#let's not write fics anymore

[imaginary-wanderer]

Hey, how about werewolf!Aureliano? Or a kind of shape shifter. With those wolf rings, the Son of Rome turned into a beast. Aureliano "il lupo" Adami. He's some sort of fighter too, his nickname is more than a name. He keeps the rings when he fights (what rules?), more damages on the others but also he wants to feel the pain in return.

He's also a brooding and submissive bottom. True to his canon version (I said what I said).

Would Spadì be a werewolf hunter? I mean, he could be The Sword. He is The Sword.

Idk I just need to turn everything into an AU otherwise it's lost potential and we don't want that.

[writeouswriter]

You know what, this "actually writing" thing is really fun, someone should tell my adhd that 'cause it still doesn't believe me.

[marragurl]

Saxaphone player Gallagher has not left my mind since the jazz night art dropped AND THEN Robin saying Halovian’s innately have good voices and Sunday used to hum lullabies to her as kids happened in the 2.2 special program, and I’m sure you guys can see where my unfortunate Galladay heart is going with this.

Whoever decided to make this art, I love you. I hope your pillow is cool every night, you’re never stuck in traffic, and your water is refreshing with every sip.

Also the art of Sunday with the White Gentlemen drink in the S.P.A.R.K.L.E jazz night event has also spiraled into me delusionally thinking that’s his go to drink. Which is hilarious since Robin has hinted before that he seems to have a massive sweet tooth in her letters.

(Sunday how do you even make holding a drink menacing, Sunday please get some therapy-)

So imagine this:

Pre 2.0 Galladay, where they’re both wary and suspicious of each other but didn’t do anything outright. Sunday slowly began to visit Gallagher’s bar whenever he had time to observe the Hound, initially on the down low just to get a sense of what he was working with and what to keep an eye on. He always gravitated to that one corner booth that every bar had with the most privacy, and just stalked there for a few hours before leaving. (Smol menacing birb in a tree vibes)

Gallagher obviously knew that Sunday was doing this (even though everyone else seemed to somehow completely miss him, Gallagher wouldn’t be surprised if Sunday was doing some weird Harmony mind tricks), and after the first few “stakeouts,” he bit the bullet and actually approached the table to engage with Sunday, on the off chance this was some weird “test of loyalty” by the Halovian to see if the Hound would swallow his pride to serve his so-called masters.

Nothing terrible happened, but he remained passive-aggressively polite when serving him, and Sunday remained passive-aggressively cool-headed in response. There was some snark of what dear “sweet-toothed” Sunday would want at a bar, and an icy reply of “aren’t you the master drink smith? Why don’t you show me those skills you boasted about?” which led to Gallagher being petty and giving Sunday the White Gentlemen drink, both for the story behind it being such a metaphor for Sunday, and because it was on the more bitter side of alcoholic drinks.

Sunday wasn’t too against the drink; it wasn’t something he would have ordered if it had been his choice, but it wasn’t a bad drink by any means. He couldn’t help but continue to drink it even after Gallagher left his little hidey booth to go back to the main bar, but he’d never stoop so low as to complement the Hound. Of course, he never ordered anything else from then on, only White Gentleman. In fact, over time it seemed to slowly get better, the flavors grew on him, and he couldn't help but look forward to it during difficult nights in the Dreamscape.

If Gallagher tried to needle him into a different drink, Sunday just bit back a “oh? Admitting defeat? I thought this was your best drink for me?” with a little smirk while Gallagher had to use every bit of self-control to not punch him in the face.

As time went on, the bar slowly became a place Sunday frequented to not quite relax, but to get away from the hustle and bustle of Penacony and his duties as one of its main faces. The stresses slowly started piling up, especially with the Charmony fast approaching in a few months and all that came with it.

Gallagher didn’t seem to loosen up regarding his attitude with Sunday, but he did get better at shoving down the visceral hatred he had for everything to do with The Family and Sunday as time went on. He didn’t get soft with Sunday per se, but he definitely kept an eye out for him, and definitely knew when to cut off his drinks on days where it seemed that Sunday wasn’t all that there for their usual veiled comments towards one another when he went to serve him his drink.

It started small, with Sunday staying later and later until sometimes he was the last one to leave the bar to return to reality. Gallagher wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, still wasn’t quite sure this wasn’t some weird long-term test Sunday was devising, especially since he still seemed to be the same ruthless Family member, the same Head of the Oak Family, when Gallagher was working as a Bloodhound outside the bar. For some reason though, within the enclosed space of this strange sanctuary, it was almost peaceful between the two.

One night, there was something wrong when Sunday entered the bar during Gallagher’s shift. He saw a bit of a crowd near the small stage that was within eyesight of his little hidey booth, it seemed some of the musicians of the live band were arguing? He watched as Gallagher came over, seemed to try to speak with the group before honing in on one of the musicians who had been making the most noise and seemed to be about to get physical with the rest. Sunday watched as Gallagher picked up the musician by the scruff of their suit with one hand and carried them towards the doors and lightly tossed them out.

(It was the first time Sunday had actually seen Gallagher perform anything resembling the actual duty of a Bloodhound. It only hit him that he’d only ever seen the other when giving reports, orders, or at the bar. Why was this so shocking to him, he’d seen the man’s arms before, hard not to with his slovenly dress and messy clothing style, as if he couldn’t bother to hide away his imperfections from the world, not like Sunday who refused to be seen by the world, to dare to show one thing off about himself despite his countless failings- he’s getting far too distracted by one meager showing of strength, focus Sunday)

There had always been a live music segment. Sunday was curious to see what would happen with the band missing a member, but was distracted by Gallagher placing his usual White Gentlemen in front of him before heading back to the musicians without a single word to him. Gallagher took a moment to speak with the rest of the band, who seemed to be coming out of their shock and took on worried looks. Sunday could only watch in muted shock as Gallagher went behind the bar and came back with a case, opening it to reveal a saxophone. He then went on stage with the rest of the group, positioned himself further to the side and in the back amongst the shadows within Sunday’s line of sight, and played with the band for the rest of the night.

Sunday couldn’t look away.

He was frozen as he watched Gallagher seamlessly transition from song to song, taking only small breaks to continue serving the other patrons before heading back in. Sunday only remembered about his own drink when his gloves began to get wet from the ice melting into condensation on his glass.

Something felt off within Sunday, and for the first time since Robin’s debut, he couldn't help humming to the music of the band, music that wasn’t of his own sister’s making. He couldn’t help but remember those little concerts the two would have, taking care of his little sister, his only world. He would do anything to keep the Harmony, to keep their family going. When was the last time they truly spent time together? Before he became the Head of the Oak Family? Before he couldn't recognize his own smile?

He was so lost in his thoughts, in memories he thought he buried, that he didn’t realize that it was once again closing time, and he was once again the last one left. He only snapped out of it when Gallagher came by to grab his empty glass, only quirking a questioning brow at him before heading back to the bar.

Gallagher had been keeping a quiet eye on the Halovian that night from the back of the band, in the shadows he felt the most comfort in when in the Dreamscape of Penacony. He had watched Sunday’s eyes glaze over, and the only reason he hadn’t felt offended by the seeming disinterest was the look in the other man’s eyes reminding him of his own when he looked in the mirror. The same look of shame, regret, loss, longing, of the wishes to regain everything he had lost. The same look he strove to hide under every bit of the facade he had crafted of this new self, but came back all too often with every reference of the Family found within his prison in the Dreamscape.

Maybe it was the shared nostalgia within his own heart, that little bit of his true self that he thought died when the Family tore out everything that made him who he was, that made him return behind the bar and begin making Sunday another White Gentlemen, giving Sunday a small nod to beckon him over. He wasn’t expecting anything from it, and he masked his own surprise when Sunday actually left his little shelter to come and take a seat in front of him at the bar. Even while out of it, Gallagher made note of the quiet confidence the other still carried himself. Nothing seemed wrong to anyone else looking at him, only for the lost look in his eyes.

The first time in the many months that they’ve been skirting around each other, and finally they seemed to be face to face.

It was quiet as Gallagher made Sunday his usual drink, a drink he had been slowly changing over the months to be sweeter and sweeter that Sunday never quite seemed to notice, or if he did, he never said anything, only seeming to savor it more each subsequent night. Maybe not even Gallagher noticed his own changes to the drink, subtle as they were.

It was quiet as Sunday took the finished drink, and it was quiet as his eyes slid over the bartop to see the saxophone case laying open with the instrument inside. It was quiet as Gallagher followed his eyes, as he came out from behind the bartop to take the saxophone out and take a seat in a chair only one seat down from Sunday’s. It was quiet as Gallagher began to play to his audience of one.

It was quiet as Sunday quietly hummed along.

It was quiet as they both knew that it would not last.

OK yea so this was all because I heard ‘La vie en rose’ at the end of the Jazz night event and went “Damn I wish that’s Gallagher playing on his Sax” and then we spiraled.

Uh. Idk what it is with me having a small ship moment which then spirals into a full blown writing session. My mind blanked out and as I came to I find out that I made a whole ass little one shot over here then completely forgot about it WHOOPS

So yea, hope my fellow Galladay enjoyers… enjoyed! I think I’ve slowly begun to crave… not domestic or fluff per se from these two, but after every AO3 fic being super dark between them (which I get! They are the toxic yaoi kings of Penacony as of writing this, no one is denying that!) I think I want to see them be explored in a more melancholic sense. Not quite the “forbidden” love angle, but in the “damn we kinda have some parallels, and maybe in another life we could have gotten along but there’s too much baggage and anger, both historically and currently to really even try anything”

I have this feeling this may not be the last time I write about these two… is Galladay going to be the ship that gets me to actually use my AO3 account?

[trensu]

So this was originally a little ficlet i added to @gyroshrike's EXCELLENT angel dust fanart. You should check it out IMMEDIATELY. Anyway, I ended up writing it out into a proper fic so I could post it to ao3 here. and i thought i might as well make it its own tumblr post as well since the fic is done already. Enjoy!

“What do you mean no?” Cherri asks, annoyed. “This is the fifth fucking outfit you’ve shot down.”

Angel doesn’t know why he thought Cherri would be helpful on this shopping trip. He forgot that Cherri’s idea of fashion involves singed tops and torn up bottoms. He snatches the clothes from Cherri’s hands and throws them back on the rack.

“Ya keep pickin’ slutty clothes!” Angel replies, also annoyed. 

“That’s because you are a slut, bitch.”

Angel gives her a two fingered salute because he’s fucking cultured. Cherri cackles and flips him off in return. Angel marches to the other end of the store to the rack full of boring colors like navy, gray, and black. They don’t go with his coloring at all. It’s the only rack left he hasn’t looked through in the entire store, though. Cherri follows behind him, purposely shoving racks and mannequins to make a mess as they go.

“Well, I ain’t tryin’ ta look slutty this time,” Angel says as he aggressively inspects the rack of clothing.

“Good luck getting that cat in bed after your date,” Cherri snorts.

“It’s a first date! Husk ain’t like that,” Angel says, feeling a bit offended on Husk’s behalf. “He’s a gentleman.”

“Yeah, the drunk arsehole is a total gentleman,” Cherri rolls her eye. 

“He is about this kinda thing. He’s a classy guy, okay? So I’m givin’ classy a try,” Angel insists. He reaches the end of the rack with nothing to show for it. He growls. “Fuck this place, it ain’t got shit. Let’s go.”

“Fuck yes! About fucking time,” Cherri cheers.

After blowing off steam with Cherri, Angel sneaks back into the hotel. Not that he’d done anything wrong; he just doesn’t want to bump into Husker at the bar after the spectacular failure of a shopping trip. He’s stressed because he was running out of time to get an outfit together. He knows he gets catty under pressure. (Ha. Catty.) He doesn’t want to risk getting catty with Husker.

Once inside, Angel wanders the upper levels for a bit until he is absolutely sure that Charlie was nowhere around. He knows Charlie would be overjoyed to help but she's about as subtle as machine gunfire when she's happy. Angel wants his future upscale look to be a surprise for Husk.

Since Charlie can’t be considered, Angel is left with one last option. With extreme reluctance, he makes his way to Charlie’s room. He makes sure not to show anything but confidence and charm when he knocks on the door.

Vaggie opens it with a scowl.

“Angel. What do you want?” Vaggie asks in that flat yet annoyed tone she was so good at doing.

“Heyyy, Vaggie. Ya know that redemption thing Charlie always yaps about?” Angel starts. Vaggie’s scowl deepens, so Angel continues before she could say anything. “I was thinkin’ I should change up my look, so I ain’t so sexy and tempting. Looking like a prude is a virtue, ain’t it? You’re the biggest prude I know! Wanna help a fella out? For redemption and sh–uh, stuff?”

Angel bats his eyes at Vaggie, channeling his ‘I’m a sweet, naive virgin, please take advantage of me’ character. It’s a very popular character in his line of work. He is much better at that than at looking innocent but he figures it’s basically the same thing. Vaggie glares at him. Okay, slight miscalculation on Angel’s part, then.

“No,” she says, and tries to close the door. Angel catches it with two hands before it shuts completely.

“Wait!”

“I’m not helping you with whatever porno you’re doing,” Vaggie says. 

“It ain’t for porn!” Angel says. He’s not exactly insulted that Vaggie assumed it was a porn thing, but he’s not not insulted either. He’s got a life outside of porn, sometimes!

Vaggie stares at him. It’s an expectant stare. It’s a stare that clearly says Angel has to give her a reason to not harpoon him with that spear she carries everywhere. (It’s also super judgemental but that doesn’t offend Angel since Vaggie looks at everyone except Charlie judgmentally).

A small jolt of embarrassment hits him. He wishes it was a porn thing now. 

He doesn’t want to say it out loud, this tiny frail chance Husk gave him by asking him out. If he says it out loud, Vaggie will scoff. She’d roll her eyes and ask him why he’s even bothering to try. Does he really think anyone would seriously want to date a cokehead pornstar? This is a pipe dream and Husker will get fed up with him so fast.

(Vaggie wouldn’t say any of that, a part of Angel knows. Those were Valentino’s words, but he’s so sure that Vaggie must have thought it at least once. Everybody must think that about him at least once).

The longer he stays quiet the more Vaggie’s glare softens until she starts to look genuinely concerned. And, fuck, Angel can’t have that. He’d die (again) if Vaggie felt sorry enough to be nice to him. He pastes on his smile and keeps his tone girlfriend-ly.

“I got a hot date, Vaggie, that’s all,” Angel says. “Wanna try somethin’ a little different for it.”

Vaggie is not convinced by his nonchalance which makes Angel wonder if he’s losing his touch. His acting skills are second to none! She should be eating out of the palm of his hand with this performance! Instead, she marches out of the room and waves him along.

“Follow me,” Vaggie says in her drill sergeant voice that makes everyone who hears it straighten their spine and find themselves already halfway to a salute.

Angel learns that Vaggie approaches clothes shopping with the same tactical focus and determination she approaches any mission, which is weird but whatever. She stealthily leads him to the nicer side of town into a more upscale shop than Angel is used to. She marches through the shop without bothering to ask Angel for his input on anything. Still she manages to pick out a few outfits that went well with his coloring and in his size. Angel has never appreciated her observational skills more.

“Try these on and show me,” she demands, piling her pickings into both sets of Angel’s arms and shoving him into a dressing room.

Angel complies without protest. He sashays out of the dressing room like a supermodel four times before Vaggie nods in satisfaction on the last option. She actually smiles at him.

“This one. You’ll impress your date with this one,” Vaggie says without a hint of irony.

Angel smiles back and thanks her enthusiastically. He ignores how he hadn’t recognized himself in the mirror in any of the outfits. He ignores how uncomfortable the clothes feel on his body. The clothes are classy, just like Husker prefers. That’s what matters.

–

When Husker shows up at his door for their date, he does a double take.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Husk asks, confused.

Angel starts to lean flirtatiously into his space, a salacious come on right on the tip of his tongue. He catches himself halfway and quickly straightens himself with an awkward laugh.

“Just somethin’ I found in the back of the closet,” he lies through his teeth.

He’d devoted time to doing his makeup just right and making sure the clothes were crisp and clean. He still feels uncomfortable in them but all things considered, Angel thinks the final product came out pretty good. The way Husker looks at him now makes him wonder if he overestimated his looks for once.

Husk’s eyes narrow as he studies Angel. His gaze trails Angel top to bottom. It doesn’t feel very sexy but Angel supposes the point is to not look like a whore so this means he succeeded, right? 

“Sure,” Husk says, notes of confusion still in his tone. “You ready to go?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, of course!” Angel stutters like a moron.

“Alright,” Husker says after a beat.

Husk gives Angel another suspicious look, shoulders tense and wings pulled close. Something shifts in his expression that Angel can’t read. He’s afraid it might be disappointment. Husker shakes out his wings and offers Angel his arm, which Angel accepts with relief.

“So, where ya takin’ me, Huskie?”

Husker tells him about a little place with good food, better drinks, and a live jazz band. As they walk out of the hotel, Angel almost cozies up against Husk, so tempted to rub his cheek against Husker’s furry ear. He catches himself again and over-corrects by pulling away from Husk until their linked arms are the only point of contact. Husk stumbles a bit with the weight shift. He shoots him another indecipherable look. Husker opens his mouth to say something but appears to change his mind and snaps it shut.

That’s okay, though, right? Husker wasn’t much of a talker anyway! Angel fills the silence between them with nervous babble. Angel is normally very good at conversation but tonight he keeps having to stop and restart mid-sentence when his stories get crass. Being crass is not good first date behavior. Husker grunts every now and then but it’s clear he’s only listening with half an ear. It doesn’t help Angel’s nerves at all.

The date goes downhill from there.

Husker finds them a booth when they arrive at their destination and helps Angel order their food and drinks. He points out several he thinks Angel will like.

Usually, he and Husker can pound back alcohol like nobody’s business. They sometimes make a game of it and those nights are some of the best Angel has because he gets to see Husker soften and relax in his company. However, Angel is an affectionate drunk and Husk has had to nudge Angel away more than once those nights. Husker is always sweet about it now, with gentle hands and amusement in his eyes. Husker always helps him back to his room afterwards like a perfect gentlemanly escort. Despite that, Angel can’t help feeling a bit stung at the rejection each time.

Tonight, he only orders one drink. He knows he can’t be getting too handsy with Husk on their date. He’s sure it would annoy him. He doesn’t want Husker to regret asking him out. With his focus strictly on keeping up his good behavior and watching his alcohol intake, Angel barely touches the food Husker recommended to him. 

Husker keeps shooting him these looks that make Angel anxious. With each glance, Husker slinks deeper into his taciturn demeanor. Of course, Angel overcompensates with his babbling. At one point, Husk has to shush him during the jazz show. Angel clacks his jaws shut in shame, because he knows how much Husker likes jazz and here he is ruining the experience for him. At least Husk is nice enough to hold Angel’s hands throughout the rest of the show, though he probably only does it to keep Angel from fidgeting too much.

When they leave the joint, Husker doesn’t offer his arm again. He doesn’t even walk very close to him. Angel's stomach churns so much, he’s afraid if he opens his mouth to speak, he’ll puke the two bites of food he ate earlier.

They’re halfway back to the hotel when Husk clears his throat. His hands are in his pockets as he trudges on, keeping his eyes on the crumbling sidewalk.

“You didn’t have to say yes,” Husk says, not even glancing at Angel or faltering in his steps as he speaks. Angel, on the other hand, halts in confusion.

“What?” Angel asks, not sure what Husker was talking about but the tone of voice made his stomach drop. Husk sighs, stopping in his tracks to finally look up at Angel. His face was closed off in his standard apathetic frown.

“When I asked you out,” Husker says, his tone going to his usual bored gruffness. He hasn’t used that tone towards Angel in a long time. Hints of panic start crawling up Angel’s veins. “You didn’t have to say yes.”

“What?” Angel asks again like a fucking idiot. He hopes he doesn’t sound as shaky and pathetic as he feels.

Husker’s voice goes flatter though his tail has started to twitch uneasily.

“You should’ve said no if you didn’t want to…be with me. We woulda been fine.”

“Huskie–”

And at last some of that soft, hidden sincerity crept back into Husker’s voice. Only a little bit, but it’s there.

“I’d still be your friend, Legs,” Husker says, gazing into Angel’s eyes and sounding painfully honest. “I wouldn’t abandon you over that.”

“No! I-I–”

Husker looks away with a bitter grin. Angel’s heart cracked at the sight.

“I’d need a day or two to lick my wounds, but I knew it was a long shot anyway. I woulda come back,” Husker shrugs when he finishes going for nonchalance, but his wings are once again curled protective and close, making his usual slouch look less like carelessness and more like defeat. Husker doesn’t wait for Angel’s response, instead choosing to continue walking back to the hotel.

Angel stands in place, floored by how badly he fucked up. He notices his breathing becoming erratic. He does his best to do the calming breathing thing Charlie taught them all. It works well enough to get him running to Husker again though Angel still feels unsteady and insecure. Most of him is screaming to fucking book it in the other direction because fuck, fuck, Angel hates feelings. But Husker also hates feelings and he basically threw up his guts at Angel despite it. The least Angel can do is return the gesture, right? He owes Husker that much.

“Husker, wait!” he shouts. 

Husker’s posture becomes more guarded but he doesn’t acknowledge Angel’s call. Angel catches up quickly (Husk can’t go too far too fast with those short legs, Angel thinks, helplessly fond despite the anxiety). Dodging around Husker’s wings that quiver with tension, Angel grabs the crook of his arm to bring him to a stop and place himself in Husk’s way. He lets go quickly at Husk’s glare but somehow manages to stand his ground.

“I did want! Husk, I wanted ta say yes, I wanted ta go on this date so much,” Angel says desperately, feeling a telltale burning around his eyes and hating himself for it.

The tension in Husker’s body breaks free as his patience caves to his temper. His wings flare open and his tail whips side to side aggressively.

“Then why are you acting so fucking fake? With the clothes and you treating me like I got the fucking plague! I thought we were done with that bullshit,” Husker snaps furiously.

“Cuz I wanted ta…I wanted ta be good for ya, Husk,” Angel chokes out, shoulders slumped in defeat. “You like classy. I wanted ta be a good, classy sorta guy for ya. I-I fucked up. I always fuck this shit up. I don’t mean ta do it.”

Angel stares at the poor excuse of a sidewalk they’re on, blinking back tears. Husker doesn’t say anything for a long time. Angel nearly loses his nerve and turns tail when Husker speaks again.

“You fucking dumbass,” Husk says. 

His voice is deep and warm and fond, the way it is on their drinking nights together. Angel’s head snaps to Husk at his words. That cocky little smirk– the one Angel first saw after Husk had pulled him out of his self-destructive spiral at the club and realized that if he wasn't careful he'd lose his heart to the guy–has replaced the angry slant of Husk’s mouth.

“Hey!” Angel protests with a cautious smile. Husk rolls his eyes.

“Don’t expect compliments if you’re gonna act stupid,” Husk says and offers his arm to Angel. “You’re already classy enough for me, Legs.”

Angel takes his arm and looks down at him slyly.

“But not good, huh?” Angel tries to tease but Husker doesn’t take it.

Instead, Husk looks at him intensely and says firmly, “If this redemption shit the princess keeps talking about ain’t total bullshit, you’d be the one to make it.”

“Oh,” Angel says, stunned, then adds to cover how hard it made his heart beat, “Husker, ya big ol’ flirt. I betcha say that ta all the pretty boys.”

“Fuck you,” Husk grins at him. Angel bats his eyes and lets his voice go all breathy.

“Oh, yes! Please, daddy,” Angel simpers. He adds a loud moan for good measure. Husker throws his head back with a rough, loud laugh. Angel knows immediately he wants to hear it again forever.

By the time Husk drops Angel off at the door of his room, the pair of them have relaxed significantly. Angel opens the door slightly to peek in on Fat Nuggets. After he makes sure his Nugs is sleeping soundly, Angel catches Husk’s sleeve before he could make a sneaky escape.

“Hey, Husk, can we get a do-over? A new first date? I want ta do it right next time.” Angel asks shyly. The corner of Husk’s mouth quirks up, making his golden eyes crinkle in a way that makes Angel’s heart melt.

“Depends,” Husker says with that charming smirk. “You gonna wear that stupid outfit next time?”

“Oh baby,” Angel says, plastering himself against the door frame in one of his sexiest poses. “I’m gonna wear my sluttiest dress for my handsome kitty. Everyone’s gonna wish they were you when they see us togetha.”

Husk snorts.

“When you put it like that…”

“You can put it wherever ya want, daddy,” Angel flirts. He’s only half-joking but he keeps his hands to himself to keep things light. Husker rolls his eyes in good humor.

“A do-over sounds good.”

Angel drops the pose instantly, beaming at Husk.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Angel’s heart flutters at the small smile that accompanies Husk’s assurance.

“Next week?”

Husker nods in agreement.

“Great!” Angel said, probably a little too enthusiastically.

Before Angel canlose his nerve, he dips down and presses a light, meek kiss on Husker’s cheek. When he pulls back, Husker’s eyes are as wide as saucers and his wings have puffed up in a way Angel hadn’t seen before. If Angel didn’t know any better, he’d say Husker was downright flustered. And oh god, Angel wanted to make him blush all over. Husker would be so cute in bed.

“G‘night, Huskie!” Angel says quickly and slams the door closed behind him.

After nearly tearing himself out of the uncomfortable clothes, Angel crawls into bed wearing only his boxer briefs. Next time, he thinks to himself in joy and disbelief. I get a next time.

He knows it will be perfect because next time he’ll be himself. Angel. Because that’s all Husker wanted. Just Angel.

He curls up around Fat Nuggets and allows himself one quiet, happy squeal.

[kanerallels]

There's absolutely nothing worse than when I get a thousand words into a story and decide that I low key hate it

[harley-style]

imagine 999th regression being the canon beginning of orv. imagine yjh dying. and then regressing. but kim dokja and the rest of the others are there. technically speaking, they CAN clear the scenarios without yjh, but kim dokja is least happy about it.

but what can he do? 999!yjh is as sacrificial as he is. so of course, he dies, bc dokja's too slow.

so what happens is everyone moves on. the world moves on. kdj has to also, because life has always been particularly shitty to him. life on earth was hell but twsa was his silver lining. in this brand new universe worldline, his light dies, but he still has his family.

losing yjh takes a toll on them. kdj is their heart, but yjh is equally so. they grow weary, tired. they keep going, most of all kdj, because he doesn't have yjh's "second chances"

and oh, does kdj begin to hate that word. hate yjh's stigma. his sponsor.

through his grief, kdj becomes a lot less happy. he resembles his mother a lot more, in temperament. he sheds the white coat and dons yjh's black coat. he gets stronger. all of them do, because yjh isn't there to cover their asses anymore.

hsy, donning the white coat, the only one of them who remains optimistic about their chances (in her special hsy way), finds a way to break the narrative.

they become outer gods, much to SP's displeasure bc somehow he's lost control of everything and gdi kim dokja can you sit still for five minutes)

999!kimcom travels the worldlines to find their yjh and like. look. they find him. but they also find the most ancient dream.

yjh and kdj fight and my god its a beautiful disaster. hsy takes advantage of their monkey brains and steals MAD away, kdj is not pleased. yjh insists they let MAD live because he doesnt want kdj to die.

bitterly, kdj responds "you should have thought of that before you went and left us," with a wry smile, the fucking hypocrite. but well, its not like he's sacrificed himself in a while.

i dont really have anything more to add here this was just a "what if yjh succeeds regressing but the worldline is still intact bc kdj exists"

[taegularities]

🤍🫂🌹

[doumekiss]

To any readers out there that might be wondering if an author would like to know of your disgust and disappointment that they made a character you headcanon as a top a bottom in a sex scene I can answer for sure that they do not 🙂

[naranjapetrificada]

From the Firmament

I never, ever expected to write anything longer than 2000 words in this fandom or any other. Now this is apparently happening.

It's an Arranged Marriage AU set in a world reminiscent of the Ancient Roman Republic and its frontiers, with steppe nomad/guerilla war hero Ed, amateur polymath/accidental statesman Stede, and asides from future historians speculating on their relationship as a watershed moment in history.

[lesbianphan]

Sacrifice (painted in the red from our hearts)

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Crafts universe Phan (Crafts! Dan Howel/ Crafts! Phil Lester)

Warnings: Disturbing content, gore, violence, major character death, implied abusive relationship, cult stuff, reference to cannibalism, violence

A/N: thank you to my bestest bestie @femslashy for not only listening to my insane Phan rambles even though she doesn't go here anymore, but also being my beta and getting invested in this project after reading it. All remaining mistakes are mine trying to mess with stuff lol

Summary:

"There's no fear in my lover's eyes, only trust in Him. Trust in me. I know what I must do: the ultimate sacrifice for Him. I must give Him what I hold most dear, the one thing I'd never part from. I must hold Philip's heart in my hands and offer Him what my lover willingly gave to me all these years ago.

If I love Him enough, my lover will come back to me. Reborn."

a.k.a the dark and raw 'DanandPhilCRAFTS - Slime' fic I was always meant to write.

Read it on AO3

[lover-of-mine]

Sevenish Sentence Sunday!

I was tagged by @try-set-me-on-fire @eddiebabygirldiaz @fortheloveofbuddie @wikiangela @spotsandsocks @daffi-990 @jesuisici33 @rainbow-nerdss thank you 💜

Have some more of the Buck proposes to Natalia fic because i really like this bit even if this is on Eddie's pov just because Buck refused to let me get into his head for the actual fight because i really do like my tragically pining Eddie povs prev snippet

You need to move on. I have.  Eddie doesn't know why he's thinking about that now. But he feels the same way he did in his kitchen trying to pretend he could feel like a normal human again if he just made it through a couple more days while Buck kept trying to get him to stop lying.  Buck always knows when to call bullshit on what Eddie's saying.  Buck's gonna call bullshit now.  Eddie can see it in his eyes.  And it's weird because Buck is never the one to pick a fight.  But there's a fire in his gaze that leaves Eddie scared, if he's truly honest.  Maybe he won't have to make it through the wedding because it seems like everything is about to crash and burn right now. 

No pressure tagging 🩷: @sherlockcrossing @watchyourbuck @steadfastsaturnsrings @giddyupbuck @captain-hen @wildlife4life and you if you have something to share 💜💜

[eff-plays]

AA girlies want to choke on Astarion's dick and get slapped around by him because that's true love.

Spawn girlies want to wrap him in 7 layers of bubble wrap so he doesn't hurt himself thinking too hard.

Cool girlies flush him down the toilet and watch him swirl around in the bowl because he's finally where he belongs.

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

Seven(ish) Sentence Sunday

tagged by @giddyupbuck @wikiangela @jesuisici33 @spotsandsocks @the-likesofus @hippolotamus @spaceprincessem @rewritetheending @disasterbuckdiaz @rogerzsteven @loserdiaz @theotherluciferr

thank you my loves! muah! 💖

paint sex fic has officially gotten out of hand so here is some of eddie spiraling about marriage because why not right

Marriage only ever made Eddie think about Shannon and all the ways he failed.

He wasn’t a good husband, wasn’t good at sharing himself and his life with her, wasn’t able to fulfill any sweet fantasies or live up to what he should have been.

And Eddie was so afraid of what marriage would mean for him and Buck, because the only outcome he could see was a repeat of past mistakes, not to mention he was afraid of what marrying Buck would mean for what he felt for Shannon, something he had to painstakingly work through first with Frank and then with Buck.

It wasn’t easy.

In fact, it was fucking awful most of the time and it affected his relationship with Buck, for the worst at first before things got better.

The thing is, he knows he loved Shannon and he knows he loves Buck, but trying to reconcile the two together, taking those parts of himself into his hands and studying them side by side left him unmoored, untethered, shaky and trembling, itchy and uncomfortable, and he didn’t understand why until he did.

For some reason, Eddie didn’t think he could love them both even though he was well aware that he did, that he does. Maybe it was because he didn’t think he deserved to. Maybe it was because he thought loving one would hurt the other. Maybe it was because he feared what it would do to his son if Eddie managed to chase away yet another person that was important to him.

It was probably a combination of all of that and more, his battered heart so bruised and overworked and scarred that he thought there couldn’t possibly be more of himself to give, that why would anyone, especially Buck, want more of that tortured muscle.

Cue a rather impressive spiral, a lot of sessions with Frank, a truly frustrating amount of crying, and a series of heated arguments with Buck that were mostly just them talking in circles, their pain and frustration passed back and forth like a hot piece of coal that neither wanted to touch or hold onto for too long because if they did then it would burn straight down to the marrow of themselves and bare all the ugliness underneath.

tagging: @elvensorceress @shortsighted-owl @paranoidbean @anxieteandbiscuits @jeeyuns @shitouttabuck @bucks118 @butchdiaz @diazblunt @bigfootsmom @honestlydarkprincess @housewifebuck @cowboy-buck @cowboy-buddie @lover-of-mine @eddiediaztho @forthewolves @transbuck @transboybuckley @bekkachaos @fiona-fififi @devirnis @wildlife4life @buck2eddie @folk-fae @fleurdebeton @bvckandeddie @diazass and anyone else who wants to share!

[queerofthedagger]

What We Build and What We Burn

[Dream/Hob, Explicit, 23k words]

Tags: (Post-) The Sound of Her Wings, Dream-Sharing (kind of), Mutual Pining, Emotionally Repressed Dream, Hob has Abandonment Issues, they're both stupid and struggling but they're trying their best <3, the working title was: friends tell friends about being locked up for over a century, but then Hob developed issues too so! Fun!!, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst

Summary:

“For some reason that I have yet to understand, your dreams seem to be trying to bring you to me,” Dream eventually says, his voice a little too even to be casual. “Not only that, but the Dreaming allows you in; it is not something that should be possible.” Hob turns and takes in Dream’s wary face. “Does it always look like that? So…” “Desolate?” Dream offers, and his expression doesn’t change, but Hob can read the hurt on him, still. “No, it does not.” --- After Dream finally finds him in the New Inn, Hob struggles to rebuild his trust that this—Dream returning—will always be the case. At the same time, the concern that something has gone horribly wrong grows through meetings, dreams, and details that Hob shouldn't notice but does; not that Dream is much more forthcoming than in centuries prior. That's okay, though; if Hob has learnt one thing, it is how to be patient. Mostly.

[wilsonpussyindulgence]

the way we've puritanicalized fiction is so fucked

i read a dark!fic last night where both characters were TAGGED as dark![character] and the dark part was that...one character was taking photos of the other while he was sleeping and the other character thought it was kind of sexy

[spicy-katsudon]

Fic Idea:

Imagine Wille and Simon had met before the first season. Like, they were dating way before all the bad things in season 1 happened, and they have an established connection. Simon has also met Wille's parents already, and they approve of him (because Erik is still alive). So they have this established connection, and they're able to talk through these issues that come up in season 1.

However, no one at Hillerska knows that they're dating, so we get the same level of Simon and Wille staring at each other, and people think they're just crushing on each other.

Also, the same big events happen (i.e. Erik dying, August posting the video), but they're able to talk through it and Simon doesn't feel like he's getting pushed to the side because he's a part of the conversations with the royal family this time.