#fic: unsorted

[dogmetaph0r]

Wowwieee this is fun, ty @call-sign-shark !!

This is way more than just a line but this bit of dialogue was too good to split apart (mild NSFT warning):

“Prove it,” Sam demanded, leveling his pistol with Alfie’s good eye. “Prove you slept with him. So that I know you won’t turn ‘round and have your police book me on sodomy.”

Alfie hesitated for a second, brows raised. “Collateral, eh? Well, alright, poppet. Let’s see… he’s got a freckle on his arse, right above the thigh. You know the one.”

Sam cocked the gun. “Not good enough. He’s got freckles everywhere. Anyone could guess—“

“And it’s shaped almost like a heart, which is cute, innit? And,” Alfie made a lewd motion with his hands, “he squeaks like a little mouse when you put your—“

“Alright,” Sam relented, cringing. “That’s… that’s enough.”

Originally from a crack-y spinoff called Dark Is The Night, but it might be worked into the main plot of Sic ‘Em somehow because I just love this joke

No pressure tag: @realnickcarraway @rysko (ik u just got tagged but i <3 juliusz so yfjfjdjtng) and anyone else who wants to participate!

Last Line Challenge

Rules : in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like).

Thanks for tagging me @thechaoticfanartist

Art:

Writing:

“I left New York to get away from shit like this!” Andrea yelled as she threw her hands up in the air. “What?” Eddie blinked.  “What?” Andrea feigned ignorance.

Glitchverse: The Glitch Meets Venom

I'm tagging: @bluejay-in-write @sith-as-heck @valdrinors and anyone else who wants to do it

[astronautbeans]

and my 2nd fic for the first @scenariosmpzine!!! go check it out!! :D

i love the withering scenario <3 and the angst <3 there's so much more to be said about what happened in there but GOSH i didn't have the space </3 anyways enjoy!!!

[the--highlanders]

i meant to say this in a comment on the fic but honestly i was such a mess after finishing it that i forgot. so i’m saying it here now.

i really want to thank you for writing the fic ‘unsorted’.

i have never felt so understood by a piece of work before. i’m not sure how to describe how deeply it resonated with me. i cried because i have felt and thought all of the same things jamie did in that fic. it was healing, in a way, to go through that discovery with him.

there’s a certain unique loneliness that comes with growing up the ‘wrong’ way. even the people you thought were the same as you turn out to be different after all. the things you think you’ll grow into never quite fit the same way as everyone else. you think ‘is there a part of me that’s missing?’

He’d never known how deep it ran through him, that gap in his chest. Not until now, when he reached in and found himself whole, all the emptiness filled in.

and for a moment, reading your fic, i felt whole. and i fit.

so truly, thank you.

oh my god this is. probably the best thing anyone's ever said about one of my fics, wow

I've said this a lot but unsorted was a super personal fic for me to write and something that it took me many years to actually work up the courage to do. (which I'm glad of, in the end, because I think it's better for it). I definitely processed a lot of being ace myself through headcanoning jamie as ace, but I never actually worked up the nerve to make that explicit in a fic. also ace discourse really did a number on me, including in terms of feeling comfortable talking about aceness in a fandom context, so even up to posting unsorted I was absolutely convinced I'd be hated for it, somehow.

so for someone to say that fic makes them feel understood is just. yeah. wow. hi. so much of unsorted comes from me and I'm so so so glad it resonated with you like that. it honestly means the world <3

[nezumithewriter]

are you going to ever finish the squip Michael au

Yeah i’ll finish it!!!11! It hasn’t been too long since the last update—

uh

[pleuvoire]

thank you toku holiday exchange for pull me out of writer's block even if it was very last-minute

[muffinlance]

EMERGENCY FANFIC PROTOCOLS: ACTIVATED

Hey while AO3 is down

Here is a GDrive link to all my downloaded fics (it's OVER 9,000 2,000)

Mostly Avatar, also The Magnus Archives, Danny Phantom, Teen Wolf, and a few others

Mostly unsorted, some not even intentionally downloaded because the auto-downloader I use is Like That, so consider this a glorified "give me a random fic" button

MAKE SURE TO KUDOS THE AUTHORS WHEN AO3 IS BACK UP

>>> Linkie link <<<

Edit: Note that when AO3 comes back up that link will go dead again... until it's needed, once more

EMERGENCY FANFIC PROTOCOLS: DEACTIVATED

...Until next they are needed

If you were going through these for fic recs, check out my AO3 Bookmarks for the more curated list.

To make your own fanfic backups, I recommend AO3 Downloader or FanFicFare. (I'm not tech support for either; please don't message me for help.)

Happy reading!

[florenceafternoon]

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

These fics are set in the wizarding world but aren’t necessarily canon complaints.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries on ao3.

Gilded by @charmingwillow

Beneath her jumper, her heart was fluttering fast. Her free hand rubbed at the spot, willing it to calm. Her eyes ached from all the nights she spent awake, unable to sleep because it hadn’t calmed in days. Weeks.

She knew why; beneath her fingertips, under the soft cotton of her sweater, her skin tingled. She knew without seeing that the spot above her heart sparkled faintly with gold, like stars spinning in the cosmos. Scattered and dancing around a name that wouldn't quite focus. It was as beautiful as it was terrifying.

Someone, somewhere, was falling in love with her. They were close enough that Lily could feel a tug of alignment if she concentrated enough.

Or, Lily and James go on a walk in the forest.

Sunshine in My Eyes (requires an ao3 account) by monroeslittle

Mr. and Mrs. Evans are killed when Lily's only a girl, and she's supposed to go to a home with her sister. Instead, a relative they didn't know they had comes to collect them, and introduces Lily to manners, magic, and a life that's just the slightest bit different from the life she was supposed to live.

Or, an AU in which Minerva McGonagall raises Lily.

Dying Fires by @jamesunderwater

In fifth year, James attempts to comfort Lily by a dying fire - but finds this will require restraint on his part in a number of ways.

Their tentative, developing friendship is something so special to me

basic maths by @gigglesandfreckles-hp

Euphemia cuts Sirius off sharply. “I was simply verifying whether this is indeed the same Lily Evans whose name is written under my dining room table with a heart around it.”

or Lily meets the parents and James tries not to hyperventilate. over and over and over again.

Blue Jay by @neurowriter14

In a world with magic, the only thing that really took Lily by surprise, and trepidation, was the fact that she had a soulmate.

All That's Known by @women-inthe-sequel

Wizards view nearly everything as a problem for magic to fix. Other people might view him that way, but James has never felt broken. He doesn’t need to be wound like an old-fashion toy and programmed to do what everyone else does.

I am in desperate need of more deaf!James (or deaf!Lily). Please can someone recommend me fics

just like a tattoo by sleepygirl0305 (on ao3)

Shortly after he witnesses Remus and Sirius realize that they're soulmates, James gets his own soulmate tattoo. A fairly inconvenient time, given that there is a war going on. And N.E.W.Ts. But no matter, he was going to try anyway.

A Happy Thought by @thelighthousestale

The 7th year Defense Against the Dark Arts Class learns the Patronus Charm.

James is shocked to learn what Lily's Patronus is.

I know that this is a very cliché trope but I'm a sucker for patronus fics.

The Boy (in the bedroom) Next Door by @eastwindmlk

Lily Evans has to move in with her new potion's teacher to finish her apprenticeship. There is one small issue, said teacher? Fleamont Potter, father of infinitely annoying and frustratingly fit former rival James Potter. Who she has not seen after leaving Hogwarts after her third year.

Put on Bed Rest also by @/ eastwindmlk

Hogwarts is covered in snow and James Potter is sick. Who better than Lily to nurse him back to health.

May Moon by Elynn (on ao3)

May Moon- also known as the Flower Moon or Blooming Moon, due to the abundance of flowers that occur as spring arrives.

She glanced up, catching sight of Mary and Marlene in the crowd of unsorted first years, the both of them bouncing on their toes as a new student was called up. She’d already made two friends (she hoped) and Lily was always a bit of an overachiever. “Hiya,” she said, doing her best to sound upbeat. The boy—Lupin—looked up at her, face a bit shocked. “I’m Lily.”

or sixth year, a bad pick-up line, and a secret.

Not really a jily fic (it's pre-relationship) but I really wanted to include it in this rec list

Accidental Magic by @missgryffin

What else is there to do after confessing feelings in the middle of the night than spend a lazy Saturday in bed?

Hell Is Empty (And All The Devils Are Here) by @nodirectionhome-ao3

When an Order mission takes an unexpected turn, James and Lily find themselves stranded together. In the aftermath of the chaos, sheltering together through the storm, a fire catches between them.

Ignore the fact that I can't remember if I've recommended this fic or not. Regardless, the back-and-forth between James and Lily is so good in this fic.

Starlight by @suzyq31

Under the cover of stars, Lily and James go out in search of an elusive flower. The northern lights make Lily contemplate how plans change.

The next few fics are all by @apalapucian because I may or may not have been stalking her ao3 page. Everything, and I mean everything, Jayne writes is incredible.

maybe it was egos swinging (maybe it was her)

James starts rolling his shoulders, wincing. "Jesus, Evans." "back at ya," says Lily, testing her wrists. "ever heard of taking it easy?" "with you? never." "can’t believe you’d use confringo on me." "knew you'd block it," he says. "can’t believe you’d use depulso." she shrugs, grinning. "knew you'd block it."

(or: seventh-year, auror-aspirant, academic rivals, head boy and head girl James and Lily.)

I still can't get over the fact that Jayne wrote me over 11 thousand words of academic rivals jily. ELEVEN THOUSAND WORDS OF ACADEMIC RIVALS TO LOVERS JILY!! The banter, the stakes, I love everything about this fic

calliope calling

in which:

James wields a wand for the first time; Lily giggles, tracing an impossible dancing deer in the sky; Sirius slams the door; Peter sighs; and Remus screams, raw and screeching and piercingly young.

(or: the marauders and lily evans as children, and something about invisible strings glinting in the moonlight.)

green light

There are yellow roses on the kitchen table. a cup of coffee charmed to keep warm for a time. a scrawled "morning! :) –James & Harry" on a scrap of paper, the torn bottom of a receipt for... milk, she finds. and strawberries. harry was signed by Harry himself, and Lily wants to cry at the shaky strokes, the crooked lines. she can hear them in the other room where James' window seat project is almost finished. harry is laughing. he asks questions, mocks his dad's shabby handiwork, drops the things he's asked to hand.

roses and handwritten notes and coffee and giggles nearby. this is her life now. she skims the flowers, the sun itself in her heart.

or: the war is over. everybody lives AU. (well, not everybody everybody, but the potter family + sirius + remus + even peter* live.) old fic rewrite.

* = you'll see.

bad day wall

Lily calls it the bad day wall. it's like this weird communal one-liner diary thing.

every time i think i'm over her something happens and it hits me just as stupidly intense as all the other times. i'm SICK of it

why can't people just LIKE by default the people they LOVE? why do they have to be separate feelings? it would make things so much less complicated

or: in sixth year, Lily starts talking to a stranger(?) through messages on a wall. she also befriends James Potter. These two things are completely not related.

I haven't read this one but it on my marked for later

[aealzx]

*gestures vaguely * Driving makes me daydream, and while I was plotting out/daydreaming about my Phantom Rogues fic the opening of Demon Slayer came on and brain decided to derail for 2 days before I ran out of steam. So here's all I managed from that spurt of a distraction X'D ( this must be why I never manage to finish big projects ._. )

all concept ideas under the cut. People are free to spiral off this if they want

Sam and Tucker were supposed to be part of the pic too, but I ran out of steam for this idea |D they were in the rough

I'm just gonna list unsorted bullet point ideas I had for this X'D

The "Fentons" are a mixed nationality family (Maddie is from overseas) so the kids both have 2 names. Why? Because I wanted to try giving them JP names based off their actual names. Daniel means "god is my judge" so that one was really hard and I just went with what I have up there. Jasmine = jasmine, so I went with "jasmine kid" hehee. and the characters for Haruki are "warmth" and "precious" because I'm a sap

backstory ideas:

Maddie is a Hashira, because branching from the idea of "really good demon slayer family" Jack is probably just a good lower member of the corp

Jazz was taught from a young age, but wasn't really into it until Danny was born. Eventually becomes newest Hashira with the drive to protect Danny

Danny has been trained by parents a bit, but way behind Jazz because not the best health. Fluctuates drastically in health, so fairly introverted and overshadowed by older sister

Sam is from one of those .... onmyouji? families. The ones that fight demons with sigils and chants and stuff instead of swords.

Tucker is from a science doctor family, and is just a guy compared to the rest, but also an encyclopedia brain.

Sam and Tucker met Danny because their families were asked to help him out on different occasions, and Sam and Tucker tagged along at some point and befriended Danny

The whole demon thing

Danny was home alone, and supposed to show up to Jazz's hashira ceremony party thing, but never did

Jazz and fam return to find house broken up and bloody, but no sign of Danny. Jazz recognizes a rather odd sigil paper as belonging to Sam, and goes to the three's little hideaway house

Sam and Tucker have newly demonized Danny trapped in a barrier, and he's fluctuating between responding to them and just being rawr

Seeing Jazz is what motivates Danny to fully push into docile demon mode, but only after breaking out of the barrier and tackling her, then crying on her

Jazz, Sam, and Tucker all decide oh hell no we're not taking demon brother to very "murder all demons" parents, so end up going on the run while trying to figure out how to cure Danny

Sam and Tucker are the main ones trying to figure out a cure because they've both been interested in studying more about demons than their parents are happy with since they were kids

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Overtime 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss, Mr. Hansen, runs you ragged but you find solace in an unexpected friend.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, Jake Jensen.

Author’s Note: This one is dedicated to my dearest @thezombieprostitute

Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

The sudden gust and subsequent chaos across your desk has you reeling. You wheel back as you raise your hands defenslessly and watch everything scatter. Mr. Hansen’s jacket knocks over your fresh cup of coffee and your favourite ornament of a little ballerina kitten. 

“My office now, critter.” 

You wince again, this time because of the cruel name. You hate when he calls you that. You stand and pick up your boss’ jacket before it can get wet in the spilled coffee. You hang it on the rack in the corner beside your own and go back to sop up the mess with a wad of kleenex. 

You have more down your tights and on your chair but it doesn’t matter. At least time, it wasn’t scalding tea. You gather up the rest of your things but leave them in an unsorted cluster. You know better than to keep him waiting. 

As you flit around the desk, you notice a pair of watching eyes. You almost forgot about Jensen. He was so quiet messing with the printer that you didn’t even notice him. He frowns as he sits up and shuts the drawer. 

“You alright?” He asks. 

“Ahem, yea, thanks,” you try to smile but these days, it just isn’t easy. 

He gives you a look. Sympathetic and something more. You’re too embarrassed to worry about that. More so, you’re too afraid to make Mr. Hansen even angrier. Clearly something is wrong and the days only just begun. 

You approach his open office door. That’s a clear signal that he’s been waiting. You enter as one of your flats slips off your heel and claps loudly. You cringe as he stands at the window, glowering at the courtyard below. You like the green square. You go there to eat your lunches. When you get one.

“Tell me why my ex-wife insists on making me miserable?” He snarls. 

He doesn’t want an answer. When he asks you things, he never does. It’s rhetorical. He often only speaks to hear himself and anyone else joining the conversation only gives him a target. 

“I will get you your brown sugar espresso and croissant at once--” 

“Fuck off!” He chops his hand in the air and faces you. “I didn’t just call you in here for you to feed my like some pet. Come here.” 

He snaps his fingers and points to the chair across from his. You always hate the setup. The one behind his desk is tall and cushy and makes him look like a tyrannical king, whereas the one facing him is too low and made of the most uncomfortable acrylic. It doesn’t even have armrests. 

“Take notes.” 

You open up the notes app on your phone without hesitation. The smell of coffee wafter up from your stockings. You shift and focus on him. 

“Melora, you ice cold cunt, it’s been two years since I left your dry ass. If you send your attorney to my house again, I will show up to yours with a crowbar. My dick feels good without frost bite, thank you very much. Your regretful ex-husband, Lloyd ‘Fuck You’ Hansen.” He snorts and shakes his head. “Fucking bitch.” You keep typing and he shakes his index at you, “not that part. Fuck. Oh, can you add the sick face emoji before you format that? Thanks, critter.” 

You hit save and stand up, “would you like your coffee now?” 

“Uh, sure, whatever. Make sure it’s hot. Oh, and you know what, I want that as a PDF before you forward it over to the former Mrs. Hansen. With letterhead.” 

He shoos you and you gladly take the dismissal. You never were one for arguing and never dared to say a single spare word to your boss. You assume that’s why he keeps you around. You’re no extraordinary assistant, just obedient. 

The tasks he gives you might not all be professional but as long as you get them done, you don’t get any trouble. You stride back out to your desk and stop short. Your things are all back where they belong and dry. Your cup is clean and rinsed out. 

Who did that? 

“Hey, uh, what kinda coffee do you take?” Jensen surprises you as he appears from around the corner. 

“Jake, uh I mean, Mr. Jensen, did you do all this?” 

“Ha, no one calls me mister but you,” he chuckles. “Don’t worry about it. Took like six seconds. I was just thinking, I’m going to make a run down to The Grind and maybe I could get you something fresh.” 

“Oh, that’s so sweet. I... no, please don’t waste your time,” you wring your hands, your chewed up nails aching from your nervous habit. “I gotta go get Mr. Hansen’s breakfast.” 

“Right,” he looks down and fixes his glasses, “well, I fixed that thing.” He nods to the printer, “shouldn’t eat anymore paper. I hope. You know, every tech bootcamp I’ve gone through and they never teach you about printers. I swear, they defy the laws of the universe.” 

You show your teeth in a half-smile. That’s silly. He grins proudly. 

“I didn’t mention, I... like that bow in your hair. It’s cute. Matches your little kitty.” 

You peek down at the figurine of the calico doing a pirouette. You blush. You only wish you were that dainty. You feel gawkish with the way you seem to loom over everyone else, yet somehow feel tiny at the same time. 

“Thanks. That’s... please don’t feel sorry for me. He’s not that bad and it’s my job,” you shrug. 

“Feel sorry? No, I’m just... being nice. Well, maybe another time. For the coffee,” he says. “Unless, I could go with you on your run?” 

“Uh, that’s-- you’re busy. Mr. Hansen only like Esther’s.” 

“Esther’s?” He exclaims as his eyes bulge behind his frameless lenses, “that’s all the way across town.” 

“I know some shortcuts,” you assure him as you bend to retrieve your purse from under your desk and drop your phone in. “Anyway, thanks for fixing the printer. I gotta go before he catches me dawdling.” 

“Right. Guess I should get to accounting. Guess they had a server crash and some stuff got lost. See ya round.” 

“Sure,” you agree. You don’t see too many people around. They avoid Hansen and more often, you’re running around at his beck and call. 

[hype-blue-fixation]

Pt. 1/2 | The Purest Kind of Entertainment | SFW Tickle Fic [RadioRose QPR]

I wanted to make a tickle fic and the plot thickened. If you want to skip this introduction/plot then here's the second part.

Sitting around the TV to watch different programs had become the typical night time activity. Charlie begged Alastor for weeks to take his turn sharing a “picture show,” to which he constantly made up polite excuses to let someone else go instead. But tonight the princess of Hell would be fancied something different.

“What in Heaven is this?” Angel barely lasted 5 minutes into the program before he showed annoyance for it.

“I told you before, it is called the Queen's Messenger. Very historical and groundbreaking for its period. Without this, Voxtech would never exist.” Alastor raised a brow, holding back his impatience behind a smile.

One by one, the others dropped off to sleep. Utterly bored with the outdated and slow-paced presentation. Even Charlie could barely keep her eyes open at the halfway point. When it finally ended, Alastor hummed at all the sleeping bodies. Silently irritated that they couldn't even bear 40 minutes of his favorite picture show. That was until Angel flittered his eyes open. “I didn't fall asleep. Are you proud of me, Smiles?”

“Mildly, I suppose.”

“Also I got a question,”

Alastor's ears pricked to attention.

“I just find it weird that the first thing you show us is an old romance slideshow. Surely the great Radio Demon don't have a soft spot for that sappy stuff, right?”

A disgruntled sigh came as Alastor turned the TV off and tiptoed his way around the sleeping demons. “History is history, my effeminate fellow. If something else were to be made first instead, I would have played that.”

As he went to slip off into the unknown, Angel followed in his distorted shadow. “I've got another question!”

The radio demon rolled his eyes. “If you must.”

“Do you ever think about sex?”

The question was both expected and unexpected at the same time. “Heavens, no.” Alastor instinctually replied.

“Then what do you do to bond with people you love? Kisses? Cuddles?”

“I've never met someone who interests me in that way, so none of the above. If we are discussing friendships, a benevolent game of cards and a night out at a bar never hurt anyone.”

Angel's eyes flickered to the snoring Husker. He knew very well how card games turned out in Alastor's book. Perhaps the topic really was hopeless. Perhaps Al really was a psychopath demon with no chance at anything beyond Hell. “I see. Goodnight, then. Don't be gettin too spooky out there.”

A hum of relief came from Alastor as he found the spider demon leaving. Finally some peace. A short lived peace. It wasn't too long before questions began filling his head.

“How do I show love to the people I care about?”

“Shut up, I don't love anyone.”

“Oh, but you do! Isn't she the reason you want all this power to begin with?”

“It's a lost cause. Everything I'm doing is for me, now. Hell is forever and I've earned it.”

“But what if that darling Charlie is truly onto something? And there are people here that you love too, yes? Do you ever let them know that?”

The inner dialog could have gone on and on in painful bouts of excuses and rebuttals, unsorted feelings that he preferred to keep repressed. When he began feeling this way, there seemed to be only one person in Hell that could set him straight.

[inbabylontheywept]

Master Post of Writings and Series

HFY Science Fiction That Isn't a Ship, It's a Cannon with FTL! Military fiction revolving around space pirates and a railgun someone strapped an FTL drive to. There are three parts, the link above should let you scroll through the whole series. Like Sharks A short fic based on the prompt "Humans are the only ones to actually develop FTL. Everyone else just uses wormholes." The Scattering Experimental piece. I normally do prose, but I tried a poem. Inspired by the Dark Forest Theory. "So...What's the biggest gun you've ever made?" First installment starring Earl, a weapons designer. In this episode he explains the basics of fission-based fusion weapons, their applications in throwing things into orbit. Also stars a horny lobsterman. "R&D? More like R&Deez Nuts" Second installment starring Earl. This is a laser tag fight starring the R&D division, accounting, and sales. There will be male bonding. Or else. "Yeah, sure, and I shit thermite. Be serious." Earl drinks until he pukes. Aliens learn that humans produce hydrochloric acid for digestion. The Vengabus is Coming! A pinned down group of soldiers has to call in a human tank for backup. Shock and awe does not begin to describe it. Hold Your Breath and Burn The bad news is that he's gonna die in space. The good news is that he can make it count. "I will solve you if I must." The last tool of diplomacy is threats. Burning Bridges You don't have to kill a soldier to keep them from being a combatant. "I think we underestimated the scale of the human species by eight or nine orders of magnitude." In which humans turn out to be the swarm. Party Favors Humanity solved mortality. It did not solve boredom. Now it's everyone's problem. Starring my creepiest humans, a lot of drugs, and the leasy sexy descriptions of sex I could make.

HFY Fantasy Small, Fragile, and Destined to Die There's something to be said for spitting in the face of death. Sometimes, literally. "Healing+Lightning=Wizard Launcher" Unconventional spell uses let a wizard punch above his weight. And bite. And kick. Human wizards make a lot of ruckus. An Honorary Troll A wizard fights a troll. It is not a very wizardly fight. I considered it a very loose sequel to the story above it, but both can absolutely be read separately. Dale of the Dales A two part series about a human protecting a town of halflings from an army of gnomes with the power of hospitality, and also being comparatively massive. Why Human's Can't Cast On the properties of superconductors and golden gods. The Thunder God of Honnillee A human is adopted by a halfling. What Talon and What Dreadful Claw Tragedy with a man and a spynx.

Unsorted Fictions Leviathan A necromancer scours the depths of hell for a soul worthy of his creation. He finds more than he bargained for. Odysseus in Space (It's very, very good) Biographical Pieces Soviet Birds A comedy of errors is resolved by the Vessel of Bird Sacrifice. The Kitchen Labyrinth of Missile Science Why does a classified facility with 30 people at it have 7 kitchens? What would you do if I told you it has seven of every kind of room? The Fridges. Oh my God, the Fridges. It also has 20 fridges in it. Obviously. Kevin vs. Intro to Quantum You would be surprised at the kind of intellectual challenges random bystanders can take. I certainly was. Layman walks in and becomes the class mascot. The Condom Bomber In which I fuck up. Videos None of these are narrated by me, but I thought I'd list them here for anyone that prefers listening to reading. Like Sharks, read by Grey Voice. He focuses on smooth reading. Like Sharks, read by Aggro Squirrel. He has a theatrical voice. Like Sharks, read by NetNarrator. He has a fast, clipped style. The Vengabus is Coming & Burning Bridges 2 for 1 by Aggro Squirrel. "Yeah, and I shit thermite. Be serious." by Net Narrator. "So, what's the biggest gun you've ever made?" by Aggro Squirrel.

[asha-mage]

WoT Musing: Bits and Bobs from a book nerd

A few unsorted/random thoughts from a book mega nerd about various things in the show-

It's interesting to me that they changed Logain's innate talent from being able to see ta'veren to being able to see when a man can channel or not. This is practically probably because Mat was also in that scene, but I've also noticed that they've dialed back on the use of the term 'ta'veren' as a whole this season. Probably to avoid over cluttering all the concepts their having to introduce.

Elayne's desire to work with her hands/fascination with craftsmanship showing itself in her 'sparker trick' being a weave to make alcohol is very funny and on brand.

The show is continuing to walk out the small shifts in it's dynamics born of re-ordering things in a smart way. Everyone being slightly older was felt sharply in season 1: Mat's mischief and gambling is a whole lot less cute and a whole lot more worrying since he's no longer a teen, Perrin is married (like always intended to be) and settled as the most 'responsible' of the boys, etc. In season 2 Egwene arrived first instead of Elayne, and is the more experienced/knowing Novice, to Elayne's naive newcomer. As a result we get to see the slightly spoiled sweet girl she was before the Tower started to bust down her pride and teach her more about the world. She's a little more unsure, and a little more eager to make friends- both of which work in favor of showing off her strengths as a character, endearing her to both Egwene and the audience.

The choice to give Perrin the ability to see visions of the past with his wolf brother powers is interesting. I get that they need a visual way to express Perrin's wolf senses, and this is probably the most direct, since their's not a non-weird way to visually depict smell, but I hope we at least get a TAR related explanation from Elyas.

I find the use of the Crimson Thorn as a symbol of the Red Ajah and the cruel mercy that they grant to be fascinating. More over, I find Nynaeve's being pulled between the Red and Yellow Ajahs (something I suspect we are going to get more of) to be smartly done: Nynaeve has never been afraid of doing what needs to be done, but that doesn't make it easy, and Liandrin is right: to an extent that their always been a little bit of Red in her, a belief that the world would be better if everyone just followed her rules. And yet it is her compassion that defines her, that fuels her rage most of the time. Compassion for those hurt and sick and dying turns to rage against what caused it: a cruel world or a war or a sickness. Compassion for those she cares most for fuels her rage at those that would threaten, hurt, or control them. She left the Two Rivers to protect the EF5 and that remains her goal all the way to the series's end, her character arc is largely about accepting what that will mean, and learning not to be afraid to claim the power to do that.

I've said this in various other forms but it bares repeating: Lanfear really is winning right out the gate. She's got the hot new hardware LTT as her naive sugar baby, their is no one in sight to threaten her control over him with things like 'morals' and 'duty', and he's slowly succumbing to her influence. More then worth the price of having to run a small business in a slum I'm sure.

That said I want a 50k word fic that is just Lanfear's Adventures in Small Business Ownership. We know those drinks where over priced, but where they watered down? Did she have to pay a mortgage? Deal with uppity suppliers? Was their a Darkfriend Company Discount as Selene's Totally Normal And Not At All Evil Bed and Breakfast?

I have two nitpicks that are so minor they barely warrant discussion, and one is not even the show's fault. The first is that everyone keeps saying things like 'your powers' rather then 'strength in the power'. Jordan goes to so much trouble to make the point that people and objects don't have the power, they use it and strong in the power, and then Sanderson changed it to 'my powers' and 'how powerful he is' and *gargles*. This is like the peaches all over again.

The second is that as much as they nail the arches scene/ceremony, I wish they had gone the final mile and said 'Be steadfast'. It wasn't necessary exactly, but it's exclusion made me whisper under my breath, like a rhyme I just HAD to finish.

(This is completely normal and sane person behavior, stop looking at me like that internet stranger).

I don't have to much to say about Mat's story line beyond being VERY interested in where they are going tying him and Min together. I still needs to get off the ground for me to have more Thoughts.

Adeleas being Cringefail re: Lan is so funny to me in ways I can't quite explain.

I reiterate the point that since Rand's can't be Warder trained, giving him an old veteran blade master who is suffering from PTSD/Dementia was a VERY smart move that fits the feel of the books.

RIP Joshua's soft boy curls. You where a casualty of this war.

[awxcoffeexno]

selfish

bf!joel x reader

fic masterlist summary: joel has work. and you miss him.

warnings: angst, so much angst!!!, plenty of pining, both characters are stubborn, there is 0 communication, if only they would just talk to each other!!, but obviously not, why would they do that?, also reader is pregnant (no use of y/n, no outbreak, mild age gap (reader is 23, joel is 28))

word count: just under 1.2k

a/n: this is my first fic on here and idek why i've written this but i'm pining so,, T.T

it's fifteen minutes past 8 and joel is still tapping away on his keyboard, brows furrowed, lower lip between his teeth.

you've only peeked into the room to see if he's finally done, but he isn't. so you walk back out to the living room and pick up the new copy of notes from underground that you bought at the old book shop yesterday.

you'd wanted him to come with you, even told him it would be lovely to have him. but whilst the whole country took the day off for a holiday you don't particularly celebrate, joel was still in your room, still tapping away at his keyboard. with a soft sigh, you had pressed a kiss to his forehead and he'd given you a sheepish smile. I'm sure you'll love it, baby. send me loads of pictures.

so alone you'd gone, sifting through the piles and piles of unsorted books, hoping to find something nice. you'd picked up a small, tattered book about duties of couples in marriage. a wedding present signed off by a distant uncle. giggled at the silly pictures and then put it aside. more unsorted books, several copies of jane eyre, pride and prejudice, a tale of two cities (🤢 you couldn't imagine ever picking that up again, what a terrible piece of prose).

until finally, a copy of notes from underground. fyodor dostoyevsky. you'd always wanted to read dostoyevsky but you'd never considered yourself having enough time or patience for him. deep breath. no better time than the present.

so here you are, curled up in the little nook next to the fire place where only you would think to sit. it's a tight spot but you like it. it's warm and comforting and since you don't have joel's arms, the brick wall will have to do. besides you’ve got olives and vanilla ice cream to keep your cravings at bay so at least there’s that.

you'd spent your day finally getting back to the painting you'd forgotten in the back of the attic last month, followed by work on your dissertation, glancing at your phone every now and then. no messages from joel. so you'd given him a missed call like you always did to catch his attention. 

joel.

hi, baby, need a sec. brb.

and you'd given him a second. ten minutes. twenty. you knew you were being needy but before this god forsaken job you'd spent every day together, curled up in each other. you'd help each other with your assignments, him pressing absent-minded kisses to your shoulders as he flipped through his architecture textbook.

nearly an hour later he'd texted you back. 

hi. sorry. got carried away.

no, it's okay. how are you?

and he'd gone on a rant about work. and you'd listened. and then he was gone again.

even when he came back home, all you'd gotten was a squeeze on the arm, a kiss on the forehead and a meeting, baby. 

you'd wanted to scream. but how selfish would that be? he was working. besides your dissertation was waiting for you, the cursor blinking, jeering at you for leaving it mid word.

and now it is nearly two hours later. you've both eaten dinner in separate rooms and you're reading dostoyevsky.

dostoyevsky. 

the clock is mocking you. tick, tock. 

tick, tock.

tick, tock, you pathetic little bitch. he is working.

tick, tock, look at you! my god. he is working!

tick, tock.

"joel?"

nothing.

"joel!"

"hmm?"

"I'm bored."

he lets out a soft tired chuckle that makes your heart warm. "want me to come dance for you?"

idiot. you tell him as much. 

you get up and tip toe to your room again. "hi."

"hi, sweetheart." his hair is soft and fluffy. you push your fingers through it, watching his eyes flutter shut.

you press a soft kiss to his lips. he smiles.

"do you have any time today?" you ask him, leaning back on your hands.

you really are pathetic. but you miss it. you miss having him all to yourself every night. you miss pressing soft kisses into his jaw without having to worry about his brows furrowing and him apologising because work was demanding his attention. you miss how he'd rub the anxiety away from your chest. didn't matter what the anxiety was about, he'd always take it away from you. and now he can't, because he's always anxious himself. about work. about you. about the baby you had on the way - the baby he was working so hard for.

and you want to be selfish. you want to tell him where it hurts. sometimes you do and you see his guilty little eyes as he looks over at you and tries to take it away. but it doesn't go away anymore. and he feels so fucking guilty about it. and you only add to his stress, and then you're feeling guilty too and it's not good for either of you.

"I'll be free in a bit, sugar. I'll be off at 10. I hope."

but that's not what you want. because once he's off at 10, he'll be tired. and he should rest.

but you're selfish. 

so. "no, like. do you have any time today for me?" you rephrase and watch as his shoulders slack and his eyes darken.

look how sad you've made him. 

"yeah. after 10." he's blunt. cold.

and that's because you know he wants to rest. and he knows he wants to rest. and you've just been selfish again and fuck, he's getting so tired. tired of constantly being pushed to show up. to be there. for work. for you. 

you’d celebrated this job with him, hadn’t you?! made him a little cake and blown up balloons. it was a good job. hard work but it paid so fucking well. the two of you had planned this baby for so long. he’d taken up a diploma so that he wouldn’t have to support you on the wages of a contractor whilst you worked on your masters. but hindsight is 20/20 and you’d much rather have a small house and a tight budget and still have joel than sit in the living room alone, day after day as he worked his ass off trying to do what’s right what any man with self-respect would do.

tears sting your eyes. you miss him. and you're so fucking pathetic, making all of this about you. he notices but doesn't comment because he's done. he's done consoling you about something he is going through too.

but you're selfish. so you stand up and walk out and he's left staring at the ghost of your perfume wondering when something will finally let up. when something will give. when you'll just understand and let him be.

until then he knows that this cycle will repeat every day. because you're selfish. 

not that he'd ever think that. because he's joel and fuck he loves you. 

but you know it. and your clock knows it.

you're selfish. 

--

if you're reading this, thank youu xx maybe I'll write some more. idk, but I hoped you liked it. &lt;3

just migrated from reddit back to tumblr and I didn't realise how much I missed tumblr aaaaaaa

love, d 🖤

[happistar]

okay im like 80% sure you've probably read all/most of these but as a fan of squorror content these are my recs:

(Note: some of these may just be more angsty than horror, but I'm going for anything where the squip has a fucked up amount of control over Jeremy/whoever)

Taste - Beth Harker The Squip alters Jeremy's taste buds and it's very fucked up and the consequences of it are also messed up. Less horror, more angst, but still fucked up if you think about the implications

dreaming of pills - MayoNassey 3 fics of nightmare sequences revolving around what happened during canon! Very good shit.

Memories Get Erased - Duck_Life More angst, less horror, but the Squip erases and changes Jeremy's memories of Michael during canon. (Once again. The implications.)

Cabinet Man - TheWritingDork, what_in_the Ever listened to Cabinet Man by Lemon Demon? Yeah that's what this fic is about. AU where the Squip is a demonic arcade machine and Jeremy gets trapped inside, Michael trying to help him escape before he loses his friend permanently. The last chapter is less of my kind of thing but overall it was really good

(You Can't) Just Listen - Duck_Life Jeremy post-canon has to follow any command given to him thanks to programming left behind by the Squip. uhhhh pretty fucked up, but less Squip focused.

Override - Nymm_at_Night The Squip takes over Jeremy's body (also instead of Christine its Michael). Very stylistically cool, its got illustrations and hidden text (not a formatting issue which I first thought upon reading)

Ophiocordyceps nippon - SoftEigentlich SURPRISINGLY NOT WRITTEN BY MAYO? this fandom loves its ophiocordyceps squips, huh? Anyways heartbreakingly short and horrifying. I want 10 more of these fics please

(Stop It, Stop It) Just Let Me Out - [orphaned account] The Squip kinda just fully takes control of Jeremy's body from the get-go. Fucked up

Six Feet Under, Passing Over - Nymm_at_Night So so so Normal about this fic. Rich kills his abusive dad and the Squip gets Jeremy to help him bury the body.

We Sync - polarized_light Psychological horror exploring how squip control and more notably syncing up works. Some good squorror in here in my opinion. Also Michael gets squipped o7

Same As It's Always Been - housebird_reads I haven't finished this one yet, I only read the first couple chapters but gods I love a fucked up time loop. Can't vouch entirely for how horrifying it is but it's good.

in the back of my brain, the voices all sound the same - Celestetcetera I'm certain you've seen this one but to anyone else seeing this post it's. Yeah. This fic is good. Basically stems from the idea that the Squip can make itself sound like anything, including Jeremy.

someone please recommend me bmc horror fanfics i'm starving rn

if i read it already i'll just give a review

[chickenparm]

Fidget Device (Alhaitham/afab!Reader) (2)

AO3 LINK

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Art inspired by this fic by @drawlypsy can be found here!

Alhaitham/afab!Reader

2,867 Words - NSFW

Blowjobs, allusions to m!Masturbation

---

Pleasant dreams aside, the reality upon your waking is startlingly mundane. 

Alhaitham doesn’t stay, he doesn’t look at you as he drops his coffee mug into the sink and turns to leave. There’s barely any acknowledgement at all beyond him calling a generic goodbye into the depths of the house that really only housed you at the moment - Kaveh was absent as often as possible, including this morning. 

Your own work beckons you, but it’s impossibly hard to focus when you’re entirely unsure if last night was a dream or the real thing. 

Chewing on the end of your pen - something Alhaitham would’ve scoffed at if he’d spent longer than 5 minutes in your presence - you mull over the possibilities. It had to have been a dream, that’s the only conclusion you can really come to. Even someone as composed as Alhaitham wouldn’t have been able to be so nonchalant in your presence. 

Nothing but a sweet dream, one that you immerse yourself in with your cheek in your palm and the sun coming through the stained glass window against your skin in shades of teal and olive. Even in the mornings, Sumeru’s sun shines bright enough to warm you pleasantly in the home that Alhaitham stubbornly keeps cold in all seasons. 

How he’d smelled, how even in your dreams he’d let you cling to him as he thoughtlessly toyed with you as if it were nothing. Even in your thoughts he doesn’t pay you any mind, even in the throes of your excitement, even as you grind down against his lap, against his hand. The fabric of his gloves dragging against the skin of your-

Chin nearly falling off its perch with enough force to sting, you sit upright and push back from your desk. Glove. Alhaitham wasn’t wearing his gloves when he left. Alhaitham didn’t particularly favor change, down to the very outfit he wears and the various accessories that come with it. Why would he forego wearing something he’s so attached to?

His bedroom is never locked. There’s no reason for it - Kaveh knows better to cross the line into messing with Alhaitham’s belongings, and there’s always been a quiet acceptance of your presence when you poke your head in to ask him something. Even so, it feels odd to cross the threshold and step inside when he isn’t present. 

Alhaitham’s room is filled with wall-to-wall bookcases, a large desk that serves to hold unsorted books rather than any sort of work, and a bed that sits unmade beneath the window facing the sun. It’s tactically placed for him to awaken when the light brushes over him. Stepping closer, your fingers reach for the divot in the bed that he seems to lay in, blankets thrown back as if he’d risen in a hurry. 

It’s far from being still warm with his body heat, long chilled despite his departure less than an hour ago. Pressing your palm to his pillow, you wonder what he might’ve looked like as he dozed. The sunlight feels thick as it comes through the window, dust motes lazily crossing the beam in little pinpricks of light. Absently, your thumb drags along the pillowcase, pretending for only a moment that the fabric could be substituted for the smoothness of his cheek. 

Would he hum in response? Smile in his sleep at your touch? More likely he would awaken the moment you entered the room, pushing himself into a sitting position and look at you as if you were nothing more than the very sparks of dust that cast impossibly small shadows against the back of your hand. 

Snatching your hand back, clutching it to your chest and turning on your heel, you remind yourself of the entire reason you entered in the first place. Alhaitham’s gloves - where would they be?

Easy enough. His laundry hamper sits in the corner, its wicker lid pulled shut to hide what’s inside. Without as much shame as you should have for going through a grown man’s laundry, you lift the lid with a single finger and find your answer sitting right on the top. Black fabric that has an unmistakable stain as if it’d been hurriedly used to-

The lid snaps back down and you take two measured steps back to the middle of the room. There’s no misinterpreting any of that - from the evidence of what he’d done to you that’d seeped into the base of the glove’s fingerless portion, to the remains of his own pleasure smeared along what would’ve been the palm if he were wearing it. 

“Not a dream, then.”

Your quiet murmur feels deafening in the silence of Alhaitham’s bedroom. The sun still moves across the sky, his bed still sits unmade, the dust dances before your eyes as you stare at the wicker basket and try to piece together the simple truth. Everything he’d done last night truly happened, and he still left so quickly in the morning that you’re beginning to think he might have regretted it. 

Perhaps he was fearful of your reaction; he hadn’t necessarily given you room to say no, but neither did you want to. Certainly if you tried he would have, Alhaitham isn’t like that. So what caused him to run?

Shame. It had to be shame, judging by the evidence left behind. Alhaitham isn’t necessarily the neatest person in the world. Often you’ve entered this room where his jacket has been tossed across the back of his chair, or one boot sits by the door while the other is across the room. Even his bed is often only made to the point of laying the duvet flat and the pillows aligned, the sheet still mussed under the covers. 

Alhaitham put his gloves there to hide them. On purpose. 

—

This is a stupid idea. But it’s the only one you have, and that has to count for something. 

If there’s anything about Alhaitham that you know for certain, it’s that he’s punctual down to leaving his work at exactly five o’ clock without deviation. Then the short walk home, reinforced by the way the front door shuts and a little slower than usual he makes his way to the kitchen where you’re just serving up a portion of the soup you’ve made that you know he detests.

Just one portion. 

Keeping your back to him, you stare into the earthenware dish before you and ask, “How was work?”

“It was work. How was…” Alhaitham trails off, as if just now coming to the realization he had no clue what your plans were for the day because he didn’t bother to say anything to you before leaving that morning. 

Maybe you’re a little too satisfied that he’s come across this blunder in your presence, but you don’t let him flounder for too long. “My day was enlightening. Lots of new thoughts, I’m sure you understand.”

And oh does the sound of his sharp inhale make your heart race in anticipation. Elaboration isn’t needed; this conversation could be left right here and Alhaitham would know exactly what you’re referring to. But he calls your bluff, stepping closer as if his proximity would cause you distress. “I’d understand better if you shared them.”

“After dinner.” You promise, turning to hold the bowl out to him with hands outstretched, your chin jerking toward the table that oft goes unused. Angular eyes narrow in suspicion - first at the bowl in your hands, then to the table that’s been set with a single placemat, cup, and utensils. Everything tonight has its purpose, including the absence of your own seat.

But without a history of malice, Alhaitham can’t truly deny you this. His ungloved fingers pass across your own as he takes what you’re offering, skin burning against skin for the briefest moment before the exchange is made. When he’s seated, staring listlessly down at the food you’ve made, you busy yourself with extinguishing the oven’s flame and cracking the door to let the heat seep out. 

And then, your own dinner portion. 

Alhaitham has made it through a few bites, that damn book laid flat on the table as he multitasks. For once, you’re thankful for his utter distraction. It lets you sink to your knees unbothered, it allows you the freedom to crawl across the floor beneath the table until you can slot yourself rather neatly between his parted knees. 

The chair shoots back enough for him to look down at you, eyes wide and pupils visibly dilating at the sight of you on your knees, apron pooled around you, hands barely ghosting across the tops of his thighs. “What are you doing?”

A simple question, one that arguably fits his definition of needless, but you’re not here to split hairs over things like that. Letting go of him, you reach for the legs of his chair and tug him back toward you forcefully to emphasize your reasoning. “Having dinner, obviously. Don’t mind me.”

Alhaitham looks at you with undisguised wonder as your fingers creep higher, tracing the inner seam until you can cup your palm against him. Not completely hard, but he’s well on his way, and you remember quite vividly how he’d felt against you last night. Burning hot, insistent, begging you to do something about it if he’d only allowed you to.

Saliva pools beneath your tongue, anticipation for giving him exactly what he deserves proving to be a little too close to ambrosia for you to resist it. He’s grown hard enough beneath your fingers that you can feel the outline of him clearly, and you drag the pads of your fingertips hard enough that he jolts in his chair. Alhaitham’s knees press into your shoulders, and you tsk up at him in admonishment. 

“Eat your dinner. Quit squirming.”

And you’ll eat, too. Fingers tugging at the hem of his pants, just enough for him to bob free, you take a single moment to admire him. It’s a shame he kept this to himself last night - he’s rather pretty.

Saltiness blooms on your tongue as you press it against the head of his cock, first dragging then dipping the tip into the slit at the very tip. Above you, the spoon clatters against the table in response, but rather than chide him you instead fill your mouth with his hardness instead of your words. 

Alhaitham fills your mouth easily, pressing your tongue down as you take him further. The undulation of your tongue along the bottom of his cock make him jerk against you, your swallowing around him must feel far more interesting than whatever he’s reading up there. But he was so interested in it last night…

With a wet pop, you pull back and speak with your lips pressed against the head of his cock, threatening to take him in again, “Having trouble focusing? Do you need me in your lap again?”

Audibly he inhales, certainly prepared to give you a piece of his mind that he must be dying to share, but you cut him off by taking him as far as you can once more. The sound in his throat turns from something coherent to a choked groan as your lips reach the base of his cock briefly, then again, starting a slow pace that’s entirely at your leisure. 

Not his, despite how he rocks toward you in encouragement. Hooking your elbows over his thighs, you leave no room for him to chase after you. Just as he’d locked you in his grasp, you ensnare him just as solidly. At your mercy, he can only lean back in the chair and grip at the armrests with bare fingers and nails digging in audibly. 

The tip of your tongue presses against the prominent vein beneath, relishing in the feel of his racing heartbeat. It’s concrete proof that he isn’t as aloof as he tries to be, though his unfocused eyes on you are just as telling. Now he gives you his attention, undivided and blazing with complete focus. 

It should feel empowering, flattering even. Instead you only feel annoyed, and raise one hand to knock at the bottom of the table above your head. Focus elsewhere, you wordlessly tell him with your cheek bulging around the mass of him, pay me no mind.

Or you’ll stop. You’re not above that, even if you’re getting as much enjoyment out of this as he is. Intuitive even when you’re sucking on him hard enough to veer toward pain, Alhaitham’s hands shake as he reaches to the table, paper rustling enough to tell you he’s at least trying.

But the pages don’t turn, his eyes don’t move as he stares somewhere off in the middle distance. This is how he should’ve looked last night, rather than unaffected and bored. Without a doubt, he’s much easier on the eyes when his jaw is slack and his entire body is full of tension that’s threatening to snap.

The muscles of his abdomen clench, threatening an apex that you’re well aware is looming quickly. His throat bobs with a thick swallow, the exhale through his nose catching on the motion before he rasps, “You’re going to… I’m-”

The words can’t form, not while you drag your tongue on the ridge of his tip, against the vein beneath, along his length with no small amount of self-indulgence. Alhaitham throbs in your mouth, a clear warning for what he’s trying to tell you, and it’s one that you promptly disregard. 

He’s salty on your tongue, between your teeth and cheeks, his release hitting you with force that he can’t use on you himself. Paper crinkles above with his tension, and you’re treated to the sweetest sound of his appreciative moan from low in his chest. Alhaitham’s knees have locked you in, keeping you from pulling back even as he grows soft in your mouth as you swallow his release. 

With his clear refusal to let you go just yet, you gauge his expression from your lower vantage point. Blushed cheeks, half-lidded eyes, chest heaving despite so little exertion - Alhaitham paints a pretty picture, one that you wish you could’ve been allowed to see earlier if he’d been just a little more forthcoming. 

With a thud, his back hits the chair once more and he stares up at the ceiling, cutting off your view of whatever expression he wears. Having lost your patience now that he’s obstructed your sight, you wiggle your way from his grasp and awkwardly shimmy from beneath the table. Lips swollen, you sweep at the corners with your thumb and pointedly turn back to the stove to actually get your dinner. 

Alhaitham can worry about dinner cleanup - you’re rather happy to lock yourself in your room and have a quiet evening alone. Maybe some more of those pleasant dreams are on the table, now that you’ve given yourself more fuel for the fire. 

—

His book has long since closed itself under the pressure of its own binding, but the sound can’t drag him from the half-aware, meandering reverie he directs toward the rafters of the ceiling. Steam that once rose from the bowl of soup is no more, leaving it to congeal in the bowl with only a single spoonful having been taken out of it. 

A tacky clock on the wall - one bought for the purpose of driving Kaveh insane - ticks steadily, ensuring that time is passing. He can’t make heads nor tails of it. Alhaitham doesn’t even try.

Somewhere deeper in the house, Alhaitham hears you moving around. The shower starts with a squeak of turning knobs and water moving through pipes. Images of you flicker behind his eyelids as he closes them, ones that include you undressed under the falling water, humming some tune to yourself that you seem to favor with its simplicity. 

How long has he been sitting here, unable to pull himself together? Slouched in the chair until his back aches, mind whirling with thoughts that are too ephemeral for him to dig his fingers into, openly indecent with his pants down for anyone to see if they were to come into the room. 

Archons the house is cold, he feels it along the backs of his limp hands, on the sweat across his forehead. Even on his dick that you hadn’t bothered to put away when you were finished with him. You’d left rather unceremoniously; at least he’d had the decency to put you to bed.

Cracking his eyes open once more, he turns them to the hallway that would lead directly to you and tries to imagine the exact amount of footsteps it would take to cross the distance to the bathroom. Or from the bathroom. 

Maybe if he called for you-

Alhaitham sits up at the mere thought, fingers digging into the arm rests as leverage. No, he’s not doing that. The chair clatters to the floor as he stands, first tipping to two legs and then all the way back under the pressure of his sudden movements. With still-trembling hands, he reaches to his waistband to put himself away, grimacing at the stickiness. 

It might just be in his best interest to shower as well.

[ourflagmeansgayrights]

some of y’all might’ve noticed that like 90% of the shit i reblog lately is tagged just “#tag later” and this is bc my new job has me working three 12hr overnight shifts a week and this leaves me too exhausted to tag things correctly. i started doing this back in like october-november when i was working AND going to school and was basically doing 52 hrs of work a week and i started tagging the wrong characters and shit and ppl would point it out and i was like aw FUCK. so i started tagging shit “tag later” with the idea that when i stopped having to do these hellish 52hr weeks i’d be less exhausted and i could go through that tag and fix everything. however with my new job there isn’t rlly an end in sight, this is just my life now (and fwiw i rlly like it even if my tagging game is slipping, i love my job). i’ve been tagging stuff “tag later” pretty consistently and i’m starting to think that maybe Employed Jess just can’t keep up w the combo of 1. Having A Full Time Job, 2. my insane tagging system, and 3. my obsessive need to see Every Single Post On My Dashboard. so my options are:

give up on the tagging system altogether (genuinely can’t imagine doing this. reblogging stuff with no way to sort it into categories??? the fuck?????? that’s fucking insane to me. i think i’d get so anxious abt my blog being an infinite unsortable jumble of ofmd posts that i’d delete my whole blog in a panic one night)

simplify the tagging system somewhat (somewhat more doable but also the difference between my old tagging system and my new tagging system on different posts would still drive me fucking insane)

try to get over my anxiety about Seeing Every Single Post and just focus on actually tagging things correctly when i go to reblog them (this one is fun bc if i actually manage to conquer this neurosis then i can finally follow back the dozens of rlly cool ofmd blogs that im only not following bc i’m weird abt how i use tumblr. however i think what would be more likely to happen is i would follow everyone and then still be anal abt seeing every post, but now my dash would be functionally infinite and then i’d be wasting even more time scrolling on tumblr trying to catch up on my dashboard during work or when i’m supposed to be sleeping. and then i’d have to unfollow ppl to stop my life from falling into chaos and i’d feel rlly bad)

seriously limit my time on tumblr just in general and try to focus more on other hobbies in my free time (dgmw there would still be a lot of ofmd in my life i’d just be doing more, like, catching up on fics i’ve been meaning to read or something. maybe even writing more of my own fics??? that sounds fake to me but who knows)

just keep doing what i’m doing and maybe i’ll get better at the whole “work life balance” thing and i’ll be less exhausted all the time and i’ll finally be able to catch up on tagging everything