#i mean to be honest it was supposed to be angsty in a whole different way

[annawayne]

Annaaaaaaaaaaaaaa T^T I hope you're doing alright today! Did you bake anything new recently!

For the writer's ask btw: 1, 4, 5, 8, 12, 14, 15, 23, 27 :3

Do it, tell me all about it! And I hope you have a great week :3 Thank you for blessing us with all your beautiful art and love T^T

Moon, hello (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

Thank you a lot for asking, and OH MY, that's a lot, but don't get me wrong, I appreciate your interest a lot T^T

Let me first tell you about baking: I baked only the plum pie recently, and it's already gone... But I plan to bake pumpkin muffins with orange cream soon :3

As for the questions:

1 - the last sentence you wrote

I've already answered this one a bit earlier here, but as I got around to answer your question, here's another sentences that I actually wrote the last one:

"I wonder, why can’t we notice… until we’ve lost it already?"

👀

4 - a story idea you haven’t written yet

Oh, I have this one story idea in my mind, based on this one art...

Can't say much without spoilering , but this story has some angsty development. Like, very angsty.

Other than this, it's also a story about how AruAni met and fell in love, so some kind of strangers to lovers, with a lot of immediate attraction and interest, all set in Switzerland, 1911.

The caption in the original post - "It was the love at first sight" - is a leitmotif of this whole story.

I've been thinking about it while working on this drawing, and I didn't consider writing it, but the more time passes - the more I think that, eventually, I'll write it...

5 - first sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unpublished WIP

Uhm... Well, I think, the chapter 10 of MYLYSW counts for now, yes? If yes, so here we are:

"How to breathe without feeling the burden of the mission to be fulfilled; how to sleep without all the images of the world through the eyes of others; how to say a word without feeling obliged to remember a promise to come back; how to look at the sun and see in it the beauty of another day borning out of the velvet darkness of the night into the golden sunrise, and not to cross out another twenty-four hours out of one hundred and thirteen thousand nine hundred fifty-five hours of defined expiration of her."

Me and my damn love for the long sentences...

8 - if you had to write a sequel to a fic, you’d write one for…

Oh, good question! I don't really have a lot of fics, but I think I would love to write for Neverland of (Our) Desires, the Fort Salta oneshot-sequel, where AruAni are caught in feelings and have an awkward-silly conversation about their boat *adventure*, with all these emotions and feelings of having the life ahead of them and not knowing what to do with it... Oh well, oh well, such a potential 🤌

12 - a trope you’re really into right now

Hm... Honestly, I've been into Forbidden Love or Star-crossed Lovers tropes recently...

It's quite canonical AruAni, to be honest, and I just love to think about it in different AUs and canon-compliant too, so yes, I would say these ones! And here a remark, that Forbidden Love/Star-crossed Lovers don't mean that it's a tragic ending - more like obstacles and a lot of angst, which challenge the characters and their love, and how it all develops within the plot.

14 - where do you get your inspiration?

You know, I thought I had a proper answer for it, but when I started typing it, I realized, that, in fact, I don't.

If I'm totally honest - I don't think I even have something special as "inspiration". I have ideas that pop up in my mind on their own, and then, I turn them into story or a moment in the fic, but I never particularly searched for it. I suppose, it's also a consequence of my constant art and literature involving, where I read/observe/study something, so I have this almost never-stopping source of new experience and knowledge, which leads to ideas and inspiration to create my own stories/drawings.

So, I think that my inspiration is constant studying and sources of knowledge.

15 - favorite weather for writing

Answered here :3

23 - pick three keywords that describe your writing

Moon, what a question *sigh*... Let's say:

evocative, raw and poetic

I thought of what to answer you on this particular question because it's a bit difficult for me to evaluate my own writing style, but I also remembered the words I received about it (including your wonderful feedback), and I guess, it helped me to pick these particular keywords.

27 - your favorite part of the writing process

Answered here, too :3

Thank you a lot for your interest and support, Moon, I wish you all the best and take care🖤

[tryalittlejoytomorrow]

tip for writers: working on a fic on the day that taylor releases a new album might not be the best idea unless you're okay with going angstier than planned because your poor soul has been tortured and stepped on

[shadebloopnik]

Unrequited/One-sided Radioapple but it isn't treated like an angsty end of the world thing.

Imagine they slowly get closer after all the banters, and eventually becoming close friends. Lucifer ends up catching feelings for him, and after a long while, decides to confess and ask Alastor if he felt the same.

Alastor admittedly does not feel the same.

He's getting uncomfortable, struggling to keep his composure because he's DONE this before. He KNOWS how this ends. He remembers Vox and all his insistent declarations of affection and desperate pleas for Alastor to reciprocate; the possessive entitlement. He remembers how all those sickly sweet words morphed into something venomous when he didn't give the lowlife what he wanted. He remembers the anger, the ridiculous notion that it was Alastor's fault why he was so mad, that Alastor led him on and that he obviously deserved something in payment for it all-

So yes, Alastor knows how this ends.

It doesn't mean he isn't disappointed though, because he actually LIKES Lucifer, far more than he ever did Vox. Perhaps not in the way the king might have wanted, but he did. He treasured their little talks, their drinking sessions, their shared love for their instruments, Lucifers singing, their little duets, the banter, the playful jabs, the sparring.

He'd even slowly grown accustomed to the other's touches, not feeling the same surge of disgust and discomfort whenever the shorter man would grab at his arm in excitement, forgetting his usual thoughtfulness of Alastor's touch aversion for the short moment of whatever distracted him. Alastor even enjoyed it at times, relaxing at the feel of soft feathers beneath his claws, or the sensation of gentle scratches against his ears.

Difficult as it was to admit, Alastor had grown to care for the angel, the same way he had for Rosie orv Mimzy.

But no matter how fond Alastor was of Lucifer, it didn't change the fact that he didn't feel the same way romantically, or even sexually. No way in the 7 rings of Hell was he going to lie to Lucifer about either, not going to even entertain the idea of pretending he reciprocated for Lucifer's sake. He respected his friend too much for that.

So a clear, direct rejection it is. It was a shame, but nothing could be done. He said his piece concisely, and waited, shoulders set, back straight, smile and eyes a careful blank canvas as he prepared for the inevitable.

Lucifer nodded, a normal soft smile still in place, "Thank you for your answer, it means a lot."

Which......what? Alastor expected an outburst, or at the very least sharp words.

What he did NOT expect was....acceptance? And not just that but, a happy one? Contentment?????

"You're....alright with that?", he had to ask, he had to. Lucifer was clearly just very good at masking his upset.

But the damn angel just smiled?? And it didn't even look fake, just as bright and soft as his normal smiles, albeit a little confused?? Lucifer smiled at him, his brows furrowing in a bit of confused disbelief, as though Alastor is being the weird one here.

"Uhh, yeah??? Why wouldn't I be??? Yeah I may have some feelings for you but its not like you're obligated to feel the same. Above anything else, we're friends first and foremost and i'm alright with that..."

Then he seemed to have reached his own little conclusion as his words trailed off, because suddenly Lucifer's eyes widened in realization of something, and his words picking up with a sense of panicked urgency.

Alastor would really like to know what Lucifer's supposed realization was about himself because he had absolutely no clue.

"I mean, we ARE still friends right?? I don't- I- I hope this doesn't like- change your opinion of me. You're not- oh gosh I'm not making you uncomfortable am I? I- I won't mention it! You can even forget this whole confession ever happened! We can just go on as before! I don't feel any different or would act any different! Honest! I mean, I don't regret confessing because you deserve to know and I'm not ashamed of my feelings, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable! It doesn't change the way i'll treat you! Or change any aspect of our relationship! I don't even think I like you more as a lover than as a friend! I really, really do love our friendship, it matters more to me than any thoughts of being in a romantic relationship with you! So please just forget it all-"

Alastor let the word vomit wash over him, every word leaving him more confused by the minute.

Because yes, there's the desperation he expected, but...it was more about, convincing Alastor to remain friends?? Reassuring Alastor that nothing has to change?? That their friendship is the most important thing here??

(If anyone asks, no Alastor's heart didn't swell. Only lesser beings would have had the urge to cry, and Alastor is anything but.)

Lucifer is unknowingly reassuring Alastor of every single one of his insecurities about the situation. Because Alastor DID want to remain friends, he cared too much about the man to let it go so easily. It was rare to find people who treasure friendships above romantic relationships.

"I don't tend to forget easily, nor will I forget this one in particular.", he spoke, finally finding his voice. At Lucifer's defeated, pained expression( is their friendship really that important to him?), he continued. "But....yes. I'd like that.. To remain...friends."

He didn't often say the word out loud, being comfortable enough with each other that it need not be reassured with the label. But with Lucifer brightening up like his namesake, relief and happiness palpable, Alastor felt no qualms at declaring their friendship out loud.

So life went on as usual. True to his word, Lucifer remained basically the same. The following weeks were a bit stilted for Alastor, as he put some rather painful distance between him and the angel; limiting their interactions, their usual touches.

Anytime now, Lucifer would break and show his true colors, Alastor would think, waiting for the boot to drop. Lucifer would end up angry, and dissatisfied, and that was that.

But it never happened. Lucifer never expressed discomfort when Alastor avoided him, seeming to be understanding of the others need for space. He was just as affectionate as before, though initially a bit held back, as though gauging Alastor's comfort.

Months would pass, and the king never faltered. Their friendship remained strong, if not growing ever closer than before. Alastor found himself even growing more comfortable with the man. Affectionate touches were becoming common, hugs and head pats and cuddles being a welcome thing, with the reassurance that the shorter king would never disrespect his boundaries.

Lucifer seemed genuinely happy about it, despite being clearly told that none of Alastor's actions hinted at anything romantic. In fact, he seemed ecstatic that Alastor was getting more affectionate towards him as a friend. The embarrassment the radio demon felt at having Lucifer basically tear up (no really, he was crying so hard, full on drama sobbing) with joy in front of him was intertwined with the sheer incredulous fondness he felt for the man at that moment.

They were sitting at a couch one night, more than a year passing since that confession. Lucifer was leaning back, resting against the cushions, while Alastor had his head on the smaller one's shoulder, nuzzling at the crook of his neck, legs tucked close to his body. Both had a book in hand, two nearly empty cups of tea on the table in front of them. Every so often, Lucifer would flex his fingers that rested on Alastor's head, running a digit against the other's ear, often prompting the demon to lean into the touch. White wings enveloped the two, blanketing them against the chill of the night.

As Alastor turned the page of his own book, relaxing into the touch of his dearest friend, he wondered how he ever got so lucky in hell.

[actual-changeling]

I think in like. 90% of "they're handcuffed to each other" scenarios, they would not care. It would barely affect their work at all. They'd keep them on even once they have the key because this is the perfect 'for the love of God, do NOT get kidnapped again' insurance.

However.

There are those delicious 10% right in the middle of the Diana mess that would make for the most painful, angsty, hurt/comfort fic you can imagine. Arcadia, but turned up to 11.

This was not supposed to be anything resembling said fic and instead stay a shitpost—but here we are.

———

They're fighting over who gets to be in charge of movement immediately, and they do not stop . They keep tripping because they decide to suddenly walk in two different directions, and their wrists are chafed and bloody.

They keep going like that for a while until their lack of coordination and teamwork almost gets them killed, and then they're stuck hiding in a small, dark space, forced to TALK.

Imagine a janitor's closet or a small, windowless bathroom.

First, there's silence.

Then, one of them dares to say a word, and suddenly they're at each other's throats, going straight for the jugular.

Petty fighting turns into insults, which turn into months of pent-up emotions spilling out without any control over how, and they both say things they'll definitely regret later on.

Until it finally reaches a breaking point when Mulder—annoyed, frustrated, confused—cuts her off and says, "You're making it personal again, Scully."

Her mouth closes with an audible click, and she freezes before shuffling as far away from him as she possibly can. He realises he has fucked up. A lot.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Oh, you meant it, Mulder; don't backpedal. You meant it now, and you meant it back then too."

"Scully—"

"Shut up."

She's exhausted. So fucking tired. You made me a whole person to get her to stay, and she'd believed him. Damn it all, she had believed him. Just for him to turn it into a lie and destroy her trust within seconds.

"What does it take? For this thing to come up and bite you on the ass? I saw these creatures. I saw them burst to life. You would've seen them, too, but you were infected with that virus. You were passed out over my shoulder."   "Mulder, I know what you did. I know what happened to me, but without ignoring the science, I can't… Listen, Mulder. You told me that my science kept you honest. That it made you question your assumptions. That by it, I'd made you a whole person. If I change now… it wouldn't be right or honest."   "I'm talking about extraterrestrial life alive on this planet in our lifetime. Forces that dwarf and precede all human history. I'm sorry, Scully, but this time your science is wrong."

He had walked away from her without a second of hesitation, and she wishes she could walk away from him now.

Six years of loyalty and trust, and for what? To end up as the second-best, easily forgotten choice? To be wanted not for herself but as a placeholder, a substitute for someone else?

Forgiveness, over and over, without hesitation, and Mulder took it for granted. Of course, she will do what he wants. Even when he goes behind her back. Even when he tricks her into it. Even when he leaves her behind with barely a word. Even when she has no reason to do it except because it's him.

Because it's personal.

It has always been personal, but suddenly it's a fallacy she spun out of nothing and not the foundation of their partnership.

"I shouldn't have said that, Scully, i—"

I'm asking you to trust my judgment. To trust me.

"Mulder, shut. up."

He hadn't trusted her. She still trusts him and hates herself for it. What's the point of trusting someone when the reward is rejection and loneliness? When he stopped trusting her God knows how long ago?

The skin on her right wrist burns with abrasions, but she refuses to budge. Pain is sharp and honest, grounding and constant. She trusts pain more than she trusts him.

Time is hard to tell in the dark, it could be minutes or hours of waiting until she can feel his fingertips brush against her palm; she suppresses the urge to flinch. Mulder's touch is warm and light, not meant to ask but to offer, and her body betrays her mind and allows him to interlace their fingers.

God, she misses him. 

Underneath all that bubbling anger and lingering betrayal, she misses her partner. She misses him and the person she knows she can be with him—lighthearted, happy, alive. Contented hours of searching through files and writing reports have become a necessary sacrifice; suffocating spans of time she counts down by the minute.

It was never about the desk. It is not about Diana, not really. 

Maybe the darkness makes them both a bit braver, a bit softer around the edges, because she lets out a deep sigh and wills the tension to leave her muscles. If they keep going the way they have in recent weeks, they will break apart sooner rather than later, and she doesn't want to lose him, she never has. 

All she wants is to get her best friend back and to keep him for however long the world will allow. Not a clean slate or a new beginning, but a second chance for both of them. 

Caught between either extending an olive branch or ending up alone, it is easy to choose. Because it's personal, always has been, and always will be.

The pressure around her wrist disappears when she stops trying to keep her arm from him, and he hesitantly squeezes her hand—she slowly squeezes back.

"I'm sorry. for all of it. I never meant to hurt you, but I did, and I'm so, so sorry."

Scully pushes herself backward so she is leaning against him again, and when she closes her eyes, she can almost pretend they're somewhere, anywhere else, and she's finally coming home.

"I know, Mulder. I know."

[sciderman]

hello! so i've been a short time (feels like a long time) lurker, recent follower, of all of your spidey-pool stuff, and i adore it!!

i do have a question though: i see a lot of your more angsty posts being about how Wade and Peter can't exactly see eye to eye on what they believe love to mean, but i haven't seen a post explicitly saying what their beliefs are. so, i suppose i'm asking what exactly wade and peter's pre-conceived notions of love are?

oooh, i think wade's perception of love is something more abstract than peter's – wade – wade sort of thinks of love in terms of fairytales and hollywood pictures.

for wade, love is sort of something intangible for him. something he perpetually wants, but something he can never keep. it gets yanked away from him, every time.

i think he constantly questions whether he'll ever hold onto love. i think he likes to persuade himself that he doesn't need it, and has never felt it. can't lose what you never had in the first place.

[x]

when wade does lean into love, he makes a spectacle of it. he wants the world to know. he wants it to be THE fairytale. he wants it to be hollywood perfect. i think, maybe to placate his own self-doubt. if he gussies it up enough, maybe it can be perfect.

of course, with shiklah, wade doesn't even take his mask off during the wedding. or the honeymoon.

i think - kind of being deprived of love his whole life, he just - he doesn't really know how to authenticate his emotions. he feels terrified to expose his soft underbelly and let someone in his life know how much he needs them. he won't admit it to himself, and he won't admit it to others.

peter - conversely - has been surrounded by love his whole life. unconditional love. from aunt may - from uncle ben – from MJ and gwen – and yes, he's experienced loss - but, he knows love. real - authentic love. in fact - he feels it, so so much. all the time. he loves so deeply. and so many people. all the time. he's stand-offish at first, and it's difficult to get in, but once you're in - peter will never let you go.

i think that is what love is, to peter. it's not about flowers, or glass slippers, or whatever hollywood is peddling - what love is to peter, is longevity. loyalty. someone who'll stick by you, forever. never abandon you. no matter how imperfect.

[x]

which is - kind of, exactly what wade's looking for, but too afraid to admit to.

[x]

peter feels so much love. authentic love. messy love. unromantic love. love where, he won't say the right thing, because he doesn't have a hollywood script backing him up, but it comes from such an honest and sincere place in his heart. he's bad at romance, but his brand of love is clumsy and honest. he doesn't know how to be any other way. he tries, and fails. he can't even successfully deliver a bouquet of flowers. it's not even his fault.

and he, so, so quickly recognises how much he needs people. he's hopeless without the people he loves. and, just like wade, he's terrified of losing people. but it manifests in a different way. instead of living in denial over it, he kind of does everything he can to hold onto people. peter is clingy.

and - in contrast to wade - when peter's in love, he wants nothing more than to expose every part of himself. el nudisto. buck-ass-nude.

he wants to bear himself, so badly to the people he loves. the only thing that ever outweighs that is the fear he has of losing those people. so it's calculated risks, on his part.

i guess the biggest difference between wade and peter is always that - wade's performative to a fault - and peter's sincere to a fault. and hilarity ensues.

[mxlti-fand0m-imaginess]

Love Is Blind // Amber Freeman

request: hi!! could you do an angsty x reader for amber freeman from scream, where reader is dating amber and gets roped into her ghostface plan only for her to turn on them at the last second (kinda similar to what jill did to charlie) <3

prompt: none

summary: you helped your girlfriend, amber, with her idea to massacre your friends to inspire a new stab movie. but amber hasn't been entirely honest with you about her plan. what happens when the truth is revealed?

warnings: blood, a knife being held to a throat, guns/being shot, language, not proofread, murder, violence

word count: 701

“This isn’t a fucking movie!” Sam yelled at you while you pointed a knife at her throat.

You smiled psychotically, pushing the tip of the knife into her skin. “No. But it will be. That’s the point, right Amber?”

Your girlfriend, Amber, grinned back at you as she held Gale at gunpoint. “Right, hun! Third act bloodbath, check! Killers revealed, check! Time for the big finale!”

She turned around to face you, the smile on her face utterly terrifying. “But first…” 

Amber moved her gun and pointed it at you. Gale tried to creep away once Amber’s attention was off of her, but Amber turned around and shot her in the head. Gale fell to the ground, dead. You kept your knife pointed at Sam, but your hand began to shake when you realized your girlfriend had her gun trained on you. Your eyes widened, confusion and shock overtaking your face.

“Babe? What are you doing?”

Amber didn’t respond right away. She pulled the trigger, sending a bullet straight into your gut. You groaned in pain, crumpling to the ground and clutching your wound. Sam pried the knife out of your hand, starting to run off while you and Amber were distracted. Amber looked back up at Sam, eyes full of rage.

“Don’t fucking move!” she yelled, making Sam stop in her tracks.

 You looked up at your girlfriend, heartbroken and confused. “Amber…” you said, coughing slightly as blood dripped out of your mouth.

“Sorry, darling. But this is the way it has to be. You really shouldn’t have gone and killed all those people. But it means a lot that you did it for me,” she smiled, but it didn’t meet her eyes.

“What are you talking about? Y-you made me do this. You wanted me to do this with you,” you struggled getting your words out as you felt dizzier and dizzier.

“She’s framing you. All of this, she’s going to pin it on you. That was her plan all along, wasn’t it?” Sam said, tightening her grip in the knife.

“Am?” you asked, voice quivering and eyes blurring with tears. 

Amber grinned, stepping closer to you. “How am I supposed to watch the new Stab movie if I’m in jail? There’s no point in any of this if I don’t get everything I wanted out of it. And you, well you were just oh so eager to help me. It was sweet really. It’s not like framing you is gonna be hard either. I’m gonna be the only survivor, and all the calls were made from your phone. You bought the costumes. It’s all traceable back to you. It’s foolproof.”

Your heart shattered as you felt everything you loved begin to fall apart. Your girlfriend had been planning to turn against you this whole time. And you just blindly followed her, so caught up in your feelings to realize what was really happening. Love really is blind. It had been right in front of you the whole time, but you were too infatuated to notice. And now you had to face the consequences of your naïvety. 

“I loved you, Amber,” you said, voice growing quieter as you bled out.

“I know you did. And I loved that you loved me.”

“Did you really never feel anything? This whole time, everything you said to me, everything I did for you, was it really all just a lie?”

Amber shrugged, a half-smile on her face. “It wasn’t really a lie. You believed what you wanted to, and I just went along with it. I’m sorry it had to be this way. Who knows? Maybe I actually would’ve loved you if things were different. See you in the next life, darling.”

You tried to respond, but you couldn’t seem to get words out. Your head began to spin and the world around you grew dimmer. Your eyes fluttered closed and your hands went limp as you laid there on the floor. You could still hear, but barely. Amber’s screams, a gunshot, sirens. Footsteps sounded beside you and you felt your body being lifted up onto a stretcher. And then nothing. Silence. You were still. Everything was still. And you were gone.

tags: @Hocksetters @cheyp420

if your name is crossed out, it means I can't tag you!

[intrepidacious]

time after time: reread edition [1]

series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 6.0k

chapter warnings: canon-typical violence, accidentally starting a time loop, banter, pretty angsty to start us off with ngl, reminder to read the fic premise. please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

read the full chapter here | series masterlist | reread masterlist

wouldn't you know it, it's friday already!! this is a reread of already published chapters, so if you're new to this story, i would highly suggest not starting here and reading the actual story first. please be aware that by clicking the read more you're gonna see spoilers for chapter one 💚

how it started

welcome to the reread. i'm pretty sure this is the part of the post i'll only do once, but we'll see how it goes.

i swear to god, i only wanted to write a fun little time loop fic. it was never supposed to be this huge thing; it just kept growing. it's two years later now and i'm still writing—granted, that's after taking several long breaks because this story gives me headaches like no other, but still. i've never poured this much love into one story, i think.

and we can all blame russian doll for it.

turn back the clock – tl;dr

we start with a mission. sam, bucky and the reader, soon-to-be nicknamed twelve, are checking up on a secret lab. against all odds, bucky gets killed right before the fight seems to be won. twelve uses her time powers to prevent this from happening, loses consciousness and wakes up in her bed earlier that day. she goes through the entire day again, thinking her reset worked as intended, only for bucky to die in a different situation during the same mission and her waking up in her bed again.

behind the loop

welcome to my first running commentary on my own story. you’re gonna be sick of me really soon.

depending on how new you are to this story, you might not know that the chapter titles are all taken from movies. sadly i haven't seen most of them but the ones i have seen do feature a little in one way or another. more about that when we get to that point, though. the title cards for this story were also so fun to make because i just recoloured the actual movie posters!!

i’m gonna be honest with you, i keep forgetting that this first flashback exists. but i lowkey love it?? i like how it sets the tone for the angst that’s stitched into the very fabric of this story while simultaneously being juxtaposed with the first actual, very blunt introduction of our main cast.

the start of that mission was one of the first things i ever wrote for this fic, but the whole transition from the upstairs lab to downstairs and the actual fight scene were the last parts before posting.

“Do you think I’d pass up the opportunity to hear the two of you scream in terror when the vampire puppets creep up on you?” “Gotta disappoint you, cap,” you grin and wait for him to check the map. “I only scream when there’s good reason.” “I don’t wanna interrupt,” Bucky interrupts over the intercom, “but they’re heading your way now, so get a move on.”

writing banter is one of my all-time favourite activities. i also already knew at this point that i was gonna write a lot of it over and over again, and so i needed to vary the interjections in order to not bore everyone to bits. i like to think it worked out, but you tell me.

my beloved nightmare flashmob was such a fun antagonist to include. they will be named in the next chapter but if there are comic readers among you, i feel like i have to apologise because i definitely haven’t read enough of them to properly do these guys justice. they did seem like a logical step up from the version of the flag smasher(s) we encountered in tfatws, though. plus, there’s just enough of them to be a realistic threat to three very capable superheroes.

And then his eyes glaze over. You scream.

i’m so evil lmao

You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

spoiler alert, you’ll encounter that sentence a couple of times. and i still love it. fun fact, i genuinely set my playlist to shuffle to decide on the song that was going to play to wake her up, and this was the one i landed on. and i couldn’t have come up with a better choice. honestly, look at the lyrics and tell me i’m wrong. i love how things work out sometimes.

originally, the decision to set the story on july 4th was very practical because i needed my available settings to be limited. this isn’t punxsutawney, pennsylvania in the middle of a snowstorm, this is new york city after the blip. i wanted our characters to have at least somewhat limited options what to do during their ever-repeating day. (on a sidenote, do you think we’ll ever see avengers compound again in the mcu? how long are they going to rebuild that thing? anyway.)

“Feels a little … déjà-vu-y.” “I know the type,” Sam says. “Wanna talk about it?” You do. But the time stuff is your problem to deal with, and so you shake your head.

isn’t it great to have a full ensemble of characters who absolutely will not talk about their feelings to each other? (derogatory) is it more interesting from a narrative point of view? … i suppose.

i love twelve’s rings though. are they entirely useless for the duration of this loop? maybe. but i love that she has them to physically show her how stuck she is <3 other things that i love: bucky calling sam bud. it just makes sense.

A surge of emptiness goes through you, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Time seems to still for just the blink of an eye as Bucky’s head is thrown forwards.

and there we have it. ✨dread.✨ this is such an evil way to end a chapter, wow. i had fun, though. was it fun for you?

how it's going

well, actually. i've been writing chapter seven as well as a secret bonus chapter this week, and i've made reasonable progress on both which i'm quite proud of. i really hope i can report that i got started on chapter eight this time next week, but we'll see. i think the worst of my writer's block is gone, at least. and all it took was a little self-indulgence and an external deadline. who'd have thunk.

if you made it to this point of my rambles, thank you. lmk how i can keep these interesting for you to read, and if you have any questions about the story, you know where to find me!! also: please please please consider leaving a comment or a reblog on the actual chapter. it would mean the world 💚

[vermillioncrown]

Fuck you and your writing. What the hell. How tbe fuck did you make a tasteful brothel scene, how the hell did you manage to do all this shit. This chapter was fuckin heart wrenching. I wanted to see WWX get fucked up and then he did and it wasn't satisfying, but it was good writing and i liked it regardless. God. How the hell did you do this shit. What the fuck.

:^) thank you, i hit my target :^) :^)

=

because i really, really cared about getting the exact flavor of this chapter right, so much so that it took over a year.

the brothel scene is so important in what it means in the fic, which is more than showing that zyx fucked. or that zyx fucked a girl for real. or to do some questioning of sexuality.

(which i think i had to go through the five stages of grief when someone excitedly talked about it like having sex means someone is no longer aspec like... every day i am confronted by the fact we all coexist with vastly different perspectives on reality, and these realities are all true to some extent, sigh)

it's also not about being edgy and buying hookers, getting drunk, and all that.

so without using prostitution, nightlife, and sex as a prop and just being real with it, i hope that it doesn't come off goofy, edgy, or objectifying. the perils of trying to convey complicated feelings without therapy speak in-fic, and being really honest in someone's motivations and reactions (bc, unavoidably, it IS an SI).

the brothel scene and its whole fallout was so important, in fact, that i rewrote the entire order of the chapter. originally, the scenes were supposed to be in chronological order. logical, but it just felt like a boring recounting of events. sure, the events are fresh and we wanna see what zyx-mess happens next, but it's just a bunch of 'and then, and then, and then'. works for interlude chapters (ch8, ch15), but this really isn't one.

seguing, i learned a lot from how i wrote bil. dbd will never be as lean as bil, but it reminded me that when i drafted the fic, i focused on certain developments and ideas for a reason. also, since it's a chapter that doesn't involve too many canon characters, which let's be real that's usually the reason we stick around these kinds of fics, it needed to have purpose and be clear about what feeling it's trying to convey

even at the cost of simplicity in order of events

it would have been so difficult to keep the type of upset that zyx is feeling through a chapter that spans months, develops two interpersonal relationships, has a big oopsie, in chronological order without a too-angsty tone. too many periodic reminders would feel jarring and obtrusive, and exaggerate it. and that's also just not how zyx (i) deal with upsets, thank you adhd

and like, doing that for 10k+. (eternally i thank my readers for their patience and willingness to read so much bc people don't read fanfic for deep analysis and extra hw...) that's too much.

=

the second most important scene is the wwx duel, you got it. (i'd lump the lxc duel there, too bc those two are kinda related)

(sometimes i worry i made wwx too annoying. but then i talk myself back--it's always perspective. wwx isn't doing more than he already did in canon. we just have someone who can articulate how they feel about what he does, and he's not the main narrator of dbd.)

we get to a very clear demonstration of zyx as a character--it's more or less "i have no mouth and i must scream". here's your chance to be violent. you know you want it. do it. act out, make yourself heard.

zyx doesn't do it.

and you know what? i will be honest, truly honest here: i am sorry if you can instantly clock why zyx is the way they are, because for real 'recognition of the self in the other'.

lack of satisfaction--when you know what you wanted all along was for something to have never have happened at all, would punishment (displaced punishment) satisfy you? would it fix you? sometimes it helps, just for a moment. but i've answered this question enough times that i know i'd rather have never had to ask that question in the first place.

=

tldr: it's because it's a chapter about emotional honesty, and i as the author was really fucking honest and tried my fucking best to convey that.

[rysko]

For my namesake Juliusz

💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?🧊 - Is their current design the first one?

Oooooooohohohohohoho okay the first one is juicy, sorry if my rambling is a little incoherent. I've thought about it a LOT, lemme tell ya. He's definetly not getting killed in the "canonical" story of KoS, but i have thought about the different 'what if's' and their outcomes like:

What if the story never happened and everything went the 'canonical' way of Peaky? Then i could see some messed up stuff happening in season 5 during the whole Mosley business. Either Julek quits himself (which is pretty unlikely, as i can imagine he'll have at least a slither of hope for whatever Tommy's plan is, if he even knew the plan, that is). OR, more realistically, i feel like either Tommy fires him when Mosley tells him to (again, s5e5, 'Your company lawyer is a jew, he has to go' like???? Stephen Knight is inside my walls) resulting in Juliusz feeling absolutely betrayed by Tommy and the Shelby's. And who knows, maybe he'd come back to work for Alfie, but i feel like he'd just feel like a wreck of a man and hardly...live. Or maybe he'd come back to Poland! But...well...we all know what will happen in a few years' time. If Tommy wouldn't fire him, i feel like the Billy boys would not hesitate to 'help him out'. I mean, he's not only a jew, but a jewish immigrant, a queer one at that. Yea he's getting a car bomb if he appears in s5, im sorry.

There's also some 'what if's' to actual events in KoS, buuuuuuut that would go into some heavy spoilers, but i'd be happy to rejoin this conversation when the main story ends.

If i have to be honest though, Juliusz dying is a subject of a lot of angsty scenarios, and while i'm not planning on putting it in Kings of Spades, i just loooove to imagine the angst :>>

NOW, the lighter question lol Yes and no? Juliusz has a faceclaim i use for convenience, but it's more so i can imagine him better when thinking about the story. Originally he was more like a... scattered collection of features? If that makes sense. Before the fc i kind of left him blank as a design (mostly because originally KoS was supposed to be an xreader but i scrapped that really fast lol). Now he's slowly growing into his design, i still suck at drawing him like i imagine him though xd

thanks for the ask july <3333

[ladyhindsight]

I decided to speak separately on the matter of racism in TLH. I'll give my honest opinion that I'm sure many people disagree (I don't care)

I suppose it's easy to just try to paint CC as someone who hates people of color even though we do not have factual evidence of that. I don't see a white person obsessing over their white characters and their features as a personal offense to me, I see it as something an author should work on so it doesn't get so atrociously obvious in their writing. The writing is problematic? VERY, but I'm not so simplistic as to believe this must mean the author is an horrible person who believes white features are objectively superior. The more I research about CC, the more I have reasons to side-eye her author persona, but I refuse to make this personal anymore.

The matter of race regarding Alastair is something I have felt deeply hurt and argued passionately about in the past, but once I realized how unserious CC's writing is, it stopped hurting me on a personal level and I went through a time of deep frustration while I saw fully how the world of TSC was so unplanned since the start and doesn't try to have any coherence. It helps that I have reads books so much more racist than any of TSC could ever be, that affects my view of it all, of course.

Part of the unseriousness is how in love the writing is with the characters. It's not one character in love with another, it's like the whole book is in love with the main characters. I'm sure I've read you saying: this before, the author's fascination with her own characters make the writing absurdly biased.

That takes to the treatment of Alastair's character: he is one of the characters of color I have related the most ever, I truly love him as a character. But the story is so in love with the main white characters that it gets fucked up how it can't not be forgotten how Alastair has committed the biggest of sins known to man: raise his voice to hurt the golden protagonists James and Matthew, not because bullying is bad, but because James and Matthew are so much better than him regardless of what they do, and regardless of what Matthew does or says against him, so hurting them is very, very bad. Bad Alastair!

In Chain of Iron, James seems perfectly ready to move on and be friendly to Alastair, and that's written as in to show how of a benevolent gracious kind understanding forgiving humble person he is, specifically how much of a perfect husband he is to Cordelia, being polite to her brother, it's not about actually showing understanding to Alastair - Matthew doing the complete opposite of James is not shown as flawed either. They are just perfecly right in whatever they decide to do, James being the perfectest and Matthew being just a little silly angsty guy.

The flaw is more actually in the writing of the MAIN white characters, and that has been the case since ever. As if Jace was split in two different parts, James and Matthew, and TLH just goes from there.

I should note, CC already mentioned Cordelia being half-Persian in early 2014, which can still be said to be early on the planning of TLH, so I don't think it's fair or accurate at all if someone talks as if Cordelia and Alastair's ethnicity was changed "last minute," that's definitely not the case

- R

I’ll add your other message here too since a lot of the subject matter overlaps.

I've been reading your posts that I had missed and this one is a contenter for my favorite post of yours.

The description of physical traits done by CC is something I've been observing for a while and I did my own research through the books.

I have reasons to be fond of CJ - she was the one who made up Robert/Michael and I'm inclined to believe CC may not have thought of it/included it in the books if not for CJ, and I wouldn't have Robert as he is in The Evil We Love. What a terrifying idea (to me).

On the other hand.......... CJ went a long way on her skills of painting skin color. The only slack I could give is 1) years ago nobody in the fandom knew how to paint dark skin, and even when ChoG came out a couple of years ago several artists showed how much they still didn't know how to paint dark skin with their takes on Cordelia and Alastair. It was a disturbing time; 2) CC's descriptions sucked ass.

First on the case of the Wiki: it's not 100% reliable, as I particularly noticed with skin color descriptions. I was the one to add there that Alastair has brown skin, what was written before was straight up lying and it was hard to not wonder if it was in bad faith somehow.

On the Rosales. The wiki has Diego described as olive-skinned with the only source being LoS, but in LoS his skin is described as brown.

Their color in that previous CJ artwork, as you noticed, sucks. Brown skin seems to be used very loosely in these books, and CJ seems to have projected Latino/Mexican stereotypes in her coloring of the ~Hispanic~ characters in general, and that goes together with the books also implying that Latinos all have the same coloring.

I know Americans/gringos don't understand much about Latinos but if you're doing some form of creation/art like writing and drawing it's expected that you try to understand this kind of thing.

Several of popular TDA fanart portrays Cristina very light, and it's annoying that people don't bat an eye at it. Latinos can have any skin color, and artists seem to use that as if it means that any color can be used to draw any Latino character, ignoring how they are actually described and instead going for the idea of Latino they have in their heads as reference.

Rafe is one of the Malec children and his ethnicity is left very vague, he is only assumed to be a person of color because he is Argentinian, but Argentinians are among some of the whitest Latinos. (No offense meant to Argentinians of color or even Argentinians in general - other Latino countries are often very white, like Cuba, with the obvious famous case of Camilla Cabello, a white Cuban). Rafe still could be an Argentinian of color, of course, but, you get what I mean? The generalization is definitely there.

Jaime's skin color has been corrected in his new flower card. I'm not Mexican so I'll just refrain from commenting the tattoo.

About Cordelia, you noticed the problem too. It was more a matter of general fucked-updness, but it's more complicated than it seems.

The oldest mention of Cordelia being half-Persian that I could find is from March 2014 (x). The first description was from CC's twitter in September 2014 (x) which artists used for a good while to make her very light colored, since it says "light" brown skin, and it was eventually changed to brown, just lighter than Sona's, Ariadnes's and Magnus' browns according to the on page TLH descriptions. Magnus really got darker over the tears didn't he

I assume this was the case of CJ too. I would like to point that since Persians can be generally very light-skinned, nobody had to assume they were dark skinned. I remember even talking to a Persian reader that was surprised at Cordelia and Alastair being dark skinned, but that person seemed to actually believe that they should be light skinned Persians, and I don't have knowledge of colorism-related tensions in Iran to have a deep understanding of this reaction. I don't get behind colorism.

Anyway, but even then CJ didn't have a problem drawing Sona brown-skinned, so she shouldn't have a problem drawing Cordelia brown skinned too.

There is the misconception going on even implied in the wiki that Cordelia and Alastair weren't Persian in the previous flower cards, that those arts were drawn before they were made to be Persian, and like I explained this is just NOT TRUE. CC and CJ simply fucked it up.

Have you seem one of Magnus previous flower cards? This is atrocious. What I collected in the books was that Magnus was first described as brown skinned in Clockwork Angel, it's a mistake that it wasn't first in TMI but CA is still many books and years ago. After it CC stil reblogged art with white-skinned Magnus and the fandom sure still did draw a lot of light skinned Magnus.

The casting for the movie and TV show surely didn't help. I was ignorant about the issues of Southeast Asian representation and this video series was very useful for me to understand the problem.

All these issues within TSC have been a big topic for me over the years, so I can discuss it at lenght, but here I talked a lot already. Hope my information was useful.

You probably have seen it already, but readers asked a lot for corrected flower cards of Cordelia and Alastair, and it happened. (x)

Thanks for reading all of this :)

- R

Like with the previous discussions about Cordelia, race, and racism in Clare’s writing, I said that I don’t really believe there to be any conscious malicious intent behind any of it. My opinion still stands on the thoughtless writing and Clare being unable to consider the implications of her writing being the main underlying issue. Obviously there are as many outlooks and thoughts on this as there are readers, and it’s difficult to speak in generalizations because the response Clare receives has been from side to side, and her readership is not a monolith.

I’m sure Clare doesn’t think of herself in any bad way, but as it is with her overall writing, her biases do show. The narrative is untrustworthy and partial to certain aspects and characters, so I can’t say those problems aren’t there. There’s also the issue of Clare’s behavior outside her books and writing. I am not incredibly familiar with everything within the fandom and readership, but I see stuff every once in a while. Somewhere around Chain of Gold, I saw people raising the issue of Clare’s Pinterest use. Where Cordelia was concerned, Clare favored images (for likeness, I assume) with light skin and red hair, because red hair was the trait she prioritized in Cordelia’s appearance, not her ethnicity which, I’d say, bears more significance and importance all things considered.

As to the flower cards, when An Illustrated History of Notable Shadowhunters & Denizens of Downworld was published in 2016, Cordelia’s card still featured her with white skin, though she and Alastair were told they were both half-Persian descent. Alastair did feature a bit darker skin tone though. Though it is notable that people of any descent vary in their looks, I think the problem was that Clare chose to include biracial characters of Middle Eastern descent and still chose Cordelia to be light-skinned, as if there wasn’t already so many white characters. I don’t know when the change did happen, but the flower cards did not reflect that Clare’s description of Cordelia in 2014: “She has light brown skin, dark red hair, and black eyes.”

It is questionable that only just a while ago in fall 2022 were the Cordelia and Alastair cards updated to be more appropriate to their looks. Also questionable that readers had to ask for them. Additionally questionable is that one twitter comment asking about Matthew and James because it seems like the purpose of updating Cordelia’s and Alastair’s cards went right over their heads. The information you provided was helpful, but also there still exists these inconsistencies that it’s incredibly hard to fault readers being upset with Clare and CJ. There’s been controversy around the official CJ art for a long time, I think (I suck at counting time), and it’s been really something. Aline, Jia, Magnus, for instance, were all drawn white for the longest time. There definitely has been issues with fan art overall as well for years, and not just exclusively in TSC fandom.

Magnus’ hands have been described as “white” two times, and both times (in City of Bones and City of Fallen Angels I think?) I was perplexed. Also shucks that the wiki wasn’t 100% accurate, because it was quicker to check it than go over everyone’s descriptions from the books. Also, now that you mentioned it, I did imagine Rafael with darker skin but because of the cover art for The Land I Lost, not that he was ever really described properly.

It’s good that you have personally been able to rise above the issue that it doesn’t hurt you anymore. The unplanned nature and the focus being somewhere else than authentic world-building goes for a long way in anything we discuss about TSC. There’s definitely stuff to be corrected in readers’ perception but at the same time, all the concern and hurt readers experience because of Clare’s thoughtlessness and bias are not negated by that (not that you implied it is, of course).  

[enbyhoshi]

ao3 wrapped 2023

hello again! i only ended up writing (+ posting) two fics this year (total of 16,033 words) compared to the staggering seven of last year - so i went back and forth a lot about whether i should even make this post, but i ended up doing it anyways! here we go!

🌟💗🌟💗🌟💗🌟💗🌟💗🌟💗🌟💗🌟💗🌟💗🌟💗🌟💗🌟

from the start

wonhao, 7.4k, G, library co-owners to lovers

minghao fest fic! to be honest, i wasn't really planning on joining the fest as i hadn't written minghao before and was too nervous to, but after seeing this prompt i just couldn't pass it up. and thank god i didn't! one of my favorite types of fics is where the story takes place or focuses on the main pairing's (along with the rest/some of the other characters in whatever media is being written about) workplace, especially when it's super specific lol. and who doesn't love a lil library romance? wonhao were made for this. another favorite thing of mine, this time more on the writing side, is sneaking small references to other loved medias hehe. this time it's a reference to the dimension 20 season the unsleeping city: chapter 2 episode 1 with minghao cleaning up the orange juice in the romance section. very random but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

favorite part:

“Oh,” Wonwoo mumbles. He looks a little out of it, like he’s as shocked about this whole situation as Minghao is. “Cool. I mean– that’s good. I didn’t have a plan if you ended rejecting me.” “Quit your job and move to another country?” Minghao jokes, despite the fast beating of his heart. “And what about our child?” Wonwoo jokes with him, voice a little weak. Minghao tries not to think about how he’s the cause of that. “We can’t have it travelling between countries all the time.” “I can’t believe you just told me you love me while I’m covered in orange juice.” Minghao says, trying to swallow down the huge smile that wants to break out. “This is the worst possible place for a love confession.” “Well,” Wonwoo says and his eyes dart to something above Minghao’s head and when he looks it’s the label of the particular section they’re in. It’s the Romance section. “I’d say it’s pretty fitting.”

2. untouched

soonhao, 8.6k, M, gg!bss & their stylist hao

girlies.... another minghao fest fic lol! this fic was somewhat of a surprise, since i came up with this prompt on a whim and just kinda put it on the ever-growing wip pile. and then the 2nd round for mhf happened and thought you know what! might as well! in my mind, this fic was supposed to be way different than what it ended up being tone-wise. think more angsty, more toxic, more i-just-broke-up-with-my-boyfriend-and-i-know-you-desire-me-carnally-so-i'm-gonna-use-you-as-a-rebound. basically toxic yuri but make it soonhao. unfortunately it got lost in translation and it turned out more like a typical fic but maybe its for the better lol.

favorite part:

“I did,” Minghao says. “It was good. Do you really have the acorn hat in your bag all the time?” A bashful smile breaks out on Soonyoung’s face. “You know I don’t. I just thought it’d be a fun anecdote.” Minghao smiles back at her. Her hand reaches out to move the hair from Soonyoung’s eyes but then she realises what she’s doing and draws her hand back. “The jeans too?” she says like nothing happened. “That was more…” Soonyoung looks away like she’s thinking about it, her smile turning into something softer now. “More of a personal moment that I wanted to share, I guess.”

🌟💗🌟💗🌟💗🌟💗🌟💗🌟💗🌟💗🌟💗🌟💗🌟💗🌟💗🌟

and that's it! truthfully, i was trying to finished at least one more fic before the year ended - and then i got sick (still am) and could barely look at a screen for more than 20 mins (still can't) lol. hopefully that fic gets published early next year then :) thank you for reading this far! see you in 2024!

[neil-neil-orange-peel]

32 for the fanfic ask post!! :)

32) Are any of your characters based on real people?

I probably don't have the longest list of OCs, if I'm being honest, because most of the fic I've written has just involved canon characters. The OCs I do have aren't so much based on real people, more on other comedy characters (I mean, I hope they're not carbon copies, but y'know, comedy characters are good character bases for fics about sitcoms 😂).

That said, my TNS OC Andy Arsole is based on Ade... although not Ade as a person, more just what an Ade character in TNS might be like, if that makes sense? One day I will actually write Of Bastards and Arseholes, where Andy and Alan argue in the Commons. Maybe.

As for other OCs that I've based on pre-existing comedy characters: the three poltergoosts from A Bastard's Carol were - fairly obviously, since Rick kept pointing it out 😂 - based on Neil, Mike, and Vyvyan. Since Rick got to be the Scrooge, they got to be the ghosts, so to speak. They were fun.

I have four other TYO OCs who have yet to see the light of day. They are part of a Modern/Ghost AU, which will be a massive project since there are eight main characters! The four OCs are each meant to correspond to one of the actual Young Ones - although I'd say they're sorta... better adjusted... on the whole. 😂 Their names are Harvey Poole, Robin "Rob Lowe" Lowe, Madison "Mad" Dean, and Lily "Will/Willy/Dickhead" Shakespeare. Any guesses who corresponds to who? I don't think I've ever revealed their names before, damn...

Oh, and they got a Balowski, of course, so he's based on Alexei and the other Balowskis.

My final fandom OCs pop up in The Basterds of Hammersmith (which is about Vyvyan's family; a TYO/Bottom crossover that is more elongated and angsty than I can honestly justify, but HA!). The first part of the story is very OC heavy because it's centred around an OC: Adelaide "Addie" Basterd. I've already had a few people tell me they like Addie, which really warms my heart. ❤️ I know it can be harder to get into fic with OCs, since we're all really here for the canon characters, so I'm very grateful to the people who've given TBOH a chance.

The comedy character I use as a base for Addie is Edina Monsoon from Absolutely Fabulous. There are some pretty major differences in circumstances: Addie is a teenager, not a middle aged woman; Addie's living in the 1940s, not the 1990s; Addie is working class, not rich. People might look at Addie and not see the comparison at all, and that's fine since I don't want her to be a straight up copy. Addie's supposed to be a much more sympathetic character than Eddy, anyway. I'm really putting her through it! 😅

The other important OCs in TBOH include Eduard [SURNAME REDACTED DUE TO SPOILERS], who isn't really based on anyone. At a push, I'd say he's Ade playing another German character - but he's not really the Red Baron (from Blackadder) or Ace (from TCSP Slags). There's also the Head family, who are relations of a certain Dick Head. Running with the Ab Fab thing, Mrs Head is sorta based on Mrs Monsoon. Dicky, on the other hand, is based on Arnold Rimmer from Red Dwarf. Why? Well, because he's my OC and it's my fic so I've let myself be self-indulgent. 😂 There are some Heads who haven't been introduced yet, so I'm gonna keep mostly stum about them... apart from to ask you all to smoke me a kipper.

There are other minor OCs in that fic - it's fucking massive, so much of it is still a WIP - but I've already waffled enough now. 😂

Thanks for the ask!

[stellocchia]

I have a new AU idea. Again.

Okay, I've been reading a superhero fic today and my brain immediately went "how do I make this more angsty?" so what I propose to you is: we mix a superhero AU with the whole idea of immortal Tommy (the version where Dream managed to make the two of them immortals, but Tommy ended up killing him, being stuck as the only immortal alive since only another one can kill him and he's the only one with the knowledge on how to make more).

So Tommy technically doesn't develop any superpower, but, you know, being literally immortal probably counts regardless.

Anyway, thousands of years have passed and people have developed special abilities. Tommy wasn't initially too interested in it until he meets Tubbo. Not original Tubbo of course, that one is long dead, but a reincarnation. This one doesn't have the traumas from wars and executions and losing his friends and family. He's just a bright-eyed teen who aspires to be a scientist someday and develop gadgets for the heroes.

At first, Tommy thinks that it's just a coincidence. He was bound to meet other people named "Tubbo" sooner or later and them looking and sounding similar doesn't mean much. Then Tubbo introduces him to Ranboo. And then Tommy gets a job at Sam's tech shop. And Sam is in a relationship with someone named Ponk whose arm hasn't been ripped off by his boyfriend thankfully (Tommy panicked when seeing their prosthetic arm, but it turns out they just lost it in a car accident). And then he starts paying attention to the news and notices that the 3 top heroes are definitely Wilbur, Phil, and Techno. Same stuck-up attitudes and poor fashion choices. Also, the guy in the boar mask really appears to never have gotten the memo about how the monologuing part is supposed to be a villain thing.

And with all these new discoveries Tommy really can't ignore the very real possibility of Dream being back. Alive. Possibly ready to traumatize more people. (Tommy has healed pretty well by now, but he is still stuck with the f*cking immortality curse that Dream put on him. A parting gift he can never forget).

So Big Man's plan is to find Dream and kill him. Simple as that.

Everyone else is pretty similar in personality to how they used to be, minus the trauma for most of them, so he doesn't doubt that the same is true for Dream if he's back.

And he isn't entirely wrong. But also, Dream is not as unhinged as he used to be? Still an asshole. Still definitely starts stalking Tommy as soon as he takes notice of him. But without ever having had complete power over the city and without the incentive of the book he hasn't cut all his attachments off and shit. He hasn't gone full c!Dream mode. He's a chaotic asshole, but he hasn't necessarily hurt anyone. (Basically season 1 Dream, but without the mass slaughter he organized)

So just fricking moral dilemma of: do I wait for him to snap before I kill him and risk a ton of people getting hurt or kill him now and risk killing someone who would never even have gone off the rails in the first place?

There's a bit of extra stuff under the cut because this was getting long...

Everyone is pretty similar to how they used to be, but also entirely different in a way? Like, it's them, but with different life experiences.

So you keep having instances like:

*Wilbur, happily fishing at a lake to relax on his day off* Tommy, behind a bush: I swear to god, if he catches a salmon I'm gonna scream *Wilbur catches a salmon* Tommy: Why am I here? Just to suffer?

Tubbo: So, I was thinking of creating a bit of a more nuclear alternative to the classic smoke bomb heroes are equipped with if you catch my drift... Tommy: Tubbo, I swear to Prime, I will fucking stab you

Ranboo, holding the ugliest pig plushy ever: I called him Michael! :D Tommy: ... Tommy: Ranboo, be honest with me, are you and Tubbo married? Ranboo: We're 17... Tommy: NOT MY FUCKING QUESTION

*Sam building a robot that's eerily similar to sam Nook* Tommy, tearing up: This is so poggers. I won't cry because I'm a Big Man, but can you make it so he can give hugs...? Sam, now concerned: A-are you alright Tommy? Tommy, now definitely crying: Yes

Also, to be noted is the fact that this Au takes place thousands of years into the future. Meaning that Tommy is literally like a grandpa in the body of a 17 yo. He never learned how to use a computer or a smartphone. He can’t drive and refuses to get into any type of car because “he doesn’t trust them” and “why can’t I just get a horse?”. 

And he’s working in a tech shop. Admittedly he’s just working the register (and mostly because Sam saw him and went “my child now” more so than any actual qualification), but still, his complete lack of knowledge can still cause issues...

Custumer: I need a new smartwatch Tommy: HUH?! Wha- are you too good for normal watches or what?  Custumer: I- Tommy: Are normal watches too dumb for you? Are you looking down on them?  Sam: Tommy please...

He also is incredibly knowlegable when it comes to history though. He did live through it though, so maybe that’s cheating, but still... At least he and Wilbur can bond over being history nerds together:

Wilbur: So, people don't know this, but it was someone who was also called Wilbur Soot that won L'Manburg it's independence Tommy: No it fucking wasn't, that wimp was about to surrender, when I- I mean, when Tommy fucking went toe to toe with Dream in a duel, lost, and then surrendered my- HIS! His Discs for their independence!

Wilbur: It’s weird, because we found an obituary for all of the old L’Manburg citizens, except for Tommy Innit Tommy, sweating heavily: Haha weird, innit?

[shoftiiel]

bound to you: 13

"why didn't you tell me?"

synopsis: y/n is the new girl in town, she would like to escape from her past and begin a new life without any romance drama, but what happens when she caught the attention of a certain boy who happens to be one of her brother’s best friends.

word count: 1.1 k

warnings: some cusing, kind of angsty

a/n: sorry if there are any mistakes, so this is my fisrt time trying to write angst so it migth be kind of idk weird¿¿¿

<< | masterlist | >>

Why was Jake being so upset about it? I did nothing wrong, or did i? Maybe I should have told him? Those thoughts had been stuck in your head all day, but everytime someone looked at you, your expression changed quickly, you couldn't allow yourself to let anyone see you were not okay. You have been doing this your whole life, it was tiring to be honest, but you did not want to burden anyone with your problems. The bell rang indicating that the last class was over, as you walked in the hall someone approached you.

“hey y/n” it was heeseung, “just checking, we are meeting today right?”

“yes” he was probably checking because you canceled yesterday, cute you thought “i'm just going to my dorm to take a quick shower and grab my notes on the project”

“okay, see you in a bit” heeseung said as he waved at you, you couldn't put your finger on it but there was something with heeseung, you have never had a conversation that was not related to school and yet he treated you as if he had known you for years, it's probably because he is friends with jake you thought was you headed back to your dorm.

your phone had been buzzing like crazy all day, it was jake. To be honest you did not want to talk to him, he was being overprotective, usually it didn't bother you but this time he had gone a little too far. This was the first time you and Jake had a big fight, of course you did fight a lot but it was over small things like hat program to watch or if you had stolen his clothes, eventually he came around and gave you what you wanted, he hated not talking to you, but this time was different, obviously there was something else behind and you ghoting him definitely did not help, not at all.

You took a quick shower, put on some makeup so that it wasn't obvious that you had been crying, grabbed your notes, put on your headphones and began walking to where you were supposed to meet heeseung. Too focused on the lyrics of the songs that were sounding in your ears you freaked out when someone grabbed your arm, you looked up and saw Jake, he said something to you that you definitely did not hear because your music was too loud.

“what?” You said you removed your headphones.

“Will you stop ignoring me?” he looked annoyed, which only made you angrier “it is childish” he scoffed.

“I will stop ignoring you when you apologize to me” you looked away , you were not seeing his face but you could clearly feel that he was offended.

“y/n why are you acting like this?” he raised his tone, he had never talked to you like this before, honestly you felt like crying, “why does it bother you so much? i don't understand, you did stuff like this all the time”

“Why didn't you tell me?” he was yelling “What if something happened? ” At this point he was just repeating what he had said yesterday.

“Well nothing happened right?” you couldn’t stop yourself from crying anymore “Jake for the first time in my life i have friends, so sorry if it bothers you, but it's my life and you cant tell me how to fucking live it”

“what do you mean for the first time, back home you never said anything like this”

“maybe because back home I just followed like some lost puppy all the time, I have never had friends of my own and then you left me!” with tears running down your face you looked at him, it broke his soul to see you like this, yet he did not say a word “I was lonely for two whole years Jake, did you know that people only approached me to get close to you! when you left i was completely alone,I had no one”

“y/n… why didn't you tell me?” he reached to you to grab your arm but you flinched at his touch “you never asked did you?” he just stood silent, for what felt like five whole minutes Jake said nothing, he felt like the worst person ever, he was supposed to take care of you, you were his little sister, he had been selfish all those years, it was true, whenever you started talking to someone he scared them away, from his perspective he was protecting you, it had gone to the point were you just stopped trying to make new friends. What bothered him so much was that he thought that you were cutting him out of your world. He wanted to say that he was sorry, but no words left from his lip when he opened his mouth.

you just scoffed “I have somewhere to be” saying that you just left, you were still crying as you walked to the café where you would meet heeseung.

You did not notice that someone had heard the argument you had from afar. Heesegung did not do it on purpose, he was a respectful boy, but to be fair you two had been yelling at each other in the middle of the only way to get to the café, he waited until jake left too, he did not wanted to seem like he was eavesdropping.

When he was close to te café he saw you through the window, you were still crying, he felt like he should do something to comfort you, but he was surprised, as you saw him enter the café your tears stopped, it was as if nothing had happened, you greeted him with your sweet smile, he couldn't process what had just happened, one minute ago you were crying rivers but now you looked as fresh as a flower that had just bloomed. How is that even possible? he thought to himself. He abstained from saying anything because he did not want to make you uncomfortable.

“heeseung over here” he headed to the table. You two stared working on the project and finished it rather fast. “wow y/n! i didn’t think that we would finish this today” he was very surprised. “and look at the time!” he grabbed his phone “I still have an hour left before practice starts”

“Well, what can I say, we make a great team” he giggled at your response “would you like to go to the park?” his question took you by surprise, as you stare at him with you eyes wide open he said “I have some time to spare and I dont think its nice if we stay here, someone might want to use the-the table”

“you have a point” you said laughing at how nervous he sounded when he said that “let's go” you both grabbed your stuff and walked out of the café.

tag list: @ncityy04 @dumbwonpil @markleepooh @papiibuprofen @ghjasksdk @kac-chowsballs @youreverydayzebra @clanggyyy @niafics @witheeseung

[miyagihawk]

hi! i absolutely adore your account! if you’re taking requests right now, can i ask for something robby x reader that’s like angsty, but has a sweet ending? anything you feel like writing, i don’t have a specific plot in mind. thank you!!!

thank you for the request love <3

ill wait for you | robby keene x reader

warnings: just swearing :)

summary: robby’s in juvie after the school fight and he doesn’t answer your emails. (robby is your boyfriend, not sam’s)

word count: 1627 

Hi Robby. How are you? I’m sorry, that’s probably a dumb question. I haven’t been able to reach you in a while, I assume you threw away your phone. I heard you stole a van too, huh? Nice. But now that you’re, you know, there, I hope you get to see this. Mr. LaRusso said I could email you and maybe even call if you’re up for it? Only if you want. Let me know.

I miss you. A lot. Look, what went down was not your fault. It was an accident. It could’ve easily been the other way around. I know how hard you can be on yourself and this whole situation is just so fucking shitty. But you’ll get out soon and I’ll be waiting for you.

I’m here, okay Robby? Forever. If you feel lonely, just think of us. Think of how it feels when we’re together and the rest of the world just goes away. We’ll have that soon, alright? You and me against the world, always.

I love you.

-Y/N

-

Hey Robby, it’s been a week since I sent my first email. I hope that you’ve read it, even if you don’t feel like answering. That’s fine and I understand.

School is weird now. They have these security guards at the entrance to check our bags like we’re at the airport. It’s not like they’ll find karate in there, so I don’t get the point.

I get lonely in Physics without you. There’s no one to keep me awake during Mr. Miller’s lectures. I think he misses you too by the way, you’re the smartest person in that class.

I have to go, but I love you and I think of you everyday. Hang in there.

- Y/N

-

Hey. How are you, Robby? I’ve gotta be honest, I’m losing hope that you’re even reading these. I mean, it’s been 10 emails and I would think that you’d at least reply by now?

I’m not mad though, I really don’t know what it’s like to be where you are now. We could call if that’s better? How about this: I’ll schedule for a call tomorrow at 3 and you can pick up if you want.

Miss you,

-Y/N

-

Hello Robby. I want you to know that it’s okay you didn’t want to call. Or that you don’t want to talk.

I love you.

-Y/N

3 months. 30 emails. Deafening silence. After 3 months and 30 emails, you gave up. You figured that there’s no use if he wasn’t answering and that he probably wasn’t even reading what you wrote.

For a while, you’ve been stuck between moving on and waiting for Robby. He practically ghosted you and you don’t know if it means you’ve broken up.

But you also want to be there for him. He has no one, really. And giving up on him would just make you another person who’s disappointed him. It would be shitty of you to leave when he needs you most.

The inner conflict haunts you for the following months, and you decide that you’d just wait until Robby gets out to see what happens.

That day comes sooner than you thought, and the truth you’ve been avoiding is coming at you like a train at full speed.

Mr. LaRusso is the one who lets you know that Robby is out. The car salesman sensei was fond of you, since you hung around the dojo frequently to walk home with Robby after training. He tells you that he doesn’t know where Robby is staying, but that he’ll update you if he hears anything.

The anticipation torments you knowing that you could see him any second, or even maybe never again. The next few days keep you on edge, and you drown yourself in schoolwork as a distraction from the constant turning in your stomach. But still your mind swarms with anxiety about what you’ll say when you see him. If you see him.

It’s been a week after Robby’s release, and you’re walking home from school. You have to pass the Cobra Kai dojo on the way, which always makes your palms sweat. As usual, you put your hood up and keep your eyes ahead.

You take a quick glance at the dojo, then freeze in your tracks. Chills trail up your spine when you meet a pair of emerald eyes. The eyes you love.

For a few seconds you’re both stuck with stares locked on each other, waiting for the other to make the next move. But you’re unprepared. You thought you would have more time to get ready to see him, but the truth is no amount of time would be enough.

Robby’s hair is much shorter and he exudes an aura of exhaustion and pain. He’s different and you can see it even from the good amount of distance between you two.

“Y/N,” he interrupts the silence, and you snap out of the shocked trance you were in.

“Robby,” you echo back with a dry throat. He hesitantly walks towards you with careful steps and with every inch forward, your heart pounds faster.

It almost doesn’t feel real. You haven’t seen his face in only months, but it’s felt like years. And you don’t know how to feel or react. Should you cry? Or smile, or hug him or kiss him or yell at him? All of the conversations you’ve played out in your head to prepare for this moment... you can’t even remember them.

Once he’s in front of you, there’s another awkward minute of quiet and he doesn’t seem to know what to say either. There’s a thick tension in the air, neither of you wanting to address what happened.

“I like your hair,” you break the ice.

“Thanks,” Robby offers a small smile, scratching the back of his neck.

“So... Cobra Kai?” you gesture to the dojo he was just standing in front of. You try your best to not sound judgmental; you feel like you have to be careful with your words as if he’s a stranger.

“I have nowhere to go,” he says dryly, not meeting your gaze.

“You know that’s not true. Mr. LaRusso cares a lot about you. Your dad cares,” you say. Robby flinches at the mention of the two men and you know you’ve struck a nerve.

“They don’t give a shit about me, Y/N. Mr. LaRusso’s the one who put me in that place. And Johnny hates me because I’ve broken his precious new son,” he scoffs and you can hear the hurt in his voice.

“That’s not true. Mr. LaRusso did what was best for you. Do you really wanna be on the run your whole life?” you question, almost scolding him like you’re his mother.

Robby shakes his head. “You don’t know what it was like in there.”

“Yes Robby, I don’t know, because you never answered any of my emails or calls,” you snap, getting frustrated. But immediately you feel guilty. “I’m sorry. I- I was just really worried about you, okay?”

There’s a pause and Robby frowns. “Y/N... I wanted to answer. At one point those emails were the only thing that kept me going. But I wanted you to move on. From me.”

“W-What are you talking about?” you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“How was I supposed to let you wait for me all of those months? It’s not right. You deserve the world, Y/N. You’re too good to wait for someone to get out of juvie,” he explains. You search his green eyes and they’re sincere.

You hate it, but you understand. It’s the most Robby thing that could ever be done. Selfless and sacrificing for other people’s happiness, even if it means that he’ll suffer. But he also gave up on you. He took a route to leave you behind, even when he vowed to stay with you forever. You start feeling emotional; the long awaited truth is a lot to take in.

“That isn’t fair. You don’t get to decide for me what I’m “too good for” and just cut me off. You hurt me more than you spared me pain. You broke every promise you made to me,” you pour your heart out.

He thinks for a moment. “I-I’m sorry, I thought it was right. I didn’t want to be selfish and make you put your life on pause for me,” Robby says, his eyes turning glassy like yours.

You don’t even think about it before you get closer to wrap your arms around him. He freezes in momentary surprise, then recovers and embraces you.

Tears trickle down your cheeks before you can stop them, leaving stains on his shirt where you lay your head. His scent, his warmth, his hold on you; it’s all overwhelming and you missed everything about it. You miss him.

“I love you Robby. And I don’t care what you think, I would’ve waited for you for forever. You deserve the world too,” you mumble into his chest, hugging him tighter.

You pull away for a moment to hold his face in your hands and look at him. It’s like you can see his guard go down as he takes in your words. “I love you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Y/N.”

You don’t answer, you just pull his neck down to meet your lips with his. As you kiss him, your heart swells with a joy you haven’t felt in months. The feeling of being strangers is a distant memory because Robby is yours again and kissing him reminds you that no amount of time apart could make you strangers.

“You and me against the world,” he says, repeating the words you wrote to him.

[charnelhouse]

Swan Song

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Wordcount: +2.1K Request: Agent Whiskey and a Bar Singer Warnings: Smut. Angst. Outdoor sex. Angsty sex. 

“I’m not a good man.”

Whiskey tells you this when he’s inside you. He mutters it in between sinking his teeth into your shoulder and grabbing a fistful of your ass. He parts your thighs and licks into you with a sloppiness that makes you shove the back of your hand across your mouth.

“No, sugar,” he grunts. “I want to hear it.”

“C’mon use that pretty voice,” he whines. “Use it. For me.”

That’s enough. It doesn’t take much for him to convince you to do what he wants. 

You cry out against his mouth and he hums in pleasure. 

“That’s my girl.”

He’s broken in a thousand places. He’s quick to anger. He gets a faraway look when you burst through the door with your arms full of groceries. He stiffens when the tea kettle whistles. It’s so strange - unnatural. He hides behind a bravado that paints him as an asshole. It’s taken you months to strip it, to get him somewhat close to genuine.

Sometimes it seems as if he doesn’t see you when he braces himself above your body.

Sometimes it seems as if he can’t even when he’s trying to.

“Fuck me, you’re gorgeous,” he growls with each rough roll of his hips. “You take me so damn well, darlin.”

You know next to nothing about him. He’d met you at the Bluegrass Tavern in Lexington. He watched you sing, stayed the whole damn night with just those huge, dark eyes following you across the stage. He tossed oily peanuts into his mouth and when he grinned at you, his teeth were utterly blinding underneath the pink-yellow lights of the bar. 

He bought you a bourbon and said:

“I’m Whiskey.”

You laughed.

***

You don’t fuck him until the third night he visits the Bluegrass. He’s too smooth, the kind of smooth that unnerves you. The kind of smooth that you have known all your life: the southern drawl, the winks, and overt manners that don’t mesh with everything that they’re implying. 

He sits beside you at the bar, his fingertips tracing patterns across the wood. He offers you sidelong glances, quick curved smiles, the pink dart of his tongue over his full lower lip. 

“So,” he says - soft and sweet. The savor of liquor on his tongue. “What can I do to get you out of this place?”

You crush the ice from your drink between your teeth as you survey him thoughtfully. He’s alarmingly handsome even with the mustache. An old-school movie star. He’s got the knife-edge jaw and golden skin and the flush of heat from Kentucky summer. 

Then, the eyes. Those enormous brown eyes framed by long, black lashes.

It’s a dark beauty. You feel as if you can’t reach it, as if everything he has given you is a show, a false door that opens into nothing. Fucking him would be like fucking an image - a piece - a sketch of a man.

But you do want him. Terribly.

“Tell me something about you that no one knows,” you finally demand. “As mundane as you want, but be honest.”

You’ve caught him off guard because he raises an eyebrow, his mouth opening before he shuts it quickly. 

“Real, huh?” he asks before taking another long swallow of his drink. He shifts in his seat, squaring his shoulders. “Alright, sweetheart. How about this? I hate swans.”

You snort into your glass, biting down on a laugh. “A swan?”

“They’re fucking mean,” he replies, looking grim. 

You can tell that he means it. There is a different hitch in his voice. No silk. No constant honeyed heat.

“I suppose they are.”

“Alright,” he says. “Now that I’ve shared my deepest truth, it’s your turn. What scares you, pretty girl?’

You smirk. “Pigeons.”

Whiskey spits out his bourbon.

***

He fucks you hard outside the bar, right next to the service door in the back. He’s stronger than he looks because he manages to fully lift you, slamming you into the wall with your legs secured around his hips. He uses three fingers coated in his own spit to open you up, the heel of his hand grazing your clit as he curls them deep. It rips a sob from you. 

It’s lukewarm out - everything still baked in heat from the day’s swelter. There’s the hum of cicadas, the unattractive buzz of the parking lot lights, and the din of highway traffic.

And then there’s Whiskey who fills out all the rest. 

He has a filthy mouth, kissing you hungrily with his hand at your throat as he drives you further up the wall once his cock is sheathed to the hilt. 

“You like it like this?” he grunts. “Outside? Where people can see?”

He gives you an orgasm with spectacular ease. There had been other men before who had fumbled and searched and thoroughly missed the mark when it came to understanding your pussy.

Whiskey does it on the first try and you have the feeling that he’s done it enough times for it to be like riding a bike at this point.

He thrusts up into you, the crude sound of all the wet causing you to die a little. “You hear that?” he pants into your ear. “Hear how much your pretty cunt wants me?”

It’s so lewd. It makes your cheeks burn and you cling to him more desperately, shoving your nose into his neck until he forces you away from him.

“No, gorgeous,” he husks. “I want to see you.”

Then he’s tearing your dress apart so he can suck your tit into his mouth, his thumb rolling upward to press against your clit as he circles his hips and grinds you through a second climax. He comes, tugging your lower lip between his teeth. The graveling ache of a groan rumbling from his chest. 

When he sets you down, you nearly collapse. But he’s right there. He fixes your buttons, wiping at your trembling thighs before he ties the condom off and chucks it into the garbage. It feels as if it should be awkward. The clarity of the moment smacking you in the face once the haze of sex has drifted away. 

Your damp with sweat and cum and the lube from the condom and your dress is stretched to ruin. You’re sore between your legs and can already feel the pattern of bruises where he had squeezed and clutched and dug his nails.

Whiskey is striding towards his car and your stomach clenches, despite the fact that you had known what this was before you had agreed to it. You’re combing your hair with your fingers before you realize that he’s stopped. He turns on his heel and jogs back to you. He stares at you for a second, blinking at you as if he can’t quite reason exactly why he’s run over here. 

He makes a thoughtful mouth sound before he lunges forward, cradling your jaw and crushing his mouth to yours. 

You’d have fallen backward if he wasn’t holding you up.

“Sorry,” he mutters in between the slip of his tongue. “That was terribly rude of me, honey. Can I see you again?”

You don’t even know his first name.

**

The sex is explosive. He’s older and more experienced and can go for fucking hours. He eats you out over your kitchen table. He fucks you against the wall of your shower, the broad span of his palm pressed down over the nape of your neck with your cheek smashed into the tile until it leaves an imprint. If you’re in a sundress, he will drag you into the nearest room, tug your underwear to your ankles and stuff his fingers inside you until you’re begging him for relief. 

You still don’t know what he does. He leaves for weeks at a time and comes back with strange cuts and scrapes or even broken bones. He tells you not to worry your “pretty little head”, but is seemingly smug when you go out of your way to take care of him.

You’re not even sure if Jack or Daniels or Whiskey is even his real name because really?

You don’t care, though. When he’s inside you, it feels so good it hurts.

**

There’s a raging summer storm outside when he knocks on your door. 

You hadn’t expected him, not for weeks. Your stomach flips, your body already on edge like it always is when you know he’s close.

“Jac-”

His name dies on your lips when you finally get a full look at him. He’s soaked through. No hat or sunglasses or jacket. His shirt is torn and dirtied. There’s blood all over him and his expression is short of devastated. 

“What?” you sputter. “What happened to you?”

And then he does something that frightens you. His face collapses in on itself and he goes to his knees. He wraps his arms around your waist and shoves his nose into your belly.

You embrace him, combing your hands through his wet hair. The rain is coming in - pelting the both of them and you have to tug him with you as you slam the door shut. 

“Jack,” you murmur as you lower yourself to meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

He’s shaking. The white around his pupils is skittered with red. There’s a gash across his brow that is openly weeping. 

His fingers bite into your waist before he hauls you against him and then he’s kissing you frantically. The kiss is brutal: nipping and sucking and too much teeth. “Don’t. Don’t make-make me tell you,” he rasps as he forces you onto your back. “Please, sweetheart. I-I can’t.”

He’s shrugging your dress up, hitching your underwear to the side. He pets at you, running his palms over your thighs, his fingers through your slit as you arch beneath him. 

“Can I?” he mutters. “Can I, baby?”

You nod, allowing him to angle your knees over his shoulder so he can taste you. It lacks all his usual finesse, his particular strategized way of making you cum on his tongue. This is different. He’s burying his face between your legs, snuffling his nose, and sucking a fold into his mouth. Each lap of his tongue has him grinding his hips into the floor as he moans around the flood of your pussy. 

And then he’s sitting up, working at the button of his jeans and fisting himself in hand. He’s a sight: still deliriously gorgeous and now made rugged with his face cut up and bruised. He slicks the head of his cock through your sex, notching it at your bundle of nerves before he drives himself forward.

He splits you in two as he fucks you like that. He’s on his knees as you lie spread out below him, your ankles crossed around his waist as he drags your hips towards him to meet every, violent plunge of his cock.

Your entryway rug is scraping your back. There’s the muggy scent of rainwater and copper from his bleeding face. The flavor of sage and elderflower from the candle you have burning in your living room. 

He touches your cheek, running his thumb over your lip as he trembles. “I-I’m sorry,” he gasps as he shifts to move over you, bracing his forearms beside your head. His ass is under your heels. He’s pumping into you fast and hard, jarring you upward in short, rough strokes.

“For what?” you manage. Your lungs feel too big for your chest. You clutch at his waist, trailing your fingers over his ribs and feeling the nudge of something broken. You try to anchor yourself to him. You feel like you’re falling somewhere without an end. There’s pleasure mounting at the base of your spine, rising up and high and all around you. 

“This.” he grits out before briefly pressing his lips to yours. “Treating you to this. You deserve more than this, darlin.” 

He’s panting into your mouth, his hips stuttering against your pelvis. His cock swelling and filling you to the brim as you soak him. It’s all too much.

His hands on you are reverent and when he stares down at you, there’s a tenderness there that you haven’t seen before. Those big brown eyes half-lidded and bright against the blood and the purple-black bruises. You want to look away but he’s gripping your chin, tilting your face up to meet the desperate bite of his lips. 

“Lovely thing,” he says as his cock spits inside you. “Loveliest thing.”

When he’s done, he holds you to his chest. He presses kisses to your brow, slides his hands into your hair as he kneads your scalp and shoulders and throbbing thighs.

He swipes his knuckles through the mess between your legs, catching the both of them on the tip of his index finger before sucking it into his mouth. It makes your heart leap into your throat. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers as he tucks you beneath his arm. 

He startles when thunder shouts from outside and makes the house shake.

**

In the morning, it’s as usual. He gives you a blinding smile over his coffee. He tells you he’ll be gone for a while.

***