make this into a fanfic

Como esa lluvia que moja el corazón

So this is how I’m starting Lutteoficweek! I did both prompts because I have no self-respect. Thanks to Carol @vivesenmiestoyenti for proofreading. This is my first time writing for this fandom, but the girls convinced me. Hope you guys enjoy. Sorry for the long paragraphs :) All the ficweek tittles are from SL songs

Ficday 1: “It’s raining and you forgot your umbrella so I offered for us to share but this was a mistake because you’re tall and I am not and the wind is blowing water in my face and goddammit get down here”
“You’re an exchange student and my family is hosting you, we might become just a little too close during your stay”


“Matteo, hurry up! I wanna get home before it starts raining again,” Luna says while leaning against the lockers, waiting for the boy to get his books into his backpack.

Matteo looks at her apologetically, trying to make his huge algebra textbook fit, even though the task seems impossible. Does he really need to take all of his books home for the weekend? Geez. “Sorry, chica delivery. I had to stay a bit late to talk with the teacher about the physics essay for next week.”

No matter how desperate she is to get home, she has to smile at the nickname. Matteo had started calling her that since he found out she works part-time making deliveries on skates for a fast food restaurant called Foodger Wheels. He’d made fun of her at the time, but lately, he has gained a new appreciation for his friend’s job. She sometimes comes home with food she sneaks out with Simón’s help, while her boss isn’t looking, and Matteo really loves the fries. They aren’t that good, in Luna’s opinion, but Matteo always says he didn’t get to eat much fast food stuff back in Italy, because his parents didn’t like it, so he needs to make up for lost time.

Matteo finally gets his things to all fit inside his backpack, and when he turns to her with a self-satisfied smirk (which doesn’t make her heart skip a beat, she swears), she sighs with relief. “Let’s go then, chico fresa. You took long enough already”. She starts making her way to the entrance, not bothering to look back at him; she knows he’s following her. Sure enough, he passes her by and opens the door for her with an exaggerated gesture. “After you, milady” he whispers closely to her ear as she exits the building, never once breaking eye contact. She stops for a moment, looking at him with the same intensity. She thinks it’s really strange, how brown eyes can be so common and yet, every time she looks into his, it feels like the first time she’s ever seen the color. His gaze is just so warm and captivating, and somehow, it always makes her breath catch in her throat.

She wonders just when she got so sappy, she definitely wasn’t like this two months ago when the Italian first came to live with her family. She remembers being absolutely surprised when her parents told her they’d signed up to be a host family for her school’s exchange program. The incredibly fancy Blake South College was affiliated with other equally prestigious schools around the world, and they’d all convened on giving each institution’s best students the opportunity to attend to one of the other schools for a trimester and get to learn about the other country’s culture. Ámbar Smith, Luna’s sort-of cousin, was the only one of the Blake’s students chosen for the program and was now happily studying in Paris, and posting every second of her experience on social media. The Blake had the pleasure of welcoming two students, one freshman from Norway who was staying with the family of one of the guys in Luna’s biology class, and Matteo Balsano, the Italian wonder-boy currently living at her house. She remembers the day they’d gone to pick him up to the airport. She’d been late; still in her uniform, since she’d come from school after staying late for a project. She recalls seeing her parents helping a guy with his (very expensive looking) bags and running over to them. She ended up tripping the moment she reached them and knocking into the guy. Talk about a good first impression. After apologizing for her clumsiness and regaining her balance, she’d allowed herself to take a good look at him: Tall and slender, lots of curly brown hair, very handsome features, fancy designer clothes, a smirk that looked permanently etched into his face. Her dad had interrupted her staring with the proper introductions and then they’d been off. Matteo had kept stealing smug glances at her the whole car ride to her house between answering all of her parent’s questions about him and Italy. He’d been pretty nice and polite to them, but his gaze still had made Luna uncomfortable. When they’d gotten home, the Valentes had shown him to the guest room and left Luna and Matteo by themselves. The first thing he’d said to her was “Nice fall back at the airport. I know I’m handsome but you shouldn’t try to throw yourself at me anymore. Bet your parents wouldn’t be too happy with that.” His smirk had infuriated her even more than his words had and she promptly left the room with a huff; not before telling him to shut the hell up, calling him chico fresa (not her best insult, but she’d been pretty out of it at the time) and hearing him call after her with half a laugh. The next morning she’d dreaded going down to have breakfast, but decided not to be a coward and found him alone in the kitchen, finishing the pancakes Mónica Valente had made for him. “What did you call me yesterday? Chico fresa, wasn’t it? Why did you call me that? I don’t believe I’ve heard “strawberry” used as an insult before,“ He’d asked, his arrogant grin not faltering even when she’d decided to steal the last of his pancake before he’d had a chance to eat it himself. She’d pointed at him with a fork, glowering, "In México, that’s how we call self-centered idiots like you, who go around thinking they are God’s gift to humanity”. He’d put his hands up, chuckling, “Well, you do have to admit He did a pretty stellar job with me. I’m impressive, if I do say so myself.” Luna had rolled her eyes at that and tried to bring him down a few pegs by calling him a couple choice words and glaring at him some more; but he seemed to have a witty and ridiculous response for everything she said; and while part of her had wanted to empty the bottle of maple syrup over his head, she’d been pretty entertained by the whole conversation. At one point, she let out a genuine laugh, not being able to contain herself any longer. At that, Matteo had widened his eyes a little and given her a smile that had lacked the arrogance she’d come to think was characteristic of him. He stretched his hand towards her, inviting her to take it and without thinking, she did. A weird electricity had passed through her at that moment, which she’d decided to ignore. He looked at her with those deep brown eyes of his and said in a gentler voice than she’d expected, “I think we’ve argued enough, don’t you? How about a truce? We’ll be living under the same roof for a while, I’d like it if we could get along.” She looked for any sort of malice in his eyes but found none. “So we start over?” she asked with hesitation. He nodded, a serious look taking over his features, “Hi, my name is Matteo Balsano and I hope you and I can become friends.” She smiled at that, “I’m Luna Valente, and I’d like that, Chico fresa.” They’d laughed together after that, and the tension from before had been quickly forgotten.

Pulling herself from her thoughts, Luna is the first one to break eye contact, she always is. She does a half-hearted mock bow and thanks him for his “immense kindness”. He seems to recover faster than her from their previous “moment” and laughs while pulling her along with him so they can continue on their way home. Since her parents manage their own restaurant (they won’t let her work for them because she needs “real work experience outside of the family business.” Ugh), she doesn’t want to make them waste time on picking her up from school when she can just go on foot by herself since it’s only a 15-minute walk. She used to walk back with Nina and Gastón, but now the two of them are dating, it feels a little like she’s intruding on something private and special. She likes spending time alone with Matteo anyway. Since the truce that morning on her kitchen, they’ve become incredibly close. Yes, he’s still a conceited jerk most of the time and neither of them can stop teasing each other for longer than a few minutes, but they somehow make it work. She’s learned to appreciate his self-confidence and wit, but he’s also allowed her to see a more vulnerable and sensible side of him that he doesn’t usually let anyone else see.

Except for Gastón, of course. The two boys have become inseparable, to Luna’s surprise. She’d become friends with Gastón because he’d been very nice and helpful to her when she first came to Argentina after being discovered by her birth family. At first, she’d stayed with the Bensons and Ámbar had been asked to show her around and help her get comfortable in her new life. Ámbar wasn’t naturally very warm or welcoming, but she’d tried her best to be nice and a good host, introducing her to her friends, who turned out to have a lot more patience with Luna than the blonde did. Gastón had actually been the one to give her the tour of the school and the Jam & Roller, after Ámbar got tired of all of her questions and left with her clique, not before hugging her and telling her not to get lost by herself with as much kindness as she was capable of showing. After she moved out of the Benson mansion with her parents, her best friend Simón came to live in Buenos Aires from México to pursue his artistic dreams, and she made friends with Nina and the guys from the Roller; she’d stop hanging with Ámbar ( and Gastón) as much as she used to before, but they kept on being friends. Nina turned out to have a huge crush in Gastón, and while Luna tried her best to get them together, Nina was way too shy and Gastón was completely unaware, and she had no luck. When Matteo came to the Blake, however, he’d become instant best friends with the Périda boy and the four of them had started hanging out together all the time. Simón is sometimes there with them too when they get together outside of school, but with his two jobs (at the Foodger Wheels and the Jam & Roller) and the band, he doesn’t have as much time as the others. Still, she enjoys very much spending time with her other three friends. They spend so much time together that Matteo had started noticing the way Simonetti looked at Gastón. He’d talked to Luna about it one day and they’d both decided to play matchmakers for their oblivious friends. Now, a few weeks later, they have proudly accomplished their task and their two idiots are very happy together.

Luna is again brought back to reality, this time by the drops of water suddenly hitting her face. The rain’s falling heavier by the second, and she turns to Matteo, annoyed, “Darn it, Matteo! Why did you have to take so long? I told you we would get caught up in the rain!”

He turns to her and rolls his eyes, “I already said sorry, chica delivery.” His volume rises to be heard over the water hitting the pavement, “and I forgot to take my umbrella with me today. Great!”

“Gosh, you are unbelievable!” she sighs, trying to wipe water from her eyes.“ Let’s both use mine. It’s in my backpack. Can you get it?” Matteo quickly takes out her tiny yellow umbrella, which is barely big enough to cover both of them, but it will have to do. He opens it over their heads as they continue walking, this time a little faster, his hand never leaving her back. It’s not even weird how comfortable they have become with each other in such little time. Luna has always been a tactile kind of person, always initiating hugs and such. Not everyone she meets is okay with her constant displays of affection, though; especially the people she’s met here in Argentina, so she’d learned to tone it down a bit. That’s why it had taken her a little by surprise when Matteo came to live with them and she finally met her match. Matteo was just as affectionate as she was, maybe even more. He has absolutely no concept of personal space and seems to find any excuse to touch the people he cares about. He’s always patting Gastón’s back in a supportive gesture or squeezing Nina’s shoulder to comfort her (something the shy girl is clearly still getting used to), but he is at his most affectionate with Luna herself. A hand on her back every time they walk side by side, an arm casually draped around her shoulders when they sit next to each other, his head on her lap whenever he is tired, a hug every morning before they have breakfast together, a kiss on her forehead every night before they go to sleep. She got used to it fast, and now enjoys greatly all the time she spends feeling the warmth and comfort of his touch. Besides, it’s not as if she doesn’t take any chance she can get to touch him herself. Her touches are always more casual and subtle: a hand on his arm, a tap on his wrist, a quick bump of her shoulders against his chest; things that may seem small, but always make her feel as if a sort of electric current is running through her body.

Her head is kept dry by the umbrella, but her face is getting attacked by the rain. Matteo is way too tall (she refuses to admit she’s too short, no way), and he holds the umbrella right over his head, their obvious height difference making sure that she’s left completely unprotected from the wind blowing water into her face. “Chico fresa,” she huffs, “can you lower the umbrella a bit? I’m getting all rained over down here!”

She hears him chuckle at that. “I’m sorry, but it’s not my fault you’re such a shortie, chica delivery. I’m not gonna get all wet just because someone didn’t drink their milk and eat their vegetables as a kid.” Luna is about to retort when she’s suddenly pulled to the side. Matteo has her in his arms, tucking her inside his jacket. She swears her breathing stops for a second and she’s pretty sure her cheeks are incredibly red right now. “What the actual hell, Matteo!” she yells, her voice muffled by his clothes. She can’t see his face, but she can definitely hear the smirk in his voice. “I thought you didn’t want to get wet! Your pretty face is safe now, isn’t it?”

Luna tries her best not to get even redder. “You are the worst! I hate you!” She regrets the words as soon as they’re out of her mouth because they are the furthest thing away from the truth. She’s sure he knows she doesn’t mean them, but they still feel wrong to say. She risks the rain, poking her head out of his jacket to look at his face; to her surprise, he looks amused. He looks down at her and grins, “Nope, you love me and you know it.”

She trips over her own feet, her mission of staying cool and not becoming a human tomato failing spectacularly. She jumps from his arms as if they burn; honestly, it feels a little like they do. The rain feels cold on her skin and when she finally dares to look at Matteo he’s looking at her with what seems like a mixture of longing and expectation. He sighs and steps toward her, once again covering them both under the tiny umbrella while she shivers. Luna feels her legs getting heavier, fixing her in place. Matteo brings his free hand to her wet cheek and she does her best not look as flustered as she feels. “Hey,” he whispers as if to not scare her, “what just happened there?” She clears her throat before muttering a quick “nothing”.

He smiles sweetly now. “I know you very well, Luna. What got you throwing yourself into the rain?” Luna swears his eyes look right into her soul, reading her every thought and feeling. She looks down and hopes he doesn’t realize just how much his small comment affected her. She’s known for a while that what she feels for the boy is beyond friendly affection, and she recognizes that she isn’t the best at hiding her feelings, but she has been very careful in not letting him know just how much he means to her. It would be a real tragedy if he found out about her feelings for him and didn’t feel the same way back. Matteo has become one of the most important people in her world, and she wouldn’t want anything getting in the way of what they have.

Her mouth, as always, is faster than her brain. “You shouldn’t go around thinking everyone is in love with you!” She sputters, “maybe I was just a little too warm inside your jacket! Not everything has to do with you!”

Matteo looks at her like she’s crazy; she just exploded at him without any actual reason, so she can’t really blame him. He puts up the hand that isn’t holding the umbrella (when did he take his hand away from her face? She didn’t even notice). “For once, I didn’t say anything about myself being involved in the situation.” Even if it seems to be teasing her, his voice is calm and even, “I just wanna know, what was that about?”

Luna crosses her arms, telling herself it definitely isn’t to stop herself from reaching out to him. “Look, I just told you. I was feeling too hot inside your jacket and forgot my umbrella is way too small!” She sounds annoyed and hopes that makes him back off.

It doesn’t. “You sure? You look upset. Was it anything I said?” If there’s a hopeful twinkle in his gaze, she’s imagining it.

She puts on her best “dealing with el chico fresa” face before answering, “I thought you weren’t involving yourself in the situation”. Matteo looks to the side with an unreadable expression. “You know me, I can’t help myself. So-” he stares at her intently now”- was it something I said?“

“No! You just think everything is about you and everyone loves you and…” she can’t think of anything else to say. He looks at her expectantly for a moment before hesitantly muttering “So it isn’t, and you… you don’t.” She’s not sure if that’s a question or not, but he looks like he’s waiting for her to answer, so she tries. “No, I do… or I don’t.” She struggles to find her voice, while he tilts his head in confusion. She tries again to speak, not even knowing what she will say, “I just, I mean… I…I …” Her brain is going way too fast and her mouth refuses to work: she knows what she feels; she would love to be able to get it out of her system, to let him know just how much she cares about him, but she can’t. Not yet, she’s not ready. So many things could go wrong, so much could change… and she can’t risk it, not with her comfortable connection with Matteo at stake.

They are silent for a moment, the sound of their breathing drowned by the rain. Matteo is looking at her in a way she cannot place, but somehow, his gaze makes her feel as if everything will be alright. He releases a long sigh and before she can get away, she’s trapped in one of his warm hugs. She doesn’t have enough willpower to resist and wraps her arms tightly around him, never wanting to let go. He kisses her forehead, which makes her look up at him. Understanding, that was what she could see in his eyes. She can’t explain just how she can be so sure, but she is: he knows, and he won’t make her say it. Somehow, she can tell that he gets it, and won’t pressure her if she’s not ready. Maybe it is because he feels the same and wants to give her time; maybe he doesn’t and, like her, wants to preserve the relationship they already have. She doesn’t know; and right now, with his arms around her, she doesn’t care. He knows her and he gets her, and she couldn’t be more grateful.

After what seems like an eternity, they pull apart from each other. The rain has gone done considerably and she’s no longer cold; though that has probably a lot more to do with Matteo and the warmth and affection she feels every time he looks at her the way he’s doing this instant. They both smile at each other and when he takes her hand in his, it feels as if anything that just happened doesn’t matter anymore. It is just the two of them walking side by side, joking and laughing to pass the time.

They are just a block away from home now and Matteo is retelling something that happened during his English class, staring straight up ahead, when she lets herself really look at him. He still looks like the spoiled arrogant brat she met at the airport, but underneath she can recognize his intelligence, his patience, his dedication, his big heart. She can see every single quality, every single flaw, and every little detail that made her fall in love with him. She smiles at her own thoughts. She might not be able to tell him yet, but thinking it so honestly to herself is a big step.

Matteo notices her staring and gives her a bright smile. Luna squeezes his hand and he squeezes back. She’s made a lot of progress in admitting her feelings to herself just today and she is sure that she will be ready to tell him before his time in Argentina is up. Luna shakes her sadness at the thought and grins confidently; maybe she isn’t ready to tell him she loves him today and she probably won’t be tomorrow either. She’s not worried anyway, she knows that the moment will come when she’s not afraid to let him know about her feelings anymore, maybe not now, but soon.

The best surprise

This was my original piece for the Olicity Hiatus Fic-a-Thon prompt 2- taste- but I thought it was a little too similar to what I did for week one’s prompt. So I saved it for Felicity’s birthday.

Fluff

AO3


Felicity’s flip flops slapped rhythmically on the concrete floor as she paced around the Bunker. Where was everyone? She pulled at the hem of her tee shirt, glancing at the jeans and mismatched flip flops she had thrown on when the emergency text from Curtis came through. An hour ago.

Crossing her arms she fumed. She had been planning to do nothing today. Well… maybe not nothing. Curling up in front of Netflix while drowning her sorrows with mint chocolate chip ice cream was hardly nothing.

Truth be told, she’d half been expecting a surprise party when she got to the Bunker. She’d been surprised all right, but no party. Just a big empty space.

Keep reading

okay here’s 686 words of forces fic

A dream: There’s a hall, long and airy and impersonal, air crisp and ticklish against Sonic’s skin. He hides away, farther down, where the open air and night sky can’t reach him. He’s there for a meeting. The ghost haunting his nightmares is within arm’s reach, and they speak softly. Their breath hardly carries over the wind.

“You remind me of someone,” Infinite says.

“…”

“A little wolf child, eyes like stars and a heart larger than the sky. They looked into the eyes of others and felt nothing but compassion. Earnesty. Acceptance. All of this for strangers that owed them nothing and no one.”

Sonic stands back, and he stares. No comment.

“They trusted. They forgave. My dear, they knew nothing of despair.”

Infinite glances around the pillar, mask flashing into view for a second much as a knife gleams against moonlight before it strikes, that millisecond of anticipation, a lull in breath. Their red sclera is a torch in the sleepy hall. Their eye, green, pricks at his sides and lungs and heart, straight into his soul.

Then they slip back behind the pillar, behind the barrier between their perch and Sonic, between night sky and his silent, judging gaze.

“An untarnished soul, that child, long after they matured and the world lost its luster. A dangerous optimism. They acted as though they were indestructible.”

He hears a fwip, the tap of two shoes against stone that bounces up, off, around the walls until the sound grows cold and distant. Barely audible, as Infinite is and always will be a creature of silence. It amazes Sonic how someone can leave so little impact on the world around them.

Now, Infinite, the creature of fake and nothing, appears once more around the pillar, their good eye looking straight into his. No silhouette; the moon pours through their body and onto the concrete, just as cold and piercing as their gaze.

“Unfortunately, they were as mortal as they came. And so are you.”

They step forward. One. Two. Stop. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say? This life is unsustainable. Why live a lie? Why not save yourself?”

“Soundin’ kinda soft there, Finny.”

A breeze, a draft, passes through, brushing against his cheek, ruffling their hair.

“I don’t want to see the same tragedy happen twice.”

“Now, that’s funny,” he says, and he’s tilting his head just a bit. “You tried to kill me, like, five times in the past three days.”

Sonic’s not stupid. He sees the twitching of their fingers, anxious, itching for movement and action and influence. He hears the breath, that strange, useless in and out and he knows they don’t need it, not anymore. The silence. The moonlight shining in and through them.

A mirage. An illusion.

“You were nothing more than a target.”

An excellent audience.

“Oh? And what’s different now? Got something in my teeth?”

Someone Sonic wished he’d never met.

Infinite feigns a reply, feet a rhythm, tap, tap, as they resume their stride, slow, deliberate. It reminds Sonic of rain against a roof. The pattering, the softness, the irregular and yet well defined beat that soothes a troubled heart. They’re only a few feet away now, long passing the pooling moonlight’s edge and into the realm of dark wrapped around them like blankets. Everything’s quiet. It’s a fragile silence Sonic is reluctant to break.

Then the steps are gone, feet still.

“What’s changed,” Infinite says, eye impossibly bright and burning from this close, “Is that I’ve stopped and observed. And you, you’re awfully familiar.”

Something Sonic never noticed about this dream: Their hand rests on his shoulder at this point.

“I have a question for you.” The hand’s grip tightens, as much a tug back to reality as it is a distraction. (Grounding because of the pressure; distracting because of, well, the pressure.)

There’s a lump in his throat, thick and sticky, that Sonic can’t swallow. “Yeah?”

“Who’s the wolf child?”

Again, Sonic’s not stupid, and as they stare at him, into the very core of his being, the answer stares him right back in the face.

Goodbye all those files :'(

I will say it was decent enough timing for my ipad to crash AFTER I finished my paintings. Still though…kinda bummed that everything I had on there is lost.

Maybe it was Reginald’s time to go (yes I named my ipad Reginald) I had a feeling. He wasn’t working as efficiently anymore. His mind was going,deleting my stuff at random,not responding to my touch no matter how hard I pressed on the screen. Soon enough he wouldn’t let me in anymore,my procreate apps,my netflix,hell even the homepage. I’ll cherish the memories he won’t have anymore. (Seriously though I had a ton of stuff saved in there like family videos/pics)

Tonight I’ll have to pull the plug on old reggie…….cause I gotta charge my phone.

Violent Delights

For @hersisterskeeper

The city of Verona has never seen peace since the feud between two of the most powerful families began. As the feud drags on and the circumstances become desperate, Rey Kenobi and Ben Solo find the future of their city, their families and themselves resting squarely on the other’s shoulders.

They have been conditioned to hate each other for their name alone, but what does one do when their sworn enemy can make them forget their own name?

(Romeo and Juliet AU)

— A HUGE thanks to @petolinka for allowing me to use her reylo edit in this aesthetic. It’s beautiful!!

Sequel to the earlier prompt. If you liked where that ended feel free to ignore this. I wrote both with the idea that The Incident didn’t happen, but it can work either way.

Making up is hard to do

Same place. Same time of day. Same families milling about. Not much has changed. Robert’s waiting for Aaron again.

He hadn’t left, that afternoon. Robert couldn’t give him an answer, couldn’t make himself reassure Aaron, didn’t know how, didn’t know if he could. So he’d taken the easy way out, told him he needed time, a few more days.

So Aaron had stayed, stubborn as ever, found another room in the hotel. Robert had avoided him, escaping the place that now felt more suffocating. He’d needed the space to think. The thing he kept coming back to was, did he want to let Aaron go, could he spend the rest of his life without him?

Part of him feels like he can’t judge given his history, the times he’s cheated and he knows that Aaron has doubted him for so long but he’d thought that was gone, thought they were past it all. The thing is he doesn’t want to be without Aaron, the life they’ve made but at the same time he needs to be able to trust him and right now he doesn’t know whether he can do it.

Now he’d agreed to talk again, to try and figure out the best way to move forward. Aaron was leaving it to him, couldn’t do much else really. Robert was still trying to work out what to say.

The sun was slowly setting in front of him. One of the other guests in the hotel had cornered him on the stairs that morning, asked him to help her, so he’d taken her arm as she unsteadily made her way down the stairs. She’d told him how she came here every year, used to visit with her husband until he died and now she was alone. He listened as she told him how they’d sit and watch the sunset every night on the beach, how romantic it was.

“God, I thought I was never getting out of there! Must be the only chippy for miles.” Aaron dropped down onto the step beside him, passing him a packet of fish and chips.

“Thanks.” There was nothing better than fish and chips straight from the paper at the beach in Robert’s opinion, and he dug in, the two of them quiet.

“I haven’t decided anything, but I don’t want to give us up, not just like that”

“Whatever you want. I love you Robert.”

“You keep saying that, but what if it’s not enough. What if I’m always going to wonder…and I know I gave you plenty of reasons to doubt me…and maybe I’m a hypocrite, but I can’t live like that.” He sets his food down beside him, appetite having disappeared.

Neither of them speak for a while and Robert can see Aaron fidgeting with his wedding ring out of the corner of his eye.

“I met this woman this morning. She used to come here with her husband and now he’s gone she comes back here every year. They were married for sixty years. I could see us all that time in the future…would I do that, would you? Go back to special places like that?”

“We could be like that?”

“A few weeks ago I’d have agreed with you, wouldn’t have to think about it. I want that…I want to be sitting here with you when I’m old.” The more he talks, the more he can’t bear the thought of them not having a future.

“I want it too, I do. I won’t let you down again, I’ll do whatever it takes for you to trust me again.”

“It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” He nods towards the sea, the sun low in the sky casting a pinky, orange glow over everything. He turned to look at Aaron, still staring out at the sunset, and he knows he can’t let him go, can’t be without him.

“Yeah.” He meets Robert’s gaze, the sun making his eyes even bluer. Robert leans to kiss him, lips pressing together softly before he pulls away.

“I’m going to stay at Vic’s, for a while at least. We never did the whole date thing. Maybe we should start there. I want to trust you, I think I will one day but we can’t just sweep everything under the carpet like we have before. It doesn’t work.”

“I’m so sorry, Robert.”

“No, stop that. No more apologising. We start again, we talk more and the rest will come.” Aaron nods, eyes full of tears. “Come here.” He pulls Aaron closer, tucking his head against Robert’s collarbone, puts his arm around him, other hand against Aaron’s knee.

“It really is beautiful.” Aaron sighs, as the sun finally hits the horizon ending another day. Tomorrow everything will start again.

Writers

Writer says: So I had this crazy idea one day and I just had to work on it. Here ya go!

Writer means: So I had this crazy idea either right before getting in the shower or right before falling asleep so I grabbed my fucking laptop and shat all over it to create the steaming pile of crap that I now lay before you. I don’t even know if it’s good anymore. I haven’t slept in two days.

Writer says: Wow, real life’s getting busy! Sorry on the slow updates.

Writer means: My life is a literal storm of shit at the moment. Why did I decide to do this. Why am I still doing this. Everything around me is spinning out of control and I am staying up ‘til 5:30 in the morning every night to create a piece of work that will only get two comments and 12 demands for quicker updates. I hope no one’s mad at me, all I wanted to do was write.

Writer says: Wow! Would you look at that! I updated on time! Please enjoy!

Writer means:  WOOOOOOHOOOOOO BITCHES LOOK AT THIS PRODUCTIVE ASSHOLE GO YEEEEEHAAAAWWWW TAKE THAT YOU NASTY REVIEWERS ALWAYS DEMANDING ME TO BE FASTER! I GOT THIS SHIT I GOT THIS SHIT

Writer says: This chapter was a toughie. Glad it’s finally done!

Writer means: I don’t know if this is good or not. I honestly don’t fucking know. I’ve read the same words over and over and over again and I just couldn’t look at it anymore. My beta said it was ok but I’m not confident but HOLY SHIT I JUST NEED TO STOP WRITING THIS FUCKIGN CHAPTER.

Writer says: Thanks for reading!

Writer means: Please, oh please oh please oh please leave me a review. A comment. Anything. Please tell me you’re out there. Please tell me someone is reading this.

Writer says: I just want to say that real life is getting pretty hectic right now. Please try to be patient with me, I know you guys want updates. Thanks! :)

Writer means: FUCK. YOU. Who the fuck do you think you are, demanding shit from me?! You don’t know my life! I have a very busy life! I create shit for free, you entitled son of a pig-fucker! STOP LEAVING ME COMMENTS TELLING ME TO UPDATE SOON OR I SWEAR TO GOD I’LL PUKE ALL OVER MY COMPUTER 

Writer says: What’s gonna happen next? Who knows? Hee hee ;)

Writer means: I have no fucking clue what the next chapter is going to look like. What’s my plot? I don’t know. I feel no emotion.

Writer says: Please leave a comment! It helps me write!

Writer means: I am begging you to leave me a comment because I swear it’s the only thing that’s keeping me motivated right now, I hate the work I put out and I need reassurance that people are actually enjoying this.

Writer says: I hope you enjoyed that chapter, big things are coming up! ;)

Writer means: Buckle up bitches, someone’s gonna die.

Writer says: I know I’ve missed a few updates, but I swear I plan on finishing this story! 

Writer means: *high pitched eternal screeching*

Writer says: Here we are at long last! This has been one wild ride. I want to thank you all so much for your support and love, I adore each and every one of you. I am so happy to say that this story has come to a wonderful close.

Writer means: My body is numb. Voices call out to me from the void, but I can no longer hear them over the beating of my racing heart. I am stressed to the point where I feel no relief. The story is done. It’s fucking DONE. I loved it, I hated it, it was a fucking storm of horror and pain. I can no longer see color. Now I can at last relax and…wait……wait a second………..holy shit I just thought of the best idea for a one-shot that’s totally gonna turn into a 50 chapter slow burn AU fic leT’S FUCKING DO THIS

When a fanfic gets to the smut too fast

anonymous asked:

If one hypothetically wanted to read your Eldritch Abomination Garfield fic, how would one go about finding it as directly searching for 'garfield' hypothetically does not include the fic?

“They bought it?” Lyman asked as Jon hung up the phone.

“I got the contract,” Jon confirmed, dazed. “I’m — I’m syndicated.”

“You did it, man!” Lyman said, clapping him on the back. Odie barked.

“They’re already thinking about merchandising deals,” Jon continued, staring into space.

“I told you things were going to turn around for you,” Lyman said with a nod. Odie continued barking, making it clear that he was not just trying to be supportive. “Hey, look, I’ve gotta take the dog for a walk. If the alarm goes off while I’m gone, can you take dinner out of the oven?”

“Yeah,” Jon said, with no real conception of what he was agreeing to. He still had not yet finished processing that phone call, the idea that he was going to be paid, consistently, that he was a working cartoonist, that his comics would be in papers. Merchandising deals. Merchandising.

It was not until he heard the door that Jon realized he was alone in the apartment.

Just him, and Garfield.

From the corner, it growled.

Jon’s heart spasmed; he hadn’t realized it was in the same room. “H—hey,” he said. It would have been a dumb thing to say if it was a normal cat. It was a dumber thing to say under the circumstances. Its eyes glowed red in the shadows. “How are you?” he asked, then winced as the cat growled again. “Heard the good news?” he asked weakly.

MY END OF THE CONTRACT HAS BEEN FULFILLED

It rumbled through his brain like an earthquake, words without words. He covered his ears even though it wouldn’t help. “Yeah, thanks for—”

I WILL FEED

Jon’s heart spasmed again, overwhelmed with the sense of a hunger not his own. “Right, about that—”

YOU WILL FEED ME it said, words written in blood, thick and hot.

“—yes, I got that, I’m just not really sure what I’m supposed to—”

MEAT and the word throbbed, tore.

“Would chicken be okay?”

UNACCEPTABLE it said in broken bone and jellied marrow.

“I don’t want to stereotype you by assuming you want to eat my roommate—”

YES GIVE ME HIS HEART it said, pulsing, torn flesh.

“—but you can’t eat Lyman.”

I͇̤͜ ̭̩W̨͕̪̠͙I̧̫͍͕̤̥̥̥L̜̜̭͔̪͢L̡͉͍͍͓̣ ͇F̤̜E̤̱̼̩͙̺͢E̥̳̫D̯͚̰ͅ

The glowing eyes moved from the shadows, grew larger, taller. Hellfire, if fire could cast dark instead of light, orange and red, fire and blood. The indistinct shape that might have been a cat became an indistinct shape that might have been a man, large, always large. Jon shrank back as it stretched to fill the room, tried not to look directly at it. Hot breath and sharp teeth against his skin, even though it couldn’t have been, because he was still wearing his jacket.

There was a chiming sound.

WHAT WAS THAT

“Uh.” Jon swallowed, hard. “Dinner?”

FOOD

“Yes,” Jon said, “but I don’t know if you can eat people food…”

Garfield sat in the middle of the floor, wide as it was tall. Its gaze was baleful.

“Right. You can eat whatever you want.” Slowly Jon inched around the cat to head toward the kitchen. “I don’t really know what it is, though. It might be… vegan.”

Garfield hissed, the sound of pain, and Jon fled toward the oven.

I SMELL MEAT

Jon stopped himself from telling the cat get off the counter. “I think it’s a casserole,” he said, removing the dish to set it on the stove. He gingerly removed the lid, his hands safely wrapped in oven mitts. “Oh. It’s lasagna.”

GIVE IT TO ME

“It has to cool,” Jon said. Garfield hissed again, and the sound turned Jon’s blood to fiberglass. He backed away, and the cat leapt bodily and entirely into the baked pasta. It did not seem bothered by the fact that the pasta sauce was still bubbling, and Jon tried not to look at the void of its mouth. A black hole rimmed with fangs, an absence of all light, drawing in all that it touched to disappear within.

WHAT IS THIS it asked, and a hellfire paw batted at a stretchy piece of mozzarella.

“… cheese?”

The cat-shaped thing nodded, still sitting in the dish of lasagna.

WE DO NOT HAVE THIS

“You don’t have cheese in hell?”

It nodded again.

“I guess that’s what makes it hell.” If Garfield appreciated this observation, it did not show it. It cracked open its maw again, more lasagna disappearing, and Jon looked away. “That lasagna was supposed to feed us for a week,” he sighed. “How much longer do I need to do this?” he asked.

UNTIL YOU ARE SATISFIED

“Until I’m satisfied?”

YOU MUST FEED ME TO SATISFY YOUR HUNGER

Realization dawned. “Wait, but — I thought this was a one-time thing.”

IT WAS NOT

“If you leave, I get fired?”

PERHAPS

“So I might still be able to make it on my own.”

DO YOU BELIEVE YOUR SKILL IS ENOUGH TO BRING YOU ALL THAT YOU DESIRE

Jon thought of the portfolio sitting in his room, and sagged. “… no.”

It grew, limbs stretching, claws turning to fingers and then claws again. It sat on the counter like a solid mirage, licking red from its hands.

YOU WILL HAVE RICHES BEYOND YOUR WILDEST DREAMS it said in truffle oil and fur and gold. SO LONG AS I AM FED YOU WILL NEVER KNOW HUNGER

Syndication and merchandising deals and maybe someday a cartoon on television. His signature in every newspaper in every house in the country. In the world, even. He raked his fingers through his curls and tried not to look at its claws.

“I guess I’m stuck with you, then,” Jon said.

It didn’t slide off the counter the way a man would, shifted off like drifting smoke or licking flames, stood and was no shorter. Tall and broad and solid, a weight to its presence as it moved closer. Jon shrank back again as it loomed, and this show of submission seemed to please it. Hot breath and sharp teeth against his skin again, and he shivered.

YES YOU ARE



I love when an AU fanfiction is so well written that you forget that it’s a fanfic and begin to think that it’s an actual book.
And you start to get invested in the personalities of the characters that it sort of affects the way you look at the original story.

tumblr: plays video games with graphic violence and murder

tumblr: this fic you wrote is going to make people do bad things

Bet On Me

Reggie x Reader

A/N: This is my first ever fic and I hope you all like it!! Requests for all other Riverdale characters are open!! (This is my first fic because Reggie is bae)

Word Count: 3369

Warnings: Swearing, slight angst, violence, heavy make-out session (is that even a warning?)

Summary: Reggie is dared to date Y/N, the sweet and popular untouched cheerleader. He does so, although not expecting to fall for her in the process.

Keep reading

2

I hope their relationship progresses to big sis and lil bro always making fun of each other vibe

i was thinking about amazonian telepathy and i don’t think i can use this anywhere so

There were responsible ways to deal with being bored during League debriefs. Rather than do any of them, Diana adjusted her legs so that her knee touched Batman’s. A ragged tear in his suit meant that it was skin-to-skin contact.

She reached out tentatively.

Black Canary’s hair looks cute today, she ventured, an idle thought to share. She was careful not to go searching for any answers he did not give. She expected him to say nothing, and break contact.

Doesn’t matter, came his answer, so terse a dismissal it almost startled her. He didn’t move his leg. It seemed unlike him, but this form of communication did tend to be more honest.

How unfortunate, to imagine this was what he thought of their occasional conversations.

I’m sure she put a lot of work into it, Diana tried again. The bright blonde locks had been curled into ringlets before being drawn up into a ponytail.

Not for me.

She frowned. That doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate it.

Don’t need to.

You’re being awfully rude.

It’s fine.

If I’d gone through such trouble, I’d want you to notice.

Not for me.

It will be, Diana decided. I’ll do my hair just like that, to spite you, and it will be the cutest.

Batman said nothing. Then he leaned back just a little, only enough to see where their knees touched. He glanced at Diana, then away. Was that you? he asked finally.

Of course, she said.

How long have we been having a conversation? he asked.

Since I pointed out the cuteness of Black Canary’s coiffure? she said. Batman did not respond. What did you think was happening?

Intrusive thoughts.

She tried to look at his face sidelong, though she didn’t know why. Looking at him directly would make it no easier to decipher his minimal expressions. Do your intrusive thoughts often sound like me making observations about other women?

Sometimes.

Can you two keep it down? asked J'onn. Some of us are trying to pay attention.

No you’re not, Diana accused. You just heard gossip and wanted in.

We’re not gossiping, Batman said. Don’t make me break truce.

I had also noticed Black Canary’s hair, J'onn said, ignoring Batman.

Isn’t it cute? Diana asked.

Batman sighed.

Do you think I could pull it off? J'onn asked.

Batman had a sudden coughing fit.

DEAR WRITERS

YOU ARE NOT OBLIGATED TO WRITE SEX INTO YOUR FANFIC.

YOU DO NOT NEED TO WRITE SEX INTO YOUR FANFIC.

IF IT MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE TO WRITE SEX YOU DON’T HAVE TO WRITE IT.

IF YOU LIKE YOUR STORY WITH JUST FADE TO BLACK, THEN WRITE FADE TO BLACK.

2K WORDS OR 200K WORDS IT IS YOUR STORY AND IF YOU DON’T WANT TO WRITE ANY SMUT - DON’T WRITE ANY SMUT.

A GOOD STORY IS A GOOD STORY.

IF YOU AS A WRITER FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE, SQUICKED, OR JUST BORED BY THE IDEA OF WRITING WHAT FEELS TO YOU LIKE A GRATUITOUS TAB A INTO SLOT B SCENE: DON’T WRITE IT.

DON’T ADD IT IN JUST BECAUSE YOU THINK WELL FANFIC, IT NEEDS SEX RIGHT?

NOT IF YOU DON’T WANT IT THERE.

YOU ARE IN CONTROL OF YOUR STORY, AND WHAT YOU BELIEVE GOES.

FUCK ANY READER THAT SAYS YOUR STORY ISN’T AS GOOD BECAUSE IT LACKS FUCKING.