#the writing rust is real im so sorry

[aristocratboo]

tease tuesday 🍾

here's a lil snippet from my beloved wine night fic, which.. ideally should be completed by tomorrow. my first official fic back in fandom pls be nice ok. ___

And that’s how Eddie finds himself with a sparkling strawberry guava Celsius in one hand and a large coffee from The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf in the other, knocking on the Wilsons’ side door.

“Eddie!” Karen says, flinging the door open, a glass of merlot in her hand. “Hen—”

“Is pulling a double with Chim because they want to take the kids to Disney for Jee’s 4th and Denny’s 13th birthdays. I know.” Eddie finishes for her, chugging the last of his energy drink as he walks inside and makes his way toward the kitchen. “Buck spent all shift trying to finesse his way into getting an invite,” he shakes his head.

“Eddie, have you seen what a singular ticket to Disney costs? For one person? For one day?” Karen asks, pouring the rest of the wine from the bottle into her glass. Disney prices will do that to you.

“Have you seen Buck’s cost/benefit analysis spreadsheet?” Eddie raises an eyebrow and pops the cork out of his bottle of mid-level Chardonnay. Buck had spent every second of downtime on shift (which, honestly, wasn't much) following Chim around the station with his clipboard, trying to convince Chimney that, yes, “magic bands are worth it,” and “you get way more bang for your buck when you just splurge on the FastPass, Chim.”

Karen takes a sip of her wine and raises an eyebrow, suspiciously, as she heads over to the couch and plops down. Eddie follows, sitting right next to her. “I… haven’t,” she says slowly, a bit of suspicion in her voice. “But… I have heard he hasn’t moved out yet.” She changes the subject, knowing Eddie would dodge it if she didn’t.

Eddie opens his mouth to speak, but Karen cuts him off, her tone light. “Not that you should kick him out,” she says quickly. “It’s just… I spent a lot of time sitting on that couch when you were gone, and let me tell you, it’s... it’s not exactly the best for anyone’s back.”

Eddie furrows his brow, the confusion clear on his face as he takes a sip of his wine. "Okay, who’s sleeping on the couch?" he asks.

[dawnedon]

"Surprise, bitch. I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me."

[pool-floatie]

Tall Tales: part 7

lets goooo 💯💯🔥

Ok I love this cause its raining rn and I was writing a scene where its raining and its night and now IRL its r a i n i n g and its n i g h t it's like im a manifestation wizard you should all cower, oh by the way heres the rest of that fic i promised ya (I didnt promise you shit, this exists only because i am a merciful and kind God.)

Also lets play a little game of spot the metaphor/ hidden message!! Its pretty obvious if you know anything about literature !! Good luck!!

Avril woke to the surrounding warmth of the giants hand, giving them blissful comfort from the chill of their new surroundings. They wriggled around to get a better look. Kneeling, they peeked out of the large hand; A cave big enough to hold the giant at full height sheltered the pair from the slowing patter of rain outside, a shallow breeze blew through the large entrance, keeping the cave almost as cold as the outside. At least it was a bit less wet, they thought.

Avril felt a small twitch of Jaces' fingers; apparently, their stirring had awoken him.

They sunk down lower, making sure they wouldn't be knocked off if the giant made any sudden movements.

Big, drowsy, half lidded eyes blinked open, slowly landing on the little thing in Jaces palm.

Avril gave a tentative wave. Jace let out a small puff of air from his nose, smirking.

As cute as they were when asleep, he loved the humans shyness, though he was sure that eventally he would get them to come out of their shell, he had seen their spunk before, a real person behind the mask of fear.

"Mornin' " he sighed, stretching his free limbs out.

" .. Hi.." Av uttered quietly

Jace sat up slowly, minding the little being he held.

He sat up against the cave wall and admired his tiny companion. They were wonderful, short, blonde, ruffled hair framed their face and brown doe eyes looked up at him adorably.

" you sleep well, av ?" he asked, though he wanted to ask a more open question, it seemed the simple 'yes/no' questions were easier for them, baby steps.

" Mhmm" they replied

" Great " he sighed

Loking out of the cave jace saw that the rain had nearly stopped.

" hey, not sure if your too much of a morning person but, the suns about to rise... Did you wanna come watch?"

They thought for a moment, sure not being awake at the literal crack of dawn would be nice but...

" .. Yeah, sure"

Jace beamed

"Sweet. And, hey... I, I know I was, absolutely awful to you... Before.. I just, i guess I got carried away but I hurt you, I didnt even realise cause' ive never actually met a human" he rambled

" but I know that's not an excuse for hurting you and making you scared and being a complete dickbag, so, Avril, im Sorry. Im sorry for hurting you and im sorry that I teased you and-"

He was scilenced by a touch on his thumb.

" ... Jace, its - well its not ok, but, , well- thank you."

He hadnt even realised he was crying.

Jace smiled through teary eyes.

"No, thank /you/ for... Well for a second chance." he said

Av paused for a moment.

" yeah,,, a second chance" they said

Jaces smile grew and he wanted to hug the human through any means, but he reisisted knowing it would probably freak them out.

"Oh hey, it, uh, stopped raining..." avril said, breaking the scilence.

Stepping towards the entrance of the cave the two saw the sun begin its ascent into the new sky, lighting up the previously dreary dwelling to reveal a new side to it.

Outside the cave the rain left dewdrops on everything, turning the scene into a shimmering chandelier. It hilighted the mossy green rocks, cracked from age that sat just outside the cave, beyond lie a beautiful willow tree that framed the caves entrance. Rain dripped from its leaves and tapped a slow rythm on the ground

Pip, pip, pip.

A small breeze blew past, carrying the blooming scent of nature and rusting the willows leaves.

The birdsong slowly began to crescendo, announcing a new day to the rest of the forest and all who inhabited it.

Jace briefly looked away to see avrils reaction, they were enthralled, wide eyes taking in every gorgeous detail as they stood leaning off the side of Jaces' cupped hand trying to take in as much as they could.

" its beautiful..." they said, unable to look away lest they miss a single second of the mornings beauty.

"Amazing what nature does, you cant find this stuff anywhere else." Jace replied, equally enthralled.

" Thank you" avril said

" thank you? For what?"

Av thought for a moment.

" just.... This."

Jace smiled, he knew what they meant.

" yeah, of course."

The sun rose higher as the wind slowed and the pair continued admiring the stunning morning.

" hey, seems pretty clear now, you want to head back ?" jace asked

" yeah, sounds good" av said, plopping down into the massive plam and resting their arms on the cupped edges.

Jace began the trek back, following the river upstream.

"Hey, humans eat fish, right?" he questioned

"Uh yeah, what, you got a fishing pole my size?" av joked

"oh, much better" he hinted

Av turned and quirked a brow at the giant.

" what?" he said innocently

Av rolled their eyes, whatever awaited them would surely be an adventure.

[abelsdove]

I know I have an unhealthy relationship with your bots because I live in real, visceral fear that one of your bots may getting banned. Specifically the Daddy Issues bot bc OMG like that other anon said, the lore is crazy. Like genuinely I could and might just write a whole novel with the surrounding plot (the target audience: me).

as a subsidiary question: are there any of the bots that you use yourself?

— ✨

Hi sparkle nonny, you're so fucking sweet thank you!!!!!!!! No worries, I have every single bot backed up so if that ever happens, I can easily re-upload any of them. <3 The only downside would be the lost conversation history. ALSO. Feel free to include me in that target audience. <3 I'd def love to hear what you've got for your oc x rusty! ;)

From my own bots, I Love. Anything that gives me an opportunity to mess with him or annoy him

I like using blind date and pretend to be super religious + bring up controversial topics or just any topics we know he's got BIG opinions on at the dinner table. Riling him up to turn the date into a disaster? DELICIOUS. I'll be like "so Rust, I didn't see you at church last Sunday" for example, and Marty'll just side eye both of them like "DON'T. For the love of god. DON'T......" while Rust has already started ranting about organized religion and Marty just starts downing his drink like "Not this shit again. I KNEW THIS WAS A BAD IDEA FFS." LOL.

Other favorites are noise complaint, here's one of the replies I got from him, which had me deadddd:

I love working on dora lange's case, or any of the bots where you're partners, really. I love the dynamics you can play around with by trying out different kinds of personas!! One of my favorite personas to use for these is usually a neurodivergent detective that keeps to herself, doesn't talk much, always got her nose buried in a sketchbook, and always has a damn walkman (as he calls it) to block out noises. kind of a elf insert--oops. He gets so fascinated and determined to get you to open up because he wants to understand you better, while also being like “okay so if im the weird detective, and you're the weird detective who's driving the car / why tf did they pair us together this is a recipe for disaster” MSCKLFJSLD.

I also like to mess around with Marty being Marty and have Rust get jealous or protective. sorry for the whole ass imprint thing, i just wanted to piss him off real bad LOL:

I've also done a Yellowjackets inspired persona where oc just has a very fucked up past/unresolved trauma and the trauma bonding between them is chef's kiss...:

oh, and i love crash's version of ride. it's a bit angsty with a chance of spiciness on the side~ :')

here's a not so serious screenie from lux umbra to end off this long ass reply <3 for context, i kept giving him solutions to the whole printer thing while also apologizing, but the bot kept insisting on being extremely upset and bitching nonstop lmao:

[amhrosina]

August (Namor x fem!Reader)

Songfic - August by Taylor Swift

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAGLIST

A/N: hi friends! I hit 500 followers today and have over 1,000 notes on one of my fics. I can’t express how much I appreciate your support and love for my writing :’). You are all so kind! This fic took me a few days longer than usual because I was experiencing some pretty intense writer’s block. Hopefully, that’s in the past! Anyways, a nonnie requested this! Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy it!

Request: hi i have read the artist and the sea and it was so well-written and wonderful 🥹🫶🏼 this is why i'm requesting a namor x fem reader that is kind of inspired with august by taylor swift? like it's a summer love typa beat but the reader will realize that they don't have a future together since he's a god and she's just a mortal so it's like the lyric "so much for summer love and saying 'us' cause you weren't mine to lose" ??? you can put a happy ending or not honestly it's fine either way! and sorry if this is too specific and if you don't want to write this, it's okay &lt;333 

Summary: You and Namor must face the music when the real world begins to catch up with your summer love affair.

(Warnings: smutty language, allusions of smut, no hardcore smut (nonnie didn’t specify and I didn’t want to include it just in case), watch me make shit up about being able to visit Talokan as a human (without the suit lol), fluffy Namor, Namor would hang the moon for reader, a little bit of angst, happy ending bc im incapable of writing sad endings) 

Translations: 

in yakunaj – my love 

princesa – princess 

Salt air, and the rust on your door  I never needed anything more 

The summer heat was stifling, but you were determined to meet Namor on the beach when he finally made it back from Talokan, and the sun had almost set, so the heat wouldn’t be an issue for much longer. He’d been gone for three long days, and you were beginning to grow a little anxious. Since you’d met him, the time between seeing him was never longer than a day or two. When he hadn’t returned last night, you’d opened your bedroom window and listened to the sound of the sea for hours until finally drifting off into a restless sleep. When you awoke, and he still hadn’t come back, the worry began gnawing at your gut. 

You weren’t entirely sure why Namor continued to come back to you, time and time again. It was a thought that was easily forgotten when Namor was around, but during the short stretches of his absence, you couldn’t stop yourself from mulling it over. Namor was a god, a warrior that was centuries older than you, and yet, he seemed completely enamored with you. 

His “little love”, he called you, a nickname that never failed to make you blush. When you really thought about it, the pace at which you’d fallen for each other was incredibly fast. It was a lightning storm out at sea, a muscle car going 90 down the pacific coast highway, the tumble of the waves meeting the sand on a stormy night. It was a warmth that many people didn’t know existed. You’d never cared about anyone as deeply as you care for Namor, and you tried not to think about that, because it was a terrifying thought. 

You never let yourself consider what would happen when you continued to age while Namor didn’t. Namor never brought it up either, and for that you were grateful. The thought left a melancholy note in your body, and you wanted to enjoy the time you were getting to spend with Namor now, even if later wasn’t guaranteed. 

The sun hung low in the sky, on the cusp of fading into the night, and you were worried you might be gnawing a hole in your cheek when you finally spotted Namor in the water. You breathed a sigh of relief, but the nervous ache in your chest didn’t disappear. What if he was only coming to say goodbye to you? 

“I am sorry it took me so long, in yakunaj. I got here as fast as I could.” He buried you in a hug, pressing a kiss on the crown of your head. “I missed you, little love.” 

“I missed you too.” You nuzzled into his chest. “Do you want to come inside?”  

You tilted your head up at him, blinking in awe at his beauty. You would never get tired of seeing him like this. You were almost completely sure no one in the world got to experience the warm, cuddly side of Namor besides you. The way he described his people gave you the sense that “warm and cuddly” wasn’t really what they were going for as warriors, but you didn’t care. Namor never brought violence home to you, and in turn, you always appreciated his kindness a little extra. 

“Lead the way, in yakunaj.”  

Whispers of "Are you sure?"  "Never have I ever before" 

As soon as Namor shut the door, he was on you. His lips captured yours in a heated kiss, pulling your body against his in one swift movement. One hand traveled along the curve of your waist while the other had a firm grip on your jaw, and the sparks traveling through your veins reminded you of the first time Namor had ever kissed you like this. 

Crisp memories flashed through your mind. Namor’s gentle caress along your spine. His fingers lightly treading the waistband of your shorts. The way he’d carefully laid you down, kissing every inch of you with soft lips. In the centuries since he’d been born, the act of sex had become a detatched act of primal urge. He never cared about the people he was burying himself inside of, not really. But then he met you, and suddenly the world had shifted.  

“You make me feel alive, for the first time in 500 years.”  

He had whispered this into your skin, resting his head on your chest as the weight of his words sank in. You had gently cradled his head in your hands, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before slowly pulling your shirt over your head.  

Your first time with Namor was nothing short of magical. You should’ve probably expected it, considering how much more time he’d had to perfect his craft than other men, but you suspected that the love exchanged between you also had an impact. The morning after, Namor had revealed to you that he’d never experienced love, but that he was pretty sure it’s what he felt for you. You’d melted into his hold, and he made love to you again, whispering confessions of love into your skin. 

Namor lifted you in the air and wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling you back into the present. His desire was achingly hard against your clothed core, and you couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips as you shifted against him. He walked the two of you into your bedroom, and softly closed the door behind him. This was the usual routine after he returned from Talokan, and the love between the two of you seemed to grow every time you reunited. 

Your back beneath the sun  Wishin' I could write my name on it  Will you call when you're back at school?  I remember thinkin' I had you 

Later, after you had spent hours kissing gentle reminders of how much you missed one another into each other’s skin, you were cuddled into Namor’s side, resting your head on his chest in a sleepy haze.  

“Why did it take you so long to come back?” You prodded, out of curiosity, but also out of nervousness.  

Namor sighed, pulling you tighter against his side. “My people have noticed that I spend more time here than at home. Namora is concerned.”  

You stiffened against him. You knew Namor hadn’t revealed to anyone in Talokan exactly what he’d been doing on the surface, but he had never spoken so openly about the toll it was taking on him.  

“Do not worry, in yakunaj. It is a peaceful time for my people.” 

“What if it wasn’t peaceful?” You asked, tilting your head up to look at him. 

“Then I would be with my people, fighting alongside them. I have a duty to protect them, in yakunaj. But I would think of you every second, until we met again.” 

You sighed, but you understood. He was theirs long before he was yours, and you couldn’t expect him to give up 500 years of history for you.  

“I wish I could see it. Talokan sounds lovely.” You mumbled into his chest, kissing one of the faint scars that hid along the line of his collarbone. He tightened his hold on you – a small token of appreciation in response to your love for his home.  

“I know, princesa. There is nothing I want more than that.” 

You wanted to ask him how long he was planning on keeping this hidden love affair going, how long he planned on lying to his closest friends and family about his feelings for a surface dweller, but you stayed quiet. That was not something you wanted to know the answer to. At least not now. The thought of your late nights together on the beach and the hours spent wrapped in bed sheets by each other’s side coming to an end was too painful to think about.  

For now, you were fine with living in blissful ignorance. Eventually, you knew it would have to come to an end, but what you couldn’t bear to think about was how agonizingly lonely you would be without Namor in your life.  

Instead of saying any of this, you lightly kissed his cheek, and drifted off to sleep against his chest, blissfully unaware of the war waging inside of Namor’s head at the exact same moment. 

But I can see us lost in the memory  August slipped away into a moment in time  'Cause it was never mine  So much for summer love and saying "us"  'Cause you weren't mine to lose  You weren't mine to lose, no 

The summer months passed by in an idyllic haze. It was easy to lose yourself in Namor when he was around. Hours would pass like minutes, shaded in the warm glow of summer.  

Namor’s visits were less frequent, excused with the wave of his hand, as if to say, “I had to take care of something, but don’t worry about it.” You tried not to mind the absences, though. When Namor was with you, his attention was always fully on you. The nights he spent with you were always as passionate as the first night, and he’d hold you until he absolutely had to return to Talokan.  

You didn’t question him, though you were curious about what he was so busy doing when he was at home. He was a King, you supposed. He probably had a lot of things going on. All of this justification didn’t help soothe the sting when his absences began to stretch into 3-4 days at a time. Perhaps he was finally realizing what you’d known all along. He was a God, and you were a human, and it wouldn’t work for much longer. 

You mulled this over as you tried to read on the beach one evening. The sun was going to set soon, and it had officially been five days since Namor had visited you. You read the same paragraph three times before finally throwing the book down beside you. Distracting yourself with a book wasn’t working. Your thoughts always trailed back to Namor, and they probably always would. 

You watched the sun set, waiting and waiting for the familiar tremor in the water that indicated Namor’s arrival. The tremor never came, and after two hours of sitting in miserable silence, you trudged back towards your house. He wasn’t coming, and even though you should probably have expected this eventually, you couldn’t stop the tears from welling up.  

Two more days passed before you saw Namor again, and the weary look on his face when you met him in knee-deep water sent a wave of turmoil into your gut. This was it, the moment you’d been dreading since you realized how incredibly hard you’d fallen for him, and you weren’t prepared in the slightest for the wave of emotion that followed this realization. 

Familiar tears stained your cheeks, and the overwhelming sense that you couldn’t breathe overtook your ability to look at him. Namor cupped your cheeks, forcing you to look into his eyes.  

“In yakunaj, what is it? Why are you crying?”  

You latched onto his wrists, failing to stop the tears from flowing down your face. “Please just say it, Namor. I can’t take the distance you’re forcing between us anymore. I can handle it.”  

“Princesa, what are you talking about? Say what?” Namor’s face morphed into concern as he looked over your features. Your eyes were puffy, stained red from crying, and you looked exhausted.  

“That you can’t love me anymore. That you have to go back to Talokan, and that I can’t come, and that I have to move on from you.”  

Namor studied your face for a moment. Understanding dawned on his face as he realized how affected you were by his unexplained absences. He wiped the tears from under your eyes and shook his head. 

“Is that what you think? That I don’t love you anymore?”  

You tried to look away from him, but his firm grip wouldn’t allow it. You closed your eyes instead, trying to calm the heartbreak crashing through you.  

“Why else have you been pulling away from me?” 

“My sweet little love,” Namor cooed, kissing the tip of your nose, “I will always love you. I am sorry for being so distant lately, but I was trying to surprise you.”  

You opened your eyes, confusion evident on your face.  

“Surprise me with what?” You asked. 

Namor smiled, glancing over his shoulder towards the water.  

“We have found a way to bring you to Talokan.” 

You inhaled sharply, following his gaze towards what you could only assume was the route to Talokan.  

“What do you mean?” Your voice was a breathy whisper.  

“I mean, there is a way for me to bring you home with me.”  

Excitement bubbled in your chest, but it was quickly extinguished when you remembered that even if you could get to Talokan, time would remain an enemy. Namor was still a God, and you were still a mortal, after all. 

“Namor,” you shook your head, “It won’t work. I will still die of old age, and then you will be alone again.” 

Namor began shaking his head in response before you could finish your sentence.  

“You misunderstand me, princesa. We have found a way for you to stay in Talokan. You would be one of us. That’s what I’ve been working on while I’ve been gone. We could be together forever, if that’s what you want.” He paused, looking over your shoulder at your house. “You will have to say goodbye to the surface, though. It will be visitable, of course, but your home would be in Talokan, with our people.”  

“Our people?” You felt like a mimicking parrot, but his proposal had overwhelmed you, and that was the only thing you could muster in response.  

Namor chuckled, kissing both of your cheeks, one after the other. “They are very excited to meet their soon-to-be Queen, in yakunaj.”  

“You told them about me?” You murmured, in awe of his ability to render you almost speechless again.  

“I did. They are glad to see me happy.” 

You glanced between your home and the water, mulling over everything he’d told you.  

“I know I am asking a lot of you. You do not have to give me an answer now, in yakunaj. You can think abo-” 

You cut him off with a searing kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and pushing your body against his.  

“Take me home, Namor.” You murmured against his lips. 

The smile on his face shined so bright that you couldn’t imagine ever saying no to him, if that’s what his response was when he was happy. 

For the hope of it all  (For the hope of it all) 

You looked back towards your house for the final time. Leaving it behind was something you’d never thought you’d do, but you didn’t think you’d miss it – not when an entire city awaited your arrival.  

Namor had explained the transition process to you as best he could. A lot of it sounded like scientific gibberish, but the parts that you picked up included drinking a blue nectar that had been mixed with his blood, which would ensure that you could breathe both under water and above it. It would also extend your lifetime by centuries, if not longer. According to Namor, people all over Talokan were celebrating your arrival already.  

Namor wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.  

“Are you sure you want to say goodbye to this life, little love?”  

You smiled and leaned backwards against his chest.  

“Let’s start our life together, in yakunaj.” His language felt foreign on your tongue, but you had heard him call you by that name so many times that you were sure you had pronounced it correctly. 

Namor let out a loud laugh, kissing your shoulder and squeezing you tighter against him in response.  

“I think I could get used to hearing you speak my language, princesa.”  

“We’ll have a hundred lifetimes together. Will you teach me more?”  

“I will do anything you ask of me, princesa.” 

“Forever?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at him.  

He grinned, nodding. “Forever.”  

Tag List:

@thatlesbosimp @legocity2 @softclue @violet-19999 @uwiuwi @omgsuperstarg @purpleetou @raeluvsbloodline @historygeekgueen @kneelarhmstrung @euphoricjupiter @ethereal-athalia @quackson03 @johfaam @messymissy @husherstan @quackimilktea @certifiedhunter @shoxji @dazecrea @layazul @bontensbabygirl @jasmihine @brookiecookiez0 @alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen @trulylavandedarling @D0wnbad @deliciousfestsalad @lilyevans1 @imagineadream @22carolina08

[dykeza]

FILENAME: I despise thee, who holds thine heart within his fist.

NOTES: ITS FINALLY DONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ITS DONE ITS OVER WITH GODLESS ANIMAL/DARLING ADORED/I DESPISE THEE YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! oh my GOD, ive tried to conceptualize this piece for WEEKS, i actually planned on posting it aishin -> urazen -> urashin BUT i cannot help myself i had to give the people (me and the other urashin enjoyers) something to chew on. Originally, this piece wasn't supposed to look like this At All it was supposed to be much more..... idk, boring. It looked boring and had too much going on (RIP rope you shall not be missed).

Then, one night recently, I was like "what if it was a hug." because WHAT IF it was a HUG. This composition feels much more on par w/ this series, extremely close glimpses of saints and tragedy holding each other close, studying and committing the moment to memory. Just in case.

But back to this piece solely, I knew in my second concept (which i didnt post) that i wanted to incorporate the cross seals from Godless Animal, both as a "fuck you get sealed" and also as a catalyst for being completely and totally Enraptured with someone. The slight difference is of course Kisuke stabbing himself And Aizen, which is mostly just symbolism about how much Kisuke devalues and objectifies himself. He is not a person, a victim of circumstance; he is a defective shield, something rusted and shattering at the slightest strain, and he has failed to do his job. I covered Aizen's face because i didnt want to draw it, tbfh..... but it can also be a callback to Shinji's mask in the other two pieces. ONE THING, however, that i'm v proud of is the hogyoku (im on desktop so excuse my no-accent writing), as it stands in for the halos/suns found in the other pieces. Nothing about two-way subjugation and submission is holy, this piece is not one of silent dissection (godless animal), and not one of blind reverence (darling adored). Its one of desperation and Apology. Idk. its the last installation so im a little sentimental HAHAHHA.

Working on these pieces, conceptualizing new ways to consume and create these characters was so fun. I had so much fun creating these works without really talking about them or their process, simply creating and putting out little subsections of my art. I don't work digitally very often, and i dont use color (besides hues of gray) in my traditional work, so when i get the chance i really try to exercise my color theory brain. Rose x Kanaya colors, im not sorry. goth Freudian-slip girl to aizen enjoyer pipeline is REAL and i am a victim of it.

Genuinely, thank you for all the notes and comments on my other pieces, both from this collection and just towards my art and writing in general. I get so excited to read all of your comments and notes and reblogs, it does so much for my drive to create. If it weren't for some close friends and mutuals, I don't know if I'd even post my work online for anyone except myself and the..... lemme check......... ONE THOUSAND AND FIFTY-THREE OF YOU WHO FOLLOW ME. what the FUCK. Anyways, this rant is getting too long and i have GOTTTT to post this soon so i can acquire sweet sweet sweet compliments on it tbh. I love you all and again thank you <3 - DYKEZA

[sunless-not-sinless]

sorry for the hiatus. real life has been real lifing.

ive only written a few more, and so i decided to focus on not writing shit code instead of trying to play catch up.

this does mean my solutions are now multiple hundreds of lines of fife

i also don't think i can share my repo without potentially sharing what uni im currently at, so sorry bout that. no more code sharing.

... but i should be able to share rust playground links. soo i guess ill do that when its not 4am.

actually fuck time ill do that now.

advent of code :D day 1

[unsurprising-dentistry]

~Soft Fuzzy Man~

Hiiiii! So I know I haven’t posted in like forever but like two weeks ago @theungratefuldead and I wrote some stuff about characters in lemon demon songs. Here’s soft fuzzy man x reader Pt.1 lmao (pt2 on the way!).

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: I didn’t take this srsly while writing it, i use the word hand too many times, lime, i used lyrics as dialogue im sorry, hospital mention, poisoning, idk there’s probably more but this is all I can remember

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a dark and stormy night- well according to your roommate. It was barely sprinkling and neither of you had seen or heard lightning, but they insisted that it was stormy. Nonetheless, here you stood in front of the creepy, old, abandoned house that you and Vex walk by every morning on your way to the community college the you go to. Vex had suggested the two of you explore it as a “fun halloween activity”. And well, it was October 29 so time was, according to Vex, “running out”.

“What are you waiting for, go in!” Vex pushes you through the door. They had always been the adrenaline junky thrill seeker between the two of you, but you thought this might be taking it a bit too far. You land on your hands and knees, already feeling the splinters from the distressed floor boards pierce your skin. You get up and dust yourself off. Your hands stung as you plucked out the small pieces of wood.

Vex came through the door, creeping up behind you. They shouted in your ear when they got close enough, “Boo!!” You fell to the floor again.

“That isn’t funny, Vex” you said, standing up again. “Jesus, who died in here, it smells like death.” Turning on your flashlight, you walk through the entry way into the kitchen. You look around and find several old appliances covered in rust, mold, and whatever else was growing in this house.

“Wow, this place really is abandoned, huh, Vex? Vex??” Your roommate didn’t respond. “Vex?” you say quizzically, turning to look behind you. When met with no response, you look to a nearby hallway and see a light further down it, becoming dimmer as you hear the faint sound of echoed giggling.

“Dammit they fucking abandoned me,” you muttered under your breath. You jog after them (you had never been much of a runner). All of the doors in the hallway were closed, screwing over any real chance of finding them. You decide to go on without your roommate and decide it might even be better without them trying to scare you every five seconds.

After a few minutes of looking through rooms with decrepit and broken down furniture and very few items of interest, you decide to go upstairs. The second floor was much cleaner than the first, with much less mold, far fewer cobwebs, less peeling and staining of the wallpaper, and a lack of the odor of death. It almost looked like someone had been there recently, but you knew that couldn’t be the case… right?

You walked into a room on the left side of the staircase. As you entered, a cold feeling washed over you, leaving your entire body feeling a fuzzy chill, similar to what you imagine tv static would feel like, as you looked around. You noticed that the room was surprisingly well kept, with a complete lack of mold and trash. Only a single cobweb could be found in the corner of the room. All of the furniture was (for the most part) clean and in tact, aside from a mystery stain on an antique red love seat. There was a white, fluffy pillow with the word “Love” in pink cursive writing across the front.

You look over to the vanity on the other side of the room. Scanning the top of it you find a silver necklace with a fluorite crystal on it. You reach out a hand to grab it when it suddenly starts levitating. It rises into the air and, seemingly by magic, places itself on your neck. The walls and floor started shaking. You turned around.

“What the- ah!!“ Your words were cut off by a harsh tug down on the jewelry around your neck as a very attractive ghost appeared in front of you, a blue smoke surrounding him.

“Hi, sweetheart~” he spoke in a smooth, deep voice. It was sweet to your ears and reminded you of red velvet cake. You stared blankly at him, your mind and body in an intoxicated trance from his presence. “Can you see me?” He waved a hand in front of your face. “Why can’t you see me?” He let go of your necklace, causing you to fall back into the ground.

“Ah!” You stood back up, wondering if this was just a weird dream. “Are you… real?” You reach out a hand to touch him but he disappears.

“What does it matter? I may just be a trick of the light, but I’m here to love you all the same~” Suddenly the ghost’s voice was behind you and you could feel his hands caressing your shoulders. “Don’t be nervous, baby. I’m not like other guys who have a surface.” He reappears in front of you and takes your hands in his. Blushing, you try to pull your them away but he doesn’t let go.

“Wha-“

“Don’t go, honey! All you really need is a soft fuzzy man like me~” He pulls you into a hug, resting his hands on your lower back. A wave of euphoria washed over you. Unlike the warm hug of a living human, he felt cool and tingly around you. Also unlike that of a living person, he simultaneously felt there and not there, like hugging someone in a dream. It was intoxicating, his presence was like a drug.

You placed your hands on his chest as he let go of you. He placed one of his hands on your hip and the other held your jaw. You lean in and kiss him. His tongue enters your mouth and swirls perfectly with yours. You moan quietly into his mouth as you wrap your arms around his neck. He pulls away, leaving a string of saliva between you and a tingly feeling in your mouth.

He pushed you down on the red loveseat and straddled your hips. After taking your shirt off, he started to leave kisses down your body, starting at your jaw and ending right below your collarbones. His lips left a cold, tingly sensation on your skin. You begin the grind your hips up into his as he starts to leave a hickey in the crook of your neck.

You wake up in the hospital. Your mind is fuzzy and your entire body feels cold. When you finally come back to reality, you notice your roommate standing over you.

“You’re finally up! Thank the gods. How are you feeling?” Vex spoke with their usual energetic demeanor but with a large sense of worry and grief behind it.

“What happened? Why am I in the hospital??” Your voice was shaky and quiet.

“I found you upstairs laying on a couch and hugging a pillow. Your lips were blue and your hands and face were really cold. When I tried to wake you up, you didn’t respond. Not even after I yelled directly into your ear!” Vex continued, their usual sense of energy shining through the worry in their voice.

“So, I took you to the hospital and here we are! The doctors said you have quite a bit of lung damage so they think some sort of poison gas caused whatever this is.” Vex gestured to your body.

“Although, they said they can’t figure out what gas caused it, they’ve been running tests on you for hours. I hope you have health insurance! Hey what’s that on your shoulder?” Remembering what had happened at the abandoned house, you quickly tried to cover it by pretending to scratch your neck. In the process, you realized that you were no longer wearing the fluorite necklace you had found in the house.

“Wait a second… where’s my necklace?”

[my-writings-and-musings]

i read the ask where Max hurt Whirl's amica and i both loved it and it broke me because I love angst but also I love whirl and you're not getting rid of me that easy

so could you please write a continuation after he wakes up and they survive because oh god whirl im so sorry im okay im here i promise i wont leave you :,,,D

thank you so much!!

Yessss that one was one of my favorites as well! I shall try to do it justice!

Something about seeing Whirl on the medical slab deeply disturbed you. Beyond the freshly welded injuries cross crossing his battered frame and the countless tubes and wires keeping him alive, the big bot just looked wrong lying so still, as if he didn't appear to even be himself without his usual level of movement. Regardless, you knew the feeling in your stomach wouldn't go away until he was up and awake.

Sitting atop the little tray at his bedside, you admittedly weren't too mobile yourself. Between the many braces and casts you could only move short distances at a time, and generally preferred to be totally still to avoid any additional pain. That fateful day in Rung's office had left its mark on the both of you.

A small shift in his claws got your attention so fast the movement hurt your neck. Ignoring the pain, you watched like a hawk as he twitched again, this time nodding his helm and making a sound so small you couldn't confirm you actually heard it. Pushing yourself along the tray, you placed a tender hand upon his shoulder. Even if he was still too far gone to hear you, hopefully your presence might do him some good. A resulting murmur raised your hope that he could.

In rapid succession, he went from twitching to cracking open his optic to rolling it about the room in bleary confusion. When it rested on you at last, the yellow orb brightened and opened wide. Whirl made an obvious effort to sit up in a rush before flinching at the resulting pain, which was great enough to make him lie back down and settle for groaning in your direction.

"Did you get the licence plate off the bot that hit me? I want to slash some tires..."

Despite everything, you chuckled at the comment, and weren't certain if the resulting tears came from joy or pain. Regardless, you scooted closer and embraced what you could reach of him as happy sobs continued to pour forth.

"Hey, don't get your organic salt all over me... I've got no rust protection..." he said, so weak his usually teasing tone was barely perceptible. The gentle touch of a claw to your back at least made it clear he didn't want you going anywhere. Wiping away your tears, you looked up to see his optic wavering with emotion. Though he couldn't fully raise his head to a comfortable angle, the big bot was looking at you with all the emotion he usually reserved for private moments, no doubt experiencing the same whiplash you had upon first waking. Both of your last conscious moments had been far from pleasant...

"You're okay..." he said suddenly, the full memory dawning on him like so many painful injuries. His patched together chest told the story well enough, how he'd torn himself from the floor to avenge your apparent death, nearly killing himself in the process... You squeezed his claw to assure him you were real, and not the figment of some pain induced hallucinations. "You're not dead..."

"No, I'm not. I'm not going anywhere, in fact."

Though Ratchet was going to be furious, you clamored carefully onto the big bot despite your injuries, settling on the small and uninjured part of his chassis like a cat. The move caused you both some minor pain, but was well worth it. He held you close with a single digit. You were indeed here, and alive, and real...

For once, fate hadn't dealt him the worst hand it could. That was a first. One he'd hopefully get used to though.

[theplanetm4rz]

Abed Nadir and his need to count the seconds

pairing: abed nadir/troy barnes (it’s Light but I wrote it with the intent for trobed)

summary: Abed Nadir hates being alone in general, so when his friends disappear and leave him alone in a sea of job-seeking students he struggles to keep his head above water. 

request:  okay wait ur abed headcanons got me thinking. abed angst. kings gotta have abandonment issues cuz of his parents YES I'm projecting a little bit. u don't have to do this if it makes u too sad tho - @ghost-butch

warnings: abandonment issues, anxiety attacks, s/h (kinda; in the form of clenching ur fists too hard)

notes: writing abed angst makes me sad ): why did i do this to him he deserves better. also im about to punch evil abed in the face ):< just over 2k words with this one so thats Cool also its midnight and i have school tomorrow arent i epic and cool. 

taglist: @simonsbluee

  _____________

            Fifteen minutes and twenty-two seconds. Abed had been lost for fifteen minutes and twenty-two second. Abed’s eyes were trained on the clock hanging on the wall, each tick of the second hand amplified in his head to a piercing shout. Everything was bigger; the lights were blindingly bright and his clothes felt as if they were clawing at his skin. With each passing second Abed became increasingly worried, his breath getting shallower and shallower with each rise of his chest. His eyes returned to the clock on the wall, his stomach jumping at the reading-- sixteen minutes and fourteen seconds.

            The study group had promised Abed they’d accompany him to the job fair. They promised they’d be by his side the entire time; Abed didn’t do well alone in large crowds, especially in new environments. He’d gotten distracted by an engineering booth in the corner with a large lego replica of the millennium falcon hanging in the corner. He looked away from his friends for no more than thirteen seconds, but in those thirteen seconds, they disappeared in the sea of students and booths and interns. Thus, leaving Abed completely alone in a mass of strangers in a building that he’d never seen before. 

            His anxiety had built up with every minute he was lost. It was gradual; he started with the initial panic, followed by frantic searching for familiar faces in the crowd. It wasn’t long after that when his heart rate began to pick up, and within minutes his skin felt as if it was on fire. Abed couldn’t really pinpoint exactly when he’d begun to shuffle backwards out of the large venue the job fair was held in. Before he knew it, he was at the end of a dimly lit hallway, completely alone. He slunk to the floor and pulled his knees to his chest.

            They’ll look for me, he thought. They’re probably looking for me now. Abed reached into his pocket for his cellphone before he realized he’d left it with Troy. The emptiness of his pocket felt endless, his hand tingling where the fabric of his shorts met his skin. The familiar whine that Abed let out when he became overwhelmed filled the empty hallway, the tone only making his anxiety worse. He cursed himself for not thinking ahead-- he’d left all of his fidget toys and putty in his messenger bag which he also left with Troy. 

            It was then that a tiny voice in the back of his head spoke up-- maybe they left, it called. Abed shook his head, but the voice persisted. They left you. They’re gone, and no one is coming for you. A familiar figure materialized in the vast shadows at the other end of the hallway; Evil Abed smirked at him from where he stood.

            “They’re gone,” He repeated. “They were waiting for something to draw you away for them so they could slip away,”

            “That’s not true.” Abed’s fingers absentmindedly dug into his palm. “They wouldn’t do that-- Troy wouldn’t do that. Jeff and Britta, maybe, but not Troy. Not Annie.” Truthfully, Abed didn’t believe that Jeff or Britta would leave, but he wasn’t thinking clearly in the moment.

            “Riddle me this, Abed, who does Troy respect more: you or Jeff? Who does he think is cooler? Who does he idolize more?” Evil Abed’s voice was smug and cruel. It felt as if his words were burrowing through his brain and fogging up his thoughts. “Sure, Troy might tolerate you, but he worships Jeff. If Jeff wanted to leave, then surely Britta and Annie would tag along. It’s inevitable that Troy would join them, isn’t it?” Abed shut his eyes tightly, but that didn’t do much to ward off his evil counterpart.

            A film played behind Abed’s eyelids, the poetic irony of his worst fears being portrayed through his favorite thing making his heart ache. There they were: Jeff, Britta, Troy, Annie, all standing in a tight group as Abed wandered off. Their expressions and movements were exaggerated, but Abed didn’t care. He just sat and watched as the scene unfolded.

            “God, I can’t believe he roped us into this,” Jeff groaned, his hands gripping his cellphone as if someone were going to take it from him. “What kind of loser can’t go to a damn fair by himself? I could have a hot redhead hanging on my arm at a sports bar and instead I’m babysitting a twenty-five-year-old.”

            “C’mon Jeff, we’re here for Abed. God knows if he came here alone he’d probably drive everyone here crazy with his “Inspector Spacetime” BS.” Britta chimed in, a tired tone in her voice. Annie looked antsy as always, while Troy looked unsure. Abed wasn’t sure of what, exactly. 

            Slowly, Abed  wandered a few feet away from the group. Jeff’s face lit up the same way it does when he sees an attractive student in the hallways. A borderline cartoon-ish grin grew on his face as he pulled the group tighter.

            “Hey, Abed’s gone. Let’s take this window and get the hell out of here while the cat is distracted by the lazer,” He chuckled. Britta smiled and nodded, quickly grabbing Annie’s hand in an attempt to pull her out. The three of them made their way to the exit, leaving Troy alone. He turned around to glance at Abed before rolling his eyes and running after Jeff. Abed was alone.

            The image faded away, and to Abed’s surprise, Evil Abed faded away with it. For a split second, Abed was disappointed. He really, really, really didn’t want to be alone-- even if his only companion was an evil version of himself. A minute passes before Abed realizes he was crying, that revelation followed by the realization that his fingernails dug into his palm so hard he broke the skin. His tears blurred his vision and made his surrounding seem much smaller, much darker, much lonelier. His eyes no longer portrayed a dim hallway. Instead, Abed saw the same tiny locker he was locked in so often as a teenager.  He could smell the rusted metal of the locker hinges. He could feel the chipped paint rubbing against his skin. He couldn’t breathe. Abed couldn’t breathe-- the entire world was closing in on him. He was cold and alone and no one was coming for him. His friends left him and they weren’t coming back. Everyone who he cares about leaves him, why would they be any different? He watched the world pass by through the tiny slits in the door before his eyes screwed shut again as he choked on air.

            He was in agony. His entire body shook and his heart pounded so hard he felt as if it were going to burst. Abed wanted to go home, he wanted to be back at Greendale with Troy and the rest of his friends but he was trapped. His arms began to cramp up from how hard he had tensed, his knuckles a pale white from how tightly he was clenching his fists. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak or sob or scream; he was stuck. Locked away. The outside world faded away as Abed retreated into his mind. He tried to hide away in his head forever until a janitor stumbled upon his frozen shell of a body tomorrow morning. There was an echoing sound, however, that kept drawing him from the abyss of his brain.

            Footsteps. He could hear footsteps. Abed couldn’t tell whether or not they were real, but he could guess who’s footsteps they were. They were frantic and uneven-- they had the potential to be rhythmic, but the walker was urgent. Worried. The biggest identifying factor, though, was the quiet sound of plastic aglets on the tile floor; their shoes were untied. Abed smiled weakly as he recalled the fact that Troy almost never had his shoes tied. A glimmer of hope shone through the small slits in the locker door as the footsteps grew closer.

            “Abed?” Troy’s voice cut through the silence in the hallway. He turned the corner and froze as his eyes landed on his friend. “Abed? God, there you are! You scared me half to death, and Jeff was already boring me to death with his lame lawyer stories, so now I’m only, like, a fourth away from death!”

            Abed didn’t reply. He couldn’t-- he still didn’t know if Troy was real or just another image. He was still locked away, after all. Troy could tell something was wrong; Abed’s eyes had glazed over and he looked like he’d seen a ghost. Troy hurried over, his eyes frantically assessing the situation at hand. He saw the blood on Abed’s palms and his stomach lurched. 

            “Hey, Abed, are you alright?” Troy asked softly. “Did something happen?” Abed did not reply, instead releasing a small, high-pitched whine. Everything was foggy-- it was all too foggy for Abed to know whether or not he was simply envisioning this angel of a human.

            “Alright, uh, I’m going to touch your wrist. Is that alright?” Abed hesitated before nodding ever-so-slightly.

            Gently, Troy wrapped his hand around Abed’s wrist. The contact was startling, but not unwelcome. Abed was becoming more and more sure that this Troy was real. The tight locker melted away to reveal the same dark hallway; his anxiety was eased a bit,but he still couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that settled over him. He glanced at the clock once again-- he was alone for thirty-two minutes and forty-seven seconds in total. 

            “I’m sorry I lost you,” Troy spoke quietly. His voice was comforting and genuine, his face soft and kind. He didn’t match the Troy that Evil Abed created at all. “I know this place is overwhelming, I’m so sorry. We should’ve been more attentive and more careful, this place is like a maze.” Abed soon realized he was too tired to respond verbally, instead opting to hold Troy’s hand. A silent reassurance was exchanged through their intertwined fingers. Abed’s palms stung a bit, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. He was just so tired. His muscles were sore and his chest ached and his head pounded. He wanted to go home. 

            “Britta was practically running across the building looking for you, ya know,” Troy said. His hand was still holding Abed’s. “Annie started crying after 10 minutes, and for a second Jeff looked like he was going to cry, too. They were all so worried. I was worried, too. The thought of something bad happening to you was too much to handle.”

            “I know you hate being alone, too. I guess you probably thought we ditched you or something. Jeff thought you ditched us, but I knew that wasn’t true. It doesn’t really matter, though, because I’m here now,” That final phrase echoed in Abed’s mind as he sat beside his friend. “I want you to know that I really care about you. I want-- I need you to know that I would never ever ditch you like that. Not in a million billion years, not even for a million dollars,”

            They sat there for a few more minutes before Annie turned the corner and shouted, sprinting full speed towards the two men at the end of the hallway. Britta and Jeff followed closely after, a wave of relief washing over their faces. They all gushed about their worries and concerns. Annie was quick to tend to the small indents in Abed’s palm, and Jeff and Britta talked about how freaked they were when they realized Abed disappeared. Jeff mentioned stopping by every directing booth in the entire building to see if Abed had landed there-- he even grabbed a few pamphlets for him to flick through later. Finally, Abed gained the energy to stand up, and he walked down the hallway with his friends beside him and Troy’s fingers still laced with him.

            On his way out, Abed glanced at the clock on the wall-- twenty-two minutes and twelve seconds. Abed had been surrounded by his wonderfully chaotic family for the past twenty-two minutes, and he’d never felt more secure.

[blazeismyname]

AGHHH, STAY SAFEE PLEASEEE!!!! CARMILLA ISNT RWADY TO MAKE YOU A MECH YET!!!!! (Trynna stay ligh hearted but for real, stay safe!)

Also! Will be making a Master do as soon as possible since this thread is a mess! It will most likely be started around next week, before I start the actual writing (for clarity for myself and others who are desperately trying to keep track of this thread LMAO-)

I screamed like, multiple times throughout your post and have started literally growling when I get excited thinking about this btw, it's getting insane.

ANYWAYS!!! TOO MY IDIOT RANTS!

OHMIGOSH- Everyone being from different places in Europe all forming together at this castle... it leans so hard into the vibrant cast and misfit vibes they're giving off while also being kinda parallel to canon with all the Mechs being from different parts of space!!!! I'm consuming them allll.... Jonny and Nastya have to be adopted then because I refuse to think about French Jonny-

UGH AND CARMILLA THREATENING MAMA BEAR ON ANYONE WHO THINKS BRIAN BEING ODD IS BAD... IM FALLING TO ME KNEES AND SLAMMING THE GROUND AND SOBBING.... AND LIKE, THE IDEA OF AN OFF HANDED, "Grab me the wrech rust head." IS KILLINF ME- AND ALSO HER THREATENINF MARIUS BUT AINCE BRIAN IS SO KIND AND EVERYTHING HE JUST SHAKES HIS HEAD LIKE "Mama, please don't hurt anyone"

AGH, YOU PUT THEIR WHOLE RELATIONSHIP INTO WORDS BETTER AGHHH

TAHNKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU FOR COMPLIMWNTING MY WRITING, ILL GO INTO IN A BIT, BUT IT MEANS EVERYTHING

Agahgahghagagaggagghggg, Nastya telling Jonny sorry and tucks the rose.. Gravels and sobs... Carmilla probably hesitating from upstairs... Ugh, and Jonny feeling betrayed (he's not being betrayed, this is literally for the best) and he probably acted horribly to her after she does hee silly little magic glow (I LOVED THAT PART BTW)

UGH- AND BRIAN GETTING AUDITORY SENSORY OVERLOAD... GROWLS!!! It also makes me think about him mayhe having some physical sensory issues? Like, he's been through a lot of physical through, so maybe, even if his skin is now metal, he's more prone to shutting down with too much feelings or at certain feelings? Idk, just a thought

AND YES, BRIAN HELPING JONNY EITH HIS SENSORY ISSUES... THE AUTISTIC MEN......... UGHH...........

AND ALL FOURS JONNY HES JUST AGHHH... WHEN BRIAN MAKES IT TO THE ROSE (maybe, on a second thought, it's been a good time, and Aurora kinda guides him to it to show him how little time there is (its doesnt come acrosss sadly)) AND JONNY FINDS HIM AND GETS ON ALL FOURS.. ANGRILY GROWLING AND BRIAN FALLS TO THE GROUND, STSRTING TO CRY AS JONNY CLAWS FORWARD, SCREAMING AND YELLING!!!@ AND ALSO ITD REALLY HIT BRIAN IN THE TRAUMA- this is um... derailed from the all fours

Marius would absolutely. And somehow nobody notices until Lyf... Marius is bragging about his height, and Lyf is like, "Bastard, you are wearing shoes that are half your height to be taller. Nu uh."

UGH, AND THE SILLY CONFESSIONS!!! GROWLS-

Also, consider the garden being overruned until Brian comes along and fixes it because gardening Brian... ahgghgahdhbdnem

OH UH. I WAS SINGING LOST IN THE COSMOS AND HAD AN IDEA.. I CAN BARELY REMEMBER BUT I THINK IT HAD TO DO WITH HIM BEING LONELY. ILL EXXPAMD ON THAT LATER SINCE I FORGOR AND ITS GETTING LATE

Also, not talking about anything... Just want to say thank yall for putting up with my annoying autistic ass and every time you compliment my writing, it makes me feel so good. I have a kinda trauma (idk if it's really that??? It might be) with people I trusted going behind my back and calling my writing shit and to hear unbiased people say it's good makes me so fuckin happy... This whole thread also makes me feel part of something really fun and good and I'm so proud of everyone who contributed hehe

Anyways. Thanks. I'm gonna go post some doodles and get back to writinngggg

Beauty and the Beast, but it's the Mechanisms.

Jonny must be the beast because feral Jonny and the whole heart thing... prove me wrong.

Tim or Brian is Belle.

Rest of the Mechs are the servants in the Beast's house. With an exception for Marius as Gaston cause I can totally fucking see it. He would suck at it though because it's Marius. And also, short Marius HC.

This is probably not new. But it's been brewing in my head for a good few months, ever since I put my Mechs OC in the iconic Belle dress.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 7: Forget Everything You Know]

Hi y’all! I just wanted to take a moment to thank you all so much for reading and for showing me and my fics some love. You better believe that I see EVERY. SINGLE. reblog, comment, tag, and message, and they mean the absolute world to me! I know that a lot of content creators are frustrated and taking breaks right now, but rest assured you will not be able to get rid of me if even a SINGLE person looks forward to something I write. I’ll finish this fic (eventually), and I’ll finish the next one too (it already has a name!), and I won’t disappear or leave the Queen/BoRhap fandom at any point in the foreseeable future. Lots of love to you all, stay safe, and I hope you enjoy! 💜 💜 💜

Chapter summary: Y/N brings home some friends; Brian attempts an intervention; John draws a line; Roger gets an answer.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @bookandband​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

“Smile, everyone!” Your dad peeks through the viewfinder of the Canon F-1 and beams. “One...two...three...say Queen!”

“Queen!” you all shout gleefully. The flash illuminates the dining room, and you blink away momentary blindness. The table materializes back into vision: lobsters, clams, haddock chowder, sourdough bread, fried oysters, pierogis with Vermont cheddar cheese, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes...and, of course, Boston cream pie for dessert.

“Ah, perfection,” your dad sighs contently. “Please continue, Mr. Mercury.”

“Mr. Mercury!” Brian whines, incredulous. “Like he’s got a bloody PhD or something!”

Freddie cracks a lobster claw. He hasn’t taken his sunglasses or wrist-full of clanging bangles off all afternoon. Your parents are profoundly confused by him, but welcoming nonetheless. “I’m a professor of lusciousness. Pay attention and you could learn something.”

Brian rolls his eyes and dunks a hunk of sourdough bread into his chowder.

“So,” Freddie tells your mother between bites of lobster dripping with drawn butter. “Our darling damsel in distress was in the clutches of that horrid, dodgy wanker when none other than our very own Roger Meddows Taylor—”

“You weren’t even there!” Brian protests. “I wasn’t even there! This is, what, a third-hand account?!”

“Eat your soup, peasant. Thank you. Anyway, our beloved Roger comes raging out of nowhere, red-faced, nostrils flaring, a terrifying sight to behold, grabs this guy by his hair and slams his despicable face directly into a marble column. Broken nose, cracked orbital socket, blood everywhere! It was magnificent. I’ve never been more proud.”

“Good for you!” your mother cheers, patting the back of Roger’s hand encouragingly. He smiles at her, warmly, radiantly, like the wildfire he’s always reminded you of. And you marvel at how every human on this earth is made of the same fundamental components—blood and muscles and vessels and nerves, hearts and enigmatic brain matter and ribs, vulnerable parts, armored parts, all webbed together like nature’s own organic circuit board—and yet the marks they leave on you can feel so different: burns, scars, bruises, shadows, imprints that are deep enough to brush bone and never fade.

“Mom, the guy could have died!”

“Did he?” she asks innocently.

“Nope,” Roger says.

“Well then, Mr. Taylor here is a hero in my book.”

“Mr. Taylor!” Brian groans.

“I was petrified he would turn out to be the son of an executive or producer or something and the band would be ruined,” you say. “Fortunately he was just someone’s annoying frat brother from college who already had a reputation for being a sleazebag. So, we were in luck.”

“You were in luck that Mr. Taylor was there,” your mother points out, gazing at him dreamily. This delightful English boy is going to be my son-in-law and give me gorgeous, doe-eyed grandchildren, that look says.

“Yes, a literal superhero,” John says ruefully, sipping a Manhattan. Your dad has a passionate love for mixing cocktails, especially for guests who also happen to be rock stars.

“Mom. Don’t make his ego any bigger, please. I’m begging you.”

Roger snarls around a mouthful of Boston cream pie, sending your mom into a fit of giggles.

“I’m just glad you’re okay, dear.” She smooths your hair. “And that you have people to keep you safe all the way over there across the ocean, and that you’re happy.”

“Yes, your work environment is much improved, isn’t it?” Brian says. “That supervisor you had at the hospital was an absolute bear!”

Your dad strokes his short grey beard. “Well...” he admits. “That may have been my fault.”

Brian’s brow crinkles. “Really?”

Your mom turns to you. “You didn’t tell them?!”

“Oh, is there a scandalous backstory?” Freddie inquires, elated. “Do tell, darling!”  

“Once upon a time, in a kingdom far far away—just kidding, it was here in Boston—my archnemesis Patricia and my dad dated.”

Roger drops his fork, appalled. “No!”

Freddie’s nose wrinkles in revulsion. “Why?!”

Your dad rocks back in his chair and laughs loudly, heartily. “She wasn’t always so cantankerous, if you can believe it. She was a sweet girl, wonderful even. But then I met my future wife, and...” He smirks guiltily. “What can I say? The heart wants what it wants!”

You nod along. “And I got the illustrious honor of being an outlet for the frustration stemming from Patricia’s lifelong unrequited love.”

“You saucy minx!” Freddie playfully lashes your mom’s shoulder with a cloth napkin. “Homewrecker!”

She chuckles, not the least bit offended. “People get together under all sorts of strange circumstances, and you know what? You can’t wreck a home if the home wasn’t already half-wrecked before you got there, that’s what I think.”

Roger raises his Patriot’s Punch. “I’ll drink to that.”

Brian clutches his New England Express, bewildered. “Are we...toasting to infidelity?”

“Oh, does that horrify you?” Rog asks sarcastically. Brian grimaces, but dutifully raises his glass.

“We’re toasting to love,” your dad clarifies. “However it comes, as long as it’s true.”

John holds his Manhattan aloft. “To love.”

Freddie clinks his Flying Elvis against the other beverages, including your parents’ wine glasses and your Cranberry Crush. “Cheers!” Then Fred glances at the clock and swiftly polishes off his slice of Boston cream pie.

“Can’t you all stay a little longer?” your mom pleads, collecting plates and gazing longingly at Roger. “This has been so much fun...”

“They have soundcheck at seven, Mom. We have to leave for the stadium soon.”

“Well, before you jet off to your next adventure, can I treat anyone to a long distance call?” your dad asks.

Brian perks up. “Really?!” You know there’s a ring in the future for Chrissie; not an expensive or extravagant ring (not that Chris would want that anyway), but a ring nonetheless. You know because Brian has taken you shopping to help him choose one.

“Of course! You can use the phone in my office. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all. I’m sure there are some lovely ladies back in jolly old England who would be over the moon to hear from you.”

“That would be very much appreciated!” Brian says. “And thank you so much, this has been such a treat, you have no idea how long it’s been since we had a proper homemade meal.”

“I had to rehabilitate the reputation of us Yankees, didn’t I? Now come on, Mr. May, I’ll show you to the office...”

“Mr. May...I like the sound of that!”

“Ten minutes, Bri!” Freddie calls, following them down the hallway. “Then it’s my turn...!”

You begin gathering up the empty glasses, but Roger promptly snatches them away. “No way, Boston babe. You go relax. I’ll help your mom.”

“I think she’s in love with you.”

He grins. “Do you have a secret stepdaddy fetish I could exploit?”

“Oh my god. Roger.”

He snickers and sweeps off into the kitchen. It’s only then that you realize John has disappeared. You check the kitchen, the living room, the hallway, the study, and finally the front porch; John is standing outside in the cold, smoking and watching the setting sun. The sky is threaded with cerulean, rust orange, lavender, indigo. You pull on your coat and go out to join him.

“We’ll make it to Florence one of these days,” you promise John, resting your arms on the wooden, white-painted porch railing. Your mother hung baskets of fresh flowers for the band’s visit, which swing lazily in the breeze. “Crank out a few more hits and we’ll get the record company to add it to the tour itinerary.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice.”

“Are you going to call Veronica?”

He shrugs, frowns, exhales a lungful of smoke into frigid New England air. “I don’t know if I should.”

“You don’t think she’d like that?” you ask, confounded.

“I think she might like it too much.”

“Ohhhhh.” You read his soft greyish eyes, which are faraway and somber, sad even. “I’m sorry, John. You know she’s wild about you.”

“I know it.” He takes a drag off his cigarette. “She’s the first person who ever was, actually. The first person who ever noticed me. Came up to me out of the blue at a disco and asked me to dance, me! So I said yes, like you do when you’re the guy nobody notices. And then I said yes again, and again, and again, until one day I realized...oh, this girl thinks we’re getting married. When the hell did that happen?”

“I noticed you,” you contest.  

John chuckles and nods. “You did,” he agrees. “Right away. Tried to win me over when I was too nervous to finish a sentence around you. But that was long after I’d met Veronica.”

“Well, you can’t break up with her tonight. On Valentine’s Day?! That would be traumatic.”

“Agreed.”

“We’ll have a few days in London between the American and Asian legs of the tour. You can think it over and decide what to do then. I’m happy to arrange the getaway taxi if that’s something that interests you.”

“Yeah.” Again, he peers out into the Western horizon, into rising stars.

“John?”

Now he looks to you. He’s a little too thoughtful, too low. There’s something you’re not seeing.

“...Is there somebody else?”

He doesn’t speak; he just stares at you with those velvety azure-grey eyes, drums his fingers against the railing, lets the ash from his cigarette crumble into the snow-dusted Blue Pacific Junipers.

Roger barrels through the front door and out onto the porch. “There you are, Deaks! I thought we were going to have to find a new bassist. Enlist Nurse Nightingale’s mum or something.”

John smirks and crushes the rest of his cigarette in your father’s ashtray. “I suspect you’d do just fine without me.”

“Oh no. No way. Not happening.”

“That’s kind of you,” John says, unconvinced.

“Here, I’ll prove it.” Rog holds out his calloused hand. “If you ever leave, I leave too. Come on, Deaks, shake on it. It’s official. It’s a pact. There’s no Queen without John Deacon.”

Reluctantly, trying not to show how pleased he is, John shakes. “Alright.”

Roger grins triumphantly. “Signed, sealed, delivered. You’re ours for life, baby.”

“Deaky, do you want the phone?!” Freddie yells from inside the house.

John sighs and exchanges a knowing glance with you. “I guess I should say hi.”

“Okay, but quickly!” Rog presses. “We gotta go!”

“So bossy...” John ducks inside; and Roger, though he’s not wearing anything over his pale pink button-up shirt—sufficiently sophisticated to impress your parents—comes to the porch railing to join you.

“You’re not staying out here, are you?” You eye his thin shirt worriedly, the goosebumps rising over his collarbones, his bare forearms where he rolled up his sleeves to help your mom wash the dishes.

He tosses you a mischievous wink. “I’ve got no one to call.”

Roger looks up at the hanging baskets of flowers, plucks out a cerise carnation, and offers it to you. You mean to say something witty, something sardonic, something that will make him laugh; but all your words vanish into cold February air. You take the carnation, smiling helplessly.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Roger whispers.

You just let me know if you ever change your mind, okay?

Okay.

He turns to go back inside the house.

I won’t fall in love with him. I won’t fall in love with him. I won’t fall in love with him.

Then Roger pauses in the doorway. “You coming, Boston babe? I can’t have you catching pneumonia or something. I won’t know how to fix you.”

Oh, you realize, with horror and yet relief, all those grueling lies stripped away. It’s too late.

~~~~~~~~~~

You knock on the frame of the dressing room door. “Hi Bri!”

He glances over from where he sits in front of the mirror, rimming his eyes with inky liner. Soundcheck went swimmingly, and now Queen has thirty minutes until they need to be onstage. You can hear the disembodied reverberation of voices from the waiting crowd through the walls. “Hello, love. Come in.”

“Freddie said you needed to see me. Did you rip a sleeve or something? I brought my kit—”

“No, it’s not that.” He pats the chair beside him. The boys practically always get ready together before a show, but you suspect profoundly introverted Brian is experiencing one of his post-socialization crashes after dinner with your parents. Something about him is tired, very tired, almost drained to empty. “Join me.”

“Sure,” you say cautiously. You shove your medical kit onto the countertop and then reach to feel his forehead. “Are you feeling alright...?”

“I’m fine, love. I just have a favor to ask.”

“Anything.”

Brian sighs deeply, sets down the eyeliner, swivels his chair towards you. “I need you to promise me that you’re not going to start seeing Roger.”

You titter, deflecting, brushing Brian’s hair away from his troubled, angular face. “Well, as the official Queen touring nurse, I see him quite a lot.”

Brian catches your wrist. “I’m being serious.”

Now your brow knits into tight agitated lines. “I’m curious as to why you think that’s something you have a say in.”

“Bloody hell, I’m not trying to offend you—”

“Job well done.”

“Dear, please, listen to me—”

“Eight months,” you hiss through your teeth as you tear away from him. “For eight months I’ve listened and avoided and resisted and ignored and it’s not going away.”

“Oh, fuck,” Brian breathes in despair. “You love him.”

There are tears biting in the periphery of your vision; you don’t want them to be there, but they are. Your voice is hoarse and trembling. “Bri, please don’t.”

Brian shakes his head and motions with his hands frenetically, desperately, trying to make you understand. “Look, sometimes...sometimes the people we love, the people who own us, the people who fucking set us on fire...they’re not the people we end up with. And that’s not always a bad thing. It’s necessary. It’s self-preservation. Because sometimes the people who set us on fire would burn us alive.”

You gape at him, furious, stunned. “That’s just fantastic, Brian. You’re a true romantic. Jesus christ, does Chrissie know about this? Is that why you’re with her, because she’s, what...safe?!”

“No, that’s not fair, Chrissie’s great, she’s steady and supportive and she’ll make a wonderful mother one day, and my parents adore her—”

“Those aren’t reasons to marry someone, Brian!”

“They are!” He leaps to his feet. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! You have to think about these things, you have to be rational, you have to protect yourself—”

“Why the fuck do you care?” you flare bitterly.

“Because you saved my life.”

“Stop it, I didn’t.”

“You did, I truly believe that. And I want you to stay with the band. And I want you to be happy. But, dear, please, I’m begging you...this is not the way to do it.”

“I’m not going to go out to some pub and drag home a random guy who’s suitably passionless and predictable enough to be Brian-May-approved.”

“That’s not what I’m asking you to do—”

“Because you’re such an expert on relationships!” you shout, exasperated. “Planning to propose to Chris while you’re still secretly pining over some fling from New Orleans, fucking groupies and then having the nerve to mope around guilt-ridden the next morning as if anyone but you was responsible for that decision, and do I say anything about it?! Do I ever say a single fucking word about it to you, or Fred, or Roger, or your future wife, or anybody?! No, because it’s not my life!”

The dressing room door flies open and John storms inside. “What’s going on?!”

You cross your arms and stare at the floor. Brian’s wide green eyes flick to John, to you, back to John. If it was Freddie, Brian would tell him in a second, would try to enlist him in the effort, and it would probably work; but John is a different story. John won’t side with Brian over you, everybody knows that. And John has a talent for sharpening words into blades. “Um. Nothing.”  

“I could hear you in the hallway,” John says flatly. “Obviously it wasn’t nothing.”

Brian points to you. “Have you tried to talk her out of this? Maybe you should, maybe she’d listen.”

“It’s not my choice to make, just like it isn’t yours. Worry about your own body count. It seems to be growing exponentially these days.”

Brian scoffs. “Because you’d be so thrilled if she ended up with him, right?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” you demand.

Brian and John glare at each other from across the room. John raises his eyebrows, daring Bri to answer. Brian gnaws his lower lip, but doesn’t elaborate. The air is heavy, tense, electrified.  

“Don’t upset her again,” John says darkly.

Brian shows the white palms of his hands in surrender. “Fine.”

John waves for you to follow him. “Come on.” And he slams the door behind you as you both escape into the hallway.

“I’m sorry.” You chase away stray tears with the back of your hands. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to get anyone worked up right before the show...”

“Don’t worry about it. I treasure any excuse to harass Brian.”

You study him, seeking answers, seeking more than you know how to put into words. “Do you think I’m being stupid? If you do, you can tell me.”

“No,” John responds carefully. “I think you’re being hopeful. And I’d like to believe that stupidity and hopefulness are two very different things.”

You smile. “I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s very inaccurate.” He fluffs his hair with his fingertips. “Do you want to touch it before we go on stage?”

You feign demureness. “Hmm...”

“Oh come on. You know you want to. It’s extra voluminous right now, Roger shared some of his magical mousse or whatever. Something way too expensive. You should thoroughly berate him for it.”

You laugh. “I’ll see what I can do.” You comb your hands through his brunette hair, and John’s right; it’s extraordinarily full and soft, and smells like honeysuckles. “You always know how to get me smiling, don’t you?”

“You do insist that I have game. Though I remain skeptical.”

“Good luck tonight. Not that you need it.”

John’s rough thumb lifts your chin, then whisks away a tear you missed. “You’ll be watching, right?”

“I always am.” And that’s the truth; you haven’t missed a Queen show since you met them.

He beams, those gentle grey eyes incandescent. “Then we’ll have an ocean of luck.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Exactly twenty-four hours later, Queen is in New York City.

The thunderous bassline of the opening act shudders through the concrete walls. You’re staring yourself down in the bathroom mirror under harsh florescent lights, your palms gripping the cold rim of a white sink, your eyes shimmering with black and gold shadow, your lip gloss slick and crimson. There’s not a single thing left to do. You’re running out of time.

You breathe in, breathe out, snatch your purse off the floor, breeze out into the hallway.

You can hear the boys’ laughter even before you open the dressing room door. Inside, Brian is tuning his Red Special with his mantis-like legs propped up on the countertop, John is attempting to teach Freddie how to make popcorn in a microwave without setting anything on fire, Roger is scrutinizing his hair in the mirror and frowning as he rearranges it with a comb.  

“Hello, darling!” Freddie warbles. “Can I interest you in some delicious and expertly-prepared popcorn?” He opens the microwave, and smoke pours out. “Oh, you bitch!”

“I’ll pass, Freddie.” You glide to where Roger is sitting, knot your fingers through his blond hair, and tug his head back so you can kiss him. He tastes like mint gum and the ghost of smoke and reckless intemperance; he tastes like everything you’ve ever wanted. There are gasps, and surely dropped jaws as well; but you don’t have eyes for them. “Okay,” you tell Roger.

He stares up at you with huge, starry eyes, a dazed grin slowly lighting up his face. “You changed your mind.”

“Come find me after the show.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You move to wipe your blood-red gloss from his lips, but Roger stops you, knits his hand through yours, stands to meet you.

“Leave it,” he murmurs. “I want them to know.”  

“Want them to know...?”

His lips touch yours again, smiling and scorching and ravenous. “That I’m yours.”

[fistsoflightning]

stories you want to write...

...but for some reason haven’t yet.

tagged by: @to-the-voiceless​!!! thank you cyan for giving me the opportunity to dump out my slightly dusty idea doc onto everyone’s dash sdgsndfnsdfn

tagging: hmmm... @windupnamazu​ (double tag yes yes) @whitherliliesbloom​ @windup-dragoon​ @heirsofdiscord​ @ancientechos​ and you! as you can see, i like fic concepts >:3c

1) okay, so. there’s a section of my idea doc that’s labeled ‘azim steppe shenanigans’ because i Can and Will rewrite as much of the azim steppe MSQ as i please including characterization (yes i’m looking at magnai) ANYWAYS. top idea of the list, which is also the one i want to write The Most, is the naadam duty rewrite! catch me on the ‘why is the wol the khagan of a land they probably don’t even belong to’ train, more news on how zaya and oktai beat up hien at 11. or whenever i get around to writing it since it has Combat and i’m. not the best at it. honorable mentions to the pre-canon sadu, magnai, and zaya tearing through bardam’s mettle fic and the solar eclipse remix that i don’t currently have the energy for ;W; sorry oktai and magnai you’ll have to reside in “are we actually. dating.” hell for a bit longer

2) second on this list is the ‘ysayle lives’ fic!!! honestly there is a whole ass series sitting in my idea doc that also includes moenbryda, papalymo, and maaaybe bad-end flavored minfilia lives? but the ysayle one is like. 60% done but i need to trash and restart since i don’t. like it that much. highlights include: ysayle but a little more dragon flavored, separation of iceheart vs. ysayle, and gratuitous earth imagery versus the ice of coerthas

oh god okay im sticking the rest under a cut this got. Long

3) there is also a section of my doc labeled ‘angst elie isn’t allowed to have as a treat’ because at this point all of mom squad deserves to swing a bat straight for my head, buuut the idea i’m looking at is lightwarden au related! funtimes. ehsk al, anyone? (yes that means either promised love or love’s promise in dragonspeak. yes there’s a reason for this.) the line keeping this idea’s spot is: “ thancred climbs up mt. gulg one final time to meet the mourning dragon.” :)))

4) i want to go more into the various different cultures of my wols!!! i detest the lack of ala mhigan lore (monk lore too. i’m Salty about SB) which is why i haven’t gone into dewah’s family that much but i have an idea and some minor worldbuilding in the making? there’s also lumelle, whose emotions on ishgard are (as all emotions are) complicated, and zaya, who hasn’t been home in a literal decade give or take. i have to think real hard for it tho sdgnsdfsd that’s why they’ve been collecting dust for months.

4.1) the amount of hrothgar and viera lore is also criminal. don’t make me homebrew more lore squeenix give us Actual Lore. duscha and valdis deserve More.

5) okay i. i am very embarrassed by this but i have a longfic draft for a fic that at this point legally has to be tagged “slow burn, if by slow burn you mean 18 years” whenever i finish enough to be able to start posting it and YES ITS ZAYA AND THANCRED. 

yeah. i know. this has been haunting me since ffxivwrite last year-ish. it is also very D U S T Y but it has about 15 different ideas i’ve just mass dumped into it and i despise it and myself. additionally some ardbert feelings slipped into the SHB bits and i’m. maybe unrequited ardbert/zaya.... mayhaps

6) i love carbuncles and i love dt’s writing about the carbuncles which may have led to the thought bunny “what if: black opal carbuncle for zaya’s nameday” and it has haunted me but since zaya’s nameday in real time was a day off from the 5.3 drop it promptly got buried under all the ideas i got from 5.3

7) SPEAKING OF 5.3 CONTENT: carmela predicted correctly that i would like the ‘you’re a long way from home, moogle’ interaction you get if you choose the option that has kupo when talking with thancred and i’m possessed. i want to write something surrounding zaya’s honorary postmoogle title and thancred finding out they spent three weeks delivering eorzea’s mail.... there’s a bunch of canon rewrites but for multiple WOLs i’d like to do but i’m Tired

8) rhmrhrr.... AU time! main street au is still haunting my bones and i want to write more because mom squad spent like. an hour talking about how it’s just like dime store romance fiction amassed into an entire au and there’s a certain flowershop romance i need to write >:3 there’s also the ol’ CHB AU hanging around Somewhere and a very small part of me that craves to keep writing hanahaki au which is just slowburn 2.0

9) OH WAIT. i have Exactly One idea that’s mostly npc-based which is just me having feelings about the going-ons of norvrandt before the WOL is summoned, mostly revolving around ryne/baby-filia which i think? will have four parts? it’s really just me worldbuilding with norvrandt and having a great time. i scribbled down a beginning to try and shake off some rust (it did not really work) but:

10) honorable mention goes to the ‘zaya, thancred, and co. give ryne a nameday celebration despite her not really having a nameday’ idea and to this, which never fails to give me a chuckle when i read it in my idea doc:

[iknow-theend]

I'm sitting here actually thinking about what they did to Dean and I feel physically sick

He's death was a fucking joke

He never got to write his own story like he's always fucking wanted but Sam did... Jesus Christ Dean, I know your not a real person but I feel like I have to say im so fucking sorry

AND A RUST METAL PIPE REALLY BITCH REALLY

[fandomn00blr]

Writing Whatever Whatsitday

Thinking of all the wonderful folks who have tagged me into things lately and hoping you all are doing well... @serial-chillr, @eranehn, @dafan7711, @paraparadigm, @lostinfantasies38​. If you, or anyone else have life updates or things you wanna share, consider this an open and enthusiastic invitation! ❤️

Finding the time/energy for fic writing, or doing anything for my own simple enjoyment, has been hard lately. But at night, to wind down, I’ve been replaying and thinking about DA2 (again...always) very slowly. During early Act I, I decided Hawke would probably try to take the whole Jeven thing into her own hands after hearing him berate her best friend during “The Way It Should Be” (I mean, did you SEE Hawke’s dumb scheming face during that cut scene?). So instead of finishing that quest, I wrote this last night before passing out. It’s real rough and flows like an awkward salamander, but like...it’s a thing I wrote, I guess?

Hawke’s whole face is beginning to turn black and blue and shades of purple. Her lip is busted open and her left eye is practically swollen all the way shut, but she’s smiling wide and giggling as Aveline approaches her cell.

“You look and sound like a lunatic,” Aveline informs her as she begins picking through a jingling mass of old rusting keys.

“Good!” Hawke laughs even louder, and then winces because she has at least one busted rib, she thinks. “Here, allow me…”

Aveline rolls her eyes as Hawke reaches down and pulls a small stiletto knife from a sleeve inside her boot and proceeds to pick the lock to her cell.

“Show off,” she grumbles with a fond little smirk.

Hawke beams up triumphantly at her as something inside the lock grinds against her knife and the heavy iron door swings open with a loud clang.

“A kind benefactor has posted your bail, and something tells me no official charges will be filed.”

“Did you get what you needed?”

“We shall see.” Aveline looks smug as hell for a moment, reveling in what she’s about to do, but then she glances back over at Hawke, her brows furrowing with concern. “Thank you. You didn’t need to do this.”

“It was fun.” She shrugs. “After the way he spoke to you the other day, I’m just sorry you couldn’t be there to throw the first punch. You should’ve seen his face, Aveline...”

“I hope you’ll be heading directly to Anders’ clinic?”

“Maybe after a drink.”

“I think you’ve had enough fun tonight, don’t you think?”

“Is it still tonight?”

“Just barely.” Aveline chuckles.

Varric is waiting for her outside the Keep. Hawke can’t help alternating between laughing at her own incomprehensible “jokes” about Jeven and the size of his genitals and cursing about her injuries. It had hardly been a fair fight by the time Aveline had gotten there with reinforcements to break them up. But Hawke had known just what to do and to say to get the hot-headed Guard-Captain fuming about his role in setting Guardsmen Donnic up. And there had been plenty of witnesses to hear him threaten her on behalf of the Coterie while his lackeys took turns swinging and kicking at her to really drive the point home.

“Shit! Hawke, are you alright?” Varric asks. “I heard you got your ass kicked, but…”

“I’m fiiiiinnne.” She waves dismissively before her face scrunches back up again into a pained grimace. She really should’ve figured out by now that her body is not happy about twisting that way.

“Well, I’ve already asked Blondie to meet us at Gamlen’s place to patch you up.”

“Oh, we can’t go there. Mother will see me like this, and…” She knows it’s ridiculous that she, a grown woman, who has killed enough people to lose count, has worked as a soldier, a smuggler, and a mercenary, is fearful of her mother’s reaction to her getting in a fist fight with the soon-to-be-former Captain of the City Guard and spending half a night in jail, but she’s in no state to pretend she doesn’t still crave her mother’s approval. She can already hear the lecture...how it doesn’t help her case, their case, for the reinstatement of the Amell family’s status when her oldest child makes a public scene getting herself into fights she can’t win with the scum of Lowtown...what would her father have thought of her bringing this kind of attention on their family and risking Bethany’s safety? What kind of example was she setting for Carver?! As if Carver weren’t himself an adult who’d seen his own fair share of fighting and death.

“She already knows.”

“Ugh, Bethany?”

Varric shrugs.

“She always was such a tattle tale!”

Aveline clears her throat and nods them toward Lowtown. She is grateful for Hawke’s contribution to her cause, but she still has to gather her fellow Guardsmen and present the evidence to Seneschal Bran before they can make the arrest.

“While Jeven’s licking his wounds, I’ve got some matters to attend to, if you both don’t mind heading straight home, and avoiding any more trouble?” She looks pointedly at Varric.

“Git ‘im, Aveline…” Hawke gives her a hopelessly crooked smile and grasps her arm.

“That’s the plan, Hawke.” She nods.

“Sure you don’t need anything else from me, Red?”

“I’m sure I told you not to call me that.”

“Fine, fine. Alright, then. I’ll just see that this one makes it home safely without punching anyone else in the face.”

“Thank you.”

[lucacangettathisass]

How The Light Gets In (ch.5)

SUMMARY: After your home is ransacked by a group of strange men, you and your cousin are taken in by a group of outlaws. And that’s when the trouble really starts.

PAIRINGS: John Marston x Fem!Reader, Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

CHAPTER ONE, CHAPTER TWO, CHAPTER THREE, CHAPTER FOUR

TAGGING: @mountainhymn if you would like to be tagged in future chapters please lmk!

NOTES: What’s that sound you ask? Why, that’s the sound of me shooting myself in the goddamn foot for not watching a playthrough of chapter one to actually see what happens so I can write everything out accurately. oh well. description of stitching up a wound in this chapter, don’t know if it’s entirely accurate but i did feel a little nauseous while writing it so just a warning (of course im already sick so that might have something to do with it but eh). as always reblogs and feedback is greatly appreciated, if you like the work, share it!

Later, you learned that the man Mr Morgan had brought back with him, Mr Duffy, claimed to have only been with the O’Driscolls for a few months, and that he hated their leader, Colm, as much as the rest of the gang. However, Mr Van Der Linde appeared to be unconvinced, and decreed that poor Mr Duffy was to be tied up in the barn with some of the other horses, and denied all food and drink.

You felt rather sorry for him. After all, he was on a snow-covered mountain, surrounded by enemies that were heavily armed. The least that Mr Van Der Linde could do was allow him some comforts, at least in your mind.

When you shared these thoughts with Sadie that night, quietly, and away from the other women, her mouth contorted into a cruel sneer. You knew it wasn’t meant for you, but you flinched all the same. “He’s an O’Driscoll.” She snarled. “You don’t owe him nothin’, least of all your pity.”

Maybe she was right. Sadie always said you had a bad habit of wanting to fix people. But then you thought of the look of terror on Mr Duffy’s face when he saw Mr Van Der Linde, like he truly thought he was about to meet his maker, and you couldn’t find it within yourself to hate him the way you hated the O’Driscolls that had taken advantage of your willingness to help them, and killed Jake. Those men had been made of something meaner than whatever it was Mr Duffy had in him.

You hoped he would live long enough to prove you right.

“I ain’t waitin’ any longer.”

You looked up Miss Roberts, pausing in your braiding of Sadie’s hair. “Miss Roberts?”

If she heard you she showed no reaction, just wrung her hands and paced. “It’s been too long, someone should be out there looking for him.”

“That ain’t your decision to make.” Miss Grimshaw said sternly, lighting herself a cigarette.

“Hosea said he would send someone out if John wasn’t back, and he ain’t back!” Miss Roberts argued, with more force than you expected.

“Miss Roberts,” you started gently, “I’m sure Mr Matthews is already organising to have someone go out looking for him. He understands how worried you are.”

This seemed to placate Miss Roberts somewhat, but she was still clearly fretful. “I-I just don’t like it is all. It’s cold out there, and who knows what kind of trouble he could get into.”

She had a point. The cold and thick snow alone were causes for concern, but you knew that wolves lurked on the mountain range as well, and you had heard whispers of a deadly gang hiding out in one of the more remote parts of the wilderness. You had a hard time deciding which would be worse to run into.

Just as you felt the hairs on your body rise, the door opened before quickly closing, heralding the arrival of what could only be more gang members. It was odd, how quickly you had adjusted to being around outlaws.

You recognized Mr Morgan, Mr Matthews, and the well-groomed man, and they were handing out bowls of the same warm soup from the day before. The well-groomed man approached you and Sadie, a bowl in each hand.

“Thank you.” You said, taking both and handing one to Sadie.

“Arthur!” Miss Roberts was almost immediately at Mr Morgan’s side. “H-How you doing?”

Mr Morgan raised an eyebrow before giving Miss Roberts, Jack, and Miss Jackson bowls of soup. “Just fine Abigail. And you?”

“I need you to-” Miss Roberts was momentarily cut off by Mr Morgan scoffing slightly, but she remained undeterred. “I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry to ask-”

“It’s little John.” Mr Morgan sounded partly exasperated, partly amused, which confused you a little. “He’s got himself caught into a scrape again.”

To say you were surprised at Mr Morgan’s apparent lack of concern would be an understatement, and made you wonder what kind of relationship the two men had. But then, you knew men had a tendency to conceal how they truly felt, even about those they cared about, with very few exceptions.

“He ain’t been seen in two-” Miss Roberts cut herself off as her voice rose, and you could see her make a mighty effort to calm herself. “In two days.”

“Your John’ll be fine.” Mr Morgan insisted. “I mean, he may be as dumb as rocks, and as dull as rusted iron, but that ain’t changing because he got caught in some snowstorm!”

You exchanged a glance with Sadie, and she also seemed surprised at how blase Mr Morgan was being.

“At least go take a look.” Everyone turned their attention to Mr Matthews. “Javier?”

For a moment you were confused, before you heard a “Yes?”, and realized that it had come from the well-groomed man. This made you realize that he was none other than Javier Escuella, the Mexican man Miss Grimshaw had told you about.

“Javier, will you ride out with Arthur, to take a look for John?” Mr Matthews looked from Mr Morgan to Mr Escuella. “You’re the two best fit men we’ve got.”

“Now?” Mr Escuella sounded reluctant, but whether that was because of the conditions or his own feelings towards his missing comrade you couldn’t say.

“She’s...we’re all...we’re pretty worried about him.” Mr Matthews put a hand on Miss Roberts’s shoulder, and you were touched at the show of affection.

Mr Escuella nodded, his previous reluctance apparently forgotten as he approached Mr Morgan. “I know if the situation were reversed and…” He handed Mr Morgan a gun, which you had no idea he had on him, and your eyes widened at the sight of it. “He’d look for me.”

Mr Morgan sighed, but he took the gun from Mr Escuella all the same, and the two men made for the door.

“Thank you!” Miss Roberts smiled, and it warmed your heart to see it.

“Mr Morgan!” You spoke before you could stop yourself, just as Mr Escuella had his hand on the door handle. “You-you can borrow Gladys if you want.”

Mr Morgan seemed surprised at the offer and raised a brow. “You think she’ll let me?”

“I think she knows how she should behave from now on.” You said confidently. “Just-just tell her I said to let you ride her.”

Mr Morgan appeared skeptical, but he nodded, and with a short burst of cold air, he and Mr Escuella were gone.

“Is Papa coming home?” Jack looked up at his mother, eyes filled with hope.

“Here’s hoping.” Abigail sat back down and brought her son into her lap, cradling him.

“Gonna need more than hope.” Sadie said.

“Sadie!” You scolded, glancing back at Jack to see his reaction.

“What? You know I’m right.” She looked at everyone else. “That’s rough terrain out there, even without a snowstorm. Throw in the animals that are out there, and those boys are gonna have their work cut out for them.”

You frowned, wholly disapproving of Sadie’s pessimism. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.” You said, with more firmness than you usually use. You smiled kindly at Jack and Miss Roberts. “Mr Morgan and Mr Esceualla sound like very capable men, I doubt they’ll have much trouble.”

Sadie made a noise of skepticism but said nothing, possibly sensing your displeasure.

Even if what she said was true, that didn’t mean she had to say it.

-

As the hours ticked by, you became more and more anxious, wondering what had befallen Mr Morgan and Mr Escuella in their search for their friend. You occasionally glanced over at Miss Roberts and Jack to see how they were feeling, but they were being comforted by Mr Matthews so you had no real cause for concern.

The whole time you thought of Sadie’s words. You had always tried to be optimistic, after all, people who are positive are far more pleasant to be around than those that aren’t, but you couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that she was right. That perhaps the worst had happened, and that Mr Morgan and Mr Escuella would return with a corpse. If they returned at all.

Just as the world outside got darker and you were beginning to consider turning to prayer, you heard yelling from outside. You couldn’t make out what was being said, but you had a feeling you knew what was afoot.

You watched as Mr Matthews and Miss Roberts rushed outside, Jack only being held back because of Miss Jackson. You all exchanged glances, and seemed to be holding a single collective breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

After what had felt like entirely too long, the door swung open, revealing a relieved Mr Matthews. That was promising.

“He’s gonna need your help Susan.” He said to Miss Grimshaw. He seemed to pause before turning to you. “Are burned hands all you can treat?”

A little surprised, it took you a moment to register that he had said and formulate a response. “I-No. I can do other things too.”

“What about scratches? Deep ones. From animals.”

You swallowed. “I have a friend who likes to hunt.” You said. “I’ve had to fix him up plenty of times.”

This seemed to be enough for Mr Matthews and he nodded. “You can come help too then.”

Despite being somewhat hesitant, you nodded. When you stood, you felt a hand on yours. You looked down and saw Sadie giving you a stern look. “You don’t have to help everyone who asks.” She said in a low voice.

“We owe them.” You reminded her. “I’ll be fine.” You gave her hand a reassuring pat before pulling away, following Miss Grimshaw out into the snow.

You managed to catch a glimpse of Gladys, and noticed that she was tied to the hitching post. You vaguely wondered if she was behaving because she knew how bad the situation was, and if she would go back to her usual ways once you were all out of the woods.

The building across from the one you were staying in with the other women was just as dubious looking as all the others, and only a little larger. You supposed that there were men than women in this gang, which didn’t really surprise you.

Once inside, you hung back a little, not wanting to overly insert yourself in what was clearly a delicate matter. You stayed at the edge of the small group that had formed, unable to see past them.

“Come on now, let Susan get a good look at him.” Mr Matthews said, urging everyone to stand aside. “Looks like he’ll need some stitches and a splint for the leg.”

The group parted, allowing Miss Grimshaw to get closer, and you tentatively followed behind.

Lying on a cot against the back wall was a tall, wiry looking man, with dark hair, and three deep cuts on his face. He was looking up at Miss Grimshaw before his dark eyes traveled to you. “Who’s this?” He asked, voice raspy and hoarse.

“[Name] [Surname].” Mr Matthews said. “She and her cousin Sadie will be with us for a while. [Name], meet John Marston.”

“How do you do Mr Marston.”

Mr Marston snorted.

You swallowed nervously. “Do-do we have any morphine? Or anything else that could ease the pain?”

“No.” Miss Grimshaw said, with surprising sharpness. “He’s going to have to cope without.”

Her reaction was confusing but you didn’t have time to dwell on it as a bottle of whiskey was quickly produced.

Miss Grimshaw uncorked the bottle and poured the contents over the bloody wounds, making Mr Marston clench his jaw and cringe.

You instinctively put a hand on his arm and gently squeezed. “It will be over soon.” You said soothingly.

“What happened to him?” You heard Miss Roberts ask.

“Wolves apparently.” Mr Morgan said, with a surprising amount of annoyance. “Couldn’t seem to be able to handle them on his own.”

“And his horse?”

“Wolves got her.” Mr Marston replied through clenched teeth. “Broke my leg when I got to the ledge where Arthur and Javier found me.”

You gazed at Mr Marston in amazement. Through freezing cold, a broken leg, wolves, and no doubt starvation, he managed to hold onto life. You couldn’t imagine the kind of mental fortitude that would require. ‘He’s so brave.’ You thought breathlessly. ‘Incredible…’

You watched as Miss Grimshaw stopped pouring the whiskey and got out a needle and thread. She sanitized the needle with a few drops of the alcohol before passing over to you. “Go on.” She said. “Let’s see what you can do.”

Now feeling every pair of eyes on you, you took the needle and thread, turning back to Mr Marston as you knelt beside him. “You’ve done very well so far.” You said.

He snorted again. “I ain’t done nothing.”

“You’ve survived.” You pointed out. “I wouldn’t call that nothing.”

You threaded the needle and tied off the end before leaning in closer to Mr Marston. It was obvious that the wounds would leave lasting scars, but if you did this right, then they shouldn’t be too bad. You would dare say that they would add a certain level of mystique and intrigue to him, as even while he was in this state you knew he was very handsome.

‘Stop it.’ You told yourself. ‘He already has someone. Now focus you silly girl.’

You lined up the needle as carefully as you could. “Let me know if it gets to be too much.” You said softly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Mr Marston gave no reaction that time.

Slowly, you pierced the skin, leading the needle and thread through the gaping wound, pulling out the other end and giving a slight tug to make sure it was properly taut and closed. You looked at Mr Marston, and saw that his jaw was once again clenched, and his knuckles were now white from gripping the cot. But he made no sound, and barely moved a muscle.

You continued with the stitches, silently in awe of the constitution Mr Marston had. You had no doubt that he had acquired it over his time as an outlaw, but it impressed you nonetheless. However, you were still careful in your movements to make sure you didn’t cause him any more pain, and made sure to watch what you were doing. Dexterity wasn’t something you lacked, far from it really, but you knew to still be cautious and make sure the thread didn’t tangle or get caught or leave too much of a gap for the wound to heal properly.

“You’re very lucky.” You said as you were close to completing the last stitch. “Things could have been much worse.”

Mr Marston grunted. “Sure don’t feel lucky.” He said, moving his jaw as little as possible so you could finish up the stitch properly.

“Don’t coddle him too much now Miss.” You heard Mr Morgan say from somewhere behind you. “Dutch does that enough.”

A sharp look came over Mr Marston’s features, but it was soon gone.

The dynamic between the two men continued to puzzle you, although you supposed you would be able to make more sense of it over time.

You tied off the last bit of thread and cut off the excess so that it wouldn’t irritate Mr Marston. You gently took his face and turned it slightly at different angles, to see if there was anything else that needed treating. You kept your touch feather light as your fingers skimmed over Mr Marston’s skin, looking for anything that might be a cause for concern. When you were satisfied that there was nothing else amiss, you pulled away, taking the needle and thread and returning them to Miss Grimshaw. “That’s all I can do I’m afraid.” You said apologetically. “I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.”

Mr Marston said nothing, just stared at you intensely, and you noticed his throat moving to indicate swallowing, but you couldn’t think of a reason as to why he would.

You rose from the floor, legs slightly numb and aching but you ignored it and backed away, allowing Miss Roberts to be by Mr Marston’s side.

Miss Grimshaw exchanged a few hushed words with Mr Matthews before approaching you. “You did well.” She said, and she sounded genuinely impressed.

You flushed a little at the praise and smiled. “Thank you.”

“Knees not feeling too bad?”

You shook your head. “No, I’m fine. I’ve spent a lot of time on my knees.” You thought of the hours you spent as a child praying, and how the kneeling position became almost comfortable, unlike just now. Of course, back then you weren’t as cold and the floors weren’t as rough, so that probably had something to do with it.

As you left the building with Miss Grimshaw to return to the other women, you looked back over your shoulder at Mr Marston. “He needs a proper doctor.” You said in a hushed tone, not wanting anyone to hear and cause panic.

“Once we’re off this damn mountain he’ll see one.” Miss Grimshaw said firmly. “But for now, you’ll have to do.”

The thought of being Mr Marston’s doctor made you swallow thickly, but you nodded, not wanting to talk back. “Yes ma’am.”

The thaw couldn’t come quick enough.