#Someone take this fic away from me

[theshireisburning-so-mordoritis]

Who writes a goddamn 2000+ words confession scene? Who does that? Who feels the need to have it almost as long (if not longer) than the entire rest of the story?

It's me that's who 🥲

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

Tom: I can't love anyone more than I love myself.

Harry, exists: ...

Tom: What a relief that the Horcrux in you is a convenient loophole.

[heyhelloitsmilo]

Audiobooks

jason todd x gn! reader

891 words

⚠️ warnings: milo standard fluff

💛 pairings: Jason Todd x gn!Reader

💫 summary: jason todd recites to you pride and prejudice and then you call him a nerd

💬 extra notes: its gettin real cold here and my heater went out oops

You never thought you’d find yourself like this. It wasn't bad, you weren't complaining, to be clear. This was just so… so… domestic? And soft?

Jason’s arms encircled your waist, his body curled around your own. Tight muscles relaxed in your presence, nose buried in the crook of your neck. White-streaked hair tangled in your fingertips. Warm breath tickled the side of your neck, scarred hands slipped under your shirt to find purchase on your side or back. Jane Austen’s Pride And Prejudice played as an audiobook in the background.

The second Robin. Red Hood himself. In your bed. Holding you close like his life depended on it. It might as well have, you were the only thing keeping him sane most days, especially days like these. The hours and days tended to blur together. His thigh shifted to pull you close, resting on your hip, his bare leg on your body.

You had your arms around Jason’s neck, back arched as he held you close, your chest to his. Even if the circumstances the two of you had faced to meet weren't the best, you would still do it all over again for moments like these. Jason was such a wonderful man. Strong sense of justice, often a bit brutal, but soft at heart. He loved every fiber of your being, and even if he didn't say that often, he’d sure as hell show it. Quality time date nights, making your favorite food for dinner, finding out all of your typical orders at restaurants or cafes, smothering you in kisses as soon as he got home.

Jason pressed a few chaste kisses to your neck, scarred lips gentle on your skin. He chased them with curt nibbles, fingers rubbing circles into the skin of your back.

“You're so warm.”

He muttered, the duvet swaddling the both of you in soft fabric. But you were also just generally nice to hug.

“I'm gonna make tea later. Do you want some?”

You nodded, feeling drowsy from all the relaxation. Didn’t matter that you’d probably fall asleep within the next few minutes, it made you feel so wanted and loved.

Jason smiled against your skin, his expressions hidden from your eyes. Nights like these, he never wanted to let you go. He’d hold you forever, given the option. Fingers trailed up and down your back, tracing every curve, every dip, every bump of your spine. Gentle touches reinforced the mental map of your body, planes of skin beneath his palms.

For a few hours, he could be normal. Here, in your arms, in your apartment, he didn't have to worry or be angry or upset. It was just you and him.

“My affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever. If, however, your feelings have changed, I will have to tell you:”

You felt Jason take in a breath, this quote meant more to him than he let on. So much so, he’d memorized it.

“You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.”

You smiled, tracing gentle little hearts onto Jason’s scarred back, a silent acknowledgement. Fingertips glided along your boyfriend's textured back, dips and bumps and ridges underneath the pads of your fingers. Gods, you loved him. To whatever deity was out there, you prayed that this would never end.

“...Fucking nerd."

You muttered, voice muffled in Jason’s shoulder. A rumble of a chuckle bubbled up from Jason’s throat, calloused hands rubbing gently at your back. He didn't deny it, though. Only nibbled at your skin, tongue playfully darting out to leave a little lick. You shivered, recoiling at the feeling of saliva on your neck.

“Ew.”

Jason chuckled, licking a line up your neck.

“Ew!”

Disgusted grumbles left your mouth, trying to roll away from Jason, only for him to tighten his hold on you.

“You’re not gettin’ away from my love, sweetheart.”

You sighed, falling limp in his arms, your body a dead weight as he manhandled you back over to him.

"Yeah, accept your fate."

Jason grinned, turning you onto your back, leaning in, and planting a raspberry on your collarbone. You squeaked, wriggling in Jason's grasp. He nipped and nibbled at your neck and the tender area just under your jaw, his hands tracing the dips in your body.

And then he licked your cheek.

"EuuAuCk!"

An inhuman noise left your lips, your head recoiling as far as humanly possible into the pillows. You curled in on yourself, rubbing the saliva off with the collar of your shirt.

Something akin to a giggle left Jason's lips, his blue eyes flicking up to meet yours.

Eugh. Blue-eyed stare.

Piercing blue eyes aside, Jason simply resorted to lying down on top of you with no regard for your breathing. All things considered, he was a nice weighted blanket. You simply sighed, the calm voice of the audiobook coming back into focus. Not enough in focus to perceive whatever they were saying, however.

Again, here you were, all cuddled up and cozy with Jason wrapped around you. Your hand combed through his shaggy hair, gently scratching at his scalp.

"I love you."

You murmured, lips moving against your partner's temple.

"I love you, too."

whheeeeee

[a-most-beloved-fool]

another wildly unimportant star trek pet peeve of mine is that i kinda hate it when people persistently call kirk "james", either in fic or in posts. like, yes, he's james t kirk. that's his name. but. he's jim. he asks people to call him jim. every time, it's jim. idk, maybe I'm too trans, but I figure that when someone tells you their preferred name, you use it.

I know a guy named bill. his name's william, sure, but he's bill. he specifically said so. I know an alexandria, who is always ally, and I know an aleksandra who is never ever a nickname. I know a thomas who flat out refuses to be tom. y'know? hell, I know a john who goes exclusively by jack, and a sarah who's riley. and it's rude as hell to ignore that.

I do understand that it's. a bit Silly to have that strong of an opinion on whether or not to call a fictional character by a nickname, but. oh well. i'm a bit silly i guess. like, yeah. it doesn't matter. he's not real. he doesn't care.

but he's jim to me.

[crossthread]

No jokes here. The Navy’s best pilot and the Navy’s best admiral. Between them, eight air-to-air combat kills and five stars. These were men who commanded respect with or without your approval. This was the picture of ruthless competence.

Debriefing (& Other Stories) • part 2 of Easier Done Than Said by @compacflt

[tired-biscuit]

yes, i am a sucker for a good ‘play fighting leads into something more’ scene between best friends that obviously harbour feelings for each other, sue me.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

As a history and Mythological lover, I love your works, they are so addictive, and you write so well, and the Minotaur konig fic was such a pleasure to read. I remember when you first uploaded the Roman konig story and I was so ecstatic about it, I remember checking on my break at work, If you’d uploaded another part haha, I mean I still check tumblr on my breaks to see who had uploaded so I know what I can read after I get home lol.

I think you’ve found your niche!

Also if you don’t mind answering what other time periods you’d think konig would fit in? Victorian era?

Nasty, oily and covered in coal, konig is walking home through the streets and bumped into a clean wealthy beautiful young woman, ooh do I love forbidden romances, just like your nun fic lol.

Ahh thank you! Mythology, fairytales and historical au’s are a passion of mine 😭

And puh-leeze, a forbidden romance between a dirty worker and a rich uptown girl? Filthy coal miner König who bumps into this fancy lady dressed in white? How can he ever make up for his clumsiness?? Please don’t have him beaten like the poor bastard he is, he already fucked up today by accidentally destroying boss’s new machinery by showing off his strength...

Tries to steal a peek at her ankles, and under her dress while dusting off her skirts with some napkin that’s hardly much cleaner than his hands. And she’s just giggling at him – great, now he’s hard... How is he going to explain this when he rises from here?? (Rich lady also being protected at all costs from dirty dogs like him! He's soon panting at her door!)

As for other historical au’s and fairytales... >:)

CW: Fear of SA (historical au), wife stealing (yandere fairytale imagine)

Obviously I see König as this dark knight of the Teutonic Order, punishing pagans with his sword somewhere in the wild woods of old Europe. How about another forbidden romance between a cold-hearted crusader & a cute pagan girl who lives in the woods and worships the old gods?

She gets captured during some awful raid, and is pulled into the camp by her hair, angry tears streaming down her face. The soldiers tie her to a thick wooden cross and leave her in the rain, probably to have their way with her later, taking turns with her after they've gambled and had a drink. Then this dark, giant knight happens to walk by, not a regular foot soldier but an actual knight with armor as black as night. She remembers him from the battlefield, wielding a fat morningstar, splitting people’s skulls from atop the huge black destrier he rode...

A terrible beast, dark and silent and big, the rain batters his helmet as he takes one look at the shivering maiden on the cross, her white linen dress glued to her skin in the downpour, and stops.

The soldiers have a crude sense of humour and what’s arousing, but he has seen worse… The knights of the Holy Order are even more perverted when it comes to having “fun” with women. But something pierces his defense when seeing the frightened stare of this pagan girl, her weak body trembling on the cross, the wide dark nipples perked up from cold. He’s seen so much death, his soul is drenched in blood by this point, but somehow, this woman who hasn’t even been broken in is the last straw.

Ends up taking her down, and she attaches herself to him like he’s her saviour, even the cold black armor apparently warmer to her skin than the cold rain. The cruelest of knights feels a moment of pity for this girl and sets her free, pushes her to the woods and waves his hand in a gesture of Get the hell out of here while you still can. (=gtfo before I get hard enough to take you in the mud...)

Months later, she finds him bleeding to death under a tree after a battle. All the other soldiers are screaming and crying for their mothers, but this one is silent, eyes darkening when he recognizes her. He says something, already delusional, and she can’t help but kneel and offer him water…

(and from this point on it would go somewhere in @wordstome s Kosovo maiden territory, perhaps slightly darker? But you get the point!)

And then there’s this old Inuit story that always reminds me of König, it has many variations but it’s basically about this lonely hunter who gets a little too resentful for not having a wife yet. Goes to paddle his boat in these moonlit waters and sees a bunch of maidens dancing in the moonlight on a small little island, notices their seal skins on the ground, and because he’s lonely and in despair, he steals one of them.

One by one, the maidens put their seal skins on and rush back into the water, but one woman can’t find her seal skin no matter how hard she looks for it. The hunter emerges, holding her beautiful skin, saying he’ll give it back to her if she comes to live as his wife for 7 years. She has no other choice but to say yes, and for a while they live happily, they even have a son, but then the seal woman starts to miss her seal skin and the sea...

It’s a tragic tale and the hunter won’t let her leave even if she cries so this would make a wonderful yandere scenario, you could always make a twist and write the woman as some other animal, a deer perhaps, and König as this lonely brooding hunter of the Austrian mountains :)

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Dead Boy Detectives Victor AU Edits (pt. 3!)

Someone should really take microsoft paint and the snipping tool away from me! (Seriously. Please. Stop me. Please.)

Once again, here's the series link!

@deadboy-edwin @icecreambrownies @anonymousbooknerd-universe @magpiemarten @ashildrs

@hartigays @tragedy-machine @just-existing-as-you-do-blog @orpheusetude @mj-irvine-selby

@pappelsiin @itsbitmxdinhere @rexrevri @sweet-like-h0ney-lavender @saffirez

@the-ipre @sunnylemonss @days-light @agentearthling @helltechnicality

@tiredghostby @sethlost @catboy-cabin @secretlyafiveheadeddragon @vyther15

@anything-thats-rock-and-roll

[wellgoslowly]

"the best time with the best losers a guy could ask for"

- anthony lockwood, via Instagram

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

The heat in Tom’s gaze was a starving thing.

Greedy and wild, hungry and tactile. It promised more than a hot summer’s day. It promised pain, damnation, the ending of worlds; hell, Harry reckoned it promised worse than that.

It was a vow. Hardly solemn, the passion was right there, all-encompassing, spitting out like solar flares on the sun. A vow to hold, to never let go, to touch and touch and touch—

The heat in Tom’s gaze was a hand that roamed and wasn’t afraid to go low… lower… Until Harry’s hands catch themselves tracing that burning path. Starving.

[wikiangela]

fuck it friday

tagged by @hippolotamus @fortheloveofbuddie 💖

so I started a new wip lol 🙈 I really need to work on all the other ones but I'll get to everything haha so i'm not sure if any of this makes sense for buck tbh but idgaf, this is just me projecting my own thoughts and feelings™️ and making it about him processing his death lol 💁 it is gonna be pre-slash buddie tho bc obviously I have to 😂

ngl i kinda don't wanna share any of it but also i wanna share all of it bc i'm kinda loving how it's turning out haha so fuck it, here are two short snippets haha

___

Ever since he died, Buck has been feeling… off. Numb. Sad. Exhausted. He’s not even sure how to explain it, how to voice it, so he doesn’t. When people ask how he is, he says he’s fine. And he is, he swears he is. He’s okay, he’s alive, he has his amazing friends and family, a job he loves, everything is fine. But… but. He’s not sure what the hell is wrong, but a part of him is not fine. Hasn’t been fine since the lightning strike.

(...)

He doesn’t want to go home. He just wants to keep driving, wherever the road takes him. Driving is good, he likes driving, letting his thoughts wander, listening to music, having control of something. He thinks that’s it, that’s why. Driving is one of the few times he feels fully in control, his feet controlling the speed, hands holding the steering wheel and dictating the direction. Whether he makes it to work or gives into the thoughts that tell him to not turn the wheel and let his car crash into a tree or a building, or another car – it’s all up to him. He doesn’t- he won’t crash his car on purpose, but sometimes he wonders… maybe at least that’ll make him feel something. Make him hurt, make him scared, anything. Make him die, this time permanently- he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t, he swears he doesn’t. He just wonders sometimes, that’s all.

He doesn’t wanna go home, so he decides to keep driving. Just a few more minutes, to clear his head.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @911onabc @housewifebuck @watchyourbuck @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @puppyboybuckley @weewootruck @buckaroosheart @spagheddiediaz @steadfastsaturnsrings @rainbow-nerdss @malewifediaz @giddyupbuck @jeeyuns @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @hoodie-buck @diazsdimples @theotherbuckley @nmcggg @daffi-990 @jesuisici33 @disasterbuckdiaz @exhuastedpigeon @rogerzsteven @honestlydarkprincess

[jamiesfootball]

i would LOVE to see what you do with “when will you learn?” for the prompt drabbles MWAH

All Rebecca had texted her mother that morning was, "Hope things are well [heart emoji]."

And then this shit.

"Again?! Mother, that's the third time this month."

"You know your father. He just gets a bit whimsical when things are going well."

"No. He's trying to buy you back. That's what he's doing."

"Well, they've all been lovely gifts!"

"Of course they are, mother. Because he's a miserable, shriveled up cock who thinks he can buy your affections because you let him get away with it."

"I'm not naive, Rebecca. I know exactly what kind of man your father is. You're the one who seems to need the reminder. Honestly, Sausage, when will you learn?"

"Argh!" Rebecca smashed at the middle finger emoji, the frustration only growing when she hit a pink heart instead and her handbag slipped out of her arms. "Shit!"

"Um. Everything alright?"

Rebecca swiveled on her heels; her coat slipped off, fluttering to the ground to join her handbag.

Standing next to his car, Jamie Tartt watched wide-eyed as his boss made a silly little fool of herself.

Perfect.

"Here, I can get that for you," he offered, already jogging towards her before she could respond.

Rebecca closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Thank you, Jamie. Sorry, this whole morning has been a disaster."

"Not a problem," he insisted. He picked up her coat and, in an oddly solicitous gesture, gave it a little shake before holding it and her handbag out towards her with a formal, "Here you go, Ms. Welton."

"Rebecca, please," Rebecca corrected out of habit. She shuffled the items in her arm, trying to figure out how to free a hand. She had her keys, her scarf, a briefcase-styled handbag that she hadn't had the time to swap out that morning but that didn't work with the outfit she had on, her gym bag because Keeley insisted they move Pilates to after lunch this week, a to-go cup she'd impulsively asked the driver to stop for-

Her phone dinged. She jumped, nearly dropping the whole lot of it on the ground. "Shit."

"Do you need to get that?" asked Jamie. As if anticipating standing in for her coatrack, he carefully clutched her coat and the handbag that did work with her outfit against his chest. It did not match his iconography at all.

Rebecca waved him off. Flicking her phone over to silent, she complained, "No, no. My mother's just lost her fucking mind this morning."

She attempted to juggle everything again. Eventually, she noticed the silence. When she looked up, she found him staring at her uncomprehendingly.

The thing was that between Keeley's love of girl talk and the promotional materials Jamie regularly did for the club, Rebecca had an entire encyclopedia of knowledge about him stored in her head that she'd never even asked for. Jamie Tartt. Richmond's newly returned striker. Debuted at eighteen. Preferred whites over reds, evening showers, and knew a surprising amount about high-end cars. He also, somehow, regretted none of his tattoos.

It just felt like she already knew him.

Meanwhile back in reality, they'd only spoken a handful of times, and most of that had been contract negotiations and welcome schmoozing.

Probably not a good icebreaker then- maligning one's own mother at half-eight in the morning.

"Not that I speak to her like that," said Rebecca, the need to defend herself overriding any foot-to-mouth filters. "She's just been going through a rough patch with my father, and I think she's being stupid."

Well done, Stinky.

"Right. Um." He opened his mouth. Closed it. Held his arms out and asked, "Do you want help carrying all this in then?"

Gratitude filled her chest at the change of subject.

"Yes. That would be lovely, thank you."

Jamie smiled, lips and opinions kept tightly to himself. He popped off ahead of her to grab the door. With one more glance down at her phone, Rebecca found that at least one heart had flung free, sailing itself into her mother's waiting arms.

Her mum had sent one back in return.

The walk up to her office passed in relatively painless silence. She'd always assumed -- from the everything she knew about him -- that Jamie would be more of a talker. But then in the handful of months since he'd returned to Richmond on a permanent basis, he'd made himself eager to please and keen not to make waves with anyone whose name wasn't Roy Kent.

This was bad news for Rebecca, who personally could have used a small wake to clear the embarrassment lingering in the air. Where was Ted when you needed him?

Driven by mad compulsion and lack of Lasso, she found herself volunteering, "Really, I normally get on with my mother."

"It's alright, Ms. Welton. You don't have to explain anything to me," he answered. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. Then with a small grin, his eyes flicked towards her. "Besides, I wouldn't want to be judged on how I talk to my parents either. Doesn't make sense to judge anybody else on how they talk to theirs, you know?"

"Ooh, I like that. That's practically wisdom." She offered him her own commiserating smile. "I take it you don't get on with yours?"

Jamie shifted like he was about to put his hands in his pockets, only to remember at the last moment that he was actively carrying stuff. He settled for a half-hearted shrug. "I do with my mum, yeah. When I see her, that is."

"Does she live in Manchester?"

Jamie snorted. His eyes lit up. "Always. She'll never move either. Won't even let me buy her a new house or nothing. I tried to surprise her with a new car a while ago, and she asked me how I thought I'd be getting back to London with two cars."

"She sounds like a firecracker."

A fond smile broke out across his face, only to be reeled back in, dulled down into something wistful. "Yeah. She- yeah, she's great."

Without any flourish, he stepped ahead to open a door for her. She could see what Keeley meant when she described him as 'thoughtlessly sweet.' When he wasn't trying to push people's buttons, he was easy to like.

Not that he'd ever tried to push hers. Oh, no- she just hadn't liked him because Rupert had liked him.

Her heart stirred. That kind of behaviour she wasn't proud of anymore.

Pushing down the emotion knotting in her throat, she asked, "Does she have any plans to come see you play at any of our upcoming matches?"

"Nah," Jamie huffed. "No plans for any upcoming matches, no."

"Well then perhaps you should invite her." When he turned towards her with a question written in his furrowed, handsome face, she elaborated, "You know we always have spare tickets set aside for friends and family."

"I do know that, yeah." His eyes darted away from her. Some of the excitement faded from his expression. "Really, I appreciate the offer, but she doesn't come out to my games in Manchester either. She's good with catching me on TV when she can."

All signs indicated that she had hit a sore spot. She shouldn't interfere. Really, that would be the height of hypocrisy- her telling anyone what they should or shouldn't do about their parents. But with her hand gripped tight around the heart in her phone-

She was trying to do better.

Her mother had chosen gladly to stay in the ivory tower her father built. Rebecca might not be able to talk her into coming down, but perhaps she could convince Jamie not to leave closed a door that served him better open.

So she pressed, "How about you invite her to our semifinal match at Wembley?"

He froze up next to her.

"I know that we're playing against your old club, but really, it's a huge accomplishment for the team to have made it this far, and we wouldn't have done it without you," she told him bluntly. His ears caught pink. Emboldened, she continued, "And even if she doesn't care for football, I'm sure she'd love to see you. You can make a special occasion of it. Treat her to a night in London. I know two weeks is rather short notice, but I'm sure Higgins can help arrange some wonderful accommodations-"

"That's not going to happen," he cut her off sharply.

No. No, it wasn't a door at all. Rebecca knew that icy chill. For more than five years, she'd wake to find it haunting the cracks of her reflection in the mirror. Attention focused his straight ahead, not from awkwardness at the situation but in pure dismissal. Every one of Jamie's expressive features was schooled in position of bland indifference, a perfectly sculpted shell made out of a person.

Tower or not, he dawned his armour all the same.

"My apologies," she spoke softly. "I shouldn't have pushed."

They continued their walk up the stairs in silence.

When they arrived, he held up her coat and bag and asked in a nonchalant tone that bordered on boredom, "So where do you want these, then?"

It was exactly the attitude she'd expected from him at the start. Disappointment crawled into her chest and made a home.

"Right there on the tree by the door is fine," she sighed.

His brow furrowed. "Right there by the what- woah." He took a step back, eyeing her coat rack tree up and down appraisingly. "Nice. That's fucking mint, that is. You've got good taste."

A sharp laugh escaped her. "Why thank you. I happen to think so as well."

He hung her bag up. Then, gingerly, he arranged her coat on the other, smoothing out any wrinkles.

Guilt and care made for a strong mix at half eight in the morning. It would take a crueler person than her to leave things on such a sour note when he'd been nothing but darling company before she opened her mouth.

Willing to make a fool of herself one more time, Rebecca called out before he could leave- "Jamie."

He halted, already halfway out the door.

"I- apologise, if my earlier remark made you uncomfortable. I truly didn't mean for it. I only meant to say that-"

She took a step towards him. He stepped back, one foot out of the office.

Her heart felt positively chilled.

"The door is always open," she finished, defeat numbing her ears to her own pitch. Nonetheless, she perserved, determined to say her part even if the wind stole it away. "If you ever do change your mind, talk to Higgins. He'll see to it that she's treated like a VIP. Anyone important to you is important to this club."

A shadow crossed over his face; some dark presence moving in the tower just out of sight.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said cautiously. Then, as simple as snapping his fingers, he closed back up. The armour latched shut, and in it's place was the usual cocky arrogance -- the one she found herself growing reluctantly fond towards. He gave her a wave. "Thanks, Ms. Welton. You've been a help."

She frowned. Gathering the only name she'd never shared with disappointment to her chest, she shouted after him, "It's Rebecca!"

He was already gone, the sound of his footsteps on the stairs the only response.

[johnslittlespoon]

Tryna study but puppy bucky brain rot :(.

how about leaving bucky adjusting to living with (bike riders) gale, bucky being excited and just taking every opportunity to be with him. gale teasing him calling him a lap dog. gale being used to his piece and quiet (hes not annoyed obviously but bucky might think he is). some reassurance fluff and maybe some oral cockwarming occurs... lalala

ughh more leaving!bikeriders au? yk how to rope me into brainrotting lol also puppy bucky brainrot is truly forever. there's no escape </3 nsfw + 1.5k words of pure drabble under the cut, ffs

john's so shy at first, so scared of intruding because he's anxious gale feels obligated to take him in out of guilt and out of worry about where john will stay if he doesn't, because they're really not in enough of a serious relationship to warrant moving in together at that point.

he's probably also got a lot of insecurities regarding stability and consistency in men from being raised by an angry, unpredictable father, and hasn't ever experienced home feeling like a safe place, as well as not having a lot of relationship experience in general, so it's a slow adjustment, and he always feels like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop, or for gale to get tired of him.

but slowly he starts to believe gale when he continuously and patiently assures him he wants him there, that he doesn't want him to go worrying about renting somewhere, he wants him to focus on college, he likes having him around, etc etc. gale is so sweet and patient with him, he knows he's just had his life uprooted and he knows he struggles with feeling wanted and feeling secure. he wants him to feel safe and comfortable and to be able to do well school, so he does everything he can to make sure it's a good environment, subtly establishing little routines that involve both of them so john can ease himself into some sort of stability.

once the reassurance and consistency really sink in with john, he gets to properly start enjoying the domesticity and comfort of living with gale, and then he is glued to gale's side, and he's so fascinated with how gale lives and what he gets up to when they aren't together. if gale's in the kitchen cooking, john is either right next to him 'helping', or he's sat at the table studying. if gale's on the couch watching tv, john is draped over his lap or curled up at his side. if gale's in the driveway working on his bike, john's laid out on the lawn with a book (though not much reading gets done because he can't stop staring and borderline drooling as he watches gale sweat in the sun.)

when gale's at work (thinking maybe his day job is something mechanic–adjacent? will sort all that stuff out eventually) and john's lecture ends before he gets home, john either ends up studying in gale's spot on the couch in one of gale's hoodies, or he raids the kitchen and attempts to cook them both dinner, giggling when gale gets home and finds him in the kitchen and wraps his arms around his waist from behind and calls him "my little housewife, hm?"

it's definitely an adjustment for gale too, not coming home from work to an empty house, not running on his own schedule, used to being a lone wolf, but he finds he really does like coming home to john. his quiet house feels alive, lived in for the first time, little pieces of john scattered around once john gets over the initial fear his home life has instilled in him of ever leaving the slightest bit of evidence that he even lives there.

of course there are points of contention occasionally, little bouts of bickering and angst, but they're almost always caused either by john pushing a bit too much when his brain urges him to self sabotage and 'prove' to himself that gale will snap at him/abandon him one day, or by gale not realizing he's being distant when he's stressed, or has said something in a thoughtless/blunt way. it's stuff they both work on together, and sometimes bad habits rear their heads, but it's nothing that communication can't fix.

and there are always... alternative methods of stress reduction they can turn to. gale's watching tv one evening and he can see john getting progressively more frustrated with whatever he's trying to study at the table, the telltale rapid bounce of his leg, chewing his lips to hell, cheek slumped into his hand. so he says john's name to get his attention, waits for him to look up and tells him "come sit, baby. take a break." and as if john can say no to that.

john crawls into his lap to straddle his thighs with a smile and a "this seat taken?" and gale watches him with amusement, can't help but laugh quietly at the way he makes himself right at home before gale can even respond, teases, "you think you're my lap dog, now?"

john hums like he has to contemplate it, hands resting on gale's shoulders, head tilted a little. says, "maybe. you gonna give me a bone?" with the cheekiest lopsided grin and a lazy roll of his hips, all proud of himself for his quip.

the smugness doesn't last long though, because gale has john lay down next to him, and slides down enough that john can lay his head on his stomach so he can face the tv while he keeps his mouth full of gale's cock. john might complain when he realizes the way his evening is about to go, but both of them know he loves it, even if he gets impatient and worked up.

gale can tell it's exactly what he needs, because the restlessness seeps out of him, eyes drooping as gale runs his fingers through messy curls, working out the tangles of the day, stomach feeling like a pit of molten lava from the hot, soft, wet heat enveloping him. john's tongue lightly presses up against his dick each time he swallows, but he's being so good listening to gale's instructions to sit nice and still, and gale makes sure to tell him so.

a drawled out "good job, baby. feel nice?" and a gentle brush of his thumb over john's cheekbone when he gets a flush and a shy nod in response. a coo of "c'mon sweetheart, you can sit pretty for a little bit longer, can't you?" when he sees john's hips start to shift down against the couch out of the corner of his eye. a murmur of "that's it, puppy, relax, let me do the work" as he lazily rolls his hips up into john's mouth, groaning when he feels a whine around his cock.

a "gonna be a good boy and take it all?" and smiling at the immediate "mm–hmm" he gets, giving john a teasing "so needy" before gale's losing himself to the feeling of his tongue and throat working around him, rambling out praise and compliments until he's spilling into that heat, john moaning around him the whole way. has to gently pull john off him by his hair when he keeps desperately lapping at his cock, rutting his hips down against the couch, muffles the whine of complaint as he leans down and tilts john's face towards his to capture his lips with his own.

and then he moves john onto his back, gets his pants off and kisses his way up his legs, taking his time because he knows john's so worked up that he's not gonna last once he gets his lips around him. gently bites at his hips, runs his hands up and down his thighs, plants open–mouthed kisses to his stomach in between murmured praises, "did so good", "such a pretty mouth", "my good boy."

john always gets so shy and bashful when gale treats him soft like this, no matter how many times they've fooled around, or how many times he's loud–mouthed himself into much less sweet and gentle scenarios. gale adores it, he loves looking up from between john's legs and seeing the pretty flush on his face, the bitten–red lips, the dazed, lovesick look in his eyes.

gale loves watching the way john's mouth falls open when he gets his own mouth around him, pinning his hips down with his hands, feeling them jerk desperately beneath his hold as the prettiest whines and mewls and pleas tumble from john's lips. he flattens his tongue along the underside of john's cock and sinks all the way down, and then he takes pity when he feels the way his thighs begin to tremble beneath him, loosening his hold and letting john's hips stutter up into his mouth as he falls apart so fast it makes gale's head spin, gasped out "fuck"s and "thank you"s like music to his ears.

gives john a taste of his own medicine, hollowing out his cheeks and working his tongue around him until john's hips are trying to squirm away from the overstimulation, a hand gently tugging at his hair, and gale can't help but tease him when he pulls off, "that worked up, just from having my cock in your mouth?"

smiles at the flush that immediately creeps over john's face, the quiet whine of protest. he pushes himself to his knees and crawls up john's body to soothe him with a deep kiss, rumbling low at the way nails dig into his shoulder blades, at the way john pants into the kiss, at the way he can feel john's cock twitch with interest against his bare thigh, huffing out a laugh at how fast he's always ready to go again.

"feeling better?" gale asks, as if john's blissed out state isn't answer enough, and john sighs dreamily against his lips, nodding. "you're gonna kill me, john." the giggle he gets in return seals gale's fate.

[somestorythoughts]

Back on my Eldritch Jedi Bullshit

Thinking about eldritch Jedi/Force-Users but not all Jedi. And on the one hand, Anakin being born of the Force and being unbelievably eldritch is good and I like it but on the other hand, Anakin being very powerful but not Eldritch unlike some other Jedi is very funny. See here for a very good version of that.

So some of the Jedi are eldritch. There are faces in their shadows, true faces that aren't silhouettes. There are sunrises and storms and flowers in their eyes. There are more teeth in their mouths than there should be, longer tongues, Power in their voices thrumming along the beats of your heart. There are thorns sprouting from their collarbones, leaves from the gaps in their exoskeletons, ferns from between their feathers. There is sunlight, fire, plasma burning and glowing in their veins, light that can darken into poison, poison that can be purified into sunlight once again. Because Falling doesn't mean you stop burning.

It's tucked away, out of sight. Restrained, much like their emotions. Because when your power reacts to your emotions and you can crush tanks with your mind, it's not physically hard to crush people. They're so much more fragile. The Jedi don't preach self-control for shits and giggles. Sometimes, great power comes with the responsibility not to use it.

And being eldritch it isn't about how powerful you are, though there's some correlation. It's about the way the Force interacts with you. It's the difference between being a channel for the Force and being the Force made flesh.

It's also not something you talk about much in the Temple. It's not exactly a secret, but it's not really the subject of gossip and to people who don't share those traits, it tends to be described as "improving control of one's emotions/relation to the Force." It's personal. Like recognizes like, and padawans with that type of connection tend to get Master's with the same connection. That relationship to the Force makes it easier to lash out, and that's not good for anyone.

It doesn't help that some planets are already leery of regular Jedi. they Really Don't Like the eldritch ones. So over time, this connection became something that was touched on in The Force 101 classes and then not discussed much outside of it by people who DON'T have that connection. Qui-Gon didn't have it, neither did Dooku. Obi-wan doesn't have it, though he knows of it. Anakin Skywalker, as powerful as he is, didn't have it.

Ahsoka Tano does.

Like recognizes like, and most eldritch Force Users know another when they see them. The Jedi make a point, not only of assigning those padawans to similar masters but of taking in those younglings even if they're a bit older than usual. But sometimes, someone just get missed. Sometimes no one sees a youngling's extra teeth, sometimes there aren't any eldritch Jedi in the creche when nightmares scrape the walls, sometimes that connection to the Force is just quiet. Sometimes, that connection to the Force isn't noticed before a Padawan is assigned a Master. Had he known, Yoda would never have assigned Ahsoka to Anakin.

This isn't a slight against Anakin, to be clear. There's advantages to making sure that padawans have masters who know how to help them with their brand of weird Force shenanigans, or at the very least, are regularly meeting with Masters that can help. In normal times, Ahsoka's eldritchness would probably have been noticed within a couple years (if you don't know how to restrain it, it will eventually start showing more) and then she and Anakin would have been introduced to some Eldritch Jedi who would assist with the training. But this isn't normal times. So none of the Jedi notice.

Plo or Obi-Wan could have. Plo's eldritch, and he cares about Ahsoka, but so much of their communication over the war was done over comms. Obi-Wan, having grown up with Quinlan Vos, thinks he knows what eldritch Force Sensitivity looks like and to be fair, if he wasn't distracted by the war he probably would have noticed. But war is Extremely Distracting and Ahsoka's connection is quieter than Quinlan's. He, and Plo, are distracted, and so so tired. So they miss the changing teeth, the periodic gleam in her shadow, the marching beat under her words when on the battlefield that beats in sync with the troopers' boots. And Anakin? He means well and he's trying, but he doesn't know that this is a thing to look for and he can be a bit oblivious.

You know who does notice? The clones. In particular, Kix.

Most all the clones are hypervigilant, thank you Kamino trauma. So they pay A Lot of attention to anything that registers as potentially threatening, even subconsiously. Ahsoka's a kid and they grow to trust her quickly, but there was a time when she was a new inexperienced commanding officer. And after that they were helping to teach her and look out for Threats to the Little Sister, so they were very observant where Ahsoka was concerned.

They don't know enough about Torgurta or Jedi to know what's normal for one, but they do notice the things that don't stay constant. The way her shadow changes, the way her teeth and hands sometimes change shape. Things that are rare in sentients.

Things Ahsoka has started to notice, and worry about.

Kix meanwhile, is a medic who just got an adolescent Togruta put under his care and he has no idea how to take care of her. The Kaminoans weren't told that the medics would be responsible for the jedi (one of those little details that was never clarified and caused confusion in the beginning) so they trained the medics to take care of the other clones and gave them access to some basic medical info for other species for emergency measures. So almost all of Kix's medical knowledge is specifically How to Treat Injuries and Illnesses in Male Humans; Children to Young Adults. Sure, there's overlap, but not enough.

(Yes, the medics do have a private chat where they trade tips and resources and vent about their respective dumbasses. It's a multipurpose chat.)

So he does a lot of research to make sure he can treat Ahsoka properly when she's inevitably injured. He notices things that Do Not Line Up and with Ahsoka's permission reaches out to the Jedi healers.

Now, if eyes might start hovering around your patients when you're doing surgery, that's valuable information to know. So all of the healers know about the eldritchness. They're able to tell Kix and Ahsoka what's going on.

And where it goes from there? I can't say. I can tell you one thing for sure, Mortis undoubtedly makes it WORSE.

[god-has-entered-my-body]

thinking abt matty / girlie casually kissing g outside of a sexual sitaution for the first time before they properly define things and its mutually like oh. oh.

i am blushing

Alright so up until this point, none of you had really talked about labels or anything, i mean you and Matty are barely defined as something let alone you and George or George and Matty.

So when he does come over, alone, just to sit and hangout and eat food, you sense the air shift dramatically. This isn't just platonic, it cant be in any sense of the word. You first notice this when Matty and George are in the kitchen together, in direct view of you, plating food (and by food its frozen fries and fillets, nothing fancy). Stood shoulder to shoulder, you can see Matty tense up whenever George touched him, his whole body rigid.

Its when they both turn to bring the plates, two plates in George's hands and one in Matty's that Matty stops in his tracks, the eye contact between his and the blond as intense as ever. You could feel the tension radiating off the pair as Matty turned his head upwards to press his lips to George's, the kiss chaste as he closes his eyes, giving into the sensation.

When they do pull away, they stare at each other for longer than necessary, and George nods in response to Matty's silent question. He couldn't quite define the question, but somehow, he knew what Matty was asking, not a single word leaving his lips. You eat your food together, in your normal positions, if only a bit closer to G this time.

-

The first time you kiss George outside of a sexual setting happens not even a few hours later, while you're sprawled across the sofa, your back against George's chest and you can feel his heartbeat under his ribs, low and rhythic. Matty sits on your legs, the pressure limiting but not stopping your movement as you look up at George, who instead of paying attention to the show is staring straight at you, eyes flicking over each of your features, taking you in in your entirety.

You can feel Matty's eyes on the two of you, just like yours were on them that moment in the kitchen. George kisses you sweetly, no ulterior motives and in a way that is inherently pure, your lips barely brushing against each other. Your heart beats at a million miles a minute, making you feel dizzy as he does it again, his hand resting right above your chest as you neck cranes to kiss him.

Matty just stares, enjoying the sight of the two people he loves most in this world kissing, his heart swelling up with adoration.

Now labels? There's never a "what are we?" conversation, the three of you just know. George starts spending most of his days in your house, cooking edible meals and teaching you how to properly make cocktails. It feels right, domestic even, how every night is spent in your shared bed, George on the left, you on the right, and Matty facedown in the middle, his soft snores prompting loving gazes from both of you.

[faislittlewhiteraven]

Tower of Dormont ISaT AU

Had a weird dream I figured would make a great ISaT AU if anyone wants to take a swing at it so umm, general idea:

Instead of the House being taken over by the King, instead the Favor Tree is warped into an evergrowing tower reaching up, up, up into the heavens.

Instead of the King's Curse slowly making its way across the land and Mirabelle being the 'Chosen One' to collect the orbs to stop it, it's time freezing Sadnesses raining down from the top of the Tower all over Vaugarde and surrounding countries, with heroes from all over (Euphie, Claude, various Defenders, people from other countries, etc) heading into the Tower to figure out what is happening only to never return...

And well. It looks like the end for Vaugarde, Mirabelle (having finally hit the 'I know what Euphrasie said but I've got to do something' point) has recruited Isa, Odile and Bonnie for a last ditch effort to try and stop the world from ending by Tower and...

Within the first few floors (which keep changing but kind of look like... The House of Dormont? No, that bit there looks like Odile's family home, and that room there is just like Nille's???) they find an unlocked bedroom and in that room an exhausted, terrified and near hopeless Siffrin who can barely remember anything from his life before being imprisoned here (even takes a bit to recall his name over the now despised 'Bright One') but after a bit of coaxing they admit they know a LOT about the floors ahead and might be willing to help the party reach the top of the Tower where they can put a stop to the madness going on outside but in return they must not let the King catch them (not again not again not again)...

Party are actually pretty cool with this (you know, aside from general 'is this person legit or actually an enemy?' concerns) but well, it's hard not to notice as their guide goes from barely able to fight beyond weak scissors craft and buffs to healing and every craft type under the sun. From claiming they don't know what's behind a certain door or above the next floor to explaining in detail that the prisoners in cages on the next floor are all Sadnesses, or that 'the King is coming, he hasn't realised I've left the room yet but I need something, anything, to mask my scent' (and later gets everyone to leave false trails down halls via jars of sugar and honey they picked up a few rooms previous). From claiming that the party are the only other people they've ever seen here to having near breakdowns over finding books or paintings with imagery and words that seem eerily familiar (think a book that reads like 'Claude wonders why Euphrasie and their amnesiac guide are so fussed about the walls here apparently being covered in stars? Why do stars matter anyway?'), etc.

Oh and they glow more and more with each floor which er, is probably going to make hiding from the King (who is VERY DEFINITELY after them judging from all the "Bright One, you know you are not supposed to leave you room. You do not want me angry again do you Bright One?" roaring) increasingly difficult.

...

And yeah. I don't actually know what is going on in this story beyond cool imagery due to the whole 'Literally woke up with this in my head because dream' but...

Been thinking it's kinda like an 'end game Persona series' situation where a chance friendly meeting/talk between Sif and the King right before the King's rampage would've started, led to the King to realizing he could use his Wish Craft to force the people of Vaugarde to 'wish with him' (see: escalating brainwashing madness), forcing a terrified Sif to go along with it (no brainwashing for the Bright One no, not when they were clearly sent by the Universe to be the King's guide ignore the Bright One's screams that this is wrong, that they want nothing to do with this; clearly oracles only relay the Universe's intent not share it themselves), and the current 'raining time freezing Sadnesses/Sif clearly being stuck in some weird looping variant' stuff being the result of Sif's 'Please protect Vaugarde and restore our home' wish said at the King's orders being heard by the Universe as "please Universe do whatever you can to stop all of Vaugarde- No, the world from falling under the King's control! + Someone, anyone save me! + 'immense amounts of self loathing and a desire to known and held accountable for inadvertently sparking a man made apocalypse' + Universe I wish I had people who actually cared about me/who would never only use me as a tool to save the world" and er well. The Universe had a way to 'protect everyone from the King' that would also kind of fit the King's wishes, a whole heap of power from all the brainwashed people the King was leading plus the 'meant to be repurposed' freezing all of Vaugarde in time ritual the King crafted to work from Dormont and... Yeah. Add to that people all over Vaugarde and possibly other countries 'adding' to the 'please save us' wish bank after Sif had already accidently centered it all around himself and basically both Sif's loops and the Sadness hell storm are being powered up by everyone everywhere in one huge ball of 'Hmm, I wonder if this all ends with the King getting killed or is there gonna be a big old morality question thingy post King killing at the end where Sif, upon remembering that "this is all my fault" tries to get the others to kill him which other heroes may have done (and thus triggering the loop, sending Sif back to the start possibly missing memories of them to hide away in shame/terror/etc) whereas Mira, Isa, Odile and Bonnie have gotten far too attached to this tragic, self sacrificing idiot and were willing to let the rest of the world be fully frozen for the rest of Sif's natural lifespan if it meant he could finally be free (not happy about it mind you, but like, just the 5 of them living in a quiet world until everyone else is safely freed after Sif's natural death is better than murdering someone who went through an eternity of horrors to protect a world they couldn't even remember and who's death might not even be the true answer anyway)'.

Oh and the King should basically be treated like a yandere version of the Reaper or something throughout the story (dream had way too many 'and then the King was suddenly there killing someone until Sif slashes their throat -no tears to use in this Tower alas- and from the party's perspective basically has a 'vision of the future' and/or freakout for seemingly no reason in the middle of Snack Time), while each of the many many floors of the Tower are basically due to being altered to match the minds of everyone (frozen or not) in the Tower, kinda like a Palace or P4 dungeon, due to well, Sif unconsciously wanting to learn more about them, wanting to remember/forget, possibly on some level wanting the King to how horrible this all actually is IDK (snack rooms, like the bedroom Sif was in are basically P5 saferooms but less 'area weak in cognition' and more 'Sif wishes for there to be places safe from the King and all the Sadness so there are some even if he knows he can't stay in them forever least they become prisons for him'). ...Might be nightmare floors as well? To represent Sif's terror of bad things happening to anyone he becomes attached to and wanting to be able to protect them so basically, they are accidentally making their own opposition (possibly based off of what they hear the others being afraid of/the desire to be useful to them) and I think Slay the Princess might make for great inspiration there if you need an idea of how crazy that might go~ XD

...So. Yeah. If anyone wants to use any of this for any fanfic ideas, please go ahead as I kind of would like to focus on my Selkie Au and fics for other fandoms more than this weird dream that basically took over my brain and said SHARE in caps so loud I've been stuck thinking about it ever since.