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roo-bastmoon · 2 years ago

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In Defense of Our Alliance

My dear friends, there's trouble on the timeline today and it hurts my heart. I'd like to make a case for peace, if I may...

Every group of friends and all communities need every so often to hash out differences in points of view, personalities, and policies--but I suspect there's a bit more to it than that, this time.

We are beset on all sides with enemies we cannot fight.

Billboard keeps deleting sales without explanation, deaf to our requests or complaints. They absolutely have a double standard for the artists who pay radio to play. We cannot be sure any of our new buying methods will work, and in this economy, nobody has money to burn without a care.

YouTube keeps deleting views, again without explanation, despite folks streaming under premium accounts and following best practices. Watching those counts go down by the hundreds of thousands every hour is maddening, especially when it doesn't happen to artists who pay for ads.

Spotify froze and split title tracks. Hanteo deleted sales data the second records broke. The company went completely silent--neither celebrating Jimin's Hot100 #1 nor publicly acknowledging his being unfairly pushed down the chart--again, without explanation or recourse. Even some members were silent about his achievement.

Meanwhile, the LA Times is writing love letters to other groups trying to use our group for validation, which is just baffling.

This is to say nothing of the cult, the haters, the shooters from other fandoms, dragging our friends and our members through the mud, nonstop, all day every day, with a particular viciousness I'd normally associate only with actual diagnosed psychopaths.

And we knew there would be challenges, maybe even a contrived scandal or two, around Jimin's release. But I don't think anyone could predict this level of a shit show.

Everyone is exhausted; everyone is on edge.

What was supposed to be a fun and safe space has become a battleground.

And most of us are so ready to defend Jimin and the other members, yet we have zero hope of a fair fight.

It is no surprise to me that, with all that fatigue and pent-up anger, we are starting to fight amongst each other.

I must acknowledge that there are a fair few things we need to hash out as a fandom--the ability to call a spade a spade and not be labeled an anti; the ability to block or take time away and not be called a coward; the ability to criticize but not give in to hate or cult-like narratives; the ability to speak our minds without spewing negativity. There's a lot that needs to be addressed, and it's for heads clearer and smarter than me to untangle it all.

But I will say this:

Jimin has only us. That much is very clear.

So I put it to you now:

We NEED our archivists, who help capture and catalogue the important milestones and the little moments that illustrate why our fandom believes what it does.

We NEED our tutors, who help us make the most of our streams and purchases and votes so we are not wasting time and money and effort.

We NEED our cheerleaders, who help reset our attitudes into more positive, gentler, kinder, more honorable kinds of fans.

And we NEED our discourse blogs, the ones who can entertain multiple points of view without bashing or adopting any particular stance.

Most of all, right now, we need to unite. Because Jimin has very few other folks in his corner. Hobi goes in today. And while his other members love him, I strongly suspect he will feel the absence of Hobi's unfailing support, his clear demonstration of affection, and his wise counsel.

Now more than ever, we must come together. And to do that, we each much decide:

Why are we here?

If you're here to experience pleasure over a ship or a rush of adrenaline over drama and tea, if you just want to look at pretty pics and fics and not really get involved--okay. You are a casual fan. Nothing wrong with that. All I ask is that you do no harm while in this space. Don't fuel the flames of any feud, please.

But if you're here for Jimin, for BTS, for Jikook... then the goal has to be to support Jimin and BTS and Jikook first and foremost, yes? Even though it would feel great to pop off on someone you don't like or agree with (and I'm in Super Menopause thanks to medication so I absolutely sympathize with folks who do pop off--god knows, I have), please try to ask yourself:

Does it serve our common purpose?

Does it help?

Is it kind?

Would Jimin and Jikook feel honored by it?

Would BTS be proud of us?

And if the answer is no, then: forgive yourself for being human. We are none of us perfect.

But maybe take some time away to reset and recharge.

Real life is stressful; fandom life is stressful. Try to get some deep sleep. Let yourself enjoy a nutritious, hearty meal. Watch a comedy show that makes you belly laugh. Look at something so beautiful it makes you tear up. Listen to uplifting music. Pet an animal. Take a walk. Enjoy a luxurious bubble bath. However you restore yourself to your BEST self, you deserve that.

And then? Bring your best self back to this fandom. Because otherwise, we abandon it to the loudest assholes out there.

In the end, I believe we all want to support our boys and to make the best judgements on how to be a good fan. We may disagree on how to do that. But that's no reason to insult our allies or harshly judge the way they conduct themselves.

Shame is not a teaching tool.

Let's lead by example.

I'm a small blog. I'm nobody important. If you've read this far, I'm already surprised. But if you're still with me--please take this much to heart: I sincerely want us to get back to being the loving, intelligent, hard-working, focused fandom we've always been.

We are just regular people. We are going to have bad takes, and bad days, and bad attitudes. But let's give each other a little grace.

And if someone truly has bad intentions, and wants to ruin things, then let us calmly, quietly walk away from them. No need to give our precious time and attention to anything toxic. Toxic people feed off it and only get stronger, anyway.

Our time and energy is best spent on what brought us all here in the first place: BTS.

These are my thoughts, and I mean to say them sincerely and gently.

If this post rubbed you the wrong way, my DMs are open and I'm willing to listen to your thoughts. (Because DMs are always the best place to question someone or discuss something sensitive, I think.) But it's very unlikely that you'll change my mind about the need for us to work together and treat each other compassionately, so, you might wish to just quietly block and be on your way instead.

In any case, I just wanna say... I see you guys, out there. I see you trying hard. I see you contemplating the best way to make use of your time and resources. I see your bubbly enthusiasm and your devastating frustration. I see you, and I think each of you are very human, in the best sense of the word. Despite all the heart aches and hardships, I'm still proud to count myself among you.

It's not much, but I'm sending you guys my love and support. <3

It's gonna be okay. We'll get through this.

I'll show you.

youtube

#jimin #jikook #Youtube

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sm0kebreaks · 2 years ago

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Chapters: 1/?? Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood, Annabelle Cane Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Regency, Location: Somewhere Else (The Magnus Archives), Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Vomiting, Mild Gore, Spiders, Will Tag More As Needed Summary:

“Mr Blackwood?” “Y-Yes” Martin stammers, voice hoarse and difficult to get out. “I am here to chauffeur you to Hill Top.” “E-Excuse me?” Martin clutches Jon tighter as he continues to wheeze. “I was told to tell you that ‘Annabelle is waiting for you?’” “I-I…..I don’t….” Martin doesn’t finish his sentence or move an inch. That doesn’t dissuade the coachman at all. He moves to open the door for the two, clearly not accepting no for an answer or giving further explanation. His movements are stiff and unnatural as if not his own and it causes Martin’s brow to furrow. Monsters. Were Jon conscious he would have already sat them down in the coach. So Martin steps in

Jon and Martin arrive somewhere else but thankfully aren't alone.

Um hi guys i'm trying to work on my writing. So I guess I'm gradually going to write snippets for this au now..

#tma #the magnus archives #magnuspod #regency au #my dear jonah #bennyfic #i guess

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fairy-writes · 2 years ago

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900 Followers Event!

Hello! I recently reached 900 followers and wanted to thank you all so much and celebrate!

Anyway! Onto the event! I’m doing a thing where I’ll write a little reader-insert thing (ranging from drabbles to full-on one-shots) based on a character and a prompt that you send me! I have a list of 40 prompts ranging from dialogue prompts to action prompts!

So pick one and a character from one of the fandoms listed, and I’ll write a little blurb or a one-shot based on the request!

Just be warned, I will cross off the prompt once it’s chosen. That way, I don’t have a million requests for the same prompt.

The event will be open for two weeks starting May 1st! It’ll be available from May 1st to May 15th!

All requests will be under #fairy writes 900 followers or #fairy 900 followers

THIS IS LIMITED TO TWO REQUESTS AND TWO CHARACTERS PER PERSON!

*Please send them in separately so I can keep track of who is who and what is what*

I will write for the following people:

Arcane: League of Legends: Viktor, Silco, Jayce Talis, Vi, Vander

Bungou Stray Dogs: Nakajima Atsushi, Nakahara Chuuya, Dazai Osamu, Kunikida Doppo, Fukuzawa Yukichi, Yosano Akiko, Edogawa Ranpo

The Case Study of Vanitas: Vanitas, Noé Archiviste, Roland Fortis

Chainsaw Man: Hayakawa Aki

Demon Slayer: All the Hashira (except for Muichiro), Douma, Akaza

Detroit: Become Human: Connor, Hank Anderson, Markus

Doctor Who: 9th, 10th, 11th, 12th Doctor, River Song

Fullmetal Alchemist: Roy Mustang, Greed (not Greedling), Riza Hawkeye, Jean Havoc, Envy, Alex Louis Armstrong, Olivier Armstrong, Edward Elric (post-FMAB)

Grimm (NBC): Nick Burkhardt, Hank Griffin, Sean Renard, Drew Wu, Monroe

Jujutsu Kaisen: Gojo Satoru, Fushigiuro Toji, Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento

Moriarty the Patriot: William, Albert, Louis, Sherlock, Fred Porlock, Sebastian Moran, James Bonde

Tokyo Ghoul: Uta, Kaneki Ken, Kirishima Touka, Kirishima Ayato (re: age), Nishio Nishiki, Tsukiyama Shuu

DIALOGUE PROMPTS

1) “The first rule of being interrogated is that you are the only irreplaceable person in the torture chamber. The room is yours, so work it. If they're going to threaten you with death, show them who's boss. Die faster.” (from Doctor Who)

2) “It’s funny. Nowadays, people always expect a gun, but never a knife.”

3) “Tell me, my Dear, can a heart still be broken even when it stopped beating?” (from the Corpse Bride)

4) “You set me free. Now I can do the same for you.” (from the Corpse Bride)

5) “They shot at us. They missed. I shot back. I didn’t.”

6) “I wanted you to fight for me.”

7) “Enough is enough, and your best is good enough.”

8) “The dead have time to wait.”

9) “Happily ever after doesn’t mean forever. It just means time.” (from Doctor Who)

10) “Valiant effort. But you never stood a chance.”

11) “We humans could not help loving our monsters.”

12) “Chivalry is dead, and you’re the one killing it.”

13) “Love is a beautiful kind of fear.”

14) “The universe loves a stubborn heart.”

15) “I don’t have any interest in fraternizing with handsome strangers.”

16) “I know I’m different. But from now on, I’m going to try and be the same.”

“The same as what?”

“The same as people who aren’t different.”

17)“Will you let me fall in love with you?”

“Only if I can fall right back.”

“I’ll be sure to catch you when you do.”

18) “You’re only given a little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it.” (by Robin Williams)

19) “You don’t understand. I will do anything to protect you.”

20) “You’re the most important thing to me.”

ACTION PROMPTS

1) Falling asleep with their head in the lap of their lover

2) Shoving their lover out of the way of danger

3) Taking their lover out on a picnic

4) Tucking a lock of hair behind their lover’s ear

5) Falling asleep to the sound of the other’s heartbeat

6) Sharing a blanket/blanket fort

7) Guiding their lover back to bed when they’re sick

8) Bandaging/washing their lover’s wounds after a fight

9) Showing up to surprise their lover when they’re in a long-distance relationship

10) Holding their lover when they cry

11) Making their lover a meal (whether they are good or bad at cooking)

12) Putting their head on their lover’s shoulder

13) Begging their lover not to leave

14) Carrying their lover out of a bad situation (fight, accident, etc.)

15) Mending their lover’s clothes for them

16) Sharing a kiss after a massive battle

17) Checking their lover’s forehead for a fever

18) Sitting at their lover’s bedside when they’re unconscious

19) Sharing a bed with their lover for the first time

20) Tracing their lover’s scars

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thatforgottenbasilisk · 11 months ago

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Don't Look So Dour (You'll Turn This Whole Thing Too Sour)

Words: 2042

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

(AO3)

Summary:

"Martin, you know what we're doing, correct? We have to take the Panopticon, by any means necessary."

"..."

"Martin?"

"... Yes. Of course, Peter."

For Whumptober 2023 Day 19, Prompt #3: "I'm not as stupid as you think I am."

"Come on. Honestly, Jonah, you can't have thought you were the true mastermind behind all of this. We both know where this is going, and only one man can be king of the world. It was never going to be you."

The body of Jonah Magnus is sitting, eyeless and still, in a plush chair behind a great mahogany desk at the top of the Panopticon. There is a piece of parchment paper and a fountain pen on the desk, more for decoration than anything else. Other than that, the space is clear; the drawers are empty; all that remain are the three living beings there where usually there are none.

The body that used to belong to Elias Bouchard, but now houses the consciousness of the aforementioned Jonah Magnus, leans haughtily against the desk, legs crossed at the ankle and only one foot bearing his weight. He somehow manages to look like he's on some kind of high horse despite his prison garb, which is a rather difficult feat. Directly in front of him stands Martin Blackwood, in a somehow equally dour ensemble to the prison uniform, despite being best described as "business casual;" his hair is lank and lifeless, sporting more than a few greys, and his dark purple eyebags and cracked white lips betray how little he's been taking care of himself recently. Nevertheless, the look on his face is quite reminiscent of a cat who has just swallowed the last of a canary.

He is also, critically, picking at his nails with a dagger that is roughly three-quarters the length of his forearm.

Peter Lukas is also there, standing in the corner closest to the stairwell. He has done all that he can in this situation, and is now watching the fallout of his protégé doing what appears to be a more dramatic rendition of the plan that was explained to him on the way here. He has no objections to this turn of events, so long as the Forsaken comes out with at least the slightest bit more of an edge.

"I do believe you're more than a little late for that, Martin. Besides, you've come all this way to kill me, haven't you? Sacrifice everything, everyone in this building, including our dear Archivist, just so that there is no possibility that- on the off chance that you are��correct in what this will come to- I won't become, in your words, 'king of the world.' It seems I underestimated just how callous you are." Jonah says in Elias' smarmy voice, smug and certain that the dagger will remain just as clean as it was the moment he laid eyes on it.

Martin merely cocks his head very slightly to the side and narrows his eyes infinitesimally- still looking as though he's already won. Jonah's words can't rattle him, can't so much as make him twitch in any kind of discomfort. He knows what he's here for, and he knows that there is nothing and no one in this room who can stop him from getting it.

"I'm not doing this for the Forsaken." It's a single incendiary statement, if entirely truthful, designed for one thing and one thing only- to get Peter Lukas out of his corner and just a few steps closer to Martin. He doesn't want to take his eyes off Jonah for more than a moment at a time, after all, so he may as well bring Peter to him instead of the other way around.

It takes a moment for Peter to realize that Martin isn't bluffing. Too entrenched in his mind games to recognize a bald-faced truth when he hears it, Martin supposes, which is an easy enough trap to fall into if you don't play your cards right. When he does, however, realize it after a moment's delay, he startles magnificently, and starts walking towards the desk, questions lodged in his throat but tongue between his teeth in front of Jonah- Peter Lukas may not have been the brightest when it came to things like rituals or awareness of the outside world, but he also isn't stupid, either. He knows when to keep his mouth shut.

He does not, unfortunately, know when he's being betrayed, at least, not on the level that would get a dagger plunged into his stomach without any hesitation.

Martin's never killed anyone before now. It's an interesting feeling, especially since the blood on his hands is cold, and there wasn't much life in Peter's eyes to begin with. He can hardly see the last of it leave as Peter goes completely limp and still. He dies silent and quick- guess he must have hit something important- and Martin kneels down to leave the body on the floor and take his dagger out. As he stands, he wipes the blood still on the dagger onto his once-clean shirt, and slowly turns around to face the desk and Jonah again.

He decides that he doesn't feel anything. Not really. He doesn't care that Peter's dead, and he doesn't care that he did it with his own hands. Maybe he will, in a few hours or a few days, but for now he feels like he could do it again.

He could do it again very, very easily.

Jonah looks more unsettled, now. Ill-at-ease. Maybe Martin's a little less guarded than usual with his expression, maybe his thoughts are clear on his face. Maybe Jonah's more afraid of seeing Martin's usual calm spattered with someone else's blood.

"What? I thought you realized how callous I really am." Martin says offhandedly, while glancing down at the dagger, only to find his own reflection staring blankly back at him.

Jonah hesitates another moment, before he begins to laugh. It's nervous, at first, but then it reaches a mad crescendo, like this is an outcome he's only thought of as a highly unlikely sleep-deprived fantasy, something so certain not to happen that he shouldn't waste any time in thinking about it; like it's a scenario that never even crossed his mind, with just how insane he thinks it to be. Maybe he even thinks he's dreaming.

"I should've known you would bite the hand that feeds you. That's what you did a year ago, no? With your lighter in the Archives. The only misfortune is that I can't collect on a dead man's losing bet." Jonah, face still holding a trace of laughter, nods over at Peter's corpse, like it's nothing more than a set piece. Like it means nothing to him. Maybe it does mean nothing to him; maybe Jonah's grown so used to losing people over the years that he just doesn't get attached the same way anymore; but it isn't Martin's place to speculate.

Martin smiles in a mockery of Jonah's expression, and the man's face abruptly goes blank. "Please, just do us both a favor and stop pretending, will you? I'm not as stupid as you think I am, and now the both of us know it. I know your plan; the Mother of Puppets spoon-fed you that plan. I know what's going to happen better than you ever will, Jonah Magnus."

Jonah laughs again. It's more like a forceful exhale than anything with humor in it, mad humor or no, and he braces both of his hands on the desk behind him, like he's expecting it to protect him somehow. "And what, pray tell, will happen?" There's a macabre sort of amusement in his voice. Both of them know that Jonah is going to die here, he's just stalling for time. Martin doesn't mind; in fact, he'll indulge a little conversation.

"Jon is going to follow me here. If you had your way, he'd have had to go through the Lonely to do it, getting that final touch of Fear that you'd need to finally trigger your ritual. Of course, the point's moot now, isn't it? Your pet Lukas is dead, and you haven't got any more bait to dangle in front of Jon. You will die, with your Archivist unfinished, never getting to see the fruits of your labor."

"And you'll just protect him from the Forsaken forever? It's hanging around this place like a miasma. You won't be able to do it forever." Jonah taunts, a shout from the gallows, and yet he'll still be hung in the end. Martin already knows that, already knows what Jonah thinks he doesn't want to hear.

"So? You still won't be the one to pull the trigger. That's all that matters at this point; you will never win your stupid trophy. You got all the way to the finish line, but you were passed by in the last possible second. Your grand ambitions, your blind fumbling, your dumb luck in being chosen to enact most of this plan was all for nothing. You don't get to be the king of the mountain, you don't get to rest on any of your laurels, because you will die here, hiding in your tower like the pathetic excuse of a man you always were." Jonah's grip on the edge of the desk grows tighter as Martin keeps talking; by the end of it, his knuckles are white.

Jonah's breath is shaky, and yet he still manages, with some substitute for bravado, "You never said the trigger wouldn't be pulled."

Martin merely shrugs in response, and smiles a bland and guileless smile, the kind he used to wear when he was pretending that everything would be alright, when he was pretending that he didn't have a clue what any of this meant. "Plans change. You of all people should know this."

Jonah is right, though Martin won't give him the satisfaction of knowing it. Jon is still going to get a Mark from the Lonely. Somebody is still going to use him to pull the trigger on the end of the world. It just so happens that that "somebody" won't be a devoted follower of Beholding, so the person who truly will become the king of a ruined world will be none other than the man most deserving of the honor. It would be fitting for the Archivist to rule over the remnants of a reality that he destroyed.

Either way, Jonah's time for stalling is over. It's not yet time for Jon to get that final Mark, so Martin is operating on a restricted schedule in getting this done- he doesn't need Jon running headfirst into a place he can't extricate himself from.

He walks calmly forward towards the original body of Jonah Magnus. He hesitates, for a moment, wondering if Jonah will try to fight him, or talk him down, but there is only silence. The man is standing still, eyes closed and head bowed, looking for all the world like a man in prayer. Maybe he is praying, though to whom, Martin doesn't know. The Fears can't do anything, and if there is a benevolent god, then he will not look kindly on any of them.

"The Mother of Puppets thanks you for your service." Martin's words must act as a true death knell in Jonah's mind, because he flinches and makes an aborted movement towards the dagger. He stops himself, though, and breathes his last.

At least he wasn't so arrogant as to pretend he wasn't beaten. Maybe it would have been different, if Martin didn't allow himself to be so obvious, if he didn't let a few spiders crawl out of his hair and clothes in the last few moments, but either way it's over. Jonah's original body crumples like linen, and the body of Elias Bouchard falls with a satisfying thud. There isn't even any blood this time, Jonah's body too old to bleed all that much, and Elias behaving more like a puppet with its strings cut. He doesn't even have any sign of injury.

Again, Martin feels nothing. All that he has is the vague satisfaction of a plan going right, though it's muted somehow, like the miasma of the Lonely hasn't yet gotten the message and extricated itself from him.

Maybe it's because he's alone in here. It's just him and three corpses, drying blood, and a dagger that isn't even his.

#Don't Look So Dour (You'll Turn This Whole Thing Too Sour)#Don't Look So Dour (You'll Turn This Whole Thing Too Sour) fic #i just copypasted the title in the tags imma be so real #tma #tma fic #my writing #whumptober2023

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atlantis-scribe · 3 years ago

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Mcshep as Destiel

first thing's first: this ask is evil. cursed. this is the kind of text that even Dr. Daniel Jackson, successor of the great Evelyn 'I-don't-believe-in-cursed-texts' Carnahan-O'Connell, who canonically possesses 0.1% self-preservation instincts, will not touch with a ten-foot pole.

no fandom archivist / enthusiast worth their salt would want to wake up in the morning & immediately sustain massive psychic damage upon seeing a notification like this:

understood? cool.

now that we have those disclaimers out of the way, dear anon, we can play ball.

let me preface my actual response by saying that my experience with Supernatural & Tumblr’s Golden Ship has been unorthodox, at best.

when spn first came out, I was a child, but a child with an indulgent father who cultivated my love for cinema & urban fantasy. we got into Supernatural wayy before Castiel was a thing. we watched it diligently as soon as the newest episode became available in my country. my dad would quiz me on the case’s salient points, and we’d talk about the monster-of-the-week & how it compares to the creatures in our own folklore. Supernatural was, to some extent, educational. heh. (yes, i was very much a minor. yes, my parents were pretty lax on the exposure to blood & gore. I grew up fine, all things considered.)

we stopped our religious following of the show around the time the Leviathan storyline was unfolding. my father & I loved Bobby, and we were also starting to notice a lack of focus in terms of plot & direction. the rest of my exposure then to SPN was courtesy of Tumblr, which I managed to compartmentalize thanks to my other hyperfixations with high fantasy & sci-fi shows.

BASICALLY, what I’m saying is that I know Supernatural like a kid knows their local urban legends. and that, plus my current hyperfixation on All Things Stargate, has been a cause of many a crossover & fusion ideas.

but there’s a reason I’ve been dragging my feet when it comes to actually making content for these plotbunnies (and why I have yet to include spn for my McShep AU series). it’s because the whole thing is bound to be chaotic.

(by the way, dearest anon, what the actual heck made you send me this cursed ask? exactly which blog posts made you go, “ah. this Kit person loves Stargate & McShep, and would absolutely know something about Heller stuff.” WHERE did i go so wrong??)

ACTUAL RESPONSE:

it’s sooo easy to have Rodney as Castiel + Sheppard as Dean. (bitchy, sanctimonious fandom favorite? self-loathing, repressed, & too-pretty-for-his-own-good green-eyed action hero? practically cardboard cut-outs)

but here’s the thing, my lovelies: Kit thinks otherwise (and yes, I just referred to myself in third person. “mentally unstable as a fox“ and all that jazz)

1. Rodney is Dean because while Sheppard’s Daddy Issues are more overt & present in-text, Rodney’s are closer to the Winchester Kind of Daddy Issues (in that there’s pressure-from-beyond-the-grave to carry on with the ‘family business’. in this hypothetical AU, it could be hunting, it could be science, take your pick, but Rodney-as-Dean has taken it upon himself to be the Good Son, and it’s 99.9% because of Dad McKay.)

“This is not what dad would've wanted.”

"Shared credit, huh? We'll do this together? Dad'll be so proud."

- 3x08, McKay & Mrs Miller

2. Rodney & Dean both have a kid sibling who wants out (who wants a normal life outside the family business, dammit.) really no need to elaborate on that. Jeannie is Sammy. I dont make the rules.

3. Rodney & Dean both have that one-track-mind drive to do what they think they do best, their only purpose for existence, to the point that they cannot see anything beyond that One Thing (science, hunting/protecting their younger sibling) because that’s how they were raised. their perceived Only Talent becomes their whole identity, and when that is taken away from them, there’s (at least according to them) virtually nothing left.

4. Sheppard is Castiel because of the gay coding. c’mon.

5. Sheppard is Castiel because grace & ATA gene can be metaphors for each other, and I think that’s pretty cool.

6. Sheppard is Castiel because they’re both Soldiers who rebelled & disobeyed shitty orders because it went against everything they are & have ever believed in. there was a fundamental disconnect between what they’d been asked to do & what makes them them, so they went up against The Man, and said, No.

7. Rodney is Dean because they refuse to believe in a higher power that governs everything they do. they tell the universe what’s what, not the other way around.

8. Rodney is also Dean because the only exception to this is Sheppard & Castiel. if the higher power (God / Ancients) had a hand in the creation of this Being, then maybe it’s good for something, after all.

9. Sheppard is Castiel because they share an inability to say no to this one person they keep having to save over and over again, even when said person’s ideas are shitty and risks everyone & everything in this plane of existence.

10. McShep as Destiel will have Rodney McKay as a stubborn & competent man who embodies everything good and bad about humanity, and whose misguided views on family & masculinity are forever changed when someone who is Definitely A Little More than Human chooses him as their favorite person ever; it’ll have John Sheppard as the Prodigal Son Extraordinaire, who damns himself & all that is holy because he just wants to save his best friend, this flawed human he’s come to treasure beyond reason, from himself.

#this broke my brain sksksks #i actually don't ship destiel #i don't have spn ships im not that kind of girl #but jensen ackles is cute & the idea of the ship is quite compelling #stargate atlantis #mcshep #ask #no i am not tagging spn i dont have a death wish #kit things #meta #ish

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supercasey · 4 years ago

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What Your TMA OTP Says About You

By a dumb asexual who makes too many sex jokes

Jon/Martin: You project onto/kin at least one of these two fools, but no matter what, you are yearning for a relationship like theirs. You're also probably a theatre kid, at least spiritually.

Elias/Peter: You like the dynamic of Jonmartin, but you think it would be 10x better if Martin bullied Jon back and if they were both GILFs. You also probably have "Big Boy Man" as your ringtone.

Tim/Sasha: You believe that both of these characters deserved better, and you probably love the Archivist Sasha AU more than life itself. Also, Tim gets pegged.

Basira/Daisy: You are a hotbed of drama, which is completely unintentional on your part and you rarely participate in it at will; you just want some quality wlw content, and you will not be stopped from getting it.

Melanie/Georgie: You are completely done with Jon's shit, but you still find him somewhat endearing in his panic induced stupidity. You are also a wlw and want to live in a small apartment with your gf and cats, but only if the apocalypse is happening in the background.

Michael/Gerry: You like Jonmartin, but you also want to crank that shit to 100 and blast MCR in the background while they kiss. You also might kin Nico from PJO, and you are most certainly a scene kid.

Jon/Gerry: You are all about that sadboi content, and I honestly can't tell which of these depressed motherfuckers you kin, but I know you kin at least one of them.

Jon/Martin/Gerry: Same as Jonmartin, but you're dead certain that Gerry would be an amazing addition/middle man for them and that he would've gotten them into a relationship together by the end of season 1.

Gertrude/Agnes: There is literally nothing more heartbreaking yet addictive to you than starcrossed lovers that can never be together because of circumstances outside of their control. You're also gay.

Leitner/Gertrude: You honestly just find it so funny that Jonny Sims' parents voice these characters so that's why you ship them. You either hated or loved when they roasted Jon at the end of S3, there is no in-between.

Jude/Agnes: You are a Jude Perry kinnie/you want to set the world on fire beside the woman of your dreams. Probably a top.

Jon/Tim: You lived for the sassy bits between Tim and Jon in seasons 1-2 and you would give anything for Tim to have kissed Jon to shut him up midway through a rant.

Mike/Simon: You're here to love Mike Crew and fuck some GILFs. Press F to pay respects to our short king.

Jon/Michael: I don't know what's going on with you after S3, but dear God do you wanna fuck monsters, specifically if they look like a Bill Cipher humanization that you can only perceive while doing acid.

Jon/Elias: You are an Eliasfucker and you wear that badge with pride.

Martin/Peter: You are an Eliasfucker and you hide this fact at all costs. Also you probably have a very complicated relationship with your father.

Jon/Basira: You thought Tim was spot on about these two being good together; they're bookworm buddies!

Jon/Georgie: You cannot get enough of absolute off his shits college!Jon and frankly, good for you. You also want Georgie to peg you.

Melanie/Basira: Just a couple of gals being pals, and nothing is sexier than performing life-saving, non-consensual surgery on your GF so she doesn't start killing people... according to you, apparently.

Jonah/Barnabas: You heard Jonah say that he held affection for a character mentioned exactly one time even though he left him to die, and you went fucking feral. Tbh you just wanna get with a Victorian dude.

Jonah/Mordecai: This is just Elias/Peter but with more Victorian outfits and letters that would be considered incredibly scandalous, even for the era. Also it makes Elias/Peter 100x more uncomfortable, but I guess some people are into that???

Jon/Martin/Tim: Why be just friends when you can all be in a gay polyam relationship together and kiss? In other words, every fight between Tim and Jon has gutted you like a fucking fish.

Jon/Martin/Tim/Sasha: Same as before, but you stan the first season of the series so hard that people outside the fandom think it's an office comedy.

Gertrude/Elias: Somehow you came to the conclusion that if Elias got pegged then none of the bullshit in the series would've happened.

Melanie/Helen: You're similar to the Jon/Michael shippers in that you wanna fuck monsters, but more like the kind of monsters that make your eyes bleed and your brain melt when you fully perceive them.

Jon/Helen: You either started shipping this as a joke or to cope with the death of Michael, there is no in-between.

Jon/Nikola: You heard Jon admit that he got daily, fully body lotion massages from Nikola and you lost your fucking mind. Clownfucker.

Breekon/Hope: Breekon's statement made you cry for a hundred thousand years, and you will never be over it. Fuck getting a bunch of divorces like Lonelyeyes, you wanna stay with your soulmate until the end of time!

Nikola/Jane Prentiss: You want more wlw content, but specifically you want them to be cartoonish supervillains who can't stop kissing each other in the middle of trying to murder Jon.

Alright, that's all the one's I'm doing. Please don't send me any hate, these are all just meant to be jokes!

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johaerys-writes · 3 years ago

Text

Words Are Futile Devices

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Dorian Pavus/David Trevelyan

Summary:

The last thing Dorian expected when he came to the South was to find love. In fact, he had entirely given up on the notion. Yet, when the gentle, shy and enigmatic Inquisitor Trevelyan came into his life, things started to change.

A (very belated) birthday gift fic for my dear friend @tessa1972 featuring Dorian and her OC David Trevelyan!

Read here or on AO3!

A full, silver moon hung over the Frostback’s snowy peaks. Skyhold, for once, was quiet.

Dorian leaned back in his desk chair, rubbing the inner corners of his eyes between forefinger and thumb. It had been a long day; and an even longer evening, though he had hardly realised where the time had gone. He had spent most of it studying in the library, indexing books and codexes, helping the new apprentices find their way around. They kept streaming into Skyhold from all corners of Ferelden, and sooner or later they all came to him, asking him this and that, about the library and the hold and where everything could be found.

It was troublesome, certainly —Dorian had never sought to become the Skyhold library’s archivist— yet he found himself oddly drawn to the role. It wasn’t too different from what he used to do in the Minrathous library, where throngs of students from the university would follow him around to ask for his help on their research, or his opinion on various manuscripts. He had never admitted it outright, but he’d missed that sort of life; besides, being asked for help was much preferable to being overlooked and sneered at, which had, sadly, been the case for most of his stay in the South.

He tsked softly, letting the book he’d been reading fall closed. That Southerners could hardly appreciate genius even when it hit them straight in the face was no secret to anyone, yet it gave him a tiny bit of satisfaction to see that the tide was shifting, even a little.

The library was thoroughly empty at that hour, and the wick of the oil lamp above his desk was sputtering softly, close to dying out. It was the only sound in the Tower that could be heard, other than the soft cooing of Leliana’s crows overhead. Dorian stood up slowly and lifted his arms over his head, stretched his sore spine. Skyhold’s desk chairs were far less than comfortable, and his back was certainly not thanking him for it.

He was just about to leave when he noticed the bundle of books that he had gathered earlier that day, and left on the plush purple armchair close to the window. His stomach dropped somewhat.

It was Helisma that had informed him that the Inquisitor had been to the library the day before, searching for books on wyverns and dracolisks. He had left before Dorian had even arrived to his desk empty handed and hadn’t said another word to anyone.

When Dorian had teasingly suggested to Helisma that perhaps the poor man had been so confused by her archiving system that he decided never to step foot in a library ever again in his life, the Tranquil had given him one of her blank looks that somehow managed to speak volumes about what she thought of him and his observations.

Dorian sighed. The books were definitely on the heavy side when he picked them up, but he didn’t train every morning for an hour for nothing. He secured them under his arm, and, after putting the oil lamp out, silently walked out of the library.

Every step that took him through the largely quiet throne room, and closer to the Inquisitor’s quarters, made his heart sink deeper, ad deeper into his stomach. By the time he was standing outside his door —a rather plain, wooden one, considering that behind it lay the largest of all rooms in the hold— Dorian thought his heart would slink out of his ribcage and slither into his boots.

He took a deep breath, and knocked.

“Come in,” the Inquisitor’s smooth voice sounded from behind the polished wood.

“Good evening, my dear Inquisitor,” Dorian said with a wide smile that little belied his nervousness. If anyone was good at hiding his feelings, then that someone was none other than Dorian Pavus of Minrathous. “Or shall I say good night? It is rather late.”

“That it is.” Inquisitor Trevelyan was sitting behind his large mahogany desk, half hidden behind a high stack of papers and scrolls. A merry fire was going in the hearth, filling the space with warmth and shifting amber light. It caught in the highlights of Trevelyan’s chestnut hair, his soft violet eyes. He seemed more than a little tired, the corners of his eyes tinged with red, but there was a gentle smile on his lips. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Dorian stood at the threshold for a moment, admiring the space. Though he had never found himself in the Inquisitor’s quarters before, he had heard lots about it. The rumours did it no justice. It was wide and spacious, if on the colder side, with plush rugs lining the floor and expensive furniture lining its corners. It was rather obvious that Ambassador Josephine had spared no coin when it came to their leader’s accommodations.

Said leader was certainly a more than impressive man. He was tall and broad of shoulder, with impeccable manners and a gentle disposition. He had stood up from his chair at Dorian’s arrival and was gazing at him calmly. He seemed perfectly at ease, if a little uptight, yet Dorian couldn’t help the feeling that the grandeur of his quarters made him seem a little… out of place.

He wasn’t quite sure why the thought made a wave of sympathy rush through him. Perhaps because he deeply understood the sentiment.

“A little birdie told me that you visited the library yesterday in search of books, yet you walked out mysteriously empty handed.” He confidently strolled into the room, setting the heavy bundle of leather bound tomes on the low coffee table before the hearth. “Naturally, I had to make sure that our humble library did not disappoint you. I would take that as a personal affront, you know.”

Trevelyan blinked at him, a lovely blush creeping up his cheeks. It was bright and rosy and warmed up his features, and when a soft, nervous smile graced his lips, Dorian felt the ghost touch of them against his own.

Maker, it felt like a lifetime ago, when Dorian had last touched those lips. In reality, it couldn’t have been longer than a fortnight.

“I am setting out for the Exalted Plains in a week, and one of Leliana’s scouts reported sightings of dracolisks in the Ferns. I wanted to be prepared, should our party come into contact with them. I searched for an hour but I couldn’t find—” He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, his blush getting a deeper, more vibrant red. “I didn’t mean to inconvenience you. If I did, I apologise.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, never you mind all that,” Dorian said with laugh and waved his concerns away, though he wouldn’t have minded letting the man go on for a little while longer, just to watch that flush make its way down to his graceful neck, his pretty ears that were hiding underneath lustrous locks of warm brown. “It only took me a few minutes. I couldn’t well leave our precious Inquisitor walk into the wilderness without detailed knowledge of wyvern mating cycles. You know what they say: a thorough education is the best weapon for any situation.”

The Inquisitor laughed, shaking his head softly. “I believe you are quite right. My father used to tell me something of the sort; though I believe he was referring to an education of a different kind.” He threaded his fingers through his hair, pushing it behind his ear. “I… thank you, Dorian.”

Dorian was momentarily distracted by the sight of those long, slender fingers, the grace of their movements. He suddenly wanted to walk up to him, thread his own fingers through those locks. He could almost remember their smell— lavender and soap, the sweet musk of his skin. He swallowed thickly.

“Whatever for, Inquisitor?” he said with an easy, practiced smile. “It was no bother, I assure you; the whole search was done and over with in a minute.”

“I believe you. Still… you have my thanks. Just for thinking of me.” Trevelyan’s lips widened in that soft, infuriatingly warm smile again, and it was Dorian’s turn to feel a blush creeping up his cheeks. “It is much appreciated.”

The fire crackling in the hearth and the wind sweeping over the Frostbacks' peaks beyond the wide windows were the only sound for a long moment as they both gazed at each other. It seemed as if they were looking at each other across a great gulf; so near, and yet so far.

It was Dorian that tore his eyes away, as always. He wasn’t quite sure what he would be compelled to do, if he continued to stare into the face he had spent days thinking about, dreaming of, longing for.

“I see you are quite busy,” Dorian said, gesturing towards the high stack of documents on the mahogany desk. “I should probably leave you to it.”

He smiled and bowed his head respectfully, turning to leave. The tail of his silk coat fluttered with the motion, the light of the fire catching amidst the folds of the fabric. If there was something that Dorian was good at, then that was a dramatic entrance, and an even more dramatic departure.

His hand was almost on the door handle, when Trevelyan’s smooth voice stopped him.

“Wait.”

Dorian glanced at him over his shoulder. Trevelyan had left his chair and his desk and was standing before the coffee table. He made a small motion when their eyes met, as if wanting to take another step, get closer to him, yet he didn’t.

“Stay, please.” He smiled at him, just a little awkward, never taking his eyes away from Dorian’s. “My work is far from done, and yet… I would appreciate the company.” He shifted just a bit on his feet, then nodded towards the liquor cabinet at the corner of the room. “I was recently sent some Fereldan whiskey. It is said to be very good. I thought, perhaps… you might like to try it.”

The edges of Trevelyan’s lips quirked ever so slightly upwards, and there was something so earnest and childlike about his smile, about the look in his violet eyes, that Dorian’s heart did a painful little thump.

“Whiskey, you say?” He let his hand drop from the handle and took a step closer. He crossed his arms before his chest, cocking his hips slightly to the side in a confident stance— far more confident than he felt. But what was it that people said? ‘Fake it ‘til you make it’? “However can I refuse, when you ask so nicely and bribe me with fancy drinks? You certainly know the way to a man’s heart, Inquisitor.”

Trevelyan let out a quiet laugh, a deep and mellow sound that warmed Dorian inside out. “I’ll pour you a glass then, shall I? Oh, and please. Just call me David.” He tilted his head to the side, his gaze growing even softer, if that was possible. “All of my friends do.”

Friends. Dorian couldn’t help but wonder whether they were simply friends, or if there would ever be hope for something… more.

“Very well,” he said with a smile and graceful incline of his head. “David.” He watched the man’s straight and broad back as he turned around and moved towards the cabinet. The smell of the whiskey was strong and aromatic when he pulled the cork out of the bottle and prepared to pour it into glasses. Dorian’s voice stopped him. “Actually, I think I may have a better idea.”

David’s eyes were curious when he looked at him over his shoulder, and Dorian had to bite back a grin.

“I never pegged you for someone who appreciates the great outdoors,” David said with a curious smile, gazing at the vast expanse of glittering snow, jagged peaks and lakes covered in ice. “Quite the opposite in fact, judging from the last time we were outdoors.”

Dorian chuckled softly, leaning against the stone wall of the battlements. A cold wind was blowing, ruffling the fabric of his robes and combing through David’s hair, but the magical bubble that always surrounded Skyhold did not let much of the chill from the mountains pass through. It was tolerable, even for Dorian, and Maker knew his tolerance for the blasted Southern cold was exceptionally low.

He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to bring the Inquisitor -David, he reminded himself- to that quiet corner of the keep. It wasn’t too long ago that he had taken to visiting this place when the walls of his room became stifling, bringing with him a cup of wine or brandy, and simply gazing at the stars. He didn’t know why, but it brought him a strange sense of peace.

The fact that it reminded him of the night that David and he had spent together not too long before was an added, if somewhat confusing, benefit. It was an evening not too different from this one, with a crisp wind blowing and the night sky clear above them, the stars reflecting on the glassy surface of Lake Calenhad. David had accompanied him to the dreaded meeting with his father, and on the way back they had camped there, talking and drinking the night away.

Dorian wasn’t going to fool himself by saying that he hadn’t been attracted to the man the very first moment he laid eyes on him. Still, being attracted to a pretty face, and suddenly finding out that the pretty man not only had a heart and a brain, but enough empathy and understanding to sink a small barge, were two entirely different things. David had surprised him in more ways than one— with his kindness and his honesty, with his wry sense of humour and his sweet, childlike smile, with his steadfastness and his quiet, profound care.

Never before had Dorian bared himself like this to anyone. He had expected judgement and scorn, yet had received none. At first, he couldn’t quite believe it. He had kept searching for the catch, the knife hidden amidst the roses, but more time passed and he could find none. Until…

Dorian swallowed thickly as the memory of the kiss they had shared flashed in his memory. David was watching him patiently now, waiting for his answer that had taken a tad too long.

“I’m full of surprises, as you well know,” Dorian said with a teasing smile. He poured some whiskey into the glasses they had taken with them, and offered one to David. “It’s simply a quiet spot I like to visit sometimes. There are few lovely things the South has to offer, and I believe this view is one of them. It’s quite spectacular, is it not?”

“It is,” David replied, accepting the glass. He was standing in a square of crenelated moonlight, half obscured by the shadows, and his eyes seemed bright like lit up stars when they focused on him. “What are the others?”

“What others?” Dorian sipped distractedly on his whiskey.

“The other lovely things that the South has to offer.”

You, Dorian thought instinctively, and he hated how the thought made his heart flip and jump, his insides tie themselves into impossible loops. “Well, this whiskey, for one,” he replied quickly. “And I’m partial to Fereldan cheese. Much preferable to those smelly Orlesian ones. Tevinter doesn’t have much of a tradition in cheese-making. A pity, if you ask me, but my people tend to avoid consuming anything fermented, unless it can get them blind-drunk.”

David laughed, shaking his head, and the sound warmed Dorian inside out. “You don’t know cheese until you’ve tried the Marcher varieties,” he said. His smile was bright and earnest, and lit up his entire face. “Fereldan cheese is great, don’t get me wrong, but it has nothing on Ostwick’s soft blue goat's cheese, trust me.”

“Blue cheese? My goodness, you Southern barbarians have none of the Maker’s fear in you, do you?” Dorian hid his grin behind the rim of his glass as he watched David laugh even more. “I suppose you made it with your own bare hands back in Ostwick? How terribly bucolic of you.”

“As a matter of fact, I did. It’s a yearly tradition in Ostwick, for the children and women of the household to help in the cheese making on Summer’s day, when the cows’ milk is at its richest. My siblings and I used to have the fun of our lives on that day; we could play with the animals in the farm and get our hands and clothes dirty while milking the cows and hauling the buckets of milk to the dairy workshop, and neither our mother or our father were allowed to tell us off. We would eagerly await that day all year.” He took a sip of his whiskey, looking out over the vast expanse of snow below. “There are moments when I miss those simpler times.”

“I can imagine. Your childhood sounds idyllic indeed,” Dorian said softly, his voice mellowed out even more by the nostalgic smile on the other man’s lips. “You’ve never told me about any of your siblings.”

The smile of David’s lips lost some of its nostalgia, but only a little bit. There was fondness and a shadow of sadness in his eyes when he said, “There used to be more of us than there are now.” He took another sip of whiskey, leaning against the battlements. The wind combed through his hair, bringing a lock of chestnut hair before his brow. “Virgil was the eldest. He died quite young from illness. There was nothing we could do. And Sieden...” He stopped and took a slow breath. “I was born a twin. But my brother, Sieden, did not make it through the labor. He was stillborn. My family still celebrates his birthday every year, along with my own, but it’s different from other celebrations in the family. It is a day for silence and contemplation, and for remembering the brief time he was in the world.”

“I’m… very sorry to hear that,” Dorian said quietly, a lump lodging in his throat. “It must have been very hard for you, not to celebrate your birthday like other children did.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” David replied. His gaze still managed to be warm and friendly when he regarded Dorian, despite the mellow sadness in his voice. “We lit candles, and I got lots of gifts, from my parents, my other siblings and my beloved friends. I also got a kiss from my mother, and a hug from my father. But that stopped after—” He tensed just a little, looking away. His brows gathered in an almost imperceptible frown. “It doesn’t really matter now, I suppose.”

Dorian stayed silent for a moment, wondering whether he should urge David to talk or let the silence linger between them. Yet it wasn’t long after that David turned to him again, and a warm light was flickering in his gaze once more. “My family and I have lost much, but not everything. I still have two sisters who I love dearly, Fae and Leah. The first married when she was quite young and moved out of the house, and the other became a lay-sister. I still write to them both, especially Fae. You could say she is the closest to me, despite our age difference. She is quite lovely. I’m sure the two of you will get along perfectly when you meet. She’s rather eager to see you, actually.”

Dorian’s curiosity was piqued. He tilted his head to the side in question. “Your sister knows about me?”

David gave him a wide- eyed stare. “No! Well, yes. I mean—” He paused abruptly, then let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. It could have been a play of the light, but Dorian thought he could see a blush creeping up his cheeks once more. “We write to each other quite often. She always asks me all sorts of questions, about my daily life and the people I’ve met here and… I suppose… I may have told her a few things about you. Just a few, mind you,” he added quickly, seeing the surprised expression on Dorian’s face.

“You… told your sister about me?” Dorian was sure his heart skipped a beat right at that moment. Something bright and warm, something like hope rose to his throat, and then something like dread twisted his stomach. Had he told his sister about him… about them? About their late night talks, their slightly awkward and nervous banter, their… kiss?

That moment flashed in Dorian’s memory once more, and this time it was much harder to brush away than others. He still remembered it, crystal clear: the moment when David had come to find him in the library, the evening after they had returned from Redcliffe. Dorian remembered how the flickering light the candles had caught in the depths of his violet eyes, how his deep and soothing voice had carried in the empty library. He remembered the concern and the warmth in them, the care. And, most of all, he remembered his clean and warm scent in his nostrils as David had drawn closer, the softness of his lips against his own, the strength of his arms around him.

Maker, it had felt like heaven. Tender and gentle and… so brief, that it sent Dorian’s guts twisting again. They had peeled apart soon after, and each had gone their own way. The tension between them had been sizzling ever since, thick enough to cut with a knife every time they so much as looked at each other. Hundreds of times Dorian had thought to pull him close again, to feel his body against his own, but something always held him back.

What if it was just a one-time thing, never to be repeated? What if David didn’t want anything more, what if he’d simply changed his mind?

Dorian leisurely crossed his arms before his chest, hiding his unease behind a wide smile. “So? What have you told your sister about me, pray tell? I hope you’ve mentioned how dashingly gorgeous, impeccably dressed and impressively smart I am, for starters.”

Dorian had only been half-joking when he said that. He hadn’t exactly expected a serious answer, but David’s reply startled him.

“That goes without saying, Dorian,” he said earnestly, his voice firm and unwavering despite his blush that brightened, distinctly visible even in the moonlight now. “Of course I told her all of those things, it’s only the truth. I also told her… that you’re brave and generous and kind. Actually, you’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.” He smiled awkwardly. “I hope it wasn’t terribly forward of me.”

Dorian stared at him for a long moment, his breath catching in his throat. He wracked his brain for something to say, anything at all, but for the first time, perhaps ever, he was totally speechless.

He took in a shaky breath. “Do you truly believe them?” he asked quietly, holding David’s gaze. He couldn’t take his eyes away, even if he’d wanted to. “All those things you told your sister… do you believe them?”

“I do.” The other man’s reply was quick and sure, and his eyes met Dorian’s levelly. “There isn’t a moment that I thought otherwise, Dorian. I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while. You are… special. Special to me.”

If Dorian could stop time right there, he probably would have. If the stars and the planets had ceased their constant motion right at that moment, if the wind had stopped blowing and the moon had continued shining above them, silver and iridescent, Dorian would gladly stay in that moment forever and a day. Just so he could hear the fondness in David’s voice, watch that smile tugging at the edges of his lips when he spoke to him, the affection in his eyes when he looked at him.

Those eyes had always told Dorian so much more than David’s words had. And this time, Dorian understood.

He took a step forward, leaning towards him. The moments before their lips met felt like the leap from an impossible height. David’s breath skimmed Dorian’s skin, warm and spicy with the scent of the whiskey. Soft lips parted beneath his own, and Dorian was falling.

His fingers threaded through silky, chestnut hair, and David’s scent filled his lungs: lavender and herbs, that delicate soap he liked to use. Strong arms came around him, pulling him closer, and Dorian sighed softly, deepening the kiss as he let himself be drawn. He was helpless, utterly helpless when it came to David, melting against him, every one of his thoughts and defences melting away. Their kiss was tender and passionate, soft and just a little bit desperate, and everything he’d ever wanted, everything he'd dreamed.

David pulled slightly back, cupping Dorian’s cheek as he did so. He gazed at Dorian’s face through heavy-lidded eyes, his lips glistening. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?” he asked quietly, his thumb brushing over Dorian’s skin in a tender caress.

His words washed over Dorian like a wave. He leaned against the other man’s chest, linking his wrists behind his neck. His heart was beating giddy and excited, making his head swim, and he could almost feel David’s heart through his clothes, beating in the same rhythm.

“Thank goodness one of us has a little initiative,” Dorian said teasingly, brushing his nose over David’s. "Let's not wait so long next time, yes?"

David laughed gently, the sound reverberating through Dorian where they touched. He leaned in for another kiss, slow and gentle, and this time Dorian really had no more words left.

"I'll make sure not to," David whispered against his lips, hugging him tightly.

#dorian pavus #dorian x trevelyan #dorian x inquisitor #pavelyan #dorian x david trevelyan #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #johaerys writes

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ao3feed-jonmartin · 5 months ago

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The American Archives

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/l6tGKIx by Key_Smash what if things where a little different for our favorite archivists?...what if the archives where in america? (Aka a crack fic ive written to annoy my dear sibling, feel free to come along for the ride.) Words: 2177, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M Characters: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Michael | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives), Not-Them Sasha James, Sasha James, Jonah Magnus, Helen | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives), Timothy Stoker, Nikola Orsinov, Gertrude Robinson, Jane Prentiss, Yergan Lightner, Martin Blackwood, Annabelle Cane, Peter Lukas, Agnes Montague Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion Additional Tags: Crack Treated Seriously, Martins middle name is keruing, Slice of Life, Kinda, fear entity - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, i changed A LOT of things, welcome to Nightvale reference, Attempted Murder, all in good fun tho, Tags May Change, LGBTQ Themes, most cannon ships are still cannon read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/l6tGKIx

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #tma #jonmartin #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin fanfic

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callmethehunter · 3 years ago

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This fandom's so horny we created a new scientific field around it 🤣 Anyways, I *need* some cockological groupie reports on both Robert and Jimmy. FYI I'm mostly a Pagey girl but Percy sometimes makes me switch into his lane. Also please add relevant links to cockology studies for newer followers (and please tag your untagged dbes and studies, it'll make it easier to find more content)

Dear Anon!! I’m thrilled that you’re interested in one of my favorite topics: cockology and the scientific study of DBAs. You are right in saying that our fandom is thirsty but we have **ample** reasons to be that way. I think I can speak for all of us when I say that first and foremost we respect and admire the incredible talent and dedication of these 4 gifted men; each a genius in his respective craft. We acknowledge the impact of their music and their legacy. But we also admire their physical beauty and individuality- which are part of their mystique.

With that said, let me delve into the physical assets of Robert (my obsession) as well as Jimmy (my favorite and most beautiful guitar genius). Dear Anon, I know that you are most interested in Jimmy. I did do one or 2 in-depth posts but CAN’T FIND THEM 😖😭 **HELP! Calling all archivists!!! does anyone have my cockological study on Jimmy? I think it was done around 2018. 🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️I must’ve screwed up the tags!! know I theorized about him being a “Grower not a show-er”. But I’ve done a bunch of different searches and have turned up only some Jimmy DBA posts. Not the study!!

I do have a bunch on Robert and the legendary lemons found at #cockology #DBA #F2D #H2D I’m currently working on tagging relevant posts since I’m not super organized. Let me work on the links. 🤓. Thank you for sending this question and I am working on the groupie reports as well. Hang tight !

#cockology #ask #robert plant #led zeppelin #jimmy page #john bonham #john paul jones

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sm0kebreaks · 2 years ago

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Chapters: 2/?? Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood, Annabelle Cane Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Regency, Location: Somewhere Else (The Magnus Archives), Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Vomiting, Mild Gore, Spiders, Suicidal Thoughts, Mind Control, Will Tag More As Needed Summary:

16, April 1818, 12:28 pm. The weather is clear and sunny, 22 degrees, no sign of rain until later this evening. In the estate’s garden there is a hawthorn tree with budding white flowers and a eurasian wren nest in the hollow. There are three eggs inside and one has just hatched. The chick is crying out for food and its parents anxiously watch in wait knowing lurking danger has them in its sights. There is a fox that has a den nearby who also lays in wait. It knows the wrens will come down for food eventually.

A cook and a pair of kitchen maids work away to prepare breakfast. These three are long time servants of Mr. Fielding and have always felt secure in their positions until the recent…acquisition. They can see the way the others move like they aren’t in control of their muscles. They keep their heads down and work, ignoring the spiders that skitter from under their bowls and trays.

Hey guys I was unhappy with the original version of chapter two so i rewrote a huge chunk of it

Let me know what you think and let me know if you think I should post the old version as some sort of defunct thing

#tma #the magnus archives #magnuspod #regency au #my dear jonah #bennyfic

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self-proclaimed-chaotic-good · 4 years ago

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Night at the Museum | Adam Milligan x Reader

Prompt: Family

Fandom: Supernatural

Words: 2230

A/N: Wasn’t feeling well for a few days (still don’t but oh well), so here’s yesterday’s story prompt. This is a continuation of [True Winchester Fashion]. I’ll have today’s prompt up later.

The cases were getting more confusing with each passing day. One incident looked clearly to be the work of a vampire, the next is a witch, and another a werewolf. All in one town in the span of two weeks. Sam and Dean gathered in Adam’s apartment, their things scattered on the medium sized Ikea dining table.

Adam had been checking up on you every now and again, and you appreciated it, which was why he was the first person you thought of when something bad happened again. You had been working in the museum after hours when you heard noises coming from one of the exhibits under construction.

“Larry?” you called out to one of the security guards in the walkie talkie.

“Everything alright, (Y/n/n)?” Larry asked.

“Yeah, just thought I heard something from the west wing.”

“I’ll check with surveillance and have someone stick with you until you go home if you want.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“No problem.”

You went back to finish sorting through the bookstacks, a small hand radio softly playing nineties music on one of the desks.Twenty minutes later, you were finished with one large stack and deciding to call it a night. You checked your phone and realized how late it got. Looking sound, you had assumed that one of the security guards were guarding the library entrance, but no one was there.

“Larry?” you said through the walkie talkie. You waited, hearing nothing but static. “Larry? Bill?”

You grabbed your things, stuffing a thick and old leather bound book in your bag, and clutched the walkie talkie close to you as you closed up. With every sound or movement you thought you saw in the corner of your eye, you would try to contact the security guards again.

Whenever you had seen these types of situations on screen, you always thought of how foolish that person was for being in a building after hours, alone at night. But, you had always felt safe in the museum. The staff was friendly and the security guards were caring and protective. The fact that none of them were answering was worrying. You thought back to the night that your friend died, your heart racing in your chest as you try to make one last call out before leaving.

“Larry?” you tried again as you made your way towards the exits.

You waited. Static. Then tried again. There was an echo of your voice from a walkie talkie nearby. You turned, but saw no one. You squeezed the walkie talkie, pressing the button one more time without saying anything. You heard the noise again, looking around the dimly lit room and spotted the walkie talkie lying on the ground next to a pool of dark liquid.

You forgot to breathe as you rushed out of the building, your back feeling vulnerable as you jogged to your car. Your hands shook as you tried to unlock the doors and climbed in, locking them again as soon as you sat down, then started the engines.

This was a small town, so you had always tried to stay out of trouble or else the entire town would know about it. Meaning, not once had you gone above the speed limit, in fear that your parents’ friend and classmate gave you a ticket and then they would never stop bringing up the one ticket you ever had and how you disappointed them. This time, however, a ticket and frustrations was not as scary as the possibility of getting murdered.

Once you were locked away in your apartment, you sat in your bathtub and called Adam.

“Hey, everything alright?” he asked.

You let out a long breath, wanting to steady your heartbeat. “I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know why this is happening,” you whimpered, “I didn’t know what to do, I just… i needed to talk to someone to calm down.”

“Okay, we can do that. Do you wanna talk about what happened?”

A hot tear rolled down your cheek as you tried to make sense of the past events. “I think… I think something happened to the security guards at the museum. I panicked. I didn’t get a good look, but I just wanted to get out of there as soon as I could. Am I being silly?”

“No, of course not,” Adam assured you, “Listen, I’m in contact with those feds that came by that night at the bar. I’ll go speak to them and see that they can look into it, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Adam. I’m sorry for bothering you-”

“You’re not bothering me. I want you to be safe.”

“Okay,” you said softly. “I, uh, I’m gonna call a coworker and see if she can notify the police of what happened. Can you… can you come over?”

“Yeah, sure. Just text me your address.”

Adam hung up, clenching his jaw as he pictured you at home, too afraid to even go outside after what’s been going on around town. You didn’t deserve to deal with all of this. Whoever or whatever is killing people will have to face the Winchesters for what they’ve done.

He walked out to the living room and slumped down in a chair next to his brothers. Sam noticed his tired expression, wordlessly passing a can of beer to him. Adam nodded in thanks, popping it open and taking a swig.

“What’s up?” Dean said, looking up from his laptop screen.

“Something’s going on at the museum and I want to go and check it out,” Adam said.

“What, like a Night at the Museum thing or like a new contemporary modern art exhibit with canvases that just have random splashes of paint worth thousands of dollars kind of thing?”

Adam frowned, thinking back to cases in the past few weeks and how they were connected. You were always nearby when they happened. He stood up and grabbed his jacket and car keys.

“I don’t know. The police are heading over there right now. I’m gonna go and check on (Y/n).”

“Right. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Dean teased.

“So do everything except eating healthy?”

Adam shut the door behind him before Dean could retort. The oldest brother shook his head.

“What an asshole. Where the hell does he get it from?”

Sam gave him a pointed look, then turned his attention back to his research as he cleared his throat.

Sam and Dean had arrived at the museum, flashing their badges and speaking with the sheriff. They had found one surviving security guard who was knocked unconscious while the rest who were on duty had been killed.

“Anyone else was here during that time?” Dean asked the museum’s director.

She shrugged. “Usually some curators, conservators, and one or two archivists. Everyone’s been working hard to get the new exhibit up and running, which is why we usually have more than one security guard on duty.”

“Exhibit?”

The director’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yes. We’re doing something fun this year and diving into myths, legends, and magic. These stories have contributed to our history and we’ve wanted to do something different. We even had a few donors who’ve had records and items from the Salem witch trials-”

Sam and Dean exchanged a knowing look. “When did these donors come in?” Sam asked.

She tapped her chin and hummed. “About two weeks ago? Oh, dear. You don’t think someone would kill for these items, do you?”

Sam offered her a reassuring smile. “We’ll figure out who did this. In the meantime, I suggest postponing the exhibit.”

“Of course, of course.”

“Mind if we check the exhibit? You know, just to make sure nothing was stolen.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Follow me.”

The director led them to the back where they stored the items and displays, leaving them for a moment to retrieve the inventory list. Her heels echoed through the spacious warehouse until she reached the back. She frowned at the list, going back and forth between the opened crates.

“Oh, dear, there’s something missing,” she muttered, “Oh, I see. It must have been one of the historians or the archivists. Usually they’d make a note of it, though. They know not to leave the building with any of the items here.”

Dean asked for the list, which she readily handed over. She pointed at the missing item, a thick leather bound book with a metal lock on it. He flipped through the pages, looking for a picture of the book before handing it back.

“Are there cameras in the warehouse?”

Adam pulled up in front of your building, double checking the address and apartment number. He climbed out and immediately felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“Be careful,” Michael said to him, “There’s something here. Get to your friend quickly.”

“Why do you think they’re all after (Y/n)?” Adam asked, speed walking towards the steps.

Michael paused for a moment. “There must be something they’re not telling us.”

Adam knocked on your door and waited a beat. He could hear shuffling on the other side of the door followed by two locks clicking open. You poked your head through the door, opening it wider when you saw that it was Adam. He walked in, watching as you relocked the door and made your way towards the couch.

You slumped against the arm rest, burying your face in your hands. “This is all my fault,” you mumbled.

“What do you mean?” He slowly sat next to you, eyes scanning the room before looking back at you.

“I knew better than to take the book, but… I don’t know what I was thinking. It was almost like it was telling me to take it. Because of me, Rachel is dead. And so is Larry and Billy.” You rubbed your face hard, tears falling out before you could do anything about it.

“(Y/n)), start from the beginning. What book?”

You got up on shaky legs to retrieve your bag from your room. Reaching over to your desk, a bang from the window startled you. A shriek escaped your lips, heart threatening to follow after. Adam rushed over, wrapping a protective arm around you. He narrowed his eyes at the window but saw nothing. He led you back to the couch where you handed him your bag.

He unzipped the bag and pulled out a heavy leather bound book with a padlock holding it closed. In closer inspection, the leather material may not be leather at all, just that it was dyed and weathered to look like it. With one quick look, Adam could easily identify it as some kind of grimoire.

“Where did you get this?” Adam asked.

“The museum,” you said, wrapping your arms around your knees as you curled up again, “The director needed someone who spoke Latin to help translate some of the pages. The historian that usually does it is away, so that left me, though I can’t translate quite as well as the historian, the director insisted that I translate it as soon as possible… Now that I think about it, it seems all ridiculous. I don’t know why I listened.” You shook your head. “I guess I was too scared of losing my job, but I didn’t really realize until I translated the first few pages how dangerous it was.”

“What does it do?”

“I didn’t think that it was real! I just thought… I didn’t know…”

“(Y/n),” Adam said more gently.

You took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. “It… apparently it has a spell that draws in all creatures within the vicinity, as if it was a beacon. It sounds crazy-”

“(Y/n), trust me. This is not crazy.” Adam inspected the book before putting it down on the coffee table. “Those feds that you met at the bar a couple of nights ago?”

You nodded.

“Well, they’re my brothers…. And they’re not feds. They…. My family comes from a line of hunters,” Adam began to explain.

“Hunters are quite different from brewery owners,” you muttered, trying to lift your mood up.

Adam chuckled. “Yeah, they hunt everything that goes bump in the night and then some. They’re the best at what they do and they’re looking into what’s been happening around town. They can help you with the book, (Y/n).”

You huffed out a laugh and shook your head at the situation you brought yourself into. “That’s great, but is there anything else that you failed to tell me?”

Adam looked down and smiled. “The, uh, the notes from micro lab? I didn’t need them. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

“Adam, if you’re lying to make me feel better about endangering the entire town-”

“I’m serious!”

There was another thud at the window closest to the living room. You jumped, your eyes immediately landing on that cursed book lying among your stained coasters, ripped envelopes and spare rubber bands. The cursed book that started all of this. It shook with each thud that hit the window, a tall dark shadowy figure standing on the other side of the curtained window. You covered your ears as Adam stood, quickly texting Sam and Dean to hurry over.

“Don’t worry, (Y/n). I won’t let anything happen to you.”

#WritersMonth2020 #adam milligan x reader #adam milligan #supernatural #supernatural imagine #SPN #spn imagines #adam winchester

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