#you can really sense the writers gritting their teeth as they wrote these like WHAT PART OF THIS ARENT U GETTING

[sagegarnish]

When your target demographic just doesn’t get it

[matryosika]

The Look

Pairing: Hyunjin x fem!reader Wordcount: 2,159 words Genre: Smut (18+) Includes: Ex!hyunjin, mentions of break up and indications of an unhealthy relationship (nothing too detailed or specific). Possesiveness, a bit of angst if you squint. Infidelity? But not really? It's nothing too serious, anyway. Smut warnings under the cut. Author's Note: Wrote this TODAY. Everybody say congratulations on overcoming your writer's block Femme! It honestly has been a fucking while since I wrote anything, so this is news to me really. To be really honest I didn't want to get anywhere with this, I just felt like indulging myself with the "we shouldn't be doing this" kind of trope, so this is what it came out! Please remember that english is not my first language and this is not proofread, so I apologize for any mistakes in advance. If you like this, please leave a comment/reblog/ask and let me know what you think! AND if you wish to support my work further, you can buy me a ko-fi! The link it's in my pinned post. I love you for even reading me.

Smut warnings: Sex in a public place (club's restroom). Unprotected vaginal sex mentions of a condom but they ended up not using it anyways. Lots of dirty talking and physical touch. No kissing at all because they're exes and they don't go around kissing each other, apparently (but they do fuck so... ?). Jealous and possesive Hyunjin. Creampie. Multiple orgasms, overstimulation, use of petnames (baby and pretty). Hyunjin is kind of controlling, not in a dom kind of way but in a "I know you better than you know yourself" kind of way.

“He can’t make you feel like I do, can he?”

It's hard to think coherently and give him a proper answer when his cock is hitting the deepest spots within you. Repeatedly.

Not only that, but he's holding your hips in the angle he knows best. 

Hyunjin is right, no one can make you feel like he does. In every sense of the sentence. 

“He doesn’t know how to fuck you like this, right?” The queries continue, plump lips dragging along your jaw and chin with no other purpose than to feel your skin. Despite you two ending things, seemingly for good, you somehow always found yourself in the same situation: against him, or on top of him, or underneath him. “I know you don’t let him”. 

You're reminded of whatever he is talking about when you feel the rubber of the condom inside your hand, gripping it just as harshly as your walls clench around Hyunjin's dick.

He is right again, you don’t let your new conquer fuck you raw like he is doing right now. Shit, you haven't even let him fuck you at all.

That is not something your ex boyfriend should know about. 

“Baby,” the pet name slips off your lips and it sends shivers down Hyunjin's spine. It has been a while since he has heard you calling him that, but it still has the exact same effect.

Perhaps it's now boosted, considering neither of you should be fucking each other at this point. At least not now, that you've started dating men again. 

Nothing too serious, but you've tried to convince everyone that you're already over your ex boyfriend. And if by over you mean completely obsessed and desperate for the way only he knows how to fuck you, then yes: you are over him.

“Feels good?” Hyunjin asks through gritted teeth, pressing his forehead against yours. You can feel tears of his sweat mixing with yours, his fresh and minty breath fanning your cheeks and eyelashes. You nod desperately, swallowing thickly in hopes of being able to articulate a single, monosyllabic word. Yet the way he feels inside your pussy is too overwhelming to even let you form a coherent response. “Do you really think he could fuck you hard like this? Make you this wet?”

He could, but you're never going to know anyway. 

“That’s why you keep crawling back to me,” he gasps, squeezing his eyes shut when he feels your walls convulsing around him, “that's why you keep letting me fuck you”. 

It was for the best, you repeat yourself every time he thrusts his cock deeper inside you. It was for the best, but that doesn't necessarily mean it was what you wanted.

Ending things off with Hyunjin seemed like the only way to go —you two just didn't work out, no matter how hard each one of you tried. 

You loved each other, but it was kind of a sick love, a poisonous one. One would think they'll be able to live through it, but it eventually consumes you.

It ignites a fire that can never be put down. And living amongst flames it's not exactly what either of you were looking for. 

“Right there,” you cry out, the pathetic sounds being drowned by the music and party bustle happening outside the club's restroom where your date is patiently waiting for you.

Does he know Hyunjin is fucking you just meters away from him? Does he know you're going back home with a sore pussy and cum trailing down your legs?

Hyunjin’s cock twitches at the idea of him finding out you’re being dicked down by none other than your ex. 

The one you claim to be over with. 

The one whose memory, you assured, wasn't a threat to a new relationship.

“Yeah, right here?” Damned be him, who knows you maybe too well. You suppress a scream when his palm digs into the flesh of your lower tummy, pressing down hard where the tip of his cock is brushing the deepest spots within you, “can you feel me here? Can you feel how hard my dick is?”

You moan in response. 

You can feel him there, and everywhere. You can feel his slim fingers pressed against the flesh of your hips. You can feel the tip of his nose buried on your neck, and his lips leaving a wet trail everywhere they go. You can feel his pulse, his heavy breathing.

The despair of being without fucking you for so long.

“That’s it,” Hyunjin groans when he feels you grinding your hips against his, lifting them up ever so slightly over the restroom sink. When you start forcing yourself against him, to do anything to feel him closer, he knows you're close to cumming. “That’s it, pretty, come and get what you want from me like you always do”. 

You have no other choice but to arch your back, the overwhelming pleasure taking control not only of your limbs but your whole body. You wrap your arms around Hyunjin's neck and your legs around his hips  tightly, pulling him as close as humanly possible.

“Just like that,” he praises you, licking his lips when his eyes fall to where your bodies connect. 

Hyunjin feels like he could come with that sight alone, but he needs to elongate it. What if you go back home with the man you're supposed to be on a date with, and decide that you want something serious with him? What if it's the last time he ever gets to fuck you? 

Hyunjin can't just come like that. He can't come without engraving the way your body feels inside his brain.

He can't come without letting his mouth speak freely what his pride doesn't allow him to say on a regular day.

Hyunjin can't come just yet. He needs you a bit more. A little bit longer.

“C-coming,” you sob against his neck, feeling him holding you tightly when your body trembles almost aggressively, “don’t stop, Hyunjin. D-don’t fucking stop”.

Not that he intended to.

Instead, he pushes his hips harder. Deeper. His hands move from your hips to your ass, and he uses his grip as leverage to piston even rougher inside you. 

So much so, you wince in pain. You don't want him to stop, but you can feel the built up tension exploding little by little. 

Like fireworks, one after the other.

“See?” Hyunjin groans, taking it upon him to help you ride your high. He doesn't slow down, despite how your nails are digging into his hair and the flesh of his nape. “We've broken up but your body still remembers me. You’re still so weak for me”. 

You hate how right he is, but you can't argue back. 

After going without each other for so long, almost 4 months, you didn't expect your body to react like this to his touch.

But it appears as if it has a mind of its own, one to which you have no access to. 

“No,” you shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut. The waves of pleasure travel from your core to the tip of your toes, and from your erect nipples to the thin hairs on your arms. You’re covered in goosebumps and can barely even remember any other name that’s not Hyunjin’s. “I’m not- I’m just-”.

It’s pointless to try and say something back. You're making a fool of yourself and you know it, but it seems as if your dignity always appears right at the epitome of the post-nut clarity. 

With Hyunjin's dick still inside you, you know such clarity is not going to last long, but you're going to hold on to it for as good as it lasts. 

“You’re just what?” He taunts you, guiding one of your hands from your arse to your face. He takes your cheeks and cups them, forcing your lips into a pathetic pout. “Desperate for me? For my touch?”

You try to shake your head as a way of saying no because your mouth can only do so much, but Hyunjin keeps you in place.

“No?” He asks you, frustration lingering on his tone. “Wasn’t this what you wanted all night long?”

4 months ago, things seemingly followed the natural course of them.

After much fucking and bickering, even after having broken up, you two parted ways —Hyunjin immersed himself in his profession, and you did the same. The late night calls weren't taken as frequently, and the drunken messages stopped receiving any sort of response.

It seemed as if you were already over each other —not only over the relationship, but those strange encounters you kept on having too. 

That was, of course, way long before tonight's affair. 

“No,” you whine yet again, trying to convince yourself that all that is happening wasn’t provoked and invited by you. “I was just- with my date”. 

“And where is that date of yours right now, pretty?” His voice is trembling, but Hyunjin still manages to keep his composure. 

He has always been the one to have the last word in everything, that much you know. And how could he not, when his voice stands strong even at moments like this, when his mind is completely losing control.

“You don’t even know, right?” 

He teases you, mouth slightly agape while a series of grunts and gasps escape his lips.

Sadly, he is getting closer.

“You don’t even know where he is because you stopped caring about him the minute you saw me, right?” The cockiness in his voice is a painful reminder that you're not as strong-willed as you think you are. Not only that, but it also reminds you of how true Hyunjin is. “You’re so easy to read, so f-fucking easy”. 

You clench around him when you hear how he struggles to keep on talking. The way he runs out of breath, and each groan that follows every word is getting you going way more than it should. 

“That gaze of yours-” Hyunjin continues, nibbling at his plump bottom lip while his cat-like eyes find yours in the middle of the neon lights, “always tells me exactly what you want”. 

The look. The sight that will be forever imprinted in Hyunjin’s mind for good.

That look you used to give him when you were on your knees, with your hands wrapped around his length and the tip of his cock hitting the deepest part in your throat. 

That look you always gave him when the tip of his dick slid for the first time that night inside of you, along with that sigh of relief that escaped your lips every time it happened.

The look. 

When you saw him standing right across from you at the club, Hyunjin could decipher your gaze easily. 

After all, he is the one who knows you the most. 

“And I know this is what you want, right?” He asks you, increasing the speed of his thrusts. They get rougher as they get sloppier, completely losing the steady and sensual rhythm he set at first. 

You press your lips in a thin line, shutting your eyes close right after they threaten to start spilling tears from them. 

Hyunjin is always too much to take, and you're not sure if you love it or hate it. 

“I know you miss me just as much as I do,” Hyunjin gasps, salty drops of sweat traveling from his temples to your chest and tummy. “You can try to get over me, but I know you won't,” each word is accompanied by a harsh thrusts of his hips. 

It feels like a threat, but it's a fact.

“You don’t want to get over me, you just want to pretend,” he's fully aware of how loud he is being. How whiny his words are coming off, how desperate he sounds overall. But he can’t help himself, not when he is so close to tasting that sweet relief he has been craving for months now. “You can fuck- every man you want-, but it is always going to be me who you think about when you're coming around their cocks”. 

With that, he lets out a raspier, more primal grunt. One that’s explosive enough to stop him right on his tracks, breathing heavily while his head hangs low. 

You can feel his dick twitching inside of you, just right after you came around him for the third time tonight. 

Unexpected, without a warning. 

Your orgasm washed over you just as quickly as Hyunjin's did. With a dry throat and strangled breath you look at each other, feeling his hot arousal pumping inside you, painting your walls white. 

One would think that there's nothing left to say. Not when you're in this state of frenzy, completely unaware of your surroundings. 

But, as usual, Hyunjin has to have the last word.

“That is, if they can get you to come at all”. 

[winterinhimring]

20 Questions for Writers

Thanks for the tag, @musewrangler! This looks fun.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

94.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

852,051. (Holy cow.)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

A lot! Tolkien, Star Wars, Marvel, and Hornblower are the ones I've written most for, but I've also written stories for the 1985 movie Silverado, and for The Three Musketeers, Dune, The Hunt for Red October, and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Jat'ca'nara, The War of the Ring, Pirunir Sur'haaise, break my bonds and be bound to me (what. the. heck.), and Ba'slan Shev'la.

I will admit, I was not expecting all of those. The Star Wars ones (all the Mando'a titles) make sense, WOTR is my first and longest fic and also in the Tolkien fandom, but break my bonds is one of the RAREST of rare pairs and despite it being in the Star Wars fandom too, it's focussed on some comparatively minor characters, so I am...very surprised by that.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! Always. I love receiving comments so the least I can do is respond to them. Also, I nearly always have thoughts to share with my readers in response to their thoughts on my fic.

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

Unquestionably Cuyan'e. It's a character study of two very deeply broken men who have both lost everything, one at the hands of the other, and it earns its 'hurt no comfort' tag. The title means "Survivors" because they're both the last survivors of their families. It's very unusual for me to write a fic this painful without putting in a happy ending, but that story pretty much showed up to my brain written the way it is, and when that happens I write what I'm given.

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

That's much harder to answer than the last one! A significant majority of my fics have happy endings, or at least happier ones than canon. However, I'll have to go with Tegaanal, the climax of my Star Wars fix-it series, because it's such an earned happy ending and we watched the characters fight for it every step of the way.

8. Do you get hate on your fic?

Nope! I review my comments on the first couple of fics of any series, until I have an idea of what my reader base is like, and that seems to ward off the weirdos.

9. Do you write smut?

Heck no. I don't need that in my head.

10. Do you write crossovers?

On occasion! Usually because the muses show up and start jumping on the table banging pans together until I write them something.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to the best of my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I HAVE had a piece of music inspired by a fic. I wrote a poem (in Mando'a and in English) for Partaylir, and the absolutely fantastic Siena_Alexandria actually wrote a tune for it and recorded the result. If you like Mandalorians, Mando'a, conlangs, or just good music, listen to it here! (Each chapter is a different version of the poem.)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Yep, several! Mostly with @musewrangler.

14. What‘s your all-time favourite ship?

I don't really have one, as I don't tend to get all that deeply invested in ships. Characters, yes, but not specific ships. I guess I have a soft spot for Walon Vau/Shmi Skywalker, though, since it's a canoe I launched all by myself (see my boggled reaction to break my bonds and be bound to me being one of my most-kudosed fics above).

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

*grits teeth* I. Will. Finish. All. My. WIPs. (There's only one that is arguably in danger of abandonment, Of the History of the White Tree, and I'm going to come back to it as soon as I've reread the source material.)

16. What’s your writing strengths?

Hmm...I would say it's my character writing, above all else. Once I have a clear mental picture of what someone would or wouldn't do, I can basically drop him into situations and just let them play out and see what happens, pretty much trusting the character to respond the way he should. A lot of my fics consist of this, and the consensus from my readers has been that I do it well.

17. What’s your writing weaknesses?

Strong emotions, and people who are open with their emotions, are difficult for me to write. Whenever I write a scene that involves feelings and vulnerability, I have a holy terror of becoming kitschy. And people who actually show their emotions voluntarily by default are kind of a mystery to me, so I don't really write them because I don't understand them.

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

Fun to do when I know the language and/or enough of it to get by! I put in quite a lot of Mando'a for my Star Wars stories and I enjoy working within the constraints of its limited vocabulary because it forces me to pare down my usually verbose writing style into just the core of the meaning I intend to convey.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Tolkien! My first, most lasting, and perhaps dearest fandom.

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

HOW CAN I PICK JUST ONE???? My favourite fic is nearly always the one I'm writing now, though, so right now it's So We Can Learn to Pick Ourselves Up, the latest instalment of what started as post-Endgame MCU fix-it and has now grown into a live-action Spider-man multiverse fix-it.

No-pressure tags for @ramblingsofachristiannerd, @hollers-and-holmes, @lady-merian, @ghosts-and-blue-sweaters, @thatonebasicfan, and anyone who'd like to jump on!

[authoralexharvey]

Alex Does Half-NaNo — Day 4

Don't look for days 1-3 I didn't do them lol

I was fully resolute to not do NaNoWriMo this year, believe it or not. I’ve talked about why not before, and then last year about why I did, both of which were fun delves into my writing thought processes. Obviously, as each essay was a couple of years apart, I changed a lot as a writer and a person.

This year, I resolved myself to not do NaNoWriMo. I didn't have any projects worth writing 50k of (at least, probably not) and every year the sort of... panic and despair and sheer suffering--even meme-ified--that other people talk about just... really bothers me. It still does, even now.

That said, today a sort of Worm entered my brain and consumed my thoughts, built from the remnants of a half-idea. I still don't have a complete picture of what the fuck I'm doing, but I do know this: Writing a whole 50k is impossible for me in one month right now. It just is. But I can probably do half of that. 25k in uhhh. 26 days. A bit less than 1k a day. That seems manageable.

So I'm off to the races. I'll make a proper intro for this project when I have a more concrete idea of the plot. For now, all you need to know is I'm working on something called A Bitter-Tasting Blood, which is set around the time of ASMLP and involves a monster hunter, Toshiko, who must work with a reformed monster woman turned social menace, Fel, to stop the hoards of monsters overtaking Hadorae.

(You may remember the country of Hadorae if you ever read TWEfA)

Will I stick purely to this? Idk. I may write more ASMLP if I get stuck. I may switch over completely. I could do some third unrelated thing entirely. The entire point is to just shit out 25k just to prove to myself I can.

Anyway here's some of what I wrote today.

The woman who enters is grizzled in every sense of the word. Permanent dark circles hug her sunken eyes. Her hair, the color of corn silk and just as tangled, comes to rest at her lower back. Two thick, brown horns sprout from her temples, curving up and backwards. 

She grins, revealing pointed teeth, and Toshiko knows at once what she is.

“Monster.” She springs to her feet, hand at once at her side, realizing too late she had been forced to leave her sword behind. A swift glance around the room provides little she can use for offense, but she eyes an uncapped pen on the desk.

The moment she lunges, a hand grips her forearm and drags her back. The creature opens its jaw and laughs, the sound oddly human.

“Not quite, dear.” It regards her with eyes the color of storm-riddled sky, pupils thin like a snake’s. 

She jerks in Lord Egawa’s grip, but he holds firm with fingers of steel. Gritting her teeth, she keeps her gaze on the monster as she says, “Father, release me.”

“She is not our enemy.”

The words slam into her, each one its own sort of weight. The bead around her throat grows warm with rage.

[rivthewriter]

For the WIP ask game, I'm really intrigued by "The land of the tender incident" (sounds like TGFC and HuaLian?? Maybe smut?!) and "The Untold Story".

Please enlighten me as to what these are about 😍🙏🏼😊

Hi hi! I'm so glad you chose these two! And thank you for asking! I completely forgot The Land Of The Tender Incident was listed in there tbh, and no worries of getting the name mixed up (I saw your other ask <3) I do that too, especially with the titles of my own works. it is indeed tgcf but, instead of hualian, its Mu Qing and Feng Xin, because im a little goober who loves the 'angsty cat type guy falls for the dog type guy he keeps hissing at' tropes, its not written too far, in all honesty idk if it'll ever even see the light of day (and it def wont remain that title. its just titled that so i remember what fandom its from lmao) But its around post tgcf, where the two of them have to investigate claims of some form of unrest just within the boundaries of both of their domains, They're arguing the *whole time* and end up not paying attention to whats going on around them (cuz they're too busy butting heads), and MQ ends up accidentally disturbing the beginning blooms of the land of tender, and it sends this, pollen/scent into the air (as it does) and the rest goes on from there >:3 The event leads MQ to accidentally letting it slip that just maybe he liked FX for quite a long time but always had a hard time accepting it or showing it because their rivalry was.. *fun* for him. They both knew how to get under eachother's skin after all.. and hey, even though they fight all the time they did seem to get along besides it.. for the most part.. I'm unsure if i want the smut to be during that incident or shortly after because i want to milk the angst and frustration aspect of it >:3 If i had to give a sneak peek.. well I leave you with this short section (which one day may be slightly adjusted since i wrote this at like. 4 am):

"...His Highness dealt with this before and made it through it without doing anything too.. strange.. you can make it through this too" Feng Xin replied, glancing at the other martial god, the light was starting to go down, casting shadows into the run-down building, they were lucky to have found it... despite the circumstances.

"He stabbed himself in the stomach with a sword to keep himself from breaking his cultivation. I'm not about to do that. My cultivation matters but for fucks sake I'm not that insa-" Mu Qing got cut off by a sharp shudder running through him "Insane." he finished, gritting his teeth.

And onto A Tale Untold! <3 A Tale Untold is a wip for Fragile Dreams, which is an older wii game that not many people know about. It takes place after the story of the game, years down the road, when Seto, the protagonist, stumbles upon a man suspended in a preservation tank, he then manages to release the man, and discovered that this stranger has no memory of how he got in there, why, or even what his name was. So, he dubbed the stranger 'Starling' and promised to help him recover his past. Chapter one is up on my ao3 (thankfully i beat the writers block for that chapter) and chapter two is in the works, its a sorta fix-it future fic where i decided "yknow what. this character didnt need to die in canon. im bringing him back and no one can stop me" I will say, this one is one of my favorites to just, sit down and brainstorm for. though if you ask my friends on discord you will find that I've had like, thorough discussions about "is this ethical? what about this? does the science behind this make any sense?" as if this isn't just a silly goofy fanfic im writing for the hell of it lmao

And i will give you a small sneak peek at chapter two! (and of course, it is subject to change, im constantly rewriting my stuff) :

Starling’s behavior stressed Seto out beyond measure, he was constantly worried Starling would fall and injure himself, or come face to face with some rabid, stray animal. But stress wasn’t the only feeling that had been bubbling in Seto. An odd sense of familiarity was building, each time he would chance a glance at Starling he would see a familiar flash of a multi-color coat, a yellow scarf.. It would make Seto pause for a moment, chest tightening. He didn’t really know why Starling reminded him of the friend he had forgotten.. The one who gave him the ring he couldn't bear to part with for even a second. Perhaps it was their happy-go-lucky natures that seemed similar.. Or their thrill-seeking behavior..  Starling and Crow were just.. *so* similar.

[inkskinned]

Sweet love, what are your biggest creative inspirations? How do the words just flow from you? I long to feel such passion for words and write in those ways. Sending you love and love and love.

i love u but this is not accurate to my experience. i love u but i don't feel that way. i love u but. i am rarely excited to write.

that's the whole secret. i taught myself to sit down and do it anyway. writing is a craft, not just a hobby. in the same way musicians sit down and make themselves run scales - writers need to sit down and just-write-something.

"but it's bad". so what? you don't need to sell it. it just needs to exist so your muscles warm up.

"i have nothing left to say." me neither. i ran out of things to say about 10 years ago.

"i don't know what to do here!" there isn't a right answer. you are leaning in to that feeling, not away from it.

"i hate what i've made." yeah, that happens. keep going anyway. you don't need to like it, you just need to do it.

our brains are plastic and every time we do this, we train ourselves a little bit better. we might not be able to say exactly why we hated something we wrote, but if you write 40 things you hate, your brain starts forming a picture in your subconscious - maybe you actually only like to write about feathers. maybe you're not really into prose. maybe you like gardens. whatever.

and it makes you bored. that's the most important thing. it makes you super, horribly bored. and then you write anyway. writing bored is often annoying but it is also super important. because your brain is going to start looking for new things to say and do. and then , there you go - suddenly you're writing something fun and wild.

and if that doesn't come for a year? whatever. you have had a year of practice. of writing without the wings of inspiration. when it does come, you'll be able to push through parts that would have otherwise stopped you - because you haven't been stopped by worse conditions. you'll have a more interesting language scheme, you'll have a sense of your own style, you'll have a better grasp on body language... and it feels amazing. it's like. taking off the weights around your ankles.

without that year of practice? of slogging? you don't have those muscles. so the first time inspiration sort-of flags, you find yourself unable to finish your writing. or it's not "good enough" so you stop. or you don't love a paragraph, so you stop.

with the year of bad writing, you're like - i don't even care about that stuff, i've made worse, let's keep going. you can make yourself do it.

artists do studies and try different styles. singers do voice lessons and try different genres. dancers put in hours at the gym and then hike to rehearsal. the thing about art is that it is difficult and not all of it is going to come from a place of harmony and passion. it's just about gritting your teeth and grinding through it.

because when you do finally get it? yeah, dude. i promise it's worth it.

[wearingaberetinparis]

Hey! Just read (You're so)Golden and seriously I have seen (or particularly,read) more talented writer than you.❤️

I thought there can be nothing more heartbreaking than your Gold Plated Love but I literally cried my eyes out at this.

Will you write a James's POV for this? I'm excited to read it.

Lots of Love ❤️❤️

I don't even know what to say to this other than: thank you so much! I am so sorry that I made you cry, but I'm so grateful that I could inspire such emotions with something I wrote. I hope you have recovered by now and please know that I appreciate you so much for coming here and dropping gems like these in my inbox. I am not going to write a James POV for this, that is: I hadn't planned on it and there are so many other stories left to write. To thank you, however, I've written one scene from James' POV. You can read it below the cut.

All my love! ❤️

He was not going to look at her. That’s what he had told himself all morning, what he had promised himself the moment Mary had called him to – with a sense of trepidation – tell him that Lily was going to be at the wedding and that she had agreed to be her Maid of Honour. He had told Mary it was fine, of course, that he would still be there, that he couldn’t wait to see her and Callum tie the knot. (The latter statements were – however, painful the reminder that some people did, in fact, see their engagement through – the absolute truth.) Yet, the minute their conversation had ended, he had dropped his head on his arms and hadn’t moved from this position for at least half an hour. (After that, he had freaked out, called his friends and he had nearly accepted Sirius’ offer of a beer and a fag, even though he didn’t drink or smoke and – as an Olympic athlete – really shouldn’t have been tempted to in the first place. But desperate times induced by the memory of the ex-girlfriend, whom he had intended to marry and love for the rest of his life, apparently made him forget all about his principles.) No, he wasn’t going to look at her as she walked ahead of the bridal party, wearing a bridesmaid’s dress, flowers in her hand, her silky, auburn hair falling in waves past her shoulders, her make-up the bare minimum – she didn’t like too much, said it made her feel like a different person altogether – and still managing to be a beautiful, blushing – he swallowed, bowed his head. No, he wasn’t going to look at her, because he could picture her perfectly. He didn’t need to look at her to know that he was still desperately, deeply, devotedly in love with her. The wedding march started to play and he stiffened at the sound. He stood sandwiched between both Remus and Sirius, whom – at the same time, it nearly seemed coordinated – put their hands on his shoulders in a gesture of comfort, which he – even though he hated to admit it – truly appreciated and sorely needed. He managed not to look at her, but did catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye and he gritted his teeth to keep himself from turning his head to get his fill, to just check if she seemed okay, if she had found what she had been looking for when she left him. No one could make me feel happy at the moment, James. The words still stung, haunted him day and night, on land and on the water. He had never failed this dramatically, this devastatingly, but the one time it actually mattered he had and it had truly broken not just his heart, but him, as a person. His resolve not to look at her was successful until after Callum and Mary said “I do” and sealed their status as husband and wife with a kiss. His eyes strayed from the pair – perhaps the sight of them was too confrontational, too much a reminder of what he himself had lost – and fell to where Lily stood on the couple’s left. His heart stopped when he saw her looking right back at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. He felt rooted to the spot, for a moment could not do anything but return her stare, could only think: This could have been us, Evans. In another lifetime, this could have been us. And then he remembered what it had been like to receive that phone call in February, roughly a year and a half ago. How he had rushed to the airport, had taken the first available flight back to England, only to arrive at the hospital and see her in a state that he had never imagined he would ever find her in; black, bruised, battered. It had crushed him, it was the first time he remembered crying in his adult life. The second time had been at her parents’ funeral, the third time when she had told him she wasn’t sure if she would ever come back, not just to the country, but to him. He looked away from her then, let his head drop as he stared at his hands that had started applauding – it seemed – out of their own accord. He had promised himself not to look at her. He would have done well to have heeded his own advice.

[kimyoonmiauthor]

Romance: How to make a consensual kiss sexy.

I wrote a post https://www.tumblr.com/kimyoonmiauthor/724640612027121664/how-to-write-safe-r-sex-consent-in-sex-scenes?source=share. So I am going to write a post on how asking for a kiss can be sexy. This is in answer to an article that thought asking for a kiss wasn’t sexy. Oh and making grand declarations of love without a kiss can also be sexy. And it’s trash saying Mr. Darcy didn’t ask for consent. Every stage he does ask for consent. Every version. Colin Firth to the new movie and older movies, consent. No arm tugs, no forced kisses. Any character in an Austin novel that tried anything close to arm tugs or forced kisses gets binned.

To review the basics of romance, as I’ve said before... romance is both a court argument (AND These people belong together forever for the following reasons...) and playing with a rubberband in terms of tension. (This, for those who’ve been following my worldwide story structure series is true worldwide. I’ve watched more rom coms than you care to know from various countries and locales) I’ll try my best, BTW, to make this LGBTQIA friendly.

SLOW

90/10 Rule

Alan Seawright credit here, saying this on Twilight commentary said, the 90/10 rule. (I think it was New Moon on Cinema Therapy about Jacob)

One partner comes 90, the other comes 10.

Soft caress to the face

Back of fingers to the cheek, long stare, looking down to lips, back to eyes, slow head tilting and coming in. Cupping face slowly Slow cupping of face, stroking of cheeks, eye gaze, then kiss.

BUT I WANT IT FASTER!

Consensual flirting for AGES.

Until both characters are on the brink. Bring up the tension by releasing it, making it more taut until the rubber band breaks. If you make the audience scream, c’mon, DO IT. DO IT. Then that’s about right. Then the characters meet at 50/50. Hinting at it.

“Haha. You want to kiss me.” (in ear, softly) “Are you staring at my lips?” “Usually, this is where people would kiss, but I won’t.”

And then the other person says, something like, “But I thought you would.” 

Make vocal asking sexy

Whispered into the ear

brushes ear, and whispers into it, “Wanna kiss?”

During phone flirting

All I can think about is your soft lips and touching them. Would you like that?

During a love letter

I think about how far we are and great it would be if you wanted to kiss me as I do you.

During dancing

He spun towards Kai as Kai held him close. His lips were so close. “You’re thinking about kissing me,” Kai said.

Screamed into a pillow

“I want to kiss you so much, but we can’t.” She flipped over and stared at the canopy of the ceiling then got up.

“Why can’t we?” Laura asked, kneeling next to her.

caught together really close while being chased

His breath caught on their nose. Guards were coming. But why did the smell of him, make them want him more? It made no sense. “This is our last moment,” he said. “We might not make it. One last kiss for good luck?” Staring lovingly, into their eyes, they tugged him down and he kissed them.

make it a negative

“You don’t want to kiss me.”

Movie reference. “My favorite part of Titanic was when Rose was on the bow of the ship. What was yours?”

“When they kissed for the first time,” side eyes.

BUT MORE (Toxic) MASCULINITY

*eyerolls* Rapey? OK...

If you insist on arm pulls and the like, you can still end up with teasing. For example... He pulled her towards him, his breath coming hard as he stared into her eyes. He tilted his head. He was going to kiss her. He was. But then he grinned and said, “Not today.” She gritted her teeth. He laughed before kissing her.

BTW, After the kiss, checking in, (not in lieu of prior consent) isn’t bad.

“Did you like that?” “Are your lips tingling too?” “Should we do tongue next time?” “Do you want more?” *Wink* “Wasn’t that fun?”

Might make the character sexier... again, if the character is into it, and the reader feels emotionally invested in the action and character, they will go along with it. We’re writers. We’re supposed to come up with creative scenarios. We can do better. What is wrong with her asking, or them asking? What is wrong with flirting for ages over it? If romance is delivering a maximum tension before the characters get together, then kissing should be included. And it doesn’t have to be toxic.

[recurring-polynya]

For Stuff For Renji's Birthday Prompts: 1) time travel turn back the clock nonsense, bc I'm an enabler and Karakura teens plus shithead Renruki teens has *Byakuya voice* strong comedic potential OR 2) Hisana lives but due to wacky circumstances, nobody notices Rukia's existence at the Academy... until they've graduated and Renruki have joined Squad 11. Dealer's choice! (Honestly whichever you pick, I might try writing the one you don't. I am not a writer these 2 just live in my head rent free)

Why would you make me choose between these, whyyyyyyyyyy?

To be honest, I almost did them both, but this was the second one I did, and I figured that I should probably do some other people’s prompts, and then I ran out of time. I might do you some time travel shenanigans later. (This should in no way stop you from writing these, I would flip my chips if you wrote something, let alone something based on my horrible ideas)

In any case, I couldn’t resist the second options and I have spun it out into a delightful bit of Byakuya-torture. Please enjoy!!!

Special thanks to @kaicko for helping me come up with the clerical error, because you all know me, I can’t just say “a clerical error.” 😂

Read on ao3 or ff.net

💀   💀   💀  

“How is the tea?” Aizen Sousuke asked smoothly.

The tea was excellent, but Byakuya wasn’t in the mood for Aizen’s needy attempts to ingratiate himself. “Adequate,” he replied dryly. “You said you had something to discuss with me.”

“Ah, diligent as always, Byakuya,” Aizen sighed, “always eager to get back to work. I’ll get to the point: I happened to speak with your wife recently at a fundraising event. She’s very interested in the people of the deep Rukon, and said she travels to South Rukongai frequently.”

Byakuya narrowed his eyes. “What is your point?”

“Well, I thought it was a bit of a strange occupation for a woman of your wife’s noble standing, but then Gin reminded me that she was actually from there herself, that there had been a bit of a to-do when you two married. I don’t tend to follow gossip myself--”

“I repeat, what is your point?” Byakuya gritted your teeth.

Aizen made a pissy little throat clearing noise and fiddled with a folder on his desk. “The fact is, Byakuya, your wife reminds me a great deal of a young woman who served in my squad a few years ago, whom I recalled also hailing from the Rukon. I wondered if there might be a.... connection.”

Byakuya’s shoulders stiffened. Impossible. He had put watches on all immigrants to the Seireitei. He would have reviewed anyone who came from the South 78th.

“Inuzuri Rukia,” Aizen read from his file, and Byakuya’s blood ran cold. “Shin’ou class of 2066. Unseated. Petite, like your wife. Dark hair. Very striking eyes. Unfortunately, an unremarkable shinigami. Potential for a good kidou user, but didn’t take direction well. More interested in sword combat, although she had little aptitude for it. Ah, here it is. Hometown: District 48, South Rukongai.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Byakuya said flatly. “Inuzuri is the 78th district of South Rukongai. Why would she carry a surname from a different district?”

Aizen made an exaggerated frown. “Very strange! A clerical error perhaps? Hold on a moment.” He stuck his head out of his office door and said something to the shinigami on reception duty. “Fortunately, there’s an easy way to clear this up. It’ll just be a minute.”

Byakuya gripped his teacup, unsure of how to feel. A clerical error. Class of 2066… she would have enrolled in 2060, in the middle of Hisana’s worst turn, when she had been bedridden for nearly four years. Their attention would have lapsed. It made sense.

“She does not sound like your usual recruit,” Byakuya accused. Aizen was constantly finding ways to skim the highest performers from the Academy, all the gifted children.

Aizen looked sheepish. “Ah, well, you see, there was a young man of some talent that I was eager to recruit who was… attached to her. I thought she might have some potential if properly guided, but it never panned out.”

Aizen’s good deed was suddenly beginning to make sense. The girl had transferred out and taken Aizen’s prize with her. He wanted Byakuya to go fetch her away in hopes that the talented one would come home. Byakuya actually felt much better now that he’d identified Aizen’s ulterior motive, and further, that it had more to do with his own petty recruiting schemes than Byakuya’s family (specifically, Byakuya’s wife).

There was a knock at the office door, and upon being bid entry, a young woman walked in. Although indeed petite and dark-haired, she looked nothing like Hisana, and Byakuya remarked as much.

“Oh, no, this is my Seventh Seat!” Aizen chuckled. “Miss Hinamori, you were friends with Inuzuri Rukia, isn’t that correct?”

The young woman’s eyes had gone wide when she recognized Byakuya. “Er, yes, sir,” she said, her eyes darting between the two captains. “We shared a room while she served here.”

“Do you happen to remember what district she was from?” Aizen asked in an overly friendly manner.

“Oh, sure, it was South 78,” Hinamori replied. “Inuzuri, of course.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know all the outermost ones,” Aizen said in his goofy voice again. “Her paperwork says 48.”

Hinamori’s brow furrowed for a moment and then her face brightened. “She and Abarai had very heavy accents when they first came to the Academy, and used a lot of deep Rukongai language quirks. I don’t remember all of it, but they both used to use ‘shichi’ instead of ‘nana’ for seven, especially when referring to their district. They weren’t very fond of their home district. I wonder if the registrar misheard.”

“Well, there you go!” Aizen said, slapping his hands on his desk. “A very logical explanation!”

Hinamori beamed.

Byakuya found Aizen’s need to be liked by his subordinates very unprofessional and off-putting, but he tried to push it aside. He was trying not to be too eager, but this was probably the best lead he’d had on Hisana’s sister in all the years they had been searching. “Where is she now?” he grumbled.

Aizen turned his doe eyes on his fawning subordinate once more. “I don’t suppose you still keep in touch? She couldn’t have lasted very long there, they must have transferred again?”

Hinamori made a face like she didn’t want to say the answer. “I’m afraid that Kira and I had a bit of a falling out with Abarai and Inuzuri when they left. I haven’t talked to them in a few years, although we still have some mutual friends. As far as I know, though, they’re both still at Squad Eleven. I heard they were doing fairly well there, actually.”

The room seemed to retreat around Byakuya. All he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears and the reverberations of the most horrible words he could possibly think of: Squad Eleven.

---

Byakuya knew it was poor etiquette to visit another captain’s squad when the man was out, but he absolutely could not stomach the idea of discussing the matter of his wife’s sister with the Kenpachi, so he waited until Zaraki and his miniature lieutenant were sent out to go trample half of East Rukongai before visiting.

He also knew that he probably should have said something to Hisana, but he couldn’t bring himself to get his wife’s hopes up, only to dash them, should this turn out to be nothing, like so many leads before it. So, the secret sat in his stomach, heavy and acidic, jostling with the guilt of his breach of etiquette.

“Is there someone here,” he gingerly asked one of the gentlemen on gate duty, “who takes care of administrative matters for the squad?”

The man swiveled his head, which appeared to grow directly from his torso with no need for an intervening neck, to his fellow guardsman. “What?”

The other fellow had been busy trying to remove wax from his ear with a pinky. “WHAT?” he shouted back.

“Paperwork!” Byakuya said a little louder. “Is there an office of some sort? A person who knows what’s going on?”

He supposed he could have asked for the girl, Inuzuri, directly, but he didn’t feel… ready.

“I think he wants Ayasegawa,” the neckless guard hazarded.

“WHAT?”

“I’ll be right back.”

Eventually, the burly gentleman returned. With him was a strangely elegant person with a silky curtain of hair cut severely to chin length and piercing violet eyes. “It really is you,” the lovely man said with a level of disdain that Byakuya almost had to admire. Before he had a chance to get offended, the man dipped into a respectful bow. “Welcome to the Eleventh, Captain Kuchiki. Fifth Seat Ayasegawa at your service. What in Soul Society can I possibly do for you?”

“Apologies for visiting while your captain is abroad,” Byakuya replied, not meaning a word of it.

“Oh, he’ll be very sorry to have missed you,” Ayasegawa frowned. “But I’m sure you could make it up to him later.”

Byakuya’s eye twitched. “Perhaps. I have come to enquire about a young woman whom I am told transferred to your squad three years ago.”

“Does she have a name? That might make it a little easier.”

“Inuzuri Rukia.”

Both of Ayasegawa’s eyebrows shot up, and his mouth curved into a feline grin. “Ninth Seat Inuzuri, of course!”

Byakuya blinked. “Ninth Seat? Captain Aizen told me she was middling at best.”

Ayasegawa's face suddenly went stiff. “She was not well-served at the Fifth, but she has bloomed here most beautifully. Inuzuri is my personal protege, you know.” He stared at Byakuya under hooded eyes. “What is your interest in her? Captain?”

Byakuya took a deep breath through his nose. “My wife is also from Inuzuri. She is trying to locate someone she knew there. It is possible this Rukia is that someone.”

Ayasegawa frowned. “Well, I can introduce you, if you like. I should warn you, though, Rukia doesn’t have a lot of lost love for her hometown.”

“My understanding is that there isn’t much to love about it.”

“Mmm,” Ayasegawa agreed. “Well, come along, let’s go find her.” He concentrated for a moment, clearly trying to find her reiatsu. She must be a woman of some power, after all. “Ugh! She and Abarai are at it again! Every day!”

Byakuya swallowed stiffly.

“Well come on! She’s out at the training fields, clobbering our Tenth Seat, yet again.”

Oh. That kind of “going at it.”

Ayasegawa was shaking his head. “The two of them are literally an unstoppable force and an immovable object.”

“Abarai was also at the Fifth?,” Byakuya probed cautiously. “I was told they were close.”

“Of course they’re close!” Ayasegawa scoffed. “They’re partners!” He thought for a moment. “Abarai is from the 78th as well, you know. If Rukia turns out to not be your girl, perhaps one or the other of them knew the person you’re looking for. Abarai is one of those people who just… knows everyone. He’s the personable half of the pair.”

“‘Partners’?” Byakuya echoed. “What… kind of partners?”

Ayasegawa stared back at him like he was insane. “Partners.”

This path of inquiry clearly wasn’t going to get him anywhere, but wasn’t particularly relevant, either. “I did not think kidou-type zanpakutou were permitted in the Eleventh,” Byakuya sniffed. “Aizen’s records indicated Inuzuri wields an ice-and-snow type.”

Ayasegawa gave a little shrug. “Zanpakutou classifications are arbitrary. Obviously, if she had a bunch of showy blizzard attacks like Matsumoto’s little prodigy friend, it would be a no-go. Rukia can take the blade of her sword down to sub-zero temperatures. She has a weapon-shattering attack and she doesn’t feel pain when she’s fighting. It’s fundamentally no different than a zanpakutou so massive that only the wielder can lift it, or a whip sword that’s controlled with one’s reiatsu.”

This sounded like a quibble to Byakuya, but it’s not like he had come to the Eleventh looking for sound logic.

“She’s incredibly fast, probably the fastest person in the Eleventh, although no one’s really sure what Yachiru’s top speed is,” Ayasegawa continued on. He glanced at Byakuya slyly. “I hear you are very fast.”

“You have heard correctly.”

“That’s why Abarai can’t beat her. If he could land one really hard hit on her, she’d go down, but he’s not fast enough and she’s just too agile. He’s my partner’s protege, you see, so I have to take their little scraps very personally.”

How did this man talk so much?

“What did you say your wife’s relationship was to her again?”

“I did not.”

“Ah, right. Oops, look out!” Ayasegawa abruptly dove to one side as a giant mass of shihakushou and pink hair and what might be a sword came crashing through the split rail fence surrounding the training field.

Byakuya was not in the habit of ducking, so he merely plunged the force of his reiatsu down into the earth like a piton. It was almost, but not entirely sufficient. Byakuya gritted his teeth as he was driven back, dirt piling up behind his heels as he skidded backwards.

When they finally came to a halt, Byakuya looked down at the meaty youth lying at his feet. This must be the infamous Abarai, although he certainly didn’t look like one of Aizen’s usual simpering overachievers. The first thing Byakuya observed was the eye makeup. Most shinigami applied at least a little eyeliner, on grounds of tradition, but few bothered to blacken the entire eye socket, as in the skeletal facepaint of old. The second thing Byakuya noticed were the tattoos painted across his forehead and neck. They were black and spikey and horrible. The third thing was the hair, which was bright pink and spikey, and utterly at odds with the makeup and tattoos. The fourth thing was the big, sheepish grin, which honestly just tied the whole hideous tableau together.

Byakuya glared down at the lout, and in a moment of pettiness, flared his reiatsu to a level that should have sent blood spurting out of his ears.

“I’m afraid that’s not going to do much to someone who has a weekly sparring slot with the Kenpachi,” Ayasegawa commented dryly.

“Sorry ‘bout that!” the lummox cheerfully apologized as he sat up and brushed himself off. He had an Inuzuri accent so thick you could spread it on toast, an accent that Hisana tended to slip into only when she was extremely bent out of shape. Abarai snapped the sword hilt in his hand, and the tangled pile of steel on the ground neatly retracted into something that looked a little more like a weapon, if a weapon were designed by a creative and overly violent child.

“That’s a captain, you buffoon!” another voice rang out, and every muscle in Byakuya’s body locked. “Show your respects!”

The voice clearly affected Abarai as well, because he leapt to his feet, spun, and slammed into a bow. “My apologies, Captain…” his eyes glanced up and abruptly widened, “Kuchiki.”

“Greetings, Captain Kuchiki! Welcome to the Eleventh Division! I apologize very profusely for throwing Tenth Seat Abarai at you!” A second young person had come to join Abarai in his bow, and they both rose in unison, Abarai looking suddenly pale and nervous, his companion looking calm and confident.

So this was Inuzuri Rukia. She had Hisana’s voice. She had Hisana’s stature, and standing next to Abarai made her look positively childlike. She wore the same dreadful eyeblack, but the eyes that shone out of it were a variation on Hisana’s, harder and three shades more purple. The rest of the face was Hisana’s. Her hair was dark, shaved on the sides, arranged into porcupine spikes on top, although one lock hung down stubbornly between her eyes. Her ears glittered with silver piercings. At least she was free of awful tatt-- wait, no. Byakuya had missed them at first, because they were white. Abarai’s tattoos were spiky and sharp, but Inuzuri’s were graceful swirls, like ribbons wrapping lazily down her forearms. Even her reiatsu was like Hisana’s-- but instead of a cool, refreshing wintergreen, Inuzuri’s was the bone-deep cold of winter, a cold so harsh it burnt in the lungs.

There was no doubt.

This atrocious delinquent was his long-lost sister-in-law.

“Can we help you with something, sir?” Inuzuri prompted. “Abarai here’s a big fan of yours.”

“Shut up, Rukia,” Abarai managed through gritted molars.

“Inuzuri Rukia, you died as an infant thirty-six years ago and were sent to the 78th District of South Rukongai, is that correct?” Byakuya said stiffly.

Inuzuri and Abarai both bristled, a pair of mongrels raising their haunches. “That seems about right,” Inuzuri replied slowly. “My early years are a little hazy.”

“My wife, Hisana also died thirty-six years ago and was sent to Inuzuri with her infant sister,” Byakuya went on. “They were separated. My wife has been looking for her sister ever since. You… resemble her greatly.” Byakuya let the implication hang in the air. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

There was silence for a moment. Then there was the distinct noise of a laugh that, having been held in, had escaped through someone’s nose. “Sorry! Pardon me!” Ayasegawa wheezed, clapping one hand over his mouth and looking away. “Bit of. Dust. In my throat.”

“I told you! I told you, you looked like that picture of her in the Bulletin!” Abarai was hissing.

“I thought you were lying because you thought she was pretty!” Inuzuri hissed back.

“I thought she was pretty because she looks just like you!”

“Now is really not the time, Abarai!” She cleared her throat and tried to stand up a bit taller, a futile effort. “So, uh, so what? What does that mean, if I am her sister? Does that… does that make me noble?”

A higher pitched wheezing came out of Ayasegawa. The level of impudence was extraordinary.

“I would like you to come to my home to meet her, first,” Byakuya put off making any promises. “We can discuss what comes next. As a family.”

“I’m at work right now,” Inuzuri excused.

“Inuzuri, I need to know how this pans out, you can have the afternoon off,” Ayasegawa informed her.

Inuzuri’s confidence seemed to be draining out of her. She took a tiny step closer to Abarai and groped for his hand. “I’m bringing Renji,” she declared.

“Is he compulsory?” Byakuya asked. Inuzuri was absurd looking too, but at least she was small.

“He’s my family,” Inuzuri insisted.

Byakuya’s brows furrowed. This could prove problematic. “In any sort of legally binding sense?”

“We’re engaged!” Inuzuri announced.

“We are?” Abarai goggled.

“I told you I’d marry you if you could ever manage to beat me in a fight! What else would you call that?” Rukia hissed at him in a voice that was still, unfortunately, perfectly audible.

“I’ve been trying every day, and honestly, Rukia, it’s not looking good for me!”

“Can you just go with it for once, instead of arguing with me every time?”

“If you want to leave and never tell anyone you found her,” Ayasegawa put in, “I am very bribable.”

Byakuya was sorely tempted.

---

End note: To further explain the number mix-up, as I understand it “seven” in Japanese can either be said as “nana” or “shichi”. People usually say “nana” for two reasons-- 1) to avoid confusion with 4 (”shi”, although you can also say “yon”) and because “shi” is a homophone for death. Given how shitty the districts in the 70s are, I rather liked the idea that they residents use the “shichi” pronunciation as a bit of gallows humor. (And if you don’t have a rude nickname for the town you grew up in, well, congrats for not growing up somewhere shitty)

I don’t actually speak Japanese, tho, so forgive me if this is all nonsense. 😁

[wondernimbus]

forgive and forget — harry potter

pairing: harry potter x female!reader

prompt: “kill everything dear to you and then you will know how it feels.”

t/w: mentions of death

a/n: this is set a year after the battle of hogwarts! wrote this at 1am n havent proofread it so chances are it sucks but i’m posting it anyway bc you only live once am i right folks

In the darkness and silence of a winter's night, the water is eerily calm—too calm, almost, with a foreboding feeling hanging over it. At the edge of the lake stands a girl whose heart has long since grown much too cold to feel anything but the wide, gaping void inside of her chest. She doesn't shiver; just stands there, holding her wand at her side, gaze fixed on the reflection of the moonshine against the shapeless water, waiting.

And waiting.

And when the figure appears from behind her—a loud, almost deafening snap in the complete and utter silence of the woods, she doesn't turn around right away.

Instead, she twirls her wand in her hand, frowning down at the lake as though expecting something to break through the calm surface and swallow her whole, carry her down into its depths and leave her somewhere deep, deep down, away from the rest of the world.

Thinking about it now, it doesn't sound that bad.

"Did you miss me?" are the first words that leave her mouth since having arrived there. Her voice is as dangerously calm as the lake. Just as foreboding—and it sounds like a warning.

But Harry doesn't heed it. Instead, he stands there, a mere five feet away, watching as she turns around, slowly, to face him.

The last thing he expects is for her to look at him the way she used to. He doesn't expect her to run toward him, take him in her arms, and hug him the way she used to, long ago.

Harry should be prepared for this. But when her gaze meets his and he makes out her eyes in the darkness, cold and unforgiving and void of any emotion, he can't help the way he sucks in a breath, how his heart clenches inside of his chest.

A strange chill settles over him. Sickness; something horrible swelling up in the pit of his stomach as he stares at the girl in front of him. It's not just the look in her eyes that is different. Her hair is cleaner. Shorter. More mature, tucked behind her ears and down her back. Without it framing her face, Harry's eyes are free to roam over the rest of her face, which is gaunt and sunken; there are bags under her eyes so deep he starts to debate whether or not he's looking at a corpse.

It's like seeing a memory that has haunted Harry for decades, when in reality it has only been a year. He knows that face like the back of his hand: her eyes, dark and barely crinkled at the corners. that nose, those careful lips. She is older, but so is Harry. She is a stranger in so many ways, but Harry would know her anywhere.

"[Y/N]," he breathes out, throat tight. His fingers grip even tighter around the wand inside his coat pocket. There's an undeniable sense of fear—dread—coiling around his heart. She stares at him, eyes still hard as ever.

And then her lips tug up at the edges. Her smile is bitter. It's the first real trace of emotion she has let slip, and Harry wonders if he should feel relieved that [Y/N] is still human and capable of feeling. Even if she is angry.

The worst part is that Harry can't blame her.

"I'm sorry," he says, voice barely a whisper.

The smile grows. Suddenly she's laughing—cold, harsh bursts of laughter with no real humor to it. Harry clenches his jaw, watching her. His heart is pounding erratically in his chest; he doesn't know if it's because he senses she's near and yearns for her, the person who it used to beat for, or if it's because it's scared of her.

Oh, how things have changed.

"Sorry?" she repeats, her laughter fading away into the night, replaced by a deadly sort of tension that now hangs above them. "Sorry?"

Harry feels sweat trickle down the side of his temple.

"You're sorry." Her voice is laced thick with equal parts mockery, disbelief, and anger. But even then her eyes are cold and blank as ever.

Since when had she gotten so good at hiding what she truly felt?

"I don't know what else you want me to say," says Harry through gritted teeth, hand tightening around his wand.

Her lips curl. She stares at him for a few moments, unspeaking, and then she nods. "You're right," she says curtly, turning once more to look at the lake behind her. "You know what, Harry? You're right. You killed my parents and walked away from it like it was nothing. There really isn't much else to say other than you're sorry."

He swallows. He can't feel guilty. He can't. "I'm sorry," he says again, unable to hide the way his voice trembles from frustration. Or is it fear? He can't quite tell anymore. "But I did what I had to do. They worked for Voldemort—"

"So you killed them," [Y/N] says, tone ominously void of emotion. "With no regard for their real motive. Without bothering to listen—"

"I had no choi—"

"And realize that they did it to protect their children." When she whips around, Harry sees that her facade of calm has slipped away completely—instead there is pure, unadulterated anger flaring in her eyes. "You say you had no choice but neither did they."

"They were Death Eaters," says Harry, taking a deep breath through his nose, sounding like he's trying to convince himself more than her. "It hardly mattered why they went to Voldemort's side. What mattered was that they did."

She scowls and takes a step forward. Angry eyes boring into his, she hisses, "Did it matter to you that I loved them?"

Harry's fingers feel cold, his neck too hot, the air pressing into him from all sides. He can't feel guilty.

He can't.

"It had to be done," he says flatly, fighting to maintain her gaze. He wonders if he's imagining the way her eyes seem to be glistening with tears. "I'm sorry. I know you loved them but it had to be done."

Harry is right; when she blinks and turns away, he doesn't miss the bead of liquid that rolls down the side of her cheek. All of a sudden he finds himself wanting to leave—to apparate away before he can hear any more. Because this is something that has haunted him for a long, long time, and even then, it is only now that he realizes he isn't quite ready to face it yet.

But here he is now, anyway, standing in front of the girl who once loved him and who he once loved—and maybe part of him still does, even after everything. But Harry knows better than to fool himself into thinking he can have her again.

Not after what he did.

Harry inhales. With difficulty, he keeps his eyes on hers despite the need to tear them away. To turn away and never once look back. But he has to do this now—it's his only chance to finally put an end to all the conflict that has been bothering him ever since he last saw her.

"I know it feels like you'd be turning your back on them if you moved on," Harry begins. This time his voice doesn't shake. "But they're gone. I'm sorry, [Y/N]—"

"Don't call me that."

"Your parents are gone," he repeats. He sees her trying to harden her gaze again—trying to build her walls back up—but she fails, lips pinching. Harry knows it means she's trying to hold her tears back. "They made the wrong choices and they suffered for it. I know what it feels like to lose people you love, but—"

"Do you know what the difference is between you and me?" she cuts him off. Her lips are trembling, angry tears spilling onto her cheeks. "It's that you picked yourself back up, even after you lost people. But I didn't. I haven't. And I don't think I ever will."

Harry feels his heart squeeze into itself inside of his chest.

He's fighting a losing battle. She isn't listening; she's too far gone.

"Do it again." Miraculously, despite the tears on her cheeks and the anguish in her voice, she still sounds ruthlessly angry. "Lose the people you love again. Kill everything dear to you again and then you will know how it feels."

Harry watches as she heaves in a deep, shuddering breath. He doesn't try to say anything anymore—knows that nothing he will say can ever truly heal her.

And with one last pained, scathing look, [Y/N] apparates away.

He never sees her again.

general taglist: @dancing-in-the-moonlight3 @kalimagik @alittletoomanyobsessions @hariosborn @obsessedwithrandomthings @emcchi @sxrensxngwrites @enjoying-fantasyland21 @masterofthedarkness @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @bforbroadway @hufflefluff-writer @summer-writes @chaotic-fae-queen @firewhisky-kisses @dracosvftie @heloisedaphnebrightmore @idont-knowrn @dreamer821 @peachesandpinks @slytherinprincess03​ @chocfrogaddict @nebulablakemurphy​ ​@kpopgirlbtssvt

harry potter taglist: @teheharrypotter​

[unhealthyfanobsession]

The Hit List

This is based on a head canon I posted a couple days ago- just couldn’t get the idea of Nesta having an Arya-Stark style hit list; mostly crack and pure fluff if I’m being honest 🤷‍♀️

Cassian and Nesta have lived together for 137 years as of last Saturday. Maybe he should be embarrassed that he has been counting, but when one lives with Nesta Archeron one gets used to ensuring that they are always prepared. The woman has an infallible memory. Cassian knows every date that is of any consequence. He knows the day that her mother died because she always shrinks into herself just a little bit on that day, even after all of these years. He knows the day that they met, the day that the war ended, and the day that their mating bond snapped into place. He knows the day that they got married in a tiny little ceremony that consisted of only them plus Elain and Azriel- even Rhysand and Feyre weren’t present- and he knows the day that she finally, finally allowed herself to admit it to everyone that they had gotten married. Cassian knows everything about Nesta Archeron. He has spent 142 years learning every single piece of her (yeah you can do the math on how long it took him to convince her to move out of that damn run down apartment).

There is nothing about Nesta Archeron that could surprise him at this point. He can read her moods in the tense of her shoulders before she even wakes up in the morning. He can tell whether or not she will be amiable to seeing other people by the firmness or reluctance of her lips against his before they eat breakfast.

Cassian knows Nesta.

He does.

Really.

So why is he crinkling his brow in confusion as he stares at this tiny, ancient looking piece of parchment that has fallen out of her drawer.

Nesta is nearing the end of her cycle and he was sent to this particular drawer (his favorite if he’s being honest, but that is not the purpose of this moment) to fetch her new undergarments as she curses and tries to get out of their bed in the next room.

If it were even a day earlier Cassian would forget the paper. He would sprint into that room and tie her stubborn ass to the bed if he had to. She never rests long enough on her cycle, but this should be the last day so nothing bad will happen if she insists on taking herself to the bath.

Cassian is far too intrigued by this discovery to pay the subtle grunts any attention. The paper looks like it has been folded over and over again, uncreased and re-creased. It looks old, and coming from him that is saying something.

Cassian thinks that maybe he shouldn’t open it, but... he and Nesta don’t keep secrets, so surely if she had one then she would hide it better than shoving it under all of these scraps of lace in her underwear drawer. He smoothes the paper out carefully and his brow only creases farther as he reads it

Hybern

Old bitch Queen

Stupid Glaring Queen

White Queen

Old Fae Queen

Tomas

Beron

Jurian

Tamlin

Devlon

The last 3 names are deeply faded, clearly having been written in lead and then scratched at. Not scratched out in the way the others are, with a single black line through them, but... erased? Or attempted to be erased at least.

Cassian rubs his thumb along the final line, trying to feel the deeply faded and worn through section of the paper. The writer clearly wrote and then attempted to erase this word several times. It only takes him a minute to figure it out.

Rhysand

Cassian has never been so confused. None of these names seem to fit together in any way that he can make sense of. The Queens, he has to imagine refers to the mortal Queens from the war, and Hybern is explanatory enough- but what do 3 High Lords have to do with any of that? (Well... 2 current High Lords and a “woefully” usurped loser that no one will miss). Not to mention a resurrected human, the Lord of Windhaven, and some poor male named... Tomas?

Cassian shakes his head and does what he always does when something about Nesta confuses him. He walks right into their bedroom and asks her.

“What is this?”

Nesta lifts her eyes from the sheets, hands still gripping at her abdomen as she glares daggers at him.

“The fact that males don’t have to go through this torture is proof that the cauldron has always been an insufferable prick” she growls.

“That’s what I love about you, Nes” he grins that infuriatingly charming lopsided grin of his “you could wish that you weren’t in pain, but no no- instead you wish that I was as well”

“That stupid mating bond does claim to pair equals” she grimaces

“Oh so now it’s stupid?”

“If stuck me with you, didn’t it?”

Cassian laughs, moving closer to the bed with a wicked grin “I didn’t hear you complaining last night as I took that pain away in the only way that ever seems to work” he winks

“Hmmm” Nesta considers idly, reaching out to pull him onto the bed beside her so that she can lean her back against his chest “I suppose you do have your uses.”

Cassian chuckles, running a hand through her hair “what is this?” He asks again, holding up the parchment.

Nesta pauses for only a second before shrugging “it’s my kill list”

“Your what?” She said the words so casually, as though she was informing him what she wanted for dinner that night.

“I should think that the words ‘kill list’ are rather self explanatory”

Cassian pauses, looking down at the female that he thought he knew so well.

They are literally connected together. How could he not know what a bloodthirsty little minx his wife is? Well no, that isn’t accurate. He did know, he just didn’t know that she wrote it all down so literally and physically.

“Rhysand’s name is on this list”

“No it isn’t” Nesta shakes her head in annoyance “I erased it last year after he built that garden and named it for Elain” she shrugs “he’s one of the rotating players. Every few years he does something to get his name on the list but then usually he acquits himself within the decade.”

Cassian only nods, long since learning the pattern of Nesta’s speech that indicates when she is finished speaking on a matter and will not give it any more of her time. Of course, he also knows exactly the right buttons to push in order to make her keep speaking, but... now isn’t the time to play one of those cards. Nesta and Rhysand have always shared a tenuous relationship at best, so he supposes that her erasing his name from the kill list is probably about the greatest level of affection she will ever show the High Lord.

“Who is Tomas?” Nesta’s entire body tenses in his arms and Cassian’s mirrors her exactly one second later.

Oh.

Him.

“I’m glad that he is crossed out” Cassian grits through clenched teeth.

Nesta sighs “not nearly as satisfying an end as some of the others I’m afraid. So much time passed that one day I realized it would be impossible for him to still be alive, so I just crossed his name out” she shrugs.

”why does that old Queen still draw breath?” He grins a little, enjoying the strangely morbid conversation as he moves his hands down to gently massage her lower abdomen. She lets out a little moan that he assumes means some of her pain is subsiding.

“Every day that she lives is her punishment” Nesta grins this time, and Cassian sees it as she lays her head back against his shoulder “she wanted to be young and beautiful forever. Now she is an immortal old crone. If I never cross that name off I’ll consider it a type of victory entirely its own”

“What about Devlon, Jurian, and Tamlin?”

Nesta scoffs “they’re all on thin ice, but...” she sighs, an annoyed sort of huff “Tamlin did save Elain in a way and Jurian was playing doubt agent. And...” she pauses “you speak well of Devlon in comparison to the other Illyrian lords so he remains in the safe zone...for now.”

Cassian just grins a little, hands continuing their careful ministrations “I love you” he murmurs into her hair.

“I love you too”

Cassian pauses, straightening up a bit and pulling Nesta with him as he does so.

“Wait” he narrows his eyes “have I ever been on this list?”

Nesta curls her lips into a teasing smirk and gives him the most innocent little shrug as an answer.

Cassian chuckles, resting his chin on top of her head “as long as you always erase it”

“I use a lighter lead when I want to put you on it” she turns over in his arms so that she can look up at him “easier to erase. No smudges”

“I do believe that is that most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me, Nesta” they both laugh as Cassian leans down to capture her lips in his own, and suddenly Nesta’s cramps don’t seem quite so bad.

[walker-lister]

Fic writer review

Tagged by @picnokinesis thank you Taka! 

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

Twelve! (I’ll have to write another to make it 13 lol!)

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

665,232

3. How many fandoms have you written for?

Just the one that I’ve posted online- Doctor Who, and specifically Thirteen! 

4. Top 5 fics by kudos?

1. Rising Tides (270)- I’m incredibly touched this has the most kudos as this was the first that I put a lot of effort into, I had with my previous works but this one was longer and covered complex themes, so it’s very touching! 

2. Timeless (214)- This is the first fic I wrote! I remember doing it right after the series 12 finale as I was so compelled by the ending! I’m very pleased it’s been appreciated, a very kind way to be welcomed into the writing community!

3. On Hallowed Ground (127)- This one I also find so touching and I’m so pleased this many people enjoyed it as I became consumed by this and wrote it over 6 days so to know so many others also enjoyed something that quite literally consumed me and basically wrote itself is just fantastic! 

4. Ipseity (123)- I have a soft spot for this one, too, my first longer (ish) fic that I planned out and I’m really pleased people enjoyed it! I think it all started because I wanted to see 13 in a leather jacket and was very intrigued by the prospect of her having past lives she didn’t know about! 

5. Heaven Sent (110)- Ahh, I’m so happy this has made it to this list! I’m writing the final two chapters now and it’s been a passion project, my whole heart’s gone into it so to know this many have enjoyed thus far and we’ve still got a while to go (just coming up to halfway!) is really... ahh, I’m chuffed! 

5. Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

Absolutely, they’re so precious to writers and I really appreciate people taking the time to leave one! Also, it’s nice to chat with your readers and it’s how I’ve made many friends! 

6. A fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hmmm I had to think about this for a while, I don’t really think I’ve got any with an angsty ending, I think bittersweet might be the closest, in which case I’ll say ‘On Hallowed Ground’ as it’s angsty with the circumstances but also hopeful at the end.

7. Do you write crossovers?

No, although sometimes my mind wanders over doing a Doctor Who/Merlin crossover fic, all for the bants of seeing those characters interact (Graham and Gauis immediate besties), but I don’t think I’ll ever write it!

8. Ever received hate on a fic?

I have not, which is nice! 

9. Do you write smut?

hahaha nope! I do include sexual themes in my work, but do that annoying thing where it cuts away before they get to the actual smut bit! I just can’t do it, it’d be terrible, although I know someone who wants me to ( @ivyinspace 😉)

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Wait that happens? 

11. Ever had a fic translated?

Nope but if anyone wants to please don’t hesitate to get in touch!

12. Have you ever co-written a fic?

I have not, although had talks about it!

13. All time fav ship?

All time?! Gotta be the Titanic. Lmao no I’d say Thasmin, although I am partial to some Thoscei 

14. WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I’ll be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever finish Cosmic Fireworks. I wish I’d left it as a one shot tbh but I don’t want to delete the second chapter off ao3. But I can’t see myself finishing it, I wasn’t into it as much as I am normally with my fics, but we’ll see, who knows, perhaps one day I’ll wake up with the inclination! 

15. Writing strengths?

*mind goes blank* 

ermm... I think I’m quite good at taking complex themes and exploring them well- I find that the pieces come together easily in my mind and (provided I write it all out and plan first) it’s like I can lay out a problem and carefully craft the solution. I suppose that might make me good at characterisation? I also think that I’m good at setting the scene and describing places maybe.  

16. Writing weaknesses?

I write way too much, I need to be more concise. Also I think I have a habit of needing my characters to show they’re good people, and that means sometimes my own voice carries over into theirs, and perhaps I could be better at exploring the complexities of characters, if that makes sense (something that goes beyond characterisation is what I mean, like maybe I’m making the point too hard sometimes). I also think that sometimes I need to chill- there doesn’t have to be a big point to scenes sometimes, no great narrative or thing to take away, sometimes it’s just the pleasure of reading something that’s important, even if it’s silly. 

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

I wish I could speak another language, but alas I cannot, otherwise I would, but I would then put translation. 

18. First fandom you wrote for?

It was actually Merlin, I never published it online but it was when I was about 13/14 and first discovered fanfic and was a huge fan of Merlin I thought, ‘that sounds fun let’s do it’! I was already writing little silly stories anyway so it was like a whole new concept which also felt familiar, although they were awful so I’m glad they never went online! 

19. What’s your fav fic you’ve written so far?

Agh idk! In terms of a story I think is good quality and engaging, I’d say ‘On Hallowed Ground’ as it’s concise, the plot and emotions mix well, I think, and overall I’m really proud of it. But in terms of my favourite one to write, I’m not sure if I can pick one. I enjoy writing them all, although tbh with some there are chapters I just have to grit my teeth through to write (by my own fault because I make things way too complicated!), but enjoyment is what it’s about! But maybe I’d single out my aus because they’re more my own invention that the others, in particular Heaven Sent- so that and Rising Tides, final answer! (see, this is what I mean, I write too much jfc...)

This is open to anyone who wants to do it!! 😊

[yellowsuitcase]

Oblivious Part 2 // Draco Malfoy

A/N: Hey guys, PLEASE TAKE TIME TO READ THIS!!! I feel like I’ve taken on a series too early, I wrote Part 2 a long time ago but never got around to finishing it, so it didn’t end with what I wanted it to, but it’ll all work out in the end. But please be open-minded, I know it’s not my best work by any means, but I think it’s quite sweet in some moments. The juicy bits are yet to come. I’m sorry for such a long wait. Truth be told, I’ve been experiencing some writer’s block and I really just wanted to get SOMETHING out to you guys. Thank you for your patience!

Summary: Draco and Y/N talk about what happened at Hogsmeade and after a tragic event, Draco finally comes clean.

Warning(s): SPOILERS! Violence, swearing(I can’t remember if there is or not tbh)

Word Count: 4k

Part 1

Draco exhaled heavily as he gently stroked his girlfriend’s temple. He was trying to get her to fall asleep after the long day she’d just had. However, he knew first hand how uncomfortable the Hospital Wing’s beds were. He didn’t expect her to find slumber easily. Besides, he could practically see the gears turning in her head as she gazed up at him. Her expression was one of befuddlement.

Madam Pomfrey had already fixed her up, but she had requested for Y/N to stay the night so that she’d be able to reassess her ankle the next morning. Draco knew he should’ve taken this valuable time where Y/N would be, essentially, out of commission, to work on the cabinet. Alas, he couldn’t bring himself to leave the chair Madam Pomfrey had provided him with.

Draco fought a smile from creeping onto his lips as he ran his eyes over Y/N’s frame. He loved her all the time, but it was always a special treat whenever he got to see her in between consciousness and sleep. She’d curl up into a ball, make herself appear small. Every time she talked, it was as if she were drunk; her words would come out muffled or slurred, and none of her sentences would make sense. It was a rather endearing sight to behold. But Y/N wasn’t her usual sleepy self tonight; she was wide awake and studying Draco’s face intently. 

“Why didn’t you take me over there to help?” she asked him, point-blank.

Draco let out another sigh and ran his hand through his hair. Boy, oh boy, was his girlfriend quite the stubborn young woman. Although, perhaps that made sense as she was a Gryffindor after all. Part of him wanted to spill his guts to her. How good would it feel to finally tell someone what he’s been going through? He parted his lips to spill his guts but thought better of it at the last moment.

Draco opened his mouth again. “I thought it was dangerous; I didn’t want you to get hurt any further than you already were. That’s all,” he said, providing her with yet another false answer. The unimpressed look on her face signaled to Draco that she didn’t buy it.

“Why were you in such a rush to leave? Maybe we could’ve helped her, Draco.”

Draco clenched his fists. He really needed to get better at lying. But perhaps he was performing poorly due to the fact he was lying to Y/N, the girl he loved so dearly. Nevertheless, anger began to swell in his chest. “I already told you, it looked dangerous,” he snapped. Y/N didn’t move a muscle; she was used to Draco’s sudden mood swings. Instead, she just stared at him, seemingly awaiting what he would do next.

Draco contemplated his next words heavily. Would mentioning Voldemort be too much? Maybe it would frighten Y/N. He certainly didn’t want to keep the girl awake any longer than she’d already been, but perhaps it would convince her that Draco had genuinely been scared earlier that day. He indeed had been afraid… afraid of his secret being revealed.

“Look, The Dark Lord is back, we can’t be-”

“Oh, so now you believe, Harry?” Y/N asked condescendingly.

“Would you shut it? Bloody hell, this isn’t about Potter,” Draco said while throwing his hands into the air. “This is about your safety. Our safety. Why don’t you understand that?” Irritation was visible in his eyes.

“You’re a liar,” Y/N said while sitting up in her bed, “A liar. Get out. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

Draco’s frustration dissipated instantly. “Love, I’m sorry I—”

“Get. Out,” Y/N said firmly. Her teeth were gritted, and her nostrils were flared. She was sick and tired of her boyfriend lying to her face. She gave him so many chances to come clean, and yet he didn’t; this hurt her deeply. He studied her face for a few moments, then realized she was dead serious. So he reluctantly got to his feet and gave her one last look before turning on his heel and walking away. When he left the room, he began to pace back and forth outside the doors. He didn’t want to leave. He was stroking his chin in deep thoughts when his strides were interrupted by a deep, slow voice calling his name.

 “Draco. Don’t you have... better things... to be doing at this hour?”

He looked up from his feet to see Professor Snape glaring at him. Draco scowled at him. He knew what the greasy-haired man was implying. “I’m taking care of it,” he replied.

“Is that so? Then you must have successfully repaired it, yes?”

Draco averted his eyes. Truthfully, he’d made progress on the vanishing cabinet, but nothing too promising. He’d been able to get an apple to and from the Room of Requirement and Borgin and Burkes. But when he sent a bird through it, it hadn’t come back alive. “Not quite, but I’m getting closer. I just need more time.”

Snape’s frowning expression remained the same. “Well, I suggest you focus more on fixing it rather than wasting time on such silly attempts. The Headmaster isn’t a fool, unlike you. He would never have been stupid enough to touch that necklace.”

Draco turned his head slightly away from Snape. He knew he was right. Dumbledore was an intelligent wizard; he likely wouldn’t have been fooled by the cursed necklace. But Draco thought it had been worth a shot. It was clear now that it had most certainly not been worth it.

“Focus on the task at hand. Fix the cabinet. If you don’t, I’ll be stepping in,” Snape said in a stern tone. Draco still couldn’t bring himself to look at him, so the professor walked away, leaving the blonde boy to his jumbled thoughts.

After a long couple of minutes, Draco decided that Snape was right. He needed to concentrate on the cabinet. There was no time to spend worrying about what lie to tell his girlfriend next; The Dark Lord had chosen him. And he could not fail him.

Draco straightened his spine and readjusted his suit jacket. And then he was off to the Room of Requirement.

--------------

Y/N didn’t make an effort to find Draco the next morning. Although, she had expected him to be outside the Hospital Wing when she exited. But he was nowhere to be seen. Her first thought was that she was too harsh with him. Then she remembered that he’d been blatantly lying to her for weeks now. She needed to be blunt with him last night. He needed to understand that she was upset and wouldn’t give him the benefit of the doubt anymore.

Y/N had hardly gotten any sleep. Her mind was too cluttered with thoughts of Katie Bell. What the hell had cursed her yesterday? And why was Draco so eager to flee the scene once he saw her shoot into the sky? Y/N didn’t want to believe her own suspicions, but perhaps Draco had had something to do with it. It was the only logical answer she could think of. And while she didn’t doubt Draco cared for her safety, she knew that wasn’t the real reason he ran off with her in his arms.

Suddenly, she missed being in those arms. Draco hadn’t been the same boy she fell in love with in a long time. He was so gloomy, the bags under his eyes were still prominent. And as of late, he’d been becoming more and more secretive. None of this sat well with Y/N. Not at all.

When she arrived at the Great Hall for breakfast, she located her boyfriend straight away. He was at their usual spot, picking at some scrambled eggs. She sighed and walked over to him and sat down gently. Not a single word flew from his chapped lips.

“I thought you would’ve been waiting for me outside the Hospital Wing,” Y/N stated while she cut into a loaf of bread. “Did something happen?” she questioned, keeping her tone light and nonaccusatory. Draco scoffed. “Figured you wouldn’t want to see me,” he said in a passive-aggressive tone.

“Don’t start that shit, Draco. I’m trying to be nice even though you’ve been lying to my face for how long now? Too long. We’re in a relationship, and relationships don’t work when someone consistently lies. So unless you want to lose me,” Draco’s head whipped towards her like lightning, her words struck fear into his heart, “I’d come clean.”

Draco masked his fear with a hearty laugh. “Yeah, right. You wouldn’t.”

“Honestly, Draco, at this point, I would. I’m sick of this rubbish. Why are you suddenly so afraid to tell me stuff? You were never apprehensive about confiding in me until now. I know something has happened, Draco. It’s so blatantly bothering you. Let me take some of the weight off your shoulders—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Nothing has happened. I’m fine, alright? Can we just stop talking about all this nonsense?” Draco asked. His fists were clenched tightly on top of the table. He was desperately trying to control his raging emotions. 

Y/N couldn’t believe he was still trying to keep secrets, but she decided to give him one more chance. “What is going on?” she asked while reaching out to put her hand on his left arm, trying to comfort him. But once her fingertips had brushed his sleeve, he yanked himself away from her aggressively.

“Don’t touch me,” he said quickly, getting to his feet. Y/N felt her heart clench. She knew she’d struck some kind of nerve. But she made no move to stand up; she only watched as Draco turned to leave. Except, he didn’t. He was frozen in place. Y/N curiously followed his gaze to see Harry talking to Katie Bell. She threw one leg over the bench, wanting to see if she could join the conversation. However, her plans were interrupted when suddenly, Draco stumbled backward and began to flee the Great Hall. Harry didn’t wait a beat; he chased after the Slytherin.

Y/N stuffed a piece of toast in her mouth, quickly clambered to her feet, and rushed after the boys. She momentarily got caught in a hoard of people who were flowing into the Great Hall, but when she was able to weave through them, she caught sight of Harry running up the stairs. The Gryffindor knew it would be best to keep a distance behind Harry, as to remain undetected. 

She waited until Harry had reached the top step, then she climbed up after him. At the peak of the concrete stairs, Y/N saw Harry turn a corner. So she followed after him, but when she too rounded the corner, she pressed herself against the wall and watched silently as Harry nearly ran down the hallway. Why the hell was Harry even chasing Draco anyway?

Y/N knew there was no time to waste. When Harry was out of sight, she scurried off after him. However, while she was running, Peeves, the naughty school poltergeist, appeared in front of her, a mischievous smile plastered to his face.

“Where you off to?” he asked in a playful tone as he floated in front of her.

“Peeves, not now,” Y/N said irritatedly and out of breath. Harry was getting farther and farther away by the second.

“I have a riddle, I do. I have a riddle for you,” he said. His voice was high pitched and squeaky. It sounded a bit like nails on a chalkboard to Y/N. She ran her hand through her hair and said, “Peeves, fuck off,” as she walked straight through the ghost. He was not happy about this, and he let that be known to the entire school by letting out an ear-splitting screech. Y/N groaned and whipped out her wand. “Silencio!” she said while forcefully waving her wand towards the poltergeist. He was instantly rendered speechless by her spell. Y/N smiled and ran off; she knew she’d pay for that one later.

When she caught up to where she’d last seen Harry, all she found was an empty hallway. She took a moment to calm her erratic breathing and stood still. After a few moments, she heard a loud crack and then little clangs. They sounded like glass crashing to the floor. Her stomach churned at the thought of what could be going on. She ran down the corridor, trying to listen for more noises that would lead her to where the boys were. Upon hearing another crash, she realized they were in the bathroom. Y/N felt adrenaline rush through her body. Her head was pulsing as her heart was working diligently to pump blood. “Please let him be okay,” she muttered.

“Sectumsempra!” a voice yelled. It was followed by a loud thump that seemed to echo through the hall. Y/N didn’t recognize the spell, but she did know that voice. She burst into the flooding bathroom and looked around, panicked. Tears sprang to her eyes when she saw him. Draco was lying on the bathroom tiles, blood seeping through his white shirt. Harry stood nearby; he was frozen in place. He looked frightened by his own actions.

Y/N didn’t wait a moment more; she ran to Draco’s side and fell to her knees. She took his face into her shaky hands. “You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay. I’m here,” she said softly. Draco didn’t reply; he just continued to sob. Y/N turned to Harry. “What did you do to him?” she asked angrily. Harry didn’t respond. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM, HARRY?!” she screamed. But Harry remained silent, so she turned back to her boyfriend, his head still in her hands.

“I’m sorry, Draco. I’m so sorry, I should’ve just trusted you, I should have just forgiven you,” Y/N said through her tears and hiccups. She knew that any adult who could heal Draco was likely too far away. She didn’t want to risk leaving him and coming back to find him dead. So she slid down onto her side and laid next to him. Slowly and gently, she nestled her head into the crook of his neck. Her clothes were now drenched, but that didn’t bother her in the slightest. She wanted to be near to Draco. She wanted to hold him. 

Her attention was stolen when she heard footsteps splash in the pool of water on the bathroom floor. She looked over her shoulder to see Professor Snape. Her heart skipped a beat. “Professor, please, he’s bleeding out!” she called to him as she sat up. Snape silently rushed to Draco’s side but stopped to give Harry a long and knowing look. Harry gulped and fled the scene. This piqued Y/N’s interest, but now was not the time to wonder why Snape had glared at Harry that way. “Professor…” she pleaded.

Snape’s head whipped towards her, “Move,” he commanded. Y/N jumped to her feet and scooted away from Draco. Snape knelt over Draco’s body and took out his wand. Slowly, he held it above Draco’s body and murmured a healing spell while moving his wand left and right. The bloodstains began to fade as Draco’s lacerations started to close. Y/N let out an enormous breath of relief when she saw color return to her lover’s pale face. 

Snape finished healing and tucked away his wand. He then reached underneath Draco to lift him up. Once the boy was settled in his arms, he strode out of the bathroom without a word to Y/N. Despite Snape making no indication she should follow, Y/N ran through the water to catch up with her potions professor. 

After rushing through the corridors, they arrived at the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey was surprised to see Snape carrying a student. He laid Draco on an empty bed and told the matron in a hushed voice what had happened to the blonde boy. Draco’s eyes were closed, and his chest was rising and falling slowly as his body started to recover. Y/N took a seat next to his bed, just as he had done for her less than twenty-four hours ago. Her tears hadn’t stopped falling since the moment she saw him on the washroom floor. The skin around her eyes was red and raw from her repeated rubbing. Y/N grabbed his hand and held it firmly in both her palms. She rubbed her thumb over his skin and slowly raised it to her lips, pressing a delicate kiss to his fingers. 

Even though Y/N was looking at Draco and could see he was breathing, she still felt panicked. “He’s okay now, right? You’ve saved him?” she asked the two adults who were still whispering to one another. The pair shifted their eyes to her. Madam Pomfrey smiled and nodded while Snape's expression remained stoic. He gave his thanks to Madam Pomfrey and left the room. The matron walked over to Y/N. 

“I need to tend to his wounds Miss Y/L/N if you could step away for just a moment,” she said. Y/N stood up from her chair and moved out of Madam Pomfrey’s way. She closed the curtain around the hospital bed, shielding Y/N’s view of her boyfriend. Y/N nervously began to pace back and forth, finally having time to process what just happened. Why did Harry use such a violent spell? If Snape hadn’t shown up, Draco would’ve likely died on that bathroom floor. Had that been Harry’s intent? What were they even fighting for? Y/N thought to herself. After rapidly theorizing different answers to her questions, she concluded she wouldn’t be able to figure out this puzzle until Draco recovered. Perhaps he’d finally come clean. She’d make him come clean, she decided.

Just then, the curtain was pulled back, and there was Draco, awake. Y/N slowly approached his bedside; tears welled up in her eyes all over again. He offered her a soft smile and slightly raised his hand to say hello. She let out a strangled sob and reached out her hands to cradle his face. Gently, she pulled him close and gave him a tender kiss. Draco kissed her back and rested his hand on her waist. When they pulled away, he gazed into her sad eyes. “I’m here, love. I’m okay. There’s no need to cry.” This only caused more teardrops to fall. Y/N tried to stifle her sobs, not wanting to wake up any other patients. “Draco, you almost d..died. You almost died on the floor, I…I was lying next to you, and if Snape hadn’t come in when he did, y-you would’ve d-died in my arms.”

Draco didn't utter a word. He merely scooted over in his bed and patted the new spot next to him. Y/N rubbed her eyes and climbed up onto the hospital cot. She buried herself into his side and gently wrapped her arms around his lower torso, trying not to irritate his cuts. He laughed softly. “I’m healed, darling. Pomfrey said I’m staying the night, so Potter doesn’t come back to finish me off,” Draco said, a hint of anger laced in his tone. “Why did he do this to you, Draco? Is he what’s been bothering you? Do I need to talk to him?” Y/N asked. She was incredibly angry at Harry, and Draco had just reminded her of this. 

Draco stared at her. He could see the anguish and inner turmoil she was going through. He felt guilt pang in his chest when he realized he was the cause of it. He never wanted her to be hurting because of him; he only wanted to keep her safe. Keep her oblivious. But it seemed as though that was no longer an option. He couldn’t bear to lie to her again. He had to come clean.

“Potter did this to me because... he knows I cursed Katie Bell,” Draco said flat out. Y/N’s eyes widened to twice their original size. “You what?! Draco, what do you mean you cursed—”

Draco hurriedly put his hand over his girlfriend’s mouth. “Shh! Someone could hear you,” he whispered. “We can talk about this more in the morning, alright? We can’t discuss this here, but I promise you, Y/N. I promise you I’ll tell you what’s been going on. Just not here,” he said firmly.

“You’ll tell me everything?” she asked, her eyes shined with newfound hope. 

Draco nodded. “Everything.”

-----------

The couple sat across from each other, each on top of random objects within the Room of Requirement. Y/N’s hands rested, overtop her lips as she took in everything Draco had just told her. Several minutes of silence passed. “Love...please say something,” Draco pleaded. Y/N straightened her back and inhaled sharply. Her eyes flickered to Draco’s. “So you mean to tell me that you’re a death eater because of your dad and you inadvertently cursed Katie because you were actually trying to kill Dumbledore because you-know-who told you to? And you’ve also been sneaking off so you can fix a cabinet that’ll allow other death eaters to get inside Hogwarts?” she asked, the words flying out of her mouth at lightning speed.

Draco rubbed his neck and stared at his feet. He waited a few beats before replying, “Yes.” Stillness overtook the vast room. Neither teenager uttered a word. Y/N was too deep in her thoughts, and Draco was anxiously awaiting her next sentence. He was so worried that his confession would drive Y/N away from him for good. Even though that would be a good thing for her safety, Draco knew it would break him in the long run. 

“Can I see it?” Y/N asked quietly. Draco recognized the fear in her voice almost instantaneously. But regardless, he nodded and stood up. Y/N paused but stood up as well. Apprehensively, Draco grasped the end of his sleeve and slowly rolled it up to reveal his dark mark. He felt his entire body clench with fear. Draco's eyes were glued to his girlfriend’s face, searching for some kind of indication as to what she was feeling. But her eyes were empty as she gazed at the permanent image on his arm. Slowly, she outstretched her hand and placed her fingertips on the skull embedded in his skin. Her touch caused a shudder to run up Draco’s spine. He felt uncomfortable that a soul as pure as Y/N’s was touching something so inherently dark and evil. 

“Does it hurt?” she asked while removing her hand and shifting her gaze to Draco’s face. He began to roll his sleeve back down. “Sometimes,” he mumbled.

Y/N could see the nervousness on her boyfriend’s face. She knew he was scared of how she’d react to his confession, so she decided to give him some reassurance. “Draco, look at me,” she ordered gently. He tilted his head up to make eye contact with Y/N. She continued, “I love you. I love you so much. I know you, and I know you’ve just dug yourself in too deep. You didn’t realize what you were getting into. I mean, how could you?” she asked. 

Draco nodded, a tear escaping his eye. “I only wanted to impress him. I wanted to make him proud of me. Hell, I wanted to make The Dark Lord proud. But I can’t do it, Y/N, I can’t.” Draco was full-on crying now. His shoulders rose and fell violently as sobs overtook him. “Wanted to impress who, love?” Y/N asked softly as she took her lover into her arms. “My father, he—” Draco couldn’t finish his sentence; his tears were too uncontrollable.

Y/N felt her eyes begin to well up with her own tears as she placed her hand on his nape. She gently stroked him, trying to soothe him. Draco removed his hands from his face and wrapped them around Y/N tightly, wanting to hold her. She was providing him comfort, but he knew that this couldn’t be easy for Y/N either. So he hugged her. And for a long time... that was all they did. They held one another and cried with one another. Neither knew what to say or what to think. Neither knew what the next step should be, but at that moment, they knew they would take that step together. And for now, that was enough.

Taglist (link to request form here)

@jud3cardan

[m-y-fandoms]

Rantarou Amami x Ultimate Writer - FLUFF

Request: Hi! Your writing is incredible ^^ I was wondering if you could write Rantaro with an Ultimate Essay Writer s/o, maybe comforting them when they're up late writing? I hope that's okay, and thank you :D

Hey! Sure I can do this! But, I wanna make it just the Ultimate Writer. I’m an english writing major myself IRL, and I have to write essays, non-fiction, emails, resumes, letters, instructional guides, graphic novels, fiction, poetry etc. so they will definitely have essay-writing skills anyway. Ultimate Writer just makes it easier. I hope you don’t mind :) - Admin Kokichi

     "Nnnn!" You gritted your teeth in frustration, "NNNGGHH!" Your arm was stretched to its extent, reaching up with all your might. The shelf above was just out of reach. Your fingertips scraped against the spine of the thick brown book above you, but strain as you might, it wasn’t budging, firm and snug against the others on the shelf. "Gah!" You puffed in anger, clenching your fists. Why did the books you wanted from the basement library always have to be so high up? You needed this particular text as a reference for your next piece. 

     It was going to be a throwaway letter, a confession written to express your feelings then set them free by burning it later. It didn’t matter, really, what you wrote at this point. Anything to get your mind off of all of… this. In this killing game, your writing was the only thing that brought you comfort. You stayed up every night scrawling until your wrist cramped up. Your Monopad had a notes section to type in, but you much rather stick to the traditional ways. The lack of sleep and endless output of creative thought was starting to weigh on you, and now it looked like you weren’t even getting this damn book today, “Man, this blows…” You sighed deeply. "AH!" You jumped, startled when a large, ring-clad hand suddenly appeared in front of your face, bracelets jangling in your ear. Soon, you felt someone's broad chest against your back. The hand grabbed the book you wanted and brought it down. You turned around with your hand on your chest, still a little jumpy. "Oh, phew… Rantarou, it's just you."

      "Yeah,” he chuckled gently, “here ya go Y/N." There stood your crush, the rich playboy with a heart of gold. You felt your cheeks go warm. He was often in the library, and you relished every moment you got to spend glancing over your shoulder at him while we has up to his usual antics of planning traps or researching new ways to interrogate your classmates until someone was spooked into admitting their position as the mastermind. Once in a while, he would read for pleasure, and at first you felt like an asshole for being surprised by that. You judged him too early on, seeing a flawless face and a suave personality and assuming he would be the popular kid archetype you’d seen in many an awful young adult novel. The more you got to know him, the more he revealed himself to be highly intelligent, well-rounded, considerate, empathetic, and extremely attractive.

     "Thanks, Rantarou," you looked down, placing the book under your arm.

     "No problem… it's not everyday I get to do something useful for someone else here," he rubbed the back of his neck, laughing nervously. You laughed too, looking him up and down. 

      “That’s not true!” you countered. “You’re always helping us all out. You give great advice, too!”

      “Well, I try to help, but I’m sure it hasn’t escaped everyone’s notice that none of my plans have really... taken off,” he gestured, moving his hand in a soaring-upward motion. “Also, with me not rememberin’ my talent and all… I kinda have become the expendable background character, yeah?” His eyes crinkled closed with a kind smile.

      He laughed again to fill the silence of the dark, empty library. You giggled. You always thought it was cute how could be so humble, looking the way he did, sounding the way he did. He had been that way ever since you’d met him, and are far as you were concerned, it seemed genuine. You couldn’t really trust anyone in this killing game, but you trusted Rantarou. Even in the library past midnight, where no one would know if you ended up dead, you trusted Rantarou.

      "Sorry, I uh, I didn't mean to scare you," he leaned against the bookcase, arms crossed.

      "Nah, it's fine. You helped me out, so I forgive you..." You joked, playfully punching his shoulder. He smiled a bit sheepishly, an expression you didn’t see often in the confident male.

      "Yeah I… haha," He fiddled with a book nearby," I didn't think anyone would be here. I always come at night. Surprisingly, it's pretty boomin’ here during the day, so I come later on to avoid the hassle of a crowded space." You understood completely. Rantarou was always secretive about his plans.

      “I know, I see you here sometimes,” you mused.

      “Oh, really? I usually sit behind the back shelves, so I guess i didn’t notice you. You’re pretty quiet, huh? Maybe I should be watchin’ my back for you, huh?” He snickered

      "I was having the same thought, isn't that weird?" He looked at you with alarm. “I’m kidding!” To that, he relaxed a bit. "So, watcha reading?"

      "Oh, um," He gestured behind him to the aforementioned back shelf "I’m set up back there reading. It's just some old, boring, textbook information on one of the small countries I’ve visited. I thought it'd be interesting, but..."

      "Yeah, sounds like it," You looked at him with genuine interest, and he smiled in appreciation.

      "Wait, really?!"

      "Yeah, why wouldn't it be? I think it’s super cool that you’re well-traveled. I guess that’s why you and Korekiyo get along so well, huh?" His feet shuffled in silent excitement at your shared enthusiasm. He bit his lip playfully, and your eyes grew shiny in admiration. He was so adorable.

      He noticed your change in expression and coughed, frowning a little in embarrassment. You tried to change the subject, to make him comfortable again.

      "H-hey, Rantarou?"

      "Hmm?" He looked up from the ground eagerly.

      "You're gonna be up reading all night, right? Well.. I will be, too, and... it’s harder for someone to kill us with four eyes on the lookout..."

      "Yeah?"

      "So, you wanna maybe sit with me here at my table? The vents reach this side of the library better so it’s a bit warmer... haha, it's... it's kinda cold in here," You pulled your uniform’s turtleneck tighter around yourself, shaking a little. Rantarou immediately accepted. He wasn’t about to pass up an invitation from his crush.

     “Hell yeah, sounds great! I’ll go grab my stuff, but, hey, I’ve noticed I hardly ever see you in the dorms… you know you gotta sleep, right?” He had a concerned look on his face, and your heart of course fluttered at his attention to detail and knowledge of your habits, but you didn’t want him worrying about you when he had his own safety to look out for.

      “Well, I appreciate the concern, but I’d much rather spend time with you than be in my dorm alone worrying.” He seemed to blush at your words, and you thought you’d maybe gone too far, until he agreed, and rushed over to grab his reading material.

~

      You sighed deeply, a yawn slipping out once or twice. At least two hours had passed since you and Rantarou set up your little corner and there he still sat, in the wooden chair across from yours, never looking up at you from his book. A peaceful, relaxed look glazed his face. He had been that way almost the whole time, but you could sense him becoming a bit antsy. Maybe he was just tired?

      You were both fast readers, so by now you had already read the best sections of your own books and switched. He now sat reading the yellowed pages of the book you selected: an eclectic compilation of 16th century romance literature, and you were now five chapters into his text on the different ethnic groups of some far-off land.

      “Hmm… heh,” he shook his head amusedly.

      “What?” Your head shot up anxiously, fearing he was judging your choice of genre.

       “It’s just... some of this is extremely cheesy and cliche. You’d think the old masters would have done a little better.” He lifted the book in a referencing gesture.

      “Ah, yes, I noticed that as well. I was hoping for a little inspiration, but… it seems Monokuma isn’t the best curator of quality literature.” He nodded in agreement, seemingly stuck on a thought. You could see him stare into space for a second before continuing.

      “Inspiration for what… may I ask?” He pressed, waiting with bated breath for your reply. You felt your feathers start to ruffle, the borders of your comfort zone being invaded by the enemy. You didn’t know if you should answer honestly. The letter was a throwaway for a reason…

      “I was going to write a letter…” it slipped out, and you quickly regretted it. Apparently, your brain had decided to take the lead for you. You never recalled yourself being so forward or brave.

      “Why do you need sonnets and romance novels to write a letter? Planning to sweet talk Monokuma into freeing us?” He chuckled somewhat teasingly, but his haughty words slowly faded to silence upon noticing the wet shine in your nervous eyes, the way your fingers played with the corner of the book as a distraction for your discomfort.

      “No…” You coughed, clearing your throat. Rantarou looked away, running a hand through his green shaggy locks. He knew what the letter was for, of course, who it was for. He was a bit nervous, too, eager to play off the tension in the room with humor, but it wasn’t working. He was wondering why you were so apprehensive, so sullen at his inquiry. You two flirted almost every day… did you seriously need to worry about his reaction? Did you think he didn’t like you back? “I-It’s… well it was going to be a um… a confession of sorts… just to get my feelings down on paper and off my chest. Then I was gonna burn it afterward to set those feelings free!” You smiled weakly, betraying your lack of confidence.

      “Nah, you should give it to him- them!” He corrected himself, dropping the most obvious hint he could. You still didn’t look convinced, a bit oblivious.

      “Y-you think so?”

      “For sure, no doubt. Whoever that letter is meant for,” he leaned in to you, clasping his calloused hands around yours. You felt your heart skip a beat at the contact, and you were left speechless, fearing any words spoken now would come out as idiotic babbling, “they are gonna love it. Trust me.” His eyebrows rose with emphasis, and he shot you one of his iconic, heart-melting smiles.

[darthvashtique93]

Letters To Juliet

Chapter 5

            After three days of sightseeing and museum-hopping with little to no communication with Cassie, Tim was bored.  So, late afternoon on the fourth day, Tim decided to visit the Secretaries of Juliet.

             Greeting Angelina, Tim walked up the steps where he heard the women laughing about a letter asking about men.  Knocking on the door frame, Tim alerted them to his presence.  “Tim!” a chorus of voices greeted him excitedly.  The four women immediately began asking him questions in fast Italian.  Tim couldn’t answer them all.  “Umm…” he said as they pulled him into the room and forced him to sit.  “Tell us, Tim,” Enrichetta demanded, “Isabel has been very quiet about your fiancée.  Only stating how beautiful she looks.”

“Well, she is,” Tim smiled.

“Yes, but tell us more.”

“What does she do?”

“What does she like?”

“What do you love about her?”

“When’s the wedding and are we invited?”

“Vacci piano,” Isabel told her friends.  “Give him a chance to answer.”  Before Tim could answer, a female wearing sunglasses appeared at the door, knocking before saying, “Scusatemi per il disturbo.  Siete le segretari di Giulietta?”

“Sì,” Isabela answered brightly as she stood to her feet.  Tim studied the girl with mild interest.  She was on the short side.  Her short hair was styled side-swept and stopped at her chin.  She was wearing a simple yet chic, white romper with gold, Grecian sandals.  She had a cute nose, and her lips were a soft shade of pink.  They looked plump and petal soft, and Tim found himself staring intently at them.  It wasn’t until Carla said his name that Tim realized all attention was on him.  “I am so sorry,” Tim apologized.  “I zoned out.”

“Americano,” the girl said with a tight smile.  He couldn’t see above her nose, but judging on the press of her lips, she did not like him.  “Yes,” Alessandra said, “this is Tim.  He wrote the letter to Azar.”

“Wait, what?” Tim jumped to his feet in astonishment and joy.  He couldn’t believe it!  “Azar – she’s here?  She received my letter?”

“Yes,” the girl said, the tight smile never leaving her face.  Her accent was so annoyingly cute.  “It was so thoughtful of you to write back after 50 years.”  Tim couldn’t see through the giant dark sunglasses, but he imagined this girl was rolling her eyes. Also, the saracasm in her voice wasn’t hard to miss. “What were you thinking?” she asked.  Tim turned to the other four women for help.  All four turned to the basket of letters and feigned busyness. Traitors, Tim thought.

“Well,” Tim folded his arms as he looked down at the girl, “I was thinking she deserved an answer.”

“Maybe 50 years ago.  Not now.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim said, a bit of teasing creeping into his voice, “I wasn’t aware that true love had an expiration date.”

“Hah! True love?” the girl scoffed.  She then quickly spoke in a language Tim didn’t understand, as she looked at him from head to toe.  “Please tell me you are kidding.”  Tim cocked his head as he studied her.  He was enjoying this way too much.  “Can you imagine what would have happened if she had not seen sense?” she asked.

“Well, you wouldn’t be here, and we wouldn’t be having this lovely conversation,” Tim smiled.

“Trust me,” the girl spoke through gritted teeth, “this is the last place I want to be.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because she wants to meet you,” the girl’s lip curled in a small sneer, “and she asked me to bring the writer of the letter to her.”

“She’s here?” Tim asked, surprised once again.  The girl turned around without a word and exited the room.  Tim stared after her before turning to his four companions.  “Seguitela,” Isabela said, “follow her.”  The other three women nodded in agreement and excitement.

           Tim had to run to catch up with the girl.  For someone of such short stature, she walked really fast.  “In a hurry?” Tim joked once he caught up with her.  She didn’t respond.  “So,” Tim continued speaking, as the girl ignored him, “she came all this way from Azarath to find her Leonardo.  It’s sort of sweet.”  The girl stopped abruptly and turned to Tim.  “Sweet?” she repeated.  “What if Leonardo does not want to see her? Or has forgotten her? Or is dead?” she asked sharply.  Tim didn’t respond.  Honestly, he hadn’t thought that far ahead.  The small female turned on her heels and continued walking.

           They ended up at Juliet’s house.  Only one figure stood in the courtyard. An elderly woman with soft, white hair that fell just below her shoulders, was looking upward longingly at Juliet’s balcony. The female Tim had followed approached her.  They immediately began speaking in hushed tones.  The elderly woman looked up at Tim with the most intense blue eyes he had ever seen.  Right, he remembered.  She was Azarathian.  Azarathians were known for their vibrant eye colors.  Also, she was approaching him.  “Hello,” she greeted softly, looking at Tim with so much softness he wanted to melt.  “I see my granddaughter has found you,” she motioned to the younger female behind her whose face was now void emotion, and she had yet to remove her giant sunglasses.  Tim really wanted to rip them off her face to see what she looked like.  “Yes, she did,” Tim smiled his million-dollar smile that stole the hearts of every female in existence.  He turned his smile to the dark-haired female.  Well, almost every female in existence.  She didn’t react at all, not even a micro-twitch.  “She was so sweet and charming,” Tim continued.

           “Really?” Azar turned to her granddaughter.  “Does that mean your opinion has changed, Raven?”  Raven, Tim thought, that’s her name.  “No, not one bit,” Raven answered honestly, but not as harshly as she was with Tim.  “What do you hope to accomplish by coming here, Avia?”

           “Closure,” Azar shrugged.  “Adventure.  You could do with some adventure in your life, sweetheart.”  Tim smiled.  Azar really did care for her granddaughter, and Raven seemed to have some modicum of respect for her grandmother.  “We flew to Italia.  We stared at a wall.  We found the human who wrote the letter,” Raven stated monotonal.  “Adventure, over.  Can we go now?”  Azar tsked in response.  “Forgive my granddaughter,” Azar said to Tim, “adventure and excitement along with spontaneity is not one of her stronger attributes.”

           “Books are exciting,” Raven stated.  “This is not.”

           “The more you disprove, the more fun it will be for me,” Azar beamed.  Raven only shook her head, and Tim imagined in eyeroll along with it.  “We were going for a glass of wine,” Azar said to Tim, “would you like to join us?”  Tim was about to automatically say ‘no’, until he saw a brief sneer pass Raven’s features.  It was there and gone.  Most people would have probably missed it.  “I would be honored to join you,” he smirked at Raven.

           “Do you not have something better to do?” Raven asked.  “Perhaps another letter to write?”

           “Oh, I would not miss this for the world,” Tim smiled mockingly at her.

           “Great,” Azar clasped her hands together.  “Do you know of any places nearby?  We have done a bit of walking today.”  Tim could have imagined it, but a brief look of concern passed Raven’s face.  It was there and gone.  She asked Azar a question in a language Tim did not know, most likely Azarathian.  Azar responded in kind.  Turning to Tim, in English she said, “Lead the way.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35245624/chapters/87833437

[drivingsideways]

k-drama rec list

Prior to 2020 I’d maybe watched 2 k-dramas in my entire life, but this year I got sucked in, thanks to some great recs, and y’know, *gestures * everything.  

I think I’d held off watching kdramas because my impression of them was limited to romances that I didn’t enjoy at all. But this was the year I discovered the equivalent of “gen fic” kdrama- dramas that had wonderful ensemble casts, strong story lines that weren’t entirely romance focused and also a variety in terms of themes and styles. A big plus was that I found so many of these dramas had women leading the writers’ room, and seeing the effect of that in the story telling. (Notable exceptions: a certain “star” writer who should please stop inflicting her badly written, formulaic crap on the world, yes Kim Eun-Sook, I mean you, and whoever wrote that trashfire Flower of Evil)

So here I am with my own rec list! Caveat- these are mostly not the dramas released in 2020, I’m still playing catch up! :)

Under the cut for length

My Mister/ My Ahjussi  (2018, Written by Park Hae-Young, Directed by Kim Won-Seok, starring Lee Sun-kyun and Lee Ji-eun aka IU) 

This was definitely my absolute favourite of the shows I watched this year across western/ asian media. It’s a story about the thread that binds us all and the ineffability of human connection. It’s also a story that deconstructs ideas of masculinity and honour and shame in a non-western context, but with an extremely compassionate touch.  It’s a story that doesn’t shy away from showing the consequences of material and spiritual poverty; and how one can so easily feed into the other. It’s a love story that isn’t a romance, except that it’s a Romance. It’s about finding salvation in one another and in the kindness of strangers.  It’s about choosing life, and picking yourself up off the floor to take that one last step and then the next and then the next. The one quibble I have with the series is that it could have been better paced, it does get extremely slow after the half way mark. But god, do they land the ending. Both Lee Sun-kyun and IU turn in absolutely heartbreaking performances, and fair warning, be prepared to go through an entire box of tissues watching this series. 

Life  (2018,  written by Lee Soo-yeon  and directed by Hong Jong-chan, starring Lee Dong-wook, Cho Seung-woo, Won Jin-ah, Lee Kyu-hyung, Yoo Jae-myung and Moon So-ri.)

Medical dramas are very much not my thing, and I wouldn’t have taken a chance on it except that @michyeosseo said I should, and she was right! It’s a medical drama in the sense that it’s set in a hospital, but rather than a “case-fic” format, this is actually a sharp commentary on the corporatization of health care, and the business of mixing, well, money and what should be a fundamental human right. Writer Lee Soo-yeon was coming off the global success of Stranger/Secret Forest S1 when this aired, so I understand that expectations were probably sky-high, and people were disappointed when this show didn’t give them the adrenaline rush that they wanted. On the other hand, I thought that this outing was really much more nuanced in terms of the politics and also how the ending doesn’t allow you the luxury of easy-fixes. This show has a great ensemble cast, and while it took me a while to get used to Lee Dong-wook’s woodenness (i ended up calling him mr.cadaver after watching this and was surprised to learn that he’s very popular?), in the end I was quite sold on his version of angry angst-bucket elder-sibling Dr.Ye Jin-woo. His best scenes were with Lee Kyu-hyung who turns in a lovely, achy performance as the paraplegic Dr. Ye Seon-woo who just wants to live a normal life. The love story between the two brothers is actually the emotional backbone of the story, and I think they landed that perfectly. 

My one quibble with writer-nim is that she ended up writing in a forgettable and somewhat (for me at least) uncomfortable romance between the characters played by Won Jin-ah and Cho Seung-Woo. I think part of my uncomfortable-feeling was that I got the strong sense that the writer herself didn’t want to write this romance, it was as if she was being made to shoe-horn it in for Studio Reasons, and she basically grit her teeth and did the worst possible job of it.  I do wish we could have absolutely had the OT3 of my dreams: Moon So-ri/Cho Seung-woo/Yoo Jae-myung like, c’mon TV gods MAKE IT HAPPEN, just...look at them!!!! 

Anyway, that apart, I think this was a very engaging series, and by engaging, I also mean thirst-enabling, see below. 

 Stranger (aka Secret Forest  or Forest of Secrets) S1 & 2 : (2017-, Written by Lee Soo-yeon, directed by 

2017′s smash hit aired a much anticipated second season in 2020, and I managed to catch up just in time to watch that live, so that was thrilling :D . Writer Lee Soo-yeon  mixes up thriller/office comedy/political commentary in an ambitious series. I think S1 is more “exciting” than S2 in terms of the mystery and pacing,  but S2 is far more dense and interesting in terms of political commentary because it takes a long hard look at institutional corruption and in true writer-nim fashion doesn’t prescribe any easy solutions. Anyway, please enjoy public prosecutor Cho Seung-woo and police officer Bae Doona as partners/soulmates kicking ass and taking names in pursuit of Truth, Justice and just a goddamn peaceful meal, along with a stunningly competent ensemble cast. Also yes, Han Yeo Jin is a lesbian, sorry, I don’t make the rules. 

Search: WWW  (2019, Written by Kwon Do-Eun, directed by Jung Ji-hyun & Kwon Young-il, starring  Im Soo-jung, Lee Da-hee, Jeon Hye-jin)

GOD. Where do I start? +1000 for writer Kwon Do-Eun saying “fuck the patriarchy” in the most grandiose way possible, i.e. absolutely refusing to acknowledge that it exists. Yes, this is that power fantasy, and it’s also a fun, slice-of-life  tale about three women navigating their way through work, romance, national politics and everything in between. It’s true that I wasn’t entirely sold on the amount of time spent on the romance, and I really wish they’d actually had a textual wlw romance, though the subtext through the entire series is PRACTICALLY TEXT. But still, it maintains that veneer of plausible deniability and I think queer fans who are sick of that kind of treatment in media have a very valid grouse against the show. On the other hand, personally I felt that the queer-platonic vibe of the show is very wonderful and true to real life, and it was only reinforced by the ending. This is a show written by a woman for women (like me), and it shows. 

Hyena  (2020, Written by Kim Roo-Ri, directed by Jang Tae-yoo & Lee Chang Woo, starring  Kim Hye-soo and Ju Ji-hoon )

Those of you who’ve been watching hit zombie epic Kingdom are probably familiar with Ju Ji-hoon’s brand of sexiness already. I had not watched Kingdom and got hit in the face by Mr.Sexy McSexyPants’ turn as a brash, privileged-by-birth, up and coming lawyer who gets completely runover by the smoking hot and incredibly dangerous fellow lawyer/competitor from the other side of the tracks in the person of Kim Hye-Soo. When I say they set the room on fire, I mean it, ok. Every single scene between these two is an actual bonfire of sexual attraction and emotional hand grenades, and they’re both absolutely riveting to watch. “Flower of Evil” wishes they had what this show has- an actual grown up romance as opposed to a thirteen year old twilight fan’s idea of an adult romance. 

The “lawyer” shenanigans and the “cases” are hit or miss, and I think the occasional comedy fell flat for me. But that’s not why I mainlined like 6 episodes of this series overnight like a coke addict, and that’s not why you’re going to do it either. It’s so RARE, even in these enlightened days to find a female character like Jung Geum-ja: hard as nails, unapologetic about it, and not punished by the narrative for it. The best part for me is that she feels like a woman’s woman, not a man’s idea of what a Strong Female Character should be. Anyways, when I grow up I want to have what Kim Hye-soo has ok?

Other dramas that I watched this year, quickly rated:

The King: Eternal Monarch (3/10 and those 3 points are only for the combined goodness of second leads who deserved better- Jung Eun Chae, Woo Do Hwan and Kim Kyung Nam. Please head over to my AO3 and read my attempts to fix this garbage fire and rescue their characters from canon)

Flower of Evil (-10/100, dont @ me)

Tale of the Nine Tailed (5/10, I think it succeeds at what it set out to do, which is a light hearted, sweet fantasy-romance-melodrama, plus “second lead” Kim Beom will make you cry as the hot mess of a half human/ half fox spirit ALL TEARS character. I think if you’re into kdrama romances as a genre, this is probably a good bet?)

Signal  (7/10,  This was the first full kdrama I watched this year and would definitely recommend. It’s a police procedural with time travel shenanigans and has an engaging plot, good pacing, texture and compelling performances. My one disappointment with it was the way they wrote Kim Hye-soo’s character. As literally the only female character to survive in any way, she was given short shrift, and toward the end it really began to grate on me.)

Six Flying Dragons - (7/10, also would recommend if you’re interested in Korean historicals. It definitely already feels a bit dated in terms of styling and production values, and even scripting and acting choices. But it has a good balance of fantasy and history and political commentary. I was not a fan of Yoo In-Ah’s performance in this series, but it’s not anything that would make you want to nope out of the series. It’s GoT , if GoT was thoughtful about politics and characters and not the misogynist, racist trashfire that it became.)

My Country: The New Age - (3.5/10, and that’s 3 points to Jang Hyuk’s fan and 0.5.points to Woo Do Hwan’s heaving bosom. If you like your historical drama/fantasy with very pretty men, very gay subtext -seriously RIP to show makers who thought they could hetero it but didn’t account for Woo Do Hwan’s Tragic Face- lots of blood and tears and very nonsense plot, this is right up your alley. I probably would have enjoyed it more in other circumstances, I think? But this one just annoyed me too much at the time! 

I have a couple of more dramas to watch on my list, that’ll probably carry me over into 2021, so see ya on the other side! :D