bonesofapoet

[bonesofapoet]

happy father’s day to my favorite single dads

[bonesofapoet]

(trying to discuss a book when nothing happened yet) I love how his name is ivan

[bonesofapoet]

a feel like the new generation of fanfic readers NEED to understand that clicking on a fic (interaction) does nothing. ao3 has no algorithm. your private discord discussions of fic do not reach the authors. if you do not actively engage with writers they will stop posting. this isn’t social media this is community.

[bonesofapoet]

Nothing beats the feeling when you start getting comments on every fic in a fandom or ship from one person, and it’s clear that they’re going on a fic-binge. 

[bonesofapoet]

I'd like to file a formal apology to my neighbors for once again ranting very loudly in front of my open windows about the implications of Jason Todd's current storyline with Hush

[bonesofapoet]

I loved Thunderbolts*, that moment when you have to defeat god with a knife and a gun

[bonesofapoet]

Bucky, trying to be a politician and realizing how inefficient it is at stopping bad guys quickly: Welp. I can't debate, diplomat, or deposition my way out of this one.

Bucky, loading his explosive disc launcher: Detonate it is.

[bonesofapoet]

GUYS I FIGURED IT OUT

Clint in the vents and that’s his whole personality because he wasn’t fleshed out in the movies → Ava in the walls and that’s her whole personality because she wasn’t fleshed out in the movies

Thor eating poptarts and overusing proper words because English isn’t his first language and he’s the comedic relief → Alexei eating Wheaties and overusing proper words because English isn’t his first language and he’s the comedic relief

Natasha pranking and laughing at everyone from the sidelines because fanon decided she’s just silly like that → Yelena pranking and laughing at everyone from the sidelines because canon decided she’s just silly like that

Bruce being a sweet, soft-spoken, unassuming guy but also the most fucking unhinged monstrosity if you catch him on a bad day → Bob being a sweet, soft-spoken, unassuming guy but also the most fucking unhinged monstrosity if you catch him on a sad day

Steve being handed the de facto title of goody two shoes leader despite being the LAST person on board with this → Bucky being handed the de facto title of goody two shoes leader despite being the last person on board with this

Tony being a big-mouthed asshole that’s secretly haunted by his past mistakes which involved publicly supporting the US military via PR stunts as a weapons manufacturer → John being a big-mouthed asshole that’s secretly haunted by his past mistakes which involved publicly supporting the US military via PR stunts as a weapon himself

[bonesofapoet]

Try not to sleep. 🐦‍⬛☕ You can bet i'm creating a mirror frame for my Rook next!

[bonesofapoet]

A lil afternoon doodle because I miss him

[bonesofapoet]

love when fictional men are so devoted to their partner it makes them dangerous and insane. very slutty behavior keep it up king

[bonesofapoet]

[bonesofapoet]

night blades.

[ jason todd x you ] author's note: next up from the poll, we have our beloved jaybird <3 a bit of nightmare comfort for this one word count: 1014

Sometime in the night, the clash of steel pulled you slow and steady from the embrace of a dream.

It wasn’t a nightmare this time, but instead something that felt sweet and safe, like time spent with a lover in the night. Which is, you suppose, why the sound of singing blades was enough to pull you so gracefully from the depths of sleep’s humble cradle before the sun had a chance to do the same.

That sound didn’t belong here. Not in your apartment, even if it was a fitting song for the chorus of the night.

What did belong, however, was the low hum of a movie spilling through the bedroom door, the accompanying glow flickering softly from the gap under the wood pulled up tight. Metal gliding along metal sounded again, a steady pattern revealing itself to you, nestled in cozy midnight shadows and soft blankets curled around your shoulders.

You blink away the old, lovely dream, eyes squinting in the dark to find the space next to you empty and cold.

Hisssssss. Silence. A clatter. A rustle. Hisssssss. Silence.

Ah.

Covers find themselves slowly pushed aside. A sweater wraps around your shoulders, chilled as it is from being tossed over a desk chair. A smile ghosts your lips, something small and drowsy replacing the post-sleep daze hopelessly wrapped around your mind and weighting down your limbs.

Except the sweater is Jason’s, and the softness of his favorite cologne tickles your nose as it gently drags you further from the dregs of dreams into a world a little more solid, a little more coherent.

“Can’t sleep?” you ask the silhouette at the table in your kitchen. His collection of knives, daggers, blades, are spread before him like a Sunday feast, or an offering to some long forgotten, ancient god of war. They glimmer in the low light from a small bulb left on above the stove.

He sets down a boot knife, whetstone hanging loose in hand as he turns to you, still submerged in shadow. “Did I wake you?”

“I believe I asked you first, Jay.” his sweater is pulled tighter against the chill, but a soft smile graces your lips anyway. You’ve done this dance enough times to know the steps before you take them in the dark, before you’ve even heard the first notes begin to trickle in through the silence.

A sigh tumbles through the shadows, rough and ragged around the edges. Your eyes trace shoulders tensing, hunching – just enough for you to notice, against the warm glow of the light.

“No,” he says, quiet. Takes a breath. Exhales. “Nightmares.”

You stay silent, in case he continues.

He doesn’t.

“Want some company?”

“Didn’t I ask you a question?”

You snort, best as you can while still half asleep. “Yeah. The knives,” a hand flaps out of the too-long sleeve to gesture at the table. “Just a different sound at night, is all.”

“Shit,” he says. Places the whetstone next to his small arsenal. “Sorry. I’ll finish later.” his voice goes a little tight, strained at the edges with tempered emotion.

“Was it helping?”

A pause. A hand dragging through hair, down a hidden face. The flash of a white streak and green, green, green eyes.

“No. Not really.”

Silence wove through the shadows in the room, creeping into the soft warmth of range hood glow. It settled around your shoulders and caressed Jason down his spine, the empty space between you singing the familiar song of comfort. Of closeness.

This moment was a dance beginning to crescendo, yet the steps were familiar and the meter had fused into your bones, making a home in your heart. You moved without thinking, limbs reaching with all the elegance to a melody known by heart, the routine whispering the next steps after you’ve already completed them.

Routine, with Jason, is something to be held sacred. It’s something to be cherished and adored, because you learned quickly, that you don’t actually know how many moments you’ll have with him.

I’m on borrowed time, beautiful, he says into your skin. His voice is all tender and hazy with remnants of the night clinging to him like armor; the promise of sleep and your touch gently pry it off his body and hold onto him tighter.

You’re being dramatic, you say, words disappearing into streaks of white, sheets tickling your skin as he shifts, shoulders shaking with soundless laughter when you tease.

Maybe, he hums. You know he believes what he says, so words catch in your teeth and you do not part your lips to free them.

Those are the moments you think of now, in the dream-touched embrace of your darkened kitchen. You’re reaching for him, still slow and lazy from the sleep that hasn’t quite let you go.

“C’mon, Jay.”

His name falls through your lips on a sigh, and Jason thinks it’s enough to sing him to sleep right then and there, hearing his name on your voice. It was always spoken with such reverence, that sometimes he forgot he needed to breathe. He could live sustained on your voice alone, he knows, but he’s always been too scared to try.

He didn’t decide to reach for you, to meet you halfway across the room – but that’s what he did, always, even in his sleep.

“Moon rise or movie?” you ask, once his hand is twined with yours. It tugs him closer, without you even noticing.

Jason does, though. Notice. And, with it, the tension within him begins to slink off into the darkest corner shadows where it belongs.

“Movie,” exhaustion laces through the answer, and, he realizes he must have been awake longer than he thought. “Definitely, movie.”

A soft laugh answers. Wordlessly, you lead him to the couch, a shared favorite already flickering across the screen, volume on low. Arms curled around his waist and pulled him close. A blanket is draped loose around your shoulders. You both burrow close, and burrow snug. Within moments, you both drift into a dreamless sleep until the sun rises anew.

[bonesofapoet]

night blades.

[ jason todd x you ] author's note: next up from the poll, we have our beloved jaybird <3 a bit of nightmare comfort for this one word count: 1014

Sometime in the night, the clash of steel pulled you slow and steady from the embrace of a dream.

It wasn’t a nightmare this time, but instead something that felt sweet and safe, like time spent with a lover in the night. Which is, you suppose, why the sound of singing blades was enough to pull you so gracefully from the depths of sleep’s humble cradle before the sun had a chance to do the same.

That sound didn’t belong here. Not in your apartment, even if it was a fitting song for the chorus of the night.

What did belong, however, was the low hum of a movie spilling through the bedroom door, the accompanying glow flickering softly from the gap under the wood pulled up tight. Metal gliding along metal sounded again, a steady pattern revealing itself to you, nestled in cozy midnight shadows and soft blankets curled around your shoulders.

You blink away the old, lovely dream, eyes squinting in the dark to find the space next to you empty and cold.

Hisssssss. Silence. A clatter. A rustle. Hisssssss. Silence.

Ah.

Covers find themselves slowly pushed aside. A sweater wraps around your shoulders, chilled as it is from being tossed over a desk chair. A smile ghosts your lips, something small and drowsy replacing the post-sleep daze hopelessly wrapped around your mind and weighting down your limbs.

Except the sweater is Jason’s, and the softness of his favorite cologne tickles your nose as it gently drags you further from the dregs of dreams into a world a little more solid, a little more coherent.

“Can’t sleep?” you ask the silhouette at the table in your kitchen. His collection of knives, daggers, blades, are spread before him like a Sunday feast, or an offering to some long forgotten, ancient god of war. They glimmer in the low light from a small bulb left on above the stove.

He sets down a boot knife, whetstone hanging loose in hand as he turns to you, still submerged in shadow. “Did I wake you?”

“I believe I asked you first, Jay.” his sweater is pulled tighter against the chill, but a soft smile graces your lips anyway. You’ve done this dance enough times to know the steps before you take them in the dark, before you’ve even heard the first notes begin to trickle in through the silence.

A sigh tumbles through the shadows, rough and ragged around the edges. Your eyes trace shoulders tensing, hunching – just enough for you to notice, against the warm glow of the light.

“No,” he says, quiet. Takes a breath. Exhales. “Nightmares.”

You stay silent, in case he continues.

He doesn’t.

“Want some company?”

“Didn’t I ask you a question?”

You snort, best as you can while still half asleep. “Yeah. The knives,” a hand flaps out of the too-long sleeve to gesture at the table. “Just a different sound at night, is all.”

“Shit,” he says. Places the whetstone next to his small arsenal. “Sorry. I’ll finish later.” his voice goes a little tight, strained at the edges with tempered emotion.

“Was it helping?”

A pause. A hand dragging through hair, down a hidden face. The flash of a white streak and green, green, green eyes.

“No. Not really.”

Silence wove through the shadows in the room, creeping into the soft warmth of range hood glow. It settled around your shoulders and caressed Jason down his spine, the empty space between you singing the familiar song of comfort. Of closeness.

This moment was a dance beginning to crescendo, yet the steps were familiar and the meter had fused into your bones, making a home in your heart. You moved without thinking, limbs reaching with all the elegance to a melody known by heart, the routine whispering the next steps after you’ve already completed them.

Routine, with Jason, is something to be held sacred. It’s something to be cherished and adored, because you learned quickly, that you don’t actually know how many moments you’ll have with him.

I’m on borrowed time, beautiful, he says into your skin. His voice is all tender and hazy with remnants of the night clinging to him like armor; the promise of sleep and your touch gently pry it off his body and hold onto him tighter.

You’re being dramatic, you say, words disappearing into streaks of white, sheets tickling your skin as he shifts, shoulders shaking with soundless laughter when you tease.

Maybe, he hums. You know he believes what he says, so words catch in your teeth and you do not part your lips to free them.

Those are the moments you think of now, in the dream-touched embrace of your darkened kitchen. You’re reaching for him, still slow and lazy from the sleep that hasn’t quite let you go.

“C’mon, Jay.”

His name falls through your lips on a sigh, and Jason thinks it’s enough to sing him to sleep right then and there, hearing his name on your voice. It was always spoken with such reverence, that sometimes he forgot he needed to breathe. He could live sustained on your voice alone, he knows, but he’s always been too scared to try.

He didn’t decide to reach for you, to meet you halfway across the room – but that’s what he did, always, even in his sleep.

“Moon rise or movie?” you ask, once his hand is twined with yours. It tugs him closer, without you even noticing.

Jason does, though. Notice. And, with it, the tension within him begins to slink off into the darkest corner shadows where it belongs.

“Movie,” exhaustion laces through the answer, and, he realizes he must have been awake longer than he thought. “Definitely, movie.”

A soft laugh answers. Wordlessly, you lead him to the couch, a shared favorite already flickering across the screen, volume on low. Arms curled around his waist and pulled him close. A blanket is draped loose around your shoulders. You both burrow close, and burrow snug. Within moments, you both drift into a dreamless sleep until the sun rises anew.

[bonesofapoet]

Just having some fun playing dress up with my favorite Magister (pre-Veilguard)

[bonesofapoet]

just something sexy about a man in total despair

[bonesofapoet]

if I've learned anything about myself at all since I started playing dragon age it's that if there is an antivan crow anywhere near me I will probably fall in love with them. I will risk it all for them. zevran, viago, teia, lucanis, illario, ROOK -