#drafting typos

[draftingtides]

He puzzles over the nearly worn out soles of Jaskier's shoes. If they're of such quality, how does he go through them so much faster than Geralt? They go nearly everywhere together, it’s not like Jaskier is walking more than— It hits him, all at once, that Jaskier walks far, far more than Geralt. They travel the same distances, but Geralt always rides Roach. Jaskier walks miles a day, easily.

1.7k words, rated M, geraskier, addressing the fact that jaskier walks everywhere while geralt rides roach, fluff and soft geralt

[roppiepop]

Who’s coming to the cookout?

[turbo-tsundere]

An AU where technically nothing’s changed, except everyone knows Tsumugi is the mastermind, and that they’re trapped in a show: but not only they're still helpless against her and cannot escape (neither can Tsumugi herself) - they also have to deal with her contractualy obligated sponsorship announcements during trials and investigations... including 30-second-long unskipabble ads before the monitor presents voting results and the blackened.

What dignity? What respect? Everything is a commercialised farce, and everyone, including Tsumugi, is perpetually oscillating between exasperated apathy and resigned frenzy.

Their sanity is doing fine, they tell themselves.

The Show Must (Not) Go On.

I’ve kept this thing in my drafts for uhhhh...

This long.

Over 2 yeaarrrsssss. Because I felt self-consciouss about posting drawings in this style. But idgaf anymore it’s part of my soul. Enjoy.

[l3viat8an]

Mammon waking you up by going down on you (with prev consent ofc) or you waking Mammon up with a BJ >_<

Nsfw!

Honestly thought this posted already- cuz it was supposed to be in queue for Mams birthday jsksjsk

I feel like that would happen all the time after you start dating Mammon! I mean he just can’t get enough of you and it is a rather nice way to wake up~

And really some mornings he gets so needy and you look so sweet laying there next to him that he just can’t keep his hands or lips off of you.

At first Mammon was just planning to kiss you, a few kisses down your neck and chest wouldn’t hurt right?- then he starts going lower, moving your clothes out of the way so he can keep kissing your skin, down across your chest and tummy and somehow he ends up between your legs… oops~

You wake up slowly, your mind groggy with sleep and pleasure as your eyes open and all you can see of your boyfriend is a lump under the covers. But as soon as you wake up and start grinding your hips to meet his face a little harder Mammon grabs your hips to pin you back down. At the same time he lifts his head to look up at you, which makes the covers fall back a bit so you can see his face, (his hair is an absolute mess too but that’s not super important :D) a crooked little smirk on Mammon’s face as he sits up enough to press a few more soft and wet kiss across your tummy. Mumbling out “Mornin’ darlin’.” against your skin before he goes right back to what he was doing- making you cum on his face-

He thinks its cute how you try to prop yourself up a bit on your elbows to look down at him and enjoy the show, chuckling to himself as he sucks on your clit just right, that it has your head rolling back and you have to plop right back down onto the pillows because it felt that good.  After all he knows all your sweet spots.

Neither of you talk much but Mammon would praise you for being so good and cummin’ for him, ya should let him take care of ya more often~

Sooo of course it’s only right that you ‘repay him’ wake him up head the next morning.  

Again not hard Mammon almost always has ‘morning wood’ when you sleep in the same bed.

While you’re under the covers tease his tip a bit -trust me- before taking his cock all the way into your mouth.

As soon as you start Mammon’s awake and you can hear all his breathlessly, little moans of “Yea~” and “Oh fuck, yes darlin’, just like that” I’m telling you he can’t keep his mouth shut- “S-shit- Don’t stop fuck.” and even more, “Please- Yea, like that, faster.”

There is a special something -not quite tenderness but that’s the closest word you can think of- to Mammon in these moments. Even as you have his cock in your mouth, even as he groans under his breath and his legs tense. Even as he grabs a handful of your hair and gently pushes you down a little bit to see if you can take him even further down your throat, he’s not trying to be mean but he loves it when you gag on him. Making him moan even louder “Shit- So fuckin’ g-good treasure.” as he cums down your throat.

Maybe it’s the way he smooths over your hair as you swallow his cum. Or maybe it’s the way he starts to pull you up to lay your head on his chest and wraps his arms around you as tightly as he can immediately after. It’s all done with care, as if you’re the most precious thing in his room. And of course to him you are.

(Although if you wanna tease Mammon a little more instead- sit up before he can pull you up and let the covers pool around you as you make a show of licking the last few drops of his cum off your lips ;))

[stark-lord]

DEAD BOY DETECTIVES (2024)

1.05 - The Case of the Two Dead Dragons

Or,

Edwin. I saw that.

[deoidesign]

One of my first digital pieces (2010) versus one of my recent ones (2024)

We all start somewhere!

[the-shifting-long]

one fascinating thing about the Princesses is how often they echo the mindset that motivates the Shifting Mound.

Shifty/Felina is someone who is convinced that she is what she is, that the totality of her being is something that cannot be changed or denied. There is no compromise, in part because there is nothing to compromise-she simply is, you simply are, and this is how things are.

Communicating with her using words pre and post awakening is difficult-words are difficult for her. They never quite weave into what she wishes to say. She often resorts to flowery metaphors, unable to use imprecise and unnuanced language to say the things she wants to say. When frustrated by the player or by this issue of communication, she often falls back on how there is no constant, there is no center, everything exists in relation to everything it isn't and vice versa, "nothing" is a concept that exists because there's "something", and how can we even begin to talk about the inherently contradictory, multifaceted aspects of our existence when language cannot account for it?

Precisely because she dislikes words, and feels she has to fall back on metaphor for them to have any meaning, she values action more than anything-more specifically, she values conflicts. She values the ins and outs, the victories and defeats, things ending and breaking only to be reborn. This also ties into the Shifting Mound as a force of entropy, change, and death-she is what she is, viewing death and fear and pain and change as necessary parts of the world, and what's needed to improve yourself.

She loves it so much, loves the player so much, finds it so romantic, that she often refers to it as a dance. Conflict as music. Something beautiful and timeless to be adored and made over and over and over again in a billion different styles across a billion different times and places.

This is all basic Shifting Mound analysis, and it's important for establishing a baseline of Who She Is (without getting into what her Heart versions say, and why there's incongruence there-that's a different post! we can definitely go deeper) Because...every single one of her vessels reflects one or more of these aspects of Felina.

The Damsel line is all about TSM's connection and adoration of the player, how she loves the player even at their very worst and comes up with the most loving poems for the most horrifying things. Even when killed, she decides to return the favor with a smile and with your hand in hers. Damsel's deconstruction refers to the end of the world as "unleashing unceasing entropy upon all creation", Happily Ever After wants nothing more than to leave and dance, and even wears TSM's crown and takes similar poses to the dance Felina has with the player in the Leave ending.

Prisoner is once again about the failure of words, being able to communicate without them, or find hidden meanings. So much of Cage involves both Princess and Voices having literal understandings of the situation, and twisting it for their own ends, along with the natural fall into conflict-and that conflict being beautiful. Drowned Grey is beyond words, instead letting her own corpse's appearance and blank stare speak for her. She's also got this idea of destruction as something necessary-she's perfectly fine, even happy, being nothing but a head and losing her body completely. When that doesn't work, the cabin breaks down on its own, and its destruction is unambiguously a good thing.

Razor's a blatantly more meta route where you manifest a knife for your enemy to kill you with. Razor in both forms is about going through an endless stream of trials until you are about to embrace godhood, either being pushed into another very romantic conflict-the ebb and flow-or rising about it to break her against yourself. It's a beautiful parallel to Shifty herself, this unstoppable force that will never change, and where the relationship only changes because you're able to rise against it.

The Nightmare is about how she simply is what she is, and she can't change that. Fear and death and horror are necessary things to keep the world running. Noteably, Nightmare doesn't want to end the world so much as "hold it in her hands and squeeze." Nightmare doesn't see bringing death and destruction and most importantly, fear as an ending, but a new beginning, and an inevitable part of her nature, just like her fully-awakened self.

Spectre is one of the routes that plays a lot with perception-you think she's dead, so she is, and in Princess and the Dragon, she is both dead and alive until the metaphorical box is opened by an outside observer, schrodinger's cat style. Like the Shifting Mound, she personally chooses to see the best in the player until proven otherwise, and even then, is inclined to embrace violence as a natural part of their relationship if pushed down Wraith or the Stenciled version of Princess and the Dragon. Shifty, Damsel, and Spectre want nothing more than to be with you.

And Tower wants nothing more than to be with you, too...as a goddess while you sit by her side as a pet, or at best, a priest. The Tower princesses are arguably the ones that get closest to godhood, to being what the Shifting Mound and therefore all of the Princesses are. They're held back by their inability to treat the player as an equal, and there's definitely an argument to made for Felina's own arrogance and assumption that she can never be wrong, so you must concede to her. Tower and Apotheosis in particular are delighted by the player's acts of resistance, much in the same way the Shifting Mound gets excited when you're able to successfully resist her. In terms of personality, I'd argue this line shares TSM's general attitude and behavior the most.*

*Tower-Fury is different from the rest of her line in a lot of ways, such as actively disliking the player's resistance, but keeps the divine arrogance even when she believes it's been denied to her, and is genuinely upset it has been much in the same way a certain pre-awakened someone doesn't take kindly to the Oblivion paths.

The Adversary line, similarly to Tower and Razor, once more involves that core belief of conflict between the two of you specifically leading to greater and greater heights. If the Tower reflects TSM's overall attitude, Advy is a reflection of what TSM tries to get at with metaphor-Adversary in all of her forms finds no use in words, only purpose in action, but will still literally cry from joy if this action is compared to a song written in blood. Both Eye of the Needle and Advy-Fury share this trait, with Advy-Fury deriding words as things that "aren't music. They aren't dance. They aren't feeling." TSM shuts down arguments that nitpick her language much in the same way the Adversaries are uninterested in language period, while also using the same language Of song and dance and music. And, while ambiguous, you could say the Leave ending, the endless joy of being with TSM as the world dies and is reborn over and over, presents a similar dynamic to the end of Adversary, where the two of you fight each other over and over with such fervent passion death itself no longer sits on your shoulders...

Stranger's so meta and so obviously a mini-Shifty, it almost feels like a waste to talk about how she's Shifty. A billion realities colliding into one, parts of them dead, parts that don't fit...even pre-awakened TSM says she's in the shape of her, but is unable to hold everything she is.

Witch brings our favorite dance metaphor back right alongside stories about love, change, and growth. While the Witch herself is a wretched little thing, in her own words, she contains so much potential to become something beyond that. Witch, Nightmare, and Razor are all some of the more playful sides of TSM. I feel like things get really interesting in Witch's chapter 3s, ESPECIALLY the Wild.

That's one where you and the princess are literally merged together, right where she believes you belong, and are so, so close to getting everything she wants before the nature of the construct and TSM kick in and the walls close. I can't do a playthrough where I intend to leave with TSM without getting the Networked Wild as a vessel-it just feels that important to Felina as a character, to see what her pre-awakened self describes as a literal shadow of herself, a much more vulnerable version, and for her to be right there...while Tower/Apo feels closest in terms of godhood and attitude, and Stranger feels closet in terms of what she physically is and experiences, Wild feels as though she's the most similar to TSM's inner heart and feelings, right down to the buried parts of herself that still want to get violent.

And then there's Beast/Den. You've probably heard this one from Nightmare and Razor before, get ready to here it from the lion's mouth this time: I am what I am, fledgling. There is no reasoning with that. Adversary says she's beyond words while still happy to use them-that's more than fine, TSM loves poetry despite (or perhaps because?) of her frustrations with language. Den literally gets to the point where she's beyond words. This is a princess who doesn't care for the pretenses that she's a normal, human, mortal being anymore, a princess who embraces everything she is and wants, and who will always be happy to show you exactly what she means...through biting you biting you biting you biting you biting you saving you from a collapsing tunnel biting you <3 Once more we see that repeating motif of merging with the princess, being one with her. Once more we see how badly the Shifting Mound wants to be with us, by any means possible, through the lens of her vessels.

Anyways I think it's really neat how these Princesses are all full-fledged and deep, nuanced characters in and of itself while still contributing to the gestalt of another woman who is made of all of them, and helping to inform her characterization as much as their own. It's like Slay the Princess is insanely well-written and good or something.

[smiley-mcdoggington]

DONT ASK ME WHAT THIS IS I'M SPEED RUNNING THIS BEFORE I PASS TF OUT TW COERSION I GUESS??? TW STANCEST TW SMIDGE OF IMPLIED/REFERENCED SA TW A/B/O DYNAMICS

Ford's long fingers curled tightly into the blankets as he tried to swaddle himself even smaller. He almost threw the blanket when it didnt bring the relief he wanted.

Ford had read about the omegan estrous cycle - he had to, when he turned fifteen and it became clear Stanley was growing broader but he was not. He knew if he was just held by familiar people it would calm the knashing pain in his stomach and the pulsing in his head.

But instead he was alone, because Ma had locked the door and told him not to let anyone in except her. It was day three, the most optimistic estimate was he still had another two full days of trying to figure out how to hold himself the way someone else would hold him - touch himself the way someone else would touch him.

Then there were three quick knocks before the door was shoved open. Ma looked pale. "You and Stanley stay in here until you don't see your Pa's car on the road, capiche? Don't open this door for anything until then, there's money on the counter, leftovers in the fridge, Stanford you call my sister when it's safe, I love you both, goodbye." She said in a whirlwind that barely made it through Ford's cloudy thoughts. Then Stanley was shoved in the room and the door was slammed behind him.

Ford stared at Stanley for a second with wide eyes. Ma hadn't allowed him in their room since Ford had presented, acting cagey whenever he asked before eventually just saying that Stanley looked like an alpha and alphas couldn't control themselves. That was why Pa wasn't allowed in. Ford knew it was factually incorrect - alphas were capable of resisting urges, they simply chose not to in many cases. Part of him wondered if Stanley would be so forceful once he presented. He certainly had the build for it.

Then a wimper drew Ford's gaze away from his indimidating form and up to his face. His face was a deep pink, tears rolling down his cheeks and trembling where he stood.

Then the scent cut through his own. Oh.

Stanley had presented.

Ford slowly drew away from his blankets - the open air was suffocating, but Stanley could help that - Stanley was just another omega, he could help, wrap those big arms around him, press that heavy weight into his ribs until he didn't have to feel anything anymore.

"Stanley. Why are you crying?" His voice dragged as he got closer - he was only wearing his boxers, he couldn't find it in him to care.

"I wa-was s'posed to be - be an alpha. That-That's what Ma said." He babbled. "How can I prote-ct us if I'm an omega?" He whimpered, digging his heels into his eyes. "I'm sor-ry." He hiccuped.

Ford felt a rush of something wash over him. In the next second he had Stan's face in his hands - so warm, he fit perfectly between 12 fingers. "You're still a great boxer, Stanley. But now - now you can help me. Don't you want that?" Stanley looked up at him with those big brown eyes, hopeful. It made Ford's stomach roll in a new way.

"H-How?" Stanley asked, laying his own smaller hands over Ford's with such ease, as if the contact Ford had needed was just so easy to give.

Ford pulled Stanley closer. "Physical contact. Familial omegan contact can bring smaller amounts of the endorphins released during copulation. You want it too, don't you?" Stanley nodded quickly. "The come here." He purred, and Stanley curled around him in a tight hug. Stanford shivered, clinging back to his twin. For a moment, they stood there, similar scents intertwining, both making small pleased huffs as they gripped eachother tighter.

But like an addiction, he started itching for more. "Stanley." He muttered into his brother's ear. "We should go back to the bed. I tried building a nest it--" Stan's nose touched the gland on his neck and he made a quiet keening noise. "--it isn't great, but omegan behavioral studies were very vague with how they're made."

Stan hummed. "Nest. Yeah. That - that sounds so good." He said, before picking Ford up. Ford took the chance to wrap his legs around him. When Stan finally pressed him into the mattress Ford whined loudly, a purr still filled with the cracklings of puberty rumbling in his chest. Stan shoved his face into Ford's whispy chest hairs, whining right back at him.

"You're - You're right, your nest is crap." Stanley teased breathlessly. Ford jabbed him in the back with the sole of his foot and Stanley giggled, eyes still red-rimmed but smiling, now. Ford couldn't help smiling back.

"Fix it then." Ford replied, and Stan pulled away very slightly before dropping back down.

"Nah." Stan said simply, clinging to Ford.

The cramps were still there - but with Stanley they were barely a nuiscence. Just a low presence to match the feeling of his wet boxers.

Then he noticed Stan's slight shifting.

He still looked completely distracted, blissed-out and clinging to Ford like a piece of driftwood in the ocean. But lower down his hips were twitching into the mattress just a little. Ford traced the tiny erratic rolling of Stan's hips in a trance. Did Stanley even notice?

Then Stanley made a little groaning, huffing noise and Ford's own hips twitched. Except any movement on his own part resulted in directly jutting into his brother's stomach.

Stanley's eyes snapped open. He looked up at Ford slowly. Before he could say a word Ford had pushed up his glasses. "it's perfectly normal to have the same physical symptoms of arousal during an estrous cycle, Stanley." He said almost defensively, but Stanley's relief seemed to be directed inward. He rolled his hips more brazenly against the mattress.

Then Stan's whole body froze, and he started pulling away. Ford tried to follow him, but Stanley looked close to crying again. "Whats the matter? I promise it's normal, Stanley - what's wrong?"

"I gotta go." Stan said stiffly.

"You can't go, Stanley - Pa isn't gone yet." He said, sitting up and reaching for him.

"I don't care about Pa, I'll just punch him again if I gotta." His voice wavered with a little bit of fear.

Ford stood again. "Don't be ridiculous Stanley - why do you have to leave?"

Stan looked away.

"Stanley."

"I think I peed myself."

Ford stared at him. Then down at his perfectly dry jeans. Then he snorted.

Stan's face twisted angrily, though his eyes were glassy again. "Shut up."

"You didn't pee yourself, Stanley - did you even read the omegan biology book I lent you? Or were you too busy drawing Lil' Stanley in the margins?" Stan shrank in on himself a little. Ford sighed fondly. "Here - it's happening to me, too, it's just discharge." He wiped some from his inner thigh onto his finger for Stan to see. "The pH is within the acidic range, though, so you should probably get out of your good jeans before you bleach them." He said, and Stan just kept staring at his two damp fingers.

Ford would have let Stan indulge his curiosity, but the lack of contact was getting to Ford. "Stanley?"

His brother nodded, clearing his throat and unbuckling his belt. Ford watched his hands make quick work of the leather, before he slid the denim down over his tight boxers and his large, chubby thighs. There was a small wet spot on the inside of his jeans. Ford wondered if he would add it to their nest.

Stan threw his shirt over his head and then they were both in similar attire. Ford pulled Stanley closer to him again - he just couldn't stand the itch of not touching his twin for long. "Now that that's established..." He dragged Stan back into his bed. They laid facing eachother, legs tangled and arms clinging.

Stan was just so perfect as an omega - so pliant. Ford wondered how he ever could have thought Stan would be an alpha, even with his build. He was so perfect, so trusting, he fit just perfectly in Ford's arms, held into every word despite the physical advantage and the primal mindset an estrous cycle brought to the forefront. Watching Stan happily nuzzle into his smaller chest made Ford almost understand the gaze of an alpha. Stan would just be so easy to take and claim for himself - not because Stanley was weak but because he was Stanford Pines and Stanley was pliant for him and him alone.

He curled a little further towards his brother, when his thightouched something warm and wet. Stanley didn't move away, his nose just scrunched a little and he whined softly. Ford studied every subtle change in his expression.

Then Stan's hips rolled against his thigh. His dick was solid, pressing into his stomach, but Stan was more interested in the new sensations his hole brought, grinding it against Ford's thigh with tiny huffing whines, getting his leg wet while Stan lost himself with his nose still pressed into Ford's ribcage. Ford was like this, too, the first day. It was so cute on Stanley, though. Ford pushed his leg a little harder upward and Stanley moaned quietly, like he thought he was being subtle.

Stan's whines got a little more desperate the longer he went without orgasm, chasing an end that wouldn't come just from a bit of frotting. Ford let him get frustrated, felt his thick thighs quiver under the blanket while he tried to grind harder. Ford felt a drip of hot discharge run off his knee and he snapped.

He grabbed Stan by the hips and Stan stopped dead. "Proper orgasm during an estrous cycle is nearly impossible to achieve by one's self because of the lack of physical contact. This is enough to get rid of the cramps, but if you want to come then you have to ask." His voice was rough from the sight of Stanley, he felt his own slick running down his thighs.

"P-Please." Stanley whimpered. Ford immediately surged forwards, bracketing Stan's larger form under him and pressing their lips together for a searing moment. When he pulled back, Stan tried to follow.

"You want something in your hole, don't you?"

Stan nodded quickly, back arched just a little, neck exposed obscenely.

"Gorgeous - god, Stan, you're so pretty, you know that?" He mumbled into Stan's jaw between short, soft kisses. "You probably want some big alpha to stretch you out, don't you? Fill you up while you take it so perfectly?"

"No." Stan whispered. "Jus-Just you. Please, I want - need you, please." Ford shivered at the words.

"Perfect, Stanley, you're so perfect." Ford purred into Stan's skin while six fingers dipped under Stan's waistband. Stanley was a mess, sopping wet for him and Ford would spend hours licking it all up if Stan hadn't asked to be filled.

Two of his fingers grazed Stanley's soaked enterance and Stanley keened. "M' ready, m'ready - please, Stanford--" Ford pulled his own boxers down and rubbed Stan's slick onto his skin before grabbing Stan's legs to put on his shoulders.

Stanford put his thumbs on either side of Stanley's hole to watch it stretch, watch a little bit of clear fluid burble out. Stan whined under him. "It's gonna hurt, Stanley, I'm telling you."

"Then hurt me." Stanley demanded.

Ford lined himself up and pushed into Stan's feverish warmth. He keened, feeling Stan all around him, slick dripping down into two puddles under them, close enough to merge. He took a breath while Stanley shivered and moaned.

"Move - damn it Sixer gimme all of it--" Ford pulled out and thrust back in again, the smack sounded in the room and both omegas groaned.

"Perfect - g-god Stanley, my perfect little omega - fuck. Gon-gonna full you up, fill you up with my pups - gotta - god - gotta let the world know they lost the perfect omega to an-another fucking omega." Stanley yelped when Ford found his prostate, grinding against if for all he was worth.

"S-Six - gotta - gonna--" Stan sobbed.

"I've gotcha, I've - Stanley." Ford whined, taking one of his hands off Stan's hips to run over his own hole, wetting his fingers in his own sopping mess. "I'm close."

"Please - please--!" Ford shoved two fingers in alongside his dick as his orgasm peaked, and Stan squealed on his pseudo-knot while he came himself. Ford kissed the fresh tears from Stan's face and waited for Stan to come down before gently easing his fingers out.

Stanley's arms wrapped fully around him in a crushing embrace the second Ford was out of him, and his own more practiced purr rumbled them both out of consciousness.

[viperwhispered]

Rest

Guess what? I've got more Jamil x reader for y'all. You can also find this on ao3. No warnings, just 866 words of kinda fluffy(?) caretaking stuff with gender-neutral reader.

At this point, you know Jamil’s schedule almost as well as he does. So, when you have the chance, you head to Scarabia’s kitchen, hoping to spend some time with Jamil while he and the other students prepare dinner. 

However, when you enter, it takes you but a moment to notice Jamil’s uncharacteristic fumbling and the tired look in his eyes. The way Jamil’s chopping the vegetables has you worried about him cutting himself with that knife he’s usually so adept with, and it seems it’s only force of habit that’s keeping him on track.

You frown, and when your eyes meet Jamil’s, you can already see him put his guard up.

So he knows what state he is in, huh? And still, here he is.

It seems Jamil is reading your thoughts, all of him telling you drop it before any words are even said.

At least he still lets you lean in and give a quick kiss to his cheek in greeting.

“Hello love. Do you still have a lot on your agenda for today?” you ask, keeping your tone low for at least some semblance of privacy in the busy kitchen.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” is the response you get.

Of course.

It takes a little more pestering before Jamil actually answers your question. Your lips purse. That list is far too long to your liking.

You take a moment to think, juggling your own plans and to-do list against the urgency of the things Jamil mentioned.

“Will Kalim be eating from that?” you ask, pointing at the food Jamil is preparing.

“Yes.”

“Alright, I won’t be touching that one, then. I’ve gotta do a few things but I’ll be back when you’re done here.”

“Don’t,” Jamil says with a glare, clearly aware of what you’re thinking.

Yet even his disapproving look doesn’t have the usual weight behind it.

“Yes. I will,” you say firmly, even as your heart curls inwards with another bout of concern.

Really, when did he get so tired?

And how did you not notice it earlier?

You leave the kitchen before Jamil can protest further, hurrying through the dorm corridors to find Kalim.

Soon you have an enthusiastic – and concerned – supporter for your plans. You have Kalim point out a few reliable Scarabia students to help with a few of the most urgent matters Jamil mentioned – cleaning up the common areas, delivering some paperwork to Crowley, preparing some dorm-wide notices – while you see to Kalim getting his school supplies in order for the following day. You even recruit a couple of third years to help Kalim with his homework.

You’ll see to the rest tomorrow – after all, you do also have a boyfriend to look after.

Your conversation over dinner can hardly be called anything else than an argument – despite Kalim’s best attempts at acting as a moderating force between you two. It is very tempting to ask Kalim to tell Jamil to take the rest of the day off – it’s not like Jamil would be willing to openly disobey a direct order. Still, you really don’t need to remind Jamil of his position on top of everything else that you’re already doing more or less against his wishes.

Eventually, however, Jamil’s had a square meal, the most urgent things on his to-do list are being taken care of, and you’ve managed to drag him to his bed.

“I really wish you wouldn’t push yourself so hard,” you murmur, your arms wrapped tightly around Jamil. You’re telling yourself you really do just want to cuddle, to offer some respite to Jamil. Still, there might also be a part of you worried that if you were to let go, he’d just jump up and get back to working himself to the bone.

Yet, for all his protestations, just the fact that you’ve gotten Jamil to lay down with you speaks volumes of his current exhaustion.

“I can’t just leave my duties, albi. You know this.”

“Making yourself too indispensable, is what you’re doing,” you protest.

Oh, you know it’s not so simple. Not with his background, not with all the expectations and assumptions.

But sometimes you really wish it would be.

Jamil merely scoffs in response to your words.

Still, it is undeniable that he is slowly beginning to relax in your arms, slowly bringing his head closer to yours. His eyes are starting to flutter, too.

“I will still need to help Kalim with his homework, at the very least.”

You wonder who he is trying to convince more, you or himself.

“Amin and Khalil are helping him. They’re basically top of their classes, aren’t they? I’m sure they’ve got it.”

Still, Jamil frowns.

You sigh. He really is not letting go, is he?

“Do you want me to go supervise?” you ask.

And leave you, unsaid yet hanging there right after your words.

“Don’t,” Jamil eventually says, the word barely more than a breath.

It seems he has accepted his fate.

You softly caress Jamil’s hair, listening to his softening breathing.

And when you wake up, wholly unaware of having been lulled to sleep in the first place, it’s to the lightest of touches from Jamil’s fingers.

Tagging @diodellet @twstgo @crystallizsch @jamilvapologist @jamilsimpno69 as per request If you'd like to be tagged for any future works, let me know!

[draftingtides]

The child pulls their hair—their hair made of clouds, so like the dream-clouds of Oneiros—down over one eye and peeks shyly at Hypnos with the other. “Where did you come from?” he wonders aloud, half to the child and half to himself.

9.5k words, rated T, gen (Hypnos & child oc, Hypnos & his brothers, pre-Hypnos/Zagreus)

[ladyriot]

Once upon a time, I used to believe that the reason I read Rizzoli and Isles' Dean arc as queer was the way he came up in the fight that Maura and Jane have in the first episode of season 3, wherein Maura directs specific vitriol at Jane's "boyfriend" in her anger at feeling betrayed when Jane shoots Paddy. I've realized recently that it all starts much earlier. As in... the literal first episode. And it's actually, subconsciously, been one of the major reasons I ever interpreted Jane and Maura as potentially queer for each other.

In Jane and Maura's first scene on screen together, Dean makes an appearance that reveals a tension between the two women and plays off of their earlier intimacy.

First, Maura and Jane display their close, intimate relationship as they survey the crime scene. Both Maura's immediate defence of Jane as she chastizes Korsak for not warning her it was a Hoyt-like crime, and Maura setting Jane's broken nose present them as intimate.

This is placed almost immediately next to their meeting Dean for the first time, reinforcing him as a stranger, even an interloper onto that scene of intimacy. Maura indicates her interest in Dean non-verbally (which reads as intimate too), and further, she reads the potential for Jane's territorial behaviour to emerge and both gives a little warning and phsyically steps between them.

Because of Maura's displays of intimacy and knowledge of Jane, Jane's response of outright aggression becomes more meaningful. Her posture shift does not only indicate a desire to threaten Dean's intrusion onto her crime scene but also Dean's intrusion into her intimate connection with Maura. Jane slants herself as if she's offended she's not an option.

Um... what is that thing about how you point your feet at the person you're most engaged with in a social situation? There has to be some meaning about where you point your pelvis...

Anyway, later scenes show us what Jane looks like when she's inviting romantic attention from men, and that involves her making herself smaller, making herself look less sure and aggressive, and leaning into traditional femininity. It's quite the opposite of what she's doing here, which I read as laying a claim... on the crime scene but also on Maura.

This is fascinating because, at first, I'd mistakenly believed it was Maura's queer jealousy that cropped up first, but this reading actually presents the opposite scenario.

This kind of framing comes up again, in this same episode, when Jane flees her apartment to stay at Maura's for the night. In Maura's guest room, Jane spies to see who Maura's nighttime visitor is, and then they have that exchange on the bed. The question of Maura's potential attraction to Jane comes up in the same brief span as the question of whether or not Maura has ever had a crush on the same guy as her best friend, intermixing these two potential attractions in such an interesting way.

It's almost like Jane is giving mixed signals here. She's asking Maura if she's attracted to her only in joking terms... because for some reason she doesn't feel like she can ask it seriously. But as their conversation turns towards Dean, and their supposedly shared attraction to him, I'm instantly reminded of the concept of some of Eve Sedgwick's work on homosociality and erotic triangles and how those theories have impacted my own understandings of love triangles in media. I'm going to way oversimplify it here, but essentially when two people of the same gender are vying for the attention of the same different gendered love interest, I'm more interested in the bonds presented between the two of the same gender — whether it's rivalry, intimacy, potential sexual attraction (especially when it's wrapped up in taboos, social norm violations, and repression), or some complex mix of the three. And just, wow, this connection between Jane and Maura is ripe for that kind of reading. It becomes really easy to read Jane's "pursuit" of Dean as a way of attaining conventionality through a connection that also engages her potentially unconventional attraction to Maura (and a resistance to admit that) by being with someone Maura finds attractive. Jane isn't really showing attraction to Dean, but she is very much going for the closest conventional relationship she can that partly expresses her repressed, "taboo" attraction. (I wonder now if this contributed to my reading Jane specifically as a lesbian, rather than bisexual, through most of the series, but that's a bit besides the point).

Doesn't this just make it so interesting how Maura had physically insinuated herself between Jane and Dean?

It's also significant for me that when Jane does pretty herself up with lipstick to go see Dean, she rebuffs him and is consistently iffy about him despite the so-called attraction she admits to Maura. It's also very much giving that repressed queer experience of having a crush on a girl and being so jealous of her relationship, but not being able to conceive of yourself as queer, so mistaking that for a crush on her boyfriend. You know?!

Later on in the show, when Jane is with Dean, there is still so much to this dynamic. Maura calls Jane on a date with Dean and she immediately runs to meet her, choosing her, prioritizing her. It's what makes it so sick-inducing when, after Maura reveals that she doesn't know if she wants Jane to catch Paddy, Jane goes on to tell Dean the FBI agent with a hard-on for catching criminals at all costs about his presence in Boston in a specifically romantic scene. You know, which then causes a chaotic scene that requires Jane to shoot Paddy after feeling up his daughter to set her up on a sting... There was so much wrong with that, I'm honestly surprised there was a moment in Maura's tirade for her queer jealousy to slip in, but it does.

Hell if they're not in big fat queer love with each other, whether they admit it or not.

[handweavers]

if you are interested in learning more about canada's role as a legal haven for mining companies around the world i highly recommend reading 'imperial canada inc: legal haven of choice for the world's mining companies' by alain deneault and william sacher, it is excellent and goes into canadian mining imperialism both domestically and internationally and has been updated several times to reflect new developments in canadian imperialism

it is often available for free to read in full online but it gets taken down by canadian mining companies regularly and the quebec-based authors have been sued multiple times lol so i can't find it anywhere at the moment except for paid ebook copies. if you want to read it and can't find a free copy msg me i have the full pdf i can send you 🤎

[endwersed]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged in a little while ago by the amazing @patolemus & @hellameyers 🤗

I'm currently working on editing chapter 5 of the poets are right, which I'll be posting in a couple of days - so here's a snippet from that!

-

“Did you think I was hot when we first met?” Stiles asks.

The huff of laughter that pushes out from between Derek’s smiling mouth is entirely ball-busted, and the tips of his ears quickly colour a soft red in the low, warm light of the room. Stiles’ lips pull into an instant grin back at him.

“Yeah,” Derek says.

“Really?” Stiles presses, finding way too much joy in this. “You thought I was a hot little piece of omega ass, right off the bat?”

“Really,” Derek echoes easily, one arm folding behind his head while the other skims light fingers up and down Stiles’ side. “It wasn’t so much a fight or flight instinct as it was a fight or... fuck.”

Barking out a loud laugh, Stiles gleefully peers up at him, at the easy confession of immediate attraction falling from Derek’s lips. His heartrate picks up excitedly as he wriggles closer into the solid heat of Derek’s body.

“Too bad the fight won out that time,” Stiles laments.

Derek hums, lifting a hand to cup gently at the back of Stiles’ neck.

“Too bad,” he agrees, before lifting both eyebrows. “Did you think I was hot when we first met?”

“Obviously,” Stiles scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I thought you were hot before we met, dude. You know that already.”

And he does. As embarrassing it was at the time to admit out loud, to the object of his one-sided affection for so many anonymous years, he did tell Derek. That particular secret was shared not too long into this thing between them, spilling all about this crush he has had ever since he first discovered photographs of the ultimate alpha heart-throb Derek Hale in some teen magazine or other.

Derek took it like a champ. Actually, he took it like an incredibly smug bastard – but that was only to be expected. Learning that the person you like just as much as they like you, has actually liked you a hell of a lot longer than you have even known that person existed, well... Stiles can see how something like that might go straight to your head.

Tamping down on the urge to swat that self-satisfied smirk right off of Derek’s face, Stiles settles on leaning up to kiss it into something more dazed and breathless, instead. When he pulls back, he feels a thrill of satisfaction at the utterly glazed over look in Derek’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Stiles lets himself continue, head tipping to one side. “If only you hadn’t gone and ruined it the first time you opened your mouth by being a fucking asshole.”

Derek breathes out yet another ball-busted laugh. His fingers slide through the short hairs at the back of Stiles’ head, nails scratching lightly into Stiles’ scalp, as he takes the – entirely true, and entirely deserved – insult on the chin. He quickly lists forwards to kiss Stiles yet again, softly and soundly.

“I like to think I’ve made up for it since then,” he says quietly.

-

Low pressure tags ❤️ @dear-massacre @eevylynn @evanesdust @hedwig221b @lucky-bishop

@raisesomehale @renmackree @thotpuppy @violetfairydust @quackquackcey

[mosaickiwi]

Someone In Between; Something Intertwined

Your babyboi Rendacted (from @14dayswithyou) struggles to be himself in your new-ish relationship. Gender neutral reader c:

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

You haphazardly pushed a cart full of returned books across the library. It'd been such a long day. Elanor had called in sick, so on top of desk duty, both the morning and afternoon story times fell on you. The kids were well behaved—as well behaved as elementary schoolers could be, anyway—but by the time it finished you were at your limit. The only solace was that today was Friday, so you had the whole weekend to spend at your boyfriend's apartment. A smile bloomed on your face and you couldn't help but push the cart a little faster as you thought about them, surely waiting outside already. 

Ren, your tall, clingy, dark-haired-at-the-roots boyfriend. It'd been 5 months since you officially started dating, and 4 months since he'd been convinced to let go of the Haruko persona. It was agonizingly slow progress, you still didn't know him well—he came off a bit neutral sometimes, unsure how to act around you before reverting to Haruko or a blank slate to mirror you. But you were happy that small parts of the real him managed to peek through over the months, no matter how much time it took. And it was taking a long time.

As you opened the overflow room, you checked the clock on the wall. It was barely 4 minutes until the end of your shift. The cart bumped over the threshold when you pushed it in and locked the door. Once that was taken care of, you did a quick look over the computer and study areas, picking up scrap papers and trash to put in the bin before heading to the break room, then your desk to grab all your things. 

You took a peek in Conan's office to bid him goodbye. "I'll see you next week! Enjoy your weekend," you said with a cheery voice and walked towards the entrance.

"You too!" he called after you. 

The doors flew open and you practically skipped with relief out into the cool autumn air. You spotted Ren leaning against the brick of the building, dressed in their now-usual style of black on black on more black. His hair was partially tied up in a ponytail, most of it still a pastel pink that fell over his shoulders. From the low collar on his shirt, you could see he'd covered his tattoos with makeup, but a few of his piercings were in. He was trying, and that meant so much to you. His ocean blue eyes were focused on the phone in his hand, so he didn't notice you at first.

"Ren!" You sang out their name and bounced over to them. 

He looked up in surprise before quickly smiling. "I was just texting you," he said and put his phone in his pocket. "Hey, Angel."

"Hiiii," you said as you grabbed his hand, taking gleeful notice of the light blush forming on his cheeks as your fingers laced together. At first you used to think it was only his Haruko persona when he blushed at any contact—but it turned out they really liked holding hands. It was the first thing you learned to keep in mind about the real him. So you made sure to do it as often as possible. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"It's only 5:01."

"And I'm sure you got here much earlier," you teased him, earning his embarrassed agreement when he flushed a deeper pink.

"Just 20 minutes," Ren mumbled and changed the subject. "Did y'want to stop anywhere? We don't have to go straight to my apartment."

"Nope! Work's got me feeling lazy. I'm all yours for the rest of the night." With that, you stood on your toes to kiss his cheek. 

He kissed you back on the lips, his snake bites catching the light as he smiled. He didn't even try to hide how happy he was. "Good."

~

An hour later, you were sitting on his couch eating pizza, a horror movie on low in the background while you chatted. You'd gotten half the pizza with your favorite toppings and—with a lot of stubborn encouragement on your part—Ren had gotten what were supposed to be his favorites. There was some overlap with a few of them, but he swore up and down they were things he liked. 

"L-Lots of people like pepperoni," he insisted. "You can't be suspicious of that one. It's basic."

"You got more than pepperoni to be suspicious about. But, true. I'll allow it," you conceded and munched away at the last of your pizza slice.

"Besides, I'm not that picky about food."

You swallowed, thinking about the age old debate about pizza toppings. "Pineapple on pizza?" Right on cue, the next victim in the movie shrieked in bloody terror.

"I'd eat it," he said after a moment of thought.

"Oh. Anchovies?" The screams continued.

He was a little more confident on this one. "Yup." 

"What about the really weird toppings?" you asked. You inwardly grimaced as you vaguely remembered a weird picture Moth had sent.. "Like… corn and chocolate?" 

Ren made a face between confused and disgusted. "Together? On pizza? People eat that?"

"Maybe. Probably," you said and shrugged. You grabbed a napkin from the coffee table and wiped your hands, then stood to throw away your paper plate. "People eat plenty of weirder things."

He paused the movie and quickly followed you into the kitchen with his own plate; he'd finished eating a little bit before you. As he trailed you to the trash can, then the sink, he spoke honestly, "It sounds really… out there. I don't think I'd eat it."

"Hmm," you said as you pumped the soap dispenser. You weren't sure if his answer would change if you said you'd eat it—not that you would, ew—but it was nice for him to voice his own opinions without trying to hear yours first.

You felt him trap you against the counter and rest his chin on your head. His arms came around you, but he only began washing his own hands as you were doing. It was an oddly comforting position.

An easy silence fell over the two of you, only broken by the rush of water from the tap. Eventually, the water stopped and he grabbed a paper towel, quickly drying his hands. You expected him to move, but instead he grabbed another towel and started drying your hands for you. He seemed content, even humming quietly to himself. So you simply watched. His rough fingers were steady as he delicately went over every inch of your hands until they were completely dry. He wasn't even half as thorough with himself; it was cute.

"You're really touchy," you innocently blurted out.

Ren suddenly let go, as if he'd been burned. "S-Sorry, Angel. I should've asked—" He quickly backed off, putting distance between you two and fiddling with his sleeves.

You realized your mistake and turned around, shaking your head in apology. Without the persona as a barrier, he was more on edge about your reactions sometimes. "I didn't mean it in a bad way. Here—hand, please," you demanded and held out your own to him. He cautiously took it and you smiled, closing the space to pull him into a hug. "See? No harm done. Touchy is good. Wonderful, even."

Despite the blush on his face, he seemed relieved. "Really?"

"Almost as wonderful as corn and chocolate pizza," you teased.

He laughed for a moment before squeezing you against his chest. "There's no way you'd actually eat that," he mumbled above you and got even quieter. "I'm so sorry, Angel. 'M afraid you'll push me away one day."

His arms felt so nice wrapped around you, but his words broke your heart. "I'd never do that. I care about you, Ren. Okay?" you whispered into his shirt. Your fingers curled tightly into the fabric and you pressed on. "Not Haruko, not anyone else." His real name slipped out in a quiet whisper. "You."

A rather stressful sigh left him and he started rambling, "I'm trying my best. And I get what you mean, but it's hard t’believe you'd want me as I am. I'm less than perfect for you. Why would you want that?"

"I don't need or want 'perfect' like I'm a test you studied for," you huffed in frustration and looked up at them, shocked to find hurt and loneliness in their gaze. "I'm not mad at you!" you immediately sought to reassure him. "But I want to accept you like you've accepted me, warts and all. I'm not perfect either."

"Except that you are per—" he opened his mouth to protest, but the way your eyes narrowed had him choosing his final word carefully. "Are… person?" He pulled away to fiddle with the hem of his sleeve. "I just can’t trust you’d like me when I haven’t been myself that often. You don’t know me that well.” His bangs covered his eyes as he lowered his head and looked away.

“I like the parts I’ve seen,” you stubbornly declared and crossed your arms, rapidly firing off the list you kept in your head. “You sleep like a corpse, you’re a tease and a flirt—even worse in bed. You won’t give anyone the time of day but me, you like your coffee black but somehow have a ridiculous sweet tooth.”

“Angel.” They tried to get your attention, but you didn’t hear them. 

“Little things make you happy even though you’re a pessimist, a drama queen when you want to get your way, a smug, petty brat on top of that, a total fucking geek if I’m being honest—sometimes you get really excited and babble about tech I don’t understand—and the very first thing I learned—”

“Angel,” he interrupted a little louder with a touch on your shoulder and you snapped out of it. Gentle as could be, he pried your fingers away from your arm. You didn’t realize you were practically digging your nails into your skin from how riled up you were. “Okay,” he continued in a low voice, a tinge of awkwardness to it. “You know me, in some ways.”

You smiled up at him, just as self-conscious about your momentary rant. “You really, really like holding hands, too,” you quietly pointed out and wiggled your fingers in his grip. He hadn’t let go, not that you wanted him to.

“I didn’t think there was so much of me—the real me—that you cared enough to notice,” he said, idly tracing over your fingertips. The gentle touch comforted you.

“It’s all important to me. And it made me so excited when I could see those little parts of you," you admitted with a nervous laugh. “This is embarrassing, but I'd try to write down all the things I'd learn when I got home so I wouldn’t forget. But then I’d scribble and tear up the papers—I’d think to myself like ‘that’s creepy, stop it you weirdo.’ Isn’t it though? Taking notes on someone is a bit much.”

Ren seemed to piece something together in his mind before answering confidently, “Not at all, in fact it’s really cute. Who's studying for who, here?”

Heat flushed your cheeks and you blew out a silent breath from pursed lips. “I wasn’t studying. I was happy that you were being yourself! There are so many quirks or habits you don't realize that just make me fall more in… love… with you…?” You trailed off, eyes widening in tandem with theirs as you both processed what you'd just said.

The confused look on his face had you positive that his brain was malfunctioning. At least yours certainly was. “Ah—In love? Like you love me?” he asked in disbelief and repeated himself. "You love me?"

You nodded robotically, wanting to melt into the marble floor. You did love him. And all the little pieces that shined through the cracks in his act. You loved getting to know him, good and bad, bratty or sweet. Confessing to note taking already had you flustered, yet here you were, continuing to run your mouth and put it all out there. “Yeah... I love you,” you managed to say in spite of yourself.

He lifted you off the ground by your waist, drawing a weird squeaking noise you had surely never made before out of you. He didn't seem bothered as he sat you down on the counter and tenderly kissed your forehead. “I love you, Angel. More than anything,” he breathed out against your skin then pulled back. “I really love you.” His hand brushed stray hairs away from your face before he was cupping your cheek, staring at you for a long while with a shamelessly adoring smile. 

Sirens started blaring in your head the longer nothing happened, so you quietly asked, “Can you kiss me before more embarrassing stuff comes out my mouth?”

“Ahh, um, I’m kind of—overstimulated? Overwhelmed? I never thought I'd hear y'say you love me," he confessed with giddiness. "I can’t decide between teasing you or crying from happiness."

“If you tease me right now I’m going to be the one crying."

That got him to choose. Not a moment sooner, he finally kissed you. The sirens in your head quieted down, only to be replaced by butterflies in your stomach as your eyes closed. He was just as affectionate as he always was, but you could tell he had trouble holding his emotions back from the way his hand gripped your thigh. There was a trembling excitement to the gentle kisses he gave. Ren was clearly on cloud nine. His lips drew a feather light trail from the corner of your mouth up to your ear, barely tickling you as he lingered.

“Angel,” he whispered softly as his thumb traced circles on your leg.

You tilted your head to look at him, feeling pure bliss from his affection. “Hmm?”

“Don’t tear up your study notes next time. ‘Wanna read ‘em.”

“Noo!"

[willthespy]

Nico di Angelo and Will Byers

Silly gay outcasts who went through hell and back, got kidnapped, saw their crush fall in love with a girl, suffered through homophobia due to the time in which they grew up, gained a sister, had a complicated relationship with their older sibling due to the fact that said older sibling was forced into a parenting role, have a strange relationship with shadows (and stuff like that), found out the game they were obsessed with growing up is real (DnD and Mythomagic), often get babied by the fandom despite showing how capable they really are, and would do anything for their family. Oh, and they both have overprotective boyfriends who need to get a personal stylist bc… dam.

edit: dont forget the voices and visions 🙏 came up with that while eating some good old farfalle pasta