My Tumblr Year in Review

I posted 2,274 times in 2021

145 posts created (6%)

2129 posts reblogged (94%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 14.7 posts.

I added 3,596 tags in 2021

#i queue - 1085 posts

#drarry - 546 posts

#drarry fic rec - 393 posts

#drarry art - 339 posts

#gorgeous art - 259 posts

#drarry squad - 252 posts

#drarry rec list - 202 posts

#drarry microfic - 187 posts

#my talented friend - 184 posts

#gorgeous microfic - 149 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#harry will never change or at least draco will never be far enough away from his face to notice it changing not if he can help it anyway.

My Top Posts in 2021

(four of the five are microfics, i have loved being in the @drarrymicrofic community this year - so good for the creative impulse)

#5

In the Hallway

This is a little present for @fw00shy as part of the Wheel of Drarry mini gift exchange. CW for bad dreams, nightmares as part of ptsd, brief mention of canonical deaths, brief mention of abandoned cats. Nothing really happens, it's just a little group moving into Grimmauld and learning to live together and getting pets.

“He’s definitely dead, mate,” Ron says, pale under his freckles from another broken night, Harry screaming the whole house into wakefulness yet again. “You killed him, Harry. We all saw him die.” He crawls into bed next to Harry, already dropping off again as Harry tucks him in, curls around his big warm body until the shivers stop.

“You need to think about therapy,” Hermione tells him the next morning, not unkind about it but impatient, eyes shadowed with exhaustion and her mouth tight. Her hands tremble as she wraps clingfilm around her sandwiches, though when she slips into her new work shoes—sharp-heeled and shiny-reflective—she’s taller, more distracted, as though in her own mind she’s already walking out the door. She thinks Harry has to learn to help himself, and maybe she’s not wrong.

---

“I dream about him too,” Malfoy says. It’s just the two of them in the hallway at fuck knows what time of the night, but Malfoy doesn’t sleep much either, so he never cares about Harry’s nightmares. “It feels so real.”

Harry tells him that for all he knows, it is real; there he is, handsome red-mouthed Tom Riddle stalking the halls of Grimmauld, his smile just for Harry. The almost-relief of the familiarity of him, the way he’s lodged somewhere in Harry’s brain or heart or soul, maybe forever. Maybe Harry is his way back; maybe Harry is his anchor; maybe Harry could dream him back to life.

Malfoy considers that for a while, arms crossed firmly over his chest, the curling tail of a scar a distraction above the opened neck of his pyjamas.

“I suppose it’s not impossible,” he whispers finally, looking worried, and it’s actually a relief to be listened to for once, like maybe the worst hasn’t actually already happened. “But my Mark... my father’s never went away, before, but look—”

He holds out his left arm, fumbles with the sleeve until Harry takes over, pushing the fabric up and up until it bunches hard around the taut bulge of bicep. Malfoy’s arm is clear and unblemished, nothing but the faintest silvering of scar tissue where the Mark had been, and even that’s intersected by something more vivid, more vicious, where Harry’s Sectumsempra has never faded.

Harry’s rushed exhale ruffles Malfoy’s hair.

“Okay,” Harry says. “Okay, that’s a good sign.”

He’s still holding Malfoy’s arm, which is blissfully warm and solid under his fingers, and Malfoy looks at him like something has shifted, gone awry, and then licks his lips. He’s blushing.

When Malfoy kisses him, Harry wonders for a horrible second if this is just another dream. It wouldn't be the first time, after all; Harry’s subconscious conjuring up Malfoy, long-haired and smiling as he pushes Harry up against the wall, one careless hand at Harry’s throat, the other in his hair; or Malfoy pinked up from bed-heat and rumpled from sleep, moving slowly over Harry in a bed that’s too comfortable to be a Grimmauld bed and too big to be anything but a dream bed.

But no, he thinks, in Harry’s dreams Malfoy doesn’t have tired lines around his eyes, and he doesn’t have any scars, especially not so many, flickering in and out of Harry’s vision with every shift of his collar as Malfoy moves restlessly, baring his throat to Harry’s mouth. In Harry’s dreams, Malfoy’s fingers are more sure, more demanding. Dream Malfoy always takes what he wants, but this must be real, because this Malfoy is cautious, waiting for Harry to move again, watching Harry from under his downturned translucent lashes that Harry has never seen this close up.

---

When Sirius shows up, he’s not a dream, Harry's sure of it. Sirius is definitely real, he has to be. He’s in the corridor outside Harry’s room and his hair has the dull petroleum sheen of a night of running with wolves, and all his aristocratic bones are just a little too close to the surface of his skin. Every step is a sway, a concentrated roll from heel to toe, firewhiskey-graceful.

Harry knows he can’t be dreaming because he knows his own brain could never recreate Sirius so accurately, so cruelly. Nearly all the lights are off, and Harry tries to cast a Lumos, but he must have left his wand somewhere, and then Malfoy is beside him, sleek as a seal in his best travelling cloak, eyeing Sirius warily. Malfoy never drinks, doesn’t trust the letting go.

“I knew you’d come back,” Harry says to Sirius, though the minute the words are out he wants to steal them back. He can feel Malfoy looking at him.

Sirius laughs, puts a steadying hand on the wall, the row of house-elf heads staring sightlessly down at him, grotesque. Why haven’t they taken them down yet, Harry wonders.

“Harry,” Sirius says, sweet and smoky, but then he stops, stifled. Slowly his hand rises in front of his face, claws at something Harry can’t see, mouth caught fast on the start of the same old smile, before he starts to fall backwards.

Then Harry wakes, and Malfoy is still there beside him, but there’s no travelling cloak, just a cool moonlit expanse of bare skin, and wary wakefulness.

“Was he really here?” Harry asks, frantic with it, again and again, and Draco rolls him over, presses him into the bed, strokes him quiet.

“That one was a dream,” he answers, and Harry goes limp with relief. “They’re all dreams, remember?”

Harry does remember, but sometimes even in the daytime, even out of the house, he feels them rising in him, each ghost under the skin, in the cords of his larynx, something shifting in the spaces between each beat of his heart.

Hermione says briskly, “We know ghosts exist, Harry. We’ve met them. You’re not being haunted, you’re just traumatised.” Like we all are, she doesn’t say, but it hangs in the air anyway, like yet another spectre. Hermione has been reading the classifieds section of the Prophet, probably looking for somewhere new to live—somewhere neat, somewhere more manageable. Grimmauld has six bedrooms but only two bathrooms, and the drawing room Floo smokes no matter how many times Harry has it cleaned, and the fridge in the kitchen bristles with the half-eaten leftovers of too many people’s incompetent cooking.

“I never expected to have to live with him,” Hermione hisses to Harry when they’re doing the washing up one evening, Malfoy playing cards with Theo and Padma at the big kitchen table behind them.

“Well, don’t then,” Harry whispers back, viciously, and throws his scourer into the sudsy water and storms out, the restless flickering sound of shuffling cards fading behind him.

He doesn’t care that Hermione is leaving, he tells Malfoy later when they’re both sitting on the flat bit of roof just under Harry’s—their—bedroom. They can’t see the stars with all the neon of London around them, but Harry can feel them high above, burning away furiously behind the roiling purplish night clouds.

Malfoy would probably love if Hermione moved out, but he just mentions in a mild tone about how hard she’s been working recently, and when Harry lies back to stare at the sky in a temper, Malfoy efficiently unzips Harry’s jeans and eases himself down into the open V of Harry’s legs. They’re quiet about it, because Hermione’s window is the next one over, and she has an early start the next day. Malfoy’s eyes are bright in the sodium streetlight and he looks blissful with his mouth stuffed full, Harry arching up to meet him, and when Harry comes he feels vaporised, like he’s sizzling off into the stars that he can now see behind his screwed-shut eyelids.

That night Harry has the worst dream of them all. Not a ghost this time, so at least he knows he’s dreaming right from the start. He’s walking the hallway in Grimmauld like he always does in dreams, but he’s in Hermione’s skin. He can see the familiar shape of her as he passes the big mirror at the bottom of the stairs, possessed by self-possession. He knows if he opens his mouth it’s her voice that will come out, but that’s not what makes him wake, shivering with a cold sweat. It’s just that in the dream he’s making his way to the front door, through endless dream corridors, never looking back.

He wakes silently, thankfully, but through the wall he can hear the quiet wakefulness of someone moving around in Hermione’s bedroom, and he thinks of her with an open suitcase on the bed, and how easily her dream body moved towards the door. When Malfoy stirs beside him, murmuring something incomprehensible into the pillow, Harry curls around him, waiting for morning.

---

“Maybe you should take her out to dinner, though make sure it’s somewhere nice,” Malfoy suggests, which is a bit rich considering that he’s sitting in just his pants on the old horsehair couch in the back sitting room, shovelling the contents of a green Pot Noodle into his mouth. Harry can see tiny globular flecks of oil gleaming like constellations on his bare chest where he’s dripped the noodle juice. Harry had thought at first that the more remote Hermione got, the more Malfoy seemed to like her, but he’s starting to understand that Malfoy being kind about her is something calculated, something deliberate. Malfoy wants her to stay because Harry wants her to stay; in his own weird way, he’s trying to help.

Harry doesn’t take her out to dinner, but he does get tickets for the Oscar Wilde exhibition at the British Library and takes her to that. When they listen to the recording of Wilde’s voice, Hermione actually cries, though only a little bit, and when Harry puts his arm around her she leans into him just like she always did.

They get home just after ten o’ clock, and everyone else is out. There’s only Ron left, asleep on the sofa, face placid and unmoving, as dependably dreamless as he always was. Harry smiles, sees the same smile on Hermione’s face, and takes her by the hand to go find Draco.

He’s in the library, sitting in the big creaky swivel chair, staring into the top drawer of the desk. He’s smiling too.

“Look what I found,” he says fondly. “Dumped on Archway Bridge, can you imagine? They like your desk, Potter.”

There are kittens in the drawer, tumbling over each other, paws batting gently at the air. Harry remembers the dream of the night before—he was Remus this time, Harry’s dream self coiled and sheathed in fur, ready to spring, moon-mad—and touches the tip of his tongue to each incisor, carefully testing for too-sharpness.

“Are they real?” he asks Draco, but it’s Hermione who nods, takes his hand in hers.

“They’re beautiful,” she says, sounding pleased and surprised, not even a bit begrudging.

“Can we keep them?” Draco asks, and Hermione says, “I was looking for a crup— I thought, for Harry, you know? But a cat would be just as good, really.”

Harry can already imagine it—the warmth of a shared bed, someone who cares what his dreams are made of, and now a dense sleeping lump of cat wedged into the space behind his bent knees.

“There’s one for each of us, if we want them,” Draco tells them proudly, like it was part of his plan all along, and Harry reaches for one of the kittens—the smallest one, with fur the same murky silver of Draco’s eyes.

“House cats,” Harry says, and in the distance they hear the heavy slam of the front door, raised voices, something merry and familiar. Everyone’s home.

It's also on AO3

351 notes • Posted 2021-05-14 09:34:22 GMT

#4

Something In the Way

“It matches your eyes,” Potter said, and when Draco protested—just a quiet murmur in the peace of the bedroom—Potter patted him lightly on one hip and nudged at his arms.

“Up,” he said, and Draco, sick with love, raised his arms above his head and allowed Potter to slide the jumper on him, big hands stroking it flat over Draco’s stomach until they both shivered.

It sagged, shoulders stretched out, but Potter put his mouth to Draco’s throat above the loose neck and whispered, “I like it so much,” into the skin there, and “Borrow it, if you like,” as though Draco didn't want Potter with him and in him and on him forever; his second skin.

~~~

Here on AO3

Written for the Drarry Discord Drabble Challenge.

Prompt: Borrowed. Word count: 117

354 notes • Posted 2021-01-22 20:16:51 GMT

#3

Lover, You Should've

My entry for @drarrymicrofic, prompt Verklempt. Editing this as just this second I remembered that “lemonade light” comes from a Pulp song, Acrylic Afternoons - so am retrospectively crediting that here now. Apologies for the first 60 notes of no credit, it was totally unintentional and just down to my terrible memory!

“Why don’t you come over?” he asked casually, and when they came through the Floo together they didn’t need to say anything, and it was all a quiet focused blur of body against body.

They were both a bit hungover from the night before, and before they undressed each other, Malfoy closed the shutters against the thin lemonade sunlight so Harry wouldn’t have to squint when he lay on Malfoy’s bed, looking up into Malfoy’s face. It should have been awkward, Harry with his pounding headache, Malfoy a bit red-eyed, unshaven, rumpled-looking; and on top of all that, neither of them really knowing what they were doing.

But actually, it was just so good. Everything felt right, and after a while Harry broke off their kiss to cast a Lumos, all the better to see Malfoy properly. When Harry started to touch him, Malfoy blushed all the way down his chest, and then Harry was straining against the heat of Malfoy’s mouth, sheets rippling under his clutching hands, and the pleasure was so clean and easy that Harry wondered why they had waited so long.

“I don’t sleep well,” Malfoy said later that evening, as though he hadn’t spent the afternoon dozing sweetly, uncurled across half the bed, body a loose line pointing towards Harry. And Harry said, “I don’t either,” wondering what it would be like to wake shivering in the dark from a nightmare to find Malfoy beside him. All that heat to warm himself at.

“Stay the night?” Malfoy asked, and instead of answering, Harry rolled closer and kissed him again, like it was all very simple. And maybe it was.

375 notes • Posted 2021-02-20 17:24:55 GMT

#2

Animated Dust

A very belated birthday ficlet for darling @zigster-ao3 - Veela Draco rescues a dog. Written for @drarrymicrofic prompt Adoption. Title from Lord Byron because of course.

“Malfoy’s got a dog,” Harry said, into his pint.

Angelina rolled her eyes and muttered something about stating the bloody obvious, and Seamus, who had just arrived and who was still taking off his coat, nearly fell over a stool craning his neck to peer at Malfoy across the beer garden. Malfoy wasn’t hard to find, not even in the deepening violet dusk, because of all his hair under the fairy lights. The dog was barely visible though, tucked into the neck of Malfoy’s denim jacket so the row of closed buttons writhed. Malfoy looked preoccupied as he patted the heaving mound, reaching for his drink with the other hand.

Seamus said disappointedly, “You can’t even see the little fecker. I’m going over there,” and he did, without even bothering to get himself a drink first, and within three minutes of Malfoy looking up at him warily, his face a careful blank, Seamus had nabbed the dog and was laughingly getting very enthusiastic licks all over his face. Malfoy was laughing too, face alight with it, the expression weirdly naked, his devotion so obvious that it was like someone had turned the lights right up.

“Malfoy really loves that dog,” Ron said, watching Harry across the table.

“A pub isn’t really the place for it though, is it?” Harry said, and Ron looked around pointedly at all the other tables with dogs lying underneath or tucked up on their owners’ laps, and the drinking bowls the pub had set out against the wall, and the half-empty jar of dog treats on the windowsill.

“You like dogs, Harry,” Ginny said, sounding bored of the conversation, and fed up with Harry specifically, though she dropped a kiss on the top of his head as she got up to go to the bar, which meant she wasn’t really pissed off with him. “You should go over and ask for a cuddle, if you’re so obsessed.”

“Maybe I will.” Harry stuck his tongue out at her retreating figure, and Luna kicked him gently under the table. “I do like dogs.”

He didn’t go over that night, though, because when Seamus finally gave the dog back to Malfoy, it curled right into Malfoy’s chest in a tight circle of limbs and then seemed to fall asleep. Malfoy carefully buttoned his jacket up over it again and got up to leave, his arm a careful cradle around the misshapen lump. But the following Sunday Harry was walking through Victoria Embankment Gardens, clutching a bottle of some cheapo fizzy white wine that was sweating gently in its paper bag, when he saw Malfoy sitting on the grass, all by himself, except for the dog of course.

They were right next to one of the big flower beds, and the dog was leaping in and out of some phlox, sending dusty puffs of dry mud into the air with each thump of its little paws. Malfoy was trying to hold the lead and eat sushi out of a takeaway box at the same time, which didn’t seem to be going too well for him, but from the way he was looking at the dog Harry thought he probably didn’t mind.

“Do you want me to hold the lead?” Harry asked when he reached them, and Malfoy looked up with a start, squinting irritatedly into the midday dazzle of the July sun.

“Potter? What are you doing here?” he asked, and then the dog ducked in behind him with a small squeak, and Malfoy dropped his sushi.

“I was going to sit by the river and drink this,” Harry told him, gesturing with the bottle. “But you looked like you could use a hand.”

“She’s very shy,” Draco muttered, twisting around toward the dog. The lead was straining. “She might not like a stranger holding the lead.”

“She didn’t mind Seamus holding her the other night.” Harry knew he sounded sulky, but he sat down cross-legged on the grass anyway and went on. “I love dogs.”

“Seamus’s dad is a greyhound trainer and Seamus has two massive rescue greyhounds living in his flat in Shoreditch,” Malfoy said primly. “Seamus is great with dogs. But Peggy is very nervous, especially of men. She’s had a tough time of it. So you have to be careful with her.”

“You’re a man,” Harry said accusingly, then blushed as Malfoy raised one silvery eyebrow. In the full of the sun, his features were flattened down to oblique angles, skin gilded, eyelashes fading to translucence like points of stars.

“Not quite,” Malfoy said, and then he stretched self-consciously, rolling his shoulders, and his eyes clouded up for a moment, plum-dark like the London summer dusk. Harry had only seen him flying once but he remembered it—the greedy spreading span of feathers, and the concave arc of Malfoy’s spine as he leaned into the wind, and when he finally took off, the sinuous rolling beat of those wings.

As Malfoy shifted on the grass, the puppy’s quivering nose slid slowly around his side, and Malfoy dropped his arm back and scooped the dog into his lap.

“This is Peggy,” he said proudly.

“Hi, Peggy,” Harry said quietly, reaching a loose fist out to the dog for her to sniff. She gave his hand a cursory nuzzle then retreated back into Malfoy’s embrace, and watched Harry warily. Her head, cocked to one side, was almost square, the white fur ruffled into tufts, and her body looked too small to support it. Her ears were small triangular flaps, her eyes a clear amber, her paws like small shovels at the end of short bowed legs.

“She’s beautiful,” Harry said, enchanted by her suspicious sideways glare, the raised snaky line of scar tissue over the curve of her snout, her precisely-shorn underbelly with an old surgical mark meandering over the velvet of her flesh. “She’s really perfect, Malfoy.”

Malfoy looked torn between surprise and delight, and he looked down at the dog in his lap.

“I always wanted a crup,” he said, “but my parents wouldn’t allow it. It was only when I… you know”—he gestured behind himself, a wide sweeping movement that encompassed open skies, the tender fluttering of pin feathers, the sense of each wingbeat as a counterpoint to Harry’s battering pulse—“that I understood why. Veela magic, or whatever, it drives crups mad. Peggy doesn’t mind though, do you darling?”

He slid his hands around her flanks possessively, stroking her into sleekness. Her eyes rolled in delight before she flopped full-bellied onto Malfoy’s thighs. Harry chanced a rub behind her wonky ears, which she tolerated, eyes sliding shut. Around the muscular span of her neck, Malfoy’s fingers met Harry’s, stayed there.

“I’m possessive.” Malfoy was looking down at the dog in his lap, but his fingers were still on Harry’s, a tremble behind the firmness of his grasp. “It’s the creature in me. I can’t help it.”

“Peggy doesn’t look like she minds,” Harry told him, and as though she already understood her name, Peggy shifted in Malfoy’s lap, stretched her four paws out expansively, settling in. She looked at Harry, and he felt the cold nudge of her damp nose against the inside of his wrist, and then the rasp of her tongue, tentative at first.

“She likes you,” Malfoy said accusingly, like it was all some sort of trick, but his hands were still stroking stroking stroking over the disruption of Harry’s fingers buried deep in Peggy’s fur. Between the two of them, they were sending her to sleep.

428 notes • Posted 2021-05-19 19:53:05 GMT

#1

Semiplume

Inspired by the @drarrymicrofic song prompt “Live to Tell” which is all about hiding secrets. Based on this exquisite Veela Draco art by @fictional. Lynn, you’re one of the most talented and innovative people in this fandom, and you’ve brought me countless hours of joy with your art and writing. I’m so happy I met you, and my wish for you is a year ahead that overflows with good things. This is just a quick drabble since SOMEONE kept their upcoming birthday very quiet 🧐 but just wanted to send some love! Here’s some good dad Draco for you.

Thankfully, the mutation seemed to have skipped Scorpius.

Draco had been worried, because Scorpius was so like him—or looked like him, at least, which wasn’t really the same thing. But Draco had been so afraid, because Scorpius was beautiful, of course, much more so than Draco ever was, so it wouldn’t have come as a surprise if it had turned out that he was hiding the same rogue strand of magic in his DNA. But still, Draco was almost sick with relief when the specialist confirmed it; no Veela gene, no allure, just Scorpius himself, with his heartbreaking smile and tender heart that was, so far, unbruised and unbroken and wholly, entirely human. 

It was just Draco’s bad luck, the specialist said. A throwback, she called him, which was how Draco felt when the diagnosis had first come in—like he had been knocked off his feet, blown off course, reversed. It might not manifest, the specialist assured him. It might stay dormant, controllable, that ancient quisling gene that was hibernating inside of him. 

But Draco knew it was coming even though it hadn’t  happened yet, could feel it in the hollow thump of his lightening bones, like his body was readying him to be snatched upwards on the waiting wind. He could feel it in the itch beneath his fingertips, the incessant needling waiting feeling of something sharp below the surface. And he could feel it in his spine, something solid, fusing for flight, and in his every inhale, like his body was all breath, poised for take off.

“So did I come from an egg?” Scorpius asked into the warm space between them where Draco was curled around him on the bed, Scorpius under the covers, pinker and warmer and plumper than any Malfoy had ever been, Draco over the covers, still pointy, still inclined to flap a bit. 

“You wish,” Draco told him, but pushed the hair back off the delicate swell of Scorpius’ forehead, tucked him in tighter, held him closer. Territorial, the specialist had called it, that need to stake a claim, but Draco hadn’t wanted to tell her that all of that was nothing new. From the moment when they had lifted Scorpius out of Draco and into his arms, he had known with certainty that he could (and would) finally kill if he had to. Scorpius had done for him what even Voldemort had failed to do. Scorpius closed his eyes, fumbled a kiss onto the edge of Draco’s mouth. 

“Nothing has changed,” Draco whispered into the quiet dark. “Nothing will change.”

--------

“Am I your mate, then?” Harry asked from where he was lying on Draco’s couch, with the big window open all the way so that Draco could feel the beckoning call of the summer evening sky.

“That one’s just an old wives’ tale,” Draco said, chucking a packet of Space Raiders at him, which Harry plucked out of the air casually, gracefully. “And anyway, it’s not like I’m fully… whatever. If you were my mate, you’d know it. Believe me.”

“I dunno,” Harry said indistinctly, mouth full, eyes bright with mischief. He swallowed, smiled. “It felt like you were mating me pretty hard last night.”

Draco went to the window, felt the pull of the night air. His face was hot, eyes stinging.

“Hey.” Harry was behind him, quiet as a cat in his stockinged feet. “Too soon?” He pressed a hand to Draco’s spine, right between where the wings should be.

“Did you know,” Draco said without turning, allowing his shoulders to flex a little under Harry’s grounding touch, “some Veela can only see in black and white.”

“I did,” Harry said. “I looked it up earlier, while you were putting Scorp to bed. I wondered about that one. Your eyes, you know. The colour.”

“No,” Draco said, “No, I see—”. He didn’t say, I see it all, but he knew that Harry understood. The enraging curling red and gold of a Gryffindor flag, or Quidditch pitch green spread out below him while he spiralled higher, always higher; his mother’s best blue dress, the one they had buried her in, and the purple squalling newness of Scorpius, furious and birth-waxy and so brand new, and back again to green, Harry blinking awake in Draco’s big bed, that bright uncanny emerald that maybe came from his mother, or maybe from the Killing Curse, or maybe a bit of both.

“My parents should have told me,” Draco said, and Harry sighed, stroked over the ridges of Draco’s tensing shoulders. 

“Did you know,” Harry murmured, and he put his arms around Draco, fearless. “I’d be your mate. If you needed a mate, I mean.”

“Did you know,” Draco answered, “that a Veela’s wings are a secondary erogenous zone?”

“I read about that one too,” Harry replied, voice rich with suppressed laughter. He dipped his head, let his mouth move insistently over Draco’s back, lighting up the jut of scapula and the hard swell of trapezius and deltoid, sending filaments of sensation over the rolling ridge of vertabrae. “Do you feel like showing me?”

When Draco concentrated, he could feel the wings there, magically contained under the skin, so close to the surface; the potential quiver of the air under the primary feathers, the almost-uplift, the press and fold of every almost-moving part.

“Maybe another time,” he said, leaned back so he could rest a while with Harry at his back and the sky ahead of him. 

“Is now a good time to ask if you lay eggs?” Harry said.

457 notes • Posted 2021-03-26 23:29:10 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

The Witcher - Favorite Reads Masterpost

So, the previous one was getting really super long and Tumblr refused to save the latest update three times, which I’m taking to mean I’ve reached some kind of length limit. In view of that, and with a poke to @nyliekeo​ who asked to be tagged, here’s the second volume of my Witcher fic-reading adventures!

(Pretty much all Geraskier, because I’m only a multishipper in the sense that I have many ships across many fandoms.)

Volume 1

Last updated: April 10th, 2020.

Non geraskier fic

Her Current Is Pulling You Closer - TheMarvellousMadMadamMim

Specs: 1 900 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Eist/Calanthe - Swimming, shameless flirting

Summary: After nearly three years of marriage, Eist Tuirseach realizes there are still things to learn about his wife.

Becoming Water - Orockthro

Specs: 3 456 words - Mature - Trans woman!Geralt, curses, happy ending

Summary:  When Geralt was a child his mother kissed his forehead, wove flowers in his hair, and let him dance around the campsite they shared with the other druids. He loved dancing, the way his body moved and flowed; he was like water.

And then she left him in the road, spilled water on his feet, and a faint trail of dust where she and the cart were no longer. And a man came and took Geralt and made him into something new.

“Were you short? Waifish? Did those witcher mutagens turn you into, you know, the hulking sexy man that you are? At least they gave you such male perfection, what with the stubble and the jaw and the--”

“Shut up, Jaskier.”

(Or, Geralt is cursed with a female body during their travels. Only it's not so much a curse as a gift she didn't know she so desperately desired until now.)

of cockroaches and men - Potrix

Specs: 1 442 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Yennefer & Jaskier, Getting to know each other, BAMF Jaskier

Summary: As if being stuck waiting for her supplier in this sorry excuse for a town full of narrow-minded, superstitious simpletons isn't already frustrating enough, the first familiar face Yennefer spots when she walks into the grubby tavern is that of her least favourite bard.

Or, alternatively; sometimes you misjudge people, but there's nothing some badassery and booze won't fix.

all cooped up - alittlebitmaybe

Specs: 4 205 words - Mature - Polyamory, Pandemic 2020, Non-explicit sex, instigator Yen

Summary: Geralt's old university roommate, Jaskier, needs a place to ride out the pandemic. Geralt and Yennefer conveniently have a couch and Geralt, inconveniently, has a crush.

Cover it over and write it out - TheArcheologist

Specs: 3 214 words - Mature - Dyslexia, implied child abuse, Dandelion is a noble

Summary: There is something Geralt has noticed, after traveling so long with Jaskier. It is nothing major, nothing world ending or even warranting bringing up, but it is there, nonetheless, a funny little habit he can’t unsee.

“You’re better at this stuff than me, Geralt, you read it.”

Geraskier fics

pride - Besully (Briar_Elwood)

Specs: 737 words - Teen & Up - Trans Jaskier

Summary: Geraskier Week Dealer's Choice

He only manages to get the shirt untucked from the bard’s trousers when Jaskier’s smile disappears, and he scrambles backwards, holding the edges of his shirt down.

Do It Again - thisgirlsays22

Specs: 6 771 words - Explicit - Time Loop

Summary: By the twentieth time Geralt has gone through the loop, he decides to just throw himself off the cliff’s edge after Borch.

He wakes up to his twenty-first attempt.

“Fuck.”

Interlude; The End of All Things - TabbyCat33098

Specs: 3 496 words - General Audiences - Growing Old Together

Summary: Geralt realizes Jaskier is growing old and tries his best to return the rest of Jaskier's life to him. If only Jaskier would cooperate and take it.

//

How much longer will Jaskier be content with weathering the elements and contending with the uncertainty of mercenary work? How long until Jaskier realizes that in devoting himself to crafting a legacy for Geralt, he has forgotten to create a legacy of his own?

After all, he does not have a wife or children, for their nomadic lifestyle is conducive to neither. He has no home to return to between stints with Geralt, whether a sprawling mansion vaunting his wealth or a comfortable cottage replete with souvenirs from his varied exploits. How many experiences has Jaskier sacrificed because some contract or irate nobleman drew them elsewhere? How many untouched fields of snow has Jaskier never seen; how many harvests at Novigrad has he yearned to celebrate from halfway across the Continent—

“You’re staring,” Jaskier points out.

“You wanted to go to the Kovirian coast,” Geralt responds. 

a tapestry of scars - splendidlyimperfect

Specs: 7 688 words - Mature - Modern AU, Birpolar disorder, self harm, references to previous suicide attempt and car accident.

Summary: Jaskier comes into Geralt's life on a sunny afternoon in May - wide smiles and baby blue eyes; breathtaking stories and half-written song lyrics. He's mesmerizing and full of life, and Geralt can't look away. But sunshine doesn't last forever, and when Jaskier disappears, Geralt learns that beautiful things have dark and broken pieces, and even damaged people can help fix them.

Summer Mornings - The UnamazingTrashKing

Specs: 3 241 words - Mature - Fluff

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier are sort of a couple. They definitely wake up together and talk about spending the rest of their lives together.

An Incomplete Happiness - BlossomsintheMist

Specs: 22 497 words - Mature - Serious injuries, injuries recovery, unresolved sexual tension, unresolved romantic tension

Summary: Jaskier is traveling with Geralt when a hunt goes badly wrong and Geralt ends up injured.  Geralt soon realizes that the bard can take care of Geralt better than he'd realized, in his own way.

Hide Behind The Mound of Dead Bards - Bones (Doctorbones)

Specs: 17 296 words - Explicit - Temporary character death, Graphic depiction of violence

Summary: Jaskier is really bad at two things: shutting up and staying dead. Luckily, he can do both at the same time...for a while.

faith in transience - unconscious

Specs: 12 532 words - Explicit - Monster of the week, Service top Jaskier, attempted mind control.

Summary:  “I learn stuff about you to enrich my songs, thanks very much.”  Geralt starts.

“Like what?”

Jaskier strums a chord. “Plenty of things. You always ask the contractor if they want the head or not instead of just showing up with it, because you don’t want to shock people. You eat normal amounts of food when eating in public, instead of your usual awe-inducing giant amount. You sleep more when you’re hurt, but that’s the only way I’d ever know. You’re a bit weird about your potions and you count them a lot.” He glances up and grins. “Shall I continue?”

A handful of contracts go sideways. Recovering is easier with Jaskier there.

when midnight breaks their sleep - SummerFrost

Specs: 16 736 words - Mature - Modern setting, polyamory, polyamory negociation

Summary:   The first Snapchat that anyone ever sends Geralt is a picture of his own irritated face.

shrike_princess: can u believe this dumbass finally got a snapchat bc a cute boy asked him nicely

"It wasn't even that nicely," Geralt says flatly.

AKA: The one where Geralt is a bartender and Jaskier sings karaoke.

he, who i love - kinneyb

Specs: 1 279 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Established relationship

Summary: Jaskier looked forward to these nights the most; he was playing in a rundown tavern in a small town near the coast, coins gathered at his feet, knowing that at any moment Geralt would come bursting through the door.

He spun on his heels, strumming his lute with nimble fingers, the mark of a practiced player.

Jaskier had thought he’d reached his peak when he was younger. He had been proven wrong, of course, practice truly did make perfect. He was getting more attention than ever, and only half of it probably had to do with his new songs, all depicting the Witcher’s love story with a bard of the human variety.

He never directly mentioned himself, but the people had made the connection fairly easily, anyway.

Near the Coast - IantoPace

Specs: 2 164 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Dresses

Summary: Geralt finds out some of the feminine things Jaskier likes. This is inspired by the images of Joey Batey & Madeleine Hyland in the woods wearing each other's clothes.

Shoot First, Ask Questions Later - Ladivviniatravestia

Specs: 3 427 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Defining the relationship

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier fuck, then try to define their relationship.  Too bad Geralt has no idea what he really wants and Jaskier has been hiding something.

parry, riposte - plutoandpersephone

Specs: 5 230 words - Explicit - Established relationship, competence kink, power dynamics

Summary: "How about it?"

Geralt looks at Jaskier like he’s just started to speak in some long lost, foreign tongue.

"You want to take me on in the sword ring?"

-

Jaskier challenges Geralt to a bout in the fencing ring. They both get more than they bargained for.

The Coast - NinjaSniperKitty

Specs: 1 856 words - General Audiences - Established relationship, overly protective boyfriend!Geralt

Summary: Geralt takes Jaskier up on his offer to get away and go to the coast for a while. While Geralt sees danger hiding everywhere along the coast, Jaskier hasn't been to the sea in years and only sees a good time!

Sweet, Silky, Soft, and Shiny - Girl_in_Red_Crossing

Specs: 3 251 words - Mature - Inappropriate use of candy

Summary: Just a couple of bros, sucking on sweet things... sharing silky things... lying in soft beds together... (kissing)...

The Witcher Wolf 2: Geralt’s POV - im_fairly_witty.

Specs: 15 338 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Animal transformation

Summary: It's been two weeks since Geralt drove Jaskier away from him on that mountain top and Geralt's been doing his best not to think about it by accepting every contract he comes across. But when a job goes badly he find himself cursed into the form of an injured wolf and is then saved by none other than Jaskier himself, who has no idea that the animal he's taken under his wing is his own witcher. Geralt must now try to alert Jaskier to his real situation and adjust to his new life traveling with the bard, learning several hard but very much needed lessons along the way.

Shadowplay - sospes

Specs: 26 539 words - Mature - BAMF!Jaskier, Espionnage

Summary: Geralt returns to Oxenfurt on a bright May morning to find flowers laid outside Jaskier's rooms and a fresh grave in the cemetery.

Except, as Geralt is about to learn, in Jaskier's world things are never quite what they seem.

An Old Man’s Tale - NotebooksandLaptops

Specs: 1 448 words - General Audiences - External POV, Old age

Summary: At the edge of the village, in a house surrounded by wild-flowers and weeds - re-built from its former crumbling foundations – there lived the Old Man. He’d earnt the rights for the capital O, capital M off of the rest of the villagers barely a week after he’d moved into their humble world. For he had not grown up here, like everyone else did. Yet he settled and settled as if he had always been there. He wandered the cliffsides, the beaches, the streets. He strung shells together and gifted them to the ladies of the village with a wink that betrayed the charming young man he once must have been. He bought the little ceramic pots Alicja sold on the market, and he filled them with weeds as if the weeds were flowers worth showcasing. And – most importantly – he sang.

-///-

Or, Jaskier settles in a costal village towards the end of his life.

For The Joy Of It - vvitchering (Witchering)

Specs: 848 words - Teen & Up Audiences - self esteem issues, body image

Summary: After spending years on The Path together, Jaskier and Geralt finally settle down. Jaskier notices one day that his new sedentary lifestyle has changed him in ways he fears Geralt won't accept.

The Silence Between Heartbeats - anarchycox

Specs: 7 969 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Jskier knows Geralt better than anyone

Summary: Geralt faced off with a sorceress, only instead of her magic killing him, it stole his voice. But this should be an easy fix, he knew many women who could heal this. But that would mean anyone noticing something wrong. He knew he was quiet, but seriously, did no one wonder why he wasn't saying a single thing? Months he traveled silent, no one noticing and it was driving him mad.

Until he runs into Jaskier, who notices immediately that something is wrong.Because of course it is Jaskier.

Who else in the end would it be, who properly saw the White Wolf?

tailored - jeannie_tangerine

Specs: 4 874 words - Explicit - Geralt has a kink and Jaskier is absolutely into it.

Summary: in which Jaskier finds out that Geralt has a kink and is more than glad to indulge it.

oh darling please be mine - kickassfu

Specs: 749 words - General Audiences - Introspective, fluff

Summary: Geralt’s head turns to him just as he’s jumping into his arms. Obviously, he catches Jaskier, in his very strong, very big arms. Still probably processing what’s happening, Geralt’s body is tense, unmoving. Jaskier doesn’t care.

New Monsters Stories - Kathkin

Specs: 20 209 words - Explicit - Urban fantasy, mutual pining

Summary:  “So do you have a name?”

“Yeah.” The man who had saved his life less than an hour ago – the white-haired, absurdly buff, weirdly sexy man Jaskier might have called taciturn if he was feeling charitable and surly if he was feeling less so – dug into his second burger.

Jaskier waited. “Are… you going to tell me what it is?”

The man paused mid-bite, and looked at him reproachfully as if to say how dare you. How dare you interrupt me. Can’t you see I’m enjoying my cheeseburger. Can’t you see this cheeseburger is the most important thing in my life right at the moment. He swallowed, and said, “Geralt.”

It turns out almost getting eaten by a werewolf can make your whole life go careening off in a new, terrifying, wondrous, artistically flourishing direction. Who knew?

Professor Pankratz - martistarfighter

Specs: 1 147 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Established relationship

Sumary:  “Come teach my class with me tomorrow.” He whispers in the witcher’s ear. He’s sporting a neatly trimmed beard these days, and it tickles Geralt’s neck in the most tempting way.

Geralt chuckles dryly, but the lack of an immediate quip tells him that Jaskier is serious. It’s a little scary how often they can read their minds by now.

“Don’t think so. You’re the teacher, Jask. I’ve got nothing to tell them.”

“But you’re the reason I’m still alive and teaching in the first place. Besides, you can just sit there, look pretty and answer some questions. My students have heard a lot about you, they’ll adore you.”

As someone pointed out, there's too much 'witcher watching out for his idiot' and not enough 'the witcher is a himbo who loves his college educated bard husband, who is qualified to teach' content out there. So I'm fixing it with a self-indulgent ficlet!

and i plan to be forgotten when i’m gone (yes, i’ll be leaving in the fall) - Stockholm_Syndrome

Specs: 18 083 words - Mature - Discussion of assisted suicide, discussion of suicide, depression, curse, no MCD

Summary: “That was more emotional than I expected.” He finally said “I didn’t think I’d have time to share this with you, and I.” Jaskier interrupted himself, as if unsure if he should continue. “I suppose I didn’t think it would upset you so.”

“Jaskier” Geralt growled, not able to express how ludicrous that idea was.

“Yes, I suppose I was wrong there.” Jaskier replied with a helpless shrug.

---- Or, Jaskier is cursed to turn into a monster. He doesn't think this is important information to mention.

Chopsticks - thisgirlsays22

Specs: 12 175 words - Explicit - Piano teacher!Jaskier, friends to lovers, modern setting

Summary: “Yennefer sent me a check for eight lessons for you,” Jaskier said the following weekend, wearing a beige button-down with--

“Does your shirt have owls on it?” Geralt asked, caught somewhere between amusement and horror.

Jaskier looked down and tugged on the front of his shirt as if he had to remind himself what was on it. He beamed at Geralt. “Yeah! Do you like it?”

“Not particularly.”

The smile swiftly disappeared.

“It’s not terrible,” he amended, stepping back to let Jaskier inside the apartment. Then Jaskier’s initial words sank in. “Wait. Yen did what?”

Hanging up on Yennefer was always a mistake.

what’s in a (pet) name? - janie_tangerine

Specs: 1 415 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Fluff, pet names

Summary:  "So," he clears his throat one evening, having just rinsed Geralt's now clean, soft white hair, and damn how he wishes the man would just take care of it somewhat decently, "I was wondering."

"What?" Geralt says after he doesn't go on for a bit. It didn't sound particularly annoyed. Right on.

"This is a very broad question, but I was just curious, no need to answer if you don't want to -" Jaskier starts, having learned that giving the man a way out is always a good bet.

"Just get on with it, won't you?"

Jaskier clears his throat, leans down, puts his elbows on the rim of the tub. "How do you feel about pet names?"

Or: in which Jaskier has a question for Geralt. It doesn't get answered the way he had assumed.

As Long As You Were Mine For A Little While - whisperedstories

Specs: 12 815 words - Explicit - Friends with benefits, mutual pining

Summary: It starts with Jaskier offering a helping hand when Geralt needs to let off some steam. The thing is, Jaskier likes taking care of Geralt—however he can—and Geralt lets him, so he just keeps doing it.

And as long as they never talk about how he's in love with Geralt, they're both happy with the arrangement, right? Right.

Of Debt and Debtors - sp_oops

Specs: 5 136 words - Explicit - Semi-public sex

Summary: Two bros, chillin' in a ta-vern, five feet apart ‘cause they—fuck, they really missed each other, not that Geralt will ever admit it—and anyway, in a minute here, they're gonna have to get closer than they ever thought possible. (Or, sometime after Episode 6, they meet again, Jaskier’s in trouble again, and Geralt saves them. Again.)

This One I Shall Choose - DorkMagician

Specs: 3 751 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Quiet pining, the exact moment Geralt falls in love

Summary: Geralt falls in the river fishing for a djinn and winds up soaked. Jaskier sees the opportunity to do as his mother told him a long time ago and takes the first step when he offers Geralt his handkerchief.

Skin Deep - Sospes

Specs: 8 935 words- Teen & Up Audiences - Fluff, getting together, non consensual tattooing, implied/referenced rape, implied/referenced childhood abuse

Summary: “What’s that?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier blinks. “It’s a tattoo,” he says. “Have you never seen a tattoo before, Geralt?”

Geralt fights the urge to roll his eyes. “I know it’s a tattoo,” he says. “What’s it a tattoo of?”

They say there are 5 ways to show your love (and I don’t know any of them) - Mayathelittlebee

Specs: 5 989 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Fluff, humor

Summary: May be if Geralt stopped being so dramatic for a moment he'd finally realize that loving Jaskier is not as hard as he thinks.

I don’t mind if I’m with you - janie_tangerine

Specs: 11 152 words - Explicit - In which Jaskier has to quelle his murder instincts concerning how much Geralt’s life sucks

Summary: or: five times plus one in which Jaskier finds out that Geralt is missing on good life experiences and promptly sees to fix it.

Fill Me Up - Mysticmajestic

Specs: 402 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Romance

Summary: Geralt only knows how to give, and give, until he's empty. What is he to do with Jaskier, who only wants to give back to him?

Little Things - QueenForADay

Specs: 3 315 words - General Audiences - Domestic fluff, Ciri ships it

Summary: In the first few months of knowing the Witcher, he experienced first-hand how shut-off Geralt could be with the world around him and those within it.

At some point, and he can’t pinpoint where, that shroud started to slip away. He saw how much Geralt could, and does, actually care. It’s as fierce as the way he fights.

They spend a great deal of time watching each other; when they finally fell into a bed together, they spent most of their nights learning what the other liked, mapping the plains of skin and muscle underneath the other.

But it’s the other things, the little things, that Jaskier thinks about the most.

O, Empathy - almostnectarine

Specs: 32 624 words - Mature - Body swap, friends to lovers, questfic

Summary: “How did you manage,” asked Geralt, with infinite patience and only a desire to know the facts, and not at all a little meanhearted glee, “to insult a sorcerer while his tongue was down your throat?”

“Don’t make me recount the entire sordid affair, Geralt,” said Jaskier, with a surprising note of desperation breaking through his gruff monotone. “I’m already having a rather shit day and all I’ve done so far is wake up.”

“In my body,” said Geralt.

“Yes,” said Jaskier, with the insolent cadence that was unmistakably Jaskier’s, but in Geralt’s voice, emerging from Geralt’s face and frame.

“And I’ve got yours,” said Geralt, from Jaskier’s.

and for that love to be with men - sebviathan

Specs: 6 734 words -Mature - Emotional constipation, self discovery, self acceptance, geralt is a whole ass gay man who doesn’t know what being gay is

Summary: Something's not right about what I'm doing but I'm still doing it—living in the worst parts, ruining myself. My inner life is a sheet of black glass. If I fell through the floor I would keep falling.

The enormity of Geralt's desire disgusts him.

at last, at last, at last, oh I thought you’d never ask - elegantwings

Specs: 15 040 words - Explicit - Arranged marriage, slow burn, trans!Jaskier, in this house we love Yennefer of Vengerberg

Summary: Geralt is given firm instructions from Vesemir: He is to get married to a Redanian noblewoman in the hopes of improving relations between witchers and the rest of the world. Once the ceremony is over, he plans to drop his new spouse off at their new home and carry on with his life as he always has. Little does he know, his future wife is not a woman, and not so easily left behind. He's not really sure he'd like to get rid of Jaskier, either. Over the next several years, they learn to navigate their new relationship, first while Jaskier completes his degree, and then when Jaskier insists on accompanying him on the road. And no matter what anyone else has to say about it, Geralt is absolutely not in love with his husband.

it’s what my heart just yearns to say - chasing_the_sterek

Specs: 1 071 words - Teen & Up - Slice of life, Jaskier: what if I found a way to make Geralt admit when he needs things

Summary: "If you could have one blessing," Jaskier says, eyes lit green by the fire between them, "What would it be?"

Geralt looks at him. The whetstone is smooth and friction-warm in his palm, edges rounded from use. It's been with him for a long time: almost four years.

Jaskier has been with him for even longer, but he's never done this. Geralt squints at him, but only thing different to this morning is the yellow firelight changing the colour his eyes appear.

"What," he says.

not a goodbye, a thank you - Potrix

Specs: 2 915 words - Mature - Graphic depiction of illness, near death experience, talk about death, found family

Summary: Somewhere further in the courtyard, Lambert yells out a colourful curse while Ciri cackles maniacally. Eskel is taunting the former through his laughter, and Vesemir’s voice joins in with barked commands and corrections once the clang of steel against steel continues. Somewhere above them, on one of the balconies overlooking the yard, Geralt can hear the scratch of quill against parchment as Yennefer works on her correspondence, interrupted every now and again by the tapping of nails against an inkpot.

He realises what’s wrong an instant before everyone else grows suddenly, eerily still; Jaskier is quiet.

After Summers of Fasting (I Feel Hunger At Last) - Artemis_Unbound

Specs: 3 793 words - Teen & Up Audiences - A six pack you can see is not a good thing, Jaskier tricks Geralt into Not Being Starving anymore, Love confessions

Summary: Defined six-pack abs are a sign that someone has been starving and dehydrating themselves, not a sign of incredible strength. It's just not healthy.

Jaskier sees Geralt shirtless for the first time, sees all that defined musculature, and is Horrified. He's slept with enough warriors and soldiers to know what that means. And he decides, this stops now.

Tunes Without Words - foxy_mulder

Specs: 22 021 words - Mature - Self-esteem issues, past abuse, miscommunications, misunderstandings

Summary: The plan is this:

He will note all the things that annoy Geralt, and he will stop doing them, and then Geralt will want him around. It will work.

It has to work, because Jaskier cannot be left behind.

The Path Not Taken - sospes

Specs: 40 149 words - Mature - Extraordinarily bad misunderstanding, Idiots in love, Explicit sexual content

Summary: Jaskier comes across an injured witcher in a backwoods town, months after the events of the dragon hunt. It all just sort of escalates from there.

.

Even a Devil May Drabble: Vergil x Reader - Tender Heart (Part 20/?)

This is for @shiranyaaww, who won my 400 tumblr followers giveaway! The request was for Vergil x Healer Reader, with some pining and whump. I hope you like it!!

Rating: T

Warning Tags: None, just some smooching and feels

Words: 2,043

Tagging: @xalmasyx @exsultry @drusoona @synchronmurmurs @harlot-of-oblivion @amicitiayes

Your eyes widened when you saw him fall. The Yamato was loose in his grip, practically a stick in his hand as his back collided with the ground. You wanted to run to him, but there were still demons everywhere, not to mention the scolding you’d have gotten from Vergil himself.

“Dante!” you called out, pointing to Vergil’s prone form when you met his eye. With a wicked smile, Dante dispatched the creature who had harmed his twin with a flourish, an unnecessary pirouette as he separated the hell spawn’s head from its shoulders.

With just a few more minor demons left, Dante charged at them, giving you the opening you needed to dart out from your hiding spot, rushing over to his side as quickly as you could while dodging the demon guts that littered the street.

The slash on Vergil’s abdomen was deep - dark red blood oozing out from three identical claw marks.

“Why isn’t it healing?” you mumbled, rhetorical and to yourself, when the smell hit you. Sweet and tart and acidic. Poison. It must be counteracting Vergil’s demonic healing, keeping the wound open.

You looked up at his face, a mixture of pain and annoyance on his features. “Don’t look at me like that,” you sassed, trying to peel the ruined fabric of his shirt away from the wound.

“You should still be hiding,” he said through gritted teeth. “There are still enemies around.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” you said, rubbing your hands together to generate warmth before hovering them over the wounds. “But you���re bleeding out, Vergil, and I thought your chivalry might take a backseat this time.”

“You’re in danger.”

“So are you.” This wasn’t the time to argue, but you knew Vergil wouldn’t consent to your healing unless he made it known that he didn’t approve. The man was incorrigible that way - always treating you like a baby bird too scared to jump out of the nest. Most of the time you hated it, hated that he thought you were so fragile, but some times, only a couple times at most, you appreciated the care he took with you. You knew it was just a sort of professional courtesy, but there were parts of you that hoped that his incessant care for, and an almost blatant need to, protect you might mean more. You’d been drawn to Vergil from the moment you’d met, a longing burning in your chest for the man who always seemed to hold you at arm’s length, would look away if your eyes met, would jump if you accidentally brushed his arm like a frightened cat; so you tried to keep the same professional courtesy... most of the time.

You looked in his eyes, daring him to challenge you again, before he nodded near imperceptibly. You let your own eyes close, focusing on pushing energy into the gashes, your body the conduit for the healing energy. You heard Vergil groan and hoped the sound was due to the relief you were giving him. You could hear the tissue knitting back together, feel the decrease of Vergil’s heart rate as the blood started flowing where it was supposed to, envisioned the poison leech out from the wound.

You vaguely heard Dante’s footsteps as he jogged back over to where the two of you were, the scent of demon viscera strong where it clung to his clothes.

“That should be all of ‘em,” Dante said with a sigh, “and I closed the portal, so we should be okay at least for tonight.”

“Thank you, Dante,” you replied, eyes opening as you finished pushing the last bit of healing energy into his twin’s body. Vergil was trying to look as if he was pain-free, but the twitch in his jaw told you otherwise. “I did the best I could, but there’s probably still some venom I couldn’t get out, so you might be weak for awhile yet.”

Vergil tsked, but offered you a silent thanks anyway, another slight nod of acknowledgement.

You tried to stand, but wobbled when you got to your feet, lightheadedness overwhelming you.

“Hey sweetheart, you okay?” Dante asked, and you assumed it was his hands on your shoulders to steady you.

You nodded, immediately clutching at your head at the motion. “Y-yeah... yeah, I’m okay. Just didn’t realize how much energy I used up,” you managed to get out, teeth clenching as you willed the world to stop spinning.

You felt yourself be pulled against a firm surface, and you cracked an eye to see that Vergil had removed you from Dante’s grip, holding you gently against his chest.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly, enough for only you to hear.

“What, helped you?”

“Used that much energy. I don’t want you putting yourself in danger for me,” he explained, and if you could’ve rolled your eyes, you would’ve.

“That is literally my job, Vergil. And I’m going to keep helping you when you need me to, whether you want it or not.” Your reply was much more snarky and loud than you intended it to be, and you heard Dante chuckle.

“Come on, you two can bicker back at the office,” he said, slinging his bloody sword over his shoulders.

-:- -:- -:-

Vergil made a beeline for the leather sofa when the group of you returned to the shop, sitting down far less gracefully than he usually did. You felt that pang in your chest again when you looked at him - guilt for maybe not doing as much as you should, though Dante had nearly had to carry you back the last couple blocks due to your own exhaustion. But who were you kidding? It wasn’t professional courtesy that had your heard beating out of your chest with worry; it was affection, simply that.

You sat down next to him, trying to move his jacket out of the way to look at his wound. The skin was healed, just a little redness remaining from the demon’s attack. But Vergil still needed rest to purge the poison from his veins. You debated whether or not to try to urge him to bed, but when he relaxed into the worn leather, his eyes closing as sleep overcame him, you decided to let him stay there and keep him company.

You fought the urge to sleep yourself, Dante bringing you something to eat a few minutes later. He waved off your thanks, giving you a winning smile before proclaiming that he was going to wash off all the demon guts in the shower. After rolling your eyes at Dante’s suggestion that you join him, you turned them instead to his twin, watching the subtle rise and fall of his chest.

Without thinking, you placed your hand over the remnant of his wound, just trying to trickle a little more energy into it; Vergil was important, he needed to be fully healed as soon as possible.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he mumbled, cracking an eye to look at you, but your hand stayed firm on his abdomen.

“I don’t like seeing you in pain,” you replied, refusing to look at him, but still seeing his stern look in your peripheral.

“And you think I like seeing you in pain? Exhausted from pushing yourself too hard for me? Wasting your strength for my sake?” Vergil said, concern in his words.

“It’s not a waste. Not if you’re healed,” you said, and Vergil grabbed your wrist, his strength seemingly fully returned.

“Stop,” he said in a dangerous tone, and you finally met his eyes. His face was surprisingly soft, eyes deep and icy blue and you couldn’t stop your next words from flowing out.

“Why won’t you let me care for you, Vergil? Why? Do you hate that I love you that much? Is that it? Because I can’t help that I-”

He stopped your words with his lips, pressed against yours with warmth and desperation. Vergil shifted into the couch, his hands moving to cradle your body to his, not breaking apart from you. You wanted to take a breath, but the tingle of his mouth on yours kept you there, the subtle movement of his too-soft lips a drug you wanted to become addicted to.

You didn’t know if it was the exhaustion, or just that it was him, but your kiss seemed to go on forever, and you still felt him there on your lips when he pulled away.

Your hands moved to cup his face, Vergil giving you a slow blink as he leaned into your touch. You kissed him softly again, having to part as a tired giggle escaped.

“What are you laughing at?” he asked, urging you to swing your legs up onto his lap.

“You, you idiot!” you replied, and Vergil’s hands paused where they were caressing your back.

“Pardon?”

You chuckled, pressing your forehead against his shoulder. “I just can’t believe that you feel the same as I do,” you said, muffled against the fabric of his coat. “It’s funny because we probably could’ve done this a lot sooner.”

Vergil cleared his throat and you moved to look at him again. “It... took me awhile to come to terms with my feelings for you,” he said, as straightforward as usual. “I didn’t want to become involved with you due to my past... transgressions. I didn’t want to put you in any more danger, as I still have a lot of enemies in both worlds, that might want to use you.”

“But I can-“

“I know you can take care of yourself, you’re incredibly stubborn,” he interrupted, but you knew he was saying it as a compliment. “But I still struggled with knowingly putting you into unnecessary danger.”

You wanted to kiss him again, but he kept speaking, the flutter in your chest growing stronger.

“You saying that cut the last string holding me back.” He brushed the back of his hand over your forehead and down your cheek until he tilted your chin up. He ran the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip before dipping down to kiss you once more.

You were more ready for this one, scooting as close as you could on his lap, Vergil’s hand trailing lower down your back. You gently pressed your tongue to the seam of his lips, Vergil expectantly parting them to meet you. You kissed him for another millennia, your tongues lightly touching and intertwining before he pulled away to press gentle kisses to your cheeks.

“You need rest,” he said, and for once you didn’t disagree with him. Nodding, you felt him kiss your forehead, before one arm slipped beneath your knees, the other staying on your back as he lifted you up.

“Come on, I’m not that helpless,” you whined, kicking your legs a little to try to get him to put you down.

“Let me care for you,” Vergil said softly, sending your earlier words back to you. You opened your mouth to retort but quickly closed it, choosing to rag doll in his arms instead, resting your heavy head against his shoulder.

-:- -:- -:-

Vergil laid you down on your bed, helping to remove your shoes and coat before tucking you in. You only managed to get a little demon blood on you, so you weren’t too worried about contaminating the sheets. He turned to leave, and seemed to have a great mental battle with himself when you asked him sleepily to stay.

You were glad he decided in the affirmative, the heat from his warm body threatening to have you fall asleep in record time.

“You’re... all right with this?” Vergil asked, tentatively wrapping his arms around you where you were snuggled against his side. You nodded with a sleepy, pleased noise and he chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. He kissed the top of your head and you cuddled up as close as you could, hooking your hand around his waist.

You swore you heard him say ‘I love you’ as you drifted to sleep, but your eyelids were far to heavy and your voice too tired to ask if you heard right. Luckily, he didn’t mind saying it again in the morning.

-:- -:- -:-

Thank you for reading!

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In Your Arms

Requested: yes / no

Rating: M

Warnings: language and reference to sex

Words: 3.5k

Prompt/Summary: Some friendships are based on mutual respect and admiration, while others stem from relentless banter and mischief. This one is a bit of both with a dash of mutual pining. 

Pairing: Theodore Nott x slytherin!reader

A/N – I figured since my name claims that I write, it’s about time I started doing that. I do have an AO3 and FFN account where I post fuller fics and one-shots, but I decided to keep short fics like these (especially reader inserts) to tumblr only. You can join my tag list for any notifications of new postings for fics by sending an ask with a ☆ (requests are open for any hp pairing!).

“Salazar’s balls, I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“No arguments here.”

Theo rolls his eyes. He slings his school bag over his shoulder and rakes a hand through his unruly hair. While the motion was probably meant to make his hair fall handsomely over his face, you can’t help but laugh as it only seemed to make it worse. 

When everyone files into the classroom and begins unpacking their things as Professor Slughorn drawls on about another one of his charming ex-students, you turn to Theo and arch your eyebrow. 

“So, what did you do that caused you to realize you’re such a fucking idiot? Other than look in the mirror this morning,” you add with a smirk. Draco snickers and elbows Theo playfully, who huffs indignantly.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, L/N?”

“It’s less that I actually care what you did and more that I know you want to talk about it.” 

Theo is about to respond when Professor Slughorn waddles over to the table where you and your fellow Slytherins are huddled about two cauldrons. You straighten immediately, the brilliant student you are – which is to say you are not a teacher’s pet, not like Granger anyway, just that you happen to understand the advantage of pretending to care about a Professor and their subject when in their presence – and await today’s instructions. 

Draco and Theo notice this abrupt change in behavior and stifle laughs in their robes. 

For good measure, you kick each of their shins under the table.

“Oh-ho! Why aren’t you all already in your groups? Two and two – Yes – There you go – Ah, no, no. This won’t do. Malfoy, you go with Zabini. Nott, you work with L/N.” He beamed at them once he was satisfied, then waddled over to the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor students. You catch him muttering, “Nott could use all the help he can get, bless him,” and turn back to Theo with a knowing smirk.

However, your smirk immediately fades when you see Theo is already grinning mischievously at you.

“Don’t,” you hiss, “ruin this for us, Nott, I beg of you.”

“Begging already, L/N? Naturally, I assumed I would have had to work a little harder for that, but I suppose n–”

Theo cuts himself off as your wand finds itself just below his belt loop. 

“So help me, Nott, if you don’t shut your mouth, I will do it for you.”

You narrow your eyes warningly at him, not daring to move your wand; you both know the threat is relatively empty. After all, you’ve only ever hexed students in other Houses and only when they absolutely deserved it… Allegedly hexed, that is. They couldn’t prove anything.

But Theo doesn’t blink. In fact, his grin deepens slightly.

“Is that a promise?” He finally says.

“Begging already, Nott?” You counter, laughing at him and finally leaning away to focus on the actual project demanding your attention. 

–––

The castle was still and quiet. You yawn and rub at your eyes as you trudge through the halls; as deserted as the library had been after curfew, the potions classroom was even emptier. That is, until Nott bound loudly and carelessly into the classroom, throwing his school bag on the floor and falling into the stool beside yours with an exasperated sigh.

When you don’t acknowledge his presence, he dramatically sighs again.

“What?” 

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m late?” He prompted, reaching out to steal a dandelion root. He retracts his hand after you deliver a well-deserved smack to it, and his brows furrow momentarily before his trademark smirk lightens his expression. “Hello? L/N? Anyone home?”

“Nott, for the love of Merlin–”

“Salazar’s balls, Y/N, who spit in your pumpkin juice?” He backs away, hands raised, then crosses the workbench to hand you the next ingredient required to make the very complicated Dreamless Sleep potion. “You look terrible. Have you slept at all since we’ve been assigned this project?”

A glare suffices to answer the question for you.

Still, Theo doesn’t let up his rambling. He goes on about the woes of sharing a dormitory with Draco for the fact that he constantly mutters about Potter in his sleep when you finally drop your wand beside the cauldron in frustration.

“Y/N! What the fuck?” Theo shouts, eyes widening in alarm. He rushes over to the cauldron and continues stirring it counterclockwise three turns, then clockwise once. “What the hell is going on with you?” He asks once the allotted time for stirring has passed. 

While the concoction simmers for thirty minutes before the next ingredient must be added – at precisely 11:58pm on the third Thursday since starting the potion which is why you’re both there in the first place – Theo crosses his arms and fixes you with a stern look. 

“What gives, L/N?”

“Nothing,” you groan. 

Theo purses his lips, taking in your sudden urge to lay flat out on the cold floor. “Doesn’t look like nothing to me.”

“I’m tired is all. A bit stressed.”

“A bit?”

“Fine,” another groan. “A lot stressed. I need to get full-marks on this assignment, the essay for Arithmancy is due next week and I haven’t even started it, and don’t get me started on Runes or I might kill myself.”

Theo glances briefly at the potion, then settles on the floor beside you, leaning back against the table leg and kicking out his long legs. 

“Fucking hell, Y/N, you need to alleviate that stress before you implode. Preferably sooner rather than later, because I have no intention of failing this potions project either, and unfortunately that means I need you.”

“Hold on, can you repeat that last bit? I need to commit it to memory and hold it against you forever.”

“Ha, ha,” he counters, rolling his eyes. “You’re a bloody mess, you know that don’t you? Get your shite together, L/N.” 

You huff indignantly, then sit up on your elbows and brush your hair out of your face. “How are you so bloody relaxed? Have you finished your Arithmancy essay or lost sleep because of this ridiculous potion?”

“Not all all,” Theo scoffs. “Then again, I couldn’t be stressed even if I tried. It’s not in my nature. I certainly could never be as wound up as you’ve become. Truly, it’s unsettling.”

“Thank you. That’s so helpful.”

“Come here.”

You blink up at him.

“What?”

“You want me to help you unwind? Come here.”

You narrow your eyes at him, disbelieving the trickster god incarnate himself is not about to abuse your fatigued state for the sake of a perfectly good prank. He purses his lips, then tugs gently at your arm. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Y/N, for fuck’s sake.” 

Theo turns you slowly then settles himself behind you. Instinctively you tense as his legs extend on either side of yours; you hold your breath because if you dared to exhale, your spine would rest against his chest, and given your vulnerable position, that was the last thing you wanted. 

At least, you muse internally, Theo can’t see the heat rise to your cheeks.

“May I?” He asks. His long fingers hover above your shoulders, and you glance skeptically at them before nodding, not meeting his blue eyes. 

His thumb digs into the trapezius muscle peeking out from your robes, and a hiss escapes from between your lips.

“Fuck, L/N. Your knots have knots.” Theo laughs.

Although Theo is suspiciously good at kneading into your very tense muscles, his proximity and the breath from his lips that tickles your ears only serves to make you more tense. Which is odd because you’re usually quite relaxed around Theo; it was why he was one of your best mates. You always felt like you had the upper hand in every interaction, but not here. You are completely at Theo’s mercy, and what was stranger was that this Theo was somehow the same as your Theo and yet, completely different.

You stand up abruptly and brush nonexistent dirt off your robes. 

“The potion,” you blurt out, dragging your attention from the flicker of vulnerability in Theo’s eyes to the bubbling violet potion on the counter. You busy yourself with adding the next ingredient at precisely 11:58pm, but the next opportunity you have to sneak a look at Theo, you take it.

The familiar glint returned to his eyes, and his trademark smirk spread lazily across his lips.

Perhaps, you imagined the other Theo – the one who was infallibly gentle and soft.

“I know a few other tricks for unwinding if you’re interested,” he taunts, jutting his chin upwards.

“I’m not one of those girls, Nott. I’m not going to sleep with you to de-stress. Dream on.” 

He laughs, packing up his bag and heading for the door with you after storing away the potion for the next evening. “It’s funny how your mind immediately jumped to sleeping with me when I said absolutely nothing of the sort.”

“You alluded to it.”

“Did I?” His eyes dance with mischief in the torchlight as you make your way across the dungeon floor to the common room. “Do you have something you wish to confess, L/N?”

“No,” you snort. “I wouldn’t sleep with you if we were the last two people alive and the human race depended on it.”

Something flashed behind his eyes, but his haughty expression masked it before you could decipher what it might be. 

–––

Neither of you talked about what happened that night. Which was perfectly fine because you didn’t spend half the night tossing and turning and wondering what the blood hell even happened. 

No – Nothing happened.

Theo was one of your best friends and he was just… helping? It didn’t mean anything. Sure, there was that moment where you could’ve sworn he looked hurt when you stood up and scrambled out of his hold abruptly but – but that couldn’t have been right.

You and Theo were mates. 

Bantering and playfully flirting were part of that. 

Your internal anxieties over the interaction, however, presented in decidedly obvious external behavior changes that did not go unnoticed.

At breakfast, you bite your lip before taking the last seat available amongst your friends and try, with every fiber in your being, not to brush up against Theo as you slide into the seat.

“Morning,” you say.

“Morning.” Theo replies, just as drily.

For the most part, you believe you pulled it off, just like you have with every forced interaction with Theo since that night. Unfortunately, you would be very wrong.

Because when Theo leans across you to grab the syrup and his shoulder brushes against yours, you yelp loudly and nearly leap into the air.

Theo, likewise, overreacts and drops the syrup jar, causing the glass and sticky substance to splatter across everyone’s plates.

“Alright,” snaps Draco, grimacing at his syrup-coated fingers with disdain before glancing between the two of you. “What the hell is going on with you two? You’ve been acting very strange.”

“Yeah, what the bloody hell happened?” Demands Pansy, flicking her dark bob over her shoulders. “Did you two finally sleep together or something?”

“What?” 

“Yes,” remarks Theo, idly teaching for his wand and cleaning up the mess.

“No,” you glare at him before facing the others. “We did not sleep together. Fucking hell, Pans.”

“Well you should,” she replied.

“Can we please stop talking about my two best mates possibly shagging? I’m trying to eat here,” shuddered Draco.

Theo laughed and arched a dark brow at Draco.

“You jealous?”

“For your information, Nott, I get plenty of–”

“Cut it out!” You yell, standing up and preparing to leave. “If either of you think anyone here wants to hear about your sexual prowess then I will gladly inform you that you are mistaken. Grow up.”

As you bend to retrieve your bag from under the bench, you overhear Draco and Theo whisper to one another.

“On a scale of 1 to 10, how mad do you think Y/N is with me because of that comment?”

“Nott, they haven’t invented a number high enough.”

Later that week in Runes, Theo drops silently into the seat beside you. You can feel his eyes on you, but rather than indulge him, you opt to stare blankly at the board. By the time you’ve read thrice all the way through, he clears his throat.

“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”

“Figured that out all by yourself, did you?” You counter, still choosing not to meet his eye.

Halfway through the lesson, in which Theo remained suspiciously quiet, you sigh exasperatedly and whisper to him between copying translations into your notebook.

“I am mad at you. That was completely uncalled for the other day, when you said–”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Are you? Or, are you just bored of only having Draco to banter with and play tricks on?” Finally, you sneak a glance at him and catch a bit of color below his sharp cheekbones.

Good, you think. 

Let him be humbled. He deserves it.

–––

The common room is alive with nearly every student immersed in some form of entertainment. Draco suggests a round of exploding snaps and is met with plenty of enthusiasm from your friend group. 

Theo looks askance at you, and you bury your head further into your book.

For once, it’s not a textbook, and you would rather lose yourself in the fictional world than play a game with Theo.

He plucks your bookmark from the space on the floor between you two and surreptitiously starts to place it on your page.

“Come on, L/N, you’re joining in for a round or two, right?”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“But it’s your favorite game.” He blinks, then tries for a mischievous smirk. “I’ll make it worth your while. How about we make a wager? If you win–”

“I said no, Nott.”

Draco lets out a low whistle, then begins the game.

You take the bookmark and place it away from his grasp, then resume reading even though you can’t help but feel a little elated that Theo thought of you. When he turns to face the game, you can’t help but notice that his heart doesn’t seem in it anymore and smile to yourself as you flip to the next page.

An hour or so later, you make your way from the common room and down the hall into the potions classroom. It’s quiet, and you take a moment to let the pleasant silence wash over you before retrieving your potion and checking on it one last time.

It was due tomorrow, and although you finished it a few days ago – in an incredibly awkward and tense session with Theo – you can’t help but take another look just to make sure. It had to be perfect.

“I figured I’d find you here.”

Theo stands in the doorway of the classroom; normally, he leans against bannisters and doorways with unfathomed arrogance and cool, but not this time. His shoulders are tense, and his long limbs are rigid. 

Slowly, he makes his way over to you, but despite the obvious height difference, he appears small.

“Everything’s perfect I presume? Just as we left it.”

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest.

He sighs, then turns on his heel and takes a hand through his hair.

“Fuck, L/N.” Theo makes a noise somewhere between a cough and a chuckle, then continues. “Everything is weird between us. What went wrong? What happened?”

“What happened?” You repeat, trying not to swoon at the familiar scent of parchment and pine needles that is characteristically Theo; something you don’t want to admit to yourself that you missed the past few weeks, but you did. “What happened, Nott, is that you have intimacy issues.”

“I have intimacy issues?” 

“Yes.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me, L/N.”

“Hey,” you start defensively. “You’re the one who made things weird between us with your stupid unwinding technique.” 

“I was trying to be nice!” He argues, throwing his hands in the air. “Bloody hell, Y/N, you were so fucking stressed, so I just figured – You know what? That’s not on me. You’re the one who made it weird by pretending it didn’t happen at all afterward.”

“You didn’t talk about it either!”

“Because I could tell that you didn’t want to. Again, I was trying to be nice!” He inhaled sharply, then exhaled slowly. “Listen, I know I said we slept together and that was wrong, but–”

“Oh, really?”

“Oi, I’m trying to apologize here,” he groans. “I feel bad enough about everything without you making it infinitely worse, alright? I deserve it, I know I do, but – just –”

Theo taps his fingers on his thigh, barely containing himself from visibly exploding. You can tell there’s something else he wants to say, so you stay quiet and let him tick, tick, tick like an exploding snap ready to fire. 

“I like you, ok?” Theo practically shouts, startling you. He, however, leans into the outburst. Words begin spilling out of his mouth so fast you almost struggle to string them together. He is turbulent water breaking through a dam. “I like you. I think I always liked you, Y/N. I just – We always fight and banter and mess around which is easy and nice. It makes it bearable, I think, to have you so close to me but also so far, but then – then you were in my fucking arms and I couldn’t – I can’t.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, fixated on his widened blue eyes.

“You were in my fucking arms, and then you weren’t.” Theo says, chest heaving. “I didn’t know badly I needed you in my life, like that, until that moment. Then you said that thing about never wanting to be with me even if we were the last two people on the planet and – and again at breakfast.” 

He paused momentarily to hold up his hands in surrender. 

“I know, fuck, I know I said some things that were uncalled for, but it was a joke. It was a stupid fucking joke because I couldn’t – I still can’t – bear the thought of you thinking of me like that. Like being with me is so unthinkable that you–”

Theo cuts himself off and finally looks away from you to stare at his feet. You take the brief respite to blink back the tears welling in your eyes.

“I hated when we were apart and I’m sorry, really truly sorry, for how I acted. I need you, Y/N. I didn’t know how badly I needed you until you were gone, and I swear I’ll never make that fucking mistake again. Fucking hell, can we please just go back to the way it was before?”

Finally, you take a deep breath and uncross your arms, wiping your slightly sweaty hands on your jumper.

“You want to go back to being friends?” You clarify.

Theo’s head snaps up. “Merlin’s beard, no. I don’t want that at all. I want – Err–”

“You want more?” You ask, and he nods, clenching his jaw as he awaits your response. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Well, I do.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Come here.”

“Seriously?”

“Nott, don’t make me say it again–”

But your words are lost in the night as Theo wastes no time taking you back in his arms, causing you to gasp as your feet leave the floor. His nose brushes against yours, and you close your eyes, inhaling the sweet smell of parchment and pine. 

“May I?” He asks, lips lingering dangerously close to yours as the words leave his lips. It takes every ounce of strength you have not to make a smartass retort; instead, you close the space between you and him as a way of response. 

The kiss is sweet, slow and romantic. It’s everything, and when it ends, you can’t imagine spending another minute of your life not kissing Theodore Nott. 

“Why haven’t we been doing this all along?” Theo says.

“We might have if you had simply said something rather than joke and mope like a complete child, Nott.” You counter with a derisive smirk to pair.

His breathy laugh skating across your flushed cheeks; his hands are trailing up and down your spine while your hands are conversely tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck, holding on for dear life.

“Salazar’s balls, I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“No arguments here.” 

Catch Me If You Can (28/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

A/n: I know everyone is caught up in JJ Sneed land if my dash is any indication, but I know some people are itching for a new chapter today! So here we are!

Also, everyone go check out this FANTASTIC piece of artwork from @imagnifika​ | here | because it’s awesome, and I’m still blown away by it and seeing this story come to life in someone else’s eyes! Let me stare at it forever. Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke​ for reading all these words and being a great encourager! 💙

AO3: Beginning | Current

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-/-

There are technically eight different types of cookies, and it all depends on how exactly they’re baked or, well, not baked. This isn’t something Killian knew until about two o’clock this morning when he was googling cookie recipes desperate to find something other than chocolate chip cookies to bake. But then he got sucked into a wormhole of research and discovering the difference between rolled cookies, bar cookies, and dropped cookies.

Seriously. There is an entire website on the history of cookies. He looked at it for an hour. It’s kind of insane.

It’s also not really important to him, but weird things happen in the middle of the night, especially since he hasn’t been sleeping well the past few days and his mind needed to focus on something concrete.

That’s also how he ended up wandering to the nearest twenty-four-hour market at three in the morning to buy ingredients for black and white cookies, buckeyes, and sugar cookies. He doesn’t even know how or why he picked those three. All Killian knows is that he’s been stress baking for days now, something that’s a bit hard to do when he’s trying to take it easy on his right arm, and he’s pretty much wiped out all of his cabinets of the good ingredients.

His refrigerator, however, looks like a bakery threw up inside of it. He really needs to take some of the things to Liam and Elsa, but when he went to their house yesterday, all Addy and Lucy wanted to talk about was his arm and Emma and even though it was completely innocent, it was too much for him. He can’t quite go back to give them cookies if all they’re going to talk about is Emma.

Every bit of this is his fault. He owns up to that. 

But it’s still too much.

The fact that Ariel, Eric, Will, and Robin are all pissed beyond belief at him doesn’t help. He’s sure that for the four of them things will go back to normal soon. He doesn’t know for sure, but he thinks they will. He’ll never be able to clutch his shoulder again without having someone yelling at him to go see a doctor, but that’s likely for the best.

(Killian should have gone to a fucking doctor.)

They all deserve the multitude of sweets in his fridge. He’d take them to each of their apartments now, but they’re all still too pissed that he lied to them over and over again. Plus, they’re leaving for Boston tomorrow morning and likely busy even though today is their last day off from the small break that they got after Labor Day.

He’s not leaving for Boston. He’s staying right here sitting on his ass surrounded by cookies.

Emma’s going to Boston. At least, he thinks that she is. She should be. He’ll have to ask her when she comes over.

When she comes over.

Emma is coming over today. In about fifteen minutes actually, and that’s entirely why he’s been stress baking (more than usual) throughout the entire night. Killian doesn’t even know how he looks right now. There are probably some major bags under his eyes and his hair is all over the place, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he had flour or icing or even both smeared all over him.

Shit. He hasn’t shaved in four days.

For some reason, it’s that that thought that has Killian dropping his piping bag he was using to frost the sugar cookies to turn the corner in his apartment and run down the hallway to get to his bedroom so he can shower. In the past few days, in all of his moping and self-inflicted misery, he managed to pick up all of Emma’s clothes and hung them in the closet. That might be a little too hopeful thinking, but it seemed like the natural thing to do.

The sticky notes, though, have stayed exactly where they are, and he looks at them before quickly twisting the nobs on his shower and stepping inside the moment the water gets to an acceptable temperature. He doesn’t have much time, so Killian picks up his body wash, leaving Emma’s where it is, and scrubs over his body while doing some light stretches with his shoulder. He needs to put another ice pack on there.

That’ll have to come after this.

Six minutes later, Killian is out of the shower. Two minutes after that, he’s dressed in a pair of his gym shorts and a t-shirt, one from a charity game he played last year, and after looking in the mirror, he knows that he doesn’t have time to shave, not if he wants to brush his teeth again.

He should probably brush his teeth for…reasons.

That’s optimistic.

Killian can’t help it. For four days he has felt his entire world crumbling around him, and it’s been his fault. He’s known that it was. There was no denying it even when he most wanted to, and he’s wanted to a hell of a lot.

Missing the rest of the season, possibly having to miss parts of the play-offs which could mean that he could miss the World Series, is obviously crushing. There’s no denying that. The game has been his life for nearly twenty-three years, and he doesn’t want to keep screwing things up. His track record might not show that, but it’s true. He’s going to try to be better. He’ll go to all of his therapy, tell those who need to know when he’s hurting, and he’s not going to overdo it. He’s not.

But as much as all of the stuff with his job is killing him, not having Emma to talk to is worse.

The game was his life for so long, and while he doesn’t want to say that Emma is his entire life now, she’s up there in the most important category.

Probably topping the list.

Everything about his life has her mark on it. From the clothes in his closet and the bottles in his shower to the coffee creamer in his fridge and the throw blanket that she left on his couch. There are all of these physical signs that show how she’s changed things, but he knows that a hell of a lot of how Emma has impacted his life comes in the way that he’s more conscious about spending times with his loved ones or the fact that his demons don’t seem to find him as much in the dark of the night. The smile that was missing for so many years has found its place again.

Emma didn’t fix his flaws. They’re all still there. But she has inadvertently helped him to be a better person.

Even if he is still screwing up and will continue to.

Killian loves Emma, and there is no denying that. None at all. He’d never try to.

“Why does it smell like Little Debbie threw up in here?”

Killian’s head turns at the sound of Emma’s voice, and even though it causes the slightest sting to his shoulder, he doesn’t care. Because she’s real and standing in front of him wearing running shorts and a tank top, her hair tucked into a Yankees cap so that he can’t really see the green of her eyes. But he can see the timid, hesitant smile, and he never wants her to be hesitant to see him again.

“How did you – ”

She holds up a key. “I have a key. Figured it was still okay for me to use it.”

“Yeah, love.” Killian smiles and grabs a clean hand towel to dry off his hair so he’s not soaking wet. “That’s perfectly fine.”

“Good. So why does it smell like Little Debbie threw up in here?”

“Stress baking. Do you want a cookie? Or brownies? I have a large parfait. There’s also a cake that was meant for…the other day, but it’s a damn mess.”

Emma lets out a small laugh and shakes her head while her hand reaches for the chain around her neck, her fingers fumbling with it. His breath hitches at the sight. Over the past few days, his hand has instinctively clutched for it, reaching out and trying to find something to hold onto, and every time he comes up empty. He gave that to Emma because he wanted her to have it, and nothing about that has changed.

His mom would want her to have it. She’d love Emma. Killian doesn’t remember that much about her, but he knows that she would love Emma. They have that same kind spirit and an infectious laugh that makes everyone else in the room want to laugh along.

Bloody breathtaking.

And hopefully the ring brought her luck and comfort when she got to commentate the other day, and hopefully she knew that he was cheering her on the entire time. He still hasn’t heard how that went. He almost watched the replay of the game so that he could see for himself, but it felt wrong to do that without Emma and to know that most of the tape would be focused on his injury anyways.

That’s not how it should be.

And maybe a part of him couldn’t handle hearing her voice as she had to speak after seeing him leave the mound.

“I might want a cookie later,” Emma says, shrugging her shoulder. “I feel like if I start eating now, I’ll consume everything like I’m a vacuum.”

“Isn’t that how you usually eat?”

She’s closer now, so he can see her roll her eyes. “I’m still mad at you, so I’d watch what you say.”

That sobers Killian up, the playful smile tugging at his lips disappearing into a firm line, and he nods his head while his left hand reaches up to scratch behind his head. “Aye. Do you want to go talk in the living room?”

“Yeah.”

Emma turns on her heel and walks out of his bedroom, and he’s following right behind her. As much as his stomach is absolutely churning right now, Killian knows that the sooner they have this talk, the better. Unless, of course, it ends with Emma ending things between them. That’s not for the better. If it’s what she wants, it’s what she wants, but he can’t believe that it’s for the better even if he is an idiot who likes to mess things up.

Emma grabs her throw blanket from the basket and sits down in his oversized arm chairarmchair, settling herself in like she’s comfortable here, and he likes that she’s still comfortable here. That comforts him. Killian doesn’t grab a blanket, but he does sit down on the couch and pull a pillow to his chest so that he has something for his hands to do.

Is his heart still working? He’s not sure.

“How’s your arm?” Emma starts. This is probably the conversation she feels most comfortable with, and he doesn’t blame her.

“It’s okay. I need to ice it soon, but I’ll be fine. Just a lot of resting it, which is harder than I thought it would be.”

“Do you want to ice it now?”

“No, no, Swan. It’s fine. I promise. I know – I’m sorry that I lied to you.” They aren’t the words Killian meant to say quite yet, but he does mean them. “I truly am. I can’t express how much of an idiot that I am. I hid away something really damn important from everyone when I should have shared it the first time my arm started hurting. I should have gone through the steps of preventing this. I should have told you what really happened with my accident. I should have told you everything that I didn’t tell you, and I can’t imagine how shitty it makes you feel that I didn’t.”

Emma scoffs. “Pretty shitty.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I just – ” She lets out a big sigh and adjusts the blanket over her legs again. “You don’t have to keep apologizing. I know you’re sorry, and I believe you when you say that. I’m sorry that you’ve been going through all of this alone and that you haven’t felt like you could tell someone, but it did…it does hurt me that you couldn’t tell me. People have always let me down, and – ”

“I never intended to let you down.”

Emma smiles, something soft and a little sad, and he swears that it breaks his heart the slightest bit. “I know that. It took running far too much, eating my weight in food, and then having Ruby talk some sense into me, but I know. And it’s why I’m going to choose to see the best in you.”

Good.

Good. This is going a hell of a lot better than he thought it would, but he’s still terrified that maybe he doesn’t deserve this forgiveness from her.

“And I you.”

“I mean, there wasn’t a lot of bad to see about me.”

Killian laughs, for what is probably the first time in days, and something inside of him rights itself so that the pieces of the puzzle continue to click into place instead of being all mixed together.

“Well, not in this particular situation, no.”

Emma’s smile is a little more hopeful now, and he watches it change as she tugs on the brim of her baseball cap. “Why didn’t you tell anyone, Killian? Be honest with me. If we’re going to continue to make this work, and I really do want to make this work, you have to be honest with me. I’m done with guys who aren’t honest.”

He knew this question was coming, has had to answer it before, but no answer seems like it’s enough. They all fall short, and he knows that’s because he fell short in who everyone was expecting him to be. In who he was expecting himself to be too.

“I was scared. That sounds like such a pathetic excuse, but it’s my truth. I have been through a hell of a lot of ups and downs in the past nine years, and I had finally gotten out of the downs when the accident happened. I worked so damn hard, love. I – ” He stops to take a breath, still at a loss for words since it all sounds ridiculous and yet makes perfect sense in his mind. “I finally had my life back on track. Things were going really well for me, and I was pissed that it was all taken away from me because some kids were drunk and driving a boat. I didn’t think I’d ever get the game back, but I did, you know? I was on top of the world, so when my arm started to hurt again, despite all of my better judgment, I figured if I never said anything, I’d never have it all taken away from me. And not telling you about any of it…I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want you to think of me as being any more broken than I already am.”

That’s it. That’s his truth. There’s no altering it or making it better or making him seem like less of an idiot. That’s simply it.

Emma said she’d see the best in him. He hopes that’s true.

For a moment he thinks it’s not because Emma is rising from her chair, and he fully expects her to walk out the door despite everything they’ve already said today and when they talked in Elsa’s office. But she doesn’t leave. Instead, she walks toward him and very slowly places her knees on either side of his thighs and leans down to sit on his lap so that they’re nearly eye level when the palms of her hands land on his cheeks and he can finally see the green of her eyes again underneath her baseball cap.

He’s now realizing the cap is his.

And it feels really damn good to feel the touch of Emma’s hands again. That’s also what has him wrapping his arms around her lower back and tugging her closer while Emma continues to rub her thumbs under his eyes in soothing circles.

“Killian, I am obviously not the most emotionally equip person in the world and am not the best with words, but you have to know that you and me, we both have shitty pasts. We both have things that we’re terrified of and sensitive to, and I think that’s why we work. You understand that I’m not going to leap head first into things, and I understand that you have this weird sense of self-loathing that you shouldn’t have. You were terrified of losing something you love. I would be too.”

“You were pretty damn good with words there.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve had a lot of time to think about things.”

“I like you thinking.”

“Funny, most men don’t.”

Killian chuckles and leans forward to rest his head against Emma’s shoulder, and he takes the moment to breathe her in and breathe in the smell of her perfume. The pillow next to his has smelled like hers for the past few days, but it’s nothing compared to the real thing.

“I’m not going to lie to you again,” he mumbles into her skin while her hands start messing with his hair so that vibrations are running down his spine. “Or my family. Or my teammates. I promise I’ll be smarter, yeah?”

He tilts his head up to look at Emma, and he’s about to say something else when she leans forward and presses her mouth to his. He’s kissed her hundreds of times, probably more than that – he’s not counting – but there’s something different about the way that her mouth moves over his now. It’s slower, more passionate even if he knows it isn’t leading to something more than this, and the raw emotion of it all travels from his lips to the pit of his stomach before moving back up to his heart and constricting it.

But in the best way.

Killian has missed  her.

He has missed the sound of her laugh and the way that she hogs the entire couch. He has missed the way she tastes and the fact that she never seems to put her dishes away on time. He has missed the notebooks she leaves around with all of her mid-game scribbling and the way that she can’t seem to make up her mind on what she wants to eat for dinner. Barely any time has passed, but not knowing exactly what’s coming next even more than usual has put a hell of a lot of things in perspective for him.

His love for Emma is one of the most important things in his life, and he doesn’t want to ever jeopardize it again by not being able to own up to his past and how it still has a stranglehold on his present.

Killian gently pecks her lips one, two, three times before trailing along the side of her neck and peppering kisses against her skin, never moving his hands from where they’re holding her to him.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs, the desperation obvious in his own ears. “You have no idea.”

“I think I might have a bit of an idea,” Emma laughs as he leans back to look at her again, the brightest smile he’s seen all day stretched across her lips. “I love you too, by the way. But I still hope everyone you know gives you shit about this whole thing until we all know for sure that you’re not going to keep hiding things as important as your health.”

“I would expect nothing less,” he sighs. “Now, I don’t know about you, Swan, but my girlfriend had a very big day at work the other day, and I still haven’t heard about it.”

“Oh, we don’t have to talk about it.”

“No, no. I want to hear every detail. I almost watched the tape, but I figured that’d be a little miserable hearing your voice while watching myself be an idiot on the field.”

“Yeah, that would probably suck.”

“Exactly. So, tell me all about it. I’m all ears.” Emma opens her mouth, but he stops her. “Aye, I know – little pointy ones.”

Emma does tell him all about it. For a few minutes, she’s kind of fumbling around trying to find her storytelling stride, but then she settles in and knows exactly where she’s going with her tale. She’s not one to talk a lot, even when it comes to him, but when it’s something that Emma is passionate about, she could talk for hours without taking a breath.

Emma is passionate about this.

He can tell in the way the smile on her face rarely dissipates and with how she keeps using her hands far more often than she normally was. Plus, her voice gets that little bit higher in pitch, and he has to bite his tongue not to tease her about it. He also has to bite his tongue when she starts detailing all of the petty little ways that Isaac and James tried to demean her instead of acting like professionals. Emma promises that it wasn’t too bad, but Killian can tell that their little digs bothered her, especially the ones about her integrity and him.

Killian shudders at the thought of their relationship becoming public because of the hell hole that it’ll put Emma into no matter how respected she is in her field by those who actually know what they’re talking about.

A part of that will always be on him and his actions of ten months ago, but he’s under strict instructions not to apologize for that again. And right nownow isn’t about him and his own self-loathing. He’s already taken away days of both of their lives for that, and he’s not going to do that any longer.

Right here, right now…this is about Emma finally getting to do something she’s dreamed about.

He does get up in the middle of her going on about what it was like after his injury – which sounds more than horrific for her – to get his ice pack, and that causes them to trail off onto all of the exact details of his tendonitis and his treatment. He promises Emma that it’s truly not that bad, but that his case is a little bit more intense with his history and the particular severity of it all. That’s when she asks him when exactly it hurts, and the pain on her face when he tells her he can feel it pretty much any time he moves his right arm more than a few inches is not a pained face he wants to keep on seeing from her.

But it only gets worse when Killian details that sometimes it’s so bad that it wakes him up from sleep, and Emma starts to piece together all of the times she’s woken up in the middle of the night to find him out of bed at odd hours.

Bloody idiot. That’s exactly what he is.

It’ll get better though, with rest and physical therapy and a little bit of luck, and as much as it sucks, it could be worse. This could all be worse. He’s not going to let it, though, as he’s not going to be dumb enough to not get treatment and to keep pushing himself further than his physical limits.

And as much as Killian would like to be able to hover over Emma and roll his hips into hers and join their bodies together after what feels like forever apart even if it’s only a few days, he knows that he’s not quite physically able to today. Emma, though, the spirited lass that she is, lets a smirk curl across her lips as she directs him back to his bedroom and tells him to lie on his back as she takes the lead so that he doesn’t have to move his shoulder too much.

Creative solutions have always been the best solutions.

It’s glorious being joined with Emma again, feeling her warmly wrapped around him as she moves above him in slow circles that have him dying in the haze of ecstasy. His mom’s ring falls between her breasts with each movement, and his good arm reaches up to toy with it. She’s going particularly slow, each roll of her hips seemingly meaning something deeper, and as good as it feels, a part of him thinks it’s some kind of torture since she knows he can’t do most of the things he’s usually capable of doing.

The sly smile on her face when he tries to thrust up into her and go deeper inside of her tells him that he’s right.

The minx.

And if slow and steady is what Emma wants, it’s exactly what she’ll get. She’s always been one to take charge.

The heat simmering between them must eventually begin to burn, however, because the rolls of her hips become faster and she places his hand where they’re joined so that he can help her find her bliss in the few minutes before he finds his, little shocks of electricity working down to the base of his spine as he comes undone with Emma’s name on his lips and his love for her curling around each and every other word that he manages to mutter.

Almost losing her, even if he didn’t think this would truly tear them apart despite the way his mind kept convincing him that it would, has made him appreciate Emma in ways that he hadn’t before.

He thought he appreciated her in every way, but there are always things to learn.

“I have so many damn cookies,” Killian laughs later, after they’ve cleaned up and crawled back under the covers, a new pack of ice on his shoulder and his body pleasurably aching. “I have no idea what I’m going to do with them.”

Emma laughs against his chest where she’s curled up, her hand over his heart and her feet tucked in between his calves so that they’re back where they belong. “I would say I could take them with me on the road trip, but then I’d have to check a bag to get them with me through TSA. Or maybe not. I’m always confused on the food thing.”

Oh.

He’d nearly forgotten that life was moving on outside of his bedroom and this bed and the freckles scattered over Emma’s skin. The only clothing she has on is the necklace, and he’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible.

“So, you are going to Boston then?”

Emma hums. “And then Detroit after that. I have off for the Blue Jays, though, so I’ll be coming back home instead of going to Canada.”

His hand scratches against her back, drawing lines and words and anything that he can simply to feel her again. “I hate that I’m not going to be traveling with you.”

“It’s going to be kind of weird,” she whispers before pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I’m going to have a hotel bed to myself.”

“To be fair, you pretty much always have the bed to yourself even when I am around.”

“You have been forgiven for about two hours now, and you’re already talking shit about my bed hogging. That’s a bold move there, Jones.’

“Oh, I know,” he yawns, his lack of sleep catching up to him even if it’s only six in the evening, “but I’ve slept alone for a few days now, and let me tell you, it’s glorious.”

Emma scoffs against his chest before sitting up so that she’s looking down at him under her mess of wild blonde hair that’s curling over her chest. “You’re being an ass.”

“Well, we have undoubtedly decided that I am an ass, right?”

“Pretty much.”

Emma’s arms stretch over her head, the muscles of her stomach on display, before she’s rolling off of the bed and standing up so that he has a particular good view of her ass that has his body humming. But then she’s walking to his dresser and pulling out a t-shirt to put on. She obviously pulled it from the back because it’s an older one he hasn’t seen in years, and he imagines he’ll probably never see it again with Emma’s penchant for stealing his things.

“You going somewhere, love?”

“Yeah,” she sighs as the t-shirt lifts from her thighs when she’s pulling her hair back up into a messy bun on the top of her head. “You have a bowl of icing in your kitchen, and the TV in the living room is better than the TV in here. If we’re not going to the US Open because I don’t want to leave this apartment until I absolutely have to, I’m going to watch it here.”

“Do you want me to join you?”

“Eh,” she teases, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t really care. Apparently, I am a bed hog, so I’m leaving you here to have the entire bed by yourself while I go lounge about on the couch eating the sweets you made while you were mooning over me.”

“You’re impossible.”

Emma winks. “And you love me for it.”

Good Omens Fic Recs 1/?

I went to fix a link in this post and managed to delete the entire thing like an absolute fool. 

But my complete annoyance with myself won’t be bested with my determination to post this lot. So here I go again. I am so sorry if this has shown on your dash a million times. And sorry for the double links / tagging as I honestly went half mad over even the basics. This is where I am with life.

I have about 300 Good Omens fics bookmarked at this point to trying to pull out my absolute favourites sent me down a re-read (and in many cases a re-re-re-re-read) rabbit hole, which was an absolute joy so no complaints here!

These are just some of the ones that have just really stuck with me for one reason or another so I’ve gathered them up under the cut

4 Authors I just need to do like a HUGE rec for as they’re life ruiners. How dare they be this good. HOW DARE THEY.

@princip1914 @princip1914

Yeah I started pulling out the bookmarks I had for @princip1914 and realised it was...everything they’d written. All of it. Just...all of it.

But my particular favourite out of an outstanding batch is the following - which I have read approximately 70 squillion times. It stuck with me for so long in a way that I don’t think many fics have, ever. I actually can’t recommend this enough:

Doubt Thou The Stars Are Fire

“But how,” Aziraphale gasped, agonized and close to tears. “How can you be sure. Crowley, dear, you got thrown out of heaven for questioning everything. How can you be sure about this?”

Crowley loves and Aziraphale doubts. God intercedes. A groundhog day kind of situation ensues wherein Aziraphale has to fall in love with Crowley over and over again as a human until he gets the point. Highlights include: delivering medical care in rural Louisiana, stargazing in Vegas, strangers on a train, and teaching middle school.

@bestoftheseekwill @bestoftheseekwill

Same “problem” with @bestoftheseekwill - READ EVERYTHING. Oh my god, the human AUs, THE HUMAN AUS.

Special shout out to Acts of Service which was the first Human AU I’d read and got me completely hooked and now whenever seekwill posts I immediately read.

Acts of Service

"You seem very familiar to me. I can’t say why that is." As Aziraphale spoke, Crowley turned away from the fire, and Aziraphale was momentarily concerned that the spell had been broken, that he had crossed some invisible line. But Crowley smiled and brought his beer to his lips.

"Maybe we met in a past life. Does your lot believe in that?"

"Past lives?"

"Yeah."

Aziraphale smiled into his wine. He was sure Crowley was poking fun, ever so slightly, but he liked it. "Not strictly speaking. No."

Crowley shrugged, taking another long sip of his beer. “A mystery then."

After receiving direct instruction from God, village reverend Aziraphale leaves his countryside congregation to serve the underserved and in-need at an urban church in London, a transition made all the more complicated by the mysterious and handsome Crowley, who always seems to appear when Aziraphale least expects him.

OH!! but also

That this could be the kingdom

- this one sat with me for a while. Stunning

I have lived my whole life with a wrecked heart. Fr. Aziraphale Fell’s present mirrors his past, as long ago roommate, classmate, and former friend Anthony Crowley reappears in his life in an unexpected and disarming way, challenging Aziraphale’s choices, and bringing him back to the breaking point, when he made a decision he couldn’t take back. It isn’t temptation, it’s revelation.

@mygalfriday @mygalfriday

Ah here, listen - I went to get my bookmark list for @mygalfriday and just ended up re-reading all 12 fics this week.

i can't say the words, so i wrote you into my verse

Aziraphale blinks as it slowly dawns on him exactly what he’s looking at. Crowley has a tattoo. Well, another one anyway. Unlike the small serpent curled just beneath his temple, this one takes up far more space.

And listen if you don’t read the blind date au series then I don’t know how to help you!

I couldn’t find Rend_Herring  Found @rendherring @rendherring on Tumblr but I had to put my phone and my head down after I read both of these.

The Lightness of You

God should not have built them with such discrepancy, made them need for love, and long for wholeness, then left them to their own devices.

This Soul Outstreaming

“Why did you come here?” Aziraphale interrupts. “Why do you keep doing this?” All the saving, he means, all the chasing after Aziraphale he does. It can’t only be that he’s not keen to endure a replacement. That can’t be it, not anymore. He’s going to get himself in trouble, and then it’ll be Aziraphale’s fault.

Crowley’s mouth shuts with a click. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, reaches for the handle of the fork and taps his fingertips against it before setting his hands in his lap.

When he speaks, it’s very soft. “Don’t you know?” he asks.

Aziraphale, unaccustomed to his heart refusing to translate why it throbs with such haste, shakes his head.

Fics that, to me, are just stunners. I love them so much.

Slow Show - @mia-ugly @mia-ugly Honestly if you’re seeing a rec list WITHOUT slow show...I’d be legit surprised In which temptations are accomplished, grand romantic gestures are made, and two ineffable co-stars only take four seasons of an award-winning television program to realize they’re on their own side (at last, at last.)

Barriers, and the breaking thereof - @cardinaldaughter @cardinaldaughter Ezra Fell has long been comfortable in his loneliness. He’s content to simply run the Soho Public Library and otherwise keep to himself. However, when a handsome stranger bursts in one evening with a baby, frantic and in need of help, Ezra finds those carefully constructed barriers he’s long maintained begin to crack.

Perhaps it’s time to let them fall.

Anthophilia - @fortinbrasftw @fortinbrasftw Anthony J. Crowley's life seems like it's finally falling into place: his floral shop has begun to gain an undercurrent of appreciation in the design elite of London, and he might have even finally found a boyfriend who looks just right lounging on his Tenreiro sofa. Things seem almost perfect, until one day the empty shop across the street is leased to frumpy fellow Oxford alumni, who doesn't seem to remember Crowley nearly as well as he remembers him, which really shouldn't bother him as much as it does - it was ten years ago after all, and it wasn't even that good of a kiss.

The road to rapture has a lot of pit stops - @emmagrant01 @emmagrant01 Five times they kissed over four thousand years, and one time they actually meant it.

Demon and Angel Professors - Ghostinthehouse - not 100% sure that this is also their tumblr handle so if anyone can confirm that would be great! They're professors. They're married. Their students don't realise. Cue shenanigans.

Multiple short arcs with one-shots (and often pauses) between them. Characters continue from one arc to the next. It's marked as complete, because each short arc is complete in itself, but there will be more arcs and one-shots in the future.

The Grinch Who Sold Christmas - @forineffablereasons @forineffablereasons Anthony J. Crowley, a big-time attorney from London, is sent to small-town Tadfield to close a deal before Christmas that would sell out half of high street to a fancy developer and put him up for partner at his firm. The deal will run the local businesses out and change the landscape of the town forever, but that’s none of Crowley’s business; he’s just doing a job.

But as the town invites him to share in their lives and their hopes and their holiday celebrations, and as the enigmatic Aziraphale invites him to share in something more, Crowley starts to wonder: if everything has its price, is he still willing to pay what this deal will cost?

Slow - write_away It started like this: A boy with the ability to warp reality met an angel and a demon and he made assumptions.

You might say it started like this: An angel and a demon found a marriage contract hung on the wall of the angel's bookshop. They didn't question it.

It also could have started like this: Once upon a time, the angel told the demon he went too fast. The demon took it to heart.

Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves somehow married. Crowley fears going too fast. Aziraphale forges ahead. Neither know how to ask questions of each other.

You, soft and only - @thehoyden He hadn’t expected a sudden lapful of angel.

“Very sorry about this,” Aziraphale said, and kissed him.

A Bushel and a Peck- @thehoyden  Sometimes, a family is a demonic nanny, an angelic cook, and a kid who isn't actually the Antichrist.Or: Crowley helps Aziraphale secure a different position at the Dowling Estate.

Long is the way, and hard - Kate_Lear The first time Crawley meets the angel, the celestial being is twisting its shining white robe in its fingers and looking wretched. It hardly spares him a glance as he shifts from snake to human, and Crawley is a touch put-out. It’s taken some practice to be able to do it so fluidly.

A story of Crowley's thoughts about Aziraphale, from the Beginning to the present day.

And also of temptation, and want, and whether - for a Fallen Angel - redemption is possible after all.

the 21st century, in which they finally work it out - @fieldbears @fieldbears This is light speed in comparison to the last few centuries of their relationship, but Crowley is barely holding on to his patience.

A Few More Rescues - @poetic----nonsense @poetic----nonsense 5+1 Times Crowley Rescued Aziraphale According to the Romantic Tropes of the Era, and One Time Aziraphale Turned It Around on Him (plus Prologue)

The Cottage, the Husbands (series) - Dragonsquill A demon and an angel fall in love and decide to take on the monumental task of living together in a cottage by the sea.

It’s a dog’s life Pt.14

*Summary: The reader is new and alone at the quarry’s camp, the only one she has is her dog, who seems to be best friends with Daryl Dixon, a not so friendly man, but that friendship will bring the reader closer to Daryl, finding that there’s more to Daryl than what you can see at first glance…besides, he’s pretty hot at first glance, isn’t him?

*Slow burn, both reader and Daryl’s pov, violence and language twd style.Follows the events of season 1 and 2.

*4282 words

*Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Chapters: 12/14

*Link to my masterlist with my other works can be found on the description of this blog. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but tumblr doesn’t show posts with links in the tags

Last chapter ... Daryl and reader got together!!!

This is the last chapter...I can’t believe it. I hope you have ejoyed this story as much as I did, because I love it, it’s my favourite thing I’ve ever written. I can’t believe 14 weeks have passed, I remember being so excited about posting it...I’m emotional. I don’t think it has ever been as hard to say goodbye to a story for me as if it’s to his. Please, let me know what you have thought of this whole thing if you have time. 

Thank you all who had been supporting this, I can’t believe the ammount of love this story got, thank you all so much, for every reblog, every like and every comment, it means the world.

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Securing the farm was indeed proving to be a hard job, but it was worth.

It was past lunchtime but you kept working, nailing wooden planks into the windows of the main floor of the house. It was a pity to lose the view and the light, but it was better than a bunch of walkers breaking them and getting in.

“I thought you must be hungry.” You looked up from the spare nails you were sorting into boxes when you heard Carol’s voice and saw her bringing you a plate with a couple of sandwiches. The Greene’s still had sliced bread, unbelievable.

“I’m starving, actually, thank you.” Your stomach growled and your mouth watered as you looked at the yummy looking sandwiches. Carol was just the best.  She had brought some food for Cole too, who waggled his tail happily while Carol patted his head.

“I was going to bring this one to Daryl, or else he won’t eat,” Carol said and you nodded, when Daryl got too focused on whatever he was doing, he could go all day without eating and starve himself, much to your dismay. “But I thought you might want to bring it to him yourself, have late lunch together.” Carol winked at you.

“I think you just gave me a wonderful idea.” You laughed, giving her a grateful smile. “Thank you, really, I mean it.”

You went looking for Daryl who was at the top of the stable, reinforcing the weakened parts and making sure a lookout could be built there. When you called his name he stopped hammering to look at you, a couple of nails held between his lips.

“Looking cute!” You giggled and Daryl rolled his eyes. “Come here, I brought lunch.”

You both sat down to eat at the outside of the stable, and you hummed in delight as you munched on your sandwich. “Can you believe they still have sliced bread?”

Daryl chuckled quietly at that. “It ain’t gonna last forever.”

“I know.” You sighed. “My mom knew how to homemade bread, I should have paid more attention. We’ll need wheat, but we are in a farm after all, there’s so many stuff we could plant, and we have the chickens and cows…this could work, you know, this place. We could survive here.” You were working on it, it would be safer than the quarry and with more resources. You were beginning to feel hopeful again.

Daryl just hummed, half his sandwich already gone. Cole shifted to sat down even closer to him, looking at him.  “Don’t let him fool you, he already ate.” You warned, though Daryl was already passing him a piece of his sandwich. Softie.

“You’re right, we could make this place work.” He said out of nowhere and you smiled, leaning to press a kiss to his arm, you had thought maybe he considered that what you had said was silly.

Daryl finished his sandwich and you couldn’t help but stare as he licked his fingers clean. Damn tease, and he didn’t even know it.

“What?” He raised an eyebrow, confused, when he caught you staring.

“Nothing, keep going, I’m just enjoying the show.” You giggled quietly, loving how he blushed when he realized what you were talking about. “Have I told you that you’re pretty hot?”

“Stop.” He grumbled, averting his eyes.

“Why, it’s true. Besides I love it when you blush like this.” You teased softly, cupping his face to make him look at you, brushing your thumbs over his pink cheeks before kissing his lips. You shifted until you could sit on his lap, straddling him, and you leaned back so you could look at him, running your fingers through his short hair at the back of his neck.

“Remember I told you I was used to making out in front of a dog?” You asked and Daryl hummed, closing his eyes as he leaned into your touch. “You know what other animals I’m used to making out in front of? Horses.”

“You were all day making out in front of animals or what?”

“You make it sound like I’m a pervert or something.” You laughed. “Well, you see, I was this teen living in the middle of nowhere, and when families with teen kids came to stay in my parents’ bed & breakfasts, who can blame us for having a little fun at the barn or the stable.”

“I see,” Daryl smirked.

“And…there’s a stable right behind us.”

“Really? You want to…there?” Daryl raised an eyebrow at you.

“Well, the barn would be better but it’s currently occupied…” You hoped Rick and Daryl would drive Randal away soon, you wanted that barn free, with all of you living inside the house you didn’t think you could get much privacy there. You pecked his lips again before going for his neck, kissing and nibbling. “But if you don’t want to it’s okay, darling.” You whispered.

With a quiet moan, Daryl tilted his head back to give you better access. You kept working on his neck, sucking to leave a mark, you wanted to show it off, until Daryl grunted and hooked his arms under your thighs, getting up and pulling you with him.

You laughed, wrapping your legs around his waist and holding onto his shoulders as he walked you both to the stable. You reached back to open the door and once inside Daryl kicked it close, leaving a very offended Cole outside.  You looked around at the stable, it wasn’t an ideal place but it could be worse, and at least it was clean, you’d been tending to the horses every day, it was your favorite way to contribute to the farm.

Daryl’s lips caught yours and you laughed against his lips, breathlessly, when he pushed you against the wall, memories of the CDC coming back to you, but oh so much better. Your laugh turned into a moan when he left your lips to kiss your neck as you had done to him.

You had your eyes closed, a blissful smile on your face, and you opened them when Daryl pulled back. He was looking to the side, frown on his face. “What’s wrong?” You whispered into his ear, nipping at his earlobe, but not even that made the frown disappear.

“That’s the horse that threw me,” Daryl grumbled and you followed his gaze to find Nervous Nelly looking at you both. “She’s staring.”

You couldn’t help your snort at that. “Well, she doesn’t have anything better to do.” You reached up one of your hands to cup Daryl’s cheek, making him look at you again. “Ignore her.” You told him before kissing him. When your lips parted you noticed him glancing again at the horse awkwardly, and you chuckled, biting your lip to stop you from calling him Nervous Daryl.

You broke free off his arms, jumping back onto the ground, and Daryl’s eyes snapped back at you, seeming confused as for why were you pulling away from him. “Come here, love, let’s get away from curious, horse eyes,” you said, amused, taking his hand to walk him further into the stable, to where you had stacked the fresh hay. “Not show for you, Nelly.”

*

“Alright, hay is more scratchy than I remembered.” You giggled, reaching out to brush off some straws from Daryl’s shirt.

“You telling me, darlin’,” Daryl grumbled, brushing off a straw you’d missed, but he smiled as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, walking you towards the door of the stable at the same time that the door opened and Maggie and Glenn walked in, hand in hand. You locked eyes with Maggie and knew she had’d your same idea.

“Uh…hi…” Glenn greeted awkwardly when he noticed Daryl and you were there too. “We came to tend to the horses, right, that is.”

“Yeah? Same that us, right?” You replied, looking at Daryl who seemed almost as awkward as Glenn. “So they don’t need anything else, you can go work on something else.” You blinked innocently, enjoying this way too much.

“Right…” Glenn seemed at a loss of words and he looked at Maggie as if waiting for instruction, and you almost giggled aloud.

“I think we’ll make sure they don’t need anything else anyway.” She rolled her eyes when you winked at her.

“Okay, we’ll leave you to it.” You tugged at Daryl’s hand, who was still silent and awkward. “Come on.”

“By the way, Rick was looking for you, Daryl,” Glenn said before you left.

“But of course, his radar must have been tingling or something.” You chuckled, closing the door of the stable and patting Cole’s head when he ran to greet you.

“I’m going to see what Rick wants,” Daryl said, crouching down to pet Cole. “Probably make plans for driving away Randal, we should be going soon or we’ll lose the light.

“Or you could do it tomorrow.” You didn’t like the idea of them being out of the farm late.

“Up to Rick.” Daryl leaned to press a soft kiss to your cheek.

*

You were sitting on the stairs of the porch looking at Daryl and Rick getting the car ready when you saw Maggie approaching and sitting down next to you.

“You have hay on your hair.” You joked, laughing quietly when Maggie began brushing her fingers through her hair only to find you were messing with her.

“Don’t pretend you weren’t doing the same right before we arrived.” She nudged you with her shoulder.

“I’m not going to deny something I’m not ashamed of.” You replied, and you both chuckled.

“I don’t know if I’m getting old or what, but the stable doesn’t seem as appealing as it did when I was seventeen.” Maggie snorted.

“Yeah…but once the barn is free, you and I are going to make a schedule to take shifts.” You half-joked.

“No way, it’s my barn, you’re in my property, join the queue.”

“Why you’d want to go the stable or the barn anyway, you have your own room…with a bed and all!”

“Yes, and with my family and all of you in the house…and my sister’s bedroom next to mine…and my father’s down the corridor…”

“Hey, sounds like a good challenge!”

Maggie opened her mouth but she didn’t get to say anything before you both saw T-Dog running to Rick and Daryl.

“Come on, there’s something wrong!”

T-Dog had gone to the barn to take Randal and brought him to Rick, only to find the man was missing, he seemed to have broken free and run away, even though the door of the barn was still locked.

Rick was already giving instructions about what to do when Shane showed up, nose bleeding, saying how Randal had attacked him, took his gun, and ran away. It was the worst scenario, Randal could find his worse than bad news group and bring them to the farm, or sneak on any of you and attack you, and now he was armed. You had to find him. Rick would go looking for him with Shane, and he wanted Glenn and Daryl to go looking for Randal together too.

“I’m going with you too, Cole and I.” You told Daryl but he shook his head.

“No, get into the house, both of you.”

“What, no, no way, I-” Daryl cut you off midsentence, grabbing your arms and pulling you slightly away from the others, who were distracted still making plans. “Daryl!”

“I don’t know what’s going on, but Shane’s lying.” He told you quietly and you nodded, his story didn’t make sense, you weren’t sure Rick was buying it either. “I don’t like this, go back the house.”

“I don’t like it either, which is why I’m going with you.” You insisted. “So we can waste time talking or we can go, because you aren’t changing my mind, I’m not watching you go, I’m going to help you so-“

Daryl cut you off mid-rant again, this time by pressing his lips to yours. “You’re infuriating,” he said quietly, gently nipping at your lower lip before pulling away. “Damn stubborn. But not this time, Y/N.”

“Daryl!” Rick’s voice called for him. “Come on!”

You turned around and began walking towards Rick, ignoring Daryl when he let out an exasperated huff. No matter he was going with Glenn, you had to go with him too, made sure nothing happened to him and try to help with whatever was going on.

“Keep an eye out, we don’t know if Randal may head back here before we find him.” Glenn was instructing Maggie. “Be careful.”

“You too.”

You three headed into the woods, and you ignored Daryl when he told you again to stay and when he complained when you ignored him. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Glenn, you did, but you wanted to help and you didn’t want to be worried about Daryl all the time, you wanted to be there if he and Glenn needed help. The woods were dangerous at night and now besides the walkers, there were also Randal wandering with a gun.

You walked for a while in silence, following Daryl as he tracked, until you found Randal turned into a walker. Glenn put him down and when Daryl examined the body, it hadn’t been bitten. It was all too strange. According to Daryl, Randal had died of a broken neck.

“Let’s go back to the house…” Glenn said, looking as weirded out as you.

“Shane did this, I’m sure,” Daryl told you quietly while you walked back and you nodded. It was too horrible, but Shane hadn’t been himself lately and he just seemed to have been getting worse and worse.

“But how did he turned?” You asked and Daryl just shrugged. “Rick’s alone with him…Shane’s not going to do anything to him, right?” Daryl said nothing, chewing on his lower lip.

Back in the house, nobody could make sense of your discovery, but there was not much time to talk before a gunshot pierced through the air. Lori began panicking, afraid Rick and Shane were in trouble. You were afraid of that too, but probably for a very different reason than her. Daryl and Glenn were going out again to find Rick and Shane, and you followed them again.

“No, no way, not this time, no,” Daryl told you hushedly, stopping in front of you. “Stay here, Y/N. If this is Shane’s doing, it could be dangerous, stay here!”

“It would be dangerous for you too!” You stood your ground. “I want to be with you.”

“No, stay here, listen to me for this one time!” He seemed he was going to keep going, but as he noticed your eyes opening wide in terror, he turned back to see what had you seen.

A massive herd of walkers was approaching the farm, they were so many they probably had torn through all the fences. You had never seen so many together. You felt yourself panic, not even Daryl’s arm around you as he pulled you to his side could reassure you. They were too many, you couldn’t fight them, you weren’t even sure you could outrun them. What were you going to do?

Daryl told you all you had to leave, the herd was too big, they’d tear through the house, but Hershel didn’t want to, saying he wasn’t leaving his farm, he’d die there if he had to. Okay, he could do whatever he wanted to, but you weren’t dying there, neither were you letting Daryl or Cole die that night because of the stubborn Greene.

“Come on, people, we’re leaving!” You shouted, reaching out to grab Cole’s collar with one hand and Daryl’s hand with the other, ready to pull them away from there in whatever means necessary.

“No! I can’t leave my father here!” Maggie retorted, while Lori announced she couldn’t find Carl, getting back into the house to look for him, followed by Carol, Patricia and Beth. You groaned in frustration, tempted to just drag Cole and Daryl with you and leave everyone else there, but Daryl wasn’t moving.

New plan, you’d jump into the vehicles to shoot as many walkers as possible and try to lure the others away from the farm. It was reckless, it was desperate, there were too many, but you didn’t have anything else.

“This is not going to work.” You muttered, taking a shotgun that Andrea passed you.

“Y/N.” Daryl reached out to take your hand, his grip tight. “Get in a car with the dog, follow the plan, but if the farm is about to get overrun, if there’s any problem, if they’re too many, you leave, okay? Keep an eye on Carol, take her with you, and keep the dog safe, you can do it.” He instructed, his eyes looking wilder and more scared than you had ever seen him. “If this place falls, we meet at the intersection.”

“No, no, I’m going with you!” You weren’t going to split, no with the biggest herd of walkers you had ever seen approaching, not when you both could get separated, or hurt, or worse so easily.

“I’m taking the bike, Y/N, I’ll move faster.” He squeezed your hand, trying to reassure you. “Can’t take de dog on it, so you have to get in a car with him, okay?” You shook your head, biting your lip as you tried not to cry.

The herd was closing and you could only see all the things that could go wrong, and all the things that had already gone wrong, like guests eating other guests, like your father eating your dead mother, the day you lost your home and your family. You could see all the horrible things that could happen to Daryl, you’d lose your home and your family again.

Daryl pulled you closer to kiss your forehead. “It’s going to be fine, I’m not leaving you, girl, we’re going to be fine.” He whispered to you, rubbing your arms up and down softly.

You tried to calm down and get a hold of yourself, embarrassed of been behaving like that, of being panicking so much, you didn’t want to be useless. “Okay…Okay…” You nodded, taking a deep breath. He was right, you had to keep Cole safe, he was your responsibility.

“Come on, we have to move,” Daryl told you gently, pulling away from you, but you leaned closer again to kiss his lips.

“Be careful, please.” You told him, trying not to break down.

“You too, don’t do anything stupid.”

“Anything stupid? It’s you who got himself impaled with his own arrow.” You joked weakly and Daryl snorted quietly, giving you a tiny smile, kissing you again before turning and leave.

*

You were on the backseat of a pickup, Beth sat down next to you, Lori on the passenger seat while T-Dog drove. You held Cole close and you had your face hidden in his fur, doing your best not to break down.

Everything had gone wrong, the only good thing you had managed to do was to keep Cole safe and with you. The farm had fallen under a sea of endless walkers. Carol had disappeared in front of your eyes, right before Andrea fell down under the attack of a walker. You had lost sight of Daryl and his bike. You didn’t know where anyone else besides you four was.

You were trying hard not to sob, Beth was scared and traumatized enough after having seen her home like that, Patricia devoured in front of her, her father, sister and boyfriend missing. Poor girl.

“It’s going to be okay.” You felt Beth’s hand on your back, rubbing softly. “Daryl told you to meet at the intersection, right? You have to trust we all meet there.”

You had to admire the little girl for talking like that after everything she had gone through, for keeping hope. You gave her a weak, grateful smile. If she could be strong like that then you could too, you had to.

You had told them about meeting at the intersection when T-Dog had tried to drive away, saying the others were lost like the farm. You had almost taken out your gun to threaten him if he didn’t turn the car and drove to the intersection, when Lori had said if he didn’t, then she’ll throw herself out of the car to go walking.

You had been surprised, you hadn’t expected that from Lori, but you’d do the same if necessary. It had worked, T-Dog had turned the car and now you were headed back to the highway.

“Look!”

Beth excited voice had you looking up from your dog again and you saw you were approaching the car Glenn and Maggie had taken. Now you could hear a motorbike too…it had to be Daryl! You could almost cry of relief, feeling like just jumping out of the car to go to him.

Soon you could see him too, driving his motorbike ahead of Glenn and Maggie’s car, Carol behind him…she was okay too, you couldn’t believe it.

As soon as you reached the intersection, finding Rick, Carl, and Hershel already there, and the car stopped, you jumped out of it to run to Daryl. He was still on his bike, looking around as if he searching for you. When he found you, he rushed to dismount and ran to you, pulling you into his arms tightly when you both met midrun.

“You’re okay…” You sobbed quietly, couldn’t help your tears of relief.

Daryl said nothing, he lifted you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms around his shoulders, holding him as close as you could. Daryl nuzzled at your neck and you could feel his tears. You placed a hand on the back of his head, fingers running through his hair.

The others around you were greeting each other too, you were beyond happy they were okay too, but you couldn’t pay attention to anyone who wasn’t Daryl. He looked from your neck to kiss your lips and then he leaned his forehead onto yours.

“I didn’t know if you were okay or not, I was scared, I was so worried, darling.” You whispered.

“Me too.” Daryl pulled away just enough to look at you, keeping his tight hold on you, and you cupped his face, wiping his tears with your thumbs, knowing he’d be embarrassed crying in front of the others, though he didn’t seem to care, looking only at you.

“I love you.” He blurted out, taking you by surprise, stunning you into silence, and Daryl’s gaze fell down for a second. You kicked yourself into saying something, he had just told you he loved you and you were silent, he must be berating himself.

“I love you too.” You whispered, a smile tugging at your lips…Daryl loved you. And you loved him, you had no doubt about it, the realization made you so exultant that you almost giggled. He looked up at you, giving you a small, soft smile, and kissed your forehead. You had the impression he didn’t believe you or that he might think you were saying it just because he had done it, as if you thought it was what he wanted to hear.

“Hey, I do.” You cupped his face again. “I love you.” You repeated, pecking his lips. “I love you almost as much as you love Cole.” Daryl snorted at that but he gave you one of those bright smiles that were so rare to see on him and that took your breath away.

“I love you more.” He whispered into your ear, so quietly you barely heard him, and you caught a glimpse of his bright red cheeks before he nuzzled at your neck again.

“Speaking of the devil.” You chuckled when you heard a bark next to you. Cole had gotten out of the car and seemed tired of not having you or Daryl saying anything to him. Daryl looked up from your neck, smiling at the dog.

Carefully, he lowered you onto the ground, kissing you again before kneeling down to snuggle Cole, and you could just smile like an idiot in love looking at them. You looked around, your smile faltering as you took in the people missing and how exhausted the others looked, the realization that you had lost the farm, that safe heaven, suddenly hitting you.

But looking down at Daryl and Cole, you could only be grateful you had them there with you, safe and sound. Daryl got up and wrapped his arms around you again, pulling you to him.

“What are we going to do now?” You whispered quietly to him.

“I don’t know.” He whispered back, kissing your cheek and pulling at you until your back hit his chest, his arms firmly wrapped around you, and you all looked at Rick as he began to talk. “But we’re going to be okay. Promise.”

You believed him. No matter you had lost people, a safe place that was becoming a home, no matter you had nothing, nowhere to go, no plan, you believed Daryl when he told you that you were going to be okay. You trusted him. You felt like you had trusted him since forever.

You were going to keep him and Cole safe, no matter what, and you knew he’d do the same for you. Whatever might happen now, you had each other, you would protect and take care of each other, and you would be okay.

You were together, and so everything was going to be okay.

....................................................................................................................

And...that is, this is the end. I feel like crying, even though it was a good one. It’d never been that hard to say goodbye to a story and some characters as it was for this one. I was so tempted to just keep writing their life forever even though I always felt I wanted to end it fater season 2, I don’t want to say godbye, but I didn’t want the story to became dull and there’re new stories to come. But this one brought me some much joy, it’s the one I loved the most and the best I’ve written in my opinion.

Thank you all for being with me on this journey, but all the support you’ve given me, I loved reading all your comments, I loved seeing that people were enjoyed this too. It’d brought me so much joy. It’s embarrassing but I’m actually tearing up a  bit...

As always, if you have a moment  please, let me know your thoughts about this.

Also...new mini-series is coming on Monday, you can check it on the mastelist...so see you all soon, I hope! It’d be quite different, all from teen Daryl’s pov.

Thank you all again!! I’m so emotional!

As always, English is not my first language so sorry if there are mistakes.

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The Bully (part one)

[HAPPY VALENTINES DAY EVERYONE! Ya boi is excited bc I’m uploading my first-ever fanfic!! @joshua-rush-fanpage I hope you like it! This is part of the Valentines Day Friendom Gift Exchange. I wrote quite a lot more than I expected to, so the tag #myfanfic on here will be where you can find the rest uploaded later today. Sorry about the spacing errors— I originally wrote this in a google doc and Tumblr was being weird when I tried to fix them. I really really hope you like it! The first part is utter shit as a warning but it gets better!!! Hopefully I write more stuff soon, but here’s a little GHC to warm your hearts for now. I can’t believe I’m leaving a long, shitty, Wattpad-ass Author’s Note for the whole world to see but here we fuckin’ are. I also did not think I was the Soulmate AU type, but ALSO here we fuckin’ are. Meme mutuals please don’t think I’m lame I PROMISE IM COOL UwU. Have a lovely day even if you don’t read anything besides my ramblings. Thanks for making a community where I feel brave enough to finally post some writing I’ve worked hard on. I’m very grateful. <3 @swingsetboys Thanks so much for arranging this.]

Kids normally started thinking about their soulmates and deciphering their marks once they got their first crush, but Cyrus Goodman was different. He’d been worried about love all of his life, and the more he thought, the less sense it made. Trusting fate was generally put forward as the best way to deal with soulmate-related issues, at least before you met them, but Cyrus was finding that trusting fate was remarkably more difficult than all of the online articles and books in his parents’ offices made it sound. He wondered sometimes if he maybe was the universe’s first-ever mistake, a legendarily big screw-up, and this was a concern that was difficult to express without simultaneously concerning everyone else around him.

Cyrus’ mark was in what he had decided was the worst possible place it could be— his back. Two solid pitch-black handprints were indented into his skin so he had to twist around in the mirror to even glimpse the peculiar birthmark, like a two-year-old’s art project smushed across his skin or a crude frat party drawing etched on during a hangover was supposed represent his hope for the future and the person he was supposed to love more than anything. He’d always felt weird about it. The question that was tied most to it, the great white whale, the million-dollar-Jeopardy one, was what the situation could possibly be that would cause the mark to light up, to fill with color, when it made contact with his future spouse’s skin.

They’re gonna... push me? It was still, after years of contemplation and stomachaches, the best theory he had. The first way the person he was supposed to find eternal happiness with was by them trying to hurt him. That sure didn’t sound like love to him.

How would he make them angry? What would he do wrong?

The thought was his shadow, and the more he thought about it, the more confused he was. He didn’t want to make them angry, though! He wanted the person he was destined to spend the rest of his days with to like him right off the bat. He wanted the happy ending that everyone got.

“It’s fate,” Buffy had said and shrugged at their final summer sleepover before seventh grade began. “I mean, you can’t do anything to change it, Cy. I’m pretty sure you can’t fool the system by covering it with a tattoo. Since you always try to be as nice as possible anyway, I think you’re doing all you can.”

“Yeah.” He squinted. Maybe I’m just not good enough at being nice.

Buffy rolled her eyes, seeing through his words. “Cyrus. You really need to stop forgetting how cool you are. It’s annoying.”

“Thanks, Buffy, I just hope my soulmate understands my annoying… ness.”

“That was a joke—“

He gasped, shooting up with wide eyes. “What if I annoy them too much and that’s why they push me? What if I’m the one who ruins it?”

“Cyrus, I’m fairly certain that you would never be destined to spend your life with a total jerk. You may be weird, but that’s why soulmates love us, dummy. That’s why we love you.”

The two exchanged a smile, and Buffy reached around to squeeze his hand with her comforting smile.

“You’ll know when you see them anyway, because that’s like the whole thing. So… I don’t know. Maybe the push will be an accident or something. If it helps, I’ll personally remove the toenails if anyone who messes with you.”

“Well, I think,” Andi interjected like the voice of God from above, staring at the pair from her position of power on Cyrus’ couch. “You should stop worrying about something completely inevitable. It’s coming, like it or not.”

The boy let out a yelp and rubbed furiously at the goosebumps blooming on his skinny arms. “You didn’t have to phrase it like that, Andi!”

“Seriously,” Buffy agreed, eyes wide and unfocused. “Yikes.”

“It shouldn’t be scary. You two should really trust yourselves more. Future us will all make good decisions, I’m sure of it. Mostly. Probably.”

She leaned over to look down at her two best friends, reduced to frightened messes at the thought of someone who loved them, and deeply did not understand.

“I trust future Andi, at least. You two are weird.”

She stuck a bookmark made of old newspapers into the John Green book she was skimming, one of Bex’s favorites. She’d explained earlier about how since her older sister would be coming to visit her for the first time in practically forever, she had better know something about what she liked. Although from her various annoyed growls that echoed from above every once in a while, her friends could tell Andi’s tastes maybe differed from the latter’s.

“Real life isn’t that dramatic! Certainly isn’t as dramatic as this Augustus”—she gesticulated to the paperback copy—“thinks it is! What’s even going on in this book?”

She wrinkled her nose in disgust, setting the book down by the lamp.

“Yeah, whatever.” Buffy turned to look doubtfully over her left shoulder at her other best friend, from the spot on the calming maroon carpet where Cyrus was French-braiding her curls. “If you think all this soulmate crap will be totally drama-free, all relaxation and games, Andi, you’re kidding yourself. And it’s middle school.”

“You might want to rethink your position here,” agreed Cyrus, twirling a lock dastardly between his fingers.

A beeping sound came from the kitchen as butter filled the warm air, clashing with the rosy scent of the aromatherapy stuff Celia insisted on spraying everywhere before anyone else entered the house, even though it was just Buffy and Cyrus. They’re very well-behaved, Andi would always say, even though one was now swatting like a kitten at the other. True friendship.

“Stop that! Grow your own facial hair so you can stop using mine!”

“Low blow,” Andi commented.

“Never!” He fell backwards onto the carpet with a grunt as she attacked him with her fringe scarf, smacking her opponent with swift malice. Andi got up to go get their popcorn from the microwave, hopping easily over the destructive swarm of thrashing limbs on her floor.

The two broke apart, close to the door now. Like wrestlers, the kids sprinted to either corner of the room.

“Every time! This is why I don’t let you braid my hair, Cyrus!”

“You underestimate me! Now I have a secret weapon!”

A shadow rushed forward and cackled menacingly, a beautifully stitched pillow in shades of pink and red held aloft to decimate his friend.

“No! Bad Cyrus!” Andi scolded from the kitchen. “I made that for Bex!”

“This isn’t a Western!” Buffy yelled, hands up in surrender. “You aren’t going to tie Andi to the train tracks, no more!”

Cyrus pouted mutely, savoring the power, then conceded mercifully. “Ohhh-kay.”

“Maybe that’s why your soulmate will push you,” Buffy laughed. “You attack them, viciously, in a war of pillows.”

His face fell again, the weight of worry and insecurities returning instantly.

“Dammit.” Buffy sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Maybe I will... I’d demolish them, anyway.”

The three collapsed onto the couch together once Andi returned, mutely chewing their popcorn, their feathery Cold War forgotten. They could still hear cicadas outside. It didn’t quite feel like school yet, and something about that made the night seem more important, more meaningful, and made them all the more grateful for the other people who they felt like they could tell anything.

“Soulmates are weird to think about, though,” Andi added. “I mean, it’s not something you can teach in school or anything. How one person is made for another. I think it’s pretty crazy. Although I bet Augustus and Hazel would disagree.”

“Yeah, love’s simple until you think about— like— what if they die before you meet them?” Cyrus said, the years’ worth of anxiety seeping into his words. “Assuming it isn’t a fate thing. What if you’re the first one to prove it wrong? Or… you don’t know if you like that type of person?”

“Well,” Buffy chimed in, shrugging. “I mean, people always do, so…”

The trio fell quiet.

“Like soulmates or not, we can agree the marks are freaky as hell?”

“Absolutely.”

“At least you don’t have your mark in as weird a place as me.”

“Buffs, yours is on your hand. That’s not that weird.” Cyrus reached over her back to lightly touch the white splash of color across her right palm, and she jerked it away fast as if she was scared of it going off like a bomb. “High-fives happen all the time.”

“I know, but why would future me let anyone touch my hand? That’s not allowed!” She shivered dramatically. “Ugh. Can you imagine me all… stupid and love-struck? That would be remarkably awful.”

“Middle school,” Cyrus said, nodding sagely. “It changes all who experience it.”

“Well,” Andi whispered, suddenly solemn. “I guess we’ll find out if it changes us too.”

“Guess we gotta trust that the Future Good Hair Trio will make good choices. Soulmates or otherwise.”

The three looked around.

“At least we’ll have each other. No matter who comes, we’ll at least have each other.”

ok... i have some thoughts about endgame. 

(apologies, these are in no particular order and are very rambling. my brain still hurts from crying).

so unfortunately i was spoiled for tony’s death because i happened to go on tumblr at 4am on thursday morning. i had planned on avoiding all internet things until friday night when i saw the movie but i didn’t think i’d have to start quite that early. it was fully tagged so it was my own fault. 

BUT. knowing definitely didn’t make things easier. if anything it was harder because i’m not even joking, anytime tony came on screen i started to cry a bit. 

and speaking of crying, who said it was ok to start on the note of watching clint lose his entire family. WHAT THE FUK. so like, right off the bat i’m crying. (let’s not kid ourselves, the crying started when the lion king trailer played beforehand). 

ok, where to start. the earth losing half its population would in no way look like the ghost town that they portrayed. and like, somehow losing half the people turned it into a shit hole? not how i see it going, but there are more important things to talk about. 

the pacing of the whole movie felt off. the beginning was super rushed with getting tony back etc and then suddenly it’s been five years... understandable in some senses but you had tHREE HOURS TO WORK WITH. 

also, i get it, you don’t want to be like ~those other time travel movies, but you at least have to stick with the explanation you picked. it can be super outlandish, i don’t give a crap, but you have to be consistent. 

wasn’t really a fan of the hulk/banner thing. (i did like that he accepted that part of himself BUT) mark is an amazing actor, LET ME SEE HIS FACE. motion capture is never going to come even close. 

natasha killed me this time around. losing part of her found family and then having the rest of it fall apart because everyone is upset... struggling to keep it together alone. fukkkkkkk. the soul stone scene really ripped my heart out when i didn’t think that it would. clintxnatasha really are my brotp for life. she gave up everything for her family and iT HURTS.

also seeing thor so broken reallllly hurt. i just want my bb to be happy. 

sidenote, i never really shipped stony but... wow. they really went for it this time. which made the whole pining over peggy business feel kind of discordant for me. (not when he was in the past and saw her, because obvs that would be hard, but the rest of the movie). 

i really did enjoy the time shenanigans because, come on, who wouldn’t. which is why i was hoping for an ending that would use that in some way? because even if it was just a ridiculously convenient, in a, doctor-strange-“i created a time loop, yay everything is fixed”-sort-of-thing, i still would’ve preferred that to what they went with. 

like... i can’t be the only one who really didn’t need another gratuitous giant battle right? where the assistance just randomly shows up at the last second... like really? out of all those alternate timelines, the only one that worked is the one where you literally just let them do their thing and then show up randomly? really? there wasn’t anything else you could’ve done? we already had this battle in infinity war. (also i’m sorry to those that liked the Women Only scene but it felt super pandering to me). 

i really wish they’d gone with the vanished being in another timeline/universe/purgatory etc etc instead of just, oh ya, they actually died and now they’re suddenly back. because having them back was really jarring and i didn’t feel as satisfied as i wanted to when they did return? like... all i wanted was a peter/tony reunion and it just felt weird. if they’d had some scenes of the vanished interspersed in the film, trying to help/figure out how to get back, maybe i would’ve felt differently. (not to say i didn’t sob like a baby when they hugged anyways).

i loved that tony saved them all. i really do. but did he have to die for it? have him forever changed, lose the use of his arm, or something but you can’t just sHOW ME TONY BEING A FATHER AND HAVING A FAMILY WHICH IS ALL HE EVER WANTED AND THEN TAKE IT ALL AWAY. ALL HE WANTED WAS TO REST FMLLLLLL (also morgan is the cutest little angel and all i needed was tony teaching her mechanics and uGH NO I’M NOT GOING TO CRY AGAIN)

and the whole steve thing... i don’t even ship stucky but i really don’t think he would’ve gone back to be with peggy and just... ditch? but whatever. 

ultimately, it was an ok movie. after such a massive buildup of years worth of films it was never going to live up to expectations. i don’t think any movie could. but it definitely could’ve been a lot better imo.

Authority, Pt. 2

Alright, I have to mention this is incredibly noncon, but if you read pt. 1 (no link until tumblr fixes its shit: find my reed-(umm)-writes tag), you'd know we were goin' in that direction, anyway. Also, pregnancy scare warning.

Whoops! *drops this, winks, and skedaddles*

Your head spun as Gus lifted you up from the floor. When did he get so fucking strong? You could only struggle in his grip as he hauled you onto his desk.

“Look at me. Look at me,” he growled out, gripping your chin. You cried out, trying to lurch away from him. But you looked, all right. His eyes were wild, hair mussed after you tried and failed to fight him off.

“Please, Gus, you can’t-”

He swallowed up your pleas with a kiss. It was engulfing. Like he was trying to consume you. He gripped your hair and pulled your head back, exposing your neck. You let out another strangled cry, the tears spilling over as he pressed his lips to your skin.

“Nobody’s gonna bother us. As far as they know, I’m at lunch. And they’re not wrong about that, are they?”

He bit down, as if to make a point. Not enough to break skin, but hard enough for you to know there would be a mark later.

“I could eat you right up.”

He dragged his tongue up the side of your neck, and then you heard him say, “You call for help, you make a single goddamn sound that’s not a pretty little moan, and you’re dead. Understand?”

Though a sob was lodged in your throat, you nodded. Gus let you go, stepping back to look at you. Walking back and forth, into and just out of your peripheral. You stared down at your hands, clenched tight in your lap.

“Now, I said if you cleaned my shoes, I’d let you get off. You wanna get off, don’t you?”

You knew that you wanted to get the hell out of his office.

“Take your pants off for me.”

Your heart leaped, and you looked up at him pleadingly.

“Gus, please...why are you doing this to me?”

He came closer, and you hated how he towered over you. “I’m just doing my job, sweetheart. Now take them off, or I can do it for you.”

You sniffled, face hot. You were quivering in your spot on the desk, but you swallowed the lump, finally able to squeak out a feeble “No.”

He didn’t even react, the smirk on his face barely changing. Your shoulders nearly relaxed: maybe this was a joke? He simply wanted to scare some sense in you, right?

He seized you by your throat, squeezing none too gently. You gasped like a fish on land, clutching at his thick forearm. You saw his free hand dip down toward your thighs, and you thrashed wildly. The movement only helped your pants settle around your ankles.

He forced himself between your legs so you couldn’t kick at him. You saw your vision darkening; the lack of air had you slumping back weakly, the fight draining out of you.

“That’s right, go ahead and relax while I get you ready.”

You balanced on the edge of consciousness, trying to get your breath back. You saw Gus yank his tie off, felt him wrap it around your wrists. You wanted so badly to get up, to fight, but nothing was happening.

“Gus...” you tried once more as the man pushed you down onto the desk. You saw him unclasp his thick belt with one hand while the other rubbed at your stomach.

“Remember what I said about being quiet. Mm, I’m gonna take my time with you.”

That was about the worst thing he could have said. You moaned as he freed himself from his slacks. Gus smiled, thinking the sound was directed at him.

You hoped, nearly prayed that he’d at least use a condom, but he threw that to the wind, as well.

“Don’t hold your breath, it’ll only make it hurt more.”

It felt like forever and a day passed until he finally pushed himself into you. Fuck, he was right. It hurt, burned like hell. You thought you might faint before it was over. If only.

“You don’t have to be so quiet, y’know. I know you like the way my cock fills you up.”

You didn’t, you really didn’t, but you couldn’t stop the spark of pleasure that licked up your spine for anything. He had finally eased himself in all the way, hips flush with the back of your thighs. He pushed your legs upward, toward your chest, and that only contributed to the tight, breathless feeling you were experiencing.

He gave you no time to adjust, sliding out painfully slow and burying himself back in you in one thrust, over and over. You were seeing white.

From there, it was just a matter of waiting, of trying to keep yourself from clenching around him. No matter how much you tried to stop it, however, you could feel that familiar heat building in the pit of your stomach. You realized, with a passive sort of dread, it was no use. You were already tensing, the feeling coiling tighter.

“Come on, I know you’re close, fuck, you feel so good-”

You let out a hoarse moan as Gus’ near-frantic pace sent you over the edge. Your back arched up off the desk, and the last thing you saw before your eyes fluttered closed was the satisfied grin on the sheriff’s face.

Gus kept fucking you through your orgasm, though you were unbearably sensitive and writhing under him.

“Oh, oh, fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna pump you so goddamn full you’ll be leaking my cum for days,” he growled.

That set you off in another panic; no condom.

“Please, Gus, not inside! Gus, please, I’m begging you, don’t fucking do this! You can’t!” you babbled, kicking and crying.

Gus’ twisted smile made your stomach sink.

“Why- why not?” he panted, watching how his cock slid in and out of you. “You’d look beautiful, all swollen with my baby.”

The man’s breath hitched, and you prepared for the worst, but he pulled out right before you saw his cum splatter your torso. Relieved, your body collapsed on the desk, well and truly exhausted. Between the gaping emptiness you suddenly felt and the close call, you could barely move, shuddering like you’d been dunked in ice water.

Gus called your name a few times before yanking you up by your shirt collar, untying your wrists and lightly smacking your cheek, bringing you back down to Earth.

“Told you I’d get you off,” he said, running his thumb over your bottom lip, almost fondly. You didn’t even have the strength to lean away. He tucked himself back into his pants, cleaned you up, and it was like it never happened.

A clock went off in the office somewhere, and Gus checked his wristwatch.

“Well, would you look at that. Time to clock out.”

You slid off the desk, not trusting your legs, flinching as he pulled your pants back up.

“You won’t be stealing anymore, right? Would hate to have to bring you back here.”

You swallowed, zipping them up. “N-no, Gus.”

“I could give you a ride home, if you want,” he said. Not trusting that smile of his, you politely declined.

Gus whipped out a key, unlocking the office door, and you stumbled through, yelping as he gave your ass a playful smack.

“Don’t get into any trouble, now!” he called out as you headed towards home. He watched you go, chuckling as he closed the door. All in a day’s work.

There was a recent discussion on tumblr, which I didn’t reblog for obvious reasons, about how people with a large readership cope with a heavy interaction load -- how the person would be anxious if they dealt with that volume of notes on each post, that amount of interaction and contact. I was tagged in it because of my habit of "lochnessing", where I cause an activity spike on posts I reblog that looks like the loch ness monster.

It never occurs to me, because I’ve dealt with high-volume social media for so long -- realistically about ten years, probably closer to fifteen -- that it’s difficult for people to handle that, because they don’t have the systems in place that I do. I mean it does occur to me in the sense that I have become more cautious about what I reblog and its impact on the OP; there are things I’d like to share with you but don’t because I recognize it would be harmful to the person who wrote them. But it doesn't occur to me that someone might struggle with a high volume of notes purely because it's a volume that they don't have a system in place to deal with the way I do.

So I said I'd do a writeup on the "entire ecosystems" I had in place for handling the high volume of interaction I receive online. I sit at a weird place where I'm not so well known that I can just ignore most of what comes at me with impunity because everyone acknowledges I can't answer it all, like say a youtube star. But at the same time I do get too much attention to return it at the same level I receive it. I am one and you are sixteen thousand. So I had to make systems to return as much as I could and feel okay about not returning the rest.

Reading through this, of course it sounds like a weird humblebrag: "Here's how I deal with my MASSIVE POPULARITY". There's no real way around that; I can't talk about how I deal with comments without talking about how I get a disproportionately high number of them. The fact that I do is what leads me to do things like the Zero Comment Challenge, or Radio Free Monday, to try and balance shit out. So, as I mention occasionally below, you can think I'm an asshole for talking about how I am popular, but I can't talk about how to deal with that popularity without acknowledging the reality of it, and someone somewhere's gonna think I'm an asshole anyway, so whatever.

These are the systems I use to manage my life -- work, play, the weird inbetween space that's kind of both. Many of these are akin to the systems that I use in managing my depression, in that they involve a lot of small steps building up to a big result, but each small step on its own is manageable.

Let's start with AO3, because it's actually probably the simplest.

I clean out my comments once a week. Usually there are between forty and a hundred and fifty, depending on if I’ve published something recently or been recommended by someone. 

I go through all the one-sentence comments first, because those are the ones that are least likely to require a response. I read all comments but I learned through trial and error, twice in ten years, that I am physically and emotionally incapable of responding to every comment I receive even if it's just with a "Thank you!" and I'm just going to live with the fact that people think I'm an asshole for that. Also while I appreciate someone who leaves a "Great fic! <3" comment, that's genuinely really cool and validating, I don't think they truly need or expect a response. So most one-line comments, unless they are super weird or contain a question, get read, appreciated, and then deleted. 

Then I go through the longer comments that need a closer reading, and delete any that are cool but still don't seem to require responses. If someone has left a ton of comments, I'll find the one I think is coolest or most needing of response, delete the others, and reply to that one comment with a thoughtful response including a line thanking them for all their other comments.

Finally, I respond to comments that are in-depth or have questions that require some thought. I find that if I don't respond to these on a weekly basis they pile up and then someone who asked a question like six months ago is still waiting for an answer, so this one is non-negotiable: my AO3 inbox has to be empty at the end of each week, and everything that needed a reply has to have one. (I do have one or two that just live in my inbox because they are cool ideas I will one day get round to writing, and I want to credit them when I do, but it's never more than two.) For me, it's easiest to wait until Friday or Saturday and just take an hour to clear them all out, rather than clearing as I go, because I don't have AO3 open all the time the way I do some other sites.  

Tumblr: Every morning, before work, I go through the previous night's responses; I open all reblogs/mentions in new tabs to read and reply-as-necessary, and I reply to all comments that need responses. (This is also something I'll do throughout the day, but especially if I'm tired or pressed for time, the comment replies might be saved as a draft or left in an open tab until I can get to them). Occasionally shit doesn’t show up or I miss stuff but I’ve learned to just live with that as the price of doing fandom on Tumblr. 

If there's a post by someone else that requires a response from me -- either a reblog of one of my posts, or someone tagged me in a post -- I Like it to find it later or I save it as a draft. I don't use Likes as anything other than "I want to be able to find this again in less than a week's time" and I never have more than about 20 Likes in my files. (Unless I’m traveling; it’s easier to Like something than save it as a draft or respond, so when I get home from traveling I often have 30-50 Likes in my file.)

Often on Tumblr I go through what I call the Line Cycle -- I read my dash, and then I go "down the line" and open all the other pages that might need attention, in specific order. I open asks and try to respond to a few -- I try to answer at least five every time but sometimes I don't manage to answer any for whatever reason -- then I open likes and try to convert as many likes as I can to either queued reblogs or drafts. I open drafts and try to convert some of those to queued reblogs. Then I go through the same process for one or two side blogs.

(Also in drafts are a lot of things that I'm not sure I want to put in my queue yet, or things that I put in the queue weekly like the Zero Comment Challenge post, which I dust off when I'm ready to queue it, then immediately re-save to drafts when it posts.)

Occasionally if I feel shit is getting out of hand I dedicate myself to, every time, not leaving the page I'm on until I've reduced its "count" (number of asks, likes, drafts, etc) by five, or at least to below the next multiple of five -- if I have 23, for example, I'll try to get it below 20.

Sometimes posts in tabs sit open for a while because in order to respond I have to read an article or watch a video, which take a lot of focus and attention. It used to be that recommendations for books or stuff to watch also sat open forever until I could get round to doing it, but now I just have a "reccs" file on the cloud that is a list of what I've been recommended and who recommended it, and I work my way through them slowly.

Email: Once I've read them, site notifications in my inbox get deleted; I've turned off follow/kudos notifications because they tend to be white noise.

Email is tough for me, it requires a lot of focus and emotional attention to answer emails, so I treat it the same way I would asks or likes or whatnot, but much more slowly. I tend to have a backlog of about thirty emails in my inbox, though often five to ten of those are emails that don't need response and that I'm saving (I star them to mark them as not needing attention). I have the multiple-stars function in Gmail turned on, and when it gets really bad, I start opening emails and triaging -- "This will be easier to answer" "This will take some time" etc. by starring them different colors.

I like to have no more than fifteen emails in my inbox but that is a rarity. 

The Internet: Because social media takes up a lot of my time and I also work eight hours a day (well, four, we'll get to that in a bit) I have streamlined the way I encounter the internet, as well. I have a list of "daily reading" bookmarks that I open every morning and check through -- the horoscope page, the mustard tag on tumblr (which I don't follow because then the same dumbass two hipster fashion posts keep showing up on my dash), a blog that follows and posts about new small flash games that I might enjoy playing, a few others. (I also have a Monday file that I open once a week, it's calendars of events and such, and I go through on Mondays and add anything to my calendar that looks interesting.)

But if I can, any regularly-updated page that has an RSS feed gets converted to RSS and put into my Netvibes reader account, where I peruse it at my leisure. The Netvibes reader account includes a direct feed from the Steve/Tony and Steve/Sam tags on AO3, plus a few others; longform.org, some cooking blogs I follow, a bunch of podcast pages, a few webcomics, and one or two tumblrs that I don't want showing up on my dash (mainly artists' porny sideblogs, what up you glorious pervs) or think I would make the person uncomfortable by following them.

I have five tabs pinned to Chrome at any given time, and four tabs pinned to Firefox. The Chrome tabs are my personal Netvibes, Google Drive, a Google Sheets spreadsheet with my calendar and accounting tabs in it, Gmail, and Tumblr. The Firefox tabs are a second Netvibes account I use for work (we have several news sources we all monitor daily), my non-fannish gmail, my non-fannish facebook with a custom reading page so I never see anything twice, and the Google "family calendar" that I and my family use to track where we all are and what we're doing.

My parents use this more than I do, which is why I often open the calendar app on my phone to check my work schedule and find that my parents are taking the dogs to the groomer's today (yes, I know I could turn this off, but it amuses me). When I introduced my mother to Google Calendar her eyes got super big and she fell in immediate love; the first three things she added were the birthdays of her two dogs, followed by the birthday of Jesus. I would be more insulted by this but I had already added all the family birthdays, so at least I didn't come in behind the dogs AND the Christ Child.

Once in a while, when I'm at work and I feel like I'm not sure what I should be doing or that my day is spiralling out of my control, I'll take a deep breath, pull up Chrome, and go through all my pinned tabs, one by one, changing or fixing something on each -- I'll clear out my Longform reading, answer a few emails, check the calendar, etc. Then I'll go through any open tabs and try to close at least one. I get anxious if I have more than five or six non-pinned tabs open. Like having an inbox that's rarely over thirty emails total, it's not a sign I'm more effective or efficient than anyone else, it's just a sign I'm debilitatingly anxious about this kind of thing.

Work: I've read, many times, that people who work eight hours a day in a white collar job like mine really only do four hours of actual work. And for a while I joked that I wondered if I even did four, because I dick around on the internet A LOT. But lately I started to genuinely wonder, and so for the past six weeks, I've put that statement to the test.

When I arrive at work, I immediately put in two hours of solid work. I don't read tumblr, I don't read anything but work-related material. I triage all my work emails, I go through my Google Task list for the day and sort things by most to least urgent, and then I work my way through them for two solid hours. It's not easy at all, but any time I think "This is when I would stop and read tumblr" I shake my head and try to do one more work thing, and then I get back in the groove and can do like, three more. I also use this first morning period to take care of "personal work", stuff which has to get done to keep my life running smoothly, like mailing packages or replying to my parents' emails or whatnot.

Then I get a half-hour break to read tumblr, play a flash game, maybe read a piece on Longform. (I don't read fanfic at work; I sometimes clean out Netvibes of fics that from the tags and summaries I know I won't be interested in, but I don't open fanfic at work at all.) I also use this time to get some food in me.

Then I do another two hours of work, same deal. And that's four hours of work. And I get a shitload done, let me tell you.

For the next three hours after, I am basically free to do whatever I want. I usually use about an hour to do some freelance work, and I spend time on tumblr or on personal email, reading articles, listening to podcasts, playing games. I eat a snack, I talk to my coworkers. I find I actually run out of new stuff to read, and I do try to process the old stuff, like empty out my drafts and likes. And of course the nature of my job means that sometimes there is work to be done that comes up suddenly, but it's usually just a matter of teeing it up for the following morning's work shift.

For the last hour of my work day, I go through my work inbox, make sure everything's set up for tomorrow, send any last emails, do any last wrap-up, and make sure all my documents are either saved or closed. (Our IT team likes to run updates and involuntary restarts without warning, so I've learned to always save at end of day.)

So, yeah. Those are some of the systems I have in place in order to run a very mentally busy life. I'm not necessarily recommending them; a lot of them won't work for everyone because everyone is different, and I recognize that some of them are inapplicable (I work a job with no outward-facing element to it; a barista or a librarian or a teacher can't do what I do, schedule-wise), and some of them are a level of regimentation I'm not sure most people would find healthy. But that's how I do my thing, and maybe some of my techniques will sound appealing to other people who occasionally feel, as I do, like they're drowning a little bit.

(Did you find this useful or interesting? Keep me organized and drop some change in my Ko-Fi or at my Paypal!)

Sooo I was tagged by @savageday6

Thank you for saving me from Monday's boredom, Joyce!!! Lmao

rules: once you’ve been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 92 truths about you. at the end choose 25 people to be tagged

last:

drink: cold ocha

phone call: something regarding work bcs I've been in the office for hours now 😂

text message: also something regarding my works *heavy sigh*

song you listened to: DAY6's All Alone (yes, my life is miserable lol)

time you cried: mmm because of my mental state I usually have my own dark periods like every 1 or 2 months, where I'll break down crying every few hours, so I think it was around december?

have u ever:

dated someone twice: Yes? I guess? I'm afraid of commitment, so I had "some" more than twice, but it was basically same like dating, the only difference is just no official talk for the status.

been cheated on: nope.

kissed someone and regretted it: nope

lost someone special: yes

been depressed: yes, for years, I've always been trying to get better tho ^^

been drunk and thrown up: lmao yes. Will never pass my limit like that anymore 😂

in the past year have u:

made a new friend: yes <3

fallen out of love: I can't even remember the last time I fell in love 😂

laughed until you cried: It's been so long, I guess? I can't remember one right now

met someone who changed you: it's a group of people I think. Those who I met in middle school changed me forever

found out who your true friends are: Yes. Thanks God for those few true friends that I have <3

found out someone was talking about you: yes

general:

how many people on tumblr do you know in real life?: No one. I'm fairly new in tumblr anyway

do you have any pets?: Nope. I want 1 tho :'(

do you want to change your name?: Not really.

what time did you wake up this morning: 5 AM, my everyday wake up time for work lol

what were you doing last night: trying to sleep early but failed? Lmao why am I such a night owl

name something you cannot wait for: my annual bonus, resignation, new job, and vacation *stress*

have you ever talked to a person named tom?: that's 1 of the managers in my office, a creepy one at that...

what’s getting on your nerves right now: routines? And being stuck with my own life?

blood type: A :)

nickname: yoyoy (from my college friends)

relationship status: single and not ready to commit :)

zodiac sign: scorpio

pronouns: she/her

favorite show: just any vlive from day6 is fine for me 😂

college: yup. I graduated 4 years ago.

hair color: brown with silver highlights :)

do you have a crush on someone: does day6 counts? Lmao.

what do you like about yourself: independent

firsts:

first surgery: wisdom teeth removal

first piercing: I guess 2-3 years ago? I have like 6 piercings now and forgot when was the first one

first sport you joined: say no to sport 😂

first vacation: if it's overseas, then it's Singapore

first pair of sneakers: I don't remember

right now:

eating: nothing

drinking: green tea latte

i’m about to: finish my works. Yup. Trying to at least.

Listening to: gossips from my office mates lmao

want kids: Nope. Idk if someday it'll change tho.

get married: I'm half-half on this one.

career: I'm hoping to find better job now, where I can work with more flexible time and place :) wish me luck!

which is better:

lips or eyes: eyes

hugs or kisses: both lol

shorter or taller: taller

older or younger: older, but I don't really mind tbh

romantic or spontaneous: spontaneous

sensitive or loud: loud (doesn't mean mannerless tho, more like funny, humourous, and more talkative than me)

hookup or relationship: relationship I guess, but with someone that I'm really comfortable with please

troublemaker or hesitant: a little bit of both lmao

have u ever:

kissed a stranger: nope

drank hard liquor: yup

lost contacts/glasses: yes *cries*

sex on first date: nope

broken someone’s heart: yes and still feel bad about it

been arrested: Nope

turned someone down: yes

fallen for a friend: yes, and will never anymore, that shit hurts as f*ck hahaha.

do u believe:

in yourself: not really

miracles: sometimes

love at first sight: my first love years ago is a love at first sight (the one who has small build like wonpil hehe)

im tagging:

I don't really have mutuals tho :"(

But I'm going to be shameless and tag some of you. I'm sorry if I disturbed you guys :")

And hellooo nice to know you! I'm sorry I'm awkward af asdjkalsjsk

@marks-hyung @chiveburger @ji-dragon @leeteukmakesmecry @incorrect-jaepil-quotes

Sharp & Dapper

Title: Sharp & Dapper Rating: Teen & Up (just implied sexual content, but mostly just fluff) Tags: Tags: Established Relationship, IgNoct Secret Santa, IgNoctSecretSanta2017, Winter Themed, Christmas, Secret Santa, Alternate Universe, AU, Implied Sexual Content, Making Out, Fluff, Romance, Domestic Fluff, Noctis POV Blurb/Summary: As Chrystmas draws closer, Noctis struggles with what to get Ignis and hopes the advisor doesn’t catch on to the dilemma.

For the IgNoct Secret Santa, my recipient was @serenbach86. (I don’t know why tumblr won’t let mention you, but your gift is now on tumblr and Ao3) I’m sorry that I’m super late on this and I hope this makes up for the delay somewhat. I really didn’t want to make you wait until the end of December to do this, but life... Gah, I really wanted to write the prince and consort, soulmate, and magical creature AUs so much but I ended up losing the drafts… The content here contains IgNoct in an established relationship, set in an alternate universe where life is peaceful in Insomnia, and contains winter themes. You won’t find any explicit content that I didn’t mark and there’s no trigger warnings or BDSM. I hope that this falls into what you wanted, and I hope you had a wonderful holiday and have a fantastic Happy New Year! Thank you so much @ignoctsecretsanta for the opportunity to contribute and being patient with my gift, haha.

-

“It’s inadvisable. Not to mention incomprehensible.” “Calm down, Iggy. We’ll bump into that chamberlain eventually. Probably looking for us right now as we speak.” Ignis halted, frowning as he drummed his finger on his sleeve testily. “Forgive me, but if a man is ordered to give us an exclusive tour on his master’s property, he wouldn’t leave guests unattended, would he? And let’s not get started on how offensive it was that Councilor Udina blatantly disregarded our precious time by sending his chamberlain to us instead?” The Lucian prince wasn’t one to tell anyone how to do their job and while it was amusing to hear his advisor upbraid an uptight officer out of earshot, the presented situation could be taken with a new perspective. He was in no hurry in return to their scheduled tour anyway. “Gave us some alone time together,” Noctis quipped, shifting from one foot to the other to playfully bump his shoulder in Ignis’ side. “Right?” The advisor’s scowl softened, disarmed by the prince’s crooked and easy-going grin. “Well, I suppose there’s that,” he agreed immediately.

Reassured that Ignis’ anger was at least subdued and their own private tour of the mansion sans the stuffy commentary be continued at their leisure, Noctis turned his attention to the gaudy tapestry behind Ignis. “What the hell is that?” Ignis turned around and tilted his head. “I believe that’s the councilor. Standing over a slain griffon and blade through its gullet.” “He fought a griffon?” “Highly unlikely. There have been no records of him having served in combat when it was his coin that funded the war. It was a generous contribution.” “He sure didn’t tighten his purse strings for this.” Noctis pointed at the billowing red cape picked up by some dramatic breeze in an overall static display, followed by the piercing blue eyes of the subject clad in armor on the thick fabric. “It’s like he’s staring straight into our souls. Dunno what it’s trying to stand for, but it’s laying the self-conceited part down pretty thick.” “Noct,” Ignis pursed his lips, fighting back a smile as he had to remind himself and the prince of where they were. “it’s impolite to question our host’s... taste in art.” “What taste?” Noctis remarked. “Besides, you’re going on about how he’s a horrible host.” “In my defense, I simply told the truth.” Noctis opened his mouth, but tell-tale sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the opposite end of the hall, they were gradually approaching their way. “Someone’s coming. Get behind the tapestry.” The prince took the advisor’s hand and pulled him to the narrow space between the stone wall and the swaying tapestry, the cloth was considerable in width and length, concealing from sight all but their feet. Noctis waited anxiously while clutching tighter to Ignis’ hand. “Did you hear the news?” One of the gruff, but croaky voices announced, a man’s. “Universal Saucer just opened up a new attraction.” The man’s companion, another man with an annoyed but soft-spoken voice replied, “That new Lil’ Malbuddy’s Funland, right? My kid’s been begging me to take her to it.” “You don’t look thrilled by it.” The first man observed, stopping right in front of the tapestry. “Call me old-fashioned, I don’t care. But we grew up with chocobos and moogles. They go ‘kweh’ and ‘kupo’. What does a malboro say for Six’s sake?” “Hmm... Now that you mention it, he’s a little on the silent side for a toon...” While the two men openly discussed mascots and their memorable charms, vocal or otherwise, Ignis raised a question in a whisper, “Wait, why must we hide? We can ask them to...” The thought never finished for Noctis’ longing gaze were at the brunet’s eyes and lips, dazzling and rendering Ignis speechless. The conversation about mascots just a few feet away from them held little interest to the prince and it grew alarmingly clear of what was more important as the two inched closer. As their lips met, Noctis didn’t care if it went on like this for a while. A touch of tongue and he drowned everything out and focused on where Ignis’ hands went, and how Ignis responded to the prince’s own techniques. Thankfully, the view behind the questionable art didn’t deter them from doing this nor did it allow anyone to see them. “Then what does a tonberry say?” “‘Shank’?” “You dolt. That’s the sound their knives make.” The men’s debate failed to reach a conclusion but their voices were moving further away from the tapestry. Noctis stepped out with absolute certainty that they were alone once more and Ignis followed suit. “That was... close.” Ignis commented with an elated sigh, buttoning his rakishly low shirt up. Noctis laughed, tucking the tails of his shirt back in his trousers, still reeling from where the advisor’s fingers caressed his lower back. He was so ecstatic and alive that he could take thank the pretentious self-portrait. The prince turned around to adjust the lopsided glasses frame on his stunned lover’s face, batting his eyes flirtatiously. “Well, not that close. Remember the treasure room?” - “So,” Prompto began, eyes glued to the screen as he popped a holiday sweet in his mouth. “How’s the whole royal duty thing going?” It had been forever since the two best friends spent time together, not since they met up to cram and study for finals. They’ve passed without ceremony. But due to mandatory protocol and tradition that the prince of Lucis was obligated to commit to, Noctis and Prompto haven’t had the time to have a proper send-off to the semester. “Slow and boring as it gets every year,” Noctis replied blandly, glad to be in the apartment and binge watching the Hallmark Chrystmas films Prompto had been dying to see at long last. “I don’t have any problem going to the banquets, they’re for charity and work. But feels like I’m just giving lip service to half the people who don’t like me.” “But Iggy’s with you like 24/7. That’s a pro, right?” Being with Ignis because his role as advisor required it was hardly any consolation. “Right. Working.” He brought his arms to the back of his head and leaned back. But Ignis, his boyfriend, would’ve accompanied him without a second thought. “We didn’t have any time to ourselves. It was all about showing face and shaking hands...” “You didn’t get any alone time together? I don’t buy that for once second.” “Well, I...” Noctis’ cheeks warmed at memory of Ignis’ earnest hands and mouth pressed against him. It was a few days since that tapestry incident and they haven’t found another one to hide behind since. He let out a shaky breath, pulling himself before the fantasy went further. “I’m just looking forward to our party.” “Riiiight...” Prompto sent some popcorn flying and the prince held up a pillow to fend them off. “Figured out what you’re getting Ignis for Friendsgiving-mas yet?” Prompto came up with the term combining the two holidays together while Gladiolus, caught by the contagious holiday cheer, had been preparing for the party and transforming the Amicitia residence into a winter wonderland. The Friendsgiving-mas party’s four days from now. Noctis wanted to smack himself. “Nothing yet.” “Why not get him a cookbook?” “Uh, wouldn’t that be like me implying that he should cook something from it?” Not to mention there’s a guarantee that Ignis would claim the recipes as his own, he did love seeing his name on everything. Gifts that came with initials or offered any chance for him to write on them can be this. “He loves cooking.” “I’m still not getting him that,” the prince said and that was final. “Good. Because that’ll be piggybacking on what I got him.” “Seriously?” “Nah. Don’t tell him but I got the complete set of Master Showdown on blu-Way.” “He’s... into that?” “Yeah, dude, he said he’s too busy to read past the first volume but now he can watch the anime whenever he wants.” The blond tucked his legs in and turned to the dark-haired man. “So whaddya get me?” “A joke book. Gladio thinks your current material suck.” “Not cool, you know how hard I’m trying to get him to crack a smile,” Prompto frowned. “All right, forget I asked.” The prince elbowed the pauper’s side playfully. “You’ll like the gift, promise.” The gift was an limited-edition art book from the King’s Knight franchise that had all the ultimate fans like Prompto drooling over for months. Prompto’s beryl eyes sparkled. “You mean that?” Noctis nodded and the two went back to the movie, already halfway of its narrative to an otherwise predictable occurrence of events that it didn’t take long for the prince to get caught up. Prompto, however, had a reaction for everything even for the things he called out on. - Noctis still didn’t know what to get Ignis for Chrystmas. To be fair, Noctis was never much of a gift giver until he started his two part-time jobs at the sushi joint and the second-hand records shop. There was something fulfilling in being able to purchase things with his own money than to rely on the Crown’s coin. After all, Noctis knew it when he commissioned a gold skull pendant for Ignis’ eighteenth birthday that he still wore to this day. But that was the last time Noctis nailed the right gift with Ignis. They’ve known each other since they were children and Ignis never ceased in being an enigma. They had seen plenty of celebrations and holidays together, this one would be the first they will spend as a couple. Thoughtful as it was and as it became tradition adopted in practice, lint-covered sticks of gum and lip balms were unacceptable gifts for Ignis. Noctis found a window of opportunity and took it, asking Ignis to come along with him for Chrystmas shopping. Under a cover story that Noctis still had people on his list to get gifts for, Ignis came along, happy to have a breather from their hectic schedules. Though the prince had to maintain his story somehow, he took Ignis to the mall, browsing through merchandise and wares while keeping a close eye on his boyfriend and praying he doesn’t catch on to the truth. “And you think Gladio needs a... lamp?” Ignis asked when Noctis studied a shelf. “Uh, yeah... This one, though!” Noctis pointed at a lava lamp. “It’ll make his room a little less boring, dontcha think?” “But what of the cassette tapes you used your employee discount for?” Maybe Noctis shouldn’t have disclosed what presents he got everyone with Ignis. An art book for Prompto, rare and hard to find cassette tapes for Gladiolus, specialty sewing scissors for Iris, a set of animal sticker tape pens for Luna, novelty ice cube molds for Dad, a tea sampler for Mom... The prince was taking a huge risk in bringing the advisor along. Thankfully, Ignis was great at keeping secrets or the whole gift exchange would’ve been a bust. What was he even thinking that a lamp would make a good present? But this was mission was growing exceedingly difficult as they window shopped. He hoped for a miracle, a slight change in Ignis’ expression at the displays be it clothes, apparel, electronics, and yes, even cooking supplies if it got to that point. Ignis raised an eyebrow when Noctis pulled him to a jeweler’s. “But it’s a little soon for that...” the advisor whispered to himself while caressing the pendant around his neck. Their shopping adventure came to a close and Noctis was ready to admit defeat. He carried several bags so it hadn’t been a complete waste of time, but he failed in the purpose of the trip. “Iggy, I...” Noctis stared at their joined hands before something on Ignis’ wrist, just below his suit jacket, glittered softly in the moonlight. He couldn’t believe he didn’t think of it before. “Uh, thanks for coming with me.” Ignis smiled, chuckling as he pressed his lips against the prince’s forehead. “But of course,” he said, his tone as warm as his breath. “As your boyfriend, there’s no limit to the things I’d do for you.” He took Noctis’ hand and held it between his own. “I’m relieved.” “What for?” “You seemed troubled the whole evening and I didn’t wish to pry...” Ignis sighed. “Not unless you wanted to talk about it. But is everything all right?” Noctis grinned despite the winter chill and Ignis’ worry as he slid his arms around his lover’s waist. “Feeling like I’m on the top of the world right now.” - It was night of Chrystmas Eve when Ignis surprised Noctis. “You didn’t tell me you’re coming over.” Noctis said, leaning against the door frame and grinning from ear to ear. They were to see each other tomorrow, but he had no complaints about sudden change of plans. “That’s the idea,” Ignis answered, his gloves in one hand as he touched the prince’s cheek and brushed his lips with his own. Ignis had planned to cook dinner and progressing through the video game Noctis insisted that he would enjoy, but the plan never went far from the thought. Unplanned moments were always better than planned ones. Noctis made sure of that, and happened to be rather persuasive of other things they could be doing instead. “Noct,” Ignis failed to sound convincing in his scolding and his hand jerked suddenly, splattering sauce on the counter. “I can’t cook while you’re doing that.” “Doing what?” Noctis asked, innocently. He hummed another victory scored in making Ignis lose his focus and counting. “Told you that we should order take out.” Plus, he had plenty of leftover snacks and treats from the marathon. Anything more complicated than that was automatically vetoed. They more or less stumbled out of the kitchen and into the living room, fitting all the kisses and caresses that had not occurred in a month into these precious hours now. With food shoved away from their minds, Ignis’ knuckles were covered in the white sauce he had been using and Noctis lapped up savory richness of it down to the last digit. “Ignis,” Noctis used this moment to catch his breath and to lick his lips. “Think I can get you on the naughty list?” He challenged, feeling brazen with the feel of Ignis under him. “You can certainly try,” Ignis commented, undoing the drawstrings of Noctis’ sweatpants and teasingly stroking a patch of skin with his fingers. Noctis was drifting between states of rest and awake when he felt Ignis move. The routine was familiar, the advisor leaving when the prince was asleep or it had grown late and he needed to beat traffic. But for the times that Ignis stayed the night, there were clothes in the prince’s closet and a set of amenities reserved for that purpose. Noctis has joked that the apartment was Ignis’ second home in a way. “Stay the night,” Noctis mumbled, moving closer to Ignis’ side. He was prepared with a list of reasons why and though knowing that he would see him soon, he didn’t want him to leave. “I planned to,” Ignis said, brushing a few to kiss his cheek. “But perhaps I should stay in the guest room. I may not get any sleep at all tonight otherwise.” His eyes flickered to the perfect bite mark on his chest before turning to retrieve his socks and garters. “Liar,” Noctis stroked the taunt muscles of Ignis’ lower back, taking his finger and drawing a straight line up along the spine. The advisor froze for a moment and drew a sharp inhale. “What’re up to?” “If you must know,” Ignis ran a hand through his mussed hair. “I was going to get something to eat and clean up the mess we made in the kitchen. But you can go back to sleep.” The prince propped himself up on his elbow hearing that. “Nah, I’m wide awake. I’ll give you a hand.” Casting an eye over his shoulder to examine the time on the clock, “Isn’t it too late to eat? It’s almost midnight.” Ignis was silent, concentrating a little more than it should take a person to fasten garters and slip pants on. “Mhm. Let’s just say that being with you has worked up an appetite.” Noctis’ gaze followed Ignis. “Burns calories, too, I heard,” he added, smugly. “But what are you up to? Planning Chrystmas breakfast?” Ignis faced him. “Oh, so I was right.” “Dismiss the line of inquiry, dear heart,” Ignis batted the presumptions with a smile. “Her Majesty would be heartbroken if we arrived with full bellies.” “She won’t—” Noctis began before closing his mouth. “Crap. The family breakfast.” His mother’s feelings were far from delicate and hardly necessitated a need to protect them as she tended to hold grudges and never let people forget about them. Regis learned that the hard way last year. The Chrystmas breakfast was her own tradition she implemented. Regardless of how absorbing the festivities and demanding the royal duties were, each member was to put aside time and uphold responsibility to appear and convene at the table. Between her husband and son, Aulea was the glue that kept the family together. For the proposed breakfast, she did her best to recreate a warm and intimate setting for her family. Morning was the best time for this. Bemused by the prince’s astonished expression, Ignis pecked Noctis’ lips. “You needn’t fear, I couldn’t let you forget your mother’s yearly request. Fortunately, I’m on your side.” “Yeah,” Noctis hastily kicked off the sheets. “Can’t let Mom down.” “You’re not going back to sleep?” “Not yet. I need to make sure I’m taking the right gifts over.” - Noctis didn’t remember dozing off, but sure enough, he woke up to Ignis gently shaking his shoulder. It was Chrystmas Day, morning, to be exact. The advisor’s voice was husky and dripped like syrup to the prince’s ear. “Good morning.” There was a sweet, sensual fragrance of spices paired with hints of vanilla about him. It took only moments for Noctis to register it was from an aftershave Ignis used. “You smell... crazy amazing,” the prince babbled, unable to help himself. He wouldn’t mind waking up like this every morning. The bridge of the advisor’s nose dotingly brushed the prince’s cheekbone. “You know I adore your candidness first thing in the morning.” Ignis had just showered and to Noctis’ dismay, he was almost dressed. Semiformal attire with a silk black long-sleeved shirt fully buttoned to his clavicle and the same color scheme went for his trousers and seadevil winklepickers. It was a normal look, the state of dress honored the royal family colors and that of the Crownsguard, save for the clashing yet ridiculous Chrystmas vest with a cactuar wearing a sequined Santa cap blatantly emblazoned on the front. Noctis blinked before snorting a laugh. “I’m blinded by that sweater. Burn it.” Ignis folded his arms, his smile between the lines of being innocently coy and threatening pay back on that comment. “We’ll have matching outfits before we walk out the door.” “Hah, no way.” “As much as I’d enjoy crushing that obstinate delusion you’ve created for yourself—I know I’ll relish it soon enough,” Ignis muttered the dark promise under his breath and Noctis stuck his tongue out at him. “Have you seen my cufflinks?” He touched his wrist, perturbed. “On second thought, I shouldn’t be asking you this. We’ll head over to the palace when you’re ready.” “Hey, hey,” Noctis took Ignis’ wrists and calmly steered his boyfriend’s attention to him. “You left them on the counter, so I put them in my room for safe keeping.” As important as the grand Lucis Caelum breakfast was, even if the cufflinks were missing, he would search the entire apartment from top to bottom to find them. His mother would understand. Ignis let out a sigh of relief, looking at the door leading to the bedroom. “Well, it was a good idea to ask after all. Where did you put them?” “Relax. I’ll get them. We got time, right?” At that, Noctis retreated to his bedroom and opened the drawer belonging to the nightstand. The gold cufflinks were in a plastic bag next to a fine wooden case. The prince knew that Ignis would never rummage through here, only places within reach and wherever he didn’t do a good job in tidying up. But never the nightstand. They fit into the plan nicely ever since Noctis noticed them the other night and everything clicked in place. He planned to give them to him during the Friendsgiving-mas Exchange, but... The best laid plans were the unexpected ones. He couldn’t wait to see the look on his lover’s face. “Got them,” Noctis grinned upon returning the bag to Ignis. “You know... Could be just me but they kinda lost their luster, huh?” Ignis studied them for a closer examination. “Gods, I can’t wear these. Their Majesties would take notice.” Noctis resisted the urge to laugh. His parents wouldn’t care, they’re fond of Ignis, but he knew how carefully meticulous the advisor was of his appearance. “So,” the prince presented the box that he concealed behind his back and held it out to the advisor. “How about trying these on? They’re stylish, smart, sexy...” Inside were a dual pair of silver dagger cufflinks with amethyst stones embedded in the hilt. The spectacular violet hues added personality to a simple design. Ignis was at a loss for words when his viridian eyes fell back to Noctis. “And would look great on you,” the prince finished before beaming at him. “Merry Chrystmas, Ignis.” “For me? Truly?” “What? You didn’t think I’d get you something?” Noctis took out a card he had folded. “I, uh, wrote you a card to go along with it. I know you like that kind of thing so I did it.” He cleared his throat before reading, “‘Hey Iggy, what do you think? Do you like them? They’re pretty badass, right? I hope you’ll think of me when you wear these cufflinks. Signing documents, attending receptions, or even waving at me before you leave, you’ll do it in style. I’m pretty sure of that.’” Heat blossomed from Noctis’ neck to his face when he realized that some things were not to be read aloud. “I’ll cherish them,�� Ignis said, finally, his gaze warm and fond. “Always.” “Really?” Noctis felt weak in the knees. “Help me put them on?” Ignis proposed, handing the box back and holding out his wrist. “Y-yeah, no problem,” the prince stammered. The cufflinks went in easily and folded to lock in firmly. “How do they feel?” Ignis turned one wrist over and repeated the same with the other. “Sharp and dapper,” he replied, opting for a pose with his index finger and thumb out under his chin, ceremoniously intimating a hero from a beloved series. Noctis burst out laughing. “Oh man, that’s... No, Iggy!” “No?” Ignis was confused. “That... That I’d expect from Prompto!” “Are you insinuating that Prompto and I are uncool?” Noctis failed to maintain his composure. “I didn’t say all that.” “Hmph.” - “About time you two showed up!” Gladiolus greeted the couple by the door. “Help yourself to the food and,” the Shield’s amber eyes glinted sardonically. “Nice sweater, Princess.” Noctis groaned. It’s been an hour since he wore the ugly Chrystmas sweater and it eluded him still in trying to shut off the battery to the lights. “Iggy forced me in this...” “Can’t have him carry the holiday spirit for the both of you.” The Shield wasn’t even subtle in his thumbs up gesture to Ignis before returning to Iris by the tree. Prompto was the second guest to greet the two. “So,” Prompto carried several of boxes under his arms. “This one’s for Gladio, one for me, one for Iris... So, where’s your presents, guys?” “Noct and I had our exchange early,” Ignis answered before revealing the dagger cufflinks. “Our apologies for breaking tradition.” Though he hardly sounded apologetic about it. “But rest assured, we haven’t touched any of the gifts we got you.” “While the rest of us gotta wait until after the party games,” the blond rolled his eyes. “So, what did Iggy get you, Noct?” “A tackle box. He built it himself. Guess we both surprised each other this year.” 

“It was the sentiment that counted most of all,” Ignis added.

Ask a writer!

tagged by @mysillylittlesoapbox (yes I do still write fic... sometimes :p I’m afraid it’s all Gotham now though!) ...I don’t usually do memes about my writing though so, this should be...interesting...

1. How did you come up with your username and what does it mean?

my name is holly, holly leaves are a thing, I wanted to just be ‘hollyleaf’ but it was already taken so I figured ‘well hey, I’m also small...’ and voila! (no, I’m so sorry, but the Warrior Cats series was not involved at any point, I still haven’t read them and only know a character has my username, or a version of it, because of all the asks I keep getting about it :P)

2. Which fanfic of yours has the most feedback? (bookmarks/favorites, follows/subscriptions, visitor hits, kudos)

So I had a quick glance at AO3 and this is something it looks like WAAAAY too much effort for my lazy ass to figure out, plus I dunno how accurate the AO3 stats would be for my stuff anyways because I only very recently put all my fic on there after having most of it posted (and therefore commented on and otherwise interacted with) solely over at LJ for years and years...

I would imagine it’s Imitating Life (spn, deancas), because that’s the one I remember getting the most feedback for. So I’ll just go with that!

3. What is your FFnNet/AO3 profile icon, and why did you choose it?

It’s the same as my tumblr one. Because it’s me and I already had the image saved in an appropriate size. I know, dull right?? (back on LJ I was OBSESSED with finding and/or creating SO MANY different icons to convey different moods and whatnot - they were basically an oldschool version of reaction gifs I guess - but on any other platform I’ve been just... meh about the icon thing... idk!)

4. Do you have any regular/favourite commenters?

@vampirebillionaire has been a regular for my Gotham stuff, notable for jumping ship with me into foxma :) (well not jumping... simultaneously enjoying :p), for which I am profoundly grateful xx but generally my fic style and content is a bit... eclectic I guess? so no, no one who is super regular

5. Is there a fanfic that you keep going back to read again and again?

Of my own? Nah. Well... not AGAIN AND AGAIN like on the regular. I HAVE re-read my stuff OF COURSE :p But usually it’s me re-reading previous parts of a series/set to get the feel for the story/characters again as I write new stuff. Though admittedly I have re-read Imitating Life more than most probably, to check it still reads okay.

As to other authors’ fics - I must confess that I read less and less these days, so there is def not a single one I constantly return to.

I have, however, re-read a few by depthsofgreen since I got into Gotham, as well as some by rissalf and silentsinger

Back in the day there was this one spn last unicorn AU I used to re-read the night before each premiere, because it was a deliciously angsty way to get me in the mood for a new season and pass the time while waiting - particularly notable because AUs are not really my thing, so it was an interesting choice for me to keep returning to! Alas I have lost my link to it however :( Should anyone know the one I mean drop me a line! (Cas was the unicorn, obvs, Dean was the Prince, Sam was Schmendrick, Anna was Molly and Meg was Fortuna)

6. How many stories are you subscribed to? How many do you have bookmarked?

I have ONE (1) story bookmarked - because it is a WIP I am following (and I just learnt how to bookmark the other month)

...what even is subscribing and how is it different??

7. Which AU do you find yourself writing the most?

None at all if possible. Although most of my fics end up being Canon Divergent in the end ofc they are generally canon compliant (based on my interpretation of the canon anyways) at the time of writing... Sometimes canon changes things while I am in the middle of writing stuff though ofc (*shakes fist at Gotham right now*), in which case I will unavoidably be writing something knowingly Canon Divergent/What If.

(aside - I tried to write an spn x-men AU once, but I got bored very quickly... full on AUs are just not me!)

8. How many people are subscribed and bookmarked to you in total? (you can view this on the stats page)

OH THERE’S A STATS PAGE?

*checks*

K - 34 subscribers and 423 bookmarks (whoa that seems a lot??)

hey there’s graphs and stuff with your top five fics based on hits too - that’s pretty cool - my top is in fact Holding On and Letting Go... probably because it was one of my last big spn fics and one of the first I published on AO3...

9. Is there something you’d like to write about but are afraid of people judging you for it? (Feeling brave? If so, share it!)

No... I mean... I don’t think so? If there ever has been it’s passed me by and I’ve forgotten about it.

...for a hot minute I was into Eddie/Isabella in Gotham, and that plot was ofc (understandably) received VERY POORLY by the fandom, so I may have at one point been hesitant to explore that idea (and the related Ozzie/Eddie/Izzy thoughts I had) because of that... but I never got as far as wanting to actually WRITE anything that I recall so... I guess not really?

10. Is there anything you would like to be better at? Writing certain scenes or genres, replying to comments, updating better, etc.

There’s a couple of dumb little grammatical things I wish I was better at remembering - like when it’s ‘passed’ and when it’s ‘past’ or when it’s ‘effect’ and when it’s ‘affect.’ Because I forget and have to look it up Every.Damn.Time!

11. Do you write rarepairs or popular ships more often?

Well, the ship I’ve written most for is deancas - so it’s def ‘popular ships’ I write most! (though I would like to point out that it WASN’T ONE when I STARTED :p). 

I’m not opposed to writing rarepairs as well however (she says, in the middle of a huge Gotham rarepair series!). I just write... whatever I’m enjoying most at the time.

12. How many stories have you posted on FFNet/AO3 to this day (finished and unfinished)?

I’ve got 39 works up on AO3. Never published on FFNet. Probably got a few little things that I’ve only ever published on tumblr (like my cracky spn/WtNV crossover :p), so total number published across the board is more like 40ish...

13. How many stories do you have saved in/with your writing program?

(not counting the abandoned spn x-men AU that will remain forever unfinished) Just one. I CANNOT work on more than one fic at a time.

14. Do you write down story ideas, or just keep them in your head?

In my head (my stories are never especially complex after all). Once I’m stuck into a fic though I do tend to start creating bullet points below the main text of certain things that are coming next - like specific lines or phrases/metaphors I might think up as I go that I want to make sure I include, or the order of certain scenes if there is a series of short ones on the way, or sometimes points with question marks if I haven’t quite decided on something (eg. ‘have Eddie take his hat off here or wait until Ozzie smiles at him?’ that kind of thing...)

15. Have you ever co-authored a story?

No. I came CLOSE to co-writing a DCBB with the lovely @takadainmate YEARS AGO but we never quite made it work (I got a distracted by involving Balthazar in a subplot and went on my own tangent, we had trouble even getting together to discuss it, the deadline started looming and eventually we wisely close to call it a day!). 

For a while there were VAGUE murmurings about returning to the idea... but the plot involved Dean and Cas getting trapped together in Purgatory you see aND THEN SEASON 8 HAPPENED!! So we decided to let canon run with it instead :P

16. How did you discover FFNet/AO3?

While I don’t use FFNet and don’t even read stuff there now, I did used to read fics on it early on. I discovered it while searching for info on my very first TV obsession Due South and was DELIGHTED to find a place full of stories about this thing I loved but had no new content for at the time :)

AO3 I remember being talked about and used a little by my LJ crowd, which is how I heard of it. I didn’t start using it myself until recently when I realised it had very much become the go-to hosting site used by tumblr fic writers.

17. Do you consider yourself to be a popular or famous author in your fandom(s) on FFNet/AO3?

Nah.

18. Do you have a nickname or fandom name for your readers?

...my personal readers? As in, not the general name for the various fandoms (like ‘spn family’ or ‘Gotham fam’), but for the people who read my fic specifically?

No... that seems... weird...?

19. Was there an author who inspired or encouraged you to write?

Actually... no... no one specific. Just... reading lots of fiction by lots of different writers, fic writers included, is what inspired/encouraged me to take a crack at it myself I suppose.

20. What writing advice would you give to a beginning author?

Do not listen to me!

21. Do you plot out your stories, or do you just figure it out as you go?

Um... both I suppose. Only... my plotting isn’t really... plotting. 

Because I just... daydream, you know? And after a bit I’ll realise that I’m coming back to one particular daydream more often than another. And adding to it. And adding to it. Until I’ve got something at least vaguely coherent. At which point I make a decision as to whether I like the scenario enough to write it down or not and if I do, well, it’s already pretty much there and fully formed in my head, so no additional ‘plotting’ necessary (just the ironing out and researching of a few details).

But while I’m daydreaming... well that’s me ‘figuring it out as I go’ I guess.

22. Have you ever gotten a bad comment on a story? If so, what did you do?

My first foray into writing fic was with a Clex re-write of S05 Smallville. It ended up being a sprawling, much too ambitious multi-chapter thing I had no hope of ever finishing. But hey, it kept me out of trouble :p 

Anyways, I was part of a sci-fi society at Uni at the time I was writing and each of us in the group developed these different fictional versions of ourselves over the course of our time together... because we were a sci-fi society and it was fun! And I thought it would be a laugh if, for one chapter, I put all of us into my SV fic. So I did (I made us all kryptonite infected characters who lived at Lex’s secret 33.1 facility - if any SV fans are reading) and prefaced the chapter with some disclaimer about how I was sorry if this part was a bit too self indulgent or ‘mary-sue’ or whatever, but that I couldn’t resist doing it for my friends, and that things would get back to normal next chapter.

And generally it was fine - I didn’t have many readers anyway :p 

But long LONG after the fact, when I had written many other chapters since, I got a comment on this one chapter from someone saying that they felt my self-insert characters came across as too obviously self indulgent and were unnecessary and that I shouldn’t have written them in.

And you know, it was a fair call. But since I’d actually prefaced the chapter with myself saying that’s EXACTLY what they were, it seemed a bit odd to me that this person would bother making a point of the issue. And to compound confusion - this person had actually already commented POSITIVELY on the chapter when I first posted it, so their comment read something like ‘I’ve been re-reading this and on consideration ACTUALLY I think you should know that...’

So... that was a bit odd. Not really bad, but notable enough that it’s stayed with me! Since I was many many chapters along in the story at that point though it was easy enough to just nod and shrug and move on.

I’m lucky in that I’ve never received any actual scathing or horribly negative comments otherwise. I like to think I’d be thoughtful and philosophical about any serious criticism I might receive...

23. Is there a certain type of scene that you have a hard time writing? (action, smut, etc..)

Hmmm. Exposition probably. My focus is typically on a character’s emotion at any given time, but when the only thing happening is characters discussing what’s happening and when and why there’s not exactly much strong emotion involved you know? So I struggle, because it’s boring to write and I constantly fear I’m not describing/depicting it in a way that is interesting to the reader and blah blah.

(part of the reason I don’t often write complex stories anymore perhaps - less narrative means less exposition!)

(smut used to be hard... now it is less so... though that doesn’t mean I think I’m good at it now! I don’t think I’ll ever shake the fear that my smut is actually cringe-worthy...) 

24. What story(s) are you working on now?

Just The Fox and the Scorpion :)

25. Do you plan your next project(s) before you finish your current ongoing story(s)?

No. Like I say above - I CANNOT work on more than one fic at a time. How do people do that??? I bow to you all!

I have in the past paused in the middle of longer spn fics (like my DCBBs) to knock out some quick ‘finished in the span of an evening’ FICLETS, usually in response to specific happenings in canon (like when Gabriel died and I just HAD to type something up as an outlet). But I don’t think that’s really quite what this question means? Because those aren’t projects OR stories, they are just... SCENES, you know? Also - I haven’t written a ficlet in FOREVER, so I’m not even sure I could do it anymore...

Having said this - I DO CONSTANTLY DAYDREAM. Which involves daydreaming multiple scenarios not exclusive to whatever fic I’m in the middle of. Some of which may well end up being part of the next fic I end up writing. But that’s hardly ‘planning’ I think? Because at that stage of things I’ll have no desire to make what I’m dreaming part of an actual story/fic.

26. Do you have a daily writing goal set for yourself?

Nah. I just write when I feel like it and keep going until I’m done.

If I’m writing for a challenge this changes ofc, because DEADLINES. So sometimes I’ve had to set goals because of that - usually it’s something vague though, like ‘you need to get to this point in the plot by tomorrow night Holly, come on!’ Nothing so regimented as a specific amount of time and/or words every day.

...generally when I’m in the middle of a fic I end up in a kind of... idk, natural momentum that pulls me on? Like there’s this constant FEELING in the back of my mind urging me to get back to the story. And not in a nagging guilt kind of way, in a ‘this is what I WANT to be doing right now’ kind of way.

Not that I end up easily writing every time I get back to the fic or anything! Sometimes I’ll get back to the page and just... be stuck, find I’m not in the mood or can’t think of the words or whatever. Which is frustrating because I still have that feeling of WANTING to continue the story, but I’ll know that I’m not in the right frame of mind so have to leave it for a bit (which can be anywhere from a few hours to a week). Generally the pull to keep writing draws me back in eventually though. 

27. Do you think you’ve improved as a writer since you first started?

Goodness yes. I think if you’re writing regularly you’re just ALWAYS improving, aren’t you? Naturally my fic today is better than my first attempts, but likewise I think some of my Gotham fics are better than my spn fics in some parts. It’s a constant process isn’t it?

28. What is your favorite story(s) that you’ve written?

Imitating Life remains one of the fics I’m most proud of. Not only did the main story hold up well AND stick to overall canon (when it comes to Dean and Cas at least), so I think anyways, I also wove in a couple of subplots I very much enjoyed seeing through to the end. PLUS I really enjoyed all the meta nonsense, including messing about with the format to make it like look (a little bit) like a screenplay. So yes, that one will always hold a dear place in my heart :)

For Gotham I don’t think I’m ever gonna do better than We Are What We Are tbh

29. What is your least favorite story(s) that you’ve written?

Generally unimpressed by ALL my SV fic now. And considering I spent SO MANY HOURS/DAYS/WEEKS/MONTHS/YEARS of my life on it all I kinda feel like I should feel bad about that but... you know I really don’t? Because if it wasn’t for all the time and effort (and love and fun) I put into those not very good stories, I wouldn’t be enjoying the work I’m proud of and writing today. So *shrug emoji* 

30. Where do you see yourself (as a writer) in 5 years?

5 whole years? Tbh I rather think I’ll have stopped writing by then. I’ve been winding down when it comes to fic for a LONG TIME now and writing for Gotham feels very much like a minor, brief resurgence of the hobby. Currently planning on calling it a day once I’ve finished Fox and Scorpion in fact.

31. What is the easiest thing about writing?

The part that doesn’t involve writing.

32. What is the hardest thing about writing?

Trying not to be repetitive.

Have I started a paragraph with this character’s name too many times in a row? Am I using ‘furrowed brow’/’bites lip’/’narrows eyes’/’insert stock descriptive phrase here’ too often? Did I use this phrase already or was that in another fic or in the book I was just reading? Is there too much alliteration in this sentence?  - to name but a few of the questions that inevitably pop up related to my paranoia about repetition.

33. Why do you write?

Because I’m insatiable and the stories onscreen aren’t enough for me. 

...well that was exhaustingly introspective so I’m way too tired to tag! Interesting one though, made me think! (and taught me some stuff about AO3 :p)

Neo’s RP Comforts

RP Comfort Meme A valuable hella long meme for any role-player! Come display your comfort levels so your role-play partners are aware of what they can do, and of what they should avoid! A healthy relationship between role-play partners is the key to a good time! While this meme shows the basics, please remember to communicate with your role-play partners!

Tagged by: Lol I took this from dA honestly. Tagging: Anyone who dares fill out his monstrosity.

RP Basics

RP Methods I am comfortable doing:

im: Chat with me on im or on skype (ask for it) if you wanna! We can like plot or just simply chat~

Asks: I’ve done a few rp’s where they just continue through with asks. If you prefer that, we can do that. ^^

Google Docs: I’m okay with this if you wanna go for that. Most likely if it’s NSFW, i’d opt for docs because of reasons... like, protect the innocent eyes of the young children...reasons. 

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OOC/Headcanoning/RP Planning Methods

I love to just talk about HC’s and I also just love to plot. I’m very okay with simply winging things as well.

im: Feel free to hit me up on im if you just wanna plot or HC with me. I’m totes mcGoats okay with that.

Asks: I personally do prefer asks because it’s a lot easier for me to hunt through for past conversations rather than on im where I have to scroll forever.

Skype: If you have my skype, if I have my phone near me, I will hear the notification sounds and will answer as soon as I can. If it’s not around me– then i’ll only answer if I happened to be logged onto skype.

. Participants I am comfortable with:

One on one RP’s: These are the easiest for me to work with for obvious of reasons. Much easier for me to keep track of where the thread is and whose turn it is to reply.

Up to three people (including myself): I can manage this

Four or more people: It’ll be a bit harder for me, but I can do this. Please no more than 6 people in a group rp though. TOO MUCH.

. RP Style I am all right with:

Lit/para: This is basically my default and I love it. This is the easiest for me and so i’m very much down with that.

1-3 lines: If you wish for shorter threads, I can do this. For shorter threads, I try to match the best I can. For longer threads, I tend to just write however much feels right to me. ;;;;

[text]: I can do these, though I tend to make them a bit on the long side eventually. OTL

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Post Length

I usually write about:

1-3 Pragraphs: I do try to stick within this range if I know people are most comfortable with this range.

3-10 paragraphs: This is normally when I get a bit carried away because super duper excited and I wasn’t asked to stay within a certain paragraph limit so whooo!!!!!!

PAGES: I really really really try to not get so long that it takes up pages in microsoft word, but it does happen. Normally for angst threads or AU threads. //coughs. I get uh… really excited sometimes

. Partner Post Length I am comfortable role-playing with people who write:

Dude, you do you boo: You can give me one-liners, all the way up to PAGES upon PAGES worth of a reply. I’ll appreciate the effort you put in and have fun regardless. You don’t have to match me. Just write however much feels right to you. I literally will not get mad at you or anything. I just want everyone to have fun. I personally write however much feels right to me anyways, so you can do the same. Write however much you are comfortable with.

DO NOT GIVE ME LESS THAN 4 WORDS THOUGH, PLEASE.

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RP Speed

I usually reply:

Within minutes: If i’m online and the thread is relatively short and so I can crank out a reply in no time.

Within a day: Probably got to replying after I get back from work. I have a full time job that I work from 8-5 so during that time frame, I can check the blog during breaks but I can’t reply.

Within the same week: If it ever takes me longer than 48 hours to reply, I either just took a break, i’m feeling lazy, or it took me that long to realize I never replied.

Within a month: I’m probably either very busy, I’m being lazy because ‘oh wow such a long thread… maybe tomorrow’ and the cycle repeats. || ‘Oh snap! I thought I replied to this! OMG OMG OMG SO SORRY!’

Longer than a month: I probably am being lazy and lost my motivation. Most likely the reply is hella long and i’m just trying to recharge myself. || ‘It’s my turn? WUT? I thought it was yours! OMG SO SORRY!!!!’

Sporadic: I’m probably just doing all kinds of stuff so don’t be surprised if I’m real active, suddenly disappear, and then get real active again. I do that. || ‘I’m hoarding this reply until a later date either because you asked me to hoard it, or because I just want to hoard it for my own reasons’

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I expect my partner to reply:

Dude, you do you boo: I understand you can lose muse for a thread, or that you just lose muse in general. I also totally understand that people have busy lives. Just reply whenever you feel up for it. I’ll wait however long you need to.

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Role-play Requests

The people I’ll take rp requests from:

DID YA READ MY RULES?: If you are a part of the group and you read my rules, then hella, hit me up and we can rp!

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Expectations

I expect my RP partner to:

Have read my rules.

Use punctuation marks: At the very least use “” if you won’t be using any punctuation. You don’t have to have perfect grammar or whatever, because even I struggle with it, but at LEAST add paragraph breaks and quotation marks, otherwise i’ll struggle super hard.

My Activity: Understand that I work full-time so I can’t reply during work hours. Sometimes I get tired after work and am not feeling up to replying after I return. I also have a shitty sleeping schedule. Understand that I can’t rp 24/7. I will at least try to reply within 48 hours if I can. If you can’t respect that, I don’t think we can rp together.

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Romantic Relationships

** Important: Communication is the key to a real life relationship, it shouldn’t be abandoned for a fictional on either! Be sure to talk to your partners when considering romance! Shipping I am comfortable shipping my characters:

With chemistry: I need to feel a ‘vibe’ between the two characters. Like something in my gut that tells me they’ll work together well. If I don’t feel it, I can’t force myself into shipping with anyone. I cannot just jump into a ship. I personally can’t do that and Haru wouldn’t appreciate it. Unless I feel the two characters can get along well, I won’t ship wit anyone.

With considerable interaction: I will not ship with anyone after just having one thread with them. I personally prefer a gradual build up. I need there to be a good amount of interaction between the muses for me to gauge how well I think they can be together.

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If you want to ship with my characters:

Interaction/chemistry: Ensure there is a decent amount of interaction between our muses and for there to be chemistry between them.

Ask: Just ask me how I feel about shipping and i’ll give you the honest truth.

HC’s/Angst: Understand that shipping with me means that I WILL throw HC’s at you left and right. I do not stop. I am a tornado of random ideas and I WILL BURY YOU WITH THEM. I will probably also throw angst at you because it FUELS MY VERY SOUL. If you don’t like angst, I will refrain.

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NSFW material

NSFW material i’m comfortable with:

Violence/blood: I doubt it’ll happen, but I won’t fight it if it does.  I’m sorry to say that i’m not very good at writing out action and violence. OTL

NSFW Material i’m okay with:

Smut: I am a shy bean okayyyyyyyyy? I don’t know if I can/will smut on tumblr but if I do, just know the first time will consist of me CRYING IN THE TAGS. Most likely i’ll cry at you and ask to move this to docs because i’m hella mega SHYYYY. Though if you manage to keep me on tumblr for the first time, I’ll become comfortable and it’s free game from there. ((By ‘first time’ I mean the first I rp smut with anyone. lol It’s like an initiation lololol))