#m's writing stuff

[heartorbit]

MWAH!

[cryptid-cave]

Currently thinking about a reader who, while having a full-time job and playing the part of a “real adult” pretty well for the most part, is still kind of lost and pathetic. It feels less like they’re living and more like they’re surviving, getting by on their own with just a cat for company.

Enter John Price, who’s currently on medical leave and just itching for a project. Maybe reader works at a store near his home that he shops at almost every other day, or works at the library where he goes when he needs to get out of the house. Either way, he spots this pretty little thing who clearly needs some love and guidance, preferably from a strong, gentle hand - and who better to do that than him?

Anyways, save me bossy and demanding Price with a savior complex, save me

[ellieshyperfixations]

Nightcrawler, learning about Santa: Why do we need to watch out? Is Santa going to assassinate us?

Wolverine: Yeah. I mean, what do you think happens to the bad kids?

[gaysie]

some interesting passages from conversations with anne rice about why she writes about gay men

[stormyelliotwritez]

fic where ftm reader is logan’s gay (re)awakening when he sees r in his 2000 pickup truck blasting old rock in his flannel and jeans and logan just heart eyes and needs to be with this man Immediately.

(i say reawakening bc lets be real hes like 200 he mightve already realized hes a 🚬 before but needed like. a reminder)

AAAAAAHHHHHH literally my fav trope ever - i did a similar one to this btw called logan and his hot guy friend - also i made reader a handyman type guy coz funsies

He may be a bit ooc but i ain’t sure

i need to get more photos coz i keep reusing them

Old rock and a 2000’s pickup truck? 😍

It had been a long long day and Logan was walking home from the job he’d gotten after all that multiverse shit when a 2000’s pickup truck parked at the lights. He walked up next to it and raised an eyebrow as he heard the music. It was old rock or dad rock as Wade would say. He walked past the window and saw you. You were wearing a red flannel and faded blue jeans. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to like a guy.

He wandered home in a daze, only thinking about you in that pick up truck. Wade asked him if something was wrong and he couldn’t even answer. He just mumbled a no and then grabbed a beer. You looked so good in that flannel. He only saw you for a moment but you were his type alright.

A few days later, he took the same route home, hoping he’d see you and he did. You were parked this time with tools in the backseat. Against his better judgement, he walked up to your window and tapped on it. And against your better judgement, you rolled the window down and smiled at him.

“Your truck is a beauty,” he said with a smile.

“Thanks, I fixed her up myself,” you said back before patting the dashboard lovingly.

Logan took a glance at the tools in the back of your truck and chuckled to himself. “You a handyman?”

You nodded. “Guilty as charged. You needing something fixed?”

He chuckled. “Well now that I think of it, we’ve had a dodgy tap recently, my roommate and I.”

You chuckled and nodded. “I could drop by and see if it’s an easy fix?”

“Yeah, that’d be great, bub. We just live in the top apartment at the building with the blue door just over there so feel free to drop by whenever.”

You nodded and smiled again. “Well I gotta be off. I’ll drop by tomorrow.”

Logan smiled and waved as you drove off. He pumped his fist in the air, mimicking Wade, and grinned. Hell yeah, he was gonna get to see you again.

He walked back to the apartment and this time, he grabbed a beer and joined Wade on the couch. “You gotta skedaddle tomorrow so go work or something,” was all he said to Wade before the soccer game started.

The next day, Logan stayed home and made sure Wade was out the door by 8. The clock struck 10 and you knocked on the door like well… clockwork. He quickly opened the door and let you in.

“Hey, you’re here,” he smiled, “wasn’t sure if you’d turn up.”

You smiled and held up your bag. “Well I like getting paid.”

“And I like getting my tap fixed.”

You got to work and soon enough, you’d found the problem. You fixed it and when you stood up, Logan was standing in the doorway. He had a grin on his face and a beer in each hand. You hadn’t noticed how hot he was before but now he was standing there, wearing a white singlet and a brown flannel and looking super duper hot.

“That for me?”

He nodded and handed it over. “For a job well done, bub. And I’ll pay you as well of course.”

The two of you sat down and both had a beer. A bit after Logan finished his, he grabbed the money and handed it over. You stood up and contemplated leaving before turning back to him and chuckling awkwardly.

“You seeing anyone?”

Logan smiled and shook his head. “Thought you’d never ask, bub.”

You sat back down and leaned towards him, a smile on your lips. “Would you want to be seeing someone?”

“Is that someone you because I would love to be seeing you,” he said with a smirk as he leaned towards you.

When you leaned backwards and stretched, your shirt rode up and he saw your binder. He nodded to himself and leaned in a bit closer. “Haven’t dated a guy in a while so you wanna break me in again? We could listen to some rock?”

You chuckled and licked your lips before standing up and pulling your chair to next to him. You sat back down and shamelessly grabbed ahold of his hand and ran your fingers over it. “Absolutely, handsome.”

[grim333z]

in that case, what if i was to ask if you'll write something about carl x reader based on the song bag of bones by mitski? 😈

[For context I listened to the song and then googled it and got like really into this and speed wrote it. However I will not let it linger in my drafts because I will never ever do anything with it and will grow to HATE it. So here have whatever this is now ]

BAG OF BONES-

Carl grimes x gn!reader

tw - mentions of past sa, mentions of nausea, angst, it starts like smut, but there isn't any here, abuse mentioned (pls let me know what i missed) 

"Mercy on me, would you please spare me tonight?"

You force your lips against his, the musky taste saliva fills your mouth as you ignore the churning nausea rising in your throat. It's never like you hope it'll be, never like drinking from the bitter river Lethe, never feeling like all your deeply rooted bad is being washed away. Hell, it feels like it's growing. Though, it didn't feel any worse than it did with Ron. 

His hands claw at your shirt, not like he's trying to tear it from your sticky sweaty flesh, more as if he's trying to brace himself, clinging to something as he ventures through unfamiliar territory. He's sort of overwhelmed at everything, the abruptness, mostly. It was so sudden, one moment he'd been talking the next you'd pulled yourself onto his lap and smashed your lips against his. He wasn't all too sure what he was meant to do. 

Carl pulls back slightly, settling his hands on the curve of his hip, his eyebrows quirked into something of confusion and fear... uncertainty. "What- what're we doing?" He whispers, looking up at you, your hands firmly clasped against the sides of his head, his skin warm and sweaty in your palms. "You trust me, right, pretty boy?" You question, looking at him, garnering a nod to which you lean back forward, reconnecting your lips. He lets out a muffled huff as you continue to abuse his lips. You let your hands trail down, landing on the smooth skin just above his waistband. You feel his breath hitch as he draws back slightly. You blink. "I don't- I've never -" You cut him off, "Carl." You whisper, the cold metal of his belt sits beneath your fingertips.

You fiddle with the smooth silver, looking down at him with an expression that you hope reads as one of someone who knows what they're doing, trying to hide the nothingness between lust. He gazes up at you, the sweat cooling against his pale flesh. He tilts his head slightly. 

You pause, your hands grinding to a halt, your worn fingers still clasping the rough fabric of his jeans just below the button. "You don't want this," He whispers, moving his hands to rest at the very tops of your arms, his thumb faintly ghosting your flesh as he tentatively begins to glide it up and down. "What?" You falter, blinking."I want you..." You will your hands to continue moving, but they simply don't. They can't.

"Not like this." he coos, gently guiding you off him, settling you beside him, the mattress dipping slightly as the weight transfers. "Not like what?" You stammer, looking at him with a mix of confusion and a strange, somewhat sense of comfort. 

"It was pretty clear that's not what you wanted." 

"How..?" you whisper, slightly taken aback by Carl's maturity. It's what Ron always wanted. Why wouldn't it be the same with Carl. You pause, waiting for something, perhaps for Carl to change his mind, although you both know deep down that that isn't happening. 

"Just was." He hums, turning and slumping back against his pillow. He knew something just seemed off, the abruptness of it all, the way you were so focused on him. 

"Did I do something wrong...?" You question, drawing your knees towards your chest. "No, you just seemed off. Is this what you and Ron did?" Carl coos, he'd gathered whatever you had with Ron was...strained. He hadn't had the best examples when it came to love, so it was no surpised when you'd expressed how cold what you and Ron had was.

You knew why Ron was the way he was, and in all reality, he wasn't a bad guy, more of an overwhelmingly stuck guy. He had so much on his mind and no real healthy way to express it. Hell, he had a father who was so emotionally incapable that he felt the need to hit his own wife. Ron never forced you to do anything. He wasn't that type of person. He just needed comfort and sought it out in the only way he could grasp how.

You suppose that's what you were doing now, though Carl figured it out a whole lot sooner than you did.

"C'mere..." Carl whispers, tentatively reaching out to you. You wrinkle your brow, unsure why he hasn't dismissed you yet. Yet you crawl over, his arms wrapping around you as your head lands on his chest, feeling the comforting thrum of his heartbeat.

"Thank you..." The words leave your lips before you mean them too, your eyelids flicking shut. "You don't need to be." He states, weaving his fingers through your hair as you settle.

[millerstolemyheart]

Mornings Like These | Drabble

Summary: Joel wakes you up for your morning shift at the stables.

WC: 1,253

Pairing: Joel Miller x M!Reader

Warnings: Smut, brief mention of daddy kink, no proofread

Notes: I dunno I just really needed to get this out of my head guyssss

Mornings with Joel are anything but restful.

Within seconds of stirring, his lips are typically dancing along the shell of your ear, whispering sweet nothings and the occasional breathy swear word while his morning wood swells against the soft curve of your ass. Rough, callused hands caress and grope you awake with a tenderness that surprised you the first time it happened.

“Baby boy… sweetheart… darlin’...”

Each pet name falls as sweet as honey from his lips.

“Sunshine… my love… angel…”

Joel’s list of pet names for you is vast, as he likes to keep a repertoire. It gives him lots of options, depending on what mood he’s in.

“Sugar…”

That’s the one that finally stirs you awake today.

When your eyes finally flutter open, you spot Joel peering down at you with a sleepy expression. Those deep brown eyes of his look tired, but they crinkle at the edge when your gazes meet. His graying hair is tousled from sleep, and it makes you think of that time you towel-dried your cat after a particularly difficult bath. A smile tugs at the corner of your lip, and you bring your hand up to tangle in the soft curls that kiss the nape of his neck.

“G’morning…” You whisper, voice raspy from sleep.

Joel silently presses a kiss to your forehead, and you close your eyes to enjoy the familiar scratch of his whiskered jaw.. Tilting your head up, you capture his lips in a quick kiss. The movement doesn’t faze Joel. He simply slips his hands up to cradle your head in his hands as if it’s second nature.

“Mornin’, sweet boy…” Joel finally rumbles against your lips. He pulls back long enough to study your face. “Sorry to wake you so early. You did say six o’ clock, right?”

Oh, right. Your shift at the stables. No wonder you weren’t feeling his arousal pressing against you.

“Yeah,” You yawn and reach to give his scruffy cheek a reassuring scratch. “Gotta get home and change before I go. Didn’t bring any clothes with me last night.”

In your haste to see Joel after he returned from a late patrol, you’d forgotten to pack any clothes. In your defense, he was wearing that damn green flannel of his that drove you crazy, so you weren’t really thinking of much other than dragging him from the front gate of Jackson back to his own home in record time. The late evening hours turned into a sweaty, sticky blur that didn’t end until Joel had coaxed at least three orgasms out of your spent body.

“Christ, darlin’... just look at you… practically droolin’ for it, ain’t ya?”

“C’mon, baby boy… know you can do it… gimme another. I want it.”

“I know, baby, I know… just one more… do it for me… be a good boy…”

Your cock gave one final weak twitch before your mouth parted in a silent scream, your entire body jolting once, twice, three times before finally giving out and collapsing into the sheets. Joel’s satisfied smirk danced behind your eyelids all night long, along with the gentle praises he murmured into your ear as you succumbed to sleep.

“Such a good boy f’me… can’t believe you’re mine, darlin’...”

Joel gives a soft snort and suddenly peels himself away to reach over the side of the bed with a faint grunt, a product of his aging back. He picks up the very same flannel from the floor and tosses it over to you. “There.” Wearing a satisfied expression, he reclines back against the pillows, head propped up on his arm. “Just wear that. Stay here and have some coffee with me instead before you go.” His voice is low and gravelly, eyes flitting down to the shirt and back up to your eyes. It’s less of a suggestion and more of a declaration.

He knows what you’ll say.

The faintest blush colors your cheeks as you catch the shirt. You give him a careful look and slip it on over your bare torso. Immediately his scent floods your nose with a warm, woodsy aroma reminiscent of wet trees, wood shavings, and the natural musk you’ve grown addicted to. The sleeves hang just past the tips of your fingers, and you shoot Joel an amused look.

“You think anyone’ll notice?”

Not that you would mind…

“Fuck, I hope so,” he grumbles, reaching out to adjust the collar for you. “Want everybody knowin’ you’re mine…” His voice carries a distinct possessive tone, already imagining you going around wearing his scent all day long as you work at the stables. It’s enough to make him want to rip it right back off of you and coax more sweet sounds out of you.

You roll the sleeve back up to your elbows, showing off some of your bare arms. "I'll wear it your way then." You shimmy closer, nuzzling into warm crook of his neck. It’s your favorite place in the world. “Thanks, Joel.”

Joel stretches his arm around you, holding you close to his body, your head still resting against his neck. "Good," His voice is a low rumble, and his free hand reaches to stroke the short hair at the nape of your neck. It sends a delightful shiver down your spine, and Joel responds with a soft hmph, continuing his action and studying your body for any more reactions.

“You doin’ anything tonight, darlin’?” Joel asks after a few moments of silence. His eyes study you closely, though once again he’s sure he knows your answer.

He does.

You give a coy smile. “Seems like I am now.”

"That's a relief," Joel remarks with a wry smile, his free hand moving to your waist, his gaze on your face. "Wouldn't want you spendin' your evenings with anyone else."

“Getting possessive, are we?” You tease him. Your voice comes out muffled from where your face is smushed under his jawline.

“I'm not gettin' possessive, I'm marking what's mine," he counters in a grunt, his tone still low and gravelly. There’s a familiar glint in his eye that promises deliverance.

Mine.

A wave of heat flushes through your body, unable to contain your own growing desire for him. "Well in that case..." You lean up, capturing his lips in a kiss.

Joel immediately groans into your mouth, his breath hot against your lips. His warm hands snake their way back around your middle, one slipping up so he can tweak your nipple with the rough pads of his fingers. “Christ, baby boy…” He mutters, nose squashed against your cheekbone. “Just look at ya… wearin’ my dirty shirt… don’t know what you do to me, do ya?”

You can’t stop your body from trembling as he wraps himself back around you. Everything about him radiates power… strength… safety… His warmth shields you from the chilly morning air of the bedroom. It’s as if nothing else could matter at the moment. Just him. Just Joel.

“J-Joel…” You giggle, your nose nuzzling the warm crook of his neck and breathing in his scent straight from the source. “Not gonna have any time for coffee…”

“Screw the damn coffee,” he snarls, already shifting his body to hover over your own. His weight pins you to the mattress, and there’s a knot that keeps growing bigger and bigger in your gut when you feel just how hard he really is. His cock gives a firm twitch against your thigh.

“I got a better way for us to wake up.”

[stankygay]

141 x m!reader: Captured & Found

Captain John Price

He had chewed through his favorite cigars as they tried to find you. The last mission had gone to utter shit and he felt responsible for you being captured. When Laswell called Price on your possible location, he threw the ruined cigar in the bin and got his men ready. When he found you, you were in a dark damp cell. Your eye was black and you had some minor wounds. He was the first one to push through into the cell. He checked you over assessing your injuries. You smiled at him, bloody teeth glinting in the minimal light. He had a deep frown on his face. You tried to joke, tried to make light of the situation. You hated the way Price looked, like he was the one that beat you and put you in the cell himself. When he cut your bindings you found your hand reaching for his arm. The squeeze of his muscle reminded him that you were and present. That you weren't dead or worse. "Stay with me John," you utter. And he feels even more guilty for the fact that you are the one comforting him instead.

Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley

He was eerily silent the entire time. He listened to orders and the intel gathered about your location. Everyone stared at him weary for any reaction but there was none. He kitted up like regular, stood on the helo, and waited for orders. He went up ahead before anyone else and no one even tried to hold him back. He found you, your arms hanging above your head by metal cuffs and a chain. He walked over to you, and got the cuffs off of you. You were bleary eyed and concussed. The skull face in front of you looked familiar but you couldn't really think. When he spoke, the words warmed your bones. He asked for a sit-rep and you could barely speak. You were exhausted. When he half dragged you out of the location, in the sunlight you could clearly see Ghost's eyes. He was worried. He got you to the medics, he stayed close but never got in the way as you were treated. He was the one to reach out for you once your wounds were packed. He was the one to grab your hand in his. He squeezed your fingers and you tried to squeeze back but you had no energy. You felt yourself slowly falling asleep but he kept squeezing. And then he began to talk just to keep you awake. He spoke about his collection. Anything to keep you lucid as they flew out to the closest hospital.

Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

He was antsy. He couldn't sit still, he might have back talked Price but the captain let it go this once. He didn't want to wait. He tried hard but he needed to do something. He followed into the building but with each step he took he felt his stomach sink further. The cameras in the building showed you. Their enemies lay dead and now they could grab you and exfil. Gaz didn't hesitate, he ran into the empty room where you were tied to a chair. He immediately reached out and held your face in his hands. "Love," he asked squeezing softly as you opened your eyes to look at him. He smiled when he saw those familiar eyes look at him. His stomach was still in knots with worry but now he was here. He helped you up from the chair as gently as he could. He never let you go as they exfiled, not even when the medics tended to your wounds. He kept rubbing your arms and back. He whispered in your ear that you were fine, that you were so strong. Your chest felt warm being in his presence and no longer kept back in that room. They had tried to get information from you, but you never spoke. A risk of being in the task force, but you trusted these men with your life. Gaz kissed your temple, taking in the faint smell of your shampoo that had faded with the scent of sweat and blood.

Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish

He was almost benched on the spot. He had gone off without waiting for orders. The only reason he hadn't gone and leveled the building completely was because he had been caught by Ghost. Soap was serious. A deep frown on his pouty lips. His fingers tossing a frag back and forth. His veins felt alight with fire, angry and looking to put a bullet between the eyes of these assholes that took you. You had not gone without a fight but there were so many they had to regroup. Soap hated they had to leave you to them. Price tried to explain why, but all he wanted was to get you back. When the got to the location, maybe he set up some c-4 around. Maybe he rigged this dingy garage to blow up once they were several clicks away. They found you on the ground. Blood spilling from your nose and staining your gear. You had been stripped of your weapons and your kit. He ran and knelt in front of you. His hand immediately going for your pulse point. You flinched at the touch, sitting up and a knife aimed at Soap's chest. He moved away and raised his hands but he wasn't upset. Those clear blue eyes were familiar. You sagged in relief. "Fuckin' hell," you muttered to yourself as you drooped onto his shoulder. Soap checked you over, as they planned to leave. Soap had a worry in his brow but he also had a giant smile on his face. Cause you were a fighter, even as you swayed on your feet, he proclaimed how strong you are and how you'd never go down without a fight.

[ambivalent-amphibian]

ended up in booktok like-

please stop with these "modern retellings"; they're more unoriginal, disrespectful to the source, and even more and tone-deaf than disney live action remakes, and that's saying something.

*puts these stories and the ETL trope away until they learn what it actually entails and they can finally tell the difference between ab*se and a mutual rivalry that could really evolve into understanding and love -or even a safe, sane and consensual sexual relationship*

[verynichewritingadvice]

how to write from the perspective of a hivemind

Writing a hivemind is the same as writing literally any other character, except you have a few different questions to consider.

What is the attitude of your hivemind towards it's individual bodies?

How autonomous are the entities your hive mind is composed of?

Is it's cousiness singular, with the bodies acting as it's "limbs" or is it a "governing" cousiness that controls those underneath it, like a computer program's trainer algorithm?

How does it function?

Is there a "hierarchy" among the hive like bees/ants?

And, of course, general character questions

What is your hivemind?

What is your hivemind's goals?

What is it's unifying personality?

Please shoot me an ask if you want more niche writing advice! 

[luchael]

So I saw a bunch of romance videos for Fenris on YouTube and since then I wanted to actually not pick the most popular flirty option on our first visit because I felt it was too sudden and coming a bit strong for my tastes of how I arguably projected myself onto Hawke in the limits of the game’s narrative. So getting the chance to actually play myself for the first time I chose to say stuff I cared for and oh my god if Fenris didn’t just open up like the most beautiful blooming flower. So gentle and fragile. His soft smile while complimenting Hawke implied him (I play Garrett) being worthy and fearless in contrast to Danarius’s usual guests, the way he cautiously tested the waters by saying he doesn’t want to bother Hawke with his sob stories, the way he softly chuckles and that line about practicing flattery for our next visit? Did you hear what I did in his intonation there? It totally was meant as a question! That was an invitation and a plea to come back again and spend more time together! Maker’s breath if he isn’t the most precious thing in the world! He’s so lonely and starved for connection and you say Anders is the only one who jumps you after you have shown him kindness? Fenris is also a hopeless romantic, he’s just too good at keeping his veneer of calm. It felt like I was watching the most beautiful pearl oyster opening by just softly listening to the waves! But then if you touch a little bit too close to the trauma asking how young he was when the tragedy happened he shuts down immediately. Oof. I want to gently hold him in the palms of my hands and take him home to Ferelden immediately! I heard people say that his is a story of getting rid of the shackles but still binding himself by their invisible force but the soft spoken longing when asking about your home makes me wonder if his trauma could be healed in another way as well. He didn’t sound rabid or as ready to pursue his enemies to the ends of the universe. He just wanted a home, a friend and a loved one. To live a little. And that is the most poignant tragedy.

[stormyoceans]

I can absolutely talk about bottom Fadel. He would be so overwhelmed at first, trying to hide his face and his noises, not sure whether to push Style away bc it's all just too much or pull him closer bc it's also just so good until Style grabs him by the neck and makes him look into his eyes and murmurs how good Fadel is and just to let go and with a shuddering breath Fadel would finally relax into it. Afterwards Fadel would be shivering all over and clinging to Style who holds him and pets his back, dropping small kisses wherever he can reach and whispering how much he loves Fadel. Yeah... I can totally talk about that.

CLIMBING THE WALLS OF MY OFFICE AND SPINNING COUNTERCLOCKWISE ON THE CEILING BECAUSE YES YES YES ABSOLUTELY YES TO EVERYTHING YOU SAID YOU GET IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

it's just the way fadel looks so overwhelmed every time style touches him. every time he's not the one initiating physical contact and taking charge of the direction it takes. and yet at the same time he almost looks in pain with how hard he tries not to show it, as if there's something wrong in being on the receiving end of pleasure, in feeling that pleasure and letting it wash over him, pulling him under. even jerking off seems like a perfunctory act just to scratch an itch and be done with it as quickly as possible

style, tho. style is all about pleasure and fun and feeling good. he’s also more observant than anyone gives him credit for. so when fadel bites his lip so hard to the point he draws blood just to prevent himself from making any noises while style sucks him off, of course style notices. he also decides right there and then that that simply won’t do

the next time style presses fadel down onto the mattress, he takes his time. he sucks and bites on fadel’s nipples until fadel starts squirming under him, telling him to just get on with it already. style looks at fadel’s flushed face and heaving chest, at the way he’s already rock hard and leaking through his underwear, and wonders if he could make fadel come just by playing with his pecs, but that will have to wait. he finally moves lower, kissing his way down to the wet spot on fadel’s underwear and mouthing at it. fadel barks out his name, half a warning half a plead, voice strained and legs trembling

style frees him from the underwear, slicks his fingers with lube, and presses gently at fadel’s entrance with one. fadel seems to relax for a second, but the furrow between his brows is back as soon as he realizes that style has no intention to hurry. style tries to distract him with kisses, the rhythm of his finger inside fadel excruciately slow on purpose. he adds another, and he knows he has found fadel’s prostate when fadel jolts away from the kiss and his hands close around style’s arms as if to push him away. style shushes him, his free hand coming up to hold fadel’s head. he hits the same spot with his fingers again, and fadel’s grips on his arm tightens. fadel’s eyes are blown wide and his teeth are sinking into his lower lip

style places a kiss on fadel’s temple and starts talking, his fingers massaging the same spot inside fadel again and again. “it’s okay to let go, you know. you don’t always have to be strong and keep your guard up, at least not with me. im here. i’ve got you. let me hear you. let me take care of you.” for the first time, fadel throws his head back and comes with a loud cry

ANYWAY. sorry for this mess, i guess i got kinda inspired by what you wrote ;;;;;;; THE POINT IS THAT STYLE WOULD LOVE TO TURN FADEL INTO A PLIANT SOBBING MESS AND TELL HIM HOW GOOD HE IS AND FADEL NOT ONLY WOULD LET HIM BUT ALSO COME TO LOVE IT THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK

[asmodeusamaryllis]

I fear nishi may have accidentally wrote iruma as aroace and only just remembered that she has a main ship she was meant to push

[shrimparts-blog888]

Can I ask 🥺🥺🥺🥺 for a silly eah/nevermore crossover 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 maybe annabel and Apple realising they have the same brand of issues 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

✨️Insert text here✨️

[gofishygo]

okok but can someone please please recommend some tooth rotting diabetes causing nickocado avocado-inspiring cod x reader fanfictions ? im so sick of searching up cod x reader works just 2 get bombed by “AND THEY CHOKE ND STRANGLE YOU” “HARDCORE SEX STUFF HERE !!” please i just want to be silly and domesticated with the boys why is peace not an option

[belovedstill]

svsss 10th anniversary snippets [ 1/7 ] ▶ three bows @ ao3 | bingqiu | introspective, getting married

The first time Luo Binghe had ever bowed to Shen Qingqiu, tea was spilled over his head.

That memory is hazy now. He doesn't think back to those early days much now that fate has finally, finally opened its cold eyes to his past suffering. Everything important has changed, yet remained the same.

Cang Qiong Sect used to be a place he called home, with a shizun, a childhood friend, and the remaining people who made it a point to show he wasn't wanted there. Now, it's still a home whenever Shizun stays there, the childhood friend still greets him with kindness, even if a little more distant, and the rest of the sect still want him anywhere but there. Nobody dares raise a hand this time.

The past needs no ruminating on. It existed. It passed. It's dead and not mourned anymore.

He bows among the bamboo stalks, eyes on the blue of the sky, the green of the leaves, the tranquillity of the nature. Red robes similar to his own whisper with movement by his side.

Where he is now—when he is now—makes his heart beat faster. Now is good. Now is better than he's ever imagined it would be.

He bows to the wooden box, painted by Shizun himself, filled with precious cargo: his very first jade pendant; an old note with Su Xiyan's and Tianlang-Jun's scribbled handwriting; a wooden tablet with elegant strokes of two given names to the family name of Shen, both unfamiliar to him, offered in fragile silence. In the corner of his eye, Shizun moves in time with him.

Two cups filled with tea rest on a tray between them. The first time he'd ever bowed to Shen Qingqiu, tea was spilled over his head.

This time, when Luo Binghe bows to Shen Qingqiu, Shen Qingqiu bows along with him.

Red-clothed arms linked together, one teacup held in his trembling hand and another resting in Shen Qingqiu's steady one, they drink at the same time.