#until I wrote ten thousand words

[athena-xox]

So basically I procrastinated writing the actual next chapter of my fic on my flight and decided to instead start a new fic that would basically just be Farrah’s character arc in my fic except canon complaint and a similar style to 99 cent dreams

But I cannot write it

I projected a little too close to home and I’m currently crying bc it brought up past trauma (? I never recognized it as trauma til now but ig it is) uh so…

It would have totally spoiled major things in my rewrite anyways…

But moral is, don’t project too much guys

[what-even-is-thiss]

Reading weird poetry and short stories and unapologetically strange novels really does teach you that a lot of stuff people teach you about writing is just not true. Almost anything someone tells you must happen when you’re writing has an exception and writing advice has trends and fads just like anything else.

I was struggling to find where I fit as a writer until I found writers like Daniel Olivias who wrote short stories in ways I’d never seen before. I owe a lot of my current inspiration in my writing to Latin American magical realism writers. Finding magical realism and surrealism really opened doors in my brain that had been shut before.

You can get weird with it. You can get weird in content, weird in form, weird in structure. You don’t need a plot. You can tell a story backwards, you can just sit in an idea, you can explain, overexplain, skip explanation, get political, start ideas, end ideas. No ifs ands or buts you can just throw traditional story structure out the window.

I know what kind of writer I am now. A weird one. You don’t have to be held to standards of predictability, genre fiction, markets, tropes. You can just do whatever. Truly. Honestly. Completely. For ten words or a hundred thousand.

[anundyingfidelity]

FOR ALL TIME, ALWAYS – Loki x female reader

Summary: Loki escapes the TVA for a moment. Desperate and brokenhearted, he looks for you, his wife, in the Sacred Timeline. Even if you saw him die ten years ago.

Word count: 3.9k.

Warnings: LOTS of angst, some fluff, spoilers of Loki series in general. Language. Maybe I'm not getting how the branches work oops. This is right after the end of 2x02 and before 2x03. My English is also a warning, just in case.

Notes: while looking on the tags I checked a post of someone asking for a TVA Loki fic where he finds the reader but her Loki died in IW (not canon in my head btw). So I wrote it because is such a great idea, but I can't find the original post... ;-; anyway hope you like this!

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

It's harder to stay...

Wasn't this situation hard enough? Sylvie was right. She had a point. But Loki wanted to do the right thing. Maybe he would find a chance... Again, right? Probably he would make the proper decisions this time.

The TVA was already fucked up, and with it, the thousands of timelines and lives in danger within them. Sometimes, it looked like it didn't matter. In the end, they were trying to fix something that was already broken.

Loki let out a deep breath he didn't realise was holding and walked to talk directly to his partner, Mobius.

"I need a favor," Loki mumbled, so the grey-haired man would be the only person to hear his voice.

Mobius met his eyes. He knew that gaze, it meant he was up to something. "What kind of favor?"

The god motioned Mobius to step away from the newly acknowledged variants and far away from what B-15 was witnessing. The branches were pruned from the whole existence; thousands and millions of lifes lost to the void in just the blink of an eye. Loki knew he had to do something before it got worst. Something for himself.

"I need to go the Sacred Timeline," Loki announced.

"Are you nuts?" Mobius scolded, in the same low voice tone Loki had used.

"Is just- listen, it's something I have to do. I really need to go back there. Need to see someone, make sure everything is okay," Loki insisted.

During all the times Loki showed he was desperate, Mobius was sure this was the peak of all of them. He wasn't explaning more than necessary, he looked serious, and his voice was crisp. Loki knew what he wanted at that moment. Mobius sighed, his hands finding the pockets of his pants, unsure of Loki's request.

"So it's personal..."

"A little, yeah," Loki nodded.

"Promise it'll be quick," Mobius said, taking off the TemPad from his pocket and his hand stopped in the air before the object could lay in the god's grip. "Don't make me regret this."

"I won't."

2029, Sacred Timeline

When Loki arrived to his destination, the nerves got the best from him. New York looked no different from the last time he was there. Shifting his usual clothes he wore at the TVA, he chose a plain suit to go undercover, or at least decided he would try to, considering he was a criminal once in Midgard.

But as he walked through the halls of the familiar building he met decades ago, he didn't really care. He longed for something else. Better say, someone. And it was you.

You, who met him in the past right after Thor's banishment, and even helped him to find the Teseract, only to give up to SHIELD and those idiots that people called 'The Avengers'. Of course his heart hurted for a long time, but Loki tried to deny the feelings blooming inside and instead, he just decided to walk away from you, even if that meant hurting you. It was the best.

At least that was what he believed until he checked further his file; the file that Mobius had prepared for him. His life. Even after what he did to your people and planet, you still held no grudges. And Thor was good enough to seek for yours and the sorcerer's, Stephen Strange, help once Hela appeared in their lives.

Loki would never forget the loving look in your beautiful eyes when you saw him again, after years of parting ways. He really paid attention to you while watching his file, and he found there was only love, protection, and care in you. All for him. Someone who didn't deserve it, he thought.

He felt grateful at least he had the pleasure to enjoy happiness for a moment. Even if that meant Asgard was destroyed. Loki already lost his mother, his father, and he almost lost his brother. He couldn't stand losing you either. The simple idea of living without you - even if he didn't know you further than your Loki did - was unbearable pain.

So while in the ship on the way to Midgard with the asgardians and survivors of the Ragnarok, you held a cozy, small wedding when he asked you to marry him. This was one of the parts Loki would replay again and again from his file, with disbelief that he was actually happy and joyful, enjoying a good time with you, his brother, and all the asgardians who survived. Loki felt full of hope after your wedding, thinking fate had better things to come with you as an oficial part of his life.

Unfortunately, it didn't last long, thanks to the Mad Titan. As his steps got near your door, the memory of his brother and your figure mourning on his lifeless body appeared on his mind. It was an image he couldn't erase that easily. Probably, he would never forget that was his original destiny all the way. That was meant to be. And for now, he could not change it.

Loki stopped outside your apartment. He took a deep breath and raised his shaking hand to reach the doorbell. He waited for a moment, not knowing if seconds or minutes went by, it felt eternal. Until the door opened and he saw you.

The bright smile you had on your lips faded away. Your eyes flooded with tears, your forehead was furrowed, and still, Loki thought you were the most beautiful creature in all the Nine Realms.

"Hi..." Loki barely whispered, his eyes were glossy and a single tear also ran down his pale cheek.

You were clearly in shock. You wanted to get closer and finally touch him, to feel him physically. But even if you wanted to move to take his hand to confirm it wasn't a trick of your ruined mind, your body was stiff and your feet were glued to the ground.

"Is this an illusion?" you trembled.

All Loki could do was shaking his head, before muttering. "No..."

"Loki, I saw you die..."

Tears ran down your face, denying to yourself that this was real. That this was really happening to you. And your mind started to wonder all the possible scenarios and reasons on why him, the god of mischief, the only person you loved dearly with all your mind, body and soul, was standing right in front of your door even if he was gone for you... Long gone now. And that couldn't be undone.

"I know you did, my love."

You tried to smile, even a little bit, as he pronounced those words so dearly. Loki came closer to your figure, carefully placing a trembling hand on your cheek, feeling the tears flowing on your skin. You leaned into his touch, with a simpering smile. Such was the effect you had on him, that a silly smile he also had on his lips.

And you realized Loki was so real... His touch, his heat, his smile, his scent, the way he would hold you... Everything about him was exactly as you remembered. You felt his lips brushing softly against yours, gentle and hesitant, and instantly, you melted into a slow kiss, sure knowing that Loki would taste the salt of your tears running down your face. Leaning in closer as the space between would allow you, you savoured each second your breaths allowed, longing to remain right there for eternity. For all time. Always.

"But now I am here... and I can explain," he whispered once you separated your lips from his in the sweetest way.

You let out a soft chuckle. "Mind to enlighten me, oh, god of mischief?"

Finally you guided him inside your apartment. That old apartment Loki saw his other self visiting a couple of times before you were something. It still had your vibe around it and he loved it. He felt like he was at home after a very long time. Once you closed the door, his arms wrapped around your figure, and you let yourself cry, pressing against his chest and with a tight grip of your hands on his coat.

"You don't have any idea of how much I have missed you all these years," you sobbed and his heart shrank on his chest. "I kept wishing every night and every day to be me instead of you."

"My love," he said softly, separating a little and cupping your cheeks with his warm hands. His eyes were red now because of the tears he was holding back again. "Don't say that... It was supposed to happen."

"What?" you mumbled.

Your hands found his wrists and you pulled his palms away from your cheeks. However you kept the contact with him, you just needed to touch him, to feel he was in the flesh. He was alive right now, wasn't he?

"Look, I am not your Loki. I know what you did, what the Avengers did after Thanos-" his voice broke just a bit but he continued. "I know everything. I just couldn't resist knowing there was someone for me, out there in the Nine Realms, capable to love me for who I am," Loki explained as he watched your face. Was it disappointment? Confusion? He didn't know, but he had to tell you the truth.

Your voice came out as a barely audible whisper. "So... you are saying... you're another Loki? Another him?"

He nodded softly. "I am." Loki thought for a moment on how to explain everything, but he just went for what his heart felt it was right. "It's a little complicated. I did something that wasn't supposed to be, and perhaps will sound like I'm insane, but thanks to that I am kind of trapped in time. With an organization that is not what everyone thought it was, hence a multiverse was created. Sponsored by another me, by the way. You are in what is called the Sacred Timeline, where things flow as how they were supposed to since forever. And I just needed to see you after I found out you were the love of my life."

You took a moment to understand everything he said, wishing that his fate would have been different from what originally happened. Loki gave his best, even in the last worst moments, he was changing for good. For you. For Thor... It wasn't fair.

"Your death was supposed to be then?"

"Yes, it was."

"Oh, Loki," you cried. "You know what, I don't care what's happened. I'm just- I feel happy seeing you here... Please tell me everything you've been through. I want to hear your voice again, to know you're with me right now, to feel you near... I'm not crazy, am I?" you chuckled between tears and Loki curved his lips in a smile, wiping your tears from your face with his thumbs.

Loki granted your wish and explained everything, answering every question you had about the lies of the TVA; the files he found out were his whole life; about Sylvie, Mobius and his variants. He spilled all you wanted to hear, asking like a child, until you understood what was happening. You noticed he truly had changed, just like your Loki did when he reunited with Thor before the Ragnarok took over Asgard. It was a bittersweet feeling however, thinking how much they they seemed to each other. They were the same person after all, but this Loki didn't had the chance to continue his path as it was supposed to.

Taking his hand into yours, you leaned towards him and laid down your head on his shoulder while you both sat comfortable in the couch, just enjoying each others company. Your eyes were dry at this point after crying for what it felt were hours, but his voice helped to soothe you enough.

"I'm glad knowing you have someone like Mobius by your side," you said after a quiet moment. "He sounds like a very good friend," you looked at him, waiting for an answer. "Because that's what he is to you, right?"

"He is a great friend, I'm not alone if that is what is troubling you," Loki affirmed.

You let out a sigh. "That is totally a relief to me."

Loki chuckled softly, leaning to leave a kiss on your hair. "Now you've heard everything about me, would I hear something from you?"

"I'm just a mortal, Loki," you smiled. "Doing the normal shit, not the superhero stuff anymore. I am hating my pretty much normal office job every day; I feed the birds when I go outside at the park, also thinking about adopting a cat or a dog... Maybe a dog."

"Or you could do both."

"Yeah, I might. But my place isn't that big for pets. Sometimes I feel like I'm too alone, very much alone... I would love to have a big farm, or a cabin in the mountains with lots of plants, pets and animals to take care of." The idea did sound good for Loki. Hopefuly you could find peace that way. "Do you remember Pepper?" you said, straighting up on the couch to look at him. He nodded. "Well, after Tony died I still visit her and their daughter, Morgan. She is ten years old, could you believe it?" Loki noticed the sorrow and pain you still carried after all those years of losing your friends, your people... "And I've been missing you and mourning you for ten years as well."

"It's not your fault."

"I know, Loki."

"Do whatever is the best for you, my dear... I would have loved to be here with you now, as the Loki from the Sacred Timeline."

You smiled, but it was a sad smile. "Well, either way, you're here now. It's all that matters to me."

Once again, you shared a loving kiss and took his hand to walk to the kitchen, asking him to take a seat in your breakfast bar, glad he decided to search for you in one of your free days. Otherwise, you would have surely missed his visit. But he was looking for you. Probably Loki would have found you anywhere at this point.

You talked some more while you had some tea and ate some cookies that you saved for special days on the shelfs. The afternoon was pleasant, and this was your turn to speak. Loki, coat long gone, was catching up with you and he asked every single thing about your life now. He smiled more than ever, laughed more than you have ever seen, and it was certainly something you could get used to from now on. Knowing you never continued your life with another person made his heart ache though. However, Loki was no one to blame. He would have done the same thing. No other was like you, no one would have replaced you.

"It's my decision," you finally said, reading his face like an open book. "I have loved you, I love you now and I will love you forever."

He took your hand, lacing your fingers with his. "I know..."

"The day we married you gave me a ring. I always have it with me, today I'm not working, but I use this necklace with your ring," you searched for the necklace hiding inside your shirt and taking it off, you showed him the precious jewel hanging on a fine golden chain. The ring he recognized once was from his mother. "I want you to have it."

"No,I can't-"

"But this is what I want. I know I would have to forget, because you will make me forget about this. About you, coming here, risking everything just to see me. So please, take it."

Loki knew you had made a decision, but then if he left, taking your memories away about this day, what was left for you? He had nothing, and it was okay. He would still know he came to the Sacred Timeline; that he kissed you, that you shared a moment together, that you still loved him. But you will have none of that. And you, as human as you were, would die without the memories and without the ring. You would have nothing and he was sure couldn't bear it.

"Perhaps I can have something else to remember you, I want you to keep this ring as a promise," he closed your hand around the necklace. "My promise that I still love you and I will do it. Forever."

And you sighed, taking the necklace back with a smile. Always so stubborn. "Give me a moment."

Loki saw you leave the kitchen for some minutes. While he was alone, he noticed the sunset through the windows, as it was almost ending to welcome the dark sky around the city. He knew he had to go soon. As much as he didn't want to and the simple thought of runing away was starting to hurt him deep inside.

When you arrived, you stood by his seat on the breakfast bar, putting a small photograph, perfect for a passport, on the surface. It was all in black and white, and you looked what you thought it was nice. Loki took it between his hands, lovingly and with a proud smile on his face.

"I used that when I was taking my Master's degree. Looks pretty decent," you joked.

Loki laughed, tears right at the corner of his eyes. "It's more than that. It's perfect."

His smile faded, knowing this meant he had to leave you again. Loki wasn't supposed to have a happy ending, was he? How he wished to stay there by your side.

You kissed his cheek as a sort of goodbye and comfort at the same time, noticing the sudden change on his face and whispered softly. "So you don't search for me on those files."

"Thank you, love."

Loki got on his feet to put his coat on, like some sort of mental preparation before leaving your apartment and the Sacred Timeline. He saved your photograph on his pocket securely along with Mobius' TemPad, pretending to be strong and swallowing all the pain he was feeling right at that moment. You took his hand, lacing your fingers together one last time and walked until you stood there, in the middle of your living room. He looked at you with loving eyes, trying to save your face and your figure before returning to where he was supposed to be now. And it seemed like time had stopped, as everything Loki could see and feel was you and only you.

"I guess is time now," you began, interrupting his mind.

"I guess it is," Loki nodded, expecting an answer from you. Anything. But it never came. You were also trying to save the moment as much as you could.

So he cupped your cheeks, feeling for the last time your warm, soft skin against his palms. He didn't want to talk, because if he would have said something, it meant you were really saying goodbye forever. What Loki didn't know is that you felt the same thing.

Was there something good to say to your lover, whose destiny was just to bring the best from other people with his cruelty and chaos? To the man who had learn to make things better and, in the end, died trying to protect his people and his wife? Was there anything out there that would bring the god of mischief the happiness and love you always knew he deserved? With these branches and multiverse thing, you hoped deep in your heart there was a universe where he found what he longed for so long. This was just one of many of them. Probably he was happy and living in peace in some others.

"I love you, Loki," you mumbled. He caressed your skin with his thumbs and wiped the small tears that were running on your cheeks.

"I love you too."

Loki leaned to kiss you one last time. You welcomed the kiss with shut eyes, savouring his lips and the taste of your tears, mixing now with his own.

The pain started to bloom; every heartbeat felt like a sledgehammer pounding against his chest. He was not ready to let you go, so this was all he could do. The seidr flowed from his fingers, the green lights covering your body with the help of the spell he casted for you was made to protect you from anything that could get out of hand in the Sacred Timeline, particularly from his own hands, the hands of the TVA, or any other danger that could chase you. Because if something would happen to you due to his stubborn decision, Loki knew he wouldn't forgive himself. What he was sure about though, was that he would still look for you until the end of time.

So when the kiss ended, you fell asleep in seconds. He had to take your sleeping figure with his arms to your bedroom, where he carefully laid you down on the bed. Making sure you were comfortable in your sleep, fixing the pillows and the blankets, Loki remained there, just to take in the serenity emanating from you. It was something you had, the ease and calm your aura projected to everyone in the room. This was the last thing Loki wanted to save from you.

He kissed your forehead and dried the tears on your face before standing up. Once you were to wake up in some hours, you would not be able to know everything was real. Loki made sure you thought it was a dream. So that is what you would have in your head. Something you wished for so long that will only be nothing but thoughts, scenes and emotions that felt absolutely true. As real as life could be.

Loki took the TemPad and opened the timedoor to go back to the TVA, where he knew Mobius would be waiting already since he left for hours. Without looking back to your room, he stepped in and forced to compose himself just in case he would bump into someone else. He sighed, observing through the halls of the headquaters as he made his way back to the room that was assigned to him.

At his door, a worried Mobius was already waiting for him, walking in circles.

"God, Loki I thought you were gone for a second," the analyst breathed out. Loki just handed the TemPad and Mobius took it back. He noticed his weary demeanor and teary eyes. "Thank you. Sorry I doubted you for a second."

"It's fine," Loki shrugged it off, looking for something on his pocket. The photograph slipped from his fingers and fell down to the floor. Mobius was quick enough to pick it up for him, but as he gave it back to his owner he observed it thoroughly.

"So this was the personal thing you did," Mobius said, looking the photograph resting on Loki's hand. He remembered that face from his files.

"Yeah... I guess all set now," Loki sighed.

"Good, I hope you're ready for another trip to the Sacred Timeline." Mobius turned to walk away, deciding it was better to give him some time, but he turned back to Loki before doing so. "And if you're feeling like talking about this any day, only between us, just let me know."

And with that, he walked away. Loki smiled, standing alone outside his door.

You were right. Mobius was a good friend.

[yeoldenews]

I don't know how much you think about it, but you wrote a post back in Mar 2020:

"A sincere request from someone who has spent her entire adult life wishing people had kept better records…In the coming weeks and months… RECORD WHAT IS HAPPENING."

That post got me to start properly journaling properly, after trying and failing when I was younger. A majority of it is 'just' day-to-day progress updates on my fiction writing, but there's a bit of stuff about my life, and some briefer stuff about the world beyond. Not a lot, but some. Four (and change) years, and my journal is just short of 186K words.

I remembered your post, seeing today's SCOTUS decisions. I remembered your post, and I remembered a line you'd written: "Are you scared to death? Write it down."

I just...I don't know. I just wanted you to know your post made an impact, and I don't know what the fuck is coming over the next week and month and year and decade, but...I'm writing shit down. I'm writing shit down, and it's all because of your post.

You have no idea how much this means to me, and how badly I needed to hear it this week - so thank you. Truly. I am genuinely moved, and so proud of you for your 186k words.

History is made up of the stories people decided to save - and the first step to making sure a story gets saved is writing it down.

I really, really hate writing. Like more than just about anything. I'm a chronic perfectionist, and it can take me a whole afternoon to finish a single paragraph I'm satisfied with. (I spent three days writing this response, and you don't even want to know how long I spend on some of the things I post.) So keeping a journal is not a task I'd ever felt the need to afflict myself with before the pandemic. When I made the post you referenced, my journaling habit was all of ten days old but, against all the odds, here I am over four years later having never (to my recollection) missed a single day.

My daily records of what my cats are doing, and your day-to-day writing progress may not be extensively poured over by future scholars, but for only a few minutes of effort a day we now have recorded hundreds of stories.

And who knows what the people of the future might find fascinating. I'm sure the teenage girl in Philadelphia who smudged the letter she was writing in 1897 because a bee scared her would be absolutely baffled that thousands of people were still laughing about the incident 125 years later.

So much of history, and life in general, doesn't become clear until long after the fact. Historical records are full of people overreacting about events that ended up having very little significance in hindsight, and under-reacting about events they no had no idea were about to change the world. But being able to go back and see what people wrote in the moment, preserving their honest thoughts and hopes and fears, is about as close as you can get to time travel.

Maybe what we fear will come true and we're recording history, maybe we'll look back on what we wrote today and go "phew! that was a close one!", or maybe nothing will come of it at all - I pray it will be the last one, but, whatever the outcome, it's worth writing down.

(Also voting. Please, please vote.)

[jolapeno]

x. oh, just to be with you

javier peña x f!reader | chapter ten of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: we're back to texts and phone calls. sorrowful!javi, two idiots pining for one another. fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. falling in love. idiots in love. pls don't be mad at me ✨ wordcount: 3k.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

He's aware of everything. 

How the porch creaks when he steps on it, the way the back door doesn’t quite meet the frame unless it’s locked. How the wind is knocking something else, far across the tall grass and fence posts.

Right now, his focus is on how his curtains don’t quite close. That they're letting the thinnest crack of moonlight cascade through his room. How the smallest luminescent slither keeps dancing in the breeze, yet it still lands perfectly on the propped-up photo strip on his dresser, highlighting the two of you, as though he hadn't committed them to memory. 

He can’t remember the last time someone had managed to slide around his walls—bypass his common sense and begin weaving themselves into him. Javi also can't remember the last time he wanted something more than a win.

Then came you.

Not that he complains that you're the exception. He'll never complain when it comes to you. 

Having people close has never been his issue. It’s letting himself fall that he’s forever found hard. He can be a lover who makes a night all about the other; he can be a protector, shielding and doing what is needed. 

It’s the parts after when he feels he clams up. A portion of him constantly weighing up risks, calculating the damage he could cause—either by a choice he could make or others—long before the city that housed Escobar. 

Javi knew his reluctance had stemmed from before he left Laredo, but it was now carved somewhere deeper in him. Something you managed to find with relative ease and cut out of him as if it was nothing. 

All smiles. All radiance and fucking beauty, with a laugh that could make his lips curl even if his bones are aching and his muscles are tired. 

If he closes his eyes, he can almost convince himself that he’s back there, in the hotel room. Because even if you’d never been here, your room is full of him. 

His bag of spilt-out clothes from your time together, slowly letting the scent of your perfume seep out across the room. Your jacket, hung on the closet handle, and the photos and sign you made on his dresser, all perfectly in sight. 

you have nice handwriting  I did try my best, sometimes I get lazy and letters blur together more.  I like how you wrote baby Does this mean I’ve got the whole set now? Cause you like how I say it, how I write it, how I mouth it. 

Even when he had known you’d needed to get some sleep, Javi had desperately wanted to beg you to stay up. Sending back a text here or there, already missing you so much more than he was sure he could handle. 

He felt lovesick. Like the singer in all those songs that make people either stare at a loved one or bite back tears because they lost theirs. Suddenly relating to a sea of them he’s heard on the radio in the kitchen or hummed in the back of his pop’s throat. 

Javi had been happy to see his pops, somewhat surprised he even came out of the house to greet him. But, as soon as his eyes landed on him, he became suddenly more aware of his old man’s age. Noticing the lines on his face, the ones that tell a thousand stories—not all of them he’s sure he’s heard. Curling into the hug he’d barely reciprocated before, unsure how to form the words to thank him for convincing him to go. 

Naturally, he asks about you. 

It’s more of an interrogation if he’s honest. He shows the photos, the ones now on his dresser, watching his pop smile as he continues to answer the array of questions, until he yawns for the tenth time in the space of five minutes.  

“You should get some sleep, Pop.” 

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead, Javi. Tell me more about your lady.”

Your lady. 

Those two words stand out as if they’ve been illuminated in bulbs, twinkling and shimmering. 

now youre back in reality you sure about us  Never been more sure about anything, baby.  just wanted to check  You’re beginning to sound like me, worrying.  left a mark on me  Think that’s fair, you’ve left a lot on me too. Especially my chest.  

“Tomorrow. Promise. The drive took it out of me.” 

But Javi isn’t tired. 

Somehow, he had suspected he wouldn’t be the moment he watched you leave.

For longer than he cares to number, he's struggled with it. Had developed an unhealthy live-able balance of it when he was working, something he managed to keep as a prize in his return. 

Now, it’s different.

There’s an edge to it. As though he's now having to pay back the stolen sleep he enjoyed when he had been lay with you. When he slept with ease and not struggle. Leaving him feeling now like he’s in a lull, a dream. All aware, not in a daze anymore, noticing things he had never given much attention to before his trip out of town. 

You had been so warm, so soft. His fingers gliding up and down your side, soothing you as much as it was him. But, you slept with ease. Falling almost instantly once you'd stopped talking, a little jolt and a soft sigh punctuating it.

Fuck, he misses you.

Thumb and index pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes clenched shut. Unsure how he's supposed to manage, and cope, until the next chance he gets to see you.

Till he gets to hold you in his arms, stare at your smile as it grows across your face or feels the light tap of your hand when he’s teasing you...

Something ugly curls inside of him. At first, soaked in sadness, before it shakes itself and burns bright with annoyance. Irritation. Anger at how unfair it all is. 

How is it, after all, he’s given up—he’s fallen for the one person not even in his state? A person he had to say goodbye to hours ago, for reasons out of his or their control. 

He almost snorts, unsure if it’s due to the tiredness or the reality that after all he’s faced, life would continue to be cruel and deal him such a hand. Tempted to get up, kick off the sheets and pull out the crossword from before he left town.

Javi doesn't. Instead, he closes his eyes, shaking his head—to no one but himself. Because he can't do them without you now. A promise, one given with ease.

He hears the whisper of the wind, the rustle of the trees. Something needling at him that if he wasn't so broken, this would be the perfect amount of quiet to fall asleep to.

Now, it's not the loud of a Colombian city he misses now. It's how your leg slides over his, how your breaths feel on his chest—how you twitch, ever so slightly, as you first fall asleep. 

But, it’s the quiet as to why he hears his phone vibrate, practically darting out of bed, knowing it can only be you. 

why aren’t you asleep?

Because I can't sleep without you. Apparently.

I miss you too. 

I really hate this. I even miss you digging your knee into my hip. 

told you that you’d miss it once it was gone

I feel like telling you that you’re right will mean your head will inflate.

youre right

One day, right?

if I could make that tomorrow I would

You really missing me that much? 

not enough words in the world to describe how much, baby 

Gonna make me cry. 

dont cry I can’t wipe them from here 

So not wise for me to tell you I cried the entire flight home. 

did the person you sit next to seem to mind 

They didn’t say anything until we landed. Then promptly told me that I deserved better. 

so they thought you were broken up with 

I think I may have led her to believe that from the amount I was crying. 

fuck you like me a lot 

I like you a regular, normal amount. 

I don’t think I like you a normal regular amount 

That’s the tiredness talking. 

you know it isnt 

I feel the same. I really miss you. 

I miss you too but you should try to sleep you have work tomorrow 

Okay, but so do you! 

ill be fixing a shed or a pen baby you have to deal with people 

go to sleep and then tomorrow we can call as planned 

You’d told him that you suspected the first day would be the hardest.

Not the goodbye (and that had been fucking painful) but the following day when they were apart. 

Javi hates that you’re right. 

It twists inside of him how much he loathes it—grateful that he gets to push some of his anger into repairing the side of the shed. Hammer meeting nail, again and again. Each time with more fury than is needed, only worrying after whether he’s done more damage to the shed post than pre. 

"Mijo."

He doesn't find a judgemental look, but one filled with sympathy.

His pop not quizzing him, just handing him a beer. A cold one, droplets descending down the can, sliding across his palm and down his wrist—attempting to soothe the boiling blood in his veins. 

“It’ll get easier.” His pop tugs his hat down, shielding his eyes, before staring off into the distance. “When me and your mama first began, we couldn’t see each other all the time either.” 

Letting out a sigh, Javi grinds his teeth. A sea of biting comments lathered on his tongue, all set to pounce, to poison. 

Instead, he kicks the ground, swallowing most of them back. “She wasn’t hundreds of miles away, though.” 

“No,” his Pop says, clapping his hand on his back—both for comfort and likely stability. “But we didn’t have landlines, or tha' other thing you do on y’phone. The tapping."

The tapping.

He doesn't snort, even if it sits at the back of his throat. Burying it in the liquid that slides down his throat with ease.

"Come on, ‘need to head into town, and my truck is acting up.” 

Javi doesn’t question it, why he’s the one sliding into the passenger seat of his own truck. 

If he’d thought about it, he’d have asked why the truck was acting up or why Pop was driving instead of him. But he doesn’t—didn’t. Just let it happen, staring off as the shades of grass pass him by, fingers playing with the cap on the can, twisting and twisting it. 

To fill the silence, he rolls the edges of the can around in his hands. Crunching the sides every now and again, making him wince from the noise. 

Then, he finds himself staring at the fingerprints left in the dust from you touching his dash—eyes catching sight of a hair grip on the floor near his boot. 

He’s rolling it in his fingers when they’re back on the road, silence smothering them until he watches his pop turn on the radio. As soon as it springs to life, it becomes desperate to try and cut through it. The broadcaster mumbles about heavy rain and increased traffic, but he’s lost in a sorrow of sadness all cast by the spell of a good week to care. The fog around him making it hard to see the wood through the trees, never mind the hope through the misery. 

“Dios mio. More trucks passing through now since the bridge opened. Y’noticed, mijo? So many.”

“Hmm.” 

Eyes fixed on the grip, the one more worn on one side than the other—imagining your face, the night when he’d watched you take them out, face fresh, one of his tees on your frame. 

Then, because the world isn’t cruel enough, the song changes. The radio playing a game with him now, as well as everything else, as he lifts his head, trying to focus on the road. Hearing the soft thud of his pop’s fingers on the steering wheel, his jaw tightened as the lyrics washed over him. Faintly hearing you humming along with the chorus.

Because he heard the song in the diner with you. 

Heard it on the radio one afternoon, then again in the bowling alley—how it wrapped its tune around the two of you. 

“Heard our song today,” he says, fingers massaging his temple.

He's thankful his pop said he had plans, the quietness settling over the rest of the ranch.

Before he met you, he dreaded the nights he was left alone. His thoughts gearing up, ready to pounce. The minor differences he could have made if he took a step back and stared at the facts, how he should have noticed how deep the corruption was—how much Colombia was taking from him, bit by bit. 

Now, he tries not to grin when his pop says he’s going out.

When he’s left alone, allowed full reign to talk as loud as he wants to you—rather than being huddled near the phone, whispering like a teenager. 

“Our song?” 

“Yeah.” 

Javi can practically hear you smirk. “And how does that go, charmer?” 

He’s not a singer. Not by a long shot, but he does his best. Humming the tune at first, softly singing the words from the chorus until he trails off.

You snort, before you try to muffle it in a cough. 

“You tricked me.” 

“Maybe. But, just because I wanted to hear you sing.” 

Smirking, he pulls the phone from his ear—shaking his head—before replacing it back to hear you add:

“You have a beautiful voice.” 

“Fuck you, baby.”  

Your laugh rips from you, hurtling down the phone right to his soul—making fireworks explode in his chest and warmth kiss his nerves. 

Because now he can imagine what you look like. Likely head thrown back, eyes closed—nose scrunched a little as your hands grip onto something for leverage. 

And it was beautiful. You’re beautiful—your laugh and your smile. Something he feels he should have said long before now. He’s about to rectify that, when he hears it merge into a sniffle—veering into tears and half-suppressed swallows before a noticeable little sob breaks through—as his throat dries instantly, closing. 

Turning, he places his palm on the fall as he tries to keep his chest from tightening. The knot in his chest, the one he suspects is tied to you in some way, constricts, pulling taught around his lungs.  

“I—I miss….”

You sniffle again, louder. “I've been looking forward to this all day,” you whisper, voice catching, words struggling to fall as sweetly as they usually do. “But, is it bad for me to say that phone calls aren’t the same now I’ve had the chance to be with you in person?”

Leaning his forehead against the kitchen wall, Javi wipes his chin. “Took the words outta my mouth, baby.”

He hears you chuckle, almost both heavily and heavenly, before you ask about his day. 

He rambles because it’s easy too. You listen, lapping up every single thing. Hearing about his trip to town, his pop making jokes—trying, desperately, to crack through the mist that had descended. 

“How was yours?” 

Then you sigh, all tight. You tell him about Aish and her interview, before your voice softens as you begin whispering about the prep you’re doing for your interview. He’s about to comfort you, when you continue about the asshole you work alongside has been taken out for lunch by your boss and that you snagged your favourite pair of tights on a desk.

“But, enough about that—guess what I’m wearing?”

Smiling, he bites down on his knuckle, Javi lifting his head, groaning as he tries to think. “All of your clothes at once? Anything else might short-circuit my brain.” 

“Won’t tell you then.” 

“No. Please. Tell me, baby.” 

He hears you move, and is almost sure he can hear you swallow. “You realise that you’re missing something, Javier?” 

Fuck, the way you say his name. How it drips from your tongue. Laced in lust and swirling down the phone line to his brain. 

He quickly tries to think of his washing, the piles he made—the attempted sorting. And it hits him. His eyes widened, head half-lifting, feeling his eye twitch. 

“Fuck—“

“Yes. I’m sat in that. And underwear, of course.” 

“Hermosa…”

His throat is dry, painfully so. Mind arranging an image of you from the days he spent with you. And fuck. 

“Wasn’t sure this shade of pink was my colour, but I was wrong.” 

Jutting his jaw, he closes his eyes—picturing the sight of you. The underwear he’d had the chance to peel off of you, the way it set against your skin—now, accompanied by his shirt on your arms. The buttons are likely undone, showing off more skin than he can currently process thinking about. 

“It’s nice on my skin,” you whisper, all honeyed. “Be better on my floor.” 

Clenching his fist, he bites his lip. “Baby…” 

“Maybe I’ll show you one day.” 

Snorting, he traces his teeth with his tongue. “You better. Now, tell me about the underwear.” 

“Only if you can answer six across. Clue: now.” 

Mouth parting, his jaw rolls to the side, eyes picking a spot on the wall. Thinking. And thinking. 

“Want an extra clue?” 

“An extra? You're spoiling me.” 

He hears you giggle, low and in your throat. “It’s an Italian word. And, ‘I want to see you… blank—“ 

His eyes flick up, a smile spreading. “Pronto.” 

“Correct,” you reply. “Seven words, silenced. You did this to me when you had your mouth on my—“

“Shushed,” he says quickly, fist clenching, trying to stare at the mark on the wall again, and not let the image of you populate in his head. 

“You okay, baby?” 

Gritting his teeth, he sighs. “You’re devious, you know that?” 

“I think it’s your shirt. It’s making me… flirty.” 

Grinning, he turns on the spot, back against the wall—head tilting up, eyes closing. “I miss you.” 

“I miss you too….” your tone softer, frayed at the edges. “I’m kinda glad I stole your shirt.” 

“Me too. Means I get to see you to steal it back from you.” 

“Off me.” 

It comes out quickly—purposefully chosen, spilt. 

Frowning, he opens his eyes. “What?” 

“Off me. You’ll have to steal it from my body.” 

Grasping the phone, breathing through his nose, letting out a murmured, “Fuck, baby,” under his breath.  

AN: for all those wondering if they'll be together in person again, they will. i am a happily-ever-after kind of writer unless otherwise stated. but it was so important to me that they had a magical week, and then returned to their lives.

[dragonmuse]

How to be a Dirtbag Fic Writer

I got to do some talking about writing today and I couldn’t stop thinking about it so here are my full thoughts on the matter of being a dirtbag fic writer.

Being the disorganized thoughts of someone two and a half decades into the beautiful mess that is writing fanfic (and a few non-fanfic things too).

What is a dirtbag fic writer? 

 I am talking about someone who is not cleaning up anything. We show up filthy, fresh out of rooting around in the garden of our imaginations. We probably smell a little from work. We will hand you our hard grown fruits, but we have not washed them and we carried them in the bottom upturned parts of our t-shirts. The fruit is a little bruised. It’s not cut up or put in a bowl yet. But we got it in the house! It’s here. Someone can eat it.  

Why dirtbag it? Because the fruit gets in the house. If you’re hemming and hawing, if the idea you want to do seems to be big or you want it perfect and shiny. If you’re imagining a ten thousand step process, so you’re not taking the first step? Dirtbag it. 

How do I dirtbag? 

That’s the best part. You just write. Sit down. One word after the other. No outline, no plan, no destination. No thought of editing. Just word vomit. Every word is a good word. It’a word that wasn’t there before. Grammar sucks? Who cares. Can’t think of the perfect word? Fuck it, put in the simplest version of what you mean. 

Write the idea that you love. The one thing you want to say. Has it been done 3000000 times? WHO CARES human history is long, every idea has been done, probably more than twice. YOU have never written it before. It’s your grubby potato that you clawed out of the ground and guess what someone can still make it into delicious french fries. 

Now here’s the critical part. Write as much as you can squeeze out of your brain. One word in front of the other. 

And then I challenge you this: at most, read it over once and then put it into the world. Just as it is. AND THIS IS IMPORTANT: DO IT WITHOUT APOLOGY OR CAVEAT.  I challenge you, beautiful dirtbag to not pre-emptively apologize. Do not make your work lesser. THAT IS YOUR POTATO! It has eyes and roots and dirt clinging to it because that is what happens.  We are dirtbagging it today. Hell really confused people at do #dirtbagwriter on it.  

Dirtbag writes id, base, lizard brain. Dig in the fertile garden of your imagination. What is the story you tell yourself before you fall asleep? What’s your anxiety this week? Your fantasy? What is going well? What do you wish things looked like? Who is the feral imaginary character you’ve been crafting to take your frustrations and joys out on? 

But, VEE, I wish to have an editor and an outline, use a cool software like scrivener instead of retching up onto a google doc and making it look NICE and PRETTY!

COOL! DO THAT THEN! IF YOU’RE ACTUALLY DOING IT! You should have a process! That’s cool and healthy and necessary for sustainable writing. But if you’re not writing because all of that seems too much? THEN DON’T. 

Did you know fic is free? That we do this from love? From sheer desire? For the love of the game? If you have a process, and the words are flowing, amazing, I love that for you, you don’t need this essay.  If you don’t, let us continue. 

What does dirtbag writing look like? 

It’s messy. It’s a little raw and tatty around the edges sometimes. It’s weird.  It’s someone else’s first draft. Maybe it winds up being your first draft, Idek, that’s your business. 

It’s jokes that make YOU laugh. It’s drama that would make YOU cry if you read it. You are your first commenter. You are your first audience (and possibly continuing pleasure! If you don’t go back and reread your own work sometimes, you might be missing out on one of your favorite authors cause you wrote it for you! Wait until you’re not so close to it. Years sometimes. Then hey, maybe some of this is pretty dang good actually.) 

It has mistakes. 

Dirtbags make mistakes, but dirtbags have published pieces. They have things other people can read out there. 

What if I don’t get good feedback? 

Look, the most likely outcome of any new, untried fic writer (and even established writers trying something new-ish)  is that you get no feedback. That’s real. Silence. It’s eerie, it’s terrible, it sucks. I don’t want to pretend it doesn’t. But nothing is not negative. It’s a big fic-y ocean out there and we are all wee itty-bitty-sometimes-with-titty fishes.  

You should still do it all over again. And again. And again. You get better at writing by writing. You just do. Nothing else replaces it. If your well is dry? Fill it with new things. Go do something new, read a new kind of book, watch a new film,  (libraries have so much good shit, you don’t even have to spend money for so many things if you have a library card), just go for a walk in a new direction. Stimulate yourself. Got a cup of something hot and eavesdrop on conversations. Refill yourself with newness. 

And hey, speaking of, do you leave comments? Because you get what you give. You can build relationships with people by commenting and that builds community and community means places to get feedback in the end. Comments are gold. They are all we are paid in. Tip your writers with ‘extra kudos’ or ‘this made me laugh’. And hey, when you go back for a re-read so you can tell them your favorite part? Ask yourself how they made that favorite part? What do you like about it?  Tone? Metaphor? The structure? Reading teaches us how to write too! 

BUT, okay. Sometimes. Sometimes there is actual bad feedback and people suck. 

You know the best part about being a dirtbag? Unrepentant block, delete, goodbye. You don’t own anyone with a shitty opinion any of your precious time on this earth. You did it for free, you gave them your dirty, but still delicious fruit and they went ‘ew, this is a dirty strawberry, how could you not make a clean tomato?”  Because you didn’t plant fucking tomatoes, did you? Don’t fight, don’t engage. Block. Delete. Goodbye. 

If someone in person, looked you in the eye when you brought them a plate of food to share at a party and they said “Why didn’t you bring me MY favorite? This isn’t cooked well at all.” You would probably write up a Reddit AiTA question about it just to hear five thousand people say they were an asshole.   Fic is no different 

And hey, when you dirtbag it? You know you did. It’s not your most cleaned up perfect version. So who cares what they think? You might make it more shiny and polished next time! You might NOT. 

Ok, but what if I don’t finish it? 

Fuck it, post it anyway. 

What if it’s bad? 

Fuck it, post it anyway. 

What if it doesn’t make sense? 

That’s ART, baby. Fuck it, post it anyway. 

What if what I want to write doesn’t work with current fandom norms? 

Then someone out there probably needs it!  And what the hell is this? The western canon? FUCK IT POST IT ANYWAY* 

*Basic human decency is not a ‘fandom norm’. Don’t be racist, sexist, ableist, fat shaming, classist or shitty about anyone's identity on main, okay? Dirtbag writers are KIND first and foremost. Someone saying you are stepping into shit about their identity is not the same as unsolicited crappy feedback about pairings. In the immortal words of Kurt Vonnegut: "God damn it, you've got to be kind.”

You’re being very flippant about something that’s scary. 

I know. I know I am. I know it can be scary. But no risk, no reward and hell, you aren’t using your goddamn legal name on the internet are you? (please for the love of fuck do not be using your legal name to write fic) You’ve got on a mask. You’re a superhero. With dirt on your cape. 

That niche thing that you think no one cares about? Guaranteed you will find someone else in the world who wants it. Maybe they won’t find it right away. Maybe they will be too shy to comment or even hit a button. But your dirty potato will stick with them. They will make french fries in their head.

You have an audience. But they can’t find you if you have nothing out there. 

Go forth. Make. 

You have some errors in this essay. 

PROBABLY CAUSE I DIRTBAGGED IT.  But I picked this strawberry for you out of my brain, so I hope you run it under some cold water and find the good bits and have a nice snack. Or throw it away. Or use it to plant more strawberries (I know that’s not how strawberries work, metaphors break when stretched).  

#dirtbagwriter 

Go forth and MAKE

[moodymisty]

Hey.

Totally understand if you don’t want to make a part two, but something that’s been living rent free in my head since I read the Lion’el painting fic you wrote is what would happen if his lover potentially retuned somehow? Maybe she’d been on a ship that experienced warp shenanigans so it’s only been a few years since she disappeared from her pov, how he’d react to her return and how she’d handle the RADICAL changes to the imperium.

Preferred sfw but I don’t really mind

Totally fine if you don’t want to do a part two but I did want to express how much I loved the fic and make the request now that they’re open.

PS I love all your stuff so much

- 🍀

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙| 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Sequel to this request. You will probably need to read that to understand most of what happens here.

Author's note: Hey friend! Here's a little continuation of that fic, I hope you enjoy it <3

Relationships: Lion'el Jonson/Fem!Reader

Warnings: None really

Lion'el is disturbed from his what can only be described as meditation with the harsh slamming of ceramite boots on flooring, up until the door behind him is thrown open. LIon'el doesn't move as they force their way into the small room, his hands still on his thighs.

"Father!" They even forgo the proper respects, though he ignores it. He doesn't however, ignore their next words.

"She is awake!"

Lion'el's eyes snap open, and he's up to his feet in moments, pushing past his men with little regard. He knows they're following, though he couldn't care less if they did.

He only cares about one thing now.

Lion'el had been hesitant to tell any of his these Dark Angels about you, since waking. They had never even known he had a wife, only that singular relic had even clued them into the fact that he had anyone, besides his legion. The entire time they'd never known that mysterious woman had been beneath their feet; Much like himself, in a way.

It seemed whatever had cast him into an endless slumber had did to you much the same, not many years later. You'd commanded his men briefly in his stead, but one day, you fell the same as him. He'd never known you were so close until recently. He'd thought you dead and gone since he'd awoken.

He hasn't seen you awake since those days just after the Heresy, and only recently when you were still asleep; Now here you are, groggy and eyes wet, trying to pull your arm away from a concerned medicae. You stop however, once you catch sight of him.

"Lion?"

Your voice is hoarse, like a gravely whisper, you look at him like you have trouble thinking he's real. Perhaps he looks too different for you to instantly recognize him. He knows his beard is rougher, face is harsher. But his armor is almost the exact same.

He walks closer. Past his sons who have maintained a cautious barrier; They know little about you. He pushes through them despite complaints and reaches your side, where your legs dangle off the edge of a stone slab his sons had put you on ten thousand years ago.

His hands reach to cup your face, and your own grasp his armor, desperately trying to pull him into a hug. He allows it, feeling your tears on the skin of his neck.

He can see the look of confusion in his geneson's eyes. How they all look at him displaying such weakness. He knows how far gone down the path they've gone, how his words have been twisted and warped beyond even what he thought was reasonable.

You pull away from his neck but he still feels your small hands against the nape of his neck, weaving into his hair.

"Lion, what's happened? The last I remember, Horus and Lorgar had-" He quiets you quickly.

"I will explain everything to you." He turns to the medicae who is still hovering close by, but hasn't been able to continue his duty since being interrupted.

"How is she," Lion'el speaks bluntly. It takes the man a moment to regain movement of his tongue.

"She appears normal on every scan, considering all that has happened."

With that reassurance Lion'el goes to pick you up, carrying you as close to bridal style as he can given your difference in size. When he turns to take you away however, Azrael comes into view with his squad shortly behind him.

"Father!"

Lion'el had confessed to your existance once he'd visited you and noticed you shift in your sleep. He'd sent guards to watch you as you- at the time he had thought hopefully- began to wake, and Azrael had to then be let in on the secret that had been lost for ten thousand years. Azrael as he expected acted with suspicion, though had held back his thoughts at the time. Now he seems to decide not to.

He doesn't need to say a single word, the way the astartes' hand flinches tells Lion'el everything he needs to know about what him and his squad are thinking.

Lion'el looks towards his geneson with nothing but coldness.

"If your hand moves closer to the pommel of your chainsword I will not hesitate to kill you where you stand."

Azrael gawks at him like he's offended.

"Father, we should be cautious, you don't know what kind of warp trickery has-" Lion'el stands straighter, still holding you in your arms. You're drowsy, but still well aware of the standoff that is happening as you grasp his armor for stability.

"She is my wife. She is the legion mother of Dark Angels from before and after the Heresy, and she commanded your ancestors when I fell. I do not need you to tell me what I see."

Lion'el walks forward and his men give way to him, allowing their genefather to pass. He can feel Azrael's displeasure, but he doesn't care.

He walks away from them all, and they wisely choose not to follow.

"Lion, How long have I been asleep? All of your men, you..." You look around the halls as he walks. "Everything look so different."

Lion'el is silent for a moment, until he returns to his quarters and gently sits you down on his own bed. One of his gauntlets comes to rest on the nook between your shoulder and neck, awkward as he always was but reassuring.

"The same illness that took me, it took you as well." You look exactly how he remembers you, it's like not a day has passed. Since waking he's blocked out those detailed memories of you; The feeling of your skin and gentle look in your eyes. They hurt to remember, but now that he has them back he doesn't know if he could do that again.

"You've been asleep for ten thousand years. Same as I."

Your face is frozen in a confused shock, your breath quickens, though at some point you simply accept it. Or perhaps stow the feelings away to eventually explode when your brain isn’t so and confused.

Your hand pulls to try and bring him closer, and he puts a gauntlet in your lap for you to grip as a compromise. Your small hands wrap around his fingers, squeezing to reassure yourself as you talk.

"I missed you. Being with your legion alone, I don't know how to describe how it felt." You weren't meant to do such a thing, lead an army, and Lion'el laments having to put it on you. He's sure you did well in your time, what short amount of it there was.

"Are you tired?" He asks, and you uncharacteristically let out a laugh.

"Not to be rude, but I think I've had quite enough of that for a few lifetimes, apparently." Lion'el doesn't smile, but his face does soften.

Finally alone, he also leans in to take a gentle kiss from you, your soft lips on his own as his beard scratches your skin. It feels just the same as he remembered.

"Then come with me. I'll show you what else you have missed."

[harrysmimi]

Handsome

Synopsis: One where Harry harbours a little concert crush on someone

Ps. I dreamt this :)

More of my work

YN was very excited to go see Harry finally!

She have been saving for it for ages that she did not hesitate to go just a tiny bit over budget when buying the pit tickets. Her friend was coming too with her. She has been his fan since his first solo album came out and have been wanting to go see him since his very first tour.

Camping out from the sunrise, being exhausted was worth it if she got to see the person who literally kept her sane during her most difficult of times. In fact even save her at some extent.

She was the typical fangirl. But didn't had any of his merch or his vinyls because she couldn't afford it. That doesn't make her any less of a fan. She spent a little too much on the tickets so she had to stick to her closet to pick out an outfit.

She didn't care. Literally. About what she wore. She wore a gown she'd sewn from a bedsheet for an Instagram reel (she just had a public account where she posted a video of her making that dress and it sort of blew up, got about ten thousand likes). It had big puffy sleeves with green leaves printed on the fabric. She didn't know where she'd wear the dress anyway so she pulled it out today.

Though she didn't felt like it, YN did put in some efforts in how she looked, according to her she might bump into a handsome guy or a very pretty girl tonight. People meet at concerts, it wasn't something unusual but rare. She has been single since she last went to prom which was ages ago and her friends have been bugging her to go out so they all can go on a couples only vacation. She is just going to take her Emotional Support cat with, he is only male and a pussy in her life who's not disappointed her yet. It would at least put an end to what her friends have to say when she doesn't find someone at the concert to go on a date with the very next day.

She woke up an hour early to make a sign for Harry. Not a big paper, just a two by two feet thick craft paper. It is big enough for him to read without blocking anyone's view. She was planning to head first so she can stand at the barricade. She doesn't care if she gets crushed. She just wants to have a nice time with her celebrity crush and her best friend.

Oh, and she did picked up a single rose to throw it towards him. Or at least attempt to.

She kept it close to her so no one can steal her idea as she saw many fans making their signs outside. It wasn't very creative, what she wrote but it was her idea. Soon she was let in and luckily her sleep deprivation was rewarded that she got to stand near the barricade.

She stood there, jammed to the pre show set lists and the opening act, waiting patiently for the person she has been dreaming to see for so long. She even made good friends with one of the security guard standing in front of her by the stage. Her heart started racing the moment the love band stepped up on the stage, it would calm down eventually but start pounding again in anticipation of he could pop up anytime on the stage.

He did eventually came up, with his brown guitar as he kick started his show with Golden. He took her breath away, quite literally as he worked and did his job.

An absolute angel, Harry appeared to her. Dressed in a all jean outfit, a vest and his usual pants with his initials on the back pockets in red sparkles. She found it adorable. Though for the longest the initials and three cherries on the back of his vest was only what she saw.

An hour left. Harry was already dreading to go down the stage. He was having a good time, prancing and jumping and running around the stage like a toddler, singing his songs with double sexual meanings to them. That was an ironic combo he liked to call when he'd see his fans talk about him using those exact same words.

He walked around. Care free. Up until someone caught his eyes. Though she blended in with crying and freaking out fans. She had a small sign with her which she held over the barricade. He found that very sweet of her as she wasn't blocking anyone's attention. But what her sign said was even sweeter and melted his head.

Sunshine, you look so very handsome tonight!!! - it said with a yellow iPhone esque smily emoji drawn on the the end. And there was a red rose in her hand.

He felt blood rushing upto his face, warming his cheeks as he read her sign, again, as he sang through Daydreaming. The nickname got him.

YN almost peed her pants seeing that he saw her sign and smiled at her. He was red like a tomato, how pale he was didn't helped to conceal it either in bright artificial lights around him. From then he kept going back to where she was stood, checking in on time to time, her sign was still on it's place. She wasn't filming but she made sure her friend was. At one point she even doubted he was even looking at her and expressed her concern tk her friend.

"He's looking at you idiot," she said, "he's not cross eyed!"

YN liked to believe that in that moment because everything felt like a waking dream to her. She was dreaming with her eyes wide open in all her consciousness, in all her senses. Though she still doubts it's one of those dreams which feels awfully real that when you wake up you feel like it literally happened to you seconds ago.

Harry couldn't help himself but look at the girl with the sign. He'd said it before that he can tell how he feels about someone with just looking in their eyes and he saw how sweet she was through her eyes. Or at least he liked to think so, because she is also so very gorgeous and easy on eyes to look at, like holding onto am Amethyst crystal or places slices of fresh cucumber on your eyes, or getting the perfect amount of sleep at night time.

Is he over exaggeration? Absolutely he doesn't not care!

Before the encore, he stopped to read a few signs. Talk to a couple of people before he went ahead and read her sign out loud because it was just that sweet of a gesture anyone has ever done for him. And he just wanted to talk to her.

"Sunshine, you look so very handsome tonight," Harry read, "why thank you, darling, so do you!" He was flattered all over again, he saw her eyes sparkle as tears brim up in her pretty eyes. She was surprised!

"What is your name?" He asked, crouching down to get closer so he can get her name right, even took off one of his ear piece.

"YN!" She said as loud as she could.

Harry heard it, "YN?" He asked to make sure and she nodded. "Yes, got it right!" He celebrated making the crowd erupt in screams. "Are you from around here YN?" She nodded in no to answer him, "where are you from?"

"India, but I'm here to study." She said, not loud enough but he could read her lips.

"You're here to study? What are you studying, YN?" Harry asked.

The more he kept saying her name the more it made her go crazy inside, and not to mention cry happy tears. Harry knew that so he didn't pointed it out.

"Business?" He said, "that's amazing, best of luck with the rest of your course. Are you having a good time tonight, YN?"

"Yes!" She exclaimed.

"Thank you so much for coming to the show tonight." He stood up because he's got a show to do, "whenever you go back home, give my love to the fans in India. Thank you for bringing such a sweet sign."

"I got you this!" She forwarded the red rose to him holding it at the very tip so it could reach him, standing on her tippy toes as she leaned forward.

"Oh that's for me?" He asked, he didn't hear what she said as he's put his earpiece back on, "thank you." He took it, smelled it.

He went on to introduce the next song, and YN stood there in shock, letting her brain process what the just happened. Just for him to hit her in the face by singing Medicine after two songs. Well, he didn't hit her but it was like a punch in her face. But he still kept going back to where she was stood, not even being subtle about it. The girls around her started to give her side eyes seeing that.

She was looking for the rose she gave him. She thought he threw it away at some other fan like he usually does, but instead she found it hung on the belt hook of his pants.

"He's got a crush on you!" Her friend yelled when he looked at her for the millionth time there.

"Stop it." She mumbled to her friend, feeling suddenly threatened when more people around her started to look at her and even film those little interactions. Being in the fandom YN has closely seen how scary his fans can get, even though he was just looking at her, it made her feel scared somewhere in her heart.

It was best to brush it off and move on and enjoy the rest of the show.

"Do you like know him?" A girl standing next to YN's best friend asked once Harry had ran off stage and everyone was leaving as well.

"Like personally? No," YN answered confusedly and earned a weirded out look from the girl as she walked away.

"Well, she was a bitch." YN's friend commented making her laugh. "See your bedsheet dress caught his eye, now when are you two getting married?" She hooked her arm around YN's as they walked out.

"Next week." YN smiled with a faux-blush and they both ended up in a fit of laugh. "Did you get all the pictures of us?"

"Oh yes!" Her friend nodded. They looked through the pictures both of them took together today, going though the memories they miss already. "Oh my god, I'm going through my post concert depression. How do you feel?"

They both were in a can back to their flat, "I feel like I'm dreaming. I might miss all of this in the morning."

"Did you gals went to Harry Styles concert today?" Their cab driver asked. It was a lady who seemed to be in her mid 40s, she was super sweet and they talked throughout the ride back home, to YN and her friend's surprised she liked his music too.

It was when YN reached that it hit to her that everything happened tonight was real!

She really talked to the guy she has been crushing over for past six-seven years. That made all the sleep disappear from her system even though she. She stayed up going through the videos her friend sent, giggling to herself like a little idiot.

She is idiot for him and she takes all the pride in that.

Tag list:

@vrittivsanghavi @buckymydarlingangel @sweetwritingfanficfriend lemme know if you want to added to the tag list

[method-to-the-madness]

@littlewritingrabbit said something about War boys doing each other's war paint, and I thought that was really cute, so here's some fanart of Nux and Slit, and a teeny tiny little fic i wrote to go along with it (below the cut, around a thousand words). It takes place on their very first trip as a Lancer/Driver duo.

Enjoy :)

Nux sat down on the running board of his car, the door open. He had black clay cupped in his hand. He used his other hand to smudge it over his eyes, hoping it’ll look darker. Darker like the Imperators. 

Something huge was in the works today. A big fight, something really major, and the War boys were buzzing with excitement, currently trapped within the confines of the garage and the barracks until they’re unleashed, feral. There was about ten odd minutes before they needed to leave, and Nux wanted his paint to be really chrome this time, since it was the first time he got to drive his own car. A car that belonged to him. The Nux Car. 

“Oi! Nux!” Slit called, and rounded the door, sitting down next to him after roughly pushing him to the side to make room. Nux grinned, and turned to him still rubbing the powder over his second eye. 

“Ready? Ready to do war?” Nux leaned forward and asked with childlike excitement. Slit leaned on the door frame and crossed his arms, kicking his feet up on Nux’s knees. Slit was starting to get taller than him, proudly taking up more space.

“Of course I am!” he said indignantly, like Nux had insulted him by suggesting that he wasn’t.  

“Good. Wouldn’t want you fallin’ off the back while I’m driving,” Nux said, smudging some paint over his nose like usual. 

“Wait!” Slit grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away from his nose.

“What?”

“Your nose.”

“What about it?” Slit was still holding his wrist, looking very revved up. He opened his choppy mouth to say something, but paused like he thought twice for once. The slices up the sides of his face were still a bit red, and definitely not healed over yet. If it were up to Nux, he would’ve done them one side at a time, so you’d still be able to eat properly, and do the second side without your hands being all shaky. But that was just his thoughts on it.

“Thought you said you wanted it all shiny today, didn’t you?” Slit asked. Nux nodded, and Slit let go of his wrist. “So don’t just do the mediocre paint you do every day,” Slit said. Nux looked offended. Mediocre? Really? Nux thought the nose paint usually looked pretty chrome. 

“What do you want me to do then?” he asked. Slit shrugged. 

“I dunno. Could do something to match these-” he carefully tapped the still-healing scars on Nux’s lips. Slit had given those to him, detailed them really sharp so he’d look like a skeleton. Nux loved them. He thought they made him look a whole lot shinier. And scarier. Slit ran his thumb across his lips, probably just checking on the healing process, but something pinched in Nux's throat regardless. 

“V8, quit smiling so wide all the time, it’ll rip the scars and you’ll get too lumpy,” Slit muttered, almost like he was saying it to himself. Nux batted his hand away.

“The paint, Slit. What about it?” He redirected. Slit nodded. 

“C’mere, give me some,” he said, and took some from Nux’s hand. With his other hand, he roughly grabbed Nux’s jaw, and pulled him close, holding his canvas still. Nux nearly fell over at the sudden movement, and braced himself on the driver’s seat under Slit's arm. “If you do it… like so…” Slit paused, and Nux felt him dragging the paint over his nose, higher up than he usually did. “Then you’ll look soo…” he trailed off and squinted, finely focused on his work. Nux’s eyes crossed trying to see what he was doing. 

“So what?” he asked. Slit finished up his paint, and pushed him back, letting go of his face. Nux sat back against the door frame 

“So chrome,” Slit said, and frowned, then pulled him back again to fix up some of the paint. 

“Glory me, you sap. Can we go make some war now, or will you keep fussing over my face?” Nux laughed, turning away. Slit’s hands chased after him, to throw the finishing touches on his paint. Nux stood up to check his reflection in the grubby side-view mirror on the other side of the door. 

“I’m no sap!” Slit protested, standing up and following him. He shoved Nux’s shoulder, sending him stumbling towards the car. 

“Cut it out! I can’t even stand long enough to see what you’ve done to me!” Nux protested half-heartedly. He bent down to look in the mirror. 

Usually he would just smear some black over his nose vaguely in a circle shape, but Slit had taken some more clay and spread it pointy up the sides of his nose like a skeleton. 

“Yeah?” Slit asked, like he was looking for Nux’s approval. 

“Very shiny,” Nux smiled in the mirror before standing up. 

“Very shiny,” Slit agreed. 

From across the garage, the Ace yelled, “WAR BOYS! MOVE OUT!” Everyone echoed it, spreading the command like fire through the garage. 

Nux punched Slit’s shoulder as a goodbye, and got into the driver’s seat while Slit climbed onto the lancer’s perch at the back. Nux opened the roof so he could hear better, and shut the door. His fingers drummed on the wheel, in time with the Doof's drums.

Once they were on the ground under the elevator, all the Drivers got in formation, every vehicle being taken filed out into the open air of the Citadel. They idled in the sunlight, buzzing with held in kamakrazee excitement. Everyone was shaking all feral-like, ready to get out on the open road.

“WE ARE WAR BOYS!” The Ace shouted from the front. 

“WAR BOYS!” they all chorused. Nux stuck his head out the window to be heard better, and felt Slit bang on the roof in tempo with the chant. 

“VIOLENT CRAZY WAR BOYS!” The Ace shouted. 

“WAR BOYS!” The ensemble screamed back at him. Nux could hear Slit on the back of the truck, and his heartbeat thrummed in his ears. It’s his day. 

“TODAY WE’RE FIGHTING BUZZARDS!” The Ace announced. 

“BUZZARDS!” The War Boys shouted back. 

“AND TODAY WE’RE RAIDING NOMADS!”

“NOMADS!” 

Every driver revved his engine as the Ace climbed back onto the war rig. Nux banged on the ceiling twice, and Slit whooped from the back. 

“MOVE OUT!” The Ace called. They couldn’t really hear him over the roar of engines, but they all knew he said it. Then they took off, leaving behind dirty clouds, and spraying sand in their wake. 

[mariacallous]

The soon-to-be ruling party in Britain has alighted on two motifs for its general election campaign: the red, white, and blue Union Jack and the word “change.”

If he is to win, Keir Starmer, the Labour Party leader, must pull off a voting shift greater even than that achieved by his mentor Tony Blair in 1997, the last time their party seized power. Yet such is the calamitous state of the Conservatives that after 14 years of misrule, a victory for Labour has been pretty much priced in for the election on July 4.

The only question is how great a majority it will achieve and whether that can produce a buffer large enough to keep it in power for a decade at least to tackle Britain’s many woes—from the economy to the health service, education, social care, and failed privatizations such as the postal service and water. Indeed, pretty much every area of public infrastructure needs repair.

There is another problem, one that is harder to enumerate but that also goes to the core of Britain’s unhappiness. Starmer often points to, if obliquely, the loss of the country’s status, its decline in esteem around the world and among the British themselves. There is little any government can, or should, do to address broad historical sweeps that produce such cultural malaise, such as postcolonial decline (which also affects France and similar countries).

What governments can do is chart a new course. Blair tried to modernize Britain’s image, with some success, at least until the Iraq War in 2003. Since then, it has retreated into the default position of desperately clinging to past glories, applying balm to cover more contemporary wounds. Starmer, for his part, will not talk about the central cause, Brexit; he refuses to countenance a formal return to European Union structures.

There are other causes of Britain’s malaise, however. The two most recognizable emblems of Britain’s soft power, the royal family and the BBC, are themselves beleaguered. There is little Starmer can do to address the former (though, within months of taking office, Blair persuaded Queen Elizabeth to show a little less stiff upper lip following the death of Princess Diana).

But there is much the prospective incumbent in Downing Street can do to help sort out the national broadcaster. The BBC’s future matters far beyond the island’s shores. It is central to the global battle for hearts and minds, an important tool for liberal democracy to counter the increasingly successful disinformation strategies of Russia and China.

In short, a reinvigorated BBC would also reinvigorate Britain’s reputation in the world. But to achieve that is easier said than done and will require considerable surgery.

Nearly 20 years ago, I wrote a piece reworking the famous acronym as “Broken, Beaten, Cowed.” Needless to say, the higher-ups at the network didn’t appreciate it. I stood by my argument then. I feel even more vindicated now.

Some of the problems are self-inflicted. The organization’s management has struggled to deal with a string of HR scandals, some extraordinarily sordid, over the years. These have damaged its reputation.

In the many decades I have known, and contributed to, the BBC, relations between staff and management have veered between suspicion and acrimony. Both sides seem to be equally responsible. The tens of thousands who work there have a deeply embedded civil service mentality. For many of these “lifers,” it has been their only employer.

Most of those now in charge of the organization have spent much of their careers outside it. That brings with it a difference in perspective but also a lack of loyalty to a venerable institution. They have pushed out a large proportion of the news and current affairs department and shut or pared back important foreign bureaus. Much expertise has gone with them. Many esteemed journalists have claimed they have been discriminated against and sometimes humiliated, while being encouraged to leave. Several employment tribunals are ongoing.

The bigger issues at stake are financial and political. The BBC has had to operate in an environment of deliberately stoked hostility. A series of Conservative culture ministers, almost one for each year in office, have either loathed or barely tolerated the publicly funded corporation. Its budget has been cut; its system of funding through a direct tax, the license fee, is now open to debate. Meanwhile, a Fox News-style culture warrior channel called GB News has been lavished with praise by the government.

The organization is facing a series of technological and demographic headwinds. Far fewer Gen Zers watch and listen to BBC output than older generations (a problem that other legacy media organizations grapple with). In a bid to keep up with the times, the BBC has changed the nature of much of its content. Serious detailed documentaries take second place to competing with TikTok.

The evening current affairs program Newsnight, on air since 1980, is now a low-cost, low-grade chat show. The morning radio program, called Today, which used to be an appointment to listen, has replaced much of its (more expensive) international coverage with round-Britain lifestyle segments.

The most visible area of withering is in the BBC’s global output. In a note to staff in April announcing her departure after only three years as director of the World Service, Liliane Landor expressed deep concern about the “operational capability” of the service, which broadcasts in 42 languages. “With media freedom under threat, the World Service is a force for good and the BBC needs to look after it,” Landor said in a statement.

The BBC announced in September 2022 that nearly 400 jobs in its global arm would be lost to save 28.5 million pounds (about $35.6 million). Several languages have been dropped, including Arabic, with Persian to follow. In 2021, the BBC spent 290 million pounds ($368 million) on the service, with the government, via the Foreign Office, committing to invest a further 94 million pounds ($120 million) a year until next March. After this, funding is up for grabs.

BBC Director General Tim Davie, while pushing through the cuts, has urged the government to provide more of the funding. “We cannot keep asking U.K. license fee payers to invest in it when we face cuts to U.K. services,” he said. “We will need to discuss a long-term funding solution … that comes from central government budgets.”

Back in 2021, during the height of the COVID-19 fake news battle, the government gave the BBC an extra pot of money to fight disinformation coming from Russia, China, and elsewhere. The idea was to help expand a new unit verifying information and tackling bots. The sum, 8 million pounds ($11 million), while not unwelcome, was a drop in the ocean and does not compensate for the contraction of its traditional journalism.

The organization’s most recent annual report revealed that the weekly reach of the World Service had declined 12 percent year-on-year to 318 million people. Shortly after celebrating its centenary, the BBC is losing global influence at a time when it is most needed, with democracy in so much peril in so many parts of the world.

Starmer and his ministers will not want to get involved in the BBC’s day-to-day problems. Indeed, they will be keen, after a decade of interference by the Conservatives, to give it more operational independence.

Yet if there is one area where the government should be active, it is in preserving and extending the BBC’s role in providing impartial and reliable news and analysis to as many people as possible around the world. That will cost money – and Labour has made clear it will not spend what it can’t afford. Much of it could be found by abolishing the comical ‘GREAT’ campaign of British flag-waving that costs the taxpayer 60 million pounds per year. The government will have to do a new cost-sharing deal with the BBC and even if a little more has to be found, it is surely a price worth paying to give the UK an influence in the world it has steadily lost.

Whatever the costs, the long-term cost of watching as the organization’s international output continues to wither will be greater still.

[falasteen7urrah]

i want to share a piece i wrote during the first black out i experienced in gaza during this ongoing genocide.

With the threat of the ground invasion looming around, all 30-40 people gathered. My aunts relative decided to share stories like ghost stories at a sleepover.

During the 2008 war there were two phases of the ground invasion. Phase I, IDF soldiers came in, they killed and bulldozed at random, they separated women and children and told them to run. They then shot at their feet, “for fun”. Phase II, in some Northern Gaza cities IDF soldiers went door to door rallying every male. My aunts SIL tells her firsthand recount of why her husband is scared. That he and her father-in-law were taken down to the basement in troves, stripped naked, blindfolded and psychologically tortured. Some of the techniques included that the soldiers would call out a name, bring them to a corner, shoot near them, again, “for fun” all while the rest of the men would believe they’ve been killed. They did this for hours, amongst other things.

Ground invasion would be more of a scare some nights than others. Some nights it felt like soldiers would be right outside the door. We joked about barricading the door but my uncle said that would all be for naught as the cement wall was a lot easier to break than the metal door. So unless we were thinking of how to barricade the walls, we were sitting ducks. Not that there was anything to be scared of, of course [insert eyeroll].

War, a testament of man’s faith.

Fear is interesting, throughout a war it manifests differently. Sometimes debilitating, sometimes a myriad of physical manifestations, sometimes only felt deeply when expressed out loud.

October 27, 20:00.

Gaza, a territory, cut off internally and externally. With the bombing of At-Tisal all telecommunication was cut off. A flurry of thoughts plagues your mind. I had family and friends in northern Gaza, I had family on the main road, we were located closest to the eastern border, would they sweep in from the north making us safe or will they come in through the entire border, how long will I have to mentally prepare myself before they’re at our house? Ten, five, three minutes? Will this be Phase I? Merciless killing, which actually when thinking of ground invasion sounds like the most attractive option.

Being a female there is one constant fear. Whether in a warring territory or the safest first world country.

“There’s never been any history of IDF soldiers raping any Gazan.” Oh, thank god. I feel so much better. Sarcastic of course, but also settling in a way. However, I don’t know how true that proclamation was, yet in the moment it was the most comforting thing to hear. So I don’t need to be punched in the face, good to know. My sisters and I talked a lot about that actually, being punched in the face, deforming my face to be unattractive, something women used to do in vietnam and other war zones to avoid being sexual assaulted…

Outside men were gathered, an old radio was pulled out, only one radio station was a available, it was in Hebrew. An old man who was imprisoned countless time and his young adult son began translating. They had invaded, they came in by the north. Al-Shifa hospital was now marked, the largest hospital in Gaza, the hospital I volunteered at the third day of the war, home to over 80,000 displaced. Would they bomb it now? In an hour? Leave it until the last day, keeping everyone in a unique state of fear?

My dad pulled out a Motorola phone from his backpack. Huh? We all looked around in our bags if we had an aux cord headset, my mom finally found one, we plugged it in and radio sound came to life.

Boredom comes with war. That’s not common talked about and probably needs a whole thousand words on it itself for one to grasp the blandness and boredom in war. How does radio work? How do landlines work? Sound waves?

What does a blackout mean? Not only no internet, no way of hearing or reading or seeing what’s going on, but no way of communicating with the people in Gaza. Family and friends, we’re cut off. We have no way of knowing who will live and who will die, which happens every night but there’s a difference when the essence of ground invasion plagues the air.

The radio played all night long, and ever night since.

What to say? We’re alive, we’re safe, nothing happened. Except stuff did happen, not the horrors of ground invasion just the nightly norm. People died, people are dying, streets and cities flattened beyond recognition, more homeless, more displaced.

I connected to the internet. More dead, more injured, more, more, more. Amongst them, a friend. Not having internet was horrible, but off from the world, but when you do connect and all you see is death, death, death you start to avoid connecting anyways.

[valiantstarlights]

Heya! I'm the facesitting Hob anon (Never thought I would introduce myself that way)

Thank you for fulfilling that ask. It got me through a hella rough week at the office.

Hello, face-sitting Hob anon! 😊 Nice to see you again 🥰

You're very welcome, and I hope you'll only have good days ahead of you. ✨️ In the meantime, I wrote more personal trainer Dream AU face-sitting stuff to give you more good vibes 😊

--

So! As thanks to Dream for humoring(?) him about the face-sitting position, (not knowing that Dream is actually very into it) Hob plans a surprise for Dream on the weekend. 🥰

Dream has been working really hard lately, and Hob notices him absently massaging his stiff shoulders. So what does any good boyfriend do? He looks up massage therapy video tutorials and buys massage oils with calming properties.

When the weekend comes, Hob tells Dream that he wants to give him a full-body massage, and Dream bluescreens at first because his mind is living 24/7 in the gutter when Hob is involved. 😂 But as soon as Hob explains, red-faced, that the goal is relaxation and stress relief, and look, he even bought some lavender massage oil--

Dream falls in love with him more. 🥰

And like, Dream does go to chiropractors occasionally, but having his lovely boyfriend spend his free time learning massage therapy, buying massage oils, and dedicating an entire weekend afternoon just so Dream could feel better??

(They get sidetracked for a while because Dream has to show his appreciation first with ten thousand kisses and a schmoopy make-out session filled with 'I love you's and 'you're amazing's and 'I'm so lucky's.)

Anyway. 👀 Once Dream is dressed down (naked except for a medium-sized towel covering his pelvic area), Hob has him lie on the bed face-down, and starts massaging him beginning from the top.

Hob is very focused in his task. He's an academic at heart, so you know he took notes and dragged Jo and Ric to review his skills until he's deemed good enough. (Ric is very thankful for Hob's shoulder massages because life as Jo's manager is very stressful. 😂)

Dream is horny, of course he is, but his boner surprisingly takes a back seat as he lets Hob do his thing. He's a natural at this, and Dream feels very lucky to have such a thoughtful, caring boyfriend. 🥰

When Hob gets lower, though, he starts to become a blushy mess. He often clings to Dream when they have sex, and he remembers quite vividly some of the times when his nails would leave red marks on Dream's body, but especially on his back when Dream fucks him into the mattress.

But he manages to massage Dream's entire back area, including his arms, legs, and feet without stopping halfway and begging prettily to be fucked. He's so dazed that when he goes to wash his hands, he realizes that he forgot to tell Dream to turn over. 😂

Anyway, once he returns, he apologizes for spacing out and has Dream turn to lie down on his back.

Dream goes to do that without complaint, feeling relaxed and even a little sleepy. But then he sees Hob's flustered face, and him squirming when Dream slightly flashes him for a second while adjusting his towel, and it has him alert and wide-awake in 2 seconds flat.

And now Hob has to massage Dream's front while having Dream looking right at him, knowing exactly what's going on inside his mind. u///u)

It's a very tension-filled hour. Because while Hob is adamant to finish the job as professionally as he could, Dream has no qualms showing off his oiled body and asking Hob to massage certain areas more, like his pecs, which has Hob straddling him if he wants to be able to massage them properly.

So we have Dream, eyes dark and intense, and Hob, biting his lips hard so he can focus on his task instead of being reduced to a horny mess, because this hot guy he's currently straddling is in fact his boyfriend, and they could stop at any point and just go straight to fucking if he just says the word.

(Hob isn't going to say the word because he's the one taking care of Dream for once, and a relaxing full-body massage is something that Dream actually needs.)

(Dream thinks he's adorable and also how he wants so badly to be the one biting Hob's lips.)

As Hob's hands steadily move downward, his blush spreads and he looks away every time his gaze lands on the towel, where he could clearly see the outline of Dream's hard cock on it.

And maybe Dream comments that now Hob knows what Dream goes through every time they have a gym session where he's supposed to act professionally.

Maybe Hob replies with an apology for making things hard for him, and Dream smirks at his wording and uses that comment to shift his hips a little. Just enough so Hob could feel just how hard he currently is for him.

Maybe Dream even says something along the lines of, "Once you have finished, I would very much like to show you what I have been imagining ever since I turned over and saw how needy you look."

(Hob wants to protest that he is not needy, but that would be a blatant lie. He's also hard and leaking inside his cotton panties, and Dream looking and sounding seductive is not helping at all.)

Hob (miraculously) manages to finish giving Dream a non-naughty full body massage. 👏 He immediately flees to the ensuite and washes his hands, trying desperately to calm himself down. He knows he has to face Dream again, and he has to remember to ask him what he thinks. Was Hob's kneading too rough? Too gentle? Maybe there are areas that he didn't pay enough attention to?

Once he exits the bathroom, though, he forgets literally everything he's supposed to do, because Dream is still on the bed, but now he's lazily jacking off. Hob moans involuntarily at the sight, then slaps his hand over his mouth. How shameful!

But Dream just smiles and beckons him closer, and states very casually that he wants Hob to sit on his face again, except this time, he wants him to sit while facing the headboard. Why? Because this time, Dream wants Hob to just feel good without worrying about getting Dream off. Dream is fine. He's already feeling good. And now he wants to reciprocate.

Hob wants to object because the entire agenda this afternoon is making Dream feel good, period; but he can't bring himself to say anything when Dream adds that he wants to reward Hob for his hard work. Not just for the actual massage, which was wonderful, but for everything that came before. Watching tutorials, taking notes, buying oils, etc.

With some more coaxing and reassurance, Dream gets Hob to undress shyly for him, and Hob very carefully maneuvers himself up and up on Dream's body, until he's straddling Dream's head while facing the headboard. He is blushing all the while, and the lovely shade reaches his gorgeous hairy tits.

As soon as Hob lowers himself, hands and forearms firmly on the headboard, Dream reaches up and starts massaging Hob's tits like he has been wanting to this entire time, his hands still a bit slick from the oil. And while he's doing that, he's also kissing Hob's hairy thighs, murmuring about how much time he spent since Hob sat on his face for the first time, wanting so badly to do have Hob sit on his face again.

Having Hob's weight on him, feeling his body's little twitches, his legs trembling and squeezing the sides of his face, Hob's taste on his tongue, hearing Hob's sweet voice moan his name so prettily--

It's the best.

Hob hides his face behind his hands and implores Dream to stop talking because he already feels so close just from his words alone.

Suffice to say, after that entreaty, Dream goes to town on him.

Hob tries to hold most of his weight off Dream, even as Dream's clever tongue licks and laps at his hole, and one of Dream's arms holds him still so he cannot squirm away. Hob's arms are shaking in his effort to do so, and his legs have started to shake as well.

And then he hears slick sounds behind him, and when he turns to look, he sees Dream with one hand around his thick cock, getting himself off as he eats Hob out. Hob salivates, wanting to taste Dream as he gets eaten out, like last time. It's always a heady feeling, tasting Dream's delicious cum. It always makes him want more, and he feels like a cumslut when sucking him off.

And that's when Hob's arms give out, the visual proving too much for him.

Dream, sensing his opportunity, pulls Hob even lower, making him sit his entire weight fully on top of his face, and really tongue fucking him like rent is due.

Hob mewls at Dream's show of strength and cums as soon as Dream's tongue reaches deeper. And Dream, cock in hand, groans and cums a few seconds after Hob does, tongue still inside Hob, getting rhythmically squeezed by his rim.

(Do they make this an every weekend thing? Not really, because sometimes Hob has to attend an academic seminar, or Dream has corporate meetings with his siblings, but Hob does schedule hours of massage time for Dream every once in a while, and Dream always looks forward to those days, because he almost always get Hob to sit on his face once they're done.)

(And of course, Dream relearns his massage therapy lessons and massages Hob as well. 🥰 Those sessions are usually interrupted midway though, because Hob is still so sensitive to his touch after all this time, and Dream can't help but fuck him until his toes curl for being so sexy. And fucking midway through does have the added bonus of massaging Hob's round ass and seeing his own cum trickling out, so really, it's a win-win situation.)

[babylon-crashing]

Q: Have you ever wrote a poem, drew a painting, or recorded a song that almost (or has) brought you to tears any time you listen to it, read it, or see it?

“One in eight civilians killed or injured by landmines and unexploded ordnances is a child,” Save the Children (2023)

I’m not Armenian but I lived in the country as a Peace Corps volunteer and have been following the fighting in the Nagorno-Karabakh area, between Armenia and Azerbaijan, for years.

During those decades of war the Artsakh countryside - the hills and fields and mountains - have been littered with tens of thousands of landmines. According to NATO ACT’s current estimates, there are approximately 110 million live-ordnances still buried across nearly 70 countries worldwide. For reasons too complex to go into here the job of bomb disposal on the Armenian side fell to a group of volunteers, primarily teenage high school girls, who’d go out into the hills in their protective gear on the weekends and attempt to defuse any device that they could find.

The interviewer I heard this story from made it very clear this team was not trained by the military, they were primarily high schoolers who were, “learning as they went along,” doing this job because no one else would and there were fatalities among the volunteers.

I wrote this poem in 2007, 17-years before the Republic of Artsakh fell. My high school years were tumultuous but nothing like that. The horror that we make children shoulder. Now Artsakh is gone and the Armenian population has fled and I will never learn those volunteers’ names or their fates.

I titled the poem, "Trav'lin' Light," after a Billie Holiday song I use to croon. “No one to see/ I'm free as the breeze/ No one but me/ And my memories/ Some lucky night/ He may come back again/ So until then/ I'm travellin' light.” Bittersweet. as all love is, but dark. Dark and horrific. I’ve read this poem only once in public, at a Protest for Peace rally we were putting on in response to Iraq and the Surge. I got to the line, “stumbled on four,” and lost it. It’s a one-time only poem. I will never read it again.

Travel. Sudden lightning flash in daylight. A word others use. "So from today I'm trav'lin' light." As in atoms. The white flash of a device going off. My grime and bits settling down on your surprised face. You. Someone had to plant these ghastly boxes under this hill's skin. You surmised there are hundreds. Children have already stumbled on four. We. Travel with me here. I want you here when I mess up. Just once. Wave your hands. Call out my name. You can hear the light. Count the seconds. The short distance it takes to get to you. A blur. Crayon red. I rise up and all at once — I'm gone.

[usmsgutterson]

All right! It is that time of year again and, as some who typically thrives in the fall and winter months, it is absolutely, a thousand percent, time for me to become even more insufferable than I was in September when the fall event released!! yay!!

As with last year and because I love myself a good seasonal/holiday queue, I am also doing the five days of christmas queue again! I'm not doing it how I did it last year in that it was both requests and my own work--that is partly because I dont want to make a separate event post for it--this year and probably going forward, it'll just be fics themed around Christmas that come from me and aren't requests.

Fandoms to whom this event are open are as follows: six of crows, shadow and bone, peaky blinders (tommy and alfie only) shatter me (aaron and kenji only) and free rein (pin only because I miss writing for him anyway)

Requests will be open until the 30th of december. Any request I get after NYE or New Years Day will be deleted.

the event is below the cut as this has clogged up peoples dashes enough already lol

NOW PLAYING: peace by taylor swift

the devils in the details but you've got a friend in me - age old friendships between people who can go months without talking to one another and pick up right where they left off--think platonic strong bonds and relationships that have lasted too many years to count. Give me a character, a gender pref for the reader, and a holiday activity that you want me to write strong-bonded characters (be it friends who've been friends for a decade or a couple who has been in a relationship just as long) doing and I'll write 1-5k words for it. Think good vibes, snowy weather, and hot chocolate + christmas decorating--I will write just about any holiday activity for this prompt and I promise I'll have a blast

you and me forevermore - anniversaries! One year, five years, ten years, you name it! I personally think that winter is the superior season to start a relationship in so I will write anniversary celebrations set in the winter months and all you need to do is give me a character, a gender pref for the reader, and any other specifics you'd like to add!

SHUFFLING CHRISTMAS PLAYLIST

NOW PLAYING: have yourself a merry little christmas as covered by phoebe bridgers

have yourself a merry little christmas - PROMPTS!! I wrote out holiday prompts for the season and this is my excuse to use them. Send in any combination of prompts you want--you can send me a prompt from this list with a prompt from any of the other ones, just tell me what list you're using and I'll write it!

if we make it through december we'll be fine - long fics! Give me as many details as you want--in this instance I would very much prefer specificity over vagueness so do not spare a single one--a gender pref for the reader, and I'll write what you give me! Anything goes for this. Prompts, scenarios, anything! Any genre, though when I think of this I think angst because it is very easy to write longer angst fics for me. These fics will be anywhere from 4-8k words in length and all of their necessary details are completely up to you.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Daniel's Vision of the Four Beasts

1 In the first year of Belshazzar king of Babylon, Daniel had a dream, and visions passed through his mind as he was lying in bed. He wrote down the substance of his dream.

2 Daniel said: ‘In my vision at night I looked, and there before me were the four winds of heaven churning up the great sea. 3 Four great beasts, each different from the others, came up out of the sea.

4 ‘The first was like a lion, and it had the wings of an eagle. I watched until its wings were torn off and it was lifted from the ground so that it stood on two feet like a human being, and the mind of a human was given to it.

5 ‘And there before me was a second beast, which looked like a bear. It was raised up on one of its sides, and it had three ribs in its mouth between its teeth. It was told, “Get up and eat your fill of flesh!”

6 ‘After that, I looked, and there before me was another beast, one that looked like a leopard. And on its back it had four wings like those of a bird. This beast had four heads, and it was given authority to rule.

7 ‘After that, in my vision at night I looked, and there before me was a fourth beast – terrifying and frightening and very powerful. It had large iron teeth; it crushed and devoured its victims and trampled underfoot whatever was left. It was different from all the former beasts, and it had ten horns.

8 ‘While I was thinking about the horns, there before me was another horn, a little one, which came up among them; and three of the first horns were uprooted before it. This horn had eyes like the eyes of a human being and a mouth that spoke boastfully.

9 ‘As I looked,

‘thrones were set in place, and the Ancient of Days took his seat. His clothing was as white as snow; the hair of his head was white like wool. His throne was flaming with fire, and its wheels were all ablaze. 10 A river of fire was flowing, coming out from before him. Thousands upon thousands attended him; ten thousand times ten thousand stood before him. The court was seated, and the books were opened.

11 ‘Then I continued to watch because of the boastful words the horn was speaking. I kept looking until the beast was slain and its body destroyed and thrown into the blazing fire. 12 (The other beasts had been stripped of their authority, but were allowed to live for a period of time.)

13 ‘In my vision at night I looked, and there before me was one like a son of man, coming with the clouds of heaven. He approached the Ancient of Days and was led into his presence. 14 He was given authority, glory and sovereign power; all nations and peoples of every language worshipped him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that will not pass away, and his kingdom is one that will never be destroyed.

The interpretation of the dream

15 ‘I, Daniel, was troubled in spirit, and the visions that passed through my mind disturbed me. 16 I approached one of those standing there and asked him the meaning of all this.

‘So he told me and gave me the interpretation of these things: 17 “The four great beasts are four kings that will rise from the earth. 18 But the holy people of the Most High will receive the kingdom and will possess it for ever – yes, for ever and ever.”

19 ‘Then I wanted to know the meaning of the fourth beast, which was different from all the others and most terrifying, with its iron teeth and bronze claws – the beast that crushed and devoured its victims and trampled underfoot whatever was left. 20 I also wanted to know about the ten horns on its head and about the other horn that came up, before which three of them fell – the horn that looked more imposing than the others and that had eyes and a mouth that spoke boastfully. 21 As I watched, this horn was waging war against the holy people and defeating them, 22 until the Ancient of Days came and pronounced judgment in favour of the holy people of the Most High, and the time came when they possessed the kingdom.

23 ‘He gave me this explanation: “The fourth beast is a fourth kingdom that will appear on earth. It will be different from all the other kingdoms and will devour the whole earth, trampling it down and crushing it. 24 The ten horns are ten kings who will come from this kingdom. After them another king will arise, different from the earlier ones; he will subdue three kings. 25 He will speak against the Most High and oppress his holy people and try to change the set times and the laws. The holy people will be delivered into his hands for a time, times and half a time.

26 ‘“But the court will sit, and his power will be taken away and completely destroyed for ever. 27 Then the sovereignty, power and greatness of all the kingdoms under heaven will be handed over to the holy people of the Most High. His kingdom will be an everlasting kingdom, and all rulers will worship and obey him.”

28 ‘This is the end of the matter. I, Daniel, was deeply troubled by my thoughts, and my face turned pale, but I kept the matter to myself.’ — Daniel 7 | New International Version - UK (NIVUK) Holy Bible, New International Version® Anglicized, NIV® Copyright © 1979, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® All rights reserved worldwide. Cross References: Job 33:14; Psalm 2:6; Psalm 12:3; Daniel 2:40; Daniel 4:19; Daniel 5:6; Daniel 8:22; Matthew 8:20; Matthew 24:31; Matthew 28:3; Luke 1:33; Luke 2:19; 1 Corinthians 6:2-3; 2 Thessalonians 2:3; Hebrews 1:14; Revelation 5:5; Revelation 11:1; Revelation 11:5; Revelation 11:7; Revelation 12:3; Revelation 13:1-2; Revelation 13:5; Revelation 17:8; Revelation 17:12; Revelation 17:14; Revelation 19:20; Revelation 20:10; Revelation 22:5

[365-days-of-taylor-swift]

❣️IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT❣️

To all my fellow swifties and lyric lovers 🫶 I have something special planned for this december that I hope y'all enjoy! It's called the:

❄️ Back to December - Challenge ❄️

What's the idea?

This lil end of year challenge will include the tradtion of a good ol prompt list for each day of the month ! Every prompt is focused on a reoccuring word in Taylor's music and our fave lyrics including it!

Who can particpate?

Literally anyone who wants to create for this challenge or has in the past created smth that fits the prompt list!

I would of course love and be immensly honored, if any of you get inspired to create smth new for this! However! The whole idea behind this "back to december" challenge, is also that you get to revisit your past work that might not have gotten the recognition it deserved, or that you would simply love to show ppl again! ❄️

I'd love for anyone who likes this idea or is even considering joining the challenge, to rb this and spread the word! 🫶❣️

Promptlist and more details under the cut

❄️ Back to December - Challenge - Daily December Promptlist❄️

One/once 💚

Two/twice 💛

Three 💜

Four ❤️

Five 💙

Six 🖤

Seven 💘

Eight 🤍

Nine 🧡

Ten/hundred/thousand/ 💯

Week 📅

Rose 🌹

Birthday/party 🥳

Drink/Alcohol 🥂

Light 🕯️

Fire 🔥

Water 🌊

Stone 🪨

Air 🌬️

Twenty 2️⃣0️⃣

Gold 🪙

Sun ☀️

Family 👩‍👧‍👦

Star 💫

Christmas 🎄

Moon 🌕

Animal 🕊️

Card ♠️♥️♦️♣️

Month 📆

Year 🗓️

Midnight 🕛

What are the rules?

So as I've mentioned you don't need to create new stuff for this challenge! If you've ever done smth featuring lyrics that involve a word on this list then you can join just as easily as someone who wants to create smth new!

What types of media are allowed?

Any you can think of! Whether you have drawn/painted smth, made a lyric edit, did an lyric analysis, wrote a piece of (fan)fiction, made a video or if you crafted anything irl (like embroidery or collages for example); anything is allowed as long as it fits a taylor lyric featuring a word on the list!

How do I participate?

Well there are multiple options that will all lead you to a similar result!

1. You want to create smth for this challenge or have simply never posted about the work you're considering for this? then you can either

a) You can make your own post, tag this blog in it and schedule it to post on the day of the prompt

b) You can submit it to this blog and I will post it on the corresponding day

2. You've already created and posted about smth that would fit within this challenge?

-> then you can just tag me in it anytime until the day of the prompt and I will schedule my reblog of it for that day!

-> work you did on other challenges like inktober etc is ofc welcome as well! (as long as it's alright with the og creators of the respective challenges)

❣️IMPORTANT NOTE❣️

No matter which way you choose to participate in this challenge, I will post/reblog your art to this blog and add commentary on everything I loved about it!

Everyone deserves to get recognition for their beautiful work and I'd love to be able to spread some joy to y'all during 'tis damn season!

I'd love to participate!, but I can't think/choose a lyric for a day I like...

No worries, I got you! If anyone wants some inspo, just dm me. I have a huge google doc with all the lyric examples for this challenge and I'd be happy to share it 🫶

Or if you don't feel comfortable dming, you can send an anon asking for about inspo for a specific day and I will post the lyric examples there ♥️

I might want to participate but I'm not sure (if I'll remember) yet...

First of all no worries or pressure with this lil challenge! If you're unsure about whether you'll have the time/want to participate, you can:

send me a dm asking me to remind you about this challenge again before november ends

ask me to tag you when I rb this post once a week etc

-> asking me to do this is in no way binding to you! I simply want to offer a little help to those who (like me 🙈) struggle with forgetfulness even with stuff they might like to do! ❣️

If anyone has additional questions about this challenge, feel free to comment or sent me an ask/dm I'll be happy to answer them!

Additional Q&A

What if my creation features lyrics that fit multiple days?

That's totally okay and you can submit one piece of work/art for multiple days at once! More info here

What happens to this blog during december?

Besides hopefully <;3 rbing and posting your wonderful submissions, I will be posting polls featuring the lyrics I found for these prompts as polls on each day!

Bonus (aka some explanations why I chose those specific prompts for that day):

12 = Roses bc I couldn't just leave them out, since they feature in btc and "a red rose grew up out of ice frozen ground"

13 = ofc the birthday of our lord and savior

15 = Lights bc it's the last day of Hannukah this year

22 = Sun bc of the winter solstice

26 = full moon that day!

27 = apparently it's national zoo day and I lowkey love that

28 = same as above but with card games lmao