#c writes

[semperamans]

benny wants to marry you sooooooo bad that it makes his fuckin’ heart squeeze. he’s never felt this way, not for anyone, so it must be right. he gets the idea the first time he gets you on his bike. you’ve known each other for two hours, but it’s long enough. he loves how you tried to be so proper and hold his belt at first then threw your arms around him at the first rev of the engine. he had done it intentionally and now your vice grip latches above his belly button. he covertly smiles. he loves your giggles. they’re adorable; all high-pitched and damn near insane from adrenaline. they turn nervous once benny rolls to a stop before a red light and says “marry me.” he doesn’t ask. he tells you wants you on the back of his bike forever as if that is more than enough explanation. but you’re laughing. do you think it’s a joke? he doesn’t get angry. he couldn’t get angry with you even if he tried. maybe you just don’t feel things the way he does, so he shakes the thought away. the light turns green and the two of you disappear into in the night. he says nothing more about it until a week later. you’re on the phone having rambled about any and everything under the sun. you told him your nails are freshly painted, bubblegum pink, your favorite, and benny can envision them so clearly in his head and fuck what he wouldn’t give to feel your hands on him. he suppresses a groan. static occupies the silence. you’re too talked out and tired now to say much more but he likes this. likes knowing you’re on the other end and safe. “wanna marry you,” benny says in one breath and you can’t place his accent. southern, maybe? “c’mon, doll.” he drawls and you can hear the crinkle of his cut corrugating at his shoulders. you think about the position he’s likely in. leaning against the door frame, maybe. “marry me.” he says and you wanna say yes, but what would your family think? fallin’ in love with a vandal? you could sense their disappointment already but you are in love. is it too soon? you don’t even really know benny, he’s so damned quiet but your soul feels something when he’s around. warm tears slip down your cheeks as you cry to him. he shushes you like he would a frightened fawn. he tells you it’s gonna be alright, promises even. you believe him. why wouldn’t you? benny waits two more weeks because by now you’ve grown closer, given him your first kiss and god, you’re precious. it’s morning and he’s watching you. your eyelashes splay over the rounds of your cheeks, pert mouth opened ever so slightly. you’d die to know you snore, ever so quietly, so benny won’t tell you. you lied to your family, told them you were spending the night with a girlfriend then hustled down the block, pressing a kiss to benny’s cheek before securing the helmet on your head (he won’t let you ride without one, damn him) and holding onto him tight. he’s happy you’re here. happy you feel safe enough to sleep in his arms and when you blink your bleary eyes open and smile so big upon seeing him, he can’t help it. “gonna get you to marry me one of these days.” he promises, brushing his bruised knuckles so gently across your cheek it feels like a kiss from a ghost. and, eventually, he does.

[enbyaceslut]

It’s Christmas party season. My favorite time of year to take you out looking so damn gorgeous and making you act completely normal around all of our friends and family. They don’t know about the vibrator pushed deep inside you that I just keep changing the settings on. You’re across the room, talking to that one ex that somehow melted right into the family and never left. I’m not usually a jealous person, but I don’t like the way they’re smiling at you, nodding towards me, and then turning back. I turn it up just enough to make sure you really feel it, feel me. I watch you subtly clench, the way you take a deep breath as you try to control yourself. They ask if you’re okay and you excuse yourself and come back to me. I’m smirking and drag you off to a corner, “Do you need to cum?” Your whimpers tell me everything, you can barely even say it. “Beg me,” I whisper in your ear as I turn down the vibrations, keeping you right on edge. “Please, please,” you gasp. I reach under your dress and push your panties aside to find your clit. “You better be quiet.” I love the sound of you. Then I quickly pull my fingers away, “If you want to cum, you’ll do it out there.” I drag you away from our little secluded spot, pick up another drink for us both and pull you to the couch with our friends. They don’t pay much mind, the party’s been going on awhile and everyone’s a little drunk. I tuck you next to me, “You have five minutes or you won’t cum for a week,” I whisper in your ear as I turn the vibrator back up. I start talking with our friends, ignoring the flush in your cheeks, the way your fingers go white knuckled as you grip my hand. Our friends barely notice, but I notice how you cum. I’m not so cruel, I turn down the vibrations low enough to keep it from becoming too much. For now.

[chrrywvea]

poolverine + sensory overload while grocery shopping anyone? taken from personal experience and the mountain of poolverine fics i've consumed already

disclaimer: if any of the aspects i've written for logan being autistic (it isn't mentioned but this was my intention here) are offensive or falsely written tell me immediately! i am undiagnosed but after quite a lot of my friends (both on the spectrum and not) telling me multiple times to get checked and TONS of research i'm pretty sure i'm on the spectrum as well. soooo this is basically what i've gathered from research, other fics and my own experiences with stuff like this. thanks! also minimal use of slightly stronger language (the f word, hurray :-D)

this is so bad i'm sorry

They were in the sweets aisle, trying to pick out various snacks for their movie night later on. It was bustling all around them, the small supermarket full with families and screaming kids and chatty old ladies and noise, so much fucking noise-

Logan flinched when something touched his cheek, belatedly realizing that Wade stood in front of him, their half-filled cart discarded by their side and one of his hands raised to his face.

"Sorry sweetums," Wade smiled sheepishly, "Didn't wanna scare you. You looked a little out of it. Breathing a little heavy and all"

Logan harrumphed, looking at the floor between them. Wade was wearing his bright neon pink converse again, the laces red on one side and yellow on the other, which was admittedly... cute. He remembered how proud Wade had been as he stumbled out of the bedroom with poorly conceiled excitement, shoving his shoes in his face because look peanut, our suits-

Once again he was forced out of his head and back into the disgustingly loud supermarket as Wade took his hand, gently stroking over his knuckles.

Logan managed to rip his gaze back to Wade's face, finding such genuine understanding in those lovely eyes that he felt even more queasy than he already did. Damn you, Wilson.

His head spun from the onslaught of everything, noise and lights and embarrassment forcing a very unwelcome wetness to gather in his eyes. The hand Wade was holding shook lightly. His whole body trembled. Fuck, he wanted to say something, wanted to assure his boyfriend that he was okay, but his throat worked, his mouth opened, yet nothing came out.

"Hey" Wade's voice was so soft. He didn't flinch this time as his hand came to rest on his cheek, the touch featherlight and warm.

An embarrassingly high whimper left him as some shrieking children passed by and his eyes screwed shut, trusting Wade to handle the rest.

And suddenly...

Wait.

Madonna quietly played in his ears?

Confused, he cracked his eyes open and saw Wade watching him, holding his phone up for him to see.

"Don't worry your pretty head Wolvie, you've got noise cancelling headphones on. Courtesy of moi, if you please, buuut you gotta suffer through my shower playlist for the time being. It's the only one I have downloaded."

An opened note read. Wade mouthed a "sorry" at him, but the sheepish grin told him he wasn't. At all. Though Logan knew him well enough, so very well, that if he even mentioned that it was too much Wade would immediately switch it all off.

Logan had to admit, the music dialed the incessant chattering and shouting around him pretty much down to zero.

The wonders of technology, he supposed.

Wade held his hand and waited patiently as Logan just breathed for a bit, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. One jerky motion to the phone and the mercenary handed it over, watching as Logan typed with unsteady hands.

"Can we leave please? S too much"

The note was so timid, so careful in fear of rejection that Wade felt his poor heart squeeze in his chest - gosh dang it if only people knew how gentle and loving the man in front of him was.

"Sure hun we were pretty much finished anyway. You good if we go check out real quick? Al's gonna cook us instead if we don't bring something back home, and while you taste pretty good I can't promise that for myself ;-D... we can use the self check out, it's quicker"

Logan surprised both of them with the huff of amusement that left him as he nodded.

The focus he needed to use to read Wade's rambling in note form kept him safe from getting lost in his head again. His boyfriend’s ability to talk forever beyond might be pretty annoying at times, but Logan had long since found it to be comforting.

Wade carefully guided both of them through the maze of food aisles and too many people, keeping their hands intertwined while he pushed their cart until they found a free self checkout.

Logan zoned out a bit to the mindless music that played over the headphones as Wade went through their groceries, bagging them quickly. He payed before turning around to face him, motioning to the exit with his head.

They stopped just outside the store in a small secluded corner and Wade put the bags down at their feet, stepping closer and smiling again.

Logan smiled back, hoping it could convey the relief and love he felt without having to use words. He leaned closer, a little shyly, and with a quick look around he pressed a kiss to Wade's lips, reveling in the vibrations of a slight whine he could feel from his boyfriend. They parted and Logan took a deep breath in, pushing the air out of his lungs a lot more calmly than he had done mere minutes ago.

The headphones came off next and Logan sighed, shaking off the last bit of the sensory overload he'd just experienced as he scrubbed over his eyes. It was far more quiet outside, and his head felt a little fuzzy at most instead of the stinging buzz from before.

Cars honked in the distance, a light breeze drifted past him and the man he loved stood right in front of him, Logan's supernatural hearing picking up the steady thud of his heartbeat almost immediately.

"Love you bub."

Thank you.

"I love you too peanut! So much. More than Puppins too, but don't tell her that. She's already peed in my shoes once and I can tell you, that golden shower was not pleasant."

Logan snorted and both of them giggled, sharing another soft kiss before they hoisted the grocery bags back up.

The way home was filled with banter, clumsy kisses and bumping shoulders. Maybe one or two spilled milk cartoons as well, but that was a secret between them.

(Oh hello! Wade here! Deadpool, merc with a mouth, your personal wet dream, whatever pleases you perverted little readers - if you even attempt to tell Al about that last bit I'll torture this one with a little more writer's block! /Oh thanks Wade, so nice of you/ Shush you, this is my side note! So many ideas yet so little words... you decide pookies. Bye for now! I've got 400 pounds of sleepy kitty in my bed who likes me as his personal pillow. See ya!)

[goldthorn-archive]

sender chews on a lock of the receiver's hair. [13] - Bucky being dog-coded in his cute aggression with Gale

prompt list here

hi anon! i’m always down for some dog-coded bucky <3 here’s ~400 words, hope u like it x

Bucky’s pleased. Gale had agreed to come out to the pub with the rest of the boys, even though it’s really not how Gale would choose to spend an evening. It’s usually too loud, too brash, too like the places he was forced to wait in as a child. But tonight, Bucky hardly had to beg before Gale agreed.

Tonight there’s a warm feeling in the air, something like safety. Gale’s surrounded by his men, and they didn’t lose anyone on today’s mission, which really, is unheard of. Everyone’s in good spirits, including Bucky, who’s sharing the booth with Gale, bodies warmly pressed together. Curt’s just gone to get another round, and Crosby and Douglass are engaged in some light-hearted argument about something Dougie said in the plane earlier that day. Gale’s not paying close attention.

Bucky’s been drinking steadily tonight, but not to drown out the emotions of the day. No, tonight he’s drinking to celebrate being alive with his friends, and the alcohol has him feeling a little loopy with happiness. Gale is pressed up against him on the bench and John is giddy with the feeling. Gale’s not much shorter than him, but he’s slighter, and with the way he’s lounging against John, his golden hair is just below Bucky’s face.

Bucky presses a kiss to Gale’s hair, feels the man shift slightly but not move away. Gale’s hair smells so good, and so like him as Bucky breathes, deep inhales, face pressed to Gale’s head. The alcohol thrumming through his system is slowing him down, slowing his thoughts down so that his body feels like it’s moving ahead of him.

“Bucky,” Gale jerks upright, and John gazes at him, eyes a little crossed. Gale reaches a hand up to his head, makes a grimace when he touches a patch of spit-wet hairs. “My hair,” he drawls, a tone of complaint that Bucky can pick up, even in his current state. It’s just, Gale’s hair smelled so nice, and it was so soft under his chin, and, and, his mouth was right there, and Bucky wondered what Gale might taste like. He’d taken a clump of Gale’s hair between his teeth, felt the coarse fibres of gold on his tongue.

Bucky just smiles dopily at Gale, and really, Gale finds it hard to stay annoyed, especially when Bucky tells him, “just wanted to see if you really were that sweet.”

[gingerpeachtea]

TRICK OR TREAT!!!! 🔫🔫

HAPPY HALLOWEEEEEEEEN have a snippet of a post-canon mikecharlie fic i found in the depths of discord two nights ago and decided to finally put on a google doc:

She opened his bathroom door. Froze when their eyes meet in the mirror. And laughed—shocked and open and loud. Mike covered her mouth with his hand and his head swerved around to look in panic over his shoulder, praying that there wasn’t anyone in the hallway to hear her and come asking questions. She was still laughing when she pushed his hand away and asked, “What did you do?” Mike pulled the door shut, and sheepishly said, “…I cut my hair.”

it gets sad before AND after this <3 i can't write fluff they HAVE to be miserable <3

[c-goldthorn]

Last Line Tag

was just tagged by @feyd-meowtha (thank you!) and whatta ya know, ive been sprinting a he may be the reason christmas fic for like the last two hours so:

He does drive back up to the stupidly large mansion in Beverly Hills, the one he bought with his pay check from A Dustland Fairytale six years ago. After living in cramped apartments the first few years, sharing with Marge, he was excited at the prospect of so much space. But really, it’s too much space, especially by himself.

np tagging @johnslittlespoon (share w the class ok!), @nicijones @soliloquy-dawn @joeyalohadream @rambleonwaywardson

[sonofthedunes]

as promised, the first one-shot i’ve written for this blog! let me know what you think. minors dni, etc.

Set just after the end of The Empire Strikes Back.

who says you cannot hold the moon in your hand?

~~~~~~

He won’t tell you what happened, exactly. No one will. All you know is that the Princess and Governor Calrissian found him clinging for dear life to the antenna at the bottom of Cloud City: bruised, bleeding, soaked in sweat…and missing his right hand.

It had been promptly replaced, of course, on the Alliance’s medical frigate. An Antilles BioGen L-980, one of the finest cybernetics on the market, now occupies the end of his wrist. To the average observer it looks no different than his remaining flesh hand; it serves all the same functions as the appendage he’s lost, thanks to the implanted neurochip. But every time he gazes on it when he thinks you aren’t looking, flexes the fingers and frowns, you know he feels it. The phantom pain, the sense of “othering,” the clear demarcation of his life into before and after. You know of course that he’s still Luke Skywalker, the Rebellion hero and the man you love-but something in him has changed fundamentally since that rescue, and that cybernetic hand is a constant reminder.

You can’t magically heal his anger or sadness. You can’t force him to tell you everything he’s done since you parted on Hoth. If the Force is with the Rebellion, there will be plenty of time for that in the future. But what you can do is help him forget for a few precious hours. To remind him that he is loved, no matter what scars or wounds he bears.

And where better to start than the hand?

You begin very slowly, there in the privacy of his quarters: it seems the most natural thing in the galaxy to pick up his artificial hand and methodically kiss every fingertip. The palm follows the fingers, right over his lifeline. You kiss just hard enough to be felt, but softly enough to entice. Under your lips whirr machinery where once was bone and muscle, and the synth skin isn’t quite as warm as real flesh…but you find you don’t really care.

If Luke’s face is any indication, though, he certainly does. He watches your motions apprehensively, brows knit over those clear blue eyes. “You don’t have to do this,” he protests.

“But I want to,” you reply, already moving on to his wrist.

“Love…” he cuts himself off and sighs-partly out of frustration, partly because your lips are resting on the tattooing pulse of his forearm. “I just…I’d rather not think about it.”

“But you do. I know you do.” Pausing in your ministrations, you sit back on the bed and regard him thoughtfully-as thoughtfully as two people in their military undergarments (tank tops and briefs) can hold eye contact. “Luke, I promise you I’m not repulsed by your hand. Oh, it upset me at first, knowing how much pain you were in. But now it’s…just a hand.” You massage it gently. “It’s part of you. And I don’t pick and choose the parts I love.”

He sighs again, curling his cybernetic fingers around yours. “I know. And sometimes I almost believe it. But when I catch myself looking at it for too long, or my grip is too tight, it all comes flooding back.”

“…Will you ever tell me? How it happened, I mean?”

Luke’s eyes are trained on you, but in that moment he’s looking beyond you to somewhere dark. Cold. “Someday. But not now,” he murmurs. His left hand sweeps a few tendrils of hair from your face. “I don’t want to think about it now.”

You smile and lift his right hand to your lips again, a motion that causes pink to bloom in his cheeks. “Well, what do you want, Luke?” you ask, as if the desire wasn’t already swimming in your veins.

Swallowing in a dry throat, muscles tensing, he responds in a low voice: “I want to touch you.”

There’s another part to that request which remains unspoken, but you understand it nonetheless. Keeping a sure grip on the mechno-hand, you press it to your cheek. “Like this?” you inquire. He dips his chin in a nod.

Thus encouraged, you guide the hand from your face to your collarbone. “And this?” you prompt. Another nod, accompanied by a rather breathy “yes.”

And Maker, the shuddering exhale that leaves him when the synth flesh meets your clothed breast. “Is this all right?” you manage, voice wavering as he hesitantly squeezes.

Luke dispenses with words then, leaning forward and kissing you with a measured, smoldering hunger. You groan a little in surprise, pressing your mouth eagerly to his and throwing your arms around his toned shoulders. In doing so, of course, you let go of his cybernetic…and almost of its own accord, it wanders lower.

A feather light touch swipes across your underwear, and you break the kiss with a squeak. Two pairs of eyes blown to black meet, two pairs of lips slightly parted pant, and Luke jerks his hand away as if he’s been burned. “Sorry,” he mutters. “ ‘M sorry. I thought…”

You shake your head. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” you repeat, nuzzling him briefly. Flesh fingers find mechno, intertwine in reassurance.

His shoulders visibly relax. “Please, let me take care of you,” he entreats.

“With this hand?”

“Yeah. Wanna fuck you with it. Wanna watch you come on it,” he breathes, the faint blush now vivid twin firespots.

“Oh, starboy…” you coo, knowing how much effort those words demanded from him. “I want your beautiful fingers in me so, so much.”

It’s always a clumsy affair, wriggling out of standard-issue Alliance briefs (the least sexy garment in this or any galaxy). Yet you manage, and Luke can’t hold back a moan when you recline and part your legs to show him how wet you already are. “Fuck, is that all for me?” he says in wonder, crawling closer.

“Only for you,” you promise, taking his mechno-hand in yours once more. With patience and affection you clasp it for a heartbeat or two; then, at long last, you lead him to the valley of your cunt, the tips of his middle and index rubbing the dew before they slip inside.

This hand has never explored you before, but it knows just what to do. Those long thick fingers crook against your walls, caressing the warm gripping heat as they pump in a steady rhythm. You throw your head back on the pillow and whine, fire already building in your lower belly. “Yes, yes, darling boy, fuck me just like that,” you beg. “Oh Luke, I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” he groans, completely devoted to his task. He huffs your name, followed by a curse you think may be Huttese. “You’re so tight for me, fuck. Are you sure I’m not-“

“No! N-no, you’re fine.” Far from the cybernetics battering you, they apply just the right amount of pressure, of intensity. You lift your head then to look at him, your gorgeous boy, thrusting his fingers into your pussy with a furrowed brow and teeth set into his bottom lip. His flesh hand steadies him, his nostrils flare, a thin sheen of sweat glimmers. And-ah, there it is, his cock straining and leaving a damp stain on his own briefs. The very idea that this foreign intruder to his body is bringing you such pleasure shocks and arouses him all at once. He knows you mean it, these exclamations of joy, your eyes rolling back, your hips bucking to meet the busily working machine with truly obscene squelching noises. It’s not enough to fully eradicate the darkness preying on the edges of his mind, but it lights a tiny candle of hope. And he’s more than willing to accept it.

“Luke! Oh Luke, don’t stop,” you whimper as he twists his wrist, searching for that special spot.

He grins then, genuinely, for the first time in Force knows how long. “Is that good, baby?” he questions rhetorically.

“Ah-aah, you feel so…” Your caravan of thought derails as he locates the spongy patch high up in your secret place and deftly presses. Uttering a thin, pitchy cry, your back arches and your own hands grip the sheets. “Fuck! Oh Maker, oh…”

He grunts with the exertion and in satisfaction too, teeth gritted now, fully hard in his briefs like an overexcited teenager. “A-are you close?” he asks hoarsely.

“Uh-huh” is all you can manage as you rapidly ascend the dizzying heights, your world shrinking to the motion of his hand and the sound of his voice.

“Let go,” Luke urges, his order trembling beyond his control. Control is about to leave this room entirely. “Come for me, sweet girl. Soak my fuckin’ hand, I want to see it.”

And those words might have been sufficient on their own, but when he brings his thumb to your swollen clit and forms the tiny rapid-fire circles that never fail to light up every synapse…that’s it. You can’t hold out any longer, and with a choked sob you break, spiraling off into a void where no feeling exists but bliss, and no Galactic Empire can ever harm you.

You’re only faintly aware of Luke withdrawing his fingers as you sprawl across the mattress, heart pounding and breathing harsh. The sheets rustle as he lays himself next to you, a lightness in his face that hadn’t been there before. “Look,” he remarks, holding up his cybernetic for your inspection. Gleaming on the two fingers he’d just used, trickling down his wrist and forearm all the way to the bend of his elbow, your spend proves you heeded him well. A half-smile quirks one corner of his mouth. “So I guess you don’t mind it after all. My hand, I mean.”

Chuckling tiredly, you roll onto your side and kiss his cheek. “I told you! You just didn’t believe me,” you counter. “I love you, Luke-all of you.”

“And I love you, more than anything.” This time he seeks your mouth, and you happily surrender it. In the course of your kiss he shifts closer to you, craving the silk of your hair and the velvet of your bare arms-but accidentally brushes the bulge in his briefs against your thigh. A slightly pained “mmph!” vibrates through your teeth, and your lips curve amusedly.

“You want to me to take care of that?” you posit as the two of you slowly pull apart. “One good turn deserves another.”

Luke shakes his head as he flops onto his back, golden hair fanned against the pillow. “In a minute. I think we could both use a break.”

You follow him and settle your head on his chest, hand coming to rest over his strong, blessedly beating heart. “I think you’re right,” you agree quietly. Hell, the entire damn universe could use a break. And one day it would arrive-but until then, you think as your lover slings his arm over your back and pecks the crown of your scalp, already anticipating the pleasure to come, this isn’t so bad.

[yharnamcrow]

Why is Miss Eileen in the bathroom, crying and throwing up? And why is the last thing she posted a jumble of blurred out letters and symbols for me?

[cheerynoir]

I know there’s like four of you that followed me for ASOIAF/throbb content, and so I ask you:

How do we feel about some modern AU, gender-flipped throbb?

It came to me in a dream and will not let me go. So. Any takers?

[camelliasinensis81]

no um there's no reason there's a hot lesbian art museum curator who makes everyone else feel loved and cared for in my novel why do you ask? maybe i'm just creating fun characters and it doesn't actually mean anything at all really

[natsu-scarf]

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: Fairy Tail Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Natsu Dragneel/Lucy Heartfilia, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Gray Fullbuster/Lucy Heartfilia, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster/Lucy Heartfilia Characters: Natsu Dragneel, Lucy Heartfilia, Gray Fullbuster, Erza Scarlet, Juvia Lockser, Wendy Marvell, Happy (Fairy Tail), Gajeel Redfox, Levy McGarden Additional Tags: Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster/Lucy Heartfilia - Freeform, but also kind of all of Team Natsu being wholesome, Fairy Tail Guild Found Family, Dai Matou Enbu | Grand Magic Games Arc, Post GMG Arc though, almost everyone from the guild makes an appearance, Found Family, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Dragon Slayer Magic (Fairy Tail), Crack, this kind of takes from one specific episode and tries to use the idea in a non-abusive way, i think it becomes aware pretty early on which episode that is, team natsu, Team Natsu As Found Family, Or Maybe more than that?

  Summary:

The one time Gray, Natsu, and Lucy eat too much cake and strange events start to unfold...

[enbyaceslut]

I'm working on the psych unit and watching a patient shave when suddenly they push me against the wall and say if I scream for help they'll cut me. My coworker just did a round so my patient knows they have fifteen minutes to do whatever they want to me. They start by shoving their hand down my scrub pants, keeping the razor at my neck, whispering that they'll kill me if I make a sound. They spin me around and push me into the wall and bear my ass. It's only a second before they're pushing into me. Tears are slowly trailing down my face. They only last a few minutes but they stay there making sure nothing drips out, fingers finding my clit. "You're going to cum on my cock whether you want to or not." They start pumping into me again. "I can feel how much you want this," they murmur as I clench around them. It's only minutes before they're coming again and taking me with them. They pull out and put my pants back in place, "I think I'm going to like it here for a bit. Tell anyone and I'll find you and make you my pet when they let me go home."

[feral-ballad]

Maya C. Popa, from Wound is the Origin of Wonder: Poems: “Wound is the origin of wonder”

[goldthorn-archive]

i broke a plate today (it’s fine, one less thing to pack for the move) but it got me thinking about how john and gale would each react to breaking a plate.

john: he’s doing the washing up and everything’s slick from the water and soap so the plate slips out of his hands into the sink, chips a little. He thinks nothing of it, finishes the chore. Gale asks him about it later, noticed the chipped plate when he went to get a mug for his tea. a few weeks later it happens again with the same plate, and the chip is now a long crack running almost to the other end of the plate. he’s curious, that’s all it is, and suddenly the plate’s cracked in half completely, one piece in each of john’s large hands. okay, oh well. john shrugs and tosses the pieces in the garbage, finishes his chore. when his hands are dry, he goes back to the couch where gale is sat, and he snuggles in beside him. literally doesn’t give that plate another thought.

gale: gale couldn’t be more different. he’s baking something for john, maybe a birthday cake, and he’s had a plate with a pile of chocolate he’s chopped up resting on the counter. he’s ready to add the chocolate to the batter, but his hands are slick with some stray egg whites and oil and it falls from his hand and clatters to the floor. there’s chocolate and shards of porcelain everywhere, and john comes rushing in at the sound, even though he’s been ordered out of the kitchen because it’s supposed to be a surprise. gale flinches away, muttering a string of “i’m sorry i’m sorry it was an accident i’m sorry” and there are tears forming in his eyes and john just pulls him to his chest, rubbing his back, reminding gale that he knows and it’s not a big deal

[gingerpeachtea]

tell me about mr burning suns fic NEOW!!!!! (if u want to!)

(wip list game!!!!)

YAAAYAYYAYSYYAYSYSYYAYAYY feeling HIGH after talking about siye SO LETS GO!!!!!!

siye is my FUCKING BABY but this is like. my moulin rouge baby

it is so incredibly laurel ocd fic in terms of projection not telling u which illness tho u gotta guess like it’s hangman. it’s like an if u know u know situation. u know?

cannot give u a snippet i fear because i have genuinely posted half the fic at this point and i’m not exaggerating LMAODKWD i just love this fic so much i want to SHARE IT!!!! but it’s not DONE!!!

it’s the only moulin rouge fic i’m anywhere close to finishing. it took me a WHILE to know where i wanted to start it, if i wanted to write the Before It Gets Bad and create a buildup, or if i wanted to start right in the thick of it. you’ll see which i chose when i post it i guess LMAO. actually no bc i ❤️ talking. i chose to start kind of right in the thick of it after providing wider context for the point the characters are at post-canon, SPECIFICALLY because i was struggling with creating more tension and buildup to The Big Moment in siye and i spent so much time struggling to figure that out that i went IM SICK OF THIS SHIT!!!!! and just put y’all right in the middle. (or the end. of the show. bohemian rhapsody. (……kind of. you’ll see. it’s kind of like if u took bohemian rhapsody and like. did an interpretive dance* of it instead of doing the show that we’re shown in the show (“the show” being moulin rouge of course. because i have explained this so logically))

(*and by “did an interpretative dance of” i do of course mean forgot absolutely everything and started making shit up. because i forgot that the plot of bohemian rhapsody is just. the fucking plot of moulin rouge)

i rly wanted to post it when i saw mr for the second (…third???? consult my intermission fics on ao3 idk) time on july 26th but i was busy with my stupid gay (actually wonderful and very enjoyable) job and like. being at broadway con. so. that didn’t happen. and then i Continued being busy with my stupid gay actually wonderful and very enjoyable job and then SCHOOL. and then i got my ASS BEAT. and i just got done getting my ass beat (am finally on break) so i WANT to finish it so bad before i go back but i do unforchies have to prioritize finishing a mike fic by jan 12th for his birthday sooooooo who knows!!!

SOMETNING IVE WANTED TO TALK ABOUT WITH THIS FIC FOR SO FUCKING LONG. somebody said at some point in time SOMEWHERE (probably on tumblr IF YES AND ONE OF U KNOWS THE POST SEND PLS!!) that christian starts off the musical as an optimist and ends as a pessimist and satine starts off as a pessimist and ends as an optimist. prob phrased differently than that but ARARARAIAIUARARRAIAUZUSHGAGHH YES!!!!!!!!!!!! YES BITCH YEAAYYAAGHHHHHH U GET IT!!!!!! fuck ill vomimit i lvoe them so much FUCKMTLIGFE okay back to being coherent

WAIT IT MIGHTVE BEEN BEA THAT SAID RHAT??? bea if ur reading this did u say that???? anyways

that is SOOOOOOOO something i wanted to let influence their characterization in this fic!!!! this shift in perspective/outlook for the two of them is essentially the spark that lights their argument. you can see christian’s inclination towards pessimism in this snippet (which i’ve already shared at some point so🫡 sharing it again):

LIKE BITCH….. christian not being able to trust that she would be honest with him about her residual (#CHRONIQUE) illness…… AND ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE COIN…… SATINE KNOWING BETTER AND TRUSTING CHRISTIAN…… JESUS FUCK!!!!!

analyzing the fic before i even post it 😭😭 very me behavior unfortunately. like yeah i would dissect a single exchange of dialogue for like an entire paragraph instead of actually writing the fic

anyways turns out when i run out of snippets to share i just start talking. where is pitbull hope wveryone enjoyed that lemme find it

[c-goldthorn]

Last Line Tag

thanks @feyd-meowtha @middlingmay @joeyalohadream for the tags over a week ago oops, anyway, here's a line from the last time i worked on the next hmbtr ch

There’s a tense silence hanging in the air, which is suddenly broken by the bell by the front door jingling loudly, and John looks over with annoyance to see a familiar annoying customer starting to walk in. Customer is a strong word, this man never actually buys anything. 

np tagging @blixabargelds @alienoresimagines @amiserableseriesofevents