#songspired

[sleeplessdreamer14]

Mabel and Luca having a moment

[garglyswoof]

finished reading altered carbon last night and absolutely fascinated (and mostly impressed) with the changes made from book to show. I know that the bias almost always lies with the media first consumed, but i think the choices made for the show were good ones, though I still liked what happened in the book. (spoilers)

things in the show that were changed from the book:

Quell as Virginia, with way more emphasis on their connection

Reileen holy shit what a change, and tbh i think the show stumbled a bit with how that all worked, it felt a little messy and now i get why

Carnage and the whole scene with the fighting, completely changed to good effect

The Hendrix-> The Raven (and Poe!!!)

Elizabeth added as central part of the plot because Poe exists, Elliott made more of a central character

Ortega's whole family highlighting the resolution, really. they were not mentioned in the book

ARE YOU A BELIEVER does not exist in the books and that dude was creepy af. I suppose he was the Trell standin, but Trell ultimately makes a different decision (which honestly? doesnt quite make sense in the book)

[jerzwriter]

Hii 😍

If your MC / OC could be any song or any movie what would it be and why?

Hey there! So sorry for the delay in this! I was really thinking about it lol

Casey - Starlight by Taylor Swift

It's just this uplifting, positive song about being happy, in love, and full of life. It suits her personality and how she tries to approach life. Now, she does have issues with anxiety and sometimes depression. So when they're bad, it's even sadder because she's so far removed from who she is. When she's in that place, This is Me Trying, also Taylor Swift, would be fitting. Because she may be down, but she never gives up.

Kaycee - Girl on Fire by Alicia Keys

She's bright, she's full of energy, she won't take no for an answer, and she's taking the world by storm. This is Kaycee. Now, while she also suffers from anxiety/depression, it's usually not as bad as Casey's in her adult years. When she's in that place, About Damn Time by Lizzo. Like Casey, she never gives up and fights like hell, but she tends to be able to keep her head above water just a bit more.

Zoe -Kite - U2 and Walk On - U2

It took me so long to think of a song for Zoe, and when I did, I couldn't pick between these two, so she's getting both. Zoe is badass. Strong, bright, determined, and a survivor. She's endured so much, and she gets up and keeps fighting without complaint. She makes it look easy - but it's not. She bears the mental and physical scars that only those closest to her (Eli, Troy, her late sister Ana) see. These songs are about survival, carrying on, and enjoying what you can in life as you do it. There are lyrics in both these songs that give me chills. (Personal note, these 2 songs have gotten me through shit you wouldn't believe. I consider them gifts.)

You've inspired me to make playlists for all my characters! :)

[gigidagia]

Ron Flatter - Jostos (2023)

[carolmunson]

almost fell into that hole in your life.

orange colored sky set list.

older!modern!eddie x thirties!reader summary: ficlet. you haven't been acting like yourself these days and eddie notices. unfortunately for you, eddie can't help but wanna make you feel better. tw: implied depressed reader, alcohol mention. implied praise kink if you squint really hard? still 18+ tho! songspiration: black balloon | the goo goo dolls

Eddie doesn't like it when things are too quiet, it makes him hear the static in his brain -- gets too aware. He can hear his eyes blink, the sound of his breath, so when you've been clammed up on the couch all night on your phone he can't help but start to make noise.

"Babe," he says from the kitchen, "Do you want me to make quesadillas or something? I have some shredded chicken I wanted to use up."

"Hm," you respond. He barely hears it, padding his way over in his 'house slides' that you like to tease him about. Such an old man.

"I was thinking quesadillas and I can make some margs, would you like that?" he asks, standing at the end of the couch. The way you're laying on your side, eyes glazed over, is enough to let him know that you haven't heard a word he's said for the last hour. Just scrolling with with a glassy look, numbing yourself ten times over.

"Peach," he says, albiet little sharply, "Are you listening to me?"

"Hmm, no way, that's wild," you respond, a zombie in his midst -- replying just to reply, to fake like you're hearing him. Eddie bites his tongue and then his cheeks to sting the frustration out.

"Hey," he says again, ringed hand reaching down to squeeze your chenille blanket covered thigh, "You hearin' me?"

You finally look up and see his face and the world around you comes into view. In your trance, the world outside had become night, the TV was off, you weren't even sure how much time had passed since you plopped yourself under Eddie's blanket on the sectional in his livingroom.

"Yeah," you squeak out, heart racing because you can tell he's disappointed, "Y-yeah I'm hearing you."

"Then what did I just say, huh?" he doesn't sound mad, or accusatory. Worse, he sounds disheartened. And even worse of worse, he sounds worried.

"Um...it was about um, you were asking about food," you try to answer confidently, and you know it was food adjacent, but you aren't sure.

"Do you want me to make quesadillas?" he asks again, "I have some chicken I wanna use up and I got all the stuff for 'em."

"Yeah," you nod, "Yeah that sounds nice."

"You wanna come help me?" he asks, "I can make us some drinks while we work."

"Uh," you start, that familiar pull tugging in your chest -- laying down feels good, getting lost back in your phone will feel better. It's so comfortable to hide under his chenille blanket and tune out. It feels better like that.

"Please?" You hesitate again, but you're not fast enough to redirect Eddie's attention, and it's then that he catches it in your eyes. The ache. He comes around the the front of the couch to sit in the divot of your thighs and chest, hand moving from your thigh to your shoulder. "What's goin' on?" his low voice twangs at your chest.

"Nothing," you urge, but your voice is too high and so are your eye brows. He doesn't believe you for a second.

"I don't like when you lie to me, peach," he confesses, "Don't lie to me, please."

"Psh, okay dad," you tease, trying to lighten the mood while you get up.

"I'm not kidding with you," Eddie's timbre keeps you in place, "I'm not playing around, babe. What's goin' on with you? You've been -- y'know -- you've been really I dunno -- inward this week. I'm missin' you."

"I'm okay," you urge again, but now you're too quiet. You don't mean it. He raises his brows and blinks at you in disbelief.

"I promise, I'm okay," you continue, "I'll be okay. It's fine. I'm fine."

"You're not making a great case for yourself." "Well then it's a good thing I'm not a lawyer," you joke again. He doesn't buy it.

"You're sad, baby," he tells you, reaching up to hold your cheek in his palm, "Why can't you just tell me? It's okay that you're sad."

"I'm not!" you try to say cheerily again, but the words get stuck in yout throat -- eyes stinging with wetness after hours of being open.

"I'm not sad," you say breathlessly, choking on the lie while a tear sneaks its way onto your lash line.

"Oh, sugar," he coos while you try to tread the water of your feelings -- flailing to keep your head above the pain in your chest.

"No, no, I'm okay -- I'm fine!" but you're starting to cry now and it kills him. Before you know it, he's made his way under the chenille blanket with you, nose to nose.

"Hey, hey, it's okay if you're not fine," he coaches you through your deep breaths while you try to guide yourself out of a full blown sob, "You can tell me. I'm here. I'm here, okay?"

"I'm sorry," your voice becoming a wraith of itself.

"Don't be sorry," he presses himself against you, enough so that you can feel the pressure of him and the pressure of the back of the couch on both sides, "Just talk to me."

"I don't..." you shrug, "I don't have anything to say."

"Just sad?" he asks, you feel an arm snake around you between your back and the the couch, pressing your chest to his. You nod, it feels pathetic, but you're cornered now and there's no use in arguing with someone who was born to win every argument he's ever had.

"Yeah," you mumble weakly, "Yeah, I'm sad. Think I'm more than sad."

He nods, his demeanor softening to something gentle -- heart reaching out to yours with caution like you'll run away, "Yeah, honey I can tell. You really haven't been actin' like yourself these days."

"I just don't wanna bother you," you confess, the brick coming off your chest, "I always get over it, I don't wanna like -- bum you out if it's not like...if it's not a big deal."

"I don't care if it's a big deal or a little deal," his heart bleeds for you while he speaks, "I don't care if you're gonna be over it in fiteen minutes. When you're hurtin' like this -- babe you gotta tell me. You gotta talk to me. Or else how're we gonna make this work?"

"It's just not important."

Eddie can tell that you mean it when you say it; he's never felt more frustrated with whoever convinced you that this was true.

"It's super important to me," he encourages, "Your shit is like, top of my list babe."

"Top of your list?" you crack a weak smile.

"You think the first person I think of when I wake up and the last person I think of when I go to sleep isn't on the top of my priority list?"

"Okay, well now you're doing to much, Ed," your face scrunches in the way that he loves, not letting you totally get out of his hold yet while you try to squirm away.

"Hey, look at me, before you get up," he cups your cheek again, gently, your eyes meeting his brown ones. Eddie leans in for a kiss, a soft reminder that he's not going anywhere anytime soon -- not that you'd want him to. Not with lips like that.

When you break away, his nose nuzzles yours, coasting up to press another gentle kiss on the center of your forehead. Long and intentional, warm enough to get you to close your eyes.

"It's gonna be okay," he assures, "It's okay if you're not, but -- I gotcha until you're feelin' better, hm?"

You nod, sniffling snottily and wiping your wet cheek.

"I am ordering us quesadillas," he whispers, stealing another kiss from you, "Because if you're going to rot on my couch, I'm gonna make you rot next to me."

"We're rotting!" you cheer half heartedly, pouting when he gets up to get his phone for take out. When he finishes, he holds his hand out and you sheepishly put your hand in his.

Eddie curls bounce when he shakes his head, "Peach, you know what I'm asking for."

"No," you frown, "I need it to rot."

"Peach...please?" it's more of a warning than a question, and you slide your phone into his hand. He doesn't check it, but he knows that if you don't have it 'locked away' in his sweats pocket for a while you'll just end up zoning out the same way you did before.

"Thanks, sugar," he smirks, "You're so good."

Your cheeks burn at the priase, rolling your eyes with a grin that cracks against your features, "Don't. We're not doing anything sexy."

"Yeah I know," he shrugs innocently, finding his way next to you again, "But when you smile like that, who am I to deny you a lil' somethin'?"

He dims the lights in the open space from the remote on the coffee table, settling in while you make yourself comfortable in his side. Eddie keeps you close on nights like this, when he knows you're on unsteady ground. You're still quiet, but the start of another Twilight Zone marathon keeps you more alert than before. With steady breaths you start to relax in what he'd deem a healthier way than before, and the quiet doesn't make his brain too fuzzy this time around. In the still of the living room and the hum of Rod Serlings voice, he feels you squeeze his hand -- a silent thank you. He doesn't think he could be any more in love.

[pearl-blue-musings]

This song just came on shuffle and I forgot how much I resonated with this song which produced this piece. I really really do like it. I got to explore a side of kuroo that isn’t always explored and it means a lot to me

I Don’t Want You Back

I know it’s Thursday but I had to write this why yes this was inspired by another BØRNS song dont @ me

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuro x gn!reader

Warnings: angst, alcohol mention, cheating, there is comfort as always, post time skip!

Word count: 1K

He truly should have known better by this point. Kuroo does his best to even out his breathing under the covers as his, well soon to be ex, partner stumbles into their apartment. He’s not entirely sure why he keeps giving them chances as he glances at the clock that reads 4 am. Kuroo knew they worked late but to be coming in this late and smelling like that? It took everything in him to not blow his cover. He wants to yell, scream, and cry about everything he’s done for this relationship but he knows it’ll fall on deaf ears. So he does what he typically does and waits for them to fall asleep before sending you a text message.

“It happened again.”

He also knows better than to wait up for your reply since you’re a heavy sleeper. You’ve been his rock for as long as he can remember. Neighbors turned friends, to becoming his high school team manager, to supporting him working for the national team, you’ve been there though it all. And although you should be asleep, he’s the one person you don’t put on do not disturb.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Kuroo gasps in his bed at your reply which alerts his partner to him being awake. “Tetsu babe,” they start, “I told you not to wait up for me.” They try to kiss his cheek but he pulls away. “C’mon don’t do this, it’s late.”

“Where the hell were you?”

They roll their eyes and try to rub his shoulder. “That’s none of your business.”

Kuroo abruptly gets up, slapping the mattress, “it is my business when my lover comes home at 4 in the morning smelling like booze and sex.” He pauses to try and catch any semblance of sorrow on their face and he sees none. “I know you’re cheating on me. And I’m done. Pack your shit and get out.”

They scoff and slowly get up. “Tetsurou you can’t be serious—“

“It’s Kuroo and I’m very serious.” His partner had never heard him speak with such intense seriousness; always jokes and flirtations. So of course they thought it would be easy to cheat on someone so busy and carefree. They roll their eyes and get up.

“Fine, he was better in bed anyways and made more money.”

“Then why don’t ya fucking go to him then?!”

An hour passes and Kuroo now sits in a semi empty apartment. He has to write apology notes to his neighbors for having to hear the noises so early in the morning. 5:30 is usually when he wakes up to hit the gym and get to work early but today is different as he sits on his couch with his face in his hands. However, a soft knock on his door has him breathing deeply before he gets up. His tired golden eyes peek into the peep hole and sees you standing there. He quickly opens the door and is immediately embraced by you. This is when Kuroo breaks down and cries into your shoulder. You shush him and bring him into his apartment and show him the affection he’s truly been missing.

The two of you call in sick for the day and spend it wrapped in each other’s arms and lazing around.

One year later

It took longer than he thought possible but he was able to successfully move on in his life. Kuroo was unaware of how much his ex had gaslit him and emotionally abused him so being with you was easy and a breath of fresh air. Being together didn’t come easily or suddenly, but gradually. After all, it is only your 4 month anniversary. You decided to treat him by taking him to your favorite club for some debauchery with your closest friends. Kenma couldn’t have looked more out of place but Bokuto was right at home. It had been a long and rough week at work so he truly wanted to let go with some of his inner circle.

Shot after shot was offered to him and he was starting to feel really good. So good that he was sure he saw someone that looked vaguely familiar. Those eyes, that hair, that stare… ah yes his ex. You hadn’t noticed as you were entertaining Bokuto and a funny joke he had told you and Kenma. You were so enraptured you didn’t even notice Kuroo get up and stumble toward the bar. You try to lean on him and you almost fall over when you see he’s not there. You blink slowly when you finally spot his bed hair walking toward someone you thought you’d never see again. Your heart sank as you saw them, his head resting in his hand on the bar top and them laughing and trying to touch his arm. You look away before it gets any worse and move to get up. You were always there for him and supported him through everything, so why did seeing him with his past lover gut you like a knife?

“Excuse me,” you slur to his friends as you get up and head to the bathroom. You try to push your way through the crowd and hold back tears at the same time. You’re barely there when a hand grabs your shoulder.

“Kit, kitten. Where ya going?”

The innocence and love in his eyes were always a weakness of yours and you couldn’t lie to him. The alcohol induced tears start to fall and that sobers Kuroo up. He carefully wipes away your tears with his finger as he cups your face. “Babe, what happened? D-did someone touch you?”

“I-,” you start. “I saw you. With them. I know they’re here…”

His eyebrows lift before softening, an equally soft smile on his face. He brings you in for a chaste kiss before resting his forehead against yours. “Baby doll, if you stared longer, you would have heard me tell them “I don’t want you back” okay? They tried, hell so did the liquor, but there’s only one person I love right now.

“And it’s you.”

[exactlycleverpirate]

Master Post

For easier navigation, see the links below to my various Love and Deepspace Content. More under the cut. Lots of spoilers throughout.

Also, I am willing to take requests, if you want me to write or post something from the game, theorize about a particular aspect, or request a fic. I will try to write it up as I have time and inspiration. I make no promises though. Rafayel is my favorite (obviously), but I like them all. Just my preference, but I will only write one LI x MC pairings. No poly relationships or OCs for me. I'll consider NSFW requests, but nothing with minors, dubcon, noncon, etc.

Timelines (and related in game content):

Timeline from Xavier's Perspective Part 1 and Part 2.

Old Timeline

Rafayel's Timeline Redux Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7.

Rafayel's Timeline Redux Repost (All in one post)

Proposed Timeline for MC

Trying to Make Sense of Rafayel's Timeline (old)

Love and Deepspace: the Story So Far Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

Journey Seeker

The Necklace

Doctor Bios

Love and Deepspace Prologue

Love and Deepspace Chapter 8 Epilogue

Repeating Pattern

Other In-Game Content:

Failing a Deepspace Trial with Rafayel

Cute Emojis and Max Pokes with Rafayel

Rafayel Affinity Level: 69, 70, 71

Happy Birthday Rafayel!

Rafayel Humming Cropped

Rafayel's Lvl 70 Secret Time "Treasure"

Rafayel Text Combat Rating

Rafayel's Teary Emoji

Theories and Observations:

Motifs in Love and Deepspace

Myth Ending Thoughts

Half-baked Theories

Eternal Sleep

Rafayel Tho

Rafayel's Expressions

Reactions to Injuries

Rafayel Event Ending

What Happened to Lemuria and Rafayel

Why Did Rafayel Do That?

Primary Conflict

Wavyleaf Sea Lavender (probably really Forget-Me-Nots)

Wild Theories About Rafayel

Jealousy

(Over) Analyzing the Love and Deepspace Theme Song

Rafayel Wants to be Wanted

Theories About Xavier and Caleb

Rafayel REALLY Wants to Marry You

Rafayel's Birthday Card Thoughts

Behind the Ice

Mt Eternal/Tower of Thorns Discussion

Who Met MC First

Theories About the Creatio, Philos’s Core, and Rafayel's Heart

Fanfics

Aeternum Vinculum

Tipsy Confession

Wholehearted

Fanfic/Headcanon Requests

Fanfic/Headcanon Request!

Angsty Fanfic/Headcanon Request Filled (here) (here) (here) (here)

NSFW Fanfic Request

SFW Fanfic/Headcanon Request Filled (here)

Rafayel Fanfic Request

Just For Fun

How Rafayel Sings

Relax Time with Rafayel

Rafayel Board

Virgin or Not?

Rafayel's Tears

Rafayel Playlist

UM WHAT

So are we going to talk about this?

How old is Rafayel?

My Boys

Boast Post

Songspiration

Follow Up to Ebb and Flow

For the girl constantly trying to get herself killed meme

Rafayel Spotify Playlist

Rafayel Threw the Game

My Current 5* Levels

Rafayel I will not hurt you RP

So Cute!

[dudeandduchess]

Kyōjurō x F!S/O: Clingy (Fluff, SFW Scenario, Modern!AU)

Note: I should have been asleep, but I just felt so inspired to write this. The songspiration for this is ‘Timeless’ by Taylor Swift, which is steadily becoming my most favourite song at the moment.

*** 

As someone whom had never really felt inclined to get married, it came as a surprise for everyone— even (Y/n) herself— that she had ended up getting married in the first place.

First off, it was never in her list of priorities to get hitched. Secondly, she wanted to travel the world and live as freely as she could without any responsibilities. And, lastly, she just never saw herself as the lovey-dovey and doting type.

At least, not until she had met Kyōjurō.

“Are you sure that you have everything with you, Kyō? You didn’t forget anything?” (Y/n) asked softly, eyebrows furrowed in worry, as she sprinkled some sesame seeds on top of the chicken karaage she’d just packed inside her husband’s bento.

Her eyes then flitted over to the man in question, whom was still shovelling his breakfast— gyudon with rice— in his mouth. The soft smile that graced her lips was instantaneous at the adorable sight.

They’d already been married for two years at that point, but the spark between them never fizzled out. It was a bit crazy how they were still so in love even after the honeymoon phase, but neither of them questioned it. Life was bliss in their tiny home, and the world made sense when they were together— so really, there was no need to even wonder about such things.

“Don’t worry, my love, I have everything packed nicely. And I’ll just be gone for a night, so I’ll be alright,” Kyōjurō answered chirpily; finishing his meal off, and taking his bowl and chopsticks to the sink.

However, before he could even start washing his cutlery, his wife crossed the narrow space over to him and wrapped her arms around his middle. She then pressed her cheek against his back, frowning openly since she knew that he wouldn’t be able to see her so upset over him leaving.

“Don’t frown, my love. It’ll give you wrinkles,” the blond teased softly; setting his things down in the sink, before turning around in his wife’s hold.

His arms immediately wrapped themselves around (Y/n), while he rested his chin against the top of her head. Normally, such an action would have been met with a narrow-eyed gaze, but at that moment… all that (Y/n) could do was melt even further into her husband’s chest.

 “How do you know I’m frowning? You can’t even see my face.”

“I know you.”

“Way too much,” (Y/n) admitted with a slight huff; merely being pouty.

Kyōjurō chuckled at how cute his wife was acting, before turning his head so he could press a kiss to the crown of her head. “You’re my wife, I’m supposed to know these things. Now, don’t be too pouty… or else I’ll feel too bad about having to leave. Unless…”

That had the young woman’s ears perking up. Of course, it wouldn’t have been ideal for Kyōjurō to miss out on a work trip— and she understood that— but the selfish part of her, that wanted nothing more than to make him stay home, was rearing its head. “Unless? You stay home? And we can just cuddle in bed all day.”

Had anyone heard the absolute poutiness in (Y/n)’s voice, as well as the saccharine sweet sentiments coming from her mouth, they would have thought that she had hit her head a bit too hard.

Little did the rest of the world know that that was just how she was with Kyōjurō: extremely soft.

“That sounds so tempting, but this is an important trip, my love. Besides, I’ll be back before you know it,” Kyōjurō uttered, then began rubbing his hand up and down his wife’s back, in an attempt to soothe her both physically and verbally.

(Y/n) wasn’t appearing to budge, however. So, Kyōjurō pulled away from her a little, just so he could cup her cheeks in his hands to make her look up into his eyes.

It almost made him cave when he saw that her pretty eyes were a little glossed over with unshed tears. And it took everything in him not to crush her to his chest in a tight hug.

Instead, he pressed a line of kisses from her forehead, to the middle of her furrowed brows, to the tip of her nose, and finally to her alluring lips. “I’ll be back before you know it, okay? Promise.”

And he did make good on his promise the next day; waking up at 3 in the morning, just so he could be next to (Y/n) in their bed when she woke up.

Kyōjurō didn’t know which of them was more surprised when morning came though… because the first thing that his wife did upon seeing him was to tackle him in a hug, and whisper the words, “I know why I’ve been so clingy. I’m pregnant. Hormones!”

[heilith]

You are spoiling us!! 😍 ! Okay I wish you would write something with Boromir, maybe where he is tired and reader takes care of him :") something soft ♡

@noldorinpainter So sorry it took me long. :) Also I deviated from your request, but just a little. Hope you enjoy. Oh, in case you're interested, the songspiration was Gorod 312 - Pomogi mne - loosely, but still. The art is by The-Wizard-of-Art

Tagging @scyllas-revenge @glassgulls @lathalea @fizzyxcustard @absentmindeduniverse @court-jobi @middleearthpixie @sotwk @emmyspov @evenstaredits @guardianofrivendell @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @asgardianhobbit98 and sorry, sorry if I forgot anyone, I got lost somewhere between Discord and Tumblr.

Ok, here it is:

Before the Storm

“Your lips are softer than they look,” you lean out of the kiss unhurriedly, basking in the feeling of his breath upon you face.

“Hmm?”

“Your…lips…are…soft,” you alter your own statement – and the sense of it, too, “But only when I kiss you. Why aren’t they soft, when you kiss me?”

You don’t need the answer as much as you need to see that deceitful mouth twitch and tighten, as too predictable images float up before his mind’s eye. The sight is fleeting, yet you cherish it better than any words he could say.  

“You utter the strangest things, dove,” your Captain states with no particular expression.

His eyes are still closed. Your heart forgets how to beat, shrinking in sweet pain, as you touch the very tips of his eyelashes and stroke them as carefully as you can afford it.

“I do them, too,” you whisper more to yourself than to him.

He looks so distant, and so close, and stern, and defenseless.

The armchair by the fire is built sturdy enough to hold the weight of you, curled on his laps and clinging to his exhausted self like bindweed.  

It is unkind – wicked of you to enjoy such moments, when you have to thank his tiredness for that.

For a blissfully long sting of minutes all you can think of is how his breath becomes more and more even, tamed by the movements of your hand, running through his hair over and over again.

“I must go down.”  

“Yes, do,” you agree easily, “Nobody wants you here.”

“Shall I stay and make them?” there’s no single kind note in his voice, but the gleam in his eyes makes up for it to the full.   

You allow yourself a laugh that is more of a sigh.  

“Stay and sleep. They will look for reasons to put up with you meanwhile.”

The arm, which was up to now slack around your waist, gains strength and presses you to him too hard for a caress.

You lose yourself in another endless kiss.

“Consider this one,” offers he as evenly.

You nod, not ashamed of letting him see how you’re learning to breathe again. Lifting his spirits is worth the fear of denial in your book.

“I’ll bring you the furs,” you say, as he finally relaxes back into the tattered seat.

“No,” the protest is sharp and almost order-like.

Startled by this sudden harshness, you pull back, yet he doesn’t let you to slip away too far. It is not his embrace, but his look that stops you this time. The weariness and despair in it drive a knife through your chest, wiping out everything except your love for him – that and pity you hope he’ll never know you harbour for him.

“Please, dove,” asks he under his breath, “I need…”

“I know,” you cut in, unable to bear it any longer, “Take your rest, Boromir.”     

 His palm ghosts against your cheek in gratitude, and you wish you could shut out every emotion that comes with it. You wish for it to end and to go on.

You close your eyes, too, and dissolve in his arms, longing to be reborn into a safer world tomorrow.

With him.

[m-ayo-o]

ok... so (content planning below)

Manwha : Under The Oak Tree. Genre : smut

So I have an idea ft. Maxi, Riftan, Ruth, plus reader insert, involving oral, threesome/group sex, and guidance. It's been in the back of my mind for probably YEARS at this point and I still haven't got round to writing even an outline, but the image and idea is so clear in my head it probably won't take long to write. It's driving me crazy so I might write this one soon.

Valentine's Event : happening now!

Zodiac Event : one more tiny fic coming

Requests : still closed (thank u sm for respecting this it has been perfect, so well behaved of u all)

Thirsts/asks/chat : open

Foxtrot : ongoing! part two coming soon ft. 21+ megumi stealing toji's gf...

The Money Store : ongoing! sub toji part two coming soon because i enjoy writing it sssososo much

two longer (ish) megumi fics in progress ft. roomate au and an unusual threesome... :3

I have a paranormal fic idea that includes possession but may get quite dark. Others include mythical creatures (humanoid only, eg. succubus / incubus / hybrids etc. may go into omegaverse and hybrid characters soon)

Obviously not gonna stop writing jjk just wanna mix things up a bit.

Been enjoying lil Toru drabbles (feels like I'm practicing)

Always got Kento ideas (but I feel like it has to be particularly special to focus on it because the Kento writers on here go hard. Makes me feel like I don't need to write it as bad)

Wanna write so much for Suguru...

Got some Naoya and Choso thoughts

Also very tempted to write for the pretty boy that is Hajime Kashimo

Have a strong desire to write househusband Toji

Got a couple of tiny Yuji wips

Sukuna can suck it. (jk I can't write him for shit also the Sukuna writers out there are actually astounding)

Possible event ideas ->

1: "The Gods" event : incorporating stories of ancient myths

2: "Songspiration" : short weekly drabbles inspired by lyrics (could involve a voting system)

so feel free to come chat about anything you'd like to read in particular! ^^

[fentyjjk]

synposis doubt by samaria

warnings mentions of a toxic ex, overly insecure oc

read me! ahhh hello! i’m back for a brief minute writing out some ideas ive had fermenting for a minute, ik the divider isn’t all the way aligned idk why it won’t fill in the space i tried :/

songspiration m.list

He was too difficult when you met him, too shy, he didn’t speak much and that made things even harder. He was reluctant to let you in.

And when he finally did you couldn’t have been happier.

But the more he let you in the more you pulled back, the more you knew him, the sweeter he was, the more afraid you grew.

Afraid to give yourself another chance at love, not again not after him. But he was so insistent, so willing to catch you if you fell. And like the love struck fool you were you dove head first. He was there, he caught you, he was there for you, he loved you, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough for you.

You had too much doubt, too much baggage.

He was there each time you accused him of his eyes wandering, his gaze too fond and friendly for another woman he was there each time, he comforted you hoping that you’d see him differently, trust him.

But it wasn’t enough.

Your self esteem was too fickle, too broken for repair no sweet words of affection could fix what he had broken.

“Baby—“ Yoongi was met with the sound of the door slamming instead of a response. He closed his eyes to calm himself as he turned off the car. He joined you at your front porch where you stood arms crossed staring straight ahead at the door. He watched you, waited for you to get angry that he wasn't making any moves to unlock it.

And it worked.

You huffed uncrossing your arms, “Yoongi-“

“What was that? Talk to me.” His worried eyes searched your face for the woman he knew, the woman he loved, but when you were like this—in your head—he couldn’t find her.

You scoffed, “Talk to you? You seemed more interested in that blonde bitch than me, all night.” You sneered your eyes narrowing, Yoongi shook his head, wetting his lips. He reached for you, but you stepped back not allowing him to touch you, he sighed, dropping his hands.

“Baby, I was not looking at her and certainly not in that way.” Yoongi frowned.

“I understand, Yoongi, I get it, I’m too much,” you pointed at yourself, “she's pretty, convenient, you want that? You can have it.” Yoongi didn’t even know what to say because he wasn’t sure how you two even got here.

It was supposed to be a nice relaxing date night. You both needed the time to enjoy each other's presence; work had taken up both of your free time and he wanted to give you a nice dinner date to make up for the time spent away. However he didn’t plan for the flirty blonde waitress that attended to the two of you. In his defense he wasn’t reciprocating any of the flirting that the waitress was giving him. She wouldn’t acknowledge you and if she did she was so cold and looked at you with contempt, it genuinely bothered him. He tried on several attempts to get her to speak to you with a more favorable polite tone before he requested a different waitress. How did you see it so differently?

Simple.

He asked for a new waitress because he was too overwhelmed with his desire for her, him grabbing your hand across the table when she came over three times? He needed you to ground him so he wouldn’t take her right then and there.

“Y/n, baby, please,” He cupped your face gently, the familiar sight of tears glimmering under your porch light, “baby no,” He pulled you into his arms, rubbing your back. “This…you, why do you think I want someone else? Why do you doubt my loyalty to you?” You softly cried into his chest pulling away gripping his suit jacket.

“How could you love someone like me, Yoongi?” He swipes at your tears with his thumbs, but they kept coming, staining the top of your dress. “What is there to love about me? When I’m so…so-“

“So what? Hm?” His brows furrowed, his features twisted as if he was angered, not with you but your thoughts and your contempt for yourself. “You are perfect to me,” He pulled you in closer brushing a stray curl from your forehead, the touch tender making your eyes flutter, “You are everything I want and more, I would never look for anyone else my eyes have never wondered from you. You are my home, my safe space, you are the love of my life, and it pains me that you question that,” he blinked twice shoving down his emotions, but you saw it, the hurt.

Yoongi never said it before, but you needed to know. It pained him when you questioned his love and loyalty for you. He desperately wanted you to trust him to believe him when he speaks his love for you. But somehow you two always end up like this.

Your brows creased cupping his cheek. “Yoongi—“

He grabbed your hands stroking the back of your palms. “Promise me this; from this day moving on, you won’t doubt my love for you anymore, you won’t compare me to him—“ Your lips part denial heavy on your tongue, “I know you do it, Y/n. I don’t… I don’t judge you for it, but I am not him. I am not like him, I love you, I care for you and you only, okay? Promise me.” He gently squeezed your hands, his words freezing in front of you.

“I…I love you too, Yoongi.” You looked down stammering, “I-it’s so hard for me, I-I have all these thoughts…I can’t.” You shake your head, more tears flowing, “I can’t, I believe you, but I can’t promise you that I won’t question you, I’m sorry.” Yoongi pulled you back into his arms stroking your hair, muffled “I’m sorrys” and sobs exhaled into his chest filling the night's silence.

“I don’t blame you baby, that-that bastard,” Yoongi exhaled harshly trying to control himself. He didn’t like talking about him. He hates seeing the damage he did to you and how it holds power over your thoughts about yourself and the love Yoongi has for

you, but it’s something that’s affected your relationship for years. “It’s his fault, but I swear to you, I will never do anything that that piece of shit did, okay? So promise me you’ll try, try to believe me and see the best in me, look at our situations objectively, believe me when I tell you I love you and only want you because I do.”

“Why do you fight for me so hard? Why?” Yoongi exhaled a soft chuckle.

“Because I love you, Y/n.” You stepped back no more than an inch to meet his eyes, they reflected your own; glossy and full of unshed tears. You searched his face for any deceit, for any traces of him, but found nothing but a man who’s loved and cherished you, the man that’s fought for you all these years even when you didn’t want him too.

Min Yoongi, your patient, caring, loving, boyfriend.

A man worthy of a promise.

You gave him a soft nod, wiping away a stray tear that fell from his eyes, “I promise.”

[frick6101719]

wildflowers and wild horses came up on my playlist today and it really made me think of caerwyn. is there any music that reminds you of her or it might kill me as a whole?

HELLO I have never thought of these songs for Caerwyn but at your recommendation I just listened to them with that in mind and I love them! Especially Wildflowers... like something about the way it seems to speak to the fact that everything that happens to her is just... wrong? Like no, she should not be going through all this shit, she should be out in a field somewhere laughing and having fun and feeling free! Not fighting for her life! She's just a precious conniving little knucklehead, let her be!

Wild Horses... I'm going to have to chew on this one more. It's a much more moody and bittersweet kind of thing, I like it a lot, but I haven't quite figured out if it's HER thinking these thoughts, or someone else thinking them about her (or for her?) I need to peel it back a bit more.

This is so truly my love language I'm so glad you sent this! Music is so important to me and I have playlists for EVERYTHING, including my dearest Caer. It's not so much full of songs that remind me of her as it is a 50-track narrative--my idea was to create a playlist that would sort of take you through Caer's internal journey throughout the IMKM storyline, while also being her vibe.

Here it is:

However, I am looking at this now and I made this SO long ago and am cringing at my cover art but there you have it. I really should go through it again and update the tracklist, but not this very second.

Thank you SO much for this ask Rae; PLEASE feel free to send me any other songs that make you think of Caer (or anyone really) because it's just the most fun to share songspiration.

[jerzwriter]

This song needs a fic... badly... Angst anyone? (Who should the victim be? 🤔🤔🤔)

[howlingguardian]

I'm one episode into Altered Carbon (yes, I'm way behind the trend, sue me) and I'm intrigued.

It's definitely got the marks of cyberpunk, and I like the little hints of worldbuilding we've got. The Envoys, the Songspire trees, what happened in the last 250 years.

Plus, you know, the locked room mystery of the incompetently murdered billionaire.

Also, on a random note, I'm totally sure the guy's wife is going to try and bang Takeshi. She's got bored horny trophy wife vibes.

[carolmunson]

blood machine.

emperor geta x senator's daughter!reader songspiration: in keeping secrets of the silent earth 3 | coheed & cambria

did not once plan to write for this guy but here we are. also like, is it historically accurate? no. like, not even a little. (hell is mentioned and technically hell wasn't 'a place' until 400 BC but like WHATEVER.) am i making a semi effort? sorta kinda. have i been a little stoned every time i've worked on this? well, yes.

summary: when what was supposed to be a diplomatic dinner before a much bigger and lively feast becomes a marriage offer, all of the wine you drank turns to ash in your mouth. haters to haters, bay-bee. tw: 18+, drinking but like -- idk it's ancient rome, tension, fighting, some mild body shaming (??), a literal threat of domestic violence but again it's ancient rome so like i don't think they cared, two stupid little bitches who hate each other. mentions of war and ultimate distaste for the poor. reader kind of has lady macbeth vibes. my little evil queen.

Wine is poured, golden chalices exalted. You are a vision and he is a toad looking creature of a man that only his mother could love. Not quite his brother, never quite measuring up the same way -- always trying to puff his chest. It was easy to tease him, ego easy to bruise -- little brother. You’d spent time in your childhood tagging along with your brother and the other kids to taunt him, pathetic and whimpering. 'Tale teller!' you'd jeer, every time he'd run off to his mother to blubber over how mean you all were. And you were mean.

But people grow, as they do. And so did you -- still mean, but in a different way. Listening to meetings, reading maps, keeping tabs on new republics, on potential uprising. The poor -- the fucking poor. Finding new ways to keep them occupied so that they'd stop trying to find ways to be powerful. Powerful like you. Powerful like the man at the head of the table with a plum to his lips. And as it has been said, a man in possession of a good fortune and power, must be in need of a wife. It became clear when you arrived that this was not a business dinner before a grand feast, your parents simply forgot to mention what this was really about. Your best linens, your hair coiffed, your best jewelry, you should have known it had been a ruse the moment you got there. His home on Palatine just sparkling the way the gold on your fingers did, candles in the halls and stairways glittering when they hit the rubies and pearls on your chest and ears. When your father veers the conversation from politics and business to marriage you both choke, stern eyes glued to your mother's painted face. A business dinner where you are currency -- more than worthy. Just a few months shy of being eligible when Caracalla was, regrettably, forced to marry Flavia at the last moment. It would've been nice to have the gang together again in some capacity. Could've bullied the toad to assasinating himself if you were lucky enough. Total power. Complete upheaval. The more you thought about it, the more of it your craved. The pit in your stomach grew, if it wasn't with his brother -- even though you bore no attraction -- there was not a point at all. Geta didn't think nearly as critically, didn't hit hard enough, didn't strategize correctly. You'd never even seen him pick up a sword -- but then again, that made sense. You very rarely spent time in his palace, much prefering the festivities of Caracalla's close by.

You listen while your mother goes on and on about his grace, tongue dipped in honey while she blabbers. She mentions how handsome he is, his valiance in leadership, how honorable he's become as he's taken the place of his late father -- you can't help yourself but laugh. The giggle echos and bounces through the high ceilings, floating against the archways, getting caught in the drapery by the open hall. His eyes flick to you over his goblet, catching in the candle light, an aggravated sneer plaguing his face. He looks like a pig when he does that, you think to yourself.

You know that business, for the most part, is a man's game. But it does not deter you from doing your best to try and wager yourself out of this. Ideas drip into your mind while the drone of the conversation turns to fuzz in the background. How can you sell that this is a bad idea? It will bring less publicity, less of a threat, less resposibility if married to someone with equal nobility. Certainly not an emperor. Especially not one like this. So petulant, so competitive, so eager for a war he does not know how to plan, so temperamental, so weak, so conniving, so consumed with the colosseum that he doesn't think of what should be done around him. It's his voice that brings you back to attention.

"And why is it she hasn't been taken for a wife then, at this age?" he asks, brow quirking in your direction. You let out of huff of offense while he sips his wine, metal clinking as he places it back down. A smirk flits across his features at the remark, "Is something wrong with her?"

Your father, sweating with embarrassment, looks over at you and back at the emperor, "Well she, she's of course beautiful." Geta winces, cocking his head to the side with a shrug. Your father sighs, desperate to try to find a better angle, "She um, she -- she has great wits, Ceasar, unmatched. She knows her duties as a wife, but -- a great thinker. She could -- she could be helpful!" "Wits," he mumbles sourly under his breath before leaning back leisurely in his chair, "Great thinker? Very surprising." "August--" your father starts. "Co--" you correct over a sip of wine, "Co-Augustus."

Geta tosses you another sour look, tongue running over his teeth before clicking it behind his lips. You shrug while swallowing. "Semantics, Publius," you wave a hand at him. A hush falls over the room as his gaze snaps up at you, blanching at the disrespect of being called by his first name. Your mother hides her face in her napkin with a groan. Your father leans his temple against his fingers, eyes closed in frustration. "Mind how you address me," Geta corrects with a stern pull to his lips, eyes glittering with rage. Your eyes catch over the mountains of food before you, holding your glass out as one of his servants pours you another glass of wine. "Is that not what your mother calls you?" your voice feathery, but certain. A vein begins to raise and pulse in his neck while his shoulders round forward.

"Please apologize, dear," your mother mutters, putting the napkin back on the table, "Tell -- tell the emperor what it would mean, to be -- to be wed to someone of such calibur."

Your eyes stay on his, challenging him while your mother begs you to say something to make amends. Another sip of wine passes your lips, "No, shan't."

Your mother scolds you, your full name escaping her with embarrassment tainting her tongue. Sweat beads at your father's forehead while he changes the subject, doing aything to try to keep his good favor with both sides of the imperatorship.

You grin into your goblet at the sight of Geta's face -- reddened with anger and frustration at the brazen disrespect. But it was fine to continue to be an enemy if it meant you would leave these regal walls and never have to step foot in them again. And if you did, it would be as another senator's wife, visiting his brother in another house where you'll laugh and drink wine and cheer when he's killed.

Even his posture is revolting, hunched over while he listens to your father speak. Now going on and on about paper work that doesn't interest you if it doesn't have a say on who is next on the list to conquer. Your eyes glaze over in boredom while pomergranate, honey pudding, and dates are placed on the table. Rose wine replaces the red to sweeten the tongue -- you're sure your parents wished it were true.

It's not very long after dessert is served that your parents start again.

"As you know, she does come from a family of very fertile women," your father encourages. You quickly swallow the bite of date you'd taken to interrupt, nearly choking, "Excuse me, I'm not sure this is appropriate dinner conversation."

Geta looks at you while you speak, scanning you and then lingering on the dessert in your hand, "Her hips are quite sizeable -- big enough to bear multiple childen, that's certain. Is that her only sell?"

Anger bubbles under your chest, but warning looks from both of your parents keeps your sharp tongue between your lips. The grip on your goblet tightens, jaw clenching while your pass another sip through gritted teeth. You let a seething breath out through your nose. "As I tried to explain before," your father continues, "She is very on the pulse in terms of the political climate and, and, and great with strategy." "I'm not looking for a wife who tries to strategize for me--" he responds coolly. "From how the empire has not expanded since your father's death I would guess that perhaps you should be," you snap back smartly. His posture straightens, chains and medallions across his chest glinting in the candle light. The room quiets itself again, only the sound of untensils and cups being put down or collected filling the dead air. The soft scrape of metal, the rustle of linens while servants and guards alike avert their gaze downward.

"Leave us," he states, voice pungent with authority. You stretch your neck on both sides while the servants depart, already bored with the back and forth. Already moved on from the eventual scolding and potential exile that won't get put into motion because you are simply too friendly with the rest of the upcoming generals and politicians. One rogue idiot who barely has the power his brother has, that his father never trained into him, could not dole a punishment that is worth your genuine fear.

You sigh, hearing the staff make their way down the long stone corridors into the grand halls to prepare for a more formal party with other higher status families. More likely a collection of offerings for him to choose from, other parents trying to arrange a marriage with the empire's most powerful and eligible bachelor. It would be one of the few times the brothers would have to engage with each other, which you're sure put Geta more on edge than normal.

"Senator, please take your wife to the grand hall to be seated," he commands, his voice lower, delving darker. The vein in his neck continues to pulse, forearms straining against the golden cuffs over his wrists, "The guards will accompany you."

You watch as your parents rise, bowing their heads before following the guards out of the room and through the blood red drapery hung from gilded valances. Geta's eyes stay hardened on you, and yours him, while you rise as well, taking a few steps around the large wooden table toward the exit. "Not you," he says, not turning to face you, "You will stay." "It is not appropriate for me to be unaccopanied in the pres--" "Do not speak," he huffs, hand coming up to silence you, "Your voice grates on me." "Then you can imagine what your own voice does, Augustus," you say without thinking, letting the insults flow out of you like the fountain water in the courtyards. He pushes away from the table, steadily walking towards you with enough vigor that the bottom of his cape starts to billow behind him. On his way, he pulls a sword from a guard's holster, dragging it so the tip grinds against the stone, making your jaw clench at the shrill sound.

"What happens to those who speak against me?" he asks, steps clicking against the floor from the studs on the bottom of his sandals. He begins to stalk around you, circling while he waits for an answer. "Execution," you respond, keeping your eyes on the drapery just twenty feet ahead of you. "What else?" he asks, you can feel his breath behind you, the whining grind of the sword against the stone making your shoulders tense. "Exile," you answer, a laugh bubbling out of you, "But I can't imagine your brother agreeing to either of those. You'd really banish me, Publius? Because I was a little mean to you?" When he appears in front of you again, your lips stretch into a sickeningly sweet smile, sarcasm staining your tone, "But we're such old friends."

He cocks his head to the side, taking a step closer with the sword between you, "Oh, I wouldn't do that to you."

He leans forward, enough that you can smell the rose wine on his breath. His voice quiet and menacing, "Though -- it could be that the senator said something to offend me tonight at dinner. It could be that perhaps he -- spoke poorly of my dear brother or my late father. Something just dastardly enough to sour my brother's respect for him." "And you expect Caracalla to believe that?" "In what way does it benefit me to lie about it?" he challenges, "And even more so -- with your father exiled, where does that leave you?"

You swallow thickly, not giving him the satisfaction of replying while your look into his now wild brown eyes. Flashing with mania and endless possibility.

"A peasant," he spits.

"If it keeps me out of these halls I should be lucky, no?" you fire back, looking at him from under furrow brows. He continues to circle you, dragging the sword again. The click, click, click of his shoes keeping time in your head. "I'm sure my brother would be happy to keep you as a pet in the meantime," he laughs to himself, "Or we could put you in the colosseum, you think you'd fare well?" "Better than you could, that's certain," you cross your arms over your chest, "Could never stand up and fight like a man, even as a kid. Your father would be embarrassed."

The grinding gets louder as he presses harder down, causing small sparks to fly from the edge of the sword.

"If you were to be chosen, would ever even attempt to learn respect?" he asks sharply, "Or would it have to be beaten into you?" You snort, "At least you're the funnier brother, you have that going for you." You can see him out of your periphery, the way he pulls his cheeks in, the roll of his shoulders -- he's losing patience. "What, would you prefer I called you Geta? Augustus? Ceasar?" your eyes roll. A soft cackle comes from his through, canines showing in a gleeful smile, "No, no -- from you? I'd much prefer something more respectful." Click, click, click. The grind of the sword. The rose on his breath. "Dominus," he nods with the threat, "Dominus et Deus."

"You disgust me," you respond quickly. "As a husband and as emperor is that not my title, already?" he shrugs, looking at you like it's obvious.

"You are nobodies Lord and God, you are a petulant -- sniveling -- repulsive little brother who is only where he is by being lucky to be born," you glower.

"You still see me as a child, femina," he tuts, "I promise you, what ever Caracalla has told you is a tapestry of made up stories. You could hang it on the tallest arch and it would hit the floor ten times over."

"I do see just a whining child before me," you hiss, "I'm sure you'll run to your mother after this, too."

His chuckle turns to a low, dark laugh from deep in his chest. It crawls up your spine and rings in your ears, mixing with the grating 'shhhhhhinnnngggg' of the sword on the ground.

"If it were fate that there was union between us," he asks from behind you, "What would you say to that?"

You look straight ahead, hearing the click of his shoes. The heat of the torches on the walls billowing onto your face while you keep your eyes on the drapery, still closed -- still keeping you here.

"It would be a fate worse than the hottest hell," you confess, your voice not wavering.

The whine of the sword stops, sheathed into his belt. The click of his shoes halts.

Quiet.

Rose wine on his breath, you feel it on your skin now, his chest against your back while he closes the space between you. A hand reaches up to push the hair from your neck, the other gripping the fat of your hip to pull you ruthlessly against him in a thud. Your eyes shut, bile crawling up your throat in disgust. His nose coasts against the shell of your ear, making you tilt your head away while goosebumps rise on your arms. Through a knowing grin he whispers, the words burrowing deep in your chest in loathing and a glimmer of fear: "I pray every moment of it burns you."

[thewritersalchemist]

SONGSPIRATION: Off the Map

I personally need music to write. I'm listening to music 24/7, whether I'm writing fiction, editing, writing posts for The Writing Alchemist, or writing emails. When I'm writing or editing, I'm a huge fan of Two Steps From Hell / Nick Phoenix / Thomas Bergersen. This new one crossed my Spotify Release Radar a few weeks ago, and I'm now obsessed with it. It makes me want to drop everything else and write on my favorite space opera WIPs.

Does this song inspire you to write anything? If so, what?