#Desire……. That part of me hasn’t died yet

[bytebun]

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[loganhowlettshousewife]

request for a logan x reader where logan comforts the reader after they come home from a mission all bloodied up? i see a lot of reader comforting logan fics but im curious to see how itd be the other way round :)

me? responding to a request like three weeks later? it's more likely than you think. also sorry it's so short. originally it turned into smut but i didn't know if you'd want that given the request was for hurt/comfort. (if you guys want i can publish the alternate smut version of this fic too).

solace

summary: you come home from a mission gone wrong and logan helps you through it.

warnings: death (offscreen), blood, non-sexual intimacy, nudity, reader has hair, pet names (logan canonically calls his love interests "darlin'" and this is me pushing that agenda), english is not my first language so please do not be rude

word count: 1004

you’re splattered in blood and grime, grey ash streaking your skin from the fire created by a little boy lashing out at the world. he had set his own house on fire, his parents dying in the most brutal of ways, burned alive.

“oh princess, c’mere,” logan pulls you into his arms. you’re in too much shock to argue, letting him manoeuvre you like a doll.

you don’t like going on missions, don’t like hurting people. you’re only ever sent on the easy ones, the non-violent ones, where you try to convince mutant kids to join the school. you’re good at talking to children, at getting them to admit their fears to you, at soothing their worries. but even the easy missions don’t always go well.

charles could sense that this particular child was powerful, and far worse than that, he was angry. he’d lashed out when he’d seen you, screamed in anger when his parents expressed a desire for him to go to xavier’s school, to learn to control himself before he came back home again. his parents were frightened too, scared of what might happen if things continued the way they were.

they’d all died in the explosion of his power.

he was so scared. he never meant to hurt anyone, you could see it in his eyes when the fire continued to burn despite him letting go. it was out of control, no longer a part of him that he could control like an extra limb, but something with a mind of its own.

it reminds you of yourself when you’d first discovered your abilities, scared and alienated from the rest of the world, from the non-mutants around you. you see yourself in every kid you save, and in every kid you lose.

you stay in logan’s arms for a long while, the only sound in the room his steady breathing contrasting with your ragged, choked out sobs. his chest rises steadily against yours, a rhythm that you try to imitate but you can’t, and with every failed inhale you feel your frustration grow, your panic increase.

he picks you up easily, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, clutching onto him so as not to fall. he would never drop you, you know that, but it’s always a slight surprise when you’re not expecting him to lift you from the ground.

he leads you to the bathroom where he helps you strip out of your clothes, so gentle with your shaking form. his hands trace each new sliver of skin revealed to him, keeping a firm pressure on you always, grounding you, reminding you of where you are. not in a burning house watching a child’s corpse go pitch black from the flames, but in the house that logan bought the two of you, not too far from the school but enough to give the two of you privacy.

in the shower, the blood rinses off your skin, pink rivulets swirling down the drain. yet you can still feel it, thick and sticky and warm. you want to scrub at your skin until its red and blistering, until you have to grow a new layer of skin, a fresh one that hasn’t been touched by death.

logan doesn’t let you. he catches your hand and whispers, “let me take care of you, darlin’.”

you lean into his bare chest and he massages shampoo into the roots of your hair, over your scalp until it foams, and then rinses it away. he runs your conditioner - the one he always claims is too expensive and why would you spend so much on hair products - through your hair, tugging gently at the strands when he notices you disappearing into your mind.

afterwards he pats you dry, and kisses every inch of your skin, reverent, on his knees before you. and then he rises to his feet and finally presses his lips to yours, soft and intimate, not rushed or heated, just reassurance that he’s here, he’s got you, and he’s not going anywhere.

“do you want to talk about it?” he asks eventually.

you shake your head, “he was just a kid.”

“i know,” logan says, rubbing his large, rough hands over your arms, up and down, “but it’s not your fault, you know that. you can’t control what other people do. d’you blame storm for what happened?”

“no!” you exclaim, eyes wide at the implication that one of your best friends could have caused the boys death.

“but she was on the mission with you,” logan comments, and you shake your head, “if you don’t blame her, you can’t blame yourself. neither of you knew, you couldn’t’ve stopped it.”

“maybe,” you say. you don’t really believe it, but logan knows it’ll take you time to get back to your usual happy self, and he’s fine with staying by your side, whispering praise and reassurance until you start to believe him again.

afterwards, he puts on your favourite movie. he spends the whole time making fun of the characters and their decisions, grumbling about how movies will base their entire plot progression on actions no real, rational person would ever do, until you giggle wetly and slap him in the arm, telling him to shut up and let you watch the film.

you lean back into the circle of his arms and he holds you tight, occasionally wiping stray tears that run down your cheeks. there’s less tension in your muscles now, but you’re not quite relaxed, so he shuffles the two of you around until he can massage your shoulders and back.

you moan at the feeling, sinking into the sensation of his large hands working at the knots, until you’re putty for him. you feel warm and fuzzy by the time his hands start to stray down, massaging your thighs.

“feelin’ better?” he asks as the end credits roll, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“yeah,” you sigh, “thank you for taking care of me.”

[prinzrupprecht]

When they hurt your feelings

Featuring: Beelzebub, Cu Chulainn, Apollo, Okita ( part 1 )

Ight lads we onto a new series. Dunno why Okita feels out of place in this line up. First time doing Beel and Cu. If you guys want a specific character in part 2 you’ll have to request it or else imma just rng it.

Part 2 and Part 3

No warnings.

Beelzebub

You knew of the risks of trying to get close to the Lord of the Flies. You may have been pestering him around too lately or tried to get him to soften up around you.

All your efforts were for nothing but you still tried. He tells you to leave him alone most of the time while he studies in his own research room. You continued to pout as your advances were rejected yet again.

Beelzebub never tried to get to know you or why you even wanted to befriend him. Ever since Lilith and his three friends died because of him, he doesn’t want the same to happen to anyone else. Other gods feared him and he liked to live in solitude.

You still tried to get close to him. It was pissing him off and so he snapped without thinking one day. He called you the worst things a person shouldn’t ever hear. Bottom-feeder gods were better than you. You were more annoying than a fly buzzing in his ear. If it wasn’t for his desire to die so badly, he’d rather your piercing voice kill him instead.

You probably were more hurt than ever and couldn’t even bring yourself to leave your house for days. You were so annoying that he would rather die than be near you? No, he always wanted to die and you tried to change that.

Instead, you had tried to move on. Maybe it was for the better? Even no matter how hard you tried to be friendly to him, it was no use and the weeks that have gone by without passing a word to him. He probably doesn’t even care enough to look in your direction.

You found your way to the garden of Eve despite the weird creatures that lurk around the forbidden tree. You just wanted to break free from the reality you were in for a moment— “why are you here?” His voice sounded like venom. You couldn’t even move, yet he was here.

“Fine then I’ll leave, sorry for even coming here.” You pouted and turned your head to see him giving you an amused look. You were confused, didn’t he want you not to be around him?

“Actually, I liked it better when you were annoying. It fits you more,” he huffed. He wanted you to pester him around? You didn’t want to feel that heartache again that he gave you.

“Huh?! If you’re here to insult me again then go away!” You huffed pointing your finger at him.

He grabbed your arm pulling you to him with a smirk plastering his face. “No. I actually would rather risk killing you than you avoid me again.” He pushed you against the tree with one hand close to your head. Your mind was running wild with thoughts. Kill you?

“Fine then, only if you let me get to know the real you instead of pushing me away!” You glared back at him which he stepped forward towards you. He was surprised Satan hasn’t tried to kill you. His heart was growing more fonder of you by the day and it killed him more when you stopped pestering him around because of his cruel behaviour towards you.

At last he would have you here and now.

Cu Chulainn

Knowing Cu was probably a nightmare. He was rude and complained about the gods a lot. What were you even? A human brought to Valhalla and met Cu Chulainn along the way. You weren’t exactly the closest to him but you grew jealous of how much he paid attention to his dog more than you sometimes. However, he had a different side to him whenever he was with his dog Geis.

You sometimes wish you were the dog but you concealed your feelings for him knowing what had happened to other women who tried to confess to him. Morrigan… you were there when she demanded him to marry her and the two fought. Morrigan tried to kill you out of revenge for Cu rejecting her. Yet, something snapped in him and somehow he defeated her within seconds.

Your mind was brought back to you watching Cu with his dog. He even allowed you to pet his dog where as nobody else was allowed to. He trusted you enough to pet him. “He’s not bad when he gets to know someone first.” Cu smiled genuinely watching Geis brush against your side.

“He’s cute! Is he fine with cats?” You looked at Cu who gave you even more of an annoyed look. Cats? What?

“I don’t know?” He was having doubts about where this was going.

“Can he meet my cats?” You clasped your hands together. His dog around a bunch of felines?!

“Hell no, Geis doesn’t need to be around a bunch of annoying cats. Heck, even I don’t want them around me.” Cu turned his head but you didn’t say anything. You accepted Cu’s dog but he wouldn’t even trust a few cats? You had thought because he liked animals, maybe he wouldn’t mind the stray cats you take care of.

“It’s fine! Sorry, I asked. I uh– I have to go back home now anyway!” You didn’t even give him a chance to say anything before leaving.

Cu was rude most days, and you put up with him a lot. You watched him train and talked nonstop in his ear. Even when he was busy, he always found time to check up on you. You didn’t want to admit to him about your feelings for him incase he’d reject you.

So why were you hurt now? Cu would probably kill your cats anyway so it’s better that he wasn’t around them. He can’t even accept one part of you?

Several days had passed without hearing anything from Cu. You were fairly certain this must’ve been the longest you haven’t heard from him. You were too sad to even leave the house, why were men so stubborn? Did he expect you to chase him? You refused to do that as you were stronger than that.

You almost didn’t hear the front door open and you immediately jumped thinking someone entered your home. “Woah, relax.” Cu showed himself from around the corner. He looked more annoyed than you.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice croaked which gave away how upset you were with him. You weren’t only upset about what he thought of your cats but his rude attitude also puts you down at times.

“Heh? You didn’t come by for a few days, so I wanted to see if you’re alive. And Geis too was worried,” he called his dog over who nearly tackled you to the ground and was licking you all over. You were happy but at the same time, this changes nothing.

“Well, I’m alive so you can leave.” You gave him a murderous stare indicating you were mad at him. Cu was irritated with you. Now you’re matching his mood? He was stubborn but he never thought you’d be the same.

“Nah, bring your felines out.” Cu brought an arm up to his forehead to hint at the imaginary headache you were causing him. Would you stop being mad at him if he petted one of your cats?

You perked your head up at him, “not if you’re forcing yourself to meet them.” You pouted.

“I’m asking to,“ he didn’t want to admit that it was indeed to make you stop being mad at him. He missed you.

“Fine, but could you be more nicer to me from now on?” You stood up and gave him a sly smile.

“Whatever, Princess.”

Apollo

Being Apollo’s wife came with both pros and cons. He would either suffocate you with his love and continuously talk nonstop to you about his passion for beauty or he would disappear for days. The disappearing part was recent. He used to stay in the Olympus palace with you most times. This was making you worry whether he was going back to his old ways.

Was he seeing someone new? Was he bored of you now? The unsettling feeling wouldn’t go away. Maybe you shouldn’t wait for him anymore.

“My lady, it’s urgent.” One of the maids opened into your shared room. You looked at her to continue.

“Ah, my apologies. Apollo is severely injured and is asking for you.” Severely?! What? You weren’t even mad anymore. Your worries were filled with intrusive thoughts of him being in a critical condition that may be fatal. You could also be worrying too much.

You rushed out of the room as you heard of the news. Why was he severely hurt? You were going to scold him but as soon as you reached the infirmary where there were many injured Olympus guards, deities and you found Apollo in his own room.

“Agh, what happened?!” You busted open the door and you could see that he was wrapped in bandages. His force went from wide shock to giving you a small smile.

“It’s nothing too major darling—"

“Nothing too major? You’re covered from the chest down in bandages?! I’m hurt, yes. You would go off and disappear for days! I know you’re not telling me things.” You lowered your head and sat next to his bedside.

“I’m sorry for being in such a disgusting unsightly position right now.” He changed the topic back to his beauty which even hurt you even more. Did he only care about his looks?

“Can you take this seriously for once? Agh, maybe I should leave.” You stood up but Apollo sighed and needed to explain why he was gone for days at a time. However, you spoke up again turning to face him.

“I thought you were seeing someone else! And then I hear this, I— I don’t even know.” You covered your mouth with one hand. Apollo was offended you lacked faith in him. In all honestly, it shocked him. However, it was his fault for not telling you the Titan issue so you wouldn’t worry. Yet, he knew he messed up.

“The Titans broke into heaven and Zeus needed all of us.” He grabbed your hands to stop your shaking. You were immensely scared and your worries wouldn’t stop.

Hey, hey, everything is fine.” Apollo pushed some of your hair back behind your ear. You were starting to feel a bit more at ease. You lowered your head on his chest without trying to hurt him. His arms wrapped around your waist. You were calming down and hoping he would recover from this.

Even the titans may return later but you wanted him to be more truthful. “I’m sorry, I overreacted and thought you would hurt me…” you were feeling bad but Apollo still placed one of his hands to his forehead.

“Hmm, no I have no reason to commit infidelity as you’re the only beautiful woman I need to comfort me.” He was so obsessed with beauty even to the point that only you were the most beautiful gem in his eyes.

Okita

Every time you tried to practice your swings and techniques alone, Okita would always make his comments about how you were almost as bad as Hijikata as a joke. You envy him for being a prodigy and that he was right. Souji was the best swordsman in Kondo’s Shieikan training hall. Nothing hurts more than hearing his negative thoughts about your swordplay.

Hijikata was unbothered by the comments hurled at him for being the worst swordsman, and for some reason, you didn’t want to show how bothered you were. Okita-san liked to play around with them and that was what men did. It was a weakness to show your emotional side. You tried to keep your distance from the demon child. For many years you had known Souji, he was incredibly kind to you but that was up until recently when you wanted to learn how to use a sword.

You asked Saitou and Nagakura to help you, but they still won against you every single time. Yet, they never gave you a ton of criticism like how Souji had. They even said you had the potential to be as good as them. It was only Souji who said even if you trained for a hundred years, you wouldn’t ever be as good as him. Maybe he was right, but you weren’t trying to be as good as him. You wondered what changed? Why was he like this towards you?

Even when Kondo took him in, you were just a kid at the time who was also raised by Kondo’s adoptive father and lived at the Shieikan dojo. You even helped Kondo-san take care of Souji and he became incredibly attached and protective of you two. You had wondered if he had thought of you more than someone who just took care of him when he had no one. His sister abandoned him and you reassured him he wasn’t a monster as others saw him as.

When you saw him talking to Saitou and smiling, you felt a bit sad. Why did he act differently around them compared to you? You missed his nice and caring side. You were bothered but you pushed yourself to move on. As you walked away you saw Kondo in another room. “Everything okay?” he had asked which your mind stopped for a moment. You nodded but said nothing.

“You’ve been acting strange these past few days,” he patted you to sit next to him and you couldn’t help but break down your emotions. You couldn’t hold them in any longer. You told Kondo that it was becoming unbearable to be around Souji.

“I don’t think he means it like that, I think he is worried that you’ll get hurt." Kondo took another sip of his tea. You wondered what he meant by that. Get hurt? After some time talking to the boss of the dojo, you started to understand where Souji was coming from. He never spoke to Kondo about his concerns either since men tend to not show their emotions or like to express themselves.

You decided the comments hurt too much and went back to cleaning the dojo and after them. Your friendship felt worse with Souji now. You decided that whatever you thought there was with him before was completely gone now. You saw Yamanami and Saitou practicing inside and they wanted to help you train but you politely declined.

You saw Souji outside sitting at the cherry blossom tree and that was when you walked over to him to confront him with the way he behaved towards you. “You going to explain yourself?” You were standing in front of him and he didn’t look up at you nor spoke for a moment.

“Huh? What?” He gave you an innocent reaction and it irritated you. It was like a sting to your heart and you were just bothering him at this point.

“Seriously? You’re going to play dumb? Never mind, this was a mistake.” You were about to walk away and go back to cleaning but Souji grabbed your sleeved arm so you wouldn’t leave him. Ever since you helped Kondo take care of him, he was afraid you would leave him one day.

“I’m sorry.” He still wouldn’t let go of your arm.

“Huh?” You sat next to him.

“I’m sorry for the way I treated you.” His lips curled up into a smile. His knees were still up to his chest while you knew he meant it.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to practice swordplay anymore with Saitou or Nagakura-san.” You shrugged.

“Why haven't you asked me?”

“I— I don’t know. I don’t want to bother you with trivial things…” This made you fidget with your long sleeves.

“But you’re fine with bothering Hajime-san?” You understood where he was coming from. He was annoyed you never asked him for help and relied on others. Jealous? You didn’t want to make a joke about him being jealous. It was obvious and it makes sense that he wanted to be the one to train you and even protect you.

“So you would help train me without being a prick this time?” You couldn’t help but blush a bit. He looked at you and noticed how flustered you looked.

He nodded, “ya I can do that.” He smiled at you and leaned his body against yours like old times. After all, maybe your friendship could be something else with him.

Note: I really want to write a ton of bs one shots with Cu all of a sudden. Anyway, that’s all for now!

[7-wonders]

The Mixup

Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x Reader

Summary: Matthew goes sticking his beak in places it shouldn't be, and finds what he believes to be some shocking news.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: This is a complete and utter crack fic, fight me about it. Based on this post I made. Matthew died right before the pandemic in this, bc it's my fic and I decide the rules :)

As Dream of the Endless’s Official Raven™, Matthew had developed a special set of skills to help him complete the tasks that only he could successfully accomplish. One of these skills, and arguably the most useful one, was the ability to gather evidence from the smallest of clues. He was like the most diligent of spies, and he took his job extremely seriously; James Bond had nothing on him.

Part of being the greatest corvid detective a number of realms had ever seen meant that it was sometimes difficult to turn his investigation mode on and off. After all, he was expected to be at Dream’s beck and call at the moment that he was needed, which could come at any time or any place. What if there was another John Dee-type emergency and he wasn’t on his a-game? That wasn’t an experience that Matthew was willing to repeat, so he was always on the lookout for any potential situation that might require his expertise.

Today, he had just finished an errand tracking a couple of newer dreams as they learned how to walk through dreams. It had been pretty successful, and since he was already out and about, Matthew decided that he would go and drop in to say hi to you. This was solely out of the goodness of his heart and the desire to see a friend, and most definitely not because you kept your kitchen stocked with sour gummy worms and raspberries just for him.

When Matthew arrived at your home, though, swooping in through the window you kept cracked open just enough for a smarter-than-the-average raven to crawl through, you’re nowhere to be found. Not in your kitchen (which is the first place he checks, for obvious reasons), not in your living room, and not in your bedroom. That’s odd. Normally, you’re home at this time and on this day.

After grabbing a second, third, and fourth helping of some very delicious snacks, Matthew remembers that he hasn’t checked your bathroom yet. Though you’re probably not in there, it won’t hurt to check; maybe you’re taking a shower or something?

The lights are on in the bathroom, but as it is everywhere else, nobody’s home. Frustrating, because Matthew had his mind set on coming to say hi to you, and he hates not fully accomplishing his goals. Oh well, that’s just how things go sometimes. Matthew takes a perch on the counter, deciding that while he’s here, he should preen his feathers of the sugar crystals and raspberry juice that his snacking has left on him. When he turns his head to try and smooth a feather near his wing, he sees it.

Two small, boxy tests, each with two lines on them.

While it had been a few years since Matthew had been a human, he very much remembered the basics of a pregnancy test. And those? Pregnancy tests.

His surprised squawk sends him falling off the counter, and he has to furiously flap his wings in order to not land on the floor. When he gets his feathers under him, he takes a second look at the tests, just to make sure that his beady eyes don’t deceive him. They don’t, because he definitely sees two tests, with two dark lines on each of them. Positive.

As Matthew retreats to the Dreaming, he finds himself a little mad. He can’t believe that Dream’s managed to hide this from him! He really thought they were closer than that, or at the very least, that they had a good-enough working relationship where something as life-changing as a pregnancy would be shared as good news.

It really be your own boss sometimes.

Said boss is sitting on the steps leading up to his throne, surrounded by books and stray scraps of paper. It’s been one of his missions, as of late, to read up on popular literature that he missed during his captivity for ideas for new dreams and nightmares. When hearing about this, you had told Dream that if he was looking for nightmare inspiration, all he had to do was watch the news for an afternoon—something that he was less than amused by, even though you were being completely honest.

Matthew landed on the step next to Dream’s leg, affectionately nipping at the outside of his thigh until he looks down with one of his barely-there smiles. 

“How did our new dreams do?” he asks.

“They did good! Got lost a couple of times, which you expected, but after they got the hang of it, it was smooth-sailing from there.” 

Dream nods before going back to the paragraph he was reading, proud of his creations, though Matthew keeps watching him closely for any sign of…something. A glow, a happiness, something that expecting fathers hiding the news from their beloved ravens would carry. Matthew can’t let this stand, and so he attempts to bait Dream into telling him.

“I haven’t seen Y/n around lately,” Matthew begins.

“We have both had our own various tasks keeping us away from each other the past couple of days. I have felt her presence in the Dreaming each night, though, and she knows that she may call for me if she had need of me.”

Hmm, a painfully normal answer. Not what Matthew was hoping for. “Awesome! Yeah, awesome.”

“Matthew,” Dream calls impatiently.

“Yeah?”

“Why did you choose this topic of conversation?”

“Well, I just, y’know…stopped in to say hi earlier. She wasn’t home, but.” Matthew’s not a good talker, and he needs to just rip the bandage off. “When were you gonna tell your old pal Matthew that you two were expecting?”

Dream looks at Matthew again. “Expecting?”

“Yeah.”

A moment. “Expecting what?”

“Uh, a baby?” Matthew wants to add “duh” under his breath, but he restrains himself.

Dream’s fingers, which had been slowly and methodically tapping on the book he was reading, froze. No, that was wrong. Dream, in his entirety, froze. Literally, it was like someone had hit ‘pause’ on a remote. Though Dream didn’t need to, when in his human form, he found himself in the habit of doing human functions like blinking and breathing. Seeing them stop so suddenly is extremely jarring for Matthew, and he’s a little worried that he’s going to have to try and rouse the King of All Night’s Dreaming from a stupor by throwing water on him or something.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to when Dream asks, slowly and as though the air has been punched out of him, “A baby?” Matthew was hoping he’d get more than just a repetition of his own words, but he’ll take it.

“I mean, if the positive pregnancy tests were anything to go by, then yes.” Matthew now feels like the biggest jerk in the world. He had thought that Dream was keeping a secret from him, not that you were keeping a secret from Dream! “I’m sorry, I thought you already knew.”

“No, I knew of no such…development.” 

Uh oh.

“Oh! Well, then I guess she just found out! Heh. Congratulations?” Matthew’s working desperately to try and spin this, even as Dream stands up so unsteadily that Matthew worries he might pass out. “Maybe she’s figuring out a fun way to tell you the news.”

Dream nods, but his mind is already in the Waking as he tries to digest what he’s just been told. “Matthew, please inform Lucienne that I will be in the Waking.”

“I can do that! Do you know how long you’re gonna be there, or–” Matthew’s cut off by Dream disappearing in a swirl of sand. When it’s just him in the throne room, a frantic Dream Lord long since gone, Matthew sighs. “Shit.”

•••

The lights in your bedroom are off in order to combat the pressure in your head, the only source of light coming from the random show that you’ve seen fifty times, turned on so that you can have some sort of background noise. You’re only half paying attention as you scroll through your phone, having just woken from a nap and trying to fully wake up so that you can drag yourself to a shower before you try to go to bed.

You’d like to say that this is why you throw your phone in fright when Morpheus suddenly appears in your bedroom, but the reality is that you’d have been just as caught off-guard if you were completely aware and knew that he was coming.

“Hi!” you greet with a smile, pushing yourself to sit up in bed. “What are you doing here?”

He looks off when he makes eye contact with you, but you can’t tell if he’s actually distressed or if it’s just his normal brand of weirdness. When he runs a hand through his hair, that’s when you realize that he’s actually distressed. Morpheus almost never does any sort of human mannerisms, especially something as visibly anxious as mussing up his own hair.

Finally, he remembers to answer your question. When he does, though, you’re absolutely not expecting him to say, “Why did you not tell me that you are with child?”

“What?”

Morpheus takes a seat next to you on your bed and grabs your hands in his. You just hope he doesn’t realize how clammy they are. “If you were…scared of how I would react, then I must sincerely apologize. Though we have never discussed this topic, you must know that I would be happy and support you in whatever you decide.”

“I mean, that’s great and all, but…” you squeeze his hands, which are as cold as they usually are. “Morpheus, I’m not pregnant.”

He blinks. “You’re not?”

You shake your head slowly, wary of the double vision you’ve been experiencing when you move too fast. “No. One-hundred-percent not pregnant, sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh.” The relief on his face is so palpable that it almost makes you laugh.

“How did you come to the conclusion that I was?”

“When Matthew came by earlier to visit you, he saw what he said were…” he thinks for a moment, “‘pregnancy tests’ on your counter.”

You huff. “Matthew needs to mind his own business. They were covid tests, and that’s probably why I wasn’t here when he was. I scheduled a pickup order at the pharmacy so that I could get meds and other ‘sick person’ stuff before I got too sick.”

“Covid?”

“Coronavirus. It’s the pandemic, people have definitely dreamt of it before.” His gaze goes foggy for a moment, and you can tell that he’s drawing on the knowledge of the Dreaming in order to learn everything about covid in the span of a second. When he comes back to you, he nods.

“Yes, they have.” Then, he gets panicked again. “You are ill, then?”

“Unfortunately. It’ll be okay, though. Just have to rest and hydrate for a few days.” You cough, your body deciding to punctuate your point about being sick and needing rest.

“Is there anything that I may do to help you in your recovery?”

“Yeah, you can call your little sidekick so I can yell at him for going through my stuff.” You won’t actually yell at him, because you’re not actually mad. Still, it’ll be funny to see how he reacts to the knowledge, and you can’t miss out on getting to be the one to tell him how wrong he is.

Morpheus holds his coat open to reveal the starry lining within. Through some link that you haven’t quite been able to figure out yet, Matthew flies out of the galaxies and into your room seconds later. He settles himself on your nightstand, looking about as visibly awkward as a raven can.

“Hey, there’s the happy couple!” When you both do nothing but stare at him, he clears his throat. “Congratulations?”

“I’m not pregnant, dumbass,” you say.

“What?” Matthew exclaims. “But I saw the tests!”

“First of all, don’t snoop through my stuff. Second of all, how the hell did you mistake a covid test for a pregnancy test? It literally said what it was on the test.”

“First of all, I was looking for you and, when you weren’t here, I was trying to make sure you weren’t in any danger. It’s what being a good raven is all about,” he retorts. “Second of all, maybe it’s because I don’t know what those are!”

“A covid test?” He bobs his head up and down in a nod. Just as you’re about to use the new roast material you think you’ve just acquired, you pause and think. “Wait, when did you die?”

“Uh, February of 2020?” 

Suddenly, it all made sense. Matthew didn’t know what a covid test was, because when he died, covid was neither widespread nor a public health emergency. Hell, in February of 2020, at-home tests wouldn’t even be available for another half of a year.

“You get a pass this time for your lack of knowledge,” you say before pointing at him. “But don’t go through my stuff anymore. Just…wait around next time! Enjoy some snacks!”

“Oh don’t worry, I still enjoyed plenty of snacks before looking through your stuff.” Matthew looks back at Morpheus. “Can I go, or am I still needed here?”

Morpheus sighs and holds his coat open again, still trying to wrap his head around the conversation he just witnessed. “You may return to the Dreaming, Matthew.”

“Sweet, thanks!” He flies up into the air, and right before he disappears back home, he calls out, “Make sure you use precaution!”

You’d throw a pillow at that damn nosy bird, but you don’t want to hit poor, confused Morpheus with it.

[dom1re]

Hi 👋🏽 I so admire your arts too!! If it’s ok, I’d love to know more about your approach to shading and rendering. I always find your use of colour so calming and complementary. 💖💖

Whereas I tend to be over saturated and why I often draw in greyscale

When I read that you liked my arts too I died. I was down on the floor. Crying tears of joy. Then I realized I have a response to draft so I got up.

So here ya go!! I hope you find something interesting here. I organized it into 3 parts for easier reading:

Rendering Overview

Picking Colors

Shading (or winging it and hoping for the best)

Also if anyone has any tips I'm all ears!! I’m always trying to optimize my process, make it quicker + cleaner

Rendering Overview

My current rendering process on Procreate (click and swipe):

1. Rough sketches

This is where I try to get the anatomy and pose right. I can get up to 3 reps in here depending on how refined I want it to be. Yep I care a lot about my lines...

2. Clean line

... coz it's my favorite part!! I get such a dopamine rush seeing the sketches come together into a clean line lol. Here I use the Selection Tool and Liquify to resize and adjust the forms (gotta move away from doing this too much tho)

3. Color

First I create a flat base layer and color over it using Clipping Mask (pretty standard I think). Then I divvy my drawing into as many layers as possible - one each for skin, hair, shirt, waistcoat, trousers, etc - as I color them all. More on this below.

4. Shade

ewww shading... my least favorite part. I use Multiply layers and gray colors, again pretty standard. I usually have 1-3 layers here, stacked on one another, depending on the desired depth. More on this below.

5. Finishing touches

This stage involves a lot of small (but important imo) things, which vary depending on the drawing:

Tinting lines (Because shading makes the colors darker, lines need to get darker too)

Highlights on hair, face, clothes, eyes, etc. I can never make up my mind between Overlay/Hard Light/Soft Light layers for this

Little wisps of hair or lighting effects 

and voila I have something to share with the world. wooo

Picking Colors

Ok about my colors… I wish I had some fancy technique to show but tbh I just eyeball them and try them out a bunch. Now if I’m using a reference I could use the color picker, but I don't like to coz the results are way off for whatever reasons (ex. lighting in the img). Anyways it doesn’t have to be the same color as the reference; as long as the colors “make sense” to me I'm happy.

But what if the colors I chose are too saturated or too dark? I use the Adjustment Tools for this. I can just select the layer (or an area using the Selection Tool) and edit its darkness and saturation. I found this way easier than painting over or color-dropping repeatedly.

This is why I leverage as many layers as possible. It allows a modular control on my rendering - I can change the color of my character’s skin, eyes, or waistcoat patterns and keep all other components unaffected and clean. Sometimes I have like 100+ layers and it drives me batshit crazy but the pros still outweigh the cons. Or so I tell myself

( + I would love to understand grayscale and use it as freely as u do. I watched bunch of vids on it but something about it just hasn’t stuck with me yet 😔)

Shading I guess

Similar to coloring, I create several Multiply layers and stack them together for depth. For example:

This is again for that modular control but honestly I wouldn't be doing this if I was good at shading... I feel so lost every time, I just don't know how it works. But one ‘hack’ I’ve come up with is shading skins and clothes differently. I use reddish gray for skin (and brown/red hair), and just gray for everything else.

The character feels more lively and natural with a bit of red undertones in their skin. I don't think this is the best way to render skins though. Just a little shortcut til I get to study the topic more.

Something else I do to get over my fear of shading is using good references. I’m always lurking on Pinterest for them but alas, I can’t always find that perfect image with perfect lighting and poses. It’s kinda sad funny how the quality of my rendering depends so much on the reference:

(it's not a 'bad' reference per se - I chose it really for the pose, not for shading)

At the end of the day tho I’m just a learning artist so I try not to be too harsh on myself. Someday I'll render shiny shoes and shirt creases without refs. I yearn for that day 

Well on that cheerful note thanks for coming to my Ted Talk your interest in my rendering approach! I’ve been wanting to document it for my own records so this was great.

I picked up digital illustration just last year and self-learning it has been a fun but lonely process. If you have any tips or more questions talk to me ANYONE PLEASE I’m dying to talk about it if you can't tell by the sheer length of this post. For which I'm sorry but hopefully it wasn’t too dense a read ok I’m really done now bye!! 

[heli0s-writes]

I would sacrifice like thirty virgins for a Steve body worship fic 🥲 (Also I agree with u he would be more of a giver than a receiver imo)

a/n: omg ty for your patience. here’s 775 words of my usual triple venn diagram of love, sex, & religion heretic shit. please stop reading if you’re not 18+

brooklyn after dark masterlist

“hymnostic”*

Loving a monument can be lonely work.

He’ll never be just yours because he belongs to the world. He’s Captain America, the people’s liberator, and he goes where he’s called.

He always tries to come back, though. He wanders off to war, fights his way toward peace, brokers with nations and planets and disappears for months.

Sometimes he gets home and he’s still in that headspace. That indomitable bearing, uncompromising gaze, protruding chin with a curl of a snarl winding up his lips because he’ll be damned before he kneels to a single thing.

And okay, maybe he lives there. Maybe he struggles to take it off.

Sometimes he snaps. Gets his fist on a cabinet door and this quiet kind of fury rises up to the top of his head. And it’s stupid, because it’s not your fault, so you react— wild animal fear jolting across your face— and it kills him a little that he’s brought violence to your door.

“Sweetheart,” he sighs, rubbing his temple. “Shit, I didn’t mean it.”

And he fixes it the only way he knows how—with his inelegant fingers reaching for yours.

-

He could live here. Stay pressed up against you forever—screw catastrophes, invasions, warfare.

Steve pulls the sweater over your head, palms your breasts with one hand and tugs your panties down with the other.

He hasn’t made it to the bed yet, caught on a tangent in the middle of the floor.

He kisses along your neck and jaw and flicks his thumb over a nipple quick and gentle until you shiver and arch into him.

He murmurs, “I’ll always come back to you.” And he means it. Not just physically, but his weary little soul, too. He might struggle to take off his suffering, but he’s a newborn child in your arms. He’s the best part of himself.

He follows the curve of your body— your collarbone, your shoulder, your belly, then places your hands in his hair.

Your fingers automatically card through, curling softly to move him where you like him best. Slowly, he falls to his knees, spreading your thighs until you step apart.

You sigh his name, breathy and high. You say it again, pulling his hair when he sucks at your clit, fitting a finger in to the knuckle until you squirm.

He trails sloppy lines up your slit, delving in with his entire face because he wants you all over it—wants to be marked. Wants your scent and come and the bright blush of his cheeks in celebration, like declaring to all who worship him that he worships something else.

Who baptizes him with her kiss and cunt and he’s hungry for it—hungry for salvation because he’s exhausted of always being the savior.

He's not a martyr or a saint. He’s only a man set on a path and despite his many travels, all of his roads keep leading to you.

Falling in love changed him—made him breakable because now there was more to lose. Before you, if he died, the world would lose a monument. A votive figurine dedicated to justice, but you carved him into something more.

You carved him into yourself.

Made space for all of him and loved him with your whole, beautiful heart.

He guides you backwards until you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, thighs spread and dripping, breathing heavy, eyes half lidded with pleasure he caused.

Your soft skin is gorgeous and glistening. Your pussy is shiny with his spit.

“Steve,” you say, focused and sharp, curling one finger at him. “Get your mouth back on me, now.”

Pride swells up in his chest. What he wouldn’t give for the world to know this: their perfect savior crawling on the floor, stupid with desire.

And for all their idolatry, for all the pieces they take of him and scatter to their many causes, he’ll always still be yours.

And he thinks, as he returns his face to your sex, his cock throbbing between his own legs but he ignores it for now— he’s not important, for now— that if you were to ever tell him to stay in bed forever, he just fucking might.

Steve hasn’t been inside a church since the 40’s, but his hands are on you like praise and prayer, lips carving a hymn, tongue blindly following each kiss. He laments the time he’s not spent in your glory, begs for any small deaths you can spare.

He doesn’t get on his knees for anything, but surrender overtakes him as the sky begins to gather dusk.

He keeps vigil at your feet until dawn.

[stroobae]

Okay so basically I got to do a presentation about chapter 30 from The Dream Thieves in my Creative Writing class and I got way to carried away writing a full analysis so I thought I'd post it here

I think this passage is so great because it's packed with symbols that completely encapsulate the character of Ronan Lynch. Firstly, we have Ronan’s tattoo, which holds a lot of significance in terms of its literal purpose and what it figuratively represents. We learn here that the literal purpose of the tattoo is to instill fear and intimidation among others. Ronan is a very damaged person, and uses his physical appearance as a warning sign for others to steer clear of him after his father dies. He has a shaved head, a permanent scowl, and most intimidating of all: a tattoo which stretches from the back of his neck all the way down to his waist. His tattoo has a lot of grotesque, frightening imagery in it, which is interesting considering its design is made up of “things from his head.” The fact that the dark imagery portrayed in his tattoo is from his head reveals the struggles and dark things that come out of his own mind. His tattoo is a literal manifestation of Ronan’s inner self portrayed in a scene on his back. He’s quite literally wearing his heart on his sleeve (or on his back rather). It’s also mentioned that Ronan has never been able to see the tattoo fully, because it’s on his back. It can only be seen by others standing behind him, and also, when he’s naked (which is something I’ll come back to later). I think that the placement of his tattoo specifically is a really important metaphor alongside the idea that Ronan’s tattoo represents his whole character and inner self. The fact that Ronan cannot see the whole picture of himself and only “bits and pieces” seems like a large indicator that Ronan doesn’t know fully who he is. In the prologue of The Dream Thieves, it’s stated that Ronan has three secrets, all of different natures; the nature of the second secret being one you keep even from yourself. So essentially, Ronan has a part of himself which he doesn't even truly understand, and I think that this is really accentuated by the fact that he can't see his whole tattoo (his inner self) because it's always behind him. However, others also can’t see the whole tattoo unless he takes his shirt off to show them. (BIG THING FOR LATER!)

In the epilogue of TDT you find out (along with Ronan himself) that he’s in love with one of his best friends, Adam. During this chapter, the reader hasn’t been told yet that Ronan is in love with Adam; mostly because the book follows his point of view, and he doesn’t actually know this about himself yet either. It’s made into a plot twist of sorts in the epilogue, and many readers said that they weren’t aware that it was coming at all. A lot of people felt that Ronan’s crush on Adam came out of nowhere. But if you’re me and love to look WAY too deep into every single line of a book, you’ll know that this isn’t the case at all. This dream is a dead giveaway of Ronan’s feelings. First of all, dreams–especially the way that they’re portrayed in this book–are a look into one’s inner conscience. Your dreams are able to display your deepest feelings and desires, even if you’re not consciously aware of them in real life. Ronan especially is a character who has walls built up, and doesn't verbally communicate how he feels to any other character. He doesn’t even allow himself to examine his own feelings/desires, and has a lack of self-vulnerability and personal emotional intelligence. So in his dreams, his most inner part of himself comes to the forefront of his mind and shows him things he didn’t even know he wanted. To validate this idea, we have the fact that Ronan can fully see his whole tattoo in this dream. His tattoo represents his inner self, and he is finally able to see this part of himself within his dream. The dream begins with Dream Adam tracing his tattoo, and in Latin (which I’ll unpack later) he says,“Scio quid hoc est” which roughly translates to “I know what this is.” Once again, returning to the idea that Ronan’s tattoo is a manifestation of himself, we have Adam physically touching it and telling Ronan he knows what the tattoo means. He understands its whole purpose; why Ronan got it, what it’s really depicting. Dream Adam isn’t intimidated by the tattoo like most people because of its gruesome imagery, but instead he knows that it’s really made up of things from Ronan’s conscience, that it’s a representation of who he is inside. What’s really being portrayed in this scene is Ronan’s desire to be truly known by someone, which is a common theme in the series. The fact that the person shown “knowing” Ronan in his dream is Adam specifically is really important as well. Up until this point, we know that Adam and Ronan are friends, their relationship is shown to be tense and is characterized by squabbles which are resolved by the end of the day. We don’t really know exactly how they feel about each other yet based on their surface level interactions. Therefore, this chapter is extremely important in developing their relationship. We now know partly about how Ronan truly feels about Adam. Not necessarily what their relationship currently is, but what he subconsciously wants it to be. Ronan wants to be known by Adam and believes that he has this capability, since it’s Adam who fills this role in his dream. 

In the dream, Dream Adam then transforms into Kavinsky, who’s the antagonist in this installment. Kavinsky is an adrenaline junky who’s presented to have an infatuation with Ronan. He gets him to do crazy things: dangerously drag race in the streets, take questionable dreamt-pills, and throw molotov cocktails at white Mitsubishis. He’s infatuated with Ronan mainly because of Ronan’s outward reputation and appearance, his mutual love for perilous activities, and the fact that they share the supernatural ability to take things out of their dreams. Kavinsky wants someone to enable him; who he can be an enabler to. Kavinsky thinks that they’re one in the same, and that Ronan is an exemplary candidate for a self-destructive partner. In Ronan’s dream, when Adam turns into Kavinsky, Ronan disappears entirely. He becomes only his tattoo, which gets smaller and smaller until it's simply a tiny Celtic knot. The notion that Ronan disappears and that his tattoo (all that’s left of him, a manifestation of his conscience) gets smaller when Kavinsky appears, shows that he literally feels small when he’s with him. Kavinsky belittles Ronan. He misunderstands who he is, and boils him down to his wildness and rash spontaneousness. He quite literally swallows Ronan whole in the dream; he destroys all that he is. Dream Kavinsky tells Ronan in Latin, “Scio quid estis vos'', which roughly translates to “I know what you are.” WOOOOOF. OH, IT'S SO GOOD. I GOT CHILLS. This could have SO many meanings. “I know what you are” could mean that Kavinsky knows that Ronan is a dreamer, just like himself, or it could also mean that he knows Ronan is gay (if we’re revisiting that idea of this dream bringing to the forefront parts of Ronan that he doesn’t know about himself yet). Adam and Kavinsky are complete opposites in Ronan’s dream, and furthermore, his life. The dream versions of the two represent what he wants, versus what he’s settled with. Currently, Ronan doesn’t think that he’s worthy of someone who truly knows and loves him. Instead, he’s resigned himself to a homoerotic unlabeled relationship with Kavinsky—who doesn't actually care about who he is, and only wants someone who he can destroy his life with. The exact phrasing of the things Dream Adam and Kavinsky separately say to Ronan are SO significant. Essentially they’re telling him the same thing: what they think they know about him. It's the words which they use to say this which makes these statements wildly different. Dream Adam says “I know what this is” about Ronan’s tattoo, meaning that he knows Ronan’s inner self. He knows this thing which he can’t normally see all of himself display of terrible things from his own mind. Dream Kavinsky says “I know what you are” which displays his assumption of Ronan’s outer character.  It’s a bold assumption and an incorrect one. The difference between Adam and Kavinsky to Ronan, is that Ronan wants Adam because he’s different from himself, and doesn’t want Kavinsky because he’s too similar to him. To an extent, I think Ronan fears Kavinsky because he’s who Ronan would be if he didn’t have Gansey or Adam in his life to keep him sane. Initially, Ronan does like to have someone to let off steam with, but he eventually realizes doesn't want an enabler to ruin his life with. He wants someone like Adam–his polar opposite–to know him, to ground him. He wants to feel alive, and awake. 

Another interesting element to this chapter is that Ronan’s dream seems to be erotic in nature; it’s a wet-dream. This is a little jarring for a YA novel, but I personally think eroticsm and sex used in literature as metaphors for conveying relationships and character vulnerability is really beautiful and clever. The significance of it being a sex dream is the fact that Ronan, as previously stated, isn’t someone who verbalizes his love for people. He shows it through physical intimacy and acts of service. Intercourse is literally as close as one can be with another person, and Ronan is completely vulnerable and laid bare in this moment. In it Ronan is naked, which we know because the dream begins with Adam tracing the tattoo all the way down his bare back. Remember, Ronan’s tattoo can only be seen fully when he’s naked, which adds another layer to this. Here it’s assumed that he had allowed Dream Adam to see his tattoo, because he had to have taken off his shirt to see it. Circling back Ronan’s tattoo placement, it’s something that not only can’t be fully seen by himself, but also can’t be fully seen by others unless he decides to strip naked for them. Here he allows Adam to see it and even trace the lines of it down his back. He felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable with Adam like that, and to inspect his whole being. The fact that Kavinsky then appears and the tattoo becomes smaller represents Ronan's uncomfortability with Kavinsky. He didn’t mean for him to see that part of himself and shrinks away in shame until Kavinsky devours the tattoo without permission. It really enforces the idea that Ronan wants and chooses Adam, but Kavinsky forces himself into his life and takes from Ronan without asking. Finally, Ronan awakes from his wet dream “euphoric and ashamed.” This could either be about the fact that it was a sex dream with not one, but other boys, or the confrontation of his true desires. He’s ashamed to admit what he really wants, and doesn’t allow himself to fully comprehend what this dream means. Ronan even thinks that he never wants to sleep again, which really means that he doesn't want his dreams to confront him with his true feelings again. This can tie into the metaphor about Ronan’s sexuality in terms of the fact that he got off to Adam and then Kavinsky, or that he doesn’t want to let his guard down and admit what he truly wants. 

It’s now finally time to unpack the use of Latin! Hooray! Throughout the series, we’re shown that Ronan is really flippant about school. He’s constantly on the brink of expulsion from Aglionby because he doesn’t go to any of his classes or do any of the work. However, the one class he has consistent attendance in as well as the highest overall grade is Latin—second to his proficiency in the language is Adam. They’re both in the same class, and are said to be able to almost fully understand and speak perfect Latin. The use of this dead language is a common theme in the series, and almost all of Ronan’s dreams are in latin. There’s an underlying meaning in that alone. A fun tidbit if we’re looking into the meaning of latin phrases we have the imagery of “claws and beak” described about the imagery of Ronan’s tattoo. The latin phrase “Unguibus et rostro” translates to “claws and beak” and is an expression about fighting with everything you have for something you want. It’s idiomatically comparable to phrases like “heart and soul” and “with all one’s strength” (thanks to ravenclawsandbeak on tumblr for sharing this finding with the fans).  In the final book in the series, there’s a short chapter which is essentially a call-back to this chapter, and follows the format in which it’s written pretty clearly. However, Ronan is awake this time rather than dreaming. 

This chapter is more or less a sex scene between Ronan and Adam, and is essentially the exact opposite to Ronan’s wet dream in TDT. Here, Ronan’s desires are no longer a fantasy that came to him in a dream, he finally has exactly what he’s wanted all along. in which they admit their feelings for each other, which is done indirectly and not through words. The fact that it's through a sex scene is significant because it's showing their intimacy. Intercourse between people is literally as close as two people can get. As a couple, Adam and Ronan rarely verbalize their feelings about each other, and so this intimate act is really them letting down their walls and allowing themselves to be completely vulnerable to each other. Here, we have Adam studying Ronan's tattoo in real life this time, just like in his dream (Something he’s only able to do because Ronan allowed him). He sees all the fine details in its design, and interestingly enough, speaks aloud this latin phrase “Unguibus et rostro” (This also begins a common theme of Ronan and Adam speaking in cryptic latin phrases rather than just actually telling the other of how they feel about each other, but that's a story for another time). This, as everything else does, has multiple meanings; it shows that not only Adam correctly interprets the imagery on tattoo, showing that now he does truly know and understand Ronan’s inner self. But also it reiterates the meaning of this phrase: that Ronan has appropriately fought with all he had for what he wants. He was able to reject Kavinsky and stay true to himself and his principles, and he realized his feelings for Adam, and was able to let his guard down enough to reach out to Adam and let him know how he actually felt about him. And similarly, he allowed Adam to love him back. 

So why did Maggie Stiefvater include the chapter in TDT? It completely breaks the flow of the main story, interrupts two other character’s POVs, and comes seemingly out of nowhere. It's not described where Ronan is, who he came to sleep, when it’s happening. It feels as if the placement of this chapter didn’t matter; it could appear anywhere and still have the same effect. My theory? I think that Stiefvater specifically placed this chapter here because she thought it was an appropriate time to learn more about Ronan, and she wanted the chapter to stick out due to shock value. Because it’s at such a seemingly random moment, and its content is brief and strange, it’s a stark outlier from the rest of the chapters. For me, this strategy totally worked. When I think back to this book, this chapter is by far the most memorable one. I remember it almost immediately when I think about any specific line/chapter from this book. Even though the dream seems random and complex, it has so much meaning packed into it about Ronan’s inner conscience and character. Stiefvater wants to reveal all of these things about Ronan previously analyzed without directly telling us. 

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟

147 my god!!!!! This is over 1000 words

---

It feels as close to the experience of a hospital waiting room as probably exists anymore. 

Bobby nods. “It’s resolved. Not to worry.”

“The radio?” Athena asks.

“No longer transmitting. We don’t need anyone else finding this place,” Bobby explains. “I’m just glad it was you and not someone we don’t know.”

Athena nods. “The end of the world brings out the worst in people.”

“Enables the worst in them, certainly,” Bobby agrees. 

“Though I suppose not everyone,” Athena adds. “Look at what you’ve done here.”

Bobby smiles, gesture feeling slightly forced. “Thank you. We’re getting by.”

“Looks more like thriving, compared to some of what I’ve seen.”

Well, that’s fair. Bobby hasn’t seen as much. He’s happy not to know. Happy not to be part of a larger, more dangerous world. He can’t risk losing another family. 

Before Bobby can reply, Hen and Chim walk out of the utility closet where they’ve been treating May. 

“How is she?” Athena asks, rising to her feet. 

“She has an infection,” Hen says. “But not the infection. Likely, something got in the wound. Or, the zombie that scratched her had something gross on its hands.”

“We’re doing what we can,” Chim says. “If it gets worse, we’d have to take the leg.”

Athena gasps. 

“We’re not there yet, Athena,” Hen assures her. 

Athena takes a deep breath. 

“I trust you, Hen. Do what you have to do to save my baby. She’s more than a leg.”

Bobby swallows. His mind can’t help drifting to his own kids. He feels a desperate, nagging need to prevent her from experiencing his agony. He doesn’t know her kids at all, but he wouldn’t wish that loss on anyone. It’s completely unnatural. Completely soul-changing. So very hard to survive. 

“It’s a waiting game for now,” Chim tells her. “You and your son should rest. We’ll keep you updated, and you can see her.”

Athena sighs. “I can’t rest now. I have to go check the old house. See what I can crab. See if there are any signs of Michael.”

“Town’s not so bad for zombies anymore,” Chim tells her. “They’re mostly all dead.”

Bobby still feels a pang of anxiety at the thought of her going out into it alone, anyway. 

“You want backup?” He offers. 

Athena smiles a little ruefully. “I never did work with a partner, captain.”

“We’ve got an electric vehicle,” he shrugs. “Don’t waste your gas.”

Pragmatism often wins out over ego, he finds. Or just a desire to be alone. 

She nods. “Well, alright then. Thank you.”

▪️▪️▪️

Before the outbreak, Bobby had been a truck guy. Maybe that was just familiarity with the battalion trucks at work, maybe it was a lifetime of driving on snowier, rougher roads. The immediate halt of gasoline production changed that, of course. Hard to appreciate a gas guzzler when each refill is a chore. Siphoning is one thing. Locating gas to be siphoned? Another. 

Luckily for them, the community center already had one of the town’s only public EV charging stations. And a few of the more affluent residents, all of whom died fairly quickly, left behind their expensive cars. It was Karen who proposed they take as many as they could. She could work with their computer systems, and the rest of them were handy with vehicles on account of the job. So now Bobby finds himself driving a Tesla, covered in looted bumper stickers from the dollar store that Denny has artfully arranged. There’s a number of absurd slogans. I love my Bichon Frise. My kid is an honor roll student. Who rescued who? Coexist. Go green - go vegan. Athena reads them all as she climbs in the car. 

“We’re more pescatarian at this point,” Bobby says when he catches her eyeing the last one. “Buck catches a lot of fish.”

“You don’t strike me as a bumper sticker guy,” Athena smirks, climbing in the passenger seat and buckling up. 

He appreciates someone who uses their seat belt even post-apocalypse. It had been an argument with Buck until Chim made him watch a DVD copy of Zombieland. Not as funny of a film when it’s your reality. 

“That’s all Denny,” Bobby replies, chuckling. “We had to draw the line at someone’s NRA sticker.”

Athena laughs. “I’m guessing he didn’t understand?”

“No. We took the guy’s guns, left his agenda.” 

“Fair enough,” she chuckles.

“Where am I headed?” Bobby asks.

“Montalvo Drive,” Athena says. 

Fancy neighborhood. Damn. Not something she’d afford on a police salary. 

“You got it.”

A quiet falls over the car as Bobby drives. He knows very little about what happened between Athena Grant and her husband, Michael. A man Bobby has never met.  Hen knows. Karen knows. But they’ve never said. There wasn’t a reason to, after the outbreak. And before, it was a private matter. One day, they were called to an motorist accident, a different sergeant was at the scene who Bobby didn’t recognize, and Hen quietly told Bobby and Chim that Athena had taken the kids and gone to her parents. He found he missed seeing her at calls, as strange as that is to say. She has an energy about her, maybe. 

“What did your husband do?” Bobby asks finally, after five minutes, when they pull onto the street. 

“Architect,” Athena explains. 

Well that accounts for that. 

“He was - is, I don’t know - good at it, too.” Athena continues. “Successful.”

He’d have to be, to buy the home she ends up directing him to. Ocean view. Two stories. Big gates and a pool. Athena probably didn’t have to work at all. Let alone a dangerous, demanding job. Which just goes to say, she’s the kind of person that needs to. He understands that. 

Bobby parks outside the gate. He grabs the shotgun he brought with them as Athena checks the gate codelock. You never can be too sure. 

“The batteries in these things are supposed to last years,” Athena mutters as she punches in the code. 

The gate clicks open. 

“We can leave the security company a testimonial,” Bobby tells her. 

“Customer reviews are everything,” Athena agrees flatly. 

They slip through the creaking gate. It doesn’t have the power to automatically open. From there, it’s a short walk up to the front door of the home. The walkway is that flat, river stone look. It must once have been polished and beautiful. Now, it’s growing through with weeds and a little dusty. Athena sighs when she looks at it. 

[aniron48]

24. just really needed a hug sort of hug for 00leiter would be amazing if inspiration strikes! 🥰

Alex, mi vida! Thank you for always inspiring and indulging my deep-seated need for 00leiter, and thank you for this prompt. 🥰 Your wish is my command, my friend! It's here, continuing below the cut, as well as on ao3:

sometimes it takes the night to fall

“My mother wanted me to go to law school,” Felix says. His tone is measured, and this, this, is something he’s going to include in his annual performance review at the Agency, which his supervisor signs every year without reading a word: Agent Leiter is calm and measured, even when he is soaking wet, covered in pink feathers, and holding a flash drive with the plans for a chemical weapon designed to take out half of Europe, circumstances which Agent Leiter would have avoided entirely had his MI6 counterpart not been a fucking asshole.

“‘You’ll make good money, son,’ she would tell me,” Felix says. He pulls his Glock out of his holster, pointing it toward the floor to let the water drain from the barrel. “‘You’ll wear nice suits.’ But no, I knew better. I didn’t want to take the motherfucking bar exam.”

“You wear nice suits now, Felix,” Bond drawls, looking him up and down, and Felix is either going to punch or kiss that look off his face, but he hasn’t decided which, yet.

“Normally, I would agree with you, James,” Felix says. Measuredly, again, because he’s a goddamn station chief for the CIA. “But right now, my nice suit looks like it survived simultaneous explosions at a poultry farm and a Pepto-Bismol factory.”

Felix had had plans for their mission in Prague, plans which involved a timeline, and coordinates on a map, and the judicious use of SIGINT. James Bond had had instincts, and even if those instincts had been accurate, as far as identifying the Belarusian middleman they were looking for went, his methods left a lot to be desired, seeing as they primarily involved a chase through a crowded craft fair in the center of town, followed by what could charitably be called hijacking a bachelorette cruise in order to chase said middleman down the Vltava River. And now here they were, on a deserted dock in a decidedly seedy part of town, mercifully free of bachelorettes, but with an unconscious henchman tied to an oil barrel behind them, waiting for the ride that would take them not to their warm, comfortable hotel room near Karluv Most, but to the U.S. Embassy, where Felix could hand off the hard drive and then spend the rest of the night filling out the ream of paperwork required after the sort of nuclear-grade shitshow James Bond tended to leave behind him on a good night.

“I think I know what you need, Felix,” Bond says, and the way his mouth turns up at the corner can’t mean anything good.

“What I need,” Felix says, “is not to be picking penis-shaped confetti out of my beard.”

“No,” Bond says, stepping closer, and if the British exfil team doesn’t get there soon, Felix is going to paddle to the Embassy on a goddamn inflatable canoe, “No, that’s not it.” 

He brings a hand to the back of Felix’s head, drawing him in close. “Why don’t you start by putting your arm around my waist.”

They’re Felix’s own words from years ago, directed back at him with Bond’s characteristically lethal precision. Not long after the events in Bolivia, Felix had flown into London for the memorial service of another MI6 colleague who had died in the line of duty. Later, after everyone else had left, he’d joined Bond where he stood in the back of the church, stiff with grief and the bone-deep chill of the British winter.

“She drowned, you know,” Bond had said, his tone conversational. “004, I mean. She deserved better. It’s a terrible way to go.”

Bond and Felix had been lovers for mere weeks at that point, if that designation even applied to the handful of hours they’d stolen in South American hotel rooms and, on one memorable occasion, the lost luggage room of a train station in the middle of nowhere. But Felix wasn’t an idiot. He’d been in Venice when Vesper died. Even then, he’d known Bond well enough to know what wounds would be fatal to him, if left untreated.

“It is,” Felix had said. He hadn’t dared to say much of anything else. “I’m sorry for your loss, James.”

“It’s England’s loss,” Bond had said. He’d already begun to go distant around the edges, all of the lines of his body tensed for a fight. Felix had wanted nothing more than to demand Bond come back with him to his hotel room, to fuck him fast and merciless until all the tension bled from his body, until he was easy and louche again, unspooled against the Egyptian cotton sheets. But his first instinct with Bond wasn’t always the right one, back then, and he’d looked at Bond in silence for a long moment before making his decision.

“Come here,” he’d said. “I’m going to give you a hug.”

Bond had looked at Felix like he’d just suggested they piss in the baptismal font. “A what?”

“A hug, Bond. Jesus Christ. Come here.” He’d pulled Bond in by the lapel of his expensive wool coat. “You start by putting your arm around my waist, like that. Then you put your other arm around my shoulders. Like this, asshole. And then—” Felix had squeezed with all his might. “Then you hold on tight.”

They are here, now, tonight—and by “here” Felix means Prague, means the dock, means covered in dirty river water and the detritus of phallus-shaped souvenirs, but he also means so much more than that—in no small part because all those years ago, his own instincts had been right when he’d taken James Bond in his arms in an empty church, and so as angry as he is, he’s powerless to deny James this, now. He gives in to the inevitable and steps into the embrace, dropping his head against James’s neck.

“I hate you,” he says, but there’s no longer any heat in it. “This was the worst night of my career.”

“The ladies liked it,” Bond says.

“The ‘ladies’ thought we were strippers. One of them threw her drink on me when I refused to take my shirt off.”

“The night is still young,” Bond points out. Felix refuses to turn his head to look at him, on principle, but he can feel Bond’s smile against his cheek.

“Fuck you and your entire country,” Felix says. “I’m glad we threw your fucking tea in the harbor.” But his head is still on Bond’s shoulder, and his arms are around his waist, and he’ll stay that way until the sound of a distant motor signals that their ride is near, and the night moves on around them.

[blankfairy]

this is how a girl becomes holy

Summary: She’s five-and-ten when Viserys Targaryen takes her to wife and declares her Queen of the Seven Kingdoms; not yet a year past the death of his first. She’s six-and-ten when she becomes a mother. Somehow the latter feels more daunting.

Characters: Young Alicent Hightower, baby Aegon II Targaryen, Viserys I Targaryen, Otto Hightower.

Warnings: Implied/Referenced death in childbirth, implied marital rape, childbirth, underage pregnancy. All canon-typical, unfortunately.

inspired by this post and this post !! title/quote from prelude by brynne rebele-henry. read on ao3!

She’s five-and-ten when Viserys Targaryen takes her to wife and declares her Queen of the Seven Kingdoms; not yet a year past the death of his first. She’s six-and-ten when she becomes a mother. Somehow the latter feels more daunting.

Alicent is lying in the same bed Aemma Arryn perished in when she bears her first, and all she can think about is the scent of her blood, still clinging to the sheets, and the sad mewling of Baelon Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne, as he died in his crib. Her handmaidens and nurses surround her, flitting around the bedside like pigeons, fixing pillows and wiping sweat from her brow and neck. They try to hide it, but Alicent sees their nervous glances, hears the soft quiver in their voices as they urge her along, and feels the shake of their hands as they clutch her own. She thinks she catches the glint of silver protruding from the Grand Maester’s pocket as he stands between her legs.

Stillborn. Deformed. Dead in the cradle. Which of these fates will her babe share with their half-siblings? Or will Alicent finally be the one to bear the burden of a son? The pregnancy hasn’t been easy, it wouldn’t be, for a girl her age, but no harder than poor Aemma’s; perhaps she’s only some part in the gods’ cruel plan to punish Viserys, and she’ll die the same way as the woman she stole her crown and husband from.

When the pain becomes its worst, and she fears she’ll be split in two, she prays to the Stranger it isn’t so. She prays to the Mother for mercy, and wishes her own was there to comfort her; she prays to the Father for strength, while her own stands outside the chamber doors with the king, awaiting the birth of the grandson he hopes to put on the throne.

Would he do the same to me as Viserys did to Aemma? The thought shoots through Alicent’s mind as the muscles in her belly pulse and shriek. Ser Otto Hightower, servant of the Realm first, father second. Guilt mingles with pain and the question is gone, replaced by a quick prayer for forgiveness. Of course he would. It is his duty.

It would be her duty. Alicent, too, is a servant to the Realm. Her body is no longer her own, her wants and wishes must now be for the good of the kingdom, and her joy belongs to her son — the one pulled from her womb after hours of fear and suffering. He takes his first breath, and his screams overtake her own. The maester proclaims him male, and before Alicent can even lay her eyes upon her child, Viserys is in the room, flanked by her father.

The Grand Maester wraps him in cloth and passes the bundle to Viserys, congratulating him, murmuring that he’s hale and healthy and that the Seven Kingdoms have a new prince. Alicent smiles, because that’s what she’s supposed to do; no one spares her a glance. Some part of her is thankful they won’t see that it doesn’t reach her eyes.

Aegon, her husband, the king, declares his firstborn son. He looks to Alicent for approval, and she gives a nod; her son’s name has never been hers to decide. Viserys looks back down at Aegon, and his smile falters. The object of his desire after fifteen years of yearning; the prize of his patience and consolation for the murder of his first wife.

He places his son back in the arms of the maester, and leaves. Alicent’s father squeezes her shoulder. Well done. A shaky anger rises in her throat, but she doesn’t know who or what she’s angry at: her husband, her father, or her son?

Thank you, she murmurs back, in the voice of the queen, not of Lady Alicent.

They wash Aegon of every trace of her own flesh before giving him to her to hold for the first time. By then, the room has cleared, save for the lingering nurses who fuss over the queen and her prince, fetching fresh linens and milk of the poppy.

Wide, violet eyes stare up at Alicent’s brown ones; tufts of silver-blond hair peek out from beneath his shroud. A stranger’s babe with a conqueror's name. Her son does not belong to her, either.

[dpsgld]

control - for the single-word fic prompt!

Right, so this has taken me a hot second, considering that a whole lot of things in Lunais' life revolve around control or the lack thereof in various forms. In the end I settled on taking a stab at everyone's favorite harrowing quest, In From The Cold.

Thanks again for the prompt!

Fic under the cut, but if you'd like to drop me a kudos you can also read it here on AO3!

❗️Content warnings: mentions of past sexual abuse, non-descript mentions of vomiting, panic attacks, dissociation, depersonalization❗️

❗️Spoilers ahead for lvl 83 MSQ❗️

Over the past thirty-or-so years of his life, Lunais has become rather proficient at locking away the less desirable parts of himself. It comes with the benefit of appearing palatable to whichever parties are involved in whatever the present situation may be at any given moment, and does wonders when it comes to shutting down his instinctive reactions to whatever Hydaelyn decides to throw at him next. Be it disapproval, disgust, or fear, be it a primal or any other entity seeking to put an end to his continued existence, the iron grasp he keeps on his emotions has never let him down.

Thus far, that is, until none other than the second-greatest pain in the ass the Garlean empire has ever produced, the man who, much to everyone’s detriment, has not stayed dead, pulls Lunais’ very soul from his body and shelves it in the recently-unfrozen corpse of a non-descript soldier, while making himself comfortable inside his very own flesh and blood.

Forced to play the leading role in the Telophoroi’s latest charade, he tries his hardest to avoid putting the soldier back to rest by choking on the meal he’s served.

He remembers not how he managed to claw his way back to Camp Broken Glass, recalls naught but the sight of himsel- nay, him, and how his very bones seem to abhor his presence as he dares to insert himself in the Scions’ midst.

They’ve known him long enough to recognize the careless void his eyes have become as a threat, and their retaliation buys him the time he needs to, somehow, put an end to this farce.

All is well again when Lunais leaves behind the soldier’s body, their unfamiliar build with too-short limbs, to rot as it should. He once again recognizes the hands he reaches out with.

And yet, the adrenaline that has so graciously helped him survive wears off eventually, as it is wont to do. His chest tightens painfully until he’s gasping for air, his stomach hurries to rid itself of the feast he has-but-has-not consumed, and his whole body – his own body – shakes uncontrollably, but not for the merciless cold.

No amount of self-control could have possibly steeled him against the blank terror of being plucked from his own flesh against his will, of witnessing another inhabit it, moving him, pretending to be him for less-than-savoury purposes.

He hasn’t felt this sickened, this violated, this unclean since the first time his former employer forced herself upon him. Zenos has shoved his filthy hands right into the one crack he’s been doing his damnedest to keep from expanding, and he’s succeeded in tearing it wide open.

The others, blissfully unaware of the details of his past and all his shortcomings and fallacies therein, have a blessedly measured response to his sudden spiralling. However much they underestimate what it is he’s presently dealing with, the way they haul him inside and provide him with the basic necessities to keep him functioning physically, blanket around his shoulders, a warm mug pressed into his hands, is commendable. They regard him with a certain kind of sympathy, something that borders on pity, but they don’t make him talk. Not yet, anyway.

Thancred, as the one who relates the most to the experience of being expelled from his body, lingers to ask if he desires company, but Lunais feels himself shake his head before he’s even finished. Thus, the gunbreaker dutifully retreats to a darker corner to – presumably – keep watch from a distance.

He can’t tell how much time has passed until he moves again, but his joints popping in protest after sitting with his knees drawn to his chest is a fairly good indicator. It’s as if he’s still standing beside himself, an onlooker to his own misery.

It’ll pass, he tells himself and doesn’t believe it. He is, after all, but a slave to his baser instincts, just like anyone else.

Still, it has to, when they’re supposed to be marching on Babil and face whatever other horrors have made a home of the jagged structure that stands bleeding red against the night sky. It has to, when they all rely on him to get the job done, as he always does. It has to, because he can’t let them down, not now.

And so, against both the odds and his own better judgement, Lunais forces himself to rise.

[denimbex1986]

'“Go out and get some fresh air,” the Ripley star tells EW with a laugh. “Stop watching. Stop crying. Stop crying in your room with your curtains closed. Do something better with your life. It’s a great show, we all love it, but come on now, pull yourself together. Open the curtains and go outside.” Andrew Scott, a season 2 cast member, on people still watching Fleabag, from Entertainment Weekly

The girls have been tapping into Fleabag discourse for 5 years and counting since the release of its final season; twitter threads have absolutely exhausted this very topic. So after all this time, why hasn’t this witty and emotionally complex series gotten stale? Why am I still simultaneously giggling and crying at my computer during my 5th rewatch? This is sad, right? Despite our beloved hot priest’s advice, I am indeed writing this very review inside with the curtains closed all with the hopes to harp further. Fresh air will have to do without me for the next couple hours! Whether it be the allure of the manic pixie feminist, the undeniable chemistry of the ensemble cast, the intimacy of the broken 4th wall, or simply Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s charming, flawed, yet ultimately relatable character, Fleabag has very much remained within the cultural consciousness, or at least within my algorithm.

Although the series was made for the stage, and was born out of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s 2013 one-woman show, it’s surprisingly not a proclamation of feminist theory & systemic misogyny ingrained into our socio-political structures. That would be far too simple for someone like Phoebe Waller Bridge who, luckily for us, was blessed with unabashed honesty within her writing. She rejects the mold of what feminist writers should discuss; Fleabag breaks girl code, puts all of her self worth into sexual relationships with strange men, and would lose 5 years of her life if it meant she could have the “so-called perfect body.” The self aware nature of Fleabag is part of the reason audiences find her so likable. Her refusal to fake her desires and instincts, although at times problematic, is inspiring in a world where we’re supposed to be good feminists who couldn’t care less about the male gaze.

The series is much more than a nuanced perspective on feminism, though. Fleabag is so funny because it holds so much truth. For example, as someone who grew up with a type-A older sister, I understand the sisterly dynamics between Claire and Fleabag perfectly. The general lack of communication, the post-haircut melodrama, the stealing of the red sweater, and the inability to give one’s sister a non-awkward hug is a seemingly universal experience. We hate each other and can hyper analyze our respective flaws, but we’re ultimately grateful to be stuck together. Who else would we make knowing eye contact with during a passive aggressive family dinner?

On a more serious note, it would be a disservice to the complexity of the series to not call out the headless gold statue in the room. All of the chaotic journeys that Fleabag embarks on are ultimately mechanisms used to cope with the profound losses she has endured in her life. She is simply a grieving daughter and best friend who can’t figure out where the love goes after someone dies. She is proof that grief isn’t always heavy and melodramatic; it’s allowed to look like whatever you want it to! It can crack politically incorrect jokes and make others uncomfortable because it’s all yours, and it is nothing without the love it came from. This series is beloved because it’s about all kinds of love: how it can be small, big, misplaced, abandoned, taken for granted, and all consuming in both beautiful and painful ways. That’s the real reason we remain crying in our room almost 8 years later, even if they’re happy tears.'

[sco07ut]

i’ve got like 20 mins until my bus shows up and i’m bored so, at risk of being mobbed by that specific brand of over-30-cishet-female-mat-baynton-stans, i would like to talk about why i think transfem thomas thorne could actually be a good route for his character growth !

(but it’s below the cut bc it’s long discussion </3)

so obviously being infatuated with alison is an integral part to thomas’ character, aside from being a terrible poet it’s one of his most identifying traits. even in episodes where he’s tried to ‘grow out of it’ (see: s4e2) he’s still back to his original state at the end of the episode (and while this could be chalked up to the fact that you stays how you dies and therefore can’t grow as a person i would like to raise you this: he obviously was not obsessed with alison when he died, therefore i think there’s still some hope for him yet) anyway ! got off track a bit there,

thomas can’t ‘grow out of’ loving alison until he recognises why he loves alison - or perhaps, the idea of alison (now this could lead onto a talk abt why i also think and hc that tom is aromantic but people have covered that before)

let’s backtrack for a moment and review what exactly we know and/or can infer about thomas: he’s unlike the other men we see in the thomas thorne affair, his interests, opinions on romance and accumulated skills aren’t particularly masculine.

he’s very creative (just because he’s bad at it doesn’t mean the drive isn’t there), adores the arts (written word, paintings, songs), he clearly values women for who they are as people (and to a degree, their looks) and bases his affections on that, as opposed to financial gain (squints at francis button), and he clearly hasn’t had any experience when it comes to duels or fights in general and his general ‘layabout’ personality would definitely reflect the fact that rich women in the 1800s had very few responsibilities and obviously weren’t expected to work.

now, all of these aren’t inherently feminine traits, this is obvious, we all know this, i’m not saying that men can’t do these things. kindly don’t take my words out of context, but in the case of a man who lived in the 1800s, they can be seen as pretty feminine. this also isn’t the basis for my argument, i just want to point out a few things before i get into the meat of it !

and slightly less solid reasoning: mat baynton just plays him really fruitily. if you asked me to explain it i don’t think i could, but cmon just look at him

anywa, it’s pretty much an accepted part of the fanbase by now that thomas is bad at recognising what sort of love he’s feeling, and i raise you this: what if the desire he’s feeling for alison isn’t romantic, but is instead, desiring to be her.

(if you’re a lesbian, this is a familiar concept: do i want to date her or be her?)

he could potentially see elements of himself in alison, her own appreciation for art, and maybe even traces of the physical self (slim, white, dark haired? - this could also support the reasons why he was such a strong interest in lucy, who also shares these features, but hasn’t expressed any canon interest in fanny or kitty. mary is a bit of an outlier here but it’s whatever, my hc just has pockets ig). and when we have a great appreciation for someone we can tend to idolise them a little. in thomas’ mind, alison could potentially just be an idealised version of who he wants to be, and in his own confusion when it comes to recognising that fact, he could be mistaking admiration for adoration.

thomas is very clearly an idiot, the entire series is proof of that, and generally unless the facts are laid out right in front of him he doesn’t Get things. when we consider the fact that transgenderism was extremely uncommon and likely incredibly underground, thomas probably doesn’t even know it’s an option outside of the way that literally everyone ponders what it would’ve been like to have been born the opposite sex at least once in their life.

so why do i think this would be an effective way to fix thomas’s weird infatuation with alison?

well, at this point in the series it’s obvious that thomas isn’t just going to stop ‘loving’ her, there needs to be some big wake-up call that makes him stop. however, i feel that the longer ThemThere keep dragging out this part of his character, the harder it’ll be to bounce back from it. right now we’re lucky that thomas is such an avidly romantic character, his obsession with alison is uncomfortable enough as it currently stands but at least we know it’s innocent and emotional. but as the series goes on i just worry that that line could start to blur.

at this point, thomas suddenly moving on from alison seems entirely unfeasible and he would definitely need to have some element of identity rocked to really consider what it is about alison that he’s obsessed with. of course i’d be completely happy if that happened to be the fact that he’s aromantic or aroace but i just think thomas ending up transfem would be an interesting route to go down as an alternative (bc i know some people are very much ride and die when it comes to certain ships. and i’ll admit, i do appreciate a bit of romance between tom n different characters)

i feel like it would also be a better justification for his infatuation with her aside from just ‘too much love’ (thomas thorne=ashfur.?), obviously all obsessions are a bit iffy but i feel like if it came from a place of ‘i really want to be her and don’t know how to express that’ instead of just ‘i want her’ it would be a bit less weird. less creepy i think? and it’s an issue that can actually be worked through and addressed properly with ways of helping thomas transition instead of telling him to simply stop loving alison.

plus it would make all their interactions just so much sweeter !! whenever they talk i’m always on the edge of my seat waiting for thomas to make some weird remark but augh!!!!! they could b girl best friends !!!!

and it’s not like the cast is adverse to playing trans women ! gabriel and ho-tan are such beloved characters, gabriel gets her happy ending and even though ho-tan’s wish is reversed it’s still very much implied that they respect her identity (i do wish they had explored or at least addressed this more though) (however, ho-tan’s femininity is never the subject of a joke like gabriel’s is, so i suppose they even each other out)

anyway my final reason for tom being transfem is that dear god i’m jsut a simple lesbian please please let me have this i won’t ask for anything else i swear

[midnightpillsnacking]

[Loulou*di S3V4 L 3-16] Hana-Doll 3rd Season THINK OF ME:DEJA VU Translation

Translation below the cut. Google Drive link | Listen to the album on Spotify

(Door opens)

Staff Member A: Good morning.

Toki: (breathing slowly)

Staff Member A: Do you know your own name?

Toki: I’m… Sakurai Toki. Isn’t that right?

Staff Member A: Yes. Seems like you slept well.

Toki: You can tell?

Staff Member A: From the decline in your sleep activity and muscle activity, yes. While you were asleep, did you have any dreams?

Toki: Dreams…?

Staff Member A: It’s alright if you can’t remember in full detail. Bits and pieces of it would be sufficient. When you closed your eyes, did you see anything?

Toki: I saw… a lot of light.

Staff Member A: Light? What was the light like?

Toki: It was… endless and everywhere, like stars. It was like I could stare at it forever. It was a sight I could never look away from. And sometimes… I could hear it. Voices upon voices that saw me for who I am.

Staff Member A: And how did you feel during that experience?

Toki: How I ‘felt’...? 

Staff Member A: Please try to put your thoughts into words.

Toki: I thought… that this was where I belonged. The light proved to me my reason to live, my reason to exist. I felt that I had to reach my ideal, to transform into the perfect being.

Staff Member A: What is your ideal?

Toki: In the world called ‘Loulou*di’ that Ageha-san will create, I will live as one of the gears that makes it revolve. I want nothing else.

Staff Member A: A gear? That’s quite reminiscent of a machine.

Toki: I’m not a machine. A person like Doctor wouldn’t get how I feel.

Staff Member A: How you feel…?

Toki: I want… to be with Ageha-san and Rui-san soon, and together we’ll reach the top… For that, I’ll do whatever it takes…!

-

(Door opens)

Staff Member A: Good morning. Do you know your own name?

Rui: Hinagi Rui.

Staff Member A: How about the name of the unit you’re from?

Rui: It’s Loulou*di.

Staff Member A: When you were asleep, did you experience any dreams?

Rui: Considering what you might regard as ‘dreams’, how should I answer?

Staff Member A: What’s the matter?

Rui: I’m asked about my dreams every time, and I’m beginning to think that I’ve been giving the wrong answers.

Staff Member A: I see. It seems like we’ve given off the wrong impression. This is simply standard as part of the examination, so you’ll be fine as long as you answer according to what you think is right.

Rui: Understood. But it seems like I’ve forgotten what dreams I had.

Staff Member A: Then, allow me to change the question.

Rui: Hm?

Staff Member A: Right now, what is the one thing you wish for the most?

Rui: Is that question also standard for the examination?

Staff Member A: That’s for us to handle.

Rui: My wish… is to maintain Loulou*di’s worldview and to reach the peak set by Ageha’s desires.

Staff Member A: Is that truly what you yourself want?

Rui: Why do you ask?

Staff Member A: What I’m asking for is not superficiality, but what’s from the bottom of your heart, your true wish, according to your instincts.

Rui: True…?

Staff Member A: Please think about how your feelings stand as they are now.

Rui: Are you thinking about something that might waver my instincts?

Staff Member A: I don’t know. To us, data is everything. (types in something) I’ll ask once again. What is the one thing you wish for the most, from the bottom of your heart?

-

(A clock chimes)

Ageha: …This is…?

(Door opens)

Staff Member A: Ah, you’re awake.

Ageha: The medical team…?

Staff Member A: Good morning. Are you able to state your own name?

Ageha: … It’s Karasuma Ageha.

Staff Member A: How about the name of the unit–

Ageha: Just why… am I here? I believe the schedule for routine examinations hasn’t been decided yet.

Staff Member A: It’s not out of the question during times of emergency. You were brought here after you collapsed in your dorm.

Ageha: !! I collapsed?

Staff Member A: We’ve prescribed some sleeping pills. Please take them after you return to your dorm.

Ageha: I’ll do without. Are you aware, Doctor, that those don’t even work as placebos?

Staff Member A: For the purpose of maintaining fairness, even the number of prescriptions for medications, be it of any type, are being monitored. You seem particularly more on edge than usual today.

Ageha: An accurate observation. It’d be more strange to not be on edge in this situation. Do you think of me as some emotionless, helpless mouse that’s playing along with your experiments?

Staff Member A: Not reigning in your agitation will affect your flower. We’ll also prepare to prescribe some medication for your mental state. Allow me to collect some data to determine whether that will be necessary.

Ageha: (sighs)

Staff Member A: I’ll carry on with the questions. When you were asleep, did you experience any dreams?

Ageha: No, not at all.

Staff Member A: A rough impression of it will suffice. Do you remember, even just a little?

Ageha: I would have told you if I did. I don’t have a reason to hide from you. My honest cooperation is pivotal to the success of the Hana*Doll Project. I understand that clearly.

Staff Member A: Then, my next question pertains to when you collapsed in the dorm. Do you remember what you were doing before you lost consciousness?

Ageha: … I was checking the music video for the new song.

Staff Member A: Why?

Ageha: Because I was thinking about the perfect performance for the music awards. Is that something so strange?

Staff Member A: No. Let’s move on.

Ageha: I, too, have a question for you, Doctor.

Staff Member A: What is it?

Ageha: When I was asleep, did you inject Water into me?

Staff Member A: That’s… Why do you ask?

Ageha: Did you or did you not? It’s a simple question. It’s a drug that stabilizes the influence on the flower, isn’t it? Haven’t you all been utilizing it like a convenience many times, this whole while?

Staff Member A: That’s…

Ageha: It’s injected into Anthos*. But is there a reason why it’s not injected into me?

Staff Member A: … Where did you hear that from?

Ageha: As I thought. That’s how it was.

Staff Member A: !! Don’t move. Your body is still–

Ageha: I couldn’t care less about what happens to them. I will do anything to become perfection itself, to be recognised by President Amagiri. Like a pupa that cannibalizes its own skin to become a beautiful butterfly, like Chihiro, turning into a form befitting of them–it’s what I will do. Then the President surely would acknowledge me, above anyone else. I’ll ask again. When I was unconscious, did you inject Water into me?

Staff Member A: Just why are you so fixated on the Water?

Ageha: It’s nothing like fixation. Please stop saying as though I want it.

Staff Member A: Then are you saying that you don’t need it?

Ageha: Perhaps I should answer that question of yours about dreams, Doctor. I only dreamt of one thing: surpassing order to reach the new heights of idols and scaling to its summit, becoming perfect. It would be possible for me, was what President Amagiri said.

Staff Member A: The existence you hope for aligns with our goals.

Ageha: But we’re not in agreement at all.

Staff Member A: Excuse me?

Ageha: The perfection you aim for is an imitation. Something born from a man-made invention put in a bottle. A defective monster who derides heaven. I will never become something like that. I won’t rely on drugs, but on my own strength, and become a new pioneer. Without fail.

Staff Member A: Please hold on–(something clatters) A-ah! What are you–?!

Ageha: Like I’d let myself be swallowed by some useless flower!

-

Staff Member B: Seems like you had a lot to deal with here.

Staff Member A: I apologize. I’ll clean this up in a bit.

Staff Member B: Did something happen with the Doll?

Staff Member A: Yes. When talking about Water his response is nothing short of deranged, but he takes his obsession with becoming the perfect Doll like it’s a normal thing for him.

Staff Member B: Humans will naturally obsess over things that are beyond their reach. That’s why we don’t give Water to that Doll. Like with plants, there are seeds that are harder to raise, and seeds that can be raised without hassle. The flowers and their hosts, too, have their own natures.

Staff Member A: Are you saying that even without Water, his flower can stabilize on its own?

Staff Member B: Not at all. Whether the Water is injected or not depends on the situation. There’s a high possibility that the flower will start to weaken if we inject more Water at this state.

Staff Member A: If I recall, administration of Water to Kisaragi Kaoru from Anthos* has also been stopped, right? But right now, his flower is stable and seems to be progressing towards full bloom.

Staff Member B: That’s a special case. I’m not sure of the details, but if there’s one thing I know, it’s that he’s completely different from the other Dolls.

Staff Member A: Different as in…?

Staff Member B: Since the seed was implanted in him, the method of blooming and the progress of growth for the flower have all been different. So, there’s not much to talk about if we want to draw comparisons.

Staff Member A: …But, even now, Karasuma Ageha’s condition has been making progress. Just now, and even before he was admitted, his memories are…

Staff Member B: It’s better if you keep your emotions out of your judgments. Beyond assisting in the growth of the Dolls, the slow-release effect of Water enables some quality of life. It might seem like a miracle pill at first glance, but the toll it takes on the Dolls is too much to bear.

Staff Member A: But what if we put stabilizing their condition as our forefront priority? Even if the toll gets raised, it would still be a favorable treatment to them, right? Maybe we could start administration for Anthos*.

Staff Member B: Ah, if you’re talking about the example Doll Shorai Chitose, that was Dr Toudou’s orders. The effect of his mental state on his flower turned out to be greater than expected. Taking into account the other Dolls’ conditions, administering Water seems to be the most optimal treatment.

Staff Member A: But even with a case like that, Karasuma Ageha might still refuse the Water. He might have realized something beyond what we predicted.

Staff Member B: Whether he’s realized something or not, his fate has already been sealed. He can chase those dreams all he wants, but without scientific clinical trials, he can’t escape reality. Well, we should get a move on with cleaning up. The next task is…

Staff Member A: Seems there’s been people talking about us returning Sakurai Toki to the House very soon. If we continue trying to keep things under wraps, it might become a problem for their idol activities and we’ll have to deal with a lot of heat. Besides…

Staff Member B: Besides?

Staff Member A: Even when he seemed entirely desensitized to emotion, he still desperately wanted to be with those two. If we return him to the House now, it would be like a repeat of that case with Anthos*.

Staff Member B: When with a flower that rejects Water, the success rate of the Water will be shared… Whatever action we decide to take next, we need to keep a close eye on the situation.

-

Ageha: I collapsed… and had to be carried over? What I was doing before? Dammit! I’m running out of time, I still have things I absolutely have to finish… 

(A notification comes in.)

Ageha: A message?

[sskk-ao3feed]

the bull and the beast

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/hiOxLmd by octorose “What game are you playing?” All of Atsushi’s movements are made with the languid grace of a massive predator knowing it’s top dog in the jungle, and has very little to fear. Akutagawa tracks the motions in a corner of his mind, already burning with the desire to run. The predator hasn’t attacked, yet. It’s weak. He has the advantage. Calm, that, Akutagawa tells that part of himself, we’ll get our chance. To Atsushi, he says, “can friends not meet at a restaurant to talk?” “This is a McDonalds.” Atsushi’s voice is flat. “And we aren’t friends.” “Indeed.” Akutagawa eats another chicken nugget. It gives him something to do. He is not sure what to do, now that he is here. He thought—what? What did he think would happen? (After Dazai's funeral, Akutagawa finds himself at a McDonalds, contemplating his life without the man in black in it. Little does he know that Atsushi would do the same, igniting a fight between them. The outcome of said fight may surprise them both, and give them the purpose they hope for). Words: 4275, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 4 of bungo stray dogs acaciapines edition Fandoms: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen, M/M Characters: Akutagawa Ryuunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Izumi Kyouka (Bungou Stray Dogs) Relationships: Akutagawa Ryuunosuke & Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Akutagawa Ryuunosuke/Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Izumi Kyouka & Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Akutagawa Gin & Akutagawa Ryuunosuke Additional Tags: Mentioned Akutagawa Gin, Mentioned Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Alternate Universe - BEAST Light Novel (Bungou Stray Dogs), Post-BEAST Light Novel (Bungou Stray Dogs), Awkward Akutagawa Ryuunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Tiger Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakajima Atsushi Needs a Hug (Bungou Stray Dogs), pretty much just. dazai what have you done the post beast fic, me when im trying to move on after this guy that i hate dies and i didnt even get to kill him, this fic may be a parallel to mcdonalds playplace fic but Man. its Serious, by the end you can interpret this as romantic or not its up to you!! read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/hiOxLmd

[fistfuloflightning]

Curufin doesn’t think much, there at the end. She can feel the floor, unpleasantly warm and sticky against her cheek. There’s the sideways shuffle of feet and fighting, all greyed-out smudges as her vision fades.

There is someone calling her name, she thinks, but she’s too tired to raise her head. The Oath has weighed heavily on her and it has drained her until she is little more than a wraith herself. Footsteps close by and more voices. A golden head falls to the floor next to her and her stuttering heart falters within her. But no, it is more silver than gold. He’s long dead anyway.

Does regret mean anything when one is at Mandos’ doorstep? Curufin finds she doesn’t care. She’s lived with it long enough. And if the Valar wish curses upon her for her loyalty and dedication to her father’s pledge, she will take it as a proud daughter of Fëanor.

She dies there, on Menegroth’s blood-caked floor.

 Yet her dreams are still those of one with regrets. They follow her in the shadowed Halls, lurking at the edges of her sight. And slowly she feels herself yielding. The armor cracks, the festering wounds split open and painfully knit back together.

 And when she wakes, she wakes in water.

She’s floating on her back, hair rippling about her head and naked as the day of her birth. There is something tapping against her side, her arms. Lily pads, Curufin thinks with all the disinterest of one who has spent the majority of her life in the semi-darkness of a forge. Lilies or perhaps even lotissë. But she’s too weary to open her eyes to check. The flowers’ perfume is everywhere, accompanied by the bright fresh smell of green growing things. The sun is warm on her skin, broken occasionally by the shadows of leaves.

She has no desire to think.

Memories lurk about the edges of her mind but they are as fleeting as fish beneath a lake’s surface. A flicker of hands guiding hers over shaped steel, golden hair warm on her skin, a small dark head cradled against her breast. They wash through her and Curufin no longer knows what are dreams and what are not.

Gentle hands draw her up out of the water and down into a boat and Curufin at last opens her eyes. The eyes looking down into hers are bird-like, bright and unlike any of the Eldar. A maia, then. “Curufinwë Atarinkë, daughter of Fëanor.” Scaled hands curl around hers, so much larger yet infinitely gentle.

Her lips part, but no sound comes out. She knows her own name. The meaning behind it eludes her. Unable to answer, she looks away. Willow trees are draped around them, leafy curtains trailing gracefully in the water, shadowing the blanket of white-petaled lotissë.

The maia guides the boat to a stone dock and helps her off. “Wait here,” the maia says in its soft chirping voice after it clothes her in a simple robe and sits her in a pavilion overlooking the Gardens.

Wait for what? She sits in silence, memories slowly knitting back together. And when another elf approaches, the rich gold of his hair sparks a mess of grief and yearning. When he sits beside her, Curufin meets his eyes. But they are proper Noldorin grey, not the warm sea blue she knows. “… Lókë?”

“Ammë.”

And that’s… that’s all wrong.

But she knows. Knows this stranger with her eyes.

“Gwinig nin,” she murmurs, fingers touching his chin. She hasn’t seen him since he was no more than a babe in arms, scarce three winters old when she had been exiled from Nargothrond.

“Celebrimbor took you,” Curufin says suddenly. And now she remembers with painstaking clarity the way her eldest son had turned his back to her, shielding his younger brother’s eyes from the hatred and disgust thrown their way. Kinslayer. And worse.

“He did. He watched over me,” Gildor explains patiently.

Her lips twist bitterly. “He did a much better job of it than I did.”

His hands curl around hers. He has Nerdanel’s hands, strong but gentle. “You never had the opportunity.” Gildor’s words are sad.

What is past is past. Curufin breathes deeply and lets her eyes fall shut. “I never did. But that was my mistake.”

She hears light footsteps behind her but she does not release her grip on her youngest son. They stop behind her and the warmth she feels almost makes her weep. She had grown cold, her petals frozen in the winter of the Oath.

But there is a sigh bearing three Ages of the world and a hand against her cheek, warm as sunlight and just as gentle. And this time, she knows exactly who it is. Eyes still closed, she leans into the hand. “Lókë,” she murmurs.

And Finrod’s voice is as shattered as she feels. “Lotissë.”