#this is a really shitty fanfic i wrote

[yumieio]

ok so what if the cross guild you know the tents and stuff caught fire and mihawk got stuck inside cause he happened to be in the room with the fireworks and you know fireworks/bombs + fire mean explosion he used his haki to the best ability to protect himself but he still got injured cause a burning wooden beam fell after he was knocked back cause of the fireworks pinning him to ground he coughs smoke filling his lungs he feel his eyes drooping he felt tired very very tired he tried one more time to get up but he couldnt he felt the heat and smoke surrounding him "i guess this is it" he thinks he eyes shutting as he loses consciousness. crocodile , buggy and the others escaped they looked around to check if everyone was ok but mihawk couldnt be found anywhere they thought he must have been lost in the panic but the more they look the more worried they get the fire is still burning strong then the realization hit them mihawk was checking something in the circus tent and there was a huge booming sound that came from there so the bombs/ fireworks must have went off and he could still be in there and now the fire has spread crocodile runs in buggy follows crocodile makes sure his outer body is made of sand and buggy separates to dodge the fire and the falling beams they call out hoping to hear a call back but theres nothing in response they make it to the circus tent and they spot mihawks hat on fire but mihawk isnt wearing it they look around trying to spot Mihawk praying that he somewhere anywhere then buggy spots a hand under a wooden beam he rushes towards the wooden beam trying to pick it up but he couldnt crocodile sees the hand too and joins buggy he tries to pick it up he feels smoke filling his lung but he pushes through with the last of his remaining strength he picks up the beam their fear was correct there was an injured and unconscious mihawk underneath the wooden beam buggy quick grabbed him and crocodile let go of the beam they ran as fast as they could out of the tent dodging more falling beams they could see the worried faces of the cross guild workers outside of the tent even dazs normally stoic face was twisted with worry when they finally got out of the burning tent they couldnt even let out a breath of relief the unconscious mihawk was now in crocodiles arms crocodile pants with his last breath go get a doctor before him and buggy pass out from all the smoke that has filled their lungs when they woke up they were in the doctors tent that was luckily far away from the burning ones they were groggy and felt like shit but quickly looked around looking for mihawk if he was ok or not the doctor quickly calmed them down saying mihawk was injured but he will be ok right now he's in a comatose state but he is stable and that they should rest though they were worried they breathed a sigh of relief that he was stable which ended in a coughing fit cause of all the smoke they inhaled eventually mihawk ended up to be ok and woke up but he had sever burns and a few broken bones which healed but now he had a few burn scars which deeply upset crocodile and buggy not cause how he looked but cause he was injured in the first place they had a few nightmares about the incident afterward in the healing process there was good day and bad days mihawk didnt mind the scars but he also hated them they showed weakness he hated that he tried to cover them up as much as possible crocodile and buggy put a stop to that quickly they werent about to let him hurt himself more trying to cover them and plus they both had scars and when they felt bad about them sometimes mihawk always made them feel better so why shouldnt they do that same they made sure mihawk felt comfortable at all times in his own skin if anyone makes a comment about it they will fuckin end them even when mihawk healed buggy and crocodile still feel a little worried but in the end he was okay and they rebuilt everything that was burnt and replace everything that was lost in the fire which luckily wasnt anything important (sorry idk how to end things)

[seraphic-elysian]

@foolondahill17 have my attempt at the prompt you put about Dean sprinting to Cas. It's not perfect and I ended it without a resolution as I wanna write this as a whole ass fic but I really wanted to share this with you since your idea inspired the hell out of me. ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ It happens in a moment. A heartbeat trapped between the milliseconds of time. Dean turns in the loose grip of his brother’s hands, green eyes trained on the golden crack of light that splits their world open to another, waiting for the sign of his angel. His heart is racing within his chest, adrenaline keeping him sharp and steady, as he waits with bated breath for his angel to emerge through the light. The image of Castiel stalking toward Lucifer as Sam pulls him to the portal is burned into his eyelids. He knows that it is almost a sickening parallel of the way that he had pulled Sam from his burning apartment all of those years ago but he can only pray that Castiel will not be killed. That he will not have to suffer the same agonizing heartbreak that Sam did when Jessica died.  He refuses to entertain the thought of something happening to the angel, of him dying or being hurt while in the other world. That will not happen. 

It cannot. 

Dean steps close enough to the portal that he can hear the rushing of the wind and smell the heavy scent of gunpowder on the breeze. It pulls at his clothing in a tantalizing lure, a promise of taking him to where his angel is, but he refuses. He will not step back through the portal and waste the safety that Castiel had given him. 

Sam’s voice is nothing but a gurgle of noises behind him but he does not need to hear him to understand what he is saying. Dean knows that he is too close to the portal for his brother to feel confident that he will not go through it to find Castiel. He knows that he becomes irrational and impulsive when his angel is in danger. That he has, in the past, openly let others be hurt and killed if it meant that those he cares about will be safe. Dean also knows that he has a history of suicidal tendencies, of throwing himself in front of others to take a hit or killing himself to trade someone else's life for his own, and that Sam has been witness to him doing that several times. And while he is aware that he would not hesitate to end his life if it meant that the angel would return safe and alive, he does not feel the need to do so. Not right now. 

“Don’t be stupid, Dean! Cas is capable!” Sam nearly screams the words to him, voice only barely heard over the rushing noise in Dean’s ears. 

And of course he is. Dean knows better than anyone what Castiel is capable of and how strong and intelligent the angel is. But even having the knowledge of that will not stop him from worrying about him. It will not stop him from desperately trying to keep the angel by his side where Dean is able to keep him safe. 

After all, how can anyone act normal and as though the world is not on the verge of ending when the living personification of their heart is facing off against an archangel?

The portal flares a brilliant gold that burns his eyes and Dean’s breath leaves his lungs in a shaky exhale as Castiel appears in front of him. There is blood stained along his trench coat, his black curls are covered in dust, and his face is streaked with dirt but Dean has never seen anything more beautiful. Exhausted blue eyes meet his own and something that Castiel sees on his face makes the angel’s brows furrow and him to step closer to Dean. They are close enough that he can feel heat radiating off of the angel and the exhalation of his breath ghosting across his face and, for the first time, Dean does not step back or snap at the angel. No, he only sways forward as he is captured by Castiel’s orbit. He surrenders to the feelings that he has in his chest, this desire to put himself out there and show the other how he feels. 

“D-” 

Castiel cuts himself off as an angel blade pierces through the bottom of his chest with a sickening squelch. The shining metal is clean as it slides through the angel’s body without resistance before it is yanked out violently. Crimson stains his white dress shirt and Castiel’s grace flares brightly through the gaping wound. Dean is moving before he can think, arms gathering the angel against his chest as he sags, and pressing his hand against the bleeding wound on his back. He does not see where Lucifer goes as the angel saunters off but he knows that Sam will watch his back. Something heavy and soft curls over his arms and back, engulfing him in the scent of honeysuckles and wildflowers, but when he looks there is nothing there. The smell of Castiel’s grace slowly begins to turn acrid as his grace begins to burn and Dean collapses to his knees. 

“Get away,” Castiel whines, weak hands pushing against Dean’s chest, “I can’t hold it back anymore. Get away!” 

Dean shakes his head and tightens his grip on the angel, “No!” 

A whine escapes Castiel’s throat as the light flares up brighter and hotter, escaping from his mouth and eyes. The invisible objects that he feels against him heat up rapidly, searing his skin even through his clothing, and the heat and light reaches its apex in a wave of agony before it shatters. A pained howl leaves his lips as fire scorches him, consuming him in a decimating blaze that he cannot escape. His eyes burn even through his closed lids and he turns his face away from the sharp explosion of light. It seems as though it takes forever before it clears, taking the scorching heat with it, and Dean weakly lays Castiel’s body down. He presses his forehead down against the soft cotton of his dress shirt as he processes the hell that he just went through. 

Castiel is dead. There is no denying that, not after what he just experienced. The angel is gone in a shattering of holy light and the smell of scorched feathers. His shaking fingers come up and tangle in the rough wool of the trench coat as he raises his face, desperate to see confirmation that Lucifer has murdered Castiel. He needs to memorize the pattern of his beautiful wings that will be burned into the dirt of this little home. Sliding his eyes open slowly, he sees…nothing. An unending wall of bright white light fills his vision and does not leave no matter how much he blinks or shakes his head. He panics, sucking in a startled breath, body freezing in fear at the implications of what this means. 

Turning his head toward where he remembers his brother standing, he asks, “Sam?” 

“What the hell were you thinking, Dean!” Sam’s voice is rough with anger as he stomps up to where Dean is kneeling, “You know what happens when an angel dies. You’ve fucking seen that happen so many times! So, what the hell were you thinking being right at the center of that? Didn’t you think for a second about what that would do to you?” 

“It’s Cas, Sammy,” his excuse sounds broken as it falls through his lips. He is in agony, arms and back still burning from the blaze that had licked across his skin, “I couldn’t just-” 

“How many times has he died before and you’ve stayed back from it? How many times has he been killed like this and you’ve not put yourself at the center of his grace exploding?” Sam is yelling now, anger making him sound almost terrifyingly like John, and Dean feels far too vulnerable here on the ground, “I don’t even know how we’re going to heal that. Or if we even can. Fuck, Dean, we didn’t need this on top of everything else!”

He takes Sam’s anger without question or complaint. He knows that he messed up and that he injured himself right when they are about to be dealing with Lucifer. He knows that his vision being gone, however temporary this is, will make him a vulnerability and a liability. It is now completely up to Sam to be able to defend not only himself but Dean as well. 

“I should be able to see again in a few days,” he responds once Sam pauses to take a breath, “We just have to lay low inside of the Bunker until then. I know I messed up, Sammy, okay?”

“You can’t see?” Sam is suddenly in his space, calloused hand gripping his chin tightly, and Dean stifles a flinch. His head is tilted back and forth and he feels his brother messing with his eyelids. It is incredibly uncomfortable to not be able to see what Sam is doing but he knows that he is in safe hands, “Is it just blurry or is it fully gone?” 

“I can’t see anything,” he admits as Sam wipes something off of his cheek, “it’s nothing but white.” 

Sam sucks in a startled breath, hands stilling against his face, before he moves and cleans off his other cheek. “Okay, I…I didn’t realize that you were blind.” 

“Then what were you talking about?” 

Sam does not answer right away and Dean huffs in frustration. He hates not being able to see his brother’s face and be able to read him. He has always relied on the fact that Sam is an open book to him, that he rarely hides what he is thinking and feeling, and now having that taken away from him makes him feel as though he is lost at sea without a life raft. 

The trench coat is warm within the grasp of his fingers but he forces himself to release it, to smooth it back into place despite the shake in his hands. His palm presses against the flat expanse of Castiel’s chest and something inside of him burns at the fact that he cannot feel his heart beating or the rise and fall of his chest. That he can feel the heat dissipating from his body, leaving it cold and empty. There is something within the cavern of his chest that feels just as hollow as the body in front of him, something along his soul that screams at the idea of Castiel being gone, but he can do nothing about that. There is no cure or bandage that can heal a broken heart. 

A hand lands on his shoulder and he flinches away from it violently, “What the fuck, Sam?” 

“You know how angel wings are burned into the ground when they die?” Sam asks gently, continuing when Dean nods in confusion, “Dean…Cas’s wings aren’t…they…they’re burned into your skin, dude. From the back of your hands, up your arms, and across your back to either side of your spine.”

“But I’m wearing clothes,” Dean argues weakly, “How could they have burned through that?” 

His brother exhales shakily, “Couldn’t his wings phase through things like that?” 

The fingers of his right hand skirt over to his left, drifting across the back of it, and a pained noise leaves his lips as his skin flares up in red hot pain at the touch. He shakes his head, refusing to accept what Sam is telling him. There is no way that he is carrying the shadow-burn of his angel’s wings on his body. He is not holy enough, not good enough, to carry the image of that burned onto his skin.

Castiel deserves to have something more than Dean Winchester acting as a living tombstone.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," Sam's hands grip his elbows and pulls him to his feet, "Once we do that, we can get Cas and Kelly ready to be put to rest."

Dean grabs onto his brother tightly, resisting the guiding hand that is pulling him toward the house. He does not want to leave Castiel lying here, alone, on the dirt. There will need to be a pyre and Castiel's body will need to be prepped for that but he does not think he has the strength to leave him. Not anymore.

"I can't," His voice catches in his throat, "Sam, I can't leave him."

He can see the furrow of Sam's brow in his mind as his brother responds, "Why not?"

"I love him," it falls from his lips like water, easy and free-flowing, "I love him so much I don't know how the hell I'm able to breathe. I can't just..."

"Okay, yeah, I get it," Sam answers, "How long have you...?"

Dean tries to smile but it pulls at his face wrong, lips twisting into more of a grimace. He turns his face toward the ground and welcomes the white void that consumes his vision. It is much easier to be able to be this open with his brother when he is unable to see his facial expressions.

"Years," he exhales heavily, the word nothing more than a whisper on the breeze.

Sam does not answer him but he does help Dean back onto the ground by his angel's body. His hands are warm as they squeeze his elbows once before removing them.

"Let me go get the stuff to prepare his body, okay? You can do it here and I'll handle Kelly."

"What about Jack?"

Sam huffs, "I have no idea what we're going to do."

"We raise him. We give him the childhood we didn't have. He chose Cas as his father and I'm not going to abandon his child just because his sperm donor is Satan himself." Dean tells him, "We educate him, we tell him about the spooky shit and about the stuff that lurks in the dark. We make sure that he's able to handle himself if he ever winds up on a hunt."

"And we tell him about Cas."

He nods, hand reaching out until it lands on Castiel's arm, "Yeah, we tell him about Cas."

Sam leaves him then, footsteps trailing off toward the house. Dean is left in the dirt, surrounded by the sound of waves lapping at the shore of the lake and insects buzzing around him. It feels wrong, to experience this peaceful moment while he kneels at the side of his fallen person. Castiel should be here. He should be the one that teaches Jack about humanity and the world around them. He should be the one to choose what, if any, of the hunting world that Jack learns. He should teach him about bees and flowers and the names of the constellations in the sky.

He should be here, raising the child that he loves, instead of it falling to Dean.

But he is not. He is dead, killed because he ensured that everyone got to safety. And now it is up to Dean to raise Jack.

He spends the next hour gently cleaning Castiel's body with the warm water and cloths that Sam brought him. The dirt and blood is washed from his skin as best that Dean can while his vision is gone before Sam helps him wrap and secure his body in a soft fabric.

Together, they lift his body between them and Sam guides him to the pyre, leaving him to lay Castiel down inside of it alone. The angel is heavy in his arms and makes his wounds radiate agony as they are agitated but he does not care. There will be time for him to heal, for his wounds to be cleaned and bandaged. But not right now. Not when he is resting the love of his life inside of a tomb made of wood, waiting for him to be set ablaze.

The fire is hot on his face as he stares unseeingly in the direction of it. Jack and Sam are on the other side of the pyre, talking quietly to each other, and Dean wishes that he had the strength to go join them. To find comfort in knowing that they are mourning for the angel together. He could go to them, he knows that, but if he moves from this spot he is not sure that he will be able to keep himself from shattering. The reality of Castiel being gone has not fully hit yet and he knows that the moment the fire burns down, the moment that the only thing left of Castiel is the feathers burned into Dean's skin and the ashes on the wind, that he will he consumed by grief. That the only thing he will be able to feel is the hollow void in his chest that signifies that his angel is gone.

"Can I stay here with you?"

Dean flinches at the soft voice that speaks, turning his head in Jack's direction. He does not respond to him, too afraid that he will say something he does not mean or begin to cry if he does, so he nods his agreement. The kid steps closer to him and his hand slips into Dean's. He takes in a deep breath and squeezes that hand gently, leaving them clasped at his side.

"He loved you," Dean tells him hours later when the fire has died down to almost nothing. Sam had stepped away to handle something some time ago so it is only the two of them left by the angel's side, "You should have your parents here to raise you. You shouldn't have to grow up without them."

Jack is silent for a moment before he speaks, "I have you."

"Yeah, kid, you do."

"He loved you, too," Jack tells him, as though those words do not sends spiderweb cracks along the wall holding his emotions back.

He stays quiet, unable to respond even if he desired to, and they stand there together until Jack tells him that the fire is gone.

Today he will kneel in the ashes of his lover's pyre, gathering the remains of him with clumsy hands, as their child holds the glass jar steady for him to put the ashes in. He will seal up that jar and cling to it for the several hour long drive it will take for them to reach the Bunker.

And, when he is led to his room by his brother, letting him sit the jar down upon his nightstand, Dean will finally allow himself to break.

[melancholic-pigeon]

Okay this is the *actual* last comment, for real, but I just found out Spider is now smearing me as a convert and accusing me of being involved with drama I was not involved with because he mistakenly attributed my apologies for his public temper tantrum as being about something unrelated.

THIS IS A FALSE ACCUSATION and I do not appreciate having yet another bit of fake malicious intent falsely ascribed to my actions and* attributing a completely unrelated attack to me.

Also, it's very sad and disappointing whenever a Jew gets mad at a convert because something else is going on in the Jew's life and the convert happens to be in the splash zone and the Jew falls over backwards to smear the convert and invalidate her faith.

Just....the childish aggression is making me so, so sad and disappointed, from someone I used to think very highly of, who is now lying about me and publicly smearing me with false accusations based on a conflict he started because he misinterpreted something I said and I went out of my way to give him the benefit of the doubt when trying to clear up the mistake HE MADE that led him to decide bullying and attacking me for three fucking days was appropriate and okay and that I'm the bad guy for saying it's wildly unprofessional to behave like this in public to a former customer face.

Sorry, but facts, reality, linear time and the truth of what I actually said and did are on my side here, and I will not stand for being smeared and attacked and shat all over because I had the gall to try to kindly resolve his uncalled for, unjustified temper tantrum.

I am also not sorry that I left a side note in the tags that it was also unacceptable for HIM to drag his daughter into a stupid internet slapfight based on his own reading comprehension failure. Because it was and is unacceptable, and she needs to hear that message from someone.

End of story. Keep digging that hole as long as you like, Spider. It's not helping your case and is continuing to make you look progressively worse and more unreasonable, and the only person you have to blame is yourself.

*revised for clarity

[bloodydeanwinchester]

and when i say "typical" and "good" i mean what is the average for you to get written when you aren't having like an off day or something. not what you write on your best day...just like a normal day.

also do you consider yourself to be a fast or slow writer???

[mirrortouchedsea]

Day 12

Hi everyone welcome to my quiz “What ghost from your past haunts you?” I’m super excited for everynyan to take it, please tell me what you got in the comments!! Okay now first question and I know that it’s basic buuuuuuuuuuuut what’s your favorite color? 

> Green 

Oooo great choice great choice. Now, what do your parents do for a living? 

> Community leaders 

Ahaha, someone has important parents I see. How about… have you ever sinned? 

> Many times 

At least you’re honest. Okay just a few more questions now! I can already feel what ghost wants to talk to you ^.^  what’s your dream job? 

> Singer 

Ambitious! Well I’m sure if you try hard enough someone will recognize you. Two more questions now! Oh why did I decide to do this :/ uhm… do you have any siblings. 

> No 

Only child are we? Alright last question before we get to meet your ghost! Do you believe your sins will be forgiven Tatsumi Kazehaya? 

> No 

Your result: Kaname Tojou 

You know exactly what you did, Tatsumi Kazehaya. Kaname Tojou was a young and bright idol who was going to make a name for himself in the industry despite everything and you ruined it. Do you stay awake at night wondering what he felt in his final moments? Do you ever regret what you did to him? Kaname Tojou still haunts your every waking moment and he wants to know why you never came back for him. How does it feel, Tatsumi Kazehaya? He loved you and you abandoned him. 

Comments: 

From: alkapriest 

What an…interesting quiz. 

Reply to alkapriest from kanatoj 

Tatsumi-senpai, please come back. 

[velociraptors-dont-lie]

You know. I'm thinking I may post that fic for the lolz.

For all the shits and giggles I may present my self indulgent brain rot to the world 😂😂

Cause I just wrote a dumbass chapter that has almost 9k words.

And there's extra dumbass chapters

And shitty porn chapters.

And honestly who am I to keep this shitty brain rot fic to myself when others could laugh and giggle with me.

There's not enough law damn it. 😂

[caffeinatedopossum]

Might fuck around and write a book without judging my skills for said writing and with only judging instead the amount of happiness or satisfaction I feel from making it

[blueflipflops]

God I love how you describe the stress and tired weariness of Odysseus. The frustration and anger and grief of Helen. Both of their guilts oh my. Its very delicious i love it. Oh and the flow. So steady and reeling in those emotions. What a great story teller. Oh there it is. The anger. Oh, tell her Odysseus. That's what I need more to see. The anger and frustration from 10 long years in a war he didn't even want to be part with. Like oh my god i forgot his son was literally just born when he was ordered to bring his men to war. God, 10 years. 10 years without being able to push back and when they finally able to break through Helen just had to call him cruel? Oh boy... she's not wrong but boy are they in bind. Neither wanted any of this. Oh I love how you play the outside pov of Odysseus' reputation. 'Sacker of Cities' must hurt. Oh i forgot they were IN LAWS lol how could I forget Penelope was a Spartan?

'Infants no older that he was...' omfg the CHILLS. I'm thankful Helen didn't ask omg i don't know how to react to that pls don't ask. Whether it was Odysseus or Neoptolemus, it would never be easy to hear that. Least of all from Odysseus if it was him who did it.

Oh I loved it! Love how Odyssues looked over his shoulder when Helen talked about gods playing games with mortals. So subtle so descrete but really grabbed my attention. Ah the burden of being 'blessed' by a god's attention. So alike yet different. The one who started the war and the one who ended it. Both with blood of many on their hands. The titles that mean so much more. The begrudging respect and understanding between the two that no one wouldunderstand. The guilt and pent up frustrations (because 10 YEARS ! They spent 10 years there—) is so delisciously well written escpecially the slow steady pacing that emphasizes these emotions i love it!

Although I have a few questions, if you don't mind haha, so uh... In the Odyssey there was a part where Telemachus visited Melaneus and Helen then Melaneus started telling stories on how Helen like, did something on the night before they ambushed outta that horse. One where she knocked(?) On the horse and started mimicking the soldier's wives voices telling them to go out. Saying that the soldiers would've gone out early if it wasn't for Odysseus' warning. What's your perspective on that? Because its a really interesting pov to pair up with the fic. Although theres a possibility of that just being a case of unreliable narrator on Melaneus' part

There was also a part (Although I don't quite remember if it was actually part of the story or not) I think where Odysseus was able to talk to Helen BEFORE the Horse disguised as a beggar or something. Telling her the plan. Yet following up with the scene of her goading the soldiers to come out when she's with her new husband. (guy after paris i forgot his name lol) Which also makes this fic even more delicious to read with that interaction in mind.

Oh btw reading this reminds me, did you think Helen actually fell in love with paris that she ran away with him OR was it like Divine Intervention where Aphrodite messed her mind. I know in this one shot Helen said her mind was played with by the gods but i am curious on what your stance is on it because a lot of people are arguing wheter or not she did this of her own accord because she was young and stupid. But i think the latter is just infinitely more interesting in the narrative pov but also gives her some sort of say and control over herself and actions that the bards of old would often try to silence out of female characters rather than just a stereotypical stupid lovesick girl trope. Makes her more than a damsel in distress, waiting to be saved.

@prompted-wordsmith

This is for you because your small story was amazing so I want to create one in return! And since you want Helen to speak up more here is a little interaction pre-departure from Troy between Helen and Odysseus because why not!

The city hadn't yet stopped smoking from the night of massacre. Helen feared it never would. The smell of burning wood and asbestos was sticking on her clothes and hair; bitter reminder of the events of the night before. Helen didn't want even to think of the lingering smell of blood; metal and water that she had touched. It was as if everything was red now; hands and heart and bloodshot eyes. She hadn't slept that night or the night after it. She feared she never would again.

She could still feel that this was partially her fault; both the beginning and the end of it. She knew the Horse was a farse; a well-staged plan. She chose not to alert the alarm. She had chosen her side once more. And now women and children and men at Troy were laying down dead or worse. She remembered seeing Andromache being dragged out of the city in chains along with other women. They were to be sold as slaves or given as prices to the kings of the Acheans. The once proud queen was now crying woefully; mourning her husband who was killed. She had been dragged out of her husband's tomb where she went to seek sanctuary. That was the ultimate hubris along with her father-in-law Priam who she heard from a conversation had been slain upon the altar he hoped would grand him his life. She heard it was Neoptolemus, the young man who carried the blood of Achilles in his veins and apparently his rage and temper. Who would have known that a child like that could be so cruel and blasphemous? So full of rage? Helen could not see her infant son in her arms as she was taken away. She didn't even dare to ask. For a brief second Andromache raised her head and her honey eyes stuck within her blue ones. The look was almost accusatory as the tears had given her face reddish lines. Or perhaps it was the self inflicted scratches that she had made in her woe. That second lasted longer than it should be before the queen was dragged away.

"That could have been me..." she thought

However her position was not much different. As she was standing at the peer, she was always guarded by a soldier; obviously her husband wanted both to protect her but also obviously he didn't trust her. Helen couldn't say she blamed him but it still hurt. She was seeing Menelaus talking to Odysseus, sorting out the details. Helen watched her husband and her former fiance in wonder. Indeed how strange fate was! How different the two men were! She could tell Menelaus's auburn hair from kilometers away as they were held together by a band around his head. He was well built and strong, seemed dressed in sunlight. Odysseus next to him seemed the opposite. He wasn't tall. He was barely average, a few decent inches shorter than her husband and a good head shorter than her brother-in-law however he seemed wider in shoulder and his chest resembled a wall dressed in a coat of dark curly hair. His head was adorned with black hair that seemed golden under the setting sun: bushy and curly like a ram held together by various little bands that held his curls tamed under his leather headband. His beard was equally bushy and shaggy even if he had obviously tried to make himself more presentable from the night before. His onyx eyes were bottomless holes. The man seemed tired; prematurely aged that day. Helen knew that he had a similar burden to bare with her. How strange indeed, she thought. The man seemed like coming from the night. And yet he seemed darker now; his shoulders seemed heavier than before.

"Take her home safely"

Odysseus's voice drew her out of her daydream. His voice was hoarse and tired. He seemed aged before his years. Helen remembered again the flamboyant young man that was supposed to court her. Sure his eyes filled with premature wisdom and intelligence gave him an aura of age but she could remember his laughter and smile seemed those of a teenager as if trying to persuade people of his actual age. Now that teen was gone. He was a man now; long past that first youth; a Sacker of Cities.

"Otherwise all this would have been for nothing!"

The timbre in his voice; the seer accusation, hurt her much more than anything besides her husband's distrust. No, at least Odysseus...the wise and prudent Odysseus should understand. Menelaus nodded to his loyal friend and shot her with yet another look. Helen couldn't decide if it was angry or closer to sad. As he walked away she turned again to look at Odysseus. The man barely saw her with the corner of his eye but spoke nothing. Helen couldn't bare the silence any longer.

"Odysseus..." she finally spoke, "Why? How can you be so cruel?"

"Cruel?" His voice was full of disbelief, of anger that made his chest rise like the tide

He turned to her walking like a lion ready to pounce. Helen stood her ground though. She stuck her ocean blue eyes deeply within his black ones.

"Cruel?" He repeated, "I've lost my son's first 10 years because of this war!"

"This war wasn't my choice!" Helen felt the need to defend herself against him.

"It commensed because of you!" The accusation was finally spoken outloud, "Menelaus started this because of you!"

"I didn't know he-..."

"YES YOU DID!" Odysseus finally bellowed making her take a step back, "yes you did...you just didn't think!"

He turned her back at her. He was about to leave but he didn't seem done yet.

"The blood of many brave Acheans is on your hands..."

That was way too much. Odysseus should know better than hurt her this way! This was unfair even if spoken through pain and anger. Bravely Helen held back the tears that burnt her eyes. He wouldn't see her weep!

"If I told you..." she began with the best voice she could master, "...that gods play games with us all the time...that they cloud our judgment... Would you believe me?"

Odysseus looked over his shoulder but spoke nothing.

"You of all people should understand" Helen whispered

"What does it matter what I'd believe?"

"It matters to me!" Helen replied firmly. "Please, Odysseus...at least you...at least you should believe me..."

Odysseus seemed ready to reply but the last minute he stopped himself. He chose silence; cruel and cold silence. He began walking away. Two angry tears ran down her white, rosy cheeks. No she couldn't leave it this way!

"ODYSSEUS!" She yelled after him, "you're a hypocrite!"

That stopped him to his tracks as he turned around.

"What?" He asked almost scandalized

Helen was shivering from top to bottom and her knuckles turned white from clenching them too hard.

"Do you think you're any better, Sacker of cities?!" The last one was spat like an insult like a curse, "do you think your hands are clean? You say that the war commensed because of me! That so many Greeks died because of me! Then what about you, Odysseus? What about all the Trojans killed in the city in that bloodbath?! What about all these women and children that are now piled up to be burnt or eaten by dogs and vultures? Who is to answer for THOSE Odysseus?"

Odysseus of Ithaca was frozen in place, shaking in anger but so was she. And she wouldn't be stopped now. She was Helen of Sparta, Helen of Troy, Helen the daughter of Zeus!

"It was your plan, your scheme that got the Greeks inside the holy city of Troy! It was your idea that gave them the way to sack it!"

Odysseus, the eloquent man seemed now unable to respond. He seemed stripped out of his furious anger although some of it was burning inside. Instead he managed to utter

"This massacre wasn't my choice..."

A sound between humorless and mocking laughter and cry came out of her mouth.

"Oh so you tell me you didn't know? You didn't know that the Greeks who were away from their homes, wives and children wouldn't unleash all their piled hatred? Didn't you know they would burn the city that kept them away from them to the ground so it wouldn't rise again?"

He didn't respond. Helen knew he couldn't.

"You say the blood of the Greeks is on my hands. Then the blood of Trojans is on yours!"

Odysseus seemed to have trouble breathing. She had hurt him and she knew it. Perhaps she had simply voiced everything he had in his mind all those days. She could remember how tenderly he spoke of his wife and son. Her husband used to say he identified himself as father of Telemachus not son of Laërtes. Women and children...his son and wife... He seemed ready to either lash at her or leave. However as always The Man of Many Ways sighed and did the unexpected; he spoke again.

"It doesn't matter whether I believe you or not, you know. What it matters is if he does"

Helen took a glance towards Menelaus from a distance. He was preparing the ship. She sighed and returned her gaze towards the man they called "equal to gods".

"But do you?"

"Yes" he finally admitted, "yes I believe you"

Helen sighed in relief. It was her thanking to him

"There is fate between us, Helen..." Odysseus said hoarsely.

Helen didn't need to see his face behind his wide back to read his expression.

"Yes" she replied, "you could have been my husband"

"I am glad that I'm not"

That husky whisper made her look up in wonder. She didn't expect that answer.

"You don't deserve me" the son of Laërtes said, "and I don't deserve you"

He barely looked at her again over his large shoulder.

"I see now why my cousin loved you" whispered she

"And I see why he loved you." Replied Odysseus, "why he started a war for you. Not for his pride; for you. You were indeed worth it..."

He looked at her again for the first time for a while.

"You and I have both blood on our hands" he said grimly, "you, the starter of war, hold the blood of many brave Acheans upon you...while I, the one who ended it, the Sacker of Cities, will have to live for the rest of my life carrying the deaths of Trojans upon me... Women and children..."

He covered his face with his large hand and turned around. He was sobbing.

"Women and children..." he whispered again, "Penelope...my sweet Telemachus...children... infants no older than he was..."

Helen was afraid to ask. She didn't want to know. She had met enough horror for a lifetime. She wanted to move on. She wanted to forget.

"Get home safely, Odysseus" she wished to him, "Husband to Penelope...father to Telemachus. I hope you will get what you wished for..."

"You too, Helen, kissed by the sun like golden Aphrodite...daughter of Zeus. Farewell Queen of Sparta..."

He walked away. Helen heard his voice yelling orders to his men like the expert sailor he was. Helen sighed and smiled so slightly. The title he used...was addressed to her. Odysseus had recognized her admitted her but also signaled her, her fate. She knew now she had a second chance to rectify everything; first for herself and next for everyone else.

The journey had come to an end. A new one was about to begin.

Okay guys I am so sorry I have no idea why or how but yeah...this... I hope you liked it.

[jacaeryswifee]

i think i'm in love with you

ꕥ luke castellan x afab!reader

warnings: descriptions of wounds + blood, allusions to sex but no actual smut, shitty writing (i havent wrote a fanfic in multiple years), not proofread cuz im way too lazy, (y/n) isn't used at all in this idk i almost like reading fanfic better without it

summary: you wake up in the middle of the night to strange noises. you find luke outside, with a deep wound in his side. you take him to the lake to take care of him. unfortunately for you, luke's in a teasing mood.

word count: 2.7k

You awoke suddenly to strange noises. Soft groans fell through the walls of your cabin. At first, you assumed it to be something you should be careful not to walk in on. But, as your head cleared up more as you fully woke up, it sounded more like someone who was in pain. 

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you slowly pulled the covers off of your body and stepped into a pair of soft slippers. You carefully weaved through the various beds in the dark towards the door. The groans continued, rendering you more concerned and nervous. You quietly eased the door open, wincing at every squeak it made. You peeked your head outside, searching for the source of the noise.

Through squinted eyes, your attention eventually landed on a certain Hermes boy laid down in the grass. Luke. You quickly shut the door, completely forgetting about keeping quiet, and tip-toe ran across the grass towards the boy. You and Luke had been friends for quite a while. You arrived at camp a month or so after him, and he was the most welcoming one there. While you remained unclaimed in the Hermes cabin for a few months, it didn’t really hurt as much while you were with Luke. He was the perfect distraction and a great friend, although you had begun to wish for something more.

“Luke!” You whisper yelled, causing him to practically jump a foot off the ground. Looking towards the startling voice, he realized it was you. He quickly sat up, his hand placed on his chest as he tried his best to calm his suddenly erratic breathing.

“Oh, thank gods, it’s just you,” he laughed breathlessly, suddenly wincing and placing his hand on his side. His flushed face turned down toward his wound before he threw his head back again, hissing in pain.

“What happened?!” You exclaimed in a panic, running to close the last piece of distance between you both. You quickly fell to your knees next to him, trying to get a good look at whatever was hidden underneath his hand. He attempted to laugh it off but immediately winced and groaned. His hand remained on his side, hiding whatever had happened. “Luke I’ve gotta see..” you tried.

“I’m fine,” he responded, dismissively. He gave you a tightlipped smile in an attempt to reassure you. It did quite the opposite. You reached your hand to pull his away from his side.

“You’re not fine Luke-” His free hand grasped your wrist tightly, preventing you from moving yours any closer to his wound. You stayed silent and unstill, unsure of the situation. In your moment of stillness, your eyes raked over his hand wrapped tightly around yours. The veins in his hand and forearm looked so perfect, especially under the soft moonlight. You wondered what his hand would look like wrapped around your-

“Hey!” Luke snapped his fingers in front of your face, trying to regain your attention.

“Huh?” You responded, clueless and still in a daze, your eyes stuck on his hand around yours. You could have sworn you saw a sly smirk adorn his face from the corner of your eye but you brushed it off. You were tired, you were probably just seeing things. You snapped out of your trance, looking back at his face, confused about everything. “Luke, you’ve gotta let me help you-”

“Princess, I-”

“I have no idea what you did or what happened to you, but I’m worried and you’re being so confusing right now..” You trailed off, avoiding his eyes for a moment. Princess. You hated (loved) when he used that nickname for you. It gave you hope that he could ever feel the same way about you. You heard Luke sigh.

“Okay, I just got in a bit of a fight with an Ares kid.. he pulled a knife on me, got me in the side.. I was clumsy, made a mistake,” he removed his hand from your wrist, prompting you to reconnect your eye contact. “I’m fine and I’ll be more careful next time.” He smiled, trying to dismiss your worries yet again.

“Can you show me?” You asked tentatively. He looked at you and nodded. You noticed that same smirk from earlier, only softer and more hidden. Maybe you hadn’t been imagining things. You watched his hand reach down to the hem of his shirt. Oh shit. You had not thought about that. You internally facepalmed. You were so fucked. His fingers wrapped around the bottom seam of his shirt as he pulled it up about halfway. Your eyes immediately darted to his wound. A seemingly deep gash ran from about the bottom of his ribs to the top of his pelvis. Blood trickled along his already blood covered skin. Oh it looked bad. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, a nervous habit. 

As you examined the bloody gash, your eyes had other ideas. Your gaze slowly moved on to take in his toned abdomen. He had nice abs, prominent, but not so much like those crazy American bodybuilders. They gave you the creeps. His were just the perfect shape, size, and.. everything about him was perfect. While his side was doused in his own blood, the rest of his abdomen was covered in scattered beads of sweat. He looked good. Like really good. Luke’s sharp intake of breath broke you out of your trance. You quickly cleared your throat, hoping he hadn’t noticed you had been examining the rest of his body instead of his injury. 

“I’d ask if you like what you see but.. I’m in a bit of a predicament currently.” Luke chuckled, referring to the bloody gash. Your face flushed red. Shit, he noticed. You fumbled over your words, trying to form a coherent sentence. He watched you, amused, but still very evidently in pain. You abruptly stood up, offering Luke your hand.

“You got a kit or something I can use?” You asked as you carefully pulled him to his feet. His arm landed to rest over your shoulders. You felt the breath leave your body. He was so close. His body heat radiated heavily onto your already heated body. You hoped he couldn’t feel how hot you are, or how loud and hard your heart was beating. His quiet groan brought you back to your senses.

“Yeah I’ve got a kit hidden in the trees near the beach.” He finally answered. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Why.. there?” You asked, genuinely confused. Luke looked down at you as if you should have already known.

“For times like these.” He replied, as if it were obvious. You just shrugged and let him slowly lead you to the beach. The trek through the grass proved a lot more difficult than you had expected. Random bumps and holes in the dirt caused you both to almost fall multiple times.

“Here,” Luke spoke and pointed a few feet in front of you. You nodded and slowly lowered him to the ground, leaning him against the tree. Your hands rummaged and dug through the dirt in search of Luke’s medical kit. Your fingernail eventually scratched along a hard, plastic surface. You dug your hands further into the dirt to pull the case out of the ground.

“I got it!” You sighed in relief. Your hands were becoming increasingly tired from all of the digging. You sat next to Luke, opening the latches of the small box. He smiled at you, watching your every move, completely mesmerized by you. You grabbed the small bottle of rubbing alcohol and popped it open. You opened your mouth to speak, looking up at Luke, only to find him already looking back at you. You quickly looked away, your face flushing a deep crimson. You took a deep breath before allowing yourself to actually speak.

“I’m gonna need you to hold your shirt up above the cut, if you’re comfortable.” You looked back up at Luke, nervously waiting for his response. You shouldn’t have been that nervous, you were just tending to his wound, nothing else. But still, the idea of asking him to lift up his shirt and reveal his really nice abdomen embarrassed you a lot.

“Yeah of course.” He replied in a suddenly husky, low voice. It caught you off guard, causing even more heat to rush to your cheeks.. and to the spot between your legs. He grasped the hem of his orange shirt and pulled it up, revealing the wound again.

“Okay.. this is gonna hurt, but I’ve gotta clean it out somehow.” You warned, slowly starting to pour the rubbing alcohol over the cut. Luke nodded in acknowledgement, hissing immediately as the strong liquid hit his skin. You hadn’t really treated all too many wounds in your lifetime, let alone a cut as deep and bloody as this one. You hoped you were doing it right and you weren’t making it worse. Luke’s harsh groans and hisses weren’t aiding your stressed mind. Throughout the few minutes you spent drenching his side in rubbing alcohol, you noticed him drop his shirt a few times, muttering apologies, saying his hands were having trouble keeping it up. You brushed it off each and every time it happened. 

Once you finally deemed it enough rubbing alcohol, you moved away from his abdomen, grabbing the cap of the bottle. Your shaky hands tried closing the bottle but to no avail. You were stressed and embarrassed, and your entire body was shaking way too much. Luke’s warm hands grasped yours.

“Hey,” He whispered, grabbing your attention. You looked up at him. “I’ve got it.” He smiled at you, and carefully took the bottle from your palms to close it himself. You whispered your thanks under your breath, so quiet, you almost couldn’t hear it yourself. You reached back into the medical kit to pull out a cloth and an antiseptic wipe. You placed your hand on Luke’s cheek. Red slowly started to creep up his neck and into his cheeks, unbeknownst to you.

“I’ll be right back, I’m just gonna wet the cloth.” You told him, smiling and standing up. 

“You’re too good to me.” Luke said, in that low voice, again. You turned quickly to hide your blush, making your way to the shore, as quick as you could. You dipped the cloth in the cold water and rung it out. You jogged back to Luke at the tree, dropping back onto your knees next to him. You lightly dabbed the cloth around his cut, trying to pick up and clean up the blood all over him. You did your best to avoid pressing into the actual cut, but failed a few times. Luke tried his best to keep his cool, but you could see how much he was hurting. You felt awful. 

Occasionally, Luke would let the hem of his shirt slip out of his hands, obscuring your cleaning abilities. He would apologize profusely, telling you he had no idea why it kept happening. When you would shrug and go back to cleaning the blood, a smug smile would pull at his lips. You were so clueless.

You continued to clean the excess blood off of Luke’s body. His shirt would drop every couple minutes. He would apologize, and you would get back to work. This went on for a little over ten minutes.

You placed the cloth at your side, actually proud of what you had got done so far. You had managed to clean up the majority of the blood from his cut, and it was looking a lot better now. All that was left for now was to wrap it up and then send him for Ambrosia to finish the healing process. 

As you grabbed the roll of bandage from the box, you watched Luke drop his shirt yet again. He sighed dramatically and threw his hands up in defeat.

“I just can’t keep my shirt up. Guess I’m just gonna have to take the whole thing off.” He sighed and grabbed the hem, pulling it up and over his head. You were practically drooling as you watched. The way his muscles flexed when he ripped his shirt off.. it was so.. hot. You could now see his entire toned abdomen, and his chest. Your face was surely beet red at this point. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. 

You had no idea in your trance, but Luke was watching the way you looked at him, a smug smile adorning his perfect face. He loved the way you reacted to his body. He thought you were the cutest thing. It was fun to see you all flustered like this. Eventually, by some miracle you were able to pull your eyes away from Luke’s body to focus on bandaging him up. You hastily unraveled the thin cloth, trying to ignore the burning feeling of Luke’s eyes on you, watching your every move. 

You leaned over his body, trying to reach to start the wrapping. It turned out to be really difficult, as you could barely reach. You sat back and sat there for a moment, trying to clear your head and figure out your next plan of action.

“I’m not sure how I’m gonna..” You admitted quietly, embarrassed. Luke looked up at you with a very clear and obvious smirk on his face. This worried you. You had no idea what he was planning, and you did not want to make a fool of yourself. 

To your immense surprise, Luke’s hands grabbed onto your hips and lifted you off the ground, making you squeal. He sat you down on his lap, in a straddle position. You were so close. Too close. The embarrassingly warm area between your legs sat right over his. You prayed and prayed he couldn’t feel it. You would never live it down.

“That’ll do it.” Luke smiled and pat your thigh encouragingly, causing you to let out a sharp squeak. You gulped and tried to focus on the bandage again. Your shaky hands brought the edge of the bandage to his back as you wrapped it around his torso, multiple times over. You wrapped it tight, but not too tight as to suffocate Luke.

Although, at that point it wouldn’t have mattered. Luke was completely focused on making you a flustered mess. The intense pain he was in was in the very back of his mind. He could barely feel it at this point. He was having way too much fun with you.

After the most painfully long two minutes of your life, you had finally finished wrapping Luke up. You let out a huge breath you didn’t know you were holding, feeling a weight drop off of your shoulders. You had never felt so stressed and embarrassed in your life. You hoped your work would hold up well and you had done it right.

Luke’s arms wrapped around your torso, pulling you in even closer. His nose brushed against yours as he looked up at you through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Thanks for your help,” he whispered in his gravelly voice. He leaned in even closer. “Means a lot.” He mumbled, almost against your lips. Your heart rate was through the roof. He was so close. So close you could kiss him. You could feel his breath mingling with yours. The warmth between your legs only continued to grow now. Luke chuckled lowly, watching the thoughts flow through your mind.

Luke moved his lips ever closer to yours. Dropping to a deep whisper, he spoke again. “I think.. I’m in love with you..” His lips moved slowly to capture yours. Your eyes widened, before you closed them, easing into his kiss. 

Your lips moved in perfect unison, as if made for eachother. Your hands moved to grip his dark curls. You softly pulled, feeling him moan into your mouth. Luke pulled away, moving his lips to your neck. Nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. He was sure to leave many marks on your delicate skin.

“I-” You were cut off by your own moans as Luke’s hands moved to rest on your breasts while his kisses along your neck became harsher. He slowly pulled away from your neck, keeping his hands on your chest.

“What were you gonna say, baby?”

“I.. love you as well.” You replied, breathless. Luke smirked, crashing his lips into yours again.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not having time to read my mutual's writing?

Met a mutual on here, bonded through fanfic, have been tight with them for a few years with pretty much no bumps in the relationship, just overall had a really good time hanging around them when I could. We both write a lot and share our writing, and occasionally we talk about that writing/workshop it in passing.

In the past few years I've gone through a ton of life changes. Most notably I went from a multi-person household to a single-person one, and I've been living alone in a prohibitively costly city for a while now working 40 hour weeks and barely scraping by. As soon as the transition started I spent the last of my free income on a shitty little laptop so I could still write, putting down words on my bus/train commutes in the morning and quite literally writing on my breaks at work because I feel insane when I can't create. I bring this up to really stress that I don't have the time for the hobby, I force myself to make the time and even then it never feels like enough.

The only thing I can really stand to do with my 3 hours of free time at night is hang out with my moots online. I'm an extrovert so being around people recharges me. If I don't have designated social time I get super depressed and can pretty much feel my soul withering away. I also feel like I should probably mention that I kinda have a slew of mental issues, personality disorders and PTSD and AuDHD and the works. Point being, shit is rough my dude, but I am a person who likes to work hard and face challenges head on and even though we strugglin, we doing it with a positive outlook.

But! I am an incredibly solution-oriented person and I have found what I personally believe to be a good balance. No one should have to live like this, but I do, and I have found a way to be happy. My writing and my social time is all load-bearing. It is not something I just choose to do on a whim, it's all planned and scheduled and I adhere to those routines very strictly because, I cannot stress this enough, I will go fucking bonkers if I don't.

I'm mutuals with a lot of writers obv, and I sadly don't have time to read their work anymore, unless I get some extra time on my days off or something gets cancelled or like, I end up taking a vacation. I carry a great amount of guilt for this, though, even though I logically know it's reasonable. I try to support them where I can, cheer them on when I see them writing and tell them how cool their ideas sound, hype them up even when I can't actually read & review.

One of the things I do is sometimes I leave a kudos on fic I haven't read. I'm not trying to be ingenuine, and if they asked me I'd tell them like 'Oh I didn't read it yet, just wanted to show support!' but to me it's kinda like ripping a paper tab off a poster so that other's feel inclined to do the same. Plus my pals get a little email and a hit of serotonin.

Except one of my acquaintances, the one I mentioned at the start here, saw that I left kudos on a couple pieces another mutual of mine wrote this year. They more or less blew up my DMs with a ton of accusatory (like, literally presented like a 'GOTCHA!') stuff about how I was selective in who's fic I read, more or less implying that I secretly held some sort of grudge or negative feeling toward them and was making the conscious decision not to read or interact with their writing because of. Something, I don't actually know what they were trying to say. They also told me they vented to their friends about this MULTIPLE times, but they never once approached me to let me know they were feeling paranoid or neglected, they literally just took the most bad faith reading of it possible and then presented that to me like it was something I intentionally did, while the whole time I was unaware.

I tried to explain to them the kudos thing, that I didn't do it to every story, just ones I caught/noticed in my busy schedule. And I laid all this out and asked, multiple times, what free time am I supposed to read with? They didn't answer, and doubled down, kept trying to show me 'proof' that I was shorting them and no one else. Once they started to realize how wrong they were they backed down, but they didn't really apologize, or admit they were wrong, and they tried to end our relationship and left every single server we were in together. Because of some other unrelated stuff going on in my life, I didn't really consider them to be a close friend, but they were someone I really held dear and would've walked through hell for if they'd asked.

I still feel like there is something I'm missing here, and that's why I wanted to ask if I'm TA. I'm a pretty good communicator but one of the things I told myself when talking down my disordered thoughts (guilt about this prior) was "no one in their right mind would use reading fanfic as a metric for friendship." Now that I've had that exact thing happen, I'm starting to think maybe those thoughts weren't so disordered. Maybe this IS a big deal, and I should think about it more, but I don't even know what the solution to that would be. I just. Don't have time to read something lovingly crafted and appreciate it for what it is. All the hours in my week are used up, I'd have to lose sleep for this and with my mental health the way it is that is not an option.

Feel free to be a brutal, my skin is thick. Thanks!

What are these acronyms?

[mybreadsmybutters]

i do hesitate to post about it bc obviously saying shit like “well i always knew he was off!!!” when some internet guy gets outed as shitty is so fucking annoying and unhelpful but it’s just very difficult to look back with the knowledge of Who he Is that’s public now and see all the signs that he was a shitty malignant person who lied about who he was that i WILLFULLY ignored for all the years i spent as a fan of his and it simply sucks! for lack of better word!

immallexx being outed as an abuser is not a surprise to me bc i VIVIDLY remember when i was such a huge fan of his at 14 and watching VERY old videos bc id watched all his newer ones three times and found this one random one from 2015 with maybe 500 views and clearly recorded in his parents house with a camcorder where he called a transfem influencer a “tranny he/she” and obviously that video is BURIED and im sure exists nowhere online nowadays bc he wasn’t nearly as popular when i found it as he eventually came to be but like. i just remember being a kid SO excited about finding a commentary youtuber who actually seemed to like queer people like me AND was queer himself and then finding That video and just. feeling it in the pit of my stomach. bc it was all just! a grift! a tactic!

[vivwritesfics]

Hey can you write a daniel ricciardo x gf reader fanfic based on you're in love by Taylor swift.either that or like sweet nothing by taylor. Js something cute,fluffy and like a quiet domestic love sort of thing

this took me so long and i'm so sorry 😭 I'm not a swiftie and when i listened to these songs/googled the lyrics, I really couldn't find a way to write something fluffy. Soooo, i wrote this instead (still includes taylor swift songs) (also, pls don't judge me for the title of this - i was tryina find a taylor lyric that felt the vibe of this)

The second part

Drive Out Of The City, Away From The Crowds

Road tripping means Danny's singing + taylor concert

Daniel was a singer. He wasn't a talented one, but he didn't care. He sang his heart out and he loved it. His girlfriend loved it too. Actually, there weren't much things better than hearing Danny belt out a tune. He wore a smile on his face as he recited the lyrics with ease.

It didn't matter where they were; if there was music playing, Daniel would sing along. He didn't care who was around; if he knew the lyrics he would sing along.

Y/N's camera roll seemed to be just videos of Daniel singing. Most of them had him moving his head from side to side as he sang at her. Damn, she was so in love with him.

Daniel loved singing at her when they were doing domestic things, cooking or cleaning, or even when they were in the bath together.

You know, the kind of bath were you have candles lit and so many bubbles that you couldn't see the water beneath. Y/N would have her back pressed against Daniel's toned chest, both of them holding a glass of wine. There was a speaker on the toilet and Daniel sang along in one of his softer voices.

Night like that didn't get much better. Daniel tried to make sure they happened as often as possible. Starting with a home cooked, candle lit dinner, finishing with them in the bed, enjoying each other.

Daniel loved the USA. He loved it so much that he had his own place in Texas. It was a good thing that Y/N loved it, too. They'd spend a lot of summer break out there, escaping and enjoying each others company.

One day, Y/N suggested a road trip across America. This was before Daniel was signed to AlphaTauri, so the couple had all of the time in the world (lets pretend he's not at every race). Daniel jumped at the chance. "Fuck yeah baby!" He shouted and leaned forward to kiss her.

So, they planned a road trip. Starting at Danny's place in Texas, they'd do a three day drive and end up in New York. Their were motel stops planned on their trip, and the two had enough music to listen to something different every day.

The drive was only meant to be twenty six hours, but Daniel and Y/N had plans to stop and see the sights. It was cliché and tourist-y of them, but they didn't care. They were so excited.

Daniel was the designated driver. He was never the passenger princess, never the one not driving. He was the one who got to pick the music. When the drive began, he was just singing softly, but as soon as they were on the highway, things picked up.

Soon Daniel was belting out the songs, singing along to Taylor Swift.

Daniel was a massive Swiftie. He knew most of the lyrics to most of the songs, new and old. When her newest album came out, Daniel freaked out and posted about it on his social media for a full week. Their road trip to New York City just so happened to end with them at one of her concerts.

On the first night, they stopped in a sleazy motel. Daniel paid for the room wearing an inconspicuous hat and sunglasses. That night Y/N and Daniel had a few drinks, watched shitty motel TV and enjoyed each other.

The next day when they set out on the road, Y/N had snacks. Snacks that Daniel's trainer definitely wouldn't have approved of. It was all junk, all shit, with Gatorade to top it off.

As Danny drove, Y/N fed him. They had their first tourist stop on the second day of their trip. When they pulled over, they weren't recognised. It was only once they asked a kind lady there with her teenaged son that they were recognised. It was that teenaged son who gasped and asked 'are you Daniel Ricciardo?'

After that, they set off once again. Daniel and Y/N were both singing together as they drove on, Y/N videoing it as they did. They stopped at the next tourist trap, got another picture and set off again.

The day went on and on like this, and they never got bored. That second night they were in another sleazy motel with a couple of drinks, shitty television and each other. That night they tried to recreate their signature bath, but it was rather difficult in that motel bathroom.

When they set off for their third day of driving, they weren't too far away from New York. Daniel was incredibly excited. They'd booked a fancy hotel and that night they had the concert. "Do you think, if I messaged her, she'd help me to propose?"

Y/N scoffed and lightly smacked his shoulder, which had Daniel protesting.

"Hey, I'm being serious! When I want to propose, do you think I could get the ultimate queen to help?"

"Danny, you do realise you're saying you want to marry me, right?"

His hand moved to her knee. "Of course I know that. And I do. I seriously want to marry you."

"I seriously want to marry you too."

That night they had dinner. Nothing too fancy - they could have a fancy dinner when they were in Monaco. And then it was off to the concert. Daniel had his hand wrapped around Y/N for the entire night, as she shouted the songs along with Taylor Swift herself.

[olivereliocorcordium1983]

This is one of the best interviews that I have seen since this whole thing started. Armie was very open, extremely transparent about everything from the text messages to bdsm in general which I applaud him for. He exposed the truth, he was very honest about what happened and I love that about this.

He now talking about all of this and he continues to own up to his behavior and all that is incredible to me. Because there are not many people who can or do own up to their own shit and are able to look in the mirror and is like "Okay, I did some really shitty things and I need to change it in order to not only help myself but to help myself grow into a better person."

I love the fact that he was able to come out and prove basically what most of the fandom if not all was saying to begin with. I can see the growth that has happen to him during all the craziness and that he is able to finally be okay with himself.

Through time and patience of course i strongly believe that with everything he will bounce back into movies. That is if he so chooses to do so, which I hope he does i do miss watching him. But if he doesn't and decides that he wants to do something else entirely then I am completely content as a fan of his for that also.

What I also love is the call me by your name references that he does twice. But the biggest one would have to be this quote.

Heraclitus: 'No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.'

I mean come on Armie! you say you don't remember who said it. But you remember. Just like Timmy you remember everything too. Speaking of which when he spoke about friends, about before he was famous then after getting famous and people leaving ect.

I would very much like to think that him and Tim are still close to each other. If not closer now since all of this happened and the aftermath. I mean yeah, I wrote a fanfic about that sure, but the fantasy doesn't really measure up to the reality of it.

Please continue to grow and changing Armie you are going in the right direction. I feel it you are going to continue to do great things and sooner or later when the world is ready.

Dude you will shine again. I know it.

[helluva-simper]

The urge to write a fanfic was too strong

So I am awake right now with the need to write a fanfic that i really need someone to make a actual fanfic out of because my hopeless romantic ass needs something to relate to. So here ya go.

-------------

      You were lying horizontally on the armchair in the lobby of the hotel. You were reading one of those romance books you called, “The source.” The source of what, they may ask. Wel, they never get an answer. Before they can protest you change the subject. 

      You were feeling kinda restless tonight so you decided to chill in the lobby till you felt tired. 

       “He silently chuckled before grabbing her by the hips hearing a small gasp escape her lips. A hand rose and rested on her cheek, slowly caressing it. 'You look stunning.’ (Male character) said with a grin. (Female character) rolls their eyes as they grab his collar and-” “What's got you up so early?” A voice from behind you questioned, making you jump and quickly shut the book like some teenage boy trying to hide their weird fetish from their parents. 

        “O-oh, Alastor. It's you. I was just reading. Didn't feel tired, you know?” You tone screamed how nervous you were even without the complete book throwing moment. Well… not actually. The book rested on your stomach but it felt like it. Alastor hums reaching for the book, grabbing it before you could stop him. “I'm guessing this is some romance story you found?” Alastor asked, examining the book. You weren't surprised by the comment though. Those were the only types of books you read. What did they call those types of people? Oh, yeah. Hopeless romantics. 

        Not saying your partner wasn't great at being your… well partener. But there wasn't much- no. There wasn't any touch in your little arrangement. They thrived off of pure words and small gestures. Which was absolutely nice, especially from them. Who are they? Well, they're standing right in front of you reading the back of the book with an unreadable expression. 

         Alastor hums before placing the book back on to your stomach. “So.. You like… those types of books?” Argh! This man! Why did he say it like that?! You just wanted to strangle him. Yes, your book has its spicy scenes but nothing Angel dust would reenact. You chuckle nervously. “Y-yeah. I guess they just interest me.” You replied. And God! It sounded so wrong. “I mean like the plot. The plot is good. Because you kno-” You were quickly interrupted by a cold, yet soft plush against your lips.

           Your eyes widen when you notice what, or shall I say whom, is causing it. Alastor. Alastor was fucking kissing you. You couldn't believe it. Yeah, you two were pretty much dating but he never wanted physical touch of any kind. At least that's what you thought. Now you kinda feel a bit stupid. 

              You wrap your hands around his slender waist since he has to lean all the way over just to make it to your face. 

                He breaks the kiss standing all the way up making you reluctantly pull your hands away. He offers you his hand. “Now, Darling! Let's get you off to bed!” He says as you grab it. It pissed you off how nonchalant he was acting after all… that. And how warm your face felt.

----------

I wrote this on google docs without rereading it or writing on paper 1st so I apologize if it's shitty. Because its like...

in the goddamn morning. And my phone is literally on 2% so yeah. Night! Also if created Plz give credit 😜

[heyitschartic]

I've seen a lot of people complain on tumblr about how Worm fanfic is nothing but altpower Taylors. It's not a complaint without merit, I've been hearing it since 2017. Hell, it's something I complain about a lot too. It's true, the fandom is filled with crappy altpowers that really add nothing. But to an extent, I always feel I should push back a little against it.

Even if I do advocate for just writing your own thing, there's a really good reason so few people do. There are a good amount of Worm fanfics out there that use original characters, niche characters, or do a wild take on the premise. Not a ton, not the majority, but a good amount.

But nobody reads them.

Rank is probably one of the best stories in the fandom. Long, filled with original charscter's, and with an interesting focus on a PRT officer working in San Fransisco. It's got an amazing scope, working from when Leviathan attacked Kyushu all the way to Gold Morning and has so many brilliant setpieces and bits of world building. It's earned its spot as one of the best, if not the best, story in the fandom.

It pulled in a paltry amount of comments and likes over the years it was being posted.

I remember when I first entered the fandom, there were already people warning new writers that, while it would be cooler if you wrote about someone other than Taylor, that you'd be getting a fraction of the views. And it sucks yeah, but it's the truth. I've seen a lot of writers over the years get discouraged because stories they love and put a lot of time into just get ten likes and maybe one comment an update. A good friend of mine will only pre-write her OC stories because the absolute lack of interest is so disheartening its caused her to just give up in the past.

And it's not like people who critique Worm Fanfics for being filled with shitty altpowers even really read this stuff. Say what you will about the Cauldron discord, but it's one of the few places I've seen people push HARD for others to read this niche weird stories, and even then there's pusback or luke warm reception. It's sad to see people talk shit about altpowers, but just not really check anything else out but that in the first place. It's just as bad as if you were only reading them.

Check out stories trying something original! Luz Mala, Rank, Agent of Cauldron, City of Bones and Teeth, Diary of a Professional Knock-off, Fault, Lend Me Your Ears, Mouse Trap, Sunspot, Nightcrawler, Raccoon Knight; and those are just the ones I can name off the top of my head! There are a lot out there waiting for you to find!!!!

And how to fix it? Well, I'm not sure if there is a fix. If anything is going to work though, at least be the change. If you aren't someone whose actively reading and commenting on new fics about OC's or similar, well, what incentive is there for people to write them? Sure, a love of just creating something might push you to post, but if you feels like you're just shouting into a void, it might feel better to just not shout at all.

If you want people to write good stories, give them a reason to actually do it.

[coffees4sleepy]

Okay I didn’t actually think I’d post here again, but here’s the first ever fanart I did of Solangelo about… four years ago??? (Edit: It was actuallly 2 years ago, my bad gang)

It’s pretty good for a middle schooler, honestly (edit: I was actually in highschool ignore this lol)

If you want a little backstory on this drawing, its under here, but tw for mental health problems (really bad depression)

I drew this because I was super depressed and lonely and all I did was read Percy Jackson and write fanfic. Basically, I wrote a shitty fanfic (that I actually have still have the google doc for lol) where Will basically fixes Nico’s jacket and embroiders a sun on it

It was bad but it stopped me from trying to die so. I deserve some grace and I will give myself that.

I want to redraw this, honestly… and it might end up resparking my love pjo lol

If you think you’ve seen this before… I actually posted a speedpaint of me doing it. I would share it but it has my child voice in it and yucky yucky :3