#I’m a bit of a slow poke writer

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

ring ring

kinktober, day nineteen

a/n: this idea wasn’t originally for these two, but damn if it doesn’t fit super well 

summary: “you know, Sam is gonna notice if I’m gone for too long…”

warnings: bf!dean winchester x reader x sam winchester, smut, dubcon, established relationship, love triangle, phone sex, mutual masturbation, toys, dirty talk, having a huge crush on your boyfriend's brother, cheating, kissing, pussyjob, allusion to sex, slight orgasm denial, slight edging

word count: 2483

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023

“Dean,” you raised your phone up to your ear and peeled your eyes away from the heavy tome cracked open on the table before you, “hi!”

“Hey beautiful,” his deep timbre rumbled warmly, “how’s it going over there?”

“Oh, you know,” you peeked over at Sam who glanced from his similarly hefty book, “slow,” you watched his eyes flicker back down to the page as he got the gist of the casual call, “it’s a lot of research to get through…” shooting your chair back, you stood up, absentmindedly pushing it back into place as you asked, “how about you? Are you still on the road?”

“Nope, I just got here a few hours ago,” your vision lingered on Sam’s long fingers as they ghosted their way down the page he was reading, “I was just about to go over and check the place out,” your teeth tensely seized your bottom lip as you slowly whirled around and took a few paces away. Picking up on your silence, Dean gently poked, “what?”

Hand apprehensively tapping against your thigh, you lowered your voice to admit, “I just don’t like the idea of you being all the way up there on your own…”

“I’m barely a day’s drive away,” you heard him let out a soft sigh. 

“But what if something happens?” your feet carried you out into the hallway, the younger Winchester still visible to your wandering eye.  

“Babe, I can take care of myself,” he pointed out with a small chuckle. 

“I know that…”

“I’ve checked out hundreds of things by myself, this time is no different, it’s just a little ghost, I’ll be fine,” he reassured you. Spine melting against one of the cool walls, you watched as Sam’s hazel glare locked on you as it so often did, effectively causing goosebumps to erupt, ones that didn’t fade in the slightest as Dean then cheekily enquired, “is it because I can’t take care of you from all the way up here?”

Breathy chuckle rolling off your lips, you averted your gaze and humoured him, “well you said it, not me.”

“Who says that I can’t?” you could practically hear the smug smirk through the phone. 

“Dean,” your head shook lightly from side to side.

Letting out a groan that made your cunt clench, “love it when you say my name…”

“I am supposed to be doing research,” a laugh bubbled out through your groan. 

“So, take a break.”

Casting one last glance back at the tall man sitting at the long table, you couldn’t help but give in with a playful, “I hate you.”

“Sure, you do,” he chuckled sarcastically as you scurried into your room just on the right, “was that the sound of a door closing?”

“It was,” you then purposefully flopped down on the mattress loud enough for the frame to creak, “and that was the sound of me laying down on my bed.”

“Atta girl,” he practically purred, “what are you wearing?”

“You are so cliché,” you giggled, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Oh, come on, you love it.”

Exhaling slowly, you counted, “t-shirt and a pair of jeans.”

Humming contently, you then heard him suggest, “why don’t you take those pants off for me?”

“You know, Sam is gonna notice if I’m gone for too long…”

“So? He doesn’t need you to babysit him. Just stop thinking about the research for a bit, just be here with me, relax, you clearly need it.” 

Exhaling slowly, you unbuttoned your trousers and wiggled them down your legs, “alright,” you kicked them to the floor at the foot of the bed, “they’re off.” 

“Are you touching yourself?” his deep voice tickled your ear and shot straight down to your core. 

“Not yet,” your thighs instinctively squeezed together, hips rolling gently as your free hand began to drift south. 

“Good, don’t. Not until I tell you to, okay?” 

Halting your hand in its tracks, it clenched into a fist as you chuckled, “you’re such an ass.” 

“I know, but I’m an ass who can make you cum straight into next week,” he bragged as you reached up to readjust the pillows, mushing them perfectly under your head, “Y/n, relax, shut that beautiful brain of yours off a second and just do as I say, promise it’ll be worth it,” 

“Fine, I promise I won’t,” you exhaled with a light eye-roll, “are you touching yourself?” 

“Do you know how hard it is not to when listening to your voice?” you suddenly noticed how ragged his tone was, “I just have to think about you and I’m fucking throbbing, baby,” you heard him spit in his free palm before sloppy strokes began to echo through the receiver, a melody alone that made you note just how torturously the ache between your thighs was, “shit,” he groaned shamelessly, “I wish it was you touching me… you fucking playing with me, teasing the shit out of me like you do when you’re sitting on my face… leaking down on my tongue… creaming from just a little kiss…” 

Bottom lip trapped between your teeth, you breathed, “Dean…”

“You know what I was thinking about just before I called you?”

“What?” your airy answer rushed out quicker than you’d like. He certainly had you hooked now… 

“That time in the car…”

“Which one?” you let out a light laugh. 

“That first time in the car. You remember how impatient you were? Couldn’t even wait till we got back to the motel.”

“I wasn’t impatient,” you defended, “you were just a tease.” 

“I was a tease? You were the one who climbed into my seat.” 

“Well, you were the one who invited me into your seat.” 

“Yeah, I was,” you didn’t have to see his face to know the huge smirk that had bloomed, “but it worked, didn’t it? Your legs didn’t stop shaking till the next day…”

Eyes lightly rolling in your skull, you tried not to give him the satisfaction of knowing the immense power he had over you, “you will never let me down for that, will you?” 

“I still remember what it was like hearing you moan for the first time… shit,” he brazenly let you hear every last lavish jerk he let himself relish in, “it was so hard not to burst right then and there… I had never heard anything as hot as that before…”

“Dean…” you whined, hips gently rolling though not giving any relief whatsoever, “can I-… can I please touch myself?”

“Why?” he teased, not slowing his own pleasure down one bit, “is this turning you on? Are you getting wet for me?”

“Dean,” you sounded downright pathetic at this point. Yet another thing for the memory banks that he could mock you endlessly about. 

“You didn’t answer my question, sweetheart,” he croaked, “reach down and feel for me, but don’t play with yourself, just feel…”

“You are so mean…” you grumbled light-heartedly as you finally slipped your free fingers below the waist of your panties. 

“Is that a yes?” he challenged. 

“Yes, yes, I’m really fucking wet,” you admitted begrudgingly, nearly whimpering as you retracted your hand, a sinful sheen now glazing the skin. 

“Good,” he crooned conceitedly, “now lift up your shirt and play with those tits,” though it wasn’t the place you longed to caress, you still rushed to fulfil his request, “what I wouldn’t give to touch them right now…” your breathing grew more ragged as your hand switched from one to the other in a lewd little massage, “they’re so fucking perfect… so soft, so pretty,” you gave the pebbly nipple right above your heart a harsh pinch, just like how Dean’s greedy fingers liked to do it, “and when you’re lying on your back and I thrust up into you just right, the way that makes them jiggle?” your cunt clenched at the image, “fuck… hypnotize me, why don’t you? Call me your slave because I’ll follow you anywhere…” dizzying breathes flowing from your lips, your boyfriend was only silent a second, enjoying what little you gave him before he finally said, “hey, baby?” a fuzzy hum immediately rushing out of you, “be a good girl and play with that pretty little pussy for me, yeah? Make it feel real good…”

You might as well have been set aflame with turned on you were. It almost felt like you electrocuted yourself when you finally rubbed your aching clit. 

“Fuck, Dean!” your form thrashed atop the bed. 

“Lower the phone, sweetheart. Let me hear how wet that pussy is,” to which you briefly brought it down to catch more of the lewd soppy sounds echoing throughout the room with every needy caress, “christ, I wish I was there with you…”

Yanking your panties off completely, kicking them to the floor, you swiftly slid two fingers into your quivering hole, “I wish you were here too,” but the petiteness of your fingers caused you to let out a desperate whine, “fuck, Dean, I-…”

“What?” by the sound of his condescending tone it was obvious that he already knew the problem, “what’s wrong, baby?” 

“I feel so empty…” you nearly cried as your fingers pumped and pumped but just couldn’t get deep enough to scratch that itch. 

“Oh, are your pretty fingers not long enough? Not big enough to stretch that pussy out the way that she deserves, huh?”

“N-no.” 

Completely entranced by the melody his own efforts emitted, he promptly muttered, “do something for me then, yeah?”

“Huh?”

“Stop touching yourself.”

“What?” your movements slowed, but didn’t halt completely, “no, no!”

“Stop touching yourself and go get the toy in the bedside table,” painstakingly snatching your glistening digits back, you scurried over the mattress to the table on the right side. Ripping the drawer open, you couldn’t get your hands on the realistic-looking silicone fast enough, “you got it?”

“Yeah,” you crawled back to your previous spot and laid back down. 

“Good. Now give it a little kiss before letting your cunt feel it,” you brought the tip of the dildo up to your lips, giving it a gentle little lick before filling up your mouth more, “be nice, treat it like you’d treat me.” 

After releasing it from your peck with a pop, slobber clung to it as you lowered it down between your trembling thighs, “oh my god,” your eyes fluttered as you slid it inside, “Dean!” 

“That what you needed, babe?” you heard him chuckle. 

“Yes, fuck, it feels so good!” squeezing your eyes shut, you pumped it lavishly, “I don’t know how much longer I’m gonna last with this.”

“Hold on, just a little bit longer, can you do that for me?” 

“Dean,” your plea came out as a moan. 

“Fuck, you sound so hot,” he panted, “don’t cum yet, baby, not yet,” obviously being painfully close himself, “shit, I wish I could see you right now, laying there, in your bed, fucking yourself for me, dripping all over those sheets,” your nails dug into the flared base of the toy, “I can’t wait to get home, baby. Feel that pussy clench around my cock again, maybe even keep that dildo close by to plug up your other holes… fucking hell, you wanna cum with me?”

“Yes!” you cried out. 

“Then go ahead, be a good girl and cum all over that toy,” removing your grip on the silicone, you briefly drifted your fingers up to give your clit the attention it was screaming for. 

But just before you were about to dance your digits back down to give the toy one last pump, it began to move on its own. Snapping your eyes open, you saw none other than Sam, grip firm on the base as he ploughed the dildo in and out of you, giving you exactly what you needed, “oh my god,” your eyes grew wide as they locked with his, though your fingers couldn’t seem to quit their needy circles over your puffy pearl, “oh my god,” holding his piercing gaze, you tumbled over the edge, “fuck!” 

Hearing your boyfriend swiftly follow suit, you just kept blinking back at his brother as he slowly pulled the toy out of your clenching cunt, “fuck, that was so good, baby, shit, I came so much over here.”

“Mhm…” you distantly hummed, chest heaving as you watched Sam swipe a finger over the toy, collecting some of your juices before swiftly letting his tongue have a taste.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to get back home to you.”

“Y-yeah,” Sam’s eyes stayed locked with yours as he popped his finger back out, “me neither…”

“Just a day or so more and I’m all yours,” your hazy gaze fluttered down to spot Sam’s girth, freed and throbbing. 

“See you then,” you distantly spoke before hanging up and letting your phone drop to the mattress. 

Like a crack of thunder, before you even had time to register what it was that you were doing, the two of you clawed the other closer and locked your lips in a fevered kiss. Nails nearly digging through his clothes, it didn’t take long before your fingers enveloped Sam’s cock, the weight making your knees wobbly. 

 But just as quickly as you had collided like magnets, that’s how fast you pulled back again, “Sam-, shit…” palms planted on his chest, you shook your head in an effort to clear it, “this is bad, we can’t do this…”

“Don’t say that,” he plucked up your chin, “don’t fucking deny what’s going on between us, what’s been there since the very beginning.”

“But, what about-”

“I don’t give a shit about that,” both his hands came up to cup your face, “do you want me? Do you want me as much as I want you?” 

Blinking back at him, all you could do was wistfully tilt your head instead of uttering the truth, “Sam…”

“Because if you don’t, if you really don’t, then tell me to walk away and I will,” he slowly inched closer, a hand drifting down to grasp his cock to tease you with the tip that was already so desperately nudging against your core and getting soaked in your want, “tell me that you don’t want this, that you don’t want me…” he parted your petals with his dick, “tell me and I’ll go away…”

Breathlessly, blinking back into his dark gaze, instead of finding the words, you simply pulled him back in and gave him a kiss as confirmation.

A string of saliva still connecting your lips, his nose ghosted against yours as his teasing grew more confident, “you want it, huh? Tell me that you want me.”

“I want you,” you finally uttered after ages of suppressing the fevered desire. 

“Tell me again,” he nearly growled, catching your weeping hole at every electric flick through your folds. 

“I want you, please fuck me.”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[hazbinwhoree]

Hello! I got to say, so far you'r my favorite writer to Adam, im obsessed with the way you write him. Could I ask for a scenerio where he makes reader squirt for the first time in her life? (Or after life). I can see him being all proud of himself while reader just lays there embarressed cuz "holly shit that never happened bofore, is he okey with the mess?"

Peak Orgasm

A/N: Thank you!

“Guess how many times I’ve actually cum in my life.” Adam liked this game. “I’m guessing it’s a low number,” he said. “It is.” “Ten.” “Lower.”

“Lower than ten?” Adam gasped.

“Once,” (Name) dropped. “I’ve come once in my life. My ex managed it. Once. I’ve never managed it, I overstimulate myself.”

Adam’s jaw dropped. “You’re joking. You’ve only had an orgasm once? Did you squirt?”

(Name) blushed. “No, I don’t think I can do that.”

“...I can make it happen.”

The tension in the air is thick.

“Oh yeah?”

And Adam is on her in seconds, slamming his lips against hers. (Name) kissed back fervently, winding her arms around his neck. Adam pulled her into his lap. (Name) could feel his erection. His sex drive never failed to amaze her.

Adam’s tongue invaded (Name)’s mouth and she moaned. Adam’s hands travelled downwards, cupping her breasts. He pulled back for a moment to pull (Name)’s shirt over her head. His eyes lingered on her bare breasts and he grinned. “Nice rack.”

(Name) rolled her eyes.

Adam was immediately back on her, reconnecting their lips. His hands groped her chest, pinching and teasing her nipples. (Name) moaned, arching her back. Adam began sucking and biting down the column of her neck, leaving his mark.

(Name) whimpered, the sensations going straight to her core. Adam smirked against her neck. “Does that feel good baby?”

His hands left her chest to tug at the waistband of her pants. He laid her on her back on the bed and she raised her hips to allow him to slide the clothing off. Adam kissed down her body until he was between her thighs, kissing each inner thigh.

Then he began to eat her out like she was his last meal.

He alternated sucking on her clit and fucking her with his tongue. (Name) cried out, reaching down and getting an iron grip on Adam’s messy hair. She tugged at it as his tongue worked, and Adam groaned, the vibration against (Name)’s pussy only causing her to tug harder.

When her legs started twitching and shaking, Adam pulled back with one last, long lick from her opening to her clit.

(Name) was breathing heavily and frowning. “Why’d you stop?”

“The goal is to make you cum, not make you overstimulated.”

Adam pulled his shirt over his head before yanking down his pants and boxers. (Name) swallowed when she saw his dick. He was big, he didn’t call himself Dickmaster for nothing. She briefly wondered if he would fit. He’d be the biggest she’d ever taken.

Adam smirked, pumping his dick in his fist slowly. “Like what you see?”

(Name) blushed.

“You think you can take it?”

(Name) nodded wordlessly.

“Good.”

He sat on the bed and gestured for (Name) to come to him. She crawled over to him on shaky legs. Adam dragged her into his lap, positioning her over his dick.

“This should be the least painful position,” he offered.

He lined himself up, his tip poking at her entrance. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said. (Name) was more than ready. She began to slowly sink down, taking his length inch by inch. When she was fully seated in his lap, she bit his shoulder as her body adjusted to the stretch.

“Fuck,” she whimpered. “You took it so well,” Adam cooed. “Tell me when I can move.”

After a minute, the pain dissipated and the stretch became pleasurable. “You can move,” (Name) whispered. Adam began to slowly roll his hips, thrusting up into her. The friction earned a pleased moan from (Name) and Adam smiled.

He tried to keep the pace slow and gentle but his self-restraint was waning. His pace began to pick up in speed and intensity, (Name) letting out little “Ah!”s every time he thrust up into her. Adam reached down between them and found her clit, circling it with a slender finger.

(Name) bit her lip before gasping. Adam timed his thrusts with rubbing her clit and (Name) slowly got louder and louder as Adam got faster and faster.

Sure enough, (Name) could feel her orgasm steadily building. Whether or not Adam would finally bring her to release or just end up overstimulating her was to be determined. Adam was panting as he continued to thrust.

He was getting close, but he was determined to get (Name) off first.

The coil in (Name) stomach tightened and she gasped. “I-I think I’m close,” she panted. Adam grinned, continuing thrusting and circling her clit at a deliberate pace. (Name)’s moans got higher and louder before she came with a cry.

Adam silently celebrated when he felt a wetness against his lower stomach. It also made him cum, and he made sure to cum as deep inside of her as he could.

(Name) was in shock. “Holy shit, that felt so good.”

Adam grinned, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips. “Told you I could make you squirt.”

(Name) looked down between them, at the mess on Adam’s hand and lower stomach, growing embarrassed. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry.”

Adam shook his head. “Don’t apologize, baby, that was hot.” He was so proud of himself.

(Name) blushed, still coming down from her high, Adam still buried inside her.

“Besides, I made a mess in you, so…”

[facewithoutheart]

Five plus One, fic recs

A post is going around about fics you consider classics in the Snowbaz fandom. I’d like to take it a step further by asking …

What are five fics you consider your inspiration/influences for writing, plus one of your fics which you think best represents what you want to bring to the fandom?

5. Hang the Moon by @captain-aralias

@captain-aralias is, to me, the snowbaz fandom fic writer of our time. Her commitment to detail, to nailing Rainbow’s voice, while infusing every fic with a heart and purpose that will leave you changed. Every fic of hers is chef’s-kiss-perfection but I’m highlighting Hang the Moon specifically as a fic I often think about (Baz, wet tennis clothes, helping Simon fight the merwolves), and a fic that was my introduction to what fanfics could be/do. I think I finished this fic and just stared at the wall for an hour because I was just like, oh. Oh.

4. The Pitch by basic-bathsheba

Local Hero is one of my favorite fanfics but I wanted to highlight this fic because it’s just such a powerful and understated story. It’s love in the details. This Simon is the model for all of my Simon’s, just a complete simp for Baz haha but also a man who is comfortable and confident being the man who loves Baz even if he doesn’t get to claim it publicly.

3. Stay Up With Me by @sharkmartini

Not sure what to say about this that hasn’t been said a million times. It’ll break your heart; it’ll put you back together. The concept is brilliant and the exploration of two Simon’s will definitely put your emotions through a wringer. Time travel/what-if fics will always grab my attention but this one in particular makes the same case Rainbow posed in Carry On: what if the villain isn’t the villain? And takes it a step further, because Simon realizes he could be the villain, too. Absolutely beautiful.

2. Can’t Find My Way Home by @carryonsimoncarryonbaz

This is one of those fics that just has so much heart and sweetness. I love a good second chance AU, and this one has such Hallmark vibes in the best way. I just love the slow burn of it, and the amazing ending. A perfect holiday fic to snuggle up with. Reading this feels like being cozy up by the fire with someone you love. Actually writing this makes me wanna reread this so much; now that I live with actual Fall I wanna feel cozy like this again.

1. Basil Pitch’s Diary by @bookish-bogwitch

I know it’s a bit weird to rec a WIP as an influence, especially one that’s being written as we speak, but working with/beta-ing Em’s works have made me a sharper, smarter writer. I know this fic is a classic in the works and it’s something I think about on a weekly basis. The Baz Em gives us, to me, feels like canon Baz taken to the next level. What if Baz was the villain … but only to himself? Em’s writing really is just economical in the best way; every line hits, every paragraph teaches me something. And then the heart. It’s genuinely so hard to do what she does and I’m so lucky to get to see her work in realtime.

+1 This Will All Go Down In Flames

I think, at the end of my fandom career, I want this to be the snowbaz fic people associate with me (Spadey being a close second hahaha). But I do feel like it’s got a lot of fandom in-jokes, humor, and sweetness, plus the fun high-stakes of them being in the spotlight. I got to celebrate the Austin I love and miss, as well as poke fun at my own hipster upbringing. I put a lot of Me™ in this fic and it always feels so lovely when people like it. Besides, I got to work with the amazing @tea-brigade and their art just takes this fic to the next level. A dream collab.

(Throwing in the caveat that I started reading long before I got an ao3 account so it’s very likely I’ve missed some amazing fics from before 2021; I’m so sorry!)

Tagging everyone listed above and six more peeps to start: @cutestkilla, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @larkral, @ileadacharmedlife, @thewholelemon & @aristocratic-otter

[plush-rabbit]

Word Count: 3.5K A/N: No name again!! Part Three this time. Woo! Um, I just miss writing. I have some request that I wanna do, and like honestly, i need to make time. And I'm slowly making time! So, one day. I wanna write an Adam chapter, but like idk. Like I could. I'm the writer, but like also, I wanna do this other one, and like i thought it was gonna be super quick, but ya know me. I like words and sounding deep. So who knows. It gets like updated whenever its slow at work, so one day.

-

You pace around the room that you occupy. It doesn’t feel like home. You’re afraid nothing will ever feel like home again. You look at yourself in the mirror, and trace your tongue over your sharpened teeth, and you can’t recall the change to them- whether they grew into fangs during your fall, or when you were in your unconscious state. 

“‘S probably why my jaw hurt so much,” you mumble to yourself.

Despite not showing much interest in most things, Lucifer has brought it upon himself to make your room as comfortable as possible. He’s brought candles, and pillows to add color. He’s brought you different types of creams and perfumes for you to try, telling you to let him know what scent you like best. The shower adjacent to your room is kept clean, and stocked full of sweet smelling soaps. Your closet is full of clothes, so soft that you played with the fabric between your fingers until you feared you’d ruin them with your nails.

While your back no longer aches like it once did, you still avoid looking at it. The morbid curiosity to touch it grows every second, but you can only let your fingers ghost against the edges of the scars, feeling the pulled skin against yours, chills making your body rise. You feel bile in your throat when you touch a scar that runs thin and farther down your back- skin that stayed stuck and only released when it was far too thin and weak to hold on any longer. 

It’s sensitive, and almost ticklish. The tags of shirts make you uncomfortable, and you gently pat yourself dry after showers. You stare at the fogged mirror after every shower, and you have yet to wipe it clean and turn around to see what you’ve lost.

Lucifer has assured you that it’s not nearly as rough as it once was. Perhaps he’s right about that. Yet, you hate that he knows what you’re going through. You hate that you can’t be angry at him, that you can’t throw a fit and tell him that he doesn’t understand. But he does. He’s one of the few that will understand what you’re feeling, and you can’t bring yourself to talk to him.

There’s a knock on your door, and you look away from the mirror. “Come in,” you say out loud, already knowing who is on the other side- speak of the devil, and he shall appear. You give a small smile as Lucifer walks in with a tray of food, taking careful steps to not let the drinks topple over. 

“I brought dinner,” he says with a smile. 

You sit on the bed, legs crossed and watch as he places the tray over your lap. “Thank you, Lucifer,” you say. There are two plates, two sets of cutlery, and two drinks. Once again, he’ll be having dinner with you in the confines of your room. 

Lucifer takes his place in the chair beside you, and with a wave holds the plate in his hand, carefully balancing it as he holds the silvered fork in the other hand. Your fingers wrap over the silver, as you poke and prod at the food. 

“I hope you like it,” he says. “It’s been a while since I cooked anything, so I’m hoping it’s good for you.”

You pierce the food with the prongs of the fork. “I didn’t know you cooked,” you mumble, before taking a bite of your meal. The taste is savory, melting on your tongue, and you cut another piece before even swallowing the first one.

“It’s been a while.” Silver clinks against porcelain in a melody, behind his words. “It’s been ages since I’ve had proper meals.” You catch his eye, and he clears his throat. “Running Hell is a bit of a task. Hardly ever lets me enjoy my peace,” he says quietly, nudging his food with the sharpened point of the fork. 

“I can’t imagine the type of work it takes to run it all,” you reply, wrapping your lips around another forkful of food. 

Lucifer hums in response, and you take a sip of your drink. He hardly ever talks about Hell in detail. He’ll focus the conversation on you, trying to pry out your interests and likes. At times, he’ll talk about his daughter, Charlie. He tells you how she’s off somewhere in the Pride Ring, about how she was when she was young, how he would have her sit on his lap and watch as he’d tinker in his office. The stories are always in past tense, and you never like hearing the sorrow that are entangled in his words. Not only that, there’s a lack of mention of his wife, despite the ring that he still wears. 

The conversation comes to a still, and you frown. 

Dinners in Heaven were hardly ever quiet. There’d always be some type of noise, some gentle hum of a song, laughter, talk about slaughter that made you queasy. You’d eat with Adam most nights. Some nights you were accompanied by Lute and you always welcomed those shared meals, where she’d sit beside you, her wings folded neatly behind her, compared to Adam’s prodigious wings which graced the floor. She’d remove her mask when dining, and would grace you with a gentle smile. 

Home was the only place you’d ever see Adam without his mask. The horns curved and the bright lights a warning against others, looking down on others with heavenly light. He’d wear his mask in public, it was loud and showed who he was. Newer souls always looked at him with awe, and he hungered for the way that they would trip over themselves to speak to him. They may not have known his title, but they knew he was important, they felt the power that he held, the authority that he carried. He was someone to be admired. He was someone that you wanted to be around with. 

Even though you were just an angel, you didn’t hold power that others didn’t already have. But Adam still chose you, and you chose him. 

You should have chosen to run away when you had the chance.

The food tastes bitter, and you drop the fork, the clinking making your flinch and turn your head. Your name is whispered, and a hand places itself over your arm. Your eyes are shut tight, and you feel like a fool. “Are you all right?” Lucifer asks in a soft voice.

You suck in your lip, teasing it between your teeth. “No, I’m sorry, Lucifer.” You shake your head and blink back the tears that threaten to spill over. Turning to him, you wipe at your eyes with the back of your hand. “I’m fine, I’m sorry. I was-” your voice wavers, and you cover your eyes with your hand- “remembering Heaven. I remembered how my meals-” tears drip down, and you wave your hand. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to cry.”

With a wave of his hand, the tray of food, and his own plate disappears from your sight. It’s quiet for a moment, and he pushes his seat closer to your bed before breaking the silence. “Do you think of Heaven often?” Shamefully, you nod. “What do you miss?” 

Adam. You peek at him between your fingers, and when he hands you a tissue, you take it wordlessly. “The view,” you answer. The tissue dabs at your eyes, and you let your hands fall beside you. Fingertips nudge against your hand, a silent encouragement to continue to speak. Your fingers jump, and there’s a sudden urge to take his hand in comfort. Rather, you let your nails scrap against the bedsheets.

“When I was still-” Lucifer’s voice pauses to take a breath- “I would sneak off to this forest. I’d watch all of his creations frolic among the fields. I’d have a few of my own creations rest against me. It was serene.”

You stretch your legs, and pull the blanket over your lower half. “I was a lower rank angel,” you start. “No one hardly needed me unless they wanted me to fetch something. But there was-” you bit your bottom lip and flicker your eyes towards Lucifer who listens with his attention on you- “an angel who would take me to see the stars.” You smile softly, and rub the corner of the tissue between your index and thumb. “It was a vast space, where the sky was lit by the radiance of the stars. It was the first time anyone thought of doing something for me,” you say out loud. 

“You were an angel, were you not?” Lucifer asks, his body leaning towards you, a hand wrapping around your wrist, and you let him take your wrist.

“Just an angel, nothing more. I don’t even know why he was so nice to me.” You smile at him, but you look away, smiling at the end of the bed. “I still don’t get it.” He was praised for so much, given everything and perhaps that’s what made his ego bigger than what it needed to be. “But he was kind to me.”

“Another angel?” He sounds surprised. You wonder what angels were like back in his days.

“A higher ranking than I,” you shrug with your answer. There’s a reason why he was able to get away with so much.

“For all that Heaven was, the views were ethereal.” You hum in response. It’s silent, and his shoes tap against the floor. “I’m sorry that Hell doesn’t have views like those.” His thumb arches over your wrist, and you dig your nails into your palm.

You stay silent beside him. Heaven’s land and warmth, nothing but a memory for you to return to. The room smells of rosemary and wine, and your blankets are thick in the stench of it. You turn to him. “Lucifer, why don’t we eat at the table?”

He stiffens at your voice, his mouth opening and closing without an answer. “I didn’t know you wanted to,” he replies.

“I’m stuck in this room all day, I want-” more is what you want, more than the four walls of your bedroom- “I want to see the other rooms. I’m not like I was before. I can move now.”

His eyes scan over your body, and with a nod, he clears his throat. “Okay,” he nods once more. “Breakfast will be in the dining room. I’ll be here to walk you at the usual time that I arrive.”

“Thank you, Lucifer,” you say kindly, a smile ghosting over your lips.

“You’re welcome,” he says your name softly, twisting meaning into the syllables and letting it fill the air.

-

Your room is shrouded in darkness, vast and consuming. Perhaps it’s because you’ve spent so much time awake in the night, that you can recognize what’s beside you, or maybe it’s your vision, heavenly eyes now able to see in the night, almost as if it were day. You aren’t sure which option brings you more comfort- that you’ve spent so long in a place that you should call home, or that parts of your angelic nature have contorted into something else.

Sleep has yet to take you into its arms. You lay awake, unable to do much else, hoping that if you’re still long enough then maybe you rest. However, you do nothing all day but read and draw in a book Lucifer had given you. The television remains in an opened box, pressed against a wall. He had attempted to attach it to the wall, but grew frustrated when he could not figure out the wiring. When you offered that he call someone who could, he just placed everything back in the box grumbling under his breath.

His pride is the reason you still rely on books and his company for entertainment. 

The scars on your back are no longer tender as they once were. They’re soft, and ticklish. You squirm against the cotton of the bed and feel a chill pass when you think of them for too long. Your arms coil themselves around you, fingertips tracing over the scarring lines. You wipe your hands on the comforter, filth still etched into you.

Your legs kick the bed, and you find yourself unable to sleep. If it were Heaven, you’d have Adam beside you. It would be hours until he finally rested, staying up until dawn peeked through the blinds in gold. He’d keep you company. Even if he was tired, he’d grumble and whine, but would continue to hold a conversation with you until he could no longer. 

Truth be told, it was rare for you to struggle to fall asleep. You had no trouble resting your weary head, but when you did, you at least had Adam with you. 

As much as other angels complained about not being given bigger tasks, you hardly minded them. You had no real power over anyone, no real responsibilities. The only real duty that you were given, was to calm Adam when he became crass- at least more so than usual. Heaven was blissful, the only worry being whether Adam would call you a crass nickname in public.

He hardly listened to anyone. He might have quieted down when a Seraphim or even Lute would give him a look, but when it came to you, he would mumble under his breath, still simmering, but at least he'd hold your hand. A chill runs through your body. In quiet moments, you can feel the weight of his wings over you, the heaviness, the softness of his feathers, how they would cover you like a blanket. 

Moments with him were plenty, never did you ever have to miss him unless he was called out. The few times you both were separated, he was bitter- snapping and complaining to anyone who was unfortunate to speak to him. and you felt pride at being the one that he wanted, being the one who could calm him. All these weeks- conscious and unconscious- is the first you’ve ever spent without him- without knowing that you would see him again. You wonder what he’s doing. The thought hurts, a sharp pain in your chest that makes it difficult to breathe. 

You wonder if he’s upset with Lute. A part of you wants him to be, to know that he did care for you, enough to be upset at another for hurting you. And the other part, hopes that he isn’t. You hope that he understood that it was a task given to her, that he doesn’t hold it against her. You hope that she doesn’t hold it against herself. You close your eyes, and your hands scratch against the comforter. 

You need to think of something else.

There has to be something else that you can think of. Something that doesn’t have to do with him. Anything at all would work. 

Mornings. 

How the sunlight would cast gold in the room, peeking between the blinds and making his wings shimmer. The warmth of the light would only encourage you to dig deeper into bed, pulling yourself closer to him. Your wings would brush under his, and they were never as grand as his were. Where yours were iridescent, and fit to your body perfectly, his shined in gold, carved by Father and molded to be fitting of the first soul to ascend to Heaven. 

You cry, and a sob escapes, whimpering past your lips. You need another distraction. 

Your wings. 

Think of how your wings were ripped from you. How Lute was the one to perform the severance and how Adam was adamant to watch. How he wanted to be there for you. You think of how you’ll never have your wings again. You’ll never fly again. There will  always be a scar to serve as a reminder of what was taken. And despite not having them, you can still feel them. You feel their weight, and in the mornings, you can feel a ghost of an ache, as if you’d slept on them wrong.

You sob, crying like a child and you press yourself against a pillow, trying to dull the cries. You can’t recall ever being so teary-eyed, so sad and lonely. Even after your creation, you were greeted with love and open arms, and past the time when you were simply an angel, you at least had Adam and Lute to keep you company.

Crying seems like a foreign concept. You never cried much in Heaven. Not out of sadness, at least. You hadn’t realized how exhausting it was to cry. You heave, whimpering and clawing at the bed sheets. Your chest is tight, bones constricting themselves around everything delicate, gold burning inside of you. When you laid in bed with Adam and spoke of your fate, and even when your wings were removed, you hadn’t cried like this. You shed tears, and you begged for forgiveness under your breath, but you accepted it until you cast out. Some nights, you wake up and you think it’s all been some horrid dream, only to be reminded when you wake to a ceiling that is not yours. 

Your door swings open, the back of it smacking against the wall.

“What’s wrong?” Lucifer asks, his voice tense. His presence serves as a reminder of where you are, and where you can never return to. “Are you okay?” He’s inside your room, and the door closes with a smack the further he goes. 

You are unable to answer him through your cries, mumbling incoherently. A hand places itself over your arm, and flutters away when you flinch. He sighs your name, and the side of your bed dips under his weight. “Do you want to be alone?”

You hiccup, and after a pause, you shake your head.

“Is it okay to touch you?

You nod, and turn over. Your hands grasp and pull at his clothes, you make a note that he hasn't changed out of his daytime attire, and that his eyes sag with exhaustion. Despite it all, you need him here. You want him here. His hand cups overs, and he lets his thumb arch over the back of your hand. Lucifer shifts under your touch, unable to be comfortable in your bed. Your nails scratch against the fabric of his clothes, fisting the shirt in your hand, and you need him to stay. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, another one of his hands cupping over the corner of your head, gently stroking you. “Just cry it out,” he whispers.

You cry beside him, the touch of his clothes barely enough to keep you satisfied. Your face is barely hidden between the pillow and the mattress. You weep, unable to catch a breath, unable to think of anything more than just missing home. 

“I hate crying,” you mumble, hiccupping and hiding your face.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, tracing shapes over your forearm, “you get used to it.” Your body still shakes, whimpers and other pathetic sounds filling the room. “I- Um, I remember that angels were rather touchy- always together in flocks, and never really alone, so I-” he clears his throat, and you peek up at him through teary eyes. “I hope I’m not overstepping, but do you want a-” His face deepens in color, and he squeezes your arm, unable to manage the word out loud. “Or I can get you a pillow or something?”

Your hands let go of him, and the push against the mattress. “Lucifer?” You say softly, picking yourself up. He hums in response, his eyes wide and focused on you. “Can you hold me?” You gasp, your chest tight. 

“Yes- Yeah,” he croaks. “Of course. Whatever you need- Oh!” He gasps, when you cling to him, your arms snaking around him, pulling at the fabric of his clothes. You hide yourself in the crook soft curve where his neck and shoulder meet, your dewy face kissing his exposed skin. “It’s-” you can feel his hands pat nervously at your back- “okay.” You pull him closer to you, desperate to not have him leave you. “You’re-” at the sound of another of your cries, his arms tightening around your shaking figure, hands pressed into the soft of your skin- “You’re okay. I got you, you’re safe,” he coos. 

He’s warm, and he holds you close to him, his head knocking gently against yours. Your cries soften into whimpers, gasping breaths tickling over his skin. In a room where the glow of red peeks into the room, letting glass and skin flame under a dim hue, you find yourself reminded of home. You find comfort in someone holding you, you find yourself held together by sin, stitched and handled with care. Hands are gentle against your back, the pressure against the scars enough to make you crave for more, to have him touch more of you. You let your eyes close, and you tell yourself that you’ll ask him to leave, but you need a few minutes where you can feel safe, where you can feel wanted.

[puuuders]

NSFW, minors DNI

Some fluffyish stuff because I’m feelin romantical. I’ve been too aggressive with them lately. Someone wanted me to draw them having morning sex! So I did.

Also, I am not the best writer, but I still think it’s fun. So I wrote a short little somethin’ somethin’ for it. Hope you like <3

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

What a dream.

Omega’s dark eyes fluttered open, his heart beating quickly in his chest that was covered in a heaty sweat. He took a moment to ground himself, drawing a deep breath and sighing almost in disappointment. A disappointment that was short lived, as he gently rolled over in his and his tiny lover’s king sized bed, dragging his claws fingers over his side. Terzo, who Omega presumed was still asleep, twitched and giggled at the contact, his hand moving to stop Omega’s. Omega tilted his head slightly and smiled as he propped himself up with his elbow.

“You are not asleep.” Omega teased, letting his fingers continue to climb across Terzo’s side. Terzo squeaked and rolled around, grabbing Omega’s wrist and smiling up at him.

”I never said I was asleep.”

Omega shrugged. The palm of his hand now rested on Terzo’s bare stomach, his eyes flickering down and watching it rise as he breathed. His grin faded, the memory of his dream returning at the sight of Terzo’s body. Terzo noticed.

”What is that look for, amore?” Tero asked, subtly lifting his thigh so that his knee peeked out from the covers. Omega let out a quiet growl. Terzo knew what he was doing.

”I had a dream.” Omega slid back down a bit, nuzzling his nose in the crook of Terzo’s neck. Terzo hummed and gasped as he felt Omega’s tongue slip out and rub gently against his skin.

”Oh…” Terzo sighed, moving his head so Omega had more access. Omega took this as a sign of permission to further his advances. He moved one leg over Terzo’s hips, positioning himself in a half straddling, half spooning way, grinding slowly against his partner’s thigh. Terzo felt Omega’s erection rubbing, poking into him, making him grow impatient and bratty. As a result, he coyly rolled on to his stomach, wrapping his arms around his pillow and grinning as he heard Omega huff. His cock now pressed against Terzo’s ass, Omega gripped his thighs, spreading Terzo open and lining himself up.

”Gentle…” Terzo pleaded. Omega nodded although Terzo could not see. He slowly began to press into him.

Terzo whimpered. He always felt so much stiffer and, subsequently tighter, in the mornings at his middle age. They did not have morning sex often. But today was a day where it would not be possible to not indulge.

Omega’s lips parted as he pushed halfway in, gently caressing Terzo’s stomach and hips as he squirmed and adjusted to Omega’s massive size. Omega showed his support via kisses along his shoulders and upper arms, and then pressed his fingers into Terzo’s body as he slowly rocked into him.

“Yes…” Terzo whimpered into his pillow, backing his ass up against Omega to encourage him. Omega groaned, thrusting faster, occasionally whining and sighing along with his partner. Before long, Omega had found himself holding Terzo’s thighs up, his cock buried in his ass. He kissed Terzo with a burning passion, occasionally stopping to listen to Terzo’s incoherent, quiet babbling before going back in to taste some more.

The last couple of minutes of their interaction was slow. They both enjoyed when Omega would pull out almost entirely before thrusting back in fully, making Terzo arch his back and let out sharp whines. Omega’s hands were tangled in Terzo’s hair and the same was for Terzo, both of them huffing and whimpering quickly, reaching climax and finishing with their tongues slamming against each other simultaneously. Terzo giggled breathily, wrapping his wrists around Omega’s damp shoulders and neck.

”Ti amo, mostriciatto.”

”Ti amo…”

[yesimwriting]

Slow Nights

A/n in a bit of a jason todd mood and i’ve been dealing with the writers block that comes from going through a rough couple of days, so i’m just going with the flow! 

also i feel like the fic world has shifted away from first person, but i was in the mood for it and i write to improve and felt like working on my first person voice😭 pls forgive me   

Summary: There are a lot of risks that come from being a female waitress at a small diner in Gotham. You didn’t realize that one of them would be developing a small crush cautious friendship with the intimidating, broody guy that keeps weird hours and always squeezes himself into the smallest booth near the window with a paper back. 

----

Appreciate the slow nights. That’s what Marta said before my first closing shift, when it was just the two of us and the long window that displayed a nearly empty street. I understood instantly. In Gotham, nothing’s guaranteed. Most criminals--petty or psychotic supervillain--don’t have the decency to wait until nightfall for their crimes. But there’s something about working until 3 AM that’s eerie, like you’re daring some testosterone fueled, ego maniac that’s had a little too much to drink to do rob you. Or worse. 

“You think anyone would notice if we closed early?” It’s not an actual offer, just part of our routine. I ask this question anytime between 1:00 and 2:00 and Marta pretends to contemplate as she wipes down a counter or sweeps or does anything she can to keep busy. Her answer is always something about how Bobby, the owner, has a sixth sense about these kind of things or some other kind of joke that makes Bobby seem like the bottom line obsessed ass he is.

She lets out a small sound at the back of her throat, ending her dutiful organization of plastic protected menus. “I think that boyfriend of yours would.” 

The comment strikes a nerve deep in my stomach. An uncomfortable warmth begins to spread through my face. The fact that she’s straying from her usual joke to poke fun at that amplifies the message. The twitch of her mouth tells me she knows exactly what she’s done. “Oh, he is not--” She’s oddly smug for someone who’s always giving me a warning look when I linger around a certain table too long, a kind of worry that’s so distinctly grandmotherly I can feel the silent warnings against my skin. “He’s a costumer, a regular. That’s it.” 

“Your customer,” her eyes are back on her menus, two of them are stuck together, “Your regular.” She pushes the nail of her thumb between the edge of the barriers. They let go of each other with a soft pop. 

Maybe I always take Jason’s table, but it’s only because everyone else was too scared to at first and now it’s just...routine. Like Marta and I pretending we’d close more than a few minutes early or the way that Adam, my least favorite closing shift partner, never sweeps correctly and always tries to find an excuse to walk me to my car. “Only because everyone else is too scared to talk to him.” 

She hums once, low and disbelieving. “Okay, because you know he--” I frown as Marta struggles to find the words. A part of me wants to tell her she doesn’t need to bother. I know because despite all the teasing, she sees him almost as much as I do. Jason comes in and he’s a living canvas of deep blues and sick yellows and the kind of crimson that has to be fresh. 

That’s what initially broke the ice between us. Marta stayed behind the counter and when I finally walked up to his booth, the first thing I noted was the bloody knuckles and the Jane Austen paperback. He asked for a coffee, black. I brought it to him, along with a damp rag and a few bandaids from the first aid kit in the back. I didn’t think about how weird and kind of silly that was until I was at his table. Taking it back to the kitchen after he had seen it felt even more pathetic so I silently set them down next to the coffee. He barely nodded in acknowledgement before turning to his book. 

When I came back to bring him his check, he looked particularly annoyed as he stared at the pages in front of him. For a second, the potential aggression turned my blood to ice. Awkwardly, I noted the cover and how far into the book he was, so I nervously mumbled the first thing I thought of. “Darcy, right?” He had looked surprised and I quickly jumped to defend myself, “You just um--you look like you’re around the proposal scene and for me, at least, it’s um--it’s equally bad every time.” 

That got his expression to soften a little, enough for him to ask how I had managed to figure out where he was based on his facial expression and how open his book was. After that, it was something else, something that went on until closing and ended with a 20$ tip and a walk to my car. 

 “You’re too smart for that, Mija.” 

Marta’s words bring me back. I nod, the motion hollow. The quick acceptance leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. It’s a betrayal even though Marta didn’t really say anything and nothing she implied was factually wrong. Defensiveness immediately tries to crawl its way out of my throat. There’s a lot I could tell her. It might be so normal for Jason to have his knuckles split that the one time he didn’t, I teased him about it until he threatened to leave early and never come back, but he’s not whatever violence he won’t explain and I won’t ever ask about without a joke barrier for safety. He’s that one smile that makes you feel like you’ve earned something; and the jokes that kind of take you by surprise because you wouldn’t expect someone so physically intimidating to have a sense of humor that lighthearted; and he’s the books he reads, tears through so quickly he almost always has a new cover when he comes in. 

“Yeah,” I mumble, trying to convince myself that this isn’t the betrayal it feels like, “He’s just a regular that’s nice to talk to. It’s not like I ask him to come in or anything.” It’s not like I could, considering I have no way of contacting him. It’s not like he’s a friend I could text. 

The familiar creek of the front door’s tired hinges has Marta raising her eyebrows at me. A customer...around 2 AM...as we’re talking about Jason. There’s a silent understanding between us and the look she gives me isn’t subtle. We both know exactly who it is, so I push myself away from the kitchen counter we’ve been leaning against and grab a pot of coffee before placing a hand on the door that leads to the counters. 

“You ever think the stale coffee isn’t what he comes in for?” 

I still, the words rolling in my chest uncomfortably because the thought doesn’t bother me. At all. I push past the door before she can gage my reaction. 

He’s already in his usual seat--the farthest booth in the back, right next to the window. “Y’know the other day this family came in, three toddlers they could barely keep track of and a newborn in a stroller and the mom trying to get all their orders while the dad filled out the crossword on his phone.” I start pouring the coffee before I’ve even looked at him. “And the part I was most offended by was that he was sitting right there.” 

Jason’s watching me carefully, the curve of his lips gentle, “How dare he?” 

I look up, setting the pot on the table next to his cup. Even though I can practically feel Marta’s gaze on us, I can’t help but indulge in this part of our usual exchange. The moment in which I let myself really look at him, examining each part of his face for new or healing bruises or scratches carefully. 

There’s only one particularly notable mark, but this one is intense, right beneath an eye that’s clearly swollen. “Right?” I force my eyes to focus on anything else.  “We should put up a sign.” 

“VIP treatment,” there’s a shift in his tone that I feel more than hear, a precursor to some comment that toes the line between friendly and something else, “You saying I’m your favorite?” 

He tilts his head slightly, eyes watching my expression with a carefulness that’s tangible. That’s part of how he plays into the space between casual and flirty, through the small things. “Well, you are my best tipper.” 

Jason frowns, pushing himself a little further into his seat as if physically moved by his offense. “So that’s all I’m good for?” 

I roll my eyes, ignoring the dangerous warmth settling in my chest. “You never stop me when I start talking about books, so I guess you’re good for that, too.” 

“You guess?” 

Scoffing, I let my attention fall to the seat across from him. It’s not like I sit with him every time he comes in, if he comes in during daylight hours it’s usually impossible. But nights are different...

Marta’s words come back, a little heavier now. 

Jason takes a quick sip of his coffee and looks over at the space in front of him. “...You guys busy?” 

There’s something there, trying to hide in the way the sentence comes out. The glue that holds us together is the unspoken-ness of all of it. He never mentions the bandaids and wet rags I bring when he needs them unless he’s making a joke about it. And I never bring up the regularity of his presence. 

“Oh, yeah,” I joke, moving to sit across from him, “You should know how busy 2AM is for us by now.” I tap my nails against the surface of the table. “We might have to move you.” 

Jason lets out a small sound that’s somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Thought this was my table?” 

I shrug, trying my best to not seem too amused. “You were getting too comfortable.” He keeps one hand on the table, relaxing in his seat as he waits for me to continue. “Can’t have you thinking I like you or anything.” 

He inhales, letting the silence between us linger. There’s a fragile quality to the space between words that has me focusing on his physical appearance again. I did miss something. Not a bruise or a cut, but the bags beneath his eyes that seem deeper today than they usually are and the shadow tainting his expression and the fact that he hasn’t even mentioned the book he brought in with him. 

“I believe you.” 

I roll my eyes at his sarcasm because I’m supposed to. There’s no place for that kind of worry, no where for it all to go. He’s just someone that comes in for his coffee. Just someone that keeps me company during closing and sometimes makes a boring afternoon shift more entertaining. “Shut up.” 

Jason doesn’t immediately jump to push at what’s clearly a hollow response. The silence eases itself back into existence. Normally lulls like this make me feel flighty or like I need to say anything to make sure I’m not the awkward one. But there’s no stiffness that I feel the need to fight against, it’s just us.

Even though Marta’s definitely only pretending not to watch us as she wipes down the counter that I already cleaned, it really is just me and him, and when it’s like that, it’s easy to talk. Sure, we wrap the layers of heavier stuff in layers of teasing fluff and bad jokes, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. 

“That eye makes you a little hard to look at.” 

He scoffs, his lips pulling downwards. “Ouch. That hurt worse than the punch, sweetheart.” 

My nose wrinkles. “Did not.” 

“Bruised feelings are--” 

I groan before he can get the rest of his words out, “Do not say ‘as bad as a bruised face’.” 

Jason’s mouth stays partially open, like the second half of his sentence hasn’t realized that it has no where to go. There’s something kind of funny about easily over 6′, looks like he belongs in some kind of alley Jason glaring at me like an offended goldfish. “You’re mean.” 

“And you’re cheesy,” I counter, leaning a little closer as my forearms relax on the table, “I’m just saying you need to take better care of your face, it’s one of your better qualities.”

Oh no. The realization that I’ve made a mistake doesn’t settle until the words are already out of my mouth. Jason’s relaxed posture as he reaches for his coffee makes it clear that he’s noticed, too. I blink, pained at the realization that there’s no where to backtrack to. 

He takes a long sip of dark liquid before setting the cup between us. “One of my better qualities?” 

The nail of my thumb presses into the wood of the table. “Okay, I said ‘your face was one of your better qualities’, it’s not like I called you hot.” 

Jason smiles in a way that’s so damn knowing, “I know.” 

“Then why are you smiling?” 

He shrugs, still too amused, “Maybe I missed you.” 

That’s...new. Sure, he’s been gone for a few days but that’s nothing crazy. It wasn’t even the longest stretch of time he’s disappeared for. All that matters is that Jason’s here more days than he’s not. All that matters is that he eventually comes back and things always feel like he never left. 

Part of the reason that it works so seamlessly is because we never talk about his absence (with the exception of me making a joke that must have been cheating on me and him swearing he could never). I never mention that when he does come back, he usually has more marks on his skin than usual...or the fact that I worry. 

“Maybe I missed you, too.” It feels like a confession, a weight peeling itself off of my chest. “Even though you’re a total dork.” 

“I’m the dork?” 

“The ‘one black coffee’ order is trying way too hard for you not to be.” It’s an argument we’ve had before. Black coffee with no additives in the middle of the night, like he’s working at being mysterious even though he cracks open as easily as whatever book he’s reading. 

He sits up a little straighter, an argument that likely insults my coffee order clearly ready. The squeak of the front door’s hinges steal the spotlight before Jason can get it out. 

I turn my head, looking past the booth and down the aisle. A group of four guys have already stumbled in. I instinctually stand. One of the guys is laughing, slurring out some story I can’t make out as his friend tries to push off of his shoulder as he sways. The shortest starts to laugh as well, punching his friend in the arm as he gestures vaguely towards me. Great. 

“We’re closing.” Marta’s voice is firm as she makes her presence clear. 

“You close at 3:00,” the tallest one challenges her, stepping further into the space, “That’s what it says on the door...and...” He makes a show of turning over his wrist and checking his watch, “It’s only...2:53.” The number comes out so slurred it twists in my stomach. He shuffles towards the counter, a look that’s too sharp to not feel sober taking over his expression, “That’s not a problem, is it?” 

“It’s fine.” My lips press together after the sentence, hoping that Marta feels safe enough to stay out of it. “I’ll seat them.” 

I grab a few menus from the hostess counter that Marta stocked for the morning shift. I lead them to the first table that’s angled away from the counter. Marta’s jumpy and not always good at hiding it. Besides, I like the thought of anything shady happening farther from Marta. She has some issues with her right knee and she refuses to get it looked at. If things ever came down to running... 

I force the thought out of my head as I set a menu down in front of the seats. 

“Thank you, love.” The tall one--when did he get so close. 

I nod once, attempting a polite smile that hopefully hides my nerves as I try to side step around him. The back of my arm hits something firm. “Woah.” Something squeezes my shoulder and my entire body turns to stone. “Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be so jumpy.” 

The taller one angles his body to the left, subtly blocking off my original plan of escape. Part of Marta’s face is blocked by the man’s shoulder, but I can still make out her concern. Her lips part and I want her help as much as I dread it. 

“Hey, babe--” Jason. The strangers, weirdly aware for how inebriated they seemed earlier, take their time looking at Jason. They take him and the implication of his presence in quickly. I’m released at a speed that I can barely register. Even the tallest one takes a step back to give me the space to breathe. “You almost done?” 

Even though the babe clued me into his strategy almost immediately (Jason’s nicknames choices are usually more creative), it takes a second for my thoughts to catch up with the rest of me. “Yeah, after them we should be good to go home.” 

Jason takes his time looking over at each of the strangers in a way that could pass as casual if it wasn’t for the lock of his jaw. Maybe if I wasn’t used to him, used to the way he looks when we debate plot points and recommend music to each other, his expression would seem less distinct. But I do know him, know the way he tends to shrink in on himself when little kids are running around the diner so he doesn’t seem overly intimidating. 

“Take your time,” he finally manages, attention falling back to me. I’m so distracted by the tension melting in my stomach that I barely register Jason moving towards me. I don’t know what he’s doing until his arm’s comfortably wrapped around my shoulders. Something in my chest jumps. I don’t think we’ve ever touched before. “I can be here all night.” 

He’s so warm. “Shouldn’t be long, babe.” 

“Hm.” He gives my shoulder one last, assuring squeeze before stepping back. He doesn’t go far, sitting at the counter instead of his usual seat in the back. Less than a foot away.

Jason’s proximity gives me the confidence to go through the whole waitress bit, “Can I get you guys started with something to drink?” 

The tall one looks over at his friends, awkwardly clearing his throat before saying, “Could we just get some waters to go? I’d hate to keep you past closing.” 

I now get the concept of scary dog privileges better than ever before. “Yeah, we can do that.” 

The excuse to get behind the counter, back to Jason and Marta is unbelievably relieving. I’m there in almost an instant. Marta’s already pouring water into to-go cups. 

“You okay?” Jason’s voice is low, eyes so soft it’s hard to believe that a second ago he was intimidating to anyone.

I nod once, “Yeah.” And I really am. The group was menacing and they got a little close than most creepy guys do, but it’s not the first time a group of guys found entertainment in terrorizing a waitress at the end of a long night out. “Drunk assholes are just a...work hazard.” 

My attempt to brush off the incident doesn’t seem to work. Instead of easing, Jason’s jaw locks again. “That happen a lot?” 

I shrug, kind of regretting saying anything. It’s not like I’m constantly in danger, but waitresses are easy prey. They have to be somewhat nice to you and they’re stuck in place. And we’re in Gotham, any type of assault case is low on the authority’s priority list, which makes it low risk. “You’re here most nights, Jay, you know it’s usually empty.” 

He nods once, the motion stiff. His unasked question sits between us: what about when I’m not here? I don’t want to get into the whole thing, so maybe it’s a good thing I have to go back and give the guys their waters. It’ll give me a chance to regroup an go back to something lighter. Those guys and all this tension have taken enough of our reunion away from us. 

I look over at the counter and the styrophone cups are gone. The one time I want an excuse to walk away from Jason is the one time Marta goes out of her way to leave us alone.

Marta re-enters the space behind the counter. “They paid, they’re leaving.” As if on cue, the door’s signature squeak overlaps with the last syllable. “And we’re finally closed.”

“Finally.” 

With no warning, Jason leans over the counter and grabs a napkin off of the stack kept next to the soda machine. “You have a pen?” 

What? Before I can ask where the sudden urge to draw something came from, Marta wordlessly hands over the pen attached to her apron. That level of acknowledgement from her throws me through a loop. Technically, she’s not even working anymore so the pen thing was completely voluntary. 

Jason accepts her offer slowly, as if worried that there’s a chance he’ll startle her and force her to either run off or stab him. Marta does give the energy that she could either way. 

“What are you doing?” He doesn’t even have the decency to look up at me in acknowledgement. “Are you trying to draw their faces from memory in case they need--” 

Jason slides over the napkin wordlessly so that 10 evenly written digits face me, two dashes dividing the numbers into two segments of three and one of four. A phone number. “This is--” 

“If anyone like that shows up again, you can text me and I’ll...I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

The confirmation that this is his phone number hits me straight in the chest, and the reasoning behind the gesture forces the feeling to linger. Here’s Jason, always careful to never reveal too much about himself and he’s...he’s trusting me. I turn my head enough to look at Marta, who just nods patiently. That’s different. 

I pick up the napkin like it might dissolve into nothing between my fingertips. “So basically I call if I have a problem, and you come and beat it up.” 

“Basically.”

I stare at the number again, studying the surprising neatness of the line they’re in like it can reveal something new about the person that wrote them. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but the gesture feels heavy. “Thanks.” 

Jason briefly angles his chin downwards in a subtle version of a nod, “Don’t mention it.” He probably means that literally, so I just set the napkin back down and fold it neatly. “Anything for my fake girlfriend.” 

“Fake girlfriend of two minutes.” 

He leans a little closer, “A natural two minutes.”

I don’t even try to disguise my probably too smug laugh, “For you, maybe.” 

“You caught on a little fast.” I narrow my eyes. “Leaned into--”

“I think the person that gave you that black eye also gave you brain damage.” The jokes are easy to not to mind when they’re about him being obsessed with me, not the other way around.

Jason presses his lips together in what could be either an attempt at sulking or scowling, it’s hard to tell with his eyes that soft. “It’s like being punched again.”

“Dramatic.” I fight to keep my expression flat as I step back from the counter. “I’m gonna change and grab my bag, then you can walk me to my car.” 

He scoffs, a brief puff of air that’s pretending to be more annoyed than it is. “Someone’s bossy.”

I turn towards the door that leads to a small break room, “Fake boyfriend duties.” 

The door to the break room shuts before he can say anything else. I put the napkin Jason gave me into my bag before changing out of my uniform and into sweats. Normally, knowing that I don’t have to work for two days is nothing but relieving. It’s still a relaxing thought, but something about it also makes me feel like I’m stuck. Maybe it’s the fact that Jason just came back and the next time I work will be a lunch shift--which is, for whatever reason, the shift he’s least likely to crash. 

I won’t see or talk to him for a few days, and that’s long enough for him to disappear again. More days, more weeks. 

Forcing those thoughts down somewhere deep, I roll my shoulders before grabbing my bag and shutting my locker. We still have the moments that take to get to my car, and that’s all whatever friendship we have is...tiny moments. 

“Okay,” I announce my return to the main area, “You ready?” 

He’s already standing, the book we never got to held loosely in one hand. “I was waiting for you.”

I hold my hands up in defense even though this is far from his most annoyed response. “Someone’s moody.” 

He sighs, taking a step towards me. I barely have the chance to pull my bag off of me before Jason hooks a finger around it’s strap. He swings it onto his shoulder easily. the walk to the parking lot is short, but Jason always takes my bag. I’m not sure how it started, but like most of us, it happened on accident and stuck. 

“Moody?” 

The word is repeated back to me with an offense that’s punctuated by a hint of surprise. It’s a fair reaction. Now that I’m thinking about it, the word feels like it’s underserving him. It’d be easy to take in Jason’s general vibe and sum him up as mostly angsty or just another tough guy born on the streets of Gotham.

We reach the door. “Eh...you’ve got layers.” 

He almost smiles, “Really?” I can feel his smugness growing and I’m glad that I’m in a position to open the door and step away from it. My hand moves forward. Jason shifts, angling himself in a way that leaves me still. He’s not blocking my escape, not really, but the implication of how close he’s standing is enough to make me still. “What are they?”

The air in my lungs jams itself in my throat mid breath. 

“I’m ready to lock up if--” Marta stops halfway between the tables and the door. Something about her expression makes proximity that felt innocent moments before off. “If you’re ready to go.” 

“Uh--yeah,” I hum, placing a hand on the door, “I’m--yeah, I’m--” I push the front door open as if that will prove my point, “We’re good.” 

Marta nods slowly, “Okay.” 

I walk out and Jason follows. After a second, Marta appears behind us. She mumbles a general goodnight instead of pointedly tacking my name onto it before getting into her car and driving off. 

Jason opens my car door for me. I get in, take my bag back, and turn on my car even though Jason’s still standing there and the door’s still open. “Your tire pressure--” 

I shake my head dismissively, ignoring the symbol that’s lit up on my dashboard. “I’m getting to it.” He gives me a look and I sigh. “I’ll go this week, mom.” 

“Funny.” He leans closer to my car with no warning, head peaking in to examine my dash. Nosy.

“Relax, I got my oil changed.” 

He eases a bit at that, moving back to where he was before. “After I told you to for a week.” 

“It was not a week.” It did come close, though. It was getting close to the end of the semester and my car wasn’t a priority. Plus, Jason’s lectures about it were a little entertaining and gave me another piece of information to file away about him. “Maybe I liked your car rants.”

“Yeah?” 

I shrug, relaxing into my seat, “You knew a lot of technical words.” 

The corner of his mouth turns up slightly, “So that’s what you’re into?” 

“You wish,” my return is a little slower, the early stages of drowsiness finally getting a chance to catch up to me now that things are calm. 

Jason frowns, eyes lingering on my expression. I guess I don’t pass his inspection because he says, “You should get home.” 

I nod, hoping no disappointment is visible on my face. “Yeah, it is kinda late.” My hand finds the handle of the car’s door. “See you around, dork.” 

Jason throws me a look, half glaring, “Night, loser.”

With one last look, I shut the door. I turn my attention to the steering wheel. Just drive. A part of me wants to linger, to maybe say something else. But there’s nothing else. 

In an attempted compromise, I reach into my bag and pull out the napkin. The numbers aren’t as easy to make out in the dark, so I have to squint to type them into my phone. This is normal. I mean, I might have a reason to text him later and if he doesn’t know that this is my number, he might ignore it or miss it or--

Ugh. Before I can over think it, I type a short text: it’s Y/n. Even though there’s no way for that to come off as weird, I’m glad I have an excuse to shove my phone back into my bag and not look at it for at least 15 minutes. 

----

This bag should be called the black hole, because the moment you need something, it’s swallowed into an abyss. I’ve found multiple sticks of gum, a handful of change, and a chapstick I thought I lost weeks ago, but not my keys. 

I sigh, picking up my phone so that I can use the flashlight. Before I can swipe to get the option, my attention shifts to the recent notifications. Two texts my phone has labeled as being from maybe: Jason. The first his just his name. The second is a longer message saying that I already knew that, because he’s the one that gave me this number. It’s a distinction that’s so specific and particular it’d feel a little awkward coming from anyone else. 

I let myself think about it for a second before swiping the message open. I type out a reply before erasing it. Another moment of deliberation passes before the words come to me. I type it out and hit send in the same breath. You’re lucky you’re pretty. 

I drop my phone back into my bag and shift around the contents. The void must have taken another victim, because it’s finally spit up my keys.

----

A/n i could see myself making a part 2 to this where this reader meets redhood and doesnt know its jason bc i was originally going to make this longer, but idk! 

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Typical Stark - Chapter 8

Typical Stark Masterlist

A/N: Remember this series? I’d planned on finishing it earlier but my writer’s block got from bad to worse. These two are FINALLY sleeping together y’all.. enjoy!

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Warnings: 18+ finally some smut, fluff.

Word count: 1.8k

.

The moving in part seemed to have gone rather smoothly, given that you weren’t too fussy about most things & there was minimum heavy furniture that needed shifting, minus your favourite chair and a few other things.

You sat cross legged on the bedroom floor that Saturday morning, surrounded by your own clothes while Tony made you his famous smoothie.

“Here you go, roomie.” He chirped, traipsing in carrying two glasses before handing you one and taking a seat on the floor next to you.

“Whoa is that a G-string?” Tony reached between the piles of clothes and pulled out your pretty pink panties and smirked as you snatched it away, rolling your eyes.

Every now and then he’d poke you to ask about some item of clothing, mostly lingerie and how he’d like you to wear it on a daily basis.

You went to put a pile of your clothes inside your side of the wardrobe when Tony found your bag of private things which included more of your toys.

“Oh! What do we have here?”

Turning around to find the bag open in Tony’s hand, you ran towards him, eyes wide in horror attempting to grab it from him but he held it out of your reach.

“Tony give it back right now! I swear to God I’ll—”

“Hey I’m not judging! Well, I am, naughty girl.” He laughed heartily at your jumping to get a hold of your not-so-private stuff.

“Alright I’ll give it back on one condition.”

Huffing you crossed your arms and glared at the man.

“What?”

“You let me use it on you...now.”

His eyes darkened; humour replaced with something else now that the idea had been planted in his head. You thought about it for a bit, sure you’d had a lot of fun with Tony before this but you still hadn’t officially slept together yet, surprising as that was.

“Fine! Have at it Stark.”

Raising your hands in surrender, you walked backwards, till the back of your legs found the bed, Tony following you closing the distance before looming over your figure.

He threw the bag and it landed on the bed before pulling you flush against his chest and dipping his head to capture your lips.

The kiss switched from soft to needy in a matter of seconds.

Tony’s fingers tugged on your hair before laying you on the bed and settling between your legs. Eyes taking in your face after you broke apart momentarily, grabbing a vibrator out of the bag before pausing.

“Do you have a favourite toy, Miss Y/L/N?” Tony’s voice was soft yet teasing, that signature smirk matched yours.

“Yep. You.”

Plopping his head on your chest, he chuckled, giving you time to card your fingers through his hair. Something about that carefree laugh made your heart flutter.

“Oh, you’re more than welcome to use me like one.” Tony’s voice came out muffled as he spoke, humming in delight as your ministrations continued. The offer made a thousand scenarios run through your mind.

“I’ll take you up on that, Stark.”

“I go first.” He whispered before letting his hands reach the waistband of your pants, sliding them down slowly before you lifted your hips to aid him.

Tony’s lips found yours again as he resumed the kiss, slow and gentle this time, as if he had all the time in the world. Teasing and tasting you languidly, his lips moulded against yours perfectly, he groaned softly as your fingers found purchase in hair once more.

There was a faintest of smiles on those soft lips that you felt as your tongue peeked out to trace them, prodding them open. When he did, your tongue was pushed down by his own dominatingly while he grabbed your wrists and held them above your head, the grip gentle but tight enough. Your tongues battled against one another, challenging the other to behave but neither of you backed down, the urgency to feel every inch of him overpowered everything else.

Tony’s kisses moved southward as his lips brushed over the side of your face, down your neck where he bared his teeth, grazing them against your skin lightly before sucking on it. A needy whine escaped you as his groin brushed over yours purposely, repeating the action just barely enough for your core to meet his clothed erection.

“What a fucking tease you are…” you breathed; your voice laced with desperation which you poorly covered with annoyance.

“Honey, I’ve barely begun.”

If you could, you’d punch that smug grin off his face but you were at his mercy, mentally cursing yourself for falling prey to those doe eyes. While you were excited to finally be doing this with the man you had fallen hopelessly in love with, there was a part of you that was nervous merely owing to the reputation the guy had.

Though so far, he had been nothing like that alleged playboy image that was projected, so your obsessive thoughts had been silenced by the same doe eyes that more often than not drove you absolutely crazy for all kinds of reasons.

A dull buzzing of the vibrator brought your attention back to where you were, a giggle left your lips when Tony pressed it against your side, rolling it down your thigh before gently nudging your legs open.

“Keep them open for me.” he whispered before slanting his mouth over yours, bruising your lips while your toy inched closer and closer to your core.

Strategically, he placed it over your clit hood, grinning against your mouth while you gasped. The vibrations were mild but persistent at first; as if Tony knew precisely how much to tease it around your outer lips, inching his way over to the bundle of nerves that lay waiting.

The dull buzzing sound of your toy combined with your soft moans filled the room, your hips rising up in accord as the sensations made arousal pool between your legs.

Your eyes fell shut as Tony’s lips trailed down your body, kissing the inside of your thighs while your core was being prepped. He moved the toy away momentarily, caressing your thighs softly.

“Can I have a taste, Y/N?” he asked, ever so polite, though his brown orbs had darkened significantly, mouth inching towards the place you needed him the most. All you could manage was a nod as you watched him hold you legs apart, greedily eyeing what was already his. Reaching down, your fingers found purchase in his soft hair, guiding him where you wanted him.

Your head fell back against the pillows as he made contact with your core, deliberately teasing at first, almost shy before your hips moved to gain more contact, giving him permission for more.

You wanted more, and it had already been enough, the dilemma sent your head spinning as Tony’s mouth closed over you, nose teasing and coaxing your clit while his tongue ran along your slit, relishing the very taste of you as your toy now lay on the side, forgotten. If it wasn’t for Tony’s iron grip, your legs would’ve fallen shut as the sensations took over, desire igniting deep within your belly as he took care of you, coaxing you open for him, relishing in the way your body reacted to him.

“Tony…” you begged, fingers gripping his hair like vice as your orgasm built inside, threatening to spill over. Getting the hint, Tony moved his kisses back up your body, leaving you whining at the loss of contact, much to his glee.

You didn’t waste any time in undressing the man, wanting nothing more than him inside you and that smirk wiped off of his devilishly handsome face.

Lining up against your entrance, Tony gently nudged your nose with his; breaths mingling into each other.

“Look at me, Y/N.” he whispered, his big brown eyes swimming with love and lust in equal measure as your eyes fluttered open.

You felt his cock slowly push in, your slick entrance welcoming the delicious stretch and sting as he filled you, stopping once he was buried to the hilt.

That was it.

The very moment you realised how real it was, and just how badly you’d fallen. You were meant to be. Nothing felt more right than this. You and Tony.

“I love you, Anthony Edward Stark.” You whispered, bringing your hand up to caress his stubbled cheek, watching him lean into your touch with a loving smile on his face.

He dipped his head down to capture your lips in a searing kiss as his hips began moving at a steady pace, making sure you felt each and every thrust as he drove in and out.

Fingers tugging on his hair as he placed open-mouthed kisses against your neck, your walls clenched around his length, causing him to grunt.

“Are you on birth control?” His hot breath against your ear, his thrusts becoming more urgent while his hand snaked between your bodies to rub your bundle of nerves, sending you spiralling towards your orgasm.

All you could do was nod at his question, gripping onto his back for dear life as you came around his cock, hiding your face in his shoulder.

Tony followed soon after his hips stuttered, spilling into you with a breathy moan, holding you close while you returned from your highs.

“So that’s what it takes..” he murmured, still a little out of breath, a lazy smile obvious on his face as he placed small kisses against your collarbone.

“What?”

“Great sex and orgasms to get you to say you love me?” He chuckled, carefully pulling out of you and helping you clean up.

“How do you know I’m not faking it?” You smirked, knowing fully well he knew you were lying.

“Contrary to popular belief, I know you better than you think I do, my sweet.” Tony gave you a self-assured grin, pulling a blanket over your bodies before pulling you close.

You stayed in his embrace, a perpetual smile that somehow refused to leave your face, and a feeling of contentment and happiness that had settled so comfortably.

“We still have a lot to unpack you know..” you murmured, closing your eyes and snuggling close to the man.

“I know. A nap won’t hurt though. I’ll wake you up and put you to work, don’t you worry.”

Tony laughed heartily as you hit him against his chest, mumbling ‘typical Stark’ before grinning yourself, letting sleep take over.

…

Ugh. I love these two.

[pandorascripts]

Maybe Y/N scared of telling Wednesday that they like her but she finds out from small little journal entries in your diary that fell from your backpack when you passed her. She liked them back. Then maybe a cute lil' scene of the two laying in bed and talking? Cute kiss maybe :O

Secret Love Notes

summary: Wednesday suspected you to be the Hyde, it seems she missed the mark by a landslide. Thank God for Wednesdays snooping antics.

warnings: nothing, just cute fluff :)

note: this entire idea is adorable. SEND IN MORE REQUESTS! Also, don’t be afraid to requests others too!!! I’m working on some Enid fics. Sorry for slow posts broksis, I have no excuse, just been having writers block a bit. ————————

Ever since the murders started at Nevermore, you’d been… weird. Not just any kind of weird, awkward weird. You’d been avoiding Wednesday at any cost, and because of that, her suspicion on you had been at a high percentage. 

It sucked. That was the only thing Wednesday could say about you being the Hyde. Unfortunately, Wednesday had taken a liking to you, although, she wouldn’t admit it. 

Desperate to confront you after class, Wednesday packed up her things a little before it ended, and simply walked out the door. Ignoring Professor Rinesteen’s arguments and protests, she continued to the west end of Nevermore, where you were currently in Professor Binn’s class of A History to Outcasts. 

Professor Binn’s monotonous voice echoed across the dungeon-like room, lulling ninety percent of his students to sleep. Wednesday flipped open her pocket watch, glaring at the white line that ticked across every second. Two minutes until class went out… one minute… thirty seconds…

The bell rung and Wednesday closed her pocket watch, putting the chain back around her neck, and stared at the flood of students leaving. Most of them had their eyes half-open, others practically tripping over themselves in fatigue. 

Then, her eyes caught a hold of yours. You hair was in a braid, one of which Wednesday would like to congratulate the maker of because it truly was beautiful, and you had a way too large cardigan covering, what Wednesday assumed, were shorts. 

“Y/N,” she called out. 

You took out an earbud, looking around in confusion. 

“Over here.” Wednesday sighed, walking over to you instead, and poked your sleeve. 

You whipped around, panicked. She expected the panic to vanish, but you instead dropped your bag and sprinted Eastbound. 

Wednesday frowned. She knew most people were afraid of her, but they usually just stuck to avoiding her, not dashing away with panic. She reached down, putting books and folders back into your backpack. Wednesdays’s hand reached out for a brown leather notebook, which was perfectly propped open. Knowing she probably shouldn’t have, curiosity killed the cat, and she sat on the floor, flipping through. 

There were dates and doodles surrounding paragraphs of words. It was a journal, she realized. This only increased her curiosity, and so, Wednesday brought it back to her dorm. She decided to use her free hour to snoop, hoping to find something of a confession. 

Shoving the leather journal into her hoodie and under her arm, she dragged the backpack up the her dorm room. Wednesday began to fill with something akin to glee. She was going to get you, get your confession and expose you for the monster you were. Her thoughts were gruesome and happy, multiple ways you’d be locked up and behind bars, while she moved into another mystery swirled around her head. Then, the glee died down and a new feeling filled her. Wednesday seldom felt this emotion, it was grief. 

She frowned, utterly confused. Why was she sad? Wednesday dragged her feet along the prolonged hallways of Ophelia Hall, her thoughts taunting her and dreading her. What if you really were the Hyde? Well it shouldn’t matter, Wednesday didn’t do attachments and certainly not to murderers. Wednesday shook it off, straightening her posture for no one to see, and swung open her door. 

Sitting on her bed, she flipped the the first page, reading the date of the first day of school. Wednesday read with rapt attention, her lips flickering upwards. Reading your journal was better than talking to you, because she could read your thoughts rather than see your anxiety. At least in this journal you could say a sentence, the most Wednesday ever got from you was a timid greeting. Her stomach always churned terribly when it happened. The corners of her mouth flickered up again, reading your views of Plato’s Republic. Wednesday never knew you were into philosophy, but she found herself wanting to ask you about your views on Machiavelli, and Aristotle. Wednesday laid on her back, propping one foot over the other. She flipped another page, this entry a week later. 

‘Schools going good, Enid and I’s friendship is growing and I really think she’s cool! She’s introduced me to Yoko, who I’ve also taking a liking to. Everyone’s so nice at Nevermore, except Bianca, but I’ve no bad run-ins with her. Everything’s good. I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.’

Wednesday got lost in time and pages, soon now approaching her next hour, but she didn’t care, seeing as she was now two days away from her own arrival. Wednesday got so lost in your worded thoughts, she completely forgot what she was looking for. She found herself relating with you on some level, except for you views on philosophy. That was something she’d never agree with you on. 

Wednesday reached another page, the entry showing that she’d been at the school for a week. 

‘Enid’s got a new roommate. She seems cool, scary, but cool, yknow? I think I’d like to be friends with her, but I know I’d end up falling for her’ — Wednesday quirked an eyebrow — ‘because she’s just my type. Brooding and mysterious. I think she hates me. She stares at me like she sees right through me, it’s kind of attractive. I literally just run away from her and I won’t even sit at the quad to eat anymore. This sucks.’

So you weren’t the Hyde, you were just… gay… and suffering from a crush to Wednesday. She frowned, deep in thought. She opened the journal back up, getting to another section. 

‘I hate crushes. I’m so close to just screaming and never showing up to class again. I hate the way my heart races when I’m around her. I literally only pass by her in the hallway, or in class and my hearts having a freaking spasm. She’s like a shark, I think she knows I like her. I always catch her staring at me. I don’t think she’s homophobic, she might just not like me at all, so me liking her is awkward or weird. I think I’m gonna avoid her. The crush has gotta die out, right?’

Wednesday flipped another page. 

‘FUCK! This won’t go away. I’m literally gonna leave Nevermore, run away and go to some stupid normie school. Wednesday keeps staring at me and every time I just blush hard and look away, I try not to bother her. I wonder if there’s some rumor about me and she caught wind of it. Maybe people think I do drugs or something.’

Another flip. This one was today. 

‘Enid thinks I should just go for it, tell Wednesday I like her. I cant though, cause I know she doesn’t like me. If she did, oh fuck I’d be the talk of the school. Everyone assumes Wednesday hates everybody, which is probably true, but then, why does she stare at me??? Does she hate me?? Does she like me?? Am I mysterious or something??? I hate school. I cant wait until this stupid massive crush washes away and Wednesday is gone from Nevermore. Enid said she already tried running away, but is only staying cause she wants to catch the Hyde. I couldn’t care less what that monster is, as long as it’s not killing me or my friends. I hope Wednesday doesn’t get herself in any trouble. The thought of her leaving this school actually makes me sad. Which is stupid, I know, cause I want her to leave, but the hearts fucking dumb.’

Wednesday sighed, closing the journal. She’d had enough of this. Every symptom you’d said you had Wednesday reciprocated, she’d just thought it was anxiety because she believed you to be the Hyde. But then again, she should’ve known better, she’s never been anxious in her life. Wednesday’s lack of emotions had left her… emotionally stupid. She didn’t understand emotions, much less feel a vast majority of them. 

Wednesday slid the notebook into your bag, hoisted it over her shoulder, and walked to your dorm. It was now six o’clock, your classes were over and so were everybody else’s. It was a good thing that in Wednesday’s investigation, she’d figured out that you didn’t have a roommate. If only she could have that same experience, Wednesday would live for it. 

Her fist hesitated as she knocked, dropping it down twice before she finally struck it. 

“Come in!” a muffled voice shouted. 

Wednesday opened the door, closing it shut with her foot, as she continued to walk. 

You turned to face her, not sure who she was. When your eyes locked with hers, your jaw dropped. 

“I have your bag, thought I’d return it,” stated Wednesday, setting it on the floor. Her eyes swiftly assessed the room, matching every little thing to your personality. The room was so… you. 

It seemed for every musical genre you had a poster. Wednesday could make out some big ones; Taylor Swift, Twenty One Pilots, and Green Day to name a few. Wednesday could’ve sworn she saw Eminem along there. 

“Thanks,” you whispered, grabbing it off the the floor and hanging it on a rack. 

Wednesday walked around your room, looking to your bookshelf with great interest. There, hundreds of books were stacked within it, the top reaching your ceiling and the bottom touching your carpet. 

“How do you even reach these?” she asked, pointing to the top ones. 

You smiled, anxieties gone now, and grabbed a footstool. Setting it down, you hummed to yourself as you stepped up. Then, you got on your tiptoes, tongue in between your teeth from concentration. 

“That way, or I just get Yoko. She’s tall.”

You stepped down from it, folding then, then nestled it back under your desk. 

Wednesday’s hands glided across the books, stopping when she saw her favorite philosopher. 

“Machiavelli. Color me impressed.”

“There’s Sun Tzu there, too. I’ve got a lot of philosophers.”

Wednesday stifled the corners of her mouth, pressing hard down to prevent a smile. She took the top of a book, tipping it down and sliding it out. The book was in pristine condition, no folded corners, or bookmarks far too big for it were there. 

Art of War, she thought. 

“Do you agree with Machiavelli and Sun Tzu’s views?”

You chuckled. “Not at all. Human kind is beautiful. Rulers should be kind and generous. Not cruel and vindictive.”

“I disagree. Homo sapiens are no better than animals, they should be ruled and put in control. They will always lash out and try to rise above, which is why rulers must be cruel. It’s the best way.”

You nodded your head, biting your lip. “You know your philosophy.”

“And so do you,” she stated, turning around to face you. Wednesday slid the book back into its place, walking over to you afterwards. 

“It’s nice to have a mind that’s willing to challenge mine.”

“I wouldn’t put me on the same pedestal as you, Wednesday. I’d probably disappoint.” You chuckled nervously, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck. 

“I somehow doubt that.”

You lightly smiled at her, walking over to sit on your bed. “Thanks for dropping off my stuff.”

Wednesday followed you, setting  on the bed as well. “I admit, I did snoop.”

Wednesday looked over to you, your face filled with stifled panic. 

“Nothing much. Just homework.”

She shook her head. “No, it was interesting, just not the type I wanted.”

You gulped, playing with your fingers anxiously. You hadn’t written anything badin there, at least not to you. The only thing you were worried about was your raging crush that you’d stored in there. 

“What were you looking for?” you asked timidly, afraid of the answer. 

“I wanted a confession. I believed you to be the Hyde.”

You gave Wednesday a condescending look. “Really? Me? I’m, like, probably the least threatening person at Nevermore.”

“You had all the signs. You’ve always been antsy around me.”

You swallowed harshly, looking away from Wednesday and to your desk. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“But then I read your journal.”

“Fuck,” you whispered, still not meeting her eye. “Hope you enjoyed it.”

“I realized you weren’t anxious because you’re the Hyde, but because of a schoo—“

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

You stood up, walking to the door. You pointed to the empty hallway. “I think you should go.”

“Too bad, I think not.”

You stomped your foot slightly, huffing a breath of hot air out. “Well, I’m glad your enjoying yourself, Wednesday, but I don’t like to be played with.”

“I’m no—“

“You are. You have a stupid smirk on your face, I see it clear as day.”

Wednesday cleared her throat, not even realizing she was smiling. “You’re imagining things.”

“See you later, Wednesday,” you said, even though Wednesday was still sitting on your bed. 

“Close the door.”

“No.”

Wednesday got up with a sigh, took your hand off the door, and slammed it shut. She ignored your many protest and sputters, simply dragging you back to your bed and sitting you on it. 

“I do not mean to play games, nor do I wish to make you upset.”

You looked away from her again, eyes darting from trinket to trinket. A cold hand in yours made your eyes snap downwards, Wednesday had fully wrapped her hand around yours. You gulped, the log in your throat refusing to budge. Wednesday used her other hand to lightly place it under your chin, drawing it upwards. 

“Much better,” she husked out. 

With her eyes so fierce and strong, your body begged you to look away, but you couldn’t. Her gaze was magnetic, pulling and sucking you inwards. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t enjoy the helpless feeling. 

“As I was reading your journals, I discovered that the reason for my own racing pulse… and other less-than adequate feelings wasn’t because I was anxious. I believed you to be the Hyde, but I was obviously mistaken. Those feelings were caused for the same reason as yours,” Wednesday paused her low tone, drawing in a breath and leaning impossibly closer, “desire.”

You tried to breath out, hoping to expel some of your anxiousness, but it came out shaky and uncertain. Your nerves were on fire; every crevice of your body feeling everything there was to feel. The subtle wind of Wednesday’s breath against your lips, her cold hand raising goosebumps as it traveled to your jaw, the small gaps in your cardigan exposing your skin to the warm air — everything was driving your crazy. You’d never felt anything like it. 

Then, when you made no move to back away, Wednesday moved barely an inch forward. Her soft lips landed lightly on yours; eyes automatically fluttering closed as if it was routine. Wednesday kept the kiss soft, her lips applied a light and calming pressure. 

She pulled back, not bothering to put too much distance between you two. Then, you saw something that could only be described as magical. Wednesday smiled. 

Her eyes crinkled slightly, dimples of either side of her face blossoming, and a light gaze in her eyes. It was a side of Wednesday you could only dream of seeing, and here you were, awake and sober, witnessing it. A part of you wanted to desperately kiss her; but the sight in front of you kept you stupefied. 

Wednesday lightly tapped your cheek. “Did I break you already?”

You shook your head, a smile of your own forming. “You’re gonna have to try a lot harder to break me.”

“I look forward to it.

[heyclickadee]

Okay, so, here's part one of however many of these "Tech's Alive" posts I’m going to write, but, before I get into it, I wanted to be really clear about my intentions: I'm not trying to get anyone's hope's up. Please take everything with a grain of salt. And I'm absolutely not trying to police the way that anyone feels about what happened. Everyone who was really attached to this character or who saw themselves in this character is dealing with this in their own way because, hey, potentially losing a character that you identified with or made you feel better about yourself sucks. For some people, that means ripping the bandaid off and assuming the worst, and that's valid. And I know that there are a lot of us out there who are feeling like Tech's character development this season happened only to twist the knife when they killed him, and feeling either betrayed or emotionally manipulated because of it. I could change my mind, but I'm personally choosing to disagree pretty strongly with that interpretation of the writers' intentions, but I do understand why people are feeling that way, and those feelings are valid, too. All I'm trying to do here is lay out my personal interpretations of the writers' intentions, and to make my case for why I believe with my whole heart that Tech's alive and on his way back. So.

Tech's Alive, Part One: The Terrain May Actually Be In Tech's Favor (content warning for death, injury, and frank but not graphic discussions of why extreme falls are often deadly):

Emphasis on "may" here, since we can't actually see much of it, and this is the weakest and least important piece of evidence. But, here goes.

Now that I've actually been able to feel my feelings about this whole thing, I have gone back and rewatched most of Plan 99, and something that struck me on rewatch was that the rail car doesn't appear to just be above a valley. We do see bits that are a long way down through some breaks in the clouds, and you have some main mountain peaks that are sticking up over the clouds, like the one connected to the main cable car station and the other with Tarkin's evil lair, but there are actually a number of smaller peaks just barely poking out above the clouds, including some fairly close to where Tech fell. This means that the terrain beneath the cloud cover, and into which Tech is falling the last time we see him, probably looks less like this:

(Apologies for the crappy drawings.)

And more like this:

This is a good thing.

There's a common misconception that someone who falls from an extreme height will be dead before they hit the ground. Now, people who fall can and sometimes do die during the fall, but it's not the falling itself that kills them. It's the panic. Or, rather, the potential heart attack that results from the panic, especially if they have a pre-existing heart condition. Or, if they're falling from high enough, asphyxiation due to the lack of oxygen at extreme (we're talking peak of Everest and above extreme) altitudes, but this is fairly rare. The "terminal" in terminal velocity doesn't refer to the speed at which falling becomes deadly; it refers to the point at which a falling object can no longer accelerate and will, if it doesn't experience an increase or decrease in friction or run into another object, maintain that speed through rest of the descent. No, it's not the fall that kills you--it's the landing.

Terminal velocity of a human body in a belly down, horizonal position is around 120 mph. With a human body in a more vertical position, it's closer to 150-180 mph. The sudden transition upon impact from either of those speeds to 0 mph ruptures pretty much everything necessary for, well, life almost instantly. So, what a person in freefall needs to survive the landing is something to slow their descent to survivable speeds before impact.

This is why Alan Magee, a WWII airman who survived a 22,000 foot fall, was able to survive. He crashed through the glass ceiling of a rail station, which slowed his descent enough that he was able to survive hitting the ground a second or two later. This is also, incidentally, why Hunter was able to survive his fall on Daros. The height from which he fell would be unsurvivable if he fell unimpeded, but we're shown that his fall is broken multiple times, by sliding down the cliff, hitting trees, etc, on the way down, meaning that he was never able to reach a speed at which the impact of the landing would have killed him and making his survival more plausible (even if his complete lack of serious injury isn't as much.)

Bringing this back around to Tech: Tech is falling and he needs to slow down. And, just before the camera cuts away from him, he does appear to be trying to do that; we see him throw his shoulders back and start to flip onto his stomach, which will slow him down, if not enough to survive. He’s willing to die to save his family, but he’s also trying to give himself the best chance. But if the terrain he's falling into really is dotted with mountains rather than being a straight fall into a flat valley, Tech’s got a good chance of not hitting the ground with a sudden, deadly impact. If Tech can fall into a slope, especially an extreme slope, that means his fall won't stop immediately.  He'll continue to fall, but it'll break his fall, and he'll have a much better chance of slowing his descent before final impact, or even of stopping gradually, all of which makes the fall more survivable. Furthermore, he's maybe still attached to that rail car, meaning:

1. The rail car could hit the same slope as Tech, but a little afterwads, meaning Tech would have already started to slide down and out of the way of the car. The car also has a better chance of hitting harder (being heavier) and gradually snagging on rocks or trees, providing Tech with a more gradual stop. Potentially. This is all potentially.

2. Tech could have climbed onto or into the railcar during the fall which, if it hits a slope, would either slide or roll to a stop rather than just stopping immediately, and could provide some protection against, again, rocks and trees.

3. Tech could fall into a crevasse and the rail car could get gradually wedged between the walls of the crevasse, slowing Tech's descent and giving him a chance to either climb up or cut himself free and fall a much smaller, more controlled, more survivable distance once he's stopped.

4. The trees at these altitudes are generally fairly thin--think lodgepole pines and krummholz and such. Meaning that the rail car could get snagged by one, but gradually, or that Tech's own fall would be repeatedly broken by branches.

5. Probably fifteen other scenarios I haven't thought of.

(This is all better than Tech maybe falling into water. We don't want him to fall into water, not unless he's slowed down a lot beforehand. Water doesn't compress--it moves out of the way, and it doesn't move fast enough to mitigate impact as much as you'd need to survive. The impact might not kill you, but it will probably knock you unconscious, so you'll drown anyway.)

Of course, you're probably wondering what the point of all of this is. I've been talking about how the terrain might affect the survivability of Tech's fall as though he's an actual flesh-and-blood human person and not a set of pixels in a Star War. So you're probably thinking hey! It's Star Wars! It doesn't matter how plausible survival is! And you would be absolutely right! I'm laying out why Tech surviving the fall from a practical point of view is, in fact, very plausible given what the terrain beneath the rail like might look like, but it's. It's Star Wars. Star Wars usually tries to give a semi-sorta-maybe-could-be-plausible explanation for why a character survives an unsurvivable situation--at least, one that kinda sorta maybe works in the confines of its own fictional universe, like, you know, Maul keeping himself alive with the force through the sheer power of his hatred (which is ridiculous but I accept it because it's star wars and there's magic just roll with it)--but not always. Deeefinitely not always. Maybe not even the majority of the time. Heck, Anakin used the force to literally bring Ahsoka back to life that one time, it’s all a free for all in there.

But, anyway, whether a character lives through a potentially unsurvivable situation has less to do with any handwaved plausibility and more to do with whether the storytellers want the character to survive. So while I do think there is an intentional measure of at least nodded-at plausibility to Tech's possible survival, it's not going to be as important as what J. Corbett and crew want to do with him. But, I'll admit, any potential plausibility does make me feel better.

Next up: The thing that everyone's already talked about so it's kind of moot, but I'm going to get into it anyway, because why not AKA The Goggles

[inazumaneko]

Welcome to my tumblr!

Heyo! The name is acrylic, I’m an artist and fanfic writer that commonly is poking around the FNAF, Pokemon, TF2, and transformers fandom.

WRITING PROJECTS:

Don’t Spare your Gaze:

Status: active; slow updates; incomplete

Fandom: FNAF

Characters: Sun, Moon (platonic)

Summary: Sun and Moon escape the pizzaplex during the fire ending. The two, now alone and without the intense structure they’ve lived with their whole lives, are now trying to find purpose within the real world.

(14 chapters; 45k)

Brittle Bones Speak Brilliant Truth:

Status: Active, incomplete

Fandom: FNAF

Characters: Springtrap, Reader (platonic, possible romance)

Summary: Coming back to the job after the passing of your father was a much-needed reset. You're tired of the tears, the funeral planning, the static nature of workless life. You're ready to help people find their loved ones, learn the mysterious truths that the human body leaves behind. These stories are important, and you're so grateful that you are able to do this as your purpose.It’s your first official job after coming back. It should have been straight forward:

1) ID the body

2) figure out if its foul play

3) help whoever's stuck in that disgusting suit get home to loved ones.

Though its a bit hard to do that when the suit seems to be getting off the observation table.

And walking around the office.

And possibly trying to kill you.

(4 chapters, 10.6k)

Like a Moth to a Flame:

Status: Haitus; awaiting rewrite

Fandom: Tranaformers

Characters: Starscream, Wheeljack (romantic)

Summary: Starscream awakens in an absolutely destroyed Cybertron, knowing who he is, yet also feeling lost with his past and place in this world. With so little available to him, and what's seen in literal shambles, he'll just have to build something worth living for. Its not like the void had anything much to offer anyway.

(3 chapters; 4.1 k)

Thank you so much for reading! This will update when I am able. I appreciate you reading my writing and liking/reblogging my art immensely! I hope your day is wonderful 💗

[quillyfied]

Okay next batch of episode thoughts that I don’t know that I can expand into real coherent thoughts so heck it we’re doing it live and cramming them together, no chronology just memory vibes, PART THREE:

- proud member of the “clocked those clocks” gang, literally said out loud “oh those clocks are bombs” AND!!!!

- And pair that with Stede’s “you never see the mediocre guys coming” SHE LITERALLY DID NOT

- Going back in time to the start of that endeavor, though, the tension and discomfort in watching Ricky and Zheng interact was just…it was a lot. Bc she’s trying her best to good cop/bad cop him, and it’s worked on every other person she’s tried it on (because she’s amazing at it and uses her own chronically overlooked charms as both a woman and a woman of color to make herself seem less threatening than she is until she drives home the point), but. Ricky is sort of a foil to Stede in that he’s an odd duck in aristocratic circles thinking that playing pirates will soothe something in him; the difference is that Ricky is an arrogant bastard down to his bones and has that Rich White Man thing of “if I can’t dominate this field then I will burn it down.” Zheng accidentally handing him the keys to destroying piracy is just. Oof. Ouch. Yikes.

- But!!! BUT!!! Zheng’s plan of “for a livable wage we will stop” is, to my memory, actually historically accurate!! China did have to pay her to stop. Twice, I believe. I might be wrong. I’ll be honest, I just watched the Puppet History episode about her when it came out and did no further research. But I should tbh.

- Patiently waiting for Calypso’s Birthday to be incorporated into the tumblr holiday pantheon. Wish we knew what day it was in-show.

- I looked up Ned Low bc I hadn’t heard of him (and oh the sweet irony in that), and was, I think, rightfully horrified and then greatly anticipatory for what was to come.

- And what do we get? Here’s another fancy lad who treats people as disposable and pokes right at Stede’s most vulnerable spots. And also has the most unhinged one-liners like I’m sorry your death was so well-deserved bc watching him verbally spar across the episode was a surprising delight.

- Not nearly as delightful as Stede dealing with the problem by unionizing Ned’s crew, and Lucius and Pete being the ones left to try and rush in and save the crew (thank goodness Stede had it handled, and OH MY WORD STEDE HAD IT HANDLED)

- Hellkat Maggie! A delight! And possibly historically real? One moment please.

- Holy crap she was! Not a pirate, actually an Irish American gangster in the mid 1800s, but heck!! Filed teeth and everything!

- And while I’m on Wikipedia: Zheng Yi Sao only surrendered/was paid to stop piracy once. But what a dramatic story that makes.

- Anyway can we stop everything to talk about how we got IZZY HANDS SINGING. AND WEE JOHN IN DRAG!!!!

- Also glad to see I wasn’t mistaken, Roach was actually laughing his head off for the torture sequence. Of course he was.

- Fang hanging off the side with the goat though ;A;

- Also a hearty congrats to all the fic writers who not only called that Ed would not handle Stede being tortured well, but who also called that the “going slow” thing. Maybe. Wasn’t gonna last. I have a whole emotional maelstrom going over that so let’s unpack it a bit at a time.

- First, though: the Boatmance throuple dancing. I cry.

- Second: Stede going defensive over not just Ed, but all of his crew. Like a lot over Ed, bc Ned was a grade-A racist classist dick. But Stede’s reaction was not JUST about Ed.

- Also the encouragement of the crew to kill Ned versus Ed’s quiet begging for Stede not to. Because he knew it wasn’t going to rest easy on Stede’s shoulders. And it doesn’t—maybe it’s just me but Stede looks devastated the entire time, not just angry. It’s a Lot. What happened was objectively a Lot.

- Now the juiciest piece of the episode: Going Not Slow (while Izzy sings La Vie En Rose IN FRENCH—side note but for the next installment of my fishing AU, I had it as a note for MONTHS that Ed and Stede would be slow dancing to that song, under a very different emotional context but THAT SONG, because I listened to it out of the blue one day and it just hit me how tender and romantic a song it is and how they deserve a tender and romantic thing, oh my LORD ALMIGHTY)

- First, the elephant in the room: the footage was flipped. Why was it flipped. Why did they do that.

- Second, not sure if Ed is actually nodding at Stede before the kissing starts, but I love to interpret it that way. It’s such a slight movement, could just be natural head bobbing, but. A nod makes it so much sweeter.

- The whole thing being sort of overlaid by the undercurrent of grief, though; Stede isn’t okay, Ed isn’t okay, they aren’t okay and maybe need some comfort and reassurance in and from each other. Certainly an enjoyable way to get it, but it seems to be a subtle theme of the show that words alone and actions alone don’t fix things. They have to work together. Which is how we get a THIRD BREAKUP OKAY GOOD GRIEF BOYS GET IT TOGETHER

- Ed tossing his leathers sort of loses its impact some when you know he’s gonna fish them back up later but. Also. Just sort of builds that anticipation. And deepens the narrative, too—Ed doesn’t want Blackbeard anymore, he doesn’t want that life, but. Other people, Ed included, might NEED Blackbeard for what’s coming. He’s a symbol. A violent and dark one, but that’s piracy itself, too—dark and violent but also a gateway to freedom. The two sides of that coin are a great asset against the coming storm. Because THIS is the storm, Ricky and his navy mates cracking down for good on piracy.

- Also the storm is Ed and Stede’s hurricane of a relationship but uh also life threatening exploding clocks and the Republic of Pirates a sitting duck with a ton of ships and buildings damaged.

- Ed isn’t wrong for wanting to retire though. And Stede isn’t wrong for wanting to continue piracy now that he’s just getting the hang of it. I don’t know the solution. Pretty sure the show does. And I’m even more convinced that with one episode left and the showrunners angling for a third, we’re gonna leave on a pretty big doozy of a cliffhanger, both emotionally and plot-wise.

- Feel a little cheated that we didn’t get to see Stede’s shirt and Ed’s jacket come off before the fade to black but also perfectly content with what we got, euphemistic fireworks and gauzy curtain draw and all. Have I stared too long at the gifs to know that Ed is down to his t shirt and Stede’s trousers fit his waist in a lovely way? Maybe. You can’t prove anything.

- Anyone else screaming internally about how they LEFT THE DOOR OPEN THOUGH.

- I want a full shot of Ed’s pretty teal robe, though. Yummy.

- The domesticity of Ed’s beautiful breakfast in bed is not quite overcome by Stede being half-uncovered while Ed is covered head to toe though. Something something emotional vulnerability states, something something trajectory of relationship

- Bout time Ed got scared by the pace, though. Ed and Stede have swapped places. It doesn’t really suit either of them, and my goodness was it kind of cathartic to watch Zheng beat the crap out of Stede. Because. Let’s be honest: he deserved it. But back to my original point: seems like Ed and Stede are overcorrecting at this stage in their relationship. Came from different worlds, met briefly in the middle, now swinging back out to opposite extremes before coming back to the middle. Other people have said it and will continue to say it better, but. That’s how it seems to me right now.

- The little quiet ways that Izzy is reaching out to Ed and Stede both, though. And bonding with the crew. I love that we get that for him. It would have been just as narratively appropriate for Izzy to sink deeper into his own muck and toxicity, but to show that once given the space to feel safe and vulnerable, it can turn even the most “piratey” character into an actual member of the crew?? Who cracks amazing jokes and does himself up in drag makeup with Wee John and SINGS??? Love that for him. Love the message of that. Love how much that’s reflected in the rest of the crew, too.

- Frenchie getting the crew going on multiple grifts, though. Nice. Niccccce. A+++++.

- SWEDE IS HOT NOW. LOVE IT FOR HIM.

- Jim and Archie helping Oluwande out with Zheng, though. I’m hoping this polycule thrives. Because Jim and Olu deserve so many nice things.

- Stede’s whole fame drunk thing was so painful to watch but ALSO is anyone gonna talk about how Stede was accosted by a Freddy Krueger looking dude?? I hope he survived his (frankly astonishingly hot, pun slightly intended) immolation bc I want him showing up later with knife hands to complete the reference

- Painful to watch but so understandable. Stede letting it all go to his head is so so SO like Ed on the aristocrat ship, just naive and full up on the attention and not ready for that rug pull later.

- FANG AND ROACH TAKING A SELF CARE DAY BY A STREAM I AM SCREECHING

- Ed is absolutely in a panic. Stede is also in something of a panic. They both said things they don’t mean because they both need to have the last word, don’t they. Fishermen and pirates are nothing alike, Ed what even are you talking about. (I know what he’s talking about, I’m choosing to nitpick his choice of metaphor to illustrate he is wrong on both a surface and metaphorical level)

- TALK IT THROUGH AS A CREW MY ASS, STEDE

- Is there anything as attractive as Zheng Yi Sao competently and confidently taking down not just Steak Knife, but Stede? She hasn’t been seen in action all season. Now we get it. And she’s just as banter-prone as Stede, I love that for them. And for us.

- rip steak knife. You will be missed.

- Can’t wait to see Ricky’s pomposity getting smashed in. He’s a mediocre man. You don’t see them coming.

- I know I’m glossing over probably a lot but that was SUCH an episode batch. Such an emotional whiplash. Cannot WAIT to see the finale, and how the story is gonna end with that third season we are pretty please getting please PLEASE.

[jewwyfeesh]

Dessert Crisis 1

Writer: Mitsuki

Character(s): Aoba Tsumugi, Sakuma Ritsu

Translated by: jewwyfeesh

Ritsu: Though, Aoba Onii-chan’s so interesting – at first you kept going on about how you didn’t believe in the paranormal, but still screamed “AAAAH GHOST…!” Hahaha, it’s so fun to play the part.

Season: Spring Location: Yumenosaki Academy Library

Tsumugi: Erm… This is a history book, so it belongs on this shelf.

Let me see… There are still a few literature books left – I’ll put them on that other shelf over there in a bit. With that, I’ve finished organizing the library for today.

Sigh. There were so many books to put away… Without noticing, it’s already gotten so late.

Perhaps it’s because more and more students are here to read… and as such, the number of books that need to be put back have increased in kind.

Though… it could also be due to my low efficiency.

If it was really because of the first reason, I’ll be really happy. Anyways, I’d better finish organizing the books as soon as possible.

[There’s a rustling sound…]

Eh? What’s that sound?

I’m not hearing things, am I? There was definitely a sound earlier on…

Could it be a rat? If we have a rat problem, we need to take care of it quickly – it would be bad if the library’s books are damaged because of their nibbling…

The sound should’ve come from that side. Let me go take a look…

WOAH?! Did a person just run by just now?

The library isn’t haunted… right?

No no no… How could that be? Ghosts and monsters don’t exist.

Although there are books that record the various supernatural events across the world, I’ve always had a feeling that they’re just tall tales.

Even if it were true, it wouldn’t happen to me… right…?

Erm… Maybe I just saw wrongly earlier onbecause of my blurry vision… I even brought a protective amulet with me today, so I should be fine, nothing will happen…

Hm, it should be around here…

There doesn’t seem to be anything unusual going on, and there’s no traces of rats or anything… but there are some books on the table that have been left open.

It could be that some students forgot to put the books back on the shelf after reading.

???: Hee~ hee~

Tsumugi: W-who’s there! Come out, now!

???: Hee~ hee~ hee~

Tsumugi: D-don’t play games with me! G-ghosts aren’t real!

Ritsu: BOO!

Call for me, and I shall appear~

Tsumugi: G-GHOST!! DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!!!

Ritsu: Aoba Onii-chan, it’s me, Ritsu.

Hahaha, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I scared you, didn’t I? Come come, let me help you up.

Though, Aoba Onii-chan’s so interesting – at first you kept going on about how you didn’t believe in the paranormal, but still screamed “AAAAH GHOST…!” Hahaha, it’s so fun to play the part.

Oh, right, Aoba Onii-chan, you shouldn’t be too curious nor get too invested in the unknown – according to horror movies, those people are the first to die you know?

Tsumugi: Huuu… I was really scared because of you. I thought my heart was gonna stop!

Ritsu-kun, you shouldn’t play these kinds of games. It’s both scary and dangerous!

For example, if the person you frightened runs into something hard while trying to run away, they could get injured really easily.

Ritsu: Okay, okay, I gotcha. Though… Aoba Onii-chan, it’s already so late… Why haven’t you gone home yet?

Tsumugi: Ah, there are some books that still need to be sorted out before I leave.

Ritsu: Were you being a slow-poke? Maybe that’s why your work dragged on.

Tsumugi: Hahaha, perhaps. Though… Why are you still in the library?

Ritsu: I wanted to improve on the sweets I make. So, I’m reading up on dessert making as I have some new ideas that I’d like to try out here and there.

Tsumugi: Making sweets? It’s both intriguing and something to look forward to.

If the opportunity ever arises, I’d like to try them.

Ritsu: But of course~ Cause Aoba Onii-chan’s always taking care of me ♪

The next time I whip up a batch, I’ll give some of them to you.

Tsumugi: You have my advanced thanks, Ritsu-kun ♪

Ah, it’s already so late. Ritsu-kun, are you not heading back? After I’m done putting these away, I’ll be heading home. There’s still some things I need to do there.

Ritsu: In that case, Aoba Onii-chan, how about you head home first? I still want to hang around for a bit, so you can leave the rest to me.

Tsumugi: Is it really okay to hand this task over to you? It’s usually done by the Library Committee.

Ritsu: It’s okay, don’t worry ♪ Judging by your personality, merely packing books might waste too much time. Since you have some errands you need to run at home, you might as well go do that instead.

Tsumugi: Sorry for the trouble Ritsu-kun. I’ll head home first, but don’t stay out too late, okay? Else those at home will worry.

Ritsu: Mm, yeah yeah I got it ♪

Story Masterlist | Chapter 2 →

[dangerous-disposition]

4, 19, and/or 39 for the ask prompt? :D

4. Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

A lot of my ideas are inspired by either (a) spite, (b) living vicariously thru my blorbos, or (c) I love X movie and want to put my blorbos in that situation too. The spite has varying degrees of severity, its not always Fuck Canon, but sometimes more like "I rly wish canon explored this better so I'm gonna do it"

19. What is your most-used tag on your AO3?

Other than "not beta read", "Trans Male Character" on account of all the TPP fics I wrote.

39. Share a snippet from a WIP.

(from my upcoming fic 'i can't tell where you end and where i start')

Steve was covered up to his elbows in flour in the kitchen when the phone started ringing, and he cursed a bit.

“I got it,” Eddie called from where he was lounging on the couch next to one of the receivers. Picking it up, he drawled in an almost sickeningly sweet tone, “you’ve reached the Henderson-Harrington-Munson household, how may I direct your call?”

Snorting a bit, even as his gut fluttered at Eddie inserting himself in the home he created with the Hendersons, Steve started to wash his hands.

Eddie hummed. “Hey man, slow down—Steve’s right—yeah, he’s just in the kitchen, alright? Hold on,” Eddie said in a calming voice, and Steve looked over his shoulder with a frown. His boyfriend was returning the expression, an eyebrow raised high as he pulled the phone away from his ear and held it out. “It’s for you, Stevie. His name is Charlie?”

“Oh, shit,” Steve gasped, hurrying across the phone to take the receiver from Eddie and sat down on the arm of the couch. “Charlie, I am so sorry. I can’t fucking believe I forgot to call you guys—”

“Steve, it’s okay, Jesus, I’m just relieved to hear your voice,” Charlie said with a quiet laugh, and then there was a bunch of noise on the other line as if Charlie was fumbling his phone in his hands.

Then the rustling noises stopped. “Steve, what the fuck?” Tig practically growled over the line.

“I am so sorry, Tig—”

“Do you fucking understand how out of my mind I’ve been? There was a huge fucking earthquake! We felt it all the way out here!” Tig said, properly shouting at Steve. There was no heat in his voice, only weeks of anxiety and worry being released, but Steve still flinched a bit.

“Tig, I know you’re upset and you have every right to be, I just need you to dial back the volume,” Steve said and instantly Tig took a deep breath.

“It was all over the news, about half of Hawkins being fucking leveled, and a ton of people still being missing, and there was some murderer running around?” Tig started again, this time much quieter but no less upset. “And then we couldn’t get through to you at all.”

“Yeah, the phone lines were out for a while,” Steve said weakly, chewing his lip.

“When we did get through, a woman answered the phone and said you were at the hospital?” Tig added and Steve groaned.

“That was Claudia, and she didn’t mean I was injured—” Eddie made a stern noise and poked Steve gently in the side, not hard enough to hurt but enough to get his point across. “Okay, I was injured, but I wasn’t at the hospital for that. I was there for Eddie.”

There was a long pause. “Like, Eddie Eddie?”

Steve felt his ears heat up a bit. “Yeah, that one,” he replied, and he could feel Eddie’s eyes on him.

~*~

Thank you so much for the ask!!!

Send me Fic Writer Asks!

[coastercrushed]

#COASTERCRUSHED writing blog for mapplethorpe landis, an ghost character from abc's crazy fun park. highly selective & private. minors dni. primarily runs on queue due to work schedule. loved by billie ( 32 . est. ) this blog will contain triggering content and spoilers . 21+ preferred . minors do not interact . established november 2023.

 open starters./ headcanons / verses. /prompts. / board.

affiliated with; @artstayed, @rvnawaytrain, @lunarfey, @luminarot also found at: lennon. gonzo.gareth. april. siobhan. marko.

INFO / STATS UNDERCUT.

01. first things first, i am aware that a lot of people haven't seen crazy fun town. i highly recommend it. it'll make you laugh, it'll make you cry, it'll make you feel nostalgic. i digress because this will have a lot of horror aspects. a lot of the park kids died in really horrific ways. mapplethorpe ended up going to the abandoned park alone, climbing up a rollercoaster to take a picture with his cell phone and fell off the coaster platform, falling onto one of the stalls below. a lot of depressing topics will be mentioned considering mapplethorpe had died suddenly and he's a rather fresh ghost ( the other's being from the 80s - early 00s ) so he's learning to cope with his own death.

02. drama is not my thing. i avoid it in real life and you best believe i’m going to avoid it online, being that this is my hobby. i wont reblog callouts, but will read them. i’ll only reblog if the person is incredibly dangerous to make my followers be aware. no gross behavior with minor muses, either, thanks. don’t be transphobic, genderbend, whitewash, don’t be a racist asshole, don’t support n*zi imagery, don’t be a fucking dickhead. 

03. oooooh i do love shipping! though, i do prefer a little bit of plotting beforehand. i think it’s very important to build a relationship ooc as well. i’m more comfortable to ship if we talk a little ooc.

04. i’m billie! i’ve thirty two years old and i’ve been apart of the rpc since late 2010. i’m an old lady. i’ve been around the block a few times. i work full time overnight ( twelve hour shifts ) at hospital & i have a lot of social obligations so i’m primarily mobile. most of my replies will be posted by queue due to this. my reply speed is slow and whilst i post a lot of ooc posts while at work & what not, it may sometimes take me a few days or even weeks to reply to a thread. patience is key! this is something i do whenever i want to destress and have fun.

STATS

 GENERAL.

BIRTH NAME. mapplethorpe landis  ALIAS(ES). mapplethorpe, mape, mapple, maggot boy, pennywise. AGE. eighteen. DATE OF BIRTH. may 8th MARITAL STATUS. single. verse dependent.  SPECIES. the ghost with the most GENDER. cismale PREFERRED PRONOUNS. he/him ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. bisexual  SEXUAL ORIENTATION. bisexual.  OCCUPATION. was a student, planning on becoming a writer and making comics with his artist best friend chester. now? he's just dead.

                                                                                                         PHYSICALITY.

HEIGHT. 5'9" BUILD. athletic, lean. in good shape. HAIR. blonde, curly. EYES. bluish hazel SCARS. miscellaneous scars from skateboarding. he has a lot of them. a lot of scars from just doing stupid shit as well.  ABNORMALITIES. other than being dead? not a whole lot. TATTOOS. a smiley face stick n poke on his left knee cap. PHYSICAL AILMENTS. after snapping his spinal chord so bad he was essentially bisected? not really. ALLERGIES. none.

                                                                                                          HEADSPACE.

ALIGNMENT. chaotic good MYERS BRIGGS.  esfp FEARS. losing chester, memories of his own death. DISORDERS. adhd, autism, dependent personality disorder  OTHERS.  n/a.

                                                                                                          BACKGROUND.

PLACE OF BIRTH.   CURRENT RESIDENCE.   RELIGION.  agnostic  FAMILY.  felicity landis, his mother. father is not in the picture. considers chester dante his family. STATUS.  lower-middle class

[katkenyon]

Why I Did My Own Photoshoot.

There may be a lot going on in the world, but I'm in the middle of testing new covers for my books and the subject of the photoshoots for my series has come up.

Smart people will tell you to start small. Get a premade cover from the many brilliant designers who do amazing things with stock images.

Hell, that's what I'll tell you to do. And I am doing it for a small project, but for my series, ugh. I'm a bit extra.

For Blood & Iron Warriors I needed the same people on for 7 straight books. That's a lot of images of the same models. Given it's a new adult/college and sports romance/football romance series, that meant getting my hands on images taken at the same time period so they don't age.

7 books, 7 covers + back images. Then looking at any possible recovers, that would be nest to impossible to get from stock and match up. Not to mention the marketing images.

And to be fair, I suck at sharing.

Even as a child there's a legend of me being horrible in kindergarten and getting a bit "hostile" about sharing the cardboard bricks, and not much has changed.

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to donate to good causes, I give things to others, but in my head those things become theirs. Mine is still mine. I kill every bug that comes into my house because I didn't invite them. It's my house. They need to make their house somewhere else.

I know, I know, it's weird, anyway that glitch in my personality and the difficulty in finding matching images for 7 books, plus the cost...led to me to say.... oooh yeah, an exclusive shoot.

Now, I have an advantage. Before writing I was in law, and before that, I was in marketing for 10 years.

Which meant for me, photoshoots are fun. Don't get me wrong, they're a ton of work, months of it in fact, but they're an amazing experience. Intensively creative, and give you the creative freedom to explore your story in the visual medium. Also, for us control freaks and detail divas, it gives you better control over the final outcome.

Of course I am not a photographer. My talents and experience make me qualified to be an art director, but the first thing I did was reach out to photographers in the industry. Honesty, I didn't want to do the work from front to back. I'd done it back in my marketing days and I knew what it would take to do it.

I won't go into detail about why that path didn't work, but what I will say is, based on what I wanted creatively and legally, and my experience working with commercial photographers, I made the call directly to the agency representing the model I wanted to work with, and a local photographer who, while not having cover model experience, had plenty of experience and charged per hour and gave me a buy out.

That's not something that everyone can do. I've been an art director on a set. I've called agency and know the legal issues. But it worked for me and it was a blast. Keep a fun set, keep it moving, and everyone's happy. It also meant was that instead of paying between $700-$1500 per exclusive image of my model with no merchandising and marketing rights... I paid 2 models for 2 half day sessions, my photographer for 2 from Cleveland, the studio rentals, and ended up with over 1500 images and the right to do whatever I want with images as long as it's for this series.

I'm not going to give the exact amount it cost, but the amount is less than the first round of front covers of the exclusive covers of my model.

And now that I'm testing new covers and working on the boxset, the cost savings is huge.  And keep in mind that many of the exclusive licenses have time limits, and for slow-poke writers like me, I don't lose the rights. Ever.

And bonus, I have so many images for marketing it's ridiculous. I was able to get legitimately meta.

Then there's the copyright. Normally, the photographer owns the copyright. Full stop.

Authors need to understand that and trace the ownership of the images they use in their marketing. Which was hard a year ago, and going to be even harder going forward with AI art. When yo know who owns it, then you have to get the rights, and obey the rights, But, when you do the photoshoot yourself, and do it work-for-hire, it's not an issue.

Which means I own enough pictures to recover for over 20 years with the same people in different poses. I may change the tone of my covers, but the people will be the same. Which saves me money. A lot of money. And the images will never be mistaken for someone else's book.

When the book is a series it makes sense. When you have a primary skill set it makes sense. When you are a child with an inability to share it doesn't make sense, but it's slightly understandable. And when your models are absolutely lovely, it's fun enough that sense flies out the window.

-Kat

[ink-and-dagger]

will there be a DWM after story? I literally inhaled EVERY chapter and bonus content and am dying for more! thank you for writing such a masterpiece xx

Yes.

My current to-do list for bonus content contains:

A full Silco POV

4 x AUs

15 x Post-story one-shots/drabbles [a few of which will create new canonical plots within the DWM universe]

A very special DWM prequel one-shot for my darling @vasiktomis

A very cool and top secret project with my dearest @sweatandwoe which we have been planning and ruminating on since the start of May 😏

My list is constantly growing as new ideas come to me, and also from the requests that get sent to my ask box.