#based on authors life

[cyb3rscoups]

Lovestruck

Saw an ex of mine a day ago. He hasn’t left my head since. I curse myself for thinking about him, for forgetting how much it hurt to be with him. I know I should hate him and not long for him and what we used to be.

I try to convince myself maybe he wasn’t so bad. That we were just young, foolish, hasty and made all the wrong decisions at the time. That if we got another chance, things would work out and I could be happy.

It seems so foreign these days; happiness. It’s so hard to maintain when life keeps punching its way through.

That’s what it is. He made me happy. I’ll give him some credit for that. He knew just how to make me smile and laugh and fall in love.

I miss him sometimes. Wonder if I had said a little more or done a little less would he still be mine? Looking at me with those love struck eyes?

Would I be able to text him or call when I wanted to talk? Would we take late night drives and kiss under the stars?

Would we still murmur ‘I love you’s’ in some sort of careless whisper? Would tears fall less often? Would my heart ache no more?

Saw an ex of mine a day ago and he still looks at me with those lovestruck eyes.

[lunarin64art]

Sorry, I had to...😔

Drew this based on one of Bryan's recent Instagram posts where he's wearing a shirt with Kieran Culkin(Wallace's actor) on it. (x)

Since he based Scott on himself, I immediately thought of Old Scott when i saw this lol

[deadchannelradio]

my fanfiction abortion morgue is gaining another jayroy victim that is not long enough to clean up for ao3. this was going to be a very long and meandering noodle about in the river that is jason's mental health and trauma and relationships of all types and healing and the asexual/aromantic spectrum (not that that's the verbage jason would use or language hes even aware of) and low sex drives all that beautiful muck and mire but i have not put a single word on it in well over a year now. so i'm letting her go. be free little fish.

-

They’re better now, anyways, better than they ever were before. Jason had a crisis a few months back, stopping himself from reaching reflexively for his phone to give Dick a call about- nothing important. And then he had realized that he had reflexively gone to call Dick about nothing important, and had gone and stared out the window for 15 minutes, trying to work himself into a different, less horrifying conclusion than the one gathering in his brain like an avalanche. Roy had come home in the middle of it, taken one look at his face and dropped his bag on the floor with a thunk.

“Holy shit,” he said. “Who died?”

“I like him,” Jason said, somewhere between incredulous and horrified. “That cunt, that motherfucker- he made me actually like him-,”

“Who?”

“Dick!” Jason had shouted. “That piece of shit, I want to spend time with him, hours out of my actual human life that I can’t get back-,”

Roy had proceeded to laugh in his face for a solid ten minutes, positively gleeful about Jason’s horrible emotional crisis. “He does that to you, man,” he said once they’d settled in, still chuckling as he cracked open a can of soda, posted up on their couch with Ethiopian takeout in his lap. “One minute you’re sitting there thinking oh my god, this guy, he’s so loud and annoying-,”

“And he never fuckin’ stops moving,” Jason groaned from his spot laying on the floor below him. “His body or his mouth. And he chews loud, he’s obnoxious on purpose, and he’s a model and dated Kory but half the time he dresses like something a goodwill dumpster threw up-,”

“Have you seen his new shoes?” Roy asked. “I dress like dogshit, man, but those things-,”

“Wally got them for him,” Jason said, and then immediately slapped his hands over his face, horrified that he knew that. Roy laughed again. “He’s constantly in your fuckin’ business! Constantly! Last time I saw him he knew the social security numbers of the baristas in the coffee shop I’d been going to-,”

“He gets enabled,” Roy muttered, shoveling injera into his mouth.

“He gets enabled!” Jason said. “Everyone enables him! I enable him! And god, his fucking- puns, man, his quips, we’re all guilty of it but this is a fight, not comedy hour, and even if it was you’d get booed off the stage-,”

“He texted me what he said to Mr. Freeze two weeks ago and I wanted to eat my phone,” Roy said. “It’s amazing no villains kill themselves after he hands their asses to them, I would be humiliated.”

“He sucks!” Jason snapped. 

“He sucks,” Roy agreed. “And then you look around one day at your life-,”

“And you go oh shit, I think this motherfucker’s alright!” Jason mimed hitting himself in the face with Roy’s abandoned house slipper. “Fuck! What’s fucking wrong with me?”

Roy laughed at him, again. “Dick Grayson Derangement Syndrome gets us all in the end,” he said. Jason curled a hand around his bare ankle, and Roy looked down to smile at him, the smallest touch making his whole face bloom open like a rose. Jason had to look away from it, wanting to say: stop. No. You know I’m not enough. You know I’m not like you. You know I can’t give you enough.

He’s been wanting to say that a lot, these days. Toss Roy off the sinking ship with a lifeboat before he has to wake up one day, years on, and realize he’s wasted years with Jason, who can’t love that loud.

He wanted to call Dick about it, which was another horrible realization. Hi big bird, I’m having boy problems. Dick would probably tell him that it means more that Jason has to try, that wanting to try for it is selfless, makes it more significant, which is the kind of thinking that lands a motherfucker in bed with Barbara Gordon, who is enough like Jason to warrant a comparison, but not enough to call her and ask what he should do. Babs loves like the Bolton Strid, and sometimes Jason isn’t sure he loves at all. Not like that.

Jason isn’t nearly as selfless as Dick is convinced he is, not deep down. Because he doesn’t want to let Roy go at all.

It’s late, well into the witching hours, and they’re laying in bed in what was formerly Roy’s bedroom but now holds them both, blinds cracked to let the streetlights through. Jason doesn’t like the dark. Roy’s threatening to buy an eyemask. Jason thinks it’s stupid to blind yourself to potential attackers. Neither of them have brought up going back to sleeping separately. Roy’s nose is pressed between Jason’s shoulder blades, breath humid through his shirt. Not asleep yet, but close. Jason’s books are proliferating on Roy’s shelves, his boxers in Roy’s laundry basket, garrotte wires coiled next to bow strings on the desk that has framed photos, past-Jason’s mouth a little white slash in the bar of orange streetlamp.

Something is clawing at the inside of Jason’s chest, scrabbling like a wild little animal. Trying to dig its way through his spine, into Roy. It hurts.

He shifts, turns over, pushes Roy over onto his back and rolls on top of him, propped up on his elbows to look down at him. Roy grunts, half-awake and confused, but takes his weight. He blinks blearily up at Jason, a crease between his eyebrows- Jason must look intense right now. “Jaybird?” he starts, quiet.

Jason knows this feeling- as all-consuming as it is- is fleeting. It’ll be gone in the morning, and he’ll forget it was ever here. He won’t be able to recall its bite until it comes back around again, like Halley’s comet. He should say something now, while he has it. While he feels it. So Roy can know it’s real. He just doesn’t know how to describe it.

“Jase,” Roy says, sounding more concerned, “Jason, what’s-,”

“Something in here,” Jason interrupts, putting a hand on his own chest, a thudding sound of muscle on muscle, “Wants to eat you.” God, he feels dumb. He’s not good at this, he sounds so much better in his head. His words come out of his mouth sour and curdled and stupid, there’s a reason he doesn’t try to talk about this shit-

Roy lights up, slow at first, then all at once, his face creasing up in his smile like old paper, following familiar folds. Jason feels his toes curl next to his calves, his feet pointing and flexing in excitement. Jason wishes he could make himself smile back, anything other than the dead-eyed concentration he knows he’s wearing right now, but the weight in his ribs is too real and too wild for that- if his teeth come out this might get literal. He wants to crack open Roy’s sternum with his bare hands, climb in like a contortionist and slam it shut behind him.

“Really?” Roy asks, small and soft and giddy. Jason nods, serious. Roy’s teeth dig into his bottom lip, smiling so wide his nose is wrinkling up, little inky lines in the artificial twilight. “Cool,” he says. 

Jason’s hands spasm in the sheets next to Roy’s head. “Roy,” he starts, “Can I-,” stops. Doesn’t know what he wants. Maybe just to look at him until the sun comes up, just to watch the light turn his freckles from a smear in the dim to pinprick-sized marigolds. Maybe to go to sleep on him like this, the thunder of his heart under Jason’s cheek. Maybe he wants everything. Maybe he wants to be the greediest son of a bitch in Gotham. 

“You can do anything,” Roy promises, and the sincerity in his voice makes the thing chewing on Jason’s lungs shake. “Anything you want. I’ll let you do everything.”

Jason drops his head against Roy’s chest with a grunt like he’s just been punched, unable to choke it back. He pushes himself up- Roy makes a quiet, sad noise, grabbing for him- and fumbles the bedside lamp on. He wants to see everything. Roy’s pupils are huge, even in the light he’s flinching from, irises that strange half-color, too dark for blue or green and too flat for hazel and too light to be brown. His cowlick’s sending his hair in every direction at the left temple, and he’s still smiling at Jason, like he can’t help it. Jason doesn’t know what to do, now that he’s here. A restaurant with an infinite menu. What he wants is strange, probably. Not how normal people want things, not what they want. Jason is off-putting, sometimes on purpose, frequently not, and he doesn’t know how this will come across. But Roy said he could have anything. Whatever he wanted. Giving up all of himself, for nothing. For free. 

Jason should take it. Roy will stop him, if he needs it. He puts his mouth on the cowlick, not a kiss, tucks his nose into Roy’s hair and breathes in deep. The nothing-smell of hair that’s not clean but not dirty. Roy’s hands are pressing into his lats, his legs spreading and crossing behind Jason’s thighs, holding him there. Jason curls both his hands around Roy’s skull, presses gently, cradling his head- all of Roy is in there, somehow, and he needs to be careful with it. His skull feels too small to hold something so important, too fragile. 

Jason drags his thumbs over his eyebrows, presses a thumbnail into the scar bisecting the left one- string snap, Roy told him, nearly took that eye out. Roy’s looking up at him still, and they’re close enough that Jason could count his eyelashes, if he wanted. He runs his fingers over Roy’s ears, feeling the cartilage, gently pinches the flesh of his earlobe, over the hole where he used to have gauges. He moves down to Roy’s neck, puts his hands around his throat, doesn’t squeeze. He feels it when Roy’s breath hitches. Roy shuts his eyes, swallows, his Adam's apple moving under Jason’s palms. 

Jason bites him where his neck meets his shoulder, hard. He thinks about being normal, trying to make it a hickey- but Roy jerks hard beneath him with a strangled noise and that thing in Jason’s chest makes him hold that position until Roy stops moving, until the bolt of his jaw aches. He lets go, spit shining around the deep purple indents in Roy’s skin. Roy lets out a shaking breath, eyes still shut.

Roy already knows he’s an inscrutable freak, Jason decides. He’s going to do everything he’s ever looked at Roy and thought about doing, everything he thought might be weird that he’s ever refrained from. Roy won’t run.

If he does, well. Jason will chase him. Roy is the one who said he was locking Jason down, said nobody in or out. He can’t get too mad if Jason takes him up on it.

He presses his nose near Roy’s armpit. The sharp, live smell of his sweat in Jason’s lungs, muted by whatever axe deodorant he uses that always makes Jason think of a cold wet morning. He rubs his mouth over Roy’s deltoid, teeth dragging. Jason pushes up and kneels with his thighs on either side of Roy’s torso, picks up an arm, runs his hands over Roy’s bicep, digs his thumbs into his elbow. Puts Roy’s thumb in his mouth, tastes skin and salt, bites the draw calluses on his fingers, gentle. Does the other arm too, to keep it even. Roy’s breathing slow and even, looking at Jason again as he shoves his mouth into Roy’s wrist until he can feel the pulse against his lower lip. Roy’s trying to caress his face with that hand, can’t quite manage more than a brush of his fingertips against Jason’s ear. 

Jason knows what he should say here. What he hasn’t been saying, because he knows it’s not the same as how Roy will say it, thinking that it will somehow be a lie because the meaning’s different. But it’s words, which are only stories. There is nothing in a story that is a lie, and no analysis that is wrong, with supporting evidence. Which Jason has, which Jason has always had. Roy at his right shoulder. Never wanting anyone else at his back. Saying to Dick: if there wasn’t Roy, there wouldn’t be anybody. The way they keep finding each other at the lowest of lows, facedown in bottles or looking down barrels of guns to see if they can spot the bullet. Standing there feeling stupid in the holes they’ve dug, pickaxes in hand, before turning and finding the other, just as deep as they are. Saying: gimme a boost and I’ll give you a hand.

Even if he doesn’t mean it in the same way, he means it. I want you, I want you, I want you. The inflection changes the meaning, but only by the barest degrees. 

“I love you,” Jason says, and he’s not lying, because he means them, even if it’s not always how he thinks he should.

[tinseltina]

trying to make fanart of leona from @kiame-sama's humans are extinct twst au (warning it is a yandere au and 18+ so minors DNI)

[drarrily-we-row-along]

"What?" Harry asked, whined really, squirming a bit in his seat and trying not to feel too pleased. Or rather, trying not to let how pleased he was feeling show on his face.

"What, what?" Draco asked, grinning at Harry as he scooped another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth and continued to look at Harry with that particular gleam in his eyes.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, grin stealing over his face without his permission. In his lap, his fingers twisted around themselves as his heart fluttered around in his chest.

Fond. So impossibly fond. Looking at Harry like he was absolutely enthralled by his very existence. "Like what?"

Harry opened his mouth, closed it again, and shook his head. He looked down at his hands in his lap, fingers twisting while his heart continued its merry jig. "Like you love me," he murmured, shy and terrified of being too much, of reading too much into the expression on the other man's face, afraid that he was wrong.

"Harry," Draco said, voice light with gentle laughter.

He looked up, couldn't help himself, only to see that Draco's face was still doing that. Draco was still looking at Harry with such delight, such affection, that Harry couldn't breathe with it. His body was going to simply cease to exist, it wasn't possible for him to exist when he felt this loved, when he felt this happy.

"Is that all my face is saying to you?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He shook his head, looked away, bit his lip to stop the smile that was a product of the warmth that had spread from his chest and up his neck, warm and sweet as honey it filled his limbs, filled his brain, tried to erase his fears and doubts with more success than Harry would like, if he was being honest. Fears and doubts kept him safe, kept him from falling too far, falling too hard, falling into a place from which there was no returning.

"Do you want to tell me what else my face is saying?" he asked, teasing, and Harry ached with it.

He never wanted this moment to end. Never wanted to leave this place, leave this love, leave this perfect, crystalline day. Harry shook his head again, he couldn't say it. He couldn't tell Draco what else he saw on his face because what if he was wrong? What if he was just projecting all of his hopes and his dreams, but it wasn't really how Draco felt?

"I'm so into you," Draco sighed, resting his chin in his hand.

Harry looked up at him, couldn't help it. The smile was too big, too wide, his heart in his mouth ready to just spill his guts for what was surely not the first and hopefully not the last time.

"You're so attractive," he continued, giving Harry the words that he so longed to hear. "I love getting to spend time with you. I love when you look like this."

"Like what?" Harry asked, wondering what Draco saw when he looked at him, wondering if Harry said as loudly with his face and with his body that Draco was loved, was cherished. He wondered if Draco knew that he always wanted to be with him; always wanted to hold his hand, to cuddle on the sofa, to eat meals together, to tease him and make him laugh, to hold him when he was sad. "What do I look like?"

"Like you know you're loved," Draco said simply. "You look so happy, and I can't," he broke off, shaking his head, "I can't believe I get to be the one to put that look on your face."

He laughed, "What?" Without his permission, his fingers reached for Draco's, ghosting over his knuckles before Draco's fingers caught his and slid together.

"I love getting to make you happy," Draco said, shrugging helplessly, as he continued to look at Harry like he never wanted to look at anything else, face so open, so delighted that Harry felt like he couldn't quite look at him.

"I want to make you happy too," he said, squeezing his fingers, afraid, so afraid, that he was taking too much and unable to give Draco enough in return.

Draco lifted his hand, pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles, "You do. Harry," he said softly and Harry met his gaze once more. "You make me so happy."

"Yeah?" he asked helplessly, needing the reassurance, needing to hear the words to see his face when he said it.

"Yes," he said, huffing an incredulous laugh as he brushed his lips over Harry's knuckles once more.

"I love you." The words flooded out of his mouth, spilled between them without his permission. "So much, Draco. Do you know that too?"

"Of course I do," Draco assured softly, squeezing his hand. "Yes."

"A lot," Harry added, just in case his face wasn't as good at telling Draco as Draco's was at telling Harry. Just in case all of the love that filled up every nook and crevice in his body was being missed, just in case all of the love he felt and expressed differently was somehow not as readable, was somehow not enough.

"I know, love," he assured again, thumb brushing over Harry's wrist.

He squeezed the other man's hand, "It's different," he whispered, even though Draco already knew that, "Different than how you love me."

"Harry-" he started.

"But it's really big," he said, eyes filling with tears, "I love you so much."

"Hey," Draco said, moving so he could pull Harry into a hug, tucking him under his arm and letting Harry hide his face in his neck. "Hey," he soothed, "It's alright. I know, sweetheart. I know you love me just as much as I love you. I know."

"Promise?" Harry whispered.

He nodded, pressing his face into Harry's curls. "Yes, love. I promise. You're so good," he whispered.

He let out a soft sound, somewhere between a whimper and a word of dissent.

"You're so good. It's such a gift to be able to love you. You're such a good gift."

He wrapped an arm around Draco's waist.

"I love you," he murmured into his hair.

Harry nodded.

"Thanks for letting me," he added.

Harry hummed, he wanted to be loved more than anything, wanted this more than anything. But he could understand what Draco meant, it was scary to allow yourself to be loved, to believe that you are worthy of such a thing. Scary to imagine what could happen if you let yourself open up to the possibility of blossoming into a person who is loved, scary to imagine what would happen if you came to need someone else. Maybe sometimes part of loving someone else was allowing yourself to be loved in return. Maybe believing that someone loves you and letting them is itself an act of love to them. "I'm a little afraid."

Draco nodded, "that's okay. I am too sometimes."

"What do you do?" Harry asked.

He hummed, "Well, I ask if I can just let myself be happy."

"What?"

Draco shrugged, "I ask if I can just let myself be happy," he repeated. "Can today be enough for today? Can I just enjoy all of the good that this relationship has to offer without worrying about the possible loss in the future?"

"Can you?"

"Sometimes," he replied and Harry could hear the smile in his voice. "I try to. Because today is all we have and grieving what I do not know today has never made loss later any easier."

Harry sighed, snuggling a little closer.

"So, Harry Potter, can you just let yourself be happy today?"

He took a deep breath, thought about it, and nodded. He could do that. He could just let himself be happy. One day at a time.

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

Read more of my fics, if you’d like

[bonefall]

jayfeather and moleflight toxic yaoi…

Oh wow there's not even anything in the Molejay tag. Is this pair so rare it's not been done yet?

Jayfeather and Moleflight, toxic yaoi, "I named myself after the time I trounced your angelic ass" and "I've personally assigned my entire afterlife to trying to prevent you from causing chaos." They want to kiss each other sooo bad it makes them look stupid. The rituals, they are so intricate.

[sugarcarnation]

today on bsd tik tok

[sherlock-is-ace]

I don't know why but I find it so funny that Jeremy Brett's son won the 1996 Bad Sex Award for one of his books lol

[huntermanor]

Just made a playlist for the novel i'm writing and I go from:

SHE WAS A PLAYBOY, BRIDGITTE BARDOT

To:

*scary, tense music from the Haunting of Hill House series soundtrack starts playing*

And it's AMAZING

[tc-doherty]

there is a small Easter egg in Dragon's Daughter that is not relevant to basically anyone else but my roommate caught it

my roommates had never seen the illustrations before, and as Kim was flipping through the paperback she got to the one with the cat and said "he's just a cat! he looks like Monty!" (my old cat)

and yes, indeed, I sent a photograph of Monty as the reference material for drawing him, because when it came time to write him into the story, I thought about Monty and that's how I wrote him :3c

[bsptourist]

gm_the_emil_residence

created by shortnamesalex

[dramioneasks]

Lovefool - WillowingScribe - E, 12 chapters - Draco gets doomed by the Ministry to live without his magic for a year. Hermione, tasked to chauffeur the proud but now magically-impotent wizard to a small cottage in the middle of nowhere, never imagined she would be responsible for teaching her former nemesis how to use a toaster. Neither of them would've thought that through their forced collaboration they would learn to appreciate each other beyond their wildest imagination. OR A decade spanning love story inspired by When Harry Met Sally but with a much heavier dash of spice.

[wonder-worker]

"As for the government of the kingdom, [Edward V] had complete confidence in the peers of realm and the queen."

"According to the Crowland continuator, [Elizabeth Woodville] seems to have taken the king's place in listening to his council immediately after Edward IV's death. It does appear that she expected to have some role in her son's kingship, and the Crowland continuator’s report of the letters sent to her by [Richard of Gloucester] indicates that she had good reason to expect to be able to work with him and the other councillors: 'the duke of Gloucester wrote the most pleasant letters to console the queen; he promised to come and offer submission, fealty and all that was due from him to his lord and king, Edward V, the first-born son of his brother the dead king and the queen'."

"[However], in what was Gloucester's first coup, Edward V was separated from his household and Woodville advisors. When the young king questioned the move, Buckingham was reported to have told the boy 'It is not in the business of women but men to govern kingdoms'. The blunt remark referred to the authority of Elizabeth Woodville as queen and the power she must have anticipated within the new political climate left by Edward IV's sudden death [...] While the veracity of this scene is questionable*, the words attributed to the duke no doubt seemed plausible to Dominic Mancini who believed they exemplified the popular sentiment held by men [...]."

-Dominic Mancini, The Usurpation of Richard the Third / J.L. Laynesmith, The Last Medieval Queens: English Queenship 1445-1503 / Alexander R. Brondarbit, Power Brokers and the Yorkist State, 1461-1485

*One of Mancini's key sources seems to have been Edward V's own doctor, John Argentine, who attended to him in the Tower. It's very likely that he was the one who recounted this scene to Mancini, which suggests that it should probably be considered more credible than not.

[cheerstotheelites-if]

Dei Perfectum

• Well-known international church that follows the practices of Malkiel (god of aether)

• Is also very well-known for having very kind & joyous members in its churches

• Around 132 churches have been established so far

No city or local town is left without a church or chapel

• Very open of new members coming into the church, and always encourages outsiders to visit

• Has plenty of missionaries that are sent out every year to share the word of Malkiel

• Malkiel's High Court (The Archangels/Generals) are treated as saints in their church and are praised and revered just as much as Malkiel

• All churches have at least one head pastor

• Very generous when it does charity work during times of crisis; donating huge sums of money or multiple bags of food/needs

• Has a mass/church service every Sunday at 3pm sharp

• Responsible for most of the holy/spiritual duties (officiating marriages, baptisms, funerals etc.)

• Despite its openness to everyone, it's also known for being a church for the privileged since most attendees are from upper middle class to the wealthy, judging by the attire all goers and even the church's staff wear

• Rarely do people from the lower class attend, and are mostly ashamed to go due to feeling out of place

[sleepygaymerdisease]

youd think that making a story that kind of hinges on its conclusion would mean that i would get around to actually writing the outline of that extremely important conclusion one of these days but no ive been putting that off for multiple fuckin years

[quotelr]

It’s not possible, and nor should it be possible, to control what anyone thinks about you. Especially if it’s not based in any reality.

Tom Hiddleston