#and sit at the edge of my favourite cliff

[shou-jpeg]

I am so tired of the grind, fam.

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 7)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 8

GIF: Originally posted by @kimdokjas

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Nudity. Kissing. Language. AFAB + AMAB penetrative sex. Unprotected sex.

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: Hello there! What a long time this chapter has been in the making. There was an entire week where I had limited time and an even more limited internet connection but I promise I haven't abandoned this story. On a less grovelling note, how good is Dead Boy Detectives? Let me know in the comments what your favourite moment was in the show if you've seen it. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

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There's sunlight on your face. It filters past your closed eyelids, rousing you unforgivingly from the tranquil dreamscape you had been wandering through.

You frown, a disgruntled yet pitiful noise issuing from the back of your throat.

Did you get in that late last night that you forgot to close your curtains?

It had been a nostalgic dream - a long and winding path that tracked the edge of a cliff that you walked in sturdy brown boots. An aquamarine sea to your right and a multicoloured floral field to your left, the salt and petal scents of both welcomed with each inhale. The bracing air had ruffled the looser sections of your clothes and threaded through your splayed fingers.

Every detail was exactly as it had been in your childhood summer holidays to the coast. Warmth and adventure and fun. Which is precisely why you are reluctant to leave.

You've passed the threshold into waking however and no amount of stubbornness can aid you. To ease your passage, you use the heels of both hands to cover your eyes from the obnoxious light.

The movement shifts the air around you, alerting you to another strange thing: the absence of your pyjamas. You hardly ever slept naked, and definitely not in the winter months. Come to think of it, these were not your sheets either. They felt far too sleek against your bare skin to be your trusty cotton ones…

You freeze.

Whose bed were you in?

Your mind is flailing like someone unable to swim who has fallen into a body of water as you try to remember, adrenal glands preparing you for potential danger with a hefty bloodstream-bound jolt, carried effectively by a stampeding heart rate.

Your eyelids snap open as muscles lock.

More disarray enters the mix when you find the source of the sunshine.

There's a sky above you awash with vibrant pinks and oranges. A couple of clouds drift in front of the burning orb, alleviating the intensity of the sunrise enough that you don't have to squint for long.

How was it possible that you were both outside and lying on a bed? Where the fuck were you?

The recollections finally break through the surface of your memory lake when you see him.

Morpheus.

The King of Dreams and Nightmares. Your soulmate.

Your body relaxes and the rising tension disperses.

His position has changed from the one he had taken before you fell asleep; he now sits beside you, studying you with those gorgeous universe-containing eyes. It's a much less predatory stare than the others previously directed towards you but the power within him is still palpable.

The beauty he possesses is overwhelming too; just like how it did with the night sky and aurora behind him, this sunrise is making him breath-taking. The rosy light is accentuating every inch of skin on show, from the angular features of his face to the toned bare chest that expands and contracts with controlled breaths.

"Good morning my soulmate," he says, his deep voice even huskier from not being used overnight.

"Hi," you reply timidly, gaze forced down by the weight of his.

He doesn't seem to like this shyness for he reaches out, tracing two fingertips in circles above your sternum, right over your soul. You're surprised when there is no pain, in fact, you shiver enjoyably from the simple touch.

You wish the same absence of pain could be said for the lower half of your body.

With much muscular discomfort, you roll onto your side and push yourself to sitting. The majority of it is set deep in your legs, right at the top where your femur bones meet your hip sockets, and radiating through your hamstrings. There are also internal twinges left over from fingering and penetration. The collective tenderness is understandable given all that transpired last night. All the pleasure that had flowed between you, those configurations that your body had never been put into before. Ones you dearly hoped to be put in again soon.

"How long have you been watching me?" You ask teasingly.

"Since you began to sleep."

Your smile falters, worry mounting at the inference that you had kept him awake. Had you been snoring? Twitching? Sleep talking?

You reach for his left hand that rests atop the dark sheets. "You must be exhausted."

That same duo of fingertips brush tantalisingly across your bottom lip. "Your concern is touching, dearest, but I do not require sleep."

"Oh." Your lungs deflate with a whoosh. "I guess that makes sense. People must need dreams all the time."

"Precisely," he praises, his tone smooth and seductive as he cups your face in his hand. "And there are many other ways in which I can find respite and rejuvenation."

He pounces on you then, claiming your mouth with a deep kiss. You go boneless when his tongue slips past the boundary of your pouted lips, enveloping you in his intoxicating warmth.

Morpheus kisses you until you are completely pliant; becoming putty in his talented hands. And when he pulls back, his attention goes straight to your eyes. He looks back and forth between each one like he is checking for something, as if the kiss was his way of dosing you up and he is confirming if it has kicked in.

Your mind certainly feels high enough for it to be true. You stare back at him, his irises become darker and darker the longer you look, until you can see your face reflected in the black-mirror eyes.

You seem different. Not just consumed with lust either. There's something else. A confidence. One more formidable than the type you make use of in your everyday life. It lurks beneath your flushed skin, enlivened by his presence.

Instinct takes over as you slip your arms around him and pull him in for a slow and sensual kiss. From crown to nape your fingers glide through his glossy locks, left even more messy from the activities of last night, and then take a path down his back.

His muscles are steel cables under your palms, conducting heat to pass from his body to yours. You breathe heavily from it as images of your prior shared intimacy flash by like a slideshow, turning you on even further.

Lips part company and Morpheus' mouth is suddenly sucking on your earlobe, pressing on your throat.

You are caught between a whimper and a moan.

"Louder," he commands, the rumbling timbre next to your ear making you obey noisily without conscious thought.

"Good. Again."

He nips at the skin over your jugular and your moan further increases in decibels.

"Such sweet noises," he comments between the open mouthed kisses he is stamping along your collarbones. "All because of how I touch you."

His hands find your breasts next, securing one in each. A firm massage has your back arching to lean further into the cradle of his fingers.

He lets go and leans in to hover over your left breast, his breath unexpectedly cool against your skin. His attention flicks up to your flushed face, to the bottom lip caught between your teeth. You want to further explore this kind of play. Hinting at your desires, you edge closer.

Morpheus' smirk is fiendish and there's such promise in those black eyes yet you want to make sure he follows through.

"Please."

"As you wish, my soulmate."

A drawn out groan warps your vocal cords once he seals his lips over the nipple and lightly takes the other between a thumb and forefinger. More of this too, you decide while he lavishes you with mind bending attentions - rhythmically suckling and pinching until your body is covered in a sheen of sweat and you can barely hold yourself upright. After, Morpheus gathers you into his arms and you delight in his luscious scent as your breathing normalises.

"So that makes you feel rested?" You ask softly.

He strokes over your soul again. "Indeed. It was exceptionally restorative, although I would like more, if you are willing."

The glint in his eyes, a quality becoming all too familiar since your official introduction, swiftly undoes the work you had done to calm your breaths. You consider the tempting notion of sharing more intimacy with him, but cannot ignore the self-care that you missed when you let yourself fall asleep in his hold directly after finishing yesterday.

"I think I need to have a shower before we do anything more. Would you care to join me?"

His pink lips quirk with a semblance of a smile. "I believe it would be counterproductive for me to accompany you, given your goal."

"Suit yourself." You plant a playful kiss on his cheek and throw back the covers with a flourish. Your assured, bouncing movements are soon halted however for you are unaware of where to go next. You peek back over your shoulder.

"Umm, where's the bathroom?"

Morpheus inclines his head towards a door that definitely did not exist a second ago.

"Just through there. I trust you will find everything that you require."

He's not wrong. The well-proportioned ensuite is furnished with everything you could possibly want for cleaning and grooming.

The colour palette of the adjoining chamber extends to touch this room too; predominantly black, with accents of pale stone for smaller details like the mirror frame and the soap dish. The stand out feature is the floor. A black marble with flecks of silver that twinkle like stars under the moody lighting. It's as if you are walking on a night sky.

Firstly, you wash your face first to remove the glowy makeup you had put on especially for the award event, then slide the ruby ring off your finger and leave it on the glossy porcelain of the sink before stepping into the shower cubicle.

You are considerate of the time spent under the water, motivated by the thought of Morpheus sitting naked on the bed not 20 feet away.

You're not ashamed to admit that you are impatient to have him inside of you again. To see that passion and darkness ignited within him. Be consensually dominated and consumed by him. And perhaps try out some other forms of stimulation on him. You decide you will ask more about his desires when you're done in here.

As you dry off using a white, fluffy towel, the rubbing and bending helps to alleviate some of the stiffness - something you know will serve you well when you are back on the bed.

You swap the towel for a bath robe and move to stand in front of the mirror. Using the reflective glass, you brush your teeth and apply some products from the assortment lined up neatly in the wall mounted cupboard.

Cleanliness restored and mood soaring, you open the door to return to your soulmate.

He's sitting on the bed like you had anticipated, however he is no longer naked. Quite the opposite in fact. All of his skin is covered except for his head and hands.

Morpheus stands as soon as he sees you, the manoeuvre showing off the flowing nature of the floor-length coat he has donned. You've never seen a coat quite like it; the sentiment reinforced even further by the constellations that appear to shimmer within its lining. He looks so ethereal and poised in it. Kingly.

Leaning into the formality even further, he clasps his hands in front of his torso and then proceeds to speak.

"I'm afraid that something has arisen that requires my attention. I will have to leave for a while."

"That's alright. Give me two minutes and I'll get dressed and come with you."

You begin to remove the bath robe as you walk towards him, undoing the tie with a quick tug. A shake of his head stops you from shedding the garment entirely.

"That won't be necessary." His hands sneak around your waist to pull you closer. "Your body will still be acclimating to the soul bond. You should rest. Rehydrate. Eat."

He gestures to a cloche covered plate and lidded jug atop a newly conjured bedside table.

Honestly, even though the proverbial wind has been knocked out of your sails, you cannot hold on to that disappointment for very long. The consideration he is showing is very endearing and it's hardly surprising given the dutiful aftercare he provided for you last night.

"Okay. I'll stay here."

He kisses you then, possessively gripping the base of your skull so he can get his fill for the time being.

"I will not be long," he whispers.

He leaves you standing at the foot of the bed.

You go to the bedside table. The metal of the cloche humorously warps your image like the mirrors of a funhouse as you lift it from its position. A platter made of the same material supports a bowl of natural yoghurt topped with tropical fruits and a plate of toast slices slathered with creamy honey.

You don't feel a particular urge to consume either yet decide to do so regardless. It has been a long time since you had last eaten. As you take a bite of the golden bread, you think of all the events that have happened to get you here in this room. The intense encounter that had taken you and Morpheus from strangers to soulmates in a matter of hours.

The forces that had been pushing you towards him - nagging sensations, like a series of itches you couldn't quite reach, making you go outside for a cigarette.

How you had met the beings who had orchestrated the whole thing; the resolve bestowed by their counsel smoothing away your doubts.

His determination to unlock whatever had been dormant within you; in the moment you had been certain that your soul was going to be obliterated, revealed instead to be a rearrangement. Just thinking of it is enough of a push to do as he suggested and rest. You had been through a lot.

After downing a large glass of orange juice decanted from the squat jug, you remove your bath robe. Shadows fall over the bed to block out the mid-morning sun when you tuck yourself back under the covers.

The scent of your soulmate is imbued within the sumptuous fabric, making it all too easy to fall into light sleep, even inspiring a dream while there.

A wet dream.

It's unbearable when you wake. You want Morpheus to come back right away. You want to touch him, to let him touch you. With a frustrated groan, you kick off the covers and redress in the robe, turning your attention to tidying up the pile of your clothes to distract from the horniness. You fold the items neatly and put them in the drawers of the bedside table. The box of cigarettes and lighter, you stash under the coat.

It's no use, not in the long term; you are irreversibly riled up, heat stirring agonisingly between your legs so when you hear Morpheus opening the door you pretty much run across the room to him.

You can see from the lust in his eyes that he is as affected as you.

"I saw your dream, my soulmate," he says intensely as he draws you into his personal space. "You have quite the imagination."

Your cheeks burn with equal parts lust and embarrassment.

His body heat is just as feverish - the ferocity of it permeating through your bath robe makes the fabric feel much thinner than it actually is.

He leans to whisper by your ear. "Would you like to make it a reality?"

Your knees go weak, at the question and the ghost-like touches of his words against the shell of your ear.

"Yes. Morpheus, please."

He captures your lips with a bruising kiss, simultaneously baring your body and his own using a mix of confident movements and form shaping.

You secure your hands on his shoulders in readiness, only breaking the kiss so you can jump into his arms. He then spins you around so your ass meets the polished wood of the door.

Broken groans echo around the chamber as Morpheus makes the dream fully come to life, filling you with a fluid thrust.

His eyes are circles of night sky while he waits for you to adjust, redistributing your weight ever so slightly so he can press his palm over your soul.

It remains there until you both reach climax.

-----------------------

Morpheus cleans you like he did before and then you recline side by side on the bed.

"Do you feel happy?" He asks with sudden seriousness while stroking the skin made taut by the spasming muscles of your thighs.

You would have thought it been obvious from the size of the giddy grin on your face yet you play along anyway. "Yes."

"And safe?"

"Of course, Morpheus." You reassuringly interlink your fingers with his, adding, "You could just cheat, you know?"

His chin tilts up, lips pouting. "I could, however I prefer to hear you confirm it out loud."

You laugh.

Saccharine. That is how this moment feels with the post-orgasm tingles and the endearing nature of his statement. He is utterly perfect for you.

You brush a probing fingertip over his soul.

"I still can't feel your emotions."

It is his turn to squeeze your hand comfortingly. "It's been less than a day."

You nod, casting away the despondent thought entirely by asking a subject changing question.

"What would you like to do now?"

He answers immediately, "I would like to stay right here."

You consider this, your focus shifting away from his face, up over his shoulder to the exit.

"What if someone needs you, comes looking for you? There are people out there, right?"

You're fishing for details, blatantly so, but you cannot deny that you are intrigued by the kingdom beyond the door that you had just so energetically fucked against.

Morpheus shifts to block your line of sight, possessively cupping your face in one of his dexterous hands.

"No one can find us here. We will not be interrupted, and I can sense when something is amiss."

-----------------------------

Days pass in a similar fashion. You wake under an invigorating sunrise with your soulmate's blown-iris gaze fixed on your face. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, generating shudders of arousal, in turn propelling you to excuse yourself to the bathroom. You wash and brush your teeth and go back to Morpheus. He fucks you until you can barely move and then leaves you for a few hours while you, in his words: 'rest'.

With your appetite still stunted you cajole yourself into eating and drinking, and wait for Morpheus to return, whereupon you fuck again.

It's a honeymoon phase you reason initially, but when the pattern shows signs of sustaining, when it reaches a week without leaving his chambers you decide to take action.

You had stopped asking if you could accompany him on his mysterious errands after the third rebuttal; perhaps a mistake on your part. And with the emotional connection between you still a no-show from your end, there is no other way of finding out why your partner keeps saying no.

You ask for a slower session. One that won't render you completely exhausted and aching, and therefore physically able to go with him. Not that you disclose this as a reason. You don't need to give any; Morpheus obliges, all too willing to please you.

His zealousness makes you feel guilty for your quasi-deception but something really is afoot. You cannot ignore it any longer.

The sex is euphoric. Beautiful. He brings you to the edge of tears with his gentleness, drawing several orgasms from you. There's even enough time for you to stimulate him with your hands and mouth - something you had been longing to do since the first night.

After, your question waits in the wings as you cuddle. His demeanour is a twin of yours, relaxed and satiated. The way his blue eyes stare at you, it's pure adoration you see in them. Surely he cannot deny you this time.

An hour elapses and then Morpheus stands, clothes appearing on his lithe frame. He announces his intentions.

"There are duties that I must attend to."

You sit up and say with a smile, "Please can I come with you this time?"

"No."

His terse reply is so far removed from the blissful look that had been written all over his perfect features seconds prior that your stomach drops along with your smile.

"Why not?" Your voice is unexpectedly small.

He zones in on this vocal change. "You seem troubled, Y/N."

If you were to be totally transparent, you would tell him that this scenario was starting to bear many of the signs of an abduction. It takes you a good thirty seconds to summon the courage to reply; not wanting to offend nor sadden your soulmate.

You huff out a nervous laugh. "I can't help feeling a little kidnapped."

His eyebrows narrow a fraction. "I did tell you that I would bring you to the Dreaming."

"Okay, how about I re-phrase that. I feel kind of trapped here."

"Are these chambers not to your liking?"

That burgeoning sense of nausea is starting to run deeper. He is deflecting. Expertly so.

You point at the door. "What I don't like is that there is a whole world out there and you seem determined to keep me from it."

The temperature in the room dips as the ceiling-sky sun is blocked out by a conglomerate of greying clouds.

"It is not safe for you outside this room," he says with a controlled cadence.

"I don't believe that. I know for a fact that you are one of the most powerful beings in the universe. What is the real reason you don't want me to accompany you?"

"Because it is not your place to do so."

You blink in shock.

The sweetness of the recent lovemaking is long gone, a bitter taste taking its place. You attempt to translate the subtext of that last statement: Not your place?

Is it because you are human? Does he think you are lesser than him?

You need to hear it from his lips.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He swallows, a fist clenching and unclenching at his side.

"I need to leave."

He's moving towards the door with quick strides. You're out of the bed, throwing on the bath robe as you desperately try to find a way to keep him talking.

"What if I had refused to go with you that night?"

No sooner are the words out your mouth, does the sky above you turn black. Morpheus spins around, eyes equally as dark as he coolly states, "Then you would have suffered."

He stands squarely in front of the door.

"You felt a semblance of it. The instant I touched your skin with mine. Even if you had protested, I would have brought you here regardless. It was imperative that I complete the ritual, and it had to be done in the Dreaming where my power is at its most potent."

Potent power indeed, for there are pulsing shadows leading away from his boot clad feet despite the absence of a sun to cast them. Never before have you been so aware of his preternatural identity. He's Eldritch personified; you suppress the flicker of fear it kindles.

"Your soul would have kept screaming, driving you to insanity. I protected you. Just as I am trying to protect you now by locking you in here."

The repellent taste of bile spews into your dry mouth. He said locked in.

You try a last ditch attempt to appeal to the softer nature that you know is within him, reaching for his hand.

"I just want to help people. Help you, your kingdom, your dreamers. The Fates said I would."

"Is that what they told you?" He says derisively, a dark smile stretching his lips as silver flashes in those nightmarish eyes. "I am disgusted that they gave you such a fantasy."

It would have taken an army's worth of self-control to not shrink away from him with that display. You drop his hand.

In that moment, as he blocks you from getting to the door of your cage, it occurs to you that despite the physical proximity, that this is furthest you have felt from him since he took your hand on that rain covered street.

It's as if a crevasse has opened up between you, leaving you standing on either side. So far apart. The risk of falling into the frozen chasm making it too frightening for you to try and reach him. Not that he would let you.

You know it as soon as he says his next sentence, his tone as flat as the emotion in his eyes.

"You should rest. I will return later."

---------------------------

Tag list: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt @littleblackcatinwonderland @1950schick @lollipopsandlandmines

"Cause they watch us in sleep. And the language that we speak. And the secrets that we keep to ourselves in our dreams, in our dreams."

[diazsdimples]

JAMES JAMES JAMES HERES AN OFFICIAL ASKING *BEGGING* YOU TO WRITE YOUR BUDDIETOMMY/EDDIETOMMY FIC THAT YOURE WXCITED FOR AND NOW YOU HAVE TO WRITE ITS THE LAW. IDK WHAT EMOJI IT WAS IF IT WAS EVEN ONE BUT 🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️

THATS 60 SENTENCES THAT YOU HAVE TO WRITE NOW. YOU GOT THIS BABY YOURE GONNA DO SO GOOD YOURE GONNA WRITE IT RIGHT? 😘😘😘

Here’s my favourite picture of Eddie Diaz for motivation 💜

I would do anything for Eddie Diaz, just you watch. LOOK AT HIM. Also I wrote 1.5k for this in one sitting, the beans are SO BACK!

Though he’ll never admit it, looking at Tommy is one of his favourite things to do.

If you asked an outsider, they would probably say that Buck’s the most attractive out of the three them, with his boyish good looks, bright blue eyes and bulging muscles beneath the obscenely tight shirts he wears. He’s got the cutest dimples in his cheeks that pop out whenever he’s got that mischievous smile on his face, and that alone regularly makes Eddie’s knees turn to jelly.

Tommy though. Tommy is handsome in an almost classical, old-timey Hollywood kind of way. Where Buck is softness and fuzzy around the edges, Tommy is all sharpness and angles. His cheekbones are so pronounced that Eddie often marvels that he doesn��t cut a finger when he caresses them. The cleft in his chin is a perfect shape, and Eddie’s thumb nestles in it like it was fit to size when he kisses Tommy senseless.

And now, looking at Tommy with the wind through his hair, a smile on his face, and a pale orange tank top that gives Eddie just the slightest hint of a nipple? Eddie wants to pull the car over and ride Tommy until he can feel him in the back of his throat.

He won’t do that though – they’ve just given the Chevelle a new leather interior and he’ll be damned if he’s going to ruin it already.

The drive to Point Dume is stunning. The sun glints off the ocean like light on a sapphire, blue and sparkling as the waves crash against the shore, and the high cliff faces on their right are large and imposing, making Eddie feel small.

The beach houses along the coast are large and luxurious – and will probably be non-existent in a few years if climate change has anything to say about it – and Eddie and Tommy entertain themselves by pointing out what style of architecture they’d look for if they ever retired to the seaside. Tommy likes the classical, almost ramshackle style of the older beach houses, whereas Eddie’s drawn to the sleek lines and metal beams of the more modern styles.

Not that it matters anyways, because on their firefighter’s salaries they’re lucky they can even afford to rent a place big enough for them and Chris, but it’s always fun to dream.

Tommy pulls over in Malibu and they each get an ice cream cone, leaning against the hood of the car while they eat.

Eddie’s not usually one for public displays of affection, usually seeing them as tacky, but he leans into Tommy’s side, humming as his boyfriend slings an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

“Everything okay?” Tommy asks as he presses a kiss to the crown of Eddie’s head.

“Yeah,” Eddie hums, tucking his head under Tommy’s chin. “Just like being here with you.”

“You’re so sappy today, what’s gotten into you?” Tommy laughs.

It’s because I love you. I love you and I’m here with you and it’s perfect.

The words stick in Eddie’s throat, unable to come out. He’s been thinking them for a while now, but no matter how hard he tries, the moment never feels right to say them to Tommy. With Buck, they fell out of him as easy as could be. Like it was second nature, something he’d kept inside him for years and was finally able to say them aloud. But for some reason, Eddie feels like the first time he says it to Tommy needs to be on some grand occasion, with fireworks in the background and Buck watching as his boyfriends declare their love for one another.

Maybe, after today, they’ll finally break free from Eddie’s mouth.

Instead, Eddie pokes Tommy in the side. “Am I not allowed to show affection for you once in a while?”

“Of course you are,” Tommy replies, expertly dodging the nip Eddie aimed at Tommy’s neck. So, he’s got a bit of an oral fixation? Sue him. “I’m not complaining.”

Eddie stretches up to kiss Tommy’s cheek, before darting forward and taking a chunk out of Tommy’s ice cream. He wrinkles his nose in distaste as the bitterly cold flavour of mint explodes in his mouth and lets out an exaggerated gag.

“You’re an idiot,” Tommy laughs as Eddie takes a few hurried licks of his own ice cream, keen to replace the mint with something much more agreeable. “What did you do that for?”

“I forgot you like to eat frozen toothpaste,” Eddie grumbles in response. He lets out a quiet moan of appreciation as the softer, warmer flavour of rum and raisin coats his tongue.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you don’t appreciate the finer things in life.”

“I appreciate you and Buck, don’t I? I’d say that’s pretty good taste.”

Tommy snorts, reeling Eddie in for a breathtaking kiss. He’s minty and cold, his tongue sweeping across Eddie’s lips, making them tingle in its wake. A groan rumbles low in Eddie’s chest as Tommy kisses him, his hand firm against Eddie’s back.

“Touché, Mr. Diaz,” Tommy murmurs as he pulls away. “Sassy little shit that you are.”

Eddie grins and blows Tommy a kiss. He finishes the last of his ice cream in a few hasty bites, before flopping back into the passenger seat of the Chevelle.

“Come on, if we don’t send Buck a photo of the cove in the next few minutes, he’s going to think we’ve crashed and go frantic.”

Tommy snorts, knowing Eddie’s not far from the truth, and climbs back into the driver’s seat. There’s a soft look on his face as he gives Eddie a quick kiss before throwing the car into gear, and it makes Eddie feel as though he’s been filled with hot air.

The drive through the exorbitant neighbourhood that is Point Dume is probably one of Eddie’s favourites that he’s done with Tommy.

They probably look like a couple of weirdos as they cruise slowly past the lavish mansions, making pointed comments about the designs and the landscaping. Tommy even boldly announces at one point that if it were up to him, decorative cacti would be illegal. Eddie giggles as Tommy tells him about the times he was drunk as a teenager and had repeatedly fallen into the cactus outside his grandparents’ home. It had taken three separate occasions of his grandmother picking prickles out of his asscheeks before they’d taken Tommy aside and asked him to cut back on his drinking – or to at least watch where he was going if he was going to sneak back in.

[according2thelore]

Ls/es verse but with more Castiel pls!

We see in canon that over the years, sam dean and cas became good friends. Id like to see how the ES boys would react to the LS theyre simping for interacting with Cas

Like ES dean is pissed cos why is this random dude or whatever he is being given LS Sam's genuine soft ass smile

While ES sam is all jealous after hearing that LS dean and Cas have a profound bond

It would be funnier too if the ES boys think Cas togethet with them too and the possibility of being in a throuple with this dude is something they cant stand

hi, anon!

in one of my previous ES/LS verse posts, i mentioned how ES!Sam would be immediately and completely enamoured with cas because holy shit!!! an actual ANGEL!!!

sam is pretty religious in the first few seasons, and is genuinely excited to meet him in s4, so i'm sure now that cas is not calling him an abomination, it goes really well!

ES!Sam is giggling and twirling his hair and asking if castiel really has wings. castiel doesn't get impatient and explains enough angel lore for sam to go all nerd-wild, while leaving out important factoids so their future doesn't get upended. cas lifts the table over his head, with sam sitting on it. cas shows his wing outline through that grace-power-up he does. ES!Sam is enamoured.

and that luster lasts juuuuust until he overhears castiel ensuring ES!Dean that not to worry, while he and LS!Dean's bond is made more profound by the passage of time, he will not play favourites.

record scratch. very much "yup. that's me. you're probably wondering how i got into this situation."

LS!Sam&Dean call castiel "their best friend." ES!Sam finds LS!Dean and cas whispering to each other in the kitchen, standing close. like...brother close.

then, the nail in the coffin. dean calls cas a brother. ES!Sam is DEVASTATED. who the fuck is this guy?? some angel poser who thinks it's cool to what--STEAL BROTHERS???

now that he's seen it, he can't unsee it. cas stands uncomfortably close to LS!Dean and doesn't move away when LS!Sam comes into the room. he's flaunting it!! the hussy!!!

LS!Sam turns and asks for a book and cas is already holding it. LS!Sam laughs and thanks him, smiling softly, RIGHT IN FRONT OF LS!Dean????? are they cool with cheating?? what the fuck is going on??

ES!Dean, who has watched ES!Sam flutter and flounce and kick his merry little feet for a few weeks has been over cas since day dot. this little interloper has been collecting his brothers--oh fuck did he just think brothers, plural? no he meant brother, for sure, just the one, ES!Sam--for too long.

killing an angel will absolutely get you thrown into hell, though, right??

LS!Sam shakes his head and laughs loudly and his eyes go soft so fondly whenever cas does something fucking stupid, and ES!Dean wonders if slitting cas's throat would even work? does he need it to live?

LS!Sam puts a hand on cas's back to move him, and ES!Dean wonders if body slamming him off of the cliff-edge they're standing near would do any substantial damage.

now that ES!Sam is on his side, they whisper furiously to each other and glare whenever anyone steps into the room because it might be cas.

cas--this whole time--is thinking, "wow! a second set of winchesters without their most significant trauma. my friends. <3" and is just happy to see them so animated and alive.

it would be hilarious if ES!Sam&Dean are arguing over who let this guy into their relationship to become a throuple. ES!Sam is like "don't get up my ass about it mr 'profound bond'" and LS!Dean shoves him like "fuck off!!! if you weren't eye-banging him every two to three seconds he wouldn't've gotten the wrong idea!"

and when cas says something kind to ES!Sam later, ES!Sam is still stuck between oh shit!!! an angel just said i'm the best researcher he knows!!!! and oh shit 😡 the guy who puts his dick in dean's ass just said i'm good at something 😡😡😡 what the fuck do you know about it ass-stealer

so he just ends up kind of going :/ thanks :) i appreciate it >:(

and cas--whose facial expression reading success rate is 65% on a good day--says :) no problem! :)

they rock-paper-scissor over who gets to break up with him in the future. they hesitate because what if their future selves haven't broken up with him because he can smite them? or something? but they see him pick a leaf off of sam's hair and decide "fuck it. we're dumping him TONIGHT."

i love cas and i love this ask! thank you, anon! <3

-lizzy

[dawndelion-winery]

Yellow Roses

Hanging out with them (platonic)

Ft. Scaramouche, Kaveh, Venti

For @i23kazu 1.5k event!! It's super slay go check it out!

Scaramouche:

Sometimes you forget he isn't actually your older brother

But hey! Who can fault you for that?

He's quick to anger and argumentative, often deadpanning at you and flicking your forehead

But that's really the worst of his wrath towards you

And even that's negligible with how obviously he worries for you

Scara is someone who's known betrayal after betrayal coming from the people closest to him

He's never had a sibling he could bond with, the closest being the Raiden Shogun, who really behaved like anything but family

So it's no surprise he's reluctant to look up to others, but that doesn't mean you're the same as he is

You're free to idolise him all you want! He promises he'll take care of you, and your trust will never be betrayed

"Watch it!" Scara yells as he catches the back of your shirt before you go tumbling off the edge of a cliff. "Geez, idiot. You'd get yourself killed if I weren't here!"

Don't let his anger fool you. As you sheepishly apologise you add that you could only be that careless because you knew he'd have your back. You think he's about to scold you again, but instead, he looks sheepish himself.

"Yeah. I do. So don't even think about being so reckless unless I'm around, got it?"

Kaveh:

It's not hanging out with Kaveh if he doesn't complain about his roommate

But it's also not a hangout with Kaveh without the rule "you gotta kiss your homies goodnight and shi"

Being in his innermost circle means having an obligation to let him drench all your favourite shirts in his tears as the most mundane of things send him hurtling into despair

You think you can prepare for it?

Wrong. They're so infrequent that you'll almost forget he does it and then you'll say you brush your teeth a certain way which reminds him of his mom teaching him to brush his teeth and he's sobbing into your chest

Bro can't catch a break

Likewise you're free to torment him with your wails as well

You kind of have to or he'll feel bad about it so...just bully him about his hair or something trivial so he feels less burdened to be overly considerate of you

"Kaveh? You seem pretty down."

"I'm not. I'm fine."

"About as fine as your thinning hairline, sure."

You hear an offended gasp as he whips around with an accusatory finger jabbing at you. "You take that back!" He demands, immediately flaring up in defence, getting all huffy like a peacock preening itself as he digs into you in retaliation.

He does feel a little better after lashing out, and tends to lay on your shoulder as he finally caves and tells you what's been bothering him.

Venti:

You feel like he knows everything about you

And he probably does

He knows all your tells for all your emotions you may try to hide, and while he does respect your space, there's times he does everything he can to get under your skin because he knows bottling it up isn't healthy

He enjoys writing songs with you!

Doesn't matter if you're neither linguistically nor musically inclined, he insists on getting your input

Very attuned to your emotions and great at matching your energy

You're down to clown? Count him in! He's a few dastardly schemes he wouldn't mind letting you in on *wink wink*

Feeling down? That's just fine too, lay on his shoulder and tell him about it! He's more than willing to listen

Or even if you'd just like to sit in silence with him

"Wanna hear a tune, my friend?" He says with a mischievous grin.

You nod, curious to see what he'd drafted up. Except it's a ballad about raiding a rich tycoon's wine cellar. In great detail. He's obviously trying to hint at something.

"Venti, Master Diluc is going to slaughter us."

"Only if we get caught!" He insists, with a knavish giggle. And inevitably, you find that same mischief creeping onto your lips to turn it into a grin as wide as his own. You really did hope you wouldn't get caught this time...hopefully....

Taglist: @myluvkeiji @aqui-soba @favonius-captain @tiredsleep @raincxtter @gensimping-for-all @irethepotato @almond-adeptus @mx-kamisato @yuzuricebun @chaosinanutshell @heizours @haliyamori @callmemeelah @sadlonelybagel @plinkuro @thevictoriousmoon @mastering-procrastinating @missesclaus @cxlrose @miss-fantazmagoria @astrequa @kokomist @lemonswriting @eowinthetraveller @ajaxstar @boundedbyfate @the-lost-anime-dad @ash-astrophel @moonbyunniee @greyrain23 @heavenlyfloof

[timeagainreviews]

A Foot in Two Worlds: 73 Yards

My third-grade lunch buddy was a girl named Kendra. We used to love chatting about movies and television. My favourite topic was Batman. Hers was Full House. However, one morning, instead of gushing over Stephanie Tanner, she told me about a movie she and her brother had watched over the weekend. The movie was 1989’s “Clownhouse,” and she was a bit traumatised by it. And because of her vivid description, so was I. Honestly, I don’t remember anything past her saying “It’s about these kids who see clowns watching them through their windows,” because I never stopped thinking about that sentence, for years. While I’ve still never actually seen Clownhouse, nor do I experience coulrophobia, the idea of being watched from a distance still creeps me out. I still close the blinds at night.

Initially, I wanted to compare “73 Yards,” to something like “It Follows,” or even “The Immortal Snail.” Both scenarios entail being tracked by a slow but relentless pursuer who kills you if it ever catches up to you. But “73 Yards,” isn’t so much a story about being pursued. It’s about feeling watched. It’s about feeling judged. It’s about feeling abandoned. It preys on our fear of being the subject of gossip. That people could spread lies about us that scare away our loved ones. The fear that maybe they’re right. Maybe we don’t deserve love. It’s about the ambiguity that sits within our hearts. The liminal threshold between us at our best and us at our worst. But it’s not just about the wicked and the divine, but also body and spirit. A foot in both worlds.

Doctor Who currently has a foot in both worlds. The Doctor steps on a science fictiony land mine one week, and the next week he’s stepping on fairy circles. A recurring theme in this new season is “look before you leap.” Or ‘watch your step.” Ruby steps on a butterfly in the past and changes species. The Doctor steps on a land mine and almost dies. And now, the Doctor steps on a fairy circle and disappears. The Doctor is learning to have a healthy respect for the new supernatural powers coursing through the Whoniverse. At least he would if he remembered anything from this adventure. Not even Ruby will learn a lesson here, so was it worth it?

After last week’s “Boom,” I was game for whatever Russell T Davies had in store for the future. The trailer for “73 Yards,” gave us very little to go on, and in hindsight, it’s pretty easy to see why. This was a Doctor-lite episode and therefore not a lot of footage to share that wouldn’t also spoil this being a Ruby-centric story. But I was ready for it. Ruby has been suffering a bit from underdevelopment as a character. I even saw a Chibnall stan on Twitter saying so, which is quite extreme when you consider how underdeveloped Yaz was. In Ruby’s case, however, it’s hard to pinpoint what it is about her that’s underdeveloped. She’s got a great family dynamic. She’s nurturing. She plays in a band. But who is she? Like River Song before her, her character arc is starting to affect her character development. And my interest is waning.

After the Doctor steps onto the fairy circle and disappears, Ruby unsuccessfully tries the TARDIS doors. She then checks around the other side to see if he’s having a pee. This may be the first time the show has canonically mentioned the Doctor goes to the bathroom. It’s funny to think of the great Time Lord having a slash off the edge of a cliff. The Doctor seems to do a lot of important things on cliff edges these days. Failing to find the Doctor, it’s then that Ruby notices a strange old woman standing under a creepy old tree from 73 yards away making some sort of hand gestures. However, the closer she walks toward the woman, the further she appears away.

The mechanism of how the woman moves is hidden by editing, but it feels like something Ruby would notice quickly. I don’t imagine Ruby walking closer would cause the woman to start backing up physically like that Community episode where Professor Duncan got a restraining order on Chang and used it like he had force powers. Instead, they cut back to the woman and she’s simply further away. Ruby is conveniently looking for footing every time, so she fails to see this. But if you started walking toward someone and they started hovering backwards, wouldn’t you find that weird? It’s not like she doesn’t sense something weird pretty early on. She even asks the woman if the Doctor’s disappearance has anything to do with her. She even asks the hiker (yet another character played by Susan Twist) if she can see the old woman.

Something I found interesting about the Susan Twist scene was that whoever her character is, she’s not immune to the effects of the old woman. Either that, or she’s lying. Either way, it feels important that we were shown her having the same reaction to the woman as everyone else. If she’s a magical trickster, she’s not an invincible one, or maybe she’s not magical at all. We’ve learned very little about Susan Twist’s character(s), but this indicates that she’s not fully in charge of the situation if she can be scared off like that. What’s frustrating is that the first time a character looks at her and says “Hey don’t I know you from somewhere?” it’s in an aborted timeline. I would have expected the Doctor to have made the connection after the ambulance screens in “Boom,” matched the woman from Space Babies, but maybe he’s been distracted by clothes.

By this point in the episode, I’ve been fully drawn in. Ruby finds her way to the small village of Glyngatwg and a pub called “Y Pren Marw,” which translates to “The Dead Wood.” I thought this might have been a reference to the weird tree on the cliff, but the illustration on the pub sign looked more like an oak tree, so I doubt it. Another name they could have used for the pub could have been “The Gaslight Inn,” because man oh man did they gaslight the hell out of Ruby. They keep accusing her of thinking they’re yokels for asking pretty innocuous questions. Asking if you can pay with your phone is perfectly reasonable. There’s a chippy in my village that does the best fish n chips in the area, but I never use them because they haven’t got a card machine and I don’t carry cash. I don’t imagine the owner of the chippy goes home every night in his Fred Flintstone car because of it. Maybe they’re worried they really are yokels. Either way, five quid for a Coke and abusive staff? What’s their Trip Advisor score? Negative six?

The only non-yokel in the pub is Enid and that’s solely because she’s played by Siân Phillips, who could never be mistaken for common. She was easily the highlight of the episode for me, sitting elegantly at the bar in her fashionable hat. Of all of the patrons at the bar, she’s the one I believe would coin the Latin phrase “semper distans,” to describe the way the old woman follows but never approaches. If only she could have taught Isaac Newton the word “gravitas.” Beyond being incredibly rude, I rather enjoyed the patrons of Y Pren Marw. They reminded me of characters you would have found in classic Doctor Who. The pub scenes reminded me a lot of “The Dæmons,” or “Terror of the Zygons.” But more than anything, this episode reminded me of “The Stones of Blood,” wherein things start like folk horror and end in a more mundane setting.

After Ruby’s unwanted follower scares away one of the pub’s most faithful patrons, she’s forced to head back to London, which is about where the episode starts to lose steam. Up until that moment, I was expecting a sort of witch coven or worse to spring up in the sleepy village of Glyngatwg. I was ready to call it RTD’s best ever. But now we’re back in London where the biggest mystery is Mrs Flood, and she’s really only there to remind us she exists. But that’s not to say a piece of Glyngatwg didn’t leave with Ruby, and it’s not to say I disliked the story’s ending. But there was a noticeable drop in excitement the moment Ruby boarded that train.

I found it odd that Carla and Cherry were badmouthing the Doctor in his absence. Cherry was ready to jump his bones the last time they spoke and now he’s good for nothing. I get that they want to support Ruby, but like, what if he’s hurt somewhere? All I’m saying is that if I ever go missing, please don’t send Carla and Cherry to find me. After telling Carla about the old woman, Ruby’s deepest fears are realised. Like Susan Twist and Josh before her, talking to the old woman causes her to abandon Ruby. The look Carla gives Ruby from the cab as it drives away is the last way anyone would want to be looked at by their loved one. It wasn’t a look of fear, it was a look of disgust.

It’s that look of disgust that really started to make me think of another story from the Whoniverse- “The Curse of Clyde Langer,” a Sarah Jane Adventures episode written by Phil Ford. In it, Clyde’s name becomes cursed and anyone who hears or reads it becomes irrationally opposed to Clyde. His friends and family disown him and it’s Clyde against the world, which is wild because Clyde’s one of my favourite characters in all of Doctor Who. Who could hate that precious cinnamon roll? Even further, who could forget that episode? Well, it turns out Davies was kinda hoping the answer would be you. I’m not saying Davies is out of ideas, but he seems to be “remixing,” a lot of what has come before. More on that in a moment.

After losing her family, Ruby gets on with life, but not before being given a spark of hope in the form of Kate Lethbridge-Stewart. We even learn some things about the old woman from Kate. We establish that yes, it is always 73 yards away. And no matter how close a person gets to her, she always looks as in focus as a person with 20/20 vision would see her from 73 yards. We also learn that the old woman’s “powers” work via headset, as Kate breaks contact with Ruby, leaving her devastated from losing yet another lifeline.

An interesting factoid about that scene is that Kate and Ruby were sitting across from “The House of Pi,” and Pi Day is the 73rd day of a non-leap year. Why do I know this? Because I went into a bit of a rabbit hole trying to learn about the number 73 yesterday. I looked into its mathematical significance. I learned it’s Sheldon Cooper’s favourite number. I looked it up in terms of numerology. I read the 73rd Psalm. There are 73 books in the Catholic Bible. But none of it felt significant. Then my dumbass googled whether RTD had explained the number, and he claimed it was as simple as going outside and measuring the distance from which people’s faces began to blur. Right. Well, that’s disappointing, albeit creative.

We’re treated to a montage of Ruby getting on with her life throughout the next couple of decades. Like the rest of us, her age starts to show itself with long hair and big glasses. I mentioned earlier that Ruby suffers a bit from a lack of character development and this montage does nothing to help that. She grows up into possibly one of the most boring people they could have made her. Her queer group of friends she has a band with seem to have disappeared. Her dating life is painfully heteronormative. She didn’t date a single woman throughout that time? She would have learned by now not to encourage her friends to talk to the old woman, and due to the perception filter, it’s not like anyone seemed to mind her anyhow. I’m just saying, if someone as normie as her started wearing a political shirt for the nuclear war-hungry Albion Party, I’d look at her and say “Pssh. Figures.”

Speaking of the Albion Party, it’s time we started talking about Harold Saxon. Oh, sorry, I meant Roger ap Gwilliam. The episode implies that Roger is the trickster “Mad Jack" who had escaped the fairy circle after the Doctor stepped on it. But Davies is remixing the classics, or as LCD Soundsystem puts it- “Shut up and play the hits.” He even mistreats women in the same way as the Master. I took this to be Doctor Who’s flimsy attempt at a comment on the MeToo movement. It would work better if ap Gwilliam was more than a moustache-twirling miscreant. Especially because Ruby throws poor Marti to the lions by not warning her away from Roger. If this is a MeToo story, Ruby is an enabler, which is not a great look. But she apologises so I guess it’s ok. Don’t worry Marti, your trauma gets erased anyhow.

While the campaigners prepare for a press conference for Roger ap Gwilliam to announce that Britain has purchased Pakistan’s nuclear arsenal, Ruby realises she’s out of time and needs to act now. Using her semper distans friend to her advantage, Ruby backs 73 yards away from Roger and sends him cowering and eventually resigning from his position as prime minister. Ruby expects this to be the end of the old woman, but she remains with her until the day she’s on her deathbed, at which point, the old woman changes from her perspective to Ruby’s. As the old woman, Ruby sees her young self and is able to call out to her and warn her about the fairy circle. That’s what happened, right?

Well, maybe? The biggest curveball comes in the form of the old woman herself. Because while Ruby does age to the ripe old age of 80, the actress playing her is Amanda Walker. The actress playing the woman is Hilary Hobson. Set pictures have also revealed Hobson in make-up that appears to be scarring going up the left side of her face. And those hand gestures of hers? Sign language. Eagle-eyed viewers have roughly translated her signing as “Bless you. Thank you so much, that's so kind of you. When you gave me that little thing, it was just so precious. How am I ever going to repay you? But we will think of something.” Perhaps this scarred woman is someone the Doctor and Ruby have yet to meet. Perhaps she repays them by warning them away from the fairy circle and saving both the Doctor and Ruby from a bizarre fate.

People seem divided by this episode in a major way, which is pretty normal for Doctor Who. But one of the more irritating takeaways I’ve seen is that the episode doesn’t make any sense. That’s only sort of true. There are some bootstrap paradox things occurring, which if you haven’t accepted as a reality of Doctor Who at this point, what are you even doing here? But what does the old woman say to Ruby? Where does the Doctor go? How does she travel back in time to the clifftops of Glyngatwg? Forgetting completely that we’re in a Doctor Who era which has introduced magic in a real way. But that’s a bit hand-wavy, can’t we do better? Well, they do mention that the TARDIS’s perception filter parked so close to the fairy circle might affect how people ignore the old woman. I liked this because it implies that the TARDIS and magic are somewhat compatible and therefore opens up new avenues for storytelling. You could also imply that if the TARDIS could affect the fairy circle, perhaps it can affect the TARDIS in turn. Maybe people reject Ruby because the warding spell placed on Mad Jack is affecting Ruby. Maybe Ruby needed to be in a position where she was so friendless that she would join the conservative party.

The episode may not have explicitly explained things, but it gives us enough of a vague framework to form an idea. As a fan of David Lynch, I am rather happy to exist in that liminal space. To straddle the cusp between the known and the unknown. It leaves an air of mystery, or as David Lynch would say “room to dream.” I will however slightly come down on the episode for its rather bland ending compared to its strong start. I don’t agree with the people who said it nosedives toward the end. But I would be lying if I said I lost a lot of interest the moment Ruby left Glyngatwg. Earlier, I compared the story to “The Stones of Blood,” but where the two stories differ is that when “The Stones of Blood,” changes its setting from the occult folk horror of the Cornish countryside, it replaces it with something equally strange.

That isn’t to say the jump to the year 2046 isn’t interesting. I’d be very curious to see how this story plays over the next few years. It acts as speculative fiction and the bizarre reality of speculative fiction is that it occasionally becomes mundane in hindsight. What once sounded unreasonable now feels painfully obvious. HBO’s “The Leftovers” hits different after the pandemic. Richard Kelly’s loony “Southand Tales,” feels tame after the 2016 election. Therein, I fear the day Roger ap Gwilliam becomes something more than a cartoonish depiction of British politicians. Partly because of the implied threat of nuclear devastation, but also because 2046 feels like a rather generous timeframe.

[mediocre-stories]

The Cliffs

TW: mentions of depression, mentions of alcoholism, mentions of suicide, mentions of death, vulgar language

Authours Note: Hi everyone! Thank you for your patience with me! I am officially done school for the summer so I will have tons of time to write! I hope you enjoy this one, writing it broke my heart a little bit but there is a happy ending! Once again this story is based off of Shane's six heart event from Stardew Valley. I hope you enjoy reading and as always feel free to leave me some constructive critism!

It was another sleepless night. You had been having a lot of those lately. The air in the farmhouse was heavy with the summer heat, your sheets clung to your body, and the mattress you laid on itched at your skin. You rolled over, peering to your wallclock.

2 am. You groaned.

You made the decision to go for a walk, you slipped on your work boots, pulled on a wool sweater, and headed out the door.

It was raining hard, the water hitting your skin with enough force to make it lightly sting. The trees lit up with the flashes of lighting, and the valley air felt crisp as it entered your lungs. You walked to your favourite place, Cindersap Forest. The quiet of the trees and the calm of the lake soothed your nerves. You walked along the edge of the lake, letting the rain cool your flushed skin.

You made your way towards the cliffs. As you walked, a flash of lightning revealed the figure of a man laying near the edge of the cliffs. You jumped. As the lightning illuminated the forest again, you realized the figure was Shane. You approached him cautiously.

"Shane?"

He lifted his head off the ground, looking up at you. His dark hair stuck to his face due to the rain. His eyes were glazed over and he slurred his words as he spoke.

"Y/N...I-I'm sorry." He hiccuped.

You felt a pit grow in your stomach, "why?"

"My life... it's a pathetic fucking joke." Shane paused to let out a small chuckle, resting his head on the ground again. "I mean look at me." The smile disappered from Shane's face as his voice cracked with tears, "I'm too small and stupid to... to take control of my life."

As Shane spoke, you moved to sit beside him. You hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder, wanting to find some form of comfort to provide him. He seemed to flinch at your touch.

"I'm such a fucking piece of shit, Y/N. I do nothing but disappoint everyone around me. Marnie can hardly look at me, Jas is scared to talk to me. Did you know I'm her godfather? At least I'm supposed to be, but I can't even do that. Her parents were my college friends, they died in a car accident and left her with me. They trusted me, and look what I've done."

Shane's body racked with sobs as you rubbed his back. "Shane, you're doing all you can. You were put in a difficult situation, but Jas has a roof over her head, food in her belly, and people who love her."

"But none of that is because of me, that's all Marnie Y/N, not me."

The storm seemed to get stronger as Shane talked. The thunder rumbled through your body and the lightning illuminated the rocky cliffs below.

"I've been coming here often lately...looking down. Here's my chance to finally take control of my life. I could just jump, I wouldn't hurt anyone anymore."

You sighed, looking out at the sky. You let Shane rant, knowing that nothing you could say would help, he had to want to help himself. You just prayed to Yoba that he would realize this sooner than later. He laughed again.

"I can't do it Y/N. I'm too fucking scared, just like always. It's pathetic. All I do is work, sleep, and drink just to try and forget about how much I hate myself. Why should I even go on Y/N? Tell me why I shouldn't jump."

You paused, racking your brain for the right words, "Shane, I can't tell you what to do and what not to do. You have to make your own decisons, but I am here for you. Always."

He rolled onto his back and looked up at you, gently grabbing your hand that was rubbing his back. He interlocked his fingers with yours and squeezed. "Thank you Y/N. Thank you for telling me like it is. I'm tired of the bullshit I hear from people. I'm so sorry I've been so mean to you."

"Hey, don't worry about it. It was refreshing to talk to a real person again. People in this town can be too cheery sometimes." you joked. He smiled, rolling back over to face the cliff.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you should take me to the hospital now."

"Okay."

You stood up and helped Shane to his feet. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder as you stumbled to the hospital. You had to stop a few times to let him vomit, rubbing his back each time.

-----------------------------------

You were sat in the waiting room. Maru had brought you a blanket, as the rain had soaked through your clothes and chilled you to the bone. You waited anxiously for what felt like hours. You had called Marnie, who was now sitting beside you, picking at her nails to distact herself. When Dr. Harvey finally emerged from the emergency room, you both stood up.

"You can come and see him."

You and Marnie entered the emergency room. There was Shane, laying on a hospital bed. His skin was pale and sickly looking. He was hooked up to so many unfamiliar machines. He looked so small laying in that bed, you heard Marnie sob. Dr. Harvey broke the silence.

"I've pumped his stomach and rehydrated his body. He's going to be okay. It's good that you brought him in though, Y/N. " Dr. Harvey sighed, "Too much alcohol is terrible for the body, but right now I'm most worried about his mental health."

Dr. Harvey moved towards Marnie, pulling out a pamphlet from his pocket, "When he comes to, I'll have a chat with him about his treatment options. I know an excellent counselor in Zuzu City. Life can be painful sometimes, but there's always hope for a better future. You've got to believe in that."

-----------------------------------

It was the next afternoon. You left the hospital early in the morning, returning to the farm to do your chores. After everything was tended to, you fell asleep on your couch, finally catching up on the hours of sleep you had missed last night. You awoke to a knock on your door. You moved to your front door and opened it, rubbing your eyes groggily at the light from outside entering your small farmhouse. There stood Shane, looking sheepish, but much better than last night.

"Hey." you spoke.

"Hey..." he replied, looking at his shoes. "Oh man, how do I say this? I'm really sorry about what happened last night at the cliffs. That was embarrassing."

You gave him a small smile, "it's okay. I'm just glad you weren't alone."

He looked up and smiled back, "yeah, thank you for being there for me."

"I told you I always will be."

The conversation went silent, the only sound coming from the whistling of the wind. Shane spoke again.

"I've decided I want to see a therapist. Harvey got me in touch with a colleague of his. Anyways...I just wanted to thank you for taking care of me. And I want you to know that I am going to take things a little more seriously from now on."

"I'm really happy for you Shane." In the heat of the moment, you hugged him, wrapping your arms around his neck, taking in the smell of his colonge. You felt his body stiffen for a moment, then relax at your touch. He brought his arms around your waist. You stayed there for a moment before you both pulled away.

"Well uh, I should get going. Thanks again Y/N." Shane said, you noticed a small blush creep across his cheeks. "Maybe after my first counselling session I could stop by and we could talk?"

"Of course, you're always welcome on the farm."

"Thank you Y/N, I haven't had a friend in a long time."

[rogertaylorsprettyvoice]

nda: I have no idea what I'm supposed to say, there's no title, no description, no end to this kinky piece, enjoy (maybe).

TW: drug use, very explicit.

He was blessed with the voice of an angel, he sounded like a mythical creature, the favourite of the Gods. I was mezmerised by the rasp of his low voice and the clear sound of his falsettos. He was hitting the notes just right. He was hitting me just about right. Everytime he opened his mouth and came close to the microphone, I felt on the edge of a cliff, and I had only one thought in mind : falling. Please, I was begging, I want to fall. In your voice, in your arms, in your soul. Bring me down with you, I can’t bare the edging. Everytime a sound would leave his throat, I could feel, for just a singular moment, not one more, him inside of me, overwhelming me with his grandiosity. The feeling was burning me, eating me alive. The warmth between my legs would not stop intensifying because I refused to look anywhere else than his wet mouth. When he stuck his tongue out, I grasped for air. I could only imagine what he was capable of doing with his lizzard-like tongue. And his hands. Oh my god. I did not notice his hands. Nor the way he was holding the long sticks so firmly. I felt the muscular tension in his entire body, hitting his drums, moving his head on rythm with the song, performing with his whole body and all of it, this building tension, came out as the most perfect high pitch sound. I felt like I could die, right now, looking at him, feeling him all over me, his sweat, his soul-cracking voice, both of his veiny hands holding me in the air as I’m waiting for the sky to fall upon me.

I was wondering how this man could have ended on Earth. I knew that I wasn’t supposed to feel what I was feeling, but I just couldn’t stop myself, nor did I want to restrain myself. His wild blonde wavy hair covering his face as he played brought some of the tension up to my chest, a strange tinggling feeling covering my breast. I was not wearing a bra, and I could feel my nipples harden through my tee-shirt. I just knew by looking at him that it would turn him on. He would not be able to look away from my white slightly see-through crop top. Maybe it would turn him on so much that he would want me to keep it, but he seemed like the kind of guy to like looking at boobs while he fucked you. I was drooling. Fuck. Fuck me right now. Please. Use that pretty voice of yours to tell me obsenities. But I just can’t look away now. The only sound resonating was the beat of the drums, he was hitting them so smoothly and yet with so much strenght. And when the music stops, he talks, and I feel like he’s looking at me with his big blue doll eyes saying “The next one is really loud”, like he knows how horny I am right now, telling me “Hold on tight, love. Soon I’ll make you go loud.”

And that’s what he did. He did not seem surprised at all when I found my way to his dressing room. I saw Roger’s name and knocked. He had been waiting for me all this time. He was still in his attire, a red open shirt sitting nicely on his shoulders, revealing his flesh. On the opposite side of the room, I was standing still, closed door behind me, with my hard nipples pointing right at him through my shirt. I was right, he couldn’t look away. He kept staring at me, stripping me with his gaze. Without a single word, he invites me to sit on his on one of his laps, his legs were so open, directing his crotch at me. So I sit down, quitley, I nod, he reaches for a glass plate covered in fairy dust. I could still see my reflection through the white lines he drew just a second ago, like a true artist. He sniffs one line, hands the mirror plate to me. I sniff too. One big line. I feel some pressure in my cavities but it doesn’t take me a long time to fucking feel everything. I am so horny right now just by the way he's staring at my lips, I feel how he wants to shove it deep inside my throat, feel the wetness and warmth of it. He brings his hand to my pretty face and uses his thumb to clean my poudered nose. He then puts it in my mouth. He puts it deep, deep, deeper, and I suck it because oh my god I am loving this I don’t ever want it to stop. “Hearing my voice made you this horny, love?”

I let out a sigh while he’s still in my mouth. He must have noticed because he raises an eyebrow and smiles very slightly while taking it out. He puts his two veiny hands, oh my god his hands, on my broad hips and grabs me so I can climb on top of him. I feel my pulse pounding in my pussy as soon as I sense how hard his crotch is. Yet all I can seem to think about are his beautiful soft lips. They look so silky and pink, and they must taste so good. “Roger, I would give anything for just one kiss.” I whine and he looks satisfied knowing how much power he has on me. He humidifies them. It’s like he’s doing it to my lips, my lower lips, but no, he’s only licking his own and stares, once again, at my chest. Just like I imagined, he is tourmented : hard nipples pointing through a see-through tee-shirt, or bouncy naked breast while fucking. I can feel how worked up he is by now. His pants are looking dangerously tigh, like he’s about to explode right now. And as I was staring at his crotch, he holds my breast with both of his hands and brings his wet mouth to me. I feel his tongue on my hard nipples, I fucking feel him making me wet. He lets his saliva all over my shirt and gives me a taste of what torture means to him. I look down on him and meet his vicious eyes, I am whining, I want him to suck on my tits. He must feel this unbearable tension because he lifts my white shirt up and I let out the most beautiful moan when his tongue encounters my pinkish nipple. I moan, and I touch his hair, his beautiful blonde hair, I can't believe I'm touching his gorgeous hair, and it's so soft, like foam. My boobs feel so big right now in his mouth. He is licking all over them with his very long tongue. I moan again and let out a whine when I feel him bite my nipple. It's so much, too much, and yet it doesn't feel like I’ve had enough. I haven't fallen yet. I want more from him, I want his filthy hands all over me.

“You look so good” he says with his raspy voice. I didn't know my cheeks could feel any hotter but my face was burning. I glance at him while I can't help to let out louder moans but I want more. I need more. I need to feel him. He seems surprised when I hold his face while I get up to face him. My boobs feel so tight and my nipples so hard and wet, but looking at him makes me forget about everything. I get down on my knees and observe him while I open his pants, his very tight pants. But I can't look away. He is staring at me with his pretty eyes and he looks so fuckable with his blonde messy hair. Before I even realize it, he gets up and rips off his pants to show me his cock. It really feels like he wanted to show me how big it was and how good looking and how gorgeous and so him. His cock looked so slutty and needy. I found that little drop of precum so so hot. It's like it was whining for me. He takes his penis in his hand and points it at my mouth, already open and wet and warm for him. He stared deep into my eyes before asking “Do you want me to fuck your pretty mouth pretty hard?” and it made me drool. “Yes Roger” was all I could say and it was enough for him to shove it in my throat.

[rookfeatherrambles]

I am feral about two things: Hunt!Jon/Land!Selkies and Vast!Jon/Winged!Jon and I wrote a thing about Jon with wings so here you go

Many lifetimes ago, the gods gave people wings, with the caveat that one day, they’d take them back. I have wings, and I don’t want them to disappear, even though everyone says they’re bad luck. My Grandmother says they’re a curse, not a blessing, and that my destiny is on the ground, like a normal person, but I hear the stars singing every night, and I have to know what they’re saying. If you’re reading this, Grandma, I’m not sorry. - Jon

The cliffs are quiet. They usually are, but Jon doesn’t find the silence creepy like nearly everyone else in Bournemouth. To him, they are a refuge from the whispers he has to hear when he goes farther than his gate, or the fascinated, horrified staring of the other children. People muttering prayers under their breath and turning away from him as he passes, or outright refusing to sell to him when his grandmother sends him on errands out into town. Even she, his guardian, looks at him with something approaching wariness and disgust. She doesn’t say anything when she finds the loose feathers scattering the house, but she tightens her lips disapprovingly every time as she sweeps them into the bin and then tells him to bind his wings tighter. Nobody likes the cliffs. They say they’re a haunted, cursed place, full of ill-omen and mischievous spirits. Perfect for a bad - luck child to spend his time in, then. Jon clambers up onto the temple ruins, hopping daringly from stone to stone. At the base of the rocky structure, he’s got a pack full of bread, some cheese and fish, and his favourite book. That should be enough to keep him going, wherever he’s going. The sun dips low on the horizon, and Jon stops his cavorting and turns to watch. Its orange eye casts his dark skin into light and shadow, reds and golds. His irises are a rich honey colour in the glow of the last day-light’s rays.  He sits and watches until the sky goes red, then mauve, and finally, a deep clear blue. A breeze comes from somewhere beyond the cliffs, and it smells like fresh rain and something spicy, like a cooking hearth on the wind. Jon pulls off his shirt, then, as the stars start to blink into existence one by one like distant, observing beings opening their eyes. He reaches over his shoulder to unbuckle the leather harnesses holding his wings closed, one after another. When the bands fall away, he groans, and bites his cheek as first one wing shudders and shakes open, and then the other follows, the tension barking deep into his back from muscles taut and muscles knotted. He almost wants to cry from the pain, but his grandmother always told him that if he was to be a boy, boys never cried. Jon thinks about that now, then gives in and sobs into his fists as his wings tremble, shake, and twitch involuntarily. The tears glitter in the last light as they fall to the stone at his feet, but don’t last long. Jon breathes a sigh of relief when the cramping feeling eases, when he can stretch and twist and flap without pain. His wings should be malformed, and patchy, and basically useless by now, and if his grandmother and the townsfolk had had their way, they would be. Bound and compressed until they grew in on themselves, became shapeless lumps of feather and flesh that could be hacked off when he was older. His bad luck over, his shame removed at last. But Jon loves his wings, always has and against his grandmother’s wishes, or even her knowledge, he’s been using them. He’s been practising. And today, he will fly, and he will leave Bournemouth and all the superstitious people he’s grown up with behind. He is eleven, for goodness-sake. And he’s made up his mind to run away. The cliffs are still quiet, when Jon decides it's time to go. He’s stood on the edge many, many times, and peered down to see if he can catch a glimpse of what’s down there, but there’s been a thick fog that covers everything since before he was born, and as he looks now, it's no different. Well, one thing is different. The stars are singing again. Jon tips his head up to catch the melody, but it's so faint as to be ethereal. Jon walks back over to where his pack is, tying it to his chest, securely. He tugs on the strap a few times, just to see if it’ll go anywhere. With that sorted, Jon looks back to the edge of his known world. He could go home, he could have his wings surgically removed when he’s older, and he could live a normal life. Normal’s never appealed much to him, though. With an air of a person who’s decidedly late for an appointment, he strides towards the cliff edge.

He pauses, just for a moment, to look up at the sky again, and then he spreads his wings and throws himself into the nothing. Jon falls without a sound, and the fog swallows him and leaves no trace. If anyone misses him in the coming days, they don’t say a thing. Even his grandmother doesn't go looking for him. She simply carries on as she always has. Just like that, Jonathan Sims, the tragic, unfortunate cursed child, is forgotten. And life goes on. 

[paintedbutton]

✍🏼 OC questionnaire tag

Thank you @winterandwords for tagging me in this!

📝 Answer the questions provided from your own OC's perspective. Then create new questions for those tagged to continue the game.

Since I'm rolling around Shadow of a Queen in my head anyway, I'll answer these for Perild.

Do you have any vices you could never give up?

I cannot think of anything. We've already had to give up much, over the years. Having something you could never give up is a luxury few can afford.

What's your favourite item of clothing and why?

It isn't a piece of clothing but a piece of jewelry. My brother has always been a bit of a magpie and started to make small pieces when we were children. For our thirteenth birthday, he made me a ring - a simple metal band. I wear it on a chain around my neck and would part with it no more than I'd part with him.

Where do you go when you need to get away from the world?

My home lies on the coast. From there, it is a short steep trek up the to the cliff's edge. Sitting atop the cliffs, watching where the sea turns unruly, where the storms originate, nothing makes you feel smaller and more insignifcant than that. I miss that.

Tagging: @mjparkerwriting , @tabswrites and leaving an open tag (tell me about your children!)

Your questions are:

What is your favourite memory from your childhood? Is waking up early easy or hard for you? Why? If you woke up in a different world tomorrow, which one would you want it to be?

[s0lar-ch3ri]

RAHH HELLO OKAY (you dont have to post/ use this ask as a way to show your art (if you create it) btw, in fact it would probably be better formatting wise if you didnt dfghdffhgdf /nf)

i would recommend reading this the whole way through... i dont know if im gonna structure this well at all

my favourite scene is either the albatrio lying in a circle in the gardens OR gill and chip sitting in silence (madly blushing) and looking at the sea in the cove just after gill gives chip the necklace lmaoo

but out of those two its the second 100%

the cove itself is like a hole/ cave in the side of a cliff. its open to the ocean and they are both sitting at the edge of this open area, their feet wouldnt be in the water bc theres like a meter and a half gap between the floor of the cove and the sea

gills corals are a little glow-y, same as chips necklace and they are either looking at the sea or like looking forward but at each other with their eyes OR theyre like properly insanely blushing and theyre both facing like away from eachother (god this probably makes no sense)

neither of them are wearing crowns but gill is wearing a lot (not too much though ykyk keep it classy) of pearl jewellery and has pearlescent accents on his clothes, his hair is down and pretty long. he has the same sort of clothes he wares under is armour on, but its more regal/ rich looking???

chip has shoulder length wavy hair and its a bit puffy and all over the place (bc he fell over fhdkfhsdk L ) he has some kind of coat type thing? like a waistcoat but not quite...? idk how to describe it. he also has the necklace on and one of those prince/pirate type shirts with the big poofy sleeves and he has a braid w/ gold beads in.

the cave probably would have some kind of turquoise-y lighting if you want to do anything with that!!

please ask me if you want something cleared up/ more info bc im so sleepy and this probably makes no sense...

thid ask has haunted me for the longest time NOT because i didnt work on it but because i kept forgetting to post it. it is time.

READ MY MUTUALS FIC NYAOW

https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/132451858

[wh0refornikolailantsov]

Prompt: “I think you're still my person. I'm just hoping that maybe one day, I can be yours again too.”

Song: The Night We Met - Lord Huron

For Tolya x Reader please!!

Follow Your Arrow - Tolya Yul Bataar

Summary: Ace & Aro/Ace Solidarity.

Content Warnings: Self Doubt And Self Questioning. Struggles With Identity In Regards To Sexuality, Relationships And The Expectations Of Others. Miscommunication Trope. Angst. No Beta/ Proof Reading.

Things had been so much easier before. Things had been simpler then too. Back when you felt like you understood your place, your direction. The heart is an arrow, Inej's voice reminds you in the back of your mind, it demands aim to land true. Your heart was an arrow alright, that much was never an easy thing to hide. Your heart runs the show and your mind follows slow in suit.

"You are all heart, dirre," Nina had told you once. "And I love that about you, but it makes it hard to be sure which way you will lean, your heart is impulsive and you have never learned to not follow it."

"You'll follow it off a cliff edge one of these days," Kaz had added, not bothering to look up.

As much as you had wanted to argue, there had been no point in denying it, you knew that then and you know it now. You will follow your heart wherever it leads you, you don't know any other way.

And yet, your heart s tugging at you, begging, screaming, demanding, you are trying your best to drown it out. It goes against your very nature, but you don't know what else to do. Your heart has never lead you wrong, and by the Saints you knew falling for the kind hearted zowa with the golden eyes wasn't a misstep. But you also know all the things those around you want. It's not that you've been overly perceptive, just that in your experience people are surprisingly honest about the things they seek. Maybe it was spending all the time with Tamar, and how freely she would speak of all the things she wanted, all the things she thought and desires, the way she would make whispers at some pretty girl at a tavern and you'd see the girl blush and bite her lip. The way Tamar would throw you and your companions a wink before turning back to her flirtations.

You knew what you were expected to want, expected to think about, and you thought that maybe you did, in moments and in flashes but they'd pass you by and you wondered if they were ever there at all.

These deliberations of wondering what was expected of you and what was wanted from you, and what was keeping you at an unwanted distance.

You could talk to Tolya about, but the idea of that made your stomach turn and your heart ache, like there was something in those words you weren't meant to be saying, something to keep hidden.

Tolya has noticed your distancing, and he tried not to wonder too deeply about all the reasons you could be pulling away from him. Your company has become his favourite way to spend his time, your presence bringing him a sense of calm and appreciation that he hasn't found in anyone else.

And he cannot discern why you have started keeping such a distance. He is sure he has done something wrong, and that's what is on his mind as he approaches you, slowly, gently, the way he would approach a wolf... or maybe a bear.

"I am sorry," are the first words that leave his mouth. They confuse you instantly.

"What for?" you ask.

"Whatever it is that I have done," he says, which tells you nothing.

"I don't follow," you respond.

"I seem to have upset you in some way, there is a rift that wasn't here before," as he tries to explain you feel your guilt bubbling over. This was your issue, and somehow you'd made him feel bad for it.

"Tolya you've done nothing wrong," you assure him. "I am the problem."

"I don't see a problem," he says, and sits next to you, "so if you talk to me, maybe we can see where we stand differently on that."

"I don't think I can be," you sigh, "there is this person I need to be, the person I am, and this person that you need me to be, or want me to be, or should want me to be, and I cannot be them. Equally I think there is probably this version of you I wish for you to be that I cannot expect you to be and if neither of us can be these people then I don't know, I felt it was better if I stepped away."

He frowns. “I think you're still my person. I'm just hoping that maybe one day, I can be yours again too.”

"Tolya," your voice is strained, you want to make him understand, no, you need to make him understand. "I am not like the others."

"I know," he smiles, "I have always admired that about you."

"No, Tolya, you misunderstand me," you say, "I... I do not want things that I should want, I don't have feelings where I should have them, and it's not about you, I think I might love you," you don't let your thoughts linger on the words, you just keep talking, "but that doesn't change anything, and I thought it might, I thought maybe I was looking in the wrong places, but I think maybe it's not as simple as that. These feelings aren't something I am going to just find one day, pick up like a new skill, I don't think I have them. I don't want the things I know people think I want, the things they think I should want, things I think I should want." You sigh. "If I had those feelings I'd have them for you," you admit. "But I don't have them, and I can't... I don't think I will have them. And I know that is not exactly something that a lot of people want to hear."

"I do not need you to have those feelings," Tolya says slowly, thinking each word over carefully, "I do not... have those feelings."

"You don't?" You ask. Then before he speaks. "Oh you don't for me, that's fine, that makes sense." His laugh is not sad but there's a tiredness in it, not for you, but almost as if he is finally putting down something he has been carrying.

"No, I just don't," he says, "at all."

"You don't?" you repeat, you feel your heart rise into your chest. You cannot believe yourself. You jumped to conclusions, you assumed things of Tolya because others have assumed them of you. Of Tolya. How had you got your lines so crossed.

"That's not to say I do not love you," Tolya says quickly, "because I think that I do," he doesn't miss the way you smile at the floor as he says this, "but I just think it's different."

"Not what others are talking about when they speak," you say, understanding him entirely.

"To love you..." he pauses, "it is like to love myself. Loving you, is an extension of me."

"What I see of myself in you, makes me love those parts of me more because I cannot help but love you," you say. He smiles.

"Exactly," he says. "I have never wanted anything more from you than what you already give."

"I want only for your company, for your closeness, for the way your eyes see me in ways others cannot."

"I only want to know that when I look for you, I will always find you."

"That I can always find home, because home is you."

Tolya relaxes. "We misunderstood eachother," he says.

"Well, it's rare," you admit, "but it happens."

"So you're happy?" he asks. You nod.

"You thought I was unhappy?" you ask.

"I thought I had done something wrong," he admits.

"I thought I was wrong," you whisper.

"I do not believe two people have ever been more suited to each others company, as when the Saints placed us here at the same time."

"And I couldn't be more grateful."

[greenerteacups]

have a few questions for u! i loved your latest chapter, i believe it’s my favourite one to date together with the yule ball special :)

01. since u’re writing a (very intense) re-write of book 1 to 7 canon, how happy/sad were you about draco’s arc in the books and films? it always bugged me that him and the slytherins didn’t get to shine that much in both aspects, and that’s why we never really got to appreciate them a lot when the books and films came out. would love to hear your take on this!

02. not sure if this has been asked before, but what thing/s inspired you to write lionheart? i recall reading it was because of your love for to all the young dudes, but i’d love to hear you talk about this more

03. if j* r****** weren’t as awful a person as she was (and so terribly closed minded too) do you think there would have been a way for draco and hermione to be together in canon, or at least be some level of friends, if not together romantically?

04. i’m a narcissa black-malfoy apologist and stan, and can i just say, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for writing her in such a beautiful and heartbreaking way. i cannot wait to see how you write her arc in books 5-7.

05. an absolute, absolute shot in the dark - but since friday’s last update was sort of a cliff hanger - would you be open to a double update or an earlier than usual update this week? we aren’t entitled to anything but i swear to you, i was biting my nails and at the edge of my seat fr the minute i ran to the friday update. draco and sirius’s conversation was too real and too beautiful i sobbed so much.

i love you!!! may the universe bless you with all the good karma (is my boyfriend, is a god, is the breeze in my hair on the weekend)!!!

hello! thank you for all the questions, wow!! will probably answer some in separate posts because tumblr usually censors my craft glitches out when i write long asks BUT

how happy/sad were you about draco’s arc in the books and films?

[looks at 400,000 words of AU fic about draco's arc] oh yeah i feel normal and care a regular amount about it

Man, it makes me sad. It makes me sad that almost all the Death Eaters are also children of Death Eaters, establishing this as a familial cycle of violence and hatred, and that's just... left to sit there in the narrative, implicating.

Draco’s arc in particular is a flat downward descent from schoolyard bully into a fascist death cult, and it’s bleak as fuck. like, if these books are written from Draco’s POV, it is some gruesome and deeply cynical stuff, guaranteed. which is a shame, because I think “reluctant and begrudging reformed villain” is an amazing character type that he could have fulfilled perfectly. doesn’t even have to go on tour with the Golden Trio, either; because I lost hope for Redemption Arc after the end of book 6, my ideal world going into book 7 was just having Draco stuck in Grimmauld Place, being bitchy and ill-tempered about the Order’s witness-protection equivalent, while the others treat him like a house-elf. “oh, yeah, that’s Draco, he used to bully us but now he has to ask us to buy the tea he likes at the grocer’s,” etc. I mean, full redemption would have been great, and by far the most rewarding for him/me personally as a reader, but I kind of figured by the end of HBP that it wasn’t in the cards. JKR writes characters in a particular way when she’s interested in them as people, and Draco was just never written with that level of attention or care. 

he’s not even given a particularly rewarding antagonist arc. he doesn’t follow through and kill Dumbledore, thus giving him something irrevocable and life-scarring to repent for; but neither does he join the Order (e.g., Disappearance), meaning his ultimate contribution to the war effort is just this listless, choiceless trend of enabling. he’s forced into the plot with the Vanishing Cabinet, but can't kill Dumbledore; he tries to hide Harry’s identity from Bellatrix in Book 7, but it doesn’t work; he tries to catch Harry in the Room of Requirement and fails, then has to be saved by Harry from fiendfyre his own incompetent sidekick conjured. cringe failson. it’s also hilarious put in contrast with this fanon we have of hypercompetent draco — it’s like we all saw him and were like god bless can we please get this man a skillset. jesus christ he is getting killed out here.

but anyway tbh I think the most character development we see from him in all 7 novels is when Hermione slaps the shit out of him in POA (call that spell of Shutting the Fuck Up the way he doesn't even try to retaliate). The bathroom scene in book 6 is huge, because it’s the first time we get a modicum of sympathy for him, but that’s not followed up on — we just sort of leave him with “yeah, that’s tough.” we don’t even know why the Malfoys go back to Voldemort, because by all accounts, they seem miserable. Lucius seems miserable even before he hits his Flop Era in book 6-7, but he’s also broadly miserable all the time when we see him (likely bc we only see him when he’s plotting/scheming/exploding in rage when Harry manages to yet again Scooby Doo one of his plots, but who knows). I think the seventh book subtly implies the Malfoys are so close with Voldemort because of Bellatrix, and [spoilers incoming] I myself lean heavily on that thread in later sequences in Lionheart, but in the books it’s up to the reader as to how much the Malfoys really believe in the Dark Lord versus just comply with his orders from fear.

[ahordeofwasps]

15 Questions Tag Game

I've been tagged by the excellent @cat-esper! Thanks for the tag! The purpose of the tag game is to answer 15 questions, either as your OC or as yourself. I'll be doing this for one of my OCs from To Not Falling Off Cliffs, as determined by dice roll. The dice has decided on....

Tiffany!

But first, the no pressure tags! I'll be tagging @autumnalwalker, @chauceryfairytales, @deanwax, @the-down-upside-finch, and open tag!

Now, onto the questions!

You're a reporter for a local newspaper of a small town, The Portside Ramble. You've been tasked to find an interesting resident to interview, though your boss has prewritten the questions. The most interesting person you can think of is that reaper dressed in gold living in that lighthouse on the edge of town. Rumor has it she was present at the sinking of the Titanic.

You've knocked on her door, half expecting her not to be home, half expecting her to turn you away. But she answered and did not hide her delight at the prospect of an interview. She introduced herself as Tiffany.

You're now sitting on her couch, darjeeling tea sitting in front of you in a dainty porcelain cup. Next to it is a golden dish upon which oreos are neatly arranged. Tiffany sits across from you, sipping tea. This is the first time an interviewee has treated you to tea and oreos. You clear your throat and begin.

Are you named after anyone?

"In a sense. The name I was given was not plucked from thin air; it has human origins. Whether I am named after a particular human or all humans called Tiffany, I do not know."

When was the last time you cried?

She pauses, tilting her skull, empty eyesockets staring at you. Your boss was not aware that you were interviewing a reaper. You give her a nervous smile. Eventually, she answers.

"I lack the necessary biology to cry. So, never."

Do you have kids?

The angle at which Tiffany's skull is tilting grows more acute. You suddenly wish you told your boss who you intended to interview. You awkwardly eat an oreo.

"I... also lack the necessary biology for that. And adoption is not an option for my kind. So, no."

Do you use sarcasm?

She straightens her skull and takes a sip of tea before answering.

"When the occasion calls for it. Overuse can be grating, but when applied correctly sacrasm can be quite fun," she pauses, before adding grimly, "And a useful tool."

What's the first thing you notice about others?

"Aesthetic choices they make in their appearance. It can be quite fascinating. Why that shirt? Why that lipstick? Why that swagger? The answers can tell quite the story."

What's your eye color?

Tiffany doesn't tilt her head this time. Instead she just gives you a hard stare with her empty eyesockets.

"What colour do you think they are?"

You scribble down "N/A."

Scary stories or happy endings?

Tiffany covers her mouth with her hand. She has no lips and "lacks the necessary biology" to smile, but you are given the impression that she is trying to hide one.

"I know plenty of scary stories that have happy endings. But, to answer your question, my favourite stories are the ones that end in tragedy. To see complex plots, flawed heroes, and conniving villains all collide, to see the inevitable slowly unfurl. It feels larger than life. I often find myself at the edge of my chair."

Any special talents?

"I am quite adept at ballroom dancing."

Where were you born?

"Somewhere in the Narrow Seas, not far from Normandy."

What are your hobbies?

"I have already mentioned ballroom dancing. I also enjoy the study of law, fashion design, fencing - though today's fencing is a bit trite for my tastes - birdwatching, marine biology, and hiking - though my version of hiking requires one to be able to hold their breath for hours at a time."

Do you have any pets?

"No."

What sports do you play/have played?

"I have already mentioned ballroom dancing, the study of law, and fencing."

How tall are you?

"Four feet and nine inches in imperial. One hundred and forty-nine centimeters in metric."

Favorite subject in school?

"I have never been taught in a school. Their structures are too rigid for my area of... work. But, law and biology have been my favourite areas of academic study."

Dream job?

"I sometimes wish I could be an actress - not one of your Hollywood actresses - but for stageplays. To feel the heat of the limelight, hundreds of eyes on me as I recite a soliloquy..."

Tiffany leans back and sighs wistfully.

"...but there is no point in wishing on what cannot be. I am content with my... current occupation."

With the questions answered, you finish tea with Tiffany, making small talk regarding the species of gulls in the area. You then leave to submit the interview to your boss. It is the third most popular edition of the Portside Ramble printed.

[airandangels]

I saw Kung Fu Panda 4 with my sister’s kids today. I thought it was enjoyable but definitely the fourth best of the series; there were some really imaginative and fun fights and chases, although I must point out that “Crazy Train” is Megamind’s song and arranging it for traditional Chinese instruments doesn’t change that fact. One joke (a tavern with a cute name turns out to be a dive full of ruffians) was directly stolen from Tangled and that’s not cool. The humour and challenge of the tavern being built on a cliff edge and tilting dangerously towards the water when someone as heavy as Po or Li was on one side of it were fun, though.

Barbara was quite disappointed by the lack of Tai Lung (he’s in it, just not enough for her liking) and General Kai and Lord Shen very conspicuously didn’t speak, so either JK Simmons and Gary Oldman declined to return (also I had an “Is Gary Oldman dead?” moment typing this, had to look it up and realised I was thinking of Alan Rickman, mayherestinpeace) or the studio cheaped out (which would surprise nobody here). She had a bit of an emotional crisis at one point (rising tension, peril for our heroes) and tried to get up and leave but I persuaded her to sit back down with my arm around her and she was okay with some moral support.

At times this movie felt oddly isolated from the rest of the series and perhaps as if the writers didn’t know them well enough - at one point, seeing the lights of Juniper City in the distance, Po remarks that he’s never seen a village that big which makes no sense given that one of his greatest adventures took place in Gongmen City. (Also Juniper City sounds like a Pokémon location.) Even if it’s strikingly bigger than Gongmen, Po is familiar with the idea of a city and not that much of a rube. There’s also a running joke that people in Juniper don’t know who the Dragon Warrior is, leading Po to lament “Are my adventures really that regional?”, which seems like a retcon of his importance to make him more of a fish out of water for this story.

(I thought they were setting up a running joke/AtLA reference with Po landing in the cart of a durian merchant, but it only happened twice and there was no “MY DURIANS.” Also absolutely no use of the fact durians have a very strong smell!)

It also suffers from the absence of the Furious Five, said to all be away on separate important missions or, in Mantis’ case, trying to survive his honeymoon. I thought they normally worked as a team. Tigress is obviously missed; her friendship with Po is his most developed relationship other than with his dads (who are very entertaining here as a team), but here there’s no reference to it because of the need to a) reset the adventure difficulty level by removing his usual supports and b) focus on developing a new one with the fox Zhen. And that is well done, I just missed Po’s established friends.

I suppose the biggest weakness of the story is that its whole premise - Po needs to choose his successor as Dragon Warrior and move up to being a spiritual leader like Master Oogway - seems a bit unnecessary. Po is a panda in the prime of life. He could keep Dragon Warrioring for years. Wouldn’t this story make more sense if he was beginning to get on in years, at a stage of life when the whole concept of acceptance of change would naturally become pressing for him? Instead it feels like Shifu arbitrarily imposes it on him.

My favourite gag in the whole thing might be the two monkeys who steal Po’s pants and run away in them, one monkey operating each leg, but there were lots of other laughs and I can recommend it for that. I also thought Po had an interesting response to the classic villain “You’re not so different, you and I” speech. He feels, appropriately, somewhat more mature and responsible in this outing, which I liked. He’s still a big silly guy who loves food and kung fu and hates stairs, who’s comically clumsy until he’s incredibly acrobatic, but he’s a grown-up now.

[24-guy]

Every day I seem to dance with the idea of death along to the tune of my favourite songs.

Tears shine the floor that no socks may wipe away. A duet sung by one person.

A dance in my bedroom, all waving arms and grinning teeth and hopping only helps to wave away the feeling of that cliff edge being beyond my doorframe. Locked away for just another day.

Death dances with me, it's memory is hidden in songs I know and love. Songs I can never dance like this to in public in fear of people realizing I dance with death like an old friend.

I don't fear death. I fear it's impact that it can have on my friends and family.

Dancing is one of my favourite pass times, death doesn't judge me as she sits beyond my door, watching through the wood. I can feel her stare as she waits on the edge of my cliff.

My feet may no longer dangle, but the view is too beautiful to not return to.

I never invite death, but she's a welcomed guest in my room. I feel her smile as she watches me grin and jump.

I think she pities me.

Let her.

I have things to look forward to. She can pity me all she wants.

And yet I dance with the idea of death. Letting music guide me as I contemplate road safety and cliff tops. One push and I'd meet my maker from either one.

Oh how easy it is to take a life.

I don't want to die.

I know I said I wasn't afraid but I am.

I don't know what's beyond that door, off that cliff, after the curb.

The unknown frightens me more than humans do. And humans are the scariest thing I think we have here.

But as I am, dancing in my room, that fear won't clutch my heart for as long as it beats alongside rhythms not my own.

And I think that is comforting.