#because it was 3am when I first drafted it

[telleroftime]

"Vessel" doesn't seem like a word to me anymore... anyways Sukuna is very OOC me thinks, but happy comfort means everything to me ,,,

Warnings: Mentions of the general effects of depression; implied eating disorder, insomnia, self deprecating thoughts, self sabotage. (Nothing caused by Sukuna)

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where, for one reason or another, you are forced to consume some of his fingers. Maybe it was a dare your friends threw at you or maybe it was an order from the the Jujutsu higher ups. Either way, you consume them. Of course, Sukuna thinks you're going to be an easy person to take over and control. A measly human? You're not that strong and yet your soul is just a little too hard to overpower.

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where he tries to sabotage you. One way or another, he wishes to weaken you. He will take over your body... or so he thinks. He tries to mess with your sleep but you already had it pretty bad. He tries to mess with your eating but you already weren't doing too great. Nothing works because you were already sabotaging yourself before Sukuna came into the picture.

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where your soul still isn't giving in and he cannot afford to switch vessels. No one had caught his eye as worthy enough and with the fact that he can't even force control onto you, he has no way of switching anyway. So now he has to desperately try and keep you functioning. At least long enough for a solid plan to form.

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where he forces you to eat and drink and sleep because he'd be damned if your body gives out on him. He'll try and tease you into it, but when he notices that doesn't work he'd come up with some sort of excuse. He's not a liar, he's never been a liar, and yet he's barking out a "I need to eat too" like he's a desperately starved dog. "Let me have a taste," "cook me something," "there's two of us so eat it." It's so demeaning for him to have to say that, but you will live for his sake.

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where he originally made your dreams a living hell, suffering is his forte after all, but now he feels your body weaken. He can feel your hazy mind, your sluggish movement, your tired eyes. He doesn't like it. He'll stop the nightmares if it means you won't break.

"Oi, wretch, sleep if you're so tired. I ain't dragging this body to bed for you." // "You'll just torment me so what's the point?" // "Would you rather I tuck you in? Sleep."

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where he's been watching you long enough he ends up picking up when your thoughts end up bothering you. He hates it. The way you just stop and freeze? He finds it such a troublesome 'weakness' and so incredibly dull. Your misery isn't caused by him and he has to watch it regardless? He nags you so much that you have no time to think of anything negative.

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where he keeps on using the excuse of needing an adequate host. "I have no use for someone so weak, so eat/drink/breathe to not disappoint me". In reality, he has started to fret over you. He's worried, especially as the only place he can truly look you eye to eyes is when he personally drags you into his soul. Where you see him through a reflection of yourself.

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where he finally finds a different body. Someone far more befitting his needs. Someone far more adequate to house his soul. Not you. It happens right at the moment that you let him in too. Where the eventual banter you two share is far better than the memory of his terror. You know you shouldn't, but have grown to like his company. Which is what allows him to finally take over your body and switch.

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where the King of Curses has taken a liking to you and comes back to stay, at least for a little while.

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where your head feels suddenly so... empty. He's gone and you know it and everything is just so quiet. Unbearably so. You probably would have gone back on your bad habits too if it weren't for him. Your soul was alone, yes, but he didn't leave. He came back, like a dog to its owner.

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where he's so much firmer now. It was one thing having his voice in your head but now you see him in front of you, a body other than yours. His gaze is firm and intense as if even beyond your mind he can still hear your thoughts. Bringing you food, tossing you things. Indifferent in everything but his actions.

[feyburner]

I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app

*

Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.

“No?” he says.

“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”

He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just… well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and they’ll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.

And Clark wants to thank him. He will. It’s just.

“It can’t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”

“Lightyears beyond, actually.”

“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”

He can feel himself flushing. It’s rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.

“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?’ to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”

“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”

Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”

Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”

“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”

There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.

“Sure,” he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”

“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Crinkled Polaroids

Ex-boyfriend!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Hi my lovelies, Lia here and I'd just like to say that this took so long and so much effort, I really poured my heart out on this one and I hope it goes well. Recently my biggest heartbreaks are the "What ifs", what if you two worked it out? Would things be different? Would Simon have the life you've dreamed for the both of you and the one he's been deprived of?

You might be asking me "Lia, what's up with all the angsty content recently, aren't you a fluff dedicated blog?" Well I feel ill, I just got off an extremely busy week and most of my drafts have been never ending angst because I lost ideas of a domestic fam with Simon but I still need to get something out for you guys okay? A random bedtime scenario written down at 3am and for the rest of my midnights during a photoshoot and exam week, what could go wrong?

I'm still waiting on what my beloved @connorsui's review has to say 👀

Disclaimers/Warnings: This is not proofread, also ANGST.

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @thesnowurzikdjinn @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @fawnchives @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000

A relationship with Simon Riley going south, at first it started great as most relationships do with several minor bumps due to his past but no big deal right?

But Simon distances himself, more than what's healthy and yes, you do give him his space but there's only little time until closing and distancing off for a while could turn into something like neglect.

Little things like "I love you"s, "thank you"s and every verbal affirmation that you used to think you could cling onto was now non-existent, it hurts but isn't as hurtful when he refuses to touch you.

Back hugs you give would only give you a cold shrug in return, kisses you left were on cold chapped lips that remain still. At this point, you were better off loving someone dead.. then again, aren't you already doing so?

The life you've imagined for the both of you cease to fade in your head as the true reality of the man you love sets in, that dumb idea your younger self who had rose tinted glasses had to actually settle down with someone in such a short period of time of a few years.

You felt so unappreciated, it seemed like no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get him to see you. You felt cheated of the relationship you were supposed to have with him when you see others with the one you love and how he acts around everyone except you. You felt like nothing but a chore to him, an occasional fuck who cleans his home.

Then again, this is a broken man, you felt entitled to ask such a thing of him when he himself is also just healing from what his past had caused.

In Simon's eyes, he was doing you a favor, fucked up in his part thinking hurting you is the best way to save you from himself. It worked, that's what he wanted.. right?

So you leave, it was best for the both of you anyway right? Simon deserves someone who could actually make him happy and you deserve to feel loved in a relationship. Simon's life was a mess, truly, but he didn't realize how much more of a mess it was without you.

Coming home to an empty shell of a house, nothing to look forward to. He found himself almost on the brink of insanity, moving things all over his own home as if you were still there.

Always finding himself staring at that one wornout and creased polaroid of you and him, you were a silly one huh? A hobby of yours that left so much proof of your existence.

Begging him to be in a picture, bribing him with a kiss. Slightly smudged and distorted but still legible pen ink at the back as he flips the flimsy piece of thick, shiny paper.

Keep him safe for me, Ghost.

- Your favorite girl <3

You always thought of him as Simon and Ghost as just an alter ego, a mask that he needs to wear in order to stomach the violence that comes with his occupation.

You were the only one who can differentiate these two people. Tears started to form in his eyes but he blinks it away and shoves the polaroid back in his wallet.

He only started noticing changes when Johnny points out that he's become stone cold, a lot more silent, though he was known to be a ghost.. a shadow.. it wasn't like him to not even try to light up his mood with his dark jokes.

Everytime Simon thinks he gets over the pain, there's always one thing in that stupid house that reminded him of you. You weren't there but it sure felt like that you haunted every corner of the house and his mind.

Whether that'd be something you gifted him or an item of yours left behind, especially when the two of you shared moments with those items, oftentimes Simon tries to relive those, preserve his fading memory of your face.

This is what happens when the decisions you make have consequences on the one that your world revolves around.

A few years down this lane, nothing has changed for Simon, at some part of this never ending low point in his life he was under substance abuse.. alcohol to be specific, since to him it was easier. In concern of his captain, he did get help for it to which had progress.

Ghost kept it together, "today was a day to celebrate Gaz" he thought, blowing out the nicotinic smoke and flicking the ash off his cigarette after.. he knew Ghost's thing was more of a "let's drink and play pool in a pub" rather than a sit-down dinner kind of guy but Kyle insisted.

He thought about how awkward it was, although Ghost felt like he knew Kyle's family just from the lovesick fool himself who would never shut up, always finding a way to talk about his wife and their two kids.

After another puff, he throws the cigarette butt on the pavement and grinds the sole of his shoe over it, the soft hiss for the cigarette evoking, proving it was put out.

Simon walked a few blocks till stopping at the Sergeant's described location, his footsteps made smooth, satisfying taps on the wood floorboards of the porch and he knocks.

Price took liberty of being the one to open the door for Simon because the family was busy, Simon walked through the front door with ease, seeing Johnny somewhat interacting with a kid.

He was welcomed by the a cozy looking space, it was homey and clearly occupied, the shoes lined up on the shoe rack next to the door from the largest pair to the tiniest which was such a far contrast from his empty gloomy apartment.

The kid caught glimpse of Simon, they run up to him and take his hand to guide him into the living room as of to welcome him before bringing back their attention to Johnny and somewhat messing with his stubby mohawk.

The lieutenant observed his surroundings, the little toys and picture frames hung around the house, for a moment his heart drops to his stomach, he blinks thinking he must've been imagining things. Simon walked closer to it, he wasn't imagining it.. that was you, in a wedding dress, in the photo with Kyle.

You looked glowing.. as if you've never looked better in your life, that heart stopping smile on your face, the flowery bouquet on your hands. The green of stems highlight the precious metal band on your finger. Of all the people, places and time, why here? Why now? Why Kyle..?

For a few seconds, just a few when Simon thought his nerves and gut settled, he heard the sweetest voice that was all he knew.

He forgot what it sounded like, the effect it had on him, all too overwhelming for a man who tried desperately to run away from the consequences of his actions. I guess that saying that once you don't hear someone's voice as frequently, you start to forget what they sound like.

For once, the ringing in his ear is gone. Just your voice, all he needed, he closed his eyes for a few soaking in the fact that you're here. For a moment he forgets to take into account that you weren't his. You and Simon make eye contact, the smile on your face drops as soon as you realize who is in your home.. who your husband invited..

Dinner came around, you tried your best to stomach the food you made, every swallow was a challenge. You spent most of your time staring at the food below you, afraid to even spare a glance at Simon. He was as uneasy as you were, telling the group he had to go to the bathroom as an excuse to explore what you now view as your home. The place you built your family together with your husband.

Simon uses the stealth he was known for to sneak in all the rooms, starting with the closest, the kitchen. The pictures on the fridge were enough to catch his attention, polaroids were something he was all too familiar with. Photos of the kids littered on the cold metal box with magnets others were of you and Kyle.

Everywhere he glances was proof of the life you built, the life you could've had together if he hadn't taken you for granted. Simon returned to the table a few minutes later, you easily notice the sudden drop of his mood to solemn.

Constantly closing his eyes, the lieutenant's head was spinning, taking in the fact that Garrick was able to settle down with you in those few years, the same amount of time you'd been together and you both were never close to achieving what you had now.

The night ended with the mens' satisfied stomachs while you and Kyle play-fight about who gets to do the dishes. As all of them were about to leave, you gathered what little guts you had to at least try to talk to Simon as he's the last one out the door, away from the ears of your husband who's currently doing the dishes because the last thing you'd want is to ruin their friendship.

"Goodbye Si.."

Simon never thought he'd hear that nickname out of your lips ever again, he stopped, his feet felt like they were sinking on the ground. Before he knew it, Simon was back on your porch, squeezing you so tight. You tried to pull away but he only held tighter, head rested on your shoulder.

"One last, lovie.. please.." you sigh, your arms wrapping around him, you tried your best to sooth him as your palm runs up and down his back. You felt the sleeve of your shirt getting damp, Simon didn't cry often, but this was different. It wasn't silent at all like you were used to, he was straight up sobbing.

Simon pulled back slowly, you saw his puffed up and flushed face against his pale skin. You felt bad for Simon however what happened is what happened and you were content where you were no matter how much pain the past brings you.

Simon knows you're happy, he sees it, he cups your cheek with his hand. He was about to lean in and kiss your forehead like he always used to but he stops himself.

He wanted to be selfish, he wanted you again but he can't do that to Kyle and he knows this would only upset you so just like before, with a heavy heart he leaves.

Simon will forever let that sink into his heart, the only one he's ever love will forever be engrained in his mind. You will always be his favorite girl..

[luvelve]

boyfriend!wonwoo who wakes up at the slightest sound or movement and he can’t help it or do anything about it even if he so badly wants to. the first few weeks of living together was difficult to say the least. you’d wake up in the middle of the night to pee or to have a glass of water and you’d find wonwoo sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for you to come back. guilt would wash over you knowing he has to get up early in the morning and every other morning.

you feel like the worst person in the world having to interrupt his slumber, but he tells you its okay. you once even offered to sleep in separate rooms so wonwoo can have 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep. but of course, he turned the offer down. sometimes he’d act like he wasn’t woken up from your movement because he knows you still feel guilty.

you’re many months into sharing a bedroom and you’ve kinda gotten used to your light sleeper of a roommate. it’d help when wonwoo came home absolutely exhausted, he’d sleep like a baby and couldn’t be disturbed by anything.

it’s way past 3am on a gloomy tuesday morning when you feel your blanket shift and cold wind hit your lower body. you look over your shoulder to wonwoo’s side and you see him getting up and putting his glasses on. he’s quietly heading towards the door when you let out a mumble.

“i’m sorry my love, i didn’t mean to wake you.” he finds your face under the moonlight that shines through the window.

“where are you going?” you use whatever strength you have to sit yourself up on the bed.

“i was just going to get some uh… water.”

liar. the glass of water you put on his bedside table before lying down has barely been touched. and the fact that he put his glasses on isn’t helping his lie either. it takes you a few seconds but you also notice that his hair hasn’t been messed up from sleep.

“have you been up all night?” you shoot him a head tilt, slowly getting up from your bed to make your way towards him. you can tell the mental gymnastics he’s doing in his head to try and convince you to get back to bed. at this point, wonwoo knows you’ve got him and there’s no point in lying anymore.

“yes… but its okay, really. y-you can go back to bed.” he tells you softly, putting his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. even at this hour, when wonwoo hasn’t had a second of sleep, he’s still able to be this selfless.

you stand just a few inches away from him, head tilted up to look him in his tired and droopy eyes while he looks down at you, doing the same thing. it’s silent and the only thing that can be heard is the faint sounds of the city. you take a small step to close the gap between the two of you as you wrap your arms around his waist. your head is resting on his chest and you feel it rise and fall.

“we’ve talked about this before. you always stay up with me, even when i never ask you to. waiting for me to get back from the kitchen or the bathroom. and it’s unfair to you… but i hope you know that i’d do the same for you.” you close your eyes, head still resting on his chest, internally blaming yourself for not being as light a sleeper as your boyfriend.

he smiles and returns your hug, wrapping his arms around your body and resting his chin on the top of your head. “i know, my love. i’m sorry.” another trait of your wonwoo’s, being sorry for something that’s not even his fault.

“just wake my sleepy ass up next time, okay?” he lets out a laugh and you feel it rumble in his chest. you lift your head up to look at him once again as he nods. his smile is big enough that the corners of his eyes crease.

“jeon wonwoo, i wanna hear you say it.” your voice is soft yet a bit playful. you tug at his white shirt as your lips unconsciously form into a slight pout.

“yes, maam.”

a/n: as usual, this is very self indulgent. but also, i feel like this is something that wonwoo would actually do :(( aaand i still can’t seem to finish this wonwoo fic that’s been in my drafts for over 3 weeks so pls enjoy this for now <3

[citruswriter]

Oh no! I'm sorry that Tumblr ate your asks, what an asshole!

Request: What would the yandere boys (Bayverse of Rise, your pick!) react to their Darling that is actually thankful to be kidnapped due to them living in an abusive environment with their family members and that resulted in the Darling having self esteem issues and suffering the effects of the abuse?

Tumblr you have your fill, leave them alone!

Rise Yandere Turtles x Thankful Darling

Listen with me! ↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

Warnings: Abusive family, self esteem issues, yandere, dark themes, I suck at writing yandere Rise Raph, parent death mention in Leo's, very dark insinuations in Donnie's.

A/N: I wrote this at 3AM and then stuffed it in my drafts, love me. /lh

He had finally done it. Finally kidnapped you. You were home. Home with him. You were finally his! And he was ready for anything you might throw his way! There would be no escaping on his watch. But now you've been at the Lair for almost two months and still... not a single attempt. You even seem relaxed? What the hell is going on?

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Raphael x Reader 🧡

"Hey darling?" Raph's gentle tone washed over your ears, causing you to lift your gaze from the book in your hand to your... kidnapper? Lover? "Yes Raph?" You responded, gaze dropping back down to your book to read once more. You could hear the turtle shift nervously and mutter a little and you sighed softly, sensing his anxiety. Fingers moved to bookmark your novel before setting it to the side. You shifted in his bed, leaning back and opening your arms. "Come here. Tell me what's bothering you". You said softly and Raph slowly crawled into the bed, settling on top of you and nuzzling into you. "Why haven't you tried to escape?" He asked finally after a few moments and you raised a brow. "Pardon?" You questioned and Raph sighed. "We can't just pretend like I didn't kidnap you. I snatched you away from everything you ever knew". He said and you rolled your eyes softly. "Yes. Tore me away from my minimum wage job and an abusive family that made it clear that I was a good for nothing waste of space. Forgive me. I really should be trying to get to that". You said sarcastically before scoffing. Raph looked up at you with wide eyes. "Pardon?" He said, parroting you.

You sighed softly, rubbing your temples and closing your eyes briefly before opening them to stare at the ceiling. "Look, Raph, I didn't have a good home. Home wasn't even home for me. My parents were always screaming at each other, screaming at me. I was never good enough for them. Never pretty enough, skinny enough, active enough, driven enough. I was never ever enough". You swallowed thickly as tears sprang to your eyes. You moved to look at Raph once more, hands reaching up to touch his pebbled skin. "But you... Raphael you see me. Really see me. I'm somebody to you. I'm somebody worth loving. I'm not just the backup because my prettier sister already had a boyfriend. I'm the first choice for once. I'm... I'm wanted for once." Tears were streaming down your face at this point as you spoke and Raph just sat there, drinking in every word you spoke to him. Eventually you raised your arms to wipe at your face with your sleeves, sniffling to prevent any snot from embarrassing you. "Can I kiss you?" Raph's voice came and you peeked through your sleeves.

Raph had initiated a lot of physical contact with you but had never kissed you. Most he did was brush his lips against your temple when you were half asleep. It's like, even though he had you captured, he was still afraid to cross that line. "What...?" Was all you could reply with and Raph lifted himself til he was hovering over you. "Can. I. Kiss. You?" He asked again, slowing his speech down. You stared up at him, eyes wide and still wet, before nodding softly. Raph cupped the back of your head before lowering himself to gently press his lips against yours. As he felt you kiss him back, all he could think about was what photos the news would use when cops eventually found what would soon be the dead bodies of your family in their tiny apartment.

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Michaelangelo x Reader 🧡

"Why haven't you tried escaping?" The question tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop it. You paused your movements in the mirror where you had been admiring another outfit that Mikey had dressed you in. You turned to stare at him for a moment before turning back away from him, fiddling with the hem of the skirt that you were wearing. You figured this would come up eventually. Mikey had kidnapped you around two months ago, claiming that you were his one true love and that the world was a horrible place that you needed protection from. It had scared you initially. This crazed turtle man thing rambling about how you were a celestial goddess, how you two were bound together by fate, how you were his and only his. But eventually, when he saw how pliant you were, crazed ramblings turned to loving whispers. This wasn't to say that you were unaware of how dangerous he could be. He almost killed a man for saying hello to you, it scared the living daylights out of you and it took you two whole weeks to warm back up to him.

But the whole time, you had never tried to run away. Part of you knew that attempting escape would be foolish, the damn guy can fucking portal. But the other part found contentment in his madness. "Mikey are you... aware of how my family treated me?" You asked gently. Mikey tilted his head to the side, thinking about the months he had spent stalking you and gathering information about you. Sure he had picked up that your parents weren't exactly the best but they weren't his focus. You were. "To an extent. I wouldn't call them the best of parents but I didn't pay much attention to them". He said and you nodded tentatively.

"They beat me." The words flowed out with no emotion and you turned to look at your orange turtle. "They had an image they had to upkeep. I was raised in a strict household. Rules that suffocated me til I choked on words that could never leave my mouth lest I get beaten within an inch of my life. My only solace was sleep. The world of dreams was my only safe haven." Your eyelids fluttered as you flashbacks played through your mind. Mikey stood up, hands cupping your face as he saw her saw you keeping tears in to the best of your abilities. "Do... Do you want me to go?" You asked softly after a few moments of silence. Had that been why he had asked? Had he grown bored of you as well?

His grip on your skull tightened slightly. Enough for you to notice the pressure difference but not enough for it to hurt. "No! No never. You're mine. Mine. My sweet angel. My goddess. I don't want you gone. You can't leave me even if you wanted to... we're meant to be together". He instantly responded, his voice having that crazed, obsessive edge to it once again. "I wouldn't blame you..." You murmured softly, a few tears slipping over onto your cheeks. Mikey growled softly, rage bubbling in his chest towards your parents. Thumbs moved to wipe your tears away, forehead bonking yours softly. "Mikey?" Your voice came again and he hummed in response. "Do you love me?" You asked and he blinked at you in surprise. "Of course I do." He said

"Say it."

"I love you."

Your eyelids fluttered closed as you gently grasped his hands with your own.

"Again."

"I love you."

"Again."

"I love you."

"Again."

Your voice was strained, desperate. You opened your eyes once more to stare pleadingly into his.

"I love you, tangerine."

"Again. Please."

"I. Love. You. I love you more than anything."

A pause. A deep breath. A shudder in your body as you seemed to relax. "Thank you." Was all you breathed out. You didn't say it back. You weren't ready. He knew this. He was fine with it. You'd say it in due time. You had all of forever together now after all! Mikey hummed softly once again, hands sliding down to your waist as he leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of your lips. He couldn't help but smile deviously when he felt you turn your head, chasing his touch. "Why don't I take your mind off of all those bad thoughts, hm?" Was all he said as he slipped his thumb under the hem of your shirt to rub circles into your bare hip.

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Leonardo x Reader 🧡

Fingers trailed up and down your thighs, drawing patterns and writing love notes into your skin. You lay on Leo's bed, playing on the Nintendo Switch as a certain turtle stayed nestled between your legs. "You always let me do whatever I want". Leo's voice came suddenly and you looked up from your little garden to stare at him with wide, curious eyes. "Should... Should I not?" You question and Leo couldn't help but let out a dark chuckle. It was the kind of noise that reminded you just how dangerous the man in front of you was. That, despite his affections, he still kidnapped you and chained you to his bed for three weeks until he was damn sure you weren't just gonna run off or try to fight him. Not like you really could. Any potential skill you may have pales in comparison to his. "I didn't say that, corderito". His voice came and a shudder ran down your spine. You always loved when he spoke Spanish to you. "I'm just... curious." He admitted and you pause your game, saving the file before setting down the switch. "Bout what, Leo?" You question and you see him run his tongue over one of his sharp canines. "Why you haven't tried to escape yet".

You blinked in shock at him. "Oh um, I'm sorry. Did you... did you want me to try and escape? I can give it a try. If you want? Like if you wanna chase me. If that's what you're into?" You said and you noticed Leo's gaze darken into a weird mixture of delight and danger. "Querida I'd love to chase you but no, I don't want you to escape. You're mine after all." He purred, lifting himself up to snuggle into your chest, snout nuzzling your neck as you felt a blush rise to your cheeks. "Just curious as to why you're so... pliant. Don't you miss your home?" He questioned. Oh boy. "Not really, if I'm being honest." You admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. You hoped he wouldn't push. You knew he would, but you could hope. Leo chuckled, fingertips trailing up your thigh once more. "Why? Like it here with me too much?" He asked, tone teasing as he lifted himself onto his knees so he could hover over you. He liked doing that. Hovering over you. It felt almost condescending at times. A hand slipped under your jaw, gripping firmly as the other hand went to fiddle with the one of his mask tails. "Yeah actually. It's good to be around somebody who won't starve me for forgetting to turn the bedroom light off". You said casually as if you had just told him that it was raining outside.

"I'm sorry what?" Was his immediate response, shaking his head as his eyes widened with disbelief. You shrugged your shoulders and nuzzled into Leo's touch, awarding you a soft churr. "Yea. Mom always did shit like that. That's not even the worst of it. One time I was ten minutes past curfew, so she slashed my front tires. Oh and another time, I took a hot shower instead of a mildly warm one so she replaced my shampoo with nair and then proceeded to make fun of my patchy hair until it finally grew out past a bob. Kept saying I looked like an ugly ferret. Fun times". You said, rolling your eyes at the thought of your mom with a lack of fondness. Leo just stared at you, silently gawking at you and you had to snap your fingers in his face a few times to make him come to. "That's so fucked up..." He muttered. "Meh. Too bad it was my dad that died young instead of her. He was actually pretty chill." You said, hand reaching up to play with his other mask tail "I mean, we can rectify that. Can still make mommy go say hi to daddy". His voice came out in a delicious purr that dripped with sadistic malice.

You raised a brow at him before shaking your head and chuckling. "You're fucking crazy, you know that?" You said and Leo smirked down at you. "Please. You enjoy it". He cooed, mouth dropping to crush yours. You returned his heated kiss, hands reaching up to clutch onto him desperately. You bit his lip and you were rewarded with a low growl and a smack to your thigh, making you whine into his mouth. Eventually he pulled back, a string of saliva connecting the two of you as you panted for air. "Maybe just a little too much". You admitted.

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Donatello x Reader 🧡

Donnie was perplexed. If anybody was prepared for sulphur and fire, it was him. When you showed no resistance or wish to escape, he was suspicious. He'd be a fool not to be. But when one week turned into two and then two weeks turned into two months and still... nothing. He began to wonder if maybe he had miscalculated something. Or if you really were just that submissive. These thoughts swirled through his head once more as you sat on top of his lap, leaning over him as he stayed as still as possible. His hands stayed resting on your hips, fingers tapping affectionately as you did his eyeliner. "Darling?" He spoke up, hands trailing down from your hips to your thighs, thumbs beginning to rub circles just under the hem of your skirt. "Yes, my love?" You replied and Donnie had to grab the churr that rose up in his chest by a chokehold and stuff it somewhere else. "Do you um... enjoy it here? With um... with me? I mean?" He asked. He watched you as your gaze, still focused on making his eyeliner perfect, seemed to dissociate for a moment before refocusing. "It's nice. Better than home". You replied honestly. "Why do you ask?"

Donnie huffed softly. "Well I did kind of snatch you in the middle of the night. And I understand I can be a bit... controlling at times". He replied. You huffed a laugh, grinning as you grabbed his face. "Close your eyes for me". You said gently and he obeyed, letting you turn his head this and that way to check the eyeliner. "My father was a horrible man". You said suddenly, causing him to crack his eyes open to gaze at you. "Long story short, mother died and left him heartbroken which drove him to alcoholism and in his drunken state... I look a little too much like my mom". You said, voice shaking and Donnie set up a little more, brows furrowed as he went to cup your face. "Oh my sweet dove..." He cooed out. "Sometimes... Sometimes I miss home. But... But home hasn't been home in so long." You confessed, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you remembered the days before everything had gone to shit. "Donnie if anything you saved me." You said.

Donnie couldn't help the smug grin that crawled it's way into his face. You were just so fragile and helpless without him, weren't you? So delicate. So easy. So good for him. He welcomed the wave of possession that washed over him. You welcomed it too, as he dropped to bruise your mouth with his, nipping at your lips and puppy licking the roof of your mouth until you were dizzy and the only thing you could think was Donnie Donnie Donnie. "He'll never be able to hurt you again." Donnie growled out, holding you close to him in a tight grip. "You're mine now and I'll never let you go." You sighed out, pressing yourself into him more. The movement was almost hesitant, as if some small part of you tried to stop you before you snuffed it out. "And if you ever try to leave, you'll regret it". He added, tongue flicking out to lick his sharp canines.

Maybe you enjoyed the danger. Maybe you were just so happy to be free of your father that you grasped onto whatever straws you had. Maybe Donnie's delirium and obvious psychoticness was actually intoxicating. Whatever the reason it didn't matter. Donnie watched you as you gazed up at him with dilated pupils. Hands splayed across his plastron as you leaned yourself into him, humming as he squeezed his hands deliciously painfully over your thighs. "Then you can bruise me purple". Was all you said in response to his threat. Let's just say you left his lab with your body covered in blooming, beautiful shades of violet.

And applause. And applause. And waiting for your applause. /ref /lh

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Incomprehensible Horror. // Demon!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Halloween Special 🎃

MDNI, DD:DNE(?): reader discretion is advised.

block the tag #MAE:DARK!CONTENT to prevent seeing dark content from me.

WARNINGS: dubcon, cunnilingus, demon fucking(?), p in v sex, past life, mentions of abuse, plotting, murder, multiple orgasms, oral (f. receiving), size kink, cum eating, slight breeding kink, spooky vibes(?), manhandling, so much canon divergence, GoT S8 spoilers(?) kinda idk, the plot is shifted and extremely altered to fit this story. + not proofread

WC: 3.8k

A/N: the original draft got deleted and i had to rewrite it because I wanted to publish this before Halloween is over, so this is slightly rushed :(

There was something extremely eerie about the red keep that always set you on the edge whenever you would hear stories about it.

The burnt down remnants of it untouched as the city around it prospered, only developing more as the time passed on, with skyscrapers, branded shops, turning into what you would call a 'modern city'.

King's Landing was not the way it was anymore, the destruction of it provided a reason to rebuild the city entirely, it was a lengthy process but definitely worth it.

A seemingly innocent city until you look past the sky scrapers, shops, etc, revealing a sinister and a tragic history of the land, a story that involves a royal family fighting and going mad for the throne, only to succumb to their madness and go extinct.

There have been many attempts in the past to rebuild it, but all in vain as there have been cases of construction accidents, fatal injuries, suicides, making it impossible to rebuild it, so they turned it into a tourist attraction.

What a way to make money.

Yet they close it off the moment the sun begins to set.

You had visited it a lot, having been living in King's Landing for a while, it was basically harmless, making you wonder why it was rumoured to be haunted, when it's just a disfigured building with half of its structure on the ground.

It was a casual weekday for you, returning to your apartment from work after the sun had long set, you took the elevator up the building, the music abruptly coming to a stop way before you reached your floor, leaving you confused, but you soon broke out of your confusion when you heard the familiar 'ding' indicating that you reached your floor, and as soon as you left the elevator the automatic doors slammed quickly, causing a loud sound, startling you.

It seemed as if the elevator was having technical difficulties.

You make a mental note to take the elevator less often until it is fixed.

You quickly scurry to the side of your apartment, pulling the keys out and pushing it into the lockhole, turning it, which opens the door, but you stumble over something and lose your balance, holding the wall for support to not fall until you finally push yourself back onto your feet and look down.

It was a package.

But you had not ordered anything.

Weirdly enough, there was no address.

You should've left it there.

But you took it inside.

Your curiosity got the best of you, and the package not having any address only further fuelled your justification for opening it.

It was a book.

An occult type of book to be exact.

You opened it and skimmed through the pages, it seemed more like a personal diary than an instruction based book for spells.

And it was convincing enough at first until you read a certain page.

“Go to the ruins of the red keep at 3AM, and chant this, 'Oh rōvēgrie zaldrīzes dārilaros, māzigon naejot se iōragon gō nyke, ivestragī aōha kasta se melkasta laesi jurnegon rȳ nyke, iksan isse jorrāelagon hen aōha dohaeragon, kesan krenyikhé tepagon mirros ao jaelagon' for a miracle!” (Oh great dragon prince, come forward and stand before me, let your blue and purple eyes look at me, I am in need of your help, I will gladly give anything you wish.)

This made you chuckle, what kind of prank was this? This was so badly written to the point of making any paranoia you felt about this book dissipate immediately.

I mean, chanting spells? to summon a dead prince? it made you laugh, and of course the location was the red keep, a place rumoured to be haunted. It couldn't not be more obvious than that, because whatever this was, was clearly a joke.

So you pushed the book aside and settled for bed.

Sleep did not come to you.

Which you found odd.

You would usually be extremely tired, and the moment you lay on the bed, you would be pulled under the depth of slumber.

Yet now you squirmed, not being able to find any sleep.

You don't know how many hours passed, making you frustrated.

And your mind wandered off to what you had read earlier.

You glanced at the time, it read 2AM.

You purse your lips in thought, not knowing what to do.

You got up from your bed.

You knew this was a bad idea, sneaking into the red keep, with the stupid book in your hand as you navigated through the building, and then you ended up in a room with a bunch of paintings of the past targaryens.

You set the book down and kneeled, looking at the verse you were supposed to chant out loud, you bought out your phone and looked at the time, it read 2:59AM.

One more minute.

You did not know why you were doing this, normally, you were a rational person, you usually don't let your curiosity win in situations like this, having control over it, but in this case, it seems you had lost all your control, and it seemed as your mind is being controlled to do whatever was written on that page.

Besides, it's not like anything would happen.

It seemed fake after all.

Trying doesn't hurt.

You never really believed in ghosts or demons yourself, so what were you scared of?

And so as soon as the time read 3AM, you chanted the saying out loud.

You waited.

And waited.

You looked at the time, 3:10AM.

Nothing happened.

You let out a scoff, what did you expect? A demon to appear?

You collected the book and left the scene, annoyed that nothing happened, but you were also glad nothing happened at the same time.

The air felt colder than before, and lights seemed to flicker constantly whenever you crossed a street light, everything seemed out of place and odd, the buildings looked distorted.

Was your paranoid finally getting to you?

You felt a chill run up your spine.

It felt as if someone whispered in your ear, causing you to jump and look back, only to find nothing.

This was setting you on edge, you quickly walked faster back to your apartment, you frowned when you saw the "out of order" sign on the elevator, knowing that it was not there when you used it to come down prior to your visit to the red keep.

You sighed heavily and took the stairs, climbing to the floor you lived in, but for an odd reason, the stairs seemed to go on for longer, the more you climbed, the more they went on, you did not know if you were seeing things for feeling that way simply cause you were spooked, but you know for a fact that climbing 7 floors should not take more than 10 minutes at a slow pace, and yet here you were still climbing at a fast pace yet the stairs seemed to be never ending, you did not know if you were hallucinating the scribbled out floor numbers assigned to the respective floors or if they were originally like that before.

You looked down the stairwell, and it only seemed as if you climbed 3 floors, which left you baffled. You ran up as fast as you could, and to your relief you saw the '7th floor' on the board, indicating you were on your floor. You sighed in relief, making your way to your apartment, you did your best to ignore the constant flicker of lights, and what seemed like a dark figure standing from the corner of your eyes, the keys fumbled in your hands, it took you a few tries to unlock the door and when you did, you saw the figure move towards you, so you quickly rushed inside and slammed the door shut behind you.

You leaned against the door breathing heavily, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths, to try and calm your mind. You cannot tell if this was just your mind playing tricks because you're so worked up, or something odd is actually happening, but you know for the fact that whatever you were seeing was real.

Your apartment suddenly starts smelling putrid, making you scrunch up your nose. The smell was unbearable, as if thousands of dead rats were in your apartment, decaying away. It made you want to throw up, the foul scent leaving you light headed as you went towards your bedroom, to access the attached bathroom.

Luckily for you, the bedroom smelled like it usually would instead of dead rats, so you took a deep breath of the normal air, the nausea beginning to slowly fade away.

“For what have you summoned me, mortal?” a deep voice says, making you freeze in your spot, you turn around and your eyes widen in horror, as you take in the sight in front of you.

The face of a goat with horns, and scales that belonged to a dragon running down its upper body, stopping at it's elbows, black fluid dripping from its body, covering it's most intimate area, and its legs covered in scales as well, your voice was stuck in your throat, not being able to scream as the sheer panic made it unable to.

It looks confused at your horror filled face before looking down to its body and sighing annoyedly, and then its body distorts, the sound of bones cracking, flesh turning and squeezing, you watch the entire thing happen, the way its body is changing shape until it stops, making your breath hitch in your throat.

It took the form of a human man, face now mimicking a normal human, yet it was also disfigured, with a scar running up his cheek to his eyebrow, and an eye patch on his left eye, before he took it off, revealing the sapphire placed in the eye socket. His gaze was piercing, staring daggers at you, as he grew visibly frustrated at your silence.

“Can't you speak?” his voice booms across the room, causing you to snap out of your fear, and finally answer him, “I-it was an accident, I didn't mean to.” you answer and that displeases him, face now carrying the expression of a scowl.

“You followed as the book had instructed, did you not?” he asks and you nod, “Then it is no accident.”

“I did not think it would actually work, it was my mistake, please its an accident-” your voice cracks, still trying to process what was happening, trying to form words that made sense. He pushed you against the wall, his hand wrapped around your throat, long sharp nails digging into the skin of your neck, restricting the passage of air as you struggled in his grip, “On accident you say? Then you must pay the price for wasting my time.” he said darkly, and released you, causing you to fall to the ground, coughing and taking lungfuls of air.

“Should I kill you and then take your soul? Or take your soul directly and watch as the light fades from your eyes, screaming and writhing in agony in my hold.” he ponders genuinely and you gulp in fear, tears welling up in your eyes, knowing that something stupid is now costing you your life. “Please forgive me- I did not mean for any of this to happen.” you beg, voice hoarse.

“Forgive you? You should not have stifled me to begin with, now you must pay the price for your own stupidity, what shall I do hmm? My time is incredibly precious after all.” he looks down at you and you quiver in fear.

He grabs your hair and pulls you to your feet, making you stand, his hot breath fans against your face as you look up at him, and then he scans your face, taking in your features and then his eye widens as if he realised something.

And then he smiles, the grip in your hair becoming even tighter, causing you to wince in pain, “Please- let go of me- I'm sorry.” you grip his hand, trying to make him let go of the hold he has on you, “Aemond- please.” and that's when he releases you.

“Ah, so you do remember me.” he says, amused and you look at him confused, “Huh? What do you mean?” you ask him genuinely and that's when you realised you called him Aemond, it came out so naturally to the point you did not notice it.

But you still had no idea what just occurred.

Who's Aemond?

He grabs your cheeks, “I had waited so many years.”

What is he talking about?

“I won't lose you this time.” he says and before you can respond, he presses his lips against yours, one hand wrapped around your waist as the other holds the back of your head, pressing your face against him.

Your head felt hazy all of a sudden.

Why does all of this feel familiar?

You don't protest when he pushes you on the bed, climbing on top of you, you just stare at him, blinking in confusion as he tears away at your clothing, “Oh how the fashion has changed overtime, I remember last time you were wearing a black gown, mourning the death of your husband.” he whispers in your year and you feel ringing in your ear.

“What an amazing actress you were, mourning him in such a convincing way, only to get fucked by me after the funeral.” his hands trail down your body, “Such good memories, to have you underneath me, moaning my name constantly like a prayer, you were the first woman I ever desired after my death, the one who broke my curse, letting me become a true demon, it was on accident too back then.” he chuckles, he grips your pants, tearing the fabric as if it were paper.

“Until they found out of course, that you conspired with a demon, and planned the murder of your own husband.” his voice turns dark, and the ringing in your ear gets louder, your mind spins. “I remember not being able to do anything as they burned you alive at the sept, sigils placed around you to prevent me from interfering, to watch your flesh on fire as you screamed in agony, screamed my name in pain and it was then I swore that I would destroy that city.” he growled darkly.

“And so I did, possessing my own descendant and burning the city down, not too long after your passing.” he recalls with a satisfied smirk on his face, “Do you still remember my full name?” he looks at you and the ringing suddenly stops, and everything seemed to be spinning around you, his face becomes blurry and your head begins to hurt, eyes beginning to water as you feel that you were set on fire, letting out a loud scream at the sheer amount of pain coursing through your body as memories you didn't recognize flowed through your mind, you writhing below him in pain, letting out loud cries, “Shh..” he caresses your head and suddenly the pain stops, making you breath heavily, making you close your eyes.

“Aemond Targaryen.” you hear your own voice speak and you open your eyes to look at him, he has a smirk on his face, a small smile grazes your face as well, lifting your hand up to caress his cheek, pulling his face towards you to kiss you, lips engulfing his, you breathe in his scent, and he suddenly doesn't smell putrid anymore, but instead of cloves and ash.

“Fucking cunts, all of them, they remained silent all throughout the time i was abused by him, but the moment I get my own revenge, they burnt me alive.” you say after pulling away from the kiss, gritting your teeth.

You felt so confused with yourself.

Both memories of your past life and current life clashing against each other, fighting for dominance, to decide who you were.

“It's over my love, I burnt them all down.” he kisses down your neck, to your breasts, and down to your cunt, pressing kisses to your inner thighs. You smile at him, spreading your legs wide for him to settle freely and latch his lips onto your clit, making you throw your head back when you feel his tongue move skillfully against the bundle of nerves, you grip his hair, shoving his face further into your cunt.

“Fuck- you taste the same as I remember, I missed this cunt so much, seven hells.” he curses, licking away at your cunt, you moan as his sharp teeth grazes your clit. “Watch your teeth-” you whimper, feeling his fingers prod at your entrance, before gently pushing them in. He pulls away from your cunt and watches his own fingers be engulfed by your cunt as he thrusts them in and out, he groans at the sight, wishing it was his cock plunging inside you. “Goodness gracious, you're so fucking divine.” he murmers before latching on your cunt again, tongue swirling against your bud.

You feel the band in your stomach, “Aemond, I'm cumming- I'm- fuck-!” you reach your peaking on his hands, back arched as the orgasm ripples through your body. You breath heavily and watch aemond climb up, his knees on the mattress of your bed as he bends your legs, your knees pressing to your chest.

You watch as he grabs his cock, your eyes widening at the sheer size of it before flitting over to his own, he smirks, “Aemond it won't fit-” you whine but he shushes you, “You took it with no problem before, tis the same.” he lines in up against your entrance, “But still-”

“Remember when we did it the first time, you said it wouldn't fit? Only to have you crying and cumming all over my cock like a common whore.” he says and you sigh, remembering the memory.

He slowly pushes his cock inside you, taking his own time, throwing his head back in pleasure, “Seven hells, you feel so fucking good, the gods be damned.” he grunts, feeling pleasure at the way your cunt is wrapped around him so perfectly. You grip the sheets below you for support, clenching your eyes shut as you try to adjust to him.

He grabs a hold of your legs, throwing them over his shoulder before he grabs your hips and starts thrusting in and out of you, making your body jolt up and down the bed at the force. Your moans of his name soon fill the room, and he moans too, closing his eye in pleasure as he continuously shoves his cock in and out of you.

He opens his eye to look down, only to smirk when he sees the outline of his cock in your lower abdomen whenever he thrusts fully inside, he presses a hand against it and you squirm, the pleasure amplifying, making your toes curl.

He leans down, causing your legs to fall off his shoulder and be pushed up against your chest one more, his long black tongue enters inside your mouth, extending far back into your throat making you gag before he pulls it back, finally letting both your lips meet. Your hands shoot up to his hair pushing him against you, he hums in satisfaction. His scales are back on his body, along with his horns, partly turning into his demonic form, you feel him grow in size, both height and mass, and eventually down there, which rips an orgasm from you, wetness flowing down your hole and dirtying the sheets and you choke on your own spit at the sudden peak.

He pulls out, and you look at him in confusion, knowing he didn't peak yet, but soon the confusion is replaced with anticipation as he flips you around onto your stomach, your body knows what to do immediately and you support yourself on your arms and knees. Aemond doesn't waste another moment before pushing himself inside you, letting out a loud moan when he feels you clench around him.

His pace is brutal and fast, only seeming to care about his own pleasure, he grabs you by your hair and tugs on it, causing you to curve your head backward but not lean back, he's fucking you like an animal in heat, the size difference making it easy to manhandle you as he wishes.

He soon feels his peak arriving after pounding into you like a madman, and he spills himself deep inside you, cumming so much to the point it makes you feel bloated and so full, you whine when you feel his pull out. He watches as his seed leaks out of you, gathering it with his index finger and tasting it, humming at it.

“I wish my seed takes.” he mutters.

He turns you on your back again, and holds your legs wide and spread apart, and spits on your cunt, before leaning down, holding your thighs apart and once again presses his warm mouth against your cunt, only this time he shoves his long tongue down your hole, you can feel him licking around there, eating up his own spend, and that's when he flicks his tongue upwards inside you, grazing your gspot and your thighs shut around his head, trying to prevent him from making you cum again, too overstimulated and tired.

“Aemond- another time, please- I'm so tired.” you whine, your eyes closing, and he listens to you, pulling away, withdrawing his tongue from inside of you. He climbs next to you in bed, shifting into his full human form again and pulling you close.

“I won't let anyone take you away from me now.” he murmurs in your ear and you nod, turning and snuggling close to him.

There were so many questions left unanswered.

Each and everything was an odd occurrence.

From the encounter of the package to you summoning a demon, who turned out to be the one you loved & fucked in your past life, even conspiring with him to kill your abusive husband, and to fucking him again, and now laying safely wrapped in his arms.

Who was the one that sent you the package then?

Just then you remember an odd event.

You remembered the text and pictures of the book with a bunch of spells and summoning rituals, you hadn't noticed it then but it was the same handwriting as yours.

It was your diary.

And you remember losing it the day right before you were burnt to death.

And you remember writing the words you had heard in your dream, confused back then as what "3AM" meant.

You did not want to dwell on this anymore.

Because you realised that it would drive into madness.

And so, you drifted off into slumber in the arms of your beloved.

[lale-txt]

🌙 waking up at night without you by their side ↳ w/ Kid, Rayleigh, Denjiro & Yamato

a/n: another draft that's been sitting here since forever. in the light you go!! love me some lighthearted fluff. slightly suggestive + poly mention for Rayleigh (i feel like i'm putting this ALWAYS when writing Rayleigh omg) also sending kisses to all my anons swooning over Yamato. i know i don't write him that much but wanted to include him here for you ♡ i always love reading about your undying love for him, it's the purest thing.

Kid 

how dare you leave his side while he’s sleeping

don’t you know about your big spoon duties which involve holding him tenderly from behind, rubbing his back and making sure your arms are constantly wrapped around him all the time? 

Kid huffs when he wakes up with his back cold and your side of the bed empty

were you going for a midnight snack without him? didn’t you know that he was also craving shredded cheese at 3am? was your relationship a lie the whole time? 

no he’s not being dramatic why do you ask

or did you miss a step of your skin care routine and went back to the bathroom to do it again? he told you countless times that it didn’t work that way…

he throws back the covers and gets up, his red hair a mess and barely held together by the cat ear hairband you once gifted him 

Kid’s first instinct when he’s in trouble is to consult Killer so they can be in trouble together, so naturally he stomps down the hall to Killer’s cabin and doesn’t bother knocking, just bursts in like the Kool Aid man 

he lets out a surprised gasp when Killer isn’t sleeping peacefully in his bed but playing cards with you, Heat and Wire – very wide awake 

before Kid’s face can turn the color of his hair, you already kick out a chair for the tulip and gesture him to sit his ass down so you can explain

“see… on the last island when we stocked up on supplies Killer didn’t buy decaf coffee like ne normally does but regular… and since everyone but you drinks coffee–” “because it’s BAD for your skin, but no one ever listens to me” “–all of us have just been unable to fall asleep.”

Kid rolls his eyes and continues huffing, but also pulls you in his lap and wrap his arm around you, falling asleep with his head resting against yours as you continue your game

but no more coffee for you after 2pm, decaf or not. the big spoon rule book got updated, you gotta keep up duh

Rayleigh

even in his sleep Rayleigh reaches for you, wanting to hug you close to him, only content when he can nuzzle his face in the back of your neck

so when his hand pats into empty space, he’s suddenly awake, mumbling out your name into the dark 

first thing he does is turn on the light on the nightstand and reach for his glasses because he can’t see shit without them

still fighting off sleep, he takes a moment to reconstruct last night, smiling over it. no, you definitely fell asleep in his arms after you both finished… several times

actually he could go another round now that he was awake, but someone was missing…

it’s when he hears muffled voices coming from downstairs that he calls out your name again, louder this time

“we’re in the kitchen!”

we? … oh

with his observation haki never failing him, Rayleigh realizes within a heartbeat now what is going on

following your laughter he finds you in the kitchen… accompanied by a very familiar face

“Ray, I must say your taste is exquisite as always…”

Shakky cups your face, a cigarette dangling from her lips, as she beams at her husband leaning in the doorframe

“i think I’m in love with your wife”, you sigh dreamily, melting under her touch and gazing up to her with puppy eyes, completely encharmed by her 

Rayleigh ruffles his white hair and just smirks. he was about to introduce you anyway, so this makes things much easier now

he comes closer and places kisses on both of your cheeks. this night just got so much more interesting… 

Denjiro

Denjiro is always a little sleepy and would pass out within a heartbeat wherever and whenever, but preferably with you by his side, pulling you close even in his sleep

so why were his arms empty right now?

long blue hair is spilled all over the futons and usually by now you would complain because you’re getting tangled up in it 

rubbing his eyes he sits up, he murmurs out your name into the dim light of your shared room 

Denjiro isn’t too worried, he knows what you’re capable off, otherwise the yakuza boss wouldn’t have married you. he twists the golden band on his ring finger absentmindedly as he’s slowly forcing himself to wake up properly

it’s when he notices the gentle breeze coming through the open sliding door leading to the veranda and he immediately knows where to look for you

throwing the blanket over his shoulders he gets up, already making out your silhouette in the milky moonlight as you sit there huddled up, looking over your shoulder when you hear his footsteps approaching

“Den… you gotta see this…” 

your excited whisper and gestures to keep quiet had him curious, but more than that he was just happy to see you smiling

Denjiro sits down behind you and pulls you in his lap, wrapping his big arms and the blanket around you and kissing the side of your neck. you’re cold but feel warmth tingling in your limbs immediately under his touch

“what is it, little moonshine?”, he whispers and rests his chin on top of your head. you almost disappear in his embrace due the size difference and wiggle yourself in a comfortable position, the tip of your nose and your curious eyes peeking out from the blanket 

“snow bunnies”, you say softly and point to the garden where a pair of white bunnies frolic around in the falling snow, almost invisible for the eyes

Denjiro smiles and leans down to kiss you again. love is stored in the little things, you taught him that. and soon he falls asleep again, holding you tightly as he drifts into dreams of you, but none sweeter than the reality he gets to live with you

Yamato

personal space? not in this house 

Yamato usually sleeps sprawled out like a starfish and rotates in his sleep like a beyblade

but it’s fine because you adjusted to that! nothing can stop you from cuddling your big golden retriever boyfriend in his sleep

so when he wakes up at night and doesn’t feel your familiar weight on top of him it just sends him into straight up panic

in an attempt to turn the lights on he gets tangled up in the sheets and stumbles, taking down the lamp and everything else on the nightstand with him 

he’s calling out your name and trying not to cry on the spot

did you have a bad dream and he didn’t notice? were you somewhere crying on your own? his heart couldn’t take the thought of it. 

this was even worse than the one time he lost you at the supermarket in the candy aisle and he had to make an announcement over speaker which was mostly him sobbing into the microphone

his brain still lagging from the sleepiness and shock, Yamato doesn’t notice how you squat down next to him, picking off various nightstand items (tissues, crystals, harness…) off him 

“Yams, just what are you doing down there? were you sleepwalking? i knew this would become an issue one day…”

cut to Yamato sobbing in your arms because for three hot minutes he thought he had lost you forever 

which is when you kindly explain him that nature called and you only went to the bathroom but would have returned into his arms straight away

however you can never hold back tears as well when you see Yamato crying and now you’re both on the floor sobbing as you hold each other tenderly 

only when he kisses away the salty streaks you both calm down a little and can laugh about the situation

ever since you leave a little note out when you have to use the bathroom in the middle of the night and make sure to snuggle extra close to him once you return, making Yamato smile even in his sleep

[theweeklydiscourse]

The dynamic and initial characterization of the Archeron family in ACOTAR is…frustrating.

Trying to make sense of the Archeron sister’s backstory in conjunction with their future character development is enough to drive a person to the brink of madness. It’s a straining experience to try to accept the story on Maas’s terms due to how jumbled the continuity becomes as the series progresses. Specifically, the dynamic of the Archeron sisters feels artificial and contrived. It’s a dynamic meant to evoke as much pity as possible from the reader and in doing so, it creates a clash between Maas’s first draft of these characters and their future developments. I find that it makes it difficult for one to immerse themselves in ACOTAR’s world building and characterization because it lacks harmony with the rest of the series. Furthermore, Maas writes a kind of suffering that is indulgent and gratuitous, not seeming to care about how doing so might create problems in her story later on. It makes analyzing the later developments in the story akin to fist fighting the narrative in a Walmart parking lot at 3am.

Example #1 : The Dissonance of Nesta and Elain

The initial characterizations of Nesta and Elain is shallow and although they develop farther along in the series, they can never quite escape the impression of their introductions. In the early chapters, Nesta is a haughty ingrate who staunchly refuses to help Feyre with running the household while Elain is clueless and unhelpful. They behave terribly towards Feyre, but in a manner that feels like something out of a stand-alone story for young children and not the first book of a trilogy.

“Nesta picked at her long, neat nails. “I hate chopping wood. I always get splinters.” She glanced up from beneath her dark lashes. (…) “Besides, Feyre,” she said with a pout, “you’re so much better at it! It takes you half the time it takes me. Your hands are suited for it—they’re already so rough.””

“Her brown eyes--my father's eyes remained pinned on the doe. "Will it take you long to clean it?" Me. Not her, not the others. I'd never once seen their hands sticky with blood and fur.”

They are the embodiments of the “evil stepsister” archetype but are written with no nuance or thought for how their future development might look. They are tools that exist solely to make Feyre’s life as hellish as possible and this is especially apparent with Nesta. Nesta’s initial one-note meanness confounds me, especially when her character is expanded upon later in the trilogy. But here, she acts cartoonishly cruel and spoiled like the sisters in Cinderella and her initial moments do not do enough to suggest her complexity that is eventually used in ACOSF. This dissonance in Nesta reflects the flaws of Maas’s characterization and follow-through. The story indulges in Feyre’s suffering and asks the reader to feel terrible for the plight of this poor and unfortunate soul… but it all feels so gratuitous.

I was never fully convinced by The Archeron family dynamic, how could I be when the characters are not characters but instead are torture devices for the main character? They are elements that converge to make Feyre’s life as miserable and pitiful as humanly possible, but does so in a way that feels utterly shallow and cliche. I can’t become invested in the way Feyre is mistreated because it reads as pain for the sake of pain, it’s shallow and uncompelling.

Example #2 : Feyre’s Non-Existent Relationship to her Unnamed Mother

“My mother. Imperious and cold with her children, joyous and dazzling among the peerage who frequented our former estate, doting on my father the one person whom she truly loved and respected.”

Another example of this relates to Feyre’s relationship to her deceased mother. Feyre is intent on honouring her vow to her mother and yet, it seems like she harbours no positive emotions towards her. Descriptions of her relationship with her Mother are scant and reveal very little about any potential closeness between them. From this passage, a read could surmise that Feyre’s Mother cared more for wealth and status than her children and had little affection for them as a result. It wasn’t as if Feyre and her mother were uniquely close or had a strong bond or something that might justify honouring that promise (especially when she comments on the unfairness of placing that burden on a child very early on in ACOTAR).

“There were times when I hated her for asking that vow of me. Perhaps, delirious with fever, she hadn't even known what she was demanding.”

So what is the narrative purpose of Feyre’s loyalty to a parent she was never that close with and breaking her back to fulfill a promise made in delirium? Her mother is a complete afterthought and yet Feyre for some reason puts herself through the wringer so that she honours that promise? Why? It isn’t compelling for the heroine to sacrifice that much of herself for a family that has no real emotional stakes in the relationship dynamic. THIS does not make a good story, it is so fixated on creating a tragic background for its heroine that it strips the supporting characters of all intrigue and ironically makes the mistreatment Feyre faces feel flimsy and almost comically exaggerated. HER MOTHER AND FATHER DONT EVEN HAVE NAMES!

Example #3 : Feyre’s Father

Feyre says that their family had been impoverished for 8 years, but I fail to grasp how a family of four could subsist on the income from an amateur huntress and her sales of animal pelts. Am I to believe that all of them spent those past 8 years twiddling their thumbs while Feyre did everything on her own? While I’m aware that this is a fantasy series, it seems unrealistic that Nesta nor Elain ever gave Feyre any substantial assistance when it came to running a household. The idea that their prissiness and spoiled attitude prevented them from lifting a finger makes no sense because a mindset like that would never allow them to survive in such an environment. None of them have jobs or bring in any income to support the family and somehow I’m meant to believe that Feyre’s earnings were enough to support all of them. Meanwhile, her father is too ashamed to even attempt to aid his daughters.

Feyre’s father is presented as feckless and an object of resentment for Feyre and Nesta. Although he is given slightly more depth than Nesta and Elain initially, he is never truly expanded upon as a character and is confined to a pathetic characterization.

“What I really wanted to say was: You don't even bother to attempt to leave the house most days.Were it not for me, we would starve. Were it not for me, we'd be dead.”

Oh look! Her father is useless too! Her only living parent who “hadn’t argued when I announced that I was going hunting.”. Although papa Archeron is kind to Feyre, this doesn’t culminate in a meaningful character arc later in the book and his inaction as a father is left to fester. Feyre’s relationship with him is similarly shallow with her relationship to her mother and does not offer the reader anything to latch onto when Feyre leave her family towards the end of the book. I just feel that the story would become so much more emotionally compelling if there were any reasons for Feyre to truly have a connection with her family and if it were not a barrage of misery.

So basically…

I just can’t become invested in Feyre’s plight when it is so indulgent in her suffering (at the expense of some potentially compelling characters). It feels manufactured, it doesn’t feel real (in the sense that it is extremely contrived) and I hate how Maas makes the family dynamic more emotionally nuanced later on in the series, but is constantly at odds with the initial impressions of these characters. The potential is there, but Maas seemed to care more about making the backstory as sad and tragic as possible rather than considering any potentially complex emotional realities the characters would have to grapple with later on.

[yourpenpaldee]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ A BRIEF WIPS OVERVIEW.

Hello! I am not good with deadlines, especially when I set them myself. This post was supposed to be up three days ago, but it’s finally here! I’m very excited to share these projects as they were all created from different periods of my life, going back four years at the most.

These will be very short intros, but each WIP mentioned here will have a proper, detailed post when it’s time. The projects also aren’t listed in sequential order of when I’ll post about them with the exception of the first WIP.

A heads-up, most of these are romance since I used to write only romance. It was only about two years ago since I decided to finally branch out, and those stories will be coming soon! For now, I still have to figure out how to write characters that have a way higher IQ than I do…

On we go to the WIPs!

WHEN ART TALKS

— currently undergoing the first draft. — first person — a college romance where a reserved poet who is afraid of public perception connects with an outspoken musician due to their preference on using words as their art medium. — contains late night walk convos, cigarette smoking, passionate rambles, and microwaved meals. — “‘Why do we care about them when it’s our story to tell? We live our truth, we speak our truth, and we have to trust that it’s good enough because it’s all we got. The message will be received by those who are meant to hear it.’”

BLIND SECOND CHANCES

— currently undergoing the first draft. — dual first person — an adult romance in which ex-friends turned (unofficial) ex-lovers from high school decide to explore the old feelings that resurface when crossing paths eight years later. — lots of reminiscing, betrayal, weekly wine nights, and fancy dates. — “‘You’re holding onto a love from a situation where we didn’t even know our place in the world yet. We spent nearly eight years growing into the people we are now, so you need to be prepared for our dynamic to look and feel different because we aren’t the same kids we once were.’”

TO NEW BEGINNINGS

— brainstorming complete, drafting to begin soon. — third person, still deciding on the type — an adult romance story of a woman who decides it’s time to start over on a blank canvas, and meets a booked and busy workaholic along the way. — roller skating, painting, solo adventures, and plant shopping. — “‘It’s scary to deviate from your current life and start anew when your life no longer serves you or your purpose. But I’m not equipped for misery, so I’ll be damned trying to save a life that lost the chance of saving forever ago.’”

UNTITLED ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE

— currently a 3am one-liner, brainstorming begins soon — pov to be determined, leaning towards third person limited. — an apocalyptic fiction where a teenage girl fights everyday to survive in an ongoing zombie apocalypse with hopes of finding her younger sister. — found family, zombie slaying, survival vs. morality, and, uh… death. — “She looked at every colorless home she walked by and wondered what stories could be told. What every stored memory that slipped through the cracks consisted of and the emotions they’d provoke. If the lives that once occupied these spaces were unfortunately fortunate enough to make it out like she did. If they constantly watched the memories flash before their eyes as they realized those would be the last batch of joyful, painless memories; how remembering became torturous and insufferable, but is all they have to remind them of their own humanity.”

UNTITLED TWISTED BONNIE & CLYDE

— currently a 3am one-liner, brainstorming begins soon — first person peripheral or third person limited — a dark and twisted romance where two toxic lovers are at the beginning of an inevitable end and play fire with fire the entire way through. — manipulation, heists, lies, and expensive jewelry. — “The venom drips off of every word she says. She watches every last drop seep into my skin and become one with the blood that runs through my veins. How it attempts to shut down my body in hopes that I’ll beg for mercy in my final moments of weakness. That I’ll surrender my life into her hands as those soulless and apathetic eyes beam with some sick and twisted excitement. But I am sick and twisted too. We are two bodies wrapped in the same snake skin, and a snake cannot get poisoned by its own venom.”

PAST LIFE LOVER

— redoing the brainstorm process — first person or objective third person (quote will be in third person) — a soulmate, young adult romance in which a girl who no longer believes in love suddenly gets pulled in by the new barista at her favorite hangout spot. — love at first sight, breakfast deliveries, denial, and baking. lots of baking. — “Then there it was. The locking of the eyes where the inability to look away grows more and more intense with each passing second. They didn’t even know each other, but something in their eyes told them that there was a home waiting for them within each other’s souls.”

ANGEL AND KEN*

— currently on the backburner, brainstorming resumes once past life lover is complete. — prequel to past life lover. — *very much a temporary title — first person or objective third person — a 50’s historical romance where a pessimistic single mother is convinced to see the greener side of the grass by a jazz musician who looks at life through a rose-colored lens. — jazz clubs, slow dancing, tea parties, and red corvettes — “‘Why shut yourself out from the world when there are people like me that have waited for you to waltz right into their life? I know, the modern day world is frightening and filled with so much hatred that it’s hard to find happiness through it all. But people find a purpose to wake up every morning because of that one person that casts the brightest light. You’re my sun in a world full of darkness, and I hope to be the moon that reflects your light when you’re no longer visible in the sky.’”

I know I keep saying it, but I truly can’t wait to properly share these projects. I just hope everyone will enjoy reading it all and find comfort within these characters :)

I will post the the detailed summary for When Art Talks either on Monday or Tuesday (please yell at me if i don’t follow through omg), and the character intros should follow closely behind!

divider creds to strangergraphics ♡

[amiascv]

"you'll be safe here" — DAMIANYA !

Damian Desmond would go through hell and back for Anya Forger.

ANYA FORGER 's first love was wreckless. Too foolish, too sharp, too rigid. The recipient of her love was a typical player who failed to achieve the decency of learning what true love is at a young age.

Take a look at his social's and you'll feel right at home, but take him home and you'll feel like a stranger in her own place.

"Who the fuck is this?" He furiously throws her phone at her.

"Watch your language," She catches her phone, "And just who are you talking about?" Continued the young girl, keeping her cool at his foul tongue.

"Don't you 'who are you talking about' me," He scoffs, "Who the fuck is Damian Desmond?!" He points out to the contact she had just chatted a while ago.

"Seriously? You don't know Damian? He's my friend! But I guess you wouldn't know since you're too busy paying attention to other shit!"

'He's always like that,' She thinks, 'Maybe it's time I listen to Becky and Damian..'

"Like what, Forger?"

"Like trying to cheat on me with my bestfriend, you jerk," she coldly accuses her boyfriend. However, Becky has been trying to say this to her for a while, she just refuses to listen and tries to continue her perfect fairytale fantasy with this man.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Do you take me for a fool? I see your texts. I see how you go to her whenever I'm not around. God-! I'm such an idiot! I should've done this ages ago.."

"Babe, what are you talking about? Baby, no, please don't-"

"We're done, get out."

"Baby-"

"Out!" She finally tears up. Her boyfriend refuses and instead pushes himself onto her, clinging like his life depended on it. Because of this, she pushes him away. Hard. Landing him on the floor and possibly spraining his wrist. However, this sprain doesn't stop him from getting up and attempting to slap Anya.

She closes her eyes for the impact, but instead, she never ends up feeling it.

"You bastard!" She hears her saviour that just stopped her ass of a boyfriend.

Damian.

"Da- Sy-on!" Anya calls out, trying to prevent any fight from happening. But before she could leap into action, Becky Blackbelle appears on the scene.

"Anya, don't even. Let's go," She says as she drags her bestfriend towards her car.

A few minutes since the incident and Forger could be spotted at Blackbelle's house with her two friends drinking hot cocoa and trying to calm her nerves.

"More?" Damian asked.

"..No, thanks. But what I would like is to know how you two ended up there?" She instead asked back.

"You ended up calling Damian," Becky answered as she sat down and joined the two, "I don't know how, but when he picked up, we were working on our group thesis and overheard everything."

"Ah, I see."

"... Anya, get some rest. I will to. Goodnight. You two know where to find the guests rooms, yeah?" The dark-haired girl bid them farewell.

"Goodnight, Becky," The other two replied in unison.

...

...

...

"So, are you gonna talk or?" The pink-haired female asked her companion, trying to lighten up the mood. To her confusion, he ends up standing up instead and she interprets it as him leaving her, "Oh, okay..!"

But instead of leaving, he walks up to her and hugs her.

"W-what's all this?"

"Please, don't let anyone talk to you like that ever again," he starts, still hugging her, "Don't let anyone step on you like that, don't let anyone curse you like that, and don't settle for someone like that."

"I won't."

"Today was really scary, Fo- Anya."

"But you.. faced him with no fear."

"It was scary because I thought he had already laid a finger on you..

I'd do anything to protect you, Anya."

THIS DRABBLE SUCKS !!! but its been in my drafts since forever hehehe :3 dont mind the errors guys .... i think it was 3am when i wrote this..

[keelywolfe]

I have to ask: what is your writing/editing process like? You have absolutely spoiled me rotten with the frequency of your updates. Just about every 2-4 days, I get that ping on my inbox from you. That sort of frequency would lead me to suspect short chaps or maybe disjointed and riddled with errors but you are posting QUALITY, LENGTHY installments consistently, and I'm just in awe. Do you just word vomit onto an empty page in one sitting? Do you break it up? Do you edit as you go or at the end, all together? Just anything about your process, if you don't mind sharing, would be great to hear!

Oh, huh, no one has ever asked me that before. This is about how it goes:

First, I use a note-taking software to organize all my ideas and plot threads. I use MS OneNote because I already use it for work so I'm used to it, and I can have it synced between my phone and my laptop (I write on both), but I highly recommend using something like it. I say this not because I am an organized person, but because I am very disorganized and things will quickly descend into chaos without something to maintain order. I have about 50 tabs right now for 'Lucifer' and they contain everything from a single cool line that hit me at 3am (write it DOWN, you will not remember it in the morning, that's the devil talking) to complete outlines of upcoming stories. When I’m finished with a tab I dump it into another folder because I am allergic to deleting anything.

It looks like this:

When I go to use whatever is in a tab, I copy and paste it into a document, and then I write what I guess is the first draft. Just go at it like a monkey on crack trying to get everything that needs to be in the chapter on paper. It doesn’t need to be perfect, I'm just trying to get the shape of it down, with the occasional runaway tangent. 

After the basic bones of the story are down, next is the second draft or as I mentally call it ‘jazzing it up.’ That's when I go back and fix things like the ten paragraphs of dialogue with no indication of who is speaking. Depending on how it's going, I might go through the jazz routine once or several times. I was struggling with the last chapter, it took a few attempts before I finally deleted a segment and then it clicked and I was able to get it where I wanted it to go.

Once I'm happy with the story, I use the Read function in my writing program to read the entire thing to me. It's seriously the best way to catch mistakes or odd phrasing, eyes miss things after reading it so many times, ears are a fresh sense and they catch the missing words and strange turns.

That's about it. I sound weird when it's all down like this. 😂

[hellgirlthings]

this is not proof read yall, and this came from my obscure collection of 3am drafts lol- but anyways fuckboy!eddie plagues my mind on the daily tbh

One thing about Eddie Munson, is that he will probably be the best fuck you ever had. Seriously though, he’s ruined every single man for you and you’re not even dating him. Being friends with benefits with Eddie is great don’t get me wrong…. up until it isn’t.

As per usual, your routine involves going over to the trailer every friday- lest either of you has something planned for the night. This friday is no different, he had yet to say if anything came up so you’d just assumed that everything was on track.

Now look, being friends with benefits doesn’t necessarily mean that either of you are strictly seeing the other person, but you would at least expect him to tell you if he was seeing other girls. Since he never did you naturally assumed that he was the seeing anyone other than you. Thats where you fucked up for the second time. When it comes to Eddie, assuming isn’t a guarantee, and quite frequently assuming leads to him managing to do the complete opposite of what you’d think he would.

Knocking on the trailer door, you heard a few muffled swears as well as shuffling feet- which only came to a halt as Eddie opened the door. Cheeks flushed, bangs stuck against his forehead by a sheer layer of sweat and wide eyes as he looks at you. A good five seconds pass when you noticed *her*. Jess was her name? You don’t remember clearly, being that when you had first met her Eddie was more occupied in getting you into The Hideout’s bathroom for a quick fuck than to introduce the two of you. Instead of saying anything, he simply gapes at you while you awkwardly shift your weight, lips in a flat line.

“Oh, uh, sorry. I didn’t realize you had company… next time just maybe let me know?” You try your best to keep your voice steady, even though your heart felt like it had dropped to your stomach. What would be the point in getting mad? You two aren’t together. Quickly gathering your composure, you start heading back to your car, leaving a very dumbfounded eddie at the door. It takes him a few seconds to compute whatever fuck up he had just done before he’s running after you (more like jogging, but still he was trying to get to you before you hopped into the car), grabbing your arm right as you’re about to open the car door.

“Shit, baby please let me explain” Eddie’s voice sounds strained, much too guilty for your liking. Shaking your head, you refuse to look at him.

“Eddie ‘s fine, you don’t have to explain anything” You murmur, really not wanting to have this uncomfortable conversation whilst Jess was sitting in the trailer half naked, waiting for him to go back.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he’d seen a ghost as to how pale he had become. His thumb brushes against your arm in attempt to comfort you, or actually comfort him because right now he’s freaking the fuck out. You successfully shake your arm away, opening the car door and swiftly hopping in the driver’s seat without him getting ahold of you.

“Sweetheart please, we can talk about this I promise. I forgot to call you” Yeah that was definitely not what you wanted to hear. He simply forgot to tell you that instead of fucking you like he has for the last 7 months, he was going to fuck some random chick he barely knows from a nasty ass bar. Great. You scoff incredulously, not believing the words that are coming out of his mouth. Without saying another word, you turn the car engine on and drive away.

[safyresky]

Scrimbly Jacqueline 45/52: It's concept Jacqueline, bitches!!

The original description included the following:

Though I've long lost the FIRST draft of Crystal Springs, the original description of Jacqueline lives rent free in my head because WOW she has CHANGED BIG TIME! I keep thinking of this one like "you...the guy she tells you not to worry about" with concept Jacqueline and badass, confident, older, absolutely FERAL Jacqueline as we know and love her these days lmao!

(And after this scrimble last night between 2am and 3am I drew the most feral looking scrimbly proper Jacqueline so if I decide to be a silly later today, I'M READY 😈)

The dress, which hasn't changed too terribly much, being medieval princess inspired

her hair frozen, not as wild, neat and tidy with a little braided crown-esque thing going on with her hair

the sheer bit of material covering the scoopy neck and the like

the icicle bodice, but it's the other way up--the pointy side up!

(which recently was switched to top down after I mentioned it to my housemate ages ago (may have been complaining about how it was hard to draw) and he went "THE ICICLES FACE UP?!?! I thought they went down. Why not try that?" and I did and went "damn. that's a LOT better")

a snowflake belt around the waist/middle of the dress

and a snowflake necklace she always wore! which I changed to a plain old choker bc I didn't wanna think about. Having the necklace be over or under the sheer bit lmao

She was also originally about 1700. THAT'S insane. But that's ALSO because I was 17 and Jacqueline was (and still is tbh) my lil' guy on the inside! Whenever I imagined the story I was putting myself in her shoes, so of course every year as I got older, so did she lmao. When I turned 19 I was like "OKAY. SHE'S IMMORTAL, DANI. SHE'S GOTTA STAY A CERTAIN AGE AT SOME POINT" so we settled on 1900 (though she gives me more 2000 vibes these days), and to compensate I decided that the last two digits of her age would be my age lol. Sometimes you gotta dangle that cake in front of yourself and make compromises, I guess? lol.

She was also originally a little more timid/shy! Which is WILD to me. Y'know those fun arts lmels has done with the OCs? I AM PRETTY SURE THE COMMON FACTOR THAT DRAGS THOSE FOUR TOGETHER IS JACQUELINE, SO PICTURING HER SHY? TIMID? SUBDUED? DOES NOT COMPUTE THESE DAYS!

MAN concept Jacqueline is wildin lol. Also I just realized she was supposed to be next week's scrimbly? ALL GOOD! THIS GIVES ME MORE TIME TO FIGURE OUT HER PIRATE FIT!

[redroomroaving]

Writer Interview Tag

Ok, it took me 8 days to get here, but I’m finally responding to this lovely tag from @lemonsrosesandlavender I adored reading yours, it was so interesting!

I've tagged a few people in this post later on and would love any of them to join in and have a go at this if they'd like to share their own answers :).

Answers under the cut, because this got long - I touch on some personal stuff a bit here, so CW for chronic pain discussion.

When did you start writing?

I’ve been writing nonsense since I was a kid, largely - I have old notebooks from when I was very young I still keep full of little characters and story snippets I used to write mostly to entertain myself on long car journeys  - I had one particularly ridiculous sci-fi story written as a series of diary entries across 4 notebooks I started when I was like … I wanna say 10? Boy.

I attempted my first actual novel at about 16. Tried it again at 21. Tried it again at 26. I’m sat, still, on my first draft of something I actually could do something with that I started 10 years ago. Me and writing have had a bit of a journey, largely due to some workplace related trauma - but coming back to it after all this time has been a lot like coming home, really. I think I’ve always been, as my mother would put it; ‘away with the fairies’.

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

The honest answer is ‘probably not’. I rather enjoy non-fiction, but in terms of genres of fiction and themes within, I’d say I’m a very broad reader and outside of fic I’ve tried my hand at quite a lot of genres; I’ve dabbled in sci-fi and horror particularly, because that’s my happy zone.

Before joining the BG fandom my answer to this question would have been ‘Romance’, actually, because it was something I liked to read but didn’t necessarily feel brave enough to write; but truly, writing fic has pushed me right through my reticence to write romance of my own, and now it’s sort of all I write, I think!

Outside of that, I’m afraid I’m shamelessly drawn to the sorts of things I’d want to write.

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

I’ve not really been compared to anyone specifically; I’ve had a very flattering comparison of my themes in one particular story with Neil Gaiman - which is of course the kind of comparison anyone would be very happy to hear, but overall I’m not sure I’m prolific enough for that sort of thing ;).

I’m not sure who I’m trying to write like - if I’m trying to write like anyone - I like to think my prose style is reasonably my own but is almost inevitably really an amalgamation of all the people I’ve grown up reading and loving. 

Mostly, I’m a fan of the sort of magic realism/fantasy zone that doesn’t take itself too seriously, and a narrative voice that reflects that, and peppers it in around the characters own thoughts  - my bigger influences are probably in the Mervyn Peake, Warren Ellis, Pratchett, George Elliot, Peter S. Beagle sort of zone. 

To an extent, my interest in cinema and television is also a massive influence on how I write; I’ve spent most of my academic career working on breaking down scenes, the construction of frames - the threading of narratives on screen - and I don’t like to discount my favourite filmmakers and screenwriters as part of what I’m trying to achieve, too. 

Nothing should be in a scene without purpose - even if its superfluous presence is the purpose - and I keep that locked right to my heart. 

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I don’t have a dedicated space particularly - my phone at 3am, by the coffee machine between meetings, the dining room table at times, my desk at other times - scribbled in the back of a notebook on the bus.

I’m a deeply disorganised person, and my creative process is much like my life; full of piles of laundry done in fits of productivity, half stacked and waiting to be put in their proper places; invariably, waiting forever.

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

I have no good answer for this either - writing, for me, is rather like possession. When it has seized me I’ll readily throw down thousands of words in a flurry, and when it’s gone, it is gone. There’s little in between.

If I can’t find it - it’s usually time to steep myself, and let things sit and soak into the bones for a while. Throw on a bit of music and let it turn around in my head without trying to force it out - a tactic that for me, at least, never works - imagine some scenarios or conversations, until something or other takes root. 

Half the time it’s just about sitting in my character’s heads for a bit until I feel like I really know them, and could respond as them to questions and queries readily - this is something I’ve carried over from being a long time Dungeon Master - whose prep for sessions was about 15% maps and monster stats and 85% ‘stewing in my NPCs until there’s no question the players can ask I can’t answer in character’. 

There’s nothing quite like the mania and rush of when the muse takes control, and it’s always a bit of a sorry experience when you find yourself on the other side of it, wondering once again where it went. 

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

A few big ones - two that don’t surprise me, and one that does.

The first – coming to terms with what you were supposed to be, and what you are - the trajectory of my life hasn’t been particularly straightforward - I made a lot of decisions based on what I felt I owed to other people in my youth, my obligations to others, particularly family, steered my path towards disaster and the breakdown of my health, career, and life. I started over and found a new path. It’s not been easy. 

Over and over again I’m drawn to characters that have trajectories like this; who are coming to terms with what they thought they were supposed to be, the role they were supposed to have, and how they failed to meet those expectations - or in the case of some - how those expectations failed them. 

The second - pain, and finding the purpose within it. I have chronic pain of an unhelpful sort, acquired during the stuff I just mentioned - that can truly only be described as purposeless. In fact, I’ve had a clinician quite literally describe it as such (although the word they used was ‘pointless and unhelpful’).

I won’t pretend that’s been easy to live with, or that when I say ‘it is what it is’ whilst my body screams at me literally all seconds of all days and won't ever stop doing so forever, I’m just saying that because I can’t say anything else.

It’s not particularly surprising I ended up exploring this theme, inevitably. It’s probably why ‘Sufferer, I shall’, my Donnick x Abdirak fic, and that pairing that was so unexpected and clotheslined me out of nowhere, is the one that matters most to me. 

Finally, the theme that surprised me - is finding purpose and growth in love; for me, the heart of all the romances I write, big or small, is based on this foundation. If there’s no trajectory for individual growth, enhanced and augmented by a relationship with another - usually through the ways in which we can connect and more importantly gently contrast to push one another forward - I am not interested in the romance.

I’m painfully, painfully demisexual, so my romances need to be so dripping with Feelings it’s embarrassing. I didn’t know this about myself until I started writing it, but now I see it everywhere, and all of these three come together into a rather depressing sort of whole. I’ll sum up.

I’m constantly trying to build a happier tale than my own.

That one got sad, but it’s also the answer to this next question. 

What is your reason for writing?

See above. Writing gives me joy, but it also helps me to create a kinder, warmer world than the one I live in - even when I’m exploring its darker parts. 

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

I love any comments, I truly do - they all fill me with joy - just to know someone has read something I’ve written.

I’d like to take a moment, though, to shout out to a few people in particular - because I think commenting is an art in and of itself, and instead of talking about what motivates me, I’d like to thank some people for motivating me.

When @benicemurphy found my Rolan x Geraldus fic ‘the Harper in the Tower’ I started getting some of the most insightful, most moving comments I’d ever received. The way in which you so perceptively saw every tiny hint, every theme and thread just absolutely floored me. Anyone who gets a comment from you should be honoured to do so.

This goes too for @cedar-phoenix, who I don’t think I have on tumblr (Cedar! found you!) - but who might be one of the most perceptive people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. You have an absolute gift.

@graysparrowao3 left me some of the most punch in the face comments I’ve ever had on ‘Sufferer, I shall’. Watching your trajectory of reading the story and being greeted with ‘WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL’ truly, truly made my year. 

I love it when a commenter pulls out specific lines or moments that they enjoyed - especially because it’s never the ones I expect! @tavyliasin and @n1ghtmeri left me some of the most emotional comments on ‘Sufferer’ I’ve ever had the pleasure of receiving, and @darkurgetrash picking out specific lines of my Klaus x Kar’niss fic always gets me chomping at the bit to write more. It takes time and effort to leave the sorts of comments you do, and I want you all to know how deeply I appreciate it.

And of course, my dear @lizziemajestic - the only commenter who has left me a sobbing voice note. You have no idea how much that meant, and how much it has continued to mean, to me. 

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

Honestly - I’m not really sure how to answer this. I hope it’s a warm cup of coffee; a bit of nourishment. I hope they can see how deeply I feel what I write, and that some of that comes through in the words they read - too.

I really care about all these silly little guys - and if reading it makes them smile, or cry, or really anything at all, that’s what I wanted, I think.

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

I’m terrible at talking about my own strengths so expect this to be a rubbish answer.

I like to think I’m good at character voices; I spend a lot of time thinking about and puzzling out how a character would speak and think - and as I predominantly, if not exclusively, write canon characters and NPCs, I hope I am able to capture their voices in a way that feels natural and organic. 

I never force a character to do anything - it doesn’t work, for starters - but I really do try to let them guide what’s happening and follow them where they lead. I hope that comes across in what I write and helps create something that feels in character and plausible, no matter what’s happening; I struggle at times with worrying this might mean things seem boring, or fail to meet expectations people might have of how things are going to go - but it’s a principle I stick to. If I’m changing something fundamentally about a character it feels wrong - and that’s a guiding principle I hold.

This extends to romances and relationships; I hope, at least, I build connections between characters that feel organic and earned, even when sometimes they are characters who literally have never interacted at all before. Finding the organic spark of connection is what I most enjoy writing. 

I hope I’m pretty good at environmental storytelling, too. It’s important to show character in the same way we show ourselves - in our environments, our habits and the spaces we occupy. Everything you do, the things you surround yourself with; that’s just as much you as the you in your skull. 

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

“Why write if not to fill the world with the kinds of things I want to read?”

I try to write mostly for myself. I’ve written a few things based on prompts and ideas for others, and do enjoy that - but first and foremost, I’m writing for my own sake.

How do you feel about your own writing?

Mostly good. Mostly. I’m not the best, nor do I want to be - I try not to engage too much with thinking about the wider space and how I’m comparing to others - I know I’m plundering down in some obscure mines at times, and that’s ok - that’s where I chose to be.

I’m not good at complimenting myself, but, I have managed to write some things I’m genuinely proud of as part of finding my way back to writing full stop. 

Overall though, I think I’m just happy to -be- writing. After so long being unable to do so because of the pain and being unable to use my arms, and feeling like writing was the thing that ruined me, finding a way back to some creative joy and reclaiming my pain as purposeful has been, genuinely, a lifeline.

I apologise that this got all deep and sad. I hope if you’ve read this, you know how grateful I am to you all; I’ve been so lucky to find this space, and all of you, and myself again too.

[st4rfckerz]

okay hi it’s the abandon my diss anon but i rlly drafted this in my head as a night time delusion and i can’t not say it now ive broken through my fear of sending a message but-

we’re talking stephen glass hayden but ofc nerdy anakin (bc i couldn’t stand stephen! had to watch the film on three separate occasions he reminds me of too many ‘nice guys’ from my sixth form days n i cringed)

but you’re very friendly in the office and he constantly makes excuses to come over to your desk to borrow random pieces of stationary and won you over with his cute smiles, and after a couple of weeks your coworker friends have placed bets on how long it would take either of you to ask each other out, even though you planned on it before, it feels far too mean to do it knowing people have money on it.

he’s always sweet and respectful, (but also looking down your blouse when he gets a chance bc he’s just a man and you’re hot) and one day you’ve come in without underwear, not thinking anyone would notice because it’s a decent length skirt, obvs ani is a perv and whenever he’s ogling you he takes note of the outline of your underwear in your skirt, trying to imagine the colour/style when he’s bored at his own desk.

you’re sat at your desk scrolling through emails, when he comes over after realising you’re commando, your lower body pointing towards him in your chair whilst mindlessly chatting back towards him facing your computer, he asks to borrow a pen, standard procedure, but drops it and as he picks it up he makes sure to try and look between your legs, realising he was right, he gets hard quicker than he thought he would and excuses himself.

realising you weren’t paying much attention to the conversation, you fear you said something wrong (we KNOW what a manipulative guy he is [moreso stephen coded here], any time you break eye contact to glance at your computer in previous convos he accuses you of not listening to him in a jokey way - he just wanted to keep staring at your face so that he can perfectly remember your hairstyle and makeup so when he goes home that night his wank has an up to date fantasy)

you follow after him towards a hallway of file rooms, getting closer to where he is you can hear him whimpering and making small breathy sounds, you slowly open the door to not burst in on him potentially crying but instead you see him with his head leant back, chest heaving whilst he strokes himself, with the door open you hear him saying your name under his breath. feeling a little like you completely invaded his privacy (mostly horny though) you gently let the door close and walk back through the corridor, before you hear him gently say your name a lot louder than you were expecting, turning around you see him stood there with a panicked expression, you walk over to apologise profusely and to explain why you even walked over in the first place but he interrupts you by asking if you heard anything, when you lowly answer that you did, he pulls you into the room he was previously in, expecting him to start apologising and panicking but instead he lowers himself onto his knees staring at you with those eyes

‘please. please let me taste you’

as you nod in confirmation his hand slides slowly up your leg making contact with you being a dripping mess from what you’d seen, he replies with that same sweet smile

‘oh, and to think i didn’t know if you liked me’

,,,,

this was SO long and my first time writing anything like that so sorry if it’s shite! also ranging anxiety bc it’s almost 3am where im from so i’ll be asleep if this is seen and my heart is doing overtime

oh my god, writing smut might be your thing babe DO IT

"his hand slides slowly up your leg making contact with you being a dripping mess from what you’d seen" my stomach did the thing anon.

[dallonwrites]

UNTIL HEAVEN - WIP INTRO

matthew lejune / @dallonwrites / ocean vuong / mary ruefle

He knows that his headache is quietly growing vicious and he should take off his headphones, but now they’re singing about Heaven and Las Vegas – two places he has never been – and he knows that at some point, still unknown to him, his father died, and maybe that means he’s now stuck in Heaven or Las Vegas or somewhere in between. Or maybe that means he’ll just be everywhere, in the rain on Felix’s face and the ache behind his eyelids, and that’s how it’ll stay.

Genre: Adult Literary Fiction, novella (please god stay a novella)

Setting: San Francisco/New York, December 1990/January 1991

Vibe: shoegaze & dream pop, warm lighting, ginger flavor, a city skyline at night, going to church for the first time in years, feeling too old and also like you were born yesterday, disposable camera photos, the passing of time, stuff rabbit toy from your childhood, the hallway at a family gathering, planetariums, cold air on your face, retro christmas decor, realising you were once a child and that child deserved so much better

Deals With: parental grief when your parent was a piece of shit, Christian trauma, queerness in relationships, adulthood as you progress through your 20s, healing + building your own life after a traumatic childhood and what happens when that is disrupted

Soundtrack Essentials: The Cure - Plainsong / Mazzy Star - Be My Angel / Cocteau Twins - Cherry-Coloured Funk / Cocteau Twins - Heaven or Las Vegas / Beach House - The Hours / Jeff Buckley - Dream Brother / Tamino - Cinnamon

Synopsis: When Felix's father dies suddenly it's a week before Christmas, he and Beau had just begun experimenting with an open relationship, and he refuses to interrupt his life to mourn a man who doesn't deserve it. But when he can't stop his body from grieving, and his sister is growing obsessive over the morbid details, and at work he's teaching children that remind him of himself, an opportunity to impulsively leave sees Felix spend an insomniatic month in New York: diners at 3am, trips at the club, a birthday spent in a planetarium, one night stands to tell his boyfriend about in the morning, and a dangerously intense relationship with an enigmatic man who wants to know everything about his father.

This is another piece in my personal project/emotional support series and follows Revelations, Revelations and Lover Boy. If you know me you know Dorothy and Felix are my annoying children who I love so dearly and this novella is paired with a future novella that follows Dorothy during the same time. Fun fact! I only returned to writing because I wanted to explore Felix more and now I have an entire world that dominates my brain and it's all his fault! So this novella is kind of like a love letter to him. I also literally only created this so I could have a project that was soundtracked by historic Cocteau Twins' album Heaven or Las Vegas. Currently drafting because it won't leave my mind

The answering machine beeps awake -- and then, Beau's mother, reminding them that they're in charge of dessert tomorrow --and then, Beau's coworker wishing them both a Happy Holidays, a Stacy who Felix has never met -- and then his sister, sarcastic but loving, This is me calling so you know I made it home alive, just like you asked -- and then surprisingly, Goldie, Hi Felix, even though school broke up weeks ago, So I know it's Christmas, but I wanted to let you know that I talked with Joey's father and it sounds like he's doing much better at home already. He's even excited to come back to your class! And his father sounds super proud and optimistic about his progress and by the end of the last message he’s on the floor, back to fridge and elbows on his knees, face in his hands. And he lets out a shaky, snivelled breath that makes him push his palms harder against his eyes, against the wetness because he can’t cry, not over this, not when there’s still Christmas presents to wrap and last minute laundry so stop crying, get up, put on your new Mazzy Star record and get on with it. He straightens his back, holds his head up, takes a few deep breaths that feel more like gasping for air and also like pulling barbed wire out of his throat, gazes at the slants of streetlight on his living room wall. He can’t cry, not over this and not here, not in the home he’s worked so hard to make so warm. So he sits with himself, wipes his own eyes and holds himself in his own arms; when he feels calm enough, or trusts himself to be, he leans forward so he can open the fridge and reach in for the last ginger ale, cold in his hand and warm down his throat. Just him and the hum of an empty apartment.