#am probably too hard on myself but any time i speak and get no answer

[first-ex-wife]

.

[ughdontbeboring]

hidden.

Feyd x WoC Reader (can be read by anyone tho)

you and Feyd have this thing and it can never be more.

warnings: Feyd bc let’s be real, smut, a little degradation, breeding kink

note: I love feyd, don’t know if I did him justice at all BUT the need to write him just won’t leave me be. I have a few others in the works so let’s see how it goes. Also no proofread, it’s late and I’m horny so yea.

No description of ethnicity but reader when I write is always written with myself in mind. It’s soooo self indulgent.

if you like it, love it, fuck with it leave some love. I DO NOT give permission for my shit to be used anywhere by anyone.

x

x

You know you shouldn’t be doing this but you just can’t help yourself. In all honesty how could you be expected to control yourself and behave like a lady of a great house when HE exists, when he was fucking you completely stupid against this cold wall in a darken slightly hidden hallway in the fortress. 

You were extremely thankful this meeting of the great houses was taking place on Giedi Prime because not a living soul on this planet would dare speak of seeing the sight that the two of you made. Completely lost in each other, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he fucked into you with a desperate need, his muscular ass on display, your face full of pleasure as he bite love marks into your chest where your breast were fully exposed - because he knows there’s less chance of anyone seeing and he only even thinks of that for you and your honor - His plump lips pulling a nipple into his soft wet mouth to suck making you cry out.

Even your handmaids could be sent away and wait where they wouldn’t be spotted without you because he could do so on his own home planet though he probably could manage it on any planet he was that feared. You were lucky enough to sway your father to let you bring the only two you knew you could trust. 

You could hardly keep your thoughts together when a particularly hard slow thrust made you scream out. You knew you were caught letting your mind wonder. 

He tsked against your ear, his blacken teeth nipping the lobe before his tongue flicked it.

“Am I boring you my lady?” His deep raspy voice questioned in the deathly quiet hallway. 

“No my love, know s-sometimes can’t help it” You answered breathlessly as you pulled your head back, your hand cradling his cheek as your eyes finally found each others.

Sometimes you got too caught in your thoughts and worries about being found, something he didn’t like. He was the kind of man that didn’t like anything to take your attention away from him and with the limited time your both able to find to be together he demanded you were fully present with him at all times and if not he’d have to bring that pretty little mind of yours back to the situation at hand.

He smirked, it was then you realized he had pulled out. The empty feeling sitting in. 

“Then let me help you” 

Before you could respond his thick long cock was pushing past your sensitive lips and burying its self deep within you to the hilt. You choked on your own scream as his pelvis pulled back and snapped forward with another hard thrust. You felt every veiny inch of him within your slick tight walls. 

“Oh fuck” you moaned eyes rolling back as he continued his short brutal thrusts “oh Feyd, please”. 

“Please what?” His deep voice mocked.

“Please, please wanna cum” you mumbled hardly getting the words out as your head fell backwards into the wall.

“Would you let me fuck you like this in front of all of them? In front of him?” He mocked some more, the “him” carrying the hatred you knew he had for the man he viewed as weak that your father had promised you to. 

“Oh god yes! ‘M all yours!” You yelled desperately, pinned to the wall like decor, a fine piece of art as he drove his cock into you at that tortuous pace. It was hard, slow and deep. 

His large rough callous hands which were somehow still soft held your bare ass under your dress to keep you in place as he fucked you. His fingers tips gripped you so tight you were sure there would be bruising. 

“Let him see how wet I make you? How my pretty girl screams for me? Begging for my cock?” He rasped as his eyes bore into yours, your faces were so close at this point your sure you both were just breathing in eachothers breaths.

Your tight walls clenched even harder on his throbbing cock causing him to falter slightly, his hips needing a split second to get back into rhythm. 

“Fuck!” He roared in that unique tone of his, “Look at you getting wet like a whore” he spat at you, though there was no malice.

“Getting fucking wet when I talk about fucking you in front of him, is that what you want? Want him and the whole known universe to know that you belong to me? That you belong to na-Baron Feyd Rutha Harkonnen? Know how well you take my cock?” He gritted, the look of pure possessiveness in his blue eyes as his nostrils flared, his full bottom lip being pulled between his teeth.

You couldn’t help the tears that sprung, and your nails that dug into his back no doubt breaking skin, you heard the hiss pass through his lips at the pleasure of it but he was just fucking you so good, splitting you wide open on his cock and saying the most nastiness things a lady of a great house should never hear. He was speaking to you a way no one would ever dare and it was driving crazy you like he knows it always does. 

“Y-yes! Wan’ them all to know!” You moaned as your shaky breath washed over his full lips. You closed the small space and took his mouth upon yours, his opening immediately to take dominance over your tongue. The kiss was just as messy and sloppy as the fucking currently happening in a hallway anyone could walk down. Yet you couldn’t care less because of the pure ecstasy he was making you feel and because you knew Feyd would kill anyone stupid enough to walk this way, let along gaze upon you in this state. 

The rest of the world may have not knew but those here did and they knew better than to ever speak on it. 

Here they all know you belong to Feyd and that made your heart soar because you’d give anything for all to know. 

“Fuck pretty girl” he groaned against your wet mouth, “You’re dripping down my balls, my fucking thighs are wet with you”.

His words just made you moan louder.

“Go head, cum for me, let go my pretty little pet” he rasped.

The scream that tore through you should make you embarrassed how much you sounded like a common whore but nothing in you could muster a care in the world. Feyd was worth everything. Worth getting caught, worth the embarrassment on your family, worth whatever came with being found out. 

Your body shook as the force of your orgasm pushed Feyd’s cock out, momentarily catching him off guard before the loss of your heat and your desperate whine at the action caused him to snap back in action and drive his cock back in til he was brushing your cervix. 

Your body continued to shake as your pussy claimed his cock in a vice grip and your eyes rolled back, your mouth hanging open with some slight drool down the corner. Everything about the moment sent a chill down Feyd’s  spine as his balls drew tight and his cock swelled, the release of his cum shooting into your warmth and drenching your walls with his thick seed. 

How Feyd wished more then anything you both could allowed it to take, the thought of you claimed in that way, round with his child caused Feyd release to prolong. A groan ripping through his chest, as his cock continued to spurt his cum into your warm haven. Desperate to see you round, full of him. 

“Fuck!” 

Your hands guided his head as you brought him in for an embrace. Your faces pressed together.

The both of you stayed that way for awhile. Deep breathing slowly coming to a normal pace as the mixture from both your releases cooled on each of your thighs. 

He slowly pulled out his soften cock as you verbally mourned the loss. 

Feyd helped you fix yourself before slipping his cock back into his pants and pulling them back over his hips. He hadn’t pull them down far to begin with with the rush you both were in. Just enough to get his impressive cock out. 

“Did you mean it?” He asked catching you off guard with the softness and vulnerability of his deep raspy tone. 

You searched his handsome face looking for an answer before it hit you. You fought back the tears that threaten to fall. The sadness that washed over you you wished wasn’t the reality.

“Of course, more than anything but we both know it would never happen Feyd. I am already betrothed” you remind him. “My father will not reconsider, not while house Fenring has offered so much and he still carry’s hatred for the Baron”.

Feyd didn’t seem surprised at your statement, it was the truth you both knew. He just seemed to be contemplating and that worried you. You didn’t want him to do anything that would get himself into trouble.

x

It was two long days later when you got to see Feyd again, this time in the arena. You don’t understand how it all happened because it had happened so quickly. 

You were sitting up in the guest seats watching with a few the other young lady’s of great houses, gossiping about Feyds skill and brutality with the rest of your respective families when Feyd had just finished his slaughter. He stood there proud after taking off his shield and finishing in an even more entertaining way when all realized some of the slaves weren’t drugged. 

He raised a single fist as the roar from the area slowly came to a stop. A servant rushed to him handing over something. You sat watching with all wondering what was happening since this wasn’t customary for the end of the fight. 

“What is the na-Baron up to?” One of the lords from the other houses asked as everyone watched. 

Your heart raced as you watched through your glasses as he brought a mic up to his mouth. He smirked before announcing his challenge to the young lord of house Fenring for your hand in marriage.

You could swear he looked directly up at you high in the sky above him smirking before he cut his palm, made a fist and pounded his chest in a salute of ultimate respect. The stunned crowed of Giedi Prime following their beloved na-Baron. The sound was deafening. Your breathing stopped as you heard all the gasps around you. The young lady’s grasping at you asking a million questions as your father and Lord Fenring jumped to their feet yelling their rage at the disrespect of the young na-Baron. For they understood things were different here and just like the na-Baron was currently explaining on Giedi Prime his challenge must be accepted by the young lord himself and he would not be able to choose a fighter instead where the laws of marriage was considered. It was fight to the death or be shamed and seen as weak. Which on Giedi Prime was seen as the worst fate. To refuse meant House Harkkonen would refuse to acknowledge House Fenring because of their weakness. All deals and trade voided. 

You couldn’t slow your breathing as you leaned on the railing watching him watching you. You could hear the commotion around you and the young lord Fenring fighting with his father over his acceptance before making his way out the room. Hope bloomed in your chest, you knew your father could not refuse a display like this. Such an open declaration of love, of ownership. You were his and he would fight to the death to make it so in all ways.

It wasn’t long before you seen doors on the stadium floor beginning to open. And Feyd’s smirk turned into a monstrous smile full of blackened teeth. You were his and it was time all knew. Giedi Prime would finally have their na-Baroness. 

x

x

[oo-delallymrcrow]

Cuddle

Summary: you and the tabaxi have a nice talk and then cuddle

A/N: aw guys!! ☺️ I'm so happy that you liked Meeting Carnivàl Lecroux and wanted more! I already have a few things in the works but I got the request for one with Morning Frost and I was half way done so here it is!! I hope you like it and if anyone has any other requests please feel free to ask!

"Ah, hello, (Y/N).”

You open your eyes and see an upside down Frost as he looms over you. It was the evening and everyone was just relaxing and staying in. Kremy and Gideon in their room together. Gricko, Torbek, and Twig were playing children's games and drinking hot coco together. Hootsie was cuddle up on the couch with you when Frost entered the common room.

You stretch and yawn as Hootsie lets out a quiet hoot before jumping off the couch and heading toward her dad, stoping to rub against Frost and walking away.

Frost let put a chuckle as Hootsie rubbed against him before moving to where Hootsie was taking up the couch. He sat in the vacant spot, crossing his long legs as he does, adjusting his cloak and robe over his frame. He speaks in a monotone manner and a dry, sarcastic tone that may come off as uncaring to those who do not know his personality. Luckily, you have been getting to know Frost lately over your shared passion for knowledge and books. His yellow eyes land on you as he sits down, a neutral expression on his furry face.

"So, how are you faring, my dear? Enjoying yourself?”

You hum with a small smile on your face as you sit up, "I am. It's been nice getting to relax and just take some time for ourselves. How are you Frost? Enjoying any new books?"

Frost tilted his head back against the couch and shrugged. He crossed his arms and tapped his clawed fingers against his bicep. He seems to think for a moment before looking back at you, his ears twitch as he thinks of an answer.

"I've been working through a book of poetry, actually. Not exactly my style, but I find it quite relaxing to read to myself."

His neutral, aloof expression softens a bit more as he speaks. He is, as usual, calm and collected, but you can see small hints of emotion in his eyes and mannerisms.

You sit up a little as he mentions reading poetry and nod your head.

"I do love a bit of poetry myself. But I get how it's not everyone's style. I think you have to find the right words to really give the reader the right emotions and once it does." You put your hands up and make a little explosion noise. "Magic happens.”

Frost's eyebrows rise slightly, probably surprised by the unexpected enthusiasm in your voice. He hums and nods in agreement, his long, pointed ears twitching once again.

"Hm, perhaps that is the problem. The poetry I'm reading is rather bland and lacks that... 'oomph' you speak of."

Hiis expression became a little more amused, a slight smirk crossing his face. He crosses one leg over the other and looks at you properly.

"Maybe you have some suggestions.”

You blink in surprise but nod your head as you lean a little closer.

"Oh I think I could help. What are you wanting exactly? What are you trying to give the reader in your poetry? Happiness, sadness, maybe a little romance?”

As you lean in towards him, a smile appears on Frost's face. He leans forward a bit as well, his eyes locked on yours intently. He lets out a thoughtful sigh and hums for a moment, contemplating the question.

"I suppose I'm looking for those... feelings which are difficult to put into words. Feelings of melancholy, perhaps, but not quite. Almost as if you are missing something in your life, but can't remember what."

He pauses for a moment and lets out a quiet chuckle.

"Or maybe I'm looking too hard.”

"Naw you're just thinking too hard. Just got to say what comes to mind."

You pause and look away for a second before turning back to him and clear your throat; "here let me try a little something. Don't laugh if it doesn't sound good, alright?”

Frost tilted his head to the side, his yellow eyes studying you intently. He nods and clasps his hands together in his lap, giving you his full attention.

"Alright, I will do my best to refrain from laughing... No promises there."

His smile becomes a little more bemused, as he leans back against the couch and waits for you to begin.

"Ok maybe something like,

‘There’s a whisper in the wind tonight,

A gentle sigh I can’t quite hear,

A yearning wrapped in twilight’s light,

For something lost, yet ever near.’"

As you mutter the last words you blush and look away from Frost. You twist your hands in your lap and awkwardly chuckle as you shake my head.

"It's probably not very good but maybe something a little like that could work?”

Frost looks almost taken aback for a moment by the words you spoke. He looks at you as you look away, but notice his eyes lock on your hands as you twist and rub them together. He could tell you are nervous by the gesture and the blush on your cheek. However, he is more preoccupied on the words themselves.

You sit in silence as Frost stares intently at your hands before you laugh and hide your face in your hands.

"Oh that was bad wasn't it? Sorry I've never really written or spoke poetry before.”

Frost shakes his head and lets out a little sigh, smiling fondly.

"Nonsense, that was beautiful. You painted such a clear picture with your words, even a 'non-poetry enjoyer' such as myself could see it."

*He chuckles a litte, "I was more surprised that you spoke the words in such a... captivating manner. You really seemed to be able to convey the emotion of the words. Where did you learn to do that?”

You peek out from under your hands and shrug as you place them in your lap again. You lean back into the couch as you stare up at the ceiling.

"I don't know. I've always liked lovely words and listening to people speak or sing. I actually listen to a lot of music and just hearing the way people put there emotions in songs, is just like poetry in a way.”

Frost nods and hums as he listens to your explanation, watching you intently as you speak and stare up at the ceiling. He can most likely sense the underlying anxiety in your voice as you speak and the way your hands twitch together and occasionally rub your comfy pants.

"I see. Well, it certainly shows. Even if you have not written or spoken much poetry in the past, what little I heard makes me believe you have a very good grasp on what good poetry sounds like.”

You smile and turn your head to Frost, "thanks Frost. Maybe I'll try and take up poetry whenever we have time."

You hear loud footsteps as Gideon walks through the room, heading toward the kitchen with a yawn. He looks like he just woke up from a nap as he glances over and waves, "sup lovebirds. What are you two talking about?”

You and Frost turn heads as Gideon walks into the room. Frost glances at the back of Gideon's head as he walks towards the kitchen. He shakes his head with a sigh and refocuses on you.

"We're simply discussing poetry, Gideon. Apparently our little friend is a bit of a poet herself, as it turns out.”

"Oh," you blush and shoot a hand out to lightly tap Frosty's arm as it sounds like he's teasing. "I'm not that good. Apparently I need the right inspiration to be able to do it."

At that comment you wink at Frosty in a teasing manner, the gesture causing Frosty to break out into a bemused grin as Gideon lumbers back out with a glass of water. You chuckle as he stumbles a bit as he slumbers back to his room.

"Heading back to bed?"

"Yeah," he mumbles and waves a hand again, "no loud noises you two."

You blush at his comment and throw a pillow at his back as he laughs. Frost shifts in his seat but yells at Gideon.

"You know, you shouldn't say those things. It gives us ideas!”

You bust out laughing as you get up to grab the pillow you just threw before sitting back on the couch, a little closer to Frosty.

"What ideas does that give you?”

Frost shrugs and feigns innocence as a sly smile forms on his face. He looks over you, and places an arm behind you on the couch.

"Oh, you know. A good idea leads to another idea, which could lead to more bad ideas. Which then leads to even... more ideas. It can become a bit of a chain reaction, hm?"

He chuckles and gives you a wink, his ears flicking once again, almost teasingly this time. You giggle at his ears, flicking and nod as you try to think of what he's saying.

"So what's a good idea that leads to a bad idea? An example is what I need."

You sit up, criss-cross on the couch facing Frosty as he chuckles at your question and sits up straighter, shifting to face you. His ears remained perked and upright, listening to your words intently. He hums as he lifts his hand to his chin, tapping against it as he seems to contemplate on an answer. He smirks as he speaks, and winks at you again.

"Hmmm... How about I show you?”

Your eyes widen as your breath catches for a moment at how he speaks.

"Show me? I guess you can show me.”

Frost continues to smirk but moves forward with whatever he has planned. His eyes remain fixed on your face, watching your reactions carefully as he uncrosses his legs.

“Hmm, perfect.”

He lifts his hand and places it on the side of your face as he leans in a little as his ears twitch and his tail flicks out as he brushes his lips against yours. You shudder but lean in closer as you place a hand on his knees to stabilize yourself as Frost fully pulls you into a kiss.

It is different but feels like a beard tickling your nose with his whiskers and you giggle a little as you pull back as you scratch your nose.

“Sorry, it was tickling me.”

Frost nods as he brushes a strand of hair that fell against your cheek.

“That's alright. I know this must be different for you.”

“Oh yes,” you nod but sit up onto your knees to sit a little taller than Frost on the couch. “But it's not unpleasant.”

You lean in as one hand grips the couch next to you and strokes down his fur on his cheek, scratching his chin as Frost goes ridged at first but then melts with a sudden and loud purr erupting from his chest as he melts. As you process what you were hearing, Frost leans against you to the point of pushing you back on the couch as you continue to scratch his chin.

You huff as the tabaxi flops his weight on you but smile as First cuddles into you. You move your hand to the tip of his head and give him a little scratch which makes his ears twitch even more.

You both lay there completely relaxed and honestly at the mercy of Frost. You smile as you close your eyes and continue to pet Frost as he purrs against you.

“Are you lovebirds alright?”

You peek an eye open to see Kremy now standing in the doorway. Looking at the two of you with a raised brow but a smile on his face. Frost slightly moves but only to make himself more comfortable and wrap you up in his arms as you close your eyes with a smile and do the same to Frost. Being intertwined together makes you feel warm and cozy, ready to fall asleep again.

“Hmm, we're fine Kremy,” Frost says as he starts to purr again.

You just hear a little sigh and a snap as a blanket covers the two of you and the lights dim. You and Frost cuddled together and slipping into a cozy dream.

[ariiadnes]

╭ ⿻ ･ bewitched

i'm a fool , but i'll love you dear.

-ˋ ♡ ◞ zayne. love & deepspace. quote cr : bill trader. repost.

"so it appears you've failed to learn your lesson."

you'd probably be more annoyed-- scratch that, much more annoyed at zayne's words had you not been freezing and fighting for your life in this unexpected cold front. it's just like last time-- the cancelled concert date, the cruel rain that betrayed news of seemingly decent weather. you know the weather isn't foolproof-- the words, his words, specifically, will haunt you until the end of time, and they continue to do so in this moment. what is there to trust if you cannot trust the weather report? where is the hope in humanity if you cannot rely on such a thing? you're not being dramatic. you are simply suffering in the cold. that's all.

much to his amusement, zayne watches as you absentmindedly grumble to yourself, shoving your hands in your pockets in futile attempt to stay warm. you throw him a half-hearted glare, though his lack of reaction indicates that it fails to make any impact.

"in my defense," you start, not having one at all, "i, at the very least, tried to come prepared." you take a hand out of your pocket, gesturing dramatically to your beanie and coat. an attempt to stay warm, perhaps-- a sad one, really, especially when the temperatures are so excruciatingly low. then again, how were you supposed to know?

"a poor attempt." zayne responds, and you swear you see his lips curve just the smallest bit. "but one i'll acknowledge. maybe you'll take this as another lesson to realize--"

"-- that the weather is foolproof, yeah, yeah."

his smile grows a bit more as he takes a step, closes the distance between you as he removes his scarf. you pick up all too easily on his intentions, but before you can protest, he's leaning down, face only inches from yours as he gently wraps the scarf around you. it's a few moments of careful consideration as he adjusts it, hoping to conserve some of your body heat. once he's done, he pauses, gaze meeting yours.

he doesn't pull back-- just studies you carefully, expression thoughtful, gentle. you feel your face heat up, murmuring a small word of thanks as your fingers nervously mess with the fabric, pulling it just a little closer to you in means of distraction. he really doesn't mind the lack of space -- in fact, he finds it too amusing with the way you react, always so shy.

it's only when you shiver again that he realizes you truly are ill prepared for this weather. he lets out a soft chuckle, hands grabbing yours, resting them gently against his face. your eyes widen the slightest bit, but you don't move away, your touch gentle in the way they seek warmth from the contact.

"--what are you doing?"

"my gloves are too large for you." he answers nonchalantly, though his hands still rest over yours, thumb ghosting over your skin in quiet reverence. "so maybe my body temperature will suffice for now."

you swallow hard, realize that you are, in fact, getting a little warmer, but only because you're flustered by his affection. he doesn't need to know that, though. but before you can thank him, he speaks once more, and you notice the pure mirth that lingers in his eyes.

"actually," he says, smiling ever so faintly, "it seems like your own embarrassment will be the one to warm you."

you've decided that you're suddenly not thankful anymore.

"...please be quiet, zayne."

he hums in amusement, presses a kiss to your forehead.

"only if you promise that you'll learn your lesson this time."

"what am i gonna do? ask the weather myself if the forecast is accurate?"

another chuckle, then another kiss to your nose, then your lips.

"of course. how else would anyone do it?"

[callofdudes]

✨GhostSoap incorrect quotes✨

With 141 chaos included.

Soap: Oops, got your mental illness 😊

Ghost: You give that back.

Ghost, pulling out a knife: That was a gift from my father!

-------

Ghost: I'm sorry for being mentally ill.

Soap: ...

Ghost: And a bit messed up in the head.

Ghost: The sex will be good though.

-------

Ghost: Johnny, this place is fancy and I don't know which fork to kill myself with.

-------

Soap: Simon, you're late for date night again, what was it this time?

Ghost, standing in the living room covered in blood: Well...

Soap, sighing: Baby I want to go out for dinner!!

Ghost: I know but just one more time love- next week we can go on a proper date but-

Soap: Hiding a body isn't a date!!

-------

Ghost: I don't want you talking at my funeral!

Soap: What?

Ghost: You can go to my funeral but you can't talk-

Soap: Why??

Ghost: My funeral is my time to shine!

-------

Soap: I don't know what the big deal is

Gaz, sighing: Ok, let's break this down. First of all, you don't fix any of the appliances in your apartment.

Soap: Yeah, it's too hard.

Gaz: You don't fix up your apartment in general.

Soap: Couldn't be bothered.

Gaz: Dude, you can't even fix up a decent meal for yourself.

Soap: What even is a stove. I mean...

Gaz: Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you??

Ghost: Hey, can I have 40 bucks real quick?

Soap, leaning in to whisper: I still think I can fix him.

Gaz: For fucks sake-

-------

Soap: Ghost, what's like a word your parents wouldn't let you use growing up. Like they said it was a curse word but it really wasn't.

Ghost: No, I can't say that, it's too embarrassing.

Soap: Oh come on I'll go first, my parents told us 'shut up' was like a curse. Like it was a terrible phrase we couldn't use.

Ghost: What? My parents said that to me all the time.

Soap: Really?

Ghost: Ok, this is a word we literally never used in our house. I don't even know if I'm pronouncing it right... Uh, love?

Soap: What?

Ghost: Oh I am pronouncing it wrong. Uh, luvé?

Soap: Uh no, it's pronounced love.

Ghost: Oh, yeah, well we never said that.

Soap: Ghost, you- you know I'm here for you right?

Ghost: That's so kind of you Johnny. You know what, I tolerate you.

Soap: What... What?? Tolerate? That's mean

Ghost: What, no it's not! That's like the deepest form of affection you can show somebody!

-------

Soap: Have you seen a person named 'Ghost' around here?

Gaz: Ugh, yes. He made a horrible mess of the blood fountain.

Price: It looks fine to me?

Gaz: IT USED TO BE WATER!!!

-------

Ghost: *Screams*

Soap: *Screams louder to assert dominance*

Gaz: Should we do something?!

Price, observing: No, I want to see who wins this.

-------

Gaz: On a scale from “damn Daniel” to “fre sha vaca do”, how are you feeling?

Soap: In between “it’s an avocado, thanks” and “how did you defeat Captain America”, but as a solid answer I would say “I don’t need a degree to be a clothing hanger”. How about you, Ghost?

Ghost: Probably “road work ahead”.

Price: I speak many languages, and this is none of them.

-------

Ghost: I think Price was right.

Soap: I'm surprised he haven't marched in here to say 'I told you so.'

Gaz: He wouldn't do that.

Price: You're right, Gaz. For once in your life, you're 100% right. I would never say that.

Price: *turns around, the shirt they're wearing says 'Price Told You So' on the back*

-------

Ghost: I just ended a four year relationship.

Soap: Oh, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?

Ghost: Hm? Oh yeah, I’m fine. It wasn’t my relationship.

*Gaz and Price fighting from across the room*

-------

Ghost: This is bothering me.

Soap: Well, you are digging up a corpse.

Ghost: No, not that. That's, uh, pretty par for the course, actually.

-------

Ghost: Can you please be serious for five minutes?

Soap: My record is four, but I think I can do it.

-------

Ghost: Oh just so you know, it's very muggy outside

Soap:

Soap: Ghost, I swear, if I step outside and all of our mugs are on the front lawn...

Ghost: *Sips tea from bowl*

-------

Ghost: Okay. I get it. You've had a really hard time lately, you're stressed out, seven people died-

Soap: Twelve, actually.

Ghost: Not the point. Look, they're dead now and really whose fault is that?

Soap: Yours!

Ghost: That's right: no one's.

-------

Ghost: Soap was banned from the chicken shack, so we had to go out of town to get some.

Soap: Well, they shouldn’t say “all you can eat” if they don’t mean it.

Ghost: Soap, you ate a chair

--------

Ghost: Do you think you’d actually notice if someone didn’t cast a shadow? Or if their limbs were just slightly too long? Or if they had just a little too many teeth? like how many times have you passed Something on the street and you just didn’t Notice It?

Soap: Stay woke monsterfuckers ur love is out there!!!!!

Ghost: Yknow what? Not my point at all in any way whatsoever, but I’m glad I could be an inspiration.

-------

Ghost: Sorry it took me so long to bail you out of jail

Soap: No it’s my fault, I shouldn’t’ve used my one phone call to prank call the police

-------

Ghost: What is your biggest weakness?

Soap: I can be uncooperative.

Ghost: Okay, can you give me an example?

Soap: No.

-------

Ghost: It’s dark in here

Soap: Don’t worry dude I got this

Soap: *Stomps his feet*

Soap: *Skechers light up*

-------

Ghost: I'm 10 times funnier and sexier than you

Soap: 10 times 0 is still 0 though

Ghost: Jokes on you, I can't do math

-------

Ghost, in a meeting: My policy is if you see something, say something.

Soap: I saw a squirrel in a tree today!

Ghost, with the tone of someone who is used to Soap: Outstanding.

Ghost: This is what I’m talking about people.

-------

Ghost: You saved me. I owe you my life.

Soap: No thanks. I’ve seen it and I’m not very impressed.

-------

Ghost: I've already sent good vibes your way… they’re coming. There’s nothing you can do to stop them.

Soap: This is the most threatening way I’ve ever been cheered up.

-------

Soap: Am I in trouble?

Ghost: Take a guess.

Soap: No?

Ghost: Take another guess.

-------

Soap: Remember when you didn't try to solve all your problems with attempted murder?

Ghost: Stop romanticizing the past.

-------

Ghost: I'm a reverse necromancer.

Soap: Isn't that just killing people?

Ghost: Ah, technicality.

-------

Soap: I can explain.

Ghost: Can you?

Soap: If you give me thirty seconds to think of a lie.

-------

Ghost: Fitness tip: never stop pushing yourself. Some say 8 hours of sleep is enough. Why not keep going? Why not 9? Why not 10? Strive for greatness.

Soap: Next time you’re working out do 15 push ups instead of 10. Run 3 miles instead of 2. Eat a whole cake instead of just a slice. Burn your ex’s house down. You can do it. I believe in you.

Price: There were so many mixed messages in that I can’t-

[alpaca-clouds]

Vampires - and the Curse of Immortality

Something I notice a lot in vampire-related fandoms is, how harshly my viewpoint on vampires differs from most other people within those fandoms. This might be, because I generally speaking see myself as part of the death positivity movement. And that is a big thing that often gets into conflict with the way how many see vampires.

See, in general vampires originally were horror not just because they drank blood, but because they were immortal. Sure, there was a big religious aspect to it. Because they were immortal and even if they died would automatically either (depending on the exact story) be doomed to wander as a ghost or go to hell, they were cursed to never be able to go to heaven. And that was an aspect of the horror.

But... Even going past it: Immortality is a curse. You do not want to be immortal, even if you think you do. Not even in some magical way in which you really do not suffer any ill consequences from it.

And I mean, vampires already suffer consequences in terms of not being able to go out into the sun and everything.

The reasons for that are quite a few.

For vampires there is just the fact that vampires are the few immortals among mortals. You will be surrounded by people who will die long before you. Live long enough and the world will be unrecognizable to you. You might actually see culture, you grew up in, crumble to dust.

Just imagine the world from the perspective of a vampire who grew up in any old culture. Be it ancient Greece, or ancient Rome, or the Vikings, or any culture outside of Europe, that ended up... well, collapsing in one way or another. Imagine how everything you grew up with is gone suddenly.

And if you live long enough you will see the same thing happening over and over again.

I am talking about this right now, because I have noticed how many people within the Castlevania fandom, do still hope that Lisa will be transformed into a vampire after the end of the series so that this time she is going to be immortal.

But the thing is: The series never answeres the question of why Lisa never became a vampire. But... I think it is pretty clear that the answer is, that she just does not want to be. Because she is intelligent and she knows the downsides of immortality. So, she simply does not want it. And because Dracula actually loves her, he accepts it.

There is probably a reason, too, why most of the vampires we see are rarely older than 500 years.

In Castlevania the only vampire we know to be older than that is Morana. And she is going to be old enough to not have seen one civilization fall, but several, given she is (according tie Katie Silva) a good 3000 years old. And just... imagine. Being so old. What you must've seen. It is going to be hard to not just go insane with all of that. (This is the reason why I write Morana so very weary of humans - she just has seen too much violence done by human hands.)

And while Olrox is just a mere 250 years old, you can also extend this onto him in a way. Given that he has seen his civilization be destroyed (even though his culture survived).

All of that is the reason why I have a tendency to let a lot of vampires die on the long term - or cure them of the vampirism. I mean, in my BG3 stuff, the end scenario is going to be for Astarion to be healed from the vampirism, because... Well, being an immortal vampire actually just sucks. (Doubly so in the DnD world, where it comes with even more drawbacks.)

I mean, all I am thinking is: Looking at some other vampire stories I know... What is the sense of living forever, if you are just miserable?

So, yeah: Unpopular opinion. Dying is okay. It might be preferable to being a vampire forever.

[mysteriousdragon2]

Howdy everyone. Been a while since I posted anything, hasn’t it? Well, now I finally have the time to sit down, and talk about my feelings and what’s been happening. So, again this is venting, if you don’t want to hear it, you may disregard this post. But if you want to read, everything is in the “keep reading” tab. Thank you.

First of all, I’d like to say that it’s been difficult drawing digitally. My art device keeps acting up, and I’m fed up with it. So for the moment, you will most likely see me draw traditionally. A shame too because my traditional doodles don’t get as much love as my digital pieces, but it is what it is. So if I owe anyone any art pieces, chances are they’ll be done traditionally.

Second of all, which is relevant to the first point, it’s been getting hot where I live. 30+ degrees all week, making it hard to draw. I just apologize for taking so long in terms of art in general.

Third of all, my “parents” keep shaming me for who I am. Whether it’s as an artist, or for my body. But they adore to mentally bring me down, sometimes accusing me of having a mental illness or depression.

This household of mine is indeed a curse, you’re damn right Hol Horse. It’s simply infuriating that nobody understands my feelings around the house, everytime I express a single thing about myself, it goes to rot and put themselves first. And they say they worry for me for being away from home…please, it’s for my own good. My mental state has been declining a lot since then. The heat fries my brain, and my household is making me feel insignificant about myself. It’s bad enough that my self-esteem isn’t the greatest due to my past.

Fourth point, I’ll be honest. Making friends with a lot of people at this point feels pointless because 70-80% of the friends I make abandon me without saying a word, or neglect. Not a pleasant feeling. Hurts me a lot. There’s been many friends I’ve made that did just that, and even if I try to reach out to them every now and then, no luck. So I’ve kinda…stopped trying. People can be busy, or have more going on in life than expected and that’s understandable. But if you don’t say anything, I’ll never know a single thing.

What does it mean? It means that things have been very slow on my behalf. Too much stress on my mind, and I hardly have any time for myself anymore. It’s saddening, but I’ll still keep drawing, even if it’s severally slow. Just wanted to inform to those who’re reading this post that I’m still around, just exhausted from life.

I’d like to mention a couple people in this post: @spamtonjuice420 , @stardust-vi , and @fellow-traveller

Why, you ask? Simple. You guys have been amazing people in my life in many ways. Very talented artists, very kind individuals, and chill to talk to. We all know Hol Horse, so that’s a massive plus…I love how I’ve converted some people into liking Hol Horse too hah. But I just wished I could speak to some of you more often. But I can’t control what happens in one’s life, and I’ll simply have to be patient until I get an answer. But…even to all of my followers, it means a lot to me that you guys stick around too for my content. Even if it’s not that great. Thank you so much.

I’ll try to post commissions too. Even if they’re traditional, the prices will probably have to be juggled, but I’ll do something. Chances are, they will be rather cheap for a while. Just something to think about.

Thank you guys for sticking around, and have a good one. I’ll be trying my best to post something soon.

(Sources are from the Anime, OVA, and CDDH volume 1, chapter 1 pages 10-11)

[loversj0y]

this is me trying

coming back to london and being away from wilbur was hard. fighting your own coping methods and trying is harder.

pairing: wilbur soot x gn! reader

angst, hurt/comfort

TRIGGER WARNINGS: fighting, yelling, broken bottles, lots of tears, and alcoholism, plus the briefest (one line) insinuation of suicidal thoughts.

note: this is part of the 'tis the damn season universe, but doesn't particularly have to be read alongside it (though you'd probably be very confused if you didnt read it). this part is pretty heavy. not even going to lie, i had to stop writing a few times to keep myself from getting too stressed, really heed the warnings. at least im getting better at writing fights? ao3 version

word count: 5.7k

You and Wilbur hadn’t seen each other in months. It was May, and the warm air was making the days feel a bit more pleasant if it weren’t for the glaring guilt in your chest. 

The last time you and Wilbur had seen each other was Valentine’s Day, when he’d taken a train up to London to visit you and surprise you with some takeout and roof access to your apartment — you didn’t actually know you could get up there. He wasn’t able to spend too much time with you, mostly due to your own time constraints, but it was a nice trip nonetheless. When he left, you’d promised you’d come down to Brighton to visit him soon.

That didn’t quite work out. You were going to visit for a full week at the end of the second term, however, once you’d met with your advisor, you learned just how behind you were on your final dissertation. It was incredulous because you had thought you were on track with it, but regardless you had to spend break trapped in the library, trying desperately to catch up on writing your paper on Lord Byron’s work. Then, you were supposed to visit during the Easter weekend, but you were given a paper, due in a week, that blocked any opportunities for travel. 

But you were determined this time. You had to do this. You devised a plan, and you found a perfect weekend where you would be completely free of assignments if you hustled. You even got Tommy in on it. 

“Hey, Tommy, sorry to call you like this, do you have a moment to chat?” 

You heard a laugh through the phone, “Yeah, hold on,” he mumbled something off the phone, and you could make out the sounds of him walking to another room. 

“What’s up?”

“I want to surprise Wilbur, and I need your help.” You smiled as you started launching into the details of your plan, each piece meticulously planned out for a wonderful weekend. 

He grinned, “Aw, he would love that. Why d’ya need my help though?” 

“Well,” you faltered a bit, “there’s a flaw in my plan, and it’s that I don’t know where Wilbur’s apartment is, and I especially don’t know how to get there from the station. So, I was wondering if you’d be able to pick me up and take me to Will’s?” 

“Oh, yeah, no problem, plus it’ll allow me to annoy him a bit as well, so yeah, sounds good.”

You cheered a bit, “Thank you so much, Tommy, you’re the best. I’ll text you all the other details, yeah?”

“Aw, I am the best, thank you. And yeah, that works.”

“Perfect, bye, Tommy!”

He responded with a quick bye in return, and you felt yourself grin. You had been trying so hard to find time to be able to go see him, and this was it!

You got a call a few minutes later from Wilbur himself, and you worried immediately that Tommy may have spilled something accidentally. You didn’t even have a chance to speak before he questioned you.

“Why did you call Tommy with something he will only describe as being ‘important’ and ‘for cool people only’?”

You snorted out a laugh, rolling your eyes a bit, “Well, hello, to you, too, Wilbur.”

“Hi, darling, I hope your classes went well today,” he rushed out, “Now answer my question.”

“I just had a question for him, Will.”

“One that you couldn’t ask me?” You could hear the pout in his voice.

“Nope. As he mentioned, it's for cool people only.”

He let out a gasp, indignation clear in his voice, “Darling, how could you? I am much cooler than Tommyinnit.”

You could faintly make out the sound of Tommy yelling at Wilbur in the background. 

“Don’t worry, alright?” You laughed, “It was just something only he could really answer.”

“Are there questions that exist that only that gremlin child can answer?”

“Believe it or not, yes.”

Wilbur whined on the other side of the phone, “Love, you know he’s going to hold this over me for months, right?”

“Oh, I’m aware.”

“So, why?”

“Well, if I’m going to ask a Minecraft-related question,” you lied cooly, “it’s better to ask a professional, isn’t it?”

He was silent for a long moment. “...I am a professional.”

“Will, we’ve played Minecraft together for years. You’re good, but even I could beat you at PVP.”

He groaned, “Is this some ploy? Are you messing with me?”

“Is it wrong for me to try and get closer to your best friend by asking him questions about his interests?” Okay, truthfully, that was a low blow. But the surprise would make it worth it.

“I guess not.” He chuckled, “Sorry, I’m just annoyed about how smug he’s going to be about this.”

“Don’t apologize. You know I wouldn’t miss an opportunity to chat with you, anyway.”

“I wouldn’t either, love,” you could hear the smile in his voice, and the vague sound of Tommy speaking to someone. From over the phone, the room sounded louder than before. 

“Is… something going on over there?” You chuckled, trying to hide the nervousness in your tone. You didn’t even know why you were nervous. Something was just gnawing at the back of your brain, and for some reason, you just felt… tense now.

“Oh, uh,” he paused, and you could hear more people talking now, “sort of. It’s nothing big or anything just, uh, Tommy’s having some friends over is all. He and I have been hanging out for a bit today, but we’re just at his now, so he invited a few people over and stuff.”

You nodded quietly. You couldn’t help the sadness you felt fill your chest. You were trying to be there, but it was still hard to hear about all the things you were missing out on, all the times you missed him, and stories and inside jokes you would never truly understand. 

“Right, okay. Well, I-I’ve got to get back to studying, anyway, so.”

“Darling, it’s nothing, really-” “No, it’s not an excuse or anything,” It was,  “I-I just… ‘m busy, is all, so I’ll let you hang out.”

You were both silent. He knew you were lying, and you could tell. But he wouldn’t call you on it. Not now. Not when you hadn’t seen each other in months and every slight felt like a balancing act, trying to keep the other from pulling away. You were so excited a moment ago, and you didn’t mean for the sadness to overtake your entire conversation. You just couldn’t help sometimes how every conversation, every time you heard him talk about the things he was doing, cut you open more and more. He didn’t mean to, and you would never hold it against it but almost every conversation opened the wound a bit further. 

He spoke up after a minute, “Okay, well… good luck studying, and text me when you’re done,” he paused, voice softer, “I love you.”

You bit your lip, unable to hide the guilt bubbling in your chest at his solemn tone, “I will. I love you too.”

You hung up quickly, setting your phone down on your desk. You placed your head in your hands, taking a shaky breath and fighting off the tears in your eyes. It would be easier, soon. You’d see him in a week. You tried to console yourself.

 You wouldn’t admit it out loud to Wilbur, no matter how much he asked, but you weren’t entirely adjusting well to being back here, without him. The first week, you could only fall asleep if he was on the phone with you. Then, there was one night where he fell asleep before you could call. You ended up turning to an older sleep method, knowing that you needed to get to bed in order to be able to make it to classes. Before you knew it, your room became littered with empty bottles you barely had the energy to clean up. It was an interesting dichotomy, the clear vodka bottles piling on your nightstand and the white Panadol bottles piling on your sink and in your backpack. You were mostly lucky the weekend he came for Valentine’s Day, because you had forced yourself to clean up your room a few days before, meaning there was only one half-empty bottle of vodka on your shelf, and a single bottle of Panadol left on your sink (though there were numerous more inside your school bag). 

You weren’t completely lucky, though. Your weekend with Wilbur was almost entirely perfect. Until the end. Every time you thought back to the end, you watched the memory as if it wasn’t you, as if you were a watcher, not the one actually there.

You’d walked back in with Wilbur, around midnight. The apartment was mostly quiet, except for one of your roommates who was standing in the kitchen,  fixing themselves a drink. When they heard you enter, they turned, perking up a bit.

“Y/N, hey, could I borrow some vodka? I ran out.”

You’d nodded, “Yeah, I’ll grab it, hold on.”

While you’d gone to grab the bottle, Wilbur took his coat off, your roommate lightly chatting with Wilbur while you walked to your room and back. You’d only caught the ending of their brief conversation, listening in as you walked slowly from the hallway back to the kitchen, trying to not wake up your other roommates. 

“-mean, seriously, Wilbur, they can even drink me under the table. Every week, they come in with a new bottle.”

“Wait, every week?”

“Yeah!” Your roommate was laughing, and it hadn’t even crossed your mind yet that they were talking about you, “I mean, seriously, once a week, they walk in and one hand has a bag with vodka from Tesco, and the other hand has a bag from the chemist’s.” 

You walked back over by the time your roommate finished speaking, placing the bottle in front of them. Wilbur gave you a strange look as you did, going uncharacteristically quiet as you said a quick goodnight to your roommate, bringing Wilbur, and the bottle, back to your room. 

You placed the bottle back on the shelf while Wilbur closed the door. With your back turned, he spoke up finally. 

“Darling…” he seemed to struggle to find the words, “Are you… okay?”

You’d chuckled, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You tell me,” he spoke, and you turned to face him. He had a sad look on his face, almost pitiful, and in the moment, it made you feel sick. “You’ve apparently been going through a bottle a week.”

Your entire body had gone rigid, eyes had gone fearful for a moment before you’d defaulted to being defensive. “That doesn’t mean anything is wrong, Wilbur. It just helps me relax, and you know that I can handle my alcohol.”

“Love, you can’t seriously expect me to just accept that answer,” he scoffed, and he almost looked mad. Looking back, you knew he wasn’t mad at you, more just concerned that you were trying to hide this from him. Even so, in the moment, you thought he was mad. While you couldn’t really place why he would’ve been mad, you knew that it made your own blood heat up. 

“Well, it’s- the fucking truth, okay? So just- leave it.”

“How many bottles?”

“Wilbur, what-”

“How. Many.” He looked tense, walking to your bathroom and grabbing the bottle of Panadol, “How many weeks has this been going on? How many bottles have you gotten? If you’re struggling, you should–”

“I’m not fucking struggling, you’re reading into this!”

“Oh, am I? Really?”

“Yes, Wilbur! I am fine, better than fine, in fact, and don’t act like you haven’t been drinking too. You always text me when you do!”

“I’m not against you drinking, but you know how insane going through a fifth a week is. I know that’s not normal for you.”

“How the fuck do you know that? Hm?” You’d practically yelled out before you spoke out again, each word spitting venom at him, “You haven’t been here, Wilbur, you don’t know anything about the way I am when I’m here! Please stop fucking acting like you know everything about me.” You’d gestured with your hands while you spoke, eyebrows raising as you looked at him incredulously, “Yes, okay, fine, you win! I have been drinking more! Basically every night, but that doesn’t mean that something is wrong with me, Wilbur. I am trying my hardest just to fucking exist enough to finish the school year, I am allowed to have vices without it being some big, stupid conversion. Now, let’s just drop it, we’re both exhausted. It’s not going to help to just stand here and argue, okay?”

You’d panted softly as you’d finished. You watched as waves of hurt appeared on Wilbur’s face, and now that the moment had passed, you’d felt just complete, immediate regret as you watched his face fall, staring down at the floorboards. 

“Yeah. Fine.” He spoke out flatly.

You two went to bed that night next to each other, still sharing a kiss and exchanging “I love you”s, but feeling tenser than ever before. 

In the morning, you two had been able to patch things up, but not before Wilbur made you agree to just call him anytime you needed to relax instead of immediately turning to alcohol. You agreed, and you’d been doing a pretty good job of it, even if you still drink sometimes. But ever since the fight, there’d been this tense air in your relationship, lingering in each conversation, both too scared to overstep and lose the other all over again.

You stared at the bottle on your desk as if it was taunting you. You couldn’t call him, so it was that or sleeplessness. You sat up, shaking your head slightly and wiping the tears from your face, taking a deep breath. You couldn’t. Wilbur would call before bed, he always did now. Instead, you distracted yourself, pulling up your laptop and writing out your list of due dates for this week and the next two weeks, albeit the tears in your eyes made it a bit harder than usual. You wrote the list on a sticky note, placing it on your laptop. Some of these things were easier to knock out than others, for sure. Three big assignments and three small ones, plus whatever reading you had to do in between. Thankfully, only two of the big assignments were due this week, the last one could be left for after you came back from visiting him. 

You got started, working on a poem analysis for your Romantic Poetry class and letting your own thoughts fade in the noise of Wordsworth and Keats. 

You’d started working on your second small assignment when he’d called later that night. You set your phone up against your laptop, accepting the video call with a gentle smile on your face. 

“Hi, darling,” he grinned, and with a quick listen to his voice, you could tell he wasn’t entirely sober. You didn’t bring it up.

“Hi, Will. Did you have fun at Tommy’s?”

He nodded quickly, turning to get comfortable in his bed, “Kid’s a menace, for sure, but yes,” he frowned, getting a better look at you, “Babe, are you still studying?”

You sighed, “Yes, Will, I am.” “It’s been like three hours, how dare they? How could they possibly assign you so much?”

“God, I wish I knew. It’s like they all just decided that everything would be due this week. I might not be able to do our video chat dinner this Friday. I have a huge project due on the 21st.” In reality, you would be taking an hour train to his place and having real-life dinner, but he didn’t need to know that yet. 

“That’s not for so long though,” he whined out, pouting.

You chuckled, rolling your eyes a bit, “Yes, but it’s Professor Brian. He makes us all come to his office hours, so he can make sure we’re on the right track, and I need to go in early before the other students can take up all the timeslots. I need to make sure I have everything prepared for that.”

He sighed, relinquishing, “Okay. I know how important all this is, anyways. Plus, graduation isn’t too far now, so you need to finish strong.” He smiled, nothing but supportive towards your academic goals. 

“Graduation will be here before we know it. Still gonna host me that party?”

You both laughed, and he nodded, “Oh, absolutely. We’ll have two parties, a moving party and a graduation party all in one.”

You smiled fondly at him, nodding, “Yeah. That sounds really nice.”

He gave you a look, eyes full of love and adoration, “I miss you so much, love.”

You sighed wistfully, “I miss you too. We’ll see each other soon enough, I’m sure. We’ve waited years, we can do months.” 

He grinned, repeating your words, “We can do months.”

The rest of the conversation was standard, asking “How’s your day”s and sharing loving words. He tried to convince you to sleep once more, but you told him how important your work was, and he eventually gave up the topic. You wished each other a goodnight, saying “I love you”, before he eventually headed to bed fully. After you hung up, you looked back up at the bottle. The urge to drink was gone now. And if you weren’t going to get any sleep, you may as well continue working.

The rest of the week went by smoothly. The stress and weight of assignments and your plans for Friday kept you from sleeping properly, which at least gave you more time to work on your assignments. 

Friday approached quickly, and you couldn’t sit still in a single class the entire day, let alone Professor Brian’s class. He taught your Victorian Literature class, and he was a genuinely caring professor, despite being a bit intimidating. You could barely focus throughout class, far too excited. When it was time for class to be dismissed, you stood eagerly, but Professor Brian stood in the way for you to leave.

“Do you mind staying a few minutes?” He asked, a kind smile on his face.

As much as you didn’t want to, you really liked this professor, and his opinion of you meant a lot to you. So you nodded, following him to pull a chair up to the other side of his desk. 

He sat down, giving you a gentle smile, “I wanted to ask how your paper is going. You haven’t come in for office hours yet.”

Wow, and you thought you were the early prepper. “Well, I was planning to come in on Wednesday since it would give me a week until the project was actually due.”

He frowned, “What day is the paper due?”

You gave him a confused look, responding simply, “The 21st.”

His head tilted back, and he nodded slowly, “Right, I’ve found the problem then. The paper is due the 12th, not the 21st.”

You felt your heart stop. You pulled out your laptop, looking at the sticky note you had taped to it. You had certainly written the 21st. Fuck, you thought, realizing quickly that it must’ve been a consequence of your own mental state since you’d been crying when you wrote the list. 

“Oh. Oh, god, I’m-” You struggled to continue your sentence, too distraught. The paper was due in three days, not twelve like you’d thought.

“Hey, don’t fret,” he pulled out his calendar, humming for a moment, “It’s an honest mistake, and you’ve always been on top of your classwork. I can’t offer a major extension, but I can give you until Wednesday the 14th, but that’s only if you come to office hours first thing on Monday. I can help out with some more of the editing work for the paper, but only on that day, and you’ll need to have at least most of it worked out. I trust in your abilities to create a well-thought-out thesis, especially given your passion in previous classes when we’ve discussed Wilde. Does that work?”

You nodded quickly, fighting tears as your entire plan crumbled around you. “Yeah, yes. I-I can do that.”

“Alright.” He offered you another kind smile, though it did nothing to stop the feeling of the world-shattering around you, “And are you alright? You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t wish to, but you were much more quiet in class today than usual.”

“Yeah. It’s nothing now, anyway.” You sighed, biting your lip to keep it from quivering too much. You stood, pulling your bag on while he nodded slowly.

“Keep your head up, alright? You’re a brilliant student. I don’t like to see you falling behind.” 

You knew he meant no harm with his words, but it added to the pit of self-hatred that you were slowly sinking into. 

You just nodded, turning and heading towards the door, “Thank you, Professor.”

“Have a good rest of your day.”

“You too,” you spoke, trying to put more enthusiasm into your words than you actually felt. 

You practically ran out of the hallway, the air feeling like it was choking you. You walked to a random bench outside, on the edge of campus, unable to stop yourself from completely breaking down. You’d been planning this for weeks, how could you have fucked up this bad? You sobbed, head in your hands. 

The tears didn’t stop. The sun was starting to set, and all of a sudden it felt like there were too many eyes on you, so you stood and ran. You ran all the way to the water, panting heavily as you stared out at the river, standing on the old bridge that was always abandoned this time of night. You stared at the water as you sobbed, chest heaving as you struggled to breathe. 

Fuck.

Fuck.

You had to call Tommy. You already felt like enough of a fuck-up, you could at least prevent him from wasting his time picking you up.

With shaky hands, you took out your phone, dialing Tommy.

It rang once before he picked up, your sobs immediately carrying over the phone.

“Y/N?” He asked, panicked, “Are you crying, did something happen?”

You heard some arguing over the phone, but you could barely hear it over the sounds of your own crying as you began to speak, “Tommy, don’t- I-” your voice quivered, biting your lip hard enough to bleed. 

There was still some arguing happening on his side, but you paid it no mind.

He tried to say something, but you cut him off before he could as the words broke through your sobs. 

“Don’t- don’t bother p-picking me up,” you sobbed out, “I f-fucked it. I fucked it all up.”

“Y/N, what’s going on? Talk to me.”

“It’s- it’s stupid, I- I’m sorry. I can’t- I can’t come anymore. I fucked up,” there was sarcastic laughter behind your words as you continued speaking, tears streaming down your face, “I can’t, fuck, I- I fucking ruined everything, I- I was trying, I am trying, but I-” you gasped for breath, one hand clutching your chest weakly as you sat at the edge of the bridge. 

“Take a deep breath, come on. What are you talking about?” It almost sounded like he was pleading. 

“I just-” you sobbed, trying to muffle your cries to get your words out, “Tell Wilbur I’m sorry.” You pulled your phone away from your ear, ending the call despite hearing his panicked voice through the phone. You shoved your phone in your bag, curling up into a tight ball as you sobbed until you could barely think.

Unfortunately for you, you could still think. Your sobbing had been reduced to slow tears and the occasional hitch in your breath. As the sunset faded into the night sky, you became so acutely aware of how you’d fucked up your relationship. The one you’d spent years pining for, that you wanted to work so hard for. You let all of it fall apart. Even when trying so hard, your trying just wasn’t enough. You stood up, walking to the railing and staring down at the water. 

The rushing water felt like it stared back at you. 

You gripped the railing tightly, and you suddenly felt like you couldn’t breathe all over again. You slowly backed away, letting go of the railing and trying to collect yourself. 

Once you were calm enough, you turned, walking the slow trek back to your apartment. Your eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and it’d be impossible to hide that you’d been crying even if you tried. You realized off-handedly that you had no clue how long you’d been there sobbing. The sky was your only reminder that time had even passed. 

You walked to the apartment slowly, body feeling drained. When you opened the door, you were met with all three of your roommates in the living room, staring at you with concern. One of your roommates, Jayden, sighed softly, speaking into the phone and looking away. 

“What’s going on?” You asked softly, voice cracking. You didn’t have the heart to be embarrassed. 

“Wilbur called,” your other roommate, Quinn, spoke up softly. 

You didn’t bother responding, just nodding and walking to your room. They didn’t fight it, watching you quietly. 

You grabbed the bottle, laying down in your bed, and staring at it. There was barely anything left, probably about a shot’s worth. Your hands shook as you stared, mentally waging a war over whether or not you’d take that final sip. A sob wracked your body, and instead of drinking it, you threw the bottle against the opposite wall, watching it shatter and spill over the floor. You couldn’t be bothered, turning away from the door and curling up into a tight ball. You heard movement outside your door, but you didn’t move, and eventually, the footsteps departed. You closed your eyes, lying drained on your bed and letting yourself drift in and out of restless sleep.

When you came to at one point, you could make out the sound of someone picking up the pieces of glass you’d shattered. You wanted to turn, to mumble a thank you to whichever roommate had cleaned it for you, but you felt frozen in your own sadness. You listened, though, keeping your eyes closed. The sounds of each shard falling into a bag, the sound of a towel wiping at the wet spot left by the vodka. Then, there was a pause before you heard the gentle sound of footsteps moving toward your bed. You felt the bed dip, and you couldn’t fight the confusion that creased into your brow. An arm slowly wrapped around you, and you let your eyes open, taking a moment to process. You thought you must be dreaming.

Your voice sounded weaker than you’d hoped it would as you spoke. 

“Wilbur?” You turned, looking up and seeing the face of your lover staring back at you. He looked as exhausted as you felt, and it looked like he’d been crying as well.

You sat up slowly, and he did the same, brushing back some of your hair. 

“Hi,” He sighed softly, sitting across from you, “You scared the shit out of me.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and your hands reached for him as if to make sure he was actually, really there in front of you. He held onto your arms gently as well. 

“What- what are you doing here?” “You were on speaker when you called Tommy.” He sighed softly, “We could only come for tonight, but we really need to talk. We could wait til the morning if you’d prefer.”

As much as you’d like to have one last good night in his arms, you’d rather rip the bandaid off now.

“No, let’s talk now.” You sighed.

He nodded, watching you quietly, “Can you tell me what happened, then?”

You took a shaky breath, nodding softly. “I was going to come down this weekend. I spent weeks planning it, making sure I could get everything done in perfect timing. But that night I called Tommy, after you called me, I started crying, and I wrote down one of my due dates wrong,” you sniffled, chuckling sardonically at yourself. “God, it’s so stupid. But my professor stopped me after class, and he extended the due date, but he could only extend it by two days. So, I couldn’t come to surprise you anymore, and,” you sobbed, biting your lip and trying to hold yourself together, “I called Tommy and let him know that he didn’t- he didn’t have to pick me up anymore.” 

Wilbur nodded as he listened to you explain. He knew you better than you ever wanted to admit. “On the phone, you said… you ruined everything. You weren’t just talking about the plans, were you?”

You shook your head, moving your hands to hide your face behind them, “No.”

“Did you… think that I would stop talking to you because of this?”

You took a shaky breath. It felt like your last chance to be honest while you still could. So, you let the words spill from your mouth in endless streams.

“I just- I haven’t been doing well, Wilbur, ever since I got back here. I was drinking every night, really heavily, and I know it wasn’t good. And I’m sorry for how I talked to you that night, I was just scared and defensive, and,” you took a shaky breath, “every time we’ve talked after that fight, everything would feel different, and I was just getting terrified that my time was running out, that you were going to finally decide that you’ve had enough of the fucking mess that I am. Every time you would tell me about the cool things you were doing, I just couldn’t help but feel like it was cutting me open, no matter how happy I was for you, and now, I just I feel like I’m an open wound that can’t close no matter how much I try. And I am trying. You have to believe me, really, I am trying. I didn’t,” You cried softly, head still in your hands, “I didn’t drink it. The rest of the bottle, I-I didn’t drink it. I am trying.” You felt like you were pleading for him to believe you.

“Hey, hey” he spoke softly, gently holding onto your forearms, “Let me see your face. Please.”

You let your hands fall, looking up at him. You never felt smaller than in that brief moment where you could feel him seeing you in your entirety. 

He gently moved a hand to your cheek, wiping at your eyes softly. 

“I know you’re trying. I’m proud of you for not drinking it. Really, I’m insanely proud of you. I can see that you’re trying. I’m not going to leave you or stop talking to you because you’re struggling. That doesn’t mean what happened is okay, but darling, you need to communicate with me. Neither of us are going to be perfect about anything, and I know I’m not perfect with it either, but when you start having these thoughts and ideas that I’m going to leave you? That’s when you need to come to me and talk to me. I know it’s hard, and I’m not expecting it to be an easy or quick fix, but I need to know that you know that you can come to me. That I’m someone you truly trust. Because if not, it will just hurt us both.”

You nodded quickly, leaning into his touch, “I’m sorry. I’m going to try, I just- I get so in my head sometimes, I just-” You took a shaky breath, and he carefully moved forward, pulling you into a tight hug. You hugged him back just as tightly, burying your face into his chest.

“I do trust you,” you whispered, “I’m just scared you’re going to see me the way I see me.”

He took a shaky breath, kissing the top of your head. “And I’m just trying to get you to see yourself the way I see you.”

You sobbed softly, clinging onto him tightly. He held you just as desperately, rubbing your back.

“I love you,” you spoke softly once you’d calmed down enough, “so much.” “I love you so much too.” He pulled away, only to pull you in for a kiss. You kissed him back, your arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. The kiss felt like breathing, a strong sense of relief in the physical confirmation that despite everything, you didn’t lose him.

When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, and you both sat like that quietly for a few minutes.

“I missed you,” You spoke softly, looking up at him. “You said you’re only here for tonight?” 

“I missed you too. Even if it didn’t go as planned, at least we still got to see each other this weekend,” he lightly joked before nodding, “We are only here for tonight.”

“Wilbur, I can’t go to Brighton anymore, I have to write my paper,” you sighed.

“Oh, no, I know. I wasn’t talking about you.” “What?” “Tommy insisted on coming with. He was really worried too. He’s currently sleeping on your couch.” 

You chuckled, your chuckle soon turning into full laughter as you imagined Tommy’s lanky limbs leaning off your cheap couch. Wilbur started laughing as well, arms still wrapped around you, slowly rubbing up and down your back.

Once you stopped laughing, you leaned into him, relaxing against his chest. He moved both of you into laying down. 

“I’ll talk to him in the morning. Today’s been exhausting. Can we just sleep?” Wilbur nodded, kissing the top of your head once more. “I would love nothing more than to sleep with you right now.” 

You groaned, lightly hitting his chest, but you couldn’t deny the laughter that bubbled up in your chest. 

“Goodnight, love.” He grinned.

“Goodnight, Wilbur.”

taglist: @shubblelive / @superioritycomplexes / @your-shifting-gurl (send an ask/dm me if you want to be added)

[lynzishell]

Prev // Next

Transcript:

Phoenix: I’m glad you came out with me today. Dawn: Me too. Phoenix: It’s been a tough couple of weeks. Dawn: Yeah, it has.

Phoenix: Do you wanna talk about it? Dawn: No. Probably should, though. Phoenix: It might help. Dawn: I’m just… heartbroken. And I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself.   Phoenix: Dawn, it’s not your –

Dawn: Don’t. Everyone keeps saying that, but I don’t know how you can believe it.

Phoenix: Okay, I’ll tell you what, if it’s your fault, then it’s mine too. And Atlas’s, for that matter. We were all up there together, and we all pushed each other to keep going when we felt like we couldn’t.

Dawn: But you kept trying to get me to stop.

Phoenix: Only for a few hours, for a night at most. And only to ensure you stayed well enough to keep going. So, you don’t get to keep all the blame for yourself. If it’s your fault, then it’s mine too, and we’ll share that burden.

Dawn: I could never let you do that. Phoenix: Why not? Dawn: Because you didn’t know. Phoenix: And neither did you.

Dawn: I feel like I should’ve though. I was just being stubborn, and I ignored everything my body was telling me because I hated being the one that was struggling.

Phoenix: I’m sorry, Dawn, I love you, but you’re just not that special. Dawn: Excuse me?

Phoenix: For one, you weren’t the only one struggling. You were just the only one puking. We were all struggling in our own ways. For two, of all the things that can go wrong on that mountain, there’s no way pregnancy was on anyone’s mind. You weren’t ignoring anything. You thought the same thing we all thought – altitude sickness. Because that was the most logical possibility for that situation. There’s no way you could’ve known more than any of us what was really going on. You’re just not that special.

Dawn: … I’m not that special? Phoenix: ‘fraid not. Dawn: I feel like that shouldn’t be as comforting as it is. Phoenix: [laughs] Well, if you ever need anyone to remind you how not special you are, I’m here for you. Dawn: [smiles] I may not be special, but I am very lucky. Phoenix: Aha, we’re getting cheesy now, are we? Dawn: Mhm

Dawn: [laughing] Alright, calm down, this is a family park.

Phoenix: Sorry, just missed you, I guess. Dawn: I’ve missed you too. I’m sorry I shut you out. Phoenix: Yeah, that was hard. Dawn: I know. I won’t do it again. Phoenix: I hope not.

Dawn: Speaking of… You’ve been taking such good care of me, and I feel like I haven’t been there for you at all. How are you doing? Phoenix: I’m okay. Dawn: No. Honest answer. Phoenix:  Honest answer? Dawn: Yes.

Phoenix: Okay… I am… really fucking sad. Dawn: Yeah. Me too.

Phoenix: I didn’t know this was what I wanted until it was real. And then it was taken away, just like that, leaving this big, gaping hole in my chest. And then for a minute there, it felt like I was losing you too. For the first time in a long time, I wished I could just pick up the phone and call my mom, but of course, I couldn’t do that either. I’ve never felt so helpless.

Dawn: I’m so sorry. Phoenix: It’s okay. I’ll be alright. Mostly, I’ve been afraid that this has been too hard on you, and you won’t want to try again.

Dawn: You want to try again? Like actually try? Phoenix: [nods] Dawn: Me too. Phoenix: Really? Dawn: I mean, maybe not right now. I don’t know what we’ll have to do to make it happen, or how long it will take, but I know it won’t be easy. And I think I need some time before diving into all that. Phoenix: Of course, whatever you need, you just let me know when you’re ready.

[dr-demi-bee]

Writing Interview Tag Game!

Thanks for the tag @lastlight-inn! 🥰

When did you start writing?

TBH, that's hard to pin down! I was drawing clumsy comics with story lines as early as 4th grade (so like 9 or 10ish?) - and I've always had a thing for telling stories. I don't think I started earnestly writing until maybe 12. But I know for sure I was writing in middle school, and was well and truly into it in high school. There was a brief once-upon-a-time I thought about going that way for a career (but I also considered being an artist or musician ha).

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

So, I find I often write a lot darker than I read. Broadly speaking, I read a lot of fantasy, sci-fi, and some non-fiction. But I write predominantly fantasy. I've dabbled in sci-fi, but I find it a lot harder (perhaps because I'm quite picky about science accuracy).

But thematically, I much prefer to read romances and lighter hearted drama. I think my writing might lean a bit darker than I typically consume (more focus on harsh/traumatic topics).

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

Ahhh this is so hard to answer. I've not had anyone really compare my work to others (at least not by name). I don't try to copy anyone's style, but I definitely am influenced by many.

If I have to pick some - Oliver Sacks, Tolkien, and GRRM.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

Well! I have several!

My main office is in an open loft in the second floor of my house - past the railings are large picture windows that look out into my woods and let in a lot of natural light. I've got an L shaped desk stocked with supplies/notebooks/snacks. It looks like the kind of organized chaos one expects with ADHD.

On the left hand is an easel for painting/drawing, and on the right hand is my dual monitor set up (slightly lofted). My space is covered in cute knickknacks and things my husband has made for me. He's a wood worker, so there's lots of cute little things - including a little ghost and a miniature zen garden. I also have an owl skull and spine. My keyboard/mouse/mat and wrist pads are all space themed, as is the desktop (not that you can ever see it.) Beside my desk is my behemoth, very colorful PC tower I built myself (named Eureka).

I also have a yoga laptop that doubles as my writing on the go platform and drawing tablet (named Epiphany). I'll take it downstairs to write on my armchair, or into one of the bedrooms for some more quiet and soft surfaces. And I also take it with me on trips. Had a nice period on vacation at the beach where I got to write in a rocking chair on the porch looking out at the ocean. Ahh... (take me back :sob:)

Very occasionally I will write on my phone. But this is mostly just for notes and short form RP sort of writing.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

So aside from becoming obsessed with something (e.g. media or my own imagined world) usually I get my ideas via listening to music or taking a shower.

Or, inevitably, whenever I'm doing something else that doesn't give me time to write. I wrote several chapters of my novel while writing my dissertation... procrasti-writing.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

On the positive side: found family, loving through pain, helping each other to heal, platonic love.

On the less positive side: the effects of trauma, the way danger and stress hurts our bodies and our minds. Fighting through adversity and oppression. Chronic pain/conditions.

I'm not super surprised by either of these, really - they're all a big part my scientific life too. Before I left clinical practice I primarily helped individuals recover from trauma and addiction - and that involved a lot of working on finding self worth. My research was all devoted to studying stress and cognition - and I tried to pioneer new work on intrusive cognitions. I think this probably comes out heavily in my writing for fun, too.

What is your reason for writing?

Fun, mostly. Catharsis. And a bit of dissociating, I suppose. I've always just kind of had the urge to spew stories out into the world, even if it's just for me. I also write to connect with others.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

Ohhhh, any comment makes me incredibly happy. If someone says they like something specific I am over the moon. I'm especially thrilled to hear anyone connecting with or caring about my OC characters.

When another writer I really admire or respect gives me a comment or praise (like @alpydk or @sorceresssundries) my little heart feels ready to burst! Recently had the absolute delight of having friends read and react in real time to some of my work and gooood grief is that ever motivating. (@crimson-and-lavender and @lastlight-inn I'm looking at you lol)

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

I want to be approachable and interesting as a person. I hope people want to read my work or even collab.

I want my writing to be novel, engaging, and exciting. I want to subvert their expectations, but also tell them a story that's approachable and will resonate with them.

Mostly I want my writing to make others feel (good).

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

The longer I've been writing things - honestly, I think it's patience. Being willing to change ideas, move them around, or even abandon them if need be. It took a long time to be okay with those things.

How do you feel about your own writing?

Oh, we have a love hate relationship. I know I can be a bit...verbose. But I also find my own writing pretty fun and interesting. I know I've done a pretty good job if I enjoy re-reading it.

Tagging some lovely mooots with affectionate no-pressure boops: @abysskeeper, @feedthepheasants, and an open tag for any other lovelies that want to!

[mimisempai]

To protect

Summary

After an incident with an intruder who wanted to hang a poster on Aziraphale's bookshop, the Angel discovers that Crowley's protective instinct goes further than he thought, and wonders if the demon sees him as weak.

Notes

About the source of Crowley's protection instinct…

On Ao3

Rating G -  1657 words

As Crowley set his mug back on the table, his eyes were drawn to something unusual in the street. He saw a man trying to hang a poster on one of the bookshop's doorposts. He was about to stand up and shoo the shameless intruder away when he suddenly saw Aziraphale emerge from the bookshop and walk toward the man.

The demon was at first a little amused by Aziraphale's offended expression. The angel was probably outraged that someone would even think of sticking a poster on the stylish front of his bookshop. But it seemed that the fellow refused to take down his poster, so Aziraphale set about removing it himself.

Crowley then saw the guy start to get a little too close to Aziraphale and was ready to intervene again, but this time Aziraphale managed to get him to leave.

Crowley continued to watch the street until he was sure that Aziraphale was in the bookshop, and when he turned his head, he saw that the guy was still watching the bookshop with a vicious eye.

The demon made a small gesture with his hand, and from across the street, people watched in astonishment and some even amusement as the poster man stumbled, sending his posters flying in all directions.

Crowley couldn't suppress a mocking chuckle before picking up his mug and taking another sip.

"Still playing protector?"

Crowley looked up at Nina, who had come to set a plate of Eccles cakes on his table, and replied, "What do you expect, Nina, you can't just go against millennia of protective instinct.

Nina replied, "When you answer like that, I can't help but wonder if you're speaking literally or figuratively, and the worst part is, after all we've seen, I'm pretty sure it's literal."

Crowley raised his eyebrows, grinned, and replied, "Trust me, Nina, you really don't want to know."

He took a last sip of coffee and set the empty mug back on the table before getting up. He picked up the plate of cake, winked at Nina, and headed for the bookstore.

By the time he reached the store, the nuisance was gone.

Crowley entered the store and saw Aziraphale in the process of tearing the poster that had been taped to the doorpost into tiny pieces before it disappeared in a puff of smoke. Seeing this, Crowley couldn't help but chuckle slightly.

Aziraphale turned briskly toward him and exclaimed, "Oh, Crowley, my dear, there you are!" 

The angel's gaze fell on the plate of cake in Crowley's hand, and the demon watched in amusement as Aziraphale's eyes lit up. 

He handed the plate to Aziraphale and said softly, "I think a little treat will help after what you've just been through, don't you?"

Aziraphale's expression turned angry as he muttered, "Did you see that troublemaker? He dared to do this to my bookshop!"

The angel greedily grabbed one of the cakes and bit into it, obviously still irritated by the situation. 

Then, as if the sweet pastry had already softened his mood, he continued in a satisfied tone, "Anyway, he's been well punished, all his posters... pfft... gone."

Crowley could neither hold back a chuckle nor hide his proud smile...

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes and asked suspiciously, "Crowley... are you by any chance responsible for what happened to him?"

Crowley looked right and then left and said in a nonchalant tone, "I may have had a little something to do with... the posters flying off..."

Aziraphale pout a little and asked, "You don't think I am strong enough to defend myself?"

Crowley sighed and replied, "I'll give you the same answer I gave Nina, it's hard to fight millennia of protective instinct." 

Aziraphale didn't react, grabbed the plate of cake and sat down at his desk, saying nothing more.

Crowley, confused, figured he must have said something wrong, but the problem was, he had absolutely no idea what. 

Knowing his angel when he was in that state, he figured he'd give it some time and come back to it a little later. 

He went to make him a cup of tea and a few moments later placed it next to him on his desk. The angel looked up at him and said, "Thank you," and nothing else.

His expression was the same as before. Crowley didn't insist and sat down on the sofa. He began to read his newspaper, waiting until the angel was ready to talk to him.

When he reached the last page, nothing had changed, which meant the problem was obviously more serious than he thought.

He folded the paper and placed it on the small table.

He said quietly, "Angel, would you mind telling me what I said wrong, because right now I really don't know."

Aziraphale turned to him and seemed to start a sentence several times, stopping each time.

Crowley sat up a little on the sofa and patted the spot next to him. He asked softly, "Why don't you come sit next to me, maybe it'll be easier that way."

Aziraphale nodded, stood up, and came to sit beside him.

Crowley noticed that his fingers were fidgeting in his lap, so he gently placed his hand on the angel's nervous hands and said softly, "Angel, we said we wouldn't lie to each other anymore, so tell me what's on your mind without hesitation. I promise I won't get mad." Aziraphale looked up at him and asked, "Crowley, do you think I am incapable of protecting myself?"

Crowley replied directly, without thinking, "That is the last thing I think of you! You recently vanquished an army of demons with your halo, the two of us performed a miracle of awesome power, not to mention everything else I've seen you do over the millennia."

Aziraphale nodded and continued, "Then why are you talking about a protective instinct?"

Crowley raised his hand and laid it flat on the angel's chest, "Well, I've seen this angel who had a heart so big it drove him to go against God's orders to save children."

Gabriel looked him in the eye and asked gravely, "Aziraphale, who are they?" 

Aziraphale hesitated slightly, his gaze shifting from Gabriel to Crowley, and he said, "They are..."

He looked at Sitis, Job and the children and continued, "His new children." 

Gabriel looked at him sharply and Aziraphale added, "I... You have my word as an angel."

"When I witnessed you lie to Gabriel's face about Job's children, I was proud of you for having the courage to do it. But I also saw the sadness you felt when you thought you were damned for what you'd done, and how you were ready to face the consequences. When I caught the look on your face at the other end of the stone bench, that's when that instinct was born."

He raised his hand and gently caressed the angel's face before continuing, "Not because you're weak, on the contrary, it took incredible strength for you to do what you did.  But I knew that this decision would hurt you until you had gone as far as you could along with Heaven."

Aziraphale nodded and replied, "I think I understand. Is that why you were so upset when I decided to help Gabriel?"

Crowley grumbled, "Why else would you think? It wasn't a homeless man you took in, it was the fucking Archangel Gabriel who tried to kill you the last time he saw you! So forgive me for not reacting rationally."

Aziraphale replied softly, "Don't be mad," he took Crowley's hand, still on his face, and kissed it tenderly before continuing, "And thank you."

Then he frowned and asked, "Tell me, was it also protective instinct, that scene you made with Mr. Brown in the pub?"

Crowley blushed slightly before replying, "He was sitting in my seat."

"So?" Aziraphale asked, raising an eyebrow.

Crowley grumbled, "It was my seat."

"Oh, we're territorial, I see."

The demon replied, "As far as you're concerned, always have been."

Aziraphale replied, "You know you'll never have to worry about that. I'll never let anyone take your place. Literally and figuratively."

Crowley replied in a determined tone, "And that's fine."

Aziraphale chuckled slightly and said, "You're too cute for words sometimes."

"Angel, I forbid you. I'm a demon, I'm not cu-"

"Yes, you are. Tell yourself whatever you want, but I know."

"No, you don't--"

"Crowley."

"What?!

"Shut up."

Crowley gave a mischievous little smile and replied, "Make me."

Aziraphale was no angel to turn down a challenge, so he smiled and leaned over the demon, his expression turning serious again as he murmured against his lips, "Thanks for always having my back. I love you." 

That was enough to silence the demon, as it did every time the angel spoke those three words to him.

But Aziraphale still leaned over him and pressed his lips to the demon's. The long, tender kiss they shared expressed better than words what they both felt at that moment.

A little later, Azirapahle was reading on the sofa, one hand buried in Crowley's hair, the demon's head resting in his lap.

He looked down at him and said softly, "Will you let me protect you, too?"

Crowley caught the angel's hand in his hair, pressed it to his chest, and said, "You've done this before. More than once, instinctively. And the first time was on a wall, above a garden. You spread your wing to protect me from the rain."

Aziraphale chuckled slightly, "That hardly counts."

"To me it still and always will count more than anything, Angel."

The tone was unmistakable, so Aziraphale resumed his reading, burying his hand in the red strands again.

Whether it was him or Crowley, it seemed they were both wrong in their definition of their own nature.

Their nature was not that of angel or demon. 

Their nature was to protect one another.

Since the beginning of time.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

[shiftingparadise]

Hey, I’m unsure if you still write for MHA but I’d love a comfort fic/drabble about a reader who’s struggling with guilt and bad thoughts, to eventually get some support from Dabi? I’ve been struggling a lot so much lmao

I'm so sorry to hear you've been struggling. It's been a long time since I've written anything. So forgive me if it's not as good but I hope you like it. I'm here if you want to talk.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1776

“It’s my fault”, your voice shaking. “It’s my fault, right?”, your head now resting against the wall behind you. “It’s my fault that they’re-“. A sentence you fail to say out loud. A stinging sensation greeted your eyes. You were sitting in an ally, your hands resting on your knees as little clouds left your lips. It was a cold night and even though your mind failed to notice the cold, your body did. Leaving you shaking, your teeth grinding on each other. Were you angry or sad? Probably both. It was unfair. The way Deku didn’t flinch, the way Bakugo grinned, … All why you were frozen in place. Too scared to save the lives of innocent people. What kind of hero were you? A joke. That’s what you are. “I hate them”, tears now flooded your eyes. “I hate the way things are so easy for them, the way they always seem to save everyone while I’ve worked so hard for this. I’m not a pro hero. I’m a joke, a coward-“.

He knew you hadn’t noticed. His staring eyes. The way he was leaning against the wall just a little bit further. If it were someone else, he’d probably would’ve laughed, or done something to upset them even more. Probably killed them eventually if they’d dare to talk back to him but… You looked so ‘good’. So, innocent. As if you hadn’t done anything wrong in your entire life. And the way your tears were dripping down your cute nose, the way you cutely rubbed the palm of your hand on your eyelids… Not to mention your voice. So soft, so ‘good’. There wasn’t any other way he could put it. You seemed ‘good’ and here you were, talking down on yourself like that just because you couldn’t be like them. A feeling he understood all too well. The feeling of not being good enough.

“Why? Why am I like this?”, your eyes darted to the sky. Desperately searching for an answer. “If I just swooped in, if I just managed to move my feet they would’ve been saved. They would’ve been able to return to their families, their loved ones… I hate myself”, your sobs getting louder, not caring about your surrounding anymore. Because it hurt. The feeling in your chest, the way you could hardly breathe anymore. “I hate myself and everyone else does too, right?”, your eyes still looking at the sky, hoping someone would talk back. “That’s why I’m always alone. Why I don’t have any friends”. Right, this wasn’t just about the lost lives. It was about your hurt. About everything that you tried to bury in your past.

Alone. He was always alone. He never had anyone. He knew the way you felt. The desperation, the sense of hopelessness.

“You’re not alone”, a raspy voice travelled through the air and startling you.

“Creep”, the word flashed before his eyes. You were crying about being alone, thinking you were alone in that ally. Probably one of the times you even wanted to be alone, and this is what he chose to say? Not even a hello? Or a dry cough to let you know someone was there.

“W-who are you?”, you narrowed your eyes, not bothering to wipe your tears. The darkness around you made it hard for you to see. “No one”, the voice replied.

He already regretted this. That he let you know someone was there. That he was there.

“If you’re too scared to speak, then don’t bother letting me know you’re here”, you turned your head to the side.

Scared? He wasn’t scared, right?

“Then don’t cry in the middle of an ally”, a snappy remark that he immediately regretted. “Well, I’m sorry that I bothered you”, you quietly replied. Your heart felt heavy. The last thing you needed was a stranger that made you feel even worse.

“You didn’t bother me”, the voice sounded almost desperate. “I-I guess I’m… sorry?”.

Did he just apologize? Or tried to anyway.

“Who are you?”, you knew that voice. You heard it on the TV once, right? But if you were right then… “No one”, he repeated himself.

He noticed the way your breathing got heavier. The way you tensed your entire body.

“No one you should be scared off”, his hands now in his pockets, his eyes closed.

Hate. Once again, the word flashed before his eyes. He hated himself.

“I know who you are”, you tried to relax your body. For some reason you believed him. Even though a murderer was standing practically next to you. But you were one too, right? You didn’t hurt people on purpose, but you failed to save them while you were standing so close. Wasn’t that even worse?

“Then why don’t you kill me?”, his voice sounded cold.

“I don’t know”, your teeth digging into the soft skin of your lips. “I don’t know”, tears once again streaming down your cheeks. “Probably because I’m scared, right? I’m a failure”.

“H-huh?”, your breath stopped, your eyes wide open as rough digits stroked over your cheek. His eyes now staring directly into yours as he squatted before you.

This wasn’t like him. He was never like this, or not that he could remember anyways.

“You must be freezing”, he sighed as he let his head fall back. “Here”, his hands wrapped around yours. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to burn you”, he coldly looked into your eyes again. Your heart was racing as you could feel his hands getting hotter, causing a nice sensation against your skin. Like holding them in front of a fireplace. “Feels nice”, you softly whispered.

His eyes unwillingly widened at your small praise. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone said something similar to him.

“It’s fine if you’re not like them”, his gaze now fixed on your hands. They fitted perfectly in his. Your skin felt so soft against his scars… He could stay like this for hours. “It’s fine if you’re scared”, his eyes found yours again. “I don’t need life lessons from someone like you”, you suddenly pulled your hands away, leaving an empty feeling behind. What were you doing? He was a villain. He couldn’t be trusted. “Right”, a painful look in his eyes. “I’m sorry”, he lowered his eyes as he stood back up. “So, you want to fight me or are you going to let me go without a hassle?”, his voice cold again. You stayed quiet for a second as you looked up at him. He looked handsome. Painfully handsome. Even with all of his scars, even with his messy hair… but most of all, he looked lonely.

“Cold”, you turned your head to the side, “My hands”. “Huh?”, his brows pulled together. “Could you please do that thing again?”, your cheeks red as you held out your hands, avoiding his gaze at all costs.

Even if this was a trap, even if you were going to capture him… He couldn’t refuse when you looked like that.

“Tsk”, an unexpected smile on his face, “Come here”. He lifted you from the ground with your arm.  “I’m not going to sit on the ground like an idiot. Let’s go to my place, it’s warm. I promise”, he already started walking. For some reason he didn’t doubt you’d follow him. And you did. Without saying anything. If this was wrong, then why did it feel so right?

It was only a five-minute walk and for some reason it made him sad. He could’ve walked through entire countries with you walking beside him.

“We’re here”, he stopped in front of a tall building. To be honest, it looked like it was going to fall apart any minute. “Know it’s not much”, he scratched the back of his head, “But it’s warm… and safe”.

He knew he was a hypocrite. How could he say something like that when he killed people for fun?

“Hm”, you softly smiled. “Y-you still want to come in?”, he now sounded nervous. He couldn’t believe you actually trusted him enough to follow him like this. “Yeah”, your arms wrapped around your body, trying to keep the cold away.

How could he forget? You probably didn’t have a quirk like his, that kept him warm. He should’ve offered you his coat, or at least try to keep you warm.

“Let’s go inside. You must be cold”, he opened the door for you. It. Was a quiet walk to his apartment. Your mind and heart fighting against each other. “So”, he awkwardly kicked some boxes of fast food to the side as you entered his apartment. “Like I said, I know it’s not much but it’s warm”.

He felt embarrassed. He only had a small TV and a bed. Not even a chair or a couch to sit on.

“It’s enough”, you smiled. “Here, sit down please”, he quickly straightened his pillows. “You can sit here. I know it’s probably not comfortable to sit like this-“. “It’s perfect”, you sat down while leaning with your back against the wooden frame of his bed. “H-here’s a blanket”, he grabbed one from a box. You thanked him once again.

“Why are you doing this?”.

Your question pierced through his chest. He didn’t know why. He wasn’t like this. He never was kind to anyone.

“I don’t know”, he awkwardly sat down beside you. “I guess I understand the way you feel. That’s why I said it’s fine if you’re not like them. You don’t have to pretend all the time”. “Pretend?”, you pulled the blanket over your legs. “They’re scared too, you know? Everyone is. They just pretend they aren’t. It’s fine to be scared, to not show up sometimes. It’s fine if you can’t fake being happy, or brave, or …”, he hesitated for a second. “All I’m saying is, it’s fine if you’re you”. “But I-“, your eyes already glossy. “Don’t cry”, he turned to look at you. “You can’t cry. You can’t show them you’re weak-“.

What was he doing? He cried all the time, or he used to anyway. And yes, he felt weak because he did so, but when he saw you cry earlier… All he saw was a girl who was tired of being strong.

“You don’t need this, right? A lecture”, he shook his head, unsure of what was happening to him. “Cry your heart out”, he wrapped your arms around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Cry. Let it out. You’re not alone. I’m here with you. It’s brave to cry”, he tightened his grip as he heard your sobs. “You’ll never be alone again”.

[glazedsnail]

Ok I'm so excited to share this!!

This work is part of the Week of the Winter Star Feast 2024 organised by the Stardew Valley Fanfiction Writers Guild

@stardewfanficwriters

Day 1: Snowed In

The Ao3 Link right there:

The work under the cut. A conversation between Shane and Evelyn while snowed in, stuck in the old farm.

I want to thank @annetastic1981a SO MUCH for letting me bring her idea to life. Thank you thank you thank you ♥

It happened so fast, I am still trying to gather myself.

I wanted some holly, to make a Winterfest Wreath. Strangely, the forest was bare, and as I walked up through the farm to reach the backwoods, the storm hit.

Thankfully, the new ranch addition was there, apparently trying to find a lost chicken. It is still a little blurry, but he quickly grabbed me, a chicken in his other arm, and shoved me in the old abandoned farm. Just in time before the snow started falling in heavy layers.

The wind is howling through the decrepit wooden walls and down the chimney. He wanted to start a fire, but complained that the fireplace surely hadn't been swept in so many years it would just suffocate us.

I'm grateful, I would have lit that fire.

He is breaking kindle into a rusty metal drum that was resting in the kitchen, softly speaking to the chicken, explaining to it how he needs newspaper or alike. But has not said a single word to me.

I remember when he moved to Marnie's ranch. She introduced this gruff looking frowning man as her nephew, and the little girl's godfather. Jas. Jas' godfather.

He had nothing of the two ever smiling ranch residents, and he soon earned the reputation of being, well, rather unfriendly.

I know frowning. My husband being stuck in his forever scrunched and sour face. And it always hides much more than what is shown.

I'm glad I'm all wrapped up in my shawl, but to say I'm impatient for the wood to finally burn would be an understatement.

'Ah shit.'

He groans, fighting with his matches to get torn up pages off a book to burn, the chicken clucking away at him as if to encourage him.

The snow is really falling. Easily reaching the windows now. I hope George won't be too worried.

'Can I be of any help, dear?'

'Nah, gettin' there. Fucking matches.' He lifts his head to me, at last. 'Oh f… I mean, sorry. Didn't mean to swear.'

'Ha, don't worry. This is barely the moment for uptightness.'

I walk up to them, him and the chicken. Finally, some flames perk up the tumbler. He shouts victory and grabs the chicken in his arms, smiling.

I believe this is the first time I see him smiling. I chuckle, placing my hands over the soothing fire.

'Thank you…hum?'

'Shane.' He answers, letting the chicken settle nicely in his hoodie. It blushes, lets out a rather content "bock" and closes its eyes. Now that's one warm and happy chicken.

'Thank you, Shane.' I repeat. 'That chicken seems to like you a lot.'

He blushes in turn, slowly petting the sleepy animal.

'Yeah I…I guess so.'

'What's her name?'

'Oh, it's Charlie.' He smiles again 'Say "Hi" Charlie…' But the hen is fast asleep.

'It must have been a hard day for her. Lost on this abandonned farm. She is probably very grateful that you found her.' He blushes again, looking away. I have a hard time recognising the ever frowning man we have seen those past few weeks. 'I am grateful you found me too.' I chuckle, and look at the window. The light of the day is gone along with the view.

I don't know how long it's been now. Shane brought a chair to the fire to let me sit down. Charlie still asleep in his hoodie. We've not exchanged much, apart from a few pleasantry. I was surprised he knew my name, as well as that I am Alex's grandmother. It seems the two of them got to talk gridball at some point.

'Alex would probably like to have someone he could play with.'

'Mmh, I don't do this stuff 'nymore… Can barely stand on my knees at it is. Constantly crouching at Jojamart too.'

His expression rebecome sombre.

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to assume'

'Nah you're fine. I'm just…falling to pieces here.' He chuckles, awkwardly. The shadows cast by the fire on his face show more sadness than the contempt everyone thought at first. And still think, actually. But it's no mere disdain. He sighs, in the flick of the flames I could swear I saw tears gathering, disappearing in a blink.

'I can't hear the wind down the chimney anymore, maybe the snow has stopped too.' I venture.

'I hope so.'

'Once it's safe to do so, I'm sure they will find us soon. We don't want to make Jas worried now do we?' I laugh. He gives me a heartless half-smile. 'How is she doing, anyway?'

Shane tenses up, enough to wake Charlie up who jumps down his chest and lands clumsily on the dirty floor. We both look at her walk around the drum, and plops down with a satisfied smile.

'She's fine.' He eventually says. He opens his mouth, but closes it immediately.

'Is there something wrong?'

He groans, looking down to the slowly receding flames. His eyes lit up by the fire dart left and right, quivering. I recognize fear, and doubt. I've seen them before. The terror of inadequacy befalling on one's spirit like an unstoppable landslide. Knowing that you cannot let it engulf you. You have to stand, tall, and strong, until it comes to a standstill and surrounds you with rocks, mud, and debris.

Survive a landslide. On his own.

We survived, but we had each other.

'Shane? Dear, I'm afraid the fire is dying down.' He lifts his head in a "ho", and grabs a chair he instantly breaks on his thigh in a grunt. 'Oh, don't go hurting yourself!' He only laughs, chucking the broken wood in the drum.

'Glad there's spare stuff 'round there. Ah shit.' He grabs his hand and his fingers. 'Splinters.' He only says, trying to prick it out with his teeth.

'Oh, be careful, you will get that infected!' I reach for my purse. 'Come here. I won't bite you!' Puzzled, he slowly walks toward me, holding his hand. 'Don't squirm, you're worse than my husband.' I grab his hand and pour some whiskey from my flask.

'The hell is that?!'

'Simply disinfecting, dear. Now, this might hurt.' I warn, getting my old faithful tweezers ready. He scoffs, probably about to say something about how he won't feel a thing. I laugh as he conceals a grunt. But the splinter is out. 'That was quite the big one!'

'Good whiskey though.' He laughs, sucking on his "injured" finger. 'D'you just walk around with it?'

'Why, yes. Especially in winter.' I'm about to put the flask back in my purse. 'We can share a nip, to keep us warm.' I laugh.

'Heh, I'm sure you know it's all bollocks.' Shane smiles, still accepting the flask, hovering it above his lips. 'Yeah, damn good whiskey.' He laughs with a wince, handing it back to me.

Hopefully, that'll get him to relax a bit. In a very selfish way, I just can't bear another hour in silence and idle chitchat. But it also seems he could use the Dutch courage and loosen up a little.

'How are you finding the ranch life?' I try again.

He sits down to Charlie who is cosy close to the burning drum. As he starts slowly petting her I can hear the hen softly humming? Purring? I don't really know what sounds chicken make. But it certainly is a happy noise.

'It's…Well it's better than the city.' He sighs, his hands reaching his face to get through his hair. 'I'm…'

'Yes?'

'I'm happy to be with Jas, again. But she deserves better.'

'Better than living on a dairy farm?' I laugh. 'She is a very bright little girl. She was quite excited to tell us her godfather was coming to live with her.'

He scoffs, loudly, his face falling in his open hands.

'What a fuckin' godfather I make.' He mumbles, looking down his bent legs. 'Sure the excitement wore off the second she actually saw me.'

Shane isn't exactly the most gentle looking person ever, that's for sure. Very gruff. But the way I saw him take care of that hen just now can't be a polite act. Seems to me like it's the other way around entirely.

I never probed Marnie on Jas' "provenance". It was clear the little baby she ended up with all those years ago wasn't a present from a random stork. Shane stayed for a while at the time if I recall correctly, but mostly kept to the ranch. When he left again for the city we were all none the wiser. And Jas stayed, and grew up. I do not wish to intrude either, I know the cultural impact and duties of a godfather.

Shane must have been very close to Jas' parents. And to lose them when she was so young. It never occured to me that something this…wounding was what actually had happened. Shane dealt with losing two tremendously close friends, a heartbreaking decision, and whatever happened in the city.

I'm starting to understand his gruff act. Why would anyone want to risk going through losing people again.

'You know, George and I had to take care of Alex when he was still a young boy.' I say, wanting my voice to be comforting. 'Our daughter, Clara, sadly passed.'

'I'm sorry.'

'I had George. We had each other.' I recall the loss we weren't allowed to grieve. The denial thrust upon ourselves, for the sake of Alex, and having to wear a parent's hat all over again after all these years.

We've been parents from the second Clara was born, of course. But close to doing it all over again, at our age? After losing our only daughter?

It was daunting. Seemed unfeasible. We allowed ourselves to grieve, taking turn, looking after each other.

I cannot fathom how it would have been like on my own.

'It was still…Very hard. It sometimes continues to be. The worries never cease. And, well, the pain has never left us.' I hear Shane groans, shuffling on himself. Looking down but listening to my every word. 'I will always ask myself if what we did, are doing, is good enough for Alex. Moreover, I will forever seek approval from Clara, wonder if I'm raising him like she wants us to. If I am worthy of her son.' This time it is not a shadow illusion, I can clearly see tears slowly running down Shane's cheeks as he plops his forehead in his hand. 'I'm not trying to upset you.' My voice breaks. I do wish I could ask my daughter if we are doing a great job. If she would be proud of her son. 'I'm merely…Well.' I stand up, the chair creaks under my effort and my joints are stiff from the cold, but I manage to reach Shane whose back now slightly tremble. 'I just want to say that I understand.'

My hand on Shane's shoulder shakes with his quiet sobs. Sadly, I do not have any comforting words. But I understand, painfully so.

Charlie stands up too, slowly bobbing her head to Shane. I never knew chickens could have a worried look but… There it is. She lifts her small head, and Shane welcomes her in his arms, softly whispering to her that he's ok.

I silently chuckle watching the tender scene unfold.

The rescue party reaches the door and I thank Yoba, seeing Alex reaching the threshold first, coming to me in a hurry.

Quite quickly, the little girl, covered in tears, rush to her godfather who receives her in an audible 'oof'. I look at them both, and smile. Shane is crouching down to Jas, showing her how Charlie was keeping warm, repeating, again, how he is ok, asking her to stop crying, he is ok. And he will be fine.

Shane looks up at me, as Alex walks me through the freed door, and I see his smile.

He will be fine.

[ss-shitstorm]

Hey I am considering writing my own book for a different fandom (gravity falls ) and you are without a doubt my favorite author (I recommended your works to my sgt lol). I have a few questions if you feel like answering if not that’s totally fine too.

First off- how do you prepare a space and headspace to get in the writing mood

Second- do you have any recommended playlist that help

Third- how do you make your characters so personable and yet not copy paste persona

I really enjoy how passionate you are and how much it shows through your work and would like a crumb of knowledge on how to derive from it 🙇‍♀️

My brain is sorta fried but I'm so fucking flattered you'd ask and are gonna do my best to answer this.

This is kinda complicated. I kinda...don't. I just force myself to do it. It's part of my routine like brushing my teeth or exercising. If I need to be in a specific mood for a specific character then I've got moodboards and by moodboards I mean picture folders of the character in question with a bunch of memes/shitposts/aesthetic fodder that reminds me of them. But a huge part of my productivity is to make it routine. That and (if I can help it) writing it as early in the day as possible, and leaving more mundane, less cognition-intensive tasks for later. (looking up "chronotypes" has actually been super helpful for this. Most people's brains have a certain time of day that they work best)

2. I don't really have a specific playlist for writing, but I kinda trained my brain to respond to certain musical genres by *only* playing them while I was studying or writing, so now when that type of music comes on, my brain goes "oh. It's time to learn chemistry/write." if you wanna try this then I suggest using a genre that you're not gonna really be tempted to listen to in different settings. Something pleasant to you that you're sorta ambivalent about.(I personally listen to Keji Haino and drone metal bc the odds of hearing or wanting to hear that shit outside of writing sessions is really low)

3. Ooh. this one's a (super flattering btw!) toughie. My personal technique for this is to write every character as though at some point, I might have to make the protag fall in love with them.(Or if that's not appropriate/possible for whatever reason, then the protag might adopt them/become extremely close found family) This way I learn more about them, take them more seriously, and I fall in love with them a little too. It kinda makes nobody a true side character.

Another thing is giving the preexisting characters(if we're speaking strictly fanfic) multiple new traits and hobbies that don't clash with their canon personality. Take your blorbo. Plop this fucker down in front of you and see how hard you can OC-ify their ass before they're no longer the character you started out with. Basically blingee the evershitting FUCK out of them. Then dial it back. Strip your new OC back down until they start resembling the character you started out with, and stop somewhere around there. That's your blueprint. You don't start OUT with this brand new freshly makeover'd guy, you slowly let your readers get to know them over the course of multiple chapters.

There's a thin line between enhancing their personality/backtory and covering up, and you'll probably cross it multiple times. But if there's one thing I've learned from decades of reading fanfic, it's that risking OOC behavior is kinda necessary to turn a good fic into a *mind-blowingly* good fic.

thank you for asking bro and good luck. I don't know much about GF other than ppl want to fuck the old guys and the flying dorrito but I'm in your corner the whole way. LMK when you write that shit

[takami-takami]

RANT ABOUT MYSELF. BOOOOO

The fucking. PROBLEM is, "get me out of here," I say, shaking the bars of my cage. "Get me out of this house."

But. I don't have any faith in myself that I would be able to survive out there considering I had a Hawks Childhood with respect to neglect and hiding from the world. It's hard. It's hard! Idk if it comes across or if I'm just good at masking, but I wasn't allowed out of the house as a kid. I didn't socialize during key years. A decade. And it's hard, because I spent a good deal of my school years alone and bullied as well.

I feel like I am too traumatized to be able to function in society correctly; not necessarily because of the amount of hurt inflicted upon me— which was quite a bit— but because of what was deprived of.

I don't... Fucking know how to speak people. I don't know English and even though it is my only language, I feel like it's barely my first. I'm not fluent in being a fucking person. I was told to put on a fake shell persona and to never be myself around friends. I try not to listen, but maybe they were onto something cuz I probably should have. I don't know what to do besides try and pull a Wybee with that stitched smile thing.

I try very hard to connect. I'm actually quite terrible with maintenance of relationships. I'm not a good friend, I run away and avoid my inbox. I look at every ask I get and feel deeply unwell at the thought of answering. I love deeply but shallowly. I try to connect further, but it feels like there is a glass box separating me from everyone else.

I don't feel better than anyone else, I just feel wrong. And I see people with all these friends and I get jealous, like. I don't. I don't know what that's like!!!!! FUCK!!!!!!!!

I consider people online to be friends but I'm scared to say it. It feels like I'm not allowed. I don't feel like I'm doing it right. I don't talk regularly when I wish I did.

Head in my hands. I remind myself again, to take accountability and make the decison to be better. It's a fucking choice. But every time pull down that veil to delude myself into thinking I made my problems up, singing lalala I can't hear you, I don't wake up when I open my eyes. I'm not better just because I decided it. It's still me.

And I don't fucking know if I'm even capable of learning how to live my dream. Which is to have friends both irl and online, a partner (optional), and a job. That is all. That is all. I want bonds. I want bonds. I want bonds. I see how connected everybody could be but not me.

I fucking. HATE how much I am probably projecting onto Hawks. LAUGHS. Everybody disregard my analysis from now on, the fucking jig is up! /s

[john-laurens]

I have been thinking about a line that John Laurens wrote to Francis Kinloch on August 23, 1774:

it grows so late that I must bid you Adieu, kiss all the pretty Genevoises for me, and dont delay to write to your affectionate John Laurens_

I don't speak French, but my understanding is that "Genevoises" is feminine plural and would translate to "Genevan women." So my question is - why did John ask Francis to kiss all of the pretty Genevan women for him?

This is the first letter John wrote to Francis after John arrived in London. He had just left Francis and their other friends behind in Geneva, a transition that was surely hard on him, as evidenced by an earlier line in the letter:

If my Letter is a little confused, dont be surpriz'd at it, for I am quite like a Creature in a new World, and shall be for some time in an unsettled State_ I am glad however to inform you that I shall not have Lodgings in the Temple as I at first thought_ but in some genteel private Family_ the Noise, the Cries the Smoak and Dust of this vast City, make me sometimes wish myself back at Paquis, I have another Reason too, for wishing myself there, I dont know when I shall get into such a valuable Set of Acquaintance as I have left_

I am of the opinion that John and Francis had a deeply romantic relationship - you can explore previous discussions about this in my Francis Kinloch tag. So what is the purpose of John asking his closest friend/lover, whom he only recently left, to kiss some pretty ladies on his behalf?

Was John being facetious? This seems like the most obvious answer, considering John rarely ever mentioned women in his other surviving writings and barely in any romantic context. Was he simply trying to make light of an emotionally trying time in his life?

Was there a hidden implication behind the words? The phrase conjures intimate images of Francis kissing people he finds attractive. Perhaps John was making a reference to kisses they'd shared in the past but veiled in a way that would not be so easily understood by other readers of the letter.

Was it performative? Was John feeling fear or uncertainty regarding his likely attraction toward men? Was he trying to make himself out to be something else?

Was John teasing Francis? Francis seems to have experienced attraction to women. A "Miss Stephens" that Francis appeared to seriously court is mentioned in a September 30, 1776 letter from John to Francis. Were there certain women in Geneva that Francis found attractive, and was John encouraging him to explore those attractions?

Or is there no hidden meaning? Did John think of the Genevan women as pretty and genuinely wish to kiss them?

A final note - I also find it interesting that the final "-es" in "Genevoises" is written detached from the rest of the word:

Is it possible that John originally wrote the word as "Genevois" (Genevan men, to my understanding) and then added the "-es" to alter the meaning? Probably not, as there is evidence that this was simply John's style of handwriting (as seen below in the word "present"), but it is something to consider.