#i need to go read more poetry. to go crawl into this

[faaun]

please delete your philosophy gpt-3 post. it's most likely stolen writing.

philosophy?? idk which one you're referring to sorry. also no . if it's the poetry one, see in tags. actually see in tags anyway. actually pls look at my posts on AI too . sorry if it's badly worded i'm very tired :')

[alien-magnolia]

I Need Someone Older

Fic description: Dean finds you on a hunt and takes you along to get you safely out of danger, fun ensues :) as the two of you feel an inevitable pull of attraction towards each other.

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tw: AGE GAP! Hyper-feminine reader in early 20’s, Dean in late 40’s, daddy issues <3, dom-coded dean, sub-coded reader, bj, breeding kink!, extremely subby-coded reader, helplessness, praise!!!

Word count: 3.1k

Don’t like, don’t read!!

May 5, 2007

7:40 pm

Your white knee high socks were getting a little dusty from the dirt on the woodsy soil. You came out here to write your poetry, desiring a place for peaceful solitude, and perhaps some creative inspiration. You dusted off your skirt as you sat down on the moist bed of grass. The waning moon was a bit yellow tonight, yet you thought nothing off it. You began to write a few words in your floral notebook, with some neat handwriting and a gel pen.

All of a sudden, you hear a wail in the distance. The wind is cold. A few leaves rustle out a few feet away from you, causing you to stare into the dark pathway on your left, in which many trees loitered. You felt as if you were being watched. You continue with your writing, until again you hear a rustle, this time, a bit closer than before. A chill goes down your spine, and you slowly turn to see a pair of yellow eyes, a figure with long, sharp, claws, and a tall, curved, spiny, skinny, body, with a tail. It snarls, coming closer to you. You drop your notebook, and crawl backwards, the dirt making indents on your palms. You hear a few male voices, and see boots running to attack the creature.

You see a flame, the creature is light ablaze, and you pass out from fear. The last thing you remember is strong arms lifting you up, the smell of beer and cherry pie clouds your nostrils.

You wake up in the wood again, this time, the brighr and warm morning light shines down on your skin, littered with cuts and bruises. You seemed to have lost your favorite lipgloss in the process.

“Where am I? My head…,” you whine, seeing a handsome man next to you, bandaging your cuts and cleaning them. That cheered you up a bit. You wince as his calloused hands rub alcohol on your wound, and you meet his eyes. He had green eyes, dark hair, wore a flannel and jeans and had the most amazing body <3 he looked just, so big, compared to you!

You ask him his name and what happened. “The name’s Dean, sweetheart. My brother and I were in these woods looking for a wendigo. We sure as hell did find one.” You nod, still reeling from the attack last night. “Did that… person, thing, do that to me?,” you ask, eyes wide, a bit nervous. “It’s no person, honey,” he chuckles darkly. “Hate to break it to you, but monsters are real. The whole gang. Vampires, werewolves, spirits, demons, all other things that go bump in the night. All are real.” You sit in shock as he continues to fix your wounds. You notice how good his calloused (gunpowder covered) fingers feel on your calves. You wince as he brushes over a wound, jerking your leg back.

“Too rough?,” he asks, a large hand resting on your thigh. You nod. “S’alright. I’ll be more gentle, yeah?,” he asks, and you nod, feeling satisfied as the older man returns your smile.

“Hey. Might’ve caught trail of another wendigo up ahead. We should get going,” another man dressed in similar fashion walks up ahead, talking to Dean, taking a glance at you. “What's the hold up, Dean?,” he asks.

“Shut it, Sammy. Can’t you see I’m doing something here? Found her at the site where the thing was. Had to fix her up.” Sam nods, as Dean tells him your name. The two then agree to further go hunt for the second wendigo. “What about her? We’re deep in the woods now, sure as hell she ain’t going to go back on her own, Sammy.” “Fine. Take her with you, as long as she doesn’t cause a problem.”

So it was. You were now going to hunt for the wendigo with the Winchester brothers. The dirt and thick jagged branches sometimes were too much for your legs to handle, so you held onto Dean for some of the walk. He didnt seem to mind, and only smirked as you accidentally leaned too much into him, your soft chest grazing his wide and big arms.

“Stay here, stay put. Don’t go anywhere,” Dean commands you, and you do as said, wait as the boys go into the dark cave. An hour later — there was fire, shrieking, and the boys come out unscathed. The last wendigo has been killed, and the three of you make your way back to “baby,” which you later learned was Dean’s nickname for his ‘67 Impala.

Dean drove with Sam in the front, you in the back seat. You dozed in and out of consciousness as the engine lulled you toward the heavy tug of sleep, you overheard the two men speaking about you.

“Well, Dean she has no ID on her so it’s better off that we take her to the local sheriff’s station. We know Jody, she might be able to help,” Sam inquired. “Yeah, well Sammy, you know what, Jody’s probably just going to tell her to go back to the woods or some shit. Maybe she’s far from home. Maybe she was hiding. Who the hell knows? Bet she’d tell us first before talking to law enforcement,” Dean countered.

“Why is it always you and women, Dean? She’s so young too. Maybe a little too young for you?”

“Shut it, Sammy. Respect her. She probably has her reasons. She’s real pretty and I’ll get what I want, eventually,” Dean retorted. Sam sighed.

You drifted back into sleep but squeezed your thighs together at the thought of the older man using you and getting what “he wants.”

You were more than happy to give it to him.

You were in a dingy 1970’s era hotel room, with dark brown shag carpet, rickety beds with neon orange polyester sheets, and a single lamp in the corner, flickering on occasion. No tv, but a rotary phone and radio. Sam was on a chunky laptop that whined and whistled due to all the power his research into Wendigos was taking up. You believed he was on a library forum of some sort. You sat on the bed, dwindling with the phone cord. The low buzz of the fan was heard from the corner.

Dean comes up to you. “Heya, kid. I’m gonna go get some grub. Wanna come with?,” he asks, offering you a hand to help you up from the bed. You nod, smiling, and taking his hand. Dean opted to go to a local bar to get some takeout. He ordered a large burger, large pilsner beer, and a cherry pie. You got some chicken and French fries, sharing some pie with him. You tell him that you were in the woods to write poetry, you got lost and then time seemed to go. Your cell was dead too. He told you about his ‘job’ with his brother Sam, choosing to follow his dad John Winchester’s legacy of hunting down things that go bump in the night. He made you laugh, asking you about your writing, your college education, a life that someone like him never had.

“We’re so different, you and I, know that? Seriously. I mean, college? In my dreams. Wondering what that’s like,” he said to you, while taking a sip of his beer.

“What can I say. I want a decent life for myself, sometimes. I have a pull towards the arts. Literature, actually. Sometimes though, I just want to be on my own. Without the pressures of society, on the road, like you two. Bet you don’t have any deadlines to meet,” you jokingly admit to Dean.

He chuckles, but then nods, a more serious expression growing on his face now, taking another sip of his beer. “Life sucks, kid. Sucks for me and Sammy, we’re out on the road, might die the next day. Never know what the fuck’s chasing after us,” he has a bit of a solemn expression, taking another sip of his beer.

You nodded, understanding him, seeing through the “tough guy” facade that he’s put up. He was scared. He needed someone to comfort him, to support him. His brother was his partner, yet that wasn’t the partner he was looking for.

You reach over to put your dainty hand on his large one. “Thanks for dinner, really. We should save some for Sam, though, I think,” you giggle, watching a grown man blush over your gentle touch. “Yeah, sure thing sweetheart. Anytime…,” he trails off, his blush seemed to get stronger and he was avoiding eye contact a bit.

“You okay?,” you ask, meeting his eyes, feeling something start to heat up between the two of you, the air suddenly was heavy. “You’re just, well, pretty, kid. Seriously. Real fuckin’ nice, sweets,” he chuckles, his large fingers coming to intertwine with yours. You almost faint under the pressure of his hand on yours, your eyes drift to his muscular and wide frame, his tattered Jean jacket, his necklace on a black piece of string, his chiseled jawline. As funny as he was, you knew that you had an undeniable attraction towards him.

He saved you from the wendigo, but you let him. You let him take you back to the motel with Sam. You let him have you stay with them. Now. You’d let him have your body. All of it.

“Maybe we can go into those woods again? I can show you some poems?,” you reel, watching the older man’s eyes light up with a burning flame. “Sure, thing, kid. I’ll take you up there in ‘baby.’

With a few stares and leers from the other inhabitants of the shady bar, Dean leads you by the waist out the door, and into his impala, opening the door for you, of course.

“Ladies first,” he bows down a bit as he holds the shabby car door open for you. You take his helping hand and slide into the shotgun (front) seat. He quickly runs over to the driver’s side, a toothpick in his mouth as he climbs in, adjusting the jagged rearview mirror. You struggled to buckle up in the old model of a car, so Dean helped out, buckling it for you. You liked the many things he seemed to do for you. His care. His help.

He pulls out of the diner driveway, one of his ringed hands on the wheel, another tracing gentle patterns all over your thigh. You adjust your socks as his patterns make you heat up — inside and out. “I know a place. You down? If not I’m fine with it, sweet thing. No pressure, s’all,” his voice is soft, gentle, as if speaking to a child. You blush. “It’s alright, Dean. I’ll show you my poems. I’ll show you something else too, I think you’ll like it,” you cover your smile as you let out a few small giggles. He smirks back at you.

“Oh I’ll like it, alright. God damn,” he stifles, his strong, calloused fingers gripping a bit harder on your soft thigh. The rest of the drive was tense, just how you liked it. Soft rock — ‘Blue Oyster Cult’s’ “Don’t Fear The Reaper” played in the background, and it would usually lull you to sleep. Not tonight. Your heart raced, stealing glances at the man next to you. The man about to take your virginity, what concept you or society made of it. You hoped he didn’t mind.

The impala pulled into a motel parking lot: the same one where you left from. “Dean. Your brother..won’t he..?, you ask, and he quickly interrupts. “Well just be in a different room, is all. Sammy wouldn’t care anyway, as much as I’d like him to. He takes your hand again, leading you to Room 22, on the second floor. Your fingers trace the grimy balcony railing as you head up there.

The door shuts. You smile at him, then look down at your feet. “Can I, um. Kiss you, Dean?,” you ask, shy and sweet, a delicious pie on the shelf, a cherry blossom that smells and tastes so sweet, intoxicating the older man closer and closer to you. “F’course. You’ve never done this before, have you?” You nod. “Let me take the lead, yeah, sweet thing. I’ll be gentle. Scout’s honor,” he smiles, holding up two fingers. You nod, wrapping your small arms around his broad chest. Your soft chest pressed against his, you feel the cool metal of his pentagram necklace press against your warm, beating heart.

His large arms trail down to squeeze your waist a bit, and then rub circles down below, your waist and hips. He gave them a tight squeeze, you gasped at his strength. His fingers continued ministrations on your waist, hips, thighs, and the two of your lips danced in a slow and sensual rhythm. You could taste the beer and cherry pie on him, and you ran your fingers through his coarse hair.

His thumb rubs your cheek a bit, and he picks you up in his arms, you wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you over to the bed, gently laying you down under him. His face above you, his brown eyes in awe taking in your sweet skin, putting him in a trance. His calloused hands run down your arms, your belly, gentle, soft, and slow. He grabs your chin, pulling your face towards his, and meets you for a chaste kiss, slow, you felt the stubble on his cheek and smiled into his lips.

His hand runs through your hair, over your cheek, this thumb caressing your face a bit. You keep the kiss going, you feel him getting rougher, hungrier for you. Your hands touch his broad chest, trailing on the hem of his shirt, which you take off. His chest was bare, just with a tiny bit of hair, and a very prominent happy trail <3 of which you run your fingers through.

His hands lead your hips up against the wall, tracing patterns on your back. Your lips are hungry for each others, you push your chest into his. “Fuck, sweet thing. Gonna drive me up the wall here, Jesus,” his voice now an octave deeper, raspier, breathless. His cherry pink swollen lips meet yours again, you feel his aftershave on your face. Your thighs rub against his growing bulge, positioning your legs so his thickening tent on his jeans was pressed up snug, right into your growing wetness in between your legs.

“Dean…want it,” you moan out, your delicate, manicured fingers tracing the toughness of his stubble. “Want what, huh? Gotta ask nicely, don’t keep me guessing, honey,” he smirks, a condescending expression appearing on his handsome face.

“I-uh, your, uh, oh, fuck,” you breathlessly whimper out, as his rough, calloused fingers gently slide down between your legs, rubbing your soft, warm folds, through your pretty and pink lace.

“Let me see what you got down there, hmm?,” he smirks, knowing that he has you completely wrapped around his finger. You nod, his hand cups your cheek for another kiss. He slides off your skirt, your knee highs, your Lacey top. You work on his jeans, until he stops you, with a look — meaning that he can take care of it.

All clothes gone — your legs intertwine, he presses his leaking bulge into your folds, you could practically feel how you clenched around nothing!!

“Dean…,” you beg again. “What’s wrong, huh? What’re you beggin’ for, seeet thing. Gotta give me words,” he says, all the while his thick fingers continue to work you open — get you ready for him.

A soft smile is on his face as his fingers become ever so gentle, continuing a circular pattern, pausing to tightly cup and squeeze your pulsing mound.

“Want. Want your, ha — your cock, Dean. Please. Please!,” you squeal out, just as he cups and massages your mound once more. “Why didn’t you say so, at first, sweet thing? Here I was thinkin’ you only wanted my fingers,” he chuckles, smile full of adoration — seeing you in a close to ruined state. His fingers pull out with a squelch.

You whine at the loss, your cunt throbbing, pulsing, desperate to be filled!! He smiles, hands on your hips. “Bend over f’me, baby.” You do as said, his smile and yours widen as his two hands cup your ass, giving it a hard smack.

His hands trace up and down your back, your waist, until you feel his soft tip press at your entrance. You turn around to view what you’ve been waiting for. He’s big. Short, yet thick. Oh so thick. You weren’t sure if he’d fit. A large vein ran down his left side. Fuck — how you wanted that in your mouth.

His hand gently guides your face back down into the table which you were bent over. “Down, baby. You’ll get a chance later, yeah?,” he soothes you. You nod. You feel his throbbing tip at your mound, as he slides in — you feel the stretch, just for a bit, and then he starts to push in, you felt so full !!

“Fuck— ah, Dean, too much, too much,” you squeal out, as he slides in, and starts to move, thrust, slow, gentle at first, and then deep, fast, his thick balls slapping against your mound. You saw stars, felt pressure as he kept going, faster, rutting into you, his hairy chest pressing into your back. The man had put you in a mating press. You wouldn’t mind. With how it’s going with him — you’d take his seed. Anything for the man that saved you from the Wendigo.

Your eyes roll back into your head, his grip on your hips was like a vice. The two of you finish with screams. He groans. “Fuck, sweet thing. You take it like a champ, yeah?” You nod giddily, anything for his praise and approval. “How’s about we stay in this room tonight? I’ll getchu’ a beer.” You nod. “That’s my good girl. Stay put.” With that, your mound is even more wet, you’re left clenching, covered in his cum as he leaves to get you snacks.

He comes back, presses a nice kiss to your forehead, and makes the two of you some dinner. You wondered what this will lead to.

Author’s note: pls support your creators <3 if you love this fic pls comment or reblog! Greatly appreciated <3 xoxo - Liz

[milswrites]

Cupid’s Sword

~Azriel X Fem!Reader~

Summary: Azriel has a crush but finds himself unable to approach them. Unable to just stand by and watch their friend’s desperate pining, Nesta and Cassian take it upon themselves to play Cupid and try and set them up. Will their efforts lead to success or is Azriel destined to remain single forever?

Warnings: Mentions of drinking. Stabbing but the good kind?

Azriel was staring again. Staring at her. His golden eyes hadn’t moved from her soft form all night, locked in place as if he were stuck in a trance. Which he may has well have been, her hypnotising features melted their way into his mind and invaded his senses, clearing them all of anything but her.

He found himself drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Her sweet voice carried from the bar where she was sat drinking with Nesta, causing his shadows to stir and attempt to crawl their way towards her in desperation for her presence. Her honeyed voice which delivered words like poetry, had always affected Azriel in ways he couldn’t explain. The velvet laugh that left her mouth as she spoke animatedly with her friend was as smooth as the whiskey Azriel was nursing.

He was hooked. Her presence a drug that Azriel hasn’t been able to get enough of since he had first laid eyes on her. Azriel hadn’t even been invited to Rita’s tonight. But when his shadows had reported to him that you had agreed to go tonight with Nesta, he knew there was no other place he wanted to be. Nesta’s permission be damned.

And so here he was, hiding in the shadows of a booth with Cassian, who was fearful of being caught by his mate on the one night where she was free of his company. Cassian had been unable to say no to his friend who had claimed he needed a drink or two after a hard days work, but now they were here Azriel could tell his brother was catching on to the real reason why he had wanted to come.

“Something caught your eye brother?” Cassian teased, bored of sitting and drinking in silence as Azriel’s attention was elsewhere, “or should I say someone?”

Azriel cursed under his breath. He would have been better off coming alone. If Cassian caught wind of his admiration for Nesta’s new friend he would never let Azriel live it down. Azriel could already imagine the relentless mocking that would ensue.

With great effort, he tore his eyes away from Y/N at the bar and settled them onto the overjoyed face of his brother manically grinning before him. “I don’t know what you mean” Azriel muttered, gaze moving to his half-empty drink to avoid his brother being able to read his lies. But of course once Cassian had started something he just couldn’t leave it alone.

“No?” Cassian mused, “the hole you’ve burned into Y/N’s head says differently. Unless of course it was my mate you’ve been staring at, in which case you’re more than welcome to come warm our bed tonight.”

The latter part of Cassian’s remark didn’t phase Azriel, he was used to the crude comments that spew from his friend’s mouth. He even sometimes heard them from Nesta. The first few words however caused Azriel’s heart to start beating faster and his palms grew clammy, skin clinging uncomfortably to the glass he was gripping for support. Defensively he said, “I wasn’t staring at Y/N.”

“Hm sure Az and I’m not the sexiest man - oh hey Y/N!”

Azriel’s head snapped to where Cassian had directed his voice, scared the woman had witnessed the conversation. She wasn’t stood there. Y/N was still happily sat at the bar with Nesta gossiping away with matching smiles on their faces. At his frantic reaction Cassian had broken out into a hearty laugh, his hand flying to his chest to brace himself as he did so. His booming chortle was enough to start drawing attention from the other customers who had found their way into Rita’s tonight.

“You’re whipped brother!” Cassian ginned merrily at Azriel who began to desperately shush his brother as his worried eyes briefly jumped to the bar, afraid the woman in question would be listening in.

“Yes! Ok! I like her!” Azriel hissed quietly between his teeth, hoping his admission would stop Cassian from teasing him for the whole club to hear.

“I knew it…I knew it” Cassian beamed in satisfaction as if he had just solved Azriel’s deepest secret. As if it wasn’t obvious enough from the way Azriel had been pining after Y/N from the shadows of their booth for the majority of the evening.

“Go over to her! I’m sure she’d say yes if you ask her in a date!” He urged Azriel, gesturing excitedly towards the bar as if playing wingman was his lifelong dream profession.

“And leave Nesta to discover we’re here ruining her girls night? She’s killed people for less” Azriel retorted in hopes that his brother wouldn’t make him go over to the bar and no doubt embarrass himself by being rejected in front of the mass of people in Rita’s tonight.

“Ah” Cassian dismissively waved his hand, “what Nesta doesn’t know won’t hurt her, I’ll hide in the toilet and you-”

Cassian was interrupted by the cold snap of his mates voice, “Nesta doesn’t know what dear?”

The two males gulped at Nesta’s sudden appearance, both having no intention of saying anything lest they anger Nesta even further. There was no doubt the terrifying woman would easily give them both a piece of her mind without them even needing to speak.

“Do you want to tell me, darling mate, why you’ve come to stalk me on my girls night?” She continued, her presence enough to leave both males breathless in fear.

“I wasn’t stalking you! I was watching Y/N!” Cassian blurted before he realised how his words had sounded and continued rambling before his mate could smite him, “not me! Him! Azriel made me come, he’s in love with her so I told him to go ask her out!”

“Cassian!” Azriel gasped with wide eyes, disbelief crossed his features as his brother betrayed his secret crush. Anxiously Azriel leant over to look past Nesta, trying to find the object of his affection and make sure she didn’t hear what Cassian had said.

Nesta’s face flashed with surprise at the information before her expression morphed into something more mischievously sinister as her eyes landed on the sputtering Azriel. “Don’t worry she didn’t hear. She’s gone home” Nesta reassured him.

But Azriel was feeling anything but reassured. The spark that had ignited in Nesta’s eyes caused him to feel unsettled and shrink back into his seat, wanting to escape the woman’s scheming gaze. Even Cassian seemed uneasy, shuffling where he was sat as he observed Nesta’s silent plotting, unsure of where this was going to go.

“It’s ok Azriel” she finally said in a sickly sweet voice as she placed a hand onto his shoulder, gripping it tight enough that Azriel knew he should definitely be scared, “we’ll get you that date.”

~~~~~

If Nesta could be described in a single word Azriel would say she was relentless. Ever since she had found out about Azriel’s not so little crush on Y/N at Rita’s over a week ago, she had been a force of nature.

He knew Nesta loved her friend dearly. Having nothing but good things to say about her since she had been introduced to Y/N by Madja. The elder woman had hired Y/N as an apprentice with the hope that she would be able to take over her healing duties when the time came for her retirement. Azriel had been curious about this woman that the usually reserved Nesta spoke so fondly of and so the next time Madja had brought her along after receiving the call that Cassian needed to be healed, Azriel had made sure he was there.

He was not disappointed. Y/N had been blessed by the cauldron in both looks and heart. Her presence on the day they had met being enough to stun him into a paralytic awe as he found himself unable to string even a few words together to speak to her.

Azriel was content to watch on in silent appreciation. Spending the days whenever she was at the House of Wind hovering close by, longing to hear a trace of her soft voice. If he was particularly lucky, he would on occasion receive an earth-shattering smile as she acknowledged him from a distance. But that was all it ever was, a distance.

Until Nesta had gotten involved and suddenly Y/N was everywhere. There was no room Azriel could enter that Y/N wasn’t in alongside a beaming Nesta. His inability to speak around her growing more and more frustrating as he had to grumble a shy hello before excusing himself, nerves too overwhelming for him to say anymore and his embarrassment at this stupor being too much for Azriel to want to stay in silence.

His reaction to her new overwhelming presence caused Nesta to grow frustrated. She had obviously been thinking that this would be an easy match and ignored Cassian’s warnings about how debilitating Azriel’s crush actually was. Nesta would have to try harder than just making sure Azriel could never escape Y/N’s presence. It’s a good thing she had a mate who was more than willing to help out his struggling friend.

Cassian was not a subtle man, he definitely wasn’t the type of person who did things in small measures. If Cassian was going to set his brother up he would do it his way, and hopefully not destroy any buildings in the process.

~~~~~

Azriel had grown used to Y/N being here. Which meant he had become very good at avoiding her whilst she was, his shadows reluctantly reporting to him not to leave his room whenever she was around.

Instead Azriel’s new favourite past time was wallowing in his own self pity as he laid face down on his bed in frustration at his situation. Which is where he was when Cassian had entered, neglecting to knock and alert him of his presence.

“Hey buddy,” his words interrupting Azriel’s sulking, “Can I have your help with something?” Azriel emitted a grunt of acknowledgment, not deigning to lift his head to look at his brother. “Great…cool” Cassian continued, “so I am superrr busy with work right now but I had promised Rhys I’d get some paperwork over to Madja. Think you can help me out?”

Deciding that doing Cassian’s chores would be a suitable distraction from his thoughts, Azriel raised his head slightly and grunted once more.

“Brilliant thanks Az!” He grinned, rubbing his hands together before turning to leave the room. Azriel sat up fully now in confusion, facing his retreating brother, “Cassian?”

The male jumped as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t and slowly turned back towards Azriel waiting to hear what his friend had to say. “The paperwork?” Azriel asked.

“Huh” sounded Cassian.

“The paperwork for Madja? Where is it?” Azriel watched as realisation crossed the generals features, mouth dropping open in a small o.

“Right… the paperwork. I’ll go get it!” Cassian said before running off, his footsteps pounding down the corridor as he ran to his room and back. Once he had returned, panting slightly at his hurried movement, he handed Azriel a sealed envelope, “here you go! And uh… don’t open that it’s highly confidential.”

Azriel enjoyed the flight over to Madja’s estate, the opportunity to spread his wings and allow the cool air to clear his head was refreshing. He landed smoothly and opened the door, ready to greet the elder woman he and the rest of the Inner Circle were so fond of. Yet Madja wasn’t there. Instead, Y/N was sat at Madja’s desk scribbling away at the papers laid before her.

At the sound of the door creaking open, her head raised, a bright smile adorning her face at the sight of the shadowsinger. “Azriel! Hi, what can I do for you?” Her honeyed voice made Azriel’s spine tingle and he found himself wishing for her to say his name again. Liking the way it sounded coming from her lips.

“Uh…where’s Madja?” He didn’t mean to sound as rude as he did when asking that question. However, the irregular pounding of his heart made his senses slip and his anxiety spike.

Y/N didn’t seem to mind, smile still on her face as she answered, “I’ve started taking over for her. When there’s not any serious injuries of course,” her smile then faltered a little, “but I thought you knew? You sent the flowers?”

A matching frown crossed Azriel’s features, “flowers? What flowers?” He asked as she directed his attention to the ridiculously large bouquet of flowers placed lovingly into a vase on the chest of drawers behind Azriel. He squinted his eyes, enabling him to read the note sticking out of them. The note which was written in Cassian’s untidy scrawl.

To Y/N

Congratulations on the promotion

With love, Azriel

He blanched, “Yes! The flowers of course. I ordered them so long ago that I forgot I’m sorry”

Y/N’s frown grew deeper at his excuse, “I only got the news yesterday?”

“Madja told me a week or two ago” he lied, desperate for the topic of this conversation to change before he dug himself a deeper hole. The lie seemed to do the job though as Y/N was obviously pleased with the thought of the older healer telling Azriel about it, telling him about her.

“Oh well, thank you! I love them” her blissful smile returned causing the butterflies already present in Azriel’s stomach to go wild. He wanted to tell her no problem, to ask her how her days going, to potentially ask her out on that date he was so badly craving. But Azriel’s tongue had grown heavy, glued to the roof of his mouth rendering him speechless.

Like a fool he stood there before her just staring. Admiring the way the golden glow of the sunlight shining through the window danced on her rosy cheeks. Taking note of the way her eyebrow slightly twitched as it did whenever she was confused. It was only when his shadows began to shift around him that Azriel allowed himself to return to the present only to realise just how long he had been in that trance and how uncomfortable he must have made Y/N.

Wanting to escape his anxiety, he began to sputter out a pitiful goodbye as he stumbled his way to the door. “Wait Azriel!” Y/N called out after him, “why is the letter empty?”

This was the second mistake Cassian had made. The first was not warning Azriel about the flowers. The second was handing him an empty envelope to give to Y/N with no explanation. What must she think of him? Turning up to her office with an empty letter and no idea about the flowers which appeared as though they were sent from him.

Neglecting to provide her with an answer, Azriel rushed from the building, wanting to avoid any accusations from her about him being a creep. He took off as fast as he could, leaving a confused Y/N behind in the empty office.

~~~~~

Azriel stormed through the house, wings flared and siphons glowing dangerously. He didn’t stop until he came face to face with a smirking Cassian who was loitering in the kitchen having waited for him brother’s return.

“Am I genius or what?” He chortled, arms outstretched as he waited for a hug he would never receive, “we better get you ready for that date!”

“There is no date” Azriel growled through gritted teeth, batting down Cassian’s arms as he watched the grin drop from his friends face at the statement.

“What? But I set everything up perfectly?” Cassian said in confusion, as if there was no possible way his perfect plan could have fallen through.

“Perfectly?” Azriel laughter bitterly, anger growing fiercely inside of him, “you made a fool out of me! She thanked me for the flowers to which I told her I didn’t know what she was talking about and then she opened the letter and found out it was empty! I looked like an idiot!”

Cassian sucked in air between his teeth awkwardly, “I guess I didn’t think that through…”

“No Cassian,” seethed Azriel, “you never think. And now you’ve ruined any chance I ever had of… you know what just forget it.” With that Azriel stalked off, needing to clear his head and mourn over the relationship he was never even able to start.

~~~~~

Cassian had begged his brother for forgiveness, unable to last another minute with Azriel’s sullen form sulking about the house ignoring him. Of course Azriel wasn’t actually mad at his brother, most of his bitterness was reserved for himself. He should have understood Cassian’s hints and help and followed along with it, then maybe things would have gone differently and maybe he would have gotten the girl.

Not wanting to admit his true feelings about it to his brother, Azriel said he’d forgive him but that Cassian should expect hell at during their next training session. Azriel had lots of frustration to expel.

Which is what led them to where they were now. Azriel beating down on his brother with all his might, the two locked in a deadly combat together. Cassian having to block powerful blow after powerful blow that his brother was delivering.

It wasn’t until Azriel struck hard enough to disarm him did Cassian then suggest the two took a break before he ended up being skewered. Nesta released a low whistle from where she had been watching as she moved towards the men in the ring, Azriel’s frustration at the pair of them was almost tangible.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side” she joked, slightly worried eyes absorbing the frazzled state Azriel had left her mate in.

“Yeah well whatever stops you two trying to play Cupid” he defended, reminding Cassian why he had fought so hard.

Nesta snorted, “Cupid? Have you seen Cas try to use a bow? I’d be better poking you to your senses with Ataraxia.” Nesta’s eyes lit up at her own joke. That same unstettling feeling that Azriel had fallen victim to in Rita’s had returned.

Nesta unsheathed her dagger, stalking towards Azriel who was backing off with his hands raised. “What’s going on Nesta?” Azriel anxiously said as his back met the edge of the ring, halting his retreat.

“It’s alright, relax Az! Things will work out ” Nesta smirked. And the next thing he knew, her dagger had been plunged into his upper arm as he screamed out in pain and gripped onto the handle of the blade which was sticking out of his bicep. Blood slowly trickling down his arm.

~~~~~

“Y/N thank the cauldron you’re here!” Nesta gasped in mock relief at the appearance of her friend.

The woman ran towards Azriel from where Cassian had landed with her in his arms, worry plastered on her face as it had been from the moment Cassian had frantically shown up at her door and said that Azriel been stabbed.

“Oh mother! What happened?” She cried, pulling out a towel before pressing it tightly to Azriel’s bleeding arm, knife still lodged in his muscle. Azriel opened his mouth to give her the honest answer but Nesta beat him to it, “Freak accident! Happened out of nowhere. Super unfortunate. We’ll leave you to it, come on Cas!” She dragged her mate away, the two whispering aggressively together as they left. Cassian had obviously not been privy to Nesta’s plan.

“Freak accident?” She said in disbelief, pulling the knife out before beginning to use her healing magic to stitch the wound together. “Cupids sword apparently” Azriel hummed quietly, the majority of his focus being on how attractive he found Y/N’s concentrated face as she worked. Her presence alone numbing the pain he was feeling.

“I thought Cupid used a bow and arrow?” She laughed in confusion, attention not straying from the intricate magic she was performing on Azriel.

“I don’t think Nesta has ever used a bow and arrow in her life” he huffed, face twitching in pain as Y/N’s healing powers created a small burning sensation on his arm.

“So Nesta’s Cupid?” She mused, small smile on her face as Azriel froze at the realisation of what he had said, likely due to the blood loss, “or is it Cassian? He did send the flowers instead of you right?”

Azriel’s eyes widened in Suprise, “you…you knew?”

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. He’s not exactly subtle. And neither is Nesta apparently” she said gesturing to the thin red line of raised skin that now marked his arm where the knife had been.

“Yeah” Azriel shyly laughed in anticipation of what was transpiring between them, a soft blush dusting over his cheeks, “guess they just really want me to be happy… in their own weirdly demented way.”

“I can’t think of anyone who deserves to be happier more than you do” Y/N stated, her finger absentmindedly brushing over his new scar sending shivers dancing down his spine again.

“Yeah” Azriel manages to squeeze out of his anxiously closing throat, her close proximity reawakening the butterflies that seemed to have permanently made their home in his stomach.

“So?” It was Y/N’s turn to urge Azriel to ask her the question, “are you going to let Nesta go through all the trouble of stabbing you just so you can let me walk away? I’ve been waiting a while you know”

This time Azriel was able to find his courage, “I really like you.” He finally confessed, wanting to get the truth out before his inability to speak around Y/N returned, “I find myself unable to keep control around you, I can’t pull myself together and I always end up acting like an idiot. Because I am crazy about you Y/N.”

“You’re a very cute idiot” she teased, finger now travelling from where it was brushing his arm to trail down his chest. Her words made Azriel flush, he attempted to answer but all that came out were small broken sounds of disbelief.

“Come on Azriel” she continued to tease. Y/N had complete control over this situation, over Azriel. His spirit drawn to hers as her lips moved closer to his, “use your words. Ask me.”

“Will you go on a date with me?” He managed to squeak out. Transfixed by the hold she had over him. Y/N breathed out an airy laugh before gripping onto his shirt and dragging Azriel into her before their lips collided.

Whilst Azriel may have had problems speaking with her, he definitely didn’t have any issues when it came to kissing her. Making sure to pour every ounce of longing and pining that he had been feeling since he first laid eyes on her into the kiss. Their lips moulded together as if they were made for each other. A perfect match.

“Yes” she confirmed pulling back from the kiss to catch her breath. Azriel shifted his eyes to the movement occurring from behind her shoulder, gaze finding its home on Cassian and Nesta who were excitedly jumping, holding their thumbs up to the male.

Azriel wrapped his unbloody arm around Y/N’s shoulders, a grin of appreciation on his face as he looked to his friends thankfully.

There were worse friends to have.

[gabessquishytum]

“Most people would describe their lovers the same way

Beautiful, funny, smart, incredible, perfect

But you my darling are grotesque

You are the creature that stalks the night

You steal my blood

tear my hair

and poor wax in my wounds

I need not put you on a pedestal for you already placed yourself there

We are not two princes equally fallen in embrace

You are a king and I am your subservient

And you like it that way,

But only sometimes

Sometimes you crawl to me in the dead of night

an emperor without his clothes

begging for succor from my measly human form

I like it that way

There is no comparing you to a summers day

For you are the cold winter that steals daughters away

Cold and bitter yet inevitable

As I Persephone

You are Hades

And when winter comes I meet you

King

I have been told you used to be worse

Patrons of hell your love hath borne witness

But I believe not the bird creatures and the hellish denizens of my dream life

I believe you

You come on your knees shouting

“Teach me! Teach me!”

You are not a king to me

You are a human

As human as they come

With the belief a god is trapped in your bones

I am your master in the land above the dead

Your eyes see only what I tell you is there

It’s only fair isn’t it?

For the roles reverse in the dreamlands

You are a monster

With gnarled teeth leaving trophies in my skin

Claws that curl round my jaw

I love you oh otherworldly being

Yet I question if you love me too

For I am man

You are king

But not always

I fall in love with the days when the king is striped away to reveal

A Dream,”

Dream closes the book,

perhaps it was unwise to look into a book titled “Every single one of Hob Gadling’s Thoughts about Dream of the Endless in Alphabetical order” but really who could resist a title like that? It’s not his fault that literally every single book ever including only vague concepts is in his library.

He should talk to Hob about this and correct some assumptions immediately. He would never beg for succor, the nights he slips from the Dreaming because he is overwrought are his business!

-🦎

Oh, poor Dream. Didn't you know that it's not a good idea to read the poetry that lies within your lover's heart? You may not like what you find there...

Hob is, of course, mortified that Dream would have access to his thoughts. He sits there with his head buried in his hand as Dream critiques each line:

"I am not grotesque and I have never stolen your blood - you mistake me for some twopenny vampire!"

"Well - I didn't mean it literally-"

"I do not require succour, nor for you to... "teach me"!"

"I'm sure you don't love, but it's more of an extended metaphor..."

"You are certainly NOT my master. I believe that I serve the dreamers as a collective, that is my function - but I do not exist to serve your pleasures!"

"Of course you don't, love. I know that. I'm sorry."

"I should hope so. And the most ridiculous part of all, "I question if you love me too". How can you ask such a thing? Would I be here if I did not love and ardently adore all that you are?!"

At this point Dream is red in the face. He slams the book shut, and Hob takes his hands very gently.

"There will be no more poetry, dear. I promise. Now can we go upstairs and have a cup of tea?"

Dream allows himself to be led upstairs, tucked onto the sofa, and plied with tea and biscuits. And he is satisfied that he has put Hob Gadling in his place - there will be no more nonsense.

Hob strokes his hair, and silently smiles.

[tell-me-a-tale-that-tells]

TATTOOS

┏━━━━ ☙ ☪ ☙ ━━━━┓

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie is your friend and your crush since childhood. On a hot summer day, you couldn't take away your eyes from his tattoos.

WARNINGS: none, no spoilers, no explicit sexual content, and no vulgar language, just mild nudity I guess?

┗━━━━ ☙ ☪ ☙ ━━━━┛

Chapter 1

It was a very cliche summer day in Hawkings, too hot to do anything and go somewhere.

You and your friend since kindergarten, Eddie Munson, were at your little yellow house in Lover's Lake.

Sitting under the shadow of the porch, you were reading a poetry book while he was on the pier, throwing stones on the flat surface of the lake, making them bounce.

It's better to say that you were pretending to read, a hard task since Eddie, due to the heat, has discarded his black t-shirt, remaining only in his torn jeans.

You couldn't help yourself to watch his pale back, the expanse of white skin in contrast with his dark curls and his muscles shifting and contracting with each throw.

If only you believed in God you would have thanked him for making Eddie Munson that way, you loved him since third grade but It was a secret only you knew, no whispered confessions at pajama parties or to the pages of your diary.

Your book was long forgotten as you tried to take a peek at your best friend's tattoos, sure, you saw them before, but closely only the ones on his right arm.

After a lucky throw, Eddie called you.

"Y/N! Did you see that? It bounced about seven times before sinking! Damn, I'm learning how to do this, sweetheart!" he said turning around.

You thanked your reflexes because, by the time he was fully turned, your volume was in front of your face.

"Oh, sorry Eddie! I was reading a poem" you responded trying to be believable and apologetic.

He melted in a kind smile, and ran a hand between his hair, combing some strands that were sticking to his forehead.

"I hate to ask you, Y/N-" he commenced "but there's a possibility that I could steal one of your father's beers? I'm dying of thirst and he made his best puppy eyes.

The truth is that he doesn't even have to try hard.

"If you're thirsty, drink some water," you said playfully, not raising your gaze from the pages.

"You know? you're no fun Y/L/N" Eddie said laughing.

You closed your book and stood up from the wooden stairs and gestured to him to follow you inside.

He entered your kitchen and leaned against the counter, arms crossed while you opened the fridge looking for a beer.

You couldn't see him, but he was peering at you, the way your tank top raised on your back when you leaned down, the curve of your waist, how those shorts were fitting you well.

Twisting around you found Eddie staring back at you, but your eyes were glued to the tattoos below his collarbone.

A sly smirk appeared on your friend's features.

"You just have to ask, if you want to see them" he teased you.

"I-I just... Sorry, it's that I don't know many people with tattoos and I was curious about yours since the day you got them" you blurted out, embarrassment colouring your cheeks.

"Hey, no need to apologize, come here" Eddie reached out for your free hand, took the beer from the other, and pulled you close to him, the heat of his metal rings made you gasp a little.

You had to restrain yourself from running your fingerprints on the inked skin, wanting to follow the black lines.

"The spider is beautiful" you confessed and it was his turn to blush a bit.

He could almost feel your breath on his heated face and decided he wanted more.

"It's a black widow, one of the most dangerous spiders in the world" he told you, lifting your hand to touch the arachnid legs, to you It was like being electrocuted by a loose wire.

"And this," he said moving your fingers lower "it's a demons head"

"Creepy' you commented, leaving out a chuckle and he followed.

You were about to step away when a question crawled into your mind, so you lifted your head, watching shyly Eddie in the eyes.

"Do you...have any others?" you wanted to know so badly.

You saw his face reddens and his pupils dilate, while a sly grin played on his face.

Still guiding your hand, he trailed down his chest and abdomen, stopping right at his belt.

"Yeah, but only pretty girls get to see 'em" he whispered placing your chin between his fingers.

"Oh" you said almost disappointed.

"So I guess it's your birthright to see them" he grinned before letting you go and taking a big gulp from the beer bottle, locking I'm his eyes with yours.

You remained frozen to the spot as he passed by you, heading from the stairs to the first floor.

"So? Are you coming or what, isn't your room upstairs?' he called.

"Hell, yes" you murmured before sprinting to him.

──────⊱⁜⊰──────

Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated. If you have a request for a fic just drop me a private message and I'll write it for you.

[icycoldninja]

Hello! I have an idea for a (fluff / angsty?) request with Vergil - might be a little long sorry abt that

Basically after dmc5 he returns from hell with Dante and he has some loose ends to tie, one of them being mending his relationship with his s/o (aka neros mother). I was thinking maybe she worked for Dante as a devil hunter and V gives subtle hints of his true self but she didn't catch on until the big reveal. I dunno if that'll be good enough so feel feel free to add on whatever!

Thanks for reading all this if you do and have a nice day :)

Nah, nah, it's fine. Have a MOTIVATED day yourself!

Lots of catching up to do (Vergil x Fem!Reader angst/fluff)

You knew something was odd about this "V" fellow the moment he set foot through Devil May Cry's door. You'd been visiting your employer and friend Dante at the time, and happened to be present when the mysterious man showed up, cane and book in hand. You recognized that book; it was an old copy of William Blake's poetry that Vergil used to tote around, occasionally reading excerpts from it during his downtime.

Ah, Vergil. It'd been a while since you heard that name, or even seen the man, for that matter. The last time you had an interaction with him was years ago on a moonlit eve as you said goodbye to him for what you thought was the last time, right before he departed in his quest for power, and just a month before you discovered you were pregnant with your son Nero.

You were lost in thought for a while, barely even noticing the fact that V was staring you straight in the eyes, a smug smirk on his face, as if he knew something you didn't. You wanted to question him, but knew it'd be better to keep your mouth shut. You, Dante, and the rest of Devil May Cry's staff had a mission to complete.

Imagine your surprise when V insisted on you accompanying him and Nero into the Qliphoth, only giving you a vague, meaningless reason you didn't care to remember. It seemed he just wanted you nearby, even though your skills would be better put to use on the front lines, with Dante, Trish, and Lady.

After the first assault failed and mostly everyone crawled back home, defeated, you found yourself being followed by a tall, skinny, emo-looking man whose name was one letter long. Why he was still following you around despite the separation of the devil hunting team made no sense, but since he was somewhat friendly and didn't seem to have ill intentions, you let him stick around.

Some time passed while you tended to your son, whose arm had been ripped off not too long ago, and over time, you two had to charge back into the fray to save the city from more demon attacks. V disappeared for a while, but you didn't mind, since your focus was on helping and protecting your son. Nero always came first in your mind, because he was the only piece of Vergil you had left.

V eventually returned, in terrible condition, bringing with him Dante, who had been found half buried and covered in blood in a hole near his shambling house. Though none of you but V knew it, the moment all four of you stood together was one of the rare moments when the whole Sparda family was all in one place.

Then V scampered off, trying to find Urizen before the others did, and while an inner instant compelled you to follow him, you decided to go with your son, because again, Nero always came first. You ended up running into V once again, except now he had all the structural integrity of a soggy marshmallow, and needed to be carried between the two of you to his final destination, where Dante was duking it out with Urizen.

After the beast had fallen, V broke free of yours and Nero's hold and scrambled on top of it, which was when he jammed his cane right through its chest and exploded, bringing forth an individual you never thought you'd see again: The father of your son and the love of your life, Vergil.

The hope and joy you felt as you watched him materialize was nothing short of incredible; now you saw why V was the way he was, why it was so soothing to be around him, and why he chose to stay with you. V was Vergil. In a way, he'd been with you all along.

You thought that this would be the end of everything, that now, after so many years, you all could go home and be a happy family. You couldn't have been more wrong, for not one minute after finally returning, Vergil went off to the top of the Qliphoth to fight with Dante, Nero following after them, with you being the last to catch up. You arrived just in time to watch them dive off the demonic tree into the underworld, and felt all the happiness drain out of you in an instant.

There he goes, again, this time taking Dante with him. Oh well, you decided. You'll have to devote all your attention to your darling son, who surely needs more comfort than he's letting on.

Several months passed with you and Nero dedicating all your attention to exterminating demons that lingered in the land, feeling sad over the departure of the Sparda twins, but unlike most, you two vented your stress and worry out on demons, by killing them. You two were doing somewhat fine; Nero was still struggling to cope with the fact that Vergil was his father and you never told him, and you were still heartbroken. Then, out of absolutely nowhere, Vergil knocked on the front door right as you were getting ready for bed.

"Vergil?" You gasped as you opened the door.

"Yes," Vergil replied, expression as grim and stoic as ever. "I...I'm home, Y/N."

"You came back from Hell...but how? And where's Dante?" You asked, not entirely sure if this was reality or you were dreaming again.

"He is at his shop," Vergi, replied, sternly. "Do not concern yourself with him. Where is our son?"

"He's upstairs, why?" You said slowly, wondering if he had ill intentions at heart.

"We have a lot of catching up to do," Vergil answered, a warm smile flitting across his face for just a second. "All three of us."

"That we do," You agreed, chuckling as you took the half devil by the arm and dragged him into your house. "Nero! Come down and meet your dad!"

[talxns]

gonna share some headcanons on specific ways that i think bruce changes behaviorally, physically & psychologically after taking in lil dickie (and touch on how it leads to his codependence)

bruce eats more “indulgent” food.

before taking in dick, bruce was incredibly strict with his nutrition. he was single-mindedly focused on performing optimally and that extended to how he ate and trained. food was strictly about the energy it could provide him and he thought little of how it tasted. during this period of time, bruce is the leanest and fastest he’d ever be as batman.

dickie is brought under his wing and there is a shift nutritionally. alfred is making sweets, and bruce is now taking a cookie (or two) from the tray, since dick is sitting with him and crunching on one. dick is offering him animal crackers in the car and bruce is not going to say no. dick wants ice cream and when bruce takes him to get it and dick asks which flavor bruce wants, bruce concedes to a small scoop. dick is hand feeding him his french fry order on a roof during a reconnaissance mission. bruce finds eating enjoyable again.

bruce puts strong focus on strength training

bruce always did strength training. but now that he has robin, he is training with heavier weight to account for however much dick weighs at any given point + his equipment. he wants to make sure that he’s able to be just as effective in case he has to carry robin around, and so he incorporates that into his training regimen.

bruce’s flexibility increases

dick encourages bruce to stretch much more often, something they do together, which improves bruce’s flexibility and lessens his instances of injury. additionally, he carries less muscle tension.

he gets more sleep

bruce has had trouble sleeping his whole life. for one, he’s not sleeping enough to begin with. when he tries to sleep he has insomnia. when he manages to fall asleep there is a high chance of having unpleasant dreams. when he can’t sleep he gets up and does things like research or training. the lack of sleep makes him (surprise) more susceptible to injury and illness. it negatively affects his concentration and memory. it makes him even surlier than usual. the only way bruce gets a “good” nights rest is collapsing from exhaustion.

and then he takes in dick. and dick is absolutely crawling in bruce’s bed. because now, dick is struggling with those same issues: insomnia, nightmares. and he is not used to being so alone at night and lacking physical reassurance. both of them are getting the delicious oxytocin they are deprived of and it increases their sleep quality exponentially. it’s much easier to fall asleep again after a nightmare when you’re being held or at least feel the presence of another next to you. and they can both cry against each other and be vulnerable and let their emotions out if they need to.

he learns to enjoy life outside of the mission

bruce did not “waste” his time with “unproductive” things like watching movies or playing games. that is, until he had dick, who wanted to have fun, as a child naturally does. dick wanted to watch movies, he wanted to play games, he wanted to spend leisure time. and bruce finds himself, surprisingly, enjoying those leisurely moments very much. this is how we get version of bruce and dick who do everything together. they are playing chess together, watching tv together, playing sports, playing games, reading poetry, studying, learning about the world around them, etc etc. bruce is able to take his mind off batman and relax. this is the kind of thing alfred is talking about when he says how good dick is for bruce (and the sleep thing!)

the physical effects

bruce gets bigger. he gains weight after he takes dick in. but it’s not all fat (there is a healthy level of fat, he’s not a dehydrated bodybuilder, he’s got a tummy) but a lot of it is packed into muscle that he is focusing his training on, especially as dick grows and gets heavier and bruce is compensating for that still, into dick’s teenage years. bruce has gone from lean to bulk. not quite a “dad bod” but he is noticeably bigger. he still retains his agility from frequent stretching.

he is healthier overall, with less injuries and instances of illness. the dark circles under his eyes are less pronounced. he smiles and he laughs more often.

he also probably gets his first few gray hairs during dick’s first proper year as robin out in the field.

most importantly, more than the behavioral and physical aspects, the most important thing that changes within bruce after taking dick into his life is:

appreciation for his own life and an active resistance to death

bruce was passively suicidal in his first years. he would jump into fights he wouldn’t be assured he’d make it out of. he’d make leaps he wasn’t sure he could make. he was sloppy and careless with his own life. he did not value himself.

he probably has a harrowing revelation one night after needlessly risking his life when he sees just how agonized dick is over it. he sees that fear of losing a loved one in dick’s eyes. and he realizes that he must live, because he is important, he is needed, and he is loved. despite all his self-hatred and flaws, he cannot deny it when he sees dick. and so! a novel appreciation and respect and reverence over himself previously never fathomed.

and so….

these are huge reasons why bruce was so nervous and upset about even the THOUGHT of dick leaving for college. he would absolutely, unquestionably miss dick. but he must have been aware of all of these improvements that dick brought to his life, behavioral and psychologically and emotional. and he is insecure because he knows that once dick is gone he will revert back to passively suicidal, surly, insomniatic, depressed and anhedonic. he isn’t going to keep eating indulgent foods if dick isn���t there. he isn’t going to watch movies or play games by himself. he does not believe himself able to continue these improvements because he has tethered them to dick, it’s all conditional, it’s whether dick is there or not. and that’s where we see this co-dependence to dick coming from bruce.

i think this is why when jason is put in front of him, bruce takes him in. because he is a child in need because he misses how life was with dick. because it was a vast improvement psychologically. and he doesn’t want to go back to how it was before he had dick

[turbulentscrawl]

Any headcanons for Embalmer and Andrew? 🥸

Oh yes! I am systematically working my way through most of the characters ehehe. I actually think I need to do some situational writing for Aesop as practice, he was a little harder for me to pin down than the other characters I've done so far.

As always, feel free to send me requests if you like my stuff <3 these are fun to do before work ;;

Identity(V) Headcanons: Aesop Carl

-With my current knowledge of the characters, I think Aesop is one of the more dangerous people in the actual horror-story telling behind IDV…. But I’ve been filling these under the game/stageplay setup where the manor is an unescapable, endless game and no one actually dies for realsies…so we’ll ignore his murderous training and tendencies for now.

-That said, he’s still going to be a very difficult guy to get along with. Aesop is confirmed as autistic, and most of his related struggles fall into social categories. He does not typically enjoy casual touch or conversations about anything other than his work. In fact, the longer the conversation is, the worse time he’s having. If there’s a lot of people around too?? He’s McStruggling.

-It takes him a very long time to become genuinely comfortable and friendly with someone, and only then does he start to explore them beyond his comfort zone. Luckily, since everyone is stuck in this would-be purgatory, you’ve got nothing but time!

-One-on-one time is best for Aesop, and while you’re first getting to know him it’s recommended you do not initiate this unless he’s in a public space. He’s mentally prepared to be approached at those times. If you try to barge in on his quiet time or safe spaces before he clears you to do so, it’s only going to hurt his opinion of you.

-He most definitely has long-stints of going nonverbal. At times, the amount of conversation expected of him is too much and he just shuts down completely. If he’s pressed too much during these times he may fall to tears or lashing out. He may, however, be willing to write out any answers that are very important or time-sensitive.

-The trustworthiness of the living and the dead are flip-flopped in Aesop’s mind. When someone is dead, they are a resting summation of all their deeds in life. He learns about who people were through the clues they leave behind: their health, their scars, their effects, the company they receive at their funerals. He considers these things to be more truthful than whatever the deceased would tell or show him about themselves. The living, meanwhile, are all actors, just proxies for what they want to be rather than what they actually are. This is a large reason why he feels closer to the dead than the living.

-Aesop’s favorite love languages are a little difficult to pin down, but I’m going to say Quality Time is his number one—especially when you’re good with parallel play and keep things quiet. This will foster feelings of safety and comfort in relation to your presence! He also likes Words of Affirmation, but mostly in the form of letters, as he’s a little biased for them from all the times he’s nosed through a patient’s effects. Even when he’s head-over-heels (or as close as he can be, since I honestly get AceAro vibes from him) he leans towards written communication but could learn to trust verbal praise in smaller doses.

-When he’s very close with someone, he can learn to enjoy a good hug now and then, or lend them his shoulder to lean on, but he always prefers to keep his arms uncaged so it’s easier to pull away. Unwelcome physical contact feels like bugs crawling under his skin. It’s obvious when he’s had far too much of it because that sensation leads to twitching and spasming, like he’s trying to shake it out.

-He likes to read! His favorites are mostly nonfiction. Biographies (not autobiographies) and other works of an educational nature are preferred, but he has been known to pick up some poetry every now and again. This is due in part to not having finished school and thirsting for all the knowledge he wasn’t allowed.

-He treats learning about his loved ones like reading these books; they are a list of facts and stories to be memorized. Small exceptions to any major preferences can be confusing for Aesop to keep track of, but in general he is very good at committing people’s likes, dislikes, and histories to memory.

-He doesn’t really care to celebrate his own birthday, but likes to help others celebrate theirs. The kitchen is far from his preferred workspace, but he’s actually a decent baker when the situation calls for it. The cake decoration….well, he’ll leave that to someone else. But the cake itself will taste good!

[kusakabesimp]

It's so hard to find Kusakabe simp but then I found you 🥲 Can you give a few headcanons for Dad Kusakabe? ❤

Hi, @perkypeony! Yessssssssss, Kusakabe-Dad is one of my favorite things, especially his dynamic with Miwa! Here's some HC for you. There will definitely be more of these in the future!

*** These all occur in my AU, where Atsuya and Hiromi are married and raising Miwa and Yuji. Several of these have or will appear in my fics/drabbles, so if they look familiar, that's why. ***

Kusakabe-Dad and Miwa HCs

Can you braid my hair?

When Miwa first asked Kusakabe if he could braid her hair, he agreed without hesitation. Panic set in moments later when he realized he had no f**king clue how to handle anyone's hair — not even his own sometimes. His initial attempts resembled more abstract art than a hairstyle, but he had always been a quick study. Determined to master it for Miwa's sake, Kusakabe spent several nights watching tutorials and practicing with the ito cord he usually used for his katana wrap. Now, when Miwa sits at the kitchen table with her back to him, his large hands plait her hair with the same precision and care he applies to everything else in his life. Although Miwa can do it herself, she creates these small opportunities, understanding that it's easier for Kusakabe to express his love through actions in quiet moments like these with the two of them.

Waiting up

It's been nearly a year, and Kusakabe is still a nervous wreck when Miwa goes out on a date. He's made some progress, though: he no longer paces around the kitchen while downing his fifth cup of tea, he's stopped checking his phone every five minutes, and he manages to resist the urge to sweep the entire living room floor, even though he does it every morning. But he still worries. He lies awake in the bed, Hiromi already asleep and snuggled against his chest, and wonders if Miwa's okay. She barely ate anything for breakfast -- would they find something she liked while they were out? The Chūō train line stops running at midnight -- are they close enough to get to the station? Did he leave the porch light on? He checked it three times but considered getting up to check it again. Time seems to crawl as he waits, and finally, he senses the familiar signature of her cursed energy approaching the house. Hiromi stirs and plants a small kiss on Kusakabe's cheek. "She's home, Atsuya. You can go to sleep."

Read With Me

It's no secret that Kusakabe loves to read; there's a bookshelf in every room of their house. The kitchen shelf is home to newspapers and Higuruma's legal briefs, while the living room shelf is a jumble of everyone's books (the one place in the house where Kusakabe doesn't feel the need to meticulously organize). Next to the patio door stands another shelf, and in Kusakabe and Higuruma's bedroom, there's one devoted to Kusakabe's poetry collection. But there's a special bookshelf tucked away in a little corner of the dojo, reserved just for Miwa's books. Some days, instead of guiding Miwa through kata sequences, Kusakabe joins her on the floor to read. Whenever Miwa finishes a novel, Kusakabe reads it next. He always pretends he can't follow the plot or remember the characters' names, just to see her eyes light up as she explains with animated enthusiasm. He listens attentively, a gentle smile forming on his face before he nods and shifts his focus back to the book.

A Name for Love

Even though he'd brought her into his care, Miwa still referred to Kusakabe as sensei. It was her way of honoring his love and guidance while respecting his role as her teacher. However, with her friends and with Yuji, she always called him her dad. They naturally accepted it, never questioning or viewing it differently than any other parent-child relationship. One evening, after a particularly intense sword drawing session, Miwa sat at the kitchen table, quickly eating a dinner that Kusakabe had whipped up for her. As he praised her footwork, Miwa, completely exhausted, unintentionally murmured, "Thanks, Dad." A faint blush spread across her cheeks as she realized what she'd said. Higuruma, also at the table with a cup of tea, hid a small smile behind his mug, stealing a quick glance at his husband's reaction. Kusakabe smiled and affectionately ruffled Miwa's hair, his touch filled with love and reassurance.

[sol-consort]

Whenever someone questions "what does it mean to be human" what they're really asking is "How much of me is truly me?"

Because how do you even define the human experience? When empathy and love can be found even in the deepest of oceans amidst the most fearsome of killer whales.

Or is it a question regarding our purpose. Because we can understand what it means to be a bird by simply observing one, we can understand what it means to be a plant by studying one. As if they're all born with a purpose, with a passion in mind with reserved seats at the grand meaning of life.

Are other species born with a purpose? Do the asari find it laying around through their early couple hundredth years? Do the salarians know what food is going to be their favourite before the first bite. Just how much of what it means to be a krogan is engranged in their biologically rather than sociology, Is that why Grunt struggled with the desperate need to fit in? Was it hereditary or acquired?

You look at a turian, and you see their bright future, the way they stand with pride, the way they honour their tribe. You look at a hanar, and you wonder how they adjusted to being a fish out of water with such grace at all times, how effortless they made it look, how divine.

What do they see when they look at us? What's the purpose written across our earthly skin and hungry eyes. Do they see an open book of emotions? An animal learning to crawl? A bunch of kids playing pretend, wearing their special uniforms and clumsily navigating the jenga tower that they built a government system out of.

We claim to be problem solvers at heart, but we end up breaking the things we fix more often than not. We say creativity is our speciality, but we box our definition of what counts as art.

We desperately want to be something, but we're not. We're a blank slate being constantly carved onto with a hammer and chisel. We're not born knowing how to swim, We're not born knowing how to make art, invent things, or start wars. We can only cry, and even that gets taken away in the shortage of time.

But maybe that's the point, fish can't talk, snakes can't walk, and I can't read minds.

That there might be some wisdom in this, some deeper meaning. Or maybe it's as deep as the earth's crust and is just hiding in plain sight.

We created language because we cannot read minds, asari had no reason to, so their language and poetry are ass. that's why it took them so long to master writing and passing down information accurately.

We somehow preserved our genetic diversity because we kept eating everything that's not nailed down. We licked those instead. This is why we have so many dishes and little allergies, why we can get around with one heart, one liver, and one spine. At any point, we could've exclusively just eaten potatoes or whatever is the easiest grain to plant and forced our bodies to adopt with time, but we didn't. We liked the diverse taste of different dishes, we enjoyed the different flavours the world offered, we hunted for meat and we aged wine, we churned milk into butter and cheese, we preformed all these convoluted steps just in order to create something that makes us feel good, that tastes good.

There are paintings on cave walls as old as time, there are colourful handprints of your younger self somewhere on your childhood home, be it left over melted chocolate or actual paint or your mom's lipstick that she dropped.

There is something in us doing this, something that feels like me. There is something in my brain that makes me love the moon and long for the stars, there is something in your brain that makes the mental image of a waterfall in a forest actively slow your heartbeat down, try it right now.

There is something that makes the oceans look inviting when other animals would avoid it not to drown. Something that makes the horizon tempting, the large mountains taunting, the abyss of space alluring, the unknown worth exploring.

It's the effort. They look at us and see someone who thinks all this convolution is worth the effort, that reaching the moon with spaceships with less power than the phone you're currently holding was worth all the risks. That learning to fly was worth all the engineering, that antarctica was worth living in a freezing hell.

They see a human with a purpose of their own design, be it just having a good time or defeating death itself once and for all. They see passion personified, love pushed to the extreme as a conscious decision rather than some built-in evaluationy gene.

They a species who won't back down, who won't take the easy way out, who won't stop trying to just have a good time in general.

[fic-recommended]

Shyan Fics

more to be added, if I feel like adding

—————————————

I’ll Crawl Home – carrieonfighting

(16,024 words / 6 chapters / Teen and up)

Tags: Demon!Shane, Angst, Non-Linear Narrative, bc im PRETENTIOUS, Protective!Shane

"Shane was almost unnerved by how quickly he’d settled into this body, this name, this life - his friendship with Ryan was the most time he’d spent with any human before, and yet the man fascinated him."

Wow. That’s all I gotta say. I started reading Shane/Ryan fic because I had a weird dream and went looking for comfort fic to ease the edges of my mind. I stumbled upon this fic and was so fucking blown away. I was drawn in because of the demon!Shane tag and the way this story is charted out is insane. It’s nonlinear (there is a liner version tho I’m strongly against it). Just ohmygod read this fic it’s insane and hurts so good.

I’m Gonna Keep You in Love with Me (for a While) – beethechange

(21,847 words / 1 chapter / Explicit)

Tags: fake married, also real married, friends to husbands to lovers to ???, Las Vegas Wedding, possible dubious consent due to alcohol consumption, Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Rimming, just assume most of the kinds of sex are present here, probably more Celine Dion than you were hoping for, they say "fuck" a lot, also "dude" but I don't make the rules okay, Bedsharing

Shane is pacing around the hotel room. It’s not a huge room and Shane’s legs are long enough that he doesn’t have much real estate to pace before he has to swing back around for another loop.

“Can you stop?” Ryan asks. “You’re making me dizzy.”

“Okay,” Shane says finally. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re just going to—we’re going to be married. The only way out is through.”

“Um,” Ryan says, because this plan strikes him as counterproductive to their shared goal of not being married.

To me there are the big two when thinking of Shane/Ryan fics. That is to say the others aren’t amazing but two gutted me in a way I was not expecting from I ship I don’t even ship. This is one of the two and fucks sake it hurts me but in a way I really like and neeeeeded. (The other is the one above this)

Muscles Better and Nerves More – beethechange

(26,301 words / 1 chapter / Explicit)

Tags: Bodyswap, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Getting Together, First Time, Pining, Slow Burn, Masturbation, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Body Horror, Rituals, Swearing, Sexy Shame

“I’m serious,” Ryan says. “Don’t go fucking up my body. I want that shit back in the same condition I left it.”

“The same condition—Ryan. I’m not spending hours in a gym every day so you don’t lose muscle mass.”

“I want you to treat my body with the respect you would a national park. Leave nothing but footprints, take nothing but memories.”

***

A certain meddling Voodoo Queen of New Orleans thinks Ryan and Shane need some new perspective on life. After an inadvisable ritual deposits Ryan in Shane’s body, and Shane in Ryan’s, the ghoulboys pursue some soul-searching and self-discovery to put things right. Sometimes in a sexy way.

I have found out while reading this fic that I am also a sucker for bodyswap!au. Something about learning to love someone completely while seeing (and being lmao) all of them is so intimate and endearing to me. Plus there’s dumplings in this fic and that is just sweet sweet poetry.

If you can find a way to love me, it’s all right – varnes

(11,232 words / 1 chapter / Teen and up)

Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Psychic Ryan

When Ryan was a kid, he fell into a pile of bricks. They were playing hide and seek, and he thought he had the best hiding spot: high up in a thickly lush tree, his knees drawn to his chest so that he’d blend in. But the branch broke. He hit his head and doesn’t remember much of what happened after that. When he woke up a few hours later, the sun was setting, and his friends were gone, and his parents were calling for him, their flashlights swinging across the grass. There’d been blood on his bangs.

Anyway, now he can see ghosts.

Kind of.

Look, he’s not great at it.

--

Or: Ryan, personally, has three lists: “NICE GHOSTS,” “GHOSTS I DON’T FUCK WITH,” and, “IDK, SPOOKY STUFF.”

Oh my goddddd this fic is so sweet and so owie. At first I was skeptical because the fanon is that Shane can see demons or ghosts or whatever. But having it be Ryan???? So owie in such a good way. Other then this fic being the masterpiece that it is, I’m going to convince you with one sentence: Ryan has a cat with a ghost in it that demands Taco Bell. That’s it baybee. Read it or you’ll regret itttt.

BFFS Get Married For A Week – Ryan and Shane – aspookycryptidsock

(18,108 words / 8 chapters / Explicit)

Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fake Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Oral Sex, Hand Jobs, Pining, Mutual Pining

"As I was saying," Curly continues with a pointed glare in Ryan's direction. "It's my honor to join the two of you in unholy matrimony. The rules are simple, you'll live together, plan one date each, and cherish each other. Til week do you part."

I first read this fic years and years ago. I don’t know how it happened but me and my best friend found it while being at a library and we went feral reading it before their mom picked us up. It’s my origin story to the ship. This fic is my first love and my baby gorl. Shane is intense in a way I lovelovelove. Ryan is dumber then a pile a bricks amen.

Body Farming – shiphitsthefan

(7,251 words / 1 chapter / Explicit)

Tags: Season/Series 04, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Shane Madej, Protective Shane Madej, Omega Ryan Bergara, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Pining, Scenting, Multiple Orgasms, Knotting, Daddy Kink, Size Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Filth with Feelings, Community: bfukinkmeme, Multisex Omega

Failed suppressants and a surprise heat: the worst of cliches, and here Ryan stands, living the trope on location with the alpha he’s hopelessly in love with. Even worse, they’re spending the night in the famous Bell Witch Cave, completely alone and with no way to contact the outside world.

Ryan knows he can survive and keep his preheat a secret, as long as Shane will stop being so protective and concerned. After all, it’s not like Shane wants to bond with him.

Right?

Your honor I’d like to state my case by saying being horny on main is bc I’m silly goofy and I never meant no harm. ABO fuck or die in a cave? Fuccck kkkk y e aaaa

Por Favor, Sweetheart – carrieonfighting

(7,859 words / 1 chapter / Teen and up)

Tags: Kid Fic, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Accidental Baby Acquisition, ryan dadgara, and shane dadej, Original Baby Character - Freeform, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, You Have Been Warned

Two dorks raise a baby and don't even realise they're doing it together until it's too late

Alternatively, Ryan Bergara is Trying His Best Thanks

Ryan gains custody of a baby and is strugggglinnnggg until a Sasquatch comes and helps <3. Ain’t nothing says romance baybeee then an actual baby.

daring it’s a faded notion – varnes

(28,760 words / 5 chapters / Explicit)

Tags: Paranormal shenanigans, y'all remember that trope where people can't be more than 5 feet apart without Suffering?

The sun is too bright and Ryan’s whole body is alight with something that is eating him all the way up from the inside out, but he keeps his eyes open and he makes himself look, and he tells himself that once he finds Shane, he’ll think about it. Once he finds Shane, they’ll make a plan. Once he finds Shane, and only then, he’ll let himself have the thought he’s been swallowing down like bile since he came to: that they didn’t fall.

They were pushed.

OR: Ryan and Shane get cursed by a ghost, and now they can't be not-touching. It's ... not great.

Ghosties don’t like the no homo and said ummm yeeeeet!!! Into the Grand Canyon then the ghoul boys kiss???? Makes me go hubba hubba

Collide - needywitch

(35,310 words / 2 chapters / Explicit)

Tags: Pining, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting Together, Falling In Love, Biting, First Time, Dirty Talk, Love Confessions, Rough Sex, Shane Madej Has a Big Dick

Ryan is desperately in love with his best friend.

Owieeeeeee. This one made me cryyyy. The prose of this fic along with a healthy usage of the word jaunty made this fic deeply emotional as well as made me want to cry when they kissed. Very excellent

A Perfect Piece of Ass, Like Every Californian - beethechange

(25,706 words / 3 chapters / Explicit)

Tags: entirely self-indulgent PWP, smut with feelings, Threesome, Birthday Sex, Oral Sex, lotta ball stuff here folks, so i hope you like balls, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Sexy Air Traffic Conducting, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism

“Happy birthday, Shane,” Sara says. “I got you a Ryan.”

“Th—thanks?” Shane says. He looks at Ryan and Ryan just looks back, weirdly impassive, giving nothing away. “But I’m pretty sure I already have a Ryan in this model. What’s the return policy?”

“Not like this, you don’t,” she says, raising her eyebrows meaningfully. Out of the corner of his eye Shane can see Ryan bring his hand to his mouth, stifling a snicker that he turns into a cough. Oh, he thinks.

Oh shit.

I’m not gonna sit here and pretend that this fic is morally correct but Shane/Sara/Ryan fic is what I needed and it blew me away and it is the best smut thank you goodnight

[hannahssimblr]

I am afraid, even, to start eating tortillas from the packet in case the rustling is as annoying as everything else I do, so I ignore my craving for them and let the time crawl on with the speed of creeping molasses, as above the garden, the edge of the sky, a deep, moonless blue, is tinged rosy with the first blush of dawn. It’s that hour of the morning that people always swear they are the only ones awake, but I know better. Too many times I have walked the streets at this time, somewhere between four and five, when the streetlights tint the city sepia. I’ve watched the sunrise in dew soaked clothes in somebody’s back garden, from a bench on the seafront, cocaine eyes manic and unblinking while nurses, bin men, delivery drivers climbed into their vehicles on the silent residential street and started their day where I ended mine.

Somehow, at this table with Michelle I feel entirely alone, invisible, like some ghost that insists upon haunting her with annoyances, knocking over a glass here, opening a door there that she’ll only have to get up and close. There is no silence more deathly than the one between us tonight in the absence of our only mutual friend, and I can’t ignore the sting of it. I don’t really understand why it is like this, it just is. 

My mind drifts to King Lear, of a quote from the second act that I can’t fully recall, and in that desperate, panicked manner of someone hours away from an exam, I toss my maths book to the side and fan through the text books on the table in search of the play. I find poetry, I find exam papers, I find the text book but the play is not here. 

“Do you have your King Lear on you?”

Michelle glances up from her notebook, “Not here.”

“Is it… in the house?”

“Yeah, my room.”

“Okay, will you get it for me? I left mine at home, I think, and I really need to look over something for the exam.”

She pauses reluctantly, but sighs as she rises from her seat, “Yeah, hang on.”

When she’s gone I take the opportunity to polish off the cheese tortillas and a penguin bar or two, then, thirsty, I head back into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. The coffee machine is plugged in, its filters stacked in a little bowl upon the counter, and I surmise that Debra wouldn’t mind, she told me earlier to help myself to anything in the kitchen. I take a cup back into the dining room and sip it, staring blankly at the wall as my brain buzzes so restlessly with information that I can almost hear it aloud. 

The notebook Michelle has been writing in is open across the table, and I flip it around to read, nosily, though nothing very interesting is written in it. Something about Oliver Cromwell. Her handwriting is nice though, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen something she’s written, and… she’s been gone a while. 

I lift my eyes to the ceiling and listen, though I can’t hear her walking around up there, and all ideas I have about texting her go out the window as soon as I see her phone is still lying on the table next to her pen, so I debate going up to find her. What if she succumbed to exhaustion like Jen and collapsed into bed? The last thing I want to do is go up and disturb her, but what if she’s still looking for King Lear? What if she’s forgotten about it? I picture her rifling helplessly through an impossibly large, overwhelming stack of textbooks while growing increasingly distressed, and I feel bad for even asking her to go.

Perhaps it’s my own exhaustion overtaking the already poorly functioning rational part of my brain, but I leave my cup of coffee on the table and go up the stairs to find her. 

Hers is the only bedroom with stickers on the door. They’re not recognisable anymore, after years of being bleached by the sun that comes in through the south facing landing window all day, and half peeled away, but I remember they were flowers and stars once, and little bubbly letters that spelled out her name in a silver arc. 

MI HELL 

It says now, missing letters and all, considering this room is where she spent six full weeks wailing over Evan is pretty apt, but this is probably hilarious to me alone. 

I knock gently.

Her voice is muffled from within, “Yes?”

“Did you… did you find the play?”

“Oh. No, sorry, I was-” she comes to open the door, “Shh! I don’t want to talk too loudly, no, I couldn’t find it.”

“You couldn’t?” I peer into the bedroom behind her to where a notebook is open on the duvet, “and then what? Were you reading your own diary or something?”

She scowls, “none of your business, I just got distracted.”

I hesitate, “Okay, but like, King Lear?”

“Ugh, King Lear. Look for it yourself,” she steps away from the door and I’m not sure what to do. Has she given me permission to enter? Hesitantly, I let myself in.

“Shut the door,” she commands as she snaps the notebook shut and stows it away beneath her bed, “I don’t want everyone waking up with you talking in the hall.”

“Well I was whispering.”

“You don’t know how to whisper.”

“What? Yes I do, I’m whispering right now.”

“You aren’t, you’re just talking in a quiet voice, that’s not whispering.”

“It is whispering. If I was talking in a quiet voice I’d be talking like this.”

“Oh my God, shut up.Just grab the play and go back downstairs.”

“Yeah. Okay. Where is it usually?”

“Over there somewhere,” she gestures vaguely to the corner of her room with a shelf and a desk, both stacked high with a mound of various books, which isn’t an encouraging sight. 

“Uh, okay,” I try to muster up the strength to search for Shakespeare, but my sleepy eyes drift aimlessly from the shelf to the desk, where a laptop sits next to a cup of paintbrushes and pencils. There are clean clothes folded and stacked on the chair and a wicker basket on the floor beneath the desk. It’s full of crumpled up pieces of note paper, like she’s written and thrown away a hundred furious notes about someone. Evan, probably, but potentially me. Michelle, who is fussing with the pillows on her bed, turns to stare at me. 

“What are you gawking at?”

“I’ve just realised that I’ve never been in your room before.”

“Well that’s because my dad didn’t want you to be.”

“Yeah. I always wondered what you and Jen got up to here.”

“Nothing, really, we usually just grabbed whatever games or magazines we came for and went back down to hang out with you,” she folds her arms, adding, “I suppose we didn’t really get why you couldn’t even just come up back then. It all seemed a bit dramatic.”

“I don’t think your dad liked me.”

“He does.”

“Back then though, I think he thought I’d get up to some freaky shit if he let me in your room.”

“I don’t think he thought that.”

I  huff out a laugh, “I’m pretty sure he did.”

“No, he always calls you ‘that nice American boy’, and lectures me about how I should study hard and focus on my school work to be more like you.”

“He doesn’t know me very well then, apparently. Maybe I would have tried something freaky.”

The corner of her mouth curls up, “No, I suppose he doesn’t know you. You’ve fooled him. I think that he just hated Evan so much that you were like, the preference. He definitely started coming around on you when you were tutoring Jen.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

With her frosty demeanour somewhat thawed I seize permission to look around the room a little bit more. It’s odd, I often pictured what this room might look like as I sat in the living room below and made strained conversation with Michelle’s parents, but it wasn’t like I had many girls' bedrooms to compare it to. I guessed that she had purple walls, because purple seemed like a Michelle colour. Her school bag was purple, and the clips she wore to pin back her hair. I imagined that maybe she’d have glow in the dark stars and a funky, wavy mirror on the wall.

Michelle’s walls are blue. The room is nothing like how I’d pictured it, but she’s seventeen now and this room is like all teenage bedrooms, a hybrid between a child and an adult space. Her favourite toy, a fluffy tiger, is perched on a shelf next to a series of fantasy novels and a pink, childish bedside locker has The Bell Jar on top of it, along with her reading glasses and a digital alarm clock. I’m struck with the knowledge that I will never know what it looked like back then, like the child version of Michelle herself, it is gone. I turn to a cork board on the wall behind me, filled with concert tickets, wrist bands, postcards, photographs, a map of the things she’s done with her life in all of the time that I sort of imagined her sitting around being angry and miserable. I touch a picture pinned to the bottom corner, of her and Jen at the sea when they were eleven. I know exactly where they are, it’s seapoint. I know because I was there too. 

I bend so I am level with it and give it one, sharp flick, “You tore me out of this photo.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[loumauve]

For the Character Ask! Right backatcha while I think on your asks, 17 and 18 for Silga and Untalla!

(in reference to this ask meme)

17. Quotes, songs, poems, etc. that I associate with them

18. What they’d go to see a therapist about

---

gonna drop the entirety of this under a read more bc it's likely to get long with even just the poems (no, I did not leaf through my collection of 15+ poetry books just for this) (also, no songs, sadly, not yet. I'll send you a message on discord tho if I do decide on some in the future)

also, the reason this reply is late is because I wanted to take my time with finding the right songs, but then that never happened because of me losing my mind over Jesse and Emily once again other distractions, so I figured I'd rather get around to it now because I love them and I think about them all the time and I didn't want you to think I was ignoring them

Untalla is a bit hard for me to pin down, so I'm going off vibes here

i never expected death to be my most faithful companion, but she is the only one who will come without having to be asked. - the only one who will never leave (from the princess saves herself in this one by Amanda Lovelace)

This is me, I am the eye of the storm and my heart is a little broken. But if you want me, I'm yours. (from Pillow Thoughts by Courtney Peppernell)

[..] The Grieved - are many - I am told - There is the various Cause - Death - is but one - and comes but once - And only nails the eyes - There's Grief of Want - and Grief of Cold - A sort they call "Despair" - [..] (part of poem 561 from The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson by.. well, Emily Dickinson, my eternally beloved)

Silga is a whole load of grief and longing, if I had more hope-filled poetry books I would have tried to find a hopeful one as well. I think that would suit her, but alas

what do we do with all the things we need to say to someone we'll never see again? - maybe that's why i write (from to drink coffee with a ghost by Amanda Lovelace)

I wish that it were easier for me to explain that you won't really get inside my head for a long time even though I want you to crawl inside my mind as badly as I want to curl up with a flashlight inside of yours and read for hours on end [..] (part of Things I Would Like To Tell You but Probably Won't (At least, not for a very long time) from High Wire Darlings by Kalyn RoseAnne Livernois)

[..] The thing about heartbreak is it feels too big for your body. You become cavernous - A walking Mariana Trench. Nobody knows how deep you go because the pressure is heavy enough to fold bodies into paper cranes and naive enough to call this beautiful. [..] (part of Survivor's Guilt from Wrong Side of a Fistfight by Ashe Vernon)

..and THEM because I love them

I was lying beside you and you had this half smile because my hands were drifting down your spine. And you looked at me and I lost track of everything. Because I realised just how badly I want under your skin. (from Pillow Thoughts by Courtney Peppernell)

[..] Do not dote on me Do not say anything about my eyes when we are watching the stars I will know you adore me by the way you remove the space between us before we fall asleep It will be in your eyes even when you didn't mean to tell me [..] (part of Irromantic from High Wire Darlings by Kalyn RoseAnne Livernois)

[..] Find the pocket of your heartbeat where you keep Forgiveness. We will try again tomorrow - I know you've got a bone to pick with tomorrow, but it's coming anyway. [..] You think you've seen every ugly corner of this whole rotten world, but listen: There is an infinite number of things we don't know and, statistically speaking, at least half of them are probably very, very beautiful. (part of Post-Panic Attack from Wrong Side of a Fistfight by Ashe Vernon)

as for therapy.. oof.

how many hours do they have? lol obviously a LOT of grief counselling, trauma processing for both of them. and maybe they can go to couple's therapy together, even if they're not dating, just to figure out how to best communicate and support each other. and maybe figure out what kind of intimacy is the kind they want and can handle. sometimes it can help to have external structure for those kinds of conversations

[sarandipitywrites]

NaNo update 11/30

well, that's that for nano this year. i'm so glad i got to participate this year - i might have to make a habit of it. but for now, here's the last bit of The Art of Empty Space for a little while. what's going to happen next? will Lienzo and Baz break the curse? will Lienzo quit pining over Baz and kiss him already? will Lienzo get a pair of pants? only one of these questions answered here; the rest will have to wait until i sweep the mess my plot has become into some sort of order :)

The hazy, cold light of the gloaming stole in through the curtains. Lienzo had watched it creep in, finger by cautious finger, until the darkness had bled away. He needed to get up. He was as rested as he was going to get; the soreness and fatigue of the previous days would have to go away on their own. But he was sore, and tired, and the bed was warm, and smelled like Baz. Baz. He sighed, his lungs replacing the air with something lighter. He burrowed further into the blankets. Baz, still asleep, squeezed Lienzo's waist just that little bit tighter, making his heart clench almost painfully. Why couldn't they stay this way forever? Why did there have to be a curse? Why couldn't he just take Baz home to his maza, where they'd make fun of his weird lizard feet before inviting him in for seafood fritters? Why did they have to read about spells and sigils when they could be reading poetry? Why couldn't he just teach Baz to cook and Baz could teach him about plants and swordfighting and snow globes and the million little things that made Baz, Baz? ...Why had he never asked those questions about anyone else? Restlessness shivered up his legs, crawled under his skin. He pulled away — unsuccessfully, until he wedged his pillow between himself and Baz, giving his bedmate something else to latch onto — and padded across the plush rug to the bathroom. As he went through the motions of bathing and toileting, he turned the situation over and and over like a polished stone. He'd had more sexual partners than was worth the effort of counting. Phi knew about them — there was no hiding anything from them — but they didn't know them. He'd never wanted them to. All of his partners had been for 'sometimes' — when the mood struck. Plenty of people had known him, but he didn't want any of them to know him. He'd never understood that want — the feeling of being flayed open, pinned like a bug under a microscope. He'd never understood why his maza still wore the black-and-red braid they'd made with Xiro, all those years ago. Lienzo didn't feel 'forever.' As he scrunched his braids dry, a bottle of amber liquid on the vanity caught his eye. He popped open the glass stopper and breathed in smoky wood, peppery spice, and deep, dark musk. As he daubed some of the cologne on his fingers and applied it on his wrists and the back of his neck, he stoutly refused to think about 'forever.' There were, unsurprisingly, no clothes of his size in Baz's closet. So, still in his borrowed shirt and undershorts, he stole out into the hall and down the tower stairs. He would go back to his room, find a clean set of clothes, and think through the odd flutter in his chest. He'd always thought better while wearing trousers. When he emerged at the bottom of the stairs, he gasped and flinched back into the shadows. There were people in the keep. Dozens of people, of every size and shape and color, all bustling about, shouting and talking and laughing and hugging and Lienzo didn't know any of them and he wasn't wearing any trousers. "Enzie? Is that you?" A stocky, squareish person with a long dark braid and skin like red river rocks. Aisha. "What are you doing in there? Everyone's been looking for you. They want to thank you — Baz, too." "I— I'm kind of..." He wasn't body-shy. Not in the slightest. But a man had to draw a line somewhere and Lienzo's line, as it turned out, was parading around half-naked in a keep full of strangers. Strangers who wanted, specifically, to see him. Aisha, thankfully, caught on quickly. In less than a minute ze was gone and back again with a tunic in his size, house shoes, the all-important trousers, and even a binder. Ze even stood guard while he changed in the stairwell. Only when he was presentable did ze trot him out to the crowd.

AES taglist (ask to be added or removed!): @notwritinganyflufftoday

[wild-lavender-rose]

Hi! Could I possibly request a Hank Lawson x Female Reader (from Dr Quinn Medicine Woman) where the reader is really shy and into reading and poetry and begins slowly introducing Hank into the world of literature. After a while, he surprises the reader with a novel she loves. Thank you!

Okay...I really got into this prompt. This fic definitely has series vibes because I feel like reader's backstory got pretty developed and I loved seeing the dynamic of Hank with a shy, quieter love interest. Hank lovers, let me know if I should continue developing this story!

A Simple Gift

Warning: Mention of alcoholic parent. Brief, cannon-typical swearing

"Hey, Loren," you tipped your head to the silver-haired man as you entered his store, a basket of eggs heavy on your arm.

"No, no, no. Get those things out of here." Loren shooed at you like you were an unwanted puppy. "I'm not trading anything else for books."

"But you said last week that-"

"Never mind what he said."

You turned around to find Jake and Hank walking into the store. Hank's eyes danced when he saw you, while Jake regarded you with his usual cold smugness.

"Women folk need to be focused on stuff like sewing or cooking for their men." He said, looking you up and down. "Not a book full of words that don't make sense."

"It's poetry." You said, heat flushing your face. Your skirts swished about you as you turned back to Loren. "Please,"

"I just can't do it, miss." Loren shook his head, expression going from annoyed to soft. "Maybe Dr. Mike has some, or Colleen,"

"I've already read all of them." You tucked your basket protectively against your side, feeling silly and embarrassed at the idea that Loren would trade dime a dozen eggs for one of his precious books for sale. "Good day."

You turned to go, meaning to slip past Hank and Jake.

"Woah, hold on," Hank took hold of your arm, stopping you in your tracks. "Thought you were dying to have that Emily book."

"Don't tease me," you whispered, trying to pull out of his grip.

"M'not teasing," Hank let you pull free. "Why don't you just pay for it?"

"I can't." Your head ducked down, unable to look him in the eye. "Pa's gotta have his drinking money, there's nothing left after."

Jake snorted. "At least he's putting it to good use."

Tears stung your eyes as you ran out of the store.

# # # # #

Bible hanging loosely in your hand, you walked alone towards your wagon after church. Your Pa was off drunk somewhere, again. At least you knew it wasn't at Hank's saloon. Ever since you and Hank had become friends, Hank had been cutting your Pa off and sending him home earlier than usual. Only Pa wasn't coming home. He would crawl away into some hole with a bottle of rot gut for hours on end, leaving you alone as usual.

Hank. You hated the way that the thought of him made your insides tingle and your face flush. You knew that he only ever talked to you because he thought you were pretty, but deep down you wanted it to be something more. Even though doing anything remotely close to courtship would guarantee being shunned by the community. But you were used to living on the outskirts. How much worse could it get?

"Hey,"

You jumped, startled to find Hank waiting by your wagon. He was dressed in his Sunday best but you definitely did not see him in church.

"Hey," you bit your lip and looked down at the ground.

"How, uh, how was the service?"

"Fine." You put your Bible on the seat and grabbed the wagon side, preparing to climb up.

"Here," Hank came up beside you, boosting you up into the seat in one swift movement.

You glanced around, noting the people exiting the church and the way they stared at you and Hank. Embarrassment flushed your cheeks. Then you looked down at Hank, only to find his clear blue eyes staring up into yours.

"Here," he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small green book. "Got ya' something."

You accepted the book from him, fingering the beautiful gold lettering along the front cover. "Dickinson's poems." Your breath caught.

Hank shrugged. "Seemed like ya' needed it."

"I can't,"

"Sure you can. Hell, I used your money to buy it." Hank smirked. "Called in on some money your Pa owes me."

Your mouth opened, closed, opened, and closed again. You were speechless from the gift. It was the most beautiful book you had ever seen, and certainly the only book you had been given to keep.

"It's mine?" You managed to say, stomach twisting at the foolishness of how your voice sounded.

"Of course, darlin'," Hank grinned, sending your heart racing. "All yours."

With that, Hank backed away from the wagon. "See ya' next time you're in town."

"Yeah." You nodded, your shock turning into giddy joy as you bent to take up your horse's reins. "See you next time."

And with that, the two of you parted ways, each with a big smile on your face.

Fanfic Masterlist

[turtlemagnum]

my politics:

i don't like to ascribe political labels to myself because people hear a specific label and insert what they think it means and just sorta ignore whatever you actually have to say/believe. so here i'm just gonna describe my positions on various things not as a comprehensive explanation but as a rough rule of thumb. so, here we go:

im queer, and almost all of my friends are too. most of my friends are trans, i've spent a lot of time lurking in trans spaces, and frankly i believe that people should be treated like people so trans rights are deeply important to me. i wouldn't consider myself trans but i am nonbinary, and if you're someone who considers nb people to be trans i'm not gonna contradict you. i also consider intersex folks to be an important part of the queer community, and feel as though they're vastly underrepresented and frankly deserve more respect as people and not as a "gotcha" against gender essentialist shitheads, y'know. i realize it's very easy to say i'm supportive of a particular group and a lot of bigoted dickshitters claim the best of intentions, so i can just hope that spelling out my intent and trying to keep my actions inline with it is enough.

i abhor bigotry of all varieties, and of course a particularly important facet of that is racism and related issues like colonialism. i'm whiter than most literal crackers, but i'd like to think that growing up in the part of the US with the highest population of black folks outside of the deep south and having an indigenous uncle whose heritage i was always taught to respect gave me a bit of a head start on having good opinions in regards to racism. i actually have a lifelong interest in indigenous cultures the world over, which goes nicely with a lifelong interest in theology and linguistics. i distinctly remember reading some ainu poetry and crying, if that tells you anything

i'd consider myself to have very strong opinions in regards to freedom. not in the typical american borderline masturbatory insistence for a love for "freedom" that amounts to authoritarianism attempting to pass itself off as freedom. i'd like the freedom to live your life the way you want to, without having to live under the heel of a boss or a landlord. i'd like the freedom to live without constant surveillance or threat of police violence. the freedom to choose what's right for your body without having to crawl through a bureaucratic hellscape just to live as you need to.

in general i try to have a relatively chill policy of "live and let live". you may have noticed that i basically never reblog things and literally never talk about public drama that i might become involved in just by virtue of posting about it. internet drama is bullshit and is pretty much never justified, and is usually just about harassing someone (who, just coincidentally, usually happens to be a minority for whatever reason). if someone has an identity that doesn't make sense to me or a kink i think is gross or an interest i find cringe, i just go "ok" and move on with my life because it doesn't impact my life in the slightest. it's literally so simple to not give a shit about internet strangers, and also strangers in real life