#excuse you while i let myself being poetic

[gd-dollopole]

We deserved more of just Merlin

The little head tilt, the sweet voice and the tiny smile, the moment he asked Arthur:

“Don’t you?”

To Merlin, magic had always been there for everyone to see, to feel.

He is magic, after all.

For all those years, Merlin had believed what he felt was obvious, and that everyone else felt the same way. It was strange to Merlin that Arthur couldn’t understand that the forest, the animals, even the smallest, living in it, were sacred. Because life is sacred. He couldn’t grasp the reason why the knights couldn’t feel that the old Druids’ camp was haunted, and therefore didn’t believe him. He had literally heard death, and cried because of it.

“As if everything is much more than itself.”

The phrase could refer to him too. Merlin is much more than… Him.

That’s what brought his doom. He had never had the chance to truly know himself. He was either a servant, or the sorcerer of a prophecy, or a Dragonlord.

Never just him.

And in this moment we see he had missed being one with nature, breathing in the animals’ lives. He was himself again.

He was vibrating, much like anything else there living with him.

They never went deep into Merlin’s powers, they were just there for Arthur. Merlin had lost sight of what he wanted to do with them, he even forgot he was so powerful he could have overthrown Arthur himself, if he really wished to.

Merlin was the only man alive able to see Avalon.

During the knights and the king’s quest to save Gwen, Merlin met the Queen of a Queendom no one had ever even seen.

He could have killed Morgana (and did try) multiple times, although she was an High Priestess, and simply decided not to, but he had more than just the power to do so.

The Catha, the Druids bowed to him, met him in the woods, called to him.

Merlin created a telepathic connection with Arthur the first days he was in Camelot.

He survived death multiple times.

His immortality forbid him to die.

Merlin hated hunting because he could feel the animals being scared, followed; he had recognised Gwen when Morgana transformed her into a deer; he could hear the magic around him, inside objects and inside people, like a whisper, as if it was nothing; he could call lightning from the sky.

He could stop the time, or at least slow it down.

Every magical being knew him by name only. But he was not a leader, he was just different.

“Is she like me?” “No one is like you, Merlin.”

After everything he had witnessed, even Gaius knew Merlin was special and did nothing to help him understand why he was.

Merlin was the reason Aithusa was born, why Kilgharrah was free, and we were robbed of him getting to really know his powers, both as a Dragonlord and as the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth.

He literally deleted himself just to be at Arthur’ side, and it hurt him. We saw it constantly. He was sad not only because everyone and everything was against him, or because he couldn’t use magic for simple tricks, but because he couldn’t really know what he could do, both as a magical being and as just Merlin.

To study his powers meant treason and death, and Merlin forbid himself to go beyond what he already knew.

His incapacity to understand, his lack of will to know, and his indecision about who he was, literally helped the fall of the great destiny he was a part of.

Merlin’s decisions, whatever he wanted them to happen or not, helped Arthur die.

Merlin’s real enemy was himself.

[rinamars]

I always wondered what fics do my favorite authors read bc maybe if I start reading them too, I'll be able to write like them 😤 Kidding aside, can you recommend some Erwin x Reader fics that you really like/inspire you to write? I'm fine with on-going ones 🤩

little anon i could KISS you!! i've been looking for an excuse to make an erwin fic recs post so here we go *cracks knuckles* brace yourselves heheh (warning: most of these recs are 18+)

first of all: everything @riewritten has ever written. EVERYTHING. that goes without saying. her brain is so big. i wish i could take a trip inside her mind. rie ily

this is a story of the sea by shinzouing is a canonverse eruri x reader fic, where the three enter a relationship (or rather, erwin enters a relationship with both of them. levi and reader are idiots at first. the pining is so delicious though). where do i even begin to talk about this masterpiece? it broke me. it seriously broke me. i'm just going to say that the universe she has created in this story (as well as in the sequel which i'm going to talk about in a sec) feels so real and so right that when i finished it i needed a minute to remind myself what details that are ACTUALLY canon and what aren't. peak writing i swear. heartbreaking, but worth it.

after tiasots has broken your heart, go read beyond the sea by the same author and let it piece it back together!! it's currently being posted, and it's basically the continuation of tiasots BUT erwin survives at shiganshina (unlike in tiasots). again, same thing: peak writing, and a little universe it's sooo easy to get lost in. this story will end up living rent free in your mind, trust me.

aaand also set in the tiasots universe is certain obscure things!! it's three chapters, and in each of them they take turns between being dominant or submissive. this is smut that goes a lot harder than what you can find in tiasots but everything shinzouing writes is pure gold

to complete the eruri x reader category (aka the fics that made me go "i think i might be into the concept of throuples") there's two lovers by feelingthorny. it's also set in canonverse. erwin and levi are in an established relationship, one day they invite reader into their bed, and... Big Feelings ensue. i have another fic by feelingthorny by recommend, and oh man, she truly has a way of writing emotions that is so evocative and poetic, it truly drags you into the moment and you are able to feel exactly what they are feeling, they're so immersive. the smut parts literally drip with body worship, it's insane. beautiful.

the other fic by feelingthorny i HAVE to mention is close call. this one is pwp, but FUCK this erwin is SO DREAMY. and, as one might tell, the writing is just marvelous.

next, i recommend every! single! fic! that belongs to the to build a home series by nylondreams. the romance, the intimacy, the tenderness... ahh, they're so lovely to read. and *cough* the first fic in the series gave me a breeding kink *cough*

more recommendations in the "horny fics that also made me fall in love even more" category: e major, uncorked and treasured memories, all by whatsherquirk. delicious. that's all i'm going to say.

prying eyes by SecretsOfHarprocrates is in my opinion a depiction of erwin that's very close to how he'd behave in canon (if canon included sexy times)

four christmases by ghost_party was !!! ok i don't really know what to say about this one because it's been a while since i read it, but you have to trust me and check it out!!

i think that's all for now, i hope i haven't forgotten anything (if i have i'll just reblog this post and add more). happy reading <3

now PLEASE give me an excuse to make an eruri fic recs post (or even a levi one)

[60scig]

7/31/24

Chipping the wine red color from my fingernails, I sprinkle the polish onto the seats of his truck. I sigh, kicking off my boots–the summer heat seeping into the car was making my legs sweat against the leather. When my right thumb is chipped clean, I shuffle in my seat to peek my head out the open window.

“Are we stranded?” I ask, crossing my arms over the window sill, resting my chin on top of my hands. My little cowboy friend slams the truck hood shut, lifting his hat from his head to wipe the sweat from his forehead; wavy strands of dark hair sticking to his skin. I grin.

“Nothin’ to worry about.” He tells me in an almost inaudible mumble, walking around to return to the driver’s seat. Upon entering, he immediately notices the red sprinkles dusting the terracotta colored seats. Pulling away from the window, grin still plastered on my lips, I splay out my fingers for him to see my messy nails, only my thumb completely clean. He shakes his head, then begins to explain what was wrong with the truck.

I don’t understand a single word. Nodding my head along, I lean forward to reach into the glove compartment, pulling out our crumpled and worn map, unfolding it in front of my face. At some point, he stopped talking and started the truck. It rumbled violently for a brief second, but calmed down to a point where he pulled us back on the road.

“Where we going?” I ask. When he tells me, I place my finger against the location on the map, trailing it down until I meet our current location.

I keep my window down, letting the hot air blow through my hair, tussling the strands and ruining my neat braid. He’s too silent, so I rummage for a tape, making snide comments about his music taste until I stumble across The Doors.

“You look like Jim Morrison.” I observe, pushing the tape into the cassette player.

“Do I?” He doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

I nod. “More handsome, I think.”

A beat of silence. Do I look like Pamela? I don’t ask. I simply admire the toothy chuckle he replies with, watching his fingers readjust on the steering wheel before turning up the music’s volume as loud as I could without it becoming migraine inducing. I let Morrisson’s poetic lyrics drill into my head, pulling down the visor to examine myself in the mirror. Fiery ginger hair now ratted by the wind, milky white skin dusted in freckles–I think I looked like Pamela Courson. Maybe he and I were reincarnated cosmic lovers.

After running my fingers over the texture of my skin, picking at any impurities I felt, I turned back to him. He mouths along to the lyrics of Blue Sunday; maybe he was singing, but I couldn’t hear it over the music’s volume. If it weren’t so loud, you would think that it was his true voice.

I imagine him as my famous rockstar boyfriend for the rest of the ride. Instruments in the trunk, a large van with the rest of the band trailing behind us as we make way to the location of their next show. Maybe one day we too would flee to Paris; I was beginning to grow tired of driving around the Southwest, anyways. So was the truck as it rumbled once more while it rolled into the gas station parking lot, feeling as if it were going to collapse underneath us.

As I stroll through the gas station, basking in the air conditioning, I side eye out the large windows to watch him speaking to an old man with a long greying beard and shiny bald head as they examine the truck once again. The owner, I suppose. While I flip through magazines, trying to decide which one to shove into my bag, I imagine what he’s telling the old man; maybe we’re lovers on our way to Las Vegas, looking to get hitched. Maybe I’m a hitchhiker being escorted to San Francisco. Or, my true hope: he’s the frontman of a band on his way to Los Angeles. There were many excuses to choose from, I thought as I rolled up the latest edition of Vogue and buried it in my bag, but maybe the old man wouldn’t be phased by the truth.

In an area like this, deserted and surrounded by miles of dead shrubbery and exhausting heat, I believed it to be possible that he had come across two suspected killers before.

[transformers-mosaic]

Transformers: Mosaic #538 - "Lament"

Originally posted on September 3rd, 2010

Story, Script, Letters - Seb Script - HdE Art - Roy Stiffey

deviantART | Seibertron | TFW2005 | BotTalk

wada sez: This Crosscut spotlight is absolutely the funniest Mosaic I've read in ages. On deviantART, Seb said: “Well, my dictionary defines 'soliloquy' as "the act of a character speaking to himself so as to reveal his thought to the audience" (whereas 'colloquy' would be a regular conversation between 2 parties). Technically, Crosscut doesn't 'speak' here, which makes this a 'monologue' instead of 'soliloquy', but since the piece is all about big words, the latter one sounds way more 'literate' ;p”. HdE added: “With LAST STAND OF THE WRECKERS, Roche and Roberts gave us the horrors of war, musings on insanity, sacrifice, betrayal and a huge helping of death and destruction. With LAMENT, Seb and HdE give their audience... big words. And waffle. Lots of waffle. Mmm... waffles... [...] Our intention here was to put Crosscut over as being far-too-verbose and serious for his own good. But hopefully, you can still feel a pang of pity for him at the end.” See below for a mirrored version of Seb’s full commentary for the strip, originally shared to his own deviantART account, along with clean colors and even an Italian translation.

Now to explain the not-so-pure motivation behind this piece, sigh.... :) Mainly, there are two reasons:

1) I was always amazed (not always positively) by how TF fandom takes pride in (sometimes even competitive) knowledge of insanely obscure trivia, situations and characters from within the franchise. In 25+ years, said franchise has accumulated an insane number of somethings than can, depending on the case in question, be labeled as a character, "character", pitiful excuse for a "character", and pitiful excuse for a word "character". No matter, for as long as someone is "official" (appeared in some officially sanctioned part of the franchise), poor he/she/it "deserves some love", regardless of the fact that 2 minutes of someone's mental effort can result in a MUCH better "character".

This is only partly "derogatory", for I myself indulge in such things. I'm poking fun at myself as well. :D

Now, I knew this had to be pulled of with a Mosaic starring Crosscut - a (let's face it) pitiful excuse for a word "character" who appeared only on 2 panels of a Marvel TF issue from '86, the first one depicting him in a glow of energy while testing the Space bridge, the second one depicting him explode into pieces due to Bridge's faulty fuel line....but one thing had set him apart from all the others "hi-then-die" guys - he was NAMED.

So, the idea was giving that sorry li'l dude a back-story most profound, not knowing what it'll be. And it waited....

2) I had a discussion with HdE about overly serious and over-the-top writing bursting with pathos that can be seen in writing in general, and how a whole lotta NOTHING can be disguised with big, dramatic words. The talk (d)evolved into a hilarious exchange of pretentious and verbose pseudo-poetic ramblings, and thus the idea of Crosscut the Poet was born!

I compiled that pompous mumbo-jumbo, adapted it for the situation, added quite an amount of equally verbose pretentious fillers, distributed it among the panels and sent the draft to HdE. He Shakespeare-ized the ramblings even further (which I didn't think was possible, but it was!), added several additional juicy passages, and VOILA!

All the script needed was master Roy to bring this fragile beauty and innocent vulnerability to life! :)

...and here it is - a blank slate given the deepest depth imaginable. ;)

[gayasspoetry]

September blues

lately everything feels like a waste of time and I feel like I'd do anything

to make up for the time and space I waste

because I'm not who I used to be

nor am I who I want to be

or even who I am.

I find myself pretending I'm someone else

not for others

but myself

so I can feel content and confident

for a short while at least

until I'm faced with a mirror

and realize I'm not the person

that I pretend I am.

I'm tired of trying to reach out

and being faced by only excuses

of why nobody

really wants to spend time with me

only with the person

or people I pretend to be

for trust and love and attention and hope

for a better future.

I found that I've been losing myself

fading away, one day, one dream at a time

losing interest

in everything I used to love

and finding comfort in the poison of

cigarettes and black coffee

somewhere lonely

but quiet.

because I only really believed

that everything's a waste of life

so choose something fun

that puts a smile on your face

not just tears in your eyes

or fears in your mind

because I never really meant

to let them in

to stop me from reaching for the stars

to gaze at the nighttime sky

and hope.

my mind is filled with thoughts

of vows

in empty parking lots at midnight

of heavy city lights

of summer nights

of hopelessness and razorblades

and everything truly gruesome or simply

poetic.

because it's not even winter yet

and I'm already losing myself

but it doesn't

really matter at all

because the coming of summer

is just like

cleaning up a gave of my old self;

the child,

the teenager

the person I used to be.

I found that everyone has some idea

of what keeps me going

my mother thinks it's the pills

I'm supposed to take

my father thinks it's the fears

that I'm supposed to face

but really,

they don't know it's only you

that keeps me going and going on

until everything fades;

an eternity.

because it's you and me

and me and you

until the bitter end of everything you see

and all that you cannot perceive

because the world is cold and tough

but with the warmth

and comfort of having one another

we'll always, always

get through whatever we get,

together.

[skaruresonic]

Does your tribe have a written constitution? I know the Quechan tribe did since the 60s cuz I did research on them for a Landscape Arch class, but I heard it was inconsistent amongst other tribes given how destabilized things got. Still sucks how ass it is to vote for this country with the lack of poll booths and PO Boxes

If you consider wampum "written," maybe. But if you mean "written" as in pen and paper, then no.

Our laws are the laws of the Haudenosaunee, and the main law the Haudenosaunee have is the Great Law of Peace, which is orally recited every year. Last year some of my classmates went to Wisconsin to hear the Oneida recite Great Law.

That's not to say we lack all forms of documentation; many, though not all, of us carry tribal cards. They're based on the Jay Treaty which says Haudenosaunee people and First Nations people are allowed to freely cross between Canada and the US.

In addition to being an indicator of tribal enrollment, red cards should theoretically allow us to travel without forcing us to rely on US passports.

The catch, however, and what makes things annoying, is very few if any places recognize our tribal cards as valid forms of ID, even the places that arguably should, like the Rainbow Bridge between the US and Canada. Crossing into Canada is always a crapshoot because most guards don't give a shit and won't let you cross without a passport.

New York only officially recognizes Akwesasne (St. Regis) Mohawk tribal cards. They don't recognize Tuscarora tribal cards, and that's the reason I was unable to get my permit the first time I went to the DMV. It didn't count as a point of identification, and so I lacked enough points to pass qualification requirements needed to take the test.

---

Still sucks how ass it is to vote for this country with the lack of poll booths and PO Boxes

We're lucky in that we have a... semi-working mail service, but the more embarrassing issue is takeout, tbh. Sometimes restaurants will deliver to just one side of the rez but not the other. Or the delivery person will stand by their car and refuse to walk up to your porch because they binged too many true crime podcasts and think they're gonna get murdered over a pizza lmao.

Re. voting: a lot of us don't vote, which is another issue of tribal sovereignty.

People have a huge stick up their ass about not voting, and they like to wax poetic about how you're a fascist if you don't. But honestly, it's really not that simple an issue for us because we have to grapple with the very real possibility that if enough of us register to vote in US elections, it sends the federal government the message that we don't consider ourselves a sovereign and self-determining nation. That we consider them our government instead. And that could potentially give them grounds to disseminate us.

That's always a slippery slope no matter what because the government wants any excuse it can take no matter how small, but it puts a lot of onus on us to not rely on them as much as possible. As a result, we tend to neglect a lot of shit that most Americans would balk at, like discarding census requests, not getting a passport, and not voting.

My aunt chewed me out merely for registering to vote at the DMV. (Apparently Council keeps tabs on everyone who registers. As if I needed any more reason to call myself a bad Indian, lmao.)

Granted, I haven't voted since registering, but... She really laid into me over something I incidentally did while getting my permit because everyone rags on you about how you really should vote, right? So I wasn't really thinking about it and she got big mad lol.

[calronhunt]

jesus i thought you had just started production on kibby cat comic so i am blown away hearing u already have pages done you are so powerful

anyways kibby cat questions:

how much did canary's death change mariner? i imagine that he's mentally struggling with that aspect even in the current story, but his whole attitude and way of interacting with others makes it hard to tell.

also for a lighter question; what is everyone's favorite prey? is there anyone who particularly enjoys hunting?

YEAH i generally consider "production" the actual creation of the pages, while everything before that (including scripting) as pre-production. Currently there's only 6 pages done, the cover isn't done, and I might slap a tw page as well because it's kind of a lot. but i'm up to chapter 8 on the first draft of this thing. i'm pretty satisfied with chapter 1, which is why i decided i deserve a treat and started making the pages (I think i did something similar with COB before it started becoming public)

ANYWAY i'm gonna do the prey question first cause I can see myself rambling about the Mariner one.

Lain: Birds (Robins in particular)

Mariner: Fish

Condor: Rabbit (He needs something big to eat)

Crane: Vole

Warbler: Mice

Grouse: Mice

Scout: Squirrel

Wolf: She'll tell you she loves to eat bear but her favorite is salmon

and Warbler likes hunting the most! It was her favorite passtime before she was orphaned and she was very good at it! She's still trying to relearn her skills after becoming half-blind, half-deaf, and the loss of a fair amount of teeth. She's frustrated but she's determined to figure it out!

and now or the Mariner question, short answer is it changed him a lot, a lot more than he likes to think it has. longer answer is below the cut because i don't wanna put a massive post onto people's timelines lol

The longer answer is that he may wax poetic about life and how everything has to come to an end, but he's just not over Canary's death. His general calm disposition, lack of emotions, and strange way of speaking are all things he puts up to seem unbothered (and also not having much social interaction much of his life).

At the start of the story, Canary has maybe been dead for like, maximum a month. It is still entirely a fresh wound for him. and now he's been given his mate's killer to basically do whatever he wants to, and Lain has to go along with it (this isn't even touching on lain's already super submissive and obedient nature). And Mariner just, in all honesty, becomes much crueler being given this power.

Mariner multiple times throughout the story says that he doesn't like hurting people. Which he does genuinely believe with his whole heart and he almost never hurts someone physically himself in the story. He thinks it's barbaric and cruel to do that to another person, and it's different than killing prey because that's a necessity (He doesn't particularly like hanging out with Condor for his enjoyment of inflicting pain)

However, when he's confronted with the fact that he does cause pain to Lain, not just physical, he immediately grasps for an excuse.

and in his own mind, he can justify it by saying that Lain killed Canary, so messing with him in the head isn't nearly as bad as what Lain did to him, but when he has to say that out loud, he's forced to put into words that he IS still hurting someone in some way, that he IS being cruel for no reason but he wants to, and he doesn't like that. He doesn't like going against morals he's built up his whole life.

But he continues to do so because even though he says he hates it, it feels good to him to let his frustration and anger out on someone who has to take it. Who doesn't get a choice to not. He can do whatever he wants to Lain and Lain has to say "yes sir" to it.

He can hurt him, he can be nice to him, he can even try to pretend lain is Canary again when they lay down to sleep, but it's always Mariner's call. But the moment it's reflected back to him that he might, in some way, be enjoying this, he justifies it in any way he can think of. And he only really gets worse as the story continues as he realizes more and more how badly Lain NEEDS someone to tell him what to do and how to act.

Mariner's like super interesting and not a good person at all but I love him. The way his brain works is so much fun to write and especially paired with another fucked up brain guy like Lain it's a match made in hell.

[carlos-in-glasses]

I understand why this episode was hard to watch for some people and left them probably feeling pretty sour. But at the same time, I think it was purposely done to show the spiral of Carlos trying to fix *something* that really had nothing to do with TK. It wasn't a Tarlos episode and it wasn't supposed to be one. It was a Carlos reckoning with his past and coming to grips with it in the present time.

Now he's in a situation that he really cannot fix himself and I think there is something poetic about TK being the one who is coming to rescue him in this coming episode- just like the night they first met. Everything fell into place when he first saw TK, and everything will be okay when he rescues him.

I got a log or twig in my eye writing that. But there is something so beautiful about him being so LOST now and back then, and both times, TK rescues him.

I'm definitely flip-flopping over it myself. Basically, I will always wish this Carlos/Tarlos arc had been different in certain ways, and I'll always wish the line "he couldn't let go of a bad relationship" was never spoken, because it's still troubling me. But the content of the episodes are what they are and I'm happy to find things to appreciate and run with. For instance, like you say, it's not a Tarlos episode but is setting up one to come, and it's all a representation of Carlos being forced to confront the past - because he simply can't have the future he wants without doing so - even though it will nearly kill him. To me, that kind of concept is always gold, even if it's handled in a way I'm not jazzed about (I'm still in love with Tarlos). I love the idea of TK and Carlos continuing to rescue each other from literal disasters and danger, and also saving each other from loneliness and self-loathing and finding each other again, every time they get lost. Love the idea of a control freak being in a situation that feels impossible. These are all great things.

"Everything fell into place when he first saw TK, and everything will be okay when he rescues him." Urgh. Excuse me while I bawl.

[tryhardgwen]

rs archive 03/11/2024:

hiii i love listening to you talk (well, read it really). your take and interpretation of gumakeria is amazing. like the way you write their dynamics>>>> something about their unending love and devotion, i love it so much like--- so pls talk more about them AHHAHA i would like to hear more of you views and takes on them, yap more to me pls

UM ??? 🥹anon u r literally the sweetest. thank you so much for this submit??? all i ever wanted with my retrospring was an excuse to yap and you just gave it to me ily. and gumakeria literally runs my whole world. LET THE YAPPING COMMENCE!

so first things first i gotta talk about my gumakeria music. my main artists are between friends (duh), the neighbourhood (wiped out!), niki (moonchild), taylor swift, del water gap. i can find them everywhere. something in the water, we could be so electric, ditto, self-destruct, the beach, cruel summer, WEST COAST, so it goes, ode to a conversation stuck in my throat, SHUT UP MY MOMS CALLING, die for you, alma, eyes on my baby, collide. i will not stfu. i could easily give you a lyric analysis of any song (actually i lied i cant with some songs bc its just the vibe yk?) but ill spare you.

OK so the thing about gumakeria is like. theyre an obvious pairing. yes, everyone ships botlanes together. its a pandemic. the govt assigned ships are taking over. but. BUT. they are so much more than a govt assigned ship okay??? THEY MAKE SENSE. they are so devoted and so soulmates and just so !!!!!! i fell so hard for them and then couldnt get back up. the way gumayusi is so outwradly/openly affectionate while keria is more silently supportive. their parallels in game with their personalities is so insane and interesting actually. because yeah, the adc is the center of attention. guma shines and keria, well, supports. same with their personalities, guma is open and keria is quieter. guma praises and waxes poetic about keria all the time while keria is... quieter. but despite the traditional lane roles, whats also interesting is the rise of keria being the star of the t1 botlane (what with his picks and insane talent) rather than guma. contrast this with the rise of more keria-pov gumakeria fanfic...??? (bear with me i have a point, i swear.)

so, yeah. there are less canon-compliant fics in gumas pov. more in keria pov. why is that? im just speculating, of course, bc like. myself included... i mostly write keria pov! the thing is, because keria is "quieter" and less overt i think people are drawn to him so they can figure out whats underneath the surface and write that. its easier to find, in a way, because hes quieter and mysterious, /ofc/ hes going to be more emotive in that way. and like, yeah, guma is overt and bright. so much so that, oftentimes, its harder to look underneath the surface. he's the sun, yeah? bright and brilliant and glaring. it hurts to look at the sun. keria is covert, and "softer" and easier to look at in that way. you can spot his ulterior motives faster. hes greedy, hes desperate, hes cruel (im using all these adjectives artistically, bear with me). with guma, hes already so OPEN you're tricked into thinking he doesnt have any ulterior motives. everything is already out in the air, right? NO. HE HAS ULTERIOR MOTIVES TOO BUT NO ONE EVER NOTICESSS. HE WILL STRAIGHT OUT FUCKIGN SAY THEM AND NO ONE BATS AN EYE OR THINKS TO LOOK A LITTLE CLOSER BECAUSE HES SO UPFRONT ABOUT IT. he wants this he wants that—noone truly knows or cares to find out how MUCH he wants it. hes also greedy and hungry and never satisfied. hes also emotive and desperate and--guma has so many layers that he hides. theyre the same like that, you get what i mean? and keria is the one person that sees guma for who he really is, and vice versa. theyre each others sanctuary; their escapes. gumakeria are the same but in different fonts. theyre equally devoted, and show it in their own ways. it truly is a push and pull. (i really need to write more guma-pov non-au gumakerias)

one thing that lowk pisses me off is the assumption of gumakerias dynamic being a sun and moon dynamic. theyre not. like, if you want to get superficial about it, they are, sure, aesthetically and when it comes to the "common pairing." but if you look deeper and try to find more meaning like i inevitably will bc im like that, you'll see theyre not the sun and the moon. theyre the sun and the stars (in the case of celestial bodies, and in the case of bodies of nature, theyre the sun and the sea). im not just saying sun and stars to be dIFfEREnt here. keria has always been a starboy to me, not a moonboy (oner is quite literally a moonboy lmao). so it sort of frustrates me. heres a line from one of my wips using sun/star motifs for guke: “The sun is a star, and I am yours.” (spoken by guma). THE SUN IS A STAR. and THAT IS THE FUCKING POINT. THAT IS EXACTLY THE POINT. the thing about the sun and the moon is that the moon reflects off the sun's light. the stars? the stars are the sun. the stars burn by themselves. THE SUN IS A MOTHERFUCKING STAR. gumakeria are both luminous and incandescent and theyre burning. they are both burning with want. guma is more overt, sure. keria is subtler. what he lacks for in mass, he makes up with quantity. they are the same, and that is the point. in my last retrospring submit, i called them two forces of nature, and that is exactly what they are. they collide and it's like two binary stars coalescing into one. its got the impact of a supernova, and its hot and bright, and... thats them, you know? that's gumakeria.

and you can translate their dynamic into so many things. so many aus, so many versions of them, so many... them. one sided, or reciprocated. them fighting for each other. someone struggling, one being so desperate. one being stable. one being fleeting. at the end, its just them. theyre so strong both romantically and platonically because of how much they get each other. like, do we even need to specify? its all and its both and its everything. they are everything.

part of what draws me to gumakeria is... well, that. theyre twin souls. they are so in tune with each other. they get each other. they are virtually the same, and see each other as that. its two people that want and are hungry and who will never get enough. keria is never satisfied: have we ever stopped to think if guma is? the thing is, the thing the two are satisfied with is one another. it will be them, forever. they are just bound. they are just together. i think they see each other like no other. and its their personalities and their ways of showing love and their selfishness and their wanting and their dynamic that just kills me. they have that surface layer of fluff and cuteness and govt assigned ship, just like guma has his surface, and how their dynamic has the surface of sun and moon. but underneath they are so perfect and introspective and moody and ITS FUCKING RIDICULOUS, HOW MUCH THEY LIVE IN MY BRAIN. how can someone be so in tune to someone else's emotions?? how can that happen? how are they so similar yet so different? theyre each others' grounding force. guma's the stability, sure, but hes nothing without the stability of keria and vice versa. they play that role for each other. they play all the roles for each other. they are vulnerable and emotive and there for each other. and, thinking back in rookie years, they grew with each other. theyre so strong and they have almost... unwritten history. theres just so much about them that i will constantly be in awe of. or, well. theres so much my mind builds. i have a whole palace of gumakeria floating in my head, and im finding so many nooks and crannies every time i look.

so! i hope you enjoyed my yap. ily, and thank you for reading :> gumakeria soulmatism! that is all.

[z-h-i-e]

#5 for the fanfic asks 💚

5. Which WIP is first on your list to complete this year? Will you post a snippet?

I do not know if I will complete it, but I really want to finish Phoenix because that is kind of the end of the tales about the quintet at the Cottage of Lost Play (Maedhros, Fingon, Erestor, Glorfindel, Gildor) and is the real beginning of the next group of tales, which focus on Finrod.

I have supplied a (rather long) snippet of Phoenix. This section is from a point where Finya (Fingon) is getting acclimated to being in in-patient therapy, and has learned that Maedhros voluntarily checked himself in to deal with his alcoholism, PTSD, etc. etc. This is a scene where they go to a poetry circle together, one of the therapy options offered at the House of the Hundred Chimneys.

Two days later, Finya was sitting straight in a chair on the courtyard. There were a dozen other chairs in a circle, but no one else had shown up. She looked in the direction of the sundial, which expressed that either she was there on the wrong day, or everyone else was running late. It took a few minutes more before the next participant arrived, but the slow trickle after made Finya relax a little. It was not until the person who identified as the healer who was leading the group began to start that Finya felt panic. Maedhros was nowhere to be seen, and all of the chairs were filled.

Just as Finya was starting to feel like she should excuse herself, she felt hands on her shoulders. Strong, familiar hands, filled with warmth and desire, and things those around them could not perceive. “I think they did not realize you were joining us this week and forgot to add an extra chair,” he whispered.

“I can leave; I—”

“Shhh…no, darling. I can sit right here.” Maedhros sat upon the ground, and with his height, his head came to Finya’s shoulder. “This works for me. Does it work for you?”

Finya smiled and nodded.

“—and welcome to our new member. No need to stand up, my love, I am sure you have been told already that we are low pressure here. No one has to say or do anything they are not comfortable doing. Or saying. I remember how things were for me when I was here, sitting in one of those chairs. I remember how much I enjoyed the time I spent with my poetic sisters and brothers, and how I knew what my calling was. Yes, I was here like all of you are now, and I embraced my learning here, and I knew I was meant to come back and be here. I can feel my soul is bound to this place. Whether you write poetry while you are here, or just listen, is your choice. It is what works for you.”

As the healer was speaking, Maedhros had discretely taken hold of one of Finya’s hands and was massaging each finger individually. The healer removed something from a box on her lap and held it up.

“Now, I want to talk today about finding your method. Many people speak their poetry, minstrels and bards, and they memorize what they are going to say and recite it over and over. There are those who are poets and poetesses who write down what they compose and share it in books and on scrolls. As you can see here, I have this beautiful leaf. I found it the other day while walking. Actually, I found several leaves, and I picked them up and laid them out on my table to dry, but only this one survived. So I wrote a poem on it. Now, this is an early poem I wrote—something I wrote while I was here, years ago.” She held it up and showed them how she had painted the poetry on the leaf. “Would you like to hear it?”

There were several nods, and she began to read.

“Some days I feel myself—oh. No. I messed that up already. Let me start again.” She laughed merrily. “Maybe that can be one of our prompts! Start a poem with ‘Some days I feel’. Or, ‘Some days I feel myself’. I have more prompts for later. Do we want to hear this one? Yes. Here we go ahead. Wish me luck.” This time, she read the entirety of her leaf poem:

Some days I find myself

Some days I lose my mind

Some days I blind myself

Some days I leave it all behind

I have resigned myself 

To be just me

I have defined myself

To just be free

Some days I find myself

Some days I lose my mind

Some days I blind myself

Some days I leave it all behind

“I remember when I wrote this, I was feeling lost and secluded. I wanted to go home, but I also did not want to go home because home was where my parents were, and they did not understand me. They sent me here—but you know, it was the best thing for me. Truly. I found my calling here. I want us to think about, what are some of the feelings you have had when writing poetry. How do you feel when you think about writing poems? Are you happy to have that time? Does it cause stress? Again, we only speak what we are comfortable sharing. Yes, Maedhros,” she said, and Finya turned to see that Maedhros had his arm raised.

“It makes me feel safe. I think about my parents, who had all sorts of little poems. Even just nonsense bits. When I hear poetry, I feel very warm and happy. If someone tells me I need to write poetry, I freeze up. But on my own, sometimes I come up with things. I hate the pressure,” said Maedhros.

“That is an excellent share! Thank you, Maedhros!” The healer called on a handful of others before coming to the next question. “How often do you feel unmotivated or undermotivated to write poetry? Does it happen often? Occasionally? Always? Never? What inspires you to write more? Positivity, yes? Sometimes it is difficult to find someone to offer support. Maybe our friends do not write poetry. Maybe they do not like the type of poetry we write. But we do have each other. So how can we support each other? And how can we do it without taking too much from ourselves? We all want to be able to tell everyone, yes, I will read your entire new collection, or yes, I will come to your poetry reading, but there are times we just do not have the ability to do that. What can we do?”

A hand went up, and the resident said, “We can offer encouragement. Even if we cannot take the time to read, but to encourage and let someone know they are doing a good job.”

“Very good. Yes, if we can manage that positivity, go for it! Very good! What if we are just, so tired. It was a hard week. Your friend is reading a new poem tonight at the recital. How do you handle that?”

There was a lot of silence. Tentatively, Maedhros raised his hand.

“Yes, go ahead!” encouraged the healer.

“What if you told others about the event? Maybe try to get people there, or maybe if you cannot go to that person, a written note could be sent or left for them to offer encouragement,” he said.

“Fantastic! That is a brilliant idea,” said the healer. “Now, let us talk about this poem,” she said, holding up the leaf again. “Not the words, but what the words are written upon. I find that pairing the poetry with something else, something tactile, works well for me.”

Several more questions were asked, and the healer in charge offered prompts for next time. Besides the poem that was read by the healer, no one else spoke up to share anything, but this did not seem to bother anyone. Before she left, Finya was given a blank journal and some nubs of charcoal by the healer to write notes, poems, or any other words that felt they should live in the journal. “How long have you been coming to these poetry circles?” asked Finya.

“From the moment they were suggested. I have been filling up my day with as many activities as I can find,” Maedhros said. “It keeps my mind off of the lack of alcohol.”

“You do not have anything to smoke, either,” realized Finya.

“Noooo… I have not determined which one is the worse option—no booze or no tobacco leaf. I thought I was going to go through the same withdrawals as the last time, but the first morning when I was getting twitchy, my healer came in with breakfast and talked through the options for the day. That was also when I found out no one wanted to share a room with me. I was given a list of the activities, and I lined up as many as I could. Midweek, poetry circle. Choir at the beginning and end of the week. Group discussions most of the other days. I am learning how to weave baskets. I have joked with Gildor about that. He likes baskets, and the money we spend on buying baskets is ridiculous, or it was when we were on the mainland. Now, I can make the baskets for him.”

“You are really using your time wisely. I know someone told me about the groups, but I declined all of them,” admitted Finya.

“Why?”

Finya shrugged. “I guess I did not want anyone to…look at me. I do not even want to look at me. I certainly do not want to look at me when I am naked.”

“I would hope there would not be a lot of people looking to encounter you while you are naked,” said Maedhros.

“What I mean is, I have had a lot of bad days. I get up, I look in the mirror, things do not seem quite so bad, and then I go and bathe and I see what I look like under my clothing, and it is not something I want to see,” said Finya.

“Maybe I can give you my schedule next week when we are at the poetry circle,” said Maedhros hastily, for they were only a few steps from the main doors and would separate into their designated wings of the house. “I think you would enjoy the choir. You have a lovely voice, and I would love to sing a duet with you if they give us the opportunity.”

“I would like that,” said Finya. “It was really good to see you today.”

“It was good to see you today, too.” They sneaked a squeeze of their hands before they both went down different hallways to their assigned rooms.

[reads4hotch]

HOW AM I STILL ALIVE AFTER READING THIS??? I HAVE NO FREACKING IDEA!!!! I S2G I ALMOST PASSED OUT OF PURE ECSTASY!!!!! *drooling* i mean, i knew this was hot but damn! the only thing is, this fic took away my hope of doing this kind of thing irl just because i know i would give in so fast and easily!! hahahaha

nsfw ahead

LET'S START WITH THE WAY YOU PERFECTLY DESCRIBE THE EMOTIONS AND SITUATION!! and oh gosh, the words you used were so good i was drooling, completely immersed in the story!

This was precisely how he wanted you, vulnerable and hyperaware, completely at his mercy.

the way i want to be like this for him *screams* entirely at his mercy!!!!!

his thrill – this cursed amalgamation of agony and ecstasy – made you feel more alive than ever before.

screaming and crying because i felt everything and yet i craved for more!! also woooowwww, how fucking poetic!!

Will fully be himself, holding nothing back from you; The man Hannibal helped set free.

my baby please, i loved this so much, he deserves this!! *screaming and crying like a posessed being*

He was more than fine with sharing you with Hannibal – you were both of theirs, after all

fucking DROOLING!! I WANNA BE THEIRS SO BAD I WANT TO CRY!!!!

“What do we have here?”

screaming, fucking screaming here!! i had fucking goosebumps all over because... *drooling* it is magical the way you make everything so easy to enjoy!!

getting closer and closer and closer

my pussy was literally clenching around nothing while reading this, THE ANTICIPATION!!!! god it made me so horny i need help

Will began tearing at your t-shirt, ripping it apart with frantic hands.

laughing like a maniac because omg i want him to do this to me so bad!!! AND OH GOD, THE KNIFE??? I HATE YOU FOR MAKING THIS SO HOT!!! i am literally on fire, my pussy is on fucking fire, ugh

“Oh, we’ll see just how long you’ll last now.”

another reminder that i would definitely not last, not even 5 seconds. your dirty talk is so good i am jealous my friendddd

“You’re fucking mine, do you understand!? You belong to me.”

the way i was screaming "yes yes yes" in my mind, this should be a sin

“And now, I’m going to claim what’s mine.”

*se desmaya* ALV ALV ALV god please i need this so bad i am going to cry

Of course, you wanted him – my God, you were absolutely ravenous for him –

you are so real for this.

Once more, he branded you, his essence entwining with yours.

i am more depressed than ever because i don't think anything could be hotter than this pls, i wanna tattoed this on my pussy

such sweet agony

crying, just crying. this was so hot, my life has been changed forever.

darling mine

diooosssssss por favor por favor por favor necesito que will me diga esto, lo necesito en mi vida demasiado!!!!

if you excuse me, i need to go take care of myself now because i am incredibly wet and desperate

i hate u c:

He Who Hunts These Woods (18+ ONLY)

Will Graham x Fem!Reader

Also on AO3

Summary: You and Will decide to get a little experimental, and he chases you through the woods surrounding his cabin.

WC: 2.4k words

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY), Primal play, predator/prey, cnc-ish, cursing, some knifeplay, p in v, biting, fingering, unprotected sex (don't try at home), DARK stuff ig, lmk if anything else!

Special tag for @glitchedpup :> mwahaha

-----

A sudden noise made you stop in your tracks, clicking your flashlight off. You listened for a few heartbeats, head cocked to the side like an animal’s.

Your breath was deep but labored as you tried to stifle the panic running hot throughout your body. You knew you were being followed, but that certainly did nothing to soothe you.

The forest's darkness was almost impenetrable, like a living entity. Every cracking branch or rustling foliage made you jump, your heart rate skyrocketing each time. You weren’t sure how long you had been at this, time seemingly inexistent in this place. Especially when adrenaline had a firm grip on you, waxing and waning like liquid flame in your veins.

Though you considered yourself to be pretty open-minded, a part of you was beginning to regret agreeing to this. Mostly because you were getting tired and antsy, half wishing you’d opted to ride him on the couch back at his cabin, instead of running around.

But there was something about the fear, the anticipation, that wasn’t entirely torturous. Especially since you were well aware of who was hunting you.

Will had been kind enough to give you a head start at the beginning of all this. He knew these woods like the back of his hand, so he definitely could find you with ease. But where was the excitement in that?

This was precisely how he wanted you, vulnerable and hyperaware, completely at his mercy. All you had to do was surrender to your fate… Which you knew you would, but not just yet. This thrill – this cursed amalgamation of agony and ecstasy – made you feel more alive than ever before. And you were greedy, yes, for you wanted to feel this way as long as you could.

When the coast seemed to be clear, you clicked your flashlight back on, if only to gather your bearings. You had to be pretty sparse with it, given that you’d be much easier to spot if you left it on at all times. There’d been a couple of moments where you felt you were being watched, the heavy gaze like a smoldering caress on your skin.

You were lucky that Will was such a patient man, laser-focused in his pursuit of something he wanted. He was the perfect hunter, relentless, cunning, hungry. You thought of his teeth on your neck, his tongue right on your frantic pulse. Might he be merciful and swift? Or would he savor it, biding his time?

You shivered at the possibilities, goosebumps running down your arms. This was the kind of play that you two had been floating back and forth for some time. It was interesting – but sort of odd – in theory, but it was an awakening in practice. It let Will fully be himself, holding nothing back from you; The man Hannibal helped set free.

The two of you had discussed boundaries and safewords beforehand, but you trusted him fully. If it were with anybody else – except for Hannibal, of course – you would never have agreed to go through with it at all.

You moved hastily but carefully, keeping your arms out to keep yourself from running into things. Amidst the trees, he watched you stumble about, smirking to himself. He was hot on your heels, had been for a while now, but not yet he told himself.

A myriad of thoughts ran through Will’s mind – how he wanted to taste you, what sounds he wanted to elicit from you, the feel of the firm press of his body against yours. He felt like a madman when it came to you; A hunger that could never be sated.

He was more than fine with sharing you with Hannibal – you were both of theirs, after all – but he cherished these moments in which he had you all to himself. You saw him for who he was, too, and you embraced him. He never felt like he was being judged or that he had to hide from you.

He continued trailing you down to a small stream, the soft gurgling of the water filling your ears. You squatted near the edge, needing a break – and perhaps rending yourself totally vulnerable.

You splashed some water on your face, washing off the thin sheen of sweat that dotted your brow and the bridge of your nose. A figure of pure darkness emerged soundlessly from the trees behind you. An awareness spread throughout your body in the shape of goosebumps, and you suppressed a shiver.

“What do we have here?” Will’s voice was like smoke and velvet, a blessing and a curse all at once.

You stiffened, trying not to jump out of your own skin. Your heart was jackhammering against your ribcage painfully, and you knew you had only a few precious seconds to react. It was up to you how the rest of this night would unfold, after all.

You heard the crunch of leaves as he took a step closer, and that made you spring into action. You ran, legs pumping as hard as they could, muscles burning. Dodging obstacles was much harder, especially when you could barely even focus on where you stepped. You heard him chasing after you, getting closer and closer and closer. You whimpered, near delirious with the adrenaline.

Then, your foot caught on an overgrown branch and you stumbled, the world blurring at the edges. You threw your arms out, bracing against a tree to break your fall. You were panting heavily, your head spinning, and Will stopped mere inches away from you. Of course, you’d never be able to escape him, he was much faster than you. He clicked his tongue, barely breathing hard from the run. 

“It must not be your lucky day,” he said. “But it certainly is mine.”

“Please.” You breathed, falling easily into the role of prey.

You felt his warmth at your back as he stepped even closer, and you resisted the urge to push your ass back against him, wanting to see what he would do first.

“What is it, darling?” he purred, tucking an errant strand of your hair behind your ear. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

You wanted to shake your head, to try to be defiant, but there was something about his demeanor that gave you pause. Instead, all you could say was, “Have mercy.”

He chuckled darkly, and you felt his breath against your neck. “And if I don’t? What will you do, hmm?”

That was when you did fight back, jerking against him. He was momentarily taken aback, and you’d barely managed to escape his grasp before he roughly pulled you back to him. The two of you wrestled for dominance as his arms snaked around you tightly.

“Oh yeah? You want to play rough?” He snarled, one of his hands going to your neck, pinning you further. “I’ll show you rough.”

You thrashed and attempted to kick, but your strength was quickly waning. It was no use; He was much stronger than you as well. Did you even have another choice but to give in?

It was already hard not to, seeing how your body reacted to him. You felt so close to igniting– him being the flame to your kerosene. He knew this too, and he planned to use it in his favor.

Will began tearing at your t-shirt, ripping it apart with frantic hands. When he brought out his hunting knife, you stopped moving, watching instead as he sawed at your bra. Both garments fell to the ground unceremoniously, and the crisp night air nipped at your exposed flesh, making you shiver.

“You knew what would happen when I caught you, didn’t you?” He taunted, holding his knife over your neck – lightly of course, but just enough to make things interesting – and groping your breasts roughly. When he pinched one of your aching nipples, you couldn’t help the loud mewl that escaped your lips. “Or did you think you could outsmart me? Surely, you’re not that naïve.”

“I lasted… a while… did I not?” You said slowly, faking bravado despite the fact you were afraid the blade might nick your throat.

He chuckled once more, amused at your stubbornness. “Oh, we’ll see just how long you’ll last now.”

He withdrew the knife and wrestled you to the ground, even as you tried hard to keep your footing. His knee connected with the back of yours, and you fell forward on all fours, the breath momentarily knocked out of you. But you still had some fight in you, so you tried to scramble forward, but he was on you in a flash, pinning your legs between his.

“Please…” You rasped, nails scratching at the dirt. “Let me go.”

“Never,” He growled, leaning forward and biting your shoulder hard enough to make you cry out. “You’re fucking mine, do you understand!? You belong to me.”

There was a desperate heat pooling in your lower abdomen, and you squirmed pathetically against his firm grip. He licked at your shoulder, chasing away the sting, before moving to rake his teeth once more against the side of your throat. Your eyes screwed shut, and you held your breath to keep yourself from moaning.

“Say it,” he breathed in your ear, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, sure to leave bruises. “Say you’re mine.”

“Y-yours…” You whispered, barely able to find your voice.

“What’s that? I can’t hear you,” He urged, pulling you back and grinding his clothed erection against you. “Louder.”

You hesitated, debating whether to continue being a little bratty. But before you could decide, Will yanked your pants and underwear down in one rough, quick motion– fully baring you to the night. The next moment, his hand came down on your ass once, twice, three times, the strikes swift but savage. You shrieked with each one, but despite the pain, you found yourself clenching around nothing.

“I’m yours!” You cried out. “All yours.”

“There’s a good girl. Scream all you want, sweetness, no one’s around to hear it.” He cooed, cruelly saccharine. “And now, I’m going to claim what’s mine.”

He pushed your head to the ground, keeping it there with one hand. Your cheek was pressed against a bed of damp leaves, back not so gracefully arched and ass still in the air. You heard the clink of his belt being undone, and the rustle of clothes as he pushed down his own pants.

Then his fingers went to your pussy, spreading it for his own appraisal. You could hear the lewd sounds of your arousal as he continued exploring, circling your clit torturously slow – Just the way you liked to be teased. Involuntarily, you pushed your hips back, seeking more friction. He tsked in disapproval, withdrawing his fingers a little.

“Eager thing. Does the idea of me claiming you excite you?” He said.

Your body tensed as two of his fingers sank into the molten heat of your cunt, and he hummed in utter delight. “My, my…And you’re absolutely soaked. I thought you wanted me to let you go?”

Your face and neck flushed deeply with shame. Of course, you wanted him – my God, you were absolutely ravenous for him – but he seemed to be using this desire against you. To show you just how easily he could get you to yield.

He pumped his fingers in and out of you, but just when he was getting to a steady rhythm, he pulled them out. You grit your teeth in frustration, but did not make a sound beyond your hissing breath.

“You know what I think? I think you never wanted mercy at all. You wanted to be ravaged,” he said, shifting his body to line the head of his cock with your entrance, barely pushing in. “And I’m more than happy to oblige.”

Without warning, Will fully slammed into you, your body rocking forward.

“Oh fuck!” You wailed, attempting to brace yourself, an electric jolt racing through your veins.

“Keep your head down.” He growled, his hands gripping your hips once more.

His strokes were hard and fast– perhaps punishing you for running away. His hips slapped against yours loudly, your unrestrained moans fueling him on. He felt impossibly deep at that angle, like he was literally rearranging your insides, leaving his imprint on you.

“Oh, you take me so well, don’t you?” He praised, and you felt pride swell in your chest. “Say it again: Who do you belong to?”

“I-I’m yours!” You managed between whimpers. “All yours!”

He momentarily stopped only to pull you up, your back pressed against his chest. One of his hands trailed up your front, pawing at one of your breasts, while the other snaked down to your clit. His relentless rhythm resumed soon enough, deft fingers stroking your clit up and down, up and down. Your back arched, eyes rolling to the back of your head, but he held you close.

He nibbled on your earlobe, and you were putty in his hands. Your cunt was clenching him hard, and he knew you were right there. “That’s it, good girl. Come all over my cock.”

And as he shifted his hips slightly, you tumbled into oblivion, nothing existing outside of the rolling waves of pleasure washing over you. Your mind went fully blank for a moment, your body’s singing overpowering it. His name left your lips like a prayer for salvation, over and over again – Will, Will, Will….

Not a moment later, you heard his growl in your ear, felt the heat that suddenly flooded your cunt. Once more, he branded you, his essence entwining with yours. Once more he made sure that you understood that nobody – except maybe Hannibal – could give you such pleasure, such sweet agony. Not that you needed convincing, but you weren’t about to refuse it either.

The two of you were breathing hard as you came down from your mind-numbing orgasms. Immediately, Will regained himself, and he set out to comfort you. He kissed your shoulders, your neck, your temple, making sure you understood how much you meant to him.

“Was I too rough, darling mine?” He asked, stroking your arms soothingly as he unsheathed himself from you, leaving you achingly empty.

He took his jacket off, draping it over your shoulders, and pulled you back into a comfortable embrace. Nothing had ever felt more like home – the scent of his sweat-slick skin, musky and earthy, the fit of his frame around yours. It was almost narcotic, the way he made you feel.

There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him.

“No, my love,” You sighed dreamily, nuzzling him, and kissing his jaw. “You were absolutely perfect.”

And no words had ever rang more true.

---------

[doubledgesword-2]

Hello lovely! How pe you’re having a nice weekend!💕

I saw that your requests are open and I was wondering if I could request a head cannon or Drabble of adult trip with a blind darling??

Hope you have a nice day!💕✨

Aww yeeesh! I did have a lovely day and a nice weekend, thank you so much! Here's your nice cup of Rose tea hon, enjoy it!

WARNING TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF AND A LIL BIT OF OOC! ENJOY!

Chrollo

Whether you were born like this or you had an accident that took your sight, it doesn't matter; Chrollo would do everything for you.

And when I say everything, I mean every little thing, from guiding you around the room to bathing you or showering with you to help. 

"Chrollo, I can do it; you don't have to worry" you chuckle nervously as his hand gently scrub your arm; you feel his fingers gently rub the soap on your shoulder, and you're hoping he can't see you blush. 

"Hush, dear, and let me love you" he kisses your shoulder, and you shudder at the feeling of his warm lips against your skin. 

When you casually ask how the clouds look like or what color is the ocean, or what color are the trees this time of the year, his eyes tear up a bit. He looks at you with a drunk love look and a warm smile.

 You're so perfect for him, because him being a romantic, this is the perfect time to be poetic. 

He will find an object that's very soft and very fluffy in texture; his hand will take yours and slowly drag it through the material so you can feel every single fiber of it. 

"That's how clouds are like, love. This time of year, the trees are red, and that's like cinnamon, and the ocean is blue, and aqua and those are like salty blueberries." 

"Ewww!" You laughed, and he chuckled, still holding your hand in his. This moment was a real treasure for him.  

"May I see how You look like?" He immediately tears up. This boi is low key the most sentimental in situations like these ones. He can't help but be overwhelmed. Sure he's a thief, but he's a humble one, albeit unfair on occasions but never with you. 

Chrollo takes your hands and places them on his cheek. Your fingers feel so soft on his skin, almost like you're afraid to damage him. They glide over his nose, feeling how it arches, over his eyebrows and his eyelids. 

Then they pass over the cross on his forehead into his hair, caressing it until your arms are looped around his neck and you hug him close, your ear on his chest listening to his racing heartbeat. 

"You have a strong heart" You can't see how his cheeks are tinted pink or how his breathing has picked up because, dammit, you're amazing at getting these kinds of reactions out of him. 

He will read to you, even though you have learned Braille. He wants you to be drunk on his voice and the passionate way he makes the story's impressions. 

No one, and I mean no one, is allowed to begin a demeaning sentence towards you or some comment about your blindness that makes you uncomfortable. He will shut them up with one look and the flare of his aura.  

When you guys go out, he insists on guiding you even though sometimes you have held him back before a car could run him over because he was too focused on taking care of you. He didn't see the vehicle coming. Ironic. 

"That was a close one, don't you think?" He kissed the crown of your head, holding you close as the two of you kept walking to your destination. "Now, do you believe I can take care of myself?"

"We'll see," he chuckles. 

Illumi 

Your encounter with Illumi is always a tale to tell. 

You see, you were at a coffee shop, drinking your favorite drink and eating a nice treat/pastry when he passed you by dropping one of his pins in the process. He had been so tired and beat that he didn't even notice. First one right there. 

"Excuse me, sir," You bend over and felt for the big round top of the pin until your fingers grasped it and held it tight, minding the other pointy side. "You dropped this" Illumi doesn't say anything in acknowledgment. He simply extends his hand to you. 

But you are not giving him the pin, and this annoys him so much. Then his eyes look up to yours. They are blueish but glazed over and almost white. You're blind. Illumi reaches for your hand, startling you for a quick second, but he picks the pin and lets go. 

"Is this seat taken?" He asks suddenly, and you smile towards his voice.

"Go right ahead." 

That day Illumi was so intrigued by you that he couldn't help but stalk you a bit, you know, for research purposes in case he ever finds an opponent like you. 

But it turns into so much more.

 He meets you every day he can, no matter where he goes with you. He makes no effort to help you, though, and don't expect him to do so. He appreciates you too much, and in his mind, you're like a wild cardinal, and if he were to help you, it's like putting you in a cage. Once he lets you free again, you won't know how to survive on your own. 

He wants you free. He loves you free. 

But that doesn't mean he won't be there for you or step in when circumstances are far too grave for you to handle. 

"Llumi, how does the sky look today?" 

"Gray. It's going to rain" his response makes you chuckle; you have never seen gray, but his honesty makes you smile. You outgrew your frustrations about this situation a long time ago. 

"Can we stay to feel the rain? I want to smell the petrichor once it's over" Illumi looks at you with the same expression he gives everyone. He knows you might catch a cold standing in the rain; he doesn't understand why all you said would be relevant. But then he reminds himself, he has taken for granted all of these things because he can see them. 

"Only a couple of minutes once its starts. If it gets bad, we'll go inside. You can smell the petrichor afterward" he holds your hand, and you two sit there on the park bench. 

Illumi doesn't get cuddly or lovey-dovey with you. Still, he will allow himself moments where he can't help but admire you and be grateful for having you in his life. He will never say that. Ever. But he'll think it.

One time he entered your apartment and found you sitting on the rug in the living room, reading Braile. 

"Illumi is so nice to hear you today. How was your day?" He's always impressed by your ability to sense him. When he asked once how you could recognize him if he was so quiet, you said you could feel his presence in the room since it was calming to you even when he tried to conceal himself. This melted his heart. 

"What are you reading" He came to sit on the sofa, his legs brushing your arms like a loving gesture. Your hand grabbed his leg, squeezing him in recognition, and then went back to the book. 

"Would you like me to read it to you?"

"Yes," It was a lovely evening that day. 

Just like Chrollo, he's very protective of you since his line work makes him kind of famous, some people are bound to have seen you and try to get to you to get to him, and this is where Illumi draws the line. 

Rest assured, no one will touch a single hair on your head if he has his way. The beginning of his bloodlust alone is enough to make everyone panic and turn away.

"Illumi, hon is alright, I'm here, I'm right here. Look at me" you would open the curtain of his luscious hair to hold his face and make him look at you. "I'm fine, see?" 

"They are not worth it," he says after holding you close to him. He'll kill them later. 

Hisoka 

This little shit will always be a little shit, in this case, a loving and understanding one, but still, the point remains. 

You bumped into him on the streets, and the minute it happened, it annoyed him so much. He was in the process of turning and giving you your dues when he noticed you had actually stopped and been grabbing his wrist. 

"I apologize, I'm so sorry" you're not looking at him, and that annoys him even further. 

That's until he notices your vacant look and your body language. You may not be looking at him, but your whole body is poised to listen. Listen to him. 

"Are you blind?" He blurts out but not really; his smirk says it was intentional.

"All my life, sir," you chuckle, letting his wrist go and leaning a bit on your white cane. 

This makes him giggle, and he invites you for a coffee if you're available.

The rest after that marks your relationship. 

Hisoka behaves like a child whenever he's around you. He hides his presence to try and scare you, but you can always sense him. You can even imagine him pouting as you find him and poke him with your cane. 

"Not fair, little fruit." 

"You smell like bubble gum, hon," you chuckle, bringing him down to kiss his cheek. 

He holds you close and loves when you let yourself go and depend on him a little.

 Lke him cooking for you, doing some chores around the house (He doesn't have to, and you tell him that, but he just says you'll have to reward him later), and the two of you baking together—with him covering you in flour as much as he can without you noticing.

"Soka, I know my cheeks and forehead are white; you are a terrible boyfriend, love."

"Mmmmm, so mean, (Y/N)-chan" He kissed you as he puts more flour on your nose. 

Hisoka knows he has to leave for extended periods since he can't stay put in one place plus his job. But will always call you and answer your phone calls no matter if he's fighting with someone at the moment.

 "My precious darling, I *grunts* I'm in the middle of breaking someone's arm at the moment *huffs* can I call you later, love?" You cringe at the sound of the bone-breaking over the phone but chuckle slightly at his antics.

"Yes, you can, Be safe" oh, oh, oh he loves your concern for him. It just makes him moan obscenely in the middle of the fight, making his opponent disgruntled and allowing him to finish them off.

"On second thought, dear, we can talk right now. I'm currently free." 

He will bring you stuff from his travels and jobs, all with different textures and pleasant smells so you can experience them. 

Now this, this is the moment of truth. While you're distracted touching everything he brought, he takes away his texture surprise. Suddenly he lifts your hand to touch his hair, then his face and arms. 

"How does this one feels, mmm?" He hides the fact that he's nervous by being playful, but you can feel him being stiff. 

"It feels soft," then your fingers gingerly brush a big scar over his chest "it feels like no matter what, I love you. Like you can trust me with each one of these" 

He won't admit it, but it's nice that you can't tease him for his blushing cheeks and aghast expression. But he chuckles to alleviate the lump in his throat as he takes your hands in his and pulls you in for a hug. 

When the two of you go out, he's always holding your hand, or you're holding his arm. He has convinced you to not use your white cane while walking with him. He'll be your eyes. 

The moment someone bumps into you…

"Hey, watch where you're going, woman!" 

"Oh, so, so sorry, sir," you apologize, and Hisoka is smiling at the man. 

"Yeah, you better be" 

"Little fruit, do you want to know how fluttering butterflies feel?" As he says so, your face is tickled by a lot of fluttering little wings, and the experience mutes the man's screaming as he Hisoka gently drags you away. 

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Just Ask

Prompts: Hey… So, I was wondering if you could write a fic where one of the sides are dyslexic? Since that usually just ends as "Oh, I can't read, oh no!" and not like the actual neurodiversity it is. Yes, I admit, I want to relate to one too, but… Well. It'd be awesome if you would, but if that's too tall an order or too specific that's fine too. If you do, though, maybe college AU with roceit? -anon

Hi you're amazing! I love your writing and brand of writing and just I've read a lot of your stories and I love them all kskejejwuwugfhsv-

I was wondering, if you take requests, that maybe you could write a human AU with fake dating Roceit? With confident fat Janus because we need that! Or not, that's your choice!

(I sound like some snob asking for a highly specific coffee shi-) - anon

oh babe y'all wanted to be FED huh

Read on Ao3

Warnings: slight ableist/fatphobic language

Pairings: roceit

Word Count: 2487

Sometimes, you can get all of your work done in the library. Sometimes, people are ableists.

And sometimes there's something wonderful in finding out there's someone there for you as well.

Roman scrubs his hands over his face and sighs. Between waiting ages at the printer or absolutely destroying his retinas by staring at a screen for hours on end, he isn’t unhappy with making the choice to save the environment by using less paper but god.

“At least this pdf was convertible,” he mutters, scrolling down to see how many pages he has left. The last four weren’t and reading without the right font is a fucking pain in the ass.

Seven pages left. Great.

Roman focuses on the screen and starts to mutter under his breath again. Focus on the word, figure it out, make the sentence, move on. Pause to take notes, make sure it’s legible to read later, and repeat.

A computer and heavy bag thuds onto the table next to him and he jumps, almost knocking his coffee over. He looks up, glaring at the person who stares down their nose at him like he’s some sort of stain. Rude.

“You’ve been here for like, three hours, dude,” they say, like that’s supposed to justify their behavior, “move. I need this spot.”

Roman looks around. There’s like, four more tables open. “Can’t you just go sit somewhere else?”

“No! This is my spot! You can go sit somewhere else.”

“Well,” Roman mutters, glaring at his screen again, “I was here first. So you can either wait until I’m done or sit down.”

“Dude, I swear—“

“Excuse me,” comes a smooth voice that has no business being this polished in the fucking library, “is this person bothering you, sweetie?”

Roman turns around and his mouth drops open.

“J-Janus?”

Janus raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms and glaring at the dick with the heavy bag. Who, as a matter of fact, seems to be muttering and stuffing shit back into said bag.

“Sorry I’m late,” Janus drawls, still sounding way too confident and way too much like he knows what’s going on, “got held up after class.”

“Uh, no problem,” he mumbles, glancing over his shoulder to see the asshole is still standing there, “just, um…working.”

“Ah, well then, you won’t mind if I join you.” And with that, Janus sits down with a flourish, propping his chin up on his hand and fixing the asshole with an impressive look of disgust. “And you…you can leave.”

“Look, buddy—“

“My partner and I have work to do,” Janus says, swiftly cutting them off and making sure Roman has no idea what’s going on, “now leave.”

Roman’s really glad there was no ambiguity that Janus could’ve been talking to him, because he’s about ready to bolt. Only when the asshole has retreated does Janus turn his gaze to him.

“Sorry about that,” he says, flicking a speck of imaginary lint from his gloves, “he seemed like he was bothering you. Thanks for playing along.”

“Oh, uh, no, I’m, uh—“ Janus raises an eyebrow as Roman stumbles over his words— “sorry. Uh, thanks?”

Janus chuckles. “Oh, no worries, sweetie. I was happy to do it. Although…”

Janus squints at him and Roman fights the urge to squirm under that gaze.

“You’re in my seminar class, aren’t you?” Roman nods. “The one that let out three hours ago?”

“Yeah, uh-huh.”

“Have you…been here since then?”

Roman nods, trying to get back to work and, you know, maybe get out of here, only for Janus to reach across the table and still his hands as he goes to pick up the pen again.

“Have you eaten?”

“What?”

“Eaten,” Janus says slowly, mouth stretching into a smile, “lunch, sweetie.”

“Uh—“ no, is the correct answer— “I was going to?”

Janus just gives him a look.

“…no.”

“Mm.” Janus glances at his computer and notebook. “You’re not by any chance attempting to read all of the assignments in one go, are you?”

Roman’s guilty flush seems to answer that question for him. Janus sighs and it’s such an odd mixture of disappointment and fondness Roman hasn’t earned that his brain spits out the only question he actually wants an answer to.

“Why are you here?”

Janus chuckles. “In the library, at this school, or are we already to the point of questioning the very nature of existence?”

Roman just blinks at him.

“Oh, relax, sweetie, I’m teasing.” Janus glances off in the vague direction the asshole wandered off to. He leans a little closer. “I know how…difficult it can be to try and do work when they bother you.”

Roman’s cheeks flush. “Oh, uh…thanks, then.”

Janus waves a hand. “It’s none of their business why you’re doing so much work at once. Even if it does make you skip lunch,” he adds with such a pointed look that Roman can’t help splutter.

“I was going to! And you’re not my mother!”

“No,” Janus purrs, “but like any good partner, I like to make sure my sweetie takes care of themselves.”

Roman does not squeak, despite Janus’s chuckles, but he does start to fiddle with his pen. “I can’t…stop yet.”

“Why ever not?”

“Can you stop,” Roman blurts, scrubbing his hands over his blushing face, “please? For like, two seconds?”

“Sorry, you’re just adorable.”

“Stop, dude, seriously, if you want an actual answer to the question?”

“I’m done,” Janus chuckles, “I’m done, sorry.”

Roman takes a deep breath. He fiddles with the pen. “It’s just—with my dyslexia, it takes a while to…find the, um…”

“Zone?”

“…sure.”

Janus hums in understanding. Then he reaches into his own bag and pulls out a book of his own. “Then we may as well work together until you’re finished.”

Roman blinks. Hi, hello, brain is confused, what just happened in the last five minutes?

Janus waves a hand in front of his face. “Hello? Sweetie? You okay?”

“Sorry, I’m just—trying to process what happened.” Roman blinks again. “Because it seems like some asshole tried to take my seat, you came up and pretended to be my partner to scare them away, proceeded to badger me about taking care of myself, and now you’re…still here?”

Janus nods. “That’s how I experienced it too, that’s correct.”

“…so now what’re we doing?”

“Well, I’m also going to try and get some work done, you’re going to finish your work, and then we’re going to get lunch.”

“And what about the dude that now thinks we’re partners?”

Janus looks at him and shrugs. “I’m game if you are.”

Roman blinks again. Is…Janus suggesting they fake being in a relationship to, what, defend Roman’s right to sit wherever the fuck he wants for however long in a library?

“What’s in it for you?”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me,” Roman says, “what’s in it for you?”

Janus’s fingers still on the book he’s pulled out. He sighs and looks up at Roman.

“How long have you known about your dyslexia?”

Jumping around a bit here, aren’t we? “About six years, why?”

“And you know how to manage it? For you?”

“Uh, yeah, why?”

“That doesn’t mean it goes away,” Janus says softly, “it’s still work, you just…know how to do it now.”

“Yeah, it still takes me time to do things, why—“ Roman’s eyes widen— “oh. Oh, wait, you mean—wait, what do they have against you?”

Janus’s mouth tugs up into a smirk. “How sweet.”

“Shut up,” Roman mumbles, “you know what I mean.”

Janus just winks at him before sobering. “Well,” he says wryly, gesturing at himself, “surely you can understand that…not everyone treats you very well when you aren’t the circumference of a toothpick.”

Oh. They’re those kind of assholes. Something Janus chuckles about when that thought gets out before Roman can stop them.

“Quite. I can manage them, but it’s still work.” He looks at Roman. “Maybe we can split the load?”

“I’m down with that.”

“Wonderful. Now,” Janus says, mock sternly, “get back to work. We have lunch to get.”

Roman chuckles. “Sure, sure, don’t ask to borrow my notes.”

“I would never, I just forget things like a cool person and make things up that the professor likes to hear.”

Yeah, this is gonna go just fine.

As it turns out, it does. Roman won’t lie, he was…skeptical about the viability of this plan of theirs. He’s read the stories. He knows how this works. He knows about the misunderstandings and whether it’s a bet or a dare, something goes wrong.

But…nothing does.

Watching Janus tear anyone to shreds is entertaining enough in class, where Roman gives up on taking debate notes and just watches because goddamn, but when he gets to stand there and just glare at some ableist while Janus verbally decimates them? Poetic cinema. He debates sneaking some popcorn into his jacket pocket but that would take away from the power of his glare.

And it is nice to have someone else do the work of glaring assholes away from his table when he’s working on reading. He would be lying if he said that actually having someone else to talk to isn’t part of it. It’s so much easier to keep track of where he’s messing up so he can focus on it during his exercises later.

“You know,” Janus remarks as they leave the library one day, “you can ask the professors for editable pdfs.”

“Huh?”

“For your font stuff.” Janus nods toward his backpack. “I know you like to change the font so you can read it better, most of them have editable copies of the materials.”

“Not for the eBooks and scans and stuff.”

Janus huffs, waving his hand. “How do you think they get the audio transcripts for the recorded versions? They have to transcribe it anyway, just ask for those.”

Roman stops. “How…how do you know those exist?”

Janus just taps the side of his nose and winks.

“Can…can you do that?”

“Of course.” Janus links his arm through Roman’s. “Anything for you.”

That shouldn’t do what it does to Roman’s chest.

Because yeah, okay, maybe Janus is…really cute.

Like, unfairly cute.

No one should be able to rock that hat all the time. And the gloves. And the pocket watch. And the curly hair. And the attitude. And the impressive vocabulary. And the razor-sharp wit. And he actually knows how to flirt! What is flirting? All Roman knows is Gay Panic™ and Suffering™. What is this? Why is it allowed?

And why, oh why, did Janus have to be the one that started the fake-dating idea?

Because here’s the thing. It would be so easy to just be friends with Janus. It would! They’re already friends now, fake-dating kind of does that to you. And Janus, despite what he wants everyone else to believe, is a fucking dork. His actual laugh is squeaky and bubbly and ugh, Roman could drown in it. And he’s really kind. It’s not the same breed of kind that Roman’s used to, but goddamn, Janus is so sweet when he lets himself be. And it’s been so long since Roman had like, an actual friend…

But it would also be so easy to be more than friends with Janus. To actually be able to take him out for dates and not just lunch at their janky cafeteria. To be able to spend time together that isn’t just for show, or platonic, or just hanging out ranting about stupid dead supposed-to-be-smart people.

Again, Roman’s read the stories. He knows how this is supposed to go.

So when he takes a little longer to pack up one day, enough that Janus notices and eases himself back down into his seat with a soft, real, ‘what’s wrong, sweetie, let me help,’ Roman prepares the bittersweet ‘nothing, I’m fine,’ and to swallow down everything real.

But instead…

“Can we, um, actually date?”

Janus blinks. “Come again, sweetie?”

Roman fiddles with the buckle on his bag. “I, um, I really appreciate what we’ve been doing, and I, um, I’m super happy being your friend…”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“…but I, um—“ god, why are words so hard?— “I think I would actually like to try…dating you. For real.”

He peeks up nervously at Janus.

“Is…is that okay?”

Janus sits there, silent. He blinks a few times. Then a slow, real smile spreads across his face.

“Roman,” he says softly, almost too quiet, even in the hush of the library, “why do you think I proposed this idea in the first place?”

Oh.

Oh.

Roman blinks. “Wait, you—you?”

A pretty flush covers Janus’s face. “Well, I…was planning to ask you normally, but then I saw you being absolutely tormented and…panicked.”

“You panicked?”

He throws his hands up. “Well, what was I supposed to do? The most gorgeous person in my seminar was being bullied and I was supposed to just let it happen?”

Wait. Back up. Roman is what?

“And yes, maybe I...wanted an excuse to be your friend first, but as I said, I panicked and so—“

“You—wait, you think I’m pretty?”

Janus stops, mouth open, before he’s scoffing. “Roman, have you seen yourself?”

“Uh—“

“At least you’re pretty,” Janus mutters under his breath, “pretty and dumb, but pretty.”

“Hey!”

“You can be big of brain and dumb of ass at the same time, sweetie.”

“Oh, says the man whose idea was to fake-date me because you wanted to actually ask me out!”

“I will not be lectured on dramatics from a theater kid.”

“That’s ex-theater kid to you.”

“Oh, you know once you go, you never come back.”

Roman giggles. Then he’s laughing. Janus joins in and oh, this is much better than shoving feelings down and pretending they don’t exist.

“You’re such a fucking dork.”

“No,” Janus purrs, reaching over to boop the end of Roman’s nose, “I’m your fucking dork.”

Oh. Oh, that sounds…really good. Roman’s chest is really warm now, when did that happen? Janus smiles too.

“So…dinner?”

“You’re paying.”

“I’ll pick you up at six.”

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[spyderslut]

The very simplest version of how I relate faiths that arent mine with mine in my head is that I take a very "obnoxious hippy" position of "Why even worry about it, lets all just like, get along. peace and love maaaaaaaaaaannnnnnn". That take, while I do stand by it, is supremely unsatisfying and doesnt really leave much room for inquiry, which is fun. I will begin by telling a brief story. Back in highschool, there was a period where I was strongly considering converting to Heathenry. Being an absolute dweeb who was deeply enthralled by OSP summarizing the poetic eda and other things in that sphere/other assorted storytellers, and being that I was otherwise vaugely agnostic/atheist, for a bit I thought "why not". Then I read through my social studies textbook and found that one news story of some kid about my age at the time who won a courtcase against their school because the school system disalowed them from having a dagger on them at school that was important religiously/ritually. And then I thought to myself, "i could probably do the same with a viking sword. Have it be a thing i allways have on me throughout the day as an important religious item. Do, like, ritual burnings of small bits of food at points in the day. carry a rad fuckin sword down the halls of my highschool"

Ultimately, I didnt go that direction. I was self aware enough to tell myself: "i don't feel any sort of genuine call to do this. And even if I happened to get it correct by going down that direction, im not terribly sure Odin or anyone else in the pantheon would appreciate the insincerity/ that I was if im being perfectly honest doing it purely for the excuse to strap a cool fuckin sword to my hip at all hours of the day" and I just dropped the issue, content to not think about my own personal relationship to faith at all and just continue reading a lot of very old books because they interest me. (Though I must admit im curious as to what a Heathen reckons their gods would think of an insincere convert who converted specifically for the reason of "cool sword")

Now, after a number of years of continuing to read a lot of really old books and continuing to contemplate what things mean and continuing to survive and exist rather aimlessly, I did eventually feel a call to the divine, a call to explore that. That story is interesting on its own, but its not the most important in answering the questions you have asked. I am doing the best I can to not compulsively over-explain myself.

My faith, my God, my picture of what the divine is, this is what I have come to, this is what I have a connection to. This is what I have dedicated myself to worshipping, to exalting. The God who is three who are one, that is my God. But what of the people who do very much feel that connection to Odin, to Hel, or to any other of many different sorts? To put it plainly, they arent mine. I do not feel that connection to them. I have not felt any reason to think of them as somthing other than an interesting story, much as an atheist who studies the works of medieval catholic mystics/mystical contemplations. But it simply is not my place to tell other people how they experience or should experience the divine. Most of every sort of perspective on that matter and works thereof have value and wisdom in them and should be learned about and respected. I like to think my Quaker friend has been a good influence on me.

And, like, if I were to be granted irrefutable revelation that my God is one of many, I dont think that would actually change much about how I go about things. I have my Christ, my guy, and other people have their guys. I dont care much for syncratism in my own theology but im not particularly hostile to it either. If an irish catholic i was talking about saintly intercession with started talking about the fey, id be like. eh, sure. go on. Im open to hear what people have to say, even if it doesnt change how I do things. Peace and love maaaaaannnnnnnnnnnn, and all that.

Why do you worship your god YHWH as the only one? This is a legitimate question? What good does it do for you? Everything your god has done for you shouldn't have anything to do with his status, or uniqueness. I've seen the power of gods alien to your own, from Hel (the goddess I'm closest to, though I do worship others), I've seen her stop animals from moving, protect the sick and wounded, and cause a blind preacher to see her and flee. And I've felt her love, felt her comfort (I probably wouldn't even identify as agender if it wasn't for her help). But because she is not your god you would call this demonic? And say my soul is bound for damnation? Why not admit the existence of other gods, and keep to your own if you wish. How can your relationship with your god even be safe if you can't leave for another? How can it be called anything but bigotry to deny another god's divinity while you worship one yourself?

This is a genuinely fascinating line of inquiry, im going to have to think a moment to give it the attention it deserves

[seraphdarlimg]

wish I were (pt3)

 harry appreciates reader in his speech but finally talks to her when she runs off crying

part 1

‘heather’ by conan gray WARNINGS - ANGST, swearing WORDCOUNT - 3,501

_________________________________________________________

   My head was empty while I appreciated the company of a glass of wine and city view of the venue. I leaned against the railing of the small balcony nook I found, away from the crowd of people as Bowie was played faintly through the speakers.

I arrived to the party alone. Even if our relationship is awkward at the moment, I couldn't miss his birthday. Especially if it feels like it would be the last one I attend for a while. It took me only a few seconds to find him talking to his management team, a conversation that I didn't want to interrupt. And for the next twenty minutes I find myself isolated from everyone. Maybe because I know the relationship topic would inevitably come up at one point during any conversation I join into. But also because I didn't know how to approach Harry himself anymore. I can't bring myself to start the conversation, but for him, it seems like everything is good and normal.

I promised myself to only one glass of wine, so when I finished that rather quickly then intended, I honestly didn't know what to do with myself. As much as I've been trying to think like Harry and feel completely normal again, I hated how much our relationship has effected me. No matter how many times I've told myself that it's better this way, I've avoided hanging out with mutual friends to keep away from a conversation about Heather.

I took a deep breath and turned around, looking into the venue to catch Harry smiling and nodding to Gemma. One arm across his chest while his cheek rested against the other. He looked too good this evening, wearing a worn vest and matching bell bottom pants. I allowed myself to stare till his eyes glanced in my direction and catch mine.

I soften when his smile grows wider and he excuses himself away from the conversation. "For some reason, I'd knew you'd come here when we checked out the space." He says as he walks out into the balcony. "Almost had a reservation sign put up with your name on it."

He engulfs me in a hug, nuzzling his face into my neck. I slowly wrapped my arms around him and find myself resting my head on his broad shoulder when I realize this was our first hug in weeks. Oh how much I missed this feeling.

"I appreciate the thought but damn, am I thought obvious?"

"Oh I just know you too well and you love me for it."

I feel goosebumps, finding ourselves though pulled away, still in each other's arms while I smile up at him. I hummed In response before holding up a finger and turning to get the small box in my purse. When I turn back around he has a sly smirk on his face as he looks at the box wrapped with a yellow bow I hold out to him.

"Happy birthday Harry. I wanted to give this to you in person." He takes the box and unwraps the ribbon and opens it. I hold my breath, watching his reaction as he stares at a familiar string of pearls. He runs his fingers through them, a look of admiration set on his face as I twiddled my fingers.

"I always let you wear mine so I just thought you'd like a pair of your own."

"You know me well too."

"And you love me for it." I chuckled, immediately turning around and looking out onto the view as he situates himself next to me, the box once again closed and held tightly in his hands. "I'll wear these till I wear them out. Oh! We'll wear them at the same time like friendship necklaces." He tells me, giving me a side hug and squeezing my arm.

I laughed at the thought, "Only we could make friendship necklaces out of pearls worth hundreds of dollars."

We stayed quiet for a while, just enjoying each other's company. The elephant in the room knows it's been a few weeks since the last time we shared a moment alone. I'm just not sure how he feels about the reason why.

"Shouldn't you go back out there? Supposed to be a good host." I nudged his shoulder with mine, not wanting to take him away from his party and not knowing how much I could take how hard my chest is beating at the same time.

"Well you're here. Almost thought you wouldn't show since you're weren't early."

"Can't I be fashionably late for once?"

"Glad you are though, bubs. Honestly was about to spend the night a sad man when Heather canceled."

Here we go, the one topic I dreaded would come up. Of course it would be with him when it does. "Oh. Uh she isn't here?"

"No yeah she ehm. She left yesterday for Paris. Last minute gig she booked." He shrugged it off like it was not a big deal, but he's playing with the yellow ribbon in a way that tells me otherwise.

"I'm sorry, I'm sure she'll make it up when she get's back." He scoffs, undoing the bow he just made with the ribbon. "If by 'make up' you mean a few hours in bed before she jet sets to Milan for a few months then yeah."

"Harry, you should tell her that you want her here."

"No, no it's fine. She can do whatever she wants, it's her career."

"It's also your birthday. Shouldn't girlfriends or whatever you two are right now care about that stuff?" I sighed, gently taking away the ribbon and box from him, wrapping it back while he turns and rests his back on the railing, crossing his arms and facing the entrance back into the venue. "That's the thing, I don't know what she wants out of this. I never did even when we were really together. When we were, it's so picture perfect and then when we'd get busy with our own lives, it's just so on and off. We blamed it on bad timing and long distance in the end but now that I think about it, we didn't know where to go from there."

"Do you know what you want now?"

"I think I do."

I tilted my head, growing frustrated but kept my tone calm. "Then why don't you just talk?"

"Ugh you know I'm not a confrontational person bubs." He finally looks at me, seeing me roll my eyes while he laughs it off. I shake my head, tapping on the box as he reaches out to rub my arm. "You're a dummy, Harry."

"Why do you call me that?"

I glanced at him, shrugging. "What do you mean?"

"What happened to 'H' hmm? Been calling me Harry for a while." Though his tone was lighthearted, his brows are furrowed and I can feel his intense stare.

"It's your name isn't it?"

"Obviously, but...I don't know, never mind-"

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you..." We suddenly hear from inside, making us both turn at the same time to see Jeff holding a cake and a crowd gathered around him, slowly walking towards the balcony where the birthday boy was. His smile grows back and we exchange a look before I hand him back my present and walk back in towards the celebration.

                                                           ***

"Well, I am a man of a few words... but a good comedian doesn't repeat the same joke two years in a row. Ehm, I'm gonna do what I know best which is to spew whatever I feel from in here and hope it sounds somewhat poetic." He laughs a little at his own joke, making little hand gestures and smiling when he gets the laughs and smiles back from his words. His eyes stray to the people in front of him and to the side in thought at times, but he makes the effort to look at his friends, family members and co-workers who he is ultimately grateful for. My eyes soften at his toothy grin, knowing I look like a complete fool as I stare at him in complete adoration despite it being completely obvious how enamored I am for this man.

He gives short thank you's to the his band members and relatives he's grown close too. I laugh at his awkward jokes but also the narcissistic ones he makes that boost his confidence a bit. He has one thing prepared to say for everyone that makes them melt. "Thank you Jeff for having to deal with me another year as well, while you do look after me I am always appreciative of how you act more as an old grandpa than a dude in a business suit."

"I also want to thank Heather..."

My smile dies down a bit, knowing he would want to say something about her even when she isn't here. What made my chest hurt once again was the realization that he hadn't said anything about me yet. I had anticipated it, wondering what he would say but he had skipped right over me. I placed my hand on my knee to keep it from shaking as Harry said her name instead.

"I'll just text her later but I wanted to thank her for allowing me to write about her and being an overall beautiful person."

Thinking his speech was over and accepting how little I meant to him, he finally calls my name. I froze for a bit, looking up at him to see him already looking at me. He paused a bit, an amused look on his face when he sees how caught off guard I was.

"I saved the best for last for two reasons, one because she looks adorably silly right now..." He chuckles when I save myself with an eye roll and stuck my tongue out at him.

"And two, because I knew it'll be harder for me to come up with the words to describe how important of a person you are to me."

The curiosity and need to know what he would say about me, as well as the internalized emotional stress grew. His tone was softer and he seemed more calmer than he was a few minutes ago. The sentence already began making my heart pump and ache, and the recent events that had shaken up our relationship almost thrown out the window when he continued.

"You're so good to me and I can't thank you endlessly enough for everything you've done for the past year since I hired you. Not only was it the best decision I ever made because of how talented you are, but it also gave me the opportunity to really know someone like you. I was in a bad place when you met me and I'll never forget the kindness and patience you showed me even then. And though you call me a 'boomer' so many times and constantly come up with better melodies than me, it's worth every witty joke and bad pun just to see a smile that lights up the room. Your friendship is worth every time you complain about my kale chips."

His eyes were caught on mine from the beginning, both his hands are holding his wine glass though he held confidence in his speech. It felt like just us two in the room, his words giving tone of a very intimate moment shared between two bestfriends. I bit my bottom lip, can't seeming to stop smiling.

"And though you'll be off writing more amazing music with different amazing artists - only temporarily - know that I'll always be rooting for you and always will be -"

He breaks eye contact for a moment, but that moment was enough. "- will be uhm, proud of you." His smile grows ten times wider and he sounds relieved when he looks off onto the entrance of the venue as someone arrives. His eyes go back and forth, distracted but wanting to finish what he had left to say.

"Through thick and thin, love, you always were able to be there for me."

At that point he was fully looking at the person who arrived and I didn't have the guts to turn around to see who it was. My smile instantly dies and the warmth in my chest was just filled with a familiar pang that hasn't left all this time.

Because there she was, though out of breath and all over the place, just looked perfect as she grins and mouths 'happy birthday' to him while he haphazardly continues empty compliments that are now meant for her. My vision is blurry but my eyes are stuck on the actual person he deems important in his life. This lovely being who canceled last minute but makes it in time so he'd be truly happy.

He meant to say all of it to her. You just happened to be here when she wasn't. He doesn't love you like he loves her and he never will. He never had.

It was hard looking back at him, already knowing the way he looks at her. It was deja vu. She shows up and he's instantly mesmerized.

But I did and it suddenly was all too much. Because he glanced at me when he was saying his last words, seeing me silently cry in the middle of the crowd and looking distraught. And it all grew too claustrophobic, needing to get away and leave because all I felt now was anger.

"Hey, you okay?" Gemma asks, her brows furrowed in concern. I force a smile and nodded before excusing myself. "Yeah, just fine."

                                                         ***

 I pushed open the door and quickly walked out of the lobby and onto the parking lot, ignoring the distant calls of my name that grew louder and louder. I hugged my coat, trying to breathe but grew more frustrated with the growing ache in my chest. I sobbed, knowing he was catching up and didn't have the energy to deal with him right now.

"Hey, what happened - are you okay?" Harry had took hold of my arm, turning me around and all I could do was push him away. "Bubs, talk to me please."

"Stop, please I'm so tired and I physically can't be near you." I softly said, not bothering to wipe away tears anymore. He looks confused and I only scoffed at him, crossing my arms and moving back when he stepped closer, holding out his.

"What do you mean? Please let me- you're crying." He tries coming closer but I shake my head, dodging his embrace because I knew I would instantly melt.

"Yes, I'm crying! I've been crying and hurting all month because of you Harry!" I cried and he instantly freezes. "You keep doing this shit and all this time I've been coming up with excuses for it. That- I don't know, maybe that you can't help what you're feeling or that I really can't blame you- but now I do! Because you know exactly what you're doing and it's so shitty that I had to realize it this late."

"W-what are you talking about?" He's nervous.

"Oh shut the fuck up you know exactly what I'm talking about. You've avoided actually talking ever since we kissed, even before Heather came back into the picture. You completely pushed me to the side the second she gave you her attention and ever since then our whole relationship has changed Harry! And either you're so fucking oblivious or too much of a coward to face it because you just acting like everything was fine and normal broke my fucking heart even more. It obviously meant so little to you but fuck, it-"

I took a deep breathe only resorting to another sob as I placed a hand over my heart. "It meant so much to me."

I see him crying too, fumbling with his fingers and trying to hold those tears in only to lose some as he's stood still, not knowing what to do. He's guilty, his need to hold me and cry gives it away but I couldn't allow him that. And he knows it's something he doesn't deserve.

"I would of understood Harry. That you didn't feel the same fireworks and butterflies like I did when we kissed - as cliché as it fucking is. That you've fallen in love with Heather when she came back because I honestly still can't blame you for that, she's an angel. That you can't control who you love, but you never said anything. You just lead me on and didn't talk to me - why didn't you just fucking talked to me Harry, aren't we supposed to be best friends?"

He's now only inches away from me, taking hold of my hands because I was too worn out to even pull them back. "Yes! Yes, we are and I'm a stupid idiot. I'm sorry I- I should of just been upfront with you but I was so confused- and I still am. I just- I meant everything I said earlier and more because I'm always thinking about you bubs-"

I laugh at this shaking my head, not allowing anymore hope to built up. "I am! Mitch and Jeff are so fucking tired of hearing about it, but honestly so was I. But only because Heather was still in my heart and I just didn't know what to do or wanted and please believe me, I never ever wanted to hurt you."

"Why did you kiss me then?" I broke out of his hold, stepping back once again.

"I don't know darling, It just felt right and I didn't think. I-I just thought you'd leave if you knew I wasn't sure."

"Being honest about it with your supposed best friend was going to make it worse?"

"I just...I didn't want to lose you."

"But what now? you got her back, so what am I to you now? Was I supposed to be your distraction, the only option left for you to turn to? Because you fully well know that I'd drop everything I was doing just to comfort you when you were low Harry. I canceled set plans and promises because you simply asked me too, and I did since I'd always foolishly put you first because I thought you'd genuinely liked me."

"Bubs-"

"Don't. Harry you can't just put me on the side and come back to me later on if your relationships don't work out, that's not fucking fair! Ever since we met all I've been getting from you are mixed signals and I couldn't confront you about it because you'd always avoid the topic, making me feel damn silly for even thinking that way. It's just-  you can't build up expectation of something between us simply because I'm the safe second option - fuck that hurts saying that."

"I- I didn't mean to make you feel that way-"

"Bullshit. You knew exactly what you were doing Harry. You're just to arrogant to own up to it. So fucking immature, all you had to do was talk!"

"Okay, okay I'm sorry let's talk, please! Don't walk away like this, we can talk now and fix this."

"No. You only want to talk now because it's convenient for you. That's the thing Harry."

"Stop-"

"You say you didn't want to hurt me, but you didn't want to hurt yourself first. And I just- I just hate how long it took me to realize how mean you are Harry."

"Don't call me Ha- you don't mean that."

"I do! and you know it too." He's struck by it and I'm giving up. Hurt is evident in his face and it doesn't feel good to make him sad, but now all I feel is disappointment and pity for myself.  

"Since you couldn't have the balls to talk to me, I just always really wanted to tell you that I love you. Really fucking love you. As if you didn't already know, but... I guess it never really even mattered."

He calls my name deflatingly when I turn around, walking away. His last attempts of apologizing and begging for me to come back to him drift off into empty words that I block out as I stepped into my car and drove away. The time it takes for me to drive felt like days pass, but now turned to seconds when I turned off the engine and idled inside. I was still crying, still processing, all while replaying our last moment together. The one spent on the floor of the recording studio with a makeshift picnic before I spend the next days erasing it from my memory.

I sent him a text before going inside, turning off my phone right afterwards to avoid the rest of the incoming calls and text messages begging to fix what was left of us.

'I'll email you the lyrics to the last song tomorrow. Then I'm done.'

____________________________________________________________

A/N: i’m hurting. but this is the second to last chapter of this mini-series, pt4 is the finale and will be out soon :)

[knockyasocksoff2022]

The Tribute Parade Part 1 - DAZAI

| 1,21 words |

My stylist is young, a girl named Lucy with pink-red hair down to her butt, and that's while it's plaited. She takes my measurements carefully, her touch light. She's afraid of me.

The tribute parade costumes are known for being horrendous, I can only imagine what ours will be. A poorly constructed boulder suit maybe? Mining outfits, no that's 12.

"Can I make a request of you, Lucy?"

She looks at me, wary, suspicious, "Within reason, maybe. But, uh, certain areas must be covered, it's the law!" She blushes.

"Oh, of course. I wouldn't dream of exposing myself, I do have class."

"So, what?" She says, still cautious.

"I want a corset, and eye makeup. Something fierce, cat-like." A contrast to Nakahara's doggishness.

She drops her tape measure. "What? Why? T-that's for women! Wait, n-no that's not what I meant! What I meant is that they don't let us dress the male tribute like that. I guess they want you looking strong or whatever."

"But can't you break the rules just this once? Just for me? You see, Nakahara is so pretty, I have to make myself stand out somehow, no?"

"I mean . . . of course." She looks even more unsure now. She must think I'm vicious for thinking of trying to get a leg up so soon, but what can I say, I'm a career. She knows that, so she doesn't question it. 

-

As we head down to the area where we'll wait before we're paraded out, Lucy turns to me, cheeks redder than her hair, "Y-you're very handsome already, Osamu. Good luck."

It feels strange to hear someone using my given name, but allowing her to was an easy way to make her feel special.

"To you as well, Lucy-chan. I'll wear your clothes well, make sure everyone knows what a brilliant stylist you are."

She makes a sound that falls somewhere between "Thank you" and a squeak, probably at my addition of the suffix. Ranpo told me that she's the youngest stylist the games has ever had, barely 16, and I'm very aware of how vile I am for flirting with her, but now I can use this affection she has for me to my advantage. She'll do anything I say.

-

Nakahara is already waiting for us. Seeing him makes me stop, he looks far different than he ever has. I expected them to put him in some sort of awful dress, but I should've known better than to think that Nakahara would let himself be forced into doing anything he didn't want to. He's far too strong-willed for that, in fact, he almost looks pleased with his outfit. I can tell, the confidence rolls off him in a way I haven't seen since our last training session back in Two.

His hair is down and grey tinsel has been put in, probably the same way Lucy did mine. We don't match (we never have) but we complement each other.

He wears a collared shirt and matching suit, both the colour of wet stone, with real pebbles attached as accents, including a one on his cross-tie. There are even minuscule stones under his cheeks, all unpolished, rough, and raw just like us, making them sparkle in the sun that comes through the massive skylight. His eyes are stormy again today. Alive, so alive.

We aren't equals, not really. I've been deluding myself. He's more than I'll ever be and to sacrifice myself for him wouldn't be such a waste. I wonder what Oda thinks of this. Surely he'd say it would be noble of me to help Nakahara, but I doubt he'd approve of me sacrificing myself, even for someone as good as Nakahara. He thought life was a waste, even mine. He'd call me selfish, and tell me I'm using Nakahara as an excuse to end it all. And he'd be right. But since my death would help Nakahara, he'd be right and wrong at the same time. Isn't life so funny that way? This is what he wanted, to help others. It'd be poetic to die fulfilling his life's mission, to give my death some meaning, that's what Oda would've wanted.

I must admit I'd miss Nakahara if he died, that's what I'm trying to get rid of by competing, the feeling of feeling anything for anyone, including myself. I'd miss having a sparring partner, someone to get my blood flowing with a good argument in the morning, someone who knows exactly how to send adrenaline thudding through my veins, someone who can give me the only feeling I let myself feel: thrill.

But, he has to die, so that's that.

He's looking at me just the same, but for once I can't read him and I don't bother to. Instead, I take his arm.

"Hmm, it's a tragedy," I whisper in his ear as we walk toward our chariot, aptly coloured a dusty grey. "Even with all that makeup you still look like a slug." It's meant to be particularly annoying since I can tell he's wearing none, but he must be feeling so sure of himself that it rolls right off because he says nothing, until he steps up, then, "All the makeup in the Capitol can't make a mackerel pretty, or did you think I wouldn't notice?" and then stretches out his hand to help me up though I, being 21 centimetres taller, clearly don't need it. But it helps with my plan, so I take it, allowing him to help me into the chariot.

His voice was a low whisper, almost drawing, sickly sweet with venom like a hard candy that's rotted on the inside, sticky, the kind of voice that clings to you. I've never heard him like that. Nakahara has never been one for quiet intimidation, always shouting and kicking about things. Perhaps he's modified his tactics for the games, I can't say he's the only one.

When we're both in I look at Nakahara once more. His eyes are fixed straight ahead at a point far in the distance even, it seems, beyond President Dostoevsky's mansion. At some signal neither heard nor seen, but from a distant control room, people begin cheering and the large doors begin to open.

The Hunger Games | soukoku |

Dazai and Chuuya are from District 2. Fukuzawa is their mentor who never talks about his games. Ranpo is their District Escort. Dostovesky is the President. Nikolai is a Telvision show host. All is great in Panem. Why do you ask?

(This fic includes Trans female to male Chuuya. If you don't like it, just don't read it.)