#HOW MUCH DO PEOPLE NORMALLY SHARE FOR A 'SNIPPET'????

[sleekervae]

Flickers | the projectionist (johnny) x reader

Masterlist

A/N: had this idea knocking around in my head for a few days. And while still not clear on his real name in the movie, I'm going with Johnny for simplicity sake.

Pairing: the projectionist (johnny) x fem!reader

Summary: late night at the cinema and a salacious book has poor johnny in a bind for his colleague.

Warnings: erotic writing, heavy smut, oral, penetration, nudity

Word Count: 4,436

Johnny first met Sophie on the tail end of a smoky September evening, the air thick with the scent of roasted peanuts from the vendor outside the theater. She was leaning against the wall near the alley, cigarette perched between her fingers, looking every bit like she belonged in one of those French pictures he sometimes screened after hours. Her boss—a producer Johnny had worked with before—had sent her ahead to fetch some reels, but it was clear from the way she moved, slow and deliberate, that Sophie wasn’t the type to rush.

She was all sharp cheekbones and sharper wit, her dark hair pinned back haphazardly as though she’d stopped caring halfway through the task. When she introduced herself, her tone was low and indifferent, like she wasn’t used to people looking twice at her. Johnny had glanced down at her shoes—simple flats, scuffed at the edges—and wondered if she realized how much attention her quiet presence commanded.

At first, they only spoke in passing, exchanging a few words while Sophie handled errands for her boss. But over time, she lingered. She’d stay after picking up reels or dropping off schedules, watching him from the doorway as he adjusted the projector.

“I didn’t think anyone still cared about this old junk,” she remarked once, arms crossed, her voice carrying a trace of amusement.

Johnny looked up from splicing a reel, the dim light catching on her pale skin. “Well, someone’s gotta make sure it runs smooth. Besides, this junk’s how I pay rent.”

She laughed—a low, throaty sound—and it hit him harder than he expected.

It wasn’t long before she started coming around on her own time, sitting in the empty theater while he threaded film for the midnight show. She’d sit near the back, legs crossed, watching the flickering images with an intensity that made him uneasy in the best way. One night, she waited until the credits rolled to ask him:

“You ever think about what’s not on the screen? The stuff they won’t show?”

It was an odd question, but Sophie was full of those. Her curiosity was sharp and relentless, poking at ideas most people shied away from. Johnny didn’t know what to say, so she filled the silence herself, telling him about the scripts she was working on.

“They’re not normal,” she admitted, the word slipping out like a taunt. “Producers don’t like ‘em. Too weird. Too… honest.”

She wouldn’t let him read them at first, claiming they weren’t ready. But she couldn’t resist teasing him with snippets. A line of dialogue here, a provocative idea there. The more she shared, the more Johnny’s imagination took off. Her writing was raw, full of heat and longing that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with desire.

It wasn’t just her words that got under his skin. It was the way she said them—leaning close, her voice barely above a whisper, like she was sharing a secret too dangerous for anyone else to hear. Her eyes would linger on him, searching for a reaction, and he’d have to fight the urge to shift under her gaze.

Johnny wasn’t sure when he started picturing her in the scenarios she described, but once the idea took root, it spread fast. He’d catch himself watching her hands as she gestured, wondering what they’d feel like on his skin. He started noticing the curve of her lips when she spoke, the slight rasp in her voice that made everything she said sound like a proposition.

He told himself it was just curiosity—admiration for her creativity, maybe—but the truth sat heavier in his chest. Johnny was down bad for Sophie, the way she embraced the messy, carnal parts of human nature without apology. She made him feel like a character in one of her stories, teetering on the edge of something raw and thrilling.

And maybe, just maybe, he wanted to see how far she’d let him fall.

It was one of those late nights where the air in the projection room felt heavy, the low hum of the machines lulling them into an easy rhythm. Sophie had perched herself in the chair in the corner, legs crossed, cigarette forgotten between her fingers.

“You really want to read it?” she asked, her voice a little too casual.

Johnny didn’t look up from the reel he was inspecting, though his hands faltered for half a beat. “Been asking you for weeks, haven’t I?”

Sophie smirked, but there was something sharper underneath it, like she was testing him. She reached into her bag and pulled out a neatly folded stack of pages, bound with a frayed ribbon.

“Fine. But don’t blame me if it messes with your head,” she said, tossing it onto the counter.

He wiped his hands on his trousers before picking it up, the weight of her work feeling heavier than it should’ve. The title scrawled across the top in her loopy handwriting read Flickers.

Johnny picked the script off the counter, his fingers brushing the ribbon binding it together. The room felt warmer now, Sophie’s proximity a heavy presence that made it harder to focus. He flipped through the pages until he landed on a scene near the middle—words catching his eye like fireflies in the dark.

He cleared his throat, half for himself and half to test the waters. “Mind if I…”

Sophie raised a brow, but there was a softness to her smirk. “Go ahead... If you dare.”

The challenge in her voice spurred him on, and he began to read.

“'Paul's hands traced the curves of her body, firm and possessive. His voice was a husky whisper in her ear as he demanded, "Tell me how much you want me." Lucille gasped, her body responding eagerly, guiding his hands to where she needed him most.'

“'His grip tightened around her as he felt her body molding to his touch, her warmth enveloping him. His tongue darted out to taste her skin, and she shivered beneath him in response. She arched her back, pushing herself closer to him as he traced patterns over her stomach and sides with his fingers. The softness of her skin sent shockwaves of desire through him, and he growled low in his throat. His hands found their way up to cup her breasts, kneading them gently before pulling on her nipples through the fabric of her shirt. Lucille threw her head back with a soft moan, the sound echoing in the room. Her scent was intoxicating—a mix of sweet perfume and primal need.”

Johnny paused, his voice trailing off as he glanced up. Sophie had turned her face away, her dark lashes casting shadows against her cheeks. But she wasn’t as indifferent as she pretended to be—he caught the faintest curve of her lips, a smile threatening to give her away.

“Keep going,” she said softly, her tone lacking the teasing edge it usually carried.

Johnny swallowed, taking a seat in the chair beside her, “You sure?”

Her eyes flicked to his, holding his gaze for just a moment too long. “I’m sure.”

He returned to the page, his voice lower now, threading through the quiet tension between them.

“‘You like watching me unravel,’ Paul murmured, his hands tightening on her waist. ‘Does it make you feel powerful?’

“She smiled—a wicked, knowing smile that sent a shiver down his spine. ‘It makes me feel alive.’

“With one swift motion, Paul pulled back Lucille's bustier, revealing supple curves that seemed endless in the dim light. He ran his hands along the smooth expanse of skin, tracing patterns that made her gasp and squirm beneath him. His lips followed suit, kissing and nipping along her collarbone and down towards her breasts. They stood tall and proud under his admiring gaze, begging for attention. With a soft sigh, he bent down to capture one nipple in his mouth, sucking gently at first before increasing the pressure. Lucille cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair as she arched her back off the bed.”

Johnny stopped again, unable to ignore the way Sophie shifted closer to him, her knee brushing against his thigh. “This is… something else,” he murmured, not realizing he’d said it out loud.

Sophie finally turned to him, her cheeks flushed but her smile unshaken. “You like it?”

He let out a low laugh, setting the script down but keeping his eyes on her. “I think you’re trying to get me in trouble.”

She bit her lip, that wicked, knowing smile from the page mirrored on her face now. “Or maybe I just know what I want,” she said, her voice quiet but sure, “Keep going,” she urged.

The room suddenly felt claustrophobic as the scene unfold. His heart raced as Paul buried himself between Lucille's legs, read how she moaned and screamed for him, their encounter brimming with unbridled desire. Every word and gesture built to a tantalizing climax, sending Johnny's mind reeling with fantasies. But it wasn't Paul or Lucille anymore; it was him and Sophie. Her seductive smirk and intense gaze held him spellbound, igniting a fire within him that he could not resist.

“You write like this all the time?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

“Only when I feel inspired,” Sophie replied, standing now. She stepped closer, her movements deliberate, as though testing just how far she could push him. “What do you think?”

“I think…” He set the pages down, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “I think you know exactly what you’re doing.”

Her lips curled into a grin. “Do I?”

The silence between them thickened, charged with all the things Johnny wasn’t saying. The way her scripts had lodged themselves in his brain, filling the quiet moments with flashes of heat. The way she seemed to know, without him ever admitting it, how badly he wanted her.

Sophie closed the distance between them, stopping just short of touching him. “If you’re too shy to finish, I can always act it out for you,” she teased, her voice barely above a whisper.

Johnny’s breath hitched. He couldn’t tell if she was joking, but the way her eyes lingered on his lips told him she wasn’t.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he warned, though his voice lacked conviction.

Sophie smirked, leaning in until her mouth was inches from his. “Who says I can’t?”

And that was it—whatever thin thread of control Johnny had been clinging to snapped. He closed the gap, his hands gripping her waist as their mouths collided. She tasted like smoke and something sweeter, her body pressing into his as though daring him to take more.

The pages of her script fluttered to the floor, forgotten, as Johnny pulled her into his lap, her legs falling on either side of him. Sophie’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, her breath hitching against his lips. She didn’t hold back—her movements were confident, commanding, like she’d been waiting for this moment as much as he had.

For Johnny, it wasn’t just about the heat of the moment. It was the way Sophie unraveled him, her words and presence stripping him bare until there was nothing left but want. She made him feel like he was part of her story, and for once, he didn’t care if it had a happy ending.

The room was awash with raw desire and urgency as Johnny's hands fumbled to undo the intricate clasps of Sophie's bustier, the fabric falling away to reveal the soft curve of her skin. Sophie's nails grazed down his chest, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, as she leaned in to capture his lips hungrily. The sound of fabric tearing filled the air as Johnny tore off her dress in a rush, his movements desperate and primal.

Sophie gasped against his mouth, arching into his touch as he explored every inch of her exposed skin. Her hands were everywhere at once, tugging at his tie and unbuttoning his shirt with a fervor that matched his own. The air crackled with electricity between them, passion igniting like a wildfire that threatened to consume them whole.

Their kiss deepened, becoming a symphony of need and longing that echoed through the room. Johnny's hands roamed over Sophie's body, memorizing every curve and

dip, every smooth plane and luscious valley that lay beneath the surface. He traced her spine with reverence, his fingers dancing down the small of her back and around to cup her hip, pulling her against him in a desperate plea for contact.

Sophie whimpered into his mouth, her own hands finding their way beneath his shirt, tracing the muscular lines of his abdomen as she felt the heat radiating off of him. The fire between them was building, growing in intensity until it threatened to consume them both in its fervor. She couldn't remember ever feeling this way before – so alive, so consumed by a need that seemed to pulse through her very veins.

And then Johnny's lips were on her neck, trailing kisses down to where her pulse raced wildly beneath the surface. And despite herself, Sophie's knees began to weaken. His teeth gently nipped at the tender skin of her shoulder, sending shivers of desire coursing through her veins. She could feel the heat from his body seeping into hers, warming her to her very core. And as much as she tried to fight it, it was impossible to deny the sheer power that he held over her in this moment.

The room was spinning with a mix of lust and adrenaline, the two of them lost in a whirlwind of passion that threatened to consume them both. Johnny's breath was hot against her skin, his lips trailing kisses down her neck and across her collarbone until he finally reached the delicate curve of her breasts.

She gasped as he took one in his mouth, sucking gently on the taut nipple while running his hands down over her hips and towards the sway of her backside. Sophie moaned softly into his hair, her hands fisting in his shirt as she arched her back, the pleasure coursing through her. This was beyond anything she'd ever experienced, anything she could write—a fire burning bright within her that only he could fan into flames.

As his lips moved from one breast to the other, Sophie's breath became ragged, her body trembling with need. Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer still. She felt like she was dancing on the edge of something dangerous and exhilarating, and she was powerless to resist it.

Johnny's hands trailed down her back, tracing the curve of her hips before sliding beneath her, lifting her onto the chair. She let out a soft gasp as he settled her onto the wooden frame, his strong arms supporting her weight. The room was filled with a heavy silence punctuated only by their ragged breathing and the sound of fabric rustling as they tore at each other's clothes.

With an unspoken demand, Johnny lifted her gently and placed her on the small wooden table in the corner of the room. Her breath hitched as she realized how exposed she was, how vulnerable she felt. But in that moment, she didn't want to be anywhere else. She wanted him to take her, to claim her with a passion and intensity that was like nothing she'd ever known.

Johnny pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his hands firm but tender as they settled on her thighs. “Hold on,” he murmured, his voice thick with restraint.

Sophie blinked, her lips parted in protest, but he silenced her with a smirk that promised he wasn’t going far. He strode to the projection room door, turning the lock with a decisive click that echoed through the space.

“No interruptions,” he said, more to himself than her, before his eyes flicked back to her.

Sophie was still perched on the table, her legs slightly apart, the hem of her skirt riding dangerously high. She looked at him with a mix of confidence and vulnerability, her breath shallow as he crossed the room again.

“And here — I thought you changed your mind,” she teased, though her voice wavered slightly.

Johnny’s grin deepened, his eyes dark and intent as he stepped closer. His hands settled on her waist, drawing her toward the edge of the table with an easy confidence. “Couldn’t have that,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “Not when you look at me like that.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth, his words a whispered promise against her skin. “Not when I’ve been dying to know how far you’ll let me go.”

Her gasp turned into a moan as his hands slid down, tracing the curve of her hips before tugging her closer. Sophie gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white, as Johnny’s mouth moved to her neck, his stubble rough against her soft skin.

“Johnny…” she whispered, her voice breathless and pleading.

“Shh,” he murmured, his lips trailing lower. “You don’t want anyone hearing us, do you?”

He continued, his touch feather-light as he traced the delicate line of her stomach, her skin quivering beneath his fingers. Sophie bit her lip, her eyes closing as he marveled at the way her body arched towards him.

As she felt his fingers slide under the hem of her undergarments, she caught her breath in a sharp gasp. He looked up at her from where he knelt, his eyes dark with desire and a hint of fear. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the pounding of their hearts.

Sophie nodded, an array of emotions playing across her face as she met his gaze. "Yes," she murmured, her voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and fear. She wanted this; she needed this.

Johnny's eyes locked onto hers for a moment longer before they flicked lower, the heat of desire still smouldering in their depth. He took a shuddering breath, his hands steady as he pulled her underwear down, revealing the most intimate part of her. For a moment, he simply looked, drinking in the sight of her before him.

Sophie's heart threatened to burst from her chest, the sight of Johnny looking at her like that making her feel powerful and delicate all at once. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to pull him closer and reassure him that she was alright. But she also craved the touch of his skin against hers, the warmth of his body enveloping hers in passion's embrace.

With a deep inhale, Johnny let his fingers brush against the sensitive skin before him. Sophie let out a soft moan, her eyes fluttering shut as waves of pleasure washed over her. His touch was gentle yet firm, as if he were caressing a delicate flower with utmost care. She felt herself growing warmer, her body trembling with anticipation.

Johnny's eyes met hers, the intensity of his gaze making her heart flutter. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin as he placed soft kisses along her inner thigh. Sophie let out a shaky sigh, her hands gripping the edge of the table tightly as she felt the world around her fade away.

There was something magical about this moment, something that she knew would stay with her for eternity. Johnny's experience and passion were intertwined with her own desires, creating a symphony of touch and emotion. His hands traced delicate patterns on her skin, sending shivers down her spine and causing a fire to ignite within her core.

As his lips brushed against her folds, Sophie's breath hitched. The room was filled with the sounds of pleasure and need, of their bodies speaking volumes without a single word being spoken. She could feel Johnny's warmth at her entrance, the anticipation of what was to come making her tremble with excitement.

Johnny then descended upon Sophie's slick, wet pussy like a starved animal. His tongue delved into her folds, tasting her sweet nectar, as his lips wrapped around her clit and sucked gently. Sophie's back arched out as a moan escaped her lips. Her fingers threaded through Johnny's hair, pulling him closer as he devoured her.

His tongue darted in and out of her pussy, fucking her with it like a little cock. He teased her entrance, tasting her sweet juices before plunging deeper. Sophie's hips bucked as she ground herself against his face, desperate for more. Her moans grew louder as her pleasure built, her breath hitching with every flick of Johnny's tongue against her clit.

Her legs trembled as she felt her orgasm building. Johnny's skilled tongue worked her into a frenzy, his fingers digging into her thighs as he held her in place. She could feel herself on the edge, ready to tumble over into pure ecstasy. With one final flick of his tongue, Sophie came undone.

Her orgasm tore through her like a tidal wave. Sophie's eyes rolled back into her head as she cried out in pleasure. Johnny continued to lick and suck at her pussy, drawing out every last shiver and shudder of her orgasm. When Sophie finally came down from her high, Johnny looked up at her with a smug smile on his face.

"Good girl," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You taste so fucking sweet."

Sophie could only blush and pant in response, still reeling from the most intense orgasm of her life. Johnny's mouth on her pussy had been filthy and depraved, but she couldn't get enough. She knew she'd be begging for more in no time.

With a smile that promised more, Johnny stood and pulled his pants down, his impressive erection bobbing in front of them. Sophie smiled up at him, her heart hammering in her chest. She reached out to him, her fingers tracing the length of his cock.

"Take me," she whispered, her voice full of desire. "I’m all yours, Johnny."

Johnny positioned himself at Sophie's entrance and slowly pushed inside. She gasped at the sensation of him filling her up, stretching her tight hole until she was overflowing with him. He began to move, his body slamming into hers with a rhythm that matched their hearts' desires.

Sophie's eyes fluttered closed as she felt Johnny's cock pound against her insides. She met every stroke with a moan or a whimper, her nails digging into his shoulders as she held onto him for dear life. The room was filled with the sounds of their bodies colliding—skin slapping against skin, breaths becoming ragged gasps for air.

The air in the room was thick, their bodies entwined in a rhythm that left no room for restraint. Johnny's movements were deliberate yet teasing, each thrust pulling a gasp from Sophie's lips. His mouth found her ear, his breath hot and unrelenting as he whispered.

"Is this how you pictured it?" he murmured, his tone laced with a wicked edge. "When you wrote those words—was it me you imagined, Sophie?"

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as she tried to find balance amidst the chaos he was unleashing on her. She couldn’t answer, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe beyond the sensation of him inside her.

"You’ve got a filthy imagination," Johnny continued, his voice dripping with mock admonishment, though his thrusts deepened with every word. "I read every line, you know. Every single detail. Do you squirm when you write it? Did you get this wet just thinking about it?"

Sophie’s moan was all the response he needed, her head falling back as she clung to him, desperate for more. Her body betrayed her, arching into his touch, meeting every movement with equal fervor.

He chuckled, low and rough, his teeth grazing her neck. "Thought so. You’re squeezing me like you never want me to stop." His hand slid to her thigh, lifting it higher to anchor her against him. "So tell me, Sophie—am I better than your story?"

Her breath hitched, and she forced herself to meet his gaze, her cheeks flushed with heat. “Y-you’re better,” she managed, though her voice was barely a whisper, “So fucking better.”

"That’s what I thought," Johnny growled, his lips crashing against hers as he drove them both closer to the edge. Sophie arched her back as he reached between them to rub circles on her clit with his thumb.

"Come for me again," he commanded, nibbling at her ear while still teasing her clit. With a cry, Sophie obeyed, her body shuddering with pleasure. Her walls clenched around him, milking his cock as he continued to move inside her.

Never had she felt so alive, so desired. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex as their bodies moved as one, lost in the haze of desire and passion. Johnny's lips found hers once more, their tongues tangling in a messy dance of lust and love.

He pulled out at the last moment, his come splattering against her swollen clit. She cried out in ecstasy as he filled her up again, painting her insides with his release. And then they collapsed together in a heap on the table, their breathing ragged and heavy as they came down from their high.

Sophie couldn't believe it—she'd never felt anything like this before. This raw, unrestrained passion that burned bright between them. As she looked into Johnny's eyes, she knew that whatever words she’d written couldn’t truly capture the essence of their connection. Not like this.

Their bodies, slick with sweat and desire, lay entwined, hearts pounding in sync with the fading echoes of their passionate embrace. As their breaths slowly returned to normal, Sophie traced her fingers through the damp hair on Johnny's chest, marveling at the man before her. He was more than just a character in her story; he was real, and he had brought her words to life in a way she never thought possible.

Johnny turned his head towards her hand and captured it in his, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss. "That was... incredible," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears of overwhelming emotion. "You truly are a wordsmith, Sophie."

She smiled, the corners of her lips turning up in a knowing grin. "I can't take all the credit. You helped bring the idea to life."

He chuckled softly and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Well then, let's write another chapter, shall we?"

[losers-clvb]

mine // dean winchester

pairing: dean winchester x girlfriend!reader

summary: when the cassette player in the impala breaks during a roadtrip, you and the winchesters are forced to listen to the radio. however, when looking for a station, you come across a song by a certain blond singer and fall in love with it.

content: fluff, reader becomes a swiftie, dean (as a result of reader) becomes a swiftie, no use of y/n, sam is happily third wheeling, smut, oral (female receiving), making out, brief mentions of grinding

word count: 2.5k

note: happy ending for dean and reader this time! i am a swiftie, so it's no surprise that i had to write a fic with taylor incorporated. if it wasn't obvious by the title, the song mentioned throughout is 'mine' by taylor swift. there wasn't supposed to be smut, but the i was listening to 'so it goes...' by taylor and got a little carried away. this fic is very fitting because just a few days after starting to write it your girl secured the lover: live from paris vinyl!!! thank god, because lover is my favorite album. anyways, enjoy this, and look forward to more sam and dean fics coming because i am definitely not done writing!

masterlist

----

“Damn it!” You’d heard that about six times in the last five minutes. It had been a calm day of driving. Windows down, sun shining in, and Dean’s hand in yours. Sam had been in the backseat, laughing along as you told a story from your childhood. The background music to your tale had been the radio softly playing a cassette that Dean had chosen before beginning the journey from Virginia to Michigan. Or it had been the background music until the lead singer had been cut off mid word by a crunching sound. This prompted Dean to slam his hand on the radio a few times before proceeding to pull into any empty lot to get a closer look.

“I can fix this,” he had claimed as he fiddled around with random things surrounding the radio. You watched him with furrowed eyebrows, knowing he had little to no clue what he was doing. Even if he did somehow know how to fix the thing, there was no way he could do it without any tools. After the aforementioned slurry of curses, you finally put the man out of his misery and placed a hand on his arm.

“Dean, let’s just listen to the radio like normal people.” Your words brought a scoff from him and he sat up in his seat. Sam watched the two of you with amusement. It had been enjoyable to watch his brother fall in love with someone who could keep up with him. Though sometimes the stubborn attitude you shared with each other caused brief bickering, there was no one else Dean would rather spend the rest of his life with. He hadn’t told you in all those words, but everything else he had said and done had told you that much. Sam would say that his older brother would take a bullet for you if he hadn’t already watched how that turned out.

“Fine.” Dean grumbled out as he started the car back up. He let you find a station. He was confident in your skills to find a suitable station for driving in the Impala. You knew exactly what he liked and exactly what he couldn’t stand to listen to. And perhaps you did. But that day, when your fingers turned the dial through the stations and you caught a snippet of a song, you were choosing for yourself.

“-believe it?, As we’re lying on the couch,”

“This one!” You perked up as the female voice filled the vehicle.

“No.” Dean’s voice had a finality in it you didn’t like. You frowned and turned in your seat. His eyes were on the road but he watched your reaction from the corner of his eye as he flitted his attention from the road to you. You weren’t happy with him, that was obvious, and he knew you weren’t going to back down. Neither would he.

“Yes.” You pushed back as the song played on.

“No.” Dean repeated.

“Just for this song.” You offered, knowing you probably weren’t going to like the following songs anyways.

“Fine.” Your boyfriend gave in to you far easier than he would have if it had been anyone else. In the silence after, you hummed along to the song, not yet knowing the lyrics. Dean continued to watch you, smiling as he did so. By the last chorus, you could sing along.

“Who the hell even was that?” Dean asked once the song had started to fade out. As if in the car himself, the radio DJ responded.

“That was country music superstar Taylor Swift’s new single ‘Mine’ off her upcoming third album ‘Speak Now’. Next up,-”

You moved the dial again, knowing the song you had just listened to would end up being the only hit you would enjoy from the station. You landed on a station that was playing similar music as what was on the cassette. Dean grasped your hand in his and you interlocked fingers.

“Thank you, baby.” You said to him. You knew he would have given in to you no matter what, but you still wanted to make him feel appreciated. His response to you was a bright smile.

----

The next time the song was heard, it was from the speakers on your laptop. You were strictly a researcher for the boys. No physical hunting for you. There was one time you had attempted to join the boys on tracking a lone vampire. Dean was far too distracted by making sure you were never out of his sight that he had missed the vamp push past the group. It had ended with Sam almost getting his throat ripped out, which had really pissed him off. After that, it was only computer work for you. You hadn’t complained. Historically speaking, you weren’t one for running for your life.

This hunt was pretty easy. A ghost had been terrorizing the residents of town under a local bridge, resulting in car crashes and a few pedestrians being struck. Once you had narrowed down the grave of the man, you sent Sam and Dean to burn his bones. In their absence you found yourself looking for the song from the radio.

There it was. A YouTube video displayed the cover art for the album as the upbeat song played. You wandered about the room, readying yourself for the night while mumbling the lyrics. The song played then moved on to one Taylor Swift song after the next for the next 35 minutes until the door to the motel room clicked open. You looked up from your notebook to see the boys walk in. Sam offered you a smile before going to the bathroom, assumingly having won the rights to the first shower. Dean raised an eyebrow at your laptop as he sat in a chair across from you.

“This the same chick from the other day?” He asked, which earned him a playful pout from you.

“Taylor Swift.” You corrected as you placed your notebook and pen inside your bag.

“My favorite singer.” You stood and took the few steps to reach him before sitting on his lap, your arms around his neck and his hands holding you securely. You placed a kiss on his cheek and grimaced at the smell.

“You stink.” You stated but made no move to get away from him. Your words were met with a pout from him, similar to the one he had received from you.

“I thought Bob Dylan was your favorite singer?” Dean asked. You shook your head and leaned into him.

“Nope. Taylor Swift.” You felt him breathe a laugh out. He continued to hold you until Sam was done with his shower, even if his leg had fallen asleep in that time.

----

“Do you remember we were sitting there by the water?”

The voice trailed out from your phone as you and Dean cuddled in bed. You had figured out how to download the song onto your device and it just so happened the first song you had heard from the blonde girl was your favorite. The lyrics reminded you of your relationship with Dean. It was the morning now and Sam had run out for breakfast. You and Dean had taken the time alone by sleepily making out and listening to music. Your music had been the winner since you were the only one with it downloaded onto your phone and your laptop was across the room.

You could tell, despite his objections to the fact, Dean was starting to enjoy some of the songs. Sure, it was because you enjoyed them, but you could have sworn that he hummed along to some of them.

You grabbed the front of his shirt in a fist as you two kissed. He held his hands on your hips to pull you into him. Your heart was beating quickly and you rolled your body up against his. There wasn’t enough time for what the both of you truly wanted to do, but that didn’t mean you could just turn it off. His response to your movements was to groan and kiss you harder. His hands trailed to your bottom and he pulled you up into him.

“Dean,” You breathed out. The music had been drowned out by the sounds of you and your lover. It was magical. His hands, his lips, all of him. Pleasure erupted where his hands touched you. It had been far too long since you had gotten to be close to him like this.

“I know, baby, I know,” Dean’s words came out in pants in between kisses. His hands were tight on you, fingers digging into your hips. You moaned into his mouth when you brushed up onto him in just the right way.

Fuck it.

That was Dean’s last thought before deciding he would be quick. He could get you off in the time it would take Sam to make it back to the room. His younger brother would have the sense to knock before coming in anyways, right? That didn’t matter in the moment as Dean disappeared under the blankets. The only thing racing around either of your heads was the need for touch. You felt him tug your shorts down, pulling your underwear with them. No time for the usual foreplay, Dean dove right into you.

His tongue dragged along your core. He groaned when he tasted you, just as sweet as he remembered. He used his tongue to lap at your entrance, causing you to curse under your breath. His nose nudged at your clit while he moved, creating an immense amount of pleasure to build up inside you. You moaned and bucked your hips up, trying to get impossibly closer to him. Dean’s response to this was to hold your hips down, his pace never slowing. The pressure from his fingers had pleasure, not pain, rippling through your body. There were sure to be bruises in the coming hours, but that was the collateral for what Dean did to your body.

God, his mouth felt heavenly. You pressed your shoulders into the pillows, needing to move. You were whimpering his name out in between moans. The sound of his name coming from your pretty little mouth only encouraged his actions. He moved his mouth like a man starved, and there were no complaints from you.

Your hands balled into fists, gripping the sheets tight enough Dean thought you were going to rip them, but he didn’t stop. That would be a problem for later Dean. Present Dean needed to feel his girl come apart under his hands. He continued to work at you, knowing when you were getting close when your breaths became shorter and quicker. The coil of an orgasm built up in your lower abdomen. You were right on the edge, ready to fall into the ocean of post-sex bliss, and the tipping point was Dean groaning into you at the feel of you fighting his hold on you. The noise reverberated through your body, making your skin goosebump at the pure desire of it.

You were trying to catch your breath while basking in the high of what Dean had done to you when the door opened. Sam, it seemed, had not known he would need to knock before entering. It was the shared room after all. He carried in a large bag full of fragrant food and a tray of coffees. Confusion bloomed across his face when he hadn’t seen his brother next to you, the emotion only increasing at the sight of the obviously empty bathroom. He turned his eyes to you, apparently not noticing the red of your cheeks.

“Where…?” Sam had begun his question, but let the rest of the sentence trail off when Dean emerged from under the blanket. His cheeks were the same red as your own, though he tried to hide this with a flash of a wide smirk. He had pulled your shorts back onto you before making his entrance, ensuring you wouldn’t accidentally flash his brother.

“Oh, gross!” Sam exclaimed and piled the food onto the table. It wasn’t as if it had been the first time he had walked in on his older brother, but it never ceased to make it less weird for him. You and Dean let out twin chuckles before joining Sam at the table for breakfast.

----

You were back in the Impala. The windows were down and the warm air of summer streamed in the windows. You let your right hand wave up and down in the wind, holding Dean’s hand in your left. His elbow rested on his own open window as he drove wordlessly, letting the music fill the car. Even Sam was quiet as he let the air that rushed into the vehicle to swish his hair around. The song - your song, as Dean liked to call it - was filling the space around your little trio. The cassette player in the car had been fixed, (turns out Dean did know what he was doing, which he boasted about for a good five minutes), but you had been checking the country radio station in between songs in the hopes that they would play the song. After a few tries, there it was, and you had been lucky enough to catch it at the beginning.

“But we got bills to pay, we got nothing figured out,” you sang along with the radio. You looked over to Dean.

“When it was hard to take, yes, yes, this is what I thought about,” Dean was, albeit very discreetly, singing along as well. A smile broke out across your face, one that caught Sam’s attention.

“Are you singing Taylor Swift, Dean?” Sam asked incredulously, a teasing tone in his voice. Dean glanced at the two of you, rolling his eyes when he saw the looks of astonishment on them. He knew there was no denying it.

“Yes, now shut up, the bridge is coming.” Dean shot back. Sure enough, the post-chorus just before the bridge was playing.

“And I remember that fight, 2:30 AM, as everything was slipping right out of hands,”

Sam had joined in on the sing-along, having the song practically memorized from the amount of times you played it. You giggled through your singing at the sound of the two men in the car with you. You all must have sounded ridiculous, three voices, four including the radio, blasted from the open windows. It didn’t matter though, you were all happy. You were all family, even if it wasn’t through blood when it came to you. You loved these boys and knew you would never want to live a day with either one of them out of your life. Dean, your true love, your soulmate, if that was even possible. Sam, your brother, your friend.

Dean pulled the back of your hand to his lips before the last line. You locked eyes with him and the rest of the world blurred away. A smile pulled the corners of your lips up. You and Dean sang the last line to each other, and though it was just a song, you both knew the lyrics to be true.

“You are the best thing that’s ever been mine.”

[cheshire-castle-library]

Joining Snippet Sunday!

Everyone thank @tracle0 for the brilliant idea! (And reblog their post while you're at it!!)

But it was also that 72 hours that made ignoring things I didn't want to deal with sound like a normal idea, instead of questioning whether the station was about to cave in, or - more relevantly - if I had company.

I turned down the last corridor to the "surface access lift".  Caught something in the corner of my eye, glanced half-heartedly and shrugged.  More rattling, but really what didn't in Earth Central.  The "up" button was already lit on the lift panel, which was less the gravlift it should have been, and more so an elevator system some extremely driven agents managed to "procure" the night before a local hotel demolition, sometime in the 80's.  My head slowly started questioning, through the murk of exhaustion, as the elevator made its sharp, echoing 'ding'.  The sound set my sluggish nervous system on fire, hair on end, banishing any thoughts that tried to form as the florescent light poured out of the elevator into the dark hallway, illuminating me and the flood of dust and lint in the air as I stood somewhat dumbly before it.  The dawning anxiety you get when you realize you're dreaming washed over me as I squinted into the light.  Slow thoughts percolating poorly through exhausted synapses and pseudo-cells, as I tried to either decide I'd already passed out and was dreaming, or if what I'd seen was real.

The elevator door shut without anything leaving the car, my eyes still locked on where the 4-or-so foot tall figure stood behind the door.  Was it even a figure?  A street sign?  A diamond-shaped head on a stick-like body with a single eye seated off-center of the face that managed to blink at me once before the door shut between us.

Another moment passed with me squinting at the elevator door.  "Autex, proximity bio scan."  My voice echoed back to me metallically off the deck plating of the dark, empty hallway.

["Attention: Insufficient Host Intracellular Energy."]

"Shit."

The interface voice of the Autex slurred in my head as it read off a litany of diagnostics and repairs it was initiating on my body, as my consciousness fell out of my grasps, and my body fell to the ground.  Half-thought questions about the blinking street sign, the Autex, and my impending concussion floated lazily in the dimming murk between my eyes.

"Belvedere Thurston, you are Summoned by the Triumvirate of Founders," a voice like tar and leather echoed in the hallways, and the last thing I saw, squinting through fading vision, was a "Road Work Ahead" sign with a mustache and one, off-center, eye leaning over me.

[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 2)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 3122

(Part 1)

_________________________________________

“When you said you got me a t-shirt,” you sigh, once again adjusting the hem of the jersey Mor provided you. Notshirt; jersey. The bottom of the Velaris Bats uniform has been trimmed—startlingly low. Or is it cut too high; you wonder with a swallowed curse. The damned thing nearly shows off your entire midriff. “I thought you meant, like, a normal fucking shirt and not whatever this is.”

Mor scoffs, shoveling a handful of popcorn into her mouth as she weaves her way through the throng of people towards your seats. Her long strides in her black heels hard to keep up with. “That is a Mor Original, and I only made it cuter,” she huffs indigently, like your discomfort is the sole inspiration behind her “designs.”

This isn’t the first time you’ve allowed Mor to pick out your outfit, but it’s definitely going to be your last, you try to remind yourself. The handful of times you’ve thought this exact thing before is laughable, and you’ve never once remembered. She’ll continue to cut the hems of shirts and alter skirts into even shorter skirts until the end of time, probably.

She’s been the crafty type since you first met her. Anything that she could add personality to was subject for a good old shot of “Mor’s Touch:” clothing, home décor, even the cocktails she mixes—which often go from something as simple as a Dirty Shirley and turning it into a cherry-passionfruit with a hint of lime drink, mixed with tonic instead of Sprite and garnished with a frilly umbrella stuck through three Maraschino cherries because “one is simply not enough.”

You agree, and you’d never admit to your eccentric roommate that it’s the most delicious drink you’ve ever had. Goes down like lemonade and has you going from a corner-stander to someone in the center of the dancefloor in two drinks flat.

You wish you had one right about now to get you through the night.

Your mind wanders to Gwyn back at the dorms, wondering what she’s going to be getting up to tonight. You don’t need to wonder, you know how your red-headed roommate prefers to spend her nights, curled up on the couch beneath a thick blanket, a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels within reach, and her laptop in her lap, creating fantasy worlds for her characters to live in some day.

A surge of pride for your roommate fills your energy tank. Sometimes people truly do find exactly what they were made for in life, and Gwyn was born to write. You’ve only read a few snippets she’s been willing to share, but you can’t fathom forming sentences the way she does, creating worlds and characters from her mind alone, seeing a vision in your mind so clear that it would be a crime not to share it with the world.

You’re not sure you’ve ever loved something that much, but Sports Medicine is pretty damn close. Psychology, is not.

You shiver as the cold of the arena hits the sliver of skin that’s exposed itself once again while you were taking a sip of your drink. Goosebumps pebble in response, coursing over the entirety of your body within seconds, causing you to shiver.

You should’ve fought Mor harder about bringing your jacket, but at least she left you sleeves, her shirt has been cut into a tank that hardly reaches the bottom of her ribs, and there’s a deep cut down the collar, creating a perfect ‘V’ that shows off her incredible tits.

You’d know, you’ve seen them before.

“Oh. My. Gosh. You two look so good,” a girl gushes, steps into you and Mor’s path, halting you from your first steps down the stairs to your seats. She’s chipper, a camera poised in her hands, the thick strap around her neck. He shiny, chestnut hair is braided into two tails, draped across her shoulders.

Behind her thin-framed glasses, her bright blue eyes sparkle with excitement as she peruses you and your roommate up and down, admiring your outfits.

“I told you,” Mor murmurs, elbowing you in the side before raising her voice to answer. “Thank you so much! I spent all day on these, and this one doesn’t appreciate my hard work at all. It’s a refreshing change of pace to hear a compliment instead of ‘Mor, don’t you think this is a little too much?’” You scrunch your nose at Mor’s terrible impression of you. Too nasally, too annoying.

The photographer laughs like it’s her full-time job, and you scowl.

Way to throw me right under that speeding bus, Mor.

“Do you mind if I take your picture for the team’s social media account? You two would make a great first slide in a carousel for school spirit,” she gets this faraway look in her eyes as if she’s picturing it now. “The interaction you’d get us,” she sighs dreamily. “I might even get promoted.”

You groan internally when Mor perks up even further. “I think I love you,” she blurts, pupils heart-shaped. “Do you want to sit with us? We have an extra ticket.” She’s bought one for Gwyn, hoping she would join in on this sporty girl’s night, but your other roommate had been adamant about her dislike of the sport, and had gotten a pass while you were dressed up like a doll and dragged out of the dorm.

The girl’s laugh is like a windchime, soothing and melodic. “I wish I could, but duty calls,” she waves her camera around in answer. “Maybe I’ll catch you at one of the after parties, though. Here, you can give me your Instagram and I’ll DM you after tagging you in the photos.”

She and Mor exchange socials and names. Feyre. It’s unique and suits her well.

After adding your own Instagram on her phone, you hand the phone back, posing with Mor. Of course, knowing your roommate as you do, it’s not just one picture that Feyre takes. They’re both beaming, and one picture turns into ten. Ten poses, nine sips of your drink because you don’t know what the hell else to do. Eight frantic smiles, seven internal sighs, and six side-eyes from passerby, trying to find their seats. Five giggles from friends, four embarrassed blushes, three warnings that you are so done with this, two people ignoring you, and one announcement overhead signaling the start of the game in a few minutes.

“So nice to meet you, Feyre,” Mor calls as you begin guiding her away. You have no clue where you’re going, but any movement closer to any empty seat is better than the photoshoot you just had in the middle of the walkway. With a parting smile at the photographer, Mor continues, like she’s all for standing there all night instead of supporting her cousin on the ice. “Message me!”

“Clingy, much?” You grunt at the poke to the arm that gets you.

“Oh, come on! It’s not like I’m going to replace you,” she scoffs with a brush of her long blonde hair over her shoulder. You swear, the guys sitting in the front row swoon. “Besides, you can never have too many friends. It’s not possible.”

You’re pretty sure it is possible to have too many friends, but you keep that thought to yourself. You suppose you have one more spot in your life for a friend, but if the pictures turn out terrible and are blasted on the Bat’s Instagram, that spot might disappear. You’re already feeling mortified enough from the public display of taking photos.

“Yeah, yeah,” is what you decide to go with. “Now, where are our seats?”

“I don’t like the look of that,” you mutter wearily, squinting to see what’s happening on the ice. You might not know anything about hockey, but you know malicious intent when you see it. It’s in the way that the Penguin’s player leans closer to the Bat’s center, nudging his shoulder as he speaks, his slimy grin growing with each jab.

The game’s been fun so far, much to your surprise. The crowd surrounding you is all for the team, chanting songs that you need to learn immediately because they’re so much fun. The music that blasts around the stadium during every break is on-point, not too old of songs and not too overplayed like at the one football game you’d been dragged to last year (also by Mor, but not because of a family member on the team, because of an entirely different member.)

“Is that my cousin?” She asks, brown eyes sharp as she examines the players. Their fronts are to you, no seeing the names painted across the back of their jerseys. You refrain from mentioning how Mor should at least know her own cousin’s number—since their written on the sleeves—but you keep that thought to yourself when her red painted nails tighten around the box of popcorn, crushing the flimsy cardboard. The strain of the muscle in her jaw matches the boy on the ice’s, you notice with a fleeing glance at your roommate.

Tension coils your gut. You find your fingers wrapping around the edge of the seat you’re perched in, gripping the bleachers so tightly that you swear you feel the cool metal warming and warping.

You’re not the only two who have noticed the shift in the moods of the players on the ice, parts of the crowd are beginning to rise from their seats, cheering growing from a low rumble to a thunder of screams, caws, and jeering.

The puck is barely a millimeter from the referee’s hand before sticks are thrown to the ice, gloves following as the two players slowly begin to circle each other. It looks like something out of an animal documentary: two predators about to snap at each other’s throats in a fight for the territory.

The anticipation of them going blow for blow lights a fire deep within your belly, your core perking up for attention.

You shouldn’t be thinking like this, shouldn’t get getting turned on by the idea of two boys about to knock each other’s teeth out. Should be thinking about your best friend’s cousin like this at all.

Shooting a guilty glance at your roommate, you breathe a soft sigh of relief that’s swallowed by the shouts of the crowd when you see that Mor hasn’t picked up on your sudden shift in mood—both mentally and physically.

All the players on the ice slide back to make room for the brawl that’s about to break out and a sick feeling bubbles in your stomach, almost overpowering the arousal as you wonder why no one is attempting to stop them.

There isn’t time to voice your concern, isn’t time to do anything except bolt to your feet with a gasp so harsh it sears your lungs when the Penguin’s player is the first to swing. Your heart is lodged in your throat, your breathing holding in your throat as you watch in anticipation. He lashes out with a curled fist so fast that by the time you blink, it’s over.

His hit doesn’t land.

There’s no time to feel the relief trying to rush through your veins because the Bat’s center is retaliating, throwing himself forward after swiftly dodging the attack. He grabs the other boy by the collar of his ice blue uniform and hauls him into his closed fist.

His opponents helmet goes flying off with the snap of his head backwards. He stumbles, but manages to stay upright, snagging a handful of the Bat’s jersey to try and steady himself.

You look to the benches flanking the ice, wondering why no one is joining the fray. It’s now that you realize it’s not that they don’t want to help their teammate who is quickly ducking away from another fist, it’s because they can’t.

There’s a boy standing nonchalantly, hazel eyes pinned on the scene before him. He looks eager almost, leaning so casually against his stick, chin propped on the edge of it like he’s watching the newest action movie from the best spot in the house.

Even the goalie seems to be unconcerned, taking the few moments he has to take a swig of water and adjust his helmet, squatting low and shooting side to side in his box, as if trying to keep limber for when the game resumes.

One of the refs is attempting to hold back a burly boy who seems much too large to be skating at all. His helmet has also been shucked off, revealing long, shoulder length wet hair that clings to his face and neck like a bee on honey. His gloves are abandoned on the ice too, and his stick has skidded to a stop upon hitting the sideboards nearby. You can’t make out the words he’s shouting, but with the feral grin you make out, you know they’re fighting words. With each bark he seems to be inching closer, like the full-grown man in the stripes trying to hold him back is nothing more than a soft breeze, and his is a twister barreling right through.

When he shakes his head, you catch sight of a bloodthirsty grin that has a shiver sliding up your spine. He’s enjoying this?

“Mor,” your worry tries to escape, only for the words to stick in your throat as more noises join the fight, loud as gunshots. Both the Bat’s and the Penguin’s players are rapping their hockey sticks against the boards separating their benches from the ice, war cries falling from their lips.

They’re all enjoying this.

“That is my cousin,” Mor screeches, her perfectly plucked brows pulled tight as she tries finally makes out the number on the back of the jersey that’s gripped so tightly in the offending players grip that you’re pretty sure the stitches are popping with the force. “Kick his fucking ass, Rhys!”

Casting a frantic look to your roommate, you realize that not even she seems to be fazed by the fact that her cousin is in the middle of a fight that could very seriously end badly, especially with the knives on the bottoms of their feet.

But, if everyone’s rooting for their player to win this battle, you can too.

As gruesome as the scene before you is, you wish you had a better seat, somewhere with a better viewpoint than all the way on the other side of the ice. You can’t to be able to hear the threats they’re growling at each other, your attention completely enraptured now that you’ve shoved your worry to the wayside.

With his newfound hold, the Penguin’s player strikes again, and this time, his hit slams across Rhys’ jaw. His head snaps to the side with the nasty hook and his helmet slips to the ice, the sound eaten up by the goading of the crowd.

They swing around, unsteady on their skates as each of the boys tries to topple the other over. You catch a glance at his face. It’s hard to see, and his shaggy black hair is splayed across his face like a spiderweb, keeping you from making out his features. You catch the blood dribbling down his chin, the anger etched in the clench of his jaw as he grits his teeth, managing to twist himself into a position where he has the upper hand on the Penguin’s player: a headlock.

Your heart thunders in your chest as you watch Rhys pound his fist into the other boy’s face once, twice, three times before his opponent’s feet fall out from under him. Rhys releases his hold, allowing the boy to slip lamely to the ice.

“Atta boy, Rhysie,” Mor shouts, once again shoveling popcorn into her mouth with a grin so bright it could melt the ice in the rink before you. She turns to you, golden brown of her eyes glowing with excitement. “Our parents would be so proud.”

She turns back to the scene before you can voice your confusion on that statement, tucking away the information that if you win a fight in hockey, it’s a great accomplishment.

You watch Rhys as he’s escorted by referees who guide him towards the penalty box. He’s examining his knuckles, not caring that he’s abandoning his equipment as he goes, grimacing as the adrenaline begins to fade. He pokes at them, frowning at whatever he feels.

You pray they’re not broken.

The rest of the players seem to be getting back to the game, like one of their teammates isn’t being casted away on an island across the ice. Okay, so it’s just another bench and he’s not that far from them, but you’re shocked that this is the end of the fight, both players carted into separate timeout boxes away from their teams.

Rhys plops down on the bench, pulling a water bottle from a hidden holder, washing the blood from his knuckles before examining them for a second time. You watch him flex his fingers, twist his wrist this way and that. You can’t seem to keep your eyes off him, even with the game picking back up and Mor shouting cheers when the Bat’s manage to steal the puck right from the drop, carting it down the ice with a speed that rivals a racecar.

He must be satisfied with his examination because Rhys is throwing his head back, and it’s almost as if he’s squirting the water from the bottle directly onto you with the way that the apex of your thigh’s wet at the sight of him. He sips the water, holding the bottle a few inches from his face, and you watch the water cascade down his chin and over his throat, bobbing with each swallow. It mixes with the blood from his split lip and slides into the collar of his gear.

You swallow harshly, suddenly parched.

When he’s had his fill of the drink, he moves the bottle further back, using the spray to wash his hair away from his face, and your breathing shallows. It’s as if the hand he’s using to squeeze the life out of the bottle is constricting around your throat, because suddenly, you recognize the sharp of that jaw, the curve of those eyebrows and the straight of his nose. All his angular features come together in the perfect picture of hotness, knocking the breath fully from your chest when he straightens his chin, looking out onto the ice to watch his teammates score the last goal of the second period.

He's the boy from this morning: the overachiever, the one who called you darling.

Mor’s cousin.

Rhysand Cunningham.

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125

[hwaightme]

Cliché

(masterlist)

🥂pairing: jongho x gn!reader 🥂genre: fluff, acquaintances to lovers 🥂summary: normally, you are not one to enjoy clichés, but what can you do when the best man at your best friend's wedding is choi jongho? 🥂wordcount: 1.6k 🥂warnings/tags: unedited, reader is 'maid of honour', puns, jjong-rizz, dancing, much pining, it's giving 80s/90s romcom, flirting, lmk if anything else 🥂author's note: 'chella jjong. that's the post. thank you so much <3 any reblogs/comments appreciated!

It might be cliché. Something you had seen in films and shows many times over. You had scoffed at the pairing and labelled it as a trope tied by tradition and the general public desire for happy endings to everything - despite it rarely ever being the case. But here you were, catching yourself staring a little too long at the best man, and discovering that your heart was beating just that little bit faster, fluttering whenever he whispered one thing or another to you so as to not attract attention from other people who shared the table.

It wasn’t that you did not know Jongho, hell, you knew him very well - or at least the on-stage Jongho, the ace performer Jongho, the legendary vocalist Jongho. Having seen his achievements on the news and having heard stories about him travelling across your social circle, you were well aware of his professional capabilities. You, however, could not say much beyond that. Past common courtesies and the occasional nod in recognition, you had never shared as much as a couple of sentences with the man. Even though he was the groom’s closest friend and your best friend’s, the bride’s, recent but trustworthy acquaintance, he was a mystery to you. A mystery with an infinitely precious smile and a sense of humour that was too similar to yours to be able to hold a poker face.

It all started with a pun on an item in the set course menu for dinner. And then another. And then another, completed by yourself much to his delight. Soon enough, both of you were dissolving into a fit of giggles, sharing the jokes that others either had not quite understood or heard. It did not matter. They were not addressed to them anyways. At least not when Jongho was fully turned towards you, a glimmer in his eyes and a softness so indescribable painted across his features that you struggled to regain your composure.

You were quick to connect over the many things you had in common, and spent some time simmering in each other’s passions, enjoying the stars in one another’s eyes as you delved deeper into details. He was kind, attentive. A listener. But at the same time, no matter what topic you ventured into, even if just tentatively and temporarily, he remained just as transfixed by you as you were by him. Whenever you were worried that you had over-talked your welcome, he would encourage you to continue with a gentle question. In a rapidly descending spiral, you got addicted to his melodic laughter and how his nose would scrunch up occasionally, far too adorable to resist. 

Jongho reminded you of old classics, golden autumn sunshine and the sensation of when you get to rest after a long day in your favourite cafe, with a warming cup of the finest brew; perhaps this was because you found out you shared an appreciation for coffee with him. Be it ‘Roman Holiday’ or ‘Singing in the Rain’, Jongho retained a certain something that could not be defined by simply taking in a snippet of the present day. While you referenced recent trends and popular videos spreading online at each other, nonetheless there was something timeless about him. You wondered if this was exactly why his voice was so enchanting. The aura spread from the way he carried himself, to the way he made you feel, to the way he made you wish you did not have to look at anyone else. Dark locks that were elegantly styled to highlight him as every bit a gentleman, pretty espresso-coloured eyes that you had memorised by now, a tailor-made suit and infinite charisma that made you forget you were at somebody else’s wedding.

“I do wonder why we had never spoken before,” you mused out loud as Jongho led you to the dance floor to catch the pace slowing down to gentler, more loving tracks.

“Good things take time,” he took no time in answering, almost startling you as you caught his words.

“Ah I see, needed time for interest to build,” you teased, earning a shake of the head and a shy smile.

“Or perhaps,” he snaked his arm around your waist, and waited for you to position yourself comfortably to join in a slow dance, “to muster up the courage.”

“Hm? Pray tell,” you tilt your head, floating to the music and the sound of Jongho’s voice.

“Well I hardly think that gawking across the room is a good way to get to know someone,” you felt blush rising to your cheeks as you thought back to the times when you would study him or sneak glances at different gatherings where both of you just so happened to be - rare, but astonishingly memorable, at least the times when you could capture him in your vision and imprint him in your mind. When you looked away, just for a split second to regain your composure, you heard a soft exhale and were met with a cheeky grin, “I was referring to myself, but I am glad to know that the intrigue was mutual.”

“Hm- so, what made you want to change things up?” you swore that if he were to let go of you right this second, you would probably collapse on the floor. 

“A kind piece of advice from your friend in white. Told me that I should probably take my chances,” he tilted his head in the direction of the bride and groom before turning in time to the song.

“Wise words,” for what had to be the first time in your life, you decided to be grateful that your friend had a penchant for matchmaking.

You never quite let yourself drift in daydreams too deeply, be it out of a fear that they would turn into regular escapist paradise or out of despising the sensation of disappointment that often proceeded after entertaining even the simplest idea. But now, you could not bring yourself to avoid anything. If anything, you desperately wanted to dive in, see where the duet could take you.

One song replaced another, and you were still in his embrace, allowing yourself to enjoy the moments trickling by. Butterflies were replaced by a novel serenity, as though no matter what happened, Jongho would still be around. It made you remember something you had read about one time: the premonition of love, the feeling that in the future, you could love a person with your mind, body and soul. And, funnily enough, the realisation did not make you want to bolt in the opposite direction like it usually did. Instead, you leaned closer, and spotted the glints of that same new beginning in Jongho’s gaze.

Were you confident? No, far from it. If anything, you knew that the chances of things working out were rather disconcerting, but you did not mind trying. You could not deny the spark that was between you, nor could you ignore the realisation that this was not a spontaneous meeting of two strangers. If there was something you could choose to regret, it would be not attempting to get to know Jongho earlier; but then again, was it time lost, or a necessary pause that led you to where you were now? As the song blended into another and the two of you stepped away from the dance floor, you noticed you were still resting your hand in his. Shyly, you pulled away, your actions only to be mirrored by an equally flustered Jongho. His airy, melodic giggle made you beam; you struggled to hide it by studying the floor. It was easy to conclude that your efforts were in vain when he reached out to brush his hand over your upper arm, and carefully uttered your name. In the span of the evening, how he said it became your favourite sound.

“I’m not a fact, but I’d love it if you were to face me,” he joked, making you purse your lips in an effort to not crack so quickly.

“Jongho, come on-”

“You must be floored-” you looked up, met with a smug and mischievous grin that melted into relief and an unparalleled radiance. Oh this man and his silly puns. How you were fond of it all.

“Careful, you might just steal the show,” you gestured around you, reminding both him and yourself that you were, in fact, supposed to be celebrating somebody else. Not that you minded the attention and the way in which your heart twirled.

“Mmm, fair. Then, how about��� this is our first meeting. First real meeting, I mean. We can be the main event elsewhere, if you agree to join me,” he was hopeful, gaze locked with yours. Music barely reached you, drowned out by his proposition and the steady beat of your growing feelings.

“Are you asking me out, Choi Jongho?”

“Mm, I do believe so. So, will you do me the honour and agree to go on a date with me?”

“How can I resist?”

You smiled as you felt Jongho guiding you into a spin before rejoining the dancing crowd, and happily followed. As you returned a hand to his shoulder and delicately repositioned the other to be palm to palm with his, you could not help but recollect your now archaic musings. Perhaps some clichés were more than welcome, and some things did make you wholeheartedly believe in and hope for your... and his... happy ending. 

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[leikeliscomet]

Who’s Afraid of Tenmartha? - Thoughts on Doctor Who’s Most Hated Ship 

All about attraction and desire, fandom morality and ‘ethical’ shipping, if that even exists.

Intro Chapter 1 - She Loves Me, He Loves Me Not Chapter 2 - Bad Girls Club Chapter 3 & Conclusion - All’s Fair in Love and Shipping

Intro

‘Martha deserved so much better than that’

This is the first thing you’ll hear if the word ‘Tenmartha’ is ever typed or spoken out loud. For many, Tenmartha is a problematic ship and one of their least favourites. But Doctor Who’s known for its messiness. The Master with their homicidal tendencies is still a big contender for Thoschei. Meeting River as a literal baby and her brainwashing didn’t stop the DoctorRiver train. There’s people who overlook the platonic bond of Ten and Donna and ship them romantically regardless. People even ship Thirteen and Graham. The ‘normal’ in the idea of a normal ship with the Doctor is doing A LOT of leg work when it comes to this show. But despite all of this, Tenmartha has taken the crown for the worst ship. Or at least, is sharing it with Thasmin. Tenmartha and Thasmin are battling out for the title of ‘worst’ ship but Tenmartha still has the upper (or lower?) hand. Whilst the thassies have built up a small community for themselves with zines and collabs galore, Tenmartha seems to take a beating every week on the tl and even outranking the more ‘problematic’ ships I just listed in most hated ship polls. If Tenmartha’s lucky to rank high you can bet the ‘why would you do that to Martha’ tweets fill the quotes. But on the flipside, we’re also in a Tenmartha renaissance, with Tenmartha archive accounts going viral every other day and viral snippets from series 3 because of how interesting the dynamic was. It seems Tenmartha is a marmite ship; you love it or you hate it. In the eyes of some it’s awful and for others it's Doctor Who’s guilty pleasure.

I don’t ship Tenmartha mainly from the fact I don’t really care about the Doctor’s ships like I did when I was a kid and I care more about companion ships generally (this is strictly a Clani and IanBarbara household only!). But also from the main fact I really don’t like how Ten (and RTD) treated Martha in series 3 at all. But, when you factor in the long-existing Martha Jones hate train, the misogynoir towards Freema Agyeman, the long history of fandom’s hatred of interracial ships, society’s even longer dynamics of romance, sex and how Black people especially Black women participate, or if we’re even allowed to in the first place, plus the concept of morality when applied to Black characters, I can’t say the anti-Tenmartha wave is entirely in good faith. Especially from how I’ve already done a deep dive into how Martha and Freema Agyeman’s treatment was rooted in rampant antiblackness and misogynoir. Is the buzz around Tenmartha fully about her ‘deserving better’ or are there missing pieces of the puzzle? Is Tenmartha even being shipped in good faith? Is there an ‘ethical Tenmartha’? I’m gonna try to unpack my thoughts on Tenmartha, its fans, its antis, everything in between and outside.

It’s time to ask the question, who’s afraid of Tenmartha? And most importantly, why?

Chapter 1 ->

[bird-inacage]

The Heart Killers EP1: Kant & Bison's Desire for Agency

I recently wrote a post around Kant being the vehicle for Bison's freedom, but I'm spotting a bigger theme that these two lovebirds share in common. Both feel stripped of their agency, their ability to dictate their lives freely on their own terms and by their own ideals and desires.

For that reason, they're respectively struggling with where they are versus where they want to be, as factors beyond their control currently inhibit that from being attainable.

"I've cleared my name of car theft. My hands are so damn clean now." Kant is keen to put his past behind him, however Captain Chris has him cornered under the threat of re-opening his previous felonies and possible jail time, dangling custody of his brother as a bargaining chip. "If you get this done for me, not only will your criminal record be swept away, I'll wipe it clean." "If you go to jail, who'd take care of your brother?" Leaving Kant with no choice but to begrudgingly concede.

Bison feels similarly trapped by a life he didn't choose, clearly eager at any opportunity to 'clock off'. "I do what I have to do. Now I want to do what I want to. Can't I just live a little?" "If being hitmen makes it so hard to live, shouldn't we just quit?" "I don't want to kill people for a living my whole life... I just want to live my life." He just wants to enjoy a normal life - to have fun, to be frivolous, to embrace being an ordinary 24 year old.

TOGETHER WE BREAK FREE

Their relationship serves as temporary relief or escape from the situations they both find themselves in. Bison finds Kant's company a break from routine and monotony, a welcome distraction in between killing and working at the burger bar (neither of which he chose for himself). Dating Kant is an insight into the joys of life he fears missing out on. 'When I'm with you, I'm not a killer, I'm just a boy'.

By some poetic irony, Kant's mission to instrument Bison's capture would grant him access to the freedom he is seeking - allowing him and his brother to truly start afresh. There will absolutely be more backstory to come as to why Kant wants this so badly, that he’s willing to throw so much in. Dating Bison may begin as a means to an end, but Kant does find himself falling in love - despite his objective.

Once everything is out in the open, I do think they'll aid one another in acquiring the agency they each so desperately desire. No one can better understand how it feels to be trapped than someone who is also fighting against the bars of their own cage.

OVERCOMING YOUR RESTRAINTS

On their first date, Kant shares the following with Bison: “Would you believe me if I told you that I'm afraid of the ocean? Something happened when I was a kid. I almost drowned. Now I'm still afraid of it." One could argue that we don't know if Kant's admission is true, but I don't see any reason for him to lie about this specifically.

This promptly takes me back to this moment from the trailer, which has prominently stuck in my mind. I still get the impression that they are working together here when Kant jumps in. If Bison was on the offensive, I don't think he'd be as stationary or calm. Maybe he's performing under someone's watchful eye, or his gun is aimed at something out of shot, or they're practicing for a specific stunt.

Whatever the context, this scene now has considerably more weight. The fact that Kant jumps in whilst his hands are bound, when he has a fear of drowning is an indication of putting his complete trust in Bison (who is adept at swimming), to rescue him if needs be. The implication here being that Bison may quite literally, mentally and symbolically free Kant from his restraints, helping him to overcome what he’s most afraid of.

BDSM: THE PLEASURE OF CONTROL

Funnily enough, this duo's exploration of BDSM even aligns with their shared desire for agency. From the few snippets we’ve been shown, Bison likes being the one in control. Your partner consents to be at your mercy, affording you the power to enact pleasure and/or pain. And there’s a heady thrill in being handed such control. (It's also worth noting the inherent power play in taking a life, but whether Bison derives any pleasure from this, I'm not 100% sure. Kant also knows Bison is capable of killing, so letting him dominate actually says a tonne). During their one night stand, Bison even quips, "you're not doing this solo, you know," which teases that he's no passive participant. This seems to be Bison's philosophy on life overall (and the root of his dissatisfaction), that he's not one to sit back and watch his life pass him by.

Kant seems happy to indulge Bison in taking the reins. Having his agency taken away during acts of passion, but on his terms is noticeably different to feeling forcibly pushed - because you've chosen how and who you forfeit that agency to. This is partly why I suspect Kant actually gives Bison permission to tie him up in that boat scene (above), for the greater purposes of a mission or task they have agreed to help each other achieve.

You can keep tabs on bird-inacage’s BL meta directory for my other long-form posts around The Heart Killers, which I’ll be updating in real time as the show airs.

[songmingisthighs]

Maudit

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

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ch. xiv - demerit

cursed!jongho × reader

genre : mythology!au, smau

rating : mature; crude jokes and filthy language

wc : 1.7 k

a/n : sorry that this is a bit late, i'm having some crisis irl ✌️

buy me coffee ?

so long i've been here, so long are the stories i've written. of what i gathered and lost, loneliness becomes me and pain refuse to depart from me. i've embraced that which ate me away so when you came along, i had no part of me left to give.

You always thought that Jongho was an interesting man. Since the moment you saw him at the supermarket, struggling in the self check out counter and then struggling with using his credit card, you knew he didn't belong.

Initially, you had assumed he was probably from the countryside. Or even Amish, that's why he seemed mildly perturbed with technology. It wasn't until you saw what you initially thought was a tattoo just a teeny bit lower on his neck that you realized that he was someone who had been cursed. Having been a history major, you got severely intrigued which was why you followed him out of the supermarket and eventually wore him down to the point of getting him to employ you by simply pointing out how much he needed you to survive the modern world. Being near someone who had been around during and through historical events, often hearing snippets of how it was in the past. It was worth all of the headache of managing his estate and personal affairs. To a certain extent of course, he still wouldn't let you in too deep, especially about the reason for his curse.

So seeing him wandering about in front of your campus, trying to peek in was almost equally intriguing.

"You don't seem like you belong."

Jongho snapped his head when he heard your voice and without him realizing, his shoulders relaxed and his chest felt less heavy.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, arms crossing in front of your chest to shield you from the evening breeze which Jongho mistook as you trying to seem tough. "I came to see you," he said, shoving his hands into his pocket, as if what he said was the most normal thing he could say. You nodded slowly in acknowledgment, "I can see that. You have been asking around for me to random people? Why?"

At your question, Jongho's fingers felt slightly tingly. He had prepared to say what he wanted to say after his talk with Hongjoong and he knew he needed to, it was just rather hard, to say the least. Jongho didn't know if it was pride, shame, or a sense of ridiculousness, but any or all of it made him slightly lightheaded and so he took a seat on a nearby bench.

Seeing this, you slowly sat next to him and waited.

"I... I don't think I'm human anymore," Jongho started, idly looking anywhere but you.

"What, do you think you're a vampire or something?" you joked, causing Jongho to give you a deadpanned look before he sighed, "No, nothing like that, it's just..." he paused for a moment, thinking of a way to share his point. "I've been living far longer than humans meant to live, I've seen more things than any other person has, and trust me when I say that it was mostly bad and I can't get out of this state. Trust me, I've tried. I'm human but I live as if I'm not and it still boggles me to this day so at some point, I decided to just... Not be. I decided, that the thing that made me human was emotion and attachment and they were the things that made it hard for me to move on, go forth with the long sentence I have to endure so I let it go. I let the human side of me go and it didn't occur to me until you came along that it was wrong of me to let that happen. However long I have lived, I'm still human after all, nevermind the company I keep. So... (y/n), I'm sorry for the way I have treated you. You were so patient and so understanding with me, not to mention very helpful and yes, while I reward you with a fair wage, I did not reward your proactive kindness whatsoever so please, please come back to me so I can prove to you I'm not a complete monster and that I can make it up to you."

To say that you were surprised was an understatement. You were flabbergasted because you wouldn't expect to receive such confession from Jongho. Out of all the things you imagined, this scenario would not even make it to the brainstorming session.

You shifted in your seat before opening your mouth, "Jongho, what... What made you say this?" you asked, genuinely asking and your voice conveyed pure curiosity, no hint of mockery or suspicion which Jongho didn't fail to recognize. "Not seeing you after leaving just like that made me uneasy. I hated the thought of me subconsciously hurting you and forcing you away and even pushing you to quit working for me because I was just... A big idiot," he stated, looking away from you so he could maintain his composure and not say anything stupid to preserve his... dignity?

"So... You thought that I wasn't gonna come back and the thought was so bad that you actually come here to hunt me down even if you don't know if I was gonna be here?" you couldn't help but crack a grin at the notion. Jongho sighed exasperatedly but there was a slight redness dusting his cheeks that was conveniently hidden by the dark. "Well, it wasn't like I didn't have any plan. You kind of announced your whereabouts on social media and I just... I had to try," his voice got lower and quieter nearing the end but you caught everything perfectly thanks to the quiet surroundings. "Uhuh, but you still came out here JUST to look for me, right?" Jongho seemed to be even more embarrassed and when he turned to look at you, you had to admit that his annoyed face was adorable, like a sulking bear cub. "If you're just gonna mock me, I'm just gonna let you be and find another history enthusiast to help me survive or something. Or maybe I'll just suck it up and ask Yeosang hyung or something because believe me when I say that it took courage and preparation to come here, you hear me? I didn't even-"

You knew that Jongho rambles when he's embarrassed and he tends to not stop until someone stops him so you had to take action. You grabbed his arm which effectively stopped his rambles. "Jongho, I never planned on quitting work. I left a note on your desk to let you know that I had to take some time off because I have finals. I initially thought about sending you a text or something but after our last interaction, I was feeling petty so I decided to just leave a simple note. I swear it's there, you must've not seen it," you pointed out. Slowly, Jongho's face changed to confusion and you could almost hear the wheels in his brain turning before he answered, "B-b-but I didn't see any note, at all! I checked my desk and hell, not just my desk, I checked everywhere because Wooyoung hyung went to Seonghwa hyung's library and I had to make sure in case he-"

The look on both of your faces was priceless as the possibility dawned on you two. For a moment you both could only stare at each other before you broke into a fit of chuckles as Jongho face-palmed himself. "I'm gonna kill him," Jongho muttered to himself, dragging his hand down before he stopped grumbling to look at you. It was odd, he was usually annoyed with your antics but this time, after he bore himself to you, he realized how much he liked the sound of your laughter. Even after your laughter died down, your smile seem to make him feel lighter.

"So... You were always planning to come back?" Jongho asked, this time seemingly less... Animated. You nodded at his question, "Yeah, of course." "So... I was worried for nothing?" he mumbled, cheeks feeling warm again. Luckily for him, you giggled and shook your head immediately, "Hey, it wasn't for nothing, Jongho. Had you not worried, you wouldn't be here right? You wouldn't have made the realization, conclusion, and determination, and we wouldn't have this talk which I'm so glad for. I've always wanted to be closer to you not just because you're an interesting person, Jongho. I also wanted to do it because I don't just consider you as someone I work for, I want to be on a more personal basis, you know? So I'm super glad this happened," you grinned, giving him assurance.

Hearing your response made Jongho glad and with the same determination, he nodded to himself, "I'm glad this happened too I guess. But, I promise, once you're back, I will try to be more open with you. I can't promise anything instant, but I can promise to try. Does that... Does that sound okay?" It came as no surprise that you enthusiastically nodded but the reassurance that you were okay for him to try with you felt really nice.

Remembering reality, Jongho cleared his throat and stood up, shoving his hands into the pocket of his pants, "W-well, I should let you get back to... The inside?" he glanced at the building. Realizing that you still had to go back to studying for your test, you let out a huff but nodded and stood up, "Yeah, I guess I have to go back now." Jongho nodded and motioned for you to go in. You nodded at him and waved as you walked backward to the entrance, "Bye Jongho, thank you for coming. If you have anything to say, you can text me and I'll make sure to answer you." Jongho didn't even notice that he was smiling when he nodded at your offer, "Sounds good. Good luck on your test, (y/n), I know you'll do great," he waved.

Truly, having the talk with Jongho made you feel giddy. So as you turned and jogged back inside the study hall, you felt even more ready to tackle your test. Maybe because you wanted to do well, but maybe because you wanted to get it over with so you could go back to work. Either way, you had Jongho to thank.

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[nondelphic]

nondelphic writing tips: unconventional (but super fun!) ways to work on your story when you’re not writing

hi lovelies! (｡♥‿♥｡) time for another serious post!!

i'd like to share some of my fav unconventional, but super fun, ways to deepen your plot, characters, and world-building on those off-days when you're not actively writing. because let's be real, sometimes the most creative breakthroughs happen when you’re not staring at the blank page! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ

♡ incorrect quotes for characters

okay, this one is my absolute favourite!! even when i'm not writing, i love coming up with totally out-of-context or incorrect quotes for my characters (think “they would say this” energy). they don’t even have to be lines you use in the story, just little snippets of dialogue that fit their personality and vibe! it’s such a fun way to get to know your characters better and explore their quirks.

bonus: it’s also super entertaining when you assign hilarious, offbeat quotes to your more serious characters (≧◡≦). trust me, it works!

♡ acting out dialogue

confession time: i suck at acting but i love to act out my character’s dialogue to myself (ಥ‿ಥ). yes i do have a problem with daydreaming BUT walking around my room and speaking the lines really helps me figure out if they sound natural and realistic! if it feels awkward to say out loud, it might need tweaking. plus, it’s a great way to channel your inner actor for a little while (〃＾▽＾〃).

♡ using ai to brainstorm ideas

i love using ai tools as a sounding board to help with world-building decisions! like if i’m stuck between two options for how something should work in my world (magic system, politics, etc.), i’ll type it into an ai and ask, “what would be more realistic, option a or b?” ai can give you that nudge in the right direction and spark ideas you didn’t think of! it’s like brainstorming with a friend, but faster (￣▽￣)ノ

i have another post on using ai responsibly for writing here !!

♡ character playlists and mood boards

this one is so fun for those “off” days when you’re not writing! create playlists or mood boards for your characters or setting. find songs that capture their personality, struggles, or even the overall tone of your world. or scroll through pinterest and make a visual mood board that reflects the vibe of your world. it’s super immersive and helps you build your story’s atmosphere without writing a single word! ♫(◕‿◕)

♡ role-playing conversations between characters

this is one i like to do when i’m really feeling stuck. it's similar to acting out dialogue but rather than focusing on how realistic it sounds, it's about the characters themselves. i’ll imagine my characters just… hanging out and chatting. not even plot-related stuff, just normal conversations they’d have in their everyday lives. how would they talk to each other when they’re relaxed, annoyed, or excited? it’s such a fun way to build chemistry and relationships between your characters! (*≧ω≦)

♡ build “what if” scenarios

sometimes, i’ll brainstorm totally unrealistic “what if” situations just to see how my characters react! what if they were stuck in a completely ridiculous situation? how would they handle it? even if these scenes never make it into the story, they give me so much insight into how my characters think and behave. plus, it’s ridiculously fun (≧◡≦).

the key to all of this is to keep it light, fun, and creative on days when you’re not in the mood to do “serious” writing. storytelling isn’t just about the words you put on the page—it’s about the world, the people, and the relationships you’re building. so don’t be afraid to play around with it in unconventional ways. ♡＼(￣▽￣)／

happy writing (and daydreaming)!

[omppupiiras]

my long & rambly thoughts about People's Champion the album 🍄‍🟫

Ready To Go.. ahh, first I have to make a confession that my first impression of this song was basically "..that's it?". But in my defence it was in the middle of the night & I was not maybe in the most receptive mood. 😂

but then over the course of a few days I went from "ok maybe i like it actually" all the way to "WAIT. it is a bop and also WHY AM I GETTING EMOTIONAL OVER IT? 😭😭" I could write a whole ass post about all my ready to feels and thoughts. It is, of course, about how Jere's ready to go. He doesn't care if the shoes he's stepping into are too big for him, he doesn't care that people don't believe in him. He knows that people only want to see him fail and are waiting to say "I told you so" when it happens. But he doesn't care about any of that because HE believes in himself. He's not giving up and he's going to give it his all and hell, this whole thing COULD blow up in his face but he doesn't care. He's ready to GO.

(and there's also something very naive and bittersweet about ready to go to me, he's giving this thing his all and throwing himself into it with eyes wide open, believing and trusting and full of expectations, but he doesn't actually know or understand where this road will take him. he will actually succeed beyond his or anyone else's wildest dreams, but there's no way he could have known before it happened how much it would cost him)

and ofc CCC coming immediately after ready to go is absolutely PERFECT placement!! I immediately became obsessed with the idea of the story this album was going to tell when we got the album art and title, and OH BOY. They did not disappoint!!

Because speaking of this album telling a story, next we have Tavavoltti. On first listen it's kind of a light-hearted funny song with fun sounds. But it following CCC makes one realize that hey. Wait. Oh. It's actually saying so much about his experiences after CCC. Like with ready to go i could write a darn essay about this song but.. it's about him being unable to say no. It's about him being the funny guy, and hey, funny guys can't not be happy, right?

(Täst roolista ryydyn, mut hymy ei hyydy

Oon syypää suun hymyyn, siks rooliini tyydyn

Everybody wants something from him and they don't mind tearing him apart to get it. And he's got everything a person could want, right? Surely? He's definitely not supposed to complain, so he resigns himself to the role of a circus monkey, the masochist that he is, and pushes himself to his absolute limits. (not to say that this song is all sad bc it's not! the chorus IS hopeful though maybe in a slightly melancholy way) but ONCE AGAIN a song that sounds like a bop is actually way more deep and meaningful than it has any right to be!! 😭

playing this role exhausts me, but my smile doesn't slip

i'm the reason for your smile, and that's why i accept my role)

and whew speaking of being a masochist, next we have ruoska. damn. DAMN. this album, man. i love ruoska moving on

Kot Kot, kot kot. This song boldly starts off with "mayday", and isn't that a choice? To me Kot Kot is about Jere needing help but he hasn't admitted that to himself yet. He has given away so much of himself yet he doesn't understand why he feels so empty now. The partying and drinking don't really help but it's all he knows how to do.

Skit immediately following Kot Kot kills me DEAD. It makes both of these songs desperately sad. In Kot Kot, he needs help. In Skit, he's asking for it and being dismissed. My theory is that the therapist in Skit represents how difficult it was for him to reach out for help or even to have people who understand. How could he even explain to someone how something so amazing can be so terrible? Does anyone even care to hear that, to listen to him talk about it? His problems aren't normal people problems, anymore.

Autiomaa, autiomaa, autiomaa. I loved Autiomaa from the first snippet he shared and the full song did not disappoint. Bye bye my old favorite Käärijä song Menestynyt Yksilö, Autiomaa has taken your place. 😭 Seems like I have a theme going on lol, I love songs where he gets real and personal, and in Autiomaa he does that on a whole new level.

I love that he was brave enough to write Autiomaa and bold enough to make sure people understood Autiomaa is a big deal to him. He wanted to share his feelings and be understood and heard. The music video is such a piece of art and besides being so emotional this song is just so damn GOOD. He's such a master of the finnish language in the way he writes lyrics.

I love sex = money and of course in true käärijä style it's a bop but it also says something very real with its lyrics. but hey! sex sells! better get selling then

bananas is the song i have the least feelings & thoughts about haha. I like all the foodstuff lyrics but that's about it 😂 maybe i will have more feelings about it when i hear it live

next we have Huhhahhei and I must confess.. it's not for me fam. I don't like it. 🙈 I can't put this into words in any way that makes sense, but to me Huhhahhei is different to every other Käärijä song. The lyrics are generic in a way that almost makes it feel like this song is about nothing at all. I don't see it as a love song either, to me the lyrics are just saying words to say them without really meaning anything. so for that reason to me Huhhahhei is the song that fits on this album the least.

icip kind of feels like a breath of fresh air in the album - it's crazy it's party, life is life. things aren't so doom and gloom anymore. with its placement in the album it feels like jere accepts all the good and the bad and now he has learned to enjoy being an artist again. he's had a hell of a party that he couldn't escape, maybe he lost his mind a little along the way, but he made it out to the other side. ta-da, ta-da, ta-da...

and lastly, People's Champion. It's a lovely song and a perfect song to end the album with. but i have written so many words now i dont have much left for people's champion dgdfgldf but i love it a lot and im so glad jere won the battle for this to be included bc truly, what would this album be without this song??

[pixiemage]

I’ve recently re-read your magebound au and was wondering if you had anymore snippets you would be willing share :)/nf

Ahhh hi! I'm glad you enjoyed it!!!

I honestly love that AU so much. I really need to get back to it when I can; there are a LOT of people whose stories I have planned out in my head, I just haven't had time to work on them hah.

That being said, if you're curious to see a character I haven't posted anything for yet, I HAVE been working a little scene in recent weeks for a prompt I got a while back. I made an MCYT Playlist Prompt two months ago, and then I immediately got busy after making it and didn't have time to do it lol...but this request from @i-am-oshawott caught my attention:

[Playlist D, Track 3] Magebound - "My Heart is Split" by Kerrigan Lowdermilk

It's a song I associate with Grian in this AU, for obvious reasons once you listen to it and read what I have written for it so far! <3 Enjoy!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(...)

Grian felt as though perhaps he should be more grateful. If it weren’t for Mumbo, he was sure he never would have survived out there alone in the woods, as injured as he’d been after escaping the Watcher Coven. The fact that someone had found him and brought him to safety was a blessing in and of itself.

The Hermits were kind too, kind and a little kooky…the best kind of company to keep, in Grian’s opinion. Xisuma had been more than welcoming and Stress had been a spot of upbeat and chaotic positivity as she helped him heal. His wings were almost back to flight-ready thanks to False’s advice, and with the potions Joe Hills had been brewing for him, his magical core was finally feeling closer to normal than it had in years.

(Not that it would ever be normal again, as much as he hated to acknowledge it. The experiments the Watcher Coven had performed on him to strengthen his magic in order to better their own…he was sure it was practically irreversible. The most Joe’s potions could do was help him stabilize so he could regain full control over his magic again. For that, he would always be thankful.)

But back to the point…he thought perhaps he should be more grateful for all the Hermits had done for him, all the kindness and care they had provided in his time under their protection. But…something was missing.

Or rather, Grian was missing something.

He missed his home. He missed his flock. He missed the Evolution community and the mages that resided there, the other familiars like him who he had grown up with, and the witches and hybrids that he’d come to call his family. Martyn and BigB and Taurtis and the rest…

And Jimmy and Pearl. Grian heaved a sigh and drew his knees to his chest where he was sitting on the front stoop of Mumbo’s home. He rested his cheek on his knees and gazed unseeingly out over the lawn. He probably missed his siblings the most. Pearl may not have been a blood relative, but she was as close to a sister as he’d ever had, and up until the Watchers had taken him Grian couldn’t remember a day he hadn’t spent alongside his little brother Jimmy.

It had been years since then. Jimmy wasn’t a teenager anymore, was he? He’d probably lost all the juvenile plumage in his familiar form, and Grian hadn’t been there to see it.

…but Jimmy was still alive at least, and for that, Grian would gladly give another thousand days in captivity if it required.

The door creaked open behind him, but Grian didn’t bother moving.

“Oh! Grian! Hullo, I was just about to look for you.” A shadow fell over Grian and he glanced up to see Mumbo leaning over him, a small smile peeking out from beneath his mustache.

“It is lunch already?” Grian asked, wondering how long he’d actually been outside, but Mumbo shook his head.

“Not quite, mate,” he told him. He sidestepped Grian and trotted down the front steps. He must have been working on some invention or another because he was missing his jacket and tie, and Grian could see red smudges on his rolled-up shirtsleeves. “Xisuma just sent me a message. He’s got a surprise for you at the center of the village. C’mon.”

Grian made a face at Mumbo’s extended hand.

“I don’t like surprises,” he whined, his one unbandaged wing slumping against his back. “Can’t you just tell me what it is?”

“Sorry buddy, X didn’t say.” At least Mumbo looked apologetic about it. “I’ll stick with you though. If you wanna duck on out, I can cause a distraction.”

Grian pondered this. It seemed like a fair enough offer. So with a very put-upon sigh Grian took the offered hand, letting Mumbo drag him to his feet amid Grian’s undertone grumbling.

“It had better be a good distraction,” Grian told him flatly after a moment of silent walking. “Lots of flair and pizzaz.”

“Oh, absolutely!” Mumbo nodded. “I can do pizzaz. I’m Mr. Pizzaz. Mr. Mumbo Flair-Pizzaz Jumbo. Master of distraction.”

Grian had to fight against the grin that threatened to overtake his expression.

“Good to know I’ve got an expert,” he quipped, hearing the laughter under his own words. “Does Mr. Pizzaz have a business card? I’d love to recommend you to my friends.”

“Yup! Definitely!” Mumbo said, mirth starting to seep into his voice. “Business cards by the boatload. I could get you one the second we’re back at my place. They’ve got - ya know - glitter, and beveled edges, and everything–”

“Glitter?” Grian gaped at him, finally letting out a proper laugh. “Who puts glitter on business cards?”

“Well - well Mr. Pizzaz, obviously,” Mumbo chuckled brightly, his mustache curling upward with his grin. “Careful around him, it’s infectious. Once you go glitter you never go back–”

Grian snorted and fell into giggles, rolling his eye at his newfound friend. It was a shame they hadn’t met sooner. Their senses of humor were such a perfect fit…and in the aftermath of the horrors he’d endured at the hands of the Watchers, Mumbo had become an unignorable bright spot amid the shadows.

Perhaps Xisuma had seen it from the start. Perhaps he’d placed Grian in Mumbo’s care for that very reason.

They were approaching the center of the village by now, and Grian felt his feathers stand on end against his will. He didn’t like the unpredictable. He used to, he was sure he used to - he was certain surprises once held a good connotation once upon a time - but as it stood the unpredictable had come to mean danger in recent years. The unexpected held too much risk, too much fear. Perhaps Mumbo could tell that his humor had only been a half-successful distraction because the back of his hand brushed against Grian’s, an awkward attempt at comfort.

“Like I said,” Mumbo told him in an undertone, “if you need out you let me know, an’ we’ll go. But whatever X has got planned can’t be bad. Right?”

Grian nodded stiffly. Right. Right. Xisuma had been nothing but kind. They all had, really. He took a deep, shaking breath and tried to reign in his anxiety. He had nothing to fear here. It was called a Sanctuary for a reason.

…voices met his ears. Bright voices. Painfully familiar voices. Grian’s breath caught in his lungs and he swallowed past a lump in his throat, his eyes widening and a fragile, careful hope welling in his chest.

They rounded the corner. Sun-yellow feathers caught his eye, and he froze…and it was suddenly very difficult to breathe.

Jimmy was there by the fountain, taller than the last time Grian had seen him, with shorter hair and longer limbs and a little less of the boyish look he’d had as a teen. His wings were on full display - properly grown in now, though his feathers were just a tiny bit messy - and he was slightly turned away from Grian. He was bickering with Martyn - Martyn - over something Grian couldn’t make out, the feathers around his ears flared. Martyn looked older too, though somehow exactly the same, the same familiar fond exasperation on his face as he spoke with Jimmy that Grian had seen hundreds of times. There was a tension in his brow too, one that matched Jimmy’s, one that matched Pearl’s. Pearl was there too, a rich red traveling cloak hanging around her shoulders that Grian remembered had once belonged to her aunt. She was less animated than Martyn or Jimmy, her arms folded tight over her chest as she chewed on her nails, glancing between them silently.

She was the first to spot Grian.

Pearl’s eyes landed on him and Grian could hear her gasp from across the courtyard, catching the attention of Martyn and then Jimmy in quick succession. They turned to follow her eye and fell immediately silent, their expressions shifting through too many emotions for Grian to even try and decipher. Not that it even mattered. They were here. They were real. They were–

“Grian,” Pearl breathed, and it was like a spell broke.

“Grain!” Jimmy was running toward him in an instant with the others hot on his heels, and Grian met him in the middle on unstable legs. He and his brother crashed together in an engulfing hug on impact, clinging to each other like a lifeline, with the desperation of those who feared the other would vanish if they even dared to let go. Pearl crowded in on the right and Martyn on the left, a warm hand on his shoulder and another on his arm and fingers clinging to the sweater on his back.

Grian sobbed before he even knew he was crying, shaking in Jimmy’s arms and not caring that he was probably leaving damp patches of tears on the shoulder of his brother’s shirt. He didn’t care.

They were here. They were alive. They were okay. It was all worth it.

“I can’t believe it,” Martyn choked out, an emotional laugh in his words. “When they told us they found you, I didn’t - I could hardly believe it. We’ve been looking for so long–”

“Told you he’d make it,” Jimmy said shakily. “I told you. I did. I said–” His breath hitched and his wings shuddered, curling forward around the little group where Grian’s one unbandaged wing had fallen slack. “–I said ‘He’s Grian, he’d never give up. He’s stronger ‘n that.’ And I was right. I was - I was right.”

Grian chuckled wetly, weakly, unsteadily, leaning into his flock and burying himself in the feeling of home.

(...)

[hgejfmw-hgejhsf]

WIP Wednesday!

Happy Wednesday, my loves! I haven't been as interactive today because I've been wildly busy packing and preparing to jet off on an adventure this weekend to try to meet that dude in the lovely banner that @indestructibleheart made for me. Asking kindly for all the prayers, good wishes, vibes, and manifestations you possibly can for me and for @thinkof-england as we try and make our literal dreams come true on Saturday. But I promise I will get to reading y'all's lovely words as soon as I'm able! I'm not done screaming at y'all! Not ever!

I want to thank the following incredible humans for the tags today: @adreamareads @duchessdepolignaca03 @suseagull04 @bigassbowlingballhead @england-would-fall @onthewaytosomewhere @captainjunglegym @magicandarchery @priincebutt @cha-melodius @songliili @getmehighonmagic @ninzied @wordsofhoneydew @itsmaybitheway @sparklepocalypse and @leaves-of-laurelin. Don't I have an amazing support system?! Look at all these people! I love each and every one of y'all.

As I said earlier, I haven't had much time this week, so I'm gonna peruse through At the end of a bar, chapter 4 for a little longer-than-normal snippet, I do believe.

It’s typical small talk for the majority of the meal, with Pez moaning wantonly after each bite and lamenting their mutual inability to cook anything more than toast, pointedly and loudly saying if I had someone around to make me fat and happy, I’d never leave bed with a wink at Henry, who’s silently wishing that the earth might open and swallow him whole. Alex is the one who politely - and with a hint of color in his cheeks that has Henry wanting to commission a painting dedicated to finding the precise shade of pink and giving it a name - redirects the conversation to how the two best mates came to meet. While Pez delivers a soliloquy to rival even the most animated of actors, complete with sweeping hand gestures and too-long pauses for dramatic effect, Henry watches Alex. Brown eyes sparkling with genuine curiosity, he leans forward with his chin in his hand, one elbow propped on the tabletop, and Henry’s stomach swoops at the sight. It certainly is not made any more tolerable by the presence of Alex’s foot, gently rubbing up and down Henry’s ankle beneath the table. Or Alex’s foot dragging up Henry’s leg, until he’s pressing against the inside of Henry’s knee. Or Alex’s foot pressing forward between Henry’s spread legs to rub against his– “Right,” Henry says, wincing at the sound of his chair scraping against the dining room floor. "I’m just going to take a quick shower.”

Still got some folks who I haven't seen go yet today, so tagging them behind the cut! And as always, an open tag for anyone else who wants it! Share your words with me and the world!

@affectionatelyrs @agame-writes @anincompletelist @barbiediaz @firenati0n @gayrootvegetable @guillermosfamiliar @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heybuddy-drabbles @inexplicablymine @junebugclaremontdiaz @kiwiana-writes @leojfitz @littlemisskittentoes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @msmarvelouswinchester @mulderscully @nocoastposts @notspecialbabe @rockyroadkylers @ships-to-sail @sophie1973 @ssmtskw @stereopticons @theprinceandagcd @typicalopposite @user-anakin @vanillahigh00 @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @whimsymanaged @zwiazdziarka

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕕𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕧𝕚𝕓𝕖𝕤 ⋆*･ﾟ𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕒𝕕 𝕓𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ʟᴏᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ꜱᴇɴꜱᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ ɪɢ, ᴄᴜᴛᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴀʟʟ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ

⋆ ★ ɪ ᴡʀᴏᴛᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴ 30 ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇꜱ :)

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Hunter 

Walking around a busy neighborhood, looking for a place to eat when you see people dancing on the street. 

Seeing a live band playing dreamy romantic music, and couples swaying lovingly together. 

You flash him a smile, beckon him over, and join hand in hand, Hunter’s arms wrapped around your waist and your hands meeting behind his neck. 

You two aren’t the most amazing dancers, stepping on the other's foot occasionally and bumping into another couple, but it’s perfect ‘cause it’s you two, and he twirls you around and brings you back into his arms with a smile. 

There’s so much adoration and pure softness in his eyes, you can’t help but indulge in a little PDA and kiss his pretty lips and press your foreheads together.

Tech 

Lounging in the cockpit of the Marauder, sitting across from each other and eating your favorite meal together, just talking. 

This sweet boy went to great lengths to get your exact favorite food, doing extensive research on where to get it, or, if needed, how to make it.

Exchanging small glances and smiles even when the sound of chewing overtakes any other noise. 

Holding hands as you eat, exchanging thoughts and ideas and little snippets of your day or week to each other.

As the night goes on, maybe putting on some music and rocking together, softly holding the other in your arms, or Tech showing you whatever new he’s been working on or researching on his datapad, avidly sharing with wide and loving eyes. 

He doesn’t even bother watching himself and what he’s saying, because he knows you wouldn’t interrupt or be bothered.

Wrecker 

A picnic on a sunny, leafy planet, your setup nestled somewhere away from busy roads and cities, blanket and basket of food placed on the lush grass, and his smile brighter than the sun.

Feeding each other fruits and sandwiches, smiling giddily when he gets sauce all over his mouth and reaching over to wipe it off with your thumb.

Wrecker insisting there’s something on your face too, and reaching over to steal a long, thorough kiss that has you giggling when he pulls away.

Ending up on his lap or him lying on his back, your head on his chest. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck and nuzzling your face in the crook there or listening to his heartbeat. 

You might end up falling asleep in each other's warmth, taking a nice little nap under the sun together before having to wake up and go about your normal, boring, unromantic business.

Crosshair 

Walking through busy shopping streets, leading him by the grip you have on his wrist and looking at all the goods and services.

Him insisting he doesn’t care to get anything, but you see him eyeing a sleek gray holster that would definitely pair well with his kit.

Getting drinks and sipping from each other's straws, Crosshair insisting yours is too sweet and you insisting his is too bitter.

A baby pointing at Crosshair with wide eyes and him glaring back with that mean look, but the baby only laughs. You can’t stop giggling.

Him sneakily interlocking your fingers for a split moment as the throngs of people become too crowded and it being harder to see you.

He says he’s not going to buy anything for either of you, but he goes back later as you’re using the restroom to buy that good you were admiring while window shopping. 

When you ask him how much it cost, he insists that it’s nothing you should worry about.

Echo

Finding a skyline view, maybe some sort of quiet restaurant or lounge above the Coruscant sky.

Somewhere modest but thoughtful and romantic, just like Echo.

Not wanting to sit across from you so instead finding a loveseat and leaning on each other, arms linked.

Observing speeders and people walking past, making up lives and stories about them. 

Giggling to each other when you make up outrageous ones. 

Having to finish his food when he picks out all the parts he doesn’t like.

When you’re walking home holding hands pulling him down an unoccupied hallway, letting your back press onto the wall, and kissing him silly for a few moments before finally deciding to go home.

dividers by @saradika ~ tags: @starstofillmydream @pb-jellybeans @corrieguards @badbatchbabe @ladytano420 @jediknightjana @sleepycreativewriter @shinyshayminflower @thebahdbitch @secondaryrealm @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @kimiheartblade @anotherschuylersister @wolffegirlsunite @star-burned @starrylothcat

[roguelov]

okay I know we all love romantic DreamxHobxYoung!Immortal!Reader, BUT I saw a tiktok recently that gave me an idea. the video said something like "immortal character taking in magical character who has been rejected by their family and community and becoming their parental figure"

maybe it's a situation similar to jjk, where geto adopted those 2 girls who were being abused by their village for being sorcerers.

they don't have to be an actual kid though, they could be older since they'd still be wayyy younger than dream and hob lol

just dream and hob taking in this person who's been rejected by everyone and taking care of them and stuff (platonic soulmates maybe?)

(I have like a whole story about this in my head, but it includes yet another fandom so I'll leave it at this😅🤭)

Oh my god my heart my baby heart loves this so much 🥹🥰 found family? I’m sold I’m here for it

You were ostracized by your community by a young age, you were gifted with an affinity for magic and labeled a menace. You drifted along by yourself for a while mostly surviving until you crossed paths with a gentleman with a kind smile. Hob instantly knew you were in need, you had this broken and almost feral look in your eyes. It reminded him of his time after his family died and his town believed him to be a witch.

After some coaxing, he brought you to the New Inn and gave you a warm meal. And since then you always found yourself there. Maybe at first you tried to stay away, believing you are a monster. Your magic was wild, chaotic, and impossible to control no matter the effort you put into learning it. However, you enjoyed Hob’s company and he made you feel safe. And eventually, you met Dream.

Maybe you never told Hob and Dream your secret and past, but one day while in the Dreaming your magic spills out. It nearly toppled over the castle, and you tried to flee afterwards. But, Dream and Hob found you in Fiddler’s Green. Tears streaming down your face, you blurted out everything. You told them what people called you, your eternal life doomed to be alone given your cursed magic, how -

Hob will immediately cut you off, “No one is cursed to be alone.”

Hob and Dream will pour into how they will not leave you, how you aren’t alone anymore, and how they will do everything they can to help you.

“The Dreaming can be your home, you are always welcomed here,” Dream will say.

And you will stay. You will stay because you love it here and everyone - Dream, Hob, Lucienne, Matthew, Marv, Cain and Abel, Goldie - are your family.

Now here’s some snippets I think would be lovely:

Dream and Hob trying to help you control your magic but results in them being knocked around (more so in the beginning)

Dream will be your biggest teacher and supporter when learning your magic and may find some artifacts to help control (maybe he’ll make you a ruby necklace to contain some of your magic)

Hob will share stories of his past both the good and the bad

If you want a normal life in the Waking, Hob will gladly let you work at the inn

If you have nightmares especially of your past, Dream will be there to comfort you and apologize not meaning to upset you

Once you can control your magic, you will excitedly show off to Dream and Hob and they are so happy and proud of you

Dream and Hob will see a new light in your eyes that makes their heart feel so at ease

Just Dream and Hob becoming your home and them uplifting you constantly

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

Would love to hear about The Gang Plays D&D :)

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEH

I'm SO CLOSE to being finished with this fic. By which I mean I'm 40k in and praying it doesn't go over 50k. Please little fic, please, I'm begging you, do NOT grow up big and strong, stay a reasonable length!

For those of you who might be new and missed the various snippets I've shared, this fic is about the 118 starting a D&D campaign DM'd by Bobby where Buck and Eddie promptly romance one another's characters and refuse to admit that they're romancing one another in real life. Shenanigans ensue.

"What kind of shenanigans?" you ask. Well, I'm so glad you did! Have a snippet:

I want that. I want you. His hips twitch, trying to rut up into the heel of his hand where it’s pressed to his cock. Eddie breathes carefully through his nose. He is not going to get off to this. He’s not. Atton’s going kiss him a lot for that. And then he’s going to wait is there lube? There’s lube in this setting right? Do not fucking text Bobby to ask him if this setting has lube. Yes it has lube. People are people, Buck. Okay but like. What is the lube like. Would we have any? Do you want to roll for it? There’s a suspiciously long pause so Eddie adds, Buck for the love of god you are not rolling a d20 to find out if our characters have lube. They have something, okay? They have like face cream that can also be used as lube. Hey now a lot of creams are topical use only! Buck you have a man with his legs spread willing to fuck you, you have lube. Christ yeah okay fine there’s lube. Eddie closes his eyes, switches to voice-to-text, and resigns himself to burning in Hell. “Pass it to me. I want to feel you open up on my fingers.” He’ll make a really embarrassing noise at that. Eddie can’t help the smirk that slides across his face, imagining Buck responding for real. “Aww, was that a whine, sweetheart?” Fuck you no it wasn’t. Help me out of this stupid robe. “With pleasure.” Buck’s response comes in suspiciously fast given all the words it contains and how much typing it would’ve needed. It’s going to take a minute because I’m going to keep kissing you. Kind of hard to undress each other when we keep kissing but I don’t care I don’t want to stop. You feel really good against me.

Surely this is completely normal behavior and won't blow up in their faces. :3