#guys i'm writing this for me alone

[skrunksthatwunk]

thinking about how eiji's a pole vaulter and how ash talks about eiji "flying" and how eiji's associated with bird imagery and how eiji's free (unlike ash) and how eiji comes in on a plane and leaves on a plane and how ash cannot fly, ash cannot be free, how nyc is ash's prison, and how ash is the leopard who dies climbing the mountain, unable to live at such elevation, how he was trying to reach the sky and be free but was always stuck to the earth, how he chose to die instead of climbing back down, how he chose to die where he could see the sky and hope and freedom almost like a bird with eiji's letter right in front of him rather than letting everything go wrong and ruin it once again, how eiji's a failed pole vaulter anyway, how a bad fall ruined his career and grounded him (physically and emotionally), how it took flying to america and meeting ash and needing to save him and skip for him to try flying again, how he landed hard and harsh and still the thought of that escape compelled ash to protect eiji at all costs because if he could fly that means something to him, even if he doesn't think he can fly, how eiji is the manifestation of his hope and how when he breaks and asks eiji to stay with him a while he folds himself over his legs and weighs him down and traps him and grounds him, how ash fights like hell to keep eiji alive not because he thinks he can be like him (hopeful, flying, innocent), but because he makes him forget the gravity of his situation, and so he can see eiji fly again. how he wants to see him escape. how eiji is a bird and ash is a wildcat and how ash never once saw eiji as prey. how eiji never saw ash as a predator. how it is eiji's naivete that first endears ash to him, how it is his freedom and flight and removal from darkness and his ability to leave that darkness that really roots eiji in ash's blood as something essential to him keeping on living in this hell of nyc. how it is that distance from the violence and that hope for the future that ash chooses to surround himself in as he dies. how ash dies in a dream because he feels more than anything that he can't fly like eiji, that he can never leave. how his violence is a part of him and will be forever, how it weighs him down. how he wants to enjoy the view from the mountainside rather than looking up from the ground below. as if they can both fly. as if he is with him up there and not grounded. eye-to-eye with what he can't have, seeing eiji's homeland: the sky. how he dies trying to reach the top because he couldn't take retreating and trying again. how ash, tired and tired and tired and convinced it will go on forever if he crawls back down the mountain, chooses to close his life deluged in eiji, in eiji's insistence that they can fly together, in eiji's hope for him and for them, in eiji's beautiful dream. how ash dies without trying to realize that dream. how ash, in dying, destroys it.

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

wait a sec...

The Three Railway Engines, beginning of final story:

Edward and Gordon often went through the tunnel where Henry was shut up. Edward would say, "Peep, peep - hullo!" and Gordon would say, "Poop, poop, poop! Serves you right!"

Main Line Engines, beginning of final story:

Edward scolded the twins severely, but told Gordon it served him right. Gordon was furious.

[insomnya777]

do you guys know that youtube dating show called the button. because i was watching it with my friend the other day bc we were bored and we were like this seems funny and i somehow got a boat boys fic idea based off of it. so if i make a fic about the button dating show will people underdtand or is it too niche

[chungmyungenthusiast]

Concern

Notes I

this is a discontinued wip because I didn't know what to add,, anyways MORE FLUFF!!!! can this count as hurt/comfort except it's literal hurt and confrontation ?? who knows,, more chung myung content while I work on the wips :3

He's staring at you. Ah, no. He's frowning, is he angry? He's also bandaged up, did something happen? "You.." Chung Myung starts, and you swear that you see a pout on his lips. Are you laying on the spare bed in the nearby infirmary? Why is he next to you, though? His fingers gently caress your palm, the harshness of his calloused hand making you shiver, his eyebrows furrowing as he observes your hand. "You shouldn't have done that, really. I would have been fine, you know? And now that you went ahead and blocked that attack… You're laying here instead of me, you're so stupidly dumb." He sighs, his eyes still staring at your hand. You didn't do much though, your injuries are nothing compared to his deep ones. Speaking of which, why isn't he in bed right now? Shouldn't he be resting? "Why would I let it hit you?" "..??? What sort of question is that?" "A genuine one." ... He squints at you, his expression doing that thing where it's as if you just told him you're going to throw yourself off a cliff because you couldn't find your favorite cup. [ You did that once. ] "Because I could've easily blocked it?" "In that position? Chung Myung, you were already injured enough. If that hit you then you could've basically said that death knocked on your door once; if you survived, that is." That, kept him quiet for the next few minutes. "You're the idiot," You chuckle, shaking your head. "Just as much as you hate it if I got hurt-" "I loathe it." He interrupts, still a bit frustrated. You simply look at him with a blank look before sighing. "Okay," You nod, "You loathe me getting hurt. We established that multiple times, right? So, you expect me to not be the same way? We both know how stubborn the other is when it comes to such topics, dumbass. Of course I'll feel the same way."

Notes II

I dug deep into my drafts for this one and just edited it a tad bit so um :D

This is your daily reminder to actually communicate with others if you want the relationship to work /hj.. maybe

Eat this up while I continue to work on the reqs.. there's a lot of fluff to write so uh expect some angst after I finish them up :3

[deoidesign]

.

[bumblingbabooshka]

[TUVOKTOBER: Day 15] At First Sight. [Patreon | Commissions]

[xiphiaarts]

Man I might jus be vanilla

[kocch]

if not gay why GAY CODED WHY GAY CODED

WHY GOING ON DATES MAKES YOU FEEL LIKE YOU HAVE TO PERFORM ???? ??? what is going onnn

why why why the freddie mustache. why do you write him as he has problems actually committing to all the women in his life?? Why did he ask his male best friend to take care of his son if he dieS? ??

WHY NOT GAY IF GAY CODED

[volivolition]

guy who's unaware he's gonna spend the next 3-5 hours reworking the lyrics of dream sweet in sea major: haha maybe i'll write a silly little narrative for my hmself, wouldn't that be fun? :)

[bruhstation]

more ace doodles #AUSTRALIANPRIDE

[green-mug-tomato-juice]

odo's whole "i don't choose sides, i'm the outsider, i'm not a collaborator - i investigate crimes objectively, only if someone is guilty i turn them over to cardassian authorities" is so weird to me. because by letting cardassians decide the fate of bajoran criminals, he acknowledges them as having authority on bajor. which they should not, because bajor doesn't belong to them - their claim to power over bajor is inherently violent and is by far the biggest injustice in this whole situation. and since odo defines his whole being by his own sense of justice, you would think he would see that.

[dbphantom]

Hate having adhd went to go work on my fallout modpack, got distracted while going to disable the steam overlay, ended up in the points shop, went to go edit my profile, decided to change my pfp, found a buried folder I forgot existed, found some old Veneer art I forgot existed, spent 45 minutes looking at all the old photos, STILL HAVE NOT TOGGLED ONE SIMPLE OPTION THAT SHOULD'VE TAKEN 30 SECONDS AT MOST

[herefortheships]

Going to bed. Tomorrow's Halloween! It'd be so nice though if I could finish the outline for the book I wanted to write in November. Don't know if I said it here, but I'm doing NaNoWriMo in November but like, not officially lol. Just a writing challenge with my sisters. I want to start something new. But, so far, my outline is so-so. I do have an outline for the sequel to this other book, but I just want to work on something new. Like a very self-indulgent paranormal romance or something like that.

[riverswater]

ohh i wanna know about the scene you'd write the abusive louis (love that guy) fic for! pretty please? your brain has the best ideas

Re: this ^

Harry/Louis, 1.4k words. Tw for general abusive relationship crappiness and thoughts of domestic violence

The sheets are soft under him – washed the day before. Jasmin and white musk. The taste on his tongue is pleasurable as well, sharp mint. A grumble rises next to him. Louis doesn’t turn around, doesn’t play out his part. No point in it: the room is dark, Harry is drunk. Drank five cocktails and an unspecified number of shots, and Louis knows his boyfriend is not a smart guy, but sometimes he wonders what his goal is. Louis never brings him home with careful touches or gentle words, not anymore, Harry must know by now. But, still, he gets intoxicated to the point where he is a danger to himself, and Louis has to leave the party early. Play the part in front of other people. Human mask on, Louis mask on. Whoever that is, he dislikes him as well. Spineless, helpful, loyal. Boring.

He’s sitting with his back to the wall, and he is bored. He will leave the room as soon as Harry dozes out, maybe could leave now, already, while he still whines and turns around, foul breath and sweaty skin, but Louis doesn’t want the risk of him vomiting in his sleep or something. That would be boring, too. He’s not done with him.

Once he’s out, he’ll call Zayn, maybe, or maybe he’ll just hit the town. Saw a guy, the other day: tall, blonde. Slender. His number is still untouched. He could–

“What did you say?”

The room is silent. The air still.

“I–” Harry splutters, wails, sighs. He doesn’t turn to face him, but he curls on himself, pushing his back closer to Louis’s legs. Louis instinctively moves his limbs back. Harry is sick, he always is after a party. Tomorrow morning he will vomit the second his eyes will open. Luckily, Louis has a morning class, and won’t be required to assist him.

“I said,” Harry’s voice is a rogue whisper. Too much vodka. Louis finds him nauseating, at times. “Sometimes. Sometimes, I wish you’d hit me.”

So he didn’t hear wrong.

Interesting.

Louis relaxes back on the mattress, laying on his side, propped up by his left elbow. The lamppost light filters in, and he can make out the lines of Harry’s curls, his nose, part of his cheekbone. His eyes are closed shut, his brows knitted. Louis grins.

“And why is that?” He’s pushing, he knows it, but Harry has been eating out the palm of his hand for months now. He hasn’t called his sister since Louis told him to, back in January. He has fainted twice, only during this last semester. Niall hasn’t tried to contact him in weeks. He’s all his.

“You…” Harry lingers, stops. His eyes squeeze more, his lips curl. “Maybe. Maybe if I had bruises.” He dries his forehead with the back of his hand, harshly, uncoordinated. “If. If you cut me, or something. If I had signs. Maybe. Maybe people would notice.” He spits out the last part of his sentence, holds his breath, and pushes his face on the mattress, hard. Louis hopes he won’t drool. He changed the sheets yesterday.

Louis waits. He knows there is more. Harry has always been one for the dramatics.

“And. And,” he repeats with emphasis, as if that conjunction is meant to mean something by itself. “And if they’ll notice. If they’ll know. Maybe they… They’ll try to. Warn me off. And be by my side. Make me see who...” he doesn’t finish the sentence.

Louis finds it almost sweet how he can’t bring himself to say it. Not in the dark, not with his back to him, not while drunk. He’s his. All for him.

Harry whispers, his face still shoved onto the mattress: “Maybe then I would understand. I would be able to… I would. To leave you.”

Louis hums, considering. He throws his head back, face to the ceiling, and imagines it.

Not now, no. Harry is too drunk and pliant. No fun in that. He couldn’t even bring his hands up to cover his face. Maybe after one of Louis’ afternoon classes, when he comes back home and finds him with his feet (socks off) on the coffee table. Harry hasn’t done that in a long time.

He would march to him, rage oozing off his frame, grab him by his shoulder and cloak him in the face. “If I had bruises”, Harry said. So they would have to be visible. On the jaw, maybe. His teeth would cut the inside of his mouth, maybe he would bite his tongue. He would spit blood after a single hit. And then, and then… The terror in his eyes. The tears – Louis knows he would cry immediately, he would beg, he would apologize. And Louis wouldn’t care. It's almost tasty to picture. He would throw him on the floor, kneel on either side of his hips, or maybe with one knee on Harry’s chest, pinning him down, and hit him again. And again. He can almost smell the iron in the air, feel the tick, viscous liquid staining his knuckles and his work shirt.

He could destroy him, he knows that. Harry is so weak. A gust of wind could push him to the ground. It wouldn’t be special, to do that. There would be no skill, no thought, no planification. He could break his teeth, crack his bones, carve him, even, isn’t that what Harry said – “if you cut me”. And still, it wouldn’t be interesting.

He has no curiosity about hitting him. He knows how it would go. Harry wouldn’t even try to defend himself. He would paint himself as a martyr and let it happen. Boring.

He rolls his head back, looking at his boyfriend again. Harry’s face is now resting on his pillow, his eyes open and vacant, staring at their bedroom door.

“You know what I think,” Louis tells him. He can hear the smirk in his voice. “I think you wouldn’t leave me. Even with broken bones.”

Harry shuts his eyes and draws a quick breath in. Tucks his face in his own chest.

“I think”, Louis continues, moving closer to him, his lips inches away from Harry’s right ear. “Oh, wait. I know that much. You wouldn’t leave me. Even if the whole world was on your side. You know why?” He grins in the dark. Harry’s breath is quick, shallow. Louis leans in even closer, whispering: “Because they already are. They tried to warn you, I know they did. But you came back to me. They’re on your side, alright, but you? You’re on mine. You’re not leaving me, bruises or not.” Louis’ smile grows a tad more. He’s all teeth.

It’s risky to be this open, but for all purposes and intentions, he’s talking to a wall. Harry is incoherent. He would have never let himself say any of that shit if he had any spark left in his brain. Louis can breathe. He can take his mask off and breathe.

“And the best part?” Louis continues. There’s a hint of laughter in his voice. “You know as much. You love me. You don’t know how to live without me anymore.” Harry is shaking. Louis is not sure he’s still breathing and doesn’t care. “So, this fantasy, where some other swings by and saves you… it wouldn’t work. You want this. All of it. You want me.”

Louis scoots down on the bed, not wanting to bolt the scene anymore. The sound of Harry’s panic fills the room. Louis remains still, arms down his sides.

“You won’t remember this tomorrow,” he says to the dark. “And if you do, I’ll call you crazy. Crazy. How can you think so little of me? You know I love you. You know I’d do anything for you.” He hums. “You’re my boyfriend, I love you. You know that,” he says that last phrase in his sweet voice, the one he uses in front of other people, the one that sends girls into fits of awwws and I wish my boyfriend was that sweet with me. “Say it. Say what you know is true.”

Next to him, Harry is still trembling, quick gulps of air at an irregular pace.

“Harry.” His sweetness is gone.

Harry stops breathing. Louis waits.

“You love me,” Harry murmurs, sleepy. Satiated. “You’d never hurt me.”

Louis grins. “Good.” He’s not bored anymore.

[foxhole-pipe-dream]

Had the thought that The Greatest by Billie Eilish has some Andrew Minyard vibes, minus the romantic bits. More specifically, towards Cass Spear ☹️

"I'm trying my best

To keep you satisfied

Let you get your rest

While I stayed up all night

And you don't wanna know

How alone I've been

Let you come and go

Whatever state I'm in"

"And you don't wanna know

What I would've done

Anything at all

Worse than anyone"

"Man, am I the greatest

My congratulations

All my love and patience

All my admiration

All the times I waited

I made it all look painless

Man, am I the greatest"

"Man, am I the greatest

God, I hate it

All my love and patience

Unappreciated"

"I shouldn't have to say it

You could've been the greatest"

Guys...

[lordgrimwing]

Feanor and Finwe in Formenos

“You know,” Fëanáro said, leaning his head back to look up at the sky. The stars were faintly visible right before and after the mingling this far north. The Valar sought to punish him in banishment, but Formenos was his refuge from their overbearing influence. Even the treelight—that which tempted his father to lead a group through the dangers of Arda to reach Aman—hardly reached him here.  

“Know what?” His father prompted when he failed to finish the thought.

“The Valar—Manwë is not so wise as he would have us believe.” That was not what he intended to say, but his mind had changed from the softer paths it wandered before. The words were old, familiar, bitter on his tongue.

Finwë sighed, deep and long. Fëanáro felt how his chest fell with the loss of air given up to prevent the old argument from resurging. After everything, Finwë still loved the Valar; notwithstanding, he loved his son enough to risk their displeasure by taking up the same exile they forced upon him. He’d all but given up his crown when he rode north, leaving Tirion in Nolofinwë’s care. Even the other Noldor who joined them in Formenos looked to Fëanáro before Finwë.

It filled Fëanáro’s fëa almost to bursting to see the undeniable truth of his father’s love displayed so clearly in his deeds. He was treasured. He, lone son of Míriel, was most beloved in the King’s eye. 

He wished, almost, that his brothers were here to see his triumph. 

He turned his head to rest his cheek on his father’s shoulder. Finwë lifted a hand to smooth his hair and caress the sharp line of his jaw.

“Let us not speak of such things at this hour,” Finwë murmured, voice soft with the stillness that was unique to these times and places beyond the reach of the light of the trees. He turned his face and kissed his son’s scalp.

Fëanáro hummed a wordless agreement to not be difficult. He pressed his back against Finwë’s front and stretched his legs until their feet were tangled together. Comfortable, he lifted his face and closed his eyes and let his father kiss him slowly—tenderly—lovingly—on the mouth.