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herelieskrisy · 4 months

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We need more tlou3 ellie x reader

There are two tropes I’m an absolute bitch, whore, and slut for. Ellie x reader as mothers and ellie x reader after the events of the last of us part two!

My bored and lonely brain was thinking as usual and I realized we don’t have enough ellie x reader post-epilogue. Which is like… why? The amount of angst and eventual fluff that could be added is insane. Watching Ellie grapple with the gut-wrenching aftermath of grief and slowly finding her new purpose. Becoming her old self again and healing with a new lover along the way.

I started thinking of story ideas and settled on this one being my favorite. It might be crap or it might be genius, I dunno.

(just imagine how desperate and passionate the smut would be)

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!!!THIS IS JUST A SUMMARY NOT AN ACTUAL FIC!!!

౨ৎ Ellie’s spent months in Jackson trying to make amends with Dina and JJ. There are hard consequences she has to face, being that betrayal isn’t easily forgotten, and every single street corner and creaky saloon reminds her of Joel Miller. This town used to be a safe haven, a sanctuary where she was met with warm people and even warmer memories. Memories turn to bittersweet shackles that tug her back from being full, leaving an empty shell of what once was. She thought her new purpose was getting her family back, but that wasn’t enough. There’s no fairness to her finding comfort in the arms of a former lover she hurt so bad, left to rot just like all the other lives sacrificed in the name of her living. Talks of fireflies banding together to build communities and restore humanity leave Ellie curious as she’s reminded of the cross-country journey that brought her to this position in the first place. Jerry Anderson is dead thanks to her, so there’s no hope for a vaccine, but there might be a sliver of light for a second chance. Ellie yearns to be apart of something greater. A journey that could once again fill the void that is her soul. She’s taken enough from this barren Earth already, why not give back? Setting off for the fireflies, she’s met with a familiar face from her past, the murderer of Joel Miller.

Abby Anderson and Ellie Williams share two things in common. They have the same goals of building a larger group of survivors, and they’ve taken a liking to you.

You who became close friends with Abby soon after she found the fireflies on Catalina Island with a scrawny scar-faced boy accompanying her. She might be the most genuine person you’ve ever met, which makes it shameful when you start giggling a little too hard at a certain auburn-haired girl’s jokes. The same auburn-haired girl who’s constantly mentioned in Abby’s tales of the crazy immune chic who used to be set on killing her.

Ellie wasn’t looking to make friends on this mission. She wanted to seek the fireflies and support them in whatever greater goal they had in store. However, she feels this sweet tangy guilt when she finds herself admiring the way you laugh at her jokes. The way your lips quirk up in a grin that’s all too amused to be friendly. With Dina and JJ still hot on her mind, she insists that you’re nothing but a friend crush. But it’s been months and Dina still hasn’t taken her back, understandably so… Maybe it wouldn’t hurt for Ellie to seek comfort in another’s touch. Maybe the fear of not being good enough for her former family can be set aside. Just for now, while she’s knuckles deep in your cunt. She swears to herself it’s a fling and you’re nothing more than a placeholder. A placeholder who Ellie happens to hold very, very dear to her heart. We change people like seasons change color, and as seasons pass the old is replaced with something new. A fresh start might be what this crazy immune chic needs.

Stolen campfire kisses, deep late night conversations, and talks of the stars reignite a spark in the pits of Ellie’s core. If you light a match in front of a moth, it’ll chase it. And baby you’re a whole wildfire.

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I wouldn’t plan on this being an ellie x reader x abby love triangle, but after writing that summary out I’m realizing it has potential to be one. Love triangles are just a bit cliche to my liking and I’d want this to be super Ellie focused. Like from her pov and everything. It’s about her emotional rollercoaster and learning to love/be loved again.

Exploring Ellie’s dynamics with different people is so yummy and I feel like this wouldn’t just be a romance for Ellie x reader, but also an enemies to friends for Ellie x Abby.

Once again, I’m not a writer so I’ll probably never turn this into a series. If there ARE any writers out there who are interested in this idea and would wanna work together I’d be so down.

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theladyofbloodshed · 4 months

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Chapter 6

(Sorry you had to wait 6 months)

Limbs aching from holding the heavy bow, Nesta was ushered into the home by Lucien as the sun began to set. If there was any sort of frostiness between her and Vassa as the queen emerged for the night, Lucien’s warmth melted it quickly. Although she did not know the mortal queen very well, Lucien ensured the conversation flowed easily amongst them then when Jurian arrived back, the conversation was taken up a notch. Nesta was happy to sit beside the stove as words were parried amongst the group although a deep longing for something like this began to grow inside of her. Somehow these three mismatched people had come together and a friendship had bloomed. Although she had Emerie and Gwyn, who she loved dearly, their interactions were always shaped by Cassian or he was always nearby as if to oversee it. Nesta did not have friends she could go and visit without assistance or Cassian lurking near.

She was broken out of her wistful dreaming by Lucien’s hands on her shoulders, encouraging her to get to her feet.

‘You’re a guest so do not need to help us to cook,’ he explained. ‘If you’d like a bath, I can run one for you or you can get comfortable in the lounge. Vassa has a few books you might like.’

‘There was one in your room actually that intrigued me with the burgundy cover.’

Lucien swept his head downwards. ‘Help yourself. Shall I run you a bath?’

Nesta stood rooted to the spot, blinking at him. Surely this was a trick of some kind? She waited for Lucien to lead into a line about massaging her or helping to wash – like Cassian would – but, instead, he merely waited for her answer.

‘A bath, please.’

When the water had been running for long enough, Nesta entered the bathroom with clean clothes bundled under her arm to find Lucien using his magic to heat it. He swirled his hand through the water, ensuring the heat was thoroughly mixed.

‘I wasn’t sure how hot you liked it. Vassa prefers it scalding.’

For a moment, Nesta had forgotten they were beneath the Wall where magic could not be employed to heat the water in the pipes. She remembered the days of heating buckets of water over the fire after pumping it from a freezing well – then the bath being cold by the time the second bucket had heated.

‘You do this every time?’

‘It’s good to let magic out.’ He added, ‘I don’t always do it for Jurian.’

With only the sounds of water hitting the metal tub, Lucien continued letting his fire magic crawl beneath the metal tub until steam rose up towards the white tiles.

‘That’s deep enough,’ she said.

There was only five inches in it, but that was deep enough for her.

‘It’s not a problem,’ replied Lucien. ‘My family have a strong streak of fire in them.’

‘It’s not- It’s not that.’ Nesta stared down at the shallow water. ‘It reminds me of that day. I don’t like the water very deep.’

To anybody listening, it ought to have sounded pathetic. It really was pathetic. After all this time, Nesta still could not take a bath without guiding herself through it with a constant inner monologue to reassure herself. But this was progress for her. Long gone were the days of standing in an empty bath and using buckets of water to pour over her bare body. Cassian didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand how she wasn’t over it yet.

Lucien glanced between her and the bath tub before realisation dawned on his face. The tap was turned off.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’

‘It’s alright,’ she reassured him. ‘Nobody does. This is perfect.’

Lucien left her to bathe with an expression of hopelessness on his face that Nesta wished she could scrub away. None of this was his fault. Once, maybe, she blamed Lucien for the Cauldron but he’d been collateral damage, just as she had. Ever since, Lucien had made amends, serving another court, a different high lord than the one he’d pledged his life to.

Her arms and shoulders were sore from archery. The bath had done nothing for the ache except bring it to the surface. Thankfully, she managed to button up the last few buttons without assistant but her muscles burnt afterwards. From all of the trainings with Cassian, Nesta had presumed she was at the fittest she would ever be, but clearly her feeble arms required improvement.

At the bottom of the stairs, she caught the tail end of a conversation.

‘Give me one good reason.’

‘I’ll owe you,’ replied Lucien.

Vassa’s laugh sounded then, ‘Jurian, being in an Autumn princeling’s favour can’t be thrown away so easily.’

Jurian swore then she heard the back door creak open.

‘The things we do for love,’ said Vassa with a sigh.

‘It’s called being kind. Perhaps you can look into it.’

The kitchen door opened, flooding in light to the darkened hallway and both Lucien and Nesta jumped.

‘Oh. Dinner is cooking,’ said Lucien in greeting.

Instead of joining them in the kitchen, Lucien guided Nesta through the corridor to the lounge where pillows and blankets were piled onto the lurid couch. The book that she had been after was placed on the small table nearby with a freshly brewed cup of tea and Lucien encouraged her to take a seat. Without asking, he lifted her bare feet onto the other end and tucked a blanket around her lap.

‘Where are your socks?’

‘I knew I’d forgotten to pack something,’ she said. ‘I’ll wash the ones I have later.’

Lucien made a tutting noise. ‘We may not have a magical house that does the work, but you are a guest here.’

‘I don’t mind to help,’ she insisted.

Lucien gave a laugh. They came so easily from him but were never sarcastic. ‘I grew up amongst high lords. Vassa is a queen. Jurian is the best chef among us – but I doubt any help you can give will salvage our meal. It will be edible. That is all I can promise.’

There was something alluring about his expression that Nesta could not take her eyes from. Lucien had a way of making her smile. Perhaps because he wore his own readily that it encouraged her own one to make a shy appearance. Everything that he did was easy or carefree. Not in the way that Rhysand did what he wanted and damned the consequences, but in a more natural way that suggested he’d bloom no matter the season.

‘Enjoy your book.’

It was strange to be doted upon. Stranger still to not have to pay as a result. Cassian was offended if Nesta wanted a night in the library alone to read so had to make it up to him, or if she wanted to see Emerie, he’d want payment in the form of her body. Lucien did not expect anything. He’d sat her down here because he’d known that was what she wanted.

Nesta was two chapters deep into the book when Lucien returned. Without a word, he raised the blanket from her feet and began putting a pair of his own socks onto her feet.

‘I cannot bare to see cold feet.’

With a soft patter of rain and a belly full of tea, Nesta could not stop her eyes from closing tucked up on the couch. It had been so nice to just be her for the day. No mate to tip-toe around, no inner circle to disappoint, no training, no desperate need to prove she was worthy of being around them. Each moment that she was away from the Night Court made it more difficult to return. What did she have to look forward toby being there?

The sound of the front door opening had Nesta bolting upright in anticipation.

Surely, she’d receive a warning if it was Cassian?

Her fingers gripped the blanket, heart thudding louder.

Jurian, with hair damp from the rain, shucked off his boots and entered the room carrying a package in brown paper. He winked at her. ‘You are a lucky, lucky girl.’

‘Am I supposed to know why?’

The mortal man gave a rough laugh. ‘You’ll figure it out eventually.’

The dinner was ready minutes later. A roast of lamb had been prepared with buttery mashed potatoes, parsnips, carrots, and cauliflower. Whilst mortal food lacked the same strong tastes as fae food, it was still good. When her arms began to ache, Lucien wordlessly took her plate and sliced the meat for her to save her a job.

‘What a good little exile he is,’ mused Jurian.

Jurian wasn’t wrong. There were no other males like Lucien. She could not think of another male who would be willing to leave his mate well alone when his desire was likely telling him another thing. Elain had been granted space and patience while Cassian had encroached on her space and worn her down until she’d given up her choices.

Nobody protested when Nesta collected the dishes and insisted on washing them up – as a good guest should.

Vassa called, ‘Are you making the tea, Jurian?’

‘Oh-ho, I’ve got something better.’ Four bottles of wine were placed on the table. ‘None of this faerie-piss. And – as requested – for the silver witch.’

The brown package was unpeeled to reveal a cake smothered in thick frosting.

‘Uh, no calling her a witch, thank you.’

It took a moment for Nesta to realise that the cake was for her – and Jurian had decided upon a new nickname for her which Lucien promptly shut down.

‘The cake is for me?’

‘You better share it,’ said Jurian, pointing a knife at her. ‘Carrot cake. The good stuff.’

‘There’s a little mortal bakery in the village,’ explained Lucien. ‘You probably know it.’

‘He is obsessed with this cake,’ added Vassa.

‘And now Nesta needs to try it,’ he finished.

It was a marvellous evening with each one clutching a bottle of wine in one hand and a knife in the other to chop slivers off the cake. It was divine; the frosting complimented the sponge which melted on Nesta’s tongue. They reasoned that carrot being a vegetable meant the cake was healthy too.

‘If I wasn’t a faerie, I’d have my face pressed to the glass as soon as it opened,’ said Lucien before licking his knife clean of frosting once the cake had been demolished. Nesta was fascinated by his tongue. It took an effort to snap her eyes away from him.

They talked and joked with laughter coming easier and easier as the wine went down and inhibitions loosened. There was a camaraderie amongst them that Nesta was envious of. Lucien and Jurian were the butt of most of the jokes, but it never went too far. Occasionally, a joke was made about Vassa but never did they mock Nesta despite her having lots to prey upon. The mortal pair had taken Lucien’s lead when it came to approaching her, to which Nesta was thankful.

Late into the night, Jurian clapped his hands together and announced that he was headed to bed. There was a pointed look given to Vassa on his exit.

It did not take long for her to make her own excuses – that she needed to return to her room for a while – despite the curse being lifted for only a few more hours.

Above their heads, they could make out two sets of footsteps rather than just Jurian’s.

‘She can never resist his summons.’

Nesta’s mouth fell open. ‘They’re not?’

‘Oh, they are. For many months. But they refuse to acknowledge it. I’m not allowed to acknowledge it. There’s a silent agreement that we don’t speak about it.’

‘They’re good together,’ said Nesta.

Lucien snorted. ‘They’re good at each other’s throats.’

‘Sounds like my mating bond.’

Lucien pushed the last dregs of his wine towards her so she could drown her sorrows. There was no denying it that from the start, she and Cassian had been at each other’s throats. It had not eased. Arguments were their common currency.

In the dim light of the final candle still burning, Lucien’s golden eye shimmered. This was a male who had suffered enormously. The Night Court was the third court that he’d found a home in – and Nesta could not understand why he’d risk that safety for her.

‘Why are you helping me, Lucien?’

Say it’s because you’re my mate’s sister, she thought. Give me a reason to stop staring at you and longing for what you could offer.

Lucien tracked a finger against the scar on her thumb. ‘Because you deserve better than he gives you.’

‘And what do you deserve?’

He stopped stroking against her thumb. Their eyes snapped to each other. They had suffered, both of them. From the ashes of the flame, maybe there could be something new.

The temptation to lean and press her lips to his was growing stronger. Rather than let the thought take root, Nesta stood. ‘I should go to bed.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed.

In darkness, they both took to the stairs. She was painfully aware of the warmth of Lucien’s body behind hers as they moved through the house.

It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Elain always had the better luck. She had their father’s love, their mother’s blessing to be herself, and now a mate who would move the heavens if she asked. And she did not want him.

Not fair. Not fair.

It blared through Nesta’s head as she crossed through the doorway into Lucien’s bedroom.

This was a male worthy of love, a male worth loving. A male who had treated her better than her damn mate with nothing to gain.

Nesta fumbled on the dresser for a way to light the lamp. Her hands trembled.

‘Here,’ he murmured, stepping into the room. Fire kindled on his fingertips as he leaned across her body for the lamp. The lapel of his jacket swept against her ribs as his fire swirled about the wick. ‘It will burn all night – until you blow it out.’

‘And if I want to keep it?’

Lucien stood upright. Each time he inhaled, she felt the brush of his chest against hers, so close they stood. He was so handsome. Not a man from her mortal stories of dashing knights, but a faerie prince who could enchant her. He already had.

‘Then its yours.’

Despite the small voice in her mind that told her Lucien was off-limits, Nesta raised a hand to cup his face. Her thumb brushed against the knotted scar tissue. He leaned into her touch, eyes closing at the intimacy.

‘We shouldn’t do this,’ she whispered, still not lifting her hand away.

‘No,’ he replied. His hand went to her waist, tugging her the final few inches so their bodies pressed into the other. ‘But I still want to.’

Nesta did not know who moved first. It could have been her. It could have been him.

Their lips met and she saw stars.

#lucien x nesta #lucnes #be consumed by the flame

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quitealotofsodapop · 4 months

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Eventually, the family will be forced to move out of that tiny apartment overtop the restaurant. They really don't want to, but by the time the twins come around, the place is already overcrowded between five people that adding two more babies just isn't going to work unless some serious remodeling and magic is done. And remodeling like that would be costly and bring way too much attention. Pigsy will cry when they move to a bigger place, feeling like a dad letting his kid go out into their own place for the first time, and then immediately go back to scolding Wu for dropping an order the next day when he comes in for work

Sadly yes. After the news of impeding twins happens, Wukong and Macaque decide that they've outgrown the noodle shop apartment; no matter how much the golden-furred monkey and the pig cried about leaving it behind.

They manage to spot a decent plot of land half-way between the city and the Monkey Village of Mount Xianhuaguo (where the Shame Temple is).

The price and availability is suspiscious at first... until the couple checks it out and it turns out to be a case of the developer not paying tribute to the mountain's tudigong before clearing the forested plot of land, and abandoning the project when they thought it was cursed/haunted. Typical suspcious business-people.

Wukong has friends in odd places, and manages to reveal the working blueprints for a beautiful, traditional-style home to Macaque on their anniversary that year. Macaque is super touched by the gesture, though he had to make some amendments to Wukong's plan ("We are not having an climbing-rock wall, peaches." "Aww!" "Here's a climbing structure built specifically for curious baby monkeys, it looks like a tree growing through the rooms and it has hiding spots for when they get overstimulated." "OOOoo!" :O!).

The project gets a little away from them before they manage to finally get it all nice and built up before the Eclipse Twins arrive.

When moving day finally comes; Wukong, Tang and Pigsy are sobbing, holding eachother like parents letting their kid finally fly the nest. Sandy is helping them all with the move, having tricked out a version of the TEA for carrying a bunch of furniture. Macaque is too warm and heavy with the twins to do any lifting, so he's helping the kids with their last bits of packing.

Little MK is barely holding it together as he says goodbye to all the empty rooms. Mei suggests carving their names and a wish of good luck to the future tenants into the baseboard of the old nursery (Macaque said no, but he def heard the little dragon claws scratch something into the wood as he turned away). Nezha can't help but feel a little sad that he's leaving the little space he'd come to love - but the thought of sharing a bedroom with "snores like a train"-MK quickly changes his mind. Chenxiang (the most recent addition to the family) feels more nausous than sad, he's only been here a few months and the apartment was starting to become a constant in his life - maybe the new house will be his forever home? Bai He is a little too young to recognise the significance to them all moving, but she immediately wants to Go Now since the monkeys promised that she'd get her own bed and that there would be room for maybe another pet ("KITTY!!!") besides cranky old Pangu the tortoise (who's happy to have an actual garden to roam around in).

Goodbyes are said, addresses saved and shared, and the monkey family finally bid the noodle shop apartment farewell...

Until the next morning, when Wukong jumps from his futon at the sound of Pigsy on the phone yelling to get his butt in gear if he wants to make it into work on time. Wukong smiles at the familiarity.

#the monkey king and the infant #the monkey king and the infant au #sun wukong #liu er mihou #six eared macaque #shadowpeach #lmk aus #shadowpeach being parents #freenoodles being parents

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leggerefiore · 11 months

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cw: fluff, going clothing shopping, short, 852 words,

pairing: Ingo/Reader

summary: Ingo's dressing sense does not blend well with the hotter months of the year. You decide to help him amend that by taking him out shopping. He's picky, however.

since this option won the poll lmao

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“Ingo,” you stepped in front of the older twin as he reached for his wallet off the table. It was his day off from work, and you both had decided to actually go out for a date. An issue arose after Ingo had left the bathroom from getting dressed. A knitted, black sweater sat heavily on his torso, and white slacks covered his legs. While, you normally would not mind his preferred dressing manners, even find them handsome and fitting…

It was currently June and extremely hot outside.

Not only would his sweater take in a lot of heat, it would hold it in. While Ingo's stamina and endurance were quite stunning, he was a still a human. You sighed. Ingo felt as if he had to dress properly and formally as both a professional and a person. There was little that could be done to sway his opinion there. If Emmet failed, you surely were not going to come out victorious.

“Is something wrong, dearest?” he asked, eyes filled with light worry. You lightly reached out for the knitted top. His head tilted like a curious Purrloin's would.

“You will be boiled alive in your clothing,” you told him, “I prefer my train man alive and well, not as stew.” A light chuckle came from him at your words.

“... I'll be fine,” the back of his hand stroked your cheek, “I'm quite used to dealing with heat.” An idea struck you.

“Ingo, we're going shopping.”

You would find him more seasonally appropriate clothing, whether he liked it or not.

Ingo's face was stiff as he stood near the clothing rack you were currently scavenging through. He had already declined your many, many offers of shorts, as he found them simply unbecoming of clothing for going out in public. The favouritism towards quite short ones was obvious from you, too. He had no ass to hang out, but he still would prefer something that at least touched his knees.

“Oh, what about this Ingo?” you pulled out a short sleeve button up, “This would suit you, right?” He studied the fabric intensely. It was a similar one to his work uniform. It was a shade of light lavender, much like a Litwick's flame. He nodded and hung it over his arm. “Heehee, they have a Litwick t-shirt tucked in here, too, Ingo,” you pulled it out for him next. A trap, he knew, as the sweet yellow eyes of the candle pokemon peered into him. The twin could never say no to a Litwick.

After managing to find him a few shirts that better suited the hot weather, you both headed back to the bottoms section in a desperate hope that something would catch his eyes. Ingo decided to humour you more and wandered around himself to look at the clothing. Jeans were always around, but he always found them better looking with Emmet's style of dress than his own.

His hand found itself pulling out a certain pair of trousers that had, for some reason, caught his attention. He took it off and observed the light grey fabric with careful eyes. They were cut off before the ankle but under the knee. He compared the colour to the lavender shirt and found a match. “Dear?” he called out to you, to which you almost instantly headed over from your digging at another rack.

“Oh! Those are cute Ingo,” you told him, “I suppose that's as much skin as you're willing to show?” You joked. It felt almost like you were shopping within a “non-uniformed” workplace's standards. He shot a light glare at you, inciting a laugh from you.

“... If you want skin, Emmet sleeps in his boxers,” Ingo said while adding the bottoms to his collection. You scrunched up your face at his words. It was not Emmet you wanted to see like that.

His and your search continued on into the late afternoon. In which you finally broke his fierce resolve with a loud beg and holding out long shorts. They looked decently covering and like another form of the slacks he had already been wearing. He had relented and added them to his items.

Soon, you both were at the checkout queue and waited to escape the store. A new issue arose at the checker, however.

“Ingo, let me cover this,” you insisted to the older twin, “I was the one who dragged you out shopping.”

“Dearest, I must buy these as they are for me,” he told you sternly, like he would an employee who had broken a rule, “I quite enjoyed this with you, so please step aside.”

He won in the end, alas.

“Brother?” Emmet stared at his brother with a look of confusion. His usual layers had been shed away and left him in a Litwick tee and black shorts. “Ah, Ingo!” he giggled excitedly as his revelation, “We can match! Let me get my Joltik tee shirt and white shorts!”

Ingo stood there mortified.

In the end, he had ended up with an outfit that was in Emmet's fashion tastes.

#ingo x reader #ingo/reader #pokemon ingo x reader

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ink-flavored · 1 month

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Purgatory

BTS Series: ⬅ Table of Contents Also available on Neocities! P&J Taglist (Check out my Google form to get added): @elegant-paper-collection @auroblaze@zeenimf @vacantgodling @foxys-fantasy-tales Banner art by @auroblaze

Traditionally in Christianity, Purgatory isn’t a place, like pop culture depicts. It’s actually a “cleansing ritual” that some people have to go through to be worthy of Heaven. Sometimes it involves literally being cleansed in fire! However, I’m going with the more pop-culture-y depiction of Purgatory because it better fits the tone of the story, and allows me to do a little more sociopolitical commentary. Which I love, and will always do. Anyway, here it is!

The Structure of Purgatory

In the quilt of the universe, Purgatory is a fascinating square. It holds a mirror to Earth, reflecting it as a plain, unchanging, eerie dreamworld. There are things that look familiar to the souls that wander there, but with a distinct alien veneer that reminds them they are not in the same place they left.

Souls who aren’t worthy of Heaven, but aren’t sinful enough to be sent to Hell, are prescribed time to think and to repent in Purgatory. God gives them a second chance after death to reconcile their sin, and once they’ve atoned to His satisfaction, they’re permitted to take their place in paradise. Those that aren’t forgiven wander until their souls eventually fade to Hell.

Those wandering Purgatory cannot enter or exit of their own volition. The process of forgiveness or fading can take centuries. Hundreds of years of circling in the same empty plane with other souls, just as aimless. Simply put, Purgatory is a holding cell, for those souls who have nowhere else to go.

Wandering Souls

Though they certainly can, the immortal beings of other realms rarely appear in Purgatory. Angels and demons can travel in and out whenever they wish, but angels appear only to bring souls there or relieve others of their roaming, and demons have little use for souls that can’t be further corrupted. The souls of Purgatory have very little company outside each other.

The souls that wander are given little direction as to how they’re meant to appropriately repent. They have not broken their relationship with God, they’re assured, only injured it, and that injury can be repaired with time and atonement. However, many souls in Purgatory are confused as to why they’re even supposed to be repenting. Lying, gossiping, drinking to excess, failure to pray, and suicide are all on the list of venial sins that these lonely souls are meant to be making amends for.

For those confused, they have plenty of time to work through the feeling. Souls in Purgatory are meant to consider their mistakes in life, atone for them, and God would recognize the way they’ve held themselves accountable and offer forgiveness. Eventually.

Some souls, though, become frustrated. Some felt their sin was unavoidable, some felt they didn’t have a choice. Some had no idea they were sinning in the first place, they thought they were doing the right thing. It’s difficult for many souls to capitulate to a God they had never believed in, or to apologize for something they couldn’t have averted.

But even among those that atone as best they can, the resounding silence from above becomes disheartening indeed. After centuries and centuries of wandering, plenty expect that they’ll never be forgiven, no matter how long or how many times they repent. When the angels appear to usher the scant few forgiven souls to Heaven, leaving countless others behind, the demoralization drives them deeper and deeper into despair.

Forgiveness and Fading

The process of being forgiven is, in writing, very simple. Once God has decided a soul wandering Purgatory has repented to His satisfaction, He orders an angel to bring them to Heaven.

In practice, the qualifiers for “satisfactory repentance” are vague. The criteria for one soul might be wildly different from another, regardless of their sin. Some are waiting for a short amount of time compared to the souls that wander the longest, and there doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to which souls are accepted and which aren’t. God seems more determined than ever to smoke out the unworthy, and the length of time it takes for any one soul to reach forgiveness stretches far longer than many of Heaven’s agents think is justified—though these angels are wise enough not to voice their criticisms.

Part of the unspoken concern lies in the fact that souls in Purgatory don’t stay there for eternity. The longer they sit, the more they despair, the closer they are to giving up on the chance of being forgiven altogether. Many don’t see a point, after waiting for so long. God had abandoned them, left them to rot and tread the same ground over and over, waiting for a forgiveness that would never come. When these souls turn their backs on Heaven, there is only one place for them to go.

Hell doesn’t “claim” souls from Purgatory. Demons aren’t sent up to collect them, and it’s not as though the souls from Purgatory are itching for damnation. Instead, God watches these souls slip farther from forgiveness, and eventually He lets them go. Like a fishing line, He stops reeling them in, and releases them to the depths.

And though Hell doesn’t necessarily gather up these lost souls on purpose, Lucifer will accept them happily. After all, what better way to motivate his army than with more fodder to be made an example of? What better way to show them how pointless God’s plans are, than with the very souls He claimed to love so much, abandoned at their doorstep? The constant churning of Purgatory’s lost souls are the perfect talking point—remember how much God loved His creations? This is what He thinks of them now. The only option becomes overthrowing Heaven, and proving themselves righteous.

The angels in Heaven who are brave or foolish enough to speak of this problem openly, do so in whispers. They wonder why God is so concerned with keeping out every soul with even a sliver of impurity. They wonder why so few souls get brought up from Purgatory these days, and even if they do, why they stay there for so long. They worry about innocent souls going to Hell under their watch, suffering needlessly for the sake of holy paranoia.

And then they’re decisively hushed, for fear of joining the unholy ranks.

There it is! Those of you who read Justice’s backstory on Tumblr might have found some of this familiar.

I’m not sure how much of all this lore, from Heaven on downwards, will make it into the full story, but I’m glad I got to share it with all of you to make sure someone other than me gets to hear my thoughts!

Thanks as always for your support!

— Annika

#original writing #original fiction #original character #original characters #spilled ink #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writeblr community #annika talks #P&J #Pride & Justice #P&J: Worldbuilding

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cakeinthevoid · 3 months

Text

Only A Dream

scurries out of the haunted walls of academia and real life responsibilities—coughs this out and scurries away again but my leg is broken

heyyy everyone!! Sooo….. I had this dream. And somehow, I was able to write this neat thing! It’s nearly 3.5k words long… And I did too much research…. I’ll just… leave it there… wait last thing: I’d die for John and Juno. Ok that’s all.

Contains: pirate whump! Hurt comfort! Snarky MC! Angry MC! Female MC! Forced to join! Vague flashbacks to physical and emotional trauma! Gun fighting in the background! Manual labour! (Feel free to send in an ask if you want more deets before opening)

The crew was packing, moving ships to make room for supplies. First mate Juno made sure everyone was doing something useful.

Which is why Delia could not fathom why she was made responsible for labelling crates.

Labelling. Crates.

She still couldn’t believe it, even as she was writing gunpowder on the parchment and sticking it onto the barrel with paste.

She bet half the crew couldn’t even read!

And yet Juno led her to the abandoned smithy where they were holding supplies, handed her a roll of parchment and ink and told her to mark every container. They only said not to write ‘too fancy-like’ and left to go do whatever they needed to do so the crew could leave by noon.

Whatever they were doing, it was certainly leagues more exciting than labelling crates.

Delia moved onto another crate anyway. Before she could peak inside, a clatter at the entrance sounded—someone tripping over the debris lying around and cursing.

Delia wasn’t startled; it was only John and it was already his third or fourth time tripping over that junk.

John made his way over, a crate of something in his arms; only his forehead and cloud of black of hair peaked over its height. He tried setting the box down gently, but it still clanged as it hit the floor.

He wiped his brow and the colourful beaded bracelets he wore jangled against his dark skin. “No ‘hello, John’? Are you okay, John? Thank you John for bringing me another crate?”

Delia rolled her eyes. “Do you expect to hear it every time?”

John made a show of thinking, bringing his hand to his chin and furrowing his brow. “Hmm. Yes, actually,” he said at last. “Some more appreciation around here would be welcome.”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered. “So what’s all this then?”

“Fragile merchandise,” he said, wagging his finger. “Juney wants it labelled as kitchenware.”

“Why doesn’t Juno come in and label it themself then?”

He clicked his tongue. “Little bird, that’s your job.”

“It’s a dumb fucking job.”

John made a noise of disapproval. “A year with pirates has fouled your mouth so? For shame, Cordelia.”

She pressed her lips in a tight line and glared. He’s lucky he didn’t call her your highness or Princess.

John laughed. “Easy now, I come bearing good news! This here is the last crate. Last one I’m bringing, anyway.”

“There’s more?” There had better not be.

“Eh,” he shrugged, “Not sure. Probably not. Most supplies went to the Mayflower.”

The Mayflower. Captain Mor’s latest pirated ship. Erik would be manning it, and Delia would be on his half of the crew—the rest sticking with Captain Mor on whatever new ship was added to their fleet.

It was also the one on which Delia truly became part of the crew. At least she thought so. Hard to tell when she was suddenly demoted to labellor.

“Who labelled the other crates then?” Maybe she wasn’t truly alone in her suffering.

John cringed at that. “Ehm. They weren’t.”

Delia stared at him in silence for a beat.

She tried to keep a level voice: “What do you mean they weren’t.”

“Ah well, they might’ve! They likely were! I just didn’t see. I’m old, you know.”

“You’re like, twenty-five,” she said dryly.

“Older than you,” he amended. Only by three years, she thought, annoyed.

“So basically Juno gave me a fools errand.” She had already suspected, but for it to be true… it hurt a bit, to her surprise.

“No, no of course not!” He reassured. “They do everything for a reason, surely you know that.”

Delia sat and slumped on a crate labeled blankets. “Mhmm.”

“Hey,” he crouched to be at her eye level. He opened his mouth to say something, but an explosion sounded outside.

The both of them startled upright simultaneously, but John got on the move quick.

“Stay here,” he said seriously, halfway to the entrance. “Protect the kitchenware!” And he was gone.

Delia pulled out her pistol, the weight of it comfortable in her hand.

Then she waited.

The ruckus grew outside, and Delia felt stupid hiding away in an old smithy when she was just as good a shot as needed.

She found a small part of her wishing for some of the action to make its way to her. She imagined some hooligan storming in, how she would raise her pistol and—

Bullets came flying in through the walls. Delia dropped for cover behind the blanket crate, pistol in hand and pointed in the direction of gunshots and yelling.

The noise began dying down long minutes later, cries for doctors ringing clearly.

Delia was trying to focus on the sound of footsteps running down the street, getting closer.

She caught glimpses of familiar figures through the new bullet holes in the wall and got up from behind the crate.

Juno stormed in first, their normally composed demeanour full of anger.

“Wesley, Novin, Clive, Kingston, start loading the crates. Aiken, Grace, cover them. Now!” They barked.

Everyone called upon scrambled out, grabbing the nearest crates, whether they were labeled or not.

“Delia!”

“Yessir,” she responded immediately.

“You’re coming with us. The Mayflower had to go off—damn bastards bombing the damned port—“ they cursed almost to themself.

Delia didn’t understand why this warranted a one on one. “Did… was someone-“

Juno shook their head and twirled their gun around their finger, heading back out. “Thank God no—not yet anyway. No, go load the crates, but I don’t want you boarding that ship until I get there, understand?”

“What? Why?”

But they were already gone, rushing back from where they came from.

Delia had half a mind to chase them down, but pulled herself together, going for a crate. Novin was already back to pick up another one, so surely this new boat wasn’t far.

Best get back to work then, she thought and followed Novin out, crate in hand.

——

With the initial bloody chaos from the explosion nearly settled, it wasn’t difficult to make it to the new ship and back.

At least, it wasn’t difficult for the first few rounds.

By her… fifth box maybe? The exertion was getting to her. The lack of the usual crew banter as they prepare for departure made her that much more cognizant of soreness in her arms and the painful way the crate would jut into her stomach.

Juno was running a tight operation. And Juno being stressed was as good an indicator as any that the rest of the crew should be stressed too.

Delia only caught a glimpse of them as she was dropping off yet another crate at the mouth of the dock where Aiken sat twirling his gun. Juno was carrying up a body into the ship.

When Juno caught her staring, he yelled across the docks for her to get back to work. She quickly jumped into action, running back to the smithy to replace the cold dread in her chest with the heat of her lungs burning.

“Where’s the fire?”

Delia whipped around as she neared the smithy. Grace.

“Grace! Juno—body, on the ship,” she panted, out of breath.

Grace looked away. “Right…”

“What?”

She hesitated. “Delia…” she started slowly.

The ice was back in her heart. Time froze.

…and was promptly shattered by Novin, bursting out of the smithy and snapping.

“These crates aren’t lifting themselves! Can we hurry up already? I swear…” He shoved between Grace and Delia, despite the room around them, and headed to the docks.

“I’ll let you get back to it,” Grace said quickly. She disappeared to wherever she found the best view to keep watch before Delia could form words.

Damned Novin. Rascal of a little brother behaviour.

——-

Several crates later, she was dying of thirst.

Not dying, no most definitely not; she had endured far worse. But she was definitely thirsty enough to try her luck with Aiken.

Unsurprisingly, he told her to piss off.

Another few crates later, her vision was growing a little spotty. The sun was rising and she was already sweaty enough from the labour.

After dropping the next box in front of Aiken, she stumbled forward, off kilter. She caught herself on the crate and blinked the spots from her eyes, taking a few breaths.

She looked up to see Aiken staring at her, brown eyes wide under the shade of his hat.

“Can I please have that damned water now?” She said through gritted teeth.

He gave her his canteen.

She took greedy gulps, but left enough in the canteen. You never left someone without water. She handed it back to him without saying anything and turned to go get another blasted crate.

Another several crates later and she thought her arms would fall off. Her neck was sore and her legs were cramping. She pushed herself off the crate she was leaning against only to bump right into Kingston, who was going for a crate to take up to the ship.

“Don’t get up on my account,” his deep voice rumbling with humour. “Wesley, Clive, Novin and Grace are getting the last of the crates. You’re all good.”

Delia slumped back down, very relieved. “Thanks,” she mumbled, closing her eyes.

The heat was unbearable. She had half a mind to jump into the ocean right now.

She looked behind her where Kingston was already at the top of the ship ramp—carrying two boxes no less. It helped that he was the size of a house.

She rested for a while, the sound of Aiken messing around with his gun keeping her company.

It wasn’t long until she was getting annoyed again. She had just realized no one told her to start carrying crate up to the ship deck.

Either she really looked that pathetic right now or Juno had them under the same orders.

She decided to try her luck. Despite her muscles protesting, she picked up a barrel.

“What are you doing?” Aiken snapped, not unkindly.

“Might as well help Kingston with the crates.”

“In your sorry state, you’re gonna fall right off the ramp.”

She scoffed. “Sure. Try and stop me then,” she challenged, walking away with the barrel in arm.

She heard a sign and the patter of shoes hopping off a seat and making their way to her.

“Give me that,” he said, reaching for the barrel.

She angled it away. “No. Why?”

“I’ll take it up if you want someone to help Kingston so bad. You keep watch.”

“What if I wanted to take it up? And you’re a better shot than me.” It pained her to admit, but she needed a point.

“No one’s messing around on this side of the dock anyway, you’ll be fine. Sit back down, girl.”

She dropped the barrel down angrily.

“What’s going on?” She demanded. “Why isn’t anyone telling me anything? Why can’t I go on the damned ship? Are you planning on leaving me here or what?” She fumed, fists clenched and jaw tight. She’s had enough beating around the bush.

Aiken said nothing for a moment. Then he admitted, “First Mate Juno told me to keep you down here. Didn’t tell me why either,” he shrugged. “But I doubt it’s to leave you behind.”

“You only doubt it?”

Aiken shrugged. Mouth stretching in an expression that said I don’t know what you want from me, man.

“Right well, I don’t care.” She moved for the barrel again, but he intercepted.

“I mean it, Delia. I’m not losing Juno’s favour over you.”

They stared off for a few beats, then Delia threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. “Fine! Take it up yourself, then! I’ll be relaxing like a lazy cat until His Majesty Juno deigns to explain what’s going on!” She pivoted on her heel and stormed away.

Once she was settled back on the crates, she risked a look behind her. It seemed Aiken was actually taking the barrel up.

She turned forward at the sound of Grace’s laughter. Normally, Delia revelled in the sound of her laugh, but she was bitter and annoyed and now jealous that someone made her laugh like that.

She waited for the three of them, arms crossed.

“Hey, give us a hand, why don’t you!” Novin called out. Clive shook his head at his antics, white hair stark and gleaming in the sun.

Delia got up anyway. She took the barrel from Novin’s hands, much to his visible surprise, and stacked it on top of another barrel, all without saying anything.

“Sheesh,” he drawled, sticking his hands into his pants pockets.

She ignored him. “Where’s Juno?”

“Likely the Captains Cabin. I’ll fetch him,” Clive responded quickly. Delia wished he spoke more; she quite liked his strong English accent. Reminded her of… good times.

She pushed the thought away before it could fully form.

When it was just Grace and Novin left, Delia rolled her eyes. “What, did Juno forbid you from the ship as well?”

Novin muttered something foul and got to work. Grace frowned and let Novin get ahead.

Out of his earshot, she spoke softly to Delia.

“Juno is trying to help you. And I’m here for you, too. I didn’t agree with his plan, just so you know. So… if you want to go on the ship with me before he gets back…”

A Delia not already pissed and annoyed would have said yes. But this Delia was bitter—irritated that it wasn’t only Juno, but her best friend discussing her behind her back.

Against her better judgment, she said coldly, “I think you have a lot of crates to carry until then,” and turned away to avoid whatever look would appear on her face.

She heard Grace get back to work, but only risked a look back after she counted to 100. Aiken was coming back.

But she had a plan for that. As he approached, Delia occupied herself by lifting crates at random. Naturally, Aiken couldn’t resist inquiry, asking what she was doing.

“Just lifting the boxes. Trying to guess how much they weigh. Not much else to do here,” she muttered under her breath, but just loud enough to be heard.

Aiken just hummed.

Delia lifted another box, one she carried here herself.

“How much do you think this one weighs? We can say the same number on three. If we say the same, we win.”

“My God, you really are bored.”

“Just lift the box,” she said. “Careful though, might be weapons in here.” She handed it to him.

As soon as Aiken grasped the box, Delia pivoted and gunned it to the ship.

She heard Aiken cry out, but he needed to set the box down carefully. It was just the head start she needed for her sore body after carrying dumb crates all day. This time, her body burned with adrenaline.

She skidded on the dock, the ship a blur in her sights, and used her momentum to launch herself up the ship ramp. She caught a glimpse of Aiken not even halfway down the dock. She couldn’t help but laugh.

Finally, a win.

Cackling to herself, she sped up the ramp, landing on the ships deck with a jump.

“Ha ha ha!” She grinned wildly and walked with purpose to the centre of the main deck. To her right, she saw Grace and Clive looking down with alarm from the quarterdeck.

“I mean, seriously, with you guys acting like the guard—“ she snorted, giggling. She let her gaze wander to her left, to the main mast. “I don’t know, maybe there really should have been something… something…”

Her eyes stuck on the main mast. They weren’t parsing the information they saw very well—why did the mast look odd, she knew that mast, she had felt it because was it not—was it not the very same mast—

Running. Cold water. Screaming.

The mast filled her vision.

Pain, pain, PAIN and fear, so much fear. He was gone, she was alone. He was there, there were people surrounding her.

She put a hand on the mast. It had a different texture, like it was sanded or glazed, she couldn’t tell. She could only feel—

Thick ropes. Burlap. Thrown to the ground. Refusing to cry. Crying anyway. Hard wood of the mast. Tied to the mast, tied to the mast, tied and gagged and stripped—

There were hands on her shoulders, pulling her away. She pulled out from under them, gaze skittering around. Suddenly, everything was painfully familiar. The grain of the deck, the details in the guardrail. Every swirl and pattern that she had counted. She was so bored, she needed the distraction—anything. She begged, she remembered begging, please stop, stop stop stop, please I beg of you stop please—

“Stop, stop I—“ she came to herself in an instant, like ice water flooding her mind. “Get away from me! This was where—this is where—“ she stumbled backward as she turned, gesturing. She felt nauseous.

“Delia—“ Grace tried and good Lord it struck her how she was Cordelia once.

“This is why you kept me from boarding?” She looked around wildly, too quickly to properly identify faces but she thought she saw Clive on the stairs coming towards her—but then it was Juno’s voice.

“Calm yourself! You’re going to fall off the damn ship!”

“You… sick bastard! Why didn’t you tell me! You wanted this—it was always mind games with you—getting me to break and—“

“Delia!” Grace cried, affronted.

Grace went on to say something but there was a rushing in her ears and dread was growing in her chest and she felt trapped and contained but she was out on the open air and all she could think to do was dodge Juno and run to the forecastle of the ship, lunging up the stairs. Too many people on main deck—someone was blocking the ramp—

Juno let her, the sane part of her mind realized. Juno needed no effort at all to stop her advance, and yet they let her past.

She was shaking now, shaking with fury and a hidden grief she refused to recognize because it would break her. To realize, to accept, that she had joined the very people who had kidnapped her—literally pirated her.

Cordelia crumpled to the ground. She needed to get her breathing under control. She would not become undone at the mere sight of some—some stupid mast when she had survived the damn thing and more!

“Breathe with me. Come on, hold it in longer. In…”

Grace… Cordelia choked on her breath, shaking her head.

“You can do it. Can I help you? Please, Cordelia…”

In the corner of her vision, she saw Grace gently place her hand out on the ground, right near her own tightly fisted hand.

With great effort she moved to hold it, gripping it tight.

Grace took it as the permission it was to help her fully. Just like old times.

“Come on,” she said softly, moving around Cordelia. She put a hand around her back to help shift her upright, leaning against the balusters of the guard rail.

Cordelia brought up her knees, wrapping her free arm around them. Her other hand was still wound around Grace’s.

“I got you.”

Cordelia shuddered.

“I got you,” she whispered.

Delia leaned into her body, hiding her face in her shoulder. She felt like memories would pull her back any second—

“What’s wrong with her?”

She stiffened, but didn’t pull away. But if Novin dared to come any closer, she couldn’t be held responsible for decking the new kid.

“Oh, nothing to worry about!” Captain Mor’s booming voice travelled across the ship, accompanied by rumbling laughter. “Our Delia here has just gotten a reminder of the last time she walked this ship!”

Delia gripped Grace’s hand tighter. She glided her free hand up and down Delia’s arm.

“Some bad memories I gather!” Captain Mor said in response to something. “Again, worry not, lad! Things are much better now—for starters, we have food!” She laughed. “Isn’t that right, Delia?” She called up.

Her heart was still hammering in her chest, but she managed a small, unconvincing affirmative.

“She says yes, of course, Captain,” Grace said much louder than Delia could’ve at the moment.

Thankfully, the Captain moved on. Just as well.

Delia had no more strength to muster. Exhausted physically and emotionally, she let herself melt into Grace’s arms. She tried not to think too much, hoping that her body and mind would shut off without fuss.

She hadn’t wished for that in a while.

But maybe she could just pretend, that if not the past several long, long years of her life, if not this whole adventure, that this one day could be a dream. Only a dream.

If only she was that lucky.

—*—

#my cake #pirate whump #one shot #manual labour #original characters #OS Cordelia #OS Delia #OS Grace #OS Juno #OS John #only a dream #female whumpee #hurt comfort #let me know what else I should tag :P #hope y’all enjoyed!!! In the process of writing I actually have soooo much looooore #feel free to send in asks if you’re curious #I prolly won’t be writing for this ever again otherwise :P

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pinkandpurple360 · 3 months

Note

if I can 'devil's advocate' (heh) for ParanoidDJ for a sec, I just wanna put the song in context

so it originally dropped shortly after s1e6 came out, & you can probably still see some of that by the comments where fans joke that he 'saw the future' or 'was ahead of the curve' because a good number of fans didn't think Stolas had any romantic feelings for Blitzo at all before ep7 & that it was just lust (in hindsight that was another soft retcon that Stolas was suddenly in love w/Blitzo - that 'development' really ought to have been onscreen and then the audience might have bought into his sudden change of heart).

he mentions in the description that Stolas 'realizes his own actions have caused the problem' and I think that's what PDJ was trying to do - his songs tend to try and flesh out characters or fill in bits the canon hadn't yet. I can definitely see why people say it seems like Stolas apologia but it did come out back when the show was in s1 and it hadn't started playing the Stolas Did Nothing Wrong card as hard as it did in s2 (plus Loo Loo Land Stolas at least seemed aware that the divorce was affecting Via, even if he totally failed to articulate what was going on with him when she was upset), so it feels more like an attempt at a potential direction Stolas could have gone with the setup ep1-6 had provided.

I can't say for sure of course, but I think PDJ was aware that Stolas is the problem (or at least part of the problem, idk if he's ever spoken about stol/tz publically) and was just following what arc the show seemed to be setting up with him (and then it promptly didn't in s2, since nothing is ever Stolas' fault now apparently)

it's why it's so annoying to see the lyrics changed - PDJ's Stolas actually gave a darn about Via and seemed to realize at least part of what he'd done wrong, while keeping him mostly in character by preserving his classist attitudes that he needs to work through (the repeat of the impish plaything line)

official video Stolas is whitewashed and whiny. personally I think it's a small miracle Viv even kept the line 'I will try to make amends/for making you means to an end' since it directly refers to what actually happened - Stolas used Blitzo for sex.

but I assume Viv left that line in because she wants it to mean 'Blitzo seduced Stolas so Stolas used him right back' instead of what actually happened: 'Stolas used the threat of losing his job and the pressure of being shot at to coerce Blitzo into monthly sex'

this is all how I remember it from back when the song came out, though - I could be totally wrong, but as far as I know Paranoid has never said he likes stol/tz or thinks it's 'mututally toxic' or anything like what stans usually say

Oof I guess I was too hard on him. I do appreciate you typing this out and adding some context. But then again before episode seven…stolas was an absolute monster towards Blitzø and the rest of imp. He was only kind to Octavia, the same species as him. But to everyone else he was and honestly still is, just purely awful.

I definitely feel like him and all of us, if we are honest, saw a lot more kindness and good traits in stolas than are actually there. I still hold that stolas at the end of ep 6 and the stolas at the start of episode 7 are not the same character at all. Plus, having us see Blitz be enslaved by him, and then tongue kiss him after, all that said to me was that he’s allowing himself to be sexually objectified because he thinks it’s all he deserves. I was actually really shocked that he kissed him, it was such a bizarre contradiction to the intimidation, abuse, and a mutual hatred, we had just seen. Then he asked for a reward…? So strange.

And season 2 stolas is yet again another character. When he wears his hat he’s his usual gross self then the hat comes off and he’s a wimp. If what I’ve heard is true he gets even more soft and pathetic and sopping wet cat-like. I just have no idea what he adds to the story other than taking us on a self pitying emotional detour we didn’t ask for. With none of the introspection paranoid DJ thought he would show. I’m sorry but Stella was kindve right, it is annoying.

Taking out the Octavia lyrics is unbelievable!!! It makes him look so so bad but this is supposed to be his woobie arc, so what gives?

Also I wont stop reiterating that stolas led Blitzø to his bedroom by force and locked him in there. Blitzø thought he was going to kill him, he was scared, creeped out, and actually did try to negotiate out of it but was told not to bother with excuses. I honestly don’t care that he tried to survive by faking seduction. Don’t forget he said “ew” at the idea, and then “alright fine” which is just so gross…

This is all speculation because I’ve heard nothing about what happens in Full Moon—but-I don’t really believe he’ll try and make “amends” the next episode is going to be stolas emotionally manipulating him into “choosing” the book (him, having free sex and a fan to praise and coddle him) or the crystal (a life on his own) it’s going to be really hard to watch. And Viv despite what she’s written of him being creeped out terrified and grossed out by stolas will try sell us that the sex with stolas was great. Even though everything he says and does points to the opposite.

I mean it is pretty clearly a pro stolitz song and that’s what it was used for

#helluva boss critical #stolitz critical

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theokapuco · 20 days

Text

I actually did this drawing a while ago but when I finished I didnt like it so I didnt end up posting it but now looking back, I still don't like it but I spent a long time on it soooo, here's Thomas as a Siren and below is some Info dump about this Au I made

Since I am also a sleepy bois inc fan, I got inspired by dark sbi mermaid fanfics and decided to test it out on the Maze Runner and see what it leads me to. So, just a heads up, the Maze Runner characters in this Au are more morally gray because they follow their animalistic side more than their human side.

In this Au, they in a hierarchy and every mermaid lives in their own pod (a community)

Hierarchy goes like; Leaders, Sirens, Children, Protectors, and Hunters/Gatherers

It is not a requirement to have a Siren in the Pod but it does make the pod seem stronger if they do have one

There tends to be only one siren in each pod because in this AU they are cannibals and are not afraid of eating another siren from their own pod or a different one

The color of a siren represents what types of power their voice holds, Thomas in particular has the ability to manipulate people’s sadness and grief, he can make others see hallucinations of loved dead ones or intensify someone's state of sadness/depression/loneliness. The jewelry around his neck is a symbol of his status and showing how important his voice is.

Short plotline; Thomas is a lone siren who does not have a pod. He gets invited to join the Gladers pod by Alby but problems arise when Thomas realizes that they already have a siren in their pod, Ben. At first they would stay far away from each other, with Ben always hanging in the front of the Pod and Thomas in the back but one day Ben does end up attacking Thomas and Thomas ends up killing him.

Since they run more on instincts and animalistic feelings, Thomas did not really feel bad at first because he did it in order to survive but he soon realizes how sad the pod is since he can feel their sadness. He decides to permanently stay in their pod and promises to protect them as a way to make amends

In the beginning, Thomas does not have a good relationship with anyone in the Pod except for Chuck and Alby. With him and Chuck having a brotherly relationship and him and Alby having more of a stable one. Gally and him absolutely hated each other but over time they warmed up to each other. Newt, Minho, and Thomas had a distant relationship until Thomas ended up saving Minho from mermaid hunters, which caused him to earn trust from Minho, Newt, Frypan, and Winston.

Sirens are very different from normal mermaids. They age the same but mature mentally faster than Mermaids. Their diets are very different with them being mostly carnivores while mermaids are omnivores. Mermaids are sort of okay with humans, they especially have soft spots for the human kids but Sirens won’t hesitate to kill one. They are more private about their species and do not let any humans near them unless a human somehow manages to earn their trust. Aris, Teresa, and Rachel are humans that Thomas tolerates but he doesn’t like it when they get too close. Mermaids can not survive without a Pod but Sirens can and they choose willily to join one if they want to, they just tend to do things on their own in the Pod and sometimes listen to the leader which is why it’s important they have a great relationship

The characters do all act the same as they do in the book and movies, but with just a slight readjustment with their bio instincts. Thomas is still curious and oblivious but now he just has a little bit of animal instincts added to him, this applies to the rest of the characters

Free fee to add in your own headcanons or even make your own story of this. I probably won’t talk about this Au again unless someone asks me too and don’t mind the big ass among us, I just like adding them in my drawings sometimes.

(p.s. Sorry for any spelling errors or if I just straight up don't make sense. I have dyslexia and I try my best to correct my errors)

#art #my art #the maze runner #fanart #the maze runner thomas #the maze runner fanart #thomas the maze runner #tmr thomas #Tmr #The maze runner Au #Am so tired #theokapuco #Alternate universe #digital art

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empyrisan · 2 years

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Some dragons I've been working on lately. Indulging in my comfort zone of drawing dragons has given me some kind of routine and purpose. An added bonus: I'm getting used to drawing individuals scales, which is a tedious process I would normally avoid doing.

Earlier this year, I got a hold some old art supplies I hoarded when I was a teenager. The amount of colored pencils and unfinished sketchbooks I've accumulated over the years is ridiculous... so I've been trying to make amends by using up these ancient materials first before going on another shopping spree for better, updated tools.

Hoarding art supplies and actually drawing are two separate hobbies.

#art of empyrisan #sketchbook #sketchblog #dragon #eastern dragon

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one-silly-cart00nist · 10 months

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The Bunker [Mark/David]

(my silly little take on how the Elders reconciliation could look like. manifesting Mark's gay panic when he sees Goth David for the first time *fingers crossed*)

Rated: G Word Count: 2.8k Pre-slash, Love Confessions, sometimes you have to be locked up in a dark place with your crush to make up after a fight

Things went like this: The Elders split up, Barry and David moved on, Mark learned a lesson. But then they also continued like this: Mark scripted the best apology he could muster, entered the Smoothie Groovy, saw David, lost track of what he was saying. Finally, things take a swift turn: running, pushing and pulling, until they find themselves stumbling into an abandoned war bunker.

He thinks he managed to get through that he’s sad and lonely and regrets everything and won’t speak bad of Kenneth again—nor be mad if Barry and David keep in touch with him. He means to say much more than that, but his mouth doesn’t cooperate when it comes to vulnerable moments, so he’ll take what it is.

It doesn’t yield results. If anything, David looks more frustrated than when Mark first walked in.

Next thing he knows, he’s storming through the creek barely keeping up with David a few strides in front of him. What they lead couldn’t be called a conversation, not when every attempt at breaking the silence is followed by “I don’t want to hear it. Stop following me, Mark!”

“Then stop running away!” he shoots back every time and skips a few steps to decrease the space between them. Unfortunately, that’s when David speeds up.

They must have chased each other around the entire creek from how tired Mark’s feet are getting. He isn’t quite the sporty type. This needs to end here. “I’m trying to apologize! Stop being difficult! What do you want to hear?”

“Are you even listening to yourself?” David growls when Mark attempts to grab onto his wrist to finally slow him down. “Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”

“That’s what I just asked—” Mark insists.

“Well that’s the problem!”

“Now you’re just being a jerk! I’m trying here—”

David jerks his arm away to shake Mark off but Mark holds on and pulls back. They wrestle around. David tries to shimmer out of his sleeve glove to break free. They walk into a bush. It’s all over the place.

What matters is: One thing leads to another and soon they’re losing balance, stumbling down a hill, and falling into an old war bunker.

Mark would be actually impressed by the discovery—he spent every day for the last 10 years at the creek yet he never knew of a bunker—but right now there are more pressing issues to address than a new landmark added to his mental map. For all he knows that kid with a staff might have already noted it down.

His butt hurts from the fall. He stands up to dust himself off and watches David’s silhouette do the same.

It takes a solid moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness but soon enough he can see the general layout of the place.

He can also see his (ex-) best friend adjusting his shirt, a garment he hadn’t worn voluntarily since he was twelve.

That’s new.

It brings a familiar sting to his chest, but as he’s been trying to communicate until now, he’s willing to adjust to changes like this now. Sure, fine. David wears a shirt. And works a part-time job. Mark’s okay with that as long as they can share pocky under the rock again.

He doesn’t understand what more David wants to hear. Definitely not that Mark kind of wanted to kiss him when he walked into Smoothie Groovy earlier and how it only motivated him to make amends faster…

But enough of that. Back to the pressing issues.

The entrance—a metal door which was left inconveniently open when they fell through is now just as inconveniently closed shut. It doesn’t even have a handle.

“Why did you grab the door you idiot!”

David inhales sharply and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “That’s it I’m leaving.”

“Where to? We’re stuck!” Mark throws his fists to the air in frustration.

“Well if you didn’t make me let go of the door—”

“I didn’t want your fingers to get crushed!” he exclaims. The fall was disorienting and happened way too fast, but it was a deliberate thought that made him reach out to David’s hand when, in a frenzy of trying to grasp onto roots and alike, he grabbed the door. He wasn’t gonna let him lose life points outside of paper.

David doesn’t respond to that.

Mark turns around to face the door that just shut them in, bracing himself. It is an unlucky situation but perhaps finally an opportunity to sit down and clear the table.

Mark wants to apologize, and he wants to do it properly. “Since we’re stuck here… please listen to me David…”

“No.”

“David!”

“No. We’re not stuck. Look— a door!”

Mark whips his head around to see David hover near the opposite wall. It was overgrown with dirt and ivy but upon closer look, when David dusts it off with his elbow, there’s a matching metal door to the one they just fell through. Except this one is slightly bent and the lock doesn’t align anymore. With a little luck they can force it apart.

“How did you find that?”

“Wanted to dig into the wall, it resisted,” David recapitulates proudly.

It reminds Mark of when they played one of the board escape games and much to the frustration it brought to Mark’s competitive spirit, David mostly single-handedly led them to win. Mark aces at puzzles and codes. Barry solves the riddles. David stars at the out-of-box solutions.

“That’s… clever.”

The door budges when they join forces, and with an unpleasant creak it grants access to the rest of the bunker. As far as they can see from the doorway, it’s a hallway that opens into rooms on both sides and disappears into a void of darkness.

From the corner of his eye, Mark can see David waver at the door. He must be scared.

Mark holds out his hand towards his frightened friend and commands, “Hold onto me.”

David’s eyes flicker between his face and the offered hand, considering the offer, then he scowls and looks away. “No thank you.”

Oh. For a moment there, Mark completely forgot how they got themselves into this situation.

The tension returns between them, and he hates it. He hates when his body responds like this, whether it’s the weight in his stomach or the fluttering in his chest. And it’s always David. It’s different of course, when they fight and when they don’t, but when it comes to handling either it sets his nerves on fire.

It’s been like that for the past eternity. Like it tries to tell him something—but Mark doesn’t speak its language.

This time around he knows, at least partially, what he feels insecure about: David growing up and past Mark, past the predictable comfort, past whatever butterflies Mark tries to both chase and avoid.

Mark doesn’t want him to change, he needs him to hold on.

“You’ve done that since forever,” he reasons. “It makes you feel safe or whatever. Even if you just want to throw me at the monster as bait, works for me. Come on.”

David weighs, and seems to accept, at least one of the arguments because he finally holds onto him. Onto his cape, but that’s already something.

Good enough.

“Let me just turn on some light…”

He pulls out his phone to find the flashlight function. It will be useful to avoid stepping into trouble and to actually see where the hallway ends.

However, before he can turn it on, David holds his hand. “You can’t do that! It will notice us!”

Mark doesn’t question what It is.

“It already heard our voices.”

David whines. He looks around in panic. “What if it’s light sensitive? Plus our eyes already got used to the darkness. It'll only bring attention to us.”

“Fine,” he sighs.

There’s no point in making David even more scared. He pockets the phone again.

They make it through the tiny common room and past the first pair of doors. Both of them are shut tight but David leads a staring contest with them like they could mysteriously burst open any minute.

Of course they can’t.

Mark knows that.

He still can’t chase away the images from Shiki flashing before his eyes, which he curses himself for watching at all. It wasn’t so scary sandwiched between David and Barry two years ago, but maybe he just couldn’t comprehend the danger of being locked away where his dead body may never even be found, back then.

“Arggh!”

He flinches when David shrieks.

His mind is still elsewhere, but he does the one thing he can think of: grabs David and yanks him into his chest. Like that could shield him from a maleficent demon spawn…

But Demon spawns don’t exist in this universe as far as science can confirm.

With his heart pounding, he inspects the situation—there’s lots of junk on the floor David must have tripped over. He chuckles in relief. David’s panic earlier must have gotten into his head as well.

He looks down at his friend, and only when he sees his scowl he schools his own smile away.

“You’re laughing at me!” David accuses him and forcefully pushes away.

“Wha— no I’m not!”

“What are you laughing at then?” he interrogates. His cheeks are dusted red from embarrassment.

Mark feels his cheeks heat up too. He scratches his neck as he tries to convey his next words as casually as possible. “It scared me too, I guess. And the only thing I managed was to pull you close.”

It doesn’t have to mean anything if he plays it cool.

After a charged silence, he adds: “I’d be dead in a horror movie.”

David softens, then. He glances towards the floor and tugs at his own shirt in a self-conscious manner. “I wouldn’t make it easier, yelping at every sound…”

“I’d still let you hold onto me,” Mark replies.

David’s fingers find a loose thread to twist and pull. He still isn’t looking away from his feet but there’s a hesitant smile playing on his lips. “Being scared for your life really makes you soft…”

“I’m the scared one—? I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

David’s eyes finally flicker up to meet his, at least for a moment. Mark cannot quite read the glint in them, but it finally feels like he said something right.

“It’s… hard to believe that sometimes,” David admits quietly.

It’s Mark’s turn to scowl. “What do you mean?”

David takes a deep breath, like it takes effort for him as well to voice his feelings. When he speaks, it’s with confidence. “You act like such a jerk to me. I know we’re friends but… I never know if you actually care about me…”

Every word feels like a stab in the guts.

Of course he cares. David, and Barry, are the only people he cares about. He wouldn’t choose to come to the creek everyday to hang out with them otherwise. They understand him and share his interests and passions. And, yeah, David is too much to handle sometimes, but Mark wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

But how does he say any of that without sounding… ew, mushy?

David spares him of that dilemma because he doesn’t wait for Mark to respond at all, spinning around on his heel and striding forward on shaky feet. “Come on, I think I see a ladder over there.”

Mark swallows his heart down and follows closely behind as David takes the lead across the hallway, stealing glances into the open spaces that David pointedly avoids, like something worse than spiders could actually be hiding in them.

There is indeed a ladder that leads towards the surface. A handle wheel is the last divide between them and freedom.

It should be a relief, except they still haven’t resolved the tension, and the moment they step foot outside, David will have no reason to listen to him. David won’t need him anymore.

Still, Mark lets him climb up first and be the one to spin them free. If there is by any chance a dark force lurking in the shadows ready to grab their ankles then it better take Mark, not like there’s much waiting for him out in the world right now.

He says so out loud when David questions him. It earns him an eye-roll and a helping hand to climb towards the blinding daylight. He holds on.

To give an official closure to this unsettling adventure, and to make sure no other kid encounters a similar fate, they shut the bunker opening behind them.

It looks much smaller when Mark maps the distance between the hill they fell down and the clearing they stand on now. Even from his height, it’s almost impossible to tell there’s a whole infrastructure below their feet.

If the wheel got stuck, they would be forgotten and lost in the sands of time forever. Phew.

Done with reflecting on their possible death, Mark then turns towards David, knowing this is the last shot he has to address what he heard in the bunker, and what he approached David with today in the first place. “Wait, before we leave. May I talk to you?”

David turns to face him. “Okay, but… Make it count.”

He doesn’t flinch or move away when Mark steps forward. Good.

Mark clears his throat.

“Listen I… I’m sorry for the way I treated you all these years. It was never my intention to hurt you or push you away. I, uh, didn’t realize my actions had consequences…”

“What was your intention then? How did you not see it?” David asks, and this time it doesn’t sound accusing.

It encourages Mark to continue. “I just… couldn’t handle my emotions well. I thought if I pushed against them, they would disappear. Instead, it made things worse. I can see that now.”

When he pushed, he meant it for room to breathe, not to put distance between him and his best friends. When he allowed himself to take, he didn’t realize he took more than the feeling of satisfaction of it.

It still isn’t quite right. He wants more time to put his thoughts on the paper, but there is no paper. He feels like an underleveled hero facing a boss battle far too early in the campaign. The air is lava.

He shuts his eyes, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure of David’s eyes piercing into him. They aren’t even piercing, they’re wide and gentle, and that makes it even worse.

This is what he loses if he misses a single step.

He braces himself. “What I’m trying to say… I do care about you… and… I really like you. The rest of the apology goes to Barry as well but this—this part is just about you. I really like you. I just suck at communicating that.”

He releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding when David finally responds, voice disapproving but gentle. “That’s no way to treat someone you like. How would you feel if Gorobi-chan kept pushing you away?”

“Ouch.”

“Exactly.”

Yeah. That would hurt. But…

“Wait. No, that’s not an accurate analogy.”

It might be a fragile moment that he shouldn't risk being nitpicky about parallels but there’s one thing deeply wrong with what David just said. And he can’t just leave that unaddressed.

“You can’t say it like that. In that case, I’m the one who likes Gorobi-chan and she hurts my feelings, so that would translate to you liking me and— that doesn’t make sense—”

Well, Mark certainly didn’t see that coming.

“I’m as surprised as you are,” David sighs. “So you see how bad it makes me feel when you toy around with me. If you want me back, as a friend, or as something else… Make me see that you’ve grown up.”

Mark cringes, but nods. “I promise.”

When he looks at David, he finds his friend smiling in a way that makes his heart flutter. It’s nothing new, but somehow easier to handle after he admitted to it out loud.

“Anything else you want to share or can we head home? I’m hungry.”

Not really. If David is comfortable teasing him, this is a good note to leave on.

And so they leave the bunker behind, definitely.

This time they fall into step as they walk. This time, Mark doesn’t have words on the tip of his tongue. This time, when Mark reaches for David’s wrist he’s met with no resistance.

All that tension from before is gone, spirited away with the wind.

Mark pulls up Google Maps to see which way home when they find themselves lost, while David lists all the food he’d like to eat for dinner.

“There’s shrimp chips at the rock. Or maybe we can reach the mall before closing hours?”

David shakes his head with a tired laugh. “I’ve had enough adventures for a day.”

“Do you want to go to the mall another day? My treat,” Mark offers with a small heart.

David bumps into his shoulder shyly. It makes a smile bloom on Mark’s face, and a hopeful feeling settles in his chest.

“Sounds nice.”

They’re getting off on the right foot this time.

#craig of the creek #elders of the creek #cotc fanfic #mark cotc #david cotc #mark/david

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ejzah · 2 years

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NCIS LA Season 14 Countdown, Day 12.

A/N: I couldn’t resist an opportunity to write a scene from one of my favorite episodes, Personal.

***

I Saw A New You Today

Kensi didn’t intend to visit Deeks again today. Her plan was to go home, grab a pint of whatever ice cream she had in the freezer (or cookies if it turned out she already ate the ice cream) and veg out on some trashy TV.

As she was driving home though, she couldn’t get the thought of Deeks, all alone in the hospital out of her head. She was the reason he was in the hospital to begin with. So, with her guilt eating at her, she switched lanes and headed for the hospital.

The hallways were pretty deserted by the time she got there, probably in part because it was after visiting hours. Only one intern stopped her though and a quick flash of her badge took care of that.

When she reached Deeks’ room, she found the door open, Deeks sitting up with his head lowered, focused on something in front of him. She was a little surprised that he was still conscious at all after everything he’d been through today. The run through the hospital to come to her resuce had completely ripped his stitches open and he actually needed a second, more minor surgery to fix the damage.

Knocking on the door, Kensi paused in the entrance as Deeks continued to stare at whatever was on his bed tray.

“Sorry, Hetty if you came back for more—” he started to say as he looked up, then broke off, expression shifting to surprise. “Oh, hey, is everything ok? Did something else happen with the Chechens?” He made a move like he was going to get up and Kensi rushed forward, pointing a warning finger at him.

“Deeks, don’t you even think of getting out of that bed,” she ordered, going so far as to give his shoulder a light shove. Deeks rolled his eyes, but didn’t make another move. “And everybody’s fine.”

“Oh, well that’s a relief.” Sighing, Deeks settled into his pillow. “I don’t think I have it in me to save you again.”

“Thank you for saving my life,” Kensi said dutifully, and completely insincerely as she dragged the chair by Deeks’ bed closer. “So how long can I expect you to hold that over my head?”

“Not long. Maybe a month or two. No more than three,” Deeks assured her with a grin that was just a little less vibrant than usual.

“Awesome.” She wouldn’t tell him, but she gladly put up with his complaints and bragging for a little while. It was worth having her partner alive and mostly whole. Again, something that Deeks would never hear her actually say.

“Hey, did you say Hetty was here?”

“Yep. She stole my jello too,” Deeks said, jutting his lower lip out.

“What did she want?” Kensi asked, not sure why it surprised her so much. She knew Hetty had a soft spot for Deeks.

“Uh, she brought this over.” He tapped the table, which Kensi now realized held a thin folder. With the mention of it, Deeks was suddenly pensive. “She, um, she put herself down as my next of kin.”

“Wow. That’s kind of her.” Deeks shrugged at her comment and she amended, “I mean, assuming you want her to be.”

“I guess she might as well be,” Deeks said with a shrug that made him grimace slightly. “It’s not like I have anyone else I can put down.”

“We were all kind of surprised about that. You want to talk about any of it?” She let her voice drop a touch, to let him know she wasn’t just talking about his lack of emergency contact.

“Not really.”

She expected as much, but it still stung a little that he didn’t trust her enough.

“I will tell you eventually,” he added, eyes heavy with exhaustion and whatever darkness his past held. “Just not today. Because it’s a lot. And I’m not sure that I’m in the right place to talk about it right now.”

“It’s ok, I get it,” Kensi assured him. “Just know that I’m here to listen whenever your ready. And I won’t judge.”

***

A/N: I think I might have my days wrong, but I’ll keep going until the premiere.

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #personal #season 14 countdown #light angst #partner bonding #ejzah fanfiction

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beardedmrbean · 10 months

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“Give us back our horny”

Submitted by @officialfist

I expected legal challenges, you want them actually because they can be used to shore up the defenses as they say. Close the gaps that may have been left on accident. _______________________

BATON ROUGE, La. (WAFB) - The Free Speech Coalition is just one of many taking aim at a Louisiana law that went into effect last year.

It requires age verification for certain websites that consists of at least 30% adult content, like porn. The law’s intent is to keep minors off these sights, as the material continues to intensify on an annual basis.

“We’re not opposed at all to efforts to limit minors from accessing adult material, it’s called adult material for a reason. But the problem we have with these laws are they’re not only unconstitutional but they’re ineffective and dangerous,” said Director of Public Affairs for the group, Mike Stabile.

Stabile says the law’s vagueness makes it difficult for websites to abide by the standard to which the law holds them. Adding the 30% threshold these sites are held to is not specific enough on the type of content it’s referring to.

“We don’t know how that’s calculated. Is it the number of posts, the number of pages, the volume of data...I think what you see in this law and the other copycat laws you see in other states is that they’re the product of magical thinking,” Stabile added.

Stabile says instead of trying to legislate how sites should verify age and requiring citizens to subject themselves to potentially having their personal information and web browsing history exposed, the state should take the approach of a device-level filter.

“Fewer than 20% of parents include any type of filter on their kids’ devices. And what the supreme court has said in case after case is that so long as those filters exist, as long as a less restrictive method that doesn’t endanger people’s privacy that doesn’t limit their access to first amendment protected speech exists, these government filters and mandates are unconstitutional,” Stabile explained.

The lawmaker behind this, state Rep. Laurie Schlegel defended her bill in messages to us Tuesday by saying the law was thoroughly crafted and does not infringe on anyone’s rights. She also managed to pass another law this year allowing the Attorney General to fine adult sites up to $5000 for every day they fail to comply with state law.

“This is a law that is going to cost Louisiana taxpayers half a million dollars or more to defend. And at the end of the day, the Supreme Court has ruled on this many times. The government does not have a right to unreasonably limit access to otherwise legally protected first amendment speech,” Stabile continued.

The Attorney General’s office says their office is reviewing the filing and withheld any further comment. ______________________

30% eh, reddit and twitter might be in trouble here too then.

Adult content, that is kinda vague. I'd argue the IRS website is adult content, but well see how this goes for them.

#submission #officialfist #nunyas news

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themculibrary · 1 year

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Late Night Conversations Masterlist

Anchor Point (ao3) - shadowen clint/phil E, 9k

Summary: Six nights in one bed.

and here, my love, we linger (ao3) - glittercake sam/bucky M, 9k

Summary: "You're an idiot," Sam says, suddenly very serious.

Bucky swallows and brings his hand up to trace along the hem of Sam's untucked shirt.

They're looking each other dead in the eye. So so close.

Sam's eyes flick up to Bucky's, and he says, "I haven't laughed like that since… Since he—"

"Since what, Sam," Bucky pleads. He wants to know this. He wants Sam to be okay again, to be able to talk about Riley.

But Sam never talks about Riley.

Bandages & Beers (ao3) - JustGettingBy yelena/kate T, 4k

Summary: A few months after Christmas, Kate Bishop is still trying to sort out the mess that currently is her life.

A knock at the window changes everything.

dona nobis pacem (grant us peace) (ao3) - honeydwine druig/makkari E, 1k

Summary: It took them weeks aboard the Domo to actually talk about it. It took them no less than three days to have sex

It went a bit like this.

Home is Where the Heart Is (ao3) - NarutoRox bucky/tony T, 1k

Summary: Bucky shook his head. “Doll, I know you’re wound up, but you need to sleep,” he said, before playing dirty and adding, “I need to sleep,” which made him feel guilty when Tony flinched. ~ In which Bucky is tired, Tony is homesick and restless, and Bucky has a secret weapon.

i don't need serotonin if i can just have your hand (ao3) - cyanica sam/bucky T, 3k

Summary: "Can I… Can I hold your hand?” He reached out, human and warm in the sunlight that shone upon Sam in a kind of iridescence that was all-consuming. His eyes were half-lidded and glassy, the twilight dawn breaking all over the atmosphere as he watched it devote itself to Sam’s presence like each spec of dust caught within the sunshine were fireflies addicted to his glow. “Something – something else to know what's real if I wake up and can't remember.”

Or making amends doesn’t lie within old evils, but rather new loves.

if your heart's still open (ao3) - steveandbucky steve/bucky, clint/natasha E, 8k

Summary: “What’s wrong, Buck?”

“You really gotta ask that?”

“Yeah, I do.” Steve clenches his jaw. “You were the one who ended things.”

Nightmare (ao3) - stucky steve/bucky E, 33k

Summary: After having another unbearable nightmare, Steve seeks the comfort of Bucky, the only person he think to turn to. He's the only person Steve wants to turn to.

This follows those nights they spend together, talking, laughing, crying, and falling in love.

Oh, we're splitting into partners now? I'll go stand over here. (ao3) - orphan_account bruce/clint, steve/tony E, 22k

Summary: Clint and Bruce get the late night munchies and make a connection. What follows from one simple interaction tends to surprise them both.

Patterned Mosaics Under Broken Dreams (ao3) - XtaticPearl steve/tony M, 7k

Summary: Tony is practically an expert on nightmares. He has been dealing with them for a long time now and has had time to control his reactions to them. This didn't extend to the other Avengers though, who had their own specific horrors that trapped them in their sleep. It was a natural decision for Tony to be the one to see them through such times. If only he made sure that they knew about this too, because sometimes taking care of your family could mean damaging yourself. In the end, it falls on the team to see through this and hope to bring Tony out of his own horrors.

Save Me From My Dreams (ao3) - happyaspie G, 3k

Summary: Exams are stressful and between the anxiety and the nightmares, Peter can't seem to find sleep. Tony just wants his kid to get some rest and he'd do anything to accomplish that.

The sun shines brighter when you are here (ao3) - frostysunflowers T, 3k

Summary: One room. Two moments.

Tony, before and after Peter comes home.

We've Got Time (ao3) - steveandbucky steve/bucky T, 4k

Summary: Steve and Bucky learn more about each other through intimate late-night conversations, hot showers and unexpected massages, a ridiculous amount of kissing and cuddling, and finally, by having an open, honest discussion about their relationship. AKA a long list of non-sexual intimacies and a whole lot of tooth-rotting fluff.

What is Real (A Comfortember Fic) (ao3) - happyaspie T, 37k

Summary: For weeks Tony searched for Peter but once he finally has his adopted son back in his arms he realizes how long of a road they have ahead of them.

Or:

After being kidnapped and subsequently mentally tormented Peter is left feeling anxious and afraid. Tony is there, as always, to help him pick himself up again.

Where We Left Off (ao3) - Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar) bucky/tony T, 2k

Summary: Prompt: Imagine Bucky and Tony meeting at night in the common room because of nightmares or Tony's crazy working hours and they somehow bond over late night cooking/eating take out and watching crappy TV. AND Imagine Hydra kidnapping Tony and stripping him of his memories and brainwashing him.

Keeping odd hours seemed to be an Avengers prerequisite, so Bucky wasn’t surprised to run into Tony the first time, or even the second time. Common floor, TV on, flicking through channels just to remind himself that it wasn’t 1944 anymore. If that had been the extent of it—missing the past—he’d have counted himself blessed, but it seemed like he had a head full of bad memories just waiting for him to be stupid enough to close his eyes and sleep.

So at first, sure, it’d seemed normal that Tony had wandered in, and dropped onto the couch next to him, stolen the remote, and pulled up some weird cooking competition program.

“I don’t know why I love watching cooking shows when I’m starving,” Tony muttered. “Must be the masochist in me.”

#themculibrary #mcu #marvel #latenights #latenights masterlist #masterlists

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creatorofuniverses · 2 years

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Gt July Day 27 – Communication

Decided to write more of Evine and Theophilos for this one! They work hard to communicate with each other a lot of the time.

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Evine lay sprawled across their couch, their head propped up on soft pillows and one leg hanging listlessly off the edge. Theophilos was in their cupped hands – something he was still getting used to, as it was all too strange – held just below their eye level. Their mild curiosity was nonetheless all too noticeable to Theophilos, who made tentative eye contact in expectation of a question or some other action involving his attention.

Sure enough, Evine smiled at him and asked, “You served at one of the noble houses before coming here, right?”

Theophilos nodded. That was the polite way of saying it; he had been a slave, indentured by the household after being arrested for begging on the street. There were servants who were free men, holding higher positions and getting actual pay, but Theophilos had not been one of them. Not that he expected Evine to know the difference; the god lead the blissfully ignorant life of a noble, with the added ignorance caused by their severe isolation from the world. Theophilos wasn’t about to explain, either- he couldn’t, for one, and for another it just wasn’t done. It wasn’t his place to bring up the details of his indenture. Those above him either already knew it or didn’t want to hear about such unpleasant things.

Of course, Evine was kinder than any noble Theophilos had ever met, and curious; but they were already moving along their own train of thought. “It’s always so interesting to hear about life outside the temple,” they said, a familiar tone of melancholy lacing the words. “Pretty much all of my sacrifices had different jobs before coming here. What did you do at your old house?”

Theophilos’s brow furrowed slightly as he thought about how best to answer. Looking around he didn’t find anything to help as a prop – at least not within reach, given that he could barely reach across the hands he was cupped in – and spent a long moment mulling over alternatives. Evine watched him, patient but intrigued. Eventually a thought struck and Theophilos took a few locks of his dark, curly hair, straightening them to chin length and deftly weaving them together.

“You braided hair?” Evine asked, not even giving Theophilos time to shake his head before amending, “Or rope, maybe?” That wasn’t right either, and after shaking his head once more, Theophilos looked around for something to clarify.

He was grateful that Evine never got frustrated with him. Most others didn’t bother to wait this long for his attempts at communication; most knew he was mute and assumed that meant he had nothing to say. The god always waited, however, until they figured it out, or at least got close.

Theophilos eventually grabbed the hem of his knee-length chiton and spread out the fabric, gesturing to it. Evine frowned at the charades for a while before guessing, “You… made clothes?” Theophilos shrugged slightly – close, but not quite – and made the braiding motion with his hands over top of the fabric. “Oh!” Evine exclaimed, their expression lighting up. “You wove them! You were a weaver!” Theophilos nodded quickly, a small but delighted smile on his face. It felt so nice to successfully get an idea across for once. Evine grinned in return, just as excited to have figured it out. “That’s fun! I bet you were really good at it.”

Theophilos’s smile turned shy, but he shrugged one shoulder, taking the compliment as best he could. It surprised him, as most things with Evine did. Other people might have scoffed at the profession, reserved for the lower classes – and for women – but Evine either didn’t know that or didn’t care. Maybe they wouldn’t care even if they knew; gods had no need for gender, after all, and Evine didn’t seem to even notice it amongst humans half the time, much less keep track of who had certain jobs.

It was a warm feeling, to know that the god cared enough to ask these sorts of questions, and accept the answers Theophilos gave. They were communicating in their own way, and Theophilos would never take that for granted.

#my writing #the sacrifice #gtjuly #gtjuly2022

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