#and these three are easier for me to write for

[theseinfernalangels]

Love Letters — Garrick Tavis

Synopsis: Recovered Correspondence between Lieutenant Garrick Tavis and Lieutenant Cosette Camden, Princess of Navarre.

 Takes place over the course of the first part of Iron Flame and is for Day 3 of Garrick Week: Distance.

The contents of this recovered correspondence are not dated, but are believed to have been sent between the timeframe of July 29th and December 3rd, 634 AU. This is not a completely recovered set of writing. Whilst included missives were found in the ruins of the Samara and Montserrat outposts, other letters are actively being sought after by scribe and rider alike for insight on personal relations within harsh military structures. Just for studying. Totally just for studying.

— A personal addendum from Jesinia Neilwart, Curator of the Scribe Quadrant of Basgiath War College

Princess,

Fuck. It’s not even been a week without you, and I can already feel myself coming apart (No — not like that. I wish.). Everything would be so much easier with you here, but at the same time, I’m glad you’re in Monserrat rather than Samara. This place is not for the faint of heart, and while you are the most capable woman I know, I can already tell that riders are eaten alive here. Especially when you’re me. I have to start from ground zero all over again to make people trust me, fight twice as hard for all the same privileges that others are handed so easily.

I can’t help but wonder if it’s the same for you. Have people started suspecting about you yet? I doubt anything would happen — you’re an active service member with incredible skills — but a part of me worries that someone will be there to snitch you out. Stand your ground, beautiful. You’re more than any of these people can claim to be, anyway.

I’ll try to keep my missives as brief as possible, although I’d try to write whole tomes for you if I had the time. I love you in ways that consume me wholly. Please stay as safe as you can.

Yours forever, 

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

Garrick,

I can say with upmost certainty that no one here knows a thing, besides that we are together. Seriously — the amount of times I’ve been referred to as “Tavis’s Girl” rather than my own name is appalling. I don’t know many people here besides this one girl from my wing, who decided upon meeting that we are friends. I quite like her. She makes for good company.

I’ll be honest with you, my love; I’m lonely. I miss you more than I miss the sun in a hurricane. Sometimes, I wake at night reaching for you, only to be met with nothing but sheets. Disappointing, but fine.

I’m so sorry I can’t be there with you. Had I known that you’d be sent to Samara, I would have requested to be there, too. I don’t care if it’s dangerous — you cannot convince me that there is a place safer on this Continent than being by your side. Even surrounded by hundreds of infantrymen and dragons, I would still feel better if I could see you. Oh, well. I can be patient, I suppose. 

I send you all the love from my place here. Rest assured I am safe and sound, despite the constant conflict. Send Xaden my best, too — I can’t imagine he has it any easier, especially with his Violet ordeal.

Thoroughly and utterly yours,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

Princess,

I’m glad you’re at least making connections with people — but who am I kidding? That’s what you do best. If your jackass brother weren’t the crown prince, you’d make the fairest queen of all.

You want to know what’s funny? Second to being classified as a traitor, people know me as yours, too. I guess sticking to one another like glue for three years paid off. 

Xaden wishes you well. The lucky bastard gets a couple of days every two weeks to go see Violet. I’d say I’m jealous, but I think Chradh would choke at the thought of being mates with Seachran. Correction — he just yelled at me extensively.

I would try and tell you about my days, but I’m afraid there’s not much to talk about right now. All we do is train and fight, with some recreational fighting on the side. Gambling is a big deal here, apparently. I bet I could cheat my way into getting the weekend off to see you, but I know you prefer honesty over everything. You’ve always been better than me, you righteous little light.

I heard that there was an attack near you recently. I imagine you are perfectly fine, but quick correspondance would be much appreciated.

Still terribly lovesick,

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My love,

Rest assured that I am okay. That "attack" was nothing more than a drift of gryphons gone astray. They were taken out quickly, with an efficiency that…Well, I’ll be honest. It scared the shit out of me. I forget sometimes that we’re actually in the service and not students anymore. 

Physically, I am fine. Emotionally? Drained. There is only so much time some can go without seeing the one they love, and despite what you may think, I am a woman of very weak willpower. Perhaps we spent a little too much time together back in Basgiath, because I find myself watching for you around every corner and through every door. It saddened me at first, but now it’s pretty funny. No one here even looks like you, yet I still was hopeful anyway. Perhaps that is foolish. I find it comedic. I think I have to — or else I’ll find myself succumbing to the things that haunt me otherwise. 

Don’t ask. It is best to leave it at that.

Tell me everything and anything you want. I would gladly listen to hours of strategizing and arguments just to hear your voice. You wouldn’t have to cheat, either. We both know that you’re the best of the best, and anyone who thinks they can one-up you just because of a damned relic can kiss my ass.

Always, always, always,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My darling,

Nothing in that beautiful mind of yours could ever be foolish. On the contrary, the same is happening to me. Riorson tried to assure me that it was fine, since some of the women here, “look like you, anyway,” but I disagree. None of them have your smile. They don’t have the freckles that only show themselves in the summer. They don’t have your inclination to take others under their wings, and they certainly don’t have your eyes. I don’t think anyone does.

Oh, yeah. They don’t have Seachran, either. I think we’d know if they did.  

I think you’ve boosted my ego tenfold, but that’s not much of a change, as far as I’m concerned. No time for being humble when I’ve got a lovely woman waiting for me and a bunch of dark wielders ready to hunt me down.

Call me a dreamer, but I can’t wait until this is over. I have so many things I want to show you. To share with you. To be with you. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, and perhaps you’ll think I’m a sap, but that’s alright. You could call me a traitor straight to my face, and I’d just appreciate how it sounds on your tongue.

Still drowning within you,

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My love,

 Firstly, I would never entertain the thought of calling you anything like that. You deserve only the sweetest of words from me, and that’s all you’ll get — unless you decide to be a dumbass.

Maybe you are a dreamer. Maybe it is wishful thinking. The thing about being a light-wielder, though, is that you learn to wish on stars frequently. I am a dreamer, too. Let me share a piece of my dreams with you.

When this war ends — because we will end it — all I want is you. I don’t care where we go, whether it be Aretia or someplace else. Just us and our friends for a while, taking chances and getting to take a moment to breathe air that isn’t tainted with blood. I see the sun, and that river you’ve told me so much about, and waking up to fresh sheets and warm touches. We can be soft and keep it that way,  just you and me, and then…I’m not quite sure. I have thoughts, but I don’t like being too forward. 

Fuck that. Never mind. I want a life with you. A family — a real one, where we never question if someone loves another or if their presence is wanted in the first place. I’ll give as much as you will, because I know you will without asking. That is why I want it in the first place; there is no one else I’d share the sentiment with.

So call yourself a dreamer and a sap. Just know that I am ten times more delusional than you are.

Dreaming of you,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My brightest light,

You can’t just say things like that and expect me to be normal about it. No, I am not crying; it is just exceptionally hot sharing a room with three other riders.

You want my dreams? I’ll give them all to you. I want it all. All of it. The sun, the river, the sheets, the touches, the family. I will give it all to you if you do the same for me. Actually, I’d give it all to you, regardless. You deserve every fucking moment of it for everything you’ve given me. 

Will we have any idea of what we’re doing? Probably not. Neither of us have parents to consult, and I don’t quite understand children, but that doesn’t mean we won’t try. How many do you want? We’ll go from there.

Chradh says he’ll give us parenting advice. I’d sooner let him barrel-roll me into the side of the outpost.

Shit. He’s taking it personally now.

As I was saying, I want to give it all to you. The moment I have the chance, I’ll come to you and we’ll talk it out. I have something to ask of you, anyway. Tell me when it’s best for you, and I’ll fight like hell to get my forty-eight hours, and I’m not sharing. I know it’s not much, but it’s what I can manage without getting my ass kicked — even though, between you and me, I couldn’t care less if Command got mad at me. They’d have to find me to execute me, and fortunately for the both of us, I’m pretty fast.

I’ll be in your arms soon,

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My love,

I also have my forty-eight hours for you. I wasn’t even aware we could do that, but according to command, I’ve been out fighting so frequently that they’ve decided to give me a break of my choosing. Part of me wants to be offended and wonders if they think I’m delicate; the other part couldn’t care less. I haven’t had a break since the moment I slid from my mother’s womb on to her bedroom floor. I think I deserve it.

The end of November or beginning of December would suffice, I think. Since they won’t consider rotating stations until April, the halfway point is probably the best option — for both convenience’s sake, as well as my sanity.

I cannot wait to see you! I have not slept very well since the night before Reunification Day — the last night we had together. Where you should be laying, I have only sheets to cling to. If they smelled like you, maybe I would complain less, but no. I probably average a good four hours, but I know I’ll get at least six with you.

To put it bluntly, I need you here. Desperately. The end of November, at the earliest, please. Ask any question. Request anything of me. I don’t care. Please, just come home to me.

Don’t keep me waiting,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

“I miss you.”

His words are mumbled into your hairline, his lips brushing against your skin like a midnight prayer. It may as well be; the moon, bright and swelling, paints his skin white as milk against the stone alcove you rest under. Despite his softness, his word choice has you frowning and tilting your head up.

“But I’m right here,” you reply, one brow furrowing in confusion.

Garrick just smiles. “I know,” he says. “But I still miss you. I miss you when I’m at Samara. I miss you when I’m on the battlefield. I miss you when you’re three inches away from me.” He presses a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose. “No matter where I am, I miss you.”

“Ah.” Has Garrick always been so poetic? Or is this just another change made by the distance and the four months that have separated the two of you?

You could barely go four months without him. You’re not sure if it’s romantic or pathetic. 

“Something on your mind, lovely?” Garrick asks, slipping a finger under your chin to pull your eyes to his. His eyes, wonderfully hazel, search yours carefully. It’s no secret to him that you’ve been struggling without him there beside you, and it’s not like he can say any different.

“No.” You tuck your head into his shoulder and sigh. “I just can’t wait for the next few months to be over. They’re talking about transferring some people out, so I’m hoping luck will be on our side and I’ll get sent to Samara.”

A low chuckle leaves him. “I’m not sure you’d enjoy it there. Unless you’re into watching two sweaty, shirtless men go at each other while everyone else drinks.”

That puts a mischievous smile on your face. “Does one of those sweaty, shirtless men happen to be mine? Because I’d totally be into that.”

That painfully adorable dimple flashes on Garrick’s cheek. “Pervert.”

You shove him playfully, although he doesn’t budge a bit. “Don’t act like you would pass up the opportunity to see me fight someone in just my bindings. I’m surprised you haven’t campaigned for it yet.”

“Well…” He glances around before snaking his hands around your hips and pulling, trapping you further into his embrace as you let out a little squeak of laughter. “I’m definitely not against the idea.“

You lean in and press a light kiss to the hollow of his throat. “You wouldn’t get jealous of other men seeing me without my leathers?”

Garrick scoffs, but the cocky grin is too obvious in his voice. “Wear whatever you want in front of any man. At the end of the day, you’ll end up with me, anyway.”

You snort but shake your head fondly. It’s been three years since the two of you started going out, ever since that terrifying October of your first year. For every day since then, you’ve gone back for Garrick, and he’s always come for you. You didn’t even mean to propose the jealousy scenario, but grateful satisfaction blooms in your gut. Garrick is a lot of things, but he’s certainly not insecure.

“Alright, wise guy,” you joke, poking him in the ribs and receiving a mocking pout in return. “You wanted to ask me something. Talk.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise, stretching the scar on his face a little like he didn’t expect your demand. “Someone’s eager.”

“Of course I am,” you shoot back. “I haven’t seen you in months. Haven’t heard you in months. Ask me everything so your voice sticks with me better.”

He just shakes his head, relaxing against the wall and reaching for the ends of your now-loosened hair. “You missed me, too?”

Your lips purse as you flick him in the chest, your eyes softening as he catches your hand to bring it to his mouth. “Of course I did, idiot. And I’ll miss you in forty-eight hours. Now, spill.”

His lips tense in the way you know is him holding back a dirty joke, and then he just smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist to anchor your body to his.

“…I’ve been thinking,” he says quietly, after a few heartbeats. “About us.”

Oh? You tilt your head. It doesn’t surprise you, given how often you’re thinking of him, but it’s definitely not something you think he’d need to ask about.

“These past few months…” He sighs roughly. “They’ve been painful without you. Really fucking painful. I never imagined how often I’d go to bed and not be able to sleep without your head tucked into my shoulder, or how pissed off I’d get when you’re not there to keep my head set.” 

Your gaze softens, a hand coming up to brush against his unscarred cheek lightly. “Gare…”

He brushes his thumb against your lower lip, shushing you gently. “No, listen. Let me say my piece.”

Your lips seal almost instantly.

He starts again. “You’ve always been right there, you know? Even before Threshing, before we even properly met, you were there. Defending Freya from those assholes. Defending mefrom your brother, even though you knew fully that he wanted both of us dead. I thought you were insane back then.”

A wry smile cuts across your face. “Not now?”

His fingers glide across your jaw. “I digress. And even after that…you never left. Never. Not when you knew we were hiding something. Not when I had to lie. Not even after War Games, and I knew you wanted to scream at me.”

His eyes find yours. “Somehow, despite everything, you’ve never left. Do you know how many people in my life get to say that? It’s not many.”

“Like that’s hard?” you reply quietly, tracing up his relic with your pinkie. “You never gave me a reason to leave. In fact, you’ve only ever given me reasons to stay. I’ve never had that before, either — a reason to stay where I am, perfectly content with what I have.”

“I want you to have that.” Garrick reaches down into the pocket by his thigh, but it’s out of your line of sight. “Always. A reason to stay. A life that you want that wasn’t just thrown your way for the sake of convenience. A place where you’re truly happy, like we talked about. The sun. The river. A family.”

For reasons you can’t quite comprehend, your heart starts racing, knocking your breath from your lungs. Sure, Garrick’s always been a sweet-talker when it comes to you, but this? This is nothing short of a confession. 

But he didn’t say he had a confession. He said he had a request.

You search his eyes, the hazel glow growing brighter in the starlight. “…I don’t understand what you’re trying to ask of me.”

He just smiles. Not cocky. Not cheeky. Just gently. Wanting. Earnest. 

It sets your heart ablaze.

“Lovely.” He shifts a little, adjusting his grip on your face so his thumb can trail over your cheekbone — no doubt re-memorizing the pattern of your freckles. “I can’t do it without you. Anything, really. Sleep, walk, fight the war, live. At the end of the day, I’m just a man, and I never want to have to let you go.”

The cool skin of his fingers brushes against yours as he laces your palms together, pressing something small and cold in between your hands. You watch him quizzically before you bring your hand away from his, flipping your palm towards you and choking once you catch sight of what he’s places in it.

It’s…a ring.

Relatively small, it is. A silver band, patterned in small designs that spread across the surface. The gem lays carefully within the widest spot, golden yellow and glinting in the light. Smaller, matching gems dot against the band. Citrine. They’re beautiful, just like sunlight.

No. Not just sunlight. Your light.

Your breath catches. Oh, gods. 

It’s not just a ring. It’s a ring.

Your head snaps up, meeting his eyes that are lit with pure, unadulterated adoration.

“Say you won’t let go of me, Princess?” he asks, cupping your cheek in his palm.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

You blink once. Twice. A third time, just out of habit. You open your mouth and then close it, your voice stolen away from pure disbelief.

He wants to marry you. To stay with you.

It’s enough to make you start crying like an infant.

“Fuck.” You press your face into his chest, not caring that your hot tears are soaking into his tunic with every shaky breath that leaves you. “Oh, gods.”

A hand ghosts up your spine, cradling you carefully. That’s when you feel it — the gently weight of something pressing into your spine. Cold. Heavier. 

Another ring. His. When did he slip it on?

“Lovely?” he prompts, dragging his lips against your forehead. “Are you—“

You cut him off by tearing yourself away from his chest, meeting his confusion-filled gaze with your own, packed with every thing, every feeling, every moment you share with him. Your eyes drop to his lips, and then trail back up shakily. Watching. Waiting.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Thoroughly and utterly. Yes. Please. Stay with me, forever. Please.”

His lips are on yours before he can even agree, sealing the promise into your mouth.

Searing. Binding. Filled with every ounce of joy and love and light and longing and want.

You’ll never have to let him go.

And, as if in response, the moon starts to glow a little brighter.

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[itneverendshere]

hey hun, idk if you taking any request but maybe you can make something about this. so you know sombr just released his song 'we never dated' and i was thinking if you can write something based on the song with rafe × reader, love you💖

a lil something i put together during my lunch break, enjoy 💘

he’s drunk again, the thinking-about-you kind.

his head tilts against the seat of the truck he hasn't driven in months, still parked in the beach house garage, waiting for something that’ll never come back.

rafe taps the red solo cup against his lip and closes his eyes.

it’s that song, the one wheezie showed him earlier, and he'd pretended to hate immediately.

"how come we never even dated but i still find myself thinking of you daily? why do you always leave me achin' when you were never mine for the takin'?"

rafe’s never wanted to punch a radio more.

it’s true, all of it. you never dated, but he loved you. that was the worst kind of heartbreak; he couldn't claim anything real, be angry or bitter or jealous. he couldn't point a finger in your direction and accuse you of breaking him because you never belonged to each other.

he never had the right.

you've always been too shiny for him. inherently good. more than a pretty face — though, yeah, you were that too and more.

rafe knew it before anyone else ever said it.

he knew you when you were still the skittish girl with lipgloss always smoothed over your mouth and that light blue cashmere sweater you wore every third thursday like clockwork.

you were sweet, but not naïve, you grew up learning how to smile through kook parents’ cocktail parties and could tell when a guy was trying to flirt or manipulate you in under three seconds.

rafe cameron wasn’t slick enough for you. he just happened to be there, at the right time, in the right places, saying the wrong things and hoping you'd want him anyway.

you did.

god, you did.

one summer, two friends who weren’t friends yet, thrown together because their parents played nice at yacht club dinners and pretended that the pogues didn’t matter as long as their kids stayed clean and polished.

you'd asked him once, on the beach at sunset, when everyone else was passed out or making out or passed out making out, why he always looked so angry.

rafe had blinked, caught off guard by your astuteness, replied with something stupid like, “m'not angry. don’t like people.”

you had smiled, close-lipped. “you seem to like me though.”

he hadn’t said anything, but you were right. he did, even when he shouldn’t have. especially when he shouldn’t have.

it got worse in senior year.

that was when he started noticing the finality of it. you were still walking around in ballet flats and sundresses and raising your hand first in ap lit — but it was all coming to an end, wasn't it? the idea of a you and him, the fantasy.

you were going places. real ones, far-far away, with brick libraries and stone archways and out-of-state dorms. you had a list, and rafe wasn’t on it.

he saw it coming the day you mentioned early decision.

“i’m thinking of brown,” you had confessed in a dreamy tone, chewing the end of your straw.

rafe had nodded, tossing a pebble across the dock water. “yeah?”

“you think I could get in?”

you could get into heaven if you asked nicely. instead, he shrugged again.

“duh.”

you laughed, that hiccup laugh that always made his stomach drop to the pits of hell, and leaned into his side for a second, enough to make him want more. that was the problem.

he always wanted more. of your voice, your time, skin against his. more jokes, more silence, more anything you’d give him. you were meant to leave and he was stuck in this fucking awful place, barely making it out of high school.

people talked about you two, always did.

assumed you were together, and he pathetically let them think what they wanted because it was easier than the truth: he was a guy in love with a girl he never kissed, too scared to try and pull you down with him.

rafe watched you date other people. preppy kooks with clean sneakers and trust funds and internships. it didn’t matter, it made sense, even when he drove past your house a little slower after those dates.

he always looked at you longer the next morning when you sat across from him in the café. sometimes, he swore you looked back.

the party your parents decided to put together that fateful night for you was too loud, or rafe simply grew to resent the sound of other people being happy.

he stood by the railing on the second-floor landing, a typical red solo cup warm in his hand, watching the celebration spiral out under the candle lights below. your backyard had been transformed, long tables dressed in linen, picture boards of you growing up, a cake with congratulations, brown university! piped in frosted gold, and people everywhere, drunk off champagne and privilege.

he hated it.

he'd been gawking at you laughing under those lights. you wore white tonight, tailored pants and some shimmery top that sparkled when you moved. your hair was half up, the way he always liked it.

you were leaving in two days. earlier than expected. the early admission program at brown, your parents were ecstatic, toasting to the future with rosé wine and proud tears.

rafe only found out three days ago, from wheezie, who overheard your mom on the phone ordering dorm essentials to be shipped ahead of time.

he didn’t possess the energy to be surprised.

that this was it, the last night. the last time he’d maybe ever see you outside of random instagram posts and christmas visits. the final hour of whatever not-thing they were.

you never promised him anything, and he had nothing to offer. only half-mumbled jokes and every piece of his heart that he tried not to hand over, one by one, every time you looked at him like he mattered.

he was drunk again.

he couldn’t say goodbye properly, or force himself to go down there and hug you like a normal person. couldn’t say, “i'm happy for you,” without gagging on the bitterness in his throat.

he did what he always did.

avoided the situation.

he was mad you were leaving, leaving earlier. you didn’t give him time to work up the courage to spit out the truth once and for all.

his legs carried him toward the kitchen, eyes on the floor, shoulders hunched.

“rafe.”

you voice was always soft with him.

you stood there in the hallway. fuck, you looked so pretty, unfairly so.

summer and home and everything he didn’t get to keep.

“i was wondering if you were gonna hide all night."

"wasn’t hiding.”

you raised a skeptical eyebrow. “right.”

rafe looked away first, he always did with you. you made him stupidly nervous, still.

"you’re mad.”

“’m not.”

“you’re mad i’m leaving.”

he scoffed. “you were always gonna leave. what’s the point in being mad about it now?”

your expression faltered, rafe hated himself for it.

“i thought… you’d at least say goodbye,” you whispered.

"didn’t think you’d notice if I didn’t.”

“rafe.”

he took a step back. he had to, orr he’d grab your hand and beg you to stay and make a fucking fool of himself.

“i can’t do this tonight,” he mumbled. “go back to your party, yeah?ivy league’s waiting.”

“wait a minute—”

“have fun up there, alright?”

perhaps, if he hadn't been too tipsy, he would've spotted the same ache in your eyes that was bleeding through his.

your jaw clenched, that twitch he caught when you were trying not to cry. shit, that was gonna fuck him up later. that look.

“you’re being such an asshole,” you bit out, quietly.

he huffed a laugh that wasn’t amused. “yeah. guess ’m just playing my part, huh?”

you blinked. “what does that even mean?”

“you—” he started, then cut himself off. shook his head. “you’re actin’ like this is some big surprise. you were always gonna choose that life. brown. new friends. better everything. that was the plan, right?”

“i never said that,” you shot back, voice trembling now.

you were all dolled up in a way he hadn’t seen before, sparkly earrings catching the kitchen light. you didn’t look like the girl he used to skip class with and lie on the pier beside.

but you were.

“you made your choice, didn’t you?” he muttered. “early program. gone before the summer’s even over.”

“i earned it, rafe. because i worked for it—”

“and what about me?” he snapped, suddenly. voice louder than either of you expected. “i bust my ass tryin’ to graduate with you. and you couldn't tell me this? i did it—for what? so you could feel sorry for me on your way out?”

that was new low. he regretted it the second he said it.

“that’s not fair."

“yeah? neither is you leavin’ me here and expectin’ me to clap for you.”

“i never asked you to wait for me,” you were pleading now, not accusing. “i never asked you to do any of that.”

“i know, god, i know,” rafe snapped. “that’s the problem. you never looked back, did you? not once.”

“that’s not true.”

“isn’t it?”

your hands curled against your outfit, wrinkling the fabric.

“i care about you."

he let out a breath through his nose, humorless.

“yeah?” he muttered. “i love you.”

real. pathetic, even. the most honest thing he’s ever said in his life.

your lips parted but he intervined before you could salvage his reputation.

“still not enough reason for you to stay, is it?”

your breath hitched, your eyes went wide. you weren’t expecting him to say it. the possibility had lived in the space between you two for so long, you thought it'd stay silent forever.

he had too. now it was out there, and you didn’t say it back.

“that’s what I thought,” he said, voice flat now.

you looked like you were about to cry. rafe looked like he already had.

“why are you doing this now?” your voice trembled with confusion. “i’m not leaving forever!"

you meant it, you thought a couple thousand miles and a new life wouldn’t erase this not-thing, wouldn’t bury him beneath everything you’d go off and become.

rafe, despite his many flaws, wasn’t stupid. hope wasn't a luxury he could afford.

he laughed, more of a breath than anything real.

“you might as well be.”

your brows pulled together. “what—”

“i never want to see you again,” he ripped the bandage off, even though it hurt more. “okay? just—just go. go to your early program, to your dorm, to your perfect fucking life with your perfect fucking people, and let me get over you in peace.”

your face twisted, the pain blooming across.

“you don’t mean that.”

“don’t i?” he snapped, stepping backward before he got close again, and broke completely. “what’s left of this, huh?”

he could only hear your shaky breath and the sound of someone laughing downstairs.

"so yeah, do me a favor — don’t text me when you miss home. don’t check in. don’t come back here thinking everything’s the same.”

you blinked, tears building in your lashes.

“rafe…”

he looked away, couldn’t watch you cry and still walk out of his life.

you can’t miss someone you never had, right? the only thing he had were his regrets.

[veryace-ficrecs]

The Passenger (2023) Fic Recs Part 2

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

Find part 1 here!

Take The Back Seat by twoseas - Rated M

On Benson and Randy Bradley’s longest day, everyone gets to live. Eventually.

Matchmade by Coileddragon - Rated M

Benson Boudreaux is a veteran Jaeger pilot with a 100% kill rate in the Jaeger 'Savage Horizon'. The problem is he never keeps a Drift partner for long.

Man of the world by greendragon19 - Rated T

“You don't call, you don't write.” He crossed his arms over his chest feigning calm. Drawing Benson's attention to him. “And then I have to find out from my brother in law that you're getting released.” A myriad of emotion passed over Bensons features, recognition, annoyance, confusion, acceptance, a few others that Randy wouldn't dare to guess at. “Randy? The fuck are you doing here?” Randy smiled, dipping his head and looking up at Benson through his eyelashes. Something in the pit of his stomach warming at Benson’s voice and Randy’s name being the first thing he said as a free man. Twenty years after the shooting at the diner, Benson is getting out of prison. Randy goes to pick him up. Deals with somewhat more mellow versions of Benson and Randy after so much time has passed but both still equally co-dependent.

images of all that could be desired by pgndaze - Rated T

A week after Benson's death, a package arrives on Randy's doorstep.

Loves me like a dog by Syntheticpalindromes - Rated E

The woman at the school’s reception desk flat out refused to give them anything about Miss Beard, her hands laid on the countertop as she shook her head sadly. Big, plump bottom lip jutting out in what Benson might have known to be real sympathy if he had ever been presented with the emotion in a sincere way. Which he hadn’t. At least, that’s what he imagined, anyway. When she had removed her palms from the counter, the ledger beneath them had become stuck to one, slick with a nervous sweat that she hid all too well in the calm, collected way she had informed the boy she simply couldn’t give that sort of information away. The page was left greasy and she pointedly did not look at it. “And Mr. Bradley, I really think you’re doing the right thing. Good for you.” She had said, like she was his fucking grandmother. They don't make it to Miss Beard's place. Mr Sheppard lies in a pool of his own blood and Benson & Randy drive on, and on, and on, and on, and on.

Razor Sharp, White Teeth by mimomallow - Rated E

“I never watched that Twilight bullshit, Randy. Do you sparkle now or what?” or Randy has been starving since he was a child. Benson looks delicious.

did you get enough love, my little dove? by intheskywithamethysts - Rated E

The mop slapped wetly on the ground and slid across the grimy floor. Benson dug the head into the ground as hard as he could as he mopped. A sound like nails on a chalkboard ricocheted off the walls. It was agonizing to listen to. Benson didn’t care. It was the only thing louder than his thoughts. She’s not sleeping. She’s not sleeping. The sound of a door being pushed open. Two chimes. Footsteps. Benson looked up. “Hey, Benson.” Benson grunted and gave Bradley a nod as he entered. Well, at least he was working with Bradley today. (canon-divergence: Benson's Ma passes away the night before the beginning of the movie)

Side Effects May Include... by thenewgothicromance -Rated E

Listen, normally Benson’s not one to make somebody do drugs they don’t want. But they’re only three hours into the afternoon shift with another five to go, and if Bradley doesn’t chill the fuck out Chris will never stop bothering him. And if Benson has to listen to that all day, again, he is finally going to do something stupid they’ll all regret. It’s easier just to make Bradley take the pills.

Don't Forget the Joker by devovitsuasartes - Rated M

Randy had been driving home for about five minutes when he looked up into his rear view mirror and saw Benson staring back at him coldly from the back seat.

Can’t Help to Smile with those Eyes that Shine on Me (You’re Making Me Act Funny) by hellcat_shalalala - Rated T

"Thank you, Mr. Mustache Man.” She retrieves her blue crayon and scrapes it over the scribble of green she just made. “I’m sorry I dropped them. It was on accident.” A little smile twitches at the corner of his lips. Threatens to spread. He runs his tongue over his teeth to make his lips stop moving like that. “Them things got little legs," Benson continues dragging the mop. "Runnin’ off like that.” She’s delighted by that thought. “Little legs?” She repeats. She grabs one and twists it around trying to look for them. “Where?” He doesn’t respond. Just a laugh through his nose and a mindful push and pull of the mop, sweeping it under the seats. Yea. This is Bradley’s kid all right. or Randy has no babysitter for his four year old daughter, Seraphina, and has to bring her into work for his Saturday shift. His coworkers proceed to lose their minds over this new information. /pos Title is paraphrased lyrics from the song Picture Me Better by Weyes Blood

Doomsday is Close At Hand by riddlerapologist7 - Rated M

Randy’s eyes shoot open, he gasps for breath. He rips the comforter off of his body as he registers where he is: his bedroom. What? He was just at the diner. He could almost smell the greasy stench of the flat top grill mixing with the coppery scent of blood permeating the air. Could he have really dreamed everything that had happened? He reached up to feel his shoulder where he had been shot, where Benson had desperately been clutching to try and keep the blood from spilling out of him. He felt nothing, no wound, no pain, just the smooth skin of his shoulder and the cotton shirt he was wearing. He ran his hand over his chest, feeling his heart beat rapidly beneath his skin.

Ranson time loop au!! I'm not the first to come up with this idea, but this is my take on it :)

Erasure Poem (or, The Narrator Writes the First Draft of the Rest of His Life) by thenewgothicromance - Rated E

Randy almost doesn’t understand how it happened, even though he’s the one who started it. Three weeks ago he’d never had sex with anyone, had never thought about doing it with a guy, didn’t think much about doing it at all. And maybe that means there’s something wrong with him, but he’s not stupid—Benson is into him. And if Randy can use that to keep him calm, keep them on track for a little while, maybe Benson will come back to himself. Will shake off the shock, and tell Randy what the plan is.

Like Splinters Under Your Skin by pissedoffeskimo - Rated M

Maybe Benson doesn’t know exactly where he’s going or how long it’ll be before this whole thing reaches its inevitable, bloody conclusion, but he knows he’s taking Randy with him. (Canon divergent from Miss Beard's house)

cold blue summer by visceravalentines - Rated E

Elliot Sheppard, a third-grade teacher at Central Elementary, abused children for many years before being exposed and taking his own life. Now, twenty years later, the school is being demolished, and something has awakened.... Strap in for the cruelest summer on record. An homage to classic slasher movies with a summer romance flair.

the driver by visceravalentines - Rated T

They’re about 50 miles over the Missouri border when Benson asks him. “You think you could drive, man?”

Or, Benson trusts Randy to take the wheel so he can get some sleep, and Randy spends the night thinking about Benson.

[kabr0ztrousers]

Kabr0z Writes Episode 155: Single mother to-be

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

Ao3!

CWs: group sex; giving and receiving oral sex; knotting; degradation; impregnation/breeding kink; enthusiastic consent

A/N: This one was easier to write than I predicted! Thanks Red Anon for some really excellent fic suggestions that helped get the creativity flowing

#############################################

The two lupines stood over you. One was a tawny brown, the other a glossy black. You didn't know their names. What's the point? You were only interested in one thing from each other, and as you sat on your bed looking from one slavering wolf-man to the other, you were looking forward to taking it.

The wolves watched you, predatory eyes fixed on your body as you stripped in front of them. You took your time, feeling their gaze as you slowly removed your t-shirt, then your shorts, showing off your midriff. You stretched as you took off your socks, wiggling your toes while they stared at you.

They closed in on you, you feigned resistance as the black one undid your bra, the brown one peeling off your knickers. They were careful not to rip anything, hands at once rough and gentle. You let yourself be handled by them. Their tongues passed your lips as they kissed you, one after the other, groping hands squeezing your waist, your belly, your tits. They were all over you. Occasional brushes past your crotch made you shiver. Nobody wanted this over too quickly, and having a pair of lupines worshipping every inch of you is certainly one way to get in the mood.

You let them push you to your hands and knees, down on all fours with the black one behind you, the brown one in front. Somewhere in the jumble of limbs and tongues they'd both found the time to strip off too. The three of you stayed for a moment, panting, taking in the scene. Letting the fantasy wash over you.

The brown one ran his fingers through your hair, absent minded. His dark eyes stared down at you as you struggled to keep your gaze off his thick red cock, gently hardening in front of your face. He let your head, soft touches almost tickling your scalp.

Then he remembered what you wanted.

You yelped as his grip tightened on your head. A fistful of hair becomes a handle with which to pull you in. You couldn't keep the grin off your face when his balls dragged across your face. Your hand strayed between your legs, opening your lips to the wolf behind you.

He didn't need any more instruction. A wide, flat tongue slid over your slit, tasting you as it slid over and around your crotch. His attention made your toes curl, your clit pulsing and throbbing. Waves of static pleasure lapped against your mind as his tongue worked. You could feel how wet you were, leaking directly into his mouth as you mumbled your satisfaction into the lupine ballsack occupying your mouth.

“Damn, you're eager, aren't you?” The brown one muttered “Tell you what, if you ask me really nicely, I'll fuck your face. Would you like that?”

He hadn't pulled your face away from his balls. You tried to nod, pulling your hair against his fist, feeling yourself throb as you did so.

“Beg”

A soft moan leaped from your lips as he yanked you back. His cock was poised at your face, just out of reach of your outstretched tongue.

He repeated himself “Beg, slut”

“Please” you looked up at him. Your voice wavered with the distraction of the other one still relentlessly tongue-fucking you “Please fuck my mouth”

He leaned down to you, his other hand stroking your cheek as his eyes came level with yours “Good slut. You know what good sluts get?”

He stood rapidly, guiding his cock into your mouth “Rewards”

He started slowly, letting you get accustomed to the thick rod in your mouth. You ran your tongue over the tip, teasing the hole. Every eager suck was rewarded with a jet of salty-sweet precum, thin and warm, coating your tongue, rolling down your throat. You sighed in satisfaction, tracing the ventral tube with the tip of your tongue, trying to beckon him onwards, urging him deeper.

Instead he pulled out. You whined, the heavenly tongue leaving your aching, leaking quim, your fingers rubbing against your clit, desperate for stimulation.

The black one spoke “I'm going to rut you. Do you want that?”

“Yes” you whined

“Tell me what you want, slut”

“Please” you were gasping, your mind only able to focus on how much you needed it “I want your cock”

“Good enough”

You almost cried when his cock parted your lower lips. He filled you beautifully, gliding in on an ocean of slick. Your eyes crossed and your tongue lolled, your thoughts just a jumble of sensation. You stared at the cock in front of you, dripping with your spit and precum

“P-please” you managed “Wanna suck”

“Good girl” The brown-furred lupine let you take his cock into your mouth, suckling on it while the black one’s hips slapped against yours.

Sweat dropped off you. Your toes flexed and clenched. You moaned and sighed your orgasms into the cock in your mouth. All you could do, all you wanted to do, was grip the bedsheets for dear life. You let the lupines use you, silently urging them on.

You felt the black one's knot swelling, pushing against your cunt. You slid a hand between your legs. Your fingers gripped behind the thick ball of throbbing flesh, pushing it into you.

“You want my knot? Huh?” He was panting. His words came breathy and growling “you wanna be a single mother?”

You nodded, the cock slipping from your mouth “cum in me” you begged him “knock me up” another moan as you neared your peak again “please”

The brown one pushed his cock back into your mouth.

The black one pushed harder.

Both knots slipped into you. The brown stuck behind your teeth, the tip squirting thick cum into the back of your throat. You spluttered and gagged. Wolf cum dripped from your nose as you struggled to swallow it.

That's not the one that was making you shake. The black wolf’s cock was buried in your cunt. The entire length stretching the tight, muscular walls. You could feel it throb. Swelling as pulse after pulse of virile wolf seed flowed directly into your fertile womb. You thought you could feel it. Millions of swimmers finding your eggs, lodging themselves in your baby-maker. You couldn't, of course, but just the idea of it was making your head spin.

You touched your belly, the clammy, sweaty skin slick under your fingers. Still plugged up with wolf-knot, leaking cum from your hole, you wished your dreams into being.

[viviansturns]

im so scared to write smutt. like how do you start? seems weird. i’ve wrote fluff and angst before but i have a bunch of smut fics in my drafts im too scared to post. how’s the best way to start?

ok im glad you asked!! here's some tips for anyone startingg! im by no means an expert but idkk.

so you dont need to start ALL in. the best smut starts with tension, emotions, and a reason it’s happening. like if they're kissing and it gets out of hand, or someones comforting the other, or unresolved tension, etc etc. in other words, just like how in real life theres foreplay, give your writing a lil foreplay instead of jumping into it!

tips to start:

start with making out scenes to kinda break that feeling

have someone say “tell me to stop” or “do you want this?”because consent is super hot <33

USE INTERNAL MONOLOGUE. if they’re nervous, let them be nervous. it humanizes it, and also reflects your own emotions!

and btw: writing smut isn’t about how explicit you are. it’s about feeling. sometimes just an internal thought or feeling of the moment hits harder than three paragraphs of anatomy lingo. start soft, and get bolder as you go.

also your first smut fic will feel weird, and mine SURE did. i was terrified to post it, but at the end of the day its going to get easier and people are going to love it!

last things

if you need help with any writing in general (and this goes out to anybody on sturntumblr) FEEL FREE TO DM ME FOR HELP!!! i am MORE than willing to help anyone with their work <33

also if you're posting your first smut fic, i give everyone 100% permission to TAG ME because i love supporting people and also i love smut :3

[pseudowho]

Hi!!! I just wanted to say how much I adore your Nanami pieces and that I've seen you also wrote a book. Imagine how sad I was when I found out you won't share the title if/once it is published 😔 I don't read romances in my spare time because I'm very particular (I mainly enjoy office/time pieces/fantasy with a nanami-like LI lol), everything else does not do it for me.

If your book gets published, do you think you will change your mind in the future about sharing the title? Or will you ever drop hints about it?

Thank you! 💐

Uhf...man, alright. I'll say this only once.

I write under H.R.Brightwell. I may never get there. So it may remain a forever unpublished pseudonym.

'Servant/Slayer' (a modern/urban fantasy romance with bodyguard elements, slow-burn and Druidic style magic system) is currently undergoing editing. If it gets published, it will be a series. The next three books are fully plotted out.

'Ancestral' (a standalone Regency era gothic horror/romance) is currently being written. Think Pride and Prejudice meets H.P.Lovecraft meets romance.

I find it easier to say this now that I really don't believe they'll be published. This is a hard slog. While I was never ignorant of the process of trying to get published (having watched the husband go through it), I'm struggling to find the stamina alongside life at the moment.

Anyway...like I said.

I shall say zis only once.

Love,

-- Haitch xxx

P.S. Thank you so much for loving my work. It's an unspeakably beautiful privilege to enjoy such a wonderful and engaged audience, even if it's not forever!

[gamergirl929]

The Shower (Malia Tate x Reader)

After an extened after Lacross Practice with the pack, you head to the locker room for a shower as you typically did, unaware that you were being closely followed by none other than Malia Tate, the very woman you'd been spending the entirety of practice showing off for.

So everyone is aware, this story has a g!p reader, for those who aren't comfortable with that, I would suggest skipping it since it contains smut, if you're still here, please enjoy.

This is my first time writing and posting for not only Teen Wolf, but Malia Tate as well, so please let me know what you think, but don't be too harsh, I'm sensitive. 😅😅😅😅😅

You stretch your arms high above your head as you make your way towards the locker room, intent on taking a shower after a rigorous Lacrosse practice, your head on a swivel as you make sure the coast is clear before entering the room.  

Well, it hadn’t JUST been practice, it had also been what you and your pack mates would call, AFTER practice, meaning you Scott McCall, and Isaac Lahey had done your best to fire near impossible shots at goal, attempting to see who could stop what using the powers they had.  

Considering Scott was the True Alpha, he typically came first, but you were a close second, using your own Alpha abilities to your advantage, an unfair advantage as Isaac had pointed out, considering he was a Beta.  

Meanwhile, from the stands Stiles Stilinski, Allison Argent, Lydia Martin and Malia Tate watched closely, the werecoyote unwilling to participate, knowing the three of you would easily dominate the game considering you knew it better than she did.  

You groan as you give the black hair tie holding your hair up a tug, grimacing when it unfortunately remains in your sweat covered hair, forcing you to extend one of your claws and slice it in half, the severed band falling to the locker room floor.  

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t go out of your way to show off in front of Malia, doing anything you could to impress her.  

In all honesty, you weren’t sure if it worked, only able to catch a slightly smile from the woman after you’d done a particularly move to score.  

You shed your clothes, tossing them on a nearby bench before making your way into the showers.  

The showers hot water nob squeaks loudly as you give it a twist, a growl rumbling in your throat as the hot water cascades down onto you. 

Your eyes flutter shut as the water runs down your face, a content smile stretched across your face. 

Your eyes flash open moments later when you hear the locker room door open and close, your throat bobbing. 

Your brows arch when you catch a whiff of who is entering the locker room, Malia Tate's scent wafting in the air. 

You move at lightning speed, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around you before peering out of the shower, your brows furrowed. 

“Mal?” You call out in confusion.  

You shake your head, thinking your mind must have been playing tricks on you, that is, until you turn around, coming face to face with the woman you were looking for. 

“Jesus, what are you sneaking around for?”  

Malia chuckles. 

“I saw you come in here, wanted to see what you were doing.” 

You shrug. 

“It’s easier to shower here than at home.” You say, about to turn the faucet off, that is, until you see the look on her face. 

“Are you okay?” You ask in confusion, the dirty blonde silently nodding. 

Malia's tongue swipes at her lips, her eyes flickering between brown to blue as she moves towards you. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, watching as she sheds her top, your eyes widening.  

You turn away abruptly when she unhooks her bra; your cheeks stained crimson.  

“Mal?” You say, breath catching when you feel her tug on your towel until it eventually falls to the shower floor. 

You take a deep breath before slowly turning towards her, her eyes glowing bright blue, your eyes locked with hers.  

Malia guides you back towards the still spraying water, your back resting against the tiled wall. 

“You think I haven’t noticed?” She asks, your brows knitting in confusion. 

Your breath catches roughly in your throat as she buries your face in your neck, teasingly kissing your pulse point. 

“N-N-Noticed what?” You ask dumbly, the woman rolling her eyes. 

“The way you show off at practice.” She says, your eyes fluttering shut as she takes your skin into your mouth and gives it a suck. 

“The way you look at me.” She says, her hand splayed on your abdomen, her unsheathed nails dragging against your bare skin.  

You whimper softly when her hand starts gliding downward, towards you’re somewhat flaccid cock. 

Your hips cant forward when her fingertips drag along the underside of your cock. 

It’s at that moment that you trade places with her, pinning her against the shower wall. 

You surge in with no sense of hesitation, your lips meeting hers. 

Malia wraps her arms around you as you kiss hungrily. 

Your tongues eventually meet, the two of you moaning loudly when your tongues brush.  

You pull back with a groan when Malia’s hand wraps around your length, her tongue trapped between her teeth as she pumps it slowly. 

“Fuck.” You whine, the werecoyotee chuckling. 

“How many times have you imagined this?” She purrs in your ear, your eyes fluttering open to reveal your red irises. 

“How many?” She asks again, her thumb brushing against the head of you’d penis. 

“More than I care to admit.” You say, your voice raspy. 

You push your hands against the tile wall behind her as she pumps your now hard member, your heavy breathing turning into soft growls.  

“Maybe I’ve imagined it too.” She confesses, eliciting a groan from you, the sound making her smirk. 

“Maybe I’ve been trying to get the nerve to follow you into the locker room for a while now.” She whispers, her tongue swiping at your neck. 

The feel of Malia’s tongue against your skin, accompanied by the feel of her hand wrapped around your cock is enough to push you over the edge, but surprisingly, it’s Malia’s confession is what does the trick.  

Malia kisses your neck as you stiffen, your release running down her hand as she continues pumping your member, prolonging your orgasm.  

You hiss, grabbing her wrist, the blonde ceasing all movement.  

“Shit.” You pant, a smirk stretching across Malia’s face. 

“God, I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.” She whispers, her breath hitching when you take her wrists and pin them against the wall on either side of her head. 

“For how long…?” You ask, ducking down to kiss the blonde’s neck, her eyes fluttering shut. 

You kiss her jawline, noting the rapid rising and falling of her chest, her pulse throbbing beneath your lips. 

Malia gasps when you nudge her legs apart, slotting one of your own between them, your thigh flush with her core.  

“Come, tell me how long.” You whisper, the blonde whimpering as her hips roll. 

“Since you got here.” She moans; her palms splayed on your back. 

“How many times have you touched yourself thinking about me?” You growl in her ear, earning a whimper. 

“More than I care to admit.” She repeats your words from earlier and you smirk.  

You duck down, dragging your sharp teeth against her neck as she rolls her hips wildly.  

“Fuck.” She moans as you duck down, your lips wrapping around one of her hardened nipples, her fingers tangling in your hair, claws digging into your scalp.  

You knew she was breaking the skin on your scalp, the sting making you shudder as you lavish her breast with kisses before turning to the opposite one.  

“Y/N...” She moans, the sound making you moan against her breast, her hips stuttering slightly. 

Malia gasps when without warning your leg slips from between hers before you grab her underwear and tear them from her lower half, leaving her entirely bare, your eyes shining bright red.  

“Do you want to stop...?” You ask, your tongue swiping at your lips as your eyes drag down her front.  

“You think after you just tore my panties off like that, that I’d want to stop?” She asks and you smirk, the blonde giggling as you lift her into the air, her legs wrapping around your middle.  

She turns her head, nibbling gently on your ear, her nose brushing your temple.  

“I can’t wait to finally feel what it’s like for you to be inside of me.” She whispers, throwing her head back as you run your member between her legs; her core latching onto you with each pass of her entrance. 

“Are you sure you want this Mal...?” You ask, your throat bobbing as your red eyes lock with her blues.  

She cups your cheeks, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your lips, her thumb running back and forth across your cheek.  

“I’ve never been more sure about anything before in my life.” She whispers, resting her forehead against yours.  

You turn your attention back to the apex of Malia’s thighs, the woman whimpering, her forehead still resting against yours as you rub her clit with the head of your penis.  

“Fu-Fuck Y/N....” She whines loudly, her thighs starting to twitch.  

Malia throws her head back as the head of your cock slips into her, her walls fluttering around her.  

“Don’t stop.” She sighs, crying out when you slip the rest of the way into her, her walls pulsing around you.  

“Fuck.” She growls, her bright blue orbs locking with your reds.  

You press her bare back against the shower wall, slowly sliding out of her before thrusting back into her tight heat the woman moaning loudly.  

Her arms wrap tightly around you as you thrust deeply into her, greatly heightening her pleasure.  

“Ye-Yes!” She cries out, the feel of her walls fluttering around you spurring you on, your wet thighs slapping together as you pound into the woman, who’s unable to contain her cries.  

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop.” She chants, her claws digging into your back.  

Suddenly and without warning you spin around, placing the werecoyotee on the tiled shower floor before sliding back into her, her legs wrapping around you as you thrust into her.  

“Shit!” She moans, her back arching as you pound into her, the woman coming with a literal howl, her core clenching around you.  

You howl in response, giving one final thrust before you to orgasm, jets of your seed shooting into her, causing her to growl as she pants heavily.  

Her hands run gently down your back as you twitch and quake, panting heavily against her neck before you start gently kissing her pulse point.  

Fingers tangling in the sweaty hairs at the base of your neck, the woman’s opposite hand cupping your cheek as she pulls you into a soft kiss.  

Her forehead rests against yours as you lazily kiss, the woman’s lips splitting in a grin.  

“Was it everything you imagined it would be?” She asks and you chuckle.  

“My imagination could never do it justice.” You laugh and she giggles.  

At an inhuman speed, you’re on your feet, pressing Malia’s back against the tiled wall again, avoiding the spray of cold water.  

“Think you’ll be following me into the locker room more often...?” You ask, your lips splitting in a grin.  

“Absolutely.” She laughs, bumping the tip of her nose against yours.  

“You know, I have a car.” You suggest wiggling your eyebrows, her throat bobbing, her eyes flickering bright blue.  

“Why don’t you get dressed and you can show me the backseat...?” She purrs and you smirk.  

“Gladly.”    

[amelias-calamity-quintet]

On Writing (Zelda) Dungeons

Alright, one of the regular compliments I get on Goddess of Secrecy and now on Mark of a Hero is on how my dungeons feel like they could be in the games. It's still one of my strengths, so I figured I'd actually try to write thoughts down. I have never documented this process so please understand a whole lot of it is just ✨ vibes✨ and then piecing that together into something coherent.

Not to give homework, but I think the Deku Fortress (the first dungeon of GoS) still holds up roughly to my current standards and it's a quick read to get to relative to the other examples in my repertoire. I also have a particular naming convention for my works, so you can very easily jump to Dungeon Chapters & Boss Chapters via the index.

Concepting

I talked a lot about in a post I made on MoaH's dungeon design what I think the point of LoZ dungeons should serve as but I'll sum it up here. A dungeon has three goals narratively:

Advancing a local/character plot

Advancing a regional threat arc

Advancing the grand quest arc

If you want a really good example of this in games, Dragon Roost Caverns from WW is a prime example. I talk about it in the linked post above as well.

Starting your own, I recommend picking two of three things before you get into it:

An aesthetic

A boss and/or mini boss

The dungeon's relic

These things should inform each other and are the barest place to start before design. The aesthetic will generally decide the vibe of exploration, while the bosses determine the means of combat and likely your minions throughout the rest of the dungeon. The relic will engage with both as a puzzle solution. And typically if you can figure out two, the third will follow after.

Debatably, dungeons through an original legend should be concepts to connect together as a series of trials to build your hero up towards their final fight. It also depends on if you want to imply whether the dungeon order is linear or not how that will turn out. Having solutions only focused on general mechanics/exploration can lean more open world, while puzzle solutions that use focus on items or require items from previous dungeons will lean towards a linear narrative. Both are valid, but it's good to decide on one or the other before making a dungeon list and order.

Designing

I cannot emphasize enough in this step, but make maps. They don't have to be detailed maps, but figure out your spatial stuff. I wrote all of GoS without any maps and boy, let me tell you. The jump to having them for MoaH was night and day.

Generally, the recommendation here is to look at TTRPG dungeon design or escape rooms. If you got stuck doing this puzzle with other people/reliant on other people's pacing, what would be enjoyable to follow? Because unlike in the games where you are the player, in books, you're limited to the pace of the POV character.

There is also the limitation in writing of the reader's imagination. Complex puzzles are great and all in games, describing it in a way people can imagine is harder. Without the visual and interactive elements of games, easier puzzles are better because most people can picture the basics. As anyone who has played a TTRPG before can tell you, a puzzle for a 3rd grader will absolutely stump an adult if the setting or size of the puzzle makes them miss the important elements of it. You do not need to design complex traps and puzzles (in fact it will often go poorly).

This is also where that aesthetic decision can help. A relatively simple dungeon can absolutely be carried by an interesting location. Are there lore drops to be found in the dungeon? Is it just a cool space to explore? Is the means of backtracking post-relic something the reader can piece through as the character(s) explore it the first time? There should be hints on how these aspects will link together before the end.

I will get into this with relics as well, but it's a good idea to keep an inventory of your character(s)'s abilities before going in. Is your hero traveling alone? How many relics do they have? What resources did they bring into the dungeon? This can help inform solutions too by eliminating what your hero doesn't have access to.

Writing

Pick a pace of chapters. There's a reason that dungeons are consistent in their chapter length for GoS & MoaH. They're aimed to set the tone for how long the dungeon should feel. I'm going to use both as examples for outlining everything I haven't already said in previous sections.

GoS has two types of dungeons: Goddess Temples and Sage Dungeons. The Goddess Temples were designed to be shorter "tutorial" dungeons, the formula being 2 Dungeon Chapters + Mini Boss + 2 DC + Boss. Compared to the Sage Dungeons, which were 3 DC + MB + 3 DC + B. The Sage Dungeons also typically got a Mini Dungeon and Mini Boss to reach the dungeon itself.

The goal of this was to suggest size and difficulty. GoS was meant to parallel OoT in a lot of ways, the Convergence timeline event to the "Divergence" event that was the timeline split. So the Goddess-Sage split is meant to mirror the Child-Adult dungeon split. Once GoS!Link pulls the Master Sword, things got harder, the challenge leveled up, dungeons got longer and more complicated.

Conversely, MoaH's dungeon design was based around BOTW/TOTK and my general response to it. MoaH's dungeons are designed around the idea of having a series of shrines that build to a larger dungeon puzzle in a region. The split here will be a single dungeon chapter and Mini Boss at a time, but three or four trials before leading to the culmination of four dungeon chapters and a boss in the main temple combining the relics and puzzles from the trials.

In both cases, good divides for dungeon chapters are typically switching between floors, puzzles being cleared, or to break for backtracks to other wings.

Bosses & Mini Boss

The top of this, I want to say that the power scaling will not always be right. Nintendo doesn't even always get this right. Sometimes the Mini Boss is harder than the Boss. Obviously aim otherwise, but trust it's fine if it happens.

There are a goals to aim for with trying to keep that balance:

The difficulty of the puzzle

The tools necessary to solve it

How easy it feels like the hero lands a hit

Generally, a mini boss fight will rely on the tools already at the character(s)'s disposal while a boss fight should rely on the dungeon's relic. Both should incorporate parts of puzzles already in the dungeon itself, either in getting to the dungeon or in progressing through it so far.

It can help to look at boss fights as puzzles on a timer. The timer is how fast you hit it before it hits you harder. But that also should help pace the three stages of the fight. The first phase should be the longest, it's puzzle-solving first to see how to hit the boss. Stage two will likely be shorter, as that knowledge is reapplied. It's the same solution but with some added retaliation. Stage three should make the solution slightly harder to reach by adding that final hit glowing red desperation energy.

You want to make sure that hitting a boss monster is challenging but doable. This could be done by letting the hero get hit, focusing on coordination tactics, or having a failed attempt and having to retry. While never gets hit heroes are impressive in games, they can't build tension very well in stories. If there's no risk after all, then the reward won't feel as earned. At the same time, if there's too much risk, then it may feel like your hero is not competent enough to handle the fight. The character(s) should figure out the mini boss's weakness faster than the boss, or the steps to hit the mini boss should be easier to achieve than the boss.

If you want to come up with a new enemy and not reuse an existing one, I'd recommend picking two plants or animals to smash together. Generally, it only takes two or three off character traits for a chimera to start feeling like a monster. Too many elements though and the design may not read well to your reader (unless the point of it is to be unknowable or absurd). Your bosses should fit the aesthetic of your dungeon too, so if you're running short of ideas, trying looking what might live in the kind of environment that your dungeon is and you'll probably start getting ideas. But also, sometimes the answer is just rule of cool.

Relics

Relics are the best part of a Zelda game for me. They add a lot of fun to problem solving and reexploring old areas. They culminate to decide on the general skillset of your protagonist and dungeons serve in part as tutorials to learn how to use the relics in all its possible uses.

A relic should be the primary puzzle solution for a dungeon after its acquired. This is in game to experiment with its uses before the boss and experiment with its mechanics in lower stake situations. Most dungeons will have some no stakes mandatory puzzle in the mini boss chamber requiring use of the item before the character(s) can progress. And then it scales up from there to get creative and use the item with other tools at the hero's disposal.

While there are staples for sure (hookshot/bow/bombs/etc), most Zelda games will typically have at least one totally unique relic to that game. This is a great way to build your story's identity too! Your character's tools should cover a wide array of options, so it's important too to look at your relic list as a whole to make sure they don't overlap with other relics. It's also important to consider a relic having not only combat use, but also puzzle utility too! These are after all going to be used to get through the rest of your dungeon.

Companions

One of the harder things to balance is party comp. If your hero travels with other people, this can change the necessary scale of the dungeon as a whole. Puzzles and fights will need to be solvable with multiple people working together. Sometimes this can be expediting the issue, many hands make light work after all. Other times it's about strategically placing everyone on the map.

One thing you should decide early in is whether dungeons are intended to be solved with more than one person. If the hero is supposed to be handling their quest on their own and just happens to have a companion, then puzzles need to be solvable on their own (this may be better to implement the expediting method). Or you can make the puzzles quick, allowing for more dialogue while they solve puzzles faster.

If the hero is supposed to be traveling together, then puzzles should incorporate each of party member's skill sets. Be sure to add those to the inventory you take at the beginning of design! Rotating around party members solving the puzzles can help them feel like a team, but you can also incorporate this cooperation slowly if you're trying to build up a new relationship.

Based on Zelda tropes, it's very likely that the companion in question to a dungeon will be someone like a Sage. If this is the case, I would advise against making the character's abilities exactly the same as the relic. If the two are identical then it runs the risk of underselling them both. They can be similar, but they shouldn't be the same to make sure both have room to shine. Also so getting the relic at the mini boss isn't just your hero one-upping a companion. That's a quick way to making them seem less useful to a team! It's best to look at them as compliments. For example, if a dungeon gives the hero the hookshot to bring enemies in close, then having your companion be a fighter who deals with the monsters as they're getting dragged in to range would be a good way to highlight teamwork.

On the Grander Scale

As I said earlier, dungeons combined serve as the training montage that gets your characters ready for the final fight. But, as a narrative, they should share some central theme together to weave them together as a story. Maybe that's the overall aesthetic sharing some element, like the Divine Beasts and the Blights. Maybe it's a similarity in the bosses and how they appeared, like the echoes in EOW.

This is where making a loose outline can help. If you have a rough idea of the dungeon themes or relics you want to include, you can start to build a wider narrative theme you want to meet. Do you want your hero to feel more like a wizard? More magic focused relics may help. Do you want them to feel more like a tactician? Having more allies to coordinate could be the way to go.

And I do mean loose! For the entirety of GoS, I only had a list of dungeon names and some rough ideas for items I wanted to give Link. In the original outline, the Soul Temple was going to be kinda funky and disco themed. It ended up in narrative needing to be a much more serious late game beat. The same boss and relic was in the dungeon, but the aesthetic shifted to fit the theme I needed for that story arc. Your grander narrative can always come back to inform what kind of challenge your characters need to face in that moment. And that may change as you figure out the story.

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

I think that's generally it though. If I think of anything else, I'll add it in a reblog or edit it in, but generally applying all these elements should get you on your way to making some fun dungeons. Excited to see what you come up with.

[cookiedough77]

hey so, more peacock!adrien au uhm

oh you want the rest of the conversation? oh here you go, read under the cut!

(sorry if the writing isnt my best, lowkey rushed it)

Adrien's face flushes, and he holds the bouquet closer. "I'm not dressed."

Luka waves a hand dismissively. "Ohhh, don't worry about that, you're handsome even just in plain old pajamas." He leans in closer, a smile widening across his face.

Adrien crooks a brow. "Well I can't get up to dance, so..." He trails off.

"Thennn, it's just a party! Not everyone dances at a dance, we can just hang out here." Luka pulled up his other leg up on the bed, sitting crisscrossed.

If Father had seen it, he would be angry about shoes being on the bed. But Adrien has always liked Luka for the very reasons Father wouldn’t like Luka. Of course there were other things, but this just made Adrien like him more.

Plus, Luka's shoes were nice. Actually, seeing Luka in a suit is nice, he looks great.

A giddy smile comes across Adrien's face. "Does that mean snacks? Parties always have snacks."

"Oh- I did plan on that- Too worried about getting the bouquet on time. I can go get some real quick if you want?"

Adrien giggles. "Not yet, I still want you here." He looks down at the bouquet crinkling in his hands. "You did all this for me?"

Luka shifts closer, pointing to the flowers in the wrapping paper. "I knew you liked roses, and I know you like orange, so, orange roses."

"There's red roses too." Adrien smirks, shifting the bouquet to show Luka.

"Well." Luka clicks his tongue. "You like romantic too, needed classic red roses."

Adrien just smiles, staring down at the flowers.

Luka continues, "When's your birthday?"

"What?"

"When's your birthday? I can do more then. You haven't had a birthday come up yet, aaannnddd I know it's gotta be some time."

Adrien rolls his eyes. "October 13th."

Luka nods, taking in the information. "You've never had a proper birthday party, right? That's why the bubbler happened?"

Adrien pursed his lips. "Yeah, Nino was upset Father said no."

"That was before you were Indigo. What did akuma attacks feel like then?" Luka tilts his head.

"Life felt... Normal then. I was just glad my Father got me an actual gift, not some lousy pen for the 3rd year in a row." Adrien lets out a huff of amusement. "It was one of the times I thought Father cared."

"I'll get you a gift."

Adrien's face felt flush, he tried to conjure up a proper smile, playing it off as cockiness. "You already got me a gift."

"I'll get you more, birthdays are usually filled with them."

"That sounds... nice." He breathes a sigh of endearment.

Adrien ghosts his fingers over the flower petals. They feel soft, and he rubs one of the petals in between the pads of his fingers. He'd apply more pressure if he could, but that would rip the petal, and Luka got these for him as a gift.

His face drops, because he loves gifts, Luka loves giving him gifts.

He can't let Luka continue doing this for him.

He's not going to make it to his next birthday.

"Adrien? What is it?" Adrien blinks, looking up at Lukas concerned face.

"Luka I..." He glances back down at the bouquet. "We can't pretend this will last forever."

Luka is quiet for a moment. His face softens. "You deserve to be happy."

"And you dont?"

Silence again. The soft sound of Adrien touching the single petal back and forth in his fingers fills his ears. 

He shouldn't have said that. They have talked about this before, many times, but tonight wasn't a time for that. Luka was trying to do something sweet, he didn't need a reminder their relationship is on the clock. 

Adrien doesn't want to be reminded of that either. He's just reminded of it every time he coughs, every time he even attempts to stand, to get up.

Adrien exhales. "I’m sorry, you were doing something nice and I ruined it."

"No no, It’s ok." Luka stares down at his lap. "I just meant... We deserve to be happy, even if it's not permanent."

"That doesn't bother you?"

Luka swallowed. "Just... Don't worry about it."

A petal rips, and Adrien bites his lip. Luka doesn't need this, he doesn't need a doomed relationship, he doesn't need someone who will let him get hurt.

But he also wants to indulge Luka.

He knows he's close to the end, he knows any day, hell any moment, it'll be over. He can't get out of bed without wobbling, he feels weak, he can feel his body wanting to give up.

"How about those snacks, huh?" Adrien swiftly says, changing the conversation.

Luka blinks and drops his feet to the floor, still facing Adrien. "Uh, yeah, I can do that." He leans forward, pushing adriens bangs out of the way and kisses his forehead. 

He then backs off the bed, smiling now. "I'll be back, I know what you like." He starts walking backwards, like he wants to keep looking at Adrien, and it makes Adrien smile.

"Plagg, claws out." With an electric green light, Kitty Khaos finally turns around and climbs outside the window.

Adrien sighs, and closes his eyes, crossing his arms over his knees and pressing his forehead into them. 

[luckycharms1701]

Oh, please, I must know now… Donnie during mating season??? :D I’m loving ur writings about this :)

alright you thirsty purple fans, it’s time!

sidenote: i am. so glad. that people are enjoying these. they’re a lot of fun to write!

double sidenote: i have added a link to my masterpost to all my bayverse mating season headcanons! you can also find them here

sooooo donnie. he's a freak in the sheets, you cannot change my mind. so especially strong spicy warning for this one 🌶️

Donnie is extremely matter of fact about mating season. The first time he brings it up with you, he’s more nervous about your answer than he is shy about explaining what it entails. (You couldn’t hear the words, but you did hear him muttering to himself before he came up to ask you. You suspect it was a pep talk.) He is very thorough when explaining mating season in general and how it affects him in particular. You are grateful and also a little turned on by the time he’s done.

Before you were in the picture, Donnie used to work himself until his system overloaded and he passed out during this time. Now he finds himself working a lot less, because he has you to focus on. He appreciates that you make him spend more time on leisure and don’t let him overwork himself. He also appreciates that you do let him work at least a little when the desire hits. Getting to cuddle with you is a surefire way to get him to rest when he needs it though. As long as you’re nearby, he’s happy to do whatever.

Donnie is a talker in general, but it gets ramped up to 100 when it’s his season. Unless his mouth is busy doing… other things… it’s basically a 24/7 stream of consciousness fest. Mostly it’s about you. How much he loves you, what in particular he loves about you, how exactly he wants to make love to you. His morning star, his starlight, his celestial beauty. Sometimes, though, he’ll interrupt himself to talk about something that just occurred to him about one of his projects. It never fails to pull a laugh out of you and make him rub the back of his neck in (adorable) embarrassment.

He enjoys physical affection and often seeks it out from you, and this holds true during his season. He won’t whine or get grumpy if you don’t want to be touching him all the time (*cough* like his brothers will *cough*), but he does prefer if you’re in contact with him somehow. He enjoys watching movies with your head on his lap and your hand in his. He especially likes it when you're on top of him.

Donnie is used to just taking care of himself whenever necessary, AND he is used to handling delicate things during his season. So there is a lot of gentle manhandling when the time comes. You can't do anything particularly engaging because he will come up and interrupt you whenever to have sex. IF you are wearing clothes at all (not often), you cannot wear underwear or pants, at most a skirt. That way he can just lift it up and enter you whenever the urge hits. He is especially fond of doing this when you're sitting on his lap while he's working (... "daddy's little cockwarmer").

Having you around does not mean that all of his toys go unused, oh no. He is very considerate, and would rather resort to them when you're getting rest. (He got your permission to stare at you while you slept and he used his toys. So considerate.) He also came up with some new toys that the two of you can use together. Having toys custom designed for your pleasure? Well. It really adds to the experience of mating season.

He likes to take his time and study you. He is always coming to you with a new experience he wants to try. He does get a lot of pleasure out of trying new things, but he mostly just wants to know how you'll react. He is intimately familiar with your body and how it reacts, and he wants to see if those reactions hold true when different stimuli are applied. His prodigious brain is always working. He particularly likes when something catches you off guard and a surprised gasp comes out of your mouth.

Donnie is not overtly possessive, even in his season. But there is always one hickey very carefully placed somewhere noticeable that you can't cover easily. He knows just how much force to use to leave an imprint of his hands without hurting you more than you enjoy. And if he catches someone looking at you? You will probably be walking a little funny the next day. When he ties you up (he enjoys tying you up. a lot.), he'll take a minute to sit back and observe you, pleasuring himself to thoughts of how you belong to him the same way he belongs to you.

When his season is over, his favorite thing to do is cuddle with you while the both of you sleep it off. He won't leave the bed, not even to work, until he deems you fully rested. (He will work in bed while you sleep on his plastron though.) His second favorite thing to do is bathe you. He takes his time to make sure every inch of you is clean and cared for. It's a lot like going to a spa, because Donnie did a lot of research into spas so that he could replicate that experience for you. And if you give him a little pampering in return? You'll get to hear him chirp and churr in complete satisfaction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

head bonks: @yorshie @avery73 @justalotoffanfiction @thejudiciousneurotic

[stellewriites]

wip wednesday

got tagged a little while ago by the amazing @dragonnarrative-writes so here’s a little smth i’ve been working on recently (simon x reader, cyberpunk au)

2184, Earth.

you wiped the sweat from your forehead with your sleeve and let out a heavy sigh through the bandana tied around the bottom of your face. 

the weather never seemed to gentle anymore in the Furrow, always too hot and the air too thick, which made rummaging for hours in the dump yard - something you did most mornings - tiresome and even dangerous if you forgot your water.

the cloth mask your wore over the bottom half of your face made it all the more humid and uncomfortable, but you new better than to go without it for extended periods of time this far from the city’s air filters. pollution had gotten bad enough over the last few decades that the dusty air would catch on your chest for days after without it, especially if you’d been exerting yourself.

it seemed that your trip was all for naught however. you’d barely found anything that would be useful for your work back at the service shop and the sun was high in the sky now, so you knew you’d be needing to head back to open up sooner than later.

you felt the sweat gather and drip down your back and you longed to clean yourself up a little before seeing your first customer, but the urge to do one last lap around the nearest heap, just a quick peek, tugged at you. you could get cassie to cover for you for ten minutes when you got back if needed.

i give you: a lot of build up and exposition with no simon lmao,, but he arrives on the scene pretty quick dw

npt: @pricegouge @ohlawdthebirds @tempfrangit @red5tars @3amfanfiction @soapcloth @syoddeye @pfhwrittes

[gabelew]

i draw enough pre-calamity and pre-botw zora art that creating a timeline spreadsheet was necessary for my sanity (not posting full size versions bc its still very much a messy wip, just wanted to show you guys the scope)

[expectiations]

Thinking of how "left me like a book on a shelf" is from River's POV and therefore does not mean it is the entirety of the story much like how "the Doctor does not and has never loved me" was uttered from a River who was grieving.

Like the Doctor could have spent a long time putting the TARDIS in stationary orbit around the Library. The Doctor could have puttered about with the Library from years before it was shut down to ensure that everything would go smoothly while doing his best not to change a single thing. And on days when it is too hard, he just stares at the Library from his perch on the TARDIS door. Waiting, hoping, thinking. Trying to find a way out for her. For them.

And he does!

He finds a hundred ways to get her out of the data core. But...something always goes wrong. It's somehow never good enough. She's back, but she's not entirely there.

So he scratches it out, slaps himself, and tries again.

And again.

And again.

But his plans always fail.

But they don't. Not really. His plans could work. Could have worked. His beloved Sexy would help him. She'd always help him when it comes to her Water. But he was too scared. Too frightened of failure. Because one single mistake. One. Single. Mistake. And she's gone. He can never get her back. Forever.

So he runs. And runs. And runs. Until centuries has gone by and companion come and gone. Until he met a younger, more alive version of her. And then they had Darillium. And oh the joys of wonderful joys, what a night that was.

But things end. Even for him. They had to part ways again. Had to say goodbye. So he tries again. Picks up what his previous self had shelved. He tries. Oh how he tries.

But still. That fear exists. Is it worth it? Can he finally accomplish what he'd started a literal lifetime ago?

(He doesn't.)

Off on another lifetime with a new body. He's a...she now? Oh and shorter! Wow. That's new! I wonder what Ri–

On the rare moments she allows herself to succumb to sleep she goes to their his her study. She takes a moment to take everything in. It's unrecognizable now – the study that once was theirs filled with warmth and laughter and-

Every single space was taken. Covered by plans of plans of plans spanning...two...lifetimes now. Sexy still kept it just as it was the last time he she had been in there.

Their His Her favorite throw was still where it was – on their his her favorite corner of their his her favorite couch.

Nothing had changed but everything had changed.

She curled up and buried her face hoping it would still smell of her (It did. They never knew how it worked but somehow her smell still lingered anyway. They thought they were hallucinating at first but other people had been able to smell it too. Sometimes they forget but Sexy also lost her too).

She was a he again. The same face they had four lifetimes ago. The same face who was the first to keep the memory of their meeting.

But wh- what? Why? How? Is this it? Is this the body that finally brings her back home? A fitting act really. He put her in there and so he'll also put her out of there.

But... she wasn't there. Nothing was there. Nothing but chunks of debris and ashes and smelted...somethings.

When he blinked his eyes open (when had he closed them?), Donna's worried face greeted him. He blinked again and blinked. Nothing changed. Everything has changed. He had waited for far too long. He had made her wait for far. too. long. He feared of failing her but now he actually has failed her.

Everything was bland now. Was it just him or is everything a bit...on the side of grey? Donna looks at him like he might break. (He won't. He's a Time Lord. Time Lords don't break.) Even Sylvia had taken to treating him a bit more kindly.

He goes off alone with Sexy. His return to the Noble-Temple (Temple-Noble) household becomes fewer and further in between. One day he finds himself in Venice. Wonderful Venice. His Pond and her Roman (who wasn't yet a Roman) had gone here. There were vampires. And running and –

River?

No silly. River wasn't there.

He blinked. And blinked again. Made sure the sky was blue and the clouds still fluffy white. But was that his leather jacket that just whizzed by past him? Wait. Hold on. That was... Was that? Oh no. It wasn't. It couldn't be. Did they? No. They couldn't have.

But of course, apparently they did. Because that was actually his leather jacket wearing self that just passed by him again(?) tugging along his very-much-not-dead wife along running from... Hold on. Why are they running? What- Who's shooting at her?!

[cheaploafs]

Hey hey, so remember that fic I was talking about for cyberpunk au, you can read it now <3

It’s called “A Fools Game” and it’s the first part of a series I am working on! This fic is a one shot spaced into three parts and follows Ivy as they accompany Lucanis in killing Zara but things don’t go exactly as planned <3 I know some of you guys expressed interest in reading it so here it is, enjoy!

[pigeonstab]

Me showing up in your inbox every other day to ask about the vampire and werewolf au lol

Are there people who know about vampires and werewolves and shifters? Like is it a known and normal thing or are they trying to keep it secret? If it is/was known would it be dangerous for them? Like people hunting them?

Also you said they know Killer’s been hurt before, what happened to him? :o

Also also do you have any ideas about what Killer and Cross are studying at college?

AND— how are you?? I hope you’re having a nice day \(^-^)/

Thank u!!! Very nice getting these hehe

1) This is like THE world building element I wasn't really sure about. I've thought about it and I think like, people know about vampires and werewolves and there are still some modern day hunters but they're a minority? (In a drawing I made you can see Killer has a AHAB (all hunters are bastards) sticker lol). I really don't know yet. I think society accepting them is like out of the question lol, you lose a lot of adversity and interest doing that I think. It's also just sort of weird to me? Idk that's just not a story I'd like to read.

Maybe it's more of a 'we saw a werewolf attack in this little village outback' and people are worried and stuff but it's always out in the middle of nowhere and it's not happening to them so they don't really give it that much thought. It's the news you see horrors all the time right? Mostly they just... Don't think anyone in their college classes would even be a vampire/werewolf. Maybe there aren't that many creatures out in the city at all. Like a hiding in plain sight thing. i think that's something I like more already. It's probably not going to be a huge part of the story at all. Maybe a few mentions that can leave the characters feeling like outsiders or a little anxious but not a major plot point y'know?

2) I Imagine someone who's like twenty something and already a vampire hasn't had the best circumstances lol. He definitely was not turned with his consent, I haven't really thought of specifics yet but when Nightmare found him he was not laughing and being cute. He was closed off and depressed. Didn't talk much at all. (He's better now y'all

3) wahhh I haven't thought about that! That's a good question. I don't... Actually know how American colleges work but I think Killer would probably be in like history or english? Cross maybe in computer science? Maybe audio-visual stuff. Is that cinematography? Idk what it's called. Maybe they can be like. History of arts+cinematography so they have classes together maybe. Again this is without knowledge of how any of it works. I'll get back to you on that.

I'm good! Pretty tired. College maybe isn't.......... As cool.... As I first thought....... But it's chill! some of my classes are still super interesting and I love learning. And anyway I have plans and ideas and stuff on the side that make me happy! And my Kitty is drooling on me so really what more can I ask for?

And how are youuuu?

[ninewheels]

I finished replaying Silent Hill 2, I was stoned when I did, I got the Leave ending, and in the meantime I've been seeing more and more of the remake--and all of these things have factored into me deeply re-examining my feelings and ideas about James. I was really able to see him in different ways, and I'm not ready to go into a whole Thing about it, but I will say two key sub-points are these: 1) There's obviously a lot of ambiguity to this story, a lot of empty space for our minds to fill in based on what few things we actually do see for ourselves, but it seems sometimes people (myself included) lose track of what we've filled in and what the actual text is, especially when it comes to James and his past; and 2) Mary's letter says that James made her happy. It's the very final line. And I see no reason to not take her at her word for it.