and down to your clit. He rubbed it in quick circles as he had done before, gladly helping you to reach your high. You bit your lip, loud moans and whines falling from your mouth.

“That’s it, doll. I want to hear you,” he demanded of you in response to your moans, his long fingers moving on your throbbing clit as fast as his cock was pounding into your cunt.

You happily complied, continuing to moan out as broken murmurs of his name fell from your lips. He let out his own moans as he chased his high, too. He used his free hand to grip your ass, holding you roughly as he groaned behind you.

“Come for me, sweetheart. Let it out,” he groaned.

His words pushed you over the threshold, being all you needed to finally moan out his name loud as waves of pleasure crashed through you. Spencer groaned out your name, too, as he finished inside of you, gripping your ass as roughly as he possibly could.

When you were both done, he pulled out, breathing heavily as he returned his cock to his boxers. You pulled your panties up and your dress back down, breathing heavily too as you looked back at Spencer with tousled hair.

Spencer stuck the two fingers he’d used to finger you into his mouth, sucking away whatever elements of your release he had managed to get on his hand. You let out a soft moan at the view as Spencer looked down on you. He moved his other hand on your waist.

“You taste sweet,” he whispered to you, caressing his thumb over your hip. Your legs were shaking, and, taking note of this, he picked you up and sat you on his desk. You smiled tiredly up at him as he did.

“I take it this means I’ll get a good grade on my essay?” you joked, giggling.

He smiled down at you, planting a sweet kiss onto your forehead. “A+, baby. A+.”

[queenpiranhadon]

A/N: You all voted on this poll, and this poll, and this poll and after a LOT of voting ((again) again) , I wrote this for all of you :D Thank you to my first not irl moot, Bee (@swans-chirping-in-the-distance) for beta reading this ily girl 😭 Here's my masterlist!

Warning(s): Enemies to lovers trope, mentions of anxiety, night thoughts (iykyk), reader wants to strangle Sirius lmao, maybe some inaccuracies idk man, reader is a Ravenclaw, reader is in the year below Sirius, reader is a bookworm, reader gets stressed apt academics - don't even try to call people like that nerds, anxiety for this sorta stuff is really serious, reader snaps at Sirius, reader’s nicknames are sweetheart, love and angel, slowburn kinda- they're just figuring stuff out, reader is GN but written with f!reader in mind.

Pairing: Sirius Black x GN!Ravenclaw!Reader

•─────•°•❀•°•──── ʜᴀᴛᴇ ─────•°•☁︎•°•─────•

The halls were quiet. 

 Too quiet.  

And you knew that, but it didn’t stop you from traversing the halls of Hogwarts, relishing in the darkness that enveloped the halls, and ultimately concealing you from any prying eyes.  

Stars twinkled through the windows that cast soft rays on moonlight onto the empty halls of Hogwarts, you should’ve felt at ease. 

But you didn’t. 

Technically, you shouldn’t be awake right now, and technically, you shouldn’t be in the halls right now, either, given the strict curfew Hogwarts has on its students. 

Didn’t stop you from leaving though. 

You had just finished a big essay for Herbology, and your anxiety had gotten the best of you, creating the twisting feeling in your gut, the one of failure, your subconscious whispering false notions and spiraling into possible timelines of being forced to work as Filch’s assistant because you failed to pass your exams, and- 

Needless to say, you needed to clear your head.  

Which is why you snuck out of Ravenclaw Tower, and why you were walking through the halls of Hogwarts. 

And why you now found yourself hiding behind one of the almost intimidating, looming pillars in the hall, footsteps resounding through the hallways.  

Your heart pounds - you would for sure be screwed if you were caught. Your mind races, thinking of countless possible ways your life would be ruined if whoever was there found you.  

Your body feels like it’s on fire, buzzing with the urge to run and hide, back into the safety of your sheets; better to give yourself to the torment of your thoughts than be caught in a place you weren’t supposed to.  

You curse mentally to yourself, until a husky masculine voice snaps you out of your mental tirade of self-abuse. 

“You can come out, sweetheart; I won’t bite. I’m supposed to be here as much as you are.” the male says smoothly. He had voice of a man who thrived off his confidence.  

Your body physically slumps in relief at the knowledge that it isn’t a professor. And then the tension came back, once you realized who the voice belonged to.  

Sirius Black.  

The boy in question was in the year above you, but it didn’t stop him from continuing his onslaught of pestering you when he could. And you tolerated it- knowing this was just how the Marauders were sometimes- but then Sirius did the unimaginable.  

You were reading your book- one of mystery and romance, each inked word drawing you in more and more until the book was physically ripped from your hands, your progress lost in the process. To say you were furious was an understatement.  

You probably yelled at him for 20 minutes straight, going on a tangent about how you never do that to someone and that he was an unsufferable prick, and yet all that son of a Blast-Ended Screwt did was stare at you with those stupidly gorgeous eyes and an even stupider grin plastered on his face.  

And after that day, he had made a point to poke fun at you whenever he could.  

Maybe running into a professor in the middle of the night wouldn’t be so bad.  

“I know you’re there, love.” he says; you can practically hear the smug grin on his face.  

“Shove off Black, you’re not supposed to be out either.” you bite, speaking in hushed tones unlike the loud boy on the other side of the pillar you were hiding behind.  

“That may be true, but I’ve never been good at following rules, have I?” he teases, trying to rile you up. “But I seem to have caught the Ravenclaw’s self-righteous angel doing some misdemeanors of their own.” 

You want to wring his neck- stupid Black doesn’t know anything- doesn't know how much your anxiety bothered you at night, and the moment you try to get some reprieve, you have to deal with him.  

“Can you actually shut your mouth?! You don’t know anything about me, and you never will, so stop acting like you can read me so easily, because maybe, just maybe, people have lives outside of you and your thick head Black.” You snap, storming off from your hiding place where Sirius can see you, determined to leave for Ravenclaw Tower. 

But before you can, he grabs your wrist, tugging you backward and into his chest- strong arms wrapping around you and securing your frame, effectively trapping you in his embrace.  

“There you are.” he whispers. 

You feel your face heat up, the proximity of the two of you was unbearable, his warm breath fanning over the back of your neck. You tense up, and yet, some part of you melts into his touch- and you hate it.  

“What in the world are you talking about, Black.” your tone harsh but no bite.  

You feel his head tilt up. The arms encircling you tighten as his tone turns thoughtful. 

“Do you hate me?” 

That caught you off guard. “What?” you stutter, taken aback. 

“Do you hate me, angel.” he repeats calmly, still looking through what you think in the window on the opposite wall from the both of you.  

You look down in contrast, mulling over his words. Do you hate...Sirius Black? Sure, he annoyed you to the end of the world, made your blood boil to the point where he could cook pasta with it, and made you want to rip the strands of your hair out, but somehow, hating him didn’t seem right. It didn’t sound right, the words hate and Sirius Black.  

“No.” you whisper, deciding to look up at the window with him. “I can’t.” 

You know he’s smiling when he softly says, “Me neither.”  

You both don’t say anything after that, silence ringing out through the halls of Hogwarts, and after a few minutes of just standing there in each other's presence, you speak.  

“So where does that leave us?” 

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻

My SydCarmy fics MASTERLIST

Carmen Berzatto just stood there in front of her and didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. -Copenhagen He was reduced to a bunch of boneless matter with a heartbeat that only existed because she laid her dark eyes on it. -Après ce, la liberté

At that moment, she realized that her favorite place on Earth was right there, standing 334 feet above the ground, nestled in his chest. -Ponte degli Innamorati

🐻 Slowburn >>> They win a Michelin Star and Carmy confesses his love for Sydney.

🐻 Larrabe >>> Syd moves to her own place, they win a Michelin star and “celebrate”. Luca and Claire also make an appearance here.

🐻 Pasta >>> Carmy & Syd cook together, then eat each other and then there’s this invisible string they discover has always linked them in a sense. Mikey is also mentioned here.

🐻 Heart >>> Carmy goes to therapy to get in touch with his true feelings and Syd tries to deny hers, which explains her ❤️ tattoo.

🐻 Hint >>> Claire reflects on her breakup with Carmy.

🐻 Sunset >>> Carmy must make a choice. Are actions ultimately more important than words?

🐻 Pillow >>> Syd and Carmy open their X files. Not what you think. Now part of a collection alongside "Chef Talk".

🐻 Après >>> Carmy hits rock bottom. Love is an act of mirroring.

🐻 Chef>>> Sydney realizes that Carmy has an uncanny resemblance to a celebrity who features in a steamy CK ad. Claire makes a brief cameo here because "maybe" she always falls for the wrong guy. Now part of a collection alongside "Pillow Talk".

🐻 Madame >>> Sydcarmy is written in the starts but they need a little nudge. Love is in the air but they're fire!

🐻 Stella >>> Stella Bear, the heiress, is here. Now part of a collection alongside "Madame Stardust".

🐻 Shark >>> They get married in secret and honeymoon in Barbados where she starts calling him "Bear".

🐻 Ponte >>> They renew their vows in Italy on their 1st Anniversary. Now part of a collection alongside "Shark Hole".

🐻 Focus>>> Sydney finds out Carmy has been drawing Sistine Chapel-level sketches of her.

🐻 Dreams >>> They have wet dreams about each other simultaneously.

🐻 Tucson >>> Carmy goes to rehab because he almost checks himself out of life permanently and learns to use his words, Syd grows too fond of this new Carmy.

🐻 She's not you >>> Claire was great and scared the shit out of Carmy, but she was no Sydney Adamu.

🐻 Beggin' >>> It's a pseudo-songfic, an experiment, a blurb, a rarity, a little cannoli with mortadella mousse and pistachios that links Carmy, Syd, Donna, and others to this song that I love because I feel it just fits.

🐻 Chococookies >>> Auntie Syd and Uncle Carmy babysit little Bianca and Carmy also babysits Syd when she has a severe case of baby blues 🍪🍪🍪

🐻 Sydney’s secret >>> Carmy holds on to one of Sydney’s most personal items and loses his mind, but turns out Syd had a different take on his “madness”.

🐻 Mother of Victory >>> Donna had to die. Austenianly, of course. Now part of a collection alongside "Chococookies".

🐻 The new Berzattos >>> Syd & Carmy are raising a new family, and now The Bear is gonna be a big brother to this new cub Syd is "cooking". Now part of a collection alongside "Mother of Victory".

🐻 Rain >>> Syd kisses the words right out of Carmy's mouth. Chococookies'prequel. Now part of a collection alongside "Mother of Victory". 🍸🍸

🐻 Last clause >>> Syd and Carmy get a divorce and she gets The Bear. The city of Love might play an important part here. Now part of a collection alongside "Sunset clause".

🐻 Every second counts >>> Victor Emmanuel Berzatto, "The Cub", thanks his parents for having taught him the most valuable lesson of them all. Now part of a collection alongside "Mother of Victory".

🐻 3:10 >>> Carmy pushes himself harder than ever and demands excellence from his crew, they do their best to match his intensity. He does this for Sydney and for Sydney only.

🐻 6 Letters >>> Syd and Carmy say the wrong names in bed when they are fucking their respective partners.

🐻 Play >>> Carmy gets too playful with Syd's braids ;)

🐻 Cupid >>> Syd breaks Cupid's heart 💔.

🐻 More often >>> Syd falls asleep on Carmy's new leather sofa and wakes up in his bed.

🐻 Unicorn >>> Uncle Carmy & Aunty Syd confess that they could potentially have a whole soccer team of kids if only they'd find the right "partner" to do that with 🦄

Remember to Reblog and recommend if you like it and comments are always welcome on AO3 because more often than not I get inspo from them, seeing as I have the best Sydcarmy readers out there!

XOXO

[brightlybound]

What’s your favorite thing about Hinny and Romione?

As a Hopeless Romantic, Hinny is everything I could ever want in a piece of fiction and then some. These two are Trope City: (unrequited) love at first sight that slowly descends into friends to lovers with your best friend's sister/brother's best friend. It's giving damsel in distress (I know Ginny was 11, but come ON, the girl needed a Savior™️) and one true love/soulmates. They get a second chance after being Forced Apart by a magical war, during which they think about one another with the agonizing hope that they'll get to be together again.

Am I missing something? I'm sure I'm missing something.

These two understand each other completely/are total equals. And THE BEST PART OF IT ALL? They're canon! They're IT. They're the ENDGAME. Also, JKR sucks at writing romance. Being able to play with these two characters over and over again, dissect every interaction, fill in every missing moment and gap in time, and have these two gazing at each other with HEART EYES, shouting at me the author HURRY IT UP, WE CAN'T STAND TO BE APART?! GOD. I want to throttle them but like, sign me the FUCK UP. I love them SO MUCH.

Now, forgive me for saying this as I move on to Romione, but those two are like Public Transit (🤭). STAY WITH ME HERE.

This is the Ultimate Slowburn, and it's high time you let someone else Take The Wheel. After all that shit with your broken ass bike and the carpooling that never worked out, you hurry to the most reliable option: the city bus.

You know it's coming, but what a pain, right? Waiting Around while it runs on Cuban time (I'm allowed to say this, I promise). You're hoping it'll come rumbling around the corner 5 mins later... 10 mins later... You start to grow impatient. You become a little cross. And then you can't taKE IT ANYMORE!

You call an uber, but it's complete shit; the car is filthy and the driver is leering at you in the rearview mirror as he weaves through traffic, completely disregarding driving laws, that utter twat. So you go back, dammit, to that dependable little bus stop, and finally There It Is. It SHOWS UP. That Big Ginger Machine you can't wait to climb all over into. You let go of all that pent up frustration, and it's sheer relief, isn't it, because you're getting to your destination, safely, just a little behind schedule.

[writingstoraes]

someday 🌅

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: written imagine/drabble (angst)

notes: was in the mood for some angst so... lmk what u guys think!

warnings: none that i know! plain angst, unrequited feelings, mutual pining (??) and all that

about: charles has loved you since he was 18.

Charles has done many stupid things in his life. Emphasis on the many — he's lost count, and doesn't even bother to recall which foolish decisions had made its way to his list.

But if he had to name one, if he had a gun to his head and his life depended on it, he has one extremely stupid decision he regrets every single day: not telling you how he felt from day one.

You would think that the Charles Leclerc had the greatest moves of all time, swaying people with his words and charming personality, wrapping people around his finger effortlessly. But when it came to you, he stops in his tracks and forgets the entire English, French, and Italian vocabulary. It was the exact opposite: he was absolutely smitten for you, you've got him completely wrapped around your finger to the point that he'd cancel his plans when you call.

But you were his friend. His greatest friend. More than great, because you've been with each other since you were children, and he'd be damned if he risks losing you by telling you how he really felt. It's stupid, he knows. It's been what, 7 years? He has the courage to drive around a racetrack in a car that goes 300 kilometers per hour yet telling you the three aching words he's been keeping to himself for so long seems to be harder than driving a car with no steering wheel. It's the typical book trope of slowburn and pining, except he thinks he's all alone in this battle.

The moment he met you, he knew he wanted you in his life for a long time. You were his first friend, you even came before Pierre, before any teammate he has ever had. You've witnessed his highest highs and lowest lows, the days he cried over losing a karting competition and even the day he knew he had a spot in the Formula 1 grid. You knew each other better than you know yourselves. Sometimes, no words need to be spoken for you to know what the other needed.

The first day he realized he liked you was a day of intense denial. You had just started dating someone from your high school and it was fair to say he didn't like the guy very much. He'd tell you he thinks the guy was bad news and you should stay away, jokingly might he add. He would get unfamiliar and displeasing twists and turns in his stomach when you mentioned someone else's name. Sooner or later his brother Lorenzo would notice the dagger of a look he sent your "premature" boyfriend, and would make Charles realize that he was just jealous. He didn't want to believe it — you were his best friend, and he can't like his best friend. He tells himself it's just an unwritten rule.

He was in F2 when he realized he loved you. More than a best friend, not just platonic. He had lost a race that was crucial to his chase for the F2 championship and the unrelenting expectations were piling on his shoulders. He runs away, far from the track, ensuring no one else finds him. His family was looking for him, team principal and engineers ringing his phone without halting. But you, you refuse to let Charles wander around alone. Sooner or later you find him, and you don't say anything just yet. You sit down beside him, letting his head rest on your shoulder as he silently let the tears fall down from his eyes. He was craving comfort that day. He wanted someone to just listen, to make him feel that he was still human, capable of mistakes and it's okay — and you did just that. You did more than that.

Ultimately, he decides to never tell you how he felt. He hopes it'll pass, because he was sure you didn't feel the same. But it didn't, it just grew more each day he spent with you.

There was a day he realized his love for you pained him. You knock on his door, tears laced with mascara ink running down your cheeks. In your hands was a torn-up present you were supposed to give your boyfriend. At the time, Charles has made his peace letting you go, to someone you loved, if it meant seeing you happy. He sends you smiles when you run into him and you're with someone else, he helps you pick your outfit for dates, what gift to buy for your boyfriend because you needed a guy's opinion. He tells himself he's okay with it, as long as you're happy, as long as you're in love — even if it's not with him, as long as he gets to keep you in his life. But all that comes crashing down when you face him at his door completely heartbroken. It shatters him to see you this hurt, and he realizes it pains him, greatly, to let you go and be with someone else. He's furious at him for ever hurting you, furious at himself for letting it happen, when he's right here and he could treat you so right and so well.

Charles has loved you for as long as he can remember. He's loved you since he was 18, back when he hasn't grasped the entire concept of love yet. But he knew what it was, and it was you.

He still loved you when he was 20, when he saw you laugh from across the table during family dinner. He's captivated by your smile, eyes almost disappearing as you laugh at Arthur's not-so-funny joke.

He's loved you when he turned 21, the day you flew out to surprise him on his birthday, cake in hand with a cheesy smile on your face, after having stuck only 20 candles on it because you dropped the other one.

Even when he was 23, he loved you still. He finds you at your hotel room in Abu Dhabi, desperately trying to stay awake because you made dinner plans. You greeted him with a smile, even though he was kept late by a team meeting.

He's loved you in every scenario, in every which way. Even now, especially now.

He'd be lying if there weren't times he thought you'd finally reciprocated. The longing stares, touches that radiated comfort yet felt like sparks, he felt it all. Just when he thinks he can come out and say it, he remembers you're just a really good friend. Charles was just merely too afraid to give in to his assumption and face you. Even if he's contemplated about it a hundred times, he chooses to stash his feelings for you in a box and stow it away it in a little compartment in his head. He thinks it's better to just be your best friend, because losing you is something he can never handle. He thinks someday this will pass, but it never has. He doesn't think it ever will.

Charles looks at you — he gets reminders of why he's immensely in love with you. To him, you were his person. His soulmate, his peace in human form. You were his favorite place to go to when he searches for comfort or peace, or even when he's mad, frustrated or sad; being with you just makes it all better. He gets to be his truest self with you, a version of himself separate from the car and behind the whole world who watches him like a hawk, and you love him for it still. His heart swells every single time he sees you in the crowd, looking up at him proudly as he celebrates with champagne and a trophy on the podium. But he loves it even more when you stay with him at his worst races, when his car suddenly stops or he delivers a terrible lap time. You stay amidst the chaos. In the middle of all of it — there you were, with no plans of ever leaving him.

He looks at you — and it shatters him that he cannot love you the way he wants to. So he reminds himself, what's love without a little pain, right? He's willing to go through it, as long as he doesn't lose you. Just as long as he does not lose one of the biggest reasons why he chooses to keep going every single day.

It's not like he hasn't tried to move forward himself. There were desperate tries to get over you. He's opened himself to dating other women, but every time his relationship with someone else progresses, he feels like he's committing infidelity. He had went on dates and dated some, but it never worked. He feels tethered, like there was something pulling him back, and it was you. No matter how much he's tried to move forward, he will always choose to come back to you. Even if it aches him to do so. What a martyr, right?

If he had to take a shot every time a reporter has asked him why he's still single, he would be passed out on the sidewalk for three days. There were conspiracies, theories; complex ones at that. They wonder how can someone so deluriously handsome like Charles Leclerc be single? He's got it all, so how the hell does he not have a girlfriend? Charles Leclerc has definitely not got it all, he thinks. He's got the looks, the talent, all good things except for one — the woman he loves does not love him back. Charles often sends them a laugh, a light chuckle. Their theories were so complicated as to why he was single but the answer was simple. The answer was seated in the motorhome of Ferrari, red headphones on, silently cheering for him.

The thing is, Charles can be a good pretender. But not to the people dear to him. His brothers, Carlos, even Fred, all see the way his gaze lingers on you. They all see the small smile that forms in Charles' lips when you're around or how he laughs at the corniest jokes you tell. They were all thinking the same thing. Charles, was not a good liar. So they wonder, why couldn't you see it?

They wonder to themselves, because not only do they see Charles, they also see you. How your body tenses when Charles seem to get a little to close to a girl, how your eyes sparkle when you look up at Charles on a podium, how relaxed you seem to be when you're in Charles' embrace.

Were the two of you such good friends that the thought of being something more becomes negligible, just so you don't lose each other? Or were you just plain oblivious? Was Charles just wrong?

Charles blinks. He spaced out, yet again. He faces the interviewer, giving her a smile as he adjusts himself on his seat.

"Are we ready?" The interviewer sends a nod to the camera man.

"For the first question of the day, and I am pretty sure you are sick and tired but I will ask you anyway - why is Charles Leclerc still single?"

And there it is. The dreaded, over-asked question. Why was he single? Ah, because there's a small part in him that believes that maybe someday, the two of you could be something more. He hates to admit it, but a part of him hopes, and hopes a little bit more each day.

He lightly laughs, and he looks at you once again. You were a few meters beside the cameraman, watching him be interviewed.

"Ah well, I am proudly single, thank you for asking." He chuckles.

He smiles.

"Maybe when the timing is right. Someday."

He shifts his gaze to you again, smiling small, eyes sparkling. The look of love. Painted on his face was the exact portrayal of love in movies, in books, and in songs. He does not realize it, but maybe he loves you more than he thinks he does. As long as it was you, he does not mind waiting for the right time, even if there's a possibility it won't come.

You send him a smile back, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach. You tell yourself to snap out of it, to stop looking at him like he hung the stars and invented love itself. He was just your best friend. He probably does not feel the same way. You can't feel this way. It's an unwritten rule.

But there's a reason why you've stopped dating other people for the past 3 years. There's a reason why you look at him ever so dearly and why you were out of reach and out of it when he dated other people. You just haven't realized it yet.

Maybe, Charles was right. All you needed was time.

Someday, you'll realize it. That's when the time aligns, that's when timing becomes just right.

---------

tagging: @slytherheign mwah ily! this is dedicated to her bc not only do i love her but she LIVES for angst so 🫣

notes: my first charles angst? i think? let me know what u guys think! this idea did not stop pestering me so i had to write it before i study, anyway, thanks for reading 🤍

[musings-of-miss-j]

no rest for the wicked (nor the foolish)

part two: in which you come to discover that your supervisor, the infamous Doctor, is every bit as unnerving as his reputation paints him (and make a new friend or two)

a harbingers x gn reader series!! (includes dottore, childe, arlecchino and pantalone x reader. the rest of the harbingers will most likely not be romantic interests)

notes: slowburn slower than my physics teacher when it comes to marking papers, crack, fluff, no pronouns but reader is referred to as 'miss', slightly suggestive, reader is a little socially anxious and a lot sarcastic

please inform me if you find any pronoun slips!!

status: ongoing, updates every thursday-saturday

series masterlist

word count: 5.8k words

*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  

Predictably, your eyes opened just as the first weak rays of morning sunlight shone through the window. You lay in bed a little longer after waking up, savouring the warmth, trying to decipher the silver writing on the ceiling and cursing the Akademiya for instilling the urge to wake up so early. A half-hearted glimpse at your pocket watch confirmed what you already knew; it was just after six in the morning. With no small amount of grumbling (even the rush of nervousness from sleeping in a foreign building wasn’t enough to tamper your irritation at being awake) you tossed aside the blankets (Mona’s voice in your head began to rant about the importance of having a morning routine that started with making the bed, by the Mistress of Stars, you can’t just leave them in a heap like that-)

At the very least, you had your own bathroom. This was certainly a welcome change from the Akademiya, where dorms of two people had to share one, and your gratefulness lasted about as long as it took for your bare feet to touch the freezing ceramic tiles of its floor.

You yelped. Supremely embarrassing on multiple levels, but you still think that the situation warranted the reaction; the floor must have been zero degrees. Zero degrees Kelvin. A series of colourful curses and rummaging through your bags to find your face wash later, you left the bathroom dressed in the outfit Lisa had picked out for you. Elegant and business-like, she’d called it, but you couldn’t help but feel like unnecessarily restricting was a more accurate way to describe it. You tugged at the collar of the shirt to loosen it, and ultimately gave up on the skirt. The temperature was less than optimal to wear anything that didn’t offer full coverage from head to toe, and you substituted it for a pair of black trousers and your shiny new boots. You toyed with the idea of wearing your old Akademiya lab coat but ultimately decided against it, and it was at that point you realised you were completely overthinking the matter and you’d probably been staring at your reflection in the slightly frosted-over mirror in the corner of the room for too long. You grabbed your new cloak (shopping for winter attire had been incredibly fun; you’d never owned such fabulous yet practical boots and cloak in your life) and pocketed your watch and the key to your room, then stepped into the hallway. Which was also freezing, a theme you were beginning to recognize as prevalent in every corner of the palace. Unlike the previous night, the place was bustling with activity; soldiers were rushing to and fro with weapons, piles of paper or crates of food and potions in their hands, servants in their neat uniforms quietly and efficiently dropped in and out of rooms, and you glimpsed fellow recruits with the bronze badges slung at their waist wandering around and doing an excellent job of getting in the way of everyone else who knew where they were going. The scene reminded you of the Akademiya’s mornings; full of flurrying activity and people who looked either incredibly stressed or incredibly busy or both, all clamouring to get somewhere or do something and invariably snapping at whoever got in their way. And much like your first day at the Akademiya, you had no idea where to go or what to do with yourself.

Oh, pull yourself together, you told yourself firmly. You’re not a wide-eyed first-year anymore. No one’s going to scold you.

You adjusted your glasses and tightened your gloves, stepping out of the doorway to your room. Only to be met by an increasingly familiar face and a head of ginger hair.

“Ah, Trixy!” Childe, with his unshakeable grin. He walked over, people dispersing left and right to make way for him, and clapped you on the shoulder. Since when are we that friendly?  “You’re ready just on time.”

“Morning, Eleventh,” you replied with some reluctance, readjusting your glasses yet again after his overly physical greeting caused them to slip down your nose. The gesture struck him as ridiculously endearing, and he decided to elicit it more often. 

“You don’t look happy to see me at all. And you still won’t call me by name.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, you’re more than happy to make your presence known despite my lack of enthusiasm. And calling you by your first name would be a breach of protocol as per the extensive list of regulations I received upon acceptance. ” Archons, this guy was so easy to bicker with even though you knew better than to poke fun at a Harbinger, youngest or not. “Enlighten me, what is it I’m ‘ready just on time’ for?”

His grin widened.

“Your first appointment with The Doctor, of course.”

After following him through a series of winding corridors and up several flights of stairs that left you more winded than you cared to admit, he stopped in front of a door with a dubious series of stains at the bottom. You’d gathered from your pointed questions on the way here that the Doctor would be primarily responsible for supervising and directing your ongoing research. Which meant that your direct superior was now an infamous Akademiya exile. Wonderful. The door had no handle, but carved into the black wood a long block of text gleamed red. You blinked. No, it shone with a pale blue light. You blinked again. Gold. Another blink. The green of Avidya forest. Blink. Deep purple. You frowned. Yet another troublesome show of magic. You glanced up to find that Childe had been watching you examine the door. What a strange, strange man. Always openly observing without an ounce of shame. Could you blame him, though? Such an interesting face, and the emotions you let slip past your mask of collectedness were just delicious. 

“Are you quite finished staring?”

“No, you’d rather stare a little longer.” He winked. “If it’s all the same to you.”

Not even your most unimpressed stare wiped the ever-present grin off his face. You briefly entertained the fantasy of telling him he had something green stuck between his front teeth, but dismissed the idea when further reflection led you to conclude that the absolute madman probably wouldn’t even care. It was slightly worrying to think that you’d developed such an acute sense of his character within a single day of meeting him, but his mannerisms were so distinct, almost as though he wanted to be analysed. It took you another moment of narrow-eyed contemplation to realise you’d been silently engaging in a rather competitive staring contest for at least two minutes; you with your brows furrowed and your nose subconsciously scrunched to keep your glasses in place so you could meet his gaze (Archons, he was tall) and him just smiling, teeth bared and eyes just barely tinged with a hint of amusement. Perhaps even friendliness. You shook your head to dispel the thought and firmly reminded yourself that no matter how silly this man may seem, he remained a Harbinger at the end of the day. Every one of his actions could very well be calculated to achieve some end goal, and even if you were technically co-workers for the time being you shouldn’t so readily let your guard down. For once, he really did have no ulterior motives, though. He just wanted to look at you. 

“So, Eleventh,” you prompted, raising your eyebrows. “Do you know how to open this door, or are we going to linger here glowering at each other like that’s what we get paid to do?”

“Getting paid to stare at you would be a treat,” he fired back, his grin widening as he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. His suit is properly ironed today, you noted, brushing off the blatant flirting. Though how he isn’t freezing to death is beyond me. Perhaps the metabolism of Snezhnayan citizens is worth studying. More exothermic cellular processes..? No, impossible-

The door slammed open, and you leaped out of the way just in time not to have your nose completely bashed in by it. You scowled at the inscribed text and it gleamed a merry shade of gold in response. Childe, of course, remained completely unfazed even when the metal clanged against the stone wall and produced a reverberating sound that rattled the stained glass of the windowpanes. Properties of metals: sonorous, your brain helpfully supplied as the echoing ring faded in your ears and you registered the billowing smoke spiralling out from the doorway, concealing the interior of the room.

What a damned cliché.

“I hope you fools do not plan on lingering in your doorway a moment longer.” A man’s voice, disgruntled with the syllables curiously drawn out and faintly accented, sounded from inside. Childe shot you a grin and slapped your shoulder encouragingly. At least you assume that was the intention behind the gesture, but considering Lisa’s claims that you were no more socially adept than the fungi you were so fond of studying, you suppose your analysis might’ve been a tad irrelevant.

“See, you even used the same stuck-up version of the phrase ‘hanging around.’ I’ll bet a hefty stack of mora no one else actually uses the word ‘lingering,’” He snorted. “You and the Doctor will get along like a house on fire.”

“That’s a somewhat concerning sentiment when you take into account the fact that we’re both scientists.”

Childe just let loose another one of his maddening laughs and pivoted on his heel, whistling a tune as he disappeared down the stairs with his ridiculous red cape trailing behind him. Turning back to the open door and clouds of smoke, you tightened your gloves and adjusted your glasses to steel yourself before stepping inside. The door clanged shut behind even as you moved to close it yourself, and you felt a brief stab of irritation. Why would anyone design a mechanism in such a way that it elicits more noise than necessary?

Despite your annoyance, you had to marvel at the room. It was in fact a laboratory, and one of the grandest you’d ever set foot in at that; semi-circular, with curved windows that emphasised how high up the place was. No stained glass, though, nor the twisting wrought iron vines that you’d seen in many of the palace’s windows.

And oh, the number of reagents and solutions and contraptions littered across the various shelves alone was enough to excite you. You spotted what you recognized as the core of a ruin guard on one shelf, the golden frame of a primal construct, the skeleton of a spinokrak only slightly smaller than the full-size one you’d left back home, hilichurl masks… a fascinating array of oddities.

What seemed to be marble countertops (you certainly hoped they weren’t, as they’d react most vigorously with any acid spills) created a path through the lab, the surfaces crowded with flasks and beakers, most of which needed cleaning. You frowned. A cluttered lab simply wouldn’t do, and you quickly gathered up any empty glassware and piled it into one of the various sinks. This place is bloody massive. You felt giddy with anticipation at the thought of continuing your research here, in a lab with such advanced facilities.

“Do let me know once you’ve finished gawking.” Though your barely-veiled excitement was quite charming, the Doctor had no patience for such displays.

The voice came from close behind you, and you were immeasurably thankful that you didn’t start at the sound. You turned around, and there stood the Doctor.

You took the liberty of observing him for a quick moment before replying. A pristine white lab coat, a ruffled navy blue shirt and a mask rather different from Signora’s. Where hers was decorative and only partially hid one half of her face, the Doctor’s covered his eyes entirely, leaving only his jaw exposed beneath the black, beak-like point of the mask. Fashioned almost like a raven or a crow, you thought, admiring the gold detailing. The Harbingers really were a fashionable bunch, for all their faults. Dottore watched as you profiled him, taking in the tiny furrow between your brows and your calculated, shifting gaze. He was a good judge of character, and your shrewd demeanour wasn’t lost on him. Perhaps recruited you had been an effective decision after all.

“Doctor,” you stated, inclining your head slightly. “An honour to make your acquaintance.” Ah, and you were polite, too. 

He stood there with his arms crossed, impassive as a statue. The mask further added to his emotionless front, and you mentally stored away yet another Harbinger’s psychological parlour trick. You didn’t make any attempt to break the silence; clearly he was assessing you and formulating an opinion just as you’d done. Where Signora’s quiet had been stifling, like the huffing of some beast down your neck, this was much more… clinical. The purpose, it seemed to you, was to scrutinise rather than intimidate. Though intimidation is a bit of a side effect when you can’t see someone’s eyes yet still feel the intensity of their gaze. You decided that this was probably how bacteria felt under the microscope, if they had the capacity to feel anything in the first place. 

The Doctor took a step closer, and you resented him for being so tall that you had to crane your neck to maintain eye contact. Or whatever semblance of eye contact you could hold with a mask, anyway. Oh, well. Better neck pain than backing down at his approach. He noted that, too; you obviously had a stubborn streak that would be of great benefit during your studies. 

“Hm.” He leaned in a little closer, and you wondered how he could see through the mask. You couldn’t discern any gaps in the leather. “You must be the ‘little one’ Number Eight spoke of.”

You resisted the urge to bristle, but Dottore nonetheless saw how your feathers ruffled. A scholar’s pride, no doubt; a trait he shared with you. Maybe he’d address you in that way from now on just to see you prickle with animosity. The derogatory remark clearly irked you. Of course she would’ve referred to you in such a condescending manner, and of course the Doctor would do the same. It sounded even worse in his voice, somehow; the disinterested way he stretched out the words paired with his drawling accent was a new blend of arrogance that made the prospect of scowling in his face quite appealing. You refrained, and smoothed out the wrinkles in your composure (Never lose your cool, no matter the situation, Kaeya’s voice reminded you from the recesses of your brain. Your self-control is your most important asset).

“Lady Eight and Sir Eleven have indeed bestowed me with the honour of such code-names, yes,” you replied, wrestling your sarcasm back into its cage before it overpowered the conversation and put you in a difficult position. Dottore bit back a smile. You lived up to the ‘sardonic’ title Signora had given you, too. 

His face remained emotionless despite it, and you wished you could see the rest of his face. You already found it difficult enough to read people, and the mask added yet another layer of complexity to steering the conversation that you didn’t appreciate in the slightest. Although that was most likely the desired goal to wearing the mask in the first place.

“Your attitude is consistent with her description, too,” he added. You could’ve taken his response as a joke, compliment or insult, but thanks to his utter blankness you could very easily misread his intention and land yourself in an embarrassing situation. Curse these Harbingers and their wily behaviour.

“Then I suppose Lady Eight must be commended for her impressive relaying of events.”

“Or perhaps you should be commended for your distinctive mannerisms.”

Your eyebrows quirked up despite your resolve to remain blank-faced. The Doctor was clearly even more sly than you’d thought, and much to your chagrin you’d lost your footing somewhat. So you reverted back to complete civility.

“Whichever course of action suits you best, doctor.”

He finally stepped away, practically radiating smugness at having won the little game of toeing the line of politeness. Arrogant bastard. 

“I see. The course of action that suits me best at the moment is to discuss the matter of your studies here.”

What a relief. The letter you’d received had been infuriatingly vague about the specifics.

“I’d be more than happy to establish expectations and such.”

The Doctor traced the edge of his mask thoughtfully, and you were glad for the gesture as it served as an indicator, however ambiguous, of his thoughts.

“As I'm sure you’re aware, I’ll be acting as your supervisor for the duration of your stay, regardless of how long or short it may be.” Indignation flared in your chest at the implication of you being unable to meet the requirements. “This means any work or assignments will be delegated by myself, and any questions you have will be directed to me.”

“Your assumption is correct, doctor, as I'm well aware of your position in regards to me.”

“Yes, yes, how wonderful to hear that you have the barest inkling of what will be happening.” You clenched your jaw, biting back an equally sarcastic reply. The Doctor didn’t so much grin as bare his teeth at your visible frustration. Not teeth. Fangs. You frowned, narrowing your eyes to catch a final glimpse of the pointed ends before the smile faded from his face, and you were eerily reminded of Xiao. Oh, Archons. Please don’t let him be some sort of adeptus. He noticed your bewildered look and the way your eyes focused on his teeth as he continued. You had a sharp eye.

“However, in return for supervising and answering your queries, I expect you to assist me in maintaining the laboratory and carrying out a few of my experiments. If, and only if, I find you to be as competent as your reputation suggests.”

You made a face. So this is what the letter had meant by ‘further details will be decided upon discussion with your superior.’

“And if my competence doesn’t meet your standards, and I'm not awarded the privilege of assisting you?” you countered drily. Oh, well. If he’s going to make the first shot and try to humiliate me I might as well give myself a free reign to be as passive aggressive as I want. “What will you expect in return then?”

Another smile, wider and nastier than the last, with a sly edge that made you feel as though you’d stumbled into a trap.You absolutely had, and Dottore seized the chance to prick at your cool persona. For the sake of scientific curiosity, of course; you made for a fascinating little lab rat and he wanted to document every one of your reactions.“What do you have to offer?” He replied, his voice dropping a few octaves lower. You willed yourself not to go red.

“I can make do without a kidney. Perhaps even a lung, if the esteemed doctor finds himself dissatisfied,” you deadpanned. It was a relief that your tone and expression remained neutral, and a pleasure for the Doctor to witness your flippant attitude.

He let out an amused huff of air, his self-assured grin not wavering in the slightest. You concluded that his blank expression, however unsettling, was infinitely preferable to his conceited smile.

“Never let it be said that I am not a most generous superior. You may keep your organs,” he said in a mock-reassuring tone. “But you will be required to make yourself useful whenever I deem it necessary.”

Ah, what a lovely abuse of power. His amusement seemed to grow at your disdainful silence, and he tilted his head to the side. Like a curious cat. Like a panther. 

“I agree to these terms,” you conceded after another moment’s thought. “Will there be a contract to sign?”

“Bothersome things. No, no, there’s no need for such… formalities.” you frowned, wanting very badly to argue that there was a need for such formalities.

 “After all,” he continued in that amused drawl, “verbal agreements are contractually binding in Snezhnaya.” 

Your frown deepened as you mulled over this new information.

“And how are the contracts upheld without visual proof of their occurrence?”

“A Harbinger’s claims are never questioned,” he replied, smug and amused and absolutely aware of the unfairness of his explanation.

“Ah. Yet another system that serves only those of the higher rank.” You didn’t even attempt to hide the derision from your voice. Zhongli would be appalled at this. “Charming,” you added under your breath.

That arrogant smile reappeared on his face at your obvious contempt.

“Yes, I quite agree.”

Oh, so now he decides to be agreeable. You glowered at him over the top of your glasses, decorum be damned, for a socially unacceptable amount of time. The Doctor stared back, or at least you assumed he did, with the barest hint of a smirk pulling the corner of his lips. Clearly he found some sort of sadistic amusement in pushing your buttons, and you disliked him all the more for it. As with Signora, you refused to be the first to speak, and the silence stretched out like toffee on a warm day with you fantasising about dissecting whatever was up in his skull that he called a brain. Not for the first time, you wondered what he was thinking and you cursed him for wearing a mask that so thoroughly hid his expressions.

“You have an admirable gift for silence,” he remarked, tracing the shape of his mask with his thumb again. At the very least, you knew for a fact he was looking at you now because you could feel his stare, but his idle statement made you raise your eyebrows and ponder what he meant. Did he mean to disconcert you with a compliment? Was it an insult in disguise? Was he mocking you?

He huffed out an amused chuckle.

“It’s quite entertaining how you insist on so thoroughly scrutinising my every last word. If you think any harder about such trivial matters it’ll be akin to throwing a wrench into the gears of your brain.”

“Too much thinking never hurt anyone,” you quipped back. “Do you refrain from thinking to such a capacity that you fear an excess of it will cause harm?”

“That’s quite enough of your attitude,” he drawled, toying with the cuff of his immaculate lab coat. You had to agree with him there; it was all well and good to balance on the tightrope of politeness and sarcasm but you’d taken a decisive plunge into the latter with your response. You once again resolved to be more vigilant and hold your tongue while in the Harbinger’s vicinity, damn Signora’s little barb to the lowest hell. This wasn’t the Akademiya, after all; if your behaviour was deemed intolerable you’d get more than a remedial essay and a lecture. Your eyes lingered on a bloody scalpel carelessly tossed on one of the work benches. You suppressed a grimace. More than a remedial essay indeed. It amused Dottore no end to think that your barbs were so quickly shut down. Your respect for authority was quite great; or perhaps you were simply on edge because he was a Harbinger. Either way, he found himself thoroughly entertained. A fascinating little lab rat indeed.

“Anything more to add, doctor?” you asked, tightening your gloves. The cold here is worse than even Dragonspine.

“You may utilise the lab freely today, only after submitting your current thesis and other research.” You refrained from innocently pointing out that the Fatui had probably evaluated everything you’d ever written before you even stepped through the palace’s gates. “Further courses of action will be determined after your work is assessed.”

Oh, how you wanted to say that technically speaking he was unfit to assess any of your work without even a degree from the Akademiya. However, contrary to popular opinion you do value a life bereft of death threats, so you merely nodded with a polite “Yes, Doctor.”

“Dismissed.”

Joy to the world, you thought wryly. “When would be a suitable time for me to visit the lab?” Is what you said.

“After tea,” he replied cryptically, his attention already diverted to one of the numerous paper files scattered across the workbench. It would be interesting to see how you’d respond to his vague time frame.

Well, screw you too. I'm not going to beg you to elaborate.

You quickly made your way to the door before you said something you’d regret. The door, however, had practically vanished into the wall. Well, perhaps that wasn’t not the most accurate statement; you could make out the seam where the door and wall met, but there was no handle. Just the lines and lines of glowing text. You could practically hear the Doctor smirking from behind you. This may well be a test to see if you had a vision or not, you realised, and it made you all the more reluctant to reveal the answer. Instead, you opted to glare at the door and very emphatically inform it that if it didn’t open you’d dissolve its hinges in a vat of acid. It worked wonderfully, the door swinging open with barely a screech, and you all but waltzed through it. These Harbingers aren’t the only self-important pricks here, after all. Dottore hadn’t expected that. For once, the unaccounted-for variable was a source of intrigue rather than irritation. 

All that remained now was to find out when the hell ‘tea time’ was. And also riffle through your pockets for the little notebook where you’d sketched a hasty map of the palace’s twisting corridors. Locating the map amidst the pages, you made your way down the staircase and through the hallways. The palace still teemed with people rushing back and forth, and you had to perform some fancy footwork that Nilou would have approved of so you didn’t bump into anyone. The floating lanterns you’d so disapprovingly stared at had dimmed, and the faint sunlight dappled the floors and walls with spots of colour from the stained glass; reds and blues and purples and yellows splattered across the stone. The image of the colour-changing door to the laboratory came to mind.

You arrived at your room in pleasant spirits. The Harbingers may be an utter pain in the neck, and your employment may have been ethically questionable and at least partially not by choice, but the routine remained similar to the one you’d so carefully crafted for yourself at the Akademiya. Even the act of rummaging through the inner pocket (of your cloak this time, rather than the breezy uniform over-shirt)  for your room key sparked comfortable familiarity, and you were just eagerly contemplating having breakfast when you stepped into the room to find someone bent over the fire.

Startled, you nearly dropped the key altogether.

Who exactly is that?

“I- hello?” You ventured, hesitant. The girl whirled around, looking just as startled, before curtsying when she spotted you. …What? Why would she curtsy?

“Hello, miss. I'm very sorry, I didn’t mean to give you a scare.” What a sweet voice. She reminded you of a young girl who’d followed you around the Akademiya, with her freckles and round cheeks. Now that she’d turned around, you could see the apron and neat cap she wore, and you surmised she was a servant, though what a servant was doing in a recruit’s room you had no idea.

“It’s… quite alright,” you replied awkwardly, tugging off your boots. You hadn’t anticipated running into a stranger in your room, and now your little fantasy of living a routine was quite effectively shattered. It left you unsure of how to proceed. “Not to be rude, but might you inquire why you’re… in my room?”

She blinked up at you, clearly confused.

“I was tending the fire, miss.”

You glanced at the crackling flames.

“Yes, I can see that. Thank you very much,” you added hastily, not wanting to come off as impolite to this sweet young girl. “You’re not obligated to, though. I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I'm just a recruit”- you gestured to the bronze talisman dangling from your hip –“so you don’t think it’s necessary for you to worry about this room.”

The girl frowned at the talisman.

“But Lady Eight said this room was to be carefully managed.”

That rendered you just as puzzled as her. “Did she really?”

The girl nodded fervently. “Yes, miss.”

You considered telling her that there was no need to do so, but you couldn’t very well tell her to disregard the orders of a Harbinger. A very perplexing order indeed. Why would Signora insist on this room being tended to? As far as you knew, recruits didn’t receive such services. You decided to ask anyway. 

“I'm assuming you’re not usually asked to take care of recruits’ quarters?”

The girl hesitated.

“You- You’re right, miss.”

“How strange,” you commented, walking over to the window to crack it open. The paranoia of lighting a fire in an enclosed space never left you after learning about incomplete combustion and carbon monoxide poisoning. “You don’t need to trouble yourself,” you told her. “But so you don’t get a scolding from your Madam, you can come and have some tea here under the pretence of cleaning and such.” you winked. “A little secret between us, hm?” You would’ve preferred for her not to come in the first place, but you didn’t want to land her in trouble. You could endure a little agonising small talk, you reasoned to yourself. You didn’t think the girl could look more mystified, but your suggestion left her with wide eyes and furrowed brows, her fingers clenching at the frills in her apron.

“What’s your name?” You asked instead, finally deciding to unpack properly. Unzipping your bag, you felt a rush of relief to see that none of your glassware had cracked despite being tossed around. You mentally thanked Xiao for the protection charm he’d given you as you carefully took out your tea set. Alhaitham and Dehya had relentlessly poked fun at you for packing it, but the cool, smooth surface and the curve of the porcelain offered yet another source of stability that you were thankful for.

“Anya,” she replied, her voice quiet and hesitant. She started towards you as you placed the teapot on the fire, hands outstretched as if to take it from you and do it herself. You firmly guided her to the empty armchair instead, attempting to offer her a reassuring smile. Making people feel relaxed in your presence was far from your forte, but an odd desire to protect this girl was building in your chest.

“That’s a lovely name, Anya,” you said, attempting valiantly to soften your voice as you sifted through your extensive collection of tea leaves. I’ll have to make them into teabags soon. Anya didn’t respond, picking at her clothes and avoiding eye contact. You were probably making her anxious by not letting her do her job, but it felt wrong to have someone tend to you, especially someone younger than you were. Of course, like the pretentious scholar you were, the only thing you could think to add was the interpretation of her name. “It means ‘favoured by the gods.’”

She looked up at you then. “Yes, miss. I know.”

“That’s expected,” you conceded with an awkward smile. “But I'm not a very good conversationalist, and that’s all I could think to say.”

Anya giggled under her breath, and a wave of accomplishment washed over you.

“Really, Anya,” you insisted. “I'm not comfortable with the idea of you cleaning up after me in my own room if none of the other recruits receive the same services. So if you’re ever assigned here again then don’t hesitate to make yourself at home, yes?”

“Madam wouldn’t like that.”

“I assure you what your Madam doesn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.”

She looked a little scandalised by the notion.

“How about we strike a bargain?” you suggested, pouring out the tea. It was a perfect amber colour, and you allowed yourself a moment of self-satisfaction as you handed Anya a cup. “To ease your conscience, you can help by dusting my bookshelf whenever you’re asked to tend to my room.” You nodded towards the currently empty bookcase, gratified by the knowledge that it’d be filled with your beloved books soon enough. “Surely your Madam won’t protest if I'm the one who won’t allow you to do anything more?” You threw her another wink as you lifted your teacup to your lips and settled into the other armchair.

“I suppose…”

“In fact, I could speak to Lady Eight and resolve this misunderstanding from the root,” you mused, watching snow pick up outside the window.

“No!”

Mildly alarmed at her vehement protest, you appraised her curiously. Anya immediately averted her gaze back to her hands in her lap, twisting the fabric of her apron. Hm. Perhaps there’s a job she’d like to avoid by accepting this one.

“Alright,” you replied, forcing yourself to sound more amicable. You felt like a fox trying its best not to scare off a rabbit, which was ironic because you were more often than not a fox snarling at wolves to keep away. “But keep our little agreement in mind, won’t you?”

She nodded, her frown easing and the downturn of her lips fading slightly. “Yes, miss.”

“Lovely.” you tipped back your head to drain your teacup, savouring the last dregs of flavour before returning to the task of emptying your bags. Your books didn’t fit quite as neatly as you’d liked in the bookcase, so you left a stack of your favourites on the nightstand. You let your mind wander as you went through the motions of tidying and sorting. Anya started to help at some point, silently and out of the way, properly hanging up your new coats and folding your trousers neatly enough to fit even Noelle’s standards, and you let her so that you didn’t further embarrass her. And also out of consideration for your own draining social battery. Meandering through the task in silence with the snow flurrying outside and the fire crackling merrily, you felt yourself relax. Until you remembered that you still had no idea when the Doctor expected you, and a glance at your pocket watch revealed that it was past what you would consider lunchtime.

“Anya, do you know when the Doctor takes his tea?”

*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  

[phanfictioncatalogue]

hi, hope you all are doing well! :) i was wondering, do you have any recs for slowburn fics that still continue on after they get together? i love slowburn but sometimes i get sad when the fics end immediately after they get together 😭😭 like i want it to take 80k words for them to kiss but i also want to see 20k words of them together after that yk 🙏🏻 thanks so much! :))

No I totally get it. Here’s what first came to mind from what I’ve read, but feel free others to drop your recs!

A Stolen Ring (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan’s not normal. Why?

He's not human, he has a mysterious ring, and he hates Phil Lester. They have a strange past, one filled with bullying and avoidance, but when Dan turns into an incubus, everything changes. He struggles with his identity and cries himself to sleep most nights, yearning to be normal. And somehow the universe makes it worse by bringing him and Phil together - in the most literal sense.

(TW) Absolutely Lovely (ao3) - Autumn_Kismet

Summary: His friends and family think he's acting strange, they're worried that he's depressed again, but Dan doesn't see it. The only thing he sees is the new guy at school, the quirky one with the black hair and stunning blue eyes, and that's bad. So bad... because he likes him, and Dan can't like him. Dan can't be gay. He'll lose his family, he'll lose his friends... he'll become just like his father, and that's the last thing that he wants in the entire world. It's a scary thought that he doesn't think will ever go away and if there's the possibility of that happening, of him becoming the disgusting monster that his father was, or is, then maybe the world is better off without him, regardless of what PJ's dad, his mum's new husband, has to say.

Believe in Me (ao3) - Elleberquist6

Summary: Dan Howell is living at home while he’s saving money for college, which isn’t easy since his parents don’t understand him. Unlike them, he loves dogs, is a vegetarian, has no interest in the family business, and he despises the supernatural. He struggles to accept things that are illogical, even though he is a kitsune. Kitsune are foxes whose powers involve the ability to cast illusions, but Dan just wants to be normal. Phil Lester has just moved to London, where he works as a dog walker. When his path crosses with Dan, Phil is eager to get to know him. Unfortunately, Phil soon finds that being friends with Dan is far more complicated than he could have imagined.

(TW) Break Me (ao3) - MySecretsX

Summary: In this world, you're marked with black. That's if you have a soulmate at least. Everyone is destined to cross paths with the one who is meant for them, at least once in their lives.

When you and your soulmate meet, you will touch, if only briefly, and the exact area of skin you touch with the other turns from black to white, with streaks of blue, purple, yellow, all marbled in with each other.

Daniel Howell is well-known in town. People cross the street if they're approaching him and newcomers to the neighbourhood are warned about his presence. Exactly like the Lester's were. But Phil Lester has other ideas, he saw the pain within the boy, how bad can he really be?

(A story about abuse, self-destruction, but ultimately, love. Please read safely.)

Butterfly (ao3) - A_Million_Regrets

Summary: Phil Lester, a lonely writer, finds a dying boy with beautiful black wings on a cold, rainy night in a dingy alleyway. He recognizes the boy as one of the winged men hated by human society. They are considered to be wild, ferocious beasts, but Phil's sympathy forces him to help the boy.

What happens when the boy, considered to be a wild beast, gets too attached and follows him home with an innocent, dimpled smile?

Cat and Mouse (ao3) - jilliancares

Summary: Dan Howell is the Panther. He's evil, nefarious, ingenious, and good at coming up with adjectives for himself. The Raven is a nuisance, but he's definitely the most fun part when it comes to being a villain. As a child, Dan had been scared of his powers. He'd been weak. He'd become strong, though. Strong enough to torment the city; strong enough to annoy the Raven with every opportunity he got.

Phil Lester only had one goal these days. To become strong enough to defeat the Panther.

Desires (ao3) - A_Million_Regrets

Summary: What would you do if you were suddenly hauled from your inauspicious life and dumped into an unforeseen catastrophe with your worst enemy?

Dan Howell and Phil Lester completely and utterly hate each other. They fight every time they meet, and all of their friends are tired of it. But one day, these two hot-headed, reckless men stumble through a secret passage in a mysterious old house and wake up on a strange island uninhabited by other intelligent life forms. They only have each other and no way to escape. Will they fight to death, or will they learn to trust each other in a world where no one else exists? Can they put aside their mutual hatred for each other to survive this misfortune?

(TW) Head Down Low (ao3) - Rhensis

Summary: Dan isn’t right. He’s not like most of the others, he’s not genetically pure. He has no destined path, he has nothing going for him in life. He’ll be lucky to get himself a job in a fast food kitchen, and everyone looks down on him like he’s a piece of dirt stuck at the bottom of their shoe. Except one person: Phil Lester.

I Want It, I Got It (ao3) - yiffandquiff

Summary: Phil Lester was a worker for the BBC in London. Working in the advertising department, he was content being alongside his friend and fellow coworker PJ during every shift. However, the BBC is temporarily being used as a film set for a new movie starring Hollywood ‘It’ star, Daniel Howell. Being stuck as an extra on the set, Phil finds it’s hard to ignore the famous star. And maybe, just maybe, Dan finds it hard to ignore Phil as well.

Mind Reader (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan's head was always filled with noise. He'd been blessed/cursed with the power to read minds, but not the power to control it. He heard the thoughts of everyone near him, and the constant voices in his head were close to driving him mad.

That is, of course, until he met Phil Lester, the only one who could make his mind go silent.

(TW) Those Who Trust (ao3) - theshyauthor

Summary: Dan used to be a submissive and now he’s just a broken shell of a man.

Trust Me, I'm Broken Too (ao3) - natigail

Summary: The Lesters – the royal family of his homeland – was nothing like Dan thought they would be. Well, the King was just as horrible as he had heard but the King’s brother’s son, who was third in line for the throne, was nothing like Dan thought he’d be. Dan had been adrift for three years going from one “place of employment” to another, only his life was seen as worthless and he was more property than an employee. He had never imagined he’s end up as the property of Prince Philip.

The Prince had no intention of ever taking on a personal servant, which was a fancy name to disguise the fact a law essentially enslaved people. Phil often had to do things he didn’t want to or risk being removed from the succession to the crown. If that happened, who knew who his tyrant of an uncle would pick as a successor? When pressured into the choosing, he’d wanted to go for the most innocent, young girl, but hard brown eyes caught his attention instead.

-Rae

(A lot of these I loved and totally forgot about so thanks for the reminder!!!!)

[cosmicangst]

ok ok ok i just got home and as always here are my thoughts

really enjoyed colin lemoine's take. in terms of just pure vibes hes a step closer to damon daunno than reeve carney. he's not as boyish comic relief as nicholas barasch and he feels like the most.... grounded?? orpheus i've seen. he acts out the "touched" aspect without flanderizing orpheus into just his naivete and rendering him foolish and infantilized. the best way i can describe it is that he just seems like an optimistic but ultimately ordinary guy you could meet at a grocery store line who also happens to be plagued w Unfortunately Blessed with Musical Visions by the Gods Against His Will Syndrome

amaya braganza!!!!! jesus what a vocal powerhouse. her flowers killed me. something about her vocal inflection or acting choices really made her grief over losing her life and her love so visceral. she would be right at home at the obc recording because her voice was pitch perfect. she has a terrific belt but it's during the quiet moments where she's the most effective. like at the end of all i've ever known you can really feel she's already mourning her loss before she's even lost anything which is why flowers was more heartbreaking than normal

will mann is the most intriguing part of this cast to me. hermes actors have the choice of landing on the spectrum of objective narrator to a guardian figure. will feels like the most paternal. you get the sense that not only did he observe orpheus grow up he also had an active hand in raising him. when orpheus nervously stops during epic iii will says "go on, baby" with "baby" obviously ad-libbed 😭 like yes that is his baby

my only real critique of this performance is that the show doesn't actually pick up until way down hadestown. not sure if the cast just wasn't feeling the crowd or themselves until that point (it was a sunday night so i get it). i just make note of this bc livin it up on top is this high energy number that felt strangely middle energy for some reason lol anyone who was experiencing the show for the first time and had no frame of reference wouldn't notice anything amiss but bc im abnormal and pedantic i definitely noticed

and this is by no means a critique of lana gordon's persephone whose lady of the underground is one of the top highlights of the show. she brought the roof down during "there's a crack in the wall".

which brings me to my favorite part of the show: matthew patrick quinn. i didn't think anyone could replace patrick page in my heart but i was just in love with everything matthew brought to this character. he manages to combine facets of patrick and kevyn morrow's hades that i love together. matthew has kevyn's slick charisma and anger but he has patrick's power and world-weariness. he's this incredibly tall, serpentine, and long limbed figure that towers over everyone. patrick as an intimidating and antagonistic force felt like an ancient old god who can break your house by inducing an earthquake but matthew's vibe is more like he could literally be the snake that could tempt you out of a garden of eternal paradise

he and lana are also 🔥🔥🔥 like you can simultaneously feel the millenia of history between them but they also have the chemistry of two hot people going on a date for the first time after a long period of slowburn. the resentment, the familiarity, he way he's obviously repressing his desperation to keep her and both trying to look unaffected and turning to their vices when they reject each other's touch i could absolutely scream

which is why i was sobbing by the end of epic iii. i think the catharsis was just a lot lol and they were so playful during their dance too! like actual lovers who have the most absolute fun during good times. matthew does this little wiggle for her when they're sidestepping and im 100% sure lana broke character and they both started laughing it was so sweet

anyway the fates, the ensemble, everyone was astounding and im gonna see if i can grab another cheap balcony seat before they leave in a week to see if i can catch j antonio rodriguez as orpheus

[raayllum]

so if/when runaan is uncoined, how do you think Callum and Ezran will prosses it? cause we know Ez definitely has some unresolved anger towards him, and Callum is very conflicted about Runaan. I'd just like your two cents on how they would interact at first, and possibly in the future.

*hoists up a 146k+ long fic* how much time you got?

[ Sidenote: granted, some of the fic is different than where it's gone in canon, largely Callum being 100% devoted in getting the parents back, but struggling hard with Runaan upon his de-coining significantly moreso than Ez, who in this version has had 4 years with his grief and 4 years of getting to know Ethari as well. But for being written in Jan 2020, not bad, I think. ]

In all seriousness: I think Ezran's lack of connection to Rayla's past (never been to the Silvergrove, never met Ethari) and his harsher reaction to Harrow's death, especially given Callum's automatic positive reaction to the coins in 5x04 (including Runaan!), means that they're gonna go for a contrast with the broyals. It seems that in his closeness with Zubeia, Ezran's heaped a lot of the blame onto Runaan (which makes sense on a certain level - Zubeia didn't know about Zym's survival, Runaan did and went through with shit anyway) because well... It's always gonna be easier to compartmentalize. It's always gonna be easier to just hate someone who's dead.

Until they're not.

I also think Runaan could be a catalyst for a lot of wonderfully messy 'uglier' Ezran emotions (resentment towards Callum and Rayla keeping something from him again; the burden of ruling he only has because of Runaan; impatience with people not willing to consider ending the Cycle, ironically leading him to perpetuate it a bit, etc etc) and god I am so fucking excited for that. And a bonus Harrow-Viren parallel conflict with Callum, generations wise? Chef's kiss. Delicious. Give it to me

To me, I don't think Callum is even really thinking about "this is the man that murdered my father" (which he did in Through the Moon during a brief argument with Rayla, and then realized he needed to give space for her grief, too) so much as "This is Rayla's dad and someone she loves."

In his short story Inheritance he couldn't even hold the bow without immediately freaking out, and we see it ignite a similar sort of panic in 5x01, but by the end of the episode he's brought the bow into his room to hold onto it for her and hands it to her outright. He's willing to mix his magic with it and trust it (and her wielding it) to defend him.

So for Callum I think he'll be snarkily done with Runaan if the man is unremorseful / hostile but not willing to or wanting to pick too many fights with him in front of Rayla. (I also have a lot of thoughts and feelings about Callum ultimately realizing that Runaan's eventual awkward form of parenting/looking out for him -- once Runaan's gotten over his anti-human shit -- does remind him of Harrow as a father, but that is delved into Much better slowburn wise in the fic linked above).

For Ezran, who's younger and has largely been bottling this anger up, I think he might be harsher and more resistant to undoing the coins, but might have an easier time once he can see and get to know Runaan as a person (because once that's clicked into place, Ezran's empathy knows little to no bounds) and well, Ez loves Rayla too! They're all family. It's just... complicated

That said the fact that my 2019 political trio theory has now structurally also come back to me is Hysterical and what I'm holding onto above all else tbh

[zombryz]

dancing with titans

˗ˏˋ hii :3 ˎˊ˗  

chapter one - rainy days 

masterlist | chapter two (coming soon!) | read on ao3 | 

pairings - Levi x afab!reader | Jean x afab!reader | v minor Eren x afab!reader

warnings - slowburn, eventual smut, blood and gore, angst, possessiveness, unrequited love (but not really)

word count - 3.5k

Let’s imagine this is Levi watching the reader and Jean *insert eyes emoji* hehe

You still remember your very first interaction with Captain Levi. Before the temperatures began to fall, it was a rainy day during the 104th Training Corps, so you were not quite required to wear winter clothing. Captain Levi, the current Commander of the Survey Corps, and Keith Shadis, your instructor and the former 12th Commander of the Survey Corps, had been assessing the soldiers during ODM training. Captain Levi came to scope out the new recruits and see if there were any promising faces that he could ultimately add to his team. There were dozens of military dropouts that first month, but you stayed. Now that you think about it, you’re not sure why you stayed, but you’re glad you did. Although the training was challenging and exhausting, you never gave up on the belief that your life might one day have meaning. Growing up in the Utopia district made life unbearably dull and made you feel trapped inside the walls, and you were constantly hearing stories about soldiers who went outside the walls. One day you had enough and decided to leave home to join the military because you no longer wanted to be bound to the life set out for you inside the walls. You wanted excitement, even if that meant death. Now, here you were, aiming to take down ten fake Titan structures with your ODM gear and steel swords in hand. You scored a perfect ten; you know you did. You landed on your feet in front of Commander Shadis and Captain Levi after mastering the grips and gliding swiftly through the air. Breathing heavily, you looked up at your instructor and noticed the man beside him. 

“You hold your blades similar to the way I hold mine.” Captain Levi, who was a stranger at the time, speaks monotonously and nods his head toward your hands, which were holding both blades backward. It was the most comfortable position for you; you were holding them that way without even realizing it. His eyes remained on your form for a moment while you looked down at your hands and shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. His steely gray eyes looked tired and heavy. To be honest, you never gave him much thought back then. You never really answered him either, as you remember. Instead, you gave him an ingenuine smile and turned your attention to Commander Shadis, who was waiting to give his score to you.

“Yep, you got a perfect score,” he sighs slightly, “again.” You jump in excitement and thank him before heading back to your fellow recruits. As you walked back to the rest of the group, you felt eyes bore into the back of your head. They were Captain Levi’s. 

---

It wasn’t until you saw Captain Levi in action that you fell for him. He did in fact hold his blades similarly to you; the only distinction was that you held both backward, whereas he only held the blade backward in his left hand. During your first expedition beyond the walls, he was mesmerizing; you watched in awe as he effortlessly chopped up twelve-meter-tall titans without any assistance. You and Levi would dance around each other while taking down Titans. He would cross over into your path, and you would into him, never once having to verbally communicate what the other was doing. You read his movements like a book, and he read yours. It felt romantic in a way that you had never felt anything like it. At the end of the expedition, he complimented the way you moved in the sky, causing you to blush. You thanked him and finally looked at him for the first time. You complimented him back and even brought up the way he held his blades. He smiled slightly, a hint of red threatening to spill onto his face. You’ll never forget how his eyes still looked so tired, but you could see the admiration he held for you. 

That was two years ago. Now, you are in your final year of the training corps, with only a month left until graduation. You've made friends, but you’ve barely talked to Levi. You had been pining for Levi ever since that day during your expedition. He was either completely unaware of your feelings for him or did not share them. You tried multiple times to bury them but to no avail. That’s how you found yourself here, sitting at the table with all of the friends you’ve made in the training corps. Somehow, everyone at your table knew about your feelings for your captain, and it was embarrassing.  

“When are you going to give up?” Eren nudges your shoulder softly, completely knocking you out of your thoughts while you stare at Levi from across the cafeteria. You loved watching the way he drank his afternoon tea. He held his cup differently, just like his blades, with almost all of his fingers around the rim. His fingers were delicate and veiny, and you were captivated by how such pretty hands allowed him to be a ruthless killer. Back to the present - you shove Eren back gently, and your face is beet red now. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, feigning innocence while biting into the apple that Mikasa offered you earlier. 

“What do you see in him anyway? He’s short and mean.” Eren rests his head in his hands and looks up at you. His words draw the attention of the rest of the table, and they all turn to look at you and Eren. 

“I-I don’t know,” you answered in a sing-song voice. “He's super strong and funny.” You answer, not fully believing the second part. 

“Funny?” Eren tches, “The captain is NOT funny.” Eren rolls his eyes and runs his fingers through his hair before sitting back in his chair, visibly annoyed. “And… I’m strong. I’m probably the strongest one here!” He speaks louder than he meant to. 

“Hey, watch it, Yeager!” Jean chimes in from the other side of you without looking at you or Eren. It was common knowledge that Jean Kirstein and Eren Yeager liked you. Sometimes you thought Eren pretended to like you just to get on Jean’s nerves, and it was amusing for the most part. 

“Hey man, you and I have about the same chance!” Eren raises his voice again while looking past you and at Jean. Armin and Mikasa sat across from you, and beside them sat Connie and Sasha. Everyone was eating their lunch but sat quietly listening in on the drama.

Jean didn’t answer Eren; instead, he finally looked at you with his golden brown eyes. His cheeks were flushed, and he looked kind of cute being the center of attention. He was definitely not as open about his crush on you as Eren was. You just giggled slightly until Armin opened his mouth. 

“When are you both going to give up?” Armin questions the boys while stuffing his face with potatoes. Mikasa looks at him angrily, and Sasha starts laughing while falling back in her chair. “What? Someone had to say it,” he adds when he notices Mikasa’s face. 

“He has a point.” Connie lifts his finger up, speaking in a serious voice that he doesn’t usually use. “Someone’s eventually going to give in. Statistically speaking, one of you has to like the other person back. Either you like Eren or Jean, or Captain Levi likes you.” You immediately feel hot at his words because they are true; you just wish they weren’t because that meant Levi liking you back wasn’t an option. On top of your crush on Levi, you also had feelings for Jean. At the beginning of the training corps, you thought Jean was just an asshole, but as the years went by, you noticed you were getting closer and closer to him. He was really sweet and caring towards anyone he cared about, which included you. He would do anything to keep you safe, and you felt lucky to have him as a friend. He also had a tendency to be really attractive when he took charge, and you even noticed that sometimes out in the field, you and Jean would dance around each other in ODM gear. It wasn’t as smooth as it had been with Levi, but it definitely didn’t go unnoticed. 

You took the route of deflection: “So you’re saying I have a chance with our Captain?” You grin at your words until you hear the sound of Jean’s chair scraping the floor loudly as he gets up to leave. “No, Jean, c'mon, I was kidding!” You yell back at him, but he’s already halfway across the cafeteria. Damn, his long legs. 

You take one final bite of your apple before pushing back your chair to follow him. Eren goes to stop you, but Mikasa quickly grabs the collar of his shirt, forcing him to stay at the table. Jean made his way out of the cafeteria and into the corridor of the main building. You quickly turn the corner, and your face collides with something solid. It was Jean’s shoulder. He apparently didn't go down the hallway as far as you thought he had; instead, he was leaning up against the wall. 

“Y/N, I-I’m so sorry.” He grabs your shoulders to still you, and you quickly grab your head to comfort the sharp pain in your skull.

“Ow.” You get out while rubbing the side of your head. Damn, Jean and his height. His shoulders were the same height as your head. 

 Jean realizes where you’re hurting, so he slowly reaches up to pull your hand away from your head. Your head was now being held by both of his hands, and he was gently rubbing your temple with his thumb. After a second, you finally open your eyes, and you’re face-to-face with his chest. When you look up at him, he’s already looking down at you with big, concerned eyes. You melted into his touch and gravitated towards his chest more and more. 

“You okay? Why did you follow me out here?” Jean gets all of his questions out at once without pulling away from you.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You breathed deeply before continuing, “I just wanted to check on you. I didn’t mean to upset you, Jean.” You brought your fingers up and gently caressed his forearms.

“You didn’t upset me. I-” Jean sighs. He goes to say something else when someone behind you emerges from the cafeteria and clears his throat to make his presence known. 

“Am I interrupting something, Cadets?” You jump at his voice, recognizing it anywhere. It was Captain Levi. Jean immediately drops his hands from your head, and the both of you jump two feet away from each other. 

“No sir, sorry sir!” You and Jean salute Captain Levi at the same time, and you both look extremely embarrassed with your hands over your hearts.

“Cadets in training are not allowed public displays of affection.” Levi’s eyes wander over yours briefly before landing on Jean’s. His face no longer showed any softness he had while looking at you. “Once you graduate, you can hold any cadet you’d like for all I care. Do I make myself clear?” 

Jean looked down at Captain Levi and quickly replied, “Sir, Yes sir!” Levi stepped back toward you, and his eyes looked you up and down before he turned on his heel and walked down the hallway without saying another word. 

“Woah, Captain Levi never gets onto cadets for breaking the affection rule. Usually, it’s Commander Erwin.” Jean released the breath he had been holding and turned to look at you. You were completely flustered, and you were holding your hands behind your back while watching the Captain’s form disappear down the corridor. Jean rolled his eyes and took hold of your chin to force you to look at him. Once you were looking at him, he dropped his hand so that you both wouldn’t get into trouble again.

“I really don’t have a chance, do I?” Jean’s eyes are fixed on you now. His voice was barely above a whisper, and his posture was not as confident as before. 

You open your mouth to answer, but no words come out. His question echoed in your head, but you had no idea how to answer it. Jean took your silence as an answer.

“Okay.” He straightens himself once more and sniffles slightly, but plays it off. “I am going to let you go now.” He looks at you for a moment longer, hoping you'll say something, but you don’t. He then closes his eyes and walks away, down the same corridor Levi did.

---

It was finally graduation day after three long years. There were two hundred and eighteen cadets who graduated alongside you. Everyone had three options: the garrison regiment, aka those whose job it was to reinforce the walls; the scout regiment, who would ride out into Titan country; or the military police regiment, aka the lazy bastards. You were at the top of your class, along with Connie, Sasha, Jean, Marco, Eren, Mikasa, Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie. The night of your graduation you noticed Jean acting weird. Everyone was drinking and having a good time when you noticed a saddened look across Jean’s face. He barely talked all night. Eren even tried to pick a fight with him, but he didn’t fight back. 

“Hi,” you said, joining him at the wooden table he was sitting at inside one of the dining halls. Marco was sitting next to him and took his cue to leave. You smiled at him, and he shot you a sympathetic look. The room was loud and full of drunk cadets, but you ignored the noise to talk to Jean.

“Hey.” He answered before taking another sip of his beer. 

“What’s up with you? Why do you look so sad?” You shift your body closer to him, and he shifts away slightly. This wasn’t the first time he had shifted away from you, not allowing you to get close to him anymore. Ever since that day in the hallway a month ago, his entire body language around you has changed. 

“I’m joining the military police.” He stares blankly at nothing in particular. He knew you would have a bad reaction. Everyone else in your group was planning on joining the scout regiment, including you. He prepared himself for you to scream a loud “WHATTT?” that drew everyone's attention to him but it didn’t come and instead -

“Oh.” Your voice comes out shaky now. Your reaction makes him actually look at you this time. You were holding your beer between your thighs, and your head was hanging low as you were just staring at your fingers around the handle of the mug. You didn’t want him to join the military police. You knew that’s what he wanted, but for some reason, you always thought he’d change his mind. “Please don’t.” You tilt your head up slightly as tears threaten to form, your throat feeling like thorns as you speak. 

“Why shouldn’t I? I would have three meals daily for life, and I’d be safe behind the walls.” He shifts his body towards you now with an aggression in his voice that wasn’t there before. He just wanted you to say the magic words that would get him to stay. He wasn’t even intending to play this game with you. Heck, he told himself a month ago that he would go into the military police, settle down with a nice girl, and forget all about you and everyone else. He didn’t want to think about how you would never love him. He even stopped sitting next to you at meals and staying away from you during training and downtime. He was already feeling much better being away from the magnet that you were, which sucked him in every time you were near. 

“I need you, Jean.” Your drunken thoughts betrayed you, and you allowed yourself to be vulnerable with him in a way that you never had before. You corrected yourself by adding, “We need you,” but it was already too late. Jean was already being pulled back into your magnetic aura. He hated himself for it, but he cared about you way too much to let you go out into Titan territory without him. 

“I guess I’ll think about it some more.” He hated seeing you sad. “Tonight, let’s just get drunk.” His face finally turns up, and he allows himself to be happy again. He takes a swig of beer and looks over at you. Your smile grows, and you throw your arms around him in a drunken hug that makes him fall backward a little. This makes you spill your beer and his, but you don’t care. Jean takes the opportunity to hug you back, and he buries his face in your hair, scared that he’d never have the chance to again. He decided he would still be at arm's length from you so that he could try to move on. He needed to pull away from you, he reminded himself.

After another beer and bantering with Sasha and Connie, you noticed Captain Levi in the dining hall checking up on all of the cadets. He was sitting in the corner with Commander Erwin and had a cup of tea in his hand. You weren’t sure what came over you, but you started approaching him with a newfound confidence you didn’t have before. 

“Hiiii,” You tried your best to appear sober, but your words just came out overly excited and silly.

“Hi, Cadet,” Erwin says before Levi gets a chance to speak. “Enjoying yourself?” 

“Yes, sir!” You sloppily salute them both before grabbing a seat at their table. “Sooo, Levi.” You start inappropriately speaking to your captain while leaning over the table, purposely so he has a view of your chest and your slightly unbuttoned blouse. This was unfortunately an attempt at flirting.

“Yes, Cadet?” Captain Levi ignores that you didn’t refer to him as captain. For some reason, you’re the only one he allows to cross the line a little, even when you’re not drunk out of your mind. 

“Oh, I-I just, I’m s-so, drunk. I don’t think I can walk back to my room.” You feign innocence and pout. He raises an eyebrow, unsure of what you’re getting at, but this was quite amusing for him. Usually, you’re so confident and rational that you never speak out of line like this. “Can you carry me to my room, sir?” For theatrics, you lay the back of your palm on your forehead and flip around so that the back of your head is lying on the table, and you’re now looking at your captain, who is upside down. Even upside down, he is so handsome. This makes Erwin chuckle. Oh god, it's a bad idea to be upside down. You suddenly get dizzy. Eren looks over and sees this fiasco and mumbles to himself, “shit,” before running over to you.

“Hey Y/N, you look tired; let’s get you back to your bunk.” Eren lifts you by your arms, and you let yourself be a dead weight while giggling. Your vision quickly jumps from an upside-down Levi to a right-side-up Eren, who was pulling you into him. 

“Hi, Eren.” You smiled at him sweetly. “Will you carry me to my room since you’re so strong?” You refer back to when he was trying to convince you to choose him. You then add more sweetness by giving him big puppy-dog eyes. 

Eren looks past you and apologizes to Captain Levi and Commander Erwin before he brings his attention back to you. “Yeah, of course.” Before Eren says anything else, you jump into him, grab the sides of his face, and kiss him passionately. His eyes widen, and his arms are weakly laid across your hips in an awkward fashion. He’s red from ear to ear when you pull away from his lips. Eren takes a moment to collect himself and then carries you on his back to your room. You fell asleep on his shoulder, and he laid you in your bunk and covered you with a blanket before he left. He walked away, brushing his lips with his fingers. He wondered if you’d remember doing that in the morning. 

-

Back to Captain Levi and Commander Erwin, who just watched Eren carry you off to bed. “That could’ve been you if you said yes,” Erwin says, raising an eyebrow and directing his laughter at Levi. 

“Oh, shut up; the brat just got too drunk for her own good.” Levi scoffed and continued to drink his tea, but his thoughts were filled with what-ifs. What would have happened if Eren hadn’t pulled you away? Would it have been him trying to take care of your drunk ass? He huffs to himself and calls it a night before standing up and leaving Erwin along with the rest of the cadets. He was suddenly no longer interested in being there.

-

Meanwhile, Jean saw everything. His chest hurt, but he reminded himself that he needed things like this in order to move on from you. Deep down, though, he kept wondering why Eren and not him. Was it just because Eren was there? Or do you secretly like Eren too? Liking Levi was one thing, but Eren was someone you could easily have if you so chose. Jean decided to have another drink. 

[carriehobbs]

i mentioned that each of my detectives have at least one central issue that defines a significant part of their lives and personality. then i was asked to elaborate on this thought.

to me, i can't divorce how these characters are in-game from why these characters are that way. so i think i'll need to start at the beginning.

under the cut for (very long) length.

this is an obligatory reminder that i have a list of my detectives here, along with some of their dominant traits and their romance routes. think of this as a handy cheat sheet, if you'd like one.

when i first heard about wayhaven, it was shortly after book 3 had been released and someone i follow had been posting about the a route. so, going in to playing, all i really knew about wayhaven was a very small bit about a (namely that their route involved a lot of will-they-won't-they slowburn denial) and that they, as the only character i knew in the game, were the ro i intended to romance first.

thus, when i made lauren renfield, my adam-romancing detective, i had only one question in mind to guide her character: what kind of person would not only tolerate being jerked around by someone who is supposed to love them, but would come back willingly?

the answer i came to was: someone who desperately wants to be loved enough by someone for them to choose her.

from this concept naturally emerged lauren's terrible relationship with rebecca. stats-wise, their relationship is bad and, though it fluctuates somewhat, it stays bad. the issue in their relationship isn't that lauren doesn't know that rebecca loves her, because she does know this (how could she not when rebecca says as much surprisingly frequently?), but lauren also knows that rebecca is incapable of loving her in a way that (in her view) has any meaning.

to lauren, love is choice. you can feel the emotion of love for someone, but it means nothing if you will not choose to be with or stand beside that person. and she knows that rebecca will never choose her or prioritize her, especially not over the agency. there have been enough times as it is where her life has been in danger and rebecca has come to her to tell her how worried she is, only to receive an agency phone call and leave within five minutes to take it (for example, the end of book 1 or, if i remember correctly, in book 3 where the ro interrupts the detective and rebecca talking to say that the agency couldn't reach rebecca for a phone call, which she then leaves to take).

so lauren knows that she will never be rebecca's priority and that rebecca will never choose her, but god does that not stop her from wanting. every time rebecca reaches out or expresses concern, there's some part of her that truly believes that maybe this time will be different. she cannot stop herself from reaching back. and yet every time it is not different: rebecca still leaves and still shows her where she exists in the hierarchy of things rebecca deems important. and then the other part of her berates herself for always getting her hopes up. in truth, lauren hates herself for this - her ultimate, incurable weakness.

and so, as one does when they grow up this way, lauren eventually came to see herself as the kind of person that no one would ever choose. she grew detached and distant from other people, and then ultimately abandoned trying to form meaningful personal relationships in favour of focusing on her work (which, in turn, conveniently gave her an excuse for not having personal relationships - it's not that she's isolated herself, it's that she's too busy with work). her work becomes her source of pride and from where she derives her internal sense of her own value. she lives in a home she's barely furnished because she spends all her time at work. (prior to meeting ub) her closest friends are tina and verda, who she met through work and who she does not believe actually like her. she genuinely cares about them, but she believes that they see her as little more than a particularly competent coworker. she hates bobby, but she always lets him back in to her house and her life because he seems to be the only person who keeps coming back for her, even if it's only for his own self-serving interests.

enter adam du mortain.

lauren does not doubt that adam is in love with her. nor, really, does she doubt that she's in love with him. the problem with adam is that his favourite hobby is dangling the possibility that maybe this time he will confess to his own feelings, only to pull away when she tries to get close. and lauren falls for it every time. as much as she hates herself for it, she cannot stop herself from hoping that this time adam will stay. she's never the first one to pull away. so many of the problems present in her relationship with rebecca repeat themselves in her relationship with adam. she knows that she loves him and that he loves her, and she also knows that he will never choose to be with her (and so ultimately his love does nothing but hurt her), but every time he offers her any affection or hint of closeness, she can't help but hope that maybe this time things will be different.

the second detective i made was alina langford, my nate-romancing detective. after lauren's bad relationship with rebecca, i wanted to play through wayhaven with a detective who has a good relationship with rebecca. i knew i wanted alina to be a fundamentally kind person (i've mentioned previously that i need to play a nice person who wants to make friends with everyone at least once) but, much like with when i made lauren, i asked myself one central question that underpinned much of how alina developed as a character: what kind of person could be raised by an absentee parent and still love them uncritically?

for alina, the answer i came to was: someone who cannot see that they deserve better.

alina never blamed rebecca for her absences growing up; instead, she made excuses for her. rebecca wanted to be home on time, but she's just very busy. her job is very important. it would be selfish, even, to be upset when rebecca is doing her best. she just has a very busy, very important job. rebecca loves her. rebecca wants to be there. and when rebecca is there, alina soaks up as much of her time and attention as she can get, so grateful to be getting any of it at all that she never considers what more she could have.

over time, alina learned to see herself as less important. not just less important than rebecca's work, but less important than everything. it's not that she thinks she deserves to be treated poorly, per se, as much as it is that she can't really recognize that she deserves to be treated better.

consider, as an example, alina's relationship with bobby: i've always imagined them dating in college for about 2-3 years and even living together. i think that alina really was in love with him at first, but then that feeling slipped away as their relationship progressed (up until she broke up with him after she caught him plagiarizing her work). i don't think that they were miserable together (though i don't imagine they were particularly happy either), and i think that, for the most part, they stayed together because it was easier to do so than to break up. alina could not even consider that she might deserve a better relationship than this: that she might deserve romance and passion and a relationship that gives her more than just consistency.

all of this, of course, is compounded by the fact that alina has been constantly, painfully lonely her whole life. her self-confidence suffered significantly. she lost (if she ever had) the ability to view herself as someone with value to contribute. she comes off as incredibly humble - constantly trying to share any accolades or credit she may receive and downplaying her own achievements - almost uncomfortably so. she doesn't think much of herself, and so she does not think to ask for much either.

as a result, her relationship with nate surprises her. in book 1 (especially just before the murphy attack, when he tries to kiss her), she doesn't think he takes her seriously - he's a special agent with a secretive supernatural government agency, whereas she's just some detective who didn't even deserve her position. once they're dating, however, he treats her the way no partner ever has before. she's taken aback every time by his thoughtfulness, his care, his love for her, because she never thought being on the receiving end of all that was even a possibility. she never knew that something like this could exist, and certainly never knew she could have it for herself.

alina told nate that she loved him in the book 3 research scene, which is the moment she realized that she loved him, but in my heart of hearts i know that the scene played out differently. instead, when he showed her everything he had arranged for them out in the garden, she says to him tearfully and in that bewildered way, where something is so wonderful and unexpected and incomprehensible that it hurts old wounds you forgot you had, that no one had ever done something like this before and that she loves him. in that moment she knew and in that moment it erupted unexpectedly out of her - she wouldn't have been able to wait until later while they were doing research to tell him.

after alina came sydney "syd" kingston, my morgan-romancing detective. syd didn't have a central question, but came into being because i wanted to play a sarcastic asshole (neither lauren or alina are the type). i also knew i was romancing morgan, so my character inspiration for this romance route was "two cunts in love". syd cares a lot about people, and actually cares a lot about her job, but it's all hidden so far underneath a veneer of assholery and dickishness that most people don't really get to see it.

syd is fine. syd is always fine. syd is never not fine. her relationship with rebecca is fine (to the point that she was taken aback in book 3 when rebecca wanted to be closer, because why would rebecca want that? things are fine). her recovery (mentally and physically) from murphy and the trappers is fine. her relationship with morgan is fine (in book 3, she realized that she's in love with morgan, and immediately decided to never tell her. in her mind, morgan has warmed up to her as a person and as a friend, but their relationship was set out to be explicitly and exclusively sexual back in book 2, no feelings involved. as far as syd knows, this is still the agreement between them. so morgan can never know that she has feelings). no one needs to worry about her. she's fine.

but she can never not be fine, because if she starts to pull the thread of this particular sweater, she will unravel the whole thing. if she acknowledges that what murphy did to her was traumatizing and that she still has nightmares about it, it will mean that she has to reassess everything else she has ever been "fine" about: if she thought she was fine with murphy but is actually decidedly not fine, then what other things has she said were "fine" that aren't? it means opening the door to not just acknowledging but feeling her anger at rebecca for being absent during her childhood. it means being vulnerable with people and being sincere about the ways that she has been hurt.

so she doesn't examine any of it. she's fine. it's all fine.

after syd came andrea "andy" reeves, my farah-romancing detective. i actually struggled the most with andy (i had to do two passes at her character) and i only settled into what she's like after a) i figured out what's wrong with her and b) i explicitly made her a lesbian. andy is in the unique position amongst my detectives of having what's wrong with her be (almost) completely unrelated to rebecca!! congrats andy!! 🎉🎉

andy's relationship with rebecca is also unique in that it is the most dynamic of all of my detectives': lauren's relationship starts bad and stays bad, alina's relationship starts good and stays good, and syd's relationship starts meh and is (at least for now) likely to stay meh. andy's relationship, in comparison, starts bad, and starts to get better in book 3.

andy spent her entire childhood hating rebecca and acting out against her. much like lauren, andy realized from a young age that rebecca would never give her the kind of love that she wanted in the ways that she wanted it, and she decided that having nothing was better than having something less than what she wanted. andy felt so much anger towards her mother for years. it was only in book 2, when she was talking to farah about how farah came to our world from echo world (farah mentions her mother, but doesn't explicitly state that her mother is dead/didn't make it through the portal until book 3 - but andy's not an idiot), that she began to reassess. over the end of book 2/the time between books 2 and 3, she thought about what would happen if rebecca died or if she died while doing this job. it's clearly a dangerous job: rook died doing it, andy's almost died several times doing it. andy took for granted, i think, the idea that rebecca would always be around to hate, but hearing farah's story about losing her own mother made her realize that that assumption isn't true. and andy realized in that moment that if something happened and she never got the chance to speak to rebecca again, all she would be able to think would be that all of this, all of the anger and hatred, had been so stupid.

in book 3, she tells rebecca that she wants them to grow closer. she still knows that rebecca will not be able to give her what she spent her life wanting, nor would they ever get the time back, but she feels now that she was wrong before: her relationship with rebecca will be different than what she always wanted, but it won't be worthless.

andy's second issue is mainly the realization that she can die. andy is my high combat skill detective. the short version of this story is that, when she was in university and starting to dress more masculinely and come into her own identity, she stopped some drunk guys at a bar from harassing some friends she was out with (very get-in-their-face, intimidate-them-into-backing-down). in that moment she realized that she had the power to protect people, to make a meaningful difference for them. that she could put herself between innocent people and the things that want to hurt them and that she could protect them.

this became a big part of her identity, and for years this worked without a problem. she became overconfident. when the agency asked to run the blood tests, she declined: not because she distrusts the agency (though she doesn't really trust them), but because she was confident enough in her own abilities to handle the situation that she didn't think she needed the extra help.

then murphy got her.

now she's incredibly traumatized by the experience with murphy, and is scared in a way she hasn't ever really felt because of her blood, and because the trackers are hunting her. for the first time, she's prey and not predator. and she doesn't know how to cope with it. she doesn't know how to cope with the trauma itself, and she doesn't know how to cope with the fact that she is traumatized when she thought herself invincible. because, as she's learned so many times since the beginning of the series, she isn't invincible.

and none of them got therapy (mostly because none of them recognize that they need it)!

[spumonibones]

Just some musings with a paragraph from chapter 22. Might delete this later because it's personal???

As their joined laughter filled the cavern, the walls seemed to twinkle like salt beneath the sunrise. In that moment, as Xiao looked into Venti's eyes surrounded by the joy, by the light… He found himself remembering what hope was. That if a god's anger could fester after their death, and turn into monsters… Then maybe, just maybe, a god's love could also persevere and instead start to heal. - Chasing Wings: Memoria, end chapter 2

This fic is funny in the sense that it was originally a silly isekai idea that by chapter 5 had to be completely overhauled because the plot had changed so many times and it became what it is now. I started just wanting to write entirely for myself for a change. My audience was me, and this fic is, at heart, a love song I'm writing for the joy that Genshin has given me. I would be a liar to say I'm happy with all their decisions, or that I don't have my complaints. But I've so many fun memories playing this game with friends, making silly scenarios, headcanons, etc. I love the lore, the use of real world inspirations.

It's the first multichapter fic in which I'm not trying to bribe readers with promises of sexual intimacy. I'm ace, and writing characters with their own type of aceness has been so freeing. It's a slowburn, the intimacy is that of relishing someone's company. Of building new and visiting old. It's the fantasy of seeing someone you love, platonic or familial, alive again and memory or not you get to watch them learn who they *want* to be without the baggage of who they *had* to be. It's a fantasy that can't play out in the real world.

It's, at heart, about learning to forgive yourself. About learning to heal from loss.

Xiao and Venti to me are such deep connections. The two are both so old, and have seen so much loss. They've become attached to people they ultimately outlive, every time. But when people look at them, they see youth. They don't see the weight of their age, and they see the masks instead. Both Xiao and Venti have roles they must play in their designated place within the game, and we as players get to peek beneath it.

I've had a lot of loss these last few years, and in my mid30s I still get mistaken for being in my twenties. Finding I might be the oldest person in the XiaoVen Fandom was one heck of a shock. Sometimes I wonder if I should quietly slip out, I'm so terrified of making someone feel uncomfortable or the space to feel unsafe.

But then I get these really kind comments. One I got this week, screenshotted it and sent to my close friends. It made me so happy. Maybe I won't stay. But I think, I'll at least be sure to put all of Chasing Wings up. Forgiving yourself and learning life after loss are such big things. One story won't guide anyone how to do that for themselves, but maybe it'll offer a connection someone might need.

But also... Who wouldn't want 30 chapters of Xiao and Venti supporting each other with a love that's soft and kind?

[maygrcnt]

I think the thing with buddie if they’re actually going down that road would that it would be insane for paving the road for future queer slow burns in tv like how buck being bi was so revolutionary in the same way Callie Torres and Rosa Diaz being bi was. They’d be our josh/donna, our mulder/scully. part of me seriously wonders if it could happen but then again I never thought 7.04 would happen ever so who knows

ugh the comparisson to callie, yeah fr. callie and buck are definitely my ultimate bi characters at this point, i love them so dearly and i kind of hope that they have a similar path of like having the person who awakens their queerness and then that relationship leads them to the love of their life (dont try to tell me calzona isnt endgame, they are to ME) .

but also youre so right. if you think of like THE slowburn gay ship...... well there just isnt one. most of the ones that could somewhat fit the category are really only a 3 ish season slow burn which.... in my opinion isnt rly a slowburn thats just a normal relationship arc. buddie could be that fucking girl! queer ships simply dont GET to be slowburns but i do think buddie could change that.

i also think that buddie could kind of make showrunners feel differently about the idea of stumbling into a queer relationship. because straight characters all the time will NEVER be meant to end up together but they do because as the show went on they accidentally fell into something magical. when this happens with same sex parings it almost always ends in queerbait, and buddie could set an insane precedent in this realm (i think bi buck is already doing INSANE things for the concept of not having to make characters explicitly queer from the very beginning and instead exploring it later)

[bishopknifetrickmp3]

any fic recs?

hi anon i am so so sorry for answering this so late, ive been putting it off and keep forgetting about it whoopsss but i hope it's not too late to rec some fic still...so let's gooooo

please noted that until this year, i hadn't read any peterick fic since 2017 so there's a lot im probably missing but im gonna try and recommend some newer fic (to me at least lol) here;

The High Way to Hell Series by @holytrohmanempire - ok this series is not new and everyone probably already read it BUT it's still ongoing and it's epically long and so so damn good, like fall out boy meet supernatural but better, the band dynamic is amazing, the characterization is on point, the episodic format is delightful, AND the peterick slowburn and the payoff in infinity on high installment is wonderful, i would need a whole new post to rave about this fic so i will stop now

Crooked Love - oh man i am OBSESSED with this fic ive been saying this for months, it's just a perfect disastrous romcom, it's funny, it's got my anxiety rising, it's hot, it's romantic, it's featuring finance bro patrick being a human dumpster fire, i love it to death. the author also write other amazing fics, id recommend silver screen dream, between the sheets, and i've forgiven jesus (the last two were co-written and ive forgiven jesus was pretty damn harrowing, but oh so fucking GOOD)

The Difference Between Real Love and the Love On TV - aka instant classic 21st century modern american literature, put this on your bookshelves now

thought i felt you before - now you're closer - the one where patrick is an actual medium and there's hiatus and trying to get your best friend back via asking him to talk to your dead grandfather, it's great and it's gonna rip your heart out a bit but in a very healing way i promise

And I Lived So Much Life - THE ultimate star-crossed lovers, scar-crossed lovers fic of all time, of course they'd be twin skeletons fated for thousand years 25 lives itd only be fair for me to chase you across hundreds thousands lifetime until i find the one in which you return to me OF COURSE

I Don't Want You To Go Yet - kinda summer fling au, the writing is seriously beautiful and the way the author built up their heartbreak is soooooo good

assortment of various incredible au: Here Come This Rising Tide (the robin hood au, SO SO GOOD), Hell or High Water (crazily good pirate au, the author, the_chaotic_panda wrote so many incredible stories please do scroll through their works and enjoy), Superposition (will give you an existential crisis, highly recommend)

i also have raved about older peterick fic under my fic rec tag and for some rec for livejournal era fic, do check out peterick rec list and dropbox made by the incredible @justtothesea i really think it's the most comprehensive list of (older) peterick fic we have, anyway enjoy reading!

[darklinaforever]

Ok. I need to address this.

Are there people who seriously think that Stydia was just fan service, out of nowhere in season 6? Seriously ? What series did you watch exactly? There are countless strong Stydia scenes with ambiguous and or romantic implications, or outright ROMANTIC background music in the series, long before Season 6! In 5X14 alone, Stiles asks Lydia to wake up while holding her hand with the song Where's My Love playing in the background. And yet people didn't see the romantic subtext in there? Really ? What do you need then?

Also, I've seen some haters claiming that there was nothing to be surprised about when Stydia broke up in the movie, because Dylan O'brien always hated Stydia, and said in an interview that they would have broken up at the after a few weeks...

So that's wrong.

Yes, Dylan said that, before going on to the fact that he was joking and that the two were meant to be together and happy. It's beautiful denial in some people anyway. To distort the words of an actor at this point to prove himself right.

Then it was Dylan who improvised the Stydia kiss on the cheek in 6X01. My ass he hates Stydia.

Also, quite a few of the cast members themselves were shipping Stydia together. To claim otherwise is bullshit.

And to anyone complaining that Stydia was too long and therefore no longer made sense...

It was fucking slowburn. A slowburn is supposed to be long to get a final realization! That's the point ! Canonically, in their universe, Stydia took 3 years to be together after being friends in high school. Sorry to tell you, but it's not an eternity or unrealistic. Not everyone gets in couple quickly.

Besides, I don't understand this obsession to say that Stydia is not valid because we've never seen them be a couple in a direct way...

You know, it's like complaining that fairy tales end right on the reunion of lovers finally reunited, or their marriage, being done, we have no insight into how their romantic relationship really works. But no one ever gets upset about it, or says it makes the relationship less valid. Besides, it's not a scheme found only in fairy tales, but including in a lot of classic novels with a central romance, or more recently in some romantic comedies.

And honestly? I don't care to see my ship's life as a couple! What matters is the buildup and the fact that they finally end up together in the end. Seeing them in couple mode is ultimately just a bonus, which I don't care about, because I can easily imagine it myself.

Oh, and if you're backing up the Stydia shit script of the movie as confirmation of your dumb ideas about this couple being forced, ridiculous, meant to break up forever, etc, well that just proves you're hopeless. This movie was absolute shit in every way, a goddamn thing that ruins the whole series, and not just Stydia. Even Allison's comeback is stupid. (and I say that as I ship Scott and Allison)

But in addition, knowing that the film still remains in the idea that Lydia is in love with Stiles and visibly sad to have abandoned him, and that Jeff Davis himself said in an interview that the two will most likely meet again... How is this supposed to be a victory for the anti?!

It mostly feels like a stupid breakup made to create unnecessary drama that would probably get a resolution later. Like the majority of couples getting together in a series that continues and has not actually ended its story.

Another of the reasons why I prefer the story to end once the couple are together rather than stretching out and seeing inevitable breakups / reconciliations made to keep the viewer hooked.

And as much as I'm a fan of Stydia, I absolutely refuse that this film be entitled to a sequel one day. It's shit, from A to Z, that deserves to be ignored and forgotten.

Teen Wolf movie sequel =

Also, those who act like Stydia aren't in a 6X20 couple are... pathetic at best? Everyone forgets this scene where Stydia takes her hand by instinct and where Lydia, remembering her first kiss with Stiles, tells Malia to kiss Scott to help calm him down? No, of course, let's forget this scene to justify our fantasy of: There was never anything ambiguous or romantic about Stydia, including in the last episode, proving that season 6A was a mistake!

And there are anti Stiles, acting like his character is toxic? People act like Stydia is toxic? Really ? It's so stupid it honestly makes me laugh.

I've been on tumblr for 2 years, but I only took a look at the Stydia/Teen wolf tag recently, and the crap I've seen there is really startling.