it seems like something out of a fan fiction

Some long thoughts on a few #Gates

Right, I’m back and plan on reopening my asks soon-ish. Before I do that, though, I just want to address a few of the big dramas that unfolded in my absence. This is mainly so that I won’t end up addressing these questions through various ask replies, so if I don’t respond to your message it’s probably because I’ve said the last thing I’m going to say about it here. Onward!

On #RomanceGate

As we have previously established thanks to a tweet from David Kamp with the full, unedited transcript of the excerpt of the interview pertinent to romance, the published Vanity Fair article did not fully reflect what Rian was actually trying to say about the question of romance in Episode VIII. The Vanity Fair article said this:


A big, central-to-the-plot romance. For all the fan-fiction fantasies of “Reylo” (an imagined union of Daisy Ridley’s Rey and Adam Driver’s Kylo Ren) or “Stormpilot” (the same, for John Boyega’s ex-stormtrooper Finn and Oscar Isaac’s pilot Poe Dameron), Johnson says that The Last Jedi offers “no one-to-one equivalent of the Han-to-Leia, burning, unrequited love. In our story, that’s not a centerpiece.”

And this is what was actually said between Kamp and Johnson in the interview:

Now, what initially seemed to rule out any inclusion of romance in The Last Jedi actually suggests something quite different - Rian seems to be saying that he was keen to include a big, sweeping romance, but that when it came to it the characters didn’t seem to be in the right place for that to happen. He doesn’t at all rule out subtle traces of romance or flirtation (as Kamp highlights in his tweet), thus the classic ‘wait and see’-style response. 

It is also very important to point out that the references to Reylo and StormPilot were clearly Kamp editorialising. While terms like ‘imagined’ and ‘fan-fiction fantasies’ sting to anyone familiar with all of the misogynistic BS female fans have to deal with for daring to be interested in the human relationships in these stories, as I see it the references to popular ships are simply there to provide context for the mainstream audience and boost SEO rankings. Rian Johnson has been very emphatic about distancing himself from Kamp’s phrasing, and the full quote makes it clear that no specific relationships were raised in the context of the original interview.

So, while I still think we need to be cautious and keep expectations for an overt Reylo romance in The Last Jedi low (as Rian says, there is no central romance plot in his film), I certainly think that the full quote should relieve the anxiety that love and attraction won’t be in play to some extent. Although I don’t think that we’re going to get a Reylo kiss (that’s my opinion re. The Last Jedi - come back to me after December to get my thoughts on Episode IX), it clearly isn’t out of the question that The Last Jedi will progress Rey and Kylo so that they are ready for a full-blown romance in the next film. I can’t stress enough that Rey and Kylo end The Force Awakens on different sides, with Kylo having killed his father and Rey having just slashed Kylo’s face open. They both have huge personal journeys to go on (Rey has to come into her own in the Force, and Kylo has to wake up to Snoke’s evil and show remorse for his terrible mistakes) before they can truly go on a journey together. Essentially, to progress from the current state of affairs to a consummated love affair in the space of a single movie would, to put it mildly, be pushing it. 

Speaking for myself, I would be ecstatic if The Last Jedi simply shows Rey and Kylo developing empathy and perhaps even compassion for each other. Rey has already defeated Kylo in a duel, so their journey together going forward won’t simply be one of antagonism - as J.J. said in his commentary (which was recorded after he had read the script for The Last Jedi), Kylo is “a character who [Rey’s] going to have a very interesting relationship with moving forward”. In short, I have no fear that the dynamic between Rey and Kylo Ren is going to remain static or be less important going forward. Rey and Kylo are crucial to each other’s stories, and we have every reason to believe that Rian is honouring that. 

On #PlotGate

These are the tweets that started the famous #PlotGate:

Now, this actually didn’t worry me at all. But why would I - one of the people who has written thousands of words analysing the minutia of The Force Awakens - be unconcerned by the suggestion that Rian could do whatever the hell he wanted in The Last Jedi? Why am I not freaking out when there doesn’t seem to be a plan for the trilogy?

Well, the simple answer is that I’m not alarmed because these kinds of sentiments are far from new. From the very beginning, the narrative has always been that each filmmaker has a considerable degree of freedom to tell the story they want to tell. For a great explanation of how the early development of The Last Jedi worked, see this quote from J.J. Abrams from November 2015 (particularly the bold bits):

The script for VIII is written. I’m sure rewrites are going to be endless, like they always are. But what Larry and I did was set up certain key relationships, certain key questions, conflicts. And we knew where certain things were going. We had meetings with Rian and Ram Bergman, the producer of VIII. They were watching dailies when we were shooting our movie. We wanted them to be part of the process, to make the transition to their film as seamless as possible. I showed Rian an early cut of the movie, because I knew he was doing his rewrite and prepping. And as executive producer of VIII, I need that movie to be really good. Withholding serves no one and certainly not the fans. So we’ve been as transparent as possible. Rian has asked for a couple of things here and there that he needs for his story. He is an incredibly accomplished filmmaker and an incredibly strong writer. So the story he told took what we were doing and went in the direction that he felt was best but that is very much in line with what we were thinking as well. But you’re right—that will be his movie; he’s going to do it in the way he sees fit. He’s neither asking for nor does he need me to oversee the process.

There are endless quotes from J.J. and Kathleen Kennedy supporting this picture, and I think this is exactly as it should be. Rian is not making The Last Jedi in a vacuum - he is building it on the foundation set by The Force Awakens, and had a say on the development and presentation of that film so that it would weave seamlessly into his movie. Rian even reiterated this sentiment himself in the main Vanity Fair article on The Last Jedi:

J.J. and Larry and Michael set everybody up in a really evocative way in VII and started them on a trajectory.

Rian is insistent on stressing his independence as a filmmaker at every stage because people are keen to paint him as a slave to the Walt Disney Company’s whims. At every turn, he has to deal with people assuming that The Last Jedi will repeat the trick played by The Force Awakens by mirroring its famous and beloved antecedent - for The Force Awakens this was Star Wars, and people expect it to be The Empire Strikes Back for The Last Jedi. Understandably, Rian wants to stress that The Last Jedi is his baby - it’s infused with his own creativity rather than studio notes and nostalgia. 

But, at the same time, that doesn’t mean that Rian can do whatever the hell he wants. I can almost guarantee that Rian would have received furious correctional notes if he had tried to pitch a story where Rey Rey Binks died in the second act. There will be certain strands established in The Force Awakens that The Last Jedi will nurture and evolve, and Rian will be taking pre-existing characters and relationships and building on them further. As Pablo appeased an anxious fan on Twitter:

In short, there absolutely is collaboration - between the individual filmmakers, and between the filmmakers and Lucasfilm. Rian is free to tell the story he wants to tell, but that story has a baseline in The Force Awakens and also has a responsibility to establish a platform for Colin Trevorrow to build on with Episode IX. The filmmakers are talking to each other, and there is absolutely collaboration and handoff between them so that these film will ultimately make sense as a trilogy as well as on their own terms. 

In other words, I really don’t see much to worry about. I have seen nothing but praise for the script for The Last Jedi, and Rian’s filmography amply demonstrates his talent as both a writer and a director. 

I’m as excited for The Last Jedi as I ever was, so I hope I’ve been able to put some people’s minds to rest with this. Bring on December!

bookcaseninja  asked:

Do you have any tips for rewriting a fairytale?

I personally love a good fairytale retelling. I feel like this is a theme that’s a little more popular especially in fan fictions and YA books. I remember when Wicked first came out there seemed to be a flood of stories that started surfacing because people love seeing classics re-imagined. There are a few key elements that can help your story stand out.

Originally posted by heartsnmagic

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Title: In too deep
Ship: Jughead Jones/Betty Cooper
Fandom: Riverdale
Episode: 1 X 03
Summary: Betty and Jughead are at the Blue and Gold offices working on the Jason story when they share an unexpected kiss and everything changes.
Rating : Mature

Notes: My first fic for this ship. I’m bughead trash. Please forgive any inadvertent errors; English is not my first language.

“It isn’t fair”, pouted Betty. He smiled at her petulant expression. They were at the offices of the Blue and Gold, looking at the story on his laptop. It was getting dark and the dim lights in the office cast spooky shadows on the walls.  

“You write so well. So effortlessly. You know just how to hook the reader in! You have a natural talent, Juggie”. She sounded so honest.

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reblogged your post and added:

I’d rather discuss what you think of my argument.

Then I hope you don’t mind me putting this in an extra post, as the original thread is getting quite long. 

I’m copying/posting your last reply here:

I don’t think it’s a contradiction though. I think it’s a miscommunication, stemming mostly from privilege. The disconnect in this argument is over what, exactly, is problematic.

Fandom has always imagined itself as a place of progressive values - a place where (predominately) women can explore their own sexuality and recreate community in a way that isn’t hostile to them, as a lot of the real world is. But this world we’ve created still has all of the prejudices that each member was brought up with - there’s no way that it couldn’t, firstly because many of our prejudices are invisible to us, and secondly because a lot of fandom works were created specifically to remix that already-existing culture: fan fiction is a mirror that we bend to find stories that include ourselves.

I think that the expression “fandom has always imagined itself” is a bit of a generalisation that does not hold up to close scrutiny: fandom is extremely diverse, and I don’t necessarily think that everyone who participates in it - or even the majority of people who participate in it - frame their contribution in these terms, or see it in that light. 

So while such a narrative exists, especially when it comes to the defense and representation of fandom in media, I wouldn’t agree that this idea of “progressiveness” is at the center of fandom for a majority of fans - at least not for those who never engage on a meta level. People often politicize fandom, but I’d argue that fandom, as such, is personal rather than political.

I absolutely agree wtih you that fandom content reflects our perception of the world, and all of our biases. But for me, that’s pretty much a given, and I’d like to add that the same applies to every kind of art and literature: whether we try to avoid it or not, everthing that we create is a reflection of our environment (geographical, historical, political), our personality, our prejudices and biases, our personal issues. 

And since it’s squeezed through what could arguably be called a feminist lens (because it positions female sexuality and self-exploration at its center), we fool ourselves into thinking that all the bad stuff - the parts of the world we were so alienated by that we were compelled to fix them - all that ugliness, we think it all gets left on the other side of the glass.

I don’t think that is the case, actually. At least I can’t confirm that from my own perspective and experiences. Very few people that I’ve spoken to - very few people who I argue with - would claim that fanworks are necessarily “better” or “less problematic” than the sources they derive from. Such a statment, I think, would be difficult to uphold when one takes a closer look at the average fanwork, the 90% between “My Immortal” and your Personal Favorite. 

I think that there might be a bit of confusion - or disagreement - about the nature and purpose of fanworks. In my understanding, fanworks are a form of wish-fulfillment and self-empowerment for those who create it. Fanworks can be progressive, sure, and they can be political, but I see that as side effect rather than a primary purpose. First and foremost, fanworks are hedonistic. They are the self-expression of individuals, the purely self-indulgent outlet for personal creativity. 

Of course, I have no idea what goes on in the mind of any given fan creator or writer. But speaking from my own perspective, when I write fanfiction, I write things for my own, personal enjoyment, for my own, personal amusement, or, if I wanted to be flippant: Because I can. Nothing inherently progressive about that. 

I’m saying “we” not just as a fan, but as a demographically representative one. Fandom is majority straight, white, and female - I’m two of those things, and can pass for the third. The reason I called this the White Feminism of discourse is because that’s where I think it comes from: a centering of a certain sort of narrative and victimhood to the exclusion of all others. Not necessarily out of maliciousness, but because a large proportion of fans don’t see the persistently racist problems in fandom - because it doesn’t affect them. Because they’ve never experienced racism personally, and are blind to the way they (we) perpetuate the microaggressions or outright racism that literally every fan of color has experienced in fandom. It’s a language we can’t hear unless we really, really listen.

Fandom is mostly white and female, though not necessarily straight, but that’s another matter. 

I think we need to make a distinction here, and that’s between fandom as a space for individuals, and the idea of fandom as it is currently presented in media by pro-fandom voices, which indeed often paints fandom as a beacon of progressiveness and female empowerment. 

When it comes to the individual fan and their contribution to fandom … I hate to say it, but there is no reason why any given fan should priotitize anything but their own, selfish enjoyment. I’m not in fandom to contribute to the joy and happiness of other people. I’m here for my own. 

Creating art of fiction is always a selfish act. No writer writes something they don’t want to write (unless they’re paid for it, or course), no artist paints something that they don’t want to paint. That’s how we create: it’s our personal, self-indulgent vision that we turn into something that other people might enjoy. Or not enjoy, whatever the case may be. 

The argument that I often hear is “if your personal enjoyment comes at the price of other people’s hurt feelings, it’s oppressive and immoral”, but that only applies when I actually force people to consume the product of my imagination. But as long as they have the freedom of choice, why should their feelings take precedence over mine? 

Especially, and I feel that this is an important point that doesn’t get stressed often enough, when I don’t even know who these people are? We’re on the internet. I have no idea whether the person I’m dealing with is actually who they claim to be. I have no idea what their life looks like. I have no idea whether they were actually “triggered” by something (I’m using quotation marks because the way the word is used here on tumblr, it can mean anything, from mild annoyance to great anxiety) or are just striving strive for power and control. 

I can totally get where the people who write this sort of positivity posts about fandom are coming from, and I can get why it seems like these are attacks out of left field. But when you (and not meaning you specifically, OP - all of us) claim essentially that all media/fandom is good, and all ways of consuming media/fan fiction are good, that ignores the way that media/fandom continues to be a really hostile and ugly place for a lot of people. You may mean, “There is no bad way to explore your sexuality,” but it can sound like you really mean “Even if it includes explicit, unqualified racism.”

But who says that media/fandom has to be “good”? Who made that rule when I wasn’t looking? When I “joined” fandom, I never agreed to limit my own, personal enjoyment to what minorities find acceptable. And while I get that some people think they’re entitled to that - that it should be my goal as a “decent person” to make them feel included, safe, welcome, and cared for - that’s not what I’m here for. 

You may find this a controversial statement, but actually, it shouldn’t be controversial at all. I get that some people would like me to sign a metaphorical contract, with the fine print written in their favor, but the truth is that such a contract does not exist within fandom.

No other person has the actual authority to tell me that my own enjoyment should not be my sole and ultimate goal. People might think they have the moral authority to tell me that, but there is no reason why I should have to accept that.

Why should I let other people dictate what my contribution to fandom should look like? Or, what’s more to the point, why should I let a bunch of strangers with funny urls do that, who willingly choose to engage with the content that I post on my blog or to my AO3 account? 

ESPECIALLY because, when confronted with that exact challenge, a lot of people double down on that and admit that yeah, the racism doesn’t really bother them. Which is what’s happening here.

It’s not a contradiction, but an unwillingness to confront an ugly truth about fandom because it doesn’t personally affect you. Fandom has a huge problem with racism, and pointing that out is not an act of The Morality Police.

Well, I’m one of these people. Though I think it’s fair to say that while racism does, in fact, bother me, my understanding of racism does not conform with the US American definition, and I’m not inclined to re-frame my worldview according to US American sociological theories just because fan culture happens to be dominated by US Americans. 

It’s not only racism, though, is it? It’s  “abuse” and “homophobia” and “transphobia” and “ableism” and “misogyny” and so on, and I can tell you that most of what I’ve written and published would raise the hackles of one minority or another, if they came looking. 

Or rather, raise the hackles of some individuals, which is another issue: very rarely, in my experience, has there been an agreement within a minority group on whether something was actually “harmful” or “offensive”. So, when I’m faced with a couple of people who come to my inbox, often in a very hostile manner, to tell me that something is offensive to people of color, or Jewish people, or trans people, or disabled people, and so on, they might be making a lot of noise, but I have no real means to say whether they are actually representative of the minority they claim to speak for.

In reality, it might look a little like this: My piece of dark fic, which was clearly labeled as such, got twohundred hits. Ten people left kudos, one left a positive but trivial comment, and now suddenly three people, one after the other, leave their comments in quick succession, neiher politely worded nor inviting a discussion, informing me that this piece of fiction is problematic and needs to disappear. Because they say so. 

That’s the point where I have to ask myself: if I give in to that kind of intimidation and pressure, am I doing it because these people are in the right, or because I’m afraid? Am I willing to follow their moral code, which apparently includes dogpiling, intimidation, and name-calling, or do I trust my own? 

Meanwhile, the people in my comment section are in all likelihood not willing to take my opinion into account. Any attempt on my side to justify myself just leads to statements like “check your privilege”, “you’re a nazi apologist”, “white (cis, straight, abled) people don’t get a say in this”. Disagreement is not an option. They’ve decided that my content problematic, that I am problematic, and that’s that.

I’ve seen this play out in a variety of instances, and quite honestly, I think it’s very important that people don’t give in to that kind of bullying. 

Finally, let me just add, for good measure: I think you’re right in one point, and that is that we might want to stop pretending that fandom is all about progressiveness, when progressiveness is mostly accidental, and yes, we can absolutely point out that fandom content reflects the preferences of those who contribute to it. If that’s mostly white women, the content will reflect that, as we’ve basically agreed above. 

On the other hand, if everyone keeps making the kind of content that they want to see, instead of bemoaning that others don’t make it for them, fandom will continue to change.

Just don’t expect fans to go to great length to make fandom a better place for others if that’s not what they signed up for. 

dean ambrose { spiders }


 NOTES: As promised, the Dean Ambrose version. I think this one turned out to be more sexy than fluffy, but it’s still fluffy… I hope it is, at least. Apologies if he’s not IC here. I tried? I want to do a TJ Perkins and a Cesaro one next, but I make no promises because I also have a few other ideas that I might do too….  – love, Amber.

   TAGGING: @alexablss , @believe-that-001 , @littledeadrottinghood and @writergrrrl29.. you are all awesome and I love you all and I’m also tagging @fan-fiction-galore because she’s a sweetheart and I think she’d like the fluffiness that may or may not be present.

  WARNINGS: Partial nudity, Amber’s potty mouth and an intense makeout. This one is strictly SFW, though God knows Dean and imagined reader both seemed to strongly want otherwise..

I was super engrossed in a horror movie when I felt something crawling up my shirt, slowly moving from my abdomen to my tits. I jumped up and shook out my shirt on instinct, but instead of falling out of the shirt, whatever it was moved into my bra cup. Suffice to say, I shed the Guns N Roses baggy t shirt I was wearing and my M&M’s went flying everywhere as I hurriedly stripped off my bra too.

It was that exact moment that I knew I’d probably just fucked up. I froze and screamed like a banshee, a sofa cushion over my bare upper body as my room mate coughed from the doorway.. Or he was coughing until I felt the damn crawling sensation marching right back up my leg.. Then I launched myself right into Dean’s arms, pointing and stammering and just being extra about it, basically.  "Kill it! Kill it now!“ I was practically shrieking.

Dean bit his lip, his gaze not leaving my eyes after the one accidental glimpse he’d gotten of my tits. His face was a little red and he chuckled, nodding to the floor. "Kill what?”

“Did you not fucking see Spiderzilla?”
When he realized what all the fuss was about – because the spider chose that moment to scamper up the living room wall, he almost dropped me, the ass was laughing so hard. I pouted and he shifted me around in his arms, eventually sitting me on the counter separating the kitchen from the living room.

I was still clinging to him and our lips brushed when he told me quietly, “If ya want it dead.. Ya gonna have to let me go, doll.”

I blushed a deep shade of red beneath my tan when I realized that yes, I was clinging to him and yes, I was shirtless and the sofa cushion I’d grabbed for the sake of ‘decency’ was long gone.. And he was shirtless too and damned if his skin against mine didn’t feel just like heaven. I sucked in a breath and tried to get myself calm.

The spider scampered back towards the web it spun in the living room and Dean eyed me a few seconds. “I’m gonna step away now. Are ya okay?”

“Just kill it, please?”
He gave a nod and lifted the high heel I’d taken off earlier in the afternoon, stealthily moving towards the web the spider retreated to after scaring the living shit out of me. When the spider managed to fall out of the web and down onto him, and he was swearing and jumping around too, I couldn’t help but giggle a little bit, quickly going silent when he turned and said “I oughta just leave it alive.. Laughin at me.” while pretending to pout.

“DEAN!” I pointed to the spider as it scampered for a corner and quickly, he bought his foot down on top of it.. And then, he grabbed something and scooped the spider and it’s guts onto it and pitched it into the garbage… When I looked up again, he was standing in front of me, this look in his eyes, his tongue slowly trailed over his lips.

He was holding my gaze intently and he wasn’t backing down. He moved to stand between my legs, his hands gripping my thighs and when his gaze lowered accidentally, he swallowed hard and looked back up at me.

I bit my lip as they started to tingle, this urge to kiss him overtaking me. I’ve probably been in love with the dork since we became room mates about two years ago, but every time I even think about making a move, I chicken out or the timing is wrong or something else.. Excuses, basically.. Not to mention I’m on the shy side and Dean, he tends to focus solely on what he does for a living, I mean in the entire two years we’ve been room mates, I haven’t once come home to find another girl with him or heard him sneaking in past midnight with a female giggling and kissing all over him.

I never find phone numbers in his pockets or lipstick on his collar..
So maybe he just doesn’t date?

He grumbled something as his hand reached out, resting across the nape of my neck. He scooted me closer to his body so I was completely pressed against him, clinging to him again and nipping at my lips, he mumbled into the kiss, “That’s better. Just stay right there.” and I whimpered, gripping at him, my legs biting into his hips to bring me even closer to his body. My hand dragged through his hair and I could taste the energy drink on his lips as we kissed. He groaned and nipped at my lower lip. “Vanilla lipgloss.” he mused as I nodded. “Tastes good.. Sweet.”

His hands wandered up my sides, cupping my breasts, pushing them together as he let this low growl leave his lips and he bit his lip, his gaze meeting mine. “So soft.” his voice was quieter and huskier, his slight accent thicker when he spoke. I could feel wetness flooding my thighs and instinctively, I felt them clench and I tried to catch up and process what was evidently happening.

“Yeah, babe?” he met my gaze and then he rubbed himself against me, his cock strained against his jeans as he admitted, “Two fuckin years, babe..  Danced around the way I felt about ya for two fuckin years. But tonight.. Tonight when ya threw yourself at me because that spider freaked ya out.. I can’t keep it in anymore.” and I whimpered, rubbing against him in return, craving the friction.

“You have no idea, do you?” I muttered against his lips, looking into his eyes. “I feel the same way.”

“Why didn’t ya say somethin?” he asked, a confused look.
“I have seen the women you work with? And yeah.. I’m just me.”

“I fuckin hate spiders.” he muttered and I added with a nod, “Me too.. But that one kind of did us a solid?”

“I still hate 'em. Ya probably the only person I’ve ever willingly killed one for.” Dean admitted and I leaned in, stealing a kiss as I smiled against his lips and held his face in my hands. “Aww.. You know, when you’re not being a grump, you can be a real sweetheart.”

“Keep that between us.” Dean chuckled as he picked me up, carrying me down the hall to his room…

Screw Your Courage to the Sticking Place part 6 (Lin x Reader)

Warnings: a little insecurity and explicit language

A/N: I finally finished planning this out and there’s going to be seven chapters, so this is the second to last one. Also thank you all for the feedback, I love you all so much. 

tags: @21phantasticromances @mukeforpresident

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 

On Tuesday, you head down to the theater to get your final fitting for the light blue dress and dark blue robe that Eliza wears in Best of Wives Best of Women. You walk through the doors at a quarter till two, an extra large caramel latte in your hands.

The fitting actually goes really quick because both the dress and robe still fit perfectly. The dress is soft against your skin, secure around the bottom of your breasts without being too tight. The robe fits equally as well, wrapping around the same spot as the dress. The dress flows loosely to the floor and you can’t help but give a little twirl and admire your reflection in the mirror. 

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Out of Place (my first fic)

Title: Out of Place
Request: nope :p
Warnings: none… unless some realll fluffy cuddles count!
A/N: This is my first official fic and I really hope you liked it! I’ve never written a reader insert *cough* or fan fiction in general *cough* but I hope you enjoyed it!! Thanks for the read! Feel free to point out any errors or give me some constructive criticism! ~ enjoy! <3

When you woke up that morning nothing felt out of place. The morning sun streamed through the blinds, playing gently on your features. Something however began to feel different, something felt off. Your body felt warmer than usual, and the blankets draped around your waist seemed heavier. Before you took any action to solve the mystery, you looked sleepily around the room.

That’s when you noticed a pair of black skinny jeans on the floor. Beside them were a pair of black converse. You didn’t own black converse, or at least you didn’t remember ever owning a pair. Suddenly, you felt what you thought was your blanket nuzzle into your Y/H/C hair. You froze, hearing your heart thud in your ears. You slowly turned your head to glance at the figure who was currently holding you to their chest. All you could see was a floof of green hair sticking up from beneath the covers.

You took your hand and raised it to better reveal the cuddle culprit by moving the covers down. Just as you began to move them, the figure bent down and kissed the base your neck, their lips warm and soft to the touch. “G̵o̶o̷d̸ ̵m̸o̶r̸n̶i̶n̶g̷ ̶Y̸/̶N̷,̶ ̸h̸o̴w̴ ̸d̴i̸d̷ ̶y̴o̶u̵ ̴s̵l̵e̴e̴p̷ ̸l̸o̷v̴e̶?̵” his voice was still full of sleep. You soon recognized the way it sounded, the way his accent stuck in your brain. You put a voice to a face and soon rolled over to reveal Anti. A smirk played on his lips as he said, “D̵i̴d̵ ̸y̴a̵ ̷m̶i̵s̷s̶ ̶m̴e̵?̷”

Miss him? He snuck into your bedroom during the night and cuddled you after not seeing you for weeks! You were mad, but seeing him with a toothy grin plastered upon his face made up for it in too many ways to count. “Of course I missed you. I just wished you would’ve come sooner.” You spoke as you lovingly gazed into his green eyes. “I̷ ̷k̴n̵o̶w̴ ̸I̸ ̷s̸h̴o̴u̷l̶d̴'̸v̴e̷ ̸b̵e̵e̸n̵ ̴h̷e̶r̸e̵ ̷s̸o̴o̵n̶e̷r̸,̵ ̴b̵u̷t̴ ̸I̷ ̴h̵a̸d̸ ̸b̸u̴s̷i̵n̶e̵s̸s̷ ̶t̵o̷ ̵a̴t̶t̷e̵n̷d̸ ̶t̷o̷.”

He looked at you with a more sad expression on his face, but that soon changed to a happy one when you leaned your forehead against his, noses gently brushing. You brought a hand up to the side of his face and rubbed your thumb along the side of his cheek. “It’s okay, I could never be mad at you.” He leaned into your touch ever so slightly. A low sound almost like a purr rumbled in his throat. At the sight of another sweet and tired smile on his lips, your heart melted. Before you knew it his eyes were closed and he had pulled you into his chest. You too drifted off to sleep listening to his heart beat and feeling his chest rise and fall.

Adressing the Anti-KS posts again...

So here I am again.

Honestly I see more people complaining about the supposed problems than I see the actual problems themselves.

So many people are complaing about the fetishisation of gay men and I don’t think I’ve actually seen that kind of thing go down in the fandom? I’m not as involved as I used to be so maybe I’ve missed some stuff, but I doubt something like this would be easy to miss.

There are always a few people in a fandom that give it a bad rep. I feel it has been blown up way bigger than it actually is (as I said, I haven’t seen it).

Another thing people point out a lot is that the relationship between Bum and Sangwoo isn’t healthy. People seem to think we are idealising that type of relationship and honestly that’s ridiculous. It’s both a mentally and physically abusive relationship and is in no way “goals”.

Moving along to shipping. Please remember they are FICTIONAL characters. Shipping them doesn’t make you a bad person. I personally don’t but every person has an opinion and that needs to be accepted. The FICTIONAL relationship might not be healthy, but it’s not hurting anyone. It’s FICTIONAL.

People just seem to have an extremely negative view on the fandom as a whole and I feel they are always going to find something to call us out on just because they are not fans of the story/content.

I completely understand that the themes in KS are not to everyones liking and thats okay. It does deal with some pretty heavy topics and a lot of people are made uncomfortable/upset by them. 

I feel like it would be common sense to just… not read it or get involved in any way if you don’t like it?


|| h e l p f u l ||

If you wanna avoid seeing the Anti-KS posts as you are just browsing through, try /tagged/killing-stalking instead of /search/killing-stalking. If you’re still finding a lot of hate posts, try blacklisting anti killing stalking tags as most people do tag their posts. This should erase the majority of it.

i am a fan of many david lynch films, but i’m going to take a moment to remind you all that his work often wildly misogynist. so if we’re going to be fans, we should talk about the clear fetishization of violence against women in his work. it’s ritualistic. he clearly thinks he’s working on something in a complex and symbolic manner. it’s expressive and meaningful. and it’s thoroughly misogynist. all of it together. so what is it i like and why when men address *it* in film and fiction do they so often connect it to objectification of and violence against women? have to sort this shit out. so many people are so wrapped up in twin peaks, and after re-watching the original series and watching the first episodes of the third season, i’m reminded of how most of his fans seem rather willing to excuse it.

Fic: Loud like Lightning

Author: Rachel
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 9,200~
Summary: Blaine falls in love with the boy on the subway. Kurt falls in love with the boy on the internet. One day, their paths cross again.
(based on this gifset by carson-phillips.)

[read on AO3, or below]

To say that Kurt valued his free time would have been an understatement. It was just that there was so little of it, which couldn’t entirely be helped. There was school, his internship, work on top of that, and the amount of time he spent in his apartment was almost all consumed by sleep. He rarely saw his roommate, and usually even then it was at the diner where they both worked, but it wasn’t like he could help it – school was school, his internship was important, and his job necessary to keep him with a roof over his head. It wasn’t that he minded how busy his schedule was, because he enjoyed everything he did, but it made him value the moments when he got to sit still even more.

There was something to be said about decompression, of time spent to let his body and mind not have to think so much like it did for the rest of the day. Even that was somewhat on a schedule, though Kurt didn’t think of it like that – more like a routine.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Now that you closed fan fiction requests, how many of them that you got in your inbox?

I have 8 in my inbox plus another one that someone sent me through the messaging system! I know that doesn’t seem like a lot, but my goal is to get all these fanfics written and posted before the show comes out. I’m not sure when the show will be out, but my plan is to open requests again after a couple episodes of the series are out so people can request something based on the show!

Rough Morning (Bias x Reader)

You slipped on a pair of trousers and a plain white blouse. Today was your second week at your broadcating agency as a photojournalist. Of course you were doing anything but photography or journalism. You were an intern and working as an assistant for a far too nervous employee who barely assigned anything to you. You were a foreigner in a foreign country. A journalist in South Korea. One of the many countries you wished to work in.

You checked the time on your phone. It was only 7:30. You didnt have to get there until 9:00am. Standing in the bathroom, you unravelled the twists in your hair watching the curls bounce. You took a section of the front and pinned it back with four bobby pins, two more for maximum security. Your curly hair was truly unruly. You checked your makeup. Light and not obvious. You put on your white loafers and pulled on your black oversized coat. Slinging the satchel over your chest that contained your camera, laptop, phone and notebook, you spoke to your reflection in the mirror, “Life of a photojournalist has begun once again.”

You stepped out of your apartment and made your way to your favorite coffee shop that was in close proximity. You ignored the blatant stares aimed your way. Some people knew you and gave a polite nod which you returned with a smile and a sigh of relief to release the tension that has yet to leave you since you arrived here a month ago. Once inside you were glad there wasn’t a line but the tables were almost full. You were almost an hour early for work which gave you time to eat your breakfast. You ordered the same thing you usually did when you decided to come here once a week. A turkey Italian sandwich and a matcha green tea latte. Coffee wasn’t your thing. The taste was simply horrid to you.

You thanked the cashier, Yeona, for serving you and tipped her as you usually did before turning to get napkins for your accident-prone self. You stuffed about eight napkins into your coat pocket and turned around to find a seat only to get slammed into by another person clearly not paying attention. Their contents and yours seeped through your white blouse, the hot liquid threatening to melt the skin off of your chest. You dropped the rest of your latte trying to get the fabric from your skin.
“I’m so sorry!’ someone exclaimed in English, his Korean accent mild. “This was completely my fault,” he’s already pushing napkins towards you unsure of whether to help you dab it anyway or allow you to help yourself. Your skin was starting to cool but you worried of the burn being more serious than you anticipated.
You finally decided to look up at this stranger and pause mid-dab to stare at him for a full two seconds before you saw Yeona come with napkins.
“Oh Yeona, I’m so sorry,” you uttered in Korean, your focus back on the matter at hand. The fact that she had to do extra work because of you didn’t sit well with you. The man glanced at you in surprise for only a second before squatting down and helping the both of you clean the mess. You bent down grabbing fists full of napkins helping her clean.

Yeona took your wrist gently, “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. I’ll get you another. Sir, what did you have? I will also get you another.” 

“'Hot chocolate. Extra whip cream, please?’ he flashed her a smile which resulted in her shyly looking down with a nod.
You dispose of the used napkins and finally look at that man. He was dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and no tie. Only little spashes of your beverages got on his jacket and lower region of his shirt,but it wasn’t noticeable.

“You got the brunt of it.” he said observingly.

You nod but find that his eyes keep moving from your face and back to your chest again. You weren’t that busty so you wondered why he continued doing double takes and why everyone else snickered at you. Yes, your shirt was a mess but it couldn’t have been that bad. You look down at yourself to find that your wet blouse outlined your entire chest and stomach area. You quickly pulled your coat to cover yourself feeling heat rush into your face. 

The man glanced around before saying,“Wait here,”’ he then darted out of the cafe, leaving you looking clearly confused. You stood there waiting as he told you to like an idiot. People continued to stare. You were annoyed now and stared right back at them until they looked away. About that time he came back holding a white fabric in his hands.

“'Put this on?” he said entering the cafe at a jog. You looked from him to the shirt as it began to register. 

“'Tell me you didn’t just buy this,” you said.

He was still catching his breath, “Of course not. It was in my car.”

“I cant take this. My shirt will dry. Thank you though.”

He holds it out towards you some more, “You’ll freeze out there. And those three color combinations aren’t flattering,” He’s right. It looks like a baby barfed and pooped on my shirt all at once. 

“Okay…” You hesitantly take his shirt and retreat into the bathroom.

Once in there you smack your forehead once and then repeatedly after that. Of all the things to happen today…this? Really?

You remove your shirt, examining the mess. It would take hours of bleach just to get it out. You stuffed it in your satchel, preferring to decide on your garmet’s fate later. You begin to dab away the stickiness on your skin. Your brown skin was tender and red, but it didn’t shrivel up. You sighed in relief, the burns weren’t that serious. 

You shake out the mans shirt and have the sudden urge to smell it before you put it on. It didn’t smell bad at all, actually it was one of your favorite nameless men colognes. The type of aroma you smell when a man passes you and you’re instantly smitten. You glance at the collar, it’s a medium. But in men size thats about three times your size. That’s when you see the name on the tag. Your mouth falls open and you almost run outside in your bra wanting to throw it back to him. 

“Armani?!” You whisper loudly to no one but yourself. This shirt alone is two of your biweekly checks combined and this guy just tossed it to you like it was a $5 shirt. You slip it on carefully, as if one wrong move would have it ripping apart like wet paper. The shirt hangs off of you unflatteringly, but oversized shirts were your speciality. You tuck it into your trousers tightly and raise your arms above your head, pulling the fabric out a little. You slip back on your jacket, flipping the shirt collar over the coat’s own. 

You step out to find the man sitting at a table sipping his hot chocolate while scrolling through his cellphone. What you assume to be your latte was across from him, you’re not sure if you want to drink it now. You sigh and walk towards him, once again ignoring the eyes piercing into you. How could you have just taken clothes from a man you just met? 

When he sees you approach, he instantly moves to his feet, setting his hot cocoa down. 

“It suits you. You made it work,” he says observing his clothes on you. 

You nod, “Thank you for this,” you stand there awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. “Give me your number,” you blurt out and his eyebrows raise in surprise, “I must return your shirt to you or repay you somehow,” 

He smiles and you wondered how that mere facial expression managed to look so good for the one second of its appearance.

“No need. I have more where that came from,” 

I’m sure you do. 

“But,” he says holding your latte towards you while sipping from his own. He glances at you over the brim of his cup, “I will take that number though,” 

You scoff at the realization of how this all turned out and take your latte from his hand, “Wait a second, did you do all of this on purpose? Just to get my number?”

He chuckles, “Now why would I waste my perfect hot chocolate like that? But that plan is actually quite brilliant, I wish I thought of it myself,” 

When you don’t respond, still contemplating the mental sanity of this man, he tilts his head to the side, observing you. “Sit and enjoy your latte. You’ve seemed to have had a very rough start this morning.”

My first fanfiction in years. Just a little something I thought of.


I’m not sure what wakes me first— the sound of the stupid cat whining or the sound of the first rain of the year. But whatever it is, I am pulled out of my content sleep to face it. Peeta is oblivious to the interruption, having come to bed much later than normal to finish a painting. And while I’m tempted to wake him up, the last few nights have been hard on him.

His nightmares seem worse the closer to Reaping Day.

“Stupid cat.” I mutter to him, slipping out of the warmth to let him out. While our bedroom window was open, he seems to be losing his sight with old age. He can’t come and go as he pleases, at least not on the second story. He follows the sound of my footfall. We are both careful to avoid the creaky step at the bottom of the landing. Even the mangy old cat has become attune to Peeta’s needs.

Keep reading

starlightdancers  asked:


(Okay, I can’t resist a request. I’ll write it.) (Based on this head cannon

Heart on Paper

Adrien had heard about all of the paraphernalia that was based on Ladybug and his hero Alter ego, Chat Noir.

Adrien always enjoyed seeing all the stuff that was about chat noir, it may seem a bit vain, maybe even a bit self centered, but he loved how Paris loved the true him. His model work as Adrien, while he does enjoy it sometimes, felt more like his father’s work. Getting admiration and Praise as Chat noir however, felt far more gratifying.

One night after finishing his homework, Adrien began surfing the Ladyblog until he came across something very interesting.

“Fanfiction? What is that?” Adrien mutters to himself quietly, doing his best not to awake his black cat Kwami companion, Plagg.

He clicked on the tab and found himself on a fan site that had a plethora of fan-made tales of Ladybug and Chat noir.

Adrien clicked on each tale, finding himself more and more invested by each story. There were stories of him fighting kooky akuma’s that he had never heard of. Some had him and Ladybug fighting dragons, monsters, demons, robots, or even mutants. It was amazing,

Adrien left comments on each story he read. Always positive, sometimes politely pointing out some grammar errors along with it.

As he read on he found a section Labeled ‘Ladynoir’. 

“Ladynoir? I wonder what these are.” Adrien thought as he clicked on the tab to see countless fan fictions on display. He clicked the most popular one and found out exactly what Ladynoir meant.

“There are people who support My and Ladybug’s relationship. That is amazing!” Adrien exclaimed with joy. Plagg woke up and chucked an eraser at the blonde model’s head for waking him up with the outburst.

Adrien spent hours reading each Ladynoir fic he could get his hands on. Writing down everything that he thought could help him win Ladybug over. After awhile the sun went up and Adrien was taking notes.

It was free period at the school, and Adrien had been writing since the beginning of classes. A certain cap wearing teen came into the room with two candy bars.

“Here you go buddy.” The teen says as he tosses the candy bar to Adrien, who caught the candy bar with one hand while still writing.

“Thanks Nino.” Adrien answered without looking up from his writing.

Nino sits back in his seat right next to the blonde and casual sneaks a peek at what his friend has been writing.

“So what you writing there? Nino questions as he looks at the paper closely.

Adrien stops writing and takes a deep breathe. He flips the note book to the first page and hands it to Nino.

“Dude, you are writing fan fiction about Ladybug and Chat noir?” Nino announced unintentionally.

This caught the attention of the whole class. Everyone in the class gathered around Adrien’s desk, curious about the teen’s story.

“Do you mind if they look at it?” Nino inquired.

“Its fine, it isn’t really that good though.

The story was passed from student to student. Each one saying how well it was written, some giving mild suggestions. Adrien Lit up with every compliment.

 The paper went to Alya and she began to read it. At the time, each of the students went back to their seats with their curiosity quelled.

“This is really good. Can I upload this on the Ladyblog? my followers would love this.” 

“I would be honored.” Adrien smiled. Adrien turns back to his desk with a happy smile on his face, as Alya continued to look over the notebook.

A lovely bluenette runs into the classroom. Her parents needed her help at the bakery so she was late to school. She quickly hurried to her seat next to her best friend.

“Sorry I am late Alya, there was a big order at the bakery and my dad needed help. What did I miss?”

Alya smiles as she passes what she was reading to her friend.

“Hey Marinette, take a look at this.”

Marinette began reading and quickly took notice that it was a fanfic. But it wasn’t just any type of fan fiction. It was one about Ladybug and Chat noir. As she read on she was amazed on how well her hero personality as well as her black cat partner’s personality completely perfect. It was uncanny how the story was written. As she read on, she noticed the fic taking a certain turn and new right away that the fan fiction was in favor of her and Chat noir being a couple.

“Who wrote this?” Marinette asked after she finished reading, her face  a mix of embarrassment and surprise.

“I did.”

Marinette put the Paper down to see Adrien smiling at her. She felt her face become red as the smile pierced her heart.

‘My crush wrote a fan fiction about me and that alley cat getting together. Why is the world so cruel.’

“What did you think about it?” Adrien inquired as his green eyes shined on her like an emerald in the light of the morning sun.

“I mean it is pretty well written… I…. I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem like Ladybug would fall for Chat this way. Ladybug always struck me more as a keep it professional.” Marinette articulates. She had to be honest, she couldn’t outright say she didn’t like it due to not supporting the couple in the story, one because it wasn’t a bad story, and two because Adrien looked so invested in the story.

Adrien pondered Marinette’s view on the fanfic.

“I think you are right. How would you suggest Chat noir would go about winning Ladybug?” Adrien asks, making it seem like he wants to know how to write it in the story, but that was only part of the reason. Adrien had gathered a notebook of notes from fan fiction on how he could approach Ladybug with his feelings. Marinette always seems to give great advice, hearing her take may be the key to winning over ladybug.

“Well… The way you have it written out, it seems like a grand spectacle. While that is definitely in character for Chat noir, Ladybug always seemed more subtle and down to earth, but still loves romance. Maybe have chat make a picnic by the Eiffel tower…. Or something like that… Nothing too big, but still very grand in a chat way.” Marinette answered. Alya watching as her friend’s stutter begins to become less apparent. Marinette was becoming able to talk to Adrien. She just wished it wasn’t about how the cat could romance her.

Adrien just looks at her with his eyes wide for a moment, seeing how brilliant her idea was. “That is an Excellent Idea. Thanks Marinette. Maybe I can have you help me write these sometime.”

“Y-Yeah, that sounds good.”

Adrien then grabs her hands and smiled at her.

“Thanks Marinette, You really are a good friend.”

Adrien turned back around and sat down, not noticing the huge smile on Marinette’s face.

“Marinette? Are you okay?” Alya said as she snapped her fingers.

Marinette was in her imaginary cloud nine, fantasizing about what had happened.

Adrien was in a similar boat, but he was more focused on imaging how he would gather the supplies he needs for a dinner by the Eiffel tower.

(Hope you like this @starlightdancers)

stagdoewolfdog  asked:

Hey! So I saw this on this on the otpPrompts blog, and I can TOTALLY see Felicity saying this! "Imagine your OTP gets trapped in a very close-quarters place, causing them to be pressed fairly close together, and Person A says, “I swear this is the beginning to every smutty fan-fiction ever.” ;D LOVE your writing!!! hope you're having a gorgeous day! <3

ficstalkers: arrows-and-fairytales, olicitykisses, smoakinamell, dumplingnooona, justanother90sbaby, flash-smoak-and-arrows, redpendreaming, lieutenantsmoak, amellthirst, snowssmoak, dimitrijbelikov

non-established olicity, set in the summer between season 2 and 3, definitely not canon-complacent. This had me in giggles the entire time I wrote it :)

Sweeter Than FanFiction

This wasn’t how she was supposed to be spending her afternoon. She should have been getting ready for her date tonight, not be stuck in an elevator with her former –and future if everything went according to plan—boss. But here she was, thirty minutes after she was supposed to meet poor Daniel, sitting on the marble floor of the tiny space with her ankles crossed. OH and did she mention she had no cell service and no LTE or Wi-Fi? Cause she didn’t, and it was awful. Not that being stuck in a small space with Oliver was necessarily a problem, the circumstances and the timing were just really terrible.

She could swear this was the beginning to every smutty fan-fiction ever. Oliver stopped in his tracks. He’d been pacing back and forth the tiny space for at least an hour now, much to Felicity’s annoyance. He looked at her, eyebrows knitting together.

“What?” He said in that oh so familiar tone, just like he had the first time they met when she had started babbling about Hamlet. Felicity suppressed the smile that the memory brought in favor of blushing a bright shade of red as she realized her mouth had ran away with her again, and she had spoken out loud.

“Oh…uhm, you know…” How the hell was she supposed to explain this to him? And in a way that he wouldn’t think she was going crazy. What he did next surprised her. He sat down next to her, hand folded in his lap and he looked at her.

“Enlighten me?” He asked and Felicity could see the sincerity in his eyes. He was as fed up with the situation as she was but instead of lashing out, he was trying to make the best of it. She could really appreciate the effort even if she was probably going to embarrass herself even more in the next few minutes. Felicity let out a huff of air and turned to look at him.

“Okay, well, you know how there are people who are really into TV-shows or movies or books, or all three, or even bands or theatre or whatever, really?”

Oliver nodded. She was amazed at how interested he seemed.

“They often write stories about the characters they love. Fan written fiction.”

“Isn’t that stealing? With like copyright laws or something?”

Oh, Oliver, she thought. Trying so hard to be a business man. She smiled a little and shook her head.

“I don’t think anyone has really gotten in trouble for it. After all, all it does is promote the show, movie, book or whatever. You get what I’m saying.”

He pursed his lips and nodded.

“Anyways, smut is fanfiction of the sexy variation.”

Oliver’s lips parted and then closed again. She could swear she saw his pupils dilate ever so slightly before he blinked, the blue of his eyes a little darker when he looked at her again. He narrowed his eyes a little as he nodded. She didn’t need to explain what exactly happened in those stories. Not that she wouldn’t have blushed and stumbled her way through an explanation if he had asked for it. Felicity looked at her watch and sighed. It had been almost two hours after the elevator doors had closed and they were still stuck. She wondered what was taking so long. In such a large company as Queen Consolidated, there ought to be a mechanic available. She shook her head a little and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She didn’t mind being stuck in an elevator with Oliver when he wasn’t acting like a time-bomb of nerves and agitation.

“Do you write stories like that?” He asked after a moment of silence, surprising her once again.

“What? Me? No, I don’t have the time. I did dabble in some Mulder and Scully from X-Files stuff in college but I didn’t have the talent. Seriously, some of them are better than published novels I’ve read. I have always been better with numbers than letters.” She laughed.

Oliver smiled as the ring of her laughter filled the space.

“I do read them. More often than I’d like to admit, actually. But, with our nightly activities and stuff, it’s becoming really hard to pick up an actual book. There’s enormous databases of fanfiction of all kinds, and it’s free. There’s a ton of terms I won’t bother you with, but it’s kinda great if I have a spare minute of time.”

Felicity was looking down at her hands. She had started twisting her fingers as she was talking, explaining to Oliver all the different genres and alternate universes that she loved, the blush of embarrassment slowly fading from her cheeks. He didn’t laugh at her, as most of her other boyfriends had. Not that Oliver was her boyfriend. But he was something. She wondered for a second what Oliver was really thinking. He probably thought it was childish and silly.

“I don’t think it’s silly at all.” Felicity internally cursed her non-existent brain-to-mouth filter for screwing up again before looking up at him.

Oliver smiled and shrugged, putting a hand on hers where they were lying in her lap. “Do what you love, right?”

She smiled softly and nodded. “Right.”

And that’s when the elevator started moving. The both sighed in relief and Felicity let her head fall to Oliver shoulders. Neither moved until the metal doors slid open and Diggle stepped inside?

“Did you two have a nice afternoon?” He asked, smirk on his face.

Felicity blushed a little, pulling her head off of Oliver’s shoulder and gathering her things. Oliver stood up and reached out a hand to help her off the floor.

“Took you long enough.” Felicity said to Diggle.

“QC’s Stock rate isn’t the only thing around here that isn’t working.” He retorted.

From the corner of her eye, Felicity saw Oliver’s face fall and instinctively, she put a hand in the crook of his elbow.

“We’ll get the company back.” She said, right before her phone started blowing up with missed phone calls and text messages.

“Crap. Daniel thinks I stood him up.” She cursed as they started walking to where Diggle had parked the car, getting rid of the notifications one by one.

“Daniel?” Oliver asked, his voice a little higher than usual.

Felicity sighed and nodded “I met him at Tech Village. We were supposed to meet for dinner a while ago, but with the whole ‘stuck in an elevator thing’ he now thinks I’m blowing him off.”

She put her phone back in her purse and shook her head. “Well, I guess that means take-out food and Netflix tonight.”

Oliver smiled a little as she scrunched up her nose and pursed her lips. “Not that I really mind, Netflix is probably better company anyways.”

He laughed and put a hand on her shoulder. “He’s an idiot.” He watched as a softness washed over her features, the sparkle in her eyes glimmering as she smiled.

“Thanks.” Felicity whispered, blushing a little before sliding into the car as Diggle held open the door for her.

“You’re an idiot too, you know.” Diggle whispered to Oliver when she was out hearing range. He frowned in confusion at Diggle’s words, but he just rolled his eyes in response and walked around the car to get into the driver’s seat. Oliver stood there for a second, contemplating his words before shaking them off and sliding into the car next to Felicity. She was mindlessly thumbing through her e-mails, too preoccupied to notice the confused look on Oliver’s face. Dig started the ignition after Oliver pulled the door shut, and they were on their way home.

About two hours later, Felicity was freshly showered, lounging on her couch in her PJ’s, scrolling through her Netflix watch list. She may have had a little too much wine, but she decided it was a great idea to send Oliver a link to her favorite Mulder/Scully fanfiction ever.

'You didn’t ask for this, but after that whole conversation in the elevator, I feel like you need to read this. X – Felicity’ was the accompanying message.

She threw her phone to the opposite end of the couch after what she had just done had sunk in. She poured herself another glass of wine to toast to her stupidity and picked her favorite Doctor Who episode to watch, Vincent and The Doctor. A few minutes in, right after the Tardis traveled back to 19th century France, her phone chimed.

It couldn’t be Oliver, she thought. She told herself she didn’t need to check her phone, and yet, there she was, sitting on her couch, fiddling with the hem of her Oscar The Grouch t-shirt, anxious to see what his reply was. And she wasn’t even sure it was him, It could be anybody that had her number, really. Statistically, there was a very small chance that Oliver responded to her text within 5 minutes. Wasn’t there a rule about that or something? Like, wait ten minutes before responding to your crush. Not that she thought she was Oliver’s crush or anything. That was such a teenage thing to say anyways. Could that even be applied to them? The Doctor was well on his way to Vincent Van Gogh’s house when she realized her thoughts were babbling. That was a nice side-effect of being alone with nobody to stop you from rambling on into oblivion. Reaching for the remote, she paused the TV and took her phone. Pressing the home button would reveal a new text message. From no one else than Oliver Queen. He clearly didn’t give a damn about not texting back before the ten minutes were up.

'Can’t wait! :) I was meaning to ask you to send me something, thanks. X – Oliver’ The message said. Felicity stared at her phone for several minutes, the warmth reaching her cheeks. Oliver Queen just sent her an smiley face and a kiss.

It took her a long time to fall asleep that night. She was trying hard not to overthink it, but the image of Oliver reading fanfiction kept popping up in her head, with no way to get rid of it. If she was honest, it was kinda hot to think about too.

The next morning, after that restless night of sleep, too many cups of coffee, she was two hours into her early shift at Tech Village. She was just finishing up with a customer when she saw him stroll ever so casually into the little store. She bid the costumer goodbye and leaned over the counter, popping up her elbow to rest her head in her hand.

“Goodmorning. What are you doing up so early? And here in this humble little Tech Village.”

She knew she was being unnecessarily flirty, but it worked. Oliver let out a breathy laugh and shook his head.

“I have it from a reliable source that this is where you meet people these days.” He retorted. Felicity’s eyes widened and she blushed a little as she straightened back up. He sauntered over to the counter, putting his hands on the cold glass.

“Really, Oliver. Why are you here? Did something happen?” She whispered the last part for reasons still unclear to her, but he knew she was talking about their other job. He smiled and shook his head.

“No. I just thought I’d follow Fox Mulder’s example and finally ask the object of my infatuation out on a date before someone else realizes how amazing she is.” He said it so casually she almost missed what he was really saying. Her eyes went wide, her bright red lips parting in astonishment.

“Wait?! You actually read it?!” She grabbed his forearm and smiled.

Oliver raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you got from that sentence?”

She looked dumbstruck, her eyebrows knitting together, lips pursing. “What? I didn’t think you’d actually read it. I guess I’m just kinda surprised.”

“…Felicity.” He cut her off with a hand on her shoulder. “I’m trying to ask you to dinner here.”

Her mouth fell open in a round 'o’. She nodded slowly and started blushing and then smiling, the little flicker of light in her eyes sparkling with joy.

“Would you like to go out with me sometime, Felicity?” He asked. He was smiling now too.

She nodded. “Yes. I would love to.”

Tilting her head to the side, she chuckled a little. “Took you long enough to ask.”

Oliver sighed and shook his head. And then he was leaning closer over the counter, getting into her personal space like he kind of always did. Not that she minded, it was nice having him close.

“You know… Dig said the same thing, but I-”

She could see his eyes drop to her red lips and before she knew it she was cutting off his words by slanting her mouth over his. It took him a second to realize what was happening but he quickly responded by putting his warm hand on her cheek. She was tugging him closer by his collar when she heard a loud throat-clearing behind her. Stiffening completely, she untangled her fingers from his shirt and pulled away. Her cheeks were flaming red already, her eyes wide and unfocused, irises a shade darker than usual behind her frames. Oliver smirked at her before she turned around to face her mousy, middle-aged boss. For a split second she thought about how her IQ was higher than all of her co-worker’s combined. But this was not the time to dwell on that slightly depressing fact.

Her manager was staring at her through scrutinizing eyes. He had clearly already recognized Oliver, but chose to focus solely on his employee making out with the man.

“Back to work, Miss Smoak.”

“Hmm-hmm.” She hummed, nodding as her cheeks turned even more red. “Yes. Of course.”

The man squinted his eyes and turned around, back to his office. Oliver let out a breathy laugh behind her, hand tugging on her elbow. She turned around, mouth opening and closing like a fish. He smirked at her. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes for a second before letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“So? Dinner tonight?”

She nodded. “Dinner.”

more fic

Favorite Day

(My 5th Owelia story holds a piece of my soul.)

“The birds have vanished into the sky and now the last cloud drains away. We sit together, the mountain and me, until only the mountain remains.” Owen lay back as he said it, resting his head on a patch of soft grasses that surrounded them.

“Only the mountain, eh?” Amelia teased.

“…And you.” He added, looking right into her.

Her breathing stopped for a moment. Then she inhaled deeply, as if suddenly remembering how. She turned her gaze to the view of Mt. Rainier far in the distance across a long valley and an endless sky. That eternity was a safer place to look than the one she saw in Owen’s eyes.

“I can only imagine the words that Ancient Chinese poets would have used if they could have seen me coming.” Amelia joked, because that was easier than pregnant silence.

Owen chuckled, because that was easier than pressing her with his feelings. For the time being.

“Tell me a story,” he asked of her.

“About what?” she wondered.

“Tell me about your favorite day. You know, a day that if you could go back in time and do it over, you wouldn’t change a thing.”

“My favorite day…” Amelia sat in thought for a while.

Owen watched her hands play with the lupines growing among the grasses. Those flowers looked like Ancient Chinese houses, full of poetry of their own, at least when she touched them.

Amelia had a lot of days she’d do over again if she could - at least a thousand – but all differently. She didn’t much like the past. But Owen had a way of making her recall the things worth remembering.

And so Amelia remembered…

“The summer I was 13, my friend, Michelle, invited me to spend a couple of weeks at her aunt’s farm in Upstate New York. There was a festival going on a few towns away. Her aunt said no, but I convinced Michelle we should go anyway. Her aunt thought we were walking to town to see a movie and do some shopping. She told us to be back by dark. Really we walked to the highway and hitchhiked to catch a ride. The whole walk I was high. Not on drugs, but something else. It was something I’d never felt before.”

Owen looked at her thoughtfully. He wanted this.

Amelia continued, “A couple in a pick-up stopped for us, and said we could hop in the back with their kids. There was a wooden frame around the truck bed so we could stand up and hold on. The truck started moving, and my high got bigger. The wind was in my face, blowing through me, like it held my soul. I felt like I was moving toward something huge and great, like how my life could be if I imagined hard enough. The fields around us were so green, and there was a rainbow in the sky – only not just a regular one. It was a triple rainbow, spanning across the entire horizon. I’d never seen one before - or since. I didn’t even know they existed. And then all at once, everything seemed possible.”

Owen tried not to move a muscle, lest she stop talking. He wanted more of her, so much more.

And she gave him more. “The festival was sensory overload – full of color, movement, sounds, fragrances, and people. We met this boy playing carnival games. He caught my attention because somehow he won every time. He had this shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair that fell in his eyes like Kurt Kobain’s. I asked him if he wanted to get ice creams with us, and he did. Only he got a chocolate milkshake instead. He let me taste it, and all my 13-year-old self could think about was how his lips had been on the straw before mine.”

Amelia paused and glanced at Owen. His eyes widened. Maybe he was getting more than he could handle here. But he wanted everything nonetheless.

“Don’t worry,” she assured him, “the day did not end with me screwing ‘Kurt’ behind the tilt-a-whirl.”

Much to his chagrin, Owen breathed a sigh of relief.

“In fact,” she added, “After the milkshake, he was gone. And that was part of the magic of it all. Just moving from one high to the next. Without effort, without trying.

“Michelle kept nagging me about needing to be home by dark, so we made our way back to the highway and caught another ride. We rode in the back of a pick-up again, only this time we were lying in the bed, looking up at the sky. Michelle pointed out the first star and told me to make a wish. But in that moment, I had nothing to wish for. So instead I squeezed her hand and told her thanks for an amazing day. She moved her head against mine and squeezed my hand back in the twilight. And then she told me her aunt was going to kill us.”

Amelia smiled. And Owen’s heart melted into the mountain.

“Only she didn’t kill you,” he noted.

“No. We told her there was a double feature that we just couldn’t resist, and she was forgiving. It was the perfect day,” Amelia concluded.

Owen silently agreed. It was perfect. She was perfect. Perfectly flawed. And he loved it. Every bit of it.

She could feel it as he looked at her. So she tried to distract him again.

“Your turn now,” she insisted, “Tell me about your favorite day.”

His eyes were on her for a long time. And then he began…

“My favorite day happened here in Seattle. I had a lot of great days growing up here, but I’ll tell you about the one I wouldn’t change. I woke up that day to the sun high in the sky. The forecast called for rain, but there were no clouds in sight. The day was full of possibilities – but it felt good to not have to hurry off to them. It felt great to just lie in bed and dream about them.”

Amelia felt great just picturing Owen lying in bed, dreaming. She loved this.

He offered more, “The phone rang, and I was surprised to hear a girl’s voice when I picked up. Only not just any girl. It was a girl I’d had a crush on for a long time. She asked me what I was doing and if I wanted to hang out. I pinched my arm. Just to make sure I wasn’t still dreaming.”

All of a sudden, Amelia wasn’t loving this quite so much anymore. Young Owen crushing on other girls wasn’t part of her dreams.  But he was patient with her story about ‘Kurt,’ and she could offer him the same.

“I picked her up in my car,” he continued, “And we drove through the city. I wanted to take her someplace special, but I didn’t want to tell her that. I wanted to experience the day with her and not scare her off or change her mind about spending time with me.

“We parked the car and started walking. I had led her there, but then I just followed her to where I knew our path would take us. There was a butterfly following her too. It was pale blue, the exact color as her eyes. But I’m not sure if she saw it.”

Awareness crept over Amelia, and her heartbeat seeped into her skin. “Maybe she saw it too,” she said breathlessly.

“Perhaps,” Owen smiled.

“What happened next?” Amelia encouraged.

“We sat together a long time, just her and me and the mountain. Telling our stories. We had the most beautiful view in Seattle, only I couldn’t stop looking at her.

Amelia’s heart was crazy now. “And how did the day end?” she asked.

Owen paused a long time before he answered, “I told her - I love her.”

Amelia’s voice was barely audible now, “And how did she respond?”

“She hasn’t yet,” he said gently, “But I’ll keep you posted.”

The wind blew through Amelia and it held her soul. She was high. As high as she’d ever been. Feelings this strong just had to be named. To not name them was to deny their existence. And there was no denying this.

“She loves you too,” she whispered with the wind.

Owen could breathe again. He breathed in her words and they filled him up. He reached out through the lupine, through poetry, and took her hand in his.

Amelia felt like she was moving toward something huge and great, like how her life could be if she imagined hard enough. And then all at once, everything seemed possible.

Harry's Whole World

The thought of going out tonight killed you. It was one of those nights that your introverted side came out. You and your friends had been in Vegas for 4 days now and they wanted to go clubbing. Again. You love going out, but after the past three nights all you wanted was to curl up with a good book and a cup of tea. Here you were though, applying eyeliner in the bathroom and dreading the impending evening. 

“Come on, Y/N!” your friend said slapping your back, “don’t look so down.”

You half smiled, attempting to seem like you were pumped. Another reason you didn’t want to go out was because the past three nights taught you that guys here in Vegas tended to overlook you. They looked at and danced with your friends but you always ended up alone. Normally you are cool with that but dealing with dancing alone three nights in a row? Yeah not that fun, and you didn’t want another night of that. You notice everyone is so pumped for another wild night but you just felt so blah. Nothing could make this night better.

You arrive at the nightclub, the music already too loud and you’re only outside. You drag yourself into the building and are instantly overwhelmed by it all: lights, sounds, smells and people.  All your friends instantly head to the bar ready to start the night. They all order some fruity little cocktails but you decide one of those whimsy drinks won’t cut it. You order a double 7&7, the whiskey could help make this night bearable.

One by one your friends are dragged to the dance floor by some creep who probably only wants to hit it and quit it. You sit at the bar for awhile simply drowning your boredom in your drink.  “Why are you such as sourpuss?” you ask yourself.

You wish you could party and party like your friends but thats not who are. You notice a guy fill the empty seat next to you and pray he talks to you. You are super bored and could use some company but nope, nothing. He orders a drink, scotch. He must be having a long day. You glance in your peripheral to get a look at him, however you can’t see his face because he’s looking down at his glass. You look him over, he has dark shaggy hair and a nice sense of style, you wish you could just get a glimpse of his face. As you think this his head turns and soon your eyes meet. Sparkling eyes. Is this the green Dorothy experienced? Shining emeralds grasped your attention. You realize after a bit that you’re staring so you quickly look away. Something about this guy made your heart race. When you looked into his eyes it was like you were seeing destiny.  You now realize how far fetched all of this is.  You can’t even say hi to this guy yet you feel like he is definitely your future. The alcohol is obviously working. It’s probably best for you to leave now. You place some money down and hop off the barstool and survey the club for your friends. 

“You’re leaving? You haven’t even finished your drink,” you hear a slow, deep accented voice say.

You whip around and see the voice’s owner is Mr. Green Eyes. You half smile and shrug your shoulders. He stretches his hand out to your old seat silently asking you to join him.

“Harry,” he says once you are seated. 

You accept his handshake, his hand swallowing yours because it was much larger than yours.

“Y/N” you reply.

You both hold hands for awhile. Something about your hand in his was sending electrical currents through your body. Eventually you pull your hand out of his grip. Harry doesn’t say anything for awhile, he just stares into your soul. It literally feels like he is understanding you just by looking at you. You know that’s crazy, but it’s how you feel.  Harry finally speaks up, however, all you see is his lips moving, you can’t hear a word over the loud music.  You shake your head indicating you can’t understand him. He then points at you then him then to the dance floor and then he shimmies his shoulders. You get that he is asking you to dance. You slightly chuckle because his delivery was comical and unusual. He cocks his eyebrow at you waiting for an answer. That cocked eyebrow made your stomach do somersaults. Just a couple minutes ago you were ready to leave but now you definitely have a reason to stay so you figure why not. You shrug your shoulders and nod your head yes. He gets off the stool and you quickly realize this guy is tall. Harry only stands a little shorter than when he was seated. He extends his hand to you, helping you off your chair. Standing there you feel so small to Harry, but not scared. His large stature is comforting and almost welcoming to you in an odd way. He leads you to the dance floor and the two of you find a spot. Instead of dancing though you both just stand there looking at each other. You now have a clearer picture of him. He hair has a slight curl to it and it keeps falling in his face so he keeps sweeping it off to the side. This motion gives you full access to his face. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed and whether it’s from the bright lights or because he is studying you, you don’t know. In the light his eyes seem to be more mesmerizing than ever, not only are they green but you see flecks of blue and hazel within. You move down his face and his smile is a cheeky little one thats brings out dimples. Overall, his beauty is not like anything you’ve seen. Everything about his seems perfect. You want to dance but you feel like that’s not how to handle this current situation, you feel something else would be a better method of socializing with Harry. Harry leans down and puts his face next yours, you feel his lips slightly brush your cheek before the reach their final destination of next to your ear,

“Do you want to get out of here?” Harry asks.

“Sure,“ you reply.

Where would you two be going? Why did you agree to this? What if he kidnaps you? Maybe those feelings of chemistry earlier were not butterflies but a gut instinct to run from this guy. Harry grabs your hand and leads you outside of the club. 

“Thank God,” you breathe once you are finally out of the club.

“Really crowded in there,” Harry says “Not a huge fan of crowds.”

“Then why go to a club?” you ask while taking a seat on a bench, Harry sitting next you.

“Honestly?” Harry asks looking embarrassed and rubbing the back of his head.

“No, lie to me” you say with sarcasm.

Harry laughs at your demeanor, his smile is so big that you can’t but help smile and laugh with him.

“I came here for you,” he says, the light tone in his voice now gone.

You swallow hard. You aren’t sure what Harry could possibly mean by that. You can’t help but feel like Harry’s statement should make you uncomfortable but it doesn’t.

“Oh yeah? And why would you do that?”

“Because I saw this girl the other day in the store, she caught my eye and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her,” Harry forces out.

You sit there in utter shock, you can’t believe something this intense is happening to you. Guys never really fall for you let alone follow you to get a chance with you. Harry reaches over and pust his hand on your chin,

“Close your mouth” He laughs while pushing your chin upward “We wouldn’t want you to swallow a fly, but maybe you wouldn’t die considering you are not an old lady but still no flies going in your mouth tonight.” 

You look away hiding the small smile that’s crept up on your face from his touch. When you look back you just see Harry staring at you.

“What’s your favorite movie?” Harry asks.

“What?” you are perplexed by his random question.

“Someone once told me if you never really know what to say to someone ask them what their favorite movie is. And, well, you have me speechless.”

“Stop that!” you say smacking Harry’s chest. 

Harry just looks back at you with a face of confusion, He raises his arms as if asking what he has done.

“You can’t keep saying stuff like that,” you tut at him “makes a girl’s heart race.”

He sits there now chuckling and putting his hand over his face. 

“I make your heart race?” Harry exclaims “You make my heart feel like it is going to explode out of my chest!”

So Harry felt the connection too it seems. Somehow you both have fallen into this state of bliss. Harry is just staring at you again. He wasn’t even saying anything but you were already feeling your heart rate pick up.

“10 things I Hate About You,“ you say.

“Excuse me?” Harry utters, seeming to have taken offense.

“My favorite movie.”

“No way, that’s one of my tops!” Harry exclaims, so happy that we share something in common. “Want to get out of here?”

You shrug your shoulders at him, and get up from the bench and follow Harry. He grabs your hand again, unexpectedly. You worry that he’ll feel your sweaty palms and be super grossed out but you can’t just pull your hand back. You two walk a distance in silence before you finally ask, “Where are we going?”

“Not sure,” Harry responds “Kinda was hoping you’d suggest for somewhere to go.” 

“Oh,” you remark “Do you have a room? I guess we could go there.”

What is up with you today? You just willingly go to some strangers room, this isn’t like you. But then again how you feel around Harry isn’t usual. Tonight is just a wild night, you figure. Life is all about living and if this guy is your destiny then you have to take these chances, you think. After a short walk of silence you arrive at Harry’s hotel. His hotel is way nicer than the one you and your friends were staying in. You just silently take in the high class environment you were now in. Harry leads you to the elevator, laughing at your reaction to the place. 

“I’m going to be honest again, something about you is just so fascinating,” Harry states.

“Thanks!” you exclaim while sticking your tongue out. 

After what seemed like the longest elevator ride, you guys went to the top floor, you arrive at Harry’s room. Now you realize you have no idea what you are doing here. You begin freaking out inside, and this must have showed on your face because Harry questions you,

“You okay?”

“Fine,” you blurt out, “Actually I never do things like this, but somehow I’m comfortable with this and you and it’s all a little odd to me.”

“Yeah that’s crazy because I feel the same way.”

“You do?”

Harry nods his head yes and opens the door. Harry chivalrously holds the door open for you. The minute you walk in your mouth hits the floor again, Harry’s room is the penthouse.

“I thought we talked about this,” Harry chuckles and walks over to shut your mouth.

Harry walks over to the couch and takes a seat. He grabs the remote and suggests that you could watch something. You are still standing by the entrance, in awe of the grandeur of the room.

“I have my own business,” Harry offers up an explanation to your silent question, “and you seem smart so you can figure out that it’s doing ok.”

You chuckle, embarrassed with how you acted. You walk over to where he is seated but as you approach the couch you trip on the area rug. Soon you are going from an upright position to an angled position. Harry jumps up to catch you and you both tumble onto the couch. You are now under Harry. His warmth on top of you makes your heart pick up the pace. Harry has a necklace with a cross and the Star of David on it dangling off his neck. You run your fingers off the charms and then you don’t know what comes over you but soon you are pulling Harry’s head down and your lips are on his. You feel the instant desire for Harry sweep over you. Harry returns your kiss placing his hands on the couch in order to support himself. You run your hands through Harry’s hair, pulling at his hair bringing him closer to you, needing more of him by the second. Harry breaks the heated kiss and soon begins kissing your neck and slowly moving down your chest while lifting your shirt over your head. You moan wanting him all over you. Soon Harry flips you over and you are straddling him. You look down at him, how did you both get here? The question is stupid considering the only thing you need right now is this gorgeous green eyed man. You reconnect your lips to Harry’s and continue exploring his mouth. Soon you leave his mouth and trail down his neck. You slowly unbutton his shirt, pulling it open you find little works of art all over his body. You are stunned by them.

“Not a fan of tattoos?” Harry questions.

“They are so intriguing,” you explain to him. You place your hand on his left bicep, tracing his cartoon heart then move to the anatomical heart. You lay gentle kisses on both. Now you’ve come to trace the swallows along the top of his chest, noting the small differences between the two. You also lay small kisses on both. You now come to the butterfly across his stomach.

“What’s this?” you ask pointing to something next to the butterfly’s left wing.

“Oh that’s one of my extra nipples,” Harry explains. 

You run your hand over it, so fascinated by every little thing about this man. Tracing the butterfly slowly, you notice all the little details. You can’t help but smile, butterflies have always brought you joy in life. You begin to place small kisses around the insect when all of a sudden you feel something moving up your lips. You eyes fly open and to your surprise the butterfly has come to life and is no longer on Harry’s chest.

“What in the world?!” you yell.

“Oh I should have warned you,” Harry sheepishly says, “This is Darcy, my pet butterfly.”

“Whaaat?” you stutter, so confused by what’s going on.

“He’s magical.” Harry explains, “Abra-Cadabra.”

Soon the once normal sized butterfly has now grown larger.

“He acts as a sort of magic carpet” Harry offers up a explanation.

Soon Harry is climbing onto the butterfly. He reaches his hand out to you,

“Come aboard, Y/n! I can show you the world!” Harry says eager for you to join him.

You figure why not, and climb up next to Harry and soon you both are busting through the window and cruising past all the bright Vegas lights and begin your journey for a fabulous life together.