#may still write it someday

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 12: First Time

Dew's entrusted with Aeon's first time Up Top.

Thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together, and to @ghuleh-recs for the divider <3

Contains t4t ghouls, discussion of boundaries, a little miscommunication that is quickly resolved, but no actual smut because this got long and it was very late lol

"I'm not him, you know," Aeon says tentatively, pulling away from the barrage of kisses, even as Dew keeps backing them against the wall of their hotel room. They're somewhere they've never been before, somewhere in the middle of the United States that they can't really remember the name of. "I don't know if I want it if this is just because he's not here."

"Voidling," Dew freezes, hands caging Aeon in. Something in his hungry expression cracks, softens, and Aeon stares with wide, nervous eyes as Dew brings a hand in, running his knobby knuckles over Aeon's cheek in a sort of caress. His brow furrows. "Did you think I wanted you because Aether's back at the Abbey?"

Aeon shrinks back as much as they can. It isn't a lot, their spine already pressed to the tacky hotel wallpaper. They can't meet Dew's eyes. The silence is enough of an answer. Dew hums, and Aeon squeezes their eyes shut. They bite at their already kiss-swollen bottom lip.

"Voidling, look at me," Dew says in a tone that Aeon's never heard from the fire ghoul before. It's shockingly soft, and it's enough of a jolt to their system that they glance up, mismatched eyes meeting copper. He sighs, and Aeon tenses up as he keeps touching their cheek. "I want this because it's you. Blow off some steam, yes, but because I wanted to do this with you. If you don't, if you think you're obligated to keep going, tell me to fuck right off, okay?"

Aeon blinks, a little shellshocked. They had played it up at the Ritual a few hours earlier, falling to their knees at Dew's feet and bending back so far their helmet had brushed against the stage.

Dew had stalked up to them after bows, spindly fingers around the back of their neck burning like a brand, whispering in a low, dark tone that they'd be rooming with him tonight. It had sent a spark of something hot down their spine. And when they had gotten to the hotel, and the door had barely latched behind them before Dew was pouncing, kissing them like he meant to devour?

It hadn't been a spark. More like a bonfire.

They've tried to make up for their inexperience with enthusiasm, pretending like they haven't been staring at him since the moment they arrived Up Top a few months ago.

"Voidling?" Dew asks, an undercurrent of worry filtering into his voice. "Hey, Aeon, you alright?"

Aeon shakes their head, not as a no but to clear their head. "'M okay," they say, trying their best to maintain eye contact.

"What's goin' on in there, Aeon?" Dew asks, hand still on their cheek. "Let me in."

"I want this, I do, I'm just-" They sputter, tongue too big in their mouth, unyieldy.

"Easy. Take a breath. 'M not gonna bite. Not unless you ask."

Aeon obeys, chest heaving as they inhale hard. "I haven't done this Up Top yet, not in a vessel. I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Oh," Dew's hands move down from their face, curling softly around their biceps. "That's okay. I'd be honored, voidling, that is, if you're sure you want it to be me. I haven't exactly been, ugh, the nicest to you."

Aeon flushes a dark violet, making silver freckles stand out on their cheeks. Their mismatched eyes go wide, hair falling over their forehead with how violently they nod. "Please, really want it to be you."

Dew smiles, something softer than Aeon's ever seen on the fire ghoul's face, and he reaches up to push a few strands back. The lamplight softens his sharp features, and he cocks his head. "Let me treat you right, voidling."

Aeon nods again, and Dew draws them into another kiss. This is like nothing Aeon's ever experienced, leagues of difference between this and the kisses from before, the ones that felt like Dew was trying to consume them whole. This feels almost reverent, the way Dew's lips move against theirs, the way he cups their cheek like they're something to be cherished. They don't know what to do with their hands, brushing over Dew's hair, down his arms.

They kiss like that until Aeon's dizzy with it, pulling back to pant desperately. There's a warmth blooming deep in their gut, knees shaking. Dew laughs, not unkind, and begins to herd him towards one of the queen beds. Their eyes go wide as the backs of their calves bump against the mattress, collapsing back onto the bed.

"Again, voidling, if you don't like any of this, tell me to fuck off. Those words. Okay?" Dew looks more serious than he has the entire time, a small furrow between his brows that Aeon has the impulse to kiss away.

"If I don't like it, I'll tell you to fuck off," they repeat, nodding. Dew's lips quirk up in a smirk, and it sends a bolt of heat down Aeon's spine, tail flicking as they prop themself up on their elbows.

"Good boy," he purrs, crowding closer before pausing. "'Boy' a good word for you?"

Aeon chews on their bottom lip, the pupil of their good eye probably dilated to the size of a quarter. "Very much so," they breathe.

Dew nods curtly, visibly filing that information away in his brain. "Let's get you stripped down, want to see what you're hiding under those hoodies, voidling."

Aeon obeys, tugging the hoodie up over their head. "You've seen me changing, though," they say, struggling not to tangle the hoodie in their horns with how eager they are to get rid of it. "We share dressing rooms."

Dew leans in, a glint in his copper eyes. "Yeah, but I've never looked. Let me see."

Aeon swallows hard, tossing the hoodie at the corner of the room, blush spilling down their chest as they feel more than see Dew's eyes on them.

"Pretty," Dew hums, gaze raking over the swell of Aeon's chest. The chill of the air conditioning makes their nipples pebble, a pretty lavender against the rest of their skin, and they fight the urge to cover themself with their arms.

Dew notices, because of course he does, ever perceptive, and tugs his own hoodie off, revealing skin covered in silvery scars, matching sets along his ribcage and two much more prominent ones underneath his pecs. Aeon swallows the saliva pooling on their tongue, staring unashamedly. "That's better, right?" Dew laughs, pressing closer until Aeon can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

"Yeah," Aeon says, chest heaving and all they've done is kiss. "Dew, please." It's not something that they meant to say, but it slips past their lips on a whine.

Dew absolutely lights up at the sound. "What, voidling? What are you begging all pretty for?"

Aeon tries to turn their head away, but then Dew's fingers are on their chin, gently making them keep eye contact. "Please fuck me?"

Dew leans in, pressing a soft kiss at the corner of Aeon's mouth. "Of course, voidling. I'm going to take such good care of you, I promise."

[thelaurenshippen]

desperate hollow

me / alan foster / dorothy / @vintagecowboy / saintseneca / squirrel flower / @julykings / me again

[ltleflrt]

Every time I see someone say "write for yourself" I'm tempted to say "yeah good point" and delete my AO3.

[greenerteacups]

What do you think as Hermione's career would be post battle of Hogwarts? To me her being minister for magic really doesn't make sense. She does not have patience or tact to wade through murky waters of politics 😭😭

So hard to say! The Trio are so, so young when we leave them, I find it almost impossible to project their futures farther than a few years out. The job that suited me at 17 would be radically unsuited to me now. That's why of all the Trio, Ron's ending strikes me as the most realistic — he jumps straight into the save-the-world business again, burns out, realizes he's actually Done The Fuck Enough, Thanks, and pivots into a low-stress career where he gets to see his family a lot. Feels accurate! The others are weirder to me because they do seem to just... pick a lane and stay there.

With Hermione, you could spin her a couple ways. You could say that she leans into her bookish side and does research or teaching, which is not my preference for a couple reasons (namely, I don't think Hermione would like academia as a profession; she finds her classwork interesting and enjoys intellectual validation, but she'd be stifled and wasted in a DPhil program, and she'd be infuriated by the administrative politicking of your average higher-ed faculty). You could say that she gets disaffected with politics and ends up as a barrister or a lobbyist of some kind, but if anything that requires more political finesse, because you don't actually have institutional power, you're just handling the people who make decisions and trying to persuade them of your goals. This is not Hermione's preferred method of influence. She's not even particularly good at persuasion, she just happens to be smart enough (and right often enough) that people take her ideas seriously.

Or you could say her brashness fades with the years into a softened flavor of tell-you-like-it-is honesty, which some politicians actually do successfully trade on; as we see in British politics today, you don't have to be all that charming or clever to get ahead, you just need to be really driven and well-connected (which Hermione completely is; she fought shoulder-to-shoulder with the first postwar Minister and her bestie, the Literal Messiah, runs the Auror Office.) But I don't know if Hermione especially wants to be Minister, after the war. She's just watched years of horrendous bureaucratic incompetence plunge the country into a violent civil conflict. She's had not one, but two Ministers of Magic try to bully or shame her friends into complicity with fascism. Her view of government is... likely extremely dark.

But Hermione also isn't the kind of person who sees her life as a quest for happiness. Babygirl has a savior complex that makes Harry look selfish. (She basically kills her parents — yeah, obliviating is a form of murder, #changemymind — "for their own good," and justifies every batshit, vindictive, mean-spirited move she ever pulls on the grounds that it "helps" one of her friends.) She is a mean, lean, dragon-slaying machine, and she needs a dragon. After Voldemort, the Ministry is the no. 1 threat to muggle-borns and non-wizarding Beings. As a war heroine with basically infinite political capital, I'd be surprised if she didn't try to do something there. That said, Hermione is so vivacious and dynamic that she could potentially grow in a hundred different directions; it's possible that all of this, while true of her at 18, becomes completely inaccurate by 22. That's why I'm not too fussed about any particular fanon interpretation.

[cursezoroark]

afterthoughts

[thunderboltfire]

I was having fun with making up their voices! I've also decided to solve a question of languages (languages color-coded to avoid confusion).

Also, this one has quite a lot of tiny text, so I've included transcripts.

[ID: a list illustrated with colored doodles of characters' heads. Titled Who speaks what?

Igna [cartoon picture of Igna's face drawn in brick red color]: Native language: illiraian (southwestern regional form). Understands enough elvish to know when she's being threatened, and can ask for directions, but not much more.

Argo [cartoon picture of Argo's face drawn in sap green color]: Native language: northern elvish. Fluent in illiraian, hardly discernible accent. (it took Igna 3 months to figure out what's off - he rolls 'R' a bit too hard and his vowels sometimes are pronounced too close to the back of his throat).

Theria [cartoon picture of Theria's face drawn in muted brown color]: Native language: Samhran. Fluent in illiraian, audible samhran accent (difficulty pronouncing consonant clusters, palatalising 'L's and 'T"s, mixing up vowels and dyphtongs, sometimes sing-song affect to the vowels). Speaks basic Andaran and broken Omtheron.

Daen [cartoon picture of Daen's face drawn in violet color]: Native language: Moer. Fluent in illiraian, Andaran and gods know what else. Communicative in old elvish. Understands both dwarven languages, but speaks neither. No discernible accent in illiraian.

Haart [cartoon picture of Haart's face drawn in blue]: Native language: Kará (east-dwarvish). Fluent in illiraian (mostly without an

accent, but he often switches soft and hard 'H'). Understands some Andaran and Omtheron. Knows his local variety of sign language.

Knows some expressions in samhran (exclusively swearwords and toasts).]

-

Results: Igna is a spoiled kid, she's the only one in the group who has the luxury of speaking her native language day-to-day. She grew up in complete nowhere, with a very scarce contact with other languages. Tentative A1 in elvish, due to her dad trying to teach her.

Argo probably had the knowledge of Illiraian hammered into his head during his education - inhabitants of Riss speak exclusively a dialect of elvish day-to-day, but the duchy is an enclave, and it would be severely imparing not to know the neighbors' language.

Theria has been away from home long enough to gain a pretty good grasp of Illiraian, and has around B1 level in Andaran. Both spoken with a pretty thick accent, her native language is from a different language family with a strikingly different phototactics, and she's learnt the foreign languages pretty late.

Daen speaks many languages, and all of them pretty well. Maybe it's his long lifespan, but it's possible he's got a knack for language learning.

Haart has had a similar situation to Argo in a sense he's lived in a close neighboorhood of another language and learnt it in childhood. He comes from a merchant house, so it's understandable his family would want him to know foreign languages.

[ID: a scale diagram titled "profanity meter" Left to right: Daen titled "Apocalyptic event indicator", Igna titled "curses when hurt", Argo titled "curses if pissed", Haart titled "curses to emphasise" and Theria titled "Fuck is a sentence divider"]

-

I have to face the fact that Theria most probably has a severe case of unwashed mouth. Her mercenary career spans a good few years when she enters the stage and she doesn't seem like the type to watch her language, so in all probability she doesn't even notice that she curses like a sailor.

[ID: a list titled "Voice and expression". On the left side there's an up-and-down double ended arrow titled "pitch". Characters from top to bottom:

Igna: Easily the highest voice of the group. Clean, and rather strong despite it. Makes an open and honest impression when speaking, fairly good singing voice.

Theria: on the lower side of feminine voices, full-bodied voice with a bit of a vocal fry, on average way louder than the rest of the group. Enjoys singing, but easily dominates a choir

Argo: rather raspy, matte voice. Has a tendency to mutter - the limited sensitivity on the scarred side of his face makes it harder to speak clearly. Speaks quite fast despite of this. Can't hold a note for his life.

Haart: soft, full baritone. Probably the nicest laughter. Nice singing voice, talks with his hands a lot. Makes a characteristic huff when he's nervous.

Daen: low, resonant voice. Clear pronounciation. Reticent, rarely talks more than necessary. Makes a formal impression.]

Last but not least, my trials to work out how would they probably sound like. (I'm not really one to do voiceclaims).

[silvermistyy]

Me considering writing a Batman au fanfic centered around Nico before realizing that I would have to do research on the Batman lore

(aside from all the shit everyone and their mother already knows)

[peridots-pixiwolf]

ultrabright colors and gradation map my beloved

[Start ID. Three color variations of the same messy sketch on a white background. Each one depicts V1 from Ultrakill, in the same pose as the protagonist on the cover for Doom. They're standing on a pile of gore rather triumphantly and lifting a Husk with one arm, by where its collar would be. The original drawing was in bright red, yellow, and blue, and the two others are in much softer palettes, one shades of green and the other purple through yellow. End ID]

[worrynoodle]

Does anyone have a 'Fellow Travelers' good omens au?

I feel like they could fit into the roles of tim/Hawkins really easily.

Hawk has that kind if do what I have to do attitude while Tim has that bookish, self righteousness (religious trauma) vibes. Both are also on opposing sides of a political campaign with the added pressure of Mccarthyism and the homophobia that entailed.

If this was taken by the right writer it could be gut wrenching. I don't feel I personally am at the level to do something like that justice, but it could be very good.

[pymthefrog]

this one has been in my files for a little while now

[cadrenebula]

Vierapril - Day 28 Pride

[swashbucklery]

Anyway Willow is still the show I have loved most in years and they gave me a lesbian with a fucked up gender better than I’ve seen in a long long time in ~media representation~ and I am going to enjoy it until I’m good and finished enjoying it. I have written 10K in the past week alone and that’s the most words I’ve had about something since before COVID.

[themyscirah]

Started thinking about the Amanda Waller + Ben Turner relationship again.... fuck, I'm gonna need a minute

[cerealmonster15]

i think 12 would be really fitting for epel n deuce ( epeldeuce ?? deucepel ?? ) , if youd wanna do that !! :D i am also a huge leovil shipper dkkgkva 👉👈 , so if you wanted to challenge yourself you could do them with 12 or 16 ? tho no pressure , i know you already said u werent sure if you could write leona but u also said ud liek a challenge , so i hope its okay to suggest ówò id be happy with either , and also its no problem if you dont get around to either of them !! 💖🌈🍀

HI SORRY you sent this on OCTOBER 30 and i am getting to it... at the end of february LOL i got stuck for a while but!!!!! I managed an AppleJuice bc i thought it was cute 😌 I thought about trying the leo/vil too bc i do think they're a very fun ship hehe, but I've not been hit by the inspiration for them just yet so I'm just keepin that in the back of my brain for now in case i suddenly think of something lol.

BUT FOR NOW. APPLEJUICE LADS!!! I kind of strayed a little from the initial intent of the prompt but... close enough!!!! [if anyone's curious or wants to send a suggestion, it was from this prompt list lol] HOPE YOU SEE THIS!!!!

[AO3 link]

Prompt: Sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss.

“Take a five minute break,” Vil Schoenheit called from the front of the room. “I want you all back in your places on time ,” he said, narrowing his eyes as he spoke. “I’m starting my timer, and if you’re not ready by the time the music starts, you’re doing laps outside! Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir!” The group called back in ranging levels of enthusiasm. 

“Ughhh, I’m dying!” Ace complained as he flopped down on the floor. 

“Vil sure is… a strict coach…” Deuce said between breaths. 

Epel solemnly nodded as he came to sit beside them. “I didn’t think he could get stricter than he already is daily in Pomefiore, but… training camp has definitely proved me wrong.”

“God, I dunno how you two are still alive when you gotta do those extra ballet lessons on top of everything else,” Ace said, sitting up to give Deuce a nudge with his elbow. “Why’d you volunteer for extra exhausting work, anyway? Don’t you have enough trouble just trying to keep to the basic routine?” He asked with a smarmy grin. 

Deuce scowled back at Ace. “Shut up! I’m taking the opportunity to work harder and improve myself!”

“Yeah, yeah. Good luck with makin’ things harder for yourself.”

Deuce looked like he was going to argue more, but was interrupted by the sound of his stomach gurgling. Ace laughed at him, earning him another glare from Deuce. 

Epel also couldn’t help but laugh quietly. “Deuce, I still have some apple chips in my room, if you want some?”

Deuce’s scowling face immediately softened as he turned towards Epel. “Oh, uh, are you sure? I don’t wanna take your food…”

“It’s alright! I have plenty to share,” Epel gave Deuce an earnest smile as he stood. “I have a lot of extra juice still, too, if you want me to grab you some?”

Deuce got to his feet as well. “No, that’s okay; you don’t have to carry it all by yourself. I’ll come with you!”

“Bring me back some juice!” Ace said as he gave Deuce’s leg a gentle kick. 

“Get it yourself, Ace!” Deuce responded as he quickly hurried towards the stairs. 

“Nooo, but I’m tiiiiired!” Ace complained from where he remained on the floor. 

Epel laughed as he ran after Deuce up the stairs and into his room. He picked up a nearby box, and brought it over to sit on the bed as he opened it up. “Y'know… I’m really glad you chose to do the ballet lessons, Deuce.” He said softly as he handed Deuce a bottle of juice and some apple chips. 

“Really?” Deuce accepted the apple snacks and sat beside Epel. 

Epel nodded. “It’s a lot more bearable with you by my side,” he said with a smile, and then busied himself with opening his bag of apple chips.

“Oh, uh…” Deuce also pretended to look busy as he fiddled with the cap of his juice. “Th-thanks… I think it’s more fun doing things with you, too…” he punctuated that statement by taking a very long and slow swig of his drink.

Epel smiled again, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink as he slowly looked up at Deuce… And then quickly leaned in to press a kiss to Deuce’s cheek.

Deuce promptly began choking on his juice as his eyes widened in surprise. “BFH- WH- HUHGHK?!” he exclaimed ever so eloquently. 

Epel laughed softly and pat Deuce on the back. “Hehe, sorry. Are you alright?”

Deuce sputtered and coughed for a few more seconds before nodding. “Urk- uh, y-yeah, sorry. Just, uhh, a little caught off guard?”

Whatever either of them might’ve said next would be cut short as Vil’s voice called out from downstairs. “PLACES IN 15 SECONDS!”

“Oh! Guess we’d better go,” Epel said as he quickly got up and hurried towards the door.

“Wh-!? Epel! Wait!” Deuce said, getting up to chase after him. “What did- We just- Hang on a second!”

Epel just laughed and ran down the stairs. “Hehe, sorry! Time for practice, Deuce!” He grinned as he rushed to get into position before Deuce could question him further, and before Ace could complain that neither he nor Deuce brought him a bottle back in time.

The nerve, really.

Still, as Vil began to count them in, Epel stole a glance over at Deuce, who looked back at him, face still a bit flushed.

They shared a smile, and practice resumed once more.

[slippery-minghus]

dunno if i'm gonna rally the spoons and nerve to apply to some new jobs (i suppose we'll see how this week's vibe goes) but i updated my resume and i'm feeling pretty good about it 💪

[blindedguilt]

🔁 |[HIT ME. ♥]|

"You're going to get us killed." - Interaction Rewrite Prompts!

For Leonard, the weight of a child's blood upon his weapon was heavier than anything else he had handled before in his lifetime.

He hadn't the honour to have even called it the first, but different from his brothers, who had found their end directly by the blades of the Empire, there was no hope for the blame of responsibility to be lifted off his shoulders now that he had wielded that same blade himself.

Leonard's breathing was panicked and uneven. A cold sweat ran down his back as the sensation of the light body being flung backwards shot once more through his arms - he felt ill. Had he died? Had he done away with his life in that forest and been sentenced to hell? Perhaps it was all a punishment, an eternity spent in war, ending the lives of children just as he had his brothers. The screams had sounded too familiar for comfort.

He couldn't, couldn't bring himself to fight. The stakes didn't come to him. The seal didn't exist to him. The usually tranquil forest had roared with the sounds of the clashing steel, the hurried footsteps, the cries and mockery of the faerie - something like the dragon's voice had called his name in harsh rebuke, and whether it truly was her or Caim, Leonard didn't understand and stumbled blindly back to the garrisons in a piteous attempt to flee.

Too cowardly to die, and too starved to survive.

All that was clear to him against the roar of noise was his own breathing, the feeling of his heart pounding in its chest, and the crushing weight of the guilt from that thought repeating itself in his head like a mantra. Leonard struggled to break out of it - do or say something that could stop this madness. Anything. A sickened cry sounded at the sound of the mercenary's own cold reproach, and the hermit struggled to respond.

"Caim, please...!"

He had tried to utter words, either protest or a plea, but his throat had grown tight and left only a quiet whimper. Was that all he could do? Beg...? Leonard's weapon trembled in his hands. He was truly weak... He could have done more than beg. Just like his brothers, there was a thought that told him that he could have saved them. But, it was all the same. His family murdered for the sake of shameful pleasure. The blood of children spilled only for his own protection - his own cowardice to even die correctly. All for himself, a pathetic existence unable to even lift a finger against the slaughter of children.

Some wretched noise, a ragged fight for strained breath against the pounding heart in his chest, could be heard against the armoured thumps of bodies against the ground. Even from a distance, Leonard's frozen body could be seen trembling uncontrollably. The polearm dangled limply from his hands.

"They are only mere children...!"

The last uttered words before the hermit collapsed to his knees were a heart-wrenching sob.

Not a voice of disgust, but a cry in horror.