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writeshite · 2 years

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OMG luce is back at it BOOOOOM. DO I KNOW WHO TO REQUEST FEO: no. Do I know it'll be angsty af? YES! Should I keep writing my own ff instead of writing Requests? Kinda. Also I just stepped on my MacBook and i think its dead- NYways enough from my life :)

Of course it's gonna be for morphy again, cus I love that man.

So. There ist this one guy, who cheated death in Greek mythology (wikilink) . So my Idea is that there is someone on earth who does the same, best woul be to set it in the mid 18th hundred bc of the clothes, I love the clothes.

Death had been chasing that boy for like a while, but genuinely cant discover him and when she does reader always runs away. So she asks dream for a bit help, and the the good lil brother he is, he agrees to help. He and Lucien read through nearly all the books in the library, dont find that boy in the dream books though, but they find his diary.

Morpheus reads through it and starts sympathizing with the reader, so he visits them. They argue and he starts liking them more. The rest be urs :D I just cant put things in words rn. <\3

I really loved how u made my other Request in a wonderful fanfic so... I thought why not Request again.!

Greets Luce ~

One More Lifetime Won't Kill Anyone

Summary:

“You wouldn’t like what comes after,” she warns. The prospect of eternity is hard enough as an immortal being, but as a human, it could drive one mad - grief is but just one of many things you’d have to contend with. You consider it but then ask, “I won’t like what comes after,” you scoff, “if you’re so adamant about getting me to come with you, make me,” you challenge. She sighs, “You won’t. You’re almost too human, too kind,” you tell her, “and for that, I am thankful.”

Pairings:

Morpheus x Male!Reader

Tags:

Words: 3182

Author's Note:

You will not believe the amount of math I had to do for this.

Death first crosses your path at eight. The plague traveled through the village - the doors were sealed days prior, windows shut, and with no contact with the outside world, your grandmother’s body was still fresh. Still on her bed beside her, your cousin was slumped; she’d stopped hacking out blood and could barely speak; the bile gathered at the corner of her lips; every so often, she would reach out her hand, and you’d curl even further in the corner. The house stank of sick, and your stomach provided a reminder you were still alive.

When people passed, they’d mutter prayers; the plague doctor came once a day; when you responded to his calls, he would tut and leave you, ignoring your protests. You used to pound at the door, but with your energy lacking, you only begged. When Death came, she was kind. Your cousin took her hand and stood anew - dead, but anew - your grandmother followed suit, and then she turned to you. You shook your head, though; you couldn’t die; you were healthy; the ailment had yet to curse your veins.

“I’m sorry,” she comforted you. She directed the three of you from the house - you the only one corporeal - Death led from the village, the path evened out, bumps vanishing, and people fading away. The light, as it would come to be called centuries later, shone brightly. The other two were ecstatic that or had already resigned themselves to their fate; you, on the other hand, were terrified. Eight years old. Eight years old, and you turned away from Death and ran. Away from the light. Away from the village. You ignored her calls, covered your ears when your grandmother cried out for you and pleaded you return to paradise.

Like every child, you thought the forest was a perfect hiding place. The bramble pierced your feet, branches grabbing at your clothes; you stumbled through a shrub, and the ground vanished beneath you. Pulled down by gravity, you fumbled down the cliff, body contorting as it spun; the aching pain of your neck breaking was the last you felt before you died. That should have been the end.

Your village is barely what it was when you return, twenty years passed, and the old path was all that was left. The plague had done its work, and after, the lord of the land - the smell of burning flesh festered, but you ignored it through your work. The makeshift tombstones had taken the better half of a week to make; with no knowledge of Latin, English, or any of the upper languages, you’d elected to carve - as best as you could - your family’s faces. You’d erected them far from the main path, secluded beneath an old peach tree, “Sorry about running off back then,” you muttered.

You hadn’t stuck much near home; scared Death would be waiting; the first few days after not dying had been painful, your neck resetting itself slowly, all the while, you could barely move. Stuck staring up at the canopy, praying Death wouldn’t stumble across you. You’d survived on stealing from the carriages and people that passed through the woods - a hefty reward had been set up after you’d stolen from some noble, but it was well past disregarded. “Is it nice up there?” you asked. “It’s just, I remember how you would speak of the afterlife, and I —” sometimes, in the lowest moments, you regretted running, wishing you could follow along.

Ale did well to stifle the thoughts, leaving you curled in on yourself as you cried; they were few and far between. You shook your head, “ —never mind.”

“It depends,” another voiced. You turned, and there she stood, Death, “You look tired,” she observed.

“Usually, people say hello,” you quipped.

“I suppose you’re right. Hello.” She comes to stand beside you, “They’re happy, by the way, a little angry about you running off.”

“Understandable.” You don’t exchange much more small talk before she brings up the glaringly obvious matter of her visit. You step away when she holds out her hand, “Please, you’re long overdue,” she says, reaching out again. But you back away, shaking your head; she calls out your name, not a warning, more cautiously, as you look ten seconds away from bolting.

“Yes, well, I’ll have you know I’m doing quite well,” you tell her.

“Are you?” she asks. And you huff in response, brushing off her hand and bidding the graves your goodbye; you walk fast. Your feet carry you as far as they can; you hear a sigh, then the sound of footsteps; she’s gone when you look back and right in front of you. You halt, “Don’t fight me on this,” she pleads.

You back away, “I’m not going anywhere with you; you can’t make me.”

“I don’t want to —”

“Then don’t.”

You consider it but then ask, “I won’t like what comes after,” you scoff, “if you’re so adamant about getting me to come with you, make me,” you challenge. She sighs, “You won’t. You’re almost too human, too kind,” you tell her, “and for that, I am thankful.”

She lets you go, perhaps agreeing with your statement, but you don’t stop to ask; you run, barely stopping in the woods. You gather what you have hidden away among the trees, weave a new persona, a new life, and stow away on the first ship you can. A modest thing, the inside is damp and cold; you’re sure the captain knows of your presence - judging by the wrapped bread thrown over the crates you hide behind. Death is there sometimes, sat atop the crates; she often glances down at you, offering her hand once in a while, but you turn away, huffing stubbornly.

“Morpheus, I’m your favorite sibling, right?”

The endless in question glances over at Death; she’s laid back, face pinched in irritation, and eyes shut, “Usually, I would say yes, but I feel there’s some sort of baggage to it this time.”

She rubs her temples, “There’s a human —”

“ —Hob?” Morpheus interjects.

“No, not him, another one. He doesn’t, he ran away from me, and no matter what I do, nothing I say will convince him to pass.”

“What does this have to do with me?” he asks. She sits up, and he already knows he’s not going to like this.

He most definitely, does not like this.

Not the favor, more so the lack of results. The library has nothing on you; he finds your family, friends, and even your village but nothing on you. Lucienne is far luckier; she resurfaces from a mountain of books, a worn-up journal in hand, and on the cover is your name; the first few pages are your childhood - dreary, at best, the plague doesn’t make for such happy moments - after it’s muddled, the writing is a mess. A few pages are caked with dirt and leaves. One even was just soaked in blood.

“Oh dear,” Lucienne mutters, “It appears the poor boy hasn’t had a very happy life so far –is that seawater?” The next set of pages are just wet, though not too much, as they manage to read some of the writing.

Death came for me again; we had a bit of fun this time, though. The captain got sick of me stowing away in his ship and put me to work…………never peeled so many potatoes in my life…………three days…………don’t know what I’ll do…………

I accidentally married……………………count……………………shit……………………

Morpheus chuckled at the accidental marriage bit; he’d love to hear that story firsthand. “He sounds lovely,” he remarks.

“No matter what I say, you’re going to visit him, aren’t you?” Lucienne notes, and he voices agreement, already leaving the library.

Walking through dreams - not that he doesn’t already do that - your dreams are strange; most people in this century dream of riches, wealth, usurping those above their stations, but you, you dream of a little house with two other people and nothing eventful.

“Hand me that, dear.” One of the other people, an older woman, she’s making stew, she’s always making stew, and she never eats it. Portioning what little there is to an adolescent - face often blurred and uncertain - and another child. “Oh, no, no, I’m alright. I had some of the bread; I’ll be fine. Eat up, dear; we don’t want you catching the plague so thinly looking.”

“It’s rude to trespass into other people’s minds.” The scene trickles away and is replaced by a void.

“How do you know I am trespassing?” Morpheus asks, “I could be a figment of your imagination.”

You chuckle, form appearing before him, “I doubt my mind could conjure a man of such beauty.” He smiles a little, “A man whose name eludes me.”

“How can it elude if it was never given,” he counters, “You look rather different from what Death described; shouldn’t you be sickly?”

You huff, “It’s been twenty-nine years of running from her, things are bound to change, and when you live so long, well, things get easier.”

“Then why dream of a shabby little hut?”

“We’ve barely been acquainted, good sir,” you respond.

“Is that an invitation?”

“If you like.”

He very much did - not that he’d admit it to himself - and left the Dreaming, finding himself in the countryside; you’ve done quite well for yourself, looking healthier than you had when Death had last seen you. Your new home - correction manor house - is well spaced, with rolling fields all around, well kept, and very few staff; it’s quite isolated - a home fit for someone undying.

“You don’t look that different awake.” You say from behind him, the reigns of a horse in hand, “In fact, I’d say you look quite average.”

“Insulting me won’t do much to change the subject of my visit.”

“I suppose not,” you hand the reigns over to a waiting stableboy, “shall we?”

“You walk like a noble.” He comments, it’s not that hard to do, really, nose stuck up, face passive, and arms behind your back, you’ve got it down quite well. “You also seemed to have adjusted quickly to —what’s your title?”

“Count,” you reply, relaxing back on the armchair, “What of you? Associate of Death, what title do you hold?”

He chuckles, “I’m no associate, rather a brother fulfilling a favor, and as for a title, Lord of Dreams seems to be universal, but I prefer Morpheus.”

He asks for your name in return, and you give it; you’ve never seen the need to change it with the turning centuries, “Now then, Morpheus, why has Death sent you to my doorstep?”

“She didn’t,” he admits, “her favor required less involvement on my part.”

“And what sort of involvement would that be?” you inquire.

“I’m not quite sure yet,” he responds; you’ve both seemed to have shifted in your seats, leaning closer to the other, “Why? Are you proposing something?”

“Morpheus, we’ve only met. What do you take me for?” You feign innocence, placing a hand on his chest, and push back the lapel of his coat. You’re not sure who leans closer, but you find yourself holding him close, his hands holding your face as you fall to your bed. Clothes were discarded somewhere between the move from where you’d sat, and you didn’t bother to think of them now. Morpheus lowers himself, head nestled between your legs; you grasp him by his hair as he swallows your cock - your moans echoing in the room - he kisses along your thighs when he comes off it, dark eyes glazing back up at you.

Your back arches when he draws an orgasm from you, your legs loosened by the feeling, and you spend many hours finding endless ways to bring each other pleasure. You lie next to Morpheus, “I’ve quite enjoyed your involvement, Morpheus.”

He grins, “I doubt Death will; I’m certain the favor was to garner insight into you.”

“Oh, I think you’ve done that well enough,” you tease, and he sighs, a slight pout to his expression; you roll him onto his back, “let me give you some more insight.”

“Would you like something to cover that up, my lord?” Lucienne jests.

Morpheus is going to keep walking with dignity; he is going to ignore the blatant hickeys along his skin, the flushed look on his face, and his tussled hair. He is also going to ignore Lucienne’s smug little smirk and Death’s glare as he strides past them.

The age of enlightenment, they’re calling it. Rubbish. Traipsing around the world like they own the place, the age of entitlement is more like it. You chuckle at your own joke; your fellow counts and noblemen had been appalled by your commentary, angry that a member of their own caste would say something so indecent. The Renaissance had been no better, but at least you’d had Leonardo, a genius he was, immortalized in so many ways - you’d barely left your manor house after returning from his passing, and she’d been there. Death, gaze steady as you held his hand, “You could follow, come with,” she offered once more.

“I doubt he would; he’s a stubborn old man,” Leonardo had said before Death guided him away.

You’d left his assistant, Salaì, to his matters, then retired to your home - many of the friends you’d come to know had either passed or gone senile; their children and grandchildren had grown weary of you, “You’ve never aged a day,” they’d say, and you’d shrug, dismissing the conversation.

“Is this seat taken?”

You glance up from your mug of ale; the foam is long gone, and the taste is stale, “Of course, who else would I be reserving it for?” you quip. It’s still strange to see Morpheus among humans, they don’t seem to register him as anything other than a man, but after the years you’d spent avoiding Death - and distracting him - you’d come to know how to pick out otherworldly beings from a crowd. The endless dons 18th Century apparel befit a nobleman, his hair held back and a grim expression on his face - perhaps concern. You’d be remiss to dismiss him; he’d become quite the shadow over the years, especially today - the anniversary of your family’s death - morning hours at the grave, evening hours at the bar.

He placed a hand on your glass before you could take another swig, “It’s still light out; at least let me get through a few glasses before you cut me off.”

“I did, last year, and we woke up in another country,” he reminds you.

You laugh, “Oh, don’t pout, Morpheus,” you pout back, over exaggerating all the while, but he doesn’t budge, and you groan. “You’re no fun; you know that? Can’t you let me live out my dreams?”

“Getting blackout drunk is your dream?”

You purse your lips and nod, “Today? Yes.”

“This isn’t healthy,” he chastises you, and you scoff.

“Says who? I’ve lived a long life; I deserve to kick back and drown myself in alcohol,” you tell him, running a hand around the rim of your glass, you haven’t had enough to get you drunk, but you’re on the edge of tipsy. You brush his hand away and knock back the rest of your drink, a satisfied smile on your face. “Cheer up, Morpheus; I’ve got enough dread to endure today.”

“There are other, healthier ways to cope with grief.”

You almost laugh, snickering at his statement, “Oh, please, what do you know of grief?” You ask him, “What could a creature of eternity know of suffering?” you seethed.

“I know well of suffering,” he defended, “I’ve lived far longer than you could ever imagine.”

You scoffed, “Suffering? You hold more power in your hand than anyone could fathom, and you think you could grasp the finite pain that boils through me?” You turned to him with a breathy laugh and the onset of tears, “You walk among gods; I hide in their shadows. Our suffering cannot be compared, perhaps you have suffered, but could you ever comprehend the mortal toil that stains my world?”

“You think my life free of turmoil,” he sadly mused.

“Is it not? You do not fear Death; she is your sister. You do not experience hunger; it is beneath you. You do not suffer thirst, illness, or fear. Your immortality was yours from birth, mine, a once fortunate accident.”

“You’ve become resentful of me.” It’s less of an observation; your journal entries at the library have become more haphazard than before, and a few unfinished sentences mention him, but without context or elaboration, what else is he to assume but the worst?

“Oh no, not you, more so myself….my stupid, cowardly self….” you lament, laughing as tears fall from your eyes. Your memories of the past, before this mess, have become hazy, your dreams have no faces, their voices carry in the distance when they speak - never clear, never certain, you’ve forgotten what so many people sound like by now, “My mind’s become forgetful,” you tell him, “I can’t remember anything that well anymore, well, except you I suppose, but then again,” you brush your hand against his, “you are a constant aren’t you?”

He smiles a little, “Always.” He accompanies you back home, and you lie atop him, mind muddled and slumber stricken; he watches over you when Death approaches. She stands by the bed, face painted with disappointment.

“You can’t keep doing this, Morpheus; I asked for your help; falling in love with him isn’t doing that.” Death lectured.

Morpheus glanced down at you, “He needs me,” he argued.

“Does he? Or do you need him?” she counters. “I know you’ve come to care for him, but he is spiraling; you saw it. How many more years do you think he’ll manage before he goes mad?”

“He won’t. I’ll be there; I’ll always be there,” Morpheus proclaims.

The 21st Century is rather strange; technology has excelled beyond what you’d ever imagined; despite the choice of travel, you’ve elected to return home, close to the site of your long-gone village. A site now in the hands of a museum, alongside your family’s gravestones, they’d taken down the peach tree, excavated, and placed everything else behind a glass pane. You’d put off buying the land for decades, the area had never been popular, so interest was never an issue, but now, glancing at the exhibit, you felt everything and nothing all at once.

Unlucky victims of the plague….

You couldn’t read it without scoffing; what business did they have digging up the gravestones? You feel seconds away from buckling, and as you’re about ready to do so, a hand slips into yours; you hadn’t heard Morpheus approach - mind you, you could barely focus on anything - he lightly tugs, and you turn, hiding away in his embrace.

End Note:

Originally, I was gonna have this end so sad, but then, I decided to be kind. 🙂 Stay Hydrated.

#morpheus x male reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman imagine #shiterequests

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flip-flop-lover-will-byers · 2 years

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I said I'll give prompts and I'm giving prompts. This is how I cope I'm just throwing out ideas, feel free to do whatever with them-

1) Heartstopper AU with artist-jock Will (aka letterman jacket!Will) who is neither in the closet nor out of it. One day paired up in a class with Mike Wheeler, the loser drama kid. The only cool thing about Mike is his leather jacket. He is also the straightest kid to ever straight. Or is he?

2) Divorce lawyer!Will as a meta homewrecker joke. Bonus points if you come up with an absolutely buckwild story of how he came to be a freaking divorce lawyer. Mike Wheeler, reluctant client.

3) Mermaid AU. Sorry, but I am coming out as an absolute sucker for mermaid AUs. Those things slap. Did you know the Byler tag already has like 3-4 mermaid AUs? Which is a lot. But I'm greedy. Mermaid AUs are where you go WILD. Write some totally sick shit with evolution, biology, magic, culture, worldbuilding, philosophy, DRAMA.....

Mermaid+soulmates AU. Will is sceptical of this human who claims to be his soulmate. Mermaids don't have soulmates, nor does Will want one. Mike knows Will is his soulmate- it's not unheard of for humans to have monsters as soulmates. A man though...he's never heard of men being soulmates. Dive deep into that question of what makes a monster. Who gets to decide where humanity begins and where it ends? What makes a soulmate? Can fate and free will coexist?

4) Amateur detective!Mike detecting a little too hard and finding the missing man-of-mystery!Will. Was Will running from the UD? The Lab? Lonnie? Mike is then pulled into shit he did not sign up for.

5) Millenial!Mike Wheeler has heard many stories about the kid who disappeared from the woods nearby 15 years ago. He's also heard his new house is haunted. He doesn't think much of it, until one day a man comes out of his walls.

6) Famous artist!Will and fanboy!Mike. Will doesn't know Mike's a fanboy. Mike is both a tumblrina and a Y/N fanfic writer.

7) Famous Author!Mike and fanfic author!Will. Mike comments on Will's every fic and they start chatting. Mike writes a romance novel (heterosexual!) for the first time, and the main characters are saying some suspiciously familiar stuff. Will messages coolpaladinboi69 "hey...did you read Wheeler's new book" and pulls out the receipts from their previous chats. A very on the nose joke on Mike's projection.

8) 12 year old Mike Wheeler discovers a very friendly ghost lurking inside his new house. Nobody else can see him, maybe because they don't want to. Will is so nice though, and so helpful. But wait- is he really dead? Or is his body trapped? Somewhere dark and cold...

9) Will is the guy hired to remodel Mlvn's white picket fence home. Mike is having ThoughtsTM. ANOTHER one for those meta homewrecker jokes. We got a literal homewrecker on our hands, but wait- oh that looks much better, thank you.

10) Mike Wheeler knows that something is wrong with quiet classmate Will Byers. He shows up with bruises, holding his pencil oddly while drawing. They've never had a single conversation, but one day after witnessing a terrifying scene between him and his father, Mike begs Will to let him help. Will refuses, he only has to get through a few more months, and then he's 18, and free. Two weeks later, Lonnie's car goes up in flames, taking Lonnie with it. Will is miraculously unharmed. The police names it a freak accident, but Mike suspects otherwise. He's not gonna sell Will out tho. The Chief is going to call services to take Will to his closest relatives, but before he can Will has blurted out another name. It's just a few months, surely he can spend them at his best friend Mike Wheeler's place? Somebody's gotta explore Will's Lonnie trauma pls

Bonus points if-

- Mike is as pathetic as possible. He needs to be a complete loser. Not a single cool thing about him. Not. One. He is miles below Will's league and everyone is aware of it, except Will himself.

- Lucas-Will bromeos.

- Unwitting chick magnet!Will.

- Mike and Max and their mutual disdain.

- El making at least one fruit joke. El cheering Will on as he homewrecks.

- Dustin being StraightTM and all the queerness going straight over his head. Poor kid has no clue.

#byler #will byers #gay mike wheeler #fanfic prompt

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steves-strapcollection · 1 year

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You said how ever many I wanted sooo

❤️💥🏷️💕💌

🫶🏻

HECK YEAH (i'm working through some writer's block so these asks are helping so much)

❤️What is your favourite line that you've written in a fic?

Oh shit this is so hard actually, because there have been a few!!! There's one line that I keep going back to in my longfic for the last fandom I wrote for, and it's a part where a character has been lying about who he is and has this big Come To Jesus moment and just...

‘Rex Glass’ was a fake name, a fake person, while Juno was so real and beautiful. Nureyev wanted— no, needed Juno to know his name, his purpose for being on Mars. He needed Juno to know him, even if he chose in the end to cast Nureyev aside. He knew, roughly, what it meant for Juno to be in his lap, pulling at his clothes and begging so prettily for more. He didn’t want to fuck Juno while only offering less than half of himself when the detective was giving everything in return. He didn’t want to fuck Juno as Rex glass, he thought with a soft cry when Juno bit his neck again. With a gasp of utter terror, he realized he wanted to make love to Juno Steel as Peter Nureyev, more than anything else in the galaxy. The detective was still working bruises into the skin of his long throat when Nureyev turned his head to whisper, directly into Juno’s ear, “Nureyev.” Juno froze, and Nureyev screwed his eyes tightly shut. “My name is Peter Nureyev.”

There's just!!! His neck is literally bared while he's confessing his deepest, darkest, most tightly held secret. ANYWAY I think about this scene literally all the time when I'm writing literally anything else because I'm so proud of that shit.

💥What is one canon thing that you wish you could change?

I mean... other than the obvious in Stranger Things? Idk, I guess I want to see Steve being taken more seriously by the other characters. Like Robin takes him seriously, and Nancy is starting to, but yeah.

🏷️Is there a tag you like to search for when looking for fanfics to read?

Other than the ship? Generally nah... like unless I'm looking for specific smut? But I'm rarely in a Specific Mood for fics if I'm in a reading mood!

💕What is your favourite fic you've written?

Hmm... this one's tough because like... a lot of my fics I love for different reasons. So I'm gonna discuss all the ones that I think of when you ask me which fics of mine are my favourite!

i could be honest, i could be human - I just think I did a really solid job with characterization and like rereading it right after posting it and I don't hate it? That's a first for me, tbh

and i'm swirling, softly - One of my Juno Steel fics. I really loved delving into the different perspectives of the characters' shared canon trauma!

kiss away young thrills and kills - Another Juno Steel fic. Peter Nureyev character study, my beloved~*~

the bittersweet between my teeth - my Juno Steel longfic. And listen... it would be wild if I wrote a 100k word fanfic and it wasn't one of my favourites of the fics I've written.

💌Is there a favourite trope you like to write?

Oof, I don't know! I don't tend to think about stuff I'm writing in tropes, so I struggle when tagging my fics! I think most of the ships I write end up falling under "idiots in love", does that count?

Thank you so much for your ask!!!!

Send me more Fun Fanfic Author asks!!

#ask game

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hawkland · 3 years

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My (mostly) Destiel Recs, Round-up #6

Well, between working like crazy on my DCBB fic and GISH and injuring my neck last month I haven’t kept up with my rec posts, so this one is going to be LONG and have a LOT and I’m going to try to break it up into sections, from oldies but goodies (some things I found on very old rec lists) to smutty delights to just tasty little bits of fluff, hopefully there’s something or everyone here. Most of these are not super-long, largely in the 10-25k range, though there are a few beyond that. With all the stuff I’ve had going on I haven’t wanted to lose sleep diving into 100k epics (especially when I’m writing my own right now, lol.)

“Oldies” but Goodies: Here are two great fics written some time way back when but that still definitely slap.

Theodicy by manic_intent (11k) - Probably the most brilliant Godstiel fic I’ve read to date. One of Cas’s first acts as the new god is to make a new archangel. Dean isn’t exactly on board with having his soul re-sculpted into wings he hates on sight (especially as they seem magnetically drawn to Cas), but he isn’t exactly given a choice. He, Sam and Bobby struggle with how to handle their former friend suddenly becoming a vindictive deity - trying to make plans to kill him if they must, which is pretty hard when it seems like Cas is always one step ahead of him. Can Dean hold on to enough of his humanity to provide a conscience to Cas and try to steer him toward good acts instead of destruction? This is one that I can’t say has a perfectly happy ending, but it’s a hopeful and imperfect one that’s just right for how the story plays out.

My Eyes Are An Ocean by entanglednow (10k) - Season 5 AU where Dean averts the apocalypse through a spell that “powers up” all the angels and he sees Cas’s true form - before being rendered blind. Dean tries to adjust to his blindness, Cas tries to deal with his guilt, and it’s just a lovely little read with an ending that’s... *chef’s kiss*

Lots more recs below the cut:

More great reads from some of my favorite authors I’ve recced before:

The Cabin on the Lake by DeanRH (21k) - This may be my new favorite DeanRH fic...at least for the moment. The year is 2152, Sam and Dean are long gone to Heaven, while Cas - stuck somewhere between mortal and angel - remains on Earth keeping vigil, keeping up the hunt, assuming he’ll never see either Winchester ever again. But when he starts hearing things, and imagining Dean visiting him as an angel himself, he starts losing grip on what is and isn’t real, and whether he can trust anything he sees or believes to be the truth. This is one hell of a psychological rollercoaster that kept me guessing right along with Cas until the very end. It also has some super-creepy horror elements, a novel “monster of the week”, and the hot-as-sin smut scenes I always expect from this author.

X Marks the Scot by DeanRH (15.9k) A fun little romp through history in one of this author’s great not-quite-au fics. Crowley sends Dean and Sam back in history to the Scottish Highlands to stop a monster, and while there they meet a blue-eyed clan chief who makes Dean weak in the knees. There’s something familiar about him, too. a very clever au that ties back to canon for an unexpected fix-it. Also, Cas in a kilt. Enough said.

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon by DeanRH (12k) - Sweet and slightly angsty AU. What if Dean was a gardener in ancient Babylon when a strange dignitary came to warn that the tower under construction was to be destroyed by angels? Lush, romantic and sexy with some wonderful tie-ins to canon characterizations (of Dean, Sam, John and of course Cas).

sufficient for thee by angelfishofthelord (21k) - This is a beautiful Cas angst-fest and character study that reimagines how angel grace works, particularly in regards to healing others. It covers the whole of Cas’s arc from Season 4 through a post-series fix-it, is absolutely stunning and features some great world-building in regards to the angels. (One important TW: those with cutting/self-harm issues may wish to skip or at least proceed with caution). I love that I can always count on angelfishofthelord when I need a good dose of Cas!whump and pain.

And laugh at gilded butterflies by ireallydidthistomyself (13k) - another great Dadstiel fic from this author featuring one of my favorite angsty subjects! I don’t know how I missed reading this one before. An AU where Cas is raising (baby)Jack on his own until the angels find the two of them and prepare to seal Jack away in the Ma’lak box. Cas begs them to let him go with Jack, so at least Jack won’t be alone for eternity. Meanwhile Dean is frantically trying to find what happened to Cas, and he gets some unexpected help from Crowley. It’s sad and sweet and all the characterizations are great. A+ Crowley use here, too.

what stays (and what fades away) by dothraki_shieldmaiden (64k) - a fabulous read with some great art, too, that started me reading a bunch of fic from this author. Cas goes missing, and when he’s found he seems deep under a spell. When they finally manage to awaken him, he doesn’t remember anything of this life with Dean, Sam and Cas in the bunker. The last thing he knew he was a nurse living with his wonderful husband, Dean, and their two adopted children, Jack and Claire. What I loved about this one was the clever twist as to who was behind Cas’s curse and also how well-developed his AU world/existence was. I’m not generally keen on mundane aus or the one-dimensional way a lot of djinn dream fics tend to go for them, but this one managed to capture a believable version of Dean and Cas living a “normal” life without monsters without making it sugary/too-sweet.

before knowing remembers by dothraki_shieldmaiden (14k) Post 15x04, a wonderful fic that plays with some meta topics in a clever way. Dean and Sam are happy - they have free will and they’ve won against Chuck, even if they suffered some big losses along the way (including Jack). But Dean can’t help but think he’s forgetting something...or rather, someone. Yet every time he thinks he remembers, the name and face of that someone slips from his mind.

weights on my ankles by dothraki_shieldmaiden (9k) Post-15x03 where Cas ends up going back to the Gas ‘n Sip and working with Nora after leaving the bunker. A bitter sweet divorce-arc AU and what I love the most is how it ends - not perfect, not tragic, just very real and believable.

15x18 and Post-canon fix-it fics:

Orbital Velocity Around a Celestial Body by LeverDrift (26k) - An angsty but lovely fix-it fic, one where it gets worse for a while before it gets better. Dean pulls Cas from the Empty, where he’d been living in a fantasy world with a dream!Dean who was giving him everything real!Dean is certain he can’t. Dean has to struggle with wondering if Cas would have been better off with dream!Dean instead of him. This is one that will break your heart before putting it back together again as Dean struggles with his self-worth issues.

so good at crashing in by Wintertree (36k) - Another post-finale fix-it where Cas is back, the world is saved, and things are still...not as easy as it should be for either Dean nor Cas. Monsters are gone, there’s no more hunting to be done, and Cas wants to move out of the bunker somewhere closer to Claire, to move on with a proper human life. Dean thinks he can move there with Cas and stay as “best friends”, even to the extent that Cas encourages him to go out and have sex with others/women. (And wants to hear about it after the fact!) But can Dean figure out what he really wants, and what Cas wants as well? A refreshingly unique take on what a post-series life could have looked like for them.

Delicious smut:

Empty by squirrelofcelestialintent (43k) - Every day this fandom makes me rethink my previous squicks and DNWs in fanfic. Here I find myself enjoying quite a bit more dom/sub elements than I normally ever would! I think because I was absolutely drawn in by the breathtaking first chapter, capturing beautifully the emotions of Cas returning from the Empty in Season 13 if he and Dean had confessed their feelings right then and there. But Dean’s self-worth is all fucked up, he feels there’s no way he can be good enough for Cas, especially when his sexual desires run a little bit...let’s just say outside the vanilla and he’s struggling with shame over doing sex work when he was younger. This was HOT and POOR SAM really gets stuck in the middle of, well, hearing more about his brother’s sex life than he ever needed to.

He's My Mate by Hatsonhamburgers (22k) - This fic manages the delightful combination of humor and extreme hotness perfectly. Dean and Cas catch each other in some questionable masturbation situations. This leads Cas to decide he needs to buy Dean some proper sex toys. He’s just helping his best friend out, right? Sure. As I said, hysterical AND hot as hell.

Generals by nanoochka (9k) - Cas/Dean, Cas/Balthazar/Dean, implied past-Cas/Balthazar. An old LJ fic I found on an ancient rec list that is just scorching hot and a brilliant character study of Cas and Dean. Balthazar decides to invite himself in when he catches Dean and Cas engaging in some frisky business, and it turns into a bit of a power-play between the two soldiers of Heaven. Cas gets DP’ed and it’s all...well. It’s fucking good, read it.

The One With The Preening by HolyFuckingHell (5.5k) Can I do a rec post without including some wing!kink/wing!grooming in it? No, I can’t. (I also really enjoyed some of the other fics in this author’s series including The One With Dean's Horny Movies).

A Single Point of Light by Destina (2.4k) - This is a gorgeous Cas/Dean/Benny Purgatory short! A delicious balance of the two each caring for and caring about Dean in their own, protective ways, definitely a delight for any fans of this threesome.

Short and sweet, fluff to angst:

Snugglebird by almaasi (5.3k) - So, so soft and sweet and snuggly, just like the title. Dean’s things are disappearing from the bunker...and so, suddenly, has Cas. What’s going on? I do love my nesting!Cas fics, so...yeah. If you need a smile this is a good one to read :)

And Cleanse Me From My Sin by thisisapaige (1.6k) - another one for my beloveds who also enjoy wing grooming and sweet Dean-taking-care-of-Cas fluff.

Needle and Thread by Misachan (4k) - Season 5 wing!fic hurt/comfort. Cas’s wings are badly injured, Dean doesn’t quite know what he’s doing, but he’s stitched up Sam and himself enough times. He can do this. If you love caretaker!Dean and vulnerable!Cas don’t overlook this little gem.

Deceptive Preludes by sp8ce (2.7k) - One of those stories that delves into some of the difficulties Cas might have after coming back from the Empty a second time, especially in regards to accepting what’s real or not, understanding Dean, and how both of their communication issues can add to their struggles. Painful but hopeful for the future, felt very believable as I read it.

#my fic recs #destiel recs #my destiel recs #ok that's it for right now #should be plenty to keep y'all busy for a bit

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whatareyousearchingfordean · 4 years

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Supernatural Series Finale

It took me a couple days to collect my thoughts on one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to watch in my life. Like I said a few days ago, I cried even harder watching it the second time around. But now that I’ve had a chance to process and also see what other people were saying, I think I can finally put into words my impression of the finale.

Buckle up, this is a long one....

Let me preface this first off by saying that as an adamant Dean girl that has said numerous times over the years that all I’ve ever wanted was to wrap Dean in a blanket and give him some forehead kisses and tell him everything is going to be fine, this episode gutted me. I fully believe that my boy did not deserve to fight so hard for so long to just die as soon as he was free. He deserved a lifetime of truly enjoying time with his baby brother, the person he loved most in the whole world.

Now with that being said, having watched this series so many numerous times, I truly don’t believe that the show could have ended any other way. It’s something that has been pointed out by the creator, the writers, the actors, and even the characters themselves in the show. Dean never saw anything else for himself than dying doing the one thing he knows best, hunting. I saw a post that discussed how this would have happened numerous times already had Chuck not been interfering in their lives, and I wholeheartedly agree with that sentiment.

And Dean had been raised to never think anything of that. It goes back to Cas’ declaration that he is “the most loving human he has ever met”. Dean is and always has been a man of duty. He would gladly die at the end of a blade if it meant he saved someone from the fate his family was ‘destined’ to live. He has always cared more about other people than he ever has himself. It part of the reason that his freak out in 15.17 didn’t throw me because for fuck’s sake wasn’t it his turn to be a little bit selfish for once?

Anyway, I digress. Dean has been fighting for others his whole life. And as stated in 15.19, him and Sam were free to finally write their own story. Is it not 100% on character that Dean would die a hunter’s death? As we see in the beginning of the episode, the Winchesters could have chosen to walk away from the life then. They could have chose the apple pie life, a wife and 2.5 kids. But they didn’t, they chose to continue saving people, hunting things. They were writing their own story, even if it ended tragically. But that’s life, it’s messy and depressing, but it’s also beautiful and even if Dean only got a small taste of that, I can be happy.

I know a lot of people feel like that negates their character growth throughout the seasons, but I disagree. I think that the way this ended shows just how much both of them had grown. Sam very well could have went to Jack and begged him to bring Dean back and Dean could have asked him to. But neither felt that it was necessary any longer. Without Chuck pulling the strings, that scary, neurotic, codependence they used to hold was gone. Dean was okay with dying and Sam let him go. Dean told him how much he loved him and how scared he had been to go get him at school. Dean opened up, something that season 1 Dean never would have done. Just look back at “Faith”, the episode where Dean makes every joke in the book about dying instead of facing the truth that his time was up and Sam refuses to accept it so much that his one source to save him (unwittingly) is black magic. The men I saw in 15.20 were far from the men we met in season one.

Coming back to finally being free, I have to talk about the dammed paperwork in Dean’s room. I’ve seen the speculation about that. But that’s all it is, speculation. We have no idea what that was supposed to be about. If they had meant for us to see it, they would have shown it to use like they showed us the “Dean’s other other phone” sticker. But they didn’t. So it’s perfectly fine to speculate about it, that all a part of art interpretation, but in my opinion, even if Dean was working on ‘something else’ I don’t think he ever could have fully walked away from hunting. This ending was for all intents and purposes, inevitable.

For all the rest, as a writer, I fully understand the way that they chose to do this episode. Sure covid played a role but the boys had said that the crux of what the episode was did not change. There is a certain nuance to storytelling, like I posted back on Thursday and something that is probably one of the most famous lines from this show. Endings are hard. Writing is hard. It’s impossible to please everyone and even harder to tie up all loose ends. At the end of the day, the writers had to be satisfied with the story that they put out, irregardless of what you or I think. As Jensen so beautifully puts it, Supernatural is a piece of art, one that has numerous hands in the pot. From writers to actors and directors. And art is always up for interpretation. But that’s the beauty in it.

I talked to a dear friend, @waywardbeanie after the episode and was like “I want to know x.y.and z” because a part of me wanted all the answers from them. I’ve always been a person so very deeply rooted in canon (I know as a fanfic author that sounds weird but stay with me). I trust the information given to me and take it as face value. I seen my stories as an extension to canon, not trying to rewrite it. So it took me a few days, and more conversations with other fans of the show, like @winchest09 , to understand that the facts left out of the final were most likely intentional.

This is a show that has such a passionate and loving (mostly) fandom. Together we have done so much good for the world, and that is something even if you hated the finale, you can’t take back. The writers left the ending open for us, to write our own stories, whether it’s just your thoughts or if you actually write a piece of fanfiction. There is so little about what happens after Sam leaves, presumably for Austin (don’t even get me started on the essence of that cause I might cry again), because it’s our job to decide. Did Sam quite hunting all together or was he a pseudo Bobby, manning the phones for other hunters? Did he finally go to law school or end up getting some other mundane job? Who was his wife or girlfriend or baby momma in the background? Was it Eileen? If not did she know about his life? One could drive themselves crazy answering these questions, and it’s your right to do so however it will make you happy. But at the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter to the story.

At the end of the day, what mattered was the peace that the boys found together, in heaven. Sure Dean missed Sammy when he first got there, but he didn’t fuss, because as Bobby said “he would be along”. So Dean did what he’s always done, he took a drive in Baby, and Sam was there when he finally brought her to a stop. In the end their story ended just as it had started, our boys together.

And I know a lot of people are angry because one of the big themes this show touched on was that family doesn’t end in blood. And I agree wholeheartedly that I would have loved more familiar faces or even the mention of them (I screamed when Donna was mentioned), but at the end of the day, something Eric Kripke has been saying since season one, this show is and always has been about the brothers and their relationship. I in no way think that this negates the family they found along the way or how they could not have done a lot of it without them but, it’s not their story. I’m sorry but it’s true.

It’s not about Cas, Jack, Bobby, Crowley, Ellen, Jo, Mary, Eileen, etc. It’s about Sam and Dean and it sucks that people can’t let that go, but I get it. I can’t imagine putting so much time into something to let something like that ruin the whole experience for you. I hope that you can find peace eventually. I guess that’s my blessing, that I never really cared for anyone besides Dean. Which isn’t to say I didn’t like characters but what happened to them never mattered to me, as bitchy as that sounds.

I’m at peace with this ending, no matter how much it hurts me. And I think it’s just the finality of it that hurts. Jensen and Jared and Kripke are satisfied with their little show that could and that’s what matters most to me. Because those are the real people with real feelings that I care about.

So there you have it. I have zero tolerance for negativity, so please keep your comments off this posts. You are free to your opinion but I don’t want to see it and put any seed of doubt in my acceptance of this ending. I’ll be the first to admit I’m too easily swayed, ha!

But if you need to talk, my inbox is always open. I’m still coping with the loss of this show and everything that comes with it. I don’t do well with change or facing my own mortality, something that has rattle me these past few days. I feel a million years older and that scares me. So know your feelings are valid and I’m here.

#supernatural #spoilers #dont spoil the final hunt #spn finale #supernatural finale

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thedaughterofkings · 3 years

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this here be a rant about deleting fic. Proceed at your own peril

Okay, so, let me preface this with another caution. I am sad and mad and just plain emotional about this, so there’ll likely be some hyperbole. It is not directed at anyone personally in particular, but more a general frustration that I need to get off my chest. I’ll try to keep it as calm and kind as I can, but this is also not going to be an essay that’s nicely thought out and edited. Both because it’s just not worth the effort (the chances of anyone actually reading this are rather slim) and because I want to get this off my chest, not spend even more time on it. So, again, proceed with caution.

I hate that people keep deleting their fics from AO3. And I honestly side-eye them for it. Yes, there are endless reasons for why people delete their fics and all of them might be seen as “valid” by someone, but I basically don’t care (if anyone does end up reading this and feels like arguing - this is one of those hyperboles. I’m not looking for a list of “actually really valid reasons”.)

I think one of the issues that I have with this trend of deleting fic is how it goes against my fundamental understanding of fandom, which is very much collective rather than individual. For me, fandom is about coming together, about uniting in shared love (or frustration, as frequently also is the case) for a medium. Yes, I write for myself, but I publish for fandom. I see my fics as gifts to fandom - not in the sense that anyone should be grateful to get them, but in the sense of bringing another cake to the endless buffet of fandom. And like, you know, I’m not going to bring a cake to a buffet to take it all back home with me? (In fact, that is a very frustrating experience. Would not recommend.)

So, on that fundamental level, I don’t get deleting your fic.

I get wanting to disassociate yourself from fic. But AO3 has features for that.

We have the orphaning feature, which cuts your account completely off that particular fic, all data linking back to your account being deleted irreversibly. That can be done for individual fics, whole series, or even every single fic in your account in one fell swoop. The advantages for this on your side are that there’ll be no connection to your AO3 account anymore, anywhere in your fic. The advantages for your fellow fans are that, for one, and this is the biggest advantage in my opinion, the fic still exists. It is still available to be read and reread and loved by everyone. On the more technical side of things, AO3 orphaning leaves all links and AO3 bookmarks intact, which really is great, if you’ve ever tried to follow a broken link!

The other AO3 option is turning your fic anonymous. This works the same way as with fests that start out anonymous work. You add your fic to one of the many anonymous collections you can find on AO3 and the settings for that collection will get rid of your username on the front end. Anyone who reads that fic will see the author as “anonymous” and will find no connection to your account. The difference to orphaning your work is that the data connecting the fic to your account is still there on the back end. You will still see the fic on your account (but no one else); you’ll still be able to reply to comments; you’ll be able to edit the fic, or undo turning it anonymous. You basically retain all of the control while still loosing the association.

Another option would be to make a completely new account, a sock account if you will, and add the fics you don’t want on your main account anymore there. This should work by adding your new account as co-creator and then orphaning the fics from your main account. That way you’ll retain control while still getting the distance.

It obviously depends on you which option you prefer, but they are there for you to choose from and I wish more people would choose them, because they are actually in line with what AO3 was created for. Which brings me to another of my main issues with deleting fics from AO3 - it goes diametrically against my understanding of what the AO3 is - an ARCHIVE. The ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN was created to host our fics, to provide a space for them to be saved, archived for future generations of fans, to prevent them from being deleted. And to delete a fic from that archive just feels so wrong to me. Fandom is no stranger to lost fics, I’ve gone through many a rec list with not a single link working and it’s the worst thing, but it used to be that that was unwanted. Fics were deleted because FF.net culled all nc-17 fic, because Livejournal suffered through strikethroughs, because yahoo deleted geocities, and so on. Now the deletion is intentional and that just hurts all the more. And it honestly feels - meanspirited is way too strong, but I can’t think of anything else right now - it certainly feels wrong to delete them of AO3, the archive of our own, from servers fandom pays for, fandom upholds, fandom created for fic to be saved from sudden deletion.

On a sidenote, because the above are my really my main issues, but I’ve got to quickly address deleting fics to turn them into sellable fiction. That’s the part I really, truly side eye. This feels like it should be another rant on another day in another post, but I’m at it already anyways, so I’m going to get it off my chest as well. Obviously orphaning or turning fics anonymous doesn’t work if you want to sell them and people can just find them free on the internet. So I guess that makes it a “valid” reason, but it’s honestly the thing that makes me never want to buy a book by an author ever.

I am of the resolute belief that fic and fandom should be free and available for all. Both on the fandom side - it makes fic and fandom accessible to all, whatever your financial or otherwise situation, and on the canon side - it protects fic and fandom from the Anne Rice’s of this world (or rather allows the lawyers of the otw to protect us). So to take a free fic away from fandom to sell it just feels profoundly wrong. Especially after having it hosted on AO3 before (see above).

There’s also a really big questionmark for me when it comes to the separation from canon for me. Like, taking Sterek as an example, if I switch out names, but still have a werewolf whose family died in a housefire and a human thrown into the supernatural world because his best friend got bitten and he helps him figure things out, then those characters still aren’t “mine” and I don’t get to make money off them?! And if I’ve changed them so much that they are not recognisable as Stiles and Derek anymore, then ... was I really writing fanfic to begin with?

Which leads to my second frustration with this particular instance of deleting fics - it makes me as a reader feel like a guinea pig, like a test audience, and adds to that line of thought of “fic is lesser”. So you’ve practised writing fic and now you are a good enough writer to move on to “traditional, original, published, sellable” fiction, and because fandom loved this fic in particular so much, it’s passed the test to become the better fiction. And I hate that.

Mind, I’m not saying I don’t support fic authors who are also authors that publish works the traditional, money making way! I’ve bought and will keep buying books from fic authors. Because obviously fic authors are amazing writers and it doesn’t matter whether their work is transformative or not! However, I will not buy a book that I recognise as fic. It’s either going to be stolen and I don’t want to support that or it’s going to be a fic that got deleted so I could now pay for it - and I’m not even going to be able to tell because it’s not going to have “originally published by author abc on AO3″ on the cover, is it!

And finally, if the issue is that you’re going to apply for a job and you don’t want them to find your whatever fic? I’m going to be real blunt: This is why we don’t post our real name on the internet. Simple as that. Internet safety, kids. It’s not just a nineties meme.

Okay, that’s it, I think. If you’ve made it so far, I just want to say: I hate that people keep deleting their fics from AO3. But I most of all hate it because I love those fics. Because there’s always going to be people who love those fics. And people who would have loved those fics and can now no longer find them. Dear fic authors, I love you, and I beg of you - please don’t delete your fics.

#I'm not going to tag anything because I don't really want this to be found #I'm debating posting it at all #but I've spent way too long on this and I don't think I'll feel like I got it off my chest if I don't post it now #so yeah #I did not reread this at all #so apologies if it makes no sense #but this be a rant and rants do not be reread #and now I'm actually going to hit post and then go hide

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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 5 years

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are there any fanfics with one of them being famous and the other one isn’t? preferably sterek or steter but anything is fine ☺️☺️

Got a bit of both for you! -Emmy

Until I Stayed Away Too Long by melofttroll

(14,847 / Explicit / Complete) *sterek, human au, writer!derek, teacher!stiles, single dad!stiles, famous!derek

NY Times bestseller Derek Hale hates a lot of things about being a modern author. Like being recognized, like needing a social media presence, like not being able to buy his own boxed spaghetti noodles without being asked for a selfie. Facing writer's block, he escapes to his old hometown of Beacon Hills, at his sister's insistence, for some reprieve and hopefully motivation. It's there his attention is captured by a gangly, socially awkward teacher, and the tiny little toddler at his side who know him only as that one basketball player who fled town at fifteen after his girlfriend burnt his house down.

You’ve Got Me on Pins and Needles by jadore_hale

(17,611 / Teen / Complete) *sterek, tailor!derek, famous!stiles, actor!stiles

“At any rate, I’m not here to steal from you. One of the biggest potentially most important moments in my life is coming up and I find myself in need of a custom tux.”

“A tuxedo?” Derek halted, then tried not to laugh as he gave the kid a good look up and down. “Biggest potentially most important moment of your life?”

Derek picked up the broom and started sweeping, shaking his head. “If you need something for your little costume party, kid, rent something from party city.”

✄✄✄✄✄

Stiles Stilinski needs THE perfect suit and Derek Hale is just the tailor to make it for him. Only Derek doesn’t exactly know that Stiles is kind of a famous movie star…

The Parlor by featherflairs

(19,924 / Explicit / Complete) *sterek, human au, famous!stiles, actor!stiles, sex worker!derek

“-reported that Stiles Stilinski and Heather Bellamy are officially engaged!”

Derek froze, his beer inches from his lips.

“Did you see that rock on her finger today when she came out of brunch with Emma Stone?”

He could only watch the TV in misery, because just hours ago the very same Stiles Stilinski had been under him, whining and begging for Derek to fuck him within an inch of his life. Derek knew his contract with Stilinski wasn’t going to be a forever deal, he just didn’t think it would happen this soon.

Celebrity Crush by rarepairenabler, softywolf

(30,307 / Explicit / Complete) *sterek, famous!derek, actor!derek, writer!stiles

Stiles wasn’t expecting to meet his favourite actor when Scott helped him land an internship on the set of Jackson’s new film, and he certainly wasn’t expecting Derek to fall in love with him. Not that Stiles was complaining.

Driving You (Wild) by veterization

(44,344 / Explicit / Complete) *steter, stiles/parrish, famous!stiles, actor!stiles, chauffeur!peter

In which Peter drives celebrities around, and up-and-coming actor Stiles Stilinski is his new client.

Game On by Kaname

(50,225 / Mature / Complete) *sterek, human au, sports au, famous!derek

Sometimes, Stiles whispers sweet nothings to his laptop and asks the gaming gods to bless him with quick fingers and an indestructible bladder. For gaming. Obviously.

What he didn’t ask for was a bitchy new guild-mate with a God complex and a famous next-door neighbor who plays footie and throws house parties every time Stiles is trying to sleep.

Or; The one where Stiles is a famous web denizen, and Derek is just plain famous.

Dirty Little Secret by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(91,001 / Explicit / Complete) *sterek, famous!derek, closeted!derek, secret relationship, human au

“Holy shit, this is a date!” he blurted out, turning back to Derek wide-eyed. “This is a date! You intended for this to be a date, this was supposed to be a date!” He figured if he said it enough times, maybe he would believe it, but so far, no dice.

Derek was scowling again—seriously, did he want wrinkles?—but he just reached into one of the bags and pulled out a burger, checking what was written on the foil in sharpie before handing it over to Stiles.

“Of course it’s a date, what did you think this was?”

The Awkward and Sometimes Painful Life of Genim Hale by BlueRunawayMoon

(114,464 / Explicit / Complete) *sterek, famous!stiles, writer!stiles

Stiles is a writer of gay erotica whose work, according to his Editor (one miss Lydia Martin) has gotten dull and boring. Lydia suggest's that Stiles try to LIVE a little, gain some new juicy experiences that he can write about and bring the heat up again. Only problem is Stiles is a bit on the dorky side and not good with 'living a little'. After a whole slew of embarrassing situations brought on by his best(sometimes!) friend Scott, he's given some wise advice and decides to take a tropical paradise vacation. All's going good and well, and he's got a major crush on his super hot tour guide Danny. Yet it seem's like he can't stop bumping into Derek, who, as annoying and brooding as he seem's, also makes it quite clear he WANTS Stiles. As in...wants wants. With the two being brought together almost by fate, Stiles discover's that Derek is more than he seems....WAY more.

#sterek #steter #famous!derek #famous!stiles #actor!stiles #actor!derek #writer!derek #writer!stiles #human au #teacher!stiles #dad!stiles #rating: m #rating: e #rating: t #10k to 25k #25k to 50k #50k to 100k #more than 100k #anon

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sassaetcie · 4 years

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Silver x Idia (The Molten Charcoal) chapter 1

Okay so I thought I may post the fanfic here too,,, just the time I start writing my others-

I need to write. This... doesn't make any sense. Well, actually it does. The fact it does is annoying. How could this happen? I have played more than thousands of games. I have read more than thousands of mangas. I have seen more than thousands of animes. I have heard more than thousands of CD drama. Maybe have I not tasted enough latte... Come on, this can't be a sin, this can't be the possible sin? Am I even authorized to call it a sin... Isn't rushing through a visible obstacle, after having seen all of the possibilities, a sin? Yet this would be so stupid for others... I am so fucking stupid... Even after eighteen years, I hope for the Prince Charming to come and save me. This is pathetic, yet no one would feel pity for that. Ehmm... is it "despicable", then? Yeah, probably. Eighteen years of flames craving for water. I want a pastel person waiting for me on a silver lake. Day should not come to this gathering, though. It would be far too stereotyped... Well, a silver colored moon and light bathing all of the place sure is as well but at least I am not asking for dusk or dawn... And let's forget about the (white) horse part, too. Is it not a fair compensation for my wish? I don't want the noble animal, I don't want the pretty landscape, I don't want the huge castle, I don't want the pretty dress. I shouldn't waste time on wishing and writing for this crap. But oh weeeeell, it's not like it's going to last anyway. I'm going to burn this right after I've written it, after all. This is just a way to kill this foolish desire of mine. It's not like I can update it... I've tried so many times, heh. Eroge? Boring to some points, I... am not attracted to girls in that way. Dating sim? Okay, I'm not attracted to girls... Otome game? BL? Whatever. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. SORRY. Sorry. The more I write it, the less I'll need to say it in reality, right? I will be able to just don't give a fuck... Right? Anyway, I'll burn this down. I shouldn't scribble that much on paper tho... or should I write though "entirely"? I'm going to waste so many papers, I'm dumb as fuck?! I will write on my computer next time buuut... Oh, fuck off. Nobody will ever try to hack me and... read my files? On my four hard drives? Lol, good luck with that, fuckers. I should stop writing there. I'm feeling a bit better for now. I could throw it in water but... it would only pollute and there's no proof it will disappear as fast as it will in fire. How many seconds of difference? That doesn't matter. This need to disappear. I cannot meddle with water in the end... This soft, reflecting liquid from which I am separated. My body will never absolutely fuse with it. My flames... are too strong and too weak.

[Started Recording at 8 pm : First? Day]

-Big Bro! What are you doing, open the door!

Steps cut the semi-silence for a delimited time, each of them. Their numbers were not important. Their susbstance, sure, was. The soft buzzing of machines could have covered them all, or even absolutely erased their origins. They were sweet for Ignihyde, after all.

-Y-yes... what is it... Ortho...?

The ever moving forward technology did not let him unite. He would have burned down the whole bunch, probably. The blue flames barely moved and yet twirled along like no other hair could. The door finally overwhelmed the other sounds along his fingers. Idia had opened.

-You're not talking loud like you usually do, I was a bit worried. I'm sorry, it seems you are alright.

-Y-y-yeah, don't worry... I mean, I'm usually quiet when I draw or write, r-right?

-That's true, I'm sorry, big Bro! So you were writing or drawing, I should have thought of it... :(

-P-p-please don't make such a sad face... I won't ever make something that can hurt you, okay? You're the best little bro I can have!

-Thanks big Bro! Can I come in? I have to talk a bit more to you and standing in the hallway will, maybe, attract people, although Ignihyde is somehow pretty diligent, hihi.

The blue light was not that of his aura, even if that was the only thing easily sighteable through an almost closed door. Thus, he was not lying. Why would have he, anyway? Perhaps a certain feature was preventing their personnalities to melt together, or disappear.

-H----heh... I'm... huh...

-So something happened to you, big Bro?!

-N-n-n-n-n-n-no! I'm... I'm alright...

-You can't be alright if you don't want to talk to me, especially if you already walked all the way to the door... Are you going to cry? :(

-N-n-n-n-o... I'm not going to cry... And please don't make that face, I will cry for sure if you do... W-w-w-w-well, not that I want you to threaten you into making always a happy face, I'm sorry, you have feelings too... I-i-i-i-i-i-i mean, I am not that threatening for you, you're so great and powerful, Ortho!! ... Sorry, just come in if you want.

-Yeay! Thanks, Big Bro!

The blue glimmering was numerous, as peaceful as it was supposed to be. Gleams were guarding the room and the one trying to sleep in it. They could have tried to be red under his request. But in the end, the will-o'-the-wisp would vanquish the glow, even if it were to be neverending lighting. The oceanic yet non oceanic lurked again. Some fans were slowing the progress of heat, although Idia probably had already taken care of his devices. The fire slept.

-S-so... what did you want to tell me... Ortho...

The door shut itself after being touched by the slender almost grayish fingers, yet far from being toxic human claws, still far from glorious Savanaclaw. The sun would burn him down if he did not burn down the whole sun. Sun thus had no place in his universe.

-I know that you hate sun and people outside, but you have to go outside! You will lack magnesium, vitamine D, and since you don't move and only eat sweets and junk food, you are very likely to have cholesterol and be much more exposed to heart attacks and...

-I know, I'm sorry, Ortho...

-So, you can go outside when it rains! Nobody ever goes outside when it rains, right, right, right? :D

-H-huh... there are still some people who go out, you know... And I don't want to go out... what if I miss an event or a partner's call...

-Big Bro! You need to go out, I really mean it!!! >:(

-D-d-d-don't get angry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...

-Moreover, there's a person who doesn't scare you, I know that. I know it because I talk to them and you didn't even try to RUN away from them!

He took some steps to bury in the room. He was able to move, after all. His feet were certainly not moving on their own... Or maybe they were, actually. His body was divided in many parts, like any other person.

-W-w-wait, wh-whwhwhwatdoyoumean Ortho...?

-Silver! You're not afraid of Silver! You even TALKED to him and watched him sleeping!

-I-I-I didn't w-w-w-w-w-ww-atch him sleeping! IwasjustpassingbyandIwaswonderingwhowassleepingthere...

-And I know why you're not afraid of him!

His body kept on crawling back to darkness, if darkness could be there. The black amalgamate was yet to become, destroyed again and again by neverending and never intended lights. The whole hoodie could barely hide the impossible river of flames. What could hide this pack of sparks?

-W-w-w-w-w-wait, it's not that I wasn't afraid or anxious, it's just that...

-Because he looks like the Prince Charming you spoke of when we were younger!

-Wait, just how many memories do you h...

-It's okay, it's not something to be ashamed of, Big Bro! You are very kind and caring, I want the same for you! But let's get straight to the point: Either you go outside on rainy days or I will take care of planning a date between you and Silver! :D

The fire could actually turn red. But it would goes even deeper in blue soon after. The more he sought for red, the more blue painted him over. Sparks would grow into flames. Flames into Furnace. And there was no way for it to become a Phoenix. The restrained body of the living clutched the hood on the azure someday arson, muffling the heat growing out of him. No water could separate this cursed hair. Would his hand freeze this very water as well? Ripple it until it breaks? Only tears could flow for some seconds, before returning among the void they should have belong to for eternity. Drops would vanish as well. His hands could touch the lake, but his being could not. Heat overwhelmed the fake liquid, and the long cheeks were denied of water again. Tears flowed again while his throat tried to muffle all of his being already muffled by the flames. They disappeared again, no matter how many times they tried to drop on the ground and free him from sadness.

-Ortho... please don't... I beg of you, don't... This will just be a bad end...

-Big Bro. I'm not joking anymore. You'll have fun talking to him!

-Ortho...

-I'm out, say hi to your gaming partner! I'm just about to call Silver!

He closed the door right after opening it. He was, after all, but one chunk of parts jumbled together. Definitely together.

[End of recording at 8:45 pm, First? Day]

I cried. I'm sorry but I cried... These tears won't even last. I don't want to go. I really don't WANT TO GO! What if I disappoint Silver? What if I annoy him? What if I just get awkward and start talking about videogames and he just falls asleep? He easily falls asleep, so maybe it wouldn't be my fault, but what if he falls asleep at the same time, maybe I'll be the one that make him sleep more than he usually does? What if I end offending him and Diasomnia by saying something stupid like I usually do? And what if I am the one to arrive first and waiting for him? No, no, no, no... But at the same time, what if I'm late?! He could think I'm doing this on purpose to see him sleep since he really could fall asleep while waiting for me, right right right? But he could also just leave and think Ortho made fun of him... Wait!!! I don't want Ortho to get involved further... I don't want to hurt him more than I already did. No please, please, please, don't cry Ortho, I'm sorry, I'm sorry imsoryrryimsorrry. If I don't go, Silver and Ortho will be disappointed, and Ortho will be taken responsible for making Silver lose some important time... Time he could have used to protect Malleus, yeah... He would probably say "no that's okay" with a peaceful look... I mean, he IS the Prince Charming, right? That day I saw him sleeping peacefully, under the tree, surrounded by animals... He is for sure the Prince Charming, the "ouji-samaaaa" character, right... He is, he is. But then, I shouldn't meddle with him, right. I am not a regular character, nor a MC, huh... There's no way he would save a dark supporting character like myself, heh... Maybe he actually could? If he doesn't know much of myself... Perhaps he would start to feel pity for me? I can't meet him... I can't meet him. What if he is not that much of a Prince? No. That can't be possible!! What if he has awful skills flaws... What if he is awful inside and just keeps the composure of a Prince? I am not hoping for the usual Prince, am I? I am not, I am not. I don't want the white horse, I don't want the castle... So it's okay for him to be slightly different, right? But if he is slightly different in another way? No, no, no. I shouldn't meet him. The more I see him, the less he will be a Prince, right? I DON'T WANT THE PRINCE TO DISAPPEAR. I DON'T WANT THE PRINCE TO DISAPPEAR. I DON'T WANT THE PRINCE TO RUN AWAY. What if the Prince doesn't exist? No, no, no, no, I did offer a compensation, right? But I can't tell him that I love him? How would he figure it out? There's no way. Even Ortho doesn't understand my affection for Silver to this extent. There's no way I'll be saved. There's no way I'll ever be loved. I will be alone. And die alone. Right? This is all the fault of this cursed family, right? Right? I can't tell him I love him. I can't tell my love to the world, but the world will not love me if I say nothing. But if I say something, there's no way of knowing in which way the world will move. I mustn't see him... I mustn't meet him... What if he thinks I'm disgusting for loving him... What if he's homophobic, moreover??? No there's no way he is. He's a Malleus fellow... Fae can't be that stupid. That's obvious... But I have to... But what if I tried to meet him but something "were" to happen... That still can happen, right. If we're meeting outside, rain could occur... right? Maybe I should try to go outside for like... some minutes at first... That would maybe make Ortho happy too... Maybe he would cancel the date before it happens... In the worst case I can still just use it as experience and strenghten my going-outside skill... I can do that... I'll just play a bit a SF game and I'll walk in the dorm corridors a bit... Oh yeah, I need to burn my venting paper too. I don't want Ortho to read this and become sad... But I don't want to burn it too... I hate fire so much... Well, I'll just play a bit and see what I... can do.

#twisted wonderland #twts #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twts fanfiction #idia x silver

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longsightmyth · 5 years

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So no review per se but here are a hella lot of status updates under the cut:

March 16, 2016 – 3.0% "I'm not sure how I feel about this season divide country thing but we'll see"

March 18, 2016 – 24.0% "See, I thought they were meeting in a town or city, which would be hard enough to find someone in, but the instructions were apparently 'meet me in a country'"

March 18, 2016 – 25.0% "Yes it DOES explain the oath. You don't need to explain that to us, we get it."

March 22, 2016 – 28.0% "Idk if the book wanted me to think that the government is terrible and everything with the question about whether the maids always obey the king's orders (which... Yes? That is actually their job?) but when a pretty low-ranking guest's lady's maid talks like Rose is talking like she is, it isn't successful."

March 22, 2016 – 29.0% "Not that outspoken servants cannot still be oppressed servants, but the general attitude does not point in that direction (also, still am not fond of New Meira)"

March 25, 2016 – 29.0% "Bets on Meira being a swapped out baby queen."

March 25, 2016 – 31.0% "MORE instalove? Isn't one a book enough?"

March 25, 2016 – 33.0% "Oh no a king is thinking of politics and the wellbeing of his kingdom. What calumny. What horror. (I can understand MEIRA being upset, I can, she had no warning whatsoever, but the book is trying to make me think Noam is evil, and so far I have evidence only of the opposite.)"

March 25, 2016 – 34.0% "A king just doesn't want to throw his kingdom into a war and you automatically assume he had something to do with the death of his wife. Because that totally makes sense...?"

March 25, 2016 – 34.0% "Okay maybe Meira isn't the Secret Queen. Which begs the question of WHY she's important enough to hand off in a political alliance marriage. I mean, king's foster sister is a perfectly respectable and important relation usually, but since literally nobody knows anything about her parentage or if she'd be a reasonably competent queen it makes no sense that Noam wants her to marry his son so badly."

March 30, 2016 – 34.0% "Okay book I just finished The Winner's Kiss so you had better up your game, this bullshit threatening of kings with nothing to back it up isn't going to fly."

March 30, 2016 – 35.0% "Also you appear to have used a name I gave one of my ocs in my lotr fanfic. Obviously only to hurt me."

March 30, 2016 – 38.0% "Seriously wtf is with the complete personality swap I cannot get over it"

March 30, 2016 – 39.0% "Book, you tried hard to tell me that women who like pretty things are just as cool as women who like sharp pointy stabby things, but every time Meira talks about ladies or pretty things she is SUPER scornful and I don't see anything to contradict her. You realize noble ladies find power even when they aren't given it overtly right?"

March 31, 2016 – 44.0% "There's nothing INCREDIBLY wrong with this section - at least nothing I can pin down - but all of this seems really overdramatic, and the love interests don't have enough character for me to say whether or not the supremely stupid display of toxic masculinity was in character or not. Also that fight was particularly silly."

March 31, 2016 – 45.0% "Hang on, still confused about magic access. The only places to get magic are the season kingdoms, but the rhythm kingdoms have magic conduits too? Do they have to pay a fee to go recharge them or something, or have I missed some key point of magic use?"

March 31, 2016 – 46.0% "Wait, how did Winter have food if it was always winter? Did everyone live off evergreens? What about the animals? Was there a thriving greenhouse agricultural system? These are things I want answered."

March 31, 2016 – 46.0% "In the words of Meira herself: Sweet snow! Is she going to learn that protocol isn't useless and being in a position of power might actually help?!"

March 31, 2016 – 46.0% "What, Cordell can't spring for a tutor for their queen-to-be, she has to go to a classroom?"

March 31, 2016 – 47.0% "Wait wait wait you can MINE magic? Why the fuck hang everyone been doing it?!"

March 31, 2016 – 47.0% "Like, I get that it's apparently super deep down, but guys. Magic. Everybody wants more of it, and even if it's hard to get to you have the means to do it. And I haven't seen that this is a Balrog situation either."

March 31, 2016 – 50.0% "Honestly I think the dialogue wouldn't bother me so much if there weren't so many dramatic whispers and things. 'Said' is not a bad word, no matter how many creative writing teachers try to tell you otherwise."

April 1, 2016 – 51.0% "Are. Are there no guards on a king's study? The king's chambers? Even I he isn't there important shit is, as evidenced by what Meira just found! WHAT IS WITH GUARDS IN YA LITERATURE?!"

April 1, 2016 – 51.0% "Do all YA guards go to the same crappy guard school or something?!"

April 1, 2016 – 52.0% "Oh for heaven's sake. A king's foster sister without titles of her own would be a powerful political asset in that the King would (theoretically) care for her, or at least care for his reputation as a person who takes care of those close to him, so you forge an alliance based on that. She wouldn't give anyone any rights over her foster sibling's country, because she's a foster sibling with no title."

April 1, 2016 – 52.0% "There is no way that having Theron marry her would give anyone any sort of authority."

April 1, 2016 – 52.0% "Aside from that, Noam playing all sides of the board is pretty clever and sometimes what rulers have to do to keep their people safe from an apparently magical apparently tyrannical dickface."

April 1, 2016 – 53.0% "For a bunch of people convinced that Noam acts in whatever way is politically expedient for the wellbeing of his country (and also that doing so makes him evil) these people seem awfully surprised that Noam is acting in whatever way is politically expedient for the wellbeing of his country."

April 1, 2016 – 53.0% ""Spring is here. In Cordell." (Meaning spring the country). Well gosh. Would've been great if somebody had FORGED AN ALLIANCE WITH THEM. (Though actually, Noam, you made copies of your top secret correspondence? Really?)"

April 1, 2016 – 54.0% "Sure, six folks against an army, why not. If the soldiers are trained as shoddily as all the guards it makes total sense."

April 1, 2016 – 54.0% ""Let's go jeopardize our entire planned alliance by getting the principle members killed! Sound good? Cool." WHAT IS WITH THESE PEOPLE."

April 1, 2016 – 55.0% "Oh look our evil king puts all his magic into agriculture, otherwise known as HELPING HIS PEOPLE EAT. What true tyranny! (Seriously though how did Winterians get food if their queen put all her magic into mining I need to know. Did they adapt to eat rocks or something? Eating is srs bsns, book)"

April 1, 2016 – 56.0% ""Noam truly believes he was doing us a favor?" I mean. He kind of was. It's not everybody who looks at a group of eight refugees and goes 'sure, let my son marry the king's untitled foster sister and I'll help you reclaim your kingdom'."

April 1, 2016 – 56.0% ""You brought them here! When you started writing that letter..." Y'all do realize that there was a public announcement and ball for the engagement of the heir to the throne and a Winterian, right. Like, Mather was announced as the King of Winter. Does. Does nobody but me remember this? Did you think nobody heard about it?"

April 1, 2016 – 57.0% "Did you just send the heirless King of your exiled country into battle. Did you. Yes you did, because everyone in this book except Noam is completely incompetent when it comes to strategy, and even he has his moments."

April 1, 2016 – 58.0% "How are those cannons moving so quickly?"

April 1, 2016 – 58.0% "HELMETS ARE NOT JUST FOR DISGUISE THEY SERVE A VITAL PROTECTIVE FUNCTION IN THAT THEY PROTECT YOUR HEAD OH MY GOD WHY WOULD YOU JUST TAKE THE HELMET OFF JUST BECAUSE HE KNOWS WHO YOU ARE JESUS CHRIST WHY WOULDN'T HE TELL YOU TO PUT IT BACK ON I HATE EVERYTHING YOU ARE IN THE MIDST OF MEDIEVAL ISH MAGIC BATTLE JUST BECAUSE THERE ARE CANONS DOESN'T MEAN YOU CANT PROTECT YOURSELF AGAINST THE ARROWS OH MY GOD"

April 1, 2016 – 64.0% "That part (with Meira actually appearing to care about the enslaved Winterians when she sees them, and not just us being told she cares) was actually pretty good."

April 1, 2016 – 72.0% "Credit where credit is due - this just improved by leaps and bounds, not least by Meira starting to wonder if she has in fact been something of a brat."

April 1, 2016 – 74.0% "EXPONENTIALLY better"

April 1, 2016 – 76.0% "Okay book, you're getting better and all, and this isn't exclusive to you, but where did this idea that not screaming meant strength come from? Like, not screaming while in pain can be a statement or a way to not bother other people in dire situations, but not screaming when you're being whipped doesn't automatically mean strength okay."

April 1, 2016 – 76.0% "Okay book she has to get water eventually or she's going to literally die unless Winterian body processes are different from other humans. Which, I guess, would explain how they didn't need to grow food in a land of eternal ice and snow. But if she's human like the rest of us she's going to die if she constantly does heavy lifting and carrying without any water except breakfast and dinner. She's going to die QUICKLY."

April 1, 2016 – 78.0% "I admit that I am not an expert on metal, but I'm almost positive that an old belt buckle is not even serviceable knife material without a forge and some tempering."

April 1, 2016 – 80.0% "Dammit Meira."

April 1, 2016 – 80.0% "I'd like to refer you to my status at 29 percent and note for the record that I'm only refraining from gloating because it was so obvious."

April 1, 2016 – 87.0% ""The only thing that saved us was our magically exhaustible magical conduit that has to recharge, so my father didn't retaliate against the giant magical army that nearly killed us all. Obviously this means he's terrible." Book, do you ducking hear yourself."

April 1, 2016 – 88.0% "Book. Are you putting in a rape attempt in front of her love interest. Is this a thing I am reading in the year of our lord 2016."

April 1, 2016 – 88.0% ""There are no other weapons near me, no chairs I am break or vases I can throw" you know what, book, I am tired of theoretically weapon-and-fighting-competent chicks being like 'whoa is me there are no weapons' this is when your feet and fists and teeth and head come into play, you have been literally trained to murder people come on now. (Don't get me started on fixations on fancy weaponry)"

April 1, 2016 – 93.0% "'Exotic grace' when referring to the only people of color so far? Come on, book, get your shit together."

April 1, 2016 – 96.0% ""We'll need to barter rations from Cordell." Have you always done that or is this only because of the defeat of Angra? TELL ME."

April 1, 2016 – 97.0% "Really Noam you AND your heir rode into an unknown situation in a different country? I expected better of you, sir."

April 1, 2016 – 98.0% "Is Meira going to be forever follows by the ghost of her mom in a literal sense? Why have we seen no other ghosts? (Also, please stop with the gasping)"

#myth reads #myth reviews #books #book reviews #Snow Like Ashes

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iamkatehardy · 6 years

Text

At Last ( Kray Twins x Reader)

Author’s Notes: Due to the positive feedback regarding Childhood Sweetheart, I decided to work on a fanfiction with the Krays. I wanted my blog to have a little more diversity, instead of focusing only on Chaos.

I hope you enjoy this fanfic, leave your feedback, since it will keep me motivated to write, and your opinions will help me to improve my writing!

Warnings: Violence

Chapter 1

In the early-to-mid 1960s, Krays’ legacy in London was something no one could be indifferent to. Rumor had it that they were gangsters, but they kept a low profile most of the time, especially Reginald, who was extremely thoughtful and balanced, contrarily Ronald, who was much more impetuous, impatient and impulsive.

You were kind of fed up with the life you were having in London. You could have had a career in music, followed your dream and share your life with someone who cared for you, but you were stuck in a rigid arranged marriage you didn’t even want in the first place. As if this wasn’t enough, your husband had drinking problems lately, and anger issues, something no one would want to witness. In the first times he was kind, he took you out and made some effort to keep you happy, but that was only until you both moved to London, away from your family, friends and everyone you knew, where he could reveal his true self.

He forbade you to sing, to teach or to go out at all, unless he wanted to show you to the high society, as a trophy. That was not the worst part, he soon started beating you up violently, and it became more and more frequent. H had never touch your face though, he thought it was too beautiful to damage; the only reasons why he married you were your good family name and the fact you were the most beautiful, delicate woman he had ever seen, almost divine like, he liked to display you and brag about it.

Soon came the day he changed his mind. His life couldn’t be only parties and spending, but he only realized that as he was getting broke. When you suggested you could go back to work, he snapped at you, unleashing all of his anger and frustration, mixed with alcohol. He gave you a severe beating, and when you begged him to stop, he did it : for the first time he hit your face.

That was the day you decided you wouldn’t put up with it anymore, otherwise you’d end up dead. No more rape, no more beating, no more living hell. You just stood still, as if you had passed out, hoping that would make him stop beating you. He did, he left home, maybe for a drink, or hoping you’d wake up, so that he could finish his job, seeing and enjoying the panic in your eyes.

As soon as he left, you packed your things fast, and then dialed the number of a friend, telling him you were in danger and needed his help. He came to get you, taking you to a house you had bought with what was left of your parents’ money, on your friend’s name, so that it wouldn’t be suspicious on your husband’s eyes.

Your friend, Arthur, was a doctor, so he took care of your wounds and bruises. Tears were streaming down your face, but not because of the physical pain.

“(Y/N), you know he’ll stop at nothing, I’m sorry to tell you, but he’ll hunt you down, until Hell if it’s needed.”

“I… I know. I’ll just let the dust to settle for a while, maybe he gives up and I’ll be safe.”

“There’s one way you could be safe.”

“How?” – You asked, with a glimmer of hope in your eyes.

“Look, I work for these guys, the Krays, you must have heard about them. They are not the guys you want to mess with. I only do occasional services, but one thing I know, no one is crazy enough to go after someone under their protection, that’s a death wish.”

“And why would they protect me? I’m a nobody, Arthur!”

“Don’t mention I’ve sent you, but maybe you could look for a job in one of the cubs they use as window dressing. I don’t know, one of them actually has a heart. Inside the club you won’t have any trouble, and outside, well, they have eyes everywhere, they will know how you’re doing, and act in case it’s needed.”

“I..” – You sighed, uncertain if that was a good plan.

“It wouldn’t hurt to try, would it (Y/N)?”

“Well, no…” – You paced around the room, biting your nails nervously. – “I’ll do it. I just need to look human again, before I do.” – You stopped in front of the mirror, looking for the first time at wat your husband had made to you.

“You know my number, call me anytime… I’ll leave the club’s address here.” – He wrote it down in a piece of paper, which he left over the table. – “ Just take care (Y/N). You have to be cautious. I’ll come back here every day, to check on you, and bring whatever you may need, ok?”

“Thank you, Arthur; I don’t know what I’d do without you right now.”

He enveloped you in his arms, and kissed the top of your head.

“Hey! That’s what friends are for! See you tomorrow.” – He walked out the door and you quickly locked it, terrorized anyone would come for you.

You leaned your back against the door and took a deep breath, trying to internalize your new reality. After a while you walked to the table, taking the paper in your hands.

“I just hope this works.”

A few days passed. You knew your husband was looking for you like crazy, but so far he hadn’t found you, so you were peaceful. It was time to follow Arthur’s advice and look for the Krays.

The sun had just set, nighttime was the only time you could do anything that involved leaving your house , that was when your husband didn’t expect you to be out. You walked to Krays’ club, which wasn’t open yet, so maybe it was the perfect time to talk to the Krays.

Taking a deep breath, you knocked. You got no answer, but the light inside was on, so you knew someone was inside. You knocked harder.

“We’re closed” – Said a deep voice, expressing annoyance.

“I know Sir, and I’m terribly sorry for bothering. I was wondering if perhaps I could have a word with Mr. Kray.” – Yu anxiously bit your lip, waiting for an answer.

A tall, broad man opened the door, smoking a cigar and thoroughly examining you.

“And what exactly would you want from Mr. Kray?” – He looked at you over his glasses, with his piercing blue eyes. If the goal was to intimidate you, he was doing just great. You cleared your throat.

“Well, you have one of the busiest clubs in London, so I wondered if Mr. Kray needed workers..”

“You wonder a lot, don’t you?” – He blew a cloud of smoke out of his lips. – “I’m Mr. Kray, and I say we have no jobs for women here, miss.”

Reggie came out of his office; curious about whom the hell was Ronnie talking to.

“Listen, Mr. Kray, I can do anything, if not handling your correspondence, I can cook , or maybe household cleaning, anything, really… I just really need a job.” – You plead.

“How about no?” – Ron didn’t quite enjoy women around, he thought they were trouble. Plus they only paid attention to Reggie, and they stole Reggie’s attention from him.

“Ron, mate? I’ll handle this…” – Reggie came forward, taking your hand and kissing it gently. – “I’m sorry about my brother, miss…?”

“(Y/N).” – You gave him a faint smile, this one had to be the one with a heart, as Arthur mentioned.

“Alright miss (Y/N), come in, let’s have a seat, it’s cold out there!” – He waved his arm, showing you the way. He could tell you weren’t a girl who he would offer a job doing household cleaning. You looked elegant, hair and makeup on point, a sophisticated dress… Noticing a light bruise across your cheek, and many others in your wrists, he wondered in what trouble were you in. A girl like you, this desperate for a job, probably was in serious trouble, so he would keep a close eye on you. – “ Please, have a seat , darling.” – He smiled and sat down.

“Thank you.” – You sat down, gracefully crossing your legs; he could tell you were well-mannered.

“So, what brings you here?” – He asked, curious.

“I’m just looking for a job, whatever it is.”

“Hmm, I heard that part, but why here?” – He studied you.

You untucked the hair behind your ear, so that it would fall over your face and cover your bruise, as you noticed Reggie was staring at it.

“Do you think there are many places in London that offer women a job? There aren’t… I want my independence back, I know I can thrive if I work hard enough…”

He lighted a cigarette, analyzing you.

“Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Kray, you rule this town, or most part of it, if you can’t help me, no one else can.” – You vented.

He felt you were being honest, so he just smiled.

“Look at you, miss (Y/N), I can’t just make you scrub floors, can I?”

“Well, if that’s what you have available, I can start now, I will gladly do it. I fear no form of work.” – You smiled back.

“Hmm…” – Reggie nodded.

“Reggie, this is a bad idea.” – Ron told him, just loud enough for you to hear him and notice you were unwanted.

“Ron, let me think, brother.” – He turned back to face you. – “Miss (Y/N), how much do you know about spirituous beverages?”

“A whole lot actually, Mr. Kray. And if there is anything I don’t know, and you think I should, I promise I’ll try to learn it a soon as possible.” – You put your hands on your knees, speaking assertively.

“I like that. I like your attitude. You had a really nice approach. I can see you are courteous and friendly, maybe you could help in the bar, in the busiest nights? I’m sure you are talented to deal with clients, and hopefully with drinks too!” – He slid his finger across his full lips, giving you a friendly smile.

“I…” – You stuttered, in disbelief, because it was too good to be true. “ Thank you so much Mr. Kray!”

“Please, call me Reginald, Mr. Kray sounds as if I was 60...” – He made a face.

“I can’t thank you enough Mr. K…” – You stopped yourself, closing your eyes and laughing. - “Reginald! Sorry! So, when do you want me to start?”

“Tonight is Friday. Fridays are usually busy, so you can start tonight, if you agree, to see how you do, and if you like it. Would you like that?”

“Absolutely, it would be perfect!” – You smiled with your lips, and with your bright eyes as well.

Reggie introduced you to your coworkers, who promptly taught you how things worked, and your first night went smoothly. The costumers weren’t used to see a girl working there at first, but they were easily conquered by how kind and considerate you were, always serving them with a smile, making suggestions they loved and working real hard to keep everyone pleased.

A few days passed, Reggie couldn’t be happier he hired you, you were hard-worker, and your motivation and constant smile were simply contagious. You were happy to work there too, and even Ron, who was usually grumpy, softened, allowing you to call him by his first name. They made sure you made it safely home every night.

Working at the club was exhausting, but you loved it, and even stayed longer than you needed, most of times. Plus it had music, which was something that made it even more pleasant to work there.

Saturday night, the club had been crowded, so it meant working until later than usual. After the last client left, you told the other bartender you’d stay and tidy everything. He had a family waiting for him, and you didn’t, so you didn’t mind staying late, even when it was his turn to do so. As you finished putting everything in place, Ron walked from his usual table to the bar.

“Goodnight Sir, what can I do for you in this fine evening?” – You giggled, joking.

“Scotch on the rocks, as usual.”

“Well, let me suggest you this triple distilled single malt scotch that just arrived! Oh, and neat, so that you can enjoy it properly, feel every flavor. “

He looked at you over his glasses, you knew he liked routines.

“Ronald, I am 200% sure you will love it, if you give it a chance!” – You poured his drink, putting it on the counter. – “Oh! Wait, I found these in a store near my house, and I figured you’d like them.” – You searched in your belongings, taking a box of cigars. – “I’ve been told these are the finest Cuban Cigars, tell me what you think.” – You delivered him the glass and the cigars, and he went to his usual table, enjoying them, even if he wouldn’t admit. You smiled, knowing he did.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yes, Ron?” – You turned your attention to him.

“Come here, I want you to entertain me.”

“I’m not sure I understand...” – You narrowed your eyes.

“What hidden talents do you have? Making drinks is one of them, but there must be a hidden one…” – He played with the whiskey in his glass.

“And what makes you think that?” – You walked to his table, smiling, then took a sip of his drink, which warmed you the inside.

“Women are full of mysteries and surprised.”

“Oh, are we?” – You laughed.

“Yes, usually bad ones. But I trust you’re not a bad surprise.”

“That was a hasty, wrong generalization Mr. Kray, and I’ll prove you wrong. May I?” – You pointed to the stage. Ron nodded, giving you a silent permission.

You stepped onto the stage, sitting by the piano and playing some random keys, it had been a long time since you played one. Ron shook his head at how disgraceful you seemed to be.

“Alright, let’s do this then.” – You started playing for real, better than he thought you could. His eyes were stuck on you now. You caught him looking, and knowing you had his attention you smiled, and started singing.

Ron loved music, and as soon as he heard your voice he was absolutely spellbound, he had no idea you had such talent.

You were amazing. Pure, powerful, capable of bringing to life whatever feeling the song was meant to convey, this was how your voice was. You had the talent and the attitude. He asked you to entertain him and you were doing it.

Reggie came out of his office, when he listened to the unusual music. He stood near the bar, bewildered. Every vibrato of your voice gave him chills.

You weren’t aware of their reaction, because you were having a great time, enjoying every second, every note, and every word. You only realized when you finished.

“If you had told me you were a singer, I’d have offered you a more suitable job. Wow.” – Reggie told you, watching from across the room.

“I am not, not anymore…” – You smiled, briefly glancing at him.

“Well, you could be. You should be. You should really consider retaking that life, darling. I am sure you’d mesmerize everyone in the club, just as you did with me… Us.”

“Yeah, that was good.” – Coming from Ron, this kind of was a compliment, the biggest you’d get.

“I think you would be quite a headline act for the club’s birthday, we need something new, and you’d be a blast! And as a test, maybe you could do a performance, I don’t know, next Saturday? What do you say?”~

You got off the stage, going straight to Reggie and hugging him tight, not containing your happiness. You laughed happily, and even if there were no words, Reggie knew your answer. You’d be back, at last.

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joelyjo · 6 years

Text

Fic - Night and Light and the Half-Light

Author: joelyjo

Rating: Hard R

Summary: Well, you can’t start to write XF fanfic without writing something set around the events of ‘all things’, now can you?

Notes: Any and all feedback is most welcome. I’m an analogue XF fan trying to operate in a digital XF world and am still finding my way. Some inspiration (and the title) has been taken from William Butler Yeats’ He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven.

All along, she realises, he’s been laid out before her, like a corpse for her inspection. From the first moment of their meeting, when she held out her hand to him in his basement office and he saw that she wasn’t what he’d been expecting, he’s been a fallen man.

She knows this. Has known it all along. It’s simply taken seven years for her to really see it.

Through the slatted blinds, the night glitters with a kaleidoscope of artificial lights; it’s an urban starlight. Living in the city means that the skies are shrouded but, she thinks, that is probably a good thing. She never looks at stars and sees just stars any more. From the doorway, she watches him, his naked body stretched out on the bed, a hidden treasure beneath the sheets. His skin is golden, the arcs of the bones of his face silver-plated in the half light. She knows he is awake, can tell it by the pattern of the rises of his chest, even though his eyes are closed. She sighs.

“I’m such a coward, Mulder.”

At that, his eyes spring open and he meets her gaze. He says nothing, does not move. His silence gives her space to continue.

“I think I’ve been in love with you for a long while.”

She’s left her shoes in his lounge and she feels absurdly small. Her hands are heavy weights at the end of her arms, redundant. His jaw tenses. Around his eyes, the skin creases as he studies her, taking her in, no doubt trying to determine if she is for real. Yet even as he gauges her, tenderness rolls away from him in lapping waves.

“Don’t look at me like that, please, Mulder,” she begs.

He sits up, one hand behind him bearing his weight. “Like what?”

“Like that. It makes me think that you’re in love with me too.”

“Scully.” His voice conveys a good-natured reprimand. An amused smile fights vainly at his lips. “I don’t think it’s been platonic between us for a while, has it?”

She doesn’t answer. There is no need for an answer, because she knows he is damn right.

He flips back the covers and climbs out of bed. She is glad to see that he is wearing boxer shorts; she’s not sure how she would have coped if he’d been as naked as he appeared under those sheets.

Personal space has never been something Fox Mulder has done well, and now is no different. He stands a hair’s breadth away from her, so she has to tilt her face to look at him. Still, she feels so very small.

“Mulder, I... I don’t know what to do.”

Ridiculous tears are pricking at her eyes. She wants to turn and run desperately away from him, but knows that the moment for that kind of fleeing has passed. There is only the way forward now.

“Oh, I think you do,” he says and his voice is so gentle and patient and kind and sexy that she wants to wrap herself up in it and never hear anything else ever again.

It seems perfectly natural, then, to accept his kiss and to return it, quite fiercely; to lay her hand on the bare skin of his upper arm and trace down the humerus, radius and ulna to his wrist; to feel briefly for his pulse. He threads his fingers through hers and squeezes, then releases and cups her face so that he might kiss her more deeply.

There is the fast patter of panic inside her, running this way and that, making her want to pull away from him. It’s Newton’s Third Law for human interactions, she thinks, as she forces it down and away, summoning calm from within.

This is Mulder. And it is time.

Long minutes pass as they explore the contours of each other’s mouths.

When eventually, she pulls back, breathless, mouth open, and looks at him, standing there before her, her brain is lagging half a heartbeat behind her body, trying to comprehend what is happening. She’s pretty sure the FBI has rules against French kissing your partner like this. But since when have they cared about rules? She wants to do it again. He seems to be thinking the same thing and so they lean together once more and merge, tongues alight. His body is warm and close; she can feel the heat emanating from him and she basks in it, in him, as their kissing slows and then they surface again.

Without the sense of his mouth on her, she feels weirdly dislocated, like kissing Mulder in this way has transported her somewhere other than where she expects to be. Is this what he’s always called an ‘out of body experience’?

Almost laughing at the absurdity of her thoughts in the moment, she allows the giddiness engendered in her to run free. She kisses his nose. Mulder smiles like a little boy given praise for a job done well and so she boldly bites his bottom lip.

Her eyes slip downwards, to pause at the sight of the enticingly tented material of his boxer shorts. “I’m sorry, Scully,” he murmurs, his gaze joining hers. They stare at his erection for a moment. His hands reach for hers again, as if he can’t stand not to touch her in some way. “I should be able to kiss you without him thinking that it’s reason to stand up and be counted, but it’s been a while and right now, I gotta admit... I’m kinda turned on.”

So is she. There is suddenly a furnace of heat being stoked in her body and she is powerless to suppress it. “It’s all right, Mulder,” she murmurs back. Feeling brave, she reaches out and touches him, running her finger along the ridge of hardness beneath the soft cotton of his shorts. The way his eyes close and his head rolls back makes her soar. He gives a little thrust into her palm.

“Fuck, Scully. I always knew you’d be good with your hands.” She smiles like cat with a big bowl of cream and he clears his throat, gasps as she squeezes him.

His hands start working at her clothes. He pushes her jacket off her shoulders, catches it one-handed and flings it onto the top of the laundry hamper. Her skirt comes next, the run of the zipper vibrating right through her. As it pools at her feet, she steps out of it and kicks it carelessly to one side. Creases are the last thing on her mind right now. Her green top and bra are next; they land at the foot of his wardrobe. Then he pauses, drops to his knees and begins to peel her pantyhose down her legs.

She expects him to get straight back up again, but when he doesn’t, when he lays his big hands on her thighs and rubs, she knows what he is going to do. “Mulder,” she says. “Mulder, you don’t have to.”

It’s a response born of a half dozen men from her past who have treated the act as a chore – Dana Scully is not the sort of woman who likes to be an imposition to anyone. But he looks up at her and pins her with that look again. “I want to,” he tells her simply.

He slides her panties down her legs, then gives her a gentle push towards the bed, encouraging her to sit on the edge of the mattress. With some anxiety, she does so, watching as he shuffles forward and parts her thighs with determined hands. She fights hard against the tiny voice inside her that is calling that this is Mulder, this is MULDER, and he’s about to go down on her on the edge of his bed. For his part, Mulder doesn’t seem at all affected by what he’s going to do, but his eyes... his eyes are darker than chromium sulphate. She draws in a breath as he begins.

Like a narrator telling a tale, his fluent tongue traces patterns and hieroglyphs across her most sensitive flesh. He’s good at this, Scully dimly thinks, as coherent thought soaks away from her and the world contracts to the two of them and this room and this act. When she comes, it is more powerful than any orgasm she’s exacted from her own hands and she cries out, reaching for him.

And then he’s there, climbing above her, sliding her up the cool sheets and his cock is pushing at her entrance. “Oh, Scully,” he sighs.

In the dark recesses of her pleasure-addled brain, Scully feels pieces of her consciousness bubble and glow, seeking out his like ions in electrolysis. They come together and it is magnificent.

Afterwards, silence oozes around them. They lie in perfect symmetry of one another for a long while, not speaking, and the heat from their bodies cools. Her skin tingles even though they are not touching. She feels like a dragonfly, newly hatched from a nymph, her wings unfurling and hardening in warm sunshine, waiting to take flight and soar. Eventually, he falls asleep, yet still she watches him, marvelling. The dim, bluish half-light of the city at night ripples like water over his flesh, casting shadows that perform a dance celebratory in his cluttered bedroom.

When, at length, she rises, dresses and leaves, she knows it will not be long before she returns.

The End.

Tagging @today-in-fic, @marinafrenzy, @i-just-knew1013, @softnow Thanks folks!

#today-in-fic #xf fanfic #msr fanfic #Fox Mulder #Dana Scully #msr #xf fic #msr fic #all things #season 7

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lolinero-99 · 5 years

Note

as a survivor, it's so insulting to hear you call shippers pedophiles because of what they write. and you're wrong about therapists. my therapist literally was there when I started my dark fic writing blog because she saw that having a place to document my intrusive thoughts was helpful. just because someone ships something doesn't make them a pedophile. pedophile has a meaning. don't dilute it.

Hello! I’ve truly missed getting mail like this, I’ve been lacking in that department lately, but here we go!

Writing/depicting sexually explicit things of minors and then romanticizing said things is horrific. I personally suffer from Intrusive thoughts, though they are not sexual in nature. I’ve posted the definition of a pedophile already, and there’s a miles difference. Pedophiles create these things and get off to it, and it is incredibly clear when they do. You can tell when they are writing it as a form of eroticism. I myself have- in curiousity at the downright bizarre tags on AO3- have read one or two Maxvid fanfics. And to say I was thoroughly horrified would be an understatement.

Let me give you an example, Picture This by Vincent V. Cava, my absolute favourite writer, I own the first Creepypasta Collection published by MrCreppyPasta and own one of Mr. V. Cava’s books, Pastel Colored Dreams & Human Flavoured Nightmares. Now, Picture This brings in the theme of Necrophilia, as the man who cremates the main characters kills is a Necrophile. While not being graphic, it gives enough of a picture to give you a mental image of this person and how they’d act. The theme is brought in well, and used in a fantastic way to describe a villain. Now, let me reiterate. A villain. He is a bad guy, 100% and it is undeniable. Mr. V. Cava doesn’t need to be indepth and graphic with the Necrophilia to allow you to picture it.

Now, a Maxvid Fic, lets go with.... Deep Snow, I won’t (mainly because I cannot remember the authors penname, haha) give their user, incase some people decide to take it upon themselves to send threatening messages to the writer. To my recollection, Deep Snow was surprisingly well written, the gist of the plot was that David was a pedophile, he lured max out of his tent, beat him immobile before violently raping, murdering, and burning his corpse. No, there is an obvious horror aspect to that, what with the unnerving atmosphere that was produced by the author. But the author also made a sense eroticism, it was almost tangible throughout the story. But, it was also clearly horror with a rape fetish. Now, David in that seems to be very much a bad guy in that, so the author at least gets points for not ranticizing it.

Lastly, this fiction called Max’s Daddy... Raunchy name.. In just the description, it is quoted in ““Please Daddy,” Max begged. “May I have a taste?”” This is pure, none dark fiction. Entirely smut, from what I can see. This fic romanticizes this relationship between them as a good thing. A positive relationship between an adult and a child. David is a good guy, despite being a grown man sodomizing a child. This is written purely for sexual gain, to get the authors rocks off. Now, tell me how writing descriptive scenes between a man and a child engaging in sexual activity isn’t pedophilic behaviour. I mean, Max is 10, meanwhile David is 24. It’s horrific, romanticization of childhood sexual abuse.

And just for fun, here’s the defintion of pedophilia (again):

Pedophilia (alternatively spelt paedophilia) is a psychiatric disorder in which an adult or older adolescent experiences a primary or exclusive sexual attraction to prepubescentchildren.[1][2] Although girls typically begin the process of puberty at age 10 or 11, and boys at age 11 or 12,[3] criteria for pedophilia extend the cut-off point for prepubescence to age 13.[4] A person must be at least 16 years old, and at least five years older than the prepubescent child, for the attraction to be diagnosed as pedophilia.[4][5]

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pedophilia

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dingdongsnogbox · 6 years

Text

Bedtime Stories

Chapter: 2/?

Rating: M

Word Count: 1891

Description: When the Doctor shows up at Clara’s flat one Wednesday afternoon, he’s surprised to find the place empty. Deciding to wait for her to return home, he takes it upon himself to occupy his time by routing through her things. What happens when he stumbles upon a racy book stashed underneath Clara’s pillow?

Author’s Note: So apparently I wrote most of this a year ago and only just found it lying around on my computer... 20 minutes later and I’ve finished it off and now it’s here for anyone who’s still interested in reading this story. I think the award for the longest time taken to update a fanfic ever definitely goes to me...

The Doctor strides up to the TARDIS console purposefully and promptly pulls down on the leaver to send the ship into flight. He doesn’t go far; just takes her to drift in the vortex. Sort of like the equivalent of storming out of one’s own home, only to find one has nowhere to go and winding up hovering about outside uselessly. The Doctor has never been particularly good at storming off and thinks he’s done well to even dematerialise the TARDIS out of Clara’s flat.

“Well, I think I’ve certainly surpassed myself in terms of downright stupid ideas today, hey old girl?” He gazes up at the ceiling of the console room as he finally acknowledges the sheer idiocy of the situation he’s landed himself in. In response, he feels something distinctly resembling amusement tickle the edges of his mind from his ship. The Doctor rolls his eyes. “I should have known you’d be on her side. You women are always ganging up on me.” He remarks as he spins away from the console.

Now all he has to do is solve this mess he’s gotten himself into. There is of course the option of taking a quick trip into the distant future, finding an erotic novel and passing it off as something he’d written himself, but somehow the Doctor can’t quite bring himself to deceive Clara in such a way. Besides, anything written by a human is bound to be pure drivel anyway.

With a resigned sigh, he ponders his options and decides that to write a book, one must first conduct an extensive amount of research. Thankfully, research is an area he is particularly skilled in. Unthankfully, he does not fancy conducting extensive research into this particular area. No, that definitely won’t do. He’ll have to make do with researching existing books within the genre and go from there. He briefly ponders the thought of paying a visit to the library onboard the TARDIS, but dismisses the idea as quickly as it comes. Whilst there’s undoubtedly some literature with a hint of an erotic nature lying around in there, the Doctor likes to consider himself above keeping a collection of such books.

First stop: the nearest bookshop. Well… strictly speaking that could be any bookshop really what with the whole ship that travels anywhere in time and space thing and all, but some locations are easier to land accurately in than others. 21st century London is always an easy one and there’s bound to be no end of bookshops stocking inappropriate novels there. London bookshop it is.

When they land, the Doctor sticks his head out of the TARDIS doors to examine his surroundings. A dank alleyway greets him, and he promptly exits the ship to take a closer look at the street sign in order to remember where exactly he’s parked. It wouldn’t be the first time he forgot where he’d parked the TARDIS, and the idea of wandering around looking for the ship whilst carrying a collection of erotic fiction is far from an appealing one.

Once satisfied that he’s aware of where they are, he leaves the alleyway and strolls out onto a relatively busy street. Conveniently, almost directly opposite the alleyway sits a large, yet somewhat rundown bookshop. Perfect. With a smile, the Doctor makes a mental note to congratulate himself on his excellent piloting skills later.

The inside of the shop is brimming with wall-to-wall books of every genre. Each section is vaguely categorised by a faded sign above the shelves and the Doctor makes a beeline for the one which reads ‘romance’. There, he begins to scan the shelves, skimming the title of each book with a frown of concentration. Unfortunately, the titles seem to give him little clues as to the actual contents of the books. The Doctor is about to resign himself to taking out each one and reading the blurb in the hope of finding those which might be on the more er… exotic side when he catches sight of a sign which reads ‘erotica’ off towards the right. Bingo.

He doesn’t bother to read the titles of the books, simply starts to drag them off of the shelves one by one until half of the section is empty and he can no longer see where he’s walking from behind a precarious tower of inappropriate literature.

Miraculously, he manages to find his way to the checkout desk without falling over anything or bumping into anyone and promptly sets the pile of books down in front of him with a soft thud. The woman behind the counter eyes the collection with a raised eyebrow and slightly widened eyes, clearly alarmed by his choice of purchases.

“You want to buy all of these?” The young woman asks, voice laced with mild disbelief. The Doctor stares at her as though she possesses all of the brain capacity of a turnip. “Well I didn’t carry them all over here just for fun.” He answers dryly and the woman, clearly taken aback by the bluntness of his response, simply ducks her head and begins to scan and bag up the books. The Doctor frowns slightly and wonders if this has something to do with that being nice thing Clara is always babbling on about…

He’s in the middle of pondering over whether he ought to try to engage the woman in further conversation when she interrupts him to state how much his purchase totals to and he hands her over a wad of money without another word. He isn’t often in the habit of keeping money on his person, but he keeps an amount stashed away onboard the TARDIS for emergencies. Buying a bookshop’s entire collection of erotic literature is clearly one such an emergency. The woman behind the counter accepts the cash with some muttered thanks and the Doctor begins to gather up the numerous carrier bags of books that are now sat gathered on the counter in front of him. It’s a struggle but, somehow, he manages to hold all of them at once and hurries rapidly out the shop door and back towards the TARDIS.

Once inside the ship, he practically begs her to move the library as close as physically possible to the console room so that he doesn’t wind up hauling his ridiculous collection of carrier bags along miles and miles of corridors. The TARDIS, for a change, decides to be generous and he finds the door to the library off to the right, a couple of doors down from the console room.

Off to the left-hand side of the extensive room is a large wooden desk, and it’s here that the Doctor empties out the entire contents of his carrier bags in an unceremonious heap. There. Now all that’s left to do is go through the pile and try to figure out what on Earth he’s actually going to write about…

*******************************************************************************************

Two hours in and after reading the words ‘engorged member’ for what feels like the millionth time, the Doctor tosses yet another book over his shoulder into the growing pile of discarded novels behind him. “Humans. You’d think with all of the canoodling they get up to that they’d actually be capable of writing about it, but apparently, that’s too much to ask of a bunch of pudding-brains.” He remarks to himself with an exaggerated sigh.

The Doctor thinks to himself that if he has to read one more poorly written description of ham-fisted foreplay then he might actually select the largest of the novels in the pile and proceed to beat himself over the head with it. It rapidly becomes too much to bear and the Doctor swiftly pushes himself up from the desk.

“Well, you know what they say old girl. If you want something done properly, ask a Time Lord to do it for you.” He speaks to his ship with a grin and feels what seems distinctly like an eye roll in response. One of these days, somebody around here will actually appreciate his wit.

Deciding that it’s about time he starts attempting to write this dreadful book, the Doctor seeks out another desk free from pornographic clutter and seats himself at it with a stack of paper and a pen. He could have done the human thing and used a computer, but he’s a little old fashioned and finds that his superior writing speed hardly makes it an inconvenience to write the whole thing out by hand.

His pen moves to form the cursive lettering that reads ‘Chapter One’ at the top of the first sheet of paper, and then begins detailing the beginnings of his story about an enigmatic, scarily handsome Rockstar from outer space who happens upon a petite, bossy young woman who knows exactly how to put him in his place…

*******************************************************************************************

He’s been writing for some time, when the Doctor hits a mental block and freezes with pen on paper. Despite bragging to Clara about his extensive knowledge in the area, it has actually been a while since he last engaged in… relations with anyone and he finds himself stuck as to the correct response one might give to the situation his story is currently depicting. Frowning to himself, he tries to conjure up the words to describe the reaction he’s looking for and repeatedly comes up short. Blast.

Then an idea pops into his head and he’s jumping out of his seat and running out of the library before the rational part of his brain can catch up and explain to him exactly why said idea is one of the less intelligent ones he’s had.

Back in the console room, the Doctor plugs in the coordinates for Clara’s flat and sends the TARDIS into flight. Moments later, the ship has materialised back in her bedroom and the Doctor is striding out through the doors.

“Clara?” He calls out, his Scottish accent thick as he annunciates her name.

On cue, she appears from the living room with what appears to be a smug grin on her face. “Given up already, have you?” She teases with her arms folded across her chest.

“Not exactly.” He responds, eyeing her calculatingly.

“Well then, where is this master-,” her words die in her throat to be replaced with a sharp intake of air as the Doctor closes the distance between them, winding his arms around her waist and bringing his lips down to suck hard at the soft skin of her throat.

“Doctor-,” Clara manages to squeak out, the word tinged with a mixture of shock and a hint of arousal. In fact, the Doctor feels her go slightly weak in his arms and tilt her head back ever so slightly in encouragement, before she seems to catch herself and places her hands forcefully against his chest.

“What the hell are you doing?!” She exclaims, eyes wide in alarm.

Now, with his gaze on her face, the Doctor takes the time to note the pink flush that has crept over her face and neck and the way her breathing rate has substantially increased. He flashes her what can almost be described as a cheeky smirk and answers: “research, Clara.” And with that, he turns on his heel and walks straight back into the TARDIS, dematerialising and leaving a flabbergasted Clara Oswald in his wake.

#doctor who #fanfiction #whouffaldi #twelve x clara #twelfth doctor #clara oswald #bedtime stories #i really am the worst fanfiction writer ever #pretty sure it's taken 4 years for this second chapter to happen

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goforwardgreenwriter-blog · 6 years

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The Worm Reads: The Assassin’s Blade, Ch 23-24

Sorry this took so long but this book is fucking exhausting

Celaena and Ansel knew their little escapade with the Asterion horses would have consequences. Celaena had at least expected to have enough time to tell a decent lie about how they acquired the horses. But when they returned to the fortress and found Mikhail waiting, along with three other assassins, she knew that word of their stunt had somehow already reached the Master.

But how? Who told him? Who the hell saw them steal the horses and somehow got back to the fortress before them?

So, get this. The Mute Master has them alone in his chambers, no doubt about to get furious at them for pulling such a stunt, right? And then Celery pulls this fucking shit.

And suddenly, as the memory of that day echoed through her, she remembered the words Sam kept screaming at Arobynn as the King of the Assassins beat her, the words that she somehow had forgotten in the fog of pain: I’ll kill you!

You’re about to be possibly kicked out of a training fortress that you need to receive a letter of approval from in order to be allowed home and now you’re suddenly splooging over a guy because he... didn’t want you to be hurt? Like any decent fucking human being? God I fucking hate you, Celery, you stupid piece of shit.

After Celery finishes drooling over Sammy wanting to kill Arobynn for hurting her, she at least has the good sense to take the fall for the idea since this is Ansel’s home and getting in trouble would extremely affect her.

Apparently the Mute Master is fairly chill with them stealing horses and Ansel tells Celery she can go tomorrow for her first private lesson. Jesus Christ, finally, this story is going somewhere.

Their punishment next morning is cleaning animal shit out of the pens.

Another benefit was that they didn’t have to go running. Though after four hours of shoveling animal droppings, Celaena would have begged to take the six-mile run instead.

Not really a benefit then, is it?

Celery goes to the Master’s hangout on the roof for her first lesson.

Celaena cleared her throat again, and the Master finally turned. She bowed, which, strangely, was something she felt he actually deserved, rather than something she ought to do.

Celery learning that diplomacy is a thing?? She really does grow stupider as the books go on, since in E0S she threatens and attempts to stab the people in a political meeting that don’t agree with her viewpoint.

The Mute Master gives her a basket with a snake inside and tells her to observe its movements, so she spends the lesson moving with the snake and copying its movements. It’s actually really cool and more interesting than generic swords training.

SJM describes some more cool training in passing about how Celery has to study the movements of other animals like bats and rabbits. So let me get this straight; a whole page in the market scene was dedicated to Celery crying because she wanted new shoes, and that’s plot important, but you skip over her training which was the whole point of her coming to this place.

I’m.... speechless. Utterly speechless. It isn’t often you see someone fail so badly at all aspects of writing, but SJM has done it. She has officially failed at a basic component of storytelling. And her books are New York bestsellers. Truly, the world isn’t a fair place.

And every day, Celaena went to sleep after lunch and dozed until the sun went down, her dreams full of snakes and rabbits and chirping desert beetles. Sometimes she spotted Mikhail training the acolytes, or found Ilias meditating in an empty training room, but she rarely got the chance to spend time with them.

Ilias I kinda get, but you’ve spoken what, five words to Mikhail? You have no relationship with him lmfao.

There were quiet moments also, when she wasn’t training or toiling with Ansel. Moments when her thoughts drifted back to Sam, to what he’d said. He’d threatened to kill Arobynn. For hurting her.

Ask me if I give a fuck. Seriously, I don’t. I don’t feel this chemistry at all and I’m dreading when we return to Arobynn’s assassin joint and we have to read multiple paragraphs of Celery splooging over how hot Sammy is.

Next chapter opens up with Celery putting make up on Ansel because it’s apparently her birthday.

“What?” Ansel said. Celaena shook her head. “You’re going to have to wash it all off.” “Why?” “Because you look better than I do.” Ansel pinched Celaena’s arm. Celaena pinched her back, laughter on her lips.

Girls being friends? Pure and wholesome. Too bad SJM ruins it immediately after with this.

She hadn’t even dared ask the Master for her letter yet. But more than that … Well, she’d never had a female friend—never really had any friends—and somehow, the thought of returning to Rifthold without Ansel was a tad unbearable.

Hmm... it does raise the eyebrows a little that Ansel is super masculine and a “stronk female character’ like Celery and she is the only girl Celery has ever considered as a friend.......almost as if... it’s sexist towards girls who aren’t masculine like Celery.....hm...

At the party people are dancing with no music, which is whack af to Celery.

Though she loved, loved, loved parties, Celaena would have rather spent the night training with the Master. (...) But he’d insisted she go to the party—if only because he wanted to go to the party. The old man danced to a rhythm Celaena could not hear or make out, and looked more like someone’s benevolent, clumsy grandfather than the master of some of the world’s greatest assassins.

Hey, you leave him alone. He’s one of the few good characters in this shitty ass story, and if he wants to dance like an old grandpa, then let him.

Celery sees Ansel dancing with Mikhail and makes it all about her own feefees for Sammy, as usual.She gushes over how Sammy is totally in love with her and how she totally busts a nut every time he looks at her or some stupid shit like that.

Someone touched her shoulder, and Celaena looked up from her empty wine goblet to find Ilias standing behind her. She hadn’t seen much of him in the past few days, aside from at dinner, where he still glanced at her and gave her those lovely smiles. He offered his hand.

Poor Ilias, man. Obviously Celery doesn’t owe him anything, but.... you deserve someone so much better, Ilias. Imagine if it were Sammy here instead of Celery. I want that fanfic, someone write it.

Ilias and Celery eventually ditch the party since Celery’s feet hurt from dancing.

What would he say—that is, if he could speak—if he knew that Adarlan’s Assassin had never been kissed? She’d killed men, freed slaves, stolen horses, but she’d never kissed anyone.

God, we’re really going there, aren’t we... god I’m so tired....

First off, good job on shaming any older teenagers because they’ve never kissed someone before, as if that makes them weirdos. Makes me feel fucking amazing as an 18 y/o who hasn’t kissed anyone yet. Thanks, SJM.

Second, who gives a shit?? In fact, Celery, you have a good excuse for not kissing anyone; you’re an assassin. If you told Ilias, he’s probably just assume you’re too busy with work to settle down with someone. Like, do you think he’s really gonna make fun of you for not having kissed anyone before? Does SJM know how human beings function????

Anyways, Ilias does try to kiss Celery, but immediately stops when she backs away. Man, a male character who respects boundaries?? In MY SJM book?? Never thought I’d see the day.

“I—I can’t. I mean, I’m leaving in a week. And … and you live here. And I’m in Rifthold, so …” She was babbling. She should stop. Actually, she should just stop talking. Forever.

You really should. Sadly, Celery doesn’t take her own advice.

Ilias is just like, “whatever, that’s cool fam,” and goes to his room. I can’t believe SJM is making me praise a character for respecting personal boundaries but holy shit, that’s how low the bar is with her characters.

Alone in the hallway, Celaena watched the shadows cast by the torches. It hadn’t been the mere impossibility of a relationship with Ilias that had made her pull away. No; it was the memory of Sam’s face that had stopped her from kissing him.

First off, that semicolon is making me wince when a comma would’ve sufficed better, so jot that down. Second, unghhhh I don’t care, I don’t give a shit about Celery’s sudden crush on Sammy! He deserves someone who will treat him right!

Ansel arrives late next morning to shoveling shit duty because she slept with Mikhail. Again, ask me if I give a fuck.

Out of the blue, Ansel gets all pissy and jealous of Celery training with the Mute Master. It’s so literally out of nowhere and so obviously shoehorned in just so there can be conflict. SJM looking up basic writing tips and was like, ‘Oh shit, my story has no conflict and I need a falling out before the final climax! Uhhh Ansel is mad at Celery, yeah okay.”

Celaena’s throat tightened, and she cursed herself for feeling so hurt by the words. She didn’t think the Master felt that way at all, but she still hissed, “Yes, my glorious fate. Shoveling dung in a barn. A worthy task for me.” “But certainly a worthy task for a girl from the Flatlands?” “I didn’t say that,” Celaena said through her teeth. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

Jesus Christ, Ansel, I think I hate you almost as much as I hate Celery. Ansel is one of those fucking assholes who twists around words of others and reblogs someones post with a shitty “So you’re basically saying you hate all of (x) people, are you OP?” guilt trip.

Celery is like ‘whatever, nobody cares about you reclaiming your shitty homeland even though it has nothing to do with our conversation and I only brought it up because the author wants us to hate each other now” and Ansel stomps off. Riveting Drama, this is, these characters are so well developed! I totally care about how this conflict will resolve itself!

#the worm reads: tab #the worm talks #anti sjm #anti targaryen #anti tog

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akane171 · 2 years

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Yeah, I get what you mean 🙈 There was a time I was 100% immersed in reading fanfics about their BROTP/frenemy-ship and uff, just all the emotional damage and depth as well as problems and love one can pull out of those two WITHOUT having to go off canon is just...WOW! And ohh, esp. their early years together just give SO MUCH, like, Obi taking in that responsibility regardless of everyone being against it, him being a bit jealous/bitter how Qui-Gon (who nearly didn't take Obi as his Padawan and pretty much had to be begged to) seemed willing to "drop" Obi for Ani, Ani struggling to "not feel", being an outsider, having to catch up, ... Just, uff, SO MUCH UNSAID/UNSHOWN CONTENT!😭😍😭😍😭

Ohh, is it because of his weird romantic talk that you're not really a fan of Anakin's or just generally didn't vibe with him?🤔😂

Fine, judge all you want, I don't care, it's not like judging isn't kinda an inherently human trait anyway🤷🏻‍♀️😂💃🏻

Ohh, okay, Yeah, I think I'll have to go and check that 🤔

...Eh, why would we need to feed them? You DO realise those are free kangaroos who come and go without having to have our permission or being dependent on us?😅 It's not a zoo, Kat😂 So, no, they aren't dead, they're perfectly fine😁

Nooo, HALT, STOP! I might be the author, but it's not like they ever actually DO what I PLANNED, UH-UH, those two are their usual headstrong-goat-like selves and suddenly decide to change the storyline or just make everything I write turn to 💩, so nope, not my fault🤷🏻‍♀️😂 (PS: You know, the more I think about it, I actually just wanna snap and tell everyone and everything off too 🤷🏻‍♀️😂 Like, what a chill life 😉)

Hmm, True, I've seen it in AO3, but nowhere as commonly as back on fanfiction.net (aw, sometimes I really miss those days of Schilling through all fanfiction.net pages, but ao3 really is the easier/better site🙈)

😂😂 Ohh, apropo Rhea, I was wrong, I'd forgotten about Rhea in the Hunger Games AU, THAT one is awesome🙈😂

Yess, same, fingers crossed!!😁🙈

..."Powers"?🧐🤨

Ooooo-kay, I really didn't need THAT image in my head...ehww, all those bacteria on their tongues after that😰🙈🤢

Absolutely traumatizing, just half-imagining that makes me wanna go to therapy😅😂

Yes, yes, as long as MW are happy☺😊🤩💃🏻

Ehh, wasn't the film with Ewan the Illuminati one? I don't remember him in the Da Vinci code, but it's been a while, so maybe he WAS in both movies?🤔😅

No promises 😂😁🤷🏻‍♀️

Thaanks☺ You too! Nearly reached the weekened, too😉

XXX

What I like about the fics is how they can explore more things from the canon and thing that were ignored and some SW fics nailed shit. Things like, you know, characters having heart to heart conversation or monologues in their heads about how they don't get the behavior of the other xD God bless the fics ;D

I'm not a fan of the chosen one trope. He was interesting because he was chosen one, then he was the bad guy, just to end as the chosen one again. But still, first annoying kid, then annoying teen talking about sand and having super dumb lines and then a pissed off dude killing YOUNGLINGS! So, in a way he broke the trope but in the end he didn't xD But that was Vader. I can't really think about Anakin and Vader as an one xD Plus, well, I kind of felt the time was wasted on him, when we could just watch Obi-Wan staring at walls or something ;)

And dunno, i think I'm rarely fan of the main heroes of the stories, tehy are too predictable, I guess?

(before I forget, Poets Of The Fall released a new song, Chasing Echoes)

*sips tea*

Mhm. Tell that to Greenpeace when they when finally get my complaints about you.

This is what you say yourself before the sleep? D: Because they all EXIST IN YOUR HEAD. Without you, the HORRBILE angst would not exist! Ha! (Do it! Rao is my witness, thaty i wanted to do it after many SG eps or in some of my stories)

Yeah, I hold some sentiment over FF.net, it was my first fanfiction sire after all. It was annoying and posting was sometimes a pain in the ass, but still, good memories xD

LOL, you are right, she is nice there. How the reading that fic is going? :D

I can curse people and I am pals with a real life demon. Just saying.

IKR?! Who the fuck wrote it?!!! I know it was Chris, so the scene was hot just becasue he was in it, but stillllllllllllllllllllllll, poor boy, wonder how much he was traumatized after it.

My two fave hermits who deserve love, happiness, unicorns, dinosaurs, chocolates and reasons to come out of their cave and show their faces at least one time every month TT

Nope, it was Angels and Demons (or something like that).

WEEKEND!!!! AND EUROVISIOOOOOON NIGHT!!!!!!!!

Have a great time, hope everything is fine with you :)

#ReFail #my fam

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