#an unsung melody AU

[otomes-and-tears]

i'm just obsessed with your fic! erika/nevra would be great parents, Karenn would be a protective aunt. Imagine the drama if Nevra's parents found out about the pregnancy?? if you can make any droplets around this story, i would love it! thank you.

Oh, Nevra would be very against visiting his previous clan after his child was born. He’s only open to do it in life or death situations. And he’s even less willing to let his wife (even if she doesn’t know it yet) and his child be put in a situation he just knows is going to be dangerous for them.

It doesn’t matter if people in eldarya nowadays perceive Erika as an Aengel (and a Martyr) more than a human. He knows that the fact that she was raised on earth and still has mostly human blood coursing through her veins means that she’s in active danger when parading around a vampire clan that still uses her people’s blood as the basis of their nutrition. Being introduced as his mate and having Karenn act like her bodyguard might keep her physically safe, but being immersed in a culture where she knows that her, her people and even her child are still only seen as a fulfilling meal isn’t really bound to do good things for her psyche.

Nevra is intensely concerned about Erika’s safety, even if she jokes all the time about the amount of times she has died and was brought back to life, Nevra had to live seven years grieving her loss and seeing her corpse stuck inside the crystal, peaceful, never aging, while he grew older and had to figure out how to live with her gone.

He has just gotten her back.

And not only that, but he’s getting the life he once dreamed about having with her.

Nevra knows that the second there’s a life or death situation, as the crystal’s chosen she might not have a choice, and might need to sacrifice herself again. At the very least he wants to avoid putting her in more life or death situations if he can help it.

Not to mention, his child is a human hybrid. He is NOT putting them in danger or letting his sweet baby hear all the nasty shit that’s going to be said about them.

If his mother sent a letter asking for help, he’d do his duty and go help them. If yaqut vampires had to move to HQ? He’d do his duty to help them.

But no one is going NEAR his kid without strict supervision.

By the way— Erika, at least in my AU, still loves and deeply misses earth. She respects her culture and wants her baby to know where their mom came from, because there’s a very high possibility that they’ll never get to know earth aside from her and Mathieu’s stories about it.

So her kid is going to grow up with a lot of pride about being part human! Even if there are a lot of faelians who don’t see it as a source of pride.

[vivianquill]

Jimmy hadn't realized he was alive. Not at first. He'd been frozen to the spot, static buzzing in his ears and eyes shut against the incoming pain.

He flinched, when a too warm hand touched his shoulder.

"Hey, Jimmy." Tango's voice cutting through the static, a hand cupping his cheek, "You're quite the treasure, hm? You make letting those fools paw through my hoard worth it."

Jimmy hunched in on himself, his wings coming up in a protective mantle. He was too scared to make any noise, too frozen to open his eyes. He didn't want to see his troupe. Not like this.

"Hey now-- hey sh sh shhhhh. . ."

Jimmy felt a rush of cold air, before something scooped him up and tucked him close. It felt almost like a giant hand, but a little bit too cold and smooth. He didn't dare look, ignoring the vertigo of sudden movement.

It took him being dropped onto a pile of something soft and warm to shock him into opening his eyes with an 'oof--'

Jimmy wished he hadn't. He'd been deposited in a nest-- one much bigger than any avian would make, obviously big enough to house a dragon comfortably--

And Tango was staring at him.

Tango. As a dragon. Right.

He couldn't look more different that the form he'd taken as a human to trick them into his lair. His scales were silver, as far as Jimmy could tell, what with the horrible lighting and the shock and the way everything was sort of swimming--

So he was a good dragon then, not one that would torment Jimmy just to eat him later. Maybe. He had just-- Nope. Not the time to think about that.

The dragon circled Jimmy once, almost like a dog bedding down, before plopping next to him, one big eye staring at Jimmy.

"You're not going to keel over from stress, are you? I hate losing my treasures."

Jimmy pulled his wings tight around himself, "N-no. I'll-- I'm not going to die."

"Good." Tango huffed out a soft breath of mist, draping a big wing over Jimmy like throwing a blanket over a birdcage.

Jimmy let out a soft 'eep-'. Then he went quiet. He was probably in shock.

He was most definitely in shock. Jimmy's memories were fuzzy, at least for the next few-- somethings. The next stretch of time.

It came in waves, almost.

The memories were tinged with fear and static first; who wouldn't be terrified of a dragon? Tango brought him food and water, and bundled him up in warm furs and draped him in jewelry. Like Jimmy was a glorified statue. To be fair, it was how he'd been acting.

Then Jimmy either got over his fear or got used to it-- he couldn't remember which. Probably both-- and out came the anger. Tango had murdered his entire troupe on a whim! He had probably done it to more adventurers in the past. And now he was treating Jimmy like a pet-- a very spoiled pet, but still a pet--

There was a lot of yelling, and a lot of static, and there was an attempt at escaping-- It would have never worked, but Jimmy had to try. Multiple attempts at escaping. Anger turned into a desperate need to be free, a yearning for the sun and the open sky after so long without it.

Tango was patient through it all, in a way that pissed Jimmy off even more. It was like-- like anything Jimmy did was so entertaining. Like Jimmy was a disgruntled kitten.

The anger lasted a long time, swinging down into despair and back again. Nothing he did could make Tango angry at him. Nothing he did could get anything other than a condescending grin and an amused laugh and a wing draped over his head in the nest at the end of the day. Tango even started bringing him along when he went to work on his lair; he put Jimmy on a magic leash, one that let Tango keep him close. Tango said it was 'to keep him safe'

There was only one time where Tango did anything to hurt Jimmy. And it wasn't even anything bad, the static said. It hadn't really hurt him.

Tango had clipped his wings.

Jimmy had attempted to throw himself to the floor from the very top of the swooping ceilings of the treasure room. It was the highest place he could get to, trapped underground as he was.

Tango had caught him before he could to anything to truly hurt himself, carefully slicing his flight feathers short and crippling the avian for who knew how long.

It was humiliating.

The static had taken most of the next stretch of time from him-- but it didn't take everything. Jimmy knew that he'd finally found a way to piss Tango off. Somehow. Whenever he reached to grasp at those memories, they always seemed a little bit out of reach.

Tango just wanted to be his friend. Why had he been fighting so hard against him? Jimmy should be happy to have a friend as great as Tango! Who else could say that they were best friends with a dragon?

Jimmy's feathers grew back in as gold as the treasure Tango loved to drape on him. It was comforting, for the dragon to help him preen them.

He couldn't quite remember when he'd made the pact, but he had. How else could he have ended up with more magic than he knew what to do with, and the ability to hear Tango calling for him anywhere in the lair or the Citadel above?

Jimmy was given free rein of the place, after the pact. Tango seemed overjoyed to have someone to show all his clever traps and passages and hidden doors and puzzles and treasure to. There was always some new trick to learn, or some new spell Tango wanted him to try, or some new magic artifact for Jimmy look at or wear or use.

Jimmy didn't quite know when he'd picked up singing, either. It wasn't singing like most humanoids sang. It was birdsong. And it was something Tango could hear no matter how far away from him Jimmy wandered.

The dungeon continued to bring in adventurers. Wanna-be heroes, after gold or magic or who knew what. Time was a fickle thing, down in Tango's lair, and Jimmy had no way of telling how long it'd been since he arrived. Whenever he asked, Tango would give him an answer that wasn't really an answer. Surely he'd been here for less than a year.

Tango started letting Jimmy help. The adventurers made for good magic practice. And not all of them were the punch first, ask questions later kind of adventurers.

Jimmy couldn't help but warn them about the danger. That this was a dragon's lair.

Tango found it amusing, how some of them tried to backtrack, after they found out what they were up against.

He didn't let them, of course.

Jimmy found it at least a little bit interesting, how Tango's lair was set up to reward those who played his games and solved his puzzles and were clever in ways Tango hadn't thought of yet. His troupe had had so much trouble because they'd ignored all of it, in favor of slogging through the dungeons and killing the monsters.

The fastest he'd ever seen a troupe get down to Tango's lair proper was less than a week.

That was the first troupe where Jimmy had a significant hand in guiding them past the worst of the danger. He'd grown fond of them. They had treated Jimmy like one of their own.

Tango let them each choose one piece of treasure.

They'd earned it, Tango whispered through the bond. He did give treasures away to those who had earned the reward. And besides, they'd treated Jimmy so well. Even before knowing this place was a dragon's lair.

It was up to them to get out with the treasures, however.

Tango didn't let Jimmy help them on the way out.

[bookworm-center]

I have a request for a Kaz Brekker au/one shot (whatever u see better fit)

Where the crow club usually as a singer on friday nights but the singer had to cancel last minute so seeing the “panic” on the other crows and crew Y/N steps up and sings even tho nobody knew she could sing and when Kaz hears it and sees her he just gets lost in her voice…

I hope this is a good idea haha

Kaz Brekker x Fem!Reader

Unsung Duet

In which Kaz's partner in crime steps up to sing.

Author's Note: Ooh, I love this request! I'm twisting it slightly but not too much; I hope that's okay! I wasn't sure if you wanted a specific song, so I went with "Six of Crows" by Gio Navas. Such a good song that's obviously inspired by the book, you should definitely listen to it. This ended up being shorter than I wanted, but I think it's not bad.

Panic floods the Crow Club in hushed whispers. The usual Friday night singer cancelled? People begin to leave, shoving their way out of the small doorway.

Kaz's panic isn't shown on his features- he's good enough at his job to know panicking is a weakness- but the other Dregs are rushing about. Rotty says something about too many people leaving, but Kaz is too busy working out a plan to respond.

Claps come from the stage, quiet and slow at first, but gradually growing. Then comes the singing.

This is a city of toxic smoke

We trade our lungs for a noose of rope

Under our feet and the tilted ground

Runaways of ashes never found

People turn around, coming back in and filling up all the seats and tables. Kaz looks up from his glass, to the singer that's taken the stage. There stands none other than his partner in crime. Y/n L/n, master of tricks. He had never heard her sing, never even knew she could, despite his reputation for knowing everything. Her eyes are closed at first, like she's trying to lose herself in the music.

Here is where the monsters hide

Only the wicked can survive

With every line, every rise and fall of the melody, every held note, Y/n gains a little more confidence. She taps her feet on the wood of the platform they call a stage.

And just like that, Kaz, along with the patrons in the Club, are swept away by her voice. There's something about the way she sings that's so enchanting and enticing, almost like a pull of unseeable magic. Her and Kaz only make eye contact once, when the song is nearly over.

A boy with a broken soul

Marching through this world alone

He fights among the cursed six of crows

Where is his heart, he may never know, never know

And that's it. The crowd bursts into applause, demanding for an encore as Y/n walks off the stage. Kaz hadn't even noticed she was finished singing, not until the bartender called his name several times.

He knew the last verse was about him. Y/n had been his best friend, his other half, his partner in crime, for so long, that they were nearly one person. She knew nearly everything about him, and he for her.

The last line gets him thinking: where is his heart?

Easy. His heart is set on revenge. It's set on destroying Pekka Rollins, ruining everything he built.

There's another response, further back in his head, in the part of him that was still Kaz Reitveld. His heart was with Y/n.

After all, they were the halves to a whole, the sun and the moon. Together they were perfect clockwork, chiming together to pull off the perfect heist.

His heart was with Y/n, his unsung duet.

[ullasabat]

Battle of the Bands

Hobie, Miguel, Gabriel, Gwen and 1st person pov OC / MC

New Adult magical realism AU (obvi) brain worm that has grown from a 2-shot screenplay for some fun comics into a monster. This fic is like Tremors in my brain.

The summer before college MC, Gabriel O'Hara, and Miguel O'Hara go on an international road trip with their metal band, Neon Requiem. Destination? BandFest, the Battle of the Bands in London guaranteed to secure the winning band a record deal. They meet other ATSV characters along the way.

No mention of Y/N / Reader, written from 1st person POV. Self-insertion is made easier by fewer details about the MC.

Notes on language: Tried my best here, if you are a native speaker of French, let me know if the MC's French is unnatural and I will love you forever.

Romance, angst, and poorly understood music concepts are often written as having a distinct visual component because I am an artist first. <

@pinksugarscrub @the-kr8tor I DID THE THING!

*******************************************************************

Chapter 1 - “Vous êtes maître de votre vie et de vos émotions, ne l’oubliez jamais. Pour le meilleur et pour le pire”

The Rusty Nail's neon whir and raucous rhythms had been muted to a melancholy hum that evening, it was a ghost town, the emptiness of the dimly lit bar echoing with decades of unfulfilled longings. I nursed my drink, letting the smoky burn of liquor etch contours of quiet contemplation onto my throat as I surveyed the handful of kindred souls keeping solemn vigil. Life had been feeling heavy, and I needed to write, to make art, and to get lost in music.

At the far end of the bar hunched a beautiful wraith, his slim, angular frame sheathed in torn denim and studded leather. Something indefinable shimmered around him, unsung poetry, snippets of melodies, a symphony I could see and hear and almost touch. Drawn like a moth to the lambent glow of the music, I slid onto the stool beside the ethereal punk spectre. In my mind's eye, I crowned him the prince of punk, a fairy tale rebel.

Our bodies brushed intimately in the cramped space, raising ghosts of sensation along the exposed skin of my fishnets. "Wozzat, luv?" he murmured, kohl-rimmed eyes flickering over the point of contact with a soldering heat.

Mon dieu, {My God} Had I spoken my admiration aloud? A flush crept up my cheeks as I scrambled for a response.

"Désolé. Je répétais quelque chose pour ne pas l'oublier… Need to write it down before I lose it," {Sorry. I was repeating something so I wouldn't forget it…} I mumbled, a flimsy excuse for my wandering mind.

Fumbling through my bag ,I pulled out my tattered notebook, fingers trembling as I scribbled down a scrap of verse inspired by the punk's incandescent presence beside me. I scribbled my observations in hasty strokes. The dying light of day bled into night, a liminal space that begged for a soundtrack. I could almost hear it, a melody just out of reach, shimmering in the smoky air.

"The liminal light of late afternoon, yawning into early evening…" I muttered, pulling on the strings of the melody, trying to draw it back to me. "I don't want to be loved for the things that I don't do. I don't want to be just a pretty face, I want to be a work of art…We are all just works of art."

The jukebox fell silent, making my mutterings around sift and strange, slightly unhinged---but the punk prince remained---his gaze heavy on my skin. I met his stare, unflinching. Unabashed curiosity flickered in eyes, wide brown and doe-like, framed by lashes so lush they seemed to blur the line between masculine and feminine, earthly and ethereal. I found myself dizzied by warring impulses - to flee this unsettling intimacy, or be consumed by it wholly.

He was a changeling, gorgeously androgynous: part punk Mona Lisa with a Cheshire cat grin, part Jean-Michel Baptiste, part force-of-fucking-nature. He made me feel like a background character in his story, could be a punk fairy princess, and I would be the dragon. My thoughts raced, fragments of poetry and half-formed desires. I scribbled faster, chasing the threads of inspiration, but a nudge from my prince brought me back to earth.

Snatches of poetry, raw and unfinished, that I urgently longed to refine on the page before they dissipated like the last wisps of smoke in a spent ashtray. But the punk's aura dragged me too deeply into devotional reverie. I glanced up apologetically as my concentration scattered, the thread of inspiration slipping through my fingers once more.

The bartender had sprouted up directly in front of me, and she eyed me expectantly. Her hair was a shock of blue curls and silver streaks shorn close to her scalp, it made her eyes seem more gray. Her skin etched with lines that mapped out the years like a roadmap. I felt the familiar pang of a poem lost to the ether.

"Un…Jack Daniel's, s'il vous plaît," {A…Jack Daniel's, please} I said, no longer able to filter its lilt from my words, as I wasn't paying attention to dulling it.

"Blimey, that's a proper choice, innit? You 'ere for the battle of the bands event this week, love?"

"Oui, how did you know?" {Yes, how did you know?}

"Just a…sense," he demurred with a wicked grin. "Call it a punk's intuition, darling. I'm in the mix too, y'know."

The bartender chuckled as she set my drink down. "You mean because everyone is here for Bandfest? Don't listen to this one, lovey, he's incorrigible. The crowds will be in later on, but you're a bit early."

"Shh, Roz. Who's up tonight?" The prince asked, a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Oh, you want insider information? What's in it for me?"

"Givin' away free tattoos, could autograph yer arm, love."

"I'll pass, thanks. The brackets are up in an hour anyway. It's Night Terrors vs. Death Rapture, Blood Prophecy vs. Cherry Bomb, Spider Punks vs. Neon Requiem…"

"Why are the punk bands going up against the metal bands?" I asked, just as the prince inquired about Phantom Pulse.

"There wasn't a lot of quality competition this year, or that's what the sponsors said, so they automatically advance to the semifinals since they won last year."

"Bollocks!" The prince cried, his outrage palpable.

"Oi Punk, you don't want to sign with Vic Luna at Zenith Music Group, anyway."

"Tu…ne le fais pas? Mais pourquoi?" {You…don't? But why?} The words tumbled out, my curiosity getting the better of me. At her blank stare, I repeated the question in English, heat rising to my cheeks.

Roz leaned in, her voice low, "Look kid, it's complicated…"

The prince rolled his eyes, a sneer playing at his lips. "Betrayed a lot of good bands."

"You don't need to remind me, Punk, I lived through it. Despite the changes at Zenith Music Group, they still organize the annual Bandfest, which showcases both established and emerging talent in the punk and metal scenes. The event is highly respected within the community and provides a platform for bands to gain exposure and connect with fans," the bartender continued, her words stilted, rehearsed.

"Ay, and they are the sponsor bringing in your crowds." The prince's voice was sharp, laced with an emotion I couldn't quite place.

"The only time we're out of the red, punkass. We'd have to shut down if it weren't for the Battle." She said heavily, "Which is the greater evil, we are a place of refuge for several members of the community, not just you."

"You don't need to remind me Roz, I'm living through it. Right, I'll stop ragging on the corporate sods for now, until you have some plausible deniability." He raised his hands in mock surrender, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

"There's a good Punk." Roz smiled, sliding him another pint before retreating.

I made a mental note to warn my bandmates about Vic and Zenith's sordid history. We were in this for the music, not the money, no one played metal for the money--but it never hurt to be cautious.

"Roz is like the den mother of the London punk scene, a living testament to grit and resilience, and screaming yourself hoarse at basement shows. Dream t'be like her when I grow up. To listen without judgment, offer advice without preaching, and know when to slide a shot of whiskey across the bar and when to cut you off. She has a way of looking at you, really seeing you, like you matter… like you are more than just another face in the crowd." His voice trails off, heavy with emotion. He blinks and shakes it off.

"Can I see it?" The prince's voice cut through our lost thoughts, his fingers reaching for my notebook.

I clutched it to my chest, a knee-jerk reaction. "Can you look into my very soul, like Roz?"

His smirk widened, that Cheshire cat grin that set my heart racing. He nodded, a challenge in his eyes.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he purred, and I felt my stomach flip. I repeated the phrase in my mind, first in French, then in English, just to be sure I'd heard him right. Wasn't this some flirty idiom?

"You have a book of poetry somewhere hidden in those skinny jeans, mon ami?" {my friend?} I ask, hesitant, double-checking his meaning. He flirts like others breathe.

In lieu of an answer, he produced a sharpie from thin air. Before I could protest, he had my arm in his grasp, his touch electric against my skin. I shrugged off my leather jacket, baring my arms to his ink-stained fingers. Roz chuckled as she set another drink before me, clearly amused by the prince's antics.

"You'll need it…I see you took this wanker up on the free tattoo offer. Don't let him draw any on your arms."

"Any? …Any what?"

"Wankers," she clarified with a laugh. It clarifies nothing, I need to study my British slang.

"I would not mar the flesh of such a beautiful and willing participant, Roz. Kindly fuck off," the prince mumbled around the sharpie cap clenched between his teeth.

Between the verses he scrawled, he peppered me with questions, his voice a giddy whisper.

"So, who's your poison, love? Which bands get your motor runnin'?"

"Ah, j'adore Rammstein, Gojira, et bien sûr, Motörhead. And so many others, doesn't even scratch the surface. Et toi?" {Ah, I love Rammstein... And you?}

"Proper choices, those. For me, it's the classics - Sex Pistols, The Clash, Buzzcocks. Real raw, in-your-face stuff, y'know?"

I leaned in, excited, but too close. I nearly jumped as my lips grazed the dusky shell of his ear. "Ah, un homme de bon goût! I've seen the Buzzcocks live, you know. Pure chaos, c'était incroyable!" {Ah, a man of good taste! I've seen the Buzzcocks live, you know. Pure chaos, it was incredible!}

"No bleedin' way! Metal chick like you? I'd give me left bollock to have seen the Sex Pistols live. But I did catch The Clash back in '07. Changed me life, it did."

"Lemmy, sans aucun doute. The man's a legend!" {Lemmy, without a doubt.} I declare into the bar.

"Oi, don't go disrespectin' Johnny, now! The bloke's a punk icon, 'e is!"

"You're a punk icon!" someone shouted from the back, but the prince waved them off with a grin.

"Oh, I didn't catch your name," I said, with a sudden shame, my brow furrowed.

"Everyone just calls me Punk. You can too. Just not dirty punk, we don't want to come to blows, do we, love?"

"I'd kick your ass, mon ami. Pas grand chose à donner, mon petit prince des fées… eh mon prince dégingandé, right? I would not describe you as petite even if you are skinny." {I'd kick your ass, my friend. Not much to give, my little fairy prince… eh my lanky prince, right?}

Miguel was at my side in an instant, all rippling muscle and furrowed consternation. "Carnalita, {little sis} why did you sneak out on practice just to drink in this hellhole?" he rumbled, disapproval lacing every sonorous word. Tenderness faded a bit.

I met his gruff chiding with an insouciant toss of my hair. "Salut, Miguel. Ça fait longtemps." {Hello, Miguel. It's been a while.}

"Is that Jack? No puedo mas… Carnalita…This shit is bad for you." {I can't take it anymore…little sis...}

"Je nais etre rond comme une queue de pelle. Tu es vraiment un trou de balle quand tu dis des choses pareilles!" {I would be round as a shovel handle. (Idiom, essentially she is saying ~ I was born to be drunk) You are really a dumbass when you say things like that!}

Miguel's grumbling stream of Spanish reprimands washed over me as I settled into our familiar dynamic - the tender yet terse cantata of friend and protector that had composed them score of our relationship since childhood. For all his bluster, I knew every arrhythmic cadence encoded Miguel's steadfast affection.

Only Gabriel's soft interjection could salve the rising discord. "You worry too much, Miggy. We've been practicing all week."

He cast me a plaintive glance, silently pleading for conciliation, and I grudgingly obliged with an internal eyeroll. "Qu'il aille se faire! C'est vraiment chiant tu te rends compte." {Let him go fuck himself! It's really annoying, you know.}

Heedless of my saucy french asides, Miguel merely drew a fortifying breath before continuing in that maddening timbre of unrelenting reason. "Gabri and I could have come out with you. You shouldn't go out alone in an unknown city - it's not safe for you, mi carnalita."

The prince leaned towards us with a lazy smirk, "S'not that serious. The Rusty Nail is safe enough." He paused as the bartender snorted in agreement before continuing, "We're keeping the lady safe, mate…you can trust me, I'm one of the Spider-Punks."

Miguel simply sneered at the prince's proffered handshake, dismissing it out of hand. "You have arms like sticks. How would you keep her safe?"

The punk's smirk widened as he shrugged. "Ah, one of those. Never skip leg day, eh bruv?"

I strangled a guffaw as Gabriel hastened to run interference, engulfing the punk's hand eagerly. "We've heard of you guys, the local punk band, yeah? Your drummer is…gahh…Ah-Mazing! You think we could meet?"

"You call that punk noise "rock"?" Miguel scoffed. "Metal is where the real skill lies…Real talent is in the complexity, the technical skill. Metal pushes boundaries, takes you to new places. Punk's just three chords and an attitude."

I rolled my eyes. At this rate, I'd have to drag Miguel out before he started a brawl.

"Ah, mais non, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, non?" {Ah, but no, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, right?}

Miguel grunted, but squeezed my hand.

I stood, motioning for him to lean in close. "Allez, let's save the competition for the stage, d'accord? I learned some things about the record company. We should talk in private." {Come on, let's save the competition for the stage, okay?}

The prince unfolded himself, towering over me. "Tell you what, mate. Let's settle this on stage. We'll let the crowd decide who's got the real chops," he challenged.

Gabriel chimed in, "Pero, mana's right, Miguel." {But, sister is right, Miguel.}

Miguel looked ready to explode, but Gabriel's eyes held him in check.

"Music's music. Let's just focus on putting on a good show, and maybe we can learn something from their band, eh?" Gabriel said.

The prince leaned in, lips grazing my cheek. "Aye, love. Can't wait to teach your wall of meat here a thing or two. How about we give 'em a show they won't forget…later?"

I grinned, "Oui! A collaboration? Here… Ça ne casse pas trois pattes à un canard…mais, pour vous. I want it back later." {Yes! A collaboration? Here…It doesn't break three duck legs (Idiom ~ It's nothing special) …but, for you. I want it back later.}

The lanky punk sauntered off, his studded boots leaving faint trails of glitter on the barroom floor. Miguel's scowl deepened as he watched him depart, fists clenched tightly.

"Is that your poetry notebook?" he growled, voice rumbling low.

"Yes, I traded it to the punk faerie for these tattoos, I smirked, revealing the vine-like scrawl of ink now adorning my flesh like raised scars from whipping brambles.

Miguel's face darkened further, storm clouds gathering at my words. "The one you never let anyone touch or read…"

His voice strangled to a whisper, and I could not parse the complex calculus of emotions flitting behind his eyes

Gabriel placed a calming hand on his brother's arm.

"Easy, hermano {brother}. He's not worth it," Gabriel said in a soothing tone.

"Be nice, Punk is a good guy. I like him," I countered softly, a warm glow blossomed within me as I realized my entire arm was now a crawling garden of sentences entirely in French.

Miguel opened his mouth, undoubtedly to unleash a heated retort, but Gabriel cut in, "Should we go look at the brackets to see who we're facing?"

"It looks like my entire arm is covered with quotes from The Little Prince, which happens to be my favorite book. It's actually quite a sweet gesture," I said softly, fingertips grazing the raised words like treasured runes.

With renewed curiosity, I examined the ink quote now etched on my skin: "Vous êtes maître de votre vie et de vos émotions, ne l'oubliez jamais. Pour le meilleur et pour le pire." {You are the master of your life and your emotions, never forget that. For better or worse.}

I didn't mention the lone scrawl that could have been a phone number hidden amidst the literary foliage now vining my limb. Miguel was in full-on Dad mode, and I didn't need to add fuel to that particular fire.

"I already know the competition for the quarterfinals, we don't need to waste our time. Come on, manos {used as slang for brother}, we're going to kick some ass!" I giggled brightly, elated at my new 'tattoos' scrawling up my arms. I didn't put my leather jacket back on, I didn't want to cover any of it up.

Miguel's glare never wavered, his eyes fixed on the far side of the bar where the prince had disappeared into the crowd. "Don't tempt me. Let's go, carnalita {little sister}, time for practice."

With a resigned sigh, I surrendered to my brothers' insistent tugs, allowing them to lead me from the Rusty Nail. But the punk prince's parting words still reverberated through my mind like the lingering notes of a siren song. Later, he had purred, that single hushed syllable seeming to contain all the intoxicating lure of a siren's call - equal parts velvet promise and brazen challenge, twined inextricably into an enchantment I could not resist. The whole damn bar was a sailor's nightmare.

[haitilegends]

À la Mémoire de JEAN BENJAMIN

Repose en Paix

Nous adressons nos plus sincères condoléances à la famille, aux amis et aux admirateurs de Jean Jacques Benjamin, un musicien de l'ombre dont la lumière a brillé intensément dans les domaines de la musique et de la culture haïtienne. Né le 14 septembre 1931, Jean Benjamin n'était pas seulement un chanteur, mais aussi un pianiste et compositeur profond. Son décès le 2 mai 2024 nous a laissé un vide qui ne pourra jamais être comblé, mais son héritage résonnera à jamais à travers sa musique et les vies qu'il a touchées.

La voix de Jean était un phare d'inspiration et de joie pour un groupe élite de mélomanes, portant la riche histoire et l'esprit vibrant d'Haïti à travers les générations et les frontières. En tant que chanteur principal pour l'Orchestre Riviera Hotel sous la direction du Maestro Edner Guignard dans les années 1950, aux côtés de légendes telles que le regretté Guy Durosier, Jean Benjamin a mis en avant l'essence de la musique Big Band haïtienne, captivant les cœurs et les âmes avec des standards de Boléro haïtien jazzy et des compositions originales.

Ses mélodies, de la poignante: "Gisèle" dédiée à sa première épouse à l'émouvante: "L'amour", sont des trésors intemporels qui continuent d'inspirer et d'élever. L'art de Jean était un pont, reliant le passé au présent, la tradition à l'innovation. Sa musique, immortalisée par des enregistrements et des performances, reste un témoignage de son talent extraordinaire et de sa passion inébranlable pour son art.

Nous sommes reconnaissants pour les souvenirs, la musique et l'héritage que Jean Jacques Benjamin laisse derrière lui.

À son frère—Dr Rodrigue Benjamin et Famille

À ses enfants—Ylder Benjamin, Esmeralda Benjamin Laraque, Claudette Benjamin, Jean Jacques junior Benjamin, Grevy Benjamin, Esther Benjamin.

Aux petits-enfants—Marcus Benjamin, Laurent Laraque, Sebastian Laraque, Christopher C. Raymonvil ; et un arrière-petit-fils ;

À ses neveux et nièces—Jean René Foureau et famile; Hervé et Ketly Foureau Dorsinville; Marlene Benjamin et famille; Caroline Benjamin Fleurimont et famille;

Franklyn Benjamin Jr et famille; Frankline Benjamin et famille; Nadine Benjamin et famille; Gregoire Benjamin et famille; Sandra Benjamin et famille; Patrice Benjamin et famille

À — Gilbert Laraque, Robert-Charlot Raymonvil et toute la famille élargie

Aux amis proches —Serge Morel, Leopold Molière aka Yoyo,

nos pensées vous accompagnent en cette période difficile. Puissiez-vous trouver du réconfort dans le fait que l'esprit de Jean continue de vivre à travers sa musique et les innombrables vies qu'il a touchées. Sa vie a été bien vécue, et ses contributions à la musique et à la culture continueront d'être célébrées pour les générations à venir.

Repose en paix, Jean Benjamin, une véritable légende dont les mélodies résonneront à jamais dans le cœur de ceux qui ont eu le privilège de vivre votre art.

#SGLmt

#Haitilegends

__________________

In Loving Memory of JEAN BENJAMIN

Rest in Peace

We extend our deepest condolences to the family, friends, and admirers of Jean Jacques Benjamin, an unsung music man whose light shone brightly in the realms of Haitian music and culture. Born on September 14, 1931, Jean Benjamin was not just a singer, but a profound pianist and composer. His passing on May 2, 2024, has left us with a void that can never be filled, but his legacy will forever resonate through his music and the lives he touched.

Jean's voice was a beacon of inspiration and joy for an elite group of melomanes, carrying the rich history and vibrant spirit of Haiti across generations and borders. As a premier vocalist for Orchestra Riviera Hotel under the direction of Maestro Edner Guignard in the 1950s, alongside legends like the late Guy Durosier, Jean Benjamin brought the essence of Haitian Big Band music to the forefront, captivating hearts and souls with jazzy Haitian Bolero Standards and original compositions.

His melodies, from the poignant "Gisèle" dedicated to his first wife to the stirring "L'amour," are timeless treasures that continue to inspire and uplift. Jean's artistry was a bridge, connecting the past with the present, tradition with innovation. His music, immortalized by recordings and performances, remains a testament to his extraordinary talent and his unwavering passion for his craft.

We are grateful for the memories, the music, and the legacy Jean Jacques Benjamin leaves behind.

To his brother—Dr Rodrigue Benjamin et Famille

To his children—Ylder Benjamin, Esmeralda Benjamin Laraque, Claudette Benjamin, Jean Jacques junior Benjamin, Grevy Benjamin, Esther Benjamin.

His grandchildren—Marcus Benjamin, Laurent Laraque, Sebastian Laraque, Christopher C. Raymonvil; and one great-grandchild.

To his nephews and nieces—Jean René Foureau et famile; Hervé et Ketly Foureau Dorsinville; Marlene Benjamin et famille; Caroline Benjamin Fleurimont et famille;

Franklyn Benjamin Jr et famille; Frankline Benjamin et famille; Nadine Benjamin et famille; Gregoire Benjamin et famille; Sandra Benjamin et famille; Patrice Benjamin et famille

To —Gilbert Laraque, Robert-Charlot Raymonvil and the entire extended family.

To his close friends:—Serge Morel, Leopold Molière aka Yoyo,

our thoughts are with you during this difficult time. May you find comfort in the knowledge that Jean's spirit lives on through his music and the countless lives he touched. His was a life well-lived, and his contributions to music and culture will continue to be celebrated for generations to come.

Rest in peace, Jean Benjamin, a true legend whose melodies will forever echo in the hearts of those who had the privilege to experience your artistry.

Sandra Gabriel Lmt

#SGLmt

#Haitilegends

__________________

From Jean Benjamin with Love!

https://on.soundcloud.com/iTeJGcL9F1EzMMS16

Voici quelques musiques supplémentaires.

Grevy Newton Benjamin

______________

Explore # 👈🏾

#JeanBenjamin

#JeanJacquesBenjamin

#HaitilegendsIcons

#HaitianMusiciansHL

#Vocalist #HaitianPianist

#Chanteur #PianisteHaïtien #Compositeur #auteurcompositeurinterprète

#OrchestreRivieraHotel

#EdnerGuignard #Gisèle

#PaixÀSonÂme

#LégendesHaïtiennes

#Composer #singersongwriter

#OrchestraRivieraHotelDHaïti

#EdnerGuignard #Gisèle

#HaitilegendsRestInPeace

#Paixasonâme

#RobertCharlotRaymonvil

#GrevyNewtonBenjamin

#Haītilegends #SGLmt #collage by Sandra Gabriel Haitilegends

[ghcstao3]

Ur not obligated to ofc but after all the mythology reqs recently I just HAD to req a potential Orpheus and Eurydice au for ghoap because who doesn't love how tragic they both are

i don’t mind :) i’ve had to refresh my memory on all these myths though lmao

cw plain ol' mcd. Again. man u guys love ur angst

-

Johnny really couldn’t have imagined Simon’s death to come at the hands (well, at the teeth and venom, to be exact) of his lover’s very worst fear.

Nor could he have imagined it happening so soon, so early into Simon’s life. When they still had so much time they were meant to spend together leftover; an eternity cut so very short.

Johnny couldn’t stand for it.

He could never give up on Simon so easily. He could not let his sorrow go unheard, his song unsung. The earth must understand her cruelty and what she had unjustly taken.

He could not allow for Simon's soul to wander alone, destined to one day fade without ever knowing a full life, a complete love.

And so, determined, Johnny ventures into the Underworld. A treacherous journey for which he only has his lyre as company, an old friend for the mournful melody that would hopefully allow him the chance to save Simon.

Or, at the very least, the chance to see him again. The chance to know whether he should just beg to join his lover in unfair death so soon, so bitter.

Johnny gains an audience with the Underworld's god. He plays his music and grieves for Simon, pleading for mercy very few have ever been allowed.

And with music, Simon becomes one of those few. On the condition that Johnny leads him to freedom without so much as a glance back at his lover. At the captivating beauty that is Simon. A simple task, when Johnny will have all the time in the world to admire Simon once they've escaped with his soul.

A simple task, if Simon's steps hadn't been so silent. If he hadn't moved with such grace and quiet that Johnny's doubt grew stronger as they travelled further. His fear that he'd been led into false hope, a trick, and Simon could never be returned to him.

A simple task, if Johnny were not so susceptible to paranoia and uncertainty since having lost Simon once before.

He ruins everything, in the end. Because of an all-consuming doubt and an insatiable curiosity, with one final look back meant only to reassure himself that Simon still follows, Johnny instead dooms his lover to remain trapped in the Underworld. His foolishness is the downfall of them both; an irreparable fault of his own doing, forever his own doing.

Johnny returns to earth completely and utterly alone.

And the look on Simon's face as they were separated once again, for good, would haunt Johnny's every atom of being for the remainder of his miserable existence.

[thousand-winters]

20 questions for fic authors

Thank you for tagging me, @candyskiez!!! I shall use this wisely (to procrastinate. And to ramble because I love rambling). Tagging @pascal-oswell @justmagicalgirl and @drbtinglecannon if you wanna do it, if not, that's okay!

1. How many fics do you have on ao3?

36, which would probably be insane to me a couple of years ago, but they're nothing compared to the amount of wips I have, enlisted or not (please, send help).

2. What's your total ao3 word count?

170,058! Nice

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mainly The Owl House.

I have a couple of fics for the Shadowhunter Chronicles, mostly The Last Hours (though I do have a Wicked Powers wip) but I haven't had the most pleasant experiences in the TSC fandom so that'll probably be it.

Oh! I do have 4-ish Mob Psycho 100 fics in the works and a Star Wars one.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

So, what was your name again? No surprises there, it's still lowkey insane to me how much attention that one got

Sentimental, grieving to survive: I think we all were longing for the family reunions after Thanks to Them, so I get it too

Operation 'Make Darius like me': If I had to pick something as my fic writing legacy, it would be Hunter causing Darius psychic damage by saying"meow-meow" in the most deadpan expression in the world

Long lost lies: I remember being sooo excited to write this one and then having a mental illness episode in the middle of it so overall it's funny it came out nice

An unsung melody, mine for safekeeping: I think this was like my third fic??? And it's just pure fluff so... really nice to have it here

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! I cherish each comment dearly so I try to reply to them all within the week. Though I have been going Through It the past couple of months, so I've been falling behind on that :( I love them tho, I'm kinda sad when I don't get any

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Okay, it's either "Loyalty Binds you" or one of my puppet Dadrius reunions which is, in retrospective, incredibly funny because I wrote those 3 one after the other, no hurt/comfort to be found.

I would argue the puppet ones have some hopeful undertones tho, so perhaps "Loyalty Binds you", especially because there's no hopeful ending in sight unless the whim strikes me to write it. It exists. In my head.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I write SUCH cheesy endings, you have no idea, I'm generally not one to leave things in a sad note because I'm too soft for that. But if I have to pick, I woud say "So, what was your name again?" if only because the ending is happy like in most of my fics, but this one, because it's a reunion fic, has a ecstatic sort of quality, I would say.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I have gotten a couple of weird comments, but not hate, no.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Girl, I can barely write people kissing, this is asking too much from me. In all seriousness, I mostly write found family, so no smut here.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Same as candyskiez said, I prefer to write AUs in the setting of other media. I think crossovers can be fun but most of them aren't my thing, ngl.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Once as far as I know. When I went to ask the person to take it down, they deleted their whole profile so... win?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Someone asked me once for permission to translate a fic to Russian, I believe, but I'm not sure if they went through with it.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not really, but Will and I should really get on with the one we have planned. To be fair, I have not replied our unhinged planning in a While™ so it's mostly on me. Oops.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I don't think I have one. Half of the ships I like don't compel me to read fics about them and the other half feel to fresh to even begin to compete as all-time favorite.

If I had to pick tho, I'm going with Cecilos because they meant everything to me from like 14-17.

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

All of them /j

Okay, kidding, I have been so exhausted lately in the writing department buuuut probably "Children of Dust and Ashes". I still love the concept and ideas I had for it but the one other person who cared about it is an ex-friend and as I mentioned before, TSC is a tricky fandom for me so I don't think I can cheerlead myself into finishing this one. I'm sorry to the like... 2 people who seemed interested.

16. What's your writing strengths?

You think I know myself that much? /j

Um. I'm gonna say characterization? I don't think it's perfect, but I do try to keep it consistent and it's something people have praised before so let's go with it.

17. What's your writing weaknesses?

In theory I know a shit ton of vocabulary. In practice, I feel like the language I use is too basic, which I blame a bit on the language barrier, and my descriptions too simple, which is a problem for me in Spanish as well, so that one is all me lmao.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I eat that shit up. Of course, I think it also depends on the context, keep it consistent! Like if a character canonically sprinkles their speech with words/sentences in their own language, one should absolutely strive to imitate that.

I think adding the translations at the end as a note works well.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

In general in life? Lord of the Rings, especifically, about Gimli, he was my guy.

Actually posting online? I'm. Huh. I'd rather not say... I'm willing to say the second one was Voltron Legendary Defender, so you can imagine how bad the first one must have been.

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

"Loving Echoes (In loving memory of Emperor Belos)" is one I was super fond of when I wrote it and I still think back to it when considering my best pieces. I just really liked writing the speech/monologue there.

[indigos-shits-and-giggles]

I posted 13,257 times in 2022

That's 13,244 more posts than 2021!

939 posts created (7%)

12,318 posts reblogged (93%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@thenewborndeity

@the-spaced-out-ace

@warriorblood1

@parotcardsroxy

@figged-newtons

I tagged 2,934 of my posts in 2022

#team starkid - 439 posts

#hatchetfield - 423 posts

#save for later - 265 posts

#not starkid related - 251 posts

#nightmare time - 197 posts

#fanart - 167 posts

#tgwdlm - 164 posts

#my art - 160 posts

#ash :] - 136 posts

#black friday - 124 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#that part in undertale in waterfall with the blue castle in the distance and the quiet sound of rain as you and the weird kid you befriended

I sent 2 gifts in 2022

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Can I just say the use of motifs and background music in the non-musical-number parts in the Hatchetfield shows are fucking amazing? Like just from a few piano notes the audience can either end up laughing or (more likely), bawling their eyes out. The main examples I can think of off the top of my head is

- Ethan's death in Black Friday, with the reprise of Califor-M.I.A

- That part in Jane's a Car where Jane crashes into Becky Barnes and the whole "Crash, bang, Jane" melody now growing panicky and terror stricken

- America's Great Again playing whenever General MacNacmera enters a room in Black Friday

- That part in Hatchetfield Ape Man where Professor Hidgens is talking about Working Boys and that in-between melody that I'll just call "the pitch theme" that's the speaking transition part from Show Stoppin Number to Working Boys.

If anyone sees this, reblog with more, we gotta make a list. Or, heck, let's also use a specific tag, #motifs in hatchetfield.

204 notes - Posted January 21, 2022

#4

Here's an idea: Opposite!Paul TGWDLM AU where he actually LIKES musicals

Basically The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals would have the same general plot, except it's a silent film and the people who are infected are forced to literally never speak. It'd start out as a musical, hell, Paul'd even sing an "I Want" song, and there'd even be background music, but by the end of Act 1 it'd have gone completely and utterly silent.

211 notes - Posted February 17, 2022

#3

Little headcanon that everyone in Hatchetfield notices that one in every five or so people they meet looks almost exactly like them and they just don't care.

Like Alice will be going to Beanies with Bill and run into Zoey and they'll just kind of look at eachother and shrug like "Yup, just a normal day in Hatchetfield."

You aren't a Hatchetfield resident until you run into at least one person who looks vaguely similar to you!

212 notes - Posted March 14, 2022

#2

grrr i hate social studies id rather be listening to a musical set after the 2nd world war about gay spies who are now enemies or the little mermaid in space with alien bugs and evil sunglasses guy who's smoking pot. or maybe that one that symbolizes consumerism with a fuckin furry little monster. or that one with the family of farmers shitting themselves to death.

/j

214 notes - Posted May 2, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Twisted has so many serious lyrics that have no right being this good

Like, here's just a bunch off the top of my head thAT BREAK MY HEART-

"SCIENCE SAYS YOU'RE DEAD AND GONE FOREVER... REASON SAYS I'M TALKING TO THE AIR, BUT SOMETHING IN MY HEART, SOME SECRET HIDDEN PART, ILLOGICALLY INSISTS THAT YOU ARE THERE... SOMEWHEEERRREEEE-" Heartbreaking, beautiful, incredibly depressing. Dylan Saunders is over here ripping my heart in two.

"How will they tell my story? How will they tell my tale? Will anybody even care?!" Openly sobbing at the callback to A Thousand And One Nights

"The question then is whether 'tis nobler in the mind to be well-liked but ineffectual, or moral but maligned." Yes, the musical where there's a character who everyone thinks fucked a tiger is referencing Hamlet and it is fuckin' beautiful

"THE ROAD AHEAD MAY TWIST, BUT I WILL NEVER SWERVE, I'LL GIVE THEM ALL THE UNSUNG ANTIHERO THEY DESERVE!!!!!!!" Just epic, beautiful, kind of bittersweet, but such a powerful line delivered just beautifully

"You are kind, and that's enough." "You're a diamond in the rough.." *muffled sobbing*

In conclusion: Yes, I cried during Twisted, yes I'm gonna go relisten to it right now, don't judge me

278 notes - Posted April 26, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection Day 25: Slow Burn

The difference between living and existing (WIP) | @lucy-is-alive

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 6052 Main Tags/Warnings: John Winchester's A+ parenting, College AU, Sexuality crisis, PTSD, Childhood trauma, Recreational drug use, Angst and hurt/comfort Summary: As soon as he got the chance, Dean left his father behind and went to college. However, he never anticipated that the absence of the person who had disrupted his entire life would make it worse. With the help of his friends, he tries to navigate through the emotional hurricane that comes with complex PTSD.

Celestial | @deservetobesaved

Rating: Mature Word Count: 10585 Main Tags/Warnings: slow burn, mutual pining, fluff, emotional affair, bottom!dean Summary: Dean is in a less than stellar marriage, but he assumes things will work themselves out. At the same time, Mr. Castiel Novak becomes his new co-worker at school and Dean has to rethink everything he thought he had figured out.

Welcome to the Badlands (WIP) | @cr-noble-writes

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 15386 Main Tags/Warnings: graphic violence, dystopian au, fusion, into the badlands au, slow burn Summary: The wars were so long ago, nobody even remembers. Darkness and fear ruled until the time of the Barons, seven men and women who forged order out of the chaos. People flocked to them for protection. That protection became servitude. They banished guns and trained armies of lethal fighters they called Clippers. This world is built on blood. Nobody is innocent here. Welcome to the Badlands.

Profound Kisses | @verobatto-angelxhunter

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 20700 Main Tags/Warnings: Destiel, post 8x07 canon divergent, mutual pining, explicit sexual content, angst with a happy ending, clueless! Castiel, pining!Dean, Top!Dean, Bottom!Cas, slow burn, love confessions, first kiss, french kiss, Sammy knows. Summary: Dean knows he's screwed. He discovers he is in love with Castiel in Purgatory, and now he can't even have the angel in front of him, because he knows it's a one sided love. It’s Valentine's day and Dean tries very hard to hook up as always, but he can't get Cas out of his mind. So he drives back to the motel, drunk, and he finds Castiel trying to help him. Then, when Dean asks Castiel for some experimental kisses and the angel accepts, Dean starts a very dangerous game… finding in Castiel's kisses the most delicious experiences, but also, his own perdition. Will Castiel fall in love with him? Or will he stay emotionless as always?

Hate me, but love me too | @notfunnydean

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 23310 Main Tags/Warnings: Virgin!Dean,f hate spell, hate curse, younger!dean, older!sam, Grace Sharing, First Kiss, First Time, Hate Sex, Dubious Consent, Mildly Dubious Consent, Cas is cursed, (not really MCD but Cas isn't alive in the beginning), Castiel has sex with somebody else in the beginning(and Dean sees it), Heartbreakbut I will fix it! Summary: Dean’s whole life changes when his mother tells him that John isn’t his biological father and he needs to save the world from his sibling Adam, who is the King of Hell. But he can’t do that alone, he needs the best Hunter earth had, Castiel Novak.

Starstruck (WIP) | @peanutbutterjelly-pie

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 40860 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Slow Burn, Actor Dean, Single Parent Castiel, Pining Summary: From the outside Castiel Novak looks like a regular guy: a good job, two teenage kids, a nice house and a crappy car he’s way too attached to. But there’s one thing no one knows about him: that, over twenty years ago, he used to live next to no other than Dean Winchester – back then a brash and loud-mouthed boy and nowadays a huge movie star and Hollywood’s sweetheart. Castiel never bothered to tell anyone about his childhood friend because frankly, who would believe him? Probably even Dean himself already forgot about his former awkward and weird neighbor, so Castiel seriously doesn’t see any point in mentioning the whole thing ever. But then an interview on national TV happens where Dean reveals way more about his past than ever before … and Castiel - as well as the rest of the world - suddenly realizes that he left a much bigger impact on Dean’s life than he originally thought.

Letter to Dean Winchester (WIP) | @castielsangel-blade

Rating: Mature Word Count: 44182 Main Tags/Warnings: Past Lisa/Dean, Past Aaron/Dean, Past Castiel/Dean, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Mentions of Past Cheating, Mentions of Past Toxic Relationship, Gray Romantic Castiel, Asexual Castiel, Epistolary, Bisexual Dean Summary: Castiel writes and sends a letter to Dean Winchester. He wants closure for the toxic relationship they had in high school.

Falling Apart | @cr-noble-writes

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 49204 Main Tags/Warnings: minor character death, sam deceased when fic starts, alcoholism, drug misuse, addiction, rehab au, soulmate au, flashbacks, ptsd Summary: Sword & Cross Resident Rehabilitation is a last-ditch effort for Dean Winchester to move past the drug and drinking problems he developed to bury his guilt over the fire that killed his brother. Not to mention the wild visions and smoky, sentient shadows that have plagued him his entire life. It's supposed to be the best Savannah has to offer, but one look at the crumbling tile floors and dangling crown mouldings, and Dean has his doubts. Enter Castiel Novak. He’s rude, aloof, and a total dick from the moment they lay eyes on each other but Dean can’t help but feel a mysterious connection to the man. Maybe he really has lost his mind. But when Castiel starts making appearances in Dean’s vivid visions of the past, he knows there is more to their link than meets the eye. Even if Cas keeps telling him otherwise. It seems everyone at Sword & Cross knows what’s going on except for Dean. Trying to conquer his mountain of guilt and doubt and figure out the connection he is certain he shares with Castiel is only made harder by the “accidents” that seem to follow him. Not to mention his attraction to Gadreel. Whatever secret Castiel is trying so hard to keep, Dean knows he has to uncover it.

Will you be my ten inch hero? | @notfunnydean

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 57468 Main Tags/Warnings: Bullying, Homophobic Language, Abusive John Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Smut, giving a baby to adoption (not between Destiel), Rape/Non-con Elements, John kicked Dean out, Virgin!Dean, surprise guest appereance, Minor Crowley (Supernatural)/Bobby Singer, Minor Charlie Bradbury/Jo Harvelle, Minor Rowena MacLeod/Gabriel, two surprise pairings, not Ketch or Mick Davies friendly Summary: When John Winchester kicks Dean out, after he saw him kissing another boy, and Dean sees that Sam has a perfect life at Stanford without him, Dean starts a new life in Santa Cruz. He works at a tiny shop as a cook, has found some friends there, and is overall happy enough. That changes when Castiel comes into his shop and his Co-worker Azara, who has a different man every night, starts flirting with him right in front of Dean. Not that he would be jealous or anything, but there is something about Castiel that makes him weak in the knees. Only that Castiel would never want him back, right?

Roll With It | @saltnhalo

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 72818 Main Tags/Warnings: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Boss/Employee Relationship, Secretary Dean, Alternate Universe - Not Hunters, The Proposal AU, Alternate Universe, Romantic Comedy, Romance, Editor Castiel, Fluff and Angst, Sam Winchester at Stanford, POV Alternating, Geek Dean, Russian Castiel, Sharing a Bed, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Top Castiel, Bottom Dean, Misunderstandings, Tattooed Castiel, Love Confessions, Slow Burn Summary: For two years, Dean’s been slaving away beneath his boss – many label him a secretary, but he fucking hates that and feels like it only applies to someone wearing a pencil skirt, so he insists on his title of Executive Assistant. And for what? In the vain hope that one day he’ll manage to become an editor for Sandover Publishing, and that he’ll see the manuscript that he’s slaved over since college finally realized in print. That’s the dream, anyway. Right now, he’s fucking late. Dean wants to be an editor. Castiel just wants to stay in the country. ‘The Proposal’ – as you’ve never seen it before.

When the Magnolias bloom (WIP) | @flurryflair

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 92951 Main Tags/Warnings: slow burn, angst with a happy ending, mutual pining, human!Castiel, divorce, infidelity, middle aged destiel, explicit sexual content, top Castiel/bottom Dean Winchester, top Dean Winchester/bottom Castiel, POV alternating, unresolved sexual tension, denial of feelings, porn with feelings, anxiety attacks, manipulative relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms, canon-typical violence, case fic, bisexual!Dean, demisexual!Castiel, semi-canon, minor Castiel/OMC, minor Dean Winchester/Lisa Braeden Summary: It's been ten years since the Apocalypse. Ten years without talking, without knowing one another. Castiel has a company to handle and a wedding to plan, Dean has a broken marriage and a decision to make. They have separate lives, lovers and families of their own, they aren't supposed to meet again, to mess it all up. And yet they do, when they least expect it, and maybe when they most need it. A story about second chances, about hope and resilience, and a love that feels both doomed and inevitable.

Unsung Melody (WIP) | @toomanyships-sendhelp

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 177617 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Character Death, AU Slaves, Slow Burn Summary: Dean runs a busy bar and grill in Lebanon, Kansas. Semi-retired from hunting, he'll still catch a case when one blows his way or the urge to hunt strikes him again. It isnt until a case that opened decades ago claims another victim and Dean has to get back in the game a little more than he expected.

[virryth]

Undercover Agent!AU Jaehyun

1.5k | Fluff | Gender-neutral reader, enemies to lovers au, mentions of injuries, alcohol, suggestive themes (not NSFW)

Summary: Jaehyun is the best undercover agent in the task force, that is until you show up.

Jaehyun really doesn’t think this is a job for him.

The first night of operation is always the hardest. It’s filled with all the risks, the actions, and the deceits that come with being a field agent. Although Jaehyun isn’t always the first choice for undercover missions, he’s never been excluded from any grandeur covers that boast money and power. His face alone exudes an aura of royalty, and the way he carries himself is just the necessary icing on top.

Tonight is no different. His role is to be the second-generation billionaire set out to trap one of the highly coveted syndicate working in this casino. His team has been collecting intel’s and building covers for months, and finally, tonight Jaehyun plays the big role. He’s to be the bait.

“Is this seat taken?”

Jaehyun turns to find the person who’s been eyeing him the whole night. He knows he’s here for business, but it doesn’t hurt to mingle for intel.

He offers you the bar stool seat beside him, and in just a moment catches your scent.

“Business or pleasure?” your voice floats like a siren’s melody unsung.

Has it not been for the earpiece glued to his left ear he would have surely mistaken this for pleasure.

“Pleasure,” he lies, “and you?”

“Business as usual, but it’s late maybe I should call it a night.”

Jaehyun mulls over calling it a night. It’s an enticing idea, there hasn’t been any movement and in ten minutes the mission’s duration will expire. Maybe he can stay for a while longer and pretend that he really is the loaded billionaire who’s just here for pleasure.

It’s really the deceits and lies that make him think he’s not cut out for the job, because what if he meets the love of his life under such circumstances? Who’s to say they’re falling in love with him for him, and not for his cover?

Perhaps it was the alcohol that led him to where he is, a private room on the 127th floor of the hotel. That’s right. It was definitely the alcohol, the scent of the cool night air, or the weight of those fancy poker chips in his hands that led him to the decision that’s not very smart.

But he can’t stop now, not when your lips are pressed against his, smiling as you catch his hands wandering your body.

Your arms are around his neck and your fingers carding his soft hair as you guide him closer, pulling out a low hum in the back of his throat.

Jaehyun should really think twice before doing what he’s about to do, his years of experience on the task force have taught him to not make such a mistake, but it’s like you’ve flipped a switch in him. Something imploded the moment you touched his shoulder, and on the way up the elevator he’s imagined many things he shall never admit to anyone else.

It’s truly ridiculous how attracted he is to you without even knowing your name, yet at this moment nothing matters but the feeling of your lips, and tongue, on his.

It’s definitely the alcohol.

***

The next time Jaehyun sees you, he couldn’t believe it.

“Leave us.”

With a wave of your hand, your minions shuffle to the door, leaving him alone with you. Your voice is just as he remembered, the floating, enticing melody that seems to draw out his deepest desires.

Jaehyun is tied up, caught in the third undercover mission by the syndicate’s right hand operative. His arms and legs suffered injuries due to the beatings, but his eyes wouldn’t excuse him the benefit of the doubt.

The beautiful person he’s spent the night with just two weeks ago sits in the center of the dimly lit room, your arms folded and your eyes pierce through him like a razor. Perhaps it’s the alcohol again that he still desires what he sees and not be absolutely terrified like everyone else is of you.

The right hand of the syndicate, per intel, does not have a name. People refer to you as Number Two for your ranking within the hierarchy. You certainly earned the spot, only five years into the system and already earning utmost respects and commanding thousands. You certainly are capable, and Jaehyun thinks highly of the person before him. So highly that he’s already abandoned the hope of ever making it out of here in one piece.

You approach him, not without stride, and crouch to the level he’s kneeling. Your eyes hold no malice as you study him. There’s a fresh cut underneath his right eye from the altercation, but otherwise he remains as handsome as you remember. Jung Jaehyun, star of the special investigative force to take down the syndicate—such a pity that he makes the mistake of getting caught today.

Your face was so close that Jaehyun feels the need to hold his breath. An inch further and your lips would touch. In those seconds, his eyes never strayed from yours, and in the same nick of a second, he spots the same earring you wore on that first night.

Jaehyun remembers taking it off for you, how you had smiled at him, and how his hands had trembled slightly in fear of hurting you. He remembers the feeling of your hands on his chest, your breaths on his neck, the feeling of your skin on his mouth, how you felt on top of him, and the way you gasped his name over and over.

Snap out of it, Jung Jaehyun.

He shakes his head slightly. Unbelievable. Here he is with probably minutes to left to live—his very own life dangling right over his head and he just can’t seem to stop thinking about you. It’s pathetic, really.

“Don’t make a sound and listen to me very closely.”

“What?”

“I said,” you quickly covers his mouth with your hand, your voice softer than a whisper, “don’t make a sound.”

He nods, unsure how this would change his fate in any way.

“I’m going to untie you, then you are going to grab me and jump out of that window over there.”

Jaehyun follows your gaze to the source of the cool night air, the window is barely opened enough for it to look locked and closed from the inside.

“Focus, Jaehyun,” your voice snaps him back as you tells him your name, “I’m the same as you, just deeper under the cover in the syndicate.”

Jaehyun can’t wrap his mind around it, you’re way too close and he still is holding his breath.

“We can’t risk losing you today, so we’re going to escape together. I’m going to untie you and in two minutes we’re leaving. I’ve got a car waiting right outside and I’m going to yell out before we jump to alert the minions. The story will be you kidnapping me, are we clear?”

Jaehyun can only nod, there’s no reason for you to lie, and he doesn’t see any possible way he can escape his death today. Questions will have to be asked later.

And later it seems, for the ruse turned out to be exactly as you had planned. In just ten minutes, Jaehyun had jumped off a building, climbed into a car, and is now speeding away in the passenger seat of the car you had prepared.

They lost the trails pretty quick since you’re as skilled as you’re rumored to be, grinning as you zoom past the layer of security laid out around the casino.

“Don’t worry, they won’t catch us since I’ve tinted and bullet-proofed the windows.”

Jaehyun nods—it’s all he seems to be doing lately.

When you both were finally out of danger, you toss him the first aid kit you keeps in the car, eyeing the cut on his face.

“I would do it for you but I’m driving,” you give him a sad smile, and he finds it almost adorable had he not been so stunned at how fast everything was happening.

Jaehyun fiddles with the box before disinfecting the wound and pasting a bandaid on his cheek. He only has one burning question—no, make that two—that he’s unsure if he should ask, but he does anyway when it looks like you’re nearing the station.

“Did you already know who I was that night?”

You twitch in your seat, the movement not unnoticed by Jaehyun, and he half expects you to say yes.

“No, I wasn’t brief on a possible new cover.” Your voice is smaller than usual, and Jaehyun caught the tint of pink forming on your cheek. “I just thought you were a regular businessman.”

Oh.

Your answer floods Jaehyun with a sense of relief. Then it really was the alcohol, and not just for him, for both of you.

“So, what now?” comes his second question.

You grin, the same grin he remembered from that first night, an innocent glee that sparkles with mischief.

“I hope you don’t mind me, but we’ll be on the run for a few weeks.”

Jaehyun doesn’t even know where to begin asking, and it’s not like he can contact his team with his communication devices destroyed in the altercation.

But Jaehyun is sure of one thing, he definitely wouldn’t mind at all.

-V

Read more Jaehyun au here | Neighbor Jaehyun | More NCT AU

[otomes-and-tears]

♦ an unsung melody (is mine for safekeeping) (6/10) ♦

► tags/warnings: pregnancy, past character death, angst

► words: 2204  

► A/N: If you have any name suggestions i’d love to hear them!

Part (01)  (02)  (03)  (04) (05)

► Masterlist

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, I haven’t changed my mind in the last five minutes, Erika.”

They were standing in the living room space of a small house, just outside of the main headquarters. 

Moving homes was something that Erika had brought up shortly after they started planning. It was an afterthought, a small suggestion that she had been mulling over for a while.

The walls of the HQ’s rooms weren’t thin, but they definitely wouldn’t hold up against a baby’s wails, particularly when thinking about faelians with sensitive hearing, and as the child grew up, moving away from the HQ rooms was an inevitability.

Nevra agreed with her— and then surprised her by suggesting to help her with it.

Well. Suggesting might be a slight understatement. It was closer to him simply informing her that he intended to help and wouldn’t accept no for an answer.

So that’s how they’re here. Nevra is carefully inspecting one of the rooms (with the wide windows and light yellow curtains she can almost picture a nursery) while she lingers behind, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to another while playing with the sleeves of her oversized sweater. Her feet are already aching, she can feel them swelling inside the boots that she stubbornly decided to wear, and she’s already annoyed due to hunger.

The house seemed fine to her.

She rebuilt her life with way less in the past and Erika was glad enough to have her own kitchen and bathroom, but Nevra was being a little… too attentive.

In normal circumstances, she would’ve kindly asked him to mind his own business and let her handle it, but despite the annoyance, she found it sweet for him to be worried.

Besides, as part of their agreement, Nevra would technically be living with her for a while due to their child. So, it was his business. 

(If her heart fluttered at the thought of this being their home, it was no one’s business but Erika’s.)

The person Huang Hua sent along to show them the available homes looked at Erika strangely, with the same expression that she’d usually associate with people who had known of her and not met her.

It was unnerving to be observed so intensely, they weren’t even trying to be discreet about it! It just made her feel uncomfortable and overexposed.

It had only been a couple of days since the big announcement. Erika didn’t want one, but it was a necessary evil. 

Overall, it hadn’t been too bad. Huang Hua gathered the HQ residents in the doors corridor and announced the good news. While Erika could feel the tension in the air, no doubt due to the increasingly strange phenomena surrounding Eldarya and Earth, most people were nice enough to be excited for her.

She spent the last few days being congratulated and teased, and trying to ignore the waves of sadness and grief she felt, but knew weren’t her own. 

Leiftan was trying his hardest to keep his emotions in check, she could feel the attempts to keep his grief locked away, but some things one can’t simply help.

The emotion sharing was something Erika was still getting used to, being a relatively minor footnote in the absolute chaos that had been the last couple of months but couldn’t help but feel bothered by it.

She tried to shake off that train of thought. She could deal with Leiftan’s mess later.

Now she had a different priority, who was carefully analysing the peeling wallpaper on the house’s walls.

“Aren’t most of the homes similar?” Erika tried to smile, as kindly as she could, to try to sway Nevra. “This one is one of the closest to the HQ and it’s in fantastic shape!”

It wouldn’t even need remodelling or that much furnishing. Just some cleaning and decorating and it would be perfect. 

Nevra looked at her like she had just sprouted a second head. The poor faelian murmured  “I’ll leave you two to discuss” before going outside and closing the door behind them.

“I’m tired,” Erika admits. It had been the fifth available, and final, house they’d seen today and none of them had satisfied Nevra. “It’s the last home we can move into on such short notice. Can we just… choose one? They were all great.”

“Do you… Seriously expect so little?”

The half-human stopped and blinked. Nevra’s serious expression morphed into something softer, kinder. His eyes were full of pity.

“What do you mean?”

Erika asks, genuinely. Nevra’s voice is slightly exasperated when he answers.

“Don’t you want a bigger house? Somewhere quieter? A garden? Maybe a little library?”

She snorted before she noticed he was being serious.

By the oracle, imagine if she had been offered a garden when she first arrived. A library and large rooms?

All she got was a room without even a mattress, and she was deemed over dramatic for throwing a fit.

The idea of demanding more right now never even crossed her mind.  

Erika had to fight tooth or nail for the right to exist. To retain even a shred of dignity in a world that was hostile to her.

She gave up a lot, too much.

And now, all she needed was somewhere comfortable for her child to live, that was close enough to the HQ that they could summon her quickly in case of emergencies.

She saved the world and all she got was a statue and more responsibilities. This harsh world taught her to expect nothing at all from her efforts.

But still, Nevra stands beside her and expects her to ask for more. Erika doesn’t even know what to say.

(A small, intimate part of her brain screams you. I want you, but she pushes the feeling down.)

“Maybe when this is all behind us.” She says, quietly. Erika moves to stand closer to the window, taking in the view of the other houses in the refuge. “When there isn’t this big, looming threat on the world— When Eldarya is at peace. Then we can move into a nice, big house with a library and a garden.”

“We?”

He asks, and out of the corner of her eye, she can see him getting closer. Is her mind playing tricks on her or does he sound hopeful?

“We.” She confirms, nodding her head as an extra measure. “Unless you don’t want that— which is totally cool, by the way. No pressure.”

It was all wishful thinking, anyway. The idea of living peacefully in Eldarya without the threat of war or a major disaster seemed distant, almost impossible.

But it was nice to think about. A pretty, fleeting fantasy.

“I’d like that.” 

Nevra says, after a moment. Erika snaps her head to look at him so quickly that it seems almost cartoonish.

“You do?”

She asks, again, dumbfounded.

“Yes, I do.”

He seems to consider something before saying it, and Erika strains to be patient about it. 

It seems like all they do lately is wait for each other, hiding meaning between the lines and hoping that the other understands it. 

She’s tired of toeing the line. Tired of the ambiguity, but too scared to ask more of him. 

So she waits and hopes he’s getting tired of these games too.

“There’s nothing I want more than for us to live in peace,” Nevra says, standing beside her to look out the window. “You deserve the life that you wish for, Erika. Our child deserves it too. And there’s nothing I’d love more than to be in it.”

He reaches out to touch her face, cupping her cheek with his hand. She leans against it, relishing in the comfort that the contact brought.

She did not cry, not this time. 

She felt a little silly for thinking that Nevra only cared for her now because she was carrying his child.

Nevra wouldn’t look at her like this if it wasn’t the case— the way his eyes softened, as if he was looking at something precious, the gentle curve of a smile on his lips, wasn’t something he ever granted to anyone else.

The fondness, the care, and the deep bond they shared, being united not only by the child they had created but by all that they went through beforehand— the battles, the reveals, the sorrow, joy and everything in between. It was far more than a romantic relationship, too sacred of a connection to be defined in words.

They were good people who had been through far too much. Who had the weight of the world thrust upon them at too young of an age, and who still had to carry the burden of the type of power they possessed— Erika wanted to be selfish, just for once, and hope for a happy ending. A happy ending where the world was saved, she was allowed to love and be loved without tragedy, and her baby would live so happily that they wouldn’t know the pain their parents went through.

An ending that she could share with Nevra this time.

Where she wouldn’t have to leave him behind to pick up the pieces in the name of the greater good.

“I’ll be there. In any way you’ll have me.”

He added, and Erika nodded. It wasn’t hard to believe him like this when he seemed so desperate to show her that he was sincere in his words.

“Even if all I want is to live here with you?”

Nevra rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed by her request, even if she could plainly see how it wasn’t true.

“If that’s what makes you happy.”

The vampire leaned down to kiss her forehead, the gesture seeming so natural that it didn’t even register as something to be embarrassed about. He turned away to call over the representative outside when Erika reached out to grab one of his hands.

The action was purely impulsive. Just, Erika wishing to stay in that little bubble they’d created for a little while longer, to be able to linger in the happy ending she fantasised about for just a second more.

“Yes?”

He was puzzled by her reaction, and she didn’t know what to say at first, what words would be suitable to explain the flurry of thoughts and emotions that had tormented her from the second she saw him after her awakening. But she couldn’t just say nothing. Erika would never be able to forgive herself if she let him go a second time.

Did the notion of a happy ending even matter in the long run? What’s the use of suffering, of putting all her needs aside for the sake of a nebulous greater good if she was doomed to a tragic ending anyways?

Maybe the ending doesn’t matter. It never did. All endings are tragic in their own bittersweet way, after all.

Life isn’t fair. She can’t hope for a happy ending in exchange for all she has endured, that’s the lesson that her life in eldarya had taught her. All she can hope for is to live happily in the present and to surround herself with love right now so she doesn’t have regrets in the future. 

Erika looks up at Nevra, as he waits for her, patiently, expectantly.

“I think I am in love with you.”

The words came easily, and she didn’t feel scared or hesitant. It just felt right. It felt right to look at him at that moment, alone in what would soon be their home and confess that to him.

He seemed surprised for a moment, before quickly regaining his composure and pulling her close, leaning in like he was about to kiss her.

She closes her eyes, expectant before she feels his breath on her neck. His lips were close to her ear.

“You think?” He whispers, and she flushes in embarrassment. Of course, he would tease her for that. “Well, I think I need more certainty than that.”

“I know.” Erika corrects herself  “I never stopped loving you, Nevra.”

That seems to satisfy him because just as she was wondering if she should open her eyes and flee in embarrassment she feels his soft lips against hers, and it feels like coming home.

All the tension around them was finally gone— the last piece of the puzzle finally clicking into place, and all she could feel was relief.

It feels too soon when he stops kissing her, and she’s about to lean in for another one when he hugs her, too tightly, as if she was going to disappear if he loosened his hold.

Erika feels the tears welling up in her eyes. He needed this more than he needed the kiss- he needed the assurance, that she was there and that she loved him and that she wouldn’t disappear again. The thought of it makes her cling to him too.

For a long time, they don’t speak. The only sounds echoing in the empty house being Erika’s sobs as Nevra holds her.

“I love you.” He whispers, quietly into her hair. Those words were only ever meant to her, only hers to hear. “It’s always been you. No one but you.”

[vivianquill]

anyway. if anyone would like it, i certainly have Thoughts™️ about the song i chose for the title of the dragonfrost au fic. Unsung Melody is Such a fitting title. and the rest of the song even more so

It is times like these when i wish i had put as much effort into drawing as i have into writing.

[yexiu]

can i get a new spideytorch fic rec this fine wednesday evening 😌 hope ur having a good day also

lmao sorry this took a while, i had finals! but sure, i can do that!! i’ll even do u one better and combine all of my past fic recs all in one post so i can have Just One and update it whenever there’s new fics in the tag! fyi these are all strictly non-mcu. as always, blanket rec on anything by @traincat!

work song

johnny and peter and the aftermath of superior spider-man and secret wars 2015. do i think you should read superior spider-man? no. should you read this? yes.

just married series

johnny and peter get married post-negative zone to fool some aliens

tales from the back pages

soulmate words au, really really cute and based around asm #1 and #3

the soul of love

johnny + cooking, post-secret wars + parker industries period

you light my morning sky

60s au, drive-ins and milkshakes and falling in love

between the smoke and ruins

fantastic four are villains au and i love it

always glad you came

teen spideytorch + identity antics and misunderstandings

:D bro!!

college roommates, fant4stic and webb spider-man verse

the gay superhero alliance

lgbt superhero group, lots of cameos

in the spotlight

of course peter parker would be in a musical disaster about himself and johnny’s life mission is to embarrass him

all of these thousand miles

gay space roadtrip to find the fantastic four and future foundation

black magic, love, and other unexplainable sensations

fantasy au, prince johnny

the world, reversed

johnny gets kidnapped (typical), peter travels across universes to get him back

satellite call

psychic vampires! projecting all of your self hatred to the ones you love the most! fun!

can you tell

identity antics! johnny is in love with spider-man AND peter parker? shocker! (shocker is not actually in this, sorry to deceive u)

perfect distraction

high school teacher peter trying to lead a club, johnny is a distraction. i ADORE teacher peter

whatever a sun will always sing is you

post-secret wars battleworld fallout

with your last breath

last words soulmate au with the negative zone! fun!

you could have been mine

spideytorch: the one where it’s ben

scorched earth

less focus on spideytorch, but it’s there! a exploration of ben & johnny’s relationship set during marvel two-in-one (2017) #8

the way you see through me

set after spider-man/fantastic four #3! spider-man very awkwardly kissed sue, and johnny’s…jealous? no, that’s not it.

a melody that’s calling your name

fake relationship antics in high school. also, the college five foursome is real

til planet-rise

star wars au, also heist fic

sleeping with ghosts

no powers au, peter is caught up in some shady science, johnny is gay and worried

out of the dead lands

au where peter joins johnny in the negative zone

surrounded by wolves

villain peter, johnny is gay and weirdly into that, kinda

the boy from new york city

if you read one fic from this list, read this. webb spider-man and fant4stic-verse. peter puts on the mask after gwen’s death while johnny convinces the team to move back to new york

an unsung melody is mine

kid fic. johnny and peter follow in sue and reed’s steps and get baby fever

better in picture

peter & matt are dating!? no but that’s what johnny thinks. 

i came in from the outside, burnt out from the joyride

more post-secret wars 2015 sadness

the spider in west egg

kinda based on the great gatsby? but not exactly. i mean, they’re still superheroes

river eyes

spider-man noir but now featuring movie star johnny!! man we deserved fantastic four noir

built to fall apart (and back together)

au where spider-man disappears after k*ssing johnny storm. also wow! peter parker is now a millionaire? 

secrets kept in half light

spider-man noir verse. detective stuff. 

that’s it for now! i’ll keep this post updated with any new ones that come out and i like so come back to the original if it’s been a while!

[literaphobe]

made up fic title: don’t wanna live as an unsung melody // what a waste of blood and sweat

idk if ur suggesting two separate fic titles or one long one (i googled n these r song lyrics) BUT anyway id write this as a singer/band/popstar au!! 

jake and amy are idols who’ve just recently debuted

amy’s in a girl group where she’s a main dancer who does v minimal singing 

jake’s a lead rapper in a boy group

they meet backstage in between dressing rooms at a music showcase one day and hit it OFF 

except their contracts/their agencies FORBID them from dating. esp idols from other agencies and GUESS WHAT they are from :( different agencies :( 

v woe is me type deal and their budding crushes on each other come completely out of left field!! they trained to be stars from a young age and love never crossed their mind 

becoming the best in their field and getting famous used to be the dream 

but now its each other 

so theres a bunch of secret dating that goes down they test the waters and they just. end up falling in love and realizing their spark can’t be put out with a few dates and a lil bit of messing around 

so they have to decide: do they give up on their careers or each other?

but before they can decide, the press decides for them!! boom, a picture of jake and amy kissing is leaked and they get in major trouble 

they’re told to end the relationship or lose their jobs :( 

to be continued...

send me a made-up fic title and i'll tell you what i would write to go with it

[ullasabat]

Battle of the Bands

▁ ▂ ▃ ▄ ▅ ▆ █▓▒░〈🎸🕷♪🕷♬🕷♪🎤〉░▒▓█ ▇ ▅ ▃ ▂ ▁

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

🕷Notable Characters: Hobie, Miguel, Gabriel, Gwen and 1st person pov OC / MC

🎸Premise: AU! The summer before college MC, Gabriel O'Hara, and Miguel O'Hara go on an international road trip with their metal band, Neon Requiem.  Destination?  BandFest, the Battle of the Bands in London guaranteed to secure the winning band a record deal.  They meet other ATSV characters along the way. 

🕷WC: 0:00 ————|——— -3,000 ↻ ◁ II ▷

🎤A/N: New Adult magical realism AU (obvi) brain worm that has grown from a 2-shot screenplay for some fun comics into a monster.  This fic is like Tremors in my brain.

───────────── {.⋅🕷 ♫ 🕷 ⋅.} ───────────────  

 ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : << Chapter 1 >> “Vous êtes maître de votre vie et de vos émotions, ne l’oubliez jamais. Pour le meilleur et pour le pire” 

The Rusty Nail's neon whir and raucous rhythms had been muted to a melancholy hum that evening, it was a ghost town, the emptiness of the dimly lit bar echoing with decades of unfulfilled longings. I nursed my drink, letting the smoky burn of liquor etch contours of quiet contemplation onto my throat as I surveyed the handful of kindred souls keeping solemn vigil. Life had been feeling heavy, and I needed to write, to make art, and to get lost in music.

At the far end of the bar hunched a beautiful wraith, his slim, angular frame sheathed in torn denim and studded leather. Something indefinable shimmered around him, unsung poetry, snippets of melodies, a symphony I could see and hear and almost touch. Drawn like a moth to the lambent glow of the music, I slid onto the stool beside the ethereal punk spectre. In my mind's eye, I crowned him the prince of punk, a fairy tale rebel.

Our bodies brushed intimately in the cramped space, raising ghosts of sensation along the exposed skin of my fishnets. "Wozzat, luv?" he murmured, kohl-rimmed eyes flickering over the point of contact with a soldering heat.

Mon dieu, {My God} Had I spoken my admiration aloud? A flush crept up my cheeks as I scrambled for a response.

"Désolé. Je répétais quelque chose pour ne pas l'oublier… Need to write it down before I lose it," {Sorry. I was repeating something so I wouldn't forget it…} I mumbled, a flimsy excuse for my wandering mind.

Fumbling through my bag, I pulled out my tattered notebook, fingers trembling as I scribbled down a scrap of verse inspired by the punk's incandescent presence beside me. I scribbled my observations in hasty strokes. The dying light of day bled into night, a liminal space that begged for a soundtrack. I could almost hear it, a melody just out of reach, shimmering in the smoky air.

"The liminal light of late afternoon, yawning into early evening…" I muttered, pulling on the strings of the melody, trying to draw it back to me. "I don't want to be loved for the things that I don't do. I don't want to be just a pretty face, I want to be a work of art…We are all just works of art."

The jukebox fell silent, making my mutterings around sift and strange, slightly unhinged---but the punk prince remained---his gaze heavy on my skin. I met his stare, unflinching. Unabashed curiosity flickered in eyes, wide brown and doe-like, framed by lashes so lush they seemed to blur the line between masculine and feminine, earthly and ethereal. I found myself dizzied by warring impulses - to flee this unsettling intimacy, or be consumed by it wholly.

He was a changeling, gorgeously androgynous: part punk Mona Lisa with a Cheshire cat grin, part Jean-Michel Baptiste, part force-of-fucking-nature. He made me feel like a background character in his story, could be a punk fairy princess, and I would be the dragon.

My thoughts raced, fragments of poetry and half-formed desires. I scribbled faster, chasing the threads of inspiration, but a nudge from my prince brought me back to earth.

Snatches of poetry, raw and unfinished, that I urgently longed to refine on the page before they dissipated like the last wisps of smoke in a spent ashtray. But the punk's aura dragged me too deeply into devotional reverie. I glanced up apologetically as my concentration scattered, the thread of inspiration slipping through my fingers once more.

The bartender had sprouted up directly in front of me, and she eyed me expectantly. Her hair was a shock of blue curls and silver streaks shorn close to her scalp, it made her eyes seem more gray. Her skin etched with lines that mapped out the years like a roadmap. I felt the familiar pang of a poem lost to the ether.

"Un…Jack Daniel's, s'il vous plaît," {A…Jack Daniel's, please} I said, no longer able to filter its lilt from my words, as I wasn't paying attention to dulling it.

"Blimey, that's a proper choice, innit? You 'ere for the battle of the bands event this week, love?"

"Oui, how did you know?" {Yes, how did you know?}

"Just a…sense," he demurred with a wicked grin. "Call it a punk's intuition, darling. I'm in the mix too, y'know."

The bartender chuckled as she set my drink down. "You mean because everyone is here for Bandfest? Don't listen to this one, lovey, he's incorrigible. The crowds will be in later on, but you're a bit early."

"Shh, Roz. Who's up tonight?" The prince asked, a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Oh, you want insider information? What's in it for me?"

"Givin' away free tattoos, could autograph yer arm, love."

"I'll pass, thanks. The brackets are up in an hour anyway. It's Night Terrors vs. Death Rapture, Blood Prophecy vs. Cherry Bomb, Spider Punks vs. Neon Requiem…"

"Why are the punk bands going up against the metal bands?" I asked, just as the prince inquired about Phantom Pulse.

"There wasn't a lot of quality competition this year, or that's what the sponsors said, so they automatically advance to the semifinals since they won last year."

"Bollocks!" The prince cried, his outrage palpable.

"Oi Punk, you don't want to sign with Vic Luna at Zenith Music Group, anyway."

"Tu…ne le fais pas? Mais pourquoi?" {You…don't? But why?} The words tumbled out, my curiosity getting the better of me. At her blank stare, I repeated the question in English, heat rising to my cheeks.

Roz leaned in, her voice low, "Look kid, it's complicated…"

The prince rolled his eyes, a sneer playing at his lips. "Betrayed a lot of good bands."

"You don't need to remind me, Punk, I lived through it.  Despite the changes at Zenith Music Group, they still organize the annual Bandfest, which showcases both established and emerging talent in the punk and metal scenes. The event is highly respected within the community and provides a platform for bands to gain exposure and connect with fans," the bartender continued, her words stilted, rehearsed.

"Ay, and they are the sponsor bringing in your crowds." The prince's voice was sharp, laced with an emotion I couldn't quite place.

"The only time we're out of the red, punkass. We'd have to shut down if it weren't for the Battle." She said heavily, "Which is the greater evil, we are a place of refuge for several members of the community, not just you."

"You don't need to remind me Roz, I'm living through it.  Right, I'll stop ragging on the corporate sods for now, until you have some plausible deniability." He raised his hands in mock surrender, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

"There's a good Punk." Roz smiled, sliding him another pint before retreating.

I made a mental note to warn my bandmates about Vic and Zenith's sordid history. We were in this for the music, not the money, no one played metal for the money--but it never hurt to be cautious.

"Roz is like the den mother of the London punk scene, a living testament to grit and resilience, and screaming yourself hoarse at basement shows. Dream t'be like her when I grow up. To listen without judgment, offer advice without preaching, and know when to slide a shot of whiskey across the bar and when to cut you off. She has a way of looking at you, really seeing you, like you matter… like you are more than just another face in the crowd." His voice trails off, heavy with emotion. He blinks and shakes it off. 

"Can I see it?" The prince's voice cut through our lost thoughts, his fingers reaching for my notebook.

I clutched it to my chest, a knee-jerk reaction. "Can you look into my very soul, like Roz?"

His smirk widened, that Cheshire cat grin that set my heart racing. He nodded, a challenge in his eyes.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he purred, and I felt my stomach flip. I repeated the phrase in my mind, first in French, then in English, just to be sure I'd heard him right. Wasn't this some flirty idiom?

"You have a book of poetry somewhere hidden in those skinny jeans, mon ami?" {my friend?} I ask, hesitant, double-checking his meaning. He flirts like others breathe.

In lieu of an answer, he produced a sharpie from thin air. Before I could protest, he had my arm in his grasp, his touch electric against my skin. I shrugged off my leather jacket, baring my arms to his ink-stained fingers. Roz chuckled as she set another drink before me, clearly amused by the prince's antics.

"You'll need it…I see you took this wanker up on the free tattoo offer. Don't let him draw any on your arms."

"Any? …Any what?"

"Wankers," she clarified with a laugh. It clarifies nothing, I need to study my British slang.

"I would not mar the flesh of such a beautiful and willing participant, Roz. Kindly fuck off," the prince mumbled around the sharpie cap clenched between his teeth.

Between the verses he scrawled, he peppered me with questions, his voice a giddy whisper.

"So, who's your poison, love? Which bands get your motor runnin'?"

"Ah, j'adore Rammstein, Gojira, et bien sûr, Motörhead. And so many others, doesn't even scratch the surface. Et toi?" {Ah, I love Rammstein... And you?}

"Proper choices, those. For me, it's the classics - Sex Pistols, The Clash, Buzzcocks. Real raw, in-your-face stuff, y'know?"

I leaned in, excited, but too close. I nearly jumped as my lips grazed the dusky shell of his ear. "Ah, un homme de bon goût! I've seen the Buzzcocks live, you know. Pure chaos, c'était incroyable!" {Ah, a man of good taste! I've seen the Buzzcocks live, you know. Pure chaos, it was incredible!}

"No bleedin' way! Metal chick like you? I'd give me left bollock to have seen the Sex Pistols live. But I did catch The Clash back in '07. Changed me life, it did."

"Lemmy, sans aucun doute. The man's a legend!" {Lemmy, without a doubt.} I declare into the bar.

"Oi, don't go disrespectin' Johnny, now! The bloke's a punk icon, 'e is!"

"You're a punk icon!" someone shouted from the back, but the prince waved them off with a grin.

"Oh, I didn't catch your name," I said, with a sudden shame, my brow furrowed.

"Everyone just calls me Punk. You can too. Just not dirty punk, we don't want to come to blows, do we, love?"

"I'd kick your ass, mon ami. Pas grand chose à donner, mon petit prince des fées… eh mon prince dégingandé, right? I would not describe you as petite even if you are skinny." {I'd kick your ass, my friend. Not much to give, my little fairy prince… eh my lanky prince, right?}

Miguel was at my side in an instant, all rippling muscle and furrowed consternation. "Carnalita, {little sis} why did you sneak out on practice just to drink in this hellhole?" he rumbled, disapproval lacing every sonorous word. Tenderness faded a bit.

I met his gruff chiding with an insouciant toss of my hair. "Salut, Miguel. Ça fait longtemps." {Hello, Miguel. It's been a while.}

"Is that Jack? No puedo mas… Carnalita…This shit is bad for you." {I can't take it anymore…little sis...}

"Je nais etre rond comme une queue de pelle. Tu es vraiment un trou de balle quand tu dis des choses pareilles!" {I would be round as a shovel handle. (Idiom, essentially she is saying ~ I was born to be drunk) You are really a dumbass when you say things like that!}

Miguel's grumbling stream of Spanish reprimands washed over me as I settled into our familiar dynamic - the tender yet terse cantata of friend and protector that had composed them score of our relationship since childhood. For all his bluster, I knew every arrhythmic cadence encoded Miguel's steadfast affection.

Only Gabriel's soft interjection could salve the rising discord. "You worry too much, Miggy. We've been practicing all week."

He cast me a plaintive glance, silently pleading for conciliation, and I grudgingly obliged with an internal eyeroll. "Qu'il aille se faire! C'est vraiment chiant tu te rends compte." {Let him go fuck himself! It's really annoying, you know.}

Heedless of my saucy french asides, Miguel merely drew a fortifying breath before continuing in that maddening timbre of unrelenting reason. "Gabri and I could have come out with you. You shouldn't go out alone in an unknown city - it's not safe for you, mi carnalita."

The prince leaned towards us with a lazy smirk, "S'not that serious. The Rusty Nail is safe enough." He paused as the bartender snorted in agreement before continuing, "We're keeping the lady safe, mate…you can trust me, I'm one of the Spider-Punks."

Miguel simply sneered at the prince's proffered handshake, dismissing it out of hand. "You have arms like sticks. How would you keep her safe?"

The punk's smirk widened as he shrugged. "Ah, one of those. Never skip leg day, eh bruv?"

I strangled a guffaw as Gabriel hastened to run interference, engulfing the punk's hand eagerly. "We've heard of you guys, the local punk band, yeah? Your drummer is…gahh…Ah-Mazing! You think we could meet?"

"You call that punk noise "rock"?" Miguel scoffed. "Metal is where the real skill lies…Real talent is in the complexity, the technical skill. Metal pushes boundaries, takes you to new places. Punk's just three chords and an attitude."

I rolled my eyes. At this rate, I'd have to drag Miguel out before he started a brawl.

"Ah, mais non, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, non?" {Ah, but no, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, right?}

Miguel grunted, but squeezed my hand.

I stood, motioning for him to lean in close. "Allez, let's save the competition for the stage, d'accord? I learned some things about the record company. We should talk in private." {Come on, let's save the competition for the stage, okay?}

The prince unfolded himself, towering over me. "Tell you what, mate. Let's settle this on stage. We'll let the crowd decide who's got the real chops," he challenged.

Gabriel chimed in, "Pero, mana's right, Miguel." {But, sister is right, Miguel.}

Miguel looked ready to explode, but Gabriel's eyes held him in check.

"Music's music. Let's just focus on putting on a good show, and maybe we can learn something from their band, eh?" Gabriel said.

The prince leaned in, lips grazing my cheek. "Aye, love. Can't wait to teach your wall of meat here a thing or two. How about we give 'em a show they won't forget…later?"

I grinned, "Oui! A collaboration? Here… Ça ne casse pas trois pattes à un canard…mais, pour vous. I want it back later." {Yes! A collaboration? Here…It doesn't break three duck legs (Idiom ~ It's nothing special) …but, for you. I want it back later.}

The lanky punk sauntered off, his studded boots leaving faint trails of glitter on the barroom floor. Miguel's scowl deepened as he watched him depart, fists clenched tightly.

"Is that your poetry notebook?" he growled, voice rumbling low.

"Yes, I traded it to the punk faerie for these tattoos, I smirked, revealing the vine-like scrawl of ink now adorning my flesh like raised scars from whipping brambles.

Miguel's face darkened further, storm clouds gathering at my words. "The one you never let anyone touch or read…"

His voice strangled to a whisper, and I could not parse the complex calculus of emotions flitting behind his eyes

Gabriel placed a calming hand on his brother's arm.

"Easy, hermano {brother}. He's not worth it," Gabriel said in a soothing tone.

"Be nice, Punk is a good guy. I like him," I countered softly, a warm glow blossomed within me as I realized my entire arm was now a crawling garden of sentences entirely in French.

Miguel opened his mouth, undoubtedly to unleash a heated retort, but Gabriel cut in, "Should we go look at the brackets to see who we're facing?"

"It looks like my entire arm is covered with quotes from The Little Prince, which happens to be my favorite book. It's actually quite a sweet gesture," I said softly, fingertips grazing the raised words like treasured runes.

With renewed curiosity, I examined the ink quote now etched on my skin: "Vous êtes maître de votre vie et de vos émotions, ne l'oubliez jamais. Pour le meilleur et pour le pire." {You are the master of your life and your emotions, never forget that. For better or worse.}

I didn't mention the lone scrawl that could have been a phone number hidden amidst the literary foliage now vining my limb. Miguel was in full-on Dad mode, and I didn't need to add fuel to that particular fire.

"I already know the competition for the quarterfinals, we don't need to waste our time. Come on, manos {used as slang for brother}, we're going to kick some ass!" I giggled brightly, elated at my new 'tattoos' scrawling up my arms. I didn't put my leather jacket back on, I didn't want to cover any of it up.

Miguel's glare never wavered, his eyes fixed on the far side of the bar where the prince had disappeared into the crowd. "Don't tempt me. Let's go, carnalita {little sister}, time for practice."

With a resigned sigh, I surrendered to my brothers' insistent tugs, allowing them to lead me from the Rusty Nail. But the punk prince's parting words still reverberated through my mind like the lingering notes of a siren song. Later, he had purred, that single hushed syllable seeming to contain all the intoxicating lure of a siren's call - equal parts velvet promise and brazen challenge, twined inextricably into an enchantment I could not resist. The whole damn bar was a sailor's nightmare.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4