#how did i write such short stuff back then?

[kkuras-gamer-gf]

Read your diary | Megan Skiendiel

Smut. Any maneskin fans? Loosly based on their song of the same name! Too short, so sorry.

G!p megan. Perv!meg who sneaks into your room when your gone. Reader is just as bad kinda. Perv4perv in a way. Dom!Megan?? Who would've thought

Megan didn't intend on going this far; it started simply as wanting to be a good roommate, doing the laundry. One day while folding and putting it away, she found something, a small book. She shouldn't have read it, but she couldn't help herself.

Surprised by what she found: your dirty little secrets and detailed summaries of your hookups. Then she read further, and her name started popping up. First, just little comments about Megan being attractive, and then it switched; filthy fantasies filled the pages.

The next week, she was doing more laundry, and a pink pair of underwear fell out of the basket. She shouldn't have; she should've just put it back in the basket, but she opted to stuff it in her pocket. Later that night, she wrapped them around her cock as she pleased herself.

It should've stopped there, but it became a bad habit, stealing a pair and then throwing it in the washer after she was done. It was the perfect excuse; you were gone most of the day for work, so she felt comfortable in her dirty routine.

Until today, that is, you had a half day at work. Megan didn't know that, so she assumed it was safe. But it was different this time; she had dared to go further, settling into your bed with your used panties in her panties, reading various pages in the diary.

Just as she reaches into her boxers, you open the door with a sharp gasp at the sight.

"Wh- Is that my underwear?!" You ask, looking at the balled-up fabric in her hand.

"I—I was doing laundry."

"In my bed?!?"

She jumps up, hiding the small book behind her back.

"Well...well." She really didn't want to out herself further, but she also needed a way under your skin to get the control she wanted. "You write about how you want me to fuck you!" A smirk as she gains an upper hand.

Your jaw dropped at this. How'd she know that?

"You—wh—how?" Your cheeks are bright red as you fumble around for words, "Did you read my journal?!"

"This one?" Pulling her hand from behind her back and opening to a page, "I feel guilty. What would she think if she knew I fucked myself in her bed?" She quoted, An embarrassing confession.

"I—stop."

She didn't, flipping forward some pages.

"I wish instead of my fingers it was her coc—"

"Don't act like you're innocent." You interrupt, "You take my underwear when you do laundry. God knows what you do with it."

"I think you know what I do with it." She takes a step, making you gulp, "And I think it turns you on." Faces now only a couple inches away.

"You're disgusting." It's more of a whisper, not meaning it enough to put effort in. She wasn't wrong; you knew that with the way your core dripped.

"I'm disgusting? I'm disgusting?? Says the slut who writes chapters about me and my cock. Let's see, which page was it..." Long fingers flip through pages, "In my dream last night—"

"Fuck you."

The smirk on her face drops, slamming the book shut and throwing it on the bed before a hand moves to wrap around your neck, threatening to tighten. As much as you tried to suppress it, you couldn't help the small moan that left your mouth.

"On the bed."

You oblige, lying down, as she uses the grip she has to push you in that direction. Her hands fumbled with the button to the jeans she was wearing, not bothering to take them off, just reaching in a hand to pull her cock out, hard and already glistening with precum.

Bigger than expected, intimidating almost. Your eyes widen at the sight, causing a cocky smirk on the girl's face as she looks down at you like you're her prey.

"Aw, don't tell me it's too big. You can take it, right?" Faux sweetness in her voice.

Nodding rapidly, needing her to do anything to soothe the heat in the pit of your stomach.

At this, Megan pulls you so your legs hang off the edge. Pulling at your jeans and throwing them to the floor, a thumb rubbing over your soaked underwear, practically drooling at the sight.

"Fuck, no wonder I have to do laundry so much."

"M-Megan, please."

"You want these off, huh?" Despite the teasing tone, she pulls at them as soon as you're nodding your head. Though she doesn't throw them to the side, instead balling them up to stuff into her pants, you were too much in a haze to protest, admittedly the act turning you on more.

Her leaking tip slides through your folds with embarrassing ease before sheathing herself inside you in one thrust with no warning; a moan mixed with a cry echoed off the walls.

"Fuuuck." Megan moans as her head falls back at the sensation, "So fuckin' tight."

The brunette's hands grip at your waist, trying to ground herself and not cum right away. Starting with slow, deep thrusts, pulling little noises out of you with every move.

"You know how fucking long I wanted to do this?" Her breathing gets increasingly labored, and she thrusts quicker with her words as if she's working herself up.

"Fix that bratty attitude." A particularly harsh thrust as she mumbles the last part.

"P-pl-please." The words leaving your lips don't even make sense as you beg her, for what you're not sure.

It's like she was made to fuck you with the way her body fit with yours, the tip of her cock reaching where others have. Her tempo changed in tune with your body; it makes you wonder if she's that good or if she did a little too much research.

"Tell me how good this cock feels."

"Shhhit. So, so good." Words slurring at the pleasure, hands grabbing to try and pull her closer.

Megan's hand that once gripped your waist moved to rub fast circles over your clit, your own hand wrapping around her wrist at the overwhelming sensation. You didn't want to admit that your nerdy perv roommate had you close to an orgasm within minutes. Neither did Megan, as she wanted to uphold her current dominance, holding herself back.

"Mm, I want to fill you up." She mutters through her heavy breaths.

The loud moan you let out shows the effect it had on you, clenching around her, basically begging for it.

"You'd like that, right? Having my baby?" Megan's voice lowered as her hips stuttered, the idea making her closer to cumming.

"Yes! Fuck, yes. Please." Tears stream down your face as you plead for her to fill you up. "Want it so bad."

"Yeah? Want my cum, baby?" Breathless moans and whimpers as her once loserish persona fades back in a bit as she reaches her peak.

Pulling out her eyes filled with wonder as she stared at the liquid dripping onto your bedsheets, seemingly never experiencing it before.

Your body lay limp; you barely noticed her cleaning you up with your own underwear and, of course, stuffing them back in her pocket for whatever perverted thing she'd do with them later. Grabbing the diary from beside you and placing a sweeter-than-expected kiss on your cheek before grabbing your laundry basket.

"Same time next laundry day?" She smirks before walking out to your laundry room.

It seems now you have a new tradition for laundry day.

[returnofeternity]

would you be willing to do post-crash nat w/ a gf who's struggling with an eating disorder? i loveee comfort fics and nat would be very understanding i feel

a/n: hope i did your request some justice! i have binge eating disorder but i feel like i can never write about this sort of stuff because my feelings are blehhhh. and i also know everyone has it different so i hope you can relate at least a little <3 apologies for it being so short bc i wanted to do it but i just couldn't think of anything :/

;

maybe you were there in the wilderness with her, or maybe you developed it (or it got worse) while you thought she was dead for almost a year.

either way, she's there for you like the amazing gf she is. she's so unfortunately the type to remind you to take care of yourself while ignoring her own health :( especially post-crash for sure. both of you struggle with eating, but she tries to. for you. whenever you offer her something, she takes a small nibble just to see you smile even if it makes her nauseous.

think she picks up on it right away. you look different. you feel different, like you're pulling away. you've been skipping meals or making excuses as to why you're not hungry. at first, she understood. she was the same when she got back. she'd go between not eating for days and then binging her old favorites because she was just starving. but it made her feel like trash.

she's there holding you when things get really bad. when days just feel like too much. maybe you overate and feel like you failed, or maybe you just need the comfort of your girlfriend because your mind is overwhelmed with how bad/how much you're eating.

she's there helping you not think about food too much. tries to distract you with her silly jokes or takes you out on walks because you both need the fresh air. she's there taking your phone from your hand if you ever try to compare yourself to some model with millions of followers on instagram, but she never makes you feel like you did wrong.

she never makes you feel bad for your eating disorder. she's very understanding, just tries to instill in your mind that you're perfect the way you are without making it feel like she's trying to lecture you, you know? she doesn't want it to feel like she's disappointed in how you treat your body. she gets it. she gets that it's hard to change your mindset, and she's there with you every step of the way. she's there when you fail, holding you and comforting you when you lash out and yell at her because you feel worthless, and she's with you when you start to make progress.

[mi-co-uk]

hiii i have had a really bad day with my selective mutism today. basically i had an induction thing at my new school and so many teachers and stuff were trying to have conversations with me but i could only get one or two whispered words out and they were all just staring at me. it was a hot mess lmao.

i was wondering if maybe there was something you could write with mute!reader and grumpy!matt were she braves going out somewhere (maybe a mall or something?) alone but people keep trying to talk to her and she gets super stressed out and panicked so she texts matt and he comes to pick her up and comforts her and stuff??

sorry if u don't like requests or just don't like this one, i'm sorry if it's really bad and i'm sorry for saying sorry i'm just having a hard day lol

never apologise :c im really sorry that you had to go through that, it sounds so overwhelming 😞 but you're not alone at all, and I hope you like the blurbb/drabble :>

I did some texts too and i was considering waiting to put it in the mute reader special but I figured youd appreciate it sooner :3 im hoping you're doing a little better and my messages are always open if you need anything :c

── GRUMPY MATT X MUTE READER ⋆˚࿔

Matt saw her stood out front like an abandoned puppy. She looked around, clutching her bag for emotional support, the light revealed how watery her eyes had become. 

He pulled over quickly, unlocking the car doors so she could let herself in. he had to start driving quickly due to how busy it was, no wonder dotty got overwhelmed. 

He heard her small sniffles, playing with the hem of her dress as she tried to swallow down her emotions. Matt shouldve been annoyed, but he never could be, not at her. Watching her wipe every tear for herself as they fell, knowing shed initially wanted to go to the mall with him just broke his heart. 

“I shouldve been there.” he muttered out, wiping his face in frustration as he tried to focus on the road. 

He reached his hand over to gently grip her thigh, caressing her as dotty reached her hand arm to grip his arm. She fiddled a little, poking her fingers on his arms just to distract herself and a way to show matt she forgave him. Her sniffles didnt cease so he pulled over as soon as he could. 

Her frown deepened when matt faced her, his eyebrows furrowing in sympathy.

“Come here.” he tilted his head to gesture, bracing his arms a little around her to support her movements as she climbed over. 

She settled into his lap, looking down again to avoid his gaze before matts arms tightened around her. He rubbed soothing patterns into her back, watching closely to see for any more tears. She rested her head in the crook of his neck, beginning to space out as she played back how her day had gone. 

“Can i just go everywhere with you?” he mumbled out, also avoiding eye contact out of embarrassment. “Keep you safe and happy.” 

Dotty pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, holding onto him tighter as she started to slowly let all the tears out. She cried even harder when matt cradled her impossibly closer, showing her she wasnt alone and letting her feel her emotions completely. 

a/n sorry it's short 😞😞

[ari-writist]

ROMANCE WITH ZORO

[headcanon] PRE TIMESKIP

• Zoro is someone who dreams to be the greatest swordsman, we all know that. Achieving romance with zoro is unlikely given that he is focused on his goal, but if, for some unexplained reason, this guy actually managed to get in his brain that he's in love, I think this is how it would go.

• Zoro is more of an action type rather than verbal, so he would show you that he cares in action. Through body language, maybe like, standing close to you without realizing it, offering you water or food without comment, or looking away when you catch him staring.

• Even though he likes you, he might not get into a relationship with you so it'll all just be unspoken tension between you two. (I love you but I can't. Why not? Ahhh)

• He might train himself more and avoid you, because if he gives in, he's going to lose sight of his goal — he's gonna be in denial. Also, he'd be mad at you, at himself, at the world. Because you’re now a distraction—a distraction with soft eyes and a laugh that echoes in his head while he’s trying to train.

• But he'd train harder, push himself more, and sleep less, because if he can just be strong enough — maybe he won’t need to choose between you and his dream.

• He avoids you. Not in an obvious way, he'd just always be somewhere else, and if you ask him why, he’ll grunt and say, “Got stuff to do.”

• He thinks about telling you once. But whenever he opens his mouth, the words taste like betrayal so he swallows them with sake and silence.

• Eventually, he would just stay in one place once he sees your down casted face every time he goes somewhere else if you're around, but he wouldn't actively seek for you, if you did for him then this man is not going to move from his place. He would just listen to you talk, or do whatever you want to do by his side.

• He would always be looking at you. His eyes would trail on where you once were if you were to disappear and if you manage to catch his eyes he would either close them to pretend like he's taking a nap or he would look away out in the distant sea.

• But why wouldn't he let himself love you? It's because he thinks that love will weaken him. That if he lets himself fall, he’ll lose the drive to stand back up. That if he chooses you, he'd be failing Kuina, his promise, his vow.

• Also because he believes he doesn’t deserve you yet. He thinks you deserve someone who can give you a future, not a man chasing ghosts with a sword on his back.

• But zoro isn't stubborn. No, no, he's terrified. Because once he lets himself love you, it won't be halfway — it will never be — it will be everything. And you’re the only thing in this world more dangerous than Mihawk’s blade.

IM GETTING THE HANG OF THIS. Anyways, as alwaysz this one is kind of rushed, wanted to get it all out of my head first. But when I read it, I thought it was good enough so I'll just post it and possibly edit it again when I wake up when I realize that omg wrong grammar, yeah when that hits me. Anyways, hope you guys had fun reading this.

Spoiler alert, I'm actually writing a short fic about this. Idk how to write angst properly — oops? Wasn't supposed to say that.

I WAS ABOUT TO SLEEP TIGHT WHEN I FORGOT TO ADD TAGS GAH

[philativy]

May I request a secretly devilish MC? Like a wolf in sheep's clothing. They act nice and stuff but they like to prank people and cause trouble but it is almost impossible to blame bc they're so nice! Why in the world would they ever do that? Thanks in advance, love love love your writing

Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

a/n: tysm anon! sorry i’ve been keeping you waiting! i still have a few days left of my trip, and things have been slow. writing is hard in these circumstances! anyhow, i did decide to just make this a short passage instead of a full-length drabble since i wasn’t really sure how how to make a long plot out of it. i hope you enjoy regardless!

You’ve never done anything wrong in your life — Mammon is convinced. So is Diavolo. And Asmodeus. And a majority of the devilish figures in your newfound life. You, for all intents and purposes, are content to remain the pinnacle of human innocence and sincerity.

But even your saccharine nature must take a back seat when an opportunity, gilded and waiting, presents itself.

Take, for example, the harmless rearranging of Levi’s figurines (he claims they’re alphabetical, but seriously, how does that work?), or replacing Beelzebub’s creatine with baby powder. All of which were relatively easily fixed in the long run, and you were able to pass off as the mischievous misdoings of someone else.

In this moment, you sit with your back against Satan’s chest, scrolling on your phone, while your feet are propped up on a sleeping Belphie’s ribcage. Satan reads over your shoulder, his chin propped up and his arms caging your sides. A book is pinched between the lanky fingers of his right hand, while the left absentmindedly rub circles into your tummy.

You hear the telltale clunk of Lucifer’s shoes as they approach. The strides pause outside your door, but are soon succeeded by a heavy rapping on the door.

You look up. Belphie and Satan, pointedly, do not.

Lucifer pushes the door to your room open and eyes the cozy trio. His arms are crossed, his brows pinched in that "angry dad" way that he has perfected.

"Would any of you like to explain why my cologne appears to be the same scent as Asmodeus' bathroom air freshener?" He rumbles.

"It’s not my business what you spend your money on." Satan sniffs, pressing his nose further into the junction of your neck with indignation.

"Answer my question."

"No, I have no idea why your cologne smells like that. Happy?"

Lucifer grunts. "Belphegor?"

Belphie groans and shakes his head noncommittally.

Lucifer’s eyes fall on you, finally. Perhaps the others are fooled by your — admittedly lovely — doe eyes, but he will not be. "And you?"

At Lucifer’s accusation, Satan curls tighter around you. He appears offended on your behalf.

"They'd never."

"I'd never." You agree, batting your eyelashes.

Lucifer scowls, pinches the bridge of his nose, and backs out of your room.

You return to your doom scrolling, only to be interrupted by a little banner at the top of your screen:

Luci 💋: Please come to my room tonight after dinner. Your deception is deserving of retribution, yes?

Withholding a giggle, you shoot off a short affirmative before leaning back against Satan’s hold. It went just as you planned.

[asydicsydney]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Date Everything! (Sassy Chap Games Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jerry (Date Everything!)/Reader, Chance (Date Everything!)/Reader, Jerry (Date Everything!)/Chance (Date Everything!) Characters: Jerry (Date Everything!), Chance (Date Everything!), Player Character (Date Everything!), Sam (Date Everything!) Additional Tags: Gender-Neutral Reader-Insert, POV Second Person, Written Before Date Everything! Release, Feelings Realization, Dorks in Love, Love Triangles, but it's just, Polyamory, Kissing, First Kiss, Cartography is Sexy, Blushing, Your Boyfriends Are Now Boyfriends, CONGRATS!, No use of y/n, Autism, Chance (Date Everything!) is Autistic, Jerry (Date Everything!) is Autistic, author is autistic, Museums, Hugs, Established Relationship Summary:

Jerry and Chance never really talked until you brought them together through the magic of G&G. Now, as you bring Chance on a date to the Museum of Lost Things, and the Curator happens to be your other boyfriend, problems (and solutions) ensue.

[yyprompts]

#59 🌙🤍🖤

Write a piece from the perspective of an object, assuming the object has sentience.

[lucabyte]

🐺🐺🐺❓

[moregraceful]

many things i have been keeping under wraps at work, such as pronouns, but also, very critically, age. bc i got that ageless mixed race asian swag where i am very clearly not an undergrad but also??? they just don't know. and it WHIPS and it is so funny to ME because all the managers and shift supervisors are like damn this girl in her mid-twenties is so easy to talk to, it's like talking to a peer. surprise bitch i'm older than you. and maybe this means i'm performing psychological experiments on cis men, but i am ngl if i hand you a two page resume that you don't read, it is simply none of MY business if you think i am in my mid-20s. they are going to be so mad when they find out lmao

[jamiesfootball]

Please tell me more about gender flipped Jamie because that seems like So Many Thoughts that I would love to hear

I have so many thoughts and yet they are so ephemeral and unspecific and this has been languishing in my askbox and this isn't technically what you asked for but here's what I wrote instead:

Chelsea sent Roy into retirement the way you sent an aging dog to be euthanized. Slowly and gradually, an inescapable march towards a day you knew was coming. Roy's agent gently broke the news to him that they wouldn't be renewing his contract, but there was no gently breaking Roy.

The retirement itself was an underwhelming affair; he stayed numb throughout the presser, answered questions, and left the spotlight. No bang--not even a whimper.

That was months ago. Now Roy Kent, former Chelsea star, was daydrinking at a bar in Richmond at half-three in the afternoon, wondering if he could convince the matron of the house to change the fucking channel.

"Rough season our girls have had," the proprietor, Mae, explained in a tone befitting a bartender cleaning a pint. In reality, she'd joined Roy at the bar with her own glass of chardonnay. "Lot of shake ups. New owner, new gaffer. Still, it could be worse. This new coach of theirs might be from the States, but we're sitting higher up on the table than we have in years. Does your lot keep up with the Super League, then?"

It was one in a series of loaded questions. Roy couldn't imagine you could be a bartender in London without knowing who Roy Kent was. Sheer wasted optimism, he'd had, moving out of Chelsea and assuming anything short of leaving the country would get him away from the haunting specter of his own fucking jersey.

"Yeah," Roy answered reluctantly. "Yeah, some of us keep up. All the teams in the Premier have sister teams, don't we?" Except for Richmond. The one outlier--the only team in the league without a big brother to speak of.

"Mm. Then you heard about the scandal?"

Roy grunted. Of course he heard. Everyone knew about Rupert Mannion ages ago; it was about bloody time someone did something. Awful for his ex-wife that it'd fallen to her to do it.

Mae topped off his chardonnay before pouring the remainder of the bottle into her own glass. "This new gaffer though, he's one of the good ones. He hangs around here sometimes, and you can tell just by listening to him--he respects those girls."

Since retiring, Roy had gotten used to living in a fog. He spent time with his niece, met with the yoga mums, let old ladies in bars talk his ears off to their heart's content, but anything he did between those events was a drudgery--a slow painful effort to drag one foot in front of the other, metaphorically and physically.

So he couldn't have said what it was about Mae's offhand praise for the Richmond Whippet's new gaffer that rankled him into talking back.

"Is he any good though?"

"What was that?"

"Their new coach," Roy gestured with his wine glass at the television in the corner. "The American. Is he any good?"

Mae shrugged one shoulder. "He's gotten better."

"So not really then."

The look Mae gave him could've scoured paint from a wall. "Well, talent isn't everything. Is it, Mr. Kent?"

She left under the guise of check on the three men in the corner. Regulars, by the looks of it; and the three of them the only ones aside from Mae wearing supporting colors for the local team.

He hadn't watched a match in ages. Oh, he'd caught highlights--it was impossible not too--but the few times he'd tried, unfairness ballooned in his chest like an atom bomb, and he gave up.

He hadn't bothered to watch anything from the women's league either. What difference would it make to try watching a different league. Sure, he didn't know any of them the way he knew the men in the Premier League, but football was football and envy was envy.

From what little he'd seen so far, he didn't envy Richmond at all. Everton had them on the ropes.

Roy winced as Number 14 knocked one off the crossbar. It'd been a good attempt. A solid cross from Number 9 had put it in the path, but with no one else nearby she'd gone for a risky shot.

From what little he'd paid attention to, only 9 and 14 were making any actual progress on the pitch, with 9 working double time to cut up the field. Every time the ball dropped back down the center, Richmond lost possession. Every. Time.

It was Number 6 that was the problem. McNally, that was it. Red-head, center-mid, captain. Roy knew her by reputation. A tough, seasoned player, who'd gotten her fair collection of caps for England. She had the experience; it didn't make any fucking sense why she'd be the weak link.

Roy looked away. He took a gulp of his chardonnay and relished in the unpleasant way it stung his nose. It'd be masochism to keep watching.

He kept watching.

Within five minutes, he'd cracked it.

Number 6 refused to pass to Number 9.

The gameplay split off like a branching tree. Either 6 got possession, crossed to another player, and they lost it to Everton's deep defensive line; or 9 got it herself and took it up the field, at which point the entire Richmond side narrowed down to the actions of 9 and 14.

What the fuck was going on?

In the aerial cameras showed two Everton players marking Number 9. Number 6 crossed to Number 24, and 24 took it to the net only for a defender to block her out easily.

A close up lingered on Number 24. She couldn't have looked more upset with herself. Young thing. Good talent, bad nerves. Fixable with the right support.

Number 6 got into Number 9's face and shouted. So where's her fucking support?

The camera panned in on 6 and 9 as what looked like a shouting match took place between the teammates. There was McNally, red-haired and red-faced and openly swearing even if the mics couldn't pick it up, and then there was Number 9. A cut of a girl, strong featured and iron-jawed, with her forehead set down like she intended to ram McNally like a bull if the captain came any closer.

What a fucking mess.

The camera panned to the gaffer, who stood with his hands in his pockets and a frown under his mustache. He called neither player off.

The match went back into play and almost immediately Number 9 took a foul. A blatant hit, tackled before she could grab possession again. Everton had singled her out just as clearly as Roy had.

Number 6 stood off to the side while 14 and 24 argued with the ref. The captain watched in open annoyance as Number 9 levered herself off the ground with a wince, her left side stained with grass and a limp.

Some fucking captain.

Number 9 took position for a free kick, and her name finally flashed across the screen in a font large enough for Roy to read. Jamie Tartt. Tartt lined up for the kick, for all the good it would do when she was a good forty meters back--

Tartt walloped the ball cleanly into the net.

A frisson of electricity ran down Roy's spine.

The lads at the end of the bar broke into cheers.

Half of the Richmond Whippets descended on Tartt. The other half shuffled around in discontent.

Number 24--Obisanya--nodded at Tartt, who nodded back. They didn't hug.

Extricating herself from (half) of her teammates, Tartt threw an arm around the only person she'd passed to all night--14, Rojas. Heads pressed together, headband to matching headband, they looked furtive and serious in their two-person huddle.

The camera panned back to the gaffer. He clapped but he didn't celebrate.

The whole thing was bizarre.

No, Mae was right; talent wasn't everything. Because Richmond had talent--what a spectacular fucking goal--and they were a fucking mess, like nothing Roy had ever witnessed before in his career.

If Mae was willing to put up with him, he might have to come back for the next match. Who knew, maybe he'd try swinging by on an off-match day to catch their gaffer and give him a piece of his mind.

Finally, something to look forward to. His sister would be so proud.

[blondiest]

girl help i lost sight of creating things first and foremost for myself and got overly invested in external validation therefore setting myself up to feel terrible about my works because i started looking at them too closely and became paranoid that they weren't good enough and that people would think they're stupid and—

i am going to be on here less and for a little while may be engaging with other people's writing a bit less as i try to get back into my own creative flow again 🥲 will still pop in now and again but i think being too tuned-in to everything has been making me a little insecure (<- a me problem; all of you are lovely and sweet) and with some added work stress i'm just!!! not engaging with things in a way that makes me happy or that feels particularly healthy.

honestly i feel strange even bothering to make a post about this bc Who Cares but i didn't want anyone to feel ignored if i am just straight not replying to messages etc for chunks of time. 🤝

[elwolfen]

God!!! This giant interconnected story in my brain is my obsession!!!! SO MANY OCS!!! So many different stories are going on!!! It's a whole town's worth and so much history to the point that my bestie and I made a timeline... A TIMELINE!!! This is our tv show. Is it good? Do the writers know what they're doing??? IT'S FUN!!!! (and painfully sad, we've made each other cry fr)

DON'T GET ME STARTED ON THE LORE—

(and the memes)

[summoningspark]

Tavsilkpax I have not forgotten about you

(2/3 pages complete)

so i may or may not have printed out the entirety of @anonymousalchemist's amazing fic like a bird, like a stone onto three Very Large pieces of paper.

you might be asking, why, fay? why did you print out an entire 53k fic for a video game you've never played? well you see, if you read it, you would understand.

[please-picturemeintheweeds]

..

[chaninfused]

me finding the person who hid this fic from me for years

caged in this lullaby ⤖ lee felix

❖ genre : assassin au; cop au; action; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 7,2k.

❖ warning : explicit language, mentions of blood, arson & violence 

❖ summary : felix ultimately lets go of all and allows himself to drown in the ashes of bitter tragedy to see what stays. the last thing he’d expect is a stranger with his greatest secret. 

❖ dedicated to @blueprint-han​ : a continuation of aria of an assassin. song used — the lullaby by sophism, all credits to the owner. 

prologue.

Fire cares not for the time it vanishes, only that it gives the world heat and light.

The entire building burns deeply in red, orange, and yellow. The cries of the neighborhood echoes into the night with sirens blaring in the background. Your frozen figure can only watch in terror as glowing embers dance and twirl, searing through the ground, ripping through the roof in despair. Tendrils of smoke are reaching into the sky desperately as if attempting to escape the blazing inferno below.

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[sbcdh]

Dad wasn’t a nice guy. I don’t think I need to tell you that. But don’t believe the media. I don’t think he was evil. People give him a bad rap, or, they gave him a bad rap for the wrong reasons.  They didn’t know the man like I did. 

Tell me more about that.

He loved Emmett more. Told me himself, straight as whiskey. Emmett was tall, went to Harvard business school. Helped dad out in the oil fields. Well, helped in the oil fields at first anyway. He was clever. Had a melon like a jackknife and a nose like a bloodhound for finding tar sands. I never really knew how he did it. And well, look at me. I definitely took more after dad. Short fat and bad tempered. Ha! I really took after dad. I went to Harvard too, of course. But I went for geology. Fuckin’ geology. Yeah I knew dad better than any other man on earth.

Why do you say that?

Theres a way of knowing that only happens when you need someone to notice you. You need that like the air you breathe. You know everything about them. Learn the things they like, when their moods swing round, what they want and fear and dream about. Emmett didn’t have to care about stuff like that. Emmett was a golden boy. 

He was quite skilled at finding oil wells.

You know he damn well was. Never did figure out how he did that. You know doc, now that you got me on the couch, you got me wonderin’. You reckon it was somethin’ hypno-economical? It always did seem like he could sniff out tar sands from over the damn horizon.

It is possible. I would like to talk more about you, and your relationship with your father. 

Bet you do. Emmett was the key to everything. Dad made a lot of money early on. Said he was real good at cards. Said he made money cheating loggers at table games up in Canada. Who the hell knows? Point is by the time I was born he was already speculating in land. WWI was a great time for that shit…You know… You know that reminds me. You know what my earliest memory of dad was? It was him, covered in fuckin crude from a new well. Painted head to toe like…like a doll. One of those old ones you only see in antique shops these days. He was smilin wide with big bright teeth and big bright eyes. He was shoutin to Gert about something and they were both real excited. 

That would be Gertrude Jager, your m-

Emmett’s mom. 

Yes, of course. Apologies. Please continue. 

We were outside. It was early in the morning and I could feel the sun on my back. I had this blanket Gert made me and I was holdin’ it in my little fist. Just like this. Hey doc what are you writin’ there?

Notes on our conversation. Was there any sign of his…

Ascension to the throne of the god-pharaoh? Ha. I was wondering when you’d bring that up. You know, I think it was Emmett.

Emmett?

Yeah. Well, it wasn’t nothin’ Emmett did per se. He just. Well, its a big family, lotta big personalities you know? Dad wasn’t the best about keepin a lid on his temper, but Emmett. He was a bit funny. He’d work for hours on end. I seen him spend eight whole hours out in the fields, writing in some little notebook, come home to the house, and then spend eight more hours writing at the dinner table while the help brought him hotdogs. It was the same thing every time. Hot dogs, shredded cabbage, and beer. He’d eat nothin’ but that for days on end. Then he’d get all quiet. Lock himself in his room, drink himself to sleep. 

You weren’t concerned? 

I was 15. And the family’s got a lotta big personalities. 

What changed?

It was the Wolf Basin lode. You gotta think about that for a second. One million barrels of oil, right when uncle sam is at his thirstiest. Daddy had always hobnobbed with politicians, but they were practically lining up outside the door. They were buyin’ him dinner, and he would up and tell em to take a hike! Imagine that! He would come home late at night, I never seen him happier. He tell me about all the things he said to those men. Made him happier than a pig in shit. 

The success is what changed him? 

Maybe. It weren’t just the money. It was the power. The letters he got. Official United States letterhead. Comin’ in from the governor and senators and once or twice even president Truman. Sometimes I’d see him at his desk just starin at em, not opened or nothin’. He just looked at em. That’s when he started readin’ about Egypt and whatnot. Told me he wanted to know about the old kings. Wanted to rule his domain properly. Read all sorts of things about the middle kingdom and Ptolemy and Ramses II. He’d ramble for hours if you let him. Then one day, he comes back from the Rio Grande in a homemade Nemes. 

Nemes? 

Thats the crown of the Pharaohs. He told us that. I think he made his outta old flour sacks. Said he was chosen by Aten to build a new kingdom-o-the-dead right here in Plano. 

That seems quite sudden. 

It was. It was sudden. Well- Well it was kinda sudden. I think it had somethin’ to do with Emmett. This was around when his funny moods were gettin’ bad. Real bad. He was workin’ himself to string. He weren’t eatin’ or sleepin’. Dad had politicians comin over every damn day to look at the oil fields and Emmett was like a ghost. He couldn’t work! I think dad was scared, because he knew Emmett was the key and none of it would work without him. He started wearin the Nemes more. Wore it round the house with a collar and a robe and whatnot. Started carryin’ a scepter. All that. The politicians and the media thought it was a hoot. They thought he was just bein funny. Or like it was some freemason thing. He could get a laugh back then. They just thought he was bein’ funny. 

You don’t seem to share the sentiment.

No ma’am. He’d go into these rages. They were kinda like Emmett’s but, I dunno. Different, but the same. Ranting and raving about the english language “defiling” sacred hieroglyphics, navigatin du’at, securin himself a place in the field of reeds. He even made the help carry around palm fronds to fan him with. Even bought that purple Rolls Royce so he could travel around like Cleopatra did. Said it was the color of empire. It was around then. Yeah. He wanted to tear down the western guest house, and rebuild it on the north side of the property, so he could build a temple to Aten on the western side of the property. He and Emmett got into one hell of a fight. They’d gone at it before but not like that. It did somethin’ to Emmett. He locked himself in his room, wouldn’t eat or sleep. Sure as hell couldn’t work. A month turned into two, then six. There’d be a day when it seemed like Emmett was his normal self then, well then he’d fall right back down into his mood. Then, well. 

What happened?

Some doctor said we oughta try lobotomy. You know, to fix Emmetts moods. Get him back to work. Dad jumped at it. With Emmett out of the fields he wasn’t making money half as fast as he used to. Practically dragged him to the doctors himself. Couldn’t get the pick behind his eyes fast enough the bastard. It broke him doc. Broke him ways I didn’t know a man could break. He- 

Take your time.

He wouldn’t touch the table when he ate. Thought it would shock him like the doctors shocked him. He would break down crying and screaming if you asked him any sort of question. Ask him what he wanted for dinner and he wouldn’t know, and that would scare him, and it would scare him so bad he would tear out his own hair. Sometimes he’d just go quiet. Sometimes he’d just wander around the house. Then there were the nurses. 

Nurses?

Yes Ma’am. See, dad got Emmett right back to work. But Emmett uh. Lord. He couldn’t focus. You couldn’t leave him alone for two minutes without him abusin’ himself in front of everyone. Hands down his pants, primin’ the pumps. So dad hired a bunch of fancy whores to follow him around dressed as nurses. If we had good company over, and Emmett started to get the itch, they’d just pull him into the next room like he was havin’ some kinda medical episode. 

I- really?

Hand to God doc. Tell ya the truth its nice to tell someone about it. This psychotherapy shit is pretty nice. God. I remember one day. Drivin out to the basin in dads big stupid purple Rolls. He brought me along just to take notes. I was shotgun with all the papers, dad in the drivers seat in his Nemes, Emmett in the back seat playin’ hell with the whores. We got out, miles and miles from any other living souls. I remember gettin’ to check one of the dericks. Big ol mean dinosaur lookin’ thing, high heat middle of summer. It was dad and I glarin’ up at it. I was trying to actually check the damn pumps, dad was sermonating loud n’ proud about the rays of Aten while one of the whores was tryin’ to suck off Emmett. And its like I didn’t even care. I didn’t care one bit doc. I was just tryin’ to check the sediment. 

I- Well, you’ve done very well for yourself despite everything. 

Nah. Dad was fallin’ apart. I was just there to pick up the pieces. He couldn’t handle what happened to Emmett. Its like someone cut off dad’s own legs. It unhitched him from the world. 

How so?

Well, he got convinced the Jews did it. Somehow, he got it into his head that the Jews were poisoning all the food in texas, and that uh -Jew poison- was makin’ Emmett like that. It was dad’s thought that the lobotomy woulda worked if it weren’t for the international bolsheviks. He would only ever eat food he grew on the family farm. Even turned a bit of the chemistry division of the business into that vitamin company. 

Yes, its in my notes. Vitazon. 

Vitazon! That’s the one! Said every pill had a bit o’gold in it, straight from the rays of Atem. Said it- Oh what the hell was it. Said it only worked if you… There was some funny little jingle he wrote for it. Ah hell. The point was the pills only “worked” if you ate em every meal, and that meant subscribing to the company. A whole month’s supply of Vitazon, that was all you needed to purge the Judeo-Bolshevism from your body. Buncha nonsense. Made good money though. 

I see. Did you and your father ever reconcile before he passed?

Nah. He kicked the bucket before I got my big deal with the Saudis. Good riddance. You know what the last thing he said to me was? He called me while I was on a fishing trip up in big bear. I pick up the phone, and he starts rambling about how he wanted to be mummified. He wanted a full new-kingdom funeral. He said catholics weren’t allowed because they were a “semitic people.” I had him cremated, the bastard. But Emmett technically owns the estate. I think his ashes are kept in the temple of Aten, in one of those funny jars with the animal heads. 

What about Emmett?

You know doc, I don’t really like thinkin’ about Emmett. He’s living at the old house. But he’s got proper doctors to take care of him now. I saw to that. They send me letters every few months. Apparently he’s better than he used to be. Calmer. They say he just shuffles around the house wearin’ dads old Nemes. I think it makes him happy.