#but hey at least i finished it instead of letting it rot in my wip folder for the rest of time

[rissaito]

hm, the commotion isn’t unwelcome… just this time.

[gazspookiebear]

Hey there! How have you been doing! Just thought I'd check up on you! Hope you've been doing well! I don't really have much to say, except that you're epic and cool! Since I was sharing some of the ideas I've had today, I wanted to ask you if you'd be willing to do the same? :> You don't have to, but I'm just curious! Also, out of curiosity, have you ever received requests on this blog? :o Not that you have to write them, of course! Either way, I hope you have a nice day! :>

I'm doing well, I just got home and ate some cucumber slices! (and chugged like 2 full bottles of water lmao)

I have a ton of writing ideas rn. Like- I think there are 100+ vague ideas written in my notes app, and at least 30 active wips. I keep switching back and forth between them, chipping away at each one slowly but surely 🫡 (gonna end up finishing all of them at once or smt, idk)

Some of the ones that I've been working on the most are:

Bartender reader x Gaz after a bad breakup (it's gonna end up being like 5 parts if I ever decide to post it, shit goes crazy in that one)

Firefighter Valeria (I finally got it started instead of letting it rot in my head 🙌 I don't even know how many parts that would end up being)

Transmasc cbf Gaz x transmasc reader (really don't know where I'm going with this one)

I also have a handful of platonic and romantic Ghost x reader ficlets floating around, might finish some of those up at some point.

And I know I mentioned a hybrid poly 141 x reader fic a while ago- that one is technically finished, but I'm not happy with it yet so I might go back and revise it

And nah, I've never received requests on this blog. Probably because I haven't posted a ton of my writing + I don't even have a pinned post so my blog is like. Impossible to navigate 💀✋️

I used to take requests on my other blog tho! I stopped after my hyperfixation on cod took over (plus I got like a shit ton of requests in one night and got intimated by it, never looked at them again)

I haven't even deleted the old requests from my inbox even tho some of them are from as far back as September. I have a couple of drafts for some of those, so I'm just holding on to them in case I randomly get motivated to write for those requests again. Probably won't happen, but who knows?

I've definitely written a lot more since I stopped taking requests tbh. Well, on this blog at least. I haven't posted any writing of my own on my main blog since January 😶

Anyways, thanks for talking to me!!! I love chatting with you lovie 💕

[saltminerising]

Running An Art Shop With Minimal Crying 101

Hey y’all, not sure what compelled me to write this Now but I wanted to put together a list of helpful ‘good business practice’ tips for artists who want to start selling commissions on FR and want to build up a good reputation and make bank. I’m not sure if I’d feel comfortable throwing this on the forums personally so here you go, y’all have to look at my stupidly long possibly helpful brutally honest post cuz I don’t know where else to put this.

I’ve been doing art on FR since I was a young teenager in 2015 and through that time I’ve definitely learned some lessons the hard way. I’ve taken on more than I could handle, I’ve let commissions rot for months because I got overwhelmed… you know what I mean. Here’s some of what I’ve learned over the years that’s helped me run a consistently successful art shop for well over a year now.

I don’t have a tumblr and I don’t know how to add a ‘read more’ to a submission, so happy scrolling <3 I apologize for causing some people a very minor inconvenience

-Do not take prepayment for either more than three commissions at a time, or more than the number of commissions you think you can finish within a month or two, whichever is smaller. This is especially true if you’re like me and you have ADHD. Trust me, the more commissions people have already paid for you have piled up in your to-do list, even if they’d only take you 20 minutes each, you will get more overwhelmed and discouraged and people will wonder why it’s taking you so long. Even if you aren’t getting concerned PMs, a lot of people are just too anxious or polite to ask for updates. (On the flipside, if you commissioned someone and haven’t gotten any word/updates in a while, you’re not in the wrong to ask how things are going and when you can expect an update.)

-Full payment upfront is something I definitely recommend for smaller pieces (headshots, sketches, etc) you can finish in one sitting. However- if you’re doing a ref sheet, a rendered fullbody, etc, and you’ll be spending multiple sessions on the piece and getting feedback for it multiple times- split it up, take half upfront and half either after the sketch is approved, or before you send them the final unwatermarked version. I’ve done dozens of commissions like this and never had a problem, personally. There’s a low chance of a customer backing out on you if you’ve already started and sent WIPs because, y’know, sunk cost, and on the other hand it is reassuring to customers (especially if your shop is new) that if you drop off the map, they paid $20 upfront and got at least a sketch, instead of paying $40 upfront for an unfinished piece.

-In the same vein: if you’re doing a large piece like a rendered fullbody, ref sheet, etc, more communication is always better than less! I always stay on the safe side here. Some people will tell you they just want you to go apeshit and do whatever you think will look cool, other people might have much more specific ideas of what they want and how closely your artwork needs to match the image of their character in their head. Send them the sketch and ask them if they want any changes. Send them the lineart and ask if it looks good. If you’re working on a time-consuming painting that will take you weeks to finish, please please please, communicate! Send updates! Your customers will feel a lot less anxious about how long you’re taking if you keep them posted (plus this is just a personal thing but I love seeing peoples’ artistic process, it sparks joy!!)

-If, once again, you’re like me and stuff like painted fullbodies take you so much longer than other commission types- the worst thing you can do is underprice. Let’s say a detailed, shaded dragon fullbody takes you, for instance, 8 hours, maybe longer because you get burned out and can’t finish it in just one sitting, but you don’t think people will buy an $80/8kg fullbody. Do not lower the price you think your art is worth. If fullbodies take you really long compared to other art, or you get unmotivated, just… don’t offer painted fullbodies, or scenes with multiple characters, or whatever. If there’s a form of art you’re capable of creating but it’s faster, more fun, and gets you more money to do smaller things, just do more smaller commissions instead of taking the big ones. This one was a lifesaver for me.

-Once again in the same vein: It is okay to say no. Just because you are physically/artistically capable of drawing a detailed scene of multiple dragons with complex apparel, doesn’t mean you won’t get burnt out or bored. For me, larger pieces take exponentially longer because I just get bored and don’t want to work on them anymore. If someone asks if you can draw something that will require so much of your personal time and effort to go into a single piece, just say no. Sometimes I’ll say yes to some big commissions because I think the character is cool and inspiring and I want to draw them; otherwise, I will admit, I’ve said no to big commissions because I personally found the character boring as hell (though I wouldn’t phrase it that way). And that’s ok! 

-If you are going to be really busy in the near future, stop taking commissions. You have finals? Don’t say “sorry if things take forever, I have finals”… just don’t take the commissions while you’re busy. If you have too much on your plate, commissions will just stress you out more, and nobody likes to draw motivated by stress. There’s nothing wrong with temporarily pausing your art shop. Put your mental health first. And if you aren’t able to get commissions done on a regular basis because of mental health, or because you don’t give enough of a shit about other peoples’ characters: don’t do commissions. I don’t mean this in a bad way; I’ve been in that spot before and it’ll just cause more stress and guilt than it’s worth. 

-NO PARAGRAPHS. That sounds hypocritical of me writing this lol but do not put long paragraphs in your art shop, ever. I promise nobody will read it. Put your rules, and any other information, in bullet points that are one or two lines. Keep your rules clear, simple, unambiguous and short, or everyone will ignore it and I won’t blame them. Put titles and subtitles wherever you can. If you have a block of text longer than probably five lines, it will be ignored by most people. I have decided not to buy art from people because I didn’t want to have to dig through blocks of text for information.

….so yeah I think that’s about all I can think of at the moment. time to sit back and get yelled at for not being able to shut the fuck up and get to the point lol, hope you (yes you) have a great day c:

[emotionalsupportbun-chan]

i'm talkin WIP WIP WIP thats a work in progress

cw: sub Daigo, dom Ryuji, praise kink, hand jobs, feelings

You Look Pretty with Your Mouth Hanging Open

He is sitting in the back of some no name cabaret, eyes glazed into the middle distance. A woman, unpretty enough for her name to get lost in the back of his mind, clings to his arm. She’s telling him about an expensive watch at Le Marche - something jewel toned and European. Like what decorates the wrists of half the girls in Kamurocho. Dime-a-dozen.

But he’s not hearing the plain-ish hostess beg for trinkets. Or at least not listening to her. He lets his boys do that, and splash out on expensive affirmations of counterfeit love. He didn’t need that. To be reminded that anything he got here was a pleasant imitation at best.

And you think it was different with him? You think he loved you?

No, but at least there was no pretense otherwise. 

“Hey, Aniki. We have time for another bottle, right?” This one - Hiroki? - is getting an eye full of tit and an expensive earworm.

Daigo looks down at the half empty glass of half-water whisky in his hand. The color is hatefully reminiscent. He knocks it back and leaves the glass coasterless on the cheap table. “Yeah, sure. Why not.”

-

He finds solipsism near the end of the third bottle. He is younger. He is full of piss and vinegar. He wants to take the world and crumble it between his teeth. There are no hostess clubs or expensive European watches.

But there are hands that tame him from time to time. Hands that weave his hair tight between their fingers. Hands the prise open his jaw, relieve the pressure on his world-crumbling teeth, and pull sighs and moans and Yes, sirs from his throat.

And there is a mouth with a scar in the corner that he traces with his tongue. A mouth that cracks open his skull and relieves the pressure on his world-weary mind with cock-throbbing Good boys.

Of course there have been hands and mouths since. Hands and mouths that repeat the refrain, sing the same chorus and bridge. But out of key. Octaves too high.

You’re just upset he gets your engine going hotter than any hostess could.

And?

But.

But?

The last fill station was a hundred kilometers ago. And you can’t conceive of another showing up any time soon.

He is jostled by an elbow to the side, still preoccupied with hands and mouths and cars and songs. “You good, bro?”

His glass is empty and so is bottle three. His gut is left full of liquor that feels like it’s trying to rot out the bottom. “Yeah, fine.” The response is far away, half way out the door already. Looking back to ask if they’d paid the bill yet.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. No, really. I’m great.”

Can’t even muster up a smile.

For lack of liquor, Daigo chewed ice until the check came.

-

The door is only a few dozen feet away, but he is full of feelings and fire water. Cotton head, cotton mouth, cotton heart. Only a teenage eternity faking sober to see him through. Concentrate.

What, hear that?

What?

That voice.

From a private room nearby. Bass-low, strutting around like it owns the joint. Peacocking. He’d know it anywhere.

There it is. Last stop for who knows how long.

But why is he here?

Does it matter? Think about it.

Don’t think about it. He’d never live down walking out of here with a half-mast cock.

From what? A memory? Of being on your knees while he drips cigarette-flavored spit from his pretty lips into your mouth?

He centers himself with a hard breath through the nose.

Think of it as motivation.

“Hey, you coming or what?” The others are paces ahead. He’s been loitering near the short hall to the private rooms for an embarrassingly long time.

Now or never. What’s it gonna be?

Beat.

Well?

“Yeah, uh. I just gotta, uh, piss first.” He slips into the hall before any response, knowing full well the bathrooms were upstairs.

Attaboy.

His honey voice fades in and out with laughter and exclamation. It makes Daigo’s palms sweat. His pulse quicken.

What if he tells you to go fuck yourself, huh? What then?

Maybe that would be a mercy. Maybe if he couldn’t have him forever, he shouldn’t have him at all.

What if he doesn’t even remember you?

Worse. To become insignificant to the best thing he’d ever had.

What happened to not loving him?

He didn’t. Doesn’t. It wasn’t love, it was peace. Not romance, but oblivion. Emptiness.

Freedom.

Looks like you’ve got it all figured out.

Someone had left the door to their room open. There are fewer people than Daigo expects. Three, four. And him at the center of it all. The sun, cock-sure with an ugly hostess petting his chest.

Now what? You gonna go in there and beg?

No.

He’d like that. You’d like that.

No. Something else.

Please sir, can I have some more?

Something else.

Daigo rubs his hands on his jeans and screws his face into something akin to a scowl. He doesn’t fill the doorway. “Ryuji Goda, what the fuck are you doing in Kamurocho?” His voice doesn’t fill the words either. It’s false confidence.

“Haw?” His mouth - dangerous, exciting, the second best part of him - pulls into a signature sneer. “And who the fuck is asking?”

And so the worst has come to pass.

No, maybe he’s just putting on a show for the boys. Daigo can play along.

“I am.”

“And who are you?” No hesitation. Unflustered.

The same could not be said of Daigo, who searches his face for any spark of recognition. Anything. Anything to alleviate the growing, gnawing pit eroding his chest.

It takes everything he has not to say ‘They guy who’s had your cock in his mouth more times than you can count’ or ‘The guy who used to let you blow his back out daily’.

Instead he says nothing and leaves with a muttered ‘whatever’. There is nothing productive to be had in the exchange. Nothing to gain, but so much to lose.

Poor, poor Daigo. But you were prepared for this, remember?

A likely story. A convenient lie. He isn’t sure that had even been possible.

-

He is puking in the back of some no name alley off east Taihei, drink having finally caught up to him. Red eyed and snotty, he remembers the first time he’d gagged on cock, when Ryuji’d gotten impatient and shoved it half way down his throat. He hadn’t puked then but he’d wanted to, more out of revenge than anything else. And the thought of the words that’d follow the act of returning all the cum he’d swallowed to its rightful owner.

But he hadn’t. He’d let Ryuji fuck his mouth, whispering soft affirmations.

‘Good boy, take it.’

‘You can do it.’

‘That’s it.’

Later he’d said how he’d liked the way it made Daigo’s eyeliner run. How he’d liked seeing the strings of spit and cum the stretched between Daigo’s mouth and the head of his cock after he’d finished and pulled out of his throat.

You’ll never find another one like him.

Yeah.

Take a minute, mourn the loss.

Yeah.

Unless…

Unless?

Stiff-soled shoes power down the alley behind him. They pause - there was the hesitation - before a large hand sweeps up into the hair on the back of his head to grip it just tight enough. He pulls Daigo’s head back, leaving his throat open and bare.

Just like old times.

Daigo is still in puking position - half-bent, hands braced against the grimy wall - so Ryuji towers over him. By the hair, he pulls Daigo up, other arm wrapping around his chest. Keeping him close. Holding him tight enough for Daigo to know he hadn’t really forgotten.

Exactly like old times.

“Ya always did like to play hard-to-get, Daigo-chan.” Ryuji all but whispers the words into his skin, letting the bass of his voice rumble through his chest and into Daigo’s. “I’m real sorry I had to scare ya off earlier, but ya didn’t have to wander so far.” He sets his teeth against the skin of Daigo’s neck. Just a little pressure. Just enough to thrill.

So how are we feeling about this?

“Please -” is all Daigo can manage, and just barely.

Guess you’ll have to unpack this later.

“Damn. Missed me that much, huh? Sweet boy, ya missed my cock?” A hand travels up his chest to rest encircling his throat. No squeeze yet, but the promise is there. He places a little kiss behind Daigo’s ear.

Daigo cannot respond. He is all nerve endings.

“Answer me, pretty boy. I need to know yer in there.”

“Yes.” He chokes it out.

“Good boy. Ya wanna play a game with me?”

“Yes!” Daigo’s cock jumps at the memory of their games.

Ryuji laughs low and it’s like something soft weaving between Daigo’s knees. The hand in his hair and the other hand at his throat are all that’s holding him up. “Can’t say I haven’t missed yer pretty mouth too.” He plants another kiss. Then a few more.

This man is gonna leave you comatose, sending all the blood from your dome down below.

And it’ll have been worth it.

“Ya wanna hear how our game’s gonna go?

Answer him.

The best Daigo can do is nod.

“Thought so. Ya’ve always been such a good little slut for me.”

And you always will be.

More little kisses evolve into something harder. Ryuji works gently at his neck with teeth and lips and tongue before continuing. “For now, I’m gonna make ya cum. Just to hold ya over for a little while.” The hand leaves his neck to pull his shirt up and drag fingertips up and down his belly.

It won’t take much

“Then tomorrow, somebody’s gonna come pick ya up. Not sure when, not sure where. They’re gonna be a little rough about it, but don’t worry.” Ryuji moves on to his belt and button. “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt my little cocksleeve.” The belt is gone quickly but he takes his time with the rest, hand playing over the bulge of Daigo’s cock as he spins his story.

“They’re gonna tie ya up, just how we like it. And bring ya out to see me. We’re gonna have a great time together.” Finally, Daigo is free. Once Ryuji was done teasing him, the button and zipper came in quick succession.

And now Daigo’s breath is coming in pants, making cloud-bursts of heat in the night. Ryuji grips the base of his cock with the smallest amount of pressure. “Sound good, darlin’?”

If Daigo could produce a single coherent thought, he’d have wondered what all the theatrics were for. But he’s past that. Way past that. Half way to bliss. “Yes, sir.”

Old habits die hard.

He strokes up once, just to send a thrill down Daigo’s spine. Just to make his knees quake. “Good boy.” He keeps Daigo’s head pulled to the side to continue working at the deepening bruise at the crook of his neck. Keeps his hips pressed firmly into Daigo’s ass. Keeps a steady pace on his cock and a steady stream of sweet words in his ear.

Daigo is unravelling. At some point, the hand in his hair leaves to slip two fingers into his gasp-open mouth for him to suck on. His favorite gag.

Happy now?

Euphoric.

He makes small noises as the fingers push back into his throat - less sensitive now that it had once been - as Ryuji growls into his ear. “Ready to cum for me, sweet boy?”

No. Yes. Both. He wants it more than he’s wanted anything in a long time. Or does he want to ride this for as long as he can?

He decides to let Ryuji make the choice for him, answering only in doe eyes and a pleading look.

His pace slows. “Pretty boy can’t make up his mind?”

Daigo gives him a muffled moan.

He has stopped altogether. The hand in his mouth returns to his hair to tilt his head downward. The hand on his cock returns to neutral, resting with a firmer grip around the base. “What does my lover boy think? Does this cock look like it’s ready to cum?”

Daigo is swollen red and leaking onto the trash bags below his spread-eagle legs.

“D -”

“Yes, baby?” He gives Daigo’s cock a short squeeze. “Spit it out.”

“Daddy, please.”

He laughs. “Well, since ya asked so nicely.”

It doesn’t take much more than that.

From somewhere in his coat, Ryuji produces a few pocket tissues and cleans his hands, all while keeping Daigo propped against his chest. He returns to trailing kisses up and down Daigo’s neck. “Look at ya, bein’ so good for me.” He tosses the tissue over his shoulder. “But ya’ve made such a mess. I’d make ya lick it up if I weren’t worried about the germs.”

You would too, if he demanded it.

He knows.

Haven’t you ever heard of a refractory period?

But it feels good to want again. To ache for it.

Ryuji turns Daigo around once he’s tucked him away, put his clothes back in place. He keeps his arms slung around Daigo’s hips, hands on his ass. Daigo knows there is want for tenderness in him. Typically, it went unexpressed.

Tonight, though, Ryuji presses his forehead against Daigo’s. Kisses first the tip of his nose, then one corner of his mouth, then the other.

Then back to the nose, then each eyelid, until they were laughing again like the young idiots they once were. Like they used to.

He ends things with a kiss full on the mouth, more romantic than Daigo expected. He says his goodbyes and pulls away. “I’ll see ya tomorrow, hot stuff.”

He is at the end of the alley when he stops. Almost out of ear shot. “I’m sorry, by the way. For what happened. For all that.”

It knocks the air out of Daigo’s chest.

Right.

That.

Did you think you could just go back to the way things were?

[you-are-my-neverland]

so. it’s finally time to talk about [my] nano.

i’ve kept my nano project pretty under wraps so far, mostly because it’s been out of my hands. i wasn’t actually planning on doing a for real for real nano; instead, i thought i would dedicate some time to my fanfic (spoiler alert, but i haven’t yet) or work on finishing up revising fairbone (spoiler alert: i did revise one chapter, but i still have like half of it left to go and a nov 30 deadline...rip). if that didn’t work, i thought i would pick a wip i started over the summer or one i had half developed (let’s just say the ideas note i have really boomed over the summer and like...yeah). in conclusion, there were many wips ready for me to work on them, including ash heart, which i really want to write but haven’t figured out how to.

instead i started a new wip.

well, it’s not necessarily new, persay. it’s an idea i’ve had stewing since like late september/early october and planned out a good portion of. however, deciding to start it was a last minute decision - and by last decision, i mean that on october 31st i finished developing the barebones of character development and basic plot lol and then gave it a go. it’s honestly been going crazy well. as of today (november 9th), i just hit 21.2k words. i’m hopeful about this year, while also not wanting to jinx stuff, but like...wow. but writing is has made me realize that, wow, this book is going to be crazy long probably...like i’m 21k words in and we’re still like in the exposition idk what’s going on. but hey, i finished planning out the rest of the basic plot for it today!!!

right. onto the wip details.

honestly, the only reason i haven’t introduced this wip is because a) i want actual stuff done on it and like a proven commitment, because i feel like too often i introduce wips i don’t actually go anywhere with and i hate it, b) i don’t have a set title and c) i actually have no idea how to summarize this.

the novel i’m working on right now is the first of a projected trilogy. i say projected because i have a vague idea that it belongs to a trilogy, but like not a lot of plot except some vaguely connected ideas that should happen in the future. in it, i used a lot of characters from these violent ends, which i tried to write for camp april 2020, but like just their basic barebones; i changed a lot to fit the story, of course. 

not to sound nerdy, but it is like....harry potter inspired, but ONLY in the magical boarding school sense. of course, right now all i have is magical boarding school shenanigans, which i don’t really like because i feel like it unfairly sets the book up as like fun magical stuff when it’s really about murder & politics & student activism (+ a lot of other things ending in -ism). the whole activism part came from watching the trial of the chicago 7 and i was like, bingo, this is what this story needs. 

kay but ANYWAYS. onto the story. like i said, i can’t really summarize it, but there are lots of themes of classism, feminism, the affect on youth and youth’s effect, manipulative adults, revolution, terrorism, sibling dynamics and found family vibes, like all that stuff...packaged into a magical boarding school off the coast of maine setting...recipe for disaster!

mainly i’ve been writing in ophelia’s pov, because she’s my main girl and she’s problematic, but also she’s trying her best and just having a little difficulty fitting in. some other main characters are her twin brother, sebastian, and two other boys, asriel and vincent, who have an initially animistic relationship with ophelia (& kind of each other?) but it’s like enemies to friends (to lovers?).

anyways. here are some carefully curated excerpts below the cut:

i. vincent and asriel meet on a train (ch. 1)

The boy pursed his lips together. “It’s unusual,” he said, finally. “That’s all.” But he was looking at Vincent as if he was noticing him, which meant he was lying, or at least withholding the truth about something. He added, “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Do you mean geographically?” Vincent replied, raising an eyebrow. “Because I’m from New York.”

A small glimmer of a smile appeared on the boy’s lips, though it vanished as quickly as it had come. “From the Magical World,” he clarified. 

“What gives it away?” Vincent asked sarcastically, waving a hand across his body. “My impeccable taste?”

“Among other things,” the boy said.

ii. sebastian and ophelia discuss grief on a ferry (ch.2 )

“You and mom talked?” Ophelia asked, surprised. She hadn’t exactly been keeping track of them, but she was sure she and Sebastian had spent much of the day together, as they were wont to do.

Sebastian looked at the floor. “Yeah,” he answered, hoarsely. “At least she wants to talk about Des. Dad doesn’t, and neither do you.”

Ophelia sighed, wondering why, today of all days, her sister was haunting them. Maybe it was because there should have been three people heading to Rijevduct, instead of two. Maybe Mother Magic was reminded of the loss of one of her own. 

“I’ve let her go,” she said. “You should too. We have too much of our lives ahead of us to mourn Desdemona forever.”

“I don’t mourn,” Sebastian said, words uncharacteristically sharp. “But I do grieve.”

“Isn’t that basically the same thing,” Ophelia mumbled, closing her eyes and feeling the press of a headache behind them. 

“Sorrow,” Sebastian said, the word a soft shudder. “And sad endings.”

“What?” 

“That’s what makes a good tragedy,” Sebastian answered. “I read it in a book.”

iii. headmistress alexeyev gives a speech (ch. 2)

“Eight years ago, seventy two students were slaughtered here. Some died on the very spot where you now stand today.” Ophelia glanced down at the floor, seeing the motion repeated instinctively around her as well. She looked over at Sebastian, who had closed his eyes instead, a pale flush meeting the faint color in his cheeks. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, tennis shoes scraping against stone as he toed them against the floor, as if he was shaking something only visible to him off.

“It was a tragedy,” Headmistress Alexeyev continued. “I say this because it is the truth. It was a tragedy, and not one that should never have happened.” She inhaled; Ophelia saw her chest rise, shoulders with it, in a sharp motion before she exhaled, body rearranging itself into poise once more. “I speak of this to tell you to assure you that Rijevduct is safe. I know there have been continuous doubts over the security of this school since that day eight years ago. I cannot, of course, guarantee that you will not come to any harm here. I cannot tell you that Rijevduct is the safe haven you were taught it was growing up; events have already proved that it is, in fact, not as impenetrable as one might think.”

Ophelia frowned, confused as to the line of reasoning. She had thought the whole point of the year of transition was to make sure that Rijevduct was infinitely more safer than it had been—and they had all been under the assumption that Rijevduct was virtually impenetrable until the massacre, which had led to the heightened security measures they saw today.

“I can, however, promise you that I, and everyone here today, will do anything in their power to keep you safe,” the Headmistress said. Next to Ophelia, Briar bowed her head, lowering her eyes and swallowing, the action almost a convulsion of her throat and mouth. Ophelia brushed her hand, lightly, in question, and the other girl just shook her head, looking away purposefully, so that Ophelia lost sight of her face and her sad eyes.

“These next three years will be far from easy. Gone are the sheltered lives where your parents could kiss your injuries goodbye, or sing you to sleep at night. Rijevduct is far from the cold, real world, but it is close enough when it comes to not asking you what you want first. This is an adjustment period. This is learning how to survive—and I will tell you this; surviving means many different things to many different people. You will have to decide on your own what this will mean for you, and how you will apply what you are taught here to your futures. Be wise. Be proud. Be humble. Cry. Laugh. Live. As your Headmistress, I, along with your professors, will be here throughout your time.” She raised her glass, “To the worthy,” and then drank, turning and walking back to her seat, which she lowered herself into gracefully.

iv. sebastian pov! (ch. 3)

There was a dead girl in Sebastian’s first period Magical Theory class. She was sitting diagonal from him, on the Glass side of the classroom, in an empty chair, staring straight ahead at the chalkboard. Sebastian tried not to look at her too obviously, his eyes straying from the open book in front of him to her cautiously, beneath the sleeve of his sweater.

She was sitting blankly in the chair, scraping her shoes against the ground, though they could not leave any scuff marks. Though she was the same faded shades most girls were, Sebastian could make out her pleated pale blue plaid skirt, which brushed around her knees, and the stained white blouse that might have once been spotless, but had been marred forever by the circumstances surrounding her death—objectively, that was to say, with blood. Her dark brown hair fell into loose curls around her shoulders, little silver studs glinting dimly, unable to catch the light. Her knee high socks now pooled around her calves and ankles, revealing a rotting bandaid on one of her knees. One of her tennis shoes was peeling at the toes, looking as if it had been ripped apart. 

Her fingernails had all been pulled off. Sebastian was good at analyzing ghosts by this point; he recognized the bloody flesh and bone of the nail bed. There was also blood matted across her head, trickling down her temple, with bruises covering her body; they peeked out from beneath the collar of her shirt, blackened across her cheekbones with a sunken quality in particular to one of her cheeks, as if the bone had begun to cave.

Subjectively, she was far from one of the worst that Sebastian had seen.

[cloverhighfivewritestoo]

An Angel Cake for an Ex-Angel

👉 Read it on Ao3

Warning – Destiel tooth-rotting fluff / domestic fluff / human!Cas / established Destiel / Sam makes an appearance for plot’s sake.

Summary – Cas is depressed and Dean is looking to make him feel better by baking him an angel food cake (yeah he fails a few times).

w/c – 2.4k

A/N – Sometimes you sit to work on your wip and something pops up on tumblr and the muse hits you and you write a whole ‘nother fic instead. You’re welcome.

When Castiel first found himself to be a human, things were OK. But too soon, Castiel seemed to lose his interest in things. He stayed quietly in his room in the bunker and mostly stopped doing the human things he’d just picked up on, like eating, showering, and not wearing the same clothes every day.

Castiel had been under the weather for almost two weeks now. Dean couldn’t take it. Since Castiel was human, he wanted him to experience all the fun stuff. Food, beer, but mostly food. He wanted to take him to his favourite burger places, and he had even planned a road trip for the best pie in each State.

But Castiel wasn’t feeling it. He was sleeping all the time and his energy was all the way down. Dean had bunker fever – he wouldn’t dare leave on a hunt with Castiel like this at home – and he felt powerless. He had started to drink pretty early after breakfast now.

Sam couldn’t take the whole scene anymore so he’d gone to help some hunters with a vampire nest. Dean was drinking alone in the kitchen, starting to feel depressed himself. He hated it.

Castiel showed up around 11 a.m., a robe thrown over his sleeping apparel, which was boxers and an old zep t-shirt of Dean’s. Castiel’s hair was intensely ruffled and flattened in places, his eyes were more sunken than Dean remembered, and his beard was 4 days old. In spite of all that, Dean thought he was a sight. He wished he could make him feel the way he felt about him.

“Dude, you need coffee. I’m gonna make you some coffee.” Castiel sat at the table. “Thanks.” He saw the beer. “What time is it?” Dean answered while measuring grounds. “11. Why?” “Nothing. I thought it was later, because of the beer.” Dean stopped mid-air with the spoon. He closed his eyes. “Dean, it’s not your fault I’m like this.” Dean finished preparing the coffee. “Yeah but it seems there’s nothing I can do to help.” “Dean, the contrast between the amount of energy with my grace and the amount of energy in a human body is too immense. I’ll be fine. I just need to adapt.” Dean took a mug from the shelf. “You need to let me help you, that’s what. Man, please let me help you.” Castiel looked Dean in the eye. Dean’s knees went a bit weak from the intensity of the blue in Castiel’s eyes. That never changed. Cas is still Cas. “Alright, Dean. I’ll let you.” Dean flashed a big smile. Castiel smiled softly.

He brought Castiel his coffee. “I know what I’m gonna do.” Castiel took a cautious sip. “Yes?” Dean downed the rest of his beer before answering, “I’m gonna bake you a cake.” “A cake.” “Yes! Not any cake. An angel food cake.” He wiggled his eyebrows, grinning like a kid at his fantastic idea. Castiel squinted. “That is very bizarre. Angels don’t eat.” Dean’s heart swelled each time Castiel made that kind of matter-of-factly beside the point comment. He crossed the kitchen in three paces, took Castiel’s face in his hands and gave him a big kiss on the forehead. “Man, I love you so much.” Castiel still squinted. “I love you too, but you don’t make sense.” “Dude! That cake is so light, fluffy and good, you’ll feel like an angel again. That’s how good it is. Get it?” He wiggled his eyebrows again. Castiel’s expression softened. “I highly doubt it, knowing exactly what it feels like to be an angel.” He saw Dean pout. “But OK. I’m willing to try it.” Dean pumped his fist in the air. “YES!” Castiel became serious again. “Dean, are you drunk?” Dean straightened up a bit too wobblily. “No. I’m cocktail.”

Castiel drank his coffee slowly while watching Dean open another beer – to celebrate – get the recipe on his phone and get the cake going. Soon enough, the cake was in the oven. “Are you done with your coffee, Cas? I’ll wash the mug with the rest.” Castiel brought his mug to Dean, who was already filling the sink. He hugged Dean from behind, his arms around him, his forehead on his shoulder. “Hey buddy, what’s up.” “I’m snoozy,” came the answer, muffled in Dean’s shoulder. “Come on, now. I wash, you dry.” “Mh.” Castiel reluctantly let go of Dean – which earned him a fluttery kiss on the cheek – and dried the dishes.

After they were done, Castiel took a peek in the oven. “Looks good.” Dean joined him. “No it doesn’t. Why doesn’t it rise? Dammit. I fudged something.” Castiel rested his cheek on Dean’s shoulder. I’m sure it’ll taste good anyway.” Dean shook his head. “I don’t care. It has to be fluffy. It’s part of the experience. No half-ass cake for my angel.” “Dean, I’m not…” Dean cut him. “Cas, you’ll always be my angel.” Castiel smiled softly against Dean’s shoulder.

Dean threw everything out and Castiel made him promise to sober up before going out for more eggs and other ingredients, which happened later that afternoon. Castiel threw some clothes on and went with him, but wanted to stay in the car. “Man, I don’t care that you look like a hurricane. Come in with me.” “I don’t care either. It’s just going to be faster if I stay here and keep an eye on Baby.” “Nonsense. Come on! You love grocery stores. You’re always fascinated by something.” Castiel thought about it a few seconds. “It’s true. OK. I’ll go with you.”

Attempt #2 was right after dinner. Castiel wasn’t hungry, so he barely touched his plate. Dean got busy – again, with a celebratory beer – baking the cake. Castiel watched closely, trying to follow the recipe. Dean put the timer and they set out some board game to pass the time. They were almost through the cooking time that Castiel said, “Smells like burning.” Dean hurried to the oven. “SHIT.” He quickly turned the oven off, opened the door and tried to vent the smoke. “The hell I did now?” Everything went into the trash again. Dean switched to whiskey.

The morning after, Castiel got to the kitchen a little before 10 a.m. His eyes were better than yesterday but the rest was still a mess. The beard was growing in nicely. Dean welcomed him with a smile and a coffee mug. “Hello sunshine!” He kissed Castiel on the top of his cheek, close to his eye. “Here’s your coffee.” “Thank you Dean.” Castiel sat with his coffee and eyed Dean’s glass in his hand. “That’s not coffee.” Dean smiled. “Nope. I’m changing the parameters. Beer is good for making burgers. Whiskey is better for baking.” Castiel couldn’t help but smile. “I hope it helps.” “This will also help,” Dean said, as he handed his phone to Castiel. “Here, read the recipe out loud to me. Maybe it’ll stick better if I hear it in your voice.” Castiel shook his head, amused. “You’re a strange man, Dean.” Dean winked at Castiel. “Hey. There has to be something to balance out against all the handsome.” Castiel laughed. “OK. Here’s the recipe.”

The third attempt went well and Dean stood proud looking at his cake cooling on the rack. “You’re sure the cake stays in the pan? Read again, Cas.” Castiel checked the phone. “Yes. And it says 3 hours to cool.” Dean took a swig from his whiskey. “That means we have plenty of time to get you looking decent.” Castiel squinted. “Decent?” “Man, I haven’t kissed you properly in days because you stink and you haven’t brushed your teeth. You need serious grooming. And you can’t have angel food cake if you don’t at least look the part.” Castiel seemed surprised. Dean added, “Come on, man. I worked super hard on this. Let’s get you decent.” Castiel seemed to search Dean’s eyes. “I think you’re looking for an excuse to come in the shower with me.” Dean flashed a soft smile. “You bet I do.” “You’ve already shown me how to shower, Dean.” “That’s not what I mean,” Dean answered, as he coaxed a perplex Castiel to the bathroom.

Dean had Castiel brush his teeth first. Then, Castiel and Dean stripped and stepped into the shower. Dean was easily overwhelmed by the soft, sad, tired eyes of Castiel. He kissed his lips softly. “Let’s get you clean, man.” “I know how to do it, Dean.” Dean stroke Castiel’s jaw with his thumb. “Then show me. Lather me.” Castiel, much to Dean’s not-surprise, went pretty methodically. He lathered Dean up with the soap and his hands, and then put him under the shower head and made sure it was all rinsed out. “And my hair?” Castiel shampooed and rinsed Dean’s hair. Dean chuckled. “Good execution. Congrats.” “I’m glad my method is appropriate.” Dean full-on laughed. “Appropriate is the right word, alright!” He took the soap in his hand. “Now, this is another way to do it.”

Dean lathered up his hands real good, all the while holding Castiel’s gaze. He got closer and lathered him slowly, softly, with his hands. It was not particularly sexual, but all his fondness for Castiel went into his movements, conveying how he cared about him. He rinsed him out and kissed his shoulders, and reached for the shampoo. He took his time to massage Castiel’s scalp, with his fingertips and his full hands, again showing his ever-angel he’s cared for. Castiel closed his eyes and put his hands on Dean’s waist. “This is so relaxing…” “So you like it.” “I might get used to that.” Dean smiled a kiss against Castiel’s cheek and rinsed him out.

Dressed in boxers, both men stood in front of the bathroom mirror. “Do you want to keep the beard?” “Do you like it?” Dean smiled. “Cas, you’re handsome as hell either way. So it’s your call. If you want to keep it, we can trim it a bit, so it looks clean and sharp.” Castiel scratched his beard and grimaced a bit. “I think I want it off. I’ll feel more like myself I think.” Dean gave Castiel the clipper and the razor, and Castiel proceeded and cleaned up.

Castiel finished toweling off his face and looked at Dean in the mirror. “Better?” Dean looked in Castiel’s eyes. “Do you feel better?” “Yes.” “Then yes, it’s better.” Dean hugged Castiel from behind, his arms wrapped around him, his chin rested on his shoulder, his eyes closed. He squeezed Castiel a little. Castiel wrapped his arms over Dean’s and rested his cheek on Dean’s head. “You worry about me.” For only answer, Dean squeezed him again a little. “I’m sorry to cause you such worry, Dean.” “It’s alright Cas, as long as you don’t shut me out. Just let me help.” Castiel gave Dean’s embrace a squeeze as well. “OK. I promise.” Dean let go, planted a quick kiss on Castiel’s neck and declared, “OK, now, we can’t spend the rest of the day in boxers, so let’s get dressed.”

The showers didn’t take 3 hours so there was still time to spare. Dean couldn’t take his hands off his human angel, giving him a squeeze here, a pat there, and it seemed to work. Castiel was smiling more, and he was starting to hug Dean back and give him little kisses. Dean beamed each time. He even managed to get Castiel to pin him against the wall and kiss him breathless.

They decided to go out for a late lunch and stopped to eat it by the river. They then sat on a big rock and watched the stream. Castiel saw a fish. Dean wrapped himself around Castiel, who gave him little kisses. Dean looked at his watch. “We have a good half hour of sitting here and look for fish before heading back. Is that good with you?” Castiel tucked his nose under Dean’s jaw line. “Yes, Dean.”

Back at the bunker, Dean and Castiel saw Sam was back, his car being parked outside. Dean got in the kitchen first. “Hey Sammy! How were the vamps?” “Heads rolled.” Sam pointed to the upside-down cake pan on the cooling tray. “Who’s baking?” Dean answered as he reached for a knife and plates. “Me! It’s angel food cake. Get it?” He wiggled his eyebrows at Sam. Sam shook his head. “So that’s what you do when I’m out doing our job? You play in the kitchen?” Dean repeated, annoyed, “Angel food cake! Get it??” Sam got it, but was not going to give Dean the satisfaction. He turned to Castiel. “What’s his prob – whoa. You look better, man. What happened?” “Dean happened. He asked me to let him take care of me and I accepted his offer.” “Seems to be working.” Dean chimed in, “Yeah. And now, we’re having angel food cake.” Sam finally smiled. “Alright, alright. I’ll go put this away – he shouldered his bag – and I’ll be right with you.”

Dean gave everyone a big piece of cake with whipped cream and berries. Sam was impressed. Castiel didn’t know he was supposed to be impressed, but since he witnessed the failed attempts, he had a feeling success was not easy with this cake. He took a bite, under Dean’s watchful eye. Castiel’s eyes widened and he turned to Dean, chewing. He started to say something with his mouth full when suddenly he just shut his eyes and kept chewing slowly. He licked his lips. Finally, he opened his eyes and turned to Dean. “This. This is the best cake. Granted, I haven’t had other cakes, but I’m sure this is the best cake in the whole world.” He took another bite. “Mmm…” Sam had an amused smile. “If you two need to be alone…” Dean turned to Sam. “Me and Cas or Cas and the cake?” Sam forked a piece of cake. “Moron.”

After cleaning up, Castiel announced he needed a nap, probably because he’d had too much cake. When he said that, he’d given Dean’s thigh a little squeeze under the table. Dean announced he needed a nap too. Before Sam could even roll his eyes, he was up and following Castiel to his room. As Dean closed the door behind them, he heard Sam shouting, the voice clearly coming from the fridge: “What the hell are we going to do with 3 dozens of egg yolks? DEAN!!!”

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The prompt itself. So I wrote this and my day was gone lol I know, it’s not drawing, and Dean isn’t super drunk either. But hey, a prompt’s a prompt and what happens happens. :)